dinohouse | For Gotou-chan!

Oh, great. I'll be stuck on a train with commuters for hours and hours and hours. During rush hour. It would be faster to crawl there on my hands and knees. I really do think I should do something about this. Maybe I'll write to my MP tomorrow.

"Sleep what off? What's happening?" Nobody ever tells me anything around here. Maybe if I go to sleep I'll wake up somewhere normal instead of this crazy world full of stairs and taxis and people falling over.

Ooh, this futon's nice and soft. It feels a bit like sleeping on a giant marshmallow. It should also double as a handy midnight snack. I still can't remember if I had any dinner.

...He's so out of it.

I've gotten him onto the futon, but he's flopping about and doesn't seem very settled. Mumbling something about dinner.

Oh, Gotou-chan.

I lower myself onto the futon beside him, dropping one arm heavily across his middle to weight him down. He squirms a bit, but I'm insistent. He needs rest, and I do too.

For all that I know Gotou-chan fairly well, I wasn't aware that alcohol brought out such loopiness in him; to be honest, it's extremely endearing, and I have to fiercely rein in my urge to kiss him because he's being so adorable. That would not be good for me to do, not at all. He's drunk, and I'm taking care of him.

"Go to sleep. You can scold me when you wake up."

What's he doing with that arm? Are we wrestling? Well, too bad, I haven't got the energy for it now. I flop back onto the pillows with a sigh, "why am I scolding you this time? Is it because you locked me in an office and kissed me?"

Yeah, that's a good reason to tell him off. Especially because he knew where the key was the whole time. I'm going to have a skeleton key made for every lock in the building. Even the ones for the rooms that Kougami-san doesn't think I know about.

"You threw the key out of the window. And you ran away from that taxi without paying. You're a bad example -" I begin, and then remember I haven't woken up yet, "sorry, it's not tomorrow yet, is it?"

...Talk about challenging my sense of resolution.

"You can scold me about that, if you want to," I reassure him, carefully adjusting a corner of the pillow that's folded funny under his cheek. He probably isn't noticing it right now, but it might not be comfortable to sleep on.

My knuckle brushes his cheek lightly, and I have to smile sadly, his skin so warm and smooth, barely shadowed with beard growth even at this late hour. I shouldn't enjoy such a little wisp of his warmth so deeply, and I know I'm not meant to; I don't regret telling him, and I feel lucky that he hasn't chosen to hate me for feeling that way toward him.

I don't know what the morning will bring, though.

"I would have let you out if you told me to, Gotou," I tell him softly, shifting the lay of my hips to something a little more comfortable, maintaining a hefty distance between his body and mine throughout. My cargo pants aren't exactly comfortable sleepwear, but I've dealt with far worse. I just want to make sure I'm as comfortable as I can be in falling asleep, so that I don't seek out greater comfort, or closeness, in my sleep.

"I had that key prepared so that you wouldn't be trapped with me. That I had to push myself to such an extreme just to be honest with you...

"I am sorry I wasn't braver, aibou."

"You had a key made just for that? Sounds like kind of a waste." It does, but then I can't be mad at him. Because he is my sempai, and he loves me, and has bits of a bullet stuck in his brain. All of these are very good reasons to forgive him, "I forgive you. Because you are my sempai, and you love me, and you have bits of a bullet stuck in your brain."

He's sort of fiddling around with my face and pillows. I want to ask him what he's doing but I'm sleepy, too sleepy to care. He's stronger than me but I'm still able to yank him down next to me. His chin's all prickly because he has a little beard there and I don't. We're going to have to work out this love thing better, I think. I don't want stubble rash.

"You don't call me Gotou-chan any more," I complain.

He's continuing to hop topics, which is making it challenging for me to keep up with the focus of his attention. So I'm going to explain that I didn't have the key made, just had Satonaka-chan prepare a way for him to access it and me to be unable to; and then I'm going to rewind a bit and explain that I didn't steal our cab ride, I paid the driver while Gotou-chan was still dozing on my shoulder.

But then he says he forgives me, in a manner approximately just as blunt as he guessed what I was dancing around back in the office, and my heart drops a little, hearing it said in quite that way from his mouth.

