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Everything was pitch black.
Senku didn’t remember why that was the case, but it didn’t occur to him to wonder. He tried to turn his head to look around, but he soon had another realisation. He couldn’t move.
That was when he remembered the green light. The statues. And he remembered struggling to grasp what was going on, how the hell this could possibly have happened, before it had gotten dark out and he’d realised he had better start counting the days until this wore off. But he’d been counting for such a long time.
It hit Senku that he was stuck like this, and he was never going to escape. He could count all he liked, but it would be entirely pointless. He wasn’t getting out in the spring — he wasn’t getting out ever. He was trapped.
And then his eyes snapped open and …
And it wasn’t a dream.
He was lying on his back, unable to see anything other than the starlit sky and too paralysed from fear to even attempt to move. He was petrified again, cursed to lie there in the darkness forever, alone.
“Senku?”
The voice confused Senku at first, but then a jolt of hope burst through him as he realised somebody had spoken to him. Then the sleep-induced haze began to leave his brain and he realised who exactly had said his name, which made him grasp sense of reality at last. He was no longer petrified. He had friends, living friends, who were most likely sleeping not too far away. He hadn’t been transported back to his mossy stone prison, he had simply fallen asleep in the observatory. Yeah, he remembered that now. He liked it so much he hadn’t wanted to leave, so he and Gen had brought some blankets up and made a nest on the floor. They must have fallen asleep together at some point. The more he began to realise these things, the more foolish he felt. Especially when the voice spoke again.
“Why are you crying?”
If Senku were to answer the question, he’d say it was more out of relief than anything else now. Of course, it had initially started due to the blind panic he’d been in, but Senku decided that that would be more than a little embarrassing to admit now that he’d made sense of what had happened.
He’d had a nightmare.
He, the village chief and the very man who was going to restore humanity, had been reduced to a pathetic sobbing mess over a nightmare. What made everything ten billion percent worse was that Gen had witnessed the whole thing. Senku knew he was far from being seen as physically strong, he’d made his peace with that long ago, but emotionally? He’d always been the guy who didn’t care for sentiment or mushy feelings — even his own father knew that about him — and he’d certainly never let himself get to the point of looking as though he needed comfort, not in public at least. But now, as he felt the mentalist beside him pull his shaking body into a hug, Senku allowed himself lean into in the embrace. He felt as though doing anything other than that would break him.
“It’s okay, Senku, you’re safe,” Gen whispered into the darkness, gently cradling the man in question. The hug was firm and grounding, yet still loose enough for Senku to wriggle free if necessary. Not that he’d want to in a billion years, of course. Gen was right. He felt safe.
Senku tried to steady his breathing, shame flooding through him as he wondered how he was going to explain what was wrong when Gen inevitably asked again. Although, Gen had been through a similar experience, sort of. Perhaps he’d understand?
“Are you ready to talk about it?” There was a softness in Gen’s voice that Senku had scarcely heard before. After a moment of pondering, Senku shrugged. “S— sorry,” he choked out between sobs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried in front of someone; even as a little kid he’d done his best not to let that happen.
“It’s okay,” Gen reassured him. “Bad dream, was it?”
Senku paused, before nodding stiffly. “I thought …” He repressed a sob. “I thought I was petrified again. I couldn’t … sorry. It’s really dumb.”
“No it’s not.” The words were more reassuring to Senku than Gen could ever know. “It must have been horrible, being awake for all that time. I can’t even imagine.”
“Yeah, it … wasn’t too fun,” Senku sniffled.
“But you’re here now,” Gen said, still holding Senku close. “That’s never going to happen to you again.”
“Well, probably,” Senku corrected him. His voice still shook, but he found the lump in his throat had vanished now. “We can’t exactly make that call when we still don’t even know what caused it.”
“True,” Gen admitted with a sigh. “But it happened so long ago. What are the chances of it happening again?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Senku wiped his face, trying to look as much like someone who had most certainly not just sobbed into the chest of possibly the most annoying person he knew as he could. He felt a little bad after that thought though, which was unlike him. He supposed Gen was … nicer than he’d initially thought. The guy had gotten a whole observatory built for him, he couldn’t exactly dislike him after that.
“Thanks, by the way,” Senku said eventually, sitting up. He couldn’t quite meet Gen’s eyes — like he’d said, sentiment really wasn’t his thing, so he tried to be as casual as possible with what he was about to say. “For, y’know, being so nice about this. And …” he gestured around the room. “For all this.”
“Oh, of course,” Gen said softly. “But I can’t take all the credit. I would never have been able to do it without the villagers’ help.”
“You still made it happen. I didn’t wanna get all mushy in front of everyone, but“ — he let out a wry laugh — “I feel like we’re past that stage at this point. So … thanks. I love it.”
“Good.” Senku still wasn’t looking at him, but he could hear Gen’s smile in the adoring tone of his voice. He felt a shift in the blankets, followed by a sudden weight on his shoulder, and looked over in surprise to see that Gen was leaning against him. Senku fought back a fond smile; after all, that had been too much emotion for one day. He had to save some of it, right?
The two of them sat like that for a while, enjoying the warmth of one another as they gazed at the stars. The window was directly in front of where they’d set up their makeshift bed in the middle of the room, and Senku found himself admiring the telescope once again. It had actually been well made, considering its creators had only just found out how to make it. It must have taken a while, though — the same went for the observatory. All that work, just for him. And to think he’d so hastily assumed the people who’d done all that for him were going to kill him.
“Well, we should get some more sleep,” said Senku eventually, lying down and pulling the blankets around him. “I have a lot planned for tomorrow.”
“What, for those rocks?” Gen asked with a yawn, settling down beside Senku and nestling into him. For warmth, of course.
Senku grinned. “Precisely.”
“Hm, fun,” Gen mumbled sleepily. “About tomorrow, are you going to acknowledge that any of this ever happened?”
Senku gave a short laugh. “Probably not.”
“Okay. Well in that case, I love you.”
The words hung in the silence as Senku tried to process that Gen had actually said that. Gen must have gotten the wrong idea at Senku’s failure to reply, because he quickly began to apologise before Senku cut him off.
“Love you too. Now be quiet and get some rest.”