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Maybe, Go should’ve found an isolated beach to scream I love you! I love you! I love you! over, and over, even as his voice became hoarse and the sun hid into the horizon, until his lungs gave out and someone found his face planted in the coarse sand.
But now, Chase is here, really here and really staring down at him, and doesn’t go away even when Go waves his hands back and forth in front of his eyes, while he lies down on the violet rug on the floor.
“Are you alright, Go?”
“Uh, yeah. No sleep does this kind of shit to you- hey, are you sure I’m not dreaming or anything like that?”
“You are most certainly awake.”
That’s what you said every other time remains unsaid, hanging like body heat wishing to turn to little white clouds at the next exhale. The rug he’s lying down on is remarkably soft, and he’s not sure who’s supposed to be playing babysitter to whom as he starts rolling across it. Maybe, it’s both of them, supposed to revolve around each other until something catastrophic bears fruit.
“I sound delusional right now,” Go says, chuckling weakly, “You don’t want to be here.”
“While it is concerning that you seem to be in distress, I trust you, Go. It is ideal to me that I am in your company. Please do not think otherwise.”
It doesn't take much to know that Chase looks incredibly sincere. Even now, when his face is shielded by shadows from blocking the overhead light, even when he has miles to go and still looks decently robotic, Go can tell he’s trying to look sincere. The days in which Chase was learning emotions for the sake of manipulation, mimicry — days that only exist in Go’s mind, shrouded by the fog machine labelled hatred — are long gone. He’s trying so hard in front of him, to get messages across in ways humans like Go could understand, but it’s all infuriating with that clear skin, beautiful eyes, lips molded to be perfect, looking like the fucking Ken doll he is: he’s way too flawless to be here, despite his idea of what’s ideal.
Go’s face twitches a little, and he’s tempted to pull Chase down to the floor and just kiss the bastard until Chase’s lips are used and breathless, which immediately prompts his stomach to churn. It’d be funny, Go thinks right after, if he just raised his fist and threw it at Chase’s face instead. It’d be wonderful to see his cheek turn red from the imperfect mark on his cheek, and wouldn’t it be nice if he punched just hard enough for blood to fall from his face? Or whatever the hell his version of blood is?
But it’s not Chase’s fault that Go went and screwed up big time, falling in love with someone way out of his league, like the absolute idiot he is. It’s never Chase’s fault for anything. He doesn’t deserve this shit.
“Go,” Chase says, with that worried tone again, “If there is something that is troubling you, I would like to assist in clearing your worries.”
Go stops rolling over the rug, face directly a few feet below Chase’s when he decides to lie facing upwards. He’s not sure how to express that just being in the same vicinity as Chase is the problem; it gives him the heebie-jeebies on Chase’s behalf, but Chase doesn’t seem to quiver from disgust. In fact, everything he’s done has been unnecessarily nice, probably shielded from everything left unsaid. After all, even Chase would be uncomfortable if he found out Go’s dreams have been haunted by his lips.
He could. Chase wants to help, doesn’t he? If kissing him stupid is going to be help, then, well, Chase did just offer.
He shouldn’t. Chase probably doesn’t want this. This is absolutely crossing borders, and why would Chase want someone like him?
He could.
He shouldn’t.
What I’m about to do, Chase, is something you’re not going to like.
He sighs. “Fuck it.”
Please be patient with me.
His hand reaches out, fingers latching onto Chase’s shirt, and then yanks him down to Go’s level. His other hand holds onto Chase’s back for dear life as his lips finally press against Chase’s.
He’s done it. He’s done what he’s wanted to do all these years Chase was gone, and dreamt of it so many times, even in a dingy cot miles away in Arizona of all places. Just as he has every other time, he’s sinking in how much he needs it, possibly more than he needs air, at this point.
But then he pulls away, and shit, he’s messed it up for everyone. Whatever they’ve had going on, this silly little what are we? on both ends, all poofed up in smoke. It’s a miracle that Chase doesn’t reach upwards to wipe his mouth.
“Look,” Go starts, “I- I, I really needed that. I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first.”
Go will give himself credit for one thing, though: Chase is finally sporting a confused demeanor from everything that just happened, and the way his head tilts looks so cute, and fuck, he can’t have this, can he?
The confusion lasts for what feels like eons, and Go decides to try and find the location of the cogs whirring in Chase’s head. He’s certain he’s almost got it when Chase decisively blinks, distracting Go into looking at Chase as a whole again. His eyebrows are positioned into an inquisitive frown, his eyes are blown wide, and suddenly Go’s the one being pulled upwards and kissed like crazy.
Somehow, it’s more spectacular than the first time, and Chase is gripping his shirt like his life depends on it, pressing firmly with those plush lips of his. This time, his lips are warm, and feed into the warmth growing in Go’s chest, as does his own warm breath against Chase’s face.
There’s some inherent glee present in seeing Chase look stirred when Go’s lowered onto the ground again. Chase's lips aren’t as red as Go wants them to be — of course they’re not, they didn’t make out or anything — but he’s still pleased with what’s happened, refusing to acknowledge any wondering of how.
Unlike the four hundred and twenty nine situations or so Go's seen before this one, Chase talks first.
“Lovely pink rose purr-purr ice cream,” he asks, voice low, “Was it?”