Chapter Text
“Goro Akechi?”
“Yes, if he’s available,” you answer, sweaty palms sticking to your phone case.
“Oh, yes… Um… One moment.”
Your plan isn’t the smartest, and the woman’s surprise upon your request makes you hesitate more.
There’s a pause, followed by a message that you’re on hold.
It’s a cold Wednesday night in December. Munehisa is working extra hours to make up for the gaping hole that Christmas will leave in his wallet. You’re currently sober, despite the idiocy of your decisions leading you to this moment, on your bed listening to the elevator music of the automated call in your ear.
When the audio hitches, your heartbeat hitches in time to it.
“Hello?” Goro’s voice answers.
He sounds tired, but it’s him.
You feel stupid – you don’t know what you expected. Now that he’s actually answered, you contemplate hanging up.
“Hi,” you squeak, “it’s (F/N).”
He doesn’t speak for a second. You’re sure he’s contemplating hanging up.
“Did you need something?” He doesn’t sound angry, so you stay on the line. “These calls are monitored, by the way…”
“No, I don’t,” you say. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“Ah… Sorry, I’m just… I didn’t expect to receive a call from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m doing fine,” he proceeds. “I have free time at the moment. We should be sent to bed soon.”
“I’m glad,” you breathe, twisting your clothes between your fingers. “And– I’m glad you picked up. I thought it wouldn’t be the right number.”
“Do you think I would give you the wrong number?”
“I mean…”
You can feel his amusement, but he changes the subject. “I should be asking how you are. This is a sudden call.”
“I’m okay,” you answer instinctively. “Nothing bad. I just wanted to call since you stopped texting me back.”
“Oh… Yes, I apologize about that. I can assure you I’m fine.”
“Good. And… it’s okay.” You fidget and shift in place. “Um… That’s all, really.”
You’re prepared to end the call there, so you have to rewire yourself when Goro inquires, “What will you be doing for the rest of the night?”
“Uh,” you peep. “I don’t know… I’m home alone, and I was kind of stressing too much about calling you.”
“Why would you stress?” he asks, entertained.
“I don’t know… In case you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“It’s pleasant to hear from you,” he says, but it’s softer than before. “I don’t get many phone calls, you know.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “Okay. I’m glad.”
Both of you sense the approaching end of the conversation, so Goro says, “Get some rest. Thank you for calling.”
“I’ll try,” you answer. “Will I hear from you again?”
He hesitates. “How about I text you the next time I’m out for a weekend? My program is ongoing, but I’m permitted days where I can go home.”
You perk up. “Yes, please.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Have a good night – and happy holidays.”
He pauses again. Then he says, “Happy holidays, (F/N).”
You don’t want to admit that you await Goro’s text, but you do.
You’re at least not mulling around, sulking and waiting like a lover at their mailbox.
You proceed with life in the meantime, albeit forcibly because your days push you forward without regard to your unhealed misery. The world has a funny, although sick, way of nudging you on.
You commit to a university (not one of the National Seven like you always wanted, but you’ll take it), celebrate holidays with your makeshift family, reach a two-month milestone of sobriety, and watch the New Year begin on your tiny TV while Munehisa eats a PB&J beside you.
You’ve texted Akira a mere three times in the past month. You hear more about him through his social media posts and Ryuji’s accidental slips about him than through Akira, himself. You’re sure that he’s taking your breakup hard, too; you know him well, and you know he lingers on these things.
But he doesn’t appear to hurt on the outside, and that’s what hurts you. He’s talented at pretending, particularly at pretending you never happened.
The text comes, though.
One afternoon during your physics class, Goro’s name appears on your screen. He’ll be free for the next few days.
You stuff your phone into your bag and resist the urge to text back immediately.
Instead, you reply during your lunch break while you ignore your friends’ surrounding chatter. You’ll be meeting him at his flat this weekend.
You don’t like to add this other detail about the previous few months: in place of substances, you’ve picked up another bad habit. No one is aware of it, at least until the Saturday afternoon that you ring the buzzer for Goro Akechi’s flat.
The door opens quickly, likely because he expects you. You don’t complain because it lets you escape the mid-January chill faster. This time last year, you were huddling into Akira’s scarf and clawing for something more than friendship.
Goro looks just as he did when he found you in Shinjuku months ago, and even the same as when he sat beneath gleaming high beams on talk shows, if you’re being sentimental.
His outfit (a sweater and jeans), short hair, and intent stare are a steep fall from the polished appearance of his teenage stardom, but you still see the resemblances. At least he looks more comfortable this way.
“Thank you for inviting me over,” you say, removing your shoes.
He closes the door behind you. “Of course.”
His towering tsunami of a high rise condo has vanished since his Detective Prince days. Instead, it has been replaced with a normal-looking, average Tokyo flat.
There’s less walking space – that’s a certain change.
Otherwise, the sparse decorations and bare minimum necessities (a couch, TV, kotatsu, and empty dining table) are similar to his previous condo. He somehow manages to live in places that remain as untouched as a fresh hotel room. It smells of candles and, vaguely, him.
You assume that he’s not currently working, between rehab and other jurisdictional formalities, but you refrain from asking how he affords rent.
You notice he’s staring at you from beyond the kitchen counter island. You jolt and fidget with your hands.
“I’m sorry,” you squeak. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you’re hungry,” he repeats. “I can order something.”
You hesitate, but nod.
Since you’ve recently found a part time job, you offer, “I can pay.”
Goro blinks and raises an eyebrow at you. “Aren’t I hosting you?”
Shifting your socks on the wooden floor, you peep, “At least let me pay you back…”
“Fine,” he relents, turning on his phone. “What do you want?”
“Anything is fine.”
He gives you a look, but he says, “Strangely enough, I’ve craved pizza since the last time I was home. I don’t typically eat foods like that, but…”
“That sounds good.”
“Which toppings would you like?”
“You can pick.”
He’s back to twisting his nose up at you. “Are your favorite toppings still the same?”
Your neck burns; he remembers. “Um, yeah…”
“Then I’ll pick those. Is that okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Goro is still looking at you funny, and you’re unsure of why until he grumbles, “You could have just told me that. You don’t need to be so nervous.”
“I’m sorry,” creaks out of you.
“No–” He returns his firm attention to his phone, and you’re a little relieved. “I’m… sorry, for behaving overbearingly about it. I just want you to pick something you’d also enjoy.”
Your shoulders loosen a little. “Thank you… I appreciate it. I’m fine with pizza, don’t worry.”
“All right.” He glances at the couch. “You can sit down. I’ll be right back.”
You must look odd hovering beside the counter and lost of what to do with yourself, so you heed his offer and settle on the couch.
Goro’s footsteps pace from the kitchen to one of the rooms in the back, likely his bedroom.
With the quiet murmur of the TV – you hadn’t even noticed it until now – you take a long exhale and roll up your sleeves to cool off from the nervous heat in your chest.
You trace lines into your forearms as you wait.
Goro is much more blunt, compared to the Detective Prince who constantly held his tongue.
You’re sure that he’s in his bedroom dwelling on how different you are now, too. He has likely lined up the expectation and reality of you and realized they don’t match. Your palms start to sweat.
Lost in your mental wandering, you don’t notice him trailing back to the main room until he stalls beside the couch.
