Arashi (Japan fundraiser fic #3): Where the Heart Is (3/4)
this is the last spam for today i swear
Title: Where the Heart Is
Words: ~10,200 this part
Rating: NC-17
Warnings, description, etc: see previous entry
Notes: This is coming so so so late and I'm so so so so sorry but hopefully I can make it up with the speed at which I'll post part 4!! (It'll be soon!) And, as always, my gratitude to lysanderpuck for the beta.
PS. Also at AO3!
"No, you can't put your video games in the bookshelf! They'll take up too much space."
"What do you need all that space for?"
"Books. It's a bookshelf."
"Sho-chan doesn't even read this much!"
"Sho-chan right now needs help in the study because he can't actually assemble this desk by himself!" Sho shouts at them. Nino and Jun spare a glance in his direction, just in time to watch the three wooden pieces Sho is valiantly trying to match together tumble apart -- pulling a harried scream from their assembler -- then simultaneously go back to arguing about shelf territory.
Aiba heaves a sigh and leaves the box he's unpacking labelled FIGURINE COLLECTION in Nino's scrawled handwriting, and goes to help Sho.
"We should have bought these preassembled, in retrospect," Sho says, hurtling some cardboard across the floor so Aiba has space to sit. "Or hired people to do it for us. Hold up these two pieces, please."
"But where's the fun in that?" Aiba asks, trying to keep his hands as steady as possible as Sho drills in a screw.
"I think we passed the point of fun when Jun unloaded two full boxes of hats and kicked Ohno out to buy five hat stands."
"I suggested that we move in slowly! Bits and pieces!" Aiba protests. "It's not my fault Jun-kun wanted to bring all his hats in together."
"When did he amass so many of them, anyway? I can't remember the last time I actually saw him wear one of them." Sho laughs slightly. "Can you imagine how many pairs of shoes he must have?"
Aiba stares at him, suddenly fearful. "Sho-chan. Shit. We're going to need more closet space."
The electric drill in Sho's hand slowly lowers. "You're right," he says.
Out in the hall, Nino's voice is shouting shrilly. "DON'T TOUCH THOSE! THEY'RE SORTED IN A VERY CRUCIAL ORDER THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS BUT ME!"
~
Aiba doesn't get it. He managed to move in with minimal fuss -- what's making it so hard for everyone else to do the same? He's already provided all the basic necessities they need: furniture and glassware and plenty of linens and towels -- all the others had to do was to get some of their favourite things and fill up the house's empty spaces with their own personal touch. Books in the bookcase, gaming systems by the TV, snacks in the cupboards. All residences basically function in the same way, so why on earth are they getting into debates about the proper way to sort video game cartridges and matching the colour of hat stands to the walls? Aiba has never owned a real hat stand in his life, so he had no idea they came part and parcel with a boatload of decor-related drama. Considering that none of them are actually giving up their individual condos or apartments in Tokyo, Aiba really hadn't foreseen that moving in would be so stressful.
There's a minor disaster zone in the study because Sho hasn't yet finished assembling his desk but Jun has already started unpacking Sho's books into the two remaining bookcases still in the room, leaving the rest of them in unequal piles around their boxes like shrapnel in a crater of historical Japanese literature. The trail of them leads to the living room, where the third of Aiba's bookcases stands against the wall, guarding over litters of game cards scattered on the floor around it, a collection in every shape and size. Every available surface in the kitchen has been taken up by some sort of pot, pan or set of utensils, courtesy of Ohno, who had been looking for Jun's electric can opener but didn't notice any of Jun's precise labelling on the sides of his Kitchen Tools boxes. There is one Nintendo gaming system connected to the television and eight more other gaming systems on standby, waiting to be docked to an outlet just as soon as Nino locates his power outlet extension hub and his set of adapters, which are apparently in one of the many plastic cases marked GAME STUFF. The floor of the living room has been recarpeted in Ohno's artwork, framed and otherwise, none of which can be hung up on the wall until Jun is satisfied with the arrangement of the furniture -- which won't be until they finish assembling Sho's desk and decide if they ought to move that third bookcase back into the study and buy another one for the living room -- progress of which is passing at a snail's pace because Sho is taking a break by listening to Nino play guitar in the corner of the room where all his instruments are, instruments that had been in relatively neat order that morning but have since just amalgamated into and exacerbated the general chaos of the house.
There's also packing peanuts and bubble wrap literally everywhere. Aiba's enfeebled old cat Holmes has lost three feline years off her life, easy.
This is only the first floor. Aiba's been afraid of venturing upstairs since Jun lugged a few suitcases up there an hour ago and hasn't come down since.
It's nearing nine pm. They'd started at noon. Aiba has had a raging headache for the last two hours. He's also starving, but they'd only remembered to order food about fifteen minutes ago so the take-out guy hasn't arrived yet.
Aiba drifts around aimlessly, kicking away plastic bags like autumn leaves on the sidewalk, noting all the things that he has to do and promptly dismissing them for an ambiguous "later" -- until he finds Ohno lying down in the centre rug of his art room (also a mess, tackle boxes and fishing poles leaning against every wall), head pillowed on a cushion and obviously asleep. Holmes is curled up on Ohno's stomach, body rising and falling with every breath Ohno takes.
Nothing in life has ever looked so appealing.
Aiba grabs another nearby cushion and clears out a little area beside Ohno, pushing away paint palettes and pencil sets and pots of clay, until there's enough room for him to lie down properly. When he does so, his back cracks three, four times as Aiba makes himself comfortable.
Ohno blearily opens one eye. "What're you doing?"
Aiba smiles and crosses his fingers over his own chest. "Joining you for a nap."
"Was I napping?"
"Looked like it to me," Aiba answers nimbly. "Holmes-san doesn't like laying on awake people."
One of Ohno's long-fingered hands drifts up to scratch gently at Holmes' neck, and the cat purrs audibly.
"Moving is stressful. I was meditating," Ohno murmurs.
"Is that so," Aiba grins. "Well, then allow me to join you for some relaxing meditation, Ohno-sensei."
Ohno closes his eyes and settles his hand over Holmes' neck. "Close the door, please?"
From the hall, the rapid-harsh thrumming of Nino's acoustic guitar dabbles the air and while the melody is far from abrasive, what Aiba really wants right now is some peace and quiet. He levers himself up and closes the door to the art room; the din outside softens to a distant muffle.
Aiba can already tell that this room is going to be one of the most peaceful in the house.
He's back on the rug and asleep before he realizes it. When he wakes up, the house is quiet and there's a woolly blanket draped over him and Ohno. Holmes is nowhere in sight. Aiba checks his watch, blinking blearily; it's almost three in the morning. God, he has to get up for six tomorrow -- today.
"Oh-chan," Aiba whispers, nudging Ohno's shoulder. "Captain. Wake up, we can't spend all night on the floor."
Ohno pouts in his sleep, nose wrinkling.
"Okay, maybe we could," Aiba amends, "but it would be bad for our backs and we'd really regret later. Come on, let's go upstairs." He takes Ohno's arms and pulls.
"'M fine down here," Ohno mumbles, eyelids barely twitching open, but allows Aiba to tug him to his feet like Frankenstein.
Together they creep out of the studio, both of them yawning hugely, across the living room floor (showing significantly less litter), and up the stairs to the master bedroom, where Aiba nudges open the door and sees the unmistakeable outlines of Nino and Sho's bodies nestled together in the middle of the bed, half-silhouetted by the silver moonlight.
Aiba fumbles out of his clothes and into his sleeping shorts, then lets himself in on the right side of the bed, burrowing close to his favourite sloping-shouldered space heater.
"Aiba?" Sho asks, turning over with his eyes closed. Aiba leans in and ghosts a kiss over Sho's brow.
"Go back to sleep, Sho-chan," he whispers. "Where's Matsujun?"
"He's -- other bedroom," Sho says, words slurred with fatigue. "Fell asleep sorting his clothes."
Aiba presses down a laugh so he doesn't jostle the bed. Ohno, changed into his ratty pajama shirt that's probably twice as old as any of them, is gently lowering himself down on the other side of the bed, next to Nino. Nino makes a soft noise from the back of his throat and unconsciously tucks himself into Ohno's body.
"Night," Ohno says.
"Good night," Aiba echoes, and lets himself drift away.
~
Morning comes much earlier than Aiba would prefer, and it's heralded by yelling.
"I have to be there at 7:30 -- you have to let me shower!" Nino's fist pounds incessantly at the door.
"Use the other washroom!" Aiba hollers back over the spray of the water. "I got here first!" It's not his fault Nino slept through all three of his cell phone alarms.
"But Jun's using the other one!" Nino whines.
"Then wait until one of us is done!"
"What part of 7:30 don't you understand?" His voice comes through miraculously clearly and Aiba shoves aside the shower curtain to see Nino in the washroom, stripping in front of the sink.
"I thought I locked that door," Aiba says, glaring. Ohno teaching Nino how to lock pick all those years ago was and continues to be probably the worst thing that anyone could have done in the history of ever.
"Now, why would you need to do that when all of us undoubtedly respect each other's personal space?" Nino smirks, and steps into the bathtub. He casts a completely unsubtle look at Aiba's crotch. "Don't you usually get morning wood?"
Aiba sighs; this is why he locked the bathroom door today. He woke up late too, and can't afford any distractions if he wants to be out of the house by seven.
"I did," he says, exasperated, "but I took care of it. I don't have time to--Nino!" Nino's small hands grab Aiba's waist and turns him around so his back faces Nino's chest. "No, hey -- not right now!"
"Geez, you're so squawky before you have breakfast. You're like some indignant parrot," Nino says, and Aiba hears a plastic cap flip open, a squirting sound, then a cool blob of liquid lands on the base of his neck. "I'm just washing your back, okay?"
"Oh. Okay."
"Then you can do mine while I wash my hair. See, this is called efficiency, Aiba-san."
"Yeah but can it really be called that if I'm spending more of my time to help you wash?"
He yelps as his feels a pinch on his left butt cheek. "When did you get so smart?" Nino asks, clearly holding back laughter.
Aiba rolls his shoulders, shrugging. "I've always been smart," he says, though his energy's not in it. "The smartest one of them all, Aiba-chan." He doesn't want to admit it, but Nino's up-down-circular stroke on his back is amazingly soothing.
A pair of wet lips press into his skin, at the top knob of Aiba's spine. It's as much of a concession as Aiba's ever going to get out of Nino.
They take twice as long in the shower as Aiba had planned for, so by the time Aiba is downstairs and dressed, his body is feeling good but his mind is relatively annoyed. He won't have time for breakfast, and the drama set won't have catering until noon. And with all the moving in stuff to worry about, he'd completely forgotten to go grocery shopping, so he can't grab anything for the commute. His stomach gurgles like a nuclear reaction, still upset that Aiba had slept through dinner last night.
"There's leftovers from last night's takeout," Jun says from the kitchen counter, and Aiba zooms to the fridge.
It's Indian food -- a bit heavy for such an early morning, but Aiba's not picky. He microwaves some naan bread and some curry for only a few seconds and starts shovelling the lukewarm food into his mouth without even putting it on a plate first.
"Disgusting," says Jun, who's not even looking at him. He's leaning on his hands, staring at Aiba's coffee maker with a relentless intensity that might better be employed on the faces of police detectives at serial killer trials.
"You don't actually have to watch it to make it work properly," Aiba says, mouth half-full of bread and goo.
Jun ignores him. His manicured nails drum a rapid-fire beat on Aiba's faux-marble countertops.
"How did you sleep last night?" Aiba goes on. "You should have joined us in the big bed."
Jun grunts. "It's too soft for my tastes anyway."
"Oh. So -- wait, you're going to take the second bedroom? The one by the staircase?"
"We'll see."
"We should figure it out later. Have a family meeting or something?"
"Whatever, fine. You need to stop talking now before I kill you," Jun says.
"So grumpy, Matsujun. Is the coffee going to finish in the next two minutes? Because otherwise I'm gonna take off."
"No, leave," Jun says, flicking his fingers at him. "I'm making it extra strong so it's taking longer."
"Damn," Aiba sighs, checking the digital clock on the microwave. No time left even for tea. He tosses his unfinished food onto the table and rushes to the front door, but once outside, he has to stop short.
On the driveway to the garage, both Jun and Sho's cars are blocking Aiba's from being able to back out. The shiny finish of their chrome hoods from the early dawn sunlight gleam mockingly at Aiba.
"What the -- HEY!" Aiba shouts, even though no one else is there to hear him. Did he break a mirror or something last night while unpacking, because why else would the entire world be out to get him today? Never mind that it's his fault he couldn't get out of bed on time, that he should have remembered that there would be other cars to compete for driveway space now, that having more people in the house automatically means that Aiba's entire morning routine will be messed up by default; whatever, it's 6:50 am, it's too early for Aiba to be reasonable about things. He has have a mind to throw down his bag and stomp his foot in a tantrum.
