Work Text:
It takes a long time to bring Goro home.
Home, for Goro, is Kurusu's little 1K apartment in Osaka, years and miles away from everything that happened when they were teenagers. He can't say exactly what happened, partly because Sae had threatened him severely about jeopardising the case against Shido, and partly because he has no fucking idea anyway.
This is what he knows:
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He'd woken up in hospital covered in scars and old burns.
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No one knew who he was, not even himself for a while, but he'd rattled off Akira fucking Kurusu's phone number by memory because it was the only one he'd had.
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There had been crying. So much crying, and yelling, and at some point Kurusu had been dragged out of the room by a tiny nurse, which had been funny.
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Sae came around, Goro gave a shoddy, hole-ridden testimony, but Shido had gone to prison for life.
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Goro had gone to rehab, and then also to prison for a few years. Prison made sense, rehab less so. Rehab assumed there was a life worth living for him.
-
He is out of prison now, and Kurusu had been the one waiting to pick him up with his hands shoved in his pockets and that tiny, infuriating smile on his face.
So. That's what little Goro has to go on.
If he's honest, he's still overwhelmed. The city is unfamiliar, even more so considering he hasn't been outside in years. He'd sat beside Kurusu on the long overnight bus from Tokyo to Osaka, then stood beside him again on the train home. They've barely spoken a word to each other, Kurusu quiet as always and Goro too stubborn to start first.
"I got another futon for you," Kurusu says, motioning to the two neatly folded futons in one corner of the room. "I, uh, don't have a spare room. I'm lucky to afford a door between here and the kitchen, hah."
"It's fine," Goro says. He nearly adds, better than prison, except that he knows Kurusu knows that too. It doesn't sound as acidic when you know the person you're talking to will just use it as an excuse to bond over shared experiences.
He hasn't tried reconnecting with Kurusu, not really. He hasn't asked why he's in Osaka instead of Tokyo, or where Morgana is, or why he's taking Goro in instead of dropping him off at some halfway house for wayward souls. Goro's still getting used to speaking much at all. He hadn't been kept in solitary, since the justice system didn't even know the worst of his crimes, but there hadn't been any reason to socialise with the other prisoners except to assert that he isn't anyone to be messed with. He did what he had to do, no more, but certainly no less.
Now, he watches Kurusu putter about the space as though Goro is just some regular guest and not whatever the hell they are to each other. There's something frantic and fragile about the way he does it, like the fluttering heartbeat of a tiny prey animal.
Does he fear him? If Kurusu were a rational person, then the answer would have to be yes. Kurusu should fear him. Even without counting their past, Goro is a mass-murdering ex-convict. He's bigger, stronger, and more ruthless than Kurusu has ever been.
(Goro knows better than to assume his old rival would react predictably, though. He'd thought, more than once over the years, that Kurusu might be just as insane as Goro is.)
"Have you tried kushikatsu?" Kurusu's voice breaks through Goro's thoughts. "It was invented in Osaka. We could go somewhere, have some for lunch. I'll need to restock the fridge, anyway."
Has Goro tried it? He can't remember. Mostly he reviewed sweets for his food blog, and bought from the konbini otherwise. He shakes his head. "No objections."
The voice that comes out of him is low and rough. He doesn't speak to people much. He remembers a time when he'd used words like a weapon, spun stories to worm his way into people's minds and gain their adoration. It had been Kurusu who'd kept quiet and let Goro run his mouth. Maybe the difference is why Kurusu keeps looking at him so strangely, like a deer frozen in the headlights.
Goro sighs and goes to slip on his shoes again. He rolls his shoulders, muscles still aching from the overnight bus. He can feel Kurusu's gaze on his back.
He'll learn to navigate this new life soon enough. He'll get a job, move out, and reimburse Kurusu for all the expenses associated with taking him in. He hadn't needed to, but Goro… well. Goro would have had nowhere else to go. He knows how to be grateful.
Once, Goro had imagined himself in love.
He'd considered himself largely unaffected by teenage hormones until he was about eighteen. Coincidentally, that was the age he'd been when he'd met Kurusu for the first time. Even now, he remembers the strange and savage flutter in his chest, the heat that would pool between his legs, the way his stomach would drop and Goro would hunger for more, more, more. His love wasn't a pleasant thing, could never be. It had felt like starvation. It had felt like he was dying.
They'd orbited each other like a moon and its planet. Helpless in his gravity, Goro could only want, and every non-answer, every lie, every quiet nod from Kurusu only made him more desperate. Goro had found himself spilling more truths to Kurusu than he'd ever told anyone else, all in an effort to make this stoic boy react.
Notice me, Goro had wanted to say, had wanted to grab Kurusu by the shoulders and shake him until love fell out. Desire me. Don't look away.
Pathetic.
The tension had built and built, until all of a sudden, it snapped.
Frantic, breathy gasps. The hard line of Kurusu's clothed cock against Goro's own, thighs bracketing Goro's waist, school trouser seams straining for their life as they rutted against each other like animals. Kurusu finally, finally making noise, a sweet high moan so unlike his usual deep voice that Goro had committed it to memory with a savage possessiveness. It had been—necessarily—fast and efficient, less a lovers' tryst and more like a release of dangerous pressure.
It wasn't enough, but it would have to do.
Goro never got another chance to do it again. He'd murdered the thing he thought was his first love, then died himself, came back, died again, and then, well. It was all skin grafts and painkillers and physical therapy and then prison, eventually. There were more urgent things to think about than some ugly, tragic love story.
Goro doesn't know if that teenage desire died too. Some part of him hopes so; another, smaller part hopes it hasn't. Sometimes Kurusu looks at him and Goro feels eighteen again, wanting and wanting like a starving beast. Sometimes, Goro never wants to see his face again.
It's… fine. Whether he is or isn't in love with Kurusu doesn't matter. Goro will never be able to have him.
Life with Kurusu is strange in its normalcy.
Every morning, Kurusu wakes up first and rolls up his futon. He's not a morning person; he stumbles around, knocking into things and swearing until he starts making coffee. Somehow, he's suddenly alert, hands practiced and steady as he pours hot water over the grounds. He makes enough for three cups—one for Goro, one for himself, and another to pour into an insulated bottle full of ice and milk and sugar, which he then shoves into his bag.
("Don't tell Sojiro," Kurusu had said with a smile, as if Goro even could. "I'm kind of addicted to iced lattés now.")
On the days Kurusu has work, breakfast will be toast and blackberry jam. When he doesn't, he goes all out: rice and soup and grilled salted fish and pickled vegetables, and sometimes there will be a plate of cut fresh fruits.
Goro still doesn't have a job, but Kurusu says it's fine. It's most certainly not fine, but most places won't hire a visibly-scarred ex-convict, even one without tattoos. He keeps himself busy by volunteering at a charity for ex-yakuza twice a week.
(He'd met the Cleaner there once. He doesn't know if he was recognised, but the Cleaner—now going by Nishimura Tatsuya, apparently—looked directly at him, and nodded as if in approval. It seems the whole world really is moving on.)
In the evenings, if Kurusu doesn't have a bar shift, he'll make dinner. No matter what he cooks, it's always delicious. Goro has learned about so many different regional dishes by now; it's as though Kurusu collects recipes instead of postcards wherever he goes. Hoto from Yamanashi prefecture, jingisukan from Hokkaido, demi-katsu from Okayama, and cold sanuki udon with grilled fish and a little squeeze of sudachi from Tokushima. There are plenty more that Goro can't name, as though Kurusu is rubbing it in his face that he's been all over the country. A free man.
