Samurai Flamenco - The Switch [Gotoyoshi]
Jan. 26th, 2015 12:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scriveynerTitle: the switch
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: M
Length: 5937
Summary: “So you took a gift – a hideously ugly gift, by the way, I didn't know it was possible to fuck up a penguin – from her. Great. I bet it's cursed.”
“Gotou-san.”
Gotou sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. His head was still throbbing from where he had whacked it sitting up too fast, but there didn't appear to be any permanent damage – which was a shame, because that would just serve Masayoshi right, all things considered. Speaking of the monster, Masayoshi was sitting on his knees contritely, opposite Gotou on the floor, covers spilling half off the bed behind him. He had his head down and his ears were burning red, which would almost be cute, normally, if Gotou was not once again the victim of circumstance and the wellspring of terrible anime plot devices that was Hazama Masayoshi's life. He rubbed his not-quite-bruised forehead tenderly, and brushed the bangs back from his eyes. “One more time,” he said, and managed this time to keep his voice level because there was less shock at the timbre of it and more a tired resignation. “From the top.”
Masayoshi kept his eyes on the floor between them, the blush intensifying across his face, as foreign as it looked now spread across Gotou's own features. “You were with me,” he protested, hands balled into fists on his knees.
“Yes, and I turned my back for five minutes and you were gone,” Gotou said. Masayoshi ducked his head lower and, if anything, blushed harder.
They were out walking, as they often did – they had happened upon a festival at a small shrine, lit up bright and inviting; children running past in yukata, some with masks and bags of goldfish. Masayoshi had turned to him, eyes wide and pleading and before he'd even opened his mouth Gotou was already resigning himself to stubbing out his cigarette and being dragged up the old stone steps to the shrine.
Gotou had lived in this part of the city for years and couldn't recall ever visiting this exact shrine before. It looked very similar to most shrines he had visited previously, so nothing struck him as particularly out of the ordinary. There was a pretty good crowd of people, clustered around booths set up in rows, and the smell of fried and grilled food hung heavy in the air. Gotou considered a booth selling one such tasty fried treat, and when he turned to ask if Masayoshi wanted one, he was conspicuously missing. A little put-out by his sudden disappearance, Gotou went ahead and bought himself something to snack on, and when he wandered further in to the crowd found Masayoshi shortly after. He was now carrying an ugly stuffed penguin cradled in his arms and was hovering just at the edge of the cluster of people surrounding a booth full of masks; traditional oni and plenty more besides. Gotou had managed to drag Masayoshi off only after he had bought one – a Kamen Rider mask, of course, and he held it in both hands and grinned gleefully, the penguin now tucked safely under his arm.
He hadn't thought anything of the festival, nor of Masayoshi's disappearance, until he woke up a little past midnight with the urge to pee, and cracked his head against the low ceiling in the closet. He was disoriented and probably still drunk, but when he put his hand on his head to touch the tender bump tentatively, his hair was far too long.
“Masayoshi!” he'd yelled, and slammed the closet door open. “What the fuck did you do?”
And Masayoshi, asleep in Gotou's bed, came awake flailing just as disoriented as he had been waking up not only in the wrong spot, but in the wrong goddamn fucking body.
“I saw a booth,” Masayoshi explained again, his voice no longer his own, the tone tentative in a way Gotou never was. “It was at the end of all the stalls, and there was no one around it so I was curious and went to see what it was.”
Gotou sighed heavily.
Masayoshi lifted his head up sharply and frowned at Gotou, and then very quickly looked back down at the floor, because he was just as jangled by this entire mess. “There was a woman sitting at the booth,” he continued.
“Of course there was.”
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said indignantly.
“So did you anger her, what did you do?” Gotou leaned forward, the palms of his hands on his knees. “Clearly she was some kind of kami or spirit that you've managed to piss the fuck off, otherwise-” he gestured at himself, and then across the table at Masayoshi. “We wouldn't be in this fucking mess!”
“I barely even talked to her!” Masayoshi's voice raised indignantly, and he stopped, startled, his hand going to his throat. He sighed too, and then continued. “I told her I thought the stuffed penguin sitting on the booth was cute, and she gave it to me. Then I saw the booth with the masks, and went that way.”
“So you took a gift – a hideously ugly gift, by the way, I didn't know it was possible to fuck up a penguin – from her. Great. I bet it's cursed.”
“Gotou-san.”
“What we are going to do,” Gotou said, very clearly, “is get dressed and march right back to that shrine and try to find that woman and-” he gestured helplessly again, worked up. “We'll figure out how to get this fixed.”
#
Masayoshi had affixed the Kamen Rider mask to the head of the aforementioned ridiculous olive-green penguin. It sat atop his courier bag in the corner by the television and it mocked Gotou with its offensive coloring. “It looks moldy,” he said, standing in front of the closet, and Masayoshi picked it up and hugged it protectively.
“I think it's cute,” he said defensively.
“It's the color of baby puke.”
“You're just jealous,” Masayoshi said, and stuck out his tongue at Gotou.
“No more stuffed animals,” Gotou said, retrieving his favorite hooded sweatshirt and pulling it on. The static electricity shot his hair up everywhere and he made another irritated noise, running his hands through his hair quickly. “How do you even manage with this mop, this is ridiculous,” he grunted.
“Do you think I should bring the penguin?” Masayoshi asked uncertainly.
“Yes, we can leave it with the trash,” Gotou said.
“Gotou-san!”
“Mari didn't leave as much cutesy shit around my apartment as you do,” he said, and Masayoshi puffed out both cheeks and pouted at him. Gotou turned his back on Masayoshi quickly, because that was just undeniably weird, and shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Bring it with you, maybe it's the key to this whole mess,” he said, and chose to ignore the way that Masayoshi brightened.
They managed to retrace their steps all the way back to the kaiten sushi bar they'd had dinner at before Gotou sighed deeply and said, “We're fucked, aren't we?”
“I didn't see a shrine,” Masayoshi said, penguin in his arms. “I don't even know where we turned off at. I did think it was kinda a weird time of the year for a festival....”
“We,” Gotou said dramatically, “are unequivocally fucked.”
#
“I'll go to work for you!” Masayoshi said brightly, sitting on his knees at the low table as always, a steaming mug of tea set on the table before him.
“No,” Gotou said.
“Why not, it would be fun.” Masayoshi tapped his fingers against the mug, turning it slightly before picking it up to sip again. “In one of my cameo roles they've cast I get to be a police officer, it would be good research!”
Gotou was too agitated to sit. He hadn't slept – they'd walked the distance back and forth from the apartment to the kaiten restaurant twice before Masayoshi had convinced him that maybe they should go home and rest up, because the sky was starting to lighten and they both had work.
“You can't go to work for me,” Gotou said. “That's off the table, Masayoshi.”
Masayoshi shrugged. “Well, you'll have to go to work for me,” he said. “It's only fair.”
“I'm – wait, no,” Gotou said. “I'm not going to work for you either.”
“Yes, you are.” Masayoshi was so matter-of-fact about it. “We had to reschedule this photo shoot twice, if it doesn't get done today the company will pull their contract from Cesar Pro., and that's a huge deal, Gotou-san.” He sipped his tea calmly. “You have to go.”
