fic for sky_fish7 (1/2)
For: sky_fish7
From: natsunonamae
Title: Café N83
Pairing/Focus: Nino/Sho, Nino/Arashi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Minor sustained injuries
Summary: Nino builds a small café behind his house. His first four customers are the most important ones.
Notes: Hello sky_fish7, this might have gotten a bit deeper emotionally than your original “coffee shop” prompt asked for. Still, I hope you like it. I decided to take a chance and push it a little bit more. Confession: this was supposed to be Tinder!fic, but thankfully, I regained my senses. (Or have lost it completely, depending on who you ask.) I hope you could take a chance on it! Mod, thanks for being amazeballs.
Dig yourself a ditch, six
feet deep, and bury everything that you’ve ever
said, everything that you’ve never
meant, and everything that has
burned you and left you with nothing
but ash
- Shinji Moon
His character jerks on the ground, blood spreading on the concrete. ‘Try again?’, the screen prompts-the light is jarring inside the dark room. Nino rubs his eyes. He throws the controller to the side, wondering if he truly hates what he says he hates, if there’s a point to anything, if he isn’t always just imagining his pain.
But what is pain? Isn’t he just numb, at this point?
When he looks inward at himself, he sees an empty vessel, opaque at the sides and empty at the center. It’s not any different this morning. Rain crashes violently against the window. There is a storm outside, and Nino wonders at the contrast between its rumbling, gray chaos and his own inertia: limbs in a tangle of sheets, legs flung to the side grazing the floor, eyes, shot. Pills, taken.
He turns to his side, merely flinching when his movement sends his forgotten glass of water toppling down to the floor.
It doesn’t stain the tatami mat. Water flows where it is allowed-there is no damage, ultimately, in nature. He watches it seep into the woven material as he toys vaguely with the idea of shattering in a graceful cascade of glass. Clean and musical, over in a moment.
Would he also be absorbed again, back to the muddy earth?
His phone beeps. Another message he plans to ignore. He thinks he’ll lose this last one too, because frankly, no one likes talking to a wall.
The storm might be raging, but Nino’s too exhausted to feel the one inside him. He stands up and steps over the shards. Like a ghost, he makes his way out of his bedroom, his socked feet creating soft thudding noises on the tatami mats. When he opens the door to his favorite room, he finds that it’s still as he left it: dark and damp.
The silence mocks his long absence. He crouches down to light a lamp and gets everything in working order. The slight hiss of the espresso machine makes his mind sigh in relief.
I could do at least this.
There is no room for denial in his head-there hasn’t been, not for the longest. No one will pick his mess up but him. The winds howl as he settles down on the floor. The raindrops pelt the sliding door, as if to wage war. Nino has learned how to silence the worst by now. He sits still as caffeine wakes him up piece by piece. Bone per bone.
He waits for his heart to hammer alive, for his blood to race in his disordered veins, for memories to melt away. He sits there for a long time.
*
Nino doesn’t know when he realizes he has feelings for him. It doesn’t come as an epiphany either-rather, it comes as a slow uprising, the feeling rushing softly over what seem like slight pebbles, a gentle stream flowing inside him. It feels right. Maybe they are young, but Nino isn’t one to flinch away from what feels true just because of that.
They are in Sho’s room, just like any other night. Yet somehow, it is filled with a charged sobriety that Nino blames on himself. Their futures are hovering over them now, goading them on to take the next step or turn back. It’s bad timing, Nino knows, but he doesn’t hesitate on being honest with him. He’s been able to tell Sho anything that’s on his mind, so why should this be any different?
“Nino,” he says, reaching out for his hand. It’s sweaty and cold. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything.”
Nino doesn’t push the issue. He only smiles at him, holding fast to his hand, treasuring the moment of vulnerability that he gets only for his own. It is tangible enough.
“Nino? Say something.”
He can be generous, for Sho, he thinks. He can wait.
“I’ll wait,” Nino says. They look at each other, with wonder and a bit of tremor in their hearts, somehow understanding only in that moment that it isn’t something either of them could take back. It is a long silence. The fear encroaches on Nino as Sho shifts to come even closer. He wonders if it’s reflected in his eyes.
“Just don’t wait forever,” Sho warns softly. There is a tone of finality there. Nino lets go of his hand and tries to stand up from the bed, hating himself for feeling scalded.
It’s useless to struggle-Sho has always been the stronger one. His hand circles Nino’s wrist none too gently. “Nino, nothing has to change.”
“Look, I don’t want to pretend. I’ll wait, I want to wait, but I don’t want to put on an act,” he says. “I want-”
And before he could say anything else, Sho reachces over and kisses him for the first time. He only regains his senses enough to kiss back, toes curling at Sho pressing even closer, slowly opening up as his hand cups Nino’s cheek. His thoughts are nothing but white-hot impressions of Sho’s touches. Nino is drowning in Sho, at a loss, not expecting his tenderness and undivided attention.
“What was that?” Nino says, breathless as they surface.
“I just wanted to,” Sho bites into his lips, worry settling into his brows. “Is that bad?”
“You just wanted to?”
Sho sighs. “I’m not like this with anyone else, Nino,” and it feels like the sweetest reprimand he has ever heard-all because he knows Sho. Sho wouldn’t put himself out there, so exposed, if he doesn’t really care. But Nino also knows that he can’t ask for more, for better.
Sho tips his forehead with Nino’s before he has time to think some more. “We’re good, right?”
“We are,” Nino says.
“You’re a good kisser,” Sho assures him, and Nino bats him away.
That night, Nino falls asleep in his arms, just like he has many nights before. When he wakes up, he feels distraught at the difference between the words they say awake and the silent and busy eloquence of the two of them, just sleeping, hearts flush against each other, busy with breathing. He tries to pry Sho off from him.
Sho only tightens his arms around Nino’s middle, eyes still closed. “Stay.”
“And I thought I was the greedy one.” Sho only links his ankles to Nino’s, closing in on any remaining space that was separating them. “Greedy,” Nino repeats.
It’s too warm, but Sho sighs happily, falling right back to sleep in minutes. Nino wishes it’s as simple for him too.
He wakes up to soft music in his ears, Sho's battered walkman in the space between their pillows. Sho smiles as he sees Nino opening his eyes.
"Wait here," he says. The song playing is sad. Nino could hear Sho running down the stairs.
Nino is almost lulled back into sleep when Sho shoulders his way back into his room with two cups of coffee. "I'm a coffee person now," Sho declares, as he gets back under the sheets and hands Nino a steaming cup. It has too much sugar, but he can't bring himself to mind.
"It's good," Nino says, his lips curving into a smile around the rim.
"Good." They listen to another song, and another, the wire of the earphones bridging their thoughts and palpitations together.
*
It’s just a small room beside his backyard with a gate to the street, but in many ways, it’s Nino’s heart laid open for everyone to see and enter. Not that anyone thinks of it that way, he supposes. But to him, that sun-dappled space is his lifeline. A single room with doors that slide open to a garden so small, a car wouldn’t fit in it-it is, at the very least, a reason to wake up.
