gonzaburrow

[gonzaburrow]

harusono should give me tashiro dressed as a girl for the third year cultural festival. like just as a treat or favor or something

[gonzaburrow]

i love characters who are like oysters emotionally

[gonzaburrow]

“so what do you do with it?”,

tashiro watched hanazawa as he dipped his feet further in the sand,

“with what?”, hanazawa squinted his eyes as he looked at him making tashiro sigh,

he did that often, dodging and humming and running away from tashiro,

“with your loneliness?”, he hummed again, cradling the sand in his hands,

“am i supposed to do something about it?”, his hair looked brittle, perhaps it was because of the salt in the air and the water at the beach,

“we should trim the ends of your hair senpai,”. hanazawa’s hair were deceptive,

“what do you do with it?”,

“with your hair?”,

“with your loneliness?”,

“i don’t know, i just sit with it till it goes to sleep again?”,

he laughed in a way tashiro despised, like he was about to throw himself in the sea or bury himself in the sand,

“good for you tashiro-kun, your’s can sleep,”

and he did it again, retreat, retreat, retreat, he could hear hanazawa shouting retreat,

“we should go back senpai, you look sleepy,”,

“i’am.” 

hanazawa had always brought a lot to tashiro,

it was as if tashiro was laying in a desert,

a desert that was always sunny,

a desert where he kept walking,

and all of a sudden hanazawa grabbed him by his feet,

helping him taste the sand,

helping him stop,

hanazawa brought stagnancy to tashiro,

“how does it look like?”,

“senpai you need to stop with these half-assed existential questions,”

“tashiro-kun, how does it look like?”,

“my loneliness?”,

“yes, your loneliness,”

“like a ping-pong match with nobody to return my serves”,

hanazawa laughed,

“how does it look for you senpai?”,

“who knows, i’ve never waited enough to look at it,”,

“again with that philosophical bullshit,”,

“you are weird tashiro-kun,”,

weird,

yeah,

he was,

he made him weird.

it was not as if hanazawa never stopped to look at it,

it was just retaliation,

a grudge that he held for who knows how long,

it was like grieving for someone alive,

his loneliness looked like a mirror,

a mirror where he could only see himself and his embarrassing self,

and his flesh,

and his hair that were brittle,

and that was disgusting,

his

loneliness

was

disgusting,

and no matter how long he sat with it,

the mirror never went away,

even when he retaliated,

even when he smashed it across,

all he could see was the mirror,

all he could see was his blood,

blood that was so red it was embarrassing,

blood that kept flowing,

as if mocking him, saying it will never go away,

saying his retaliation is just watering his loneliness,

making the mirror bigger and bigger,

“tashiro-kun, how does your loneliness look like,”,

“hanazawa senpai, how does your loneliness look like?”,

“it looks scary, it looks red, it looks disgusting.” 

tashiro dangled on the edge of his rage enough,

enough to know that the retaliation that hanazawa brought him wasn’t enough for him to fall deep into the desert,

at times that made him even more angry,

it made him feel stupid,

hanazawa always made him feel stupid,

at times he just wanted to stab hanazawa with a big knife and ask him why does he keep grabbing his feet and asking him questions he never intends to answer himself,

why does he involves him in conversations that ends with him looking even more sad,

why does he never wait for him after making him fall, why is he always running away,

“tashiro-kun, do you understand it?”,

“my loneliness?”,

“yes, your loneliness?” ,

“do i need to?”,

“i do not know,”,

“senpai, do you understand it?”,

“my loneliness?”,

“yes, your loneliness,”,

“i do,”,

“what does it say?”,

“it says it wants to eat me,”,

“do you want to be eaten senpai?”,

“do i want to be eaten?”,

“yes, do you want to be eaten?”,

“i will prefer being eaten by you,”,

“i’am afraid i cannot do that,”,

“is it because i’am embarrassing?”,

“because i will be lonely”.

“tashiro-kun, are you lonely when you are with me?"

“i’am angry when i’am with you,”,

hanazawa laughed,

“senpai, are you lonely when you are with me?”,

“i’am blinded by your stupidity when i’am with you,” 

tashiro does not want to understand hanazawa’s loneliness, he just wants to stay with him in the desert, till he falls asleep. 

