I'm Looking for a Trapdoor Trigger
Title: I’m Looking for a Trapdoor Trigger
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Jun
Word count: 2166
Summary: Ohno has no idea how acting in ‘Maou’ would personally affect him. Jun is shaken.
Warnings/Notes: Inspired by Ohno's interview. Maou was powerful and Ohno’s acting was resplendent to a terrifying point in it; there had to be a trade-off somewhere. The title is from 90-Mile Water Wall, a beautiful song by The National. Also, thanks to r_1_ss_a for helping me sort out my thoughts! ♥
He was almost shy about it as he paused in the doorway, his hand stroking the back of his neck.
“It looks nice.” And Jun meant it, he really did.
As if he didn’t hear a thing, Ohno walked over and just sank into the couch without a word. He placed his head on Jun’s lap, his newly dyed hair a stark contrast against Jun’s white pants. There was almost something cat-like about the way he just whirred contentedly when Jun’s fingers started to massage into his black hair.
“You won’t have a lot of time to fish,” Jun said fondly.
An indignant sound escaped Ohno’s lips. He closed his eyes, squirming into the couch comfortably. “Just keep scratching.”
*
It was a month into filming.
He heard the lead break. It was the most minute of sounds, but it jumped across the meter that separated him and Ohno, sonorous and distinct. Over the magazine he was reading, he watched Ohno’s knuckles turn white as he clutched the pencil in a death grip. Ohno’s face did not register anything, but the piece of paper in front of him spoke volumes. It was eggshell-white and pristine, except for the off-center dot of lead that marred its otherwise clean plane. There were no furious pencil strokes forming discernible lines or shadows…only a still hand lingering over a single dot.
Jun did not say anything. He just stood up and fetched Ohno a glass of water from the kitchen. Watching his throat bobbing up and down from drinking proved to be the shortest of distractions. “I,” Ohno started, “I don’t know how you do this.”
He bit his lips curiously. “Do what?” He knew Ohno wouldn’t answer. It felt like crumbling sand between his fingers, this, Ohno’s growing silence.
*
He laced a warm hand on Ohno’s belly, rubbing gently. Dawn was encroaching on the room, its faint purple glow spilling out of the sides of drawn curtains. Ohno’s eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth forming inchoate words mumbled into a pillowcase.
Torturous, that’s what it was. “It’s 5:30,” and he knew Ohno heard, even if his face was away from his.
Jun wished he could leave him sleeping, for a whole day, his face unruffled by stress. The sleeping figure of Ohno was his comfort, a luxury he could not afford. He knew how terrible it was: going home at three in the morning everyday only to wake up a couple of hours later. They were pros, and this was the reality of their profession. Yet Jun hated what it did to Ohno-he ceased to talk, unless it was grumbling about not having the time to go fishing, or mundane things like “did you see where I left my keys” or “see you at practice later” and Jun couldn’t help but hurt. Ohno was never much for words, but he was communicative in ways that Jun loved. But now, he was simply veiled in an impenetrable silence.
He smelled the fold of Ohno’s ear, and he could not help it, he wanted to be close, selfish. He waited for Ohno to say anything, to allow him to carry some of the burden.
Ohno did not turn to face him. Instead, he kicked the sheets aside and bolted. Ohno never used to bolt. Suddenly, Jun’s hands felt cold.
*
It was terrifying, watching Ohno come alive on screen. He knew Ohno’s acting was affecting, having acted beside him in the past. But the Ohno acting out Naruse was a revelation that he wasn’t sure he was glad to discover. The eyes did him in-Jun did not know this man, this man with such calm eyes brimming with silent hate. It daunted Jun.
He brought it up once in the staff room, when Ohno stepped out for a quick smoke (which Jun felt was happening too often.) Nino, distracted from his game for a second, looked up at the door just as it shut close.
“Do you watch it?”
Nino only hummed in what could only be assumed to be a “yes”.