"Because you have bits of a bullet stuck in your brain."

I have just enough time to think about how desperately I didn't want to become that to him, the crippled one, for whom allowances must be made because Great Tragedy will eventually befall him. I would happily be a lot of things in Gotou-chan's eyes, but not that. Never that. But I am now, forevermore, only that.

And almost as soon as the thought forms in my head, before I've got time to feel the associated crushing disappointment, it's stunned right back out; he grabs my neck, yanks, pulls me down onto the pillow beside him, dragging me close, pulling my face against his.

I-- I think he was trying to get me to kiss him again! -or to kiss me. I'm rather sure there was a kissing intent in there somewhere!!

His aim was rather off, though, and I'm working on gently putting distance between us, he doesn't know what he's doing--

And then he's throwing me another curveball, except this one's less comical and more like a fierce, brutal punch to the gut, and the alcohol I drank is suddenly very much affecting me and I might have to go out on the staircase, actually, to get some fresh air and perhaps throw up.

"You don't call me Gotou-chan anymore," he says, and I can't even begin to process how to answer that. I fishmouth at him from a distance of far too close for my sense of chivalry and moral upstandingness and ability-to-resist-imminent-kissing-from-drunk-junior-partner-who-will-most-certainly-regret-it-in-the-morning.

Does he mean he wants me to? Or has noticed I'm not and wants me to return to it? Is the surname the issue, or does he think that my unintentional slips without the honorific, earlier in the night, mean something different than how I intended them? And he's drunk, I can't have this conversation with him now, I can't trust anything he'll grant me now, and he's too polite to contradict me later, and--

I swallow, hard, and my nose bumps against his just from that motion. Oh, gods.

(no, I'm not calling you Gotou-chan anymore, and yes, I keep omitting the honorific, because I want to be calling you Shintaro, you impossible man, but how do I tell you that?)

"Should I?" I ask, trying to put levity in my voice, ending up just sounding scared.

Note to self, if my heart makes it through this night: Don't get Gotou-chan drunk. It's really not good for my blood pressure.

"You always used to. Why did you stop?" His lips are moving but I can't hear anything. I poke at the side of one ear - no good. Maybe I need a hearing aid? I'll book a doctor's appointment in the week.

I'm about to ask Date-san to write that on a sticky note so I don't forget about it, and that's when I look at him properly. Oh. I reach out to put a clumsy arm around him, because even though I'm normally awkward about such things he looks upset. As if he's just been told his house burned down and all his family died, or something like that. I wonder if it's sinking in at last about the fragments of bullet, "what's wrong? Is it because I fell over you and took up your futon?" That's enough of that, don't want him to throw me out, I've definitely missed the last train now.

"I-- I just forgot," I manage. Far too slow and overwhelmed with all the various ways this could go very wrong at any second, I think my brain's just given up on analyzing the situation and is just sitting back to wait til it's all over.

Flip of a Medal, everything changes, I remind myself. No regrets.

"It's not the futon, Gotou-chan," I tell him, carefully including the honorific on purpose this time. "If it upset you that I forgot the honorific, I am sorry for that."

Don't burden him further. No regrets.

"You never forgot before." I'm starting to sound like a whiny child. It's hard to understand what's going on when no one ever tells me anything, and there's something more he's not saying, "you look like I ran over your bus. Or pushed your granny under a cat, c'mon, Date-san, what is it?"

At this point a little voice speaks up in my head to remind me that he is after all my sempai, and I might be talking out of turn. I acknowledge it's right, "sorry. Sorry. None of my business."

"Pushed my--what?" I'm not going to follow that one further.

"No, Gotou-chan, it is actually your business, it's just--I don't want..."

He's got no idea, I'm realizing, he really has no idea, and his petulant face, with his bottom lip pushed out so cutely like that, and he's RIGHT THERE--

Oh, fuck it.

I am going to the special hell, with the taste of his lips on my mouth.

But gods, despite the beer, despite the hour, despite my guilt even as I give in to the urge to explain to him in the simplest way I know how, my lips against his and far less chastely than the two kisses I gave him before --

Gods, he's worth it.

