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Three thousand and twenty two… Three thousand and twenty three…
His heart rate is approaching one hundred and thirty beats per minute. His hands are clammy. His breathing is more labored than appropriate for his current activity level, which is none. Despite it being absolutely illogical, it feels like the walls of his hut are about to collapse on top of him.
The experience is reminiscent of the time Tsukasa killed him — the same dread curling in the pit of his stomach, the same animal instincts screaming at him to flee instead of staying rooted in place.
Ishigami Senku concludes that he is having a panic attack with as much detachment as a person suffering a panic attack can.
Working hypothesis: Chrome’s prolonged absence to take care of village affairs means Senku has spent an inordinate amount of time on his own. During the days he is surrounded by other people; come nightfall it’s easy to imagine he is the only person left in the world. This is a stressor for him due to the trauma of over three thousand years of solitude.
Supporting evidence: The heart palpitations he has to ignore whenever he wanders a little too far off on his own and the wilderness folds around him like a neatly tucked blanket. How his breath picks up when the others are out of sight and the only trace of civilization is him.
He stumbles out of the bed only to collapse onto the floor, legs unable to bear him. There are black spots dancing in his vision and Senku can’t help the humorless laugh that leaves him — all this knowledge he holds, and yet he is just as much a slave to his base instincts as anyone else.
Three thousand one hundred and forty five….
Just like back then.
How annoying.
Senku knows those who don’t know him well imagine that he’s emotionless; cold and calculating with nothing but science on his mind. He sort of wishes that was true right now, one hand pressed down hard on his breastbone as he tries breathing in a square, mind racing to calculate the most optimal way to deal with the anxiety.
Lift my arms to allow my lungs space to expand. Grounding techniques. Three thousand one hundred and sixty seven. Five things I can see. Three thousand one hundred and sixty eight.
He wonders if he should call over Taiju and Yuzuriha — or Gen, who would surely have a dozen annoying things to say about his state, but ultimately decides against it. It wouldn’t be the first sleepless night he’s endured in this stone world.
Even in the relative noisiness of the camp, Senku’s particular frequency has always been easy for Ukyo to pick up on. He doesn’t know if it’s out of loyalty or simply because Senku is more pleasant to listen to than ninety percent of the others and truthfully, he’s since long stopped caring about the why; it just is, a constant running background hum in his sensitive ears of Senku’s breathing, his muttering, his exclamations of exhilaration.
He never really found a reason to tune out. Never really tried to, either — Ukyo figures that Senku is more than aware of his hearing and would have taken steps to mitigate it if he were uncomfortable.
And tonight, something seems off. Ukyo shakes it off at first, trying to ignore the rustle of sheets as Senku uncharacteristically twists and turns. He snuggles further into his own coat, tugging his hat down over his eyes to avoid looking in the direction the noises are coming from.
But from his position up in one of the few trees they hadn’t cut down around Roppongi Hills he listens to Senku’s breathing grow more and more wrong and when he can’t ignore it any longer his feet move of their own volition until he finds himself in front of the scientist’s hut, Senku’s painful wheezing and thundering heartbeat deafeningly loud.
With nothing but Senku’s well-being on his mind he rushes inside, ready to raise the alarm as soon as he finds what’s wrong — only to be met with Senku’s exhausted grin and a half-hearted salute from where he’s sat on the floor.
“Yo, sonar-man. I should’ve, hah, figured you’d hear me freaking out, hah, from across the camp.”
The words come out surprisingly steady considering Senku speaks between greedy gulps of breath. Beads of sweat gather at his hairline on his forehead and neck, rolling down over his naked chest. He looks exhausted and — impossibly — scared.
“Senku!”
Ukyo’s eyes dart back and forth as he takes in Senku’s state; he is both pleased and confused at the lack of any visible wounds or bruising.
“I am having a panic attack,” Senku says.
To anyone else Senku might have sounded somewhat calm and collected — Ukyo is probably the only person in the camp who can pick up on the minuscule quiver in his voice, the cracks in his normally flawless delivery.
“I see,” Ukyo says, wetting his lips and sinking down on his haunches so they’re seeing eye to eye. “That sounds mildly unpleasant.”
