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“Haru!” Makoto calls, “Come help me with the tree.”
Haru, the slack bastard, had left Makoto to drag their freshly fallen Christmas tree all the way home.
A tree that was advertised as one of the smaller sizes of the pine trees. A tree that wouldn't even fit through the front door. Typical.
Makoto also was cursing the fact that he was getting no answer most likely due to the fact that he had left a pet-shop catalogue on the kitchen bench.
They were having a sale on aquariums and needless to say he would have a hard time convincing Haru that no, they were not going to buy an aquarium.
“Haru-chan, can you please come and help me?” Makoto calls again.
Patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue.
“Haru-chan! I really need your help now,” He tries.
“I’ll take you to the pet-store tomorrow, if you just help me with this bloody tree.”
A pause. Then-
Haru, at last, emerges from the kitchen. He’s muttering something under his breath and Makoto figures it’s probably good that he can’t hear what Haru has to say.
“So what do you want me to do?” He asks, dejectedly. As if he had been parted with the dream of a new and exciting future.
“You push, I’ll pull?” Makoto suggests.
Haru nods to his taller friend, before trampling over branches to get to the tail end of the tree.
“Drop the ‘chan’.” Haru mumbles.
Makoto smiles.
“Ready? Okay… 1…2…3 -Push!” Makoto grunts with effort, he’ll probably have an abundant village of splinters living in his palms after this, but it would be worth it; just seeing his Haru happy meant everything.
“Bloody hell.” Haru groaned, a bead of seat slipping down from his temple. He was leaning his full weight against the tree in an attempt to shift it forward.
“Come on, you gotta push it harder Haru!” Makoto pants, a frown etched into his features.
Haru grumbles in response and shifts his grip on the stump, shooting a murderous glare at Makoto.
“Let’s swap then. You try and push and I’ll pull. We’ll see how much you like it,” He challenges with a smirk.
Makoto nods in agreement and moves to join Haru at the stump end.
Who knew a tree would cause this much trouble?
Looking down upon Haru’s mop of raven hair, he notices a few pine needles trapped amongst the silky strands.
Haru eyes him carefully as he lifts a hand to brush away the needles. Once they fall from his hair, Makoto finds himself twirling a lock of raven hair between his fingers- it was just so soft.
In all honesty he could run his fingers through Haru’s hair all day. And all night, A dark part of him suggests.
The spell is broken when Haru clears his throat and steps away from Makoto.
“We should finish this,”
Makoto nods, hoping his green eyes weren’t conveying the disappointment he was feeling.
Haru shuffles back to the tip of the pine tree, locking his hands around the thinner section of the trunk.
Makoto sighs and braces his shoulder.
“Okay, Pull!”
With a groan of twisting wood and a loud crack, the tree finally bursts through the door.
Haru falls backwards from the sudden, jarring movement.
“I think we broke the door frame…” Guilt is laced through his voice.
On observation, Makoto did indeed find only a small- almost hairline fracture in the wood. He shrugs it off, not wanting to make the other feel guilty at all.
“Don’t worry, nothing major.”
Haru looks as though he wants to protest, but he decides against it.
“I was thinking we could put it over there.”
Makoto lazily gestures to the Livingroom, over by the space occupied by the fireplace and couch.
The stupid fish-boy protests, of course, claiming it should be placed in the bathroom. Near the large bathtub that Haru put aside so much time for to spend leisurely soaking in it.
If it weren’t for Makoto, the petite fish-boy would have been overcome by illness countless times.
If he was being completely honest with himself, it scared him when Haru fell ill.
Mainly due to the time Haru fell into the ice river when they were younger, the one that bordered the Iwatobi Elementary school. Haru had already been harbouring a high fever, so it only worsened when he presented signs of pneumonia. He then had to spend a few weeks in the local hospital.
Those weeks had been hell for Makoto, full of worry for his bold-stupid-reckless best friend, so he flat out refused to have the tree anywhere near the bath. The fish-boy simply did not need another excuse to soak his life away in that tub.
“Haru-chan, if you would please just help me with this tree. Then we can get to cooking faster.”
