172. (fic) arashibana, pt.1
and of course the damn thing's too big for one post T_T
title: arashibana
rating/genre: r; au (historical), drama, romance
pairing(s): ohmiya
words: ~15,000
summary: Nino is the most popular and most skilled onnagata in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.
disclaimer: FICTION.
notes: oh jeez, what did i do 8D;; well, i wrote arashi in edo period Japan as the cast and staff at a kabuki theater, that's what! i'll put the rest of what promises to be a long note under a cut...
More Notes: so, in my work for my Japanese MA, i've taken a number of classes on edo period lit, several of which have had considerable focus on theater in general and kabuki in specific. so naturally i sat in my lectures imagining the version that starred arashi :DDD
+ i apologize for a number of obscure Japanese terms throughout this fic - there will be footnotes at the bottom, for anyone who is curious.
+ i tried to make this as historically accurate as possible and to the extent that it facilitated my plot :x so, if you are superlatively informed about edo period japan and don't like inaccuracy...beware!
+ special thanks: to gimmick_game for initially egging me on to start this fic! and also to aeslis for lots of encouragement, inspiration, brain-storming, and a superior beta job ♥
Nino sits, unmoving, watching his face in the mirror-the face of Ninomiya Ibara. He has gotten used to thinking of himself as “Nino”, though he was born just Kazunari-but neither of those would do for the grand kabuki stages of Kyoto.
Just now he looks very much the part: he is still in full kabuki costume, wig, and make-up, the very image of a high-class courtesan. The massive, decorative obi around his torso keeps his posture rigid, and the thick layer of make-up keeps his face pale and nearly expressionless. He turns his head just slightly to examine himself, and the metal ornaments in his wig tinkle delicately.
The mirror itself is very large, and very expensive, and Nino spends a good deal of time looking into it. Not especially because he likes what he sees, but because he knows doing so makes people think he is vain. Once they have decided this, they rarely try to dig deeper, and that is how Nino likes it.
“I thought we had agreed,” he says softly, “that I no longer take gentlemen callers after the show.”
Jun shifts irritably in his seiza, crossing his arms. “I am not breaking our agreement-he is only a patron who wishes to meet you. To talk.”
Nino’s eyes flick over to Jun’s reflection in the mirror. It is still strange to see Jun like this, as Lord Matsumoto, with a tonsure and a sword at his waist and a kimono of expensive black silk. Nino remembers Jun as a long-limbed, shaggy-haired boy who used to climb into the rafters of the theater with him and Aiba on hot summer afternoons. But that was years ago.
“I do not want to talk to him,” Nino says, and Jun’s scowl deepens. But Nino knows that he has the power to refuse this-he is the most popular and most skilled onnagata in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.
“He seems harmless enough,” Sho offers from his seat next to Jun. Sho, too, is in full kabuki regalia-a vibrant kimono, dramatic make-up, and elaborate wig. Usually Sho just manages the Arashibana-za, but the actor who regularly plays their hero took a fall from the hanamichi during rehearsals and threw out his back. Really, Shintarou is too old to be performing anymore, but none of his apprentices are good enough to replace him. Everyone knows this will soon become a problem, but for the time being, Sho has the training and skill to fill in.
“He just wants to talk to you,” Jun repeats. “He is just an admirer, and a faithful patron. His parents have been bringing him here since my father opened the theater.”
“Let him talk to Yuri, then” Nino returns airily, and hears a little gasp from the young boy waiting discreetly by the door. “He is still young enough to be entertaining visitors after hours.”
“If-if Lord Matsumoto wishes…” Yuri begins.
“That will not be necessary,” Jun says gently, then turns back to Nino. “Believe me when I say that there is nothing at all untoward about this visit. The Ohno family are some of our most loyal supporters, and their son is a great admirer of your work. I imagine their donations to the theater will become even more generous, if only you will talk to him for a short time.”
Nino wants to refuse, wants to remind Jun how he promised Nino that he would never again be subjected to the duties of a lowly iroko, but they have known each other for too long, and Jun knows how to get what he wants.
“I do not need to remind you of the unique allowances you enjoy here. Very few other performers would wish to continue in the same venue year after year, and none other than you have ever been allowed it.” Jun’s voice lowers, softens. “Please, Nino. Do this for me.”
There is a pause, and then Nino sighs, letting the tiniest scowl pucker his perfectly painted lips. Jun is already smirking victoriously.
“Five minutes,” Nino says.
“Thirty,” Jun shoots back.
“Ten, and only if he is not completely unfortunate looking.”
“Twenty-five, and you may have an additional song in the next show.”
“Fifteen, and I will write it myself.”
“Twenty, and I will consider it.”
Nino’s eyes narrow, but Jun is unblinking. “Done,” Nino says finally, and Jun nods, then motions for Sho to go and fetch their visitor. “You do not play fair, Lord Matsumoto,” Nino says as Sho leaves.
Jun does not miss the sarcasm heaped onto his formal title, but only smiles, rising after Sho has left and coming to stand behind Nino.
“I cannot play fair if I want to win against you, Master Ninomiya,” Jun replies. He flicks at one of Nino’s hair ornaments teasingly. “You will stay in costume, then? If you like, we can make him wait while you change.”
Nino waves a dismissive hand. “This is what he wants to see, I imagine. This is all he needs to see.”
Their eyes meet again in the mirror, and Jun has always been better at reading Nino than Nino would like, even through all the make-up and finery. Jun’s expression softens, but before he can say anything else, Sho returns, sliding the door to Nino’s dressing room open and announcing himself and the guest.
“Master Ninomiya,” Sho says formally, “young lord Satoshi, of the Ohno household.”
The young man who shuffles in after Sho is not at all the strutting, pasty-faced nobleman Nino had expected from Jun’s description-someone who let his parents drag him to the theater every week, and who was used to getting what he wanted. Instead, Ohno is small, and seems even smaller with the way he slouches and keeps his arms folded in the sleeves of his modest blue kimono. He has long hair, like Jun, but no tonsure: it is simply pulled back into a top-knot. His face is round, and dark, as if he spends plenty of time out in the sun, and his eyes are sloe and sleepy. Now, he is looking around the room as if he is not quite sure how he got there. Somehow, Ohno is almost charming, and not at all what Nino expected.
Nino likes things that exceed his expectations. He does not like the knowing smirk on Jun’s face.
Nino has turned from the mirror and makes a practiced bow, his fingertips creating a little triangle on the floor as he lowers his head. Ohno drops quickly into a seiza to return the gesture.
“Well,” Jun says, moving towards the door, “we will leave you. Yuri, some warm sake, if you please.”
Yuri scrambles to obey, and Jun beckons to Sho to follow him. Before exiting, Sho passes close to Nino, dropping a hand to his shoulder and leaning in to speak in a stage-whisper.
“I will be nearby, should you need any assistance.” Sho fixes Ohno with a hard stare as he speaks, and releases the clasp on his sword to bare a few inches of steel. The sword is, of course, only a prop, but it is one of Aiba’s finest. It convinces Ohno, anyway-the sword and the combination of Sho’s dramatic red eye-liner and fiercely enhanced eyebrows has the visitor swallowing nervously, and perhaps reconsidering his decision to make a trip backstage.
“Master Sakurai,” Jun hisses, “I’m sure no one will be needing your assistance.”
Nino gives Sho a tiny grin, and acknowledges his offer with a brief dip of his head. After Sho and Jun have left, Nino folds his hands demurely in his lap. Ohno is still looking around the room, scratching his nose distractedly.
