the suit test
In which the Third Division volunteers to test new prototype suits, Vice Captain Hoshina decides to have a little fun, and everyone except Kikoru fails to connect some very obvious dots. Kafka questions his life choices. Iharu questions his eyesight. Reno questions why he's friends with any of these people. And Dr. Name, head scientist, just wants to finish their tests without their husband being insufferable. That, apparently, is too much to ask. Requested by @soshandcatblogapparently
The Third Division had never been more excited about a suit fitting.
It wasn't every day they got to test prototype gear. New fabrics, new mobility, new everything. The scientists from R&D had descended upon the base like a swarm of very organized, very serious locusts. Tables covered in equipment. Screens displaying vitals. clipboards everywhere.
And at the center of it all, Dr. Name. Head scientist. The person who could make or break the entire testing process with a single note on a clipboard.
"Alright, listen up," Name said, not looking up from their tablet. "We'll be running standard compatibility drills in the new suits. Your vitals will be monitored at all times. If anything feels wrong, you say something immediately. No heroics. No pushing through discomfort. Understood?"
A chorus of nods. Kafka looked nervous. Iharu looked excited. Reno looked like he was already calculating the probability of something exploding.
"Squad leaders, you're up first. Vice Captain Hoshina, if you'll step into the testing chamber."
Hoshina unfolded himself from the wall where he'd been leaning. He was wearing his standard uniform, tantos at his hips, that lazy smirk already in place. He walked toward Name with the easy confidence of someone who had nothing to prove.
"Dr. Name," he said, stopping just a little closer than necessary. "Looking radiant as ever today."
Name didn't look up from their tablet. "Vice Captain. Charming as usual."
"I try."
"You fail."
"Consistently."
The exchange took three seconds. It was nothing. A normal interaction between two professionals who had worked together before.
Behind them, Kafka's head swiveled toward Iharu. Iharu's head swiveled toward Reno. Reno's eye twitched.
"Did the Vice Captain just—" Kafka whispered.
"Flirt?" Iharu whispered back.
"Vice Captain Hoshina is naturally charming," Reno said, though he didn't sound convinced.
"He was definitely flirting."
"Objectively, that was flirting."
Reno opened his mouth. Closed it. "I have no counterargument."
The testing began.
Hoshina moved through the drills like water. Fast, fluid, impossible to track. The new suit moved with him, sensors recording every angle, every pivot, every shift of weight. Name stood at the monitoring station, eyes on the screens, fingers dancing across the tablet.
"Mobility looks good," they said. "Range of motion is within expected parameters. Vice Captain, how does it feel?"
"Like a second skin." He landed from a flip, barely winded. "Maybe a little tight in the shoulders."
Name walked toward him. Clipboard in hand. Tablet forgotten.
"Let me see."
They reached up. Their fingers found the seam at his shoulder, testing the fabric, checking the fit. Hoshina went very still.
On the monitor, his heart rate spiked.
The technician at the vitals station frowned. "Vice Captain, your heart rate just jumped. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Hoshina said. His voice was steady. His pulse was not.
Name's fingers were still on his shoulder. They hadn't moved.
"Probably just adrenaline from the drills," they said, finally stepping back. "We'll monitor it."
They walked back to the station. Hoshina's heart rate slowly returned to normal.
The technician made a note. "It spikes every time Dr. Name gets close," they muttered, too quiet for anyone but the person next to them to hear.
The next hour was a masterclass in barely concealed chaos.
Hoshina ran the rest of his drills with his usual precision. But he kept finding excuses to be near Name. A question about the suit's flexibility. A comment about the fabric's breathability. A observation about the way the light hit the monitoring equipment.
"It's the afternoon sun," he said, standing directly in Name's personal space. "Very flattering."
"The sun is the same for everyone, Vice Captain."
"Not everyone wears it as well as you."
Name looked up. Their expression was flat. But their ears were slightly pink.
"Are you finished?"
"Not even close."
Behind them, Kafka grabbed Iharu's arm. "He's doing it again."
"He's definitely doing it again."
"He's never done this before."
"Maybe he's just in a good mood?"
Kafka stared at Iharu. Iharu stared back.
"Have you met the Vice Captain?" Kafka asked.
"He's been different lately. Softer."
"Different is not the same as flirting with a married scientist."
Iharu looked at Name's hand. The wedding band was impossible to miss. Gold. Simple. Very obviously not a fashion accessory.
"Does he know?" Iharu whispered.
"He has eyes."
"Maybe he hasn't noticed."
"He's the Vice Captain. He notices everything."
Reno, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke. "This is going to end badly."
"You think?"
"I don't think. I know."
