Archive of Our Own

The first time they meet face to face is positively exhilarating for Kafka; she has a bit of time in between escaping the clutches of the Xianzhou Luofu’s Divination Commission and the next phase of their plan, so she leaves Bladie to his own devices and decides to pay the Astral Express a visit. With the rest of the crew running around the Luofu she has the perfect opportunity to go see their famed navigator up close and personal without interruptions. And Kafka has always been an opportunist.

It’s well past midnight by the time she makes it into the Express. Not because it was particularly difficult to sneak onto with it being so empty, but because she’d purposely waited for the sky to turn dark to make her appearance. Humans tended to behave differently under the cover of darkness, and the prospect of catching Himeko either with her walls completely down or in some compromising position was far too alluring to pass up. 

And sure enough, when Kafka finally waltzes in to the navigator’s room, she finds Himeko in her nightgown, standing in front of her mirror and running her fingers through luscious red locks, still slightly damp from her shower. 

At the sound of her door opening, Himeko’s body whips around from the mirror, relaxed posture completely gone and replaced with rigid tension at the intrusion. Kafka gives her exactly three seconds to register the situation before snapping her fingers and manifesting thin magenta ropes, bringing them down from the celling to wrap around Himeko’s wrists and pin them behind her back, rooting her in place. Kafka can see the recognition flash in Himeko’s golden eyes and how she tries to force down the panic from her expression, and has to bite her own tongue to keep it from licking her lips. Wouldn’t want to give her prey the completely wrong impression, after all.

Two broad strides across the room bring her inches away from her captive and despite prior reservations, she makes a show of the way her eyes rake over Himeko’s body; noting appreciatively the way the nightgown’s thin fabric clings to her curves and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. The gown’s generous cleavage leaving even more of her ample breasts on display than her white daytime dress. Her red hair, down from its usual regal style and without the accessories, frames Himeko’s fair face in a way that makes her golden eyes almost glow, and Kafka can’t help herself when she takes the other woman’s chin between her thumb and index finger, turning her her from side to side and inspecting her delicate features. From the soft supple skin on her cheekbones, to the sharp curve of her jaw, Himeko’s face is a work of art; an ancient statue made of the purest marble and carved into perfection by the Aeons themselves.  

No photo, nor eyes of a hologram, can truly do justice to just how breathtakingly beautiful Himeko is. And Kafka finds herself taking a step back from the woman as the clean scent of her freshly washed hair invades Kafka’s nostrils, intoxicating her and making her perfect self control slip rapidly. 

With the two of them now a safer distance away, some calm is restored to Himeko’s expression as she regards Kafka carefully, eyes frantically running across kafka’s face in an attempt to find her intentions. The tension between them is palpable when Himeko finally breaks the silence, voice perfectly cool despite her predicament; “I didn’t realize being a sex offender was among your crimes, Stellaron Hunter.” 

The sound breaks Kafka out of the spell she’s been put under. Beautiful women are no strangers to Kafka; if they don’t flock to her like moths to a flame then all she has to do is look in the mirror. But there’s something about Himeko’s ethereal beauty that captivates her mind and paralyses her body and had she been able to feel fear, Kafka would have no doubt been terrified to her core by another person having that kind of affect on her. She’s supposed to be the one controlling, the one pulling the strings of the people around her as if they were puppets for her entertainment. Having another person take control of her in any sort of shape and form is dangerous business she should quickly walk away from.

But Kafka can’t feel fear, isn’t capable of it. So instead of undoing the bindings that keep Himeko suspended and running as far away from the Express as physically possible, she lets her mask of amused indifference slip back on her face and answers Himeko’s biting quip with one of her own; “And I didn’t realize you are a succubus summoned onto this world to seduce poor innocent women, Princess. So I guess that makes us equals.” 

Himeko sneers at her comment but otherwise doesn’t dignify her with an answer. “Why are you here, Kafka?”

Kafka shrugs, taking another step away from the bound woman and does the rudest thing she can think of; sit herself at the edge of Himeko’s bed, one leg crossed over the other as she leans back on her hands and regards the other woman with a lazy smirk, not missing the way Himeko’s eyes flicker to her chest, slightly pushed forward thanks to her position. “Am I not allowed to come visit my newest friend? You did say to come see you in person if I wanted so continue our previous discussion. So here I am.” A lie as flimsy as the material of Himeko’s sleepwear, but whether the woman in question chooses to believe her or not is none of Kafka’s concern.

Himeko for her part, does not, in fact, seem to believe her. “I doubt there’s much for us to discuss at this point. I’ve heard all about your capture and daring escape earlier today and the results of the divination. You’ve told Stelle that that’s all you were allowed to know, so unless there’s information you’ve somehow managed to hide from the Master Diviner that you would like to share now, you serve no further use to us.”

Kafka’s smirk turns predatory at Himeko’s particular choice of words and she gets up from the bed, walking back towards her lovely hostage with an alluring sway of her hips. Steeling herself in advance against Himeko’s tantalizing scent, she breaches the other woman’s personal space and brings her lips to Himeko’s ear, her hand coming up to caress Himeko’s smooth cheek with the tips of her fingers and she silently curses her gloves for separating their skins. Kafka lets her lips and breath ghost over the shell of Himeko’s ear for a moment before finally whispering, her voice an octave lower and dripping honey; “You say I don’t serve any further use to ‘us’, plural, but what about ‘you’, singular? I’m sure there’s a way for me to be of use to you, to serve you…”

The shudder that passes through Himeko’s body doesn’t go unnoticed and it takes a good deal of self control for Kafka to not smirk in satisfaction. The art of seduction is as delicate as assassination, and Kafka is an expert at both. But there’s something about Himeko’s proximity that makes her feel lightheaded and clumsy, all of her careful practices thrown out the window. So the knowledge that regardless of what happens, Himeko won’t be walking away from this encounter completely unaffected by Kafka’s charms brings a certain wave of childish relief to her.  

To her credit though, Himeko is very good at keeping her composure, even with the prettiest rosy shade adoring her cheeks. “You just don’t listen, do you?” She starts with a sigh, “I thought I already told you; ‘we’, plural, are not about to get in bed with a Stellaron Hunter. That includes ‘me’, singular.”

Oh.

Oh this chase is going to be so much fun. 

Feigning disappointment, Kafka pulls away from Himeko’s warmth and starts stepping backwards towards the door, allowing her thin threads to loosen from around the navigator’s wrists for every step she takes. Reaching the doorway, she shakes her head; “A shame. I would happily keep you company in all those cold nights you spend alone here. Remember my dear; if you ever find yourself frustrated on lonely nights, just call my name and I’ll be here to satisfy all your needs.”

And with that, Kafka turns around and leaves the now free Himeko alone in her room. Sneaking her way out of the Express, she hums happily at the thought of this exciting new game of cat and mouse she had created for herself.

The second time they meet is actually entirely by coincidence. Kafka, Sam and Silver Wolf are on some inconsequential planet for a mission and during their downtime, Kafka decides to put the shopping center of the city they’re staying at to good use. She doesn’t buy anything of course, just scouts the most expensive shops for some nice coats she could… borrow once it gets dark and the shops close. She’s pleasantly surprised by her findings, too, the planet’s colder climate and current fashion trends perfectly align with her own preferences. She giggles happily as she leaves the fourth store empty handed yet again, the thought of her collection growing bringing a genuine smile to her face. 

It’s then, when she decides to take a quick lunch break at the center’s plaza that she spots them; the mane of cascading red hair is the first thing she notices, the same red hair that’s been haunting her most sinful dreams in the weeks since their first meeting. Elio’s script has made it clear that she will not come into contact with any of the Astral Express’ crew for a good while after their Luofu encounter, and like the good slave she is, Kafka has made no attempt to seek them out. 

But this is their downtime between scripts, the brief period of time where nothing they did was of any importance and they were allowed to just exist as their own people. If the Astral Express happened to be on the same planet at this time, it was by pure chance, surprisingly enough. Had the Express or its residents had any relevance at all to this particular script, Kafka knows she would have had that part memorized to a T. But it wasn’t, and they didn’t. Last time she checked, Sam had gone off on his own to Aeons know where, and Silver Wolf was still in their hotel room, having hooked her game console to the TV screen and refusing to take her eyes off it for even a second. Neither of them would notice nor care if Kafka came back a few hours later than planned.

And so, Kafka gets up from her hiding spot in the shade and does the one thing she knows best: cause mischief.

Walking into the sunny plaza, she casually approaches the group of three women standing with their backs to her. She briefly takes note of Stelle who’s standing at Himeko’s side, her face somewhat visible to Kafka when she turns her head to replay to whatever the girl hooked to her arm, March 7th, had said to her. Her expression is kind and her smile is gentle and despite herself, Kafka cracks a small smile of her own. But as entertaining as Stelle is, she isn’t Kafka’s main target at the moment.

Speeding up her pace, Kafka slides into the free space at Himeko’s unoccupied side and without giving the woman the time to turn her head and see who it is that has the nerve to stand so close to her, slings her arm over Himeko’s shoulders and pulls her close. “Long time no see, Sweetheart.”

