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Scheduling notes and production memos littered the table in front of Nino, covering all the available space and leaving the waitress to hover awkwardly with his bowl of ramen while Nino tried to shuffle sheets of paper out of the way. He might have been more careful about the way he handled the information if it had been his mess taking up the table, except he would never be checking his work during a private meal, whether with a colleague or not. Sakurai had brought the situation on himself, pulling it all out and disappearing to the toilet at the worst time, he deserved the disorganisation for the inconvenience he caused, Nino thought balefully.

Sakurai returned, offering a flurry of weak apologies as he gathered up his things. Nino frowned at the haphazard way the other man stuffed them back into his briefcase. Typical, Ninomiya supposed;  his petty revenge was pointless if Sakurai himself muddled his paperwork. The uptight work-a-holic probably did it on purpose so he could have fun sorting it out at home later. Nino could only assume that was how the other man got his kicks.

He’d only known Sakurai Sho for a month, and so far, the impression left had been of a slightly uptight stickler for the rules type that enjoyed his work managing the lives of minor celebrities for the paperwork rather than the prestige.

Not that the prestige was that great for nearly invisible managers in the entertainment industry.

Unless your name was Ninomiya Kazunari, of course.

Nino was the newest member of the management staff at 8-Bit Magic Agency, usually styled as 8BM on the personal profiles of their clientele. With only 4 weeks with the company compared to Sakurai’s 3 years, and younger in age by nearly 2 years, Nino would normally have been more careful about his uncharitable thoughts.

The difference was, Nino had been recruited.

With a BFA in Motion Picture Arts from Florida State, Nino had worked for some time in Hollywood as an independent agent for some schoolmates and the friends they recommended. He had made a name for himself in the lower echelons of the cut-throat American market before he’d been headhunted by this audacious little up-start of a talent agency in Japan that had scant chance of breaking through the stranglehold more established competitors had on the market.

He would never have agreed to it, if he hadn’t already exhausted the limit of his influence in the international sphere. And if his oldest friend hadn’t been signed with 8BM for a year already.

Aiba Masaki shot to a nebulous kind of fame at 33 due to a social media post that went viral. Nino might have had something to do with that, too, sharing the video of Aiba saving a puppy from a third story ledge by abseiling from the balcony of his apartment using nothing but a twisted sheet, with a few noticeable accounts. He’d then called Aiba and chewed him out soundly for doing something so reckless. He’d been barefoot in his underwear for fucks sake, and the puppy would have been easy to reach once the downstairs neighbours had returned home. Didn’t Aiba even think about how much it would bother Nino, if he had to cancel appointments to fly back to Japan to attend the idiot’s funeral?

The international acclaim was the normal flash in the pan, but Japanese audiences took the time to trawl the rest of Aiba’s social media. The adoring public found post after post of a casually fashionable, single guy who was brave and kind with a megawatt smile and a lean, athletic build, and they wanted more. Masaki wasn’t looking for fame though, he just hated to let people down, so he agreed to a handful of TV spots and interviews, and before long, Nino was getting a 1AM phone call from Japan while Masaki panicked about accidently agreeing to two jobs at opposite ends of the country at the same time.

That time, Nino had placed a call of his own, arranging for one of the jobs to be done via live-feed from the other location and then told Aiba to get an actual manager, because he couldn’t afford Nino’s commission.

He hadn’t expected Aiba to actually do it. Or for the poky little operation to successfully raise Aiba’s profile to the point that his idiot friend now had a fanclub and a clothing line in the pipeline.

Maybe there was something to the way Sakurai Sho worked, after all, if those were the kind of results the man got for a viral video star who shouldn’t have lasted beyond a single season but was too naive to notice. It didn’t make up for Sakurai’s unadulterated dullness Nino griped as he sat, trying not to listen as the man droned stiffly on about his plans to get Aiba the lead in a Sunday night sport drama.

Nino nearly snorted noodles out of his nose at that declaration. “You want Aibashi to act!?”

“Well, yes. I’d like to pitch him for this. I realise there will be a lot of competition from other agencies, but I really think Aiba-san would be the right fit for the lead in Last Chance Olympian.”

Stirring the last of his ramen lazily with his chopsticks, Nino crinkled his nose at the title. “Listen, Aiba-chan used to run lines with me back when I did the musical theatre thing in middle and high school; there is no way that goof can carry a drama lead.”

Nino was honestly surprised by the heat that he saw flash behind Sakurai’s eyes at his dismissal – he’d always been so measured before, Nino wasn’t sure the man had emotions. “I thought you were friends? Aiba-san always speaks so highly of you, I thought that you might be more willing to help him make something of himself?” The accusatory tone continued. “As to your opinion of his acting, I think you’ll find your information about twenty years out of date; I’ve had him attending private acting lessons since the first week he was assigned to me.”

“First of all, Sakurai-san, Masaki was made up just fine, before he ever jumped out of a window in his skivvies for a ball of fluff. Secondly, it doesn’t matter how good you think he is for the role: There are a couple of big name players who will be vying to put their latest aging product in the spotlight, and their influence far outstrips ours. Better to negotiate for the comic sidekick, he’s at least got experience with that – playing mine all these years – and it’ll keep him from being disappointed. Trust me, there is nothing more pathetic than Aiba-chan when he’s disappointed.”

To his credit, Sakurai put up with Nino’s impertinent attitude with barely a twitch, but he didn’t back down. “Look, we both know that things are starting to change. Production teams and TV executives are beginning to resent the stranglehold the old agencies have on the market. Now isn’t the time to play it safe and to fall under the thumb and you know it.”

Nino blinked. Well, shit, Sakurai had more balls than he’d thought, thinking the man too much of a pencil pusher to want to tackle the status quo. Apparently, Sakurai Sho wasn’t afraid of a challenge. Nino’s respect for the man rose.

Marginally.

He pushed his bowl with a shrug, some of the soup sloshing over the side. “You want to take on the big dogs, whatever, I don’t care. Just don’t screw it up. You could sink the whole agency if you piss off the wrong people.”

“Then help me Ninomiya-kun. Aiba-san deserves that much.”

“Aiba-chan is your client. I don’t even get my signees until my 4 week induction evaluation is completed by a senior member of staff.” He was beginning to get pissed off by the way he kept using Aiba’s name to manipulate him. Mostly because he could feel it starting to work. Besides, Nino did want to change the way the whole industry operated currently; he just wasn’t prepared to use his only remaining childhood friend as a test case.

Sakurai levelled him with a stare which was probably supposed to be withering, but Nino was feeling too defiant to care. “This is your 4-week evaluation.” The older man bit out, his square jaw clenched tight. “I was planning on giving you the files of two new contracts in the morning. I thought we could get to know each other better over a meal, as we’ll be working together going forward.”

Nino wasn’t ready to be completely swayed. “Does Aibashi know about the part?”

“No.”

“Don’t tell him yet.” Ninomiya got up abruptly; if Sakurai Sho was going to try to trap him in a corner, Nino was more than happy to leave without preamble; let Sakurai be trapped in his seat until he pays. “Email me when you are due to meet the casting directors; I’ll go with you. Thanks for the meal.”

