[one-shot] Unsaid
Title: Unsaid
Pairings: Ohno/Machida, Ohmiya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: 5526
Summary: Sometimes silence can say much more than words (but that doesn’t mean it’s speaking the truth).
Prompt by Rikke: A dressing room, Ohno/Machida, and Jealous!Nino and a whole lot of kissing.
Notes: Well... part of it fits the prompt, at least :/ Written (almost) entirely in 2nd person. For
rikke_leonhart, for being an inspiration and a great friend. Love you, sweetheart! I hope you like the fic <3 She also wrote me something, and I think they go together well, even though they're really different. It's amazing, all of you should read it! You can find it here!
1.
Time doesn’t freeze. You know, because you can still hear the cheap clock beating as loud as your heart. Thump-thump, tick-tock, thump-tock. You can’t tell which is which anymore.
They don’t know you’re there. They’re hidden in the far corner; they can’t see you and you can’t see them. But you can hear that quiet voice you know so well, that mumble you’ve tuned your ears to and committed to memory over and over, even though you’ve never once forgotten it. Shyly, his words reach you, a simple question: Did I do okay? You want to reply, but you’re aware of it before the other person even speaks: those words don’t belong to you.
The play was amazing… and you were cute, the other assures him with a chuckle. He says it lightly, but you know better. You know because the bouquet in your hands is already starting to solidify into a weight that nearly brings you to your knees. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, Ohno? Since we last met, he continues. He doesn’t say anything more, but the atmosphere finishes the sentence: so, let’s make up for lost time. With that, the oppression spreads like a disease, swirling around your brain and pushing your eyelids down, but you can’t close them when you try.
Machida… Ohno breathes before releasing a muffled gasp. You bring up your hands to cover your ears, and you try to drown out the sounds with your own thoughts. Enough, you say to yourself, no more, that’s enough. You pull back and blink in surprise, looking to your hands: you’d forgotten about the bouquet in your right hand, and with your left, without noticing, you’ve been peeling off the petals of the arrangement you bought (an assortment of roses of all sorts of colors with a small note of congratulations stuck inside. The lady in the shop told you about things like meanings and what certain flowers represented, but it’s not like Ohno would think of those kinds of things anyway. You cursed at the price of an oversized bunch and bought it anyway, flooding a notebook full of confessions and hopes to slip in with it before simply writing Love, Nino on the card provided by the shop, even though you know he won’t understand) and crushing them in your palm, one by one, an unconscious game of he loves me, he loves me not.
I love you, Ohno.
You tremble a little, hugging the shredded bouquet closer to your chest, because it’s not you saying it. I love you, Ohno, I love you.
Ohno replies in song, with tiny whines and hitching breath. You stand there, unable to remember how to work your legs or your tongue, but your imagination functions. Maybe Ohno’s long, beautiful fingers are tangled in Machida’s hair, pushing deeper as their mouths move against each other. You’re sure there’s no clashing of teeth or awkward bumping of noses, because they know one another so well. They were there for each other since the beginning, training together, dropping out of school together, and going to Kyoto together, like lost children with nothing but a love of dancing to push them forward. They understand things about each other that you’ll never be able to comprehend, and are similar in ways you’ll never become.
Then the air is still, quiet, and your mind plays fill-in-the-blanks. Ohno is probably holding Machida in a warm embrace, clinging to him with his fingers mapping across the bumps of the younger dancer’s spine as Machida smiles against his neck.
You look down to the crushed flowers in your arms, the wrapper crinkling and sticking against your skin, and you wonder if they can hear you. Suddenly, you feel like an intruder. You’re an outsider in their world, their friendship, their love; they speak in a language you don’t know.
Slowly, you set the bouquet onto the floor, not bothering to close the small gap you opened in the door. Maybe Ohno will find it and know you were there, or maybe he won’t even notice. It doesn’t matter. You walk away with your eyes brimming with tears that you’ll have wiped away by the next time you see him, leaving your game of possibilities unfinished because you already know the outcome without tearing off the last petal.
He loves me not.
-1.
(Sometimes it’s easier when the truth is in fragments - you are left to shove whatever words you want into the empty spaces, molding their meaning until they fit, and you can even morph them to your liking.
But all of the pieces you substitute are only just that: proxies; words you put into another person’s sentence, and maybe the things you’re hearing aren’t quite what they’re trying to communicate to you.
You want to tell them of your truths, so that maybe they’ll be able to tell you their own, but you choke on the words. You fear the what-ifs of speaking, so you bite your tongue. You fear the regret of silence, so you babble nonsense.
You speak in incomplete sentences, and they are forced to try and interpret what it is you’re saying.
You’re trying to tell them that one day, you’ll learn to speak articulately and break the cycle.
But they don’t get the message.)
2.
After getting back to your shared apartment late at night, you both push your futons so they’re lined up beside one another and collapse on them. That day, you both strove to do your best, dancing so hard your legs nearly gave out, only to go home with sore muscles and the production’s lowest attendance yet, trying to remember what the hell you dropped everything to come to Kyoto for in the first place.
You don’t remember how it happened - maybe one of you said something that led up to it, somehow getting caught up in the moment. You just remember the solitude, the desperation, the need, and the tenderness of Ohno’s hand in yours that expelled them all. You suppose you’re the one that started it: you stared at his half-lidded, distant eyes, his tousled hair, his soft expression, the way he licked his lips out of habit and left them glistening with saliva… one of those things, or the way they all combined, got to you. Your tongue follows the trail his left, and you kiss him, straddle him, pin his arms above his head as if to say see, I’ve trapped you here - you’re here with me and I won’t let you leave. Ohno groans, rolling his hips against you, nibbling along your jaw as you free yourself from your shirt, then stripping him of his. It doesn’t take long for you to cry out one another’s names, panting hard and holding each other as closely as possible so you don’t have to look into each other’s eyes.
It happens again and again, another step in your life’s routine, doing him and being done, falling asleep to the sounds of whispered words of affection and promises, and you always wake up the next morning and peel away, go through your life without even thinking about it. Neither of you talk about it; you remain the best of friends and nothing more. It’s merely a repellent for your pain, or a cure to all of the homesickness, or a spell to ward off loneliness.