[gonzaburrow]

me, trying to write actual plot/flesh out this hanzashiro shit: yes this is a good and logical story, a nice break from all the liminal spaces and tension also me: writes more scenes with tension, liminal spaces, long pauses, and unanswered questions

also also me: i am so happy to further the aroace agenda holy shit i am feeling so many feelings

[gonzaburrow]

The best ship dynamic is actually just. "I love you and it terrifies me. I'm terrified how much I need you and how much I want you to need me. I'm terrified I'm no good for you and I'm going to hurt you and ruin you and I'm terrified of how I feel when you're around me but I can't bear to push you away completely because I'm terrified to be without you so now we're stuck in limbo and that's terrifying too. I'm terrified that if I lost you now it'd destroy me and I'm terrified that it's too late to do anything about it. I love you. And it's terrifying."

[gonzaburrow]

okay but hirano dissecting and introspecting and sorting whatever he has or had or will have with kagiura is so dramatically recurring but honestly is such a great reflection of the aroace experience that it makes me go run and hug harasuno for visualising and presenting it, the way hirano processes touches, relationship dynamics and the roles and expectations of being in love are so practical and chaotic because that's how he has been, he has never been in love in a way that he knew he was in love, he is devoted to this person practically doing everything lovers do without knowing he was in love, i honestly wouldn't mind sensei stretching this arc because i want to see hirano sort out his platonic and romantic ideals

[gonzaburrow]

I AM IN TEARS

WHAT IS THIS???!!

ICHINOSE LOOKS SO CUTE AF. HIRANO AND KAGI BOTH WIELDING A SWORD???

NIIBASHI IN HEELS??? HOLY SHIT

HANZAWA AND SASAKI????!!

[gonzaburrow]

Flash Floods

(Context, this is canon-divergent and years after they're done with school. Tashiro is a bartender at weddings and Hanzawa is a wedding planner. They unexpectedly ran into each other at an event they're both working. Slowly but surely I am piecing together a plot for all these scenes with hamfisted water metaphors...)

Tashiro's shift ends late; he checks the time and there should be just enough to catch the next train. So he's running from the venue to the station. 

If he misses this train it's another hour or two until the next one, he's out in the boonies. 

He's running. 

He feels free.

He's running and the autumn air is crisp and sharp in his lungs. 

He's running. 

And now it's raining. 

It starts as a few drops: a warning. 

He could turn around and head back, find shelter, but he elects to continue. 

It's raining harder. He's giving it his all to get to the remote station sooner. 

A small pothole trips him up, he stumbles but manages to catch himself. It's all for naught, because a larger pothole was lying in wait.

Tashiro's face first in the dirt that's turning to mud. Rain is pelting his back and taunting him. 

He picks himself up and admits defeat. He's walking to the station; the rain is unrelenting and unforgiving.

He makes it to the safety of the enclosed shelter, grateful for the door. It's raining so much and Tashiro's looking through the glass ceiling. He's in a sub-aquatic vehicle, just thin glass separating him from pure and utter destruction. 

His phone shrieks and there's an emergency alert- flash floods are imminent and the trains are shut down for the foreseeable future. 

Shit. 

He's laying down, eyes closed, letting the rhythmic drumming of rain send him into a nap. It's not a great nap, every time he's on the precipice of deep sleep Tashiro's pulled back out by the roar of thunder. 

This is what working hard and saying yes to people gets you, he tells himself. Stranded, cold, wet, and alone in a shelter. 

Sleep beckons him once more despite the cacophony happening on the other side of glass. Tashiro submits without protest, and he's pretty sure he hits at least a few seconds of deep sleep. 

The next clap of thunder is accompanied by lighting and his little shelter shakes, it feels like it could be ripped up from the ground. It jolts Tashiro from sleep, the thunder and lighting continue. The only light is a small overhead light struggling to stay lit and the lightning. 

The shelter is illuminated, but a shadow is cast that Tashiro knows wasn't there before. He whips his body around so fast he falls off his bench. 

