Chapter Text
Ryouta’s heard a lot about Kasamatsu Yukio. It’s a lot to take in when you’re fresh out of the Jaeger Academy and, instead of finding a drift partner within the pool of new graduates, you’re told that after thorough analysis of your training reports you have been selected as a potential new drift partner for Kasamatsu Yukio following the death of his previous partner and the decommissioning of Mark-3 Jaeger Tempest Nine—
Ryouta’s heard a lot about Kasamatsu Yukio. His unwavering partnership with Moriyama Yoshitaka, whom he’d apparently known since high school; their kaiju kill count, one of the highest out of all the Japanese rangers; his famously intimidating disposition and his ruthlessly methodological way of taking out a kaiju. He’s seen their interviews together, because let’s face it, what Japanese person hasn’t, and—
And, okay, so maybe Ryouta did graduate at the top of his class, but it’s still a lot to take in.
The first time he meets Kasamatsu is at the Kwoon Combat Room, a good year after Moriyama’s death – a good year spent out of commission, a year of healing and recovery. Still, even so, he holds himself stiffly, with the air of a soldier who has never left the battlefield, someone much older than his own age – he’s only two years older than Ryouta himself, but it seems like so much more the first time they lock eyes over the sparring arena.
“I’m Kise Ryouta,” Ryouta says, bowing lowly, gripping the sparring staff in his hand. He doesn’t quite meet Kasamatsu’s eyes. “Pleased to meet your acquaint—”
“Cut the crap, kid,” Kasamatsu says, and the name (kid, Ryouta thinks to himself sourly) annoys Ryouta, makes a spark of irritation flare up in his chest. “Let’s spar.”
And so Ryouta does. He crosses to the other side of the arena, fingers tightening against the staff. He turns, considers Kasamatsu’s stance with narrowed eyes.
They bow.
Kasamatsu moves first, crossing the room in three quick strides, but Ryouta’s fast, raises his weapon just as Kasamatsu moves in for a strike. Their weapons connect in a sharp clacking sound, and immediately Ryouta moves away, sliding his staff to the left before turning, raising his weapon towards Kasamatsu, but Kasamatsu tumbles backwards, uses the momentum to raise his foot for a kick that Ryouta swiftly avoids. He detracts, gets back on his feet, but Ryouta’s already there, pointing his weapon directly at him. Kasamatsu raises his staff in turn, and they connect again, and again, and again, before Ryouta switches tactics and steps back instead, just as Kasamatsu does the same.
They look at each other, and Ryouta’s already panting heavily, chest heaving with each shuddering breath. It lasts for just the briefest moment, but he thinks he sees Kasamatsu actually smirk at him, and then they charge at each other once more.
The spar lasts for what feels like an hour before Momoi – the J-Tech official in charge of the whole operation – raises her hand between the both of them.
“That’s enough,” she says firmly, and her voice seems to break the spell between them; Ryouta snaps out of his reverie, blinking, and he relaxes immediately, letting his arms drop to his sides.
Kasamatsu’s still stiff, though, watching Ryouta with narrowed eyes. It takes Momoi’s hand on his shoulder before he puts his weapon down too, and he dips his head once at Ryouta before turning around, striding out of the room.
Ryouta just watches him go, blinking at his retreating figure before he turns to Momoi.
“…Did that go well?” he asks, nervously, and Momoi smiles indulgently at him.
“You’ll find out,” she says, before she turns to go as well.
-
“Congratulations,” Momoi says the next day, and Ryouta thinks he might faint.
Next to him Kasamatsu’s expression is totally blank. Ryouta wishes Kasamatsu would show something on his face, even if it’s disapproval or disappointment or – worst of all – outright disgust. At least it’s something.
And then he realizes that in a few minutes he’ll know exactly what Kasamatsu thinks about him because he’s going to be inside his head, and oh, that faint feeling is back full force again and Ryouta thinks he just might end up losing his lunch all over the inside of the conn-pod.
He’s drifted with people before, back in the Jaeger Academy, but that was just in the drift sync tester – a simulator. This, though – this is different.
And to be drifting with someone like Kasamatsu who, for want of a better word, terrifies Ryouta, well.
He doesn’t stop shooting furtive little looks at Kasamatsu while they suit up, but his face remains perfectly impassive the entire time, and the anxiety continues mounting in the pit of his stomach.
“It’ll be fine,” Momoi tells him, and for a moment, Ryouta almost believes her.
Then he steps into the conn-pod and it’s just the two of them.
“Initiating neural handshake,” Momoi’s voice calls over the speakers, and Ryouta tries to remember how to breathe.
“Hey,” Kasamatsu says from next to him, and Ryouta’s head snaps to the left to look at him, eyes wide.
“It’ll be okay,” Kasamatsu says, calmly, and Ryouta barely has time to react before he’s sucked into the drift, and—
tokyo japan happy family mother and father no siblings elementary school basketball middle school high school captaincy good grades college applications tokyo university kaiju attack screaming screaming destruction death death death I want to be a jaeger pilot training training training first kill second kill third kill fourth kill
The drift is silence. The drift is silence. The drift is silence.
fighting alongside moriyama sitting in an interview trying to pretend to be the hero they expect him to be fifth kill sixth kill
The drift is silence. The drift is silence. The drift is—
a kaiju too fast too strong too much too much and moriyama’s panic and fear and pain and then nothing but silence
This is just a memory. This is just a memory. This is just a memory.
pain and pain and pain and pain and what do you mean he’s gone that can’t be true he can’t be gone
It’s just a memory. It’s just—
silence and pain and hurt and I don’t want to go back out in the field I don’t want another drift partner who’s this guy supposed to be I don’t care
It’s his face. It’s his own face staring back at him through Kasamatsu’s eyes, all fear and apprehension and clear inexperience, fresh-faced and anxious, and—
Kise Ryouta, huh.
Ryouta jolts backwards, blinking rapidly, his heart thumping heavily in his chest – his head is spinning and for a moment all he can think about it trying to get his breathing under control, and his head is spinning and he doesn’t even remember who he is for a moment and—
“Right hemisphere calibrated,” the computerized voice calls.
It comes back in snatches. He’s Kise Ryouta, but at the same time there’s another presence weighing on his brain – but it’s a comforting presence, unfamiliar yet reassuring at the same time, and it takes a moment for him to realize that it's Kasamatsu, that it worked, that they’re connected—
“Left hemisphere calibrated.”
He turns to look at Kasamatsu, bewildered, and Kasamatsu looks back at him, looking equally dazed.
“It worked,” he says in wonderment.
“It worked,” Kasamatsu echoes, but he doesn’t have to, because Kise feels the sentiment before he even hears Kasamatsu speak.
So this is what it’s like to drift with someone, for real, he thinks.
Next to him, Kasamatsu heaves a sigh of relief.
-
He is now officially PPDC Ranger Kise Ryouta, co-pilot to the Mark-4 Jaeger Ace Blue. It’s exciting – he’s waited for this day for a long time.
