Chapter Text
“C’mon, don’t be mad! I didn’t know this could happen either!”
Soshiro repeats every calming mantra he knows, doing his best to suppress the smile that wants to break out on his face. His hand moves in gentle circles along Kafka’s back, who’s curled up tight on their small bed.
Soshiro’s thoughts are drifting to a different place. A home filled with laughter and crying, with the sound of tiny footsteps and new names spoken with adoration.
It won’t just be SoshiroandKafka anymore.
It’ll be Soshiro and Kafka and their four babies.
After three weeks of Kafka being violently ill, Soshiro finally dragged him to the medical wing where they spent an entire day running test after test.
Soshiro had started panicking around hour two, especially when the doctors kept coming back with more needles, and increasingly puzzled expressions. But when three of their top scientists entered the room with an ultrasound machine, it all clicked into place.
Somehow that 1% chance had turned into a miracle.
"You jerk!!! You made me into a-a-a chicken!" Kafka wails into the pillow.
It’ll be Soshiro and Kafka and their four hatclings. Soshiro snorts, unable to help himself. “I think a lizard is more accurate."
He finally turns to face Soshiro, eyes red and glassy, cheeks shiny from tears, nose running.
Absolutely furious. Absolutely perfect.
Soshiro barely manages not to kiss him right then and there.
“You knew!” Kafka accuses, jabbing a finger toward him, “You bastard, you knew this was gonna happen! You and your weird breeding kink really got me pregnant!” Then he shoves his face back into the pillow and lets out a fresh round of sobs.
Soshiro’s heart lurches so hard it almost hurts. Maybe, once, it had just been a fantasy he kept buried deep down, imagining Kafka carrying his child. But fantasies weren’t supposed to become real.
Except now, after only a few hours of knowing that his impossible dream was their reality, Soshiro can’t bring himself to see it as some biological quirk or twisted instinct anymore.
It feels like a blessing.
Another impossible thing Kafka had given him, simply by existing. Soshiro should have known better by now. Kafka was always making miracles happen like turning into a kaiju, saving lives, loving him back. And now he was carrying something even more precious.
A piece of Kafka, a piece of Soshiro, something that belongs to both of them forever.
God, he loves him.
“Hey, hey, hey! I told you, I thought you couldn’t get pregnant!” Soshiro protests, arms raised in surrender just as a pillow smacks him square in the face. "Plus nothing happened the last time we had sex in that form!"
“You were wearing a condom!” Kafka shrieks, launching the pillow again. “And you kept going even when I told you I had to pee!”
Soshiro shielding himself from the storm, he agreed that part was true. That one’s on him. But in his defense Kafka had been crying and begging him to stop because something felt weird, clinging to him like he’d fall apart otherwise.
How the hell was Soshiro supposed to stop after that? And if Kafka had peed a little, Who the hell cares?
They’ve bled together. Cried together. Puked, drank, fought, and barely clawed their way through battles side by side. There isn’t a single part of Soshiro that isn’t tangled up in Kafka since the idiot crashed into his life.
So when he was buried so deep inside him, feeling the way Kafka’s body pulses around him from the inside, knowing every softened place shaped by how often Soshiro’s been… stopping was never an option.
Tears, drool, blood, piss, none of it matters.
It’s Kafka.
Even if he turns into a kaiju. Especially as a kaiju, because that’s just another foreign, uncharted piece of Kafka he hasn’t gotten acquainted with yet. And there’s no way in hell he’s not going to keep fucking him.
God, just the memory makes him hard again… he’s starting to see that maybe he’s the problem.
“You bullllyyyy! You just keep going and don't listen to me! You never listen to me!” Kafka’s still wailing, pillow pounding his arms in wide swings.
“Kaf–ow! Kafka! I’m sorry!” Soshiro yanks the pillow away, hair all tousled from the attacks.
Kafka sits back with a big sniff, red-rimmed eyes full of rage and snot and still gorgeous.
“I’m sorry,” Soshiro says again, quieter this time once Kafka starts to calm down. He watches Kafka’s shoulders drop just a bit and takes his hands. Soshiro takes a breath and presses on, rubbing the back of Kafka’s hand with his thumb.
