The Storm Saviors, 1/2
Title: The Storm Saviors
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Nino/Jun
Summary: Singing delivery man Ohno is hired for a rather strange job - reuniting Storm City’s superheroes for their fifteenth anniversary. Too bad singing isn’t actually a superpower.
Notes/Warnings: The goofiest Superhero AU ever. I also apologize in advance for Ohno’s songs because they are all TERRIBLE. For this year's kitto_slutparty.
After being handed his first delivery order for the day, Ohno sighed. In general, people hired the Swift and Speedy Singers for the surprise factor. Bouquets of flowers, birthday cakes, anniversary gifts. Repeat customers were a rarity, but the order ticket in his hand noted that this was the sixteenth delivery to Aiba Masaki’s house in the last few weeks.
He shrugged, taking the order ticket to the warehouse where they had Aiba’s stuff ready to go. A 50-pound jumbo bag of birdseed, toilet paper, and toothpaste. “Just go to the store,” Ohno grumbled to himself as he loaded everything into the truck. On the way, he figured out the tune he’d go with, although the lyrics were going to be rather dull. With birthdays he could usually be more creative but birdseed? Toilet paper?
Aiba Masaki lived in a fairly boring looking house at the end of Lotus Street in the northeast part of Storm City. What drew Ohno’s eye, however, were the soaring trees in the yard and the little bird feeders perched on some of the tallest branches. As he wrapped the jumbo bag of birdseed in a hug to haul it out of the truck and over to Aiba’s porch, he wondered where the man’s ladder was. How did he get to his bird feeders?
He cleared his throat, setting down the other parts of Aiba’s order and ringing the doorbell. “Swift and Speedy Singers. A delivery for you!”
This was his first visit to the place even though it was Aiba’s sixteenth order, so he could only hope his songs were comparable to any other deliveries. He lived off of tips, after all.
Aiba Masaki, a lanky guy with a bright smile, opened the door wide. “Ah, my birdseed!”
Before Aiba could say anything else, Ohno took a step back off the porch until he had room to move. He doffed his delivery cap in greeting and burst into song, holding out his arms.
Good day to you, Aiba-san, and here’s what you get
Some food for the birds, and no cavities, I’ll bet
‘Cause with this fancy toothpaste, your teeth are all set!
Some toilet paper, too, so your bathroom never lacks
Your grand total today with delivery and tax,
Is 3786 yen, and those are the facts!
He set his hat back on properly, finishing with a smile as Aiba burst into applause. “That was awesome!” his customer cheered, dragging his birdseed into the house, coming back and pulling his wallet from his pants pocket. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” Ohno replied, trying not to let his jaw drop as Aiba handed him a 10,000 yen note and told him to keep the change.
When he turned to head back to the truck, Aiba called out to him. The sunny cheerfulness on Aiba’s face was faltering a bit when Ohno turned back to find him still hovering in his open doorway, fumbling with his toothpaste.
“I was, um, I was wondering…”
Ohno hesitated, hoping Aiba wasn’t expecting another song with his ample tip. Ohno only had so much creativity in him, and he had five more deliveries to get through before his shift was over.
“I was wondering if you do…private commissions?”
Ohno gaped at him. “Huh?” It wasn’t exactly proper customer service protocol, talking to customers that way, but he was way more used to people closing doors in his face as soon as his song was complete. Follow-up questions were rare.
“I’m trying to organize a reunion of sorts,” Aiba said, looking rather sheepish. “And all the mail I’ve sent out has come back stamped ‘Return to Sender,’ so maybe a song would work.”
Ohno walked up closer, seeing a sad bit of desperation in Aiba-san’s eyes. “Um, I hate to break this to you, but as someone working as a professional singing delivery man, I can guarantee that people who don’t want to hear from you will really not care if your message comes in a song or not. Sorry.”
Aiba looked down, his eyes filling with tears, and Ohno felt terrible for him. “It’s just…it’s just that this month would have been our fifteenth anniversary as a group, you know? They’re not taking my calls, they won’t read my letters…”
Ohno wanted to back away. The last thing you did was get involved in a customer’s personal crisis. They were Swift and Speedy, after all, not Loitering and Listening. But Ohno couldn’t help but be charmed by Aiba. He was clearly a guy with a big heart - the sheer number of bird feeders in the trees in the yard also hinted at a gentle and generous person. “School friends or something? Class reunion?”
Aiba stepped back, holding his door open. “Um, if I tell you, can you promise not to tell anyone? I swear, if you help me out, I’ll pay you whatever you think is fair.”
“Whatever you think is fair” had a lot of potential, Ohno thought greedily, knowing that his rent was due in a few days.
“I have other deliveries this morning,” Ohno admitted. “But I can come back this afternoon.”
Aiba’s face lit up in joy, and for the first time, Ohno thought there was something oddly familiar about that smile.
-
When his shift was over, he made his way back to Lotus Street, this time on his bicycle and not in a Swift and Speedy truck. He left the bike next to one of Aiba’s well-tended flower beds and rang the bell. Aiba opened the door with a smile, staring at him for a few moments.
“Uh…hi?” Ohno replied, shifting his weight to his other foot.
Aiba masked some obvious disappointment, holding the door open for him. “Oh, I thought you would sing again…”
“I’m off the clock, sorry,” Ohno replied, following Aiba into his house.
It was kind of a mess, and Ohno soon realized why. There were animals everywhere. Cats lounging on clawed up furniture, shiba inu dogs curled up in beds near the TV, and a massive hamster palace taking up half of what might have once been a dining room. Inside were dozens of little furry hamsters turning on wheels and shoving tiny carrots in their overstuffed mouths. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell that bad. Maybe his other Swift and Speedy orders had included cleaning supplies. Before Ohno could comment on the menagerie, though, Aiba was pulling him through to a door in the rear of the house.
“Delivery-san, can you promise not to say anything about what I show you in the basement?”
That Ohno’s first thought was “Wait, I haven’t told him my name” and not “I shouldn’t be following a strange animal hoarder into his basement” said a lot about Aiba’s seeming trustworthiness.
“I promise,” Ohno said. “Oh, and my name’s Ohno. Ohno Satoshi. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah!” Aiba said, looking embarrassed. “Aiba Masaki. Follow me, would you please?”
Ohno hurried to close the basement door behind him before one of the cats could sneak down with them. Aiba turned on a light and led Ohno into a space even more bizarre than the veritable zoo on the floor above. Ohno had to admit that the place looked like a command center.
There was a massive map of Storm City pinned to the wall, computer screens and panels, and most shocking of all, a glass display case in the center of the room with track lighting and a bright green spandex costume held inside. He’d recognize that bright green spandex costume anywhere, although it had been years since he’d seen it. The white utility belt and white cape, the yellow circle in the center with “CC” emblazoned on it…
“You can’t be…” Ohno exclaimed, covering his mouth in shock.
Aiba blushed rather adorably, patting his head in embarrassment. “Uh yeah. I am.”
Ohno wasn’t sure how long it had been. Six years, maybe seven? But there was no mistaking it. The costume in that case clearly belonged to Captain Chiba, superhero and protector of Storm City. For several years, Storm City had been a hotbed of villainous activity. Parents had kept their kids indoors, banks had been repeatedly robbed, electromagnetic pulses had a nasty habit of disrupting everybody’s gadgets for days on end.
But then suddenly a group of four superheroes had arrived on the scene. Captain Chiba, who had the ability to fly, was usually touted as their leader. For a handful of years Captain Chiba and his three friends, dubbed the “Storm Saviors” by all the papers, had cleaned up the streets and made Storm City safe again. But all of a sudden, a new team had entered the scene, the Eight Rangers, and the Storm Saviors vanished into obscurity.
They weren’t much more than a memory now. Storm City had been relatively crime-free for a few years. The Eight Rangers mostly made appearances at grocery store openings now.
They hadn’t vanished though, had they? Ohno was apparently standing in Captain Chiba’s basement! Suddenly the really high up bird feeders made a lot more sense.
He took a closer look around the room. Aside from Captain Chiba’s costume, there were a few keys to the city on display, certificates of gratitude, and numerous newspaper clippings pinned to the wall. The Storm Saviors never showed their full faces or revealed their identities, but seeing the smiles in the photographs, he definitely knew that Aiba was Captain Chiba.
Ohno turned, grinning from ear to ear. “Amazing! Hey, what happened to you guys? You were great!”
Aiba flipped a switch on the wall and a couch came up from the floor. He flopped onto it with little grace, tearing up all over again. Ohno was confused, cringing a bit when Aiba started sobbing. Not very superhero-like.
“Oh Delivery-san!” he wailed, even though Ohno was fairly certain he had introduced himself properly before they’d come downstairs. “It was all my fault!”
Ohno sat at the edge of Aiba’s crying couch, patting his foot a few times in sympathy as he explained how it all went down. The four Storm Saviors had mostly eliminated crime, and the Eight Rangers had shown up after vanquishing evil rather thoroughly in their hometown of Infinity City. Encroaching on Storm Savior turf, the colorfully-clad Rangers refused to leave.
Two of the Saviors had wanted to fight them, to force the Rangers to leave. But the other two had disagreed because, of course, a battle of good versus good would leave somebody as a bad guy. Left at an impasse, the Storm Saviors disbanded entirely, and the Eight Rangers had achieved victory without so much as a squabble in the streets.
This had all clearly happened behind the scenes, Ohno knew. One day the Storm Saviors had been around and the next they hadn’t been.
“Um, Aiba-san…” Ohno asked quietly once Aiba’s crying calmed down a bit. “When you mentioned that private commission to me, the um, reunion you’re trying to organize?”
