(SMAP) Simpler
Simpler
Kimura/Goro | PG
I definitely wrote this in five minutes on the bus to school this afternoon on some ratty line paper I found in my backpack (thank god) while listening to Lion Heart on repeat. I keep having a TakuGoro itch, maybe this drabble'll be the start of something long? I hope so. I want to write more TakuGoro (woohoo for my first TakuGoro).
Goro’s evenings are simple: come in, feed his cats (SMAP’s usually waiting at her bowl when he gets in, but Jazz is another story and it takes another fifteen minutes of coddling him before Jazz has worked up an appetite), then fix himself a late dinner because he’s always loved eating late.
Tonight’s no different and he’s completely immersed in a late night variety show, forking more stir fry from his plate when the doorbell rings.
Its past midnight so when he gets to the door he’s not expecting Kimura whose grinning and drenched (Goro had no idea it was raining so hard) and he lets himself in.
“Kimura?”
“Mm,” Kimura acknowledges him and despite his unexpected appearance and the wet seaweed on his head that’s supposed to be his hair, he makes a beeline for the living room, honing in on Goro’s dinner and starting in on that; managing to make himself comfortable.
Goro frowns, mostly out of confusion, a little bit out of awe and follows after him, scratching his head and staring, arms crossed. For a few moments the lights from the TV play off Kimura’s face, intent on finishing Goro’s plate off, chuckling past teriyaki sauce and red peppers when something funny happens on the screen.
“Why are you here?” Goro manages to murmur this softer than he wants to, stepping over and halting the chopsticks in Kimura’s hand. He looks up and smiles sheepishly at that, Goro makes a face because damp russet pieces of hair are all over his face and he clearly doesn’t care.
“I’m wet.”
“I noticed, but why do you have to be wet in here?” Kimura grabs part of Goro’s top and forces him down beside him, laughing and not making any room, which leaves Goro squished between the arm of the couch and a wet and itchy Kimura.
Goro sighs.
“Shizuka took the girls to see her parents,” he says it simply and Goro doesn’t ask anything more, because if anyone can’t stand being alone it’s Kimura and when he picks up the chopsticks again, mumbling something about this needing more meat and stares at the TV again, Goro loses against himself and smiles. Sort of.
At three in the morning, after Kimura’s beat him at goldfish for the seventh time and they’re setting up the futon for Kimura to sleep on; it hits Goro that his nights might be simple, but sometimes the warmth growing in his stomach as Kimura asks for a pillow is simpler.