Title: Ennui's End

Credits: Thank you so much to White Eevee, breather & KleonLumi for beta reading

Disclaimer: Nah, Free! ain't mine; sheesh!

Warnings: alternate reality, post-series, aged-up characters, mutual pining, disability, retired swimming athletes, other careers, break-up and reconciliation, angst with happy ending

Cultural Notes:

Haru's pseudonym in this fic is synonymous to his name:

七瀬 (Nanase) = rapids

激流 (Gekiryuu) = raging stream; rapids

遥 (Haruka) = far; far away; distant; remote; far off

透明 (Toumei) = transparent and translucent; invisible, e.g. toumei ningen = invisible man

透明水彩 (Toumeisuisai) = watercolor; transparent watercolor (as opposed to gouache); aquarelle

On the contrary, Rin used a random pseudonym that both sounds and means differently from his name.

Haru sprawled morosely in the bathtub, as the water swirled around him down the bathtub drain. Sighing, he let his hand roam over his right leg, where a fading scar etched diagonally from above his knee to the middle of his shin. The third time was supposed to be the charm? Yeah, right. Why did that accident have to condemn his whole career on the day he was supposed to participate in his third Olympic Games then?

###

Once upon a long time ago, Nanase Haruka had been known as Japan's asset in free-style swimming: twice Olympic gold medalist, as well as the holder of over a dozen other medals from FINA Swimming World Cup and World Aquatics Championships. He was thirty-one, blessed with an equally accomplished butterfly-style swimmer as a lover, and ready to bring home another gold medal, when the TGV was bombed.

Haru woke up in one of the many beds at Assistance Publique - Hôpitaux de Paris and received the same attentive care as the other victims. He found out hours later, when a teary-eyed Rin scuttled to his bedside, that the Olympic events had been canceled to avoid further risks of terrorism. That day, Rin, riled up from a typical round of bickering, had left their hotel ten minutes earlier than Haru, saving him from boarding that same fateful rail service. Rin had never been the type to offer apologies easily, but he apologized this time. Even so, Haru only felt nothing but contempt.

While some said Haru was lucky not to be among the sixty-seven who lost their lives, he personally wished he wasn't among the three hundred and twenty-five who suffered injuries from the hail of shrapnel. It was thanks to Rin that Haru was relocated to the VIP class and bestowed with excellent medical treatments from the best of France could offer, but that didn't miraculously enable him to get up from his wheelchair for the rest of his stay. A nearly suicidal depression consumed his mind in the wake of the attack, and it was only Rin's unceasing devotion, the concerned calls from his Iwatobi friends, and his own hope for recovery that kept him from succumbing.

Rin stayed with Haru in Paris for another week before the doctors deemed the injured man to be strong enough to travel long distance. Practically, having Rin by his side was a huge help to his newly disabled condition, from the basic household chores to assisting Haru with personal hygiene. However, mentally, Haru found Rin's constant presence to be exhausting. Haru's extrication from the swimming world did not lessen his lover's affections for him; in fact, it reduced their bickering to such nonexistence. Each time Rin seemed about to argue, a pained look bloomed in his eyes, and when his voice came out, it was merely a subdued agreement to whatever Haru said. The figure so physically close to him felt so mentally distant; he didn't give out the vibe of Matsuoka Rin at all. Where had the loudmouthed yet sappy brat gone? Where was his passion, his fire? It felt that Haru's injury had drained it from both of them.

So much for Paris being the city of love! Haru's romantic relationship shattered there. As for being the city of lights, the ray of hope for recovery dimmed from his heart in that very same place. He was sure that Rin lingered for the sake of pity, striving to scrape together what little vestige of affection still managed to cling within his heart. Even so, he knew better that, in truth, there was no longer any love between them. The accident had stolen that from him, too. Still, as he let Rin push his wheelchair at both Charles de Gaulle and Narita Airports, he persevered by convincing himself that he'd recover. The final blow came in Tokyo. There, he figured out that not only he was to spend another half a year on that damned wheelchair, but he would also no longer be able to walk without dragging his right leg for years to come.

###

Stepping out of the bathtub meant returning to a life of ennui. Having toweled himself dry, Haru put on a discolored T-shirt and a pair of careworn jeans. That was the type of clothing he had been wearing for the last five years, with watercolor painting as his daily bread-and-butter. All in all, fortune had not abandoned him completely. He had managed to sell his grandmother's house in Iwatobi at a reasonable price—a huge relief, for he harbored no enthusiasm for climbing its steep stairs with his bad leg.

The retired life in a quiet village forced him to accommodate certain degree of technological knowledge nevertheless. More precisely, he had to learn to shop online since gesso, aquapasto, and some of his other art supplies were unavailable locally. He should have listened to his friends during their high school years that acquainting himself with computer would come out handy. It was too late to learn from them since he had severed all ties with Rei, Nagisa, and even Makoto, as well as everyone else who, deliberately or not, would associate him with swimming. It was painful enough knowing that he could no longer move as agilely in the water; he didn't need any constant reminder for that fact.

Presently, Haru took his seat in front of his easel with the brush poised in his hand. Even after ten minutes had passed, he had made no progress. His mind remained as blank as the canvas itself. Then a single wind-blown sakura petal flew in from the open window and landed on his lap. The beginning of April was the season for sakura, and road to the rice paddies outside was lined with the pinkish grace of sakura trees. Rin would revel in this scene.

Haru blinked.

It wasn't right that even after five years, the vision of Rin's smile still popped up in his mind each time he saw sakura. How many more times need Haru remind himself that Rin had probably moved on? Perhaps at the moment, Rin was smiling next to a beautiful woman with a snoozing baby in her arms, watching another child chasing a dog around their front yard.

Haru blinked again.

Years of practice had trained him to stop the tears, but not the ache burgeoning in his chest. Even after half a decade, he still recalled as clearly as day what had taken place on his final day in Tokyo.

###

After the medical checkup that vetoed the possibilities for his full recovery, Haru drowned himself in deep contemplation on the way home. Rin was blabbering animatedly about which pool to select for Haru's aquajogging therapy. Did he not notice how painful to Haru it would be, being inside a swimming pool only to realize he could never swim as fast as he used to? Haru just said "whatever" when Rin asked his preferences for a car. Even without his lover mentioning it explicitly, Haru realized what Rin meant by a car would be a wheelchair accessible vehicle. Avoiding the hassles of car maintenance and finding the parking space on each journey, Rin used to prefer traveling by train and on foot; he was never a car person. How much more of Rin's traits Haru's disability would continue to deprive?

Rin, with all his talents and bright future, deserved better than a moody invalid. The crows perching on the nearby cables of a utility pole cawed their threnody of agreement. The sky was bleeding crimson at sunset when he allowed Rin to help him get out of the taxi, and then open the door of their shared apartment one last time.

"Rin, sit with me?" Haru beckoned to the sofa in their living room. They both knew that if he obeyed, it meant Rin would have to sit alone on that sofa, while Haru would remain in his wheelchair.

Rin strode to the fridge instead. "Give me a minute; I'm parched. Aren't you thirsty from all that conversation with Doctor Yajima?" Rin's hand was hovering above the row of chilled sports drink bottles when he asked Haru, "Want some?"

Haru shook his head. "I'm fine. You drink." The air hung heavily around him as he watched Rin unscrew the bottle's cap.

After a few gulps, Rin brought the PET bottle containing the remaining sports drink to the sofa and told Haru, "I'm all ears."

"Can I count on you to dispose of my belongings?" They split the rent every month and they had fulfilled the minimum contract time; moving out wouldn't pose a problem. At Rin's widening eyes, Haru continued flatly, "I'm leaving."

Haru had expected an outburst of anger, a barrage of expletives, a protest of some sort … but instead Rin gave him a prolonged silence. The look on his face wasn't that of pure shock. Instead, it reminded Haru of the movie he recently watched with Rin, in which a prisoner doomed to a guillotine was informed that his time had finally come.

When Haru began to turn the push rings of the wheels, having thought Rin had given up speaking, his ears caught Rin's voice. It was barely above a whisper, yet there was no mistaking the broken spirit in his timbre.

"What about us?"

"You're on your own, Rin, and so am I."

With his wheelchair, Haru glided toward their bedroom. He didn't pack more than a duffel bag small enough to nestle on his lap. The sound of the front door slamming told him that Rin was too sickened to see him off.

Perhaps it's better this way, Haru convinced his anguished heart. He suspected that he'd have been tempted to ask for one last kiss otherwise.

###

Haru blamed the sakura for the bout of sentimentality that overcame him at present. All his desire to paint was gone, ousted by the yearning for Rin. With a heavy heart, he set down his brush and left for his bedroom. There, he slid the closet door open to retrieve a box.

Cutout mass media articles and printout web articles were strewn on the wooden floor as Haru emptied the box of its contents: numerous photographs and sketches of Matsuoka Rin. Ironically, none came from the time Haru had still been by Rin's side. Pride, conceit, and stubbornness had made Haru decide that he'd be better off without any reminder of his former romance, so he hadn't brought any of Rin's photos when he had left their Tokyo apartment for good.

As always, it wasn't until the damage was done that regret came to light. In Haru's case, the phone in his possession carried none of Rin's photos. Selfies were more of Rin's thing than Haru's. Still, Haru couldn't be more grateful to Nagisa, who had sent Haru a short video of their reunion in Iwatobi on his birthday six years prior. That video was the only source of Rin that Haru had now. The last day Haru had heard Rin's carefree laugh seemed ages ago.

Haru arrayed the haphazard paper sheets into an oblong ring before lying in its center. Curling up surrounded by pictures of Rin and soothed by the coolness of the wooden planks against his skin had been his only solace during the past five years. Despite knowing all of the articles by heart, Haru picked up a random sheet for rereading. The one close to his shoulder described how brilliantly Rin had won gold for a hundred-meter butterfly style in the FINA World Masters Championships three years prior. Haru put the paper down and picked up another. The piece of magazine article next to Haru's neck showed the picture of Rin flashing a silver medal at the Pan Pacific Swimming Championships two years before. The article near Haru's waist blared, "Olympian Swimmer Passes Torch after His Third Gold Medal." It was dated from the previous year and was one of the last articles about Rin, as the athlete's retirement at the age of thirty-five took him away from public limelight.

By surrounding himself with pictures of Rin, Haru pretended it was the real Rin who embraced him. They used to cuddle on the sofa after dinner—or, more precisely—Haru resigned himself to his snugly fate once Rin spread a blanket over them and entwined their legs together. There were also times in which they slept in a single bed when they had to travel for international competitions, ignoring the other twin bed in the hotel room. While in their own king-sized bed at home, they never missed tangling their legs together, especially on Sundays.