But then, it’s time for it to end. Both of you will be returning to Tokyo, to your families, and you won’t need to comfort each other anymore. The night before you leave, you shove him down and bite along his neck, grabbing his hips and shoving into him, forcefully and frantically. When you wake up, he’s covered in bruises and love marks and this time, you refuse to peel away from him. He gently pushes you off, covering you with thoughtless kisses and reassurances.
When you’re at home in Tokyo that night, alone in your bed, you realize for the first time that all of the things you regarded as unimportant might have been the only thing that kept you going there, and that the sudden, baseless fear of leaving Ohno might hold a much greater meaning than you thought.
-2.
(If you don’t like what you see, then keep your eyes shut.
If you don’t like what you hear, then plug your ears.
If you don’t like what you’re saying, then bite your tongue.
It’s really not complicated.)
3.
It’s not like you wanted it to happen - whether you should’ve seen it coming or not is an entirely different matter (you don’t belong here, that much you know for sure) - but it doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty. He’s the second person you call, after your mother, and it’s not until you hear his voice as he answers the phone that you truly feel the distance from Japan.
You repeat the same thing you told her, which is the same thing you were told yourself, just a few hours ago: Hawaii, boat, press conference, debut, Arashi. There’s an awkward pause, and in that short time, you’re able to convince yourself that he hates you, he’s angry, he wants nothing more to do with you, and you know that he’d never think in such a way, but you’re conquered by your fears. I’m sorry, you whisper, and the tears begin to flow. I’m so sorry.
Don’t be, he says gently, but his voice is trembling just as much as yours. Don’t be. I understand, Ohno. It’s not your fault. I’m happy for you. But is this what you want?
Of course not. I want… Your let your words trail away. You try to think of what it is you want, but he’s all you can think of. You want him; he’s enough for you.
You don’t always get what you want, you remind yourself as you bid him goodbye and hang up the phone.
-3.
(Isn’t your life much simpler with your eyes closed, your ears covered, and your voice muted?
You’ll never need to interact with the bad things in the world around you again.
But, you wonder, what about the good things?)
4.
You sleep together because Ohno is drunk and you’re an idiot.
Your mother and sister are both away for the week, so you take Ohno home with you when he gets so wasted that he doesn’t remember where his own house is. You clean him up a little, give him some water, and send him off to your bed. But then he kisses you, and it doesn’t take more than that: you start stripping off his clothes and yours before your mind can protest.
After, he starts to cry and you start to panic. You’re in deep. He must be crying because he’s sobered up and realized what you’ve done - because you hurt him in the midst of it, or because you hurt him by betraying his trust.
I think, he mumbles with a hiccup and a sniffle, I love Arashi.
You inhale sharply. It’s probably the alcohol talking now. All of you have had a rough couple of years, and have been forced to really think about what Arashi means to you. But you want to know more. You want to know if Ohno loves you, too.
He snuggles into you, and your arms envelop him, murmuring sweet nothings to quell the sobs that shake him. And then, you slip and say a sweet something: We love you too, Oh-chan. I love you.
You freeze, your heart beats faster, you wait for him to push you away, and you start to cry with him when he doesn’t. I love you, Kazu, he says instead. He says it over and over again, but you don’t know if you can trust it, so you don’t.
He doesn’t seem to remember in the morning, and you don’t tell him.
-4.
(You were so busy wishing you could be someone you aren’t that you forgot how to be yourself, so you-)
5.
I’m quitting, he says nonchalantly. You’ve heard it a hundred times before and you’ve said it a hundred times before, but neither of you actually did it. There are other things I want to do. I want to perfect my dancing and I can’t do it here. I can’t dance the way I want here.
He keeps explaining, and you continue to not understand. You want to know what it is he’s searching for; what he thinks he’ll be able to find (and whether you should be looking for it, too). But you tell him that you’ll always support him, wish him the best, and try to block out the words you spoke years ago: If you leave, I’m leaving, too.
The next day, you find out for certain that he’s quit the company. Immediately, you try to find a way to follow him. Arashi is young, and you’re so far behind the others. It would be easy to replace you, to cut out your name and paste in another’s. You could run off with Machida and go on a journey. He could dance and you could paint, and maybe Machida would even let you kiss him again. You could run as far away as you could, and then settle down in some quiet town, open a bakery with a stage for him to perform on and your paintings hung on the walls. You could tell him you love him, and maybe he’d say it back.
You’ve always been Ohno, but now Ohno is Leader, and Leader is Arashi. For the first time, you think of the other four, and it doesn’t make sense (you don’t even do anything leader-like) when you find yourself unable to actually resign from the group. Just thinking about it feels as if you’re abandoning them. Either you follow Machida, or you try to catch up with Arashi, even if they’re going in opposite directions.
You practice, respond to fan letters, do everything you can, and when you see the fans who are carrying your uchiwa, cheering you on, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to keep going like this.
It’s not until a year later that you see Machida again. He reenters the company and is thankfully able to pick up where he left off. You wonder if he really did perfect his dancing, if he found his true self, or if he came back because he left his true self behind without realizing it.
Eventually, you meet. You’re both legal now, so you go out and have a few drinks, catch up, talk about the past, the present, and the future. You say goodbye and part ways, and you’re relieved that even after everything that’s happened since your debut, you can still name Machida as your best friend.
In the middle of the sidewalk, you tilt your head back and close your eyes. You remember the promises the two of you shared as you held each other close after the heat of passion, promises about eternity and love and always being together that were too dangerous for the morning. It feels the same as back then: like you’re waking up after a night together and acting as if nothing ever happened. He’s your best friend, but no, he’s also more than that. You also told him you loved him on those nights, and the words from back then weren’t lies.
But things are different now.
You head off to another bar, then another, drinking down all of the memories. In your intoxicated state, you must have called Nino. You don’t remember doing it, but he picks you up and brings you to his house. The moonlight is cast on Nino’s face through his window as he helps you into bed, and you can’t get over how pretty he looks. You pull him down to kiss him, and he complies, but everything after is muddled in your mind. But one thing you remember clearly: you told him you love him, more than once, but you don’t recall what he said in reply, if he replied at all.
When morning comes, you feel sick, because that I love you wasn’t a lie, either. You’re despicable, you’re the worst - you absolutely hate yourself - because you might be madly in love with Ninomiya Kazunari, and you just used him, treated him like some one-night stand. It’s the exact same thing you did with Machida: you loved him, slept with him, tossed him aside, and had the audacity to keep calling yourself his friend.
You want to apologize to Nino, but as days go by, Nino smiles, laughs, plays his Gameboy, pulls tricks, and treats you the same as before.