He has no choice, so Nino takes comfort in the smallest things.
Like the fact the sun has come out again and the clouds aren’t so foreboding within him. That has to count for something. For the first time in a while, he opens the sliding doors. Outside, everything is wet and dewy. The smell of grass rushes in, chasing out the stale air. Nino inhales. He even opens the clapboard gate and stands on the sleepy, tree-lined street, suddenly feeling invigorated.
The morning is busy and quiet, and Nino is thankful for it. He sweeps the fallen leaves, removing any evidence of the storm that had passed. The single wooden bench is wiped clean. He dusts the mahogany counter, making sure that the coffee machine, cups, and other glassware are spot-free. There is relief in this ritual that he always loses himself in, something he doesn’t take for granted for his own sake. For the next few days, Nino relearns a silence that doesn’t make him feel like he has lost something essential.
It is a Thursday, when that silence is broken.
“Aren’t you the cutest little cleaning fairy that ever lived!”
As Nino turns around, his retort is swallowed up by the long limbs now gently wrapped all around him. He wiggles free from the encumbering affection, straightening out his glasses and apron. There is no getting ready for seeing other people again.
For seeing an old friend. It’s been too long, but in many ways, it feels just like yesterday.
“You’re a moron.” Aiba’s face breaks to a smile at the first words he has uttered out loud in weeks, Nino realizes. The fact hits him hard. His friend can act casual for all he wants, but Nino, Nino is reeling in secret. “Seriously, you’re a moron,” he says again, for emphasis, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat.
“I’m a moron,” Aiba agrees, swiping the cleaning rag from Nino’s hand. “I’ll help!”
“Who do you think you are, marching in like you own the place?”
“The gate was open.”
Aiba is already crouching down and wiping the shelves before Nino could say anything more. He wants to apologize for a universe of things that hurts to think about. He wants to, but can’t find the words, not when Aiba is already on his knees and looking determined to scrub out the dust marks that have settled on the mats. The gate was open, and Nino, Nino had known it was only a matter of time, that Aiba would be the first one to come.
“You’re what people would call a trespasser,” Nino mutters, and Aiba laughs, more air and breath than sound. Nino turns away, eyes welling up against his will. Even in the noxious haze of his thoughts, he recognizes that familiar patch of warmth.
“Masaki, I-,” he starts, but is cut off by the hug Aiba had wanted in the first place. Nino clutches him back without even thinking about it, fingers wrapping around the sides of Aiba’s ribs, closer than he ever had a need for before.
Aiba suddenly bristles. “Wait, Nino, am I hurting you?”
“This…it’s okay for now.” His own voice sounds so small to him.
A part of him just wants to collapse in the skinny, hovering circumference of Aiba, never to surface again. It’s so simple, so vital, what Aiba gives and has always given to him. He exhales, shaking.
“I’m here, no rush,” Aiba mumbles, clutching him even tighter. When they break apart, it is Aiba who has rivulets silently running down his cheeks. Nino aches when Aiba wipes it away with the back of his hands. He would never hurt Aiba-he had thought. Until he did, and maybe, Nino wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself completely for it.
“You…you don’t get to push me away again, no matter what,” Aiba says, voice pinched and tiny. He powers through, and Nino watches all of it play on his face. “Do I have to wait until your mom’s sick to death of me just to know where you are?”
Nino has better words, really. “Well…that was rude of you.”
“No, you’re the rude one,” Aiba corrects him. “I didn’t want to have to bother her, I really didn’t, but I couldn’t leave you alone. You’ve been alone, haven’t you?”
“Don’t,” Nino says, splintering at the crack in Aiba’s voice.
“I mean it, you know! I don’t care about what you’ve done, or what you want to do. Just don’t shut me out again.”
He has to turn away, it’s too much. It’s just like Aiba to take on a lot without knowing-or rashly ignoring-the implications. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”
“Nino, promise me.”
Nino doesn’t believe in promises anymore, but he would do anything for him-this is Aiba. Not that he would say as much, not yet. He steps behind the counter, bending down to get the ingredients. “Coffee?”
There is a long silence as Nino gets the espresso machine going. He knows Aiba is just there, standing, looking at him. “Coffee?” Nino asks again.
“Have one with me,” Aiba says, trying to sound dignified as he blows his nose.
Nino knows he has to start somewhere, and maybe Aiba, Aiba is the easiest, most worn-in place in his heart to begin with. He points to the bench in the garden. “Sit.”
Aiba makes no mention of the past, only following Nino around closely with his grave eyes. They drink their coffee, and Nino can see that Aiba is trying his best not to say anything more.
“Could I have done something?” Aiba asks, unable to resist, before he leaves. Nino ignores him.
“Well, I won’t stop convincing you, Nino.”
*
Am I still waiting?
The question sits at the back of his mind in peace, undisturbed, because he always has Sho around. Whenever Sho smiles back at him, round eyes squinting at the corners, he feels justified for staying still. On most days, it doesn’t even enter his mind. It has been many years, and just having Sho in his life is fine for him.
Sho holds his hands. Sho laughs the loudest at his jokes. Sho obliges and joins him for his stupid skits in the greenroom. Sho allows him to cling whenever Nino is in one of his moods. Sho shapeshifts in whoever Nino wants him to be without Nino having to say a thing.
He doesn’t return what Nino has once offered, but what he gives Nino instead is a chance to feel like he’s someone worth getting to know. Because Sho, underneath all the flimsy layers of intelligence, coolness, and sociability, is serious about what he cares about. About who he cares about. Nino feels it.
On most days, Nino feels incompatible with the world. He neutralizes everything with logic, but deep down, there’s still that pull to darkness, to thoughts that he’s not worthy of love, if only for the reason that he sees himself as someone who takes and takes, with nothing to give back, even if that’s what he wants to do the most. He feels like laughing when he almost always identifies with the villain. Isn’t he just sad? Isn’t he just looking for something to fill in the gaps? Nino thinks all these things, and wonders why it isn’t so obvious to everyone else.
But then, there’s Sho. Sho who could casually say things like, “Nino, you saved me,” even though it was just Nino diffusing an awkward pause during filming.
Sometimes Sho just looks at him, and that’s all it takes for Nino to feel like he’s not really someone who walks his days like there is a void inside of him.
“What are you thinking?” Sho asks, tipping him to the side with a nudge. His brows are furrowed.
Nino grins. “Nothing. You’re so nosy.”
“I’m supposed to be in love with you, right?” Sho asks, and Nino’s heart races. “People in love look at each other more closely than anyone else-”
Nino can’t think straight. “-right, Taro-kun?”
The school uniforms that they are definitely too old for now feel more stifling than ever. Nino is immediately transported to a certain night, years and years ago, and wonders how it’s apparently only obvious to him. “That’s definitely your own conclusion,” he says.
Sho laughs. “Have you been watching the drama when it airs? I’m so in love with you.”
“How can I watch it? We’re in high school uniforms, Sho-chan. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I guess,” Sho says, fingers playing around with his silk necktie.
“I mean, not that we still can’t pass for high school kids,” Nino adds.