Haru could only hope that Rin led a peaceful and happy life after they parted ways. In conversations in addition to his good looks and swimming skills, Rin was a suave talker who was never socially awkward—surely he could easily find friends and even a new lover. The thought sent Haru's stomach churning again. He consoled himself by reminiscing about his rivalry with Rin. Their races in the pool had always left him wanting for the next one. However, their contests extended out of the water, too—choosing the takeout menu for two with the full knowledge that Rin would be too aghast to eat mackerel, and Haru too stubborn to order anything else, among other trivial things. They also fought for dominance so many times before they went to bed. The memory of Rin moaning his name as he climaxed set Haru's loins on fire.

Haru rose to his feet; what good would it be for him to touch himself when Rin could never be his again?

After returning the scattered articles to the box and placing them back in the closet, Haru checked his email. Again, it was the necessity of selling his works online that compelled him to buy a computer in the first place. An art gallery in Nagoya regularly bought his paintings, but the committee had established strict rules about the subjects, materials, and sizes, which he sometimes found too constricting. Thus, he sold his freer works in online shops and auctions.

Over fifty notification mails landed in his inbox, all listing the same subject: "An Application Has Been Submitted to Your Project." Haru had posted to a handful of freelancing sites that he sought a ghostwriter. A Tokyo publisher earnestly requested to publish a collection of Japanese contemporary watercolor paintings with bilingual reviews, and three of Haru's works—under the pseudonym of Gekiryuu Toumei—would be featured in that book. Artists were encouraged to submit personal interpretations of their own paintings to be edited and translated by the publisher's internal staff. Although they might leave the commentaries entirely to the publisher should they choose to do so. Haru had seen enough commentaries, thrown around by amateurs and professionals alike, which deviated too far from the artists' original intentions. To avoid the experience of something as traumatizing, he opted to take the matter into his own hands. The problem was he didn't know how to string together words properly to captivate readers; he couldn't even express himself sufficiently in day-to-day occasions. That was why Haru posted the freelance writing project.

Finding a suitable candidate, however, proved to be a more time-consuming process than Haru had anticipated. Since the proposal yielded too many applicants—a hundred and twenty-nine just on the first day, to be exact—Haru decided to modify the proposal with a more challenging requirement: the candidate's proficiency in English. This did help to filter the empty vessels that made the most noise. Some claimed to excel in grammar and spelling, but spelled the word "grammer." Some showed inability to follow instructions by failing to mention their expected finish time regardless of the obvious question. Others didn't bother to attach any sample of their previous works.

Thanks to his experience traveling overseas during the peak of his career, Haru could identify bad English, although his linguistic skills weren't good enough to write the passage himself. By narrowing his requirements, he had reduced the dozens of applicants to no more than five promising prospects, to each of whom he sent an invitation for an online interview.

The first interviewee was knowledgeable—Haru gave him that. However, he adopted an erudite art professor's manner of speaking; there was no way anyone outside his peers could comprehend him. Judging from the book's target audience, inundating them with unpronounceable French and Italian technical art terms didn't seem to be a bright idea.

The second interviewee sounded like an ideal choice for the first seven minutes. However, right when Haru was thinking about hiring her, the interview had taken a drastic turn into a lengthy rant about how the interviewee's husband had been recently laid off with his employer's company downsizing and she had to scrape every bit of money here and there to pay the medicines for her sick child. Considering her near-hysterical rant about how her previous employer refused to give her some time off so that she could take care of said child, the probability of her disregarding deadlines due to her stress was too high to be comfortable. Trusting such a person to handle his project was out of question.

The third interviewee—the one he had spoken with the previous night—set an exorbitant fee as soon as Haru introduced his pseudonym, of which reputation happened to precede him. It became no mystery why the candidate left his expected pay rate empty in the application form then.

The next interviewee was scheduled to speak with him in an hour. In the remaining time, Haru perused the fifty-something additional applications he received that day. Most of them ranged from rather bad to extremely horrid. The only two decent ones were problematic. One stated that she could not start until her final exams were over, while the other wrote half his contents too similarly to another applicant's from a different site—either he had presented a plagiarized profile or he owned multiple accounts under various names. Either way, Haru wasn't inclined to interview any of them.

Haru launched Skype at three minutes to eleven 'o' clock and sent a message to the username slokrhats: "My poor internet connection tends to make video calls buffer. I'll speak with you using audio only." It was a downside of living in a remote village—his smartphone rarely even displayed more than a single signal bar. He dialed at eleven sharp and the applicant picked up the call in less than three seconds.

"Hello, I'm Gekiryuu Toumei. I—"

The line went dead. It could be the lack of signal on his side, though. Grabbing his mouse, he directed the cursor toward the green call button again, but a cluster of texts appeared on his screen: "Sorry, bad connection over here. I'm moving somewhere else with better reception. I'll call you back in a minute."

Wondering if the other side also lived in a village, Haru waited. A dial tone had sounded before the end of the second minute.

"Hello, sorry about that," a rather squeaky voice greeted him. It sounded like the voice of a mature man, perhaps around forty, but high-pitched enough to sing a soprano role in a choir. "How do you do, Gekiryuu-san?"

At least the tone sounded polite enough. Like the preceding three interviews, Haru sent the interviewee the photo of an old sketch he had done four years back, but kept shielded from public's eyes. "Imagine you're talking to a blind listener. How would you describe that picture? Say it in Japanese first, and then translate your comment into English."

Haru heard Slokrhats inhale before replying, "This picture is a black-and-white sketch drawn with Conté crayons. The subject depicted here is how, on a blustery day, a handful of villagers were terrified in the presence of a monster. The monster descends from the sky with fury in his eyes, and I have the suspicion that he is the one who controls the wind. The villagers' hair and clothes as well as the crops on the dell are all billowing, but the drapery around the monster's body stays static."

They chatted for six more minutes or so, in which Slokrhats covered the villagers' individual expressions, the convincingly realistic fabric creases of their clothing, the aesthetic grace of their body twists during their endeavor to flee, and the meticulous details of the plants as well as the cumulus clouds. He also mentioned the dramatic effect achieved by the contrasting thin and thick lines without using a single piece of jargon that only art students would understand. The more Slokrhats spoke, the more convinced Haru was that this was indeed the right person for the task.

"Before I translate that into English, am I permitted to ask whether you have any preference? North American English? Canadian? British? Australian? Singaporean? South African?"

Recalling the word of the publisher's marketer that the book would be exported to several parts of the world, Haru confirmed, "I have no preference."

While Haru's grasp of the English language was definitely below Slokrhats', he could at least detect that Slokrhats made no grammatical or pronunciation mistakes; in fact, he spoke English more fluently than any other Japanese that Haru had encountered. Haru guessed that Slokrhats spoke with either a Southern England or Australian accent—he himself had no clear distinction between either accent.

As soon as Slokrhats ended his explanation, Haru said, "I'd like to entrust this project in your hands. When can we start?"

"Wow, that's great! Thanks! Oh, anytime's good for me," Slokrhats answered with an overt eagerness, then added, "We can start right now, if you'd like."

"Won't I interrupt your schedule?"

"Not at all! I have nothing urgent at hand and I've been traveling all over Japan and doing freelance works like this for months now."

"All right then… Just to confirm: you wrote that you needed a forty-eight-hour turnaround time for the reviews of the three paintings?"

"Yes. I wrote that just in case the paintings prove difficult. If they're as inspirational as the sketch you showed me earlier, the revision writing should take less than twenty-four hours."

Haru had to suppress a flutter in his stomach as he heard the word "inspirational." With the flattest tone he could muster, he announced, "I'll close the application submission for the project on the freelancing site and send you the files."

Their conversation ended with Slokrhats typing his email address.

Haru attended the fifth online interview out of formality. However, he had made the right decision to choose Slokrhats. The fifth candidate said "uh" or "um" every three words or so while speaking in English. He also had to pause a couple times while thinking during the translation portion. While the portfolio of written translation he had attached to his application seemed way smoother, Haru couldn't see any reason he should favor this applicant over the fourth candidate.

###

That very night, the reviews were submitted as promised. The freelancing site closed the project and passed Haru's fee to the writer minus their agreed commission. Since the result was indisputably satisfying and needed no revision, Haru assumed it would be the last time he corresponded with Slokrhats.

That assumption was proven wrong almost immediately. Right when he emailed the transcript to the publisher's staff, another message landed in his inbox. It was from Slokrhats with the subject: "New Project."

Hello again, Gekiryuu-sensei,

Since I enjoy your painting immensely and you seem to have no complaints with my writing, I'd like to ask your collaboration in a new project. I'm currently writing my first book and it would be an honor for me if you're willing to paint a picture that I could use as the book cover. Since I plan to hang it on my living room wall afterwards, I think it's only fair if I offer you ¥ 2,500,000 for this project, which will be paid half in advance and half at its completion.

The theme of the painting is water. More precisely, it should depict a large body of water that fills the audience with love and longing for water. You have the free rein to choose its size, color palette, techniques, and material. I plan to collect the painting a year from now, on the same day I finish the manuscript.

What d'ya say?

Best Regards,

Slokrhats

Squinting, Haru reread the message just to be sure of the number of zeros in the sum offered. His paint works could rarely be sold for more than a million yen for watercolor on primed canvas, and even less than that for the other media, such as mat board, acetate, vellum, Mylar, Plexiglas, or paper.

In that email, Slokrhats had dropped his previous sonkeigo—the honorific way of speaking to a superior. It was as though he had regarded the painter Gekiryuu Toumei as an equal—a collaborative partner rather than a celebrity to idolize or a customer to please.

Still, why would someone who owned millions of yen want to work freelance for a few thousand yen per project in the first place? Slokrhats could use a photograph of a lake, river, or sea instead of commissioning him. A voice at the back of his head warned that no matter how he thought of the project, it was too fishy. On the other hand, another part of him argued that he enjoyed the theme very much. He'd still paint it even if it were to be a non-paid work. Not to mention he could always offer the painting to art galleries nationwide and online auctions if Slokrhats were to change his mind about the commission.

Haru made himself a cup of green tea before dialing Slokrhats on Skype. This time, he had to wait for a good twenty-four seconds before the writer picked it up.

"I need to know why you want my painting as your book cover," Haru demanded without preamble in non-formal speech.