Goro can't remember the last time he had instant noodles, or even a microwaved meal from 777. Kurusu always leaves him leftovers to heat up, with a little pink sticky note and a smiley face. It's insanely domestic, and Goro has no idea when he'll be able to pay Kurusu back for it. Kurusu even gives him money for his ICOCA, which he can't even refuse because he has no other way to get to the few job interviews he does get.
The worst thing about living here, though, is being so close.
Their futons are a few feet apart from each other, but Goro can fall asleep to the sound of Kurusu's quiet snoring. The couch is also small, and Kurusu's body warmth seeps into Goro's bones, and there's nowhere to escape. Goro's skin prickles with the knowledge of Kurusu's proximity. It's too much.
Goro hadn't been in solitary, but he'd had a cell to himself. Prison though it was, he'd appreciated that distance from other inmates. Now he shares a one-room apartment, and he's forgotten how to navigate around Kurusu's things and the history between them.
And he wants.
It's a savage ache, and Goro is eighteen again, and there is no one like Kurusu in the entire world. He wants to get away, but his dreams are full of porcelain skin and the teasing glimpses of scars whenever Kurusu's shirt rides up too high. Were any of them marks Goro had given him all those years ago? Had he ever cut himself into Kurusu's body like he's dreamed of, formed into the shape of his violence? He wants to feel them against his fingers, the ridges where Kurusu's flesh had knit itself together. Goro still recalls the taste of Kurusu's skin on his tongue from back then, too smooth, unmarred. He'd never gotten the chance to even get his shirt off.
He never will.
Kurusu has done more than enough for him. Goro would be homeless, penniless, and probably dead in a ditch somewhere without his help. Kurusu hasn't made any indication he wants to start anything like that with him, and Goro can't blame him. This is enough. More than.
He just needs to keep telling himself that.
It's a beautiful sunny day when Kurusu takes Goro out to the mountains.
There's enough room in the train carriage for them to spread out more, but Goro finds himself sitting right beside Kurusu anyway. The Takarazuka Main Line takes them aboveground, whizzing north past the wards and suburbs of Osaka. Goro hasn't been out this far in his search for a job, and he stares out the window, thinking about how much everything looks like Tokyo, anyway.
When they get off at Minoh Station, though, there's a palpable difference. The air is different here, a little fresher maybe. Minoh may be a city, but it's a far cry from the busy centre of Osaka. Outside the station, the road rises up in a gentle slope, and the smell of freshly-baked pastries wafts over from the nearby shops.
"Ever eaten a maple leaf before?" Kurusu asks casually. He takes the lead, crossing the road and looking back to make sure Goro's following. He doesn't need to do that, since there's a massive sign pointing the way, but it's… kind of nice. Goro gets the sense Kurusu's been itching to show him around more.
"No," Goro replies. "I assume you're going to tell me they're actually edible?"
"I'll let you be the judge of that." Kurusu goes up to a little souvenir shop and examines their wares. It's the kind where all the goods are laid out on a table outside, while an ageing shopkeeper stays indoors, dealing with customers through a literal hole in the wall. Another difference from the big city, then. Goro can't imagine being so trusting.
Kurusu picks up a little plastic bag of leaf-shaped things and pays. "They do different flavours, but I got an original," he explains. "Try it, see if you like it."
The remains of summer warmth makes it impossible for the leaves to turn red, but it seems the demand for autumn snacks waits for no one. Kurusu holds out the open bag and Goro takes a piece, examining it. It's small and delicate between his fingers, the batter golden-brown, smelling of sugar and sesame. He pops the whole thing into his mouth.
Sweetness, bright and warm, like a sunbeam through the windows of their shared apartment. Goro closes his eyes, but he still sees Kurusu's anticipatory smile even in the dark.
"So? What do you think?"
It tastes like being happy.
"If I still had my food blog, this would have a place." Goro opens his eyes. Kurusu looks pleased, and the sugar runs down Goro's throat. "It's better than I expected."
"Great. There are loads more shops uphill. Let's keep going."
The path to their destination is paved, and the slope is gentle, but the sun beats down on them and makes Goro start to sweat anyway. The dense buildings begin to give way until it's more forest than town. All the while, Kurusu keeps the bag of sweet fried leaves in his palm, bag open in invitation. They take pieces out with their sticky fingers, patiently waiting their own turn, hands never meeting.
They finish the bag by the time they get to insectarium, about a fourth of the way up the path. Kurusu is not particularly keen on looking at bugs, but Goro drags him inside anyway. The money he uses to buy their tickets is technically Kurusu's, though, and he mentally adds it to his list of things to pay back.
"Have I finally found your weakness?" Goro wonders aloud as he examines a stag beetle behind glass.
Really, though, he's looking at Kurusu, who's standing hunched in the centre of the room like he'd really rather be anywhere else. He's somehow found the singular point in the room where he's farthest from every glass enclosure. Impressive. Kind of pitiful, too.
"I've been through worse." It comes out casually, and to anyone else Kurusu would have seemed relaxed, but Goro knows better. "I've literally fought Mothman."
"You found Mothman cute. You find these insects frightening."
"I'm not scared! I'm just not a fan of things that have more than four legs."
Goro laughs. It comes out rasping and sharp, like a sick dog more than anything. He hasn't laughed honestly in years.
He ignores the way Kurusu stares at him and moves on to the next section.
Towards the end of the insectarium's one-way system, they enter the butterfly garden. Here, at least, Kurusu doesn't seem to mind the bugs that fly around. He particularly likes the vibrant blue ones, but shrieks and ducks when one tries to land in his hair. Goro nearly laughs himself sick.
"It's a Metaverse thing," Kurusu says later, attempting to defend himself, but Goro doesn't believe him. He'd never seen any butterflies there.
They leave the insectarium, and Kurusu immediately buys another bag of tempura maple leaves. He keeps it for himself this time, refusing to share with Goro as revenge for forcing him to interact with bugs.
"I used to like watching ants, as a kid," Goro says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't look at Kurusu, preferring instead to look down the side of the road to the ravine beneath. "My elementary school class had an ant farm one year. Someone also had a pet beetle they'd caught. I remember begging my mother for one, but she refused."
"You were a pretty brave kid," Kurusu comments. Magnanimously, he offers Goro a single fried leaf, which he takes.
"Not where it counted."
The path takes them further up the mountain, past a complex of Buddhist temples and deeper into nature. It's impossible to completely disconnect from the modern world, what with the paved road and steady stream of tourists heading up and down. Still, it's closer to being lost in a forest than Goro has ever been in his life. On one side of him is the river, flowing fast and far below him, tumbling over pebbles and red mossy boulders. On the other side is Kurusu, outlined by greenery, smiling as he pops another sugary treat into his mouth.
Not long ago, his world had been narrowed to the four walls of his cell. It's ridiculous how much has changed, all thanks to the man beside him.
All too soon, their destination comes into view. Goro hears it before he sees it—a powerful rush of water tumbling down from the top of the gorge. It's almost enough to drown out the sounds of people gasping in amazement, of children laughing and running around, of vendors hawking their wares. The mingled scents of grilling fish and sticky-sweet candies are dampened by the smell of greenery and pure, clean water.
The falls are beautiful. It's a cascade of water plummeting over the side of the gorge, at least thirty metres tall by Goro's rough estimate, and framed by trees just beginning to turn red. Goro has never seen a real waterfall in person; he hasn't really thought about it until now, but it's true. Whatever he's seen on television doesn't match up to the real thing, and he knows for a fact that this is small compared to famous giants like Skógafoss and Niagara Falls.
