Work Text:
Ukyo couldn’t say if his hearing was a blessing or a curse.
There are times where he’s thought it one, times where he’s thought it both, times where he figured he should just accept it for what it was and move on.
“Five thousand one hundred eighteen… five thousand one hundred nineteen…”
Then there are times, during night strolls through the village when the world was too loud and sleep evaded him, he doesn’t have time to think about it.
“Five thousand one hundred twenty-one… five thousand one hundred twenty-two…”
He hears the desperate, terrified muttering from halfway across the village. It cuts through the peace and silence of near-midnight, steady and constant and Ukyo feels his feet move before he really knows what he’s doing.
“Five thousand one hundred twenty eight… five thousand one hundred twenty nine…”
He pauses outside the door to the lab. The voice is whispered but it’s loud in the night, in Ukyo’s ears.
He lifts a hand, like he wants to push it open.
He brings it back. He hesitates.
What am I doing? He thinks. I should get one of the others. They’d know how to handle this better than me.
His chest still aches. Is still bandaged, so recently after the fight.
“We’re just gonna change that hopefully to a definitely.”
He pushes the door open before he can talk himself out of it.
There’s a lamp in the corner, barely lighting the room with a dying flame, and it’s the heat of summer, but the night is cool, the inside of the lab even more so.
“Five thousand one hundred forty five… Five thousand one hundred forty six…”
Senkuu Ishigami sat on one of the benches, hunched over a table strewn with papers and designs and crude charcoal pencils. His shoulders are tight and drawn, his head rested on one arm while the other hand tangled in the hair on the back of his head, and his breathing is short and quick as he keeps counting.
Ukyo steps lightly. Approaches until he can catch a glimpse of Senkuu’s face, of the tight draw of Senkuu’s brows, of the slight trembling in his arms, of the bags under Senkuu’s eyes that tell of just how hard this man’s been pushing himself.
“Five thousand one hundred fifty seven… five thousand one hundred fifty eight...”
He sounds and looks so tired.
Ukyo takes a moment to pull the quiver of arrows over his head and set his bow aside — he still couldn’t bring himself to walk around without them, even if he knew he didn’t need to — before he pauses once more.
“Five thousand one hundred sixty six… five thousand one hundred sixty seven…”
Senkuu’s voice fades just a bit, but it doesn’t stop.
Why does he sound so afraid?
Ukyo swallows and lowers himself to the bench beside the man, far enough away he doesn’t disturb him. He listens for a moment, trying to decide if he should just wake him up, if maybe moving from such an uncomfortable position would be better, if the exhaustion in Senkuu’s voice qualified as reason enough to let him sleep. If the tenseness of Senkuu’s shoulder would appreciate his touch.
“Five thousand one hundred seventy nine… five thousand one hundred eightly…”
“Senkuu…” He whispers. He lets his voice carry over the muttered words. He isn’t certain what’s happening. He doesn’t know what has Senkuu clinging so desperately to his own voice, to the climbing of numbers, but maybe, maybe he can drown it out for him. “Do you know where you are? You’re in your lab. It’s after midnight. There’s a lamp in the corner. It’s kind of cold. Everyone’s here. Everyone’s asleep right now…”
He pauses.
“Five thousand two hundred seven…”
He felt like he was fumbling in the dark, like he might be missing the target altogether, but he can’t stop here.
“You’re still sitting at your work bench,” he whispers, “It’s kind of a lopsided bench. I remember you made it yourself? Kaseki had been busy with other things. You know, it gets really loud during the daytime. The village is a lot quieter at night…”
“Five thousand two hundred thirty two…”
He takes a deep breath and pushes forward, words slightly rushed, “It’s still pretty loud, though. Several people snore, and nature’s always been loud at night, but I can probably hear waves at the shore from here if I tried to tune the rest of it out. There’s... always so much going on, all the time. But you just keep going…”
His voice runs out.
“Five thousand two hundred sixty…”
He feels his throat tighten. The wound on his chest starts to ache.
He leans back against the table. His shoulders slump. His hand rises to rest over the place a spear had driven itself into his skin.
He listens. He closes his eyes and he listens.
Listens for something to tell him how to help. Talking wasn’t working. Senkuu couldn’t hear him. Ukyo didn’t know what decision to make. Didn’t want to decide without some sort of hint—
Why was he always such a coward—
He hears something else, over the counting. Alongside it. In time with it.