“I'm not – no, I'm not going to do that.” Gotou sat down hard on the floor, across the table from Masayoshi, legs crossed and hands on his knees. He didn't particularly mind cameras per se, but the thought of this was just not palatable to him in any form or fashion. He wasn't Masayoshi, the thought of this was making him incredibly nervous.
“Well, it's not like I can,” Masayoshi said philosophically. He pointed to his face as if Gotou didn't have the goddamn constant reminder that he was in the wrong fucking body. “You're plenty handsome and I'm sure they'd love to use you, but the contract is for me – well, you now – and that's who needs to show up.” Masayoshi cocked his head and grinned. “You get to be me for the day! Isn't that exciting?”
“NO,” Gotou almost yelled.
#
They stopped by the koban first, which Gotou would have preferred to do in person anyway, because it was just ridiculous to phone in ditching your shift because you'd been body-switched with your roommate by some malevolent fox-demon whom Gotou had not yet identified but was entirely sure he was going to kick its ass. It made so much more sense in person, after all.
Totsuka looked at them, and between Masayoshi's (in Gotou's form) very enthusiastic greeting and the general pall of gloom that was hovering around Gotou, realized that this was not some elaborate ruse to get a day off work. “I can cover for one day,” he said sternly, finger in the air. “But, Gotou-kun – I expect your seat to be filled tomorrow, one way or another.” He looked significantly at Masayoshi, who blinked, perplexed.
That taken care of, Masayoshi called Harazuka as they loitered outside the subway station. “Why are you calling him?” Gotou grumbled, fingers itching to hold a cigarette. He thought idly about crossing the road to the convenience store and buying a pack of smokes but realized Masayoshi would probably tackle him because he couldn't be seen buying cigarettes, never mind smoking them, Gotou-san. Gotou groaned, his inner monologue was beginning to sound like Masayoshi, that couldn't be a good sign either.
(Although, truth be told, that annoying little voice he sometimes got in the back of his mind had sounded like Masayoshi for a little while now, so he wasn't entirely sure he could pin this on the switch.)
Also, people looked at him. Gotou had always been conscious of the attention that followed Masayoshi whenever they were out – for the most part people didn't approach them but it happened with some regularity. They looked, though, every time. He felt every casual and curious gaze like a knife blade stabbing into the back of his head. Gotou felt very exposed and vulnerable and really didn't like it, he wanted to get off the streets as soon as possible. He had no idea how Masayoshi stood it.
“I'm calling him because Harazuka-san is an inventor, he builds things,” Masayoshi said as he locked the screen of his phone. “Maybe he has some idea or prototype or something that he could use to try to switch us back. It doesn't hurt to ask him.”
“Yes, because I'm sure he randomly created a device to switch people around and left it in a desk drawer somewhere,” Gotou snapped. “This isn't a cartoon, Masayoshi, this is real life.”
“I fought an alien on the moon,” Masayoshi reminded him.
Gotou glared at him sourly, formulating a comeback to that and failing. Masayoshi pursed his lips. “You shouldn't frown so much, Gotou-san, people will get suspicious,” he said, and then leaned forward and poked Gotou right in the cheek.
He took a very long, deep breath, and counted backward from ten. Gotou wasn't usually so on edge, but then again he also wasn't usually inhabiting the wrong GODDAMN FUCKING BODY, was he? “Masayoshi, if you poke me in the cheek again I'm going to break your finger.”
Masayoshi wriggled his fingers. “But then you'd have a broken finger.”
Again, from ten. “What did Harazuka say,” Gotou asked, desperate for a change in subject as they entered the station to catch a train toward where Masayoshi's job lay.
“He thought I was you,” Masayoshi said, and rocked on his feet. Gotou counted to ten again, the third time in under five minutes. “But once I convinced him that no, I wasn't drunk, he said he'd never heard of such a thing and he'd look into it. He also asked if I knew the name of the shrine, but I don't remember seeing a signpost, do you?”
Gotou chewed his lip, and then shook his head. “No, I didn't either,” he said. “I really didn't think to look.”
“I know.” Masayoshi scratched his hand through his hair, then he shrugged. “We'll deal with it later,” he said cheerfully, and Gotou sighed.
He really hoped that this wasn't going to last.
Day 1
“Okay, I can do this,” Gotou said to himself in the bathroom, staring at Masayoshi's face in the mirror. He tried not to be startled whenever he caught a glimpse of himself on a reflective surface, and maybe it was starting to work a little because he hadn't jumped when he walked into the washroom. “All I have to do is think like an idiot, that's no so hard, right?” He gave himself a tentative smile in the mirror, and scuffed his hand through his hair, intentionally messing it. “Idiot,” he repeated to himself, and headed for the door.
“Idiot,” he repeated to himself again, under his breath, when Ishihara yanked him into an empty meeting room by his ear. Masayoshi was already standing sheepishly within the room, and his eyes lit up when Gotou arrived but he hesitated, clearly unsure about how to address him in the moment. He wore a visitor's pass around his neck, and his gaze kept darting to Ishihara guiltily. Ishihara shut the door and looked between them suspiciously, hands on her hips. They exchanged a look.
“Hazama- kun ,” she said dangerously. “Explain yourself, now. ”
Masayoshi gave a little tremble and she zoned in on that, her eyes flicking away from Gotou and rounding on him. Masayoshi actually took a step back, and Gotou sighed and crossed his arms. “That's what I thought,” Ishihara said, and turned her glare back on Gotou. Gotou wilted only a little, he tilted his chin up and met her gaze defiantly. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Hell if I know,” Gotou said, only half under his breath.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said, and then covered his mouth with one hand and flushed.
“Seriously?” Ishihara said.
They nodded in unison, and she sighed.
“I can't decide if I'm more surprised that I'm not surprised, or just straight-up relieved that Masayoshi didn't lose his fucking mind in a photo shoot,” she said. This time, Gotou flushed and looked away as Masayoshi looked over at him, eyes wide.
“What did you do?” Masayoshi hissed at him, looking appalled.
“Nothing!” Gotou said.
“How long do you think this is going to last?” Ishihara asked, her phone in her hand and typing away at it. “I can rearrange some things on the schedule but there are others that are just immutable, sorry, Gotou-kun.”
Gotou rubbed his forehead. “Hopefully not long.”
Day 2
“I am perfectly able to get dressed on my own, Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said, straightening his tie. Gotou hovered a little, as Masayoshi tugged on the cuffs of his uniform jacket and looked at himself in the mirror. “You're so attractive in uniform, you know?”
“I'm just worried you're wearing your – what,” Gotou said.
“Wearing my what?”
“No, no-” Gotou rubbed his hand over his eyes, well acquainted with the blush that had risen to the surface. “That you were wearing your costume under the uniform.”
Masayoshi cocked his head and gave Gotou a puzzled look. “Why would I wear my costume under your uniform?” he said, genuinely curious. “I get to be SAMURAI POLICEMAN!” he announced, sweeping his arms out and posing. Gotou covered his face with both hands and sighed deeply.