*

8-Bit Magic didn’t specialise in a certain type of celebrity talent like most agencies. Rather the company took those showbusiness anomalies that didn’t really fit the mould of certain types. It was usually those that made a certain level of fame for themselves online, who needed help breaking into the difficult market of Japanese TV. Like in every other agency in Japan though, they did their best to expand the appeal of the talents on their roster. TV panel and guest spots, comedy shows and commercials were standard fayre, though some had the skill-set to branch out to acting or music; those few were generally considered the darlings of the agency, having the biggest financial pull.

It was a very standard formula, particular to Nino’s homeland, if only because the approach was a lot more overt. Returning to Japan had been a calculated decision. It narrowed his possibilities, but offered him greater scope. The market was smaller, and just as exclusive, except he had a home team advantage that he lacked before. With a smaller arena in which to compete, came the chance of a more tightly woven web of contacts too, and his previous experience meant his skills were just as polished, but cut differently.

In the 3 years since its inception, the piddling, two-bit start-up agency he’d chosen as his base had grown into its niche in the entertainment business. They didn’t have the clout of the industry’s largest contenders, though.

But Nino was already working on a way to change that, through building a reputation for being easier to work with, less demanding and more accommodating he knew he could win them deals that would have gone to the larger competitors just a few years before.

If producers and creators were starting to chafe under the coercive tactics which they had been subjected to for years, Nino would sell every choice of picking 8BM over another as a small act of rebellion that would dig at the foundation of the blockade the less scrupulous companies had put in place.

His head was full of ideas of how best to approach the situation when Sakurai Sho dropped by the managers shared office space to congratulate Nino on completing ‘training’ he hadn’t need to take, and to assign him his first charges. The agency was small enough, and its clients not big enough so that each manager handled at least two or three clients.

Sakurai himself managed 6 people. Aiba was by far his biggest client, but from what Nino had seen so far, the man did put equal effort into each person. It was just that Aiba’s appeal was naturally greater than that of a retired science teacher who made sporadic appearances on science themed shows whenever his plastic hip wasn’t playing up.

Nino skimmed over the profile of his first charge. A 17-year old Instagram Sweetheart that had won a slew of male fans with her cutesy photography where she artfully hid a bikini clad reflection of herself in every picture as a game for her follows to find. She was cute and smart, Nino could tell from her bio, and had aspirations of working as a TV announcer. Unless she was planning on reading the news in a bathing suit though, Nino didn’t think she had much of a shot; most of her fan base likely to jump ship at the first sniff of a boyfriend.

He makes some notes to himself on the file. Perhaps it would be safer to imply a significant other right from the start? To let the fall off in fans be immediate, but to build from there. The business standard of forbidding any kind of romantic entanglements wasn’t an option that appealed to him, Though Nino supposed he’d have to get her opinion on the matter once they met in person. He typed a brief message directly to the rising starlet, to invite her to a meeting in the next few days, then opened the next file.

The picture slid right past his vision until the name caught his attention.

Ohno Satoshi was not a terribly uncommon name. And it was one that Ninomiya knew well. He didn’t bother trying to tell himself that it might be someone else; all the other little details matched, like his age, his birthday and hometown. Nino studied the picture carefully.

A round face, more youthful than 37 years of life should leave him. Dark eyes caught in a moment of intense focus staring past the camera, that Nino recalled as a rare sight. His hair was not the shortest than Nino had known it to be, it was darker though, a deep dyed black rather than the chemically lightened curtain that he once favoured.  It was styled high and swept to the side with an almost cartoonish flick, making his face seem smaller, the thin straight nose ending sharply as if to emphasise the soft slim curve of lips that held neither smile nor frown.

“He looks the same.” Nino mumbled to himself, while he catalogued every change in the man in the photograph from the teenaged boy he’d known one summer; from the man he’d met again for a fortnight in his twenties and had a chance encounter with another 3 years later, where Nino had embarrassed himself horribly.

It makes no sense, Nino thinks bitterly, his whole career has followed a singular, linear trajectory, one point leading to the next in a logical progression. Ohno never seemed to follow a path through life; he flitted randomly from interest to interest, stumbling upon opportunities that he didn’t mean to take and landing directly within Ninomiya’s orbit with startling frequency.

The first time they met, Nino was 15 with a budding interest in film that led him to sign up to a Theatre Troupe one summer. Ohno Satoshi, nearly 18 years old and too shy to realise he’d become the star of most productions had fascinated Nino precisely because the older boy wasn’t interested in the entertainment business at all. No, Ohno had joined the troupe because he wanted to learn how to dance from one of the instructors he’d happened to catch street dancing  weeks prior. When the camp ended, Ohno left it behind, satisfied at having met his goal and promptly taken a part time job at a bakery.

They lost touch quickly after that.

Nino finished high school, did just enough to earn a scholarship to FSU and left the country.

He nearly died of shock when he met Ohno Satoshi in Miami during spring break when he was 22. Ohno told Nino that he had become a singer on a high end cruise ship completely by chance. A catered event in which he’d handed out pastries had ended with a raucous round of karaoke and an invitation to work for the liner for more money and fewer hours. He said he took the job because he’d taken an interest in fishing and he thought he’d be able to fish all the time. Even at 22, Nino had known enough to laugh an Ohno’s childlike assumptions.

Then his first week trying to make it in L.A as an agent, he wandered into a gallery without much thought except to get of the street and he’d walked right into Ohno Satoshi, busy avoiding spectators he couldn’t understand with questions he couldn’t answer about his artwork adorning the walls.

Again, Ohno had lucked into a venture others would have striven for, and done the task asked of him like it was an unwanted burden that he completed perfectly only because he didn’t know how to be half-hearted about anything except his own ambitions. Over dinner, Ohno had explained how he’d taken to creating painted backdrops and sculpted props for the sets he did on the cruise liner. It had been a way to kill time between work hours, when fishing wasn’t an option. He said that some ‘exhibitionist’ – and Nino had grinned foolishly at his mistake without correcting him – had seen the collection of stuff he made and asked if Ohno wouldn’t mind displaying his work at his gallery in LA.

That was when Nino had been his most foolish. Throughout their conversation, Ohno had made it clear he didn’t want to have to create art to order, no matter how well that one exhibition went, but Nino was young and eager, so sure that if he had Ohno as a client, he could make them both big names in any circle. He’d tried to persuade the reluctant man; had badgered him to the point that he’d brought the normally indifferent genius to the point exasperation. Ohno had been forced to bluntly tell Nino that he had no desire to have Nino managing a career he didn’t want. He’d had to shout it, in the end, in fact, and Nino had learned the hardest lesson in humility he’d ever known that night.

He’d left with his pride smarting and by the time he felt brave enough to return to the chic little gallery, the exhibition had long since been dismantled and Ohno Satoshi was the name of a legend whispered about in the LA art scene as a fleeting idol.

Now, after all that time – after his adamant refusal to actively seek any kind of show business lifestyle, despite clearly being born for it – Ohno Satoshi had signed a contract with 8-Bit Magic. Nino tried to keep his breathing even as he read through the bio, wondering which of Ohno’s various disciplines’ had landed him on Nino’s desk.