Sighing, Jun settled in deeper into the couch. “It’s not…it’s not natural. His eyes.”
The tinny, electronic sounds from Nino’s game console suddenly stopped. Jun felt searching brown eyes on his face. “You know he’s just acting, right?”
“I know.”
“You’ve been through this.”
Jun was afraid of that, exactly, because it was Ohno-Ohno who was more sensitive than anyone gave him credit for. He knew what was running through Nino’s head, and he agreed. He knew that he had no control over this. The grating sounds of Nino’s DS started again as he willed Naruse’s gaze out of his mind.
*
At night, when Ohno thought he was asleep, Jun heard Ohno quietly repeating his complicated lines, a series of words that normal, everyday Ohno wouldn’t have strung together. Yet somehow, every repetition sounded like a mantra to Jun, a prayer wafting up to the ceiling, its dewy mist a dark cloud inside the room.
Sometimes, it was enough for Jun to snap, even though he tried so hard not to. “It’s just a role,” he said against Ohno’s collarbone. I know you’re not just tired. Talk to me.
“It’s just work,” Ohno said.
Diving into one’s role had the effect of it permeating your very being; the nuances of the character seeping into your very bones as you breathe life into the lines. Jun knew what kind of effect it could have. But on Ohno, it was different, magnified. Ohno, all quiet calm, an open receptacle, a whirring, creative mind-he was, quite naturally, a perfect blank page.
*
There was subtle wreckage in Ohno’s eyes, like the expression one got while visiting a war museum, the abhorrent suffering of people long dead made fresh as it sunk in. But there was also an unwavering, steady light in them that unnerved Jun. He was unused to the intensity of Ohno’s non-gazes, eyes always far away as if searching for something.
You’re creating a monster.
When people acknowledged Ohno’s superior acting skills, Jun thought that what they were unconsciously acknowledging was Ohno’s refusal to lose to the act of creating. Even if it was against his nature to cull so much effort and emotion all in one go, Ohno was never the type to shirk what his line of work asked from him. Even if he would much rather be on a boat, a line cast on the buoyant waves, or perhaps making art in his own terms, Ohno dived without fear into the duality of Manaka Tomoo and Naruse Ryo because he didn’t want to lose.
Critics and fans alike piled compliment upon gushing compliment on him. And it was true, Ohno really was brilliant, a revelation. What most people who weren't Jun didn't know was that it came with a price.
You’re miring him into a world that he doesn’t exactly welcome. He is sucked into it nonetheless because he is who he is, and he can never compromise.
It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear.
*
They were in the middle of 24 Hour TV, surviving on coffee and stolen cigarette breaks between all that running around. Jun was on his way to their assigned staff room to freshen up a little when he felt his arm being yanked. Before he knew it, he was inside what looked to be a storage room. He was pushed against a wall as his eyes were adjusting to darkness.
“Jun,” Ohno murmured, his mouth hot on the contour of Jun’s ear.
“Leader,” Jun said, regulating his errant breathing to better hear Ohno’s, “what the fuck.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, fingers hesitating on the button of Jun’s jeans. Ohno began to kneel down and unzipped Jun in one smooth movement. “Do you want me to-I can-” and it took more willpower than Jun will ever want to admit, but he pried off Ohno’s hands. Ohno leaned his head on Jun’s thigh, eyes hidden, his hands finding Jun’s hips. “Please,” he said, pleading quietly.
It was hard to think, not when Ohno was nosing into his crotch. “Like this-” was not the way Jun wanted Ohno, no, not when Ohno wasn’t talking to him, really talking, not when he can’t see his eyes, not when Ohno sounded desperate and not the kind of desperate that he appreciated-“not like this.”
He looked up at Jun. There was a foreign glint in his eye that Jun couldn’t place. “You can’t even do this for me”-it was a statement, not a question, and it felt like cold daggers slowly stabbing into his heart. Ohno let go of his hips and stood up.
