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He doesn't dream often. At least not vividly. Usually they're fuzzy, white noise with hints of color here and there. Sometimes he hears a voice, though it's hard to make out, it sounds familiar, soothing him back into deep sleep. On those rare nights his dreams are clear; he dreams of a boy. A boy he's never seen before, a boy whose voice he's never heard, a boy who's tall and warm and radiating. And yet everything about him feels like home. Haruka doesn't know what to make of this. He just knows that when this boy appears in his dream, he wishes harder than he's ever before to not wake up, not yet.
Today is one of those rare days where he dreams vividly, in full color, immersed in this world so like his own but not quite there, almost a manifestation of what he wants, what he has forgotten, what he's trying to remember. None of that matters to him, not now when the boy is standing there waiting for him, smiling as if seeing Haruka were the best thing that's happened to him today.
"Makoto." His name comes out as a whisper on Haruka's lips.
Smile still there, Makoto whispers back Haruka's name. No more words are exchanged between them. This moment, he thinks he's experienced it before. Countless times before. His dream dissolves and for a moment, he's floating in total darkness. A strong gust engulfs him and Haruka's in a bathtub. He almost laughs because even in his dreams, bathtubs are his go to place. Water has always been a constant in his life. It's been a while since he's had a bath this nice, this soothing. As he's about to close his eyes, he hears the back door open and close. Footsteps make their way to where he is.
Haruka knows he should be at least worried that someone just walked into his house. But the feeling never comes. It's expected, these footsteps. They bring him a sense of security, a routine he can't bear to break. The door to the bathtub slides open. He doesn't have to look up to know who it is. He can feel it in his bones.
"You're still bathing? We're gonna be late! Come on, Haru-chan," Makoto says, stretching out one hand, ready to pull Haruka out.
Haruka grabs onto Makoto's hand without a moment's hesitation. "Drop the chan." The words flow out of his mouth before he's realized what he's just said. Makoto smiles, exasperation written into it, conveying "okay, okay" to placate his friend. He pulls Haruka up. They stand facing each other; the moment is frozen in time. Fading to black, Haruka's floating in darkness again. His dream shatters like a mirror and he wakes up. Eyes open wide and breathing heavily, he groans. The clock ticks; the long hand striking twelve, the short hand accompanying it. Midnight.
Sometimes it's a struggle for him to fall back asleep, other times it's the easiest thing in the world if the dream wore him out. He groans again because it's the former. Haruka stays still, breathing through his nose, trying to find a rhythm, a pace to clear his head and ease himself into sleep.
He doesn't know when he falls asleep. He doesn't dream this time.