[Arashi] Pressure Suit

[honooko]

[Title] Pressure Suit
[Author] honooko
[Rating] PG
[Notes] For still_ciircee. For her birthday. In December. I fail. Sho/Ohno/Nino; title stolen from the song I had on repeat while writing, Aqualung's 'Pressure Suit'.

i.
In the corner of the train, Ohno is tapping out a beat only he can hear against his leg. Dum-dum-duh-dum, dum-dum-duh-dum; over and over again as he loses himself, Ohno starts to picture something moving, shifting, following the path laid out by the rhythm. His foot starts to mirror his fingertips, tapping out the same song he's falling into and swallowing him up in another world. He isn't on the train anymore-he's not even on Earth-but somewhere magical, beautiful, flowing.

He could dance this place, sing this place, draw this place. He tries to hold on to it, commit it to memory, so he can lay it to paper later. Ohno loves this place that welcomes his mind so readily into its folds.

"Nice beats," a man says next to him, and Ohno's world opens.

ii.
Sho flicks through the racks of CDs, looking for a cover he hasn't seen. He has hundreds of them in his room, all organized neatly alphabetically, and he's actually listened to them all. He doesn't like them all, but he's heard them. His favorite ones are the ones with fractured, snapped jewel-cases. They turned brittle from being opened and closed so many times. Lots of people went for mp3s these days, but Sho still found something incredibly satisfying about putting CDs in his multi-deck and setting it on shuffle, waiting to see what a carefully written randomization algorithm would deem to play for him.

The clack of plastic-against-plastic drew his attention to the man next to him.

"If you like those," the man said, pointing at the stack of CDs Sho had balanced on the edge of the rack, "you should try this one."

His hand brushed Sho's as he passed the CD over, and Sho's world tilted.

iii.
Nino's fingers slid along the steel strings, skipping across frets and dragging a song from deep in the belly of the guitar. He nodded his head to the beat he'd set, his voice climbing up the building melody. The lyrics were his song, his poem, his heart and he sang it strong and raw. It was frustration and loneliness set to music notes and Nino wanted everyone to feel it the way he did: like a rope around their gut, pulling desperately to break free.

Coins jangled together loudly as they landed in his open guitar case. Usually Nino kept his head down; he didn't look at people who passed by because sometimes he lost his nerve when he met someone's eyes and read their disinterest, disapproval, dislike. But he could feel this person hovering; Nino looked up.

He was smiling in a spaced-out kind of way, and Nino knew that this man felt it. His world turned upside-down.

iv.
Sho has every song ever written, or something like it, and Ohno borrows everything Sho offers him. The music is so strong, Ohno feels like its telling him how to move to it, dance the way it wants him too. His feet, his hands, his hips all act outside of his will and in ways he's forgotten he even knows how. It leaves him breathless and sweating in the wake of such intense activity; Sho just watches him, smiling huge and bright. He says Ohno is gifted, Ohno is amazing, Ohno is-

Ohno wants to be. For Sho, he wants to be.

v.
Nino has good taste in music, Sho learns. He likes lyrics that are sincere and powerful, so when Sho listens to things Nino recommends, he can't help but feel like maybe Nino is talking to him like this. Melodies and choruses and pounding drum beats speak to him and he takes it all in like a sponge.

"Is this a love song?" Sho asks, because it feels like one. The words don't really say, but Sho's heart is flutting in his ribcage, nervous and yet hopeful.

"Is it?" Nino asks him back, grinning and pulling his legs underneath him. He's sitting on Sho's bed, shuffling through CDs (long since out of their alphabetical order). He's distracted by them; Sho watches Nino's cute hands pulling out whatever catches his eye. And Sho listens again.

"Yes," he decides.

vi.
When Ohno sings, Nino stops breathing. He can't help it; Ohno's voice is so strong, so warm, so sure. Everything he sings feels real and close and Nino eats it up like candy. His own voice sounds so weak and wobbly in comparison, but he sings with Ohno anyway because he can't help but throw his heart into it. The overwhelming desire to just exist in the same universe as Ohno drives Nino forward in a fevered pitch.

