006; in the audience
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Sho, it's a test. Nino knows the music tastes of the others by this point, he knows what they like and what they don't like, and can make educated guesses about where they're willing to go with their own talents. But Sho is still a mystery. They've discussed the classics, but all their conversations have stopped before the 80s, and there's so much more Nino needs to know.
So instead of simply bringing it up, Nino invites Sho out to a show at an experimental venue in Roppongi. Sho hasn't heard of it, which means it's going to be a large hurdle for him to jump if he's going to like the music. But liking it isn't really necessary.
Super Deluxe is a large, white-washed venue with a feeling somewhere between a loft and a warehouse. It's built for art as well as music, and tonight the walls are lined with abstract paintings. The audience is sitting on pillows on the floor for this performance, the occasional table lined with glasses of wine interrupting the pillows. The venue is the first test, and Sho looks mildly uncomfortable but doesn't say anything.
"How about you find somewhere to sit. I'll get us some drinks," Sho says, and Nino's pretty sure he's buying himself some time to work out what the wire mobiles dangling from the ceiling represent. Meanwhile, Nino settles himself at an empty table to one side of the stage, lying down so he can save two pillows.
Sho comes back with two beers and Nino smiles before sitting up. He doesn't say anything as he sits down and takes a sip of his beer, just looking around, surveying the stage and setup. There are three tables in the middle of the floor space, one laptop, an entire case full of equipment, a guitar and a violin set out amidst a tangle of wires that only the artist and his sound engineer friends would know how to unravel, and while Nino knows what's coming, he can see Sho trying to put the puzzle pieces together.
"Is it just one person?"
Nino smiles. "Yep, this one French guy." Of the two acts on the lineup, Nino is sure that Sho will like this one. It's the most like music and the least like sound art, even if there are vocal samples and syncopated beats and the occasional discordant computer-generated noise.
Eventually, the performer takes the stage. He weaves his songs expertly, and it gives Nino chills to watch him. To Nino, it's the modern incarnation of the one-man band. There's DJ skills mixed with true musicianship, and Nino finds something haunting about the violin, no matter how it's used. The washed out home videos of children at a playground projected on the wall behind adds a nostalgic touch to the whole set. Nino loves it, like he knew he would, and when the house lights lift as the set changes, he turns to Sho.
Despite having finished his beer, Sho looks contemplative and concerned, and Nino has to bite back a laugh. "What did you think, Sho?"
Sho doesn't answer for a moment, watching as three people pack up the equipment on stage before he turns to Nino. "It was beautiful," he says, though his forehead is still furrowed.
Nino grins and reaches out to press his hand to Sho's forehead. Sho smacks his hand away but clears his forehead, offering a small smile in return. "I'm glad you liked it," Nino says.
The next act is a large, five-piece group from China, with a guqin, a pipa, an acoustic guitar, a set of gadgets and sticks and who knows what else, and a Chinese tea ceremony table. Their music is on the "sound art" end of the spectrum, with noises created seemingly at random, one or both of the vocalists barking or babbling nonsense or just breathing heavily into the microphone. The room remains silent throughout the performance, and for Nino's part he's just as spellbound as the first time he saw them.
After the performance, which gets a standing ovation from the crowd, Nino turns to Sho. "And them?" he asks, trying not to sound as though they're one of his favorite experimental groups.
Sho tilts his head and his brow furrows again. "Interesting," he says, looking as though he's concerned he's come to the wrong conclusion. "I don't think I'd want to see them every week, but they're an experience."
Nino grins. He'd prepared himself for the worst, because experimental music is a polarizing genre, and at times throughout the day he had convinced himself that Sho would dismiss them out of hand and that he'd have to think seriously about Sho's position in the band. Really, all he wanted was thoughtful answers to the inevitable "what do you think?" question, and Sho had delivered. Sho didn't gush, but he isn't bullshitting, and Nino appreciates that more than the actual opinion.
"You passed," he says, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Sho's forehead. The skin becomes smooth under his lips, and when he moves back, Sho's smiling.
"I know I did," Sho says, and for weeks Nino has a niggling doubt that Sho meant what he said about the bands. Nino doesn't really mind being tricked, of course; he relishes it as much as when he tricks someone else, especially if he's tricked by someone who knows him well, but he also doesn't want the whole exercise (and the 1500 yen ticket he actually bought for Sho) to go to waste.
