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He couldn’t sleep. Again.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it by now, as insomnia had become a new friend for him recently, but it was still a phantom feeling for him as he walked barefoot across the wooden floors of his apartment to stare out the window at the London skyline. London was never quiet, even at this time of night. Kit supposed that his mind was just trying to keep up, even though he knew damn well that’s not why he was awake.
He had a meeting tomorrow. Well, okay, technically this morning, if he really wanted to go into the details of it right now. Zoom call, going over the plans of Heartstopper Season 3. He’d managed to avoid everything so far, mostly with excuses of voice acting jobs that hid him away behind a recording booth. He’s got no such luck here.
The thought of him being seen like this still makes him shiver as he bites his lip, looking down at what had become of his body and the consequences of his actions as the sleep shirt pulled over his swollen abdomen flexed under the hand he was holding there. 20 years old, height of his career, about to shoot a new season of a wildly popular queer media TV show where he played a high schooler. He’d be lucky if he didn’t show up on the first day of filming looking like a 50 year old man who had one too many beers at the pub over the years.
God, he hadn’t meant for this to happen. He knew the baby was Joe’s, it’s not like they hadn’t had their fair share of “practice” given Charlie and Nick would be doing the same in this new season arc if the books and the show runners had their way, so what would be so bad about “practising” their parts in real life? That had been the first mistake. Then Kit had developed feelings, which was the second mistake and now, as he feels wriggling under his fingers and some squirms that tell of stretching little limbs beginning to get as restless as he was, he couldn’t deny that he’d fucked up.
Big time.
Staring at the ceiling, he thankfully managed to keep the tears at bay before he took a deep breath, chest practically heaving with the effort as the moon lit up the dreary scene around him. He just had to get through today.
He just had to get through today.
It was a disaster.
An entire fucking disaster.
Kit sniffled from underneath the hoodie he wore that somehow was bigger than his body, slightly dark eyes watching as the world around him rolled on, runners passing him by in the park he’d found himself in after wandering aimlessly around his neighbourhood for a while, his brain still replaying everything over and over again.
It had been going well, at first. Everyone was excited to see each other. Kit had been excited to see everyone as well, given the circumstances. Directing staff, producers, Alice, new costars. The screen was filled with at least 50 different people or so it looked. Then, in the corner, he spotted Joe and his hands became sweaty, skin breaking out in goosebumps when he heard his voice and making him grip the sides of his computer chair before he eased and got back into the conversations going on in front of him.
He could get through this. He could. All he needed to do was ignore Joe (and his rising guilt) for the time being and focus on work, but then…the baby had other ideas.
At first, it was just a few protestive kicks, something which made him feel quite ill. They seemed to be having a larger impact today, however, given he was already so high strung. While he felt a little green, he still continued to listen intently as the director ran though the first few episodes they would be shooting and outlines for them.
But then, as he was about to speak, he felt a roll inside of him that made him audibly gag into the microphone before he had to spit out something excusable only to turn tail and take off to the bathroom, throwing up the remains of his breakfast, sweaty red fringe sticking to his forehead as he lent over the toilet, collapsed in a Kit Connor puddle.
Eventually, he managed to wobble his way on shaky legs to the kitchen, grabbing his water bottle from the fridge and taking a few gulps of it to wash the taste of vomit out of his mouth, panting and groaning as he lent against the countertop on the backs of his arms as his stomach still wouldn’t settle. His back was also sore as well, despite the fact that his stomach was now hanging down and taking most of the weight off of it.
Face resting against the cold marble, it took almost 15 minutes for him to feel somewhat normal again (which was a stretch), before he trudged back over to his chair and rolled back into frame of the camera like nothing had even happened, resuming with an “Anyway, I personally think that Nick this season-“
It’s only after he rambles on for a good 5 more minutes that he then realises everyone’s gone dead silent. There is a lot of staring through the camera and worse, Joe’s looking down the barrel of his camera like someone’s jumped off a building in front of him. That’s all it takes for Kit’s face to drain of blood and pale. Oh, he’s really done it now.
The director, ever so gently, asks him a question. Only he doesn’t actually know what he asked as he’s staring at Joe with the guiltiest expression and while he’s aware other people are here, all he can see is him and his suddenly stupidly emotionless face and it scares him half to death. One stuttered apology before disconnecting from the call quickly (did someone call out for him-) and with a million voices telling him who awful of a person he is in his head, here he was.