Turns out his compatibility statistics with Kasamatsu are incredibly high, and it makes him happy to have found someone that he can drift successfully with, someone that he can share a strong connection with.
It’s a strange feeling, to be drift partners with someone like Kasamatsu who, prior to the drift, was practically a complete stranger to Ryouta. It’s like he knows Kasamatsu, knows everything about him, has seen the world through his eyes and has felt his presence at the back of his brain – but at the same time, he doesn’t really know Kasamatsu at all.
He tries to talk to Kasamatsu, but he’s… he’s not responsive, exactly. It’s hard to really hold a conversation with him. They’re on speaking terms, but that’s where it stops.
It’s strange, and Ryouta’s consistently trying to breach that gap between where they really are and that intimacy when they drift with each other.
He doesn’t manage to make much progress, though, before they’re called for their first mission together.
“Category II,” Momoi tells them over the speakers as they suit up. “Shouldn’t be too difficult to handle, considering your specs, but don’t get complacent either.”
“Of course not,” Kasamatsu answers gruffly, and Momoi giggles.
“I should’ve expected as much from you, Kasamatsu-kun,” she says, and even through the speakers the fondness that tinges her voice is unmistakable. “It’s good to have you back on the field – really.”
Kasamatsu falls silent then, and Ryouta somehow manages to instinctively understand the emotions that flit across his face – a contradiction of happiness and pain and embarrassment and doubt, and Ryouta puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, echoing the first words Kasamatsu had spoken to him that first time in the conn-pod together. “It’ll be okay.”
Kasamatsu turns to look at him, then, and the conflicting emotions seem to fade away for a brief moment, replaced with something almost akin to amusement.
“That should be my line to you, freshman,” he says, and Ryouta gasps dramatically.
“Freshman?” he repeats, mock offended, and Kasamatsu punches him lightly (or not so lightly) on the arm.
“Your first mission, isn’t it?” he says, and they’re both already stepping into the conn-pod, getting ready to connect to their jaeger. “Don’t get cocky, kid.”
“I won’t—” Ryouta starts to say, but Momoi’s voice over the speakers interrupts him, telling them to prepare for synchronization, and this time Ryouta closes his eyes and lets the drift wash over him, tranquil and calm.
moriyama yoshitaka first day of high school so you’re in the basketball club too huh second year third year kaiju attack if you’re going to be a ranger I’m going with you battle battle win win win and then kasamatsu’s name screamed over the raging storm outside and a kaiju’s claws wrapped tight around his body and—
It’s better the second time, but Ryouta still jerks backwards when he finds himself back to reality, the shock of it sending tremors through his body.
He blinks, vision slowly returning, and vaguely he can hear the computerized voice reading out commands.
“Ready to activate the jaeger. Pilot to jaeger connection ready.”
Kasamatsu’s presence is there, again, steady and solemn like a rock, like an anchor, and Ryouta finds himself reaching towards him as they take their first step, then their second, and they’re moving, moving forward towards the kaiju that’s waiting for them.
The first glimpse of the terrain that Ryouta gets is of nothing but a fierce storm lashing at them, blurring their limited view from inside the jaeger, rain pelting against the screen. Even so, there’s no mistaking the kaiju in the distance, heading straight towards them, and in its path is—
“Sir,” Kasamatsu calls over the speakers. “There’s a civilian boat still in the waters, what should—“
“Abandon it,” Marshall Takeuchi says immediately. “Your priority is to take down the kaiju.”
“Understood,” Kasamatsu replies before cutting the connection.
“Kasamatsu,” Ryouta says, hesitantly. “Are we really—”
“Yes,” Kasamatsu answers, and Ryouta can feel the flare of irritation that rises up in Kasamatsu. “Marshall’s orders.”
“But orders—”
“—are meant to be followed. Got a problem, freshman?” Kasamatsu says, turning to look at Ryouta, eyebrows furrowed, and Ryouta feels that irritated spark in his chest all over again, the exact same feeling as the first time they’d met back at the Kwoon, when Kasamatsu had looked at him and called him kid.
“Yes, I do,” he says, evenly, his voice deceptively calm. “We can’t just leave a civilian boat out there to be killed be a kaiju, isn’t the whole point of being a ranger to protect people—”
“What else do you think we’re doing?” Kasamatsu interrupts. “We’re saving an entire city by getting rid of this kaiju, so—”
“Boys,” Momoi’s voice calls, speakers suddenly flaring to life. “Your connection is slipping. I’m not sure what the two of you are doing but if you could turn the communication channel back on so that we—”
“Left hemisphere out of alignment,” the computerized voice announces, and Kasamatsu swears loudly.
“Fuck! God damn it, Kise, get back in alignment—”
“I’m trying!” Ryouta roars back, but he can barely even hear Kasamatsu’s voice over the blood rushing in his ears and the way his heart’s beating in double time – he’s suddenly dizzy, like a carpet’s just been pulled out from underneath his feet, and he’s blinking, trying to get a hold of his bearings but with minimal success, and the world is tilting dangerously to the side, and—
“Kise,” Kasamatsu calls urgently, and Ryouta can feel the presence that is Kasamatsu Yukio slipping in and out of his mind, and if he could just hold onto it long enough for it to stop slipping from his grasp then— “Kise, can you hear me?”
The roar of a kaiju fills Ryouta’s ears, and it’s coming closer, far, far too close, the civilian boat long gone underwater by now, and all of a sudden survival instincts kick in and Ryouta snaps to full attention, his mind sliding back into place.
“Left hemisphere calibrated,” the voice says, and Ryouta can practically feel Kasamatsu’s relief washing over him.
“Go go go,” Kasamatsu says immediately, barely giving Ryouta time to think or react, and then his right arm moves forward, almost of its own accord, and the jaeger lands a hit directly to the belly of the kaiju.
“Activating right cannon,” the voice announces, and again Ryouta isn’t even thinking of his own accord when he finds himself with his right arm outstretched, palm facing outwards as the kaiju lunges straight at them, and—
“Now,” Kasamatsu says, and the blast of the cannon lands a direct hit to the kaiju; it lets out another roar, high and anguished and cutting straight into Ryouta’s eardrums, before it falls backwards, almost as if in slow-motion, hitting the water with a resounding crash.
Ryouta tries to breathe, tries to remember how to breathe, and he shuts his eyes, arms dropping to his sides immediately.
He can still feel Kasamatsu’s consternation, how Kasamatsu wants nothing more than to round against Ryouta and give him the biggest lecture he’s ever received in his life, but then the sharp edge of anger smoothens into something more sympathetic, and Ryouta is grateful when Kasamatsu says nothing instead.
They remain silent the whole time as the helicopters transport them back to the Shatterdome.
-
Ryouta manages to avoid Kasamatsu for an entire week before they end up running into each other at the cafeteria.
“Oh,” Ryouta says, surprised, as he quite literally walks into Kasamatsu. Their lunch trays jostle into each other, Ryouta’s juice box teetering on its edge dangerously.
“Sorry,” he says, automatically, before he looks up and realizes the person he just ran into is the very person he’s been avoiding for the past seven days.
