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Only his idiot could jog through a park, round corners, past people walking animals, past one dog who was very definitely walking his person and not the other way around, and manage all of that while talking blithely about gaining enough strength to destroy the creature trying to destroy the world...
...and then fall flat on his face.
Thoroughly defeated by a slight rise in a square of pavement.
It was difficult not to think about this when he was dangling from a handrail several stories above the ground, thanks to No. B9. Godai was an idiot in many ways, certainly, but Ichijou couldn't say that he himself was always particularly smart.
He'd shot at B9, and had only broken the damned abacus in two. Then B9 had changed into his Grongi form, and had flown at him, and smacked him over the side of the railing as though he was nothing more than a twig. He'd sworn at himself as he'd dangled from one white-knuckled hand. If Godai saw this, he'd worry, and the last thing Godai needed was another reason to worry. There was enough in Godai's life for which Godai blamed himself, although he mostly pretended he didn't.
(And if there was a touch of hypocrisy there, because Godai also hated to worry him, and Ichijou found that utterly maddening... well. No one need know.)
Hadn't mattered, though. Not at all. Not when he and Sakurai got down to the ground and he found Godai. Crumpled, and bloody, after fighting No. 46. Looking like a rag doll someone had tossed aside. Just a bundle of limbs.
There was a dry leaf in Godai's soft hair. It didn't matter at all, given everything that had happened, given Godai's probable broken ribs, given the blood at the corner of his mouth, given the hollowness around the eyes.
Ignoring his aching wrists and arms, and the fire in his side from the long scrape he'd given himself in hauling himself back over the railing, Ichijou removed the leaf anyway. Before the ambulance arrived.
***
Tsubaki near electrocuted Godai to bring him back to life, and then of course Godai had leapt off his deathbed to come save Ichijou. Ichijou himself breathed Godai's name, and felt immediately settled by the warm strength in Godai's eyes as they'd met his.
Godai was a man. A strong, encouraging man, whose unfailing energy and optimism kept those around him inspired even when he was in pain.
And that wasn't all there was to it.
***
There was talking, sometimes. (Only the younger ones, or the less experienced. Not Sugita, not Sakurai, not Enokida, not a handful of others. Not those who relied on Godai being Godai but were also aware on some level just how it dragged at him.)
"...just like them! At least..."
"...ferocious, really cool..."
"...on our side..."
He corrected it, when he could. How often did he miss it? How many people saw Godai as some kind of useful, endlessly valuable beast?
***
"We just don't know enough, Ichijou-san," Godai said earnestly, and Ichijou nodded. It was difficult for them not to bring work home with them to Ichijou's small, neat apartment, of course. And this was always an assertion with which he'd agree. They didn't know enough. They'd been woefully unprepared for the Grongi, and though they'd found various ways to fight back (he sent a mental thanks in Sawatari and Enokida's directions once again), they were still scrambling to cope.
A while later, after Godai had made him do the entertainment crossword (really, what use did he have for actors' names and whether this one or that one had called their first child Lovely Beets? He had nothing against them, and it was a noble enough profession, but he was busy), Godai said suddenly, "You're the best marksman in the police, aren't you."
"My scores have been consistently highest, yes." He said it without too much smugness, as he leaned back against Godai's warmth. He patted the fabric of Godai's jeans where it stretched over his knee, just next to Ichijou's own hip. The problem was that he'd had to use his abilities far too often to save - or attempt to save - lives. If it was purely a matter of skill on the practice range, then he could be as smug as he wished.
"That's a relief. You may have to face the ultimate darkness, top marksman-san."
Godai's voice was soft. Rich with rust, with a valiant attempt at humor over the top.
Ichijou's head snapped around. He straightened up, shifting far enough to see Godai without actually losing physical contact with him. It was silly to sit on the floor anyway. His brown carpet was clean enough, but it was threadbare, and terrible support for one's back.
