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It figures, the day after Gou returns from America, after he’s scoured the country searching for answers that don’t exist, pleaded with strangers that can’t help him, taken a few hundred photos, shouted uselessly into the black void of desert sky and, finally, dragged his weary soul back home because Shin-niisan asked him to, begged him to rest, please, Gou, just take a break, you sound…
(Tired, huh? Gou had asked, chewing on his lip and swallowing the urge to scream.
Destroyed, Shinnosuke hissed, and Gou decided then that maybe it was time to stop, while he still could.)
It figures, while Shinnosuke and Kiriko are at work and Gou is dozing on their couch, wearing one of Shin-niisan’s sweatshirts and wrapped in a blanket of his sister’s, his hair unwashed and the TV on low and the purple Signal Bike and driver’s license still clenched, white-knuckled, in his fist…
It figures that’s when Chase finds him.
There’s a knock at the door, and Gou almost doesn’t answer it. But he’s curious, wonders vaguely if he ordered take-out and forgot, wonders if anyone from Special Crimes knows he’s back in town, wonders if Shinnosuke and Kiriko have married-couple friends now who come over to borrow books and share food, wonders what else he missed on his journey to nowhere. So he shuffles to the door, turns the knob, peeks out around the corner, and finds Chase standing there on the landing.
“Gou,” Chase says.
Gou slams the door shut.
This happened once before, at a roadside motel in Arizona. Gou had just pulled an all-nighter, blinking at his laptop and trying to make sense of the newest data Hendrickson had sent, and on his way to the vending machine for a soda, rubbing at his tired eyes, Chase materialized in the doorway, smiling gently. Gou stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stumbled forward and reached for Chase, only to grab a handful of empty air. He called Shin-niisan that night, sobbing, curled over his knees and hiccupping into the phone, I’m going crazy, Shin, I saw him, what’s wrong with me, what the hell do I do…
“Gou?” Chase asks again through the door, the deep timbre of his voice echoing in Gou’s stomach.
Gou tugs at his hair, rubs a shaky hand over his mouth, gawks at the door and waits for it to burst into flames or devour him whole or something equally terrifying. Waits for the nightmare to end.
It doesn’t. After a few moments, the door creaks open, and Chase walks inside. “You did not lock the door behind you, so I presume it is acceptable for me to enter.”
Gou’s breath catches on a hysterical giggle, and he shakes his head, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “No way, no fucking way, not again.”
Chase’s eyes narrow. “Are you unwell?” He takes a step forward, and Gou flinches back.
“Don’t…stop, just, stop. Don’t move, okay?”
Chase frowns, perplexed, but nods. “I will do as you ask.”
“You’re not real.”
A little crease appears between Chase’s brows, and Gou’s heart does something stupid in response. “Are you angry with me?”
And Gou can’t help it: he laughs. He laughs and laughs until he has to brace his hands on his knees and take deep, gasping breaths just to get himself back under control.
“Did I say something amusing?” Chase asks, wry irritation seeping into his characteristically flat tone, and Gou’s gotta hand it to his brain: this fever-dream hallucination sure sounds more like Chase than it has any right to.
“It’s just funny that you’re here,” Gou babbles. “Well, not really here. In my head, I guess. And by funny, I mean it’s really, really screwed up, y'know, there’s something really wrong with me, I just keep seeing you, and now I'm talking to you, you’re not even here, and—”
“Gou.”
Gou snaps his mouth shut.
Chase takes a step forward, and Gou stands his ground.
“I am here,” Chase says. He takes another step. Another. He’s near enough to touch Gou, now, and he does, the barest brush of fingertips across the back of Gou’s hand
Gou gasps, shaking, and turns his hand palm-up against Chase’s. “Wha—How?”
“I do not know all the details,” Chase says. “Would you like me to tell you what I remember?”
“Absolutely not,” Gou says, and launches himself at Chase, throwing his arms around Chase’s neck and grabbing a handful of the back of his shirt and pressing their lips together. One of Chase’s hands splays against the small of Gou’s back, the other gripping at his waist, and Chase’s mouth is soft, and Chase’s arms are strong, and Chase nudges him back against the wall just in time for Gou’s knees to give out, and Chase doesn’t let him fall.
“Is it me,” Gou mutters, his head knocking back against the wall, “am I dead? That would make more sense than this.”
“You made very little sense to me even before I went away,” Chase says, and Gou laughs again at the way he says I went away, like he was simply on a trip, saw the sights, gave death a try and decided it was a good place to visit, but not to stay. “Though it seems you no longer hate me with the fervor you once did.”
“Good observation,” Gou says, curling his hand around the back of Chase’s neck and yanking him in for another kiss. He smiles against his mouth, smiles when Chase’s hands tighten on his hips, grins like a goddamn idiot when Chase presses their foreheads together and brushes his nose against Gou’s, feather-light, while Gou goes cross-eyed trying to never, ever look away from Chase again.
“Gou,” Chase murmurs. “Is this…”
Gou nips at his bottom lip. “Is what?”
“Is this what…buddies—”
“Oh my god shut up,” Gou says, and kisses Chase until they both feel real again.