Aiba sat up, grabbing one of the couch pillows and hugging it to his chest. “Yeah. As I said, it’s our fifteenth anniversary this year. We started in high school, once we learned we all had powers.”
Ohno tried to keep his jealousy at bay. Powers very rarely manifested in people, and they were usually pretty lame. Being able to walk through a door once in a while or turn on the TV (but nothing else) with your mind. For a while, Ohno thought his singing ability was a superpower, but working for a singing delivery service had showed him that wasn’t really the case.
“We parted on pretty bad terms, but anniversaries are important, you know? I keep writing and they won’t even listen to me! But maybe you could help…”
Ohno really doubted that showing up and singing a request from Aiba was going to make much difference, but Aiba had told him about his secret identity so easily. Maybe he was really getting desperate.
“The anniversary’s in a few weeks, and I just want to catch up with them. It’s got nothing to do with the Eight Rangers, I swear. I just…” Aiba looked at his feet, tears threatening to spill again. “I just miss them, you know?”
Ohno got off the couch, checking out a newspaper clipping with the four of them. They looked proud to stand together, happy even.
“We’d never fought, not once,” Aiba explained. “It was our first fight and our last.”
Ohno crossed his arms, staring at Captain Chiba and his friends. They’d saved the city, over and over, at great risk to themselves. Even if they just met up together for dinner, out of costume and casual, it would probably mean the world to Aiba Masaki, who had clearly filled the city-saving void in his life with animal rescues. A lot of animal rescues.
“I’ll pay you anything. We got so much reward money from stopping criminals that I really never have to work again,” Aiba said, looking desperate. “Anything, Delivery-san. Please! You’re my only hope.”
Ohno had spent his whole life comparatively powerless. He couldn’t fly and he certainly couldn’t save damsels in distress. But hey, he could sing, right?
“I’ll do it,” Ohno agreed, turning to Aiba with a smile. “But only if you let me watch you feed the birds.”
-
When the Storm Saviors had had their big fight, the first and last fight, it was Keio Boy who had sided with Captain Chiba in refusing to fight the Eight Rangers. Aiba guessed that of his three former companions, Keio Boy hated him the least. Then again, when the group broke up, Aiba had explained, Keio Boy had embraced a quiet life and seemed to like it quite a bit. He wanted to put his life in the Storm Saviors behind him, and that apparently meant ignoring every letter Aiba tried to send him.
Keio Boy, blessed with superhuman strength, was actually a regular salaryman now. Sakurai Sho worked at a bank, had a wife, and two young children. It had been a very productive few years for him, clearly evident as he and Aiba watched Sakurai emerge from the subway exit and head for his bank’s headquarters. He was wearing a fancy suit and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase. They were parked across the street in a Swift and Speedy truck, staking out the place, and had been for two days now.
Ohno was on a brief “leave of absence” from his day job, but with the help of Aiba’s money, he’d managed to talk his boss into borrowing the truck for a while. Aiba handed him the binoculars, sighing as Sakurai disappeared into the building.
“He looks so happy,” Aiba mumbled. “Maybe this was a mistake…”
“It’s not like you’re asking him to start fighting crime again,” Ohno said gently. “It’s just, what, dinner now?”
Aiba’s plan had evolved dozens of times in the past few days now that he had Ohno to bounce ideas off. Initially Aiba’s plan had been for the four of them to suit up and take commemorative purikura photos somewhere before doing karaoke in costume. Ohno had talked him out of that, since all the members of the Storm Saviors were over 30 now and they’d certainly look strange walking around the streets in spandex.
Aiba had finally agreed for them all to meet sans-costumes for dinner. A few hours of their lives, surely that wasn’t too much to ask?
“Maybe you and I should just have dinner, Delivery-san.” Ohno wasn’t sure if Aiba was just calling him that to be cute now or was too embarrassed to ask him again what his name was. “Then nobody has any hurt feelings.”
Except you’d have hurt feelings, Ohno wanted to tell him. Poor Captain Chiba. The past few days had truly endeared the ex-crimefighter to Ohno. He was a lonely man, surrounded by his pets and seemingly unwilling to give up hope that his friends would come back to him. Though Ohno wasn’t always the hardest working person in the world, somehow he wanted to do everything he could to help Aiba get the Saviors back together, if only for one night.
They waited until Sakurai went on his lunch break, and Ohno stuck out his chin defiantly. After all, it was time to showcase his superpower. “Trust me, I can do this.”
Aiba was a bundle of nerves, shivering in his seat in the truck cab. “Just don’t make him angry. He always had a temper, and if he takes a swing at you…”
“Yeah I know,” Ohno said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t fly away like you can, I know that already.”
Aiba chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll do great. And if not, I’ll know you tried. That’s more than I can say for anyone else.”
Ohno had learned that he wasn’t Aiba’s first choice for delivering his message of friendship via song. Three other Swift and Speedy delivery people had rejected his invite, if only because the house full of animals had scared them off. Only Ohno had been in Aiba’s inner sanctum. Only Ohno knew the truth.
He hopped out of the truck, humming to himself as he crossed the street and followed Sakurai, who was heading toward a ramen place on the corner. “Excuse me,” Ohno said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Sakurai Sho-san?”
Sakurai turned, looking polite but a little busy. “He’s a workaholic now,” Aiba had told him. “Tread lightly.” For someone with super strength, he was rather average in size, with a round face and a bit of a slant to his shoulders that his suit couldn’t hide.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping I could speak with you for just a moment.” Ohno took a deep breath. “Keio Boy.”
Sakurai’s eyes widened, and he looked around nervously, hoping that nobody had overheard them. “What did you just call me?”
“You know what I called you,” Ohno said quietly, keeping an eye on Sakurai’s hand as it gripped his briefcase. Already the metal handle was bending.
“Did Masaki send you?” Sakurai asked coldly. “I don’t have anything to say to him…”
Ohno gestured for Sakurai to follow him, and the salaryman luckily did follow him to a dark corridor between his building and the one next door. Nobody would see if Sakurai beat him to a bloody pulp, but Aiba said that the guy could be trusted. As soon as they were alone and Sakurai’s fists were at least ten feet away, Ohno turned on the charm and started to sing.
I come on behalf of Aiba Masaki
A good friend of yours and a good friend of mine
He’s hoping that you will consent and agree
To meet him for dinner and maybe some wine
After all it’s a big anniversary
He just wants to know if you’re well and you’re fine
He wants to catch up that day, if you’re free
Keio Boy, won’t you just give him a sign?
He stood there, performing smile still pinned to his face, arms out expectantly. Sakurai was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. But then a few seconds later he started laughing. Laughing so hard he started snorting. Ohno cringed when the guy gave him a smack on the shoulder, but apparently Keio Boy could control his power enough that it didn’t send him hurtling through the wall. Instead he’d probably just have a massive bruise tomorrow.
“He’s sent me letters for ages, and he thinks a singing telegram’s going to work?” Sakurai chortled, nearly doubling over in laughter. “You can’t be serious with that song!”
Ohno narrowed his eyes. “You mean you’re not going to come? It would mean a lot to him.”
“Look, I have a life now. I have responsibilities and also, ahem, less than thirty minutes left in my lunch hour. So if you don’t mind…”
Ohno dropped to his knees, bending forward until his face was pressed to Sakurai’s shoe. “Just…just have dinner with the guy, okay? Just one dinner, it’s not going to kill you!”
“Whoa, hold on!” Sakurai protested, nudging him with his foot and sending him sprawling from the mere little flick of his toes. “Hold on, give me a break here…”
Ohno crawled back over to him, clinging to the guy’s ankles. “Oh come on, he misses you. All of you. You guys were the heroes of this city, and you can’t give up a few hours from your new boring life?”
Sakurai crouched down, staring him in the eye. “Did Masaki pay you to disgrace yourself like this? You’re really embarrassing yourself right now, okay?”
“He paid me to sing to you, and that’s it,” Ohno insisted. “But I can see that there’s nothing heroic about you anymore.”
Sakurai’s eye twitched. Aha, it was working.
“What kind of person are you, when someone who was like your best friend wants to meet for a meal and you’re too busy…doing…you know, bank stuff to meet with him once? He’s not asking for anything else from you. He just wants to know that you’re happy. He just wants to talk. I can’t believe I used to admire you…”
“Go after his ego,” Aiba had told him in the truck earlier. “He absolutely hates it when people lose confidence in him.”
“Wait a moment,” Sakurai was protesting, his lower lip trembling. “You were…you were a fan?”
“Your biggest fan,” Ohno lied. “And when you disappeared, I cried every night. And this is the kind of man you’ve become?”
Sakurai helped Ohno to his feet, holding him lightly by the shoulders. But even “lightly” by Keio Boy standards really hurt. He tried not to let it show. “Does he really just want to have dinner? My wife knows about everything, and I promised her I was finished with all that. I’m not getting roped in to anything else, not when I have a family…”
“Just dinner. On the fifteenth anniversary. Can you make it?”
Sakurai sighed, shaking his head. “If it means he’ll stop harassing me, I guess I can come…”
Ohno felt his spirits lift. Okay, so maybe his song hadn’t been the catalyst, the desperate begging on his knees had, but he’d achieved the victory Aiba had sought for so long. Maybe his superpower was being really good at pleading with people…
“We’ll pass along the details soon. Dress however you like, no costume required. Aiba-san looks forward to meeting you again.”
“Whatever.”
Ohno nearly skipped back to the truck, offering Aiba a thumbs up. Captain Chiba was barely able to contain his excitement, floating off the truck seat and hitting his head against the roof. He smiled at Ohno despite that, rubbing the crown of his head and smiling his bright superhero smile.
One Storm Savior down, two trickier ones to go.
