Surplus of arms

What made me identify with him? I believe it's the same qualities that many of us, as working/studying fans appreciate: the understated, nuanced search for purpose in life, for something that gives you meaning and a sense of fulfilment.

There's no specific reason for seeking such a purpose, and Nanami represents, for the most part, that facet of simply being human.

As a sorcerer, he experienced the tragedy and immense hurt that comes with loss, sacrifice of youth, life and potential for no good reason. His inability to reconcile the death of Haibara with the manner by which the sorcerer world worked led him to seek a different path.

The irony will never be lost on me, that he simply swapped one prison for another, as many of us do. Why? Did he really not feel that he had any other choice?

I don't think so. I think Nanami's choice to be a salaryman, to experience ordinary life in its most soulless, draining form, was a form of self-imposed punishment, an extension of his survivor's guilt.

Why should he experience a life of freedom, when others were forever bound by pain and death? This something that his time as part of the sorcerer world had ingrained into his consciousness.

So, he doesn't live, not truly. He exists day to day, the most practical man, to all who see him on the surface. Beneath, a dreamer of the worst kind: one who knows full well that they spend every minute trying to build towards something better, but also, that they would sacrifice it all in a heartbeat.

Nanami plays a major role in the story, and Yuuji's journey, not because he was loud, effusive, present and whole.

He occupies a quiet, anchoring niche, a pillar of duty, honour, order and bravery in a world where violence, cruelty and survival have robbed many of all human kindness.

Nanami's natural order isn't just reflected in his personal habits, it is a code he lives by. Even a child, inhabited by a powerful, centuries-old sorcerer, who could crush him like an insect if he got free, is still a child in his eyes, and he still feels a duty to protect him.

To Yuuji, Megumi, Nobara, and the other young sorcerers, Nanami represents a bastion of something so much more than raw power and domination.

Nanami is human in the truest sense, a man who confronted the pain, horror and darkness of the world he lived in, and still found room for kindness and simple pleasures. He confronted his own pain, faced the crushing of his dreams, stared down the loss of his own life for the sake of others he cared about, and did so with courage.

Many of the stories I've written about Nanami are self-indulgent, and explore the comfort and happy times that many of us fans wished for him. That's the power of fanfic, I suppose.

I think, however, that by writing these small fantasies about a character we love, we also bind ourselves closer to them in a sense. They hold up a mirror to the things we value most, the qualities we prize and the dreams we ourselves hold dear.

So, happy birthday, Nanami Kento.

May your sandwiches always be delicious, may the seaside always be welcoming, may the warm sand and crash of waves ever be in your ears, and may the voices of all who loved you reach you, wherever you are.

Anyway, Seregios. Wasn't expecting THAT just yet. I was RUNNING FOR MY LIFE in the first 10 min, LMAOOOOO. I have never felt more like a goddamn Wud Wud.

And I have hunted Seregios in MH Rise, but yooooo, what was THIS.

Fainted once, but managed to get it on my first try! I am ... recovering. From whatever that was.

Her presence, exalted as ever, served to garner some attention from the recruits who were arrayed out for today's field exercise.

Hoshina cocked his head.

It wasn't evident to most, but Ashiro seemed ill at ease about something.

He could take a fairly accurate guess as to what the root of this was.

Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he nodded.

"I'm all ears."

Her gaze dropped briefly to his collar, then returned to his face.

"I heard a rumour. About your ... activities off-base yesterday."

"Ahh. You did?"

His smile was fixed in place, giving nothing away.

"Yes. Did you really go to a tattoo parlour?"

"Why is this of such concern to you, Captain?"

She took a step closer, eyes panning out over the recruits before she lowered her voice to an exasperated mutter.

"Can I assume this is to do with the request letter we received yesterday? The one from the pediatric section of the hospital?"

"I still don't see why - "

"Hoshina, I asked you to fulfill the request as my representative."

"That you did."

"I didn't ask you to get tattoos."

