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[CHATLOG. Yu to Ren, 2/10/XX, 12:02PM]
Yu Hey. Have you got a minute to talk later?
Ren Sure. What’s up? How’s baby?
Yu She’s fine. No worries there.
Yu Can I call you tonight? Is 10:00 too late?
Ren It’s not too late. Is everything okay?
Yu is typing.............
Yu No one’s broken or bleeding. Don’t worry. I just need some professional advice.
Ren Mental health professional or Persona professional?
Yu Mental health. I’m sorry to spring this on you. I’ll call you at 10.
Ren Are you sure you don’t want to talk sooner?
Yu 10 is good, as long as it works for you.
Ren It works. I’ll talk to you then. If you want to call earlier, just let me know. Anytime is fine.
Yu Thank you.
***
At 9:55, Ren left Akechi in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a handful of treats and their laser-focused dog, Tsuki.
Ren paused at Maya’s door, listening, and registered the low murmur of her voice. She was probably on a call with her friends. He hoped she wouldn’t stay up too late, but as long as she got up the next morning all would be well.
He poked his head in on Sai and found her curled under her blankets, dark hair sticking up every which way, skin cast green in the glow from her nightlight. Morgana, huddled at the foot of the bed, lifted his head and blinked slowly.
“G’night,” the cat yawned.
“Good night,” Ren murmured.
Next it was into his bedroom, perching on the bed, wriggling to get comfortable against the headboard. He booted up his laptop, just in case, and then took out his phone and stared at it.
Yu’s request had been bobbing at the back of Ren’s head all day. In spare moments he’d examined it, picked it up, turned it over. Professional advice. For who? About what? And why couldn’t Yu talk about it in front of Yosuke?
Yu had said nothing was wrong with the new baby, Kanae, but it had to be related somehow. Yu and Yosuke had been parents for going on seven weeks. By all accounts, they were doing well. Nanako and Dojima hadn’t had the chance to visit yet, nor had any of their other friends, but they were “hanging in there,” as Yosuke said whenever the question came up in groupchat. Enjoying each other’s company. Getting to know their baby. Sleeping when they could.
So...
Ren’s phone vibrated. He accepted the call.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” Yu said. He sounded: alert, warm, normal, if a little rougher and gruffer than usual. Probably from lack of sleep. “How are you?”
Ren suddenly wished he’d opted to video chat. He wanted to be able to see Yu’s face, the pallor of his skin or lack thereof. He’d have to settle for tone and tenor.
“I’m fine,” Ren said, tucking one foot under his opposite knee. “I’m good. How are you?”
“Tired.” Laid down heavy, like a drumbeat. “But okay.”
Aha: the Wild Card code. Okay meant borderline bad.
Ren’s free hand curled into a fist. “What’s going on?”
Yu took a deep breath, let it out slowly, fwoooo.
“I’m not sure,” he said. Paused. “I think...something’s wrong with Yosuke.”
It had started small. (It always did, Ren thought.) When they’d first brought Kanae home, they’d both been nervous, tripping over each other if she cried and scrambling to check on her while she slept. Nanako had warned Yu about what to expect: scary noises, black poop, milky spit-up. Get through the first couple of weeks and you’ll be fine, Nanako had said. And if she does something weird, don’t sweat it. All babies are weird.
So Yu was able to take most of the strangeness in stride. The first time Kanae vomited a fine stream of curdled formula down his back, he patted her head, wiped her mouth, and changed his shirt. The black slime in her diapers didn’t shock him. One day, the shriveled nub of her umbilical cord popped off, and he was pleased instead of alarmed.
But Yosuke was different. He worried. He fretted. “What if she’s sick?” he asked, over and over, peering into her small, scrunched face. “Maybe we should take her temperature. Maybe we should call the doctor. I don’t know. Are you sure she’s okay? You really think so? How do you know? Let’s look it up.”
Yu reassured him, and humored him, and eventually started saying, “Yosuke,” in a low voice that seemed to snap Yosuke back to himself. But every fear led to another. The temperature, for example. It was cold outside, but Kanae couldn’t have a blanket because she might smother. Maybe there were heated mattress pads for cribs. Junes might have one. Oh, but Yosuke couldn’t go to Junes; what if he caught something and brought it back to the baby? Okay, he’d look online. Oh, but what if the mattress pad got too hot and burned her? Speaking of which, was Yu sure the water heater was working right? Was the water in their washing machine hot enough to kill all the bacteria? Was Kanae okay in her crib? Was the window in her room locked? Yosuke needed to check. He’d be right back.