Nino savors the way Sho grins back at him and sweeps away any twinge of hurt that had suddenly come peeking out. It’s ridiculous how Sho always has the worst-or perfect-timing, without him even knowing it.
*
It only takes a couple of days after Aiba drops by. It has been a year, but he has already accounted for Jun’s swiftness after he finds out.
“I would punch you,” Jun says in greeting, not bothering to stand up from the bench. “But that would be counter-productive.”
Nino settles on the platform at the edge of the sliding door, allowing his leg to dangle from where the wooden beams tapers off. He sees the arms crossed tightly, the eyes hidden in big, black frames. Jun’s hair is short now, neatly slicked back. He doesn’t look older, not exactly. But Nino still sees it in sharp focus, just as he always has-the kindness hidden in the round of his shoulders.
It’s easy to swallow down, though: there is a feeling of relief gurgling within him, underneath his exasperation with Aiba’s big mouth.Yet the trees have more to say that Nino, the breeze rustling through his hair. Maybe Jun is staring at him, maybe not. He leans back on the sliding door, watching Jun with almost greedy eyes.
“You have a beard,” Jun says. “Aiba said you look like something out of a detective manga.”
Nino crosses his arms too.
“So all this. This…like what, you want to own a café now?” Jun scoffs, gesturing with his hands, his silver cuff glinting in the sunshine.
This bluster, this rush of words-Nino knows it intimately. He knows he only needs to wait. It never stops being a showdown, when it comes to the two of them. He sits there, taking his fill of Jun without shame.
When their silence becomes constricting and Jun’s emotions are choking up all the air, Jun sighs and simply asks why. Nino is tempted to let go, right then and there. He’s so tired, and the feeling stacks up on his shoulders at seeing Jun-reliable, neurotic, kind Jun. Jun would count the bruises in his heart, would trace the outlines with reverence, wouldn’t falter until the faintest blues and purples fade.
It takes a lot not to just blurt it out. Please come fix this for me. No part of me feels as though I can actually make it through this part. Don’t leave.
Except he doesn’t, and he only shrugs his shoulders. Jun takes off his shades. When their eyes meet, Nino understands all over again just how much he fucked up. And because Jun is still Jun, even though Nino could see the he has some choice words reserved for Nino, he says nothing. Instead, he stands up and settles down beside Nino.
“At least be a good host? It’s a long drive,” Jun says.
They enjoy their coffee moments later as they watch the afternoon drift by. Nino wonders if there is something he can offer to Jun other than a hand-poured brew.
“My legs are feeling better,” Nino ventures. Jun almost smiles.
“That’s the best you can come up with?”
“It’s good to see you,” he says, more than meaning it.
“I don’t know if I can say the same thing,” Jun says, leveling him with a steely look, earthly brown eyes alight and searching. “I hated what you did,” he confesses, and Nino hears what Jun leaves unsaid. I hate that you bolted.
But to Jun, to everyone else, how could he begin to explain that he’s the kind of broken that he can’t take back? “You didn’t come here to forgive me anyway," he says.
“I didn’t.”
“We’re on the same page then.”
“You’re full of shit.”
They sit there, the darkness encroaching upon them. Nino doesn’t make a move to turn on the lights, and Jun doesn’t say anything. When Jun drives off later, he almost wants to go with him, to tuck himself inside wherever Jun allows him to.
Nino’s phone alerts him to a new message. I didn’t need to see you to forgive you. I already have, a long time ago. You’ll allow that to be a given, at least?
Nino aches, wants to take back many things that he can’t anymore.
*
It’s foolish to think that Jun is nothing less than ecstatic. Foolish to think that only Jun feels that way.
The cavernous space is empty, save for the staff and the five of them. He is positioned behind Jun, but he is willing to bet his extensive gaming collection that Jun is grinning now, eyes wide. For the first time, the lighting hits the cue at just the right beat, and the world begins to move under their feet. Sho foregoes choreography for the sake of a steadier arm with his video camera. Like kids, Ohno and Aiba are lying on their stomachs with faces plastered on the floor, looking at the empty seats through the enforced acrylic.
“Won’t they see too much of my crotch?” Aiba asks into his mic.
“You’ve always been optimistic.” Nino’s voice booms throughout the dome and Ohno barks a laugh as he comforts Aiba with a pat on the back.
"No one’s gonna see your crotch, Aiba-chan."
“Ninomiya-san, a word for the camera please,” Sho says, training the camera on him instead. “This is a milestone, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
Nino chuckles-is always chuckling-at Sho’s stupid nothings. “I have nothing to add, really. Our Jun-kun is not only handsome, he is also the Johnny’s equivalent of Leonardo Da Vinci.”
“Masterpiece,” Ohno says, his legs swaying happily over the edge. “Johnny’s renaissance!”
Nino is pretty sure that Ohno has no idea what ‘renaissance’ even means when Aiba inches to the frame. “I swear, this is so, so cool,” he gushes, a smile overtaking his face. He looks at someone out of the frame. “Matsujun, this is something else!”
The camera whips to Jun, who has shades on. Nothing hides the brilliance of his smile, though. “I know, I’m awesome,” he says, happy and confident. “I’d like to thank my imaginary fans…oh, wait. I have real fans!” He pretends to wave like a foreign dignitary into the dark expanse.
“You’ve always had it in you,” Nino says solemnly. Sho laughs.
“And you’re always full of shit,” Jun says to him, grinning as Aiba starts jumping up and down on the stage, with the glee of a petulant child. It jolts the platform in uneven waves.
“Ooh, shaky.”
“Aiba-chan,” Sho screams, the trill in it too high and genuine for it not to be. Nino cannot remember cursing his fate-and thanking his supposed lucky stars-more than in that moment, when he understands again that his place is in the middle of this disorganized, so-called storm. Aiba jumps more. Sho clings to his arm. “I mean it!”
“Sho-chan, you do know that it’s going to shake more when all five of us are actually dancing, right?”
“I don’t care!” Sho says, and Nino threads his fingers with him. He pans the camera to Nino’s face. “I’ll hold on to Nino forever.”
Jun rolls his eyes as Nino tries to breathe normally.
“Guys, stop this thing, my slipper fell,” Ohno whines, and Sho rushes to cover the rapid change of events with his camera.
Nino has never had any room to doubt it, but he’s embarrassed to have the feeling rush through him again, always so quick and certain. He has found a place where he will always belong.
*
It’s easy with Ohno.
The late afternoon sun paints orange slats across the tatami and on Ohno’s cheeks. “You’re the biggest jerk ever,” Ohno says without preamble.
It stings, but Nino takes it in stride. He plops down beside him, his feet dangling above the grass.
“Did you hear me? You’re the worst,” Ohno says, worrying his fingers on top of Nino’s. It’s so unexpected-and something Nino would do to Ohno and not the other way around-that Nino is chuckling before he knows it.
“Aren’t you sweet,” Nino simpers, clasping his hand around Ohno’s and enjoying the way he pouts.