You jolt like you’re a child caught doing something wrong. You slide your sleeves back down.
You apologize, “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
Goro doesn’t respond.
You brave looking up at him, just to find his eyes on your arms, eyebrows pinched with thought, complexion pale. He’s still so pretty.
“Did you order the pizza?” you ask to redirect the silence.
“Yes,” he says absently, finally meeting your eyes.
“Thank you, I’m starving.”
“Have you… cleaned those?” he asks.
You look up at him. He fidgets under your stare, an anxious movement so unusual for him that it looks out of place.
He continues, “It’s not good to expose them like that… They might get infected.”
“Oh,” you start, eyes falling back to the busy TV screen. “Um, I have. Not recently, though.”
“Come here,” he states.
Your eyebrows shoot upward. You look over your shoulder to find him drifting back in the direction he came, this time toward the bathroom.
This isn’t how you wanted your first time intentionally spending time with Goro to go.
You thoughtlessly follow him, just like you did in the Shinjuku train station while he led you back to Ann’s house.
You linger in the doorway as he digs in his cabinets. You still aren’t used to seeing his nape, with no long hair to veil it.
“I’m okay,” you say. “They’re not serious.”
Goro glances at you before he gestures to the sink.
“Sit,” he orders, still occupied with assembling his first aid.
You obey and perch on the counter.
As you stare at the top of his brown hair, the realization strikes that you should have informed someone of where you are.
There isn’t much you can do to spare yourself of danger now – you’re on his bathroom counter and he’s reaching for your wrist with a saline-drenched pad in hand.
You feel electricity spark when his bare skin touches yours like resultant sparks from misplaced jumper cables. This is just as misplaced; there’s a sense of something wrong with this touch.
You hope that you can sit in silence as he wipes your skin, but he asks, “How long have you been doing this?”
You accidentally clench your fingers on the arm he’s holding. “A-ah, only a month or so. Since November, I think.”
“Does anyone else know about this?”
“I don’t think so…”
He’s silent for a minute.
One of his hands stabilizes your next arm at the wrist, and the other moves on to gently cleaning.
You don’t want to speak – you don’t think you can – because this touch is the softest you’ve received since losing Akira, and it’s frankly frying the neurological cables of your brain. You feel a lightweight buzz behind your brows that you’re sure resonates in pitch with the cheap ceiling light above you.
Goro tries, quieter, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?” you whisper.
He hesitates and glances away like he’s searching for the words. “About any of it. All of it.”
“I don’t know where to start,” you murmur. “I’m just so tired…”
Your eyes catch his and the lurch you feel is so reminiscent of two years ago that you have to look away.
“Start anywhere,” he says. “We have all day.”
You smile somberly. The expression seems to surprise Goro, with how quickly he focuses on your arm again.
You’re hypnotized by the careful weaving of his hands as he begins applying gauze.
“I don’t really know,” you mumble, shifting in place. “It just… makes me feel better. It distracts me.”
“You didn’t talk to someone, instead?”
“I don’t think my friends would know how to respond,” you murmur. “I don’t want to worry them…”
The words sound choked in Goro’s throat as he speaks. “Are you still seeing a therapist?”
“I am… I’m scared to bring it up to them. I don’t want to… um, end up…”
You trail off because you don’t really want to disclose your summertime hospital trip to Goro (as if your current venting to him isn’t already personal enough), nor do you wish to worry him, either.
“‘End up’…” he nudges you to finish your thought.
“Um…” But then he looks up at your eyes, and you can’t keep it to yourself. “I don’t want to end up in the hospital…”
Goro exhales. You stiffen because you think he’s upset until he simply says, “I understand. But, really, your therapist is meant to help for issues like these that you’re concerned about inconveniencing your friends with.”
“I know…”
“Does Akira know?”
Your arms lock up, which you’re sure Goro feels.
“Oh,” you say, instinctive like a flinch. “Me and Akira broke up.”
Goro stops. “When?”
“A few months ago. We’re still on good terms, and everything.”
“Ah.” He adjusts the cuff of his sweater before bandaging your other arm. “I’m sorry to bring it up. He hasn’t mentioned that to me.”
“Do you still keep in touch?”
He nods, and you can only stare at the top of his head with this position. “He… You and he were the only two to ever call me. I would expect him to bring it up.”
“That’s not surprising,” you laugh a little. “He couldn’t even return my ‘I love you’ the last time we talked.”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay. It’s probably better for both of us.”
He doesn’t press further, and you don’t add anything because you sense that he doesn’t know how to reply.
“How much did the pizza cost?” you ask abruptly.
You can see his cognitive wheels spinning as he grabs for the last bit of tape.
It’s only a few seconds later, when he’s finishing the final bandage, that he murmurs, “Don’t concern yourself with it.”
Baffled, you fumble for words. “I get free pizza and steal from your first aid kit– I’ll–”
He cuts you off with the first uneven smile you’ve wrung from him in the past year. “And what if I’m allowing you?”
You don’t want to bring up financial matters even though a part of you frets whether he’s digging from nonexistent savings. You’re unsure how much money the courts (and Shido) allowed him to keep after his career was proven fraudulent.
But he seems insistent on this, and your stomach is doing flips as you watch him clean up and wash his hands, so you let it go.
“Thank you,” you say, sliding down from the counter, “for the food and– my arms.”
Goro looks at you as he dries his hands, but he doesn’t speak for a while.
You scrub your own hands in the sink and try to ignore his stare.
Finally, he says your name.
You look at him just to find he’s still staring at you carefully, like he’s gauging your future response. You never liked when Akira or Ann stared at you like that.
“I’m really sorry,” he starts quietly, the quietest you’ve ever heard him. “I realize I haven’t formally told you.”
You gaze at the sink faucet as a scapegoat.
“Why are you sorry?” you whisper to the hand towel.
“For turning you in,” he says. “I’m sorry for making all of this… so difficult for you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“(F/N),” Goro hisses, “look at me.”
Startled, you submit to his demand. He looks far more desperate than he did just thirty seconds before.
He says, “You can– You should fault me. Do you know how much I regret it? Especially when I see how different you are compared to years ago, before it happened?”
You watch your fiddling hands as a means to not break down.
“I don’t blame you,” you murmur downward.
“Why?” he cuts you off.
“It was–” You stop, but you glance up to find Goro’s eyes narrowed as if he’s daring you to finish, like he can already tell what you’ll say. “Shido. Not you.”
“The gun may have been placed in my hands, but I pulled the trigger.”
“Did you have a choice?”
You know his argument will falter at that, but he won’t show it. You try to interrupt before he can continue.
“We were kids,” you say to the shower curtain behind him. “Neither of us were in control at that point.”
Ill-timed enough, the door buzzer goes off.
You flinch, and Goro reluctantly leaves to accept the pizza. You squeeze against the sink to get out of his way as he exits.
You linger in the bathroom for a bit, uncertain of where to place yourself. You look at the mirror as Goro rustles around in the kitchen. The bandages on your arms are tidy and neat, albeit itchier than the scabs already were.
When you sense it’s what you’re supposed to do, you turn off the bathroom light and wander to the main room. Goro looks up from the counter.
“Help yourself,” he says, as if the previous twenty minutes haven’t happened.
You don’t, and instead inch closer to the counter island.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask.
