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Hoshina likes to think he’s accommodating. He didn’t use to be — while always quick to respond to calls, it’s only under Ashiro that he’s learned to adjust to the teams he’s assigned to. Now, civilians rely on him for protection, subordinates seek him out for guidance, and Ashiro trusts him to support her.
And it seems like the Defense Force deems him a capable babysitter.
For Narumi. One infuriating, smug, loud, and ridiculously brilliant Narumi Gen, manchild, or…
Child. Just child.
Hoshina was briefed half an hour ago, yet it still hasn’t quite sunk in. Captain Narumi. His partner of almost two years, whose mop of dual-toned hair barely reaches his chest, and whose hand gets engulfed by Hoshina’s when he takes it. Instead of gazing through pink bangs, it’s mostly black that greets him, and he has to look down, quite a lot at that.
For all the experiences he’s had in nearly a decade of service, this one takes the crown in bizarreness.
According to multiple medical reviews, it’s temporary, a matter of time before Narumi returns to normal. Thankfully, because Hoshina doesn’t want to imagine the disastrous hole in Japan’s defense if Narumi Gen, of all people, were on an indefinite leave.
Currently, Narumi’s sprawled across the couch in his office, Hoshina’s phone clutched firmly in his hands. From the sounds of it, he’s playing some game, and there’s certain kind of comfort to the familiarity of it; short, thick brows knitted, an almost glare. Same mannerisms, more or less, just on a fuller face and wider eyes.
“Bowl-Cut guy.”
Well, some things don’t change. The eyebags remain, too, and whether that’s from sleep deprivation as even a child or something carried over from his adult state, Hoshina can’t tell. Now that he thinks about it, there’s a lot about Narumi he’s never been let in on.
Narumi’s loud in a way that feels deliberate, all smoke and mirrors. Draws attention, but never invites anything deeper than surface-level.
“Hmm?” Hoshina can thank his reflexes for catching the phone tossed his way.
“Battery’s dead.”
Brat. Sure enough, the screen stays black. “What if I needed it? Yer aware it’s an important line of work, aren’t ya?”
“Like those alarms are for show,” Narumi retorts tartly, chin high, “You’d only miss lame meetings. Honestly, you should thank me.”
The resemblance is uncanny. Sighing, Hoshina’s shoulders slump. He won’t stoop so low as to bicker with a child, but still, this is a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and there’s no way he’ll let it slip by.
“What a shame,” Hoshina bemoans, theatrically dramatic, “Can’t be punishin’ a subordinate when he’s just a kid…”
Luckily, Narumi’s always been quick to catch on. “You,” Narumi points at him, squints, “are my superior officer?”
The disbelief stings more than Hoshina prefers disclosing. Even so, an easy smile plays on his lips, “Surprised?”
Narumi doesn’t grace him with an answer, but another question, “So… what does that make me?”
“Ya mean what rank?”
“Yeah.”
What an odd thing to ask. “A platoon leader.”
Honestly, it’s a wonder Narumi doesn’t even question the situation he’s thrown into. He merely nods, soaks in the info, then seeks Hoshina’s eyes.
“That’s good, right?”
If Hoshina weren’t so adept at keeping his composure, he’d have flinched. There’s something terribly close to vulnerability lacing Narumi’s words, and the softer, lighter pitch only worsens it tenfold.
“Messed with ya,” Hoshina admits, rounds his desk to approach Narumi, “Yer doin’ really well, Captain.”
He’s always liked kids. Comes from being the youngest in the Hoshina household — never really got the chance to be around ’em.
That’s probably why it comes to naturally to him. To bend slightly with a steadying hand settling on his knee, the other one coming up to ruffle bi-colored hair affectionately.
Narumi’s eyes widen, and despite his lethargic looks, there’s a pink flush forming on his round cheeks.
Hoshina doesn’t resist pinching ’em.
Maybe Hoshina shouldn’t have been this honest.
Ever since, Narumi’s been nothing but insufferably boastful, and also, incredibly nosy. Which Hoshina indulges by answering oh-so dutifully, “Yep, Hasegawa-san is your Vice-Captain.”
Narumi’s eyes gleam with child-like wonder, the color lacking its usual intensity. RT-0001 had been removed first thing, too dangerous to keep in.
“Wow. I must be pretty incredible.”
And bursting with ego to match, Hoshina supplies internally.
Around an hour’s passed since Narumi was first handed over to him. They’ve received confirmation that, while he’s retained his memories, it’s limited strictly to what he’s personally experienced and nothing beyond.
