LET'S PLAY TELEPHONE!
In which Third Division vice-captains Yn Narumi and Soshiro Hoshina become their officers' latest hot topic after a misunderstanding, even reaching the Ariake Maritime base and its captain, Gen Narumi.
TAGS . . . implied manga spoilers, co-vice captains!yn & hoshina, gen's sister!reader, suggestive remarks, warning!! gen narumi, loser hoshina agenda, everyone in the jakdf are gossips.
TELEPHONE . . . START!
Reno Ichikawa and Kafka Hibino were... confused. With each passing day, there were more questions popping up in their heads whenever they saw their vice-captains around the Tachikawa base. Sure, it wasn't any of their business, but you have to entertain yourself at your job with what you have, right?
"Oh! Here they come now" Kafka whispered, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Reno simply nodded as he saw you and Soshiro step into the cafeteria, each one of you grabbing a lunch tray and sitting next to one another.
"What do you see, sir?" Reno questioned the man in front of him, as he squinted his eyes to get a better view. "Nothing out of the ordinary, they're just lunchin—oh!" he gasped, to which Reno raised his eyebrow. "What?"
"He put his arm around her, like in the movies."
Now that piqued Reno's interest, as he subtly turned his head to watch the scene behind him. It was true, the way in which Soshiro had wrapped his arm around your shoulder resembled the old movies he used to watch as a little boy. There was a huge smile on your face, which only fueled his theory even further.
"They sure are happy" he noted. Kafka chuckled at his comment, "If you didn't know them, you'd probably think they're dating!"
They both looked at each other with a serious expression, as if something had finally clicked. Reno leaned in, "You thinking what I'm thinking, sir?"
He nodded, his gaze returning to you and Soshiro. He could see a slight pink hue in his cheeks, which confirmed his suspicions.
It was then when Iharu sat down beside them, asking what they were so serious about. When they asked him to lean in, he knew he was in for a good time. Asking what the huge deal was and why they had to be so secretive, his eyes almost popped out of his skull when he heard the reason.
"Haven't you seen? Vice-captain Narumi and vice-captain Hoshina act like a couple!"
GET THE MESSAGE ACROSS!
As soon as the speculation started, Iharu knew that the next person he had to recruit was Izumo. When approached in the training room, Izumo simply tilted his head to the side in confusion.
"What makes you think that?"
"Are you blind?" Iharu asks, his hands on his head. "Dude, they're all over each other—I swear. Just pay attention on our next mission."
The Kaiju gods must have been on Iharu's side, because as soon as he said those words, there was an emergency in a nearby park. It was a crustacean-type honju with various yoju, and as soon as the officers touched the battlefield, their eyes were on you.
With each yoju they neutralized, they turned their heads towards you, as you and Soshiro paved a path for your captain to neutralize the honju. They paid special attention to their earpieces, which gave them a conversation starter for the next week.
"Whoever cracks the honju's shell first gets free dinner" Soshiro beamed, running straight towards the creature in front of him. Your laugh was heard through the officers' earpieces, "I guess I'll have free dinner tonight then! Remember that new ramen place near Shibuya Station?" you asked, rifle in hand shooting right through the crab's carapace.
Soshiro chuckled, "Same time as last week?"
"Mhm."
"Don't make me wait, m'dear."
Soon after, Captain Ashiro stepped in to take care of the honju. The officers saw Soshiro approach you after all kaiju were neutralized, excited to hear what he was to say next. What surprised them, though, was that they didn't hear anything, despite seeing his lips move.
Soshiro Hoshina turned off his microphone, and so did you.
The four men looked at each other before turning theirs off as well, with Iharu speaking up. "What could be so important that they had to turn off their mics?"
"Guess that's confirmed, then" Reno stated.
"What's confirmed?"
The group stiffened as they recognized the voice, turning around to see Kikoru with her arms crossed. They looked at each other, then at her.
"Didn't you know? Vice-captain Narumi and Vice-captain Hoshina are dating!"
MISSION ACCOMPLISHED . . . NOT?
