50 je-prompts: #002. tree
rating/genre: G, slice of life, supernatural, alternate universe
pairing(s): Ohmiya
words: 2700
summary: This isn’t a story about Norse mythology. What it is, is a story about a lonely boy who finds solace in the shade of a particular tree during summer vacation.
disclaimer: fiction.
notes: warning for 15 year-old Nino and adult Ohno, but the story is mild enough to be a friendship fic. Also would like to thank mitsuchan for offering to beta this when I was having trouble writing.
Yggdrasil’s got nothing on you
It’s not that Nino doesn’t like nature. There’s plenty to enjoy about it: the silence; the lush, green foliage that covers the foot-worn paths; and particularly, the solitude that allows him to sit down and listen to the melodies in the corner of his mind. What he doesn’t enjoy is the heat, the bugs, the heat, the sweat, the heat, and how his mother expects him to be roaming around the woods and bonding with nature or something. He is profoundly offended when, after a week of lying on various pieces of furniture traversing from the Tantegal Castle through to the Ruins of Domdora of Dragon Quest I, she throws him out of the summer house and out into the summer sun.
The first day of his eviction, he actually bothers to look around the area. The Sakurai’s land is unsurprisingly vast and it takes a good part of the morning and early afternoon to see most of it. Past the summer house’s trim gardens and mowed grass lies barely tamed woodland that Nino wanders through aimlessly.
At the end of one of the shorter walking trails he finds a clearing with a tree in its center, its trunk large enough that his arms don’t even wrap around half of its circumference. He uses it as a rest stop, chugging down his bottle of water and opening a packet of gummy snakes. The clearing is quiet and still, save for the shufflings of the occasional bird coming to rest in the boughs above him. It would be, Nino muses, the perfect spot to play his games.
The second and third days are less adventurous. Nino takes to lying under the large tree, its green foliage providing plenty of shade from the afternoon glare. The heat is unforgiving; he can feel every drop of sweat as it gathers in the folds of his clothing or slides down the side of his face. It is too hot to even bother playing his Game Boy Color. Stuffing it into his backpack, Nino squeezes his eyes shut and tries to visualise icy waterfalls and snow-covered hills. Distracted by his self-cooling efforts, Nino doesn’t hear the distant call of his name.
There’s a rustling above him, and a few leaves drift onto his face. Nino scrunches his nose and brushes them off.
“Your mother’s calling for you,” the tree murmurs.
Nino slowly sits up and stares up into the criss-cross of branches and leaves. He only stops after the bright lights peeking through the gaps leave him blinking away the dark spots dancing across his vision. There’s a slight frown on his lips as he gets up and shrugs his backpack on.
“Thanks,” he calls out as he begins the walk back.
The tree creaks goodbye.
____
Nino stands before the tree, his arms crossed stubbornly.
“Come out, I know you’re there.” Only silence greets him. Nino walks around the tree and looks around suspiciously.
He sighs, then crouches down to brace himself. His jump just barely reaches the lowest branch; he scrambles to find a better grip and pull up his whole body. As he clambers up, sneakers scraping against the bark, Nino can feel a shuddering go through the branch.
“That tickles,” the tree wheezes.
"I knew it," Nino says, legs swinging triumphantly in the air.
____
“Can’t I see you? Like, the actual you.” Nino is leaning against Ohno’s trunk and repeatedly snapping the lid to his plastic lunch box open and closed. His mother has embraced the idea that her son willingly ventures outside, and enthusiastically packs him a variety of dishes every day. The tree’s branches sway in the wind doubtfully.
“Oh, come on,” Nino sighs.
“This is my actual me, anyway,” Ohno mutters, barely heard over the rustle of his foliage. Nino waits for the noise to settle down before his reply, but the rustling continues, and only grows louder. The rustling is so loud and unceasing it turns into a vibration in Nino’s head; he can’t help but lower his head and block his ears in a vain attempt to stop hearing it.
