Sunbeams and Mirrors
Title: Sunbeams and Mirrors
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Aiba
Word count: 1788
Summary: They are practicing for Kokuritsu. Ohno can read Aiba’s mind.
Warnings/Notes: My first time writing them, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I don’t think it’s what anyone would normally expect from an Ohno/Aiba story though, just saying. I foresee myself writing them more in the future. ♥
He was sweating bucket-loads-Aiba sweated like nobody’s business most of the time, but practicing underneath a midday sun was a whole different ball game. Prancing around trying his best to be as idol-like as possible seeped him of most of his energy and his body’s water content, a precious commodity in the sweltering Tokyo summer. It was for their first performance ever in Kokuritsu Kyōgijō, and Aiba felt the pressure that accompanied the fact: in some ways, they have made it to the top, just like they dreamed and talked about, but conversely, never, at any point in their careers, has so much been expected from them. His heart thundered along mercilessly, pumping and beating so fast that he felt that he could never catch up. His lungs contracted abnormally, and it ached, it ached so much.
Fuck.
The music stopped again, for the third time. The silence was glaring in the massive space, which, Aiba thought, was uncanny, given that they were right in the middle of a bustling metropolis.
“Aiba,” Jun snapped, “Stop messing around, we’ve practiced that step a million times!” Perfection wasn’t always so easy. It did not help that the obsessive attitude Jun had towards anything related to concerts was exacerbated by both the heat and frustration. Aiba could not hate Jun for the tone of voice he used on him because it was only too true. He wanted to kick himself for disappointing Jun, who demanded their utmost efforts not for himself, but for the ideal that was Arashi. It had always been for Arashi.
And here I am, screwing it up. “Sorry.”
Panting, Aiba wiped the sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. He blinked at the stinging saltiness in his eyes. Small sweat pools surrounded him, almost as if he was melting. "Sorry."
Aware that he might have been a touch too harsh, Jun looked away from Aiba and backtracked with a small and swallowed “It’s okay.” He removed his cap and brushed his hair out of his forehead.
But Aiba, Aiba could always tell that it wasn’t. They were on their third hour of rehearsals, and he had carelessly caused several interruptions already.
Damn it, not now. Please, not now.
Nino draped his arm around Ohno. “Told you he wouldn’t be able to follow your choreo,” he whispered. He turns to Aiba.
“Aiba-chan, if you don’t get it, just say so.”
Screw you-his thoughts were running too fast-and Ohno places a hand on Nino, a subtle warning playing about on his lips.
Full stop. You know Nino didn’t mean it that way, right? Calm yourself. Breathe, that’s it, breathe.
“No, it’s okay,” Aiba huffed, the flash of irritation quickly wiped away from his face.
“Sure?” Nino asked. Aiba nodded.
Sho was slumped over on one of the speakers, drinking his water bottle concave. “Try focusing a little harder, Masaki,” said Sho, not unkindly.
“I won’t mess it up on the next try, promise.” He guiltily dropped the hand that he was unconsciously fisting in his own shirt, by his chest.
They went back to their formation. Ohno suddenly had a strange impression that he was standing beside a sad, wilting willow, about to collapse at the slightest gust of wind. He wanted to say or do something, but he knew that Aiba would fiercely hate being stopped, being assured. Especially not in front of everyone, if he knew Aiba at all, and he liked to think that he did. Aiba was strong as he was sensitive. Ohno understood that it was a touchy subject, but he resolved to step in when it became too much, for Aiba, and for himself as well, because he could not stand knowing his pain only to ignore it. He tried to meet Aiba’s eyes, as if to silently ascertain if he really could make it, but they were far away, brown orbs that were uncharacteristically steeled and hard to read.
Jun’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. He started to speak into his microphone. “Okay, Takeda-san, we’re good to go.”
The beat started again, and Aiba began to go through the motions.
Focus! Focus, you idiot. You can’t stop.
With every action, every jump, every turn, he felt the minute contractions in his chest growing duller and heavier at the same time, a sensation that he knew all too well. Not now, please. He stumbled over another step. No one noticed, or perhaps they pretended that they didn’t.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t…
As the beat changed, the other four members danced their way towards the center of the stadium. Aiba stopped in his place. Just for five seconds, he’d rest here, his hands on his knees.
Five seconds, they’re not going to notice…
Ohno, who was coming from the same side of the stadium as Aiba, held back and put a hand on his shoulder. “Aiba-chan?”
“I’m okay, Leader,” he replied breathlessly, his voice hoarse.
…I’ll be okay, if my stupid lungs just cooperate, just five seconds’ rest, yes
“We should stop-”
No! “No-”
“-Takeda-san, stop the music please.” Ohno’s voice echoed all over the stadium. “Stop the music,” he announced with authority, drowning out the song that was playing.