“I know I’ve been… a lot lately. It’s just, ugh, this is so embarrassing.” He groans, face heating. “You were right… about the sugar thing.”
“Huh? What sugar thing?”
“The Mont Blanc,” Soshiro lets out a weak chuckle, remembering the way Kafka had pulled his eyelids open just to tease him. His infuriating, beloved idiot, the only person he could laugh like that with. The only person who, to him, felt exactly like a Mont Blanc.
Sweet, rich, impossible to forget.
“I get hooked on things,” Soshiro admits. “Whenever I like somethin', I just… need it. I could eat Mont Blanc till I make myself sick. I’ve read a thousand pages of a good book in a day 'cause I needed to know the endin'. I’ve trained every single day since I was five because I liked it, and I wanted more.”
His grip on Kafka’s hand tightens gently.
“When I like somethin', I want more of it.” He meets Kafka’s eyes, even if he’s scared.
“I’ve never felt that way about a person before. I didn’t know I could. But with you I just want more. More laughs, more smiles, more late-night talks. More cuddles. More sex. All of it.”
He swallows hard.
“So I’m sorry. If me wanting more of you made you give up too much of yourself, I’m sorry. If I made it seem like you didn’t have a choice, then that’s on me.”
He looks down, squeezing Kafka’s hands again, desperate to be understood.
“And if you don’t want this… if you don’t want any of this, that’s okay. I mean it. I’ll be right here either way.”
When he glances up again, Kafka looks stunned, so many emotions flickering across his face that Soshiro wants to kick himself for not saying this sooner.
“Kafka, we can see if they can termina—”
“No!” Kafka snaps, suddenly, one hand yanking free to press protectively over his stomach. “I… I don’t want to abort them.”
Soshiro can’t deny the happiness swelling in his chest, but he knows Kafka, knows he’ll give and give until there’s nothing left of himself. And Soshiro can’t be selfish like that. He loves his man too much to ever let it come to that.
“But if it’s makin' ya miserable—” he starts, the words heavy on his tongue.
“They’re not." Kafka cuts him off sharply. He looks away, shame creeping into his expression. “I’m just scared, Soshiro. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t even know how women go through this and act like everything’s fine. I’m scared of messing up. I’m scared I’ll do something wrong and hurt them. I’m scared I’m going to be a horrible parent.”
“You won’t. That’s ain't possible.” Soshiro cups Kafka’s face in both hands, making sure Kafka sees him.
Kafka shakes his head, tears building up in his eyes again. “No, it’s not. What if they hate me? What if they grow up hating me because they’re gonna be part kaiju?”
Soshiro uses his thumbs to brush away Kafka’s tears, but the words plant doubts he doesn’t want to name. Kafka’s right. They could grow up hating them for bringing them into this world. Is it selfish? To be so happy about this miracle without knowing what kind of life waits on the other side of their decision?
Maybe it is.
But Soshiro can’t help it. He’s selfish. He’s greedy. He’s given his youth, his freedom, his very life to saving others, and all he wants now are these precious people.
His family.
“It’ll be hard sometimes,” he admits, his own eyes stinging. “But they’re going to have me, and you and we already love 'em so much."
He keeps wiping at Kafka’s face, smiling through the ache lodged in his throat. When Kafka’s hand, claws now, comes up to clumsily swipe at his own tears, Soshiro almost breaks into laughter.
He gives a watery little sniffle, then smiles so beautifully that Soshiro feels like he's falling in love all over again.
“I want them,” Kafka whispers.
Joy blooms so fiercely in Soshiro’s chest it nearly chokes him. The words scrape out like they can barely make it past the swell of feeling inside him. “Yeah? Are you sure?”
Kafka’s smile wavers, uncertain but so achingly honest, and it captures every ounce of love Soshiro’s ever had for him.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
He kisses him everywhere. His cheeks, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, the curve of his eyebrows, even the corners of his lips. Kafka bursts into laughter between sniffling breaths, trying to push him away with little shoves.
“Stop, my nose is running. Gross,” he protests.
Soshiro doesn’t even flinch. He ignores the words, pressing another kiss to his damp cheek. “Ya gotta stop indulgin' me,” he teases between giddy pecks.