Nino's mind is set at ease when he's scrolling through Sho's iPod a month later and finds two albums of the first act, as well as the odd song from the top three related artists on Last.fm. They turn up on a playlist entitled "thank you, nino~".
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Jun, it's by coincidence. He's at an underground venue in Koenji to see a friend's shitty band play, which he's okay with because the guy bought him a guitar when he didn't have one. Besides, the band is only a little bit shitty, and he got in for free and has a stamp that gives him free alcohol all night, so he doesn't really have reason to complain.
Jun arrives when Nino is on his fourth negroni and feeling much better about the world, but he arrives with his fake girlfriend. They've clearly been out already, because Yuu is already plastered when she squeezes in beside Nino at the bar and orders two glasses of red wine. Nino can't help himself (or, more accurately, doesn't want to) when he leans over to Yuu and gives her a lopsided smile.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Yuu turns to him and he can see her eyes try to focus on his face. It takes her a moment but she gets there. "Excuse me?"
Before Nino can say anything else, Jun curves his fingers over Yuu's shoulders and pulls her back into his chest. "Hey, Yuu," he whispers into her ear, eyes on Nino as he speaks. She giggles and one hand flies up to sift through Jun's hair, nearly smacking Nino in the face. "Why don't you find us a spot up front," Jun finishes, leaning over her and taking one of the glasses of wine the bartender has poured, pressing it into her free hand. She giggles again and spins around to face Jun, spilling her wine with the movement.
"I'll see you there," she says, leaning in and catching Jun's lips in a kiss. Jun leans into it, but as soon as Yuu's weight has shifted he pulls away and maneuvers her smoothly in the direction of the crowd. Jun watches her stumble away for a moment before turning to Nino and taking the other glass of red wine, fishing in his pocket for some money to pay for it.
"I really wouldn't do that if I were you," Nino says, because the wine truly is horrific. He smacks Jun's hand just as he finds his wallet and turns to the bartender. "He didn't order this," Nino says, removing the wine glass from Jun's hand and handing it back. "Get him a double Yamazaki 12 on the rocks," he says, flashing the stamp on the inside of his wrist.
When he turns back to Jun, he doesn't look impressed. "I know it's fake," Nino says by way of apology, "but if it helps, I'm not really paying for it."
Jun's expression doesn't change, and Nino knows what's coming next. "I'm pretty sure I told you not to talk to her."
"I wasn't going to say anything," Nino protests. "Besides, she won't remember tomorrow with the hangover that wine is going to give her." The look on Jun's face distinctly says 'that's not the point.' Nino rolls his eyes and passes the whiskey to Jun. "I don't know what you're so scared of, it's not like I'm going to introduce myself like, 'Hi, my name's Ninomiya and I've been screwing your boyfriend for the last three months.' Give me a little credit."
Jun lets out a huff and takes a sip of the whiskey, wincing as he swallows it back. It all clicks and Nino's eyes widen. "You haven't been drinking? No wonder you're so uptight! Finish that, now, and I'll get you another one."
An hour later and Jun doesn't even remember that Yuu is there, which works out well because she seems to forget that Jun is there, too, when she leaves with the bass player in Nino's friend's band. Jun and Nino, meanwhile, moved from propping up the bar to propping up the wall near the speakers. Another shitty band is on stage belting out blatant Joy Division rip-offs, but Jun's free hand is tucked in the back of Nino's jeans and he's whispering what may as well be nothings into Nino's ear for as well as he can hear them, so he can't find it within himself to care about the music.
The moments start to blur together quickly when Jun moves his lips from Nino's ear to his jaw to his mouth, and before Nino knows what's happening, they're locked in a bathroom stall and Jun has him pinned against the door with a searing kiss. He hopes vaguely that they're actually in the men's room, but that thought is wiped from his mind as soon as Jun makes quick work of his jeans.
The rest of the encounter is fuzzy in Nino's memory, but he remembers little details: the half-moon crescent shapes of Jun's fingernails over his hipbones, the vague ache in his forehead as he lets it smack rhythmically against the door, the shiver that runs up his spine as Jun growls at him to keep quiet. He doesn't remember his own orgasm, but he remembers laughing at the stain on the door, so he knows it happened.