The hoodie leaves nothing to the imagination. Kit’s already filled it out and then some, but at least it makes a good place to hide. The paparazzi would be crawling all over him if he saw him like this. They love nothing but a story they can write and post and let the public pick apart. He may have said that what happened earlier was the last thing he needed, but that would be the actual last. The thought made his stomach roll again and he groaned, wrapping an arm around it. “Oof, no. Please don’t. Not right now. Stop.”
The rolling doesn’t stop however, so he’s forced to get up and walk, despite wanting to just shrivel up and cry like he already had been. Walking seems to help slow them down a while despite that task having become harder and harder as time has gone by. In fact, come the last couple of months, just like the rest of this, it’s been downright hellish.
It’s his own fault he’s now made it worse.
Fully intending on hiding his head under the covers of his bed for the rest of his life (and maybe more), the short walk eventually leads him back to his own door just as the sun starts to set and London comes as alive as his stomach is. It’s also started to pour, so it was lucky he wasn’t caught out in that, given he can’t exactly run anymore. He's just about to sit down on the couch with a blanket over him and wallow in his self misery with a bowl of cereal (so what if it’s dinnertime?) when there is a rapid knocking on his front door and despite ignoring it at first, he groans as he gets back up again when it becomes quite clear whoever is on the other side doesn’t care he’s currently evaluating his will to live.
Hips grinding against each other, he grit his teeth as pried open the door on it’s chain, a string of filthy and not so nice words on his tongue - only for them to die away seeing his costar and friend (and more right now, but fuck ) looking almost like a Heartstopper scene, wet and luggage in hand. Oh, he is done for.
“...Hi.” It is suddenly so hard to breathe at the moment, so he just looks on in fear as Joe, fucking Joe, stands there looking what is visable of his form up and down. Obviously, the chain is on the door because you know, safety and it’s London, plus the blanket so there is only a partial view, but it still makes Kit shiver all the same.
“Hi.” Joe finally responds back, voice rough and deep as he drips onto Kit’s doormat in just sweats and a shirt similar to himself while the rain pounds lightly around him, duffle bag seemingly unscathed unlike him. Did he just…fly from the Isle of Mann to fucking arrive at Kit’s doorstep? The latter doesn’t know if that is more terrifying than before. “Can I come in?”
Kit should say no. He should prioritise his self worth and his dignity unlike that morning and say no, shut the door in his face and hide from the heavens as it were, but he can already feel his hand reaching up to open the latch and he wants to kick himself. Unfortunately, he already has someone doing that for him and even they are quiet right now. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t know why, but he tightens the blanket around himself when Joe finally pushes through the door. Of course, the man is gracious enough to close it, lock it and take off his shoes and jacket like the many, many times he’s been here before. Of course, last time he was here, Kit was left in this situation and the underlying tension is practically choking him as Joe turns around, wet black curls hanging over his eyes as he makes his way over to him where he is standing near the couch. “Wanted to check on you, you didn’t look well this morning.”
“Please don’t.” Kit squeaks out, tears already prickling behind his eyes as he can’t even look at him. “We both know that you didn’t just travel from the Isle of Mann within a few hours after seeing and hearing me throwing up on a Skype call.”
He can hear Joe breathing from somewhere, but isn’t expecting fingers to grasp his chin and turn his face towards him so that he’s looking at those blue, blue eyes. “I was actually supposed to be flying out to Atlanta for that Marvel thing I’m not allowed to talk about that I booked. I changed the flight last minute.”
Kit swallows. “Yeah, I know that feeling. I’m in discussions to do a stint in New York. Theatre. I was supposed to fly out next week or the week after to go and talk about it.” God, this is almost like normal, like nothing is wrong, like nothing is clearly fucking-
“Supposed to? Why aren’t you?” He doesn’t even have to say that he can’t, because whatever game they are playing, he knows Joe’s only playing it because-
“You just want to hear me say it.” Kit breathes, chest puffed out as he stares, wanting to feel annoyed and only feeling fear. “You just want me to say it to you so it’s actually real.”
