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“Is this really all you packed?”
Goro tries hard not to laugh, he really does. The pleading, hopeful nature of Akira’s voice through the small suite of rooms brings a cackle to the back of his throat. He swallows it down a little too late, swinging his leg back and forth.
“That’s all I packed. Take your pick,” he says, smiling wider as, in lieu of reply, a heavy sigh floats back.
It’s typical that on their first trip away, Goro’s first trip to Europe, a suitcase goes missing. At least this time, fate is kind enough to make Akira the one to suffer, as Goro’s suitcase was one of the first to arrive at the airport.
It was a rather stressful start, having to locate the help desk, report the issue and get some sort of resolution while being jet-lagged and landing late night local time. By the time they arrived at the hotel, all they wanted to do was check in and sleep, leaving the problem to the morning.
At least they’ve located Akira’s belongings, and they’ll be sent to the hotel tomorrow. But it does mean that Akira is without clothing for twenty-four hours, hence his despair at borrowing from his boyfriend’s wardrobe.
Honestly, Goro isn’t sure what the issue is. They’re almost the same size, and he’s packed practically. However, they do have rather differing tastes in clothing, so there is some level of amusement to be had.
Goro looks up when he hears the familiar, if somewhat slower stride. He purses his lips together harder when he sees his boyfriend standing in the doorway.
“Why,” Akira says slowly, “are all your shirts linen?”
He can’t hold it in any longer. He bursts into laughter, doubling over as he takes in the scene.
It’s not that Akira looks bad; far from it actually, he looks unfairly good in a mid-blue linen shirt and black, knee-length shorts. The shirt is a little looser around the shoulders than it is on Goro, but falls to roughly the same length. It does emphasise how pale Akira is, but that’s to be expected.
It’s just how out of place he looks, as if he’s playing dress up. Something about it screams ‘this is not me’ and Goro finds that highly amusing.
“They’re meant to keep you cool,” he gasps once he’s able to keep control of himself, only just managing to get the words out between small bursts of hysterics.
Akira walks forward, collapsing onto the sofa beside him. “They wrinkle when you touch them, and they’re all long-sleeved, Goro.”
But his voice is full of amusement, along with a touch of exasperation. The joy echoes between them so much that Goro is able to finally calm himself. He sits up, turning to see that smile: the grin, the challenger rising to the surface.
“We match, I guess,” Akira says, elbowing Goro, who refuses to doge. His own shirt is cream with sunglasses tucked into the collar. His does look far less wrinkled than Akira’s; he’s not entirely sure what Akira’s managed to do in putting it on to make the fabric fold that way. And yet, still, he’s pulling it off.
Akira’s clearly going to wear the hell out of Goro’s clothes, his personal tastes be damned.
And Goro wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if he didn’t step up. “I have a visor as well. It matches.”
Considering some of the things that Akira’s worn in various acts of trickery, this is truly nothing. But he does adore how the visor gets partially lost in Akira’s birdnest of hair - the humidity has not been kind to him.
Akira gives himself one exasperated look in the mirror before turning, holding his hand out to Goro. “Let’s do it.”
It’s hot already, and the sun will only climb higher as the day goes on. But Goro’s determined to get some sightseeing in before it’s unbearable outside. Although he’s sure the city will be beautiful by night, they need to see it in the day too.
Akira protests this greatly, mostly due to the clothes but also because he hates getting out of bed before midday. Damn his literature degree meaning his classes are always in the afternoon, or perhaps he’d actually learn the importance of a schedule.
“So, what’s on the agenda?”
Goro starts from his musing as Akira yawns and goes to pull on his hair, only to find the visor in his way. Goro manages to suppress a laugh, but only just.
“Did you do any research for this vacation?” Goro asks.
He’s not…hurt, per se. He knows Akira goes with the flow, while he gets antsy if he hasn’t prepared fully for every eventuality. But doing nothing at all seems to lack any effort.
“Not for the daytime,” Akira suddenly cuts in. “I have booked a couple of dinners, though. Including tonight.”
He says it with a wink, and Goro narrows his eyes by habit while his heart does a nauseating jump.
Frustratingly, Akira seems to know what just occurred, the grin spreading across his face. Goro feels his eye twitching at being so transparent and his mouth curling in response to Akira’s joy. The range of emotions Akira brings to the surface still continues to baffle and impress him.
“Then I suppose I’ll be doing all the work for the day,” he says, with a hint of the dramatic to overthrow any mortifying reactions.
In truth, Goro likes planning. He’s far more wary of the unknown; he will have to deal with those issues at some point, but all in good time. At least planning their holiday itinerary is a good use of his perfectionism, and matches well with Akira’s desire to see where the world takes them. Goro makes sure they actually have some plans, while Akira curbs him in so they have downtime.
Just another example of why they compliment each other so well.