They ditch the rest of the shitty bands after that, sharing a cigarette in the alley next to the Lawson before taking a cab to Jun's apartment. Nino crashes on the couch without saying anything, and in the morning they drink black coffee in silence before Nino leaves for his morning shift at the combini.
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Ohno, it's at a tiny jazz cafe just off of the main strip in Ginza. Jazz isn't really Nino's thing, but it's the first time Ohno invites him to do something other than eat curry or get a coffee, so Nino jumps at the chance.
When they arrive, the proprietress greets Ohno by name and takes him to his regular seat, asking him if he'd like his bottle of whiskey this evening. Ohno looks at Nino as though to ask his opinion, but Nino is completely unable to hide his shock. Ohno just smiles and orders them both Campari and orange juice instead.
"I have a friend who had a residency here a few years ago. He and I share the kept bottle. It's just a bottle of Ballentine's, nothing fancy," Ohno explains. But that isn't really what Nino is confused about, and he has a hard time saying anything in return. He's thrown off that the scruffy busker in the park can be at home in a swanky jazz club in Ginza, even as he's wearing frayed jeans and a baseball cap. It's a side of Ohno that Nino didn't expect, but it all starts to come together as the proprietress brings them their drinks.
"There you are, Oh-chan," she says, a fond smile on her face as she places the drinks on the table. She's the perfect motherly type to run such a place, and Nino can't help but imagine this as the perfect refuge from the world. "It's been a while, I hope you've been well."
Ohno nods and returns the smile. "Perfectly well, Manabe-san. I'd like you to meet my friend, Ninomiya Kazunari," he says, gesturing to Nino.
"Welcome, Ninomiya-san," she says, smiling warmly at Nino and bowing. "I hope you enjoy your visit."
"Thank you," Nino says, unable to find anything else appropriate to say. She leaves their table, and Nino watches her with another customer for a moment before he turns to Ohno. "This was your home for a while, wasn't it?" He doesn't mean to be quite so blunt, but the words just fall naturally from his mouth - there isn't another way to put it.
Ohno is still smiling serenely and he nods, settling back into the soft leather of the booth. "It's not the first bottle of Ballantine's I've kept here," he says by way of answer. "I learned to sing here. Or, well, I learned to control my voice. Jazz is the best for that. You don't have to get particular notes, but what you sing, it has to be stable."
"You performed here?" Nino asks. There's a setup in the opposite corner of the bar - an upright piano and a drum kit, with a lone microphone to accompany - but no semblance of a stage and he doesn't even see an amp.
"Every now and then. I would practice with the musicians late, when there were just one or two people left." Nino sees it, crystal clear in his mind: the pianist and drummer in the same semi-formal attire as the bar staff, with Ohno in jeans and a t-shirt, singing 'I Get A Kick Out Of You' to a disinterested couple.
"Who's on stage tonight, then?" Nino asks, finally picking up his drink and taking a sip.
Ohno gets a dreamy look on his face and practically sighs before he answers. "A lovely woman from Kenya named Wanjau. She sings just like Ella Fitzgerald. She's amazing. I asked her to marry me one time," he admits with a little laugh. "She sang 'Quizas, Quizas, Quizas' instead of answering."
Nino can't help but feel a pang of jealousy with the wistful way Ohno recounts the story, but it's irrational so he pushes it back with another sip of his drink. He changes the topic to something a little safer but it's soon time for the performance to start. Before she even opens her mouth, Nino can understand why Ohno is drawn to Wanjau. She's a tall, slender woman with skin the color of the dark hardwood floors of his parents' genkan, wearing a simple cream-colored dress that hugs every impossible curve on her body, and every movement is fluid and graceful as she greets the musicians and takes her place behind the microphone.
Her voice matches her movements, and Nino feels like he's been transported into an old black-and-white American movie. All the romance of her voice and the familiar lyrics fills the room, and Nino can understand exactly why Ohno would have proposed to her. At some point, he catches Ohno's eye and smiles. "Can we share her?"
An hour later and Wanjau's set is over, and Nino just looks at Ohno without saying anything for a moment. "You're right. She's amazing."