“Why would I be?” he grumbles and searches his cabinets for two plates. “I’m– upset with myself. I wish that I had known better back then. You didn’t deserve to get involved with my battles.”
“We can’t do anything about it now,” you speak quietly, twisting your fingers. “I’m not upset. It’s how things are.”
He doesn’t seem satisfied, but he drops it. “You’re still too forgiving. Thanks. I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“You didn’t,” you reply. “It’s okay.”
“Have you decided on a movie?”
Breath slowing down now, you admit, “No… I kind of want something lighthearted after that.”
“‘Lighthearted’? Hmm. You can search for something you might like. The remote’s on the table.”
You forget about the pizza because your stomach is still in tight knots from your conversation, so you wander back to the couch and scroll on his streaming services.
Goro asks, “How many slices would you like?”
“Um,” you start, embarrassed, “just one is fine for now. Thank you…”
Everything with Goro is unsteady and fast.
Despite being so personal with him the last (and only) time you hung out, you fear that he’ll decide he’s had enough of you and he’ll return to forgetting to text back.
He doesn’t text, just for a couple of weeks.
He loses access to his personal phone during his rehab program, but he calls you from the facility’s number one day and all of your abandonment-related anxieties evaporate.
You don’t wish to be overbearing, so you’re relieved that he reaches out – let alone, to check on you.
After that, you agree to call him once per week to assure him that you’re okay.
You usually end up calling on Thursdays, after school (Munehisa is at work and can’t ask questions, plus you’re home with Kaoru).
On a whim, you drop a letter in the mailbox on your way to work one day.
You hear nothing in return except Mune’s pestering when you keep checking the mail (“Did you order something online, or what?”). This time, you’re much like the lover waiting, standing post at their mailbox.
You check one chilly afternoon. You nearly leap with joy when you see a singular letter, addressed to you, with Goro’s tidy handwriting on the back.
You snatch the envelope before Munehisa can see the return address. Only Ann and Kaoru are aware of this haphazard friendship you’re rekindling with Goro, and neither of them seems fond of it.
Despite calling and sending each other letters regularly, you don’t see Goro again until the end of March.
It’s mere days before you’ll move into your new flat in Gunma to prepare for university.
You know that he’s home for the weekend; you plan to see him on Saturday, but you’re calling his personal phone that Friday night, anyway.
“Hello?” he picks up.
You exhale. “Hi, Goro.”
He pauses when you use his first name, regardless of how he always uses yours.
“What is it?” he asks, already aware.
“Um.” You twist your pants between your fingers. “Ann made plans without me, and I’m feeling a little sad.”
He doesn’t speak. You haven’t called him in the heat of the moment like this since reconnecting.
Then, “What’s going on?”
“I just…” you murmur. “I’m overthinking, and no one’s home with me…”
“Do you feel unsafe?”
You squeeze the inseam of your pants. “A little.”
“Okay. Would you like me to stay on the phone with you?”
“Yes, please. I’m sorry–”
“Don’t. What happened with Takamaki?”
“Um… She’s out with Shiho and Makoto.”
“Did they not invite you?”
“No, I think it’s a double date thing.”
Goro’s silent for a few seconds. You hang on the suspended wires of anticipation connecting your calls.
“Would you rather I come over?” he asks, lower.
“Ah– you don’t have to.”
“Do you want me to?”
“Well… I want to see you, it’s kind of why I called… But I don’t think Munehisa would be very happy if you were here.”
“Ah,” Goro says, realizing. “Would you rather come over here? Or we can go somewhere. I’ll walk with you.”
“Are you sure it’s not– a bother for you?”
“If you want me to, I can.”
You don’t answer, too wrapped up in your thoughts and guilts.
Goro interrupts, “Well?”
“Yes, please,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says softer than before. “I’ll leave in a few minutes to meet you, and then we can leave. Will you be okay until I get there?”
“Y– Yeah, I will.”
“Are you certain? I can stay on the phone.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“All right. I’ll let you know when I’m nearby.”
“Thank you, Goro.”
“Mmm.”
He hangs up. The silence of the house bites back at you.
Trying to numb out the ringing in your head, you change into a more presentable outfit and pack your bag.
Kaoru returns home before Goro can arrive. His shoulders sag where his cased instrument sits on his back; he’s attending band practice in preparation for entering Shujin in a couple of weeks.
He looks at you with twisted up brows when you emerge from your bedroom.
“Where are you going?” he pries, dropping his belongings on the living room carpet.
“I’m meeting with someone,” you say.
“Does Dad know–?”
The doorbell rings. A few barks puff out of Nao.
You venture over to open the door. Goro stands on the other side, phone screen light reflecting blue on his face.
He looks you over, up and down, and you try not to feel self-conscious. You suppose some things about people don’t change.
He glances behind you questioningly. “Is Iwai-san–?”
“No, it’s just Kaoru,” you squeak.
You skitter back inside to pick up your bag. You feel the weight of Kaoru’s disappointed stare from the kitchen.
“(F/N)–” he starts.
“It’s okay,” you cut him off. “Please don’t tell Mune. Just say I’m with a friend if he asks. I’m okay, I promise.”
His lip twists up, but you avoid his gaze and he doesn’t object. You tell him you love him before you close the door.
You take a deep breath as you proceed down the walkway with Goro. You can feel him staring at you.
Instead of acknowledging whatever that was, Goro asks, “Have you decided where we’re going?”
“Mmm,” you think. “Not really. We can… Is the Jazz Jin still open?”
“Very much so.”
“Do you want to go there?” you suggest.
“You know that I can never reject that offer.”
You and he navigate the train stations to Kichijoji.
He doesn’t seem to notice you’re walking a little closer to him than usual – you feel more pairs of eyes on your back tonight, and the sound of a siren five blocks down is enough to nudge you into his bubble of personal space.
You walk in on the sour sight of a full house (Friday night, you should have guessed). But, within seconds, the owner calls Goro’s name and points you both to a secluded booth toward the back. The older man appears pleased to see you accompanying Goro, which makes your neck burn at the implications.
Once you’re both seated across from each other, you comment, “Okay, connections.”
Goro smiles and, though it’s weighed down, it’s real, crooked, and prodding at his eyelids. You can’t feel your breath for a second.
“Well, to be truthful,” he starts, low beneath the distant humming voice of the performer, “this is where I work now, so it’s simple to pull strings.”
“Really?” you whisper, smiling.
He nods, evaluating your expression. “I was… familiar with the owner during high school. He has been the only employer willing to take me in after my arrest.”
“I’m sure that’s been stressful for you…”
“Very. But it’s a price I must pay.”
One of the employees greets Goro kindly before asking him to introduce ‘his company.’
Face hot, you tell her your name. She offers to bring you both mocktails before you can stall and ask for the real deal, instead.
“Wait,” you say, and his attention shifts from the stage back to you. “So– You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but how do you work and go to rehab?”
“Well,” he cups his hands together, “I actually finish my program soon. Then, my fate is in the court’s hands once again. Currently, I only clock in when I’m available, but I should be allotted a normal schedule if everything proceeds smoothly.”
“Does that mean… you won’t be in an intensive program anymore?”
“Yes, but I’ll still meet with my counselor regularly. Between him, my probation officer, and others… I’m spectated quite a bit. I’m given frequent drug testing, too.”