They don’t say a word to each other for a long moment – just Ryouta staring at Kasamatsu wordlessly, feet frozen in fear, before he manages to stutter out a “Excuse me” before turning on his heel, about to walk off in the opposite direction.
“Wait,” Kasamatsu calls, and Ryouta freezes again.
You can do this, Ryouta, he thinks to himself, before schooling his expression into one of absolute neutrality and turning back around.
“What is it, Kasamatsu-san?”
“I…” Kasamatsu starts, then stops abruptly. Ryouta watches as he exhales, shoulders rising and then falling as he lets out a breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says at last, which is the exact opposite of everything Ryouta had been bracing himself for.
“What,” he says dumbly, and then snaps out of the shock when he realizes he’s let his lunch tray tilt dangerously to the side. He yelps, straightening up, before ducking his head and trying very hard not to look as embarrassed as he feels right now.
“I mean,” he amends. “What are you apologizing for, Kasamatsu-san? It was my fault for not listening—”
“Mission protocol isn’t necessarily the best course of action,” Kasamatsu says. His head’s lowered so Ryouta can’t quite see his face, but consequently it also means Kasamatsu can’t see what kind of expression he’s making, which is good, because it’s probably somewhere between confusion and awestruck wonderment right now. “I… As the more experienced one I shouldn’t have allowed something like that to happen. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Ryouta says, the words coming out in a rush. “I should have – I should have listened, too. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn, especially since I’m still new, and—”
“You’ve got good instincts,” Kasamatsu interrupts. He lifts his head then, and he’s smiling a little, and Ryouta’s heart squeezes weirdly in his chest. “You should trust them, kid.”
“Okay,” Ryouta replies, breathless all of a sudden. “T – thank you, Kasamatsu-san.”
Kasamatsu shakes his head. “It’s no big deal. It’s just an objective observation.”
There’s a pause in the conversation then, and Ryouta’s still having trouble grasping that this is actually happening, this isn’t some kind of dream that his guilt-stricken subconscious came up with.
Then Kasamatsu shifts, taking another deep breath, before he turns away to stare at some unknown spot on the wall next to them.
“Anyway,” he says, the tips of his ears starting to look suspiciously red, “do you want to have lunch with me?”
Ryouta’s eyes light up, then, and if the “of course, Kasamatsu-san!” that slips out from his lips turns out far too loud, well, it’s fine, because Kasamatsu makes sure to tell him so, punctuated by a cautionary whack to the arm.
-
The next mission comes two weeks later, and it is a resounding success. So is the third mission. And the fourth one. And the fifth one.
The media starts taking notice of this fresh-faced new jaeger pilot with a pretty face and a pleasant personality – not to mention his talent, his strange ability to copy any jaeger’s moves perfectly – and suddenly Ryouta finds himself booked for more interviews and press conferences than he can count on both hands.
By his side, of course, is Kasamatsu, because there’s no way you can interview a jaeger pilot without their co-pilot being present as well, and Kasamatsu just grumbles whenever Ryouta pops his head into their shared room and sheepishly tells him that he’s just gotten himself booked for another interview.
“You need to start learning how to say no, you brat,” Kasamatsu tells him one day, and Ryouta just laughs and rubs the back of his neck.
“Sorry, sorry, but—”
“Yeah, I know.” Kasamatsu sighs, reaching out to ruffle Ryouta’s hair just a little too roughly. “So when exactly is this new interview?”
He and Kasamatsu are – friends now, probably. It’s still a little tentative and shaky, but somehow Ryouta feels confident enough to put that label on – whatever it is they have between them.
There isn’t really a word for this strange relationship – Ryouta knowing everything there is to know about Kasamatsu, Ryouta having seen through Kasamatsu’s very own eyes, and vice versa as well. There’s just something secret and intimate about it all, and yet the knowledge that Kasamatsu probably knows more about him than anyone else in the entire world doesn’t scare Ryouta as much as he’d thought it would.
It feels – nice, somehow, to have someone who you can truly say understands you completely, to share that mutual trust with each other.
So maybe friends doesn’t begin to cover it. Friends is just barely scratching the surface of what they have.
But it’s fine. Ryouta doesn’t mind not having a label for it. He’s content with closing his eyes as he feels himself falling into the drift, Kasamatsu’s presence a comfortable weight in the back of his mind.
-
They become inseparable, even moreso than regular drift partners tend to be. It’s just that Ryouta genuinely enjoys Kasamatsu’s presence, which is something he hadn’t expected at all. After he’d gotten to know Kasamatsu, actually know him, all that previous intimidation had just melted away, replaced with a sort of casual, easy camaraderie.
So maybe Kasamatsu’s a gruff, unfriendly asshole most of the time, but somehow all those traits have become almost endearing to Ryouta. It makes him laugh to see him respond to another one of Ryouta’s long spiels with a stone-faced, monosyllabic answer. And it gives him an even greater sense of satisfaction when Ryouta finally manages to make him crack a smile or laugh out loud.
Because Kasamatsu has a really nice smile, how has Ryouta never noticed that before? He has a really nice smile, one of those smiles that are all teeth with the slightest hint of gum showing. And his laughter – it’s deep and throaty, like it’s being dragged out from the back of his throat, but it’s not at all unpleasant to listen to. It’s actually kind of charming, in a way.
The day Ryouta realizes that is also the very same day that he realizes that he might have a tiny crush on Kasamatsu.
A tiny one. Just a tiny, minor one that’ll go away in no time. Definitely.
-
Sometimes Ryouta forgets that the connection between pilots go beyond the drift. Sometimes, the instinctive way he understands what Kasamatsu’s thinking becomes so natural to him that he forgets that it’s not – natural, that is; that it's a byproduct of long hours spent with their minds melded together in the cockpit of a Jaeger.
Which is probably why he doesn’t immediately realize what’s going on the first time he finds himself staring at Kasamatsu’s lips, and Kasamatsu immediately looks up at him with his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.
Or the second time, when they’re sparring together in the Kwoon Combat Room, and Kasamatsu takes his shirt off, which, yeah, isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but Ryouta finds himself temporarily disarmed by the sight of Kasamatsu’s bare torso covered in sweat, which, in turn, causes Kasamatsu to fumble with his own weapon as well.
And – okay, Ryouta’s willing to confess that he’s probably just a little slow for not realizing what’s been going on for so long.
Eventually, though, there aren’t any melodramatic confessions of love or anything that Ryouta might or might not have spent far too long fantasizing about when he should’ve been paying attention to another briefing or another training session.
Eventually they get called on a mission one day, and they suit up and get into the cockpit as per normal.
But then Ryouta sinks into the drift, and – and it’s not what he expected at all.
Kasamatsu’s memories are there. That, Ryouta’s used to. He’s ready for it, letting it wash over him in a wave, but when it passes, suddenly there’s something new there, something different from the calming shade of blue that Ryouta’s always associated with Kasamatsu’s mind.