"You like it?"
Goro turns to face Kurusu, who's hanging back for some reason, hands in his pockets and slouching like a teenager. He's got a small smile on his face, and he's watching Goro like he's the marvel of nature.
Stop it, Goro tells his traitorous heart. Just stop.
"It's certainly different."
Kurusu huffs. "You're a hard one to please. I should just take you back to the bug place."
He comes closer to Goro until they're shoulder to shoulder, both gazing out at the view ahead. Goro becomes very aware of the warmth and shape of his body; softer, perhaps, than he'd been in the height of his Phantom Thievery, edges filed off into round shoulders and delicate wrists. There are scars there too, remnants of tight metal and a brutal interrogation, but it doesn't detract from the sight at all.
The blood rushing through Goro's ears drowns out the sound of water. He wants.
God, how he wants.
"Let me take your photo," Kurusu says. He pulls out his phone, a beaten-up old thing with—of course—a peeling Phantom Thieves sticker on the case.
"Why? I'm not much to look at these days."
Kurusu lowers his phone. "You really think that?"
"Kurusu, I know that." One side of his face is covered in burn scars, and the other is weathered from his time in pain and prison. He's as far from the charming, sweetly smiling Detective Prince as anyone could be.
Kurusu opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates. It's not really like him to be so uncertain. "I don't mind it, you know."
Of course he doesn't. He's Kurusu Akira, self-sacrificing to a fault. He'd never let on about his discomfort to a friend—and Goro is a friend, as strange as it feels.
He drops the subject. "Fine. Let's take the damn picture already."
They take one together. Goro turns the burnt side of his face away and smiles the way he used to for photos. Kurusu stands only inches from him. In Goro's mind, he imagines he can feel the air shift as Kurusu smiles, the apple of his cheek displacing molecules of oxygen and nitrogen with the sheer force of his joy, until they touch Goro's own, marred skin. It's a ridiculous thought, insane, really, and Goro allows himself to despair at the realisation that he has never moved on from the melodrama of being eighteen.
Goro only allows the one photo. Instead, he leads Kurusu to the row of wooden benches next to the food stalls, and they sit, watching the waterfall together. The heat of the day has only gotten worse, and Goro's clothes stick to his skin. The waterfall is too far away for the spray to be of any help. Even so, he finds himself unwilling to leave.
It's strange. When they were young, it was always Goro inviting Kurusu out. He was always the first to text, something that makes his stomach twist in embarrassment now. Now, it's Kurusu reaching out, and it's Goro taking unwarranted pleasure from the attention. He knows it's only because Kurusu is a bleeding heart, because he sees a friend in every pitiful person he meets, and Goro is the least deserving of all. Still, to have Kurusu's attention is… nice. More than nice.
Goro takes in the sights, the scents, the sounds. The roughness of the bench beneath his palms, still warm from the body heat of the last person who'd sat in this place. The taste of sugar still lingering on his tongue. He wants to preserve this memory now, for the inevitable future when he is alone again.
In the end, it's him who decides when they leave. He buys an overpriced bottle of water from a vending machine before they go and downs about half of it in one go. Kurusu remains a quiet presence by his side, and they begin the descent to the real world together.
"Thank you," Goro says, "for bringing me here. I… enjoyed our time here."
"It is nice, yeah. One of the first places I came to see after I moved to Osaka. It's not the same, but the gorge… it reminds me of home, a little. The good parts of home."
They're interrupted by a scream. Goro whips around on instinct, but it's only a little child, screeching in delight as he finds something on the ground. Goro is prepared to ignore it, but as the child's chubby fingers reach for it, whatever it is flies straight at them.
To Kurusu's credit, he doesn't scream. It actually sounds more like a strangled whine, and he trips over his own feet in an effort to avoid the flying insect. He tumbles to the ground.
Goro can't help it. He bursts out laughing.
The child starts giggling too, and his harried parents keep apologising. The bug is long gone. Kurusu is still on the ground, looking confused and still mildly terrified, and it's the funniest thing Goro's seen since… well. He doesn't even remember.
"Come on," he says, grinning, and holds his hand out to Kurusu. "Stop making a spectacle of yourself."
"It's my specialty." Kurusu takes his hand.
It's electric. Goro's hand grips Kurusu's like a vise, and it takes all of his considerable self-control not to tremble. It's as though all this time, his body has been asleep, and it bursts into life from this one point of contact. Sluggish blood begins to stir, a still heart begins to beat. He's falling, falling from the top of the mountain, plunging into the cold, unknown depths of the river below.
A tug on his arm, and Kurusu is up again. His fingertips brush against the inside of Goro's wrist as he draws his hand away, and Goro wants to chase that high so badly. He refrains, and shoves his hand into his pocket to stop it doing something stupid like reaching out again.
"Thanks," Kurusu murmurs.
And of course, Goro had already known that Kurusu is real, that he's flesh and blood and right in front of him, but he remembers the soft warm hand in his and thinks, deliriously, that nothing in the world had been real until right in that moment.
That deep and aching want inside him grows into need.
Goro gets a job.
It's not much, but it's something. He's a part-time shop assistant at the Osaka Aquarium Kaiyukan. He's surprised they let him in, what with his looks and his record, but the manager interviewing him seemed to have a soft spot for strays. It had helped, probably, that he'd spent longer in physical rehab than he'd had in prison, and that he'd been young when he'd started working for Shido. Nozomi-san is the only one so far who's ever done the maths.
Goro probably deserved far longer in prison, but he digresses.
He's not allowed to think of anything negative, according to the rules of the evening. Kurusu has taken him to the fanciest sushi restaurant they can afford in order to celebrate Goro's employment. It's an overwhelming amount of kindness for an underwhelming achievement, and Goro doesn't really know what to do with it.
"I can tell you're being mean to yourself," Kurusu says, casually placing a tuna nigiri on Goro's plate. "Again."
"Have you added mind reading to your list of talents, now?"
"Working on it."
Despite himself, Goro laughs. He tries to disguise it as a scoff, but it's a pitiful attempt.
"Reckon you could score us free tickets to Kaiyukan? We could have a redo of Shinagawa."
"Doubtful." Kurusu looks genuinely disappointed, and the sentimental part of Goro hates it. "I… there's a friends and family discount. At both shops."
The way Kurusu visibly perks up is unfairly cute. "I want a whale shark toy."
"Then we'll get you a whale shark toy."
The drinks flow. Goro unwinds, little by little, with every bite of delicious food and every sip of cold beer. Kurusu is a giggly drunk, and his head keeps tilting as though he's lost the strength to keep it upright.
"I miss Tokyo," Kurusu confesses. "I've got everyone's numbers, but it's not the same. Ryuji keeps sending me amazing memes, though."
"Why aren't you there?" Goro asks. It's something he's been wondering for a long time. "I would have thought you would prefer to be there."
"I would. I would, but…"
Maybe it's the beer, or maybe they've just grown up, but Kurusu is wearing an expression Goro has never seen on him before. Shame.
"Tokyo was everything to me. But when I arrived, I… I don't know. I wasn't well. I have so many good memories of Tokyo, but my doctor said I probably had PTSD, that the whole city was a trigger. I didn't know it could work that way." Kurusu shrugs and eats another piece of sushi. He's trying so hard to appear unaffected, even though clearly, he still is. "It got to the point I couldn't even take care of Mona, I was so lost in my head. When I realised that, I left everyone a note and took an overnight bus wherever. It happened to be Osaka."