"Sho! Jun!" he hollers, storming back in the house. "You have to move your cars out of the way! I can't drive mine out!"
"All your cereal is terrible," is what Jun yells back.
Aiba ends up being over half an hour late for filming and he ducks shame-faced onto the set like a tardy schoolboy, bowing apologies to everyone he can see. Because of the tight filming schedule, they had to start without him, and the order of scenes has been rearranged -- Aiba isn't needed for another hour. It's not a great start to the day, but not the end of the world, either.
He gets periodic texts from the others as the hours drag on. They evidently don't have any schedules at all except to bother Aiba when he's busiest.
Sent from: Jun at 9:31AM:
Where do you keep the kitty litter
Sent from: Jun at 9:47AM:
Nm I found it
Sent from: Sho at 10:02AM:
Aiba, I accidentally created a very large black mark on the
wall of the study while I was pushing the desk around. I...
am very sorry. But I felt you would appreciate being kept
informed.
Sent from:Sho at 10:05AM:
It wiped off!! With just a rag and cleaner!! Amazing.
Sent from: Sho at 10:11AM:
Is it best to wear gloves for this kind of thing? The tips
of my fingers feel as if they're burning.
Sent from:Jun at 10:16AM:
We need to make rules about cleaning house, specifically
re: sho
Sent from:Nino at 12:41PM:
came home for lunch!!!!! we better have food in here!!!!!
Sent from:Nino at 12:43PM:
omfg why did you not warn me jun organized the entire kitchen
WHERE IS EVERYTHING
Sent from:Ohno at 12:55PM:
aibachan are u going back for lunch. nino wants me to
get him gyoza, do u want some to?
Sent from:Nino at 1:08PM:
sooooo i just spilt soy sauce on that brown red rug whoops sry
i'll clean it up but yeah the smell is gonna stay for a bit
Sent from: Ohno at 1:19PM:
ffffffdsssssssssssssssssssssssssdd
Sent from:Ohno at 1:31PM:
sry, butt txt
Sent from:Sho at 3:38PM:
Have you been back to the house yet this afternoon? For some
reason it smells like soy sauce.
It's a quarter annoying and three-quarters hilarious, but simultaneously, kind of overwhelming. Rising out of a drought of nothing, suddenly there's so much happening, and everything is qualified as Aiba's business.
It's a lot to take in at once. A wildfire is now burning where there only used to be kindle wood.
Their last morning together, following Aiba's impromptu housewarming, had been much easier, more relaxed, even with the occasional awkward moment. Aiba hadn't been expecting anything other than a great night, which he got in spades; and conversely, nothing had been expected of him, possibly other than a great night in a new place, which he delivered. Now everything feels different. The pressure of the move-in paints everything in a shade of significance that Aiba hadn't expected. It's thrilling, but it also makes Aiba's stomach giddy in ways that are hard to parse out. It's as if he's perched at the top of the steepest hill of a rollercoaster -- though Aiba loves rollercoasters and the rush of impending excitement he gets as the front of his car pushes just over the balance of the drop, there's always that primitive, reptilian part of his brain that's in an abject state of fright and panic, screaming, "You've committed to it! It's going to happen! Are you going to die? You better not die!" Yesterday had been more stressful than fun, and even though waking up in his huge bed, snuggled in the warm crook of Sho's neck had been amazing in an indescribable way, the promise of a long work day on top of everything else Aiba had to do regarding the house pretty much ruined that high, fast. And the whole point of sharing a house together was so that Aiba would have something to look forward to, to counter the depressing effects of exhausting days at work. But right now there's exhausting work involved with the house, too.
He got caught up again. He has this habit of focusing more on the good than the bad in future situations, to the point of tunnel vision. It’s not like Aiba minds all the work involved with moving per se, but all the same, he'd rather it end as soon as possible. So they, him included, can finally feel settled in.
The image of their house that Aiba has in his mind's eye is every synonym of perfection. A well-kept lawn (kept that way by magic or a gardener, he supposes) leading up to the front door, above which hangs a simple metal wind chime. Inside, he's welcomed by the smell of meat grilling for dinner. There's Nino's favourite red guitar on its stand, connected to a small amp, recently used. There's a pair of green wings hanging from the banister of the staircase, evidence of Aiba's most recent experiment. A few steps forward and Aiba sees Sho in his study, face buried within a miniature city of books. He's listening to music, a classical piece remixed with rap, and his head tilts side to side as he reads. Ahead, the foyer opens to the kitchen and the living room. Jun-kun's cooking up a storm, the dogs yipping around his ankles and the cat perched on the nearby table, colour-patched tail swishing in time to Jun's strokes of his spatula. Nino's sprawled upside down on the couch, feet in the air, watching their most recent guest appearance on a variety and laughing at the most inappropriate parts. Between them, the door to the art studio is closed, but as Aiba approaches, it opens, and Ohno steps out, paint streaks on his cheek and ink staining his hands. He smiles at Aiba and waves him over to see his newest creation hanging on the window, a stained glass mosaic of beach and sea, made resplendent by the golden sun dipping low over the horizon and skimming their backyard with warm, shimmering rays of light. The door to the backyard has been propped open with a telephone book, and a breeze of evening air wafts in, smelling of forests and salt. Jun calls for dinner, and Ohno smiles, leading Aiba to the dining room, where the others are already seated. They serve the food and talk about their day and laugh together, and the tinkling of the wind chime above their front door reaches Aiba's ears, just barely, and reminds him that he's not dreaming.
That's what Aiba's aiming for.
He can't fucking wait.
~
"Ready?" Sho calls. Two faces nod back at him.
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
"YES! Aaah, what a relief!"
"What is this? I want a rematch, let's go again."
"No, that was the last one! I win, the room's mine."
Aiba pipes up, "You know, the way you're all so enthusiastic about this, it's like you don't want to share a room with me."
"Get rid of your Chia pet and then we'll talk," Nino says, already grabbing his stuff and heading for the second bedroom.
"What do you have against Kirby?" Aiba demands, but Nino's already around the door frame.
"It's dead and you need to throw it out," Jun answers from the bean bag chair, flipping a page in his magazine. "It smells."
"That's the smell of soil, Matsujun! Don't you know anything?"
"I know that if something's covered in terracotta, there shouldn't be a smell of soil."
It's Saturday evening, and they're figuring out the distribution of the second floor. By mutual agreement (despite Aiba's insistence that the room belongs to all of them) Aiba gets to keep the master bedroom, and Jun has already claimed one of the smaller bedrooms as his own by marking his territory with sharp jewelry and snappy hats. Between the two remaining bedrooms, there are three candidates, and Nino win his own room without cheating at all. Sho drops forlornly onto the carpet beside Ohno, who hadn't even bothered standing up to throw his losing hand of scissors. "Guess we'll be sharing, Satoshi-kun. I apologize in advance for my snoring."
Ohno laughs. "That's okay. I sleep pretty well."
"What type of mattress would you prefer? A double or a queen's? We could also get two twin beds, if you prefer. I'm rather flexible, but firmer mattresses are better for you back. Or we can get a memory foam mattress, but then we absolutely must stick to our own sides of the bed."
Ohno says, "It's fine. Whatever is good." Then, after a short pause, "I'd like a fish tank."
"Oh!" Sho lights up. "That's a great idea. Let's figure out the bed situation, and then make some room for a tank. I guess we should be careful that it's placed somewhere Holmes can't get to."
"You should watch out," Jun says. "He's already taken a liking to the salt smell from Ohno's clothes. You should occasionally light those incense sticks you're scarily obsessed with."
"Oi. I'm not obsessed."
"SHO," Nino's voice yells out, "there's a spider in here. Come kill it for me!"
"No, kill it yourself!" Sho says, recoiling.
"Don't kill it," Aiba cries. "Throw it outside or something."
"There's no way I'm touching it!" Nino shouts back. "What's the matter with this thing, it's headed for my headphones. It's going to lay eggs there. SHO!"
Jun sighs and goes instead, rolling up his magazine into a tube.
Ohno turns to Aiba. "Do we have any ramen?"
Aiba grins. "Loads."
~
So the move is slow going, but it does go. Bit by bit, bauble by bauble, things from Tokyo find new residence in Chiba. The empty shelves of the house fill up with books, photo albums, discs of every shape and size. Nino’s electronic keyboard is set up at his preferred height; no one else touches it. The cabinets are stacked with mismatched sets of dishware: Aiba’s, some of Jun’s, some of Sho’s, plus a new collection, gifted from Aiba’s mom a while back as a congratulations for her son’s first movie. Ohno’s art easel makes a permanent home in the corner of his studio, facing the window overlooking the backyard. There are two desks built in the study, taking up the perimeter of most of the room -- Sho’s, where he can pile papers and DVDs to his heart’s content, and a larger, more open desk that everyone else can use. Some of Aiba’s photos are taken down, either relocated or replaced by others, but the walls are eventually peppered with captured memories. By the time everyone is satisfied with the appearance of things, there’s a near-coherent theme in the décor: Aiba calls it “Arashi style” but Jun calls it “sloppy.”
Here and there, they have some heated discussions about who should get what space, and what should take up whose space, but the stakes are mitigated by the fact that everyone still has their old apartments in Tokyo. Some nights, it’s just easier not to travel all the way out of town, braving distance and traffic, and sacrifice a precious few hours of sleep. But some other nights, after a rough day, the extra time is worth it to get away from all the trappings of a life in show business. In any one evening, chances are there will be at least one member of Arashi in their Chiba hideaway.
Aiba spends practically every night in the bed of the master bedroom now, and never alone.
At first, it had been left up to him to initiate intimacy -- between four rooms, five people, and the endless permutations of their schedules, coordination is a bit of a struggle. Despite the past ease in which they could proposition each other into staying at another’s apartment for the night, sharing living space seemed to have the curious and unexpected effect of dampening their collective libido and making them more reluctant to seek out a certain kind of company. Somehow, the novelty of being in such close quarters has made them awkward, like prepubescent schoolchildren who’ve confessed their crush but have no idea what the next step is. Do they do it whenever they feel like? Do they have to give advance notice? Can it still be pairs, or does it always have to be the five of them together for it to count? Who makes the first move? Whose bed do they use?
The only word Aiba could find in his not-that-impressive arsenal to describe it was that it felt like everyone was being shy. But Arashi being shy around Arashi is a ludicrous notion on par with boats made out of cloth (or lego, or origami, but -- well); these are the same people who have seen Aiba cry when a very old grandma fan called him Masaki-chan, heard him burp accidentally on mic in the middle of a nation-wide telecast, and smelled it when he puked so hard after a wild night out that he’d farted in unison. They live in the same house now -- surely shame is a waste of time and energy, a distant relic of the past, like floppy disks and -- and combustible engines? The point is, anyway, that there are better uses for them.
The key, he learns quickly, is to be really blatant about his desires. Matsujun in the kitchen, making a salad? Dip your finger in the salad dressing and suck it off, moaning about its salty tang. Ohno in the studio, molding clay? Walk in naked, ask him to draw you like one of his French girls. (And actually, Ohno hadn't gotten the reference, but the intent had been pretty self-explanatory.) Sho relaxing in a white wife-beater, composing rap lyrics? Slide a hand under his shirt and whisper dirty limericks in his ear. Nino playing video games with his glasses and headphones? Sit next to the television and touch yourself. Okay, well, the last one doesn't really work, but this is because Nino on a gaming crusade can purposefully ignore an earthquake warning without batting an eyelash, and speaks not at all about Aiba's level of sexiness while masturbating -- which is high. Threesomes and moresomes are a bit more tricky to arrange, but usually, if two of them get into it and someone else is within hearing range, things work themselves out.
It’s a challenge, navigating the straits of their relationship archipelago, but one that Aiba takes on with the full eagerness of a conqueror exploring his new lands; with a definitive goal in mind, every next step is a small victory. Aiba appreciates that, because between all the major ups and minor downs of homemaking, he’s actually having a hell of a time keeping up with jobs. It's the last stretch of drama filming before Aiba's show about a young, hard-headed business man who accidentally signs a contract to work in a rundown old bookstore for a full year, is due to broadcast soon and everyone working on the show is fraught with nerves, trying to finish their episode quota on time. In addition to that, Arashi's annual end-of-summer concert is fast approaching and dance practises have started up in preparation. (Arashi's concerts, since whittled down to two huge concert venues per year, are still just as fun as they've always been, but Aiba can't deny that dancing nonstop for three plus hours takes a lot more out of him than it used to.) And of course, there's the regular workload of Arashi's television and MC roles, plus keeping tabs on the animal shelter he'd appropriated a few years back. They'd rescued about twenty dogs from a puppy mill recently, so it's high time to schedule another interview and use his celebrity status to drum up some renewed interest in pet adoption.
