Work Text:
It’s rare for Kaito to be up past ten o’clock at night. Usually his bedtime is even earlier than that, sometimes around eight thirty to nine, but he’ll go for the occasional “late night” here and there, if you can even call it that. It’s Rantaro who will be up late—early—on a regular basis, staring at his phone until his eyes ache and the sky turns a dusty pale blue, the faint sound of birdsong beginning to sound from their backyard. A combination of anxiety and jetlag usually have Rantaro wide awake past midnight, half so bone weary that all he wants to do is sleep and half buzzing so much that he feels he could get on a plane right that moment and keep going for a while longer after that.
Still, it’s nice that Kaito gets to bed so early. Sets a good example, and anyway, Rantaro likes to watch him sleep. There’s something about his face when he’s sleeping peacefully, the way the creases all smooth out and his lips part, his chest rising and falling with soft, steady breaths… it’s nice. It reminds Rantaro that he’s safe, that he’s here, and that’s all he can ask for sometimes.
There are times when Kaito stays up, though. Admittedly it’s usually just to receive Rantaro when he gets in from a late flight—and on those nights Kaito will often pass out just as or even before Rantaro has gotten home—but sometimes he stays up late with work, too, going between his laptop and the many astrophysics textbooks he has open around him at his desk. It’s kind of nice to have the company on those nights, even though Rantaro feels a little guilty for enjoying what will inevitably leave Kaito sleepy and disoriented for the entirety of the next day.
Kaito’s nice to watch then, too, the way he ties his hair down into a messy bun and lets his glasses lay crooked. Sometimes when he concentrates his tongue will stick out of the corner of his mouth, and Rantaro will be unable to keep from smiling at him, wide enough that Kaito often notices and gets embarrassed. It’s not like he even does it on purpose, smile like that, as much as he likes to see his boyfriend flustered—it’s just… how can Rantaro see him and not smile? He’s perfect.
Rantaro crawls out of bed on one such night, suddenly craving a bowl of chocolate cereal. Kaito glances up at him briefly as he slips out the door, but says nothing. He’s clearly immersed in his work, so Rantaro decides not to bother him. This should just be a quick trip anyway. Maybe he’ll grab the man a glass of water while he’s in the kitchen, though.
It’s around two in the morning as Rantaro pads into the kitchen, opening the fridge for a carton of milk. The sky is still fully black outside, though it’s far from dark. Their apartment is pretty close to the city center, both for the sake of being near to the airport and so Kaito has a convenient commute to work, and it’s a nice, practical location, but it also means that the light pollution is so bad here that they can never see any stars. Rantaro stares out the window over the sink as he pours out the cereal. Even if it’s an awful mess, the neon city lights are pretty in a way, how they blend and warp together through the foggy glass of the kitchen window. Rantaro might go out on the balcony after this with one of Kaito’s blankets and watch the cars go by. Maybe it’s strange, but Rantaro has always liked doing things like that. Watching people. Observing the world. There’s just so much of it to see, so many people to admire. Rantaro can’t help wanting to drink it all in every time he’s in town.
Rantaro’s finishing off the cereal in his bowl when a loud, muffled crash interrupts him. He nearly drops it, milk sloshing over the side and onto the kitchen tile. That alone is cause enough for alarm, but just as Rantaro’s opened his mouth to ask what happened, a scream erupts from the bedroom. Every hair in Rantaro’s body stands up on end and he does drop this bowl this time, rushing down the hall and back into his bedroom before Kaito even has time to cry his name again.
He shoves the door open with his shoulder, gasping, “What happened? What happened, Kaito, are you okay?” and stops only to take in the scene, concern making his stomach lurch. The crash must have been from some of Kaito’s books, which are scattered across the floor now, pages creased underneath them.
Kaito, a far more immediate concern than the books, is out of his seat, backed up into the wall by their bed with his eyes wide and his arms wrapped around himself. He’s pale and shaking the way he often gets when he sees something eerie, and from the way his gaze flits about the room, focusing primarily on the tall shadows cast by the slight opening of their curtains and the lamp on his desk, it’s obvious almost immediately what happened.