He writes music; song after song, word after word. He shows them to Ohno and teaches him the words, and Ohno sings the way Nino's heart wishes it could. Soon, Nino isn't even writing what he feels anymore; he's writing what he wants Ohno's heart to feel.

When Ohno sings love songs, they sound right.

vii.
Nino is really alive, Ohno thinks. Some people walk through their lives half-dead, without joy or sorrow or anything that sticks out like a violent splash of color in their memories. But Nino is shockingly vibrant. Nino feels deeply and understands. Ohno thinks that's kind of magical; he never understands his feelings until long after they've passed, and sometimes even then, he looks back and wonders why he did that, why he thought that, why he even remembered that moment frozen in time.

When he sings Nino's songs, Ohno starts to understand feelings the way Nino does; his entire being is shaken by the power of the words Nino chooses. He's so deliberate about every little choice of lyrics that Ohno feels like he can read Nino's soul like a book. It's battered and bright, like every inch of Nino.

Understanding love songs is much easier, suddenly.

viii.
Nino believes that he is only as good as other people think he is. He spends hours right where he is, in Sho's room playing album after album, single after single, singing along when he knows the words and listening quietly when he doesn't. Sho sings sometimes too, and while his voice is nothing like Ohno's, it still wrenches Nino's heart. He knows two beautiful people, now, and they both look at him with this softness, this gentleness.

Sho thinks Nino has taste and talent; Nino doesn't really think he has either, but he's willing to trust Sho's judgment in this case. He's willing to trust Sho in a lot of things he never thought he'd allow other people to do. There's just something about Sho that makes Nino think that if the world cracked open Sho would be right there to catch his hand.

"Do you like it?" Sho asks him as a new song quietly ends. Nino clenches his fingers in the denim of his jeans, physically holding back an impulse.

"Yeah," Nino says. "I like it."

ix.
Watching Ohno dance is incredible. He moves with such an unspeakable grace; it doesn't matter the kind of dance, the music, the beat. Ohno moves like he was born to do this and only this, forever until the end of time. Sho could absolutely watch Ohno for exactly that long. He's sickeningly jealous, but he knows that even if he could dance half as well as Ohno, he'd quit the second he saw the greater talent.

The world only had room for one person as unconsciously stunning as Ohno was.

As Ohno dances, Sho fights constantly with the urge to follow his movements, sliding his hands along Ohno's shoulders, around his hips, twisting with his hands. Sho longs to feel Ohno's muscles shift underneath his touch. Sho can barely restrain the lust that boils in his gut when he watches Ohno like this, but even so, he refuses to make any move towards... that result. It feels wrong, somehow: it feels like he'd be sullying something sacred and protected. It feels like a violation. Ohno isn't dancing for him, not really. It's a disruption.

...But when he thinks of it like that, Sho just wants it even more.

x.
Nino's apartment is in kind of a bad neighborhood; Sho worries about it sometimes, but he's not sure if he's being reasonable or not. It's pretty much the same area Nino grew up in, so he's more or less used to it, but Sho grew up in nice houses with nice cars, in nice towns full of other nice houses and nice cars. The first time Nino came over, Sho saw the flash of envy in his face, seconds before Nino smothered it completely.

Ohno, like Sho, still lives at home. For Sho, it was a matter of convenience: his university was nearby, and once he graduated, his office was quite close too. He had his own room here and it was comfortable.

Ohno, as it turns out, lives at home because he's too lazy to move out. At first, Sho wasn't sure Ohno would have been able to survive even if he did live alone, if only because the number of basic household tasks that Ohno knew how to do seemed... limited.

"He can do laundry," Nino informs him. "I saw him folding towels once. He gave up when he got to the fitted sheet, though."

When Sho's boss tells him he's transferring him to a different building, in another town, he winces in anticipation of the amount he'll be spending on gas to commute. Sho doesn't really like to drive, either. It's stressful and he's usually too distracted thinking about work to focus on something like traffic flow. Secretly, he's sure he'll die in a car accident someday because he spaced out thinking about stocks and the economic fabric of a given industry and drive headlong into a streetlight.

"Maybe you should move," Ohno says absently across his pasta. Sho stops spinning his fork so he can consider Ohno's suggestion with the full focus and gravity it deserves.

