Work Text:
Winter
Goro remembers when Akira walked in with that hammock.
Mostly because he tracked in snow and dirtied up the carpet, all at six in the morning.
“Why did you buy a hammock,” Goro said. It wasn’t really a question.
“Reasons,” Akira responded, giving him something that looked like a shrug. He was too busy trying to work the box in through the door.
Goro scowled, a little miffed at the non-answer. He watched him from the couch, his thumb in between the pages of the book he was reading, his feet tucked up underneath him, a thin blanket laying across his lap. An unfinished cup of coffee rested on the small living room table. He had been in the middle of his morning routine when Akira had thrown the door open rather dramatically, revealing himself carrying a narrow but long box in his arms.
And now here Akira was, still yanking on the box. He kept trying, for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, to get the box into the house. It was a bit before he gave up, looking pleadingly up at Goro.
“I’m not going to help you,” he said in response to the unspoken request for assistance, turning back to his book and flipping the page.
“Asshole,” Akira grumbled, and returned to his endeavor.
Goro watched him out of his periphery, noticing Akira trying to work the box in through the door frame from the top, and then diagonally. It didn’t fit either way--the only thing Akira managed to do was track in more snow and dent the box, possibly damage the goods inside.
Goro had every intention of ignoring him. He was perfectly content to read his book and drink his coffee. But the thin blanket he had did little to nothing to combat the cold that the open door was letting pour into the house. And unlike him, Akira was dressed to protect against the chill.
With an irritated sigh he bookmarked his spot, throwing the book onto the living room table and the blanket off of his legs, shivering at the loss of even that meager amount of warmth. He quickly walked over to the door, shoving Akira out of the way and taking the box into his own hands.
“You’re an idiot,” he muttered as he laid the box flat on the ground, easily pulling it in. He grabbed Akira’s wrist and yanked him inside, not quite slamming the door shut.
Akira looked appropriately embarrassed at his lack of common sense, mouth agape and cheeks flushed from more than just the cold.
While Goro would love to tease him about it, his bare toes are frozen from even the minuscule amount of time he’d spent standing in the snow on the carpet. He quickly stepped out of it, going to the kitchen to search for...paper towels? A broom and dustpan? He wasn’t exactly sure what tools one needed to clean up tracked-in snow. He grabbed all three of them.
When he came back he found Akira staring at the damp and dented box, still looking mortified. Goro poked him to snap him out of it, and he blinked, turning to him.
“Clean up after yourself,” Goro ordered, shoving the tools into Akira’s hands.
The former detective then went back to the couch, sticking his feet in between the crook of his knees to warm them up, throwing the blanket back over himself before picking up his book again, going straight back to reading.
“Rude,” he heard Akira mutter, right on the line of being just quiet enough to be indecipherable, but just loud enough so that Goro understood it, anyway. He knew Akira was doing it on purpose, just to annoy him.
It kind of did, as he still hates that kind of thing--he’d heard enough of that kind of volume from his fans, when they both did and didn’t want to be heard by him--but Goro ignored him.
He turned the page as loudly as he could, even pretending to fumble it a little for that extra bit of blatant ignorance.
Akira sighed and grumbled, but Goro could hear him drop the dustpan on the floor, along with the telltale ‘shhp, shhp’ of the broom being swept.
Goro pulled the blanket closer to himself when Akira opened the door to dump the unmelted snow outside. As he turned the next page he heard him ripping paper towel after paper towel from the roll, patting up the snow that had melted into the carpet and then throwing them away, if the sound of the lid of the trash can being opened and closed was any indication.
And then Akira was draping his arms across Goro’s shoulders from the back of the sofa, laying his chin on top of his hair, essentially hugging his head.
“What are you trying to get me to do now?” Goro said, turning the next page and trying to fight back the smile threatening to creep onto his face at the contact.
“Why would you immediately assume that I’m trying to get something out of you?” Akira sighed, nuzzling his nose into Goro’s hair. “Can’t I just show some affection for my husband?”
“Mmm,” Goro said, unable to fight the flush rising to his cheeks. It still made him feel incredibly happy to be called that. To have that place in someone’s life. In Akira’s life. Especially since he didn’t think he’d even live this long, or ever become so important. He reached up and patted one of Akira’s arms. “I’d believe that if you didn’t usually give me physical affection right before you ask me for favors.”
Akira made an indignant gasp. “Ouch. So harsh.”
“You don’t deny it, though,” Goro pointed out.
“Mmm,” Akira murmured noncommittally, burrowing further into his head.
“That’s what I thought,” Goro said smugly, turning yet another page. “Nice try, buddy. Now off. I have a book to read and you’re heavy.”
“I don’t know what my being heavy has to do with your ability to read, but fine, ” Akira sighed, releasing Goro. “Guess you won’t get to see how amazing and awesome this hammock is when I set it up, then.”