You feel your stomach drop through your seat. “Really?”
He nods. “It incentivizes me to stay clean, so I don’t mind. It’s not as if I’m missing much.”
“Yeah…”
Goro raises an eyebrow at your reaction. He doesn’t comment.
You look at him. Your stare must contain a certain mutual awareness because he promptly looks away.
“That’s more than I intended for you to know about me,” he says, crossing his arms. “You should be leaving for university soon, right?”
Goro’s coworker sets your drinks down. She gives him an implicative look (he ignores her) before she wanders off and doesn’t approach your table again.
With her gone, you fidget with the cold glass of your mocktail. The drink is a pretty, blush pink and blueberries sit at the top. Goro’s has a much more aggressively noticeable color, with a blue and purple gradient.
You finally answer his question about university, “Yeah… I’ll be in Maebashi next week.”
He holds his drink in one hand, his firm stare on you. “What did you end up deciding to study?”
“Biochemistry, for now.”
“I see the forensics streak hasn’t left you.”
You smile, nostalgic. “Yeah…”
“It will be a breeze for you. You likely dealt with much more challenging material at the precinct two years ago.”
He pauses as he sips his drink.
He prompts, “What’s with the face?”
You don’t realize you’re making a face.
“Um…” you start, tapping the drink glass. “I guess I’m still a little disappointed. I did pretty badly on my entrance exams, so I’m getting what I set myself up for…”
“What kind of self-pity is that?” he scoffs. “Universities are difficult to get into. Besides, I’m sure you’ve had greater priorities for the past year.”
You’re unable to respond because the singer moves on to her next piece after the rush of audience applause. The dim, warm lights and the smiling faces do nothing to ease your nerves.
You sit there, sipping your drink (while wishing badly for a real cocktail) and trying not to steal glances at Goro across the table. You feel oddly out of place.
You’re not ready to leave, but you look tired enough for Goro to comment on it and offer to walk you home. You stir the half-melted ice cubes in your glass one more time before you leave.
The winter chill persists on nights like these. Despite the pleasant warmth earlier, the evening air leaves you gripping your sleeves to your chest.
Goro’s eyes flick to your arms. “Cold?”
“A little.”
You hope that he’ll offer his peacoat. Instead, he hits you with, “How are your arms?”
“Um,” you sputter, “they’re okay. Thank you.”
Like the cold haunting this March night, that bad habit still lingers – less frequently than before, but still enough. You distantly worry about exposing your arms once it’s summer, but you can’t think about it too much yet.
You intuit that Goro doesn’t believe half of the things you say, yet he chooses to take your word. You don’t want him to put in the effort to decode you, anyway.
He switches topics, “You should have brought an extra layer like I did.”
You reply, “Why would I do that when you’re here?”
You nudge into his space to tug at his coat. He narrows his eyes at you but doesn’t pull away.
“Not a chance,” he states.
You smile and lean a little closer. Your arm presses into his. “None at all?”
He stiffens. You take it as a sign to back off.
You both walk the next few paces in silence. Perhaps you misread his signals earlier in the Jazz Jin.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to– make you uncomfortable.”
He eventually replies, “You didn’t.”
Even more confused now and unsure of how to react, you change the subject to ask about the newest season of Featherman that just released. You haven’t watched it yet and you assume (correctly) that Goro already has.
He drops you off in front of your house so Munehisa won’t see him.
“Can I hug you?” you ask carefully. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”
Goro pauses to think about it. “If you really want to.”
He makes no move forward, so you reach out and hook your arms around his back.
Your heartbeat presses at your throat when you feel his hands settle on your shoulders.
You can’t remember the last time you’d hugged him – likely that fateful November, the day before your framed arrest. You hate to say that it feels like coming home, unless maybe it’s coming to a home with windows dark until you flick on the lights to reveal the cobwebs. It feels like your old, rented out apartment.
When you pull away, you must have another look on your face because Goro scoffs, “Don’t look at me like that. Phones and mail exist.”
“I know…” you admit. It’s nothing like the real thing.
His brown eyes have a new softness to them. He squeezes your elbow and then lets his hands slide away from your embrace.
“Be safe,” he says. “Call me when you’ve arrived and moved in.”
The transition to university is difficult, as to be expected.
Your roommate is a student one year above you, and she helps you navigate your first day of class. She’s as kind in person as she was over the phone, and she loves your dog.
Despite the lack of an apparent roommate horror story in the making, you can’t sleep well for the first few weeks. You jolt awake at each creak and voice you hear through the thin walls. You can’t seem to relax, always clenching, even when alone in your room.
On top of that, it only takes one social gathering for you to give up your sobriety.
You feel left out as you watch your new friends drink, and it reminds you too much of high school, and the next thing you know, you’re asking for a shot. You down it with a simultaneous spine-chilling satisfaction (like an itch in your throat you’ve waited months to scratch) and devout guilt.
Regardless of the stress, you’ve only had one mute episode since you’ve moved to Maebashi.
You hope it doesn’t happen again any time soon; you’ve never felt the loneliness of being alone in a city with no one to speak in sign language with. You feel an abruptly sickening yearning for Ann, Kaoru, and even Akira.
One Friday night, you have the flat to yourself because your roommate has left with her friends. You call Ann, who just returned home from visiting her relatives in America.
Within a few minutes of catching up, Ann’s voice lowers into seriousness. “(F/N), we– I wanted to talk to you about Akechi-kun.”
You pause and blink. Nao rolls over to lay on you.
“What about him?” you ask innocently.
“I, um… heard from Akira that you two are talking again. And we’re just… kinda worried… You really shouldn’t be…”
Either her statement or her mention of Akira strikes a nerve and you say, “I’m fine. We’re just friends.”
“I get that, but… is it really healthy for you? I’m sure he’s… a lot better now, but I don’t want you to regress into the past and…”
“I’m okay,” you say again, sharper than you wanted.
“I’m sorry,” she squeaks, and you exhale. “I didn’t mean to…”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Neither of you speaks for a few seconds.
Ann starts, “Um… I guess I should have asked, why are you talking to him again?”
Calmer, you explain, “I reached out to him in December. He… listens to me, and doesn’t make me feel like a burden for talking about my feelings.”
“Is it genuine, though?” she asks, and your temper relights.
“More genuine than most people are with me.”
She pauses for a bit. You wait, already feeling the remorse coiling in your chest.
“Okay,” she settles. “I just wanted to check on you. You’ll cut contact if he does something icky, right?”
“I will.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry for being snappy,” you say meekly. “I just don’t want people to baby me. I love you.”
“I love you, too!” she says without hesitation; you relax. “I’m sorry for being annoying about it. I’m just worried about you because Akira and him had a phone call and–”
She cuts herself off, realizing she’s said too much. You backtrack.
“A phone call?” you question.
She makes a noise as she juggles whether to tell you. As always, her urge to be truthful (and gossip) prevails.
“Okay, that’s how I found out about you and him,” she says. “You know how Akira and Akechi-kun still talk? So, they had an argument. Akechi-kun mentioned you… Aki told him that treating you like a ‘charity case’ wouldn’t fix Akechi-kun’s mistakes–”
“Oh…”
“I haven’t talked to Akira since then. I was so pissed off about what he said about you.”