That's not really an answer. It's fun, however, so I can go along with it.

I try to sit up so I can reach him properly, but there's all these pillows and bits of futon and stuff in the way. Instead, I'll hook my spare arm around his shoulders for support. I'm going to need it; he's pretty eager. Wonder what got into him? But I'm not going down without a fight.

I'll mention the beard rash problem later. He does have very nice lips.

He reaches for me, and I love him, and I kiss him back with tender vigor, drawing my breaths from inside his little gasps.

He rises up, and I cup his head in my palm, fingers raked through his thick hair, supporting his head to ease his neck. I tilt his mouth against mine, gasping; he makes such a pretty sound and I move to kiss his sharp cheekbones, the line of his jaw, his temples and his brow. Gentle, worshipful kisses; I can't give him enough. He is handsome and beautiful in my eyes. In the eyes of anyone who can see.

I've rolled closer, I know I shouldn't, but I have and the motion has pressed his chest against mine and I can feel the thunder of our hearts rebounding against each other. I could cry for joy.

He's pretty good at this. I almost wish he'd said something about the whole love business earlier, so that we could have done these things before. He's moving ahead of me, all sort of pushing up against me and kissing all around my face. I don't mind though, it feels good and I don't seem able to keep pace with anything this evening.

I can very faintly hear some sort of thumping sound. I try to glance over at the doorway in case someone's knocking on it - maybe that taxi driver has found us again. But no. It takes several moments for me to realise it's my or his or both our hearts. Is it supposed to be that loud? I feel like a silly doki doki schoolgirl now.

I think Date-san does too. He's making little gasps and breathy noises. He's never quiet at anything else, I don't know why I expected this to be different.

His heart's beating so fast; he's so warm against me, and we're both completely clothed, so the only skin I can reach of him are his face and his hands, and those are smooth and thin and holding on to me, holding me close. Expressing clear want, clear desire.

He's drunk.

He's kissing me, actively, eagerly, and he probably doesn't realize the soft, needy nasal sounds he's making. I do.

My fingertips are rough from a life lived outdoors, but I can still appreciate the smooth delicacy of his jaw and cheekbone, the structure of his jaw. And as he opens his mouth to mine, letting my tongue lick slowly and tentatively against the tip of his, I can feel his cheeks hollow out against the gentle touch of my fingertips.

I can't help but suck inward, a gasp and a hungry sound, kissing him harder, tracing the contours of his face with fascinated fingertips. I gently drag my touch across to the corner of his parted lips, letting my fingers learn the shapes of our mouths as they fit together. Then, the gentle bulge of his tongue - and mine? - swells the soft plane of his cheek against my fingertips, just for a second, and I am so overcome that I must pull back, or maybe die.

"Shintaro!" I can't help it, his name, his given name, escapes my lips on a desperate groan, breathed very nearly into his own mouth.

"Yes? What?" But he's moving away from me now. Did I bite his tongue or something? I try to sit up, again, but have to use him to help me keep my balance because for some reason my head has started swimming.

No one calls me Shintaro. Not even my mother; she says "Shin-chan."

My lips are kind of swollen and wet, but if I wipe them, it'll look rude, as if I'm trying to wipe traces of him off me or something. I don't want to do that. It was a nice kiss and, well, we're more than friends now.

His mouth is plush and red and wet from our kiss; his eyes are dark, pupils widened; his heart rate is elevated, his breath catching in his throat as he pushes himself upward, following my retreat.

I'm glad that I can trust part of my brain to clinically catalogue these sorts of details; I can trust that in that way, I'm observing his physical state fairly, equitably. That he's not displaying signs of nonconsent which my lesser nature has yet to heed.

So the immense guilt that I felt closing in on me pauses, waiting for further input before the final determination of whether I truly am an awful lecherous aibou who's taking advantage of his junior partner while he's intoxicated and cannot defend himself.

"Shintaro," I say again, breathing the syllables reverently; it feels like the greatest intimacy, to call him by his first name, looking into his eyes from so close like this; I know my expression has to be extremely intense right now but it's only fair that it convey the emotion I'm feeling right now.