The warm press of Ohno’s palm against his own is the biggest step he’s taken in a while. Ohno lifts their hands up, contemplating it like one of his sculptures. For the first time in a while, Nino feels solid. Present. Like his mind won’t slip back anytime soon into the murky darkness that he’s been living in. Maybe a certain look crosses his face, because Ohno squeezes, and looks at Nino with fiery, compassionate eyes.
He swallows before he talks. “Don’t tell me you’re going to kiss my hand too.”
Ohno’s laughter coats him in an effervescent sheen. Something inside Nino’s heart blooms in remembrance.
“And if I do?”
Nino shrugs. “I’ll kiss back?”
Ohno chuckles as he shakes off Nino’s hand away. “Okay, no, that’s weird.”
It’s a sign that he’s truly off the deep end that he has forgotten how pleasant it is to just watch Ohno move, going through the simplest, most mundane movements. Nino watches as Ohno unfolds his knees and stands up in a graceful, swift second. He steps behind the counter and touches the sturdy espresso machine, fingers light and dancing.
“Sleek thing. She’s the size of a school desk,” Ohno says.
“She?” Nino leans back at the exposed wooden beam, contemplating Ohno. Ohno who seems older and younger at the same time, the real Peter Pan, agile, secretly ruthless, and free. All at once, Nino is missing Ohno-or had been missing Ohno, and already missing Ohno. He watches him like something out of a black and white film long imprinted in his memories.
“Looks like a she,” Ohno shrugs. He takes a peek into one of the nozzles, obviously interested. Nino couldn’t possibly resist. He stands up and turns on the espresso machine, decided on teaching Ohno how to make a cup.
“Why coffee?” Ohno asks, as he watches Nino steaming a cup of milk.
“It wakes me up,” Nino answers without thinking, and finds that it’s the truth.
“You should add tables and chairs,” Ohno says. He fills the silence with chatter about knowing some carpenters who could make him customized furniture for cheap-and here, Ohno affixes him with a proud look. “I know people.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Ever think about naming this place? We could fix it up!” Ohno says, looking bright as his eyes roam around, imagining things.
“I just want it to be simple,” Nino replies.
“Simple is good.”
Nino is appreciative of the chance to spend time with Ohno like this, because no matter how far he distances himself away from the past, there are just some pieces that he’s incomplete without. He knows that already, but it’s easier to remember in the company of Ohno.
They nurse their cups as the sun sets. Ohno insinuates himself into staying over for dinner, and Nino couldn’t bring himself to chase him out. Who could? When Ohno enters the main house, he doesn’t comment on how empty, yet messy, Nino’s place is. Ohno doesn’t even look at him as he slurps Nino’s half-assed attempt to make his stash of expired instant ramen taste decent. He manages a few bites of his own, and settles for watching Ohno eat.
Only when his bowl is dry with only a couple of strands of stray noodles left does Ohno lean back contentedly.
“Are you done sulking now?”
Nino crosses his arms. “Who says anything about sulking?”
Ohno reaches for a toothpick. “I won’t force you, you know?”
“I know.” Nino knows. Even after not seeing him for a year, he will never stop knowing Ohno too well, to a fault. He sees the unhappiness that sits there, place, the slight desperation wrestling with trying to make space for what Nino feels. Affection. And suddenly, it’s so hard to have Ohno there.
“They gave it a nickname, a couple of months ago. I don’t know if that helps.”
It doesn’t help. Nino has been living a nearly monastic life, narrowing it down to his consoles and coffee, the barest minimum. He sold his city life, his apartment. He’s let go of the comfort of knowing and being known so deeply, of having Ohno to burrow into when there’s nothing else to do. What happened to a brave front?
“I think you need to leave.” His voice sounds childish, and he hates it.
Ohno doesn’t say another thing and leaves. It’s easy with Ohno. Easy to go back to that place that he thought he’s already left behind.
*
By all means, it starts as an ordinary night. Work lets off relatively early, and in a celebratory mood, the five of them decide to go down to an izakaya, with Sho taking the reigns on reserving. Nino can’t remember the last time that the five of them went for a drink and is a little too enthusiastic as a result.
Aiba is only too happy to keep on refilling his sake cup as Sho tells them all about the dumb things Yokoyama has done on their drama set. It still takes Nino by surprise-no one has the right to be so beguiling, Nino thinks, when all he’s doing is retelling stupid jokes that only Ohno is genuinely amused by.
Nino nudges Aiba for another refill.
“Yoko’s always been an idiot,” Aiba declares as Nino tosses back another shot. Sho laughs.
“I’ll be sure to tell him so.”
Jun shoots him a look-and maybe, just maybe, Nino hasn’t been careful enough to account for Jun’s inquisitive eyes. Nino gives him his most innocent look and fills up his cup.
“Drink up, Jun-kun. This bottle isn’t going to finish itself.”
Jun raises his brows. “At the rate you’re going, it wouldn’t need to.” He takes a long swig.
Later, Jun pretends not to be the most sloshed one as Aiba, in fits of giggles, herds him and a smiley Ohno to his SUV. Sho, who is fussing over Ohno, makes sure that they’re all in seatbelts-“Jesus christ, Sho-san, we’re not that drunk. We can go for more!” Jun exclaims as he fails to put his seatbelt on properly.
“Yes, more,” Ohno yawns.
“Nope, going home,” Nino laughs, tipsy himself, as he reaches over Jun and helps the metal lock click into place.
“Do I need to jam my fingers down your throat for you, Nino?” Jun asks.
“Nope, not this time, thanks,” Nino says, terribly amused. Ohno’s guffaw punctuates their exchange.
Jun suddenly grabs him by the shoulders, warm breath on his ear. “You know, Nino. Don’t just sit there like a dumbass.”
Yes, Jun is drunk, and yes, his eyes are red-rimmed. But Nino feels scalded, knowing that the part of him he’s always assumed to be non-existent anymore is something that Jun sees clearly. He watches as Aiba gives them a salute as they pull away.
Sho nudges him from the side. “Nightcap?”
Nino shivers and giggles and is a little distraught. The neon lights cast a sharp angle on Sho’s face. “You mean we’re not drunk enough?”
“Fine,” Sho says. “You make me feel like the irresponsible one sometimes.”
Nino laughs. “Drive me home, Sho-chan. That’ll make you feel better.” Sho smiles back at him, a smile that makes hidden parts of him catch fire, just like always. Always so warm and with an endless potential to see him burn.
*
It takes twenty minutes to bike from his place to the nearest grocery. His mind is blank as his muscles strain against the pedal. It’s hot. The sweat trickles down along his nape, keen and sharp, down to the space between his back.
At least it doesn’t hurt today.
Just like any other Tuesday, Nino tips his hat to the thirty-something lady manning the counter. He fills up his cart with his essentials: a couple of onigiris to last him the day, melon bread, some packets of instant ramen, a tray of saba fillets to pan-fry when he’s in the mood, and some fruits for good measure. He’s about to head to the counter when he realizes he’s forgotten to grab some toilet paper.
When he turns the round by the small wine cellar, he bumps into a man who has his checkered back turned.
Nino has almost forgotten how it is to be in the same breathing space with Sho and has his universe tipped upside down.