When he finally does, after what feels like too long, Nino can tell something has changed. It no longer feels like he’s leaning against Ohno, the tree who decided to call out to him a week ago on a whim. Not quite. Nino turns to look around the tree.
A person dressed in simple shorts and button-down shirt is leaning against the other side of the trunk.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration for Nino to say that the man is as dark as the tree he appeared behind. He looks like he’s spent every season outside being weather-beaten; fine lines run from the corners of his eyes as he smiles softly at him and his hands are veined and splattered with dark splotches that look as if he’s dipped his fingers in mud. But when Nino edges around to peer closer at the man, he sees that his face is childishly round and his smile showing a hint of mischievousness. The man is an odd mixture of time.
He decides introductions are necessary. “I’m Nino,” he says, trying not to let any signs of nerves show through his voice.
“Nice to meet you, Nino. I’m Ohno,” the man says back, reply somewhat stiff. He is definitely a mumbler. Nino supposes that he doesn’t get the chance to talk often, or at least not with an actual human mouth.
“I’ve known you for a while, actually,” Nino quips, unable to hide the grin growing on his face.
“Oh. Well,” Ohno waves a hand at himself dispiritedly, “whaddya think?”
As Nino struggles to come up with the short answer for, “I couldn’t possibly have imagined that a tree hundreds of years old would turn into a guy anyway so I didn’t really have high expectations, but you have a nice smile and look like you’re about my height and still kinda give off tree vibes which is sort of reassuring because you don’t feel like a stranger,” he notices Ohno’s glance down. Nino follows his gaze to the lunchbox in his hands.
“Want some?”
It turns out that Ohno is a big fan of omelettes.
____
“Why don’t you always be human?”
“I like being a tree more. It’s less trouble.”
Nino frowns. “Well, you can’t play with me unless you’re human.”
The human Ohno appears from behind his trunk, wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts which look oddly familiar. Nino frowns at him for a moment, then realises it’s almost exactly what he was wearing yesterday.
Ohno looks a little sour. “I’m getting old. Can’t move the way I used to,” he says. He does a few cartwheels experimentally but shakes out his limbs and mutters critically to himself the moment his feet are deftly planted on the ground.
Nino looks hard at his face. “Exactly how old are you? My mom’s thirty-eight, and she’s ancient.”
“A little bit older,” he hums in reply.
____
“Why are you here by yourself?” Ohno doesn’t turn to look when asking, appearing to be completely engrossed in the small bird resting upon his finger. Nino answers anyway.
“Sho-chan got chicken pox. His parents quarantined him,” he drawls, pressing the buttons of his game console a little too hard. “Jun-kun is at a training-camp for baseball so wasn’t planning to come anyway. And Aiba-chan failed everything but math and has to go to summer school.”
Theres a pattering of wings and Nino looks up to see that Ohno’s new friend has flown away. Ohno looks a little saddened by his empty finger.
As Nino continues to game, the electronic music stifled in the humid air, the clouds slowly grow grey. He only jerks his head up in response to the rumble of thunder nearby. There’s already a light mist of rain growing heavier by the second; Nino can’t help but groan as he stuffs his console into his backpack and reaches for his jacket thrown onto the grass. Ohno tugs on a sleeve, stopping him from pulling it on.
“Just stay. Leave when the rain stops,” Ohno says quietly. Nino looks at him unblinkingly, searching for something in his words, in his eyes. Ohno simply stares back and puts on the tiniest of pouts. The branches above them shudder and the smattering of rain which had been making its way through is now stopped by Ohno’s overlapping coverage. Nino tries not to look impressed.
Letting out a deep sigh, Nino leans back and gets comfortable on the grass, arranging his jacket over himself. “Wake me up when the rain stops,” Nino says before he shuts his eyes and curls up on his side. Ohno adjusts the makeshift blanket to cover him better in reply.