He should have known, he chastised himself, that Ohno had hit upon his fame through a hobby. He had entered a televised fishing competition 6 months ago, coming in second, but then casually exposed the first place winner as a cheat. Scandal had torn through the fishing community, whatever that was, and Ohno emerged as a reluctant hero of the scene. Reading between the lines, Nino suspected Ohno hadn’t even realised the event would be on television, let alone that his observations would lead to an independent investigation and uncover years of corruption in sport angling.

At that point, it wasn’t surprising that Ohno had had the spotlight thrust upon him once more. No, the most surprising thing was that Ohno did not seem to be ducking away from the limelight for a change. That he had signed a deal with 8 Bit Magic at all.

It had been the better part of a decade since Nino had last known the man though; long enough to drastically change personal circumstances. Ohno might have a wife and kids by now, he realised with a start, maybe a lifetime of part-time jobs had lost its appeal at last. In the time Ohno has been under 8BM’s care, a few managers had handled his case on a temporary basis, and Nino looked at the notes they’d left behind. It was oddly sparse. They called him easy to work with but difficult to sell.

The general tone suggesting that none expected Ohno Satoshi to have much of an impact in the business. He couldn’t really blame them for that attitude, when so much of Ohno was missing from the sheets about him. Why did his special skills not mention his art, how good he was with his hands? How had Ohno left out years of experience singing for a living, and dance training that had left him able to mesmerise a whole theatre while he delivered lines with stirring conviction?

Nino should have been over the moon to land a client like Ohno; a diamond in the rough that only Nino seemed to know the true value of. Yet, they hadn’t exactly parted on the best terms ten years ago, had they?

This time though, Ohno had come to him, by choosing to contract himself with an agency. All those opportunities that Nino foresaw in his twenties were opening up again, and he wasn’t going to hold back just because Ohno was resistant to acclaim. He would make Ohno Satoshi a household name if he had to go toe-to-toe with greater agencies himself. Ninomiya Kazunari didn’t do his work half-way either.

 The message he wrote to Ohno Satoshi was almost identical to the one before, inviting the man to contact the office to arrange a personal meeting between Talent and Manager.

Typically, would-be celebrities were eager to meet their managers, Nino would have bet cash that most waited by their phones for a call or email. Who could blame them really, when they were clearly hungry for fame. Everything he knew about Ohno Satoshi however, suggested that the infamous fisherman would leave him hanging for days.

Minutes later, he answered a call. “Is that Ninomiya-kun?” Instantly, he felt transported back in time, to that first summer he had come to know that voice. “Nino?”

*

“Nino? If you lean to the left here, I can pull your weight and move upstage right without missing the timing of the box step on the five beat.” Satoshi is playing the lead in an amateur production the troupe cobbled together as part of their lessons. Nino has been in awe of the older boy since their second day, when he’d simply got up and walked away from an instructor who had been yelling at them all for the behaviour of a handful.

It marked Ohno as a potential troublemaker to a lot of the younger kids; a guy who might not work well with others and who definitely had issues with authority. To Nino, three days clear of his 15^th birthday and developing an indolent streak himself, it just made Ohno Satoshi unfathomably cool. Nino had latched on to him, not afraid of his reputation; not afraid of anything.

He discovered quickly that Ohno wasn’t the dangerous sort at all. Ohno didn’t flaunt the rules because he was too wound up to conform to society; Ohno was just so laid back, he simply didn’t care that his behaviour deviated from the norm. In Ninomiya’s opinion, Ohno Satoshi is the most talented person in the temporary troupe, and Nino just knows that Ohno is going to be a huge star one day.

He can sing, he can dance, and he looks like a fresh-faced Idol with his fashionably foppish long hair and dimpled cheeks. And despite his reputation, Ohno is kind. Why else who the older boy, so far ahead of Nino in every way, put up with Nino’s constant company?

The group has met every day after school for weeks, learning about musical theatre, production, marketing, and Nino has made plenty of friends and none. He’s good with people, he knows, modifying his behaviour so that people are friendly, even open with him, but it’s rarely reciprocal. The people around him are all just so boring.

Except Ohno.

Nino thinks Ohno isn’t even interested in making friends; he’s made it clear he only attends the lessons and workshops because it’s being run by a dancer he admires. Yet he doesn’t complain when Nino invites himself along to Ohno’s practices, when he bravely suggests they walk to the station together at the end of the night.  Ohno doesn’t talk much, but he listens, and he laughs in all the right places – even the jokes Nino thinks are more private jokes with himself – and Nino has never had so much fun, talking to himself.

The summer is ending though, the youth made production serving as the finale is due to open in days, and end with the Troupe moving on to it’s next location, ready to be a base for new aspiring kids to gather for a few months. Ohno is the obvious choice for the lead, rightly so, Nino thinks. He doesn’t resent his own bit part either, as an urchin with three lines and a place in the chorus. The hardest part come late in the third act, when Ohno’s character saves the urchin and dances around the stage while Nino is dragged stumbling along.

It turns out to be quite difficult to be dragged artfully around the stage without getting in the way of the actual choreography. It’s a tiny part of the play, but Ohno’s meticulous about it, staying late with Nino to figure each step, to practice every movement so that Nino’s muscles recall each beat and rest, and he flows nearly as naturally as the older teen.

Sweat is running down his back, his breath short when Ohno grabs his wrist again; the starting position of their brief ‘dance’. He’s exhausted, but he nods; if Ohno still has the strength to keep going, Nino won’t be the one to hold them back. They run through the number again, with Nino sure to lean left on the right pivot, this time, and he feels the difference in the way his arm is wrenched in the opposite direction.

His feet try to compensate, crossing too quickly under him and he starts to lose his balance for real. Nino is not sure how Ohno even notices; he is supposed to be falling around the stage, after all. He’s caught Nino around the waist and righted them both before Nino had completely inhaled his startled gasp.

“Sorry, sorry,” he’s saying, brushing down Nino’s shoulders as if Nino had actually made contact with the dusty floor. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.” His heart is hammering against his chest, and Nino is going to ache all over tomorrow. “Let’s go again.” He says anyway.

Ohno is already turning on his heel, collecting his things. “Nah. I’m tired anyway.” He digs in his backpack and pulls out a bottle of water, then a second, he throws in Nino’s direction.

“Tomorrow then,” Nino concedes. “We’ll get it perfect for the show on Sunday.”

“You really like it, huh? The being on stage thing?” Ohno’s passing Nino his bag, a curious smile tugs at the corner of his lips, waiting for Nino to follow him towards the exit.

Nino shrugs. “It’s OK. Maybe a bit too much responsibility for me though. All the pressure and hard work that comes with being centre stage…. I’m not sure I want that. I think I’d rather work behind the scenes or back stage or something. Something where my biggest responsibility would be ordering the on set catering.”

Ohno must be more tired than Nino realised, because he simply hums thoughtfully at Nino’s words and misses the joke.

The amateur play Go To Goh is attended by record audiences of proud parents, disinterested siblings and the odd straggler trying to escape a summer deluge. It receives one small write-up in the culture section of a legitimate local paper, where a magnanimous critic suggests that the writing, while stilted and cliched, shows promise for the budding young dramatists. The review focuses on the performance of Ohno Satoshi, writing that he was a young star poised to take Japan by storm.