FURUHASHI 20:50
SHINOMIYA PLEASE YOURE OUR ONLY HOPE!!!
HIBINO 20:50
If you wouldn't mind, Shinomiya, please!
ICHIKAWA 20:50
Please, Shinomiya
We'll pay you back however we can
Kikoru sighed at the screen in front of her, shutting her phone off and leaving it on her bed before heading out. She was in total disbelief, asking herself why she even agreed to it in the first place. Going inside the bathhouse, she could faintly hear you and Nakanoshima having a chat.
Nothing too interesting, according to the guidelines she had received. She could hear Iharu's voice in her head, screaming 'Only tell us if she says something related to the matter at hand!'
As she took a seat in the bath in front of you, she noticed something was off. There was a faint, red-ish mark on your collarbone, and she knew there was no way a kaiju would have done that.
"Um, vice-captain?"
You turned your head towards her, a smile on your face. "What's up, Shinomiya?"
"If you don't mind me asking, are you okay? There's something on your neck."
Your eyes widened as you raised your hand to your collarbone, before letting out a giggle. "It's nothing to worry about, Shinomiya. When my liver has had enough of my drinking habits, I usually break out in hives. I didn't know I had one right now, so thank you."
She hummed in response, while you mentioned that it was late and you had to head to Soshiro's office to run through some reports. When you stepped out of the bath, Kikoru's eyes were wide and her jaw was nearly on the floor.
Scratches. All over your back.
Bidding your goodbyes, Kikoru was left thinking. It was Nakanoshima who broke her our of her trance.
"You don't think that was her liver, don't you?" Nakanoshima questioned, "I'm not usually one to spill, but I don't think that's her liver either. You saw those scratches?"
Kikoru nodded, "She's heading to the vice-captain's office right now" she said, to which the platoon leader laughed. "Is she? We don't really have any proof, you know? What we do know, though..."
"...is that vice-captain Narumi is keeping herself busy."
After drying herself up and returning to her room, Kikoru unlocked her phone, ready to send a message.
SHINOMIYA 22:22
I got something
FURUHASHI 22:22
WHAT
SPILL
ICHIKAWA 22:23
What'd you find??
HIBINO 22:23
Say something
IZUMO 22:24
Yo
Spill
SHINOMIYA 22:25
Vice-captain Narumi and vice-captain Hoshina are sleeping with each other
THE TELEPHONE BROKE!
Kikoru usually complained that the training room was always too rowdy due to the men, but today, she was silent.
Everbody was silent.
Word had gotten out about what happened the night before, and everyone was simply processing. They weren't judging, but they were curious. How could you even have the time, as a vice-captain?
When lunchtime came around, the group was determined to watch you like a hawk. They grabbed their trays and made a beeline towards your table, where you and Soshiro happily welcomed them.
While Kafka engaged with the two of you in some small talk, Kikoru and Reno observed. They looked for anything that could be deemed as suspicious. When Reno's eyes scanned over your hands, he gently kicked Kikoru from under the table.
His eyes told her everything she needed to know, as she subtly sent Kafka a text about her and Reno's finding. On the side of your hand, right below your pinky, was a tattoo of a date. And oh—what a coincidence! Soshiro had the same one.
When Kafka secretly read Kikoru's text, he choked on his food, causing you and Soshiro to ask him if he's okay. "I'm good, vice-captains, but if it's okay to ask, why do you have matching tattoos?"
Soshiro laughed as he slammed his palm on the table, "That's 50 pushups for ya, fledgling!" "Hey—make it 30, he was just curious" you justified, "It's okay to ask, Hibino. Me and Hoshina lost a bet to a superior officer a long time ago and had to tattoo the date of that night as a result."
He didn't push any further, afraid it would cost him more pushups.
SHINOMIYA 13:01
Long time ago my ass that ink looks fresh
FURUHASHI 13:01
They're definitely hiding something
ICHIKAWA 13:02
Hey aren't we going to the first division base later today? We can ask some of the officers from there
FURUHASHI 13:03
Shinomiya you know what to do
SHINOMIYA 13:04
What am I your errand girl?