The ground is cold and hard and filthy. Tashiro's looking up with trepidation at the new figure, wondering how long they'd been there. He can't make out their features until lighting strikes once more. 

It's Hanzawa. And the way the light shines on his face is a step from nightmarish. 

Tashiro doesn't know what he should be feeling. Hanzawa Masato always did have a knack for finding him, and it makes Tashiro wonder if there's been a tracker implanted on his person all along. 

He comes to his senses and picks himself up, brushing off the dust; it's a silly gesture because he's still caked with dried mud. He's painfully aware that his socks and shoes are still soaked, his hair is half undone from his naps, and the dirt under his fingernails becomes too apparent. 

It's raining and the two men are staring in silence. 

Tashiro wills himself to say something- anything, but his body does not acquiesce; he's opening and closing his mouth like a fish. 

The rain continues its assault on the world. 

Tashiro isn't sure if he's more grateful or nervous that Hanzawa speaks first. 

"I was looking for you, Tashiro." 

The way his name spills from the other man's mouth steals Tashiro's breath for a second. And then he's all too aware of his breathing pattern, quick little breaths in and out. Tashiro is a rabbit in the woods, and whatever Hanzawa is, is large and unknown and that alone makes him terrifying. 

He can only summon breath for one word: "Why?"

Lightning hits again and Hanzawa isn't wearing his usual mask. There's a tightness around his mouth and Tashiro's betting that his jaw is clenched. 

Hanzawa sighs before answering. "I was going to offer you a ride; I know you don't live near here. But when I went to find you at the venue you were gone. The other bartenders told me where you catch the train and I got worried with the weather." 

"Oh yeah, that makes sense. I wasn't trying to avoid you." But he was. And Tashiro hated how the lie felt in his mouth. He didn't really know why he was avoiding the other man, it was a bit reflexive. "But you really didn't have to come out here, now we're both stuck." 

In the dim lighting, he can see Hanzawa stand and take a step closer. 

He steps back. Once, twice, and then his knees are hitting the bench behind him and he falls onto it. Hanzawa continues his advance. 

Tashiro looks anywhere but in front of him, like if he didn't look at the other man then maybe he wasn't really so close. What was Hanzawa going to do? Tashiro's heart was racing, did he remember how to breathe anymore? What was he supposed to do with his hands, or his legs that Hanzawa's own were bumping into. 

The other man raises a hand and as it approaches Tashiro's face he squeezes his eyes closed. 

There was a gentle brush of skin on skin; Hanzawa wiping dirt from his cheek with the most tender touch. 

"If it's with you, I don't mind being stuck." 

No one had ever spoken or touched Tashiro in that way. Like one wrong move would cause him to shatter into a million pieces. He liked it, but the rawness and intimacy of it all scared him. Petrified him. 

Hanzawa presses on, taking his time rubbing dirt away from Tashiro's face while speaking. And Tashiro lets him continue his ministrations; it seemed like the easier path at the moment. 

"Why do you keep avoiding me? I think this is the most we've spoken since we met again." 

Tashiro places his hand over Hanzawa’s; grips it and lowers it and holds it in in between both of his hands. He finally looks up at the other man. 

"Uggfhh." He tries to speak but only a jumbled noise comes out. He forces himself to take a deep breath and try again. "Honestly? This is going to sound absolutely awful of me, but I…don't…know? It's just-" He swallows, and scratches his head with their conjoined hands. "I never expected to see you there, after all this time, after how we parted. My flight instincts are still strong I suppose." He shrugs. 

He doesn't know when he started, but Tashiro's shaking a little and hopes Hanzawa hasn't noticed, but he's sure he has. His head feels heavy at the admission and he wants to cry. 

Something wet rolls down Tashiro's cheek, and he hopes Hanzawa didn't notice. "Ah, guess there's a leak in here somewhere." He tries to play it off. 

Hanzawa stops looming and sits next to him, hands still joined. He isn't looking in Tashiro's direction when he replies. "Ah yeah, it seems there is." 

The silence is heavy, and they're sitting with fingers threaded together. Where their skin meets is hot and sweaty and Tashiro hopes it's not all him. 

It's still raining. 

Time has lost all meaning; they could have been trapped for minutes or hours, Tashiro doesn't know and doesn't move to check his phone. 