A schedule like this probably would be classified as "light to medium" load back in Arashi's heyday. Aiba probably wouldn't even get the luxury of having free evenings for the majority of the week. Neither fact helps sustain him very much, though, when it’s approaching ten pm and he’s about to fall flat on his face out of exhaustion.
Coming home to friendly faces on days like that is so good Aiba can’t even put it into words. Mood-lifting. Life-giving. Soul-reaffirming. The worries of the day simply melt off his shoulders from hearing Sho and Ohno’s chorus of laughter following the high-pitched volley of Nino’s joke, then Jun’s bone-dry rebuttal, setting Sho off again.
Home is cloud nine, as Aiba always knew it would be.
The month turns and August, buzzing hot and radiant, creeps up without his full notice. He has some vague awareness that the days are passing, but it’s another busy season of work; between the urgency of drama filming and the stringent Arashi-related schedules, dates are not actually sinking in. There’s so much to do and so many things occupying his attention that there’s barely even time to enjoy the house, but to Aiba’s consolation (and disappointment), the others don’t spend heavy amounts of time there either, everyone occupied with different projects.
It takes until Aiba shuffles home one day, finger under his nose because he forgot to take his allergy medication that morning and suffered through an entire day trying to pre-emptively block his sneezes, to find Ohno painting Jun’s toenails a lush, royal purple while Jun lay on his back and read manga, that Aiba remembers that it’ll soon be Jun’s birthday. Number thirty-seven.
Jun has had a weird issue with birthdays ever since he passed thirty, and hasn’t made a history of being any more than professionally polite the last six years when he was handed a cake decorated with his name and a large number of candles (or too few, which he thought was mocking and therefore worse). Aiba tries to reassure him that he doesn’t look a day over twenty-seven, but leave it to Jun to obsess crazily about the aesthetics of laugh lines when in Aiba's opinion they're nothing but badges of happiness. There’s something to be said about aging gracefully, but they’re idols and they sell their faces, so Aiba can’t begrudge Jun’s bitterness about getting older, even though he can’t quite manage the same level of animosity towards his own birthday. He thinks that maybe, if it were a small, intimate affair, just the five of them, Jun would enjoy it a bit more? At least among their private circle he can’t complain wholeheartedly about being so old he should just up and die already, because whatever else, he's still their youngest.
It could be nice.
Aiba oozes down on the floor next to Jun and Ohno and does his best imitation of a piece of driftwood.
"Tired?" Jun asks, flipping a page of his comic book.
"Ah, yeah," grunts Aiba. He is unaccountably thankful for the Persian rug Sho had insisted they add to the living room floor. The fibres scratch pleasantly against his cheek.
"Nino made some onigiri this morning, if you want some," Ohno offers.
"Maybe later. I got a bento on set."
Jun hums and flips another page. Ohno finishes with Jun's left foot and removes it from his lap, gently picking up the right one. Jun doesn't wear polish on the nails of his hand anymore, hasn't for years, but sometimes he still indulges his toenails for fun, then covers them up with socks. Aiba thinks it's cute.
"Do you want a birthday party?" Aiba blurts out, turning his head in Jun's direction. "Like, with just the five of us? Here? We can get a cake or not get a cake. It can be the most partyless party ever."
The beginnings of a grin spread across Jun's lips like a bird opening his wings for flight. "Sure, I'd like that," he agrees, and Aiba nods. Good.
"Cake?" Ohno asks, focused on the canvas of Jun's toenails like a true artist.
"A small one, then," Jun allows.
"Great! Done," Aiba says, more than satisfied. He's accomplished enough for the day. "Wake me in ten minutes."
"How about Viagra as a present, ojii-san," Ohno says, and Aiba closes his eyes to the sight of Jun hurtling his manga at Ohno's head.
~
"Okay, first, I'm not your errand boy," Nino starts to say, when he comes into the kitchen, clutching two handfuls of plastic bags. "Secondly, I--"
"Ooh!" Aiba rushes over, abandoning his book on the coffee table. "Did you get everything I asked for?"
"Not the curry powder. Who puts curry powder in a cake?"
"Give me some credit," Aiba protests. "It wasn't for the cake. It was for the main course. I want to try out this new recipe. Curry mabo tofu."
"Save it for Sho's birthday," Nino says. He unloads items, one by one, from his parcels. Eggs, milk, flour, chocolate chips, cocoa powder... fresh mangos, dried plums, watermelon, Jun's favourite fruits. Also a really nice red wine with a French name Aiba can't pronounce, but that Ogura-san had assured him Jun would enjoy.
"Aren't we a bit too old for birthday parties, really?" Nino asks, hopping onto a stool and watching Aiba tie on an apron.
"People can be too old for birthdays when they're dead in the ground," Aiba says.
Nino flashes a wry grin. "Very morbid. I'm impressed, Aiba-san."
Aiba eyes him. "Are you going to help me bake?"
"No," says Nino, and Aiba's not surprised at all. "I just want to watch you sashaying around the kitchen. Like a good little wife."
"Oi."
"Cooking for her husband."
"I'm a husband too!"
"Animal husbandry, maybe."
The wooden spoon in Aiba's hand finds a target on Nino's head. "I don't know what that means but I want you to shut up."
"This is domestic violence," Nino whines, ducking as Aiba tries to hit him again with his hand for good measure. "I'm going to report you to the police."
Aiba sticks out his tongue, and before he can fully pull away, Nino's grabbed his wrist in an unexpectedly tight grip.
"Aiba-chan. You're happy, aren't you?" he asks, brows quirked up in that I-just-want-to-make-sure expression that Aiba's more used to seeing on Nino's face when Nino's confirming the state of Aiba's sanity.
"I," Aiba says, swallowing. "I am. Like, I really am." He hesitates, all of the sudden feeling the stone cold soberness of fear. He can't forget that it was Nino who had been hesitant, who had lashed out first at the suggestion of the house. Aiba watches him carefully these days, and Nino looks to be enjoying himself, doesn't seem to be regretting his decision, but how can Aiba know for sure without peeling out Nino's brain?
"Aren't you happy too?" Aiba asks.
Nino's tiny smile grows. "I'm always happy."
"Don't do that. Tell me the truth."
"The truth? I said I'm happy. Don't I look happy?" And he's edging a full-fledged grin now, watching Aiba squirm in self-consciousness, so of course he looks happy. He looks delighted. "Despite what you may think of me, Aiba-san," he says, voice still teasing, "I really like it when you're happy. You have fun in this place, I can tell. I just don't want you to mess things up with your own stupidity."
Aiba straightens, frowning, trying to pull his right arm back, but Nino holds fast.
"Stupidity about what? Nino."
Nino's smile doesn't change, doesn't shift a single inch, but his gaze flits down, to Aiba's frozen wrist in his grasp, pale fingers curled like a bracelet around Aiba's more tanned skin, and Aiba can't help the unbidden thought from shooting through him jaggedly: sadness. Nino looks sad.
"Sometimes I think that we're not good enough for you," Nino says. It's an admission.
Aiba reels. "What? That is totally, completely, the most dumb, most impossible thing I've ever heard, Nino! How can you even think that?"
Nino shrugs, carelessly despondent. "It's not like I want to, you know. Don't make me out to be some sort of -- pessimistic drama queen or something. It's just that this house was your idea, not ours, and don't fish for compliments about that anymore because obviously all of us being here means that it's good, but still, there's a--" he sucks in his lips and tosses his hair back nervously. "You know what? This is idiotic, I can't explain it. I'm just in a bad mood today. Why did you make me spend money on groceries? I don't even like Jun."
A fish hook of sympathy tugs sharply at Aiba's heart. This is a barb-wired Nino here in his hands, shielding his soft innards; a Nino who moved in more out of lack of argument than any real enthusiasm, and yet is still doing his best to make this place his home without looking back. It doesn't take a genius to see what's drawing Nino isn't so much the location or the house itself, but what's inside it. This jerk, who's put so much love in so few people, and still gets wordlessly scared about things splitting up no matter how much he tries to hide it, has laid out his heart's chances on Aiba's dumb vision -- and Aiba should do more to let him know that he appreciates Nino's decision. That he believes it was the right one to make.
"I'm happy here, but it’s not so much about the house," he says, plowing through Nino's blatant attempt at misdirection. "It’s you guys being here too. I love you guys because you guys make me feel good and always will." And as if to substantiate his claim, he flips his forearm over and encircles his own right fingers around Nino's left wrist: a clasping handshake. "Does that ease your worries, Nino-chan?"
"What kind of person do you take me for?" Nino says, which isn't an answer at all.
"One of my favourite kinds," Aiba says: open, guileless. At least one of them should be.
Nino meets his eyes resolutely, unblinking, face neither impressed nor disappointed, but then he nods once, sharply, and dips his chin to brush a petal-soft kiss on the back of Aiba's hand.
~
It was, with hindsight, bound to happen sometime. No matter how well the five of them get along with each other, the years between them stretched like a warm blanket, there to hug and hold and fall back on if need be, they're still nothing more than human, and thus: conflict, inevitably.
The Sunday evening of Jun's birthday; it's almost 10:30, and they're still missing a fifth of the group.
"Leader! Everyone else is home already. Where are you?" Aiba says into the phone. He can't help the frisson of distress from running through his voice, because the food is cooling and the candles on the cake (Aiba was hasty, he'd stuck them in too far ahead of time) are drooping, and the "guests of honour" are shifting from general boredom to minor irritation. Sho's hungry, Nino's tired and cranky, and Jun feels burdened for Sho's hunger and Nino's crankiness because it's his birthday party. He'd wanted to cut the cake over half an hour ago, but Aiba had insisted that they wait for Ohno.
"Oh," says Ohno's mildly surprised voice. "That was today."
"Yes! It's today. Where are you?"
“Not tomorrow.”
“His birthday’s today, Oh-chan!”
“I know, but I thought -- ah, no.”
There’s a frown pulling hard on Aiba’s lips. “Where are you, then?”
"At home."
Aiba whips his head around, bewildered. "You are? What? Where?"
"No. I'm at home. At my parents'."
"Oh," says Aiba, startled. "Oh. Well, are you coming back here anytime soon?"
A long pause. "We're having shabu-shabu. With lettuce and mushrooms."
"We've got cake. If you wanted shabu-shabu, you could have just said! I would've gotten it for you. Jun wouldn't mind, I'm sure."
"It's okay."
"So, what," Aiba jokes, "you're just going to stay there for tonight? Have fun and see you tomorrow or something?"
"Yeah," agrees Ohno, which isn't the answer Aiba wanted.
"No, wait wait! Don't hang up," he says in panic. "It's -- you're really not coming? But it's Jun's birthday!"
"I wished him happy birthday already this morning," Ohno says. "I called him."
"Sure, but. But that's not the same as being here. If you had to visit your parents, you could have phoned beforehand and let us know, Leader. We could have rescheduled or something!"
"But why is it such a big deal?" Ohno asks. "I've missed lots of your parties before. It's never been… since I. I mean. Why is it so bad now, and not before?"
A balloon of air starts to expand inside Aiba’s chest, constricting his breathing.
“Uh. It’s not that it’s not okay -- I just thought it’d be nice, since we’re all together in this house now, to have a nice occasion together, like a family.”
As soon as he hears the words come out of his mouth, he can barely keep from wincing at how pathetic he sounds. It probably comes out as doubly silly to Ohno, who is at this minute sitting with his real family (not that Arashi isn’t real, of course Arashi is real, but Ohno’s parents -- there is no substitution, no comparison, and Aiba gets that, he really does, but he’d just thought -- he'd thought Ohno would show up, that’s all) and waiting to get back to them.
“Is that idiot coming or not!” Nino’s voice shouts from the kitchen, followed by a sharp smack of palm against skull. “Ow, what! You were wondering too.”
“Tell him he can come anytime,” Sho calls out. “We’ll save a piece of cake for him.”
“Was that Sho-kun?” Ohno asks. “And Nino, before?”
“Yeah,” Aiba says, swallowing past the clogging lump in his throat. “They said you could come home anytime. We’ll save a piece of cake for you.”
If there ever was a time for Ohno to revaluate and change his mind, say, “No, no, I’ll come, I’ll be there soon,” and mend up the disappointment slashing through Aiba’s chest, now would be it. Aiba can even hear the exact intonation that Ohno would use: a little put-upon, rounded out by a pout of his lower lip, but calm, complacent: Ohno Satoshi’s usual brand of unexaggerated happiness.
What Ohno says is, “All right. Thanks, see you guys later. Bye bye.” And he hangs up.
When Aiba returns to their table, Jun has sliced up the cake into six large pieces and two small ones. He drops one of the bigger pieces on a plate and holds it out to Aiba first. Aiba takes it, mustering up a smile.
“Oh-chan’s staying at his parents’ tonight," he says.