“My lord,” Nino says softly, making Ohno jump. “You wished to talk with me?”
“Oh, uh,” Ohno shifts into a more comfortable cross-legged position. “Well, that-you see…I don’t mean to be rude, but-well, this wasn’t really my idea.”
Nino blinks, but otherwise keeps his expression neutral.
“Not that I didn’t want to meet you!” Ohno says quickly. “I did-I do, but, I just said it, without thinking, after the performance, and my father overheard and decided to ask Lord Matsumoto, and then mother insisted as well, and…I did not mean to disturb you.”
Ohno’s words come out in a rush-mumbled, sheepish-and he looks so honestly apologetic that Nino cannot help but smile.
“You are not disturbing me, lord. I hear you are an admirer of our theater.”
“Yes,” Ohno says, giving an emphatic nod. “My parents have been taking me to see kabuki since I was young. I…I like it very much.”
They continue with small talk while Yuri pours warm sake for them both, and despite himself, Nino is intrigued. Ohno is obviously well-to-do, from a merchant family rather than a samurai line, but still it is strange how he hardly uses any formal language, how he looks Nino in the eye when he speaks, rather than at his sake cup or down into his lap. Nino does not understand Ohno’s tan face when most nobles keep their skin moon-pale, or the calluses he catches sight of on Ohno’s elegant hands.
“Fishing,” Ohno answers with a smile, when Nino makes careful mention of it. “I’m not much for hunting, or poetry, and there’s a nice broad river near our estate.”
And Nino likes how Ohno asks questions that no one else has ever asked-how long has Nino been acting? Does the make-up itch? What was it like to perform for the first time? Most of the visitors Nino received, before he refused to do so any longer, only wanted to talk about themselves, or to not talk at all. But Ohno is an excellent listener. Without meaning to, Nino finds himself answering Ohno’s questions thoughtfully and at length, and before he realizes how much time has passed, Jun is sliding open the door to let Ohno know the theater is closing for the evening.
“Oh,” Ohno says, looking surprised. “I suppose I should make my leave…”
Nino gives another bow, annoyed at how annoyed he is to see Ohno go. “It was a pleasure, my lord.”
Ohno rises, and moves to follow Jun who has already started away down the hall. However, before he exits the room completely, Ohno turns back with a hesitant, hopeful look on his face.
“May-may I presume to visit you again?” he asks, almost in a whisper, as if he thinks he might get in trouble just for asking.
Nino pauses, just for a moment, knowing he should demure, shouldn’t encourage Ohno’s attentions. But instead, he smiles.
“You may,” he says, and Ohno brightens, “but only if, next time, I may ask questions about you.”
Ohno blinks a few times, seeming surprised that anyone would want to do such a thing.
“I-yes, I suppose…yes.”
Nino smiles as Ohno leaves, then turns back to his mirror with a sigh, and beckons for Yuri to come and help him remove his wig. It is a lengthy process, and amid the renewed jangling of hair ornaments, Yuri ventures a timid: “He was quite handsome.”
There is a faint blush high in Yuri’s cheeks, and Nino decides that next time, Yuri can wait in the hallway.
*
It is a week before Ohno visits again, and in the meantime, the cast of the Arashibana-za begins rehearsing a new play. It features demons and ghosts, perfect for the summer season, and Nino’s pages of the script are delivered with a short note from Jun about going to buy new kimono fabrics before the next run of shows. Ohno notices the little sheaf of papers when he joins Nino in the dressing room, and Nino allows him a look, when he asks. Almost absently, Ohno reads a few of the lines aloud.
“Nicely read,” Nino says with a touch of surprise, and Ohno starts bashfully.
“I always thought it would be fun to try, you know,” Ohno murmurs. “Acting, I mean.”
“On the kabuki stage?” Nino asks, and Ohno nods.
“But I’ve never had the training, and my parents would probably disown me if I tried,” Ohno laughs, dismissing so easily the dream he had just been speaking of with shining, faraway eyes.
“Show me,” Nino says immediately. He moves back, giving Ohno room. Ohno just stares at him.
“What? My acting? Oh, no, I couldn’t-I’ve never-just by myself, you know, for fun…” He trails off when he sees that Nino is dead serious. “Here?”
Nino just nods. “Anything is fine, anything you know.”
Ohno sighs and looks put-upon, but Nino thinks, as Ohno takes a wide-legged stance in the center of the room, that he can see just a hint of excitement in the other man’s eyes.
Ohno takes a deep breath, and begins.
*
“He wasn’t perfect,” Nino tells Aiba the next day. “But he was very good for an amateur.”
Out of costume, and in only a simple yukata, Nino is barely recognizable, which he prefers. Currently, he is seated with Aiba in the middle of the empty theater, eating sweet buns from the street vendor and watching Aiba’s crew dismantle last night’s set. It is an elaborate piece-a castle, with two stories, and the whole structure rotates to reveal a temple-set on the backside-all of Aiba’s design. Sho and Jun are on stage as well, moving among the workmen, while Jun points and gestures, outlining plans for a new set piece he has in mind.
“He had the lines memorized,” Nino continues when Aiba doesn’t respond. “And his intonation was quite good.”
“You’ve got an idea, haven’t you,” Aiba says through a mouthful. His eyes are on the stage, and though he seems completely relaxed, Nino knows Aiba will be on his feet the moment any part of his set is handled incorrectly.
“We have no replacement for Shintarou,” Nino replies simply.
“The hard part will be convincing Jun,” Aiba points out, skipping right over the fact that Ohno has no formal training and is the son of a noble house.
“It will take time,” Nino says by way of agreement.
But then, Nino does not really mind taking time, with Ohno.
*
On Ohno’s third visit, they play karuta, which Ohno is terrible at, but he seems to find this more amusing than anything else. After watching Ohno lose spectacularly for the fifth time, Nino offers to play him a song, instead. He has Yuri bring his shamisen and when, halfway through, Ohno begins to sing along in a lovely tenor, Nino is delighted.
Later, as Ohno is preparing to leave, Nino bows, giving his usual “Goodnight, my lord.”
Nino feels a gentle hand on his sleeve, and sits up to find Ohno giving him a shy kind of smile.
“There is no need for ‘my lord’,” he mutters. “Just ‘Satoshi’.”
Nino’s eyes widen just slightly, and he turns his head down and away. “I could not.”
Ohno looks mildly disappointed, but tries again. “Just ‘Ohno’, then?”
“I-if you wish,” Nino begins, and Ohno says quickly: “I do.”
A little pause, then: “Just…Ohno.”
Ohno nods, once, satisfied, and turns to leave. Before he can, Nino grabs the hem of his kimono. He is still in his make-up, hands painted the same matte white as his face. It will leave a smudge. Someone will notice, and people will talk. Nino does not care.
“And,” he says to Ohno, who has turned to look back curiously. “Just Nino.”
Ohno’s expression goes blank with surprise for a moment, and then he smiles beatifically.
“Nino,” he repeats softly. “Just Nino.”
*
On the fourth visit, Nino wants to see Ohno perform again, and then again on his next visit, and the next. And while it is true that Ohno is not professionally trained, he has been watching kabuki all his life and it shows.
Ohno can modulate his voice to nearly any role-a strong tenor for the hero, a growling baritone for the villain, and even the high warbling pitch of the onnagata. He performs drama and tragedy beautifully, as well has having an innate sense of timing for comedy. If he misspeaks, or missteps, he is quick to pick up any correction Nino gives him, and seems enthusiastic to improve.
With real training, Ohno could easily surpass Shintarou, or any of the actors who are currently the stars of the Kyoto stages. Alongside the Arashibana-za’s current cast, he could take the company to even greater heights. He would be good for the theater.