That’s part of why Nino is so disappointed when he meets Ohno a few months later and learns that Ohno isn’t even considering a job in the entertainment industry. He can’t keep the disgust out of his voice when he sees Ohno giving it all up to play with dough and slave over ovens  for the rest of his days. It was just such a waste.

Ohno Satoshi could have – should have – been a star.

Besides, Ohno didn’t want to be spending all his time with a kid. Nino doesn’t visit the district again.

*

He kept his conversation with Ohno short and to the point, arranging to meet at the company offices the following afternoon. Ohno had been available immediately, which made sense – he didn’t have a manager filling his schedule yet – but Nino needed time to prepare. He’d have to go through old work listings and skim through whatever clips and articles he could find that Ohno had done. What sort of impression was the current Ohno Satoshi leaving on the world anyway?

He watched the fishing competition on triple speed, and still found the whole thing incredibly dull. The few TV interviews were as painful to watch; Ohno answered questions with as few words as possible. Most of his replies were ‘yes’ or ‘no’ – twice he only shrugged. That’s when it dawned on Nino that this was going to be harder than he thought.  

Not because Ohno didn’t have the skill, but convincing anyone else, based on Ohno’s previous appearances was going to be impossible. He needed a business insider to be willing to vouch for Ohno, and Nino smirked to himself behind his desk; he knew just who to talk to, and he could fix Sakurai’s issue in the process.

Matsumoto Jun was a busy man, not given to responding to sudden calls unless he was the one directing them. Ninomiya Kazunari could be very persuasive. It helped that they’d attended film school together, and his former classmate owed him a favour or five.

One of Japan’s most bankable actors, Jun had looks and style that had guaranteed his face would be pinned to impressionable youths’ bedroom walls when he’d made his debut as some badboy heartthrob in a movie Nino had bought three tickets to and still didn’t understand. He’d been dominating the Japanese film scene for years, with a carefully crafted image of exclusivity which meant he rarely conducted unscripted interviews and never agreed to variety shows.

Personally, Nino felt Matsumoto’s management was missing a trick, Jun was so utterly different from the character they worked so hard to protect, that Nino would have been able to double his fans in a week with the right outlet to display the gap.  Jun had made his own infamy though, by being extremely social with every hot new actor and actress, and getting close to artists and Idols all over Japan so that Jun’s name was always on the lips of his broad network of acquaintances who did appear on TV and radio shows. It was kind of genius, Nino had to admit.

Nino hadn’t spoken to Jun in some time, but that was no excuse for the man changing his phone number without letting Nino know, he huffs, when his phone calls don’t connect and his mail bounces back. Not that it matters: Nino knows where he lives.

He is slumped at the door of Jun’s exclusive penthouse apartment, having charmed his way past the doorman and security hours ago. It was nearly midnight, with the battery dangerously low on the handheld game he carried everywhere. Managing other people’s lives required a lot of idle waiting around. Matsumoto Jun strolled casually out of the elevator, his stride only faltered for a moment while he studied Nino’s profile.

Nino didn’t look up. “About time. Don’t you ever come home?”

He’s wearing thick black rims and a Trilby like he thinks it will somehow disguise his distinctive features, but his eyebrows give him away when they climb up and arch at Nino’s tone. “This is the first time in three days? How long have you been waiting?” He can’t hide the crooked grin though, J never had much of a poker face outside of acting.

“Three days? Eugh, my battery definitely would have run out by then.” He shuffled aside just enough so the off-duty celebrity could open the door and let them both in.

“What are you doing here Kazu?” Nino hasn’t heard his university-era nickname since he returned to Japan, and it sounds strange to him now, said with a Japanese accent. “This isn’t a social call; you don’t do social calls.”

Well, if Jun knew that much about him, Nino didn’t see any harm in ignoring all other social graces either. He kicked off his shoes and was nosing around the spacious living area for a usable outlet before his younger friend had finished unlacing his boots. “You changed your number and didn’t even tell me Junpon. I am hurt.”

“What are you talking about? I sent my new details to you months ago, see?”

Squinting at the small screen Matsumoto unceremoniously shoved in his face, Nino considered the evidence presented. It was a message dated 9 weeks ago, coming after a birthday message Jun had sent to Nino 3 months before that. “Oh.” Nino sprawled out on the floor, so he could stay close to the device plugged into the wall. “That’s my old number.”

Nino had nearly forgotten how well Jun did pointed silence. He supposed it was part of what made the man such a good actor: the ability to embody stage directions.

For once, Nino didn’t try to one-up the man by staying mute, though he would have won if he had tried. “Fine. I need you to do something for me.” He replied, returning to Matsumoto’s original question.

“You’ve been back in Japan a month and you’re begging favours, Kazu?”

“No begging required J: You owe me.”

Their back and forth didn’t stop Nino from making himself at home, and Matsumoto had to speak up a little, while rooting around the kitchen for his guest glasses. “Just how big is this debt if you’re going to hold it over me for more than ten years already?”

That was hardly fair, Nino wasn’t holding anything over Jun at all, he was merely waiting for the perfect opportunity to cash in a favour. “I got you that first audition, pro bono, Jun-kun. Pro bono. You owe me for putting up with your impossible ass all the way through school.”

“What do you need?”  Jun gave Nino the beer he’d decanted into expensive crystal, then settled himself on the plump cushions of his huge cream corner sofa, crossing his legs in front of himself.

Nino abandoned the device to scramble onto the seat, facing his friend, though the distance between them remained the same. “TBS is casting a drama right now: Last Chance Olympian or something. Know anything about it?”

“I’ve heard of it. Haven’t paid it much attention. I don’t do drama’s often, and definitely not that sort. It’s more the type of thing Okada or Ikuta would lead.” Jun replied, naming a pair of Idols he was friendly with.

“I want it for one of the guys on our books.” Nino opted for candour, J liked to get to the point when it actually came down to negotiations. “He’s perfect for it, but-”

Matsumoto had the cheek to interrupt, talking over him with a fairly flat expression. “Your agency is pretty small-fry? Yeah, I’d agree with that. You know, I’ve heard around the office that my guys offered you a pretty impressive salary. More than 8 Bit could have. How come you went there instead of jumping at the chance to drive me up the wall on a daily basis?”

Huh. He’d never considered that Matsumoto might have wanted Nino for his manager. They’d known each other a long time, and worked well together, but Nino knew Jun didn’t need him. Jun barely needed the company he was under now. The meticulous star took care of so much of his own management, his ties with Trirock Entertainment were pretty much an ‘in name only’ kind of affair. He raised the profile of the Agency as a whole, and they gave him the freedom to pick and choose projects as he saw fit.

It was that freedom that Nino was planning on utilising. “I don’t want you as a client J.” Nino said. “You’re hard work and I don’t want to have to manage your moods and your demonic schedule. I intend to retire early with fat pockets, not die young of exhaustion. Seriously, you are a better manager than an actor and I happen to think you’re a fucking good actor.”  OK, so the flattery was a bit strong, but it was true. Taking on Matsumoto, trying to juggle his appointments, desires, social commitments and get him jobs that he was excited about would require a dedication and a diligence that bordered on super human.

