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Contrary to popular belief, the fourth floor of Ariake base’s west block is not haunted.
Narumi is a thousand percent sure because sadly, he’s not met a single paranormal creature since he stepped foot into this base nearly a decade ago, not even during the so called Devil’s Hour. If anything, the ghosts should be scared of him—he could kick their sorry asses with his left pinky alone, which is precisely why he’s confused as to how he jumps a foot high when the door to the training room slams open. He resolutely doesn’t squeak like a terrified loser, though.
“Commander Narumi,” Hasegawa greets, face unreadable, “it’s thirty five minutes to sunrise.”
Oh. He’s pissed. Narumi slices through another target anyway, and one more before he flips mid-air, landing on his feet with ease.
“And?”
“And? And?” A vein bulges on the side of Hasegawa’s forehead. “Don’t make me drag you to bed. You’ve been here the whole night! Medical has barely cleared you for light physical training, of course you’ve gotta go and defy that with all you’ve got. ”
“What does it matter? I can stand already,” Narumi retorts. Jeez, the old geezer is really beginning to sound like his mother. He swallows the ‘what’re you, my ma?’ threatening to pour from his mouth, since he knows better than to actually die an early death.
All the fight seems to seep out of Hasegawa in less than a second. He just looks old and resigned now. Narumi fights back a grin. Ha. Victory yet again! Narumi versus Hasegawa, 2975 to zero.
“Whatever. Go take a bath and report to south block by 0500. Since you’re so keen on returning to your duties, we’ve got back-to-back meetings with the second, third and fourth divisions today.” He’s out of the room before Narumi can even begin to protest, the door slamming in his face, leaving him alone once again.
As if his body’s mocking him for his karma, Narumi is abruptly hit with a blinding pain in his ribs and head. He reluctantly slumps onto the floor with a pained grunt, breaths harsh, curling into himself. Well, maybe the geezer was half-right. But he had been fine this morning, and yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. That’s three full days wasted away recuperating from the damage inflicted by that weirdo Nine and his stupid ragtag team. Three days too many. Narumi isn’t weak enough to need more time.
An image of a white plastic bag sitting on his bedside table flashes through his mind, and Narumi clenches his teeth, anger rising hot and quick. Right. There’s no way he’ll be beaten so easily, not with the results he’s been producing, but it sure does feel like a certain someone has the blind confidence that they can surpass him soon. Narumi plants one leg into the ground, rising to his feet, and quietly picks 3305 up again.
Hell would freeze over before he lets that happen.
__
Three days after Nine lost to the defense force, on the second day of rotting away doing absolutely crap, Narumi woke up and found a plain plastic bag sitting on the table beside his bed in medical. There was no note, no notice of information to give away who its sender was. Believing Hasegawa had sent him some snacks and hopefully, a new manga, he excitedly opened it, only to see a stack of heated eye masks, a bottle of defense tech customized eye drops and a small plastic eye massage roller.
Puzzled, he fished around the contents and managed to pull out a folded slip of paper. It read:
get well soon!
-HS
Short, simple, written in neat handwriting. It took Narumi all of seven seconds to realize who those initials belonged to, and then he was hurling it across the room, beyond pissed. Five things ran through his mind in chronological order. Hoshina sent the thing, which meant he was most probably already discharged, doing his duties, training. If he was training already, he recovered way faster than Narumi did, which either meant he wasn’t that badly hurt during battle, or he just had better healing abilities. The tiny, odd sense of relief he felt was instantly washed over by the next thought: if it was the first case, then Hoshina had held his ground far better than Narumi had in that final boss fight. Even if it was the second, Hoshina must have realized it too, and he decided to rub it all in Narumi’s face by sending him this idiotic package and note, which led to his final conclusion.
Hoshina Soushirou was mocking him.
“Fuckin’ bowl cut bastard,” he seethed.
Narumi moved back to his quarters that same night, because Hoshina Soushirou wasn’t foolish to step into his personal space unannounced and unwarranted. He was going to stay as far away from him as possible if it kept him from punching the lights out of that asshole on sight, but it seemed that God, or in this case, General Itami, had other plans.
“Why’re you still here,” he grits out as he hacks and slashes at the targets without stopping once. “Half of Tokyo isn’t enough for the third, so you tryna take over Ariake base too?”
“Just here to train, Commander,” Hoshina replies easily from the door. It’s impossible to get a read on this guy other than his enormous signal flow. It just pisses him off even more.