“Don't do that in public.”
“Why not?” Masayoshi straightened and tugged on the cuffs of the jacket again. “You did that on live television.”
“That's different!”
“How?”
“There was actually a bad guy to fight - we're not getting into that.” He was going to get fired. Totsuka even knew what was going on, and he was going to get fired because Masayoshi was going to do something ridiculous while wearing his face and it was going to end up on the news and he was going to have to live like a hermit for the rest of his days because of Hazama Masayoshi. Gotou scrubbed both of his hands over his face, took a deep breath and said, “I'm coming with you.”
“You can't, there's a table read today,” Masayoshi said. He picked up the hat and set it on his head and grinned, easy and open. Gotou blinked in surprise at the strange warm feeling in his stomach. That was how he looked when he smiled like that?
“You're blushing,” Masayoshi said.
“Fuck off,” Gotou muttered, and turned his back.
Day 3
“I'm not sleeping in the closet again, it's my bed,” Gotou said.
Masayoshi sat in the middle of said bed, pillow crushed tight in his arms. “Yes, and I'm Gotou-san right now, so I get to sleep in my bed.”
“You are being a little shit, get out of my bed.”
“No.”
“I will forcibly remove you,” Gotou threatened, one foot on the mattress. Masayoshi tilted his chin up defiantly, eyes narrowed.
“Make me.”
Ten minutes later the table was overturned, half the covers were off the bed and Masayoshi lay on his side, legs kicked over the end of the bed. Gotou lay half on top of him, his head pillowed on Masayoshi's heaving ribcage. “So we'll share it then,” he wheezed, and Masayoshi gave a sound that might have been triumphant but could have equally been a deflating balloon.
“Demilitarized zone,” Gotou said twenty minutes later, point to the three pillows that would be squashed between them. “No touching.”
“Hai hai,” Masayoshi said obediently.
Gotou still woke up with Masayoshi's arm thrown over his side.
Day 4
Gotou leaned back against the bathroom door, safely shut and locked, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he thought hard enough about something gross he would be able to will away the morning wood, because like hell he was doing that in Masayoshi's body, oh god. It was bad enough bathing, because he'd caught sight of himself naked in the mirror and flushed red and embarrassed in the bathroom where no one could see him. Then the thought occurred to him that Masayoshi must be doing the exact same thing in his body and he couldn't tell if that made things better or worse because – oh hell, what if Masayoshi was jerking off in his body?
He wouldn't have even had the thought, he would have assumed that Masayoshi, bright and innocent and pure the way he seemed to be, didn't even know what jerking off was. Except for the tiny fact that he had been awake for more than one of Masayoshi's almost drunken stumbles out of the closet and into the bathroom. The water would start running suspiciously loud and he knew, he knew that moron was wasting water to cover up the sound of him whacking off and he was oh so thankful for it because that was the last thing he needed to start his day off with.
But, hey, Masayoshi was at least a normal human in this respect. Gotou's hand covered his crotch before he could think to stop it, and he stared at the ceiling tile for a moment and thought about every unnatural thing he possibly could before, worst cast scenario, he'd shove himself in for a cold shower.
Or, he could just cut his losses and jerk off, it would be faster and less unpleasant.
Goddammit, he was going to kill Masayoshi, if he ever got back into his own body.
Day 5
Mari lay on her side on the tatami mat floor of the private room, laughing so hard she had tears streaming out of her eyes. Moe had half-turned and was now hovering over her in concern. “I don't know why I expected any other reaction,” Gotou mused, chin in hand, elbow on the table.
“You two are seriously switched?” Mizuki said, squinting between them like this was a gag they had cooked up for no reason at all but to mess with people. “How?”
Gotou looked at Masayoshi pointedly, and then back to Mizuki, and she sighed and folded her arms, leaning forward on the table. “Okay, so maybe that was a stupid question,” she admitted.
“We're just stuck on trying to figure out a way to switch us back,” Masayoshi said. Mari had rolled onto her back and wheezed wiping the tears from her eyes with her hand.
Moe turned back to them. “True love's kiss breaks most spells,” she said pleasantly, which sent Mari into fresh gales of laughter. Gotou sighed.
Masayoshi tugged on his arm. “Gotou-san, let's try that!”
“What, now? No, I'm not – no,” Gotou said, and leaned away.
“It can't hurt to try!”
“I am not kissing you,” Gotou said firmly.
“Maybe he doesn't want to get switched back all that badly,” Mizuki said idly, as Mari finally sat up, still breathing hard.
“He must be having fun being Samumenco,” Mari said. “Having people fawning all over him all the time.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and Gotou glared at her.
“It's a headache,” he said severely, and the waitress slid aside the shoji door, bringing drinks. Gotou sighed in satisfaction at the stein of beer that was placed before him – at least until Masayoshi promptly dragged it away. “Oi!”
“You can't drink,” Masayoshi said.
“I can't smoke, I can't drink,” Gotou snapped. “Of course I can fucking drink Masayoshi. You're even the legal age, although I don't see why that matters because I'm well above it, and I'm still me even if I've got your face-”
He grabbed the stein back, and they glared at each other darkly. Mizuki hummed, amused, as Moe covered her mouth with one hand. “Gotou-san is very stressed,” she observed.
“Whatever,” Gotou muttered, and took a drink.
#
Gotou squinted, and realized that the world was swaying alarmingly because he was watching it pass somewhat lopsidedly, his head resting on Masayoshi's shoulder. Masayoshi had him seated piggyback, his hands solid and secure, supporting his weight. Gotou flailed himself upright when he realized that meant Masayoshi's hands were pretty much on his ass, and Masayoshi stopped, struggling not to drop Gotou as his balance shifted perilously.
“Gotou-san, stop that!”
The world swayed even more alarmingly now that he was upright, and Gotou groaned heavily, slightly seasick. “Put me down,” he said, and closed his eyes quickly.
“Nope.” Masayoshi jogged Gotou against his back, trying to seat him better so that they could keep going. “You walked right into a lamppost, Gotou-san, you're drunk.”
He pressed his palm against his forehead and groaned. “Is that why my head hurts so bad? How much did I have to drink, I don't remember having that much-” he slumped forward as Masayoshi walked resolutely on, his arms straight out over Masayoshi's shoulders. At Masayoshi's determined silence, he groaned again. “You have no alcohol tolerance, do you?”
“I don't drink, you know that, Gotou-san.”
He pressed his forehead to Masayoshi's shoulder and closed his eyes again. “Let me down, this is embarrassing. I can walk.”
“We're almost home, anyway.” Masayoshi's voice was quiet, and Gotou sighed. He had gotten used to Masayoshi's voice not being familiar, and that it never sounded right anymore, and he hate that he'd gotten so used to it. He missed Masayoshi's regular voice, his normal bright bubbly tone that would be driving nails through his brain in retribution for getting so drunk, but he didn't care because that meant that he would have Masayoshi back.
“Do you really hate me that much?”
Gotou lifted his head, perplexed. “I don't hate you at all.”
“I know I can't make you feel anything for me, and I wouldn't try to force you,” Masayoshi continued, in Gotou's voice, soft and almost sad. “But would it really hurt to try the kiss?”