“Remind me to introduce you to a senior of mine called Sakurai-san sometime.” He added as an afterthought. Jun shot him a look of confusion for the non sequitur, but Nino didn’t elaborate. “Anyway, you know how good I am J, but this is a hard sell. If you were to ‘hear’ that Aiba Masaki was being considered for the role though… and if you were to ‘suggest’ that you’d want to take a role alongside him if that were the case….”

“You’re kidding!? We’re not even with the same company, and you want to use my name to barter for a lead role? Who the hell even is this Aiba Ma-something anway?”

“Not at all.” Nino was quick to correct him. “I won’t be mentioning your name at all during the casting meeting; I’ll leave that to you later. Hang on, I’ve got Aiba-chan’s video on my phone.”

Jun, obviously having seen the video before, stopped it less than 20 seconds in, his tone valcating between amused and offended. “The puppy guy? You want me to co-star with a meme?”

“Aibashi is not a me-- that’s -- that’s not how you use that word, Jun-kun. Besides, have you seen him up close? He’s kind of weird but ridiculously photogenic; You’re a perfect match.”

“Aibashi? This isn’t just any client is it?” Jun asked, before he answered his own question. “Wait, is this the same Aiba-chan you used to call all the time back in college? Would you even be asking me to do this if the guy wasn’t a friend of yours?”

Was Nino supposed to feel bad about that? He didn’t. “I’m gonna send you his details, you should hang out sometime in private. You can borrow each others clothes and bitch about how hard it is to find jeans the right length or something. Come on, J, what’s showbusiness without a little nepotism?”

“Better.” Matsumoto deadpanned. Nino opened his mouth, ready to wheedle more if needed, but Jun forestalled him, raising a placating hand. “I never said no, Kazu.” He pointed out.

Nino melted into the seat in exaggerated relief, whooping happily for effect. Deal struck, it was only right that he insisted he and Jun should shake on it. “One last thing, J. Does this palace of yours have a toilet, because I’ve needed a piss since about 20 minutes after I got here and…”

Jun practically threw him down the hallway to the toilet. Which wasn’t the wisest move given how close Nino was to having an accident on his deep pile wool carpet.

Then, while Nino was taking care of his second order of business for the night, for some reason, Jun chose that moment to start a conversation from outside the door. “You know, while we’re on the subject of guys you never shut up about at school, I ran into that Ohno guy we hung out with during Spring Break. Seems he’s a famous fisherman or something now? I don’t know, Shun’s a fan, I think.”

Nino, hands still dripping, slammed open the door and flicked water in Jun’s general direction. Couldn’t a guy empty his bladder in peace? “I’m aware. Does this story have a point?”

“Just that it’s a small world, I guess.” Jun shrugged.

Nino humphed quietly. Jun had no idea how right he was, he thought.

*

Miami during Spring Break isn’t really any hotter than Japan in the summer, Nino thinks, weaving his way through the crowd with a dixie cup of cheap beer in each hand. He’d taken far too long at the bar convincing the bartender that neither his Japanese passport nor his FSU student ID were fake, and now his roommate had been swallowed by the growing crowd.

This heaving mass of sweaty, barely dressed bodies wasn’t really Nino’s idea of a good time, he’d rather be back at the dorm playing PvP against Aiba, but his best friend has been busy with his own studies back home, and the time difference was making it harder to find time these days. Jun had dragged him to the Spring break party capitol with the promise of free drinks for the entire weekend and an offer to do all household cooking for a month.

Jun likes to pretend he wants Nino along because he enjoys the smaller student’s company, and Nino doesn’t hold the lie against him. Nino in a crowd he doesn’t want to be in isn’t good company at all, he knows. Jun needs someone though, who can help him be understood when the imperfect English he uses falls awkward and unwieldy from his tongue. Besides, Jun is kind; he’s already cooked every meal Nino has eaten this semester anyway, simply because Nino can never be bothered to cook for one, and Jun gets home and cooks for two on autopilot.

But now he can’t find Jun amongst the people shouting and shoving around him. Matsumoto Jun is inches taller than Nino, yet dwarfed by the bulky, broad shouldered, sunkissed men and women filling the street.

“Kazu!” He hears from somewhere to his left. “I think I’ve found the only other Japanese person in this whole city. Come say hi~!” Jun rattles off in Japanese, and Nino follows the sounds to a gap in the crowd made by two people sitting on a public bench. One of those people is Jun, of course.

The other person does a double take that Nino doesn’t understand until he hears the man speak. “Nino?”

The spiky blonde hair make him hard to recognise for a brief moment, but Nino would know that voice anywhere. “Oh-chan?”

It’s a bit strange, catching up with an old friend in the middle of a drunken street party with his newest best friend sat on the other side, asking questions every now and then. The beers turn warm in his hands, untouched.

Nino doesn’t care. Ohno is as cool as he remembers, but it’s different now, because they’re not kids anymore and life and film school have knocked the last bits of meekness out of him. It’s fun talking to the older man, teasing him when his attempts at English communication are correctly accented nonsense. Nino jokes that between Jun and Satoshi, they might one day formulate a passable sentence.

Ohno is in the states for a turnaround on the cruise liner he works for, and in the absence of any other plans, Nino and Jun smuggle him into their motel room for most of that time. The typical American Spring Break that Jun had wanted kicks into gear as the trio sneak around to avoid additional fees they can’t afford and spend what little they do have on copious amounts of booze.

It’s so much fun, and Nino can’t remember why they ever fell out of touch really. He’d wanted to go to film school with Ohno he confesses on the third night, as all three of them are sat drinking on the beach and watching the stars. “Why did you quit?” he asks.

“I didn’t quit.” Ohno has spent most of the day without his shirt, and he’s starting to shiver a bit now that the sun has been down for a few hours. “I chose not to start.”

Jun is nodding along like he understands, though Nino suspects that’s just the drink; for such a social, social drinker, Matsumoto is a lightweight.

“What about now then? You’re singing on the cruise ship right? So you chose to start in the end, even if you got the job by coincidence.” Nino doesn’t know why he’s pressing this line of questioning, only that Ohno answers in an oddly pensive manner.

“Starting what? I just wanted a change.”

Jun wakes up enough to contribute his thoughts. “Come on, cruise ships are full of staff entertainers who are desperately trying to make it big. No one chooses to be a lounge singer if they aren’t secretly hoping they’ll be discovered by a music producer or something.”

“Really?”

Jun continues his rambling lecture. “Uh huh. It almost never happens though. It’s not just skill. Nobody really needs to be able to sing anymore. It’s not even all down to luck, you need the right kind of backstory to make it these days, and it’s hard to construct that from a cruise ship singer background. It’s just not interesting. No offence”

Ohno doesn’t take any offense. He says he really didn’t take the job to be famous; he just wanted to go fishing and Nino laughs so hard he falls sideways into the mans lap.

After the first week of sharing a two bed motel room between three, they have learned that the staff really can’t tell them apart. Which is both insane and awesome because if they avoid being seen as a group nobody looks at them twice. Jun, now acquainted with the city better, and making friends of the regulars at local clubs and bars was rarely back before sunrise, which meant Ohno was sticking close to Nino’s side.