"The request was pretty clear, Captain. It wanted us to visit the children at the hospital, you dressed as a gyaru, and me as a rapper. I'm only doing my best to comply to the specifics of the - "

"You can get temp tattoos!"

"That wouldn't fall in with the ethics of the JAKDF, and the promise we make to serve the public."

"Tattoos are frowned upon in the defence force."

"Didn't stop some first division squad members from gettin' 'em. Or dyin' their hair. Or piercing themselves - "

Ashiro shook her head briskly.

"Look, Hoshina, all I'm saying is ... I'm sorry for throwing you under the bus. You don't have to get a tattoo."

"Oh, so is Captain goin' to join me? As a gyaru?"

She bit her lip, eyeing him sideways.

"I'll take as a 'no'."

"Hoshina - "

"Anyway," he countered breezily, "it's too late."

"What do you mean too late?"

Mina's louder tone of shock rang out, and some of the recruits looked their way.

They hurriedly turned away at her glare, shooting furtive glances back to where their respected leaders stood, Ashiro with tense shoulders and a storm brewing on her brow, and Hoshina with the smug smile of a cat that had gotten into the cream.

"Why, Captain, I've already got my tats done. And don't worry, the uniform covers them pretty strategically."

"Where? Where are the tattoos, Hoshina? Someone said that you'd got them on your neck. Is that true? You didn't want tattoos. You've never wanted them."

"Well, yesterday, I had a little epiphany. Decided to get 'em, just like requested."

"An epiphany?"

He tilted his head towards her, still watching the officers.

"Well, y'see, a certain Captain of the Sixth Division was in the neighborhood. Dropped by, as he seems to. And while I never met him - "

"You avoid him like the plague."

" - while I never met him, I overheard a little somethin' as he passed by in the corridor. He said, if I knew what was good for me, I'd let him take care of business, and come home safe, to take up the teaching position at our clan dojo. That way I wouldn't have to put up with dumb requests, like this one."

"Ah. I see."

"And Captain, I took exception to that. Dumb as the request may be, it's part of being a Vice-Captain."

"But Hoshina, getting tattoos just to spite your brother - "

"And I'm takin' it a step further. If I've got the tats, why not the whole deal, huh? Make a few videos, show 'em my lyrical skills, make it clear that I see a future career as a rap artist."

Ashiro was staring at him with wide eyes.

"Your family will be horrified."

"That they will. My brother, more specifically."

She paused, taking in his neat, feline smile, the way his fist flexed subtly, as it did before a fight.

"Oh. Oh."

Straightening, Ashiro cleared her throat.

"Well then, Hoshina, as your superior officer, I can only say that you have my complete support in this endeavour. I'll go so far as to endorse and promote your music, to show just how talented the Defence Force truly is."

The grin her Vice-Captain now wore would rival the most dastardly Cheshire Cat.

"Why, thank you kindly, Captain. Much appreciated."

The news spread like wildfire, across base, through the Defence Force, to the public at large.

Vice-Captain Hoshina, always popular among the public polls, had decided to embrace his musical side. As a rap artist, no less.

Among the younger generations, the outburst of support was enormous.

He was soon trending on most social media platforms, small snippets of interviews with him circulating, among much squealing about how 'adorable' and 'cheeky' he was.

Of course, none of this fanfare was complete without proof of his ability. As with all things he did, Hoshina had already been hard at work with his producers and assistants, coming up with some sample tracks to release to the public, as a promo for an upcoming single.

While there was uproar at other military bases, the higher ups, and Tachikawa Base specifically, seemed oddly relaxed about the whole situation, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

It seemed that everyone on base had been informed of Hoshina's grand scheme, and were playing their parts to perfection.

One afternoon, Kafka came bursting through the door of the gym adjoining the barracks, waving his phone.

"Hey, guys, Vice-Cap's new single is out!"

Reno, Iharu and Akari gathered eagerly around, while Kikoru stalked over from the rowing machine.