Jun shrugs, “That’s fine,” but a tiny furrow appears between his newly-plucked eyebrows. Aiba’s heart jumps, only just noticing it; had Jun bothered to look nice for today? For this?
“Figures,” Nino says, head lolling back on his shoulders. “I wondered how long it would take him.”
“To do what,” Sho asks, sticking a thick chunk of cake in his mouth. “This is really, really good, Aiba.”
“Thanks!” Aiba says, brightened for a moment by Sho’s clear enjoyment of his baking.
“You added raisins, huh,” Nino comments, taking a pigeon-peck nibble of his share. He gets the two smaller pieces because Jun apparently decided they’d pushed Nino far enough today by usurping over half an hour of his gaming time while waiting for Ohno to show up, so it’s best not to force him to eat more than he’s willing. “It’s not bad.”
“Such high praise!” Aiba says.
“Glad you left out the ground cumin.”
“Okay, yeah, you can stop rubbing it in now.” Is it Aiba’s fault that ground cumin looks pretty much identical to cinnamon and for some reason Jun bought a spice rack that holds forty square glass containers all of the exact same shape and then arranged them by colour? No.
They finish eating in midst of casual conversation, and it's only a little awkward. Immediately after Jun declares himself full and thanks Aiba for the effort, Nino pushes away his remaining third of a slice and heads upstairs to his room. Jun wraps up Nino's leftovers, plus the two pieces kept for Ohno, and puts them in the fridge. He pauses by Aiba, sliding an arm over Aiba's shoulder, and pecks a kiss on Aiba's lips.
"It was nice," he says, smiling briefly, before he heads upstairs too.
Aiba looks to Sho after Jun's footsteps on the stairs have gone silent. Sho says, "He meant it, Aiba, I swear he did."
Aiba laughs once. "Yeah, I know."
But it doesn't stop him from feeling a little like a failure.
~
Jun is waiting -- cross-legged, chest bare, face blank -- in the big bed when Aiba steps out of the bathroom, still wet from his shower.
"Hi," Aiba quips lamely.
"Hi," returns Jun. He's wearing a pair of silk pajama bottoms, pure black, and his white-rose skin against the mossy shade of Aiba's blankets is jarringly gorgeous, almost ethereal. Aiba swallows, hard.
"Uh, so you--"
"Let's get one thing straight, please," Jun interrupts, tapping a quick rhythm of fingers on bended knee. "Ohno not coming today was not your fault. He loves his parents, and we all know he would prioritize them over us. He's always been like that. He left me a message this morning wishing me happy birthday, then mentioned that he had to go pick up some ingredients for his mom, so I was hardly surprised he didn't show up. Neither were Nino and Sho. It was fine. So you can stop feeling guilty about it."
"I'm not--!"
"You are though, because it's you, and you're really obvious," says Jun.
Aiba feels the hand holding onto his towel clench onto the fabric, squeezing. He takes in a breath, feeling embarrassed at being caught out and indignant at getting flack for it. "Well, so what if I was? I can't be disappointed by stuff? I'm being the bad guy or something? I just wanted you to have a great party, Matsujun!"
"I don't need a great party. Or even a party, or presents. I like to know my friends and family care about me, and I like nice, relaxing evenings where no one shoves my age in my face and expects me to sit through the entire Happy Birthday song. And I got that, so it was good."
"But Oh-chan didn't even show u--"
"Him not coming tonight doesn't mean he doesn't care about us," Jun says quickly, like a knife cleaving through butter. He narrows his eyes in consideration. "You understand that, don't you?"
Aiba does. Of course he does. But at the same time, he doesn't. He doesn't understand why someone would choose not to be with his loved ones on their special day. He doesn't understand why Ohno didn't respect Aiba's party enough to even drop by and have a slice of cake. Ohno's parents are awesome and there's no denying that, but it's just shabu-shabu, with ordinary ingredients; Ohno's mom could literally make that anytime. For Ohno to prefer spending his evening doing something completely mundane with this parents rather than celebrating a hallmark occasion with them in their shared house -- that has to mean something, right? It has to mean that this house isn't as important to Ohno as it is to the others. That's what Aiba understands. He can't empathize.
Jun's lips press into a taut line. "It's kind of like... everyone has different tolerances to spicy food, right? Sho-chan loves it but can't take it well. Ohno likes it fine but can eat insane amounts of it. You and I aren't good with it and you like it sometimes; I don't. Sometimes, things can be like that. We all have different preferences. You love being in this house, and you're pretty much thriving here like a pig in a mud puddle. Ohno loves this place too, but he can't take so much of it, non-stop. He lived with his parents for most of his life, remember. He's always going to think of that place as home."
And that's what it comes down to, isn't it? Ohno had called his parent's house as home. Aiba had never heard him refer to this place as home. Only "the big house" or "Chiba" or "our place." Never "home." That's what's digging at Aiba, caught on his insides like a thistle on wool.
"That was a rather juvenile analogy, Jun-kun," Sho says, peeking his head into the room.
"You do better then," Jun tosses back.
"Introversion versus extroversion. Relating our capacity of drawing energy from others or from within. And how Satoshi-kun might be overwhelmed doing too much in this house so soon. Something like that."
"Don't make Ohno out to be some baby. And how long would it take you to explain everything with that?"
"What? Not even one minute! How long could it possibly take?"
"This isn't T no Arashi. I just wanted to make a point."
"Fine, and?" Sho asks, gaze darting to Aiba like a first-timer presenter scoping his audience's reaction. "Did you make it?"
"Okay okay, I get it, I get it," says Aiba, more sharply than he intended. He shifts on his feet, half wanting to sit down somewhere, half wanting to get out of the room entirely until he has a better grasp of his own emotions. He feels suffocated, and is afraid he might get angry at Jun or Sho, when the person Aiba is most angry at is himself, for setting the bar so high again, and completely forgetting that everyone is jumping from different heights. Is Aiba really so immature? Are his desires really so far removed from the others'?
"I'll stop feeling guilty," Aiba says. "And I'm not mad at Oh-chan." He's unsure if this is the truth or not, but he wants it to be, and from the relieved looks on Sho and Jun's faces, Aiba's said the right thing. So that's enough for now. If they can believe it, then Aiba will too. He pastes on a smile. "Let's just call it a nice night, then! And leave it at that. Anything else to talk about?"
"Yes, the reason I'm in the bed, wearing no underwear," Jun says, reclining slowly back upon the blanket, all sinew and grace. "It is still my birthday, don't forget." He points a look at the towel slung low on Aiba's hips, and raises an eyebrow. "You two going to stand there all night or what."
Sho says, in a rush, while tugging furiously at his shirt, "Wait a second, you guys have a head start, hold up. NINO! Get your skinny butt over here!"
But Aiba only laughs, and drops the towel.
~
He's sprawled out on the bed like a dog in the summer heat, back cushioned by pillows, limbs spread in disarray, neck drooping in fatigue, but his eyes are still as bright as a hawk's, trained on the sight before him: Nino's ass in the air, Sho's fingers leaving red imprints as they clutch at Nino's hips, Sho rutting without restraint into Nino's entrance, practically whining with the exertion. Nino is moaning, a continuous stream of muffled epithets, and Aiba thinks he can hear him saying "harder" and "fuck" and "there," but he's not sure, because Nino's voice is compromised. Jun's on Nino's other end, fisting a tight hold into Nino's hair, jaw loose and grin near-savage as he thrusts his cock again and again down Nino's willing throat. Aiba knows when Nino swallows, because Jun curses and pulls, pets, strokes at Nino's hair; Aiba knows when Nino clenches his ass, because Sho groans unabashedly, like his life is being pulled out of him, and pitches forward to fuck harder.
Aiba's starting to feel like it's his birthday, with the quality of this show.
Ten minutes prior, all three of these insane jerks had gone to town on Aiba at the same time, Jun sucking down Aiba's cock in steady, relentless increments, tongue fluttering on the underside like he was powered by some kind of impossible motor, two long fingers stroking a heartbeat on Aiba's prostate; Nino's hands were clenched with Aiba's as he'd laid trails of sharp-toothed kisses down Aiba's chest, ensuring Aiba's avoidance of low-collar shirts for the next few days, then remapping the texture of Aiba's nipples with his tongue. Sho had been cradling Aiba in his lap, his erection pressing teasing and hot in the small of Aiba's back, as Sho cupped Aiba's neck and kissed Aiba so hard that Aiba went light-headed, gasping for air and sanity and consciousness.
It hadn't taken long for Aiba to come. Predictably.
Although it might not take that long for Aiba to get back in the game either, with this kind of stimulation. He's getting up in years, not so keen to go two rounds in one night, but sometimes, exceptions must be made, especially when there's the fucking Olympic gold performance of threesome porn going on right here, within Aiba's reach.
A thought flits through his head abruptly, like a leaf whipped by a tornado: it'd be even better, if Ohno were here. Aiba feels immediately awful, chastising himself for bringing up that again, when clearly Ohno had made his decision. He has nothing to be ungrateful for.
It's because he's so adamantly focusing only about the scene in front of him that he doesn't even notice when someone walks into the room.
"Satoshi," breathes Sho, who sees him first, and Aiba's throat goes dry. Jun whips around, eyes wide, hips stilling, and Nino lifts his head from Jun's cock at that; a thin string of saliva threading from the head of Jun's member to Nino's red, swollen lips.
Nino wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "About time."
"Ah. Sorry I'm late," Ohno mumbles, and Aiba's unsure if he really means it or if it's just polite habit.
"How was dinner with your parents?" Jun asks wryly.
"Good. The food was great."
"There's cake in the fridge, if you want."
"Thanks. Did Jun-kun enjoy his party?"
"I did, thank you."
"This is truly a stellar reunion moment we're having here," Nino butts in, "but I think the appropriate term for the situation is 'put out or shut up,' okay?" He arches his back, and in the same smooth motion, sucks Jun's cock back into his mouth. Jun and Sho groan in unison.
Ohno smiles slightly, watching, then takes a seat beside Aiba, at the head of the bed, and starts unfastening his belt.
"Oh-chan," Aiba croaks, unsure of what to say, if anything. He settles with the obvious. "You came after all."
Ohno lifts off his shirt and gifts Aiba with a tilted grin over his bare shoulder. "Well. I thought about it, and thought it'd be good to come in the end."
"Why's that?"
"Didn't want to sleep over. It was nice to see my mom and dad, but." He scratches his nose. "There's a perfectly good bed right here."
He turns to Aiba, fully nude now, and reaches for him, leaning in for a long, slow kiss. Aiba lets himself be swept into it, whimpering as Ohno bites gently at Aiba's lips, sings a wordless spell to Aiba's tongue. Maybe it's an apology. Maybe it's a statement. Ohno's never been big on words, but interpreting his body language still sometimes alludes Aiba; he is forever caught off guard by just how much Ohno can feel, and keeps hidden.
"I was kind of mad at you, before," Aiba admits, voice hushed, when Ohno finally pulls away. Aiba's panting, trying to catch his breath, but he's helpless in his shame. "I thought you didn't care about the house or something, so you were trying to avoid the party. I was kind of over-reacting. Silly, huh?"
Ohno's hand, cool and affectionate, curls around Aiba's neck, thumb tracing Aiba's jaw.
"Maybe you think too hard about it," Ohno says lightly. "It's not that complicated."
"What isn't?"
Ohno presses closer and gives Aiba another kiss, a small one, close-mouthed and soft and lingering. "It's not about the house at all. It's just a house. But you're here, so I wanted to be here too."
His hand finds its way stroking down Aiba's neck, collarbone, chest; and there it stops. Aiba shivers, but says nothing, thinks no coherent thought, cannot even pull in another gulp of air as Ohno raises a long, elegant finger, and taps twice on Aiba's left breast, over his heart.
"I -- I'm not sure I get it," Aiba whispers, but his eyes burn hot with the potential of tears.
Ohno reassures him with a smile. "That's okay. Sorry," he says, and kisses him again, pulling Aiba to him with open arms.
~
The bed is large and they are thin, but still they're five full-grown men, so it's a tight squeeze to keep them all on the mattress in more or less the same orientation. Half of Jun's left arm is hanging off the left side of the bed; Sho's entire right leg juts out like the crooked limb of one of Nino's action figure collectibles. Nino is practically lying on top of Ohno, and Aiba is amazed that Ohno can breathe properly, with his nose mashed into Nino's shoulder like that. The room is stifling. They forgot to open a window and now everyone's too tired to get up. Aiba is sore and sticky all over. He can't even move, squished like an overheated sardine between Jun and Ohno.
He feels perfect.
"Good birthday," Jun says weakly, rolls to his side, and promptly falls asleep.
"Good birthday," Aiba agrees, but his mind is already miles away, whirring, dreaming, flying on homemade craft-feather wings, planning their next celebration.