You find yourself repeating the same things you said back in your junior days, the things you told yourself about Machida: just because it meant something to you doesn’t mean he feels the same way.
And again, you run away, pretending you feel nothing for him when your heart is bursting with love, still mumbling promises and I love you’s into your pillow at night without even knowing which person they’re for, still too afraid to tell it to them in person because, really, you’re nothing more than a coward.
-5.
(You fear yourself almost as much as you fear the truth, because facing oneself means to see your own flaws and strengths, the good and ugly sides of your character, and learning to accept them.
You fear liberation almost as much as you fear yourself, because only a small part of freedom has to do with choice: most of it is freedom of self, of being able to reconcile with the good and the bad and to keep pushing forward from there.
You fear the world almost as much as you fear liberation, because the world can trick you with imitations and cop-outs of freedom to lure you in and chain you down, and make you forget who you are.
You fear courage almost as much as you fear the world, because once you find courage, you act, and once you act, you can never take your words or actions back again.
You fear your actions almost as much as you fear the truth, because you never know how you’ll act, what courage you’ll gain, what freedom or restraints you’ll find, what others will do to you, or what you’ll do to yourself, once you know the truth.)
6.
To be honest, you saw it coming. As time went by, Ohno became more and more comfortable as a member of Arashi. There might have been some resentment at first, but you also found your place in Musical Academy. He’s happy with Arashi, and you’re happy with MA. You watched Ohno’s group as they evolved, grew, and established themselves firmly as who they were. And you could see it - the subtle touches, the bond strengthening between them… they even made a comedy act together. It’s okay, though. Nino is now Ohno’s best friend, but so are you. You have the others in MA, Ohno has Arashi, and you have each other.
But there’s a pang in your heart, because the way they look at each other speaks to you the words they probably refuse to say to themselves.
You thought you rid yourself of such feelings, left them to the past, but when you go to bed that night, for the first time in a long time, you’re painfully aware that you’re alone. You close your eyes, and the memories of Ohno and his body, lips, hands, hips, moans, eyes, and all of the words he uttered into the night come in like a slideshow you can’t turn off.
You wonder if it’s too late.
And then, like an answer, you picture the Ohno you saw on TV a little earlier, his nose crinkled up in a bright smile to something Nino said.
-6.
(He’s falling away from you. You cling to his wrists but it might be too late. You pull, claw, reach out for a better grip, but his fingers are slipping out of your hand, and you try to steady yourself but you stumble because you’re too weak, you try to grab him again but he’s out of reach, you try to call his name but-)
7.
When you approach him after filming, you’re hands are sweaty and you’re heart is beating too fast. You feel nervous, ridiculous, everything but bold enough. So you take your guitar - it’s your weapon in this war you’ve declared against yourself, the only sword sharp enough to cut down your insecurities - and catch him as he’s walking out the door, calling for him to wait.
He turns and tilts his head; he’s curious, but he doesn’t question you. He waits for you to speak, and you wish you could say something carelessly, casually, because it’s just Ohno, and the two of you aren’t supposed to get awkward around each other.
I wrote a song, you say, holding up your guitar a little as if to make your point (or maybe to fight off the lumps in your throat, or the hesitation that’s trying to hold back your tongue). If you… do you want to hear… can I play it for you?
I wrote it for you - but no, you don’t get a chance to say that part. You’re too busy holding your breath as Ohno pauses, frowning and thinking about something. Does he know the message in the song, and who it’s for? Is he thinking of a way to return your feelings? Or, is his mind wandering, thinking of what kind of clay to buy at the art supply store on his way home?
Then he smiles, and you wonder how Ohno can do it - how he can cut into your chest and tear out your heart with only a few words as his weapon, leaving you behind with a guitar that, despite sharpening it painstakingly, is still too dull to fight back.
Maybe next time.
-7.
(It’s hard to lie to others, but easy to lie to yourself.
It’s not even a very big lie, so why not?
Just stack up your lies one by one, pile them together and stuff them into storage, file them away and pull them out when you need them later.
Why not?)
8.
There was something strange about Nino, you think as you leave, while you’re on the train and when you’re lazing around in your bedroom. You might have hurt his feelings. After all, there wasn’t really a reason to say no. It’s not like you had anything else to do.
You’ve heard Nino’s songs plenty of times, but you’re terrified of them. You feel like you’re reading Nino’s personal diary, like his secrets and hidden thoughts are buried within the lyrics and the melody. They aren’t yours, and you aren’t sure if you’re allowed to know them. You’re afraid of what you might hear. You’re afraid you won’t like it, and you’re afraid you’ll like it too much.
But Nino asked you, you realize as you stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night. He personally came up and asked you. Maybe there’s something you’re supposed to know, but you don’t - something that Nino is trying to tell you.
You count promises instead of sheep. Will you listen to Nino’s song, the next time he asks you? I promise I will, you whisper to yourself (and there you are again, making promises to your pillow, your bed, your ceiling, yourself - everyone and everything except the person you should be giving your words to), I promise, I promise, I promise, until you make the same vow ten, twenty, thirty times, over and over until you lose count and drift off to sleep.
The next day, when you see him, you wait expectantly. You wait, and wait, and wait, until the amount of days you wait are over double the number of promises you made.
Nino never asks you to listen again.
-8.
(You’ve come a long way on lies, but it’s time to tell the truth now, you decide.
So you search for the truth, but you can’t seem to find it amidst your collection of lies.
Was this the truth, or the lie? You stored your words, but you forgot to label them.
Aha! If you wait, surely this person will speak the truth, and you’ll use that as a reference to sort out your heart and dig beneath the lies you buried yourself in.
So you wait, and wait, and wait…)
9.
You don’t know where you found the courage. You thought it had all faded slowly until it died as your time together passed, as you were left behind while Ohno was flung into debuting, becoming so far away overnight. But when you meet him backstage after his stage play and he greets you with the same smile as before (back in the days when you sweat, struggled, laughed, cried, danced, and lived together, when you were too young and immature to think about the consequences of lips on lips, of needy moans in a run-down apartment; when you were there and he was there and nothing else registered; before he left you with apologies and explanations no matter how many times you reassured him that you knew it wasn’t his fault).