"Surely they would have tracked you down? I can't imagine Sakura not finding you."
"It wasn't about hiding. I just needed to be somewhere else. They all visit."
People are so obsessed with Kurusu that Goro's surprised no one offered to move all the way to Osaka to be with him. Maybe they did. Kurusu's the self-sacrificing sort; he probably told them not to.
"Why isn't Morgana with you?"
"Oh, he was. He's my best friend! I have him on a time-share with Haru, and he's with her now, since, ah…"
"Since I'm here."
"Right. I was going to bring it up after you got more settled here."
Of course. Kurusu will want his own space back, and the roommate he prefers. Goro's plan has always been to move out, anyway. This isn't anything new.
"If you have any recommendations for cheap neighbourhoods, I'll move out as soon as I can," Goro says.
Kurusu has the audacity to look hurt. "What?"
Goro looks down at the remaining pieces of sushi before him. Delectable, high-quality, expensive, but just the sight of it now makes his stomach churn. He shoves his chair away from the table and stands.
"I need some air. I'll see you outside."
"Akechi?"
Goro doesn't wait. He doesn't look back. He strides out of the restaurant, barely aware of Kurusu calling out after him. The night air is much cooler outside, even though he's still in a covered shopping street. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, hiding himself from the stream of late night shoppers by lurking beside a large potted plant.
He doesn't know why he's so upset. It must be the alcohol making it harder to force it all down. He's always known this could only be a temporary measure; Kurusu is too good a person to leave him struggling to survive, but Goro cannot make the mistake of assuming their arrangement could continue indefinitely. He's got a job now. Kurusu will probably give him enough time to search for affordable places to live, then Goro will have to pack his bags.
Goro's been doing this all his life. Somehow, it hurts every time.
Unfortunately, he only gets a few moments of peace before the restaurant door opens and Kurusu steps out. He looks around wildly before he spots Goro, then visibly relaxes.
"Did you think I'd make you walk home alone?"
"No. You left pretty abruptly, though. I got them to put leftovers in a box."
Kurusu steps closer. Goro realises his mistake too late, and now he's trapped. Sure, he can overpower Kurusu and run away, but that would make a scene.
"I don't resent you," Kurusu says, "for anything. Whatever you can think of, I've already forgiven. I want you here, Akechi."
"You sent your best friend away," Akechi says.
"And he'll come back, and all three of us can live here. Or… or if you don't want to live with him, then he can stay with Haru." Kurusu's voice cracks a little, but his resolve is firm. "He's not unhappy there."
"Damn it, Kurusu, I'm not some—some homewrecker."
It's the wrong thing to say, because immediately Kurusu's mouth presses into a thin line, and he looks like he's holding back laughter.
Goro groans. "You know what I mean."
"No, tell me more about how you're coming between us. You're ruining our marriage."
"Don't."
"It makes sense, I'm even Mona's next-of-kin at the vet. We've been thinking about kittens too, but we're not ready yet."
Goro drags his hand down his face. "Kurusu!"
"Call me Akira and I'll stop." Kurusu—Akira smiles at him, all cheeky and cute. "I think we've known each other long enough for that."
"Then… Akira. Please shut up."
"Shutting up now. Goro."
Something about Akira's deep, smooth voice saying his given name makes Goro shiver. It's been a long time since someone's called him by name like that. He's had fans who have done it, all empty-headed idiots who put an imaginary version of him on a pedestal. The people who'd fostered him all did it too, but none of them with the same quiet fondness he can hear from Akira. It's tender, knowing. It makes the hairs on the back of Goro's neck rise, but he likes it.
"Want to go home?" Goro asks. His words are deliberate, and he knows Akira picks up on it by the way he perks up and nods.
Oh, so now he's not talking. What a little brat.
Goro pushes himself off the wall and falls into step beside Akira. The night feels a little cooler now, the crowd less of an annoyance. It's a little bit of a walk to their place, but it's a pleasant one tonight.
Their home.
What a wonderful thought.
Things change between them so fast Goro's almost dizzy with it, and yet, some things stay entirely the same.
Akira keeps cooking for them both, but now he sends Goro off to work every day with a cute bento and a handwritten note telling him to do his best. Their schedules don't always align, especially when Akira has a bar shift, but they've somehow worked out how to have a movie night twice a month.
Akira's all touchy with him now, too. It's as though by giving him permission to call him by his first name, Akira has taken every liberty he can think of. He taps Goro on the arm or shoulder to get his attention, he grabs his wrist when they're in crowded places, and he has fallen asleep on Goro every single time they've had a movie night. It's got to be contrived, and yet Goro can't bring himself to stop it.
And sometimes, like right now, Goro will wake up to see Akira still asleep on the futon beside his, early morning sunlight crawling from the window and onto his soft cheek. Sometimes, like right now, it will be Goro who reaches out and lets his hand touch Akira's skin. The contact makes him bite back a gasp.
Akira wakes slowly. He blinks blearily at Goro and smiles, as though it isn't such an earth-shattering thing that his first instinct upon seeing Goro is to be happy.
"Good morning," he says with a yawn.
They both have today off. Akira had told him that he'd planned some kind of outing for them both. Goro hopes it's to somewhere as pretty as Minoh Falls, but he'll be happy enough even to go to Umeda to window-shop in the high-end department stores. Akira has been annoyingly tight-lipped about it all.
They start their routine. Futons get put away, and Goro heads to the bathroom to change and freshen up. By the time he comes out, Akira has made a very simple breakfast of tamago kake gohan for them both, and the single table they have is already set with their bowls and chopsticks.
"Itadakimasu," they both say at the same time and dig in.
"So where are we going today?" Goro asks.
"It's a surprise! But you should wear decent shoes. Something you don't mind getting muddy."
Goro only has a pair of beaten-up trainers. He doesn't think those really count as decent, but he doesn't mind them getting muddy, and he knows that Akira has the same. Well, at least it doesn't look like they'll be staying in the city today.
After breakfast, Akira gets dressed, while Goro washes the dishes. He then takes his turn to brush his teeth, and only after they're both left the apartment does Akira give him a clue.
"We're taking the train to Wakayama," he says while walking, "then we're switching to another railway that doesn't take ICOCA, so we'll have to get day passes when we get there."
"Wakayama?" Goro asks, intrigued. He remembers learning about every prefecture back in school, and he can still recite a litany of facts about each one. "Did you know Wakayama is the top producer of mikan in the country? It's also the only prefecture in the Kansai region with a population of less than a million."
"Huh."
"What?"
Akira laughs. "Nothing. I just like hearing you nerd out about things."
Goro doesn't dignify that with a response.
The train journey is long, and Akira predictably falls asleep on Goro's shoulder. He itches to take Akira's hand, resting so invitingly between them.
Whatever they are to each other, Goro has no idea. Akira has never fit neatly into any box, and neither has their relationship. He knows Akira is the brainlessly sentimental type, though this level of being so physically comfortable around him is new. The domesticity, the casual affection—it all points towards something Goro desperately wants but is not stupid enough to hope for.
He's determined to get answers today.
Upon arriving at Wakayama Station, they transfer to another platform, to switch from Japan Rail to the Wakayama Dentetsu. The signage is all… surpringly cute.
"Why is it all cats?" Goro deadpans.
"It's Tama!" Akira says blissfully. "She's a deity now."
