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Serendipity
Serendipity
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: General
Word Count: 783
Summary: Ohno meets Nino one day on the train.
A/N: I forgot I hadn't posted this. It's the prompt everyone did for the Ohmiya fic contest a few months ago: a train on a hot summer's day.
It's seven-oh-three, and Ohno finally gets to go home early for once. One foot falls in front of the other and he weaves through people without even noticing they're there as he heads to the station. He loosens his tie mechanically, the fabric underneath stiff and damp from the summer heat already even though he's only walked five minutes from his cool, air-conditioned office.
He finds his cell phone in his satchel instead of his back pocket like he'd thought it was and starts inputting a message to his mother: I'll be home for dinner today. Can we have ramen?
The answer is probably no; it's seven-oh-five, and his mom's probably already most of the way through dinner preparations, but it never hurts to ask.
Like all the rest of the evening's commuters he slides through the ticket gates and aims for his platform, paying attention to everything and nothing around him. A woman on the escalator steps on his foot and doesn't apologize as she runs up and away, trying to catch the train that's going to leave without her. Ohno doesn't mind taking his time. He'll get where he's going eventually.
One train is already pulling out by the time he gets to the top of the platform, and he decides to buy himself a sports drink from the humming vending machine decorated with the face of his mother's favorite actress promoting coffee. He's sweating a lot, now, and he feels sticky and unclean, but at having something cool going down his throat makes it a little better.
The next train pulls in and Ohno steps aside, letting the wave of passengers descend and scurry like busy ants towards the stairs before he pushes his way on board. A big nylon guitar case, soft but completely in the way, presses up against his side. This is abnormal. It makes Ohno blink, and pay attention.
"Sorry, sorry," says a high-pitched boy's voice, and the owner of the bag is trying to squirm around to be less of an obstacle to the rest of the line of nameless train patrons as they get on, pushing and pushing. The boy throws a glance over his shoulder and their eyes meet, quick, like a brush of lightning, as they're smushed up together. "Sorry," he says again, and Ohno notices he has a mole on his chin and that he smiles like he's thinking something different than he's saying.
Ohno nods, because his throat has suddenly closed up and he doesn't remember what the proper response to "Sorry" is anymore. He spends the next undefinable amount of time hyper-aware of his body and of the other boy's nearly cradled against his own. Their hips are curved together, there's an elbow under Ohno's ribs, and on the boy's neck is a loose curl of sweat-dampened hair that Ohno can't stop looking at. Even when the train stops again and passengers swarm off and on, the distance between them doesn't grow.
Four stops later, the boy speaks again. "Don't lick it," he says.
"Uh?"
"My neck." The boy looks back again, and if they weren't on a packed train Ohno would think this were kissing distance. "You're staring at it."
"I am not!"
"Are so, and you're blushing, too. Proof."
Ohno isn't sure how to answer that. He thinks that most people wouldn't smile, but he does, because the cheeky way the boy is speaking makes everything seem okay. And it is okay, he realizes.
"My name is Nino," says Nino. He's hugging his guitar against himself with bird-like skinny arms, protecting it, which is prudent given that the train jilts and jerks and Ohno finds Nino falling on top of him while a woman with a Louis Vuitton bag and a sunflower hair clip falls on top of Nino and Nino's guitar. They stumble back upright a moment later, Ohno's hand on Nino's elbow partially because it had almost punctured his stomach and partially to help Nino to stand.
"Ohno," says Ohno.
Five years later Nino's version of the story will become embellished. Satoshi took me home, he'll tell people. He had very gentle hands and shiny shoes and his mother made amazing ramen. Satoshi's house was three stories tall and he had a butler and five maids, each of them with frilly aprons, and his towels were fluffy and soft as clouds, he'll say, and the bath, well, with the angel statue it was heavenly--
No one will ever believe Nino, but no matter how many times they ask Ohno, all he'll do is smile without answering. The rest, he thinks, is a secret.