-
The Swift and Speedy truck had barely cleared the entryway of the parking structure next door, but now that they were inside, they parked on Level 3 and had a perfect view out to the Italian restaurant’s employee access door. Matsumoto Jun worked there as the Sous-Chef and had for years, even when he was fighting crime at Aiba’s side.
Matsumoto had the ability to shoot strong, damaging sparks from his hands. “They’re called pyrotechnic energy plasmoids!” screamed every single newspaper interview with the man, which Ohno thought was rather amusing. Matsumoto had initially tried to float himself as the “Hanabi Man” or “The Plasmoid Prince.” All of these suggestions had been ignored in favor of “Mister Marvelous,” which Matsumoto had apparently hated the entire time.
“It was my fault,” Aiba explained as they spied on the Italian restaurant. “I came up with it, and then the newspapers all ran with it. I mean, really, who in their right mind knows what a plasmoid is?”
Ohno shrugged, although it seemed obvious that the rather lame superhero name had permanently tainted Matsumoto’s opinion of Aiba. Having that huge strike against him from the start, Aiba had been unable to calm Matsumoto down when he’d vowed to strike back at the Eight Rangers for encroaching on Storm Savior turf.
“He’s really competitive,” Aiba told him. “To a point that it surprises me that he never used his powers for evil. He’s like a criminal mastermind waiting to happen with how cunning he can be. But at the end of the day he really is a sweet person. He always brought cannoli to our strategy meetings.”
Competitive and cunning. And yet bearing cannoli. Ohno didn’t know what to make of Mister Marvelous. Sakurai Sho had been comparatively easy to read. Convincing Matsumoto to attend the dinner, well, that would take a lot more than a song and some shoe-kissing.
Aiba shoved a fistful of money into Ohno’s hand, smiling hopefully. “I believe in you, Delivery-san. Now go reel him in!”
Ohno pocketed the cash and left the truck, hurrying down the parking ramp and over to the restaurant. Aiba’s remarkable wealth had paid for Ohno’s new sport coat and slacks, a far cry from the itchy uniform he had to wear for his singing delivery job. He opened the door to the restaurant and was greeted by the young woman at the host stand.
“Welcome to Baccanale, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t,” he said, slipping the hostess the first 10,000 yen bill from the stack Aiba had given him.
The hostess gave him a strange look but pocketed the money anyhow. “Table for one, then?”
He handed her two more bills. “Near the kitchen please.”
He got the seat he wanted, facing the soundproof glass that showed all of the kitchen staff hard at work making pasta, frying up cutlets, and steaming vegetables. At the center of it all Ohno easily spotted Matsumoto Jun. Ohno was rather happy for the soundproofing because Matsumoto seemed to be a very loud person. He yelled at everyone, clapping his hands to hurry them along. Other diners in the restaurant seemed to find it charming, watching the man gesticulate and move the other chefs under him along. Every dish had to pass his firm inspection before it was sent out into the dining room.
A waiter approached the table, and Ohno slipped out three more bills, watching the waiter’s eyes bulge at the sight of them lying so casually atop his bread plate. “Excuse me, can you make sure the Sous-chef personally makes my food for me, please?”
The waiter glanced through the soundproof glass, watching Matsumoto dump a plate of carbonara in the trash and scold one of his chefs. “I’ll…see what I can do, sir,” the waiter mumbled, slipping the money off of Ohno’s bread plate and into his pocket with astonishing ease.
Within minutes Matsumoto Jun in his fine white uniform and proud hat came stalking out of the kitchen with an antipasto plate in hand. He set it before Ohno, arching an eyebrow. He was astonishingly good-looking, which might have also explained why people in the dining room kept looking into the kitchen. He was about Aiba’s equal in height, which meant several inches taller than Ohno himself. However, where Aiba was a rather thin fellow, Matsumoto was firmly built, broad-shouldered in a way Ohno would have expected from someone like Sakurai with his super strength.
“May I ask what publication you’re with?” Matsumoto asked him, bowing his head politely. His face was still a bit flushed from all the yelling in the kitchen, but he was otherwise rather calm. Ohno had expected his voice to be a bit more harsh, angrier. Maybe he brought out his “Cannoli” side in the dining room.
“Publication?”
Matsumoto offered a rather toothy grin. “Ah, I suppose you can’t say. My apologies. I bid you welcome to Baccanale and I would be honored to serve you this evening. Please can I have you start with our finest cured meats and our house-prepared mozzarella. The olive tapenade is an original recipe of my own design. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
With that, Matsumoto took his leave and went from smiling, patron-pleasing stud to kitchen nightmare, screaming at his dessert chef for apparently messing up a tiramisu. Ohno didn’t much mind because the food was really and truly amazing. The entire meal proceeded in the same way, with Matsumoto arriving with each course and some overly complicated explanation about what Ohno was about to shove in his mouth. Competitive indeed, was Matsumoto Jun, and it showed.
Matsumoto made suggestions for wine pairings and then poured for him, waving off the rest of the wait staff. It was like having his own personal chef and butler all in one, and Ohno was in such a happy food coma by the end of it that he belched noisily just as Matsumoto was clearing his plates. The chef turned, and Ohno saw a slight curl of disgust to his lip.
“I’ll be right back with your bill, sir.”
Ohno patted his belly, dumping the rest of Aiba’s money on the table when the bill was presented. Matsumoto eyed him strangely when he came to retrieve it.
“I trust everything was to your liking? We have an exemplary kitchen here.”
“Yep,” Ohno said, sitting back in his seat, wishing he’d worn looser pants. “Everything was great.”
“I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t take any notes during the meal.”
“Notes?” Ohno asked, clueless. “About what?”
“For your review,” Matsumoto said to him, looking at him like he was some kind of idiot.
Which, Ohno realized, wasn’t an entirely faulty assessment. Ohno had entered the restaurant, had flung money left and right. It wasn’t surprising that Matsumoto thought he was a fancy pants food critic.
“Oh, about that,” Ohno said, gesturing for Matsumoto to lean forward. He’d had maybe a little more wine than he should have and he grasped on to Matsumoto’s shoulder a bit more than necessary. “So, when does your shift end?”
Matsumoto pulled away from him. “What?” Some of the other guests turned around at his sudden outburst, and instead Matsumoto came close again, eyeing Ohno with contempt. “Did you eat all that just so you could hit on me?”
Another burp was bubbling up in his stomach, and if Ohno wasn’t careful he was going to burp right in the chef’s face. He let out a little groan. Keep it together, he told himself, Aiba was counting on him!
“Let’s just say that I had a marvelous time, and I’d like to tell you more about it after your shift.”
At the word “marvelous,” Matsumoto froze, looking like Ohno had not only gone ahead and burped in his face, but had also wiped his mouth on his chef’s hat.
“I have…other customers,” Matsumoto said, finally returning to himself. He lowered his voice. “And you can tell Masaki to take his money and shove it up…”
“Please,” Ohno said, grabbing the chef’s wrist. “Just hear me out when your shift’s over. And maybe I’ll tell you about the best panna cotta I’ve ever had and where you can get some.”
He saw rage in Matsumoto’s eyes. All of a sudden there was a bright little flash and a handful of sparks flamed out as Matsumoto closed his fist and held it tight against his uniform jacket. “I will see you at 1:30 AM behind the restaurant. And consider yourself banned from Baccanale for life.”
Matsumoto plastered on a fake smile, straightening up and heading back for his kitchen before he sent any more sparks (pyrotechnic energy plasmoids!) Ohno’s way.
-
Implying that he’d had better panna cotta someplace other than Matsumoto’s restaurant (even thought he hadn’t) worked like a charm. He found the competitive chef lighting a cigarette in the alley behind Baccanale at quarter after one. Ohno couldn’t help but notice that Matsumoto had lit it without need of a lighter or a match. If Sakurai’s power had been frightening, then Matsumoto’s was pretty darn frightening too. Ohno was not in the mood to be burnt to a crisp, especially now that his wine buzz had worn off and he was here to make his case.
He cleared his throat upon approaching, seeing Matsumoto’s handsome face twist into an angry sneer. “Alright, listen. You’ve had your fun, but I’m retired from that life. If Masaki thinks I’m interested in wearing that stupid purple leotard again…”
Ohno chuckled to himself, then shut up when a little rain of sparks went flying past his ear.
“Retired doesn’t mean I’m not using my powers, however,” Matsumoto threatened him. “We’d still be protecting this town if Masaki wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and ‘let’s be friends with the Rangers, they’re fun guys.’ They were interlopers, plain and simple, and his usual cowardice ruined everything. He flew away from his responsibility to this city, figuratively and literally, so I want nothing to do with him.”
Ohno figured this was the best and only time he could go for it. He took a step back, standing right under the streetlight to add some romance to his performance, and opened his arms.
He’s sorry for the ways he hurt you
And especially for that nickname.
Splitting up made him so blue,
He misses your friendship, not the fame!
“Wait wait wait,” Matsumoto interrupted, “are you singing at me?”
Once upon a time, you four were stuck like glue
And protecting Storm City was your game
He’s marvelously sorry, yes it’s true
So meet him again, it won’t be lame!
Matsumoto tossed his cigarette down, stomping it out with his shoe. “Are you done?”
Ohno’s performance face faltered, his arms lowering. “You didn’t like it?”
“Your voice is great, but those lyrics are horrible.”
Ohno clenched his fists. “It’s not about the lyrics but the sentiment behind them!”
“Who the hell are you anyway? I’ve got better things to do than listen to cheesy songs in an alley.”
Could Aiba see how catastrophically he was failing? Could the binoculars show him that? In all likelihood, Aiba had probably fallen asleep in the truck. They’d been up all day.
“My name is Ohno Satoshi. I work for Swift and Speedy Singers.”