Ohno grins. "I'm glad you think so." Something in Ohno's eyes bring Nino back to the moment, away from the classic movie running in his imagination. It makes him wonder how many people Ohno has brought here, but he doesn't ask.
Instead, he just reaches over and presses a hand over Ohno's. "Thank you for bringing me here, Oh-chan. I love it."
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Aiba, it's at a live house made out of someone's living room in Yokohama. If Nino had his choice, he wouldn't have gone, but it's for Aiba's favorite band, and if there's something Nino thinks is more revealing than rifling through someone's pirated music collection, it's going to see their favorite band with them. The beers are warm because the guy whose apartment it is hasn't paid the electricity bills, but they're only 400 yen so Nino doesn't mind.
Aiba introduces him to the band, because Aiba is friends with everyone, even a group of people who have seen his mosh face (and, judging by the body language between him and the lead singer, his O face) on more than one occasion, and Nino just smiles and makes non-committal small talk about the lack of air conditioning. An hour later and Aiba has dragged Nino to the front of the twenty-person crowd, jumping up and down in time to the music and singing along loudly. Nino doesn't generally engage in front-row antics, but with beer swirling in his system and Aiba's arm around his shoulder, he's buoyed into the spirit of the rough-and-ready rock show.
By the end of it all, they're both drenched in sweat, someone has poured their warm beer down Nino's back (it might have been Aiba, but it could have been anyone) and Aiba's voice is hoarse from singing at the top of his lungs. They pour out of the apartment onto the sidewalk, Aiba's arm still slung around Nino's shoulders, both of them gasping for air.
"Fuck," Aiba enthuses, "that was amazing. I love those guys."
Nino can't help a little hiccup of laughter escape his throat and he nods. "Yeah, they were pretty fun." He doesn't have the heart to tell Aiba that it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun if it weren't for him. Aiba beams, and Nino realizes he hasn't ever met someone who is even more revved up after a good show. Everyone he knows flags, crashing after the highs of dancing and moshing, but he can feel the energy radiating from Aiba's body.
Aiba seems to let him go the next moment, but when Nino looks up, Aiba's hands cup his face and he leans in to steal a kiss. It's not the first time they've kissed, but there's intent behind this one; not meaning, intent, and it's made more clear when Aiba pulls back and looks Nino in the eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Nino opens his mouth to say something, but Aiba cuts him off. "Did I mention that I've never been to a show of theirs without getting laid afterwards?"
Nino smirks back, but he can't really make a snide remark. "I can see why," he says, stepping into the remaining space between them. He presses his fingers to Aiba's elbow, watching a drop of sweat as it slides down the side of his face and then leaning up to catch the salty droplet with a kiss.
They disappear down the alley beside the apartment building a moment later, stealing away in the shadows at the back of a bike shed, Aiba pressing Nino into the corrugated iron with a kiss. Nino doesn't relish the idea of taking the night bus home with come-stained jeans, so he pulls back and makes sure he has Aiba's eyes before he speaks. "We're not fucking here," he says, and Aiba nods without hesitation. "Do you want to go first?"
Aiba drops to his knees without saying anything, and Nino's not sure he's ever had such an enthusiastic yet skilled blow job in his life. The energy leftover from the gig is channelled into Aiba's own performance, and it leaves Nino with a case of horribly weak knees. That isn't really a problem, though, as Nino returns the favor as soon as Aiba's back on his feet, matching the rhythm of Aiba's breathing for a moment before he feels a tug on the back of his hair. Nino glances up as best as he can with a full mouth, but there's nothing dangerous in Aiba's eyes, just desire darkening the heavily-lidded pools of his pupils, so he closes his eyes again and relaxes as Aiba takes control. It's over quickly, and Nino realizes with a start that it's been a while since he's had to swallow when he almost forgets how to breathe through the moment.
Nino gets back to his feet and steals a kiss from Aiba's panting mouth before fixing their clothes. "Thank you," Aiba mumbles as he comes to, and Nino smiles and presses a hand to Aiba's cheek.
"Any time," he replies and steps back, letting a rush of warm summer air between them. They go back to the apartment to watch the second band, but it's not as good, so they finish their warm beers, say goodbye to the first band, and hop the night bus back to Tokyo. Nino falls asleep nestled against Aiba's side and wakes with the sunrise to find his fingers curled in the material of Aiba's t-shirt.