The change in the three women is immediate; previously relaxed and comfortable in each other’s company, they now stand on guard, their eyes boring into her like hawks seizing their prey. March’s hands flex as if grasping for her weapon and Himeko, who has been startled out of her skin by Kafka’s overly familiar gesture, tries pulling herself free and join the girls that have all but jumped backwards. Not that Kafka will let her.

It’s Stelle, of course, who tries diffusing the tension; “Kafka-“

”Hello, Stelle dear. Would you mind doing me a nice favor and take your lady friend for some ice cream? I would like to have a chat with your mommy here.”

From Stelle’s side March gasps and covers her mouth scandalously, but Kafka couldn’t have cared about her less in that moment. Her gaze is laser focused on Himeko, whose face is the color of her hair and her mouth is hanging open. She looks so completely flabbergasted by Kafka’s audacity that she’s lost the ability to speak. It’s a cute look on her, Kafka decides.

Stelle is silent, eyes locked on the two women in front of her in contemplation. An interesting reaction Kafka will definitely read more into later. 

Having recovered from her initial shocked, March now openly glares at her, fuming. “How dare you talk about Himeko like that?!” She jabs her finger towards Kafka’s chest, “and how dare you try to get rid of us and treat us like chil-“

”March,” Himeko’s strained voice cuts off the girl’s enraged rant, “please, do as she says.”

”But Himeko-“

”C’mon March, let’s go.” Having caught onto the pleading glance Himeko threw her way, Stelle grabs March by the arm and starts dragging her as far away from the older women as possible.

It’s only then, with the two of them finally, blissfully alone, that Kafka releases Himeko’s shoulders and allows her to back away, putting some distance between the two of them. “Really, how dare you?!” She echoes March’s words, voice rising an octave and patient composure completely gone. “It’s one thing for you to humiliate me in my own room, but out here in the open?! In front of the others?! Do you truly have no shame?!”

Kafka only chuckles in return; “I live my life with no shame and no regrets Darling.”

”Yes, I could figure that out on my own thank you very much. That doesn’t explain why you think you have the right to just walk right up to me, ruin my day and disrespect me like you have.”

”I got your attention, didn’t I? And now that I have it I would like to ask you to grab a bite with me.”

”What makes you think I would-“

”If you join me, I’ll let you slap me once, as hard as you’d like, for my transgression.” 

Himeko opens her mouth to retort, rejection still clear on her face, before Kafka raises a hand to cut her off; “If you’ll insist on being difficult, I’ll just go find your precious girls at the ice cream stand and tell them all about the night I tied you up and had my way with you.”

Himeko flushes and her eyes widen, whether from embarrassment or pure shock at Kafka’s sheer depravity Kafka can’t tell. “First, that didn’t happen, not like that at least. And second, you do realize this is blackmail right?”

”I’m a criminal, Princess.” 

The nonchalant replay makes Himeko close her eyes and take a deep breath. There’s a pause and Kafka thinks the other woman might be counting to ten inside her head before she exhales and opens her eyes, exasperation and resignation all over her face. “Fine. You have half an hour. But after that you’ll let me slap you and swear to never bring that night up ever again.”

Kafka makes no attempt to hide the smugness in her smile; “Wonderful, it’s a date! I passed by the loveliest looking cafe earlier.”

Himeko sighs again and makes a vague gesture with her arms, “Lead the way, then.”

Instead of doing as she’s been told, Kafka stretches out her arm, offering it to Himeko. Himeko glares at the arm as if it offended her personally, the apprehension still her face. “You can’t be serious.”

”My treat, my rules hot stuff. I got the idea from your girls, quite the cute pair they make.” 

Reluctantly hooking her arm through Kafka’s, Himeko resigns to her fate. But not without one last show of resistance; “Please, stop calling them that.”

Sparing her a look as they start walking, Kafka’s curiosity is immediately piqued. “You’re uncomfortable with maternal terms, aren’t you?” The question slips so easily past her lips that Kafka barely even registers it, but she can’t help herself; willingly or not, Himeko had just offered a deeply personal detail about herself, and Kafka is a Huntress in her profession, a predator starved for any and all information about her chosen prey.

More surprising to her than the genuine question she herself had asked, however, is Himeko’s honest nod in replay. “Yes, I… I never even thought about having children of my own in my youth, and when I started this journey I knew I was giving up on any “normal” future a woman is expected to have, at least back in my home planet. So having all these young people, looking up to me… it’s unnerving and- why am I telling you this?”

Kafka shrugs, her smile smaller and less sharp than she would have liked. “I wouldn’t know, I can’t read your mind unfortunately. But if you’d allow me a guess… I’d say it’s a subject that’s been bothering you for a while. I offered an opportunity and you took it, it’s as simple as that.”

Whether consciously or not, Kafka’s words make Himeko squeeze her arm ever so slightly. It’s a subtle, barely there pressure, but Kafka is so attuned to her surroundings in general and Himeko in particular, that the other woman might as well have hung onto her arm for dear life and it would felt the same. That, and Kafka shamelessly allows herself to indulge in the feeling of her arm being pressed against Himeko’s breast. 

They spend the rest of the walk to the cafe in silence.

It persists even once they reach it and after they’ve been led to their sits. 

Kafka scans the small menu brought to her without really reading it, too busy replaying their conversation and Himkeo’s confession in her mind. She had, admittedly, not planned on seeing such a show of honesty. Himeko had made her distain of her so clear that Kafka figured she’d just deflect any meaningful question thrown her way and hide all genuine feelings behind snarky remakes. Her open vulnerability was something Kafka wasn’t prepared for and refused to leave her head even now, with the topic seemingly over and done with.

Letting out a deep sigh, Kafka abandons her unread menu and turns her eyes to her companion instead; noting the way Himeko seems just as deep in thought. Something about her expression is so earnestly sad that something clenches in Kafka’s chest. Himeko was supposed to look beautiful and regal, a woman confident in herself and the path she chose in life; not like a kicked abandoned puppy, lost in her own head and insecurities. 

“You know, I never wanted children either.” 

The unprompted confession, that had escaped past Kafka’s lips without her permission yet again, seems to rattle Himeko out of her thoughts. Her head, slightly slumped until then shoots up and her eyes meet Kafka’s, surprise and curiosity swimming in those hypnotizing golden pools of hers. 

“And water is wet, Kafka. Anyone could have guessed as much.” Deflecting again, isn’t she? Two could play that game, but Kafka doesn’t feel like playing at the moment.

”And that’s exactly the point. No one sane would ever expect an internationally wanted woman chasing the most dangerous objects in the universe to ever start a family, right? It’s the way of life I chose, and everyone sees it for what it is. But I wouldn’t want to have children even if my life was perfectly ordinary, that’s just the kind of woman I am.”

Himeko stares at her, eyes wide and mouth agape in a near perfect fish impression. Kafka takes her silence as her cue to continue; “When we… left Stelle at the space station it was a huge burden off my shoulders. She’s a sweet girl, as I’m sure you know, and I do genuinely like her. But caring for another person like that just isn’t for me. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Himeko?”

Himeko nods slowly and Kafka can almost hear the gears turning in her head as words slowly come back to her. “It’s not that I…” she starts, wrapping her tongue around the words, trying to find the right ones, “I don’t dislike it, per se. It’s more that… having so many young people look up to me, putting me on a pedestal… It’s a little unsettling. It’s like you said, I don’t think I’m fit to raise children of my own, and that wouldn’t have changed even if my life was different. But being a mother figure… is different, I suppose. It makes me feel like I can’t mess up around them, like I shouldn’t make mistakes that would ruin their image of me. And… it’s because of this fear that I hold myself back from getting closer to them, even when I can tell how much they want it.”

Kafka hums, a courtesy of understanding to cover for her lack of encouraging words. Something in Himeko’s speech strikes a cord in her. Or maybe she’s just taking pleasure in having Himeko so open before her, and so easily too. She honestly can’t tell which one is it and it bothers her far more than she’d like. 

“And do pray tell, my dearest,” she starts with a drawl, trying to regain some of her sense of self, “is it truly so bad to make mistakes? It’s what makes us human, after all. You speak of the discomfort of being put on a pedestal, but wouldn’t it be your own chase for perfection in the eyes of others that put you there in the first place?”

Himeko’s arms cross over her chest, fingers digging into her arms in what Kafka can only describe as a self defending, protective gesture. She knows it for what it is because she herself is fighting the urge to do the same. They’ve both revealed a little too much too quickly, two kindred spirits who have found safety in each other. They’ve both gotten far more vulnerable than they should have and are rapidly approaching dangerous territory. But similar as they are, they are also both far too stubborn to back down. Or acknowledge their weakness. Or both, really.

It’s Himeko, her Messiah in human skin, who elegantly finds a way out for them; “These are certainly bold words coming from you, Stellaron Hunter. I would have thought that one such as yourself, who prides herself for being destiny’s slave and follows another person’s script like it’s her holy bible, would know the dangers of making mistakes better than most.”