“Masayoshi,” Gotou said. He didn't hate Masayoshi, and he couldn't find the words right now to articulate that, so instead he put his head back down against Masayoshi's shoulder, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just weird, okay? It's not even that it's you, it's just really freaking weird to kiss yourself. Doesn't that bother you at all?”
“You're still you, Gotou-san. Even with my face.”
“You're still an idiot,” he said softly, into Masayoshi's shoulder, thankful that the position he was in hid the no longer alcohol-induced flush that had spread across his face.
#
He sat on the bed and squinted at the ceiling light, feeling the brightness stab directly into that sensitive space behind his eyeballs, but still being drunk enough not to think about looking away. Masayoshi stood just beyond the door, shuffling around in the kitchen area – and every time he saw a flash of movement he would hope that it was Masayoshi's willowy frame, but it never was.
Gotou rubbed his face with one hand and sighed. He couldn't keep doing this, not for very much longer. Pretending to be Masayoshi during the day was tiring in every sense, he had no idea how Masayoshi did all the things that he did and then came home and put on a costume and ran around after people at night. It was somewhat admirable, in its own way – although he did readily think that Masayoshi was occasionally an absolute lunatic, but hey, he liked the guy so whatever.
As he had that thought, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head sharply, and then instantly regretted it as the room lurched a little and went wobbly. Fuck, Masayoshi's tolerance was abysmal, he was going to have to rectify that.
The movement had been that stupid fucking stuffed penguin falling over finally, from where Masayoshi had left it sitting atop a dropped courier bag. It slid over onto its side, dark button eyes staring sightless at the ceiling. Gotou snorted, and looked up as Masayoshi entered the room, carrying a glass of water for Gotou. “Here,” Masayoshi said. “Drink this, you'll feel better.”
Gotou drank the water gratefully. Masayoshi had been quietly subdued since they had stopped talking, and his occasionally-lucid brain caught up with him. Gotou caught Masayoshi's shirt sleeve as he started to turn away. “Masayoshi, wait.”
Masayoshi did not really look at him, staring ahead at the wall instead. “I like you a lot, okay? That's not a lie, look at me.”
“You're drunk, Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said.
“Masayoshi.”
Masayoshi looked at him, finally, and Gotou tugged on his shirtsleeve again. “Kiss me before I lose my nerve,” he said quickly, flushing sharply. Masayoshi's expression moved to startled, and Gotou was certain that he was going to argue this, but he slid Gotou's arm off his sleeve and leaned down. Gotou closed his eyes as Masayoshi very delicately, chastely kissed him.
It was a very brief brush of the lips – and Gotou hesitated a moment, cracking his eye open and looking up at Masayoshi with a frown. “It didn't work,” he said with a sigh. Masayoshi straightened and put two fingers against his bottom lip – he was blushing pretty hard, and when he caught Gotou's eye he looked away. “But it was worth a shot.”
“Yeah,” Masayoshi said. “Thank you, Gotou-san.”
Gotou rubbed his face with his hand. “Hey, put a liner in that bin for me, would you? I might need it tonight.” Masayoshi blinked himself out of the strange trance-like expression he had, and looked at Gotou, perplexed.
“Why would you need a-” he realized, mid-sentence, and made a face. “Ew!”
“Saves me from having to clean it off the floor later,” Gotou muttered. “If we're lucky I wont, but I'd rather be safe.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, and yawned.
He woke up a few hours later, head swimming and stomach complaining. Masayoshi had crossed the demilitarized zone in no time flat, one leg tangled between Gotou's, arm over his his side and tucked under Gotou's arm. Gotou had fallen asleep well before him, they had turned the television on low as Gotou dozed, but it was clearly long since off. He smiled, his hand warm underneath Masayoshi's on his chest, and found he didn't quite want to move.
Gotou liked this feeling, he liked the way it buzzed warm and content in his stomach. He stared into the darkness of the room, lit dimly by a street lamp outside, the blinds behind the television not quite closed all the way. It wasn't just the alcohol in his system, either – Masayoshi made him feel safe, in a way he hadn't felt for years. He thought, sleepily, that this would continue even when they got their own bodies back – having Masayoshi in bed with him seemed infinitely preferable now, warmth and limbs and reassurance.
Masayoshi seemed to sense that he woke, he mumbled some nonsense into the skin on the back of Gotou's neck, breath disturbing the hair. He punctuated the rambling with a very muzzy, “l'v you, Gotou-shan,” that drowsily dropped off into steady sleep again.
“Yeah,” he said softly, eyes slipping closed. He could see Masayoshi's smile in his mind, bright and carefree, and it made him smile in response. “Me too.”
#
When he next opened his eyes, it was daylight. Gotou groaned and heard Masayoshi groan fitfully in response. He raised his arm off of Masayoshi's side and covered one eye with his palm, yawning large. Then he blinked his eyes back open, squinting at the ceiling and slightly confused at how he had escaped a massive, massive hangover.
Gotou rolled up onto his side to poke Masayoshi awake and froze, staring down at disheveled tawny hair and hardly daring to breathe. He touched his hand to his face again, and then ran it back into his hair, before he grabbed Masayoshi by the shoulder and shook him. “'yoshi! Wake up, Masayoshi!”
“I'm awake,” Masayoshi groaned, eyes squeezed tight. He folded his arm up over his face and made a pathetic noise. “Please stop being so loud, Gotou-san, my head is going to explode.”
“It worked,” Gotou said, loud despite himself.
Masayoshi lifted his arm off the side of his face and cracked open an eye, glaring daggers at Gotou. “No shit,” he said. “I've got your stupid hangover and I want to die.”
Gotou tugged Masayoshi upright by his shoulder, he came up grudgingly and before he could grumble anything else Gotou took his face in both hands and kissed him, properly this time. Masayoshi's eyes blinked open wide in shock and Gotou came away and grinned – and then realized exactly what he just did. He released Masayoshi, his eyes as wide as Masayoshi's own, and face flushed scarlet.
“I-I'm sorry, I didn't-” Gotou said, and then Masayoshi very cautiously leaned in and kissed him again.
Epilog
Masayoshi curled on his side, eyes closed tight and penguin clutched to his chest as he listened to Gotou talk on the phone to Harazuka. His head was pounding like a jackhammer and he kinda wanted to throw up again, but there really wasn't anything left to throw up at this point. He squinted a little when he opened them again, but Gotou had turned off the overhead light for him and kept the blinds drawn, so while it was light enough to see, it wasn't bright.
He remembered, now – he didn't know why he didn't remember before, but the woman had soft eyes and a kind smile. She had kissed the top of the penguin's head before handing it to Masayoshi – he's very special, just like you – and he had been distracted, he wanted Gotou to meet her, she seemed so nice but he had turned around and saw the masks and thought that maybe Gotou would like one, if they had a Harakiri Sunshine.
Gotou walked by the bed – he wandered when he was talking on the phone, unable to stay stationary. He lingered by the bed a moment, and tugged the blanket up a little on Masayoshi, and smiled at him, before turning away. Masayoshi's heart thudded in his chest.
