Work Text:
Giving a name to the monster that killed his mother doesn’t ever make Ken’s nightmares less vivid. Having one of his own— knowing the ins and the outs and the whys—only gives the dreams more detail. Everything comes to life in shocking clarity, the colours, sights, and sounds as fresh as if they’ve happened yesterday—bigger and more horrifying, but always ending the same.
Aragaki’s death in his defence makes Ken’s resentment change shape. Even staring him down in the alley, Ken had been aware that Aragaki didn’t do anything maliciously. Knowing that also didn’t bring his mother back. In the absence of a source for his hatred and the presence of a team of people who, despite all odds, have accepted him back without blinking an eye—the rage and ferocity that Ken had been living for fade into more of a background simmer. The grief, overwhelmingly potent, takes over.
And Ken moves on, because he has to… because he promised. Because Aragaki is yet another person who died so he could live. In the wake of Kirijou’s father’s passing, Ken only feels his resolve hardening. It’s no longer a matter of living to see someone else die, but living to live, to see this all through to the end… Whatever that end might look like.
The nightmares, though, don’t stop. Ken thinks that on some level they might be easier to deal with, if they could at least change shape… and they do, in a way. He recalls the night of Ikutsuki’s betrayal, the flash of Aigis’ weaponry before she regained control over herself. Kirijou’s wails before Sanada was able to draw her in close. That night replays every time Ken closes his eyes. He was such an idiot. After Aragaki, he would’ve thought he would’ve been sceptical enough not to be tricked that way, but Ikutsuki slipped right past his defences. Ken is just as naïve as he’s always been.
Aragaki and Castor, though, never leave his dreams. They warp around the shapes and sounds of the Kirijou’s father dying, bringing Ken back to that awful night, to the way his mom’s face had tightened and then gone slack, her eyes losing their light. She was so cold. With the ending always the same, Ken finds himself waking up the same way every time too, wracked with shivers no matter how many blankets he took the care to pile on top of himself the night before.
His feet are sticking out at the end of his comforter when he wakes up tonight, just barely close enough to the middle of his bed that he doesn’t roll right off. His shoulder is aching where he’d been thrashing—he’s pretty sure that’s what it is, because when he rolls it in the other direction, it twinges. On the side of his room, Hamburger makes one of those sleepy stirring noises, like Ken woke him up. He might’ve. These rooms are soundproofed enough if you’re not standing right outside the door, so Ken will never know for sure, but he’s pretty sure he talks in his sleep.
“Sorry,” Ken rasps, and wipes at his eyes with his knuckles. Rolling onto his other side relieves the shoulder ache, and yanking his feet back under the covers helps with the cold. Hamburger’s rustling stops after a while, indicating that he’s dozed back off. Life’s a little simpler when you’re a hamster. Ken is nowhere near that lucky. A thin sliver of moonlight is cast on the floor by his bed, a little eerie because of the quiet but altogether normal. They didn’t go to Tartarus last night, and the Dark Hour has passed without incident.
Ken drags himself upright, the beam of silver light creating imprints in his vision when he looks away. The second his blanket slips off, another hard shiver runs through him. Squeezing his upper arms, Ken forces a harsh breath out, sliding his legs off the side of the bed. He’ll use the bathroom, maybe get a cup of water. Then he’ll try sleeping again, with his back towards the window.
The dorms are so utterly silent this time of night. Ken would be worried if it was different, but the quiet doesn’t help him much with the prospect of escaping from his thoughts. The usual hustle and bustle of the rest of SEES would give him something to distract himself with, to pay attention to. Instead he’s left creeping down the stairs on silent feet, his elbow digging into the railing so he won’t tip over. He’s wide awake, but he still feels a bit post-wake up groggy, his vision dancing if he doesn’t make a conscious effort to focus his gaze.
