Masayoshi was not technically supposed to have a key to the apartment. He didn't actually live there, of course - he still lived in a hotel room that he was spending increasingly less time in, but that didn't change the fact that he wasn't supposed to let himself in(more) to Gotou's apartment whenever he felt like it.
("Don't get all happy like that! This is just a spare, just in case-" "In case what, Gotou-san?" "..." "In case...?" "It doesn't matter." "It does matter, Gotou-san matters very much to me!" "...idiot.")
There were no lights on inside the apartment - the curtains weren't drawn, and the streetlamps painted the room in shades of orange.
Gotou was sitting up on the bed, arms folded over his knees, phone dangling from his fingers. He didn't lift his head until he felt the mattress dip, as Masayoshi tentatively put his knee to it.
He looked at Masayoshi - up at him, and the shadows fell just right and Masayoshi couldn't see his face. "She won't talk to me," Gotou's voice didn't sound right, and Masayoshi wet his lips and swallowed, couldn't think of a response to that so he put his arms over Gotou's shoulders and pulled him in for a hug. Gotou's hand dug in to the fabric of his sweatshirt, pulled it tight. "Why won't she talk to me?" he asked, voice muffled, small like a child's.
He didn't drop the cell phone. Masayoshi could see the new one on the charger, its battery light green and blinking across the room, but Gotou's grip on the old phone was like steel. "Gotou-san," Masayoshi said quietly, his voice somehow level.
"I miss her," Gotou said, and Masayoshi tightened his grip on Gotou and squeezed his eyes closed.