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The thing about Masayoshi was that while he was called stupid a lot, by almost everyone that he was close to in fact, in reality he was quite knowledgeable about a great few subjects.
Of course, his knowledge of heroes was peerless.
He’d honed it his entire life, and for most of his life, it’s what 99% of his free time had hinged upon. From Harakiri Sunshine to Ambassador Magma, he was, one could say, a walking wikipedia, but that was unfair to him. Wikipedia occasionally made errors. Hazama Masayoshi never did. In the past, during his model days, he’d gotten invited on the occasional quiz show. They were never big budget affairs, but the prizes were decent and he gained exposure from them. His opponents were always idols of the moment, b-list drama actors, or an occasional athlete (but not of the superstar variety).
He wasn’t very good at them, until one taping, the theme of the segment he was filming had been heroes. The passion and rapidity he’d answered with was so entertaining to the audience, that he’d been invited on to answer questions about heroes several more times. Until they got bored and moved on. It was after that he’d finally made enough money to rent his penthouse apartment.
That apartment was no more, and even if it had been rebuilt, he didn’t particularly want to rent it again.
The other subject that he knew almost everything about, or so he thought, was a bit more selective. He couldn’t open a book or pop in a dvd or research online or collect trading cards. Because while Hidenori Goto had gotten some attention post Alien Flamenco, he’d mostly shied away from it. He’d leave that to Masayoshi and Mineral Miracle Muse. They were the public figures.
But he knew.
He knew that Goto only liked to eat corn if it was on the cob, he knew that he liked orange cats the best, he knew that he wouldn’t get in the water at the beach or the pool unless it was a certain degree of warm, that Masayoshi was sure changed by the day. He knew that he had a secret fondness for visual kei, and that growing up he’d preferred Shounen Sunday to Shounen Jump and loved American superhero cartoons more than Masayoshi did. He knew that Goto was a terrible dancer, but that he could hold a tune quite well. He knew Goto wore drug store body spray, and that he wouldn’t know Gucci from Gaultier if his life depended on it. He knew that when he’d given Goto nice, salon brand product to replace his two in one shampoo and conditioner, Goto had used it as both shampoo and body wash.
He knew he threw his head back when he laughed hard, and that he preferred to sit about ⅔ of the way up, closer to the left side when he went to a movie.
He knew a lot about Goto, but there was one thing that he wasn’t sure he fully understood, and it was much more important than corn or comic books; his heart.
See, he loved Goto. He’d realized it months ago, when he was standing naked in front of him, when he was proposing to him. It had been a crazy idea. Even he knew it. He just didn’t know what else to do. And he realized, as he was saying it, that he was serious about it. If love was all the things he’d been told it was, then what he felt for Goto was undeniably love. And he loved Goto more than he loved anyone else. He wanted to be by his side. He wanted to fight alongside him and cook alongside him, and watch tokusatsu alongside him, and live alongside him. And he was happy to do the other things marriage required as well, if Goto wanted them. He hadn’t thought about it much when he’d said the words, but since then, he’d mulled on it more, and he realized he'd really enjoy that if he had the opportunity.
Masayoshi was around beautiful men every day. He was a model and it came with the territory.
None of them had caught his eye, nor had any of the similarly gorgeous women. But he liked looking at Goto. He’d never be hired as a model, but to Masayoshi’s eyes, it didn’t matter. His smirk made his chest feel warm and his slightly crooked nose made Masayoshi want to press his own to it.
Goto had not been receptive to the marriage proposal when he’d made it, but was it because of when he’d asked it, when his emotions were high and he was devastated by what Sawada had done, or because he didn’t care for Masayoshi in that way? He was scared to find out, but he wanted to find out. Of course he still wanted to be in Goto’s life either way, but some clarity would be nice.
If asking him out loud hadn’t been the best of ideas, perhaps he could write it out? “Flowers. A letter. Don’t make the letter too long or stupid,” Mari had suggested, waving him off quickly. “And I’m not giving you love advice again.”
“What kind of flowers?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Do you think I know? Ask the people working at the flower shop. It’s their job to tell you that.”
Masayoshi nodded firm and determined. He could do this. It wasn’t hard. He’d fought aliens and won. He was twenty years old and people somehow thought he was qualified to be president of the world. What was giving flowers to a man he liked?
Hidenori Goto had a girlfriend.
Hidenori Goto did not have a girlfriend.
It had been over six years. It was a farce. He was a farce. In his bones he knew this. It was an elaborate play, and he was the only one watching it, as well as the only one acting in it.
Plus, everyone at the precinct had started poking fun at him for being a twenty-four year old man who didn’t even have a smartphone yet.
Talking to her did bring him comfort though; however deluded it was, however dated it made him look with his little flip phone, sometimes it was what got him through a tepid or downright awful day. God, he was fucked up.
Then Masayoshi came along and practically body slammed his way into his life (fully naked, of course).
He was not ready. Could anyone be ready for Samurai Flamenco? Could anyone be ready for the way that stupid idealist changed not only his world, but the whole damn planet?
And then, and then in the middle of experiencing the greatest grief and anguish he had in six years, that hurricane of a man had proposed to him. Proposed to him! It would be funny if it weren’t insane. Even if they were a couple, which they weren’t, it would have been an absolutely bonkers time for a proposal. He’d offered his body up to him (and of course Goto was a virgin. Even Masayoshi had figured that much out).
Goto had made the executive decision to try and pretend it never happened, with the excuse that they were too busy resolving the Sawada situation to bring it up, and that he needed time to grieve what had happened to his phone. The latter wasn’t entirely untrue, but the Sawada situation had taken two days tops to resolve. Still, he did not bring it up, nor did Masayoshi.