HIBINO 13:05
You're gossip girl
"Rookies, isn't it rude to be on your phones when you're at the table?"
FURUHASHI 13:06
Watch he's gonna give us 30 pushups cuz he wants to hide that he and vice-captain Narumi are married
"Officer Furuhashi, please drop your phone, it's rude. That's 40 pushups for ya."
MESSAGE RECEIVED!
Even with the First Division present, the investigation was ongoing. Within the shared training grounds, whispers were exchanged about the latest news.
"I mean, I couldn't believe it—I'm still in shock" Kafka whispered, to which Kikoru nodded. "It's weird that they decided to keep it secret, but I can see where they're coming from. Who'd want everyone to know that you're boning your coworker?"
"Who's boning who?"
Shivers ran down Kikoru and Kafka's spines as they realized who that voice belonged to. They straightened themselves up while saluting, "Captain Narumi! Sorry, we didn't see you there" Kafka apologized.
"You didn't answer my question, who's boning who?"
"Uhm..."
"Well?"
"...umi and...shina."
"Hahh?"
"...aptain Narumi and....Hoshina, sir"
"Speak up, damn it!"
"Vice-captain Narumi and vice-captain Hoshina, sir!"
"Well that's fuckin' outdated, I'm captain and I'm not into idiots like Hoshina."
"..."
"Oh."
"..."
"BONE?"
"Well, sir, it's normal for married couples to—"
"My SISTER is MARRIED?"
"Sir, we don't know for su—"
"MY SISTER? BOOOONE?"
When Gen Narumi turned on his heel and left, Kafka and Kikoru knew they were done for. They scrambled out of the training grounds in fear for their lives, as Gen Narumi angrily called you and Soshiro into his office.
When you went to greet him with a hug, he screeched. "Yn, you got married to that beady eyed scumbag and didn't tell me??"
You looked at him confused, "Gen, where did you hear that?"
"It's captain Narumi, and for your information, I found out because your whole squad knows you're fucking each other."
Soshiro laughed, his hand holding his stomach from how hard he was laughing. "You think I'd date Yn?"
"It's Ln to you, and I'll have you know my sister is way out of your league, you annoying brat."
"Gen, did you seriously call us to your office for this?" you questioned, seeing the pout on your brother's face. "I have nothing to hide, Gen, and you know that if I'd be dating someone, you'd be the first to know."
"Good to know" he noted, "now get out, will ya? I got things to do."
As soon as you closed the door behind you, you looked at Soshiro. He was about to laugh, when he saw your fearful expression.
"We need to be more careful Soshiro" you sighed, "don't go leaving any evidence next time."
"Oh brother, If I'd be dating someone, you'd be the first to know" he mocked.
Your angry expression quickly shut him up.
"The tattoo thing was a good save though, sweetheart. Good job."
taglist (open, yippee!): @stunie @kaiser1ns @nyxypoo @karasuglazer @maruflix @littleplantfreak @heartkaji @ryescapades , also tagging @justwinginglife this is for you !!
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Synopsis: Five different perspectives on Nanami Kento.
Tags: Angst, humour, mystery, character study.
Warnings: canon-typical violence.
"I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful‚
The eye of a little god, four-cornered."
~ The Mirror, Sylvia Plath
Yoshinari remembers that day well. Even now, decades later, his team leader's near-panicked expression stands out with harsh clarity in his mind. Yoshinari had just mentioned that he hadn't finished the analysis due that afternoon because he'd been struck down with a bad bout of flu. Whirling on his heel, the team lead had really let fly with his irritation.
"But we had an agreement! You were to complete the analysis the day before yesterday! There'll be no excuse at all for us walking into that meeting unprepared!"
"But sir ... I had a lot to catch up on that evening. And I - "
"I'm done with this conversation! Come up with something, or explain to the chief why you couldn't finish your basic tasks on time."
Left standing in the empty hallway, Yoshinari had let frustration, anger, self-pity and helplessness wash over him, bitter as a brackish tide. Nobody ever listened to him. Nobody ever understood how the demands of this job couldn't be humanly met unless he practically lived at the office. Nobody cared what his state of health was. Nobody -
"Are you all right?"