It’s – it’s red, not a violent red like a blazing fire, but something softer, something warm, something—
And then it clicks into place.
Suddenly, Ryouta understands.
The drift passes, and Ryouta finds himself blinking as he finds himself jolted back to reality.
He turns to his left to look at Kasamatsu, but Kasamatsu’s staring back at him like he’s never seen anyone quite like Ryouta before in his entire life, and Ryouta’s heart jerks almost violently in his chest.
“Kasamatsu-san—?”
“Kise,” he says faintly. “You—”
“Ready to activate the jaeger. Pilot to jaeger connection ready.”
The sudden blare of the announcement system jolts them both back to the situation at hand, and they turn back to face the front.
Still, Ryouta can’t stop smiling. He has a kaiju to fight, and he might not make it back in one piece, and they are soldiers, they are fighting a war, but—
But Kasamatsu Yukio is in love with him, and he thinks – he thinks things are going to be okay.
-
The mission goes well, and they manage to take out the kaiju with minimal damage to the surrounding city. They’re congratulated on another success when they return to the Shatterdome, but even Kasamatsu, who’s usually so polite and formal, can’t help but let how distracted he is show.
There’s a short debrief following their mission which feels like an hour, and Ryouta doesn’t even hear a word that Marshall Takeuchi says; all he can think about is the few inches of space between him and Kasamatsu, and how much he just wants to close that distance and touch his hand, anything to feel the press of Kasamatsu’s skin against his, and—
“You’re dismissed,” Takeuchi says, in conclusion, and Ryouta immediately stands bolt upright, the words sending an electric current straight through him, and then he’s speeding back to their dorm, Kasamatsu right next to him.
He’s not even sure how he managed to find their room, and later, he’ll have absolutely no recollection of the long walk from the Jaeger launch area to the dorm rooms.
All he’ll remember is the way Kasamatsu pushes him against the door the moment they fumble their way past the lock; the way Kasamatsu doesn’t hesitate to put one hand behind Ryouta’s neck to tilt his head down until finally, finally they can lock lips.
Kasamatsu doesn’t really taste like anything. It’s just warm, warm like that shade of red that he’d seen in Kasamatsu’s mind, and it makes Ryouta fist his hands in Kasamatsu’s shirt, pulling him closer, fingers clutching almost desperately at the material, like the moment he lets go he’ll never be able to experience the feeling of kissing Kasamatsu Yukio ever again.
He feels Kasamatsu lick into the seam of his mouth, and it pulls a moan from the back of his throat, makes him open up to deepen the kiss, sloppy and not at all graceful. But even in spite of the lack of finesse Ryouta’s never been this charged up over anything ever, and he puts his hands on the small of Kasamatsu’s back, drags him even closer until their bodies are pressed together, every single painstaking inch of skin separated by nothing but a thin layer of clothing, and Kasamatsu’s crotch presses hard against his thigh, and oh—
Ryouta pulls away, panting, and he manages to finally get a good look at Kasamatsu’s face, which is a mistake – he’s flushed, and his lips are an obscene shade of red, and he looks so delightfully rumpled that Ryouta feels his heart jolt in his chest at the sight of it.
“What’s wrong?” Kasamatsu says – his first words since the mission, and Ryouta just grins and palms Kasamatsu’s ass.
“Bed,” Ryouta manages, a challenge just to get that single syllable out of his mouth, but then Kasamatsu’s eyes widen just for a brief moment before he’s seizing Ryouta by the collar and dragging him bodily to the bunk bed that they share.
And, god, months and months of sleeping in the same room together, and they’ve never done this, never even thought about doing it, except – except it’s a lie, Ryouta’s thought about doing this more than he’d care to admit, stroking himself in the shower with Kasamatsu’s smile and Kasamatsu’s laughter and Kasamatsu’s voice running through his mind, and from that connection in the drift he knows, too, that Kasamatsu’s thought about this as well, that he’s done exactly the same thing, and the thought of Kasamatsu getting himself off to Ryouta, the thought of Kasamatsu fingering himself with Ryouta’s name on his lips is enough to make a spike of arousal flare up in him.
And so Ryouta flips them over instead, pressing Kasamatsu into the sheets, and before Kasamatsu can ask what he’s trying to do he’s slipping off the bed, sinking to his knees, hands already working at Kasamatsu’s pants.
“Kise—” Kasamatsu begins to say, but Ryouta doesn’t respond, instead hooks his thumbs into Kasamatsu’s pants and pushing it down, exposing the hard line of his cock through the thin fabric of his briefs, a damp spot already forming from where the head’s pressed against cotton, leaking precum.
Ryouta doesn’t even think about it before he’s leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Kasamatsu’s crotch, tongue lapping against the damp spot, and he can feel the way Kasamatsu tenses beneath him, his exhale coming out in a shaky gasp.
Slowly, he reaches up to peel Kasamatsu’s briefs off, sliding it down his legs with a painful deliberateness. Kasamatsu sighs when he finally gets it off, his cock springing free and standing erect against his abs, and Ryouta would be lying if he said he wasn’t staring shamelessly, licking his lips at the sight of it. He gets his briefs off completely, Kasamatsu kicking it off carelessly, and then he’s pressing Kasamatsu back down against the sheets again, fingers pressing bruises into Kasamatsu’s hips.
“God, you look so good like this,” Ryouta mutters, and then he’s on his knees again, one hand wrapped around the base of Kasamatsu’s cock while he leans forward and presses a kiss to the head, tasting the bitterness of the precum. Kasamatsu hisses, hips arching upwards, but Ryouta presses him down again before taking his cock into his mouth, slowly, dragging his tongue against the sensitive skin.
He hasn’t done this, not since – not since the kaiju, and he’s relying more on instinct than anything else, but still, he’s confident that he’s doing okay, because Kasamatsu has the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, and even then that’s not quite enough to stifle the moans that are spilling from his lips, the way he calls Ryouta’s name and how he’s encouraging Ryouta to keep going – “oh, yeah, just like that” and “god, Kise, you’re so good” – so yeah, Ryouta’s pretty sure he’s doing fine.
And then he hollows out his cheeks and sucks, and Kasamatsu completely gives up on trying to keep his voice down and moans, loud and shameless, “God, Kise, I’m so close—”
And Ryouta pulls away, sitting on his heels to admire Kasamatsu’s saliva-coated cock and the way Kasamatsu groans in frustration, hands clutching at the sheets so tightly his knuckles start to go white.
“Fuck, you goddamn tease, I should’ve known—”
“Don’t come yet,” Ryouta slurs, scrambling onto bed, leaning down on Kasamatsu, close enough for him to see just how wrecked Ryouta is already, flushed and panting and his pupils blown wide. “Want you to fuck me.”
“Fuck,” Kasamatsu repeats, and Ryouta barely has a moment to consider the implications of that one word before Kasamatsu’s grabbing him by the back of the neck and kissing him again, probably tasting himself on Ryouta’s tongue, and god, the thought of that is inexplicably hot to Ryouta, and he kisses back with a feverish intensity, making sure that Kasamatsu can taste all of himself in Ryouta’s mouth, and—
And then there’s the feeling of Kasamatsu’s finger nudging at Ryouta’s entrance, and he keens, loud and high-pitched, fingers clutching at Kasamatsu’s shoulders.