It’s a precarious, unpredictable situation, and as not to hinder Narumi’s cognitive capabilities once he returns, if that’s even the right way to put it, can even be called that, he’s been assigned the same coursework as kids his age.
Narumi told him he’s nine years old. That, however, doesn’t explain why he’s already finished his makeshift homework in record time, when it even was for a grade above his.
Hoshina doesn’t remember his alma mater’s curriculum all that clearly, but he’s fairly certain they never explored electricity and circuits this much depth in fourth grade. “Are ya really nine?” He asks, gathers the papers.
“Bowl-Cut,” Narumi calls instead.
“It’s Hoshina,” he corrects for the umpteenth time.
“A reason that’s your password?”
Hoshina wouldn’t be surprised if his phone’s screen-time of today surpassed the entirety of last week. It’s an awful feeling, the neglect he puts that child through.
“Random numbers,” the lie slips smoothly, even if not very convincing. Deception’s never been his forte.
Narumi hums, or more accurately, makes some small, indignant ‘hmpf’ sound befitting every bit of the little menace he is. Still rather cute, and Hoshina fears he might be a bit too lenient.
“Sir, I fear this isn’t a request I can oblige.”
“Soushirou,” Hasegawa says, firm but not unkind, “There isn’t anyone else.”
Hoshina’s throat tightens. What complaint laid on his tongue all but evaporates, replaced with bitter shame. Of course. It’s pretty obvious; Narumi’s been here since his teen years and only here, no visits or whatsoever.
“I’ll be takin’ him,” he says, forces his voice to stay even, “Where is he?”
Hasegawa jerks his chin forward to past him, and Hoshina’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he turns and, sure enough, catches Narumi hiding poorly behind the office’s desk. Well, he says poor, but Hoshina hadn’t noticed him at all.
It’s only a few strides before Hoshina crouches down to where Narumi’s tucked into himself, and with a slight tilt of his head, he offers, “Ready to go home?”
Narumi gives him a look of pure, unadulterated suspicion, but then quickly schools his expression into something neutral and nods.
It’s sort of comedic how he’s less insufferable as a child compared to a man in his twenties.
Thankfully, Hasegawa’s office isn’t far from Narumi’s, located closely to make dragging him into meetings easier. Also means Hoshina can quickly gather a few of Narumi’s items before they head to his place — it’s much more welcome, and tidy, there.
As he’s inside collecting what he needs, Narumi waits outside by the door, perfectly content to navigate through Hoshina’s phone once again.
“Here ya go,” Hoshina says as he unlocks the door, more habitual than anything, “Welcome home~”
Narumi tilts his head up at him, brows knitted, but enters nonetheless. Takes his shoes off first thing, and Hoshina’s fairly surprised to see him align them neatly, and they’re so small. So cute.
Child-sized clothes had been acquired almost immediately due to an overeager Hibino Kafka, a cozy pair of black sweats and gray hoodie Narumi would definitely wear. It makes him look like a mini version of himself, though Hoshina supposed that’s exactly the case.
“Ya settle in real quick,” he remarks idly, follows Narumi into the living room where he’s already reclining on the couch.
“It’s comfy.” As if to emphasize his point, Narumi throws both arms over the backrest.
Hoshina can’t help the quirk of his lips. It’s adorable how little space Narumi takes up like this. Usually, he’d have to shove him over or, if feeling particularly cheeky, drape himself all over Narumi — gets him a blushy mess, but he never complains. On the contrary, he likes to cling to Hoshina, arms firmly wrapped around his middle like some touch-starved cat.
“Meant the situation,” Hoshina clarifies, kneeling before his modest television and fixing some cables.
“Doubt the military’s got time to joke around like that,” Narumi voice tapers off near the end, quieter, “Besides, seems like we’re close.”
It only takes a minute to hook up the console he brought from Narumi’s office, and when he does, he hands Narumi a controller and settles down beside him.
“Do tell how ya came to that idea,” he mutters absently, embarrassingly focused on the task of using an account. There are more than expected, and sure, Hoshina could’ve handed Narumi the Switch and call it a day, but that’s negligence he wants to avoid.
“It’s pretty obvious,” Narumi says, gaze glued to the screen, “Your phone’s a dead giveaway.”
“Ya snooped?”
Narumi shoots him a flat look as if to say ‘of course,’ and before Hoshina can react, the device’s plucked right out of his hands, replaced with the one Narumi had been holding.
