Archive of Our Own ^beta

          “Listen, it’s ‘cause I haven’t had some in forever…!” Natsuya reasons, like it’s enough an excuse to have emptied Nao’s fridge of his entire week’s supply of eggs and milk to whip up an ungodly portion of sweet tamagoyaki. His hands are stuffed in his pocket in his defense but he balls them in frustration anyway. “I mean can you believe they don’t have special rectangular pans in some countries?”

          “I can believe it, yes,” Nao replies, placating and placid. It is enough— Natsuya doesn’t even have to explain himself, because Nao isn’t even mad. He’d stopped at scolding him just once, just for the sake of it, because Natsuya’s already offered to pay for groceries with money he saved up from gods know where until he can find his own apartment, because being a freeloading backpacker sucks and Nao’s apartment can’t count as a homestay. Besides, Nao will get his revenge when he puts a couple of expensive bottles of spicy seasoning in the cart later while Natsuya isn’t looking.

          “I tried it with a regular round pan, and it was the absolute worst thing I’ve seen in my whole life. No cap,” Natsuya narrates loudly, uncaring for the people waiting and watching the red pedestrian street light with them. “Like I wouldn’t even try to give Ikuya that disaster. That’s how bad it was.”

          Nao hums noncommittally in acknowledgement, hand coming up to catch the cloth of the elbow of Natsuya’s jacket when the light turns green and they get swept up crossing the street, because albeit reluctantly he’s grown willing to lose Natsuya to his wanderlust and dream-chasing wherever the hell in this world and across whichever ocean he damn pleased, but not to a crowd in a busy street in Tokyo on their way to the supermarket.

          Natsuya doesn’t notice that Nao’s holding onto him until he lets go once they’re across, so he doesn’t make anything of it. Instead he lets Nao tread ahead of him for all of two seconds, just to muse about how he’s never, ever had to worry about losing this pretty lilac-gray in a sea of strangers, before stepping up to walk in stride with him, maybe make more small talk about the sad reality that the rest of the world is missing out on everything Japan has to offer, sweet tamagoyaki and Nao both.

          He’s already drawn a breath, all ready to breathe out a reiteration of his misgivings with travel and a reconfession of how Nao makes him feel, but he holds it at the sound of someone yelling “Coach Serizawa!!” and at the sight of Nao turning around with all the grace in the world to respond with a pleasantly surprised “Oh, Misaki-kun?”

          Natsuya has an odd passing thought, that the kid running up to them now, with his short dark hair and bright red eyes, reminds him of a couple people who remind him of the irony of grounding himself to something like water just because it’s where he can be himself and with the best of his friends. He doesn’t think on it too long because he remembers the kid—Misaki— called Nao ‘coach.’

          Misaki skids to a stop before Nao and bows. Then he bows again, a little lower, when he sees a stranger standing next to him.

          Natsuya brings his hands out of his pockets to wave awkwardly and relieve him of the urge to be courteous to him or pay him any attention, and with a final, respectful nod, Misaki happily turns to Nao to greet him.

          Natsuya’s drawn to the unsubtle lean in Nao’s posture to accommodate Misaki after he guides the three of them aside so as not to get in the way of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk— circumstance could be better, but it doesn’t look like he minds. Nao’s greeting back simply, soft on his face and in his tone, “Good afternoon, Misaki-kun. I’m happy to run into you.”

          Misaki grins sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head. “I ran off to catch up with Natsume last time and only got to talk to you and Coach Tachibana a bit, so I’m super excited to see you!”

          Misaki is mirthful, the pure embodiment of innocent bliss, when he goes on to gush about how even though he got depressed when Nao quit and left his side of town without saying anything, having Makoto as a coach has been just as helpful and motivating, as was finally getting to swim with Natsume again, and Nao takes it all in with earnest interest and affirmation.

          Natsuya could watch in awe all day; sure, admittedly selfishly, even after swimming with global champions he’s found himself ultimately unsatiated without Nao around for it, but he does truly admire the passion with which Nao pursued the path he chose for himself, the sincerity with which he helps hopefuls, the warmth with which he’s done all of this, all this time.

          Learning more about what Nao does and how he does it, however, can wait till the next time swimming’s brought up, which is never before too long between the two and among the lot of them from Iwatobi. And, staring at Nao can wait till the they’re back in the privacy of his apartment, ankle-deep in light, shallow, flowy, noiseless conversation conveniently inserted in between arguments about the right way to shelve replenishments into the pantry of his mini kitchen.

          So Natsuya tones it down for now. Amidst some reluctance of his own he’s learned to deny himself of Nao, because he’s gotta act stubborn every once in a while and prove that he’s not utterly hopeless on his own, and also because international calls are ridiculously expensive when they pile up. It helps that he has some semblance of shame and self-awareness, too: he remembers that not everyone is as taken with Nao as he is—though he’s not sure why, really, it’s incomprehensible at best— and Misaki’s gaze isn’t stuck on Nao every second he’s speaking.

          Natsuya doesn’t miss it, he can’t exactly, the way Misaki’s eyes drift away from Nao regardless of whether it’s his turn to speak or listen, intent for the moment they’re on Natsuya before coyly jumping back towards Nao when he gets caught, by Natsuya or by himself.