“Goddamn it,” Ryouta pants, feeling himself buck against Kasamatsu’s finger, “I didn’t even notice, that’s just unfair—”
“It’s called multitasking,” Kasamatsu says, grinning, has the audacity to be laughing at a moment like this, and Ryouta’s about to return with another sharp comeback of his own before he feels a lube-covered finger slowly pushing into him, stretching him, and Ryouta moans, letting his head fall against Kasamatsu’s shoulder.
“Relax,” Kasamatsu murmurs, his voice soothing. “Just relax, it’ll make it more comfortable for you—”
“God,” Ryouta mutters, his voice thin and shaky, and it’s been too long since he’s last done this, and he has to force himself to breathe, to adjust to the alien sensation of Kasamatsu’s finger inside of him, but – but it’s not a bad feeling, exactly, it doesn’t really burn, so—
“You can,” Ryouta manages, mouthing at the curve of Kasamatsu’s jaw, “add another.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt—”
“Just do it,” Ryouta hisses, and wisely, Kasamatsu chooses not to argue against that, instead obeying, coating a second finger with lube and then pressing it inside, pushing and scissoring. The burn is greater now, but it’s still not unpleasant, and Ryouta shifts, trying to find a more comfortable angle as Kasamatsu pushes and scissors his fingers, until—
“Oh,” Ryouta gasps, nails digging into Kasamatsu’s skin without warning. “Oh, right there—”
“Here?” Kasamatsu says, his voice quiet, as his fingers push into that spot once more, and Ryouta moans, violently pressing his mouth into Kasamatsu’s again in lieu of an answer.
Kasamatsu doesn’t stop kissing him even as he pushes his fingers against that spot again, making Ryouta hiss and arch against him, teeth digging into Kasamatsu’s lower lip without warning. His hips twitch reflexively, sliding his cock against Kasamatsu’s, and Ryouta’s so overstimulated he can’t stand it, putting everything he has into his kiss, panting harshly against Kasamatsu’s mouth, hands scrabbling for some sort of purchase and finding it in Kasamatsu’s shoulders, Kasamatsu’s chest, Kasamatsu’s cock, as he presses the both of them together and strokes.
He feels Kasamatsu’s rhythm stutter, fingers pausing momentarily before thrusting back in with renewed vigor, and Ryouta thinks he could come just like this, pressed right up against Kasamatsu, but he doesn’t want it to end yet, still wants to feel every inch of Kasamatsu’s cock pressed deep inside him, and that thought makes him tighten his grip on the base of Kasamatsu’s cock, makes him lean down and moan into Kasamatsu’s ear, “It’s enough, want you to fuck me—”
Kasamatsu groans, a low guttural sound torn from the back of this throat, and he flips them over again, pressing Ryouta back onto the sheets, grabbing his thighs roughly and pulling them apart. Ryouta is compliant, letting his long legs wrap around Kasamatsu’s waist, dragging him in closer, muttering “c’mon, c’mon,” quietly as Kasamatsu slicks himself up, coating his cock with lube before lining himself up.
“Kasamatsu-san,” Ryouta groans, impatient, “hurry up, want to feel your cock pounding inside of me—”
“God,” Kasamatsu hisses, pressing his forehead against Ryouta’s. “God, just shut up, you and your filthy mouth—”
“You love it,” Ryouta answers, defiant, but he knows it, knows it for fact because he can practically feel Kasamatsu’s amusement when he sighs and shakes his head.
“You know I do,” he confesses, lowly, and Ryouta smiles, runs his finger against Kasamatsu’s bottom lip, surprisingly gentle in spite of the heat of the moment.
“Just like the rest of me, right?” Ryouta says, but he’s only half-teasing, and Kasamatsu just laughs, kisses Ryouta again right as he finally pushes himself in, achingly slow, and Ryouta’s hips arch sharply off the bed at the sudden stretch; he can feel every inch of the burn but it’s a good kind of burn, the kind of ache that makes something hot inch its way into his chest, and he snaps his hips back down, meeting Kasamatsu’s thrusts midway, letting Kasamatsu know that he’s right there with him, that it’s good, that he’s loving it as much as Kasamatsu, to god, please never stop—
Then all of a sudden Kasamatsu has his hands on Ryouta’s hips, grabbing him roughly and lifting them up so they’re arched completely off the bed, and suddenly everything is even hotter and deeper and better, and Ryouta can’t help the high-pitched noise that’s ripped from his throat as his legs tighten their hold around Kasamatsu’s waist, heel digging into the small of Kasamatsu’s back – keeping himself up, hands clutching tight at Kasamatsu’s shoulders, fingers pressing into the skin there hard enough to bruise.
“Kasamatsu-san,” Ryouta calls, half delirious, “Kasamatsu-san, oh—”
In the end it’s Ryouta who tumbles off the edge first, moaning Kasamatsu’s name loudly as he comes, and without thinking his fingernails dig into Kasamatsu’s shoulders, scratching an angry red line into the skin there. The sharp sensation of pain shoots straight through Kasamatsu, and all it takes is one final thrust before Kasamatsu’s slamming deep into Ryouta and coming, hissing through this teeth before he finally collapses, boneless, on top of Ryouta, panting like he’s just run a marathon.
“Oh my god,” Ryouta finally says at last, and Kasamatsu buries his face into Ryouta’s shoulder, inhaling the thick scent of sweat and musk and sex.
Kasamatsu just grunts in response, and then Ryouta’s wincing as Kasamatsu pulls out, as careful as possible, but the feeling still makes Ryouta hiss anyway. It’s remedied soon enough, though, because Kasamatsu’s got a bunch of tissues in his hand, leaning forward to clean the both of them off, his hands surprisingly tender. Ryouta relaxes under his touch, letting his eyes flutter closed.
When Ryouta finally feels the sensation of Kasamatsu’s touch leaving his skin he opens his eyes again, watches as Kasamatsu crosses the room to throw away the used tissues into the dustbin on the other side of their dorm, and yes, he does allow himself to admire the curve of Kasamatsu’s ass, and it’s with some measure of satisfaction that he realizes that Kasamatsu will be seeing this, too, the next time they drift together.
“C’mere,” Ryouta calls when Kasamatsu turns back towards him, and obligingly he crawls back into bed with Ryouta, never mind the fact that the bed clearly isn’t designed for more than one person, wrapping his arms around Ryouta and pulling him close, until their foreheads are touching; this close, Ryouta can see the sweep of Kasamatsu’s eyelashes across his cheek, the redness of his lips and the exact curve of his nose, and he’s struck all over again just how gorgeous Kasamatsu really is.
Absently his thumb traces across the scratch that Ryouta left across his shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbles quietly, but Kasamatsu just takes Ryouta’s hand in his, brings his fingers to his lips in a quiet kiss.