At some point, their thighs touch on the bench, and the warmth seeping into him from the contact sends a shiver through him. Tashiro doesn't move for fear of breaking this peace between them.

His face is wet; silent tears had tumbled down his face but had yet to dry. 

The drumming of rain slows. 

Tashiro dares to ruin the silence. "It's not worth much anymore, but I'm sorry. I know we can't go back, and I don't know how to go forward now. Everything just feels-" He sucks in a deep quivering breath, begging his words to sound stronger than he feels. "-wrong." he finishes with a whisper. 

Hanzawa squeezes Tashiro's hand and nudges his calf with a foot. He still won't look his way, but responds nonetheless. "I was wrong, too. All this wasn't one sided; I'm just as culpable as you. Probably more." 

When Hanzawa finally twists his body, one leg on the bench sitting sideways to face Tashiro, it's with the most pained expression Tashiro's ever seen. His tidy hair is a mess, eyes bloodshot beyond belief, and face just as wet as Tashiro's own feels. 

"Is it really so wrong to want still?" 

Tashiro's broken heart breaks further. 

"Wish I knew. God, why did things have to get so heavy? I'm no good at this." Tashiro takes a dirty hand and wipes Hanzawa's face, a trail of dirt left in its wake. "Do you think it's possible to push pause on the heavy stuff, Hanzawa? I don't wanna pretend it never happened, but maybe we branch off and revisit it later?" 

Tashiro can't imagine having this conversation with anyone else. There's a dam that keeps all his deep, weird emotions back. He's pretty sure no one else would be able to treat him the same after hearing the woes that slumber in the abyss of his heart. No one but Hanzawa. 

Hanzawa stands and pulls Tashiro with him. "There's no harm in trying." He maneuvers them to the door, one hand poised to push it open. "I'm glad you're letting us try again. I'm still struggling with forgiveness, if I'm being honest." 

Tashiro stops and anchors Hanzawa in the shelter. Tashiro's face feels tight. "Oh." It's quiet, and the only indication Hanzawa heard is the way his fingers twitch against Tashiro's hand. "I mean, it was so long ago I barely remember what happened." It was the most obvious lie he's ever told. So transparent, like the glass above their heads. "You…don't feel like you need to forgive me. It's okay." 

When Tashiro looks up, Hanzawa's expression is equal parts confused and distraught. 

"There was never anything to forgive you for, Tashiro." Hanzawa heaves a heavy breath. "I was talking about forgiving myself." 

"Oh. Oh." 

"Yeah." 

The rain is softly pattering, a few drops drum every couple seconds. 

Hanzawa pushes the door open, and pulls Tashiro outside with him. "Well, come along Tashiro. I'm parked a few blocks away. We can finish this conversation another time." 

It's drizzling; the rain has eased up. 

[gonzaburrow]

SKDJFNFSKF I FORGOT I MADE THIS TO COPE WITH CHAPTER 4

[gonzaburrow]

Natalie Díaz, from “exhibits from The American Water Museum”, Postcolonial Love Poem

[gonzaburrow]

to the tide

Tashiro tries to remember, whose idea was it to come here? He doesn’t think it was his; he doesn’t often leave work past midnight with an itch to go to the beach. But he doesn’t not want to be here. Truth be told, the drive over is a blur. 

And so, he’s on the beach with Hanzawa Masato. He abandons his shoes before they leave the car and urges Hanzawa to do the same. The other man complies, and before long they’re meeting the tide roll in. Tashiro squeezes the wet sand in between his toes; it feels weird good and soothing. 

He’s wading into the water before he’s processing his actions. Ankles, to knees, Tashiro stops when the water meets his thighs. He’s extending a hand towards Hanzawa, who joins him without hesitation. They’re holding hands, their hair is blowing in the salty breeze, and Tashiro is struck by a suffocating sense of deja vu. 

Hanzawa’s hair is blown out of his face, and there it is. His every feature is illuminated by the moonlight, and Tashiro’s heart jumps in his chest. He pulls the other man forward and steps back, pulling the pair deeper into the water. 

