[Fic] Sidekick
Title: Sidekick
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Hazama Masayoshi/Goto Hidenori
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; spoilers through episode 3
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,271
Summary: Goto has never met anyone like Masayoshi before. It’s starting to show. Pre-slash.
Notes: This takes place roughly between episodes 3 and 4. (Yeah, it feels pretty strange to be writing fic for a series that only has 4 episodes out, lol.) I really love this series so far though - these guys are adorable, and I can’t wait to see where it all goes. :D
P.S. Flist, if you're not watching this yet - GO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. And then come back and fangirl with me~ ♥
“Sometimes I think I should have arrested you after all....”
Goto stares at Masayoshi across the table. He raises his glass of beer, but his eyes settle on the collar of his friend’s polo shirt for a beat or two before he blinks, and takes a long sip.
It’s late, and he should be at home. Should be asleep. Should be doing a lot of things, but lately, this seems to have taken the place of most everything else. It’s strange. Not necessarily unpleasant, but strange, nonetheless.
It’s unlike Goto to make friends so easily. To just fall into someone’s life like this. To sit down one day and realize that he’s barely seen the inside of his apartment in days, that he’s eaten homemade curry for dinner a half a dozen times in the past two weeks.
The landscape of his life has changed fairly drastically since he’s met Masayoshi, and sometimes it feels important, like his life has somehow been leading him up to this point, that alley.
Sometimes he thinks he’s been watching too many old superhero shows, where nothing happens without a reason, without a nod to fate, or destiny - the hero’s true calling. Sometimes he thinks he’s had one too many beers.
Lots of times he thinks he’s just an idiot. He’s made a friend, that’s all. Happens all the time.
He sighs.
Masayoshi is frowning at him, just barely. Just enough to make his brows furrow a bit, and his face look even younger and more earnest than usual.
“I’m serious, you know,” Goto says, lowering his eyes at his friend. “As a cop, I really should have arrested you by now.”
“That’s not fair, Goto-san, I haven’t even--"
“I’m not saying it’s because you’ve done anything wrong.”
Goto sighs, downs the rest of his beer. He feels warm and comfortable, sitting here with Masayoshi. Not unpleasant at all. But there’s a tiny something niggling at the corner of his mind.
“Then why?” Masayoshi asks. His eyes are clear, filled with expectation.
Goto is used to this look. It’s the look people give him when they sit down at the station to file a report. After he’s handed them a cup of coffee or tea from the vending machine, as the steam drifts up from the cup and warms their hands. It’s trust. The kind of complete trust that you don’t see displayed all that often in the real world, the world outside the station. They trust that Goto will be able to fix their problems, to help them when they don’t have anywhere else to turn. He figures that’s why he went into law enforcement in the first place. Because he wanted to be the person people came to for help. For protection.
Masayoshi looks up at him. “Goto-san?”
“I’m just saying that I can’t always be around to help you out, you know? You should be more careful.”
Masayoshi offers a slight smile.
“I’m always careful,” he says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that Goto knows means that he’s only going to be careful to a point. Once that arrow- straight justice of his gets involved, Goto knows that careful will be the last thing on Masayoshi’s mind.
The strangest thing is that sometimes Goto thinks he’s okay with that.
**
“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Goto reflects, leaning over his balcony. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and watches the smoke hover in front of him for a moment and then drift off into the darkness.
He feels more than a little guilty that he’s spending his twice weekly phone call with his girlfriend discussing the merits and shortcomings of his new friend. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind.
On the other end of the line, his girlfriend - Fumiko -- laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s cute, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve made such a good friend. And if you’re worried about him, you should just tell him, Go. You’re his sempai, I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”
Now it’s Goto’s turn to laugh, as he presses the stub of his cigarette into the ashcan next to the railing, and steps back inside.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The thing is - he’s completely convinced that he’s doing the right thing. I’ve never seen anyone believe in anything the way this guy does.”