“And I’m sure,” Jun says wryly, “that none of this is in any way related to the fact that you would then be playing opposite him almost every night.”
“I’m sure,” Nino mimes back at him, “I do not know what you could mean by that remark.”
The four of them-Jun, Nino, Aiba, and Sho-are sprawled out across the tatami of one of the rooms of Jun’s manor, the remains of their dinner cluttering the low table. The shoji doors leading out to the garden are open, letting in the drone of cicadas and the faint tinkling of the small creek that winds through the yard. In the seventh month of the year, the air is heavy and warm, even in the evening, and the open doors bring in only the faintest breeze.
“You must like him, to let him keep coming back,” Aiba speaks up from the porch, where he has several spinning-tops out, trying to see how long he can keep them all going at once.
Sho giggles, having let himself get rather drunk. He is on his back now, gazing up at the ceiling sleepily. “I no longer take gentlemen callers,” he chirps in a very poor impression of Nino.
“Yes, I like him,” Nino says, “but only because he is interesting, and he would be good for the theater.”
Jun clicks his tongue and rolls to his stomach. “Since when do you care?”
“The Arashibana-za is my home,” Nino says softly. Jun looks up at him, and Nino sees a flash of something in the younger man’s eyes, though he’s not sure what.
“Nevertheless, it is impossible,” Jun sighs after a moment. “Ohno is a lord, a merchant. It simply is not done.”
Nino does not press the issue, but he knows he does not have to. The seed has been planted in Jun’s mind now, and Nino sees it stirring the next time Jun escorts Ohno back to the dressing room. And if Nino thinks he hears soft footsteps outside his door when Ohno is reciting for him again, it only makes him smile to himself, and urge Ohno to speak a little more loudly.
*
On another visit, when Ohno discovers that Nino writes music as well as playing it, he requests a performance immediately. After some wheedling, Nino plays him one of his own compositions, one he has never played on stage, one he has never played for anyone. He sings lyrics also of his own creation, and these he sings in his own voice, rather than the wavering falsetto he is accustomed to.
“What is it called?” Ohno asks softly, when Nino has finished.
“Past,” Nino says without looking up from his shamisen. “But it is written as Traces.” Ohno looks puzzled, and Nino takes a brush and ink stone from his dressing table and writes the kanji out on a scrap of paper. He hands it over to Ohno, holding the long sleeve of his kimono out of the way.
Ohno looks up from the graceful characters and straight into Nino’s eyes-it’s still disconcerting, how he does that, even after all this time.
“Can I ask,” Ohno begins tentatively, “who it’s about?”
Nino opens his mouth to lie, like he usually does, to say that it’s not about anyone, that it’s just a story he pulled from his imagination. But for some reason, with Ohno, what comes out is the truth.
“My mother,” Nino answers in a whisper. And he can’t look away from Ohno as he tells the rest of it, how his mother never wanted to sell him into the theater life, but there were bills to pay, and his father was a fierce, temperamental man. How the first thing Nino did, once he had the means, was to take his mother and sister away from his father’s house. Even then it had been too late-his mother had been coughing blood for a year already, but at least he was able to give her a warm and comfortable place to spend her last weeks.
Ohno holds Nino’s gaze as he speaks, and when Nino has finished, Ohno moves to sit by his side. It is closer than they have ever been, but Ohno does it so naturally, so simply, that Nino does not even have time to feel uncomfortable or wonder if it is inappropriate.
“I’m sorry,” Ohno says softly.
Nino makes a small, dismissive noise, but otherwise remains quiet. His head is still spinning a bit from everything he just said, from Ohno’s proximity, and how he suddenly realizes it is not nearly as close as he wants it to be.
*
After the first dozen visits, Nino begins to lose track. Ohno is easier to talk to than almost anyone Nino knows, and seems familiar in a way that makes Nino feel like he has known Ohno for years instead of only weeks. Ohno does not seem to want anything from Nino other than his companionship, he does not act with the usual awareness of distance that others have. Nino begins to speak less formally, to laugh more often and more loudly.
But not all of his barriers come down so easily. He still meets Ohno in full costume. If he is honest with himself, he knows there is a little fear there-that Ohno will not like what is under all the glamour.
One night, Nino decides to turn the tables a little, and offers to show Ohno how to apply the kabuki make-up. Ohno hesitates for only a moment, but then his excitement gets the better of him, and soon he is painted as white as Nino, to Nino’s great amusement.
“Well, where shall we go from here?” Nino asks, once he has controlled his laughter. “I think the blue would suit you-”
“I want,” Ohno interrupts, then seems to think better of it. Nino raises an eyebrow, and eventually Ohno continues. “How can I make it look like yours?”
“Oh,” Nino says. He stares down at his row of brushes for a moment, feeling strangely flustered, then picks up the small, pointed eye-brush and coats it in red. He makes to hand it to Ohno, but the other man shakes his head.
“Show me?” he asks, scooting closer, presumably to make it easy for Nino to reach him, until their knees are touching and there is barely an arm’s length separating them.
Nino lets out a slow, careful breath through his nose and nods. He reaches forward and places his free hand against Ohno’s face, lightly, barely touching with just his fingertips, to hold him still.
“Look up,” he commands softly. Ohno does, and Nino begins with a bold streak of crimson.
He follows suit on Ohno’s other eye, then changes to a thicker brush in black for the eyebrows. He tries to keep up a running narration as he goes, since he is ostensibly teaching Ohno how to do this, but he finds his voice trailing away the longer he stares at Ohno’s face. Lips are last, and Nino takes his time choosing just the right size of brush, and just the right shade of red. He places his hand against Ohno’s face again, tipping his chin up slightly.
“Open your mouth, just a little,” Nino says, wondering why the words come out as a whisper. Ohno does as he is told, never taking his eyes off Nino’s face.
Slowly, more carefully than he has ever done for himself, Nino paints a perfect little strawberry shape over Ohno’s mouth. Ohno’s lips are so small and plush, they do not need much help to be made very appealing. As he finishes his last brush stroke, Nino’s gaze comes to focus on the damp glimmer he can see just past Ohno’s lips, and he notices that he can feel Ohno’s slow breaths against his chin. At the same time as he realizes how much closer he has somehow moved towards Ohno, he can suddenly see himself-
-leaning forward the rest of the way to catch Ohno’s mouth with his own, tasting the make-up on him as he slides his tongue past Ohno’s lips, sliding his hands past the collar of Ohno’s kimono, leaving streaks of talc all across his chest and ribs-
Nino pulls back abruptly, drops his brush onto the table with a clatter and turns away.
“Nino…?” Ohno begins hesitantly.
“I’m sorry,” Nino says, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I’m not…feeling well. Perhaps I should retire for the evening.”
“Oh,” he hears Ohno say. There is a pause, and then the other man stands. Nino does not turn as he listens to Ohno move toward the door.
“Well…goodnight, Nino,” Ohno murmurs.
“Goodnight,” Nino returns. There is another pause, and Nino counts it in pounding heartbeats. Eventually the door slides open, closed again, and Ohno is gone.
Out in the hallway, someone starts laughing hysterically-Ohno is still in full make-up-but Nino can only stare at his hands and wonder how much longer he will be able to convince himself all he feels for Ohno is a passing interest.
*
“It will not work,” Jun says one night after Ohno has left. Nino is in the middle of removing his make-up-the basin of water in front of him has turned a thick, chalky white.