The final drill was a combat simulation. Hoshina against a training bot. Standard fare. He finished it in under two minutes, not even breathing hard.
Name approached with a scanner, running it over his arms, his chest, his back. Checking for stress points. Fitting issues. Anything that might need adjustment.
Hoshina's heart rate spiked again. The technician didn't even bother announcing it this time.
"There's a loose seam here," Name said, fingers brushing the back of his neck. "We'll need to reinforce it before the next round."
"I trust your judgment."
"That's dangerous."
"You've never steered me wrong."
Name paused. Looked at him. Really looked.
"Are you feeling alright, Vice Captain?"
"I've never been better."
"You're acting strange."
"I'm acting exactly the same as always."
"You're not. You're hovering."
"Hovering is a strong word."
"You're standing so close I can count your eyelashes."
Hoshina's smirk widened. "How many do I have?"
Name stepped back. Their ears were definitely pink now.
"I'm going to check on the other suits," they said. "Stay here."
"I'll wait."
"Don't."
"I always do."
Name walked away. Hoshina watched them go. His heart rate, finally, began to settle.
Kafka approached cautiously, like he was walking toward an angry kaiju.
"Vice Captain," he said.
"Kafka."
"Can I ask you something?"
"You just did."
Kafka took a breath. "Are you... flirting with Dr. Name?"
Hoshina tilted his head. "What makes you say that?"
"Everything. The compliments. The hovering. The way you look at them when they're not watching."
"The way I look at them?"
"Like they're the only person in the room."
Hoshina was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled. That smile. The one that meant he knew something Kafka didn't.
"And if I was flirting?" he asked.
"Dr. Name is married."
"I'm aware."
"You're the Vice Captain."
"Also aware."
"This is—"
"Inappropriate?" Hoshina laughed. "Probably."
Kafka stared. Hoshina clapped him on the shoulder.
"Don't worry so much," he said. "Everything will make sense soon."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's not supposed to be."
The break came. Suits were removed. Data was downloaded. Name stood at the main table, reviewing readings, making notes, ignoring the fact that Hoshina had positioned himself directly across from them.
"Vice Captain," they said without looking up.
"Dr. Name."
"You're in my light."
"Am I?"
"You're always in my light."
"Maybe you need more light."
"I need you to step two feet to the left."
"I need you to look at me."
Name looked up. Their expression was unreadable. But something flickered in their eyes—something that looked like exasperation and fondness in equal measure.
"What do you want, Hoshina?"
"Dinner."
"I'm married."
"I know."
"You know."
"I've always known."
Name set down their pen. Crossed their arms. "Then why are you doing this?"
Hoshina leaned forward. His voice dropped, just for them. "Because I'm hungry. Because you promised to cook tonight. Because if I have to eat another mess hall meal, I'm going to transfer myself to the northern border."
Name's composure cracked. Just a little. Just enough.
"You're insufferable."
"You married me anyway."
"I ask myself why every day."
"Because I'm charming."
"You're exhausting."
"Same thing."
Kafka, who had been edging closer to hear the conversation, made a sound like a dying animal.
"Did the Vice Captain just—"
"Say 'you married me'?" Iharu whispered.
"I heard it too."
"That's not—they couldn't have—"
Reno appeared between them. "I think we need to accept the possibility that we've missed something obvious."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Something very obvious."
Iharu squinted at Name. At their wedding band. At Hoshina. At the way Hoshina was looking at them like they were the only person in the room.
"No," Iharu said.
"Yes," Reno said.
"We would have known."
"Would we?"
"We work with him every day."
"And how often does he talk about his personal life?"
The silence was deafening.
"Never," Kafka whispered. "He never talks about his personal life."
"Because he had no reason to."
"Or because he was waiting for this exact moment."
They looked at each other. Then at Hoshina, who was now helping Name pack up their equipment, their shoulders brushing, their hands moving in easy synchronization.
"We're idiots," Kafka said.
"Monumental idiots," Iharu agreed.
"Reno, say something smart."
Reno opened his mouth. Closed it. "I've got nothing."
Kikoru had been watching from the corner the entire time.
She was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression caught somewhere between disgust and amusement. She'd watched Kafka and Iharu and Reno stumble through every stage of denial. She'd watched Hoshina flirt with his own spouse like a man who had absolutely no shame. She'd watched Name pretend to be annoyed while their ears went pink.
She was tired. So tired.
"Are you guys actually stupid?" she asked.
Kafka turned. "What?"
"It's so obvious. Those two are married to each other."
The room went silent. Iharu's mouth fell open. Kafka's brain made a sound like a skipping record. Reno's expression shifted from confusion to realization to resignation in the span of three seconds.