You fidget with your blanket. Your throat feels tight. “Thank you for being angry for me…”
“Obviously! I’m worried about both of you, but it was totally messed up for him to talk about you like that.”
You talk to Ann for a while afterward, but it only slightly untangles the knot in your chest.
By the time you hang up, you take a deep breath and search your room for something to take.
Before long, the room is fuzzy and your feet feel an extra meter further beneath you. Your face tingles sleepily, happily.
It’s a spur of the moment, high out of your mind decision to video call Goro at nearly midnight. He should be home from work, now that he’s received a regular schedule.
He picks up quickly, in his dim bedroom. “Hello?”
You start, “I’m sorry, I still need to mail your letter…”
“It’s no rush,” he answers. His phone is angled so you can only see his white ceiling. “How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a bit.”
Too loopy to think of your conversation with Ann, you say, “I’m okaayyy.”
“‘Okay’?” he repeats normally, although entertained. “What’s up with you?”
“Sorry– I took, like, ten of those pills, so I’m a little slow right now.”
There’s a moment of silence on the other end. You can already tell you’ve said something wrong.
“You what?” Goro growls, a complete mood change. “What did you take?”
“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “It’s pain medicine. It just helps me sleep. I’m okay.”
He doesn’t say anything for a second.
“Is this a common occurrence for you?” he deadpans.
“Mm, maybe a few times per week now…”
“You really need to stop doing that.”
You pull your blankets up to your chin. “I’m okay. You make it sound like I’m addicted or something…”
“You very well may be,” he says, unamused.
Your palms sweat at his tone. “Are you mad at me?”
“What? No.” Goro clears his throat. “I’m just worried.”
You don’t know what to say. The shameful weight is back on your chest, even with the pills meant to remedy it. The line goes silent.
“Do you always have trouble sleeping?”
“Mm-hmm,” you hum. “Usually… I’m too nervous to sleep. Taking something puts me to sleep faster.”
Goro still doesn’t respond. You tug at your fingers.
You squeak, “Are you sure you’re not mad at me?”
“I’m not mad,” he replies. “Sorry. I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
He hesitates. You wonder if he plans to ignore your question.
“You used to refuse any and all substances in high school,” he comments.
“People change,” you reply.
“I’m well aware.”
Reminded of your pre-medicated unease, you murmur, “Ann told me that you and Akira fought.”
“What did she tell you?” he asks stiffly.
“Something about… He called me a charity case.”
“Don’t concern yourself with it,” he states. “He’s too down in the mouth for me to take his reasoning seriously. It’s not true.”
You drift off, murmuring to yourself. Goro interrupts.
“You should get some rest,” he says.
“Sleep on the phone with me?” you ask.
He sighs. “Fine.”
Unlike your phone calls with Goro, your letters are always lighthearted.
You talk about your current favorite foods, interesting customers he deals with at work, the hike you took with Nao one weekend, and the like.
You’ve both started to include trinkets in your envelopes (tea bags, stickers, photographs), at the price of an extra stamp or two. He even mailed you a package with a little blindbox figurine that he knows you like to collect.
Your phone calls sustain a heavier air to them, although that doesn’t stop either of you from dialing. You consider him and Ann to be your closest friends at the moment.
He calls you on a Saturday night in May because you’re feeling too ‘off’ to study.
He’s on his couch and holds his camera so you see a sliver of his bangs on his forehead – not that it matters because you can’t see your phone on the carpet beside you.
In reference to your current fog, he asks, “Is it because of the antidepressants?”
“Yeah, I think,” you murmur. “But my therapist thinks– they will help. I’ll see the psychiatrist again next week.”
“The adjustment period is quite rough,” Goro says quietly. “It gets better once you find the correct medication and dosage.”
“I hope so… I feel like it’s making me worse.”
“For the moment, maybe. How is it affecting you?”
You don’t tell him about your current ‘friends with benefits’ issue, nor how you’ve combined a drink or two with your antidepressants too many times.
Instead, you tell him how you’ve missed a few days of class and you can’t get up from your floor while you’re speaking to him.
As Goro reflects on your answer, he makes a noise with his mouth, like clicking his tongue. Your stomach erupts into butterflies. You’re so pathetic, if that’s all it takes to shatter you.
“Tell your psychiatrist when you see them,” he says. “I felt like shit when my dosage wasn’t correct, too.”
Helpless, you peep, “Really?”
“Yes… It’s odd that they would start medication while you’re already adjusting to university. That seems… like an unpleasant combination.”
“I think it’s because of my… um, relapse. I was sober for a while, until I came to university.”
“Ah,” Goro says, as if it’s clicking. “You’re only taking the prescribed amount, right? Not mixing anything?”
“Yeah, only the prescription.” It’s not a complete lie.
“Mmm. I’m sorry to hear that. Bring it up to your psychiatrist next week.”
“I will. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I had to– deal with something earlier.” He sighs and the phone shifts as he fixes his hair.
“What?” you mumble, confused.
“It’s–” He stops, and you finally look at your screen. “Just had to break things off with someone. I’m not sure what to call it… we were never official.”
Something ugly twists and pulls at your ribs. “So… like, a situationship?”
“I hate that word.”
“Sorry. A… situation?”
“I suppose,” he surrenders, grumbling slightly. “We’re still friends. It was a brief affair. They wanted something more serious, but I can’t manage the thought of dating right now.”
“I get it… Especially with everything on your plate.”
He states, “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
“What?” you stammer. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.” Ouch. “Has your love life been uneventful, then?”
You make an uncertain noise as you roll onto your stomach. You decide where to safely tread. “Not… really.”
“Oh?” You can hear his smile. “Do you have an undisclosed relationship you’ve kept from me?”
Your gut flipping and fingers pinching carpet strings, you admit, “Well… you wouldn’t be happy about it.”
“I wouldn’t?” he tests, tone lighthearted. He’s just joking with you, calm down.
“It’s just a casual… thing,” you squeeze out. “We aren’t dating.”
He prompts, “And I wouldn’t be happy about it because?”
You don’t answer for a few seconds, collecting your case. This was supposed to be about him.
“He… only really talks to me when he wants something, if you get what I mean.”
Now is his turn to pause. You hate each passing tick.
He says, “And you allow him to do that?”
“Um,” comes out of you. “Never mind. It’s okay.”
He doesn’t pester. “All right.”
“You’re not– I’m sorry, you probably see me differently…”
“Why would I?” he says, though it’s a little stiff and higher pitched like when he lies. “We’re dealing with the same issue.”
“Yeah… This was supposed to be about you, but you turned it on me.”
“Only because you let me.”
You grumble back at him mockingly, and your shoulders loosen when he laughs. You don’t get him to laugh often.
“Am I staying on the phone with you?” he says in a complaining voice, but you can tell he doesn’t actually mind.
“If you don’t have anything else to do.”
“I must warn you, I might fall asleep before you today.”
“That’s okay. You should sleep.”
Even when he falls asleep and you’re stuck laying awake, debating whether to take your medication, you stay on the line. You curl up and listen to his quiet breathing, hoping he feels safe.
You crawl into bed with Nao, harnessing a sadness so thick and nauseating that it makes you feel feverish. You can feel the heat pooling at your back and the simultaneous chills trickling down your arms. You wish you were more than just adequate.
