Work Text:
It isn’t until the sun has long set, a warm haze of summer night settling over everyone like a blanket, the amusement park empty save for the staff still cleaning up and the last few stragglers from the Yumenosaki crew, that it hits Chiaki. That it really sets in; today, for the first time in what feels like forever (and the actual first time, if Chiaki’s being honest), Ryuseitai felt like a family.
Still feels like a family, if the sight of Kanata on a bench nearby the stage is any indication. Kanata, who is firmly locked in place on the bench by the Ryuseitai first years, fast asleep and oblivious to anything around them, the plush costume body of one of the ‘monsters’ from their show acting as a stuffed animal of sorts to Nagumo and Sengoku.
He gazes fondly at them, eyes tracing first over Takamine — Chiaki had been so, so proud of his performance today, heart swelling at the slight but genuine smile that graced his features during the latter half of the concert, at the fact that the boy he’d dragged into Ryuseitai from the basketball club and seemed to want nothing to do with this unit was taking part in his own subdued way — then to Nagumo — and Chiaki had already made it clear how proud he is of Nagumo accepting his position in Ryuseitai, of using what Ryuseitai stands for to pursue his own goals as a person and an idol — and finally Sengoku — who has always been wholehearted in his participation in Ryuseitai, who is unapologetically himself and able to be himself without compromise within Ryuseitai.
Chiaki’s eyes make their way to Kanata’s, curved in a smile and the same sparkling green as always. “They worked hard today,” Chiaki says, gesturing vaguely at the pile of first-years that have made Kanata their pillow. “I’m glad they made it through the cleanup without passing out!”
Kanata laughs softly, then wriggles his arm out from where it’s clamped between Nagumo and Takamine to make some semblance of a shushing gesture, unable to get his hand fully up to his mouth without jostling either of the kids from their sleep. “Shhh, Chiaki. You will wake the kids.”
“Sorry,” Chiaki says sheepishly, voice significantly quieter than the booming volume it had previously. “I am proud of them, though.”
Kanata’s gaze slips from Chiaki’s, and he looks down at the boys asleep against him with the same fondness Chiaki knows was written all over his own face only moments ago. “I am proud of them, too.” The arm he’d used to shush Chiaki rises to rest against Nagumo, Kanata’s hand lightly petting Nagumo’s fluff of hair. It’s sweet, almost domestic in a way that makes Chiaki’s heart feel like it’s going to burst.
“Hey, Kanata,” he says in an attempt to dispel the feeling, and ignores the way Kanata’s eyes on him only seems to heighten it, “do you like heroes?” Kanata’s hard to read, but Chiaki can tell he’s curious as to where Chiaki is going with this line of thought.
Chiaki is more somber than he’s known to be, but — the thought, despite the warmth of Ryuseitai filling him earlier, hasn’t been dispelled. He loves them and what they create on stage and inspire in others, he really does, but — sometimes Chiaki wonders. “If I hadn’t dragged you — all of you,” Chiaki says, gesturing again to the three asleep on Kanata, “into Ryuseitai, none of you would have aimed to be heroes.”
Kanata hums quietly. “I’d be long gone if I disliked it. Like foam on the sea. But,” Kanata continues, and Chiaki doesn’t miss the way his gaze skims over Takamine, Nagumo, Sengoku, as he speaks, “I’m here. I don’t know much about being a hero yet, but I could come to love this Ryuseitai. I’m loving you and everybody here more and more.”
Chiaki feels his face split into a grin. “I love you all, too! More than I can say, even…”
“That reminds me…” Kanata says. He goes to continue, but pauses as Sengoku shifts against him, taking advantage of his small figure to curl up in a small ball on the bench and sandwich himself between the plush monster costume and Kanata before seeming to fall into an even deeper sleep than before. Kanata’s eyes flick up to Chiaki’s, and Chiaki does his best to hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of him, the scene somehow both so familiar and so bizarre that he doesn’t know how to react other than laughing.
Kanata smiles gently, eyes sparkling with mirth under the moon and the warm light from the streetlamps that line the amusement park’s paths. “Would you call Ryuseitai a family, Chiaki?”
…Huh. Chiaki doesn’t know what he’d been expecting Kanata to say — even now, he still has trouble reading Kanata — but it definitely wasn’t that. “I guess?” is what Chiaki says after probably too many beats of silence. “Today, at least — we felt more… unified than we have been in the past. Than Ryuseitai has ever been, even when I was a first-year. I don’t know if we’ve always been a family — but I think, maybe, we’re becoming one.” He laughs to himself. “A family of heroes, huh…”
Kanata’s head bobs gently, the barest ghost of a nod. “The other day… Red Ogre compared us to a family. To scold me for not looking out for the kids.” It’s rarer to see Kanata without a smile than with one, so the smile on his face now doesn’t strike Chiaki as particularly strange, but he swears that he can see something playful glint in Kanata’s eyes. “He said I am your wife, Chiaki.”
Chiaki, who chose that unfortunate moment to take a sip of water from the water bottle he’d nearly forgotten about, set atop of a crate of costumes and props from their performance, nearly chokes on the water at Kanata’s statement. He coughs, voice hoarse as he says, “I didn’t think that’s what you meant by family !”
Kanata’s smile widens, just barely. “Red looks good on you, hero,” he says. “It really is your colour.” It takes Chiaki a minute to realize he’s referring to the flush that’s begun to spread across his cheeks, and when the realization hits Chiaki knows he only gets redder.
