Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stupid brother! He wasn’t a wimp, he wasn’t!

Frustration burned like a brand in his chest, ebbing and flowing with the throbbing tempo of his bruises. As always, his brother felt like an insurmountable wall that he couldn’t help but dash himself against. The ideal he was always chasing. Soshiro grit his teeth and tasted iron. His ear was still ringing from that strike to the head.

He just needed some space to think, to be alone. To go over his mistakes, everything he could have done better, any gaps in his form that he had to train out of himself. He pushed a branch away from his face and ducked under it, stepping over a stray root. The smell of loam and petrichor was strong in the air, hanging like mist after the short spell of rain earlier in the day. The slippery grass and mud made the trek out to his special cherry blossom tree more difficult, but it was the only place he could find solace.

Breaking through a thin line of forest, he stepped out into the small clearing. His cherry blossom stood in the centre, bare branches reaching up to the early evening sky. As he walked closer, he noticed something that hadn’t been there the last time he visited. A tiny burrow, hollowed out among the twist of tree roots at the base.

He crouched down, near the tiny opening. Perhaps some small animal had made its home here. Curiosity took hold of him, and he began to push the damp soil and foliage away with his hands. His blisters stung from the grit of the soil, but he shrugged away the familiar pain. Ducking his head, he peered into the soft darkness of the burrow. A pair of glowing teal eyes peered back. Wide and round and unearthly, illuminating a small, scaly body.

His heart was thunderous in his ears.

Kaiju.

The kaiju uncurled its compact body and let out a tiny screech. Eyes darting to the exit of the burrow. It seemed to come to a decision, and lunged for the small opening between Soshiro’s face and the burrow wall.

Soshiro reared back, years of instinct beaten into his body kicking in. He punched the tiny kaiju, his fist connecting solidly with a fleshy smack. The monster landed with a yelp and rolled once, twice, over the muddy grass.

I have to get help!

The tiny thing recovered quickly and leapt up, latching on to his arm. Its teeth pierced right through the thick cloth of his sleeve.

Pain lanced up his arm and he bit back a scream. Shoved the panic down.

I can’t be weak.

Have to get it off!

He slammed it against the tree. It yelped but didn’t let go. The pain dug deeper into his arm, and he ground his teeth against it.

He had no weapons, but he refused to be helpless. He balled up his fist and hit it.

Again and again and again and again.

A flurry of punches as desperate as they were precise. Striking the thing in its nose, its eyes, every theoretical weak point he could reach. Even as his knuckles split open to the bone.

The kaiju didnt seem hurt, but the sheer viciousness behind his attacks startled it enough to release him. Its jaw loosened and he flung it to the ground. The moment it let go, Soshiro leapt away from it. Spared it only a passing glance to make sure it was still struggling on its back before he turned on the ball of his foot and ran.

Only to slip and slam face first into the ground.

He hurriedly scrubbed the mud from his eyes, glancing back to check if the kaiju was pursuing him. It wasn’t. It was standing where it was. Its eyes were closed almost in mirth, head angled as it yipped. Light little sounds that spiralled up to the treetops.

Was it… laughing at him?

Soshiro stood up warily, wiping mud off on his pants. The odd kaiju froze as if caught, wide teal eyes staring at him. For a long moment, neither of them moved.

And then it scurried off, leaving Soshiro standing alone in the clearing.

Bloodied and confused, he stared at the empty spot for a good while longer. It had all happened so quickly. The kaiju was there, and then it was gone.

The sound of his harsh breaths filled his ears as his hearing came back to him. The pain in his arm was also getting harder and harder to ignore, now that the adrenaline was gone. It felt like little more than a throbbing mass, and he winced as he tried to lift it, to keep the wound elevated above his heart. He settled for cradling it gently, red smearing his already soiled sleeves and chest.

In a daze, Soshiro turned and began a slow trek home.

He should have told someone about that tiny, weird kaiju. He should have. But he hadn’t. Something held his tongue. There was something off about that kaiju. It didn’t look like any he’d seen in books or on TV. It didn’t act like any of them either. Maybe it was the blood loss, but there was an almost human quality to it.

He wanted- no, he needed answers.

His mind was whirling as he watched the shadows shift across his ceiling. Why was it there, in the forest? What did it want? Did he imagine it laughing at him? Why didn’t it kill him?

Why why why

And then he was opening his eyes. He turned his head gingerly, away from the sun streaming in from his window. There were birds twittering outside. He’d fallen asleep without realising. He’d slept through morning practise. Restlessness weighed heavily in Soshiro’s stomach as he sat up, careful not to jostle his arm, and shuffled over to his wardrobe. It was a struggle to dress himself with only one arm, but he refused to ask for help for something so simple. He’d been barred from the practise hall until his arm healed, but that wouldn’t stop him from practising. He couldn’t afford to take a break, or he’d fall behind completely.

As he made his way over to his cupboard to retrieve a practise sword, a glint of purple caught his eye.

There, by his window, was a scatter of shiny stones. He walked over cautiously. This didn’t seem like something anyone is his family would do. Neither was it an easy thing to sneak onto his family’s property.

The stones were a deliberate pick of purple and red, weighing down a piece of paper. He slipped the paper out and examined it. It was clearly torn out of a notepad. "SoReE for bIte yOU” was written across it in a toddler’s scrawl.

The absurdity of it all struck Soshiro in the gut. And the funny bone. “Ha!”

He bent over, wheezing in laughter, “Haha, what the hell is this?! Haha, I’m gonna die, seriously!”

He laughed until his stomach ached, the piece of paper flapping loosely in his hand. In the back of his mind, he might have called it cute. He killed that thought immediately.

When he finally managed to pull himself together, he wiped a tear from his eye and regarded the paper.

If this wasn’t some stupid prank, it proved one thing about the kaiju he’d seen. It was sentient and intelligent. It was smart enough to track him down, sneak onto Hoshina property, and leave unscathed. Such a thing was not something to take lightly. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. A kaiju capable of near-human intelligence would be an incredible threat to humanity.

Soshiro’s fingers twitched. He sorely wished he were older. He would have loved to hunt it down. Slice through its dark plated skin and crush its core with a well placed strike. Its small size would prove to be a wonderful challenge - a test of his precision. He shook those thoughts away. He still had a long way to go, age-wise and skill-wise. He was sure that once he joined the Force, he would come across many kaiju he could pit his blade against.

He carefully wrapped the stones in the paper and slipped the bundle into his desk drawer. He doubted that anyone would believe him. A kaiju writing an apology letter? In what world? He’d missed his chance to report it the day before. He would need to gather better evidence if he wanted to be taken seriously.

Soshiro thought that the note and stones would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

The next morning, he woke to another scatter of stones by his bedroom window. And the next, and the next.

Soshiro was beginning to feel pissed off.

Cowardly kaiju, sneaking around like a rat.

If it was visiting every night, maybe he could tell someone about it and hope they would take him seriously. Maybe they would believe him if they could see it with their own eyes.

But something stayed his hand again, and with every handful of stones left at his window, his resolve faltered even more.

Tomorrow. I’ll tell someone tomorrow.

And yet the next day he would open his eyes to another handful of stones and be no closer to alerting anyone.

On the fifth day, he tossed that morning’s handful of rocks into his drawer. They clacked against the ones that had already begun to crowd the bottom.

A thought entered his mind.

I’ll just catch it myself.

It was a surprisingly easy feat.

Soshiro lay down in bed that night, closing his eyes and steadying his breathing. Then, he waited. He continued to wait as the hours grew long, and sleep began to prick at the edges of his consciousness.

Just as he was about to drift off, he heard a soft clack. Another clack.

He opened his eyes and looked over to the window. Against his will, a small smile spread across his face. The stupid little kaiju had its back to him, perched precariously by the window as it carefully arranged its new batch of stones.

In a few quick movements, he was standing behind it, picking it up by the scruff of its neck. It yelped in surprise and began to struggle, whining pathetically. The noises were as loud as foghorns in the quiet of the night. Nervousness began to take hold of Soshiro. Someone was going to hear.

“Shaddup!” he hissed at it, surprising himself. “Do ya wanna get caught?”

The kaiju went limp.

Ah, so it did have some intelligence after all.

He hid his face behind his bandaged arm as his own words caught up with him. His face warmed uncomfortably.

Telling it to be quiet so it won’t get caught? Am I insane? This is a kaiju!

The sad eyes the monster turned on him reminded him too much of a puppy and he held the creature a little further away from him - as if it were a cockroach he'd peeled off the bottom of a slipper. Those were dangerous thoughts right there.

A low rumble broke the silence and he glanced sharply at the monster. It shrank in on itself, looking contrite as it gazed at its pudgy tummy.

“Are ya serious?” he muttered.

Soshiro kept a firm grip on the monster as he padded over to his desk. He pulled one of the drawers open with more force than necessary and flinched again as pain shot up his injured arm. He began rooting around for a chocolate bar he’d stashed, movements more careful now, until his fingers brushed the crinkly wrapper. He slid the candy bar out and ripped the top open with his teeth. “Here,” he thrust it in the monster’s face.

Slowly, with teal eyes fixed on Soshiro, the monster took the treat between its claws and began to nibble on it. It paused, then unhinged its jaw and swallowed the chocolate bar whole.

Soshiro felt his brow jump with irritation when the monster had the gall to look to him for more. “That’s all yer gettin’.”

The monster seemed to wilt in his grasp.

How dare it look so disappointed? He shook it like a misbehaving cat, “What do ya want? Why do ya keep comin’ back here?”

The monster looked over at Soshiro’s bandaged arm and held its gaze, then looked up at the boy’s face and made a strange purring sound in the back of its throat.

The monster could clearly understand him. If it was acting like a dumb beast on purpose…. “Can’t ya speak?” Soshiro’s patience was wearing thin.

The monster shook its head. It purred again.

Soshiro sighed, and began walking back towards the window. He hesitated for a moment, torn between showing it mercy and alerting the whole house to the threat.

I can’t let it go, it’s a kaiju. It needs to be neutralised.

Before he could stop himself, he tossed the thing out his window and onto the soft grass outside. It plopped on its belly, and turned to look up at him with questioning eyes. Soshiro clicked his tongue and made a shooing motion with his hand, “Get lost. Don’t come back here again.”

The kaiju waffled for a moment, before scuttling off into the night.

Soshiro lay back down. His conscience pricked at him. Letting a kaiju go? Would he be able to hold his head high when he join the Defense Force? He covered his face with the palm of his good hand and hoped this moment of weakness wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

He hoped he wasn’t wrong that this kaiju was different.

The kaiju didn’t return after that night.

Soshiro didn’t know why, but he felt restless again, in a way that was different when he couldn’t swing his sword. His chest felt heavy. His days became quiet again, his drawer stopped filling up with silly rocks, and his arm healed enough that he was allowed back in the practise hall.

He was lonely.

Sometimes, in the mornings just after he woke up, he found himself staring at the window. It was always empty. He would stop by the convenience store every day now on the way home from school, flipping through the news and scanning for any new kaiju attacks. Looking for any signs of a tiny kaiju terrorising Osaka. He never found any.

Soshiro didn’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved that the monster was keeping itself hidden. He tried to hold on to his doubts, that it was still a kaiju, that it would hurt someone eventually and prove his fears right - and give him a reason to beat himself up over his own stupidity, his unworthiness. Every day of quiet made it harder and harder.

Days blended into weeks, and cherry blossom season began.

The air was crisp and clear on the day Soshiro decided to make the trip out to see his cherry blossom tree in bloom. It was just after morning practise on a Sunday, and he was feeling sleepy after a long workout and a warm bath. He refused to acknowledge it, but a bubbly anticipation had settled inside him as well. Maybe the kaiju went back to its burrow. Would he see it there?

There was already a soft blanket of pink on the dewy grass when he got there. The burrow looked undisturbed. His brow furrowed when he crouched down and peered inside the little hollow among the roots, only to find it empty.

He sighed and sat down beneath the shade of the tree, leaning against its rough trunk. A gentle breeze shook some petals down onto his hair, and the fresh scent of cherry blossoms permeated the clearing. The drowsy spring day would be perfect for a quick nap…

When Soshiro woke, it was slow and hazy. There was something heavy in his lap, covered in hard planes that dug into his skin. He looked down blearily, though he already knew what it was. The tiny kaiju was back, curled up and sleeping in the crook of his crossed legs. Its body was warm like a heated blanket in the spring chill.

Cute.

He placed a hand gently on the bony knobs running down its spine, wary of waking it. The kaiju barely twitched, still asleep. The bony protrusions were cold and hard, but warm at the base where hard bone met armoured skin. Emboldened, he ran a hand down its spinal plates, watching with satisfaction as it snuffled deeper against his thigh. The damned thing behaved more like a tame house pet than a beast. For a split second he was tempted to keep it, collar it. After all, it kept coming back to him. Some of his classmates reared stray cats. A wistful, irrational part of him thought that it wouldn’t be so different. The logical part of him understood that it was. A cat would never be able to level a city and kill innocent civilians with a swipe of its claws. This tiny kaiju might, once it grew large enough. The freshly healed bite on his arm throbbed. It had already attacked him once.

Now that it had appeared, he should have left, but there was something comforting about its presence. He continued to run his fingers down the creature’s back, petting it absentmindedly. The monster stirred and stretched lazily, flopping over to expose its belly.

Is this really a kaiju…?

Soshiro gave its flank a few firm pats. It took the hint and rolled off his lap, onto the petal-covered grass. It shook itself like a dog, freeing the petals that had been trapped between its armoured plates. Then it turned to look up at him, again with those big puppy-dog eyes. How could a kaiju look so pathetic? He shooed it off once more and it bounded away, disappearing into the tree line.

The next morning, he woke to a scatter of rocks by his window again.

Chapter Text

After another unsatisfactory training session with his brother, Soshiro found himself making his way back out to his cherry blossom again. He still couldn’t beat his brother. He hadn’t even come close. And then the bastard called him a wimp again and ran away!

The tree was beginning to look sparse as the end of spring approached. The air was also getting warmer every day. Soon, it would be summer. Another season gone by and what did he have to show for it? More bruises and more taunts. Just remembering his brother’s scathing words had a fire burning in his gut that had him itching to hold a practise sword again. He pursed his lips and sat down heavily against the trunk of his tree.

He took out the book he’d brought with him but all he could do was stare unseeingly at the words on the page, reviewing the matches he’d had with his brother earlier. Every slash, every step, every mistake. He was jostled out of his thoughts when he heard the telltale scuttle of clawed feet. The tiny kaiju was here today, and it made its way over to him like a dog excited to see its master. He shifted his gaze and pinned it with a warning look. He wasn’t in the mood to entertain the kaiju, not when he had more important things to think about. Still, it boldly crawled into his lap and curled up, bony spines pressing against Soshiro’s stomach.

Soshiro lay a hand down on its back, “Yer a real fearless thing aren’t ya? Real dumb one.” He hummed and stroked the base of its spines, “I don’t dislike that.”

The kaiju churred and turned around to face him. Soshiro took one of its clawed paws in his hand and absently squeezed the fleshy pad of its palm. “I sparred with my brother and lost again.”

The kaiju blinked and looked up at him patiently, letting him use its paw as a stress ball. “That stuck-up jerk, all he does is call me a weakling. One day I’m gonna beat that stupid smirk off his face!”

The kaiju made a soft huffing noise in agreement and gently nuzzled its head into his stomach. Soshiro looked down and let out a long breath, “What am I doin’ talkin’ to ya? ‘S not like ya can say anythin’ back.”

The kaiju’s gaze turned wide and guileless, and it made a soft susurrus in the back of its throat, tapering off into a growl. It made the same sound over and over, a soft sibilant hiss and a rolling growl. It only stopped when a soft rumble rang out through the clearing. The kaiju froze, curling in on itself sheepishly. Soshiro looked at it pointedly, “Again?”

It whined pitifully as he poked at its pudgy stomach, “How do ya get yer food anyway? ‘S not like ya can beg for scraps or anythin’.”

He fished a sour plum candy out of his pocket. A classmate had handed some out the day before and he’d forgotten it in there. He ripped open the packaging and tossed it at the kaiju. The little beast snapped it right out of the air.

This candy is kinda sour, I wonder how it’ll react.

The monster’s face screwed up, literally. Its features became a jumble in the centre of its head, like fruit cubes in a bowl of punch. Its eyes began to water and it hacked the candy out with a great heaving cough. The poor creature wheezed and looked at Soshiro with such a kicked expression that he almost felt bad for it. Too bad it was also kind of funny.

“Hahaha your face! What was that?!” Soshiro grabbed his sides as he laughed. The kaiju huffed and turned its back to him, sulking like a child.

“Aw, c’mon. I’ll bring ya something nice ta eat next time,” he promised.

The tiny kaiju visibly perked up, and Soshiro clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle another round of giggle fits.

Ah, that got its attention. It’s such a simple little guy.

The creature turned back around and cautiously sat itself back down next to Soshiro. It lowered itself gently against his thigh, a solid warmth pressed up against him.

Feeling a little lighter, Soshiro turned back to his book. Maybe spending time with the little kaiju wasn’t such a bad idea.

Soshiro began visiting the little kaiju more often. True to his word, on his next visit, he brought some chips with him. The kaiju sniffed the inside of the bag mistrustfully before gingerly picking a single chip out to eat. The tiny creature jumped at the crunch, but seemed more pleasantly surprised than disgusted. It unhinged its jaw again and ate the entire bag in a single bite.

Soshiro smacked the creature on the head gently, “That part’s not for eatin’, idiot. Is the wrapper that tasty to ya or somethin’?”

He popped another bag of chips open and scattered a few into a dog dish he’d brought along with him. “Don’t eat the bowl,” he warned.

The kaiju dipped its head and began devouring the chips in the dish. Soshiro ran a hand down its back, and felt its muscles shift beneath his fingers as it worked its way through the food. There was just something satisfying about watching it eat. “Come ta think of it, ya don’t have a name yet, do ya? How ‘bout Pochi?” Soshiro mused.

The kaiju lifted its head and shook it. The chip crumbs clinging to its lips scattered across the dirt and leaves. It planted a claw in the soil and began to draw a few shaky characters.

“Kfff,” it intoned proudly.

“Kafka,” Soshiro corrected.

“Kfff,” it tried again.

Soshiro patted its head, “Good try, Pochi.”

The kaiju whipped him with its tail petulantly and he laughed, patting it on its head again even as it bristled. “I’m kiddin’! Good boy, Kafka.”

The kaiju’s hackles fell, and it nodded. Then it turned back to the bowl of chips and continued munching through them like a starved beast.

How strange, the kaiju already had a name. Was someone else taking care of it? Soshiro leaned back against the tree and crossed his arms, head bowed. He might not be the only one in town who knew of this kaiju’s existence. He looked back over at Kafka, still stuffing its face with chips. It had somehow gotten into a previously unopened bag. “Hey, Kafka. Who named you?”

“Mama.”

The most coherent word Soshiro had gotten out of it to date. So someone had indeed taken this kaiju in, or was caring for it to some degree. Enough that they had taught it to speak and call them “Mama”.

A bead of sweat slid down his back. It was selfish of him but- “Why don’t I teach ya ta say my name?”

The kaiju stopped eating and padded over. It made the same hiss and growl that it had been uttering the other day, “Ssshhrrr.” It tried again. Then another time. It was clear what it was trying to say.

Had it been trying since the other day? When had it heard his name? If the little menace had been sneaking around his house and had free rein around town though, there was a chance it had heard his name from somewhere.

As the tiny thing growled out another botched attempt at his name, Soshiro couldn’t help but feel charmed. The damn thing was worming its way into his heart, and he was letting it.

The next time Soshiro returned, he brought with him a children’s book and a list of hiragana. He’d made it his personal mission to teach the kaiju to speak, and read, and write. It was ambitious, he’d admit, but he had never been the type to aim low.

Kafka was waiting for him under the cherry blossom, sprawled lazily across the grass. Soshiro idly wondered what it did all day when it wasn’t here waiting for him or spending time with him. It sat up when it saw him, and ran over to butt its head at his ankles. Its tail wagged, sweeping dirt and grass from side to side and leaving a fan-shaped divot behind it. Soshiro crouched down and patted its head, and the wagging increased. “Yer that excited ta see me, huh?” he remarked as he led Kafka over to the shade of the cherry blossom.

That was a first for him. He knew his father cared for him, but the man was reserved and showed his love for him in subtle ways. A pat on the head was the most physical affection he’d ever received. He also wasn’t particularly close with any of his schoolmates. The prestige of his name was like a barrier, making the other students wary of approaching. The fact that he preferred to spend his time with a blade in hand, practising his swordplay in every free moment, also didn’t leave much room for forging bonds.

He smoothed the dirt beneath the tree with his foot and sat down on the flattened patch. Next to him, Kafka pressed up against his side and waited for him to sort out his materials. “We’re gonna start with th’ basics.”

Soshiro pulled out the hiragana chart and hovered it around the kaiju’s eye level. It was meant for kids and covered in cute food and animal graphics, which seemed to catch Kafka’s attention. Its eyes darted around the card, but followed his finger when he pointed at the first character. “This one’s ‘a’.”

The kaiju followed along surprisingly well. By the time the sun was starting to set, they’d made it halfway through the card. The creature still collapsed around the ‘o’ sounds, but it was improving. Writing was a different matter. It seemed to forget the shapes of the characters the moment it looked away from the card, but they could tackle that another day.

Soshiro finished the lesson off by reading a few pages of the children’s book to the eager kaiju. It sat still and docile in his lap, as he read it a story about a boy trying to catch a yellow butterfly. He pointed out the characters they’d gone over, and the tiny kaiju rumbled out its own effortful attempts. He patted it on the head after each attempt, and threw in a “Good job, Kafka” when they were done.

The beast whined when he gathered his things and stood up to leave. He swatted its flank when the little menace bit the cuff of his pants as he tried to stand, “Don’ worry, I’ll be back. Ya better make sure ta practise, I’ll be testin’ ya next time.”

Soshiro could feel its eyes on him as he left, making his way back home for dinner and evening training.

It only took a few days for Kafka to learn how to say his name correctly. Once it did, it just wouldn’t stop.

“Soshiro”

“Yeah?”

“Soshiro”

“I hear ya.”

“Soshiro”

“Don’ wear it out, ya rascal.”

“Soshiro”

At some point, he snapped. He picked the little monster up and shook it, “Can’t ya say anythin’ else? That’s not the only thing I taught ya!”

The cheeky thing looked him in the eye and said, “No.” Its lips seemed to curl as it bleated out another, “Soshiro.”

Soshiro felt his brow twitch and he whapped it over the head with no real heat, “I can’t tell if yer brave or jus’ stupid.”

He set it back down and idly fed it a chip, “Pay attention, we still haven’t gotten through all the animals yet.”

The kaiju crawled back in his lap, staring intently at the animal book Soshiro brought with him this time. “Bird,” it piped up, looking at the winged animal. “Eat.”

Soshiro shook his head, “Not this one. There are some ya can eat and some ya can’t. Ya can’t eat this one.”

The kaiju looked down at the picture of a parrot and nodded solemnly, “No eat.”

It took a year for the kaiju to become somewhat conversational. It was a little behind in writing, but progressing steadily. Soshiro was proud of its progress, and he made sure to praise it from time to time. Every time he did, there were happy, thumping wags. He didn’t think it would ever get old, seeing the kaiju act like an excitable puppy.

However, Kafka was starting to get bigger, and it was becoming a problem. The kaiju wasn’t so little anymore, and could no longer sit in his lap without spilling out. It also wasn’t small enough to hide in burrows and nooks now that it was about the size of a large dog. It was getting harder for the kaiju to stay hidden. Its fortitude level was another thing entirely but so far, no alarms had been set off.

Another year went by, and the kaiju’s vocabulary exploded. Suddenly it was asking about his day, cursing his brother with him, and telling Soshiro about the pigeons in the park that it solemnly swore it didn’t eat. Judging by the grey feather between its teeth, the little punk had learned how to lie too.

“Soshiro!” the kaiju, now as big as a bus, gambolled over to him. Soshiro could almost feel the ground shake when it sat next to him. It leaned its large head down so Soshiro could pat it. “Land any good hits today?”

Soshiro hummed, “A few.” He was still chasing his brother, but the gap only continued to stretch before him. Just as he was training hard, so was his brother. Two years later and his brother was still using the same taunt. It was starting to get old.

“I finished the book ya gave me last week,” its tail thumped the ground. ‘Praise me’ might as well have been written over its head like a neon sign.

“Yes, yes, ya did good, Kafka,” Soshiro ran a hand down the kaiju’s massive jaw.

The kaiju wiggled, “Did ya bring it?”

“‘Course I did, what do ya take me for? I promised didn’ I?” Soshiro pulled a grease-stained paper bag out of his backpack. “One book, one burger.”

He unwrapped the savoury treat and tossed it into the kaiju’s large maw. It was the largest burger the fast food chain made, almost the size of his own head, but it still looked pitifully tiny as it went down the beast’s gullet.

Kafka leaned some of its great weight on him, almost squashing him to the ground, “Thanks, Soshiro!”

Soshiro sputtered, “I got it! Now get up, yer crushin’ me!”

Kafka shifted its bulk and settled into a lean against the cherry blossom. Any bigger and he’d soon reach its uppermost branches. Soshiro let out a sigh. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, but for Kafka’s sake, he had to.

“Yer gettin’ real big, Kafka. If ya keep growin’, someone’s gonna see ya. They’ll kill ya.” He said the quiet part out loud, “Ya gotta leave.”

Kafka was silent for a long moment. “If I leave, does that mean I won’t get ta see ya again?”

Soshiro hugged his knees to his chest. He’d grown used to the beast’s presence. He’d be sad to see it go. At that size, it was probably best for Kafka to hide out in the mountains, away from civilisation. “Yeah, probably.”

“Then I’m stayin’.”

Soshiro turned to it, eyes wide and incredulous, “Did ya not hear me? They’ll kill ya if ya get spotted. This ain’t a joke, ya know?”

“I’ll find a way!”

“The Defence Force has never failed a neutralisation. Ya will die!”

“I’m not plannin’ on fightin’ them!”

“If anyone spots ya, ya won’t have a choice!”

“Then I’ll just have ta make sure no one spots me!”

Soshiro’s blood boiled. This stubborn, hard-headed idiot.

His anger must have shown on his face because the kaiju brought its body low, tail curled around its legs, “Do ya really want me ta leave?”

“Yeah,” Soshiro said coldly. His heart prickled when Kafka flinched, but he kept his walls up and his expression hostile. “Better than watchin’ ya die.”

The kaiju met his gaze with a soulful, steely conviction, “They won’t find me. Please, trust me Soshiro.”

He wanted to. He really wanted to. More than that, he wanted to be able to keep Kafka with him. The big lug was his first and only friend. But if the kaiju was going to make Soshiro watch it get hunted down and killed- If that happened, he would never forgive the dumb beast.

Soshiro swept up his bag. If Kafka wanted to be stubborn, he could be stubborn too. “Do what ya want, but I’m not comin’ back ta see ya again.”

“Soshiro…” his kaiju whined, gently butting its head against his back.

Soshiro left and didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Ah, I ran away. That’s not like me.

He would never run from a fight. He always, always challenged himself. Pushed himself and honed his swordplay. ‘Good enough’ was never enough. When he joined the Defence Force, if he were to ever go down, he would go down swinging his blade for the sake of his country. But this… this wasn’t something he could fight against. How could he keep his big dumb friend safe from the entire Defence Force? The kaiju had never seen the Defence Force in action before, so it didn’t understand. Didn’t understand just how overwhelmingly powerful and efficient they could be. The strength he had always admired in his Father, and still did, made him afraid for what they could do to Kafka. How easily he could be dispatched. He had once seen a broadcast of his Father taking down a kaiju larger than Kafka in barely a blink. There was no way Kafka could stand against that.

The thought of losing Kafka scared him. This constricting, all-consuming worry that compressed his lungs and plucked at his spine… this was new to him. And he hated it. The only people in his life that he could lose were his father and brother. They were too strong for him to even consider that they might not return home. Kafka was… come to think of it, he had never seen the beast fight. It couldn’t have had much experience. It had spent its life lurking peacefully in and around the city. Also, Kafka’s case was different - he was the hunted, not the hunter.

Things were quiet again, like the first time he’d chased Kafka away. There was nothing distracting him from his training any longer. It was just him and his swords. But after, in the in-between moments, he felt hollow. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his decision.

This is for the best. If I’m gone, there are less things keeping him here.

A childish hope.

He didn’t know about the kaiju’s mysterious ‘Mama’, but if she truly saw him as her son she would take him far, far away from humans.

As the days dragged on, he found his thoughts drifting back to Kafka again and again. The longing, the worry. He missed his kaiju friend. Every time it happened, he would pick up his practise swords and train himself into exhaustion. There was no use worrying about it. The kaiju had its own free will and could use it to make stupid decisions, whether Soshiro liked it or not. He swung out his frustrations until blisters formed on blisters.

Soshiro was icing his ankle late at night in his room after a particularly bad mis-step. Kafka was on his mind again and he couldn’t sleep, so he had decided to train. He always slept better when he did. His father had noticed that something was up with him, but he hadn’t said anything, letting him work through it alone. His brother on the other hand, had definitely noticed too, and had taken it as a sign to start kicking him while he was down. He ended up sprawled on the floor even quicker now, beaten and out of breath. The words that left his brother’s tongue were more acerbic than ever.

Soshiro sighed and pressed the cloth-wrapped cold pack to his joint, feeling the icy coolness numb the ache that was there. He cast a quick glance at the clock. He should have gone to sleep an hour ago. He still had morning practise and then school the next day. He sighed again and pulled the ice pack away.

That should be good enough, right?

He was about to slide into bed, hand already pulling back the blanket, when something clattered by his window.

He turned sharply. Was it Kafka? Was that beast really suicidal? Walking right into the heart of the Hoshina property and exposing itself to one of the most renowned kaiju-slaying families in Japan- that was just a death sentence.

His pulse shot through the roof when he saw what it was. It wasn’t Kafka. It was an unknown boy, climbing in through his window.

Who is that? How did they get in?

Doesn’t matter. Capture first, questions later.

He grabbed his practise sword and swept the intruder’s legs out from under him before the boy could even make it two steps into his room. He pinned the boy, grounding himself on the larger boy’s chest.

He raised his practise sword, ready to beat the hell out of whoever this was, who thought they could trespass into his house.

“Wait, wait! Soshiro, it’s me!” the boy whisper-shouted, struggling futilely. Despite his size, he was unable to throw Soshiro off of him.

The moonlight streaming in chased away the shadows on the boy’s face, and Soshiro whacked him with the practise sword anyway out of pure shock. A fanged smile that stretched almost all the way across to wrap behind his head and wide, teal eyes that glowed softly in the dim light. The practise sword splintered and broke clean over the boy’s face. It didn’t leave so much as a scratch.

“I must be dreamin’,” Soshiro muttered to himself, eyes wide. “Musta passed out during trainin’.”

The boy grinned. “I found a way ta stay, Soshiro!”

“Kafka?” Soshiro didn’t make any moves to get off of the boy. He couldn’t even if he wanted to. His whole body was tensed, trapping the other boy under him, but he didn’t know if he could keep his balance if he relaxed even a single muscle.

The boy laughed boisterously, a damning sound that rang through the silent house, “Yep, it’s me!”

Soshiro quickly clamped his hands down on the boy’s- Kafka’s mouth, “Shhh!”

Kafka’s eyes went wide and he nodded in understanding. Soshiro slowly drew his hands away from fanged face, only to reveal perfectly normal features underneath. The boy’s eyes were black too.

“Ya look… normal now,” he remarked.

“Ya startled me. I can’t control it very well yet,” the boy pouted. “Mama helped me with it, but I didn’t want ta show ya until I could do it right.”

The mysterious ‘Mama’ again. Soshiro guessed this was her ‘third option’ answer to Kafka’s predicament. He didn’t even know something like this was possible. Could all kaiju transform? Some? Or was it just Kafka?

He got up shakily, and stumbled when he put his weight onto his injured leg. He felt like he’d been keelhauled and he was now riding the waves of impossibility. If Kafka could disguise himself as a human, he wouldn’t have to leave. He could stay with Soshiro. He had to know, “How long does it last, your transformation?”

Kafka sat up from the floor and rubbed the back of his neck, “A day? I dunno. As long as I’m concentratin’, I can stay like this.”

“What about when yer sleepin’?” Soshiro pressed.

“Haven’t tried it yet,” Kafka admitted.

Soshiro sat down on his bed and hummed. He caught sight of the time again. It was already worryingly late. “Ya gotta go, I gotta get some sleep.”

Kafka looked ready to protest but Soshiro cut him off, “Humans need sleep ya know? I’ll come find ya tomorrow, at our usual spot.”

Kafka’s shoulders slumped, but he seemed to understand. Kafka smiled at him and stood, “Ok, I’ll see ya tomorrow, Soshiro.”

Before he could react, the larger boy pulled him into a quick hug, “I really missed ya.” Then he clambered back out the window, closing it behind him.

Soshiro tucked himself into bed. He could still feel the warmth of the other boy’s skin, the comforting squeeze, and the words right by his ear.

So that was a hug.

He pulled the covers up around his face.

It was kinda nice.

Soshiro had to wait until after school was over to go see Kafka again. When he entered the clearing, he was surprised to see the kaiju still in human form. The boy’s back was to him.

“Kafka!” he called out.

The boy shot up like he’d been shocked and a tail popped out of his pants. A line of dorsal plates ripped through his shirt. When he turned around, the fanged smile was back. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Soshiro had a hand over his mouth, trying to suppress a laugh, “Yer scared of yer own name?”

Kafka puffed indignantly, tail lashing. “Am not! I’m not scared ‘a anything!”

Soshiro walked over and patted the taller boy on the head, “Right, right, sorry for startlin’ ya.” That seemed to appease Kafka. His dorsal plates and tail slowly retracted back into his body.

Soshiro laughed inwardly.

So simple.

He walked past Kafka and sat down against the cherry blossom. Kafka took his place beside him. Their shoulders brushed, which struck Soshiro with a sense of unreality. Just a month ago, Soshiro’s head only came up to the top of Kafka’s very inhuman leg.

“I’ve got a lotta questions for ya. Is this what ya meant when ya said ta trust ya?” Soshiro asked.

Kafka shook his head and gestured with his hands, making small compacting motions, “I jus’ wanted ta make myself smaller. So I could still move around an’ hide, ya know? Mama said if I can change my shape, I should just try ta make my shape human.”

Right. Human shaped.

The thought crossed his mind with an undercurrent of hysteria. Hearing it voiced like that was unsettling. What other shape was there for a human but ‘human’? It was just a little bit to the left of what could pass in regular conversation. An alien approximation serving as an unwanted reminder that the boy standing before him now wasn’t human, no matter how much he looked and acted like one.

“Wasn’t easy,” Kafka laughed, pulling him out of his thoughts. His vision focused on Kafka’s warm features and open, human, expression. The mild feeling of uncanny valley vanished.

“Did ya know humans have ten fingers?”

“That’s basic knowledge, Kafka.”

“Why do humans need so many?”

Soshiro felt a rash of heat creeping up his back. He fought the urge to press his palm to his face.

Is this really gonna be alright?

Kafka slung an arm around his shoulders, “I can hear ya thinkin’. Everything’ll be fine! Trust me on this.”

The boy gave him a blinding, confident grin. Against his will, Soshiro’s fears ebbed slightly. He relaxed into the friendly hold. “Fine, I’ll trust ya. Jus’ this once.”

The smile he got from that could have lit up the night.

Over the next few months, Kafka got better at holding his transformation. To help him deal with his startle reflex, Soshiro took to surprising the other boy when he least expected it. A gentle whap to the head with a book, finger flicks to whatever body part he could reach, and calling out his name when he had his back turned. When Kafka had dozed off in human form one cool autumn evening, they found that sleep was not an issue. Waking up, however, was a different matter. A thick tail popped out and smacked Soshiro in the face when he shook the boy awake. He held his bleeding nose, annoyed, as Kafka apologised profusely.

As winter came around, the curtain was finally drawn back on Kafka’s unknown ‘Mama’.

“I want ya ta meet her!” he said, tugging on Soshiro’s hand.

As much as he wanted to finally meet this person - this strange person who would take in a kaiju like a son - Soshiro grabbed Kafka’s wrist and told him, “I can’t today. I gotta get home for trainin’.” Training always came first. Even if it meant that he had to put his friendship aside.

This was the part where his classmates had turned around and let him be. For those bold enough to ask, he’d rejected their offers to hang out too many times. In fact, he couldn’t remember accepting a single one. Soshiro’s grip tightened around Kafka’s wrist. This was so much easier when Kafka was just a stray he could visit whenever he felt like - like a neighbourhood cat or dog. Now that Kafka looked like a human, Soshiro felt compelled to treat him like a human friend. He wasn’t sure what he expected from Kafka, but earnest eyes wasn’t it. “I get it. This is important to ya, isn’t it?”

He smacked a stunned Soshiro on the back with his free hand, “Ya gotta train hard if ya wanna be a Defence Force captain! Make yer brother eat his words!”

“Ya don’t hafta tell me that, dumbass,” he muttered fondly, a small smile on his lips. The tension he didn’t know he was holding drained out of him.

“I’ll bring ya ta meet Mama next time!”

‘Next time’ turned out to be ‘next year’. Even though Soshiro had to reject Kafka’s invitations many times, the other boy never once lost his enthusiasm.

Soshiro was beginning to feel bad each time Kafka laughed and said, “That’s ok! Mama’s not goin’ anywhere.” But if there was someone Soshiro could always trust to say what he meant, it would be Kafka. So if he said he didn’t mind waiting until Soshiro had time to travel to the city outskirts with him to see his ‘Mama’, then Soshiro would take his word for it. It was reassuring in a way, that he wouldn’t lose his friend so easily.

Then again, if Kafka had pushed him to drop his training in favour of a little side trip, that would have just pissed Soshiro off. He might have even ended the friendship himself. If someone couldn’t understand just how much his sword meant to him, they were no friend of his. It was a Catch-22 that Kafka wasn’t even aware of, nor would he ever be.

An opportunity came when Soshiro sprained his wrist during training. He was forced to take the day off, and barred from the practise hall again. After icing and immobilising his wrist, he travelled out to the cherry blossom to see Kafka.

The boy was sitting on a low branch when he arrived, kicking his feet as he flipped through the latest Shonen Jump magazine. Soshiro called out and Kafka looked up, surprised to see him, “Yer here early.”

Soshiro lifted his hand, “Father didn’t want me practisin’ on a sprained wrist.”

“Well yer dad’s right! How’re ya gonna be a great swordsman if yer hand heals wrong?” Kafka hopped down from his perch and gingerly took Soshiro’s arm to examine his wrapped wrist.

“What do ya wanna do today? We can jus’ sit an’ read, ‘cause you’re injured. Oh! I got a new light novel, I think you’ll like it. The main character’s a swordsman like ya,” the taller boy babbled.

Soshiro let his friend look him over, arm limp in the other boy’s grasp, “Let’s go visit yer Mama.”

Kafka’s head whipped up, eyes sparkling, “Really?!”

Soshiro nodded.

Kafka let go of his arm, “What are ya waitin’’ for? Let’s go! Mama’s place is only an hour by train!”

Kafka was surprisingly proficient with the train system. He bought them both tickets, got them on the right train, and got them off at the correct station. Soshiro followed the taller boy’s lead, only glancing at the train maps a few times to make sure they were on the right track.

“Aren’t ya impressed, Soshiro?” Kafka grinned, hands on his hips. His form was different, but that puppy-like eagerness to be praised was still the same.

Soshiro smiled and raised his hand to ruffle the boy’s hair, “Yeah. Good job, Kafka.”

The taller boy’s face flushed with satisfaction, and he began walking towards one of the station exits. “C’mon, it’s this way!”

Kafka’s ‘Mama’ was… normal. Completely, utterly, overwhelmingly normal. Soshiro had envisioned a retired Defence Force officer, or a mentor-like person straight out of one of the manga Kafka loved to read. Someone who understood the risks a kaiju could pose, and knew how to defend themselves. The woman who opened the door when Kafka rang the doorbell was a middle-aged office lady. Dark hair tied back in a low pony tail and tired but kind eyes. He would have passed by her in the street on the way home from school and never thought twice about her.

She welcomed them inside with a demure smile, crow’s feet around the corners of her eyes. “Oh my! Is this the friend you told me about, Kafka?”

That speech pattern… She wasn’t Osakan. She sounded much more like a Tokyoite.

“Mama, this is Soshiro! He’s trainin’ ta be a really cool Defence Force officer when he grows up!” Kafka kicked his shoes off in the entrance hall and toed them into line.

Soshiro noted the sparse collection of shoes on the shoe rack. Practical, frugal. There was also a distinct lack of any men’s shoes.

Soshiro bowed slightly, “Nice to meet ya, miss. Pardon the intrusion.”

The woman nodded her head in response, “Oh my, what a polite young man. Come in, come in.”

She led them into a small but well-kept living room and gestured to the sofa, “Please, have a seat! I’ll bring out some tea and snacks in a moment.”

Kafka made himself at home immediately, throwing himself onto the sofa in a lazy sprawl. Soshiro on the other hand, lingered by the side, unsure of himself. He had never been to a friend’s house before. This was unknown territory. It was so domestic and mundane.

Kafka’s Mama giggled at his hesitation, “This is the first time my son has brought a friend over. I’m really glad he’s getting along with other kids his age.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

Soshiro sat down on the plush sofa next to his friend and stared at his socked feet. He couldn’t imagine Kafka bringing home many friends. Any friends. Until recently, he was a three metre tall monster. A lonely, displaced woman past her prime and her monster son. Somehow, it was fitting. A little bittersweet.

He felt a nudge at his side as Kafka bumped him with his shoulder to get his attention. “What’s got ya lookin’ so down?”

Soshiro touched his cheek. Was he? Did he look upset or something? His expression felt the same as always. He looked up and was met with Kafka’s eyes. They were uncomfortably piercing. He shook his head. “Nothin’.” He smiled, “Your mother’s nice.”

Kafka grinned, “She’s the best!”

The woman in question returned from the kitchen with a floral tea tray. On it were cups of piping hot tea and plates of sweet finger snacks. Cute little biscuits that would never appear in Soshiro’s home. She set the tray down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and addressed Kafka. “Why don’t you go play in your room for a bit? I just want to have a quick chat with your friend.”

Kafka pouted, but went anyway. His Mama handed him a cup of tea and a plate of snacks to bring with him. He pushed open one of the doors and glanced back at Soshiro, who was starting to feel a little betrayed. The traitor was leaving him to fend for himself. “I’ll show ya my room when yer done talkin’!” Then he shut the door.

Kafka’s Mama sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and looked over at him. She was every bit as gentle and homely as when she first opened the door, but her being a stranger had Soshiro’s guard up. She smiled and tilted her head, a lock of hair falling out of her ponytail. The artificial light in the apartment made the creases in her face deeper, made her look more weary. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I just wanted to talk to you about my son.”

Kafka’s Mama handed Soshiro one of the cups of tea with a soft, “Careful, it’s hot.” Then she crossed her hands in her lap and said, “I’d like to start out by saying thank you, for taking care of my son. I know he can be a handful.”

Soshiro took a sip to keep himself occupied. She was absolutely right that her son was a handful, but he didn’t want to badmouth Kafka in front of his mother.

“I’d been trying to teach him how to speak, but I wasn’t very successful. He couldn’t make the sounds very well.” She laughed and took a sip of tea from her own cup, “Imagine my surprise when he came home and started naming all the things in the house!”

Soshiro tilted his head, confused. As far as he knew, the kaiju had been very receptive to learning language.

“This wasn’t what I had imagined when he came home telling me he bit someone and wanted to apologise,” she stifled a giggle. “He had me write a note and tried to copy it out himself.”

“I thought ya said he couldn’t talk?”

“Oh, he really couldn’t. He had to communicate using charades.” She smiled down at her hands, “I got very good at interpretation.”

Kafka’s Mama thumbed the edge of her cup, “My point is, I’m glad Kafka found a friend like you. I hope you can continue to be good friends.”

‘Please continue to keep his secret,’ remained unspoken.

She took another sip, and Soshiro slipped a biscuit off the plate to nibble on. “I wish I could adopt him.” Her expression was wistful.

Soshiro shifted uncomfortably. That had taken a turn. Though if she wanted to adopt him… “Why don’t ya?”

“Hmm?” she finally looked up from her hands, melancholy disappearing for a moment.

“Ya can say he’s a child who went missin’ during a kaiju attack and adopt him, can’t ya? Not all of ‘em are reported.” He didn’t know much about adoption and the foster system. Even less about how children who went missing in kaiju attacks were dealt with. Still, it was worth a shot.

The woman’s eyes went wide with epiphany, and she sat back to consider it. “I hadn’t thought of that. Now that he’s human… It might be possible.”

He’s not human though.

But Soshiro didn’t bother to correct her.

She dipped her head in gratitude. The worry lines on her face seemed to soften. “Thank you, you’ve given me something to think about.”

She set her cup down. “I won’t keep you any longer. Why don’t you go join Kafka in his room?”

Soshiro, more than ready to leave the stale conversation, gladly took the out she gave him.

The familiarity of being back by Kafka’s side was a breath of fresh air, away from the stifling pensiveness of the boy’s mother. The boy’s bedroom was very… Kafka. Posters of anime characters on the wall, a TV and game console in one corner, and books strewn about. He recognised some of them as the ones he’d gifted the other boy. Kafka was settling in to human life really well.

“Here!” the other boy thrust a controller at him. “Why don’t ya give it a try?”

He took the sculpted chunk of plastic. It felt strange in his hands. He had never touched a controller in his life before then. By the end of it, he decided that he much preferred wielding a sword in real life. The virtual one was too clunky, too simple, too limiting. Still, despite all that, he had no problem kicking Kafka’s ass.

“Arghhh I lost again!” the taller boy squirmed on the ground.

Soshiro laughed and tutted, “It’s too soon for ya ta challenge me.”

“Dammit! I still won once!” Kafka yelled, grasping at straws.

Soshiro raised his injured arm, unimpressed. “I’m literally only usin’ one hand.”

Kafka deflated dramatically and lay on the floor, utterly defeated. Soshiro watched his friend’s theatrics, thoroughly amused. He couldn’t hold back the smile making its way onto his face as Kafka proceeded to sulk his way across the floor and bury himself under his bedcovers.

He’s so fun to tease.

Chapter Text

A few months after an unexpected kaiju attack in Osaka, one Hibino Sakuya adopted a son. A child who had gone missing during the attack and resurfaced when the kindly woman found him holed up near a construction site. He had no definitive records, no clear memory before the point he was found, and no one came forward to claim him. The adoption was an unremarkable event, only warranting a small mention in the local paper. Thus, Hibino Kafka came to exist.

“I get ta go ta school?” Kafka looked like Christmas had come early. He immediately whipped his head around to face Soshiro, “That means I get ta be with ya, right?!”

Soshiro placed his hand on Kafka’s head and turned it back slightly so it was in line with his shoulder. Seeing a human head rotate 180 degrees would have been something straight out of a horror movie if it hadn’t been paired with Kafka’s goofy expression. He laughed, letting go of his friend to clutch his sides, “Humans can’t see that far back!”

Kafka patted his face and neck, “So this is the max for humans?” Then he bent his neck at a 90 degree angle sideways, “How ‘bout this?”

Soshiro kicked him with no real heat, “Now yer jus’ doin’ it on purpose.”

He looked over at the school pamphlets that Kafka had brought with him. Schools his mother was planning to enroll him into once she ‘found’ and adopted him. He recognised one of them as his own. “Ya won’t be able ta join me. I’m in sixth-grade now. Yer nowhere near that level since ya never went ta school before.”

Kafka, simple-minded as always, slammed his hands down on the pamphlets, “Then I’ll just hafta study really hard until I catch up with ya!”

“Who knows when the next kaiju attack could be? It could be tomorrow, or it could be next year. Ya won’t make it,” Soshiro said.

“I can too! Just ya watch!”

Not a week later and Kafka was slinking right back to Soshiro. “Soshiroooo, why do humans need ta know so much?”

The boy was lying face down in the grass, right by Soshiro’s foot, probably inhaling dirt and waiting for the earth to swallow him whole to save him from the horror of studying. He had brought the books with him, asking Soshiro for help, but they were left on the wayside as the boy sulked.

“Told ya,” Soshiro flicked the boy’s ear.

“But I wanna be with ya…” the boy moaned into the ground.

Soshiro sighed, looking up from his own homework at Kafka’s pitiful form. He lifted the boy up by the collar of his shirt - god he was heavy. “Then get up. Ya got a lotta studyin’ ta do and yer not gonna get anythin’ done with yer eyeballs in the grass.”

Kafka sniffled and sat up completely. Soshiro scrubbed the grass off the boy’s face with his sleeve, “I know ya can do it.” That seemed to bring back the spark in his friend’s eyes. He picked up one of the science workbooks. “C’mere, I’ll teach ya.”

Kafka’s eyes watered with emotion, “I won’t let ya down, Soshiro!” He sniffled wetly, “I’ll do everythin’ I can ta stand by yer side!”

“Haha! Where did ya get that? A manga?! Haha that’s too much!”

Kobayakawa Momo loved her job as an elementary school teacher. She loved each child that came into her class, and cared for them as if they were her own. The newest of the bunch, a mid-year transfer named Hibino Kafka, was a bit of an odd duckling right from the start.

He was a child who had been displaced by a kaiju attack, and no one knew his origins, not even the boy himself. It was uncommon, but within reason. Being at the centre of a kaiju attack must have been incredibly traumatising for the child. They had informed her of his circumstances before placing him in her class. They had also warned her that the boy would be a bit older than the other kids in her class. After a quick placement test, it was clear that he was behind in his studies, but without any obvious learning disabilities.

The boy looked middle-school aged, striking up a lot of debate about whether he would be able to thrive in middle school if he was given make-up classes and accommodations during tests. Another concern would be his ability to fit in with his peers if he was obviously much older than them, should they put him in with a class he was most academically suited for. As a compromise, it was ultimately decided that he would be enrolled in the final year of elementary school.

She was prepared for Kafka to be a withdrawn child. It was a surprise when he had turned up on the first day with an open, excited expression. He greeted her with cheer, and followed her easily to the classroom - no dragging of feet or hunched shoulders.

He introduced himself to the class enthusiastically, and let the whispers and laughs roll off his back. He was sociable, with a can-do attitude and rough charm. Soon, he’d become a sort of de-facto big brother for the other kids in class, and the children were laughing with him rather than at him.

Somehow, the boy had gotten strangely attached to Hoshina Soshiro. A bright child who was friendly with his peers, but distant. Maybe it was the boy’s infectious cheer and persistence, but they became fast friends. After the first day, they could be seen doing everything together. Lunch duty, cleaning duty, and they even sat together during lunchtime and classes. Kobayakawa had chanced upon them once or twice in the library, Soshiro browsing through a novel as Kafka napped against his shoulder. She had quietly snagged the book she needed and retreated - she thought - unnoticed. Though she could have sworn she felt someone’s gaze burning holes in her back as she left.

Soshiro watched as their homeroom teacher left the library. Kafka had stirred against him briefly, nose twitching, and Soshiro had looked up to see what could have caused the disturbance. Kobayakawa-sensei had come and gone, and now that he knew she had been there, he could catch a faint hint of her perfume. He carded his fingers through the other boy’s hair. It was softer than it looked. Aside from doing homework together after school, he didn’t get much time alone with Kafka anymore.

At first, it was great. He was happy that by some quirk of fate and favour from the gods, his friend had joined his school, in his grade, in his class. On the very first day, the boy had immediately taken the empty seat next to Soshiro and began chatting. As they had agreed, they pretended to be meeting each other for the first time.

“Hibino Kafka. Nice ta meet ya!”

“Hoshina Soshiro. Good ta meet ya too.”

His classmates had started out wary of Kafka. He was clearly older than them, taller, and stronger. To the other kids, he wasn’t one of them. They would greet him when he greeted them, but for the most part they left him alone.

Tension started building during Art class on that first day. They were each tasked with making and decorating their own little paper figure. There were templates for them to follow to make cats and dogs and butterflies, scattered across their tables. As always, they had to share the tools and materials. Daichi, a fairly quiet boy, held his hand out to Kafka, making a ‘pass it here’ motion as he pointed at the blue colour pencil in Kafka’s grasp. Kafka took one look at the boy’s outstretched hand and placed his own in it.

Daichi pulled in his hand like he’d been burned. “What are ya doing?” their classmate sounded genuinely confused.

Kafka tilted his head in confusion too, “Giving ya my… hand?”

“I just want the blue,” Daichi was looking weirded out now.

“Sorry, I misunderstood ya! Here,” Kafka held the colour pencil out for the other boy.

Daichi shook his head, “That’s ok. I’ll go get another one.” The boy got up and went to a different table, his paper dog in hand. He didn’t return.

During group activities for the rest of the day, there was a clear divide. All the other tables were filled, their classmates chatting happily away and filling in their worksheets together. It was just Soshiro and Kafka to a single, large table. Soshiro wasn’t too bothered by it, he wasn’t particularly close to them anyway. He was happy as long as he had Kafka. But Kafka seemed crushed. He wasn’t slumped or visibly shrinking into himself. Still, Soshiro could tell from the subtle tension in his shoulders that he was upset. It was clear he had hoped to find many new friends once he started school. Kobayakawa-sensei tried to encourage the other kids to join them, but they all looked away, unwilling. She was a kind teacher, but she was too milquetoast to force any of the children to move.

Soshiro ruffled Kafka’s hair, breaking the boy out of his slump. “Don’t tell me ya forgot everythin’ I taught ya?”

Kafka looked offended at the idea, even as he relaxed under Soshiro’s touch, “‘Course not!”

Soshiro slid the empty worksheet over in front of Kafka, “Why don’t ya prove it?” He rested his chin in his hand, directing a challenging gaze up at the taller boy.

“I won’t let ya down, Soshiro!” Kafka bellowed.

The whole class went silent. They all turned to stare at him. Kafka slowly went red, but didn’t back down from the stares.

Then, the class started laughing. “He’s like a gorilla!” someone cackled.

“That’s not very nice! We don’t call each other names. Apologise to Hibino-kun, Takahashi-kun,” Kobayakawa-sensei scolded.

She got a snickered “Sorry,” out of the boy. Once she got the class to settle down, she turned to Kafka with a small smile, “I’m glad you’re so excited to learn, Hibino-kun, but when we’re indoors we use our soft Inside Voices, ok?”

“Yes, sensei,” Kafka mumbled, still flaming red.

The nickname ‘Gorilla’ stuck. Their classmates didn’t call him that in front of Kobayakawa-sensei, or any of the other teachers. They didn’t call Kafka that to his face either. But once in a while, Soshiro would hear it whispered as they glanced meaningfully at his friend. It only worsened a few days later when the boy suddenly stood up in the middle of class and tried to leave his seat before Soshiro could stop him. “Where are you going, Hibino-kun?” the teacher called out to him sternly.

“To the toilet,” the boy replied.

“You need to ask for permission first,” the elderly teacher tutted.

“Why?”

“It’s a matter of respect.”

Kafka turned to face her. He bowed a full ninety degrees, “I humbly request to be allowed to go to the bathroom, ma’am!”

“M-Ma’am?” the teacher looked stunned. “Forget it, just go.”

“My thanks!” Kafka trotted out of the classroom.

The moment he closed the door, the class burst into laughter.

“Haha ‘humbly request’? What era does he think he’s in?!”

“Did ya see him just try ta walk out like some delinquent?”

“I heard he’s from the boonies.”

“He really is a gorilla!”

A crease began to form on Soshiro’s brow and got deeper with each slanderous remark they tossed out about his friend.

“That’s enough. All of you, pay attention!” the teacher tapped the whiteboard with her marker.

A week later, while Soshiro was waiting for Kafka by the shoe lockers, he heard a group of students whispering about them. His family was too respected in Osaka for them to say anything too bad about him, but Kafka was fair game to them. Before, they had at least been subtle about it, but for the past week they had been throwing it around shamelessly. It was starting to grate on his nerves. Even now, with no teacher around and Kafka out of sight, they were talking behind his friend’s back and openly calling him that stupid nickname. It bothered him. It really bothered him.

“Hey.”

His voice wasn’t loud by any means, but it was firm and it travelled, tight with controlled rage. When he spoke, their chatter stopped immediately. They turned to look at him brazenly, unsuspecting.

He pinned them with a sharp predator’s gaze and they clutched their bags tight to their chests in defence. As if that flimsy piece of fabric could stop him from knocking them flat on their backs if he wanted to. Satisfaction curled in his gut as he watched them squirm.

“I hear ya call him that again, and I’ll put yer nose through yer head.”

They stared at him, unmoving. Like a herd of deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“Get lost.”

That seemed to snap them back into action. They slipped their outdoor shoes on and ran off, whispering amongst themselves again and laughing shame-facedly at getting caught.

When Kafka showed up, he took one look at his face and raised a brow, “Why do ya look so scary?”

Soshiro closed his eyes and gave him a neutral smile, “Hm? It’s nothin’.” He quickly changed the subject, “Ya joined the after-school manga appreciation club didn’t ya? C’mon, I’ll show ya where ya need ta go.” He took Kafka’s hand and dragged him off before he could press any further.

Despite their childish cruelty towards Kafka, the boy still insisted on being nice to them. Every day during cleaning duty, when they were tidying up their classrooms before leaving for after-school activities, Kafka would always be one of the first to finish. Then he would go right around helping others with theirs too.

“I’ll help ya get this side, Sato-kun!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll clear out the dirty water Inoue-chan!”

They always responded with an obligatory, “Thanks, Hibino-kun.” And Kafka always responded with a smile. They didn’t deserve that smile. Soshiro’s fist clenched around his rag.

Apparently, the teachers had started to take notice of Kafka and Soshiro’s closeness - and their unintended isolation from the rest of the class. The teachers started splitting them up into assigned groups. “So everyone can be included,” they said. Soshiro looked over to Kafka at the start of their math class. The boy was seated next to Yoshida-chan, who was sitting stiffly with her hands in her lap. Her expression was sour, like she had bitten into a lemon. When he looked over again as the class was ending, she was laughing with Kafka over something, a joyful flush to her cheeks. He was glad that their classmates were starting to accept him but- something about this made him feel uneasy. His pencil creaked in his hand.

Later during lunch, he heard Yoshida-chan telling her friends that “Hibino-kun is actually really nice.” The flush on her cheeks this time looked a little less joyful and a little more besotted than Soshiro was comfortable with. He had seen that same rosy pink on classmates who had crushes on their teachers. He looked away.

That sense of unease continued to build slowly in the back of Soshiro’s mind. Some of their classmates were starting to greet Kafka in the mornings of their own accord now. He had once gone looking for Kafka, because the boy had been taking too long emptying out the classroom wastepaper basket. Only to find him helping one of the boys in class look for their missing keychain - Takahashi-kun, the one who had started the ‘gorilla’ nickname that ended up clinging to Kafka like a bad omen. Kafka was kneeling in the dirt, nose tilted subtly to catch the boy’s scent on the item. Then he plucked the little figurine keychain up from the grass triumphantly and yelled their classmate over. “Thanks, Hibino-kun!” their classmate looked genuinely grateful. Then he rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Guess yer kinda ok. Sorry for callin’ ya a gorilla.” Soshiro left quickly before he could see the expression Kafka was making in response.

Things came to a head during an inter-class baseball game. With Kafka’s kaiju constitution, their class was breezing through their opponents easily. He made impossible catches that crushed their competition’s spirits, and batted so strongly that the other class’s pitcher looked terrified. Soshiro watched as Kafka sent another baseball flying over the school fence and out of sight. By the end, even their classmates who didn’t like him were cheering him on. “Go, Hibino-kun!” they shouted as the boy rounded the bases, kicking up chunks of dirt in his wake. That seemed to be the final piece that allowed the remaining students in their class to accept Kafka. He slotted into place as their tall and strong and weird, but really kind big brother.

Soshiro’s moment of realisation came during lunchtime, towards the end of the year. Kafka had always been a messy eater. Even after all the etiquette lessons with his mother, he still ate a little bit like a beast. Hands in everything, food all over his mouth and dropping crumbs onto the table. There was a mess around Kafka’s mouth when he was finally done with his meal - a very standard curry rice with a packet of bread and box of milk on the side. The sweet bread was still sitting unopened on the boy’s tray. Soshiro placed a hand on Kafka’s to stop the boy from reaching for the bread with his messy fingers, “Clean yerself up first before ya start on that, or you’ll make a bigger mess.”

Kafka grinned, “Sure, sure!” He reached toward his back pocket where he usually kept his handkerchief and froze. “Ah, I forgot ta bring it with me today.”

Soshiro, who had expected this, was already pulling his own out as he reassured his friend, “That’s fine.” Soshiro held his hand out. Back when Kafka was smaller and more monstrous, he had taught his kaiju friend ‘give me paw’. Even though Kafka now had a human form, Soshiro still held his hand out often for Kafka to take. Walking around a crowded area, crossing the road, or just because. His friend always knew what he wanted when he made this gesture. Kafka hesitated for only a moment, before obediently placing his wrist against Soshiro’s waiting palm. He was about to start cleaning the grease off Kafka’s fingers when Inoue-chan tapped the boy on the shoulder.

“Hibino-kun… here, ya can use mine.”

Soshiro glanced over at her. What was she doing? He was already taking care of the problem, there was no need for her to intervene and offer up her handkerchief. He looked down at the hand-sewn flower embroidery on white fabric, and the girl’s name stitched painstakingly in one corner. The curry that they had eaten for lunch had somehow ended up generously coating Kafka’s hands, and it was clear to anyone that the brown of the curry would just stain it. Her gaze was averted and there was a high flush to her cheeks. She had her hand shyly poised by her mouth.