“It’s okay,” Kasamatsu says. “I don’t mind.”
“So Kasamatsu-san likes it rough, huh?” Ryouta fires back, grinning, and the corner of Kasamatsu’s mouth quirks upwards in a way that probably didn’t use to be this attractive before.
“You’re ruining the mood, you moron,” Kasamatsu mutters, and Ryouta just laughs, presses a kiss to the corner of that scathing mouth.
“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, but he’s still laughing. Instead he snuggles closer to Kasamatsu, letting his head rest against the crook of Kasamatsu’s shoulder. “Let’s just cuddle.”
Kasamatsu hums in agreement, and it doesn’t take long before Ryouta’s drifting off to sleep, quiet and happy and peaceful for the first time in a long, long while.
-
It’s not – a secret, exactly. He doesn’t tell anyone in particular, not explicitly, but people figure out anyway. They already did spend all their time together, even before, but – okay, Ryouta admits he’s not the most subtle person in the world, and even though he never tries anything outright daring like kissing Kasamatsu in public, he figures the little things are probably not so little things after all.
Like yelling Kasamatsu’s name from across the cafeteria, punctuated by very enthusiastic waving. Yeah, probably not so subtle after all.
But it’s fine though – Ryouta doesn’t really care either way, as long as he isn’t forced to talk about it in the interviews and talk shows he just can’t get rid of no matter how hard he tries. He likes keeping it this way, just between the both of them. It feels like something secret and intimate, like an extension of the drift, and it’s nice – to feel the rush of Kasamatsu’s feelings whenever they step into their jaeger, an affirmation. To nudge at Kasamatsu’s foot under the table when they have meals together and to fall asleep with Kasamatsu in his arms, Ryouta’s nose pressed against his hair.
It’s not very much different from before (apart from the cuddling and the kissing and the sex, of course) – they still bicker and fight, and Kasamatsu still very literally kicks Ryouta’s ass whenever he’s being childish or petulant or not putting a hundred percent into their daily sparring sessions.
But he makes up for his roughness at night, and for every scolding there’s a kiss waiting for Ryouta in the silence of their dorm room; for every kick and every punch Kasamatsu makes up for it with the tenderness of his hands, the reverent way he kisses up Ryouta’s thighs and the gentleness with which he treats Ryouta when he makes love to him, slow and quiet and tender, so, so tender that sometimes Ryouta has to turn away and shut his eyes to stop himself from tearing up.
Their room becomes their sanctuary, somewhere they can just get away from it all – from the other rangers, the marshals, the interviews that never seem to end and the kaiju that never stop coming.
It’s selfish, Ryouta thinks, because they’re soldiers, and they’re fighting a war, and peace was never meant to be an option until the last kaiju is finally eradicated – but if it’s selfish of him to want to forget about the world for just a few moments, to put it all aside for the sensation of Kasamatsu’s lips against his own, then, well – then he doesn’t mind at all.
It’s during these moments, these quiet moments in their own little world, that they talk. About things that they normally wouldn’t say, about the memories that they’ve both seen in the drift, flashes of it, but that they’ve never talked about to any other living soul.
Kasamatsu talks about Moriyama.
“It’s the first time I’ve talked about him to anyone since—” Kasamatsu says, voice cracking before he can finish the sentence. Ryouta just runs his hands down Kasamatsu’s back, soothing, letting Kasamatsu take his time to say his piece.
“He was always this – this shameless, relentless flirt, you’ve seen the interviews, the way all the female interviewers would giggle and bat their eyelashes at him,” Kasamatsu says, smiling, but it’s all wrong, it’s more of a pained twist of his lips than a smile, and Ryouta has to hold back the urge to just lean in and kiss that look away.
“But that was just the way he was, he’s always been like this, even in high school.” Kasamatsu looks at the ground, taking a deep breath before continuing. “He had… he had this special girl, he met her while we were stationed at the Hong Kong Shatterdome briefly, a couple of years ago.”
Ryouta feels the way Kasamatsu shudders underneath his hands, and Ryouta keeps on running his hands down Kasamatsu’s back, his sides, nuzzling close to him, as if the physical contact will somehow lend Kasamatsu some of Ryouta’s strength, let him finish getting the words out.
“Her name was Anna,” Kasamatsu says, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She worked as a bartender at this seedy place downtown that we’d always go to whenever we had some spare time. She was – she was great, she didn’t take any of Moriyama’s shit, and that’s probably why he liked her so much, and when she died, just a few months before Moriyama – before he—”
Kasamatsu’s voice breaks again, and he takes a long, shuddering breath, as if his next words are stuck in the back of his throat, and Ryouta just holds him, lets Kasamatsu bury his face in Ryouta’s shoulder. He doesn’t cry, because Kasamatsu Yukio does not cry, but Ryouta holds him anyway, lets him stay like this until he’s strong enough to stand up on his own again.
Till then, Ryouta’s more than happy being strong enough for the both of them.
“We were still connected when he— I could feel it, you know. All of it. His fear, his pain, his desperation.” Kasamatsu pauses. “He was thinking of her.” A deep breath. “When he. When he—when he died.”
Ryouta strokes Kasamatsu’s hair, presses his lips against his cheek. “I promise I won’t let you live through that again.”
Kasamatsu smiles weakly, a real smile now, just the slightest curve of the corners of his lips, but it still makes Ryouta’s heart clench in his chest anyway.
“Yeah,” Kasamatsu says, finally. “You’d better not.”
-
Sometimes things are okay. Sometimes missions go well and they return to the Shatterdome with minimal civilian casualties, and then Kise will press Kasamatsu up against a wall and fuck him senseless until they’re both boneless and sated. Sometimes they laugh and spar and kiss and they can pretend, for a moment, that things are okay, that things will be okay.
But sometimes things aren’t as good. Sometimes they have close shaves, flashes of panic in the middle of a battle where Ryouta thinks what if we don’t make it? Sometimes they stand side by side, heads bowed as they go through yet another funeral for yet another pilot who fought till their very last breath. Sometimes Ryouta will place a flower on a grave of someone he actually knew and think to himself, that could have been me. That could have been Kasamatsu-san.
Sometimes Kasamatsu will kiss Ryouta like it’s their last time. Sometimes Ryouta will kiss back like he’s never going to get this again, the feeling of Kasamatsu’s arms around him and Kasamatsu’s lips against his.
Sometimes Kasamatsu will fall asleep in Ryouta’s arms at night, and Ryouta will stay up till the sun rises just watching the rise and fall of Kasamatsu’s chest, listening to him breathe.
But he gets up in the morning anyway, kissing Kasamatsu on the lips and laughing as Kasamatsu grimaces at his morning breath.
He gets up in the morning anyway, because he knows he has to be brave for Kasamatsu-san. For the both of them.
-
“I love you,” Ryouta breathes, right before they suit up and step into the cockpit of their jaeger.
Kasamatsu just looks at him, brushes his thumb against Ryouta’s cheek.
“I know,” he whispers.