Kafka huffs, but instead of pushing him off, his hand comes up to cradle the back of Soshiro’s head. Gentle claws rake through his scalp, and the touch sends a shiver all the way down Soshiro’s spine.
“Why?” Kafka says with a sly little smile, his glowing eyes catching the light beautifully. “I want to give you everything.” He tilts his head, always seductive without trying. “Won’t you give me all of you?”
Soshiro doesn’t think. He just surges forward, kissing him hard enough that Kafka lets out a startled grunt and swats at him with a half-hearted glare. He can only laugh, breathless with love and hunger, his hand sliding down over Kafka’s shoulder until it finds the edge of his sleeve. He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, tracing slowly along the dips and grooves of his scales.
“You already have me,” he murmurs against Kafka’s mouth. “Every last piece of me is yours. I’m just a fool caught up in your pull, circling back to you again and again till there’s nothing left of me but love with your name written all over it.”
A clawed hand clamps over his mouth, and Soshiro blinks his eyes open to find Kafka glaring down at him with an annoyed look. It would be convincing, too, if not for the blush creeping hot over his cheeks.
“You’re so corny, It’s all those damn poetry books you read.”
Soshiro only beams, pressing a kiss to the hand silencing him. Kafka jerks it back immediately, muttering under his breath, but the warmth lingers.
They’re no longer an officer and vice-captain, just two people in a cramped room on a division base, staring down the consequences of their choices laid out before them. If the future was confusing before, it’s even more so now. But none of that changes the truth swelling in Soshiro’s chest.
He is, undeniably, stupidly, happily in love.
“We’re gonna be parents.”
Kafka perks up at that, eyes widening like the realization has only just hit him. “Yeah… we’re gonna be parents,” he echoes softly, as if testing the shape of their future on his tongue.
“I’m gonna be a dad,” Soshiro says proudly, his chest puffing up as warmth swells through him. For the briefest second, he wonders if his own father ever felt this. If he ever looked at his future with anything close to this joy.
But he pushes the thought away. That’s a storm for another day. Right now, all he wants to think about is Kafka.
He grins, leaning in with a glint of mischief. “And you’re gonna be a mommy.”
Kafka scowls instantly. “No, I’m gonna be a dad too,”
Soshiro snorts. “Yeah, no. You’re totally the mommy now. Mama Kafka.” He tests the words with a wicked grin. “Mm… has a nice ring to it.”
Before Kafka can argue, Soshiro pushes him on his back and is already crawling over him, shameless hands wandering as he peppers hot, messy kisses down his neck.
“N-No! Soshiro, you’re not ahh! listening again!” Kafka yelps, shoving at his shoulders, legs kicking in protest as Soshiro buries his face against his chest with a muffled laugh.
He’s listening… just not to Kafka’s words.
He’s listening to the blush spreading down to his collarbones, the way his cock hardens against the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the low thrum of his core, the way his nipples peak against his shirt.
He’s always been an expert at listening to the wordless ways Kafka's body calls out to him.
And right now, it’s screaming to be loved.
He doesn’t even hesitate before lowering his mouth, closing his lips over Kafka’s nipple through the thin cotton, sucking until he feels Kafka’s body jolt under him.
“I swear, you keep gettin’ prettier and prettier. Pregnant looks too damn good on ya. Soon you’ll start lactatin' too..." A helpless, hungry smile slowly spreads across his face, hot and obsessed, like he can’t even hide how badly the thought affects him. He looks at Kafka like he’s starving.
“Bet your milk’s gonna taste sweet too. Just like ya.”
Kafka lets out a strangled scream, face blazing scarlet, and hurls the nearest pillow at his head. “Get out!”
The door slams behind him a heartbeat later.
Soshiro just stands there in the hallway, pillow under his arm, lips still tingling.
He really, really needs to start listening.
Sleep and Soshiro have always had a distant relationship.
As a child, he lived by a strict schedule of early to bed, early to rise. Dreams were rare, and when they did come, they vanished the moment he opened his eyes.
When he joined the Defense Force, sleep became the second casualty to his success. Six hours dwindled to five, then to four. He carved away at rest to sharpen his blades, to push his body harder, to ingrain every lesson to instinct. Every waking moment became another attempt to force his body into becoming someone worthy of surviving a battlefield filled with kaiju.
