[Fic] an invisible umbrella
Title: an invisible umbrella
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Goto Hidenori/Hazama Masayoshi
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,067
Summary: Goto has never liked cemeteries.
Notes: This is a fill for the kinkmeme, for the prompt: “Visiting Masayoshi’s family grave”. (A little light on the hurt/comfort, anon, but I hope it still works!) There are also some hints here at a backstory for Goto that I’m sure will end up completely ruined as we get further along in the series, but… I suppose I’ll deal with that later! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. ^_^
“I’ve been coming here a lot lately,” Masayoshi says. “There shouldn’t be too much to clean.”
The sky is bright and blue above them, and the grave markers poke up towards the clouds like thick grey popsicle sticks.
Goto rolls his shoulders back to rid himself of the tension that’s predictably gathered there and around his neck. When Masayoshi tells him that they’re almost there, he finds that he’s a little relieved.
Goto has never liked cemeteries. There isn’t really a good reason why. Other than his grandmother, and his father, he hasn’t had much of a reason to even consider them. It’s been nearly ten years now, since his father, even longer for his grandmother, and he’s never really made a habit of doing this anyway. Grave visits had always seemed kind of pointless to him.
They’re not necessarily bad places though, he tells himself. He looks over at Masayoshi - there’s a hint of a smile on his friend’s lips, like he’s happy to be here. Well, it was his idea, Goto figures.
“You’re looking cheerful,” Goto remarks.
Masayoshi stops walking and just stares at him for a moment. “You don’t really like places like this, do you, Goto-san.”
“Well, I wouldn’t count them among my favorite places to be,” Goto says honestly, and they keep walking. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
An older man passes them, making his way purposefully down the path on the opposite side. They nod to each other and exchange greetings.
“I just kind of wanted you to meet him, you know?” Masayoshi says, and Goto’s breath catches in his throat for a second.
He swallows; he’s not really sure what to say. Oddly enough, he’d been thinking the same thing in that moment. He’d gotten this image, after they’d passed the man on the path, of a much older Masayoshi, his face lined with wisdom and experience, but with the same bright, bold eyes. Of course, he would have loved to have met him.
“This is it,” Masayoshi says, as he stops in front of a completely normal looking plot, among many others.
It’s almost identical to the one to Goto’s right, and the one to their left. Goto isn’t sure what he was expecting, really. He watches Masayoshi brush a little dirt from the base of the marker with his hand. He smiles up at Goto, his eyes glinting a little in the bright afternoon sunlight.
Goto studies the characters on the stone marker, trying to turn them into something meaningful, and failing, as always. This is why, maybe, he thinks. A whole life, reduced to this. Engravings on a piece of stone.
“I need a cigarette,” Goto says, and he steps back from the grave because it feels somehow disrespectful, so close to, well… Better safe than sorry, maybe.
He takes a couple more steps back until he’s on the path again, which seems to be a fair enough distance away. He stares down at a large, sturdy looking tree towards the end of the row of markers, and lets the smoke pass through his lips, slow and steady.
After a moment, he glances back over at Masayoshi. His friend is standing in front of the grave marker, his back straight, his posture respectful, firm. Goto squints, wonders if Masayoshi is praying.
He takes another long drag, and then stubs out his cigarette. Walks back over to Masayoshi. He apologizes, partly for the cigarette, partly for wandering off, because it feels like the right thing to do. The entire cemetery is probably a no smoking zone.
Masayoshi doesn’t say a word about the cigarette. He looks over at Goto, and gestures in front of them.
“My grandfather would have liked you,” Masayoshi says, and there’s a strange feeling in Goto’s stomach, in his chest.
He closes his eyes for a second, but it doesn’t do any good. It’s all Masayoshi there, too - a strand of shining, golden hair curling over an ear, a denim clad elbow, a patch of exposed skin, Masayoshi’s neck in the brisk, bright fall air.
He opens his eyes, and there’s a second where the two images come into focus together - the one in his mind, and the real one, standing right here in front of him.
“You think?” Goto says belatedly, and Masayoshi nods.
“Definitely.”
“Well, I think I would have liked him, too,” Goto says.
Masayoshi reaches over, and threads his fingers through Goto’s for a moment. He isn’t looking at him; he’s still looking straight ahead. The pads of his fingers are warm against Goto’s knuckles before he lets go.