“He doesn’t need it,” Soshiro told her shortly. It had come out rougher than he had intended. He turned back to wiping off his friend’s hand. That should have been that.

He wasn’t expecting her to burst into tears. “Uwahhhhh!” she blubbered. Suddenly, everyone was turning to look. Irritation and empathy warred in Soshiro’s chest as he stared at her. He had never made a girl cry before. What had he done in the first place to make her cry?

“I’m sorry?” he tried. She just cried harder.

Kafka reached out and patted her head with the hand Soshiro had just cleaned, “There, there, Inoue-chan. I’m really happy ya offered! But I don’t wanna dirty it. Your handkerchief’s really pretty.”

She sniffled, “Really?”

“Yeah, really! Maybe next time?”

“Ok!” she shuffled back to her seat, tears drying on her cheeks. Her friends surrounded her in an instant, comforting her after the disastrous interaction.

Kafka turned back to him and studied his face. He tilted his head in appeasement, “Sorry, Soshiro. Are ya mad?”

Was he mad? “I’m not,” Soshiro told a half-truth, keeping his eyes fixed on Kafka’s hands. He wasn’t mad at Kafka, he was mad at the girl who had tried to shove her way in, and then cried when she couldn’t get her way. “Gimme yer other hand,” he said instead. He pushed back those emotions and grounded himself with the feeling of Kafka’s smooth skin under his calloused fingertips. By the time he was done, he was able to look into Kafka’s earnest face and smile again.

That was when he realised. It was no longer just Soshiro and his unknown kaiju Kafka. Now it was Hoshina Soshiro and Hibino Kafka and everyone else. Slowly but surely, he no longer had Kafka to himself anymore.

Chapter Text

As if somehow sensing Soshiro’s growing feelings of unrest during school, Kafka started visiting him at his home. The first time he had shown up at the Hoshina property gates with some home-baked pastries in hand, Soshiro was suddenly very aware of Kafka’s inhuman nature for the first time in a long while. He led Kafka through the halls feeling as if he were doing something wrong. The boy himself, however, didn't seem to have a care in the world. He padded through the walkways with wide-eyed wonder, “Woah… how big is this place?” He poked his head in through several doors, making excited noises when he found something interesting - the practise hall, the dining room, the small room that was dedicated to their ancestors.

When they chanced upon Soshiro’s father, Kafka went up to him to greet him fearlessly. As if he wasn't a kaiju meeting a kaiju-slayer. “You’re Soshiro’s Papa!” the boy ran over to the man and bowed a full 90 degrees, “Pardon the intrusion, thanks for lettin’ me visit!” He held out the little basket of pastries. “This is for ya!”

Soshiro’s father took the basket and gave a short nod. He seemed at a loss for what to do with an overly enthusiastic child. “I will have someone prepare somethin’ ta eat.” The man turned stoically on his heel and left.

“Your dad is so cool,” Kafka declared, and Soshiro felt a swell of pride rise in him. Of course his father was cool. He was one of the strongest officers in Japan’s Defence Force.

Buoyed by his friend’s appreciation of his father, Soshiro had Kafka take his hand and he led the other boy down another corridor, “My room’s this way.” As if his friend didn’t already know. From Kafka’s cheeky grin, he was also remembering all the times he had snuck into Soshiro’s room in the first year of their friendship.

Soshiro’s room hadn’t changed much in the past few years, but it looked different in the daylight. Kafka had only ever snuck in at night, and only from the garden outside. He had never been inside the house before. The place was ginormous, with long, traditional-looking corridors that all looked the same and doors that opened to all sorts of cool rooms. There was a sword and scroll in the practise hall that he sorely wanted to go touch, but his Mama had told him that touching things without permission in someone’s house was rude. Humans had a lot of strange quirks, but that one he understood. He didn’t like other kaiju in his territory either. He shut the door and made a mental note to ask Soshiro about it later. There was also a room with weird-smelling sticks burning in a little pot. He left that one quickly because the thick scent was starting to give him a headache.

When they met Soshiro’s dad, Kafka was in awe. He was like a calm and cool samurai, straight out of a manga! He knew the man would kill him if he ever found out he was a kaiju. Soshiro told him a handful of stories about his dad - how he was a Defence Force officer, and how he could slice through anything. It didn’t bother him too much though, even if the scent of Soshiro’s unease was starting to cloy the air. As long as he stayed human shaped, he would be fine. When he told Soshiro what he thought of his dad, the scent of nervousness disappeared, replaced with pride and happiness. Soshiro was also smiling as he led him through the confusing house. That was good, he preferred it when Soshiro was happy.

Kafka settled quickly in Soshiro’s room. It carried the scent of a friend, familiar and comforting. He slid his bag off his shoulders and dropped it on the floor. Then he plopped himself right next to Soshiro’s bed, where his friend’s scent was strongest. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. The place where Soshiro kept his practise sword carried the strongest scent. But it also always smelled heavily of his friend’s blood, so Kafka preferred to stay away. The iron tang made him feel uneasy.

Soshiro seated himself next to Kafka, so close that their shoulders were pressed up against each other. Kafka leaned in closer and closed his eyes to revel in it. He would have shifted his vocal chords to purr, but the first time he had done it, his friend had told him that humans couldn’t make that kind of noise. To be with Soshiro, he had to be a good human, so he didn’t do it anymore. Sitting in the quiet like this with his friend’s scent surrounding him like a blanket, and listening to his heart beat out a steady rhythm… this was home. Thin but strong fingers ruffled his hair like a breeze, “Ya aren’t fallin’ asleep, are ya? We’ve got work ta do.”

Right. Homework. That sent him crashing back down really fast. Kafka opened his eyes and pouted. “Do we hafta?” he whined, even as he reached over to grab his workbook out of his bag.

“We only have a few hours before I hafta train,” Soshiro was pulling his homework out too. Now that the end of sixth-grade was approaching, the teachers were really piling on the worksheets and practise papers. The sheer number made Kafka want to just chew them up and be done with them. There would be no homework if it was just a pile of shredded paper. Soshiro would be upset if he did that though, so he wouldn’t.

Kafka huffed again and got started on his English homework. Language was easy enough to understand, so he would start on it first. He glanced beside him, where his friend was already tackling the science practice paper they were assigned. Soshiro was always busy these days. Since they met, he always had been, but as he was getting ready to graduate, he seemed to have even less time now. That was ok, his friend had big goals. He had to be both strong and smart to be a Defence Force Captain. Kafka didn’t have such dreams. He knew humans had all sorts of jobs, but he didn’t really know what was out there, and he wasn’t that interested either. His only goal was to stay by Soshiro’s side.

Someone came in at some point with a tray of tea and riceballs. They brought with them the smell of freshly laundered clothes. After setting the food down, they left as quietly as they came.

Kafka shoved a riceball in his mouth and moved on to his math homework. Chewing without really tasting, he took one look at it and his brain shut down. This was difficult. His pencil idled over the jumble of numbers and figures, and his mind drifted. Maybe he could join the Defence Force too. If he wanted to do that, if he wanted to stay with Soshiro, he had to be smart too. He set his shoulders with determination and began attempting the questions, a stressed sweat breaking out over his forehead.

As he slogged through the last few math questions, one hand fisted in his hair out of frustration, he felt a hand on his back, “Calm down, ya jus’ forgot ta carry the 2.”

Kafka let go of the death grip he had on his hair and looked up from his work, “Yer done already?”

“Yer not?”

Kafka slumped sideways on the table, motivation draining out of him, “Not even close.”

Soshiro checked the clock, “We’ve still got some time.” He scooted closer, leaning over to take a look at Kafka’s progress. “I’ll go through ‘em with ya.”

Things went a lot faster with Soshiro’s help. His friend was very good at explaining things in a way that Kafka could understand. It helped that every time he answered a question correctly, he got a head pat and a smile and a, “Good job, Kafka.” Kafka leaned into the touch with an answering smile of his own. His friend was so dependable and kind.

By the time late afternoon came around, they had managed to get most of Kafka's homework squared away.

Standing inside the practise hall, Kafka realised it was bigger than it had looked when he was just peeking in. He had gotten permission to sit in and watch Soshiro’s self-practise, but he had to sit still and not make too much noise. The empty practise hall was filled with the sweet fragrance of well-aged wood. It was peaceful, but uncomfortably quiet. Kafka was used to the constant buzz of people and insects and things, the general noise of nature and the city. But those sounds felt cut off the moment his friend slid the door shut. Then it was just the sound of their breathing, and Soshiro’s heartbeat. Kafka zoned in on that sound, focusing his hearing on the steady rhythm. He thought he might go crazy from the heavy no-noise otherwise.

Kafka sat in a corner and watched as his friend ran through some warmups and stretches. Most were different from the ones they usually did during physical education, but he recognised some of them. His friend was really bendy. Kafka himself couldn’t even touch his toes unless he shifted his spine around. Yet another thing he couldn't do if he wanted to be a good human. Humans couldn't rearrange their skeletons. When he was done, Soshiro went to retrieve his practise sword. This one carried the faint bite of iron-blood too.

He started out slow and controlled, going through the movements in a precise and fluid sweep. Each technique connected into the next seamlessly, like the steady flow of a river. Then, he would go through it again with that same slow precision. And again, and again. It wasn’t fast or aggressive, but it was very pretty to watch. After a few repeats, he would move on to a new set of techniques. Kafka couldn’t tell the difference between them aside from the fact that Soshiro’s blade and body moved differently in them.

After finishing the latest set, Soshiro took a step back, practise sword held steady in front of him. He let out a long, slow breath, looking like he had barely broken a sweat. The pause jolted Kafka out of his trance. “Yer done?” he asked. That was fast.

“Nah, not yet,” Soshiro swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, other hand still gripping his practise sword. “That was jus’ warmups. Ya didn't think it would only be that did ya?”

“‘Course not!” Kafka denied, cheeks burning.

Soshiro smiled and tapped him gently on the knee with his practise sword, “Yer not foolin’ anyone.”

Kafka shifted away from the offending stick, hands covering his reddened ears, “Ya don’t hafta say it!”

Soshiro laughed lightly and tapped him on the head this time, “Hide it better then, ya dummy.” He turned and walked a few more paces away from Kafka.

Kafka wanted to pout and feel huffy, but the look on Soshiro’s face when he settled into his stance snapped him out of it. The intense concentration had Kafka shivering. Then he leapt in, practise sword slicing through the air. The shockwave ruffled Kafka’s hair, even though he was sitting a good distance away. Kafka blinked in shock. Soshiro’s movements were still fluid, but now they were powerful and whip sharp. The practise sword was a blur as his friend engaged an unseen enemy with single-minded purpose, red eyes flashing. Kafka couldn’t tear his eyes away. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a violently flooding river that was ready to drag in anything that got too close and rip it to pieces. It was scary. It was so, so pretty. Soshiro ended it with a sweeping downward slash. Kafka backed up a little. His friend was all the way across the room now but he still felt like he might get hit.

The other boy was breathing heavily, sweat sliding down the side of his face. He dashed it away with his sleeve and settled back into his stance. Then he burst into motion again. This one was different than the last one, Kafka realised. He was using different techniques and blocking at different points. Each time, it was a different ‘fight’. Sometimes he could hear a frustrated click of the tongue when Soshiro overextended himself, or was slow to block, or mis-stepped. But he didn’t freeze at each mistake to mull over it mid-sequence, he simply pushed on, adapted to compensate for it, then went back over the same set of techniques only after he was done. Once to correct it, and then a few more times to drill it into his body.

Kafka lost count of how many he had watched his friend go through, but he was beginning to worry for him. The other boy was dripping in sweat, his breathing harsh, and his arms trembling. The heartbeat Kafka was grounding himself on was now beating fast like a hummingbird’s wings. Still, Soshiro dug his feet into the floor, and launched into another sequence. Even though he was clearly ragged, his swings were still powerful and precise, his footwork still graceful.

Isn’t he tired? Is he… smiling?

Kafka knew that Soshiro took his training very seriously, but he had never seen the boy train before. Seeing this, it was clear he didn’t just do it out of duty, or because he had to, or even to spite his brother.

He really loves what he does.

Kafka watched his friend swing his sword like it was his life.

He’s so cool!

Another day at school, another day of enduring the other students vying for Kafka’s attention. During class and during lunch, there would be someone trying to chat with him. Kafka, friendly as he was, never passed up the opportunity to talk with them about anything and everything. A new game Saito-kun was playing, the kitten that Suzuki-chan was feeding every day on her way home from school, he would even humour Takahashi-kun and his obsession with Super Sentai. Soshiro found himself dragging Kafka to the library more and more often during their break. He knew Kafka never minded, the other boy was always happy to take a nap.

“See ya later, Inoue-chan! Thanks for the cookies!” Kafka waved at her as Soshiro pulled him away. Then there was Inoue-chan. She was getting bolder. This was the third time she had tried wooing his friend with snacks. Thankfully, Kafka didn’t seem to think much of it. “She’s so nice, sharin’ her food with us. Here, ya wanna split it?” Kafka waved the pink bag at Soshiro. There were obnoxious little red hearts all over it. Soshiro couldn’t help but smile a little, his friend was so oblivious. Or maybe no one had taught him what crushes were? He wasn’t above eating someone else’s feelings when they were trying to steal his friend away. Besides, how was Soshiro supposed to deny his friend something that clearly made him happy?

“Sure. Why don’t ya open it up?”

Kafka grinned and held out a sugar-covered cookie. Feeling puckish, Soshiro leaned in and ate the cookie right out of Kafka’s fingers. “Too sweet,” he commented, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

“Wh-why did ya do that? Ya scared me!” Kafka held his chest like a shocked maiden. He looked so distressed, Soshiro couldn’t help but laugh.

“Haha that scared ya? What kinda kai- person are ya?!”

Kafka crossed his arms, “If ya keep teasin’ me, I’ll jus’ finish all the cookies myself!”

“Haha! Sorry, sorry,” he was still laughing, but Kafka seemed to have accepted the apology. He held out another cookie to Soshiro.

Soshiro took it with his fingers this time, and they shared the little packet of sweet treats all the way to the library.

Soshiro waited for Kafka to finish helping the other students with their cleaning duties. Kafka had no club activities that day so they were heading home together after they were done cleaning the classroom. It was fortunate that they both took the same train line from school to home. Kafka returned, and Soshiro helped him pack away the cleaning supplies. Shutting the door to the supply closet, he held his hand out, “Let’s go.”

Kafka grinned and reached out to take it, but stopped when one of the boys in class slung an arm around his neck. “Hey, Hibino-kun! We’re gonna go play some basketball. Come join us!” He leered at Kafka, “Inoue-chan is gonna be there too.”

Kafka smiled apologetically, “Sorry, I can’t! I’m walkin’ home with Soshiro today.”

Their classmate tsked, “What is he a girl? He doesn’t need ya ta walk home with him. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Kafka looked over at Soshiro as if to silently ask for permission. Those begging puppy dog eyes told him Kafka really wanted to go. Soshiro didn’t want him to. They always headed home together when Kafka had no afterschool activities. Always. This would be the first time since Kafka enrolled that he would be walking back alone, when they could have gone together. He hoped it didn’t become a common occurrence. He gave Kafka a nod, “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Kafka lit up, “Yeah, see ya!”

Soshiro’s chest constricted. He couldn’t say no to Kafka’s pleading eyes. He was glad that it made his friend happy, but it didn’t sit right with him. He gathered his things and headed to the shoe lockers to switch to his outdoor shoes.

Nothing was particularly different about the walk back but it felt… greyer somehow. More boring, without someone to talk to. Suddenly, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his pocket and unlocked it to find a kaiju alert blaring.

That’s kinda close. I’d better hurry.

Soshiro gripped his bag straps and picked up the pace. The area he was in wouldn’t need to be evacuated, but it was still close enough that he would need to seek immediate shelter. Kafka and the other students would be fine. The school itself had a mandated kaiju shelter built under it if worse came to worst. He was already too far away to head back. Short of breaking into someone’s home, the closest safe location would be the train station.

He hurried down the empty streets and was about to run past the park just outside the station when he spotted a flash of yellow. He stopped and looked over. There was a child, probably a first-grader, half hidden behind a bush. Their little yellow hat was peeking out above it slightly. They were ducked down in the grass, combing through it as if they were looking for something. “Hey!” he yelled. The child poked their head up. It was a girl. He ran over, “Didn’t ya hear the alert?!” There was no way she hadn’t. The speakers mounted on a nearby lamppost were blasting the same carefully calm recording on repeat.

“I did,” the girl stayed kneeling in the grass. “But I had ta-“

He cut her off, “Ya can come back an’ look for it later, ‘kay? We gotta go.” He held his hand out to her. She hesitated. “I’ll help ya look once everything’s over,” he assured her. Finally, she took his hand and started to stand.

There was a flash of something red and he shoved her away from it on instinct. Something long slammed into the ground next to him, cracking the concrete. The girl screamed and started to cry. Soshiro’s eyes darted to the source, and caught the long protrusion snapping back into a wide mouth. There was a large frog-like yoju only a couple of metres from them. It must have managed to slip past the perimeter the Defence Force had set up. The kaiju’s body bloated menacingly, spines on its back bristling. Its tongue shot out again and Soshiro tackled the girl to the ground. He felt it pass over his head before it slammed into the concrete again. He shuddered. If that thing had hit him, he would have died.

He was on his feet in less than a second, trying to drag the girl with him, but she was paralysed. “Snap outta it! We gotta run!” She shook her head, whimpering.

Soshiro glanced back at the yoju, eyes widening when its leg muscles began to bunch.

Is it gonna-

He picked the girl up and ran as fast as he could toward the station, feet pounding the pavement. The girl was screaming again, her dangling legs hitting him awkwardly in the shins. His ear hurt from her piercing shrieks. Something large crashed into the ground behind him so hard that the pavement split under his feet. The shockwave sent him sprawling. He had just enough presence of mind to turn mid-fall so he wouldn’t crush the child. His back collided painfully with the pavement. He looked up to see the station entrance a stone’s throw away. So close and yet so far.

The commotion had drawn a few people out from the underground station. Other civilians who were also taking refuge. They hovered around the entrance, afraid to get any closer. There wasn’t a Defence Force officer in sight. Even if they wanted to help, the moment they stepped out, there would just be three dead civilians instead of two. All they could do was watch helplessly as two children tried to struggle their way to the shelter.

Soshiro coughed and stood. Pain shot up his spine as he pulled the girl to her feet again. The entrance to the station was too small for the yoju to get through. He just had to get them there. They would be safe if they could just… get there. “Ya can do this, we’re almost there!” He didn’t know if he was talking to her or himself. She seemed to have found her legs and he was only half dragging her now. Still, she was beginning to feel like a lead weight in his arms. He glanced back at the yoju again. He couldn’t afford to take his eyes off it for too long. It was already climbing out of the small crater it had punched into the ground with its bodyslam attack.

The kaiju croaked and its chest began to balloon. The spines on its back rustled like hundreds of dried lizard skins. They were only a few steps away-

Soshiro shoved the girl again, right onto the steps of the station. The tongue slammed into the ground, breaking off a chunk of the stairs. One of the more daring civilians ran down and grabbed the girl while the yoju was occupied. The man glanced across the thick, pink tongue at Soshiro. His apologetic expression said it all. He couldn’t reach across, right into the path of the yoju’s dangerous appendage, to try and grab Soshiro. The boy looked down to see the man's legs shaking like a leaf in the wind. He was scared too. The man ran back into the station with the girl in his arms, leaving Soshiro to run up the steps himself.

Now I just hafta… why does my arm hurt?

Soshiro reached down to touch his forearm, and pain lanced through it. It was bad. It was very bad. Just that gentle pressure felt like a cattle prod against his skin. He looked down and clapped a hand against his mouth, fighting back the rising bile in his throat. The white of his bone was stabbing out of his flesh. The yoju must have clipped him with its tongue.

That distraction was enough for the yoju to make its move. The civilians near the entrance of the station screamed and scrambled back inside. Another thunderous crash, and it was blocking the entrance with its wide body. It croaked almost mockingly.

Soshiro felt his heart drop to his feet. The energy drained out of him. He was battered, and tired, and the very thing he was running from was currently sitting in front of his only chance at survival.

If Kafka were here…

He caught himself before he could finish the thought. Kafka wasn’t here. And he wasn’t dead yet.

Can’t stop. Have to keep moving.

He had to keep trying. He wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

He had passed by an abandoned building on the way to the station. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than dying. He turned and started running, away from the station. He kept his eyes forward, scanning for obstacles, but occasionally glancing back. The yoju had already climbed out of its crater. Its tongue lashed out again and Soshiro darted to the side. He grit his teeth as he felt the vibrations of the attack travel beneath his feet.

There!

He could see it in the distance as he dashed across the empty road. Sitting along the street, wedged between two darkened storefronts. It had no gate or door. Those had long been removed when they had rotted through.

He dodged another bodyslam, catching himself with a hand on the ground when the shockwave threatened to bowl him over. His lungs were burning. His own harsh pants were all he could hear. His arm felt like it was on fire. But he was so- so close!

He glanced back and pivoted on a dime, barely missing the tongue that came whipping out at him.

Five metres.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One!

Soshiro slid into the house just as the yoju came crashing down right outside. It climbed out of the crater that it had broken into the ground and slammed its face against the hole in the wall. Its bulbous eye swivelled, scanning the room. Soshiro scrambled behind a desk, curling up to make himself smaller, more unnoticeable. The building shook to its foundations under the yoju’s assault. It croaked and smashed its face against the wall again. Croak, smash. Croak, smash. Croak, smash. Soshiro shifted himself slowly underneath the desk. The building might come down at this rate.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. It couldn’t get to him and lost interest. Soshiro heard it plod away slowly, each hefty step getting softer and softer. He sat in the silence for a long moment, trembling with adrenaline and relief. He had done it. He had survived. He put his head between his legs and let out a long, shaky breath to calm himself.

All he had to do was wait until the notification came that all kaiju were neutralised, and then he could leave. Get himself to a hospital. Get treated, and go home. He needed to check his phone. He patted his pocket with his good hand, only to find it empty. He must have dropped it when he was running away. He leaned against the underside of the desk with a sigh. Osaka’s divisions didn’t usually take more than a few hours to deal with a kaiju attack of this scale, maybe one or two. By night time it should be safe to head out.

The adrenaline was already leaving him and his arm was a fiery, painful mass. Like a thousand angry hornets were crawling under his skin. It was also starting to swell. He couldn’t move it. He focused on his breathing, trying to keep his thoughts away from his broken arm. Everything was going fine until he heard an ominous crack.

Oh shit.

Everything was a blur as the building crashed down around him.

When he came to, he could barely breathe. There was plaster dust hanging thick in the air. He tried to get up, but something was pinning him down. His head hurt, and he could barely see straight. But he was alive. That was good… right?

There was something… something on top of him. Soshiro reached up with one hand. His good arm. Thank goodness it wasn’t pinned like the rest of him. He tried to shove that something off. He felt it move, and a grinding, crumbling sound assaulted his ears. And then it stopped. No matter how hard he strained he couldn’t get it to move any further.

He let go, and felt the breath punched out of him. Whatever it was- it was crushing him. In his confusion, he had just made things worse. He screamed in frustration and pounded his fist against the rubble on top of him. He couldn’t. Just. Give. Up!

Soshiro’s breaths were coming short and shallow now. It wasn’t just the panic setting in. If he exhaled too deeply the weight on top of him just collapsed onto him further.

There’s nothing… there’s nothing I can do…

Even worse.

No one knows I’m here…

His body broken, the weight of a house bearing down on him and slowly crushing the life out of his lungs… he finally allowed himself to cry.

Chapter Text

He felt them before the kaiju alarm even went off. There were a group of kaiju in his territory. A honju and some yoju.

Beneath his human skin, he could feel his armoured plates bristling in response. He wanted them out. Soshiro wasn’t safe with them here. Too close. He clenched his fists and felt his claws digging into his skin. A basketball to the head knocked him back to his senses. His claws melted away into normal human fingers. No, if he got into a turf war now, the Defence Force would think he was a threat and kill him. He didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to make Soshiro sad.

Human shape. Human shape.

He abandoned the basketball game, ignoring his friends’ confused calls for him to come back to the court. He dug through his bag for his phone and shot off a quick text to Soshiro.

‘There’s going to be a kaiju attack. Are you safe?’

He waited a few moments, staring at the screen and anxiously waiting for Soshiro’s reply. There was nothing. When the alarms inevitably went off, he threw his phone back in his bag and filed out of the gymnasium with the other boys from his class. The teachers led them all into the kaiju shelter and shut the doors. He reached out his senses and felt that the kaiju were worryingly close. No wonder they were all hunkering down here.

The minutes ticked on with no news. Kafka continued to check his phone.

Something was wrong.

When he wasn’t doing homework or training, his friend usually responded within minutes. His message had gone unread for half an hour. He was sure Soshiro would have already safely gotten to the train station. Unless…

Did something happen?

He closed his eyes and focused his hearing, but there were tons of packed earth between the kaiju shelter and street level. He couldn’t hear anything but the fluttering heartbeats of the humans stuck in the shelter with him, and their breathing. It was so noisy. Messy. Unpleasant. He couldn’t find the one he needed to hear. There was nothing grounding him against the tidal wave of human emotion crashing down on him. The acrid scent of fear was stinking up the tiny space.

He felt his fangs lengthening and cupped a hand over his mouth to hide them. He had to get out. He was right next to the door. He had to go find Soshiro. He ripped the door open with one hand, and heard the hinges creak from the strain. It had taken a full grown adult to open and shut the heavy doors but it felt light as a feather to him.

“Hibino-kun! What are you doing?! Sit down!” Kobayakawa-sensei tried to hurry over to him, anxiety sloughing off her like mud. She was slow to reach him. She had to keep sidestepping the sea of other children huddled together.

He shut the door in her shocked face. In his haste, he lost control of his strength. The shelter shook from the force as the door slammed shut. He told himself that as long as it didn’t come down, everything was fine. Humans were good at building things. The shelter was sturdy and wouldn’t buckle under something so trivial.

Kafka ran down the corridor and took the stairs up two at a time. He emerged into a completely empty school building. The air was clear of distracting human scents, and everything was eerily calm. Unease rising, he ran out of the building and into the courtyard. He launched himself over the tall school gate easily, kicking off the top to propel himself even further. The claws on his feet scraped the metal with a screech. He hit the ground running, heading towards the station.

Kafka lifted his nose and scented the air.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing-

Soshiro!

He finally caught his friend’s scent. It was faint, with a hint of worry, but nothing too concerning yet. He followed it all the way to the park and was hit with a wall of fear-unsafe-desperate. His tail lashed angrily, gouging a deep scar into the already cracked pavement. Something had definitely happened to his friend. It looked like there had been a struggle. The entire way to the station, the concrete pathway had been cratered in places. Some big, some small.

The wind shifted and he caught something else. His pupils narrowed into slits.

Blood. Soshiro’s blood.

Where-

Kafka’s control was paper thin by this point. He looked monstrous. Eyes glowing bright with rage, claws and fangs bared, tail high and alert. His usually rounded dorsal plates had burst out of his back knife-sharp from agitation.

He tracked the scent to a frog yoju. It was ambling along past a row of shops, not far from the station.

The familiar iron tang that he hated clung to the yoju like a scarlet letter.

This yoju touched his human. This yoju hurt his human.

Kafka's mind blanked.

He lunged at it, crushing the yoju with his weight. All he could smell was that horrible- sharp- metallic- Soshiro’s blood. It coated his throat.

He would tear out its throat.

Kafka sank his teeth into the ugly thing's bloated neck and jerked his head aside viciously. He felt its flesh rip and blood spatter flecked his face. He dug into it with his teeth and foreclaws, ripping and tearing without mercy like the monster he was born to be. The yoju struggled and kicked weakly, trying to break away from his death hold. One web-footed leg flopped against the ground, trying to gain some traction. The other had been torn off and tossed aside somewhere.

He wanted it in shreds. He wanted to leave nothing behind but a bloody smear. Until the scent of dead kaiju overpowered the scent of hurt friend. Kafka jammed his hind claw into its soft underbelly, trapping it even more thoroughly. He slashed his claws up the rubbery skin, filling him with savage excitement when its organs burst out and scattered across the floor with sick, wet plops.

There was no escape for it now.

When he regained his senses, he was covered in the other kaiju's blood and viscera, its core crushed and crumbling between his teeth. He shook the gore off of him like a dog, and it splattered across the pavement.

I have to find him. He's still alive, he's gotta be! Soshiro is strong!

Kafka hurriedly forced his form back into a more humanoid one and ran through the streets barefoot, chasing the scent of hurt. He was close, he was sure of it.

Soshiro was drifting.

He didn't know how long he had been trapped there, controlling his breathing in the vain hope that someone might find him. Might find him before he ran out of strength and was inevitably crushed to death. He had long ago stopped being able to feel the burn in his lungs. His head felt light and fuzzy from lack of oxygen. It was the dead of winter and his bones were gnawed hollow by the cold. He idly wondered how long he had before his brain started to die. Even if he got out alive, would he still have enough left of himself?

“Soshiro!”

Ah, I'm hallucinating again.

It sounded like Kafka.

He had imagined hearing the other boy's voice 50 breaths ago.

He thought he heard his father 40 breaths ago.

His brother 10 breaths ago.

That last one he knew for sure he was hallucinating. His brother would sooner sell him to the Meireki Era daikaiju for one senbei. The asshole didn’t even like senbei. Hysteria rose in his chest, but he didn't have the strength, or the oxygen, to laugh.

Then, the weight was lifted off of him. He could see sunlight. He didn't dare breathe in deep. What if his hallucinations had worsened? He had to… stay alive…

Strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him up. He was settled against a sturdy chest. “Soshiro!” Something- someone took his hand. It was so nice and warm. He shifted closer.

“Open yer eyes! Soshiro!”

They sounded so scared. Open his eyes? Weren't they already open? They must have slid closed again at some point. He didn't want to. He was… so… tired…

Soshiro forced his eyelids open slowly, trying to focus them. It took a few tries. Kafka's face was hovering right over him, tears and snot streaming down his face with abandon. His expression was pained, nose scrunched and sniffling. There was a hitch in his throat that meant the boy was holding back a full blown wailing cry. His fangs were poking out past his quivering lips and his misty teal eyes were bright as headlamps as he sobbed. Strangely enough, the sight of those inhuman features only seemed to put Soshiro at ease.

“You're ok, you're ok, I’ve got ya,” the boy pulled him in even closer, rocking him gently with his body. “You’re ok.”

He… was? Soshiro took in an experimental breath. For the first time in what felt like hours, he could fill his lungs. He could exhale fully. There was no crushing weight. His eyes welled with emotion, with painful and wholehearted relief, but he was too tired to cry. He let his head drop against Kafka's shoulder. He was safe. Kafka was here. He could… finally… rest.

“Yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm ok.”

Then he passed out from exhaustion.

Kafka cradled Soshiro's limp body to his chest, trying to warm him with his body heat. His friend felt like ice in his arms and he was so terrifyingly still. The only thing keeping him calm was his friend’s raspy, laboured breathing and gently thudding heart. He brought Soshiro’s uninjured wrist against his wet cheek. He needed to feel the soft pulses under the boy's skin and reassure himself that his friend was alive.

A bitter self-loathing ate away at him like acid. Seeping into the cracks of his doubts when he had taken up their classmates’ offer to stay behind and play.

This is all my fault.

I shouldn't have left him. I promised I’d stand by his side, but I left him and he almost died.

He felt lost. He felt like a bad friend. He shook his head to clear those thoughts away. Kafka's self-pity wasn't what Soshiro needed right now. He punched himself in the cheek to snap himself out of it. His friend needed help.

What would- What would Soshiro do?

Kafka reached into his pocket. He had to call 119 and ask for an ambulance. His heart plummeted when he slid his hand in and it was empty. The memory of him dropping his phone back in his bag hit him with the force of a gunshot. The bag was still stuck in the shelter, he hadn’t taken it with him. He hadn’t thought to grab it when the only coherent thing running through his mind had been that he needed to find Soshiro. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it too much. Any later and his friend might have run out of strength and gotten crushed.

But what now?

If he couldn’t solve this Soshiro’s way, he would solve this Kafka’s way. He took his shirt off and sliced it into strips with his claws. Pulling wooden pieces from the rubble, he started to splint Soshiro’s arm to keep it in place. The sight of white bone and burbling blood streaked with dust had him crying noisily again. His own sniffs and hiccups were the loudest sounds in the remains of the destroyed building. He told himself it was ok to cry, there was no one around to see him so weak.

As he secured the splint, his friend shifted with discomfort, even in his unconsciousness. Kafka instinctively rumbled deep in his chest to soothe his friend, resting his cheek against the boy’s plaster-coated hair. The usually deep purple was now a sickly pale lavender. Soshiro settled again.

When he was done, he placed the splinted arm against Soshiro’s chest, and gently lifted him in a bridal carry. This way, his friend’s arm could stay still, like the books had said. A fireman carry or piggyback would just leave his arm to dangle and Kafka wasn’t sure if that would hurt his friend even more. Soshiro needed both his arms to wield his sword. And join the Defence Force. And become a Captain. He would make sure he never did anything to jeopardise that. Never.

Kafka stood and slid down the rubble, careful not to jostle Soshiro. Once he was on solid ground, he took off running, trying to keep the boy in his arms as still as possible. There was a hospital nearby. He knew the general direction, but not the exact location. He didn’t need to. As long as he could get close enough, the strong odour of disinfectant and injured humans would show him the way.

Hang in there just a little longer! Please… please don’t die!

The hospital was swamped.

Nurse Hinako let out a beleaguered sigh. She was too old for this, truly. She felt all 49 years of her age. The newbie doctor had had the gall to be surprised when casualties started rolling in after he said the taboo ‘Q’ word. He was one of those baby doctors that came in with swagger and an inflated sense of superiority. Not all of them were like that, some were absolute sweethearts, but it was difficult working with the ones who were. On the day that the twit could put in an IV without making a pincushion out of their patient, only then would she maybe consider hearing his ‘listen here, you’ rants. Until then, she had more important things to attend to - like her patients.

She was walking swiftly through the lobby when the doors opened and someone came through shouting. The person sounded young, like a child. What could he want?

“Please help! A building fell on my friend!”

Ok, that sounded bad. They must have been caught up in the kaiju attack as well. She turned and headed over. If she thought the situation had sounded bad, seeing the state they were in was worse. Nothing she hadn’t seen before, but when these things involved children, it tugged at her heartstrings a little more. It didn’t help that the boy carrying his friend looked a lot like her own son when he was that age.

Their faces were chalk white from the plaster dust except for the tear tracks carving down their cheeks. There was grey and wood splinters packed under the black haired boy’s nails, probably from when he had dug his friend out. She didn’t know where they came from, but the poor boy must have carried his friend the whole way, barefoot and shirtless in the biting winter cold.

She quickly assessed that the first boy was in no immediate danger. His breathing was fine. She leaned down to take his pulse. It was a little hard to find at first, but that was fine too. His hands were warm, and his temperature wasn’t dangerously low. No visible injuries, though the thick layer of grey on his skin made it hard to tell for sure. He was clearly able to move on his own, and could follow instructions when she took his friend from his arms and told him to follow her. She draped a blanket over him and tagged him with a green band.

His friend on the other hand, was in worse shape. Laboured breathing, but his airway was clear. Compound fracture, immobilised with a makeshift splint. She would give the boy’s friend ‘A’ for effort. It wasn’t the worst attempt at a splint that she had seen. The boy might have a concussion too, if any falling chunks had hit him in the head. His temperature was low, though not dangerously so. She pressed down on the boy’s finger on one hand, then the other. His finger was slow to regain its flush on the hand of his broken arm. She opened his eyes to check pupillary response; everything was normal. The boy was unconscious, so she couldn’t assess his mental state. She tagged him with a yellow band.

“Is he gonna be ok?” the black haired boy was hovering anxiously by the side. He was fiddling with the band on his wrist, eyes fixed on his friend.

“He’s in good hands,” she reassured him. “Someone will come by in a moment to help him, ok? Until then, I need you to stay here and don’t wander around. Can you do that for me?”

The boy nodded. Then he asked, “I need ta call our parents, but I lost my phone. Is there a phone I can use?” He looked so small and helpless, but he was putting on a brave face.

She unlocked her phone, opened the dialpad, and handed it to him, “Here, you can use mine.”

He thanked her quietly and called someone. A man picked up. “Soshiro’s Papa? Soshiro is-“ the boy sniffed deeply, “We’re at the hospital. He’s been hurt.” The person on the other end sounded calm. The boy looked to her, “Which hospital is this?” She told him. He relayed it over the phone. He made a few noises of acknowledgement before hanging up.

Then he called someone else, a woman this time. “Mama?” The voice on the other end was frantic. “I’m ok, really! I’m at the hospital.” He paused, “No, I’m not hurt.” Another pause, “Ya don’t hafta. Soshiro’s Papa is coming. He said he’d send me home after.” He made a few more noises of acknowledgement, “Love ya too, Mama. Bye!” He hung up again.

He handed Hinako the phone back and bowed deeply, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she smiled at him. What a sweet kid. Then she left the room to return to her duties.

When Soshiro woke again, it was to a white ceiling and the sharp smell of disinfectant. He was in a hospital. He tried to move his arm but couldn’t, and felt a jolt of irrational panic surge through him. For a split second he thought he might still be back there. Trapped. He took a deep breath to calm himself and tried again. He could move it, it was just heavier than expected because of the cast.

Soshiro shifted his other arm to brace himself and sit up, and his hand bumped against something soft. He turned and looked down to see a head of black hair, still lightly dusted with plaster. There were also a few larger chunks peeking out among the coating of white.

He hadn’t imagined it. Kafka really had gone looking for him. His friend had pulled him from the collapsed building and saved him. An unknown emotion bloomed in his chest - a sweet softness that left him feeling fluffy and a little choked. He thought it might be gratitude. This was the first time someone had gone out of their way for him.

Kafka was clearly asleep. There was a gentle rise and fall to his body, his eyes closed and his usually animated features relaxed. The boy was also drooling, he noted with fond amusement. Without thinking, Soshiro reached out and began combing the debris out of Kafka’s hair with his fingers. His movements were uncharacteristically jerky. After everything that had happened, he was still a little uncoordinated.

“You’ve found a good friend.”

He paused in his ministrations, and turned to see his father sitting in a chair by the window. It was dark outside. He must have been unconscious for some time. His father’s expression was calm and unchanged as always, but the lines on his face revealed his worry.

“He refused ta leave until ya woke up.”

His father looked down and Soshiro followed the man’s gaze to his own hand. His fingers were still tangled in Kafka’s hair. He made no move to let go, and instead continued to run them through the soft black strands. Kafka shifted in his sleep and tilted his head to nuzzle the hand petting him. A smile made its way onto Soshiro’s face. Kafka had always been a cuddly creature. “Yeah, he’s great,” Soshiro agreed easily, not taking his eyes off his sleeping friend.

He considered the boy napping against his hospital bed. Kafka had risked exposure and death for him. There was no way he could have pulled Soshiro out of that mess otherwise, not without the strength of a kaiju. If even one Defence Force officer had chanced upon him partially transformed, that would have been the end of him. Loyal, kind, earnest Kafka… what was this boy to him? He hummed, trying to find the right words.

“He’s my best friend.”

Chapter Text

Platoon Leader Hoshina resisted the urge to sigh as he flipped through the reports that were handed to him. For all intents and purposes, aside from the one yoju slipping through their defences, the neutralisation had gone off without a hitch. Despite the relatively low casualty rate and the successful neutralisation, the fact that the yoju had ended up so close to his son’s school had him on edge. It had been a few days since the incident, and he was seated in his office, watching the drone footage. He crossed his arms and gripped his sleeves so tight they began to creak. During the battle, he had heard over the headset that there were two civilian children in danger. He hadn’t known at the time that one of them was his son.

He kept his expression strictly neutral as he watched the yoju break his son’s arm. He was a man of poise and tight control, in everything including family. Besides, there was nothing he could do to quell his need for revenge. The yoju that hurt his youngest was already dead.

The drone had followed the yoju when it left, so it hadn’t caught the building’s collapse. Once again, he was grateful for Kafka. As he had heard it, the boy had sensed something was wrong and gone looking for his son instead of hiding in the kaiju shelter with the rest of his peers. It was only due to that boy’s reckless efforts that his son was still alive.

The drone followed the yoju all the way to the shopping district, keeping several metres back and out of sight. Suddenly, something large and dark collided with the drone and the footage cut off abruptly. The drone was located afterwards to retrieve the footage. It was barely more than scrap when it was brought back to the base. What could have hit it?

Then there was another thing. He flipped through the recorded readings taken during the neutralisation effort. At some point, a Fortitude 7.8 had shown up. The entire division had suffered a collective heart attack. That was far higher than the honju they were engaging. It was just shy of daikaiju status, and they were in no way prepared for it. The signal had appeared out of nowhere, right where the yoju was.

When it had happened, Hoshina had been en-route with a small squad to engage the yoju that had slipped away. He made the call to turn them back around. He didn’t foresee them neutralising a kaiju of that fortitude without backup, and he refused to throw his squad’s lives away in vain by engaging a Fortitude 7.8 with just the handful of them. It would be no better than suicide. They had begun heading back to regroup when the operations room reported that both signals had disappeared. “We’ve lost visual! Please confirm!” Hoshina had turned his squad around yet again and headed for the shopping district.

When they arrived on the scene, the yoju was already dead, and the Fortitude 7.8 was nowhere to be found. He confirmed for the operations room that everything was clear. There was no way a kaiju - especially one with that high of a fortitude level - had simply vanished into thin air, so they had chalked it up to an error in the readings.

Hoshina wasn’t so sure. Nothing added up.

The dead kaiju didn’t look like the work of a human, and there were no Defence Force officers on site before his squad had arrived. There were claw marks in the pavement, but it was impossible for a frog yoju with no claws to have made those marks. There were so many inconsistencies, but no answers to be found - no matter how hard the higher-ups hounded them.

Hoshina set the reports back on his desk and exhaled through his nose. It was going to be a long day.

It didn’t take long for Soshiro to be discharged from the hospital. His arm was still in a cast and his ribs were still bruised, but he was glad to finally get away from the stifling clean coldness of the hospital ward. The highlight of his days spent in hospital under observation were Kafka’s visits. He came running in every day, throwing the door open with a bright grin and a delighted, “Soshiro!”

Kafka would launch himself onto the bed and squeeze in against Soshiro, entire side pressing up against him as they both tried to share space on the single-person bed. Being near Kafka always felt like sitting by a cosy hearth, which Soshiro appreciated. Unlike Kafka, his body ran cold, and the chilly hospital room didn’t help in the slightest. If Soshiro leaned into Kafka more than he had to, soaking up his literal and metaphorical warmth, no one but him would ever know. If he secretly enjoyed the way Kafka would exclaim about his ice-cold hands and held them until they warmed up… no one would ever know about that either.

Kafka had always been affectionate, but during Soshiro’s hospital stay, he had been downright clingy. He would spend his entire day there with Soshiro, following him everywhere he went like a puppy. Even to the bathroom. The adjoining toilet in his hospital room was large with plenty of grips for people in need of extra support, and multiple emergency call buttons. That didn’t stop Kafka from trying to walk in with him.

“Ya can’t come in with me!” Soshiro laughed, one hand on Kafka’s face and gently shoving him out.

“But what if ya fall?” Kafka peeked down at him pitifully from between the fingers pressed up against his nose and cheeks. His eyes were wide with concern.

“I hurt my arm, not my legs!”

“It’s still dangerous!”

“Haha! Ain’t this a violation of privacy?!”

“I’ll turn around! Ya won’t even know I’m there!”

Soshiro sighed, but his lips were quirked as he fought to suppress a smile. “Ya can come in only if ya hear me fall.”

“Ok!”

Soshiro suppressed another laugh as he closed the door to the cubicle. Why did Kafka sound so happy about it? His friend was hilariously absurd.

Each day, Kafka would stay with him all the way until night fell, only leaving when Soshiro’s father arrived to check in on him. He would grab his bag and bow, “Good evening, Soshiro’s Papa!” The stoic man would give him a slight nod in return. Then, Kafka would throw him a grin over his shoulder, “Night, Soshiro! I’ll see ya tomorrow!”, before running off.

Even as he was being discharged, Kafka was right by his side. He helped Soshiro pack his things as his father sorted out his discharge documents. When they were done cramming everything inside the duffel bag his father brought, he held his hand out for Kafka purely from habit and smiled, “Let’s go.”

To his shock, his friend’s eyes began welling with tears. He was about to pull his hand back when Kafka reached out and caught it, beaming like he had just been gifted the moon and the stars. “Let’s go!”

He was trapped. There was a slab of concrete on his chest, crushing him. Slow, painful, torturous. His breathing was quick and shallow, and he felt the panic rising in him. It was blocking out all of his thoughts.

Not again…!

He brought a hand up instinctively to shove it off, then dropped it. No, he might make things worse, just like he did before. Where was he? How had he ended up here? Why was this thing on top of him?

Something dry and scaly wrapped around his arm. It was so out of place - and felt so real - that he jerked awake. He lay on his back, taking deep, gulping breaths. He was in his bedroom, safe, and there wasn’t a building on top of him. It was just a nightmare.

As he calmed, he began to notice that the sensation of something winding around his arm was still there - and very real. He yanked his arm away and saw a dark, armoured tail flop to the floor. The grey plating and teal markings were awfully familiar, and he traced the appendage back to its owner. The tension left him with a sigh. Kafka was sitting at the edge of his bed, limned with the soft silver glow of the moonlight. His friend was in mostly human form, his back to him and his tail already rising to wrap gently around Soshiro’s arm again.

“What are ya doin’?” Soshiro sat up. Kafka couldn’t be there, he had no good explanation if someone walked in and found the boy in his room. Besides, this was unusual, even for Kafka. His friend had stopped sneaking into his room years ago - it was too risky.

Kafka turned to look at him with a smile but the crease between his brows made it seem… not quite right, “Don’t worry, I won’t get caught.”

“That’s not it.” Well, not entirely it. “Why are ya here?”

Soshiro bunched up his covers and scooted aside so Kafka could shift in a little closer. Kafka’s tail stayed twined around his arm as he moved, like a chunky bracelet.

Kafka didn’t take the invitation, remaining perched on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand on Soshiro’s, pressing it further into the mattress, clawed thumb curling to rest on the pulse of his wrist. Kafka held his gaze with an almost uncomfortable intensity as he admitted, “Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinkin’ about ya gettin’ hurt.”

Soshiro lifted his unhindered arm and patted Kafka’s hair. The cast bumped awkwardly against the boy’s head, “I’m fine, I’m still alive.” He gave his friend a reassuring smile.

Kafka smiled back and redirected Soshiro’s injured arm to his own chest. The heartbeat Soshiro could feel beneath his fingers was slow, and Soshiro knew it was simulated for his benefit. Kafka didn’t have a heart in his chest, only a core. “I know, I just wanted ta be sure.”

Kafka let go of both hands and nudged Soshiro backwards until he was lying down again. He pulled the thick covers up over Soshiro and gave it a little pat. A lopsided grin adorned his face as he echoed back words from a year ago, “Go back ta bed. Humans need sleep, yeah?”

Kafka turned back around to continue staring out the window. His tail was still wound loosely around Soshiro’s good arm. “Don’t ya worry, I’ll head home before anyone notices.”

He reached down to card his fingers through Soshiro’s hair, just like Soshiro had done for him many times. This was a first. He could understand why Kafka liked it so much - it was nice. After that, it wasn’t difficult to fall asleep. His dreams were pleasant for the rest of the night.

Kafka’s little midnight visits began happening more frequently. Not always, but more often than not, Soshiro would wake from his recurring nightmares to a thick tail curled comfortingly around his arm, or leg, or waist, his friend sitting at the edge of his bed in the dark like a sentinel. He would tuck Soshiro in, fingers running through his hair, and tell him softly, “‘M here, go back ta sleep.” Soshiro always slept better after that.

At school, Kafka was just as vibrant as always, like the sleepless nights he spent keeping vigil by Soshiro’s bedside didn’t affect him. As a kaiju, he didn’t need much sleep, if he even needed any at all, and Soshiro felt a twinge of envy as he stifled a yawn and battled fatigue all the way through his classes. After startling out of the same nightmare night after night, it was starting to take a toll on him. Even with Kafka helping to calm the worst of it, he still felt the strain.

During school, Kafka had become a lot more attentive. His first day back, his friend had knelt down and tried to help him remove his outdoor shoes and stow them away for him. Soshiro had ruffled his hair but warded him off, reminding him half-jokingly, “It’s not like I can’t do these things myself, ya know?”

Kafka had directed a soft, apprehensive look up at him from where he was crouched by his feet, but respected his wishes. Though he still gave Soshiro a sad puppy stare that made it obvious he wanted to jump in and help. It was a bit of a struggle to remove and keep his shoes with a cast around one arm, but he didn’t want to feel like an invalid.

After classes, Kafka refused to let him walk to the station alone. Even when he had afterschool activities, he would take Soshiro’s hand and say, “We’re jus’ readin’ manga, I can head over anytime! I gotta make sure yer safe first!” Soshiro was more than happy to indulge his friend. The first few times, when they walked by the park on the newly restored pavement, Kafka’s grip would tighten slightly. Soshiro would squeeze back reassuringly, and his friend’s tense hold would ease.

A week after his return to school, they had home economics. Kafka immediately zipped over to pair up with Soshiro, and spent the entire lesson making sure he didn’t exert himself too much. It was a little funny that his friend was being such a mother-hen. The other boy was fully aware he still spent his mornings and evenings practising swordplay and martial arts until he was drenched in sweat. The most that he did during the whole muffin-making class was mix the dry ingredients together in a bowl. Kafka took care of everything else. Combining the batter, portioning, baking, and clean-up. That was just as well, Soshiro preferred eating desserts to baking them. Soshiro plucked up a muffin covered in chocolate chips that had been cooling on the rack and took a bite.

This is pretty good.

It was crumbly on the outside and fluffy on the inside, almost perfect. Kafka cooked and cleaned and was incredibly devoted. He would make a good husband one day… and he would probably make some girl very happy. The thought made him a little sad. The muffin started to taste like ash in his mouth. If Kafka got married in the future, would he still be able to spend time with Soshiro? Would they still be friends?

A familiar rolling growl broke him out of his thoughts. Soshiro got up off the little wooden stool he was sitting on. Kafka was still elbow-deep in the washing, so he took it upon himself to share some of the muffin with his friend. He ripped a chunk off and held it out to Kafka, “Here, I can hear yer stomach rumblin’ from there.”

Kafka laughed sheepishly as he scrubbed the muffin pan, “It’s that loud, huh?” He leaned over and gingerly plucked the sliver of muffin from Soshiro’s fingers with his teeth. “Thfnks!” he mumbled around the food in his mouth.

“Um… Hibino-kun!”

Her again?

Kafka shut off the water and placed the pan on the drying rack, “Yeah?”

Inoue-chan held out a pink muffin with both hands, “This is for ya!”

Food colouring wasn't in the recipe, or one of the provided ingredients. Soshiro suspected she had made it specially for Kafka. His neutral expression suddenly became a struggle to maintain, as if he were smiling for a picture and someone was taking too long to get the shot.

Kafka smiled brightly at her, “Thanks Inoue-chan! Ya can trade it with one ‘a ours!” He tilted his head towards their collection of chocolate chip muffins.

“That’s not what I…” she muttered, looking down at her feet.

Soshiro peeled away another chunk of muffin and brought it up to Kafka’s lips. As irritating as he found her attempts, it was kind of entertaining watching Kafka deflect them with sheer obliviousness. He wasn’t even being malicious about it, he just genuinely had no clue what she was trying to do.

Kafka turned his head and ate the muffin piece from Soshiro’s fingers, then moved away to casually wipe his dripping wet hands on a dishtowel. The girl looked up from her fidgeting, and watched as Soshiro fed Kafka yet another piece of muffin. He was leaning over Soshiro’s shoulder, like a big dog nipping a treat out of someone’s hand.

Her mouth dropped open and she let out a quiet, “Oh!”

Clearly she saw it as something different.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, “I didn’t know-” She hastily swapped her muffin with one of theirs, “Thank you, Hibino-kun! Sorry for bothering both of you!” Then she scurried away, back to her table. She sat down and clapped her hands to her reddened cheeks. She didn’t look the least bit upset despite the rejection.

“What’s got inta her?” Kafka asked through a mouthful of muffin. Soshiro shook his head and had a bite of muffin himself. He had an inkling, but he wouldn’t say anything. Kafka didn’t need to know. Besides, if he was right about what she was thinking… she had gotten the wrong idea. Still, he wouldn’t look this gift horse of a misunderstanding in the mouth.

After that, she stopped pursuing his friend.

Soshiro couldn’t have been happier.

The first thing Soshiro did after his cast was removed was pick up his practise swords. Finally, he could work on his swordplay with both arms instead of just one. His previously injured arm felt weak from disuse. He would have to train extra hard to get himself back in shape, or he would be falling even further behind his brother.

His first spar with his brother after his recovery went badly. His brother had knocked him down in minutes, “What’s the matter, ya wimp?” Soichiro kicked dirt in his face, “Don’t tell me ya been slacking jus’ ‘cause ya broke yer arm?”

Soshiro stood up and threw himself at his brother again. A couple of strikes later and he was flat on his face. His brother leaned down, sticking his tongue out tauntingly, “Or is it that little friend ‘a yours? Ya been skippin’ training ta go play house with him?” He laughed, light and mocking, “Guess wimps gotta stick together!”

Soshiro grit his teeth and stood up again, wood of the practise sword creaking under his shaking grip. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his doubts, that he had been spending too much time with Kafka. Had he really been neglecting his training? That couldn’t be it, his schedule hadn’t changed in years. He and Kafka had always worked around it. Had he gotten too stagnant? Had he not been training enough?

Three more rounds, and he lost every single one. “Once a wimp, always a wimp!” his brother taunted, sticking his tongue out again. “Maybe ya can get yer wimp friend and come at me together!” He laughed as he began walking off, practise sword resting on his shoulder.

“Hey! Where are ya goin’, we’re not done yet!” Soshiro yelled after him.

“It’s gettin’ borin’ beatin’ a little kid like ya around. A wimp like ya should stay down,” Soichiro shrugged, barely turning his body to look at Soshiro. Then he strolled away, jaunty and easy as you please.

Wimp, wimp, wimp, doesn’t he know any other insults?

He hated to admit it, but as repetitive as it was, it never failed to get under his skin and settle like an ember on a pile of kindling. Nothing lit a fire in him more than getting insulted by his brother. He swung his sword until the sun went down. Then he had dinner and went back outside, practise sword in hand. The sky was a deep velvet by that time, and the air was nippy. Winter was edging into spring, and his training clothes were thick, but the chill still burrowed down to his bones. Soshiro settled into his stance. Once he started moving, it would be less cold.

He lost track of time, going through his sets over and over. Replaying each spar with his brother in his mind, all the way back from the first one he could remember, and fighting the older boy’s shadow. By the time he was done, his hands were shaking and his lungs were burning. He couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or exhaustion.

“What are ya doin’ out here?”

Soshiro turned to see Kafka sitting on the high wall that ran the perimeter of the Hoshina property. It stung a little to see him there, his brother’s words were still buzzing in his head.

“Trainin’,” he said simply. There were claws of frost digging into his lungs and scraping up his throat, his ragged breaths coming in ghostly white puffs in front of him. He couldn’t speak much even if he wanted to.

The other boy leapt down, landing softly and silently despite the height. Soshiro straightened as Kafka approached. The other boy’s expression was open but there was a determined set to his jaw and a crease between his brows.

Kafka gave him that same not-quite smile and Soshiro saw something blur in the corner of his eye. He lifted his practise sword on instinct to block it. Kafka’s smile lost its edge at the sight, melting into something more relaxed. Hovering some distance from his sword was Kafka’s hand.

He was too stunned to stop his friend from lightly knocking him on the forehead.

Soshiro held his forehead, eyes wide, still processing.

“Huh?”

“Ya gotta take better care ‘a yourself,” Kafka lectured him gently. “It’s real cold out, ya could get sick.”

He was already shedding his jacket and bundling Soshiro in it. The soft clothing carried his friend’s residual heat and warmed his chilled body.

“And it’s real late. Don’t ya have mornin’ trainin’ tomorrow?” Kafka wrapped an arm around him and nudged him along, guiding him back into the house. Soshiro went easily, ducking his face deeper into the swathe of his friend’s jacket.

“Rest is important too, ya know? Ya gotta be healthy ta train properly, don’t ya?”

Kafka… had a point. Even his father emphasised the need for rest as a part of training. He had gotten so caught up that he had forgotten. His cheeks flushed - his brother’s words had really gotten to him.

It wasn’t just rest, it was also the time he spent with Kafka. It wasn’t a hindrance, or a stumbling block. Their time spent together was important to him. Kafka was important to him.

His brother could go eat a cactus.

The next day, Soshiro woke with a fever.

Oops.

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the start of their first year in middle school were an emotional rollercoaster for Kafka. Soshiro was expected to follow in his brother’s and father’s footsteps and enroll in a prestigious private middle school. Kafka, of course, had done his best to follow him. The moment he heard there was an entrance exam, his soul left his body. “More studyin’?!” he grumbled, but studied like his life depended on it. His days were filled with practise papers upon practise papers. There was just no end to them. The only thing that made it bearable was that Soshiro was right there with him.

They went to the school to check the results on the day that they were announced. Unsurprisingly, Soshiro found his name easily on the very first board, as one of the top scoring entrants. Kafka’s heart dropped further and further with each board they checked. He couldn’t find his name anywhere. He pushed his shoulders back and set his expression determinedly. He would just have to work hard to join Soshiro in high school.

“Kafka, over here,” his friend waved him over to a board placed some ways away from the main few.

He pointed at something near the top, “Yer on the Reserve List.”

Kafka looked up. Checked and double checked. It was his name. Soshiro wouldn’t lie to him, but he could hardly believe it. The words started to blur as his eyes got misty, “There’s still a chance! I'll definitely get in!”

Soshiro hummed in agreement and nodded, giving him his customary head pats, “I know ya will.”

Kafka started to get more and more anxious as the days flew by. The start of middle school was drawing closer and there was still no news from the school. He had already accepted a place in a different middle school just in case, but he was pushing back buying the uniform - he was still holding out hope.

Two weeks before middle school was meant to start, and there was still no letter. Kafka had plastered on a grin he didn’t feel and boldly told Soshiro, “Just wait for me, I’ll catch up to ya in highschool!”

His friend had smiled patiently and told him, “I’ll be waitin’.”

The train ride home from Soshiro’s house that day was a somber one. Kafka walked his usual route on autopilot, fiddling with his phone distractedly as he tried to block out the persistent feeling of having failed his friend. He was so out of it that he almost missed his stop, and had to hurriedly squeeze past a few people to make it out of the train. That got him a few irritated looks.

Kafka’s shoes felt leaden as he shuffled his way back home. His eyes were on the ground the entire way down the corridor to the apartment. He had considered the possibility that he might not get a spot at the school, but it was still disappointing. He was about to sling his bag to the front and start digging for his keys when he looked up and found a man in a baggy graphic tee standing in front of his apartment looking lost. He vaguely recalled seeing the man in the lift sometimes - he lived on the floor above. “Do ya need somethin’, mister?” Kafka called out to him.

The man held up a letter in his hand, “This got put in my mailbox by mistake. I was tryin’ ta see if they were in.” The man gestured at the door.

Kafka headed over, “My Mama and I live here, but Mama’s at work right now. Ya can leave it with me!”

The man handed him the letter with a quick, “Here ya go,” and left.

Kafka turned the letter around in his hand, and his eyes bugged out at the sight of the school crest printed on the front. This… this was what he'd been waiting for! He didn't bother heading into the apartment. He immediately turned and began charging all the way back to Soshiro's house.

This time, he could hardly contain himself. Shifting from one foot to the other on the entire train ride there, checking the stops obsessively and willing the train to go faster. He slapped his transit card on the reader and practically leapt through the gantry.

Kafka’s footsteps echoed heavily on the wood as he dashed down the quiet hallways of the Hoshina residence. He skidded the rest of the way on his socked feet and slammed the sliding door open to his friend's room, “Soshirooooo!” He waved the crumpled wad of paper with a huge grin that threatened to split his face, “Letter!”

Soshiro stood up from his desk, chair scraping back and eyes wide, “Did ya get in?”

Kafka hurriedly slid the door closed and scrambled over to his friend, “Haven’t checked! I wanted ta open it together!”

They stood there in the middle of the room, heads bowed close over the letter in anticipation as Kafka opened it with trembling hands.

This was it.

This would determine whether or not he got to stay by Soshiro's side.

He pulled the sheaf of papers out slowly.

“Congratulations, ya have been accepted-"

Kafka tackled his friend in a hug before the other boy could finish reading the first line, “Soshiro! I got in!”

They crashed to the floor together.

Kafka laughed into his friend’s shoulder, loud and bright and unburdened. He could stay with Soshiro! They were going to middle school together! He bolted up excitedly, partially leaning over his friend. His hand was still curled under the other boy’s head, protecting him from hitting it on the hard flooring when they had tumbled to the ground. Distantly, he could hear his tail swishing against the floor behind him as it wagged, but he couldn’t help it. He was just way too happy to bother hiding it.

Soshiro smiled up at him, and Kafka watched him raise his hands… his tail began thumping the ground expectantly. He had done good, hadn’t he? That meant head pats and praise, didn’t it? Soshiro’s palms were cool to the touch as he smushed Kafka’s cheeks together.