Joe’s fingers flex on his jaw and neck and he just stares, eyes almost begging. “Please.”
“I…” Kit’s mouth opens, at least it tries to, but several speechless moments keep him from saying what he knows Joe wants to hear. He’s an actor for Christ’s sake, this should be easy, but right now he just feels like he might throw up all over the other man from the terror he was feeling through his blood alone. “...I’m scared.”
He doesn't mean for his voice to crack, but it does and his eyes squeeze shut again as a tear falls down his face, arms falling to wrap around his stomach, still hidden away and covered in the blanket that was becoming more of a useless object bunched in his hands and around his torso than a barrier between him and Joe. He hears Joe take in a large breath before he’s crushed into a rather wet hug as best as he can be, or really, willing to be.
He instead, just clings into the other man, attempting to keep the lower half of his body away from him with only veiled success, despite Joe’s attempts to get closer to him. It’s almost pathetic, how long Kit holds out for before he gives in and finally lets Joe hold him, but eventually he’s wrapped up in the other man’s arms as he sobs into his shoulder.
Despite the fact that Joe is two inches shorter than him, Kit can’t help but feel almost like a child himself as Joe leads them to the bedroom and lays them down. Of course, Kit these days can’t even lie on his back and he almost bolts straight back up from the amount of adrenaline still running through his veins, but Joe holds onto his wrist and he, as always, gives in quite quickly and shifts onto his left side so he’s facing the other, tear streaks still visible down his cheeks as he hiccups.
Grabbing at the blanket with those long fingers that Kit hates that he loves, Joe looks at him silently before Kit loosens his own grip and lets Joe take the blanket away, automatically moving to cover himself up with the sheets and duvet before Joe’s hand stops him again around his wrist and his arms instead go back to wrapping around himself in a vain attempt to hide. It’s worthless though, as he’s too big now to hide without something there and he can’t even meet his sides anymore with his hands, but he can’t help it. “M’ sorry.”
“No ‘S’ word, remember?” Joe whispers, his voice quiet, laced with a tenderness that makes Kit’s heart ache and his breath hitches as he fights back another wave of tears. All he wants to do is hide. He’s never felt so much dysphoria in his whole life and that’s saying a lot given he’s never had it till this happened.
Even when he was outed for being bisexual, he was still comfortable in his own body. These days, he can’t even look at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even know how Joe’s gaze has stayed on him all this time. It makes his stomach turn again and in turn, his heart practically pounds against his ribcage as he can’t help but comment. “We aren't Nick and Charlie.”
“No, we’re Kit and Joe.” Joe staunchly murmurs and his fingers curl as he pulls Kit closer gently and despite how he feels, he lets him till they’re fitting together and his hand moves to trace his stomach, digits twitching. “Shit…” It’s still low, but it’s so airy that it fills Kit’s chest with an emotion he can’t describe right now. “Holy shit, Kit.”
Kit melts into the bed and back into Joe’s touch like he’s starving, nose touching the other’s bony shoulder. Given he’s felt like hell the last few months with everything, he supposed that he is, in a way, touch starved - but this was different. So very different. He had been avoiding this, purposefully, for months. Joe’s hand is light against him, but it still makes Kit’s eyes half lidded, until it’s spoiled by something rolling inside of him and he makes a gagging sound, needing to sit up quickly.
“Are you okay?” Joe’s wide eyes are looking at him and Kit stills for a moment, willing his entire body to just let him have this one. Thankfully, for once, it listens. The nausea doesn’t go away, obviously, but at least he doesn’t suddenly projectile vomit on his friend, arm still wrapped around himself and Joe’s hand still on his stomach.
Were they even friends at this point?
“I’m fine.” Kit heaves, trying to get some of the air back into his lungs. “I’m…”
His head drops and it comes out in a whisper. “I’m not fine.”
Quietly, Joe, who somehow acts like he’s been here, present from the start, helps him back down again and finally, /finally/, he says it, the quiet too much. “I’m pregnant.”
After a moment, Joe looks at him like he hung the moon in the sky. “Yeah?”