Your resolve breaks, and you step closer. He realizes your intentions before you even pull him near - you forgot that Ohno is more observant than he lets on - and utters your name, Machida, in breathless shock, but you’re afraid of what he’ll say next. Your mind goes into reverse, and you pretend you’re both sixteen again, back when you had nothing to lose, and you kiss him.
Ohno brings his hands up and rests them on your wrists (it’s not until then you notice you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, urging him towards you). He doesn’t pull you closer, but he doesn’t push you away. He kisses you back, but he tastes different than he did all those years ago, somehow. He’s not as forceful as you, not as desperate as he was in the past, but he swirls his tongue around yours when you push it into his mouth, and moves his lips with yours, responding with small noises and whimpers.
You can’t tell if you have a losing or a winning hand, but you go all in and gamble with an I love you, placing your bets over and over. I love you, Ohno. You don’t let him reply, not yet. Instead, you kiss him again, even though you’re out of breath. You close your eyes and kiss as if you’re dancing with him the way you did in the past, in perfect coordination to a choreography that belongs to the two of you alone.
But, no, it’s not right - your mouths are moving in tandem but you’re a step off, and you don’t know how to get back into sync. You’re not even sure you’re dancing to the same song anymore.
When you back away, you can’t look him in the eyes. Neither of you say anything, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, even though you think it should. You think you hear someone outside of Ohno’s dressing room door, mixing in with the sounds of the second-hand on the clock moving forward and your steady breathing, but you can’t tell. You spare it a quick glance: the hands flick, leaving one minute in the past, a new minute initiating the present.
Do you…? You finally speak but don’t finish, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re afraid of the answer or the question.
I don’t know, he replies honestly. He licks his lips then pauses, as if tasting you there.
Ninomiya. You aren’t guessing or asking. It’s something you’ve known since Ohno’s soundtrack skidded to a halt and a new song was recorded to replace it. You don’t know any of the steps, but it’s a song that Ohno has learned the movements to with perfect fluidity and balance.
His eyes, filled with astonishment that gradually melts into reluctance, meet yours. Arashi, he corrects, but you can’t trust the waiver in his voice that tells you it’s something more, something deeper.
You think of swearing to him that you’ll be okay, but you don’t, because you aren’t even sure if it’s a lie or not, and you don’t want to lie to him anymore. Instead, you kiss him for what might be the last time, a chaste peck on the lips that feels nowhere near enough, and tell him you have to get going. You nearly trip on some flowers someone left at the door, so you toss them with a bunch of other bouquets on the vanity before you leave, but without ever looking back to the older man.
You don’t say goodbye, because that’s not what it is. But when you leave, you don’t go home: you head to the company’s studio, one where the two of you used to train, and you dance until enough sweat accumulates to outnumber your tears and the promises you were never able to keep. Ohno sings to a song you don’t know, dancing with steps that you can’t follow. When you collapse to the floor, heaving as your legs, arms, and heart ache, you pray that Ohno will find someone who can match the rhythm to this new song he’s discovered, even if that person is someone like Nino instead of you.
And maybe one day, when Ohno finds them, he will be able to hold on, and you will be able to let go.
0.
(One step forward, two steps back.
One step forward again, and you’re back to where you started.
Another step forward, two more steps back.
The cycle repeats and time grows old.
So you stop, you rewind. You take one step back, then another, then another, until you can see the starting line clearly.
You see the truths you’ve kept hidden and the lies you’ve been masquerading since the beginning.
You take the truth and return to the starting line.
One step forward.)
1.
Nino is treading lightly around Ohno - scooting away only seconds after pulling him closer, flinching when he rests his arm over Ohno’s shoulder as if he’s made some mistake - and no one can figure out why. The room is abnormally quiet, and no one is sure how to break the silence. Jun looks up from his script and bites his lower lip before sighing and returning to it. Sho and Aiba are eating together in the corner, chewing slowly as they exchange worried glances. Nino’s smashing buttons into his DS, and Ohno is staring at the wall, the sketchbook in his hands unmarked.
Ohno jumps to his feet abruptly, and for a minute, does nothing but stand there. Jun frowns, Sho stares, and Aiba picks up a magazine from the table nearby, opening it to a random page and holding it in front of his face, peeking over the top.
Nino doesn’t even seem to notice until Ohno shuffles up to Nino and blinks down at him, scratching at his nose. Nino’s eyes stay on his game. “What?”
“That song. I want to hear it.”
“Huh?” Nino’s fingers falter for a second as he thinks, but he recovers quickly. “Which song?”
“The one you mentioned last time.”
Nino flashes a sour expression, still not looking up to Ohno. Sho, Jun, and Aiba all hold their breaths as they watch the two of them. “It’ll end up on the next album. You can just listen to it then.”
Ohno shakes his head fervently. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Nino’s fingers stop moving completely. Even the halls outside seemed to have hushed, until the only sound is the ticking clock hanging on the wall. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Slowly, Nino presses the pause button and meets Ohno’s eyes, his own narrow, as if trying to figure something out. Tucking his DS away, he stands up and tries to read Ohno, or maybe his intentions - the other members aren’t sure. They don’t really know what’s going on.
For a while, they do nothing but stare at each other. No one speaks. Jun is wondering if he should break the silence or not, but soon enough, Nino lets out an exaggerated sigh, holding out his hand for Ohno to take.
“Oh-chan sure is impatient,” he teases, his first true smile of the day forming softly. “But if you really want to hear it, there’s a piano in the other room. I’ll play it for you.”
Ohno beams, placing his hand in Nino’s and letting himself be led away.
When they leave, the other three grin knowingly, returning to their own activities. Jun and Sho talk about them while Aiba giggles, agreeing to ask Ohno and Nino if they’ve made up when they return, just to make sure. They never ask.
During filming, the two of them blatantly continue to hold hands, and it speaks louder than any words could.
---
A/N: Poor Machida ;o;
This is probably the weirdest thing I've ever written, but I'm really proud of it. I tried to make the switches in POV and the timeline as clear as I could. Also, the negative numbers might relate to the parts above them, but they aren't from anyone's POV in specific. How you read or interpret it is up to you.
I offered Rikke a drabble and I wrote the first part of this, and from there it kept going and going until it became this monster of a fic. So, this thing is about 5,000 words more than I planned. Uh...
I actually meant to post this yesterday, but my internet has been down all day >.< If you're waiting for the next chapter of Dreamcatcher, it'll still be posted near the end of the week. But for now, I hope you all enjoy this!
