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“Hey, can you text Reno for me and tell him I won’t be home until late tonight? My phone died and I don’t want him to wait for me.” Narumi turns to his Vice Captain, who predictably still has a fully charged phone on hand.
“You’d be able to text him yourself if you didn’t spend that entire meeting playing games on your phone.” The older man sighs, pulling out his phone nonetheless.
There were some complications with the mission. Narumi won’t be home for a while.
He puts his phone back into the inside of his jacket to keep it safe during their mission. It’s nothing that truly warrants the assistance of the first division, but they wanted Narumi to test out some new weaponry on the field, and Hasegawa is there to merely babysit.
“Yeah, yeah.” Narumi presses the power button on his phone a few more times just to make sure it’s really dead, pouting when his screen stays black. “Let’s get this over with, I’m missing soba night for this.”
“Knowing Reno, I’m sure he’ll have some waiting for you when you get back.”
There were some complications with the mission. Narumi won’t be home for a while.
Reno sat on the couch with his phone in his hands, rereading Hasegawa’s text for what felt like the hundredth time.
The words blurred and sharpened as his mind ran circles around them. Complications? What did that mean? Injuries? An ambush? A Kaiju too strong even for Gen? His thumbs hovered over the screen, unsure of how to respond. He wanted to call, demand more details, but his chest had gone tight the second he read the vice captain’s message.
He didn’t know what Gen was facing while away, the man hadn’t been able to give him much information. It has to be something big if it warrants the help of Captain Narumi, the strongest member of the defense force—and his vice captain.
His ears ring as he tries to gather his thoughts. Visions of his brother’s lifeless eyes flash before him, crushed under the weight of a Kaiju. His face morphs into Gen’s, the captain’s bayonet strewn into the rubble, the claws of the Kaiju ripping through his uniform.
The teen takes a deep breath to reorient himself. Snap out of it, Reno.
He’s tried to distract himself. He’d paced the apartment, cleaned the kitchen until every surface sparkled, folded and remolded the same laundry. He’s even opened one of Gen’s stupid shooting games, hoping that the mindless repetition would drown out the thrumming in his ears. It didn’t. His hands shook too much to keep the controller steady.
Every small noise had Reno flinching—every creak of the pipes, and the squeak of a door. He kept imagining footsteps that weren’t there, kept imagining his phone buzzing with bad news. Why was it Hasegawa that texted? What if the Defense Force was already drafting a statement, already preparing to tell him that—
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes until colors sparked behind them. Stop. Stop it. Gen is fine. He’s the best of the best. He’ll come home like he always does.
But the thought doesn’t stick. Memories continue to swarm him: His mother’s cries, his father’s voice telling him to run, his brother’s strong arms forcing him to his feet. The morning he woke up and found he had to fend for himself. People leave. That’s just nature’s course. Why would this be any different?
Reno curled on the couch, pulling Gen’s jacket from the hook by the door into his arms. It still smelled faintly of his cologne, of gunpowder and smoke and something uniquely him. Reno buried his face in it and breathed until his throat burned. If he focused hard enough he could feel Gen’s arms around him, greeting him after a long day.
His mind wouldn’t stop spinning. What if Gen never walked back through the door? What if the last thing he’d said before leaving was some throwaway joke, not I love you? He pictured Gen lying injured somewhere, too far away for Reno to reach, his voice lost under rubble or swallowed by a kaiju’s roar.
By the time footsteps finally echoed down the hall Reno was raw with exhaustion. His chest ached like he’s been holding his breath for hours. The sound of keys in the lock jolted him upright, hope and terror colliding in one sharp burst.
And when Gen stepped inside, whole and real, Reno’s mind went blank. For a second the world narrowed to the rhythm of those steps—slow, certain—and Reno felt like his whole body might unravel and pour out of him.
He barely noticed Gen set his bag down. All he knew was the scent and shape of the man in front of him. Reno launched himself forward, arms winding around Gen’s waist like a lifeline. “I missed you, I missed you so much,” His voice is muffled by the fabric of Gen’s uniform, but he’s not about to let go to repeat himself.
Gen froze, hands hovering a moment as if unsure how to receive a person in pieces. He’d only been gone for three days, entertaining simple missions with new weapon designs. Sure, he’s exhausted, but he’s fine. The boy is acting like he’s been gone for years. He’d expected Reno to be asleep, leftover dinner waiting for him in the fridge with a sweet note attached. Not this. Not Reno breaking down in the threshold of his bedroom. “Geez,” Gen jokes lightly, confusion flattening into worry, “You’d think I’d gone off to war or something.” He tried to keep the tone light—but failed to find anything like humor left in Reno’s grip. “Everything alright, baby?”