“Copying me now too, huh.” He blasts a shot at a target on the ceiling. Without warning, a weird ache blossoms near his lower back, and he hides his wince with another twist-and-flip to tear through the new target on his left. He can’t show pain, especially not with Hoshina lurking by the entrance, watching him like a goddamn stalker.
“Ya ain’t the only one who can’t go to bed at normal timings,” Hoshina drawls. It’s teasing. Still, Narumi hates that he catches on to the slightest undercurrent of concern in his tone. He immediately throws the information out of his head as hard as he can and nearly faceplants into a target. Nearly. Only because he isn’t activating #1.
“Whatever. Stop distracting me. You’re distracting! Go slice up your own training room or somethin’.”
He already has the perfect rebuttal for whatever Hoshina is going to say, but it gets suspiciously silent for too long. When narumi has his eyes on the door again, it’s shut closed, and Hoshina is nowhere to be seen. Huh. The bastard actually listened to him without putting up a fight for once.
He blames his disappointment on not breaking his target elimination record and begins another round. And another, and another. He doesn’t stop when the ache grows into uncomfortable pain and spreads across his body, doesn’t stop when his sweat drips ceaselessly from his chin and brows and every inhale feels like grinding the inside of his lungs against concrete, doesn’t stop when 3305 accidentally slips from his grip because his fingers are trembling from exertion.
I don’t need incompetent officers in the first division.
He glares at his weapon lying on the floor, out of breath.
There are words in my memories that I’ll deliver in place of your master. Eleven echoes in his ear. A ghost of a memory. A ghost of a man he failed to impress, and never will get the chance to. I don’t need an incompetent officer.
He picks it up and readies his stance again. “Tch.”
“Not exhausted yet?” Hoshina’s voice floats from somewhere behind him. Narumi whirls his head around to find the vice captain leaning against the doorframe in the exact pose from before, only this time he’s drenched in sweat and lightly flushed from his own training, bangs sticking stupidly to his forehead.
He still looks good.
Narumi mentally vomits out all the expletives in his book and stands upright, heading for the reset button on the wall. “Didn’t I tell you to stop bothering me, bowl cut.”
“Well, I’m kinda bummed then. I was just thinkin’ of askin’ ya for a spar before I leave.”
That does grab his attention. Hoshina has never asked to spar with him before. Narumi always knew it was because Hoshina was too much of a wuss to properly face him in a weapons match-
“Close quarters. Hands only. Sound good to ya?”
Hell no. Narumi turns back again, about to tell him to fuck off, but Hoshina’s sporting this shit-eating grin that, quite literally, spikes his rage to its boiling point. He’s positive that steam will be rising from the top of his head if it can. GS-3305 drops to the floor with a deafening clang. Narumi mirrors Hoshina’s expression with his own smile, not a hint of warmth in it.
“Fine by me.”
Hoshina actually has the nerve to seem pleased by his answer. He carefully sets his knives in a corner and walks to the center of the room, stopping a few arms’ length away from Narumi. He’s got a foot and hand behind him as he drops his center of balance, raising his other arm into the stance Narumi has familiarized himself with far too well. Unfortunately for him, Hoshina isn’t the only soldier who’s had Shinomiya Isao’s Squadron Style Fighting Techniques drilled into every cell of theirs upon entering the force.
Narumi lowers himself into the same position and smirks, feeling his body heat roll off him in satisfying waves. Hoshina may be a master in close quarters combat, but right now, he’s just another sorry piece of meat who walked right into the lion’s den—Narumi’s skin has kissed every damn inch of this floor enough times to know exactly which spots are dented in, which are jutting out, and which cause extra friction without having to look at them. He cocks his head to the side when Hoshina doesn’t budge.
“What, too scared to lose?”
Hoshina’s reply never comes. At least, not verbally. His eyes finally open wide enough to reveal blood colored orbs, then he’s moving.
And Hoshina Soushirou moves fast.
Narumi narrowly dodges the punch aimed right at his solar plexus with heavily concealed surprise, swiftly countering with his own fist aimed towards his lower jaw. Hoshina swerves it with one single side-step and immediately drops low, planting both hands against the floor and leaning all his weight on one leg in a painfully obvious manner. Too bad Narumi can see that textbook sweep coming in four moves ago. He backs away from the strike range, settling into another Squadron Style attack stance. This is way too easy.