          Natsuya has another passing thought, less odd: kids all over the world sure are the same; their eyes widen and sparkle at the unfamiliar, more curious than ever cautious or suspicious. It’s a sentiment close to Natsuya’s heart, of course, but he wonders what Misaki is marveling at. Children will gawk at foreigners because they can’t help it, but Natsuya’s fairly certain that he looks perfectly Japanese, and he’s fairly certain that they’re in Japan, so he’s clueless.

          That is, until Misaki cuts short-as-can-be his explanation that he was going to the shopping district around the block because Natsume mentioned a specific character strap from a specific deep-sea video game that can only be bought during this specific promotion season at specific branches of a specific goods store, and, spending his Sunday looking for it to have one more thing to share with Natsume outside the pool wasn’t a difficult decision for him to make at all— all to finally look directly at Natsuya now, unabashed because he doesn’t even consider that he could be wrong when he comes out with it: “You’re the one Coach Serizawa was always talking about, aren’t you?”

          Misaki’s voice is high and shaky with belated nervousness and thoughtfulness, and Natsuya’s caught so off guard by the candidness that he wonders if he even heard him right.

          Misaki continues animatedly, hardly pausing for breath: “Whenever I got sad about missing my best friend Natsume and wanting to swim with him again Coach Serizawa cheered me up by telling me he had someone like that too! Someone he did his best for all the time even if they were apart… like, overseas…!”

          Natsuya expects himself to react ridiculously at the idea that Nao talks about him to his kids of all people, but all he feels is a bit choked up and plenty glad to be on Nao’s mind even while he’s busy at work, because Nao is always on his. He gulps, keeping his eyes on Misaki but turning his head in Nao’s direction, half-smirking, half-joking, “You like to show me off that much?”

          Before Nao can attempt any answer Misaki’s surged forward, toward Natsuya, positively beaming, “So it is you!” He glances at Nao as if for approval but doesn’t wait because he just can’t. “Natsuya-oniisan, right? Can I ask you about what it was like in America? Have you been to Australia?!”

          Now even if he were able to resist those red sparkly eyes, Natsuya can’t help his personal, vain eagerness to share stories from when he was abroad. He’s mulled it over before, grieved it actually, that over the phone and uncomputed time differences or through texts and unvoiced homesickness, none of his adventures ever really got told at their full, glorious potential. To top it off, Nao and Ikuya, different in manner and nature but similar in terms of importance to him and the need to impress all the same, are so hard to please— in the end Hiyori’s the only one who at least pretended to be entertained.

          Meanwhile, little Misaki here is genuinely ecstatic, and Natsuya’s overcome with want to complain to someone who cares for once, even if it’ll burst his little bubble if he told him that Japanese food anywhere else in the world is near impossible to eat or make. But just as he bends at his knees to level Misaki with such devastation, Nao grabs at his elbow, and it’s more deliberate this time.

          Natsuya’s not surprised that Nao’s hold on him is firm, to stop him. These are children whose faith in the world Nao nourishes as an educator, and Natsuya’s not about to wreck that just because he missed sweet tamagoyaki, jesus christ. Nao tilts his head at Misaki kindly in vague promise, “Maybe next time?”

          How anyone could not melt into submission at Nao’s voice alone, Natsuya isn’t sure either, but again Misaki proves to be stronger than him, tensing with clear defiance and doubt and pouting at Nao’s offer. “When’s ‘next time’ supposed to be? You don’t live near anymore and,” Misaki points an accusing finger at Natsuya, “that oniisan might fly away again, you always talked about that too…”

          When Natsuya moves to examine Nao, it’s just to check what he’ll do, see if he’ll give in to one of his kids like he’s eventually learned not to with him, since club managers can’t spoil their captains rotten. But Nao’s face is blank, like it’s taking him much time and effort to figure out how to react. It almost isn’t like him, but then again not really, because he’s good at sorting out everyone but himself when it comes to this sort of thing.

          He shrugs it off; for some reason Nao acts like Natsuya hasn’t been aware of how he makes Nao feel, how he makes him miss his ass— which is expected because too in touch with the part of him that would never hold a swimmer back from going places, he never did confess any more than confidence and pride in Natsuya. But on the other hand Natsuya is well aware, because even a renowned coach will turn him down under the ruse of less-than-ideal muscles (whatever the heck that meant), crazy speed and talent and all, if he can tell that what Natsuya swims for isn’t out in the open ocean.

          Natsuya’s come to terms with the fact, getting serious with it even, believing in his heart of hearts that their feelings resound with each other’s, and he won’t hesitate to sing it out. So when Nao’s grip loosens Natsuya crouches down and puts his hands on Misaki’s shoulders, putting them at the same eye level. “Truth be told, I’ll be staying in Tokyo for a good while.” He tosses a sidelong smile over to Nao to make sure he’s also listening. “Y’know, I’ve been all over the world but it turns out my dream’s right here… There’s people I wanna share my dream with first, then we can take on the world.”