“Of what, pray tell, do you speak, my lord?” Nino responds, affecting the lilting tones of the princess he played in the evening performance.
“Lord Ohno cannot just take Shintarou’s place. Not without training.”
“Then let him train,” Nino says, in his own voice now. “His parents have already entrusted the family business to his brother-in-law, so there can be no argument on that front.”
Jun raises an eyebrow. “You seem very familiar with his family situation.”
“I have only been talking to him, as you requested.”
Jun watches silently for a time, sprawled on his side across the tatami with one hand propping up his head. Nino begins washing his neck, beads of water trailing across his bare chest and shoulders and leaving lines of gray where they pass.
“Are you doing this for the theater?” Jun asks eventually. “Or for yourself?”
Nino does not reply. He does not have an answer.
*
When Ohno comes again, Nino finally mentions, in his most off-handed manner, what he has been discussing with Jun. Ohno’s face goes strangely blank, and for a moment, Nino fears he has offended him.
“Lord Matsumoto would let me?” Ohno says finally. “He would let me train here?”
Nino gives an eloquent shrug. “If you truly wish to make the attempt, I’m sure I can bring him around.”
Silence falls for a time, but this is something else Nino has become acclimated to, with Ohno-this is a thoughtful silence. And while Ohno thinks, so does Nino, noting the pattern of quince-flowers across Ohno’s kimono. They have entered the ninth month, already three months-a whole season-since Ohno began his visits. The end of the theater season is approaching as well, and it will give Ohno the time he needs to begin proper training, before shows start up again after the New Year. Nino wonders what he will do, if Ohno accepts his proposal. He wonders how things will change.
The theater breathes quietly around them-old boards creaking in the hall, soft footsteps far away on the stage-and after a time, Ohno speaks again.
“You would do this for me?” Ohno asks, and Nino is reminded uncomfortably of Jun’s question from the previous night.
“Of course,” Nino answers. He tries to sound flippant, light, and is glad for how much his make-up hides.
“Nino,” Ohno says, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he can read Nino’s mind and is trying to see past all his layers of paint and silk. “When I come tomorrow…”
“Yes?” Nino prompts, when Ohno trails off.
“Next time,” Ohno continues. “Next time, will you…no costume. No make-up. Just Nino.”
Nino knows he should look away, but now-as always-Ohno’s gaze holds him. Already he feels like he is giving so much away. What will it be like to be bared completely in front of Ohno? Nino is terrified. And yet.
“Yes,” Nino agrees, barely a whisper.
*
Immediately after the final performance of the night, Nino finds Sho-in costume again, this time as a simple extra, a nameless samurai henchman-and tells him that he will need a little more time before meeting Ohno tonight.
“To change,” he clarifies, when Sho raises a curious eyebrow.
And Sho knows, then, that something is going on, and Nino wonders how he ever thought he was anything more than transparent to those he most cares for.
Before Nino can move away, Sho lays a hand on his shoulder. “Jun told me, about Ohno coming to train here, when the season ends. But this is something else, for you, isn’t it?”
Nino’s face twists in an annoyed scowl. “And if it is?”
“I hope only that you will be careful,” Sho says with a rueful grin. “I know you-your heart is fierce, but easily captured. Easily broken.”
“Poet,” Nino says, and it is not a compliment, but it is said with a smile. Because though he plays at aristocratic refinement outside of the Arashibana-za, Sho has always taken care of Nino. Sho has taken care of Nino even when Sho himself was a spindly eighteen-year-old and hardly big enough to be taking care of anybody, even when Nino told him to stop, and even when it ended in bruises for Sho and a minor scandal for the theater.
Nino rests his own hand briefly atop Sho’s on his shoulder. “You do not need to protect me anymore.”
“But I will,” Sho returns simply, before walking away in the direction of the auditorium, likely to intercept Ohno.
Nino smiles to himself, happy for the things that stay the same.
*
Once he is back in his dressing room, Nino rids himself of costume and make-up with Yuri’s help, then sends the boy away, giving him the night off, which Yuri does not look nearly as excited about as he should. After Yuri is gone, Nino looks himself over in the mirror one last time, feeling his trepidation rising anew.
He looks nothing like a normal man of his social standing, except that he is still pale without the make-up, and not sun-darkened like Ohno, who should be fair. His hair is much shorter than fashion demands, and he does not shave the top of his head, but it is too much trouble to keep it long and in a tonsure when he is always wearing wigs and can hide his unshaven head with the onnagata’s cloth cap. His face is marred here and there with little moles and freckles, his lips are thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes that he has never been able to get rid of. For this meeting, he picked out his simplest garment: a plain, dove-gray yukata beneath a darker obi, and nothing else besides his undergarments and the white tabi socks on his feet.
Ohno asked for this, he reminds himself, so he has no call to be disappointed if he does not like what he sees. And maybe Nino is the only one putting so much importance into this moment-maybe this is not, to Ohno, what it is to Nino. He tells himself not to take everything so seriously, and decides to play a little joke on Ohno.
Before the other man arrives, Nino moves to kneel by the door, in Yuri’s usual spot. Out of costume, he will surely be mistaken for a servant, and what fun to make Ohno wonder where Nino could be.
A few minutes later, the door slides open, and Ohno enters unannounced, as he has been doing for some time. He glances briefly at Nino, then moves farther into the room and makes himself comfortable. Ohno is looking around absently, and Nino is struggling to contain his laughter, wondering if he should carry the joke further and offer to bring Ohno something to drink, when the other man speaks softly.
“Well? Will you come sit with me, Nino?”
Nino’s breath catches, his head jerks up, and he finds Ohno looking straight at him. Nino looks at Ohno closely for the first time since he entered the room, and sees that Ohno, too, is dressed simply, in a kimono of unadorned brown with a plain black obi. Instead of a topknot, his hair is pulled into a loose tail at the nape of his neck. It is not as long as Nino imagined, falling only just past his shoulders, and without the usual oil to keep it slicked back, Ohno’s hair looks soft. Nino feels a sudden, desperate urge to fist his hands in it. He swallows hard.
Ohno watches this with clear, expectant eyes, then raises a hand towards Nino. Nino rises and crosses the room, pausing in front of Ohno and his outstretched hand. Ohno is looking straight up into Nino’s eyes, and there is no trace of disgust or disappointment in his face, only patience and a deep, warm affection. Nino takes Ohno’s hand, so aware that this is the first time they have ever touched skin to skin, and lets himself be pulled down to kneel in front of the other man.
They do not speak, only taking each other in. Nino keeps his free hand clenched in his yukata, knowing that to reach out and touch would be overstepping his bounds, and that once he starts touching Ohno, it will be nearly impossible to stop. Ohno, however, seems to feel no such reservation, and when his hand comes up to trace lightly across Nino’s cheek, Nino has to close his eyes and fight back a shudder. He feels Ohno’s finger pause on his chin, right over the mole there, and opens his eyes again to find Ohno watching him with a silly little smile.
“I always,” Ohno murmurs wonderingly, “I always thought you were beautiful, but this…”
Ohno’s words fade away on a soft sigh, and Nino waits anxiously for the rest of the sentence.
“This?” Nino prompts after a moment, and Ohno just chuckles.
“It is so different,” he says. Then, when Nino’s brows furrow: “I like it.”
Nino feels himself blush, and blushes harder knowing that Ohno can see it. He slaps Ohno’s hand away from his face and lets go of Ohno’s other hand to cross his arms, feigning annoyance.
“Well, you needn’t poke at me, I’m the same person as I was before.”
“Yes,” Ohno says with a bemused grin. “You are.”