So instead of simply bringing it up, Nino invites Sho out to a show at an experimental venue in Roppongi. Sho hasn't heard of it, which means it's going to be a large hurdle for him to jump if he's going to like the music. But liking it isn't really necessary.
Super Deluxe is a large, white-washed venue with a feeling somewhere between a loft and a warehouse. It's built for art as well as music, and tonight the walls are lined with abstract paintings. The audience is sitting on pillows on the floor for this performance, the occasional table lined with glasses of wine interrupting the pillows. The venue is the first test, and Sho looks mildly uncomfortable but doesn't say anything.
"How about you find somewhere to sit. I'll get us some drinks," Sho says, and Nino's pretty sure he's buying himself some time to work out what the wire mobiles dangling from the ceiling represent. Meanwhile, Nino settles himself at an empty table to one side of the stage, lying down so he can save two pillows.
Sho comes back with two beers and Nino smiles before sitting up. He doesn't say anything as he sits down and takes a sip of his beer, just looking around, surveying the stage and setup. There are three tables in the middle of the floor space, one laptop, an entire case full of equipment, a guitar and a violin set out amidst a tangle of wires that only the artist and his sound engineer friends would know how to unravel, and while Nino knows what's coming, he can see Sho trying to put the puzzle pieces together.
"Is it just one person?"
Nino smiles. "Yep, this one French guy." Of the two acts on the lineup, Nino is sure that Sho will like this one. It's the most like music and the least like sound art, even if there are vocal samples and syncopated beats and the occasional discordant computer-generated noise.
Eventually, the performer takes the stage. He weaves his songs expertly, and it gives Nino chills to watch him. To Nino, it's the modern incarnation of the one-man band. There's DJ skills mixed with true musicianship, and Nino finds something haunting about the violin, no matter how it's used. The washed out home videos of children at a playground projected on the wall behind adds a nostalgic touch to the whole set. Nino loves it, like he knew he would, and when the house lights lift as the set changes, he turns to Sho.
Despite having finished his beer, Sho looks contemplative and concerned, and Nino has to bite back a laugh. "What did you think, Sho?"
Sho doesn't answer for a moment, watching as three people pack up the equipment on stage before he turns to Nino. "It was beautiful," he says, though his forehead is still furrowed.
Nino grins and reaches out to press his hand to Sho's forehead. Sho smacks his hand away but clears his forehead, offering a small smile in return. "I'm glad you liked it," Nino says.
The next act is a large, five-piece group from China, with a guqin, a pipa, an acoustic guitar, a set of gadgets and sticks and who knows what else, and a Chinese tea ceremony table. Their music is on the "sound art" end of the spectrum, with noises created seemingly at random, one or both of the vocalists barking or babbling nonsense or just breathing heavily into the microphone. The room remains silent throughout the performance, and for Nino's part he's just as spellbound as the first time he saw them.
After the performance, which gets a standing ovation from the crowd, Nino turns to Sho. "And them?" he asks, trying not to sound as though they're one of his favorite experimental groups.
Sho tilts his head and his brow furrows again. "Interesting," he says, looking as though he's concerned he's come to the wrong conclusion. "I don't think I'd want to see them every week, but they're an experience."
Nino grins. He'd prepared himself for the worst, because experimental music is a polarizing genre, and at times throughout the day he had convinced himself that Sho would dismiss them out of hand and that he'd have to think seriously about Sho's position in the band. Really, all he wanted was thoughtful answers to the inevitable "what do you think?" question, and Sho had delivered. Sho didn't gush, but he isn't bullshitting, and Nino appreciates that more than the actual opinion.
"You passed," he says, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Sho's forehead. The skin becomes smooth under his lips, and when he moves back, Sho's smiling.
"I know I did," Sho says, and for weeks Nino has a niggling doubt that Sho meant what he said about the bands. Nino doesn't really mind being tricked, of course; he relishes it as much as when he tricks someone else, especially if he's tricked by someone who knows him well, but he also doesn't want the whole exercise (and the 1500 yen ticket he actually bought for Sho) to go to waste.