Hastily wiping off the corner of his eye, he turned to see none other than Nanami Kento standing in the doorway leading from the hallway to the main office floor. Nanami, whose reports were always turned in on time. Nanami, whose suits were never rumpled, whose clients never complain, whose presentations were always meticulous, who never spilled a drop or wasted a crumb when he ate -
Tamping down the rising envy and resentment for the tall man standing before him, Yoshinari sighed and embraced the inevitable. It isn't Nanami's fault. Nanami is simply doing the job, like the rest of them. He just happened to be a lot more competent at it than most.
"I'm a bit ... under the weather, that's all. There's a meeting this afternoon. I won't be prepared because I haven't had time to get the quarterly analysis done."
Nanami watched him in silence. Yoshinari continued, chest feeling slightly less heavy as he vented to his quiet companion.
"I just wish ... that we were given more value, you know? We're not robots. We're people. And sometimes, we ... I can't get all my tasks done. I just wanted ... some understanding. That's all."
Yoshinari realized just how petulant he sounded the more he spoke. His voice trailed off, and he avoided the other man's gaze. What must Nanami think of someone like him? Did he pity him? Was he annoyed by him and his complaining? Was he indifferent, like everyone else? It was hard to tell.
Nanami never lost his composure, never expressed strong emotion, never seemed anything other than cool and detached. He must think that someone like Yoshinari was worthy of pity and contempt. Nothing more.
Without waiting for Nanami's reply, Yoshinari turned and made his way to the elevators, trying to focus on the client briefing lined up (and not the humiliation and reprimands he'd have to endure later.)
The humiliation never came, though. Walking into the meeting that afternoon, Yoshinari was met with the huffy, slightly startled demeanor of the team leader when he was complimented on his 'sterling work', handed a steaming cup of coffee and patted on the back. He sat through the rest of the meeting in a daze, mind still struggling to grapple with what had occurred.
When he got a chance, he snuck a look at the analysis that supposedly came from him. There, in the phrasing, the layout, the orderly sequences of figures and the in-depth breakdown of each element, he recognises the hand of Nanami Kento.
When the meeting was over, he tried to find Nanami, to thank him for that unexpected favour. A part of him was beginning to take the assistance with a pinch of salt; what did Nanami expect in return for this?
When he eventually spied Nanami, he paused, the report crumpling slightly in his hand. Coat draped over his chair, tie cast over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up and chair reclining, Nanami's hollowed eyes and sharply-defined cheekbones were covered with a white handkerchief, the marks of exhaustion clear in his bearing.
Many years later, watching his grandchildren chase each other around the darkened trunk of a plum tree, a soft, secret smile finds its home on Yoshinari's face as he remembers that day. He glances up at the delicate blossoms, pushing their heads insistently into the fresh bite of a new spring day and wonders if Nanami ever had grandchildren of his own.
Warmth. Kinship. Command.
When Master calls me out, I recognise the tug and relentless pull into another place. This place. This world of scent and colour and sound, where I am given form.
My Master's hands smell of paper, freshly cut apples and grass. They are firm and familiar as their fingers run through my fur. Sometimes, Master brings us out of the other place without urgency, simply to keep us at his side.
Megumi.
That is my Master's given name. He is dark in spirit, light of foot, and his mouth seldom curves, like the other humans. But when we are all together, pack, bodies curled up and sharing warmth, Master's eyes are like a distant lamp, flickering softly.
The white-veined one names my Master as Megumi. He is the one with power like a great summer storm, sweeping with acrid sharpness across the senses and scorching the unseen world in his wake. His hair is white too, his spirit leaping from one focus to the next, lightning and laughter.
The white-veined one is trustworthy. He is pack, but even though Master trusts him completely, he makes others nervous.
And then, there is the Blademaster. This one is almost familiar. He is like Master in many ways. He smells of good food, old leather and the sharp tang of polished metal. His power is an underground river, swift and subtle, rising to a well-controlled roar when he calls upon it.