”On a surface level, you’re correct. However, the way I see things, there are two types of mistakes; the human mistakes, the ones that endear you to other people and turn you from a flawless android to a living, breathing person, and the fatal mistakes, the ones you can’t afford to make, lest you doom yourself and everyone around you. For example, you could make a silly, human mistake like putting salt in your coffee instead of sugar and the only things hurt will be your tastebuds and your pride, but that’ll pass quickly enough when you see how it makes your loved ones laugh, it humanizes you in their eyes and brings you to their own level. But, if you make a mistake while maintaining the engine of that beloved train of yours, you and your crew will most likely die horrible agonizing deaths along with all your dreams. The same goes for me too, I could do something stupid but inconsequential like spill tea all over myself, it’ll hurt and my cloths will be ruined, but you’ll think I’m cute so it’ll be worth it. Or, I could go off script, mess up the most crucial step and enable the destruction of our universe as we know it. Do you see the difference?”

Himeko looks at her, really looks at her. Her golden eyes almost glowing with intelligence and curiosity and had she been anyone else, Kafka would have probably squirmed under the intensity of such a stare. As it is though, she’s still herself, and she derives great pleasure from having the undivided attention of the most beautiful pair of eyes in the galaxy.

Having reached some sort of personal conclusion, Himeko finally speaks; “You’re quite the hypocrite, aren’t you?”

Not the response Kafka was expecting. Not that she’ll let Himeko know that. “If that’s how you see it, then I won’t confirm or deny.”

Himeko seems unsatisfied. “Let me ask you something different then.”

”Anything, Princess.”

”As destiny’s slave,” she says the name with a mild amount of disgust, as if the concept itself is preposterous to her, “what are the odds of the two of us being here at the same time? In the entirety of this vast universe, how is this possible for us to have both been here, on the same planet, at the same city, in the same shopping center at the same time?”

Her voice drips with skepticism and Kafka gets the feeling that no answer other than ‘I planned it’ would satisfy her. She settles for the truth regardless; “Would you believe me if I told you that the answer is by pure chance? As vast as the universe is, the probability of such a thing happening is incredibly low, but never zero. It’s all numbers really, but if you want to be romantic about it, we can just say the stars have aligned for us. Or maybe it’s fate itself that has brought us together.”

Himeko raises an eyebrow. “You speak as if you don’t have a man who claims he can see destiny at your side.”

”You can choose not to believe me if you wish, but it’s the truth. I’m here on business completely unrelated to you, so if our meeting was planned, Elio chose not to tell me about it. I’m not the one writing the script, just the actress preforming it.”

Himeko opens her mouth to replay when a familiar voice calls out to her, cutting her off. “Himekooo!!! We’re here to rescue you!!!” 

Kafka internally cringes as March 7th’s voice cuts through the cool afternoon air and pops whatever bubble the two of them have been inside until then. The moment between them is gone, and the look in Himeko’s eyes changes back from the insatiable curiosity of a scientist to sharp and cautious, as if she forgot that the woman sitting in front of her is her enemy and not her friend.

Not wanting her disappointment to show, Kafka is the first to get up from her chair, sending the two approaching girls a friendly wave and giving Himeko a saccharine sweet smile. “Well Princess, it seems like our time is up.”

Himeko gets up as well and glances at her phone. It’s well past the promised half hour, but neither of them is willing to mention that. “Seems like it, yes.”

She unceremoniously turns her back to Kafka and takes half a step away from the table before Kafka clears her throat, stopping Himeko in her tracks; “Are you really going to get up and leave? Just like that? I believe you still owe me something.”

Stelle and March, who’ve made it to their table by now, exchange a curious look before turning it to the older women. Himeko, now with three pairs of eyes watching her in anticipation, turns back towards Kafka and takes a step forward. Raising a hand to be at level with Kafka’s cheek, she starts swinging it back before stopping in mid air, an unreadable look on her face as she takes in Kafka’s smile. Himeko sighs. The hand lowers back to her side, and she turns around one final time, putting her hands on Stelle and March’s backs to urge them forward.

And so, Kafka is left alone at the cafe, watching the back of Himeko’s head as the afternoon sun dyes her hair copper. Bringing a hand to lightly touch her unslapped cheek, the grin that stretches across Kafka’s face is wide enough to show teeth.

Himeko makes for a fascinating mouse, Kafka decides. Instead of running away and hiding in a hole, she stops in place to meet the cat trying to devour her eye to eye, challenging it and evening the playing field and making things so, so much more fun for her huntress.

The problem with fascinating mice, however, is that they’re also the most dangerous.

It’s been a long, long time since Kafka had last doubted Elio’s judgement. Even now, it’s not as if she doubts it, per se. It’s just that compared to his usual orders and scripts, she finds this one… peculiar.

’Go to these coordinates in exactly three days’ time. You’ll want to be there that night.’

And so here she is, sitting in the darkest corner of some musty bar in some far off planet, wearing a black cocktail dress and cradling a glass of scotch. 

It’s unlike Elio to be this vague. Such behavior usually saved only for times where them knowing the specifics of the script could actively sabotage the operation, and even then he always lets them know ahead of time that that’s the case. So for him to send Kafka to some random hole, alone and with no further instructions… both her as well as her three colleagues immediately found it suspicious. 

So no, she doesn’t doubt Elio. But she’s been sitting in the stupid bar for almost an hour and is well into her third glass of liquor, so if whatever event Elio wanted her to be present for doesn’t start soon, she’s stepping out to call her damn boss and give him a piece of her min-

Kafka’s train of thoughts halts in its’ tracks when the once dark bar is lit up with vibrant red and shining gold. Two people step in and Kafka immediately recognizes one of them as her precious prey, her latest obsession that has been plaguing her thoughts far too often for comfort recently. 

Himeko is hanging off the arm of some man, and Kafka’s blood freezes before she takes in his appearance and realizes she knows him as well; gray clothes, gray strike in his hair, a wooden cane and square black glasses. Welt Yang.

The pair are engrossed in conversation about something or other as they take their sits, briefly turn to the bartender to place their orders, and continue their talk. Knowing what she does about the two of them, Kafka guesses it’s some nerd stuff no one else would be able to keep up with. Their appearance in this far off town in this remote far off planet, however, answers one question and raises another; Kafka now knows why Elio wanted her here, what she still doesn’t understand is the purpose of it. Sure, she can keep sitting in her hidden corner and observe the two Trailblazers, or she could walk over to them and ruin their night. Elio didn’t specify, but somehow Kafka gets the feeling neither of these are the right option. In cases like these, where she’s allowed to improvise, she’s found it best to trust her instincts.

So she settles for observing, for the time being. Because who is she to pass up an opportunity to watch Himeko just living her best life, having a nice night out with a close friend?

Friend… somehow that word doesn’t feel quite right for describing what Welt is to Himeko. Or what she is to him, for that matter. Kafka averts her eyes away from the object of her desires to focus on the man by her side instead. He’s… a handsome man, certainly, tall and with a mysterious edge to him. Good sense of style too. His age is impossible to guess, at least from appearance alone. He could be anywhere from in his mid twenties to well into his fifties or even beyond that; something about the way he carries himself reminds Kafka of an old, weary-world man who has seen far too much and had lost even more.

But it’s his relationship to Himeko that Kafka finds the most curious. The title of friends didn’t quite fit them, but neither did lovers. Kafka watches him from beyond the rim of her glass; the look in his eyes, the warm way in which he smiles at Himeko, they’re both completely void of any lecherous intentions. Kafka would know. Welt doesn’t look at Himeko the way Kafka does, the way half the bar’s occupants probably do. Rather, the unmistakable fondness of his expression reminds Kafka of how a proud father would look at his daughter. Or a mentor his accomplished student, perhaps.

It makes her wonder, against her better judgement, just what exactly have the two of them been through together. It’s unlike her to care about the relationships of other people, the ones that don’t involve her. More often than not she finds that she simply has no interest in most things that aren’t related to her, narcissistic as that may be. But Himeko intrigues her, and everything related to Himeko intrigues her far too much to simply let the matter go.

Kafka watches as Himeko laughs at something Welt says, her golden eyes shining with interest. She’s so relaxed like that, with someone trusted by her side. Something deep within Kafka’s cold and dead chest aches. She almost feels like a pervert, a voyeur; a hormonal teenage boy peeking through the bathroom window of his hot neighbor as she showers. Kafka knows that she shouldn’t be allowed to see Himeko like this, this isn’t her moment to indulge in. Himeko wouldn’t want Kafka to see her this unguarded, would she?

Kafka downs the rest of her drink with one gulp, hoping the taste of the scotch would be enough to wash the disgusting, bitter jealously down her throat. It doesn’t and she feels almost miserable.  

It shouldn’t matter to her what kind of relationship Himeko and Welt have. As long as they aren’t sleeping together, the older man doesn’t have claim to anything Kafka wants for herself. He’s Himeko’s… friend, or her mentor or whatever. Whatever their relationship may be, it’s clearly exclusively platonic, nothing special to be envied. 

Except, Kafka wants to be the one making Himeko this happy. She wants to be Himeko’s reason for laughing and the target of her radiant smile. She wants Himeko’s eyes on her and her only, the same way they were at the cafe. 

