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scriveynerTitle: I Don't Believe in the Sun [6]
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Blind AU
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: M
Length: 779
Summary: He was not going to panic.
He was not going to panic.
It was panic, Gotou thought, as the emotion curled around in his chest, settled over his lungs and made every gulping breath difficult, as he stood in the cool evening air. He was having a panic attack. That was it. That had to be it. Two shaking hands on a decorative metal railing, he stared at his hands and focused on them, when they stopped trembling he thrust his hand into his jacket pocket to realize, numbly, that he’d grabbed the wrong sweatshirt. His smokes were still back in the apartment, with Masayoshi.
Gotou’s hand closed tight around the cell phone and he held it, an anchor. His trembling breaths subsided, and he straightened, kept walking. The heaviness in his lungs did not subside, but at least he could breathe, again.
Had - did Masayoshi just confess, to him?
He’d … known, of course. That there was something existing between them, but - it wasn’t anything tangible, and a few curious kisses (that made his heart beat faster, no, no) was one thing. Masayoshi had been through a trauma, a bad one - but that didn’t mean he was, that this was a thing, he was just confused, he was picking the first outlet to dump this wellspring of emotion on, and it was Gotou, it just happened to be Gotou….
Gotou sat on a park bench and pulled out his phone, flipped it open without thinking about it. She’d been so supportive of him helping Masayoshi, it was what good friends did, she was soproud of him - how was she going to react to this?
He had no idea.
Gotou stared at the blank email, the cell phone screen bright in the darkness. His hands were shaking again. He closed the flip phone and leaned back, keeping it in his fist tight as he stared up at the trees.
What the fuck was he going to do?
#
Gotou wasn’t coming back.
Masayoshi sat on the couch still, back perfectly straight, hands on his knees. He’d found the remote by luck, pressed buttons in the vicinity of the power to cut the television off, and sat in the silence that remained, strangely numb. Had he just chased off his only friend?
(But Gotou had kissed him back … hadn’t he?)
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Masayoshi jumped every time he heard the elevator ding - he’d never thought he could hear it from his apartment, down the hall, so very faint - but he did. He heard his neighbors pass by outside, too many footsteps to be Gotou returning. He heard the silence - and it was in its own way, deafening.
Eventually he moved, slower than he had been, rising from the couch like an old man. Gotou so rarely left him alone now - he might leave Masayoshi to his own devices in the next room, but his presence would still be felt, he wasn’t truly alone. The apartment was vast and cold and empty, and Masayoshi’s stomach twisted into knots. He was going to be ill.
He really had no idea what time it was. None of his clocks chimed - there was a wall clock in the kitchen, decorative - he could hear it tick, tick, tick but it never did more than that. It was terrifying, to realize he was now navigating this ocean of eternal night alone.
Masayoshi took a deep breath, and held it in his lungs. Hadn’t he decided, Gotou wasn’t his anyway? How could he let himself mourn this, when it wasn’t something he was supposed to have in the first place.
When he exhaled, into the silence of the apartment, he intended to let it all go. He had to move forward, he had to apologize to Gotou - if Gotou would ever return to allow his apology - and hope it hadn’t irreparably damaged their friendship. Masayoshi intended for all of those things, but as he sighed out that breath he just felt hollow and empty inside. He wiped angrily at his eyes, and shuffled in what he hoped was the direction for his bedroom.
He banged his shins off the armchair and almost fell over.
Masayoshi leaned forward, put both hands on the armrest, and curled his fingers into the material, felt the tears hit the back of his hand.
He’d ruined everything.
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
AU: Blind AU
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: M
Length: 779
Summary: He was not going to panic.
He was not going to panic.
It was panic, Gotou thought, as the emotion curled around in his chest, settled over his lungs and made every gulping breath difficult, as he stood in the cool evening air. He was having a panic attack. That was it. That had to be it. Two shaking hands on a decorative metal railing, he stared at his hands and focused on them, when they stopped trembling he thrust his hand into his jacket pocket to realize, numbly, that he’d grabbed the wrong sweatshirt. His smokes were still back in the apartment, with Masayoshi.
Gotou’s hand closed tight around the cell phone and he held it, an anchor. His trembling breaths subsided, and he straightened, kept walking. The heaviness in his lungs did not subside, but at least he could breathe, again.
Had - did Masayoshi just confess, to him?
He’d … known, of course. That there was something existing between them, but - it wasn’t anything tangible, and a few curious kisses (that made his heart beat faster, no, no) was one thing. Masayoshi had been through a trauma, a bad one - but that didn’t mean he was, that this was a thing, he was just confused, he was picking the first outlet to dump this wellspring of emotion on, and it was Gotou, it just happened to be Gotou….
Gotou sat on a park bench and pulled out his phone, flipped it open without thinking about it. She’d been so supportive of him helping Masayoshi, it was what good friends did, she was soproud of him - how was she going to react to this?
He had no idea.
Gotou stared at the blank email, the cell phone screen bright in the darkness. His hands were shaking again. He closed the flip phone and leaned back, keeping it in his fist tight as he stared up at the trees.
What the fuck was he going to do?
Gotou wasn’t coming back.
Masayoshi sat on the couch still, back perfectly straight, hands on his knees. He’d found the remote by luck, pressed buttons in the vicinity of the power to cut the television off, and sat in the silence that remained, strangely numb. Had he just chased off his only friend?
(But Gotou had kissed him back … hadn’t he?)
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Masayoshi jumped every time he heard the elevator ding - he’d never thought he could hear it from his apartment, down the hall, so very faint - but he did. He heard his neighbors pass by outside, too many footsteps to be Gotou returning. He heard the silence - and it was in its own way, deafening.
Eventually he moved, slower than he had been, rising from the couch like an old man. Gotou so rarely left him alone now - he might leave Masayoshi to his own devices in the next room, but his presence would still be felt, he wasn’t truly alone. The apartment was vast and cold and empty, and Masayoshi’s stomach twisted into knots. He was going to be ill.
He really had no idea what time it was. None of his clocks chimed - there was a wall clock in the kitchen, decorative - he could hear it tick, tick, tick but it never did more than that. It was terrifying, to realize he was now navigating this ocean of eternal night alone.
Masayoshi took a deep breath, and held it in his lungs. Hadn’t he decided, Gotou wasn’t his anyway? How could he let himself mourn this, when it wasn’t something he was supposed to have in the first place.
When he exhaled, into the silence of the apartment, he intended to let it all go. He had to move forward, he had to apologize to Gotou - if Gotou would ever return to allow his apology - and hope it hadn’t irreparably damaged their friendship. Masayoshi intended for all of those things, but as he sighed out that breath he just felt hollow and empty inside. He wiped angrily at his eyes, and shuffled in what he hoped was the direction for his bedroom.
He banged his shins off the armchair and almost fell over.
Masayoshi leaned forward, put both hands on the armrest, and curled his fingers into the material, felt the tears hit the back of his hand.
He’d ruined everything.