You visit home for a weekend in July. Munehisa managed to find you an old, used car, so you can drive yourself back to Tokyo when you want.
When you compare to your fellow first-years, you realize how much more freedom you have – a car, an actual apartment, a part time job in one of the on campus lab stockrooms, and a good roommate. All of this to make it easier, yet you still struggle.
You visit Goro that Saturday night, even though you feel guilty for missing out on time with Mune and Kaoru.
You show up right as he gets home from work. His shoulders look tense and he stomps through the rooms tiredly.
“You can sit down,” he offers kindly despite his clear irritation. “I’ll just– be a minute.”
He changes and then returns to the living room to find you on the couch, scrolling on your phone. Only one floor lamp is on and there is no rumble of the TV to fill the quiet space.
You jolt when he flicks the overhead kitchen lights on with a sigh. He grumbles absently, “My feet are fucking killing me.”
You blink up at him over the back of the couch.
You realize that the comment isn’t meant for you to reply to, so you remain quiet. You don’t want to upset him even more.
He says your name, and you twist again to look at him.
He stares at you over the counter island, now in a T-shirt and sweatpants – seeing him like this feels strangely intimate. “Do you want anything to eat? I haven’t eaten, so I planned to make something small.”
“Can I help?” you ask.
Goro blinks at you. “Sure? If you don’t mind fixing the rice.”
You stand up from the couch and wander to the kitchen area. “What are you making?”
“Well, I have some tofu that will expire…” he trails off, scrolling on his phone. “Hmm…”
“Do you like tofu now?” you ask, surprised.
“God, no,” he grumbles. You don’t question how he ended up with near-expired tofu.
He used to be an awful chef when you knew him in high school – you recall the charred bottom of his previous expensive rice cooker – so you feel warm knowing that he no longer relies on instant dinners.
You let him choose the recipe. You boil the white rice while he handles the tofu.
Since the rice requires little maintenance, you offer, “Do you want me to chop veggies?”
He glances back at you. “Sure. Do you want any? I’m trying to decide portions.”
“No, thank you.”
He narrows his eyes at you. “Please take some.”
Smiling, you give in, “Okay, sure. I’ll need to add more rice, though.”
“That’s fine.”
This isn’t how you intended to spend time with him, but things never go as intended with Goro.
You’re not one to complain about this turn of events. You appreciate seeing him in the domestic, fading light of the kitchen as he fries slabs of tofu after work. It lets you pretend that you see him like this each night, that in another universe you read on the couch and wait for him to return home.
You get lost in chopping vegetables and jolt awake at Goro’s hand on your hip.
You’re surprised that he doesn’t comment on the probable look on your face right now.
Instead, he says, “Why don’t you focus on the rice for now? I can do this.”
His hand falls away; you feel yourself melting at the warm imprint it leaves behind like plastic melting in a hot car. You obey him without protest.
You balance a pot between your hips and the counter as you transport the finished rice. You can feel Goro’s eyes on you.
You set the bowl on the countertop and look up at him once you’re done. He averts his eyes immediately.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, smiling.
“Like what?” he deadpans defensively toward the cutting board.
You let it slide.
Instead of sitting at the counter island, you both migrate to the couch to eat.
Goro reaches for the TV remote and turns on a documentary he’s been watching, although neither of you pays complete attention to it. The food tastes much better than you expected it would.
You notice him wincing and massaging his calf.
“Are your legs okay?” you peep.
He sighs. “Yes– I think being on my feet during my shifts isn’t as easy as it used to be.”
“Can I see?” you ask, gesturing to his leg.
He brushes your hand away and refuses, “I’m fine.”
“But–”
Goro rubs his temple. “Don’t worry about me. It’s normal.”
“That’s not good,” you laugh hopelessly. “Please?”
You open your hand again. He stares at your palm before propping his foot onto the couch. You carefully slide the leg of his sweatpants up to his knee.
“Is it both of your legs?” You feel down his calf and try not to think too hard about what you’re doing.
“Yes,” he mumbles, chewing. “Mostly my feet.”
“Have you tried soaking them after work?”
“I’ve considered it.” He watches your hand press on his ankle.
“That might help. It doesn’t feel swollen.”
You expect him to find a reason to pull away, but he doesn’t. He keeps eating and watching the TV screen.
You wonder if he likes the touch, but cringe in embarrassment at the thought and remove your hands.
“Maybe stretching and soaking will help with the pain,” you conclude, curling back up into your corner of the couch.
Goro casts you an amused look and then stands up to wander away. “What, are you my doctor now?”
“No– I’m just worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” he says from the kitchen.
A hand gestures for your empty bowl and you flinch.
Goro withdraws and you can imagine the weird look he’s giving you.
“What?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Sorry.”
You hand him the bowl without looking at him. He takes it, but lingers beside you.
“Did I scare you?” he asks, quieter.
“A little,” you try to say it lightheartedly, but he frowns, anyway. “It’s okay. I just didn’t see you.”
He doesn’t respond. He takes your bowl to the kitchen and places it in the sink.
Goro sits down again and doesn’t mention your small fright.
Feeling greedy, you gesture for his other foot. He resigns, turning to rest both legs on your lap so you can knead gentle circles into the tense muscles.
“Is this okay?” you ask, almost too baffled to believe this is real. You haven’t touched each other this much in years.
“Very okay,” he replies.
Your stomach knots and your collarbones howl with need. You both quietly watch the documentary as he chugs a glass of water.
“Shit,” he murmurs suddenly. “I still have to take you home. It’s getting late.”
“I can stay over,” you say without thinking. “If– that’s easier. And if you want me to.”
Goro gives you a long stare.
You can’t read his face and eventually look away, giving up. You continue rubbing his leg gently.
“I can sleep on the couch,” you add. “You don’t–”
“No–” Goro interrupts, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s– you can take my bed.”
You suppose that means you’re invited to stay? “But, where will you sleep?”
“The couch– probably. If I even fall asleep.”
“Your bed’s big enough for both of us.”
He pauses. “You’ll have to try harder than that to get me into bed with you.”
So you do try harder. You look up from his leg and meet his eyes.
“That’s not what I was trying to do,” you reply. “I just don’t like sleeping alone. But… it’s only if you’re comfortable.”
You’re still massaging his legs as you talk, so you use the opportunity to trail your hand a little higher, just for a second, to his knee.
Goro mutters, “Is that your best effort?”
“Ouch,” you respond. You forget that he can see right through you.
It was a high-risk, high-reward scenario, and you’ve unfortunately fallen into the risk zone.
It would have worked on Akira; it would have even worked on Goro back in high school. Maybe it’s a little foolish for you to assume he’s the same.
After he showers later that night, you convince him to let you borrow his clothes.
You stand beside his bed with the look of a kicked puppy; he surrenders into sharing his bed with you.
You wear one of his long-sleeved shirts despite the heat outside because of your pungent embarrassment of your scarred arms. You doubt he’ll see anything in the dark, and he’s already seen the worst of it anyway, but you stick to your precautions.
As he does his nightly skin care, you shift on your feet and fiddle with your fingers. “Can I sleep on this side?”
Goro blinks up at you, patting moisturizer onto his smooth face. “Yeah… Why?”
“I don’t like sleeping next to the door.”
He stares into his desk mirror and processes your request. “So you’re sacrificing me, instead?”
