Chapter Text
1
Hibino Kafka had worked for Monster Sweeper inc for years. At thirty years of age, he was one of the seniors at this point, and had taken plenty of newbies under his wing for their first day. He had an abundance of knowledge when it came to different species of kaijuu, and how to dispose of them. So really when he showed up for another day of work, he didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary.
The kaijuu they were working on was huge, as usual, with thick skin that took time to cut through. The area the corpse lay in had been sealed off from civilians, and rubble and debris littered the street around the corpse. Not the defense force’s cleanest job, Kafka thought. But still, they had eliminated the threat and saved the day. They were the heroes of the nation, and the first line of defense against these monsters.
And now Kafka and his team were on the scene, taking care of the nitty gritty work of disposing of the damn thing. It was a thankless job, with a mediocre pay and less than stellar benefits. But someone had to clean the mess and Kafka had signed up to do just that - he knew all this when going to the job interview years ago. He was nothing if not thorough, at least. Working hard as sweat crept down his back and muscles ached from the intensive labor. They had until the end of the week, and had Kafka not done such jobs countless times before, perhaps he would be stressed about such a tight deadline. As it was, it was just another days work.
That was until something caught his eye. Kafka was doing a cursory sweep of the perimeter around the tail of the fallen kaijuu, when something flickered in the sun at the edge of his vision. Turning his head to further investigate he saw a pile of rubble and dust, and there, sticking out from underneath was a blade. Kafka carefully pulled the weapon from under rocks and debris, and concluded rather fast that this was a piece of defense force weaponry. He held the thing in his hand for a moment and marveled at the lightness of it. He himself worked mostly with heavy machinery, in order to cut the thick hides of various kaijuu. This however, was a sleek and light weapon, made for precision and speed. The blade glinted in the afternoon sun, even now as it was covered in dust and dried kaijuu blood.
Kafka wondered then how it got left behind. In all his years doing this job he had never encountered weapons left at the scene before, but then again, the blade was left under rubble so it had most likely been dropped in the midst of battle and consequently lost in the heat of the moment. While Kafka had plenty of experience with various parts of kaijuu disposal, for the first time in years he was stumped. What exactly did he do now?
Kafka scratched the back of his head as he turned the sword over in his hand. It’s not like he could just show up at the third division and hand it back right? Was there some kind of protocol for these situations, or did he somehow have to dispose of the weapon? So Kafka did what any worker would do and went to his boss, feeling almost like a rookie again.
His boss was standing near the head of the kaijuu, nose buried in a clipboard as he oversaw the work being done in this end.
“Hey boss, uh, what's the protocol for finding weaponry?” Holding the sword away from his body at an awkward angle, he walked towards the other man. Was this even how you were supposed to hold a sword? Kafka remembered his mum teaching him how to hold a kitchen knife when he was younger, a sword wasn’t much different right? Only way bigger and possibly more deadly depending on the hands that held it. Kafka felt awkward holding the blade, even more so when his boss gave him a flat look.
“Report it to the defense force, I have the email back at the office. There’s an obligatory questionnaire, just the basics, where you found it and what sort of weapon it is. Someone will be by to pick it up in a day or two, I suppose.”
“Ah,” came Kafkas eloquent reply. He should have guessed it would involve paperwork, not exactly his favourite thing to do. Right after intestine duty.
His boss waved his hand dismissively: “Go fix that now and then get back to work. We have a deadline after all, and we are way behind as is.”
Kafka raised a brow looking after the other man. His boss always stressed about the damn deadline for cleanup. Even though they always managed to finish on time. Kafka idly wondered if perhaps existing in a state of perpetual stress was simply part of his personality. Well, whatever, he thought to himself, as he got in the company car and started driving towards the office. He had placed the sword carefully in the back seat, casting glances at it here and there in the mirror as he drove. It truly was a beautiful sword, elegant in its simplicity. Kafka wondered how many kaijuu might have fallen to this blade. Kafka had, at this point in his life, pretty much given up on joining the defense force himself. He had just failed the recent exam, and his confidence had taken a blow as a result. Every year it happened. He took the exams and he failed, again and again, and with each passing year he became more and more discouraged. He only had one chance left at this point. The age limit was thirty one for joining the force, next year was truly his final exam. He wanted it so bad, to join the force and live up to the promise he made as a child, but as adulthood hit him he realised that childhood dreams are just that, dreams. No matter how hard he worked or how much he wished for it, it seemed Kafkas destiny lay not in fighting kaijuu on the front line, but rather sweating like a pig while cutting them up after the battles were already won.