What he doesn’t see is Hoshina diverting his weight into that same attacking leg with lightning speed, kicking out his other leg, and repeating the sweep. Only now it slams into Narumi’s right shin with enough force to knock him off his stance. Pain blooms fiercely across his leg as he instinctively steps forward to regain his balance, throwing his arms out. Wrong fucking move.
Hoshina takes full advantage of his open torso to land a heavy kick into his chest. Narumi crashes onto the ground with a punched out gasp, feeling the wind get knocked out of him. Fuck. The bastard actually knows how to fight dirty! He barely manages to orient himself before Hoshina’s coming full force down with a fist and a hollowness in his eyes Narumi only ever catches glimpses of in the battlefield.
Fucking thrilling is what it is.
Narumi rolls to the side and heaves himself onto his feet, feeling every bit of the adrenaline coursing through his veins like electricity.
He’s grinning wide again before he can stop himself. “That all you got?”
Hoshina stares him down, unwavering. “S’ my line, Commander.”
God. This guy knew exactly how to piss him off. What a shame he also knew how to keep Narumi on his toes. He can count on one hand the number of people who can do that. Time to switch it up, then.
He goes for offence this time, baiting a head punch. Hoshina expectedly raises his hands to block, leaving his torso wide open. Narumi pivots at the last minute, channeling all his strength and more into his left shoulder and elbow and-
There it is again. That blinding pain in his rib from where Nine pierced through him. Narumi jerks back, hands flying to clutch at his side as he hisses. He sees Hoshina pause. Sees his eyes widen in shock. Sees him go loose around the edges and take a step forward.
Meat in the lion’s den.
“Heh.”
Narumi drives one leg into the floor and punches. Hard. His first fist collides somewhere near Hoshina’s lower left, the second right against his cheek. Hoshina stumbles back with a splutter, hands flying to his side and face as he glares at Narumi. He laughs breathlessly through the pain.
“One to zero.”
That seems to ignite a different flame in his eyes that makes them glow like wine. He isn’t backing down anytime soon, which merely spurs Narumi on. Losing isn’t in the damn equation for him; Hoshina also isn’t the only asshole who knows how to win with dirty scrapyard techniques. Narumi slowly brushes his hair back with one hand, eyes never once leaving the other’s. He bets the air around them is cracking and sizzling with enough thick tension to suffocate a normal person. But not Narumi, duh, he’s far above average.
Narumi lunges for him again, abandoning Squadron Style all together. He crashes into the hard line of Hoshina’s body, fully intent on toppling him over, but Hoshina parries with one leg wrapped around his thigh and an arm wrapped around his shoulder. Everything goes weightless for half a second, then Narumi’s front is being rammed into the ground before he can even process…what…just happened…
It hurts. His chin hurts. He can’t move his arms. His chest hurts like a bitch, and he feels like he can’t breathe again. Probably because there’s a suffocating weight on his back. He whips his head to the side and looks up as much as he can from the current position he’s trapped in. Hoshina looms over him, one knee digging into his back, not a single emotion showing on his fox face.
Oh.
He gets it now. Hoshina just threw him, didn’t he. He just did.
Narumi’s vision goes red.
“Tch!”
Focusing all his power into his hips and legs, he jerks upwards to throw Hoshina’s leg off of him. It works. Hoshina lets go of his arms and he pushes his elbows into the ground, flipping himself around as fast as he can. He shoves the bastard with all the strength he’s got before Hoshina can bother with an attack, not the least bit surprised when the brute doesn’t immediately fall to the ground. Doesn’t matter. He’s the one with more pure strength anyway. Narumi grips both his arms and hastily stomps a foot into the junction between his thigh and pelvis, forcing him to go down, a grunt escaping him.
Narumi rapidly swings a leg over, dropping his dead weight entirely on Hoshina’s hips, effectively pinning him in place as he wrestles his arms into submission. All his attention has been finally, finally narrowed down to the roar of his heartbeat thumping violently in his ears and the never ending adrenaline high whiting out all other useless crap in his head.
It feels awesome.
Narumi hasn’t achieved this feeling since…since the fight with Eleven, when he broke past his limiter with number one. It isn’t quite like autopilot, more freeing… more exhilarating. It’s also insanely clear, like he knows exactly what he needs to do to win, to end the fight and come out on top as always. It’s like he can see.
“…der Narumi.”