Nino's mind is set at ease when he's scrolling through Sho's iPod a month later and finds two albums of the first act, as well as the odd song from the top three related artists on Last.fm. They turn up on a playlist entitled "thank you, nino~".
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Jun, it's by coincidence. He's at an underground venue in Koenji to see a friend's shitty band play, which he's okay with because the guy bought him a guitar when he didn't have one. Besides, the band is only a little bit shitty, and he got in for free and has a stamp that gives him free alcohol all night, so he doesn't really have reason to complain.
Jun arrives when Nino is on his fourth negroni and feeling much better about the world, but he arrives with his fake girlfriend. They've clearly been out already, because Yuu is already plastered when she squeezes in beside Nino at the bar and orders two glasses of red wine. Nino can't help himself (or, more accurately, doesn't want to) when he leans over to Yuu and gives her a lopsided smile.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Yuu turns to him and he can see her eyes try to focus on his face. It takes her a moment but she gets there. "Excuse me?"
Before Nino can say anything else, Jun curves his fingers over Yuu's shoulders and pulls her back into his chest. "Hey, Yuu," he whispers into her ear, eyes on Nino as he speaks. She giggles and one hand flies up to sift through Jun's hair, nearly smacking Nino in the face. "Why don't you find us a spot up front," Jun finishes, leaning over her and taking one of the glasses of wine the bartender has poured, pressing it into her free hand. She giggles again and spins around to face Jun, spilling her wine with the movement.
"I'll see you there," she says, leaning in and catching Jun's lips in a kiss. Jun leans into it, but as soon as Yuu's weight has shifted he pulls away and maneuvers her smoothly in the direction of the crowd. Jun watches her stumble away for a moment before turning to Nino and taking the other glass of red wine, fishing in his pocket for some money to pay for it.
"I really wouldn't do that if I were you," Nino says, because the wine truly is horrific. He smacks Jun's hand just as he finds his wallet and turns to the bartender. "He didn't order this," Nino says, removing the wine glass from Jun's hand and handing it back. "Get him a double Yamazaki 12 on the rocks," he says, flashing the stamp on the inside of his wrist.
When he turns back to Jun, he doesn't look impressed. "I know it's fake," Nino says by way of apology, "but if it helps, I'm not really paying for it."
Jun's expression doesn't change, and Nino knows what's coming next. "I'm pretty sure I told you not to talk to her."
"I wasn't going to say anything," Nino protests. "Besides, she won't remember tomorrow with the hangover that wine is going to give her." The look on Jun's face distinctly says 'that's not the point.' Nino rolls his eyes and passes the whiskey to Jun. "I don't know what you're so scared of, it's not like I'm going to introduce myself like, 'Hi, my name's Ninomiya and I've been screwing your boyfriend for the last three months.' Give me a little credit."
Jun lets out a huff and takes a sip of the whiskey, wincing as he swallows it back. It all clicks and Nino's eyes widen. "You haven't been drinking? No wonder you're so uptight! Finish that, now, and I'll get you another one."
An hour later and Jun doesn't even remember that Yuu is there, which works out well because she seems to forget that Jun is there, too, when she leaves with the bass player in Nino's friend's band. Jun and Nino, meanwhile, moved from propping up the bar to propping up the wall near the speakers. Another shitty band is on stage belting out blatant Joy Division rip-offs, but Jun's free hand is tucked in the back of Nino's jeans and he's whispering what may as well be nothings into Nino's ear for as well as he can hear them, so he can't find it within himself to care about the music.
The moments start to blur together quickly when Jun moves his lips from Nino's ear to his jaw to his mouth, and before Nino knows what's happening, they're locked in a bathroom stall and Jun has him pinned against the door with a searing kiss. He hopes vaguely that they're actually in the men's room, but that thought is wiped from his mind as soon as Jun makes quick work of his jeans.
The rest of the encounter is fuzzy in Nino's memory, but he remembers little details: the half-moon crescent shapes of Jun's fingernails over his hipbones, the vague ache in his forehead as he lets it smack rhythmically against the door, the shiver that runs up his spine as Jun growls at him to keep quiet. He doesn't remember his own orgasm, but he remembers laughing at the stain on the door, so he knows it happened.