But that didn’t mean nothing had changed. Masayoshi had started seeking out his company more. He’d show up at his place, often with the excuse that his new apartment was still being remodeled. After it was finished, it became ‘too empty’. He hadn’t amassed his hero collection again, and even Goto would agree that the white walls and white ceilings and light colored floor made for a clinical, unfriendly environment.
“I just let Ishihara-san handle everything like last time, but it’s so tragic Goto-san.”
He’d held his large bag of belongings up under his chin and peered over it, a puppy dog begging to be asked inside.
The shampoo in his shower was different now. There was an extra toothbrush on his sink. There was an extra toothbrush on the sink at Masayoshi’s penthouse as well. He was more amenable to staying there if Goto stayed the night.
Goto did not ask why Masayoshi had purchased an extra futon for his home. It was an extremely nice futon.
If his coworkers found out how he was just a hair's breadth away from living with Hazama Masayoshi, he’d never live it down. Would they teasingly call him the vice president, or the first man? He was banking on the latter.
Masayoshi was cute. What, he had eyes? Sure, they’d hardly bothered to perceive another person since high school, but he’d seen the man way too many times naked in public to not have formed an opinion on his appearance. He was a model, for god’s sake. Logically though, he knew the world was filled with attractive people, but for some reason, the only one that caught his attention was Masayoshi.
Would it be so bad to— he snorted to himself— certainly not get married, but at least progress to a level beyond friendship? He wasn’t even certain what the level was. Masayoshi had said that he’d do whatever his girlfriend would have, but he didn’t want Masayoshi to replace her.
No one could. It was unfair to her memory, and it was unfair to the individual that he was.
But perhaps… he sighed. Why ruin a good thing? For all his faults, Masayoshi was his best friend, and the guy, to his credit, was there for him when he needed him.
A knock on the glass door of the precinct, and thank god he was there alone because Masayoshi was standing there waving. He had a sheepish smile on his face and a soft blush.
And he was holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. They were cinnamon red with bursts of yellow, and Goto recognized them as alstroemeria. Though flowers had never been his interest, his mother had always loved them, and he’d spent many an evening half listening to her babble about their backyard garden.
Speak of the devil, Goto thought. Had he pondered so hard that he’d somehow summoned the man here? He shook his head and opened the door. Surely those flowers couldn’t be for—
Masayoshi shoved the bouquet into his hands, a couple petals falling from the force of it. It was such a large bouquet that Goto wobbled for a moment, settling on holding onto it with both hands.
“Masayoshi what are you—”
“Goto-san!” he nearly shouted, and he was reminded of the last time Masayoshi had an… outburst toward him. Goto found himself fighting a blush, which he concealed with the flowers. “I thought you would be at lunch— I—I just meant to drop this off. There’s a letter!” The other man looked like he was panicking; his ears were red and he was struggling with his words. “Please read it.” He bowed politely and ran off, as fast as his nimble legs could carry him.
Goto was left shell shocked at the door to the precinct, massive bouquet in hands. Shakily, he reached into the flowers and pulled out the aforementioned letter.
His name was written neatly on it in script. He carefully placed the flowers on his desk before sliding it open.
Goto-san,
When I asked the woman working at the flower shop what to get you, she asked about our relationship before giving suggestions. This is alstroemeria. According to her, it’s for when you have such a strong connection with someone that you don’t think there’s a way to fully explain it in language.
I know I’ve been clumsy with words, so I decided to write you a simple letter.
I just want to eat curry with you for the rest of our lives.
When I asked you back in my old apartment, I was serious, but I won’t be picky about how so. As long as I can be by your side, and you by mine, it’s okay if the type of love we have isn’t exactly the same.
Sincerely,
Hazama Masayoshi
The letter slipped out of his hands as the words echoed through his head.
Goto sniffled angrily and flicked a tear away. He was so stupid. He was always such a moron. They couldn’t just get married— was he— kidding? No, he wasn’t.
He growled to himself and grabbed the key to the precinct, locking it behind him and running down the street the direction Masayoshi had gone. He was so glad he’d been working out more, because Masayoshi ran like justice itself powered his sneakers, and he would have been screwed if he weren’t decently speedy himself.
Goto rounded a corner and saw him in the distance ahead, trying to slip into an alleyway. “OI OI OI!” he yelled, loud enough that he was sure the other man had heard him. “WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY?”
Masayoshi froze and looked back, and Goto couldn’t tell from this far away, but he imagined a deer in the headlights look on his face. Had he not expected Goto to come after him?
Goto crossed the distance between them with large strides and stopped in front of him, hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. “You’re just going to drop something like that on me and bolt?”
Masayoshi held up his hands and let out a nervous laugh. “It didn’t work when I told you last time, so I thought a letter would be better.”
He shook his head. “This is the second time you’ve asked me to marry you.”
The other man glanced askance and shrugged. “The first one didn’t go so well.”
Goto huffed loudly and stepped closer to Masayoshi. He shook his head, and his scowl transformed into a soft smile. “You moron,” he said, and his voice was gentle now, endeared. “We haven’t even gone on a date.”
Masayoshi’s mouth dropped open, and he let out a loud ‘huh?’
“If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it the right way,” Goto said. “We start with dating, and then go from there.”
“You mean…” Masayoshi closed his mouth and beamed, and Goto would have sworn his eyes were wobbling. “Yes?”
“No!” he exclaimed. Masayoshi’s expression immediately dropped. “I mean, not yes right now. But it’s not out of the question for the future.”
The other man brightened again, and he laughed, loud and joyful. “Goto-san!”
And Goto was almost knocked off his feet as Masayoshi leapt forward and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pressing their lips together before he could even react.
You idiot, that is not starting slow, he would have said, but honestly, continuing to kiss him felt like a much better idea.