Matsumoto rolled his eyes. “His letters didn’t work, so he hired you, huh? Is this about the fifteenth anniversary? Again?”
“Well yeah.”
Matsumoto shook his head, turning to walk away. “Enough already. Seriously. That’s enough.”
Ohno panicked. “Matsumoto-san, wait! You used to be my favorite member of the Storm Saviors.”
The chef stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“I like Sho-kun now. Keio Boy, I mean. Your power’s pretty lame anyway, compared to his. I think he could take you out.”
Matsumoto was quivering in rage, looking like a summer festival as sparks came showering down from his fingers, scorching the pavement. He turned, making the same horrified face he’d made earlier that night in the kitchen when some lamb chops had appeared to be cooked improperly.
“I used to be your favorite?”
Ohno tried to keep from smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right! But I mean, if I had to rank you according to accomplishments, I’m pretty sure that anything Keio Boy’s done is better. You can make a tapenade, so what? Keio Boy could bench press a whale.”
Ohno had a feeling that he was moments away from being incinerated on the spot…or from being proven wrong. Matsumoto held out his hands and sparks soared out of them in dozens of shimmering colors. It was admittedly a beautiful display, little pops and crackles as the plasmoids circled him, spelling out “Keio Boy isn’t that great” in black scorch marks in the pavement visible under the street lights.
“Sho-kun was my friend, and I’m not going to say a bad word about him,” Matsumoto insisted. “Except that my powers are much better than his. And even his are better than the Eight Rangers. Tell me something, you singing weirdo, is Sho-kun going to Aiba’s anniversary crap?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll be there,” Matsumoto patted his bicep through his uniform jacket. “And we’ll see who can bench press who.”
As he watched Matsumoto walk away, Ohno could feel the residual heat from Matsumoto’s sparks, er, plasmoids as he nudged at the ‘Keio Boy’ graffiti on the ground with his shoe. And he was fairly certain he’d never been this scared and simultaneously turned on in his life.
-
“I thought you said he hated you.”
“Well I never specifically said that he hated me. He can be very zen sometimes, you know, so hate isn’t something he wastes time on.”
Ohno stared at his new friend, annoyed. “So then why is he so against the reunion? If he doesn’t actually dislike you?”
Aiba smiled, as he had from the moment he started telling Ohno about Ninomiya Kazunari, his childhood friend. “Nino’s just…well, he’s Nino, and he’s always been contrary.”
Aiba Masaki could fly. Sakurai Sho had super strength. And Matsumoto Jun’s sparks could stop an evildoer in their tracks.
But then there was Ninomiya Kazunari, the man who could breathe underwater.
It was hard to say exactly what Ninomiya brought to the team. Truth be told, Ohno couldn’t remember one specific case Ninomiya had ever been credited with solving. The newspaper headlines always said things like “Keio Boy stops train from derailing” or “Captain Chiba rescues cat from tree” or “The Storm Saviors take out crime syndicate.” It had taken a bit of squinting on Ohno’s part to even find Ninomiya’s name in the newspaper clippings Aiba had plastered all over his basement situation room.
His superhero name had never really solidified in the hearts and minds of the Storm City readership. For the first year or so, he was referred to as The Human Fish, which was pretty creepy, seeing as how he was a normal-looking guy and didn’t have gills or anything. From there he was referred to in turn as The Guppy, Super Lungs, and depressingly, as “Captain Chiba’s sidekick.”
When the Saviors had formed, they’d all been at the same high school. Compared to his three best buddies, Ninomiya’s power was the least…helpful, but Aiba had always insisted that he be treated as a full-fledged, valuable member of the team. So while he’d only be called upon in rare instances, like when a kayak tipped over in the Pikanchi River, Ninomiya was never left behind.
But he’d still always felt like he was watching from the outside, keeping himself busy by managing the team’s incoming calls from the police department looking for help or crafting press releases announcing their victories. He evolved into more of a team manager than a team contributor and it weighed heavily on him. When the Eight Rangers arrived, he’d probably seen a way out. With Sakurai and Aiba in favor of working together with the Rangers and Matsumoto opposed, he’d sided with Matsumoto just to ensure that the team split up for good and he could stop playing second fiddle to his best friends.
But unlike the other two, Ninomiya still kept in touch with Aiba from time to time. Though he lived on the other side of town, he had also been content enough to live the rest of his life in comfort. Just like Aiba, he lived off the money the team had earned from solving crimes. As far as Aiba knew, his friend “Nino” lived in a comfortable condo and played video games all day. Unlike Matsumoto and Sakurai, Nino had little interest in leading a normal, “secret identity” type of life. After all, nobody would know he had superpowers at all unless they tossed him in a lake.
“But why won’t he celebrate with you? If you’ve been friends so long?” Ohno asked as they sat across the street from Nino’s building.
Aiba frowned, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s never really given me an answer. He just ignores my calls lately.”
Well, if Sakurai and Matsumoto had agreed to come, then it was up to Ohno to get the final member to join the celebration. Matsumoto had already called Aiba the day before, demanding that they have their celebratory dinner at Baccanale instead of another restaurant Aiba had in mind. Ohno and Aiba had seen right through him - Matsumoto was looking to show off.
“Are you sure he’s home?” Ohno asked, gesturing to the windows on the third floor. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off.
“Oh, he’s there,” Aiba said with a smile. “The newest game in his favorite series came out yesterday. He probably hasn’t left the building since he got home with it.”
“And you think he’d interrupt his game time to listen to me?”
Aiba wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Delivery-san, you’re a miracle worker. If anyone can get him to pause his controller, I’m sure you can.”
Ohno was not comforted with this knowledge, but he couldn’t let Aiba down. He took the box Aiba held out to him and hopped out of the truck. In his delivery uniform, he was easily buzzed inside. The doorman offered to accept the package on Ninomiya’s behalf, but Ohno used his most winning singing delivery man smile to convince the man that his job wasn’t complete until he delivered his song too.
That got him into the elevator and soon enough he was poised outside Ninomiya’s door. It was a little mean, pulling this sort of trick, but it was probably the only way to get a gamer zombie off the couch. He pushed the buzzer beside Ninomiya’s door, putting on his game face. He ended up standing there for 20 minutes, alternating between buzzing and knocking while he heard little “pew pew pew” and “stabby stabby” noises coming from the sound system within the condo.
He knocked again, holding up the box. “Ninomiya Kazunari, this is a delivery from the Swift and Speedy Singers. You’ve just won a lifetime supply of Cup Noodle, and I’m here to present you with the first installment…”
The “pew pew pew” noises finally came to a halt. In a few moments, he heard the crackle of the intercom. Ninomiya was just on the other side of the door, probably watching Ohno through a camera.
“Show some identification, please,” said a rather amused voice.
Ohno fumbled with the box, yanking his company credentials from his pocket. “Ohno Satoshi, Swift and Speedy.”
“Open the box. Let me see what’s in it.”
Ohno did as told, pulling a box cutter from his back pocket and slitting the box up the middle. He and Aiba had packed it to the brim with Cup Noodle, and they made swishing noises as he tilted the box so Ninomiya could see inside.
“Now sing.”
Ohno stared at the door, confused. “Sir, we usually don’t perform without an audience.”
“I’m watching. Go ahead.”
He blushed. “Uh…”
“Well, go on,” Ninomiya said, and Ohno heard his fist thump the door. “Impress me. Tell me everything about Cup Noodle through the magic of the human voice.”
His song, of course, had been intended for after Ninomiya opened the door. Because the song he’d rehearsed was about Aiba, and not at all about Cup Noodle. Ohno was the absolute worst at thinking on his feet, and he stammered out a lame apology.
“What was that?” came Ninomiya’s voice. “Didn’t hear you. I ought to call up your company right now and lodge a complaint…”
Noodles are very tasty!
Ohno’s voice shattered the silence of the condo hallway as he dropped the box and flung his arms out triumphantly.
They’re…they’re something you should never…waste-y…
You just add hot water, so you can…be pretty…hasty…
“Now dance,” Ninomiya demanded. “Like you mean it.”
Completely out of lyrics, Ohno repeated the three pathetic lines over and over as he swayed to and fro in the hallway, twirling until he was dizzy. This was for Aiba’s sake, he told himself. He couldn’t fail!
“Don’t stop, keep going.”
Noodles are very tasty!
They’re something you should never waste-y!
You just add hot water so you can be pretty hasty!
“Pelvic thrusts, make it sexy!” Ninomiya ordered. “Sexier than that, come on!”
Ohno turned redder than an apple, plastering himself against the wall opposite Ninomiya’s door, dry humping it. He could never, ever tell Aiba about this. “Noodles,” he sang in a low voice, slapping his hands against the wall and slinking up and down, tossing what he hoped was his sexiest look back over his shoulder in Ninomiya’s direction. “Noodles are sooooo very tasty!”
He turned back around, wiggling his hips with a come hither stare. He went for some sexy falsetto. “Now don’t you go, I said don’t you go and be waaaaaaste-yyyyy!”
“Now bring it home!” Ninomiya cheered through the intercom. “Strip!”
He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, one at a time as he shook his ass. “Noodles and seasoning, I said now just put that…mmm yeahhh just put that hot water innnnnnn!”
Ohno was just at his belt buckle when Ninomiya’s door suddenly opened, and a slim, cynical-looking man stood there with his phone, snapping a picture.
“Tell Aiba-chan I’m not coming to his stupid reunion. Bye,” Ninomiya said with a wink before slamming the door in Ohno’s face.
He stood there, fingers on the zipper of his pants, as he heard the game system start up again.
part two
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Ohno/Nino/Jun
Summary: Singing delivery man Ohno is hired for a rather strange job - reuniting Storm City’s superheroes for their fifteenth anniversary. Too bad singing isn’t actually a superpower.
