"It's just wrong," Masayoshi declares, voice skipping into the high range of injured sincerity he always takes on when he's talking about morality. "People should be honest with each other."
"All the time?" Goto asks from the floor, where he's sitting watching Masayoshi pace across the apartment. "There are times when lying is justified."
Masayoshi stops dead and turns to stare horror at Goto. "Goto-san," he breathes, eyes wide with betrayal and disbelief in equal measures. "How can you say that?"
"I don't mean about big things," Goto backtracks, reaching for his beer so he can take a drink and cover up the smile that threatens at Masayoshi's absolute seriousness on the subject. "I mean white lies. Like 'you look good' if someone's having a bad day or not telling someone what you bought them for a present."
"It's still lying," Masayoshi says, no trace of compromise in his tone or expression. His eyes are alight with the fire of justice, his mouth drawn taut around consideration of some perfect world in the distance of his imagination. "It's still bad."
"It doesn't hurt anyone," Goto points out, sets his beer down so he can reach up for the edge of Masayoshi's shirt and tug him back to reality. "Everyone is happier in the end. It's why they're called white lies in the first place."
"How can you be sure?" Masayoshi asks, but he capitulates to the tug, braces himself at Goto's shoulder as he folds to his knees alongside the other man. "It's better to be honest."
"Not always," Goto says, easy in his certainty on this subject and in the way Masayoshi fits under the weight of his arm, the way the other leans in to press against his side so they cast one single shadow under the illumination of the lamp overhead. "Sometimes it's worth it just for the surprise."
"I don't know," Masayoshi says, still doubtful although he's given up his pacing for leaning into Goto's shoulder and seems to be considering trading speech for kissing against the line of the other's collar. "I'm not convinced."
"I'll prove it to you," Goto promises as he turns his head in to threaten a kiss against Masayoshi's hair. "I bet the next present you get from me will be better as a surprise than if I was perfectly honest and told you about it beforehand."
"For my birthday?" Masayoshi asks, the righteous indignation of moments before melting under the press of Goto's lips to the top of his head and giving way to the pleased anticipation of gifts.
Goto thinks about Masayoshi's birthday, considers the weeks enough to form months between this moment and the possibility of a birthday gift. Then he thinks about the box shoved far to the back of his dresser drawer, thinks about the shine of the ring tucked inside it safe from any possibility of discovery from Masayoshi's ever-thoughtful actions, thinks about how impossible it will be for him to wait more than a week before he gets that ring onto Masayoshi's gentle fingers.
"For your birthday," Goto lies.