“I guess you’re just going to have to become his sidekick, then,” she says, and Goto can practically see the smile on her face. “That way you’ll always be there to look out for him.”
“Hey now, that’s not funny.”
But they’re both laughing; the sound of it fills up Goto’s empty apartment, and warms his chest and his cheeks with something pleasant and fond and familiar.
**
The café bustles around them, and Masayoshi leans forward across the table, up on his elbows, almost spilling his cappuccino in the process. He stares up into Goto’s face, so close that Goto can smell his shampoo, citrusy fresh and a little sweet.
“She still suspects something, I’m sure of it.”
His whisper is louder than the normal voices of most of the people around them. Goto sighs and puts his hands on Masayoshi’s shoulders, maneuvering him back into his seat, as the girls at the table next to them stare for a moment, and then look away nervously. He wonders if they recognize Masayoshi, from the TV special, maybe.
Ever since the fake Samurai Flamenco incident, Masayoshi has been even more afraid than ever of bringing about his manager’s wrath.
“Of course she’s concerned about you,” Goto says calmly. “She’s your manager - that’s her job.” He drops his eyes to a pointed stare. “And it’s not exactly like you’ve been discreet, lately.”
Masayoshi sighs, and stares down at his hands. Then he looks up at Goto.
“What should I do?”
This is the exact moment that Goto has probably been waiting for. The exact time that his advice, coming from an older and wiser sempai, will finally get through to Masayoshi. He should be doing everything in his power to get his friend to give up Flamenco once and for all and instead…
Instead Masayoshi is staring up at him, his eyes wide and helpless and worried, and Goto can’t bring himself to say a damn thing.
“Come on,” is what he finally settles on. “Let’s get out of here - you can finish that on the way home.”
**
Masayoshi sits on the floor next to Goto’s feet, hugging a couch pillow to his chest. He looks miserable.
“Look,” Goto says. “I’m not going to try to talk you out of this whole hero thing anymore. We just have to find a way for you to be more careful. Smarter about where you go, that kind of thing. It’ll work out.”
“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says. Then he moans, slumping over onto the floor. “Maybe I should have settled for curry udon after all!”
“No,” Goto shakes his head, surprised at his sudden determination. “This is who you are, right? It’s important. It’s dangerous and maybe a little crazy, but… It’s important to you, which means it’s important to me too. We’ll figure out something, okay?”
Goto cringes a little inwardly at his rambling, but when he glances down at Masayoshi, somehow the kid’s got tears in his eyes, and Goto can’t decide if he wants to smack him, or lock him into a bear hug.
Sometimes Masayoshi reminds him of the kid brother he never had. Someone to sit on the couch with at home while his parents were busy at work and watch tokusatsu shows and anime with - would have been nice, at the time. Not that he’d ever fantasized about having a kid brother who was also a secret superhero, though. That was definitely all Masayoshi.
He settles for a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Come on, since when does a hero sit around feeling sorry for himself?”
Masayoshi seems to consider this, nodding seriously. “That’s true…”
“It’ll be fine - you’ll lay low for a while, and I’m sure Ishihara-san will drop all the Flamenco stuff. Eventually.”
Masayoshi nods again. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He fluffs the pillow, and sits down next to Goto on the couch. Then Masayoshi flashes him a sheepish smile.
“Your girlfriend must be jealous - you’re spending so much time worrying about me. I should apologize to her.”
Goto waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, I told you - it’s long distance. I told her about you though.”
“Yeah?”
“She thinks I should become your sidekick.”
Masayoshi’s eyes widen. He grins. “Goto-san that’s a great-"
“Don’t even think about it!”
“But I’m sure I could find you a great costume! I’ve got a bunch of prototypes, one of them is bound to--"
“A joke, idiot. It was a joke.”
“Hai, hai,” Masayoshi says, but he’s smiling, grinning, like he knows something Goto doesn’t.