“Leader, please,” Jun begged.
And then Ohno was saying things with his mouth on Jun’s, with words Jun did not recognize, if they even were words. Suddenly, the air felt thin and stretched. He needed Ohno right now, the real Ohno, his Ohno, and he searched in every nip, every slick tangle of tongue, and every dig of nail. But he couldn’t afford to be selfish.
“I can’t, not like this,” Jun said, his lips swollen.
Ohno’s eyes were still unrecognizable. “Just let me have this, just this, for now.” And so he caved. He allowed Ohno to possessively claim his neck, to pull his hair, to pry his lips apart. Minutes later, Jun came up for air, thinking that they lacked fluency, not only in their words, but also in their touches.
*
His mobile phone beeped ominously. It was an email with an attached photo of a familiar hand holding a pen: thin, elegant, lined with veins, poised over a piece of paper. Underneath the hand, though, was a single word in Ohno’s clean scrawl.
Sorry.
*
Somewhere in Tokyo, a few weeks later, the assistant director was shouting. “It’s the crank-up for Ohno Satoshi-san!”
*
The bed creaked. Jun opened his bleary eyes; it said 4:30 A.M. on his bedside digital clock. He felt him before he saw him.
Ohno nosed his way into him, before lip met lip. He softly settled his restless hands on either side of Jun’s jaw line, feeling it alternately slackening and tensing up as Jun began kissing him back. It was slow at first, hesitant. But then, it suddenly clicked with Jun. This feeling-and just like that, Jun was awash with emotions he had been trying to keep in check. It was Ohno. He felt Ohno’s tongue brushing slightly on his lips. With a sigh and a kind of white noise in his head, Jun let him in.
They broke apart, surfacing for air. Jun exhaled into Ohno’s brow, holding him close. He was taken hostage by the other man’s black mane, his fingers weaving into it as if handling an expensive carpet. A whiff of beer and what Jun knew to be the citrus scent of their manager’s car lingered on those disarmingly soft tufts of hair. Ohno’s skin, though, still smelled like Ohno, the smell of worn-in comfort, and Jun kissed him on his forehead, breathing him in.
His hands tensed around Jun’s shirt, wandering and aimless, a ship with no harbor. The head on Jun’s chest was light, as if he didn’t want much of his weight on Jun if he could help it, and Jun resented that-but then, Ohno’s hands quieted him. His hands raced up and down the gray expanse of Jun’s ratty old shirt, fingertips worrying the thin fabric.
He heard the warm, uneven breathing before he felt the sudden wetness seeping onto his shirt. Oh. There was no sound, only a stream of hot tears mysteriously shooting down the round of Ohno’s cheek.
Ohno was crying.
Rather than a fire being snuffed out, it was release, a descent (or perhaps more aptly, an ascent) into awareness. Everything stood perfectly still, except for the tears tracing salty tracks that eventually formed a big spot on Jun’s shirt. He didn't dare move a muscle lest he interrupt the outpouring of Ohno’s eloquence.
It was one of those moments that made him understand that everything Ohno needed to say was often wordless. And so he listened. Was overwhelmed by what he heard. Deeply loved this beautiful man whose shoulders were shaking, tears flowing freely, this man who felt so much without saying anything.
It could have been five minutes, or five hours. Ohno’s fingers were now underneath Jun’s shirt, eyes spent yet soft in the glow of the bedside lamp. He entangled his legs around Jun, shuffling to be closer still, leaving no space between them. Their eyes met, and it felt like they were seeing each other for the first time in months.
“I’m back,” croaked Ohno, his voice hoarse from crying.
He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. That was all Jun needed to hear. I’m proud of you, he thought, but that wasn’t Ohno needed right then. He knew that someday, Ohno would talk about everything, but for now, this-Ohno breathing hotly into his neck, his face wet-was just fine.
“Welcome home,” Jun whispered, wiping the tears on the other man’s face reverently, moved by what he can’t see but he can feel.