Senkuu’s heartbeat follows the rhythm of his words, of his breaths, as if Senkuu couldn’t live without them. As if he couldn’t separate himself from whatever dream he was having, whatever nightmare he was living in his sleep that left him shivering and desperate.
Senkuu’s heartbeat wasn’t calm. It wasn’t here.
Ukyo’s eyes snap open. He gives up on his first tactic. It wasn’t going to work. Senkuu was too lost in it.
He leans over, places a hand over the one Senkuu had in his own hair, and the other on the man’s shoulder, and he speaks up louder this time, “Senkuu. Senkuu.”
“Five thousand two hundred nin—”
He gives Senkuu’s shoulder a slight shake, “Senkuu!”
Senkuu’s breath hitches. His eyes fly wide open, panicked, and Ukyo pulls his hands away as Senkuu shoves himself upright, hands pushing against the desk and the papers and knocking pencils to the floor.
He heaves one breath. Another. Ukyo can hear Senkuu’s heart pounding, faster than it had been, and sees Senkuu’s eyes staring straight ahead, arms still shaking, barely supporting him in his half-stand from the bench.
Ukyo takes a deep breath. Senkuu wasn’t calm. Ukyo needed to be.
“Senkuu, hey—”
Red irises snap to him, Senkuu’s breath hitching, body turning with him, one arm lifting from the table.
The other slips on a piece of paper.
Ukyo moves. He caches Senkuu across the chest with his arm before the scientist can slam his face into the table, and the sudden movement jars Ukyo’s bandages and makes him wince, but Senkuu’s hand latches onto his cloak in an effort to hold himself up and both of them pause.
Senkuu blinks. Takes another shuddering breath. Closes his eyes tightly and holds still long enough for Ukyo to lead him back to the bench properly.
“Ukyo,” Senkuu blinks his eyes open again, voice rough and surprised and shaken, and he looks over to him, loosening his grip as Ukyo pulls his arm away again. “What… I was…”
He glances down at the table. “Right. Designs. Right…” He draws a hand down his face. He leaves it covering his eyes. It still trembles. “Right. I fell asleep?”
Ukyo nods, “Yeah, you were… having a nightmare, I think.”
Senku inhales. Holds it. Lets it out slowly through his nose. He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, face in his hands.
And Ukyo hears it, even lower than before, low enough that a person normally wouldn’t pick up on it.
“One… two… three…”
“Senkuu, can I ask you something?”
“Hm?” Senkuu shifts his head, bleary eyes watching him. “What?”
“Can I…” Stop hesitating. “Can I hold your hand?”
Senku raises an eyebrow, “... why?”
Ukyo feels heat creep onto his face. What am I doing?
“I just—“ He keeps pausing, damnit. “Want to help.”
Senkuu blinks. For a moment, Ukyo can’t read anything from his expression, can’t determine anything other than Senkuu’s still afraid because of the shake in his hands.
What is he scared of? … what am I scared of?
Ukyo shifts to hold out a hand. Senkuu glances down at it.
Senkuu takes another short breath and pulls one hand away from his face, dropping it to Ukyo’s.
His skin is cool and clammy, calloused and scarred. His fingers still tremble. But he wraps them around Ukyo’s palm, tight, and Ukyo doesn’t let himself hesitate to hold back, despite the anxiety fluttering just beneath the wound on his chest.
“I’m not— I’m not Taiju or Yuzuriha, or Gen or Chrome,” Ukyo says, and he isn’t, he could never be as amazing as them, “But I’m… I can listen. It’s the thing I’m best at, really.”
He smiles, and he resolutely ignores his own nervousness. The only thing I’m good at.
Senkuu watches him for a moment. Ukyo holds his gaze, and he keeps his grip firm and calm.
Senkuu’s other hand moves to cover his mouth and his eyes screw shut and his breath catches and Ukyo thinks he’s messed up for a moment—
“I…” Senkuu says into his palm, words catching. “I can’t always… Sometimes it’s... too dark.” He opens his eyes again, but he still doesn’t look present. “Sometimes it’s too quiet. It’s worse at night. I keep…” His voice falls. “... remembering. Counting. I don’t know how to stop. I— I’m not making any sense, am I?”
He sneaks a glance in Ukyo’s direction. Ukyo lets himself rub his thumb across the back of Senkuu’s hand. He thinks Senkuu’s grip relaxes just a bit.