*
Part 2
From: natsunonamae
Title: Café N83
Pairing/Focus: Nino/Sho, Nino/Arashi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Minor sustained injuries
Summary: Nino builds a small café behind his house. His first four customers are the most important ones.
Notes: Hello sky_fish7, this might have gotten a bit deeper emotionally than your original “coffee shop” prompt asked for. Still, I hope you like it. I decided to take a chance and push it a little bit more. Confession: this was supposed to be Tinder!fic, but thankfully, I regained my senses. (Or have lost it completely, depending on who you ask.) I hope you could take a chance on it! Mod, thanks for being amazeballs.
Dig yourself a ditch, six
feet deep, and bury everything that you’ve ever
said, everything that you’ve never
meant, and everything that has
burned you and left you with nothing
but ash
- Shinji Moon
His character jerks on the ground, blood spreading on the concrete. ‘Try again?’, the screen prompts-the light is jarring inside the dark room. Nino rubs his eyes. He throws the controller to the side, wondering if he truly hates what he says he hates, if there’s a point to anything, if he isn’t always just imagining his pain.
But what is pain? Isn’t he just numb, at this point?
When he looks inward at himself, he sees an empty vessel, opaque at the sides and empty at the center. It’s not any different this morning. Rain crashes violently against the window. There is a storm outside, and Nino wonders at the contrast between its rumbling, gray chaos and his own inertia: limbs in a tangle of sheets, legs flung to the side grazing the floor, eyes, shot. Pills, taken.
He turns to his side, merely flinching when his movement sends his forgotten glass of water toppling down to the floor.
It doesn’t stain the tatami mat. Water flows where it is allowed-there is no damage, ultimately, in nature. He watches it seep into the woven material as he toys vaguely with the idea of shattering in a graceful cascade of glass. Clean and musical, over in a moment.
Would he also be absorbed again, back to the muddy earth?
His phone beeps. Another message he plans to ignore. He thinks he’ll lose this last one too, because frankly, no one likes talking to a wall.
The storm might be raging, but Nino’s too exhausted to feel the one inside him. He stands up and steps over the shards. Like a ghost, he makes his way out of his bedroom, his socked feet creating soft thudding noises on the tatami mats. When he opens the door to his favorite room, he finds that it’s still as he left it: dark and damp.
The silence mocks his long absence. He crouches down to light a lamp and gets everything in working order. The slight hiss of the espresso machine makes his mind sigh in relief.
I could do at least this.
There is no room for denial in his head-there hasn’t been, not for the longest. No one will pick his mess up but him. The winds howl as he settles down on the floor. The raindrops pelt the sliding door, as if to wage war. Nino has learned how to silence the worst by now. He sits still as caffeine wakes him up piece by piece. Bone per bone.
He waits for his heart to hammer alive, for his blood to race in his disordered veins, for memories to melt away. He sits there for a long time.
*
Nino doesn’t know when he realizes he has feelings for him. It doesn’t come as an epiphany either-rather, it comes as a slow uprising, the feeling rushing softly over what seem like slight pebbles, a gentle stream flowing inside him. It feels right. Maybe they are young, but Nino isn’t one to flinch away from what feels true just because of that.
They are in Sho’s room, just like any other night. Yet somehow, it is filled with a charged sobriety that Nino blames on himself. Their futures are hovering over them now, goading them on to take the next step or turn back. It’s bad timing, Nino knows, but he doesn’t hesitate on being honest with him. He’s been able to tell Sho anything that’s on his mind, so why should this be any different?
“Nino,” he says, reaching out for his hand. It’s sweaty and cold. “I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything.”
Nino doesn’t push the issue. He only smiles at him, holding fast to his hand, treasuring the moment of vulnerability that he gets only for his own. It is tangible enough.
“Nino? Say something.”
He can be generous, for Sho, he thinks. He can wait.
“I’ll wait,” Nino says. They look at each other, with wonder and a bit of tremor in their hearts, somehow understanding only in that moment that it isn’t something either of them could take back. It is a long silence. The fear encroaches on Nino as Sho shifts to come even closer. He wonders if it’s reflected in his eyes.
“Just don’t wait forever,” Sho warns softly. There is a tone of finality there. Nino lets go of his hand and tries to stand up from the bed, hating himself for feeling scalded.
It’s useless to struggle-Sho has always been the stronger one. His hand circles Nino’s wrist none too gently. “Nino, nothing has to change.”
“Look, I don’t want to pretend. I’ll wait, I want to wait, but I don’t want to put on an act,” he says. “I want-”
And before he could say anything else, Sho reachces over and kisses him for the first time. He only regains his senses enough to kiss back, toes curling at Sho pressing even closer, slowly opening up as his hand cups Nino’s cheek. His thoughts are nothing but white-hot impressions of Sho’s touches. Nino is drowning in Sho, at a loss, not expecting his tenderness and undivided attention.
“What was that?” Nino says, breathless as they surface.
“I just wanted to,” Sho bites into his lips, worry settling into his brows. “Is that bad?”
“You just wanted to?”
Sho sighs. “I’m not like this with anyone else, Nino,” and it feels like the sweetest reprimand he has ever heard-all because he knows Sho. Sho wouldn’t put himself out there, so exposed, if he doesn’t really care. But Nino also knows that he can’t ask for more, for better.
Sho tips his forehead with Nino’s before he has time to think some more. “We’re good, right?”
“We are,” Nino says.
“You’re a good kisser,” Sho assures him, and Nino bats him away.
That night, Nino falls asleep in his arms, just like he has many nights before. When he wakes up, he feels distraught at the difference between the words they say awake and the silent and busy eloquence of the two of them, just sleeping, hearts flush against each other, busy with breathing. He tries to pry Sho off from him.
Sho only tightens his arms around Nino’s middle, eyes still closed. “Stay.”
“And I thought I was the greedy one.” Sho only links his ankles to Nino’s, closing in on any remaining space that was separating them. “Greedy,” Nino repeats.
It’s too warm, but Sho sighs happily, falling right back to sleep in minutes. Nino wishes it’s as simple for him too.
He wakes up to soft music in his ears, Sho's battered walkman in the space between their pillows. Sho smiles as he sees Nino opening his eyes.
"Wait here," he says. The song playing is sad. Nino could hear Sho running down the stairs.
Nino is almost lulled back into sleep when Sho shoulders his way back into his room with two cups of coffee. "I'm a coffee person now," Sho declares, as he gets back under the sheets and hands Nino a steaming cup. It has too much sugar, but he can't bring himself to mind.
"It's good," Nino says, his lips curving into a smile around the rim.
"Good." They listen to another song, and another, the wire of the earphones bridging their thoughts and palpitations together.
*
It’s just a small room beside his backyard with a gate to the street, but in many ways, it’s Nino’s heart laid open for everyone to see and enter. Not that anyone thinks of it that way, he supposes. But to him, that sun-dappled space is his lifeline. A single room with doors that slide open to a garden so small, a car wouldn’t fit in it-it is, at the very least, a reason to wake up.
He has no choice, so Nino takes comfort in the smallest things.