Goro blinked, and he looked up at Akira with no small amount of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re setting it up now, in the snow.”
“Well, yeah,” Akira said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “When else would I set it up?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the former detective muttered, injecting as much sarcasm into the words as possible. “Maybe when it’s not fucking below zero outside?”
“It’s not below zero out there,” the former thief responded, dragging the box across the living room floor, picking it up and resting it against the wall near the backdoor. “Drama queen.”
Goro scrunched his nose at that. “It’s still fucking cold. You’re gonna get sick.”
“You know, if you helped me, it wouldn’t take so long,” Akira said, pulling on some work gloves, opening the back door and letting the cold in again, “and then I wouldn’t get sick.”
Goro had grown quite comfortable in his little cocoon and had no intentions of leaving it anytime soon. “Yeah, no. Good luck with all that. And get in or get out. You’re letting the cold in again, and I’m not going to pay for it if the heating bill goes up.”
Akira sighed dramatically, being quite the hypocrite, but he dragged the box outside and closed the door.
Goro huffed, turning back to his book, snuggling further into the couch. He was determined to finish it today.
It was two hours later when Goro heard something--or rather, some one --hit the snow with a muffled thud.
He looked up from his book to peek out the window, seeing Akira flat on his back on top of the striped, multicolored hammock.
It was all rather comical, the way Akira limbs were skewed, the hammock spread out chaotically underneath him, the box ripped into shreds, and the instructions wet and unreadable in the snow.
He couldn’t hold back a chuckle when he saw Akira rub his head, the cloud of mist indicating a tired sigh, before pushing himself up rather slowly.
He turned his attention back to his book when Akira made his way to the door, opening it and stepping inside, moving towards the small utility room attached to the kitchen.
“Hey, Goro,” he asked, his voice muffled and distant. “Where’s the hammer? And the nails? I know we bought some the other day to hang up Yusuke’s painting above the fireplace.”
Goro sipped his now mostly cold coffee, not taking his eyes off the page. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Goro could hear indistinct grumbling and the shift of metal, but despite the noise, he heard Akira mutter some choice and rather unflattering words about him.
“I heard that,” he said, and tried very hard not to smirk when the flow of words immediately stopped.
Akira emerged from the room holding the hammer and a clear plastic box full of an assortment of short and long nails, along with some screws. Goro spared him a glance, making brief eye contact with him.
“You heard nothing,” Akira said with all the bluster and confidence of a thief that had been caught red-handed.
Goro went back to his book, but not before giving his husband a sly look. “On the contrary, dearest. I heard everything. ”
His suggestive tone didn’t slip past Akira’s notice, if the shaky breath he let out hinted at anything.
Akira beat a hasty retreat out the door, evidently not wanting to deal with the consequences of his actions.
Oh well. Goro would make him pay for it later. He turned the page.
The next hour or so was sprinkled with the sounds of a hammer beating against metal and against the wood of the two conveniently placed trees out in their small backyard.
Which was then promptly interrupted by the sound of Akira yelping, accompanied by the same muffled thud of a body hitting snow.
Goro looked up from his nearly completed book, seeing that Akira landed face-first in the snow this time, hammock twisted in such a manner that it seemed to have spit him out. Apparently it didn’t like being set up incorrectly.
He outright laughed when the whole scene was topped off by some of the resting snow among the branches falling right on top of Akira’s head.
Goro got up to get a better look, grabbing his phone and taking a quick picture for posterity and future blackmail.
Akira laid there for a long time, long enough for Goro to get slightly concerned about whether or not he hit his head hard enough to be knocked unconscious. But then the former thief slowly put his hands underneath himself, pushing himself up once again, ruffling his black hair to get any residual snow out of it.
He caught Goro’s eye. Goro gave him a thumbs up, making sure Akira could see that he had his phone in prime picture-taking position.
Akira hid his face in his hands, but not before Goro could see the spectacular, mortified blush that had spread rapidly across his already reddened cheeks.
After taking a couple of more pictures of his adorably embarrassed husband, he decided to have some mercy, and went back to the couch, leaving him alone to wallow in his self-pity.
Goro’s page turning was accompanied by the sounds of Akira pulling the nails from the trunks of the trees along with what the former detective could only assume were muttered curses.
It takes another hour for Goro to finish his book, both satisfied to have finished but unsatisfied at the typical cliche ending to the story.
Goro got up and watched as Akira wrenched free the last nail holding the hammock up, falling back into the snow and puffing up clouds of mist as he panted, clearly exhausted from the hours of labor out in the cold.
“Akira,” Goro called after opening the door, rubbing his arms in a feeble attempt to fight against the chill. “That’s enough for today. Come back inside before you really catch a cold.”
The former thief just panted, weakly raising his hand in a dismissive gesture before letting it drop unceremoniously back onto the ground.