Gradually, Nino stops fidgeting and his breathing steadies. Ohno stares out into the curtain of rain around his branches absentmindedly, the constant tirade of raindrops hitting his leaves filling his ears and the smell of wet soil seeping into his fingertips. As the rain continues to cloud his hearing, he slowly settles down beside Nino and closes his eyes too.
____
When Nino wakes up the rain has cleared and Ohno is lying next to him, mouth slightly open and tiny green shoots rising up from the ground around him.
Nino supposes its just one of those things that come with being a tree.
____
“There’s a fireworks show tonight, over at the closest town,” Nino says to Ohno’s trunk. All he gets in reply is a minute vibration of leaves.
“And I want us to go together,” he continues firmly. “Oh-chan.”
Ohno still says nothing. Nino clicks his tongue and starts to head back down the trail. Before disappearing from the clearing he calls out over his shoulder, “I’m going back home tomorrow. Summer vacation’s over.”
____
“Come on, Oh-chan.” Nino sticks his hand out for Ohno to hold. He doesn’t take it.
“Fine,” Nino says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You have to follow me though.”
As Nino trudges ahead he makes sure he can hear the shufflings of Ohno trailing behind him. He doesn’t quite understand why Ohno is so reluctant to go; he is more than enthusiastic about taking a bite of all the human food he’s brought over, and always listens quietly to his stories about the friends back home. If anything Ohno should be glad someone is willing to take him to see fireworks up close.
He snaps out of his thoughts when he realises that the sound of shuffling has stopped for a while. Nino turns back to tell Ohno off and maybe grab his hand.
Ohno is a few feet behind him, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Nino can feel his eyebrows furrowing; he rubs furiously at the space between them as he shortens the distance between them, but he freezes when he sees why Ohno isn’t keeping up with him.
With every heavy step lifted from the ground a layer of dirt falls from his soil-covered shoes. Nino can see thin, flimsy roots hanging down as if he is being uprooted from the very ground beneath him. As Ohno’s shoes touch the ground they sink in deeply, leaving him panting from the effort of pulling them out again. From Ohno’s hands little buds have sprouted.
When Nino reaches for them, they aren’t the dry, slightly coarse ones he’s gotten to know. The dark patches of skin, which are usually smooth to the touch, feel uneven and have a texture that scratches against his fingertips as he threads their fingers together with slight difficulty. It feels, Nino realises, like tree bark.
Ohno doesn’t look down at their interlaced fingers which are pressing tightly onto each other’s skin, or into Nino’s worried eyes. He justs looks in the direction of tree they left from, not even three minute’s walk away. If they turn the path’s corner it would be in plain view. “We should head back.”
They walk back slowly, still hand in hand, Nino occasionally having to stop to pull Ohno’s feet out of the ground and brush the baby roots from the soles of his deteriorating shoes. When they finally arrive Ohno wordlessly slumps against his trunk. It looks like he’s about to mold right into the tree.
“Just stay here, I’ll be back,” Nino says. He is aware that it sounds redundant; Ohno has never been able to leave even if he wanted to. He runs out of the clearing, back to the summer house. His mother barely sees a glimpse of him as he rummages through the drawers until he comes up with a box of matches and grabs the unused packet of sparklers she bought for him the day they arrived.
When he returns, Ohno has his eyes open, hands pulling the last root off the bottom of his feet. An array of leaves and bits of bark and roots surround him.
“What's that?” he asks, cleaning his hands on his shirt and then reaching for the packet.
“Because we can’t go see the fireworks, I brought some to you, old man.”
Nino lights the sparkler for Ohno. When he passes it over their hands brush, and it feels like normal human skin, not like the rough textured tree bark he felt less than half an hour ago. When his own sparkler has been ignited he focuses on its bright-whiteness, trying to work up his nerve.
“Hey,” Nino murmurs, still staring at his sparkler. From his peripheral vision he can see Ohno slowly look up from urging on his own sparkler to focus on Nino’s face, half cast in dancing warm light. He hopes he looks serious and contemplative.