And still, he remained the weakest among his peers. The one they complained they’d have to babysit or else he’d die on the field. A weak link stubborn enough to cling to blades while everyone else relied on firepower.
The first casualty had been his confidence.
It eroded slowly beneath every stare that lingered too long, every whisper that stopped when he walked by, every invisible wall between himself and the rest of the Sixth Division. Even his brother barely looked at him, as though acknowledging him would somehow lower his own status. Those things chipped away at him day after day, wearing down confidence that had already been fragile before he’d even enlisted.
So he stopped looking for validation in others.
Instead, he buried himself in proof he could touch.
Scars like a map of everything he had survived. Stitches that burned with the shame of a hit he should have dodged. Muscles aching from training until his legs threatened to give out beneath him. Kaiju blood won with blades in his hands, not the rifle his platoon leader kept insisting he use.
Victories that belonged only to him.
In the Sixth Division, sleep was never rest.
At Tachikawa, sleep and him started finding each other again. It came easier without the constant weight of judging eyes, and endless comparisons to his brother.
Expectations still lingered, he was the officer Captain Ashiro herself had requested to join, but at least there wasn’t the same inescapable line of thought that chained him to his brother’s shadow. In the Third Division, it was about proving himself and Soshiro was more than fine with that.
When he became Vice-Captain, responsibility replaced rest. Sleep shrank to three hours a night, sometimes less, but it didn’t feel so terrible. Not when he could bleed off the pressure by standing at his captain’s side, carrying her burdens as well as his own. Not when he could feel the honor of people looking up to him, inside the division and beyond.
He didn’t need all that sleep. Not if every sleepless night was another chance to prove to his family that underestimating him had always been their fatal mistake.
Then he met Kafka and with him, sleep returned, tangled up in his feelings for the man. He slept more easily after nights in the library where they’d talk until the hours bled away, only to stumble to his bed and pass out the moment he hit the sheets.
And then there were nights with no sleep at all like when Kafka got himself arrested, and Soshiro had to wait five whole days, wondering if that idiot would even make it to the next sunrise.
It wasn’t until Kafka began sleeping beside him every night that Soshiro finally understood the rare dirty looks his officers gave him whenever he woke them for shift changes or emergencies.
Soshiro had spent years surviving on scraps of sleep, but that night, after Kafka finally woke from his coma, Soshiro squeezed himself into the cramped hospital bed beside him and slept for ten straight hours.
He couldn’t even remember the last time his body had allowed that.
Yet curled awkwardly against Kafka’s side, half hanging off the mattress with the steady beep of hospital machines filling the room, Soshiro had slept so deeply in years.
He woke with his face buried against Kafka’s shoulder and Kafka’s fingers tangled sleepily in his hair.
And very very late to his shift.
He rushed to the office only to find Mina signing paperwork as usual. She took one look at him, gave the faintest little smile, and flatly told him to go back to sleep.
And he did. Partly because his captain was wise. Mostly because he could barely keep his eyes open long enough to argue.
The second he crawled back into bed, Kafka sleepily threw a leg over his waist, and Soshiro was gone within seconds.
For someone who prided himself on enduring anything, it felt a little humiliating how easily Kafka unraveled him. Years of hypervigilance disappeared beneath a heavy arm and loud snoring.
Eventually, Soshiro understood it had never been weakness. It was the frightening depth of trust he’d placed in Kafka without even noticing.
Sleep had become a friend in the arms of his lover.
A slobbering, snoring, unexpectedly cool-bodied man had somehow managed to knock down all his disciplines, teaching him what it meant to sleep eight hours a night like a normal human being.
So when Soshiro lies wide awake now, after finally convincing Kafka to let him back into the room, he realizes that he and sleep… well.
They aren’t going to be friends again for a very long time.
“We should talk,” Mina says as she clips a uniorgan ammo cartridge into her gun, cornering him on his way back to the office.
About time, he hums dryly into his drink at the sound of the chamber clicking into place.
The coffee tastes awful, overly bitter, straight from the vending machine stocked with the extra strong cans Soshiro used to depend on. He’d actually started easing off caffeine lately, something he never imagined possible.
Apparently that habit wasn’t staying dead for long.