Notes/Warnings: The goofiest Superhero AU ever. I also apologize in advance for Ohno’s songs because they are all TERRIBLE. For this year's kitto_slutparty.
After being handed his first delivery order for the day, Ohno sighed. In general, people hired the Swift and Speedy Singers for the surprise factor. Bouquets of flowers, birthday cakes, anniversary gifts. Repeat customers were a rarity, but the order ticket in his hand noted that this was the sixteenth delivery to Aiba Masaki’s house in the last few weeks.
He shrugged, taking the order ticket to the warehouse where they had Aiba’s stuff ready to go. A 50-pound jumbo bag of birdseed, toilet paper, and toothpaste. “Just go to the store,” Ohno grumbled to himself as he loaded everything into the truck. On the way, he figured out the tune he’d go with, although the lyrics were going to be rather dull. With birthdays he could usually be more creative but birdseed? Toilet paper?
Aiba Masaki lived in a fairly boring looking house at the end of Lotus Street in the northeast part of Storm City. What drew Ohno’s eye, however, were the soaring trees in the yard and the little bird feeders perched on some of the tallest branches. As he wrapped the jumbo bag of birdseed in a hug to haul it out of the truck and over to Aiba’s porch, he wondered where the man’s ladder was. How did he get to his bird feeders?
He cleared his throat, setting down the other parts of Aiba’s order and ringing the doorbell. “Swift and Speedy Singers. A delivery for you!”
This was his first visit to the place even though it was Aiba’s sixteenth order, so he could only hope his songs were comparable to any other deliveries. He lived off of tips, after all.
Aiba Masaki, a lanky guy with a bright smile, opened the door wide. “Ah, my birdseed!”
Before Aiba could say anything else, Ohno took a step back off the porch until he had room to move. He doffed his delivery cap in greeting and burst into song, holding out his arms.
Good day to you, Aiba-san, and here’s what you get
Some food for the birds, and no cavities, I’ll bet
‘Cause with this fancy toothpaste, your teeth are all set!
Some toilet paper, too, so your bathroom never lacks
Your grand total today with delivery and tax,
Is 3786 yen, and those are the facts!
He set his hat back on properly, finishing with a smile as Aiba burst into applause. “That was awesome!” his customer cheered, dragging his birdseed into the house, coming back and pulling his wallet from his pants pocket. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome,” Ohno replied, trying not to let his jaw drop as Aiba handed him a 10,000 yen note and told him to keep the change.
When he turned to head back to the truck, Aiba called out to him. The sunny cheerfulness on Aiba’s face was faltering a bit when Ohno turned back to find him still hovering in his open doorway, fumbling with his toothpaste.
“I was, um, I was wondering…”
Ohno hesitated, hoping Aiba wasn’t expecting another song with his ample tip. Ohno only had so much creativity in him, and he had five more deliveries to get through before his shift was over.
“I was wondering if you do…private commissions?”
Ohno gaped at him. “Huh?” It wasn’t exactly proper customer service protocol, talking to customers that way, but he was way more used to people closing doors in his face as soon as his song was complete. Follow-up questions were rare.
“I’m trying to organize a reunion of sorts,” Aiba said, looking rather sheepish. “And all the mail I’ve sent out has come back stamped ‘Return to Sender,’ so maybe a song would work.”
Ohno walked up closer, seeing a sad bit of desperation in Aiba-san’s eyes. “Um, I hate to break this to you, but as someone working as a professional singing delivery man, I can guarantee that people who don’t want to hear from you will really not care if your message comes in a song or not. Sorry.”
Aiba looked down, his eyes filling with tears, and Ohno felt terrible for him. “It’s just…it’s just that this month would have been our fifteenth anniversary as a group, you know? They’re not taking my calls, they won’t read my letters…”
Ohno wanted to back away. The last thing you did was get involved in a customer’s personal crisis. They were Swift and Speedy, after all, not Loitering and Listening. But Ohno couldn’t help but be charmed by Aiba. He was clearly a guy with a big heart - the sheer number of bird feeders in the trees in the yard also hinted at a gentle and generous person. “School friends or something? Class reunion?”
Aiba stepped back, holding his door open. “Um, if I tell you, can you promise not to tell anyone? I swear, if you help me out, I’ll pay you whatever you think is fair.”
“Whatever you think is fair” had a lot of potential, Ohno thought greedily, knowing that his rent was due in a few days.
“I have other deliveries this morning,” Ohno admitted. “But I can come back this afternoon.”
Aiba’s face lit up in joy, and for the first time, Ohno thought there was something oddly familiar about that smile.
-
When his shift was over, he made his way back to Lotus Street, this time on his bicycle and not in a Swift and Speedy truck. He left the bike next to one of Aiba’s well-tended flower beds and rang the bell. Aiba opened the door with a smile, staring at him for a few moments.
“Uh…hi?” Ohno replied, shifting his weight to his other foot.
Aiba masked some obvious disappointment, holding the door open for him. “Oh, I thought you would sing again…”
“I’m off the clock, sorry,” Ohno replied, following Aiba into his house.
It was kind of a mess, and Ohno soon realized why. There were animals everywhere. Cats lounging on clawed up furniture, shiba inu dogs curled up in beds near the TV, and a massive hamster palace taking up half of what might have once been a dining room. Inside were dozens of little furry hamsters turning on wheels and shoving tiny carrots in their overstuffed mouths. Surprisingly, it didn’t smell that bad. Maybe his other Swift and Speedy orders had included cleaning supplies. Before Ohno could comment on the menagerie, though, Aiba was pulling him through to a door in the rear of the house.
“Delivery-san, can you promise not to say anything about what I show you in the basement?”
That Ohno’s first thought was “Wait, I haven’t told him my name” and not “I shouldn’t be following a strange animal hoarder into his basement” said a lot about Aiba’s seeming trustworthiness.
“I promise,” Ohno said. “Oh, and my name’s Ohno. Ohno Satoshi. Nice to meet you.”
“Ah!” Aiba said, looking embarrassed. “Aiba Masaki. Follow me, would you please?”
Ohno hurried to close the basement door behind him before one of the cats could sneak down with them. Aiba turned on a light and led Ohno into a space even more bizarre than the veritable zoo on the floor above. Ohno had to admit that the place looked like a command center.
There was a massive map of Storm City pinned to the wall, computer screens and panels, and most shocking of all, a glass display case in the center of the room with track lighting and a bright green spandex costume held inside. He’d recognize that bright green spandex costume anywhere, although it had been years since he’d seen it. The white utility belt and white cape, the yellow circle in the center with “CC” emblazoned on it…
“You can’t be…” Ohno exclaimed, covering his mouth in shock.
Aiba blushed rather adorably, patting his head in embarrassment. “Uh yeah. I am.”
Ohno wasn’t sure how long it had been. Six years, maybe seven? But there was no mistaking it. The costume in that case clearly belonged to Captain Chiba, superhero and protector of Storm City. For several years, Storm City had been a hotbed of villainous activity. Parents had kept their kids indoors, banks had been repeatedly robbed, electromagnetic pulses had a nasty habit of disrupting everybody’s gadgets for days on end.
But then suddenly a group of four superheroes had arrived on the scene. Captain Chiba, who had the ability to fly, was usually touted as their leader. For a handful of years Captain Chiba and his three friends, dubbed the “Storm Saviors” by all the papers, had cleaned up the streets and made Storm City safe again. But all of a sudden, a new team had entered the scene, the Eight Rangers, and the Storm Saviors vanished into obscurity.
They weren’t much more than a memory now. Storm City had been relatively crime-free for a few years. The Eight Rangers mostly made appearances at grocery store openings now.
They hadn’t vanished though, had they? Ohno was apparently standing in Captain Chiba’s basement! Suddenly the really high up bird feeders made a lot more sense.
He took a closer look around the room. Aside from Captain Chiba’s costume, there were a few keys to the city on display, certificates of gratitude, and numerous newspaper clippings pinned to the wall. The Storm Saviors never showed their full faces or revealed their identities, but seeing the smiles in the photographs, he definitely knew that Aiba was Captain Chiba.
Ohno turned, grinning from ear to ear. “Amazing! Hey, what happened to you guys? You were great!”
Aiba flipped a switch on the wall and a couch came up from the floor. He flopped onto it with little grace, tearing up all over again. Ohno was confused, cringing a bit when Aiba started sobbing. Not very superhero-like.
“Oh Delivery-san!” he wailed, even though Ohno was fairly certain he had introduced himself properly before they’d come downstairs. “It was all my fault!”
Ohno sat at the edge of Aiba’s crying couch, patting his foot a few times in sympathy as he explained how it all went down. The four Storm Saviors had mostly eliminated crime, and the Eight Rangers had shown up after vanquishing evil rather thoroughly in their hometown of Infinity City. Encroaching on Storm Savior turf, the colorfully-clad Rangers refused to leave.
Two of the Saviors had wanted to fight them, to force the Rangers to leave. But the other two had disagreed because, of course, a battle of good versus good would leave somebody as a bad guy. Left at an impasse, the Storm Saviors disbanded entirely, and the Eight Rangers had achieved victory without so much as a squabble in the streets.
This had all clearly happened behind the scenes, Ohno knew. One day the Storm Saviors had been around and the next they hadn’t been.
“Um, Aiba-san…” Ohno asked quietly once Aiba’s crying calmed down a bit. “When you mentioned that private commission to me, the um, reunion you’re trying to organize?”
Aiba sat up, grabbing one of the couch pillows and hugging it to his chest. “Yeah. As I said, it’s our fifteenth anniversary this year. We started in high school, once we learned we all had powers.”