Like the fact the sun has come out again and the clouds aren’t so foreboding within him. That has to count for something. For the first time in a while, he opens the sliding doors. Outside, everything is wet and dewy. The smell of grass rushes in, chasing out the stale air. Nino inhales. He even opens the clapboard gate and stands on the sleepy, tree-lined street, suddenly feeling invigorated.
The morning is busy and quiet, and Nino is thankful for it. He sweeps the fallen leaves, removing any evidence of the storm that had passed. The single wooden bench is wiped clean. He dusts the mahogany counter, making sure that the coffee machine, cups, and other glassware are spot-free. There is relief in this ritual that he always loses himself in, something he doesn’t take for granted for his own sake. For the next few days, Nino relearns a silence that doesn’t make him feel like he has lost something essential.
It is a Thursday, when that silence is broken.
“Aren’t you the cutest little cleaning fairy that ever lived!”
As Nino turns around, his retort is swallowed up by the long limbs now gently wrapped all around him. He wiggles free from the encumbering affection, straightening out his glasses and apron. There is no getting ready for seeing other people again.
For seeing an old friend. It’s been too long, but in many ways, it feels just like yesterday.
“You’re a moron.” Aiba’s face breaks to a smile at the first words he has uttered out loud in weeks, Nino realizes. The fact hits him hard. His friend can act casual for all he wants, but Nino, Nino is reeling in secret. “Seriously, you’re a moron,” he says again, for emphasis, trying to ignore the growing lump in his throat.
“I’m a moron,” Aiba agrees, swiping the cleaning rag from Nino’s hand. “I’ll help!”
“Who do you think you are, marching in like you own the place?”
“The gate was open.”
Aiba is already crouching down and wiping the shelves before Nino could say anything more. He wants to apologize for a universe of things that hurts to think about. He wants to, but can’t find the words, not when Aiba is already on his knees and looking determined to scrub out the dust marks that have settled on the mats. The gate was open, and Nino, Nino had known it was only a matter of time, that Aiba would be the first one to come.
“You’re what people would call a trespasser,” Nino mutters, and Aiba laughs, more air and breath than sound. Nino turns away, eyes welling up against his will. Even in the noxious haze of his thoughts, he recognizes that familiar patch of warmth.
“Masaki, I-,” he starts, but is cut off by the hug Aiba had wanted in the first place. Nino clutches him back without even thinking about it, fingers wrapping around the sides of Aiba’s ribs, closer than he ever had a need for before.
Aiba suddenly bristles. “Wait, Nino, am I hurting you?”
“This…it’s okay for now.” His own voice sounds so small to him.
A part of him just wants to collapse in the skinny, hovering circumference of Aiba, never to surface again. It’s so simple, so vital, what Aiba gives and has always given to him. He exhales, shaking.
“I’m here, no rush,” Aiba mumbles, clutching him even tighter. When they break apart, it is Aiba who has rivulets silently running down his cheeks. Nino aches when Aiba wipes it away with the back of his hands. He would never hurt Aiba-he had thought. Until he did, and maybe, Nino wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself completely for it.
“You…you don’t get to push me away again, no matter what,” Aiba says, voice pinched and tiny. He powers through, and Nino watches all of it play on his face. “Do I have to wait until your mom’s sick to death of me just to know where you are?”
Nino has better words, really. “Well…that was rude of you.”
“No, you’re the rude one,” Aiba corrects him. “I didn’t want to have to bother her, I really didn’t, but I couldn’t leave you alone. You’ve been alone, haven’t you?”
“Don’t,” Nino says, splintering at the crack in Aiba’s voice.
“I mean it, you know! I don’t care about what you’ve done, or what you want to do. Just don’t shut me out again.”
He has to turn away, it’s too much. It’s just like Aiba to take on a lot without knowing-or rashly ignoring-the implications. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”
“Nino, promise me.”
Nino doesn’t believe in promises anymore, but he would do anything for him-this is Aiba. Not that he would say as much, not yet. He steps behind the counter, bending down to get the ingredients. “Coffee?”
There is a long silence as Nino gets the espresso machine going. He knows Aiba is just there, standing, looking at him. “Coffee?” Nino asks again.
“Have one with me,” Aiba says, trying to sound dignified as he blows his nose.
Nino knows he has to start somewhere, and maybe Aiba, Aiba is the easiest, most worn-in place in his heart to begin with. He points to the bench in the garden. “Sit.”
Aiba makes no mention of the past, only following Nino around closely with his grave eyes. They drink their coffee, and Nino can see that Aiba is trying his best not to say anything more.
“Could I have done something?” Aiba asks, unable to resist, before he leaves. Nino ignores him.
“Well, I won’t stop convincing you, Nino.”
*
Am I still waiting?
The question sits at the back of his mind in peace, undisturbed, because he always has Sho around. Whenever Sho smiles back at him, round eyes squinting at the corners, he feels justified for staying still. On most days, it doesn’t even enter his mind. It has been many years, and just having Sho in his life is fine for him.
Sho holds his hands. Sho laughs the loudest at his jokes. Sho obliges and joins him for his stupid skits in the greenroom. Sho allows him to cling whenever Nino is in one of his moods. Sho shapeshifts in whoever Nino wants him to be without Nino having to say a thing.
He doesn’t return what Nino has once offered, but what he gives Nino instead is a chance to feel like he’s someone worth getting to know. Because Sho, underneath all the flimsy layers of intelligence, coolness, and sociability, is serious about what he cares about. About who he cares about. Nino feels it.
On most days, Nino feels incompatible with the world. He neutralizes everything with logic, but deep down, there’s still that pull to darkness, to thoughts that he’s not worthy of love, if only for the reason that he sees himself as someone who takes and takes, with nothing to give back, even if that’s what he wants to do the most. He feels like laughing when he almost always identifies with the villain. Isn’t he just sad? Isn’t he just looking for something to fill in the gaps? Nino thinks all these things, and wonders why it isn’t so obvious to everyone else.
But then, there’s Sho. Sho who could casually say things like, “Nino, you saved me,” even though it was just Nino diffusing an awkward pause during filming.
Sometimes Sho just looks at him, and that’s all it takes for Nino to feel like he’s not really someone who walks his days like there is a void inside of him.
“What are you thinking?” Sho asks, tipping him to the side with a nudge. His brows are furrowed.
Nino grins. “Nothing. You’re so nosy.”
“I’m supposed to be in love with you, right?” Sho asks, and Nino’s heart races. “People in love look at each other more closely than anyone else-”
Nino can’t think straight. “-right, Taro-kun?”
The school uniforms that they are definitely too old for now feel more stifling than ever. Nino is immediately transported to a certain night, years and years ago, and wonders how it’s apparently only obvious to him. “That’s definitely your own conclusion,” he says.
Sho laughs. “Have you been watching the drama when it airs? I’m so in love with you.”
“How can I watch it? We’re in high school uniforms, Sho-chan. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I guess,” Sho says, fingers playing around with his silk necktie.
“I mean, not that we still can’t pass for high school kids,” Nino adds.