You smile. “Maybe.”
“I suppose that’s fine.”
You crawl into bed with your phone and headphones.
Once he finishes his self-pampering, he turns off the lights – now, only the plugged in night light remains – and climbs in beside you. You scoot over to give him room, facing him.
The sheets feel cold and you can sense his eyes on you.
“What?” you ask.
He stares at you from his pillow. “Why do you have that.”
You glance at your phone. “Background noise helps me sleep.”
Beyond the cold light of your phone screen, you can see him wince. “Damn, you don’t have your medication, do you?”
“No… I didn’t think I would be staying.”
“Sorry. Will you be able to sleep?”
“Eventually.”
He falls quiet. You expect him to pass out within five minutes, but he’s still shifting every once in a while.
You can tell he’s tired, and that he’s forcing himself to stay awake for as long as you’re watching.
“Go to sleep,” you whisper to him. “I’m okay.”
His eyes blink open again. He watches your face carefully.
“I can stay up until you fall asleep,” he insists, voice hoarse.
“I’ll be okay,” you reassure, nudging his hair from his face. “It already helps me a lot to have you here. Just sleep.”
He exhales and his eyes flutter shut for the second your hand makes contact with his hair.
You take notice and – slowly, cautiously – reach out again as if you expect him to snap at you like a hurt dog.
You begin combing his hair with your fingers. He exhales again, deeper this time like it’s a partial sigh.
“Feels nice?” you whisper, smiling gently at him.
“Shut it,” he murmurs, but closes his eyes. You bite down your grin.
His hair is shorter – there’s less to comb through – but it ultimately feels the same on your fingers as it did years ago: soft, thick, and well taken care of. You wonder if anyone has touched him like this ever since you did.
While brushing a piece closer to his hairline, you accidentally let your hand stroke his face.
You only loiter for a second, but it’s long enough for Goro’s eyes to reopen in surprise.
As if in apology, you scratch his scalp (the way you remember he once liked) to wipe his memory. He doesn’t argue.
You comb his hair as you continue watching your show. You’re thankful that you brought your headphones.
Goro’s breath catches as he jolts. You flinch.
“Sorry,” he murmurs into the pillow.
Your mouth stalls before you can ask your screen, “Are you okay?”
“Yes– it happens frequently.”
You can’t help but read into it. His sleep patterns have always been concerning, but they seem even worse than during high school.
You’re surprised his psychiatrist hasn’t prescribed him a nighttime medication and then called it a day (like yours did).
Maybe he’s working on it, himself. Maybe he hasn’t told anyone.
He attempts to settle again and you comb his hair to help. You still feel your heart slowing back down from its surprise.
Your summer break is a mere month after your visit. A handful of final exams sit between you and your escape.
So here you are, sulking away from a party and to the closest bus stop at midnight, by yourself, after a celebratory post-exam bash falls flat. The August air sits, humid and unrelenting, on your back.
Your phone rings in your pocket. You expect it to be one of the people you just left behind, though you should have expected otherwise. Goro’s name blurs through the water in your eyes.
You’re unsure of what possesses you to answer, besides maybe the yearning for a familiar voice on your walk home.
You can’t even say hello without Goro demanding, “What’s wrong?”
“It’s–” Still feeling stupid, you sniffle and backtrack, “Just a bad day.”
He’s quiet for a second. “You’re not home, are you?”
“Not yet,” you try not to whimper. “I’m sorry– I can call you back later. I just–”
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he interrupts.
Your stomach flips. “It’s dumb.”
“Are you on your way home?”
“Yeah, I’m– I’m waiting for my bus.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah–”
“I’ll stay on the phone until you get home. What’s going on?”
Embarrassed, you clutch your side with your free hand to choke your sobs down.
You confess, “I broke up with the guy I was seeing.”
“Ah.”
“He, um, took me to a party and– and pretended he didn’t know me when he ran into his friends. ‘S why I’m by– by myself.”
“He let you leave alone?” Goro asks.
“Basically…”
“None of your friends could have picked you up?”
“I just wanted to be alone.”
“God… Are you near anyone?”
“Not right now. I’m– I’m okay. Toky– Tokyo’s a lot more unsafe. My bus is here.”
“Okay.”
Neither of you speaks for a while, minus your muffled sniffles. A few tipsy students talk loudly on the ride.
“This is– my stop,” you interrupt the silence to tell Goro.
“All right. Do you want me to stay on the phone once you’re home?”
You collect your things and step off. “No– I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? You’re not going to spiral all night, are you?”
You balance the phone between your shoulder and ear as you unlock your door. You can hear Nao’s happy paws on the other side and nearly cry with relief.
“No– I’m going to– take a shower, and wait for the sake to wear off, and then take my medication.”
“Okay. You can call me back if you need to. Don’t worry about waking me up.”
“Okay… Thank you, Goro. I love you.”
He stops.
You push your front door open and enter the cool air of your living room. You make sure he hasn’t hung up on you.
“Sorry,” you murmur. “I say that to a lot of people–”
“It’s fine,” he says hoarsely. “Try to get some rest.”
You were unfortunately not drunk enough to forget your slipped ‘I love you’ to Goro. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to tell it happened with how normal he acts the next time you see him. Neither of you mentions it again.
You’re playing a video game on his couch as he reads across from you. You’ve officially survived your first semester of university. The hot, August night outside sticks and plucks at the windows like super glue.
You drift off as you play, your fingers stalling on the buttons and joycons.
“Falling asleep?” Goro’s voice brings you back to your game.
“No,” you huff, stretching.
He untangles his legs from yours and stands up. You hear the floor creaking and objects moving in his bedroom.
Your eyes fall shut again as the noise buzzes between your ears and the video game soundtrack fades into obscurity.
And then– a looming presence, arms spread, a sheet suffocating your curled form–
You jump awake just as a blanket settles on your body.
“Sorry,” Goro says. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Is the blanket okay?”
Calming back down, you melt into the cushions and nod.
Upon your approval, he finishes draping the blanket over you. It’s soft and smells like him; you touch it with childishly curious hands to soak in the feeling.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “Go back to sleep.”
You do – much easier than you or he likely expect.
Once you awaken again, the controller has vanished from your hands, the TV quietly plays the news, and two candles are lit on the kitchen counter. The windows are dark through the closed blinds.
You follow the sound of movement and find Goro in his bedroom, sorting through books on his shelf.
You step further inside before he notices you. You feel guilty (and also somewhat proud of yourself) when his head snaps in your direction.
“Shit–” he breathes, fixing his short hair as if reflexive. “At this rate, you’ll need to wear a bell.”
You smile at him. You used to think Goro was impossible to startle until this exact moment.
You wander over and sit on his bed. “What are you doing?”
Goro sighs and looks back down at the piles of novels on his floor. Your eyes trace over the back of his neck where it meets the neckline of his shirt.
“Getting rid of some books,” he grumbles. “Many of them I’ve read, or either have no interest in reading.”
You scoot to the foot of his bed so you can glance over some of the titles. Mostly philosophy, as anticipated.
Still in a post-nap daze and enveloped in this soft warmth of appreciation for him, you watch him pluck books from his shelves, skim the summaries, and then sort them into one of two piles.
You only return to consciousness when he holds one out to you.
“Still looking for science fiction stories?” he prompts.