The gentle press on Kafka’s face turned into an annoyed pinch and pull, “How many times have I told ya ta keep yer tail hidden? Do ya want ta die?!”

“I’m sowwy-“

Before he could apologise properly, he felt his world tip. Then he was smashing into the ground, laid out flat on his back. Soshiro was perched over him with a smug little tilt to his lips, “An’ who said ya could squash me like that? Yer’ heavy.”

So he said, but he had flipped Kafka so effortlessly.

Kafka followed Soshiro’s hand with wide eyes as his friend reached for his face again. This time, it was just a friendly pat on the cheek and a genuine smile, “Ya did it. I’m proud ‘a ya.”

Bursting with joy, Kafka dragged Soshiro down against his chest into a tight hug. He reveled in the bold, spiced undercurrent of delight in his friend’s scent and the strong beat of Soshiro’s heart against his own silent ribcage. His friend’s heartbeat was just a tad faster than it usually was, but that was just normal wasn’t it? This was exciting!

Someone new was moving in next door. There were people moving boxes in and out of the apartment all day. Coming back from the first day of school, Kafka stopped to watch, dressed in his new middle school uniform. It was buttoned all the way up to the neck, and way stuffier than what they had worn in grade school. Even so, his mood was still soaring high from making it into the same school as his friend. No uncomfortable uniform or boring entrance ceremony could bring him down! He and Soshiro were in different classes this time, but Kafka was happy as long as they were still in the same school.

He was about to unlock the door and head inside when a girl rounded the corner and began walking down the corridor. She was carrying a large box in her arms, clearly in the process of moving in. Kafka ran over and took the box from her, “Let me help ya with that!”

Or at least, he tried to. Her grip on it was strong and unyielding. She pinned him with a flat, guarded stare. Still holding on to the box, he introduced himself with a friendly grin, “Name’s Kafka! I live next door with my Mama.”

The girl finally replied, “Mina. Ashiro Mina.” She continued to regard him with a cool wariness, before pulling the box away. “It’s ok, I can do it myself.” She disappeared into the apartment in a swirl of skirts.

Kafka shook out his wrist. She was… really strong.

Kafka headed back to his own apartment and tossed his bag onto the sofa. He flopped down on the soft cushions and thought about what he could make for their new neighbours as a housewarming gift. The apartment next door had been empty for months, and the people who lived in the building were mostly adults and older folks. The thought of having a new neighbour his age had him feeling too electrified to just be sitting around. Kafka jumped off the sofa and headed to the kitchen. He had some chocolate chip cookies to make.

It was late afternoon by the time the cookies were baked and cooled. Kafka packaged them in little fox-shaped boxes he had left over from when he attempted to make a mont blanc for Soshiro. It hadn’t looked pretty, but his friend had eaten it anyway. The memory of Soshiro devouring his sad first attempt with a pleased flush to his cheeks had Kafka floating on a cloud again. He hummed tunelessly as he slid the cookies into the boxes and closed them off with red bows. His friend loved sweets and pastries, so he was learning to make lots of them.

Kafka trotted over to their new neighbours. The movers had left by then, and everything was quiet. He reached up and rang the doorbell. He heard shuffling inside, someone pressing up against the door, a soft huff. The door opened to Mina, sweaty and dressed in workout clothes. Her face was impassive as she asked, “What do you want?”

“Here! These are for ya, welcome ta the neighbourhood!” he held out a basket filled with foxy boxes.

“What are these?” she looked down at them with careful curiosity.

“Chocolate chip cookies! Made’ em myself,” he told her proudly.

She held his gaze, her orange eyes piercing, almost as if she could see through his disguise. Kafka felt himself sweat under her scrutiny. Before he could internally combust from the pressure, she turned and pushed the door open a little wider, “Come in.”

They were clearly still in the process of unpacking. There were stacks of boxes placed haphazardly around the living room, some opened, some sealed. There was a poster laying out on top of one of the boxes, with a large blown up photo of Defence Force captain Shinomiya Hikari splashed across it.

“Yer thinkin’ of joinin’ the Defence Force?” Kafka remarked.

Mina paused, and followed his gaze to the poster. She nodded, “I am. I’ll join and kill every last kaiju.”

The conviction in her tone had Kafka shivering. She turned her steely eyes on him again, “What about you?”

Kafka nodded, he knew his answer to this. Wherever Soshiro went, he would go too. He replied with certainty, “Yeah, I’m joinin’ too.”

She nodded as if he had passed some sort of test, and a small smile made its way onto her lips. She gestured at the dining table, “You can leave them here.”

Just as Kafka placed the basket on the table, someone emerged from one of the rooms, “Oh my! I thought I heard the front door open. Mina, why didn’t you call me if we had a guest?”

“You were busy, Mom,” Mina said coolly.

Mina’s mom sighed and headed to the kitchen, “I’ll bring over some tea. Both of you can get settled on the sofa.”

She muttered something under her breath as she disappeared into the kitchen, clearly not meant for their ears but Kafka’s hearing was sharp enough to catch it, “Where did my happy and cute little Mina go?”

Kafka looked over at the girl sitting next to him. She had brought a box of cookies with her and was undoing the red bow around the fox’s neck. She pulled the top off, and her eyes seemed to shine as she picked up a cookie. Despite her tough demeanour, she took dainty bites.

He didn’t know what Mina’s mom was talking about - she was definitely cute.

It turned out Mina was attending the same school as Kafka and Soshiro. Kafka left the house early the next day and ran into her, her back to him as she locked the door. She was dressed in the same uniform that he’d seen the girls at school wearing.

They ended up walking to the station together.

“So ya moved here from Tokyo?” he asked. Mina was quiet as they made their way down the fairly empty streets and he felt the need to fill the silence.

Mina nodded, “Just for a year. I’ll be returning to Tokyo for high school.”

“Only a year?” Kafka questioned.

Mina made a noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t elaborate.

“Well I’m glad yer here! We can be friends!” he stuck his hand out.

She gave him a small smile as she took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze, same steadfast gaze boring into him like magma, “I’d like that.”

The ice melted between them slightly after that. He found out that she was a third year. She was surprised to find out that he was only in his first year.

“You look like you’re my age,” she observed. “I thought we’d be in the same grade.”

Kafka plucked at the zips on his backpack, “Well some stuff happened, I had ta stay back a couple years.”

He crossed his arms over the bag in his lap and looked over at her, changing the subject, “What’s it like in Tokyo?”

By the time they got to school, Kafka felt like he knew her a little better. She liked sweets, and cats, and she had moved to Osaka because her mom had insisted. They parted ways at the gate, and Kafka went off to look for Soshiro before class started.

Soshiro’s classroom was on the other end of the hall from his. The students were sorted into classes by academic ability, and his friend’s class was all the way at the front. After climbing the stairs up to the third floor, it was the very first classroom. He slid the door open and poked his head inside, grinning when he saw his friend already at his desk, novel open in his hands.

“Soshiro!” he bounded inside. He shrugged off the curious looks he got from the other students. Some of them stared, trying to remember if he was in their class. Others turned back to what they were doing after a quick glance.

Soshiro looked up, “Kafka? Don’t ya have ta get ta class?”

Despite his words, he shifted to the edge of his seat to make room for Kafka, who gladly squashed up next to Soshiro. The chair was too small for the both of them, but neither cared.

“We’ve still got time before it starts,” Kafka said, tossing his bag by his feet.

He wasted no time telling Soshiro about Mina. “Guess what? Someone moved in next ta me! And she goes ta our school!”

His friend tensed slightly, but his neutral smile stayed. “Is that so?”

He took Kafka’s hand and began kneading the soft pad just below his thumb. Slow squeeze-and-releases. His friend felt… stressed? His scent had gained a hint of bitterness.

“She’s really nice!” he assured Soshiro. “I’ll introduce ya to her during lunch later!”

Soshiro continued to knead, and the bitter thread winding through his usually crisp, pleasant scent grew. He hummed, “Sure, I can’t wait ta meet her.”

It was the same bitterness he scented on Soshiro whenever Inoue-chan used to come over to talk to him, back in elementary. It had confused Kafka then, and he was still confused now. Was his friend nervous around cute girls?

Ashiro Mina… he hadn’t met her yet and already he disliked her.

Soshiro distractedly scratched out a couple of notes in the margins of his workbook as the teacher droned on.

Was this going to be a repeat of elementary school? Was he going to have to fight for Kafka’s attention again? He thought he had left that behind. Only… it might be worse now. Now Kafka had a neighbour - a girl neighbour - right next door to him. Who was nice and cute and liked cats.

The tip of his pencil dug deep gouges into the paper.

He met Mina for the first time when Kafka dragged her up to the first years’ classrooms during lunch. Kafka was right, she was cute. Black hair cut short at her chin, bangs held back with a pair of grey hairclips, and determined eyes set in a round face. It made his skin crawl to see Kafka herding her into the classroom, laughing and grinning as she cracked an amused smile.

“Soshiro, this is Mina!” Kafka introduced the girl. The excitement on his face was like a punch to the gut.

Mina looked over at him, and her gaze was unexpectedly piercing. Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, despite his carefully neutral expression - how much he didn’t want her there, so close to Kafka. She nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

He gave her a slight nod back, “Nice ta meet ya too.”

Much to Soshiro’s consternation, they begun having lunch together every day. Every afternoon, Kafka would drag Mina into Soshiro’s classroom. Most of the other students preferred to eat outside, so it would be the three of them sitting around a single small desk in the empty room. They always ended up seated with Kafka in the middle, and a vacant space between him and Mina.

Once he started spending time with her, Mina was… difficult to dislike. She was down-to-earth and hardworking. As a member of the school’s shooting club, she never missed a practise session. She studied hard and got good grades, and during the weekend, he once saw her on the train carrying a backpack with a pair of boxing gloves hanging from it. She often shared pictures of her cat, Nyanko. It was a rescue that was missing a leg, as if Mina couldn’t get any more frustratingly virtuous. If he wasn’t so wary of her, he would have liked her.

Kafka on the other hand, loved Mina. He talked about her constantly. Every little thing he learned about Mina, he would share with Soshiro. When he went over to Mina’s house to play with Nyanko, he would send pictures of the scrappy little orange cat. Sometimes, he would send over short videos and selfies of himself and Mina. Having dinner together, or playing a board game, or teasing Nyanko. They were few and far between, but when they appeared innocently on his phone, he would grab his practise sword and swing out his frustrations. They were getting closer every day and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop it, because they lived right next to each other. He felt like he was losing his friend to Mina.

The first time it happened, it was a picture of them standing to the side of a violently pink store, holding up excessively decorated crepes. The joy on their faces felt like a hand around his heart, squeezing it until it burst. They were standing so close… It didn’t matter that the accompanying message was, ‘The crepes were really good, I think you’ll like them! We should come here together soon!’

He hadn’t stopped swinging his sword until he was trembling from exhaustion, and his hands were stripped raw. At least the tightness in his chest had dulled. He fumbled his way through a shower, his open wounds stinging like needles in his skin the entire time. He patted them dry on a clean towel and tossed the blood stained cloth into the laundry basket.

Soshiro kept his footsteps light as he returned to his room, towelling his hair dry. The heat of the burgeoning summer would take care of the rest. The corridors were dim, and the dull tap of his feet on the wood flooring was the only sound that followed him. It was late, and the cicadas were blissfully silent. Kafka walked in on him in his room, flipping open the lid of his first aid kit and preparing to bandage his own hands. After several years of practise, he had gotten quite adept at bandaging one-handed.

Kafka padded over, “Ya overdid it again, didn’t ya?”

He caught Soshiro's wrist in a loose hold and carefully took the fresh roll of bandages from him, “Let me do it.”

Kafka sat down on his heels in front of Soshiro and placed the bandage down. He turned Soshiro’s hand over and inspected it in the low light. The boy winced in sympathy at the sight, “What happened?”

“I was frustrated.”

“Yer brother again?” Kafka dabbed antibacterial cream onto his broken blisters. That was nice, he wouldn’t have bothered with it himself.

Soshiro made a noncommittal noise. Better to let Kafka draw his own conclusions.

“He’s an ass,” his friend huffed, taking it as confirmation. He slipped his tail out and wrapped it around Soshiro’s waist, “Everythin’ that comes outta his mouth is crap.”

Soshiro snickered quietly. He couldn’t disagree with that.

Kafka’s fingers were deft as he bandaged one hand, and then the other. They flitted like a passing breeze, carefully and meticulously covering up his open wounds. Soshiro watched as Kafka worked. His friend’s eyes were fixed and determined, and his brow was creased in concentration. Having Kafka completely focused on him like this, taking care of him so delicately… a foreign giddiness bubbled up in him. He squashed the feeling down. This was dangerous - those feelings sometimes led to strange thoughts.

Something slipped through to the forefront of his mind.

I really like him.

He paged past it as if he were skimming through a book. He refused to acknowledge it. 

Of course I like him, he's my best friend.

Soshiro looked down to distract himself. Kafka was just about done, closing the bandages off with a clip. Then he turned Soshiro’s hands over and held them like they were something precious. His teal eyes were soft in the moonlight and his face was rouged with pure affection as he ran an exploratory thumb over the neat dressings, “All done.”

As if possessed, Soshiro took Kafka’s face between his hands. This expression… he drank it in like a parched beast.

If he could have his way, no one but him would ever see it.

Chapter Text

Mina wasn’t expecting to make any friends during her short year in Osaka.

After Miiko died, she was certain of what she wanted to do - eliminate all kaiju. She started reading up on the requirements for enlistment, and scoured the internet forums for information on their examination processes. Her mom sighed almost every day over her becoming gloomy and quiet and withdrawn, but Mina didn’t think that was right. She wasn’t gloomy.

She was determined.

Her mom tried to pull her out of it by bringing her to adopt a new kitten. It had hurt when her mom suggested it… she didn’t want to replace Miiko. She played with the kittens half-heartedly before leaving to wander the animal shelter. Her mom followed after her, exasperated. She found Nyanko in the communal play area for the cats. This ditzy little orange that was missing a leg, but he was running and jumping and climbing with all the other cats. She watched as he tried to clamber onto a box, and ended up rolling off, only to get up and try again. She fell in love immediately.

When they brought the cat to meet her, her mom had looked at her with disbelief, “This one? Don’t you want to reconsider? That grey kitten just now seemed to really like you.”

No, she didn’t want to reconsider. Nyanko had a sweet temperament, with a clumsy sort of charm. Even better, he had an ugly little meow.

He was perfect.

Her mom sighed over everything she did to get closer to her goal. The posters of her Defence Force Captain idol that she motivated herself with, joining the shooting club at her middle school, reading up on kaiju history and anatomy in her spare time. Everything seemed to displease her. “How are you going to find a husband like this?” she cried. “I know you’re upset Miiko died, but isn’t this too much? It’s been years!”

The final straw with her mom was when she joined the local boxing gym over the summer in her second year of middle school. She could release her stress and frustrations, and it was good exercise. Having some combat sports experience under her belt would also be useful for when she enlisted. It was an all-around win. Her mom hadn’t thought so. “This is going too far, Mina!” she had said. “Maybe moving out of Tokyo will be good for you.”

Mina hadn't thought her mom was being serious. Unfortunately, she was. Which was how she found herself packing her things and moving across the country for ‘a change of pace’. Her grandma on her dad’s side had left behind an apartment in Osaka. Her mom rented it out occasionally after her grandma’s passing, to supplement her income. That was exactly where she picked for them to relocate for a year. At least the school she would be attending was a good one. The first thing she did was look up the school's curriculum and afterschool clubs. She smiled when she saw that they had a shooting club too. There was a silver lining after all.

There was a slight delay with the movers, which led to her missing the first day of school. Everything leading up to the day was a whirlwind of packing and logistics and her mom coordinating the move. Mina prepped Nyanko’s cat carrier for the long journey. Thankfully, the old kitty decided to nap for most of the trip to Osaka and only started getting skittish on the car ride from the station to the apartment building.

As she was carrying her belongings to the apartment, someone ran up and grabbed her box. Startled, she held on tighter and looked over at the culprit. It was a boy, around her age. He gave her a sunny grin and offered to help her with her things. He introduced himself as Kafka. She gave him her name too, to be polite. Her grip tightened on the cardboard and she pulled the box away - she didn’t need help with something so simple. She declined the boy’s offer and walked into the unfamiliar apartment.

They didn’t get everything sorted until late afternoon. There was quite some time before dinner, so Mina began digging through the boxes for some workout clothes and equipment. She could get in a quick HIIT workout and drum up an appetite.

Partway through her second set, her mom brought out one of her many Defence Force posters and laid it down on one of the boxes like she was throwing down a carpet, “Better put it somewhere safe before Nyanko ruins it.”

The old cat had gone wild the moment Mina let him out of his cat carrier, skittering all about the house. He had climbed all over her and circled around her feet as she was exercising. She gently pushed him out of the way, and he went rocketing off somewhere else in the house. Her mom muttered about how he was currently clinging to the bottom of their newly installed shower curtains, and may or may not have gotten stuck. Mina could hear weird yowls drifting from the bathroom as she powered through the final set of her exercises. Her mom sighed and went back to continue coaxing him away from the hanging plastic sheets.

Just as she was finishing up, the doorbell rang. She put her exercise equipment aside and walked over to the door. Peeking through the peep hole, she found the boy from earlier standing in front of her apartment. He was carrying a basket full of orange things. She let out a soft sigh. It would be good to get to know the neighbours, especially since one of them was her age. She opened the door to see what he wanted.

Mina had two major observations about Kafka.

First, he was easy to like. Vibrant, goofy, sweet. It helped that he reminded her a little of Nyanko, and she warmed to him almost immediately. On the first day, he brought over a basket full of cutely packaged home-made cookies and stayed to play with Nyanko once her mom got him out of the bathroom. She also thought she had found a compatriot in him - a fellow Defence Force hopeful. She didn’t know what his story was, but the spark in his eyes when he told her he was joining too made her certain that this was a path they could walk together. The journey would be less scary with a friend. She would be leaving in a year, but they could always message and video call and keep each other accountable in their training.

Second, Kafka was deeply enamoured with his best friend. In the first day and a half that she had known him, she had heard about ‘Soshiro’ at least once every few sentences. Quite frankly, it was adorable. She herself didn’t have a friend she was so close to, so it was nice to see someone who did. Based on Kafka’s animated recounts, she had built up an image in her head of someone young but stolid, who was also gunning for a position in the Defence Force. She felt like she had learned just as much about this ‘Soshiro’ as she had about Kafka himself.

She finally met the boy during lunch on her first day of school. On their first meeting, he seemed similar to the person Kafka had described. A calm smile on his face, laid back, and friendly. His hands were marked with calluses - from swordplay, she remembered Kafka saying. She was certain that he was serious about becoming a Defence Force Officer too. She greeted him with a blooming sense of hope in her chest. Perhaps the three of them could be friends, striving together, and ultimately fighting on the frontlines together. She wanted that closeness, that camaraderie. Her path to her goal had been a lonely one up until now, with her mom’s disapproval and her classmates’ disinterest.

That hope wavered slightly as Soshiro greeted her back. Was it just her, or was there a tinge of coldness in his voice? She couldn't pinpoint what it was that had given her that impression. He was still smiling, expression open and friendly, and his tone was still laid back. She filed it away for later.

The more time she spent with both of them, the clearer things became. With Kafka, Soshiro was like a kitten protecting his favourite toy.

“I took a video of Nyanko this morning,” Mina said during one of their lunches together, pulling out her phone. “He fell in the bin.”

“Haha, seriously?!” Kafka crowded over to watch, already laughing. His eyes were sparkling and eager, and it brought a smile to Mina’s face. He loved Nyanko too.

Soshiro’s reaction was a little more tame, a curious tilt to his head as he pressed up beside Kafka.

She placed her phone between the three of them so they could all watch Nyanko's little mishap. The phone screen was small, so she leaned in and Kafka moved to do the same. Something slipped past, brushing her ear, and pulled Kafka away before he could get any closer. Mina looked over to see Soshiro with his hand cupping the side of Kafka's head.

“Careful, don't want ya ta crack yer heads together,” he said placidly.

That was weird. They weren't moving fast enough - or close enough - to ‘crack their heads together’.

“Ah, thanks!” Kafka didn't even question it.

Mina pressed play, but watched Soshiro out of the corner of her eye. He caught her gaze behind Kafka’s head and gave her a knife-sharp smile. Her brows rose against her will. So that was it. He was so transparent. Between them, Kafka laughed so hard he snorted as Nyanko slipped off the kitchen countertop and into the bin. He meowed in confusion and began paddling his legs, trying to get out. Mina could hear her own laughs behind the camera. She suppressed a smile. It was kind of adorable, how the boy was bristling at her presence. He was younger and smaller than her, and she couldn’t help but see him as a pouty child.

Too bad, Kafka was her friend too.

Now that she knew what was happening, it was all too easy to spot the instances when Soshiro ran interference with Kafka’s classmates.

Mina was retrieving her outdoor shoes from her locker when she spotted Soshiro and Kafka, also on their way home from school.

“You’re walkin’ ta the station too aren’t ya? I’ll come with ya!” one of the girls she thought might be from Kafka’s class skipped up to the pair.

“Sure, jus’ give us a sec!” Kafka agreed easily, giving her the same open smile he gave everyone.

The girl giggled and stood aside to wait, her bag dangling from one hand, the other clasped demurely over her wrist.

Just as Kafka was about to reach for the knob of his shoe cabinet, Soshiro took his hand, “Ah, Kafka, I jus’ remembered I left somethin’ in the classroom. Ya go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Something sparked in Kafka’s eyes that Mina hadn’t seen before, “Wait!” In a flash, he was grabbing Soshiro’s hand back, “I’ll come with ya!”

Why did he sound so tense all of a sudden?

Kafka gave the girl an apologetic smile, “Sorry, I know ya have cram school today. I don’t wanna hold ya back, why don’t ya head off first?”

The girl sighed, but perked back up quickly, “Guess it can’t be helped. I’ll see ya tomorrow, Kafka-kun!”

Mina chanced a glance at Soshiro. His mask was cracking, his usual smile no longer on his face.

The girl waved cheerily at Kafka and he waved back just as enthusiastically. The moment she had her back turned, Soshiro practically dragged Kafka away. For someone whose default was approachable and smiley, the slight downward tilt to his lips made him look stormy in Mina’s eyes.

Soshiro was also very physically affectionate with Kafka. He would often have Kafka hold his hand, or pat Kafka on the head. It was as if they hadn’t moved past elementary school. Once or twice, Kafka would eye something from Soshiro’s lunch and ask if he could have it. The first time it happened, she thought that the boy would simply drop it in Kafka’s bento. She was very wrong. She watched with undisguised shock as he picked it up with his chopsticks and brought it straight to Kafka’s mouth. In public, without hesitation.

What on earth-

Kafka didn’t bat an eye, and simply ate the little flower-shaped carrot as if it was normal.

That’s… not normal.

Mina took a moment to gather herself. Their friendship was strange. It wasn’t uncommon for girls to be affectionate with each other, even if this newest stunt might be taking it a little far, but for boys? She picked at her loose rice idly as she continued to observe them. Soshiro had taken out a handkerchief and was brushing croquette crumbs off of Kafka’s cheeks. He met her gaze again, one eye cracked open and staring her down almost challengingly for a moment before turning his attention back to Kafka.

She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and stifled a laugh, her chopsticks shaking with the effort.

He was so even-keeled and collected all the time, it was a little funny to see him act so childish when someone got close to his friend.

Summer break was approaching, and Soshiro was halfway to getting Kafka back from Mina. After her graduation, she would return to Tokyo, and it would just be him and Kafka again. But every time Kafka mentioned Mina it was like nails on a chalkboard, grating and all-consuming. He didn’t know if the control he had over his emotions could last that long. He didn’t want Kafka to ever see that side of him.

Several weeks before summer break was set to begin, Soshiro found himself startling awake hours before his morning training was due to start, drenched in sweat and wheezing. Kafka hadn’t visited, and he was left panicking alone in the darkness. He clawed at his chest for a minute, hands trembling as he reeled from the nightmare. It had been so vivid, as if he had been reliving it. His eyes darted around the room to make sure he was actually there, safe. There was a phantom ache in his ribs and he realised he was hyperventilating. He sat up and struggled to get his breathing back under control, taking shaky but measured breaths against the terrifyingly familiar burn in his lungs until everything evened out. It took even more time for the light-headedness to go away too.

Soshiro hugged his knees, heart still racing, and sighed. It had been about half a year since the incident, but the nightmares never left, and they never got any better. The only thing that helped was Kafka, but they both agreed he couldn’t be there every night. Each time he snuck in, he put himself at risk of getting caught.

It’s fine, I’m used to it now.

But he couldn’t help the slight twinge of fear whenever he laid down to go to sleep, that that night would be a bad one. Some nights, he just didn’t want to go to sleep at all. He turned on his lamp and pulled out a book. This had happened too many times for him to have any delusions about being able to fall back asleep again.

By the time Soshiro arrived at school, he was dead on his feet. He had gotten a solid three hours and a quick doze on the train ride from home. Nodding off standing up in the shower after morning training didn’t really count. That night was one of the worst he’d experienced in a while. Despite that, he still socialised with his classmates, participated in class, and sat for a test. He didn’t have the energy left to get Kafka’s classmates to leave them alone during lunch, and even though Kafka turned down their offer to go play football, his mood soured.

“Ya look tired,” his friend said. Kafka knew just how much of a toll his nightmares took on him. He nudged Soshiro with his shoulder. “Take a nap, I’ll wake ya when lunch ends.”

Soshiro leaned in against Kafka. His friend was just the right amount of tall to be a good pillow. The moment he relaxed, he fell asleep almost immediately.

When classes ended for the day, Kafka headed over to Soshiro’s place to hang out. They had a routine on days when Kafka didn’t have manga appreciation club. They would settle in, Soshiro would finish his homework and spend the rest of the time helping Kafka with his, and then Soshiro would train. Kafka had become a semi-permanent fixture in the Hoshina practise hall, just sitting in and watching Soshiro. Be it swordplay or martial arts, even if Soshiro was going through the same stuff over and over, Kafka would be watching with rapt attention. In the evening, they would play card games until his friend had to return home for dinner.

Soshiro was sitting beside Kafka and walking him through an algebra question when his friend’s phone screen lit up. The boy turned to look, and a smile curved across his face immediately. He unlocked it and the smile turned into a grin. He angled his phone so Soshiro could see too, “Look! Mina got Nyanko a new cat tree.”

The weight of the day was heavy on him, and the tight hold he had on his true thoughts had been battered by several months’ worth of gushing about Mina.

He slipped.

“Mina, Mina, Mina… That’s all ya ever talk about!” He slammed his pencil down on the table with a loud bang.

He hadn’t meant for it to come out so bitter and whiny, but it had. His father would be disappointed in his complete lack of discipline. He regretted it the moment it left his lips, but he couldn’t take it back. Kafka looked shocked by his outburst, brows raised and eyes wide as he leaned away.

“She’s our friend, I thought ya might like hearin’ what she’s up ta,” Kafka said, looking a little hurt.

Soshiro’s expression settled into something frigid, “She’s your friend. Ya spend all that time with her.”

‘Time you don’t spend with me,’ he didn’t say. He still had some semblance of a filter.

Kafka’s brow furrowed with confusion. Soshiro hadn’t explained jealousy to the boy and he doubted that Kafka’s Mama had either. It wasn’t something people typically talked about, since it was a topic many people preferred to sweep under the rug. Kafka also hadn’t encountered it before in real life until now. His friend wouldn’t know the tone or body language or words to look out for. Maybe he could find a way to walk this back. Just as long as Kafka didn’t…

His friend tilted his head, nose raised slightly. He was scenting the air for Soshiro’s emotions.

Crap!

He tried to reel it back, tried to squash those feelings down. He couldn’t let Kafka know-

“Are ya… jealous?”

It was Soshiro’s turn to back away. His face warmed and sweat slid down his temple. Kafka was usually oblivious about certain types of human emotions - how had he hit the nail on the head so quickly?

Jealousy was ugly and unbecoming, and Kafka - his best friend - had ripped that shame from his core and showed it to him. Called him out on it and forced him to acknowledge the rotten emotion that had been festering inside him for almost two years. It left him feeling raw and exposed. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to hide.

He reacted the only way he could. He went on the defensive. His expression shuttered, “I’m not. I was just statin’ a fact.”

He forced himself to face Kafka head on. Only the guilty avoided eye contact. Kafka’s pitch black eyes were like mirrors, reflecting his own insecurities back at him. The worry painting Kafka’s features made him want to curl up.

“Ya think I’m gonna leave ya or somethin’?”

Soshiro couldn’t hide the full body flinch. When did his friend get so perceptive?

He doubled down, a wry smile carving itself along the corners of his lips, “So ya do want ta leave.”

“I'd never do that!”

It certainly didn't feel like it. Sometimes he felt like he had to fight for every shred of Kafka's attention. The memory of him losing what precious little time he had with Kafka to his friend's classmates and Mina had his temper flaring again. This was self-destructive and pointless, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to make Kafka hurt just as much as his friend had made him yearn, “What did I expect from a filthy kaiju.”

Kafka’s features twisted in anger for the first time since he had known him, his hands balling into fists.

Oh no. I shouldn't have said that.

I didn't mean it.

This was it. This would be the end of their friendship. He had ruined everything because he couldn’t handle his jealousy well enough, because he couldn’t get it together. Half a decade of friendship and the best friend he had ever had slipping through his fingers.

“Yer not listenin’!”

Suddenly, something wrapped around the back of his head. He didn't have any time to react before it jerked him forward, slamming his forehead into something so hard his teeth clicked together and his vision whited out for a second.

When Soshiro’s eyes refocused, he was staring right into Kafka's face. His jaw was tight and his eyes burned bright teal, like lightning in a maelstrom. Kafka's hand stayed on the back of his head, immovable, pressing their foreheads together. They were almost nose to nose. He could feel the crease in Kafka’s brow against his own, and his friend's breath on his cheek as the boy exhaled so harshly it made his nostrils flare.

“Are ya listenin’ now?”

Soshiro nodded slowly. His brain still felt rattled from the headbutt, but his thoughts had stopped spiralling.

“Good.”

Something slipped between his fingers.

Though he had never experienced it before, the feeling was unmistakable. Kafka's fingers filling the gaps between Soshiro's as he boldly laced them together. Soshiro’s heart rate skyrocketed. Soft and unmarked gripped hard and calloused in a resolute hold.

“Yer the only one I want ta stand beside. So wherever ya go, I’m goin’ too. I’m never leavin’ ya.”

The soulful conviction in Kafka’s eyes was the same as when he had first told Soshiro that the Defence Force wouldn’t find him. The same one when he reassured him that everything would be fine. The same one when he promised that he would follow him into middle school despite the huge gap in their academic ability.

Kafka hadn’t let him down in any of them.

Something was squeezing his heart again and stealing his breath, but it was honeyed and euphoric.

Kafka took his silence as hesitation. “I’ll always be right by yer side. I'll tell it to ya as many times as ya need ta hear it.”

Soshiro curled his fingers to rest between Kafka’s knuckles. The skin beneath his rough fingertips felt like silk.

He couldn’t stop the dopey smile slowly stretching across his face, “I’ll believe ya. Jus’ this once.”

Kafka gave him that same radiant grin.

Soshiro’s heart skipped a beat.

His eyes widened a fraction.

It can’t be…

“‘M sorry, for callin’ ya that. I didn’t mean it.”

“‘S alright, I know ya didn’t. I’ve already forgiven ya.”

Soshiro’s head hurt the next morning, and there was a massive bruise on his forehead. He prodded it experimentally, checking the damage in the mirror. Kafka had an impressively hard head. He covered the mottled blue-black with his bangs to hide it. The silly smile on his face was harder to hide, especially from people who knew him well. Thankfully, his brother kept silent about it at breakfast. Nothing was interrupting his good mood.

During lunch, someone from Kafka’s class dropped by, “Kafka’s helpin’ a teacher with somethin’. He said ta tell ya he’ll join ya later.”

That left Soshiro alone with Mina for the better part of the break. Soshiro kept his eyes on his food, chewing mechanically and letting the silence sit deafeningly around them. He couldn’t look Mina in the face without feeling guilty.

“You look down. Did something happen with Kafka?”

Soshiro picked at his vegetables and debated telling her.

“He talked ta me, ‘bout how I was actin’ towards ya. I was… jealous,” he admitted. It prickled his skin, but getting the truth out was relieving.

She smiled with more understanding than he felt he deserved, “That’s ok. If I had a best friend like Kafka, I’d want to hold on to him too.”

Soshiro didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. Mina carried on, undaunted.

“I also haven’t been making a proper effort to get to know you.”

He hadn't given her much reason to. In trying to hold on to Kafka, he had thrown some fairly juvenile behaviour at her.

“Let’s leave Kafka out of this for a moment. Let me be your friend,” she declared, her molten gaze unwavering and confident, a guileless curve to her lips.

If Kafka was like a sturdy mountain, Mina was like fiery lava - steadfast and brilliant. She was so genuine it hurt. She reached out her hand, an invitation to him.

It didn’t have to be him and Kafka, or Mina and Kafka - it could be the three of them together. Friends. His face flushed with shame that it had taken him this long to get that.

He took her hand.

His jealousy didn’t go away.

Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy. He was someone who had to fight for every inch of progress that he had - everything important to him that he could call his own. Whatever he had, he wanted to keep and guard like a dragon over its hoard. That couldn’t be erased so easily.

The next time one of Kafka’s classmates approached them at the shoe lockers again, a possessive jolt went down his spine. He let it roll off his back, and simply held his hand out for Kafka to take. The other boy walking with them, Watanabe, gave their clasped hands an odd look for a moment before continuing to yap with Kafka about some new manga series.

He didn’t think he would ever stop being jealous. Too many people hovered around Kafka - demanding his attention and time and affection. Now though, he was more secure about where he stood with Kafka. His best friend would be by his side. Always. No matter what happened. No one could steal him away because Kafka himself didn’t want to leave.

So he would keep his smile up and his jealousy hidden, locked in the shadows of his psyche.

If he indulged it from time to time… well, he had to make sure Kafka knew Soshiro would always choose him too.

Extra: Soichiro's dilemma

Soichiro wondered what all that racket was in his brother’s room. They were making so much noise it was hard to study. He was graduating high school that year and the commotion was pissing him off.

He slid the door open, ready to yell.

His brother and his brother’s best friend were locked together over their homework, staring into each other’s eyes.

What the fu-

He shut the door. Fuck it.

Chapter Text

The mission had been disastrous.

Platoon Leader Hoshina strode down the halls in a uniform still spattered with blood, both kaiju and human. He had known there was a growing gap between swords and guns in the Defence Force. He resisted it for the longest time, even as swords were phased out and he was the only one left still wielding a sword as his main weapon in the entire division. He had been called away to reinforce this neutralisation operation as one of his division’s more senior platoon leaders, and it opened his eyes to just how wide the gap had become. He was standing at the edge of a vast canyon, staring across.

The kaiju was so large that no matter how he sliced, he couldn’t make any significant headway into its bulky body. It was like trying to slice through an endless pool of mud. With the honju’s many tentacles, he had to risk his life just to get close enough to execute his attacks. And after all that, seeing its flesh simply close up over the damage he had exhausted himself to inflict - it was devastating. The only contribution he could make was to direct the gun-wielding officers in the platoon they posted under him, and go after any yoju that appeared in their area. It was still a close thing - even the yoju were getting larger. He had given it his all during the operation, no matter how Sisyphean it was, but by the end of it he had come to a decision.

He would retire.

His oldest, the pride and joy of the Hoshina family, was joining the force soon so he could rest easy regarding their family’s legacy. His youngest had just started middle school and would need a parental figure, a role only he could fulfil since his wife had long since passed. Above all, there was no need for pure sword-wielders in the Defence Force any longer. There was no reason for him to stay.

When his youngest approached him some months after he left the force, telling him that he would become a Defence Force Officer too, he steeled his heart and told the boy to give up.

As prodigious as his youngest was with a sword, he had no aptitude for firearms. It was a pity that he had been born in the wrong time. Unlike with his oldest, there was no place for him there.

Soshiro was undeterred. He would prove his father wrong. The Hoshina family’s blade was still strong.

“Arghhh he just told ya ta give up?!”

Kafka was rolling on the floor, looking more upset than Soshiro felt. It was actually kind of funny to see Kafka wiggling around like an angry worm, fuming on his behalf. Disappointment and slight betrayal weighed on his shoulders, hearing that from this father. Watching Kafka’s… interpretive floor dance eased the sting a little.

Kafka bolted upright suddenly and Soshiro had to jerk away to keep them from slamming their heads together. He grabbed hold of Soshiro’s shoulders, an intense look in his eyes, “Ya can’t give up!”

Soshiro swept Kafka’s hand off his shoulder and dropped the boy on his front, arm twisted behind his back. He let go of the arm and sat himself down on top of his friend, trapping the boy in with his thighs. He cuffed Kafka over the head, “Calm down, ya really think I’d give up so easily?”

Kafka sagged, exhaling slowly, and Soshiro felt the boy’s back bob under him as he breathed, “It’s jus’… ya worked so hard. How can he jus’ tell ya ta give up?”

Soshiro knew why. He already had his suspicions back when his father retired around the start of middle school. His father had no career-ending injuries and many years before reaching the typical retirement age for a Defence Force Officer, so it was a shock when he had suddenly switched to being an instructor. Soshiro didn’t miss the melancholic way his father regarded the sword displayed in the practise hall when he thought Soshiro wasn’t paying attention. The look on his father’s face when he had pulled him aside to tell him to give up on joining the Defence Force just confirmed it. His father firmly believed that no affinity with guns meant no future in the force, but Soshiro wouldn’t accept it.

The more someone told him to give up, the more he wanted to prove them wrong. He swung one leg over Kafka’s prone body and slid down against his friend’s side. Lying down on the floor, he rested his head in the curve of the other boy’s lower back, “I’ll join the Defence Force, an' I’ll show him that our blades still have a place there.”

Soshiro held his hand out and tapped the ground with his knuckles once, twice, and let it lay flat. Kafka responded in kind and loosely threaded their fingers together. Soshiro squeezed Kafka’s thick digits between his own, “I’ll go further than him and my brother.”

Kafka’s body shifted slightly underneath Soshiro’s head as he hooked his fingers around like a pinky promise and proclaimed, “I know ya will!”

Summer break started with the loud calls of cicadas and sweltering heat. Kafka pressed his ear to his shoulder for a moment to subtly block out the noise. The last time he clapped his hands over his ears in public, his Mama had told him that it wasn’t polite. It was hard not to though, the cicadas seemed to be getting louder every year and the constant min min min was starting to hurt.

“Is he too heavy?” Mina asked, reaching out to take Nyanko’s carrier back from Kafka. The bulky bag weighing down her arm swung with the motion.

Kafka shifted the carrier away slightly, backpack straps sliding on his shoulders, “Nah, he’s super light!” He lifted the carrier up and down a few times to prove it. Nyanko meowed his protest, clipped claws poking through the netting.

Kafka gently lowered the carrier, laughing as he apologised to the disgruntled cat, “Sorry, sorry!”

Nyanko began batting at the netting like he was trying to claw his way out. Mina smiled and touched a finger to the netting, “Is Kafka being mean to you, Nyanko?”

Nyanko meowed and settled down.

“Wh- I’m not! Nyanko, tell her!”

Nyanko flattened his ears against his head and started imitating a siren.

“Damn, I’m not his favourite anymore," Kafka sighed.

Mina laughed, “You were never his favourite.”

“That hurts, Mina! I thought ya were on my side!” Kafka clutched at his chest with his free hand dramatically.

Mina stifled another round of laughter behind her hand, before pointing out the imposing front gate of the Hoshina residence, “Is this the place?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Kafka walked up and hit the button on the intercom. The monitor buzzed to life, showing the face of an elderly attendant.

“Kafka-chan, is that you?” the old lady smiled, crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“Hi auntie! We’re here ta visit Soshiro!”

The old lady’s smile curved higher, deepening the lines around her mouth, “Oh my, come on in. He should be in his room.” She looked away and pressed something out of view on the monitor.

There was a buzz and a click. Kafka pushed the side gate open and led the way through the Hoshina estate. He spent so much time there, the place was like a second home to him. He knew the twists of the corridors and contents of the rooms like he knew the layout of his own apartment. Mina looked around, eyes wide with intrigue. A traditional home such as this was uncommon, especially in a packed city like Tokyo where space came at a premium.

“It’s really cool, huh?” Kafka said excitedly as he stepped over that one creaky floorboard. “They’ve got a whole pond in the back too!”

Inside the house, the loud chirping of the cicadas had faded to a low hum and the hallways were quiet, empty of people. The honk of cars and bustle of the city were too far away to touch the serenity of the ancestral abode.

“It’s very peaceful,” Mina remarked, peeking into one of the rooms. The door was left half-open, the scent of steam and soap drifting out from inside. Kafka caught something distinctly Soshiro carrying on the warm air. His friend had just taken a shower.

Another corridor down, and Kafka was sliding the door open to Soshiro’s room. “We’re here!”

His friend was standing by his desk with his back to them, unmoving and lost in thought. His hair was still wet, towel laying forgotten on his chair. Kafka followed a droplet of water trickling down the nape of his neck and onto his sodden collar. Soshiro had a habit of not taking very good care of himself.

Kafka set Nyanko’s carrier down and swept up the towel, dropping it onto his friend’s head. Soshiro looked up at him quizzically, before tipping his face towards the ground as Kafka started drying down his hair, the ends of the towel whipping erratically. “Yer leavin’ yer hair wet again.”

“It’s summer, it’ll dry on its own,” Soshiro ducked out from underneath Kafka’s care and padded over to Mina. Like a coward escaping a good bout of righteous towelling.

Soshiro greeted her casually, “Mornin’, Mina.”

Mina’s lips were curved with amusement as she set down her bag, “Good morning.”

She sat down and unzipped Nyanko’s carrier, lifting him out like a big furry baby. “Here, hold him.”

She transferred the cat into Soshiro’s arms, “Mom’s picking him up later after she’s done meeting her client, since it’s on the way back. I couldn’t leave him home alone by himself.”

Nyanko went quietly, docile as Soshiro cradled him with one arm. “Yeah I was wonderin’ why ya brought him,” the boy mussed the feline’s belly with his free hand. “We can leave after she comes ta pick him up. What time is she comin’ by?”

Mina hummed, “About four, I think. Sorry, I know we said we’d go out for lunch.”

“It’s ok, we can figure somethin’ out,” Soshiro brought Nyanko over in front of Kafka’s face and the cat batted his nose. Kafka stuck his tongue out at the cat. Nyanko batted him again.

Soshiro snickered, “Get him, Nyanko.”

“Hey! Don’t encourage ‘im,” Kafka pouted.

Soshiro lifted Nyanko’s paw and patted Kafka’s cheek with the cat’s soft pads, “There, there. Why don’t ya sit down? I’ll put ‘im in yer lap since he likes it there.”

Kafka promptly dropped down to the floor cross-legged, eyes sparkling as Soshiro deposited Nyanko in his lap. While he was distracted, Soshiro turned to Mina, “We’ve got plenty ‘a stuff in the kitchen. Anythin’ ya want ta make?”

Mina began filling a wide dish with water and passed it to Soshiro. “How about curry? That should be easy enough.”

Soshiro placed the water dish on the floor and let Kafka settle Nyanko next to it to take a drink, “Yeah, we can do that.”

Kafka ran a gentle hand along Nyanko’s spine. The old cat was leaning further and further out over the low bowl, threatening to tip into it face-first. He reached down to readjust the thirsty feline. The intense summer heat was getting to all of them. Kafka looked up from watching Nyanko to see Soshiro staring at him. His eyes were open, which was a bit of a rare sight, but it was nice. Kafka liked Soshiro’s eyes. They were a deep red, and no matter what, they always held a kindness in them that made Kafka want to follow him to the ends of the earth.

Caught, Soshiro closed his eyes and smiled, canines poking from the corners of his lips. Kafka smiled back. This wasn’t the first time Soshiro had paused just to watch him. None of the other humans said anything about it, so it must be a thing humans did with their best friends. He watched over Soshiro too, during the night when his friend had bad dreams. It was the same thing, wasn’t it? They were looking out for each other. The thought sent a bout of happiness fizzing in his chest.

A soft shutter sound went off, and Kafka looked over to see Mina taking a photo. She was facing away from them, and she had the back of the phone aimed at herself. Kafka tilted his head in confusion, “What are ya doin’?”

“Taking a selfie,” she said calmly. Her phone was angled in a way that put all three of them in the shot. She waved them closer, “Let’s take one together.”

Kafka scooted towards her, throwing an arm around each of his friends' shoulders as he flashed a smile up at the camera. He felt a sinewy arm go around his waist, thin fingers resting against his side, and the shutter sound went off again.

Mina turned her phone back around and clicked into her photos, showing them the pictures she took.

“This one turned out good,” she said, sending the most recent picture in her camera roll to their three-person group chat. She looked up and slipped her phone back in her skirt pocket, “Done. Let’s go make curry.”

The ingredients that were going into the curry were easy to find, but finding the curry roux itself was a lot harder. They opened cabinets and ceramic pots and boxes, but they weren’t able to find any.

“It’s probably in the store room or somethin’, I’ll go check,” Soshiro slid the door open and stepped back out of the kitchen. “Ya can get started on the ingredients first.”

Kafka grabbed the container of rice and began scooping it into the pot, swishing it around with one hand to wash it. Then he drained the murky water and washed it again. Mina peered over his shoulder as he washed it a third time and filled it with water. “We can jus’ set it ta cook while we work on the other stuff.”

He dropped the pot back into the rice cooker that he pulled it from, and set it to cook. Mina hovered by his side, watching him intently. She looked as if she were trying to figure something out, eyes fixed to the buttons on the rice cooker.

Kafka picked up the bag of potatoes from the counter and dumped some into a bowl, “I’ll wash an’ score these. Can ya get the carrots?”

Mina rolled her sleeves up, nodding, “I’ve never used a knife before, but it shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve watched my mom plenty of times.”

“Just yell if ya need help,” Kafka threw over his shoulder as he swished the potatoes around under the tap.

Kafka settled down at the counter opposite the sink with his freshly rinsed potatoes and a knife. There was a sharp hum of metal as Mina pulled a knife of her own out of the knife block, and the splash of running water as she washed it. Kafka began slicing a thin and shallow line around the middle of the potatoes. This would be quick and easy - he had made curry with his Mama plenty of times and it never took longer than an hour. He could practically smell the rich, mildly spicy scent of his Mama’s curry - maybe even taste it on his tongue. There was a soft rumble from his tummy, and he shook his head. No food thoughts, or he would make himself even hungrier.

Suddenly, something zipped past his face. A sharp breeze followed, ruffling his hair. There was a dull thunk as that something embedded itself in the wall right next to Kafka’s head. Right into the thick wood.

Kafka turned slowly, and deadly steel glinted right by his eye.

He screamed inside his heart.

“Kafka?!” Hurried footsteps from outside the kitchen.

Ok, maybe not.

Kafka whipped around to look at Mina. Her eyes were wide, fingers still curled around a phantom knife handle. The carrot she was working on still had its skin, but it had been cleaved diagonally. The end of the mutilated vegetable rolled on the floor.

“It’s nothin’! I’m ok!” Kafka called out to assure Soshiro, and placed a trembling hand on his chest. He swallowed. “I think… maybe ya should use a peeler.”

Mina nodded jerkily and moved to retrieve the knife. Kafka hurriedly placed a hand on the grip, putting out his other hand to stop her, “It’s ok, I’ll get it!”

He tugged on it experimentally. It was really stuck in there, sunk in almost to the end of the knife. What sort of godly ability did Mina have with the blade? Drawing on some of his inhuman strength, he managed to yank the cooking tool out of the wall. Setting it down gingerly, he looked over to make sure Mina had found the peeler. The little stainless steel item was in her hand, so he turned back to his own prep.

There was a hearty crunch as Mina dug the peeler into the carrot, and then disaster struck again.

“It’s… stuck,” he heard Mina brace the carrot against the chopping board and pull, the blade clicking with a tinny chime. There was a creak of metal as the peeler came away, and an odd grinding sound. Something solid clattered on the floor and Kafka looked away from his potatoes to investigate. He was certain there was no way either of them were in any danger - it was just a peeler.

There was a small, angled block of wood on the floor.

Mina had shaved off a corner of the solid wood cutting board - with a peeler.

He was wrong. Her skill with blades was very un-godly. Cursed.

Kafka pressed himself up against the far wall and Mina pressed herself up against the counter beside the sink. Both of them were sweating bullets. Mina was gripping the peeler so tight her knuckles were going white.

“You stay there,” she told him quietly and seriously. “I’m going to put this down. Gently.”

Kafka dug his fingers against the wood of the wall, “Ok. Be careful.”

Mina nodded solemnly. She turned towards the sink, slowly and carefully lowering the peeler into the steel basin. Her gaze was intense, as if she were diffusing a bomb. The peeler clattered softly against metal, and Mina pulled her hand away, sighing.

“What are ya doin’?”

Kafka screamed again.

Soshiro gave him an unamused look, box of curry roux in his hand as he looked in from the hallway. “What’s all the yellin’ for?”

Kafka ran over to the door and grabbed his friend by the shoulders, tears in his eyes, “Soshiro! Mina is terrifyin’ with a knife!”

“I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “I swear I won't touch another blade.”

Soshiro's eyes travelled over the ruined chopping board, decimated carrots, and hole in the wall. “Ah.”

He tossed the bright yellow box in his hand over to Mina, who caught it easily. She looked at him for an explanation.

Soshiro stepped into the kitchen and shut the door, “Ya can do up the curry. Me an’ Kafka will prep the stuff that needs cuttin’.”

She happily obliged.

Among the three of them, they managed to make a decent batch of curry.

“Summer festival! Aren’t ya excited?” Kafka was a ball of energy, pawing at his backpack. After inhaling a large helping of curry during lunch, he was practically bouncing off the walls. He ripped his bag open and yanked out a neatly folded set of light blue fabric.

“Do ya know how ta put it on?” Soshiro had not seen his friend in a yukata before.

“Nope! Can ya help me?” Kafka was already diving into the loose drape of the clothing without bothering to wait for a reply. His friend was like a puppy digging into autumn leaves.

Soshiro shared a look of amusement with Mina, who was putting on her own yukata. The fabric she had over her was black, adorned with pink and orange flowers.

“Ok, c’mere.”

Kafka trotted over, the yukata billowing open and tangling around his ankles.

They ended up standing together so close, Soshiro could catch the scent of the shampoo Kafka used - mild and vaguely floral. He took the hem of the yukata near his friend’s right shoulder, and slid his fingers down it. His knuckles brushed a trail over Kafka’s chest, and his breath stuttered slightly as they crossed the boy’s core, then down and over his hip. Soshiro tucked the fabric against Kafka’s side, suddenly very aware of his own breathing. Laying the left side overtop, he secured the yukata in the front with a tight bow.

Soshiro tied the dark blue obi around Kafka’s thick waist and stood back to admire his handiwork. The structured fabric complemented Kafka’s broad shoulders and boxy build. It was just a shame that his eyes were black in his human form. The blue of the yukata would have paired perfectly with the striking electric teal of Kafka’s real eyes.

He looks good in a yukata.

He tried to move past that intrusive thought, but his mind had ground to a halt. Now that it was in his head it refused to leave, circling like a pigeon trapped in a bookstore.

“Thanks, Soshiro!”

He was pulled up against a strong chest, bulky arms enveloping him in a tight hug and trapping his arms against his side. It wasn’t just Kafka’s shampoo that Soshiro could smell now, it was also the electric snap that sparked off his skin. Something uniquely Kafka. Distantly, he was aware of his heart beating uncomfortably fast.

Too close.

Soshiro wrenched his arm out of Kafka’s tight hold and flicked his friend’s forehead, “Yer crushin’ me.”

Kafka let go with a sheepish laugh. He turned and was immediately distracted.

“Mina! Ya look amazin’!”

Soshiro glanced over Kafka’s shoulder at Mina. She was done putting on her yukata, a pleased quirk to her lips from Kafka’s compliment, “You look great too.”

Kafka whipped around and demanded with gusto, “Soshiro! Doesn’t she look really cute?”

Robed in traditional clothes, Mina cut an elegant figure. Sophisticated, poised, and calm like a frozen lake. Soshiro made a noise of acknowledgement, “It really suits ya.”

Mina’s smile was turned on him now, her eyes crinkling slightly and accentuating the beauty marks in the corners of her eyes.

She was cute.

She was cute, and his heart was still.

That was as it should be - platonic.

He looked over at Kafka again.

His heart thumped damningly.

Oh.

Soshiro was reeling, trapped in his own head, barely concentrating as they walked around the festival. He was holding Kafka’s hand out of habit, letting the excited boy drag him from stall to stall.

Now that he knew what those strange thoughts and feelings were-

Ha, seriously?

Hyper-awareness of everything Kafka was starting to set in. The warmth of his hand, the softness of his palm, the comfortingly firm grip. Every curve, every crease - the feeling of Kafka’s hand enveloping his own was cataloguing itself into his memory.

My hands are sweaty.

The festival grounds were packed, and he was pressed up flush against Kafka as people squeezed past in the opposite direction beside them. Kafka was a half-step behind him, staving off the crush of the crowd. The closeness was like static underneath his skin.

Despite the lively atmosphere and colourful stalls and aroma of different foods mingling in the air, his senses seemed to have dulled - narrowed in on Kafka. He caught himself staring at his friend as the boy played a few rounds of yo-yo tsuri, unable to look away. Sweat dripped down the side of Kafka's face as he lowered the hook, his face fixed with concentration. The tip of his tongue was poking out from the corner of his lips. An excited yell and rambunctious laughter when he managed to get one, pleased flush on his already heat-reddened cheeks. Their fingers brushed as Kafka handed him one of the balloons, and a jolt went up his arm. Soshiro fumbled the toy embarrassingly.

As they queued by a dango stall, squeezed against the side as festival-goers flooded past, the discordant mix of floral and electric wafted off his friend - like flowers in a thunderstorm. A scent that he usually associated keenly with comfort and safety. Now, it was stoking the flames of his affliction. Inescapable in the confined space.

The moment they moved away from the stall, Kafka turned to him, “Are ya ok? You’ve been kinda out of it.”

Kafka’s eyes, black or teal, were always so expressive. He lov- lik- appreciated them in both forms. Just a little lower, there was sauce on his cheek from the dango he was munching on. Soshiro absently wiped it away with his thumb.

“Yeah, it’s nothin’.”

Maybe that’s not what this is. I’m overreacting.

Kafka shot him a toothy grin and Soshiro’s chest tightened traitorously. It was getting worse.

Soshiro looked around for Mina. For once, being around Kafka by himself was too much. He found her, hanging back and blissfully enjoying a little plastic bowl of kakigori. He tried to catch her eye, but she was busy browsing the stalls, lingering wistfully by the glistening strawberry tanghulu set out on colourful trays.

“Here!”

Something sweet-smelling came into his vision. The taiyaki Kafka had bought a few stalls back and was saving for the fireworks display.

“Ya haven’t had anythin’ yet. We can share this one,” Kafka pulled the taiyaki away and carefully split it down the middle. He raised the head of the pastry to Soshiro’s lips.

Was Kafka trying to feed him? Sweat trickled down his temple.

Who taught him that?

His face flamed, and it had nothing to do with the summer heat.

Ah wait, that was me.

Leaning over, he took a small bite out of the sweet treat. Painfully aware of his own breath ghosting over his friend’s fingers. The back of his neck prickled, and he could feel the burn of Kafka’s eyes on him.

I want this day to end.

He hoped it would never end.

The night grew deeper, and they made their way up a nearby grassy knoll to reserve a spot for the fireworks. By the time they arrived, there were already plenty of people with their picnic mats set out, chatting and eating and drinking as they waited for the highlight of the festival.

Mina shifted her candied strawberry skewers to one hand and slid the bag containing their bundled-up picnic mat off her shoulder. They were a little early so they took their time setting up and settling down. As usual, Kafka was seated in the middle, paper bag containing his half of the taiyaki in one hand.

The fireworks started with a soft whistle and trails of light rocketing up into the sky. They exploded with loud pops at their peak, bursting into bright flowers of colour in the dark velvet sky.

Kafka was quiet with awe, taiyaki forgotten. On hindsight, it was probably his first time seeing fireworks in person - as a person. Crowded events like this were exactly the kind of thing a kaiju couldn’t get close to, not without the risk of being spotted and neutralised.

Soshiro watched the bright shimmers of colour illuminate Kafka’s face and a smile rose - starting as a swell of tenderness in his chest and flowing out, unbidden, in his expression.

Fingers intertwined with his, the soft slip of Kafka’s thick digits between his own was already starting to become familiar. Watching lights bloom across the sky together at the summer festival, their fingers laced and palms resting together between them - had his breath jamming in his throat.

As he sat there, tell-tale heart beating in his ears in time with the explosions of illumination, a mellowness began to settle in him. Calm acceptance, as he let the vortex of his affection drag him under.

Ok.

He leaned his head against Kafka’s strong shoulder and watched the fireworks.

Extra: Mina’s record

Mina looked down at the photo on her phone, the one she had kept for herself. Her two friends were smiling at each other like dorks. Soshiro’s expression held a softness that was adorably sweet, and Kafka’s gaze was fixed on Soshiro as if there was no one else in the world. She didn’t know if they knew it, but they looked smitten with one another.

Unfortunately, this was something that they had to figure out for themselves.

When the time came, she could tease them with this.

Chapter Text

School started up again, and they were all back to their busy schedules. It was a rare thing for the three of them to be able to hang out on the weekend together. When they got the chance, they tried to make the most of it.

“We should visit the crepe shop again,” Mina suggested over lunch. They were sitting at their usual seats in the empty classroom. The craving had hit her suddenly a week ago, and she was still thinking about it - the fresh and fluffy whipped cream, tart strawberries, and pillowy crepe skin… Her mouth watered at the memory of it.

“Crepe shop?” Soshiro's head was tilted slightly in curiosity.

Kafka nodded, dashing rice away from his cheek, “The one I told ya about! I sent ya a picture-” The boy whipped out his phone and scrolled through until he stopped at an image. Mina leaned over to take a look even though she already knew which picture Kafka was referring to. It was the one of them together in front of the store, posing with their colourful desserts. Her mom had taken them there as a treat, and she was also the one who helped them take the picture.

Recognition sparked in Soshiro’s eyes, “I remember it.” The expression on his face was contemplative for a second, before melting back to a smile. “Ok, let’s go.”

Garish pink walls and frilly awnings marked their destination, but the terrible decor didn’t matter so much as the quality of their crepes. Mina could feel the spring in her heels as they walked down the shopping street. Their goal was right there, quite literally shining neon in the distance. The chatter of her friends beside her was comforting, and she looked over to see them holding hands again. Kafka was gesticulating wildly, Soshiro listening and reacting to each plot twist of the manga Kafka was raving about. A small smile graced her lips at the sight - she liked seeing her friends happy.

When they got to the shop, Kafka ran over and pressed himself up against the glass display case. His eyes roved over the many variations they had inside, from sweet to savoury. Little fingerprint smudges followed his hands on the weather-worn display. “They’ve got a new mont blanc one!”

Soshiro, who has hanging back by Mina’s side to take in the gaudy storefront, immediately zipped over. He pressed himself up against Kafka, eyes wide open and mere centimetres from being smushed up against the glass too. Mina couldn’t help the slight puff of laughter that escaped her - they were like two kids in a candy store.

She herded them over to the counter to queue and order, feeling distinctly like an older sister. As an only child, she had always wanted siblings. Now, it was as if she had acquired two younger brothers. The store was popular and it was the weekend, so it took some time for them to get to the front of the line. When they finally made it there, Mina ushered her friends forward to order first. She could wait a few minutes more.

Kafka took a step forward, eyes shining bright, but he stopped suddenly with one finger on the menu. His head whipped around, usual carefree expression muted into seriousness. Hand snapping out, he grabbed her wrist and Soshiro’s and started dragging them away from the store, “We need ta go!”

“Huh? Wait- Kafka?” Mina hadn’t noticed anything that would have prompted this response from him. This sudden urgency was a bolt from the blue. Looking over at Soshiro to find someone to share in her confusion, she was only met with a grim set of the boy’s lips and a pinched brow.

What was going on?

“Do we need ta-”

“‘S not that close yet, everyone’s fine. Alarm’s comin’ on soon!”

Alarm?

Suddenly, a piercing ring went out through the shopping district. The kaiju alarm - an evacuation one.

How did he-

The people in the shopping district began filing out, orderly and unhurried. Appliances were turned off, buildings were cleared out. Mina took out her phone to check the location of the attack. They weren’t right at the epicenter, which was a relief, but the ‘Flying kaiju, please be alert’ notification was a little worrying. Flying kaiju were less hindered by buildings and could cover greater distances than terrestrial ones - they were also harder for the Defence Force to keep track of.

They followed the crowd down the shopping street and across roads, keeping as close to the buildings as they could all the way to the nearest evacuation point. No one wanted to be picked up by a swooping kaiju.

Again, Kafka reacted to something that Mina couldn’t even begin to puzzle out. There was nothing, but he was yanking them back, “It’s comin’ here! Why is it-”

A blur rocketed down from the sky, crashing into the pavement like a meteor. It shrieked and rolled and unfurled.

A kaiju.

“Oh, shit! Civilians!” a small figure slid off the monster and landed on their feet. They had a bloodied knife in one hand and a rifle slung over their back.