“Don’t make me drag you,” Goro warned.
“Empty threat...honey,” Akira managed to work out in between breaths. “You’re...not as young...as you used to be.”
“Neither are you,” Goro countered, but Akira had a point. In spite of visiting the gym relatively frequently, Goro doubted he could drag all of Akira’s dead weight through the snow and into the house, not without hurting him in some way.
Which was fine. Goro had two trump cards prepared for such scenarios.
“If you don’t get your ass back into the house in thirty seconds,” he started, pulling out his phone again. “Then I’m calling Futaba. And texting her the pictures I took earlier.”
If Goro’s suspicions were right, Akira would feel only mildly threatened. Futaba already had so much dirty info and incriminating photos of his dumbassery that this probably wouldn’t make much of a difference.
It wasn’t a surprise when the former thief only reacted with another dismissive gesture.
Goro smiled smugly, prepared to lay down the true trump card.
“Alright then,” the former detective began, scrolling through his contacts, stopping on a familiar number. “Guess I’ll just have to call Boss.”
Akira was up and waiting, having dashed across the backyard before Goro could even put the receiver to his ear.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, pulling them both inside before closing the door.
They both knew that Sojiro was a worrier by nature, and now that he couldn’t just confirm with his own eyes that they were doing fine ever since they moved away, phone calls tended to run long. Mostly due to the silences as the surrogate father tried to find the right words to say that made him seem aloof, while thinly veiling the concern underneath it all.
And Akira really loved to answer his questions with vague replies. Replies which Sojiro was never really content with. Which would lead to more silences as he searched for the right words to repeat his question.
Eventually Goro would get fed up with it all and snap, telling them that they were both being incredibly stupid for dancing around the subject.
Point being, as much as Akira loved Sojiro, phone calls with him were tedious and miserable and he’d rather get up out of the snow and give up on the hammock and his pride for today than go through that.
The former thief was still shivering even though the inside of the house was warm, and he had yet to take off any of his heavy clothing. His nose and the tops of his cheeks were pink from the frost and he sniffled every few seconds.
Goro reached up, pinched and wiggled Akira’s cold cheeks. Just because he could.
“Hey, ow, stop that,” Akira managed, muffled words punctuated by another sniffle.
“You’re cold,” Goro observed.
“Yeah,” his husband began sarcastically, “it’s almost like being out in the snow while having my face exposed to the winter air will make my cheeks cold. What a concept!”
“I don’t appreciate your snark,” Goro muttered while scowling, twisting Akira’s cheeks a little.
Akira only chuckled, reaching up with his still gloved hands and pulling the former detective’s own off of his face. He went without much resistance. “When do you ever?”
Goro shook his head and sighed, turning Akira around and pushing him towards their shared bedroom. “Go take a shower. You stink.”
Akira was being heavy-footed on purpose, leaning as much weight as he dared onto Goro’s outstretched arms on his back. “But I’m so tired...I can barely lift my arms. How can I take care of myself in such a condition?”
Goro huffed. He was tempted to just drop his husband onto the floor, just to be spiteful.
But, well, he wouldn’t do that. He loved the bastard too much.
“I’m sure you’ll manage,” he said instead, pushing at him until they stepped into their shared bathroom.
He was still floored that they were sharing things. That he could call things ‘ours’ instead of ‘mine’.
Akira grumbled when he was deposited on the toilet seat but he started to remove his gloves and scarf even as he complained. Goro left him to it, confident that Akira could and would take care of himself from here, closing the door behind him.
He had work to do, after all.
Akira blinked when Goro shoved the warm cup of freshly brewed coffee into his hands, hair still dripping with water.
“Since when did you learn to brew coffee?” he asked after he had taken a sip, looking surprised by the fact that it didn’t taste like dirt.
Goro knew it didn’t taste like dirt. He had checked. Multiple times. Even if what they were drinking now was Goro’s third attempt.
“Since Boss learned we were drinking instant coffee when we called him last month,” Goro said, letting out an appreciative sigh as the warm liquid worked its way into his system. “He insisted that I learn how to, once I told him you were too busy with work in the mornings. He claimed that instant coffee is an atrocity and an insult to mother nature.”
Akira paused, smiling a little. “He really said that?”
“No,” Goro responded, taking another sip. “But he might as well have.”
The former thief smiled fully at that, taking another sip. “It’s really good. Thanks, Goro.”
Shit. Akira knew exactly what he was doing to him with the praise, seeing as how his eyes crinkled and he couldn’t hide his satisfied smirk from behind his cup.
Then his eyes drifted to the side to look out the window, and the smugness was replaced by surprise instead.
The hammock was set up perfectly in between their two trees, the perfect height above the ground, just waiting to be used.
“...you finished it for me?” Akira whispered, disbelievingly.