Still, Rantaro should probably ask if it was something else before he jumps to any conclusions. He comes into the room with far less urgency now, stepping over the fallen books and making his way over to where Kaito’s huddled. He crouches down but doesn’t reach out and touch, especially seeing how Kaito cringes away before opening one eye to peer back out at Rantaro.
“Hey,” Rantaro says, gentler now. He rests his hands on his knees, palms up where Kaito can see them. “What happened? Did you see something?”
“I—” Kaito’s voice catches in his throat and he hiccups on it, drawing his knees tighter against his chest. He doesn’t continue right away, eyes flickering to the wall behind Rantaro, but Rantaro doesn’t move or even speak, waiting for him to finish. He can guess well enough what’s going on, but he doesn’t want to assume or talk over Kaito. There are too many people in his life who would already be doing that to him.
Eventually, Kaito curls his arms around his stomach instead, hands catching on his elbows and squeezing. He looks distraught, tears caught in his eyelashes, but his voice only shakes slightly when he speaks, words low and quiet and deliberate, as though he’s struggling to keep himself together.
“I saw—something. Sorry. Probably just—an animal or something, or a shadow, it was—” He grimaces now, his grip tightening so much on his elbows that Rantaro can see his nails digging in. “It was stupid. I thought—”
Now, Rantaro does finish for him— “You thought it was a ghost?”
Kaito flinches. Rantaro bites his lip, regretting it immediately, but when Kaito nods, he seems less upset that he heard the word and more just embarrassed, some pink colouring the skin around his eyes and ears, his lower lip wobbling dangerously. He opens his mouth to speak, but his voice breaks; he settles for nodding again, looking at Rantaro almost desperately, as though scared to be judged.
Rantaro would never judge him for something like this, though. He would never judge Kaito for anything. He knows why Kaito is afraid of ghosts, the entire long, gritty story, but even if he didn’t—that wouldn’t make it open season for mockery. No matter how Kaito’s friends treat it that way.
“It’s okay, Kaito,” Rantaro whispers. He reaches under Kaito’s glasses with his thumb to brush away his tears, then rights them on his nose. Kaito’s sight is valuable to him right now. He needs those glasses. “It’s okay. You were right that it was probably just an animal moving outside or you being really tired, but it wasn’t stupid. I’ve seen some pretty freaky stuff while sleep deprived too.” He finishes wiping Kaito’s eyes and uses his hand to cup Kaito’s cheek, lightly stroking the heated skin with his fingertips. “One time I thought I saw a swarm of bees in a woman’s hair. I started trying to swat at them.”
“At—” Kaito lets out a choked laugh. “At her hair?”
“At her hair,” Rantaro repeats solemnly. “She wasn’t pleased, nor was she very understanding when I snapped out of it and tried to explain.” He sighs, shaking his head, and Kaito giggles again, a quiet, watery sound. Despite what just happened, Rantaro smiles, bringing his hand from Kaito’s cheek to the top of his head to ruffle his hair, and Kaito leans into the touch with a sigh.
They stay like that for a moment. Rantaro pets Kaito’s hair while he watches the tension ease from Kaito’s face and shoulders, a few more stray tears dripping off his chin. In turn, his own adrenaline ebbs, leaving the familiar pulse of tired relief. He’s glad it wasn’t anything worse. Kaito’s ghost phobia is trauma based, and thus, it’s pretty awful when it gets him like this—but at least he’s safe. At least Rantaro didn’t come close to losing him tonight. That’s all he can ask for, really.
Eventually, Kaito pushes himself up slightly, his legs starting to unfold. He doesn’t speak, but he puts out his arms, hands resting lightly against Rantaro’s shoulders, so Rantaro takes his cue and reaches down to loop his arms around Kaito’s waist, standing the both of them up. Kaito seems pretty listless—understandably, in the wake of his panic—so Rantaro makes the executive decision to steer him into bed, nabbing his glasses to put aside and crawling under the covers with him. There are books that need cleaned up and not to mention a broken bowl of milk on the kitchen floor, but…
It can wait. Rantaro wouldn’t want to be alone right now, in Kaito’s position, and… if he’s honest, he doesn’t especially want to leave Kaito’s side, either. It’s okay. He’ll scrub the tile really hard tomorrow to make up for it, and hold Kaito tonight. That should work just fine.