“Hmm?” The sparkler in Ohno’s hand fizzles out.
“Why did you call out to me that day? You didn’t have to.” Nino’s sparkler dies out too, and without the constant sounds of crackling fireworks, the clearing is oddly quiet.
“You looked lonely,” he answers slowly. Nino can tell he’s still staring into the darkness at where his face was illuminated and wonders what sort of expression he’s making now.
“Is that all?”
Nino doesn’t see Ohno smile wistfully. “I suppose I was lonely too.”
____
The deepening reds and purples of the sunset makes his skin seem even more burnt than usual. It’s been a particularly hot summer, and even his bark is peeling slightly. A breeze sifts through his leaves, and Ohno closes his eyes. He lets his human senses focus on how the last trace of the day’s warmth grazes past his skin, and then feels it flow around his trunk and branches.
“I thought you didn’t like being human,” a voice says from behind Ohno. He turns around to see Nino, 3DS gripped loosely in one hand and the other holding a tin bucket.
Ohno always takes the time to drink in Nino’s appearance, as if he’s the first rain after months of drought. Since he first met him, he’s only grown a few centimeters taller, if that. He’s definitely paler. After being a shocking blond last year, his hair is now a light brown instead of its natural black. Ohno’s never had a good sense of time, but whenever he sees Nino, it is particularly confusing.
“You never change,” Ohno smiles, gently pulling Nino into a hug. Nino snorts into his shoulder.
“I have. Fifteen years tends to age a person. ”
“Fifteen years isn’t that long.”
“Not for you, maybe.” Nino clambers his way out of the embrace, hands brushing past the seat of Ohno’s pants in the process.
“So, is being a human all the time a recent thing? Nowadays you’re one every time I come to see you,” he asks, reaching into his satchel to pull out sparklers and a lighter.
Ohno takes the sparkler handed to him. “Only when summer comes around.”
(the end)
pairing(s): Ohmiya
words: 2700
summary: This isn’t a story about Norse mythology. What it is, is a story about a lonely boy who finds solace in the shade of a particular tree during summer vacation.
disclaimer: fiction.
notes: warning for 15 year-old Nino and adult Ohno, but the story is mild enough to be a friendship fic. Also would like to thank mitsuchan for offering to beta this when I was having trouble writing.
Yggdrasil’s got nothing on you
It’s not that Nino doesn’t like nature. There’s plenty to enjoy about it: the silence; the lush, green foliage that covers the foot-worn paths; and particularly, the solitude that allows him to sit down and listen to the melodies in the corner of his mind. What he doesn’t enjoy is the heat, the bugs, the heat, the sweat, the heat, and how his mother expects him to be roaming around the woods and bonding with nature or something. He is profoundly offended when, after a week of lying on various pieces of furniture traversing from the Tantegal Castle through to the Ruins of Domdora of Dragon Quest I, she throws him out of the summer house and out into the summer sun.
The first day of his eviction, he actually bothers to look around the area. The Sakurai’s land is unsurprisingly vast and it takes a good part of the morning and early afternoon to see most of it. Past the summer house’s trim gardens and mowed grass lies barely tamed woodland that Nino wanders through aimlessly.
At the end of one of the shorter walking trails he finds a clearing with a tree in its center, its trunk large enough that his arms don’t even wrap around half of its circumference. He uses it as a rest stop, chugging down his bottle of water and opening a packet of gummy snakes. The clearing is quiet and still, save for the shufflings of the occasional bird coming to rest in the boughs above him. It would be, Nino muses, the perfect spot to play his games.
The second and third days are less adventurous. Nino takes to lying under the large tree, its green foliage providing plenty of shade from the afternoon glare. The heat is unforgiving; he can feel every drop of sweat as it gathers in the folds of his clothing or slides down the side of his face. It is too hot to even bother playing his Game Boy Color. Stuffing it into his backpack, Nino squeezes his eyes shut and tries to visualise icy waterfalls and snow-covered hills. Distracted by his self-cooling efforts, Nino doesn’t hear the distant call of his name.