There was a distinct pause, followed by a loud exhalation that soon evolved into a chuckle. "Oh, Gekiryuu-sensei … isn't it obvious? Your work is magnificent. They've turned me from a casual viewer to a hardcore fan. I never paid any particular attention to paintings before, so I didn't even know you existed. But when I saw the files you sent this morning, I was inspired. More than that, I felt like I finally found pieces of myself that had gone missing. There's nothing I want more than one of your paintings for my book. In fact, I'm convinced it's the only thing that could make my book complete."

Whatever Haru had speculated for Slokrhats' answer, it was definitely not this. He had attended compulsory parties where fans sang praises of his works and he had even been required to make a speech on stage, which he finished in three sentences: "Good afternoon. Thank you all for coming. Enjoy." He had attended an exhibition in which the mayor commented about how superb his works were, while the man kept looking at his watch every few minutes. He had also attended another exhibition, in which a little girl said she wanted to be painter when she grew up after looking at Haru's latest work. None of those comments gave Haru a shiver as Slokrhats' did.

"I'll take up the project," Haru said, hoping that the microphone didn't pick up the gulping sound his bobbing Adam's apple had just made. "Good night, Slokrhats-san."

"Hold on!"

Haru's hand hovered above the mouse, but halted before clicking the red end call button.

"Uh, I mean… Well, there's something that's been bugging me for a while and I kinda regret not having the courage to mention it in the email, but…" Slokrhats paused to inhale sharply. "There's one more project I'd like you to take a look at."

"I'm listening," Haru urged after fifteen seconds of Slokrhats' total silence.

"Would it be beneath your reputation as one of Japan's best artists to… to illustrate my book with about a hundred and fifty line art drawings? I mean, I don't want to insult you or anything."

It was true that was a menial task typically assigned to less famous artists, but did Slokrhats think Haru was so conceited as to be offended by an offer for honest income? A pang of slight disappointment bit Haru's insides to know that his newfound fan thought so little of him.

"What am I to draw for those line arts?" Haru queried.

"Different poses with the emphasis on the arms and legs' movements. But their positions have to follow the instruction in the text."

A guide for martial arts, maybe? Haru surmised. "I don't see any problem with that. You can send me some parts of your manuscript and I'll draw the line arts in installments."

"You see, the thing is… there are parts of the manuscript that I'm still unsure of. I'd be most grateful if we can meet face-to-face so that I can discuss the arrangement of the illustrations with you. Some things are not easily described with audio calls."

Haru had to pause to calm his mind. It's all right. He isn't your fan from the swimming world. "Where do you want to meet?"

"I was thinking of going over to your place in another five or six days, sensei. I travel to a new location every few days anyway."

"No, you don't want to come here. It's a small village in the middle of nowhere with weak phone signal and unstable internet connection. I'd rather go to the town you're in."

"Oh, okay. I'm in Yanagawa at the moment, but I've already bought the ticket to Omihachiman for tomorrow morning. Can we meet there instead, say, next Thursday?"

"Sure, I'll be there." The next thing Haru said threw him into confusion; he didn't normally attempt to make jokes or even small talk, but his mouth just moved on its own. "Do you have a thing for canals, considering your choice for both destinations?"

Slokrhats laughed. "Not canals specifically. I just love places with beautiful water scenery. So, I'll send you the venue of our meeting point?"

"Okay, see you in four days."

###

Haru departed to Omihachiman on Wednesday morning. Said to be Lake Biwa's miniature Venice that breathed an atmosphere of the Edo period, the city's reputation for its canals intrigued him. The extra time there might be a good opportunity to gain inspiration for his drawing since he had not treated himself to any vacation for years. The last time he had traveled was five years prior, when he searched for a quiet place to live. It was an unfortunate inevitability that the few times he found himself in a crowd, he was recognized as the ex-Olympic swimmer who had to retire because of a leg injury, and the rest of the bystanders would hail him with the ode to the fallen hero all over again through their commiserative look at his crippled leg. However, the memory of him should have faded from the minds of most people by this point, so the possibility for such an event was pretty low.

Haru had multiple changes of buses and trains until he reached the Omihachiman Station of the JR Tokaido Main Line after lunch. Next, the traveling artist took a taxi to his booked hotel, just to check in and drop off his luggage, and then set off immediately. The idea of Hachiman-bori canal walk tempted him, but he decided he'd better get a clear view of the city from the top first and visited the Hachiman-yama Ropeway with its famed view of the castle ruins. Hence, Haru alighted at the Osugi-cho bus stop for the Himure Hachimangu Shrine. Not that he was in the mood for praying, but that shrine provided the most scenic route for the ropeway with a pair of komainu statues guarding the main Shinto Gate, a roofed stage for kagura dance, an impressive hall of worship on a raised platform, a main hall that housed the war deity Homutawake-no-Mikoto, and ornately carved toro stone lanterns. The vista over Lake Nishinoko and Lake Biwa offered during the cable car ride proved to be more stunning than what Haru had envisioned. Having grown up in his grandmother's house at one of the highest peaks in Iwatobi, Haru had always felt that high places were like a second nature to him, after water.

On the way back, Haru traveled on foot. He strolled down the well-preserved Omi Merchant Cityscape in the vicinity of the Shinmachi area, which was erected from the end of the Edo period onward. The site was truly worthy of its designation as an Important Preservation District for Groups of Traditional Buildings with its quaint passageways lined with lattice windows, high-winged fire prevention udatsu walls that adorned the roofs of houses, and pine trees stretching out from the private gardens. From time to time, some of the pedestrians cast him their look of pity, but at least this was bearable since no one pointed out, "That's Nanase Haruka, the ex-Olympic swimmer!"

A group of four teenage girls burst out of a kimono rental shop, looking very pleased with their colorful outfits. This sort of thing reminded Haru of the sprightly Nagisa, who would undoubtedly drag him, Makoto, and Rei into that shop. How and where were they now?

Before returning to the hotel, Haru decided not to order mackerel; instead, he treated himself with the renowned Omigyu dinner for once. The Omi beef was one of three best brands of beef in Japan, and there was quite a wide price range for the product. Since ¥ 1,250,000 had been transferred to his bank account for the book cover's down payment, Haru opted for the most expensive one. He spent the rest of the evening drawing sketches of the city's historic panorama in his hotel room.

The next morning, Haru visited the Roof Tile Museum and Borderless Art Museum NO-MA, passing the old post office and church with their distinctive Vories architecture along the way. His lunch encompassed a fish set menu although it was a lake fish boiled in soy sauce called kogyotsukudani instead of mackerel. Its side dish included another local specialty: akakonyaku or sliced red devil's tongue jelly. Afterwards, he passed the Hachiman-bori on his way to meet Slokrhats at 14:45.

He promenaded along the ishidatami stone pavement on the canal's either side toward their meeting place: the Honen Bridge or Honenbashi. Since that canal used to serve as a castle moat, it was lined with white plastered storehouses and historic merchant homes with trees hanging over the edges of their gardens. Numerous shops displayed the handicrafts of local origin, including oshie or padded cloth pictures that date back to the Nara Era, bamboo handicrafts, shoes, and paper and bamboo blinds made with rush from the local marshes.

Although the blossoming sakura along the pathways and their scattered petals across the water enhanced the panoramic beauty of the scenery, they reopened the old wound in Haru's heart. Rin would have loved this place. He had always adored the idea of a sakura-scattered pool. With the historical buildings in the background, water in front, and sakura branches above them, how would it feel for him to be down on one knee with an open box of wedding rings before Rin?

Haru clenched his fists. Seeing Rin's smile and hearing his answer of "yes" were such a faraway dream. Haru tried to distract his mind by reminding himself that he would need to meet a business associate soon, yet even professionalism failed to uplift him. He could only hope that Slokrhats wouldn't be able to detect his saturnine mood and that his poker face would become his saving grace.

Unfortunately, the dour mood only escalated at the sight of a long queue at Honenbashi. The place served as a boarding point for the cultural heritage site's principal attraction known as the suigo-meguri—the sightseeing boats service that granted passengers a voyage through the net-like waterways of the city and enjoyment of the local floras and faunas. Haru had no love for crowded places. He had disliked them when he was younger and liked them even less as he grew older.

Haru considered calling Slokrhats to ask for a change of meeting place when he spotted someone waving at him: a plump man the size of a sumo wrestler, possibly in his late thirties, with chestnut hair and eyes. He wore blue jeans and a black jacket accented with violet streaks that very much reminded Haru of his favorite choice for swimming trunks in bygone days. In his text message, Slokrhats had indeed mentioned that he'd wear a black top and jeans.

Unfortunately, the dour mood only escalated at the sight of a long queue at Honenbashi. The place served as a boarding point for the cultural heritage site's principal attraction known as the suigo-meguri—the sightseeing boats service that granted passengers a voyage through the net-like waterways of the city and enjoyment of the local floras and faunas. Haru had no love for crowded places. He had disliked them when he was younger and liked them even less as he grew older.

Haru considered calling Slokrhats to ask for a change of meeting place when he spotted someone waving at him: a plump man the size of a sumo wrestler, possibly in his late thirties, with chestnut hair and eyes. He wore blue jeans and a black jacket accented with violet streaks that very much reminded Haru of his favorite choice for swimming trunks in bygone days. In his text message, Slokrhats had indeed mentioned that he'd wear black top and jeans.

"Gekiryuu-sensei? Gekiryuu Toumei-sensei?" he greeted Haru with a wide grin spreading across his chubby face as he dashed to Haru's side.

Haru had met many types of business associates, clients, and journalists, who presented him with polite smiles. He had also met his fans, who presented him with reverent smiles. The mirthful expression belonging to the panting man a few steps away from him was so genuinely earnest that it embraced both, and perhaps even beyond that.

When the man reached a comfortable speaking distance, Haru addressed him in return, "Are you Slokrhats? Your voice sound different."

The man's smile receded. If anything, he looked like he was suppressing a flinch. "Yes, that's my user name. My name is Komatsuzaki Hideki. As for the voice, I must apologize for my laptop's technical fault. It's quite old and its microphone needs replacing, but I kept delaying that because I travel too much." He bowed, but didn't give Haru any business card.

Haru was unsure if a mere technical fault could affect a person's voice that much, but he brushed it aside. How Slokrhats' voice sounded had nothing to do with his project, after all.

"Have you tried the suigo-meguri here before, sensei?"

Haru shook his head. "I couldn't be bothered with the long queue."

"Ah, glad to hear we're of one mind. This way."

