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Soshiro lands another nasty blow to Kafka’s side. Knock-back forces the man to land hard on his hindquarters. The trainee groans miserably, suffering a blooming soreness where he’d been struck. Three hours of educational brutalization by Soshiro’s fists have left Kafka bone-tired. A reasonable person would’ve pleaded for mercy by now. Kafka, however, is not a reasonable man. Swaying as he rises, Kafka regains his footing and shifts back into a fighting stance. His body threatens to fall at any moment, as evident by the tremor in his legs. As much as Soshiro appreciates Kafka’s dedication, he cares about his trainee’s health, too.
“Alright, break time. I’ll give ya’ half an hour.” Without further comment, Soshiro lifts his jacket from where he’d thrown it to the ground earlier and slings it over his left shoulder. He turns to walk away, making it three steps before Kafka shouts from behind.
“Vice-captain, wanna eat lunch together this time?” His subordinate asks, wheezing while his lungs recover from prolonged exertion. Weeks ago this wouldn't be a question, as Soshiro likes treating the goof to a meal. But recently, Soshiro’s made a habit of finding excuses to evade eating with Kafka. Turning down lunch offers is the new routine.
Soshiro glances over his shoulder. He’s greeted by Kafka’s wide turquoise eyes, two bright windows into the soul. The older man wears a kind, and slightly bashful, expression. With Kafka, every invitation is earnest. From the start of their private training, he's worked hard to bridge the professional gap between them and form an honest friendship. Soshiro wishes Kafka hadn't put so much effort into it, because his attempts worked too well. Soshiro can’t endure it any longer. Saying no to Kafka’s eager eyes is a necessity if he wants to keep his sanity.
“Not today, Kafka. I got business.” Soshiro’s lie extinguishes Kafka’s excitement. Kafka’s friendly grin tightens, but remains upturned. The superior officer laughs to dispel the tension. As his hands push the doors of the exit, he calls back, “Don’t make that pathetic face! I’ll be coming back in thirty minutes, ya’ dope!”
Finally, Soshiro exits without looking back at those sincere eyes. The last thing he wants is to be confronted by the guilt of avoiding a good friend. The heavy double doors to the training room shut behind him with a bang and click. Soshiro rubs his eyes, exhausted by the brief interaction. He reminds himself that this self-imposed distance is crucial. Weekly lunches with Kafka would only make Soshiro’s life harder.
The vice-captain finds a table to sit at outside the Ariake Base cafe. The surrounding area is serene mid-day. Clusters of First Division officers are present nearby, though they keep to themselves. Unlike their captain, the officers aren’t bold enough to cause issues for a superior officer from another division. In the many times Soshiro has visited in the past, the Ariake officers tended to scurry away as he approached. Now as he’s on lunch break, he’s grateful they give him space. Were he to have an audience, he’s not certain he could tolerate the inevitable dietary questions they’d have for him.
A viscous growl from his stomach reminds him that he should start eating. Soshiro pats the pockets of his slacks before dipping inside them in search of his lunch. His fingers explore the depths of his pocket, sorting through stray pens and loose change. Eventually, his fingertips graze a rectangular shape deep in his pocket. Soshiro pulls out the mystery bar, then unwraps it. It’s an average-sized granola bar. The flavor is a generic oats and honey blend; plain and dry.
“Here goes nothing,” He mumbles. His hand hesitates slightly before he brings the bar to his mouth for a bite. The flavor is dull, as he expected. The texture is uncomfortable, as expected. Worst of all, the bar is hard to chew. Under normal circumstances, Soshiro would never eat a snack this awful. Unfortunately though, after a long day of working on an empty stomach, he needed the fuel. Even if that fuel is a nearly inedible granola bar. His actions are a result of desperation. Soshiro curses under his breath as he resists a gag. If he was confident he’d be able to keep a better meal down, he’d do that instead.
Sitting alone in his granola bar misery, Soshiro’s mind wanders to Kafka’s offer for company. If Kafka were here, he'd at least have entertainment while he suffers. The older man had clearly wanted to chat with Soshiro, as good friends should. Guilt swirls in Soshiro's chest, adding an irritating heaviness. As bad as he feels, he’s also pretty angry at his subordinate. If it weren’t for his previous lunches with Kafka, Soshiro would be eating a normal, healthy meal today! Hell, he’d even be able to drink his usual coffee and tea!
“S’all his fault,” Soshiro grimaces as he suffers another taste of the gross bar.
While consuming his bar in slow, reluctant nibbles, Soshiro checks his cellphone. He clicks through unread messages and types out quick replies. He doesn’t mean to re-read his texts with Kafka, but his fingers tapped on the chats instinctively. Their last conversation was about Kafka’s chin stubble. Kafka had confided in Soshiro that he wanted to shave his facial hair to appear younger. In response, the vice-captain teased that shaving would only make him more difficult to take seriously. Scrolling further back through the messages, Soshiro re-reads as much as he can. They have great chemistry. Jokes flow smoothly between them. Admittedly, Soshiro never had such an expansive text backlog with anyone before Kafka came into his life. Scrolling further, he pauses at the sight of his most regretted message. It was stupid; a slip in his usual calculated, witty banter. Really, he should've kept his mouth shut. His message reads: "Kafka, come over to the Ryunei Shrine in an hour. I got something to tell you." Kafka, utterly clueless, and completely wonderful, replied a minute later: "K!" If Soshiro could go back in time, he'd tell himself to pick a less important location. Or to not say anything at all. Being rejected in front of the Ryunei Shrine was one of the lowest points of the year for him. He'll never forget the devastatingly apologetic expression Kafka held. That dope! The whole thing was so humiliating Soshiro asked him never to mention it again, or make that dopey face again. Soshiro’s stomach churns at the influx of embarrassing memories. He switches to reading chats from Captain Ashiro and drowns himself with work messages. That temporarily settles his insides.