*
( Part 2)
title: arashibana
rating/genre: r; au (historical), drama, romance
pairing(s): ohmiya
words: ~15,000
summary: Nino is the most popular and most skilled onnagata in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.
disclaimer: FICTION.
notes: oh jeez, what did i do 8D;; well, i wrote arashi in edo period Japan as the cast and staff at a kabuki theater, that's what! i'll put the rest of what promises to be a long note under a cut...
More Notes: so, in my work for my Japanese MA, i've taken a number of classes on edo period lit, several of which have had considerable focus on theater in general and kabuki in specific. so naturally i sat in my lectures imagining the version that starred arashi :DDD
+ i apologize for a number of obscure Japanese terms throughout this fic - there will be footnotes at the bottom, for anyone who is curious.
+ i tried to make this as historically accurate as possible and to the extent that it facilitated my plot :x so, if you are superlatively informed about edo period japan and don't like inaccuracy...beware!
+ special thanks: to gimmick_game for initially egging me on to start this fic! and also to aeslis for lots of encouragement, inspiration, brain-storming, and a superior beta job ♥
Nino sits, unmoving, watching his face in the mirror-the face of Ninomiya Ibara. He has gotten used to thinking of himself as “Nino”, though he was born just Kazunari-but neither of those would do for the grand kabuki stages of Kyoto.
Just now he looks very much the part: he is still in full kabuki costume, wig, and make-up, the very image of a high-class courtesan. The massive, decorative obi around his torso keeps his posture rigid, and the thick layer of make-up keeps his face pale and nearly expressionless. He turns his head just slightly to examine himself, and the metal ornaments in his wig tinkle delicately.
The mirror itself is very large, and very expensive, and Nino spends a good deal of time looking into it. Not especially because he likes what he sees, but because he knows doing so makes people think he is vain. Once they have decided this, they rarely try to dig deeper, and that is how Nino likes it.
“I thought we had agreed,” he says softly, “that I no longer take gentlemen callers after the show.”
Jun shifts irritably in his seiza, crossing his arms. “I am not breaking our agreement-he is only a patron who wishes to meet you. To talk.”
Nino’s eyes flick over to Jun’s reflection in the mirror. It is still strange to see Jun like this, as Lord Matsumoto, with a tonsure and a sword at his waist and a kimono of expensive black silk. Nino remembers Jun as a long-limbed, shaggy-haired boy who used to climb into the rafters of the theater with him and Aiba on hot summer afternoons. But that was years ago.
“I do not want to talk to him,” Nino says, and Jun’s scowl deepens. But Nino knows that he has the power to refuse this-he is the most popular and most skilled onnagata in the Arashibana-za Theater, and he has earned the right to be difficult.
“He seems harmless enough,” Sho offers from his seat next to Jun. Sho, too, is in full kabuki regalia-a vibrant kimono, dramatic make-up, and elaborate wig. Usually Sho just manages the Arashibana-za, but the actor who regularly plays their hero took a fall from the hanamichi during rehearsals and threw out his back. Really, Shintarou is too old to be performing anymore, but none of his apprentices are good enough to replace him. Everyone knows this will soon become a problem, but for the time being, Sho has the training and skill to fill in.
“He just wants to talk to you,” Jun repeats. “He is just an admirer, and a faithful patron. His parents have been bringing him here since my father opened the theater.”
“Let him talk to Yuri, then” Nino returns airily, and hears a little gasp from the young boy waiting discreetly by the door. “He is still young enough to be entertaining visitors after hours.”
“If-if Lord Matsumoto wishes…” Yuri begins.
“That will not be necessary,” Jun says gently, then turns back to Nino. “Believe me when I say that there is nothing at all untoward about this visit. The Ohno family are some of our most loyal supporters, and their son is a great admirer of your work. I imagine their donations to the theater will become even more generous, if only you will talk to him for a short time.”
Nino wants to refuse, wants to remind Jun how he promised Nino that he would never again be subjected to the duties of a lowly iroko, but they have known each other for too long, and Jun knows how to get what he wants.
“I do not need to remind you of the unique allowances you enjoy here. Very few other performers would wish to continue in the same venue year after year, and none other than you have ever been allowed it.” Jun’s voice lowers, softens. “Please, Nino. Do this for me.”
There is a pause, and then Nino sighs, letting the tiniest scowl pucker his perfectly painted lips. Jun is already smirking victoriously.
“Five minutes,” Nino says.
“Thirty,” Jun shoots back.
“Ten, and only if he is not completely unfortunate looking.”
“Twenty-five, and you may have an additional song in the next show.”
“Fifteen, and I will write it myself.”
“Twenty, and I will consider it.”
Nino’s eyes narrow, but Jun is unblinking. “Done,” Nino says finally, and Jun nods, then motions for Sho to go and fetch their visitor. “You do not play fair, Lord Matsumoto,” Nino says as Sho leaves.
Jun does not miss the sarcasm heaped onto his formal title, but only smiles, rising after Sho has left and coming to stand behind Nino.
“I cannot play fair if I want to win against you, Master Ninomiya,” Jun replies. He flicks at one of Nino’s hair ornaments teasingly. “You will stay in costume, then? If you like, we can make him wait while you change.”
Nino waves a dismissive hand. “This is what he wants to see, I imagine. This is all he needs to see.”
Their eyes meet again in the mirror, and Jun has always been better at reading Nino than Nino would like, even through all the make-up and finery. Jun’s expression softens, but before he can say anything else, Sho returns, sliding the door to Nino’s dressing room open and announcing himself and the guest.
“Master Ninomiya,” Sho says formally, “young lord Satoshi, of the Ohno household.”
The young man who shuffles in after Sho is not at all the strutting, pasty-faced nobleman Nino had expected from Jun’s description-someone who let his parents drag him to the theater every week, and who was used to getting what he wanted. Instead, Ohno is small, and seems even smaller with the way he slouches and keeps his arms folded in the sleeves of his modest blue kimono. He has long hair, like Jun, but no tonsure: it is simply pulled back into a top-knot. His face is round, and dark, as if he spends plenty of time out in the sun, and his eyes are sloe and sleepy. Now, he is looking around the room as if he is not quite sure how he got there. Somehow, Ohno is almost charming, and not at all what Nino expected.
Nino likes things that exceed his expectations. He does not like the knowing smirk on Jun’s face.
Nino has turned from the mirror and makes a practiced bow, his fingertips creating a little triangle on the floor as he lowers his head. Ohno drops quickly into a seiza to return the gesture.
“Well,” Jun says, moving towards the door, “we will leave you. Yuri, some warm sake, if you please.”
Yuri scrambles to obey, and Jun beckons to Sho to follow him. Before exiting, Sho passes close to Nino, dropping a hand to his shoulder and leaning in to speak in a stage-whisper.
“I will be nearby, should you need any assistance.” Sho fixes Ohno with a hard stare as he speaks, and releases the clasp on his sword to bare a few inches of steel. The sword is, of course, only a prop, but it is one of Aiba’s finest. It convinces Ohno, anyway-the sword and the combination of Sho’s dramatic red eye-liner and fiercely enhanced eyebrows has the visitor swallowing nervously, and perhaps reconsidering his decision to make a trip backstage.
“Master Sakurai,” Jun hisses, “I’m sure no one will be needing your assistance.”
Nino gives Sho a tiny grin, and acknowledges his offer with a brief dip of his head. After Sho and Jun have left, Nino folds his hands demurely in his lap. Ohno is still looking around the room, scratching his nose distractedly.
“My lord,” Nino says softly, making Ohno jump. “You wished to talk with me?”