Goro made a vague gesture, having gathered back some of his composure, even if his cheeks were still hot. “Obviously. It was embarrassing to watch, and I would rather not have the neighbors witness you making a fool of yourself. And of me, by extension.”
The insults slid off of Akira like water off a duck’s back. He smiled genuinely at him, taking another sip of his coffee. “Thank you. For doing that for me. It really...means a lot.”
Goro fought very hard against the darkening blush on his cheeks.
“Y-you’re welcome,” he muttered, hiding behind his own cup and avoiding eye contact.
There was silence to follow his words.
Goro eventually peeked up to find that Akira was staring at him in pure and clear wonder and adoration.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” Goro grumbled.
“You…” Akira started, setting his finished cup down on the living room table, slowly making his way over to him.
Akira was looking at him with so much warmth and open vulnerability that Goro was afraid he’d break something important if he spoke. “You’ve never said that before.”
The former detective looked away. “...I haven’t?”
Akira shook his head, walking towards him slowly, taking Goro’s unfinished cup from his hands, setting it down gently next to his own. “You haven’t.”
“That’s impossible,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other, still refusing to look at Akira. “I must have said it at some point.”
“Yeah, probably,” Akira agreed, taking Goro’s hands into his own, lifting them to his lips, brushing them over his knuckles. Goro tried very hard not to shiver as his warm breath trailed across the back of his hands. “But I think this is the first time you’ve actually meant it.”
He didn’t have a response to that. It was true, after all.
The former thief trailed his hands up Goro’s arms, over the sleeves of the jacket he had put on. His fingers ghosted lightly over his exposed neck, and his traitorous body sent goosebumps down his spine at even the small amount of warmth he felt at the brief touch.
And then Akira was cupping his face, lifting his head. But Goro still refused to look at him, afraid of the expression on Akira’s face for no reason.
“Goro,” he whispered, barely a breath away. “Goro, look at me.”
Goro really, really didn’t want to. But no matter what he wanted, he found it impossible to refuse a genuine request from his husband. He had always been bad at resisting him.
He slowly looked up at him, and sucked in a breath at the utter warmth and adoration in those silver eyes. Akira smiled, brushing his warm thumbs across his heated cheeks.
“I love you.”
And then Akira kissed him, kissed him over and over again, peppering affection all over his face. On his nose, over his cheeks, on his forehead, over his closed eyelids, before returning to his lips again.
Akira kissed him until he was out of breath, until all traces of cold left his body, until all he could feel was him.
Goro was breathing his air. Akira was breathing his.
“I love you, too,” he managed to say in between breaths.
The former detective yelped a little when Akira bent down and picked him up, an arm supporting his back and hooked under his knees.
He gripped Akira’s nightshirt, fearful that he might drop him, but he was being kissed again, and all thoughts of ‘those trips to the gym are paying off’ and ‘I’m too old to be swept off my feet’ fled his mind.
The only things that he knew when Akira set him down on the bed were that he was so incredibly warm, and that he was damn lucky he got to spend the rest of his life with Akira.
Spring
At this point, Goro had no other choice but to accept the fact that Akira had grown to love the hammock more than him.
He truly regrets finishing it for him. Not like that would have stopped his husband from finishing it for himself. He was a stubborn idiot, after all.
Really, he should have been grateful that he’d gotten to spend that night making love to his husband over and over again as a special thanks from Akira.
Doesn’t make Goro any less irritated that the former thief had spent more time with the hammock in the past month than he had spent with him.
He’d go out to it with the coffee Goro now brewed for them every morning. When he’d come home from work he would just peck Goro on the cheek or forehead briefly before he’d take his work papers, and some semblance of a hard surface to write on, outside. Hell, even on the weekends Akira would wake up early just so he could go lay down on the damn thing. The only time Goro saw him then was when he was cooking lunch and dinner, since Akira didn’t trust Goro within three feet of the kitchen, besides when he brewed their morning coffee.
Then he’d take his meal outside. Spend the whole evening out there. He’d come to bed late.
The cycle repeated for a month.
One night, he didn’t come to bed at all.
That was the last straw.
Goro had tried not to be jealous over a fucking hammock , for God’s sake, but Akira had a knack for making the former detective become petty and envious over the simplest and stupidest of things. If he was a lesser person, he would have simply destroyed the hammock, but he’d been working with his therapist on channeling his lingering rage and violent urges into much more productive and less self-destructive ways.
On the night that Akira didn’t come back to bed, Goro laid awake and devised a... relatively harmless plan.
Goro launched his assault the very next morning.
He threw open the backdoor dramatically, no doubt waking something up, be it the neighbors or the birds in the trees, with how loud it smacked against the wall.
He saw the top of Akira’s head flinch slightly, and if he hadn’t spent years of his life watching for minute changes in the Metaverse he would have missed it.