Yes. He can see…Hoshina. Hoshina Soushirou.
"Narumi."
That’s Hoshina’s signal flow, yes it is. It is also currently going batshit erratic?
“Gen!”
Narumi blinks. The stunning clarity in his head is gone. Instead, Hoshina is laying in front of him, still on the ground with his hands pinned haphazardly by his sides, panting slightly. Irritation overwhelms him and he sneers.
“First off, don't fucking call me Gen ever again. Only one person gets to call me that. Second, it’s two to zero now, bowl-cut. We go again.”
Hoshina, to his disappointment, eyes him wearily for a moment too long. “I’ll hafta decline, Commander.”
Narumi feels his smile fade. “What?”
Hoshina uses the chance to wriggle his arms out of his grasp before he reaches for Narumi’s face. He tenses, reflexively shutting his eyes. What a goddamn liar! Faking a surrender to get Narumi to drop his guard so he could punch his face-?
Warm, calloused skin brushes beneath his left eye, then his right, void of every bit of the violent strength Narumi had been fully anticipating. It almost feels like. Like this touch is meant to be gentle. Clumsy. Delicate.
Narumi musters the courage to open his eyes, and the sight in front of him has his next breath catching in his throat.
It’s just Hoshina. Hoshina with eyes way too understanding to be meant for him. Hoshina with his lips drawn into a thin line of superficially disguised worry. Hoshina touching him like he’s...like he's afraid of hurting him. It’s just Hoshina. But it’s not him either. It's not the him Narumi knows. Has grown used to.
For once in his life, Narumi doesn’t know what to do.
“Said no weapons. You broke that rule,” Hoshina croaks out, voice catching on nothing.
It’s so, so tender. His thumbs draw away, stained with blood. Narumi, in a split-second, mortifying realization, finds himself aching for those thumbs on his face. "I ain’t sparrin’ with rule-breakers.”
“Bullshit,” he spits, but he’s trembling.
Ah. It’s no good. The fight’s draining out of him. Hoshina smiles so terrifyingly soft.
Narumi doesn't know what to do.
“Bullshit,” Hoshina repeats quietly, his hands settling on the low of Narumi’s hips.
Narumi’s heart leaps into his throat. For the smallest, most fleeting moment, he thinks of the one thing he can’t allow himself to have. Thinks of what it must be like to have hands on his hips anytime he wanted, thinks of eyes watching him from afar, filled with emotions that aren’t just spite and annoyance, thinks of lips against his skin, his ears, gentle encouragement spilling without hesitation. Thinks of it all.
Thinks of Hoshina Soushirou.
It vanishes just as quick.
Hoshina puts more force into those palms, silently urging Narumi off of him. He goes easily, landing gracelessly onto the cold concrete without protest. The ghost of Hoshina's hands on his hips and face burns relentlessly into his skin.
“Thanks for the match, Commander Narumi. I’d really love to beat ya someday,” Hoshina quips, back to normal as he dusts himself off and picks up his knives and jacket. As though nothing just happened.
“Huh,” Narumi says eloquently, his world spinning in cruel, cruel circles.
“I’m leavin’ for Tachikawa right after I freshen up, so I guess it’ll be a while before we cross paths again,” he chirps. Narumi hates that he catches on to the undercurrent of- of something. Of many things he can’t quite pick out anymore. “Hope you’ll fix yer sleep schedule by then.”
Hoshina slides the door open and makes it out halfway before he halts. The hallway shines dimly with the first rays of sunrise. Narumi blames that for softening Hoshina’s expression when he turns around to face him, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Take care of yourself, won’t ya? Seeing you in pain like that...s' not like ya.”
And then he’s gone.
For a length of time he doesn’t bother to note, Narumi sits in the center of the cold, hollow training room he’s become so intimately familiar with, feeling the most out of place he’s ever felt. There’s a stabbing ache in his rib and his heart’s still lodged firmly in his throat, making it so annoyingly hard to breathe. He blames that, too, as the reason why his breaths are shaky and his eyes are burning.
‘Fuck you, stupid fox-eyed bowl cut. You won’t ever beat me. Stop actin’ like you’re all high and mighty and shit’ is what he truly, really means to say. Really. He's not joking. But. But everything’s hurting bad and messing with his brain, so he hangs his head low and brokenly chokes out words he maybe, just maybe, should've said a while ago.
“Don't go.”