"Ugh, is he for real?"

Kafka shushed her, much to her displeasure.

The video on screen showed a simple, featureless room, white walls and a metal table the only furnishings present. A hooded figure was seated, slightly slumped in a chair, hands hanging at their sides.

"Is that him?"

"I can't tell!"

"Ooh, did he get his fingers tattooed? Is that why he's been wearing gloves around base?"

"That's hardcore, man!"

A beat struck up, simple, but an immediate hook, light, but dangerously quick in tempo.

The hooded figure raised their head and Kikoru's eyes bulged.

"He has neck tattoos? And chains?"

Indeed, it was their beloved Vice-Captain, but not in the sense they were accustomed to.

There was a certain edge to his movements as he picked up the chair and slammed it down closer to the camera.

The hood fell back, and there was Rapper Hoshina in all his glory, his bangs styled to one side, slightly disshevelled, eyes open to reveal their dismissive violet depths.

His words echoed from the speaker, delivered with emphatic drops, the Kansai-ben rendering his flow all the more pronounced.

"On thin ice,

With two blades

Watch how this kaiju fades,

Chew you up

Spit you out,

Not the Captain,

But the Vice."

Iharu was giggling already.

"Damn, he's got bars."

"Swords are for yesterday?

Sit back,

Watch me open the way,

With your gun

You can't touch me,

Missed that memo from the Muromachi"

Kafka and Akari were now bobbing their heads along to the beat, while Kikoru's eyebrows had almost disappeared into her hairline.

"He's ... got a lot of resentment, huh?"

"Oh, damn, are you hearing this?"

"But bro,

Was it worth it?

Did it make you feel proud?

Crack the bokken on my knuckles

And leave me on the ground?"

"Is he ... talking about Captain Hoshina?"

At Himeji Base, Vice-Captain Nagakura eyed his superior with growing concern.

Captain Soichiro Hoshina was crouched over his personal device in his office, the phone held in a white-knuckled grip.

"Has he lost his mind? Kyuji, what is this?"

"That's Vice-Captain Hoshina. Your brother."

"This is not the time for your sarcasm."

"I can think of no better time, sir."

"What has he done to himself? Kyuji, he's got tattoos on his neck."

"There are also tattoos on his knuckles."

"Huh?"

"Right there. See."

Soichiro let out a wail rather unbecoming of a Captain of the Defence Force.

"What'm I supposed to do? The clan elders'll have my guts for breakfast. They'll say I failed my baby bro."

"Well, you did crack the bokken on his knuckles and leave him on the ground."

"That was all part of the goddamn trainin'!"

"Tell that to your brother, sir."

"Father made me do it!"

"Take some responsibility!"

"I only tied his belt to a pillar one time."

"You did what?"

"It was winter, but he was a tough kid, okay?"

"How does every story about your childhood get worse and worse?"

"Look, I said I was - "

"Turned around,

Never looked back,

Now you wanna talk,

Now you wanna backtrack,

I got one Captain,

Don't need another,

She's locked and loaded

Step back, brother."

"Is he saying he ... prefers Ashiro to me?"

"That seems to be the implication, sir."

"There's no way! No way!"

At Ariake, Narumi had tuned in to the release of the single with a nonchalance that fooled nobody.

Over the past few weeks he'd grown increasingly aggravated by the attention that Hoshina was gathering online, to the point that the massive kaiju he'd taken out in the bay had lost traction due to the hype around his 'rival'.

All right, Narumi was seething, but he would deign to listen, if only to see Hoshina finally make a complete ass of himself.

A career as a rap artist?

Please.

This was all a means to draw attention away from the fact that he was weaker than Narumi, and everyone was in denial if they couldn't see it.

Ignoring the way Hasegawa was glancing at him sideways while sipping his tea, Narumi increased the volume a little.