It seemed excessive. Obsessive. Lately Yosuke had started doing a kind of security sweep every few hours, checking the locks on all their windows and doors. Like anything had changed. Like anything could have changed, considering Yu and Yosuke hadn’t left the house in a month and no one had been allowed to visit since Kanae was born.
Yosuke would have disputed that. “Of course they’re allowed,” he would’ve said, and had said when Yu brought it up. “They’ve been busy. It hasn’t been the right time. I don’t want them to scare her. I don’t want them to make her sick. I don’t want...”
Even Yu was becoming suspect. Yosuke fluttered around him constantly. “Have you got it? Are you sure? I can do that. It’s not a problem. Here, I’ll take her.” Yosuke didn’t sleep when it was his turn, didn’t eat unless Yu made him. He’d lost weight. He wouldn’t talk about anything but Kanae, do anything but discuss all the bad things that might happen to her. He barely listened to Yu. Barely saw him.
“And I’m so tired,” Yu said now, low and dull. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if I’m...Yosuke says I’m overreacting.”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting,” Ren said quietly. His chest was tight.
There was a rustling sound. Ren could imagine Yu leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, putting his face in his hand.
“I don’t know what to do,” Yu repeated. Ren had never heard him sound so lost. “He won’t listen to me.”
Ren straightened his spine, swiveled to sit at the edge of the bed. Planted his feet on the floor.
“You’ve told him you’re concerned?” he asked. “You’ve talked to him?”
“Over and over. He says it’s not that bad.”
But it was. “It sounds to me,” said Ren, “like he needs to see a professional.” A sigh, deep, like Yu was deflating. “Even his physician would be helpful.”
“Yosuke doesn’t have a physician,” Yu murmured. “He doesn’t like doctors.”
“Would he go to yours, do you think?”
“No. I tried to suggest it, but he—brushed me off.”
There was something raw there, a riptide undercurrent.
“This isn’t personal, Yu,” Ren said. “He’s not doing this to you or at you. He’s not well.”
“I know. I know that.” But.
“I can’t make a diagnosis, and I wouldn’t want to try,” Ren added. “But there’s a dozen reasons this might be happening and none of them are within his control. Not really. He needs help.”
“But I can’t make him get it,” Yu said. To anyone else, he would have sounded calm, but Ren knew Yu, and he knew what it sounded like when Yu snapped. “I can’t—tie him up and drag him to the hospital. I can’t call a doctor over here and corner him. I don’t know what he’d do.”
Ren’s throat had closed, but he swallowed through it. “Is there anyone else that could talk to him? Anyone he might listen to?”
Yu paused. Then he inhaled, and Ren understood even before he said, “Well—”
“Oh, Yu,” Ren said, heart sinking, “I can’t—”
“I know you can’t treat him,” said Yu. “I would never ask you to. But if you told him you were concerned, maybe he’d believe you. He trusts you. Or he used to.”
Still, Ren hesitated.
“I’d really like your help with this,” Yu said quietly.
At once, the hesitation was gone. Certainty squared Ren’s shoulders, lifted his chin.
“Let me talk to Akechi,” he said. “I’m sure we can make it work. How soon do you need me? This weekend?”
“That’d be great,” Yu replied. His voice was clearer, like he’d sat up too. Like Ren’s resolve had strengthened his own. “That should give me enough time to convince Yosuke it’s a good idea.”
“Then we’ll plan on that. Text me once you’ve talked to him and we’ll figure out the details.”
“All right. If something changes, and you can’t come—”
“Nothing will change,” Ren said, tightening his grip on the phone. “I’ll be there.”
Yu huffed out a breath. “Thank you.”
***
The conversation with Akechi lasted three minutes. Ren explained the situation, Akechi said crisply, “Of course you should go,” and that was that. Akechi dismissed any attempt to discuss the details. They’d be fine. Akechi could take Maya to aikido on Saturday; they could order takeout or go over to Sojiro’s or Ann and Ryuji’s; they’d be fine. Yosuke and Yu needed him, so he should go.
