MAPS [Tamaki Amajiki x OC]

Chapter 17 - A Question

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Tamaki's phone was totaled.

He snuck down to retrieve it when everyone was asleep, using Mirio's phone as his flashlight in the dark of night. His device drowned in a puddle not far from the entrance of their apartment building, screen and case shattered beyond repair. It wouldn't turn on or give him any indication of life.

Haru accompanied him to the store on Sunday after dropping Mirio and Nejire off at the train station, clad in dark jeans, caramel-colored boots, and a burgundy sweater under her black coat. A cream scarf kept her face warm, fluffy around her neck. She looped her elbow through his - at his request - ensuring they wouldn't get separated.

Tamaki tried to hide his blushing cheeks in the thick gray scarf he'd borrowed from Haru, snuggling deeper into his navy coat and pulling her closer. They didn't talk much on the way to the phone store or on the way home; it was too cold for that. But he was thankful for her company anyway.

When they arrived home some hours later, new phone in hand with all of the data transferred over from his old phone, they peeled off their layers and snuggled into the couch to enjoy the pho they'd picked up on the way home. Haru could tell something was weird by the way Tamaki clung to his new phone, eyes constantly fixed on it and acting shifty.

"Everything okay, Tama?" she asked, stirring her noodles.

He winced and grit his teeth, nodding without giving a proper answer. The last thing Tamaki wanted to do was lie to her, so he avoided speaking altogether. His greatest worry was that even if he approached Haru with his evidence (which survived the fall, survived the data transfer too) that she wouldn't believe him. So he had some digging to do. He needed to prepare.

"You've been kind of off since yesterday," Haru continued, wiggling her toes over toward him, burying her chilly feet beneath his thigh for warmth. "Do you want to talk about it? Or is it not something I can help with?"

A soul-deep sigh released from Tamaki's lungs. He met Haru's worried gaze, the concern painted all over her face, and it physically pained him to say, "I... don't think you can help with this, Haru. I'm talking to Mirio about it." The crease in her brow deepened, the frown curved tightly, and he swore he saw a sheen to her captivating eyes.

But Haru nodded, staring into her soup, clearing her throat. "Sure, okay," she said, surprised at the hurt clawing at her voice, "If you change your mind, you know where to find me." She stood, cradling her soup, and walked to her room without another word, closing her door softly behind her.

Tamaki watched her go, his heart sinking fast. "Of course," he whispered to her back, to her door, to the lonely room. "Of course."

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The worry consumed Haru like a fever, eating her from the inside out.

A strange tension drifted into the apartment, between her and Tamaki's every exchange, like a phantom scourge, a tangible fog of uncertainty... and she didn't know what she'd done to put it there. Or how to fix it.

So she did what she could: Haru cooked all of Tamaki's favorite meals, with extra ingredients for his quirk; she cleaned the apartment top to bottom in a fit of anxious energy, unable to sleep; Haru fixed his costume without him asking, reinforcing every seam and juncture with the strongest stitches she could think of, wishing good vibes into every loop and knit and purl. But nothing changed.

Haru turned to Nejire - her just-slightly-older, just-slightly-wiser cousin - hoping that she would have some secret insight into Tamaki's odd behavior. Maybe he did this a lot, or maybe there was a secret to getting him to open up.