The Blademaster avoids pack. He likes to sit alone on the benches at sunset, sometimes, with his food in an oval box at his side. He stares a lot into the sky. Only he knows what he sees there.
The sky doesn't hold much interest for me, but the smells from the Blademaster's box always call for attention. He has meat in there. And cheese. Sometimes, if I press my nose into his hand, he shares his food. It is good food. It tastes better when he offers it out of his own palm.
The Blademaster's hand is bigger, rougher around the fingers than Master's. He is an experienced warrior, and he has been in many fights. The scent of it is on him, in ways that cannot be disguised. He carries the smell of old wounds, of battles that etched away at the parts of him than leave no visible scars.
Sometimes, his pain is great. Those times, he needs pack, even if he doesn't know it. I find him, at his bench. Even though he has no food, I sit with him. His fingers in my fur are different, but warm, like Master's.
We watch the sky together.
It's the bustle of the lunch rush that brings him suddenly into her mind; tall, broad-shouldered, imposing in his dark, pinstripe suit. She's seen many, many salarymen enter her establishment over the years, but none quite like him.
He'd seemed hard, humourless, exacting, a man of substance and character, whittled away bit by bit by the hundred inconveniences and troubles of everyday life. Her attempts to cheer him up always fell flat. Her jokes landed like stale bread on a food critic's plate.
"Hey, Nanami! Good to see you! Decided to loaf around on your lunch break again?"
"How am I loafing?"
"Ah, that was just a pun. You know. Because you come here to buy sandwiches."
"Do you charge extra for the puns? Because I'm not paying for that."
"Wow. So cold ... "
And on another occasion:
"Hey Nanami! Knock knock."
" ... "
"You're supposed to say 'who's there?'"
"Who's there."
"As a question, not a statement!"
"Does it matter?"
"Fine. It's doughnut."
"Doughnut who?"
"Dough nut enter the shop without checking out the specials!"
"Please just give me the sandwich."
Ah, those were good times. Maybe he did appreciate her silly attempts at humour on some level. She'd never know.
Sometimes, she wonders if she shouldn't have asked him for help. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut about that pesky stiffness and pain in her shoulder joint. There was no way she could have known what would happen next.
She recalls, with perfect clarity, the sudden change in his demeanour. The subtle straightening of his posture, the focus of that intense honey-brown stare, the way he'd looked at and past her, as if glancing through some secret window into an unknown she could never fathom. And then, he'd raised his arm, swung it in that swift, decisive motion, and her pain disappeared in a matter of seconds.
She still wonders how exactly he'd accomplished that. Was he a spiritual healer of some kind? She couldn't think of an occupation less suited to someone like him. All the same, she was thankful. She'd even packed a free almond croissant and coffee with his sandwich the next day, kept aside for the lunch rush.
Except, he'd never shown up. Not that day, or the next, or the day after that. Nanami simply disappeared from the normal routine of his life altogether.
Of course, she made some enqueries. She was somewhat concerned, considering how sudden his absence had been. What if he'd overworked himself enough to end up in hospital? It wasn't unheard of.
His work colleagues, some of whom also frequented the bakery, told her that he'd suddenly up and left. Handed in his resignation and promptly disappeared.
She'd never heard from him, ever again. It wasn't that she was upset or offended. Customers changed their whims daily. But with him ... something about it concerned her. What would prompt a creature of habit, like Nanami, to suddenly change his routine? There was probably a perfectly sound explanation for it, but it worried her all the same.
After all these years, even now, as manager of her own small dessert shop, not far from the original bakery she'd served at, she'd never taken the casse-croûte off the menu.
It would remain there, for the day he might come through the door once again, and she'd say it, just like she'd rehearsed in her mind so many times.
"Welcome back, Nanami. The usual?"
Pain. This is all that she thinks, all that she feels. It is all-consuming. It isn't like the time she broke her finger after a particularly bad fall when she was ten years old. Not even like the wound left when her mother died; gaping, raw around the edges, on display for all that looked her way.