Reno’s silent sobs answered, tears seeping through the cotton of Gen’s shirt. The captain’s heart stuttered. What the hell happened while I was gone?
Gen didn’t have time to spiral. He wrapped his arms around Reno finally, just as the teen’s breath hitched and the dam broke. Sobs racked the smaller man’s body. His hands clawed at Gen’s back like he was afraid the man would slip through his grip. “I missed you,” Reno repeated through the shaking, voice thin. “I-I can’t live without you.”
Hearing those words, raw and urgent, cut through Gen in a place he’d never expected to be vulnerable. He could feel the edges of Reno’s panic that he’d become more attuned to over the last year—the way his hands trembled, the small hitching sobs, the way his breathing stuttered with anxiety. He’d seen them late at night, under the safety of their covers, after a bad nightmare.
“You don’t have to.” He whispers into white hair, tucking Reno securely against him. The younger tries to hide away in Gen’s unzipped jacket, and the captain lets him, letting him bury himself in his scent. “I’m right here. I’m not—I didn’t…I’m not going anywhere.” He shifts slightly so Reno’s pressed against his chest, listening to the steadiness of his beating heart. “I’m right here.” He reassures, voice just as sure as it is on the battlefield. “Just breathe, baby, we’ll talk once we’re a little more calm.”
Reno’s arms sneak under Gen’s jacket to wrap around his waist, breathing with the beat of the captain’s heart.
Once the boy’s breathing is a little more steady, Gen sits them down on the edge of his bed, keeping Reno in his arms. He pulled him into his lap so their faces were level. He could see every wet line painted on the rosiness of his cheeks. He could still feel the aftershock of the panic in Reno’s body—jittery muscles, tremors that betrayed adrenaline still on board. “Okay,” Gen said with a softness reserved only for Reno, “Tell me what you saw. Tell me what scared you.”
Reno’s hands tightened on his sleeves, trembling lips searching for words. “I got a-a text from Hasegawa,” his voice cracks as he recounts the message that started it all, “he said—he said you wouldn’t be home for-for a while. That there were comp-complications.” Another quiet sob forced itself out of him. “And I thought—I thought, what if you didn’t come back?”
The word didn’t hung between them like a threat. He should have had the foresight to make the message clearer, Hasegawa wasn’t skilled at setting the tone in texts, his messages are always blunt and clipped. He shouldn’t have drained his own battery during the first few hours of his trip, he should’ve made that call to Reno himself.
He knew that Reno had the tendency to overthink, to make every cryptic sentence into doomsday. He pressed his forehead to Reno’s grounding them both. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve read the text before he sent it. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I’m just—I’m just being stupid.” Reno whispered, as if this was somehow his fault. “You don’t have to apologize, I—“
”Nope. None of that.” He brings out his ‘captain voice’ when he speaks, Reno needs to know that his feelings are valid, dammit. “There were complications—minor structural damage due to backlash from a prototype weapon that we had to secure. Nothing that mattered to you, except for the fact that I knew I was going to be home later than anticipated. My phone was dead, so I had Hasegawa text you so you wouldn’t be up worrying all night, but clearly that didn’t go as planned. I should’ve made sure you knew exactly where I was.”
“When he said that you ‘won’t be home for a while’ I thought—I thought the worst.” He hiccuped. “I thought you were gone.”
Gen’s fingers found Reno’s hair and threaded through it, slow and steady. “You’re not going to be left. Not by me.” He bent and kissed Reno’s forehead, a gentle, sealing promise. “I’m sorry for scaring you, baby. I am.”
Reno’s sobs softened into occasional shudders. He let out a laugh that was half sob, half relief. “I’m stupid,” he muttered. “I—my family—“ The rest of it crumbled away in silence. “I get stuck there.”
”You’re not stupid.” Gen shakes his head in disagreement. “You’re allowed to be scared, but I don’t want you to think you’re alone in it. If you can’t reach me, call someone who can hold the line. I know Kafka would drop everything to come to you in a heartbeat. I’ll start doing a better job of checking in too. Deal?”
Reno nodded, wiping his tears against Gen’s shirt as he did.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He repeats, looking down at Reno with a crooked smile. “I’ve at least gotta outlive bowl cut, I can’t let him win.”
“Of course not.” Reno laughs wetly, sinking further into the warm, real, embrace of his boyfriend.