TBC
Title: Where the Heart Is
Words: ~10,200 this part
Rating: NC-17
Warnings, description, etc: see previous entry
Notes: This is coming so so so late and I'm so so so so sorry but hopefully I can make it up with the speed at which I'll post part 4!! (It'll be soon!) And, as always, my gratitude to lysanderpuck for the beta.
PS. Also at AO3!
"No, you can't put your video games in the bookshelf! They'll take up too much space."
"What do you need all that space for?"
"Books. It's a bookshelf."
"Sho-chan doesn't even read this much!"
"Sho-chan right now needs help in the study because he can't actually assemble this desk by himself!" Sho shouts at them. Nino and Jun spare a glance in his direction, just in time to watch the three wooden pieces Sho is valiantly trying to match together tumble apart -- pulling a harried scream from their assembler -- then simultaneously go back to arguing about shelf territory.
Aiba heaves a sigh and leaves the box he's unpacking labelled FIGURINE COLLECTION in Nino's scrawled handwriting, and goes to help Sho.
"We should have bought these preassembled, in retrospect," Sho says, hurtling some cardboard across the floor so Aiba has space to sit. "Or hired people to do it for us. Hold up these two pieces, please."
"But where's the fun in that?" Aiba asks, trying to keep his hands as steady as possible as Sho drills in a screw.
"I think we passed the point of fun when Jun unloaded two full boxes of hats and kicked Ohno out to buy five hat stands."
"I suggested that we move in slowly! Bits and pieces!" Aiba protests. "It's not my fault Jun-kun wanted to bring all his hats in together."
"When did he amass so many of them, anyway? I can't remember the last time I actually saw him wear one of them." Sho laughs slightly. "Can you imagine how many pairs of shoes he must have?"
Aiba stares at him, suddenly fearful. "Sho-chan. Shit. We're going to need more closet space."
The electric drill in Sho's hand slowly lowers. "You're right," he says.
Out in the hall, Nino's voice is shouting shrilly. "DON'T TOUCH THOSE! THEY'RE SORTED IN A VERY CRUCIAL ORDER THAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS BUT ME!"
~
Aiba doesn't get it. He managed to move in with minimal fuss -- what's making it so hard for everyone else to do the same? He's already provided all the basic necessities they need: furniture and glassware and plenty of linens and towels -- all the others had to do was to get some of their favourite things and fill up the house's empty spaces with their own personal touch. Books in the bookcase, gaming systems by the TV, snacks in the cupboards. All residences basically function in the same way, so why on earth are they getting into debates about the proper way to sort video game cartridges and matching the colour of hat stands to the walls? Aiba has never owned a real hat stand in his life, so he had no idea they came part and parcel with a boatload of decor-related drama. Considering that none of them are actually giving up their individual condos or apartments in Tokyo, Aiba really hadn't foreseen that moving in would be so stressful.
There's a minor disaster zone in the study because Sho hasn't yet finished assembling his desk but Jun has already started unpacking Sho's books into the two remaining bookcases still in the room, leaving the rest of them in unequal piles around their boxes like shrapnel in a crater of historical Japanese literature. The trail of them leads to the living room, where the third of Aiba's bookcases stands against the wall, guarding over litters of game cards scattered on the floor around it, a collection in every shape and size. Every available surface in the kitchen has been taken up by some sort of pot, pan or set of utensils, courtesy of Ohno, who had been looking for Jun's electric can opener but didn't notice any of Jun's precise labelling on the sides of his Kitchen Tools boxes. There is one Nintendo gaming system connected to the television and eight more other gaming systems on standby, waiting to be docked to an outlet just as soon as Nino locates his power outlet extension hub and his set of adapters, which are apparently in one of the many plastic cases marked GAME STUFF. The floor of the living room has been recarpeted in Ohno's artwork, framed and otherwise, none of which can be hung up on the wall until Jun is satisfied with the arrangement of the furniture -- which won't be until they finish assembling Sho's desk and decide if they ought to move that third bookcase back into the study and buy another one for the living room -- progress of which is passing at a snail's pace because Sho is taking a break by listening to Nino play guitar in the corner of the room where all his instruments are, instruments that had been in relatively neat order that morning but have since just amalgamated into and exacerbated the general chaos of the house.
There's also packing peanuts and bubble wrap literally everywhere. Aiba's enfeebled old cat Holmes has lost three feline years off her life, easy.
This is only the first floor. Aiba's been afraid of venturing upstairs since Jun lugged a few suitcases up there an hour ago and hasn't come down since.
It's nearing nine pm. They'd started at noon. Aiba has had a raging headache for the last two hours. He's also starving, but they'd only remembered to order food about fifteen minutes ago so the take-out guy hasn't arrived yet.
Aiba drifts around aimlessly, kicking away plastic bags like autumn leaves on the sidewalk, noting all the things that he has to do and promptly dismissing them for an ambiguous "later" -- until he finds Ohno lying down in the centre rug of his art room (also a mess, tackle boxes and fishing poles leaning against every wall), head pillowed on a cushion and obviously asleep. Holmes is curled up on Ohno's stomach, body rising and falling with every breath Ohno takes.
Nothing in life has ever looked so appealing.
Aiba grabs another nearby cushion and clears out a little area beside Ohno, pushing away paint palettes and pencil sets and pots of clay, until there's enough room for him to lie down properly. When he does so, his back cracks three, four times as Aiba makes himself comfortable.
Ohno blearily opens one eye. "What're you doing?"
Aiba smiles and crosses his fingers over his own chest. "Joining you for a nap."
"Was I napping?"
"Looked like it to me," Aiba answers nimbly. "Holmes-san doesn't like laying on awake people."
One of Ohno's long-fingered hands drifts up to scratch gently at Holmes' neck, and the cat purrs audibly.
"Moving is stressful. I was meditating," Ohno murmurs.
"Is that so," Aiba grins. "Well, then allow me to join you for some relaxing meditation, Ohno-sensei."
Ohno closes his eyes and settles his hand over Holmes' neck. "Close the door, please?"
From the hall, the rapid-harsh thrumming of Nino's acoustic guitar dabbles the air and while the melody is far from abrasive, what Aiba really wants right now is some peace and quiet. He levers himself up and closes the door to the art room; the din outside softens to a distant muffle.
Aiba can already tell that this room is going to be one of the most peaceful in the house.
He's back on the rug and asleep before he realizes it. When he wakes up, the house is quiet and there's a woolly blanket draped over him and Ohno. Holmes is nowhere in sight. Aiba checks his watch, blinking blearily; it's almost three in the morning. God, he has to get up for six tomorrow -- today.
"Oh-chan," Aiba whispers, nudging Ohno's shoulder. "Captain. Wake up, we can't spend all night on the floor."
Ohno pouts in his sleep, nose wrinkling.
"Okay, maybe we could," Aiba amends, "but it would be bad for our backs and we'd really regret later. Come on, let's go upstairs." He takes Ohno's arms and pulls.
"'M fine down here," Ohno mumbles, eyelids barely twitching open, but allows Aiba to tug him to his feet like Frankenstein.
Together they creep out of the studio, both of them yawning hugely, across the living room floor (showing significantly less litter), and up the stairs to the master bedroom, where Aiba nudges open the door and sees the unmistakeable outlines of Nino and Sho's bodies nestled together in the middle of the bed, half-silhouetted by the silver moonlight.
Aiba fumbles out of his clothes and into his sleeping shorts, then lets himself in on the right side of the bed, burrowing close to his favourite sloping-shouldered space heater.
"Aiba?" Sho asks, turning over with his eyes closed. Aiba leans in and ghosts a kiss over Sho's brow.
"Go back to sleep, Sho-chan," he whispers. "Where's Matsujun?"
"He's -- other bedroom," Sho says, words slurred with fatigue. "Fell asleep sorting his clothes."
Aiba presses down a laugh so he doesn't jostle the bed. Ohno, changed into his ratty pajama shirt that's probably twice as old as any of them, is gently lowering himself down on the other side of the bed, next to Nino. Nino makes a soft noise from the back of his throat and unconsciously tucks himself into Ohno's body.
"Night," Ohno says.
"Good night," Aiba echoes, and lets himself drift away.
~
Morning comes much earlier than Aiba would prefer, and it's heralded by yelling.
"I have to be there at 7:30 -- you have to let me shower!" Nino's fist pounds incessantly at the door.
"Use the other washroom!" Aiba hollers back over the spray of the water. "I got here first!" It's not his fault Nino slept through all three of his cell phone alarms.
"But Jun's using the other one!" Nino whines.
"Then wait until one of us is done!"
"What part of 7:30 don't you understand?" His voice comes through miraculously clearly and Aiba shoves aside the shower curtain to see Nino in the washroom, stripping in front of the sink.
"I thought I locked that door," Aiba says, glaring. Ohno teaching Nino how to lock pick all those years ago was and continues to be probably the worst thing that anyone could have done in the history of ever.
"Now, why would you need to do that when all of us undoubtedly respect each other's personal space?" Nino smirks, and steps into the bathtub. He casts a completely unsubtle look at Aiba's crotch. "Don't you usually get morning wood?"
Aiba sighs; this is why he locked the bathroom door today. He woke up late too, and can't afford any distractions if he wants to be out of the house by seven.
"I did," he says, exasperated, "but I took care of it. I don't have time to--Nino!" Nino's small hands grab Aiba's waist and turns him around so his back faces Nino's chest. "No, hey -- not right now!"
"Geez, you're so squawky before you have breakfast. You're like some indignant parrot," Nino says, and Aiba hears a plastic cap flip open, a squirting sound, then a cool blob of liquid lands on the base of his neck. "I'm just washing your back, okay?"
"Oh. Okay."
"Then you can do mine while I wash my hair. See, this is called efficiency, Aiba-san."
"Yeah but can it really be called that if I'm spending more of my time to help you wash?"
He yelps as his feels a pinch on his left butt cheek. "When did you get so smart?" Nino asks, clearly holding back laughter.
Aiba rolls his shoulders, shrugging. "I've always been smart," he says, though his energy's not in it. "The smartest one of them all, Aiba-chan." He doesn't want to admit it, but Nino's up-down-circular stroke on his back is amazingly soothing.
A pair of wet lips press into his skin, at the top knob of Aiba's spine. It's as much of a concession as Aiba's ever going to get out of Nino.
They take twice as long in the shower as Aiba had planned for, so by the time Aiba is downstairs and dressed, his body is feeling good but his mind is relatively annoyed. He won't have time for breakfast, and the drama set won't have catering until noon. And with all the moving in stuff to worry about, he'd completely forgotten to go grocery shopping, so he can't grab anything for the commute. His stomach gurgles like a nuclear reaction, still upset that Aiba had slept through dinner last night.
"There's leftovers from last night's takeout," Jun says from the kitchen counter, and Aiba zooms to the fridge.
It's Indian food -- a bit heavy for such an early morning, but Aiba's not picky. He microwaves some naan bread and some curry for only a few seconds and starts shovelling the lukewarm food into his mouth without even putting it on a plate first.
"Disgusting," says Jun, who's not even looking at him. He's leaning on his hands, staring at Aiba's coffee maker with a relentless intensity that might better be employed on the faces of police detectives at serial killer trials.
"You don't actually have to watch it to make it work properly," Aiba says, mouth half-full of bread and goo.
Jun ignores him. His manicured nails drum a rapid-fire beat on Aiba's faux-marble countertops.
"How did you sleep last night?" Aiba goes on. "You should have joined us in the big bed."
Jun grunts. "It's too soft for my tastes anyway."
"Oh. So -- wait, you're going to take the second bedroom? The one by the staircase?"
"We'll see."
"We should figure it out later. Have a family meeting or something?"
"Whatever, fine. You need to stop talking now before I kill you," Jun says.
"So grumpy, Matsujun. Is the coffee going to finish in the next two minutes? Because otherwise I'm gonna take off."
"No, leave," Jun says, flicking his fingers at him. "I'm making it extra strong so it's taking longer."
"Damn," Aiba sighs, checking the digital clock on the microwave. No time left even for tea. He tosses his unfinished food onto the table and rushes to the front door, but once outside, he has to stop short.
On the driveway to the garage, both Jun and Sho's cars are blocking Aiba's from being able to back out. The shiny finish of their chrome hoods from the early dawn sunlight gleam mockingly at Aiba.
"What the -- HEY!" Aiba shouts, even though no one else is there to hear him. Did he break a mirror or something last night while unpacking, because why else would the entire world be out to get him today? Never mind that it's his fault he couldn't get out of bed on time, that he should have remembered that there would be other cars to compete for driveway space now, that having more people in the house automatically means that Aiba's entire morning routine will be messed up by default; whatever, it's 6:50 am, it's too early for Aiba to be reasonable about things. He has have a mind to throw down his bag and stomp his foot in a tantrum.