“Everyone, clear out!” they yelled. Their voice, young but authoritative, carried over the shocked screams of the crowd. There was a mad scramble for cover as people started shoving and bowling others over in their panic.

The crush of the crowd buffeted into them, but Kafka’s grip was like steel around her wrist, keeping the three of them together. He shouldered a path for them out of the panicking masses, towards the fringe of the group - away from the kaiju. Across the thronging rush of people, Mina could see the Defence Force Officer firing at the yoju. Darting around, trying to keep it away from them as they evacuated.

Another round of bullets and the ground trembled as the monster was felled. It didn’t get back up again.

The Officer wiped sweat from their brow and pointed in the direction of the evacuation point. “Alright everyone, the kaiju has been neutralised! Please proceed in a calm and orderly fashion!”

A round of cheers went up as the crowd stalled to celebrate. The relief was palpable, thrumming in the air with their grateful claps and shouts. Some moved forward to take videos or photos.

Kafka’s grip remained tight around her wrist though, which made her uneasy. His eyes were on the sky.

“There’s another one!” he tried to shout over the din.

He let go of them to wave his arms above his head, trying to catch the Officer’s attention.

No one seemed to notice so he dropped his arms, giving up on that.

Kafka’s expression went uncharacteristically steely and he braced himself, as if readying for an attack. His eyes seemed to spark blue in the sunlight, and Mina pulled back slightly. Her friend was acting so outside of his usual goofy, excitable self. If she didn’t know Kafka as well as she did, she would have thought it was chunnibyou behaviour. He had also predicted the kaiju alarm earlier…

Soshiro reached out to grab Kafka’s wrist, and the boy followed the motion with his eyes. Then, glancing up again, the two of them exchanged a meaningful look.

A jolt of frustration coursed through Mina. They were keeping her in the dark about something. Judging by their solemn glances, it was something big.

There was a loud bang, and she startled.

Shocked silence descended around them.

Shattered like glass as terrified screams split the air.

Another bird-like yoju had slammed down into the unsuspecting crowd, scattering them. Crushed bodies lay beneath it, like a macabre facsimile of a nest. One of them twitched, still alive, and Mina felt nausea overtake her.

This yoju’s neck was hideously long. A mature version of the one from before. Its lengthy white throat unwound like a spring and shot through the crowd, snapping up the scrambling civilians in its beak. Long teeth - as long as her arm - speared them through and it tilted its head back, swallowing them all whole. From where she was, Mina could see the teeth undulating as they fed its victims down its gullet. Their screams as they were ground through a forest of knife-like fangs was haunting.

Oh god.

A steely grip took her wrist and tugged at her insistently, “Let’s go!”

She started running on instinct. Her eyes were open but she was as good as blind. Everything was chaos.

It took her a moment to realise it was Soshiro pulling her away and not Kafka.

Where’s Kafka?

There was barely any time to linger on that thought.

“Watch out!”

A loud yell, almost right by her ear, and she turned to see the yoju’s bony head swinging at them like a club.

A wall of grey appeared before her as the Defence Force Officer leapt in front of them, gun raised and already firing.

Impossibly, the head switched trajectory mid-strike, ploughing into the Officer's unguarded side with the size and speed of a bus. The Officer coughed, stunned, and lost their feet, barrelling right into Soshiro. Her friend was ripped from her side. Mina stayed rooted to the spot, her hand and wrist still stinging from the force. She could do nothing as her friend, and the Officer, were slung right across the road. They smashed through a wall.

Shaking its head, feathers bristling, the yoju turned its beady eyes on her. Its neck coiled back slightly, ready to burst forward and devour her. Mina instinctively took a step back, and her foot collided with what felt like an immovable brick. The Officer’s rifle - they must have dropped it when they were sent flying. It was no use, though. The Defence Force’s weapons were famously heavy, almost impossible to wield without an accompanying suit.

She was going to die.

“Get away from her!”

Kafka lunged in from the corner of her eye and socked it, right in the jaw. Miraculously, the kaiju’s deadly beak snapped to the side. It shook itself again, and slithered its head away to avoid another punch. Was it being… cautious of Kafka?

“Quit. Runnin’!” Kafka yelled at the monster as the side of its face grazed past another jab.

The yoju’s head bobbed and swayed around Kafka’s attacks, trying to find an opening. She could feel its eyes on her, already pinpointing her as the weak link. It was only a matter of time before the monster found its opening.

The second Kafka stepped too far from her, it was over.

The yoju struck like a viper. Beak wide open, bloodied teeth clattering together.

“Crap!” Kafka turned, too late.

He bodied her out of the way, but its maw closed around his arm, wrenching him off the ground.

“Kafka!”

She watched with horror as he was tossed up into the air. Powerful jaws slammed shut around his waist like a bear trap.

“Run… Mina!” he ground out, his eyes were desperate as he placed a hand on its beak, pushing on it futilely.

I have to get to him-!

Then the kaiju tipped its head back and swallowed him whole. She helplessly followed the bob of its throat, as it ate her friend alive.

“No!”

Liquid fire spread from her core, filling her numb limbs. She spotted the gun the Defence Force officer had dropped and ran over to it.

She would kill it. She would blast it to pieces.

The sleek black weapon was warm to the touch and she began to heft it up.

Heavy-!

Her arms strained, thighs shaking and veins in her neck popping as she dragged the muzzle along the ground, trying to bring it level. With every scrape she bumped it higher, higher up against her shoulder.

The yoju, unsatisfied with eating her friend, turned its avaricious gaze on her. A shudder wracked her spine. She had to pick it up now!

Yelling with fear and frustration, Mina dragged the gun up, every inch taking an eternity. Panting and trembling, she aimed as high as it could go, right at the kaiju’s foot, “Just- Die!”

Squeezing the trigger, she felt the gun kick back powerfully in her arms, and a piercing pain went through her shoulder. The shot ripped through the yoju’s ankle and exploded. Its leg blew apart in a shower of gore. The grotesque thing screeched, unbalanced, and began to fall in slow motion. Quaking waves rumbled under Mina’s feet as it collapsed.

Anger burned in her like an inferno. First her Miiko, now her friend. All the kaiju ever did was take from her and she hated them.

Mina unloaded bullet after bullet after bullet into the prone kaiju’s head, screaming and gunfire in her ears. Her throat burned and her face was wet - sweat or tears, it didn’t matter. She felt a pop, and a wave of agony ripped up her shoulder. Unable to hold on any longer, the gun clattered to the floor. She fell to her knees, exhausted.

Chest heaving and her arm hanging uselessly by her side, Mina surveyed the yoju. She could barely focus past the haze of pain stabbing through her shoulder, but she didn’t need to see much to know it was dead. There was a sea of blood and gore all the way down to the end of its long neck. Its torso lay open, organs sloughing out onto the concrete. Mina tried to lift herself up. Maybe Kafka was still alive and undigested. Her legs were shivering too violently and she fell back, jarring her arm. She screamed as a fresh wave of fire tore apart her shoulder.

At least the worst threat was dealt with. Mina tilted her head up, gulping in deep, shuddering breaths. She would gather herself and go to him. If there was a chance Kafka was alive, she wouldn’t let him die. Forcing herself up slowly, she shuffled her way towards the kaiju corpse. Each step was a huge effort, and she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She kept her focus on Kafka. He had to be alive. She didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t.

Then, darkness. Something blotting out the sun behind her. Mina turned - too slow - and stared down the vast, spiked emptiness of another yoju’s beak.

About to eat her alive.

No gun, no strength, no way out.

It took all of her willpower not to fall to her knees.

“Mina!”

A shot rang out and the yoju staggered to the side, a bullet in its eye and blood gushing out over its feathered cheek.

“Over here! To yer right!”

Snapping her head around to look at the source of the voice, she drank in the sight of Soshiro with relief. He was battered and covered in plaster dust, blood flowing from his hairline down the side of his head, but he was alive. There was a handgun in his grip. He was holding on to it with both hands, his arms shaking with effort as he battled the weight to keep it level. She felt a surge of respect flood through her - even after getting thrown through a building he was still fighting.

There was a hard set to the boy’s jaw, both eyes open and honed in on the yoju as he fired another well-placed shot and blinded the monster fully. The kaiju thrashed and shrieked, wings throwing up huge gusts and beak snapping wildly.

“Run!” he yelled, still keeping the flailing kaiju in his sight. The damage was superficial and its eyes would regenerate in no time.

Mina sprinted over as quickly as her body would allow, lungs aching from the strain. Her legs were weak under her, and she feared that each next step would be a bad one - the one that would send her crashing to the ground.

An enraged screech, and an emphatic, “Dammit!”

The monster was already recovered.

Mina kept her eyes forward and sprinted ahead, heart pounding as Soshiro’s shots went higher, the pained shrieks even closer above her. Warm, rancid breath crept over her shoulder. Waterfalls of blood and saliva tracing her footsteps as she charged over to the hole in the building.

Then a chilling click-click-click.

The handgun was out of bullets.

They were out of borrowed time.

The shadow over her loomed, larger and larger.

She blinked away her tears-

and it wasn’t there anymore.

Something crashed off to her side, kicking up a spray of debris that pelted her in the calves. An enraged roar drowned out the alarmed shrieks of the yoju that had been chasing her. Mina looked over just in time to see a large, armoured kaiju pinning the bird yoju to the ground. The newcomer dwarfed the monster trapped beneath it, its claws ripping large gashes into floundering wings. The armoured kaiju met her eyes for a brief moment, and she felt icy fear slide down her spine.

It tilted its head towards Soshiro.

She didn’t dare move.

The kaiju made the same motion again insistently. It was eerily human.

Mina swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. Finding her strength again, she jogged over to her friend, keeping her attention on the strange kaiju. Glowing teal eyes tracked her progress over to safety, but made no move to chase after her. The moment she joined Soshiro by the hole in the wall, it gave a brief nod. Then it made quick work of the yoju.

Within seconds, the monster that had been about to kill them was just… dead. The tides had turned so swiftly that she felt whiplashed, leaving her still pumped with adrenaline, grappling with the fact that the fight was over. Without so much as a backward glance, the strange kaiju darted off and disappeared around the block.

The danger had passed.

Mina turned to check on Soshiro, “Are you ok?”

Her friend nodded, voice quieter than usual, “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

She nodded back and started to turn around. Kafka might still be in the kaiju, alive. She had to believe that he was. A soft thump at her waist stopped her, and she looked down to find Soshiro wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Mina smiled down at the boy clinging to her. As strong as Soshiro liked to make himself out to be, he must have been scared. She patted his head reassuringly with her uninjured arm, “We’re safe now.”

His hold around her tightened, and Mina indulged him for a few moments. Her friend needed some stability after such a harrowing experience. She herself was only holding on from sheer stubbornness and the need to be strong for her friends. As the de facto oldest among them, it fell on her to make sure they were all safe.

“I’m going to go look for Kafka,” she told him, reaching down and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Soshiro nodded against her, and allowed Mina to gently ease herself out of his hold.

“Soshiro…? Mina?”

The voice was undoubtedly Kafka’s. Mina turned around so quickly her neck creaked. “Kafka!”

Her friend was covered in kaiju blood, clawing his way out from the corpse’s guts and gasping for air. His movements were painfully slow, sluggish as he struggled his way out through the dense gore.

Mina ran over and grabbed his arm. Kafka’s entire body was slippery with blood and her fingers slid down to his wrist as she pulled him out the rest of the way and set him on his feet. She swept him up into a one-armed hug, uncaring of the blood staining her skin and clothes.

The shaky but firm squeeze around her shoulders was everything.

The hospital waiting room was cold as Soshiro and Kafka sat together on the squeaky plastic benches. Mina’s injuries had been the worst, and a doctor was seeing to her dislocated shoulder. Soshiro’s head wound, though it had proceeded to bleed all over the side of his face on the way to the hospital, was assessed to be superficial. The Defence Force Officer shielded him from the worst of the impact and had been knocked out. Soshiro might not have survived otherwise. It was a stone weighing down his conscience, one of many from this incident.

The kaiju attack they had gotten swept up in this time was much worse - there were so many casualties. Guilt ate away at his heart as he reflected on his actions.

Their deaths were on his hands.

He was the one who had stopped Kafka from helping them.

But if he hadn’t, Kafka would have transformed - and he would have been killed.

In that split second, he had chosen the one over the many. What sort of person did that make him?

Sensing his distress, Kafka pulled him in with an arm around his shoulder. “Yer thinkin’ too much again.”

Soshiro let himself lean against his friend, the bandages around his head sliding a little, “I shouldn’t have stopped ya.”

A light chop landed on the top of his head in response, “It’s not yer fault. Why are ya tryin’ ta take all this on by yourself?”

“I was bein’ selfish. If I hadn’t stopped ya, ya coulda saved them.”

Kafka dropped his arm from Soshiro’s shoulder and moved to lace their fingers together instead. “Then I’m selfish too, ‘cause I listened. I didn’t want ta leave ya so soon.”

Soshiro closed his eyes - he knew that was a lie. Kafka was the type of person to risk his own life to save someone, simply because he couldn’t ignore anyone in need. He never thought about the cost to himself.

“Two kaiju in two years. Ya think we can get a free ice cream if we get a third?” he tried for a joke, things were getting too heavy.

There was a soft sigh above his head that ruffled his hair, “Not yer fault. Nothin’ ya coulda done.”

Being helpless - that was almost worse, but at least that, he could fix. He couldn’t fix wanting Kafka to live.

He couldn’t stop wanting his best friend by his side any more than he could stop breathing.

Soshiro gave Kafka’s hand a squeeze. Despite the gnawing guilt, the warm life beneath his fingers made him feel relieved.

The months flew by until spring arrived, passing blissfully without incident.

Mina was graduating, and Kafka couldn't stop crying. He blubbered through the entire solemn ceremony, blowing his nose and drawing plenty of looks. The year had passed by so fast, there were still so many things he wanted to do together! They hadn’t visited the zoo yet even though they talked about it a couple of times, and the new cake buffet was only opening in the summer.

Kafka made sure to hug her extra tight when the ceremony ended and they were all dismissed for the day. “I’m gonna miss ya!”

Mina hugged back, her embrace firm and lingering, “I’ll miss you too.”

“Ya hafta promise ta keep in touch!” he said, head still resting against her shoulder. His tears were starting to seep through the fabric.

He felt her nod, “Of course, I promise. I’ll message the moment I get to Tokyo.”

They parted, and Mina looked around, scanning the room until her eyes landed on what she was searching for. Kafka followed her gaze and spotted Soshiro, held back by one of his classmates. They were too far away, and the room was too noisy for him to make out what they were saying.

“Kafka,” Mina called to get his attention.

He turned back to look at her, “Yeah?”

She tapped her chest, “Can I have your button? The second one.”

That was a weird request, but since Mina was asking, he would happily give it to her. This uniform was getting too small anyway, so he would be buying a new one for the coming year. Kafka snapped the button off and handed it to her, “Sure! But why?”

An impish light shone in her eyes as she smiled, “I want to tease someone with it.”

Tease someone? Soshiro? He didn’t know how she would do that with a button, but he left her to it.

When he was done, Soshiro walked over to join them. They were going to have one last meal together, and celebrate Mina’s graduation! The thought had Kafka tearing up again.

“Kafka, yer missin’ a button.” Soshiro, sharp as he was, noticed immediately.

“Oh, that! Mina asked for it, so I gave it ta her.”

Soshiro’s eyes went wide and he stared at her incredulously. Kafka was confused, but Mina seemed to be teasing him successfully. Somehow? Mina’s tone was playful, “It’s a good parting gift.”

“Ya- are ya…?”

“Shall we go?” Mina cut him off, turning towards the double doors of the gymnasium.

Soshiro spent the rest of the afternoon watching Mina, like a mystery he just couldn’t figure out. She pretended not to notice, savouring her food peacefully. The near constant upward tilt to her lips gave her away.

Was this another human thing he didn’t know about? It bugged him all the way home and through dinner.

When his Mama returned, he ran over to ask her the moment she walked through the door.

“Mina asked for your second button?” his Mama smiled and laughed a little. “She must really like you.”

“‘Course she does, we’re friends!” Kafka said, even more confused now. Were there different ways friends could like each other?

“Girls ask for the second button from a boy they love,” his Mama dropped the bombshell on him. The whole plane too.

“Thanks, Mama!” he called out over his shoulder as he scrambled over to his room and shut the door.

He called Mina immediately, and she picked up on the second ring, “Kafka?”

“I’m sorry I can’t accept your feelings!” he yelled down the phone. He already had his heart set on dedicating himself to Soshiro. He wouldn't be able to provide Mina with the attention and respect and care she deserved.

There was a long pause.

“Mina?” he checked to see if she was still there.

Hearty peals of laughter broke through like water from a dam, “Kaf- hahaha!”

She was laughing so hard she could barely get a word out. Heat was starting to creep up Kafka’s cheeks. Was his Mama wrong?

When she finally collected herself, wheezing and breaking into small bouts of giggles, she managed to squeeze out, “That’s not it.”

“It wasn’t a love confession?”

“It’s not for me,” she said cryptically, then dissolved into giggles again. “Goodnight, Kafka.”

The she hung up.

So it wasn’t a confession.

Still, he was left with more questions than answers. What did Mina mean when she said it wasn’t for her?

Soshiro stared down at the button in his palm, still warm from where it had been burning a hole in his pocket. Mina had slipped it to him after lunch, while Kafka was in the bathroom.

“Take good care of him,” she told him.

He tossed it in his drawer and it fell against a bed of purple and red rocks.

She was too perceptive.

Extra: An accomplice

Soshiro clung to Mina, watching Kafka poke his head back out around the block. They made eye contact across the distance and he tracked Kafka’s not-so-sneaky run all the way back to the dead kaiju that had ‘eaten’ him.

Kafka owed him at least two mont blancs for covering his ass.

Chapter Text

Kafka rolled up his sleeves and surveyed his troops. Or rather, his ingredients and cooking utensils. Valentine’s was approaching, and he had some chocolates to make. Since Mina was in Tokyo, he would only be making friend chocolates for Soshiro that year.

Ever since he found a recipe for chestnut cream filled chocolates, Valentine’s eve couldn’t have come any sooner. He had rushed out to buy all the ingredients just the day before, so everything was fresh. Flicking on the stove, he put down a pot and filled it with hot water, freshly boiled from the kettle. He bounced on the balls of his feet, humming tunelessly as he melted the chocolate in a metal bowl over the hot water.

The whole operation took him much longer than he thought it would. By the time he was done, the sun had set and it was edging past dinner. The crisp crack of dark chocolate and creamy beige spilling out from within made it all worth it. Kafka packaged the remaining bite-sized pieces in a small purple gift box and closed it off with a red bow. The tester he had broken open, he ate. The bitter taste made him gag, but the mild sweetness of the chestnut came through well. He gave himself a mental pat on the back - this was a good batch.

Drumming his fingers on the box in anticipation, he slipped it into the fridge. He couldn’t wait to see Soshiro’s reaction when he bit into one!

The next morning, Kafka woke up before his alarm and lay in bed, brimming with excitement. He started getting ready for school, shoving worksheets into his bag and slipping on his uniform.

He padded into the dining area, “Mornin’ Mama!”

His Mama looked up from her newspaper. There was a cooling coffee at her elbow and an empty plate dotted with crumbs. “This is rare, you’re up early.”

From her patient smile, Kafka knew she knew why he was out and about. Usually, it would take three alarms and his Mama shaking him awake to get him going. There was a restless buzzing in his limbs as he told her cheerily, “It’s Valentine’s day!”

“Oh? Do you have someone special you’re giving chocolates to?” his Mama asked. She asked every year, and aside from the year Mina was around, he responded with the same thing.

“Just Soshiro,” he slid into his seat and removed the cover keeping his breakfast warm. His Mama had made her usual spread of eggs and toast, and he devoured it all hungrily.

The moment he got to school, he made a beeline for Soshiro’s classroom. The chill of the box seeped through his bag on the way there, and he could feel it sitting against his shoulder blades as he sped-walked through the hallways. The chocolates rattled merrily in their container as he took the stairs up two at a time.

“Soshiro!” the door to his friend’s classroom slid open with a slam. There were a few quick glances and friendly greetings that he returned, but his friend’s classmates were used to his antics by now.

Kafka shimmied onto his half of Soshiro’s seat, bag in his lap. He grinned into his friend’s smiling face, “Do ya know what today is?”

Soshiro tilted his head and played along, “Valentine’s day?”

Unable to contain himself any longer, Kafka pulled the box of chocolates from his bag and thrust it at his friend, “This is for ya!”

The nondescript packaging gave away the fact that it wasn’t store bought, and the girl seated next to Soshiro snickered, “Are ya sure this isn’t honmei-choco, Kafka-kun?”

Kafka felt heat rise to his cheeks at the dig, “Wh- It’s not!”

She let out an exaggerated sigh and looked pointedly at Soshiro, “That’s a shame, I know someone will be disappointed.”

Disappointed? Why? Did she know something he didn’t?

Uncertain, he glanced over at Soshiro, who didn’t look or smell disappointed in the slightest as he undid the bow. His scent was crisp and clear, not much change from the usual. The top of the box came away to reveal the chocolates, arranged in neat little rows.

He picked one up and placed it on his tongue, a smile on his lips, “Dark chocolate?”

Kafka just grinned, bursting with the need to spill its secret as Soshiro bit into it. His friend’s eyes flew open in surprise, and a giddying joy welled up in him like groundwater, threatening to split his face.

“Do ya like it?” Kafka ducked down, chin cradled in his hands as he observed the frosting of pink spreading across his friend’s cheeks.

Soshiro nodded, gaze pinned to the remaining chocolates nestled in the box, “It’s… really good.”

His friend’s expression was slightly scrunched as he tried to maintain neutrality, but the scarlet blush and plume of spiced delight in the air was unmistakable. There was something else mixed in too, and Kafka tilted his head to take it in better. Something new had started drifting like a cobweb within Soshiro’s usual mild scent since the summer. Even though it was faint, it was distinct - the lush fragrance of cherry blossoms.

The delicate hint of flowers in the air intensified as Soshiro plucked up another piece of chocolate and cracked it open between his teeth. He watched with satisfaction as his friend savoured another piece. Kafka didn’t know what emotion to tie to this scent, but he thought happiness was pretty close.

“Can I try one?” the girl who had been teasing them earlier leaned in, already reaching over.

Soshiro slammed the box shut just shy of her questing hand, the cardboard creaking under his fingers.

“No.” He was smiling, but it was a little too unbalanced to be anything but annoyed, “Go get yer own.”

“Yer so stingy,” the girl pouted. “Fine, fine. I won’t touch yer honmei-choco.”

“It’s not!” Kafka yelled again, embarrassed blush rushing back full force.

Soshiro was quiet in the face of the accusation, choosing to toss another piece of chocolate in his mouth instead. He chewed serenely as Kafka tried to defend their friendship status. The girl’s lips tilted, half-amused and half-playful, and completely unconvinced. “Right… I’ll leave ya and yer boyfriend ta it.”

“Hey!” Kafka yelled, flustered, as she snickered and turned back to her phone. His entire face was burning.

A hand landed on his head, patting him gently and distracting him from his indignation, “Thanks fer the chocolates.”

The redness blotching his cheeks quickly melted into a blush of contentment, his mood mellowing as he closed his eyes and leaned up into the pats.

“See? Boyfriends…” the girl drawled, grinning from ear to ear. Her eyes were still on her phone.

Kafka bristled again and stuck his tongue out at her, but didn’t move. The strong fingers in his hair felt too nice to give up.

Kafka settled down in his seat just before the bell and noticed a sweet smell hovering around his desk. Checking under it, he found a mix of chocolates. Most of them were friend chocolates - colourful boxes from popular brands that were cutely decorated for the season. He had his own stash in his bag that he was planning to hand out to his classmates. One of them, right at the bottom of the pile, was larger than the rest. It was neatly wrapped, with a note taped to it.

Zeroing in on the piece of paper, Kafka plucked it up and flipped it open to read it. A hint of something artificially sweet drifted from the pink paper. The words were written in a flowery, flowing hand. His eyes widened, and he brought the paper closer to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Someone wanted to meet him by the school garden during lunch.

“What?!” he stood up, chair scraping back.

“Hibino-kun, please sit back down,” the teacher chided.

There was a smattering of laughter from his classmates, and he smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sensei.”

He sat down and slipped the note under the pile of chocolates stashed beneath his desk surreptitiously, glancing around like a fugitive. Who could have sent him this? Was it someone from his class? They didn’t leave their name in the letter.

Kafka pulled out his textbook, distractedly flipping through the pages and propping it up. Was the box of chocolates sitting innocently under his desk the rumoured… honmei-choco?

Sinking down to his desk behind his textbook shield, he gripped his hair in one hand. Was this as straightforward as he thought? What if he misunderstood something, like with Mina?

There was only one thing he could think to do.

“Soshiro!”

Kafka’s bellow came thundering down the second floor corridor before he even heard the boy’s footsteps. Soshiro sighed. By now, the whole school probably knew his name simply because of how loud his friend was, and how frequently the boy called out to him. It was a little embarrassing, but also endearing.

The classroom door rattled open, and Kafka skidded over to his desk. There was a box of chocolates in his hand, slightly crumpled from how tightly he was holding it. His friend slapped it down on the table in front of him. Perplexity creased his brows, which was a familiar sight. It was the same look he had when he was agonising over his homework and about to ask Soshiro for help. “Someone gave me this.”

“Yeah?” Soshiro took in the matte black box and gold lettering. This was an expensive one. Definitely not anything as benign as friend chocolate. Tying the sender’s intentions together was the piece of paper stuck on top of it, pink and perfumed, folded in half.

“They want ta meet at the school garden. Is this…” Kafka’s dark eyes were excessively serious for someone who typically didn’t pay much attention to romance.

Something icy and urgent slithered around Soshiro’s heart, and he pressed his lips together for a moment to keep from frowning. Someone was trying to court Kafka again. No one had tried since elementary. At least, not until now.

Kafka hovered anxiously above him, waiting for an answer. Soshiro maintained a careful smile, pushing down the annoyance beating against his chest. Why was his friend so eager? He nodded and confirmed Kafka’s suspicions, “It is.”

Kafka groaned and scrubbed a hand through his hair, a flattered flush to his cheeks.

“Are ya gonna meet them?” Under the table, his hands curled into the stiff fabric of his pants.

“Yeah, it’ll be bad ta jus’ leave ‘em hangin’. I gotta turn ‘em down properly,” Kafka huffed with determination and straightened up.

The oppressive weight of imminent loss twisting in Soshiro’s gut vanished, and he fought to keep the relief off his face. Kafka swiped the note, leaving the box on the table, and headed for the door.

“Ya can have some if ya want,” Kafka threw over his shoulder. He made a face, “I don’t like the bitter ones.”

Then he ran off.

Soshiro let out a soft breath, his tensed arms and shoulders relaxing. It was a small mercy that Mina wasn’t around - she would have teased him for his jealousy and taken a picture.

The lid of the box came off with a few gentle shakes, the corners catching on the sides a few times from the dents Kafka had made in it. A card laid atop the chocolates, detailing all the flavours inside. Whoever this was had really gone all out with it. It was too bad they didn’t know his friend very well though, almost all the chocolates were the dark variant. Kafka preferred milk and white chocolate.

Once again, he found himself eating someone’s feelings. Picking up the raspberry one, he cracked it between his canines and rolled the sour, cloying taste over his tongue.

Kafka’s was better.

Dropping the lid back over the box, Soshiro threaded through the maze of tables and chairs. His classroom overlooked the school garden, which was situated at the back of the building. Perfect for getting a bird’s eye view of the person pursuing Kafka. Soshiro slid the window open and leaned out over the sill, a chilly winter breeze tousling his hair.

As he suspected, a girl was sitting on the bench next to the flowerbeds, her blazer pulled tight around her shoulders. Vaguely, he recalled seeing her sitting near the back of Kafka’s classroom. Sometimes he passed her in the hallways. Keen eyes followed his friend’s slow jog over to the girl, and polite bow for showing up late.

The entire exchange was short. Kafka rejected her. She cried and said something. Kafka looked taken aback, put-upon. She said something again. Kafka waffled a bit, then nodded. She hugged him, and he returned it hesitantly. After a few moments of hugging, they parted ways.

Soshiro pushed away from the window and slid it closed. He made his way back to his desk and waited for the inevitable yell.

“Soshiro!”

There it was.

Fixing his smile, he turned to see Kafka re-enter the classroom. “How’d it go?”

“I’m goin’ on a date with her after school,” Kafka picked at the seam of his pants pocket.

Soshiro let out a startled laugh. That was the complete opposite of what his friend had set out to do. “How’d ya- how’d ya manage that?”

“Felt bad fer turnin’ her down,” Kafka squeezed himself onto his half of the chair again. “She said she jus’ wanted one date, and she’d be happy.”

Humming, Soshiro snacked on another one of Kafka’s homemade chocolates. He kept his tone light and nonchalant as he remarked, “Have fun, don’t ya get too carried away.”

A snicker bubbled out of him as Kafka squawked at the insinuation.

Yamaguchi Miwako had a plan.

As a second-year transferring to a new school halfway through the year, the first few months were rough. Her father’s promotion and their family’s subsequent move to Osaka had ripped her away from all her friends and dumped her somewhere confusingly different. She had never thought about her accent until they moved there. Now, every time she opened her mouth, she was acutely aware of how different she sounded from everyone else.

The first day had been nerve-racking. Her new classmates watched on, bored, as she stumbled through her introductions. All the students in her class had known each other since their first year, and cliques had already formed. Worried about being the outsider looking in, she had shied away.

Kafka was a pleasant surprise. Big and loud, he made her feel welcome and showed her around the school on her first day. He seemed to be friends with everyone, introducing her to different social circles in the class until she found her people - a small group who shared her love for romance novels.

She harboured a small crush on him from that first day, and it only blossomed with each interaction. In class, during the breaks between lessons, and during school events. Kafka was friendly with everyone but each time he helped her out, or shared a snack with her, or patted her on the shoulder, she was sure there was something special there. When Kafka pulled her into a tight hug during sports day, she was certain he had feelings for her too.

Valentine’s day was the perfect opportunity to confess. She hoped this would be the beginnings of a sweet romance like she had always dreamed of.

Her plan was simple. A box of chocolates and a perfumed letter. Then a heartfelt confession in the school garden. Afterwards, a fluffy romance with a golden retriever boyfriend.

When she shared her plan with her friends, they didn’t have the same enthusiasm. They looked at each other, apprehension hanging stale in the air. Her floaty anticipation deflated - there was something they knew that she didn’t.

“Miwako-chan…” one of her friends took her hands, her expression heavy with sympathy. “Kafka-kun’s taken.”

“He has a girlfriend?”

If he did, he never acted like it. The person he hung out with the most was his best friend from another class.

“Not… exactly,” her friend said slowly. Another meaningful exchange of looks passed among the group. “He’s got a boyfriend.”

Miwako choked, “He does?”

“They’re not official or anythin’!” her friend backtracked. “But they’re real close. Since first year.”

Another friend nodded, “They hold hands an’ everythin’.”

“Kafka-kun follows him everywhere.”

“Saw ’em feedin’ each other once.”

That was discouraging, but she wouldn’t be deterred. If they weren’t officially dating, she still had a chance. Besides, what were the odds that her crush was actually gay?

Miwako gripped her friend’s hand, a fire burning in her, “I’m still going to try.”

If she had to fight for her love, so be it.

She should have expected being soundly rejected. After the effort she put into this, being told her crush didn't feel the same way hurt, but the way he said it without hesitance drove the knife even deeper into her heart.

“Just one date? I swear I won’t bother you again,” she found herself blurting out through tears.

Kafka reared back, surprised and speechless.

“It- It’d make me really happy,” she mumbled, echoing a line from one of her favourite novels.

After some hesitation, Kafka nodded.

Excitement flooded back into her, and she threw her arms around her crush. He smelled clean with a hint of floral soap, and when he hugged back it was like the comforting embrace of a weighted blanket.

Miwako pulled back and scuffed the tip of her shoe in the dirt, suddenly shy. “I’ll see you later after school? I know a nice café we can go to.”

“Sure!” her crush agreed with an easy smile, and her heart soared.

The date was not going according to plan.

Things started going downhill when Kafka had turned up at the shoe lockers, big puppy dog eyes, and asked if he could walk his best friend to the station first. It was a weird request, but she wanted to be gracious and make a good impression, so she agreed. She knew about their routine, she just didn’t know he would want to stubbornly stick to it even though they were going on a date.

Miwako peeked curiously at the best friend - she didn’t know his last name but she was certain his first name was Soshiro. He smiled a lot and was well liked, but there was something about him that made her feel uneasy. He was just a little too smiley, a little too calm, and his eyes were curiously always closed.

The best friend held out his hand and Kafka took it happily. As they walked past, she caught blood red eyes staring right at her. There was cold calculation in them, pinning her like a bug under a microscope. They slid closed, making the boy seem approachable again, but the uneasiness in her grew.

Some time later, Kafka returned, and they set out for the café. Walking close to Kafka, Miwako soaked up the warm presence of her crush. She held her bag in front of her, swinging right at her knees, and held back an excited giggle. Her eyes wandered down to his hand, large and dependable, and imagined herself holding it. Boys liked holding soft, petite hands like hers didn’t they?

The café was crowded and they ended up being seated al fresco, in the cold winter air. She and Kafka weren't the only ones out on a midday Valentine's date. The icy cold was nipping at her hands, so she blew on them to keep them warm.

“Are ya cold?” her crush asked. Miwako nodded, her heart racing as she looked up at him shyly from beneath her lashes. Was he going to take her hands and warm them up for her?

“Here, use these!” he pulled a pair of mittens from his bag.

Her fantasy came crashing down.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and put them on. On the upside, they were comfortably warm.

He threw a scarf around her too for good measure, but she felt more like she was out with her mother than a boyfriend. Ordering, eating, chatting, they didn’t do anything romantic. The constant stream of ‘Soshiro did this’, ‘Soshiro said this’, ‘Soshiro likes this', also grated on her nerves.

Towards the end, Kafka suddenly perked up. He stood and leaned against the low fencing of the café, waving someone over. Miwako followed his line of sight and her heart curled up with exasperation. Dark hair and a foxy face, what was the best friend doing here?

“What are ya doin’ back here?” her crush echoed her thoughts. They were so in sync.

The best friend lifted a bag full of what looked like sports supplies, “Runnin’ errands.”

Taking in the state of Kafka’s face, the best friend hummed and pulled out a handkerchief. His expression softened mushily, “Yer still so messy.”

Kafka laughed a little and leaned in as his best friend dabbed away the cream that had somehow ended up on his cheeks. Robbed again of a romantic gesture, her own handkerchief burned in her pocket.

When he was done, Kafka picked up his plate and held it out over the fence. There was still half of a key lime pie on it. “Here, ya should try this.”

Kafka reached for a fork but instead of handing it to his friend, he cut off a corner and lifted it to his friend’s lips. The fox-faced boy locked eyes with her, and she could swear he was smiling tauntingly as he devoured the sliver of pie.

Miwako’s hopes for a romantic date - one memorable day alone with her crush to fuel her in the years to come - shrivelled as she watched her crush tenderly feed the remainder of his dessert to his best friend.

Once the pie was polished off, the best friend held out his hand, and Kafka took it. Miwako watched with horror as he manoeuvred Kafka’s fingers between his own, lacing them together. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

Kafka nodded, and pressed their palms together with a soft noise of agreement, “See ya!”

The boy dropped her crush’s hand, turned, and left. As if he hadn’t just ruined her date. In that brief interaction, she had never felt so much like a third wheel.

She should have listened to her friends.

Kafka was very, heartbreakingly taken.

And his boyfriend was awful.

Soshiro covered his face with his hand as he listened to Mina laugh at him over the phone.

She had interrogated him until she got the full story. Everything from doubling back and following Kafka to the café, to the blatant PDA he had roped his oblivious best friend into, right in front of the boy’s horrified date.

“That was really mean of you,” she said the moment she finally collected herself.

“I’m hangin’ up,” Soshiro told her pointedly, rough irritation seeping into his voice.

“Oh, wai-”

He hung up on her.

His phone beeped almost immediately, a message from Mina. ‘You need to tell him how you feel.’

Soshiro dipped his head, contemplative. She made it sound so simple, but there were so many things to consider. Above all, he didn’t want to lose his friendship with Kafka if his confession went sour.

‘What if he says no?’ he voiced his fears and sent it to her. ‘He might not want to be friends after.’

‘He won’t do that,’ Mina replied instantly. ‘He’s Kafka.’

She had a point.

‘He already rejected me, actually.’

That blindsided him, ‘When?’

‘Graduation, with the button,’ she clarified. ‘He thought it was a confession.’

Soshiro felt the tension leave him. The thought of Mina having feelings for Kafka was disquieting. He wasn't sure if that was a battle he could win.

‘Want to know what he said?’

He did, but his fingers hovered over the send button after he typed out his reply.

‘I’m sorry I can’t accept your feelings,’ Mina dropped the answer in his inbox, sensing his hesitation. ‘It’s very Kafka.’

'There, now you're prepared,' she finished off.

Soshiro stared at the words, and tried to imagine Kafka saying them to him. It would hurt, but he could live with it.

‘Thanks Mina.’

‘Anytime.’

Tossing his phone beside him on his bed, he shifted into a cross-legged sit to think. If it was a confession, he would need to plan one well. White day would be an obvious choice, but it was too public, too open. He didn’t want to risk a public rejection.

Their school trip was coming up soon. For the third-years, the destination was Tokyo, and all classes in their grade would be going together. Their itineraries would be different, but on the last day, they were given free rein to plan their own activities. That gave him a chance to take Kafka around the city, and end the day somewhere scenic and private.

I’ll confess to him then.

Everything would be perfect.

Extra: A father's observations

Instructor Hoshina watched as his youngest son filled their already well-stocked supply room. 

Ever since his son befriended Kafka, he had been a lot more open. But there were also times when he was a lot more odd.

He loved his son, but did he really need to come home with 5 rolls of tape, a bottle of disinfectant, and no explanation?

At least he seemed happy. As a father, that was all he wanted for his child.

Chapter Text

“Your school trip this year is in Tokyo?” Kafka’s Mama looked through the consent form, flipping it back and forth to check the details. “This is somewhere new, isn't it?”

Kafka gave her a firm, excited nod, shifting from foot to foot, “Can I go?”

His mom smiled, crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling, “Of course. It’ll be a good experience. Is Hoshina-kun going too?”

Kafka nodded again, even more excited now. All classes would be going together for their third year, with a free day for the students to plan something for themselves. For practising teamwork and independence, the teachers said, but he didn’t really care about all that. He had never seen Tokyo before - Mina's home turf - and he was raring to go. “Yeah, he is!”

Kafka eyed the pen as his Mama put it to paper and scribbled her signature. She handed it to him, an amused smile defining her laugh lines at his antsy fidgeting.

He took it eagerly, “Thanks Mama!”

His mother sighed and leaned back in her chair a little, “Maybe I should go visit a friend while you’re on your school trip.”

“Auntie Suzuki in Kyoto?” his Mama had several friends. Some of them were scattered around Japan, so she usually visited the ones who lived in the nearby cities.

His Mama shook her head, “Naoko, she’s living in Odawara now. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her. Years, I think.”

“Ya should go! I’ll be fine on my own too if ya wanna stay fer longer,” Kafka put in his two cents. He couldn’t imagine not seeing Soshiro for that long.

His Mama patted him on the head with crinkling eyes and a soft smile, “Is that so? That’s reassuring, my Kafka is all grown up.”

Kafka preened at the praise, chest puffing and cheeks pinking. He was rewarded with a small huff of laughter and amusement sparkling in his Mama’s eyes.

“In that case, I think I will.”

Soshiro was nervous.

Sitting in the shinkansen, he looked through a blurry photo of his itinerary. The plan had to be approved by their homeroom teachers, and every half hour charted out so someone would know where they were at all times. His homeroom teacher didn’t seem at all surprised when he approached her in the teacher’s office and proposed collaborating with a student from another class on his day plan.

“Hibino-kun, right?” she glanced at the worksheet in his hand. The blank time slots where they were meant to write down their activities were already filled in - he had planned this months ago. Kafka bugged him about it curiously, but Soshiro insisted on being the one to search for places of interest and put them down. As the one taking Kafka on a dat- a day out, he had to be the one to plan it, from start to end.

The itinerary was approved without much fanfare. One worksheet per team, so surprising his friend wasn’t completely off the table. Which was how he found himself there, hunched over his phone and buzzing with nervous energy. Mina had warned him about the confusion of trains that serviced Tokyo, and looking at the map she sent him had given him a headache. Still, he painstakingly charted out what trains they needed to take, which platforms they needed to be on, which exits they needed to leave from. Buffer times were factored in, and alternative locations listed. Their itinerary was saved on his phone in both document and picture form. The numbers of both their homeroom teachers were saved on his phone.

He was as prepared as he could possibly be.

“You’ve got yer schemin’ face on. What are ya lookin’ at?” Tanaka-chan plopped herself in the seat next to him and leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of his screen. Since he had stopped her from stealing one of the Valentine’s chocolates Kafka made for him, she had taken it upon herself to bug him as much as possible. He tilted his phone screen away, wondering why she was sitting next to him. She was usually joined at the hip with another girl from their neighbouring class.

“Itinerary fer the afternoon,” he lied smoothly, locking his phone. “Senso-ji temple looks interestin’.”

Curiously, she seemed more interested in his affairs than the trip itself. When they had gone to Okinawa the previous year, and Hokkaido the year before that, she had talked his ear off about it.

He turned the questions back on her, “Aren’t ya excited?”

“Not really,” she kicked her feet. “I go every New Year’s ta see my folks. It’s kinda borin’ actually.”

Propping herself against the window, she pulled her phone out and fired up a mobile game. Soshiro sank back into his seat, thankful that her attention span was short.

“So… ya gonna go look fer yer boyfriend tonight?”

Out of the frying pan, into the fire. “Ya think they’re gonna let us wander around?”

“Yer not denyin’ it.”

“Why are ya so interested?” he asked her outright.

“I jus’ think it’s cute. An’ it’s fun ta ruffle yer feathers,” a smirk appeared on her lips as she tapped at her phone screen languidly. “When are ya gonna confess? Whole class's bettin’ on it.”

Two days from now.

“None a’ yer business.”

Tanaka-chan shrugged. “If ya don’t, someone will.”

She didn’t know how right she was - someone already had. Even if they weren’t successful, it was still enough to kick him into action. The girl - he couldn’t remember her name - now avoided him like the plague. He caught her eye once, walking down the corridor to get to the bathroom just as she was heading out of her classroom. She darted back inside and slammed the door shut. He didn’t blame her for her skittishness, he could acknowledge that he had been petty. However, seeing her on a date with Kafka had been like someone stepping on his tail. He couldn’t not react.

His banter with Tanaka-chan over, anxiety twisted back to life in his gut. He pulled a novel from his bag and flipped it open, eyes roving over the page to quell his nervousness.

By the time they reached Tokyo, Tanaka-chan had fallen asleep. He shook her awake as their year-mates filed past. She mumbled her thanks and they joined their class on the platform, lined up neatly off to one side as their homeroom teacher did a quick headcount. Once she was certain they were all there, they headed off.

The first day passed by in a blur. They had lunch, then trips to several historic sites. They ended the day off at Tokyo Tower, which gave them an impressive view. The city was spread out beneath them, a bright blanket of lights in the darkness. Soshiro leaned against the railing by the window and wondered what Kafka was doing. Sharing the sights with him would have been nice.

“Thinkin’ ‘bout yer boyfriend?”

Soshiro sighed inwardly as Tanaka-chan walked over to him.

“No,” he denied automatically.

“Ya get this look on yer face when ya think of him,” she said, leaning her back against the railing next to him, elbows on the metal.

I do?

A brief spark of alarm had him bringing a hand to his cheek instinctively.

“Ha! Ya jus’ confirmed it,” Tanaka-chan teased.

She had played him.

Soshiro folded his arms on the railing, his smile twitching with annoyance, “What do ya want?”

“Kafka likes Guramon,” she shifted gears abruptly.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. Kafka’s undying love for Guramon was why one of the first stops on their list for the last day was the Guramon Center. They had one in Osaka, but Kafka had been pining after a few limited edition items that were only sold in Tokyo. He had tried to get a booking for the café for the exclusive merch that came with it, but luck wasn’t on his side.

“Like, he likes it a lot a lot,” she emphasised.

What was her point?

“I still think his choice ‘a starter’s stupid. My friend likes the same one, ya know? We argue ‘bout it a lot,” she went on.

“Then why don’t ya go bug yer friend?” he could feel his patience trickling away. Where was she going with this?

“She’s sick, she couldn’t come,” Tanaka-chan turned to look out over the city too. For the first time that day, he saw her shoulders slump with forlorn. That explained her muted mood this school trip, and why she came looking for him more than usual. She reached down and unzipped her bag, pulling out a few sheets of paper.

“Here, take it,” she thrust the papers into his hand.

He looked at her, then at the papers, puzzled. They looked like email printouts. “What’s this?”

“Reservation fer two at the Guramon Café. I don’t wanna go alone, so I’m givin’ it to ya. I’ll tell sensei ‘bout the change,” she slung her bag onto her back and leaned casually against the railing again. As if she hadn’t just handed him the perfect lunch spot on a silver platter. “His starter’s the red one. Make sure ya give ‘im the right one.”

“Why are ya doin’ this?” he was dumbfounded.

“‘Cause we’re friends, ya dimwit,” she laughed.

Kafka woke to the smell of something bitter and chemical. It was faint, but it choked the air like burning rubber. It was a scent he knew well.

He sat up, blanket sliding off of him, and focused his hearing past the soft snores of his classmates. The sound he was searching for was too far away, but he knew where Soshiro’s class was staying. Getting to his feet, he stepped carefully around the sleeping bodies of his classmates and opened the window. The rooms were all locked from the inside, so the window would be the easiest way to get into the room his friend was staying in.

Climbing out, he walked easily along the ledges, tail held behind him to keep his balance. No one would be looking eighteen stories up at a hotel in the middle of the night anyway. When he got to the room, he forced the window open, the broken lock dropping onto the ledge with a high chime. He slid inside.

Looking around, the room was mostly the same as his own. Dark, soft snores, slow heartbeats. Except for one. Rabbit-fast, accompanied by laboured breathing and the soft but restless shifting of sheets. Weaving through the sleeping bodies, tail held high to avoid smacking anyone, Kafka made his way over to his friend. It had been years, but he was still having nightmares. The topic of seeing a therapist had come up several times, but his friend was insistent that there was nothing wrong with him.

Sitting down next to his friend, he reached out. Then paused. If Soshiro saw his tail out, he would get scolded again. Hiding his tail away, Kafka finally slipped his hand against the creases along his friend’s forehead. A choked inhale, and Soshiro was smacking his hand away instinctively. Taking in gasping breaths and clutching at his chest with one hand, his friend sat up and turned to peer at him through the gloom. “Kafka?”

“Could smell ya havin’ a nightmare,” he explained, keeping his voice low.

“I’m fine, ya should go back,” Soshiro’s voice was calm, but he was still gripping the front of his shirt, taking measured breaths. Kafka’s night vision meant that every detail was clear as day, even in the thick dark. The slight tremble in his friend’s hand did not escape his notice.

“’M not goin. Yer just gonna have another nightmare,” Kafka shifted closer. “They’re not gonna do much even if they find me here.”

The stakes weren’t as high as they were when he snuck onto the Hoshina property. Seeing the reason in his statement, his friend let out a long, slow breath and lay back down. Soshiro's heart rate was returning to its normal pace, slowly but surely. “Ya gotta leave before the mornin’ wakeup call.”

His friend held his hand out over the blanket and Kafka took it with a grin. “‘Course!”

Kafka stayed, sitting cross-legged and half on his friend’s futon. His ears were perked, listening as Soshiro’s breathing eased and slowed. Then the deep inhales and exhales of sleep, heart beating out a similarly steady rhythm.

Turning his friend’s hand over in his own, he ran his thumb over the constellation of calluses that covered his friend’s hands, from the tips of his fingers down to the heel of his palm. Soshiro’s hands didn’t blister as often any more, but he had always wondered about it. Humans had to be hurt before they got tougher skin. If they needed it, why were they not born with it like he was?

Mottled yellow and purple at his friend’s wrist drew his eyes. There were new bruises scattered over his forearms, from training in his family’s martial arts style. Moving his hand up to them, he dragged his knuckles over the splash of colour. Little, unavoidable hurts as his friend trained to get stronger. He continued to trace a line up Soshiro’s arm, stopping at a large, pale scar around the middle. Seeing it still made him bristle with anger, dorsal plates shifting beneath his skin and the corner of his mouth splitting with teeth. He closed his hand around it, feeling the strong sinew of his friend’s forearm.

For the big hurts, the avoidable hurts, he wanted to always be there to watch his friend’s back.

Soshiro was nervous. The day had arrived.

After some final checks and preparations by their homeroom teachers, and multiple reminders about their safety protocols, they were finally allowed out to explore the city. Kafka held his hand as they walked to one of the many train stations in the area, watching as people hurried past. They had managed to miss the morning rush, but the crowds were still plentiful at the station. Signs were placed every few meters to help people find their way, but the sheer number of exits and platforms and lines was dizzying.

Soshiro led them both down the labyrinthine corridors that made up the station, peering up at the signs. They had to double back once or twice before finding the correct platform on the correct line. Kafka never once complained, following behind him eagerly, yet patiently, even as they walked up a long pathway, and then all the way back down again. The signage had disappeared halfway and it took him a while to realise they were going in the wrong direction.

Once they were on the platform, things went a lot smoother. The crowd had thinned by the time they set foot in the train carriage, and they managed to find a pair of seats where they could take a breather. Pressed up shoulder to shoulder with Kafka, and alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the train, it was difficult to wrangle his senses away from his friend. He caught himself leaning into the heady mix of skin-warmed soap and electric sparks. Straightening out as casually as he could, he tried very hard not to think about the sturdy bulk of Kafka’s arm, solid against him.

Eventually, they made it to their destination. As they exited the train onto the platform, Kafka looked around curiously, “Where are we goin’?”

A small smile tugged at the corners of Soshiro’s lips, “You’ll see, jus’ follow me.”

They walked along the wide streets, past towering buildings, until they arrived at a nondescript entrance. The only thing marking it as special from the outside were the glowing words ‘Guramon Center’ above the doors.

“Is this…!” Kafka ran inside, dragging Soshiro along with him.

His friend’s cheeks were rouged, eyes sparkling as he took in the characters covering the walls. To Soshiro, there wasn’t a huge difference from the one in Osaka, but it must have been different for a diehard fan.

Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him into an all-encompassing hug, a soft cheek pressed up against his own that had his heart racing. He could feel the sunny smile on Kafka’s face. He would never admit it even under threat of death, but Kafka’s infectious happiness alone made the hassle and stress of navigating Tokyo’s train system for the first time worth it.

The staff seated them by the windows and handed Soshiro a pair of keychains, small plushies of the game’s Starters dangling from them in pastry chef outfits. Objectively, they were cute, but he couldn’t see why fans of the series would fight for a spot at the Tokyo branch just to get them. Though it would be hypocritical of him to judge them too harshly. He had camped out in front of his computer to fight for a slot too.

He knew the names of some characters simply from Kafka’s gushing, but the ones he could identify accurately were few and far between. Kafka on the other hand, could name all several hundred of them. Placing the one that looked like a blue turtle down on the table, he turned and deposited the keychain of his friend’s Starter in the boy’s eager hands.

“Look, ya can even take the jacket off!” Kafka fiddled with the little figure, sliding the white chef jacket off one of the plushie’s arms. He didn’t understand the appeal, but he was happy that his friend was happy.

When the food arrived, Kafka spent a good ten minutes just taking photos. They were certainly picture worthy, almost every food item was shaped to look like the cute monsters in the game. Each drink was served with themed, cork-backed coasters that they could take home.

Cuteness wasn’t enough to save the little yellow mascot from a gruesome fate the moment Kafka dug a spoon in. It was a massacre, rice and sauce falling all over the table. Splashes of his bright red drink spilled out and ran down the sides of the tall glass as he stirred the ice cream into his soda. Fondness warmed Soshiro as he picked up the themed utensils and began working through his own dish, his attention stuck on Kafka as the boy attacked his food with genuine enjoyment. It was endearing in an amusing way. The urge to reach out and grab his friend’s bulging cheeks had him pressing the tips of his fingers against the cold metal of his spoon.

They rounded out their visit with a quick stop at the Guramon Center. The shelves of limited edition plushies were tucked away in the back of the store, and they made a beeline for it. Kafka immediately adopted one, tucking it under his arm and carrying it around the entire time as they explored the rest of the shop. After a good deal of indecision, it was the only item he carried over to the counter with him. Soshiro joined him in line, a small plushie in one hand.

This got him a raised eyebrow from Kafka. “I thought ya weren’t inta Guramon?”

“I’m not,” he looked down at the little blue turtle and gave it a soft squeeze. “It’s fer a friend.”

Their next stop was Akihabara. He had debated putting it on their itinerary - it seemed like low hanging fruit. In the end, Occam’s Razor won out. He wanted the day to be one that Kafka enjoyed, and there were few things that brought his friend more joy than manga and video games. Taking them from store to store, he got to see Kafka exploring each one with child-like wonder. Loud exclamations when they came across gachapon machines featuring characters from his favourite series. Quiet, focused interest as he browsed the shelves of a Book-Off, searching for a hidden gem amongst the second-hand books. Soshiro was content simply holding Kafka’s hand and listening to him ramble about whatever caught his eye.

They made a quick stop at a food street on the way to the last location on their list. An eclectic collection of shops were lined up on either side, stretching as far as the eye could see. Crepes, tornado potatoes, and ice cream. He and Kafka shared whatever street food looked interesting. They didn’t make it very far. By their fifth snack, they were both too full to stomach more. Soshiro offered up the last of the crepe to his friend like one would offer up a soggy ball of hair. Kafka went pale, but gamely ate the rest in a single bite.

Shinjuku Gyoen was their final destination for the day - scenic, tranquil, and the greenery would be reminiscent of the first time they met. The perfect place for a quiet confession.

As he sat together with Kafka, the train flying across the tracks, his nervousness from the start of the day reared its head again. Where before it fluttered like a caged bird, it now battered against his ribcage like a captive lion.

He wasn’t ready, but it was almost the end of the day.

They arrived at the gardens near closing, and most of the visitors were already making their way out. The late afternoon sun hung high in the sky as they strolled through the serenity of the garden. Following the pathways brought them past flowering plants and a large lake, until they found themselves on a path lined with towering trees. The entire stretch was completely empty of people - so deserted that the space felt private. Soshiro sat down on one of the wooden benches and waved Kafka over. The boy slid over next to him, bags of earlier purchases balanced on his lap.

Sunlight filtered down through the thin canopy. The leaves rustled gently as a cool breeze stirred the late spring air. It was a calm moment, but he was standing in the eye of a hurricane. Wiping his hand against his pants and taking a slow breath to calm his apprehension, he entwined his fingers with Kafka’s. Laid his head against his best friend’s shoulder.

“Kafka?”

“Yeah?”

He was standing on a precipice.

“I-”

A dark, chill wind crept down the path. Airy and light, but the cold heaviness in it stilled his tongue.

Kafka froze too, entire body going taut in an instant. When the ominous breeze died down, the boy was already standing. “It’s a kaiju.”

That had Soshiro on his feet, senses sharpening with alertness, but he paused when Kafka put a hand on his arm. His friend was shaking his head in confusion. “It’s not… here. But it’s real strong.”

They made their way out of the park quickly.

No kaiju alarm sounded.

Once they made it back to the train station, Soshiro slipped his phone out to scan the news. “There’s an attack in Odawara, Second Division’s handlin’ it.”

“Odawara?” Kafka’s eyes went wide. He yanked his phone out too, so forcefully that it almost flew out of his hands. His friend scrolled through the barrage of news articles and social media posts as people reported live on the attack. The curve of the boy’s jaw was tight and his frown was deep, dark eyes alight with worry. “My Mama’s in Odawara.”

“I hafta go!” Kafka started running blindly towards one of the platforms.

He was going the wrong way.

Soshiro hurried over and grabbed his hand, pulling him in the opposite direction, “It’s this way.”

When they made it onto the platform, there weren't many people out and about. The trains would already be stopping before they reached Odawara, to prevent casualties. Kafka bolted into the nearest carriage and Soshiro stepped in to follow him. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, nudging him away and out of the train doors. “Ya need ta stay here, I don’t want ya gettin’ hurt.”

Irritation swirled in his gut. Did Kafka think he was incapable? That he would be content with sitting on his hands? At the very least, he could provide a level head and make sure Kafka got where he needed to go. He shoved his friend in, so hard the boy stumbled and fell back on his bottom. Soshiro slipped through the closing doors and stood over his friend, “I’m comin’ with ya until the train stops.”

He reached down and hauled Kafka onto his feet, looking the boy dead in the eyes. “It’s not goin’ anywhere near Odawara. I’ll be fine.”

Surprise softened Kafka’s previously panicked expression. Then the boy nodded, a determined set to his brow. “Ok!”

The one-hour ride to Shibusawa, where the service terminated, was long and quiet.

Hibino Sakuya was an average woman who lived an average life. An office drone whose days were marked by clocking in, mealtimes, and clocking out. Days blended into weeks blended into months and years. Her friends got married, had children, then grandchildren. In a blink, she was in her late 40s, no relatives, living a quiet existence. The husband-less, childless life suited her just fine. It was peaceful.

When she was offered a higher paying position in Osaka, she took it. There wasn’t much tying her to Tokyo.

Everything changed when she came across a kaiju one day, on her way home. She had whipped her phone out, ready to report it, when it squeaked and ran away. The next day, she was hesitant to walk the same route, but she was curious. Would the kaiju return?

Sure enough, she caught the end of its tail peeking out of the bushes. Not wanting to test its limits, she continued on.

Day after day she would see it there, hiding in nooks and crannies, startling and running off whenever it saw her. Then, one late night as she was heading home from the office, she caught it digging through a bin for food. Even though it was a kaiju, her heart ached for the creature. Walking into the nearest Family Mart, she bought a bento before she could stop and question herself. Heading back out, she approached the kaiju slowly. It froze and turned to look at her, then scrambled into the bushes. She laughed a little - it was like a particularly flighty stray cat. Sakuya removed the lid of the bento and set it down near the bush the kaiju had disappeared into. Then she stood back some distance and observed.

The kaiju poked its head out, sniffing, before stealing a chunk of fried chicken and diving back into the bush. There were soft snuffling sounds as the kaiju devoured the meat, then poked its head out to snatch up more. She watched it until it had eaten everything in the little plastic tray. Then she picked up the tray and tossed it in the bin. It would be bad etiquette to leave litter lying around.

That became her night time routine. Purchasing discounted bento from the nearby convenience store and feeding the little kaiju. It took some time for it to warm up to her and begin eating in her presence but when it did, it was - for lack of a better word - cuddly. It curled around her ankles, purring and squeaking.

Seeing the little kaiju every night became something she looked forward to. A break in the winding monotony of her life. At some point, she brought it to her house, hidden away in her backpack. It made her feel young again, like a misbehaving schoolgirl. An echo of when she was in her teenage years, hiding the kitten she was feeding from her mother.

The day she brought it home, she named it. Kafka, after her favourite author.

Kafka gnawed on her furniture from time to time, but she couldn’t bring herself to care too much. When he started scratching at her door, she began leaving a window open for him to come and go as he pleased. Kafka was rarely around in the day, but she would always see him lazing in her living room at night.

She started trying to teach him words. Simple ones that people taught dogs. Sit, stay, lie down. When he started mimicking the sounds of the words, she was pleasantly surprised. A thought struck her. She could teach him to say her name.

All of her attempts failed, he was only capable of simple and repetitive words. “Mama,” was the best the kaiju could manage. She felt unsettled at first - she had never thought of herself as a mother - but it was soon another thing she looked forward to. The squeaky call of “Mama” at the end of a long work day became her panacea.

Then, one night, Kafka slunk over to her as soon as she got home, body low and tail tucked between his legs. He waved his paws, miming a biting motion, trying to tell her something. It took a few tries for her to figure out her child had bitten someone. He padded over to her stack of papers from work and patted it insistently. Keeping at it until she figured out he wanted to apologise. She laughed at the little kaiju, who squeaked at her in protest, “Okay, okay. Let me get a pen and paper.”

A few months later, Kafka started to speak. Actual words. Words she hadn’t taught him. He started naming the things they had in the house. Squeaky growling speech, but speech nonetheless. She was stunned. “Has someone been teaching you?” she asked. That was how she found out about her son’s new friend, Soshiro. It took her some months after to realise that this ‘Soshiro’ was a child.

Time marched on, and her Kafka started to get big. He could no longer sneak into her apartment, so instead she would go out to see him.

One night, he appeared, his body low and tail between his legs again.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, patting his flank.

That seemed to break open a flood of tears that her son had been holding back. “Soshiro hates me,” he bawled, tears and snot gushing down his face.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. Did you two have a fight?”

Kafka nodded and cried harder, “I want ta stay!”

“Why can’t you stay?” she sat down, resting against her son’s large foreleg.

“Soshiro says ‘m gettin’ too big ta go see him,” her son sniffled.

“Well you are getting a bit big, he’s just worried about you.”

“Maybe I can- I can try ta look smaller,” Kafka hiccuped.

“You can change your shape?”

Her son nodded his large head.

That was news to her.

“Then why don’t you try making yourself look human? You can do more things with your friend if you can blend in with everyone.”

Her son perked up at that, tail curling around his paws, “Can ya help me, Mama?”

She patted the side of his scaly neck, “Of course.”