Normally, this kind of conversation, in addition to the gesture, would tend to make Goto’s skin prickle, but right now his entire body, skin included just feels kind of warm, inside and out, like he’s standing next to a fire.
“I’ve decided, Goto-san,” Masayoshi says quietly. “I’m going to become a hero.”
“I thought you’d decided that a while ago.”
Masayoshi shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure before. What kind of hero I wanted to be. I thought if I didn’t know that, then maybe I should give it up.”
“Okay…”
“But now I’ve decided. I’ll become the kind of hero my grandfather would be proud of. And I’m going to do it my own way.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“I still don’t know yet,” Masayoshi says, and Goto laughs. “But I know it means that I have to become the kind of hero you can trust, and be proud of, too.”
The word hero coming from Masayoshi’s mouth always brings Goto back to the night they met, back when he was convinced that Masayoshi was the most immature nineteen year old he’d ever met, reckless, and possibly delusional. Of course since then, he’s had to come to terms with the reality of the situation, both in terms of the threat to the city, and the threat to Masayoshi himself. Somehow, putting on a suit and fighting crime isn’t exactly a fantasy anymore. It hasn’t been easy, making sense of it all.
Goto still feels like he straddles a fine line between wanting to protect his friend, and allowing him to go out there and do what he’s good at - what he needs to do. He never knows what to say when Masayoshi starts talking about heroes though. The word just doesn’t have the same weight for him as he knows it does for Masayoshi. It lies there between them like a dividing line. Lots of times, all Goto wants to do is brush it to the side and cross over.
“All you have to do is be yourself,” Goto says, quietly. “I don’t think you have to become anything. I don’t think that’s what your grandfather would have wanted, either, because…” He stops for a second. This is probably the last place where he should be trying to speak on behalf of the dead. “I mean, obviously, I didn’t know him, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to change anything about yourself, for the sake of this whole hero thing. More like,” Goto runs his hand over his head, suddenly feeling like a high school guidance counselor, “he would have wanted you to realize your own potential, something like that.”
“And so…” Masayoshi says, his voice flat. “Do you think that’s what I’m doing now?”
“I think you’re doing the best you can,” Goto says. “And I think that’s all anyone who cares about you could ever ask.”
Masayoshi’s head is turned away from Goto, and his shoulders are slumped forward a little.
“It’s hard,” Masayoshi says quietly. “Sometimes.”
“I know,” Goto says. “It’s hard for me, too.”
Masayoshi turns to him, confused.
“It’s not like I don’t worry about you when you’re out there, you know.”
“I worry about you, too, Goto-san. All the time. Something could attack the station, when I’m not around, or… ” Masayoshi says, raising his voice a little, panic creeping into his eyes. “What if something happens to you while I’m fighting somewhere else? I know I can’t protect everyone at once. That’s why I have to become stronger, better.”
Goto sighs. He's sympathetic, of course he is, but... He's also heard some version of this before, countless times.
“Come here,” he says, and he wraps his arm around his Masayoshi’s shoulders.
“No one,” Goto says, “not me, not him.” He gestures forward at the grave marker. “No one is expecting you to protect everyone all the time. You watch my back when you can, and vice versa, okay?”
There’s a line of warmth running down his side, where he’s pressed against Masayoshi.
“What do you think I did before you came along, anyway?” he says, as he loosens his grip on Masayoshi’s shoulder a little.
“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says, and turns in towards Goto. His face is close - all of him is, like they’re sharing an invisible umbrella, like there’s a storm up overhead that they’re ducking away from together.
“I don’t know either,” Goto admits.
Then he leans forward and brushes his lips against Masayoshi’s, feeling a surge in his chest at the contact, like his heart is leaping forward right into Masayoshi’s mouth.
It’s not the first time they’ve done this. There was the time with the umbrella, Masayoshi soaking wet in the back of a taxi, and Goto’s head still a little foggy from one or two too many drinks at the bar. When he looks back on it, it’s all a bit hazy, a mishmash of sensations. Masayoshi’s hair dripping all over his face and down his chest, his flushed skin, two very wet sets of lips.