-
“It’s a Category IV,” Momoi says, biting her lower lip. She’s smiling, trying to look calm, but Ryouta can tell that she’s worried nevertheless.
And when Sastuki Momoi is worried, there is very much a cause for concern.
“We’ve never encountered specs like it before, which is why we’re sending two of our strongest teams.” Momoi nods at the four jaeger pilots gathered before her; Ryouta and Kasamatsu, standing with their shoulders pressed together, and the second team, Midorima and Takao, the pilots of Sharp Shooter.
Fear bubbles up in Ryouta’s chest, but then Kasamatsu’s hand is in his, warm and comforting.
“Be prepared. Be cautious. Listen to everything mission control says. This is an unprecedented attack. Be careful.”
Momoi turns to look at all four pilots squarely in the eye, her gaze hardened.
There’s a long pause. Then—
“You’re dismissed. Report to your respective launch stations immediately.”
Momoi takes a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a moment. Then her eyes are open again, wide and clear.
She smiles.
“Good luck,” she says, her voice quiet. “Please come back safely.”
-
The kaiju is unlike anything Ryouta has ever seen before. It’s huge, even by kaiju standards, towering over both jaegers like they’re mere playthings, to be swatted out of the way with minimal effort. Ryouta tries to mirror its moves, but somehow it’s just not working – for every punch that Ryouta throws it, it comes back with something harder, faster, stronger, and Ryouta finds himself out of breath before long, pushing himself to his absolute limits trying to copy it, to beat it, to go one step above it—
And then Ryouta realizes what’s happening.
This kaiju is a copy of their jaeger. This kaiju is an improved copy of Ace Blue.
His mind is racing trying to process this new realization. Kasamatsu’s head snaps to the side to stare at Ryouta as the thought transmits through the neural bridge, but then the kaiju’s charging back at them, roaring, and there’s no time to think at all before they’re meeting it halfway again and again and again.
They’re pinned against a building, and Ryouta can feel it crumbling beneath the combined weight of the kaiju and the jaeger, and distantly he can see Sharp Shooter trying to engage the kaiju in the combat, but it’s not even caring at all – it’s like its only purpose here is to take Ace Blue down, and…
It’s not possible, Ryouta thinks, before the kaiju’s claw sinks into the cockpit and tears it straight out of the jaeger’s body.
Two different things happen instantaneously.
One: Ryouta feels himself falling, falling, falling, but the sensation of it is drowned out by the pain that's suddenly in his head, like a rope being cut with just a single thread holding the whole thing together.
Two: Kasamatsu’s voice is in his head, screaming, screaming Ryouta’s name, and in a second a hundred different memories flash through his mind, or Ryouta’s mind, does it really matter? It’s every single moment they’ve shared together, since the first time Ryouta bowed at Kasamatsu at the Kwoon combat room, to the last thing Kasamatsu ever said to Ryouta, right before the start of the mission, and then suddenly, in the midst of all the memories, a single moment of clarity.
Kasamatsu smiling at Ryouta, eyes gentle, hand outstretched towards him, lips forming silent words.
I know.
And then it’s like Ryouta’s screaming so loud he can’t hear anything else over it – white noise fills his ears like the sound of broken glass, and the pain that courses through every nerve in this body makes him feel like he’s burning, burning, every inch of him is burning; but even over the pain and the noise and the everything that’s threatening to overwhelm Ryouta – distantly a single thought cuts through the cloudiness of his mind:
Where’s Kasamatsu-san?
And then it’s like something snaps – the cloud clears, and the white noise disappears, and the pain is still there but he’s not even thinking about it, the only single thought that’s filling his mind is where’s Kasamatsu-san? Where is he? Where is he? Where—
He can’t feel him. Ryouta can’t feel him. He’s not there. He’s not—
He can’t comprehend what’s happening. He can’t, because Kasamatsu’s not there, and he’s not even sure where Ryouta himself is, he can’t feel anything, can’t feel anything except the pain in his limbs and the ringing in his ears, and—
And then it all fades to black, and the thoughts stop completely.
-
Ryouta wakes up in snatches.
First, it’s to the distant sound of beeping. A steady electronic rhythm. The vague smell of antiseptic, filling his nose with its stench. He never liked the smell.
Then his fingers twitch, and he hears rustling at his side, and then—
And then his eyes open.
He’s lying in a bed. He’s lying in a bed at the medical bay in the Shatterdome. Ryouta knows this because Ryouta’s been here before, lots of times, first as a trainee who often needed to get patched up after a particularly rough sparring session, and then as a pilot who’d come here for an examination right after every mission along with Kasamatsu-san—
“Kasamatsu-san,” Ryouta gasps, jerking upright, but he can’t sit up completely because there are tubes tugging at his body, and the beeping’s going crazy and there are strong hands pushing him back down onto the bed, voices telling him to be calm, lie down, you need to relax, but how can he relax when none of those voices are Kasamatsu’s, when what he wants is Kasamatsu’s touch against his skin, and why does nobody want to tell him where Kasamatsu-san is—
Vaguely he can hear someone yelling to sedate him, but he fights against it, fights against those hands and those voices to the best of his ability, even as he feels sleep rising up to take him, and Kasamatsu-san, where’s Kasamatsu-san, what happened to—
Then sleep swallows him whole like a tidal wave, and there is silence once more.
-
When he wakes up again Momoi is there, one hand placed comfortingly on his wrist.
“Kise-kun,” she says.
Ryouta doesn’t reply.
“Kise-kun, it’s good you’re awake.” Momoi’s smiling, her fingers rubbing soothing circles against Ryouta’s pulse. The beeping is still there, but apart from that it’s quiet, deathly quiet, and the air still stinks of antiseptic, and Ryouta hates it.
“You were so lucky,” she murmurs. “The kaiju ripped the entire cockpit out, but thankfully the emergency oxygen supply in your dive suit managed to sustain you long enough for Midorima-kun and Takao-kun to finish up the battle and for us to find you. You were so cold from the ocean when we pulled you out, and you were unconscious for days, and the doctors said—”
“Where’s Kasamatsu-san?” Ryouta croaks.
Momoi’s hand stills abruptly. Ryouta stares at it, stares at her long fingers and the way they tremble almost minutely against Ryouta’s skin.
“Kasamatsu-kun,” she says, her voice quiet, barely audible above the beeping, “was not so lucky.”
All of a sudden it feels like Ryouta can’t breathe.
“The cockpit wasn’t ripped out all at once,” Momoi says, in hushed tones. “You got out first, the neural bridge cutting off. But Kasamatsu-kun was left there – we don’t know for how long – shouldering the neural load by himself. Whether it was just a second or minutes – it doesn’t matter, no pilot is meant to be able to withstand that kind of pressure.”
It feels like Ryouta’s been punched in the chest, like there’s a hole where his heart used to be. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t feel.
“But he fought,” Momoi continues, ducking her head. “He fought. He should’ve died instantly from the neural overload but he didn’t. He clung on.”
“How long did he last?” Ryouta asks. His voice sounds distant and faraway, like it’s not his own.