“I— you— Is this why you started training the kids?”
“‘The kids’,” Kanata echoes. “Like they are our kids. Our family.”
Chiaki is Meteor Ranger Red, the burning flames of passion; he wishes he could tell his past self to pick another colour, if only so that the heat in his cheeks wasn’t so fitting in all the wrong ways.
(Maybe, maybe if part of Chiaki wasn’t still the same scared kid that hid behind his glasses and couldn’t enforce the justice he claimed to uphold, he would have told Kanata why his words made him so flustered. How sometime in the past two years of knowing one another, he found himself increasingly enamoured with Kanata’s lilting voice and gentle smile and sparkling eyes. His dreamlike nature, his surprising strength, his love of the sea and water and everything in between. How imagining Kanata as his wife was making his heart feel like it was going to explode again, beyond just being shocking.)
Something glints in the sky behind Kanata, and Chiaki lets himself be momentarily distracted from one of the only things that could embarrass him to follow it with his eyes. He lets out a soft gasp. “Kanata, look—! A shooting star. We can make a wish!”
“A wish…” Kanata hums quietly, some incomprehensible melody that’s barely audible, even in the silence that surrounds them. “I wish to see Chiaki’s dream become reality.”
Chiaki chokes again, this time on nothing but his own spit and words that were about to fly off his tongue, something stupid and cheesy that will fill the empty air — like wanting a cute partner to make him lunch, or better grades, or something. “You— really?”
Kanata looks at Chiaki, emerald eyes meeting brown, and his gaze is unusually piercing. As if he can see every part of Chiaki, laid bare and open. “I’m here,” Kanata says simply. It’s an echo of his words from earlier, and yet enough is communicated in the words that Chiaki can feel tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. “What is your wish, Chiaki?”
Chiaki looks at Kanata, and every empty word he was about to say is swallowed with the lump in his throat that he always feels before the tears come. “My wish,” he says, and his voice is trembling but it’s still his , it’s still sure and boisterous and slightly too loud for the still summer air. Chiaki takes a step forward, and then another, until his knees press up slightly against the plush monster costume and Kanata has to tip his head upwards to hold Chiaki’s gaze.
He opens his mouth again to speak, and Kanata is sparkling in the soft light, with the galaxy shining behind him, and whatever Chiaki was about to say instead comes out as, “Can I kiss you?”
Chiaki bites his tongue, cheeks burning as he realizes what he’d just said. Kanata doesn’t laugh, doesn’t give that playful half-smile. Kanata doesn’t do anything but ask Chiaki, so quietly and sweetly, voice a familiar melody, “Is that your wish, hero?”
Chiaki doesn’t trust himself to do anything but nod, heart swelling with how Kanata smiles at the sight.
He leans down, one hand rising to grip the back of the bench. Part of Chiaki wonders if it’s alright, to move in on Kanata like this when he can’t run away without disturbing the three kids on top of him; the rest of Chiaki is replaying Kanata’s words over and over in his mind. He’s here. He’s still here.
Chiaki lets out a soft breath, and then Kanata has closed the remaining distance between them with a tilt of his head, and they’re kissing. Kanata’s lips are soft against his, and he tastes like the ice cream Chiaki treated them all to after their successful performance.
It feels like far too long and not nearly long enough when Chiaki (regrettably) pulls back, lips still hovering only inches away from Kanata’s as he looks towards him, gaze searching. Kanata smiles, and it’s genuine (somehow, Chiaki just knows) and sweet, and it takes everything in Chiaki to not dive in for another kiss. “Was that alright?” Chiaki asks, voice low. “And—” He hesitates, despite the fact that Kanata’s lips were on his not even a minute ago. “That wasn’t just because you wanted to grant my wish, right?”
“Silly Chiaki,” Kanata says, and Chiaki can feel the softness of Kanata’s breath against his lips as he speaks, can feel the ghost of Kanata’s lips pressing against his. “I am human now, remember? I kissed you because I wanted to.”
“Right,” Chiaki says, and the anxious thrumming of his heart is replaced with a different kind of erratic rhythm, a different reason for the flush in his cheeks to linger. “Right. That’s — good to know.”
Kanata smiles, and Chiaki is about to give into his temptations and kiss him again — his smile is too pretty, and Chiaki has spent enough time holding himself back — when Takamine stirs against Kanata’s side, a soft yawn escaping him as he blinks blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Chiaki jumps back, trying to act as though he wasn’t just about to kiss Kanata, face burning as Takamine looks at him, then towards Kanata, then back towards Chiaki, and back to Kanata once more.
“Shinkai-senpai,” Takamine says, voice rough with sleep, “please tell me I imagined you and Morisawa-senpai kissing.”
“You did,” Chiaki says in the same beat that Kanata replies, “No.”
Takamine says nothing, the only noise leaving him a heavy sigh. “You’re such a bad liar, Captain,” he tells Chiaki accusingly, and Kanata’s soft laughter fills Chiaki’s ears as he splutters.
(Still, Chiaki thinks, despite the mortification of getting caught by Takamine — he doesn’t regret anything. He doesn’t think he ever will. They’ll keep moving forward, and growing, and learning more about one another and how to stand together as equals, as family, as heroes — and Chiaki can’t wait to see it. Even if that means putting up with his underclassmen teasing him about Kanata.)