“Thank you,” he murmured into the penguin's head, and he drowsily closed his eyes, content.
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: M
Length: 5937
Summary: “So you took a gift – a hideously ugly gift, by the way, I didn't know it was possible to fuck up a penguin – from her. Great. I bet it's cursed.”
“Gotou-san.”
Gotou sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms crossed and a sour expression on his face. His head was still throbbing from where he had whacked it sitting up too fast, but there didn't appear to be any permanent damage – which was a shame, because that would just serve Masayoshi right, all things considered. Speaking of the monster, Masayoshi was sitting on his knees contritely, opposite Gotou on the floor, covers spilling half off the bed behind him. He had his head down and his ears were burning red, which would almost be cute, normally, if Gotou was not once again the victim of circumstance and the wellspring of terrible anime plot devices that was Hazama Masayoshi's life. He rubbed his not-quite-bruised forehead tenderly, and brushed the bangs back from his eyes. “One more time,” he said, and managed this time to keep his voice level because there was less shock at the timbre of it and more a tired resignation. “From the top.”
Masayoshi kept his eyes on the floor between them, the blush intensifying across his face, as foreign as it looked now spread across Gotou's own features. “You were with me,” he protested, hands balled into fists on his knees.
“Yes, and I turned my back for five minutes and you were gone,” Gotou said. Masayoshi ducked his head lower and, if anything, blushed harder.
They were out walking, as they often did – they had happened upon a festival at a small shrine, lit up bright and inviting; children running past in yukata, some with masks and bags of goldfish. Masayoshi had turned to him, eyes wide and pleading and before he'd even opened his mouth Gotou was already resigning himself to stubbing out his cigarette and being dragged up the old stone steps to the shrine.
Gotou had lived in this part of the city for years and couldn't recall ever visiting this exact shrine before. It looked very similar to most shrines he had visited previously, so nothing struck him as particularly out of the ordinary. There was a pretty good crowd of people, clustered around booths set up in rows, and the smell of fried and grilled food hung heavy in the air. Gotou considered a booth selling one such tasty fried treat, and when he turned to ask if Masayoshi wanted one, he was conspicuously missing. A little put-out by his sudden disappearance, Gotou went ahead and bought himself something to snack on, and when he wandered further in to the crowd found Masayoshi shortly after. He was now carrying an ugly stuffed penguin cradled in his arms and was hovering just at the edge of the cluster of people surrounding a booth full of masks; traditional oni and plenty more besides. Gotou had managed to drag Masayoshi off only after he had bought one – a Kamen Rider mask, of course, and he held it in both hands and grinned gleefully, the penguin now tucked safely under his arm.
He hadn't thought anything of the festival, nor of Masayoshi's disappearance, until he woke up a little past midnight with the urge to pee, and cracked his head against the low ceiling in the closet. He was disoriented and probably still drunk, but when he put his hand on his head to touch the tender bump tentatively, his hair was far too long.
“Masayoshi!” he'd yelled, and slammed the closet door open. “What the fuck did you do?”
And Masayoshi, asleep in Gotou's bed, came awake flailing just as disoriented as he had been waking up not only in the wrong spot, but in the wrong goddamn fucking body.
“I saw a booth,” Masayoshi explained again, his voice no longer his own, the tone tentative in a way Gotou never was. “It was at the end of all the stalls, and there was no one around it so I was curious and went to see what it was.”
Gotou sighed heavily.
Masayoshi lifted his head up sharply and frowned at Gotou, and then very quickly looked back down at the floor, because he was just as jangled by this entire mess. “There was a woman sitting at the booth,” he continued.
“Of course there was.”
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said indignantly.
“So did you anger her, what did you do?” Gotou leaned forward, the palms of his hands on his knees. “Clearly she was some kind of kami or spirit that you've managed to piss the fuck off, otherwise-” he gestured at himself, and then across the table at Masayoshi. “We wouldn't be in this fucking mess!”
“I barely even talked to her!” Masayoshi's voice raised indignantly, and he stopped, startled, his hand going to his throat. He sighed too, and then continued. “I told her I thought the stuffed penguin sitting on the booth was cute, and she gave it to me. Then I saw the booth with the masks, and went that way.”
“So you took a gift – a hideously ugly gift, by the way, I didn't know it was possible to fuck up a penguin – from her. Great. I bet it's cursed.”
“Gotou-san.”
“What we are going to do,” Gotou said, very clearly, “is get dressed and march right back to that shrine and try to find that woman and-” he gestured helplessly again, worked up. “We'll figure out how to get this fixed.”
Masayoshi had affixed the Kamen Rider mask to the head of the aforementioned ridiculous olive-green penguin. It sat atop his courier bag in the corner by the television and it mocked Gotou with its offensive coloring. “It looks moldy,” he said, standing in front of the closet, and Masayoshi picked it up and hugged it protectively.
“I think it's cute,” he said defensively.
“It's the color of baby puke.”
“You're just jealous,” Masayoshi said, and stuck out his tongue at Gotou.
“No more stuffed animals,” Gotou said, retrieving his favorite hooded sweatshirt and pulling it on. The static electricity shot his hair up everywhere and he made another irritated noise, running his hands through his hair quickly. “How do you even manage with this mop, this is ridiculous,” he grunted.
“Do you think I should bring the penguin?” Masayoshi asked uncertainly.
“Yes, we can leave it with the trash,” Gotou said.
“Gotou-san!”
“Mari didn't leave as much cutesy shit around my apartment as you do,” he said, and Masayoshi puffed out both cheeks and pouted at him. Gotou turned his back on Masayoshi quickly, because that was just undeniably weird, and shoved his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Bring it with you, maybe it's the key to this whole mess,” he said, and chose to ignore the way that Masayoshi brightened.
They managed to retrace their steps all the way back to the kaiten sushi bar they'd had dinner at before Gotou sighed deeply and said, “We're fucked, aren't we?”
“I didn't see a shrine,” Masayoshi said, penguin in his arms. “I don't even know where we turned off at. I did think it was kinda a weird time of the year for a festival....”
“We,” Gotou said dramatically, “are unequivocally fucked.”
“I'll go to work for you!” Masayoshi said brightly, sitting on his knees at the low table as always, a steaming mug of tea set on the table before him.
“No,” Gotou said.
“Why not, it would be fun.” Masayoshi tapped his fingers against the mug, turning it slightly before picking it up to sip again. “In one of my cameo roles they've cast I get to be a police officer, it would be good research!”
Gotou was too agitated to sit. He hadn't slept – they'd walked the distance back and forth from the apartment to the kaiten restaurant twice before Masayoshi had convinced him that maybe they should go home and rest up, because the sky was starting to lighten and they both had work.
“You can't go to work for me,” Gotou said. “That's off the table, Masayoshi.”
Masayoshi shrugged. “Well, you'll have to go to work for me,” he said. “It's only fair.”
“I'm – wait, no,” Gotou said. “I'm not going to work for you either.”
“Yes, you are.” Masayoshi was so matter-of-fact about it. “We had to reschedule this photo shoot twice, if it doesn't get done today the company will pull their contract from Cesar Pro., and that's a huge deal, Gotou-san.” He sipped his tea calmly. “You have to go.”