Getting clearance from Yu took longer. It wasn’t until Thursday that he messaged Ren to formally invite him to Inaba. Ren could catch an early train on Saturday and be there by ten.
Yu was waiting on the platform. He looked paler and puffier than usual; his eyes were especially swollen, like he’d been rubbing them. But his hair was tidy, his clothes neat, his white puffer coat brightly white, and he smelled clean when he accepted Ren’s one-armed hug.
“So how does Yosuke really feel about this?” Ren asked, following Yu toward the car. “Did you have to push hard?”
Yu twitched his head to one side. “He didn’t like it,” he replied. The car went boop as Yu fished his keys out of his pocket. “We went round and round for a while, but I finally told him you were coming no matter what, because I needed a break.”
“And he accepted that?”
“I’m as surprised as you are.”
There was a brief tussle over Ren’s bag; there always was; but Yu emerged triumphant, swinging it into the trunk.
“Getting the house ‘ready’—” Yu made air quotes—“distracted him for a while. But he’s still not himself.”
Ren buckled in. “Guess I’m on, then.”
Humming, Yu steered them away from the curb.
Walking into the house, Ren expected a mess: heaping hampers, discarded rags, maybe a milk stain here or there. He got none of these things. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Yu was meticulously clean, even under duress; and if Yosuke was as bad as he sounded, he was probably obsessively scrubbing whatever he could. Every surface was not only spotless, but polished practically to a shine. Even the shabby couch seemed revitalized, like someone had attacked it with a brush.
“Wow,” Ren said.
“Yeah,” Yu muttered, shutting the door behind them. “Yosuke’s—”
“Ren!” Yosuke called. “Hey!”
Ren turned. Yosuke came bounding down the stairs, beaming.
“It’s good to see you, man!” he said, clapping Ren’s shoulder. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Ren replied, smiling back.
Yosuke was wearing what passed for pajamas: sweatpants with a hole working through the knee, a scoop-neck sweater that had lost all elasticity in the collar. The auburn dye in his hair had faded to brown, and at least an inch of natural black showed at the roots. His skin looked vaguely greasy, like he hadn’t showered in a while. But none of these things, in a brand new parent, were alarming. Nor was his smile, huge and genuine, or the light behind his drawn, tired face. He was really, truly happy to see Ren. That seemed like a good sign.
But then his gaze slid away, over Ren’s shoulder, and Ren turned to follow. Yosuke was looking at the closed door, and Yu standing in front of it.
“Make sure you lock that, Partner,” Yosuke said. His grip on Ren’s shoulder tightened slightly, not painful but discomfiting; the lines of his face tightened too, sharpening his features.
“Ah,” Yu said. He turned the deadbolt, fastened the chain (since when did they have a chain?). “Thank you for reminding me.”
“And the doorknob,” Yosuke said.
Yu gave him a blank look, the kind he might have given an unruly patron at Junes, and locked the knob.
Yosuke released Ren’s shoulder and smiled again, but the corners of his mouth were flat.
“Did you get her down?” Yu asked.
“Ye—” Yosuke began, and then a sound simultaneously echoed down the stairs and crackled from a small white monitor on the side table. It was a kind of hiccoughing: a baby about to fuss. Presently the monitor’s screen lit up, revealing Kanae in her crib, her eyes squinched shut and her forehead creasing as she built to a full wail.
“I’ll get her,” Yosuke said, and he raced up the steps just as Kanae’s tiny mouth opened on a ragged, catlike yowl.
Yu’s suppressed sigh huffed through his nose. “I’ll take your bag upstairs,” he said, hefting it. “You can wait down here—”
“No, I’ll come with,” Ren said. “I want to see the nursery.”
Yu hesitated, pursed his lips, relaxed. “Okay.”
Kanae’s room was the first on the landing. While Yu headed for the guest room, Ren ducked inside the nursery.
He was immediately suffused with calm: a hush that bloomed at his scalp and radiated downward, unwinding the knots in his shoulders and his rigid spine. He settled into an easy, comfortable slouch, put his hands in his pockets, and padded forward.
