They're on the verge of something.
Sometimes Kantarou wonders if eternity is like the endless crashing of the waves as they roll, day after day, into the rocks along the shore, and if whether this time he's allowed to share with Haruka can be stretched into eternity, so that the tengu will never forget the warmth of bodies pressed together, sand underfoot and water swirling around their ankles. It's not unusual for them to come down to the water when the last rays of light cling to the earth, and it feels like they're on the verge of something; something so wonderful it makes Kantarou tremble. Rarely do they speak, and only once has anyone asked to come with them. This moment, whatever it is, is something so powerful that only they can withstand it.
Kantarou's not quite sure what it is, but he knows so long as Haruka is with him he's safe.
Kantarou is like weak tea. He tries so hard to hide everything, but in the end he is transparent. Or perhaps Haruka has just been with him too long, that he can read his master without much thought, instantly picking up on each change of mood. As Kantarou grows older he's become more reclusive, sitting alone with a serving of sake and musing over papers for hours at night. He doesn't mind when Haruka watches from the doorway, standing perfectly still and not so much as breathing, for all the sound he makes. At first he thought Kantarou couldn't sense him there, but one night he turned around, eyes /knowing/, and since then, Haruka hasn't doubted his master.
'/Haruka-chan is my most precious/-'
For as long as he can remember, Kantarou hasn't known how to finish that line. When he goes to speak the last word falls from his lips and is left hanging in silence, left to be found at a later date. It's Haruka's eyes that throw him. As he looks up into them, words seem so trivial, too trivial, really, for them to convey how dear Haruka is to him.
Perhaps that is what he is waiting for, the moment when he can tell Haruka just how precious he is. The sea is trying to tell him, pounding out the word over and over, but he has yet to realize it, still struck by how powerful the crash of the waves are. If eternity is like this, they'll stand by the shore forever and listen to the roar of the waves, feelings conveyed not by voice, but by the proximity of their bodies.
They're on the verge of something, but neither suspects that something is love.
The voice is a whisper, breathed over skin as the dark claims the room, leaving them to feel each other's presence, hands brushing along stomachs and thighs, carefully working through the layers of clothing. Haruka has never abandon himself like this to someone, but he can't help it, not when Kantarou is whispering his name and stroking his skin, so undeniably /close/.
Yet for once, it's he who has power over Kantarou. In the faint glow from the moon, Haruka watches the silver of Kantarou's hair spread out on the tatami, his thin arms pinned above his head by Haruka's own large palms.
The voice doesn't order, only pleads, but it's maddening all the same. Haruka leans down and presses his mouth to Kantarou's. It's the only way to silence him.
'Someday I'll become part of the sea,' Kantarou says, leaning back against the cold rocks. 'Will you still come here, so that I can swirl at your feet?'
Haruka doesn't have to voice his answer.