"But—" Iharu pointed at Hoshina. "But they said—"
"When did they say anything?"
"The Vice Captain was flirting!"
"With his spouse."
"The doctor was—"
"Annoyed? Yes. Because their husband was being insufferable in front of their colleagues."
Iharu blinked. Kafka blinked. Reno buried his face in his hands.
"Oh," Iharu said.
"Oh," Kafka echoed.
"OH," Reno added, because he felt left out.
Hoshina had stopped what he was doing. He was watching them now, that insufferable smirk back in full force.
"Took you long enough," he said.
"You could have just told us," Kafka said.
"And miss this? Never."
He pulled at the chain around his neck. A simple ring slid out from under his shirt—gold, matching the one on Name's hand.
"Three years," he said. "Three years, and none of you ever asked."
"You never mentioned it."
"You never asked."
Kafka looked at Name. Name shrugged.
"I assumed he told you," they said.
"Why would you assume that?"
"Because he tells everyone everything."
"He tells no one anything."
Name looked at Hoshina. Hoshina looked at Name.
"He's private," Name said.
"He's a menace," Kafka corrected.
"Same thing."
Iharu was still processing. His face went through several emotions—confusion, realization, betrayal, and finally, acceptance.
"So the flirting," he said. "The hovering. The heart rate spikes."
"What heart rate spikes?" Hoshina asked.
The technician at the vitals station raised a hand. "Every time Dr. Name touched you, your heart rate increased by an average of twenty beats per minute."
Hoshina's smirk faltered. Just a little.
"That's—"
"Science," Name said. "Unbiased. Recorded."
"You didn't mention that."
"I was saving it for later."
"For what?"
"Embarrassing you in front of your squad."
Hoshina stared at them. Name stared back. The room held its breath.
"I love you," Hoshina said.
"I know."
"That's not the response I was looking for."
"I love you too. Now help me pack up the equipment so we can go home."
He helped. Of course he helped. The room watched in stunned silence as the Vice Captain of the Third Division—the man who could kill a kaiju with his bare hands—carried boxes for his spouse.
Kafka turned to Kikoru. "How did you know?"
"I have eyes."
"But we have eyes too."
"Yours don't work."
Kafka couldn't argue with that.
Later that night, the Third Division group chat exploded.
Iharu: I'M STILL PROCESSING
Iharu: THE VICE CAPTAIN HAS BEEN MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME
Iharu: THREE YEARS
Iharu: THREE YEARS AND HE NEVER SAID ANYTHING
Kafka: He said he was waiting for us to ask
Kafka: But we never asked
Kafka: Because we assumed he would tell us if he was married
Kafka: WHICH IS A NORMAL ASSUMPTION
Reno: The heart rate spikes were the giveaway
Reno: You don't spike like that for a coworker
Iharu: HE SPIKE FOR THEM???
Kafka: Every time they touched him
Kafka: The technician had a whole chart
Reno: I sent it to the group
Iharu: WHY DO YOU HAVE THE CHART
Reno: I asked nicely
Kikoru: You're all idiots
Kikoru: I'm leaving this chat
Kikoru has left the chat
Iharu: SHE'S RIGHT THOUGH
Kafka: She's always right
Reno: This is exhausting
The next morning, Hoshina walked into the briefing room with Name's coffee in his hand. Not his coffee. Theirs. He'd made it himself, in the travel mug they liked, with the exact amount of milk and sugar they preferred.
Kafka watched him set it down at Name's usual spot.
"You made them coffee," Kafka said.
"I make them coffee every morning."
"I didn't know that."
"Because you never asked."
Kafka stared at the coffee. Then at Hoshina. Then at the wedding ring hanging from the chain around his neck.
"How did we miss this?"
Hoshina patted his shoulder. "You see what you want to see, Kafka. And you wanted to see a Vice Captain who was just as lonely as you."
"That's deep."
"I'm a deep person."
"You're a menace."
"Same thing."
Name walked in. Saw the coffee. Picked it up. Took a sip.
"You made it wrong," they said.
"I made it exactly how you like it."
"I like it with less sugar."
"You like it with more sugar. You just don't want to admit it."
Name took another sip. Their expression softened.
"Fine. It's perfect."
"I know."
"You're insufferable."
"You married me anyway."
"I ask myself why every day."
"Because I make good coffee."
"That's not—" They stopped. Sighed. "That's actually the reason."
Hoshina laughed. Name almost smiled. The rest of the Third Division watched in stunned silence.
"Get used to it," Hoshina said, not looking away from his spouse. "We're not going anywhere."
Kafka picked up his own coffee. It was cold. He didn't care.
He was too busy being happy for them.



