"Sho! Jun!" he hollers, storming back in the house. "You have to move your cars out of the way! I can't drive mine out!"
"All your cereal is terrible," is what Jun yells back.
Aiba ends up being over half an hour late for filming and he ducks shame-faced onto the set like a tardy schoolboy, bowing apologies to everyone he can see. Because of the tight filming schedule, they had to start without him, and the order of scenes has been rearranged -- Aiba isn't needed for another hour. It's not a great start to the day, but not the end of the world, either.
He gets periodic texts from the others as the hours drag on. They evidently don't have any schedules at all except to bother Aiba when he's busiest.
Sent from: Jun at 9:31AM:
Where do you keep the kitty litter
Sent from: Jun at 9:47AM:
Nm I found it
Sent from: Sho at 10:02AM:
Aiba, I accidentally created a very large black mark on the
wall of the study while I was pushing the desk around. I...
am very sorry. But I felt you would appreciate being kept
informed.
Sent from:Sho at 10:05AM:
It wiped off!! With just a rag and cleaner!! Amazing.
Sent from: Sho at 10:11AM:
Is it best to wear gloves for this kind of thing? The tips
of my fingers feel as if they're burning.
Sent from:Jun at 10:16AM:
We need to make rules about cleaning house, specifically
re: sho
Sent from:Nino at 12:41PM:
came home for lunch!!!!! we better have food in here!!!!!
Sent from:Nino at 12:43PM:
omfg why did you not warn me jun organized the entire kitchen
WHERE IS EVERYTHING
Sent from:Ohno at 12:55PM:
aibachan are u going back for lunch. nino wants me to
get him gyoza, do u want some to?
Sent from:Nino at 1:08PM:
sooooo i just spilt soy sauce on that brown red rug whoops sry
i'll clean it up but yeah the smell is gonna stay for a bit
Sent from: Ohno at 1:19PM:
ffffffdsssssssssssssssssssssssssdd
Sent from:Ohno at 1:31PM:
sry, butt txt
Sent from:Sho at 3:38PM:
Have you been back to the house yet this afternoon? For some
reason it smells like soy sauce.
It's a quarter annoying and three-quarters hilarious, but simultaneously, kind of overwhelming. Rising out of a drought of nothing, suddenly there's so much happening, and everything is qualified as Aiba's business.
It's a lot to take in at once. A wildfire is now burning where there only used to be kindle wood.
Their last morning together, following Aiba's impromptu housewarming, had been much easier, more relaxed, even with the occasional awkward moment. Aiba hadn't been expecting anything other than a great night, which he got in spades; and conversely, nothing had been expected of him, possibly other than a great night in a new place, which he delivered. Now everything feels different. The pressure of the move-in paints everything in a shade of significance that Aiba hadn't expected. It's thrilling, but it also makes Aiba's stomach giddy in ways that are hard to parse out. It's as if he's perched at the top of the steepest hill of a rollercoaster -- though Aiba loves rollercoasters and the rush of impending excitement he gets as the front of his car pushes just over the balance of the drop, there's always that primitive, reptilian part of his brain that's in an abject state of fright and panic, screaming, "You've committed to it! It's going to happen! Are you going to die? You better not die!" Yesterday had been more stressful than fun, and even though waking up in his huge bed, snuggled in the warm crook of Sho's neck had been amazing in an indescribable way, the promise of a long work day on top of everything else Aiba had to do regarding the house pretty much ruined that high, fast. And the whole point of sharing a house together was so that Aiba would have something to look forward to, to counter the depressing effects of exhausting days at work. But right now there's exhausting work involved with the house, too.
He got caught up again. He has this habit of focusing more on the good than the bad in future situations, to the point of tunnel vision. It’s not like Aiba minds all the work involved with moving per se, but all the same, he'd rather it end as soon as possible. So they, him included, can finally feel settled in.
The image of their house that Aiba has in his mind's eye is every synonym of perfection. A well-kept lawn (kept that way by magic or a gardener, he supposes) leading up to the front door, above which hangs a simple metal wind chime. Inside, he's welcomed by the smell of meat grilling for dinner. There's Nino's favourite red guitar on its stand, connected to a small amp, recently used. There's a pair of green wings hanging from the banister of the staircase, evidence of Aiba's most recent experiment. A few steps forward and Aiba sees Sho in his study, face buried within a miniature city of books. He's listening to music, a classical piece remixed with rap, and his head tilts side to side as he reads. Ahead, the foyer opens to the kitchen and the living room. Jun-kun's cooking up a storm, the dogs yipping around his ankles and the cat perched on the nearby table, colour-patched tail swishing in time to Jun's strokes of his spatula. Nino's sprawled upside down on the couch, feet in the air, watching their most recent guest appearance on a variety and laughing at the most inappropriate parts. Between them, the door to the art studio is closed, but as Aiba approaches, it opens, and Ohno steps out, paint streaks on his cheek and ink staining his hands. He smiles at Aiba and waves him over to see his newest creation hanging on the window, a stained glass mosaic of beach and sea, made resplendent by the golden sun dipping low over the horizon and skimming their backyard with warm, shimmering rays of light. The door to the backyard has been propped open with a telephone book, and a breeze of evening air wafts in, smelling of forests and salt. Jun calls for dinner, and Ohno smiles, leading Aiba to the dining room, where the others are already seated. They serve the food and talk about their day and laugh together, and the tinkling of the wind chime above their front door reaches Aiba's ears, just barely, and reminds him that he's not dreaming.
That's what Aiba's aiming for.
He can't fucking wait.
~
"Ready?" Sho calls. Two faces nod back at him.
"Rock, paper, scissors!"
"YES! Aaah, what a relief!"
"What is this? I want a rematch, let's go again."
"No, that was the last one! I win, the room's mine."
Aiba pipes up, "You know, the way you're all so enthusiastic about this, it's like you don't want to share a room with me."
"Get rid of your Chia pet and then we'll talk," Nino says, already grabbing his stuff and heading for the second bedroom.
"What do you have against Kirby?" Aiba demands, but Nino's already around the door frame.
"It's dead and you need to throw it out," Jun answers from the bean bag chair, flipping a page in his magazine. "It smells."
"That's the smell of soil, Matsujun! Don't you know anything?"
"I know that if something's covered in terracotta, there shouldn't be a smell of soil."
It's Saturday evening, and they're figuring out the distribution of the second floor. By mutual agreement (despite Aiba's insistence that the room belongs to all of them) Aiba gets to keep the master bedroom, and Jun has already claimed one of the smaller bedrooms as his own by marking his territory with sharp jewelry and snappy hats. Between the two remaining bedrooms, there are three candidates, and Nino win his own room without cheating at all. Sho drops forlornly onto the carpet beside Ohno, who hadn't even bothered standing up to throw his losing hand of scissors. "Guess we'll be sharing, Satoshi-kun. I apologize in advance for my snoring."
Ohno laughs. "That's okay. I sleep pretty well."
"What type of mattress would you prefer? A double or a queen's? We could also get two twin beds, if you prefer. I'm rather flexible, but firmer mattresses are better for you back. Or we can get a memory foam mattress, but then we absolutely must stick to our own sides of the bed."
Ohno says, "It's fine. Whatever is good." Then, after a short pause, "I'd like a fish tank."
"Oh!" Sho lights up. "That's a great idea. Let's figure out the bed situation, and then make some room for a tank. I guess we should be careful that it's placed somewhere Holmes can't get to."
"You should watch out," Jun says. "He's already taken a liking to the salt smell from Ohno's clothes. You should occasionally light those incense sticks you're scarily obsessed with."
"Oi. I'm not obsessed."
"SHO," Nino's voice yells out, "there's a spider in here. Come kill it for me!"
"No, kill it yourself!" Sho says, recoiling.
"Don't kill it," Aiba cries. "Throw it outside or something."
"There's no way I'm touching it!" Nino shouts back. "What's the matter with this thing, it's headed for my headphones. It's going to lay eggs there. SHO!"
Jun sighs and goes instead, rolling up his magazine into a tube.
Ohno turns to Aiba. "Do we have any ramen?"
Aiba grins. "Loads."
~
So the move is slow going, but it does go. Bit by bit, bauble by bauble, things from Tokyo find new residence in Chiba. The empty shelves of the house fill up with books, photo albums, discs of every shape and size. Nino’s electronic keyboard is set up at his preferred height; no one else touches it. The cabinets are stacked with mismatched sets of dishware: Aiba’s, some of Jun’s, some of Sho’s, plus a new collection, gifted from Aiba’s mom a while back as a congratulations for her son’s first movie. Ohno’s art easel makes a permanent home in the corner of his studio, facing the window overlooking the backyard. There are two desks built in the study, taking up the perimeter of most of the room -- Sho’s, where he can pile papers and DVDs to his heart’s content, and a larger, more open desk that everyone else can use. Some of Aiba’s photos are taken down, either relocated or replaced by others, but the walls are eventually peppered with captured memories. By the time everyone is satisfied with the appearance of things, there’s a near-coherent theme in the décor: Aiba calls it “Arashi style” but Jun calls it “sloppy.”
Here and there, they have some heated discussions about who should get what space, and what should take up whose space, but the stakes are mitigated by the fact that everyone still has their old apartments in Tokyo. Some nights, it’s just easier not to travel all the way out of town, braving distance and traffic, and sacrifice a precious few hours of sleep. But some other nights, after a rough day, the extra time is worth it to get away from all the trappings of a life in show business. In any one evening, chances are there will be at least one member of Arashi in their Chiba hideaway.
Aiba spends practically every night in the bed of the master bedroom now, and never alone.
At first, it had been left up to him to initiate intimacy -- between four rooms, five people, and the endless permutations of their schedules, coordination is a bit of a struggle. Despite the past ease in which they could proposition each other into staying at another’s apartment for the night, sharing living space seemed to have the curious and unexpected effect of dampening their collective libido and making them more reluctant to seek out a certain kind of company. Somehow, the novelty of being in such close quarters has made them awkward, like prepubescent schoolchildren who’ve confessed their crush but have no idea what the next step is. Do they do it whenever they feel like? Do they have to give advance notice? Can it still be pairs, or does it always have to be the five of them together for it to count? Who makes the first move? Whose bed do they use?
The only word Aiba could find in his not-that-impressive arsenal to describe it was that it felt like everyone was being shy. But Arashi being shy around Arashi is a ludicrous notion on par with boats made out of cloth (or lego, or origami, but -- well); these are the same people who have seen Aiba cry when a very old grandma fan called him Masaki-chan, heard him burp accidentally on mic in the middle of a nation-wide telecast, and smelled it when he puked so hard after a wild night out that he’d farted in unison. They live in the same house now -- surely shame is a waste of time and energy, a distant relic of the past, like floppy disks and -- and combustible engines? The point is, anyway, that there are better uses for them.
The key, he learns quickly, is to be really blatant about his desires. Matsujun in the kitchen, making a salad? Dip your finger in the salad dressing and suck it off, moaning about its salty tang. Ohno in the studio, molding clay? Walk in naked, ask him to draw you like one of his French girls. (And actually, Ohno hadn't gotten the reference, but the intent had been pretty self-explanatory.) Sho relaxing in a white wife-beater, composing rap lyrics? Slide a hand under his shirt and whisper dirty limericks in his ear. Nino playing video games with his glasses and headphones? Sit next to the television and touch yourself. Okay, well, the last one doesn't really work, but this is because Nino on a gaming crusade can purposefully ignore an earthquake warning without batting an eyelash, and speaks not at all about Aiba's level of sexiness while masturbating -- which is high. Threesomes and moresomes are a bit more tricky to arrange, but usually, if two of them get into it and someone else is within hearing range, things work themselves out.
It’s a challenge, navigating the straits of their relationship archipelago, but one that Aiba takes on with the full eagerness of a conqueror exploring his new lands; with a definitive goal in mind, every next step is a small victory. Aiba appreciates that, because between all the major ups and minor downs of homemaking, he’s actually having a hell of a time keeping up with jobs. It's the last stretch of drama filming before Aiba's show about a young, hard-headed business man who accidentally signs a contract to work in a rundown old bookstore for a full year, is due to broadcast soon and everyone working on the show is fraught with nerves, trying to finish their episode quota on time. In addition to that, Arashi's annual end-of-summer concert is fast approaching and dance practises have started up in preparation. (Arashi's concerts, since whittled down to two huge concert venues per year, are still just as fun as they've always been, but Aiba can't deny that dancing nonstop for three plus hours takes a lot more out of him than it used to.) And of course, there's the regular workload of Arashi's television and MC roles, plus keeping tabs on the animal shelter he'd appropriated a few years back. They'd rescued about twenty dogs from a puppy mill recently, so it's high time to schedule another interview and use his celebrity status to drum up some renewed interest in pet adoption.