They’re waist deep, and he’s regretting not removing even his t-shirt. He’s pretty sure they didn’t bring any towels or spare clothes; the air is crisp and threatens to turn into a biting chill. 

They’re in too deep now. Turning back now would be silly. 

Tashiro takes another step, and his foot is met with a strange texture. It summons a shriek out of him, and it’s at that moment he realizes neither of them have spoken since they stepped foot on the beach. 

Hanzawa tries and fails to hold back his laughter. His hands are braced on Tashiro's shoulders. Warmth radiates from his palms through Tashiro's t-shirt. He shivers. 

"You know, you're the only person who consistently steals laughter out of me." 

Tashiro's head whips up, their faces are just a breath apart. 

"Of course, that's cause I'm freakin amazing. " 

The other man's laughter dies down, but he's got his real smile on. "Yeah, you are." 

At this distance, their slight difference in height is present. Hands are still on shoulders, Tashiro is hyper aware of the light pressure.

"Wait no, I was kidding. You weren't supposed to agree with me." 

"You don't give yourself enough credit." 

"If that's how it is, then you don't give yourself enough time to relax." 

"What's this then? I'm feeling pretty restful here, with you." 

"You know that's not what I mean." But then Hanzawa's words sink in. Tonight Tashiro's brain is in a constant scramble, just bees trapped in a jar. "Why’d you say it like that?" It comes out in a mumble, he kicks the sand under the water; whatever he stepped on earlier gets caught on his toes. He tries to ignore it. 

"How would you have me say it?" 

Tashiro processes the response and reaches to free his foot from the seaweed. He braces an arm on Hanzawa’s chest before he realizes his actions. He loses his balance, but Hanzawa’s hands move to his waist and keep him steady. 

They're essentially hugging. Tashiro feels the hard line of muscle under his hand. Their position feels like something out of a shoujo manga. 

"I'm waiting for that answer." He says it like the punchline of a joke. 

Tashiro doesn't have an answer. 

"Can I get back to you on that?"  On instinct, one of his fingers pet the fabric underneath. It's soft and barely textured. It feels nice. A warm hand covers his. The absence on his waist feels wrong. 

"Yeah, or don't. It's not that serious after all, is it?" Hanzawa plucks Tashiro's hand from his chest and steps back. His smile returns to its shallow standard. "Sorry I dragged you here. But thank you for coming." 

They're still speaking in whispers. 

"I don't mind. Can I ask why we're here?" 

"You can ask," Hanzawa says, "but I'm not sure I'll answer." He turns away and walks back to shore. 

Tashiro is stunned. 

Was this one of those serious moments he couldn't read? What would happen if he asked Hanzawa? He wasn't sure if he should be scared of the potential answer or lack of. 

They're watching each other, one on the beach and the other waist deep with waves tapping his back. 

Tashiro wishes the ocean would swallow him whole.

A particularly large wave crashes over him, bowls Tashiro forward. He swallows a most foul mouthful of saltwater. He’s spitting it out, and Hanzawa is still by the shore. He’s got one foot hesitating in the water. But he doesn’t make any further moves. 

Something about their positions, Hanzawa’s hesitance to do something for once in his life, and the ocean water lingering on his tongue makes an animosity bubble in Tashiro’s gut. He’s not an angry guy, he always lets things just roll off his back. He’s a lazy stream.

This moment though, breaks something inside him. 

He’s shouting, screaming; he didn’t know his voice could sound so feral. Tashiro starts moving towards the shore, attempting to maintain composure although the tide is making it difficult. Let this be the one moment he’s actually taken seriously. 

He stops close enough that Hanzawa can hear him, but enough that they’re a generous arm’s length apart. Tashiro’s gathering his thoughts, and trying not to admire Hanzawa’s form when his clothes are sticking to his body; white button up now translucent. 

The other man opens his mouth to speak, but Tashiro brings a hand up to stop him. 

It was now or never. 

“You can’t just run away like that.” Tashiro says. 

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” 

Waves crash in the distance. 

“You always have an answer until it comes to yourself. You gotta stop putting yourself in punishing situations, man. I’m not letting you deflect this time.” 

“It’s not that easy.” Tashiro almost misses his words; the ocean threatens to bury his voice under its sound.