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Jun
Word count: 2166
Summary: Ohno has no idea how acting in ‘Maou’ would personally affect him. Jun is shaken.
Warnings/Notes: Inspired by Ohno's interview. Maou was powerful and Ohno’s acting was resplendent to a terrifying point in it; there had to be a trade-off somewhere. The title is from 90-Mile Water Wall, a beautiful song by The National. Also, thanks to r_1_ss_a for helping me sort out my thoughts! ♥
He was almost shy about it as he paused in the doorway, his hand stroking the back of his neck.
“It looks nice.” And Jun meant it, he really did.
As if he didn’t hear a thing, Ohno walked over and just sank into the couch without a word. He placed his head on Jun’s lap, his newly dyed hair a stark contrast against Jun’s white pants. There was almost something cat-like about the way he just whirred contentedly when Jun’s fingers started to massage into his black hair.
“You won’t have a lot of time to fish,” Jun said fondly.
An indignant sound escaped Ohno’s lips. He closed his eyes, squirming into the couch comfortably. “Just keep scratching.”
*
It was a month into filming.
He heard the lead break. It was the most minute of sounds, but it jumped across the meter that separated him and Ohno, sonorous and distinct. Over the magazine he was reading, he watched Ohno’s knuckles turn white as he clutched the pencil in a death grip. Ohno’s face did not register anything, but the piece of paper in front of him spoke volumes. It was eggshell-white and pristine, except for the off-center dot of lead that marred its otherwise clean plane. There were no furious pencil strokes forming discernible lines or shadows…only a still hand lingering over a single dot.
Jun did not say anything. He just stood up and fetched Ohno a glass of water from the kitchen. Watching his throat bobbing up and down from drinking proved to be the shortest of distractions. “I,” Ohno started, “I don’t know how you do this.”
He bit his lips curiously. “Do what?” He knew Ohno wouldn’t answer. It felt like crumbling sand between his fingers, this, Ohno’s growing silence.
*
He laced a warm hand on Ohno’s belly, rubbing gently. Dawn was encroaching on the room, its faint purple glow spilling out of the sides of drawn curtains. Ohno’s eyebrows scrunched together, his mouth forming inchoate words mumbled into a pillowcase.
Torturous, that’s what it was. “It’s 5:30,” and he knew Ohno heard, even if his face was away from his.
Jun wished he could leave him sleeping, for a whole day, his face unruffled by stress. The sleeping figure of Ohno was his comfort, a luxury he could not afford. He knew how terrible it was: going home at three in the morning everyday only to wake up a couple of hours later. They were pros, and this was the reality of their profession. Yet Jun hated what it did to Ohno-he ceased to talk, unless it was grumbling about not having the time to go fishing, or mundane things like “did you see where I left my keys” or “see you at practice later” and Jun couldn’t help but hurt. Ohno was never much for words, but he was communicative in ways that Jun loved. But now, he was simply veiled in an impenetrable silence.
He smelled the fold of Ohno’s ear, and he could not help it, he wanted to be close, selfish. He waited for Ohno to say anything, to allow him to carry some of the burden.
Ohno did not turn to face him. Instead, he kicked the sheets aside and bolted. Ohno never used to bolt. Suddenly, Jun’s hands felt cold.
*
It was terrifying, watching Ohno come alive on screen. He knew Ohno’s acting was affecting, having acted beside him in the past. But the Ohno acting out Naruse was a revelation that he wasn’t sure he was glad to discover. The eyes did him in-Jun did not know this man, this man with such calm eyes brimming with silent hate. It daunted Jun.
He brought it up once in the staff room, when Ohno stepped out for a quick smoke (which Jun felt was happening too often.) Nino, distracted from his game for a second, looked up at the door just as it shut close.
“Do you watch it?”
Nino only hummed in what could only be assumed to be a “yes”.
Sighing, Jun settled in deeper into the couch. “It’s not…it’s not natural. His eyes.”