From the distance, the other three looked back worriedly. “Is everything okay?” Sho asked into the microphone, his voice echoing inside the stadium.
Aiba’s face was pained, the tone of his voice almost hostile. “What are you doing?”
“You can’t breathe.”
The tall man straightened up, his eyes growing wide. “No, I’m okay, I-”
“You’re not.”
“I am, just let me have a little break.” It hurts.
“Don’t lie to me,” Ohno calmly replied.
How does he-?
Sho, Nino and Jun were running, on their way back to where the two were standing. Aiba’s expression was that of someone who was betrayed, his shoulder racking in an effort to breathe more air into his lungs, his vision blurring. The dull thud in his chest was accompanied by something else. Aiba hated it, the feeling of guilt leftover from the days when he thought he was holding everyone back. It was a silly sentiment, he understood, and in the past, the other four made sure he understood perfectly just how silly it was, after he had read that letter out loud on national television. But he couldn’t help it; sometimes, the feeling just traitorously crept back. Aiba was a team player, and he hated bringing everyone down.
As the other three approached them, he squeezed his eyes shut. You’re so useless, Aiba Masaki.
A damp hand clasped his own clammy one, warm breath lingering on his ear. “You’re not useless.” Ohno tightened his grip.
If Ohno surprised Aiba, he didn’t let on. Neither did he wrangle his hand free from Ohno’s. And really, he didn’t have to say anything. His chest was still hurting, he could feel air moving about in a strange direction inside his lungs, yet as Ohno declared to the other three that they “call it a day”, “had enough practice,” and that they “should just wing it”, he found himself growing calmer.
Sho looked a little dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events, while Nino glanced over curiously at their entwined hands. Jun had looked a little bit miffed, but the three of them didn’t protest. It was Ohno who spoke up, after all. It was much too rare and convincing.
*
They were finally home, after a discreet trip to Aiba’s pulmonologist. After being checked thoroughly, he was advised to rest in bed for at least two days and was given a prescription for medicine that would ease his breathing.
From where he was lying down on the bed, Aiba watched Ohno struggling to pull a shirt over his head, water droplets splashing all over from his barely toweled hair. It was Aiba’s favorite thing, the sinewy part where Ohno’s arms connected to the rest of his graceful body, the way his toned arms gave way to a brown expanse of clear, warm-seeming skin. Ohno was so compact, so fluid, and...
…so beautiful.
Ohno quickly shrugged into the rest of his shirt, his gaze undeniably on Aiba. “Come here.”
He stood up and shuffled towards the older man. Ohno roughly wrapped his arms around Aiba, enveloping him in the scent of his soap, and the fabric softener his mom liked to use. Aiba very much liked that scent, especially the way it mingled with the warmth of Ohno. He felt like he was underneath a blanket; he nestled himself in deeper, wanting to be closer than close, proximity his drug. It had been such a bad day. He closed his eyes when light fingertips ghosted on his nape. Shivers traveled down his spine as he felt Ohno’s wet hair tickling along his ear.
“You okay?” Aiba savored it, the guttural voice Ohno had when he was close.
“I am, now.” He took a deep breath. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not telling them.”
“They care about you, you know that, right?” Ohno whispered directly to his ears.
Aiba could only nod.
Ohno inched away from Aiba to look in his eyes. He allowed his hand to settle on Aiba’s chest, feeling for something. The steady beating of Aiba’s heart flooded his own with a sense of relief. “Never lie to me again.”
When Ohno’s lips landed on his, he could not stop trembling. He unclasped one of his arms and placed a hand on top of Ohno’s, curling in closer, healing, loving, needing.
I don’t ever want to lose this.
Ohno tightened his grip on Aiba’s hips, inching him closer still. Against the taller man’s lips, he uttered, “I’m yours.”
*
(The thing was, Aiba never guessed that Ohno could actually read his mind. He only felt that Ohno knew him like no one else did, and he would hold on to that security for as long as he could. He rather liked that he could never pretend around him, that he should not have to because Ohno knew. Aiba held a child-like belief that Ohno would never leave, would never betray him, and that sustained him. He never wanted anyone else other than himself to be the one to welcome Ohno home from fishing trips, all dazed and sated, smelling like the sea.
He cannot picture ever straying too far away from Ohno.
And the other thing was, Ohno also believed that having the ability to read Aiba’s mind was extraneous to the fact that he always had his eyes on Aiba. He has never seen and will never see someone else in that same light; both the effervescence of Aiba’s laughter and the secret frailty just gurgling underneath were precious. If, one day, he would lose the ability that allowed him to see through the other man’s pretenses, he would rely on sheer faith that he knew enough to never let go.
He would breathe for Aiba, if he had to.)