There’s a rustling above him, and a few leaves drift onto his face. Nino scrunches his nose and brushes them off.
“Your mother’s calling for you,” the tree murmurs.
Nino slowly sits up and stares up into the criss-cross of branches and leaves. He only stops after the bright lights peeking through the gaps leave him blinking away the dark spots dancing across his vision. There’s a slight frown on his lips as he gets up and shrugs his backpack on.
“Thanks,” he calls out as he begins the walk back.
The tree creaks goodbye.
____
Nino stands before the tree, his arms crossed stubbornly.
“Come out, I know you’re there.” Only silence greets him. Nino walks around the tree and looks around suspiciously.
He sighs, then crouches down to brace himself. His jump just barely reaches the lowest branch; he scrambles to find a better grip and pull up his whole body. As he clambers up, sneakers scraping against the bark, Nino can feel a shuddering go through the branch.
“That tickles,” the tree wheezes.
"I knew it," Nino says, legs swinging triumphantly in the air.
____
“Can’t I see you? Like, the actual you.” Nino is leaning against Ohno’s trunk and repeatedly snapping the lid to his plastic lunch box open and closed. His mother has embraced the idea that her son willingly ventures outside, and enthusiastically packs him a variety of dishes every day. The tree’s branches sway in the wind doubtfully.
“Oh, come on,” Nino sighs.
“This is my actual me, anyway,” Ohno mutters, barely heard over the rustle of his foliage. Nino waits for the noise to settle down before his reply, but the rustling continues, and only grows louder. The rustling is so loud and unceasing it turns into a vibration in Nino’s head; he can’t help but lower his head and block his ears in a vain attempt to stop hearing it.
When he finally does, after what feels like too long, Nino can tell something has changed. It no longer feels like he’s leaning against Ohno, the tree who decided to call out to him a week ago on a whim. Not quite. Nino turns to look around the tree.
A person dressed in simple shorts and button-down shirt is leaning against the other side of the trunk.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration for Nino to say that the man is as dark as the tree he appeared behind. He looks like he’s spent every season outside being weather-beaten; fine lines run from the corners of his eyes as he smiles softly at him and his hands are veined and splattered with dark splotches that look as if he’s dipped his fingers in mud. But when Nino edges around to peer closer at the man, he sees that his face is childishly round and his smile showing a hint of mischievousness. The man is an odd mixture of time.
He decides introductions are necessary. “I’m Nino,” he says, trying not to let any signs of nerves show through his voice.
“Nice to meet you, Nino. I’m Ohno,” the man says back, reply somewhat stiff. He is definitely a mumbler. Nino supposes that he doesn’t get the chance to talk often, or at least not with an actual human mouth.
“I’ve known you for a while, actually,” Nino quips, unable to hide the grin growing on his face.
“Oh. Well,” Ohno waves a hand at himself dispiritedly, “whaddya think?”
As Nino struggles to come up with the short answer for, “I couldn’t possibly have imagined that a tree hundreds of years old would turn into a guy anyway so I didn’t really have high expectations, but you have a nice smile and look like you’re about my height and still kinda give off tree vibes which is sort of reassuring because you don’t feel like a stranger,” he notices Ohno’s glance down. Nino follows his gaze to the lunchbox in his hands.
“Want some?”
It turns out that Ohno is a big fan of omelettes.
____
“Why don’t you always be human?”
“I like being a tree more. It’s less trouble.”
Nino frowns. “Well, you can’t play with me unless you’re human.”
The human Ohno appears from behind his trunk, wearing a t-shirt and cargo shorts which look oddly familiar. Nino frowns at him for a moment, then realises it’s almost exactly what he was wearing yesterday.