          Misaki’s eyes light up anew at that, lovestruck, and Natsuya can feel his shoulders shaking in excitement as soon as he registers the words. He sings his own feelings out: “I wanna swim with Coach Serizawa, too!”

          At the prospect of seeing Nao in the water instead of just by the pool, Misaki’s completely forgotten about asking Natsuya for tales of his overseas adventures. But Natsuya forgives it, and more as a knee-jerk reaction to the stir of a longing he's harbored for what feels like years now than anything, he admits, “That makes two of us.” Then he jumps back up, straightening himself. “Maybe next time.”

          “Again with ‘next time,’” Misaki groans, crossing his arms— Natsuya recognizes it as a universal gesture of childish disappointment.

          “I say this to everyone, but I’m sure you already know,” Natsuya starts, because with these words his next technique always works: he reaches a closed fist out towards him. “As long as we keep swimming we’ll probably meet again.”

          Pout gone instantaneously, Misaki nods, hurrying to uncross his arms so he can touch his own knuckles to Natsuya’s. “We’ll definitely meet again! Coach Serizawa, Natsuya-oniisan too…!”

          “Yeah!” Natsuya chuckles, full and hearty. “And when we do, I’ll tell you all about what it’s like on the other side of the world.” As he’s pulling back he spots the look on Nao’s face, something akin to yearning in his eyes as he watches the motion of his hands inching into his pockets again. It makes Natsuya pause, the languid motion and for quick thought. “Or maybe I shouldn’t tell you— don’t you wanna keep swimming and try to see the world for yourself, Misaki? …With Natsume.”

          “See the world… with Natsume…?” Natsuya swears he can hear Misaki’s poor tiny heart combust spontaneously at the idea. His cheeks are on fire and Natsuya’s sorry he’s not sorry that they’ll hurt for hours after this from how hard Misaki’s smiling. Not a second later Misaki has to physically shake the idea out of his head to get his focus back. “Right…! I still have to buy that mascot Natsume wants…!”

          Nao has enough of himself to be scared that Misaki might hit his head with how low he bows, bite his tongue with how fast he says “I need to go now, nice seeing you, Coach Serizawa, nice meeting you, Natsuya-oniisan!” or trip with how hastily he starts sprinting, but he has no choice but to hope that he’ll be fine running on adrenaline like that when he rounds the corner and disappears for good.

          He feels like he’s just been through a whirlwind somehow, and it takes Nao a relaxing breath on his own and that reassuring smile from Natsuya to gather and recompose himself, sighing to get a late and no longer needed explanation in just to fill the sudden dead air: “That was Kuramoto Misaki, he’s one of the kids at the pool where I worked part-time. I regretted that I never got to say goodbye properly when I switched campuses.”

          “I guessed,” Natsuya agrees, rubbing the back of his neck idly. He’s also scared having sent Misaki off all giddy like that, but Natsuya has enough faith to compensate. He grins, eyes crinkling at the corners in sheer goodwill. “Seemed to really like you… You’re pretty amazing, Nao!”

          Nao raises an eyebrow, nonplussed, though he means it when he counters, “You weren’t so bad yourself.” Nao can cultivate dreams but Natsuya? He just straight-up gives them to people. Having been a captain-club manager combo for a significant part of their lives makes it so Nao already knows this about Natsuya, but it still takes him aback and impresses him whenever he sees it happen. He could watch it in awe all day, too. He’s not going to say that out loud, though, so he opts for good old teasing: “I heard from Asahi that you terrorized his baby nephew at Marron—”

          “—This ain’t about me!” Natsuya whines. By the playful roll of Nao’s eyes he realizes he didn’t even deny it. That’s fine and dandy, he’s never been the delicate one; in every sense of the phrase, Natsuya thinks, it’s just always been Nao. He jerks his elbow at him playfully. “Seriously, you’re doing incredible, Nao… swimming your own course.”

          “Just doing my best,” Nao corrects, ignoring the way his chest tightens at the praise, unused to being on the receiving end and used to being humble. “You’ve done well too, Natsuya… You’ve found yourself a dream here.”

          They could go back and forth all day, and Natsuya wouldn’t care if they do. Because his heart’s skipped a beat at the feeling that he’s done right by Nao, and banter doesn’t have to wait till after they stock up, so he shoots back: “Stop making this about me.”

          “Oh but this is about you,” Nao insists, spinning on a heel and starting his way toward the supermarket like originally intended before Misaki came around. He looks over his shoulder at Natsuya, batting his eyelashes at him through his glasses and tutting, “The reason I’m out and about today is because Natsuya had to go and use up all my eggs and milk just for sweet tamagoyaki—”

          “It’s ‘cause I haven’t had some in forever, and…” Natsuya slumps when Nao faces forward and makes to act like he’s leaving him behind. “Hey Nao, are you listening?!”

        He’s not. Nao drowns it out until Natsuya draws up beside him trying to have a mundane conversation they’ve had literally a few minutes ago on the other side of the street. Except it’s Natsuya grabbing at Nao’s arm now, unurgent and clumsy and affectionate all at once, because he’s never been worried about losing Nao, not even now, especially not now— and also because he’s paying for groceries.