After he swallows the last bite of his bar, Soshiro tosses the wrapper in the trash as he leaves the quiet cafe front. For a moment, he considers it a successful lunch. He walks leisurely down the corridors to resume his training with Kafka. He almost makes it to the door before misfortune strikes. Severe abdominal pain halts his steps. It’s a familiar, sharp tightness in his core. It takes all of Soshiro’s willpower to not double over in the hallway.
“Ya’ gotta be kidding me,” Soshiro curses under his breath. He’d been so careful! He spent the entire day without food! How could a single granola bar activate his illness?
Gathering every ounce of energy left in him, he pivots and walks in the opposite direction of the training room. He gives weak nods to officers passing by as he makes a beeline to the only public single-stall bathroom on base. The elusive bathroom is located all the way on the basement floor next to a janitorial closet. It’s old and rarely used. The only reason Soshiro knows about it is because Captain Narumi told him that it’s the only bathroom the Third Division officers are allowed to use when they visit. Obviously, everyone ignored that “order” and used the regular bathrooms, but Soshiro remembers the directions clearly. It takes six minutes to reach the elevator, wait for it to take him to the basement, and another four minutes of wandering to find the infamous single-stall bathroom. It’s a pain to have to move when his organs are raging against him, but to handle his sickness, he needs privacy. He can’t alert anyone to his condition. Ashiro will absolutely bench him if she suspects he's sick. Nothing scares Soshiro more than losing the ability to do this job. So, when he reaches the private bathroom, he slams the door a little louder than he means to, closing it so tightly that not even a fly could enter behind him.
There isn’t any warning. In seconds, Soshiro goes from locking the door, to heaving over the sink. He turns the faucet nobs until they reach their highest pressure. He prays that the loud rush of water drowns out his violent gagging. The basement is sparsely populated, but not completely empty, so some caution is required. Heavy water bounces droplets off the porcelain sink to lightly splash against Soshiro’s face. He's too busy gagging to pay it any mind. Out of his throat, vibrant blue and white flowers crawl up. With each heave, petals and stems fill the sink below him.
Soshiro regrets eating that damn granola bar.
What felt like an eternity passes before his flower faucet finally cuts off. The sink is one-half blue delphinium and one-half white daisies. All of the petals are mixed together in a soup of Soshiro’s stupid unrequited feelings. The joy of a blossoming new love is encased in the happy yellow eye of the gorgeous white daises. The bitterness of rejection screams brightly through the toxic blues of the delphinium.
These are the cruel, taunting flowers of Soshiro's early stage hanahaki disease.
Soshiro laughs weakly, encouraging a few coughs to clear his throat.
The irony tickles him.
A painful illnesses that stems from love.
What a joke.
By now Kafka is likely wondering where the vice-captain is, so Soshiro texts him an excuse to ease his mind.
“Gotta cancel on ya’, bud. Something came up. Repeat your exercises for the remainder of the day.” Sent instantly.
“Is everything ok?” Kafka responds a moment later. "You seemed kinda out of it earlier."
Soshiro laugh-coughs again after reading that. Kafka makes it hard to not love him. Soshiro selfishly enjoys being fret over. Kafka is the right amount of curious and caring. Soshiro debated revealing his condition to Kafka when he first developed symptoms, though ultimately he decided not to. He doesn’t want Kafka to ever make that ridiculous apologetic face again; once was enough. Soshiro ignores Kafka’s question for now, making a mental note to reply once he’s at Tachikawa Base.
When Soshiro is finished removing all traces of his flowers from the sink and transferring them to the trash can, his only priority is leaving Ariake. In only twenty minutes, he’s able to walk to the station and catch the very next train to Tachikawa. As he steps onto the platform, he scolds himself for being a coward. As a vice-captain he should be able to handle this heartbreak bullshit. He should be able to train Kafka without these emotions destroying his body.
He should be able to, but he isn’t.
After settling in his subway seat, Soshiro’s phone buzzes.
It’s Kafka, again.
Soshiro assumes that his nervous wreck subordinate got worried by his silence. From the looks of it, Kafka decided to clarify his previous message, “Sorry if that question seems sudden! I've noticed you don’t seem all that eager to hang out lately. Which is totally fine! You don’t need to force yourself to do this for my sake. It won't change our friendship.”
Soshiro scoffs. He knows what Kafka is implying. The dope is trying to spare Soshiro the pain of being around an unrequited love. A reasonable person would've accepted the easy out and called off the one-on-one training arrangement. For better and for worse, Soshiro is not a reasonable man. His fingers type furiously, “Dummy! You say I don’t need to train you, and yet you still can’t throw a proper punch! Seriously, you have some nerve! I’m your superior, not a damsel, idiot!” Soshiro’s heart aches slightly as he types reassuring messages, “Besides, I told you a little rejection won’t break me. I really am just busy, Kafka. I promise.”
Kafka, utterly clueless, and completely wonderful, replies instantly: "K! I guess I was overthinking sorry!"
Hoshina turns his phone off and stares at his reflection in the train window. His eyes are puffy and pink at the edges. He looks so terrible that he wonders if his mirror image exists to mock him. If so, it’s done its job.
“I’m a real dumbass.”
Soshiro turns his head away when his stomach churns.