at the end of the hook
Title: at the end of the hook
Pairing(s): Ohno/Nino
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1438
Summary: Nino is going crazy while Ohno is out tanning. Or fishing. Or being a mermaid.
Notes: This is written for aeslis, who gave me this prompt: 'Ohno's flaws (but Nino still loves him anyway)'. But I only focused on one kind-of flaw, so I kind of twisted it around a little bit? :) Let's just...ignore that. Special thanks to floweranza, who read this ficlet over for me on very, very short notice!
Around four o'clock in the morning, Nino decides that he has had enough, so fuck it.
He gets up and stuffs his cell phone into a random pillowcase so that he won't have to look at it anymore, and after that turns all the clocks in the house around so that only the walls can hear their ticking. He's sick of checking the time and having all of those numbers taunt him, and since he can't trick himself into believing that time has stopped, he just makes it so he can forget that the minutes are even passing.
When he got home from work yesterday, the apartment was completely empty without even a note of explanation around-just a multicolored fish magnet on the counter where Nino usually leaves Post-Its and memos (that he hopes do not go unread, but sometimes he knows better). He had looked around the house for a little bit, turning back covers and checking the mirrors, but the only thing out of place was the fish. So he put it back on the fridge, right next to the work calendar, and resigned himself to spending the next day alone.
He just didn't expect to be this alone, with only time and the television to keep him awake. It's a little unsettling, and with each hour that passes he loses a little more nerve. And with almost a day and a half already gone, there's not much more that he can let go.
With nothing to do and no one to talk to, Nino has counted all of his cards (just to make sure that his decks were complete), practiced a new magic trick (supposedly the hardest one in the book, but he had time to master it), and went on a journey through the house to find all of the missing laundry. He's not entirely sure how three pairs of boxers got stashed underneath the couch, nor why there is a pair of socks sitting on top of the toilet, but he gathered them up anyway and managed to stuff it all into the washing machine.
As the washer runs (and it plays a tune while it does, a quiet thing that's a cross between Happiness and Love so sweet) he thinks idly back to that work calendar, and in his head he can see it clearly: this week is filled in with orange ink for him, with just a couple of blue scribbles written in for Ohno. And having all that work to do is okay with Nino; there is nothing wrong with being busy-it's just that Ohno is not.
He is fishing, instead.
Nino counts, on fingers that barely rise and with a brain that has stopped working as soon as he arrived back home, the hours since the fish magnet was last on the table. He stops when he gets to twenty, because even though Nino is not a mathematician or a social worker he is pretty sure that twenty hours is a long time for someone to be gone.
But why, he thinks to himself as he shuts his eyes, does it matter how long Ohno takes that stupid boat out to sea? If he comes back happy, and he didn't fall into the ocean, then Nino knows there's no reason for him to be upset. And it's not like he has to stay up to wait for him, either. He could just go to sleep right now if he wanted to, and Ohno probably wouldn't notice at all.
Nino knows, though, that falling asleep alone is not why he shelled out nearly half of his precious savings to buy this apartment. There is a full-sized bed in the bedroom, and it is designed for two people, not one skinny man and a lot of pillows. And all Nino wants to do after work, when he can't keep his eyes open anymore, is sleep in that bed with someone next to him that's warm and that tells him he is cute (because no matter how many times he denies it, he likes that). Even if that person reeks of saltwater and sunshine and fish guts, it would be perfectly alright as long as he was right there and said I caught a tuna today, and you should have been there to see it, because it was HUGE and you would have freaked out.
Ohno drives Nino crazy-he always has, but since the fishing obsession began he's been doing it more and more, and not in that loving way. Sometimes Ohno comes back home and he is too tan and too talkative and too excited for Nino to deal with. While he works, Ohno fishes, and when Ohno works, Nino works, too. He has tiny slots of time for himself throughout the day, but nothing like Ohno does, and when Nino is at home alone like this he can't do anything but count the hours, do household chores and wait around impatiently. It's more of an emotional workout than anything relaxing.
But even with all of this, they're still together. It baffles Nino, sometimes, but he figures that there must be a reason why he stays and why it never occurs to him that maybe there's someone better for him out there, someone who would save money for retirement and not to buy his own fishing boat (or, Nino suspects sometimes, his own ocean). Something in him just knows Ohno is a keeper, even if he is lousy at some things, like paying attention and coming home to tired boyfriends.
The dryer trills happily (the manufacturer must be into Arashi, because every sound that both machines make resembles some chorus from a random single) and Nino rolls off the couch to retrieve the laundry.