“I'm not – no, I'm not going to do that.” Gotou sat down hard on the floor, across the table from Masayoshi, legs crossed and hands on his knees. He didn't particularly mind cameras per se, but the thought of this was just not palatable to him in any form or fashion. He wasn't Masayoshi, the thought of this was making him incredibly nervous.
“Well, it's not like I can,” Masayoshi said philosophically. He pointed to his face as if Gotou didn't have the goddamn constant reminder that he was in the wrong fucking body. “You're plenty handsome and I'm sure they'd love to use you, but the contract is for me – well, you now – and that's who needs to show up.” Masayoshi cocked his head and grinned. “You get to be me for the day! Isn't that exciting?”
“NO,” Gotou almost yelled.
They stopped by the koban first, which Gotou would have preferred to do in person anyway, because it was just ridiculous to phone in ditching your shift because you'd been body-switched with your roommate by some malevolent fox-demon whom Gotou had not yet identified but was entirely sure he was going to kick its ass. It made so much more sense in person, after all.
Totsuka looked at them, and between Masayoshi's (in Gotou's form) very enthusiastic greeting and the general pall of gloom that was hovering around Gotou, realized that this was not some elaborate ruse to get a day off work. “I can cover for one day,” he said sternly, finger in the air. “But, Gotou-kun – I expect your seat to be filled tomorrow, one way or another.” He looked significantly at Masayoshi, who blinked, perplexed.
That taken care of, Masayoshi called Harazuka as they loitered outside the subway station. “Why are you calling him?” Gotou grumbled, fingers itching to hold a cigarette. He thought idly about crossing the road to the convenience store and buying a pack of smokes but realized Masayoshi would probably tackle him because he couldn't be seen buying cigarettes, never mind smoking them, Gotou-san. Gotou groaned, his inner monologue was beginning to sound like Masayoshi, that couldn't be a good sign either.
(Although, truth be told, that annoying little voice he sometimes got in the back of his mind had sounded like Masayoshi for a little while now, so he wasn't entirely sure he could pin this on the switch.)
Also, people looked at him. Gotou had always been conscious of the attention that followed Masayoshi whenever they were out – for the most part people didn't approach them but it happened with some regularity. They looked, though, every time. He felt every casual and curious gaze like a knife blade stabbing into the back of his head. Gotou felt very exposed and vulnerable and really didn't like it, he wanted to get off the streets as soon as possible. He had no idea how Masayoshi stood it.
“I'm calling him because Harazuka-san is an inventor, he builds things,” Masayoshi said as he locked the screen of his phone. “Maybe he has some idea or prototype or something that he could use to try to switch us back. It doesn't hurt to ask him.”
“Yes, because I'm sure he randomly created a device to switch people around and left it in a desk drawer somewhere,” Gotou snapped. “This isn't a cartoon, Masayoshi, this is real life.”
“I fought an alien on the moon,” Masayoshi reminded him.
Gotou glared at him sourly, formulating a comeback to that and failing. Masayoshi pursed his lips. “You shouldn't frown so much, Gotou-san, people will get suspicious,” he said, and then leaned forward and poked Gotou right in the cheek.
He took a very long, deep breath, and counted backward from ten. Gotou wasn't usually so on edge, but then again he also wasn't usually inhabiting the wrong GODDAMN FUCKING BODY, was he? “Masayoshi, if you poke me in the cheek again I'm going to break your finger.”
Masayoshi wriggled his fingers. “But then you'd have a broken finger.”
Again, from ten. “What did Harazuka say,” Gotou asked, desperate for a change in subject as they entered the station to catch a train toward where Masayoshi's job lay.
“He thought I was you,” Masayoshi said, and rocked on his feet. Gotou counted to ten again, the third time in under five minutes. “But once I convinced him that no, I wasn't drunk, he said he'd never heard of such a thing and he'd look into it. He also asked if I knew the name of the shrine, but I don't remember seeing a signpost, do you?”
Gotou chewed his lip, and then shook his head. “No, I didn't either,” he said. “I really didn't think to look.”
“I know.” Masayoshi scratched his hand through his hair, then he shrugged. “We'll deal with it later,” he said cheerfully, and Gotou sighed.
He really hoped that this wasn't going to last.
“Okay, I can do this,” Gotou said to himself in the bathroom, staring at Masayoshi's face in the mirror. He tried not to be startled whenever he caught a glimpse of himself on a reflective surface, and maybe it was starting to work a little because he hadn't jumped when he walked into the washroom. “All I have to do is think like an idiot, that's no so hard, right?” He gave himself a tentative smile in the mirror, and scuffed his hand through his hair, intentionally messing it. “Idiot,” he repeated to himself, and headed for the door.
“Idiot,” he repeated to himself again, under his breath, when Ishihara yanked him into an empty meeting room by his ear. Masayoshi was already standing sheepishly within the room, and his eyes lit up when Gotou arrived but he hesitated, clearly unsure about how to address him in the moment. He wore a visitor's pass around his neck, and his gaze kept darting to Ishihara guiltily. Ishihara shut the door and looked between them suspiciously, hands on her hips. They exchanged a look.
“Hazama- kun ,” she said dangerously. “Explain yourself, now. ”
Masayoshi gave a little tremble and she zoned in on that, her eyes flicking away from Gotou and rounding on him. Masayoshi actually took a step back, and Gotou sighed and crossed his arms. “That's what I thought,” Ishihara said, and turned her glare back on Gotou. Gotou wilted only a little, he tilted his chin up and met her gaze defiantly. “What the hell is going on here?”
“Hell if I know,” Gotou said, only half under his breath.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said, and then covered his mouth with one hand and flushed.
“Seriously?” Ishihara said.
They nodded in unison, and she sighed.
“I can't decide if I'm more surprised that I'm not surprised, or just straight-up relieved that Masayoshi didn't lose his fucking mind in a photo shoot,” she said. This time, Gotou flushed and looked away as Masayoshi looked over at him, eyes wide.
“What did you do?” Masayoshi hissed at him, looking appalled.
“Nothing!” Gotou said.
“How long do you think this is going to last?” Ishihara asked, her phone in her hand and typing away at it. “I can rearrange some things on the schedule but there are others that are just immutable, sorry, Gotou-kun.”
Gotou rubbed his forehead. “Hopefully not long.”
“I am perfectly able to get dressed on my own, Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said, straightening his tie. Gotou hovered a little, as Masayoshi tugged on the cuffs of his uniform jacket and looked at himself in the mirror. “You're so attractive in uniform, you know?”
“I'm just worried you're wearing your – what,” Gotou said.
“Wearing my what?”
“No, no-” Gotou rubbed his hand over his eyes, well acquainted with the blush that had risen to the surface. “That you were wearing your costume under the uniform.”
Masayoshi cocked his head and gave Gotou a puzzled look. “Why would I wear my costume under your uniform?” he said, genuinely curious. “I get to be SAMURAI POLICEMAN!” he announced, sweeping his arms out and posing. Gotou covered his face with both hands and sighed deeply.
“Don't do that in public.”