"I don't think I'd like it," Sho says skeptically. "I'd get lonely, I think."

"So get a cat," Nino tells him the next day as they're half-watching a terrible horror movie on TV. It was the only thing on besides an equally-questionable Korean soap opera. "Or turtles. A whole bunch of turtles."

The following week, Ohno shows up on Sho's doorstep. His eyes are big and sad-looking; Sho gets the impression Ohno is purposely playing songs across his heartstrings, but he opens the door anyway. Ohno shuffles inside and paws at the back of Sho's shirt as they walk down the hall to Sho's room.

"Mom kicked me out," Ohno whines. "She's painting my room."

"Why is she painting your room?" Sho asked.

"So she can turn it into a guest room," Ohno answers.

"...But you live there," Sho says, confused.

"No, I don't," Ohno says as if this is old information. "I live by myself now. It's really lonely, though."

Sho blinks at him, processing what Ohno has just told him. He is suddenly struck by the image of a wide-eyed Ohno looking forlornly at a rice cooker and starving slowly because he can't make it work. The picture is quickly replaced with one of Ohno gaining three hundred kilos and becoming the size of a bed after eating nothing but convenience store food. This is instantly followed by the vision of Ohno being evicted because as far as Sho knew, Ohno didn't even have a job, so how exactly was he planning on paying rent?

"I'll bring my stuff on Friday," Sho sighs. Ohno perks up and beams at him, and the feeling that he is being manipulated returns.

He decides he doesn't really care.

xi.
Nino is opening the fifth of his seven medium-sized boxes when Sho arrives. Sho has boxes too; more than Nino, but they also appear to be painstakingly labeled with both their locations (bedroom, bathroom, living area) and a complete itemized list of contents. Nino's boxes say JACK DANIELS and ASAHI BEER because he got them from a liquor store.

"What are those?" Nino asks, pointing. Sho looks at Nino's boxes with an expression pretty much identical to Nino's: confusion. Ohno steps into the room behind Sho, looking mildly pleased with the world.

"Oh," he says innocently, "this is nice!"

"You," Sho accuses him, "are nefarious."

"Are those fitted sheets?" Ohno asks with a hint of fear in his voice, pointing at a laundry basket. Nino makes a noise in his throat that suggests he sees Ohno's not-so-veiled ruse and is falling for it anyway. Sho sighs and brings his box in, setting it down and pausing.

"Wait," he says. "How many bedrooms does this place have?"

xii.
They turn out to be pretty good roommates, actually. Sho brought his CD player, Nino brought his computer, and Ohno has absolutely no opinion about the placement of any objects whatsoever. This allows Sho to recreate his CD shelf near the newly-added bookshelf and Nino to put his baseball trophies on the coffee table where Ohno uses them as paperweights.

It turns out there is, in fact, only one bedroom. Ohno doesn't care about who sleeps where, either; he's stayed the night with both of them at least once, and he's fairly sure they've done the same, so why should it matter? He has a very big bed with very soft blankets, and even though each night either Sho or Nino has taken a sleeping bag to the couch with a powerful determination, they all wake up sprawled across each other in the bed anyway.

Nino says he sleepwalks. Sho says he's quite sure Ohno is afraid of the dark and just hasn't realized it yet. Ohno thinks they are both cuddlesluts.

xiii.
Nino's making dinner. Sho can cook too, but only in the loosest sense of the word. Sho "cooking" is like saying "fingerpaintings are art." Probably true, technically, but no one will be framing it in a gallery any time soon. Ohno can cook too, once he's been shown how; currently, he is capable of making various dishes involving eggs, and fried rice. After three straight days of fried rice, Nino volunteered to cook until the other two learned how to feed them properly.

He's making spaghetti because he's lazy, but also because Sho had a big meeting that day he'd been stressing about for a week. Pasta is Sho's favorite comfort food, and Nino took the time to make the sauce from scratch. It still didn't take very long to make; he's stirring in the last ingredients now, and nobody else is even home yet. Nino's hips are swaying slightly to the beat of the music he turned on while he worked. He hums, tastes the sauce on the spoon, then hums again.