The former detective made his way over to the hammock as loudly as he could, until he was standing over Akira’s supposedly sleeping body.
He was doing a very good job of acting like he hadn’t been woken up, but Goro had learned to read people and take apart their expressions to get at what was underneath. It usually revealed the lies people told, what they wanted from him, how shallow they were.
Here, the former detective just read that Akira was trying to feign being asleep. Like he was afraid of the consequences and wanted to prolong having to deal with them for as long as he could.
Well. Akira might as well have served himself up on a silver platter.
“Aw, look at you,” Goro purred, reaching over and pulling some cherry-blossom petals from Akira’s black curls, running his fingers through them. The petals were all over the place in the spring, and their backyard was no exception. “You must have been so tired to have slept here all night. ”
The former thief didn’t react. He couldn’t, after all.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Goro continued, moving to cup Akira’s face, climbing into the hammock and hovering over his body. “Spending so much time out here.”
Akira just barely leaned into the touch on his face, but he quickly corrected himself. He couldn’t hide the way his breathing picked up slightly, though.
Goro grinned. His plan was running smoothly.
“What do you do when you’re on this hammock?” he whispered, leaning down and blowing lightly across his husband’s face. “I wonder.”
A soft breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the trees, depositing more petals everywhere--in their hair, in the hammock, and in their clothes. It was the first hint of warmth after the bitterly cold winter that Goro had experienced this year. He hadn’t been outside in a while, as his work could be accomplished indoors and at home, and their house was far closer to his therapist’s office than his office building was.
Goro could smell the storm in the air. He loved that wet, muddy smell, loved the sound the rain made when it landed on their shared roof.
One day, he’d like to stand outside in the rain, with no umbrella and no shoes, and just tilt his face up towards the weeping sky, feel the water hit his face, run through his hair like silvery tendrils, slide down his skin like a caress.
He’d like to jump in puddles, ruin his clothes, make a mess, laughing all the while.
He’d like Akira to be there with him, with no shoes of his own, using his fingers to stroke war paint onto Goro’s face with mud.
Goro would like to dance slowly in his warm embrace, etching their existence with their toes into the thin layer of water, breaking the uniformity, however fleeting it might be.
He smiled wistfully at his own fantasy. Another time.
He leaned down the rest of the way, peppering small little kisses all over Akira’s face.
“I wonder what you see,” he murmured as he skimmed his lips over his husband’s closed eyelids. “I wonder what you hear,” he breathed into the shell of his ear. “I wonder what you smell,” he whispered as he kissed his nose, huffing out a small little laugh when Akira couldn’t hold back an involuntary twitch.
Besides that, Akira did not react, but Goro could tell that he was finding it harder and harder to keep still and quiet. He could feel him shift ever so slightly, shivering a little with the effort to keep up the act.
Time to up the ante, then.
Goro stroked Akira’s leg intenty with his free hand, dragging his nails ever so slightly upward, sneaking under his shirt to ghost over his abdomen. He felt Akira stiffen before forcing himself to relax--but his breathing was definitely coming heavier now, and he could see the way his eyes moved under his eyelids.
He kept skimming over his stomach, never going any higher than that, working Akira up, trying to get him to break.
But the former thief was stubborn, and even though anyone, even Ryuji, could tell that Akira wasn’t asleep by now, he kept his eyes shut.
That was fine. Goro would just have to do this the hard way.
He yanked up his husband’s shirt abruptly, earning a small gasp from him, and exposing his stomach to the full frontal assault of Goro’s tickling.
Immediately his eyes flew open, barking out a startled laugh while he tried to curl up his body to defend himself. But they were on a hammock, and Goro was hovering right over him, making it very hard to do that very thing.
“Awake now, I see,” Goro muttered nonchalantly as his husband squirmed beneath him, trying to bat his hands away.
“S-stop!” Akira managed, attempting to get his legs underneath Goro’s body so that he could push him off. “You--haha--bastard! That--that--that tickles!”
“Of course it does, dumbass,” the former detective deadpanned, leaning back onto his knees a little so that he could assault Akira with both of his hands. “I’m doing it on purpose, as payback.”
Akira’s laughter picked up in frequency and volume at the added weaponry. “Pay--pffft--” he started, “payback for--haha--for what, Goro?”
He gave Akira what he hoped was his best unimpressed face. “Are you really going to make me spell it out? Or are you really just that much of an idiot?”
The sentence was followed by Goro moving his hands to Akira’s sides, which were more sensitive to his touch, if the way his laughter increased and he wheezed for breath was any indication.
“I--” he got out in between labored intakes of breath. “I s-seriously don’t--haha--know!”
“Liar,” Goro replied, continuing his bombardment. “If you didn’t know, why would you pretend to be asleep when I slammed the door open?”
“B-because--” he started, now reaching for Goro’s wrists in an attempt to stop him, which he evaded. “You’re scary--haha--scary when you’re mad!”
