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“Stop throwin’ your punches like a neanderthal,” Soshiro sighs. “Honestly, haven’t we already gone over this?”
Kafka bends over, hands on his knees, breaths heavy on the uptick. He’s tired and Soshiro’s overworking him - they both know it, but neither are willing to call it quits for the night. Not just yet.
“Sorry, sir. Just a force of habit.” A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. Soshiro watches as it disappears into his shirt.
Lucky.
“When you punch, the force comes from your core. Don't go wildly swingin’ your arms around, that's how you lose control.” Soshiro steps behind Kafka and grabs his right elbow, guiding it so it's tucked into his side and bent behind his back. Ready to strike. “Get your feet in starting position or I'll kick ya.”
“Yes, sir,” Kafka says, obedient. Soshiro can feel the waves of body heat radiating from Kafka as he shifts his stance, watches the way his muscles tense under his shirt, and thinks about how easily it would be to reach out and feel out the plains and valleys of his back. But then he remembers how pointless it is to allow his imagination to run wild. All that matters right now is his training. The work.
Kafka has made huge leaps of improvements in complex techniques, but struggles with the basics. He’s making up for it now, and there’s much to be proud of, not that Soshiro will praise him too quickly. Kafka’s still about an inch off his form, which isn't good enough in Soshiro's book.
“Wider.”
“Huh?”
“Your legs,” he says, lowering his voice and pointing not exactly at his feet. “Spread ‘em. Can you do that for me? Just a smidge?”
The gears turn in Kafka’s head, Soshiro can all but see them, and when the joke lands Kafka laughs from his belly until it bubbles up to his cheeks. It hurts Soshiro in a place Kafka doesn’t even realize exists, so he keeps his smile up like a shield. He knows better than to make jokes like that anyway.
“Good one, Vice-Captain! I didn’t know you made jokes like that!”
Normally? Never. “I’m full of surprises.”
He chuckles and adjusts his footing. “How's this?”
“Better.”
“So strict, Vice-Captain!”
“Keep complainin’ and I'll show ya somethin’ strict, ya nincompoop!” Soshiro huffs and puffs out his chest without thinking, but quickly rescinds it. “Alright, Kafka, let's go over this again.”
Kafka's face grows serious. “Right!”
“When you throw a punch in your human form, you can't be as reckless as when you're a kaiju. Your power is more limited, so you need to maximize your strength where it matters.” He motions for Kafka to throw a punch, hitting the air in front of Soshiro’s face. He barely moves the rest of his body aside from his arm. Strange, since he doesn’t seem to have this issue in his kaiju form. Soshiro moves in close, right in his face, and grabs his hips, forcing them to move in line with his arm. It takes everything in him to keep his hands from straying, to remain completely composed.
The work, the work! Focus on the work!
“You need to punch straight and your core needs to follow. Well, really your arm needs to be the one following your core. That’s where the force comes from. Don’t keep your torso tight or you’re gonna throw out your back. At your age, that’s something to be concerned about.”
Kafka nods once, twice, many times in quick succession. “Yes, sir!”
Soshiro takes a couple steps back. “Hit me.”
“But Vice-Captain!”
“Just do it, Kafka,” he says with an eye roll. “You're not going to hurt me.”
Kafka looks away from him, down at his feet. “You always say that, but-”
“No buts.”
“But,” he continues anyway. “I'm still a kaiju. Even Director Shinomiya says so. I could end up hurting you.” Kafka lowers his arms and hangs them by his side.
Soshiro sighs.
And then immediately traps Kafka in a headlock. The smell of sweat and cheap soap - the kind you steal from a hotel room right before checking out - consumes him. How could such a simple scent be this intoxicating? It makes him even more annoyed.
“I didn't tell ya to drop your stance, ya one percent asshole!”
Kafka taps Soshiro's bicep in submission and Soshiro takes his sweet ass time in releasing his hold. Once he finally does, Kafka opens his mouth to say something else that will likely piss Soshiro off, so he beats him to the punch.
“No matter how strong you think you are, you're still a miniature class kaiju.” He emphasizes his point by simultaneously giving Kafka a not-so-gentle smack upside the head. It isn't necessary, but it sure makes Soshiro feel better. “Don't forget your place, ya jerk.”
Kafka hesitates to smile, and Soshiro knows that Kafka doesn't truly believe that he's not a threat to himself and everyone around him. But that doesn't matter. Not right now, not while Soshiro has him under his wing.
“I won't let nothin’ happen to ya. And I won't let ya hurt no one else either.”
Soshiro will protect him no matter what. It's all he can do.