A schedule like this probably would be classified as "light to medium" load back in Arashi's heyday. Aiba probably wouldn't even get the luxury of having free evenings for the majority of the week. Neither fact helps sustain him very much, though, when it’s approaching ten pm and he’s about to fall flat on his face out of exhaustion.
Coming home to friendly faces on days like that is so good Aiba can’t even put it into words. Mood-lifting. Life-giving. Soul-reaffirming. The worries of the day simply melt off his shoulders from hearing Sho and Ohno’s chorus of laughter following the high-pitched volley of Nino’s joke, then Jun’s bone-dry rebuttal, setting Sho off again.
Home is cloud nine, as Aiba always knew it would be.
The month turns and August, buzzing hot and radiant, creeps up without his full notice. He has some vague awareness that the days are passing, but it’s another busy season of work; between the urgency of drama filming and the stringent Arashi-related schedules, dates are not actually sinking in. There’s so much to do and so many things occupying his attention that there’s barely even time to enjoy the house, but to Aiba’s consolation (and disappointment), the others don’t spend heavy amounts of time there either, everyone occupied with different projects.
It takes until Aiba shuffles home one day, finger under his nose because he forgot to take his allergy medication that morning and suffered through an entire day trying to pre-emptively block his sneezes, to find Ohno painting Jun’s toenails a lush, royal purple while Jun lay on his back and read manga, that Aiba remembers that it’ll soon be Jun’s birthday. Number thirty-seven.
Jun has had a weird issue with birthdays ever since he passed thirty, and hasn’t made a history of being any more than professionally polite the last six years when he was handed a cake decorated with his name and a large number of candles (or too few, which he thought was mocking and therefore worse). Aiba tries to reassure him that he doesn’t look a day over twenty-seven, but leave it to Jun to obsess crazily about the aesthetics of laugh lines when in Aiba's opinion they're nothing but badges of happiness. There’s something to be said about aging gracefully, but they’re idols and they sell their faces, so Aiba can’t begrudge Jun’s bitterness about getting older, even though he can’t quite manage the same level of animosity towards his own birthday. He thinks that maybe, if it were a small, intimate affair, just the five of them, Jun would enjoy it a bit more? At least among their private circle he can’t complain wholeheartedly about being so old he should just up and die already, because whatever else, he's still their youngest.
It could be nice.
Aiba oozes down on the floor next to Jun and Ohno and does his best imitation of a piece of driftwood.
"Tired?" Jun asks, flipping a page of his comic book.
"Ah, yeah," grunts Aiba. He is unaccountably thankful for the Persian rug Sho had insisted they add to the living room floor. The fibres scratch pleasantly against his cheek.
"Nino made some onigiri this morning, if you want some," Ohno offers.
"Maybe later. I got a bento on set."
Jun hums and flips another page. Ohno finishes with Jun's left foot and removes it from his lap, gently picking up the right one. Jun doesn't wear polish on the nails of his hand anymore, hasn't for years, but sometimes he still indulges his toenails for fun, then covers them up with socks. Aiba thinks it's cute.
"Do you want a birthday party?" Aiba blurts out, turning his head in Jun's direction. "Like, with just the five of us? Here? We can get a cake or not get a cake. It can be the most partyless party ever."
The beginnings of a grin spread across Jun's lips like a bird opening his wings for flight. "Sure, I'd like that," he agrees, and Aiba nods. Good.
"Cake?" Ohno asks, focused on the canvas of Jun's toenails like a true artist.
"A small one, then," Jun allows.
"Great! Done," Aiba says, more than satisfied. He's accomplished enough for the day. "Wake me in ten minutes."
"How about Viagra as a present, ojii-san," Ohno says, and Aiba closes his eyes to the sight of Jun hurtling his manga at Ohno's head.
~
"Okay, first, I'm not your errand boy," Nino starts to say, when he comes into the kitchen, clutching two handfuls of plastic bags. "Secondly, I--"
"Ooh!" Aiba rushes over, abandoning his book on the coffee table. "Did you get everything I asked for?"
"Not the curry powder. Who puts curry powder in a cake?"
"Give me some credit," Aiba protests. "It wasn't for the cake. It was for the main course. I want to try out this new recipe. Curry mabo tofu."
"Save it for Sho's birthday," Nino says. He unloads items, one by one, from his parcels. Eggs, milk, flour, chocolate chips, cocoa powder... fresh mangos, dried plums, watermelon, Jun's favourite fruits. Also a really nice red wine with a French name Aiba can't pronounce, but that Ogura-san had assured him Jun would enjoy.
"Aren't we a bit too old for birthday parties, really?" Nino asks, hopping onto a stool and watching Aiba tie on an apron.
"People can be too old for birthdays when they're dead in the ground," Aiba says.
Nino flashes a wry grin. "Very morbid. I'm impressed, Aiba-san."
Aiba eyes him. "Are you going to help me bake?"
"No," says Nino, and Aiba's not surprised at all. "I just want to watch you sashaying around the kitchen. Like a good little wife."
"Oi."
"Cooking for her husband."
"I'm a husband too!"
"Animal husbandry, maybe."
The wooden spoon in Aiba's hand finds a target on Nino's head. "I don't know what that means but I want you to shut up."
"This is domestic violence," Nino whines, ducking as Aiba tries to hit him again with his hand for good measure. "I'm going to report you to the police."
Aiba sticks out his tongue, and before he can fully pull away, Nino's grabbed his wrist in an unexpectedly tight grip.
"Aiba-chan. You're happy, aren't you?" he asks, brows quirked up in that I-just-want-to-make-sure expression that Aiba's more used to seeing on Nino's face when Nino's confirming the state of Aiba's sanity.
"I," Aiba says, swallowing. "I am. Like, I really am." He hesitates, all of the sudden feeling the stone cold soberness of fear. He can't forget that it was Nino who had been hesitant, who had lashed out first at the suggestion of the house. Aiba watches him carefully these days, and Nino looks to be enjoying himself, doesn't seem to be regretting his decision, but how can Aiba know for sure without peeling out Nino's brain?
"Aren't you happy too?" Aiba asks.
Nino's tiny smile grows. "I'm always happy."
"Don't do that. Tell me the truth."
"The truth? I said I'm happy. Don't I look happy?" And he's edging a full-fledged grin now, watching Aiba squirm in self-consciousness, so of course he looks happy. He looks delighted. "Despite what you may think of me, Aiba-san," he says, voice still teasing, "I really like it when you're happy. You have fun in this place, I can tell. I just don't want you to mess things up with your own stupidity."
Aiba straightens, frowning, trying to pull his right arm back, but Nino holds fast.
"Stupidity about what? Nino."
Nino's smile doesn't change, doesn't shift a single inch, but his gaze flits down, to Aiba's frozen wrist in his grasp, pale fingers curled like a bracelet around Aiba's more tanned skin, and Aiba can't help the unbidden thought from shooting through him jaggedly: sadness. Nino looks sad.
"Sometimes I think that we're not good enough for you," Nino says. It's an admission.
Aiba reels. "What? That is totally, completely, the most dumb, most impossible thing I've ever heard, Nino! How can you even think that?"
Nino shrugs, carelessly despondent. "It's not like I want to, you know. Don't make me out to be some sort of -- pessimistic drama queen or something. It's just that this house was your idea, not ours, and don't fish for compliments about that anymore because obviously all of us being here means that it's good, but still, there's a--" he sucks in his lips and tosses his hair back nervously. "You know what? This is idiotic, I can't explain it. I'm just in a bad mood today. Why did you make me spend money on groceries? I don't even like Jun."
A fish hook of sympathy tugs sharply at Aiba's heart. This is a barb-wired Nino here in his hands, shielding his soft innards; a Nino who moved in more out of lack of argument than any real enthusiasm, and yet is still doing his best to make this place his home without looking back. It doesn't take a genius to see what's drawing Nino isn't so much the location or the house itself, but what's inside it. This jerk, who's put so much love in so few people, and still gets wordlessly scared about things splitting up no matter how much he tries to hide it, has laid out his heart's chances on Aiba's dumb vision -- and Aiba should do more to let him know that he appreciates Nino's decision. That he believes it was the right one to make.
"I'm happy here, but it’s not so much about the house," he says, plowing through Nino's blatant attempt at misdirection. "It’s you guys being here too. I love you guys because you guys make me feel good and always will." And as if to substantiate his claim, he flips his forearm over and encircles his own right fingers around Nino's left wrist: a clasping handshake. "Does that ease your worries, Nino-chan?"
"What kind of person do you take me for?" Nino says, which isn't an answer at all.
"One of my favourite kinds," Aiba says: open, guileless. At least one of them should be.
Nino meets his eyes resolutely, unblinking, face neither impressed nor disappointed, but then he nods once, sharply, and dips his chin to brush a petal-soft kiss on the back of Aiba's hand.
~
It was, with hindsight, bound to happen sometime. No matter how well the five of them get along with each other, the years between them stretched like a warm blanket, there to hug and hold and fall back on if need be, they're still nothing more than human, and thus: conflict, inevitably.
The Sunday evening of Jun's birthday; it's almost 10:30, and they're still missing a fifth of the group.
"Leader! Everyone else is home already. Where are you?" Aiba says into the phone. He can't help the frisson of distress from running through his voice, because the food is cooling and the candles on the cake (Aiba was hasty, he'd stuck them in too far ahead of time) are drooping, and the "guests of honour" are shifting from general boredom to minor irritation. Sho's hungry, Nino's tired and cranky, and Jun feels burdened for Sho's hunger and Nino's crankiness because it's his birthday party. He'd wanted to cut the cake over half an hour ago, but Aiba had insisted that they wait for Ohno.
"Oh," says Ohno's mildly surprised voice. "That was today."
"Yes! It's today. Where are you?"
“Not tomorrow.”
“His birthday’s today, Oh-chan!”
“I know, but I thought -- ah, no.”
There’s a frown pulling hard on Aiba’s lips. “Where are you, then?”
"At home."
Aiba whips his head around, bewildered. "You are? What? Where?"
"No. I'm at home. At my parents'."
"Oh," says Aiba, startled. "Oh. Well, are you coming back here anytime soon?"
A long pause. "We're having shabu-shabu. With lettuce and mushrooms."
"We've got cake. If you wanted shabu-shabu, you could have just said! I would've gotten it for you. Jun wouldn't mind, I'm sure."
"It's okay."
"So, what," Aiba jokes, "you're just going to stay there for tonight? Have fun and see you tomorrow or something?"
"Yeah," agrees Ohno, which isn't the answer Aiba wanted.
"No, wait wait! Don't hang up," he says in panic. "It's -- you're really not coming? But it's Jun's birthday!"
"I wished him happy birthday already this morning," Ohno says. "I called him."
"Sure, but. But that's not the same as being here. If you had to visit your parents, you could have phoned beforehand and let us know, Leader. We could have rescheduled or something!"
"But why is it such a big deal?" Ohno asks. "I've missed lots of your parties before. It's never been… since I. I mean. Why is it so bad now, and not before?"
A balloon of air starts to expand inside Aiba’s chest, constricting his breathing.
“Uh. It’s not that it’s not okay -- I just thought it’d be nice, since we’re all together in this house now, to have a nice occasion together, like a family.”
As soon as he hears the words come out of his mouth, he can barely keep from wincing at how pathetic he sounds. It probably comes out as doubly silly to Ohno, who is at this minute sitting with his real family (not that Arashi isn’t real, of course Arashi is real, but Ohno’s parents -- there is no substitution, no comparison, and Aiba gets that, he really does, but he’d just thought -- he'd thought Ohno would show up, that’s all) and waiting to get back to them.
“Is that idiot coming or not!” Nino’s voice shouts from the kitchen, followed by a sharp smack of palm against skull. “Ow, what! You were wondering too.”
“Tell him he can come anytime,” Sho calls out. “We’ll save a piece of cake for him.”
“Was that Sho-kun?” Ohno asks. “And Nino, before?”
“Yeah,” Aiba says, swallowing past the clogging lump in his throat. “They said you could come home anytime. We’ll save a piece of cake for you.”
If there ever was a time for Ohno to revaluate and change his mind, say, “No, no, I’ll come, I’ll be there soon,” and mend up the disappointment slashing through Aiba’s chest, now would be it. Aiba can even hear the exact intonation that Ohno would use: a little put-upon, rounded out by a pout of his lower lip, but calm, complacent: Ohno Satoshi’s usual brand of unexaggerated happiness.
What Ohno says is, “All right. Thanks, see you guys later. Bye bye.” And he hangs up.
When Aiba returns to their table, Jun has sliced up the cake into six large pieces and two small ones. He drops one of the bigger pieces on a plate and holds it out to Aiba first. Aiba takes it, mustering up a smile.
“Oh-chan’s staying at his parents’ tonight," he says.