This evening, Jun left late on the invitation of a local business owner who’d taken a shine to him and was treating the film student to a night out -- and probably to offer a dowry for his daughter.

Nino chuckles at the thought.

The sound draws Ohno’s eyes to him, he’s laying on top of the bed on his stomach, doodling aimlessly. He pauses when he talks to Nino. “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking about how funny it is when people try to set J up.” Ohno’s looking at him blankly, so Nino tries to explain. “He’s the romantic type, you know? I think it goes hand-in-hand with his flair for the dramatic. Anyway, he won’t accept a match being made for him and he’s very choosy. I wonder if he’ll come back in a bad mood when he has to end his night with a rejection?”

“You’re very close, huh? You and Matsumoto-kun get on well.”

“Well, we do live together. It would be pretty weird if that weren’t true.” He’s in the process of collecting his things so he can take a shower, not really looking at the older man. “And he keeps me fed, so I’m very satisfied overall. I’m going to shower, you need the bathroom?”

Ohno returns to the cruise ship the next morning. Jun is too hungover to see him off properly, but Nino won’t miss saying goodbye to Satoshi again. He goes with him as far as the gangplank before he remembers to ask for Ohno’s contact details.

“Oh, I don’t have a phone.” Ohno replies like it’s not the most bizarre thing Nino has heard all day. “The ship has a satellite phone I can use though….”

Nino is demanding Ohno hand over his sketchbook and a pen while Ohno is still trying to explain himself. He writes his own number on the front cover of the book labeled with his nickname. When he hands it back, it’s with goodbye on his lips and a fierce hug. It’s not strange though, he’s been drunkenly draping himself over Ohno’s slight but sturdy frame for nearly two weeks, and he is going to miss having the man around. “Have a safe trip Oh-chan. Call me when you’re famous.” He jokes.

“I will. I’ll call.”

He never does.

*

Nino fell asleep on the enormous couch after too much beer and the nostalgic taste of Jun’s cooking making him feel ten years younger. An effect that wore off suddenly when he tried to stretch the next morning and found muscles he didn’t know existed protesting at the position he had left them in. He got up anyway, because the apartment is filled by the sound of three different alarm clocks shrilling, beeping and buzzing and Jun, never a morning person, hadn’t woken up to any of them.

If J set that many, Nino reasons that he must have a job he needs to do, so even though he did so while yawning into his own hand, he got Matsumoto out of bed, plied him with an over-large mug of strong black coffee, just as he liked it, and kicked him out the door. He promised to lock up behind himself if it got the younger man out quicker; Jun was always more likely to linger when he had to leave someone behind.

Nino would have to be in work soon too, in his slept in casual clothes and unstyled hair he knew he would be taking a risk turning up at the office in such a state. He was saved from the moral conundrum of whether it was better to be late and well presented, or on time and unkempt by a call from Sakurai.

Aiba’s manager had secured a casting meeting for later that morning, and he wanted Nino to meet him there. Nino had just enough time to make it home and change.

He met Sakurai at the broadcasting station offices with minutes to spare, so it was inevitable they’d be ushered into the meeting without time for Nino to explain the full situation. Mostly, he let Sakurai make his pitch, with all the standard promises, rating projections and quality assurances. Nino was a little impressed with how thoroughly Sakurai had run the numbers, even without his help, Aiba’s manager was doing a good job of making him a plausible contender -- an underdog, rather than an outlier.

Nino used his approachability to his advantage all the time, getting people to do favours and pull strings on his behalf, but Sakurai cultivated a friendliness that made you want to see him succeed. Even Nino found himself rooting for the man when he finished by staking his own reputation on Aiba’s suitability for the role.

Sakurai Sho was good at his job, and he knew the Japanese market well. Nino wouldn’t deny that the man had more experience in the very specific way of working. It had been Sakurai who had asked for his help though, right? Nino wasn’t about to disappoint. “The timing really couldn’t be better.” He finally gave his own thoughts, aiming for a casual tone of conversation that the producers could overhear without being asked to listen. The presentation was over, after all; they were just finishing with a round of handshakes.

“I’ve some contacts on the international scene who have been in touch about Aiba-san. A “Where Are They Now?” of viral video stars. If Aiba-san has a leading role, he will surely have top billing among them, and it’ll get the name of the drama out there.” The innocent sideways glance he shot to the most senior executives in attendance was purely for effect. “That will really help your negotiating position with the streaming service you’re in talks with right now, wouldn’t it? Well, then gentlemen, ma’am, thank you for your time.”

Sakurai matched him bow for bow. “We look forward to hearing from you soon.”

They were cordially escorted to the parking lot, so Sakurai waited until they were alone, next to his Lexus before letting out a small whoop, and clapped Nino happily on the back. His hand stayed on Nino’s shoulder, elation and pride emanating from him. “That last bit at the end… That was amazing Ninomiya-kun!” Nino hadn’t seen the man display such a big toothy smile before, his cheeks round with it and laughter in his voice. “I really think Aiba-san might have a shot at this!”

“Of course he does.” Nino wants to be smug, but Sakurai’s joy is infectious, and he’s buzzing with the news he hadn’t been able to share yet. “I’ve got it all figured out-”

“Is it true though?” There’s a flash of worry behind Sakurai’s eyes that reminds Nino of a kid afraid they might have broken the rules. “About the viral videos stars? Nothing has come to my desk about it, and I’m his manager.”

Oh man, Nino snorts, how did Sakurai get so far in this business without learning the art of skillful obfuscation? Well, if he was that good without it, if he ever picked it up, Sakurai Sho might just be unstoppable. For the first time in a month, Nino was pleased that Aiba has Sakurai on his side.

He patted the hand on his shoulder reassuringly, his mocking tone kindly meant. “There, there. It wasn’t a lie exactly.” he said. “Do you know how easy it is to throw together a Buzzfeed article on that sort of topic?”

He expected the older man to been a little scandalised -- was looking forward to that reaction, in fact -- but he couldn’t say he was disappointed when Sakurai practically folded in on himself in hysterics. Nino was in pretty good humour himself. “Anyway, I pulled a few strings already, you’ll probably get the offer before the end of the week.”

The slightly older manager wanted to celebrate right away, and Nino was not inclined to turn down an offer of a free meal. He left his own car in the parking lot and rode with Sakurai to a nearby yakuniku restaurant.

So close to a TV station, the establishment was used to catering to the industry elite.  Even so, Nino was surprised that the owner seemed to recognise Sakurai on sight, and led them straight to a private room in the back with a promise to serve his usual starter while Nino looked at the menu. He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it before opting for the most expensive thing listed. He didn’t even like yakuniku that much, but as long as he wasn’t paying, he was more than willing to splurge.

It was only the middle of the workday, and both of them were driving, so they stuck to water and soft drinks, yet Nino found it easy to relax. Sakurai, it turned out, was much less uptight than his image suggested. He also caught on quickly to Nino’s more off-colour remarks; no wonder Aiba liked him.

Thinking of Aiba reminded Nino that he hadn’t met much with his childhood friend since he returned to the country. “Does Aiba-chan have anything scheduled right now?” When Sakurai said no, Nino pulled out his phone. They’d nearly finished their meal, but there was no harm expanding it into a business lunch meeting with a talent.