Ohno tried to keep his jealousy at bay. Powers very rarely manifested in people, and they were usually pretty lame. Being able to walk through a door once in a while or turn on the TV (but nothing else) with your mind. For a while, Ohno thought his singing ability was a superpower, but working for a singing delivery service had showed him that wasn’t really the case.
“We parted on pretty bad terms, but anniversaries are important, you know? I keep writing and they won’t even listen to me! But maybe you could help…”
Ohno really doubted that showing up and singing a request from Aiba was going to make much difference, but Aiba had told him about his secret identity so easily. Maybe he was really getting desperate.
“The anniversary’s in a few weeks, and I just want to catch up with them. It’s got nothing to do with the Eight Rangers, I swear. I just…” Aiba looked at his feet, tears threatening to spill again. “I just miss them, you know?”
Ohno got off the couch, checking out a newspaper clipping with the four of them. They looked proud to stand together, happy even.
“We’d never fought, not once,” Aiba explained. “It was our first fight and our last.”
Ohno crossed his arms, staring at Captain Chiba and his friends. They’d saved the city, over and over, at great risk to themselves. Even if they just met up together for dinner, out of costume and casual, it would probably mean the world to Aiba Masaki, who had clearly filled the city-saving void in his life with animal rescues. A lot of animal rescues.
“I’ll pay you anything. We got so much reward money from stopping criminals that I really never have to work again,” Aiba said, looking desperate. “Anything, Delivery-san. Please! You’re my only hope.”
Ohno had spent his whole life comparatively powerless. He couldn’t fly and he certainly couldn’t save damsels in distress. But hey, he could sing, right?
“I’ll do it,” Ohno agreed, turning to Aiba with a smile. “But only if you let me watch you feed the birds.”
-
When the Storm Saviors had had their big fight, the first and last fight, it was Keio Boy who had sided with Captain Chiba in refusing to fight the Eight Rangers. Aiba guessed that of his three former companions, Keio Boy hated him the least. Then again, when the group broke up, Aiba had explained, Keio Boy had embraced a quiet life and seemed to like it quite a bit. He wanted to put his life in the Storm Saviors behind him, and that apparently meant ignoring every letter Aiba tried to send him.
Keio Boy, blessed with superhuman strength, was actually a regular salaryman now. Sakurai Sho worked at a bank, had a wife, and two young children. It had been a very productive few years for him, clearly evident as he and Aiba watched Sakurai emerge from the subway exit and head for his bank’s headquarters. He was wearing a fancy suit and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase. They were parked across the street in a Swift and Speedy truck, staking out the place, and had been for two days now.
Ohno was on a brief “leave of absence” from his day job, but with the help of Aiba’s money, he’d managed to talk his boss into borrowing the truck for a while. Aiba handed him the binoculars, sighing as Sakurai disappeared into the building.
“He looks so happy,” Aiba mumbled. “Maybe this was a mistake…”
“It’s not like you’re asking him to start fighting crime again,” Ohno said gently. “It’s just, what, dinner now?”
Aiba’s plan had evolved dozens of times in the past few days now that he had Ohno to bounce ideas off. Initially Aiba’s plan had been for the four of them to suit up and take commemorative purikura photos somewhere before doing karaoke in costume. Ohno had talked him out of that, since all the members of the Storm Saviors were over 30 now and they’d certainly look strange walking around the streets in spandex.
Aiba had finally agreed for them all to meet sans-costumes for dinner. A few hours of their lives, surely that wasn’t too much to ask?
“Maybe you and I should just have dinner, Delivery-san.” Ohno wasn’t sure if Aiba was just calling him that to be cute now or was too embarrassed to ask him again what his name was. “Then nobody has any hurt feelings.”
Except you’d have hurt feelings, Ohno wanted to tell him. Poor Captain Chiba. The past few days had truly endeared the ex-crimefighter to Ohno. He was a lonely man, surrounded by his pets and seemingly unwilling to give up hope that his friends would come back to him. Though Ohno wasn’t always the hardest working person in the world, somehow he wanted to do everything he could to help Aiba get the Saviors back together, if only for one night.
They waited until Sakurai went on his lunch break, and Ohno stuck out his chin defiantly. After all, it was time to showcase his superpower. “Trust me, I can do this.”
Aiba was a bundle of nerves, shivering in his seat in the truck cab. “Just don’t make him angry. He always had a temper, and if he takes a swing at you…”
“Yeah I know,” Ohno said, rolling his eyes. “I can’t fly away like you can, I know that already.”
Aiba chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll do great. And if not, I’ll know you tried. That’s more than I can say for anyone else.”
Ohno had learned that he wasn’t Aiba’s first choice for delivering his message of friendship via song. Three other Swift and Speedy delivery people had rejected his invite, if only because the house full of animals had scared them off. Only Ohno had been in Aiba’s inner sanctum. Only Ohno knew the truth.
He hopped out of the truck, humming to himself as he crossed the street and followed Sakurai, who was heading toward a ramen place on the corner. “Excuse me,” Ohno said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Sakurai Sho-san?”
Sakurai turned, looking polite but a little busy. “He’s a workaholic now,” Aiba had told him. “Tread lightly.” For someone with super strength, he was rather average in size, with a round face and a bit of a slant to his shoulders that his suit couldn’t hide.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping I could speak with you for just a moment.” Ohno took a deep breath. “Keio Boy.”
Sakurai’s eyes widened, and he looked around nervously, hoping that nobody had overheard them. “What did you just call me?”
“You know what I called you,” Ohno said quietly, keeping an eye on Sakurai’s hand as it gripped his briefcase. Already the metal handle was bending.
“Did Masaki send you?” Sakurai asked coldly. “I don’t have anything to say to him…”
Ohno gestured for Sakurai to follow him, and the salaryman luckily did follow him to a dark corridor between his building and the one next door. Nobody would see if Sakurai beat him to a bloody pulp, but Aiba said that the guy could be trusted. As soon as they were alone and Sakurai’s fists were at least ten feet away, Ohno turned on the charm and started to sing.
I come on behalf of Aiba Masaki
A good friend of yours and a good friend of mine
He’s hoping that you will consent and agree
To meet him for dinner and maybe some wine
After all it’s a big anniversary
He just wants to know if you’re well and you’re fine
He wants to catch up that day, if you’re free
Keio Boy, won’t you just give him a sign?
He stood there, performing smile still pinned to his face, arms out expectantly. Sakurai was staring at him like he’d lost his mind. But then a few seconds later he started laughing. Laughing so hard he started snorting. Ohno cringed when the guy gave him a smack on the shoulder, but apparently Keio Boy could control his power enough that it didn’t send him hurtling through the wall. Instead he’d probably just have a massive bruise tomorrow.
“He’s sent me letters for ages, and he thinks a singing telegram’s going to work?” Sakurai chortled, nearly doubling over in laughter. “You can’t be serious with that song!”
Ohno narrowed his eyes. “You mean you’re not going to come? It would mean a lot to him.”
“Look, I have a life now. I have responsibilities and also, ahem, less than thirty minutes left in my lunch hour. So if you don’t mind…”
Ohno dropped to his knees, bending forward until his face was pressed to Sakurai’s shoe. “Just…just have dinner with the guy, okay? Just one dinner, it’s not going to kill you!”
“Whoa, hold on!” Sakurai protested, nudging him with his foot and sending him sprawling from the mere little flick of his toes. “Hold on, give me a break here…”
Ohno crawled back over to him, clinging to the guy’s ankles. “Oh come on, he misses you. All of you. You guys were the heroes of this city, and you can’t give up a few hours from your new boring life?”
Sakurai crouched down, staring him in the eye. “Did Masaki pay you to disgrace yourself like this? You’re really embarrassing yourself right now, okay?”
“He paid me to sing to you, and that’s it,” Ohno insisted. “But I can see that there’s nothing heroic about you anymore.”
Sakurai’s eye twitched. Aha, it was working.
“What kind of person are you, when someone who was like your best friend wants to meet for a meal and you’re too busy…doing…you know, bank stuff to meet with him once? He’s not asking for anything else from you. He just wants to know that you’re happy. He just wants to talk. I can’t believe I used to admire you…”
“Go after his ego,” Aiba had told him in the truck earlier. “He absolutely hates it when people lose confidence in him.”
“Wait a moment,” Sakurai was protesting, his lower lip trembling. “You were…you were a fan?”
“Your biggest fan,” Ohno lied. “And when you disappeared, I cried every night. And this is the kind of man you’ve become?”
Sakurai helped Ohno to his feet, holding him lightly by the shoulders. But even “lightly” by Keio Boy standards really hurt. He tried not to let it show. “Does he really just want to have dinner? My wife knows about everything, and I promised her I was finished with all that. I’m not getting roped in to anything else, not when I have a family…”
“Just dinner. On the fifteenth anniversary. Can you make it?”
Sakurai sighed, shaking his head. “If it means he’ll stop harassing me, I guess I can come…”
Ohno felt his spirits lift. Okay, so maybe his song hadn’t been the catalyst, the desperate begging on his knees had, but he’d achieved the victory Aiba had sought for so long. Maybe his superpower was being really good at pleading with people…
“We’ll pass along the details soon. Dress however you like, no costume required. Aiba-san looks forward to meeting you again.”
“Whatever.”
Ohno nearly skipped back to the truck, offering Aiba a thumbs up. Captain Chiba was barely able to contain his excitement, floating off the truck seat and hitting his head against the roof. He smiled at Ohno despite that, rubbing the crown of his head and smiling his bright superhero smile.
One Storm Savior down, two trickier ones to go.
