arashi, ohmiya. cereal.
how original is the title? ;D um, this is quiet literally a fic centred around cereal = i eat too much cereal/was eating cereal as i wrote this. it was like, 700 words at first but i was all lolol let's make it 1000 and what do you know. i still have so many fics unfinished but i keep writing stupid crap ugh.
cereal
ohmiya, g, 1000 wds.
It’s around the same time that Nino starts eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast every morning, somewhat habitually (wake, wash face, eat cereal, get changed), that Ohno decides it’s time to start calling Nino in the mornings for a general chat and what do you think the weather will be like today? And every day, without fail, the call will come during that bowl of cereal, and every day, without fail, Nino will grunt in resignation and rise from his seat to answer it.
By the time Ohno has shut up about the clouds and today’s planned outfit and his mum, Nino’s cereal is so soggy that it has somehow blended into the milk and resembles something he’d rather not mention for the sake of keeping the contents of his stomach inside his body, not out.
When he gets into work, he hears Ohno mumbling the same stories over again to Jun, and every so often Nino wonders why Ohno can’t be more considerate of Nino’s poor breakfast like he is with all the others -
Case 1: When asked, Sho says he’s never received a call before work before.
Case 2: When asked, Jun and Aiba confess that they’ve never even received calls at home before, full stop. (Aiba also says that Nino should feel lucky, but at this he just scoffs. Soggy breakfast is not lucky by any stretch of the imagination.)
He’s not sure how many days (weeks, months) it carries on like this - he’s not really counting. One day Nino fills his bowl with cereal but as he goes to pour the milk he pauses, thoughtful. He sets the carton back down on the counter and stares holes through the phone, waiting in anticipation. Today he will have a decent bowl of cereal. Ohno will not interrupt again for the umpteenth time. When Nino finally surrenders himself to the fact that Ohno’s not going to call, so much time has passed and he’s late for work. And he still hasn’t gotten changed.
No one seems to catch onto the reason for Nino’s particularly sour mood until lunch break that day. Up until then, they all take Nino’s snappy, sarcastic remarks as reason to distance themselves. It’s at lunch though, that Sho leans over and whispers in his ear, “It’s Leader, isn’t it.” It’s not even a question. Nino scrunches his nose in frustration and Sho knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Nino can’t stand it.
Nino makes himself a bowl of cereal when he gets home that afternoon; he didn’t even get a chance to eat a soggy bowl this morning, let alone a fresh one. He’s about one quarter of the way through it when the phone rings, obnoxiously loud, and Nino drops his spoon into the bowl out of fright and the milk splashes into his right eye. He scrambles around frantically for a towel of some sort and grabs at the phone. His greeting comes out choppy because surprisingly enough, it’s incredibly hard to concentrate on anything with milk in an eye and one hand making numerous failed attempts to turn the tap on.
A slurred reply makes its way through the receiver and Nino quirks an eyebrow (though he instantly regrets it when his eye starts to sting even more). He finally succeeds in turning the tap on and lets out a small exclamation of victory, flushing at the realisation. He then clears his throat and turns his attention back to the conversation again.
“Oh-chan, are you-milk-drunk?” he tries to ask, but only succeeds in squeaking and adding in milk where it doesn’t belong. He doesn’t even know what’s going on right now and his mind is very obviously not cooperating with his mouth.
“Of course not,” Ohno drawls, “but I bet you are, baaaby.”
Nino laughs and plonks himself down on the floor, back up against the counter as he rubs at his eye with the now damp towel. The cereal can wait. He doesn’t much care for fresh cereal these days anyway; soggy and slushy just has this whole aura about it and it’s pretty much become tastefully addictive.
After a while, Nino finally tells Ohno on the phone how it’s his fault that his precious cereal goes soggy every morning and that Ohno better make it up somehow. Ohno apologises but Nino can tell he’s trying not to laugh, not that there’s any kind of way Nino can bring himself to be mad anyway.
“Maybe I’ll just join you instead next time,” Ohno suggests, hint of amusement still in his voice.
A faint blush spreads across Nino’s cheeks at the thought - breakfast together - and he wipes his hands nervously on his pyjama pants, readjusting his hold on the phone. Maybe he’ll get a chance to adjust to un-soggy cereal again, or at the very least, finish his breakfast on time to get changed leisurely for the first time in something quite like forever.
And sure enough, Ohno turns up bright and early on Nino’s doorstep the next day, with a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and his own bowl and spoon in hand. Nino opens his mouth to speak, but Ohno cuts him off, impatient.
“Hurry up and let me in before the milk goes bad.”
It’s around two months after Nino starts eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast every morning, somewhat habitually (wake, wash face, eat cereal, get changed), around two months after Ohno decides it’s time to start calling Nino in the mornings for a general chat and what do you think the weather will be like today? that Nino realises he doesn’t even mind anymore. And every day, without fail, the call will come during that bowl of cereal, and every day, without fail, Nino will jump up, butterflies busy at work in his stomach and skip to the phone to answer it.