Haru sighs, looking irritable, but he complies with Makoto’s order at the very least and the tree is hastily placed in the living room.
Makoto steps back to admire the tree. To admire the fruit of his and Haru’s labour.
Speaking of Haru, Makoto steals a glance at him from the corner of his eye, and finds the boy is curled in a ball on their stained leather couch.
Tired little dork, he silently chuckles and moves to grab a blanket from the cupboard.
If Haru’s going to nap, he may as well be comfortable.
He throws a blue (which is coincidently Haru’s favourite) blanket over his sleeping form and takes care to adjust the material over Haru.
Now he can get started on cooking the gingerbread men.
Preheat the oven to 180 degrees. Check.
Gather the ingredients; butter, sugar, flour, egg… Done.
Makoto had followed all of the steps, but he still felt as though he was missing something important.
He waved the feeling off. Makoto had taken such care to follow the recipe. There couldn’t possibly be anything wrong.
vHe carefully combined all the ingredients, needed and rolled the dough out to the perfect thickness, (so perfect that he was sure even Rei would bestow praise upon him for his beautiful dough) and used a cookie-cutter to slice the dough into twelve gingerbread men that were ready to be baked.
It wasn’t until the gingerbread had been in the oven for around five minutes that he remembered the missing piece.
Makoto had forgotten to put the god damn ginger in.
“Fuckkk,” He cursed quietly.
Haru would defiantly appreciate not be impressed if he woke up to Makoto screaming profanities, but he doubted he would be any more impressed waking up to ginger-less gingerbread men.
Toying with the strings of the blue apron Makoto attempted to come up with a miraculous idea to save the cookies, but what really could he do? They had already been in the oven for around or just over the allocated cooking time, so there was really no point in pulling them out…
That’s when it stuck him, the miracle idea of all miracle ideas.
Haru wakes as the timer for the oven chimes and Makoto rushes to get the tray of cookies out. He wants to get them decorated as a surprise.
He lets out a strangled yelp as he feels warm breath fanning over his shoulder.
“Haru! What the hell?” He exclaims.
“You can’t just creep up on people.”
Haru gives him a deadpan look and steps around the brunet to examine the gingerbread men.
“What the fuck? Makoto… what…?” He grabs one of the cookies and pokes at the roughly cut ginger that had been shoved into its abdomen.
“I forgot the ginger powder when I was making the dough.”
Makoto’s cheeks were burning now, a fierce shade of red.
No wonder why Haru never lets him cook.
Makoto apologies profusely and offers to make another batch, but Haru shakes his head and places his hands on the taller boys shoulders to silence him.
“We’ll just ice these ones,” He murmurs, offering a small reassuring smile.
Anything for Haru.
“I don’t think they’ll taste very good.” He sighs, pulling some pre-made icing from the fridge.
Haru hands him a piping bag—Makoto tries to look like he knows how to use it, but in reality he doesn’t, and Haru can obviously tell, from the two chaotic attempts Makoto has already had.
“Do you need me to show you?” Haru says quietly, looking away from Makoto, pink tinting his cheeks.
Makoto swallows and nods, handing him back the piping bag.
He can’t ignore the sensation he feels when their fingers brush and his breath hitches.
Haru fills the bag with more icing, then hands it back to Makoto.
“Hold it like this.”
Haru readjusts Makoto’s grip on the piping bag, then loosens his grip on the other boys’ larger hands, but doesn't remove his own. Instead he hovers their hands over a cookie.
Makoto swears he forgets how to breathe as Haru guides him through icing the remaining gingerbread men, never once removing his hands.
When the raven haired boy finally removes his hands, Makoto instantly misses the warmth and comfort that they had supplied.
He almost jerks back out of surprise when Haru’s thumb comes up to brush his bottom lip and before he realises he’s let out a very shaky breath.
“Icing,” Haru murmurs, but once he moves his hand to Makoto’s cheek, Makoto believes ‘icing’ is no longer plausible excuse.
‘Icing’ is defiantly not a plausible excuse when Haru slides his hand into Makoto’s soft olive hair and draws him downwards.
Makoto barely has time to lick his own lips before they’re covered by Haru’s.