They decide today would be best for exploring the town; the ruins of an old palace, now housing an impressive market, as well as historical monuments a little way from the harbour. They can do a scope of the beach for Akira’s morning, which he wants to spend there later in the week (Goro refuses to spend time lounging in the sun between midday and three).
Goro also takes time after breakfast (while Akira indulges in a second coffee) to book a trip to a national park with stunning waterfalls, one the receptionist tells him is the best choice of excursion.
He feels rather proud of his planning already.
The palace is incredible; so much history beneath their feet, so much to see within walls that have witnessed the turning of centuries. The market is bustling with both locals and tourists, and the wares are mostly of high quality, with a few nicknacks to trap visitors.
Akira seems to be in his element, flitting between stalls and inspecting everything. As per usual, everyone is drawn to him, even when he’s quietly browsing. His magnetic nature doesn’t seem to have vanished with the metaverse; Joker is still a part of him in all senses.
They take their time, both of them trying to decide what to buy and what to come back to. Mortifyingly, they get more than a few compliments on their matching outfits, so many that by the time they escape to a cafe, Goro wants to burn all his clothes.
“Don’t be upset honey, they’re really complimenting your fashion sense,” Akira says, and he’s lucky they’re in public as Goro is so close to throwing something at him.
It’s too hot to continue after lunch, so Goro gives into Akira’s pestering for a nap. He can’t sleep though, so goes down to the hotel bar, ordering an afternoon coffee and reading in the quiet.
Calmness is hard to gain for Goro. So, moments where he can be at peace, even for a short while, are incredibly valuable.
Akira joins him eventually, still sleepy-eyed with hair twice its usual size. Goro mocks him heavily, but at his core, it’s charming beyond belief. And he’s sure Akira knows that.
Dinner, Goro is sure as he gets ready, will be just as wonderful as the rest of the day. He has high hopes for Akira’s choice, and the blanket of peacefulness from the afternoon still shrouds his shoulders.
That is, until he walks into the bedroom.
“Akira, what the hell are you wearing?”
His voice is higher and louder than intended, but the ugly, jarring Hawaiian shirt hanging loosely from Akira’s frame deserves it. The base colour is black, with flecks of a garish green overlaid by a myriad of bananas.
“Why the hell did you pack this?” Akira answers, not looking up from his phone.
Goro opens his mouth, closes it again and waits for his thoughts to catch up. He hadn’t packed the monstrosity; it was a joke gift… Or he assumes it was, considering it that it was from Sumire, it could be genuine. Either way, he stashed it in the back of his wardrobe. No one else could have known-
“Ann,” he hisses as Akira smirks.
She’d come over to drop off a few travel samples of his favourite skincare brand as he was packing. She must have seen the shirt and placed it in the suitcase.
“I’m not taking it off,” Akira says, standing up and heading towards the door. “We’ll be late if I try to change.”
That’s unfortunately, and Goro’s sure, made purposefully true. But he deeply considers being late just to save himself the horror of going to dinner with Akira dressed like that. Ultimately though, he gives in, as the fear of being late in a different country has him in a chokehold.
It turns out he needn't be worried; it’s much earlier than locals usually eat, so the place is half full. But it is stunning, near the sea but not too close, looking over the walls of the past as the sun sets.
Romantic, his mind whispers, which is promptly shattered when their server can barely keep a straight face at Akira’s outfit.
“I should wear this every night. Our hotel has a laundry service,” Akira comments and Goro throws a napkin at him, proprietary be damned.
Dinner is good. More than good, actually, it’s excellent. Goro’s cheeks ache from smiling, and it’s embarrassing, nauseatingly clear how besotted he is with this idiot. It’s ridiculous, impossible, that this is the end of their story.
Or, it’s their next chapter. Whatever sentimental drivel his mind is deciding to run riot with tonight.
They’re both exhausted by the time they get back to the hotel. They’re still catching up on the time difference, and the heat makes everything that much harder.
“So, how was dinner?” Akira asks.
It seems genuine as if he truly isn’t sure. Goro sometimes forgets that Akira isn’t all confident swagger and natural charm; there are other parts, such as being born from a past of neglectful parents and years of loneliness.
Goro also knows that often words don’t resonate with Akira. So he leans in and kisses him, with all that he has, for as long as he can, but still knowing this won’t be the last kiss they share. There’s something delicious about kissing with all you have just to be able to do it again.
The smile he gets in return is worth the blush it causes.
“That’s more like it.”
Goro wakes up to the odd phrase, cracking open one eye to see Akira up and already dressed in a black polo shirt. He yawns, sitting up and rolling his eyes.
“Your suitcase is back?”
Akira turns; he must have got up early just to check. He nods, looking just as relieved as Goro feels.
“So much for keeping my shirt,” Goro mutters.
“Oh no, the banana one is mine now.”
Goro throws a pillow at him. He’s never going to live this down; Akira will make sure of it, so he’s never forgiving him or his friends for setting him up like this.
Even if Akira’s unrestrained laugh is music to his ears.