A chuckle sneaks out from Tashiro’s throat. He knows it’s not a funny situation, but the absurdity of how stubborn Hanzawa could be, it hit him in a strange way. 

“Sorry, I know there’s nothing funny. But I don’t think it needs to be that deep?” He heaves a deep sigh. His mouth is still bitter from the water. “Why don’t you try being more direct? Everything you say is so enigmatic; I never know what’s for real and what’s a joke.” 

Hanzawa’s eyebrows stitch together. It’s such a foreign look; he doesn’t look like himself. Their eyes are meeting, and Tashiro can’t tell if water sprayed on the other man’s face or if he shed a few tears. 

“The problem with that, my dear Tashiro, is I’m not entirely sure myself.” 

“Well,” Tashiro invades Hanzawa’s space and envelopes him, pulling his head into the space beneath his chin. “That’s a good place to start. Thank you.” 

[gonzaburrow]

character who is sun-coded but not in the traditional ray-of-sunshine way. character who is sun-coded in the sense that they burn hot and bright and powerful, that they're a raging fury of fire and passion, and that maybe, just maybe, they are destroying themselves as they do so.

[gonzaburrow]

[gonzaburrow]

that feel when you've restarted a story like 4 times and have 6k words of offcuts/deleted scenes

[gonzaburrow]

I think like a part of hanzashiro that is fundamental to me is that tashiro is also very. Not necessarily mysterious. But secretive? Like. He will avoid questions equally if not more often than hanzawa does. He is earnest and wears his heart on his sleeve but in a very confusing way. Please understand. It’s like. He’ll feel things you don’t expect him to, and you can see it on his face, if only for a second. Especially to masato. They are fundamentally very similar people. To me. They avoid and run away and put on a persona to come across a certain way. And anything that sees past it is scary. And they so easily see through each other. And that is so scary but so captivating. I do also think it’s not a very conscious decision for tashiro though. Like. Kind of guy who will tell himself he’s fine so much that even he believes it. Tells you the most fucked up thing to happen to him with a smile. Please understand.

[gonzaburrow]

actual footage of me reading tags/replies/comments on my writing

[gonzaburrow]

to the tide

Tashiro tries to remember, whose idea was it to come here? He doesn’t think it was his; he doesn’t often leave work past midnight with an itch to go to the beach. But he doesn’t not want to be here. Truth be told, the drive over is a blur. 

And so, he’s on the beach with Hanzawa Masato. He abandons his shoes before they leave the car and urges Hanzawa to do the same. The other man complies, and before long they’re meeting the tide roll in. Tashiro squeezes the wet sand in between his toes; it feels weird good and soothing. 

He’s wading into the water before he’s processing his actions. Ankles, to knees, Tashiro stops when the water meets his thighs. He’s extending a hand towards Hanzawa, who joins him without hesitation. They’re holding hands, their hair is blowing in the salty breeze, and Tashiro is struck by a suffocating sense of deja vu. 

Hanzawa’s hair is blown out of his face, and there it is. His every feature is illuminated by the moonlight, and Tashiro’s heart jumps in his chest. He pulls the other man forward and steps back, pulling the pair deeper into the water. 

They’re waist deep, and he’s regretting not removing even his t-shirt. He’s pretty sure they didn’t bring any towels or spare clothes; the air is crisp and threatens to turn into a biting chill. 

They’re in too deep now. Turning back now would be silly. 

Tashiro takes another step, and his foot is met with a strange texture. It summons a shriek out of him, and it’s at that moment he realizes neither of them have spoken since they stepped foot on the beach. 

Hanzawa tries and fails to hold back his laughter. His hands are braced on Tashiro's shoulders. Warmth radiates from his palms through Tashiro's t-shirt. He shivers. 

"You know, you're the only person who consistently steals laughter out of me." 

Tashiro's head whips up, their faces are just a breath apart. 

"Of course, that's cause I'm freakin amazing. " 

The other man's laughter dies down, but he's got his real smile on. "Yeah, you are." 

At this distance, their slight difference in height is present. Hands are still on shoulders, Tashiro is hyper aware of the light pressure.