"Huh. I guess he does have some talent for this pointless shit. Has to be good at something. I don't give a damn. As long as he leaves me out of this stupid diss track, or whatever he's going - "

"Now listen close

Bet he's locked in,

Ear to the phone

He ain't gamin'

Y'hate my hair,

hate my smile

Sir, I got game

bigger than your laundry pile."

A tense silence settled over the base, and many heads swiveled nervously in the direction of Narumi's office.

Within, Hasegawa's shoulders had begun to shake with suspicious repression as he shielded his face behind a newspaper, while Narumi had grown dangerously still.

"Did ... did he just - "

"Captain of the First,

But he's comin' in last,

Honey, I'll wait

Am I goin' too fast?

Blow up those kaiju

Wit' your bayonet

But this city's the only thing

your makin' wet

Ain't no trick, 

Swish and flick,

I kill kaiju faster

Than his Naru-mini dick."

The roar that escaped the Captain's office shook the windows with its righteous ire, along with the teacup rattling in Hasegawa's saucer.

"Bowl Cut!"

Ashiro caught Hoshina outside the children's section of the hospital, sighing as he peeled the artfully applied stick-on tattoos from his skin.

"You really had me believing they were permanent."

"All part o' the role, Cap."

"Did the children enjoy it?"

"Had to get the nurses to stop 'em from dancing on their beds."

She gave a small, wry smile as she fell into step beside him, his hair restored to its neat, ordered state as he unhooked the chains from around his neck. 

"Guess you fulfilled your role as Vice-Captain. What'll you do about the publicity, though? Your track reached number one on the charts, you know."

"Oh, nothing. Let it stay there for a while. People will forget it even happened, with time."

"Your brother's been calling my office non-stop."

"Don't pick up."

"So has Narumi. He left a message. Said he wants a showdown at the onsen."

"The onsen?"

"You called his ... size into question."

"Ahh, guess I should've predicted that."

"Guess it's back to regular duties, then?"

"With pleasure, Captain. My cute little officers must be missin' my voice on the training field."

He turned and shot her a small wink.

"Wouldn't wanna rob 'em of my flow, y'know?"

You admired those same qualities in him in so many different ways, his strength, resilience, the drive that never let him settle for anything less than the best in conducting his duties.

When it came to matters of the heart, however, Soshiro often pulled some hidden shutter closed in order to prevent his feelings from reaching, or perhaps inconveniencing others.

It was after his battle with Kaiju No. 10 that things came to a head.

You'd rushed to his side as soon as your own duties allowed, placing one hand over the tank of the cellular therapy med pod in which he was receiving emergency treatment.

Hours blurred into a whole night, a day, then another.

You'd conducted your tasks from his bedside, eyes constantly traveling over to his still form, even as you flew through analysis on the datapad you'd carried with you.

Eventually, he'd regained consciousness, and you'd seen it, in the moment before he'd registered your presence; a trace of fear of the unknown, eyes widening as memory flooded back to him, the convulsive grasp of his hand around the hilt of a sword that wasn't there.

Then, as you straightened and gently touched the sleeve of his hospital gown, his gaze landed on you.

"Soshiro, I'm here."

Silence for a beat, and then a smile, mechanical, wry, expected.

"Ah. So I got knocked out, huh? I didn't dream up that stuff about Kaiju 10 and Kafka?"

You shook your head.

"It's all true."

"Damn. He really did a number on us."

There it was, a small crack, a lance of pain on ever-composed features.

You knew how much he liked Officer Hibino, how much trust and faith he'd placed in him.

"Guess he couldn't tell us, huh? But still. Kind of a big secret to keep."

"He's with the first division now. In their custody. Are you going to - "

"Captain will handle things from here."

His answer was brisk, firm, not as your lover, but a Vice-Captain.

"Soshiro, you - "

"I'll be fine."

There it was again, the smile you wished, selfishly, you could wipe from his face.

"Hey, any chance you could sneak me in some Mont Blanc? I know the doc doesn't approve, but I'm really feeling for - "

"Stop that."