“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain it. I’m just listening.”
Senku doesn’t speak for a moment. He closes his eyes and breathes again, pulls his hand away from his face. He turns a bit toward Ukyo, one leg shifting over the bench so he could look down at their hands linked between them.
Ukyo brings his free hand up, offering it as well. Senkuu looks at it and snorts, taking it and smirking even though he still shivers.
“You know, I’m not one to say thanks,” he says, “but you did save me back then. That was a pretty dumb move, getting in between me and Tsukasa.”
Ukyo blinks. He hadn’t expected this to get brought up. He keeps his smile. “I hadn’t… actually been thinking when I did that. So I guess you could say it was pretty dumb.”
His smile falters when Senkuu’s smirk falls. He keeps eyes locked on Senkuu’s as the other squeezes his hands again.
“What made you come in here, anyway?” Senkuu asks. “I still don’t quite get you, Ukyo.”
“... I was just walking around,” he says slowly. “Couldn’t sleep. Then I heard you—”
“— counting.” Senkuu finishes for him. His grip gets tighter. “... you really are just too nice for your own good, then. Idiot.”
Ukyo feels his lips draw down awkwardly, “Hey—”
Then Senkuu leans forward. His hands pull Ukyo’s slightly closer, just enough that their foreheads touch, enough that he can feel Senkuu sigh a breath on his skin and Senkuu’s bangs tickle his cheek, enough that he’s suddenly glad it’s so dark because he’s absolutely certain his face is burning.
Senkuu closes his eyes.
“I…” He starts. “I count, because that’s what I did for three thousand and seven hundred years.”
Ukyo blinks. And he realizes.
“You didn’t…?”
“Every time I thought I was going to sink under,” Senkuu whispers. “Every time I felt my consciousness start to fade, I pulled myself back. And I counted, because it was the only thing I could think to do. I didn’t know if I would ever wake up if I let my brain stop, and I needed to know an accurate date if I ever managed to will myself back. And sometimes… sometimes I forget I’m not back there, when I’m alone and it’s quiet.”
That’s insane, Ukyo thinks. That’s more insane than trying to bring the world back.
Senkuu had never cared about that, though. Ukyo knew that much. Senkuu Ishigami did what had to be done, and never stopped for impossibilities.
“We’re just gonna change that hopefully to a definitely.”
“Can’t say it’s ever quiet for me…” Ukyo mutters, and Senkuu’s eyes snap open. Ukyo almost falters at the sight of them, sharper now, attentive, and Senkuu’s hands have stopped shaking, but there’s still a weight there, still a tiredness in the way he held himself.
Three thousand and seven hundred years awake.
Ukyo pulls one of his hands out of Senkuu’s hold. He brushes the side of Senkuu’s face, and he doesn’t know how to react when Senkuu leans into it other than to pull his forehead away and bring Senkuu’s to his shoulder.
“It’s never quiet, because if I try, I can hear the heartbeat of anyone in the room,” he whispers.
“... some impressive ears,” Senkuu huffs shakily. His now free hand comes up to grasp at the front of Ukyo’s cloak, right over the bandages, but Senkuu is careful not to jar them. Ukyo lets his own drop down to Senkuu’s waist and rest there.
He ignores the way his face gets warmer when Senkuu just leans closer.
“... Senkuu?”
“Hmm?”
“... you need to rest.”
“Maybe,” Senkuu whispers, low enough that only Ukyo would ever be able to make it out. “Don’t wanna move.”
“... do you want me to stay?”
Senkuu holds his hand tighter.
“Please.”
Ukyo shifts, moving himself around until he can pull Senkuu closer to his chest, wrap his arms around the other, and lean back against the table. It isn’t completely comfortable with the table edge digging into his back, but he sees Senkuu’s eyelids start to droop and his breathing start to even and hears his heart start to beat more calmly.
Right in time with Ukyo’s own.
Ukyo watches Senkuu fall asleep again, without the tension in his back or the trembling in his limbs. He doesn’t hear him count again.
“You work too hard,” Ukyo says quietly. “You’re the idiot, thinking you’re ever alone around here.”
Ukyo doesn’t sleep, but he closes his eyes and he listens, holds the man close and focuses on Senkuu’s heartbeat over anything else.
He rests a lot easier that night.