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Aiba
Word count: 1788
Summary: They are practicing for Kokuritsu. Ohno can read Aiba’s mind.
Warnings/Notes: My first time writing them, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! I don’t think it’s what anyone would normally expect from an Ohno/Aiba story though, just saying. I foresee myself writing them more in the future. ♥
He was sweating bucket-loads-Aiba sweated like nobody’s business most of the time, but practicing underneath a midday sun was a whole different ball game. Prancing around trying his best to be as idol-like as possible seeped him of most of his energy and his body’s water content, a precious commodity in the sweltering Tokyo summer. It was for their first performance ever in Kokuritsu Kyōgijō, and Aiba felt the pressure that accompanied the fact: in some ways, they have made it to the top, just like they dreamed and talked about, but conversely, never, at any point in their careers, has so much been expected from them. His heart thundered along mercilessly, pumping and beating so fast that he felt that he could never catch up. His lungs contracted abnormally, and it ached, it ached so much.
Fuck.
The music stopped again, for the third time. The silence was glaring in the massive space, which, Aiba thought, was uncanny, given that they were right in the middle of a bustling metropolis.
“Aiba,” Jun snapped, “Stop messing around, we’ve practiced that step a million times!” Perfection wasn’t always so easy. It did not help that the obsessive attitude Jun had towards anything related to concerts was exacerbated by both the heat and frustration. Aiba could not hate Jun for the tone of voice he used on him because it was only too true. He wanted to kick himself for disappointing Jun, who demanded their utmost efforts not for himself, but for the ideal that was Arashi. It had always been for Arashi.
And here I am, screwing it up. “Sorry.”
Panting, Aiba wiped the sweat dripping off the tip of his nose. He blinked at the stinging saltiness in his eyes. Small sweat pools surrounded him, almost as if he was melting. "Sorry."
Aware that he might have been a touch too harsh, Jun looked away from Aiba and backtracked with a small and swallowed “It’s okay.” He removed his cap and brushed his hair out of his forehead.
But Aiba, Aiba could always tell that it wasn’t. They were on their third hour of rehearsals, and he had carelessly caused several interruptions already.
Damn it, not now. Please, not now.
Nino draped his arm around Ohno. “Told you he wouldn’t be able to follow your choreo,” he whispered. He turns to Aiba.
“Aiba-chan, if you don’t get it, just say so.”
Screw you-his thoughts were running too fast-and Ohno places a hand on Nino, a subtle warning playing about on his lips.
Full stop. You know Nino didn’t mean it that way, right? Calm yourself. Breathe, that’s it, breathe.
“No, it’s okay,” Aiba huffed, the flash of irritation quickly wiped away from his face.
“Sure?” Nino asked. Aiba nodded.
Sho was slumped over on one of the speakers, drinking his water bottle concave. “Try focusing a little harder, Masaki,” said Sho, not unkindly.
“I won’t mess it up on the next try, promise.” He guiltily dropped the hand that he was unconsciously fisting in his own shirt, by his chest.
They went back to their formation. Ohno suddenly had a strange impression that he was standing beside a sad, wilting willow, about to collapse at the slightest gust of wind. He wanted to say or do something, but he knew that Aiba would fiercely hate being stopped, being assured. Especially not in front of everyone, if he knew Aiba at all, and he liked to think that he did. Aiba was strong as he was sensitive. Ohno understood that it was a touchy subject, but he resolved to step in when it became too much, for Aiba, and for himself as well, because he could not stand knowing his pain only to ignore it. He tried to meet Aiba’s eyes, as if to silently ascertain if he really could make it, but they were far away, brown orbs that were uncharacteristically steeled and hard to read.
Jun’s voice shook him out of his thoughts. He started to speak into his microphone. “Okay, Takeda-san, we’re good to go.”
The beat started again, and Aiba began to go through the motions.
Focus! Focus, you idiot. You can’t stop.
With every action, every jump, every turn, he felt the minute contractions in his chest growing duller and heavier at the same time, a sensation that he knew all too well. Not now, please. He stumbled over another step. No one noticed, or perhaps they pretended that they didn’t.
I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t…
As the beat changed, the other four members danced their way towards the center of the stadium. Aiba stopped in his place. Just for five seconds, he’d rest here, his hands on his knees.
Five seconds, they’re not going to notice…
Ohno, who was coming from the same side of the stadium as Aiba, held back and put a hand on his shoulder. “Aiba-chan?”
“I’m okay, Leader,” he replied breathlessly, his voice hoarse.
…I’ll be okay, if my stupid lungs just cooperate, just five seconds’ rest, yes
“We should stop-”
No! “No-”
“-Takeda-san, stop the music please.” Ohno’s voice echoed all over the stadium. “Stop the music,” he announced with authority, drowning out the song that was playing.
