Akagi doesn't know when she's started thinking this, but the best time of the day is waking up before the sunrise. The air is still and the sky is dim—life has not breathed itself into the day yet. Whether it's poetic or disheartening, she finds herself waking up just for these moments. There are no sorties. No demands. No expectations.

At least for now, Akagi can almost feel human.

A held breath escapes her and she turns on her side, careful not to disturb the other person in the futon. Kaga, Kaga. The name rolls over in her mind, a rhythm for an otherwise lethargic train of thought. Kaga. Her oft stern expression is placated by sleep. Kaga, what is she dreaming of? Akagi imagines the possibilities for herself. Perhaps she's dreaming of second servings from Mamiya's, or Zuikaku willfully listening to her, or a day-off from sortieing and a date with Akagi.

The last dream was her own from the night before. Akagi feels a smile bloom on her lips. It'll happen someday.

She props herself up on an elbow, peering down at Kaga. After a moment, Akagi stretches her other arm to palm Kaga's cheek and shakes her face slightly. "Kaga-saaan," she whispers. "First Division fleet carriers don't sleep in, I'll have you know."

Kaga's face slowly contorts into a pout. Akagi stops shaking but leaves her hand on her cheek. With her eyes still closed and a voice croaky from sleep, Kaga responds dutifully, "Kaga, reporting in."

It's delivered so plainly and normally that Akagi can't help but chuckle. She's selfish, but she doesn't mind that Kaga doesn't share this side of herself to many. "I don't think the admiral would want his secretary to be reporting in sleepwear."

Kaga yawns. "I would hope the admiral never has that opportunity."

Akagi pulls her hand back as Kaga sits up. Her straightened back is towards Akagi, and as Kaga raises a hand to wipe the sleep from her eyes, Akagi calls out. "Kaga-san, look at me."

She does as instructed, and Akagi takes in her slack expression. There's something endearing about the way that Kaga wakes up slowly. Her eyes are focusing and slumber is beginning to wear off, but the firm walls that Kaga keeps up around herself have not been erected just yet. If she's already acting selfish, then she might as well… Akagi tugs at Kaga's sleeve and eases her back down.

"I will be needed for sortie assignments soon," Kaga states. But the impending responsibilities on both their shoulders hangs outside of their futon. Together, in a morning that has not yet begun, they are not soldiers in a war or ships in a fleet.

Neither of them say anything else as they both lay down, Akagi nestling her head in the crook of Kaga's shoulder, curling up next to her. It's when Kaga turns her head to rest her chin atop of Akagi's that she wishes that there was no war. Her impossible wish bites into her heart cleanly. She expects a shock to bolt through her system or fear to grip her heart, but instead Akagi only becomes more aware of the woman next to her. Of her warmth, and the heartbeat in her chest.

Akagi wraps her arms around Kaga's waist. If Kaga noticed her shift in mood, she did not voice it, instead hooking the arm that Akagi rested on so that she was closer.

This is what it feels like, in her most human moment.

Kaga is her closest, dearest person. It is a fact that they both know, though unvoiced. To love her and fear what it meant to love—what could be more human than a contradiction?

"When we get up," Akagi begins, her voice quiet. "we will have to be more than who we are. We'll be leading girls to their deaths." Kaga hums. "We were built for this war, and yet… and yet, I forget that sometimes. Everyone is so real. Human." Akagi squeezes her hold. "And then there's you."

Kaga lets out a mix of a sigh and a laugh. "Am I a good thing?"

"You're the worst," Akagi answers easily.

"Of course," Kaga receives her retort without complaint. "but when we must rise to our stations, it's more than you or myself at stake. At those times, personal obligations come secondary to the directive." Akagi frowns. She knows this. She knows intimately of the responsibilities she must prioritize before her own feelings. Kaga takes a deep breath as she continues, "It is easier said than done."

Akagi freezes then. It's the closest that Kaga has been to admitting aloud lately that she has something (or someone) that would make her hesitant in her position.

Kaga has stiffened too. For a single moment, Akagi could imagine Kaga rolling over her, finally putting to words the emotions she knows they both have.

But even Kaga, the strict secretary of their fleet, has her human moments.

She untangles herself from Akagi, pushing herself out of the futon and onto her feet. The morning sun is filtering through the window, catching itself on Kaga's back in streaks. With her back to Akagi, she mutters, "Even if we don't want to, the world needs us."

Her pink ears are telling enough for Akagi. She shakes her head before getting out of the futon too. If the world is calling for Kaga now, then she won't be more than a step behind her.

Akagi wouldn't dream of it.

Requested by a dindan from a tumblr writing prompt! You can find me under the same handle there. The title is inspired by the Fun song of the same name. Thank you for reading.