"You know," Sho says from the doorway, "you really do make a fetching wife." He sounds tired, but Nino can hear the smile in his voice. He turns around, twirling girlishly and flapping the apron he's wearing at Sho. It's pink and frilly; Sho's little sister gave it to him as a housewarming gift. At first they'd all laughed at it, but one day Ohno actually started using it, and pretty soon they all donned it automatically before knuckling down to cook.

"Made your favorite," Nino says, holding out a spoonful of sauce for Sho to taste. "Here, tell me if it needs more salt." Sho stepped forward obligingly, one hand coming around to rest on the small of Nino's back as he leaned in to sip off the spoon.

Nino holds his breath. He can smell cigarette smoke on Sho's hair; he must has smoked just before coming inside. Nino wants to turn into Sho's open arm; he wants to curl closer to that comforting smell and warm presence. He bites his lip.

"Tastes perfect," Sho says softly.

xiv.
Ohno does, as it turns out, have a job. Or rather, several jobs. Sometimes he teaches art and dance classes at a small private after-school academy; he doesn't really seem to have a set schedule that Nino and Sho can tell. He also occasionally sells his own art to local galleries, but that doesn't pay very well. Sho thinks that Ohno probably always intended to con at least one of them to moving in with him, because there isn't any way he could have paid the rent entirely on his own. He probably should feel... used, but instead he feels strangely pleased. Ohno wanted them in his life enough to somewhat scam them into it.

Although Nino sometimes seemed to take a sincere pleasure in domestic chores that had Sho doubting Ohno would have settled for just one of them there. Nino worked at a music store three subway stops down, but it barely paid minimum wage, so Sho was absolutely the breadwinner of the household.

Even so, he is pretty hopeless about budgeting. Nino takes over balancing the checkbook after two weeks.

"Sho," Ohno says from the couch, his feet propped up on the arm rest. "Come watch this movie with me."

"Can't," Sho says. He wants to; he wishes he could just unwind for a while and watch a stupid movie with his friends. But with his newfound responsibility for these people came more work, work he couldn't leave at the office any more. "I've got three earning reports to get through."

"Do them out here," Ohno says. Sho shouldn't, but he can't resist. Soon, he's slouching into the couch with his briefcase open on the coffee table in front of him. He wiggles around a bit, trying to find the soft spot on the couch cushion, when Ohno tugs his shoulders until he's leaning back on Ohno's chest.

It shouldn't be comfortable, but it is. It really is.

Every extra assignment was worth this feeling.

He doesn't see Nino standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching them settle in close and happy-so he doesn't see the flash of sorrow dart across Nino's face.

xv.
Ohno asks Nino to model for him. Painting from references only got you so far, and as specific as his mental map of human anatomy was, sometimes you just had to see the real thing in front of you to get it right. Honestly, he just needed a human being, but Nino was interesting to watch and study. Also, he was cute when he was flustered.

"I-I guess," he agrees nervously. If he's nervous now, Ohno thinks, his head is going to explode in a second.

"I got this commission assignment from one of the galleries," Ohno explains, leading Nino by the hand to his corner of the apartment that served as a studio. "It's all about shadows and how they play across various textures. They've got a few people working on it." He makes Nino sit on a stool, adjusting the lamps he has strung up around the area to get the kind of look he wants.

"So which fabric are you working with?" Nino asks curiously. Ohno smiles brightly, innocently.

"Skin," he says and watches with delight as Nino processes the information, turning a bright red.

But he doesn't refuse.

When Ohno is letting the first layer of paint dry a few hours later, Sho comes home. He pauses in front of the canvas, his eyes catching on a pair of strikingly familiar collarbones. Ohno doesn't know that Sho recognizes them; he doesn't know that Sho had to take a deep breath around the pang of distance in his chest.

xv.
Nino is soaking wet. It starts raining as he's walking home, and he curses when it turns from a light sprinkle to a genuine downpour. It seems silly to buy an umbrella for just a few blocks, but it means that once he finally steps through the door, he's drenched and his clothes are transparent and sticking to his skin. He hovers in the entryway, wondering if it's better to walk in and drip everywhere, or drip here for a while before seeking out a towel.

The decision is made for him when Sho hears him clattering around and finds him.

