I was born in the arms of imaginary friends
;Paper Hearts
;One-shot
;Ohno Satoshi/Ninomiya Kazunari
;Let’s have another decade like this, Ohno wishes to no one in particular. And then one more, please, and another one after that.
;PG
;Absolute fiction.
;Note: Happy New Year, folks. :D/
Nino turns up at Ohno’s at about a quarter to ten, late and unapologetic.
“Traffic was a bitch,” he says in lieu of a hello, and shoves a six-pack of Sapporo into Ohno’s chest.
Nino makes himself comfortable on the rug in front of Ohno’s electric heater and flips through the channels on the television. He finally finds a channel screening an old episode of Hana Yori Dango and leaves it there, hitting the mute button and laughing a bit at Jun’s perm. Ohno doesn’t mind, because he hardly cares for TV anyway and all he ever really watches is NEWS ZERO and the fishing channel.
They order pizza from Domino’s, and Nino lets Ohno have all the green capsicums on his slices. When the beer is finished, they break into Ohno’s kitchen cupboards and manage to find a bottle of plum wine hidden behind a stack of tinned sardines.
“Real men don’t drink plum wine,” Nino snorts as he sits on the kitchen counter.
Ohno picks at the plastic seal on the bottle and tries not to smile as Nino crosses his legs, propping his chin in one hand and letting the other dangle uselessly over the edge of his thigh. He drinks one glass anyway, and nibbles on a plum as they return to the heater and sprawl all over the living room floor.
Approximately after the first sip of his second glass of wine, Nino starts to frown and his cheekbones get stained a pretty pink.
“Tell me a joke,” he demands.
Ohno blinks at the sleeve of Nino’s sweater that is currently in his line of vision, and says, “Sho.”
Nino nods seriously, like he really means it, and Ohno likes how Nino gets grave and sweet at the same time when he drinks enough to let his guard down. When Ohno drinks enough, he feels braver. He lets his mind wander just that much further, threading into unknown territory and feeling smug enough to ignore anyone who tells him to snap out of it. He thinks about the past ten years and the next and it feels like one of Aiba’s drunken text messages, fond and unabashed - because Aiba loves the four of them, loves them so much sometimes - and closes his eyes.
Ohno can’t tell if he’s dreaming or if it’s the alcohol in his system, but he knows Aiba will turn invisible, and the only way they’d find him is when he reflects sunlight and from the occasional high-pitched giggle. Jun will plan their concerts so that they’ll sing on the top of the entire fucking world, and even though Sho will still be afraid of heights he’ll rap in mid-air anyway. Nino and Ohno will make cherry blossoms bloom in summer and the five of them will sail to Tokyo Bay in a boat that won’t sink. Made out of marzipan, maybe, or liquid nitrogen.
Let’s have another decade like this, Ohno wishes to no one in particular. And then one more, please, and another one after that.
“What? What is it?” Nino slurs, still managing to sound annoyed. “You’ve got a stupid grin on your face.”
“I just saw the future.”
Nino tells him he’s an idiot but Ohno’s not listening because Nino is squashed up beside him, all thin, pale wrists and unapologetic, and Ohno thinks, Oh, there you are.
“Uoy tnaw I,” he says, just loud enough for the world and soft enough for Nino to hear, because Nino is Nino and Ohno is Ohno, and at the end of the day they’ll still understand each other better speaking backwards than most people do holding normal conversations.
Morning peeps through the blinds and spills over the floorboards, and Nino smiles like a wave unfurled.
;One-shot
;Ohno Satoshi/Ninomiya Kazunari
;Let’s have another decade like this, Ohno wishes to no one in particular. And then one more, please, and another one after that.
;PG
;Absolute fiction.
;Note: Happy New Year, folks. :D/
Nino turns up at Ohno’s at about a quarter to ten, late and unapologetic.
“Traffic was a bitch,” he says in lieu of a hello, and shoves a six-pack of Sapporo into Ohno’s chest.
Nino makes himself comfortable on the rug in front of Ohno’s electric heater and flips through the channels on the television. He finally finds a channel screening an old episode of Hana Yori Dango and leaves it there, hitting the mute button and laughing a bit at Jun’s perm. Ohno doesn’t mind, because he hardly cares for TV anyway and all he ever really watches is NEWS ZERO and the fishing channel.
They order pizza from Domino’s, and Nino lets Ohno have all the green capsicums on his slices. When the beer is finished, they break into Ohno’s kitchen cupboards and manage to find a bottle of plum wine hidden behind a stack of tinned sardines.
“Real men don’t drink plum wine,” Nino snorts as he sits on the kitchen counter.
Ohno picks at the plastic seal on the bottle and tries not to smile as Nino crosses his legs, propping his chin in one hand and letting the other dangle uselessly over the edge of his thigh. He drinks one glass anyway, and nibbles on a plum as they return to the heater and sprawl all over the living room floor.
Approximately after the first sip of his second glass of wine, Nino starts to frown and his cheekbones get stained a pretty pink.
“Tell me a joke,” he demands.
Ohno blinks at the sleeve of Nino’s sweater that is currently in his line of vision, and says, “Sho.”
Nino nods seriously, like he really means it, and Ohno likes how Nino gets grave and sweet at the same time when he drinks enough to let his guard down. When Ohno drinks enough, he feels braver. He lets his mind wander just that much further, threading into unknown territory and feeling smug enough to ignore anyone who tells him to snap out of it. He thinks about the past ten years and the next and it feels like one of Aiba’s drunken text messages, fond and unabashed - because Aiba loves the four of them, loves them so much sometimes - and closes his eyes.
Ohno can’t tell if he’s dreaming or if it’s the alcohol in his system, but he knows Aiba will turn invisible, and the only way they’d find him is when he reflects sunlight and from the occasional high-pitched giggle. Jun will plan their concerts so that they’ll sing on the top of the entire fucking world, and even though Sho will still be afraid of heights he’ll rap in mid-air anyway. Nino and Ohno will make cherry blossoms bloom in summer and the five of them will sail to Tokyo Bay in a boat that won’t sink. Made out of marzipan, maybe, or liquid nitrogen.
Let’s have another decade like this, Ohno wishes to no one in particular. And then one more, please, and another one after that.
“What? What is it?” Nino slurs, still managing to sound annoyed. “You’ve got a stupid grin on your face.”
“I just saw the future.”
Nino tells him he’s an idiot but Ohno’s not listening because Nino is squashed up beside him, all thin, pale wrists and unapologetic, and Ohno thinks, Oh, there you are.
“Uoy tnaw I,” he says, just loud enough for the world and soft enough for Nino to hear, because Nino is Nino and Ohno is Ohno, and at the end of the day they’ll still understand each other better speaking backwards than most people do holding normal conversations.
Morning peeps through the blinds and spills over the floorboards, and Nino smiles like a wave unfurled.