“And why would I be mad, Akira?” Goro said while smirking. It was quickly wiped off, however, when Akira burst forth with surprising dexterity, considering his relatively incapacitated state, and snagged Goro’s wrists, yanking on them until Goro was laying right on top of the former thief’s chest, their breath intermingling.
Akira panted, trying to get air into his burning lungs. “Does...does it have something...to do with the hammock?”
Goro blinked. “Wow. I’m impressed that you figured out that much.”
Akira made a face. “I may be dumb...but I’m not dumb. ”
“On the contrary, dearest,” Goro said, smirking again. “I think you are dumb, if you didn’t notice anything wrong for an entire month.”
“That’s only because someone ,” Akira huffed, “was being stubborn about not sleeping out here with me.”
“And how was I supposed to know that that’s what you wanted from me?” Goro asked incredulously.
“Uh, because I asked, and you agreed,” his husband muttered.
Goro blinked. He doesn’t remember making any such agreement. “I don’t remember making any such agreement.”
“Uh-huh,” Akira said sarcastically, but his expression morphed into disbelief when he saw the genuine confusion on Goro’s face. “Wait, really?”
“Yes, really. I don’t remember promising anything like that.”
Akira pouted. “I could have sworn…” he started, but then he cut himself off as his eyes widened. “...uh, actually, nevermind, it makes sense why you don’t remember.”
Goro huffed. “Tell me.”
“I don’t want to,” he said, looking away but keeping Goro close, letting go of his wrists to wrap them around his back instead, trying to push his head into the crook of his neck to hide.
Goro resisted, wanting to see Akira’s expression. He looked slightly embarrassed.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Goro responded. “And don’t be stupid. There’s literally nothing that could faze me at this point. You’ve used just about every corny line in the book--I don’t think you can get much worse than that.”
Akira squirmed a little, blushing more, but looked back at Goro anyways. “...sm,” he mumbled.
Goro huffed. “Speak up, Akira, I can’t hear you.”
“It’s because I asked you post-orgasm, okay?!” he blurted, snapping his mouth shut and blushing harder.
Goro blinked, completely unfazed. He did have a tendency to forget things right after his release. “Makes sense.”
Now it was Akira’s turn to blink. “I can’t believe you. How can you just say things like that?”
The former detective shrugged. “No one’s around except you. You know all of my dirty secrets. It’s not a big deal.”
Akira just closed his eyes, and grit his teeth. “Unbelievable. Can’t believe I’m married to you.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” Goro murmured, kissing his nose again, enjoying the way it never failed to scrunch up adorably. “But Akira, why didn’t you just ask? Why did you wait so long?”
His husband sighed. “At first, I was just being petty. I was kinda upset that you weren’t keeping your promise. But after a bit…”
He trailed off. Goro hummed encouragingly, nuzzling his nose with Akira’s, much to the latter’s consternation--but he continued.
“After a bit,” Akira repeated. “I got really comfy with the hammock. This thing is amazing. I’m pretty sure I like it more than our own bed.” He paused, reaching up with one of his hands to play with the ends of Goro’s hair, as the position prevented him from fiddling with his own. “And then it...kinda snowballed from there. Before I knew it, a month had passed.”
He paused again, hand coming around to cup one side of Goro’s face. He leaned into it, closing his eyes. Akira huffed a small little breath, thumb stroking the tender skin right under his eye.
“And yesterday,” he continued. “I was just so tired after I came home from work. I thought I would just rest my eyes a little, then talk to you about it when I got up. But...the next thing I know is that you’re slamming the door open and that the sun is burning my retinas. I figured you were mad about something.”
“A fair assessment, if a little inaccurate,” Goro hummed, opening his eyes again. “I was mad and a... little jealous that you were spending more time with this stupid thing rather than with me.”
“Just a little jealous?” Akira questioned knowingly.
“Shut up,” Goro grumbled. “I’m your husband. I think I deserve more attention than this hammock. You should be grateful that I decided to tickle you instead of destroying it outright.”
Akira let out a mock gasp. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would,” he answered, “if I didn’t love you so much.”
“Sap,” Akira whispered, but he was smiling.
“You’re one to talk,” Goro said without any venom, returning his smile, just basking in their own little pocket of the universe.
Eventually it broke, but it was a smooth little break. Just one moment to the next, a gentle change. He gestured towards the hammock. “You really think this thing is more comfortable than our bed?”
Akira nodded. “Shit’s good. Feels like I’m being hugged.”
“Hugging is nice, I suppose,” he said, slipping his wrist from Akira’s hold and instead entangling their fingers together. “Can’t have sex in a hammock though.”
Akira smirked. “We could always try.”