Pairings: Ohno/Machida, Ohmiya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: 5526
Summary: Sometimes silence can say much more than words (but that doesn’t mean it’s speaking the truth).
Prompt by Rikke: A dressing room, Ohno/Machida, and Jealous!Nino and a whole lot of kissing.
Notes: Well... part of it fits the prompt, at least :/ Written (almost) entirely in 2nd person. For
rikke_leonhart, for being an inspiration and a great friend. Love you, sweetheart! I hope you like the fic <3 She also wrote me something, and I think they go together well, even though they're really different. It's amazing, all of you should read it! You can find it here!
1.
Time doesn’t freeze. You know, because you can still hear the cheap clock beating as loud as your heart. Thump-thump, tick-tock, thump-tock. You can’t tell which is which anymore.
They don’t know you’re there. They’re hidden in the far corner; they can’t see you and you can’t see them. But you can hear that quiet voice you know so well, that mumble you’ve tuned your ears to and committed to memory over and over, even though you’ve never once forgotten it. Shyly, his words reach you, a simple question: Did I do okay? You want to reply, but you’re aware of it before the other person even speaks: those words don’t belong to you.
The play was amazing… and you were cute, the other assures him with a chuckle. He says it lightly, but you know better. You know because the bouquet in your hands is already starting to solidify into a weight that nearly brings you to your knees. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, Ohno? Since we last met, he continues. He doesn’t say anything more, but the atmosphere finishes the sentence: so, let’s make up for lost time. With that, the oppression spreads like a disease, swirling around your brain and pushing your eyelids down, but you can’t close them when you try.
Machida… Ohno breathes before releasing a muffled gasp. You bring up your hands to cover your ears, and you try to drown out the sounds with your own thoughts. Enough, you say to yourself, no more, that’s enough. You pull back and blink in surprise, looking to your hands: you’d forgotten about the bouquet in your right hand, and with your left, without noticing, you’ve been peeling off the petals of the arrangement you bought (an assortment of roses of all sorts of colors with a small note of congratulations stuck inside. The lady in the shop told you about things like meanings and what certain flowers represented, but it’s not like Ohno would think of those kinds of things anyway. You cursed at the price of an oversized bunch and bought it anyway, flooding a notebook full of confessions and hopes to slip in with it before simply writing Love, Nino on the card provided by the shop, even though you know he won’t understand) and crushing them in your palm, one by one, an unconscious game of he loves me, he loves me not.
I love you, Ohno.
You tremble a little, hugging the shredded bouquet closer to your chest, because it’s not you saying it. I love you, Ohno, I love you.
Ohno replies in song, with tiny whines and hitching breath. You stand there, unable to remember how to work your legs or your tongue, but your imagination functions. Maybe Ohno’s long, beautiful fingers are tangled in Machida’s hair, pushing deeper as their mouths move against each other. You’re sure there’s no clashing of teeth or awkward bumping of noses, because they know one another so well. They were there for each other since the beginning, training together, dropping out of school together, and going to Kyoto together, like lost children with nothing but a love of dancing to push them forward. They understand things about each other that you’ll never be able to comprehend, and are similar in ways you’ll never become.
Then the air is still, quiet, and your mind plays fill-in-the-blanks. Ohno is probably holding Machida in a warm embrace, clinging to him with his fingers mapping across the bumps of the younger dancer’s spine as Machida smiles against his neck.
You look down to the crushed flowers in your arms, the wrapper crinkling and sticking against your skin, and you wonder if they can hear you. Suddenly, you feel like an intruder. You’re an outsider in their world, their friendship, their love; they speak in a language you don’t know.
Slowly, you set the bouquet onto the floor, not bothering to close the small gap you opened in the door. Maybe Ohno will find it and know you were there, or maybe he won’t even notice. It doesn’t matter. You walk away with your eyes brimming with tears that you’ll have wiped away by the next time you see him, leaving your game of possibilities unfinished because you already know the outcome without tearing off the last petal.
He loves me not.
-1.
(Sometimes it’s easier when the truth is in fragments - you are left to shove whatever words you want into the empty spaces, molding their meaning until they fit, and you can even morph them to your liking.
But all of the pieces you substitute are only just that: proxies; words you put into another person’s sentence, and maybe the things you’re hearing aren’t quite what they’re trying to communicate to you.
You want to tell them of your truths, so that maybe they’ll be able to tell you their own, but you choke on the words. You fear the what-ifs of speaking, so you bite your tongue. You fear the regret of silence, so you babble nonsense.
You speak in incomplete sentences, and they are forced to try and interpret what it is you’re saying.
You’re trying to tell them that one day, you’ll learn to speak articulately and break the cycle.
But they don’t get the message.)
2.
After getting back to your shared apartment late at night, you both push your futons so they’re lined up beside one another and collapse on them. That day, you both strove to do your best, dancing so hard your legs nearly gave out, only to go home with sore muscles and the production’s lowest attendance yet, trying to remember what the hell you dropped everything to come to Kyoto for in the first place.
You don’t remember how it happened - maybe one of you said something that led up to it, somehow getting caught up in the moment. You just remember the solitude, the desperation, the need, and the tenderness of Ohno’s hand in yours that expelled them all. You suppose you’re the one that started it: you stared at his half-lidded, distant eyes, his tousled hair, his soft expression, the way he licked his lips out of habit and left them glistening with saliva… one of those things, or the way they all combined, got to you. Your tongue follows the trail his left, and you kiss him, straddle him, pin his arms above his head as if to say see, I’ve trapped you here - you’re here with me and I won’t let you leave. Ohno groans, rolling his hips against you, nibbling along your jaw as you free yourself from your shirt, then stripping him of his. It doesn’t take long for you to cry out one another’s names, panting hard and holding each other as closely as possible so you don’t have to look into each other’s eyes.
It happens again and again, another step in your life’s routine, doing him and being done, falling asleep to the sounds of whispered words of affection and promises, and you always wake up the next morning and peel away, go through your life without even thinking about it. Neither of you talk about it; you remain the best of friends and nothing more. It’s merely a repellent for your pain, or a cure to all of the homesickness, or a spell to ward off loneliness.
But then, it’s time for it to end. Both of you will be returning to Tokyo, to your families, and you won’t need to comfort each other anymore. The night before you leave, you shove him down and bite along his neck, grabbing his hips and shoving into him, forcefully and frantically. When you wake up, he’s covered in bruises and love marks and this time, you refuse to peel away from him. He gently pushes you off, covering you with thoughtless kisses and reassurances.