“Yeah-” Kit bites his lip, letting another moment of silence settle between them before continuing, unable to stop. “-and I feel /awful/. I keep throwing up, I’m always sick, my body hurts and I can barely sleep anymore. They don’t give me a break. I get stared at and it makes me feel like I’m under a magnifying glass. Everytime they move, kicking or otherwise, I almost kneel over. It’s been like this for months and I know I shouldn’t have been alone, but I couldn’t think of anyone else but myself and I can’t even look at my own face and I’m so tired-” The last word comes with a sob and he turns his head to look at Joe, desperate. “-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“Jesus Christ, Kit…” Joe finally whispers, his voice cracking just a little. “You don’t have to apologize. You—God, you’ve been dealing with all this by yourself?” His brow furrows, guilt flickering across his face. “Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve-” He breaks off, shaking his head as if trying to rearrange his thoughts. “I would’ve dropped everything. You know that, right?”
“I didn’t want you to hate me,” Kit says quietly, his voice a whimper. “Not after everything.”
“Hate you?” Joe says, incredulous. “Kit, I could never-” He exhales sharply and finally closes the distance between them, properly this time, both his hands now somewhere of significance. One on his stomach and the other holding one of his as tight as he can be without suddenly crawling into Kit’s skin. “I could never hate you. Ever. You’re my-” He hesitates, his throat bobbing with the effort to keep his voice steady as he aggressively kisses Kit’s within reach forehead. “You’re my best friend, even more than that. Fuck, Kit, we’re having a baby.”
The last sentence punches him in the solar plexus and it takes him a minute to recover before his voice returns, sounding hopeful. “We are?” He murmurs, his wide eyes locking onto Joe’s as watches as his fingers that are against him press just a little more firmly, but still gentle as if taking in the fact that Kit just spilled his whole heart to him.
“Yeah, we are.” The rawness in Joe’s voice hits Kit like another wave, and his resolve crumbles completely. Another sob tears its way out of him, this one different from before-not just pain, not just exhaustion, but something warmer, lighter. Relief.
“I-I didn’t think…” He swallows hard, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “I didn’t think you’d want this. Want me. Want them.”
Joe shakes his head quickly, almost as if scolding Kit for ever thinking that. “God, Kit, I want everything. You, them—everything. Always have. Always will.” His voice cracks at the edges, but his grip remains steady, his thumb brushing softly over what was most likely a foot or arm knowing how this baby liked to tangle itself (and him) in knots. “I just… I wish you hadn’t gone through all of this alone. I hate that you thought you couldn’t tell me.”
He crowds Kit’s space once again, too close to be comfortable and looks up at him. “Come home with me. Let me take care of you.”
Home. Joe’s home - Douglas. He’s been there a few times, it’s more homely than London would ever be. London was too big, too loud, too sparkly and manipulative - despite most of the people living in it that he knows being his friends. Babies in London also were always treated as fodder, pushed into careers as soon as they’re born and exposed to the eyes of the world behind blurred photographs and nannies. Kit didn’t want his and Joe’s baby (god, their baby) to be like that. He wanted their baby to live somewhere that loved them.
Douglas was that place. There was only one problem, however-
“I can’t fly.” Kit’s voice shakes slightly and he feels Joe pull away slightly to look at him. “I can’t fly.” Kit says a little louder, looking back. “I’m not allowed to. My medical record is as long as your arm right now, this baby isn’t exactly the nicest to me or my mental health.”
“We can drive.” Joe placates quickly, thumb now running over Kit’s knuckles. “We can hire a van from somewhere and pack up what we can, ship the bigger furniture later.”
“It’s six hours. I’ll complain the entire time.”
“You’ll be supervising.”
“I’ll most likely throw up a lot.”
“Can’t get me to run away that fast after all of this.”
“My doctors are going to bitch at you.”
“Douglas has doctors, decent ones.”
“Social media will find out.”
“They can suck my cock.”
“Joseph! No!” Kit scolded before he burst out laughing, bordering on hysterical while the latter grinned next to him. “Oh my god, why are we like this?”
“Because, we’re Kit and Joe.” The younger man smiled wistfully. “Not Nick and Charlie, not what the fans see us, we are Kit Connor and Joe Locke, two guys raising a baby.”
“Kit Connor and Joe Locke, dads.” Kit grins to himself, feeling a kick coming from inside that for once, doesn’t make him suddenly sick. “I like that.”
This time, he really meant it.