"Wait no, I was kidding. You weren't supposed to agree with me." 

"You don't give yourself enough credit." 

"If that's how it is, then you don't give yourself enough time to relax." 

"What's this then? I'm feeling pretty restful here, with you." 

"You know that's not what I mean." But then Hanzawa's words sink in. Tonight Tashiro's brain is in a constant scramble, just bees trapped in a jar. "Why’d you say it like that?" It comes out in a mumble, he kicks the sand under the water; whatever he stepped on earlier gets caught on his toes. He tries to ignore it. 

"How would you have me say it?" 

Tashiro processes the response and reaches to free his foot from the seaweed. He braces an arm on Hanzawa’s chest before he realizes his actions. He loses his balance, but Hanzawa’s hands move to his waist and keep him steady. 

They're essentially hugging. Tashiro feels the hard line of muscle under his hand. Their position feels like something out of a shoujo manga. 

"I'm waiting for that answer." He says it like the punchline of a joke. 

Tashiro doesn't have an answer. 

"Can I get back to you on that?"  On instinct, one of his fingers pet the fabric underneath. It's soft and barely textured. It feels nice. A warm hand covers his. The absence on his waist feels wrong. 

"Yeah, or don't. It's not that serious after all, is it?" Hanzawa plucks Tashiro's hand from his chest and steps back. His smile returns to its shallow standard. "Sorry I dragged you here. But thank you for coming." 

They're still speaking in whispers. 

"I don't mind. Can I ask why we're here?" 

"You can ask," Hanzawa says, "but I'm not sure I'll answer." He turns away and walks back to shore. 

Tashiro is stunned. 

Was this one of those serious moments he couldn't read? What would happen if he asked Hanzawa? He wasn't sure if he should be scared of the potential answer or lack of. 

They're watching each other, one on the beach and the other waist deep with waves tapping his back. 

Tashiro wishes the ocean would swallow him whole.

A particularly large wave crashes over him, bowls Tashiro forward. He swallows a most foul mouthful of saltwater. He’s spitting it out, and Hanzawa is still by the shore. He’s got one foot hesitating in the water. But he doesn’t make any further moves. 

Something about their positions, Hanzawa’s hesitance to do something for once in his life, and the ocean water lingering on his tongue makes an animosity bubble in Tashiro’s gut. He’s not an angry guy, he always lets things just roll off his back. He’s a lazy stream.

This moment though, breaks something inside him. 

He’s shouting, screaming; he didn’t know his voice could sound so feral. Tashiro starts moving towards the shore, attempting to maintain composure although the tide is making it difficult. Let this be the one moment he’s actually taken seriously. 

He stops close enough that Hanzawa can hear him, but enough that they’re a generous arm’s length apart. Tashiro’s gathering his thoughts, and trying not to admire Hanzawa’s form when his clothes are sticking to his body; white button up now translucent. 

The other man opens his mouth to speak, but Tashiro brings a hand up to stop him. 

It was now or never. 

“You can’t just run away like that.” Tashiro says. 

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” 

Waves crash in the distance. 

“You always have an answer until it comes to yourself. You gotta stop putting yourself in punishing situations, man. I’m not letting you deflect this time.” 

“It’s not that easy.” Tashiro almost misses his words; the ocean threatens to bury his voice under its sound.

A chuckle sneaks out from Tashiro’s throat. He knows it’s not a funny situation, but the absurdity of how stubborn Hanzawa could be, it hit him in a strange way. 

“Sorry, I know there’s nothing funny. But I don’t think it needs to be that deep?” He heaves a deep sigh. His mouth is still bitter from the water. “Why don’t you try being more direct? Everything you say is so enigmatic; I never know what’s for real and what’s a joke.” 

Hanzawa’s eyebrows stitch together. It’s such a foreign look; he doesn’t look like himself. Their eyes are meeting, and Tashiro can’t tell if water sprayed on the other man’s face or if he shed a few tears. 

“The problem with that, my dear Tashiro, is I’m not entirely sure myself.” 

“Well,” Tashiro invades Hanzawa’s space and envelopes him, pulling his head into the space beneath his chin. “That’s a good place to start. Thank you.”