The walls were painted a light, pale yellow, close to cream; a densely fluffy yellow rug was plush beneath Ren’s socked feet. The sun, muffled by sheer curtains, shone through a window on the far wall; a pair of heavier curtains, sky blue, were tied to either side. Nestled between them was a changing table made of dark, richly grained wood that matched the crib on the adjacent wall and the rocking chair in the corner. The furniture had been Kanji’s, and then Kano’s, and the crib had been Sai’s, and now they were all Kanae’s.
Standing in front of the crib was Yosuke, cooing at the baby nestled in his arms. Kanae had her fist in her mouth and her other hand curled around her foot, and she watched Yosuke through dark, angled eyes, the same shape as Yu’s. Also like Yu’s: the angular plane of her jaw, softened by chub but eventually, if her father was any indication, sharp and fine. Her hair was darker than Yu's, though, slate gray on her velvety head. She wore a light green onesie with a teddy bear stitched onto the front alongside the words, I’M BEARY BEARY CUTE! Ren could guess who’d gotten her that.
“She looks like Yu,” Ren said quietly.
Yosuke didn’t startle, but he did stiffen, and his head whipped around to fix Ren with a ferocious stare. Anyone else would have recoiled, but Ren stood firm, staring back, eyebrows raised. A second later, Yosuke’s expression cleared, and Ren watched him consciously lower his shoulders from around his ears.
Meanwhile Kanae turned her tiny head toward Ren, blowing bubbles through her fingers. “Brrrrlp,” she said.
“Yeah, she does,” Yosuke said, looking back at her. A smile tugged his mouth. “It’s funny. We spent all that time choosing someone who looked like me? So she could be a mix of both of us? And she still came out like him.”
“Her eyes are darker, though. And her hair.”
“Dojima says Yu looked like this when he was born,” Yosuke said. “He lightened up as he got older.”
“In more ways than one, right?”
Yosuke snickered. “Right.”
Slowly, Ren reached out. Yosuke tensed again, but stayed still, so Ren brushed his fingertip across one pink, downy cheek, faintly damp with drool.
“Kghk,” Kanae said, trying to pry her foot farther upward, probably so she could stuff it in her mouth alongside her fist.
“Can I hold her?”
Yosuke’s breath caught, and the fragile moment popped like a bubble.
“Uh,” he said, stepping away. “Maybe later? You just got here, and she really needs to nap...”
“Okay,” Ren replied, putting his hands back in his pockets. “No rush.”
The rest of the day was the same.
In some ways, Yosuke seemed like himself. He talked at length, and laughed at Ren’s jokes, and asked about Morgana and Akechi and Tsuki and the girls. But he was always holding Kanae, or watching Yu hold Kanae, or finding excuses to tap the baby monitor or rush upstairs to check on her. And there always seemed to be some reason why Ren couldn’t hold her, or help change her, or make her a bottle, even though the latter was done with an automatic formula maker that didn’t require any actual expertise.
Ren was allowed to fold laundry, and wipe down the counters in the kitchen, and take out the trash—although he had to knock once he got back, because Yosuke had locked the door behind him. (“Sorry, Ren, I forgot you were out there!”)
By dinnertime, Ren had seen enough. Yosuke was clearly trying to hide his anxiety, but Ren could feel it like a winter chill creeping through the tatami. And if it was this bad now, how much worse would it get?
Ren had to talk to Yosuke. First, though, he wanted to give him a chance to relax.
So, after making, serving, and cleaning up a batch of curry (including portioning the leftovers for the rest of the week), Ren said, “How about if I take over baby duty tonight?”
Yu and Yosuke blinked at him. They were sitting at the chabudai, Yu idly rocking Kanae in her bouncer and Yosuke clutching his phone. Ren suspected he’d been reading something scary.
Yosuke said, “Uh—”
“That’s a great idea,” said Yu.
Yosuke frowned. “It is?”
“Sure,” Yu replied, while Ren made his way over to join them. “We could use a break. You could have a bath, even.”
Yosuke glanced at Kanae. She gazed at Ren, slowly kicking her feet, opening and closing her chubby fists. Like all newborns, she mostly looked through you; but occasionally she nailed Yu’s penetrating stare, lancing straight between your ribs to test your heart. So it was now.