A movement from the pair breaks Kafka out of her musings. Welt gets up from his sit and briefly lays a hand on Himeko’s shoulder, mouthing something Kafka doesn’t catch from so far away before turning away and walking towards the bar’s exit, phone raised to his ear. Himeko watches his back until he disappears outside, a small smile on her lips. Kafka feels like throwing up.

That’s when the first explosion happens.

It’s a small one, from the corner of the room, but it’s enough to get people jumping on their feet and wrestling their way through the exit. Everything after that happens in a blur; more and more explosions go off as Kafka slinks her way outside, hiding in the shadows and watching the people swarming out in a panic. That’s when she realizes three things:

One; this is no accident, obviously. Someone had purposely planted those explosives around the establishment. For what purpose she doesn’t know nor care, perhaps a petty assassination attempt or just common arson.

Two; the smoke coming from the building smells off and when Kafka squints, she can see some unnatural colors mixed in within the black. Whatever it was that exploded had various flammable acids and toxins in it.

And three; she hasn’t seen Himeko leave yet.

That last thought hits her like an ice bucket over the head and before she knows it, Kafka dashes back into the burning building, elbowing people out of her way as she goes. The inside of the bar is a complete mess; the places where the explosions went of are on fire, the thick toxic smoke choking out the air in the room. The smell of chemicals is much, much stronger inside too, and Kafka has to cover her nose and mouth with her arm, her head starting to spin almost immediately upon entering.

But she has much bigger concerns at the moment than a bit of poison in her lungs. Eyes frantically scanning the ruined room she makes her way into every cloud of toxic smoke, just to make sure she doesn’t miss a thing. And then she sees her: collapsed on the floor at the very back of the room is Himeko. Her saw-briefcase contraption thing laying by her side and around them are cleanly sliced off pieces from the wall; a door shaped hole has been cut into it and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

Himeko had stayed behind to make another exit and had Kafka not noticed her absence, she would have died for it.

No, she might be dead already.

Kafka crosses the short distance between them at record speed, her blood pumping loud in her ear as she crouches down next to Himeko’s motionless body. Grabbing her wrist, Kafka presses two fingers to her pulse and holds back a sigh of relief upon feeling the faint beat under the tips of her fingers. There’s still time, she made it in time.

Gathering up Himeko’s body into her arms, Kafka awkwardly uses one hand to grab the briefcase abandoned on the floor. Himeko’s head lulls against her shoulder, body limp in Kafka’s arms. Her eyes, despite being open stare blankly into space, glazed and unseeing. Kafka tightens her grip as they cross the sea of toxins and flames. The edges of her black dress are fried beyond saving and under any other circumstances, she might have had it in her to be upset, but the soft body in her hold is a tangible reminder that there are more important things to worry about at the moment. Kafka’s own lungs probably wouldn’t be able to handle both the smoke and the poisons in the air for much longer, but this isn’t her first rodeo, she’ll survive.

They make it out and to Kafka’s great relief, most of the crowd had split, leaving very few people to stare at the wreckage. One of them being the person Kafka has wanted to see more than any other, for a change.

Welt Yang. 

His sharp eyes zero in on them almost immediately and he rashes to them, Kafka thinks he looks like he’s holding himself back from running. He reaches them, and the two of them just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. From up close, the full intensity of his gaze almost, almost intimidates Kafka, to the point where she can’t help but think it would have been enough to make anybody else soil their pants. Standing her ground, she gently -and reluctantly- passes Himeko over to him and drops the saw-briefcase on the floor. From the purse hanging by her side, she pulls out a small tube with pink liquid swirling inside it, giving it to Welt as well.

”Give this to her as soon as possible- she’s inhaled quite a lot of toxins and this should wash them out of her system. Make sure she rests a lot a is constantly hydrated; if the antidote works she’ll be in a lot of pain and will probably have a fever.”

Welt takes the tube, still looking at her suspiciously. “If it’s so urgent, why didn’t you give it to her yourself?”

Kafka’s smile is mirthless and her laugh is dry; “I have a feeling she’d rather you make this decision for her than me.”

Something changes in Welt’s expression, then. It’s subtle enough that a lesser person would have missed it entirely, but the look in his eyes changes from suspicion to apprehension to something else, something soft, yet terrifying. “Why did you save her?”

She gives him a look, just as intense, in return; “Does a father ask his daughter’s boyfriend how they plan to spend the night? I could give you my reasons, but I doubt they’re anything you’d like to hear about.”

And that’s when it clicks for her, the relationship between Himeko and Welt; around her, he really is like a doting father, there is no other way to describe it. His love for her pouring out of every look, every word and every action. It’s quiet simple, in the end, a lot more than Kafka had initially thought. And it once again makes her wonder; just what exactly happened between them?

Without another word, she turns on her heels and leaves Himeko in his capable hands, knowing she’ll be safer there than by Kafka’s side. Because that’s another thing; tonight has brought with it an earth shattering revelation, one that there’s no coming back from:

Himeko is far, far too kind.

Someone like her, so pure and good, should never be tainted by Kafka’s sins. And despite what she’s told Welt, Kafka now knows; the two of them would not have a future together. Even a causal one night encounter would pose too much of a risk. Kafka can see it when she closes her eyes- Himeko, her eyes full of compassion and misplaced understanding, would no doubt try pulling Kafka out of the darkness engulfing her, and get herself killed in the process. Kafka would not allow that, her beloved angel would remain clean and untouched, while she herself will drown in her own desires.

Kafka can’t sleep.

She’s laying in her bed, staring at the metallic celling of their spaceship, mind completely blank except for a single thought;

She wants to see Himeko.

She wants to see her so bad that it hurts. 

She’s been keeping her distance from anything Astral Express related since the… incident at the bar. Elio never said anything to her about it after she came back and she didn’t feel like bringing it up herself, the mental exhaustion caused by the whole thing overwhelming enough as is. When Sam and Silver Wolf tried asking her about it, she gave some vague warning about how curiosity killed the cat and proceeded to drown herself in work.

And for a while, it worked. Whether by chance or because Elio purposely made it so she isn’t sure -doesn’t really care either- but the job of handling the Express and its’ crew was handed to her three colleagues, leaving her with some other mundane dirty work. It felt good too, like she was back to herself for that period of time; the her who cared about nothing but simple, easily satiated pleasures and the her who knew nothing she did truly mattered in the long run because unless they performed the script perfectly, the universe was doomed anyway. 

But it’s in these dark, quiet hours of the night, that bright red hair burns itself into the back of her eyelids and intelligent golden eyes sear into her soul even from galaxies away. Because that’s the ugly truth of the matter, isn’t it? That at the end of the day, Kafka is, somehow, still human. And what is being human without wanting?

Perhaps she’s just faulty by design, her body desperately seeking the rush of adrenaline normally granted by fear through other means. 

Maybe… maybe if she caught just a glimpse of Himeko she’ll be alright again. She hadn’t seen her since the incident, after all, and Himeko had been in a terrible shape when Kafka passed her toxins filled body over to Welt. Besides, Himeko is a vital part of Elio’s plan, surely dropping by the Express check on her is for the benefit of them all, right?

Making up her mind, Kafka hastily gets up from her bed and grabs the first pieces of clothing she sees, rushing out of her room and making a beeline for the one at the end of the hallway. Reaching the door sprayed with bright purple graffiti that spells ’DO NOT ENTER, ESPECIALLY KAFKA’ she raises her hand and knocks rapidly, giving the person behind the door about three seconds before doing it again, this time harder. When there’s still no response she does it again, this time also kicking the door -for good measure, of course- and raising her voice just enough to be heard over the knocking; “I know you’re awake, Silver Wolf. Open the door.”

Still no immediate response, but Kafka’s ears are sharp enough to pick up on the sound of movement through the abused wooden door. And sure enough, moments later the door is opened and Kafka is greeted by the grumpy expression of her youngest companion. “You are so lucky it’s PvE and I could just pause. Why are you even awake, Kafka?”

”Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It’s way past your bedtime Wolfie.”

”…Touché. Anyways what do you want?”

Irrationally, Kafka looks over her shoulder to survey the empty hallway. “Let me in first.”

Silver Wolf grumbles something unintelligible under her breath but moves away from the doorway regardless. Kafka wrinkles her nose as she steps inside, taking in all the crumpled bubblegum wraps on the floor and the old empty plastic cups of what she’s been once informed is called ‘Cup Ramen’. The room, as usual, is illuminated by blue, gray and purple LEDs and the TV screen from across Silver Wolf’s messy bed reads <<GAME PAUSED>>. Well, at least nothing smells.

“I’m glad to see you’re still insisting on living inside a pigsty.”

”Either state your business or shut up before I literally kick your ass out.”

Kafka swallows her pride and prepares for the consequences her words will surely bring; “I need you to hack my hologram into the Astral Express’ projectile system.”

”You’re fucking joking.”

”Do I look like I’m joking?”

Silver Wolf sighs loudly. “I swear Kafka if this is some new way to get under my skin… Why the sudden urgency anyway? You’ve been having us play around with your little toys for weeks now.”

”I wasn’t the one who-“

”Oh wait no I get it! Aww.. does poor Kafka miss her girlfriend?” 