Helping her son achieve a human form had been an… interesting time. At first, she thought it would be easy if he could just mimic what a human looked like, but quickly found out that was a fast track to humanoid horrors. In the end, she sat him down and taught him basic anatomy.

Then her son had brought his friend home. She finally got to meet this ‘Soshiro’. A bright and polite boy, if a little closed off. He gave her a suggestion, a way to adopt Kafka, and the rest was history.

She never imagined that she would one day be a mother, legally recognised in the eyes of the law, out and about with her bubbly child. Certainly, it came with its challenges. Her son wasn’t very savvy in the ways of the world. She brought him to a local farm once, an outing to feed and play with the animals. As they walked by the pond, he suddenly darted off. She watched, dumbfounded, as he chased a free-roaming chicken up a tree and stuck it head-first into his mouth.

Heart thundering, she yelled up at him, “Spit it out! You can’t eat that!”

She was panicking.

The chicken was panicking.

Feathers were flying everywhere.

When he finally let it go and leapt down from the branch he was perched on, she gripped her heaving chest and asked, “Why did you do that?”

He blinked up at her and told her, “They’re tasty, an’ Soshiro said we can eat these.”

A crash course in cooked, uncooked, and still-alive food was not a conversation she ever thought she would be having. Luckily, no one saw him try to devour one of the farm animals alive. That would have been difficult to explain.

Etiquette was a big one. He was smart enough to understand the basics, such as the concept of clothes and not hurting others. Social niceties were less obvious and took more time. Clapping his hands over his ears at loud noises, pinching his nose when he smelled something he didn’t like, sitting down in the middle of the street when he was tired. They were all things she had to teach him not to do, just like any human toddler. Except her child wasn’t exactly a toddler. She thanked her lucky stars that her child was a boy - society excused their impoliteness more readily, so it was easier to pass off his oddities.

As her son grew older, he started being more independent. Spending more time outside of the house, together with Soshiro. That was just as well, she was usually home late and hated the thought of him alone in an empty house. Then Mina came along, and they got on like a house on fire. Slowly but surely, he was getting to know people she hoped would be there for him, even after she was gone. As a single mother in her fifties, she was painfully aware that she didn’t have the same luxury of time with her child as a younger parent.

In the blink of an eye, he was in his last year of middle school. At times, melancholy would take over her. She did her best to spend time with him on the weekends, but it never felt like she was around enough. Still, she would keep doing her best as his mother.

Her trip to Odawara was meant to be relaxing. Catching up with Naoko-chan, visiting a few historical landmarks, and enjoying the sights. The day after she arrived in the city, the temperature had plummeted below freezing. Even though they were right on the cusp of summer.

Everything happened incredibly quickly after that. The kaiju alarm blared, warning of the attack. The instructions for her area were simply to take shelter. The kaiju had appeared in the bay, so they were now evacuating people inland. The hotel she was staying at was some distance away, so she would be safe. Sakuya hunkered down in the hotel room, her phone unlocked in her hands as she tuned in to the news for updates.

The Defence Force would take care of it, they always did.

She would just have to stay put, stay calm, and wait it out.

Chapter Text

The sky was overcast in Hadano, a pall falling over them the moment they stepped outside Shibusawa station.

Even though they were tens of kilometres away from Odawara, a heavy chill permeated the air and sank into Soshiro’s bones. He let out a shaky breath and fought back a shiver, a puff of white misting up in front of him. Kafka was by his side, radiating heat and seemingly unaffected by the out-of-season cold.

On the train ride over, he and Kafka checked the stream of news flooding the internet every few minutes. The battle was moving further inland as the Second Division was pushed back, even with Shinomiya Hikari on the frontlines. The First Division was en-route from Ariake to provide backup. There were speculations that this was one of the strongest kaiju Japan had seen in modern times. Some were theorising its strength exceeded Fortitude 9. The monster was already being referred to as Kaiju No.6 online, like it was a foregone conclusion.

Photos from the people in Odawara showed the streets and buildings iced over from the snowstorm. Whole lines of waterfront stores and properties were in shambles. A horde of honju-level kaiju was sweeping closer and closer inland as the Defence Force lost ground, unable to neutralise them fast enough. The situation looked bleak.

With a few quick taps on Kafka’s phone, he had them oriented, and a clear path charted from their location to the hotel his friend’s mother was staying at. “Jus’ follow this path down. Once ya get ta the area, ya can start lookin’ fer your Mama.”

Kafka pulled him into another hug, the second one that day. But this one was brief and tight with worry. “I promise I’ll be back soon.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Soshiro took his friend's bags and pushed him in the general direction of Odawara, “Go save yer Mama.”

Kafka gave him a firm nod and turned away. Clawed feet dug into the concrete, thighs bunching, and then he was off. Soshiro watched as his friend cleared several houses in a single leap, dashing over rooftops so quickly he was little more than a blur. Within seconds, the boy was out of sight.

Looking up at the dark, hanging clouds, Soshiro let out another breath. The plume of white dissipated against the dismal backdrop and he watched it fade with a worried detachment. He wasn’t deeply religious, but he hoped - if there was a deity out there - that they would keep Kafka’s Mama safe.

Should I head to a shelter?

Sakuya stared at the phone in her hand, refreshing the kaiju emergency app. It was pre-installed in every phone, as mandated by the government. A means to keep citizens updated and provide instructions during an attack, but her faith in it was wavering the longer she sat in her hotel room. The destruction was getting closer. None of the buildings by the bay were left standing, and some of the ones she could see just by taking a casual peek out the window - they were crumbling. Whole sections off the top breaking apart and crashing to the ground. Despite that, the app was telling her to stay in place. No notice was showing up about evacuation, or even heading to a shelter.

Even though they were inland, they weren’t completely safe from the attack. Stray shots were destroying parts of the city as the kaiju hurled chunks of ice at the defending Officers. Each one was as wide as a car, standing at the towering height of a small house. She had no idea how the Defence Force Officers were surviving through a storm of these crashing down on them at the beach.

A flash of blue lit up the curtains behind her, the bright colour piercing through the darkened room. Sakuya froze, then turned to the window, pulling aside the heavy cloth to glance outside. Rays of ice shot out from the orbs floating around the kaiju from time to time. Those were shorter in range and more contained, but they caused frost to creep across the roads and buildings. She had lost count of how many the kaiju had fired off within the last hour. The result was the same regardless of the number - streets slippery with ice and some building exits frozen over. Evacuation would be harder now than when the attack first started.

A thunderous crash resounded outside, the glass pane of the window rattling dangerously. Another building in the distance began to collapse in on itself. That one was too close for comfort. Shivering from fear and skin-numbing cold, Sakuya dropped the curtains and backed away from the window. She couldn’t just stay in place, praying her building wouldn’t be hit next. She got up from the floor and dusted off her skirt, her knees shaking beneath the heavy fabric.

I’m heading to a shelter.

Sakuya grabbed her essentials and tossed them into a small purse. She slid the strap around her body with trembling hands and clutched the little bag to her chest. Slinking over to the door cautiously, her footsteps light, she took a moment to check through the peephole before unlocking her hotel room door. She swung it wide open and peered out into the dim darkness of the hallway. Emergency lights illuminated the floor in eerie green strips, and a red light on the ceiling flashed intermittently - a warning. Everything was eerily quiet, the only thing she could hear was her harsh, frozen breath.

Sakuya looked down at the threshold. Once she crossed over, there was no turning back. She placed one foot over hesitantly, then another. One foot in front of the other, faster and faster until she was running down the hallway towards the emergency stairs. She flew down several flights and slammed her hands into the crash bar of the stairwell exit, stumbling out into the streets.

Out there, it was even colder - below zero, according to the news. The biting winds tore at her clothes as she hustled down the pavement, keeping close to the buildings so she could put a hand out to the walls and stop herself from slipping.

She hadn’t made it very far when something soared overhead, casting a dark shadow over her for a split second before it struck the earth with an ear-splitting bang. Sakuya crouched by the signboard she was braced against, and looked behind her to see where the ice spike had landed. The hotel she was staying in had been speared through right at the base.

She shuddered violently as half the building collapsed, toppling over the pale white protrusion. It was slow, but there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. Dark, pluming clouds puffed up and whipped away in the snowstorm. If she had hesitated any longer, she might have been caught in the destruction. Straining her ears, she thought she could hear piercing screams, but it was hard to believe any sound could carry on the howling winds. Stiff fingers dug into the dim plastic she was clutching, her legs shifting uncertainly. To push on, or to go back and help?

Trembling, she turned slowly towards the carnage. Her fingers left the signboard one by one, as she let go of her life raft in this stormy sea. If she stopped to think about it now, she would remain frozen. She couldn’t allow herself to succumb to inaction. Taking deep, steadying breaths, she began struggling her way back to the destroyed hotel. If she could help, she would.

When she made it back, people were already evacuating and flooding the streets. Some were huddled up against the nearby buildings for warmth, others were moving rubble and shouting for survivors. The saving grace of the hotel was its structure - short and blocky, it had resisted falling over completely like a stacked tower of blocks.

Hurrying over, Sakuya joined in the search for survivors. With an ongoing kaiju attack, emergency services couldn’t enter the area. Until the Defence Force could defeat the kaiju, they only had themselves, and who knew how long that would take.

Everything was a sea of grey and chipped blue, twisted concrete and rebar tilting dangerously overhead. That didn’t stop Sakuya or a handful of other hotel guests from looking for survivors. Kneeling down in the sharp dig of rubble, she clawed and scraped and shifted heavy chunks with their ragtag rescue squad to unearth a few trapped people. Too few, but each time they found someone alive it was a painfully powerful relief.

The cold was seeping torturously into her arthritic joints. A hammering, throbbing pain as she shifted her long skirt and adjusted her position to clear away more rubble. She pushed a large slab away with a heaving grunt and peered down into the small cavity beneath it. A pair of eyes, bright and aware, stared back.

There was a girl in her late teens, her arm and leg caught in a twist of metal, keeping her pinned. She seemed frightened, but unharmed.

“Hello,” Sakuya smiled down at her, keeping a calm and reassuring tone. “Hi, what’s your name?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, her chapped lips parting, then closing, then parting again, “Yui.”

“You’re going to be ok, Yui,” she said kindly.

“How? It’s not like I can move,” the girl lashed out, rolling her eyes and going for nonchalant petulance. The quiver of her lip and crack in her voice gave her away.

Sakuya reached down into the shallow dip and tugged on the metal cage keeping the girl trapped. It didn’t budge.

“See? I told you.”

“You’ll be ok, I promise. Once the Defence Force neutralises the kaiju, the rescue workers can come in and get you out,” she patted Yui on the head.

The girl shifted away, eyeing her hand, “Why are you doing that? That’s weird.”

Sakuya laughed and pulled away, “Sorry, it’s a habit. I have a son, a little younger than you. He likes being pat on the head.”

“You don’t have to do that, I’m not a baby,” Yui prickled.

“It’s moms like you that raise useless sons,” the girl muttered. It might not have been meant for Sakuya’s ears, but she heard it nonetheless. The uncalled for jab stung a little. She was doing her best, and her son was a very well-behaved child.

In the end, she kept quiet and let it go. The poor girl was afraid and in pain, lashing out was a perfectly normal reaction. Silence stretched between them until something struck the ground so hard that it shook.

“Everyone get clear! Get clear!” one of the hotel guests, arms and legs covered in plaster dust, waved the searchers away from the rubble.

Chunks of concrete were beginning to rain down as the tremor caused the destroyed section of building to break apart even further. Sakuya shifted back and looked up. Panic shot through her as the overhang jutting out above them began to crumble, large slabs slipping away and hurtling towards them.

Without thinking, she leaned into the gap and covered Yui as best she could, bracing the girl’s head against her chest. A thunderstorm crashed down around her ears, and she kept her eyes tightly shut.

Something large and heavy impacted her legs.

Once. Twice.

Then everything was quiet.

And dark.

They had been buried under.

Sakuya’s senses began to return to her slowly. Soft sobs, the vague outline of the girl hidden beneath her, and the feeling of rubble digging into her skin. Sandwiching her from above and below. She was mostly hidden in the little dip with Yui, but she wasn’t able to fit her entire body inside the gap.

Then the pain.

It started out as a mild throbbing slightly above her knees, but quickly ramped up and kept going. She tried to shift her legs, to get them away from that horrible crushing agony, but they wouldn’t move.

It was getting worse and worse and worse and worse and worse.

She dug her fingers into the rubble and let out a soft, sobbing scream.

“Wh- what’s happening?”

The girl, Yui. Her mind was clouded over from the torture attached to her at the knees, but if it was for someone else’s sake she could push it back. Even if it was only a little. “Are you…” she gulped in a deep breath. “Hurt?”

Sakuya let out a shaky breath. Took in a deep inhale. Out again. She tried to focus on her breathing, to keep her mind off her legs.

“No, I’m fine,” the girl’s voice was small. “What happened?”

“My- legs,” her voice cracked slightly. That wasn’t good. She took in another deep breath. A whimpering exhale. She was scaring the child.

Silence again. In the darkness, it was oppressive. It left her alone with her legs. Like thousands of rats gnawing their way out of her flesh, their weight shattering her bones. She wished she could just cut them away. Wished she could knock herself out. Anything to feel some sort of relief. For a brief moment, she thought - if she were dead, at least she wouldn’t have to suffer through this.

The rats were creeping up into her head and curling in her stomach. There was barely any warning, and then she was vomitting from the pain. There was a small shriek under her and she distractedly muttered an apology. She was growing wearier by the second, blood pounding in her ears.

“You can, you can tell me about your son?” a quiet voice cut through the darkness.

Oh, her son. A comforting blanket of affection and pride enveloped her like a cape, taking some of the edge out of the excruciating mass that was her legs.

“His name is, is Kafka,” she stuttered.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes the pain was at the forefront, tearing through her and making it hard to think or speak. Other times, it was in the fringes of her awareness, as she slurred her way through another anecdote about her son. When she vomitted again, a wiry hand reached up and took hers.

It felt like they had been stuck there for days before the wall of concrete above them began to shift.

“Mama?!” it sounded like Kafka. That wasn’t possible. Her son was supposed to be safe, in Tokyo.

“Mama!”

The last of the rubble was lifted away, and sunlight pierced her eyes. By the time her vision started to adjust again, her son was kneeling next to her and sniffling. His eyes were glowing and his claws were out, dark armoured skin running up to his elbows. Distantly, she could feel worry sitting on the edges of her consciousness. She reached out and took one of his claws, “Your, hands.”

Yui inhaled sharply under her. “That’s your son?”

Kafka shook his head and moved away, clawed hand dropping away from her weak fingers. He began shrugging his jacket off, tears and snot openly streaming down his face. The sleeves were shredded so it didn’t take much for him to pull the fabric from his shoulders.

“Jus’ hold on, Mama, I can-“ he glanced over at her lower half and his brow knit together in an effort to keep more tears from falling. He wasn’t successful, and a fresh stream tracked down his cheeks, voice cracking, “I can help.”

Her son ripped the jacket into strips with ease, as if the thick material were flimsy tissue. Then he reached out to an exposed portion of rebar and sliced off a few sections with his claws, electric blue sparking off the tips. His other hand was pressed to his face as he sniffled again, heel of his palm dashing tears from his eyes.

“What the hell,” the girl trapped under her whispered.

Sakuya felt Yui flinch back when her son addressed the girl, “Don’ worry, I’ll get ya out too.”

Kafka leaned down for a quick sideways hug, more of a squeeze around her body, but it was enough to lift her spirits. She didn’t feel quite so tired anymore.

Kafka let go of his Mama. She was in a bad way - he knew it even without moving the thick concrete slab crushing her legs. The blue cloth around her thighs was a deep crusted brown, and he was afraid of what he would see once he sliced it away. He took up first aid after Soshiro got caught up in that kaiju attack, but nothing in the class had prepared him for something like this.

Digging a claw into his Mama’s thick skirt, he tore a jagged line down around her thighs. He needed to apply a tourniquet, but he also wanted to keep some of the cloth if his Mama’s legs were… if they were…

Shaking himself, he moved on. Deft fingers passed the jacket strips under his Mama’s thighs and around. A piece of rebar went on top of that and he slipped his tail out. The other humans were too far away, and the girl he found together with his Mama already knew. He placed the tip of his tail against his Mama’s limp, aged palm. “I’m sorry Mama, this is gonna hurt.”

A squeeze to his tail in response. He began tightening the makeshift tourniquet, turning the rebar until his Mama’s grip on his tail was crushing. Her ear-piercing wail almost made him lose his grip and his shoulders went up around his ears. Kafka shut his eyes and ground his teeth together, the metal like a hot brand underneath his fingers. He didn’t want to keep turning it, didn’t want to keep hurting his Mama. That should be tight enough, right? Eyes burning, he stopped there, fastening the stick with more cloth.

By the time he was done with her other leg, his Mama was as ashen as the concrete. Sweat dotted her brow despite the cold, and her eyes were hazy.

Kafka stood and shuffled around to his Mama’s side, digging his clawed fingers into the slab on top of her. He hesitated, muscles bunching but not moving. The concrete barely weighed anything to him, yet he was trembling.

Without ceremony, he lifted it straight up into the air and set his jaw against his Mama’s screams. Putting it down somewhere stable, he turned back to assess the damage. From the knees down, his Mama’s skirt was unnaturally flat, and the cheery blue had been dyed a dark iron brown.

Panic was crashing against him like water against a dam. He was lost, stranded without a map. Tears were misting his vision again.

What do I do?

First, he needed to get his Mama somewhere safe. He carefully lifted her onto the concrete slab that had been crushing her, before turning to the girl who was with his Mama. The metal holding her down was easy to remove and in minutes, he had her on the slab too.

“I’m bringin’ ya down,” he told them, then looked at the girl. “Hold on ta my Mama.”

She nodded and gripped his Mama’s arm. Certain that they were secure, he retracted his tail and claws and dug his blunt fingers into the cracks he had left behind. The trip down the mound of rubble was bumpy, but quick. Kafka dragged them into one of the neighbouring buildings, where the other surviving hotel guests were holed up. He shouldered the double doors open and came to a stop in the middle of the lobby to a crowd of baffled onlookers.

A harsh flash of blue split the sky behind him as the kaiju unleashed another icy blast. Frost began to creep across the glass panes of the windows and doors. Kafka turned to look, brows pinched with worry. The sooner the kaiju was neutralised, the safer his Mama would be, and the sooner she could get medical attention. Even so, he didn’t want to leave her.

Sensing his uncertainty, his Mama touched the back of his hand, the furthest she could reach. “Go, I’ll be fine.”

The lines on her face were deep even as she smiled, the corners twitching from effort. She looked older than he had ever seen her.

That was the push he needed. He leaned down and gave his Mama another sideways hug, taking in her scent. Soured with fear and pain, but familial and comforting, “Hang on, Mama. It’ll be over soon.”

Her smile softened and she reached up to pat his head. Kafka leaned into it, soaking up her touch. Then he ran back out before anyone could stop him. Out into the freezing cold, bare feet slapping against the iced over pavement, his claws digging in for purchase.

Shinomiya Hikari was exhausted.

They had been battling Kaiju No.6 and its cataclysms for hours with no end in sight. If it had simply been the kaiju alone, things would have been a lot less complex. The swathes of honju and yoju flooding towards the inland city areas were spreading their forces dangerously thin. Their losses were nearing a hundred, and expected to keep climbing the longer the fight dragged on.

Slamming the butt of her spear into the ground, she leaned her weight against it to catch her breath. Despite carefully balancing her suit’s output the moment she realised the battle would be a marathon, it was close to overheating. She could feel the heat crawling up her skin and through her organs, uncomfortably close to searing even with the frigid air whipping around her.

Pushing off the shaft, she righted herself and launched back into the fray, spear held high above her head. Dodging a tail and swiftly changing directions midair, she brought the spear down and slashed a deep cut against Kaiju No.6’s ribs. Tough hide parted and revealed dark flesh underneath, but no core. Changing her grip, she weaved through the monster’s crown of tails and carved a long line down its back. Still nothing.

Harsh breaths made even heavier through her respirator crackled in her ears. Hikari pulled away, only to be blindsided by a shower of ice spikes. She danced around them, lungs burning, skin burning. Her spear was heavy in her hands, but the one thing she would never do was let go of her weapon.

As soon as the deadly rain ended, something was slamming into her side. Hitting her so hard she could feel her ribs break even with the suit’s protection. She flew across the water and came down hard on the shore, ploughing into one of the destroyed buildings along the coast.

Reptilian eyes bore down on her as a blue glow filled the kaiju’s maw, growing brighter and brighter between its gnarled teeth. So it was coming over to blast her personally, huh? She bared her teeth at it, bracing her hands against the ground and struggling to sit up. A lance of fire shot through her back - her spine was fractured.

Concentrating her suit’s healing capabilities right where the pain was radiating from, she braced herself with her spear and pushed to her feet as quickly as she could. This close to No.6 and with her respirator gone, each fortifying breath she took stung her lungs. She wouldn’t give up. The battle wasn’t over until it was over. She fired up her suit once more and tried to escape as quickly as she could.

The blue light was blinding as it enveloped her.

Everything went black.

“-Shinomiya!”

Someone was calling for her.

That was odd, wasn’t she dead?

“Captain Shinomiya!”

Hikari’s eyes snapped open and she sucked in a deep breath. She had blacked out for a moment. The pressure of her overheating suit, the biting air against her face, and the dig of destroyed building beneath her cheek - all those were proof she was still alive. Groaning, she forced herself to her feet again. She didn’t know how she had survived, but she would take it.

Her eyes went up, to focus back on the enemy. Letting it stay out of her sight any longer was a good way to undo her good fortune. When she did, leaden despair weighed down around her neck. There was another daikaiju, one foreleg jammed in No.6’s mouth and the other wrenching its reptilian head aside. The newcomer’s appendage was covered in ice and crumbling, but quickly regenerating. It was slightly smaller than Kaiju No.6, but big enough to be a problem.

Hikari’s earpiece crackled to life, her head of operations came through with a frantic, “Captain Shinomiya!”

She leapt away from the two turfing daikaiju and pressed a finger to her earpiece to put herself through, “Update?”

“Another daikaiju has appeared, I don’t know where it came from!” There was a frantic tapping of keys in her ear as she repositioned herself somewhere more advantageous. “It’s a Fortitude 8.9!”

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

The newcomer, she dubbed Kaiju No.7 in her head. She watched as it twisted its neck like a bird and ripped a chunk of dark flesh away from No.6’s neck. No core there either. No.6 retaliated with a rain of ice spikes to the torso. There was a pained screeched, but No.7 didn’t go down.

If they were going to turf like this, maybe she could take advantage of it. Her suit had cooled back down to a usable level, and she launched into the air again. Giving the suit a slight push, she aimed her blade at No.7’s weakened back.

There was a flash of teal, and she could swear the kaiju locked eyes with her. Using its trapped arm, still caught between No.6’s teeth, it swung the reptilian monster around and used it as a shield. Her slash went down the kaiju’s side. No core.

“Wait!” a rumbling voice echoed out over the bay. “I’m tryin’ ta help!”

Hikari quickly retreated several paces. Was No.7 talking? Was it talking to her? Why was it speaking Kansai dialect?

“Captain Shinomiya!” it spoke again, in that same low tone. A sonic blast ripped down the beach and across the water, tearing away half its thigh. It whimpered and collapsed onto one knee as it regenerated.

So it was addressing her. It was calling her Captain. Goosebumps rose on her skin. This was fine, she could adapt.

“You want to help? Keep it busy! And when I tell you to do something, you do it! Got it?” she yelled into the roaring winds. She didn’t know if it could hear her.

No.7 dug its hind feet into the deep waters of the bay, back rounded against the spray of bullets from her officers, and locked into a tangle of teeth and claws with No.6, “Got it!”

She pressed a finger to her earpiece again, “Focus on Kaiju No.6! Do not attack the other one yet!”

Suppressive fire from the shore diverted and trained on No.6 as directed. A testament to their faith in her.

“Captain Shinomiya?” Isao’s voice came through. Her dear husband, rigid as always.

“It says it wants to help, can you believe it?” she chuckled as she cut back across the water.

“You can’t trust it. This is the first intelligent kaiju we’ve encountered. It could be lying,” her husband grunted.

She laughed, whipping around and bringing her spear down on No.6’s leg, “Come on, dear, I’m not that naive. If it tries anything, it’ll be the first to go.”

No.6 roared and retaliated with two tails, closing in on her on both sides like a pincer. It was quickly shut down by a roll through the water as No.7 bodied it at the waist, knocking it over the moment it was distracted by Hikari. The orbs around her began to glow, and she dodged a barrage of ice beams that struck frozen patches into the rough waters of the bay.

“No pet names at work,” Isao said with a long-suffering exhale through his nose. Because he couldn’t just sigh like a normal person. “I’ll follow your lead on this one.”

“Thanks, pookie,” she shot back with a grin, even if her husband couldn’t see it. That got her another nose exhale, and a pointed click as he switched channels.

Spinning like a deadly dancer, she lopped off a section of No.6’s neck, and part of No.7’s foreleg with it. Bellowing with rage, No.6 began flailing like a beached fish. The snowstorm surrounding it picked up, javelins of ice and rays of frost launching through the air haphazardly. No.7 simply snuffled and held on, claws scrambling for purchase on slick, scaly hide like a person wrestling a crocodile.

Thick freeze began climbing up No.7’s stump, and torso, and hind legs. It spread across the water, freezing the weird kaiju in place. The immobilised kaiju made an odd howling sound, and lightning crackled around it. Electric blue burst through the clear ice holding it in place.

There weren’t many more places she could try for the core. All the obvious areas had been exposed to her. Head, neck, back, chest, arms, legs, tails… after all that, what was left?

She considered Kaiju No.6 as it scuffled with No.7 in the water. The weaker one was holding its own, surprisingly. No.6 tossed its head, goring No.7 on its horns and slashing armoured belly open from end to end. Undeterred, No.7 downed it again, sinking it into the water and exposing its bottom. This was the first time she was seeing it, since it had been sitting back in the bay the entire time. Another series of sonic blasts ripped down the beach, tearing into both kaiju.

Sonorous screeches and growls piled on top of one another as her husband assisted her from the shore. Deep roars from No.6 as it thrashed and turned swathes of the bay glacial. Higher pitched ones from No.7 as it scrabbled and snapped its teeth, struggling to keep the larger kaiju engaged. Its entire armour-plated body was covered in shards of ice and frost, sections of limb halfway through regenerating. Lightning sparked off the ice as they continued to grapple, breaking the clear sheet into large floes that drifted out to sea. Large waves crashed against the beach, forcing her men to move further back or risk being swept into the bay.

Hikari circled the two kaiju, cape around her waist trailing behind her, and paused as she caught something glittering at the base of one of No.6’s tails. Switching her grip, she aimed the tip at the shining orb and plummeted towards it like a shooting star. The sneaky bastard had literally been sitting on its core, hiding it underwater the entire time.

Something large and dark shot out from beneath her, bursting out from the frothing seawater.

“Shinomiya!” an energy attack tore through the tail before it could hit her, but she had to back away. Dark, scaly flesh closed up over the core.

“Don’t you get embarrassed yelling your own last name?” she joked at her husband. She may have lost the opportunity, but things were looking up.

“Focus, Captain Shinomiya,” was all she got in response. Isao’s awkward stoicism was adorable.

One large reptilian eye pinned her with a menacing glare. It knew that she had found its weakness. Icy spears beat down like rain, all orbs turning on her, pelting her with shot after shot, tails whipping at her and uncaring that it was hitting itself - she was diving through minuscule gaps in an endless ripple of attacks.

“Core is at the base of its tail! Second from the right!” she strained to speak as she executed a tight roll in mid-air, skimming between two torpedoes of ice. In case she didn’t make it, they needed to know. “I’m going for it!”

A familiar burn was creeping over her skin and through her body again, cooking her from the inside out. Something was trickling down from her eyes, and she was certain it wasn’t tears. Her suit was close to overheating. She had to end this quickly.

“You!” she didn’t know if the weird kaiju had a name. “Kaiju!”

“I heard ya! What do ya need?”

Huh, its ears were pretty sharp.

“Expose its ass again, I’ll take care of the rest!”

This would require two strikes.

One to reveal the core, one to finish it off.

She just hoped the weird kaiju didn’t turn out to be a lying liar. That would make her job a lot harder.

“Got it!” No.7 parroted back again. It was kind of cute in a large, monster-y way.

As Hikari distracted No.6, the weird kaiju was able to drag its torso back down into the water, forcing its bottom into the shallows and shoving it up above the water again. A large hind claw lifted up, waterfalls cascading from it and electricity sparking off the armoured skin. Digging into scaled flesh, No.7 carved a gash exactly where she needed to land her first hit. It just saved her a strike.

The strange kaiju was proving to be really useful. Too bad they couldn’t keep it around.

No.6’s core glittered up at her and she plunged down, blade first. There was a deafening boom as she pushed her suit to its limit, arms shaking as she held her spear steady against the air rushing up to meet it.

Hikari came down on the core with the force and speed of lightning cracking through the sky. The split of its core beneath the tip of her spear was euphoric, and relieving.

Another point to the humans.

The jewelled sphere crumbled away completely, and the kaiju collapsed in the bay. Low waves swept out around its corpse, ringing it like a halo. A deceptively gentle denouement after all the carnage it had caused.

Gale force winds thinned out to a normal sea breeze, and the blizzard plaguing the city died down. The remaining honju and yoju that had invaded Odawara would still need to be taken care of, but the worst was over. Hikari took a moment to bask in the sudden lull as her suit cooled.

She would be going home to her baby tonight.

Brief rest over, she turned her attention back to the bay. Scanning the waves, she searched for the hulking form of No.7, but it had disappeared.

Kafka returned from the battle with Kaiju No.6 sopping wet and exhausted. When he transformed, he had lost his clothes. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had raided the remains of a gift shop by the beach to keep himself decent.

On the way back to his Mama, he passed by the aftermath of the fighting. Crumbling buildings and pillars of ice sticking up out of the ground, the pavement too slick to walk on without spiked boots - or claws. Hoping his Mama was safe and the building he left her in was still standing, he hurried on.

The moment he got to the double doors, he knew something was wrong. There was an empty space where his Mama’s scent should have been. Palms sweating, he shoved the doors open and ran inside.

There was a crowd of people gathered, and somber silence was heavy in the air. Plenty of heart beats filling the silence, but no matter how hard he focused, he couldn’t find his Mama’s. Dashing over, he started squeezing his way through the crowd until he made it to the front.

Right at the center was his Mama, still lying on the slab. Her head was lolled over to one side, hair limp around her face, skin sheet white. He still couldn’t hear the gentle lub-dub of her heart.

The girl from before was kneeling at her side, hands locked together and bouncing weakly on his Mama’s chest. There were dark circles under her eyes, harsh pants racking her body.

“Mama!” Kafka ran over, throwing himself down next to her prone form.

“I’m sor- I tri-ed,” the girl gasped.

“I’ll take over!” Kafka slid his hands across the space the girl left behind. Adrenaline surged back into his veins. Panic and fear rose with it, choking his lungs and closing his throat.

He made a huge mistake, running out without thinking. The Defence Force could have handled things without him. Could have held out for a few more hours. He should have stayed with his Mama. Should have brought her straight to a hospital. Should have gone back to help with the kaiju only after he was sure she was in good hands.

There was no safety net this time, no Mama to gently correct him and help him fix his mess.

No Mama…

His ‘should-haves’ came to a screeching halt, and reality hit him hard again, a sucker punch to the chest. Great heaving sobs pushed their way out of his throat, leaving him in little hitching whimpers as he kept up the compressions.

“Hey, kid…” a masculine voice, a hand on his shoulder. “She’s gone.”

Someone else shushed the man sternly and pulled him away.

Kafka ignored the man, ignored the bystanders. He had to keep trying. He wouldn’t accept that she was gone until he had tried everything. Everything that he could to fix this.

He just wanted his Mama back.

Soshiro met up with Kafka at the hospital.

Several hours after Kaiju No.6 was defeated, the trains and buses started running again, allowing him to make the trip down. All he had gotten from Kafka was a quick call from someone else’s phone, and the name of a hospital. His friend’s voice was unusually subdued, which set off alarm bells in his head.

He had already gotten worried calls from both homeroom teachers, and an earful from his father for running off on a school trip. If he flouted the safety regulations any further and not return to Tokyo like he was meant to, his father would surely punish him when he got home. Still, he couldn’t leave his friend to deal with this alone.

Kafka looked small, sitting slumped in a hospital chair, head down and eyes ringed with red, dressed in ill-fitting clothes he wasn’t wearing before. No leg bouncing, no shifting, just unnatural stillness. Even from several paces away, he could smell the salty bite of ocean spray that clung to him like a film of oil on water.

“Kafka,” he called out, walking over and sitting down next to his friend. The many bags hanging from his arms went on the seat beside him. Pressed up against each other, for the first time, Soshiro’s skin was warmer.

Bracing himself against hard plastic, he caught his friend as Kafka threw himself into his arms, sharp-tipped fingers digging into his clothes. He held his friend tight as the boy bawled against his shoulder.

Soshiro brought a hand up and stroked Kafka’s head. There wasn’t much he could do, aside from providing a modicum of comfort. Sand and grit fell away from his friend’s hair and scattered across the grey plastic seats.

When his friend could finally get a word out, he said quietly, “They’re tryin’ ta see if they can save her.” His head was low again, tears dripping off the tip of his nose. “What do I do?”

Soshiro had no answer to that. He simply pulled his friend in closer.

They waited for news together in silence, Soshiro’s shoulder growing numb from the weight of Kafka’s head against it. Seeing Kafka folded over like that, he was sorely tempted to ask his friend if he wanted to shift to a more comfortable position. He kept it to himself. Now was not the time.

Kafka’s howling cries as he received word about his mother were even louder than before. Wet cheek pressed against Soshiro’s neck, chest shuddering against his.

Both her legs were lost, but she would live.

Soshiro held his friend until he had cried himself out. Tears of happy relief this time. He kept Kafka steady until the boy sank down and fell asleep, exhausted. Shifting his friend, he nudged Kafka out of the contorted curl he was in and laid the boy’s head in his lap. His rigorous training meant his thighs weren’t particularly soft, but it was the best he could offer.

Ignoring the constant vibrating of his phone in his pocket, he stayed with Kafka, running his fingers through the boy’s sand-dusted locks.

Chapter Text

The meeting room was dimly lit by a large screen in the front. On it, a blown-up image of the newly identified Kaiju No.7 loomed over the top brass of the Defence Force. Hikari stood at the podium, skimming through her notes as she prepared to give her report on the anomalous kaiju she had encountered. One that was capable of human intelligence, could speak, and could cooperate. She glanced at the picture and clicked her tongue softly. Someone had chosen a particularly unflattering shot of her not-so-little assistant. Wreathed in lightning, maw wide and snarling, eyes flashing with murderous intent. It was a far cry from the pudgy, child-like creature that had helped her.

She kept her report short and simple. Factual. As much as she wanted to advocate for the kaiju because it had saved her, it wouldn’t help anyone if she came across as a kaiju sympathiser. They would hound her with their suspicions, greatly restricting her movements and the information she would have access to. She did, however, make it very clear that their losses would have doubled - or even tripled - without Kaiju No.7’s help. As it stood, they had lost two captains and just over a hundred officers during the neutralisation effort.

The relentless questioning started before she even made it halfway into her presentation.

“What were its motives for helping?”

“How do you justify not neutralising it?”

“Why did you choose to cooperate with it?”

“Where did it come from?”

Then, a question that piqued her interest.

“Is there any relation between the kaiju in this attack, and the incident in Osaka a few years ago?”

“Which incident are you referring to?” she gestured at the one who had asked.

“A Fortitude 7.8 was detected in Osaka durin’ an on-going kaiju attack, but the signal vanished not long after it appeared,” they elaborated. “It was determined ta be a technical issue at the time, but my officers found signs of kaiju activity at the scene.”

That was an interesting piece of information. It was a strikingly similar situation to the one in Odawara. Kaiju No.7 had appeared out of nowhere, a giant-class kaiju they should have seen coming. For it to have appeared without forewarning, while the Defence Force was on high alert… that should have been impossible. Yet it had happened twice.

“That would explain its Kansai dialect,” Hikari nodded. The pieces were starting to fall into place. “In that case, we can assume it’s the same kaiju.”

“A kaiju that helps humans. Fascinating,” someone in the darkened room remarked.

“Just because it attacked another kaiju doesn’t mean it’s on our side,” someone else countered. “It’s intelligent, which means it’s dangerous.”

“If it’s intelligent, we can reason with it.”

“I propose we capture it.”

“Too risky. We should neutralise it before it decides to stop playing nice.”

“The real question we should be asking ourselves is, how is it getting around unnoticed?”

Hikari groaned inwardly as the discourse began to snowball. This meeting was going to overrun by at least an hour, she just knew it.

Soshiro sighed as he set a bucket and cloth down on the stone step that led from the house into the garden. His father had been livid when he finally picked up. There was no shouting, his father was too restrained for that. Only tightly controlled anger and stern, cutting words.

“I’m disappointed in ya,” and “I have lost all trust in ya,” hurt more than he should have let them. “Soichiro would never do something like this,” stung the worst.

“I apologise, father,” he had said, fingers still tangled in Kafka’s hair, his friend’s head cradled in his lap. He didn’t regret his decision in the slightest. “I will reflect on my actions.”

“I will see ta it that ya do,” his father informed him severely, hanging the threat over his head like a sword suspended by a thread.

The punishment his father ultimately decided on was menial - cleaning every corridor in the house by hand. All things considered, it was a slap on the wrist. He was already in charge of cleaning the floors of the practise hall every morning and evening. With his brother living on base most days, that chore now fell entirely on Soshiro. This was simply an extension of his usual duties.

His father had instructed the housekeepers to provide him with cleaning supplies, but not to help. The housekeeper on duty that morning peered at him from around a corner, worried. She still saw him as a child, which irked him, but he was grateful for her concern.

Wetting the cloth and wringing it out, he placed it on the ground and pressed down on it with his hands. He ran the cloth to the other side of the corridor, the thump-thump-thump of his footfalls following him across, and then back again.

Soshiro let his mind wander as he went back and forth. Kafka’s Mama needed to stay in the hospital for a few days to recover from her injury. A week, maybe more because of her age. When his father found out, he had offered to take Kafka in until she recovered. Kafka had refused at first, clinging to his Mama and shaking his head. But he couldn’t stay in the hospital, and neither adult wanted to leave him to fend for himself for a week. With some coaxing from his Mama, he eventually agreed.

Dropping the cloth back in the bucket, he moved to the next corridor. This was not how he wanted to spend his Saturday. The handle of the bucket creaked as he tightened his hold on it, trying to stifle the growing itch to pick up his practise sword. With great effort, he relaxed his grip again and placed the bucket down at the start of a new expanse of wood flooring. It was a small price to pay to be there for Kafka when he needed him.

Early morning had passed into late afternoon by the time he finished with the cleaning. Every. Single. Passageway. It was mind-numbing and tedious, but according to his father it built discipline. His entire body ached. Arms, legs, even his knees and back felt like they had aged several decades in one day.

Soshiro put away the bucket and cloth, before padding into the kitchen, looking for something to eat. He had missed lunch to complete his task in time for Kafka’s arrival and he was famished. Putting together a simple sandwich, he brought his snack out with him to the garden. He sat on the stone step looking out over the well-kept greenery, taking small bites that he didn’t really taste. His thoughts were elsewhere.

A cool breeze stirred the late spring air, rustling the lush leaves of the trees. Only two days had passed since the disaster in Odawara. Rescue efforts were already underway, working alongside monster sweepers clearing the masses of kaiju corpses littering the city.

The main kaiju in the attack had been officially identified as Kaiju No.6. At Fortitude 9.6, it had the highest recorded Fortitude level by a wide margin. Destruction was contained to Odawara, but the losses the Defence Force suffered were the highest in modern times. Soshiro had paused over the published numbers, and rising civilian death toll as search efforts continued. He had never seen Defence Force deaths for a single neutralisation rise to triple digits before.

News outlets and social media were calling Kaiju No.6 the Symbol of Despair, celebrating Shinomiya Hikari with a matching title - Symbol of Hope. Unfortunately, that was not enough to distract from Kaiju No.7. Opinions were torn between hailing him as a saving grace, and condemning him for being a deceptive snake in the grass.

Finishing the last of his sandwich, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and pulled his phone out. Mentions of Kaiju No.7 were popping up like weeds, and he scrolled through them with simmering unease. Kafka had revealed himself to the world. People knew about him now, and they couldn’t unring that bell.

Soshiro stopped on a post by someone claiming to have seen Kaiju No.7 conversing with No.6 before the attack started. He crinkled his brow at it. The claim was blatantly false. In the Defence Force’s official statement, they made it clear that Kaiju No.7 appeared towards the end of the attack. Yet, a quick glance at the comments told him people were still falling for unverified hearsay. His fingers tightened around his phone at the slanderous remarks people were throwing out about his friend.

Even if Kafka hadn’t been in Tokyo at the time, his friend would never ‘scheme to destroy humanity’. Kafka regularly stopped to help people - anyone from children to lost tourists to the elderly. This person was making his friend out to be a diabolical monster. His frown deepened as more of these posts popped up. Speculations were starting to take a dangerously dark turn.

Soshiro locked his phone and set it down, his shoulders heavy. They would have to be more careful.

Standing in the entranceway with two bags by his feet, fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt, Kafka looked lost. All confidence about his place in the world seemed to have vanished, along with his cheer.

Soshiro grabbed the bags and made the boy chase him down several corridors, politely protesting the help. “I can handle ‘em!” Kafka insisted. “I’m fine, really!”

“Yer a guest. Jus’ leave it ta me,” Soshiro pulled the hospitality card. He was at a loss for how to help his friend but this, at least, he could do. Shifting both bags to one arm, he held out his hand. “C’mon, yer room’s next ta mine.”

Kafka hesitated for a moment, then took his hand and trotted alongside him with a little more surety.

The room prepared for Kafka was one of their many guest rooms, from a time when their family did a lot more hosting and entertaining. Soshiro set the bags down by the futon and started helping his friend get settled in. Clothes in the cupboard, plushies on the futon, homework on the desk. There was a distinct lack of chatter that left him feeling wrong-footed.

Kafka’s withdrawn state lasted for the rest of the day and through dinner. His friend picked his way through tiny portions of each dish, then spent several minutes pushing rice around his bowl in a fugue state. Soshiro selected morsels Kafka liked from his own spread of dishes and placed them in the boy’s bowl. Each one was received with a noise of grateful acknowledgement, followed by dispirited chewing. The usual zeal was missing, but he was glad his friend was still eating.

Preoccupied, he forgot about his brother’s return from base that day until he ran into him in the hallway, spare towel in his arms for Kafka. They exchanged tense greetings before moving on. The bastard seemed well.

Squeezing in some late night training while the rest of the house slept, he could feel Kafka’s eyes on him. Just as attentive as always, following him around the garden as he went through his sets. When he was done, the boy slunk back to his room, familiar footsteps fading down the hallway. A piercing squeak as he stepped on that one noisy floorboard was the loudest sound Kafka made in the few hours he was out there with Soshiro.

After a quick bath, he returned to his room, running a towel against his wet hair as he walked down the darkened corridors. Passing by Kafka’s room, he paused in front of the closed door. Pulling the towel down around his shoulders, he stilled his breath and focused his hearing. All was quiet in the house. All was quiet behind his friend’s door. If his friend was sleeping, that was to be expected. He placed a hand against the door handle and slid it open slowly, quietly. Just a quick peek, to make sure his friend was alright.

The window was open in his friend’s room, moonlight and chilly night air pouring in. Kafka was curled up on the futon, grasping the thick blankets like a bolster with his face half buried in the bedding, tail draped loosely over himself. Teal eyes opened the moment Soshiro stepped inside, armoured appendage unfurling to rest gently on the floorboards.

“Hide yer tail,” he told his friend plainly. “What if someone else walked in?”

“It’s fine, I knew it was ya,” Kafka barely twitched, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall across from him.

Soshiro slid the door closed behind him and padded over to his friend. He sat himself down cross-legged on the edge of his friend’s futon. Surprised, Kafka tipped his head up to meet his eyes questioningly.

“I’m returnin’ the favour,” Soshiro reached down. “Gimme yer hand, I don’t have a tail.”

Kafka reached out and daintily slipped his fingers between Soshiro’s.

“Thanks,” the boy mumbled into the blanket. His eyes were shining, but no tears fell.

The night was long as he sat with his friend. Kafka just didn’t seem to fall asleep. His eyes would be closed, but his tail would shift across the sheets, dexterous tip furling and unfurling. At times, it would slide over Soshiro’s knee as he was dozing off, startling him back awake. Other times, he would observe, muzzy with drowsiness, as Kafka ran thick fingers over the scar on his arm. His friend’s fluttering touch was pleasant, and followed him into a light sleep.

He woke up several times through the night, distantly registering that at some point, someone had put his towel aside and tucked him under warm blankets. There was a familiar weight pressed up against him. The soothing notes of flowers and ozone pulled him into a sound rest.

“Soshiro’s friend! Breakfast!”

The grating voice of his brother cut through his sleep, and Soshiro bolted upright. He glanced around, bleary-eyed but nerves alight with frantic energy. He couldn’t be caught sleeping in Kafka’s room, he couldn’t explain this.

There was nowhere to hide.

The door slid open to his brother standing just beyond the threshold.

His eyes met his brother’s, and his heart stopped. He was still sitting in Kafka’s futon, his friend spread out damningly next to him.

Crap.

Before his brother could get a word out, Soshiro scrambled over Kafka’s sleeping form and hissed, “Don’t tell father!”

Arms locked with nervous tension, he was bridged overtop his friend, bracing himself on the bedding. He didn’t know what it was that he wanted to keep from his father - him being in Kafka’s room, them sharing a futon, or something else. He just knew he didn’t want his father finding out. The man was very traditional, and the thought of his reaction had Soshiro’s stomach crawling up his throat.

“‘Bout what?” his brother had the gall to look confused, a slight furrow between his brows.

Soshiro looked down at Kafka, searching for a way to explain himself. His brother followed his gaze, “Yer boyfriend?”

Soshiro’s tongue was leaden, throat dry. That casual question was too calm. How did his brother already know that he…

“Fine, I won’t say anythin’,” his brother shrugged and agreed easily. Too easily.

“I don’t believe ya.”

A crease appeared on his brother’s forehead again, an affronted smile lifting his lips, “What? Ya think I’m jus’ gonna go tattlin’ on ya ta father?”

“Ya would,” Soshiro replied without hesitation.

“What do ya take me for?” his brother griped, crossing his arms. “I’m not gonna tell ‘im.”

Soshiro eyed his brother warily, but he was difficult to read as always.

Gentle shifting against his side pulled his attention away immediately. He looked down, breaking the standoff he was having with his brother.

“Soshiro?” Kafka mumbled, half asleep. Eyes still closed, the boy reached up, fingers brushing the line of one scarred arm. With a sleepy murmur, his friend pressed chubby cheek to thin wrist, curling closer for comfort.

Soshiro’s heart went soft.

“Gross,” his brother drawled. “Do ya hafta do that right in front ‘a me?”

“If ya don’t wanna see it, get out,” he shot back.

“Shouldn’t ya be nicer ta me, ya little asshole? I’m keepin’ yer secret,” a vein popped in his brother’s forehead.

“I knew ya couldn’t be trusted.”

His brother opened his mouth, about to deliver another blunt remark, when something nailed him in the face. A red Guramon plushie dropped to the floor and rolled away.

“Ge’ out,” Kafka mumbled, still nestled on the bed and glaring at Soshiro’s bastard of a brother. The boy looked like a grumpy kitten, head poking out between Soshiro’s arms.

Sighing, his brother picked up the plushie and tossed it back onto the futon. “Yeah, I’m goin’.”

He retreated from the room, then ducked his head back in, face screwed up like he was thinking of something unsavoury, “Don’t do anythin’ weird.”

He shut the door before the plushie could hit him in the head again.

Sunday was usually grocery day with his Mama.

Kafka didn’t visit Soshiro as often on Sundays, but he knew that for the Hoshina family, the housekeepers took care of that. After breakfast, he retreated to his room and slumped on the futon, hugging the blanket for support. There was no energy left in him to do anything.

He had almost killed his Mama.

Guilt kept him shackled, thick chains weighing down his body and head and heart. Moving through the day was difficult, like wading through syrup. Everything took too much effort.

When his Mama had woken up, the first thing she did was pat him on the head. “My big, baby,” her words were effortful, still disoriented from the painkillers. “Don’t cry, I’m ok.”

He cried harder.

His Mama assured him that it wasn’t his fault. Calm and gentle as she repeated for the umpteenth time that day that he hadn’t done anything wrong. She took his hand and told him that he did his best, but it wasn’t enough for him to shake the guilt. Her knobbly hand was terrifyingly small in his. When had his Mama gotten so fragile?

For most of his life, his Mama was a constant presence. It seemed like she would always be there, an ever-present invincible force. Then he had almost lost her, because of his own thoughtlessness. Suddenly, he was hyper aware of how he could lose her. She wasn’t a constant or invincible. She would be gone one day.

The fear weighed on him as much as the guilt.

A soft knock on the door broke him out of his spiralling thoughts. Mild scent, calming heartbeat.

“Soshiro?” Kafka angled his head towards the door.

The door rattled open and his friend stepped inside. He regarded Kafka, still huddled up miserably on the bed.

“Get up, we’re gonna go run an errand,” he said, not unkindly, and held up a piece of paper. “We’re runnin’ low on some stuff.”

“Huh?” Kafka sat up, letting go of the blankets.

“We’re goin’ ta the supermarket,” his friend waved the piece of paper for emphasis.

Even standing was a chore. Kafka took a few slow steps away from the numbing comfort of the futon. Soshiro was trying to cheer him up. The thought that his friend remembered something so trivial about his daily routine made his heart soar for a fleeting moment, even if he felt like he didn’t deserve the concern.

Taking Soshiro’s hand, he followed his friend out of the house. He couldn’t wallow forever. Couldn’t keep dragging his feet while his friend was doing his best to help him. He needed to find a way to pull himself out of his rut.

Searching for items in a new store quieted the guilt to a whisper. The layout was completely different from the supermarket in his own neighbourhood, turning their grocery run into a scavenger hunt.

“Found the soy sauce!” Kafka plucked the glass bottle off the shelf and placed it in their rickety trolley.

“Good job,” Soshiro patted him on the head absently as he checked their list. “Now we jus’ need the paper towels.”

Kafka soaked up his friend’s touch and praise like a flower bathing in sunlight.

“I think I saw ‘em over here,” his friend dropped his hand to the trolley handle and began pushing it down the aisle.

As they walked past the freezers in the frozen food section, the rows of ice cream caught his eye. He paused, artificial cold wafting around his ankles. Soshiro made a joke about it once. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate, but he found himself wanting one. Something sweet to help with the lousy slump he was in.

Creaky wheels slowed to a stop. “Kafka?”

“Do ya think we could get some ice cream?” his own voice was meek in his ears.

“‘Course. Why don’t ya pick one?” was his friend’s easy response.

Kafka scanned the many options on display, eyes passing over his favourite soda-flavoured popsicles to land on a box with a picture of a chestnut on it. He picked that one up.

“Yer not goin’ fer the usual?” Soshiro grabbed the bright blue box of Kafka’s go-to ice cream.

“Didn’t feel like it today,” Kafka tried for a smile.

His friend tilted his head, studying his face, before placing the box of popsicles in the trolley. “Then I’ll get this one.”

“Ya don’t hafta, really!” Kafka protested.

“Who said this is for ya? I jus’ felt like eatin’ it,” Soshiro countered.

They ended up eating each other’s picks.

Sitting in Soshiro’s room, Kafka nibbled distractedly at the blue ice bar. Soothingly cool and sweet, but thoughts about his Mama continued to eat away at the back of his mind. The cold of the popsicle was numbing his lips, melted runoff sliding down the stick and coating his fingers.

A sharp flick to his forehead had him looking up.

His friend was inches from his face, “Yer gonna make a mess.”

Patient hands dabbed away sticky residue, and slid a tissue under the steadily melting popsicle.

“Sorry,” Kafka took the tissue from his friend to stem the blue flow.

“Talk ta me, I know it’s buggin’ ya.”

Kafka busied himself with the tissue, uncertain. He could feel emotion start to clog his throat, and he didn’t want to cry.

“I almost killed my Mama,” he confessed, tears stinging his eyes again.

“That wasn’t yer fault,” his friend bit the top off his chestnut ice cream.

Kafka had heard it plenty of times from his Mama, but deep down he didn’t believe it.

“I shoulda gotten her out first, made sure she was ok,” the tears were falling now.

Soshiro hummed, “How were ya gonna get her out?”

“What do ya mean?” Kafka blinked away the haze, biting down restlessly on the wooden stick.

“There were a ton ‘a Defence Force Officers. How were ya gonna get her out ‘a there?”

“I coulda-” Kafka tried, but his friend wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.

Red eyes pinned him with the intensity of a predator bearing down on its prey.

“What if they shot at ya?”

“What if they hit her?”

“How were ya gonna move her?”

“Did ya know where the hospital was?”

Why was his friend being so- mean?

Soshiro’s hand came up and Kafka caught it, popsicle falling to the floor. He was on guard, hackles rising. This scary side of his friend… he didn’t like it.

It disappeared as quickly as it came, like a powerful wave breaking into sea foam along a cliff. Ferocity melted into concerned fondness. “Listen ta yer Mama, ya did the best ya could.”

Kafka could feel melted popsicle seeping into his sock. “Ya know… ya kinda suck at this.”

The space between Soshiro’s brows creased and his other hand came up.

Kafka didn’t catch this one.

An annoyed flick struck his forehead again. “I’m givin’ ya a pass on this one. Next time, I’m droppin’ ya.”

An amused huff bubbled up from Kafka’s chest. The chains weighing him down felt a little lighter.

Extra: Soichiro’s dilemma (again)

“Soichiro, go wake yer brother and his friend fer breakfast,” his father ordered, primly setting his chopsticks down on his bowl.

“Yes, father,” Soichiro hid his annoyance and stood from the table. His brother was aware that their household started the day early. It should have fallen on him to ensure his friend woke up on time for breakfast too.

He tried his brother’s room first. It was empty. That maniac must have been up before dawn on a weekend to train again.

Next, his brother’s friend’s room. He slid the door open to find both of them there, snuggled together in the same futon.

Damn it, not again. They better not have-

Then his brother was lunging over, begging him not to tell their father.

Ah, fuck.

Chapter Text

Soshiro woke before the sun, sitting up to drain the drowsiness from his body. The room was dark, cold dawn air settling on his skin as he left the comforting folds of his blanket. Something heavy was draped over his leg, the entire limb numb and tingling. Extricating himself from Kafka’s starfish sprawl across his thigh, he shook out the pins and needles. His friend was half out of the futon, an arm and a leg poking out and resting on the floorboards. Dragging Kafka back under the blankets, he tucked the boy back in before standing and getting ready for the day.

He stifled a yawn as he got dressed in the dark, practised hands securing his hakama without need for a light.

As he passed by the futon, something dry and plated wound loosely around his ankle. He tensed, ready to kick it off, chest tightening momentarily. The familiarity of it had him relaxing again. Since Kafka was staying with them for the week, he had boldly wriggled his way under the covers the night before, rather than sitting with Soshiro as he usually would.

“Where’re ya goin’?” the vague mound shifted as Kafka turned to face him. He could barely make out his friend’s face in the dark.

“Trainin’, go back ta sleep.”

The serpentine limb fell to the floor with a soft thump and slithered back under the covers. There was a whisper of blankets as his friend burrowed deeper into the futon.

“Hid my tail,” came the sleepy assurance. “Don’ over do it.”

Making a small noise of acknowledgement in the back of his throat, Soshiro swiped his practise sword and left the room.

When he entered the practise hall, the lights were already on and his father was waiting inside. Under the man’s watchful eye, Soshiro cleaned the floorboards and prepared the equipment.

Training was rote, but there was something hanging in the air that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. His father was deeper in thought than he usually was. The man still caught every mistake with hawk-like keenness, but there was contemplation in the lines of his face.

After morning training, the shoe dropped.

“Soshiro, I need ta speak with ya.”

He stiffened, muscles in his back drawing together. It was the same tone of voice - same expression - his father had when he told him to give up. With apprehension, Soshiro set the cleaning supplies aside and folded into seiza before his father.

“I’m gonna have ya start helpin’ me with the students. Startin’ next week, on the days ya don’ have afterschool activities.”

After stepping down from his position in the Defence Force and becoming an instructor, his father trained the Defence Force by day and ran kendo classes for the public in the evening. Perhaps the class sizes were getting larger and he needed an extra pair of eyes and hands, but Soshiro suspected there was more to it.

His fingers, laying on his knees in a loose curl, tightened into his palm. “Yes, father.”

It would cut into the precious little time he had with Kafka, but he had no choice.

In the Hoshina household, his father’s word was law.

“Teachin’ will be beneficial for yer understandin’ of the blade. This will be a good opportunity for ya,” his father said as he stood. “Yer dismissed.”

The door closed with a thump behind the man, and Soshiro took a deep, steadying breath. Teaching. Instructor work. Aside from helping Kafka with his homework, he had never taught anyone anything before. Like his father said, teaching would deepen his understanding, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t the entirety of his father’s intentions.

Returning to his room to gather his school uniform and towel for a shower, he found it empty. The blankets were folded neatly on the futon, the only trace that it had been slept in was a slight depression in the pillow. A faded imprint of Kafka’s scent lingered in the room. Inhaling deeply, he belatedly caught himself revelling in the skin-warmed sweetness that coiled around his futon. Although he was alone, a rash of heat crept up his back. He hurriedly stepped away from the tidied bedding and collected his things.

The kitchen was bustling as he passed by it on the way to the bathroom. Their housekeeper on duty that day was flitting about preparing breakfast. From the corner of his eye, he caught someone else in there with her. Kafka, dressed in an apron, hair held back with a bandana. His friend had a rice paddle in one hand, and an empty bowl in the other. He looked much peppier than the day before, dashing around the muggy room together with the housekeeper and helping her plate the food.

The boy’s head canted as he picked up a sauce dish, as if he had just heard something, and turned to look at Soshiro through a gap in the door.

“Soshiro!” Kafka greeted, bounding over and sliding the door fully open with his foot.

“What are ya doin’ in here?” Soshiro readjusted the clothes draped over his arm, away from Kafka. The dish in his friend’s hand was tipping dangerously, soy sauce creeping against the lip.

“I wanted ta repay y’all fer takin’ me in, so I asked if I could help out,” the boy shot him a smile, a far sight from the sluggish listlessness that hung over him the day before.

“Yer a guest, ya don’t hafta.” His father would be mortified if he found out a guest was doing housework.

“I want ta!” Despite the grin, there was something fragile in Kafka’s eyes, like he might fall back into a depression if Soshiro told him no.

Reaching up, he patted Kafka's head through the bandana. “Let’s keep it from father, he’d have a heart attack if he knew ya were workin’ the kitchen.”

The boy beamed at him in response and his chest ached with a relieved fondness. It had barely been a few days, but he had missed that unrestrained smile.

“I’ll see ya at breakfast,” Soshiro dropped his hand. Then, with a playful tap of his finger to the sauce dish, he tacked on, “Don’t spill all the food before it makes it ta the table.”

Previously lax and melty from Soshiro’s touch, Kafka suddenly snapped to attention with indignance. “Hey!” the boy yelled, hackles raised.

Soy sauce spattered on the ground.

There was silence, both staring at the puddle of brown painting the floorboards.

Great heaving peals of laughter broke their stunned hush as Soshiro doubled over, cackling. “Ya really went and did it! Are we gonna have any food ta eat when yer done?”

His friend let out a scandalised squawk and rushed back into the kitchen for paper towels. When he returned, he tossed a wad down and knelt beside the spill to start soaking it up. “Ya distracted me!”

“From what? Ya weren’t doin’ anythin.”

A flush crept up Kafka’s neck, mouth ajar as he struggled to find a retort. He closed it with a click and crinkled his nose. “Go take a shower, ya stink.”

The flaming red of his friend’s ears gave away the lie. “Ya still suck at lyin’,” he said, reaching down and flicking the boy’s forehead. He watched the boy stiffen further, face scrunching with embarrassment at being caught.

Soshiro put a hand on Kafka’s head, carding his fingers through black locks once, twice, and felt his friend settle reluctantly. “I’m kiddin’, I have faith in ya.”

There was a sudden jerk against his palm as Kafka perked up, “I won’t let ya down, Soshiro!”

There was that puppy-like enthusiasm he loved to see.

But the sight of Kafka sitting on his haunches, looking up at Soshiro with single-minded purpose, and those words… that was dangerous. His eyes strayed to the boy’s lips and the sound of his pulse started to build in his ears.

The urge to lean in and press his own to them swept through his mind, like a silhouette behind a veil. Vaguely present and not fully formed, but creeping closer to the fore. It was distracting and laced with shame. Kafka had almost lost his mother less than a week ago. Yet his mind was wandering, lingering on thoughts of romance. Now was not the time.

Pulling his hand away, he threw out a hum of acknowledgement. He indulged in a brush of his friend’s cheek, disguising it as a quick swipe of the thumb over something staining the boy’s skin. “Ya better hurry, Kimura-san looks like she needs help with th’ trays.”

She didn’t. She was the sturdiest 60-year-old he knew, tending to housekeeping affairs with pride and tenacity since he was an infant. He just needed Kafka to stand up, to not be kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with adoration. The muscles in his jaw tightened in response, and he could feel his veins popping all the way down his neck. It was a strain on his control.

