Work Text:
You've gotta be kidding me.
Cain carefully dusted and pocketed the fabric to wash later. Every single newspaper on his desk, he bunched up—yep, those were trash. Six could organize a stampede, for all he cared. It wasn't his blood spilled on the pages. Cain would consider thanking the ghost for making cleanup simpler, however—he didn't want to imagine how much bleach he'd need for the floors without them.
To thank Six...
Man, he must've inhaled too many chemicals.
Cleaning after the deranged lunatic and his half-wit friend's tantrum was a nightmare. So while Cain savored a well-deserved coffee break on his no-longer-upturned couch, he was startled by the ringing of his door bell.
Cain opened the front door to Noa in her pine green coat, flushed and disheveled. Did she run here?
"Hello," she breathed out.
"Hey, Noa. Come in."
At least his place was less humiliating now than the last time she visited. He stepped aside for her to enter, heading to his kitchenette shelf for a cup because she certainly hadn't touched a glass of water.
"Six is hanging around the graveyard to do..." Cain hadn't bothered to ask, actually, "what he does, if you're wondering."
"Nice.... Ready to... visit the detective."
"Yeah, I'll just need some time to..." he trailed off, giving Noa's hunched form, hanging onto the coat rack for dear life, a once-over.
"Are you okay? You seem winded."
"I'm fine... only a little dizzy," she panted. That spoke for itself.
Cain set the empty cup on the tiny stove and watched as her knees buckled, crossing the distance to catch her before she stumbled onto the floor.
"How the hell were you able to get here?" he muttered under his breath.
Although his left arm was relatively healed, he couldn't carry a whole human being. Cain hooked her arm over his shoulder, allowing her to lean on him as they maneuvered behind the couch towards his thankfully tidy bedroom.
Settling her onto his small bed, he quickly worked to remove her boots. No way he was dealing with dirt on white sheets on top of everything else.
She stammered. "W-Why...are we in your—"
"You should lie down. I'll bring you water."
He was hoping there was something edible left in his cupboard after all the spoiled food he had to toss out.
...
Cain brought in his prized jug to his simple nightstand, refilling her glass of water.
Noa watched him pour, voice croaky. "Thank you for allowing me to rest here... I should go home now."
"What?" It hadn't even been fifteen minutes. "You can stay. I don't mind."
She strained to sit up from the bed, "No, no. I don't want to intrude."
Cain dragged a palm down his face—despite collapsing at his doorstep, she acted like a balking mare. Understandably, she'd been going out at any opportunity to avoid lingering in her home, yet he couldn't help but say pointedly.
"So you really wanna head back to the manor, then?"
She shut her mouth immediately. Thought so.
"Besides," Cain sighed, handing her the water. "you can hardly walk. I'll even let you spend the night until you recover."
She shyly peered into her glass. "Won't the other tenants... speak poorly of you?"
The neighbors he didn't know the names of? While he crossed his arms, wondering why they'd fuss over housing sick people, she was turning a pretty concerning shade of red.
Ah, right. The impropriety.
"They probably assume I'm a killer at worst, delinquent at best. A woman staying over is the lowest crime on the list."
Likelier they'd judge Noa—or, perhaps not, if they witnessed her floundering through the halls.
"Then, at the very least, I'll lie on the sofa."
"You mean the couch with blood stains? I'm still clearing up the mess from the attack. It's better to take my room—no broken glass."
Noa's grip tightened on her glass, quietly mulling it over. One stubborn horse.
He added, "Plus it's terrible etiquette for a host to make an unwell guest take the dingy couch."
Noa sipped the water and sighed, "Oh, I don't know..."
For good measure. "Look, you wanted to share a motel bed with me. I'm essentially fulfilling your desires."
"Don't put words in my mouth, that is NOT what happened at all!!" She snapped, beet red. There we go.
Noa humphed, "Fine. In return, I'm helping you clean once I recover."
Cain never asked for this outcome.
"Hosting etiquette, remember?"
"You're hurt, remember?"
Okay... she got him there.
...
An hour later, he found two cans of soup collecting dust beside a suspicious bag of bread and opened his bedroom door.
"I doubt these will give us food pois—What are you doing."
Noa froze in the midst of donning her coat, looking very caught and very much not in bed. Honestly, how did she plan to sneak out when he was in the next room?
She scrambled, "I-I can try meeting with Detective Mark, and I'll come back! He'll be disappointed otherwise."
Cain only pictured the detective celebrating with a smoke and a nap.