Jun shrugs, “That’s fine,” but a tiny furrow appears between his newly-plucked eyebrows. Aiba’s heart jumps, only just noticing it; had Jun bothered to look nice for today? For this?
“Figures,” Nino says, head lolling back on his shoulders. “I wondered how long it would take him.”
“To do what,” Sho asks, sticking a thick chunk of cake in his mouth. “This is really, really good, Aiba.”
“Thanks!” Aiba says, brightened for a moment by Sho’s clear enjoyment of his baking.
“You added raisins, huh,” Nino comments, taking a pigeon-peck nibble of his share. He gets the two smaller pieces because Jun apparently decided they’d pushed Nino far enough today by usurping over half an hour of his gaming time while waiting for Ohno to show up, so it’s best not to force him to eat more than he’s willing. “It’s not bad.”
“Such high praise!” Aiba says.
“Glad you left out the ground cumin.”
“Okay, yeah, you can stop rubbing it in now.” Is it Aiba’s fault that ground cumin looks pretty much identical to cinnamon and for some reason Jun bought a spice rack that holds forty square glass containers all of the exact same shape and then arranged them by colour? No.
They finish eating in midst of casual conversation, and it's only a little awkward. Immediately after Jun declares himself full and thanks Aiba for the effort, Nino pushes away his remaining third of a slice and heads upstairs to his room. Jun wraps up Nino's leftovers, plus the two pieces kept for Ohno, and puts them in the fridge. He pauses by Aiba, sliding an arm over Aiba's shoulder, and pecks a kiss on Aiba's lips.
"It was nice," he says, smiling briefly, before he heads upstairs too.
Aiba looks to Sho after Jun's footsteps on the stairs have gone silent. Sho says, "He meant it, Aiba, I swear he did."
Aiba laughs once. "Yeah, I know."
But it doesn't stop him from feeling a little like a failure.
~
Jun is waiting -- cross-legged, chest bare, face blank -- in the big bed when Aiba steps out of the bathroom, still wet from his shower.
"Hi," Aiba quips lamely.
"Hi," returns Jun. He's wearing a pair of silk pajama bottoms, pure black, and his white-rose skin against the mossy shade of Aiba's blankets is jarringly gorgeous, almost ethereal. Aiba swallows, hard.
"Uh, so you--"
"Let's get one thing straight, please," Jun interrupts, tapping a quick rhythm of fingers on bended knee. "Ohno not coming today was not your fault. He loves his parents, and we all know he would prioritize them over us. He's always been like that. He left me a message this morning wishing me happy birthday, then mentioned that he had to go pick up some ingredients for his mom, so I was hardly surprised he didn't show up. Neither were Nino and Sho. It was fine. So you can stop feeling guilty about it."
"I'm not--!"
"You are though, because it's you, and you're really obvious," says Jun.
Aiba feels the hand holding onto his towel clench onto the fabric, squeezing. He takes in a breath, feeling embarrassed at being caught out and indignant at getting flack for it. "Well, so what if I was? I can't be disappointed by stuff? I'm being the bad guy or something? I just wanted you to have a great party, Matsujun!"
"I don't need a great party. Or even a party, or presents. I like to know my friends and family care about me, and I like nice, relaxing evenings where no one shoves my age in my face and expects me to sit through the entire Happy Birthday song. And I got that, so it was good."
"But Oh-chan didn't even show u--"
"Him not coming tonight doesn't mean he doesn't care about us," Jun says quickly, like a knife cleaving through butter. He narrows his eyes in consideration. "You understand that, don't you?"
Aiba does. Of course he does. But at the same time, he doesn't. He doesn't understand why someone would choose not to be with his loved ones on their special day. He doesn't understand why Ohno didn't respect Aiba's party enough to even drop by and have a slice of cake. Ohno's parents are awesome and there's no denying that, but it's just shabu-shabu, with ordinary ingredients; Ohno's mom could literally make that anytime. For Ohno to prefer spending his evening doing something completely mundane with this parents rather than celebrating a hallmark occasion with them in their shared house -- that has to mean something, right? It has to mean that this house isn't as important to Ohno as it is to the others. That's what Aiba understands. He can't empathize.
Jun's lips press into a taut line. "It's kind of like... everyone has different tolerances to spicy food, right? Sho-chan loves it but can't take it well. Ohno likes it fine but can eat insane amounts of it. You and I aren't good with it and you like it sometimes; I don't. Sometimes, things can be like that. We all have different preferences. You love being in this house, and you're pretty much thriving here like a pig in a mud puddle. Ohno loves this place too, but he can't take so much of it, non-stop. He lived with his parents for most of his life, remember. He's always going to think of that place as home."
And that's what it comes down to, isn't it? Ohno had called his parent's house as home. Aiba had never heard him refer to this place as home. Only "the big house" or "Chiba" or "our place." Never "home." That's what's digging at Aiba, caught on his insides like a thistle on wool.
"That was a rather juvenile analogy, Jun-kun," Sho says, peeking his head into the room.
"You do better then," Jun tosses back.
"Introversion versus extroversion. Relating our capacity of drawing energy from others or from within. And how Satoshi-kun might be overwhelmed doing too much in this house so soon. Something like that."
"Don't make Ohno out to be some baby. And how long would it take you to explain everything with that?"
"What? Not even one minute! How long could it possibly take?"
"This isn't T no Arashi. I just wanted to make a point."
"Fine, and?" Sho asks, gaze darting to Aiba like a first-timer presenter scoping his audience's reaction. "Did you make it?"
"Okay okay, I get it, I get it," says Aiba, more sharply than he intended. He shifts on his feet, half wanting to sit down somewhere, half wanting to get out of the room entirely until he has a better grasp of his own emotions. He feels suffocated, and is afraid he might get angry at Jun or Sho, when the person Aiba is most angry at is himself, for setting the bar so high again, and completely forgetting that everyone is jumping from different heights. Is Aiba really so immature? Are his desires really so far removed from the others'?
"I'll stop feeling guilty," Aiba says. "And I'm not mad at Oh-chan." He's unsure if this is the truth or not, but he wants it to be, and from the relieved looks on Sho and Jun's faces, Aiba's said the right thing. So that's enough for now. If they can believe it, then Aiba will too. He pastes on a smile. "Let's just call it a nice night, then! And leave it at that. Anything else to talk about?"
"Yes, the reason I'm in the bed, wearing no underwear," Jun says, reclining slowly back upon the blanket, all sinew and grace. "It is still my birthday, don't forget." He points a look at the towel slung low on Aiba's hips, and raises an eyebrow. "You two going to stand there all night or what."
Sho says, in a rush, while tugging furiously at his shirt, "Wait a second, you guys have a head start, hold up. NINO! Get your skinny butt over here!"
But Aiba only laughs, and drops the towel.
~
He's sprawled out on the bed like a dog in the summer heat, back cushioned by pillows, limbs spread in disarray, neck drooping in fatigue, but his eyes are still as bright as a hawk's, trained on the sight before him: Nino's ass in the air, Sho's fingers leaving red imprints as they clutch at Nino's hips, Sho rutting without restraint into Nino's entrance, practically whining with the exertion. Nino is moaning, a continuous stream of muffled epithets, and Aiba thinks he can hear him saying "harder" and "fuck" and "there," but he's not sure, because Nino's voice is compromised. Jun's on Nino's other end, fisting a tight hold into Nino's hair, jaw loose and grin near-savage as he thrusts his cock again and again down Nino's willing throat. Aiba knows when Nino swallows, because Jun curses and pulls, pets, strokes at Nino's hair; Aiba knows when Nino clenches his ass, because Sho groans unabashedly, like his life is being pulled out of him, and pitches forward to fuck harder.
Aiba's starting to feel like it's his birthday, with the quality of this show.
Ten minutes prior, all three of these insane jerks had gone to town on Aiba at the same time, Jun sucking down Aiba's cock in steady, relentless increments, tongue fluttering on the underside like he was powered by some kind of impossible motor, two long fingers stroking a heartbeat on Aiba's prostate; Nino's hands were clenched with Aiba's as he'd laid trails of sharp-toothed kisses down Aiba's chest, ensuring Aiba's avoidance of low-collar shirts for the next few days, then remapping the texture of Aiba's nipples with his tongue. Sho had been cradling Aiba in his lap, his erection pressing teasing and hot in the small of Aiba's back, as Sho cupped Aiba's neck and kissed Aiba so hard that Aiba went light-headed, gasping for air and sanity and consciousness.
It hadn't taken long for Aiba to come. Predictably.
Although it might not take that long for Aiba to get back in the game either, with this kind of stimulation. He's getting up in years, not so keen to go two rounds in one night, but sometimes, exceptions must be made, especially when there's the fucking Olympic gold performance of threesome porn going on right here, within Aiba's reach.
A thought flits through his head abruptly, like a leaf whipped by a tornado: it'd be even better, if Ohno were here. Aiba feels immediately awful, chastising himself for bringing up that again, when clearly Ohno had made his decision. He has nothing to be ungrateful for.
It's because he's so adamantly focusing only about the scene in front of him that he doesn't even notice when someone walks into the room.
"Satoshi," breathes Sho, who sees him first, and Aiba's throat goes dry. Jun whips around, eyes wide, hips stilling, and Nino lifts his head from Jun's cock at that; a thin string of saliva threading from the head of Jun's member to Nino's red, swollen lips.
Nino wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and says, "About time."
"Ah. Sorry I'm late," Ohno mumbles, and Aiba's unsure if he really means it or if it's just polite habit.
"How was dinner with your parents?" Jun asks wryly.
"Good. The food was great."
"There's cake in the fridge, if you want."
"Thanks. Did Jun-kun enjoy his party?"
"I did, thank you."
"This is truly a stellar reunion moment we're having here," Nino butts in, "but I think the appropriate term for the situation is 'put out or shut up,' okay?" He arches his back, and in the same smooth motion, sucks Jun's cock back into his mouth. Jun and Sho groan in unison.
Ohno smiles slightly, watching, then takes a seat beside Aiba, at the head of the bed, and starts unfastening his belt.
"Oh-chan," Aiba croaks, unsure of what to say, if anything. He settles with the obvious. "You came after all."
Ohno lifts off his shirt and gifts Aiba with a tilted grin over his bare shoulder. "Well. I thought about it, and thought it'd be good to come in the end."
"Why's that?"
"Didn't want to sleep over. It was nice to see my mom and dad, but." He scratches his nose. "There's a perfectly good bed right here."
He turns to Aiba, fully nude now, and reaches for him, leaning in for a long, slow kiss. Aiba lets himself be swept into it, whimpering as Ohno bites gently at Aiba's lips, sings a wordless spell to Aiba's tongue. Maybe it's an apology. Maybe it's a statement. Ohno's never been big on words, but interpreting his body language still sometimes alludes Aiba; he is forever caught off guard by just how much Ohno can feel, and keeps hidden.
"I was kind of mad at you, before," Aiba admits, voice hushed, when Ohno finally pulls away. Aiba's panting, trying to catch his breath, but he's helpless in his shame. "I thought you didn't care about the house or something, so you were trying to avoid the party. I was kind of over-reacting. Silly, huh?"
Ohno's hand, cool and affectionate, curls around Aiba's neck, thumb tracing Aiba's jaw.
"Maybe you think too hard about it," Ohno says lightly. "It's not that complicated."
"What isn't?"
Ohno presses closer and gives Aiba another kiss, a small one, close-mouthed and soft and lingering. "It's not about the house at all. It's just a house. But you're here, so I wanted to be here too."
His hand finds its way stroking down Aiba's neck, collarbone, chest; and there it stops. Aiba shivers, but says nothing, thinks no coherent thought, cannot even pull in another gulp of air as Ohno raises a long, elegant finger, and taps twice on Aiba's left breast, over his heart.
"I -- I'm not sure I get it," Aiba whispers, but his eyes burn hot with the potential of tears.
Ohno reassures him with a smile. "That's okay. Sorry," he says, and kisses him again, pulling Aiba to him with open arms.
~
The bed is large and they are thin, but still they're five full-grown men, so it's a tight squeeze to keep them all on the mattress in more or less the same orientation. Half of Jun's left arm is hanging off the left side of the bed; Sho's entire right leg juts out like the crooked limb of one of Nino's action figure collectibles. Nino is practically lying on top of Ohno, and Aiba is amazed that Ohno can breathe properly, with his nose mashed into Nino's shoulder like that. The room is stifling. They forgot to open a window and now everyone's too tired to get up. Aiba is sore and sticky all over. He can't even move, squished like an overheated sardine between Jun and Ohno.
He feels perfect.
"Good birthday," Jun says weakly, rolls to his side, and promptly falls asleep.
"Good birthday," Aiba agrees, but his mind is already miles away, whirring, dreaming, flying on homemade craft-feather wings, planning their next celebration.
TBC