This pain was, somehow, even worse than that. Pain that twisted and tore through the fabric of her, agony piled on agony, neverending. It stretched beyond her, into a night of unknown horrors that she had no means of comprehending.
Something was very, very wrong with her body. This much she could tell, even as she wove in and out of consciousness. The sense of change to her own form, of being maimed in some fundamental sense, was so strong that she wondered how she was still alive.
His hands. So cold. Pain beyond imagining. She doesn't want to enter that forbidden entryway in her thoughts. Someone did this to her. Someone made her helpless, controlled her. Turned her into this grotesque travesty of a living thing. She should feel furious, that this had been done to her. But she doesn't have the capacity for anything but pleading, begging for a swift release from this torment.
Something is shifting around her now. She cannot even brace for the agony, because there are no known muscles for her to do so. Her body feels like a shapeless, amorphous mass that changes according to the unknown puppeteer's will.
Now, she feels the brush of fetid air on her flesh, the dank, mossy wall of some subterranean feature, a dizzying sense of being propelled at high speed through a narrow space.
Someone is moving alongside her, dodging, weaving. Not the puppeteer. Another. Their movements are swift, strong, filled with a measured grace that dances around her striking, flailing limbs (if they can still be called such) with dexterity. She tries to fight back against the overpowering will, to stop any harm coming to that person. It is futile.
Another shift, her body stretched in another direction. And - oh! Air! Damp and rank in scent, something like a sewer, but never more welcome. Her senses had been cloaked, due to the current nature of her body, but now, she was aware of eyes, ears, nose, a budding mouth that opened in a soundless cry for help.
He heard her.
He was standing over her, feet braced on her alien form. A man in dark glasses and a suit, a strangely patterned sword at his side. The sensation of the strangely blunt blade cleaving her flesh as she hurtles at him is weighted, some kind of energy behind it.
He can cause damage to her in this form! He can ...
But her mouth doesn't work the way it's supposed to. She can't beg him, can't plead with him to end this abysmal existence that only serves as torture. The terror, anger, frustration and hopelessness have no channel by which to reach the outside world any longer.
No! Please! Help me!
Wrung from dregs of her despair, a single tear forms at the corner of her existing eye, rolling down the distended, distorted skin.
Is this it? Is this all she can summon?
But he sees it. His hand is reaching down, towards where she lies, helpless beneath his feet, helpless to the whim of another. His thumb is warm, so warm, as he strokes beneath her eye, dashing away the trace of the tear.
In the moments that follow, before her consciousness finally descends into blessed, blessed darkness, she memorizes the feel of that touch, the last thing on this earthly plane that she'll ever know.
For all her suffering, let it never be said that she hasn't known true kindness.
Gojo and Namamin. Side by side, they're day and night. Yuuji can see that, and often delights in it. He thinks about it now, as he brushes his teeth, one hand carding absently through the tangles in his hair.
Gojo operated on a certain wavelength Yuuji had been attuned to since the very beginning. Nanamin, less so.
When Yuuji really thinks about it, it reminds him somewhat of the recipes his grandfather taught him. Gramps's house was one run on self-sufficiency. There was never an excuse for slacking off.
Gojo was like the spicy miso ramen he'd learned to make, the one with the specially crafted chilli oil and the perfect ramen egg for topping. A wash of heat, scorching the tongue and throat, a burst of flavour that somehow lingered long after it had rushed past your teeth like a flashflood. It entertained, it sustained, it left you feeling warm and energized.
Nanamin was like bread.
Now, Yuuji wasn't crazy about bread. He was more of a rice-bowl kinda guy. But the baking of bread was something he'd never quite managed to get the hang of, to begin with. His grandfather eyeballed ingredients, kneaded with rapid, dexterous fists, added an extra pinch of salt here, or a splash of milk there, depending on the type and texture of bread he wanted. It was as if Gramps could envision an end product that Yuuji had no concept of at all.
Namamin had been just as difficult to gauge in the mixing bowl of Yuuji's experience. Practical, rule-following, collected and proper. Spontaneity could take a hike, as far as Nanamin was concerned. Not the kind of man to pretend to be dead and then hop out of a box when you least expect it.