Predictably, his friend bolted up with a yell and charged over to help, dropping the soiled paper towels in a bin along the way. Soshiro slid the door to the kitchen closed and continued on to the bathroom.

Standing under the shower spray, he set the water as cold as he could get it. Head down, eyes unseeing. The sting of freezing water slid down his neck and back. The image of Kafka on his knees wouldn’t leave his mind.

During breakfast, Soshiro seemed distracted. Kafka watched as his friend stripped the rich, fatty portions from his salmon and dropped them in Kafka’s bowl. The boy was quiet, and he wasn’t looking at Kafka or his father. Looking up, he shared a glance with Soshiro’s Papa, and took in the regretful scent seeping from the man. Something must have happened between them again.

There was a diluted aroma hanging around his friend, a new one. Fruity and honeyed, like the sweetness of peach blossoms. It was striking but pleasant, catching his attention. The scent was nothing like the medicinal bitterness of Soshiro’s sadness, but if something bad had caused it, it was a bad emotion. No matter how nice it smelled.

Kafka scooped up his tamagoyaki with a spoon and deposited them on his friend’s plate. Soshiro finally met his eyes, and Kafka gave him a reassuring smile. The scent of peach blossoms intensified, and Kafka's smile wavered. His friend must have been really upset, if his favourite side dish wasn’t enough to cheer him up a little.

The dining room was too silent for him to sneakily ask Soshiro about it.

Kafka’s eyes darted to the other side of the table. Soshiro’s brother was there too, eating without a care in the world, joining them for breakfast before returning to base. Catching the older teen’s eyes, he looked at Soshiro, then at their Papa. He didn’t want to ask Soshiro’s brother for anything, but he didn’t have a choice.

A crease formed between Soichiro’s brows, the corner of his lip twitching higher. Despite his irritation, Soshiro’s brother schooled his face and turned to their Papa with a flick of his braid. “Father, have ya been keepin’ up with the news on the attack in Odawara?”

The moment Soshiro’s Papa was distracted, chatting with his oldest son, Kafka tapped his knee against Soshiro’s. That got his friend’s attention.

“What’s got ya lookin’ so down?”

A questioning hum, and his friend touched his own cheek. He hadn’t seen the boy check his expression in years - he must have been quite out of it. The neutral expression was still there, but his scent didn’t lie.

“Did yer father say somethin’ stupid again?”

The corner of his friend’s mouth tensed. A blip of irritation tinged his scent, spreading through it like blood in water. Red eyes flicked over to his father, still deep in conversation, then back to Kafka. “I’ll tell ya later.”

Strong fingers came up to ruffle his hair, and Kafka closed his eyes to savour the touch. His vocal chords were already shifting to purr before he caught himself. He hastily shifted them back, and hoped that Soshiro’s Papa was too busy to see the skin of his neck crawling around like a horror movie.

“I’m fine, ya don’t hafta worry ‘bout me,” his friend still had his ‘laid back but actually deep in thought’ voice on, but Kafka knew he shouldn’t push.

At least the fragrance of peach trees was beginning to disappear, so he would count it as a win.

Kafka waved goodbye to Kimura-san as they walked away from the main gates. Sliding his thumbs under the straps of his backpack, he took in a deep breath. School was starting up again, as if nothing had ever happened. The same clear skies, the same steadily warming breeze, and the same grey path leading the way out of Soshiro’s house.

“I’m gonna be helpin’ my father with his students,” Soshiro told him as soon as the Hoshina residence disappeared from sight.

“In the Defence Force?!”

His friend smacked him lightly on the back of the head. “No, ya dummy. Night classes, with civilians.”

Kafka hunched away and laughed sheepishly, “That doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”

“What if that’s what he wants me ta do? Be an instructor?”

Disappointment clouded the air, mildewy and musty. His friend’s footsteps slowed, but he didn’t stop.

Being an instructor would be a waste of his friend’s skill and effort. His friend was the best with a blade, even his jerk brother said so. Kafka overheard him grumbling about Soshiro constantly when they were children, as he crept past the older boy’s window on the way to give Soshiro his rocks.

Kafka inhaled deeply, his friend needed encouragement.

“Then ya use this teachin’ thing an’ ya become a great Defence Force Captain.” Kafka grabbed his friend’s hand and twisted them around so they could look each other in the eyes. So he could see that Kafka believed in him. “An’ then ya shove it in his face!”

Soshiro said nothing. His expression and scent revealed nothing. The silence dragged on, and Kafka’s face began to warm uncomfortably.

Then, laughter.

Citric amusement and cherry blossoms brightened the air as Soshiro laughed, head thrown back and canines poking out from behind his lips. “Yer so simple!”

“Hey!” Kafka protested half-heartedly. He was grinning too.

His friend calmed down gradually, a pleased, fanged smile sitting on his lips as he laced their fingers together.

“I don’t dislike that.”

“Then…”

A gentle pinch and pull of his cheek, callused fingers scratching his skin. “I told ya not ta worry, didn’t I? I’m not givin’ up.”

Kafka’s eyes slid shut and he felt his smile go dopey, leaning into the pinch. His friend was strong, there was no way he would give up. “I know, but I had ta say it. I have faith in ya.”

The pinching intensified, “That’s my line ya idiot, don’t go stealin’ it!”

“I’m sowwy!” Kafka slurred past his stretched cheek and silly grin.

Sighing, his friend let go of him and turned away, face hidden behind his bangs. “Thanks.”

Kafka didn’t need to see Soshiro’s expression to know what he was feeling.

Then his friend tugged at their linked fingers, continuing down the path towards the station, “C’mon, we’re gonna miss the train.”

The happy scent of spring followed them all the way to school.

They made it to their classrooms with minutes to spare.

After school and club activities, Kafka zipped back to the Hoshina residence. He said a few quick goodbyes, met Soshiro by the shoe lockers, and practically dragged his friend like a wayward balloon the entire way.

A quick shower later and he was set up in his room, phone in hand and sprawled out over his futon on his belly. Launching a video call with his Mama, he kicked his feet as he waited for the line to connect.

When her face showed up on the screen, he propped his phone up against his pillow. “Hi Mama!”

His Mama looked tired, bags under her eyes and her hair limp, but she was smiling. “Kafka, how was school today?”

“It was ok, nothin’ new. Lotsa graphs in maths today,” Kafka hummed as he tried to recall his day.

He perked up, “Oh, I got called on ta answer a question in physics, an’ I got it right!”

Laughing, his Mama reached for the screen as if she were about to pat his head, before pulling away when she realised they were chatting over video call. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes were deep as she praised him, “That’s wonderful, good job.”

Grinning, Kafka took a moment to bask in his Mama’s praise. Then he picked up his phone and rolled over on his side. “What’d the doctors say?”

“I’m healing well. They say I should be able to come home by the end of the week. The nurses taught me to do some stretches and exercises, so I don’t lose my muscles,” his Mama patted her bicep jokingly.

She shifted up the bed slowly, like she was avoiding making big movements. “They’ll be teaching me how to get in and out of a wheelchair soon.”

“Ya don’t hafta do that, Mama! I’ll help ya with them!”

Another soft laugh, “You’re such a good son.”

Kafka preened again.

“But I need to know how to do this myself. How am I going to do things when you’re not around?” her tone was firm, the same as when she was teaching him something important.

“I’m always gonna be around!” Kafka protested, anxiety spearing through his chest. He needed to be around for his Mama. It was his fault she was in this state.

“I don’t want you to do that,” his Mama said. Kafka’s fingers tightened around his phone, the spear in his chest twisting deeper. Did his Mama not want him around anymore?

“You’re young, and there are so many things you haven’t experienced. What if you wanted to travel? Or go out with friends? I don’t want to hold you back,” she said, the lines on her face softening as she let go of her sternness.

“Ya won’t be holdin’ me back, I wanna take care ‘a ya!” Kafka bolted upright, perching on his ankles. He needed to take care of his Mama. To make things right.

“I appreciate that, but I won’t let you hold yourself back, not for my sake. That would make me a bad mother,” his Mama countered.

“You don’t want me to be unable to face the other mothers at my book club, do you?” she laughed lightly at her own joke.

“No,” Kafka hung his head, dropping his phone to his lap.

“Good,” laugh lines framed his Mama’s smiling mouth. “You’re a good son, Kafka.”

Sniffling, Kafka scrubbed at his face. No matter what his Mama said, he would make sure to always be there to help her.

Dinner was much better than breakfast. The tense silence from that morning was gone, and Soshiro and his Papa were talking again. Kafka was more than happy to pitch in his two cents as they discussed the Hanshin Tigers’ latest games against the Yokohama DeNA BayStars. Baseball was something they were all excited about. No more sitting sandwiched in the middle of their sad scents, quietly chewing through ashy food.

Dishes emptied, Kafka gathered his utensils on the tray and left it at the dining table. Aside from special circumstances, the family’s housekeepers didn’t like when he tried to bring his dirty dishes back to the kitchen to clean. The first time he ate at their house, Soshiro’s Papa explained that they would take it as an insult, a sign that their hospitality wasn’t good enough. Everything from snack plates to full meal trays needed to be left where they were, if they were handed to him by the housekeepers. It was a difficult rule to get used to. In his home, he had to wash his own dirty dishes immediately after he used them.

Laundry too, Kafka mused as Soshiro held his hand out. Taking it, he followed his friend back down the corridors to their rooms. Used towels and clothes were left in the laundry baskets around the house. The housekeeper on duty emptied them at the end of every day. They appeared back in his closet, cleaned and ironed the next day.

Not cleaning up after himself always had him feeling wrong-footed when he was visiting. Now that he was staying with them, the urge to help out was only growing stronger.

Stepping over the threshold into Soshiro’s room, Kafka made himself comfy on his friend’s bed. He flopped down on his side, one leg hidden under the blankets, the other resting on top. The door rattled closed, and familiar footsteps made their way across the room. There was a peaceful calm as a chair was pulled out, and a lamp clicked on. Soshiro was settling in to do some additional studying. A third language - as if his friend didn’t already have enough on his plate.

Comfortable silence blanketed the room as Kafka messaged Mina. She was winding down for the day too, sending a picture of a half empty milk glass she was sipping on after her bath. The milk inside was a cloudy blue.

‘2/10 strawberry was better,’ was the caption.

Kafka enlarged the picture and stared at the bottle. The flavour was ramune. Mina didn’t even like regular non-milk ramune.

‘Why’d you buy it?’

Another picture of the bottle turned around with a fluffy, watery-eyed cat on the label, a matching keychain lying next to it. ‘Wanted the cat. Last one in the collection.’

‘Tastes like spoilt milk, but worth it,’ she told him. Then sent a selfie, tongue bright blue from the food colouring.

Spoilt milk didn’t sound very worth it. Kafka physically recoiled against the pillow at a memory of lapping up bad milk. Before his Mama found him and fed him. Mina’s love for cats was iron-strong.

‘Cute!’ he replied.

‘Thanks.’ Then, ‘Video call?’

A notification popped up and Kafka hit the ‘Accept call’ button immediately.

“Minaaaaa I missed ya,” Kafka greeted her playfully the moment her face popped up on screen.

Mina smiled, gentle and fond. “Hi Kafka.”

There was a split in her lip that she didn’t have when they met online a little over a week ago, before everything. It was freshly crusted over.

“They musta been good, ta get ya like that,” Kafka remarked with a grin, rolling over onto his front and pointing to the corner of his mouth.

Mina hummed, “He was, but I won in the end. It was a good spar.”

“How have you been? You said you were staying with Soshiro?” her eyes drifted as she took in Kafka’s background. “He hasn’t been bullying you, has he?”

“No! He’s been really nice ta me,” Kafka was quick to defend his friend. Soshiro had been doing his best to help Kafka out of his slump. Even if he wasn’t good at comforting with his words, he was dependable and kind.

Suddenly a weight fell on him, and he let out a winded noise of surprise.

“Talkin’ ‘bout me behind my back?” Soshiro was seated imperiously in the dip of Kafka’s spine, a smug tilt to his lips.

“I was jus’ sayin’ ya were nice! I take it back!” Kafka wriggled, trying to slide his friend off. “Mina, he’s bein’ mean!”

Instead of helping him, Mina laughed.

“Stop pulling his pigtails,” she finally said between amused little huffs. “You should learn to accept his praise.”

“Yeah, stop pullin’ my tail!” Kafka griped.

Soshiro looked at Mina sharply, and Kafka wondered what he was missing.

The thought fled his mind the moment a screaming yowl pierced through the speakers. Mina turned to look at something out of sight of the camera.

“Mina! Can you come help me with Nyanko?!” Mina’s Mama’s voice drifted over.

“Coming, mom!” Mina called back.

“Give me a second, I have to help with Nyanko’s diapers,” she stood up and jogged out of frame.

Kafka looked up and met Soshiro’s eyes. He looked just as confused. They waited for Mina to return, Soshiro’s hand straying to Kafka’s head and absently raking through his hair.

When Mina returned, there were scratches on her arms, and worry on her usually collected face.

“Is somethin’ wrong with Nyanko?” Soshiro was the first to ask.

“He’s been peeing a lot lately,” Mina’s eyes were cast downward. “It got worse yesterday, he wasn’t able to make it to his litter box. His appointment’s tomorrow.”

There was rare uncertainty in her voice.

“He’ll be ok,” Kafka assured her.

The rough fingers twisted into his hair paused at his statement.

Mina nodded slowly, “Yeah, he’ll be ok.”

Soshiro pulled his hand away.

They chatted for another half hour until Mina had to leave and prepare for bed. The moment the call ended, there was a strong pinch against the shell of his ear. “He'll be ok? What are ya gonna do if it’s actually somethin’ really bad?”

Kafka stiffened. The moment he saw that Mina was distressed, he had blurted out the words without thinking about things too deeply. 

Soshiro saw through him immediately. “Ya gotta think before ya speak when it comes ta these things.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from you,” Kafka pouted, turning his head away, remembering Soshiro’s unique way of comforting.

There was an apologetic drag of fingers against Kafka’s scalp, “Jus’ be careful ‘bout what ya promise.”

Nyanko had chronic kidney disease.

She didn’t understand. They kept up with his annual health check-ups, and each time they had declared that he was healthy. Nyanko had looked healthy too. He was eating, he was playing, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The vet assured them they weren’t negligent for not catching it sooner, cats were just very good at hiding their illnesses. But maybe she had missed something, some sign that he was sick.

Staring out the car window as they flew past familiar streets, she wrung at her fingers.

‘He’ll be ok,’ Kafka had told her.

“Liar.”

She worried the edge of her seatbelt, glad he wasn’t there to hear her aggrieved muttering. It wasn’t fair to him, he was just trying to make her feel better - and she had wanted to believe him. She had wanted someone to say it to her to soothe her fear, even if it wasn’t true.

Nyanko getting sick wasn’t anyone’s fault. He was old, well into his senior years, and she knew it would happen at some point.

Things weren’t all bad. With some changes to his diet, medication, and careful monitoring, he would still have a few more years with them.

The moment they returned home, she let Nyanko out of his carrier and bundled him in her arms, cradled against her chest like a baby. He meowed in confusion, but lay limp and let her hold him. The diaper crinkled against her arm.

She would update her friends later. For now, she wanted to spend some time with Nyanko.

Chapter Text

The week passed by too quickly.

Waking every morning to Kafka draped over him and a sleepy murmur to not overdo it in morning training. Pausing by the kitchen to watch Kafka darting about, heat-flush on his cheeks and sweat along his hairline as he helped out with breakfast. Lively chatter over their morning meals - and redirecting his gaze when he found it straying on Kafka’s face. Ducking into Kafka’s room after school and evening training to unwind. Sometimes, Kafka would still be on a call with his mother. After greeting her, he would settle in next to his friend with a book, alternating between reading and updating her on Kafka’s antics. Kafka would watch him squeeze in late night training, then poach half his futon, reading manga on his phone while he waited for Soshiro to return from a shower.

The day would end with Kafka falling asleep first, clutching the red Guramon plushie that had migrated over to Soshiro’s bed after that first day. In the comfortable darkness, he could observe Kafka’s face, all rounded curves. So close he could reach out to touch, but he never did. Each night was a countdown to the day Kafka would inevitably have to leave.

I don’t want this to end.

On Thursday night, Soshiro found Kafka huddled under the blankets, watching a live broadcast on his tiny phone screen. Swiping the towel through his damp hair, he leaned over to take a look at what had his friend’s rapt attention.

“It’s yer brother,” Kafka angled the device up to give him a better look. “Kaiju attack, Sixth Division’s handlin’ it.”

Soshiro hummed in acknowledgement. He hadn’t seen many videos of his brother in action - he never sought them out. Hunkering down next to Kafka, he leaned his head against his friend’s broad shoulder and settled in to watch too.

His brother was easy to spot, white hair stark under the floodlights. Flitting about the honju’s large body, the figure switched masterfully between a gun and sword. A deep seated admiration for his brother bubbled up from beneath the dislike. Some pride, too. That was his brother.

Then, with a quick twist of its reptilian body, the kaiju sent one of the other officers flying into his brother. Wide-eyed, he watched helplessly as his brother fell by its tail, and was launched into a building by the thick, spiked appendage. Beside him, Kafka sucked in a breath, body taut. “Is he gonna be ok?”

“He’ll be fine,” Soshiro told him, with a confidence he didn’t feel.

When a white figure staggered out of the ruins, he sagged with relief. When had he tensed up? His brother was too strong to die from something so mundane and incidental.

There were no other mishaps, and the honju was neutralised in the next half-hour. The broadcast zoomed in to pan over the officers, celebrating their victory, and paused briefly on his brother. Aside from a trickle of blood down the side of his head and from his eyes, the bastard seemed fine.

He was proven wrong the next morning when he entered the dining room for breakfast and saw his brother at the table. Head bandaged, wound dressings littering his face and neck, and more bandages spiralling down beneath the casual shirt he had on.

“Good mornin’,” his brother crowed.

Soshiro looked to his father for an explanation.

“Yer brother’s on leave due ta his injuries. He’ll be recuperatin’ at home.”

Turning back to his brother’s smug face, he returned the greeting, “Mornin’.”

“Soshiro’s brother?” Kafka walked in behind him. “Ah, mornin’, Soshiro’s Papa!”

The man gave a stoic nod.

“He’s stayin’ fer the weekend,” Soshiro told his friend.

“Fer the next week,” his brother corrected. “I’ll be helpin’ out with father’s classes too.”

Holding back the urge to make a face, Soshiro sat down at the table next to Kafka. Since his brother had enlisted with the Defence Force and was away most of the time, he had been enjoying the peace that came with the older teen’s absence. With his brother back, that peace would be broken.

He was not looking forward to it.

Soshiro sat cross-legged as he pulled the blankets up under Kafka’s chin, both of them settling in for the night. The red Guramon plushie was sandwiched between them. Kafka’s stay with him was about to end - they had two days left, staying in the same house together. Then Kafka would be infuriatingly far away again, sneaking in every other night, never being able to stay until morning. Nights without his friend would be sleepless and draining again.

Looking down, he considered Kafka, curled up in a foetal position around the plushie. His friend’s knees were jutting out over to his side of the futon, ready to poke him the moment he lay down. The boy was already drowsing, falling asleep in short bursts before blinking back awake, eyelids struggling open slower and slower each time.

Part of him wanted to keep Kafka there.

An old possessiveness reared its head. He wanted Kafka in his home, in his bed, with him. His friend’s stormy-calm scent filling up his room and soaking into his sheets.

Standing up, he busied himself with turning off the lights. His thoughts were straying again. Undisciplined, dangerous. They brought a rash of heat over his shoulders.

Sliding back in next to Kafka, he lay down facing his friend. The boy’s eyes were shut again, hand lax between them and fingers curved open invitingly. Reaching out, he slid his own hand into the hollow, thumb curling behind his friend’s pinky.

Large, warm, dry. The difference was stark, now that the day had slowed down enough for him to think about it. Back in elementary school, Kafka hadn’t been that much bigger than him, but over the years he had far outpaced him. Already his friend was a whole head taller, and he doubted he would ever catch up.

Looking at his own hand, thin and scarred, engulfed by Kafka’s meaty paw, he felt a brief twinge of disappointment, but it was fleeting. He entwined their fingers and drew them towards himself, pressing them to his forehead. There were a thousand butterflies in his chest, stringing a silly smile across his face. But it was alright, no one was around to see it.

I don’t dislike it.

Soshiro fell asleep to rhythmic breathing and a firm press of knuckles to his skin.

He woke to restless shifting and a loud rumbling growl.

Even half awake he knew that growl. He propped himself up on one arm, hand to his face. “What time is it?”

A piercing brightness stabbed his eyes and he groaned.

There was a quiet, “Sorry”, and the light disappeared.

“‘S two in the mornin’,” came Kafka’s groggy voice. Another rolling growl. “Got hungry, sorry for wakin’ ya.”

“‘S fine,” Soshiro rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn. “Do ya need somethin’ ta eat?”

Rolling over onto his knees, he stood and padded over to his desk. The drawer opened with a clatter, and he rooted around inside for a snack.

“Here,” he tossed a chocolate bar over to his friend, who devoured it in two bites.

They settled back down to sleep. Just as he was about to drift off again, another damningly loud growl thundered in the silence.

Soshiro bit his lip, pressure building until it erupted in a cascade of laughter. “Are ya serious?”

The laughing fit just wouldn’t stop. He curled in on himself, wheezing and clutching his aching sides.

“I can’t help it!” was the weak retort.

Soshiro took shallow, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself as Kafka pouted at him. “Didn’t ya have two helpings at dinner? Are ya tryin’ ta go inta hibernation or somethin’?”

The belly rumble that followed set him off again, and he howled with mirth, slapping the blankets.

“We had okayu, ‘s not very fillin’,” was his friend’s embarrassed mumble.

Taking a deep breath, Soshiro collected himself. Kafka was right, it wasn’t very filling - he was getting a little peckish as well.

“We’ve got instant noodles,” he offered.

Kafka lunged over, eyes sparkling, stomach still growling like a wild animal. “Can we? ‘S not too late ta cook?”

“Yeah, as long as we’re quiet,” Soshiro held his hand out, and Kafka took it with an excited squeeze.

He led the way out of the room and down the darkened corridors, his friend following like a large duckling. Kafka’s rogue stomach complained the entire way through the house, to the kitchen, sometimes louder than his footsteps. Soshiro had to keep one hand clapped to his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep the snickering contained.

Flicking the switch for the kitchen light on, he let out a breath and shielded his eyes against the brightness assaulting his senses. He felt Kafka brush past him as he slowly adjusted to the sudden illumination.

There was a gentle creaking as his friend opened and shut cabinets. Curiously, there was a lot of rummaging for a simple bowl of instant noodles. When the stabbing discomfort faded, he watched as Kafka placed a small pot on the stove with a quiet metallic ring.

“I’ll make ya some too!” his friend threw over his shoulder.

Soshiro slid the door shut, walking over to peer at the collection by the sink. A cutting board had been laid out, with an assortment of vegetables sitting on it - and there was a familiar notch in the thick wooden slab. A plume of cool air hit his skin as his friend retrieved eggs and tofu, a soft clunk as the boy shut the refrigerator. He had been planning to throw hot water on the noodles and eat them as-is, but he wouldn’t object to his friend preparing something more substantial.

Kafka began to chop the spring onions, the staccato beat of knife on wood filling the still night. Crisp, green sweetness plumed, making his stomach twinge with hunger. His mouth watered.

“I’ll boil some water,” Soshiro picked up the kettle and walked over to the sink.

A distracted, “Thanks,” and a confident scrape of blade against chopping board.

He barely looked at the kettle as he set it to boil, his gaze caught on his friend instead. Brows drawn together with concentration, movements swift and steady. He loved seeing his friend in his element, a determined smile on his lips and excitement lighting up his eyes. If he was lucky, he sometimes caught a glimpse of Kafka’s real colouration, shining through boring black. A smile tugged at his own lips at the sight of burning teal, and he was struck with an old sentiment.

He’d make a good husband.

He considered Kafka, sautéing the vegetables with a showy twist of his wrist.

Or a good wife.

Soshiro pushed off the counter to shake the idle thought away. Now was not the time.

He wasn’t inept at cooking, but the kitchen was Kafka’s domain, so he followed the boy’s lead. Handing his friend the seasoning packets and sauces, fetching the hot water, and slicing the remaining ingredients. It didn’t take long for a rich, spiced smell to start permeating the air.

They chatted during the in-between moments, waiting for the soup to boil and the ingredients to cook. It was as if time ceased to exist, and the night would stretch on forever. Just the both of them leaning by the kitchen counter, talking about the most mundane things - which teacher was the meanest, which bakery had the best bread, and the new movie that had their schoolmates in a frenzy. Unhurried and comfortable, as they meandered from one topic to another.

Best of all, by the end of it, they had a decadent looking meal.

Settling down around a small table in the corner of the kitchen, Soshiro handed Kafka a pair of chopsticks and they prepared to dig into their midnight snack. Just as the lid was lifted off the pot, the door slid open. His brother shuffled in like an unkempt bugbear and looked around, then made a beeline for them.

“Thought I smelled somethin’ nice,” his brother’s smile was snake-like.

“Ya can’t have any,” Soshiro pre-empted, angling his body to hide the food. Kafka made that extra portion for him. “Didn’t Kimura-san say ya need ta stay off anythin’ too heavy?”

His brother was the reason they were cooking so late at night in the first place. Kimura-san had prepared okayu for dinner because it was light and wouldn’t hinder his brother’s recovery.

“The doctor didn’t say anythin’ ‘bout that, Kimura-san worries too much,” his brother countered.

“If ya want some, there’s more over there,” he pointed at the packets of uncooked noodles that they hadn’t cleared away yet.

“I would, but I’m injured, remember? The doctor did say I was supposed ta take things easy,” was the shameless reply.

“No.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over them.

A familiar hungry rumble cut through the quiet, but it wasn’t Kafka’s stomach. It was his brother’s.

Oppressive stillness stretched on.

The discomfiting standoff was broken by the clack of porcelain. Kafka slid his bowl and chopsticks over to the empty spot at the table, “Ya can have some, I’m payin’ ya back fer Monday!”

Soshiro could feel the smugness radiating off his brother as he sat down in the empty seat. Kafka stood to get another set of utensils and Soshiro took that time to shoot his brother a warning look. The asshole ignored it.

When Kafka returned, he leaned in and broke the half-cooked egg blanketing the soup with a drag of his chopsticks. Bouncy noodles smothered in yolk went into his bowl, then sausage slices, fragments of tofu, and cabbage. Satisfied with his bounty, he pulled away and waited for Soshiro to help himself to the food too.

There was just enough for three servings.

Soshiro cautiously resumed conversation with Kafka as they ate. The muscles in his shoulders were pulled taut, just waiting for his brother to start something. He lifted his bowl to his lips, and shot a subtle glance at his brother across the edge as he sipped on the soup. Spice burned his tongue, but he was too distracted to care. The asshole was just sitting there, eating, but Soshiro knew he was far from innocent.

His suspicions were proven correct when a grating voice piped up, “So Kafka, you an’ my brother, huh?”

Oh no.

Soshiro shot his brother a glare, a silent warning to shut up, but it had no effect.

Kafka had one brow lifted in confusion, chopsticks limp against his fingers and head tilted like a clueless puppy. “Yeah?”

“And ya like him?” his brother pressed.

“Yeah, I like him a lot!” Kafka declared, completely unaware of what he was agreeing to.

Soshiro’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t prepared for this.

He pulled his emergency card - his brother’s hair.

With a loud screech like an angry cat, his brother grabbed the table for support when his head suddenly snapped back. The dishes on the table rattled from the force. “What the hell?!”

“Kafka, ignore ‘im,” Soshiro tried to go for nonchalance, pointedly ignoring the heat travelling down his neck and back.

“What do ya mean, ‘ignore him’ ya little shit?”

An arm snaked under his chin and trapped him in a headlock, a fist digging into the top of his head. Soshiro yelped in pain and fought to release himself from his brother’s hold, but they were trained in the same techniques. His brother knew how to counter everything he tried.

“Ya were tryin’ ta embarrass me!”

“I’m tryin’ ta be supportive!”

“Ya call that supportive?!”

“Yeah, ya little jerk!”

“Ya suck!”

The door clattered open loudly.

Their father loomed in the doorway, face impassive, but there was a vein standing out against his temple. “It’s late. Quit makin’ a ruckus.”

The man took in the empty bowls. “Clean that up, and get ta bed.”

Then he shut the door and left.

All was quiet in the kitchen as the man’s footsteps faded down the corridor.

“Was it somethin’ I said?” Kafka was the first to recover, wedging his chopsticks under his thumb and against his bowl.

“‘S not yer fault, this is because ‘a him,” Soshiro assured his friend as he gathered up his own dirty dishes.

“Me?” his brother’s smile was twitching. “Yer the one who yanked my hair.”

Soshiro tensed, expecting more yelling and wrestling, but his brother didn’t do more than drop his own dishes in the sink. Then he tossed his long hair over his shoulder and stood by the metal basin, barring anyone else from getting to it.

“Jus’ leave yer stuff there, I’ll clean up,” his brother was already reaching for the sponge.

That was unexpectedly nice. Suspiciously nice. Exchanging a glance with Kafka, they both placed their dirty dishes on the counter and headed out of the kitchen.

“Babies like ya need their sleep, after all,” came the snickering dig.

Soshiro shut the door pointedly.

When Sunday rolled around, Kafka was a vibrating mess. His Mama was being discharged! Buildings zipped by the window as he fidgeted in the back of Soshiro’s Papa's car - they were going too fast and too slow at the same time. Taking the train wasn’t very practical, and the taxis were expensive. This way, with his friend's Papa driving, his Mama could have a comfortable journey home.

The moment they got to his Mama’s hospital room, he ran to the side of her bed and hugged her.

“Kafka!” she wrapped her arms around him too, one hand rubbing his back comfortingly. The sharp smell of disinfectant had seeped into her skin, but her scent was still there, strong underneath it.

Over his shoulder, she addressed Soshiro’s Papa. “Thank you for taking care of him. I hope he hasn’t caused you too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” was the man’s short response. “How are ya holdin’ up?“

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” his Mama shifted into a sit, slow and effortful with an armful of Kafka.

Kafka filled his Mama in on his stay with the Hoshina family, about Mina’s Nyanko, about his classes. Time seemed to fly by until there was a gentle rap of knuckles on the door. “Hibino-san?”

A nurse ducked her head politely and entered the room to show them how to care for his Mama’s wounds. He perked up and listened attentively, phone in hand as he took notes on what to do - how to change his Mama's dressings, look out for signs of infection, and avoid making the injury worse. Then it was folding and unfolding a wheelchair, and how to assist a wheelchair user. Soshiro’s Papa stayed, a steady presence as he listened in.

The discharge process took a few hours, which had Kafka shifting restlessly, waiting for his Mama and Soshiro’s Papa to sort it out. When it was finally done, he was more than happy to leave the pungent smells of the hospital and head home with his Mama. She was scarily light, as he lifted her out of her wheelchair and into the car.

Pushing his Mama into their home, he noticed a few changes immediately. There was a ramp laid overtop the step from the entranceway into the main part of the house. Grab bars and small lights littered the walls at waist height, and their sofa had been moved further from their room doors.

“I asked Hoshina-san to help out with a few changes, to help me get around the house,” his Mama told him, seeing his stunned expression.

She twisted around, a grateful smile on her face, “Thank you, you’ve been an immense help, Hoshina-san. If there’s anything that we can help you out with too, please let us know.”

“Ya don’t hafta do that, I’m happy ta help,” Soshiro’s Papa said, standing just outside the doorway.

Kafka twisted his Mama’s wheelchair around so she could face the man.

“In that case, let me treat you and your boys to a meal, to thank you.”

“It’s alright.”

“I insist!”

“Then I’ll humbly accept.”

Dinner that night was weird. His Mama and Soshiro’s Papa chatted over their meal, swapping embarrassing stories about their children. Kafka sat between Soshiro and Soshiro’s brother, all three of them growing steadily more uncomfortable as the conversation dragged on. Kafka was lobster red all the way to the tips of his ears and down his neck mere minutes after they started up. Soshiro’s expression remained stubbornly unchanged, but judging from the creaking of the chopsticks in his hand he was just as mortified. The scent of long-suffering defeat hung around his friend’s brother despite the placid smile, and he was sending longing glances at the exit when he thought no one was looking.

The three of them gained a newfound solidarity.

The sun dawned, bright and cheery on the start of a new week. Shinomiya Hikari was up from first light, getting in a quick workout before making breakfast for her daughter. She was on her second week of leave after being forced to take a break, on account of her ‘almost dying’. After she gave her report, they had shown her out the door and told her not to return until her medical leave was up. They were being dramatic. In the end, she only broke her spine and a couple of ribs, and there was some light haemorrhaging, and a concussion, and frostbite - but otherwise she was fine.

She spent the first week with Kikoru, doing things she rarely got to do with her daughter. Cooking her breakfast, getting her ready for school, picking her up and sending her to her enrichment classes. They had dinner together every day, a rarity when she had to spend days on end at the base while she was working. The beaming smiles and tight hugs she got from Kikoru, the time she got to spend with her daughter, made the forced leave worth it.

Still, the inactivity had her on edge, and Kaiju No.7’s odd characteristics nagged at her. She brought the files on No.7 home with her, going over them when she had downtime. Its most likely origin was Osaka. On one hand, it could speak and it was friendly. There were no reports of it ever attacking humans. On the other, it was easy to view No.7 as a threat - a high Fortitude level that seemed to be increasing as time went on, human-like intelligence, and the ability to move around unnoticed.

Nothing had been concluded in the meeting she headed, but they were planning to start an active search for the kaiju soon, starting with mountainous and less populated areas. Places a kaiju of that size could live without being spotted by humans. The mystery surrounding No.7 made her want to investigate it immediately. It had a hold over her that made it hard to focus on much else when she was alone and had space to ponder.

After dropping her daughter off at school, she returned home and picked up the thin folder of sparse reports, put together by her division and the Sixth. She had gone over them so many times, yet she found herself shuffling through the papers again. Unsurprisingly, no new information jumped out at her.

Tossing them down, a bolt of inspiration struck her. Since she had extra time on her hands, a trip to Osaka was in order.

Chapter Text

Standing in front of the wooden doors to his father’s dojo, Soshiro clenched his fists with uncertainty. His palms were clammy, and a distinct feeling of foreboding pecked away at the back of his mind. Kafka stood shoulder to shoulder with him, a warm and sturdy presence at his side. But the unease persisted.

Taking a steadying breath, Soshiro stilled and held his hand out. A dry palm slid into his, thick fingers curling over his knuckles. He laid a light touch on one of the doors and slid it open.

Since it was only late afternoon, classes hadn’t started yet. Aside from his father, the room was empty. The dojo wasn’t fundamentally different from the practise hall at home. Wooden floorboards and panelling, austere atmosphere, his father at its head. Despite that, the space felt foreign - a small plaque hung at the front, common-use equipment lined a wooden shelf, and the ancestral sword displayed proudly at the heart of the hall was missing.

“Father,” he greeted the man. Kafka did the same. It got them a stoic nod.

Soshiro stepped forward and felt a tug at his shoulder when Kafka didn’t follow him in. Pausing, he caught the apologetic expression on his friend’s face. Shoulders slumped and a slight smile with pinched brows, the boy practically had his tail between his legs.

“Are ya headin’ back ta help yer Mama?” Soshiro prompted. He already knew the answer.

A nod and a gentle squeeze around his hand, “I’ll see ya tomorrow, yeah?”

Returning the squeeze, he put on a reassuring smile and let his friend’s hand drop, “Yeah, see ya.”

Kafka waved him a relieved goodbye and jogged out of the dojo, sliding the door closed behind him. Then he was left alone with his father. Padding over to a corner of the room, he set his bag down and began taking out his practise papers. They worked in silence - him on his homework, and his father on administrative matters. The only sounds for the next hour was the dry rustle of papers. The golden orange light streaming in from the windows began to pale.

“Hm, geometry?”

Soshiro scowled up at his brother.

“Ah, I don’t miss it,” a taunting smile lifted the bastard’s lips. “Keep up the good work.”

“Soichiro, stop antagonisin’ yer brother,” their father didn’t have to look up from his paperwork to know what was going on.

His brother wandered off with an insincere, “Apologies, father.”

They had a quick, light dinner together at a nearby soba shop. Typically, his father would eat with them at home before leaving to teach his classes. Curiously, he had instructed them to meet him at the dojo instead. Soshiro wasn’t opposed to it, they rarely ate out and the meals the housekeepers on duty cooked could get repetitive at times.

When the students started to stream in, Soshiro packed his things away and slipped into his training clothes. The growing group was made up entirely of adults of varying ages. Some were fresh faced and others were more aged, but all of them were at least five years older than him. His palms started to sweat again, he wasn’t sure if they would listen to someone much younger.

Introductions went better than expected. Their presence in the class was met with curiosity rather than derision. As he joined the students in standing before his father, he caught a few admiring looks directed at his brother, plenty from the women. He never understood why they thought his brother was attractive. He wondered if Kafka thought the same, and a jolt of irritation pricked his spine. Jealousy began to pace restlessly in his mind again, and he let out a steady exhale to clear it away. His friend wouldn’t betray him like that.

Assisting with the class was challenging. They were all different with varying skill levels, and he wasn’t sure who to focus on. There were a few who clearly had previous experience, but bad habits. Some beginners were lagging behind, their forms crumbling the moment they moved. Worse still, a small handful were irked at being corrected by someone much younger. He could see it in the twist of their lips, and the way they would brush him off yet quickly adjust their stance when his father made the exact same remark. Soshiro tamped down the rising frustration. He could bring his father’s students to water, but he couldn’t make them drink.

Light laughter from the other side of the dojo drew his attention. His brother was taking to the assistant role with ease. Chatting amicably with the students he was assigned to help and guiding them, friendly and firm at the same time. Despite that, there were still one or two students who turned their noses up at his brother’s instruction. It made Soshiro feel a little better about being snubbed. If it was happening to his brother too, it wasn’t a question of ability.

After the class, he watched the students clean the equipment and trickle out. The more enthusiastic ones hung back to ask his father questions, but the dojo was quickly emptied. As he stowed the practise swords away for the next class, he felt a hand on his head, “Good job.”

Soshiro turned to snap at his brother, but the words stalled on his tongue. The smile on the older teen’s face… seemed genuine. Unless the bastard had somehow gotten even more unreadable. The twinge of happiness stirring in him at the praise quickly morphed into suspicion.

“Soichiro!”

“Yes, father.”

His brother turned and walked away before he could fully analyse the expression.

“Soshiro, the next class will run late. Ya have school tomorrow, head home.” His father barely looked up from the attendance sheet.

“Yes, father.”

Soshiro slung his bag on his back and walked out.

When Kafka arrived home, he expected the apartment to be quiet. He had been worrying all day that his Mama might have fallen trying to use the bathroom without his help. After seeing Soshiro off at the dojo, he rushed home to make sure she was alright, shifting restlessly as the apartment lift slowly made its way up to his floor. Even from the corridor, he could tell they had visitors. He recognised the voices, the other women in his Mama’s bookclub. Their home wasn’t as empty and quiet as he thought it would be.

They were all seated around the living room, scattered over the sofas and chairs and floor. A dozen pairs of eyes were on him the moment he walked in the door. Within seconds they were crowding him, pinching his cheeks and lamenting that he used to be much smaller - and asking if he had a girlfriend yet. Looking to his Mama with pleading eyes, she gave him a fond smile and waved her friends away.

“You’re home early,” his Mama remarked. “Wasn’t Hoshina-kun helping his father out today? You didn’t stay?”

“I came back ta help,” Kafka set his bag down by the dining table. “I’ll make dinner tonight!”

“Ya have such a good son, Hibino!” one of his Mama’s bookclub friends remarked. “I can’t even get my son ta clean his desk.”

“At least yer son’s still livin’ at home, my Akira moved ta Kyoto fer work and he barely calls,” another sighed.

Most of his Mama’s friends were houswives. The handful of times the bookclub met here in their home, the subject of kids and husbands came up a lot. One minute they would be praising their husbands, the next they would be complaining about them. Kafka didn’t understand it. Having a husband seemed so tedious, and it made him wonder why people dated and got married. His best-friend-ship with Soshiro was all he needed, he didn’t need a girlfriend.

As he picked up the grocery money and stepped outside, a thought struck him. What if Soshiro got a girlfriend? The anxious flip of his stomach was so strong and so sudden that he paused outside the door, keys still in the lock.

His friend had never shown any interest in girls, but that would change, wouldn’t it? Soshiro wasn’t like him, he was human. Human boys dated human girls and married them. Unless they were like his Mama, but he knew she was an exception. Locking the door with heavy clicks, he withdrew his keys, metal scraping against metal.

Dropping the keys in his pocket, he trudged over to the lift. They discussed romance titles in his manga appreciation club sometimes, so he knew how things went. Once two characters started dating, they stopped hanging out with their friends as much. Sometimes they stopped hanging out with them completely. Jabbing the button for the ground floor, he wondered if Soshiro would be the same.

I don’t want that.

Catching himself, he lifted both hands and slapped his cheeks, “What was I thinkin’? I’m bein’ selfish! Soshiro can date who he wants ta!”

When they were younger, he had gotten on his friend’s case for being jealous. He couldn’t turn around and start acting the same way, all cagey and angry. Best friends were supposed to be supportive, so he would be supportive. Besides, Soshiro didn’t have a girlfriend yet, so there was no need to worry. At least, that’s what he told himself as he wandered down the supermarket aisles.

The coast was mostly clear in the apartment when he returned home. His Mama’s friends were busy packing up, discussing the book they had just read and what they would be cooking for their families. Hurrying into the house, he hid in the kitchen to start packing away the groceries. More questions about when he would be bringing home a girlfriend for his Mama wouldn’t be good, not when his mind was still on Soshiro dating. As much as he vowed to himself to be supportive, he didn’t like the thought of that at all.

Hikari stepped off the Shinkansen at Shin-Osaka station, the sun as bright as the grin on her face. She stopped by the side of a pillar to adjust Kikoru in her arm. The little backpack her daughter refused to take off was adorable, but it was obstructing her vision. Line of sight cleared, she took the handle of her luggage and started for the escalator.

“Are you excited to see Hoshina oji-san again?” she bounced her daughter playfully as they made their way to another train line.

“No, who’s that?”

“He’s a good friend of mine, I used to work with him. We stopped by to see him when we visited Osaka a few years ago, remember?” Hikari tried to jog her daughter’s memory. That trip had been incredibly memorable for her, a whirlwind of baby bags and crying and annoyed stares. The only bright spot was seeing her usually calm and collected husband flustered over their bawling infant, testing the milk on his arm extensively to get the perfect temperature because, ‘What if she burns her mouth, Hikari?’

Then again, her daughter was maybe a year old at that time, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when she shook her head no.

“He was kind enough to help us out. We’ll be staying in his home, like a sleepover! Mommy will be sharing a room with you,” she pressed a kiss to Kikoru’s cheek, and the lens-less glasses she was wearing rode up her nose bridge. Feeling a rough jolt at her side, she gripped her baby tighter. A horde of tourists were rushing past, bumping into her as they ran for the shinkansen platform. She sighed and pushed her way through the crowd. Tourist season couldn’t end sooner.

Emerging at the correct station, she stopped by the side of a convenience store to check the map on her phone. Her old friend’s ancestral home was some ways away from the station. Not too long of a walk, but still far away enough to need proper navigation. The door to the convenience store chimed, and she felt a pat on her cheek.

“Mama, I want what that oji-san is having,” Kikoru continued to pat her cheek for attention.

“Oji-san?!” the outraged yell belonged to someone young, a teenager.

A black haired boy stood in front of the store’s automatic doors, holding a slab of fried chicken and looking supremely insulted. “I’m not that old!”

“You look old,” her daughter commented, flipping her hair.

The boy’s face reddened further, and Hikari laughed. “Sorry about that, she’s six, everyone’s old to her!”

“Not everyone, Papa’s handsome,” her daughter declared, and Hikari gave her another playful peck on the cheek.

“Your Papa is very handsome, but we need to be careful about what we say to other people.” The poor boy was frozen stiff from shock, mouth hanging open mid-retort. “Apologise to him, Kikoru.”

Her daughter pouted at her for a moment before dipping her head at the boy slightly, “Sorry I called you old, oji-san.”

Hikari stifled another laugh. Her Kikoru was so precocious. Colour drained back into the boy’s face, and he looked ready to combust again. “Hey, yer doin’ it again!” he blustered, plastic bag on his arm rustling. Her daughter turned her head away haughtily.

“Kikoru, that’s not nice,” Hikari let go of her luggage handle to gently pinch her daughter’s cheek.

She finally got a quiet, “Sorry”, out of her cheeky baby.

“That’s ok,” the boy settled down, looking to the side bashfully. His eyes caught on the map app she had open and he asked, “Do ya need help gettin’ somewhere?”

“Yeah, I’m visiting a friend’s house,” she tilted the phone to show him the address.

Leaning in to take a look, his expression brightened, “I’m headed there too, I’ll take ya there!”

That was unexpected, the boy was very unassuming. Still, it was a stroke of good luck for her. Navigating would have been hard with an armful of Kikoru and a fistful of luggage handle.

After getting Kikoru her chicken, they made their way to the Hoshina residence. The boy, Kafka, led them through a quiet neighbourhood with the absentminded confidence of someone who knew where he was going. Soon, the sprawling Hoshina residence loomed before them. It looked exactly the same as she remembered it, imposing wooden doors and high walls that stretched out on either side. Further beyond was a forested area that also belonged to the family. They came from old money, and it showed.

The kid waltzed up to the intercom without pausing and was quickly let in. He greeted the housekeeper at the side gate familiarly, and even got a smile out of the stern old woman. The housekeeper was also gentle with Kikoru, so she probably had a soft spot for children. Hikari gave her a beaming grin, and got a disinterested lift of the brow in return. The woman was just as dour as she was many years ago, it was good to see that some things didn’t change.

“This way please,” the housekeeper bowed, and led them down the well-kept stone path to the main house.

Hoshina was waiting in the entrance hall, both his sons by his side and a woman in a wheelchair behind him. An unknown woman in the house was odd, Hikari didn’t think that he would ever remarry. The man she knew was almost fatally devoted to his late wife.

“Hey, it’s good to see you again!” she gave him a one-armed hug and felt him stiffen. He never really liked hugs. Hikari let go after a quick squeeze, which he didn’t return. “Thanks for putting me up for the weekend.”

“The pleasure is mine, Shinomiya. Apologies fer failin’ ta inform ya that we have other guests today,” Hoshina smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes.

So the lady behind him wasn’t a second marriage. Then perhaps a friend of the family. “Don’t sweat it, the more the merrier!” she assured him.

“Shinomiya Hikari, nice to meet you!” holding her hand out for the wheelchair lady to take, she was surprised at the firmness of the woman’s grip.

“Hibino Sakuya, nice to meet you too,” the woman withdrew her hand and smiled, tilting her head towards the boy who led the way to the house. “I hope my son hasn’t caused you any trouble.”

“Not at all! He was really helpful getting us here.”

“Apologies for the intrusion, he’s friends with Hoshina-san’s son, so we were visiting for the day. This was a spur of the moment decision,” the woman bowed demurely, long hair sliding over her shoulder.

“It’s all good,” Hikari assured her again, waving away the apology. “Any friend of Hoshina’s is a friend of mine.”

Adult greetings over, it was time for her to terrorise Hoshina’s little tykes with customary cheek pinches and ‘You’ve gotten so big now’ speeches. Then, introductions for Kikoru, to new faces and the ones she had forgotten. Hikari couldn’t help but puff up with pride at her daughter’s impeccable manners. Her baby was a charismatic little charmer when she wanted to be.

After their little catch-up, Hoshina’s oldest showed her and Kikoru to their room, an empty guest room next door to the youngest. Since there was plenty of floor space, she laid the luggage down by the side of the desk and popped it open. Settling Kikoru in was easy. Once she had her kaiju books, she was occupied for hours.

Talking to Hoshina didn’t yield much more than the reports. Since he was first on the scene, she had been hoping to get a better account. The only addition that wasn’t in the report was the pungent stench of concentrated ozone, and the feeling of static electricity heavy in the air. More evidence that pointed to both instances being the work of the same kaiju, but nothing on how to find it. The information was just going around in circles, and it was frustrating.

Leaving Kikoru with Hoshina and his brats, she stopped by the shopping district that Kaiju No.7’s signal was first recorded in. The attack happened years ago, so everything had long been restored, and not a hint remained of what occurred there. She walked up and down, studying the layout. Based on the pictures in the reports, No.7 would have entered the street from the direction of the station.

Why a yoju? Why that yoju? Why did it stop at only one, when it had helped her take down the Big Bad in Odawara? Granted, wading right into the middle of a neutralisation would have been a death sentence for a kaiju, but that hadn’t stopped it when it helped with No.6. Its presence also felt too coincidental, showing up in an area that was supposed to be outside the operations zone, that a yoju happened to slip out into.

Next on her list was the collapsed building the yoju chased Hoshina’s son into. A sign stood outside, telling everyone who passed by that the house was condemned and due for redevelopment. Beyond that, a pile of rubble. The entire property was cordoned off. After taking a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, she had no trouble stepping over the neatly placed tape and walking up to the destroyed building.

Surveying the mess of grey, she spotted something so out of place that it jumped out at her immediately. Maybe it was her imagination, but the concrete chunks scattered at the bottom of the rubble mound had claw-like gouges in them. As far as she knew, the only ones who were at the destroyed building were the yoju, Soshiro, and Kafka. None of them could have made those marks. Lifting her phone, she took a few pictures of the strange scars in the rubble.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t spend her entire day at the attack sites - there wasn’t much reason to either, she had seen everything she wanted to see. Her daughter was also going to start getting bored soon. Before they left Tokyo, she made it clear that the trip would be work-adjacent, but Kikoru had insisted on joining her anyway. Since they had made the journey out there, there was no reason they couldn’t have a little fun. Stepping back over the cordon, she smiled at the thought. This would be their first mother-daughter trip.

Kikoru perked up when she returned, pulling away from her board game with Soshiro and Kafka. “I’m winning, Mama!” her daughter told her proudly, reaching out to be picked up. Once she was settled in Hikari’s arms, she stuck her tongue out at Kafka, who was languishing on the floor.

“I still won once!” the boy protested.

“Ya sure are proud, fer beatin’ a six year old once,” Soshiro snickered behind his hand.

“Damn it!” Kafka wailed and flopped back on the floor, scattering the tokens. That got a giggle out of Kikoru too.

Hikari watched them with amusement. The boy was a bit of a class clown, but he was charming in his own way. A little recklessly selfless too, according to Hoshina. The boy’s zest reminded her a little of her younger self. Instructing Kikoru to help the boys pack up, she retrieved her daughter’s bag from the guest room for their mother-daughter outing.

By popular vote, or rather by Kikoru’s vote, they ended up visiting the zoo. Her daughter loved the wolf exhibit so they spent a little more time there, reading the info boards and watching the wolves lumber around their enclosure. In the gift shop, Kikoru picked up a wolf plushie and refused to put it back. Feeling indulgent, Hikari bought it for her. Kikoru eagerly fished it out of the plastic bag and proudly declared she would carry it back to Hoshina oji-san’s place. The sight of her daughter hugging the oversized plush filled her with a wave of affection, and she turned it into a shower of kisses to her baby’s chubby cheeks. By the time they returned, it was dinner time.

The Hibino family stayed for dinner, and their presence became a lot less mysterious after seeing Soshiro interact with his friend. Hikari had to hide a grin behind her bowl at the easy touches, and the soft gestures of affection as they practically fed each other. Young love was so sweet.

After dinner, the adults stayed in the dining room, chatting over a couple rounds of tea. Hibino was an easy person to talk to, and she was good at navigating Hoshina’s stoicism to get a bit more conversation out of him. When Hikari finally glanced over at the clock, it was almost midnight.

“Oh my, it’s gotten so late! We should get going,” Hibino set her cup down and wheeled herself away from the table to get her son.

“Yer welcome ta stay the night,” Hoshina offered, moving to help her.

“That’s ok, you’ve been more than generous letting us come over today,” Hibino declined politely, lifting her hands off the wheel rims and crossing them in her lap as Hoshina took the handles.

“I insist, it’s not safe ta be travellin’ so late at night,” her old friend began pushing the lady out of the dining room to look for her son.

After some polite back and forth, the Hibino family ended up staying the night.

A tremor of unease woke Kafka, deep vibrations that signalled an impending earthquake. The unusually persistent waves left him feeling disoriented, and he placed a hand on Soshiro’s shoulder to shake him awake. Suddenly, their phones started wailing an alarm and his friend bolted upright. They barely had time to exchange a glance before a large jolt ripped through the ground, almost knocking them to the floor.

Everything started to shake. The light overhead swayed, the desk rattled, and the heavy wooden bookcase started to tremble. The quake was more severe than the ones Kafka was used to, and his chest began to tighten as the chemical-burning scent of his friend’s fear filled the room. He could hear the too-quick beats of Soshiro’s heart and short, rapid breaths.

The heaving groan of wood assaulted his ears as the bookcase creaked dangerously and suddenly there was just panic, self-loathing, failure. Crushing him. It was too close to his friend, too easy for it to fall. Crushing him. A deep sadness that made his chest feel hollowed out, biting cold on his skin, and a limp body in his arms.

There was another sharp creak, the thump of books hitting the floor like the crack of a starter pistol. It struck the hair trigger of his instincts and his body moved on its own. He threw himself on top of his friend. Curled around the shaking body beneath him and covered as much as he could. A kaiju couldn’t be hurt by a collapsed building, but a human could die.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the quaking stopped. Everything was calm, and only their ragged breaths pierced the silence.

“What are ya doin’?” Soshiro’s voice trembled as he fought to get his breathing under control again.

“Thought somethin’ was gonna fall on ya,” there was something wet against Kafka’s cheeks.

‘Again,’ went unsaid, but it hung in the air between them.

“Everythin’s bolted down, idiot,” there was no bite to his friend’s words, only tiredness. “I’m fine.”

Kafka swallowed around the dryness in his throat and croaked, “Good.”

Shifting slightly, he tucked his face away against his friend’s neck, right where his scent was strongest and his pulse thrummed reassuringly. He squeezed Soshiro tighter with all of his limbs.

“Kafka, yer tail,” he felt the scratch of his friend’s calluses against the back of his neck as the boy gripped him reassuringly. Kafka shook his head. His entire body was locked in position, his muscles refusing to move.

A sigh fluttered by his ear, “I’ll give ya ten seconds. Then ya have ta keep it.”

Kafka nodded, and burrowed deeper against Soshiro. He needed to fill his senses with proof that Soshiro was alive. The fading acridness of his friend’s scent giving way to the bloom of sakura, the beat of his heart and rushing pulse beneath trembling fingers, and the mild chill of his skin. Giving in to instinct, he tilted his head and nuzzled into the crook of his friend’s shoulder. Tightened his hold around the boy - arms, legs, tail. Pressed their chests closer together so he could feel the rhythmic thump resonating in his silent cavity.

Soshiro laid still and let Kafka ground himself. The gentle strokes down the side of his head were comforting and familiar. Kafka was sure that he was past the ten second mark, but if his friend wasn’t saying anything, he would continue to hold on.

Neither of them were prepared for charging footsteps down the short stretch of hallway, and heavy slam of the door sliding open. Shinomiya-san stood in the doorway with Kikoru held over her shoulder like a sack, face full of concern, “Are you guys alright?”

Kafka pulled away quickly and froze, eyes wide and sweat forming rapidly across his back. Sirens were going off in his head but his mind was blank. All he knew was that this was very bad.

He felt a quick shift under him, then a shin was jammed against his chest, shoving him off. Rough hands grabbed him and spun him around until he was pushed behind a much smaller frame. Almost flush against Soshiro’s wiry back. There was a thundering flap, and a blanket fluttered down over his exposed tail. His friend’s reaction was quick, but the damage was already done. The silence was loud, as they stared at each other. The naked shock on Shinomiya-san’s face was even louder.

“Kafka, hide yer tail,” his friend’s voice was tight, and as quiet as he could make it. But the words echoed so loudly, he may as well have shouted.

Grabbing his friend’s shoulder like a child holding on to their blanket, he retracted his tail. “I’m sorry, Soshiro.” He could feel his throat closing up, and it made his words shaky. The room was starting to blur.

I messed up I messed up

Captain Shinomiya’s expression was terrifying.

He gripped Soshiro tighter.

I don’t want to die.

Chapter Text

Soshiro nudged Kafka further back towards the window as Captain Shinomiya’s gaze sharpened. He had grown up around many decorated Defence Force officers, he knew that look - the hardness in their eyes as they stared down a kaiju. His entire body was pulled taut, thighs and calves bunching as he prepared to move. Kafka stumbled against him, fingers digging into his shoulder and anxious claws pricking his flesh.

There was a flicker of movement, and Soshiro caught Captain Shinomiya reaching behind herself. For the spear that she always kept there. A frigid chill swept through his veins, his entire body going numb. She wanted to neutralise his friend. She wanted to kill Kafka.

Blood thundered in his ears, rigid determination settling into his bones and enveloping his spine in steel. Adrenaline surged through his veins, bringing the world into sharp focus. Eyes open, he watched her with the desperate ferocity of a cornered animal. Tracked her for any sign of movement, any indication that she was about to attack.

The air was still, a weight bearing down on them that got heavier with each passing second. It played on Soshiro’s nerves as they stared at each other, unmoving. His friend’s chest was motionless against his back, breath a faint wisp in his ear.

“Mama?” Kikoru’s high voice broke the tension of their standoff. “Are oji-san and his friend ok?”

A fluttering movement in the corner of his eye snared his attention for a brief moment. Kikoru was kicking her feet, stepping against her mother’s ribs and twisting as she tried to see behind herself. His attention wasn’t the only one that was diverted.

“They’re ok, Kikoru,” Captain Shinomiya straightened out of her battle stance and patted her daughter’s bottom. Her words were gentle but the severe golden eyes of Japan’s top kaiju slayer kept them pinned. “Let’s get you back to bed first.”

Walking backwards to the open door, footsteps quiet and intentional, she gave them stern orders as if they were her subordinates, “Stay put. I’ll be back in a second.”

Like hell.

He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Captain Shinomiya to return and deliver judgement. He was going to make sure his friend got out right now. Alive.

The moment blond hair whipped around the corner and disappeared from sight, he grabbed Kafka’s arm and started dragging his friend across the room, over to the window. Throwing the wooden shutters open quietly, his heart constricted at the slight creak of old hinges. “Ya hafta go,” he hissed urgently, nudging Kafka towards it. The sprawl of garden just beyond was safety. Freedom.

His insistent pushing was met with resistance. Kafka turned, shoulder pressing back against Soshiro’s stiff hand, “Won’t ya get in trouble if I’m gone?”

This idiot…

Fond irritation battled against the coil of urgency twisting in his gut. Even now, his hard-headed friend was thinking of everyone but himself.

“Doesn’t matter, worry ‘bout yerself,” he said dismissively, shoving his hand against the wide plane of his friend’s back. It was the wrong thing to say. Kafka’s frown just got deeper, the push-back even stronger.

Kafka turned away from the window. A worried clench constricted Soshiro’s heart. Why was his friend stubbornly abandoning his best way out? “What if she hurts ya, fer lettin’ me go?” Kafka asked quietly, clumsily lacing their fingers together.

“She won’t,” he told his friend with conviction, twisting his wrist so he could bring their palms together. Kafka’s hand was warm and dry, his own was cold and sweaty. None of that clammy fear was for himself. His father’s friend was boisterous and loved to tease, but she wasn’t cruel. The only beings that needed to fear Captain Shinomiya were kaiju.

“My Mama…” Kafka continued to waffle, but he was thankfully turning towards the window, one hand coming to rest against the sill.

“I’ll tell her,” Soshiro promised. “I’ll take care ‘a her.” Each passing second ticked down in his head, loud and heavy. Swift like sand falling through an hourglass.

The blazing green of Kafka’s eyes hardened to sapphires, and he nodded decisively, “Ok.”

Then there were strong arms pulling him in against a sturdy chest, so suddenly that it knocked the wind out of him. Kafka’s already crushing embrace tightened around his body, and he burrowed deeper in his friend’s arms. Something close to a sob crawled up his throat but he squashed it down, throat bobbing against Kafka’s soft sleep shirt.

Instead he tilted his head, cataloguing that familiar stormy scent. The warmth of his skin, the comfort of his hug. Pressed the corner of his lips to the hard jut of Kafka’s clavicle, spilling out from the collar of his too-large shirt. It wasn’t a kiss. Everything that was Kafka needed to be committed to memory. His friend had to leave. Possibly forever. Memories might be all he would have left.

I didn’t get to confess.

The stray thought brushed through his mind, fleeting and faint. Kafka would never know that he… Soshiro ripped himself away and gave his friend another hard shove towards the window, “Go.”

“I’ll miss ya,” Kafka had one knee balanced on the windowsill, his other foot still flat on the polished wooden floor.

Black hair and tan skin were limned in moonlight, and Soshiro wished he had more time to appreciate the way his friend looked. All he managed was an answering hum, his throat too slow and too stiff for words. His heart beat heavier in his chest.

Thump thump thump

No, that was far too loud. Those were footsteps. Captain Shinomiya was returning.

“Go!” he whispered harshly, giving his friend one last shove. Kafka leapt smoothly out the window just as Captain Shinomiya entered the room.

“Hey! I thought I told you to stay put!” she started charging over to them almost immediately. The shock of seeing Kafka escape lasted barely a second.