Ren offered her his index finger and she took it, gripping firmly.
“Do you, uh,” Yosuke said, and bit his lip. “D’you, y’know, even know what you’re doing?”
“Yosuke,” Yu said.
“Well! Sorry! But it’s not like he’s ever had a baby before!”
“You’re right,” Ren said, before Yu could protest. “I haven’t had a baby. But I did this for Ann and Ryuji plenty of times. Including when there was more than one kid to keep track of.”
“Yeah, okay,” Yosuke said, wincing, “but you also—I mean, Akechi and Morgana were there too, right—?”
“Yosuke,” Yu said, almost a snap.
“Akechi and Morgana were there too,” Ren confirmed. “And you’ll be right upstairs. If I need you, I’ll wake you up.”
There was a long, strained silence. Ren didn’t look at the others, but he could imagine their expressions: Yosuke’s pinched, his eyebrows knitted, and Yu’s flat and cool but his teeth clenched. Meanwhile Ren held Kanae’s solemn, liquid gaze, gently bobbing his finger so she could test her grip.
“Okay,” Yosuke said at last. The tension rushed from the room, helium from a balloon. “Cool. Thanks, Ren.”
They stayed up talking for a while, long after Kanae dozed off in her bouncer. Eventually Yosuke took her to bed, and Yu followed him. Ren was left with a number of strict instructions. Chief among them: keep the baby monitor near him at all times, and call Yosuke if he needed help.
Ren settled onto the couch, checked his messages, and finally opened the novel he and Akechi were reading together. Akechi was a hundred pages ahead of Ren, and Ren intended to blast past him tonight.
A couple hours later, Yosuke reappeared.
“Oh,” he said, pausing halfway down the stairs. He’d swapped his pants and sweater for an actual pair of pajamas, white with little teddy bears all over them. (Again, Ren could guess who’d given them to him.) “Hi.”
“Hi,” said Ren, eyeing him. Yosuke’s skin was clear, no longer greasy, but the shadows under his eyes pronounced; his hair was damp, but not rumpled. If Ren had to guess, he’d showered, and then sat in bed doomscrolling on his phone. “What’s up?”
“I just,” Yosuke said. His knuckles whitened on the banister, loosened, and he padded down the last few steps. “Just gotta,” he added, pointing at the door.
“It’s locked,” Ren said, as Yosuke hurried over to rattle the knob. “I checked.”
“Good,” Yosuke said. He touched the chain, tested the deadbolt. “That’s good. Uh...”
He strode to the nearest window, tugged on it, nodded. Moved to the next one. And the next one. Then he checked the locks on the back door, and the window beside it, and ducked into the bathroom. Ren tracked his progress, silent.
Once Yosuke had checked every single point of entry, he gave Ren a glassy smile.
“Just making sure,” Yosuke said. “Can’t be too careful.”
“No,” Ren said. “You can’t.”
“Guess I’ll—”
The baby monitor lit up. On the screen, Kanae was squirming, pudgy hands flexing, eyebrows drawing together.
Ren set his phone down. “I’ll—”
“No no,” said Yosuke, backing toward the stairs. “I got it! You stay here, no worries!”
And he was gone before Ren could speak.
Oof.
Ren rose, wiped his palms on his thighs, considered. Went into the kitchen and switched on the formula maker. Queued up a bottle. Rested his elbows on the counter while it filled.
When Yosuke got back, baby in arms, Ren was screwing the nipple on.
“Diaper alert,” Yosuke said. “Now she just needs a—”
“Here,” Ren said, holding the bottle out.
Yosuke froze. Stared at the bottle. Glanced at Ren.
“I made it with the machine,” Ren said. Kanae burbled, as if in agreement.
Yosuke dropped his gaze back to the bottle.
“I could drink some,” Ren added, “if you're worried it’s poisoned.”
Yosuke coughed, almost a laugh but not quite. “Ha, ha, very funny,” he said, and accepted the bottle. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Still, he tipped a droplet onto his wrist to check the temperature before he offered it to Kanae. She latched on with relish.
“Let’s sit,” Ren said, motioning at the couch.