Then he grabs the remote for the video screen.
“Let me guess,” Goto says, eyes on the screen as it lowers into place. “Red Axe, season five finale?”
Masayoshi nods enthusiastically. “The second part, the one where they try to bury him alive but he--”
Goto’s half-listens as Masayoshi gestures at the screen, and probably spoils half the plot before he settles back onto the couch. By the time the opening comes on, Masayoshi is smiling, that bright spark back in his eyes, as he watches his childhood hero battle it out in HD. He’s back to his old self. Goto is surprised by how relieved he feels.
When he shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, his shoulder presses against Masayoshi’s. Neither of them move, and Goto has a sudden urge to wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulder. To pull him close, and to keep him there. It’s not the first time he’s felt something like this when he’s with Masayoshi. The pull is so strong sometimes it almost feels like muscle memory.
He closes his eyes for a moment and then Masayoshi laughs, gesturing at the screen, where Red Axe has just outwitted his opponent. It’s been a long time since he’s felt a laugh like this, so close it might as well be rattling around in his own chest, bumping up against his ribcage.
On the screen, Red Axe doesn’t realize he’s about to be double crossed. Masayoshi leans forward in anticipation and the absence of contact feels strange, wrong somehow. He leans back a few moments later, and Goto finds himself gravitating towards the contact, not wanting to break the connection.
Then again, he supposes that’s what he’s been doing for a while now.
**
When Goto blinks awake hours later it’s to a heavy weight on his chest, and a soft, though not exactly welcome mouthful of Masayoshi’s hair.
He glances up at the screen - it’s long since gone dark. The apartment is quiet except for Masayoshi’s light breathing. His arm is curled around Goto’s stomach, and Goto’s arm is draped over his friend’s shoulder. Their legs stretch out side by side along the couch, and all of it feels ridiculously awkward and absolutely natural at the same time.
Goto thinks for a moment about how this must look, and then realizes that it doesn’t look like anything, because there’s no one here but them.
It’s late, and he should be at home, but instead he’s lying here on this couch, in the middle of Masayoshi’s giant apartment, which honestly feels just as familiar as his place ever did anyway.
Then he thinks about the look on Masayoshi’s face when he’s watching his heroes on TV, that infectious enthusiasm. Maybe his sense of justice isn’t naïve so much as just misguided, misplaced. He’s already lost that argument more than once though - the one where he encourages Masayoshi to stay back on the sidelines, let the police deal with criminals, and if that’s not good enough, join the force himself. But he knows there’s no way that’s happening.
Goto has never met anyone more stubborn than Masayoshi. Or more determined to do things his own way. It might be inspiring if it wasn’t so completely insane. If he wasn’t dealing with someone who’d stopped using umbrellas for the rest of their life because of a six year old kid’s cold.
He thinks of Fumiko’s umbrella. Of watching Masayoshi race off on his bike at full speed in the rain; he’d ended up soaked to the bone, water dripping off the tips of his hair and all over the inside of the taxi.
Idiot, Goto thinks. He’s the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.
He lifts his arm, just far enough so that he can reach the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it down over Masayoshi’s shoulder, and drapes it over their legs. His friend shifts with the contact and presses his cheek against Goto’s chest, just below his collar bone. He lets out a long breath, and his fingers twitch against Goto’s stomach.
He should have tried harder when he had it in him, maybe, to convince Masayoshi to give this whole hero thing up. But instead, he’s here. Again. When it comes down to it, Goto figures he’s nothing more than an enabler - big time.
He sighs, and his hand tightens around Masayoshi’s arm for a moment. The tips of his fingers brush against soft, smooth skin. The blanket is soft too; it traps their warmth underneath it, saving it up for a particularly cold night in the future, maybe.
Sidekick, huh…
It’s a ridiculous idea, but it sure has a nice ring to it.
end
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Hazama Masayoshi/Goto Hidenori
Warnings/Spoilers: no warnings; spoilers through episode 3
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2,271
Summary: Goto has never met anyone like Masayoshi before. It’s starting to show. Pre-slash.