Not when he had four precious kaiju eggs to think about and their incredibly disaster prone kaiju mother. Suddenly every dangerous thing Kafka had ever done felt ten times worse in hindsight, replaying in Soshiro’s mind like a horror movie marathon.
The thoughts chased him all night until their alarm finally woke Kafka up. Half-asleep, Kafka leaned over to press a sleepy kiss to the top of his head before mumbling a good morning and dragging himself out of bed.
Watching him stand there, carrying their babies, Soshiro realized he was probably never going to fully relax again unless Kafka stayed right beside him twenty-four seven.
Or at the very least, within a hundred feet.
“What do we need to speak about, Captain?” he asks, returning his focus to the current issue instead of the countless ones circling his mind. He knows this conversation has nothing to do with Vice-Captain Hoshina or Captain Ashiro so hes just a smidge more relaxed.
She sighs like she’s tired of his voice and he wouldn’t put it past her. He’s been kind of a mess this past day and a half, since they found out the news.
He can tell it’s only going to spiral from here because this need to know is starting to frustrate even himself.
The First Division is already calling in top researchers from every branch, trying to understand what it even means for a kaiju hybrid and a human to conceive a child together.
The medics here have done their best to understand the situation and reassure them that, so far, everything appears healthy. But there’s only so much they can do for now until Kafka can be seen at the First and examined by a more specialized team.
That doesn’t stop Soshiro from sending every urgent question currently clawing through his mind to the researchers anyway.
So far, only 24 of the 36 emails he’s sent this morning have been answered. Yesterday, they had no problem replying to all 80. But today It’s like they’ve collectively decided to respond either in 30 minute intervals, or not at all.
And it’s only the afternoon.
Soshiro is this close to marching down to the labs himself to demand updates, but between training schedules and gathering paperwork for their marriage certificate, he hasn’t had the time.
Not that Kafka has agreed to marry him, yet. Kafka had said, quite sternly, that he didn’t want to get married in front of everyone while pregnant. That he didn’t want it to feel like some shotgun wedding out of their early twenties.
In Soshiro’s defense, Kafka had said he didn’t want to get married in front of everyone.
Which very obviously implied he still wanted to get married.
So, he’s already taken the liberty of filling out the paperwork himself. That way, Kafka doesn’t even have to think about it. All he needs now is Kafka’s signature and two witnesses then he’ll send it off to the court, and it’ll be official.
His future husband is busy growing four children and therefore exempt from dealing with stressful things like legal documents.
Besides resting, Kafka is dedicating his time to reconnecting with his remaining family and very seriously preparing her for aunt duties.
Mina had been there when they first got the news of Kafka's pregnancy. As Captain, she had to be notified. And ever since then, she’s been the only one besides Soshiro exchanging long, back-and-forth emails about what this might mean for Kafka, for the Defense Force, and for the future.
Mina had handled Kafka’s kaiju secret with remarkable professionalism, giving him the chance to prove himself instead of shielding him. But now that she knew their family was about to get bigger, the distance she carefully maintained between them no longer existed.
There’s been a constant pinch in Mina’s brow every time she looks at him. Understandable, considering Kafka’s been openly whining about how Soshiro doesn’t listen to him, how he bites too hard, how he should’ve seen this coming, because there were signs, and, most importantly, how this is all Mina’s fault for choosing him as Vice-Captain.
Mina’s response has been to wrap Kafka in a hug, nod sagely, and agree with everything.
Kafka is eating it up.
“You really didn’t know he could get pregnant?” Mina asks, deceptively calm. It’s less a question and more a warning. Feels like she’ll take off his head, and most of his torso, with a single shot if he even thinks about lying.
“Yes, I really didn’t know,” Soshiro says, frowning, deeply annoyed because even the doctors had side-eyed him about it too.
“You went off on just a few details and managed to connect that he was Kaiju No. 8. It’s not that much of a stretch to believe you knew he could get pregnant.”
It was exactly what Kafka had tried to fight with him about that very morning, right when Soshiro was just trying to write his emails. Kafka had been sitting beside Mina, loudly complaining between bites of the massive breakfast she had gotten just for him.
Soshiro decides to take it as a compliment to his intelligence.
“You really think I knew he could get knocked up?”
“Yes.”