"Shintaro!"

I might be getting lightheaded just from calling him by his given name.

"You were right the first time, that's definitely my name," I supply helpfully. But he's still saying it. He's acting a little strangely this evening. If any of the neighbours hear him yelling my name, they'll probably think we're getting up to something funny.

He's breathing very heavily, and his expression is, well, it's - intense. I'm beginning to worry. Is he about to have a fit or something? Maybe I should call an ambulance, "hey, Date-san, are you OK?" I can't remember where I left my phone. He must have one in the house, right?

I try to get up off the futon and look for it but once again my head is spinning. Please, please not now.

...Right. Drunk.

VERY drunk.

Calling myself ten kinds of jackass, I gently push Gotou-chan back onto my futon, covering him with enough layers of thick blankets that hopefully he'll be unable to get free of them fast enough to follow me.

"I'm fine, Gotou-chan. I'm going to go out and get some things from the convenience store around the corner, I'll be back shortly." I push myself up, standing, stepping away, managing the door lock with admirable smoothness.

"Stay here, I'll be right back."

The door closes behind me with a reassuring clack, and I lock it just for my own reassurance's sake; I really don't want Gotou-chan trying to follow me in his state. But I need some space, and some distance, and some sense.

Reassuring myself doesn't net much success. At least all I did was kiss him, I could argue, except I also called him by his given name. Without permission, three times.

I need to jog down to the bathhouse and cool my head off, literally, and perhaps the rest of me too just to drive the point home. Now that I'm outside in the much more brisk night air, I'm noticing my body's got all sorts of opinions about the man currently in my bed.

None of them asked-for, either.

I'll get myself shaped up, I'll bring him back a cool bottle of water and perhaps something with electrolytes, and an anpan, since he probably really hasn't had much to eat today, and that's a recipe for severe hangover tomorrow if I don't treat him.

I'll take care of him like a good aibou should.

And I'll stop letting my selfishness dictate my behavior towards him.

I'm sorry, Hino, I'm thinking, as I hit full on sprint pace, bypassing the nearest convenience store and aiming myself toward the one five blocks away, to give myself a heavier workout.

You were wrong. I shouldn't have said anything after all.

Date-san is gone a long time. At some point, I doze, but when I wake up again he's still not back.

Needless to say, I'm feeling like a bit of an idiot. I can vaguely remember a bunch of events from last night: tripping over, something about cats, and running away from a taxi without paying. Why did I drink so much? It's not like me, and I thought I was supposed to stop at one or two so I could take care of Date-san.

I can remember other things that happened with Date-san, too. It's better I wait until he gets back before I start thinking about it all.

I need an aspirin or two, but it's rude to go snooping through someone's bathroom cabinets, so I rinse my face in the sink and put a cold washcloth on my face for a few moments. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I made a cup of tea but I feel like even that is too intrusive. Instead, I sit on the sofa till I start to feel better and then begin tidying around the house, as best as I can without looking through anything or moving it around too much. It's not dirty here, it just looks a little ... neglected? Probably because Date-san doesn't spend a lot of time at home.

I didn't mean to stay away from the house so long, but once I got moving I found I couldn't really stop. I ran off the alcohol, ran off my arousal, ran off my nerves. I ran until I felt the clean purpose of running in my lungs, and only then I turned my path back toward home.

When I crack the apartment door open again, I'm not sure what I'll find. Of all the things I might have expected, Gotou-chan neatening up my mess is certainly not high on the list.

I've got a shopping bag from the conbini, with energy drinks, anpan, normal bottled water, painkillers, and melon pops because they looked tasty and I got extra points on my card if I added 500¥ more to my purchase. I nearly drop it in rushing over to Gotou-chan's side, grasping his shoulders lightly and sitting him down carefully on the couch. The bag smacks against my shin, and I start digging through it, thoroughly flustered.

"Gotou-chan, what are you thinking? Sit, here, you need food." I glance to the counter near my cabinets and microwave - it's cleaner than it was when I left, which means Gotou-chan hasn't even made himself an instant ramen.