"Shit," Sho says, "you're going to drown." He immediately goes for towels, and Nino starts peeling off layers of clothing. His flannel shirt actually makes a slopping sound when it hits the floor, and he's pulling his practically-clear t-shirt off his head when Sho gets back. Sho hands him one towel to throw across his shoulders before tossing a second over Nino's head.

"Come here," Sho orders, and Nino steps forward. Sho fluffs his hair with the towel, rubbing out the moisture. Nino shivers as the air dances across his damp skin, unconsciously stepping forward towards Sho's body heat. Sho lowers the towel and starts carding his fingers through Nino's hair. His movements slow gradually from a brisk combing to a slow, gentle pull. Nino's eyes are closed.

Ohno walks through the door and sees them, barely air between them as Sho cradles Nino's head tenderly. They don't notice him-he turns around, stepping outside again. He tells himself it's to give them time, let them have their moment.

But in truth, he just can't quite bring himself to see it.

xvi.
Ohno feels Sho relax. His breathing deepens and the tension wrapped up in his shoulders releases in a slow roll. Ohno throws himself into the feeling of serenity that settles over them both. It's peace and comfort and so simple, Ohno feels like maybe, maybe this is what he's spent his whole life waiting to feel.

xvii.
Nino wonders if Ohno can see the goosebumps that rise across his skin. He's not cold; Ohno turned up the thermostat for his sake. But there's something pleasing in the focus that Ohno shows in his eyes when he's looking at Nino now. It makes Nino hyper-aware of every inch of his body and the fact that Ohno has now seen everything Nino has. And yet, he still feels safe.

xviii.
Sho drags his fingers through the wet tangle of Nino's hair. He feels something in his stomach flip over at the openness in Nino's posture; he is vulnerable, and yet... there is a delicate something fluttering between them. Nino's eyes are closed and his eyelashes stand out starkly across his skin. Sho can only marvel at how much Nino must trust him to let him do this.

xix.
Nino can sense that something is... not wrong, not precisely, but not right. There's a funny sort of feeling hanging around them when they're all together. It seems like nobody can quite manage to meet each other's eyes. Sho skirts the edges of the room and Ohno drifts away; all Nino think is that they are mad.

He's just not sure who they're mad at. Both of them can talk to him just fine by themselves, so he doesn't think it's him. But he's also seen them curled around each other on the couch or leaning over a saucepan on the rare nights when Nino isn't in charge of feeding them and they make a valiant effort themselves. Sho doesn't look mad; when Sho is angry, his jaw tightens and a tendon along his shoulder stands taught. But he can't recall a time when he saw Ohno mad, so he can't rule it out.

After a long and awkwardly quiet evening at home, Nino decides to try and figure it out.

"Are we fighting?" he asks the room at large. Sho looks up from his newspaper, surprised. Ohno looks up, equally confused, from the fishing magazine he'd been perusing. Nino finds himself abruptly the center of attention; he self-consciously sinks a bit deeper into the sofa.

"I mean," Nino clarifies defensively, "things have been a little weird in here lately."

Any doubt about it all was washed away when a flash of guilt darted across Sho's face. If Ohno had a matching look, Nino misses it. At least he wasn't the only one to notice.

"No," Sho says, but he looks like he might be trying to convince himself of something he doesn't entirely believe.

"You don't think so," Ohno points out sharply from across the room. It's an accusation, but coming from Ohno, it doesn't really sound like one.

"Well," Sho amends. "We're not angry, are we?"

"I don't know," Nino shoots back. "Are we?"

"I'm not mad," Ohno says easily. He looks at Nino curiously. "Are you?"

"No," Nino says, because he isn't. He's a lot of things right now: confused, a little anxious, filled with longing. There's a weird sort of sick feeling in the pit of his stomach he can't identify. But he's not even slightly angry.

"Why would you think-?" Sho says vaguely. He seems to be having more and more trouble looking at them, and Nino finds that terribly suspicious.

"You can't even make eye-contact," Nino points out. His voice wobbles a little bit, and suddenly Nino knows what that sick feeling is: hurt. "You looked at me the other day, and now you don't-"

"That was different," Sho says quickly, his gaze darting to Ohno and then to the floor.