Masaki picked up on the fifth ring.

“Hello! Nino, you’ll never guess where I am right now.”

Opening the conversation with a guessing game was a novel move. Nino played along. “Australia?”

“Huh? Wha- no.”

“Indonisia, then?”

“I’m not-”

“Singapore?”

“Nino, what are you saying?”

Aiba never got frustrated, he just laughed along to joke, whether he understood them or not, even when they were at his expense. “Well, wherever you are, you should get to a yakuniku place called Five Star Beef in Tokyo, it’s-”

“Oh, I know the place. Sho-chan and I eat there all the time.”

 He filed away that bit of information for later, choosing to cut to the point rather than pass comment on being ‘treated’ at a place Sakurai probably had a loyalty card for. “As a matter of fact, he’s here too. We’ve got something to talk to you about. Work related.”

Normally, Aiba would have agreed right away and promised to travel the length of Japan on foot if that was what was needed to answer Nino’s summons. It was odd that he hummed and hawed for a minute, the muffled sound of him talking to someone with the mouthpiece covered making Nino more curious than he liked to admit. Finally, he did reply, in a tone that ignored that he’d ever hesitated at all: “OK. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. I’m bringing a friend!”

Aiba hung up.

He'd ended the call with a giggle in his voice, and Nino rolled his eyes as the display on his phone went dark. Let Aiba think he was being sneaky with his ‘surprise’ guest, it would be funny to see Sakurai’s face when Matsumoto Jun walked in behind his client. But damn, Jun worked fast.

Sakurai ordered more food while they waited, all things Nino recognised as Masaki’s favourites. As far as the man was aware, they were only going to be telling Aiba that they'd put him up for the lead in a drama, after all. Nino just basked in the blessings of a job where a sixty minute meeting could be capped off by a two hour lunch.

Aiba arrived with a gleam in his eyes, a grin he couldn't keep in and his arms full of bags from brand name boutiques. Sakurai took a deep breath, about to question the wisdom of Aiba’s extravagance when Matsumoto appeared in much the same condition, except that his grin was aimed at Nino, daring him to pass comment.

It was chaos for a while as facts and information were discussed and disclosed and everyone was brought up to speed. Even Nino was shocked by the speed at which Jun had sought out Masaki and said as much. Jun corrected him, their meeting that morning had been a coincidence, but Jun had remembered Nino's request and Aiba, although never having met Matsumoto, knew that he and Nino were close, had suggested that they do their shopping together.

That raised the question of Nino’s ‘request’ from Sakurai, and Nino sidestepped the issue by telling the other manager that they should inform Aiba about the potential drama first. Aiba, in typical fashion, was highly excited by the news; he rambled on and on about how his acting lessons were progressing and how the synopsis suited him, and look, he had this and that in common with the character. It would have been cute on someone who wasn't already in their mid thirties, but because it was Masaki, it was at least endearing.

Sakurai tried to temper his excitement, reminding Aiba that the part wasn't decided yet and competition was tough. Then Jun swooped in like the movie hero he was and told Sakurai and Aiba that he'd be attaching himself to the project on the condition that the station cast Aiba in the lead. Aiba didn't quite understand how powerful that ploy would be, but Sakurai did, and he nearly cracked his skull on the table trying to convey his thanks to the A-list star. When Jun demurred, and said it was all Kazunari’s idea, Sakurai almost repeated the action, but Aiba was able to catch his shoulders earlier that time, affectionately reminding Sakurai that he needn't bow to Nino.

Aiba wasn't wrong, he did not want nor need Sakurai’s gratitude. It felt good that the man gave it though. Nino was not usually the type who needed constant positive feedback, (that had been Jun’s neuroses, and part of why he was a pain in the ass in college) but there was something about being praised by Sakurai that filled him with pride.

That must be why Aiba worked so hard, Nino reasoned, even when his interest in stardom had been limited at first to going on his favourite variety program as a guest. It was a feat Sakurai had secured for Aiba within 3 months of being his manager, and yet Masaki took on each new task Sakurai got for him like it was his new lifetime goal. Or maybe pleasing Sakurai was his new goal. Nino wouldn't have blamed him if that was the case.

Once all the pressing questions had been answered, and the impending drama preemptively celebrated, the conversation moved on from work related topics. Nino, Aiba and Jun have a shared youth afterall, and Sho is an eager audience, giving in to raucous laughter and making astute observations on the stupid or misguided things they did. Sakurai had his own stories to tell too. Like how he’d applied to be an Idol back in Junior High, but his parents had talked him out of going to the audition.

“Thank goodness, right?” Sakurai ended his anecdote humbly. “Can you imagine me trying to act like an Idol?”

Jun didn’t join the teasing that followed. “I don’t know…” He began appraisingly. “You have the face for it.”  

Nino jumped in. “See? And J has a lot of friends who are Idols, so he would know.”

“Maybe it’s not too late, Sho-chan!” Aiba added. “You should audition.”

The whole thing was silly, and they all knew it and none of them cared. A dry lunch in the middle of the day had turned into a lively gathering that no one wanted to leave.

Matsumoto Jun was a busy man, though, and when his phone dinged with a reminder for his next job, things began to wind down. Not before Jun confirmed a few things with Sakurai, once again acting as his own manager and assuring Sakurai that he’d make sure TBS knew that Aiba and Matsumoto were a package deal. “Just like I made sure we stopped by a few places I knew we’d be spotted earlier.” He added, a confident smile on his lips.

With Jun gone, Sakurai switched back into work mode. “Nino, don’t you have a meeting soon?”

“What? Is keeping track of your own appointments not challenging enough, now you’re memorising mine too?” He snickered.

“That’s not it.” He denied it, and took no offence at the gibe. “Satoshi-kun told me about it. He lives close, should I call him here? If Aiba and I leave, you can meet here.”

“If I stay here through another meeting, I might get confused for a peice of the decor.” The implications of the rest of Sho’s statement filtered through his brain slowly. “You spoke to him recently?” Recently, would have to have been within the last 24 hours, and Nino is confused by why Ohno would talk to a different manager at the agency before even meeting his own.

Sakurai was unbothered, digging through his wallet as he dealt with the bill. “Satoshi-kun and I go way back.You know, he used to work in a bakery? I used to get something there every morning all the way through High School and University.”

“And you often get friendly with your local bakery staff?”

Sakurai and Aiba both laughed. “Ah, he’s special. I’m sure he only agreed to sign with 8 Bit Magic because I promised that I wouldn’t be the one deciding his schedule though. Good luck.”

They part ways a short time later, Sakurai dropping him back at the TBS building so Nino can collect his car. Somehow, the idea that Sakurai had gotten Ohno to join the entertainment business when Nino had failed so completely stung a little. Still, he reminded himself, he’d been much younger then; just starting out.

*

Nino can hardly breathe and the sudden dryness of his throat has nothing to do with the smog that made him duck into the gallery. Is he hallucinating? Has he finally succumbed to exhaustion? That seems like the most likely explanation for why he is seeing Ohno Satoshi in front of his eyes in a no-name independant gallery in L.A.