Ken uses the bathroom without incident, though the toilet flush always feels so much louder at this hour; he can’t help wincing. Which is a little embarrassing, but when he closes his eyes and leans into the sink, it all comes back. The screaming from that night years ago, last month, last week. The press of the cold porcelain against his arm is a little comforting, but only marginally. Ken shakes himself off and stands upright, pushing the water to warm and shoving his hands under.
Now to the kitchen. Ken sees that the lights are already on when he approaches; someone else must’ve had the same idea as he did. He sucks in a sharp breath as he nears the door, just in case it’s Kirijou, who he’d want to put on a strong face for, but it’s not her red hair he sees as he steps onto the kitchen tile.
Rather, it’s Yuki, who turns to look at Ken the moment he enters, a spoon sticking out of his mouth. He’s curled over a bowl of cereal, already half-eaten, hair mussed like he just woke up.
Ken swallows a surprised laugh. “Um—hello, Yuki-san?”
“Hello,” Yuki responds—at least, that’s what Ken thinks he says. His voice is a little warbled around the spoon. He pulls it out of his mouth and punctuates the greeting with a wave. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I—” Ken doesn’t want to bother him. He swallows and shrugs, his best noncommittal response, walking to the cabinet for a glass of water. “I guess, what about you, though? You’re not usually out at this hour when you don’t have work…” Though Ken doesn’t doubt that he’s generally awake. Yuki is so strong and focused, able to keep track of all of them at once—but it’s not uncommon for him to show up in the mornings with dark circles under his eyes, looking as though he hasn’t slept. It’s a problem Ken would be surprised if any of them didn’t have, at this point.
Yuki shrugs back. “I got hungry. You want some?” He picks up his cereal bowl, offering it for Ken to look at. He’s eating fruit loops, not the healthy grain stuff Sanada keeps stocking up on. It does look a little tempting, but Ken wrinkles his nose and shakes his head anyway.
“No offence, Yuki-san, but, um…”
“What’s the matter?” Yuki tilts his head to the side, unblinking. “I can pour some more.”
“...In the same bowl?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
Ken tries to figure out how to put it. It’d be one thing with a different food, but cereal with milk… Even from Yuki, that’s kind of gross… but before Ken can figure it out, Yuki’s lip twitches at the corner, betraying his amusement.
“Sorry,” Yuki says, as Ken huffs. “Just teasing. I’ll pour you a bowl.”
“You don’t have to,” Ken insists, but Yuki is already moving, so he doesn’t protest beyond that, setting his glass down on the counter. Midnight snacks are an irresponsible habit, but maybe not so bad every once in a while. Especially if Yuki is doing it, it can’t be that bad. Ken did come down with the intention of getting water, though, so he fills his glass with filtered water from the fridge and leans next to it while he watches Yuki set up the cereal bowl.
Without looking over at Ken, Yuki nudges his shoulder, the barest little bump. “Are you doing okay?”
“Me?” Ken jumps a little; he’s still a bit on edge from his dream, but also, the question itself is just pretty direct for what Ken’s come to expect from their leader. “Y-Yeah! Of course I am, um, why?”
It comes out all wrong. Ken winces. He’s not sure when he got so bad at lying—maybe it’s not even indicative of his talent overall, or just the way it feels to lie to Yuki. When Yuki side eyes him, the same way Koromaru will when he’s uncomfortable, Ken shrivels down, taking a defensive gulp of his water.
“W-Well, I mean, there’s been a lot going on, so… You don’t have to worry, though, it’s nothing that I need to—I mean, it’s fine.”
Yuki hums up and down. He caps the milk and sets it down on the counter, offering Ken the bowl of cereal he put together. Not that that requires any particular skill—Ken could’ve done so himself—but he still feels a little wobbly putting down his water cup and accepting it. Their hands brush as Yuki passes off the bowl. Yuki’s a lot warmer than Ken is right now, maybe expectedly.