"I already called and said you're not feeling well. He told me, verbatim—if he spots you in the station this week, you'll be arrested."
"The entire week? On what charge?!"
"Trespassing."
Noa groaned, slipping off the coat and slumping back down on the bed.
"I was looking forward to seeing him," she sighed like she had twenty grandkids and was ready to join Six in the afterlife.
"I've never felt so exhausted before. Why now?" she muttered.
An amused snort escaped him. It's like she'd forgotten the past weeks.
"Gee, I wonder. Not like you barely ate until I reminded you. And when was the last time you had decent sleep, again? Not to mention—"
She folded the pillow over her ears. "Please stop. I understand your point."
Cain laughed, holding out the choices of beef and chicken noodle in front of her pillow helmet.
"Fine, fine. Time to make up for those missed meals. I'm sure you're ready for canned goods again. Your favorite—gourmet this time."
"Gourmet?"
"Heated up."
Noa glared, then reached for the chicken noodle and read the label, "You don't have anything else?"
"I've been gone so long, most of my food went bad. Didn't get to restock yet."
"Wait, so... what have you been eating since returning home?"
Cain had been subsisting on beer and canned fruit, but he figured it was better to keep his mouth shut. Noa wore the most pitying expression he'd ever seen.
"I'm buying you groceries."
The offer was too good to deny. He snatched back the can. "Alright. I'll prep these."
But while exiting, he picked up the coat she tossed on the bed. "Confiscating, by the way."
"What if I feel cold?" she asked innocently.
Yeah, Noa was not slick. Opening his closet, he retrieved the extra comforter and threw it at her face.
...
This time, Cain knocked before entering so she'd hide the evidence of her escape better. It came as a surprise to find her bundled in the white covers like some giant marshmallow. Huh. Guess she ended up feeling cold after all.
He leaned against the doorframe, locking his eyes with the single green eye peeking through the mound.
"Should I add more?"
Her voice came out muffled. "There's no need. I'm warm." Clearly. "And, based on your, um... cozy home, I have a feeling you'll give me your own blanket if you do."
Way to sanitize his cramped crime scene of an apartment. And did she really need to call out his last blanket?
"My, are you saying your host is broke? What manners."
"Oh. I'm correct about the blanket?"
Judging by how much the mound shook, she was totally failing at hiding her laughter.
His mouth twitched, "Yeah, yeah. I have your gourmet soup ready, now. Prefer not to get bedbugs, but you can eat it here."
...
Cain set down her bowl of chicken noodle soup on his small nightstand, pushing aside her glass, the jug of water, his alarm and lamp.... he might consider investing in a second nightstand.
When Noa murmured a thanks and sat up, bringing the covers with her like a cape, he caught of glimpse of her shivering underneath. He checked her forehead, ignoring her questioning stare. Hot.
Cain couldn't believe it. "You have fever chills... and you didn't say a thing?"
Admittedly, he was an idiot for not considering checking her temperature sooner. He likely ran out of medicine from managing his injuries.
"I'll be alright... the resting is helping. You don't need to buy medicine if you don't have any."
"Well, I'm buying it anyway—it really is no trouble. Should've said something earlier."
Cain crossed his arms while Noa avoided his gaze. How many times did he need to make it clear she wasn't bothersome?
He sighed, "Try to eat all your food. Don't even think of sneaking out while I'm gone."
Cain snatched the doorknob as he left his bedroom. The pharmacy would close in two hours and he desperately wanted a nap. "You're a stubborn patient."
"Hypocrite."
His fingers paused. He almost thought he misheard her.
Noa mumbled, "You were equally as stubborn when your wounds got infected. If not, worse."
"Worse? Really."
"Cain, you kept going on the run with agonizing pain and a fever, pretending you were fine! Had you not collapsed... I wouldn't have known to help. You could've died."
She wasn't wrong, but death was an exaggeration.
"Didn't have the option to stop with a psycho killer. And I wasn't on the verge of—"
"I was terrified," she quieted, staring into her soup as she stirred. "Always hiding things... I wish you didn't hide yourself so often."
His heart dropped.
A few minutes of silence passed. To his surprise, Noa finally looked up and gave the lifeline of a tiny smile.
"Thank you for the food, Cain. Be safe."
"Yeah, I will... cool down with more water, or I'll make Six talk your ear off," he sounded hollow. "Leave you to it."
Pulling the knob behind him until it clicked shut, Cain rested his head against the wooden door.
Hiding.
Truthfully, he didn't know how not to anymore.
...