“Two days,” Momoi answers, softly. “But he fought, Kise-kun. He fought to the very end.”
Momoi raises her hand, places it on Kise’s shoulder. It’s probably meant to be a comforting gesture, but all it feels like is a gigantic weight that’s pushing him down.
“He fought, just like what he would’ve wanted you to do.”
Ryouta doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give any indication that he’s heard her. All he can do is stare straight ahead, his vision blurring at the edges.
“You need to rest,” he hears Momoi say, distantly, and out of the corner of his eye he can see her getting up, the chair she’s sitting on clacking against the floor as she pushes it back. “But I’ll come back later again, when you’re feeling better.”
A pause, then her hand against his forehead, cool.
“Please rest well, Kise-kun,” she says, her voice gentle. “Things are going to be okay.”
It’s not until she leaves, heels clicking against the tiles and out the door, that Ryouta finally lets himself cry.
-
It takes a good few weeks before Ryouta is finally discharged from the medical bay – weeks of a careful blank numbness.
He goes through the motions mechanically – go for testing. Listen to the doctors. Take your medicines. Stare at the wall and try not to think of anything at all.
Feeling returns to him, slowly.
It comes in waves, sometimes, giant waves that catch him unaware and threaten to swallow him whole, leave him gasping for breath until it recedes and he’s left to try and block it all out, force himself back into careful numbness.
But sometimes it creeps up on him, during the nights, sometimes he lies in bed awake at three in the morning and all the little memories start surfacing at the back of his head, until Ryouta has to bury his face in his pillow and tell himself don’t think, don’t think, don’t think of anything at all.
It’s cruel, because before, it had always Kasamatsu who was the strong one between the both of them – it was Kasamatsu who would stand, still and steady, while Ryouta clung to him and cried into his shoulder when things went bad, when sometimes it got all too much to bear, when sometimes it was just so hard.
But Kasamatsu’s not there anymore, Ryouta has to remind himself. There’s no shoulder to cry on and no shirt to cling to and no one to hold him at night, when the bed feels far too big for just one person now.
Ryouta is alone. Ryouta is alone, now.
He misses Kasamatsu-san more than he can possibly bear.
-
It’s exactly one month, two weeks and five days after Kasamatsu’s death that Ryouta visits Ace Blue again.
Ryouta’s always known that jaeger graveyards exist – back when he was a trainee he’d stay up at night, listening with wide eyes as his fellow hopefuls would tell ghost stories in hushed tones about the spirits of deceased jaeger pilots still clinging on to the land of the living.
There’s some truth in that, actually, Ryouta had learned. It’s not so much ghosts of the dead but memories that still linger in the drift, long after the pilot last stepped foot into their jaeger. And it makes sense – drifting so many times within that machine, letting your every thought and memory flow and course through every single wire and every piece of metal. It makes sense that it would remain.
It’s exactly one month, two weeks and five days after Kasamatsu’s death that Ryouta visits Ace Blue again.
He knows it’s stupid – no pilot is meant to be able to withstand that kind of pressure, Momoi had told him that day – but by this point, he doesn’t care. He can’t bring himself to care, not when his nights are just constant replays of that day, like a film reel stuck on repeat whenever he manages to fall asleep, not when the days aren’t much better, not when every little thing still reminds Ryouta of him.
He doesn’t really know what he’s hoping for – closure? Salvation? Forgiveness? – but he finds himself making the solitary trip to the jaeger graveyard anyway, feet padding quietly against empty corridors, his own footsteps echoing in the silence.
The jaeger graveyard in Tokyo is – well. Ryouta doesn’t know what he was expecting.
The room is filled wall to wall with the crumbling remains of jaegers – Ryouta finds he actually recognizes some of them, the ones collecting dust against the walls, nothing but the empty shells of their former glory. Ryouta remembers seeing them, way back, on newspapers and on television.
Ryouta remembers looking at them and thinking of them as the saviors of mankind. Modern-day superheroes with their gigantic robots.
He’s never been more wrong in his life.
Back before he became a jaeger pilot, he’d been filled with some kind of deluded notion that if he made it into the ranks, if he became one of them, he’d magically turn into one of his fantasy superheroes, strong and proud and brave.
The truth is, at the end of it all, he’s still Kise Ryouta. He’s still the boy who cries watching ridiculous romantic comedies and who’s scared of the dark. He’s no superhero.
Kasamatsu Yukio wasn’t a superhero either. But – but he’s still a hero, as far as Ryouta’s concerned.
It doesn’t take very long to find Ace Blue. Its blue shell remains, still gleaming proudly underneath the dim lighting, even though the rest of it is in ruins – a headless jaeger, collapsed against the floor, lost and forsaken. The cockpit sits next to it, small and sullen, and Ryouta finds himself walking towards it mechanically.
It might not even work. The cockpit’s not even joined to the rest of the jaeger anymore. It might not work. It might not work.
But—
Ryouta climbs into the cockpit, gingerly, surprised to find how naturally he steps into it, into the very place he’s stood in all those times with Kasamatsu by his side.
Nothing happens at first. Ryouta just stands there dumbly, wonders if there’s something he needs to do to trigger it, if he needs to do something to initiate the drift with this headless beast—
And then something happens. Ryouta’s not sure what caused it, but suddenly he finds himself assaulted with a hundred different memories he’d thought he’d let go of, memories he’d thought he’d forgotten and memories that have haunted his dreams for every single night ever since—
Sparring for the first time, locking eyes across the Kwoon Combat Room, the spark of interest beneath Kasamatsu’s careful veneer of indifference.
The first mission. Meeting in the cafeteria, lunch trays jostling against each other. Kasamatsu’s embarrassed invitation and Ryouta’s overeager response, Kasamatsu wondering to himself, is this boy for real—
Sitting in an interview, staring at his knees and trying to figure out what to do with his hands. Ryouta, sitting by Kasamatsu’s side, smiling brightly and laughing loudly and next to him, Kasamatsu’s heart thudding in his chest dully.
That first time. The taste of Ryouta’s lips, real and so, so happy.
Every single time after that.
Every single mission. The good, the bad.
Ryouta’s hand in his as they stand with their heads bowed, honoring the passing of another pilot who gave their all and yet it still wasn’t enough.
Momoi Satsuki’s anxious face, worry lines drawn across her forehead.
A moment of sudden clarity – that this is a battle that cannot be won.
Feeling Ryouta torn right out of the drift. Standing still, standing so, so still as the burden of the drift comes crashing down onto him like a tidal wave.
And then—
“Kise.”
It’s Kasamatsu’s voice. Is Ryouta dreaming? He must be dreaming. Everything is bright, so blindingly bright, and Kasamatsu-san’s voice is as soothing as he remembered – was it all a dream? Will he wake up in the morning with Kasamatsu-san still by his side, still in his arms, kissing his forehead and wishing him good morning?
Kasamatsu-san reaching out towards Ryouta, palm outstretched. Smiling. Happy. A field of sunflowers. The smell of the ocean.
“Kise,” he calls.
Ryouta follows.
-