Ignoring that, Ken picks up his spoon and skims the drier loops at the top of the bowl, dipping his spoon in the milk and eating them while they’re crunchy. It’s the best way to do it. Yuki, next to him, watches for a moment, like he’s waiting to see if Ken is satisfied, then turns to start clearing the counter.
Ken makes sure to chew and swallow before he speaks. “Oh, I can—”
“I made the mess,” Yuki responds. He shakes his head. “It isn’t a lot, anyway. You can talk to me if you want to.”
“A-About the cereal?” Ken swallows again, this time for no real reason. “I mean, it’s good.”
Yuki shoots him a brief smile. He’s been doing that more lately. Sometimes Ken wonders how he even manages it, in the wake of everything that’s happening… but it never feels disingenuous, from Yuki. Someone who smiles so carefully, so sparingly… It’s always felt so rewarding with him, like Ken’s actually done something really good. Really—meaningful, for once.
That sense is still there, though perhaps undeserved. It’s not like Ken said anything nice or important. He’s sure he was just intentionally ignorant, since Yuki wouldn’t say that about something as insignificant as the cereal. Ken swallows a third time, and this time it’s a little harder. It’s so stupid.
“I mean—sorry, that was really rude, senpai,” Ken whispers.
Yuki shrugs, closing the fridge. “I didn’t think so.”
“I guess, but—” Ken tightens his hold on his spoon so the corners dig into his hand. “I just, I don’t know. I knew what you meant.”
This time, Yuki doesn’t respond. It’s probably about as mean as he gets, letting Ken sit in the silence after his confession, his eyes starting to burn at the corners. He can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or something else, his heart beating a bit fast. He hasn’t calmed down yet from the nightmare, apparently. It’d be smart, if Ken wanted to put a priority on not burdening Yuki with his problems, if he took off pronto. Downed this cereal as fast as possible and retreated to his room to deal with this stuff in private. He’s good at doing that, after all.
It’s… so hard when it’s Yuki, though.
“Um,” Ken starts, before realising he doesn’t really know what he’s going to say. “I mean… sorry. I guess I didn’t… Ah,” Ken shuffles his cereal bowl into his other hand and presses his palm into his eyes, which are welling over, “crap—sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Yuki’s voice is soft enough it almost sounds like they’re speaking underwater. Ken struggles to take in a deep breathe, but his exhale is too shaky, it just makes him feel worse. He doesn’t realise Yuki’s moved closer until he feels a light tug on the bowl in his hand.
When Ken lets go, he hears the faint click of the cereal bowl on the counter. Then Yuki is in front of him, blurry and hard to make out over the side of his hand.
“You can talk to me, but you don’t have to,” Yuki says, “if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Ken warbles, which isn’t what he means to say. His shoulders curl in as embarrassment hits, hot and fierce, smack dab in the middle of his chest. “I mean—”
“You don’t have to feel bad,” Yuki tells him, gently. He crouched down at some point, his eyes much closer to Ken’s than they usually are. His expression hasn’t changed much, though it’s a lot softer than usual. It’s actually an expression Ken has seen before, that he usually tries to ignore, because it’s impossible to—
Sometimes Yuki really reminds him of his mom. Ken couldn’t lie to her either.
“I,” Ken sucks in a breath, like he really is underwater, drowning between the tears on his cheeks and the tightness of his throat, “I just had a nightmare, th-that’s all.”
Yuki hums. He lifts a hand, and it hovers over Ken’s head, fingers mere centimetres from his hair. Ken doesn’t even have the voice to tell him it’s okay. He angles his head forward involuntarily, and Yuki must catch on, because he cups the crown of Ken’s head in his palm, sliding his hand down until it rests on the back of his neck.
“I have nightmares too,” Yuki whispers.
“Y-You do?” Ken doesn’t know why he asks. Of course Yuki would, he’s only human. “What do you—usually, what…”
“The same thing as you,” Yuki responds, without Ken having to elaborate. “Everything. My parents.” His hand drops onto Ken’s shoulder. “They’re just memories. But that doesn’t make it okay, or mean that you have to be.”