When you’re at home in Tokyo that night, alone in your bed, you realize for the first time that all of the things you regarded as unimportant might have been the only thing that kept you going there, and that the sudden, baseless fear of leaving Ohno might hold a much greater meaning than you thought.
-2.
(If you don’t like what you see, then keep your eyes shut.
If you don’t like what you hear, then plug your ears.
If you don’t like what you’re saying, then bite your tongue.
It’s really not complicated.)
3.
It’s not like you wanted it to happen - whether you should’ve seen it coming or not is an entirely different matter (you don’t belong here, that much you know for sure) - but it doesn’t stop you from feeling guilty. He’s the second person you call, after your mother, and it’s not until you hear his voice as he answers the phone that you truly feel the distance from Japan.
You repeat the same thing you told her, which is the same thing you were told yourself, just a few hours ago: Hawaii, boat, press conference, debut, Arashi. There’s an awkward pause, and in that short time, you’re able to convince yourself that he hates you, he’s angry, he wants nothing more to do with you, and you know that he’d never think in such a way, but you’re conquered by your fears. I’m sorry, you whisper, and the tears begin to flow. I’m so sorry.
Don’t be, he says gently, but his voice is trembling just as much as yours. Don’t be. I understand, Ohno. It’s not your fault. I’m happy for you. But is this what you want?
Of course not. I want… Your let your words trail away. You try to think of what it is you want, but he’s all you can think of. You want him; he’s enough for you.
You don’t always get what you want, you remind yourself as you bid him goodbye and hang up the phone.
-3.
(Isn’t your life much simpler with your eyes closed, your ears covered, and your voice muted?
You’ll never need to interact with the bad things in the world around you again.
But, you wonder, what about the good things?)
4.
You sleep together because Ohno is drunk and you’re an idiot.
Your mother and sister are both away for the week, so you take Ohno home with you when he gets so wasted that he doesn’t remember where his own house is. You clean him up a little, give him some water, and send him off to your bed. But then he kisses you, and it doesn’t take more than that: you start stripping off his clothes and yours before your mind can protest.
After, he starts to cry and you start to panic. You’re in deep. He must be crying because he’s sobered up and realized what you’ve done - because you hurt him in the midst of it, or because you hurt him by betraying his trust.
I think, he mumbles with a hiccup and a sniffle, I love Arashi.
You inhale sharply. It’s probably the alcohol talking now. All of you have had a rough couple of years, and have been forced to really think about what Arashi means to you. But you want to know more. You want to know if Ohno loves you, too.
He snuggles into you, and your arms envelop him, murmuring sweet nothings to quell the sobs that shake him. And then, you slip and say a sweet something: We love you too, Oh-chan. I love you.
You freeze, your heart beats faster, you wait for him to push you away, and you start to cry with him when he doesn’t. I love you, Kazu, he says instead. He says it over and over again, but you don’t know if you can trust it, so you don’t.
He doesn’t seem to remember in the morning, and you don’t tell him.
-4.
(You were so busy wishing you could be someone you aren’t that you forgot how to be yourself, so you-)
5.
I’m quitting, he says nonchalantly. You’ve heard it a hundred times before and you’ve said it a hundred times before, but neither of you actually did it. There are other things I want to do. I want to perfect my dancing and I can’t do it here. I can’t dance the way I want here.
He keeps explaining, and you continue to not understand. You want to know what it is he’s searching for; what he thinks he’ll be able to find (and whether you should be looking for it, too). But you tell him that you’ll always support him, wish him the best, and try to block out the words you spoke years ago: If you leave, I’m leaving, too.
The next day, you find out for certain that he’s quit the company. Immediately, you try to find a way to follow him. Arashi is young, and you’re so far behind the others. It would be easy to replace you, to cut out your name and paste in another’s. You could run off with Machida and go on a journey. He could dance and you could paint, and maybe Machida would even let you kiss him again. You could run as far away as you could, and then settle down in some quiet town, open a bakery with a stage for him to perform on and your paintings hung on the walls. You could tell him you love him, and maybe he’d say it back.
You’ve always been Ohno, but now Ohno is Leader, and Leader is Arashi. For the first time, you think of the other four, and it doesn’t make sense (you don’t even do anything leader-like) when you find yourself unable to actually resign from the group. Just thinking about it feels as if you’re abandoning them. Either you follow Machida, or you try to catch up with Arashi, even if they’re going in opposite directions.
You practice, respond to fan letters, do everything you can, and when you see the fans who are carrying your uchiwa, cheering you on, you think maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to keep going like this.
It’s not until a year later that you see Machida again. He reenters the company and is thankfully able to pick up where he left off. You wonder if he really did perfect his dancing, if he found his true self, or if he came back because he left his true self behind without realizing it.
Eventually, you meet. You’re both legal now, so you go out and have a few drinks, catch up, talk about the past, the present, and the future. You say goodbye and part ways, and you’re relieved that even after everything that’s happened since your debut, you can still name Machida as your best friend.
In the middle of the sidewalk, you tilt your head back and close your eyes. You remember the promises the two of you shared as you held each other close after the heat of passion, promises about eternity and love and always being together that were too dangerous for the morning. It feels the same as back then: like you’re waking up after a night together and acting as if nothing ever happened. He’s your best friend, but no, he’s also more than that. You also told him you loved him on those nights, and the words from back then weren’t lies.
But things are different now.
You head off to another bar, then another, drinking down all of the memories. In your intoxicated state, you must have called Nino. You don’t remember doing it, but he picks you up and brings you to his house. The moonlight is cast on Nino’s face through his window as he helps you into bed, and you can’t get over how pretty he looks. You pull him down to kiss him, and he complies, but everything after is muddled in your mind. But one thing you remember clearly: you told him you love him, more than once, but you don’t recall what he said in reply, if he replied at all.
When morning comes, you feel sick, because that I love you wasn’t a lie, either. You’re despicable, you’re the worst - you absolutely hate yourself - because you might be madly in love with Ninomiya Kazunari, and you just used him, treated him like some one-night stand. It’s the exact same thing you did with Machida: you loved him, slept with him, tossed him aside, and had the audacity to keep calling yourself his friend.
You want to apologize to Nino, but as days go by, Nino smiles, laughs, plays his Gameboy, pulls tricks, and treats you the same as before.