Just as Haru thought Slokrhats would suggest somewhere else, he led Haru past the bunch of tourists lining up next to a chalkboard bearing the boats' departure timetable. The queuing tourists handed down their tour fee to a member of staff dressed in straight-sleeved sky blue happi. The coat resembled its Edo counterpart, except that its color wasn't the conventional brown or indigo, and its back depicted the company logo in place of a family crest. As soon as they paid, the people were assigned to the boats, each carrying six to eight passengers.

Unlike the other tourists, Slokrhats didn't hand down any money to the staff. He strode farther down the platform, where no one else was queuing, but another staffer in blue happi had been waiting. No sooner had Slokrhats declared, "Reservation booking by Komatsuzaki" than the man welcomed them aboard without further ado. Since Slokrhats had no qualms about spending for an undoubtedly more expensive private cruise, Haru wondered whether perhaps Slokrhats worked as freelancer for the sake of writing experience instead of for the petty cash. He could even be the pampered young master of a rich family—his body attested to the fine food that common salary-men found difficult to afford.

The two passengers put their shoes in the provided wooden rack before ducking beneath the tiled roof canopy of the old-fashioned sightseeing boat. They sat seiza-style on their heels. The man in blue happi positioned himself at the prow and began to row. Ripples of water surrounded the boat as it advanced through the waterways that linked the castle on Mount Hachiman with Lake Biwa. Being the backbone of the yesteryear's traffic flow in the Omihachiman City, the 4,750-meter-long merchant aquatic route lined with steep cobbled walls of old Edo had evolved into the region's top attraction.

The two passengers put their shoes in the provided wooden rack before ducking beneath the tiled roof canopy of the old-fashioned sightseeing boat. They sat seiza-style on their heels. The staffer in blue happi positioned himself at the prow and began to row. Ripples of water surrounded the boat as it advanced through the waterways that linked the castle on Mount Hachiman with Lake Biwa. Being the backbone of the yesteryear's traffic flow in the Omihachiman City, the 4,750-meter-long merchant aquatic route lined with steep cobbled walls of old Edo.

Nowadays, the canal thrived as a serene waterside escape thanks to an influx of cafes, bars, and art galleries along its banks. Runners, bicyclists, bird watchers, and dog walkers jockeyed for the little towpath space as Hachiman-bori settled into its second life as a serene escape within the city, Haru noted. The canal's jewels were hidden by moss-laden stone walls and modern housing developments in some parts, shrouded by loping wisteria trees and ivy-decked thickets in others—the sort of places that Rin, with his soft spot for romanticism, would find delightful. From pleasant urban landscape to panoramic scenery, canal-goers will discover scores of old wood-burning houseboats, the birdsong of chirping blue tits and wrens, and the many merchants contributing to the historic canal's perennial rejuvenation.

At a range of five to ten meters, the canal's narrow width bestowed its voyagers with an idyllic atmosphere along the route. As Haru's boat cruised through reed beds in a maze of man-made channels and listened to the songs of waterbirds, he noticed there were different styles of boats. Some had canopies supported by metal poles as their pillars, but were not equipped with walls. Others were completely open like regular rowing boats. There were motorized boats, as well, but they were obviously not the popular choice among tourists who'd rather appreciate Hachiman-bori's natural beauty in a more relaxed manner. The boat Haru was boarding had walls of wooden lattice and looked like shouji, except that their sheets were made of transparent acrylics instead of rice paper to enable passengers to enjoy the picturesque view during their voyage. It was more likely that Slokrhats had chosen this particular type of boat for privacy, though.

At any rate, Slokrhats probably should reconsider his decision. The acrylic walls repelled the occasional spring breeze that would definitely help to cool down his sweat—what must be the aftermath of over a hundred kilograms in a running exertion. Haru didn't understand why that man still kept his jacket on, zipped up to cover his neck, no less. Even so, he refused to pry into his business associate's fashion preferences.

"How was your journey here, sensei?" Slokrhats opened their conversation with a small talk. Their rowboat was passing residential areas during the first few minutes of their course. As expected from a former castle moat, the houses by the canal were built on large stone bases that used to function as the castle's fortification.

"Uneventful."

Slokrhats didn't seem taken aback by Haru's lack of courtesy, nor did that cold treatment discourage him from further commenting, "Maybe it's a good thing that the water here is murky green. If it were clear blue, I'm sure I'd jump off this boat right away and swim in it."

Haru replied dryly, "I don't see how that's relevant to our line art project."

If Slokrhats were nervous, he didn't show it at all. A hearty laugh emanated from his mouth. "Straight to business, eh? I like that."

He opened his briefcase and produced a bundle of paper. For the first time, Haru paid close attention to Slokrhats' hands. They were too small compared to the proportion of the rest of his over-sized body. There were no chubby fingers at all; in fact, they were slender.

"So, basically the book I'm writing is for advanced sportsmen aiming to become professionals. It will show the tips and tricks that are not covered in the basic swimming manuals."

Haru turned his head sharply. "Did you say 'swimming?'"

Slokrhats flipped through the pages and held out one specific page to Haru. "Yeah. See here, for example, I want to know your opinion whether I should separate the little bending of the elbow from the preceding elevation of the arm or join them in one paragraph? I mean, would a reader feel more comfortable to see two pictures in a row or one per row only? Since you're the one who draws them, I think you should—what's the matter, sensei? You look … disconcerted, for lack of a better word."

"It's partially my fault for not asking the subject of your writing in advance," Haru answered through gritted teeth.

For the first time Slokrhats looked uncomfortable. "Oh… Um, do you find swimming offensive?"

Haru clenched his jaw, while the freelance writer studied him with a measured glance.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have made sure—is it … is it the partial nudity that bothers you? I looked up the rest of your works online and none of them sways toward eroticism, so if that's the case, I don't mind if you draw the swimmers in a diving suit covering even their arms and legs."

"It's not that."

Slokrhats rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, I'm sorry to put you in such an uncomfortable situation. Is there anything I can do to remedy it?"

Haru kept his gaze on the water, where its surface rippled mildly in the wake of a passing duck. His fingers fisted his trousers hard enough to rip them. "Swimming," he spoke at last, "is the one subject I refuse to touch."

At least Slokrhats had the decency not to ask why. He merely mumbled a further apology. "Forgive me; you always illustrate water with such immense love, so I didn't imagine that you hated swimming. W-We can forget this project… Pretend I never asked you about the line arts. I'll be grateful enough if you are still willing to paint the cover picture. The large body of water that I mentioned doesn't have to be a swimming pool anyway."

Haru shook his head. "It's not right. I've already agreed to it. I'm not going to revoke my promise."

"Sensei, there's no point in forcing yourself. I love your works. But it doesn't mean I'd push you to the brink of distress just to achieve my goal."

"I'll do it," Haru replied with a new determination.

"No, really, I appreciate the thought, but—"

"I will do it."

At Haru's rising tone, the boatman outside peeked at them with a mishmash of curiosity and concern. His code of professional ethics, however, must have dictated that he not get involved with customers' affairs, for he stood there still and kept rowing.

"Sensei, the—"

"I'll do it! At least, I'm going to try!" Haru huffed. It had been a long time—five years to be exact—since he had argued so stubbornly. No person alive had ever riled him up as much as Rin had done.

Haru took a few deep breaths to calm himself. After the last exhalation, he confirmed, "I don't know if I have the mental strength to finish the project, so you mustn't pay me until I give you an update. I'm going to try a few sketches first, and if I can't continue the rest, I'll let you know within a week so you can ask another artist."

"Thank you," Slokrhats said as he clasped Haru's hands. "You sacrifice something so important to you just for…" his voice cracked, "…this project."

Haru's instinct was to withdraw his hand posthaste. He had never been comfortable with skin contact since a tender age. He had allowed his swimming teammates to pull him out of the pool, but Kisumi had experienced more than enough of Haru's winces to know how unpleasant it was for Haru to be touched for an amiable gesture.

Haru's ire, however, subsided the moment two fat tears rolled down Slokrhats' cheeks. Why must this guy be so emotional? It was as though Rin—I mustn't think of Rin anymore! Haru chided himself. The sakura branches hanging overhead did not help either.

"It's nothing to cry over," Haru heard himself say with a terse voice. He didn't care if his comment solaced or hurt the listener more. He just wanted those tears to stop. Stop reminding me of Rin!

The boat had taken a turn toward a sluice gate flanked by lush beds of reed. A white heron pranced in the distance. Another boat passed by, carrying old men with fishing poles on their way to the waterway leading to a rice field.

"Gekiryuu-sensei."

"Hmm?"

"You've done so much for me. Is there anything I can do to help you in return?"

"You can shut up."

At this brazen remark, the oarsman outside even glanced at Haru reproachfully, but Slokrhats had an expression of acceptance, as though he knew he deserved such treatment. To what extent did this man idolize him?

It was so relaxing to tour on the calm water with the slowest transportation method in Japan while seeing rice fields without any electrical poles obstructing their view. The serene vista made Haru reflect on his temperament. It was rude and unprofessional of him to take out his frustration about Rin out on a business associate. He planned to apologize to Slokrhats, preferably at the end of their voyage so that they wouldn't have to stare awkwardly at each other for a long time afterwards.

"Wow! A grebe!" Slokrhats' exhilaration pulled Haru from his reverie. The freelance writer sprang from his seat and collided his portly body against the clear acrylic panel to peer at the rare bird.

Haru made no attempt to mask his skepticism as he asked, "Isn't that just a duck?"

"No," Slokrhats replied with pronounced enthusiasm. "Grebes are designated as Shiga's prefectural bird. They're a rare species, but they can still be found in Lake Biwa. I've never actually seen―"

An odd sound punctuated Slokrhats' words. It reminded Haru of a tire pierced by a sharp object in the road.

The next moment, they both watched, appalled, as Slokrhats' supposedly sumo wrestler-like flesh deflated like a punctured airbed, every ounce of fat evaporating at a ridiculous speed. The man's formerly swollen limbs flattened out flabbily, and the bulge that made up his belly just a moment before was presently leveled with his chest.

Removing himself from the wood panel frame, Slokrhats looked in horror at a protruding nail that must have punctured his slackened body.

"I… Uh, this is…" Slokrhats paused to take a deep breath, bowed his head, and then placed his hands in front of his forehead, palms facing each other in a gesture of apology. When he spoke again, his voice sounded so familiar that the hair on Haru's nape stood on end.

"I'm sorry, Haru!" Slokrhats squeaked in Rin's voice.

"What the hell?!"