“I’m hurt,” Soshiro said, dramatically pressing his palm to his sternum. “Hurt that ya think I would go that far. For what?”
“To keep Kafka out of danger and to yourself.” Mina said flatly like she was done pretending it wasn’t obvious to everyone that Soshiro was crazy about Kafka.
“I don’t need to knock him up to keep him,” Though privately, it definitely didn’t hurt.
“I know,” Mina sighed, checking the gun in her hand.
Soshiro’s first instinct was to step back, but he forced himself still. He couldn’t show fear, not to her. This was the woman who gave him this. The one who saw his potential, pulled him into the Third Division, and set him on the road that led to all of this.
She was also the one with a stubborn childhood friend who had turned into a kaiju and still refused to back down from keeping their ridiculous promise. That very same friend who crashed straight into Soshiro’s life and made him a fool for love.
Kafka might have a point.
This is all Mina’s fault.
“I haven’t been there for him in all the time we’ve known each other.”
The irony of life no longer seems amusing as she stares down at the pistol in her lap, cradling it with a tenderness touched equally by respect and grief.
“He was always there,” Mina says quietly. “When we were growing up, he protected me. When evacuation drills scared me, he helped me through them. When I was afraid of the neighbor’s dog, he stayed until I felt safe again. Even when I was in high school and he was working double shifts, he still made time for me.”
A sad little chuckle escapes her. “Then I got into the Defense Force, and I stopped making time for him. I stopped answering his calls, his texts. And somehow, I still blamed him for not being beside me. Every year, I got angrier. Like he had abandoned me, when I was the one who cut the tie.”
“Don’t be silly. Ya know it wasn’t like that.”
The proof is all around them. The newly rebuilt section of the base might not even exist if Kafka hadn’t wanted so desperately to stand beside Mina again.
It’s a stupid jealousy, one Soshiro hates feeling sometimes. There’s no romance between them, never has been, but Kafka’s devotion to her still burns bright enough that he risked everything for it. Risked his life. Risked being experimented on, labeled a monster, executed.
Kafka’s heart is such a painfully shining thing.
And sometimes Soshiro doesn’t like knowing Kafka could love someone else that deeply too.
“I know that now,” Mina says softly.
This time she meets his eyes directly, her cool amber stare unwavering in the same way that made him believe in her all those years ago.
“I know he didn’t abandon me. I know he thought about me all those years. I know I was childish for acting that way.” Her mouth twitches faintly. “And I know this time things are going to be different.”
He thought back to earlier that morning, to this ridiculous ball of light beaming smugly as he teased his little sister about future diaper duty, proudly insisting he had changed hers when they were younger. And his ever composed, fierce captain, whining that there was only a five-year difference between them and that he was absolutely making the whole thing up.
Some selfish, possessive part of him can’t help thinking he’d preserved this in some small way. After all, the moment Kafka complained about her bullying her pregnant older brother, Mina had instantly backed down and apologized despite the annoyance written all over her face.
Watching them together felt like glimpsing something private. Kafka and Mina falling into old habits so naturally, teasing and bickering with years of affection beneath it all. Somehow Kafka could pull the overthinking flustered girl from a woman the rest of the Defense Force viewed as untouchable.
Because Kafka was something beyond ordinary. A force of change and stubborn evolution wrapped in kindness. People grew around him without even realizing it, became stronger, better just from being loved by him.
He was a hero long before he ever became Kaiju No. 8.
“I take this is your shovel talk?”
“More like a gun talk.”
The grin pulling at his mouth stays mostly hidden as he drains the last of his canned coffee and tosses it into the garbage without looking.
“I don’t think you’ve got much to threaten me with when it comes to treatin’ your brother right. I’m an absolute fool for that man, Mina.” he says without even a hint of shame.
He enjoys the way faint pink immediately dusts her cheeks. Apparently the word brother is really getting to her.
“I-I know that,” she huffs, quickly sliding her pistol back into its holster. The threat had never really been necessary in the first place, but he respected it anyway. She crosses her arms and straightens up, looking somewhere between Captain Ashiro’s seriousness and Mina’s nervous uncertainty.