Ha. Anyway.
Bread. That's the analogy he was going with, and the one he was finding increasingly appropriate.
Pulling on his uniform jacket, Yuuji felt the familiar tug and rumble of hunger ascend from his stomach. He tied the laces on his signature red sneakers and grabbed his backpack, heading for the Tech cafeteria for breakfast.
Thinking over it further, bread was ... a staple. It was not to everyone's taste. It was simple, filling, a great companion piece for more flavourful ingredients. And hellishly difficult to bake correctly. For Yuuji, at least.
Yeah. Bread. It was a good comparison.
Turning the corner, Yuuji nearly ran right into the current occupant of his thoughts.
"Ah ... Nanamin! You're here early today!"
"Good morning, Yuuji. Please be careful. I have a cup of hot coffee here."
Falling into step beside the stoic sorcerer (uninvited) Yuuji decided to share some of his thoughts, an uncharacteristically serious expression adorning his face.
"Nanamin, there's something I've been thinking about."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. If I had to compare you to a food, it'd be bread."
A silence meets this statement. Nanami takes a sip of his coffee. Undeterred, Yuuji continues.
"Like, I love a good katsudon, but when it's midnight and I've been training hard, and I wake up all tired and my body's all sore ... I just go make a sandwich, ya know? Even when Gramps was in hospital and I used to get back from school, and oh, yeah, I sometimes forgot to buy groceries ... there was still bread. Just a loaf, there on the counter. And it didn't matter if there were no other ingredients to cook with, or anything, because you can't go wrong with a fried egg on some fresh, crispy toast. Ahh, yeah. The best."
Nanami adjusted his glasses slightly.
"Itadori ... is this your way of informing me that you find me reliable?"
"Huh? Oh ... I mean, yeah. But that's not all."
"It isn't?"
"Nah. 'Cos I baked bread with my Gramps, see? And it was hard to get right. But I did, at some point. And it felt ... great. And I never got it wrong again. And Gramps is gone now, I know. But when I miss him, kinda, baking bread helps me remember what it was like having him around."
Having said his piece, Yuuji folded his arms behind his head, marching peaceably alongside Nanami, lightly humming the theme song to the latest show he'd been watching. Nanami was now looking down, into his coffee. He didn't take another sip. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter than usual.
"I like sandwiches. Trying different fillings is something of a hobby of mine."
Yuuji nods, a light grin forming on his face.
"I can tell."
"Having said that ... I'm partial to fried chicken and beer on a Tuesday afternoon. It ... reminds me of when I was younger."
"Whoa. For real?"
"Yes."
"But Nanamin ... isn't fried chicken and beer the kind of thing you share with others?"
"It is."
"Hmmm."
Yuuji appears to give this some serious thought, before slapping his fist into his palm as an epiphany strikes.
"But wait! Let's get it together next time! I won't drink the beer, don't worry. I can get a soda or something."
"What - "
"And we can order the MegaBox deal that also comes with a medium pizza and cheese croquettes!"
"Yuuji - "
"Oooh, I'm so excited! I wonder what their pizza base is like? But hey, Nanamin, I've gotta run ahead. Maki-senpai's training with me today and she'll kick my ass if I'm late. See ya on Tuesday!"
All thoughts of bread firmly shelved for the present, Yuuji trotted further up the corridor and through the sliding doors of the cafeteria, pausing to wave at Nanami as he left his line of vision.
Yuuji doesn't get to see the small smile that temporarily eases the harsh lines of the sorcerer's face. It is fleeting, gentle, an echo of a smile he'd worn for another, long ago.
Dividers by: @sister-lucifer
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The Butterfly Effect
Chptr 17
It's been a while since I've last updated this fic, but here it is - the next chapter of The Butterfly Effect. Hope you enjoy! And thanks for everyone's lovely support with this story. Hopefully it won't be as long before the next chapter is out 🤞
No major tags for this one - minor angst, whump and a bit of family fluff thrown in!