“Oh, uh,” Ohno shifts into a more comfortable cross-legged position. “Well, that-you see…I don’t mean to be rude, but-well, this wasn’t really my idea.”
Nino blinks, but otherwise keeps his expression neutral.
“Not that I didn’t want to meet you!” Ohno says quickly. “I did-I do, but, I just said it, without thinking, after the performance, and my father overheard and decided to ask Lord Matsumoto, and then mother insisted as well, and…I did not mean to disturb you.”
Ohno’s words come out in a rush-mumbled, sheepish-and he looks so honestly apologetic that Nino cannot help but smile.
“You are not disturbing me, lord. I hear you are an admirer of our theater.”
“Yes,” Ohno says, giving an emphatic nod. “My parents have been taking me to see kabuki since I was young. I…I like it very much.”
They continue with small talk while Yuri pours warm sake for them both, and despite himself, Nino is intrigued. Ohno is obviously well-to-do, from a merchant family rather than a samurai line, but still it is strange how he hardly uses any formal language, how he looks Nino in the eye when he speaks, rather than at his sake cup or down into his lap. Nino does not understand Ohno’s tan face when most nobles keep their skin moon-pale, or the calluses he catches sight of on Ohno’s elegant hands.
“Fishing,” Ohno answers with a smile, when Nino makes careful mention of it. “I’m not much for hunting, or poetry, and there’s a nice broad river near our estate.”
And Nino likes how Ohno asks questions that no one else has ever asked-how long has Nino been acting? Does the make-up itch? What was it like to perform for the first time? Most of the visitors Nino received, before he refused to do so any longer, only wanted to talk about themselves, or to not talk at all. But Ohno is an excellent listener. Without meaning to, Nino finds himself answering Ohno’s questions thoughtfully and at length, and before he realizes how much time has passed, Jun is sliding open the door to let Ohno know the theater is closing for the evening.
“Oh,” Ohno says, looking surprised. “I suppose I should make my leave…”
Nino gives another bow, annoyed at how annoyed he is to see Ohno go. “It was a pleasure, my lord.”
Ohno rises, and moves to follow Jun who has already started away down the hall. However, before he exits the room completely, Ohno turns back with a hesitant, hopeful look on his face.
“May-may I presume to visit you again?” he asks, almost in a whisper, as if he thinks he might get in trouble just for asking.
Nino pauses, just for a moment, knowing he should demure, shouldn’t encourage Ohno’s attentions. But instead, he smiles.
“You may,” he says, and Ohno brightens, “but only if, next time, I may ask questions about you.”
Ohno blinks a few times, seeming surprised that anyone would want to do such a thing.
“I-yes, I suppose…yes.”
Nino smiles as Ohno leaves, then turns back to his mirror with a sigh, and beckons for Yuri to come and help him remove his wig. It is a lengthy process, and amid the renewed jangling of hair ornaments, Yuri ventures a timid: “He was quite handsome.”
There is a faint blush high in Yuri’s cheeks, and Nino decides that next time, Yuri can wait in the hallway.
*
It is a week before Ohno visits again, and in the meantime, the cast of the Arashibana-za begins rehearsing a new play. It features demons and ghosts, perfect for the summer season, and Nino’s pages of the script are delivered with a short note from Jun about going to buy new kimono fabrics before the next run of shows. Ohno notices the little sheaf of papers when he joins Nino in the dressing room, and Nino allows him a look, when he asks. Almost absently, Ohno reads a few of the lines aloud.
“Nicely read,” Nino says with a touch of surprise, and Ohno starts bashfully.
“I always thought it would be fun to try, you know,” Ohno murmurs. “Acting, I mean.”
“On the kabuki stage?” Nino asks, and Ohno nods.
“But I’ve never had the training, and my parents would probably disown me if I tried,” Ohno laughs, dismissing so easily the dream he had just been speaking of with shining, faraway eyes.
“Show me,” Nino says immediately. He moves back, giving Ohno room. Ohno just stares at him.
“What? My acting? Oh, no, I couldn’t-I’ve never-just by myself, you know, for fun…” He trails off when he sees that Nino is dead serious. “Here?”
Nino just nods. “Anything is fine, anything you know.”
Ohno sighs and looks put-upon, but Nino thinks, as Ohno takes a wide-legged stance in the center of the room, that he can see just a hint of excitement in the other man’s eyes.
Ohno takes a deep breath, and begins.
*
“He wasn’t perfect,” Nino tells Aiba the next day. “But he was very good for an amateur.”
Out of costume, and in only a simple yukata, Nino is barely recognizable, which he prefers. Currently, he is seated with Aiba in the middle of the empty theater, eating sweet buns from the street vendor and watching Aiba’s crew dismantle last night’s set. It is an elaborate piece-a castle, with two stories, and the whole structure rotates to reveal a temple-set on the backside-all of Aiba’s design. Sho and Jun are on stage as well, moving among the workmen, while Jun points and gestures, outlining plans for a new set piece he has in mind.
“He had the lines memorized,” Nino continues when Aiba doesn’t respond. “And his intonation was quite good.”
“You’ve got an idea, haven’t you,” Aiba says through a mouthful. His eyes are on the stage, and though he seems completely relaxed, Nino knows Aiba will be on his feet the moment any part of his set is handled incorrectly.
“We have no replacement for Shintarou,” Nino replies simply.
“The hard part will be convincing Jun,” Aiba points out, skipping right over the fact that Ohno has no formal training and is the son of a noble house.
“It will take time,” Nino says by way of agreement.
But then, Nino does not really mind taking time, with Ohno.
*
On Ohno’s third visit, they play karuta, which Ohno is terrible at, but he seems to find this more amusing than anything else. After watching Ohno lose spectacularly for the fifth time, Nino offers to play him a song, instead. He has Yuri bring his shamisen and when, halfway through, Ohno begins to sing along in a lovely tenor, Nino is delighted.
Later, as Ohno is preparing to leave, Nino bows, giving his usual “Goodnight, my lord.”
Nino feels a gentle hand on his sleeve, and sits up to find Ohno giving him a shy kind of smile.
“There is no need for ‘my lord’,” he mutters. “Just ‘Satoshi’.”
Nino’s eyes widen just slightly, and he turns his head down and away. “I could not.”
Ohno looks mildly disappointed, but tries again. “Just ‘Ohno’, then?”
“I-if you wish,” Nino begins, and Ohno says quickly: “I do.”
A little pause, then: “Just…Ohno.”
Ohno nods, once, satisfied, and turns to leave. Before he can, Nino grabs the hem of his kimono. He is still in his make-up, hands painted the same matte white as his face. It will leave a smudge. Someone will notice, and people will talk. Nino does not care.
“And,” he says to Ohno, who has turned to look back curiously. “Just Nino.”
Ohno’s expression goes blank with surprise for a moment, and then he smiles beatifically.
“Nino,” he repeats softly. “Just Nino.”
*
On the fourth visit, Nino wants to see Ohno perform again, and then again on his next visit, and the next. And while it is true that Ohno is not professionally trained, he has been watching kabuki all his life and it shows.
Ohno can modulate his voice to nearly any role-a strong tenor for the hero, a growling baritone for the villain, and even the high warbling pitch of the onnagata. He performs drama and tragedy beautifully, as well has having an innate sense of timing for comedy. If he misspeaks, or missteps, he is quick to pick up any correction Nino gives him, and seems enthusiastic to improve.
With real training, Ohno could easily surpass Shintarou, or any of the actors who are currently the stars of the Kyoto stages. Alongside the Arashibana-za’s current cast, he could take the company to even greater heights. He would be good for the theater.