The tinny, electronic sounds from Nino’s game console suddenly stopped. Jun felt searching brown eyes on his face. “You know he’s just acting, right?”
“I know.”
“You’ve been through this.”
Jun was afraid of that, exactly, because it was Ohno-Ohno who was more sensitive than anyone gave him credit for. He knew what was running through Nino’s head, and he agreed. He knew that he had no control over this. The grating sounds of Nino’s DS started again as he willed Naruse’s gaze out of his mind.
*
At night, when Ohno thought he was asleep, Jun heard Ohno quietly repeating his complicated lines, a series of words that normal, everyday Ohno wouldn’t have strung together. Yet somehow, every repetition sounded like a mantra to Jun, a prayer wafting up to the ceiling, its dewy mist a dark cloud inside the room.
Sometimes, it was enough for Jun to snap, even though he tried so hard not to. “It’s just a role,” he said against Ohno’s collarbone. I know you’re not just tired. Talk to me.
“It’s just work,” Ohno said.
Diving into one’s role had the effect of it permeating your very being; the nuances of the character seeping into your very bones as you breathe life into the lines. Jun knew what kind of effect it could have. But on Ohno, it was different, magnified. Ohno, all quiet calm, an open receptacle, a whirring, creative mind-he was, quite naturally, a perfect blank page.
*
There was subtle wreckage in Ohno’s eyes, like the expression one got while visiting a war museum, the abhorrent suffering of people long dead made fresh as it sunk in. But there was also an unwavering, steady light in them that unnerved Jun. He was unused to the intensity of Ohno’s non-gazes, eyes always far away as if searching for something.
You’re creating a monster.
When people acknowledged Ohno’s superior acting skills, Jun thought that what they were unconsciously acknowledging was Ohno’s refusal to lose to the act of creating. Even if it was against his nature to cull so much effort and emotion all in one go, Ohno was never the type to shirk what his line of work asked from him. Even if he would much rather be on a boat, a line cast on the buoyant waves, or perhaps making art in his own terms, Ohno dived without fear into the duality of Manaka Tomoo and Naruse Ryo because he didn’t want to lose.
Critics and fans alike piled compliment upon gushing compliment on him. And it was true, Ohno really was brilliant, a revelation. What most people who weren't Jun didn't know was that it came with a price.
You’re miring him into a world that he doesn’t exactly welcome. He is sucked into it nonetheless because he is who he is, and he can never compromise.
It wasn’t jealousy. It was fear.
*
They were in the middle of 24 Hour TV, surviving on coffee and stolen cigarette breaks between all that running around. Jun was on his way to their assigned staff room to freshen up a little when he felt his arm being yanked. Before he knew it, he was inside what looked to be a storage room. He was pushed against a wall as his eyes were adjusting to darkness.
“Jun,” Ohno murmured, his mouth hot on the contour of Jun’s ear.
“Leader,” Jun said, regulating his errant breathing to better hear Ohno’s, “what the fuck.”
There was a sharp intake of breath, fingers hesitating on the button of Jun’s jeans. Ohno began to kneel down and unzipped Jun in one smooth movement. “Do you want me to-I can-” and it took more willpower than Jun will ever want to admit, but he pried off Ohno’s hands. Ohno leaned his head on Jun’s thigh, eyes hidden, his hands finding Jun’s hips. “Please,” he said, pleading quietly.
It was hard to think, not when Ohno was nosing into his crotch. “Like this-” was not the way Jun wanted Ohno, no, not when Ohno wasn’t talking to him, really talking, not when he can’t see his eyes, not when Ohno sounded desperate and not the kind of desperate that he appreciated-“not like this.”
He looked up at Jun. There was a foreign glint in his eye that Jun couldn’t place. “You can’t even do this for me”-it was a statement, not a question, and it felt like cold daggers slowly stabbing into his heart. Ohno let go of his hips and stood up.
“Leader, please,” Jun begged.