The thing about Yuki is—sometimes he’s so gentle, but his words come out almost mechanically, like he’s not sure of himself. Ken can see that in his face, the way his eyes dart, always returning to Ken’s face. His voice wobbles a little, almost uncharacteristically. How often he’s done this, Ken really couldn’t say—probably not much. In that way, he’s a lot different from Ken’s mom… but it’s the exact kind of thing she would’ve said to him anyway, even if she always seemed more sure of herself.
Ken drops his hands from his face. He’s crying, there’s no stopping it now.
“Y-Yuki-san—” Ken gasps. He doesn’t know what he wants or needs, if Yuki could even give it to him. There’s an unbearable tightness in his chest and it has been there for months, years— he’s certain it’s never going to go away. Certain it’ll only keep tightening every time he goes to sleep, every moment he remembers, every day he lives and they don’t. That’s not something that Yuki can change or fix, even if it was possible.
But what Yuki does is hug him, this time without waiting for Ken to ask for it—and Ken gasps again, a cold shudder running through his entire body. He grabs onto the front of Yuki’s shirt and all but retches, feels Yuki’s arms tightening around him in turn. Yuki doesn’t say anything, doesn’t murmur to him or try to tell him to stop. Doesn’t say it’s okay. It isn’t.
He stays, though, and holds Ken steadily, unyielding, his hand rubbing circles between Ken’s shoulderblades. Breathing hurts almost as badly as crying, but Yuki presses against Ken’s back with his palm, not hard, just firm, and it—it helps. Ken is crying in a way he hasn’t in years, not even the night Aragaki died, swallowed up by the fabric of Yuki’s sleep shirt, just as the embrace swallows his trembling.
In time, Ken’s breathing slows. He runs out of tears… or maybe not as such, but they stop flowing regardless, leaving him a little overly aware of the wet patch he left on Yuki’s shirt. When he pulls back, unsticking his cheek, Yuki seems unbothered, tutting quietly as he smooths Ken’s hair out of his face.
“Sorry,” Ken croaks.
Yuki hums. “Why? You should eat your cereal, it’ll get soggy.”
Ah, yeah. Ken turns to grab at it. His hands are still a little shaky, so he picks up the bowl from the bottom, cradling it between his palms. Yuki stays next to him, still keeping him upright with their sides pressed together.
Ken takes in a deep breath and lets it out, one last shudder running through him. The knot in his chest loosens, just a little.
“Um,” Ken clears his throat. It’s very thick still. “Yuki-san, I don’t want to ask anything else of you right now, but can you—” He presses his thumbs into the rim of his bowl. He really shouldn’t ask, because even after crying like that, he doesn’t feel better. Just emptier, maybe a little more tired. Like he could go back to sleep, perhaps… but not like he could feel whole.
Yuki looks at him patiently, though, and that makes Ken feel like he can finish.
“Can you stay here?” Ken whispers. “At least—just until I’m done.”
Another hum. Yuki ruffles Ken’s hair, then fixes the damage with a slight smile. “Not a problem.”
Ken tries not to let on how relieved that makes him feel. He leans further into Yuki’s side, shovels some cereal into his mouth.
Yuki murmurs, “I’m usually awake, so if you ever have a nightmare… Just come knock, okay?”
That’s a lot easier said than done. Ken glances up at him, wondering if he knows that. It’s always hard to tell with Yuki… though his smile is a bit wry, so maybe he does.
…If he would ask anyway, then, knowing that… maybe it’s important enough to him. Maybe Ken ought to try.
“Okay,” Ken echoes. “No promises, but…”
“Sure.” Yuki smiles just a touch wider. This time, when he ruffles Ken’s hair, he doesn’t fix it, the jerk. “I’ll take what I can get.”
As if Ken is doing him a favour. Ken huffs out a breath, takes another spoonful of cereal… and despite everything, feels himself smile.