“And I’m sure,” Jun says wryly, “that none of this is in any way related to the fact that you would then be playing opposite him almost every night.”
“I’m sure,” Nino mimes back at him, “I do not know what you could mean by that remark.”
The four of them-Jun, Nino, Aiba, and Sho-are sprawled out across the tatami of one of the rooms of Jun’s manor, the remains of their dinner cluttering the low table. The shoji doors leading out to the garden are open, letting in the drone of cicadas and the faint tinkling of the small creek that winds through the yard. In the seventh month of the year, the air is heavy and warm, even in the evening, and the open doors bring in only the faintest breeze.
“You must like him, to let him keep coming back,” Aiba speaks up from the porch, where he has several spinning-tops out, trying to see how long he can keep them all going at once.
Sho giggles, having let himself get rather drunk. He is on his back now, gazing up at the ceiling sleepily. “I no longer take gentlemen callers,” he chirps in a very poor impression of Nino.
“Yes, I like him,” Nino says, “but only because he is interesting, and he would be good for the theater.”
Jun clicks his tongue and rolls to his stomach. “Since when do you care?”
“The Arashibana-za is my home,” Nino says softly. Jun looks up at him, and Nino sees a flash of something in the younger man’s eyes, though he’s not sure what.
“Nevertheless, it is impossible,” Jun sighs after a moment. “Ohno is a lord, a merchant. It simply is not done.”
Nino does not press the issue, but he knows he does not have to. The seed has been planted in Jun’s mind now, and Nino sees it stirring the next time Jun escorts Ohno back to the dressing room. And if Nino thinks he hears soft footsteps outside his door when Ohno is reciting for him again, it only makes him smile to himself, and urge Ohno to speak a little more loudly.
*
On another visit, when Ohno discovers that Nino writes music as well as playing it, he requests a performance immediately. After some wheedling, Nino plays him one of his own compositions, one he has never played on stage, one he has never played for anyone. He sings lyrics also of his own creation, and these he sings in his own voice, rather than the wavering falsetto he is accustomed to.
“What is it called?” Ohno asks softly, when Nino has finished.
“Past,” Nino says without looking up from his shamisen. “But it is written as Traces.” Ohno looks puzzled, and Nino takes a brush and ink stone from his dressing table and writes the kanji out on a scrap of paper. He hands it over to Ohno, holding the long sleeve of his kimono out of the way.
Ohno looks up from the graceful characters and straight into Nino’s eyes-it’s still disconcerting, how he does that, even after all this time.
“Can I ask,” Ohno begins tentatively, “who it’s about?”
Nino opens his mouth to lie, like he usually does, to say that it’s not about anyone, that it’s just a story he pulled from his imagination. But for some reason, with Ohno, what comes out is the truth.
“My mother,” Nino answers in a whisper. And he can’t look away from Ohno as he tells the rest of it, how his mother never wanted to sell him into the theater life, but there were bills to pay, and his father was a fierce, temperamental man. How the first thing Nino did, once he had the means, was to take his mother and sister away from his father’s house. Even then it had been too late-his mother had been coughing blood for a year already, but at least he was able to give her a warm and comfortable place to spend her last weeks.
Ohno holds Nino’s gaze as he speaks, and when Nino has finished, Ohno moves to sit by his side. It is closer than they have ever been, but Ohno does it so naturally, so simply, that Nino does not even have time to feel uncomfortable or wonder if it is inappropriate.
“I’m sorry,” Ohno says softly.
Nino makes a small, dismissive noise, but otherwise remains quiet. His head is still spinning a bit from everything he just said, from Ohno’s proximity, and how he suddenly realizes it is not nearly as close as he wants it to be.
*
After the first dozen visits, Nino begins to lose track. Ohno is easier to talk to than almost anyone Nino knows, and seems familiar in a way that makes Nino feel like he has known Ohno for years instead of only weeks. Ohno does not seem to want anything from Nino other than his companionship, he does not act with the usual awareness of distance that others have. Nino begins to speak less formally, to laugh more often and more loudly.
But not all of his barriers come down so easily. He still meets Ohno in full costume. If he is honest with himself, he knows there is a little fear there-that Ohno will not like what is under all the glamour.
One night, Nino decides to turn the tables a little, and offers to show Ohno how to apply the kabuki make-up. Ohno hesitates for only a moment, but then his excitement gets the better of him, and soon he is painted as white as Nino, to Nino’s great amusement.
“Well, where shall we go from here?” Nino asks, once he has controlled his laughter. “I think the blue would suit you-”
“I want,” Ohno interrupts, then seems to think better of it. Nino raises an eyebrow, and eventually Ohno continues. “How can I make it look like yours?”
“Oh,” Nino says. He stares down at his row of brushes for a moment, feeling strangely flustered, then picks up the small, pointed eye-brush and coats it in red. He makes to hand it to Ohno, but the other man shakes his head.
“Show me?” he asks, scooting closer, presumably to make it easy for Nino to reach him, until their knees are touching and there is barely an arm’s length separating them.
Nino lets out a slow, careful breath through his nose and nods. He reaches forward and places his free hand against Ohno’s face, lightly, barely touching with just his fingertips, to hold him still.
“Look up,” he commands softly. Ohno does, and Nino begins with a bold streak of crimson.
He follows suit on Ohno’s other eye, then changes to a thicker brush in black for the eyebrows. He tries to keep up a running narration as he goes, since he is ostensibly teaching Ohno how to do this, but he finds his voice trailing away the longer he stares at Ohno’s face. Lips are last, and Nino takes his time choosing just the right size of brush, and just the right shade of red. He places his hand against Ohno’s face again, tipping his chin up slightly.
“Open your mouth, just a little,” Nino says, wondering why the words come out as a whisper. Ohno does as he is told, never taking his eyes off Nino’s face.
Slowly, more carefully than he has ever done for himself, Nino paints a perfect little strawberry shape over Ohno’s mouth. Ohno’s lips are so small and plush, they do not need much help to be made very appealing. As he finishes his last brush stroke, Nino’s gaze comes to focus on the damp glimmer he can see just past Ohno’s lips, and he notices that he can feel Ohno’s slow breaths against his chin. At the same time as he realizes how much closer he has somehow moved towards Ohno, he can suddenly see himself-
-leaning forward the rest of the way to catch Ohno’s mouth with his own, tasting the make-up on him as he slides his tongue past Ohno’s lips, sliding his hands past the collar of Ohno’s kimono, leaving streaks of talc all across his chest and ribs-
Nino pulls back abruptly, drops his brush onto the table with a clatter and turns away.
“Nino…?” Ohno begins hesitantly.
“I’m sorry,” Nino says, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I’m not…feeling well. Perhaps I should retire for the evening.”
“Oh,” he hears Ohno say. There is a pause, and then the other man stands. Nino does not turn as he listens to Ohno move toward the door.
“Well…goodnight, Nino,” Ohno murmurs.
“Goodnight,” Nino returns. There is another pause, and Nino counts it in pounding heartbeats. Eventually the door slides open, closed again, and Ohno is gone.
Out in the hallway, someone starts laughing hysterically-Ohno is still in full make-up-but Nino can only stare at his hands and wonder how much longer he will be able to convince himself all he feels for Ohno is a passing interest.
*
“It will not work,” Jun says one night after Ohno has left. Nino is in the middle of removing his make-up-the basin of water in front of him has turned a thick, chalky white.
“Of what, pray tell, do you speak, my lord?” Nino responds, affecting the lilting tones of the princess he played in the evening performance.