“Listen, this time I’m not going to let anything come between us. Not even you,” she says firmly before immediately wavering. “I’m going to be part of his life again… unless he doesn’t want me to. He has that right.” Her gaze flickers away briefly. “And you too, because I know this probably crosses a lot of boundaries…”
She keeps going after that, stumbling into a mess of doubts and awkward worries, and Soshiro can’t help but think she looks beautiful. A young woman who gives every piece of herself to the people she loves and protects. Someone far more delicate than she lets the world see.
And he can’t help but think about how much he’s gained by helping carve out a path for her.
But now he needs to help forge four more paths.The future he once imagined for himself isn’t straightforward anymore.
But that’s okay. Because for the first time in his life, he isn’t walking toward it alone.
He steps closer and rests a hand on her shoulder, cutting off the nervous stream of doubts before it can continue.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re already family at this point,” he tells her honestly before his smile turns teasing. “And family helps with changin' diapers..”
“I c-can change a diaper! I just need to practice first!” Mina blurts out, practically vibrating with determination. It’s a new side of her, one that seems to emerge more and more with every second she spends with Kafka. A side he can't wait to see when she's surrounded by four little kafkas.
It reminds him a little of how he and his brother used to act. Minus all the violence. And the harsh words.
Okay, it reminds him of how he thinks siblings are supposed to act.
He chuckles. “You and me both.”
She laughs with him, wearing a smile he’s never seen on her face before, one that’s been lingering for two days now, and he’s starting to grow acutely familiar with it. She aims one last very pink-cheeked threat his way.
“I will keep you in my line of sight from now on,”
He raises a brow. “I feel like your threat is unwarranted.”
“I feel like your dick in my best friend was unwarranted,” she fires back without missing a beat.
He pauses then shrugs his shoulders toward her in a silent yeah, okay, fair.
“This is just a reminder not to be so controlling.”
“I ain't controllin',” he snaps back quietly, letting his hand fall from her shoulder.
Mina only raises a brow, her small smile looking far too much like one of his own for comfort.
“You don’t have to manipulate things to make them go your way. You’re not alone in this. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Kafka and the babies are safe and healthy.”
She spoke the words with the same solemn conviction she carried when addressing new recruits. Its steady enough to anchor fear, fierce enough to make some of his doubt lower its eyes.
He knew he was blessed.
He knew it as he watched her turn on her heel and head back toward their office, where they had left Kafka sprawled out on the floor, dead asleep and using Bakko as a pillow.
Blessed not just to have someone give him a chance, but to have someone respect him, know him, see every sharp edge and hidden bruise and still choose to stand close.
The look Mina gives him over her shoulder is soft enough to make her seem years younger, relaxed in a way Soshiro rarely gets to witness outside of Kafka’s presence.
“Congratulations, by the way,” she says, unable to hide the small happy grin spreading across her face.
These two stubborn, loyal, incredible people had somehow given him opportunities for happiness he’d never once believed were actually reachable.
“Thanks,” he mutters, running a hand through his bangs in a weak attempt to hide the heat rising into his cheeks and the way his mouth keeps threatening to split into a massive grin.
“I’m glad I didn’t need to shoot you. We just got everything rebuilt.”
“Yeah… so glad,” he replied flatly, which only made Mina’s laughter burst brighter beside him.
Once they get back, the room becomes an ambush of flashing camera lights and barely muffled snickering, phones lifted from every angle as picture after picture capture Bakko and Kafka snoring together on the floor. He gets a good one of Kafka prawled shamelessly across the tiger, mouth hanging slightly open in sleep, a soft, dopey smile still curved on his face like even his dreams had found something worth laughing about.
He would never hurt Kafka. And he really would try not to be so controlling.
But it was always good to have a little leverage, the thought comes with shameless fondness as he quietly takes his own picture of his captain curled up beside her older brother on the floor, her roughened hand resting softly over the future all of them were now tied to.
Soshiro would’ve loved nothing more than to throw himself onto the floor too and wedge himself between them. To feel impossibly safe in their grasp, pinned there not by duty or expectation, but by the simple, ridiculous certainty of being wanted.
But he was still the Vice-Captain of the Third Division and someone needed to do all this paperwork.
And now, somehow, he had to figure out how to hold onto that without losing sight of everything else waiting for him.
What a terrifying new road lay before him now.
Good thing he had always been excellent at impossible things.