Masayoshi sighed and stared at the ground between his feet. It was a stupid thing to fight about - and they did fight, Gotou shouting over him, Masayoshi shouting back and then storming out of the apartment, door banging hard off the frame behind him - and here he was, two hours later, the sun long since set and the street lamps on. He dragged his feet on the ground, fingers tight on the chains of the swing, and wondered why Gotou didn’t come after him.
(Gotou was a stubborn as he was, he was probably smoking in the apartment and thinking vile thoughts about Masayoshi right now anyway.)
If they were going to make this work - and Masayoshi WOULD make it work, he couldn’t imagine his life without Gotou by his side - he was going to have to swallow his mulish pride and be the first one to apologize.
Masayoshi lifted his head at the faint whiff of cigarette smoke. “Oi,” Gotou said as he came around the edge of the park’s perimeter. “There you are.”
He blinked at Gotou, perplexed - there was a faint sheen of damp in his hair, probably from the drizzle earlier that Masayoshi waited out under a store’s awning. “Gotou-san?”
"Come home, idiot," Gotou said, and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "I was worried about you, don’t run off like that."
Masayoshi stood up and the swing creaked, chains jangling. “I’m sorry I yelled,” he said.
"Yeah," Gotou said, and held out his hand. "I’m sorry too."