Godai could claim that he meant No. 0, but they both knew better, and Ichijou didn't give him the chance.
"No," he said, and he'd never been more emphatic in his life. "That's enough of that. You won't."
You won't lose control. You won't lose yourself. You're better than that. And I won't lose you.
"You don't know that, Ichijou-san."
"Actually, I do."
***
As he so often did, Ichijou found him small, human, tasks to do. It wasn't that he couldn't manage around his home by himself. He could repair small holes in a wall, he could do his laundry, he could wipe a table, he could even cook, a little, if pressed. So he had to be careful to not make it too obvious to Godai, who would've seen straight through any attempt at claiming he was too tired or stupid to figure out how to clean his shower.
He was fairly certain that Godai knew what he was doing, nevertheless. Godai didn't mention it. A large part of their relationship was in subtext.
"I might've been too late to help," Godai noted, as if he were talking about the weather. There's a forty-five percent chance of rain tomorrow. The weather presenter estimated that the cool change will come through between three and four in the afternoon. Perhaps the next time I'll find you with your throat torn out.
"Yes, and I might've been the same," Ichijou said as calmly as he could, fists clenching spasmodically in the hot, soapy water. He forced himself to control and handed the saucepan to Godai and his towel. "Don't forget I found you near dead, Godai Yuusuke, for I certainly won't forget that."
"Mm. That's true."
"You're not infallible. Same as the rest of us."
"I should be."
Ichijou laughed at the rueful self-deprecation in his tone, even though he could sense that it was partly for his sake. Partly so he'd stop fussing, stop worrying. "So should I. We're in this together. It's never just been Kuuga. It's been you, and me, and everyone else."
"Mm."
Ichijou paused. That small, wordless noise of assent wasn't technically a lie. But it wasn't all there was to it. He continued, feeling his way. "...no matter how much you might wish that it was just you, so that you could take all of the blame and all of the hurt on yourself."
Godai paused, with one of Ichijou's big noodle bowls in his hand. "Ichijou-san."
"You don't get to do that," Ichijou told him. "You're human, and you're part of this, and so are we."
"Not entirely human."
"No, you're not, but Grongi don't generally sew up a patch in my shirt, make me miso, and dry up."
He kept him busy for the rest of the night, with this and that little domestic task. There was something of a sparkle in Godai's eyes again by the time they went to bed. The weight and anxiety were still there, of course, for all that Godai barely acknowledged them to Ichijou, and not at all to anyone else (as far as he knew). That wasn't going anywhere.
***
Godai spoke about himself in depth only when the moon and stars aligned, or when Ichijou had found the exact candy bar that Godai had been seeking for a month (most recently, some horrible concoction with hazelnuts, raspberry ripple, and liquorice).
***
When he finally opened the door to his own room, Godai was there on the bed, in Ichijou's pinstriped blue and white sheets. A forearm pillowed his head as he gazed out through the floor to ceiling window into the night. It was cloudy. Had been overcast for a long time.
He slid into bed behind Godai, and reflected on how most of their love was unspoken. Words didn't come particularly easy to him, either, and as he pressed his lips to Godai's dark hair, he thought, perhaps we both need to speak more.
There was always talk. From the public, from well meaning co-workers, from friends, from the darknesses in Godai's mind.
He felt Godai's thin form ease against him, relaxing slightly, as the clouds shifted just enough to show a little of the night sky. To show a handful of stars. It wasn't blue sky, but it was something, and he exhaled at the same time as Godai. This wasn't something that a monster would require. Far too nonsensical for that.
He thought, listening is also important.
"I love you," he said quietly, and by the way Godai turned in his arms and brought their lips together, Godai heard.
***
They were both terrible at speaking about themselves. But at times, they heard anyway.
Godai was Kuuga, and (an) indispensable (part of the team) against the Grongi. Godai was also his idiot, and extremely good at cooking, and quite terrible at washing up, and had awful taste in chocolate.
He had quite good taste in partners, however.