Your voice was lower, set deep and guttural with pain you never wanted him to hear.

He fell silent immediately, watching you.

"Stop doing that when you're with me. I don't need you to be strong. I need you to talk to me. About what you're thinking. What you're feeling. Even if it doesn't make sense. Even if you don't understand it yourself. When you were out there, you almost - "

Cutting yourself off felt like the safest option. The hysteria rising in your throat had no safe outlet.

Soshiro remained silent, and you couldn't even look at him.

You weren't brave enough to confront the pity you thought you might find there.

Rising abruptly, you exited the room.

Perhaps, if you'd glanced back, you'd have seen the spasmodic jerk of his hand, as if he'd fought every impulse not to raise it toward you.

As with all things he did, Soshiro never worked by halves.

If he believed that this task required his entire effort and attention, then that was exactly what it received.

He came to you more often, tentatively, as if unsure what reception he'd receive. More evenings were spent together, his head planted firmly in your lap, as if claiming it as his space.

Sometimes, you woke to him curled against your back, head resting between your shoulder blades, one hand twisted in the fabric of your sleepshirt.

He sat down beside you on the sofa one afternoon, with a datapad in his hand, a device you hadn't seen before. After a moment's pause, he handed it over to you.

"Soshiro, what's this?"

"One of my personal devices. I keep ... a journal of sorts. Backed up on the cloud. I've kept these entries for a while now. Writing things down helps keep my thoughts in order. Helps me reflect."

He tapped the screen.

"This one's got the entries after the attack on the base. After we fought Number Ten."

Wordlessly, you took the datapad from him. 

Soshiro's concise accounts filled the pages of the document, the military discipline and strict upbringing present in the structure and order of how he expressed himself, but these entries held something more.

Here were reflections on his own anxiety, his perceived inadequacy, his constant fight to prove himself, his fears about the lives of the officers he was responsible for.

Here were the dozen observations of a man who missed nothing, who cared so much more than he let on. He'd written about Kafka's nightly sessions in the library, Kikoru's struggle with reverse grip during training, and her subsequent frustration, Mina facing down the prejudice of her superiors, Iharu's desperate striving, Reno's dogged training until he pushed himself to the edge.

There were videos embedded within, small clips from his personal cam footage that offered a disconcertingly intimate view into his world.

These were his arms, his hands, his blades, the hulking form of a kaiju, so much larger in comparison to him, taken down all the same.

Shaky panning over the squad, Kikoru's exasperated face as she shook her finger at him. Okonogi sleeping at her desk, shaken to bleary, annoyed wakefulness as he tugged a sheet of paper out from underneath her cheek.

A sudden shot of the sky, then the ground far, far below, as he slid down the polished steel and glass of a high rise, a brief glimpse of his reflection, canines gleaming in the sun.

And in between, entries about you.

Nothing particularly revealing, unless you knew Soshiro well.

On this day, you'd ordered your favourite tea, and he'd made sure it had arrived from the screening at the front gate in time for your afternoon break.

On that day, you'd spent an afternoon running diagnostics, and he'd noticed how tired your eyes had seemed.

Last Friday, you'd looked particularly happy at the thought of a winter evening hot pot, and he'd made sure to order the extra condiments that you liked.

When you finally looked up at him again, he seemed almost nervous, in a way only you could tell. Lips pressed tight together, posture slightly stiff, fingers linked in his lap.

In your mind, a sudden burst of warmth, like the sight of the first flowers of spring.

This was no ordinary journal.

It was Soshiro's truest self, all the indelible parts of him that made him an exemplary Vice-Captain. That was now as much part of his identity as Captain Ashiro reaching out a hand to him in the soft afternoon light of her office.

It was also Soshiro the man, with fears, flaws and dreams that still held power over him, who treasured his officers, their spirit and bravery, and cherished the bonds he held with each of them.