Slokrhats unzipped his jacket; the inflatable costume's neckline was one of the factors that demanded coverage all the way up to its wearer's neck. The other factor was the seam where the artificial excess fat around that neck met with the wearer's real skin. Then he peeled the artificial skin of silicone and rubber off his face, revealing the charming yet guilty face of Matsuoka Rin. He removed his chestnut brown wig next, until the redwood hair that had long haunted Haru's dreams reappeared before him. The soft lenses came out last, and the wine-colored eyes that had always intoxicated Haru took possession of his soul once more.

"Haru," Rin pleaded, "I didn't want to meet you like this, but I didn't know how else to do it. I know you're mad, but hear me out. Just give me a chance to explain."

"What kind of explanation could you possibly have, you conniving bastard?!" A melee of emotions crashed down on Haru. His nostrils flared as ire set his heart to violent beats against his chest. "You tricked me into riding this boat, knowing I wouldn't be able to get away! What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem…"Rin breathed hard before continuing his reply through gritted teeth, "…is that I fucking missed you too much!" He shot Haru a glare, tears welling up his angry eyes. "Do you expect me to say it was wrong to trick you when you know perfectly well it was the only way I could think of to meet you? I've been looking for you ever since you left, but you disappeared. You fucking disappeared on me! And on our old friends, too! No one knew where you were since you weren't even talking to them. And then I found you, and… I used a voice-changing app whenever we spoke online."

Realization dawned on Haru as he watched tears dripping down Rin's cheeks. When he had contacted Slokrhats via Skype the first time, Rin hung up as soon as he recognized Haru's voice. Rin must also have figured out by then that 激流 [gekiryuu] was synonymous with 七瀬 [nanase], which meant "rapids." 透明 [Toumei] had a double meaning: the first one was "transparent and translucent"—the traits of water that Haru loved and the trait of his watercolor art; the other was "invisible," which fitted his condition, since he had been in hiding for the last five years so that his old friends and relatives could not see him. The offline time had been necessary to launch the voice-changing app before calling Haru back because Rin knew for certain Haru would refuse to speak with him otherwise. Heck, Rin probably used the last three days to find the necessary costumes and to train his voice, though in the end, he still couldn't imitate the app flawlessly.

The oarsman outside snorted, but quickly straightened his face and resumed rowing. The boat had finished its pastoral course and was heading back to the urban hustle and bustle with the approaching Meiji-style bridge at hand.

Rin wiped his tears with his jacket sleeve. When he spoke again, it was barely above a whisper. The rage had faded from his voice. He sounded lonely and hurt. Broken. "Don't leave me anymore!"

Cold fury dispersed throughout Haru's nerves, his entire body shaking. How dare Rin demand that after the deception he had just subjected Haru to! "You dragged me here, fully knowing I'd refuse to draw those swimming postures."

"I was desperate. All this masquerading… Look, my methods were not the most chivalrous ones out there and I admit my guilt in that matter. But I don't regret what I've done if it means finding you. I've searched for you since the day you left, but nobody knew where you were going since you even changed your phone number. What do you think I've been traveling across the country for?" All the while Rin spoke, the message in his eyes was crystal clear: 'Come back to me.'

Haru's scathing look didn't waver.

Rin added in a softer tone, "Makoto, Nagisa, and Rei were worried sick about you. Heck, Sousuke even filed a missing person's report to the police in different prefectures. And Kisumi put up your poster whenever he had the chance."

Haru took in the storm that raged inside Rin's wine-red eyes and the quivering in his lips, but did not answer.

"Haru, give me one more chance. Please." Rin moved, probably to hold Haru's hand if not to hug him, but Haru flinched.

"Easy for you to say, since you're not the invalid in our relationship!"

The schedule board at the boat's starting point came into view. Their boatman outside was waving back to his two colleagues standing next on the canal bank.

Rising to his feet, Haru growled, "I'll do the painting and try the line arts. I'll send you an email when they're done. Never contact me again."

He stepped outside and retrieved his shoes from the rack. The short-lived rustles behind his back told him that Rin was trying to reach for him, but changed his mind midway. The sound died down with what was likely to be Rin settling down on the tatami once again. Haru wondered what expression Rin was making, but didn't dare to turn back.

###

Haru hadn't thought he'd regret leaving Rin at Hachiman-bori…

…until he had been hounded by a thousand what-if's and what-could-be's during the last six days. After all, life had changed their circumstances, but it didn't weaken Rin's love for him. If only he had thought straight and kept his temper back then, perhaps it would be the real Rin, rather than the circle of Rin's pictures, that kept him company at present.

Had his bedroom always been so empty before?

Thinking back, "slokrhats" was an anagram for "lost shark." Given Rin's proficiency in English, it wasn't a surprise that he opted to use that particular language for his user name. Shark had always been Rin's iconic symbol and his number one choice while picking pajamas, mugs, and other merchandise for casual uses. Said shark had lost someone dear to him—Haru—or he felt lost in life because he had lost Haru. Perhaps both. Either way, such a romantic notion was so typical of Rin, Haru mused as he absentmindedly picked up the cutout magazine portrait of Rin advertising swim goggles—one of the works Rin had done for his sponsors.

"Rin…" Haru murmured before he kissed the perpetually smiling portrait. The paper was cool against his lips and it made his yearning for the real thing even worse. Why, for fuck's sake, hadn't he taken a snap of Rin on that boat? At least the photo would make a nice addition to his collection. The disappointment and helplessness persisted in his mind no matter how hard he tried to bury them.

The doorbell chimed.

Who could it be? The nosy villagers had lost interest in meddling with Haru's private life after he firmly rejected the prospective wife whom the village elderly woman recommended him in his first year of moving. Not that the daughter of her close friend had been displeasing in any way, but Haru'd had no intention of transferring his affinity with Rin to another living soul. Thanks to that, some of the village women had started to ignore his presence completely when they happened to meet him in the shops. This worked just fine for him—no more interrupted painting sessions to accept a bowl of stew he never even liked.

The doorbell chimed again.

Languidly, Haru left his comfort nest to get the door. The moment he opened it, his surroundings turned strangely airless. All sounds vanished. His vision tunneled down to the sole figure standing by his door frame—the one he ought to spurn yet yearned to touch. Matsuoka Rin looked no less captivating than he had been on the day they had parted ways.

"Yo, Haru. May I come in?" Rin's voice broke the spell that had held Haru petrified. He flashed a teasing smile. However, the expression came appeared oddly strained; beneath that mask of unrepentant jerk, he undoubtedly knew that Haru was mad at him.

Haru's eyes squinted in suspicion. When Rin had shown up unannounced at Haru's childhood home in Iwatobi sixteen years prior, it resulted in Haru being swept away by Rin's whim to visit Australia. Unlike back then, though, Rin appeared less secure, especially with such a sheen of sweat on his forehead when summer was still over a month away. "How did you find me?"

"By hiring a hacker to track the IP address from your email, of course. I'd have come here sooner if I knew how to do it myself." Although Rin attempted to appear confident, his tone was strained and his body fidgety, like his charade would fall apart. By the end of his sentence, his grin faltered, replaced by a solemn expression—it was the same expression that he wore before he apologized to Haru at the French hospital after that accursed bombing.

Haru would have none of it. He hissed, "I told you not to contact me."

"Which is why you didn't receive any call, text message, chat, or email from Slokrhats." While Rin endeavored to restore his devil-may-care façade, his complexion grew paler by the second.

"Showing up on my doorstep is still contacting me. In fact, that's the most annoying way to contact me."

For a split second, Rin shrunk in the face of Haru's accusing stare. However, he then bent forward to lift the cooler box sitting next to his right foot. He opened its lid to reveal the ten largest mackerels that Haru had ever seen, delightfully arranged over a bed of shaved ice. "But how can I bring you this surprise gift otherwise?"

That explained why Rin was sweaty: it must have been challenging to lug the cooler the whole way from the bus stop. Rin's perspiration somehow enhanced his already ridiculously gorgeous appearance. Backlit by the late morning sun, the trickling beads of sweat looked so damn appetizing that Haru wanted to lick them off the visitor's chin. The scent of fresh grass wafted from him. It was as though spring in all its glory had manifested itself within Rin's figure. There was no escaping this man.

Using the last of his self-control, Haru intoned, "The least I can do is inviting you to lunch as a gratitude for such that gift."

He saw Rin's facial muscles twitch, holding back a triumphant smirk as the host sidestepped to make room for him to enter. Sliding the shouji door closed behind his guest, Haru noticed a medium backpack dangling from Rin's sturdy shoulders when the latter was kicking the shoes off his feet. Dare he hope that the visitor intended to stay overnight?

Haru led Rin to the fridge, where they crammed the mackerels into its freezer, bar one that he would cook for lunch, and another that he set aside for dinner. "Can I get you chilled barley tea or something?" he offered as Rin poured the ice into the kitchen sink.

"That'd be nice. Thanks."

"Step aside." Then, at Rin's raised eyebrows, Haru added, "You're blocking the cupboard."

"It's a lovely kitchen you've got here," Rin commented as he reached for one of the glasses in the cupboard.

"Do you want the mackerel grilled, steamed, simmered, boiled, stir-fried, deep-fried, broiled, or baked?" Haru prompted as he put on his apron.

"Whichever method you feel like doing most right now," Rin said, but the warm smile in his eyes told Haru a non-verbal compliment, You look good in that apron.

Trying his best to ignore the fluttering butterflies in his stomach, Haru began gutting the mackerel at once. Rin watched him with increasing fascination at every movement he made, even while washing the decapitated fish under the running water of the kitchen faucet. It was just like how Rin used to watch Haru cook, an obvious yearning in his eyes, in their shared apartment in Tokyo. Now there was nothing he could do to disremember those good old days. The host finally broke under his guest's overt stare as he sliced the fish open from tail to head along the spine. "You can watch TV or read."

"Isn't there anything I can help you with?"

"Nope."

"Can I at least set the table?" Rin offered.

"You don't know where I keep the crockery and you'll just distract me by asking the location for each one."

"What about―"

"Rin, I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay."

Rin's shoulders drooped dejectedly when he left the kitchen. Still, he obeyed for a good ten minutes. His voice resounded from the hallway while Haru was adding sliced ginger into his boiled sake and mirin. "Haru, where's the toilet?"

"The second door on your right," Haru replied without taking his gaze off the measuring spoon for the soy sauce he was pouring.