That explains… precisely nothing, but Akira looks so pleased with himself that Goro figures he'll find out what he means later. They purchase day passes and are given little postcards with a big blank space in the front. Apparently, they're supposed to stamp it.
"This doesn't make sense," Akira mutters as he walks away from the stamping station, tilting the postcard left and right.
Goro peers at his own stamp. It's very yellow, and doesn't make any discernible picture, but he's seen something like this before. "This is only part of it," he says. "I assume we'll have to collect other coloured stamps at different stations, and together they'll make a cohesive design. It's like colour printing."
Akira makes a noise of understanding. "That's clever. And the idea is pretty good, too." He gives Goro a wink.
Oh?
Their train pulls into the station, and… it's cat-themed. Of course.It's mostly white, with patches of orange and black like a calico coat, and it has ears. The doors open, and a horde of families and couples comes out, chattering excitedly. Goro grabs Akira by the arm so they don't get separated, and they step in.
Inside is unlike any train he's been on before. It's all furnished in light wood and cartoon cat wallpaper, there are cat-shaped decorations everywhere, and there are only a handful of normal seats, with others being plush-looking sofas. On one end of the train, Goro can see a large bookcase, and people are already borrowing books to read.
To anyone else, Akira would look completely unbothered. Goro knows him well enough to see that he's freaking out. This cat train must be a dream come true for him, although there are no actual cats to pet.
"Come on. Let's sit down." Goro ushers Akira towards a small two-seater sofa. It's angled a little like a loveseat, so their sides press against each other. Goro closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and calms himself.
"This might be the best day of my life," Akira says. "We haven't even seen the cats yet."
Goro stares at him, then at the themed interior of the train. "I take it you mean there are actual, living cats to see?"
"Yup. So, there used to be a cat named Tama who was the stationmaster here. She'd basically just greet people and be cute, but thanks to her, this railway was saved from closure. People loved her so much that after she died, they put up a shrine for her, and now she's a daimyojin. Officially, she's called the Honourable Eternal Station Master Tama. She had a successor, Nitama, but she passed away at age 15, and she's an attendant deity for Tama now. Yontama and Gotama are the stationmasters now, and there's a Rokutama who's in training."
This might be the most Akira has ever spoken at once. "What happened to Santama?"
"Oh, I heard she bonded so much with her trainer that she got adopted! She's a stationmaster too, but in Okayama instead."
It's kind of adorable how excited Akira gets about this. He really is a cat person. This definitely wouldn't have been Goro's first choice for an outing alone, but with Akira? It's easy to indulge him. The sight of his happy face is somehow even more beautiful than the idyllic countryside they're travelling through.
Kishi Station is the end of the line, and it seems to be where everyone is getting off as well. Goro sticks close to Akira, and they just about manage to get off the train without bumping into anyone else. The crowd heads towards the exit, but Akira tugs Goro back to look at something else.
"The shrines are here," he says. "Look."
Tucked against the side of the station building are three shrines, each with their own pathways and signage: Ichigo, Omocha, and Tama. Goro wonders if the other two were also cats who lived here.
He hangs back while Akira visits Tama's shrine, more interested in finding another part of the stamp design. He has Akira's postcard with him too, so he stamps them both once he locates the little podium with the ink pad. This time the colour is blue; the picture turns into a vibrant green where the inks mix, forming trees and grass with a bright sunny sky above. Goro was very careful to position the second stamp perfectly.
"Already done?" Goro asks when Akira approaches.
Akira nods, then tilts his head, listening. "It sounds like there are still a lot of people in the station. I guess they're all taking photos of Yontama."
"Well, no point staying on the platform. Maybe we should head outside the building and see some of the town while we wait for the crowd to finish up."
There's a sudden warmth on his wrist, and Goro looks down to find that Akira has, again, wrapped his hand around him. "Sounds good. Lead the way?"
There's something not normal about this. Or is it normal for them? Goro can understand it from himself; after all, he's been insane for Akira since he was eighteen. He knows that at least some part of his interest is reciprocated, or they wouldn't have had their desperate attempt at sex that one time.
He mulls it over as he leads Akira into the station building, past the crowd gathering around a glass display, and out the other side. It's far cooler out here, with far fewer people. Across the street is a tourist information centre. The area they're in must be on a hill, because the roads slope down behind the building. Perhaps they can get a good view from there; Goro leads them towards it.
Once they've crossed the street, he hears Akira gasp. Goro whips around, but it's only a sound of delight, not alarm.
"Goro, look at the station!"
"What do you mean?" Goro obliges, and then sees what has Akira so excited. "Oh God."
"It's cat-shaped! It has ears! Goro, take my photo," Akira demands.
"I don't know if it's cat-shaped, but that definitely is a shape," Goro mutters, but he'll indulge Akira. It's kind of cute to see him act like this. He feels just a little bit like a put-upon boyfriend taking photos of his spoilt girlfriend for social media; he's seen the type all over Tokyo. The thought of it makes him flush, though if anyone asks, it's simply the day's heat.
There's only a little bit of a view of the river below the hill, so they head back to the station building. There's a souvenir shop, because of course there is; Akira picks up a set of tiny towels, each one embroidered with a cartoon version of a stationmaster cat.
"They're Imabari towels," Akira says defensively, as though trying to justify himself. "And I can't just get one. It'll get lonely."
When Akira's back is turned, Goro pays for the whole set. If he's going to play the part of a put-upon boyfriend, if only in his head, he'll go the whole way. There's no better use for his paycheck than fulfilling a fantasy.
The shocked smile he earns is totally worth it.
At the station café—Tama-themed, of course—Akira buys them both iced matcha drinks while they wait for the crowd to thin further. It's appreciated; breakfast seems a long time ago, even though it's only late morning. It feels as though they've already done so much.
"You know," Akira says as they take their seats, "this is sort of revenge for the bug museum."
"I'm not afraid of cats?"
"No, but it makes me feel better to say that than to admit I've been dragging you around places you're not even interested in." The little pinch in Akira's brow tells Goro that he really does feel unhappy about it. "I thought it would be fun for us both."
"I am having fun." It's not even a lie. "It's quite different from the city. It's also amusing to see you like this."
"Like what?"
To hell with it, Goro thinks. Akira's been oddly flirtatious all day. "Happy. Doing what you want instead of being dragged around by your obsessed friends. You're very excited, and it's even cuter than usual."
Akira chokes on his drink.
He doesn't seem to know how to react to that, but there's an extra bounce in his step when they finish their drinks and head out. By now, there's no one left inside the station, and they have all the time in the world with the famous stationmaster.
"Yontama," Akira coos, approaching the glass.
Yontama is asleep in a little "office" separated from the rest of the building by a window. There's a large photo of her affixed to the wall, showing her title, Super Station Master Yontama. She's on a cat bed, but there's also a cat-sized couch and various ramps for her to climb, and Goro can see that there's a whole other room behind this immediate section, to where presumably she can disappear when she's had enough of people. At the moment, though, she's as on duty as a sleeping feline can be.
Akira takes several photos of her, and then several more. Goro, once again feeding into his own boyfriend fantasies, takes many of Akira posing next to her as well.
"I can't believe I'm finally seeing her," Akira whispers, "and she's asleep. This is the best day of my life."
"How many pictures do you have of Morgana asleep?" Goro asks.
"More than you can ever guess."
All too soon, though, they have to bid Yontama farewell. The next train is arriving shortly, and Akira also wants to see Gotama, who's on duty at a different station. The sight of Akira's genuine disappointment at leaving his new cat friend is pitiful enough to move even Goro's cold heart.