It was Soshiro the lover, with endless sweetness, patience, devotion and the fear that he'd never be enough for you. The man who tracked each part of your day, all of your own habits and thoughts, what gave you joy, sadness and hope, and documented each of them with care and unflagging attentiveness.

You put down the datapad and moved into his space, feeling his shoulder tense briefly beneath your fingers before he gave in to your touch with a shuddering breath of relief.

He was heavy, warm, solid within your arms, so much more substantial than his lean frame let on.

With you he was not the elusive, inscrutable Vice-Captain, as playful as he was dangerous, a fox sighting you with cheerful, wily charm before darting out of reach.

His hair, silky and slightly rumpled from your embrace fanned out against your cheek, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

"That Number Ten. He got me good. Thought I wouldn't make it back."

"I know. But you're here now. And you're safe."

"You're gonna protect me?"

He was laughing, but the words held a certain weight, an unspoken question hidden within.

"I'll protect you. Like a guard dog."

This drew another laugh, his face turning tenderly against your skin.

"Gonna bite 'em good?"

"If they try to get you, sure."

"They better not try. I got a fierce one here."

You thought of the cam footage, the brief glimpse you'd caught of his reflection in the glass of the high rise, hair flying in the cross-wind, cheeks and nose blown ruddy, eyes as luminous as dawn breaking across a violet sea.

That look he wore, fierce, exultant, diamond-bright and focused, was worth protecting, for the simple reason that he chose to share it with you. 

With both your respective positions in the defence force, time together was precious, well-spent, an indulgence you never took for granted.

You knew, on some fundamental level, that Gen never took it for granted either. He showed it in a dozen different ways, from the way he memorized details about you while seeming to never pay attention, to the way he discerned your every mood and emotion, to his perfect comprehension of the fact that sometimes you just needed his presence.

Today, however, something was visibly bothering him.

Sitting together with him in his quarters, you raised an eyebrow as you watched the tense set of his shoulders, his worse-than-usual posture, the grim downward curve of his lips and the restless drum of his fingers on the controller as a loading screen flickered with gentle ambience.

"Gen?"

"Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Stuff."

You knew him well enough to anticipate the elaboration on this. 'Stuff' was shorthand for paperwork, subordinates who were hassling him, endless meetings that took away time from his personal training (or gaming), and endless bureaucracy.

"Wrong answer."

That got his attention, even if he was now frowning across at you.

"It's not."

"It's not the usual stuff."

"What are you, some kinda freaky mind-reader?"

"Is that an admission?"

This was often the trigger for his argumentative side, teeth and claws and well-hidden affection.

Instead, he fell silent.

Now it was your turn to lean towards him, curiosity warring with concern. Shoulder pressed to his, you took in the solid warmth of him, the shift of his body before he relaxed slightly into you.

"Hey, take this."

He shoved the controller into your hands. Surprised, you looked over at the screen once more.

It was a game you were unfamiliar with, retro in presentation, all pastel shades and bobbing pixelated outlines, the muted chime of the music soothing and repetitive.

It was the kind of game you sometimes took a liking to, simple to play between missions and easy on the eye and ear.

"What's this one called?"

"Dunno. Bought it with a bunch of others. Part of a deal."

You started up a New Game, and uttered a small laugh. One of the avatar choices looked a lot like you.

"Hey, that's me. Down to that t-shirt I like."

Gen snorted.

"You stole it from me first. Give credit where it's due."

"I did not steal that from you. It was mine. I remember buying it."

"You mean you were there when I bought it for myself."

"Lies and slander, sir."

Gen had eased into your regular exchange of gentle ribbing, something that did not escape your notice. That same strange reticence was still present, however, and you determined to work your way to the root of it, prying him open with love and patience, as you did.

The game was easy enough to learn, a cute and well-designed platformer, combined with some role-play elements, that seemed to reward courage and persistence.

Gen watched attentively as you worked your way through levels, which grew progressively more challenging.

Along the way, various NPCs helped you with items or special abilities.