After she swallowed her fever medicine, he placed the empty mug and jar of pills on his now overstuffed nightstand. If one of these items fell, it better not be his only jug.
"How are you feeling?"
Noa squeezed her eyes shut. "Everything burns."
He checked her temple. Pretty accurate. Lifting his palm off her inferno of a forehead, she grabbed his hand in both of hers, holding it hostage to her cheek.
"Cold..." she murmured. Cain stifled a laugh. Completely delirious.
"You do know I have to get a soaked rag."
"This works too," she protested, clutching tighter.
Cain sighed. What a predicament—might as well wait until she knocked out, which, by the look of her droopy eyes, shouldn't take long. He settled on the edge of his bed. His captive limb developed this weird urge to stroke her clammy face—ignoring that.
"Oh...you're not leaving?" she mumbled.
"Can't, really. I'm basically your unqualified doctor."
"I hate that man."
"No, not—" Should've phrased that differently. "Eh, I don't like him either."
"Good." Noa hummed a melody, for some reason? She didn't sound unpleasant.
"Cain?"
"Hm?"
"Will you sing?"
"Uh... No." Maybe he should take her to the hospital.
"Ok."
While she continued humming a dulcet tune against his palm, which felt interesting to say the least, he fixed the covers so she'd hurry up and fall asleep already. Noa was a human furnace. At this point, she rendered his arm ineffective as a cooling agent.
Just when he noticed her eyes flutter shut, they suddenly shot open. Remarkable how her energy fought through... whatever he just experienced.
Her tired gaze settled on him with a concerned edge he didn't like, her fingerpads pressing into his skin.
"Are you...really okay? How are you not ill, too? We were both on the run, and you're injured."
Because I'm used to this.
He'd rather not dredge up his old ghosts.
"My injuries aren't so bad anymore. They had time to heal."
His knife wound throbbed. Well, not all of them.
"And between the two of us, you had more to absorb in such a short time. A killer, a cult, and discovering ghosts," he refrained from mentioning her very... lovely family, "you can only run on stress for so long before you crash and burn. Quite literally.'
She grumbled, her furrowed brows saying she hadn't bought his words.
He joked, "Hey, don't fret now, you have the man of your dreams taking care of you. Nice, right?"
He was expecting the usual flustered irritation when instead she closed her eyes and smiled, whispering into his palm.
"Yes... I do."
His chest tightened. Completely delirious.
Cain pulled his arm from her grasp and stood. "I-I'll fetch the water and rag now. You're melting."
The simple task of walking to his bathroom to retrieve a towel and basin of cool water was more difficult than it had any damn right to be, because of how much he had to ignore. The blissful smile, the serene voice, the hot breath—he ran his hand under the cold faucet, cursing under his breath. Completely delirious.
Once he returned, fever kit in tow, he finally observed her. Fully asleep. And for inexplicable reasons, Cain exhaled in relief.
...
At who-knows-what time in the night, Cain was deep in his beauty sleep on the couch when he roused to his bedroom door slamming open. Noa burst into the room, standing behind the couch and frantically darted her gaze, hyperventilating.
He mumbled, "What's wrong?"
She flinched, whimpering. Cain rubbed the grogginess from his face, sitting up to peer into his dim room—nothing out of the ordinary, although there were a pile of blankets on the floor she'd likely kicked off when her fever broke.
Wait—was this a fever dream?
Despite the past hours being one big fever dream, he'd forgotten those existed.
He extended an arm from where he sat, grazing her sleeve. "Noa... you're okay."
Terrible mistake—she screamed, hands clamping over her mouth as her silhouette cowered towards the kitchenette.
Cain sighed. Great. Like many other times, his resemblance to a serial killer was inconvenient, and he had no clue what she was experiencing.
With her unusual life circumstances, the fever-fueled nightmare could involve the whole murder fiasco. Or possibly the manor's basement. If there was worse, Cain had no issue holding gripes against her poor excuse for a father.
He got off the couch, lowering his unfriendly height and getting between her and the broken window behind him his lazy-ass landlord hadn't replaced.
"Noa, listen. You're inside my apartment."
Thankfully, she wedged between the fridge and front door, where there weren't glass shards, or he'd have more blood to clean up.
"Can you feel up the wall behind you for a light switch?"
He repeated himself many times before the click of a switch came and illuminated his cramped space. Her gaze flickered around while pinching her elbow.
"Do you see the newspapers... my yellow couch...."
She nodded. Well, she was listening—now to figure out how to gather her senses.
"The fridge beside you, find the handle."
She stared off like a small, cornered animal for a moment before her arm fumbled across the door for the handle.