He comes back with a pile of heated, nice-smelling clothes, and has only folded three pairs of underwear before he dozes off in the mound of laundry next to him. Wait, stay awake, stay awake, his mind says, have to give the mermaid a bashing when he comes in, and Nino struggles to keep up with the command, but he nods off every so often. Eventually he gives into the sweet scent of the fabric softener and the way the towels are fluffy and comfortable underneath his head and falls asleep.
When he wakes up again Ohno is sitting on the chair across from him, smiling stupidly wide and happier than he has the right to be. Nino sits up quickly, mind still fuzzy (when did that door open? God, we need a security system) and his heart starts to beat ridiculously fast; he tells it to shut up, shut up stop beating so hard, but it doesn't listen.
"Most people say 'I'm home' when they come back into their house," Nino says groggily. "Just to, you know, make sure nobody calls the police on them."
Ohno has the grace to look a little sheepish, but mostly he is still beaming with leftover ocean euphoria. "Six catches," he says, almost breathless. "In twenty-five hours."
Nino just looks at him. "All the laundry in this house," he says flatly, "in twenty-five hours."
But he can't say anything else. The look on his face is enough, maybe, because Ohno-who, as Nino predicted, has the scent of the sea rubbed into his hair and onto his skin-joins him on the couch and says, low and lullaby-like, I caught one that was almost as big as you, Kazu, I swear, and it's the most he's talked in awhile. He mumbles on and on about how he almost had a tuna but lost it at the last second, and how it almost started to storm but then they got away, and Nino tries to listen to the story but he's just relieved that Ohno is home. He drifts off, then, knowing that he has nothing else to worry about.
He dreams a little, about what it would be like if he were a fish and ended up at the end of Ohno's hook every single time. He thinks about it-about the face that Ohno will make when presented with Kazu the Fish, about the way his eyes will light up and how he will think, hey, this one's cute. Just like Nino!
When Nino opens his eyes he is in his real bed, next to Ohno, who has not showered but is warm and salty-smelling and close and there.
"Sleepy?" Ohno asks, breathing softly on Nino's shoulder. "I won't leave tonight."
"Mm," Nino agrees, content. "The fish stays on the fridge."
Pairing(s): Ohno/Nino
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1438
Summary: Nino is going crazy while Ohno is out tanning. Or fishing. Or being a mermaid.
Notes: This is written for aeslis, who gave me this prompt: 'Ohno's flaws (but Nino still loves him anyway)'. But I only focused on one kind-of flaw, so I kind of twisted it around a little bit? :) Let's just...ignore that. Special thanks to floweranza, who read this ficlet over for me on very, very short notice!
Around four o'clock in the morning, Nino decides that he has had enough, so fuck it.
He gets up and stuffs his cell phone into a random pillowcase so that he won't have to look at it anymore, and after that turns all the clocks in the house around so that only the walls can hear their ticking. He's sick of checking the time and having all of those numbers taunt him, and since he can't trick himself into believing that time has stopped, he just makes it so he can forget that the minutes are even passing.
When he got home from work yesterday, the apartment was completely empty without even a note of explanation around-just a multicolored fish magnet on the counter where Nino usually leaves Post-Its and memos (that he hopes do not go unread, but sometimes he knows better). He had looked around the house for a little bit, turning back covers and checking the mirrors, but the only thing out of place was the fish. So he put it back on the fridge, right next to the work calendar, and resigned himself to spending the next day alone.
He just didn't expect to be this alone, with only time and the television to keep him awake. It's a little unsettling, and with each hour that passes he loses a little more nerve. And with almost a day and a half already gone, there's not much more that he can let go.
With nothing to do and no one to talk to, Nino has counted all of his cards (just to make sure that his decks were complete), practiced a new magic trick (supposedly the hardest one in the book, but he had time to master it), and went on a journey through the house to find all of the missing laundry. He's not entirely sure how three pairs of boxers got stashed underneath the couch, nor why there is a pair of socks sitting on top of the toilet, but he gathered them up anyway and managed to stuff it all into the washing machine.
As the washer runs (and it plays a tune while it does, a quiet thing that's a cross between Happiness and Love so sweet) he thinks idly back to that work calendar, and in his head he can see it clearly: this week is filled in with orange ink for him, with just a couple of blue scribbles written in for Ohno. And having all that work to do is okay with Nino; there is nothing wrong with being busy-it's just that Ohno is not.