Notes: This takes place roughly between episodes 3 and 4. (Yeah, it feels pretty strange to be writing fic for a series that only has 4 episodes out, lol.) I really love this series so far though - these guys are adorable, and I can’t wait to see where it all goes. :D
P.S. Flist, if you're not watching this yet - GO DO THAT RIGHT NOW. And then come back and fangirl with me~ ♥
“Sometimes I think I should have arrested you after all....”
Goto stares at Masayoshi across the table. He raises his glass of beer, but his eyes settle on the collar of his friend’s polo shirt for a beat or two before he blinks, and takes a long sip.
It’s late, and he should be at home. Should be asleep. Should be doing a lot of things, but lately, this seems to have taken the place of most everything else. It’s strange. Not necessarily unpleasant, but strange, nonetheless.
It’s unlike Goto to make friends so easily. To just fall into someone’s life like this. To sit down one day and realize that he’s barely seen the inside of his apartment in days, that he’s eaten homemade curry for dinner a half a dozen times in the past two weeks.
The landscape of his life has changed fairly drastically since he’s met Masayoshi, and sometimes it feels important, like his life has somehow been leading him up to this point, that alley.
Sometimes he thinks he’s been watching too many old superhero shows, where nothing happens without a reason, without a nod to fate, or destiny - the hero’s true calling. Sometimes he thinks he’s had one too many beers.
Lots of times he thinks he’s just an idiot. He’s made a friend, that’s all. Happens all the time.
He sighs.
Masayoshi is frowning at him, just barely. Just enough to make his brows furrow a bit, and his face look even younger and more earnest than usual.
“I’m serious, you know,” Goto says, lowering his eyes at his friend. “As a cop, I really should have arrested you by now.”
“That’s not fair, Goto-san, I haven’t even--"
“I’m not saying it’s because you’ve done anything wrong.”
Goto sighs, downs the rest of his beer. He feels warm and comfortable, sitting here with Masayoshi. Not unpleasant at all. But there’s a tiny something niggling at the corner of his mind.
“Then why?” Masayoshi asks. His eyes are clear, filled with expectation.
Goto is used to this look. It’s the look people give him when they sit down at the station to file a report. After he’s handed them a cup of coffee or tea from the vending machine, as the steam drifts up from the cup and warms their hands. It’s trust. The kind of complete trust that you don’t see displayed all that often in the real world, the world outside the station. They trust that Goto will be able to fix their problems, to help them when they don’t have anywhere else to turn. He figures that’s why he went into law enforcement in the first place. Because he wanted to be the person people came to for help. For protection.
Masayoshi looks up at him. “Goto-san?”
“I’m just saying that I can’t always be around to help you out, you know? You should be more careful.”
Masayoshi offers a slight smile.
“I’m always careful,” he says, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that Goto knows means that he’s only going to be careful to a point. Once that arrow- straight justice of his gets involved, Goto knows that careful will be the last thing on Masayoshi’s mind.
The strangest thing is that sometimes Goto thinks he’s okay with that.
**
“I’ve never met anyone like him,” Goto reflects, leaning over his balcony. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, and watches the smoke hover in front of him for a moment and then drift off into the darkness.
He feels more than a little guilty that he’s spending his twice weekly phone call with his girlfriend discussing the merits and shortcomings of his new friend. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind.
On the other end of the line, his girlfriend - Fumiko -- laughs.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, it’s cute, that’s all. I’m glad you’ve made such a good friend. And if you’re worried about him, you should just tell him, Go. You’re his sempai, I’m sure he’ll listen to you.”
Now it’s Goto’s turn to laugh, as he presses the stub of his cigarette into the ashcan next to the railing, and steps back inside.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The thing is - he’s completely convinced that he’s doing the right thing. I’ve never seen anyone believe in anything the way this guy does.”