"You haven't eaten enough today, and you'll make yourself sick exerting yourself on so much alcohol." I press an anpan into his hands, digging out a drink that advertised itself as "Very Full" of electrolytes and twisting the cap off for him. "Here, here."

I'm not sure I've got the stomach to eat anything. I feel better, but still wobbly and a little bit nauseous. I'm going to ask in a moment whether he minds if I take some painkillers, but for now I accept the drink, "thank you."

It's very sweet. What's in it? If it contains a lot of sugar, I'll probably feel worse after drinking it. Which reminds me, "didn't I have dinner? How much did I drink? I don't really remember, sorry."

I'm having some trouble holding his gaze. My mental image of last night isn't exactly clear; and of what there is, it's not exactly flattering. I talked nonsense, skipped out on the taxi fare, and fell asleep on him. I'm sure I had plenty of other opportunities to make an idiot of myself. I was supposed to be taking care of him and instead I left him to babysit me all evening. Helping to clean up the place is the least I could do after this embarrassment.

Wait. I wasn't sick, was I?

"We had American fries, but we didn't eat a lot other than that. You said you didn't eat much today, Gotou-chan."

I support and soothe him as he drinks, though he doesn't take much and I take the bottle from him to give him one less thing to try to keep balanced. He looks really woozy. Gods, he probably didn't even realize how much he was worsening his condition by moving around so much.

I didn't miss how he kind of discarded the anpan, setting it on the couch beside him with an expression that tells me he may not even realize it's there. I focus on the drink, since he clearly is more up to that right now. "It's an electrolyte drink. It's artificial sweetners, so it won't give you a sugar crash. You need to eat real food, though, so let me know as soon as you feel able."

"I bought some painkillers." The bottle rattles as I begin to free it from its packaging. And he doesn't remember how much he drank, which doesn't surprise me, but I wish even more that I'd kept track for him. "I think you had two or three, actually. Here. I'll give you a one and a half dose for now."

"Just that?" Two or three drinks isn't really a lot. I know bar measures can be pretty heavy-handed, but still, I shouldn't actually be - well, drunk. I'm skinny, though, whereas someone like Date-san with more muscle mass can drink more. If only I'd thought of that before I started hitting the bottle.

I obligingly swallow down a couple of painkillers. After taking a moment to recover from that, I do my best to manage a few bites of anpan. It's actually quite tasty and it goes down easily. I don't want to make myself sick but if I don't eat anything, my sempai will worry. I've got more than enough to apologise for already. So let's start, "Date-san ... Thank you for taking care of me. I'm sorry I drank so much." My inner voice adds and made a fool of myself, and ran away from a taxi without paying, and - I stop there. We'll have time to go over the gory details soon enough.

The pills go down hard, and I wince as Gotou-chan works not to gag. I can't blame him, his body's far more overwrought than he realizes, and he's probably dehydrated to boot. I help him with a bit more drink after the anpan, just to wash it down, gently rubbing his back between his shoulderblades.

When he speaks, then, I can feel the way his breath and heart quicken. I can hear the strain in him, and it bothers me.

"It's alright, Gotou-chan." I can't lie to him, but I don't know how to address half a dozen other things that could be said right now. All I can do, is look at our knees, where the corner of the fold of fabric on his right knee is touching the folds on the knee of my left. It's tiny, but it helps. A little.

"You took care of me, too."

I won't specify how, or why. I hope he remembers, so I don't have to explain. And so I'm not the only one who knows about the wrongs I've done him tonight.

"That's a strange way to put it." I know what he's talking about, though I'm not sure I would refer to it as taking care of anything.

It was probably hideously embarrassing. I remember being all over him. Probably not an appealing sight while I was drunk. He deserves a medal just for putting up with me, but I'm not going to bring up that subject again. For the sake of both our sanity we should move on past it, "perhaps I should stay over again at a time when I haven't been drinking so much."

I do my best to finish up the bottle of energy drink. I appreciate that he bought it for me, but why do they sell these things? If it came in a medicine bottle, people would pour it down the sink.

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[Date has lost the ability to preserve food in cylindrical containers. HAVE A CARE, GOTOU-CHAN]

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[Probably forty-five minutes to an hour after leaving]

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