He had to buy time!

Bracing his feet against the floorboards, he threw himself into her blindly as she passed. The momentum smashed his cheek against the firm swell of her bicep, and he quickly reached around, clamping his arms around her waist. One of her arms was trapped against her side. A swell of hope rose in him as she slowed. Captain Shinomiya grunted with frustration and he felt the heave of her chest against his hold.

Then she ripped her arm out of his grasp and rammed him aside. Soshiro stumbled back and grabbed the edge of his desk to keep himself on his feet. A reflexive cough tore its way out of his throat, sternum stinging from the hit. Captain Shinomiya was strong. That had always been a fact to him. He just never truly understood what it meant until now. All he could do was watch helplessly as Captain Shinomiya vaulted out into the garden.

“Kafka!” he yelled past the sudden tightness in his throat, voice hoarse and cracking. Hurrying over, he leapt through the window too.

“Stop running! You’re gonna…!” Captain Shinomiya cut herself off mid-sentence as Kafka reached the wall surrounding the property and jumped. He was going to go up and over like he always did when he left, and he would have a good head start to get away. Perfect.

Except, Captain Shinomiya was suddenly airborne. Still chasing after Kafka like a bloodhound. She went higher and higher, her hand closing in on Kafka. Soshiro’s gut twisted anxiously as she reached the peak of her jump. That had to be it. Just a little more and his friend would be clear of the wall. Home free.

With a shout, Captain Shinomiya kicked her foot out against the wall, slapped a hand to the stone, and propelled herself impossibly higher. Her fist closed around Kafka’s ankle and Soshiro’s heart dropped to his feet. Clawed fingers scrabbled at the slick tiles on the top of the wall before losing purchase. With a yelp, his friend crashed down on top of his pursuer.

Gritting his teeth, he ran over to help his friend up. They were in a heap on the grass, Captain Shinomiya keeping him trapped in place with an arm around his body and a hand behind his head. There was a slam, and his father came striding out of the house purposefully, a severe crease in his brow. The outer robe thrown around his shoulders billowed as he made his way out of the house, cutting across the outer walkway. His brother followed close behind, but hung back by the wooden railings of the walkway. Probably eager for a show, the bastard. Another loud clatter had him looking sharply to the guest rooms. A little blond head was peeking through the now-open window, wide golden eyes watching them curiously.

Soshiro reached his friend before his father, stepping in front of the man. He kept his shoulders back, but not so much his chest flared. He needed to appear confident, but contrite enough not to stoke his father’s anger further. Maybe if he got his version of the story out first, he could salvage this. Soshiro shoved back the part of him that circled with anxiety - that this was futile and his father wouldn’t listen. It was still worth a try, for Kafka.

“Father, we were-”

“Quiet.”

Soshiro shut his mouth, fists clenching and jaw tense.

“Shinomiya?”

All attention was on Captain Shinomiya. Golden eyes met his own and she sat up, still holding on to Kafka. Out there in the open, without the shadows of the unlit house obscuring her face, she didn’t seem so hostile anymore. Still, he watched her warily as she stood to face his father, effortlessly lifting a shaken Kafka to his feet in the process.

Laying a jaunty hand on Kafka’s shoulder, she laughed, “Sorry for the ruckus, this one’s on me. Must've spooked them, barging into their room like that after the earthquake.”

The crease between his father’s brows deepened, “I see time has done nothing for your maturity.”

Shinomiya-san pounded her chest with a clenched fist and a disarming grin, “Well yeah, I’m young at heart!”

An aggrieved exhale, and his father turned away, “Don’t make me regret letting you stay here.”

“Won’t happen again!” his father’s friend boldly threw out a playful salute.

Another annoyed exhale, and his father was walking back to the house, gesturing for his brother to return to his room too. With a suspicious backwards glance, his brother disappeared back into the house behind their father, and shut the door with a quiet tap. That was one crisis averted, but the main one was still standing right next to Kafka. Happily patting his friend’s head as the boy stood stock still, rigid from head to toe and black eyes wide.

“Loosen up, I’m not gonna bite,” she ruffled Kafka’s hair, and his friend dutifully went limp. Then she turned her sharp gaze on Soshiro, tone brooking no argument, “But I do need an explanation.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he dipped his head. She hadn’t given them away. It was the least he could do. Even so, he couldn’t relax just yet. She could still change her mind. Or worse, demand something from them in return for her silence.

“Don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old,” she pulled a face. “Just call me Hikari.”

“Yes, Hikari-san,” he corrected himself.

“Wow, you’re stiff. Better than your dad, though,” Shinomiya-san remarked, giving him a firm pat on the back as she walked past. “Come on, we’ve gotta chat.”

Kafka trotted over, standing so close to Soshiro their shoulders were brushing. They shared an apprehensive look as Shinomiya-san detoured to the guestroom window to coax her daughter back to bed. Reaching out slightly, Soshiro tapped the back of his hand against his friend's. A crushing weight lifted off his shoulders when sturdy fingers slid between his own. They were alright, for now.

Hikari sat cross-legged in the boys’ room with them across from her. They were both tense. Kafka was hunched over, as if collapsing in on himself. Hoshina’s kid had his shoulders pulled back and chin up, meeting her eyes with poorly concealed mistrust. Bracing her hands on her knees, she let out a loud sigh. Things had ended up much messier than she was hoping for.

She should have known that telling two keyed up teenagers with something to hide to ‘stay put’, wouldn’t get them to stay put. Still, her priorities had been elsewhere. Kikoru was really shaken up, no matter how much she pursed her lips and tried to put on a brave face. This was her daughter's first time experiencing an earthquake of that magnitude, and it was just a perfect storm of scary. Starting up in the middle of the night while they were asleep, before the earthquake alarm even had the chance to come in. Thankfully, her old friend was a meticulous man and kept everything heavy bolted down. All that had happened for her and her baby was some sliding around on the floor. Between her trembling daughter and the tail she caught sticking out of a kid’s butt, habit kicked in and she had defaulted to instructions they would give civilians. A rookie mistake, not adapting them to the situation. But what was done was done. No one was hurt, that was all that mattered.

“So you have a tail?” she wasn't the type to mince words, and she didn't want to keep them up for too long. It was already very late.

Kafka finally lifted his head to look at her, and slowly nodded.

“Ok, I’m gonna need you two to tell me what's going on. I want to help, but I can't do that if I don't know anything,” she told them plainly.

“I, uh…” Kafka started but drifted off, picking at his nail bed.

Then he tried again, setting his jaw and furrowing his brow this time, “I’m a-”

“He can turn into a kaiju,” Hoshina’s kid cut him off, hand closing over his friend’s nervous fidgeting.

Hikari choked on her own spit. That was… not what she had expected. Never in a million years would she have suspected that. At the same time, it explained the tail and glowing teal eyes perfectly. No wonder they had been so flighty.

The memory of the incident itched something in the back of her mind. There was something familiar about the armoured grey coil of Kafka’s tail, that distinctive shade of lightning green that had peered at her from the dark.

Standing, she began to pace around the room, moving aimlessly, “I think I get the picture.” Part of her wanted to bring the boy in for testing. To understand why and how he was able to do it. A human who could transform into a kaiju was unheard of. Clearly, the transformation was voluntary if he was able to pop out or hide specific parts. The tail, the eyes, claws too if the gouges at the collapsed building were his doing. This power could be put to good use.

Shaking her head, she took a step back, mentally and physically. This was a teenager she was thinking of using. And even if she had good intentions for his abilities, there were people in the Defence Force who wouldn't have such benign motives. The top brass who had attended that farce of a meeting on Kaiju No.7 came to mind. No, if she brought Kafka in, he might never see the light of day again.

“Please don't tell anyone!” Kafka bowed low, or as low as he could go while sitting. “I can control it, I promise!”

A flutter in the dim light caught her eyes, a tight squeeze over clasped hands that were now still. Comforting and resolute at the same time, but also full of fear. The same way Isao held her after the battle with No.6 - like he might lose her.

She made her decision.

Plopping herself down beside the boy, she swung her arm around his sunken shoulders and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Kafka stiffened under her touch and she ruffled his hair with her free hand apologetically, “Hey, from what I’ve seen, you’re a good kid. Don't worry, I’ll keep this to myself.”

Tense muscles relaxed, and the teen bounced back to an eager sit with a bright smile, “I swear I won’t cause any trouble for ya!”

A boy from Osaka who spoke Kansai dialect…

A kaiju first spotted in Osaka that spoke Kansai dialect…

It was starting to come together. Human-like speech and human-like intelligence, all of it would make sense if the kaiju was human. A human who could turn into a kaiju. A short burst of laughter bubbled out of her at the realisation.

“I’ll hold you to that, No.7,” she mussed his hair again. It was downy soft compared to the coarse hair that ran in her family, and fun to play with.

Kafka confirmed her suspicions, body going taut and fists clenched against his knees. A furrow appeared between his brows as he struggled to keep his smile in place.

“Don’t call him that. His name’s Kafka.” Hoshina's kid levelled her with a knife-sharp look. Even on a child those intense red eyes were unsettling.

All pretense of politeness was gone. The kid was a prickly little hedgehog when it came to his friend. A long way from the toddler in training clothes hiding behind his brother's leg whenever she used to visit. The boys linked fingers, a subtle action she barely caught in the murk. They really were an adorable pair.

“Sorry, sorry, I just had to know, y’know?” she reached around to pat Hoshina's kid on the head too, and he bristled under her touch.

“Thanks for the assist in Odawara,” Hikari gave Kafka a grateful squeeze around the shoulders. Without him, she might not have survived. Eyes closed and a soft smile on her lips, she tipped her head against his for a moment before letting go.

“Now I need you to listen to me,” she hoped the shift in her tone and weight of her words would be enough to get through to them. Time to put her Mom Voice to good use. “You're lucky I was the one who walked in. You need to be more careful. There's only so much I can do if the Defence Force catches you.”

Both boys sat up straighter. Good, this was serious stuff.

“Three things.” Hikari held up her pointer finger, “First, don’t act on your own, let the Defence Force handle any kaiju attacks. Second, don't try to help.”

Kafka’s brow furrowed, and she followed up before he could protest, “We’re officers, we know what we're doing and we know the risks. Your own safety comes first.”

Sensing the boy was still apprehensive, she cracked a smile, “Have some faith in us.”

That got her a decisive nod.

She moved on to her last point, “Third, don’t transform unless you’ve got no choice, got it?”

“Yes ma’am!” Kafka bellowed, giving her a snappy salute.

The whole room cringed at the volume as it thundered through the silent house. They waited with bated breath. When no one came charging in to berate them, Hikari let out a sigh and took the opportunity to tousle their hair again, “Good.” Then she held out her hand and made a beckoning motion. “One of you hand me your phone. I'll give you guys my number, call me if anything happens.”

Hoshina's kid stood and retrieved his phone from his desk. It only took a few seconds to save her contact number and hand it back to its owner. With an exaggerated groan, she stood and stretched out her aching back. “Right, time to get back to bed.”

Noticing that both boys stayed seated and unmoving, she began warming up her arms and grinned, “Need me to tuck you guys in? I’ve gotten real good at rolling people up in a blanket.”

There was a mad scramble for the futon, but it was only Kafka. Hoshina's kid stood calmly, stuffy as ever, and dipped his head in a little bow before joining his boyfriend under the sheets. At least, she was pretty certain they were boyfriends. Good on her old friend for being so open-minded about his youngest’s relationship.

With a wide yawn, Hikari left the room and shut the door gently behind herself. Now that all the excitement had blown over, the only thing left in her was a hefty sleepiness. She couldn't wait to crawl back into her own futon, hug her daughter, and pass out.

Kikoru moved away from the wall and rushed back to her futon. She could hear her Mama’s footsteps, slow and shuffling as she returned from her talk with Kafka oji-san and his friend. Sliding her legs back under the covers, she fluffed the blankets around her and tucked them in like they were before. Turning to lay on her side, she realised her ear was aching. After pressing it up against the wall the whole time, she was now lying on it. She tried to flip herself over but it was too late. Her Mama was already sliding the door open.

Shutting her eyes, Kikoru took slow, deep breaths to pretend she was asleep. She tried her best not to stiffen when her Mama sat down next to her. There was a rustle of fabric, and the feeling of someone leaning over her. Her heart raced and suddenly she felt like she needed more air. She struggled to keep up the careful breathing. Doing her best to stay limp, she accepted the quick hug and gave herself a mental pat on the back for succeeding. After what felt like ages, the presence left as her Mama flapped her own futon open and lay down. A cool breeze picked up as the covers were kicked into place.

It didn't take long for the room to become quiet again. Quiet enough that the loudest sounds were the crickets outside and her Mama’s soft snores. Letting out a breath, Kikoru finally relaxed and rolled over under the thick blanket. Huffing, she went over what she had heard. It wasn’t much. For such an old house, it was really difficult to eavesdrop. All she had heard in the beginning were hushed voices, muffled through the thick wood, and she couldn't make out any words.

Then Kafka oji-san had yelled something about “not telling anyone” and “controlling it”, whatever ‘it’ was. Maybe the tail Kafka oji-san’s friend talked about hiding. A real tail? Those cryptic statements were all she could uncover from the entire secret discussion. That, and Kafka oji-san calling her Mama “ma’am”. It made her feel proud, but it wasn't very relevant to the mystery. Gathering the blankets up under her chin, she blinked away her sleepiness.

I’ll get to the bottom of this!

The next morning, she watched Kafka oji-san at breakfast, scanning for any suspicious behaviour. She knew what she had heard the night before, but there was no tail sprouting out of him. Not even a slight bump in his pants. When he caught her looking she slid her gaze away immediately, pretending to look at the wall behind him instead. After a few seconds, he went back to rolling his tamagoyaki off his plate into his friend's bowl. It was weird. Did Kafka oji-san not like tamagoyaki? She couldn't understand how anyone could dislike the dish. His friend traded it with bits of salmon - the greyish brown parts that she didn't like either. That, she could understand.

Kikoru wanted to spend the whole day observing Kafka oji-san, but her Mama insisted on touring Osaka. Kikoru protested as soon as her Mama started readying them for an outing, “I want to stay here and play with Oji-san and his friend.”

“I thought you were excited about going out again today?” her Mama questioned, Kikoru’s favourite bag dangling from one arm.

Shaking her head, she pulled out the best non-truth that she had, “I want to play with them before we go.”

“Then why don't we bring them along?” her Mama grinned, sliding the strap of one backpack over Kikoru’s shoulder.

Nodding excitedly, Kikoru threaded her arm through the other strap herself and headed for the door as soon as the bag was secured. She would get to go out and keep an eye on Kafka oji-san. It was perfect!

They found him in the next room, studying with his friend and agonising over maths.

“Kafka oji-san!” she walked over to him and held out her arms. He was almost as tall as her Mama, but he was a lot softer. Her Mama was all muscle.

“I thought I told ya ta stop callin’ me that,” he grumbled, but stood and picked her up anyway.

“We’re going to the Kids Plaza, wanna come along?” her Mama invited, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.

Kafka oji-san shot his friend a pleading look. His friend responded with a quick glance at a practise sword leaning against the cupboard in the corner. Another suppliant expression, paired with a pout this time. That got him a small smile and a tilt of the head, and he brightened immediately.

“Soshiro has practise in the afternoon, but I can come with ya!” he practically skipped over.

“Great! Let’s get going,” her Mama gestured towards the door with a nod of her head in its direction.

Kikoru kept a close eye on Kafka oji-san as they made their way to Kids Plaza Osaka. Her focus was unwavering throughout the train ride and the long walk to the building. She had almost been caught a few times, but she was always quick to redirect her gaze whenever he started to suspect. Everything was going smoothly up until the moment they were allowed into the main area. That's when she started losing track of her mission. The place was just too distracting, and Kafka oji-san… wasn’t a bad companion. It was nice being able to run and climb and be a Defence Force Officer for the day with someone else. Maybe this was how having a big brother was like.

Sure, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Most of the people taking part in the activities were her age, and Kafka oji-san was old. But it didn't stop him from doing everything with gusto. He helped her tuck her dress into the Defence Force uniform that they provided in the job simulation area. With his long arms, he was also quick to snag them a pair of small plastic guns that seemed to fly out of their basket as soon as they were returned. Taking the guns to the augmented reality room, he helped her ‘kill’ waves of kaiju, yelling excitedly when they got a decent score. In the ‘operations room’, he frowned down at a diagram of a kaiju with her, as they completed puzzles together to find its core.

They ended up spending hours there, and she never wanted to leave.

By the time she sat down in the shinkansen at the end of the day, heading home to Tokyo, she had found nothing suspicious about Kafka oji-san. Not even a glimpse of that tail. Kicking her legs, she leaned back against the plush seat as her Mama put their bags up on the overhead rack.

Reviewing her day of surveillance, she decided that Kafka oji-san was harmless. Embarrassing, but harmless. And maybe he had a tail that he could make disappear. She tried to picture him with a tail, and the image in her head wasn’t threatening at all. Besides, if her Mama was letting it go, it couldn't have been that bad of a secret. So she would let it go too.

For now.

Extra: Can humans hear through walls?

The moment Captain Shinomiya left the room, the buzz of tension in his body finally faded. The scent of wood and cherry blossoms returned, the calm beat of his friend's heart, and the chirp of crickets in the grass. Soshiro tangled their legs together, and the chill of his feet pressed up against Kafka's calves. Then, in the fringes of his hearing, was the patter of small feet in the next room.

Kafka tapped on his friend's shoulder, and a sleepy hum drifted up from the blankets in answer.

"Soshiro, can humans hear through the walls?"

Sounds from other parts of the house were harder to hear in the Hoshina residence compared to his own home, but he still didn’t have a good idea of how much the average human could hear.

Sitting up, his friend brought a hand to his face and rubbed the drowsiness away from his eyes, "No, why?"

"I think Kikoru was tryin' ta listen in," Kafka pointed over his friend's shoulder at the wall.

Soshiro stared at him, eyes wide for a split second, before pinching his cheek and pulling, "Why didn't ya say somethin' sooner?"

"Ya jus’ said they couldn’t hear!"

Chapter Text

Back at the dojo again. Soshiro stood in front of the wooden doors, hesitating. Everything closely mimicked the practise hall at home but the more he found himself standing in front of those doors, the more stark the differences became. The dojo was greyer, duller, and the air inside was sterile. There was no sense of peace, or thrumming excitement under his skin to hone his skills and improve. Something about the place turned his feet to lead instead. It had been barely a month and he was already sick of being an assistant instructor.

Squeezing Kafka’s hand for strength, he slid the door aside and stepped past the threshold, pulling his friend in behind him. He kept a tight grip on the only thing keeping him sane in this tedious task. After the first few classes, Kafka started sitting in whenever Soshiro had to help out. He would either stay by one of the wooden chairs that lined the side of the room near the entrance, or hide in the office attached to the dojo. Soshiro was surprised his father had allowed it. When Kafka fearlessly went up to the man to ask, he was almost certain his friend would be turned down. Either way, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“What about yer Mama?” he remembered asking as he dug around in his bag for his pencil case, textbook in his lap. The whole reason his friend kept having to leave was to look after her.

Kafka dropped to the floorboards in a sit, backpack still on his shoulders. Bracing his forearms against his knees, he sagged, “Mama’s havin’ her book club over again. They've been helpin’ her an’ all but they’re real nosey.”

Fumbling with his bag, the zips slipped from Kafka’s fingers three separate times before he got a good grip on the metal tab, “They're always askin’ when I’m gonna get a girlfriend, an’ tellin’ me ta find someone nice fer my Mama.”

A dusting of pink slowly crept across his friend’s cheeks, “They keep tryna set me up with someone, but I don’t wanna…” Kafka trailed off, earnest eyes holding Soshiro’s gaze. Then he shook his head as if clearing the thought away, “Anyway, they’re gonna keep comin’.”

They wanted to set Kafka up with someone. Kafka. Dating someone. Someone who wasn't him. The foul taste of iron settled over his tongue and the flimsy paper of his homework buckled in his hand. Soshiro stared down at the crushed print, unseeing, corners of his lips already weighing downwards. The thought was unbearable. A black hole opened up inside his chest, the pressure threatening to swallow him whole.

“They wanna set ya up with someone?” Soshiro prodded, trying to keep his tone nonchalant. There was a rushing sound in his ears.

The gentle rustle of Kafka’s rummaging slowed, then paused. “Yeah, but I don't wanna date anyone. Can't be with ya if I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Good, he’s mine.

Vicious satisfaction sliced through his thoughts. So startlingly powerful and clear that he shocked himself. Sobered, he unclenched his fist and smoothed out his homework, pinching the edges flat to keep his hands busy and his mind calm. A tinge of excitement lingered in his gut that wouldn't go away, no matter how much he tried to focus on kendo instead. It had haunted him for the rest of that day.

While he did feel bad for his friend, being chased out of his home by his Mama’s overzealous friends, he was glad that they had pushed Kafka closer to him.

It also exposed some upsides to being the second-born in a traditional household. All the needling questions about finding a girlfriend were directed at his brother instead. Aside from warning him away from any intercourse to avoid shaming their family with a scandal or an illegitimate child, his father had no interest in his love life. The apathy suited him just fine. He didn't want his father knowing about his preferences.

Reflexively, he glanced over at Kafka who was sitting beside him. Golden afternoon light streamed in from the wood-barred windows, painting his friend’s round cheeks with soft hues. Kafka’s legs were tangled beneath one of the chairs, elbow propped up on the seat and body half leaned over the practise paper sitting atop the hardwood. There was a pen jumping in his hand and a frown dipping between his brows. Soshiro's fingers twitched with the urge to smooth the lines away.

Scooting over, he tapped his knee against Kafka’s thigh, “Need some help?”

“I’ve got it, I think,” the frown deepened as Kafka brought the pen up to his lips and bit down distractedly on the end.

Soshiro busied himself with quickly checking over his friend's work before he could get irrationally jealous of a pen. Just as Kafka had said, he was doing okay. The older they got, the more his friend was tripped up by Japanese language and literature. Turns of phrases and hidden meanings were difficult for him to understand. English was even worse. Instead, Kafka began gravitating towards more predictable subjects like maths and science, despite being terrible at them when they were in elementary. He was a little miffed Kafka wasn't relying on him as much anymore, but he was also proud of his friend.

Shifting back over to his own chair, Soshiro planted his focus on the workbook lying open in front of him. He left his knee where it was, resting against Kafka. Although there was no skin on skin contact, the reminder of his presence was comforting, and it made the dojo seem a little less hostile.

They got through about an hour of studying in comfortable silence before his brother arrived. The main door slid open with a clatter, and his brother's grating voice rang out. Their father took that as his cue to finally step out of the adjoining office. Like clockwork, the man called out, “Soshiro, Kafka. We’re goin’ fer dinner.”

As always, they had something light before returning to the dojo and waiting for the students to arrive. It was the usual crowd again that night. After a month of seeing them every week, he knew all of the regulars by name. Most of them had already gotten used to him helping his father out, but there were still a handful who refused to listen to anything he said.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Kafka retreat into the connected office. As the door closed with a soft click, the colours began to leach out of the dojo, turning the warm brown tones cold. Subconsciously, he kept the nondescript door in his periphery for the entire warmup.

During the drills, he watched their forms like a hawk. Poor form was easier to correct in the beginner stage. If bad habits were trained into muscle memory, they were much harder to undo.

“Suzuki-san, ya need ta widen yer stance or you’ll lose yer balance,” he drifted over to the middle-aged lady whose legs were far too close together. In that position she was in danger of tripping herself up, or the slightest hit to her practise sword might knock her over. He had to correct her at least once every class, but he knew it was from habit. Her small, restricted gait while walking in and out of class was distinctive.

Suzuki-san smiled, amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes, “I’ll see if these old knees will let me, Soshiro-chan.” As she joked, she shuffled effortfully against the floorboards and corrected her footwork.

Nodding at the change, he moved away to keep an eye on Watanabe-san. A surly man in his thirties who had some kendo experience, a lot of pride, and no patience for any of Soshiro’s instruction. Not much scrutiny was needed to pick out the sloppy footwork and wild swings. Lots of power with very little precision. It was a bad combination, and it grated on his nerves to see the man stubbornly repeating the same mistakes every time. Even his brother couldn’t break through the man’s ego.

Standing off to the side, he watched Watanabe-san move through the drill from the beginning.

Powerful, sweeping swings - too high, too low, too close!

Soshiro darted back, throwing a tight block up over his face. One of his arms was just a little slow and he felt a sharp pain in the corner of his mouth. The tip of the practise sword scraped a burning line across his other arm. It didn't come close to the thrashing his brother would give him when they sparred but the sudden wild swing took him by surprise.

Salty iron coated the inside of his mouth. Pressing the edge of his hand to his lips, it came away red. There was a slam as the door to the office was thrown open, “Soshiro!” The entire class stopped in their tracks to stare at Kafka. What should have been a small incident had now turned into a spectacle.

“’M fine,” he lowered his guard and held a hand out to ward his friend off. There was already a green tint to Kafka's eyes.

Straightening, he turned to the head of the class, “Apologies, sensei. I’ll need ta leave ta clean up.”

After getting a curt nod from his father, he headed straight for the exit. Reaching out to Kafka as he passed by him, he snagged his friend’s arm and dragged the boy along with him.

“Are ya hurt?! I smelled your bl-” Kafka’s lips moved against his palm, his next words muffled. One look at Soshiro's expression and Kafka fell silent, shoulders drooping and gaze lowering. His friend followed him quietly the rest of the way out of the dojo.

The moment the door was shut behind them, Soshiro let go of his friend's big mouth. “It’s nothin’, jus’ a scratch.”

“There's blood all over yer teeth,” Kafka’s voice was low, brows drawn together as he touched Soshiro's cheek. Smooth, dry fingertips gently slid under his chin and tilted his face to the side for a clearer look. The impulse to lean into his friend’s touch brushed against his typically stalwart restraint.

“It was an accident,” he prefaced. This close, the shrinking teal halo around Kafka's irises was all he could see. “Jus’ a split lip.”

Holding his hand out, he waited for the familiar slide of Kafka's hand in his. A short moment of concerned hesitation, and they set off hand-in-hand down the corridor towards the bathroom. Letting muscle memory guide him, Soshiro bowed his head in contemplation as they passed by a row of windows overlooking the street outside. When Watanabe-san’s practise sword had gone astray, Soshiro had been looking right at him. There was something dark in the man’s eyes that made him wonder if it was truly an accident.

Sighing, he let go of the thought. Watanabe-san’s disdainful attitude had him on edge. At least for now, he would simply keep an eye on the man. And keep his distance.

“Hey, no, Nyanko,” Mina gently pushed a curious furry face away from her webcam. Nyanko slunk around her arm and planted his diapered bottom right in the corner of her video call with Kafka. An orange tail flickered in and out of frame.

“How's he doin’?” Kafka asked, chin cradled in his textbook as he peered up at his computer screen. From what she could see, he was having a rough time. There was a practise paper laying next to the book he was resting on, large swathes haphazardly whited out with correction tape. A spent cartridge lay off to the side, clear plastic ribbons gutted from its cheery lavender body.

“Better,” Mina gave Nyanko a few absentminded strokes to the top of his head. “He doesn't like his new diet, and the medication, but we’re managing.”

Discontent yowling started up beneath her hand the moment she said the word ‘medication’.

“Yes, I know you don't like it,” she patted him on the flank and he stood, turning in a tight circle to perch at the edge of her desk. Then he leapt off, sending her loose papers flying as he skittered away to another part of the house.

Mina snatched the fluttering papers out of the air and bent down to retrieve the ones that had fallen. The muscles in her arms and back ached as she reached for them, still sore from her evening workout. Setting the slim stack back on her desk, she checked her monitor to see Kafka propping himself up.

“I’m glad things ‘re ok fer ya an’ Nyanko,” there was a relieved slope to his shoulders and a slight smile on his face.

“We’re ok for now,” Mina nodded in agreement, distractedly rolling the battered edge of her Campus notebook - open, then closed, then open again. The little cat on the cover had a permanent crease splitting it in half.

Nyanko’s limited time was a constant lump in her chest, and she just wished he could be around a little longer. That somber thought, she kept to herself. No sense in burdening Kafka with it too.

“So… what are ya workin’ on?” Kafka’s voice cut clear through her melancholy, and she looked up sharply. When had she lowered her head? Her friend was sprawled over his desk again, wide eyes studying her like a curious puppy.

Mina flipped her notebook open again and paged through to find what she had scribbled down in class. “We need to interview someone, in English.”

“In English?!” Kafka parroted incredulously, leaping forward partway out of his chair. Sinking back down again, he melted over the seat, sighing, “That’s tough.”

Humming her acknowledgement, she doodled a flower in the corner of a page, “We get to come up with the questions before the interview, and the recording we need to do is only audio so it’s not too bad. I just need to find someone who can speak English.”

“What about you? It’s your third year isn't it?” Mina asked.

“Yeah, it's been nothin’ but practise papers an’ tests fer us since the start ‘a the year,” Kafka flopped face first into his textbook for emphasis. “I’m tired ‘a doin’ ‘em.”

The heaviness in her chest eased, and she welcomed the huff of laughter that bubbled up at her friend's dramatics. Turning his head at the sound, Kafka blinked up at her and responded with a sunny grin.

It was times like these when she felt a little sour that she wasn't the one Kafka chased and clung to with his fierce loyalty. Since elementary, she had been alone. No real friends aside from Nyanko. No siblings. A mother who was well-meaning, but not very supportive. Every difficulty she faced, every battle she fought, she weathered alone. In the late hours of the night, when all was quiet, she wondered what it would be like to have what Soshiro and Kafka had. A long-standing friendship, someone she could always count on to be there. If she had that, she didn't think she would ever let it go.

Then she remembered Soshiro telling her that Kafka had tried to follow him into the bathroom on multiple occasions and it curbed her jealousy a little. After being independent for so long, she enjoyed having her own space. Having someone stuck to her at all times would get stifling after a while. Soshiro seemed to enjoy the constant attention though, and he returned Kafka's affections with just as much dedication.

Turning her thoughts back to their conversation, she assured him, “It’s just for this year, it’ll be over before you know it.”

Picking up his pen, Kafka bit on the clip. “Can’t wait fer it ta be over, but I also don’t want it ta come, ya know? ‘M not ready,” his biting intensified, teeth grinding into the plastic.

“Do you know where you want to go for high school?” she asked as she drafted out a possible interview question.

“Wherever Soshiro’s goin’,” he replied without hesitation. Scratching at his head in mild distress, he wrote something down and tacked on, “I dunno if I’ll make it, but I’ve gotta try.”

“What if you end up in different schools?” she cradled her cheek in her palm. The clack of clipped claws on wood and a furry body against her ankles signalled Nyanko’s return. He sprawled over her foot and settled there.

Kafka’s pen paused for a moment, then resumed. “That’s okay, I don’t wanna hold him back. If he slows down fer me I’ll kick his ass!”

The outburst had her laughing again, stifling it with her hand as she nodded in acknowledgement. He looked so serious about it, but she couldn’t imagine Kafka ever kicking Soshiro’s ass. Not just because he was too kind to ever do it, but he also wouldn’t have the skill to overpower their friend, even with his size.

Then again, neither did she. She kept fit and attended her boxing classes religiously, but it couldn’t come close to the same intensity as their friend. That manic single-mindedness intimidated her a little sometimes, but it drove her to push herself too. On days when she just wanted to stay home and have a quiet lie-in, she would remind herself that there was someone out there crazy enough to train in the snow, during the holidays, and on his own birthday. It was enough motivation to keep her going for her twice-a-week boxing class.

Putting down another interview question, she idly wondered how someone so devoted to swordplay was faring, teaching people who were taking it up casually. So she asked Kafka.

“Huh?” her friend looked up from his homework, frown melting off his face. “Yeah… He’s a good teacher, but he kinda hates it. Some of the students are jerks ta him too.”

“He told you about them?” she asked. At her feet, Nyanko rolled over and gathered his paws under him. The diaper crinkled.

“Soshiro's Papa lets me watch,” Kafka explained.

Humming, she considered how odd that was. Just sitting and watching every time, and nothing else. “You don't join in?”

The deer-in-the-headlights expression he gave her told her that it hadn't crossed his mind before.

“I can do that?” he muttered in realisation. Slamming his hands down and shooting to his feet, he answered his own question, “Yeah, I can do that!”

There was a flurry of movement as he bumped his chair back and charged out of his room, yelling, “Mama! Can I sign up fer kendo classes?”

Smiling, Mina began writing down interview questions in earnest. They rarely got much done during their study calls, but she enjoyed having them. Seeing her friends’ faces was different from the daily messages they exchanged. Meeting up with them in person would be best, but none of them had the time for a four hour round-trip.

Doodling a cat under the flower, she wondered which would happen first - them seeing each other face to face again, or Soshiro confessing. Her bet was on the former.

Soshiro knew something was up. The spontaneous grins, the spring in his step that was bouncier than usual, and the little glances Kafka kept sending his way. All signs that his friend was waiting to surprise him with something. Unlike Valentine’s Day, he wasn’t sure what the surprise was supposed to be. The day was a normal one.

The longer the mystery dragged on, the more his desire to find out grew - and his impatience. School ended, and still, nothing. The only thing left in the day was the kendo class. As they made their way to the dojo together, his friend’s excitement seemed to swell to a buzzing intensity.

So it had something to do with the kendo class.

Running through a few possibilities, he paused on the likelihood that Kafka was joining the class as a student. A jolt of excitement fizzled through him when the thought surfaced, but he brushed it away. Kafka had never shown any interest in learning kendo. More importantly, he didn’t want to get too attached to the idea. It would just make the disappointment more painful if that theory was incorrect.

Anticipation thrummed between them like a live wire as they stepped into the dojo, and sparked in the air as they slogged through homework together. By the time the students started streaming in, Kafka was practically vibrating on the spot. Stationery was hastily zipped back into their pencil case, and study materials were thrown into an uncooperatively floppy backpack.

That was strange. Kafka’s usual practise was to sweep everything into his arms and balance it all the way to the adjoining office, school bag hanging from one shoulder. Packing everything away meant… Soshiro’s heart beat a little faster. Maybe he was right after all.

When his father called for the students to line up, Soshiro positioned himself next to his father. Same as every other class. Then, Kafka set his bag down, and stood, and turned towards the class. An eager grin lit up his face. He took one step towards them, then another, and Soshiro tracked his trotting steps across the dojo until he was standing at the very end of the lineup with two other newcomers. That dumb grin was still on Kafka’s face.

A dumb grin was threatening to creep onto his own face, and he schooled it before it could fully form past a twitch in his lips. Taut anticipation finally released its hold on him. Keeping his satisfaction quiet, he stood a little straighter.

He was right.

Getting to walk over and correct Kafka’s form as his friend stretched was both a blessing and a curse. As he pulled away, his fingertips prickled with the memory of Kafka trembling beneath his hand. Watching his friend bumble through the warmup exercises was also endlessly entertaining. The reluctant sluggishness that settled over his mind like a fog whenever he entered the dojo quickly evaporated.

Once the students were warmed up, his father put him in charge of teaching the newcomers the basics. Etiquette, how to hold a practise sword, and proper footwork. This usually took the entire lesson to go over. And since his brother had thankfully returned to base, his father was handling the regulars alone.

Kendo was always a martial art steeped in discipline, commanding a certain level of seriousness. But when teaching people much older than himself, being young added on a blanket of thick tension. Although he had more experience in kendo than his father’s civilian students, he could hardly be considered their senior. And unlike his father and brother, he had no real accolades. A competition win here and there at such a junior level didn’t amount to much. Giving instructions remained a delicate balance, even if most of the regulars no longer looked at him with blatant doubt.

With Kafka around, it felt like there was someone on his side - something that he didn’t have when his friend was stuck watching from a far-off corner. Any skepticism he got from the two adults who had joined alongside Kafka felt a thousand miles away. Without the pressure of perception saddled on him, focusing on instructing was much easier. Minutes no longer took hours to pass, and he found himself enjoying teaching. Just a little. Getting to guide his friend with light taps to his feet and hands and hips had nothing to do with it. Even Watanabe-san’s derisive glares couldn’t ruin his mood.

It was the most fun he’d had since being tasked to help out.

Tempering that excitement was his sense of duty. He couldn’t allow himself to shirk his responsibilities just because Kafka was around. It was a surefire way to demonstrate that he was biased, incompetent, and untrustworthy. Everything that he was fighting not to be seen as. More importantly, it would cause his father to lose face in front of his students. The thought of his father losing credibility and respect because of his lack of discipline was haunting - and Soshiro couldn’t allow it to happen. So he spread his attention equally, kept his instructions straightforward, and made sure to wrap up on time.

Only after the class had ended and the students were dismissed, did he shed that coat of responsibility and walk over to Kafka. There was a look of flushed pride on his friend’s face, all earnest eyes and an expectant smile. Soshiro knew that look all too well. Kafka was hoping for praise.

Soshiro delivered a harsh flick instead.

“Why?” Kafka whined, slapping both his hands over his forehead and leaning away.

“Fer keepin’ this from me,” he crossed his arms over his chest, clamping down on his racing pulse. The dojo had become uncomfortably warm.

“But I wanted ta surprise ya,” his friend pouted, still looking to him for his approval. Dark eyes gleamed in the artificial lights overhead, a rosy tint beneath them. Just shy of an actual blush. He wanted to feel the heat of Kafka’s face, to see it blossom into full redness.

Why is he so…?

Kafka’s eyes darted to the side and Soshiro followed his friend’s line of sight, to his own hand. Raised and poised close to a chubby cheek. Quickly changing trajectory without a single twitch in his expression, he patted Kafka’s head instead. “Thanks, I’m happy yer here.”

Here with him. By his side. No longer out of reach on the sidelines.

“‘M always here though,” his friend tilted his head in confusion.

Soshiro didn’t bother answering that with words and just smiled in response.

Kafka didn’t push for more, leaning into his touch until his father chased them out.

Chapter Text

Summer bore down on them with a vengeance. It felt hotter than last year, scorching his skin even though he was standing in the shade. Pulling the neck of his shirt away, Kafka started fanning it sluggishly to cool himself down. All he succeeded in doing was blowing warm air at himself. Rocking back and forth, he tried not to stay still on the hot pavement for too long. His feet felt like they were cooking in his shoes.

“Weather’s brutal.” A shadow fell over him, and a familiar voice asked, “Where’s yer boyfriend?”

Tanaka-chan had an umbrella in one hand, shielding herself and her friend from the relentless sun. Their arms were linked as they huddled under their little shelter, matching shoulder bags peeking out from underneath and baking in the bright heat.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” the protest rolled off his tongue without much thought. She was always teasing them this way, calling Soshiro his boyfriend, and he was always correcting her.

Tanaka-chan grinned roguishly at him, “Sure he’s not… and I didn't see ya feedin' each other at lunch yesterday.”

“We were jus’-”

“And the day before, and before that,” she drawled, sharing a knowing look with her giggling friend.

What she was saying was true, but he didn't understand why that made them ‘boyfriends’. “Quit teasin’,” he grumbled half-heartedly, shuffling his feet. The inside of his shoes were getting unbearably hot again.

“Soshiro, my love, may I please have yer sausage?” Tanaka-chan batted her lashes at her friend, mouth open like a baby bird.

“Kafka, my darling, anything fer ya,” her friend responded with another tinkling giggle, bringing her fingers up as if she were feeding Tanaka-chan.

Clapping his hands over his ears and shutting his eyes tight, Kafka yelled in protest, “That’s not what we sound like!”

“Oh, yer right,” Tanaka-chan paused. “Kimiko, we gotta hold hands or it isn’t accurate.”

They dissolved into laughter as he floundered, leaning into each other for support. Nothing he said was enough to convince Tanaka-chan that he and Soshiro weren't dating. It didn't help that his friend never had much to say when she was ribbing them, and now her friend was joining in on it. How could he get them to understand that he and Soshiro were close because they were best friends? In fact, Tanaka-chan should have understood, she and Kimiko were best friends too.

Grasping for some control of the situation, he tried pushing things in another direction, “So how did ya get him ta agree?”

Tanaka-chan and her friend finally stopped for air, wheezing merrily as they looked to him for elaboration. Their questioning hums were weirdly in sync.

“Soshiro, he never misses afternoon practise,” Kafka scratched at his cheek, unprepared for the sudden rapt attention.

“Never? Even durin’ the holidays?” Tanaka-chan seemed insulted by the idea. “I don't know how ya can be with this guy, I woulda broken up with him a long time ago!”

“Tanaka-chan…” he was starting to get exasperated. Why did she keep coming back to this?

She casually waved away his dirty look, “Ok, ok, real answer. All I had ta do was tell him you’d be watchin’ it with me if he wasn't coming.”

That explained nothing.

“Well, yeah, I was gonna come even if he couldn't come with us. What does that have ta do with anything?”

Tanaka-chan searched his face, “How do I put this? Hoshina-kun hates it when ya hang out with anyone, especially without him.”

“He’s jealous again?” Kafka frowned slightly, tilting his head. He was sure they’d gotten past that, after Mina.

With a hand on his shoulder, Tanaka-chan looked him dead in the eyes, a smug curl across her lips, “More like, possessive.”

Kafka felt his frown ease, his brow lifting with confusion instead. That didn’t seem like the right word to use. Soshiro wasn’t going around stalking him or scaring people away from him or putting a collar on him like the ‘possessive male leads’ some of his manga club friends liked reading about. Soshiro was normal.

A strong grip plucked the hand away from his shoulder, “Who’re ya callin’ possessive?”

“You, obviously,” Tanaka-chan snarked back, ripping her arm away from Soshiro’s hold.

They were both smiling, but they looked more like two predators sizing each other up.

“It’s kind of hot out here, why don’t we go inside first?” Kimiko bravely interrupted them. Taking Tanaka-chan’s wrist, she pulled her friend into the air-conditioned building, leaving him and Soshiro standing outside in the sweltering heat.

The out of season scent of cherry blossoms carried on the heavy summer air, and Kafka took it in gratefully. A welcome shelter amongst the less pleasant smells, since they were right by a crowded street. Anywhere that a large group of humans gathered, especially in the summer, still got overwhelming quickly without an anchor.

“What are ya waitin’ for? Let’s go,” a calloused hand appeared in his vision. Kafka took it easily, sliding their fingers together and feeling new rough patches along them. Dampness sat between their palms, but he wasn't too bothered by it.

Getting a blast of cool air to the face was a huge relief as they stepped into the building. Kafka stood in the doorway, enjoying the rush of wind whipping past them out into the afternoon heat. Not for the first time, he was glad to be human-shaped. It allowed him to enjoy their amazing inventions, and it meant he didn't have to be out in the muggy forests, melting in the height of summer.

A tug on his hand pulled him further into the building, and smooth flooring turned into squishy carpet. The lines at the cinema’s ticketing counter were long and filled with other students on their summer break.

“What are we watchin'?” Soshiro asked as they joined the queue.

Tanaka-chan gave him a flat look, “Ya agreed ta come without knowin’ what we're watchin'? Yer hopeless when it comes ta yer boyfriend.”

“Not boyfriends,” Kafka denied reflexively. As always, his friend stayed silent, but flexed his fingers in Kafka's hold. Thoughtfully sliding roughened digits along his own.

“It’s the new Guramon movie!” Kimiko swung her bag around to show off the Scormander plush dangling from it.

Arm still linked with Kimiko, Tanaka-chan turned slightly to reveal her matching Hydrortle.

“That’s…” Soshiro stood a little straighter, his weight coming off Kafka's side.

“Yeah, thanks fer gettin’ it for me,” Tanaka-chan turned the plush keychain around with her free hand and squeezed it. There was a rare fondness on her usually impish face, “We went out an’ got Kimiko one too.”

Kafka’s gaze bounced between them as Soshiro gave her an acknowledging nod. So this was the friend Soshiro had mentioned in the Guramon Center. At the time he had wondered who Soshiro was gifting it to, but then he had forgotten all about it. There were other things on his mind after that.

Before long, they were settled in plush seats inside the cinema hall, waiting for the movie to start. Since the screening was packed, they ended up in different rows - Soshiro and Kafka seated next to each other, and Tanaka-chan and Kimiko behind them.

“Here, Kimiko-chan,” Kafka twisted in his seat, passing their shared box of popcorn backwards. The preview trailers were still rolling, some historical film that he had no interest in.

A sharp kick shook his seat, and Tanaka-chan glared down at him, “Who said ya can call her Kimiko? Yer not that close are ya? Call her Fuji-chan.”

“I didn't know her last name!” Kafka scrambled to defend himself. He looked to Fuji-chan for backup, but she wasn't paying attention to him at all. Her eyes were squarely on Tanaka-chan.

“Well now ya do,” Tanaka-chan leaned back in her seat imperiously, crossing one leg over the other in a big sweeping motion. Fuji-chan took the popcorn from him with an apologetic shrug.

Settling back in his own seat, he wondered why she was so touchy about the name. It wasn't proper to address someone so familiarly when they weren't close, but Tanaka-chan hadn't introduced them. His little slip-up didn't deserve a kick. There was definitely something more to it that he wasn't picking up on.

“She's got a lotta nerve, callin' me possessive and then doin’ stuff like that,” Soshiro’s smile was twitching at the edges, a stinging mix of anger and amusement choking the air around him.

“Doin' what?” Kafka asked.

Soshiro shook his head, “Nothing.” His friend propped himself up against the armrest between them, expression back to neutral. Yet another human thing that left him stumped.

The opening notes to the Guramon theme song pierced the air and Kafka perked up immediately. All his attention was on the opening sequence playing on screen, and any doubts were pushed to the wayside. Their weird behaviour wasn't something he could puzzle out on his own without any clues anyway - some human quirks just weren’t logical. Besides, if it was important, Soshiro would tell him.

Kafka was quickly sucked into the movie, following the action with slack-jawed awe. When his starter showed up on screen he cheered, even if it was just a cameo. That got him a few dirty looks but he let it roll off his back with a sheepish - and quiet! - laugh. He barely noticed when Soshiro’s lean weight spilled over the armrest, head coming to rest on his shoulder. Thin fingers slid between his own that were dusty with popcorn salt.

During a lull between scenes, the popcorn box made its way back to him again. Soshiro refused any, so Kafka decimated a good chunk of the crunchy treat alone. Satisfied, he turned to hand it back to Fuji-chan. Only to find she wasn’t looking at the screen. Neither was Tanaka-chan. They were weirdly close, their faces pressed right up against each other. Almost as if they were whispering. Tanaka-chan’s back was to him, Fuji-chan hidden behind her. A sharp inhale slipped into the air, disappearing into the orchestral background music, and then they moved. And he could see everything.

Their lips were… they were…

Turning back around mechanically, he set the popcorn box down in his lap. Soshiro, previously dislodged when Kafka had turned around, laid his head back down again. Right onto Kafka’s stiffened arm.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Soshiro tilted his head upwards slightly, eyes still on the screen.

“No!” Kafka replied, too quickly, and a little too loudly. He tried again, “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”

Luckily, his friend seemed happy enough with that answer and settled back down. Sighing with relief, he tried to turn his head discreetly to look again. Surely he had seen wrong. Nope. They were still… kissing. That confused him. Wasn’t that only for lovers?

Best friends can kiss too?

Then, he felt Soshiro shifting against him, and the rush of cold as he moved away. Too late, Kafka realised he had given himself away. Slim fingers trapped his forearm to their shared armrest as his friend twisted around in his seat. Reaching out, Kafka placed a hand on Soshiro’s shoulder to stop him, but he had already missed his chance.

The soft noise Soshiro made in the back of his throat was almost inaudible beneath another swell of music. Then he sat back down as if nothing had happened. No reaction? Was this normal? Nothing he had ever read or watched mentioned anything like this before! But Soshiro wasn’t making a big deal of it! His mind was going in circles as he tried to make sense of everything.

Peeking over, his friend seemed completely at ease, lounging against the thick cushioning. Gaze fixed firmly on the screen, bursts of colour playing over his face like fireworks. Against his will, Kafka’s eyes slid lower, landing on Soshiro’s lips. They looked soft and a little shimmery, as if he’d taken a sip of water, or licked them. Pressing his own to them wasn’t something that had ever crossed his mind before. It was a human way of showing affection that was reserved for couples - at least, that’s what he had believed until now.

Giving it more thought, he found that he didn’t mind it. The romance novel he once plucked off his Mama’s shelf described the taste as sweet when people kissed. His friend ate and drank a lot of bitter things so he would probably taste bitter instead. The memory of dark chocolate and chestnut burned at the tip of his tongue. He didn’t like bitter things, but…

It’s fine if it’s Soshiro.

Mind made up, he turned his attention back to the movie. The final battle was starting and he didn’t want to miss it.

Kafka stretched in his seat as the credits rolled, arms high above his head and pressing towards the ceiling. The stiffness in his body melted away, and he resisted the urge to let out a satisfied groan. Everything about the movie had been amazing, and he was bursting with the need to talk about it. Looking for his fellow fans, he whipped around, half expecting them to still be kissing. When he saw that they had already separated, any remaining tension left him in a relieved breath. He opened his mouth to speak.

“So you two ’re datin’?” Soshiro beat him to it, tone flat and unamused.

That gave Kafka pause. They’re dating?

“Jealous?” Tanaka-chan regarded them with a smug smile, lacing her fingers with Fuji-chan.

Realisation struck Kafka over the head. They’re dating?!

“Next time, ya might wanna do the makin’ out somewhere private,” Soshiro smiled back. It was not a nice smile.

Tanaka-chan laughed boldly in his face, “Now ya know how we feel when yer doin’ that lovey dovey stuff with yer boyfriend.”

Kafka’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. No wonder they were kissing! They were dating! They were a couple! He had just assumed they were best friends because they were doing the same kind of stuff he and Soshiro did. More importantly, best friends didn’t kiss. It was a good thing he hadn’t done anything before finding that out, he might have grossed out his friend.

“When?” the annoyed edge in Soshiro’s voice softened.

“Few days after the school trip.”

Soshiro’s sharp smile melted away, “I’m happy for ya.”

“Thanks,” Tanaka-chan eased up too, uncrossing her arms.

In the dim light, her dark eyes roved over to Kafka, settling on him for a brief moment before moving back over to Soshiro. Crouching down to get closer to him, she whispered, “Let me know if ya ever need a wingman.”

Soshiro’s danger smile was back, “I’ll keep yer offer in mind.”

Kafka watched their verbal spar, halfway out of his seat and leaning over the backrest to share the last of the popcorn with Kimiko. They took turns fishing out the dregs rolling around at the bottom of the box. He didn’t know what Soshiro and Tanaka-chan were getting so heated over, but they seemed to be having fun. Their hangout had been a huge success!

As for his misunderstanding… his face warmed uncomfortably again as he remembered contemplating kissing his best friend. He would definitely, absolutely, keep that to himself.

“Why do people date?” Kafka blurted the moment Mina appeared in the frame of their video call.

Mina’s eyes widened a fraction, her hand stilling in Nyanko’s fur at the sudden question, “What do you mean?”

“It’s just,” Kafka crossed his arms, head hung and brow furrowed as he struggled to find the right words. “Is that the only difference between datin’ and bein’ best friends, the kissin’?”

Throwing himself back in his chair, he ignored the ominous creaking and leaned back to stare up at the ceiling, “If I don’t care about the kissin’, then what’s the point of datin’?”

Mina raked her fingers down Nyanko’s back as she pondered, “It’s not just physical intimacy. There’s more to it than just that.”

“What else is there?” Kafka lifted his head up off the straining chair to face Mina again.

“It’s… hm,” her eyes slid to the side as she looked for a way to explain it to him. “People date to see if they want to be in a relationship.”

“Then why do they wanna be in a relationship?” Kafka sat up straighter, arms braced against the desk so he could lean in close. Mina was smart, and she always took his questions seriously. She didn’t talk down to him, or make him feel like he was asking something stupid. It was one of the many reasons he loved her as a friend.

Mina gave Nyanko a distracted scratch between his ears, “It’s like a promise.” Nodding to herself, she concluded, “Being in a relationship is like a promise to always stand by their side.”

That made sense, but it still didn’t answer the question on how it was any different. “Can’t I do that as their best friend?”

“It’s different, it’s closer than best friends,” she pursed her lips in thought, and seemed at a loss for the first time. “Like, like my parents.”

Being able to compare it to something seemed to give her more confidence. Even though Kafka had never seen Mina’s Papa before, she seemed to know what she was talking about. “They loved and supported each other like best friends, but they also spent a lot more time together. They prioritised each other and lived together, and made plans for the future together.”

“Like… going to the same high school?” the dots were starting to connect in his mind.

Mina nodded slowly, “Something like that.”

Giving Nyanko another firm pat over the head and down his back, she added, “Another big reason is that once you’re in a relationship, no one can take your place by their side. You promise to stick together no matter what.”

“It sounds nice, doesn’t it? To have someone you can count on to be there for you,” she kept her gaze firmly on Nyanko. There was something vulnerable about the inward turn of her shoulders and blankness of her expression. “Did that help? I’m, not really the best person to ask.”

Nyanko meowed at her, ugly and scratchy, and she cracked a smile again.

Making a firm noise of agreement, Kafka nodded, “Yeah! I think I get it.”

There were a million things going through his head all jumbled, but they were all centred around one person. What she had described was exactly what he wanted with Soshiro. To stay by his side and, maybe it was a little selfish, but for Soshiro to stay with him too. And if girls could date girls then surely boys could date boys.

But was it alright for a human to date a kaiju? Would Soshiro even want to date him? Maybe he liked girls instead, and it was too late for Kafka to change his gender.

Mussing his hair he yelled, “Argh, I’m just not gonna think too much about it!”

Mina laughed, soft little huffs that shook her shoulders. He pouted at her, but her eyes were closed so he gave up on that. Slumping back so both butt cheeks were on his seat again, he looked over the stuff scattered across Mina’s desk and asked, “Have ya found someone fer yer interview thing yet?”

Mina let Nyanko off her lap and scooted herself forward. She flipped her notebook open again, eyes drifting across the page, “No, all the people I’ve asked said they aren’t confident.”

“I’ve asked my relatives, and a few people at my gym,” she scribbled idly in her notebook.

Eager to help, Kafka shot forward in his seat, “If it’s English, I know someone!”

Mina stopped writing and looked up, “You do?”

“Yeah! I’ll ask ‘em for ya!” he jotted down the to-do in his own notebook. He knew the perfect person to help. They were foreign-looking, so it only made sense that they would know English!

Soshiro was starting to wonder if leaving Kafka alone after the movie incident was a mistake.

Kafka hadn’t gone to him for an explanation about their friends kissing, so he had assumed everything was fine. Then, the next week came around and Kafka visited his home while his Mama’s book club stormed their apartment. There was nothing strange in his texts and over the phone, but he was being unusually quiet in person. All through the day his friend had been staring at him, which was normal when Kafka was watching him practise. But he was doing it outside of that too, and it was getting difficult to ignore. The small scrunch along the bridge of Kafka’s nose was his only clue - his friend was thinking hard about something.

“What’s buggin’ ya?” he finally cracked and asked as they made their way towards his father’s dojo together.

“Nothin’, I’m fine,” Kafka grinned at him, but there was a tell-tale dip between his brows.

Pinching the tip of one flushed ear, Soshiro pulled Kafka’s face closer, “Yer lyin’.”

“It’s between me and Mina!” his friend flailed, cheeks pinking now too. Irritation swelled in him like a rising tide. When had that rascal learned to talk like that? Keeping secrets from him, with Mina. It stirred an old jealousy in him and before he could stop himself, he had Kafka in a headlock.

“Yer hidin’ things from me?” he could feel the corners of his lips twitching. His friend squawked and slapped his arm, writhing against him as he tried to squirm away. It was kind of… Heat pooled in his gut and he squeezed tighter around Kafka’s neck.

“Nuh-, I jus’ asked her why people date! That’s all!” Kafka caved immediately, but he was still working to free himself. Large palms were splayed out against Soshiro’s arm and back, pushing as he yanked his head desperately, whole body bucking with effort. Soshiro was tempted to keep him there, just to see him struggle a bit more.

Letting go abruptly, he let Kafka stumble back and knead the side of his neck. Keeping his tone nonchalant, he asked, “And? Are ya plannin’ on datin’ anyone?”

“Not yet,” his friend looked over at him warily. Eyes watery, but gaze direct. He didn’t seem to be lying. Then he turned the question back on Soshiro, “Are you?”

Humming, he echoed his friend’s words, “Not yet.” He needed to find the right time to confess again after his first failed attempt. The sooner the better, but he needed to make sure Kafka had enough time to process his Mama’s injury or he could come off as insensitive. The mood needed to be right too, he couldn’t just confess while doing something mundane. Everything needed to be perfect.

“Is there anyone ya like?” Kafka probed as they entered the train station and made their way down to the platform. Wide eyed, curious, not a shred of jealousy or ill-intent. For some reason, it made his heart twinge with ache.

“No one in my class,” the half-truth rolled smoothly off his tongue. He wasn’t interested in anyone in his class. Or anyone, really, aside from Kafka. Confession letters snuck into his shoe locker and under his desk went straight into the bin the moment he got home. Valentine’s chocolates were swept into his bag and handed to the housekeepers to snack on. There was no point keeping them or giving someone false hope when he only wanted Kafka.

Subconsciously, he tightened his grip around the warm hand in his.

Only Kafka.

After the confrontation, Kafka seemed to bounce back to normal. No more staring, and no more uncharacteristically thoughtful silences. They reached the dojo without incident and went for dinner together with his father as usual. And as always, Kafka ended up with a mess all over his face - rice and flakes of seaweed peppering his cheeks from their onigiri. Sliding his fingers under the smooth curve of his friend’s jaw, thumb against his chin, he dusted away the residue with a handkerchief.

Kafka’s lips were right there, dusky and silky, seemingly unaffected by the humid summer heat. Soft under the pad of his thumb as he slid it up to touch, and press. He wasn’t completely unaffected by Tanaka-chan and her brazen public display of affection either.

“What are ya doin’?” Kafka’s bottom lip quivered as he tried to form words around the pressure on it.

“Ya have seaweed in yer teeth. Might wanna rinse it out later,” Soshiro deflected.

Kafka’s mouth clicked shut and he slapped his hands over it, embarrassment rising high along his cheekbones. Soshiro could feel his smile creeping up at the corners, and it was a struggle to keep it from getting damningly wide. His friend was so expressive.

“Soshiro, Kafka, we’re goin’,” the reminder of his father’s presence was like cold water down his back.

Pocketing his handkerchief, he stood and held his hand out for Kafka, watching his father’s face for any indication that the man had caught on, “Yes, father.”

The first half of the class was standard, but excitement sparked through the air like static before a lightning strike. Everyone was waiting for the second half of the class - sparring with the instructor, his father. Sparring was always a chance to put into practise what they had learned, but they usually sparred with each other. It was also an activity that was more for the experienced students. For newcomers like Kafka who hadn’t progressed to the level of donning armour, they could only watch. But that day’s highly anticipated affair would allow them to try out sparring for the first time, against him. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Helping out was challenging enough without having to worry about bruising egos. Even if the whole purpose of a spar was to practise and improve, people got competitive sometimes. Worse, they might hesitate to strike him because he was much younger.

His father had given him a crash course on how to spar with the newcomers. Deliberate movements, being careful not to overwhelm them, and setting up opportunities for them to practise the different techniques they had been learning. Previously, his brother had been the one taking up the task of sparring with the newer students, so he had some idea of what he needed to do. The strap of his chest protector creaked as he over-tightened it, the thin cloth cutting into his shoulder. If that bastard could do it, so could he.

While his father explained sparring and its essence to the class, he exchanged a glance with Kafka. His friend was shifting from foot to foot, grin visible even behind the helmet. Soshiro smiled in response. The spar with Kafka would be the highlight for him. That didn’t mean that he would slack off with any of his sparring partners, but it was only with Kafka that he would get to enjoy it.

Despite his fears, the sparring exercise with the newer students went smoothly. It also gave him a better understanding of them. Suzuki-san was predictably slow on her feet, but she was very level-headed and quick to take the openings he created for her. Meanwhile Sasaki-san, a younger woman who worked in the nearby office building, was overly defensive. Constantly backing up and blocking, even when she had a clear opportunity to strike. Then there was Kato-san, a young man who had just graduated from university. There didn’t seem to be much thought behind his attacks, practise sword swinging regardless of whether it was a good time to move in.

Finally, Kafka. Sparring with his friend was more fun than he should have allowed himself. The ring of their practise swords clashing, and the loud smack when Kafka landed a well-placed hit had his blood singing. His friend’s spontaneous nature came out in his sparring. Overly excited, eager to prove himself, rushing into everything. Viewing it with a critical eye, it wasn’t very effective - a lot of wasted movement, and he wasn’t making the best of the openings Soshiro was giving him. Outside of that though, it was endearing. Kafka was trying his best for him. Fond softness warmed his chest, as he struck his friend on the head with a loud crack and deadly precision. His friend didn’t even flinch, taking the practise sword to the head with a grin. After letting Kafka get in one last hit to practise striking the body, they ended their spar there.

Since there were more experienced students than newer students, Soshiro herded his group over to watch the rest of the class take turns sparring with his father. As always, his father was calm and stern. He allowed no nonsense when it came to blade-work. Which was probably why he was blocking every hit Watanabe-san tried to land with a curt, “Again”. The man’s sloppy technique during drills translated to the same sloppy technique in sparring. His footwork was all over the place, and the tip of his practise sword kept drifting away from his centre.

“Enough,” his father decided, putting up one hand. “Sit back down. Soshiro, come.”

Watanabe-san slumped down in a cross-legged sit like a petulant child, and Soshiro could feel the man’s scornful gaze following him as he put his helmet back on and walked over to face his father. It was hard to believe that an adult could act like that. Even Kafka, who hadn’t been in human society for long, was more mature.