Senku barks out a surprised laugh and Ukyo can feel his lips twitch in response. While he might not have been around as long as Taiju or Chrome or even Gen, he’d like to imagine that he still knows Senku pretty well. Sentimentality has always been wasted on him and Ukyo’s glad his instincts steered him right, seeing Senku ruefully shake his head.
“It really is, sonar-man. Ever had one?”
Senku’s words have a wheezy quality to them and his heart is still racing. It makes Ukyo’s heart squeeze in turn, because if he hadn’t heard him he knows that Senku would have most likely spent the night sitting like this. Alone.
“Mm,” Ukyo hums affirmative, taking off his cap and squeezing it in his hands. “I bet knowing all about them doesn’t really help with the real deal.”
“One hundred billion points to you,” Senku says, head tipping back towards the mattress. “A physical sensation of fear even with no danger present, presenting as physiological symptoms such as, ah, shortness of breath, muscle tension and dizziness. Utterly illogical.”
“Is it because Chrome is gone?”
The wide-eyed look Senku shoots him has Ukyo duck his head, a little flustered.
“I’m no mentalist, but it isn’t hard to draw the conclusion. Nights out here can get pretty lonely, especially once you’re used to being partnered up.”
Practically all of them were; they simply didn’t have the materials to build huts for every single person in the Science Kingdom anyway. Most slept three to four in a single hut, but there were also barracks that housed up to ten people.
Ukyo was the only one who had a room to himself by virtue of his hearing, a kind gesture that ultimately meant nothing as he spent most of his nights awake anyway. The flimsy walls weren’t enough to block out the sounds of snoring, sex and other mundane noises that came with humanity.
“One hundred billion points more, I guess.”
Senku seems to have calmed down a little, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight as he regards Ukyo — but his chest is still heaving and his hand trembles faintly, Ukyo notes.
In Tsukasa’s empire, testosterone and strength had reigned supreme. Ukyo often felt terribly lonely there, sleeping with one hand on the body of his bow just in case some muscle-bound jock decided to take him out in order to climb the hierarchy. And even before then, in the 21st century, he’d often sat in his one room apartment with loneliness gnawing at his insides.
Here, too, Ukyo suffers from it even though he hates to admit it. It feels terribly selfish to walk around their village with a sucking void in his chest, wishing someone, anyone would reach out their hand —
It’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish upon anybody, least of all Senku. Senku, with his brilliant mind and underlying kindness. Senku, who’d promised Ukyo that no one would die with such confidence that he’d let himself believe for the first time since waking in this new world.
“Do you want me to stay for tonight?” Ukyo asks. “Or should I go grab —“
Gen, he nearly says, biting his tongue at the stab of insecurity he feels.
“Nah, no need to grab anyone. You’ll do just fine, sonar-man.”
There’s tangible relief in Senku’s voice and Ukyo is glad to hear it, squeezing his cap hard to keep from reaching out and patting Senku on the shoulder.
Senku breathes in for four seconds, holds for four, exhales for four. Then he unceremoniously clambers back up on the one bed present in the hut and shuffles in under an eclectic mix of pelts and blankets made from scraps unsuitable for sails or clothes, turning his gaze meaningfully to Ukyo.
Ukyo remembers the blankets being made vividly — all the kingdom had been made to participate in order to establish some baseline sewing skill amongst them all — and he feels a strange vertigo as his eyes wander down to a familiar line of crooked stitches, neatly punctuated by a blood stain.
What a coincidence. He made that.
His hesitation must be seen as modesty because Senku clicks his tongue in between the breathing exercises he’s still doing, motioning toward the side of the bed.
“I one hundred billion percent do not care about sharing if you don’t,” Senku says, pinky picking at his ear. “Chrome and I already do. It helps conserve heat and makes it so we don’t have to waste resources that could go toward the ship.”
Ever pragmatic.
The rustle of his quiver followed by his coat hitting the floor almost makes him flinch, that’s how loud it is. The beating of his heart is coming a close second though, thundering in his breast as he kicks off his shoes and approaches Senku.
Ukyo holds his breath as he crawls into the bed, unsure why he feels so off-kilter all of a sudden. He offered Senku his support and still here he is, feeling as though he’d need an intervention of his own.