“I guess you’re just going to have to become his sidekick, then,” she says, and Goto can practically see the smile on her face. “That way you’ll always be there to look out for him.”
“Hey now, that’s not funny.”
But they’re both laughing; the sound of it fills up Goto’s empty apartment, and warms his chest and his cheeks with something pleasant and fond and familiar.
**
The café bustles around them, and Masayoshi leans forward across the table, up on his elbows, almost spilling his cappuccino in the process. He stares up into Goto’s face, so close that Goto can smell his shampoo, citrusy fresh and a little sweet.
“She still suspects something, I’m sure of it.”
His whisper is louder than the normal voices of most of the people around them. Goto sighs and puts his hands on Masayoshi’s shoulders, maneuvering him back into his seat, as the girls at the table next to them stare for a moment, and then look away nervously. He wonders if they recognize Masayoshi, from the TV special, maybe.
Ever since the fake Samurai Flamenco incident, Masayoshi has been even more afraid than ever of bringing about his manager’s wrath.
“Of course she’s concerned about you,” Goto says calmly. “She’s your manager - that’s her job.” He drops his eyes to a pointed stare. “And it’s not exactly like you’ve been discreet, lately.”
Masayoshi sighs, and stares down at his hands. Then he looks up at Goto.
“What should I do?”
This is the exact moment that Goto has probably been waiting for. The exact time that his advice, coming from an older and wiser sempai, will finally get through to Masayoshi. He should be doing everything in his power to get his friend to give up Flamenco once and for all and instead…
Instead Masayoshi is staring up at him, his eyes wide and helpless and worried, and Goto can’t bring himself to say a damn thing.
“Come on,” is what he finally settles on. “Let’s get out of here - you can finish that on the way home.”
**
Masayoshi sits on the floor next to Goto’s feet, hugging a couch pillow to his chest. He looks miserable.
“Look,” Goto says. “I’m not going to try to talk you out of this whole hero thing anymore. We just have to find a way for you to be more careful. Smarter about where you go, that kind of thing. It’ll work out.”
“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says. Then he moans, slumping over onto the floor. “Maybe I should have settled for curry udon after all!”
“No,” Goto shakes his head, surprised at his sudden determination. “This is who you are, right? It’s important. It’s dangerous and maybe a little crazy, but… It’s important to you, which means it’s important to me too. We’ll figure out something, okay?”
Goto cringes a little inwardly at his rambling, but when he glances down at Masayoshi, somehow the kid’s got tears in his eyes, and Goto can’t decide if he wants to smack him, or lock him into a bear hug.
Sometimes Masayoshi reminds him of the kid brother he never had. Someone to sit on the couch with at home while his parents were busy at work and watch tokusatsu shows and anime with - would have been nice, at the time. Not that he’d ever fantasized about having a kid brother who was also a secret superhero, though. That was definitely all Masayoshi.
He settles for a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Come on, since when does a hero sit around feeling sorry for himself?”
Masayoshi seems to consider this, nodding seriously. “That’s true…”
“It’ll be fine - you’ll lay low for a while, and I’m sure Ishihara-san will drop all the Flamenco stuff. Eventually.”
Masayoshi nods again. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
He fluffs the pillow, and sits down next to Goto on the couch. Then Masayoshi flashes him a sheepish smile.
“Your girlfriend must be jealous - you’re spending so much time worrying about me. I should apologize to her.”
Goto waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, I told you - it’s long distance. I told her about you though.”
“Yeah?”
“She thinks I should become your sidekick.”
Masayoshi’s eyes widen. He grins. “Goto-san that’s a great-"
“Don’t even think about it!”
“But I’m sure I could find you a great costume! I’ve got a bunch of prototypes, one of them is bound to--"
“A joke, idiot. It was a joke.”
“Hai, hai,” Masayoshi says, but he’s smiling, grinning, like he knows something Goto doesn’t.