It’s only thanks to decades of perfecting her pokerface that Kafka manages not to choke on her own spit and splutter. “My fucking what?”

Silver wolf rolls her eyes. “Please, just how stupid do you think we are? Sam had me hack into the security system of that moldy bar Elio sent you to and the surrounding cameras after the footage was cut by the fire. We know all about your heroic little rescue operation. Good for you by the way, she’s pretty hot.”

Kafka grits her teeth hard enough to cause a headache. “She isn’t my girlfriend. And this isn’t what this is about.”

”Pff yeah right. Fuck buddy then?”

”Nothing of the sort. Drop it, Silver Wolf.”

”Fiiiiiiiiiiiine but just so you know, you are so fucking lame. I’ll hook your stupid hologram to their crappy system, but only if you promise to tell me why miss Flaming Hot Cheeto didn’t fuck that stick out your ass already.”

Kafka takes a deep breath and smiles so tightly her eyes are but thin crescent moons. Given the option she wouldn’t choose to talk about her bottled up sexual frustrations with Silver Wolf of all people even for the world’s most luxurious coat. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

”Alright. But if you breathe even a word of this to anyone you’ll be heading to an early, gruesome death Wolfie.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Go sit in the chair and put on the helmet, you know how it works.”

And indeed she does. Sitting down in the gray chair she’s been pointed to, Kafka puts on the matching helmet and waits for Silver wolf to work her magic. The sounds of fingers quickly hitting a keyboard and of a bubblegum being obnoxiously popped start slowly getting quieter and farther, Kafka’s mind getting pulled out of her body and manifesting itself as a see through, blueish light right in the middle of the Astral Express’ parlor car.

Only then does the true rashness of her decision fully occur to Kafka. She didn’t know where the Express was, still doesn’t in fact. It could have been trailing along in some random corner of space, or parked near a planet whose day-night cycle was completely opposite to that of the Stellaron Hunters’ ship. She could have found herself in the middle of the parlor car with six pairs of hostile eyes boring into her projectile.

Luckily for her, the parlor car is dead silent and it seems like she’s arrived in the middle of the night cycle. How nostalgic.

Not wanting to waste a second, Kafka rushes through the car’s wall in the direction of Himeko’s room. Reaching it, she does nothing but stand outside for a moment and listen. There’s no light from under the door and she can’t hear anything either. With the coast seemingly clear, she walks in.

The room is dark and quiet, but Kafka’s trained eyes easily spot the figure laying on the bed. She starts tiptoeing her way over before remembering her steps don’t make a sound and switches to walking over, trying to keep a calm pace and not just make a desperate rush towards the bed. She’s not that far gone. Yet.

The pale blue glow of her hologram illuminates the dark room in an artificial, almost sickly light. But even that isn’t enough to detract from Himeko’s beauty, Kafka thinks is slight awe, staring at the serene expression of the woman sleeping on the bed. Himeko looks well, she notes in relief. No trace of the dead unseeing eyes from the night at the bar remaines on her face. Her complexion is healthy too, even with the darkness and blue light. In the quiet of the room, practically all alone, Kafka allows herself to smile her first sincere smile in a long, long time.

Taking a sit at the edge of the bed, as close as she can to the other woman, Kafka brings a hand up to run her fingers through Himeko’s fiery red hair. She can’t feel it, and likewise Himeko can’t feel her touch, but Kafka still watches, mesmerized, as her holographic fingers pass through Himeko’s beautiful hair without actually touching it. Red used to be Kafka’s favorite color; so many wonderful things are red, after all. Fresh blood, finely aged wine, expensive silk, blooming roses… But now every time she sees it she can only think of one thing, and no other shade of red quite matches the beauty of Himeko’s flaming locks. Curse her, really. Curse her to hell.

”What have you done to me, Princess?” She asks no one in particular, “When did you cast your spell on me? Sunk your claws into me…”

Kafka’s hand moves from Himeko’s hair to stroke her face; her cheeks, her jaw, her closed eyelids… “I wonder, would things have been different had I tried harder to seduce you that first night we met? Do I just need to get you out of my system, is that what this is about? The way to break your spell?”

Her fingers graze Himeko’s lips. “Tell me, Princess; are you the punishment sent by the Aeons for all my sins? Forever out of reach, in either mind or body…”

Kafka leans down, her lips inches from Himeko’s. “I want both, you know. I will no longer be satisfied with just your body. I want your soul to be mine…”

It would be so, so easy to just angle her head a little, close the distance and pretend she’s kissing Himeko. But no, if or when they will kiss, she would want Himeko conscious and consenting and able to feel it. Himeko would be awake, and Kafka would be physically present to claim her lips in person.

”Unfortunately, I cannot drag you down to hell with me.”

And so Kafka draws away and gets up from the bed. Closing her eyes, she lets her mind be sucked back into her body, lightyears away from the Astral Express and Himeko’s warmth. Back to Silver Wolf’s messy room and bored expression.

”Oh my god you are such a loser you know that?”

Ah. Home sweet home. 

“And what, exactly, makes you say that?” Silver Wolf did not hear Himeko and Kafka’s one sided conversation, that she knows for certain.

”Your face. You look like an abandoned dog who got left out in the rain.”

”Wonderful analogy Silver Wolf, thank you. Have a nice rest of the night.” Kafka makes towards the door, but gets blocked by the woman less than half her height. “Nah-ah. You are so not getting away with it, you promised to explain things.”

Well, she never promised to be truthful, did she? “There’s nothing to talk about because there’s nothing going on. I just wanted to pay a visit to my ‘little toys’, as you so eloquently put it. I can’t trust to leave them in your hands for so long.”

”Bullshit. You’re fucking whipped Kafka. Either that or you’re pining, which is like, way worse. You avoid my room like it’s the fucking plague and wouldn’t bother stepping foot here, in the middle of the goddamn night might I add, without a direct order from Elio. But here you are of your own free will. Just admit it Kafka, you wanted to see her, your pathetic ass caught feelings and now you sneak into her room in the middle of the night to watch her like a creep.”

Kafka crosses her arms, matching the younger woman. Silver Wolf did not hit a little too close to the truth for her comfort. “The only feelings I ‘caught’ are ones you’d call me disgusting for sharing. Good night, Silver Wolf.”

”So you’re going to deny it?”

”I can’t deny something that doesn’t exist.”

”So better, you’re avoiding it. Sounds like a skill issue if you ask me.”

”A what now?”

”…Forget it.”

Kafka hates Jarilo-VI.

Not that she’s one to object to harsh weather conditions, but there’s something about the snow covered planet that is just so dead. And it’s not like she minds dead either, definitely not. Dead planets destroyed by a Stellaron are absolutely fascinating to Kafka; the death and destruction often bring with them the comforting familiar feeling of home. But Jarilo-VI is different; the long lasting influence of the Stellaron has been enough to completely change its’ landscape, but not enough to snuff all life from it.

It’s a boring dead.

So there’s no excitement whatsoever in climbing up the stairs of a snowy mountain just to take a look at the place where the Stellaron used to be. There is no purpose to Kafka making that journey in such unpleasant conditions other than Elio telling her to. And months after the Stellaron has been destroyed too. They were all surprised when none of them were deployed to at least observe the place, and none of their attempts at grilling Elio for details bore any fruit. When Kafka herself had asked, demanding to know why she’s getting sent to buttfuck nowhere if there’s nothing there, she only got a cryptic ‘you’ll see in due time’ in replay. Typical. 

And Kafka doesn’t even dislike snow, she thinks as she stops and looks over the scenery. The cold biting into her skin feels incredibly pleasant and even fearless as she is, the thought of the mortal danger she’s in standing against nature in nothing but her usual outfit sends a tingling thrill down her spine. And yet it all feels so pointless, because there’s nothing interesting.

As for what could have made this trip worthwhile… perhaps if she’d been sent here while the Stellaron was still active. She would have loved to meet Belobog’s former Supreme Guardian face to face, would have loved to ask all kinds of questions; like how it felt to have her mind so thoroughly corrupted by such a force of destruction. Or perhaps even talk to the Stellaron itself, through the body of the now dead woman. So many possibilities, and yet Elio chose the worst one for her.

Reaching the mountain’s summit, Kafka stops in place to just take in her destroyed surrounding, the signs of a battle still clear on the ground despite all the time that has passed. Then she freezes. 

There’s another person there with her.

A person with long red hair she knows al too well.

Oh the next time she sees Elio in person…

Himeko and her damned hair stand out against the stark white of the snow all around them like a bloody sore thumb. Kafka hates her. Hates just how damn ethereal Himeko looks like that, even more so than usual. Hates how much life she breathes into the dead mountain peak just by being there.  But more than anything, she hates Himeko for being there in the first place, haunting Kafka not just in her sleep, but in her waking moments as well.

Kafka briefly entertains the idea of turning around and leaving before the other woman has the chance to notice her, but then it occurs to her that this might be a challenge from Elio, a test to see how she handles the situation. Kafka makes a mental note to ask her boss about his newfound habit of sending her to wherever Himeko is without elaborating.