There were other times, too - less hazy, more real. In Masayoshi’s genkan once, for no reason at all except that it had been late, and he’d been leaving even though he didn’t really want to. He didn’t know how to say that, so he’d done the other thing instead, and Masayoshi had deepened the kiss, and pressed Goto’s back up against the door, tripping over their shoes. It had taken Goto a while to realize that the doorknob was poking him in the ass, and that it really was kind of painful. He really did have to get back, too - early shift in the morning. Masayoshi had needed to wake up early too, a photo shoot, or a commercial, he can’t remember which.
Pressing his lips against Masayoshi’s out here in the daylight with the sun beating down against his neck is different. It’s good - bright, hyper-exposed. Masayoshi feels solid and alive in his arms. A breeze ripples through the air, and he can feel soft, blonde hair brush against his chin, and his forehead.
“Mm,” Masayoshi says against his lips, with a smile that Goto can barely focus on, their faces are so close.
“Sorry,” Goto says after a second, as the grey of the landscape around them slides back into focus, and he remembers exactly where they are. “That was probably kind of…”
“Inappropriate?” Masayoshi supplies, but he’s still huddled in towards Goto, his hands loosely resting on Goto’s hips. Goto is grateful - he’s not quite willing to break the spell yet either.
“Yeah, maybe a little,” Goto says, nodding. He likes this look in Masayoshi’s eyes, mischievous and sweet at the same time. “Sorry,” he says again, meaning it even less than he had the first time.
“I don’t really mind,” Masayoshi says. “But we should probably get going anyway, right?”
“Sure,” Goto says. “I know a great curry place a few blocks over, if you’re hungry.” He tugs at Masayoshi’s hand, and then lets his fingers drag lazily over Masayoshi’s knuckles, his wrist.
He’s surprised when Masayoshi maintains the contact, his fingers brushing back and forth across Goto’s palm, as they make their way back to the main path.
“Next time,” Masayoshi says, squeezing their palms together tightly.
“Next time, what?” Goto prompts, when they’ve reached the cemetery exit, and Masayoshi still hasn’t finished his thought.
“Nothing, I just…” Masayoshi’s hand tenses in his for a second. “I was just thinking that next time I’d like to meet, you know, your father. But it’s silly, I know you don’t-"
“Yeah,” Goto says, surprising himself completely. He squeezes Masayoshi’s hand tightly before he lets go, and they step back into civilization, into the bustle of the city. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
end
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Pairing: Goto Hidenori/Hazama Masayoshi
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,067
Summary: Goto has never liked cemeteries.
Notes: This is a fill for the kinkmeme, for the prompt: “Visiting Masayoshi’s family grave”. (A little light on the hurt/comfort, anon, but I hope it still works!) There are also some hints here at a backstory for Goto that I’m sure will end up completely ruined as we get further along in the series, but… I suppose I’ll deal with that later! Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. ^_^
“I’ve been coming here a lot lately,” Masayoshi says. “There shouldn’t be too much to clean.”
The sky is bright and blue above them, and the grave markers poke up towards the clouds like thick grey popsicle sticks.
Goto rolls his shoulders back to rid himself of the tension that’s predictably gathered there and around his neck. When Masayoshi tells him that they’re almost there, he finds that he’s a little relieved.
Goto has never liked cemeteries. There isn’t really a good reason why. Other than his grandmother, and his father, he hasn’t had much of a reason to even consider them. It’s been nearly ten years now, since his father, even longer for his grandmother, and he’s never really made a habit of doing this anyway. Grave visits had always seemed kind of pointless to him.
They’re not necessarily bad places though, he tells himself. He looks over at Masayoshi - there’s a hint of a smile on his friend’s lips, like he’s happy to be here. Well, it was his idea, Goto figures.
“You’re looking cheerful,” Goto remarks.
Masayoshi stops walking and just stares at him for a moment. “You don’t really like places like this, do you, Goto-san.”
“Well, I wouldn’t count them among my favorite places to be,” Goto says honestly, and they keep walking. “But it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
An older man passes them, making his way purposefully down the path on the opposite side. They nod to each other and exchange greetings.
“I just kind of wanted you to meet him, you know?” Masayoshi says, and Goto’s breath catches in his throat for a second.
He swallows; he’s not really sure what to say. Oddly enough, he’d been thinking the same thing in that moment. He’d gotten this image, after they’d passed the man on the path, of a much older Masayoshi, his face lined with wisdom and experience, but with the same bright, bold eyes. Of course, he would have loved to have met him.
“This is it,” Masayoshi says, as he stops in front of a completely normal looking plot, among many others.