Pairing: Ohmiya
Rating: General
Word Count: 783
Summary: Ohno meets Nino one day on the train.
A/N: I forgot I hadn't posted this. It's the prompt everyone did for the Ohmiya fic contest a few months ago: a train on a hot summer's day.
It's seven-oh-three, and Ohno finally gets to go home early for once. One foot falls in front of the other and he weaves through people without even noticing they're there as he heads to the station. He loosens his tie mechanically, the fabric underneath stiff and damp from the summer heat already even though he's only walked five minutes from his cool, air-conditioned office.
He finds his cell phone in his satchel instead of his back pocket like he'd thought it was and starts inputting a message to his mother: I'll be home for dinner today. Can we have ramen?
The answer is probably no; it's seven-oh-five, and his mom's probably already most of the way through dinner preparations, but it never hurts to ask.
Like all the rest of the evening's commuters he slides through the ticket gates and aims for his platform, paying attention to everything and nothing around him. A woman on the escalator steps on his foot and doesn't apologize as she runs up and away, trying to catch the train that's going to leave without her. Ohno doesn't mind taking his time. He'll get where he's going eventually.
One train is already pulling out by the time he gets to the top of the platform, and he decides to buy himself a sports drink from the humming vending machine decorated with the face of his mother's favorite actress promoting coffee. He's sweating a lot, now, and he feels sticky and unclean, but at having something cool going down his throat makes it a little better.
The next train pulls in and Ohno steps aside, letting the wave of passengers descend and scurry like busy ants towards the stairs before he pushes his way on board. A big nylon guitar case, soft but completely in the way, presses up against his side. This is abnormal. It makes Ohno blink, and pay attention.
"Sorry, sorry," says a high-pitched boy's voice, and the owner of the bag is trying to squirm around to be less of an obstacle to the rest of the line of nameless train patrons as they get on, pushing and pushing. The boy throws a glance over his shoulder and their eyes meet, quick, like a brush of lightning, as they're smushed up together. "Sorry," he says again, and Ohno notices he has a mole on his chin and that he smiles like he's thinking something different than he's saying.
Ohno nods, because his throat has suddenly closed up and he doesn't remember what the proper response to "Sorry" is anymore. He spends the next undefinable amount of time hyper-aware of his body and of the other boy's nearly cradled against his own. Their hips are curved together, there's an elbow under Ohno's ribs, and on the boy's neck is a loose curl of sweat-dampened hair that Ohno can't stop looking at. Even when the train stops again and passengers swarm off and on, the distance between them doesn't grow.
Four stops later, the boy speaks again. "Don't lick it," he says.
"Uh?"
"My neck." The boy looks back again, and if they weren't on a packed train Ohno would think this were kissing distance. "You're staring at it."
"I am not!"
"Are so, and you're blushing, too. Proof."
Ohno isn't sure how to answer that. He thinks that most people wouldn't smile, but he does, because the cheeky way the boy is speaking makes everything seem okay. And it is okay, he realizes.
"My name is Nino," says Nino. He's hugging his guitar against himself with bird-like skinny arms, protecting it, which is prudent given that the train jilts and jerks and Ohno finds Nino falling on top of him while a woman with a Louis Vuitton bag and a sunflower hair clip falls on top of Nino and Nino's guitar. They stumble back upright a moment later, Ohno's hand on Nino's elbow partially because it had almost punctured his stomach and partially to help Nino to stand.
"Ohno," says Ohno.
Five years later Nino's version of the story will become embellished. Satoshi took me home, he'll tell people. He had very gentle hands and shiny shoes and his mother made amazing ramen. Satoshi's house was three stories tall and he had a butler and five maids, each of them with frilly aprons, and his towels were fluffy and soft as clouds, he'll say, and the bath, well, with the angel statue it was heavenly--
No one will ever believe Nino, but no matter how many times they ask Ohno, all he'll do is smile without answering. The rest, he thinks, is a secret.