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You woke up to a white room.
White walls, ceiling, bed—so white it hurt to look at any of it. The place was clean but too clean, and even in your state, you weren’t confused about where you were. There was really only one answer to that.
“I’m…?” you started, and a familiar voice beside your bed said your name, along with the rest of what you wanted to say.
“In the hospital,” the voice said softly. “It’s been a week.”
Gen.
He didn’t immediately call for a nurse to come in and tend to you. Perhaps he was choosing to handle this by himself.
Gen sat in a chair pulled close to your bed, but he wasn’t in uniform. You wondered how long he’d been sitting there, but from the look on his face, you gathered that he’d been with you the whole time.
“Gen?”
At the sound of his name, he closed his eyes, looking away before opening them again.
Uncharacteristically, he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you remember what happened?”
“Yes, I was…” You couldn’t say any more than that, still finding your voice to speak more than just a few words.
The emergence of a kaiju… and then you’d fallen… from a building?
The floor had collapsed beneath you. The kaiju had come out of nowhere. The last thing you’d heard was its deafening roar as it rampaged through the city.
You remembered Gen crying out your name.
In a panic, you looked down at your body. You were covered in bandages, but not completely. There was still skin uncovered, such as on your face and hands, but much wasn’t. You didn’t want to see yourself in the mirror, knowing it’d only be a sad sight.
“How am I still alive?” you gasped, touching your chest. There were bandages there, too, and you could feel your heart beating.
It was there. It wasn’t gone.
You weren’t gone, and neither was Gen.
You realized you were, thankfully, not in too much pain, but it was hard to ignore the constant ache. And there was no telling how bad the pain would be when you were up and moving, no longer lying in bed.
None of your actions went unnoticed by Gen. He was watching you carefully, as though waiting for something to go wrong. Or for you to show you were more hurt than you were letting on.
He was stiff, his elbows on his knees. When he spoke, it was in a tight voice. “Hasegawa. He found you, but you were already unconscious. He… he brought you to us as soon as he could.”
As you listened, you swallowed and fidgeted, clenching and unclenching your fists, curling and uncurling your toes—anything to prove to yourself that you could still feel everything, that there wasn’t anything you couldn’t feel.
You were extremely lucky Hasegawa had found you. If not for him…
But looking at Gen, it was like he was the one in pain.
It was hitting him hard what had happened a week ago. There was no authoritative captain’s voice, only the anguished voice of a man who’d almost lost the love of his life.
“I should’ve been there. Not Hasegawa. Me.”
“No…”
The single word came out breathier than you would’ve liked, and you sat up straight, holding your hand up to stop Gen when he tried to help you. Then, to your relief, your voice sounded stronger than before.”
“You were exactly where you should’ve been: with your division. Not with me.”
Gen scoffed, but it was that small smile he wore that told you a little tension had left him. “You make me sound heartless. What kind of husband am I for not being there to save my own wife?”
That was an easy answer.
“The kind who prioritizes the people,” you said without a second’s hesitation. “The kind I always want you to be.”
Gen studied you for a moment, then reached for your hand to lace his fingers with yours. “You’re the perfect wife, you know that?”
“No such thing as perfect.”
He laughed. “It’s selfish, but I wanted to be the one to save you.”
“You’re here, aren’t you? That’s enough for me.”
“So you say, but I’m not as nice as you are,” Gen retorted, seeming his normal self now, and you were glad for it. “Why couldn’t Hasegawa and I have switched places back then?”
Anybody who didn’t know Gen like you did might’ve been horrified to hear him say that. They might’ve thought he was more concerned about himself than you, but nothing surprised you anymore when it came to Gen.
You’d learned a long time ago he was a slob, hardcore gamer, Yamazon addict. He’d freak out if his pre-order wasn’t going through and would pull an all-nighter for every new game release. He’d sooner dust off his figurine collection than touch the dishwasher.
At home there was no slicked back hair or Kaiju No. 1 eyes, no dropping from the sky to kill a kaiju all on his own. His hair would droop down, his eyes would be glued to a screen, and anything he killed in-game wasn’t real like the kaiju were. He piled up trash bags, and if you let him, he’d live on junk food and energy drinks forever.
And yet, you’d still said yes to marrying him.
“Don’t be jealous of Hasegawa,” you told Gen, your face softening, “and don’t blame him for what happened to me either.”
“But it’s tempting to—after all, I am his superior,” he said, rubbing his chin in a way you didn’t like.
“Don’t,” you warned. “The superior card won’t work on him. It means jack shit after all the times he had to clean up your mess.”
“Ugh, don’t make me remember.” A solemn expression crossed Gen’s face then. “Once everyone hears the good news, they’ll want to see you.”
“Only after work,” you insisted. “It’s not like I’ll be leaving this place anytime soon.”
“We could always move—”
“Nope, I’m staying right here where I can’t distract you.”
“As if you haven’t already,” Gen replied with a smirk. “Get used to seeing me here.”
“You better not be using me as an excuse to slack off.”
“Excuse?” he echoed, offended. “I’m visiting my wife in the hospital.” Gen gave your room a once-over before saying, “You have to admit how dull it is in here, though. Hey, what if we—“
“No BS5, Gen.”