“Why not?” Masayoshi straightened and tugged on the cuffs of the jacket again. “You did that on live television.”
“That's different!”
“How?”
“There was actually a bad guy to fight - we're not getting into that.” He was going to get fired. Totsuka even knew what was going on, and he was going to get fired because Masayoshi was going to do something ridiculous while wearing his face and it was going to end up on the news and he was going to have to live like a hermit for the rest of his days because of Hazama Masayoshi. Gotou scrubbed both of his hands over his face, took a deep breath and said, “I'm coming with you.”
“You can't, there's a table read today,” Masayoshi said. He picked up the hat and set it on his head and grinned, easy and open. Gotou blinked in surprise at the strange warm feeling in his stomach. That was how he looked when he smiled like that?
“You're blushing,” Masayoshi said.
“Fuck off,” Gotou muttered, and turned his back.
“I'm not sleeping in the closet again, it's my bed,” Gotou said.
Masayoshi sat in the middle of said bed, pillow crushed tight in his arms. “Yes, and I'm Gotou-san right now, so I get to sleep in my bed.”
“You are being a little shit, get out of my bed.”
“No.”
“I will forcibly remove you,” Gotou threatened, one foot on the mattress. Masayoshi tilted his chin up defiantly, eyes narrowed.
“Make me.”
Ten minutes later the table was overturned, half the covers were off the bed and Masayoshi lay on his side, legs kicked over the end of the bed. Gotou lay half on top of him, his head pillowed on Masayoshi's heaving ribcage. “So we'll share it then,” he wheezed, and Masayoshi gave a sound that might have been triumphant but could have equally been a deflating balloon.
“Demilitarized zone,” Gotou said twenty minutes later, point to the three pillows that would be squashed between them. “No touching.”
“Hai hai,” Masayoshi said obediently.
Gotou still woke up with Masayoshi's arm thrown over his side.
Gotou leaned back against the bathroom door, safely shut and locked, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he thought hard enough about something gross he would be able to will away the morning wood, because like hell he was doing that in Masayoshi's body, oh god. It was bad enough bathing, because he'd caught sight of himself naked in the mirror and flushed red and embarrassed in the bathroom where no one could see him. Then the thought occurred to him that Masayoshi must be doing the exact same thing in his body and he couldn't tell if that made things better or worse because – oh hell, what if Masayoshi was jerking off in his body?
He wouldn't have even had the thought, he would have assumed that Masayoshi, bright and innocent and pure the way he seemed to be, didn't even know what jerking off was. Except for the tiny fact that he had been awake for more than one of Masayoshi's almost drunken stumbles out of the closet and into the bathroom. The water would start running suspiciously loud and he knew, he knew that moron was wasting water to cover up the sound of him whacking off and he was oh so thankful for it because that was the last thing he needed to start his day off with.
But, hey, Masayoshi was at least a normal human in this respect. Gotou's hand covered his crotch before he could think to stop it, and he stared at the ceiling tile for a moment and thought about every unnatural thing he possibly could before, worst cast scenario, he'd shove himself in for a cold shower.
Or, he could just cut his losses and jerk off, it would be faster and less unpleasant.
Goddammit, he was going to kill Masayoshi, if he ever got back into his own body.
Mari lay on her side on the tatami mat floor of the private room, laughing so hard she had tears streaming out of her eyes. Moe had half-turned and was now hovering over her in concern. “I don't know why I expected any other reaction,” Gotou mused, chin in hand, elbow on the table.
“You two are seriously switched?” Mizuki said, squinting between them like this was a gag they had cooked up for no reason at all but to mess with people. “How?”
Gotou looked at Masayoshi pointedly, and then back to Mizuki, and she sighed and folded her arms, leaning forward on the table. “Okay, so maybe that was a stupid question,” she admitted.
“We're just stuck on trying to figure out a way to switch us back,” Masayoshi said. Mari had rolled onto her back and wheezed wiping the tears from her eyes with her hand.
Moe turned back to them. “True love's kiss breaks most spells,” she said pleasantly, which sent Mari into fresh gales of laughter. Gotou sighed.
Masayoshi tugged on his arm. “Gotou-san, let's try that!”
“What, now? No, I'm not – no,” Gotou said, and leaned away.
“It can't hurt to try!”
“I am not kissing you,” Gotou said firmly.
“Maybe he doesn't want to get switched back all that badly,” Mizuki said idly, as Mari finally sat up, still breathing hard.
“He must be having fun being Samumenco,” Mari said. “Having people fawning all over him all the time.” She fluttered her eyelashes, and Gotou glared at her.
“It's a headache,” he said severely, and the waitress slid aside the shoji door, bringing drinks. Gotou sighed in satisfaction at the stein of beer that was placed before him – at least until Masayoshi promptly dragged it away. “Oi!”
“You can't drink,” Masayoshi said.
“I can't smoke, I can't drink,” Gotou snapped. “Of course I can fucking drink Masayoshi. You're even the legal age, although I don't see why that matters because I'm well above it, and I'm still me even if I've got your face-”
He grabbed the stein back, and they glared at each other darkly. Mizuki hummed, amused, as Moe covered her mouth with one hand. “Gotou-san is very stressed,” she observed.
“Whatever,” Gotou muttered, and took a drink.
Gotou squinted, and realized that the world was swaying alarmingly because he was watching it pass somewhat lopsidedly, his head resting on Masayoshi's shoulder. Masayoshi had him seated piggyback, his hands solid and secure, supporting his weight. Gotou flailed himself upright when he realized that meant Masayoshi's hands were pretty much on his ass, and Masayoshi stopped, struggling not to drop Gotou as his balance shifted perilously.
“Gotou-san, stop that!”
The world swayed even more alarmingly now that he was upright, and Gotou groaned heavily, slightly seasick. “Put me down,” he said, and closed his eyes quickly.
“Nope.” Masayoshi jogged Gotou against his back, trying to seat him better so that they could keep going. “You walked right into a lamppost, Gotou-san, you're drunk.”
He pressed his palm against his forehead and groaned. “Is that why my head hurts so bad? How much did I have to drink, I don't remember having that much-” he slumped forward as Masayoshi walked resolutely on, his arms straight out over Masayoshi's shoulders. At Masayoshi's determined silence, he groaned again. “You have no alcohol tolerance, do you?”
“I don't drink, you know that, Gotou-san.”
He pressed his forehead to Masayoshi's shoulder and closed his eyes again. “Let me down, this is embarrassing. I can walk.”
“We're almost home, anyway.” Masayoshi's voice was quiet, and Gotou sighed. He had gotten used to Masayoshi's voice not being familiar, and that it never sounded right anymore, and he hate that he'd gotten so used to it. He missed Masayoshi's regular voice, his normal bright bubbly tone that would be driving nails through his brain in retribution for getting so drunk, but he didn't care because that meant that he would have Masayoshi back.
“Do you really hate me that much?”
Gotou lifted his head, perplexed. “I don't hate you at all.”
“I know I can't make you feel anything for me, and I wouldn't try to force you,” Masayoshi continued, in Gotou's voice, soft and almost sad. “But would it really hurt to try the kiss?”