"Pull, then look inside."
The door inched open in staggering squeaks as he encouraged her to pull and check the fridge. Cold had to do something, right? To his relief, Noa shakily reached inside independently—for what exactly, he was unsure given the nearly empty fridge.
Afterwards, Noa braced against its door, one palm over her heaving chest as she slowed her breathing. Glad her mouth wasn't fully covered anymore—didn't need to guess where that little habit formed.
Once he felt she wouldn't freak out if he approached, Cain neared to help her up. He took in the droplets starting to leak from her frightened eyes.
Oh shit.
She was crying.
To his complete and utter horror, she immediately latched onto him, burying her face in his chest.
"U-uh... there, there. You're safe," he awkwardly patted her drenched shoulder. Who put him in this position?!
Since she wouldn't let go, hesitantly, his stiff arms wrapped over her very warm and sweaty body. Her frame shook.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured. "Just a dream."
When she was racked with sobs, Cain refused to question why his grip tightened, or why he rested his chin on her damp head and whispered assurances, or why he smoothed away the clingy strands. He refused to question why he hadn't brought her to his room to be properly treated with medicine and a soaked cloth.
As he held Noa for ages on his apartment floor, most of all, he refused to replay her earlier delirious confession.
She needed this.
...
A couple of weeks later, on a breezy evening, they idly strolled outside the police station awaiting her ride. The detective had threatened to file a restraining order against Noa.
"Good you found your own place now. More reason for Six to keep away from mine," Cain said idly.
It was true—Cain was thankful she'd no longer live in her hellhole of a manor. She seemed more vibrant.
She teased, "Oh, come on, you adore Six."
He pretended not to hear that.
Noa hummed in thought, voice . "And... are you suggesting he stays with me? You don't believe I can manage living on my own?"
"More like..." he inclined his head to her, "I don't believe you won't run yourself empty."
She went wide-eyed for a minute before contaminating the breeze with her bright giggles.
"Hypocrite. I remember finding only two beer bottles inside your fridge when I stayed over." Crap.
Noa offered a hand, "I'll try to improve and you do the same. Deal?"
"Deal." He shook, ignoring how soft her hand felt in his grip. "Will say, I've been eating actual meals recently, so I'm winning."
She scoffed, "Who said this is a competition?"
"You only ask 'cause you're losing right now."
"In what way?"
"How much did you sleep tonight, again?"
She shut her mouth immediately. Yeah, thought so.
Cain chuckled. "Good luck beating me."
She shot him a glare and smiled. A comfortable silence passed for several minutes, Noa playing with her nails.
"C-Cain, I..." she took a deep breath, tucking in a loose hair, "I've been reflecting on my behavior on that day. When you took care of my fever... things I said..."
Cain shoved his hands in his pockets. "You were unwell. I wouldn't worry about anything."
Honestly, he was surprised Noa remembered even a crumb of what happened, from how out of it she had been. He certainly tried to erase it from his mind.
"But...w-what if I meant everything?"
He stopped in his tracks. "What?"
"I truly mean how precious you are to me. So what will you do?"
Noa met his gaze head-on. The sunset lit her auburn waves into a fiery red that was, in all honesty, a pain in his ass.
He shifted on his feet. Behind her, in the distance, was a bright yellow car on the road—her cab. A perfect exit. Only a few seconds for its arrival and she'd leave, while he could go on with his day and forget this conversation.
Safe.
But...
Looking at her blazing green eyes, her magnetic sincerity—which never failed to nag him for as long as they'd known each other, he simply couldn't send her off yet.
That was unfair, wasn't it?
He sighed, fiddling with an item in his pocket—a twisted joke from the universe he found while cleaning the day she was sick. He'd kept this for longer than he'd like to admit.
"Here."
He placed the navy silk in her palm. Confused, she examined it, and recognition slowly dawned in her eyes.
Good.
It would be nice seeing the ribbon tied up in her hair—blue would bring out the red hues. For the life of him, he couldn't recall much of her appearance on the afternoon she dropped it, another stranger watching news of a murder. Only it was a glum rainy day then, and a glowing sunset now.
She gasped, "H-How do you have my—"
HONK
The screeching halt of a cab startled her out of the question, but surely she could put the story together and become just as annoyed as he did.
Cain opened the rear door, but before she could climb inside all crestfallen, he caught the trembling hand clenching the ribbon. Bringing her fist to his lips, he held her gaze and spoke into her knuckles—an exchange.
"When you're ready, wear this. I'll take you on a date."