“Kafka,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He can feel heat traveling to the tips of his ears. God, he’s shit and this kind of thing. “You’re in good hands here, ya know? I’ll take care of ya.”
Kafka pauses, looks at him seriously. It’s frustrating. Does he seriously think Soshiro’s that weak? But then he laughs. His smile is beautiful and Soshiro forgets everything that came before.
“HA! Was that another of your jokes, Vice-Captain?” He makes a crude gesture with his hands and bends over into a fit of giggles.
Soshiro’s mind draws a blank, but then the vague innuendo clicks. “Oh, uh. Yeah. Obviously.”
Apparently, Soshiro is fucking hilarious without even having to try. How cruel. He wants to put Kafka in another headlock, but doing so would bely the validity of his “joke.”
“Oi, are ya gonna keep laughin’ like a school boy or are ya gonna hit me already?”
It takes another three minutes and an extra headlock for Kafka to get back into the proper stance.
“I swear, you’re a real troublesome guy,” Soshiro sighs.
“Sorryyyy!” He drags out the word in such a way that Soshiro knows that he's not sorry in the slightest. “Okay, I'm ready now!”
Kafka throws a punch that may very well result in lower back pain. Soshiro straightens his own back in sympathy.
“Come on, man. You don't have this issue in Kaiju form. What's goin’ on here?”
Kafka presses his hands to his hips. “I'm not sure. When I'm a kaiju, it all comes naturally to me, like I've been doing it all my life. But when I'm like this it's different. I feel my knees and shoulders popping and my back doesn't want to stay straight. But there’s something else that's holding me back,” he says, tapping his chest, right over his heart. “Something in here. I try to just do it the same way I do as a kaiju, but clearly that's wrong.”
Soshiro chuckles. “A little performance anxiety, maybe?”
Shockingly, Kafka doesn't pick up on the joke. Looks like Soshiro really is only funny when he's not trying to be. “Maybe.”
He waits for Kafka to continue, watching the way his eyes focus on the ground with a ferocity he rarely sees in his officers.
“I can't help but think about how everyone else has been training for years for this, maybe even their whole lives, and how behind I am in comparison. Now I'm finally here and I'm failing at the basics.” He leaves a sigh and straightens. “But that's neither here nor there! Ha-ha! It just means I have to train twice as hard! Three times even!”
Kafka resumes his stance. He gets it right on the first try.
“After all,” he adds as if it’s an afterthought when really it’s what he truly means. “I have to make it to Mina’s side no matter what.”
Soshiro can feel the veins in his neck. “Riiight, of course.”
Kafka holds his hands out defensively. “I didn't mean anything against you, sir! I-”
“Shuddup.” Soshiro moves to Kafka’s side and grabs his right arm, yanking it back in position. “Don’t let it cross your heart,” he says, not entirely about form. He sees Kafka’s profile, his messy eyebrows and soft cheeks, the hard determination in his eyes that’s meant for someone else. “Your heart’s the last thing you wanna be tamperin’ with.”
“I’m not sure I-”
“When you punch,” he starts, placing his left hand on Kafka’s waist, while the other hand guides his arm forward. “Move your core so your fist is never aligned with your heart. Don’t let one half of your body cross into the other. Keep ‘em separate.”
Yeah. Keep them separate. Dumbass.
Gee. When did his thoughts get so loud?
“Okay, I'll try it that way!”
Kafka swings once, twice, fumbling a few more, but then finds his rhythm. It comes to him eventually, near perfect form and a punch that might even hurt Soshiro if caught off guard. What a relief.
“There ya go, ya got it!”
Kafka smiles wide and looks at him triumphantly, joyously, beautifully. A breakthrough of sun on a cloudy day. It takes Soshiro’s breath away. “Thank you, Vice-Captain! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“I-” Soshiro starts, stops, reigns himself back in. “You worked hard and I commend you, but don’t think we’re done here. You still have a looooong way to go.”
Kafka nods. “Understood!” He looks at the clock on the wall. “Oh! I have to meet with Mina soon!”
Mina?
“That’s Captain Ashrio to you, Officer.”
Kafka grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “My apologies, sir, but she and I are meeting off-duty.”
Huh.
Off-duty.
Them.
Together.
Not on base.
Doing God knows what.
Well then.
This must be what it feels like to get stabbed. A swordsman, of all people, should never know pain like this, yet here Soshiro is with this cold, twisting pain through his chest. Go figure.
“I see.”
Kafka slings his bag over his shoulder, one foot already out the door. “I’ll be heading out now. Are we still on for the same time tomorrow?”
“You betcha.” Soshiro nods. The pain settles in his heart, makes itself at home, but he closes his eyes and smiles through it.