-
The Swift and Speedy truck had barely cleared the entryway of the parking structure next door, but now that they were inside, they parked on Level 3 and had a perfect view out to the Italian restaurant’s employee access door. Matsumoto Jun worked there as the Sous-Chef and had for years, even when he was fighting crime at Aiba’s side.
Matsumoto had the ability to shoot strong, damaging sparks from his hands. “They’re called pyrotechnic energy plasmoids!” screamed every single newspaper interview with the man, which Ohno thought was rather amusing. Matsumoto had initially tried to float himself as the “Hanabi Man” or “The Plasmoid Prince.” All of these suggestions had been ignored in favor of “Mister Marvelous,” which Matsumoto had apparently hated the entire time.
“It was my fault,” Aiba explained as they spied on the Italian restaurant. “I came up with it, and then the newspapers all ran with it. I mean, really, who in their right mind knows what a plasmoid is?”
Ohno shrugged, although it seemed obvious that the rather lame superhero name had permanently tainted Matsumoto’s opinion of Aiba. Having that huge strike against him from the start, Aiba had been unable to calm Matsumoto down when he’d vowed to strike back at the Eight Rangers for encroaching on Storm Savior turf.
“He’s really competitive,” Aiba told him. “To a point that it surprises me that he never used his powers for evil. He’s like a criminal mastermind waiting to happen with how cunning he can be. But at the end of the day he really is a sweet person. He always brought cannoli to our strategy meetings.”
Competitive and cunning. And yet bearing cannoli. Ohno didn’t know what to make of Mister Marvelous. Sakurai Sho had been comparatively easy to read. Convincing Matsumoto to attend the dinner, well, that would take a lot more than a song and some shoe-kissing.
Aiba shoved a fistful of money into Ohno’s hand, smiling hopefully. “I believe in you, Delivery-san. Now go reel him in!”
Ohno pocketed the cash and left the truck, hurrying down the parking ramp and over to the restaurant. Aiba’s remarkable wealth had paid for Ohno’s new sport coat and slacks, a far cry from the itchy uniform he had to wear for his singing delivery job. He opened the door to the restaurant and was greeted by the young woman at the host stand.
“Welcome to Baccanale, sir. Do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t,” he said, slipping the hostess the first 10,000 yen bill from the stack Aiba had given him.
The hostess gave him a strange look but pocketed the money anyhow. “Table for one, then?”
He handed her two more bills. “Near the kitchen please.”
He got the seat he wanted, facing the soundproof glass that showed all of the kitchen staff hard at work making pasta, frying up cutlets, and steaming vegetables. At the center of it all Ohno easily spotted Matsumoto Jun. Ohno was rather happy for the soundproofing because Matsumoto seemed to be a very loud person. He yelled at everyone, clapping his hands to hurry them along. Other diners in the restaurant seemed to find it charming, watching the man gesticulate and move the other chefs under him along. Every dish had to pass his firm inspection before it was sent out into the dining room.
A waiter approached the table, and Ohno slipped out three more bills, watching the waiter’s eyes bulge at the sight of them lying so casually atop his bread plate. “Excuse me, can you make sure the Sous-chef personally makes my food for me, please?”
The waiter glanced through the soundproof glass, watching Matsumoto dump a plate of carbonara in the trash and scold one of his chefs. “I’ll…see what I can do, sir,” the waiter mumbled, slipping the money off of Ohno’s bread plate and into his pocket with astonishing ease.
Within minutes Matsumoto Jun in his fine white uniform and proud hat came stalking out of the kitchen with an antipasto plate in hand. He set it before Ohno, arching an eyebrow. He was astonishingly good-looking, which might have also explained why people in the dining room kept looking into the kitchen. He was about Aiba’s equal in height, which meant several inches taller than Ohno himself. However, where Aiba was a rather thin fellow, Matsumoto was firmly built, broad-shouldered in a way Ohno would have expected from someone like Sakurai with his super strength.
“May I ask what publication you’re with?” Matsumoto asked him, bowing his head politely. His face was still a bit flushed from all the yelling in the kitchen, but he was otherwise rather calm. Ohno had expected his voice to be a bit more harsh, angrier. Maybe he brought out his “Cannoli” side in the dining room.
“Publication?”
Matsumoto offered a rather toothy grin. “Ah, I suppose you can’t say. My apologies. I bid you welcome to Baccanale and I would be honored to serve you this evening. Please can I have you start with our finest cured meats and our house-prepared mozzarella. The olive tapenade is an original recipe of my own design. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
With that, Matsumoto took his leave and went from smiling, patron-pleasing stud to kitchen nightmare, screaming at his dessert chef for apparently messing up a tiramisu. Ohno didn’t much mind because the food was really and truly amazing. The entire meal proceeded in the same way, with Matsumoto arriving with each course and some overly complicated explanation about what Ohno was about to shove in his mouth. Competitive indeed, was Matsumoto Jun, and it showed.
Matsumoto made suggestions for wine pairings and then poured for him, waving off the rest of the wait staff. It was like having his own personal chef and butler all in one, and Ohno was in such a happy food coma by the end of it that he belched noisily just as Matsumoto was clearing his plates. The chef turned, and Ohno saw a slight curl of disgust to his lip.
“I’ll be right back with your bill, sir.”
Ohno patted his belly, dumping the rest of Aiba’s money on the table when the bill was presented. Matsumoto eyed him strangely when he came to retrieve it.
“I trust everything was to your liking? We have an exemplary kitchen here.”
“Yep,” Ohno said, sitting back in his seat, wishing he’d worn looser pants. “Everything was great.”
“I couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t take any notes during the meal.”
“Notes?” Ohno asked, clueless. “About what?”
“For your review,” Matsumoto said to him, looking at him like he was some kind of idiot.
Which, Ohno realized, wasn’t an entirely faulty assessment. Ohno had entered the restaurant, had flung money left and right. It wasn’t surprising that Matsumoto thought he was a fancy pants food critic.
“Oh, about that,” Ohno said, gesturing for Matsumoto to lean forward. He’d had maybe a little more wine than he should have and he grasped on to Matsumoto’s shoulder a bit more than necessary. “So, when does your shift end?”
Matsumoto pulled away from him. “What?” Some of the other guests turned around at his sudden outburst, and instead Matsumoto came close again, eyeing Ohno with contempt. “Did you eat all that just so you could hit on me?”
Another burp was bubbling up in his stomach, and if Ohno wasn’t careful he was going to burp right in the chef’s face. He let out a little groan. Keep it together, he told himself, Aiba was counting on him!
“Let’s just say that I had a marvelous time, and I’d like to tell you more about it after your shift.”
At the word “marvelous,” Matsumoto froze, looking like Ohno had not only gone ahead and burped in his face, but had also wiped his mouth on his chef’s hat.
“I have…other customers,” Matsumoto said, finally returning to himself. He lowered his voice. “And you can tell Masaki to take his money and shove it up…”
“Please,” Ohno said, grabbing the chef’s wrist. “Just hear me out when your shift’s over. And maybe I’ll tell you about the best panna cotta I’ve ever had and where you can get some.”
He saw rage in Matsumoto’s eyes. All of a sudden there was a bright little flash and a handful of sparks flamed out as Matsumoto closed his fist and held it tight against his uniform jacket. “I will see you at 1:30 AM behind the restaurant. And consider yourself banned from Baccanale for life.”
Matsumoto plastered on a fake smile, straightening up and heading back for his kitchen before he sent any more sparks (pyrotechnic energy plasmoids!) Ohno’s way.
-
Implying that he’d had better panna cotta someplace other than Matsumoto’s restaurant (even thought he hadn’t) worked like a charm. He found the competitive chef lighting a cigarette in the alley behind Baccanale at quarter after one. Ohno couldn’t help but notice that Matsumoto had lit it without need of a lighter or a match. If Sakurai’s power had been frightening, then Matsumoto’s was pretty darn frightening too. Ohno was not in the mood to be burnt to a crisp, especially now that his wine buzz had worn off and he was here to make his case.
He cleared his throat upon approaching, seeing Matsumoto’s handsome face twist into an angry sneer. “Alright, listen. You’ve had your fun, but I’m retired from that life. If Masaki thinks I’m interested in wearing that stupid purple leotard again…”
Ohno chuckled to himself, then shut up when a little rain of sparks went flying past his ear.
“Retired doesn’t mean I’m not using my powers, however,” Matsumoto threatened him. “We’d still be protecting this town if Masaki wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows and ‘let’s be friends with the Rangers, they’re fun guys.’ They were interlopers, plain and simple, and his usual cowardice ruined everything. He flew away from his responsibility to this city, figuratively and literally, so I want nothing to do with him.”
Ohno figured this was the best and only time he could go for it. He took a step back, standing right under the streetlight to add some romance to his performance, and opened his arms.
He’s sorry for the ways he hurt you
And especially for that nickname.
Splitting up made him so blue,
He misses your friendship, not the fame!
“Wait wait wait,” Matsumoto interrupted, “are you singing at me?”
Once upon a time, you four were stuck like glue
And protecting Storm City was your game
He’s marvelously sorry, yes it’s true
So meet him again, it won’t be lame!
Matsumoto tossed his cigarette down, stomping it out with his shoe. “Are you done?”
Ohno’s performance face faltered, his arms lowering. “You didn’t like it?”
“Your voice is great, but those lyrics are horrible.”
Ohno clenched his fists. “It’s not about the lyrics but the sentiment behind them!”
“Who the hell are you anyway? I’ve got better things to do than listen to cheesy songs in an alley.”
Could Aiba see how catastrophically he was failing? Could the binoculars show him that? In all likelihood, Aiba had probably fallen asleep in the truck. They’d been up all day.
“My name is Ohno Satoshi. I work for Swift and Speedy Singers.”