Soundlessly, she makes her way over to where Himeko is standing with her back to her, absorbed in whatever it is she’s inspecting and without warning, Kafka wraps her arms around Himeko’s waist in a tight embrace.

Himeko jumps in her hold like a startled animal and somehow turns around in Kafka’s arms to grab at her shoulders and slam her knee right into the center of Kafka’s ribcage. The unexpected movement causes Kafka to release her hold and fold over, and before she knows it she finds herself pinned to the cold frozen ground by her shoulders, with Himeko straddling her waist. 

“You know, Princess, usually when women have me on my back like this they’re moaning and screaming my name.” Kafka’s smirk is smug and her voice is confident, but she can feel her heart beating faster and her breath growing a bit ragged. Not that what she said is a lie, but having Himeko on top of her like that makes her body react in ways she doesn’t approve of.

”So I’m not the only poor unfortunate soul you sexually harass in seclude locations?”

”why, jealous?”

”What are you doing here, Kafka?” 

There’s no bite to Himeko’s tone, none of the usual edge and agitation Kafka is used to having directed her way. Instead Himeko just sounds tired, like she already knows what’s about to happen and has run out of energy to fight against it. And Kafka can lie to her, there are plenty of believable enough excuses she can come up with to explain her presence in Himeko’s life yet again, but really, she’s just as exhausted as the woman on top of her. 

“I don’t know.”

Himeko looks unimpressed. “And you expect me to believe that?”

“I may have told you this before, but whether you believe me or not doesn’t change the truth. Elio sent me here to inspect the site of the Stellaron, you being here is just as much of a surprise to me as it is to you. Why are you here?”

“Special invitation from Supreme Guardian Bronya.” And then; “This can’t be a coincidence.” 

“You don’t say.”

Himeko huffs, her breath visible in the cold. “Maybe I should come back with you to your ship and give your boss a piece of my mind.”

Kafka laughs a little; “If I told you that makes two of us, would you believe that?”

Himeko’s silence speaks volumes.

”Why are you so reluctant to believe even the smallest thing I tell you?”

Himeko closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, she turns her gaze away from Kafka’s. “Becau-“

Whatever it was she was about to say gets swallowed up in a strong gust of wind and snow. The softly falling snowflakes on their way to become a ferocious storm. Himeko mumbles something under her breath and gets off of Kafka, grabbing her hand in the process and pulling her up from the frozen ground. Without waiting for Kafka’s reaction, she starts walking against the increasing storm in a seemingly random direction. Kafka lets her without a shard of resistance. 

Himeko leads them downwards until they reach a small cave at the side of the mountain. “I saw it on my way up and thought it might be of good use in case something like this happens,” she explains to Kafka almost sheepishly, “there’s not much space, but at least it’s dry?”

A silver lining to be sure, but not exactly what Kafka cares about at the moment; “Why did you bring me with you?”

”Why…? Everything always has to be so complicated with you, doesn’t it? Why would I leave someone laying on the floor in front of an approaching blizzard?”

Kafka turns away from her to gaze at the storm outside the cave. “It’s what I would have done.”

There’s a bit of silence, and then there are hands on Kafka’s shoulders again, pulling her deeper into the small cave and turning her around to face Himeko. It’s the look on Himeko’s face, however, that catches Kafka off guard; resolute yet hesitant, as if she’s losing in some internal debate with herself. Kafka is about to open her mouth for some teasing remake, but the words die in her throat when the hands on her shoulders slowly start pulling her jacket down. Fast as lightning, Kafka grabs Himeko’s wrists and yanks them off her shoulders. Her coat falls to the floor and she pushes Himeko against the wall of the cave, pinning her in place by the wrists. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Her voice is but a sneer through gritted teeth. The feeling of Himeko’s hands sliding down her arms burned into her brain to torture her for all eternity. Kafka curses the woman in front of her yet again; how many times had she had this exact same dream? Of Himeko pulling her clothes off? The cold painfully seeping into her bones is definitive proof that no, this is no dream. And that makes everything a hundred times worse.

Himeko, however, looks completely unfazed by Kafka’s little outburst and the compromising position they found themselves in. Almost like she was anticipating it. “Your clothes are soaked,” she says. Then, to explain herself further; “From when I pushed you in the snow. We need to take them off and warm you up before you catch something.”

And she’s right. Kafka knows she’s right because the cold is freezing her wet back so quickly it hurts. And Kafka wants to shiver, but she can’t show that kind of weakness. Not in front of Himeko. “It’s none of your business.”

”Yes it is. I pushed you, and I don’t want your death on my conscious.”

”This won’t kill me. It’s not in the script.”

”Well, it’s not like your great and almighty boss has been telling you everything, has he?” And Kafka doesn’t know how to replay to that. “Thought so. Now take your clothes off or have me do it for you, I don’t care.”

Despite her calm tone, Himeko’s eyes are searing into her with so much intensity and… something else, that Kafka is for perhaps the first time in her life, at a loss for words. Pulling away from Himeko, she brings her hands up to the front of her shirt and slowly starts undoing her buttons. Himeko’s gaze never wavers from hers, not even when Kafka finishes unbuttoning her shirt and moves to undo her harness. Letting them both fall off her, she breaks their stare to take off her shoes, then moves up again to start peeling off her pants and nylons. 

Finally, she stands tall in front of Himeko, in nothing but her black underwear, letting the other woman take in her body. Himeko’s stare isn’t lustful nor lecherous, instead it’s contemplative, analytical, like she’s still losing that same internal war inside her head. She seems to have reached a decision, Kafka surmises, when she gives herself a little nod and pulls her own coat off her shoulders. 

Kafka, who has never been good at denying herself carnal desires, does stare lustfully at the exposed creamy skin of Himeko’s shoulders. She watches, hypnotized, as Himeko pulls her mane of hair to the side and reaches behind herself to undo the knots holding her dress together. Kafka feels -and probably looks- like a wild animal. In all her dreams and fantasies, this wasn’t how she’d expect to get Himeko to strip for her; with the two of them standing in some claustrophobic cave in the middle of a snowstorm, shivering as they stare down at each other in their underwears.

Himeko, much braver than Kafka would ever be, reaches out her hand and pulls Kafka towards her. With the two of them pressed tightly against each other, she drapes her own larger, drier coat over them and sinks to the floor, wrapping herself against Kafka in an attempt to share some of her warmth.

Kafka’s heart is hammering in her throat and her mind is numb. There are soft, barely covered breasts pressing against her side, warm puffs of air hitting her collarbone through red, parted lips. Strong yet dainty arms wrapped around her, keeping her close. From this close Himeko’s scent is overwhelming, she smells like fresh roses and vanilla and Kafka can practically taste her on her tongue.

Everything she’s wanted for so long is right there within reach, willingly offered to her to indulge in. It would be oh so easy to kiss Himeko, push her to the floor and claim her as Kafka’s own. It was Himeko who put them in that position, Himeko who stripped down unprompted and Himeko who so gently cuddles up to Kafka. Logically Kafka knows that all these acts are from a place of misguided kindness, that Himeko only did all that out of some feelings of guilt. But Kafka just isn’t capable of thinking rationally with so much warm naked skin pressed against her, the part of her that’s been wanting to devour Himeko whole for months and months has been unleashed from its’ cage. She’s a lovestruck teenager, a fool led astray by the temptations of a goddess she is not allowed to have.

”You’re shivering.”

Himeko’s plush lips brush against her skin as she speaks, sending jolts of white hot noise that shut down Kafka’s brain. She’s so overwhelmed she’s certain Himeko can feel the heat radiating off her body, close as they are. Kafka had long since stopped feeling the effects of the cold, her body too torn between the most turned on she’s ever been and trying to keep herself in check.

”Don’t worry your pretty head about it Princess, you’re keeping me perfectly safe and warm.” Himeko huffs at her -false- bravado and Kafka wonders to herself; why does she even bother? Since when does she care so much she feels the need to restrain herself, instead of just taking whatever it is that has struck her fancy? Himeko is so unlike herself right now that Kafka is sure, if she were to push just a little bit in the right direction, Himeko would willingly surrender herself to her.

But she won’t. She knows she won’t and it makes her want to rip her own hair out. She cannot for the life of her risk Himeko getting attached, dooming them both to a future of hurt. And Kafka knows, indulging in Himeko even once would have her crawling on all fours back for more. Their close proximity makes it clearer than ever that her hunger for everything Himeko could never be satiated; and it’s better to not feed it at all than indulge in her desires and get attached. Things will be easier that way.

Himeko shifts against her, arms moving to wrap around Kafka’s neck as she lays her head on her shoulder. Kafka freezes, and not from the cold.

“You know…” Himeko’s voice is quiet, the quietest Kafka has ever heard it, “I never got to thank you, for that night in the bar.”

Shit.

”Because there’s nothing to thank me for.”

”Stop lying, please. Welt told me what happened.”

”…I see.”

Himeko sighs. “Don’t you have anything else to say?”

She doesn’t.

”That antidote you gave me, do you have to take it often?” Stupid stubborn Himeko, why does she insist on making Kafka’s life so difficult?