It’s almost identical to the one to Goto’s right, and the one to their left. Goto isn’t sure what he was expecting, really. He watches Masayoshi brush a little dirt from the base of the marker with his hand. He smiles up at Goto, his eyes glinting a little in the bright afternoon sunlight.
Goto studies the characters on the stone marker, trying to turn them into something meaningful, and failing, as always. This is why, maybe, he thinks. A whole life, reduced to this. Engravings on a piece of stone.
“I need a cigarette,” Goto says, and he steps back from the grave because it feels somehow disrespectful, so close to, well… Better safe than sorry, maybe.
He takes a couple more steps back until he’s on the path again, which seems to be a fair enough distance away. He stares down at a large, sturdy looking tree towards the end of the row of markers, and lets the smoke pass through his lips, slow and steady.
After a moment, he glances back over at Masayoshi. His friend is standing in front of the grave marker, his back straight, his posture respectful, firm. Goto squints, wonders if Masayoshi is praying.
He takes another long drag, and then stubs out his cigarette. Walks back over to Masayoshi. He apologizes, partly for the cigarette, partly for wandering off, because it feels like the right thing to do. The entire cemetery is probably a no smoking zone.
Masayoshi doesn’t say a word about the cigarette. He looks over at Goto, and gestures in front of them.
“My grandfather would have liked you,” Masayoshi says, and there’s a strange feeling in Goto’s stomach, in his chest.
He closes his eyes for a second, but it doesn’t do any good. It’s all Masayoshi there, too - a strand of shining, golden hair curling over an ear, a denim clad elbow, a patch of exposed skin, Masayoshi’s neck in the brisk, bright fall air.
He opens his eyes, and there’s a second where the two images come into focus together - the one in his mind, and the real one, standing right here in front of him.
“You think?” Goto says belatedly, and Masayoshi nods.
“Definitely.”
“Well, I think I would have liked him, too,” Goto says.
Masayoshi reaches over, and threads his fingers through Goto’s for a moment. He isn’t looking at him; he’s still looking straight ahead. The pads of his fingers are warm against Goto’s knuckles before he lets go.
Normally, this kind of conversation, in addition to the gesture, would tend to make Goto’s skin prickle, but right now his entire body, skin included just feels kind of warm, inside and out, like he’s standing next to a fire.
“I’ve decided, Goto-san,” Masayoshi says quietly. “I’m going to become a hero.”
“I thought you’d decided that a while ago.”
Masayoshi shakes his head. “I wasn’t sure before. What kind of hero I wanted to be. I thought if I didn’t know that, then maybe I should give it up.”
“Okay…”
“But now I’ve decided. I’ll become the kind of hero my grandfather would be proud of. And I’m going to do it my own way.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“I still don’t know yet,” Masayoshi says, and Goto laughs. “But I know it means that I have to become the kind of hero you can trust, and be proud of, too.”
The word hero coming from Masayoshi’s mouth always brings Goto back to the night they met, back when he was convinced that Masayoshi was the most immature nineteen year old he’d ever met, reckless, and possibly delusional. Of course since then, he’s had to come to terms with the reality of the situation, both in terms of the threat to the city, and the threat to Masayoshi himself. Somehow, putting on a suit and fighting crime isn’t exactly a fantasy anymore. It hasn’t been easy, making sense of it all.
Goto still feels like he straddles a fine line between wanting to protect his friend, and allowing him to go out there and do what he’s good at - what he needs to do. He never knows what to say when Masayoshi starts talking about heroes though. The word just doesn’t have the same weight for him as he knows it does for Masayoshi. It lies there between them like a dividing line. Lots of times, all Goto wants to do is brush it to the side and cross over.
“All you have to do is be yourself,” Goto says, quietly. “I don’t think you have to become anything. I don’t think that’s what your grandfather would have wanted, either, because…” He stops for a second. This is probably the last place where he should be trying to speak on behalf of the dead. “I mean, obviously, I didn’t know him, but I don’t think he would have wanted you to change anything about yourself, for the sake of this whole hero thing. More like,” Goto runs his hand over his head, suddenly feeling like a high school guidance counselor, “he would have wanted you to realize your own potential, something like that.”
“And so…” Masayoshi says, his voice flat. “Do you think that’s what I’m doing now?”
“I think you’re doing the best you can,” Goto says. “And I think that’s all anyone who cares about you could ever ask.”