Matsumoto rolled his eyes. “His letters didn’t work, so he hired you, huh? Is this about the fifteenth anniversary? Again?”
“Well yeah.”
Matsumoto shook his head, turning to walk away. “Enough already. Seriously. That’s enough.”
Ohno panicked. “Matsumoto-san, wait! You used to be my favorite member of the Storm Saviors.”
The chef stopped, but didn’t turn back.
“I like Sho-kun now. Keio Boy, I mean. Your power’s pretty lame anyway, compared to his. I think he could take you out.”
Matsumoto was quivering in rage, looking like a summer festival as sparks came showering down from his fingers, scorching the pavement. He turned, making the same horrified face he’d made earlier that night in the kitchen when some lamb chops had appeared to be cooked improperly.
“I used to be your favorite?”
Ohno tried to keep from smiling. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s right! But I mean, if I had to rank you according to accomplishments, I’m pretty sure that anything Keio Boy’s done is better. You can make a tapenade, so what? Keio Boy could bench press a whale.”
Ohno had a feeling that he was moments away from being incinerated on the spot…or from being proven wrong. Matsumoto held out his hands and sparks soared out of them in dozens of shimmering colors. It was admittedly a beautiful display, little pops and crackles as the plasmoids circled him, spelling out “Keio Boy isn’t that great” in black scorch marks in the pavement visible under the street lights.
“Sho-kun was my friend, and I’m not going to say a bad word about him,” Matsumoto insisted. “Except that my powers are much better than his. And even his are better than the Eight Rangers. Tell me something, you singing weirdo, is Sho-kun going to Aiba’s anniversary crap?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I’ll be there,” Matsumoto patted his bicep through his uniform jacket. “And we’ll see who can bench press who.”
As he watched Matsumoto walk away, Ohno could feel the residual heat from Matsumoto’s sparks, er, plasmoids as he nudged at the ‘Keio Boy’ graffiti on the ground with his shoe. And he was fairly certain he’d never been this scared and simultaneously turned on in his life.
-
“I thought you said he hated you.”
“Well I never specifically said that he hated me. He can be very zen sometimes, you know, so hate isn’t something he wastes time on.”
Ohno stared at his new friend, annoyed. “So then why is he so against the reunion? If he doesn’t actually dislike you?”
Aiba smiled, as he had from the moment he started telling Ohno about Ninomiya Kazunari, his childhood friend. “Nino’s just…well, he’s Nino, and he’s always been contrary.”
Aiba Masaki could fly. Sakurai Sho had super strength. And Matsumoto Jun’s sparks could stop an evildoer in their tracks.
But then there was Ninomiya Kazunari, the man who could breathe underwater.
It was hard to say exactly what Ninomiya brought to the team. Truth be told, Ohno couldn’t remember one specific case Ninomiya had ever been credited with solving. The newspaper headlines always said things like “Keio Boy stops train from derailing” or “Captain Chiba rescues cat from tree” or “The Storm Saviors take out crime syndicate.” It had taken a bit of squinting on Ohno’s part to even find Ninomiya’s name in the newspaper clippings Aiba had plastered all over his basement situation room.
His superhero name had never really solidified in the hearts and minds of the Storm City readership. For the first year or so, he was referred to as The Human Fish, which was pretty creepy, seeing as how he was a normal-looking guy and didn’t have gills or anything. From there he was referred to in turn as The Guppy, Super Lungs, and depressingly, as “Captain Chiba’s sidekick.”
When the Saviors had formed, they’d all been at the same high school. Compared to his three best buddies, Ninomiya’s power was the least…helpful, but Aiba had always insisted that he be treated as a full-fledged, valuable member of the team. So while he’d only be called upon in rare instances, like when a kayak tipped over in the Pikanchi River, Ninomiya was never left behind.
But he’d still always felt like he was watching from the outside, keeping himself busy by managing the team’s incoming calls from the police department looking for help or crafting press releases announcing their victories. He evolved into more of a team manager than a team contributor and it weighed heavily on him. When the Eight Rangers arrived, he’d probably seen a way out. With Sakurai and Aiba in favor of working together with the Rangers and Matsumoto opposed, he’d sided with Matsumoto just to ensure that the team split up for good and he could stop playing second fiddle to his best friends.
But unlike the other two, Ninomiya still kept in touch with Aiba from time to time. Though he lived on the other side of town, he had also been content enough to live the rest of his life in comfort. Just like Aiba, he lived off the money the team had earned from solving crimes. As far as Aiba knew, his friend “Nino” lived in a comfortable condo and played video games all day. Unlike Matsumoto and Sakurai, Nino had little interest in leading a normal, “secret identity” type of life. After all, nobody would know he had superpowers at all unless they tossed him in a lake.
“But why won’t he celebrate with you? If you’ve been friends so long?” Ohno asked as they sat across the street from Nino’s building.
Aiba frowned, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s never really given me an answer. He just ignores my calls lately.”
Well, if Sakurai and Matsumoto had agreed to come, then it was up to Ohno to get the final member to join the celebration. Matsumoto had already called Aiba the day before, demanding that they have their celebratory dinner at Baccanale instead of another restaurant Aiba had in mind. Ohno and Aiba had seen right through him - Matsumoto was looking to show off.
“Are you sure he’s home?” Ohno asked, gesturing to the windows on the third floor. The curtains were drawn, and the lights were off.
“Oh, he’s there,” Aiba said with a smile. “The newest game in his favorite series came out yesterday. He probably hasn’t left the building since he got home with it.”
“And you think he’d interrupt his game time to listen to me?”
Aiba wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Delivery-san, you’re a miracle worker. If anyone can get him to pause his controller, I’m sure you can.”
Ohno was not comforted with this knowledge, but he couldn’t let Aiba down. He took the box Aiba held out to him and hopped out of the truck. In his delivery uniform, he was easily buzzed inside. The doorman offered to accept the package on Ninomiya’s behalf, but Ohno used his most winning singing delivery man smile to convince the man that his job wasn’t complete until he delivered his song too.
That got him into the elevator and soon enough he was poised outside Ninomiya’s door. It was a little mean, pulling this sort of trick, but it was probably the only way to get a gamer zombie off the couch. He pushed the buzzer beside Ninomiya’s door, putting on his game face. He ended up standing there for 20 minutes, alternating between buzzing and knocking while he heard little “pew pew pew” and “stabby stabby” noises coming from the sound system within the condo.
He knocked again, holding up the box. “Ninomiya Kazunari, this is a delivery from the Swift and Speedy Singers. You’ve just won a lifetime supply of Cup Noodle, and I’m here to present you with the first installment…”
The “pew pew pew” noises finally came to a halt. In a few moments, he heard the crackle of the intercom. Ninomiya was just on the other side of the door, probably watching Ohno through a camera.
“Show some identification, please,” said a rather amused voice.
Ohno fumbled with the box, yanking his company credentials from his pocket. “Ohno Satoshi, Swift and Speedy.”
“Open the box. Let me see what’s in it.”
Ohno did as told, pulling a box cutter from his back pocket and slitting the box up the middle. He and Aiba had packed it to the brim with Cup Noodle, and they made swishing noises as he tilted the box so Ninomiya could see inside.
“Now sing.”
Ohno stared at the door, confused. “Sir, we usually don’t perform without an audience.”
“I’m watching. Go ahead.”
He blushed. “Uh…”
“Well, go on,” Ninomiya said, and Ohno heard his fist thump the door. “Impress me. Tell me everything about Cup Noodle through the magic of the human voice.”
His song, of course, had been intended for after Ninomiya opened the door. Because the song he’d rehearsed was about Aiba, and not at all about Cup Noodle. Ohno was the absolute worst at thinking on his feet, and he stammered out a lame apology.
“What was that?” came Ninomiya’s voice. “Didn’t hear you. I ought to call up your company right now and lodge a complaint…”
Noodles are very tasty!
Ohno’s voice shattered the silence of the condo hallway as he dropped the box and flung his arms out triumphantly.
They’re…they’re something you should never…waste-y…
You just add hot water, so you can…be pretty…hasty…
“Now dance,” Ninomiya demanded. “Like you mean it.”
Completely out of lyrics, Ohno repeated the three pathetic lines over and over as he swayed to and fro in the hallway, twirling until he was dizzy. This was for Aiba’s sake, he told himself. He couldn’t fail!
“Don’t stop, keep going.”
Noodles are very tasty!
They’re something you should never waste-y!
You just add hot water so you can be pretty hasty!
“Pelvic thrusts, make it sexy!” Ninomiya ordered. “Sexier than that, come on!”
Ohno turned redder than an apple, plastering himself against the wall opposite Ninomiya’s door, dry humping it. He could never, ever tell Aiba about this. “Noodles,” he sang in a low voice, slapping his hands against the wall and slinking up and down, tossing what he hoped was his sexiest look back over his shoulder in Ninomiya’s direction. “Noodles are sooooo very tasty!”
He turned back around, wiggling his hips with a come hither stare. He went for some sexy falsetto. “Now don’t you go, I said don’t you go and be waaaaaaste-yyyyy!”
“Now bring it home!” Ninomiya cheered through the intercom. “Strip!”
He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, one at a time as he shook his ass. “Noodles and seasoning, I said now just put that…mmm yeahhh just put that hot water innnnnnn!”
Ohno was just at his belt buckle when Ninomiya’s door suddenly opened, and a slim, cynical-looking man stood there with his phone, snapping a picture.
“Tell Aiba-chan I’m not coming to his stupid reunion. Bye,” Ninomiya said with a wink before slamming the door in Ohno’s face.
He stood there, fingers on the zipper of his pants, as he heard the game system start up again.
part two