You slowly take the outstretched book and read the back of it.
“That was so long ago,” you reply, referring to your first run-in at the bookstore last year, after everything happened. “This one looks cool.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” he responds.
You absently make space for him as he gets up and sits on the bed beside you.
“Do you want it back after I finish it?”
He thinks and then shakes his head. “Keep it.”
“Aww, just for me?”
Goro pokes a lopsided smile in your direction. “Certainly.”
Gripping the edges of the thick novel in your hands, your head spins. Something heats the tip of your tongue.
“Can I talk to you about something?” you try carefully.
His smile falls as he regards you, equally careful. You both tread lightly.
“What?” he prompts.
“Um,” you start. “It’s about my phone call with you. When I told you I love you.”
He says nothing. You watch his legs, unable to match his stare.
“I’m sorry if it was too much,” you mumble, your voice pitifully small against the silence. “And I’m sorry that I played it off… It’s just… I tell my friends that I love them a lot, so it just kind of slipped because I appreciate you more than most people right now. And I guess… I meant it as more than a friendly love, and– I don’t know if you feel it, too…”
He cuts off your long-winded explanation, “No, I don’t.”
You shrink back into your self-preservation.
“Okay,” you respond calmly. “We don’t have to talk about it, then.”
A few seconds pass. You’re not looking at him, and you can tell he’s not looking at you, either.
“We can talk about it,” he whispers, clearly at a loss for how to proceed.
You shake your head, letting your legs kick as they dangle off of his bed. “We don’t have to. I just…”
You know you should stop collapsing back into sabotage and self-pity, but you don’t wish to inconvenience Goro – regardless if doing that inconveniences you in the process. You’re willing to walk away from the table half-fed once again, always within reach of what you want until it’s taken from you like a dog’s unfinished meal.
You start again, “I can’t let it go.”
Goro snarls, “I’m not going to be your ‘rebound.’”
“You’re not a rebound.” You surprise yourself at how quickly you argue. “If anything, I treated Akira like a rebound after you.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he hisses.
You try to bite down the tears, but they overflow when Goro raises his voice.
You try to stop the flow because you don’t want him to think you’re doing it on purpose to evoke pity – or to get what you want.
Unintentionally, it works. His voice softens, “(F/N)...”
Your vision blurs too much to see clearly with your crying. You try to inhale and exhale slowly, but your body racks with hiccups.
“It’s just–” you whimper. “It’s always been you.”
You feel hands settle on your arms and slide up to your face. Unsteady thumbs wipe your cheeks.
You blink your tears away so you can see his face clearly, mere inches from yours, as you await your fate. He dries the escaped tears with his thumbs.
Without words, he pulls you in by your cupped cheeks and kisses your forehead. Your heart nearly stops.
He adjusts to stare at you again, as closely as before, hands still cupping your face.
Finally, voice hushed and low, he murmurs, “I feel it, too.”
His hands slide down to your neck so he can peck your damp cheek. Unable to contain the hot buzz in your arms, you press your lips into his. It feels unbelievably pleasing when he doesn’t pull away.
You mumble between kisses, “I don’t want to– ruin what we have–”
He responds by kissing the corner of your mouth. “Don’t think about that.”
His arms find your waist when your wrists cross at the back of his neck, elbows outstretched over his shoulders. Everything sings and hums in delight within you. Nothing – no one – can possibly compare.
“I missed you,” you whisper against his mouth.
He nearly whines at the words before kissing you again.
“I…” he tries, pulling back a little.
Seeing that he can’t find the words, you lean in once more.
Either he pulls or you push, but you find him on his back with you above him. Once you lean back down to meet his lips and readjust your weight atop him, he looks away.
“I missed you,” he echoes back, directed toward the wall. “No one is ever like you.”
Your hands creep over his neck to his face, cupping his jaw.
“What do you mean?” you whisper, smiling sadly.
Goro’s eyes fall again, even with your hands guiding his face toward you. This close, you’re both concealed in a private cave as your mumbles intertangle.
He murmurs, “No one… has ever made me feel like you do. I don’t think anyone ever will.”
“You don’t know that,” you whisper into his mouth. You grin. “I feel like I’m pretty replaceable.”
“You’re not,” Goro nearly snarls. “That’s the problem.”
You sniffle at the heat stifling your lungs. He pecks your tearstained cheek again.
You lean back, away, so you’re sitting on his hips again.
You say, “No one could ever be you, either.”
His mouth tugs upward with a lopsided smile. With his hands warming pits against your waistband where they rest, he looks so good beneath you.
He prompts, “And what do you plan to do about it?”
The warm darkness still pokes and prods through the windows. You told Munehisa you’d be home by now.
You wince as your sore, shaky legs tug you upright onto the edge of the bed.
Goro scrolls on his phone in bed, behind you. He’s still wrapped up in the blankets because you begged him to lay with you for a little while – evidently for too long, shown by Mune’s annoyed text.
“Leaving?” Goro asks you.
You hum unsurely. “When will I see you again?”
“Well, you’ll be here for two months, won’t you?” he murmurs into the quiet bedroom.
“Yeah… Will this… happen again?”
“It can.” With a straight face, Goro says, “But I’d prefer if we kept things… casual. I don’t think dating is reasonable, considering our circumstances.”
You stare at your scabbed arms. “Okay.”
“Are you…” he pauses, “all right with that?”
You shrug and manage to look back at him. “It’s what I’m used to.”
You look away again. You can sense a feeling building within him, something along the lines of guilt, but you can’t tell for sure. You’re growing a little antsy from his silence.
Adept at this routine, you say, “I’m going to head out. I need to eat dinner.”
He says your name to call you back, though you hadn’t even moved. “I don’t want… to just be another fling to you.”
You don’t answer and instead wait for him to continue.
The bed shifts as he scoots closer. His hand slides up to your cheek.
“Can you look at me?” he mumbles.
You abide. His thumb strokes your temple.
“Please believe me,” Goro continues quietly, “if I could drop everything and commit to you right now, I would. But with my probation and your university… I don’t want to keep you waiting for me, over and over.”
“Can’t you just enjoy my company? We don’t have to go by labels,” you say, and you realize that you’re begging.
“I don’t understand why you want me,” he grumbles, “with everything I’ve put you through.”
“Does it matter?” you reply weakly.
He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut.
You reach up and hold his hand to your face. His palms have always felt calloused and rough to the touch, but you don’t cringe away.
Finally, his eyes open and pry into yours.
He says, “What do you want to do?”
“I’m not picky,” you whisper. “But… is this what you want?”
He pauses for a breath.
“I do,” he starts. “I’m just… I don’t want this to drive us apart again.”
“We can take it slow.” You stroke his knuckles.
He tugs his hand from your cheek so he can hold your hand between both of his.
“Eat dinner with me?” he asks.
Giving in, you nod with a smile.
He hides it well, but you can see his shoulders fall as he breathes a sigh of relief. You’re unsure of what he’s relieved to have, exactly, besides maybe an extra hour with you.
He breaks your train of thought, “What were you planning to eat?”
You hum to yourself, absently tapping his hands. “I was craving Vietnamese food.”
“That sounds fine.”
You hesitate as you build the courage to ask, “Can I stay over?”
He narrows his eyes like he’s about to say no, but then he responds, “Please.”