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John was torn. Torn between all those who needed him. Torn between duty and love. But, in the end, the choice was easy. His place was on the GDF carrier headed for Auckland, at the side of his brothers and Grandmother.
The post-mission clean up (if it could indeed be called that), the press, and the rest of the world waiting on them, would simply have to manage. God knows, he was having to.
Hauling himself aboard, he gently touched the painted name of the carrier, before finding a vacant seat next to Tam.
"Welcome aboard!" Colonel Casey greets, over the sounds of the engines, and flicking of buttons.
Val had been good to them. As soon as she had a functional comms line up and working, she'd taken the initiative to pull strings with a number of contacts. Phoenix would be allowed the time off from their regular civilian jobs back home to help with getting International Rescue back onto their feet, if they so wished.
It was a unanimous 'yes.'
"We're here for as long as you need us," her words held a warmth befitting her honorary Aunt status. She'd squeezed his shoulder, before brushing a stray lock of hair out of Scott's face.
"Thanks," John sighed, with a gratitude that somehow furthered his exhaustion.
Although it was in the world's best interest to see International Rescue functioning again, as swiftly as possible; it was good to know that people had their backs when the chips were down.
Val made her way to the front of the carrier and a flutter of garish Hawaiian fabric filled the seat.
Gordon peered over the eldest brother.
"Hey there, Bird Bath! How's the head?"
A groan, but Scott's eyes remained shut.
"Gords..."
"The one and only!"
Scott could hear his brother's Cheshire Cat grin.
"As your brother, I feel it's my duty to tell you that that landing was...*raspberry* stinko, awful...I've seen Rigby land better!" He gave a thumbs down.
"Ah, save it! Yours is the one Thunderbird that doesn't fly," Rigby deadpanned, from the cockpit.
"Make him stop," Scott's hoarse whisper is mainly levied at John, but entreats any and all who can hear him.
"Gladly. Just tell me how," John smirks, finally letting his shoulders drop a fraction.
"Ah, don't be like that... Hey, I know what'll cheer you both up!"
"No."
"A good ole sea shanty!" Gordon whips out his pocket device.
"Veto."
"Aww, really John? Not even, 'Leave her Johnny, leave her?'"
"Especially not that."
"Fine. I've got you..."
A moment passes as Gordon scrolls, then taps; and the hangar bursts into song.
"Eurovision!"
Virgil reopens his eyes to the sounds of...wait, is that Conchita Wurst?
Oh God, Gordon - Rise Like a Phoenix...really? Phoenix. This was definitely Gordon's taste in music - and humour.
Virgil doesn't remember being hover-stretchered to the hangar, but it's good to hear the voices of his family once more.
"Stop your fussing. I'm fine,"
"I'll be the judge of that Mrs. Tracy."
"Matthew Eric Jones!" Grandma starts.
"She middle named me! Did y'hear that Mac? She middle named me!"
"Oooh! Now you're in for it!" Gordon's chimes in, clearly enjoying his inflight entertainment.
"I was a doctor-"
"-And now you're my patient. So, unless you're going to sign an AMA form, you'll sit back nicely, and let me do my job."
"Oooh, I like him." Grandma's voice concedes. "Fine. But if they keep me in, you're bringing the treats! And none of this basket of grapes rubbish. I'm talking chocolate and brandy - neat."
"It's a hospital, Grandma." John's voice reasons.
"And?"
"And you should know - better than most, that they're not gonna let us bring that in for you."
Grandma goes to fold her arms, then winces, with a concealed hiss.
"John. Kid. I'm old! Just stick it in a sippy cup and call it apple juice - they'll never know the difference!"
"Stop tryna...get John...into trouble."
It's a wonderful sound, hearing the deep rumble of baritone. Sally can feel a secondary tightness - one she could not attribute to her injury, leave her broken ribcage.
"Eh. Twas worth a shot." She offers up a warm smile, knowing he cannot see it - both her eldest grandsons sporting large foam trauma blocks; but she hopes he can hear the sentiment within her voice.
"Nice to have you back in the land of the living, kid!"
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