Ohno looks a little sour. “I’m getting old. Can’t move the way I used to,” he says. He does a few cartwheels experimentally but shakes out his limbs and mutters critically to himself the moment his feet are deftly planted on the ground.
Nino looks hard at his face. “Exactly how old are you? My mom’s thirty-eight, and she’s ancient.”
“A little bit older,” he hums in reply.
____
“Why are you here by yourself?” Ohno doesn’t turn to look when asking, appearing to be completely engrossed in the small bird resting upon his finger. Nino answers anyway.
“Sho-chan got chicken pox. His parents quarantined him,” he drawls, pressing the buttons of his game console a little too hard. “Jun-kun is at a training-camp for baseball so wasn’t planning to come anyway. And Aiba-chan failed everything but math and has to go to summer school.”
Theres a pattering of wings and Nino looks up to see that Ohno’s new friend has flown away. Ohno looks a little saddened by his empty finger.
As Nino continues to game, the electronic music stifled in the humid air, the clouds slowly grow grey. He only jerks his head up in response to the rumble of thunder nearby. There’s already a light mist of rain growing heavier by the second; Nino can’t help but groan as he stuffs his console into his backpack and reaches for his jacket thrown onto the grass. Ohno tugs on a sleeve, stopping him from pulling it on.
“Just stay. Leave when the rain stops,” Ohno says quietly. Nino looks at him unblinkingly, searching for something in his words, in his eyes. Ohno simply stares back and puts on the tiniest of pouts. The branches above them shudder and the smattering of rain which had been making its way through is now stopped by Ohno’s overlapping coverage. Nino tries not to look impressed.
Letting out a deep sigh, Nino leans back and gets comfortable on the grass, arranging his jacket over himself. “Wake me up when the rain stops,” Nino says before he shuts his eyes and curls up on his side. Ohno adjusts the makeshift blanket to cover him better in reply.
Gradually, Nino stops fidgeting and his breathing steadies. Ohno stares out into the curtain of rain around his branches absentmindedly, the constant tirade of raindrops hitting his leaves filling his ears and the smell of wet soil seeping into his fingertips. As the rain continues to cloud his hearing, he slowly settles down beside Nino and closes his eyes too.
____
When Nino wakes up the rain has cleared and Ohno is lying next to him, mouth slightly open and tiny green shoots rising up from the ground around him.
Nino supposes its just one of those things that come with being a tree.
____
“There’s a fireworks show tonight, over at the closest town,” Nino says to Ohno’s trunk. All he gets in reply is a minute vibration of leaves.
“And I want us to go together,” he continues firmly. “Oh-chan.”
Ohno still says nothing. Nino clicks his tongue and starts to head back down the trail. Before disappearing from the clearing he calls out over his shoulder, “I’m going back home tomorrow. Summer vacation’s over.”
____
“Come on, Oh-chan.” Nino sticks his hand out for Ohno to hold. He doesn’t take it.
“Fine,” Nino says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You have to follow me though.”
As Nino trudges ahead he makes sure he can hear the shufflings of Ohno trailing behind him. He doesn’t quite understand why Ohno is so reluctant to go; he is more than enthusiastic about taking a bite of all the human food he’s brought over, and always listens quietly to his stories about the friends back home. If anything Ohno should be glad someone is willing to take him to see fireworks up close.
He snaps out of his thoughts when he realises that the sound of shuffling has stopped for a while. Nino turns back to tell Ohno off and maybe grab his hand.
Ohno is a few feet behind him, slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Nino can feel his eyebrows furrowing; he rubs furiously at the space between them as he shortens the distance between them, but he freezes when he sees why Ohno isn’t keeping up with him.
With every heavy step lifted from the ground a layer of dirt falls from his soil-covered shoes. Nino can see thin, flimsy roots hanging down as if he is being uprooted from the very ground beneath him. As Ohno’s shoes touch the ground they sink in deeply, leaving him panting from the effort of pulling them out again. From Ohno’s hands little buds have sprouted.