Probably for best that Narumi’s player one. To Hoshina, these games are mere splashes of color, but Narumi knows what to pick that’d be fun for two people. And, because he’s competitive even as a child, they’re quick to face off.
Familiarly, Hoshina wins.
“You’re way too good at this for a stuck-up grown-up,” Narumi grumbles, throws Hoshina a glare traitorously softened by his cherubic face.
“’m barely older than ya,” Hoshina replies with a hum.
Narumi starts the next round. He wins this time, and if anyone were to say that’s due to Hoshina slacking deliberately, they’d be right on the dot. Luckily, Narumi’s too engrossed to notice anything amiss, and Hoshina feels like the true winner as he watches Narumi celebrate his victory with unrestrained glee.
“Hah— beaten by a kid, how’s it feel?” Narumi jabs, and Hoshina pretend-sulks, fondness poorly concealed.
They play some more, until, “Alright, that’s enough for today.”
Ignoring Narumi’s whining, Hoshina glances at the clock. 7pm, he reads, mulling. Normally, he’d order, but a bigger part of him would rather offer Narumi a homecooked meal, and while he might be better than Ashiro in that department, that’s not saying much — he’s only adequate at best.
So it’s with his phone, and therefore recipe, in hand that he starts preparing the rice. Just some abuurage and ginger, but then Narumi appears at his side and demands to be assigned a task. Odd sight, but who’s he to deny?
“Here,” he hands the recipe over, nods toward the ingredients he’s laid out beforehand, “Seasoning’s yers.”
It’s cute. As Hoshina preps salmon and marinade, Narumi scales everything with utmost concentration, even insisting on cutting the green spring onions in his stead.
“Didn’t expect ya to seem so used to cooking at that age.”
Narumi shrugs. “Was one of the older kids at the orphanage,” Narumi shares, “We got meals, but they weren’t enough. I’d often sneaked into the kitchen, make something quick for the little ones.”
To say Hoshina’s surprised would be an understatement. Not at the content itself, but at how easily Narumi says it, lacking the apprehension he’s kept around him. Maybe it’s selfish to push further, but, “How long were ya there?”
“Dunno,” Narumi hums, “My memory feels fuzzy. But two or three years… When did I get picked up?”
“Never been in the First, so I wasn’t given details, but ’round a decade ago. Ya were a teen.”
Hoshina busies himself setting the table, whereas Narumi sits cross-legged before the oven like the broiling process is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Floor’s cold, come—”
“And when did we get together?” Narumi cuts in, and Hoshina nearly drops the pitcher he’s filling. Quick to recover, he huffs a little laugh. Terrifyingly perceptive kid.
Compliant for once, or perhaps just hungry, Narumi hops up and takes a seat at the table, his legs swinging.
“Our third anniversary’s comin’ up this March,” reminiscing, Hoshina plates food before sliding it over, “Narumi-san was a real romantic, White Day and all, but he forget his wallet and I ended up payin’. Win for me, though, yer embarrassment was sweet.”
Narumi pouts. Clicks his chopsticks together and lowers his head, an utterly futile attempt to hide his fluster. The red ears give it away.
“I’ll do better—,” Narumi stammers, startling Hoshina once more.
“Ya wanna ask me again?” Hoshina asks, equal parts amused and exasperated.
Narumi shakes his head ‘m-m,’ and when he looks back up he’s suddenly brimming with awfully cute determination, “When proposing, of course.”
It takes all of Hoshina’s willpower not to squeeze Narumi out of cute aggression. However, he does coo, hands trembling slightly as he cuts the salmon into bite-sized pieces.
Heavens, so adorable.
“I’ll be holdin’ ya to that, little man,” he indulges, hopelessly endeared.
As Hoshina watches Narumi eat with puffed cheeks and rice grains sticking to the corner of his mouth, he comes to a groundbreaking realization; he needs a mini Narumi.
Narumi had been adamant about clinging to Hoshina, even in sleep. Laid on top of him like some stubborn cat, not that Hoshina put up much of a fight — he simply stroked Narumi’s hair until his breathing evened out.
But when he wakes up the next day, it’s on his side, to stronger arms wrapped securely around his middle and longer legs tangled with his own. Didn’t take as long as expected, and somewhere beneath the relief, a tiny, petulant part of him sulks at the realization.
“Ya need my ring size?” Hoshina teases first thing, because he’s petty and because Narumi’s too entertaining not to rile up.
Grumbling sleepily, Narumi rasps a low ‘shut up’ into Hoshina’s nape, buries his face deeper.
“Already know it,” he adds roughly, words slurred, “Now go back to sleep.”