Work Text:
It’s late at night, and Tohma is out for a walk.
He can’t sleep. He should be asleep, and he’s very well aware of that, but he isn’t capable of it, and he’s very well aware of that too. There’s no reason he can point to, specifically - just a confluence of little things, and the persistent sense that something is watching him and waiting for its moment to swoop. His skin doesn’t fit right. His own breathing is too loud. Being alone in a room was torture. But there wasn’t anywhere else on offer, not that wouldn’t require more explanations than he wants to give anyone right now, so: a walk.
Of course all this means is that the meds aren’t working. It’s happened before. Perhaps his body has burned through the chemicals that keep everything manageable faster than usual. Or perhaps he’s habituating again, and it’s time to make the staff over at Darkwick General sweat while they decide if he can safely raise his dose, or if they’re brave enough to risk telling him that he needs to spend a few weeks tapering until his body learns to make do with less. Not an attractive prospect. He doesn’t have the time - he’s never had the time, but especially not now. Jin needs him functioning at his best, not nauseated and foggy and angry about it.
When he set out from Frostheim, he had an hour to burn before he could safely have another dose. There’s still… too much of that hour left. He speeds up his pace, and tries to focus on the rhythm of breathing and the bite of the cool night air in his nose. It helps a little. Enough, as long as he keeps going.
In the quiet of night, glazed over with moonlight, Darkwick looks different - not unfamiliar, but different. The shadows are in new places, and everything seems slightly off. So initially, he’s not sure what catches his attention. But after a few seconds, it resolves.
One of the new shadows is more than just shadow. There’s a student slumped on one of the benches, half-lying against the backrest.
It’s not the first time a late-night constitutional has put him directly across the path of someone who needed an adult - someone drunk, or overtired, or simply in need of an escort back to whichever place they belong at. An easy enough problem to solve. And if it’s more than that, well, he’s a ghoul. And he’s Tohma Ishibashi. He will be equal to whatever might happen.
As he gets closer, the moonlight offers him a surprise. The trim on the figure’s hooded cloak is not the Sinostra red or Vagastrom yellow he was frankly expecting, nor even the Frostheim blue that wouldn’t have surprised him. Instead, it appears to be Hotarubi purple.
It’s quite unlike one of them to be out so late. But never mind. He has no reason not to help a stray Hotarubi.
Something about the way they’re sitting, though - they’re not asleep. He’s sure of it, although he isn’t immediately sure why he’s sure. Something about the way they’re holding themself - something about the way they’re breathing -
It’s familiar.
In, four counts - hold, four counts - out, eight counts.
His own ribcage knows how it feels to breathe like that.
He should, he thinks, be close enough to be heard, now.
“Excuse me,” he calls, quietly enough not to carry, not to startle. “Are you all right?”
The student doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t seem to have heard.
“Are you all right?” Tohma repeats, a little louder. “Do you need any help?”
That also doesn’t get a response, and the student still hasn’t moved. But they’re still breathing in that rigid, almost silent rhythm.
Very carefully, Tohma closes the distance, and tries to look graceful as he bends to see who is hiding in the depths of the hood - and unobtrusive as his hand drifts to his keychain, just in case.
The second surprise, then: he knows the face he sees. Knows it very well. It’s rather recognisable.
“Ah. I apologise, Kagami-kun. I didn’t realise it was you.” He turns the bend into a bow, since as a captain, Kagami technically outranks him.
And there is something wrong, after all. Because Subaru Kagami is the most meticulously polite person Tohma has ever met. The publicity training he will certainly have had since birth has given him a level of social grace and a fluency of manners for which Tohma has a sincere fellow-craftsman’s respect. He is never, ever, without a warm smile and a perfectly chosen greeting.
He is staring fixedly at a point in the middle distance, lips clamped to a thin and bloodless line, his delicately beautiful face an empty mask.
Tohma isn’t even sure Subaru has noticed that he’s there. Which would offend Tohma, if he thought Subaru was even aware of himself, right now.
Wherever he is, he isn’t here.
He breathes - in - hold - out. In - hold - out.
Tohma finds his own breathing following Subaru’s, without noticing.
He makes a decision without really making it, and sits down on the bench, in front of Subaru. Next to him. Turns, so that their knees almost touch.
Subaru Kagami isn’t really Tohma’s type of guy. He’s almost Tohma’s type of girl, insofar as Tohma has one. But it’s hard not to feel some kind of way about being close enough to him to be able, if he wanted to, to reach out and push Subaru’s hood back off his face. To pull him closer. To offer him gentleness. To offer him protection.
He can see the wet streaks gleaming faintly on Subaru’s cheeks.
He knows what he ought to do. He knows the correct course of action, every correct course of action, plans A through D - he should, at this moment, suggest they go to Mortkranken. He should gently pull Subaru up by the elbow, steady him, steer him towards the infirmary, and evaporate into the night once Subaru’s safely close enough. He should make sure that someone knows that a house captain is unwell. That whatever’s happened - and Tohma doesn’t even need to ask what happened, because he knows everything that’s happened to him - Subaru isn’t okay.