You find yourself repeating the same things you said back in your junior days, the things you told yourself about Machida: just because it meant something to you doesn’t mean he feels the same way.
And again, you run away, pretending you feel nothing for him when your heart is bursting with love, still mumbling promises and I love you’s into your pillow at night without even knowing which person they’re for, still too afraid to tell it to them in person because, really, you’re nothing more than a coward.
-5.
(You fear yourself almost as much as you fear the truth, because facing oneself means to see your own flaws and strengths, the good and ugly sides of your character, and learning to accept them.
You fear liberation almost as much as you fear yourself, because only a small part of freedom has to do with choice: most of it is freedom of self, of being able to reconcile with the good and the bad and to keep pushing forward from there.
You fear the world almost as much as you fear liberation, because the world can trick you with imitations and cop-outs of freedom to lure you in and chain you down, and make you forget who you are.
You fear courage almost as much as you fear the world, because once you find courage, you act, and once you act, you can never take your words or actions back again.
You fear your actions almost as much as you fear the truth, because you never know how you’ll act, what courage you’ll gain, what freedom or restraints you’ll find, what others will do to you, or what you’ll do to yourself, once you know the truth.)
6.
To be honest, you saw it coming. As time went by, Ohno became more and more comfortable as a member of Arashi. There might have been some resentment at first, but you also found your place in Musical Academy. He’s happy with Arashi, and you’re happy with MA. You watched Ohno’s group as they evolved, grew, and established themselves firmly as who they were. And you could see it - the subtle touches, the bond strengthening between them… they even made a comedy act together. It’s okay, though. Nino is now Ohno’s best friend, but so are you. You have the others in MA, Ohno has Arashi, and you have each other.
But there’s a pang in your heart, because the way they look at each other speaks to you the words they probably refuse to say to themselves.
You thought you rid yourself of such feelings, left them to the past, but when you go to bed that night, for the first time in a long time, you’re painfully aware that you’re alone. You close your eyes, and the memories of Ohno and his body, lips, hands, hips, moans, eyes, and all of the words he uttered into the night come in like a slideshow you can’t turn off.
You wonder if it’s too late.
And then, like an answer, you picture the Ohno you saw on TV a little earlier, his nose crinkled up in a bright smile to something Nino said.
-6.
(He’s falling away from you. You cling to his wrists but it might be too late. You pull, claw, reach out for a better grip, but his fingers are slipping out of your hand, and you try to steady yourself but you stumble because you’re too weak, you try to grab him again but he’s out of reach, you try to call his name but-)
7.
When you approach him after filming, you’re hands are sweaty and you’re heart is beating too fast. You feel nervous, ridiculous, everything but bold enough. So you take your guitar - it’s your weapon in this war you’ve declared against yourself, the only sword sharp enough to cut down your insecurities - and catch him as he’s walking out the door, calling for him to wait.
He turns and tilts his head; he’s curious, but he doesn’t question you. He waits for you to speak, and you wish you could say something carelessly, casually, because it’s just Ohno, and the two of you aren’t supposed to get awkward around each other.
I wrote a song, you say, holding up your guitar a little as if to make your point (or maybe to fight off the lumps in your throat, or the hesitation that’s trying to hold back your tongue). If you… do you want to hear… can I play it for you?
I wrote it for you - but no, you don’t get a chance to say that part. You’re too busy holding your breath as Ohno pauses, frowning and thinking about something. Does he know the message in the song, and who it’s for? Is he thinking of a way to return your feelings? Or, is his mind wandering, thinking of what kind of clay to buy at the art supply store on his way home?
Then he smiles, and you wonder how Ohno can do it - how he can cut into your chest and tear out your heart with only a few words as his weapon, leaving you behind with a guitar that, despite sharpening it painstakingly, is still too dull to fight back.
Maybe next time.
-7.
(It’s hard to lie to others, but easy to lie to yourself.
It’s not even a very big lie, so why not?
Just stack up your lies one by one, pile them together and stuff them into storage, file them away and pull them out when you need them later.
Why not?)
8.
There was something strange about Nino, you think as you leave, while you’re on the train and when you’re lazing around in your bedroom. You might have hurt his feelings. After all, there wasn’t really a reason to say no. It’s not like you had anything else to do.
You’ve heard Nino’s songs plenty of times, but you’re terrified of them. You feel like you’re reading Nino’s personal diary, like his secrets and hidden thoughts are buried within the lyrics and the melody. They aren’t yours, and you aren’t sure if you’re allowed to know them. You’re afraid of what you might hear. You’re afraid you won’t like it, and you’re afraid you’ll like it too much.
But Nino asked you, you realize as you stare at the ceiling in the middle of the night. He personally came up and asked you. Maybe there’s something you’re supposed to know, but you don’t - something that Nino is trying to tell you.
You count promises instead of sheep. Will you listen to Nino’s song, the next time he asks you? I promise I will, you whisper to yourself (and there you are again, making promises to your pillow, your bed, your ceiling, yourself - everyone and everything except the person you should be giving your words to), I promise, I promise, I promise, until you make the same vow ten, twenty, thirty times, over and over until you lose count and drift off to sleep.
The next day, when you see him, you wait expectantly. You wait, and wait, and wait, until the amount of days you wait are over double the number of promises you made.
Nino never asks you to listen again.
-8.
(You’ve come a long way on lies, but it’s time to tell the truth now, you decide.
So you search for the truth, but you can’t seem to find it amidst your collection of lies.
Was this the truth, or the lie? You stored your words, but you forgot to label them.
Aha! If you wait, surely this person will speak the truth, and you’ll use that as a reference to sort out your heart and dig beneath the lies you buried yourself in.
So you wait, and wait, and wait…)
9.
You don’t know where you found the courage. You thought it had all faded slowly until it died as your time together passed, as you were left behind while Ohno was flung into debuting, becoming so far away overnight. But when you meet him backstage after his stage play and he greets you with the same smile as before (back in the days when you sweat, struggled, laughed, cried, danced, and lived together, when you were too young and immature to think about the consequences of lips on lips, of needy moans in a run-down apartment; when you were there and he was there and nothing else registered; before he left you with apologies and explanations no matter how many times you reassured him that you knew it wasn’t his fault).