“Masayoshi,” Gotou said. He didn't hate Masayoshi, and he couldn't find the words right now to articulate that, so instead he put his head back down against Masayoshi's shoulder, taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's just weird, okay? It's not even that it's you, it's just really freaking weird to kiss yourself. Doesn't that bother you at all?”
“You're still you, Gotou-san. Even with my face.”
“You're still an idiot,” he said softly, into Masayoshi's shoulder, thankful that the position he was in hid the no longer alcohol-induced flush that had spread across his face.
He sat on the bed and squinted at the ceiling light, feeling the brightness stab directly into that sensitive space behind his eyeballs, but still being drunk enough not to think about looking away. Masayoshi stood just beyond the door, shuffling around in the kitchen area – and every time he saw a flash of movement he would hope that it was Masayoshi's willowy frame, but it never was.
Gotou rubbed his face with one hand and sighed. He couldn't keep doing this, not for very much longer. Pretending to be Masayoshi during the day was tiring in every sense, he had no idea how Masayoshi did all the things that he did and then came home and put on a costume and ran around after people at night. It was somewhat admirable, in its own way – although he did readily think that Masayoshi was occasionally an absolute lunatic, but hey, he liked the guy so whatever.
As he had that thought, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head sharply, and then instantly regretted it as the room lurched a little and went wobbly. Fuck, Masayoshi's tolerance was abysmal, he was going to have to rectify that.
The movement had been that stupid fucking stuffed penguin falling over finally, from where Masayoshi had left it sitting atop a dropped courier bag. It slid over onto its side, dark button eyes staring sightless at the ceiling. Gotou snorted, and looked up as Masayoshi entered the room, carrying a glass of water for Gotou. “Here,” Masayoshi said. “Drink this, you'll feel better.”
Gotou drank the water gratefully. Masayoshi had been quietly subdued since they had stopped talking, and his occasionally-lucid brain caught up with him. Gotou caught Masayoshi's shirt sleeve as he started to turn away. “Masayoshi, wait.”
Masayoshi did not really look at him, staring ahead at the wall instead. “I like you a lot, okay? That's not a lie, look at me.”
“You're drunk, Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said.
“Masayoshi.”
Masayoshi looked at him, finally, and Gotou tugged on his shirtsleeve again. “Kiss me before I lose my nerve,” he said quickly, flushing sharply. Masayoshi's expression moved to startled, and Gotou was certain that he was going to argue this, but he slid Gotou's arm off his sleeve and leaned down. Gotou closed his eyes as Masayoshi very delicately, chastely kissed him.
It was a very brief brush of the lips – and Gotou hesitated a moment, cracking his eye open and looking up at Masayoshi with a frown. “It didn't work,” he said with a sigh. Masayoshi straightened and put two fingers against his bottom lip – he was blushing pretty hard, and when he caught Gotou's eye he looked away. “But it was worth a shot.”
“Yeah,” Masayoshi said. “Thank you, Gotou-san.”
Gotou rubbed his face with his hand. “Hey, put a liner in that bin for me, would you? I might need it tonight.” Masayoshi blinked himself out of the strange trance-like expression he had, and looked at Gotou, perplexed.
“Why would you need a-” he realized, mid-sentence, and made a face. “Ew!”
“Saves me from having to clean it off the floor later,” Gotou muttered. “If we're lucky I wont, but I'd rather be safe.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, and yawned.
He woke up a few hours later, head swimming and stomach complaining. Masayoshi had crossed the demilitarized zone in no time flat, one leg tangled between Gotou's, arm over his his side and tucked under Gotou's arm. Gotou had fallen asleep well before him, they had turned the television on low as Gotou dozed, but it was clearly long since off. He smiled, his hand warm underneath Masayoshi's on his chest, and found he didn't quite want to move.
Gotou liked this feeling, he liked the way it buzzed warm and content in his stomach. He stared into the darkness of the room, lit dimly by a street lamp outside, the blinds behind the television not quite closed all the way. It wasn't just the alcohol in his system, either – Masayoshi made him feel safe, in a way he hadn't felt for years. He thought, sleepily, that this would continue even when they got their own bodies back – having Masayoshi in bed with him seemed infinitely preferable now, warmth and limbs and reassurance.
Masayoshi seemed to sense that he woke, he mumbled some nonsense into the skin on the back of Gotou's neck, breath disturbing the hair. He punctuated the rambling with a very muzzy, “l'v you, Gotou-shan,” that drowsily dropped off into steady sleep again.
“Yeah,” he said softly, eyes slipping closed. He could see Masayoshi's smile in his mind, bright and carefree, and it made him smile in response. “Me too.”
When he next opened his eyes, it was daylight. Gotou groaned and heard Masayoshi groan fitfully in response. He raised his arm off of Masayoshi's side and covered one eye with his palm, yawning large. Then he blinked his eyes back open, squinting at the ceiling and slightly confused at how he had escaped a massive, massive hangover.
Gotou rolled up onto his side to poke Masayoshi awake and froze, staring down at disheveled tawny hair and hardly daring to breathe. He touched his hand to his face again, and then ran it back into his hair, before he grabbed Masayoshi by the shoulder and shook him. “'yoshi! Wake up, Masayoshi!”
“I'm awake,” Masayoshi groaned, eyes squeezed tight. He folded his arm up over his face and made a pathetic noise. “Please stop being so loud, Gotou-san, my head is going to explode.”
“It worked,” Gotou said, loud despite himself.
Masayoshi lifted his arm off the side of his face and cracked open an eye, glaring daggers at Gotou. “No shit,” he said. “I've got your stupid hangover and I want to die.”
Gotou tugged Masayoshi upright by his shoulder, he came up grudgingly and before he could grumble anything else Gotou took his face in both hands and kissed him, properly this time. Masayoshi's eyes blinked open wide in shock and Gotou came away and grinned – and then realized exactly what he just did. He released Masayoshi, his eyes as wide as Masayoshi's own, and face flushed scarlet.
“I-I'm sorry, I didn't-” Gotou said, and then Masayoshi very cautiously leaned in and kissed him again.
Masayoshi curled on his side, eyes closed tight and penguin clutched to his chest as he listened to Gotou talk on the phone to Harazuka. His head was pounding like a jackhammer and he kinda wanted to throw up again, but there really wasn't anything left to throw up at this point. He squinted a little when he opened them again, but Gotou had turned off the overhead light for him and kept the blinds drawn, so while it was light enough to see, it wasn't bright.
He remembered, now – he didn't know why he didn't remember before, but the woman had soft eyes and a kind smile. She had kissed the top of the penguin's head before handing it to Masayoshi – he's very special, just like you – and he had been distracted, he wanted Gotou to meet her, she seemed so nice but he had turned around and saw the masks and thought that maybe Gotou would like one, if they had a Harakiri Sunshine.
Gotou walked by the bed – he wandered when he was talking on the phone, unable to stay stationary. He lingered by the bed a moment, and tugged the blanket up a little on Masayoshi, and smiled at him, before turning away. Masayoshi's heart thudded in his chest.
“Thank you,” he murmured into the penguin's head, and he drowsily closed his eyes, content.