Nodding, Yosuke sank onto one of the cushions. Ren sat beside him, crossed his legs, folded his arms. Watched Kanae drink. Watched her eyes scan Yosuke’s face, itself taut and hollow.
“You think I’m nuts,” Yosuke murmured.
Ren took a deep breath. “No, I don’t.”
Yosuke snorted. “Yu thinks I’m nuts.”
“He’s worried about you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m worried about her.” His voice shook. He paused. “I figured you, of all people, would get it.”
Ah. There it was.
“Because of what happened with Kubo?” Ren said quietly.
Yosuke’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. Yeah. And Nanako, and—and even Yukiko and the others. People just showing up and taking them—”
The bottle creaked between his fingers. He stopped, loosened his grip. Ducked his head to wipe his nose on his sleeve.
“I do get it,” Ren said. Yosuke sniffed. “I do, Yosuke. Believe me. I’m scared all the time, every day, that something’s going to happen to Maya or Sai.”
“Then why can’t I be?” Yosuke demanded, glaring at him. “Why can’t I make sure she’s safe? Why is it weird or bad or wrong?”
Ren looked from Yosuke’s fierce, blazing eyes to Kanae’s drooping eyelids.
“When you do these things,” Ren said at last, choosing each word like skipping stones from the riverside. “When you...come downstairs in the middle of the night to check all the locks. Or sit up reading about the seven worst ways your baby could die.” Yosuke flushed; got it in one. “Do you feel like you can control it? Could you stop, if you wanted to?”
Yosuke held Ren’s gaze. The flush spread slowly into his throat, his ears, across his nose and even round his eyes, gone red and puffy and glittering. The only sound in the room was Kanae’s steady suckling.
“There’s scared,” Ren said, tipping his chin down, “and then there’s—”
“Don’t say paranoid,” Yosuke burst out, so suddenly that Kanae blinked awake. “Don’t.”
Ren cocked his head. “Is that what Yu says?”
The bottle groaned again, and again Yosuke consciously loosened his grasp. He wouldn’t look straight at Ren anymore, but rather to one side, over his shoulder. “No.”
“Then where did you get that word from?”
Yosuke’s forehead furrowed; a muscle jumped in his jaw.
“I was going to say compelled,” Ren added after a moment. “But I don’t really know if that’s what this is. You’d need to ask a therapist who’s dealt with it before.”
Yosuke sniffed, ducked his head again, made a show of wiping his nose when Ren knew he was wiping his cheeks. “And what is ‘this?’ ”
“A fear so big and bad that you can’t escape it, even for a minute.”
Yosuke’s face crumpled. He gathered Kanae closer, curling his arm around her as if to shield her from—maybe Ren. Maybe the ghosts crowded around them both. Maybe the shadows on the pavement outside.
“If something happened to her,” he whispered.
Ren put his hand on Yosuke’s shoulder. Squeezed when he shuddered.
“I know,” Ren said. “I know.”
***
Yosuke let Ren carry Kanae up the stairs, holding his breath the entire time. It didn’t matter that Yosuke had seen Ren carry a hundred heavier things, or that he could tell by the curve of Ren’s shoulders how carefully he was holding her, or that Ren took the stairs one at a time, placing both feet on each step before he moved on. Yosuke could see Kanae’s soft, delicate head in the crook of Ren’s elbow, the dark sweep of her hair against pale, almost translucent skin; and all he could think was how fragile she was, how if Ren dropped her she would break, she would slide down the stairs and land at the bottom in an awful heap, she would scream and scream or maybe she wouldn’t maybe she’d be still and silent and when he touched her she’d be cold—
His nails bit into his palms; pain looped around his skull from his gritted teeth; his lungs burned for oxygen. Yosuke rasped a breath, flexing his fingers.
They reached the landing, and Ren padded into the nursery. Hovering in the doorway, Yosuke wished he could see what was really happening. Wished he could appreciate that one of his closest friends was here, holding his daughter like something precious. But the constant drone in his head set his teeth on edge, made his heart pound. Ren was going to drop her. Or he was going to lay her down on her stomach, and she’d suffocate. Or he was going to leave the room without checking the lock on the window, and then something would crawl in and take her away, and Yosuke would never see her again or he’d see her small and gray and—
Ren settled Kanae onto her back, and turned. “You want to check on her?”