But if anyone asks, he drags his feet there slowly with a scowl on his face.
cereal
ohmiya, g, 1000 wds.
It’s around the same time that Nino starts eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast every morning, somewhat habitually (wake, wash face, eat cereal, get changed), that Ohno decides it’s time to start calling Nino in the mornings for a general chat and what do you think the weather will be like today? And every day, without fail, the call will come during that bowl of cereal, and every day, without fail, Nino will grunt in resignation and rise from his seat to answer it.
By the time Ohno has shut up about the clouds and today’s planned outfit and his mum, Nino’s cereal is so soggy that it has somehow blended into the milk and resembles something he’d rather not mention for the sake of keeping the contents of his stomach inside his body, not out.
When he gets into work, he hears Ohno mumbling the same stories over again to Jun, and every so often Nino wonders why Ohno can’t be more considerate of Nino’s poor breakfast like he is with all the others -
Case 1: When asked, Sho says he’s never received a call before work before.
Case 2: When asked, Jun and Aiba confess that they’ve never even received calls at home before, full stop. (Aiba also says that Nino should feel lucky, but at this he just scoffs. Soggy breakfast is not lucky by any stretch of the imagination.)
He’s not sure how many days (weeks, months) it carries on like this - he’s not really counting. One day Nino fills his bowl with cereal but as he goes to pour the milk he pauses, thoughtful. He sets the carton back down on the counter and stares holes through the phone, waiting in anticipation. Today he will have a decent bowl of cereal. Ohno will not interrupt again for the umpteenth time. When Nino finally surrenders himself to the fact that Ohno’s not going to call, so much time has passed and he’s late for work. And he still hasn’t gotten changed.
No one seems to catch onto the reason for Nino’s particularly sour mood until lunch break that day. Up until then, they all take Nino’s snappy, sarcastic remarks as reason to distance themselves. It’s at lunch though, that Sho leans over and whispers in his ear, “It’s Leader, isn’t it.” It’s not even a question. Nino scrunches his nose in frustration and Sho knows he’s hit the nail on the head. Nino can’t stand it.
Nino makes himself a bowl of cereal when he gets home that afternoon; he didn’t even get a chance to eat a soggy bowl this morning, let alone a fresh one. He’s about one quarter of the way through it when the phone rings, obnoxiously loud, and Nino drops his spoon into the bowl out of fright and the milk splashes into his right eye. He scrambles around frantically for a towel of some sort and grabs at the phone. His greeting comes out choppy because surprisingly enough, it’s incredibly hard to concentrate on anything with milk in an eye and one hand making numerous failed attempts to turn the tap on.
A slurred reply makes its way through the receiver and Nino quirks an eyebrow (though he instantly regrets it when his eye starts to sting even more). He finally succeeds in turning the tap on and lets out a small exclamation of victory, flushing at the realisation. He then clears his throat and turns his attention back to the conversation again.
“Oh-chan, are you-milk-drunk?” he tries to ask, but only succeeds in squeaking and adding in milk where it doesn’t belong. He doesn’t even know what’s going on right now and his mind is very obviously not cooperating with his mouth.
“Of course not,” Ohno drawls, “but I bet you are, baaaby.”
Nino laughs and plonks himself down on the floor, back up against the counter as he rubs at his eye with the now damp towel. The cereal can wait. He doesn’t much care for fresh cereal these days anyway; soggy and slushy just has this whole aura about it and it’s pretty much become tastefully addictive.
After a while, Nino finally tells Ohno on the phone how it’s his fault that his precious cereal goes soggy every morning and that Ohno better make it up somehow. Ohno apologises but Nino can tell he’s trying not to laugh, not that there’s any kind of way Nino can bring himself to be mad anyway.
“Maybe I’ll just join you instead next time,” Ohno suggests, hint of amusement still in his voice.
A faint blush spreads across Nino’s cheeks at the thought - breakfast together - and he wipes his hands nervously on his pyjama pants, readjusting his hold on the phone. Maybe he’ll get a chance to adjust to un-soggy cereal again, or at the very least, finish his breakfast on time to get changed leisurely for the first time in something quite like forever.
And sure enough, Ohno turns up bright and early on Nino’s doorstep the next day, with a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and his own bowl and spoon in hand. Nino opens his mouth to speak, but Ohno cuts him off, impatient.
“Hurry up and let me in before the milk goes bad.”
It’s around two months after Nino starts eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast every morning, somewhat habitually (wake, wash face, eat cereal, get changed), around two months after Ohno decides it’s time to start calling Nino in the mornings for a general chat and what do you think the weather will be like today? that Nino realises he doesn’t even mind anymore. And every day, without fail, the call will come during that bowl of cereal, and every day, without fail, Nino will jump up, butterflies busy at work in his stomach and skip to the phone to answer it.
But if anyone asks, he drags his feet there slowly with a scowl on his face.