"You should let Morgana come back," he says, standing next to Akira on the platform. "His home is with you."
Akira bites his own lip and looks up at Goro, eyebrows pinched and upturned. "And… with you?"
"If you want me there."
Akira turns his head away quickly. He doesn't respond with words, but his cool hand slips into Goro's, sending a jolt down his spine.
Their train—plum blossom-themed—arrives right then. They wait for the crowd to spill out and board it; unlike the Tama Train, this one has no cartoon cats, but is beautifully decked out in traditional wooden latticework and floral washi paper. It even smells good, which Goro has never been able to say about any other commuter train.
"This is nice," he murmurs, leading Akira to sit together. Neither of them have let go of each other's hands.
Akira squeezes him once, very gently, and the expression on his face is soft.
The mood is different on this ride. They spend it in silence, quietly absorbing the elegant surroundings and the pretty countryside they're speeding through. Their palms get very warm, but Goro can't find it in himself to pull away.
It's only fifteen minutes to Idakiso station, and it's much less crowded when they arrive. Only two other people get off along with them. Goro immediately spots the stamping podium, and he brings Akira along while they let the others meet the cat first.
"I want to do mine," Akira insists. Goro hands him his postcard, and with a flourish, Akira presses the stamp into the perfect position.
Goro goes next, but despite his best attempts, it's just off. He groans; this is going to bother him for the rest of his life. It would have been a very cute picture as well—this stamp, with its red ink, has completed the entire design. It's a flowering meadow under a blue sky, dotted with orange trees and strawberry plants. Goro's fruits are a little off from where they should be. He tucks the postcard into his pocket anyway; he thinks he'd like to keep this memory for a long time.
"Of course, yours is perfect," he mutters.
"I have to keep you on your toes, don't I? Even when the stakes are much lower."
"These were extremely life-threatening stakes, I believe. I won't lose to you again."
Akira simply laughs.
Inside the far smaller station building, they find Gotama in her own, much simpler glass-walled office. Unsurprisingly, she is also asleep, but this doesn't cool any of Akira's excitement.
"May I take a photo of you together?" Goro asks.
"Please. Ah, why not one of all three of us together?" Akira beckons him closer. "I haven't gotten a photo with you all day."
Goro's initial instinct is to balk at the suggestion. But it feels stupid now; they've already taken that selfie together at the waterfall, and he knows Akira doesn't mind his appearance. Goro can just turn to one side and hide his scarring. It's… fine. It'll be fine.
He approaches and leans down until he's near Akira and Gotama, carefully positioning himself so his best side is facing the phone camera.
"You don't have to hide, you know," Akira murmurs. "I get why you're doing it, but… you don't have to. Not with me."
Goro's breath hitches, and his finger presses the button. He doesn't know what the photo ends up looking like; he doesn't dare look.
"I'll, ah, take that into consideration."
It's at that moment that Gotama wakes herself up with a sneeze. Akira whips around so fast Goro gets flashes of Joker in his mind.
"Good meownying, Gotama-chan," Akira whispers frantically. "Wait, or should I say nyafternyoon—nyo, still definitely meownying."
That's it, Akira has officially lost it. Goro might be losing it too, because this is just too adorable.
Gotama observes Akira, curiously flicking her ears and her interestingly-hooked tail, before slowly closing her eyes and going back to sleep.
"That's it," Akira says, "I can die happy now. Yaldabaoth take me."
"You're not going anywhere," says Goro. "Come on. Let's see what's around here."
The town is… well, a regular town right outside the station. Immediately, Goro is struck by the sweet scent of osmanthus flowers. It grows stronger the further they walk from the station, as they pass by houses with lush gardens, slowly opening out into wide green fields. They stop by a little roadside stall for Akira to buy fresh fruits and vegetables. They go in Akira's shoulder bag, which isn't the best place for them, but it leaves their hands free to—
To what? Would they hold each other's hands again? Goro doesn't know. He won't—can't presume, because if Akira gives him an inch he'll take a mile, and he doesn't want to devour this fragile thing they have now.
"I have another plan for the afternoon," Akira says, "but it involves a lot more travel, if you're not too tired. Or do you want to go home?"
Goro shakes his head. He's only tired from the warm weather; with some lunch, he knows he'll be fine. "I can keep going. I want to see what you have planned."
It's the right thing to say. Akira smiles at him, all soft and tiny, and Goro is reminded all over again that he would—and did—kill and die for this man.
Their train back to Wakayama City is named the Tama Museum, which has yet another completely different feeling. The wood and paint are darker, but it still feels cozy. There are framed pictures of the different stationmaster cats, gacha machines, and a play pen for small children. Goro's more interested in the seating. There are loveseats with tables, sofas around a television screen, and even a pair of swings facing each other, which he and Akira immediately claim. The sensation of being in a swing whilst also being on a moving train is strange but fun, and he's glad that of all people to have this experience with, he's with Akira.
"Hey," Akira says. He's lifted his feet off the ground, giggling while the train's motion swings him back and forth. "Remember when you said you wished we could have met sooner?"
Goro couldn't forget if he wanted to. "Faintly."
"I think I would've liked to be a kid with you." Akira swings closer to Goro, and he taps the tip of his toe against his knee. "I know I've been acting differently today, but, ah, thanks for indulging me."
"Did you forget what I said earlier? I like it when you act like this. Stop acting like it's some kind of great burden to spend the day looking at cats with you." Goro lifts his feet slightly, enough that he feels a little out of control. "I'd almost say it's rather self-centred of you to think that way."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then stop assuming. If you think doing things you enjoy is childish, then… then we'll get both our wishes. We'll be children together."
Fuck. Has Goro ever sounded so ridiculous in his life? Not even his most insipid interview answers have embarrassed him this much. Akira has a habit of drawing the truth from him, though, always has even when Goro had much bigger secrets to hide than his inconvenient feelings.
Akira's cheeks are a pretty pink, though. He can't regret it too much.
They talk, and they sway, and they make a game of tapping each other with their shoes. The train pulls into Wakayama station, and there they eat a quick lunch, pork-filled steamed buns and peach sodas, before getting onto their next train. Akira tells him that they're heading south down to Aridagawa, near Yuasa. Goro recognises those names from the orange juice and soy sauce bottles he used to buy back when he lived alone. He wonders if Akira plans for them to go see the factories.
The train passes through the city, and then later into smaller towns, but Goro still catches glimpses of the surrounding nature. On one side there is the ocean, and on the other side, lush green mountains. It's breathtaking—it's like nothing he's ever seen before. They pass through a segment of farmland, but it's not flat like Goro would have expected. Instead, hundreds upon hundreds of terraced steps line the steep slopes, full of trees heavy with bright orange fruit.
They get off at Kii-Miyahara Station. To Goro, who grew up in Tokyo and lives in Osaka, the surrounding town looks impossibly rural. The buildings are low, and are a mix of houses and large warehouses made of corrugated metal sheets. Several signs are for different agricultural cooperatives, which only adds to the effect; even Kishi and Idakiso still had a touch of something touristy about them.
"The place should be somewhere… this direction," Akira says, and begins to walk. "It's about 30 minutes from here."
Goro's theory about visiting a factory is seeming more plausible by the minute.
It's a little embarrassing how relieved he is when he finally spots a convenience store. At least this place has one. Goro hadn't thought he'd ever miss the characteristic colours of 777 until he was surrounded by agricultural warehouses.