”Once every few missions, I suppose.”

Himeko cuddles impossibly closer and the awful feeling deep inside Kafka’s chest tenfolds. “I wish you didn’t… It was painful.”

Not half as painful as being this close to you, Kafka wants to say. Instead she just shrugs; “Just another part of the job.”

Himeko lifts her head up from Kafka’s shoulder to look her in the eye; “Why do you put yourself through all this?”

Against her better judgement, Kafka brings a hand up to cup Himeko’s cheek and another one to wrap around her waist, tightening their embrace. The mood between them has undoubtably shifted into something Kafka isn’t comfortable acknowledging, but can’t help getting swept up in it. Himeko’s eyes are shining at her as she leans her face into Kafka’s hand, lips only parting ever so slightly but enough to draw her eyes away.

”Because someone has to protect your future, Princess. And it might as well be me.”

And Himeko leans in, eyes fluttering shut as she aims for Kafka’s lips. And Kafka, the coward that she is turns her head away, the lips she’s been craving for months landing on her cheek instead. But it’s enough for her whole body to catch fire.

Refusing to turn back around, she feels Himeko slightly drawing away, dejected. Not another word is exchanged between them while they sit cuddled in the cave, waiting for the storm to pass.

Kafka really, really hates Jarilo-VI. 

In a dark bedroom in a small apartment on the planet they’re currently staying at, Kafka finds herself naked, with a harness around her hips, thrusting a strap-on toy deep inside a woman whose name she doesn’t even know.

Those weren’t her plans for the night. She was hanging around in a pub, planning to drink her free night away when the woman had approached her, intentions clear in her eyes. And Kafka had agreed, because the woman seemed pretty enough at the time, and it has been a while since she’s had more than just her own fingers for company. So she allowed the woman to drag her out of the pub and into her apartment in the next street over.

In hindsight, that was a terrible decision.

Kafka digs her fingers into the woman’s hips hard enough to bruise, the pace of her thrusts quick and unrelenting as the woman claws at the sheets and cries out loudly. But it’s wrong. All of it. It all feels so wrong it makes Kafka sick. The woman, who less than half an hour ago Kafka thought to be decently pretty, now looks so dull and uninteresting in the throes of passion. And it’s all because she’s wrong. Her hair is a a dirty blonde instead of deep red, her eyes a muddy brown instead of molten gold. Her breasts are too small and her hips aren’t wide enough. Even her voice is wrong, slightly rasp from smoking and not smooth and melodic like the one playing in Kafka’s head. 

Kafka has never been less turned on than she is now.

She’s miserable and feels like she’s cheating on someone she isn’t even with. The woman’s moans are not enough to drown out the ones Kafka longs to hear, her expressions of pleasure fill Kafka with anger instead of satisfaction. She almost wants to slap the woman, claw her skin off and punish her for not being her. For not being the one Kafka truly aches for. She’s just not enough, and the realization sinks in that nobody else will ever be enough again. She wants Himeko; wants her so bad she feels her chest being torn apart, skin and muscles being ripped away, her ribs being pulled out one by one to expose her bleeding heart with Himeko’s name carved onto it.

The woman cranes her head up and puckers her lips as if expecting a kiss. All Kafka can see is Himeko’s face, willing and vulnerable and getting closer for a kiss, her lips redder than they should be due to the cold. It feels like being doused in cold water and the feel of Himeko’s body comes back to her, warm and soft and bringing with it pure, unadulterated bliss. Kafka wants to touch her again, wants to feel Himeko’s smooth cheek under her fingertips and hug her tight.

And then it’s all too much; she’s so desperate for someone else she has to flip the woman she’s actually with to her knees. Kafka can’t bear to look at her face anymore, can’t keep suppressing the thoughts about how it’s not Himeko she’s with. So she grabs the woman’s hips again and continues her rough, monotonous movements. Completely uncaring and no longer seeing what’s actually in front of her. And more than anything, she just needs this to be over already.

The woman lets out a choked noise and her thighs begin to shake. Then, her whole body goes rigid for a few seconds before relaxing again and she collapses face first into the bed. Finally, finally it’s over. Kafka doesn’t wait a second; she unhooks the leather harness from around her hips and carelessly throws it away to some corner of the room, still wet strap and all. She gets off the bed and grabs her scattered clothes, putting them on in record speed and hastily dashing out of the apartment without saying goodbye, or anything else for that matter.

It’s raining outside and she doesn’t have an umbrella, but Kafka can’t bring herself to care. The cold raindrops all but vaporize against her still heated skin as she makes her way through the unfamiliar streets in the dark. By the time she gets back to the hotel, she’s soaked to the bone, her teeth almost clattering from the cold. 

Entering the room, she slumps down on the bed and throws one arm to cover her face. The water on her clothes seep onto the sheets beneath and yet again, Kafka just doesn’t care. Laying in a puddle of her own making feels appropriate, somehow. And really, it’s far too pathetic to even be called a puddle; in truth being nothing but a heap of wet clothes and bedsheets she couldn’t be fucked to deal with.

Just when had she sunk so low? What was the turning point? When did she become someone who abandons her companion for the night without even saying goodbye, and mopes in her disgusting wet clothes, throwing pity parties for herself? And all over a girl too; truly, she has fallen so hard she might as well have died from the impact.

The familiar presence of another person in the room making himself known is, thankfully, enough to bring back some edge to her dull senses. Removing her arm from her face, Kafka turns her head to meet Blade’s expressionless gaze.

It’s just the two of them on that particular mission and for that Kafka is grateful. Her relationship with Blade is different from those with Silver Wolf and Sam, or even Elio for that matter. There’s never a need for words when communicating with Blade, the silent understanding between the two of them far stronger than anything spoken out loud. She’s seen him at his absolute worst, was the one to pick him off the ground and patch him up time and time again, both physically and mentally. Kafka doesn’t mind looking like a wreck in front of Blade; the times the two of them spend alone being the only times Kafka is, although secretly, comfortable enough to let her walls down knowing she won’t face judgement. 

They regard each other silently for a while- Blade is standing in the corner of the room, his visible eye studying her face and Kafka lets it. To most, the exchange would probably look like nothing, but Kafka can see it, just barely noticeable below the surface, the way Blade looks at her with sadness shimmering in his eye.

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

And it really, truly is that simple.

Those feelings tearing her from the inside out, setting fire to her veins and stealing the air from her lungs. Everything she didn’t dare acknowledge, everything she’s been trying to brush off as meaningless lust. Every sad excuse she’s made for herself, has been torn down and rendered useless just like that, with nothing more than seven words.

Love.

What a truly awful thing. So convenient to manipulate in other people, but perhaps the one thing you can’t control about yourself.

Kafka turns her head away from her companion to stare up at the celling. She allows herself one humorless laugh and says; “I suppose I am.”

They both know who the ‘her’ in question is; Blade doesn’t ask and Kafka does’t bother clarifying. It’s certainly not the poor woman she left naked and fucked out on her own bed, though.

”What will you do?”

”…Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”

She can feel Blade’s skeptical eye on her even without looking his way, and it’s enough for her to try justifying herself; “Anything I can do will either put her in danger or break her heart. It’s not worth it.”

”Is it truly her you’re so afraid for, or yourself?”

”You know that’s not an option, Bladie.”

His silence says it all.

No other words are necessary though; the truth she’s been denying to herself for so long is now out in the open, its’ ramifications reverberating through her and shaking her to her very core.

He may not believe her, but Kafka had meant every word she said; she will take this truth of her feelings down to her grave with her, be it sooner or later. 

Fighting comes to Kafka almost as naturally as breathing.

She’s alone, surrounded by an Antimatter Legion army, guns ablaze and sword drawn. Her blood is singing, the adrenaline surging through the roof in a desperate fight for her life. It’s moments like these, Kafka thinks, when she’s an inch away from death that she feels most alive. The thrill of seeing her own blood seeping through her clothes unparalleled by anything else.

Elio had tasked her and Sam with hunting down a newly discovered Stellaron. When he warned them of the approaching Legion, attracted by its’ energy, Kafka had request a change in the script; She didn’t mind having someone by her side, but they’ve been playing it a little too safe for her tastes recently, and she’s been craving the sensations brought about by mortal dangers like a crazed drug addict, quickly going insane without her next dosage. 

Something stabs her side and she gracefully turns around, chopping its’ head right off. It’s her personal dance of life and death, the only times the true weight of danger is tangible and present. Life is so, so boring without fear.

The last of the Antimatter Legion is shot down with a bullet to the heart and Kafka stands, a top a mountain of corpses. The sole victor of the bloodbath. It’s only then that she collapses right into a pool of her own blood; the stab to her waist is deep and there’s a large gash in her leg. A warm sensation on her cheek informs her there’s blood there as well, but Kafka can’t muster the strength to lift her hand and check. 

Her vision starts growing black at the edges and her ears are ringing. And perhaps it’s a delusion caused by the blood loss, but Kafka thinks she hears someone calling -no, screaming- her name, that there’s a blurry figure of a person coming her way. But she’s oh so tired, and closing her eyes is the only thing she still has the strength to do. So she does just that, all the while thinking that if the last thing she’ll ever see is red, then maybe it’s not all so bad.