Your resolve breaks, and you step closer. He realizes your intentions before you even pull him near - you forgot that Ohno is more observant than he lets on - and utters your name, Machida, in breathless shock, but you’re afraid of what he’ll say next. Your mind goes into reverse, and you pretend you’re both sixteen again, back when you had nothing to lose, and you kiss him.
Ohno brings his hands up and rests them on your wrists (it’s not until then you notice you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, urging him towards you). He doesn’t pull you closer, but he doesn’t push you away. He kisses you back, but he tastes different than he did all those years ago, somehow. He’s not as forceful as you, not as desperate as he was in the past, but he swirls his tongue around yours when you push it into his mouth, and moves his lips with yours, responding with small noises and whimpers.
You can’t tell if you have a losing or a winning hand, but you go all in and gamble with an I love you, placing your bets over and over. I love you, Ohno. You don’t let him reply, not yet. Instead, you kiss him again, even though you’re out of breath. You close your eyes and kiss as if you’re dancing with him the way you did in the past, in perfect coordination to a choreography that belongs to the two of you alone.
But, no, it’s not right - your mouths are moving in tandem but you’re a step off, and you don’t know how to get back into sync. You’re not even sure you’re dancing to the same song anymore.
When you back away, you can’t look him in the eyes. Neither of you say anything, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, even though you think it should. You think you hear someone outside of Ohno’s dressing room door, mixing in with the sounds of the second-hand on the clock moving forward and your steady breathing, but you can’t tell. You spare it a quick glance: the hands flick, leaving one minute in the past, a new minute initiating the present.
Do you…? You finally speak but don’t finish, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re afraid of the answer or the question.
I don’t know, he replies honestly. He licks his lips then pauses, as if tasting you there.
Ninomiya. You aren’t guessing or asking. It’s something you’ve known since Ohno’s soundtrack skidded to a halt and a new song was recorded to replace it. You don’t know any of the steps, but it’s a song that Ohno has learned the movements to with perfect fluidity and balance.
His eyes, filled with astonishment that gradually melts into reluctance, meet yours. Arashi, he corrects, but you can’t trust the waiver in his voice that tells you it’s something more, something deeper.
You think of swearing to him that you’ll be okay, but you don’t, because you aren’t even sure if it’s a lie or not, and you don’t want to lie to him anymore. Instead, you kiss him for what might be the last time, a chaste peck on the lips that feels nowhere near enough, and tell him you have to get going. You nearly trip on some flowers someone left at the door, so you toss them with a bunch of other bouquets on the vanity before you leave, but without ever looking back to the older man.
You don’t say goodbye, because that’s not what it is. But when you leave, you don’t go home: you head to the company’s studio, one where the two of you used to train, and you dance until enough sweat accumulates to outnumber your tears and the promises you were never able to keep. Ohno sings to a song you don’t know, dancing with steps that you can’t follow. When you collapse to the floor, heaving as your legs, arms, and heart ache, you pray that Ohno will find someone who can match the rhythm to this new song he’s discovered, even if that person is someone like Nino instead of you.
And maybe one day, when Ohno finds them, he will be able to hold on, and you will be able to let go.
0.
(One step forward, two steps back.
One step forward again, and you’re back to where you started.
Another step forward, two more steps back.
The cycle repeats and time grows old.
So you stop, you rewind. You take one step back, then another, then another, until you can see the starting line clearly.
You see the truths you’ve kept hidden and the lies you’ve been masquerading since the beginning.
You take the truth and return to the starting line.
One step forward.)
1.
Nino is treading lightly around Ohno - scooting away only seconds after pulling him closer, flinching when he rests his arm over Ohno’s shoulder as if he’s made some mistake - and no one can figure out why. The room is abnormally quiet, and no one is sure how to break the silence. Jun looks up from his script and bites his lower lip before sighing and returning to it. Sho and Aiba are eating together in the corner, chewing slowly as they exchange worried glances. Nino’s smashing buttons into his DS, and Ohno is staring at the wall, the sketchbook in his hands unmarked.
Ohno jumps to his feet abruptly, and for a minute, does nothing but stand there. Jun frowns, Sho stares, and Aiba picks up a magazine from the table nearby, opening it to a random page and holding it in front of his face, peeking over the top.
Nino doesn’t even seem to notice until Ohno shuffles up to Nino and blinks down at him, scratching at his nose. Nino’s eyes stay on his game. “What?”
“That song. I want to hear it.”
“Huh?” Nino’s fingers falter for a second as he thinks, but he recovers quickly. “Which song?”
“The one you mentioned last time.”
Nino flashes a sour expression, still not looking up to Ohno. Sho, Jun, and Aiba all hold their breaths as they watch the two of them. “It’ll end up on the next album. You can just listen to it then.”
Ohno shakes his head fervently. “But I want to hear it from you.”
Nino’s fingers stop moving completely. Even the halls outside seemed to have hushed, until the only sound is the ticking clock hanging on the wall. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
Slowly, Nino presses the pause button and meets Ohno’s eyes, his own narrow, as if trying to figure something out. Tucking his DS away, he stands up and tries to read Ohno, or maybe his intentions - the other members aren’t sure. They don’t really know what’s going on.
For a while, they do nothing but stare at each other. No one speaks. Jun is wondering if he should break the silence or not, but soon enough, Nino lets out an exaggerated sigh, holding out his hand for Ohno to take.
“Oh-chan sure is impatient,” he teases, his first true smile of the day forming softly. “But if you really want to hear it, there’s a piano in the other room. I’ll play it for you.”
Ohno beams, placing his hand in Nino’s and letting himself be led away.
When they leave, the other three grin knowingly, returning to their own activities. Jun and Sho talk about them while Aiba giggles, agreeing to ask Ohno and Nino if they’ve made up when they return, just to make sure. They never ask.
During filming, the two of them blatantly continue to hold hands, and it speaks louder than any words could.
---
A/N: Poor Machida ;o;
This is probably the weirdest thing I've ever written, but I'm really proud of it. I tried to make the switches in POV and the timeline as clear as I could. Also, the negative numbers might relate to the parts above them, but they aren't from anyone's POV in specific. How you read or interpret it is up to you.
I offered Rikke a drabble and I wrote the first part of this, and from there it kept going and going until it became this monster of a fic. So, this thing is about 5,000 words more than I planned. Uh...
I actually meant to post this yesterday, but my internet has been down all day >.< If you're waiting for the next chapter of Dreamcatcher, it'll still be posted near the end of the week. But for now, I hope you all enjoy this!