He had just mixed a dash of sugar into the broth when a sudden realization hit him. He had assumed Rin's position to be facing the kitchen from the living room. What if it had been the opposite? The door Rin had opened would be none other than…

Haru sprinted down the hallway, dragging his crippled right leg as fast as he could, but he was too late. Much to his dismay, his bedroom door was open. He watched in horror as his ex-boyfriend stood at one side of the outer circle of his own photos and news articles. The moment their gaze met, Haru knew he was doomed.

"I didn't use them for a harmful purpose," Haru made his excuse, voice subdued.

The good news was that age had apparently taught Rin not to display his smugness openly. "Yeah. I noticed the lack of bullet holes, dart marks, and knife slashes."

The bad news was Haru kinda wished Rin wouldn't pretend what he had seen was nothing. When the guest walked toward him, Haru's heart hadn't raced this fast in five years. Nonetheless, the teasing never came. Like a total stranger, the visitor simply strode past him, through the doorway, and back into the hallway. "The bathroom's door is this one, I take it?"

Haru nodded, repressing the urge to slam his head onto the nearest wall. Apparently, getting older didn't necessarily mean getting to know himself better. Even at the moment, he didn't know what he felt. He ought to be relieved that Rin made no fuss about those stalker materials. If so, what was with the pang of disappointment and the unfilled wish that Rin would react keenly about them and use that excuse to shower him with hugs and kisses?

On account of Rin's preference for spicy food, Haru prepared a bottle of shichimi togarashi next to his guest's plate to be sprinkled onto the fish fillet. In their Tokyo apartment, the seven-color pepper had always graced their dining table with its presence, as well. The two men sat on the tatami mats opposite each other across the low table. At the sight of two bowls of puffing hot steamed rice, saba nitsuke, pickled radish, and sliced melon on the low table, Rin murmured, "I missed this…"

Haru couldn't help but smile a little. "I never thought I'd hear a mackerel-hater like you say that."

"Hey, am I not permitted to miss your cooking? Plus, I don't hate mackerel! I just didn't want to eat it seven days a week."

After a few more mouthfuls, Rin asked, "Have you been happy these past five years?"

Pride urged Haru to spout a monosyllabic "yes," but reason insisted he knew better than to speak untruthfully when Rin had seen the melancholy in his paintings. "As happy as a cripple could be. What about you?"

"I got by," Rin murmured with a note of dejection.

They ate in silence for the next few minutes, until Haru rebuked Rin, "Quit staring! You're creeping me out."

"You're beautiful," Rin mumbled before shoving some rice into his mouth.

Haru swallowed. He had to remind himself that he'd be eating lunch alone again for the rest of his tomorrows. But it doesn't have to be that way, a voice in the back of his head said. Just ask Rin to stay. Then another voice argued, But what reason do I have?

Rin insisted on washing the dishes after lunch. He looked relieved to see Haru fumble his way around the kitchen to prepare the marinade for the shime saba dinner.

"Can I see your backyard?" Rin asked after Haru had stored the marinated mackerel slices in the fridge.

Haru blinked. "There are only laundry lines and some common plants back there. Why would you want to see them?"

"I want to compare how similar or how different it is from Gekiryuu Toumei's painting called The Backyard."

Haru shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They passed Haru's studio on the way. The door was wide open, revealing the canvases within. The moment Rin saw them, he veered toward the studio right away, eyes lit up with excitement. He held himself back after just one step away from the doorway, however, as he probably remembered that Haru had not invited him there.

"May I take a look at your paintings?" Rin asked, finally finding his manners.

Since this could hardly be considered as mortifying compared to all the pictures he'd collected of Rin, Haru gave him permission with a nod.

"Oh, fuck… I'm sorry!" Rin cursed as soon as he stood facing the nearest watercolor canvas. "When I put on that sumoka disguise, I didn't think you'd be upset to this degree."

Haru should've seen that coming. With Rin's new skill of interpreting his paintings in such accurate detail, he should have known better than let Rin see that particular painting. It depicted a raging sea, to which Haru applied the combined techniques of water spray and salt sprinkled on a wet wash. While it was relatively easy for any viewer to recognize anger, Rin comprehended far more deeply than that. He knew at a glance that the brush strokes on certain parts of the painting showed the artist's anguish, while on other parts, the artist's ire. Since the painting was still moist, it wasn't hard to guess that it had been recently finished.

Only after Haru had scoffed, "I've started to regret showing you my works, seeing as you can't stop being melodramatic over a piece of painting," did Rin finally shut up.

Rin perused the rest of the paintings, throwing comments here and there. He was close to tears again when he stood before the desk, where the last two pages of Haru's sketchbook showed the illustrations of various swimming postures in preparation for Rin's collaborative project. When Rin reached the last painting—a mixture of watercolor and gouache in gradating harmony on paper—he fell speechless. Nonetheless, the streams of tears cascading down his cheeks spoke louder than any sugar-coated words in the world could ever do.

"That was where I decided to swim professionally," Haru remarked. The particular artwork depicted the ten-lane competition pool of The Sydney Olympic Park Aquatic Centre from the point of view of a swimmer standing on a starting block number six.

Rin wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "I know. I can feel it in this painting … the smell of chlorine, the ripples of clear water waiting to be cleaved by your arms and legs, the feeling of the starting block underneath your toes, the swooshing draft of wind that stirred the water's surface as you jumped from it, the cheers of the audience that wasn't there, and, most importantly, the sudden inspiration to keep swimming that seized you."

"If you hadn't taken me to Australia in our senior year of high school, I probably would have never found my dream, Rin. You showed me mine. Now it's time you show the younger generation their dreams."

Rin looked as if he'd hug Haru any second now, but at the same time, he seemed determined not to vex the artist with further bursts of emotion. His lips trembled as he answered, "Thanks for the perfect book cover, Haru."

And thanks for hauling me back to the world of swimming, Rin. Without you, I'd forget how much joy it used to bring me. Since there was not a chance in hell Haru'd let Rin see this sentimental expression surfacing on his face, he led the other man outside.

Like any other traditional Japanese house, the access to the outdoors was aided by sliding doors. The grin on Rin's face confirmed that he liked what he saw when he was met with Haru's nondescript garden. Most of the plants had come with the house rent. The only ones that Haru added were the three he typically included in his cooking: perilla, Japanese wild parsley, and mustard spinach.

Basking in the warm glow of the afternoon sun punctuated by an intermittent spring breeze, they sat on the engawa. The exterior wooden hallways served as the transition point not only between indoors and out, but also between a guest and an old mate. Haru didn't push Rin away when the man leaned against him and rested that obnoxiously charming redhead on his shoulder. A voice inside his head warned that this wasn't prudent, but he couldn't deny the part of him that wanted—no, was dying for—this. Without Rin, Haru felt suffocated notwithstanding the amount of air he breathed.

Rin simply closed his eyes and commented, "No wonder you love it enough to spend years here. I was such a fool, searching only for the obvious water-lodged towns. Why didn't it ever occur to me that you'd be more drawn to the off-the-beaten-path streams, with water so clear that you can see right through the bottoms?"

"And why didn't it ever occur to you that I simply didn't want to be found?"

Rin sighed. "It did. I just … I was too selfish to respect your one wish. I still am. Haru, I can't live without you!"

Rin lifted his head from Haru's shoulder and clasped Haru's hands in his own. He spoke no more, but the message in his eyes was clear enough—it was the same plea expressed during their cruise in Omihachiman: Come back to me.

Haru had to avert his gaze and free his hands from Rin's. He mustn't get swayed by Rin's radiance when he knew he would no longer be enveloped in it the next day or the day after that. "You should just find someone else."

"Haru!" Rin yelled. Immediately realizing his slip of control, he took a sharp inhalation of breath and bit his lower lip. Only then did he finally manage to speak in a calmer demeanor. "You're right. I suppose I should … only, I couldn't."

Rin's fingers were now clenching the mid-thighs of his trousers. "A long time ago, I told you that I had always admired you. On the first day I met you, it had never crossed my mind before that I could lose to someone. But the frustration I felt vanished when thought there was someone more amazing than me and I wanted to be able to swim like you. That was why it was hard for me when you were not always there ahead of me, showing me what path I should take. Without you, I had nothing to aim for. There has been only you in my life ever since that tournament."

"Rin, we don't swim anymore. You no longer need me. The part of me you used to look up to has long ceased to exist," Haru reminded him with a heavy heart.

Rin's eyes had turned glassy, and from the way he bit his lower lip, Haru suspected Rin was trying his best to hold back tears. "I tried to forget about you, Haru. Just once, a couple years ago, when I started to lose hope of ever finding you again. But you know how when you try not to think about something, you end up thinking about it even more? I just couldn't stop thinking about you and your ridiculous behavior around water and your crazy love of mackerel and your fucking beautiful eyes and how you've been my hope and my inspiration and my soul ever since I met you. So I couldn't forget you, and it hurt to try because it just reminded me of what I didn't have any more and it made me want to find you even more and―"

"Enough. I get it, Rin. But whatever reasons you have, they all belong to the past. We need to face the future."

The running stream gurgled a soothing melody as the cool water lapped across moss-covered stones under the golden afternoon in a distance. A refreshing smell of spring foliage lingered in the wind. The clothes hung on the laundry lines stirred.

"Then, what about this?" Rin broke his silence a minute later. "I showed you your dream once. Since that dream has long expired, now it's my turn to show you another."

Haru blinked.

"I'll show you another view you've never seen before. It won't be the fierce competitions in the pool all over again—we're both too old for that."

You've already showed me the best sight I could have asked for by coming back to me.

Haru had to bite the insides of his cheeks to prevent him from grinning. "Then what are you proposing we do?"

"You know what? I don't know yet. I'll have to find something new for both of us through trial and error…" Rin threw Haru a beseeching look. "If you let me."

It was as if something confined inside Haru had been set free and the burden in his heart lightened. "If I were to allow you, what are the downsides?"

"Ah, I'll probably nag you a lot, like, 'Haru, can you not eat mackerels 365 days a year?' Stuff like that."

"There's nothing new about that. What's next?"

"Uh, the space in your bed will become narrower, given it'll be shared between two persons."

"That's nothing I can't cope with. Anything else?"

"Some random hugs from behind while you're cooking?"

"If this means I won't get any hug except when I'm cooking, I'll strongly oppose that."

For all Rin's dramatic flair, Haru expected that Rin would at least hug him. He couldn't contain his disappointment when one of Rin's hands simply sustained his weight on the wooden planks of the veranda and the other fished inside his trouser pocket.