“We could,” Goro replied, smirking back and leaning down further. “Sheets can be washed, however, and hammocks can’t. And I’m not cleaning up the mess. And do you really want the neighbors to know how loud you can scream?”
Akira pouted. “Prick. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Goro kissed him hard, contradicting his own words. “I shot it out back when we bought the house.”
Akira nipped along his chin. “Harsh.”
A droplet of water hit Akira’s cheek.
That, along with a sudden clap of thunder that scared the shit out of both of them, was the only warning they got before the sky opened up.
The couple scrambled out of the hammock and straight into the grass, groaning before swiftly getting up and retreating inside.
Today wasn’t the day for dancing in the rain--Akira had work, and Goro had a therapy session to get to.
Next spring perhaps. They had their whole lives, after all.
Summer
Goro had to give it to Akira. The hammock really was comfortable.
Ever since that one day in spring, Goro visited the hammock more often, joining Akira whenever he happened to be there. The couple often found themselves spending entire evenings out there, just swaying in the summer breeze. Goro would sometimes take his work out there, too, while Akira was away.
And on quiet afternoons during the weekends, while Akira was dead to the world in their bed, he liked to lay down in the hammock with a book, and spend long hours in the sun, miraculously not getting sunburned despite his lack of sunblock.
Today was one such day.
The quiet sound of turning pages was accompanied by the pleasant, nostalgic drone of cicadas. The sound reminded him of a time where he’d run around with his mother at the nearby playground, rolling around in the grass, of when they’d go walking in the forest to catch fireflies and admire nature, and of that one time where she had taken him to a nearby beach.
It had been crowded, hot, and sticky, but he got to swim in the ocean, find small little clams buried in the wet sand, build a humble little sandcastle, and see his mother’s smile, so it was a happy memory. One he could now look back on with fondness, rather than with bitter regret.
He reached down to grab the sweating glass of lemonade he had brought with him, taking a sip through the plastic straw. He felt the icy, sugary liquid run down his throat and through his chest, staving off the heat for a blissful few seconds.
Oh, it was hot. Goro was sweating so much that his shirt was clinging to his skin uncomfortably, and his hair was damp with it. Every time he licked his lips to rewet them, he tasted salt.
It was like draining poison from an ailing body. Uncomfortable, but liberating.
Goro looked up from his book, staring at the cloudless sky, the blazing sun, the thriving trees. Everything was so vibrant, so alive. And despite swaying in a rainbow colored hammock, colors a harsh contrast to the soft, dark green of the grass and leaves, he felt as if he was a part of something much bigger than himself. He felt honored that he was included at all, in this cycle of life, that he was allowed to get even a brief glimpse of it. It felt as intimate as lovers expressing their adoration for each other. He couldn’t believe he could understand that sentiment--couldn’t believe that Akira had shown him everyday, since they shared their first kiss, just how much he meant to him.
He screwed his eyes shut, knowing if Akira hadn’t reached out to him at that last moment, begged him to join their side, asked him to live by offering his forgiveness, he would have lost, he would never had seen the all of the wonderful things the future held in store for him, he would have died --
A jet of cold water splattered unceremoniously across his face, making him flinch so badly he lost his grip on the glass, spilling the entire drink down the front of his shirt.
“Oh, fuck,” he heard a familiar voice say, touched with dismay.
Goro slowly, ever so slowly, turned his head to stare at the frozen figure of his husband, a weapons-grade water gun pointed directly at Goro’s face.
Goro picked up the glass from where it had rolled, sandwiched between his body and the fabric of the hammock, setting it on the ground along with his ruined book with deliberate movements.
He kept staring at Akira expressionlessly, as he levered himself out of the hammock, spilling ice cubes and lingering liquid onto the grass and into the divot he left behind.
“Haha, I’m sorry, honey,” Akira spat out hastily, lowering his gun and waving his hand in what Goro assumed was supposed to be a placating manner. “Forgive me?”
He said nothing, taking measured steps towards the wall of the house, a direct shot towards the water hose.
When he turned the dial to full blast, Akira seemed to understand just how much fucking trouble he was in, as his eyes widened and he took a step backwards. Too bad the door to safety was right next to the hose.
How serendipitous.
He snatched the end of the hose, putting his thumb against the stream to direct the pressure into something that would absolutely soak the former thief in no time flat.
“I’m going to fucking kill you ,” Goro growled, pasting a pleasant smile to his face, pointing the hose in his direction in a highly threatening manner.
Akira ran. Goro chased him, managing to get Akira’s entire backside soaked when he had to stop to avoid crashing into the fence. He screeched something about it being cold, but Goro had no sympathy to spare for him when he had made him spill his drink on himself.
His husband wouldn’t go down without a fight. He zig-zagged across the yard, using his Metaverse experience to avoid getting hit to the best of his ability.
Too bad Goro had impeccable aim, and could read his unpredictable movements. They’d spent too long learning each other’s tactics through chess. It wasn’t long before Akira’s everything was dripping with water.