And then Ohno was saying things with his mouth on Jun’s, with words Jun did not recognize, if they even were words. Suddenly, the air felt thin and stretched. He needed Ohno right now, the real Ohno, his Ohno, and he searched in every nip, every slick tangle of tongue, and every dig of nail. But he couldn’t afford to be selfish.
“I can’t, not like this,” Jun said, his lips swollen.
Ohno’s eyes were still unrecognizable. “Just let me have this, just this, for now.” And so he caved. He allowed Ohno to possessively claim his neck, to pull his hair, to pry his lips apart. Minutes later, Jun came up for air, thinking that they lacked fluency, not only in their words, but also in their touches.
*
His mobile phone beeped ominously. It was an email with an attached photo of a familiar hand holding a pen: thin, elegant, lined with veins, poised over a piece of paper. Underneath the hand, though, was a single word in Ohno’s clean scrawl.
Sorry.
*
Somewhere in Tokyo, a few weeks later, the assistant director was shouting. “It’s the crank-up for Ohno Satoshi-san!”
*
The bed creaked. Jun opened his bleary eyes; it said 4:30 A.M. on his bedside digital clock. He felt him before he saw him.
Ohno nosed his way into him, before lip met lip. He softly settled his restless hands on either side of Jun’s jaw line, feeling it alternately slackening and tensing up as Jun began kissing him back. It was slow at first, hesitant. But then, it suddenly clicked with Jun. This feeling-and just like that, Jun was awash with emotions he had been trying to keep in check. It was Ohno. He felt Ohno’s tongue brushing slightly on his lips. With a sigh and a kind of white noise in his head, Jun let him in.
They broke apart, surfacing for air. Jun exhaled into Ohno’s brow, holding him close. He was taken hostage by the other man’s black mane, his fingers weaving into it as if handling an expensive carpet. A whiff of beer and what Jun knew to be the citrus scent of their manager’s car lingered on those disarmingly soft tufts of hair. Ohno’s skin, though, still smelled like Ohno, the smell of worn-in comfort, and Jun kissed him on his forehead, breathing him in.
His hands tensed around Jun’s shirt, wandering and aimless, a ship with no harbor. The head on Jun’s chest was light, as if he didn’t want much of his weight on Jun if he could help it, and Jun resented that-but then, Ohno’s hands quieted him. His hands raced up and down the gray expanse of Jun’s ratty old shirt, fingertips worrying the thin fabric.
He heard the warm, uneven breathing before he felt the sudden wetness seeping onto his shirt. Oh. There was no sound, only a stream of hot tears mysteriously shooting down the round of Ohno’s cheek.
Ohno was crying.
Rather than a fire being snuffed out, it was release, a descent (or perhaps more aptly, an ascent) into awareness. Everything stood perfectly still, except for the tears tracing salty tracks that eventually formed a big spot on Jun’s shirt. He didn't dare move a muscle lest he interrupt the outpouring of Ohno’s eloquence.
It was one of those moments that made him understand that everything Ohno needed to say was often wordless. And so he listened. Was overwhelmed by what he heard. Deeply loved this beautiful man whose shoulders were shaking, tears flowing freely, this man who felt so much without saying anything.
It could have been five minutes, or five hours. Ohno’s fingers were now underneath Jun’s shirt, eyes spent yet soft in the glow of the bedside lamp. He entangled his legs around Jun, shuffling to be closer still, leaving no space between them. Their eyes met, and it felt like they were seeing each other for the first time in months.
“I’m back,” croaked Ohno, his voice hoarse from crying.
He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. That was all Jun needed to hear. I’m proud of you, he thought, but that wasn’t Ohno needed right then. He knew that someday, Ohno would talk about everything, but for now, this-Ohno breathing hotly into his neck, his face wet-was just fine.
“Welcome home,” Jun whispered, wiping the tears on the other man’s face reverently, moved by what he can’t see but he can feel.