Then he grabs the remote for the video screen.
“Let me guess,” Goto says, eyes on the screen as it lowers into place. “Red Axe, season five finale?”
Masayoshi nods enthusiastically. “The second part, the one where they try to bury him alive but he--”
Goto’s half-listens as Masayoshi gestures at the screen, and probably spoils half the plot before he settles back onto the couch. By the time the opening comes on, Masayoshi is smiling, that bright spark back in his eyes, as he watches his childhood hero battle it out in HD. He’s back to his old self. Goto is surprised by how relieved he feels.
When he shifts into a more comfortable position on the couch, his shoulder presses against Masayoshi’s. Neither of them move, and Goto has a sudden urge to wrap his arm around his friend’s shoulder. To pull him close, and to keep him there. It’s not the first time he’s felt something like this when he’s with Masayoshi. The pull is so strong sometimes it almost feels like muscle memory.
He closes his eyes for a moment and then Masayoshi laughs, gesturing at the screen, where Red Axe has just outwitted his opponent. It’s been a long time since he’s felt a laugh like this, so close it might as well be rattling around in his own chest, bumping up against his ribcage.
On the screen, Red Axe doesn’t realize he’s about to be double crossed. Masayoshi leans forward in anticipation and the absence of contact feels strange, wrong somehow. He leans back a few moments later, and Goto finds himself gravitating towards the contact, not wanting to break the connection.
Then again, he supposes that’s what he’s been doing for a while now.
**
When Goto blinks awake hours later it’s to a heavy weight on his chest, and a soft, though not exactly welcome mouthful of Masayoshi’s hair.
He glances up at the screen - it’s long since gone dark. The apartment is quiet except for Masayoshi’s light breathing. His arm is curled around Goto’s stomach, and Goto’s arm is draped over his friend’s shoulder. Their legs stretch out side by side along the couch, and all of it feels ridiculously awkward and absolutely natural at the same time.
Goto thinks for a moment about how this must look, and then realizes that it doesn’t look like anything, because there’s no one here but them.
It’s late, and he should be at home, but instead he’s lying here on this couch, in the middle of Masayoshi’s giant apartment, which honestly feels just as familiar as his place ever did anyway.
Then he thinks about the look on Masayoshi’s face when he’s watching his heroes on TV, that infectious enthusiasm. Maybe his sense of justice isn’t naïve so much as just misguided, misplaced. He’s already lost that argument more than once though - the one where he encourages Masayoshi to stay back on the sidelines, let the police deal with criminals, and if that’s not good enough, join the force himself. But he knows there’s no way that’s happening.
Goto has never met anyone more stubborn than Masayoshi. Or more determined to do things his own way. It might be inspiring if it wasn’t so completely insane. If he wasn’t dealing with someone who’d stopped using umbrellas for the rest of their life because of a six year old kid’s cold.
He thinks of Fumiko’s umbrella. Of watching Masayoshi race off on his bike at full speed in the rain; he’d ended up soaked to the bone, water dripping off the tips of his hair and all over the inside of the taxi.
Idiot, Goto thinks. He’s the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.
He lifts his arm, just far enough so that he can reach the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it down over Masayoshi’s shoulder, and drapes it over their legs. His friend shifts with the contact and presses his cheek against Goto’s chest, just below his collar bone. He lets out a long breath, and his fingers twitch against Goto’s stomach.
He should have tried harder when he had it in him, maybe, to convince Masayoshi to give this whole hero thing up. But instead, he’s here. Again. When it comes down to it, Goto figures he’s nothing more than an enabler - big time.
He sighs, and his hand tightens around Masayoshi’s arm for a moment. The tips of his fingers brush against soft, smooth skin. The blanket is soft too; it traps their warmth underneath it, saving it up for a particularly cold night in the future, maybe.
Sidekick, huh…
It’s a ridiculous idea, but it sure has a nice ring to it.
end