Akira continued to run, at least until he had boxed himself into a corner, Goro planted between him and the door back into the house. Where safety was.
“There’s no escape here, dearest,” Goro canted, voice dripping with sickening sweetness. He lifted the hose, taking his time to aim. “It’s time for you to pay for your crimes.”
There was defiance in his husband’s eyes and stance. “I don’t think so.”
Before Goro could react, Akira lifted his gun and shot him right in the eyes.
Immediately he faltered, scrubbing at them with the back of his arm, trying to calm the burning.
“You piece of shit!” he snarled, forcing his eyes open to find that Akira was trying to dart around him to get back inside the house.
Akira shot him again, and Goro waved the hose around in retaliation even as he scrubbed at his eyes again.
The burning of the water along with the fact that his husband was getting away was positively infuriating.
“ Give me the fucking gun, Akira! ” he screeched, unconcerned with the potential complaints and concerns of the neighbors.
Akira screamed in response, bare feet thudding across the grass as he threw the door open before slamming it closed, retreating into the house now that Goro was incapacitated and was incapable of guarding the door like a ravenous dog.
“Coward!” he yelled after him, throwing the still running hose down onto the ground in rage and defeat.
He comforted himself with the fact that his retreat could only last so long. Akira was stuck with him for life. He’d get back at him eventually.
And soon, if he had any fucking say in it.
Fall
It was cold. But it was also incredibly warm.
For once, Akira had joined him. Usually it was the other way around.
It was another weekend. He had another book to read, and he had taken a blanket and a few pillows from the couch for extra comfort.
He was pleasantly surprised when Akira had groggily crawled in with him, wiggling himself under the blanket and laying his head on Goro’s chest, yawning once before he drifted off to sleep, his hand curling into his shirt.
God, what did he do to deserve him?
He thought about this as he turned the pages of his book with his thumb, running his other hand leisurely through his husband’s black curls. His fingers carded through the strands, tugging lightly through the tangles, earning soft, pleased little breathless hums.
The cool wind blew, making him shiver a little. The heat radiating from the resting body on top of him quickly made it disappear.
Goro doesn’t remember the last time he had felt this tranquil, this at peace with everything.
The faint scent of warm, freshly baked bread, accompanied by a hint of sugar and cinnamon, and a potent whiff of simmered apples, tickled his nose. One of the neighbors must have made a pie.
Goro could practically taste the ingredients on his tongue. He could feel them running down his throat and into his stomach, warming his very soul.
He loved apple pie. His mother, when she could afford it and had the time, made it for him. She really could only make it for his birthday.
It had been the last thing she had made for him.
He missed her. God, he missed her so much. Why wasn’t she here?
Akira shifted, mumbling something in his sleep, burrowing further into his chest.
He was so skilled at pulling Goro out of his despair, even when he wasn’t awake. The former detective smiled wistfully, choosing instead to focus on the weight and warmth of his husband’s body pressing down on him, grounding him in the present. Grief was for another time.
The wind gusted once more, but this time he wasn’t cold.
He watched with drowsy fascination as the leaves shifted, detaching themselves from their homes to find new opportunities on the wind. Maybe they would fall close by, honoring the temporary grave of the tree in which they came from. Maybe they would ride the wind to land on the surface of a lake, making their own fleeting art as they danced with others, before drifting to the bottom and becoming one with the wet earth. Maybe they would fly across the world, light enough to never touch the ground, visiting places and cultures worth so much to so many people, for as long as the wind would carry them.
Maybe one would drift to land on his husband’s cheek, giving Goro an excuse to touch him and feel his lifeforce radiating heat and comfort under his skin.
Goro closed his book quietly, setting it on the leaves decorating the ground with care. Probably too much care.
He reached over tentatively, pinching the fragile stem of the leaf as gently as he could, twirling it slowly and admiring the vibrant red hue with crinkled eyes, before holding his hand over the lip of their hammock.
He let go, watching it fall to the ground to join nine others, just to make sure that it wouldn’t be alone.
The soft sounds of his husband’s breathing joined with the equally soft rustling of the leaves in the wind, notes dedicated to a song of winding-down life.
The thud of Akira’s heartbeat was a beautiful contrast, thrumming with the vigor of a soul that would live on for a while longer yet. It joined with his own heartbeat, once reluctant to reach out and continue with sorry existence, but now tentatively reaching out, hoping to share the rest of its time with the soul that cared so much for it.
A lullaby.
His eyes were drifting shut. He didn’t want to succumb, not just yet.
He leaned down, brushing his quivering lips over the top of Akira’s head.
“I love you,” he whispered. His husband’s heartbeat lurched in response, and Goro couldn’t prevent himself from smiling with all the adoration he could muster.
And then he joined him in blissful rest.