Now Ohno won't look him either; in fact, Ohno's expression has darkened slightly in a way Nino's never seen before. He looks out the window, his face still and blank. It frightens Nino to see them both like this. He's used to an Ohno that smiles at him so brightly and sweetly, it's almost childlike. He's used to a Sho that welcomingly and warmly pulls Nino into the kind of hugs most people stop giving after they're about ten years old. He loves them both so much, but part of that is how much they love each other, and the thought that they might not anymore-

It reminds him of when he was very, very young. There was something wrong then, too; long before the loud fights, long before the paperwork and division of property, his parents had gone silent. Nino is gripped with a deeply-embedded fear of what might be coming next.

His eyes must have given the thought away though, because seconds later, Sho and Ohno are seated on the couch on either side of him, offering comfort. Nino blinks against the old memories playing across his vision until he can see them-just them, looking at him and waiting.

xx.
Sho knew, in a vague way, that Nino had secrets. At the very least, Nino kept part of himself tucked away in a corner that no one was allowed to see. He also knew Nino carried around a certain amount of fear, but to watch it roll across Nino's mind like this was horrifying. Sho was moving before he even fully registered it; now he's sitting here, holding Nino's right hand and hoping this is enough to make those dark, dark thoughts go away.

Fighting, anger, loss. Sho realizes how truly Nino is afraid of these things. And however unintentionally, Sho triggered this fear in him. Apologies don't seem like enough, so he squeezes Nino's hand and hopes it works.

Sho doesn't know how to explain to Nino that he's not angry, he just feels that maybe he's getting in the way of something much more important than his feelings will ever be.

xxi.
Ohno never pried for details, but he had a general idea about Nino's overall family structure. He didn't know how that may have shaped the person Nino is now, but he'd have to be blind to miss it now. Ohno comforts Nino the only way he knows how: physical presence. Nino responds to that, always. He slides an arm around Nino's back to hold him and tell him that Ohno is near.

To tell him that Nino is loved.

Sometimes Ohno likes to think that maybe someday Nino will love him too. But he sees how Nino looks at Sho and he knows the chances of that fading are pretty remote. He has to be happy like this, as Nino's friend, because he's not going to get anything more.

Nino looks at him, right in the eye.

"I love you," he says quietly. He then turns to Sho and says clearly, "I love you too."

Ohno tries to process this. Sho appears to be equally staggered. Nino makes it very difficult to determine where the line is between friends and more, largely because for Nino, the difference is very minute. Logically, typically, Nino would say those words in a platonic fashion.

Only, Nino doesn't look like he means it that way. Ohno's seen that look enough times lately to recognize it.

So he takes a deep breath, praying he's not making a huge mistake, and kisses Nino square on the lips. He leaves no room for interpretation.

xxii.
Nino is momentarily dumbstruck; he hadn't expected his confession to warrant such a... passionate response. Most people don't take the revelation that they are involved in a complex love triangle with such enthusiasm. Nino wants to enjoy the kiss, he really does, but he can already feel Sho pulling away and he doesn't want that.

So when Ohno breaks the kiss, Nino turns. He brings his free hand up to Sho's chin and uses it to pull him into a kiss, too. He isn't sure what he's doing; he isn't sure this is going to work. But his heart wants to believe that it can, so he gives it his all.

Sho is a little unsure; Nino can feel his hesitation. An idea springs to Nino's mind, and he hopes his almost telepathic-connection with Ohno will kick in just when he needs it to. The kiss ends, and Nino leans back.

Proving that Nino's trust in him is not misplaced, Ohno surges forward into the empty space, catching Sho's lips just as he's dampening them with his tongue. The ensuing exchange looks to Nino like Ohno is proving something very, very important to Sho.

And apparently, it works. Because the kiss stops and miraculously, neither of them pull away. Neither of them look upset. If anything, all three of them have mirrored expressions of surprise and pleasure. It shouldn't work, but it feels perfect and worn-in, like his favorite pair of jeans. It feels like this is exactly how it's supposed to be. In any other people, there would be terrible things lurking unspoken between them, but with Sho, Ohno and Nino, there isn't room for anything but each other and their love.

Nino feels it as something beyond words.

Maybe we can be happy, Nino thinks with a dawning sense of wonder.

xxiii.
Now?

They are.