He suddenly felt a wave of resentment towards the sword resting in the back of the car, the damn thing represented everything Kafka couldn’t achieve, everything he was not. Letting out a grunt and shaking his head free of such thoughts, Kafka focused once more on the road ahead of him. Let’s just get this over with. He thought.
The office was empty since everyone was working on the kaijuu. Kafka sat down and started on the email, describing how he found the weapon and what it looked like. Should he attach a photo? Might as well, he thought, maybe someone would recognise the sword and the situation would be cleared up quickly. Holding the sword in one hand he opened the camera on his phone and took the pic, once more hit with the awkwardness of holding the damn thing. After the mail was sent, Kafka wrapped the sword in a piece of cloth and ultimately decided to put it in his locker, not really knowing where else to store it until it was back in the hands of its rightful owner. He then returned to work for the rest of the day, not thinking much more of it until the next day.
The next morning Kafka overslept. The battery in his beat up old alarm clock had unfortunately decided to give up on life and so Kafka stumbled into work 30 minutes late and looking a right mess. He cursed under his breath and tried in vain to fix his bed head with his fingers as he ran across the parking lot towards the office. The others were most likely already at the scene working on the kaijuu, meanwhile Kafka hadn’t even gotten his work clothes on yet. Kafka hadn’t been late for work in years so hopefully his boss wouldn’t be too pissed at him. Still, it was a shitty start to the day, that’s for sure.
In his frantic state, he hadn’t noticed the person standing in front of the main entrance until he was right behind him. The man was shorter than Kafka with a bowl cut. He couldn’t see his face as he stood facing the door, but he seemed a bit lost in Kafkas opinion, looking around like he didn’t know where to go.
“S’cuze me, can I help you?” Kafka was slightly out of breath from running - man, he should really stop smoking. The man turned around and Kafkas brain short circuited for a moment. Holy shit, he was pretty. He was clearly younger than Kafka by a few years and, as mentioned, slightly shorter. His shoulders were wide though, and the way he held himself exuded confidence. Slim red eyes found Kafkas and the man smiled at him.
“I’m looking for an employee actually, someone at this company apparently found my sword yesterday so I’m here to pick it up.”
“Oh,” Kafkas eyes widened, “that was yours?” Okay, Kafka usually wasn’t this dense, but cut him some slack, he didn’t exactly have a stellar start to the day. The man kept smiling but did lift his eyebrows slightly.
“Yep, it’s mine, as I just said.” Kafka felt his cheeks heating up, today really wasn’t his day. Dammit, get it together, Kafka.
“Right, yeah, uh- it’s in my locker inside, just give me a sec.” Kafka went through the front door, expecting the other guy to wait outside. When he heard footsteps behind him, he turned his head and saw that the man had followed him inside. That was fine too, he supposed, guess the guy was eager to get his sword back.
Kafka tried to be subtle as he studied the guy from the corner of his eye. Kafkas brain was itching with familiarity, hadn’t he seen this guy somewhere before? His brain wasn’t functioning right this morning and he quickly gave up on trying to think at all. Damn, he craved coffee and a cigarette - unfortunately time wasn’t on his side today, guess these pleasures would have to wait until lunchtime.
They made it to the locker room and Kafka beelined for his own, quickly unlocking it and tenderly taking out the wrapped sword. He suddenly doubted whether he should have cleaned it, it was covered in dirt and blood after all. Or maybe not. He might have ended up just ruining it somehow, Kafka wasn’t exactly gifted with nimble fingers or sword polishing skills. The man unwrapped the sword and gave it a quick once over, the edge of his lip curled in a wry smile.
“Man this is embarrassing, I’ve never dropped my swords before. What a rookie mistake.” He laughed to himself as he wrapped the sword once more. “Thank you. What did you say your name was again?”
“No problem, it’s just part of the cleaning job after all. And I didn’t, my name is Hibino Kafka. Nice to meet you and thank you for your service.” He was quick to add the last part only now, remembering this guy was in the defense force. Damn Kafka, get it together, man. The man’s eyes swept over Kafkas face, a smile planted firmly on his lips.