“Going by the moons position in the sky we have…” Senku mutters some calculations under his breath. “About five more hours of sleep before sun’s up. Roughly.”
“I see,” Ukyo responds softly.
He lowers himself down on the mattress and quickly discovers that there is no way to lie that doesn’t involve cuddling in some manner, so without further ado he slots himself against Senku, chest to back. He wonders if this is how Senku and Chrome sleeps together, huffing in amusement against the back of Senku’s neck.
Senku gives a full-body shiver, then his entire body relaxes and molds against Ukyo’s.
Ukyo in turn has to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat because he knows now why he feels so weird — this is the most human contact he’s had in over three thousand years. The closest someone has let him since before he joined the SDF, in fact, where he settled into a solitary lifestyle that he couldn’t ever quite shake.
He feels an intense stab of jealousy at Chrome who gets to share with Senku like this a majority of the time.
“Is it alright if I…?” Ukyo tentatively touches Senku’s ribs and hopes the other doesn’t hear how affected he is.
“Go ahead,” Senku mutters, already sounding half asleep. “And then sleep already.”
“I’m glad I was around to help you.”
He snakes his arm around Senku’s slender waist, squeezing his eyes closed against the gathering tears. The heat of another person, the sound of a chest rising and falling in sync with his own — the fact that both belong to Senku.
“You are absolutely being one billion percent cringe right now, Ukyo.”
“You know me.” Ukyo laughs quietly. “I’m the platitudes guy.”
“Whatever,” Senku says, then follows up a little quieter with: “Your super hearing did come in handy tonight.”
After that none of them speak. Little by little Senku’s breathing slows and Ukyo consciously tries to keep the same pace, sinking further and further under. Unable to stop himself he noses into Senku’s hair, lips ticking upward at the smell of chlorine and woodsmoke that would be off putting on anyone other than Senku.
The crisp sound of glassware exploding is what catapults Ukyo to wakefulness and he jolts violently underneath heavy blankets, disoriented and for a moment expecting his bed posts and the whiskers of a very naughty cat to greet him.
Then he realizes that no, his bed must have rotted into the earth thousands of years ago and Shiro similarly. A grimace twists his face as he blinks, feeling Senku shift against him.
Senku — !
The memories of last night smack him over the head as soon as he turns his head only to get a face full of white-green hair, his arms full of sleepy scientist. During the night they have drifted impossibly closer, legs tangled together. It’s so, so warm.
Ukyo has to take a breath to hold fast against the urge to press a kiss to Senku’s soft nape, reminding himself over and over that they are friends, that this is a platonic and business-like arrangement. Every cell in his body screams for intimacy, a slumbering need that is impossible to quiet now that he’s had a taste of it.
‘Touch starved’. The term rises from somewhere deep, a dusty memory that belongs to another age entirely.
Three more minutes, then he regretfully untangles himself from Senku as careful as he can and then tucks the blankets back in around his still sleeping form. It strikes Ukyo that he hasn’t felt this well rested in months; before he knows it he’s up and dressed, thinking ahead to what needs to get done today.
Huh.
As he hops into one shoe he makes a mental note to first try and talk to Yuzuriha about Senku’s stress to ensure that they’re all looking out for him. He knows she’ll be far more discreet than Taiju; besides, he has the feeling that she’s already aware that something’s off. The way she searches Senku’s face sometimes gives her away.
Ukyo spares one last lingering glance at Senku with his hand on the door, affection swelling in his chest. There’s a twinge of something he doesn’t want to examine too closely when he sees Senku’s features slack with sleep, messy hair covering the pillow.
With his free hand he tips his cap in a gesture that would most likely have Senku gagging about ‘cringe’ if he were awake. He’s unable to stop smiling as he steps outside, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air.
It is relatively quiet at this hour; aside from the initial broken glass it’s been peaceful enough that he half feels like he has his beloved earplugs back.
A movement in the corner of his eye alerts him to Ryusui, who’s staring wide-eyed at Ukyo emerging from Senku’s hut with his trademark grin forming on his lips.
“Oh, great,” Ukyo mutters.
Ryusui looks absolutely delighted, and Ukyo knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that all his plans for the day have effectively been derailed.
It was worth it, at least.