“Lord Ohno cannot just take Shintarou’s place. Not without training.”
“Then let him train,” Nino says, in his own voice now. “His parents have already entrusted the family business to his brother-in-law, so there can be no argument on that front.”
Jun raises an eyebrow. “You seem very familiar with his family situation.”
“I have only been talking to him, as you requested.”
Jun watches silently for a time, sprawled on his side across the tatami with one hand propping up his head. Nino begins washing his neck, beads of water trailing across his bare chest and shoulders and leaving lines of gray where they pass.
“Are you doing this for the theater?” Jun asks eventually. “Or for yourself?”
Nino does not reply. He does not have an answer.
*
When Ohno comes again, Nino finally mentions, in his most off-handed manner, what he has been discussing with Jun. Ohno’s face goes strangely blank, and for a moment, Nino fears he has offended him.
“Lord Matsumoto would let me?” Ohno says finally. “He would let me train here?”
Nino gives an eloquent shrug. “If you truly wish to make the attempt, I’m sure I can bring him around.”
Silence falls for a time, but this is something else Nino has become acclimated to, with Ohno-this is a thoughtful silence. And while Ohno thinks, so does Nino, noting the pattern of quince-flowers across Ohno’s kimono. They have entered the ninth month, already three months-a whole season-since Ohno began his visits. The end of the theater season is approaching as well, and it will give Ohno the time he needs to begin proper training, before shows start up again after the New Year. Nino wonders what he will do, if Ohno accepts his proposal. He wonders how things will change.
The theater breathes quietly around them-old boards creaking in the hall, soft footsteps far away on the stage-and after a time, Ohno speaks again.
“You would do this for me?” Ohno asks, and Nino is reminded uncomfortably of Jun’s question from the previous night.
“Of course,” Nino answers. He tries to sound flippant, light, and is glad for how much his make-up hides.
“Nino,” Ohno says, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he can read Nino’s mind and is trying to see past all his layers of paint and silk. “When I come tomorrow…”
“Yes?” Nino prompts, when Ohno trails off.
“Next time,” Ohno continues. “Next time, will you…no costume. No make-up. Just Nino.”
Nino knows he should look away, but now-as always-Ohno’s gaze holds him. Already he feels like he is giving so much away. What will it be like to be bared completely in front of Ohno? Nino is terrified. And yet.
“Yes,” Nino agrees, barely a whisper.
*
Immediately after the final performance of the night, Nino finds Sho-in costume again, this time as a simple extra, a nameless samurai henchman-and tells him that he will need a little more time before meeting Ohno tonight.
“To change,” he clarifies, when Sho raises a curious eyebrow.
And Sho knows, then, that something is going on, and Nino wonders how he ever thought he was anything more than transparent to those he most cares for.
Before Nino can move away, Sho lays a hand on his shoulder. “Jun told me, about Ohno coming to train here, when the season ends. But this is something else, for you, isn’t it?”
Nino’s face twists in an annoyed scowl. “And if it is?”
“I hope only that you will be careful,” Sho says with a rueful grin. “I know you-your heart is fierce, but easily captured. Easily broken.”
“Poet,” Nino says, and it is not a compliment, but it is said with a smile. Because though he plays at aristocratic refinement outside of the Arashibana-za, Sho has always taken care of Nino. Sho has taken care of Nino even when Sho himself was a spindly eighteen-year-old and hardly big enough to be taking care of anybody, even when Nino told him to stop, and even when it ended in bruises for Sho and a minor scandal for the theater.
Nino rests his own hand briefly atop Sho’s on his shoulder. “You do not need to protect me anymore.”
“But I will,” Sho returns simply, before walking away in the direction of the auditorium, likely to intercept Ohno.
Nino smiles to himself, happy for the things that stay the same.
*
Once he is back in his dressing room, Nino rids himself of costume and make-up with Yuri’s help, then sends the boy away, giving him the night off, which Yuri does not look nearly as excited about as he should. After Yuri is gone, Nino looks himself over in the mirror one last time, feeling his trepidation rising anew.
He looks nothing like a normal man of his social standing, except that he is still pale without the make-up, and not sun-darkened like Ohno, who should be fair. His hair is much shorter than fashion demands, and he does not shave the top of his head, but it is too much trouble to keep it long and in a tonsure when he is always wearing wigs and can hide his unshaven head with the onnagata’s cloth cap. His face is marred here and there with little moles and freckles, his lips are thin, and there are dark circles under his eyes that he has never been able to get rid of. For this meeting, he picked out his simplest garment: a plain, dove-gray yukata beneath a darker obi, and nothing else besides his undergarments and the white tabi socks on his feet.
Ohno asked for this, he reminds himself, so he has no call to be disappointed if he does not like what he sees. And maybe Nino is the only one putting so much importance into this moment-maybe this is not, to Ohno, what it is to Nino. He tells himself not to take everything so seriously, and decides to play a little joke on Ohno.
Before the other man arrives, Nino moves to kneel by the door, in Yuri’s usual spot. Out of costume, he will surely be mistaken for a servant, and what fun to make Ohno wonder where Nino could be.
A few minutes later, the door slides open, and Ohno enters unannounced, as he has been doing for some time. He glances briefly at Nino, then moves farther into the room and makes himself comfortable. Ohno is looking around absently, and Nino is struggling to contain his laughter, wondering if he should carry the joke further and offer to bring Ohno something to drink, when the other man speaks softly.
“Well? Will you come sit with me, Nino?”
Nino’s breath catches, his head jerks up, and he finds Ohno looking straight at him. Nino looks at Ohno closely for the first time since he entered the room, and sees that Ohno, too, is dressed simply, in a kimono of unadorned brown with a plain black obi. Instead of a topknot, his hair is pulled into a loose tail at the nape of his neck. It is not as long as Nino imagined, falling only just past his shoulders, and without the usual oil to keep it slicked back, Ohno’s hair looks soft. Nino feels a sudden, desperate urge to fist his hands in it. He swallows hard.
Ohno watches this with clear, expectant eyes, then raises a hand towards Nino. Nino rises and crosses the room, pausing in front of Ohno and his outstretched hand. Ohno is looking straight up into Nino’s eyes, and there is no trace of disgust or disappointment in his face, only patience and a deep, warm affection. Nino takes Ohno’s hand, so aware that this is the first time they have ever touched skin to skin, and lets himself be pulled down to kneel in front of the other man.
They do not speak, only taking each other in. Nino keeps his free hand clenched in his yukata, knowing that to reach out and touch would be overstepping his bounds, and that once he starts touching Ohno, it will be nearly impossible to stop. Ohno, however, seems to feel no such reservation, and when his hand comes up to trace lightly across Nino’s cheek, Nino has to close his eyes and fight back a shudder. He feels Ohno’s finger pause on his chin, right over the mole there, and opens his eyes again to find Ohno watching him with a silly little smile.
“I always,” Ohno murmurs wonderingly, “I always thought you were beautiful, but this…”
Ohno’s words fade away on a soft sigh, and Nino waits anxiously for the rest of the sentence.
“This?” Nino prompts after a moment, and Ohno just chuckles.
“It is so different,” he says. Then, when Nino’s brows furrow: “I like it.”
Nino feels himself blush, and blushes harder knowing that Ohno can see it. He slaps Ohno’s hand away from his face and lets go of Ohno’s other hand to cross his arms, feigning annoyance.
“Well, you needn’t poke at me, I’m the same person as I was before.”
“Yes,” Ohno says with a bemused grin. “You are.”
*
( Part 2)