They ditch the rest of the shitty bands after that, sharing a cigarette in the alley next to the Lawson before taking a cab to Jun's apartment. Nino crashes on the couch without saying anything, and in the morning they drink black coffee in silence before Nino leaves for his morning shift at the combini.
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Ohno, it's at a tiny jazz cafe just off of the main strip in Ginza. Jazz isn't really Nino's thing, but it's the first time Ohno invites him to do something other than eat curry or get a coffee, so Nino jumps at the chance.
When they arrive, the proprietress greets Ohno by name and takes him to his regular seat, asking him if he'd like his bottle of whiskey this evening. Ohno looks at Nino as though to ask his opinion, but Nino is completely unable to hide his shock. Ohno just smiles and orders them both Campari and orange juice instead.
"I have a friend who had a residency here a few years ago. He and I share the kept bottle. It's just a bottle of Ballentine's, nothing fancy," Ohno explains. But that isn't really what Nino is confused about, and he has a hard time saying anything in return. He's thrown off that the scruffy busker in the park can be at home in a swanky jazz club in Ginza, even as he's wearing frayed jeans and a baseball cap. It's a side of Ohno that Nino didn't expect, but it all starts to come together as the proprietress brings them their drinks.
"There you are, Oh-chan," she says, a fond smile on her face as she places the drinks on the table. She's the perfect motherly type to run such a place, and Nino can't help but imagine this as the perfect refuge from the world. "It's been a while, I hope you've been well."
Ohno nods and returns the smile. "Perfectly well, Manabe-san. I'd like you to meet my friend, Ninomiya Kazunari," he says, gesturing to Nino.
"Welcome, Ninomiya-san," she says, smiling warmly at Nino and bowing. "I hope you enjoy your visit."
"Thank you," Nino says, unable to find anything else appropriate to say. She leaves their table, and Nino watches her with another customer for a moment before he turns to Ohno. "This was your home for a while, wasn't it?" He doesn't mean to be quite so blunt, but the words just fall naturally from his mouth - there isn't another way to put it.
Ohno is still smiling serenely and he nods, settling back into the soft leather of the booth. "It's not the first bottle of Ballantine's I've kept here," he says by way of answer. "I learned to sing here. Or, well, I learned to control my voice. Jazz is the best for that. You don't have to get particular notes, but what you sing, it has to be stable."
"You performed here?" Nino asks. There's a setup in the opposite corner of the bar - an upright piano and a drum kit, with a lone microphone to accompany - but no semblance of a stage and he doesn't even see an amp.
"Every now and then. I would practice with the musicians late, when there were just one or two people left." Nino sees it, crystal clear in his mind: the pianist and drummer in the same semi-formal attire as the bar staff, with Ohno in jeans and a t-shirt, singing 'I Get A Kick Out Of You' to a disinterested couple.
"Who's on stage tonight, then?" Nino asks, finally picking up his drink and taking a sip.
Ohno gets a dreamy look on his face and practically sighs before he answers. "A lovely woman from Kenya named Wanjau. She sings just like Ella Fitzgerald. She's amazing. I asked her to marry me one time," he admits with a little laugh. "She sang 'Quizas, Quizas, Quizas' instead of answering."
Nino can't help but feel a pang of jealousy with the wistful way Ohno recounts the story, but it's irrational so he pushes it back with another sip of his drink. He changes the topic to something a little safer but it's soon time for the performance to start. Before she even opens her mouth, Nino can understand why Ohno is drawn to Wanjau. She's a tall, slender woman with skin the color of the dark hardwood floors of his parents' genkan, wearing a simple cream-colored dress that hugs every impossible curve on her body, and every movement is fluid and graceful as she greets the musicians and takes her place behind the microphone.
Her voice matches her movements, and Nino feels like he's been transported into an old black-and-white American movie. All the romance of her voice and the familiar lyrics fills the room, and Nino can understand exactly why Ohno would have proposed to her. At some point, he catches Ohno's eye and smiles. "Can we share her?"
An hour later and Wanjau's set is over, and Nino just looks at Ohno without saying anything for a moment. "You're right. She's amazing."
Ohno grins. "I'm glad you think so." Something in Ohno's eyes bring Nino back to the moment, away from the classic movie running in his imagination. It makes him wonder how many people Ohno has brought here, but he doesn't ask.