Yosuke stumbled forward, clutched the crib rail so hard it hurt. Reached in and laid his palm on Kanae’s chest. Felt her ribcage expanding. Felt her heart fluttering. Squeezed his eyes shut and focused on her life, on the warm relief flooding through him.
A squeak drew his attention. Ren was tugging the window, testing the latch. He caught Yosuke’s eye and smiled wryly.
“Just making sure,” he said. “All good?”
Yosuke swallowed. “Yeah,” he managed, and dragged himself away from his daughter.
Ren put his arm around Yosuke’s shoulders and steered him out of the room.
“I’m gonna go downstairs for a little while longer,” Ren said. Yosuke stared hard at him, trying to ignore the niggling urge to rush back through the doorway and make sure Kanae was still breathing. “I’ll bring the baby monitor with me when I come back up.”
Yosuke nodded. “Gotcha.”
Ren stepped back. Yosuke felt cold and small without him.
“G’night, Yosuke.”
“Ren?” Yosuke blurted, as Ren started down the steps.
Ren blinked at him.
“Do you think I—” Yosuke swallowed again with a shattered throat. “D’you think I need—y’know—pills? Medication?”
Ren tipped his head to one side. “I don’t know.”
Yosuke’s stomach clenched. “Do you take pills?”
“Yes,” Ren said simply. Like it was easy. “So does Akechi.”
“And you have for a while?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t seem like zombies, or like their brains had turned to mush. Yosuke breathed out shakily.
“You guys take them, and they help you,” he said. He felt stupid talking like this, like he was four years old or something, but he couldn’t ask. That would be worse.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Yosuke said. “Good.”
Searching Yosuke’s face, Ren gripped his wrist and squeezed.
“We can talk more about it in the morning,” he murmured. “Okay? Get some sleep.”
Yosuke nodded. Ren let go, and stood there until Yosuke turned on his heel and staggered toward the bedroom.
By the time Yosuke got under the covers, he was really, really shaking, like that time they’d hit turbulence flying to Hawaii and he’d hurled into the little plasticky bag in the seat pocket. He and Yu both slept hot, so they only kept a thin blanket on the bed, but tonight it wasn’t enough. Yosuke’s fingers and toes were numb.
Beside him, Yu slept, mouth open, snoring slightly. He could sleep through anything. He’d actually slept through Kanae’s crying the first night she’d been home. For some reason, at the time, Yosuke had thought that was funny; he’d started wheezing from laughing so hard.
When was the last time he’d laughed like that?
“Partner?” he rasped, groping for Yu’s shoulder. “Hey, Partner.”
Yu snorted, wrinkled his nose, opened his eyes. “Hmg?”
“Yu,” Yosuke said. His teeth chattered. “I—”
Yu’s expression cleared. “Yosuke,” he said, thick with sleep, and put his hand over Yosuke’s. His palm was rough and warm. “What’s’a matter? Is Kanae okay?”
“Y-yeah,” Yosuke said, rising to a squeak as his throat closed and his eyes filled with tears. God, he was a mess. He was falling apart. “She’s—I’m—”
“Hey,” Yu murmured. He snuggled closer, pressing their foreheads together, slinging his arm over Yosuke’s waist. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”
Yosuke rolled onto his side and let Yu cocoon him, even though Yosuke was objectively bigger and harder to cocoon than Yu was. He needed it: needed to burrow into Yu’s chest and cover his shirt in snot and shake and shake and shake while Yu rubbed his back and said his name like it was the only word in the world. Or the only one that mattered.
He didn’t know how long it took him to calm down, but when he did, a headache was lancing across his skull and Yu’s shirt was completely soaked through.
“I’m sorry, Partner,” Yosuke said. He would never have admitted it was a whimper. “I’ve been—completely crazy.”
“You’re not crazy,” Yu said, strong and sure. Yosuke almost believed him.
“I’m so scared, all the time.”
“I know.”
“I need—” Yosuke’s breath hitched—“help.”
Yu redoubled his grip, so tight as to be painful, but Yosuke clung tighter in turn, wishing he could climb into Yu’s body and hide within the armor of his bones.
“Okay,” Yu said. “Okay, Yosuke. We’ll get you help.”