From the distance, the other three looked back worriedly. “Is everything okay?” Sho asked into the microphone, his voice echoing inside the stadium.
Aiba’s face was pained, the tone of his voice almost hostile. “What are you doing?”
“You can’t breathe.”
The tall man straightened up, his eyes growing wide. “No, I’m okay, I-”
“You’re not.”
“I am, just let me have a little break.” It hurts.
“Don’t lie to me,” Ohno calmly replied.
How does he-?
Sho, Nino and Jun were running, on their way back to where the two were standing. Aiba’s expression was that of someone who was betrayed, his shoulder racking in an effort to breathe more air into his lungs, his vision blurring. The dull thud in his chest was accompanied by something else. Aiba hated it, the feeling of guilt leftover from the days when he thought he was holding everyone back. It was a silly sentiment, he understood, and in the past, the other four made sure he understood perfectly just how silly it was, after he had read that letter out loud on national television. But he couldn’t help it; sometimes, the feeling just traitorously crept back. Aiba was a team player, and he hated bringing everyone down.
As the other three approached them, he squeezed his eyes shut. You’re so useless, Aiba Masaki.
A damp hand clasped his own clammy one, warm breath lingering on his ear. “You’re not useless.” Ohno tightened his grip.
If Ohno surprised Aiba, he didn’t let on. Neither did he wrangle his hand free from Ohno’s. And really, he didn’t have to say anything. His chest was still hurting, he could feel air moving about in a strange direction inside his lungs, yet as Ohno declared to the other three that they “call it a day”, “had enough practice,” and that they “should just wing it”, he found himself growing calmer.
Sho looked a little dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events, while Nino glanced over curiously at their entwined hands. Jun had looked a little bit miffed, but the three of them didn’t protest. It was Ohno who spoke up, after all. It was much too rare and convincing.
*
They were finally home, after a discreet trip to Aiba’s pulmonologist. After being checked thoroughly, he was advised to rest in bed for at least two days and was given a prescription for medicine that would ease his breathing.
From where he was lying down on the bed, Aiba watched Ohno struggling to pull a shirt over his head, water droplets splashing all over from his barely toweled hair. It was Aiba’s favorite thing, the sinewy part where Ohno’s arms connected to the rest of his graceful body, the way his toned arms gave way to a brown expanse of clear, warm-seeming skin. Ohno was so compact, so fluid, and...
…so beautiful.
Ohno quickly shrugged into the rest of his shirt, his gaze undeniably on Aiba. “Come here.”
He stood up and shuffled towards the older man. Ohno roughly wrapped his arms around Aiba, enveloping him in the scent of his soap, and the fabric softener his mom liked to use. Aiba very much liked that scent, especially the way it mingled with the warmth of Ohno. He felt like he was underneath a blanket; he nestled himself in deeper, wanting to be closer than close, proximity his drug. It had been such a bad day. He closed his eyes when light fingertips ghosted on his nape. Shivers traveled down his spine as he felt Ohno’s wet hair tickling along his ear.
“You okay?” Aiba savored it, the guttural voice Ohno had when he was close.
“I am, now.” He took a deep breath. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not telling them.”
“They care about you, you know that, right?” Ohno whispered directly to his ears.
Aiba could only nod.
Ohno inched away from Aiba to look in his eyes. He allowed his hand to settle on Aiba’s chest, feeling for something. The steady beating of Aiba’s heart flooded his own with a sense of relief. “Never lie to me again.”
When Ohno’s lips landed on his, he could not stop trembling. He unclasped one of his arms and placed a hand on top of Ohno’s, curling in closer, healing, loving, needing.
I don’t ever want to lose this.
Ohno tightened his grip on Aiba’s hips, inching him closer still. Against the taller man’s lips, he uttered, “I’m yours.”
*
(The thing was, Aiba never guessed that Ohno could actually read his mind. He only felt that Ohno knew him like no one else did, and he would hold on to that security for as long as he could. He rather liked that he could never pretend around him, that he should not have to because Ohno knew. Aiba held a child-like belief that Ohno would never leave, would never betray him, and that sustained him. He never wanted anyone else other than himself to be the one to welcome Ohno home from fishing trips, all dazed and sated, smelling like the sea.
He cannot picture ever straying too far away from Ohno.
And the other thing was, Ohno also believed that having the ability to read Aiba’s mind was extraneous to the fact that he always had his eyes on Aiba. He has never seen and will never see someone else in that same light; both the effervescence of Aiba’s laughter and the secret frailty just gurgling underneath were precious. If, one day, he would lose the ability that allowed him to see through the other man’s pretenses, he would rely on sheer faith that he knew enough to never let go.
He would breathe for Aiba, if he had to.)