Standing across from his father, he tried to shake the feeling of unease creeping over his shoulder. “Watch,” his father instructed Watanabe-san. The disquiet intensified. He could almost hear the sizzle of oil dripping into Watanabe-san’s fiery distaste towards him, but he couldn’t refuse.

Sparring with his father was both familiar, yet not. He knew these movements - the smooth footwork, the tense of his father’s muscles as he prepared a strike - but everything was slower and more exaggerated than he was used to. Spotting an opening that his father created for him, he responded with the technique he knew his father wanted. The same one that Watanabe-san had been attempting but failed to execute. His practise sword connected swiftly with an unguarded wrist.

“Good, again,” his father instructed.

A few repetitions later, and he was dismissed with a nod. Watanabe-san was called back up again, but having his shortcomings pointed out had rattled him. And that was a quick way to lose control of the practise sword. Any skill that the man did have went out the window, and he was made to sit down again not long after. So he sat and stewed, gloves creaking as Soshiro’s father moved on to the next student.

“I don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at ya,” Kafka whispered. “Smells angry.”

It was a struggle to avoid turning his head to look, “Jus’ ignore him.”

“I know,” Kafka hummed, looking over his shoulder very conspicuously. “But ya gotta be careful, I’ve got a bad feeling about that guy.”

“I will,” Soshiro promised. Under his father’s watchful eye, the man was unlikely to try anything, but he would be wary just in case. Behind his back, Watanabe-san’s dark, spiteful eyes continued to prick his spine.

Extra: Mina, wingwoman extraordinaire

When Kafka came to her asking about relationships, she was blindsided by it. Although some of her classmates were dating, she hadn’t taken any interest in it. Getting into the Defence Force was her only priority. Between her extracurricular activities and independent studies, there was no time for romance. She was completely out of her depth.

Then, it struck her. Perhaps she could give Soshiro-kun a helping hand. By getting Kafka to understand exactly what Soshiro-kun meant to him. What were the words that Kafka had used again, when he told her about his goal in life, about Soshiro?

Something about standing by his side?

—

Extra: Soshiro has no chill

Soshiro could feel Kafka’s eyes on him, burning like a brand. A curious gaze lingering on his face that made him hyperaware of his friend’s attentions. Heat crept up his back as he tried to appear nonchalant. Sometimes it was easy to forget what Kafka was, but at times like these, it was what made him certain that his friend’s interest was purely innocent. Which was a shame.

When Kafka finally looked away, he closed his eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath. Clenched his fists a few times to get the twitching want out of them. Tried desperately to rid himself of the image of grabbing soft cheeks and taking, until his oblivious friend understood.

In the end it was all useless. None of it worked for as long as he was looking at Kafka, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn his gaze away. His friend drew attention like a giant sunflower standing tall amongst weeds, and once someone was in his orbit, it was hard to pull away. Watching Kafka’s face light up with pure joy, wide eyes reflecting a myriad of shades in the dark cinema, something sweet and savage unfurled in his chest. A darker emotion than he ever wanted to experience. Untamed in a way that had shame perching in the back of his mind. But at the same time, it was a deafening klaxon drowning out everything else.

I want him.

Chapter Text

The air was filled with the thump of feet striking the floor, and shrill battle cries as the students sparred with each other. As he observed the combatants, Soshiro kept the sullen figure sitting outside the sparring area in his periphery. After a few more less-than-stellar showings from Watanabe-san, his father had brought the man over to Soshiro’s tiny but growing group of newbies and told him that he would be joining them for sparring.

“What?! Ya can’t put me with them!” the man had yelled in outrage. Ripping off his helmet, he jabbed an accusing finger at Soshiro, “I’m a nidan! We’re the same rank!”

“Yer grade doesn’t matter so much as yer understanding and execution of the techniques,” Soshiro’s father folded his arms, brow creasing with displeasure. “You would benefit from reinforcing yer foundation.”

Watanabe-san scoffed, but strutted over to join them. Soshiro locked eyes with his father and tried to convey his confusion. Watanabe-san clearly hated being under his instruction. It didn’t seem like a good idea to force the man to spar with newer students, who had only just earned the right to participate in actual sparring. It was only a matter of time before something happened. Despite Soshiro’s apprehension, his father motioned for them to carry on, so he set aside his reservations.

With the new arrangement, Watanabe-san became even sloppier. Around the less experienced students, he was complacent, and occasionally used higher level techniques on them that they had no idea how to handle. Soshiro tried reminding the man to focus on performing the basic moves well, but there was no change. It felt like a personal failure whenever one of the newer students flinched back from Watanabe-san’s rogue moves. By the end of the month, the only one still willing to spar with Watanabe-san was Kafka.

Autumn rolled around, and as the air became cooler, Watanabe-san’s temper began to boil. The man’s persistent bad mood was evident in his bladework as much as it was on his face. Frustration was eating away at Soshiro too. He would have preferred if Watanabe-san stayed with the experienced group, rather than being placed somewhere he was dissatisfied and making the other students uncomfortable. But if he admitted he couldn’t handle Watanabe-san, if he admitted he couldn’t rise to the task his father had set for him, he would be letting his father down. So he held his tongue.

During the next instructor-student spar, Watanabe-san was matched with Soshiro alongside the other newbies, as his fellow experienced students practised against Soshiro’s father. Soshiro kept an eye on the ugly scowl marring the man’s face as they donned their armour. Muddy-dark eyes flitted to the side, catching him in the act. Carefully calm, he lifted the corners of his lips and gave the man a placid smile. They stared at each other for a brief moment before a tall wall blocked his line of sight. Kafka had placed himself between them, eyes fixed on Watanabe-san in a glare, practically sparking electric behind his helmet. That seemed to scare the man off, and he hurriedly returned to tightening his straps.

Kafka huffed a loud exhale through his nose and crossed his arms like a disgruntled bodyguard. Soshiro fought the urge to laugh. His friend's exaggeratedly flared nostrils were making it hard to keep a straight face but he managed somehow.

The spar with Watanabe-san was frustrating, and it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. Prideful and overly-aggressive, sticking to half-remembered techniques from his high school kendo days. Providing an opening for a strike to the head, he watched as Watanabe-san pulled back as if winding up. A twinge in his gut told him that something wasn’t right. The movement was unexpected, and the tip of the man’s practise sword was too low, pointing just below his chin.

Lifting his practise sword, he tilted it to the side in time to block a thrust to his throat, the leather tip glancing off his tsuba. Following through with the motion, he countered, bamboo cracking against an unguarded helmet and ringing up his arms. It was satisfying. And it felt like he had broken one of the eggshells he had been walking on. He ended the spar there to give the man a chance to cool down. Watanabe-san’s creaking gloves, harsh breaths, and grinding teeth made him wary of continuing.

That blatant display of rage nudged him closer to biting the bullet and informing his father that he couldn’t handle Watanabe-san. His stomach clenched with anxiety at the thought, but there was no getting around it. Watanabe-san hated him. No matter what he did or said, he wasn’t going to get through to the man.

The next sparring exercise among the students arrived all too quickly. As usual, Kafka paired with Watanabe-san, while the others gave him a wide berth. It was a stark reminder that the man was affecting the other students his father had entrusted him with. Another step towards admitting that he was in over his head.

He knew that Watanabe-san was still incensed from his previous slight against the man, but nothing prepared him for the loud crack as the man slammed the practise sword into Kafka’s ribs, above the thick stomach armour. And again. And again. Aiming for the unprotected parts of his friend’s body. Kafka was grinning and landing as many hits as he was taking, but each thunderous blow made Soshiro’s chest tighten. Watanabe was taking his frustrations out on Kafka, because Soshiro had pissed him off. Watanabe was hurting Kafka because of him.

Another strike to Kafka’s head sent the boy stumbling back a few paces, jolting Soshiro into action. He lifted his practise sword and blocked a follow-up swing. “Stop!”

“Enough,” he glared at the man for a second before remembering himself and closing his eyes, a tense smile on his lips. “Ya have clearly demonstrated yer ability.”

Or lack thereof.

“I appreciate yer enthusiasm, but yer opponent isn’t as advanced as ya,” he reminded Watanabe’s sneering face, trying to diffuse the situation.

Tension hung thick in the air as they remained unmoving, swords locked. Finally, Watanabe pulled away with a flick of his wrist, bamboo body of his practise sword narrowly missing Soshiro’s unprotected head. Clearly trying to get a rise out of him, but he wasn’t about to give the man the satisfaction.

Once Watanabe was out of earshot, he hurriedly stripped off Kafka’s armour and yanked open the gi underneath, “Are ya alright?” Any normal human would have walked away with bruised ribs at least, maybe even broken.

“Wha- wait!” Kafka grabbed at his hands to stop him but it was too late.

An unblemished chest stared out at him, and he stared back. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Bruises? Breathing in deep, he pushed down the urge to laugh at himself. Kafka was a kaiju. Even if he had been hurt, it would have been long gone. It also wasn’t easy to hurt a kaiju. The weakest yoju’s hide was still tough to pierce without dedicated weapons.

But that knowledge didn’t stop him from worrying. Regenerative powers and armoured skin didn’t mean his friend couldn’t feel pain.

“Don’t ya worry!” sweat-tacky skin brushed his stiff arm as Kafka reached around to pat the swell of his bared breast. “Didn’t feel a thing!”

Relieved, Soshiro tucked the gi back into place and let his hands drop. No one had been hurt, but that was only because Watanabe had targeted Kafka. If it had been anyone else, they would have been injured without a doubt, and there was no guarantee that Watanabe would stick to only picking on Kafka. Regardless, using his friend as a decoy punching bag for the man to focus his attentions on was not an option. He flinched away from the thought like it was a scalding pan, viscerally disgusted at the idea. No matter how dire things got, throwing Kafka to the wolves would never be an option.

The situation as it was, was unacceptable, but he had no idea what he could do on his own to stop it. There was only one possible solution - inform his father. As much as it galled him, he couldn’t let one student continue to terrorise the others. Their wellbeing was more important than his pride.

After the class ended, Soshiro returned home before his father and missed him that night. He managed to catch the man in the morning at breakfast instead, just before he left for Tokyo to assist with training at the Ariake base.

“Father,” he set his bowl and chopsticks down carefully. “I wish ta speak with ya about something.”

His father nodded and placed his food down as well, giving him the go-ahead.

“Watanabe-san is,” he paged through his internal thesaurus for a respectful way of conveying that the man was an asshole, “not doin’ well in the beginner group.”

“Yer referring ta his pride and resistance ta instruction,” his father cut right to the root of the issue.

Soshiro nodded slowly. Under the table, he unclenched his fists, letting the scrunch of his pants slip away. It sounded like his father had noticed and was on his side. “He’s startin’ ta become violent with the other students,” he reported, feeling more confident.

The space between his father’s eyebrows drew together slightly, then smoothed back out. “I’ll speak with him when I return. You’ve done well.”

Eyes widening, he sat stunned as his father resumed eating. A compliment from his father was rare. Unprecedented, because he was admitting to being unable to handle something. Shouldn’t his father have been disappointed in him instead? Although he felt undeserving, he could feel his lips threatening to curve into a smile and he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Raising his bowl to his face to hide it, he pushed rice into his mouth to give it something else to do. With his father’s support, the situation with Watanabe felt less overwhelming.

“I know I gave you my number for emergencies, but I didn’t think you would use it for this,” Hikari tousled her hair in the center of Kafka’s computer screen. The amused tilt to her lips broke into a grin, “Ah well it’s fine, Kikoru’s been wanting to see you again. She misses her playmate!”

Kikoru, seated in her lap, looked up sharply at her, “Mama!”

“Oh? Ya missed me, Kikoru-chan?” Kafka teased, snickering behind his hand.

“Shut up!” Kikoru turned back to the camera, expression haughty but her cheeks were bright red. She stabbed a finger at the screen. “Listen up, Kafka oji-san!”

“Oji-san?!”

“I’ve started my training with Mama, so you better not fall behind!” she declared, puffing her chest out.

“‘Course not! I’m workin’ hard too ya know?” Kafka patted his bicep, flexing it to show off.

Kikoru made a face at him, “Gross. You can’t do that unless you’re as strong as Papa.”

“Hey!” Kafka spluttered. Her tongue was sharp for a six-year-old, maybe sharper than Soshiro’s.

Hikari pinched her cheek, “Kikoru, don’t be mean to Kafka-chan.”

“Sorry,” Kikoru relented, crossing her arms and puffing her cheeks out. She didn’t look very sorry, but he let it go.

Mina’s video call frame sat in the corner quietly, wide orange eyes staring unblinking into the camera. Her huge Captain Shinomiya poster was on full display behind her.

“Mina, are ya still there? Is yer screen frozen?” he waved into the camera.

Mina snapped to attention, “I’m here, I- When you said you knew someone who could speak English-” She stopped herself mid-sentence and quickly reached out of frame, “Let me get my notes.”

“I grew up in America! You’re not gonna find a better English-speaker around, trust me!” Hikari assured Mina, jabbing a confident thumb into her chest.

Easing Kikoru off her lap, she slid a tablet in her daughter’s direction, “Why don’t you start another call with Kafka oji-san and tell him about your training? I need to help Mina onee-san with her work.”

“Not you too!” Kafka despaired, letting his head drop to the desk in defeat. Being called Kafka-chan was way better than being called an uncle. He wasn’t even that old! Maybe if he was thirty he could understand her calling him that, but he was still in middle school! Digging his chin into the scattered papers beneath him, he gazed forlornly up at his monitor. “And why does Mina get ta be onee-san? Shouldn’t I be onii-san?!”

Mina pursed her lips as if she were suppressing a smile, and Kikoru’s high laughter echoed at him from his speaker. Damn, he was outnumbered here.

Sighing, he accepted his fate. “See ya, Mina. Good luck with yer interview.”

She nodded her acknowledgement, “See you.”

Hanging up, he accepted an incoming call from Kikoru.

“Kafka oji-san!” she greeted him the moment the call connected. Before he had a chance to reply, a smug smile curved up to her eyes. “I bet my training’s tougher than yours.”

The kid was merciless, taunting him immediately. There was no way he could keep quiet after being told that.

“Oh yeah? I bet ya never had ta swing a practise sword a hundred times!” he challenged.

Kikoru’s smugness only grew, and she covered her mouth mockingly with one hand, “That’s all? My Mama is teaching me that too. And unarmed fighting, and spear fighting, and I’ll be starting horseback riding lessons next week.”

“Argh! I’ve lost!” he flopped down on his desk again and flailed around in frustration. She got to do horseback riding? That was unfairly cool!

“Right? It’s cool, isn’t it?” her cheeks pinked, eyes sparkling with excitement.

Kafka froze. Crap, he’d said that out loud.

Coughing, she crossed her arms and tried schooling her expression, but her pleased flush remained, “I’ve already picked out a horse. If you visit, I’ll introduce you to him.”

Kafka propped himself back up on his desk and grinned at her. Even though she liked being all mighty and smart, it was nice to see that she had a cute side to her too. Like a cheeky younger sister. “I’ll take ya up on that!”

Kikoru’s blush darkened and she looked away, “A-anyway, Papa’s also teaching me his unarmed combat style. It’s used in the Defence Force you know?”

“He makes me do these side-steps,” she stood up and demonstrated, lunging from side to side with her arms behind her back.

“We do those fer warmup in class!” Kafka stood and began doing the same exercise. “Soshiro’s really good at ‘em, never seen him get tired from these. But we only do ten so I dunno.”

“I bet I can do more than you!” Kikoru declared, speeding up.

“Yeah? Don’t underestimate me!” he matched her pace.

Kafka watched her face as they competed, determined gaze on her own stance and face flushed with effort. It amazed him how hard humans worked. Soshiro had started training young too, and there was never a day he wasn’t working - training, studies, after-school activities. Before he met Soshiro, he spent most of his days idling until he could hunt or forage for food. When his belly was full, he was back to idling again. Sometimes he wanted to go back to his simple life from before. Then there wouldn’t be homework and exams. But there wouldn’t be Soshiro either. As long as he got to stay with Soshiro, he wouldn’t mind doing homework every day for the rest of his life.

On screen, Kikoru was starting to slow and her breathing was getting harsher. Sweat dotted her forehead and rolled down the side of her face. Taking that as his cue, Kafka started to slow down too, taking deep breaths through his mouth and heaving his chest. He did a few more, then braced his hands on his knees and panted, “I’m done, I’m done! Time out!”

“Told you,” Kikoru gloated, breathless but glowing with pride. “Since I won, you have to visit!”

Kafka huffed a quiet laugh into his chest. It was cute how poorly she was hiding that she wanted to play with him again. If only she would stop calling him oji-san…

“I will!” he agreed, straightening up and shaking out his legs to show her how tired he was. “I’m sure my Mama would like ta visit too.”

“You better not go back on your word, Kafka oji-san,” Kikoru warned as she pushed away the stray hairs that had stuck to her face.

Keep his word, huh? That made him think of what Soshiro had said, when he had carelessly told Mina everything would be fine. This didn’t feel as big, so surely it would be alright?

“‘Course not! I always keep my promises!”

There was a different sort of tension in the air, electrifying the dojo as the students filtered in. The moment Watanabe entered, he shared a glance with his father. Receiving a curt nod, he looked away again and went back to arranging the shared gear. After that class was over, Watanabe would no longer be a dark cloud hanging over his little group of students.

The class was set to be another instructor-student sparring, which was a relief. No chance for Watanabe to try hurting Kafka, or any of the other students. If anyone had to bear the brunt of the man’s bad behaviour, it needed to be him. As the teaching assistant, as the one with more experience in swordplay, and as the source of Watanabe’s anger.

Standing across from the man in his armour, Soshiro felt a rising sense of calm determination. Watanabe could choose to remain stubborn until the end, but Soshiro would still do his best to teach. Basic movements, providing the man with opportunities to practise different techniques, but also making it difficult enough to match up to the man’s level. Each blow he absorbed felt like a battering ram - more power than control. Impatient. Far too focused on winning the spar than properly executing each move. Like his father, he blocked the ones that were too poorly set up, but seeing Watanabe swing his practise sword like a baseball bat was physically painful. After a slightly off-the-mark but successful head strike from Watanabe, he decided to end the spar. There was still some time left but the man was too enraged to continue. As funny as the furiously bulging eyes and dramatically heaving chest were, he wasn’t about to keep poking a hornet’s nest.

“Stop fucking with me ya little shit!”

There was barely any warning. And then the man charged, practise sword limp at his side and shoulder turned inwards. Soshiro pivoted on the ball of his foot and put his arms up to guard but there wasn’t enough distance, wasn’t enough time to properly avoid what was coming.

Watanabe slammed into Soshiro with a full body blow. The floor disappeared from under him as he lost his footing, and he tucked his chin as best he could. He felt himself go airborne for a terrifying second, and crashed down onto the floor, head snapping out from the force and bouncing off the hard wood.

Pain lanced up his spine, molten in his tailbone and radiating all the way through his skull. A cough ripped its way out of his throat and he blinked away the whiteout that clouded his vision. The armour had cushioned his fall, but not by much. Immediately, there was a heavy weight crushing his chest and his breath caught. There was ice in his limbs, seizing his body. He couldn’t move. Not again. Fear threatened to claw its way out of his ribcage, murky in his chest, swirling like the beginnings of a whirlpool. Gasping, he tried to draw breath, but nothing came. He couldn’t breathe. He was pinned. Dying. Again.

Breaths coming faster, shallower, his throat worked achingly. He needed help. He needed-

“Kaf-!“

Something struck him in the head, and his desperate cry died on his lips. Instinctively he threw his arms up, tight over his face - no, his helmet - flush against the metal bars that had dulled the impact of that first blow. He peered up into the blinding light, trying to see through the haze of fear eating him alive. There was something on top of him. Dark, armoured. Someone.

A person, he could fight. He could still move. He wasn’t helpless. Determination thawed the icy grip of fear. A dark shape flickered in his periphery and he threw his head to the side. The punch just missed him, clipping his ear before connecting with the floor. A flurry of blows rained down on him, sending fire through his forearms. Seeing an opening, he threw a sharp strike above him. His hand met thick armour with an ineffective puff, and his false calm began evaporating even faster. He quickly pulled his arm back over his face to intercept another bruising blow, the burning in his lungs intensifying to a blaze. Another punch slammed into the ground next to his head, tremors spreading out beneath him, and his attacker paused. Hulking over him as he panted with exertion. An opening.

Soshiro lashed out, driving the heel of his palm upward. The sharp jerk of a head snapping backwards sparked vicious satisfaction in him, and he felt his composure return.

“Soshiro!”

The weight on top of him was pulled off and he could breathe again. He sucked in a breath greedily. Then another. And another. Until the pain in his chest died down to a dull ache. He stood on shaky legs, and the sudden uprightness made his head pound. A sturdy body slotted itself beside him, helping him stabilise himself. Green eyes flashed at him with concern.

It wasn’t just Kafka. The entire dojo had abandoned their training to gather around him, staring at him with concern. And pity. Horror scorched his damp cheeks. Everything he had worked for, for the past few months - the respect and listening ear of his father’s students, their recognition - was gone. Shattered in an instant by a moment of weakness.

“Apologies, sensei.” Soshiro hated how his voice shook, hoarse from strain. His words were loud in the stunned silence of the dojo. Distantly, he noted that Watanabe wasn’t among them. “May I leave ta clean up?”

“Soshiro,” his father started, foot shifting along the polished wood floor towards him. His brow was pinched and his jaw tight, the most distraught Soshiro had ever seen the man. Then his father stopped, expression melding back into neutrality as he changed his mind. “Go,” he said with a nod.

Removing his helmet, Soshiro thrust it into Kafka’s chest and kept his head down as he walked out through the main doors. The base of his neck throbbed and an ache began to pool along his crown, but it was secondary to his mortification. It was a struggle not to stagger and make himself look even more pathetic.

As expected, Kafka ran out after him, his own helmet off and sweat-soaked hair stuck to his temples.

“Here, lean on me,” Kafka tried sliding an arm around him, but he shook it off.

“I’m fine.”

“Yer dad’s continuin’ the class, no one’s gonna see,” Kafka assured him. Why was his friend always so perceptive at the worst moments?

“It was a rookie mistake,” he sighed, finally letting himself shift weight onto Kafka. Letting his guard down, letting the man overpower him, all rookie mistakes.

His friend shook his head, “That guy was fightin’ dirty. He just shoved ya outta nowhere and started punchin’ ya!” Kafka quickly lost his righteous wind, brows pinching the same way his father’s did, “He was on top ‘a ya, and cursin’ ya out too, it looked real bad.”

“Yer dad was so angry,” Kafka recounted quietly as he pushed the bathroom door open for them. “Told the guy not ta come back.”

Soshiro hummed in acknowledgement and made a beeline for the sink. Cupping his hands under the running tap, he threw cold water on his face. It helped ease the throbbing in his head, but the heaviness in his chest remained.

“Don’t beat yerself up about it,” a broad hand laid itself on his back. Splayed, it spanned almost end to end of his bony shoulders, and it made him feel small. Their size difference didn’t bother him most days, but now that he was off-kilter, he hated the limitations of his body. Why couldn’t he have hit a growth spurt sooner, and grown as big as Kafka?

As much as he wanted to shrug his friend off and yell his frustrations, there was no point. He could only move forward. Taking a deep breath, he let the warmth of Kafka’s hand ground him, and he took a heavy step backward into his friend’s steadying arms. The adrenaline was gone, and all he felt was tired.

Kafka gave him a tight hug from behind and leaned down to nuzzle his cheek. Gentle and comforting, like every other part of him. Bracketing Kafka’s lowered head with one arm, he pulled his friend’s head-cloth away and let it fall onto a dry spot on the countertop. He sank his fingers into feathery hair, and focused on combing through the damp tangles, trying to ignore the gnawing sense of failure. A low rumble rolled right by his ear, soothing vibrations filling his hollowed chest and calming his racing heart.

By the time they left the bathroom and returned to the dojo, his father’s students were already streaming out.

“Go home,” his father told him as he walked back in. There was none of his usual sternness. “Tell the housekeeper if ya don’t feel well.”

Nodding, Soshiro began stripping off his armour with jerky motions. He didn’t want to leave. Not until he made this right. But there was nothing he could do. At least, not now. Kafka followed suit, still casting worried glances at him in between removing their armour, keeping it, and collecting their bags to leave.

“Don’t worry, ’m fine,” he told his friend with a smile as a train blew past on the opposite platform.

Kafka’s apprehensive frown deepened. He looked as convinced as Soshiro felt.

Soshiro sat in the too-hot waters of his bath until they turned cold, unable to find the will to move just yet. He was in his own head again, picking apart every mis-step and assumption and inattention that had led to him being pinned. Head down and staring into the tepid water, watching droplets roll off the strands of his hair.

Eventually, he mustered up enough energy to stand, going through the motions of drying off and dressing before taking his practise sword outside to train. Head still buzzing with his failure, he needed to claw back assurance that he was doing something to improve. That he wasn’t sitting idle after that.

Settling into a low stance, he welcomed the strain in his thighs as he launched into one of his family’s technique sets. Letting them flow into one another he moved to the next, and the next, until he reached the end of that set. Panting, he dashed sweat away from his chin and started with another. Then another. Until he had run through all the individual sets. Only then did he pause for a break.

Cooling winds billowed through his loose training clothes, drying down the sweat on his heated skin. Tipping his head back, he took deep, measured breaths and fixed his gaze on the wide expanse of sky to distract from the burn ravaging his body. The moon hung above him, almost fully round and bright in the sky with barely any clouds to obscure it. Its porcelain sheen brought out memories of Kafka’s bone mask, and he realised he hadn’t seen it in a while. The wide toothy grin that cut across his friend’s armoured face had been cute.

Feeling rested, he lifted his practise sword again and held it out in front of him. Image training would be good too, and there was no better opponent than his brother. Conjuring a phantom of the bastard’s smug smile, ugly braid and insurmountable sword, he flicked through his mental library to one of their most recent bouts. Just before Soichiro had returned to base, they had faced off against each other for a couple of rounds, and the gap between them only seemed to have grown. His brother was getting real experience now, and he was still stuck using blunted swords against imaginary opponents.

He remembered every move his brother made that day. Every strike, every step, every twist of his body. Slamming his foot against the ground, Soshiro rushed forward, blocking his brother’s blade and countering. Before, he had disengaged immediately. Now, he tried pressing forward and setting up for another strike. His brother was quick to stop the advance by thrusting the tip of his sword to Soshiro’s throat. Backing away, he watched for another opening, or another attack.

For each key moment in the spar he tried new techniques, moving in a different direction, backing away when he would have advanced and vice versa. Yet, he couldn’t see himself winning. In the hundreds of times he had challenged his brother, he had never won once. Gritting his teeth as his ‘brother’ slashed his stomach, he stopped and gave himself a few minutes to recover. Another loss.

When those minutes were up, he threw himself into another one of their past spars.

He wasn’t like his brother, a one-in-a-million genius. He wasn’t like Mina, able to blast away a kaiju on her own at fifteen. He wasn’t like Kafka, the fearsome Kaiju No.7. He was surrounded by extraordinary people. It was painful being the one staring at their backs, chasing after them. All he could do was swing his sword and work ten times as hard, and hope it would be enough to reach them.

Just one more.

Just one more.

Just one more.

“Soshiro!”

Something solid stopped his sword mid-swing, breaking him out of his trance-like state. The ghost of his brother disappeared.

“Stop! Ya need ta rest,” Kafka held on to the end of the practise sword, grip unyielding as Soshiro attempted to pull away. He had been so focused that he hadn’t noticed his friend slipping onto the property.

“Let go.” He had to keep going. Just one more. He needed to do as much as he could tonight.

“No.” Kafka’s expression was fierce, lightning green piercing straight through him like a bullet and stripping him raw, tearing down his mask of nonchalance and exposing the festering core of anxiety underneath.

“Kafka!” he snapped, eyes sharp and glaring. As his friend, Kafka should have understood, but there he was getting in his way. Unsettlingly calm in a way that he wasn’t when they were hanging out. The intensity in Kafka’s expression and the set of broad shoulders made his resolve waver, just a little. Gritting his teeth, he shifted his weight back and dug his heels into the dirt, pulling with all his strength. It didn’t budge. Like trying to pull a sword from a stubborn, hard-headed stone.

Then, a slight tug where they were connected. Something so small shouldn’t have been enough to unbalance him, yet he found himself pitching forward. Reflexively, he reached out to catch himself, fingers sliding against the thin fabric of his friend’s sleep shirt. Thin, dark streaks stained the white cloth as he tried to steady himself, his forearms so weak he couldn’t form a fist.

Giving in, he laid his forehead against Kafka’s chest, gulping down air to quell the burn in his lungs. Stinging salt slid down his face and dripped off his chin. The weakness was in his legs too, thighs trembling fiercely in his hakama. If he tried to bend down to sit, he was certain he would fall, so he locked his knees and stayed standing. As much as it chafed him to admit, Kafka was right, he wasn’t in good shape.

A warm hand landed on his head, and he twisted his fingers into his friend’s soiled shirt, beating back the sudden swell of emotion closing his throat. He let Kafka wind an arm around him, holding him while he blinked the mist out of his eyes and took deep breaths. Quiet purrs rolled like waves beneath his cheek, and he closed his eyes against their beckoning lull. The sour tightness around his heart began to unwind as he buried his nose in the scent of detergent and a stormy garden.

Once he was settled, he stepped away. He didn’t want to look up at Kafka, afraid of what he would see, but he had never been one to bury his head in the sand. Lifting his chin, he met kind eyes with a defiant gaze.

Gentle hands cupped his cheeks, and a grin spread across a friendly face, “Looks like yer feelin’ better!”

“Ah! But that doesn’t mean ya can keep goin’, ya need rest!” a chastising twist pinched velvety lips.

Soshiro felt the urge to laugh, a smile curving against his will. He should have known. When had his friend ever kicked him when he was down, or taken advantage of his weaknesses? Kafka had seen him face-plant in mud and didn’t think any less of him. The punk had laughed at him though.

“Fine, I hear ya,” he tilted his head to shake off Kafka’s hands, smile now full-blown and creeping up his cheeks to reach his eyes. Kafka beamed down at him and backed away slowly, letting Soshiro stand on his own.

“But…” he clenched and unclenched his fist to test his grip. Staring down at the torn skin of his palm, he contemplated the stagnation in his training. Every time he picked up his sword, there was a nagging sense that he wasn’t progressing much from where he already was. And getting pinned when he should have been more alert was the final straw. Something needed to change. There would be no improving if he stayed, under his father’s thumb and in his brother’s shadow. He needed change. “I can’t stay here.”

“Huh?”

“Fer high school,” he decided. High school would be a fresh start. New experiences, new ways for him to hone his blade. “I’m gonna go ta Tokyo.”

Kafka studied his face, teal eyes clear and bright in the half-light of the moon. Then he nodded, firm and full of conviction. “I’m comin’ with ya!”

Soshiro reached up to pull his cheek, “Idiot, what about yer Mama?”

His friend held his gaze, with far more confidence than he should have had after being reminded of his injured Mama. A warm hand loosened his exertion-weakened fingers and pressed them flush to silky skin. “‘S fine, we’ll figure it out.”

Heat rose to Soshiro’s face in the brisk autumn air as he watched Kafka hold his ragged palm to one cheek, tilting his head to burrow deeper into the calloused curve. Soft eyes like the last leaves of summer gazed at him with wholehearted devotion. Sighing, he covered his eyes with his other hand, but the sight was burned into his retinas.

He’s gonna be the death of me.

Extra: Monster in the dojo

Watanabe Takao sat huddled up on his squeaky old sofa, a half-empty can of beer in his hand and several more littering the floor by the armrest. Taking another swig, he chuckled to himself. He had thought that a class taught by a Defence Force trainer would have had higher standards, but no. The instructor had brought his fucking teenage son in one day and introduced him as a teaching assistant. What a joke.

He hated everything about the boy. The stupid haircut, the closed eyes, the two-faced language. The constant, infuriatingly smug smile. On top of that, the boy didn’t seem to know his place. Always showing off, having the nerve to try to correct him.

He held in his complaints when the instructor’s actions reeked of bias, because it was impossible that some wet-behind-the-ears kid could perform a wrist strike better than he could. Hadn’t said anything when the boy’s friend started joining the class. Even held his tongue when he was forced to spar with the useless newbies instead. But when that showy bitch had countered his throat strike, that had been the tipping point for him.

He tried teaching the boy a lesson by beating the shit out of his friend, but the friend was abnormal too. No matter how hard he hit him, the friend would just brush it off like it was nothing. It was like hitting a brick wall. The grin he kept getting when he hit the friend’s ribs hard enough to break them started to get creepy. Was the kid a masochist or something?

Then, the spar earlier that night. The boy was acting as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t stepped out of line and disrespected his senior. Not just in age, but in rank too. Takao had held the nidan rank for years, far longer than that kid. Acting as if he was the teacher here, as if he was superior. Then the boy had ended the spar with minutes to spare, and he snapped.

The boiling rage had been so intense that he barely remembered what had happened. All he knew was that he wanted to pummel the boy so badly that he wouldn’t dare act so condescendingly any more. Either way, the boy deserved it. It was his fault for provoking him.

Then his head snapped back, and he was ripped away. Something slamming into him so hard that he thought he was about to cough up his stomach. There was a heavy weight crushing him to the floor when he tried to get up. No matter how hard he strained and pushed, the person holding him down was like a gorilla. It was probably Yamaguchi, that bastard. Former linebacker on his high school American football team, with all brawn and no brains.

When he could see clearly again, fear gripped his heart and sunk its claws deep inside. Whatever had him in its grasp was not human. Through the bars of a kendo helmet, a vengeful demon bore down on him. Horrifyingly grotesque, with a bone-white mask of death and more teeth than he could count shoved into its crevasse of a maw. Shark-like, bared, dripping with saliva. Steam fogged up the crack of its mouth, and ghostly fires blazed in the hollows of its sockets.

He could feel his mouth opening and closing, but his throat wouldn’t work. He was completely paralysed. Terror was consuming him, eating him alive the longer it snarled over him, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even scream.

Then it turned away and he could breathe again. It got up, with the body of a person dressed in kendo armour. Trotted over to the boy that started this whole mess. Put its arm around the boy to support him. Lifted its head. And suddenly it was wearing a human face.

The fucking friend. Maybe he had hallucinated the whole demon thing, but the green light in the friend's eyes told him otherwise.

He hadn’t wasted any time leaving. There was no point staying in a dojo with a biased, lousy instructor and his nepo baby son.

“Don’t come back,” the bastard had said, and Takao scoffed at the absurdity of it.

He wouldn’t go back even if that fucking sham of an instructor paid him. No way in hell.

Not while that boy had a rabid monster on a leash.

Chapter Text

“No.”

“Father?”

“Yer not going ta Tokyo.”

Soshiro slowly placed his wooden pick among the flecks of soybean powder lingering on his plate. The delicate sweetness of warabi mochi on his tongue was quickly fading. He fought to keep his gaze steady, to not let it drop towards the low table they were seated at.

This was not how he envisioned the conversation going when he sat down with his father for tea. Buoyed after getting support with the Watanabe situation, he had thought that convincing his father to let him study in Tokyo would be possible. Before he approached his father, he was certain it wouldn’t be easy, but he hadn’t expected to be shut down immediately.

“Why?” he kept his inflection light, trying for inquisitive. He couldn’t afford to sound whiny or too forceful. It would only cement his father’s decision.

“There’s no need fer it. You will attend the same high school as yer brother,” his father took a stately sip of his tea. “It’s a prestigious school.”

The walls began to close in on him and thick, heated urgency slithered around his chest. A cage trapping him in, keeping him where he was while he watched his friends soar. Forever in his brother’s shadow. Beneath the table, he dug his fingers into his hakama.

“Father, the high school in Tokyo is just as prestigious,” Soshiro reasoned. Seeing the slight tightening at the corner of his father’s lips, he threw out something the man would surely be interested in. “And it’s affiliated with a university.”

“Their curriculum will not be as rigorous,” his father dismissed.

“They’re known fer their academic excellence,” Soshiro countered. He had made sure to choose a high school on par with the one his father wanted him to attend.

Ceramic clacked softly against wood, echoing in the quiet room. The words that followed were just as sonorous. “No. My decision is final.”

It was a tone that brooked no argument. A signal that there would be no further discussion. Keeping the disappointment off his face, Soshiro dipped his head. Pushing further wouldn’t do him any favours. “Understood, father.”

A cup of tea steamed in front of him, untouched, and he debated leaving without drinking it. The tension between them was as thick as the vibrant green matcha swirling inside. Limp hands wrapped around the heavy cup before he could think too much about it. Leaving it untouched would be a waste of the housekeeper’s efforts. Heat travelled up from his palms, one step below burning as he took a measured sip. And then another. The usually mild, pleasant drink was strangely bitter and flavourless.

Within minutes his cup was drained and his stomach felt bloated from the sudden onslaught of drink. Dipping his head in a shallow bow, Soshiro excused himself from his father’s presence. A long, slow drag of tea grated his ears as he stepped out of the room and turned to slide the door closed. His father’s complete nonchalance after crushing his plans sent a fresh wave of discontent rising up in him. It took great effort not to slam the door shut like an uncouth brat.

Empty hallways echoed his brisk footsteps back at him, heavy and quick as he retreated to his room. The moment he shut the door, his phone buzzed with a notification. In an instant he was across the room, swiping it up from his desk and unlocking it to check his messages.

‘How’d it go?’ Kafka’s question sat unassumingly in his inbox.

Soshiro clicked into their chat and let his fingers hover over the keyboard.

‘Did he say yes?’ another message popped up in the thread.

Barely any time between them, Kafka must have been excited. Which meant his Mama had agreed, and they had figured something out. He stared down at the blinking bar in his own message box. What was he supposed to tell his friend?

Setting his phone down, he looked out into the garden, ablaze with fiery reds and yellows. Determination and indignance still burned in him, fed by the disastrous conversation earlier. Even if his father disapproved, he wasn’t ready to give up on his plan. There was still something he could do. His father would be in Hokkaido on the day of the Tokyo high school’s entrance exam - yet another request for him to train the Defence Force’s troops. As long as Soshiro could take the exam and accept the enrollment offer before his father realised what he was doing, his place in the school would be secured. Regardless of his father’s wishes.

‘Yeah, he did,’ Soshiro replied.

Sakuya woke to a prickling sensation in her calves, aching and tight like someone had thrown scalding water on them. Half asleep, she tried shaking them out and reached forward to massage them to ease the pain. Clumsy, questing fingers passed through empty air and she sobered instantly. The phantom pain that had been plaguing her on and off was back again, raking through limbs that were no longer there. Dropping back against her pillow with a sigh, she reached out for her pain medication, patting along the grainy wood of her bedside table to find the blister pack of pills. A careless swipe and her fingers struck the edge of it, sending it clattering to the floor.

Another heavy sigh as she laid her hand back on her stomach. Maybe she didn’t need it after all. Compared to the first month after returning home from hospital, the pain was manageable. Although calling for Kafka was an option, she didn’t want to bother her son. He was working hard, always studying late into the night to follow Hoshina-kun into high school. She had been shocked when he told her which school they would be applying to. A prestigious private school in Tokyo with a notoriously difficult entrance exam. From his gushing, she understood that they also had an exceptional kendo club. No doubt one of the reasons his friend wanted to attend.

The click of her room door halted that train of thought.

“Mama?”

Sakuya turned her head to see her son standing in the doorway, a shapeless form in the gloom. The walls in their apartment were thin, she should have known the slightest sounds would have alerted her son. Ignoring the throbbing pain below her knees, she propped herself up against the headboard. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

The dark shape shook its head and stepped further into her room, disappearing into thick shadow. With her waning night vision, there was barely a silhouette to follow. Only the muffled footsteps tracing around the edge of her bed allowed her to track her son. Before, the adorable click of blunted claws served as the perfect indicator. But after being found out at the Hoshina residence, by Captain Shinomiya no less, her son had become a lot more careful with his transformations.

“Was up anyways, ‘m still studyin’.” A large hand took hers, and something smooth was pressed into her palm. “Here, got ya some water.”

When had her baby grown up so much?

A slight chemical smell hit her nose as he bent down to pick up her medication, the pills rattling in the foil. Something that reminded her of whiting out typos on printed reports and flapping them dry.

“Did you run out of correction tape again?” she reached over for her night light, cup in her other hand hanging out over the void that was the edge of her bed. “I can ask Moriyama-san to pick some up tomorrow. She’ll be stopping by the department store with her daughter.”

It was difficult, getting used to relying on others in her current state. Constantly feeling like a burden, unable to do simple things she used to be capable of. Even getting stationery for her son had become a challenge, and the daily commute to work was almost impossible. When her company had told her they were letting her go due to her inability to be at the office, she had broken down quietly in her room while Kafka was at school. Decades of working for them, ended just like that. Without Mina’s mother referring her to a remote position at her company, Sakuya wasn’t certain she would have managed.

Kafka flicked on the light for her and nudged her into a sit, “‘S okay, I’ll get some after school.”

Settling back in bed, Sakuya watched her son crack a pill out of the blister foil with ink stained fingers. Small and waxy, she bobbled it around the hollow of his palm a few times before scooping it up and washing it down with a sip of water. Maybe it was just the dim light of her lamp, but her usually bubbly boy seemed tired, his complexion sallow. Twisting at the waist, she reached up to pat her son on the head. The dip of the mattress threatened to roll her over the edge, and she tensed her thighs to keep balanced.

“I know you’re working hard,” she smiled through the lethargy of the midnight hours. “Don’t sleep too late.”

Kafka pressed up into her touch, nuzzling into her palm like he always did. Years had passed since she had adopted him, but he was still such a cuddly child. Affection widened the curve of her smile. No matter how old he got, or how much he grew up, he would always be her baby.

“I’m fine, don’t worry ‘bout me,” her son cracked a grin. Tense at the edges, with a knot between his brows. Kafka was so expressive that she worried about him sometimes. It made her feel grateful for Hoshina-kun, a worldly friend willing to guide her naïve son. Though if she were reading things right, it seemed Hoshina-kun was interested in being more than a friend.

Feathery hair moved away from beneath her hand, and the blankets were drawn up around her. “I’ll head ta bed, soon as I finish up one last thing.”

The dark tint at the tips of his ears told her that he would be up for some time yet, but she chose to hold her silence. Her boy was a teenager, he didn’t need her breathing down his neck about bedtimes. Besides, there were worse things a teen could be doing than burning the midnight oil to study. “Goodnight, Kafka,” she slid further under the covers.

“Night, Mama.” A click, and they were plunged into darkness again. More muffled footsteps and another click, and he left her room.

Despite the sleep weighing on her lids, Sakuya stayed awake for another hour, listening to Kafka work. What he didn’t have in smarts, he made up for with effort. She just hoped his efforts would pay off.

Sharp, piercing rings woke Kafka from his nap. Groaning, he sat up and slid his hand across the table to find the source of the sound. Something pulled away from his cheek, fluttering down to join the other worksheets in the pile beneath his head.

Pawing at the ‘accept call’ button with his whole hand, he slurred into the phone, “Yeah?”

“Did you just wake up?” Kikoru’s accusatory huff filtered out from the speaker. “Kafka oji-san, you better not be slacking!”

Hastily swiping away the drool on his face with his palm, he looked down at the crinkle of wetness spreading across his quadratic equation. “‘Course not! I was studyin’!”

“So you study in your sleep?” she snickered. He could almost see her flipping her hair.

“Hey! I was jus’, restin’ my eyes,” he defended, but he knew it was hopeless. Kikoru was too busy laughing at him to listen, though it did sound a little softer than her usual cackles.

“So why are ya callin’ at,” he glanced at his clock, “five in the mornin’?”

Kikoru quickly fell silent. There was a faint rustling. “I’m hiding from Mama.”

“Why are ya hidin’?” Kafka yawned and swept his papers aside. He wouldn’t be getting anything more done before school.

Silence.

“Kikoru?” he prodded.

Then, her voice filtered through, so muffled he could barely hear it, “I don't wanna train today.”

“Ya don't? That’s not like ya.”

“Mama keeps telling me I suck,” she huffed.

Kafka paused, quirking an eyebrow in question even if she couldn’t see it. “That doesn’t sound like yer Mama.”

“No… but she’s always saying stuff like, ‘stop bending your wrist!’, and ‘open your eyes when you block!’, and bleh bleh,” Kikoru complained. In the background he could hear her kicking her feet, dull puffs as they smacked against something soft.

“I know all that but I can’t get it right!” the kicking got louder and faster. Then, it stopped. “I wanna get it right,” she sulked.

Kafka got how she felt, he was the same way with his classes. Careless mistakes still tripped him up constantly, and memorisation was difficult. Trying to improve was like wading through a swamp.

“That’s what yer practisin’ fer, yeah?” It tumbled out of his mouth before he could think too much about his words. “No one can do all that right away, that’s why yer trainin’. Yer Mama probably knows that better ‘n anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Kikoru’s sullenness gave way to curiosity.

“Well, she’s the best, right? That means she’s trained harder than anyone,” he reasoned, getting up from his chair to retrieve his backpack. “Ya work really hard too, with yer Mama, so I know you’ll get it.”

It wasn’t always the case for studying, but he didn’t tell her that. Concepts he spent hours trying to puzzle out, Soshiro understood them right away. Facts that refused to stay in his brain, Soshiro could recall perfectly. His own slowness frustrated him constantly and made him want to rip up the papers with his teeth.

“So you can be smart sometimes.” There was a hint of wonder in Kikoru’s voice.

The scathing remark had Kafka stopping short in the middle of his room to protest, “Hey! I’m smart all the time!”

“First, I’m gonna train so I can beat you.” She completely ignored him.

“Why me?”

“‘Cause you’re the weakest.”

“Gah!”

Kikoru really pulled no punches with her words.

“Papa and Mama are the strongest,” she mused. “Then Hoshina oji-san, Soichiro onii-san, Soshiro onii-san, Mina onee-san. Then you.”

A fire burned in Kafka’s gut at the less than stellar appraisal, “Yeah?!” He reared up, yelling into the phone, “Well… ya better train hard ‘cause I’m not gonna make it easy fer ya!”

“Hmph, there’s no way I’ll lose to you,” Kikoru declared confidently. Her voice became echoey as she pulled away, “Mama we have to go train so I can beat up Kafka oji-san!”

A click, and she hung up.

Kafka stood stunned, dial tone beeping in his ear as he scrambled his brain for a retort. She hadn’t given him any time at all to reply, leaving him there with his phone in his hand, mouth agape like an idiot.

“Argh!” he exclaimed again, but Kikoru was long gone. Hitting the ‘end call’ button, he tossed his phone onto his bed. “Why’s she so mean?” he asked his empty room as he lugged his bag over and shuffled up his papers.

Pressing his hand down against the wrinkled pile, he made a half-hearted attempt to flatten them out. The topmost sheets had turned into crumpled rags after being used as a pillow. Not that they were in good shape before that, covered with almost illegible scrawls and mounds of correction fluid. There were still so many things he needed to improve on, but he was running out of time.

A yawn crept up on him as he shook open his backpack and shoved his papers in. Blinking away sleepy tears, Kafka jerked the zipper closed and shuffled over to the gakuran laid out at the foot of his bed. Staying up every night to study until morning was starting to take a toll on him. Even though he didn’t need as much sleep as a human, he still needed some. His eyelids were heavy, and his brain was foggy, and he constantly felt like sleeping when he shouldn’t. He hated it.

But he hated the thought of being away from Soshiro even more.

Slapping his cheeks to wake himself up, he headed to the kitchen to start on breakfast. His Mama would be up soon, and he needed to get the eggs and toast ready by then.

The train carriage was too quiet and too loud all at once. The bustle of people getting on and off at the different stops as they sped closer to their destination. A quiet lull as exhausted early morning passengers scrolled on their phones and avoided eye contact. Soshiro glanced out the windows into the murk. To make it for their entrance exams, they had boarded the earliest train to Tokyo that they could get. There was barely a hint of light in the sky illuminating the rural land they flew past - not quite as dark as night, but a perfectly deep blue.

Beside him, Kafka was seated with his legs spread as far as they could go without spilling out of his seat. His hands were clasped between his knees, thigh jumping against Soshiro’s in a frantic rhythm. The expression on his face was so pinched he looked like he was nursing a stomach ache.

Soshiro shut the book that was balanced on his lap. He wasn’t doing as much reading as he had anticipated. Placing a hand over Kafka’s knee, his friend’s leg fell still for the first time since they left Shin-Osaka station. Dark eyes broke away from their dead-ahead stare, a worried light sparking in the haze that had come over them during their journey.

“What if uh, what if I don’t make it?” Kafka blurted, fingers twisting and pinching.

Soshiro drew his palm down the solid length of Kafka’s thigh, then back up again to his knee. Thick fabric bunched along his friend’s pant leg as he repeated the motion slowly, absently. “Ya will, I have faith in ya.”

Kafka remained tense beneath his touch, eyes wide and searching. Uncertain and afraid of what his fate would be. Soshiro was uncertain too. There was a good chance his friend would be accepted into the school, but there was an even bigger likelihood that his friend would be rejected. The entrance exam for the school was highly competitive, and although Kafka’s grades had been improving lately, they were both unsure if it would be enough.

Letting go of Kafka’s thigh, Soshiro took his friend’s tangled fingers and eased them apart. Pulled the hand closest to him onto one broad thigh and held it tight. “Even if ya don’t get in,” his mind was awash with memories of a similar conversation back in elementary school, “I’ll wait fer ya.”

Nervous laughter rang in his ear, “Won’t I be the one waitin’ fer ya this time? Ta come home?”

Annoyed, Soshiro flicked his friend’s ear, “Ya know what I mean.”

The strain in Kafka’s laughter melted away. There was a tug at their joined hands as his friend twisted around to grab a textbook out of his backpack. “I think I’ll do some more studyin’. I wanna go with ya.”

Humming his acknowledgement, Soshiro unlinked a few fingers so he could knead the fleshy pad at the base of Kafka’s thumb. He wanted his friend to go with him too. But whether or not he did… that was up to Kafka himself.

They alighted at Tokyo station and changed to a local line. Soshiro guided Kafka through the rush hour crowd by a death grip beneath his bicep. Every manoeuvre was a battle as people shoved them along like leaves in a river, and they almost missed the turn that would take them to their platform. Squeezing into a train carriage provided no relief either, there was barely any space for them to stand on. Kafka’s arm was wedged up against his chest, notes right in front of his nose as he went over English grammar rules with a knitted brow.

Stumbling out of the train at their stop was a literal breath of fresh air. Like Osaka, Tokyo was still in the throes of winter, and the biting cold made itself known the moment they stepped out onto the open-air platform. Stinging their cheeks and prickling their throats. Finally away from the suffocating crush of people, Soshiro loosened his grip on his friend’s arm and slid his chilled fingers down knotted muscle, tucking them into a warm hand.

Kafka hissed at the touch, “Yer ice cold!” Without missing a beat, his friend nestled their clasped hands into his jacket pocket. “Here, I’ll warm ya up.”

Soshiro turned his face into his scarf as they took the stairs down from the platform to the ticket gate. A swell of affection was rising in his chest, and he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from smiling. Already his lips were arcing upwards against his will, far wider than usual, their chapped edges snagging on woollen cloth. He knew he looked smitten, and he couldn’t let Kafka see it. Moving a half-step closer, he allowed himself to indulge in the heat radiating off of his friend instead. Kafka didn’t seem to notice, too focused on cramming as much last-minute knowledge as possible.

Getting to the school wasn’t difficult, the campus was only a short walk from the station. Another plus point about the school that he didn’t get to present to his father. It wasn’t long before the main building came into view, a stark white cuboid with glittering windows standing out against the bleak morning sky. Soshiro steered Kafka towards the school’s main gate, and they joined the sea of students entering the school grounds. Despite wearing the dark gakuran of their own school, they weren’t out of place at all among the mix of hopefuls streaming in. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t recognise many of the uniforms and school crests of the other candidates.

Beside him, Kafka drew in a long breath, and the pinched expression returned as they neared the exam hall. Soshiro gave the limp hand in his grasp a reassuring squeeze as they joined the line for registration. Another deep breath, and Kafka withdrew his hand from Soshiro’s hold to slap his own cheeks. “I’ve got this!”

Palms still sandwiching his face, he fixed Soshiro with a fiery stare, “You do yer best too! Don’t hold back fer me!”

That face and that drive, Soshiro couldn’t help but respond to it.

Before he could stop himself, he had reached up and cupped Kafka’s cheeks through the boy’s own hands. The scarf around his mouth slipped down and he could feel his canines poking out, scratching against his upturned lips. “In that case, ya better give it yer all and catch up ta me.”

A determined nod and a set jaw sent a shiver through him, and he was certain it wasn’t because of the cold.

“Good.” Taking Kafka’s hand, he pulled them both forward. The queue had moved on and they were blocking the flow. People were starting to stare.

Inside the exam hall, Kafka had to separate from him. Soshiro watched his friend march to the front of the hall, eyes fixed straight ahead and chest puffed out like he was going into battle. Settling down at his assigned desk, Soshiro stifled a laugh with the back of his hand as Kafka tried to sit and almost missed the edge of the chair.

It wasn’t until the exam papers were all distributed that the quiet anxiety snaking in the back of his mind burst loudly to the forefront. Not for himself, he was confident that he could score well enough to earn a place in the school despite the tough competition. Kafka on the other hand, wasn’t as prepared. Since elementary school his friend had always been starting far behind everyone else, and high school entrance exams were far less forgiving than middle school ones. At the proctor’s cue, he flipped the test booklet open and glanced briefly at his friend. Big and broad-shouldered, he seemed small in the cavernous exam hall. Taking a moment to throw out a hope to whoever was listening, he turned his full attention to the test paper. It would be humiliating if he failed the exam after his bold statement earlier.

Time passed swiftly, and the exam was over in a blink. Chairs scraping hardwood and post-exam chatter amongst friends brought life back into the cold, deathly quiet hall. Kafka slouched over to him with a groan, pencil case dangling from one hand, “It’s finally over.”

“Can’t believe we hafta do this again three more times,” his friend sagged, crown of his head dipping to a reachable height.

Acquiescing to his friend’s silent request, Soshiro patted the mess of dark hair. “Can’t be helped, we need ta have backups.”

Kafka huffed a soft whine of protest at the thought of more exams and bent down further, twisting his cheek into Soshiro’s touch like a needy puppy. “When we get home I’m gonna sleep fer days.”

Soshiro hummed his acknowledgement, thumb drifting aimlessly along his friend’s jaw, “As long as ya wake up in time fer the next entrance exam.”

Kafka made a snuffling noise in response, and by the droop of his head, was starting to fall asleep. Soshiro tapped the boy’s other cheek with his pencil case to rouse him. “We have a lot ‘a time before our train back. Anythin’ ya wanna do?”

Yawning widely and shaking himself awake, Kafka tucked his belongings under his armpit and took the hand on his cheek. “Can we go see Mina?” he asked as they walked out of the mostly emptied hall together.

A twinge of jealousy had his fingers twitching against his friend’s knuckles. They were in Tokyo together with time to explore the city, but Kafka’s first thought was to visit Mina. By the time they reached the cubbyholes their bags and jackets were housed in, he had managed to quash the sour feelings. Years later and he was still learning how to manage the need to keep Kafka away from everyone else. Even if that someone else was Mina.

Letting go of his friend’s hand, he dragged his belongings down from their high shelf and caught the falling weight on his chest. “She’s at school,” he reminded his friend as he pulled on his outerwear, now cold to the touch, and slung the straps of his bag over one shoulder. “Today’s a weekday.”

The look of surprise that passed over Kafka’s face was completely expected.

“Ya forgot, didn’t ya?”

An adorable, sheepish laugh curled around his ears as they walked out to the deserted courtyard and made a beeline for the exit. It made him want to keep needling his friend just to hear more of it, but he refrained.

Then, a familiar loud growl. Embarrassed pink spread across Kafka’s face.

“Let’s get somethin’ ta eat,” Soshiro decided. There was sure to be a few food shops near the school.

Outside the school gates, they made it a few paces before Kafka stopped and pointed to a community bulletin board populated with flyers. “How ‘bout that? Setagaya Plum Festival. Says they’ve got seasonal snacks!”

“Proper food first. I’m not lettin’ ya have dessert before lunch,” Soshiro nudged his friend along towards a nearby curry shop. Basic, but filling and affordable. Purchasing a round trip ticket to Tokyo on his own had wiped out most of his monthly allowance, so he needed to be frugal. And he knew Kafka would be more than happy with that choice of dining spot.

The steamy heat of the little store was a welcome relief from the biting chill outside, but they didn’t stay for long. Kafka tore into his food the moment the plates hit the table, inhaling every bite. Soshiro dug into his curry rice with more restraint, but he was hungry too after the long morning. It didn’t take long for them to polish everything off. Customarily, he took Kafka’s chin with a light grip and retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to dab away the outline of sauce along his friend’s lips. No longer as messy as he used to be, with his hands and face slathered in food, but there were still traces for Soshiro to clean up.

Braving the cold again, they made their way back to the bulletin board to get a better look at the flyer. Cheery pink and partially pinned beneath a poster advertising an orchestral performance, it proclaimed the Plum Festival’s location and opening hours in bold lettering.

“Hanegi Park, that’s about an hour from here,” Soshiro said, checking his phone for the fastest train route. “Ya still up fer it?”

“Yeah! I wanna try the snacks,” Kafka’s eyes were practically sparkling.

Soshiro held out his hand, and savoured the engulfing heat that warmed the frigid sting in his fingers. “Then let’s go.”

At that time of day, there were very few people out and about on the streets. Most were either at school or at work. It made their journey a lot smoother compared to the crush of crowds that morning. Making themselves comfortable among the many empty seats, they settled in for the long journey - Soshiro with his book propped open in one hand and Kafka nodding off against the top of his head.

Arriving at the entrance of the park, they were greeted by a gently sloping stairway leading in, plum trees lined up on either side. Delicate, thin-fingered branches reached out towards them as they trekked upwards, heavy with pink and white blooms. On their way to the festival grounds, a handful of people passed them by. Older folk, and a mother with her children. The pathways meandered up and down, and eventually deposited them in front of an open field. Rows of stalls were lined up on the grounds within a circle of towering trees, some lush with leaves or flowers, others barren. A gathering of benches had been set up off to one side, for festival-goers to sit and savour the plum-themed foods.

But the stalls were all shuttered.

Pieces of paper were pinned to the mottled grey metal, and a quick skim of their contents told Soshiro that they had made a mistake. The festival only ran on weekends. Thinking back to the flyer they had seen earlier on the bulletin board, he realised the overlapping poster must have covered up that crucial piece of information.

“It’s only on weekends?!” Kafka exclaimed, leaning up against the counter of one of the stalls, as if getting a closer look might change the message on the sign. When that didn’t happen, he hung his head between his arms, “Sorry, I messed up.”

“It wasn’t on the flyer,” Soshiro assured him, taking a seat on an empty bench. Even if there was no festival, the view of the park was still stunning. A sea of plum blossoms in full bloom and an unbroken, cloudless sky. If there was an ongoing festival on the park grounds, they would not have had such picture-perfect scenery. Quiet, undisturbed, almost private. Reminiscent of his botched attempt to confess, months prior.

The bench creaked beneath him as Kafka sat down heavily, so close that their thighs brushed.

“Kind’ve a waste, we came out all this way,” his friend’s words slowly devolved into a yawn. “The place is real nice, though.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed easily, though 'nice' was an understatement.

This place is perfect

Surrounded by the tranquil beauty of flowering plum trees, more than half a year after the Odawara incident, it was the perfect time to confess.

“Kafka?”

“Mm?”

He was standing on a precipice.

“I-”

Shaking away the hesitation, he took a steadying breath and prepared to take the plunge. Stalling and allowing another interruption would be unacceptable. He had waited too long for the perfect opportunity to confess again.

“I like ya.”

Soshiro braced himself for the reply like he was bracing for a physical hit. Every muscle in his body tense, every nerve strung. Staring down at the clenched fists in his lap, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at his friend. Afraid of what he might see on Kafka’s face, and afraid of what Kafka would see in his. But the responses he was expecting never came. No confused yelling, no emphatic apology that he couldn’t accept Soshiro’s feelings. In fact, there was no response at all. Only the twittering of birds and dry rustle of wind through the trees.

A soft thump broke the silence. Something heavy landing against the side of his head. Gentle snores from above him.

Kafka had fallen asleep in the middle of his confession.

A reflexive wave of embarrassment and bitterness at another failed confession made him feel too warm for his own skin, even in the winter. But it was short lived as Kafka’s head dropped down to his shoulder. That close, and in the bright light of the afternoon sun, the dark circles ringing the underside of his friend’s eyes were a shock against tan skin. He hadn’t known Kafka was capable of having them in the first place. Since they were kids, his friend needed barely any sleep to look rested and energetic. It was surprising to see the boy in this state, drained and falling asleep in the middle of the day. Studying himself into exhaustion just to stay with him.

Dedication and effort and a desire to be together.

Was that… Kafka's love?

Soshiro skimmed the tips of his fingers across bruise-dark colouration, and watched his friend's eyelids flutter at his touch.

“Can I take that as yer answer?”

The only sounds were quiet huffs of breath and the hush of a peaceful garden.

Extra: Sleepy

Soshiro was saying something.

Making a noise of acknowledgement, Kafka tried to focus but his eyelids were like bowling balls and his consciousness was slipping like sand through his fingers.

Giving in, he let his head fall.

If it was something important, Soshiro would tell it to him again later.