When Nino reaches for them, they aren’t the dry, slightly coarse ones he’s gotten to know. The dark patches of skin, which are usually smooth to the touch, feel uneven and have a texture that scratches against his fingertips as he threads their fingers together with slight difficulty. It feels, Nino realises, like tree bark.
Ohno doesn’t look down at their interlaced fingers which are pressing tightly onto each other’s skin, or into Nino’s worried eyes. He justs looks in the direction of tree they left from, not even three minute’s walk away. If they turn the path’s corner it would be in plain view. “We should head back.”
They walk back slowly, still hand in hand, Nino occasionally having to stop to pull Ohno’s feet out of the ground and brush the baby roots from the soles of his deteriorating shoes. When they finally arrive Ohno wordlessly slumps against his trunk. It looks like he’s about to mold right into the tree.
“Just stay here, I’ll be back,” Nino says. He is aware that it sounds redundant; Ohno has never been able to leave even if he wanted to. He runs out of the clearing, back to the summer house. His mother barely sees a glimpse of him as he rummages through the drawers until he comes up with a box of matches and grabs the unused packet of sparklers she bought for him the day they arrived.
When he returns, Ohno has his eyes open, hands pulling the last root off the bottom of his feet. An array of leaves and bits of bark and roots surround him.
“What's that?” he asks, cleaning his hands on his shirt and then reaching for the packet.
“Because we can’t go see the fireworks, I brought some to you, old man.”
Nino lights the sparkler for Ohno. When he passes it over their hands brush, and it feels like normal human skin, not like the rough textured tree bark he felt less than half an hour ago. When his own sparkler has been ignited he focuses on its bright-whiteness, trying to work up his nerve.
“Hey,” Nino murmurs, still staring at his sparkler. From his peripheral vision he can see Ohno slowly look up from urging on his own sparkler to focus on Nino’s face, half cast in dancing warm light. He hopes he looks serious and contemplative.
“Hmm?” The sparkler in Ohno’s hand fizzles out.
“Why did you call out to me that day? You didn’t have to.” Nino’s sparkler dies out too, and without the constant sounds of crackling fireworks, the clearing is oddly quiet.
“You looked lonely,” he answers slowly. Nino can tell he’s still staring into the darkness at where his face was illuminated and wonders what sort of expression he’s making now.
“Is that all?”
Nino doesn’t see Ohno smile wistfully. “I suppose I was lonely too.”
____
The deepening reds and purples of the sunset makes his skin seem even more burnt than usual. It’s been a particularly hot summer, and even his bark is peeling slightly. A breeze sifts through his leaves, and Ohno closes his eyes. He lets his human senses focus on how the last trace of the day’s warmth grazes past his skin, and then feels it flow around his trunk and branches.
“I thought you didn’t like being human,” a voice says from behind Ohno. He turns around to see Nino, 3DS gripped loosely in one hand and the other holding a tin bucket.
Ohno always takes the time to drink in Nino’s appearance, as if he’s the first rain after months of drought. Since he first met him, he’s only grown a few centimeters taller, if that. He’s definitely paler. After being a shocking blond last year, his hair is now a light brown instead of its natural black. Ohno’s never had a good sense of time, but whenever he sees Nino, it is particularly confusing.
“You never change,” Ohno smiles, gently pulling Nino into a hug. Nino snorts into his shoulder.
“I have. Fifteen years tends to age a person. ”
“Fifteen years isn’t that long.”
“Not for you, maybe.” Nino clambers his way out of the embrace, hands brushing past the seat of Ohno’s pants in the process.
“So, is being a human all the time a recent thing? Nowadays you’re one every time I come to see you,” he asks, reaching into his satchel to pull out sparklers and a lighter.
Ohno takes the sparkler handed to him. “Only when summer comes around.”
(the end)