Nino savors the way Sho grins back at him and sweeps away any twinge of hurt that had suddenly come peeking out. It’s ridiculous how Sho always has the worst-or perfect-timing, without him even knowing it.
*
It only takes a couple of days after Aiba drops by. It has been a year, but he has already accounted for Jun’s swiftness after he finds out.
“I would punch you,” Jun says in greeting, not bothering to stand up from the bench. “But that would be counter-productive.”
Nino settles on the platform at the edge of the sliding door, allowing his leg to dangle from where the wooden beams tapers off. He sees the arms crossed tightly, the eyes hidden in big, black frames. Jun’s hair is short now, neatly slicked back. He doesn’t look older, not exactly. But Nino still sees it in sharp focus, just as he always has-the kindness hidden in the round of his shoulders.
It’s easy to swallow down, though: there is a feeling of relief gurgling within him, underneath his exasperation with Aiba’s big mouth.Yet the trees have more to say that Nino, the breeze rustling through his hair. Maybe Jun is staring at him, maybe not. He leans back on the sliding door, watching Jun with almost greedy eyes.
“You have a beard,” Jun says. “Aiba said you look like something out of a detective manga.”
Nino crosses his arms too.
“So all this. This…like what, you want to own a café now?” Jun scoffs, gesturing with his hands, his silver cuff glinting in the sunshine.
This bluster, this rush of words-Nino knows it intimately. He knows he only needs to wait. It never stops being a showdown, when it comes to the two of them. He sits there, taking his fill of Jun without shame.
When their silence becomes constricting and Jun’s emotions are choking up all the air, Jun sighs and simply asks why. Nino is tempted to let go, right then and there. He’s so tired, and the feeling stacks up on his shoulders at seeing Jun-reliable, neurotic, kind Jun. Jun would count the bruises in his heart, would trace the outlines with reverence, wouldn’t falter until the faintest blues and purples fade.
It takes a lot not to just blurt it out. Please come fix this for me. No part of me feels as though I can actually make it through this part. Don’t leave.
Except he doesn’t, and he only shrugs his shoulders. Jun takes off his shades. When their eyes meet, Nino understands all over again just how much he fucked up. And because Jun is still Jun, even though Nino could see the he has some choice words reserved for Nino, he says nothing. Instead, he stands up and settles down beside Nino.
“At least be a good host? It’s a long drive,” Jun says.
They enjoy their coffee moments later as they watch the afternoon drift by. Nino wonders if there is something he can offer to Jun other than a hand-poured brew.
“My legs are feeling better,” Nino ventures. Jun almost smiles.
“That’s the best you can come up with?”
“It’s good to see you,” he says, more than meaning it.
“I don’t know if I can say the same thing,” Jun says, leveling him with a steely look, earthly brown eyes alight and searching. “I hated what you did,” he confesses, and Nino hears what Jun leaves unsaid. I hate that you bolted.
But to Jun, to everyone else, how could he begin to explain that he’s the kind of broken that he can’t take back? “You didn’t come here to forgive me anyway," he says.
“I didn’t.”
“We’re on the same page then.”
“You’re full of shit.”
They sit there, the darkness encroaching upon them. Nino doesn’t make a move to turn on the lights, and Jun doesn’t say anything. When Jun drives off later, he almost wants to go with him, to tuck himself inside wherever Jun allows him to.
Nino’s phone alerts him to a new message. I didn’t need to see you to forgive you. I already have, a long time ago. You’ll allow that to be a given, at least?
Nino aches, wants to take back many things that he can’t anymore.
*
It’s foolish to think that Jun is nothing less than ecstatic. Foolish to think that only Jun feels that way.
The cavernous space is empty, save for the staff and the five of them. He is positioned behind Jun, but he is willing to bet his extensive gaming collection that Jun is grinning now, eyes wide. For the first time, the lighting hits the cue at just the right beat, and the world begins to move under their feet. Sho foregoes choreography for the sake of a steadier arm with his video camera. Like kids, Ohno and Aiba are lying on their stomachs with faces plastered on the floor, looking at the empty seats through the enforced acrylic.
“Won’t they see too much of my crotch?” Aiba asks into his mic.
“You’ve always been optimistic.” Nino’s voice booms throughout the dome and Ohno barks a laugh as he comforts Aiba with a pat on the back.
"No one’s gonna see your crotch, Aiba-chan."
“Ninomiya-san, a word for the camera please,” Sho says, training the camera on him instead. “This is a milestone, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
Nino chuckles-is always chuckling-at Sho’s stupid nothings. “I have nothing to add, really. Our Jun-kun is not only handsome, he is also the Johnny’s equivalent of Leonardo Da Vinci.”
“Masterpiece,” Ohno says, his legs swaying happily over the edge. “Johnny’s renaissance!”
Nino is pretty sure that Ohno has no idea what ‘renaissance’ even means when Aiba inches to the frame. “I swear, this is so, so cool,” he gushes, a smile overtaking his face. He looks at someone out of the frame. “Matsujun, this is something else!”
The camera whips to Jun, who has shades on. Nothing hides the brilliance of his smile, though. “I know, I’m awesome,” he says, happy and confident. “I’d like to thank my imaginary fans…oh, wait. I have real fans!” He pretends to wave like a foreign dignitary into the dark expanse.
“You’ve always had it in you,” Nino says solemnly. Sho laughs.
“And you’re always full of shit,” Jun says to him, grinning as Aiba starts jumping up and down on the stage, with the glee of a petulant child. It jolts the platform in uneven waves.
“Ooh, shaky.”
“Aiba-chan,” Sho screams, the trill in it too high and genuine for it not to be. Nino cannot remember cursing his fate-and thanking his supposed lucky stars-more than in that moment, when he understands again that his place is in the middle of this disorganized, so-called storm. Aiba jumps more. Sho clings to his arm. “I mean it!”
“Sho-chan, you do know that it’s going to shake more when all five of us are actually dancing, right?”
“I don’t care!” Sho says, and Nino threads his fingers with him. He pans the camera to Nino’s face. “I’ll hold on to Nino forever.”
Jun rolls his eyes as Nino tries to breathe normally.
“Guys, stop this thing, my slipper fell,” Ohno whines, and Sho rushes to cover the rapid change of events with his camera.
Nino has never had any room to doubt it, but he’s embarrassed to have the feeling rush through him again, always so quick and certain. He has found a place where he will always belong.
*
It’s easy with Ohno.
The late afternoon sun paints orange slats across the tatami and on Ohno’s cheeks. “You’re the biggest jerk ever,” Ohno says without preamble.
It stings, but Nino takes it in stride. He plops down beside him, his feet dangling above the grass.
“Did you hear me? You’re the worst,” Ohno says, worrying his fingers on top of Nino’s. It’s so unexpected-and something Nino would do to Ohno and not the other way around-that Nino is chuckling before he knows it.
“Aren’t you sweet,” Nino simpers, clasping his hand around Ohno’s and enjoying the way he pouts.
