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In the middle of the night, the hall to the training rooms felt harsh and yellow. Without the usual rustling of officers training their hand-to-hand skills, it felt wrong to be wandering here. It was better than sitting in his dark bedroom trying to ignore the sweat-stained sheets tangled from his thrashing, though.
Kafka was still getting used to the nightmares. There were still the occasional ones of massacring his squadmates in kaiju form, but after the defeat of No. 9, they were more often than not moments from the battle going horribly wrong. Tonight, it was Kikoru’s face haunting his subconscious—her, in Isao’s place, absorbed into 9 and ripped away from everyone. The thought of having to fight her under 9’s skin made his own crawl when he was awake. Dreaming about it had woken him up with a shout lodged in his throat, legs so tangled in his bedding that when he first tried to get up, he nearly faceplanted onto the wooden floor.
Considering it was around 3:30 in the morning, he was surprised to hear low grunts from one of the training rooms to his left. He’d assumed everyone else was asleep still, which is why he decided to wander this way with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. Curiosity got the better of him, and Kafka crept to the doorway and peered in.
Dream of the devil, and she will appear.
Kikoru, still dressed in her own pajamas, was throwing punches and kicks at an unsuspecting punching bag. Going off the beads of sweat trickling down her forehead, she must have been here for an hour at least. Her brow was set in determination, but he noticed that she didn’t have the usual defiant spark in her eyes. Instead, they looked on almost blankly as she let her body run through the motions of her frustration.
“What are you doing awake at this ungodly hour?” Kafka found himself asking, voice low in a feeble attempt not to startle her.
Kikoru jumped anyway, though at least she didn’t scream. “Learn to knock, old man,” she huffed, her usual bite missing.
He shrugged and leaned against the doorframe. “I don’t think you would’ve heard me if I did. What are you doing up?”
“Venting my annoyance.” She fussed with the hem of her shirt, making a show of pulling it back down into place and fixing her appearance, as if her frazzled hair pulled into a hasty bun instead of her typical pigtails didn’t betray her emotional state. “What are you doing wandering the hallways this late? I thought senior citizens had to get more sleep than the rest of us.”
He pulled a weak smile at that. “Maybe I’m one of those old people who like to get up way too early in the morning.”
“Even though you keep running late to drills almost every day?”
“Touche,” he laughed before his face darkened again. “Seriously, though.”
Kikoru shuffled over to stand next to him, then slid down the wall to sit, her knees pulled to her chest. “Just a nightmare,” she mumbles.
Kafka took a long drink of his coffee, trying to figure out in a mere moment how to best help his fellow officer. “I’ve got a good listening ear and a comfy shoulder, if you want,” he decided to say, stepping around Kikoru’s sitting form to settle himself next to her.
She immediately leaned against him, softening into his shoulder. “I don’t remember much,” she starts, “but I know I woke up feeling paralyzed. Like something was sitting on my chest, and nothing I could do would move it. That’s how they usually are, my nightmares. I can’t remember them, but they terrify me.”
“Mine make my hands feel numb,” Kafka offered, resting his head on top of hers. “I always get myself a hot cup of joe once I’m ready to move so I can get feeling back.”
“I come down here because I like feeling like I fight off whatever I dreamed about.”
“Everyone has their own way of coping. Do you always stay here for long, though?”
She shifted her head to side-eye him. “What time is it right now?”
Kafka flicked his wrist to wake up the smart watch he wore to bed. “Hmm, almost 3:45 now.”
Kikoru groaned. “I didn’t realize what time it was. I’ve been here since about 2:00.”
He scanned her face with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I was hoping to tire myself out enough to be dragging myself back to bed, but that didn’t happen the way I was hoping.”
An idea coming to his mind, Kafka set his coffee aside and pulled away from Kikoru. When she involuntarily groaned at the loss of his comfort, he held a hand up as he adjusted, stretching his legs out in front of him. “C’mon, take your hairtie out and rest your head in my lap.”
“Wha—? No, absolutely not!” Kikoru immediately protested.
Kafka rolled his eyes at the younger girl’s antics. “You’re making it weird when it doesn’t have to be, kid. Do you trust me?”
“Yes?”
“Okay, then trust me right now.”
“I feel like you’re going to bite me or something.”
“Do you really think I’m flexible enough to lean over and bite you? That’s ridiculous. Just come over here and get comfortable.” He gestured to her, patting his offered leg.
She huffed, hesitating for a moment before doing as he asked. Her fingers tangled in her bun as she pulled a green scrunchie from her hair. It spilled over his thigh once she curled up next to him, sunshine yellow against the red plaid of his pajama pants. “Now what?”
Kafka began running his own fingers through her locks, taking the time to rub small circles against her scalp. He smiled as he felt the girl relax against his body, though he noticed the tension still lingering in her shoulders. He smoothed his fingertips over her temples with some pressure before returning to her hair.
Minutes passed in silence, other than the rhythm of their steady breathing. The quiet was weighing a little too heavily on Kafka, though, and he inhaled deeply before beginning to hum.
It started in his throat, a gentle melody like a lullaby. The lower in his range he went, the further down it traveled, until it hit his chest with a soothing rumble.
There is a cottage by the lakeside,
Where fairies come out at night.
There’s a music box in the bedroom.
It’s playing songs from 1922.
Kikoru stirred. “What are you singing?”
Kafka paused, a smile dancing on the corners of his lips. “Something Ichikawa showed me a couple of weeks ago. It’s pretty, and it’s the first thing that came to mind.”
She hummed something of an affirmation. “Your voice is pretty.”
“Thanks, kid. I’m glad you think so.”
She hummed again, and Kafka realized she was dozing off on him.
“Get some rest, ‘kay? I’ll wake you up in a bit.”
There’s a music box in the bay,
Down on the seabed, not so far away,
And if you lean in just close enough,
You’ll be taken by the water and might wake up
Walking in a wonderland,
Played in by the singing sand,
Waking from a dream
Of an underwater beach.
Kafka leaned his head back against the wall and let his eyes flutter shut. Just resting, he thought, enough to walk Kikoru back to her room in a few minutes.
Vice Captain Hoshina found them in the same spot a few hours later, once everyone realized neither Kafka nor Kikoru had shown up for breakfast. Their squad was searching the complex for them.
Kafka had a small trail of drool down his chin, and his hand was still caught up in Kikoru’s hair. They didn’t stir as Hoshina crouched in front of them, resting a light hand against Kafka’s cheek. What a soft-hearted idiot. They’re going to have sore necks when they both wake up.