It's not all bad, though. He doesn't hold Akira's hand again, but they walk so close together that their shoulders brush, and it makes Goro's stomach leap every time.
"We're here!" Akira says triumphantly. Goro looks up at the sign above their heads: Sugai Farm. "We made it in time."
"Did you… have a reservation?" It didn't seem like Akira had been hurrying at all. In fact, hadn't he asked Goro if he wanted to go home?
"I do. I didn't want them to turn us away, but I, uh. I wasn't sure we'd get this far."
That's an odd answer. Goro wants to press him on it, but an employee comes up to them and welcomes them.
What follows is another brand new experience for Goro, and seemingly for Akira too. They join a group of other visitors and are treated to a short lecture on the history of mikan farming in the Arida district, how to tell when the mikan are ready to be picked, and how to identify the most delicious fruits . They're shown the local way to peel them, too—or rather, how to eat them without bothering to go through the hassle of peeling.
They get to practice the method and actually eat some mikan too. The burst of sweetness on his tongue, so bright and sharp, might be one of the best things Goro has ever tasted.
He's still not particular about his food, but living with Akira has changed his relationship with it. Food is no longer just survival; it's no longer a job. It's pleasure in its purest, most innocent form. It's Akira's satisfied smile as he perfects another new recipe. It's sweet, simple happiness shared with a friend.
"Are you all ready to try picking your own fruits?" the farm employee asks, and the whole group says a resounding yes! "Let's go!"
Now, Goro understands why Akira had asked him to wear shoes he wouldn't mind getting dirty. The farm is, of course, a farm—the pathways between the trees aren't paved, and Goro kicks up little clouds of dust if he steps wrong. This place is flat, unlike the terraced mikan orchards they'd seen earlier, so at least he doesn't have to worry about someone accidentally kicking soil onto his head.
He and Akira are given an empty bag to share, and a larger basket as well.
"For the next thirty minutes, we would be very thankful if you could help with our harvest today! Please put the mikan in the large basket and bring it back to the reception area. You can also take home as many as you can fit in the bag provided." The employee bows. "Thank you for your hard work!"
The group they were put into splits up into families and couples, each one picking a nearby tree. Goro and Akira decide to go further out towards the edge of the farm.
Each tree is much bigger than Goro had expected, full of fruit all the way to the top. There are some ladders they can use, but Goro picks out a fruit at eye-level. It fits nicely in his hands, a satisfying round shape, with an intense orange colour that's exactly what they'd been taught to look for. It smells sweet, but then, that could be any fruit here—the whole farm smells beautiful, like sunshine and sugar.
He plucks it from the tree with a twist. His first harvest.
The sound of a camera shutter gets his attention. He looks around to find Akira lowering his phone, smiling.
"We should take that one home," Akira says.
It's tempting, but Goro shakes his head. He puts the orange into the basket. "I like the thought of helping the farm. They can turn it into something nice."
It's strange to think that someone, somewhere, may eat a mikan candy made from something he plucked. They might drink some juice, and maybe part of it would be from his efforts. They'd never know him—they'd never even think about him—but his work still would have made someone happy. What a simple, wonderful thought.
Akira picks the next one, and he puts it in the basket with Goro's as well. They take turns, making their way slowly down the row of trees. They haven't seen anyone else from their group yet, and it's almost as though they're in a world of their own.
It's what makes Goro only a little more confident when he asks, "Akira, are you currently taking me on a date?"
Akira drops the basket.
Akira is a quiet sort most of the time, but it's rare that he's ever struck speechless. Goro wants to laugh, but right now, he doesn't think he can. His throat is dry as though he's been wandering in the desert. His hands, so steady when picking the fruits, are shaking.
Everything hinges on Akira's response.
"I…" Akira licks his lips. Goro zeroes in on the motion, unable to breathe. "Yes."
The earth stands still. The moment stretches on, infinite, even though in reality it's only the blink of an eye. Goro etches it all into his memory: Akira's soft voice, the sweet blush on his face, the scent of oranges and the warm sunshine. The dizzying, wonderful, terrifying feeling that somehow, despite everything, the universe has finally given Goro something that he wants.
He needs to say something. He wants to savour it, but he knows Akira will take his silence as rejection. Goro cannot let that happen. He can't let this slip away from him.
"And you didn't think it was important to tell me?"
"I tried. I kept backing out of it." Akira shakes his head, but smiles. "You can be a very scary person sometimes, Goro."
"You've never been afraid of me. Not properly, anyway." Goro grins, all teeth, too delighted to do anything else. "Well, then. Do you understand what it means if you start a relationship with me?"
Goro is an obsessive, possessive, violent man. He will take everything Akira gives him and hoard it away from the rest of the world. He is not a good man, and he will never let Akira go once given a taste.
For some reason, Akira laughs. "Do you think you're the only fucked up person between us? Maybe you need to ask yourself what you'd be getting into."
"Oh, I know. I know exactly who you are, Kurusu Akira."
Goro places their half-full bag of mikan on the ground, and in a swift motion, grabs Akira and pulls him into a kiss.
God. It's better than anything Goro's imagined. The heat of Akira's body against his own, his frantic scrambling to hold onto Goro, the crush of their lips together—it's all so much. They kiss like they're starving, because they have been, all these years. Hidden amongst the orange trees, Goro takes and tastes with a fierce desperation, matched by Akira's own.
They pull away to breathe, and dive in again. This time the kiss is soft and chaste, sweet like the oranges it tastes of. Goro takes it slowly, exploring and savouring. This is good, too. More than good. It's everything.
They break away, smiling at each other. Goro has Akira's face in his hands, and Akira's hands are on his shoulders. He wants him so desperately, so completely, and now he gets to have him.
"Let's finish up here," Akira says softly. "We've still got some time. Then we go home."
"We go home," Goro agrees.
Hand in hand, they walk amongst the trees, picking the easy-to-reach fruit and filling their basket and the bag they're bringing home. They return to reception and thank the employee profusely. Perhaps they'd been overheard, or there's something in their expressions, but she looks at them with delight and wishes them all the best.
Akira keeps their bag of mikan in his lap throughout the train ride back to Osaka. He smells so good, like sweet oranges and growing things, and Goro loves him so much.
They arrive home. They toe off their shoes at the entrance, and Goro automatically steadies Akira when he wobbles. The bag goes on the kitchen counter, and somehow the fragrance seems to fill the whole, tiny apartment.
Their apartment. Such a simple, happy thought.
Goro's body moves on its own. Akira's skin under his fingers is searing, like a brand he refuses to let go. Akira's cheek moves against his hand, and Goro's brain takes a second to memorise the way the muscles move under his palm before he realises Akira is smiling.
Slim fingers wrap around his wrist, and now Akira's face is turning, turning into Goro's palm and pressing the lightest of kisses against his skin. Goro shudders, closes his eyes and inhales. Citrus and sweetness and living, growing things.
They don't rush. They can't rush. There are silly, practical things to do first, like rolling out a futon and turning on the air-conditioning so they don't melt. Akira pours them both glasses of cold water, a blessing given the heat outside. The domesticity makes some part of Goro's heart ache.
He reaches out, snags Akira's wrist. Akira smiles as he leads them back into their living space, next to the futon they've laid out. Their joined hands are trembling, and Goro can't tell which of them is responsible. It might be him. It's probably him.
Goro wets his lips. "Do you…"
"Yes!"
"You haven't even heard what I was about to say!"
Akira laughs. "When it comes to you? I want everything."