The warm press of Ohno’s palm against his own is the biggest step he’s taken in a while. Ohno lifts their hands up, contemplating it like one of his sculptures. For the first time in a while, Nino feels solid. Present. Like his mind won’t slip back anytime soon into the murky darkness that he’s been living in. Maybe a certain look crosses his face, because Ohno squeezes, and looks at Nino with fiery, compassionate eyes.
He swallows before he talks. “Don’t tell me you’re going to kiss my hand too.”
Ohno’s laughter coats him in an effervescent sheen. Something inside Nino’s heart blooms in remembrance.
“And if I do?”
Nino shrugs. “I’ll kiss back?”
Ohno chuckles as he shakes off Nino’s hand away. “Okay, no, that’s weird.”
It’s a sign that he’s truly off the deep end that he has forgotten how pleasant it is to just watch Ohno move, going through the simplest, most mundane movements. Nino watches as Ohno unfolds his knees and stands up in a graceful, swift second. He steps behind the counter and touches the sturdy espresso machine, fingers light and dancing.
“Sleek thing. She’s the size of a school desk,” Ohno says.
“She?” Nino leans back at the exposed wooden beam, contemplating Ohno. Ohno who seems older and younger at the same time, the real Peter Pan, agile, secretly ruthless, and free. All at once, Nino is missing Ohno-or had been missing Ohno, and already missing Ohno. He watches him like something out of a black and white film long imprinted in his memories.
“Looks like a she,” Ohno shrugs. He takes a peek into one of the nozzles, obviously interested. Nino couldn’t possibly resist. He stands up and turns on the espresso machine, decided on teaching Ohno how to make a cup.
“Why coffee?” Ohno asks, as he watches Nino steaming a cup of milk.
“It wakes me up,” Nino answers without thinking, and finds that it’s the truth.
“You should add tables and chairs,” Ohno says. He fills the silence with chatter about knowing some carpenters who could make him customized furniture for cheap-and here, Ohno affixes him with a proud look. “I know people.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Ever think about naming this place? We could fix it up!” Ohno says, looking bright as his eyes roam around, imagining things.
“I just want it to be simple,” Nino replies.
“Simple is good.”
Nino is appreciative of the chance to spend time with Ohno like this, because no matter how far he distances himself away from the past, there are just some pieces that he’s incomplete without. He knows that already, but it’s easier to remember in the company of Ohno.
They nurse their cups as the sun sets. Ohno insinuates himself into staying over for dinner, and Nino couldn’t bring himself to chase him out. Who could? When Ohno enters the main house, he doesn’t comment on how empty, yet messy, Nino’s place is. Ohno doesn’t even look at him as he slurps Nino’s half-assed attempt to make his stash of expired instant ramen taste decent. He manages a few bites of his own, and settles for watching Ohno eat.
Only when his bowl is dry with only a couple of strands of stray noodles left does Ohno lean back contentedly.
“Are you done sulking now?”
Nino crosses his arms. “Who says anything about sulking?”
Ohno reaches for a toothpick. “I won’t force you, you know?”
“I know.” Nino knows. Even after not seeing him for a year, he will never stop knowing Ohno too well, to a fault. He sees the unhappiness that sits there, place, the slight desperation wrestling with trying to make space for what Nino feels. Affection. And suddenly, it’s so hard to have Ohno there.
“They gave it a nickname, a couple of months ago. I don’t know if that helps.”
It doesn’t help. Nino has been living a nearly monastic life, narrowing it down to his consoles and coffee, the barest minimum. He sold his city life, his apartment. He’s let go of the comfort of knowing and being known so deeply, of having Ohno to burrow into when there’s nothing else to do. What happened to a brave front?
“I think you need to leave.” His voice sounds childish, and he hates it.
Ohno doesn’t say another thing and leaves. It’s easy with Ohno. Easy to go back to that place that he thought he’s already left behind.
*
By all means, it starts as an ordinary night. Work lets off relatively early, and in a celebratory mood, the five of them decide to go down to an izakaya, with Sho taking the reigns on reserving. Nino can’t remember the last time that the five of them went for a drink and is a little too enthusiastic as a result.
Aiba is only too happy to keep on refilling his sake cup as Sho tells them all about the dumb things Yokoyama has done on their drama set. It still takes Nino by surprise-no one has the right to be so beguiling, Nino thinks, when all he’s doing is retelling stupid jokes that only Ohno is genuinely amused by.
Nino nudges Aiba for another refill.
“Yoko’s always been an idiot,” Aiba declares as Nino tosses back another shot. Sho laughs.
“I’ll be sure to tell him so.”
Jun shoots him a look-and maybe, just maybe, Nino hasn’t been careful enough to account for Jun’s inquisitive eyes. Nino gives him his most innocent look and fills up his cup.
“Drink up, Jun-kun. This bottle isn’t going to finish itself.”
Jun raises his brows. “At the rate you’re going, it wouldn’t need to.” He takes a long swig.
Later, Jun pretends not to be the most sloshed one as Aiba, in fits of giggles, herds him and a smiley Ohno to his SUV. Sho, who is fussing over Ohno, makes sure that they’re all in seatbelts-“Jesus christ, Sho-san, we’re not that drunk. We can go for more!” Jun exclaims as he fails to put his seatbelt on properly.
“Yes, more,” Ohno yawns.
“Nope, going home,” Nino laughs, tipsy himself, as he reaches over Jun and helps the metal lock click into place.
“Do I need to jam my fingers down your throat for you, Nino?” Jun asks.
“Nope, not this time, thanks,” Nino says, terribly amused. Ohno’s guffaw punctuates their exchange.
Jun suddenly grabs him by the shoulders, warm breath on his ear. “You know, Nino. Don’t just sit there like a dumbass.”
Yes, Jun is drunk, and yes, his eyes are red-rimmed. But Nino feels scalded, knowing that the part of him he’s always assumed to be non-existent anymore is something that Jun sees clearly. He watches as Aiba gives them a salute as they pull away.
Sho nudges him from the side. “Nightcap?”
Nino shivers and giggles and is a little distraught. The neon lights cast a sharp angle on Sho’s face. “You mean we’re not drunk enough?”
“Fine,” Sho says. “You make me feel like the irresponsible one sometimes.”
Nino laughs. “Drive me home, Sho-chan. That’ll make you feel better.” Sho smiles back at him, a smile that makes hidden parts of him catch fire, just like always. Always so warm and with an endless potential to see him burn.
*
It takes twenty minutes to bike from his place to the nearest grocery. His mind is blank as his muscles strain against the pedal. It’s hot. The sweat trickles down along his nape, keen and sharp, down to the space between his back.
At least it doesn’t hurt today.
Just like any other Tuesday, Nino tips his hat to the thirty-something lady manning the counter. He fills up his cart with his essentials: a couple of onigiris to last him the day, melon bread, some packets of instant ramen, a tray of saba fillets to pan-fry when he’s in the mood, and some fruits for good measure. He’s about to head to the counter when he realizes he’s forgotten to grab some toilet paper.
When he turns the round by the small wine cellar, he bumps into a man who has his checkered back turned.
Nino has almost forgotten how it is to be in the same breathing space with Sho and has his universe tipped upside down.
*
Part 2