Kafka’s eyes snap open as she jolts awake.

Her whole body feels like it’s coming apart, but she’s not laying in her own blood anymore. In fact, she’s not laying on the floor at all; instead she’s in a cozy bed, with comfortable mattress and soft blankets and a really, really nice scent. Kafka briefly entertains the idea that she has finally died and this is the afterlife, but then she tears her eyes away from the blank celling to inspect her surrounding, and suddenly wishes she was back at the Stellaron site and bleeding out among the corpses.

She knows this room. She’s been here are least twice before. 

Of course, it’s not much of a stretch to assume the Astral Express crew would make their way to a newly discovered Stellaron with the purpose of sealing it. But with how often Elio has had her ‘coincidently’ run into them, and more specifically their navigator, Kafka finds it hard to believe that this wasn’t Elio’s intention all along. Not that any of that matters much at this current point in time, she can think of how to handle the situation later. Right now she has to get out of the room before its’ owner comes back.

Slowly sitting up and dangling her legs off the edge of the bed, she winces slightly at the pain and inspects the damage; there’s a bandage around her torso and a gauze on her leg and the clothes she’s wearing are decidedly not hers. A crisp white button up shirt that’s a little too big for her frame and simple white underwear and… that’s it. If she wasn’t in such a rash to leave unnoticed, she might have considered staying for the sole purpose of teasing her rescuer for their interesting choice of clothing. But that’s neither here nor there.

Taking a deep breath, Kafka steels her aching body and pushes herself completely off the bed. The pain is far from unbearable, she’s certainly been through worse. Making a clean escape should be easy, assuming her wounds won’t open. 

Lady luck however, does not seem to be on her side. Hasn’t been for a long time now.

Just as Kafka starts making her way towards the only window in the room, the door behind her opens. There’s a loud clatter of something hitting the floor and before Kafka has the chance to turn around and face the music, arms wrap around her from behind, clutching tightly and barely mindful of her injury. Kafka knows this feeling; even with layers of fabric separating their skins the feeling of Himeko’s arms around her has imprinted itself into Kafka’s memory and no matter how hard she has scrubbed her skin raw in the shower, she could still feel it; coiling around her and choking her to death.

Kafka’s breath is caught in her throat and her body is frozen in place. She doesn’t have the physical strength to turn around in Himeko’s hold to push her off and even if she did, her willpower is that if a pathetic, dying animal. No matter what her mind is screaming at her, being in Himeko’s embrace just feels too good.

“I was so worried about you…” Himeko’s voice is soft and muffled, her face buried between Kafka’s shoulder blades. And Kafka melts, just a little bit. There’s a dangerous warmth blossoming in her chest and spreading through her whole body, and the previous thought that maybe she did indeed die and this is heaven crosses her mind. But Kafka is not meant for heaven, which means this fantasy is about to be ripped away from her and thrust her into the depths of hell.

That thought is enough to make Kafka come to her senses and pull herself out of Himeko’s grasp. She misses the contact immediately. She continues facing the window, not daring to turn around. Desperately hanging onto her mask of neutrality, Kafka forces all emotion out of her voice and says; “Thanks for the help Princess, I’ll see you around.”

She’s about to step away from Himeko when a dainty hand clasps itself around her wrist and yanks, forcing her to turn around. Himeko’s face is red, her pretty eyes filled with barely contained rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

She’s never seen Himeko this angry at anything before. “Prin-“

”Oh no don’t you start with that! I asked you a question so answer it like a normal person and stop with the bullshit excuses for once in your life!” They’ve been standing close as is, but Himeko uses her grip on Kafka’s wrist to pull her closer, her other hand grabbing a fistful of the shirt over Kafka’s shoulder to keep her in place. If there’s truly no getting out of it, she might as well just rip the bandaid off and be done with it. Kafka sighs.

”Himeko.”

”Yes?”

”I appreciate your help, but please stop wasting your time.”

”Wasting my- are you insane?? I find you dying in a ditch and all you have to say is ‘stop wasting your time’?!”

“I won’t thank you.”

”Would you just stop that already?!” Himeko’s pitch rises, voice almost breaking and she looks like she’s about to cry. Good, the more she’s sick of Kafka the better it is for her. “I don’t care about your stupid gratitude and you know that!” Her hand lets go of Kafka’s shirt and a fist pounds against her shoulder instead, “All I want from you is a little bit of honesty!” Another punch, “Just once!” And another, “Please Kafka… just give me a chance to talk about this… about us…”

All the wind leaves her sails, forehead coming down to lay on Kafka’s shoulder. It makes concentrating on her words that much harder but Kafka owes her that much, at least. “I just… don’t understand what you want from me,” she mumbles into Kafka’s neck, voice tired and defeated, “One moment you’re acting like you’re trying your hardest not to jump me and the next you completely shut me out and treat me like a stranger… It’s driving me crazy Kafka… what are we?”

The question hangs in the air between them, thicker than any substance in the universe. Against her better judgement, Kafka brings an arm up to loosely wrap around Himeko, squeezing lightly. She’s never been good at being gentle or reassuring, but for Himeko, she realizes, she wants to try. And that’s what… love is all about, isn’t it?

”You’re a saint, Princess, and I’m the most damned of sinners.”

Himeko laughs against her, a joyless sound but beautiful nonetheless. “You are such a coward.”

Kafka’s smile is genuine and sad; “That’s the one thing I’m not.”

”Didn’t I tell you to stop lying?”

”I’m not-“

”Not to me, Kafka, to yourself. I don’t know what it is you’re so afraid of and quite frankly I don’t really care. But please, just talk to me… I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.” Himeko lifts her head off Kafka’s shoulder to be at eye level with her, the silence between them heavy as Kafka contemplates her words carefully. Himeko lets go of the wrist she’s been holding to place both her hands on Kafka’s shoulders again, drawing them closer. Kafka, already with one arm around the other woman, brings the other up to caress Himeko’s cheek and slightly tilt her head up, their faces now inches apart.

”If it’s a problem you’re looking for… then I suppose the problem is me. Despite what you may think I meant what I said; my sins are heavy and will very soon catch up with me.”

”Then I’ll accept everything that is you, sins and all.”

”You’ll only end up either hurt or dead.”

Himeko pulls her head back slightly, the fire in her eyes is back; “And did you ever stop to think that maybe, this isn’t only your choice to make? I’m not the saint you make me out to be, and I’m not some fragile damsel either. If being with you ends up hurting me, then so be it. I’d rather die my own way than let some criminal make decisions for me.”

And Kafka chases her, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re insane.”

One of Himeko’s hands finds the back of Kafka’s head, angling her face so that their lips are almost brushing. “I have to be, to keep up with you.”

”I want you, Himeko. I want your everything, more than you could possibly imagine…”

”You can have me, all of me.”

And finally, Aeons finally, their lips meet.

Stars explode behind Kafka’s eyes. Everything that’s been bottled up inside for months now let loose, and not even the end of the universe will be enough to pull her away from the luscious lips moving against her own. The kiss is desperate, hungry and messy, all tongue and teeth and pure, raw desire. Kafka holds onto Himeko like her life depends on it and Himeko responds in kind, pressing herself flush against Kafka’s body. And it all feels so overwhelmingly good that Kafka doesn’t know where she is anymore. All she knows is that she has to keep Himeko just like that, has to keep touching Himeko everywhere or else she’ll die.

They stumble to the bed without ever breaking apart for air, the two of them practically possessed by the need to stay close after months of denial. Clothes quickly come off, and the next thing Kafka knows her lips are attached to Himeko’s neck and her fingers three are knuckles deep into her cunt. Himeko’s legs are shaking, wrapped around Kafka’s hips to keep her in place and her nails are clawing holes into Kafka’s back from how strongly she holds on, Kafka’s name broken gasps on her ravished lips.

Kafka is determined to draw out Himeko’s every sound. Every moan and whimper are music to her ears and she drinks them up as if parched, greedy and hungry and wanting more and more and more. And Kafka knows, she will never be satisfied by anything else ever again; only Himeko can quench her thirst, only Himeko can make her feel the way she does now.

When Himeko comes Kafka pulls her fingers out and climbs up to sit on her face, clutching the headboard as Himeko’s tongue expertly swipes at her insides, making the white hot pleasure building inside of her grow and explode and it’s still not enough, so she flips Himeko on her stomach and takes her from behind again and again and again. Until Himeko’s voice is hoarse and Kafka is about to collapse.

As the two of them lay side by side, panting in the aftermath, Kafka allows herself to finally do the one thing she’s been dying to do since before they even first met; she runs her fingers through Himeko’s long red hair, marveling at its’ softness and inhaling its’ scent. Himeko lets her, clinging to Kafka like she’s afraid the other woman will just get up and disappear. And granted, her fear is not completely unfounded, but Kafka’s fighting spirit has long since left her. And she’s willing to give things a try, she realizes, if Himeko is willing to stand by her side.

They don’t really talk anymore, that night. Just bask in each other’s presence as they wait for the morning to come. And whatever challenges it may bring with it, they’ll face them together.