And what else can Goro say to that?
He pushes Akira gently, and with a giggle and a whoomph, he falls back onto the futon. Goro follows, propping himself up on his elbows so as not to crush Akira.
Akira looks up at him. His face is still caught in a smile, and his hair fans out around his head like a dark, fluffy halo. Goro can't remember the last time anyone looked at him with this much tenderness, this much joy at simply being close.
"Kiss me?" Akira asks ever so sweetly, and Goro leans down and obliges.
Akira is a burst of citrus on his tongue, fresh and bright and sugar-sweet. Goro runs his hands over Akira's body, starting with the delicate skin of his inner arms, up to his shoulders, lingering on his collarbones. He strokes the dip between the bones with his thumb. Akira's heartbeat presses back eagerly against him.
Goro drags his mouth down Akira's throat. He savours the taste of him, the skin and the salt, made all the better when he realises there's no need to rush. There's no one coming up the stairs to disturb them, no apocalypse on its way. The blade above Goro's head has disappeared, all thanks to the man lying pretty and pliant beneath him.
He can take his time.
The realisation is almost as intoxicating as Akira's little pleasured whines. Goro sets himself to the task of making him even noisier. His hands go beneath Akira's shirt, dragging up his stomach to rest on his chest. There are scars along his torso; some of these, Goro recognises. He will ask about the others another time, because they have time. He commits them all to memory, then commits himself to making Akira lose all thought.
He helps Akira take off his shirt, and then brings his arms up to rest above his head. He doesn't even need to hold him down; Akira is so eager for Goro's touch that he stays just like that. Like this, Goro has free reign to explore and discover.
Akira's breath hitches when fingertips stroke his stomach. He wriggles and laughs when Goro accidentally brushes against his underarm. He likes to have his nipples played with, and Goro can draw out even prettier sounds that way.
This is not to say that Akira is an entirely passive participant, though Goro wouldn't mind that either. Even with his hands up and legs spread, Akira keeps up a litany of praise that goes straight to Goro's cock.
"So good, ah, A-Ake—Goro, right there, please!"
"You're so noisy," Goro marvels. "Is this where all your words go, hm?"
"You deserve it," Akira says breathlessly. "You—Goro, you're everything."
And he really means it, doesn't he?
Goro blinks away the sudden stinging in his eyes. Instead, he focuses on Akira and his pleasure, on drawing out his words and sighs and moans. Eventually, he tugs down Akira's jeans and underwear, sliding them off of him and throwing them out carelessly. The sight of Akira's strong thighs and pretty pink cock is the greatest reward. It's already so hard for him, aching to be touched.
"Goro, please?"
"Of course, sweetheart." The pet name slips out too easily. Akira's just being so cute. It makes Goro want to bite him, but also take care of him. What a maddening, confusing, wonderful man.
Akira's cock is hot and solid in Goro's callused hand. He's slow, almost exploratory in his touches. He had never gotten the chance to do this back when they were younger. There had never been enough time, never enough privacy. He can feel the way Akira trembles below him, the way his cock twitches when Goro does something he likes. It's intoxicating.
"Goro, Goro I'm gonna—"
Heat spills over Goro's fingers. Akira has his head thrown back, neck vulnerable, mouth dropped open. His pleasure is the most beautiful thing Goro has ever seen. He wants to see more.
When Akira has come back to himself, he tugs at the hem of Goro's shirt. Goro allows it to be pulled off of him. He looks away, feeling Akira's stare on his bared skin. There are scars there, ugly and obvious. The burnt skin pulls in strange ways. Soft fingers touch his chest, tracing the outline of an old bullet wound.
"I've wanted to do this for so long," Akira whispers. "See you. Touch you. I wanted to have you in any way I could, in every way I could."
Goro is the one who shudders this time, the quiet words convincing him of Akira's sincerity. Has he wanted this as fiercely as Goro has? Has Akira dreamed of possessing him, of knowing and hoarding every detail and facet of Goro's life just the same?
Of course he must have. No one else could be Goro's rival and equal. God, he loves him.
Akira's hand trails down to the bulge in Goro's jeans. The look on his face is gratifying as it is adorable; his eyes are wide and excited, biting his lips while he feels out the size of it. "Gonna fuck me with that, Goro?"
"That depends if you can handle it." Goro smirks at the look on Akira's face.
"Challenge accepted."
Goro's still careful as he prepares Akira to take his cock. He slips his finger inside, dripping with lube that Akira magics up from somewhere. It's so tight and hot that his finger already aches from the pressure. Slowly, Akira loosens for him, and Goro can slip in another.
He works Akira up to another orgasm just like that. Goro's hard and his hand is sore, but it's worth it. He leans forward, kissing Akira's lips, his neck, his collarbones. His fingers keep working, spreading Akira open until he's certain he'll be able to take Goro's cock with minimal pain.
Beneath him, Akira's making those hitched, high moans that have been the subject of Goro's obsession for years. He's oversensitive and soft by the time Goro begins to press inside, but still urging him on. The heat of him, the closeness—it's like nothing Goro has ever felt before.
The violent animal in him snarls for more. He wants to rut mindlessly into this slick, wet hole he's been dreaming of for years, but Goro is more than his desire. He's not just hunger anymore. He has Akira, soul and mind and heart and now body, and he'll take care of him, break him down so sweetly and put him back together so Goro will own every last part of him.
Akira's arms come up to wrap around Goro's shoulders, and his legs around his waist. Goro echoes the devotion with which Akira touches him. All of the world has narrowed down to this little apartment, to this man held safe in his arms. He won't let anything break this moment, not even his own instincts.
Instead, he is gentle. He is slow, allowing Akira to get used to the feeling, speeding up only when asked. Akira kisses him sweetly, rocks his hips until they both find a steady rhythm together. When Goro moves, Akira moves with him. When Akira sighs in pleasure, Goro steals the breath from his lungs and into his own.
"Inside," Akira murmurs when Goro's movement stutters.
Who is Goro to deny him?
He grinds his hips into Akira's once his orgasm hits. From his throat is ripped a ragged, ugly sound, nearly a sob, but Akira only pulls him closer and kisses the side of his head.
"I love you," Akira says, and Goro shudders through the aftershocks.
Akira must be sensitive right now, but he doesn't complain when Goro wraps a hand around his cock. He trembles through his third orgasm of the night, letting out an adorable litany of ah—ah—ah!s that drive Goro insane.
It takes some wiggling for Goro to be able to flop down beside Akira. The single futon wasn't made for two, but they press together closely enough that they just about fit. It's not very comfortable, especially with the air conditioning freezing the cooling sweat on their bodies, but neither of them want to move apart.
"Man. We could have been doing this ages ago," Akira says.
"If you're this coherent, I didn't do my job right," Goro replies. "But no, I don't think we could have."
"No? I'm pretty sure we've been dancing around each other since you moved in. We were dancing around each other before then too."
Goro shakes his head. "It would've been different, you know it as well as I do."
Akira's quiet for a moment. The air conditioner makes a sound, and he cuddles up closer to steal Goro's warmth. "That's pretty romantic of you. Gallant, even. Very, ah, should I say…"
Wait. "Don't say it," Goro warns.
"Princely," says Akira.
It's only fair that Goro takes his revenge by tickling the life out of him.
When they're both done, panting and tired for a whole other reason, Goro draws Akira close and wraps an arm around his back. They'll have to get up sooner or later; Akira does get cold easily, and Goro hates feeling dirty.
But it's alright. They can take it slow.