Then, at the twentieth level, an anomaly.

There was a character who offered to join your quest, to 'show you how things were done.'

It would have been a small, but pleasant surprise if the character hadn't been a tiny, pixelated dead-ringer for Gen, scarlet-eyed, a starburst of pale pink hair on his head.

His name was Garumi Nen.

You put down the controller slowly.

"Gen?"

"Huh?"

"That's you."

"Yeah, does kinda look like me."

You shot him an exasperated look.

"No. That's you. As in, somebody designed this game with you in mind. Is this what you wanted me to see?"

"Keep playing."

"All right, Lord of Mysteries, keep your secrets."

So, you did keep playing.

Mini-Gen introduced some novel mechanics. There were new items to collect, which didn't generate points towards the score, but added to his HP and MP, up to a certain scale, after which he could release a wide scale attack.

Those new items were in the shape of 'hearts', red, bright against the lighter shades of the background, jewel-like and slowly rotating.

They could only be unlocked by your character touching them. Mini-Gen was powerless to collect these, even if they fuelled his own abilities.

Then, there were the combo attacks.

To get to certain areas, Mini-Gen had to launch you with his weapon (a large blade, the design of which didn't escape your attention either). Each time you succeeded, he would gain a stat boost.

As level thirty approached, a new mechanic unlocked.

More powerful 'hearts' were now available, but Mini-Gen encountered a fatal flaw in their use. Once his guage was full, he entered a highly vulnerable state.

He could launch a devastating attack, but he needed time to charge it up, and even a weaker foe could strike him down in that pivotal period.

Only your character was equipped with a shielding spell strong enough to protect him during that time.

Pausing the game, you set the controller down again.

Gen was still and silent beside you, not even questioning your decision.

"Gen."

"Hmm?"

"Where did you get this game?"

He shrugged, another admission.

"I had an idea for something cool. Something you might like on your downtime. And I had Akira help me put it together. He's into indie game development as a hobby."

"So ... all of these, they were your ideas?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Why? Don't like it?"

As casual as his tone seemed, there was something rough-edged, half-pained, half-hopeful revealed in his words. As if your reply carried more weight than the outcome of any battle he'd faced.

Words were bound to fail you here.

Instead, you opted to rise to your knees, shuffling over to him. His head fell naturally within the enclosure of your arms, face hidden in rare avoidance of perception against your chest.

"I love it, Gen. It's perfect."

"For real?"

"I love every bit of it. And I'll make sure I collect every heart for ... Garumi."

Gen's voice reached you, slightly muffled.

"He's kinda bad at that, y'know. Collecting hearts."

You tightened your arms around him, sinking one cheek to the top of the softly yielding unruliness of his hair.

"Maybe he'll unlock an extra ability later."

"He does."

"Oh?"

"But he can't if you're not there."

This time, he raised his head, and his lips found yours with unerring focus, as in all things he put his hand to.

It was different, more intentional, firm and warm, drawing sharp heat to the middle of your chest with a keen needle-point.

Gen was no romantic, but in that moment, you could have fallen head-first into the honeyed well of sweetness he had unlatched the door to.

A little later, when your head lay propped on his chest, the game-backdrop still bobbing gently on the screen, you asked him the question that had been bothering you since this had all started.

"Why'd you decide to make the game?"

He huffed out an annoyed breath before launching into a jumbled tirade about a cherry blossom viewing, Vice-Captain Hoshina and two children, all of which were almost unintelligible to you, but it seemed that someone had dared call him a bad boyfriend.

"What the fuck do they know? I'm the best at everything, but ... yeah, maybe I'm not great with love and stuff - "

You silenced him with a finger to the lips, waiting for him to truly grow quiet.

"I don't care if you are. I know you, Gen."

"Yeah?"

"I do."

There was a long pause, as you finger slid along his mouth, down to his chin, to his throat, waited there.

You felt him swallow.

"You'll collect all the hearts?"

"I always do."