Masayoshi’s head is turned away from Goto, and his shoulders are slumped forward a little.
“It’s hard,” Masayoshi says quietly. “Sometimes.”
“I know,” Goto says. “It’s hard for me, too.”
Masayoshi turns to him, confused.
“It’s not like I don’t worry about you when you’re out there, you know.”
“I worry about you, too, Goto-san. All the time. Something could attack the station, when I’m not around, or… ” Masayoshi says, raising his voice a little, panic creeping into his eyes. “What if something happens to you while I’m fighting somewhere else? I know I can’t protect everyone at once. That’s why I have to become stronger, better.”
Goto sighs. He's sympathetic, of course he is, but... He's also heard some version of this before, countless times.
“Come here,” he says, and he wraps his arm around his Masayoshi’s shoulders.
“No one,” Goto says, “not me, not him.” He gestures forward at the grave marker. “No one is expecting you to protect everyone all the time. You watch my back when you can, and vice versa, okay?”
There’s a line of warmth running down his side, where he’s pressed against Masayoshi.
“What do you think I did before you came along, anyway?” he says, as he loosens his grip on Masayoshi’s shoulder a little.
“I don’t know,” Masayoshi says, and turns in towards Goto. His face is close - all of him is, like they’re sharing an invisible umbrella, like there’s a storm up overhead that they’re ducking away from together.
“I don’t know either,” Goto admits.
Then he leans forward and brushes his lips against Masayoshi’s, feeling a surge in his chest at the contact, like his heart is leaping forward right into Masayoshi’s mouth.
It’s not the first time they’ve done this. There was the time with the umbrella, Masayoshi soaking wet in the back of a taxi, and Goto’s head still a little foggy from one or two too many drinks at the bar. When he looks back on it, it’s all a bit hazy, a mishmash of sensations. Masayoshi’s hair dripping all over his face and down his chest, his flushed skin, two very wet sets of lips.
There were other times, too - less hazy, more real. In Masayoshi’s genkan once, for no reason at all except that it had been late, and he’d been leaving even though he didn’t really want to. He didn’t know how to say that, so he’d done the other thing instead, and Masayoshi had deepened the kiss, and pressed Goto’s back up against the door, tripping over their shoes. It had taken Goto a while to realize that the doorknob was poking him in the ass, and that it really was kind of painful. He really did have to get back, too - early shift in the morning. Masayoshi had needed to wake up early too, a photo shoot, or a commercial, he can’t remember which.
Pressing his lips against Masayoshi’s out here in the daylight with the sun beating down against his neck is different. It’s good - bright, hyper-exposed. Masayoshi feels solid and alive in his arms. A breeze ripples through the air, and he can feel soft, blonde hair brush against his chin, and his forehead.
“Mm,” Masayoshi says against his lips, with a smile that Goto can barely focus on, their faces are so close.
“Sorry,” Goto says after a second, as the grey of the landscape around them slides back into focus, and he remembers exactly where they are. “That was probably kind of…”
“Inappropriate?” Masayoshi supplies, but he’s still huddled in towards Goto, his hands loosely resting on Goto’s hips. Goto is grateful - he’s not quite willing to break the spell yet either.
“Yeah, maybe a little,” Goto says, nodding. He likes this look in Masayoshi’s eyes, mischievous and sweet at the same time. “Sorry,” he says again, meaning it even less than he had the first time.
“I don’t really mind,” Masayoshi says. “But we should probably get going anyway, right?”
“Sure,” Goto says. “I know a great curry place a few blocks over, if you’re hungry.” He tugs at Masayoshi’s hand, and then lets his fingers drag lazily over Masayoshi’s knuckles, his wrist.
He’s surprised when Masayoshi maintains the contact, his fingers brushing back and forth across Goto’s palm, as they make their way back to the main path.
“Next time,” Masayoshi says, squeezing their palms together tightly.
“Next time, what?” Goto prompts, when they’ve reached the cemetery exit, and Masayoshi still hasn’t finished his thought.
“Nothing, I just…” Masayoshi’s hand tenses in his for a second. “I was just thinking that next time I’d like to meet, you know, your father. But it’s silly, I know you don’t-"
“Yeah,” Goto says, surprising himself completely. He squeezes Masayoshi’s hand tightly before he lets go, and they step back into civilization, into the bustle of the city. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
end