Instead, he just reaches over and presses a hand over Ohno's. "Thank you for bringing me here, Oh-chan. I love it."
---
The first time Nino goes to a gig with Aiba, it's at a live house made out of someone's living room in Yokohama. If Nino had his choice, he wouldn't have gone, but it's for Aiba's favorite band, and if there's something Nino thinks is more revealing than rifling through someone's pirated music collection, it's going to see their favorite band with them. The beers are warm because the guy whose apartment it is hasn't paid the electricity bills, but they're only 400 yen so Nino doesn't mind.
Aiba introduces him to the band, because Aiba is friends with everyone, even a group of people who have seen his mosh face (and, judging by the body language between him and the lead singer, his O face) on more than one occasion, and Nino just smiles and makes non-committal small talk about the lack of air conditioning. An hour later and Aiba has dragged Nino to the front of the twenty-person crowd, jumping up and down in time to the music and singing along loudly. Nino doesn't generally engage in front-row antics, but with beer swirling in his system and Aiba's arm around his shoulder, he's buoyed into the spirit of the rough-and-ready rock show.
By the end of it all, they're both drenched in sweat, someone has poured their warm beer down Nino's back (it might have been Aiba, but it could have been anyone) and Aiba's voice is hoarse from singing at the top of his lungs. They pour out of the apartment onto the sidewalk, Aiba's arm still slung around Nino's shoulders, both of them gasping for air.
"Fuck," Aiba enthuses, "that was amazing. I love those guys."
Nino can't help a little hiccup of laughter escape his throat and he nods. "Yeah, they were pretty fun." He doesn't have the heart to tell Aiba that it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun if it weren't for him. Aiba beams, and Nino realizes he hasn't ever met someone who is even more revved up after a good show. Everyone he knows flags, crashing after the highs of dancing and moshing, but he can feel the energy radiating from Aiba's body.
Aiba seems to let him go the next moment, but when Nino looks up, Aiba's hands cup his face and he leans in to steal a kiss. It's not the first time they've kissed, but there's intent behind this one; not meaning, intent, and it's made more clear when Aiba pulls back and looks Nino in the eye, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Nino opens his mouth to say something, but Aiba cuts him off. "Did I mention that I've never been to a show of theirs without getting laid afterwards?"
Nino smirks back, but he can't really make a snide remark. "I can see why," he says, stepping into the remaining space between them. He presses his fingers to Aiba's elbow, watching a drop of sweat as it slides down the side of his face and then leaning up to catch the salty droplet with a kiss.
They disappear down the alley beside the apartment building a moment later, stealing away in the shadows at the back of a bike shed, Aiba pressing Nino into the corrugated iron with a kiss. Nino doesn't relish the idea of taking the night bus home with come-stained jeans, so he pulls back and makes sure he has Aiba's eyes before he speaks. "We're not fucking here," he says, and Aiba nods without hesitation. "Do you want to go first?"
Aiba drops to his knees without saying anything, and Nino's not sure he's ever had such an enthusiastic yet skilled blow job in his life. The energy leftover from the gig is channelled into Aiba's own performance, and it leaves Nino with a case of horribly weak knees. That isn't really a problem, though, as Nino returns the favor as soon as Aiba's back on his feet, matching the rhythm of Aiba's breathing for a moment before he feels a tug on the back of his hair. Nino glances up as best as he can with a full mouth, but there's nothing dangerous in Aiba's eyes, just desire darkening the heavily-lidded pools of his pupils, so he closes his eyes again and relaxes as Aiba takes control. It's over quickly, and Nino realizes with a start that it's been a while since he's had to swallow when he almost forgets how to breathe through the moment.
Nino gets back to his feet and steals a kiss from Aiba's panting mouth before fixing their clothes. "Thank you," Aiba mumbles as he comes to, and Nino smiles and presses a hand to Aiba's cheek.
"Any time," he replies and steps back, letting a rush of warm summer air between them. They go back to the apartment to watch the second band, but it's not as good, so they finish their warm beers, say goodbye to the first band, and hop the night bus back to Tokyo. Nino falls asleep nestled against Aiba's side and wakes with the sunrise to find his fingers curled in the material of Aiba's t-shirt.