"If there were such a thing as a chain that binds two people inseparably for all their lives, I'd gladly commission a blacksmith to forge it. Since there isn't, I just have to be content with these." Rin took out a velvet jewelry gift box from his pocket and opened it before Haru.

As soon as the clam-like lid was lifted, Haru caught sight of three objects, all round and golden and shining in the sunlight. Rin took the first one, which was the largest of the three, and slung its ribbon over Haru's neck. "After you were gone, I lived on without ever feeling alive." Rin blinked back his tears. "Whenever I went back from the pool and found only an empty apartment without you in it, I was struck again by how meaningless my life was. The one thought that kept me going was that if I win gold for freestyle—the third Olympic medal that you were supposed to get—I'd have the chance to convince you to return."

Haru remembered watching Rin's interview shortly after the Olympics' closing ceremony, in which the soon-to-be retiring athlete announced that he dedicated his last victory to his anonymous eternal rival.

Next, Rin took one of the two remaining objects and slid it over Haru's ring finger. "Would you marry me and spend the remaining years of our lives together?"

Haru's insides stirred. This was it. The end of his ennui. No more lonely days chasing Rin's empty shadows. Without the slightest spite, he said, "Usually, a man asks first before he puts the ring on his lover's finger."

Haru picked up the only thing left in the box and sat on Rin's lap, straddling him with their faces just a breath away. Then, putting the gold band on Rin's finger, he affirmed, "Yes, I'll stay with you through thick and thin." Then he added as an afterthought, "Husband."

Rin stiffened at that. More tears sprang to his eyes, his self-preservation gone. "Haru, is this real? I finally get to touch you, hold you … after all those years without even knowing for sure that you were still alive. Now, in my hands, you…" Rin did not continue; he probably realized that Haru would scoff at his sappy words.

Nevertheless, Haru understood how it felt when a happy moment he thought he had with Rin turned out to be a dream that vaporized into thin air as soon as he woke up. Those dreams had been haunting him in the last five years. As swiftly as they had come, they vanished all too soon, like snow melting before a furnace, leaving him with unquenchable longing. He kissed Rin's forehead and then pushed him back until the two of them were sprawled on the wooden floor of the hallway. Haru was sure that if they had still been in their early twenties, their current position would have quickly escalated to sex. As age had mellowed their baser desires, he was content to find himself in Rin's embrace with their legs tangled with each other's. He snuggled deeper into Rin's chest, breathing in deeply, letting the familiar scent surround him and bury him in memories of times long gone. "I told you I'd always be with you from now on, silly."

"I-I know … but still…"

"Rin, I feel the same. I'm too scared to lose you even now." His voice was low and barely above a whisper, but there was a subtle quaver to it. It was imperceptible, he hoped. He had never admitted such a thing before. He had kept it trapped behind guarded lips for years, always telling himself that mere words were meaningless without action. At the moment, however, Rin's anxious heartbeat intoxicated him, encouraging him to break free from his past pride.

Rin wasted no time cupping Haru's face and kissing him. Lips locked together and tongues twisted in a flirtatious dance.

There it was, the same old jolt came rushing back, the electrical charges coursing through his spine whenever Rin held him like this. After half a decade, Haru finally felt complete again. All their fights seemed worlds away now, as they lay there together, holding each other as their mouths claimed each other again and again in deep, thorough, loving kisses that sent shivers throughout his being.

As they both panted for breath, Haru rolled sideways so that he no longer lay on top of, but beside, Rin.

Rin stretched his arms upward. "I guess I'd better introduce myself to our neighbors tomorrow then."

"You don't need to."

Rin quirked an eyebrow. "Aren't villagers more meddlesome than townsfolk?"

"Two weeks from now, we'll never see them again," Haru casually answered.

"How come?"

"The house lease will end this month. I'm moving out after that."

"Haru, if it's because of me, I don't have any problem living here. I don't want to ruin your peace-and-quiet."

"There's no way my life could be quiet with your obnoxious voice breaking it every few seconds. You get overexcited about everything, from choosing what to wear to singing cheesy love songs."

"Hey! I have a nice voice," Rin protested with a pout. "But seriously, I fine with going to town once in a while to buy things, but live here any other time. We really don't have to move out."

"I want to."

"I thought you liked it here?"

"It's better than the other place." Haru shrugged, but did not elaborate. Rin didn't need to know about the hellish six months Haru had spent before moving here. The house that he had previously rented was located a stone's throw away from a railroad track. Every time a train passed by, it wasn't only the noise that bugged him, but the furniture would also vibrate as if stirred by an earthquake. Even so, that place was the only one suitable for a wheelchair user he had been able to find on such a short notice. No other property was equipped with height-adjustable storage, ramp access, and handrails throughout the house. As soon as he could stand up properly, he donated his electric-powered wheelchair and moved out.

"If you don't dislike this place, why do you want to leave?"

"I'd rather live somewhere I can find art shops easily. As for the destination, I leave it to you, Rin. While traveling, have you come across a quiet town with breathtaking water scenery?"

"I can name quite a handful of them."

"Then you'll just have to take me there, one by one."

Rin's annoying grin made its comeback. "Thank you."

"For what?" Haru asked, puzzled.

"Why, the invitation to hold your hand in public, of course."

Haru stared at Rin, long and hard.

"I was joking. No need to get mad."

"Fine. Hold my hand as often as you like it. We're no longer famous athletes and advertising models anyway."

"Mm, two old men flashing their shameless romance on buses and trains—I love the sound of that!"

The first drop of rain that landed on the stepping-stone between the veranda and the ground punctuated Rin's comment. Haru scrambled into the room immediately behind them—a versatile room he normally used for ironing—and scuttled outside again with a large basket, undoubtedly to collect the laundry. There were two such baskets in the corner of that room, so Rin took the other one and helped Haru.

"It's quite handy to have you around," Haru remarked as they put their laundry baskets on the tatami. The drizzle had evolved into a downpour all too soon, but the laundry didn't need rewashing, thanks to Rin's quick snatches.

"A compliment from the master of apathy? That's rich." Rin displayed a toothy grin.

Haru stepped back into the garden.

"We didn't leave anything behind, did we?" Rin's gaze scoured the vacated laundry lines. Then, as he glimpsed the expression on Haru's face while standing under the pouring rain, he muttered sarcastically, "Surprise, surprise. Nothing can stop you from enjoying water."

"You sound jealous." Haru blissfully closed his eyes as torrents of rainwater poured down upon him, caressing his face and tingling his body.

"How can I not be?" Rin crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I was forsaken for five long years, while water stayed with you wherever you went."

"Quit being such a dork and join me, Rin."

With wiggled brows, Rin japed, "Is that a challenge, Nanase?" He was already scurrying to Haru's side. To Haru, nothing could look more perfect than a wet Rin standing under the rain.

"Use that surname to your heart's content while you still can. It won't be long 'til it changes to Matsuoka Haruka."

"Haru…" Rin ran his fingers through his hair, mouth curving upward into a grin. "I was actually thinking of changing my name to Nanase Rin. You're the only child. My mom still has my sister."

"Once Gou is married, won't her surname follow her husband's?"

"Oh, she is married already … to her girlfriend, and her spouse is the one taking our surname."

Haru recalled Gou's undying obsession for muscles and wondered if said spouse was a female bodybuilder. He shrugged. "Well, my parents and grandparents are long dead. It doesn't matter if you become Nanase Rin or I become Matsuoka Haruka."

"Hmm… Ooh, I know! Let's ask Sousuke, Kisumi, Makoto, Nagisa, and Rei to vote." Then Rin hastily added, "Unless you don't want to?"

Haru bit his upper lip briefly, but decided, "It's fine. It's time to face them again."

A streak of lightning pierced through the sky, followed closely by the sound of a thunderclap. "Come on," Rin said, "we'd better get inside."

Haru nodded and followed him. They stood beneath the canopy of the exterior halls once again, peeling the clothes off their bodies and wringing the garments of the excess water there so as not to soil the house interior.

"You know, you're awfully compliant today… It actually scares me," Rin reflected.

"Just because you make reasonable demands. I won't do it if you want me to stop eating mackerels."

"I'm wise enough to know not to push my luck in that matter, even though my conscience begs to differ." Rin pecked Haru's cheek. "So, what sort of home are you looking for? A house or an apartment? Your belongings are all still intact, by the way. I hired a portable steel container to store our stuff while I was traveling, so that it can easily be transported with a truck once we settle down."

"You really had high hopes of getting me back, didn't you?"

"What else could I do, Haru? It's the one thing that sustained me to live up to this point."

Haru looked away; it wouldn't do for a man in his thirties to be seen blushing over such a confession. "The type of property doesn't matter, as long as it has a large bathtub. Nothing too big, though, unless you plan to clean the rooms by yourself. Plus point if the place's also close to a swimming pool."

Rin gasped. "Haru! You mean…" Instead of finishing his sentence, he hugged Haru.

"I'll return to the pool as a hobbyist, though, not an athlete."

"Yeah. Me, too." As he laughed, Rin tilted his head back slightly. His smooth, flawless neck was exposed at a tantalizing angle, glistening with raindrops.

Haru leaned forward and suckled Rin's neck gently, his tongue darting out to lick and suck and plant wet kisses along the line of that neck. He sensed Rin's breath hitch. Perhaps this was too soon after five years of separation. However, as he was about to withdraw and apologize, moist lips suddenly captured his. Rin was kissing him earnestly back: lips against lips, tongues teasing each other, shirtless torsos pressed together. They smashed their lips together in a fervent, passionate kiss, and another one after that.

"Bed?" Rin gasped once he had caught his breath after their fifth heated kiss.

"Too far. This room will do." Haru indicated the near-empty room where the laundry baskets had been stored. Age and manners be damned. He wanted Rin. Right now.

The two men shed their trousers and wrung them while they were still standing on the exterior hallway, but they didn't remove their briefs until they were inside. Although Rin's torso was not quite as chiseled as it used to be in his twenties, it remained in a firmer shape than Haru's. Thus, Haru made a mental note not to skip morning exercise from the next day onward.

It'd be a pity to shut themselves away from the heady scent of wet grass, so Haru left the shouji open about a palm's width to allow the fresh air to come in.

"But do you have any lube here, Haru?"

"I don't keep lube in this house."

"Huh? But how do you jerk off—oh, wait, let me guess, in the bath?"

"The shower, actually. It'd be too gross to soak my body in a tub of water mixed with—"

"Okay, okay, forget I've ever asked. Sheesh! The problem is, you know how painful sex can get without lube, right?"

"Not if we don't do anal, Rin."

Rin rolled his eyes heavenward. "Just lie on your back, Haru."