He is fishing, instead.
Nino counts, on fingers that barely rise and with a brain that has stopped working as soon as he arrived back home, the hours since the fish magnet was last on the table. He stops when he gets to twenty, because even though Nino is not a mathematician or a social worker he is pretty sure that twenty hours is a long time for someone to be gone.
But why, he thinks to himself as he shuts his eyes, does it matter how long Ohno takes that stupid boat out to sea? If he comes back happy, and he didn't fall into the ocean, then Nino knows there's no reason for him to be upset. And it's not like he has to stay up to wait for him, either. He could just go to sleep right now if he wanted to, and Ohno probably wouldn't notice at all.
Nino knows, though, that falling asleep alone is not why he shelled out nearly half of his precious savings to buy this apartment. There is a full-sized bed in the bedroom, and it is designed for two people, not one skinny man and a lot of pillows. And all Nino wants to do after work, when he can't keep his eyes open anymore, is sleep in that bed with someone next to him that's warm and that tells him he is cute (because no matter how many times he denies it, he likes that). Even if that person reeks of saltwater and sunshine and fish guts, it would be perfectly alright as long as he was right there and said I caught a tuna today, and you should have been there to see it, because it was HUGE and you would have freaked out.
Ohno drives Nino crazy-he always has, but since the fishing obsession began he's been doing it more and more, and not in that loving way. Sometimes Ohno comes back home and he is too tan and too talkative and too excited for Nino to deal with. While he works, Ohno fishes, and when Ohno works, Nino works, too. He has tiny slots of time for himself throughout the day, but nothing like Ohno does, and when Nino is at home alone like this he can't do anything but count the hours, do household chores and wait around impatiently. It's more of an emotional workout than anything relaxing.
But even with all of this, they're still together. It baffles Nino, sometimes, but he figures that there must be a reason why he stays and why it never occurs to him that maybe there's someone better for him out there, someone who would save money for retirement and not to buy his own fishing boat (or, Nino suspects sometimes, his own ocean). Something in him just knows Ohno is a keeper, even if he is lousy at some things, like paying attention and coming home to tired boyfriends.
The dryer trills happily (the manufacturer must be into Arashi, because every sound that both machines make resembles some chorus from a random single) and Nino rolls off the couch to retrieve the laundry.
He comes back with a pile of heated, nice-smelling clothes, and has only folded three pairs of underwear before he dozes off in the mound of laundry next to him. Wait, stay awake, stay awake, his mind says, have to give the mermaid a bashing when he comes in, and Nino struggles to keep up with the command, but he nods off every so often. Eventually he gives into the sweet scent of the fabric softener and the way the towels are fluffy and comfortable underneath his head and falls asleep.
When he wakes up again Ohno is sitting on the chair across from him, smiling stupidly wide and happier than he has the right to be. Nino sits up quickly, mind still fuzzy (when did that door open? God, we need a security system) and his heart starts to beat ridiculously fast; he tells it to shut up, shut up stop beating so hard, but it doesn't listen.
"Most people say 'I'm home' when they come back into their house," Nino says groggily. "Just to, you know, make sure nobody calls the police on them."
Ohno has the grace to look a little sheepish, but mostly he is still beaming with leftover ocean euphoria. "Six catches," he says, almost breathless. "In twenty-five hours."
Nino just looks at him. "All the laundry in this house," he says flatly, "in twenty-five hours."
But he can't say anything else. The look on his face is enough, maybe, because Ohno-who, as Nino predicted, has the scent of the sea rubbed into his hair and onto his skin-joins him on the couch and says, low and lullaby-like, I caught one that was almost as big as you, Kazu, I swear, and it's the most he's talked in awhile. He mumbles on and on about how he almost had a tuna but lost it at the last second, and how it almost started to storm but then they got away, and Nino tries to listen to the story but he's just relieved that Ohno is home. He drifts off, then, knowing that he has nothing else to worry about.
He dreams a little, about what it would be like if he were a fish and ended up at the end of Ohno's hook every single time. He thinks about it-about the face that Ohno will make when presented with Kazu the Fish, about the way his eyes will light up and how he will think, hey, this one's cute. Just like Nino!
When Nino opens his eyes he is in his real bed, next to Ohno, who has not showered but is warm and salty-smelling and close and there.
"Sleepy?" Ohno asks, breathing softly on Nino's shoulder. "I won't leave tonight."
"Mm," Nino agrees, content. "The fish stays on the fridge."