“Hibino Kafka, nice to meet you,” he said, “my name is Hoshina Soushiro, Vice Captain of the third division.” He said it so casually that Kafka took a moment to fully register the words. Today really wasn’t Kafkas day, it surely had to be illegal to be this big of an airhead. Kafka knew exactly who this guy was - he had literally seen him on tv hundreds of times. Holy shit, Kafka was such an idiot!
And eloquent as ever, Kafkas response to Hoshinas introduction was then to smack himself in the face and let out a loud “FUCK.”
Hoshina stood there stunned for a moment, eyes widening comically and then, to Kafkas utter horror, he proceeded to laugh at him. “What kind of reaction is that?” Hoshina was wheezing with laughter, bending over and clutching his stomach. Kafkas face was on fire and he suddenly wished a kaijuu would emerge from beneath his feet and just swallow him whole. This interaction really wasn’t going well - had Kafka always been this socially awkward?
The worst part was perhaps that even in his embarrassment, he still had half a mind to admire just how handsome Hoshina was when laughing. Way to go, Kafka, not only did he make a fool of himself in front of an attractive guy, said attractive guy was also the vice captain in the very division Kafka had tried to join for years at this point. Maybe Kafka should just move to a foreign country, live on some small island out there in the big wide world, build a shed and farm the lands.
In the real world, Hoshina seemed to finally get his laughter under control, standing back up as he wiped his eyes, violent laughter reduced to small giggles as he looked at Kafka once more. “You’re a funny guy, Hibino, I haven’t laughed like this in ages. Ah, how refreshing.” He let out a happy sigh as he said this.
“Ah, glad to be of service?” God, Kafka just wanted this interaction to be over with, he had to look like such an idiot to this guy.
Hoshina gave Kafka a calculated look, and then asked: “Say, Hibino, are you single?”
What? Just, what? Where the hell was this conversation going? Was he making fun of him? Kafka stared at Hoshina, not knowing what was going on any more. “Uh, what?” This had to be some sort of fever dream, Kafka was most likely still at home sleeping. Yes, that’s it, this whole day was just a dream and soon the alarm would ring and Kafka would wake up.
“You single?” Hoshina repeated himself, then frowned. “Maybe that’s a bit too direct. How about this then, can I get your number?” Hoshina was looking at Kafka, his expression seeming earnest. Even so, Kafka couldn’t help but ask, “why?” Damn, okay, that sounded super rude, but Kafka was really out of his element here. He didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with flirting or dating or anything really, and he couldn’t help but think that the Vice Captain had to be messing with him. Or maybe he was totally full of himself and made a hobby out of asking random people for their numbers? Like an ego boost or something. With the way he looked, Kafka thought he certainly didn’t need it, the man was hot. But all people had insecurities right?
Hoshina giggled again, smiling wide as he answered. “Well, firstly, I think you’re cute, I mean look at you, you're like a big puppy. And secondly, you did find my sword, so if you wouldn’t mind I could maybe buy you a coffee as thanks? I certainly wouldn’t mind talking more with you, as I said, you’re a funny guy. I like that.” Okay, that was definitely very forward, but in Kafkas flustered state, perhaps being direct was the appropriate approach.
“Oh uh y-yeah! Sure, hold on.” Kafka rushed to his boss’ office and got one of the company cards. He flipped it over and scribbled his name and number on the back, returning to Hoshina and handing it to the other man.
“Thanks,” Hoshina said, studying the card for a moment and then slipping it in his pocket. “Well, Hibino, it was nice meeting you, but I should get going now. I’ll text you.” Hoshina winked (WINKED) at him, and just like that, he left. Kafka stood in the locker room, stunned and out of it. Did that seriously just happen? Had Kafka maybe hit his head at some point and was now hallucinating, or in a coma? No way, Kafkas mind couldn’t make this stuff up, he really wasn’t that creative. He looked at the analog clock on the wall of the office and nearly screamed. Shit! He was over an hour late for work at this point and he still hadn’t even changed his clothes, let alone gotten to the site. As Kafka rushed to get ready and jumped in one of the company cars, he almost managed to push the morning’s encounter to the back of his mind. Almost being the key word here.