But he does know everything that’s happened to him. And here he is, too, on this bench, at this hour, with this breathing pattern engraved into the muscles of his chest.
And for a moment, he feels the chainlink of the car yard fence pushing back against him, and Alan’s hands, rough and unsure, on his shoulders, helping him get enough air. A handful of Frostheim snow, dripping through Jin’s fingers as he presses it to the back of Tohma’s neck.
He knows.
Whatever has Subaru pinned to this bench, unable to move - whatever he’s wrestling with, it’s bigger than him.
It’s bigger than Tohma, too, for all his time spent dancing with it, pretending to be its master.
Gentleness. Protection. What that looks like is different, for different moments.
He doesn’t sigh, just lets out a very long breath, the full eight count.
“I won’t say anything.” His voice sounds so loud, even though it’s barely above a whisper.
Perhaps it’s because he knows that for once, he’s telling the truth.
And he pulls the pill bottle from his pocket, and shakes a single tablet into his gloved palm, and so carefully takes the hand that lies slack on Subaru’s thighs. Holds it in both of his own. Subaru blinks, and the tiniest measure of awareness comes into his eyes.
Against the black leather of Subaru’s glove, the pill is so white.
“Kagami-kun.” A secret; a spell: “It would probably help if you take this.”
They look down at the pill, together, understanding all its reasons for being there, for moments that stretch infinitely long. Then Subaru gives the tiniest nod, lifts his hand to his mouth, and swallows it dry.
Tohma knows how many hundred heartbeats it takes for the medication to take effect. He counts them from inside his own chest, hands in his lap, silent and still; feels the weight of each one in his own bones.
He can see it in Subaru’s eyes, when it finally starts to work. His posture droops even further.
“You’re going to be okay,” Tohma says. The words are so heavy. “We don’t get to stop.”
He wonders if he’s talking to himself.
Subaru rests his cheek against the top of the backrest, and Tohma pulls out his phone.
The contact he wants is farther down the list than it used to be, but it’s still there, and he knows his call will be answered.
“Kusanagi-kun,” he says smoothly. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I’ve met Kagami-kun on my way back from the train and he’s not feeling well - could you possibly meet us at the Hotarubi gate?”
“Oh - hell. Of course.” Haku sounds groggy, but the instant determination in his voice makes Tohma’s heart ache faintly. “Is he -”
“He’ll be all right with rest, I think.” Tohma considers Subaru, whose eyes are almost entirely closed now. Clearly, all that had been keeping him even moderately upright was the anxiety. “But I wouldn’t like to leave him to get home on his own.”
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the gate. Thanks, Tohma.”
“We’ll see you shortly,” Tohma says, and hangs up before Haku can think of any more questions.
It’s a completely plausible cover story. He’s known Subaru long enough, and seen him pass out in enough training lessons, to know that.
But it’s not the truth, and somehow Tohma’s pretty sure that matters a lot.
Hoisting Subaru onto his back is the easiest part of this so far. It’s barely a challenge to trot over to Hotarubi, even with Subaru breathing heavier and heavier against his neck.
Haku jogs up to the gate as they arrive, rumpled and only mostly awake, and smiles the weary, worried smile Tohma remembers. “You’re a prince, Tohma. Seriously, thank you so much for getting him back okay.”
Tohma focuses on getting both of Subaru’s feet onto the ground, rather than on the crease in Haku’s forehead. “It’s nothing,” he says.
“It’s not.” Haku wraps Subaru up in his arms, taking all of his weight, and murmurs something soft and fond in Subaru’s ear, a little “It’s okay, I got you.” And of course, of course Haku loves him. Of course Haku will make sure Subaru is taken care of as soon as he knows that he needs to.
Of course Subaru wouldn’t have told him.
“You’d do the same.” Tohma knows. It sits sharp in his chest that there isn’t anyone who’d come to claim him like this - he can’t picture Jin so much as rolling over these days unless Tohma was actually dying, and it would be far more embarrassment than help to have Errant or Fuji try to carry him up Frostheim’s stairs. This softness isn’t for him. But Haku would still make sure he got to his own door. Because Haku is a good man, and that is entirely why he is here, and not waiting at Frostheim to wonder where Tohma is.
And that is why Tohma doesn’t tell him, either.
Nobody has to know the truth. Subaru might not even remember what happened. Tohma’s lost hours, before. Maybe this is just one more secret Tohma gets to keep, all to himself, tucked away with the rest of the sharp things where it can’t hurt good people like Haku.
Haku will get Subaru to bed, and let him sleep, and that’s probably the best anyone can do for him. That’s probably the best anyone can do for any of them.
There won’t have to be any explanations, and that’s definitely the best Tohma can do for Subaru.
“I’m happy to help,” he says, simply. “Please do let me know if you need anything.”
He watches Haku not letting go of Subaru, and thinks Haku probably has everything he needs.
He hopes Subaru has enough, too.
The air is cold, and the path back to Frostheim is familiar, even in the moonlight. By the time he gets home, he’ll be able to have his own dose.