"No, you lie on your back."

With a snarl, Rin complained, "Dammit, Haru! You stroked me last time. Now it's my turn."

Haru stroked Rin's redwood hair and coaxed him, "I have a better idea. Lie on your back and you will have all the chance to make me writhe in pleasure—that's a promise."

Only then did the creases between Rin's furrowed brows smooth out. After Rin obliged, Haru cat-stretched over him, eager flesh precisely hanging above Rin's mouth while his own mouth hovered directly above Rin's pubes. He calculated the angle his throat to take as much of the erection as possible into his mouth. This was the perk of having a similar height to his partner, Haru noted. They were past verbal compliments, but by the perky state of Rin's appendage, Haru knew the sight of his groins had not lost its appeal to Rin. As for himself, he absolutely adored Rin's thighs—how marvelously taut his upper muscles were in contrast to how indulgently soft his inner flesh was.

The first time he had experienced the so-called carnal pleasure was also the first time Rin had touched him so intimately. It had been mutually clumsy hand jobs by a pair of teenagers, but the memory of it burned bright, and Haru wouldn't trade it for all the gold medals in the world.

"Holy sh—Haruuu!" Rin moaned heartily beneath Haru and clenched his fists the moment Haru started to lap at his heated flesh, employing his tongue's flexibility to sculpt to the shape of him, dragging it from base to tip. He spared a glance behind himself, his playfully wiggling ass hovering by Rin's face.

Quick to respond, Rin did Haru the same favor. First, his saliva-moistened lips pressed kiss after kiss on the tip of Haru's hardening shaft, followed by ardent licks. Then that sinful tongue swirled around the whole girth before wiggling it along the underside. He fit the head of Haru's erection into his mouth, the puffs of his breath teasing Haru's crotch. Chatty as he was, Rin mumbled something unintelligible around Haru's girth, and the vibrations sent Haru wild. Exquisite pleasure shimmered beneath his skin even more intensely when Rin's deft hands roamed over every bit of Haru's skin that they could reach, from the intimate caresses across his thighs to the teasing fondles of his testicles to the avid kneading of his buttocks. Those hands ceaselessly pleasured Haru, and so did that mouth.

Rin groaned low in his throat as Haru engulfed his rigid length, tongue working over its veins, flicking over the slit with every bob of his head, and hollowing his cheeks around the girth. Haru chose an unhurried pace befitting his usual demeanor outside the pool. His fingers gently stroked the base of Rin's length, bringing him to full capacity. His tongue slid the foreskin off the head of Rin's cock, fully focusing on Rin's most vulnerable part, making him spill groans freely, uninhibitedly, approvingly.

With Rin's mouth set over Haru's leaking erection, Haru tried in vain not to shudder when Rin swallowed him so deeply that the tip of his erect flesh hit the back of Rin's mouth. Haru wanted that mouth to suck him to completion. It was a thirst that only Rin could satisfy.

Soon, the squelchy sounds of mouths hungrily seeking out each other's erection intermingled with the thunderous rain. Haru observed Rin's oncoming orgasm from the way his toes curled into the tatami, scratching the straw matting below them. Haru sped his movements up, swallowing around him and humming against the length in his mouth. One more swipe of Haru's tongue over the slit had Rin whimpering in ecstasy, his head thrown back and fingers digging more deeply into Haru's thighs. "Ha-Haru! Fuck, I'm gonna―"

Globules of viscous semen jetted into Haru's mouth. He made sure every last drop fell into his throat before withdrawing from Rin's shaft with a loud pop. He had missed Rin's musky taste for so long. It had always given him a higher satisfaction to swallow, though if he had to admit, despite his obsession with liquids, it was Rin's vocal and facial reactions—rather than the taste of the body fluid—that made the whole activity worthwhile.

"Damn, it has been too long since someone touched me there," Rin groaned.

"Nobody touched me for five years either, and yet I don't make excuses when I last longer than you."

"Not for long, Haru. Mark my words."

Taking the head of Haru's rigid flesh into his mouth, Rin swirled his tongue over it once, twice, and then sucked leisurely on the pinkish bit peeking from beneath the folds of skin. Slowly trailing down, he laid his tongue flat and dragged it over one of the balls, then the other. Pointy teeth grazed the skin with measured playfulness, pressing into the sensitive area and making Haru tremble. Rin continued rolling his balls on his tongue, toying with them and sucking them into his mouth. It was already too much; not that they'd never done this before, but Haru always felt breathlessly inexperienced by Rin's proximity.

Still, Rin was far from being over. Now that he was freed from the distraction of Haru's mouth around his genitals, his hands shifted to palm Haru's backside once more and kneaded more vigorously than before. He spread the cheeks apart and plunged one long finger inside pressing in the middle. He rubbed that finger back and forth, brushing against the bundle of nerves right at the center of Haru's ass.

Haru responded with less thought in his brain and more blood to his loins. He closed his eyes, lost in the feel of Rin's satiny warmth over his girth and the muscles of his lover's shoulders flexing underneath his thighs. Haru heard a choking sound and realized with dread that at some point, his hips must have slammed into Rin's mouth in attempt to impale himself deeper on Rin's finger.

"Sorry!" Haru hastily lifted himself. "Are you okay?"

Rin coughed a few times, but as soon those coughs ended, he grabbed Haru's ass again. This time, his hands and mouth switched their roles: the ten fingers stroked Haru's hard length, while the mouth sucked the opening at Haru's rear.

With the amount of time Haru spent on his daily morning bath without his swim trunks on nowadays, he was confident of his rectal hygiene. Nevertheless, when another person's lips puckered over his entrance in addition to a tongue that explored his insides sinuously after half a decade of absence, the heat around him made Haru's mind spin and he couldn't help but give whispery mewls in return, toes curling from the sensation.

Haru bit his lips to keep from moaning further as Rin took him closer to the edge. Even so, the heat built within his stomach was no longer bearable. He suspected Rin was grinning at him knowingly as he kept rubbing his fingers against Haru's straining length with renewed zeal, squeezing it from root to tip.

Climax hit Haru hard, stealing his breath and making all his muscles quiver. There was sound against his lower body—maybe Rin's celebratory laughter—but Haru couldn't think of that or offer a response in kind; he was too preoccupied trembling into release, each pulse of pleasure radiating up his spine to surge like ocean waves in his thoughts. Rin released Haru's spurting flesh at the last second, jerking him through the spasms, and letting white shots of liquid desire paint his face and upper chest in a lewd, slovenly cascade.

"I missed you," Haru exhaled as he plopped onto Rin's recumbent body.

"Don't you think I'll be more appreciative of it if you say that while facing my face rather than my dick?"

A small smile slipped onto Haru's face as he rolled to the side. However, instead of turning his body around so his face was hovering above Rin's, he flipped his partner until Rin was lying on his stomach.

"What are you doing?"

Haru simply pressed his cheek to Rin's ass cheek.

"Haru?! Whoa, wait a minute, so my butt is the part of me you missed most?!"

Haru knew Rin would use that tone for joking, so he went with the flow. Snuggling onto Rin's fleshiest part, he confirmed, "This part of you makes a comfy pillow."

"Haruuu~" Rin protested, wiggling his butt.

Haru gathered his arms around Rin's torso. He was holding it to keep Rin still at first. Nonetheless, since Rin kept rocking, Haru resorted to tickling him on the ribs, eliciting giggles from his lover.

"Hahaha! Stop!"

"No. This is payback."

Like an oversized fish caught in a fisherman's net, Rin thrashed around in Haru's tickling embrace. Only after several minutes of torture, when the redhead panted for air from too much laughing, did Haru stop his tickle attack. Haru climbed his way up, brushing his lips along the trails of Rin's back musculature from waist to nape.

"You're one horrible seducer, Haru. You know that?"

Haru flipped Rin back. His partner looked impossibly adorable—messy with his drying semen splatters. His.

"Bath?" Haru prompted.

"Not gonna say no to that." The muscles of Rin's abdomen undulated temptingly when he propped himself up, and Haru made no attempt to hide how much he enjoyed the view.

"I brought a change of clothes for one night only. You'll have to lend me yours," Rin said as he followed Haru down the hallway.

"Or you can simply be naked for the rest of your stay," Haru suggested, raunchy fantasies already forming in his mind. In the bathtub, amid the splashing water, Rin would groan as he felt Haru's erection jab against his navel. Bracing himself on Rin's sturdy shoulders, Haru would raise his hips, only to slide it downward immediately to admit Rin's hardened length within himself. Then maybe, while basking in the afterglow, he could lean with his back against Rin's sculpted chest, while his partner absently ran his fingers over his thighs, sighing contently into his hair while Haru stifled ticklish giggles. After a few moments of rest, it'd also be nice if he could bend Rin over that tub to fuck him from behind on round three. Perhaps he could even ask Rin to wear the gold medal while they were on it. He had lied about not having any lube, naturally, but who'd be foolish enough to dash across half the house just to fetch it, when something as delectable as Rin in the nude had already been within an arm's reach?

"If I stay naked while I'm here…" Rin asked, arm snaring Haru's waist and breath teasing his nape, "…will you do the same?"

THE END

OMAKE

A guide smiled as she led a group of museum-goers to her favorite painting. "And here, we see our country's most famous painting of the mid-twenty-first century. This is Gekiryuu Toumei's best masterpiece, released posthumously—the artist kept it in his own house during his lifetime last century. His execution of watercolor and gouache on primed canvas is often lauded for depicting the sand in such brittleness, the corals in such jaggedness, and the sea surface in such vivacity, as if the water itself were alive. At any rate, the merman with eyes as clear as blue ocean props himself on his elbows and his tail wags in a relaxed pose, while listening, fascinated, to the red-haired sailor's tale of adventure."

"Why merman, though? Why not mermaid?" one of the younger visitors asked.

"Ah, rumor has it that the merman and the sailor are the artistic representation of the painter himself and his partner, the equally famous author who wrote Complete Guide to Gekiryuu's Paintings and Transcendence, among other things."

Another child commented, "Transcendence? The chick-lit about the reclusive water sprite who emerges from the pool under the sakura tree and falls in love? That's my big sis's favorite! But why do the merman and sailor in this painting look like they're in their mid-thirties, at least? Don't painters usually choose younger subjects for romance?"

The guide's lips curved upward again before she answered, "Well, the couple was said to drift apart in their early thirties, but reunite at the age of thirty-six, and then stay married for the rest of their lives. That's also what gave this painting its title: Ennui's End."

OWARI