His hair is different again, longer, darker, but his face would be the same if his expression wasn’t an odd mix of shock at seeing Nino and harried at trying to deal with the crowd asking him questions about the meaning behind various art pieces.

It’s been years,and some part of him knows he should be mad; Ohno never made any effort to keep in touch. But Nino isn’t mad. He can’t breathe and his tongue is stuck to the top of his mouth, but his heart lifts at the sight of him. Is it because Jun has gone back to Japan? Is he just feeling a bit lonely and alone in L.A? No. Ohno has always brought out Nino’s more forgiving side; a figure of admiration that became a friend, it was hard to hold a grudge again, when he’d lived with the first one so long.

Besides, in this moment, Ohno looks like he could use a friend.

The gallery patrons are mostly English speaking, so Nino uses Japanese, he has learned that strangers rarely interrupt when they don’t know where to come in on a conversation. “Ohno-san, it’s been such a long time, it’s good to see you again.” the greeting is theatrically loud and overly formal, then again, maybe they never did get as close as Nino thought.

“Nino!” Satoshi sweeps him into a hug and Nino wrestles out of his grip automatically. Ohno’s hands drop to his side, eyes beseeching he whispers: “Help me.”

He doesn’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter; he’ll do his best anyway.

He’s in L.A. trying to make a living as an agent isn’t he? Right now, it looks like Ohno needs someone to manage the situation for him so that’s what he does. Acting as interpreter and guide, he brings the group of people to some order. Fielding their questions answers some of his own, though Nino gets the best answers out of Ohno when the older man is talking to him and not the crowd. It feels strangely normal; like they’re just catching up between themselves.

Ohno pulls him aside, asking if they can get dinner and Nino’s stomach growls embarrassingly at the offer. L.A is an expensive place to live and Nino hasn’t been in town long enough to make much of an impact yet. Food is one of the easiest necessities to limit in the meantime.

The first part of the meal is spent learning how they each ended up here, marveling at the odd twists of fate that brought them together. Nino doesn’t bring up the lack of contact from Ohno’s side, and the older man doesn’t mention it either. A full belly and a Budweiser later, though and Nino really doesn’t care anymore, because being around Ohno is just so easy. It always has been, even when it should feel awkward, something about Ohno smooths out his more abrasive edges and makes him feel softer.

He knows now that Ohno won’t be in LA for very long, and he talks constantly about going back home, but Nino can’t let Satoshi just disappear again. If Ohno would just listen to him, if he follows Nino’s lead, Nino could make him a huge name in Hollywood. He tells the man as much.

“I, I don’t want that Nino.” Ohno shrugs dismissively.

Nino is never going to get anywhere in showbusiness if he accepts the first ‘no’ thrown his way though, so he persists. “Come on Oh-chan. You’re so talented, you could really break out into the A-Lister scene. You’ll need English lessons, of course, and a driving license. I can sort all that stuff for you, and handle your schedule and your bookings and take care of everything, and you’ll never have to worry about anything.” He can hear Ohno trying to interject, to protest, but Nino knows if he gives Satoshi a chance to refuse, he might never get all of his ideas out. He carries on, ignoring Ohno’s attempts to speak.

“I’ll make you rich and famous. Just think, your face will be on TV and magazines; films even. Or music. Your voice is so good, and really, I could work in any branch of the business if it’s you. Oh, Musicals! You’re--”

“Nino, stop.”

“You’re perfect for musicals Oh-chan,  and movie musicals are on trend right now. And you’re cute, so girls will love you, you’d be so popular, like--”

“No, I’m not interested in--”

“You’d never have to worry about anything with me as your manager, and you’ll never have to work shitty jobs like that bakery again--”

“ENOUGH!” Ohno’s water glass spills when his fists slams against the tabletop, the cutlery rattling loudly on the plates. “I don’t fucking want you as a manager! I don’t want any of that stupid shallow crap.”

The words cut, and there is real bitter anger in Ohno’s voice. Nino’s never heard that from him before and he doesn’t know how to respond. His face heats. Ohno was the older boy Nino had attached himself to as a kid, the only man whose opinion mattered to him. Had he always seen Nino as a hindrance? Had he been nice out of obligation all those years ago? Did he look at Nino and his chosen career path as frivolous and stupid? Ohno turned his back on every chance of commercial success that came his way, didn’t he?

And he never called.

Nino thinks he must seem such a vapid fool to the older man. Chasing money and notoriety. And here he’d spent theevening playing at it, leading Ohno around the gallery floor, whispering instructions in his ear and pretending that Ohno might want to keep him around this time.

The chair scrapes on the floor and Nino is on his feet with lightning speed, head ducked to hide his eyes. They’ve always given too much away. “I’m sorry Ohno-san.”

“Ah, Ni-”

One last time, he ignores Ohno’s attempt to interrupt. “I’ve been rude. I shouldn’t have bothered you so much.” He doesn’t say the goodbye he is thinking as he flees.

*

He walked into the meeting with Ohno Satoshi like he was any other client. Nino might have been armed with the knowledge that the man had hidden depths, but until Ohno was willing and able to use them, finding work for him would be an uphill struggle. He pulled no punches when he told Ohno as much; choosing not to mention their shared past but ignoring a lot of social graces in deference to it. His biggest piece of advice came when Ohno explained apologetically that he didn’t know how he was supposed to act on camera.

“Pick a character, Ohno-san.” Nino sighed; it really was the most basic premise of TV work. “Pick a character and stick to it. Loud or quiet, argumentative or air-headed, it doesn’t matter; but it will give booking agents an idea of what to expect when filling their rosters.”

“So… being myself is no good?” Ohno didn’t sound offended, actually, his expression was almost completely blank.

He didn’t get it.

“It’s Improv.” Nino tried again. “Pick a persona for Ohno-the-TV-Talent and react to the situation presented accordingly.” It really wasn’t a new idea for the man; they’d spent much of their time messing around making pointless, private skits when they were in the troupe together. Nothing that had ever got on stage, of course, their teachers almost universally nixing the idea when Ohno and Nino had tried to debut Taka and Yuuji. The teachers had said the characters and setting were meaningless nonsense, but Ohno had joked the world simply wasn’t ready for them yet.

Ohno must have been struck by the same memory. He huffed a laugh. “So Taka can make his television debut.”

“That might be a bit too confusing for people.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Ohno agreed, still smiling. “Taka doesn’t make much sense without Yuuji.”

It was almost muscle memory – the fake modest reaction he adopted at Ohno’s statement. Teasing back without words. Their youth had been made from affectionate insults and heartfelt compliments and choosing to misinterpret each other for comedic effect. It seemed Ohno was happy to fall back into the familiar pattern, and Nino was pulled along regardless.

He had walked into the meeting with Ohno Satoshi like he was any other client. Ohno had sat in that meeting ready to see his old friend again. When it came to a battle of wills between them, Ohno had always been more stubborn, so Nino saw no point in fighting it.

“I have already lined up a few guest spots on sports programs.” Nino brought them both back to the business at hand. “Most of them are small guest spots, you’ll be there to watch a VTR or two, make a comment every now and then… nothing too strenuous.”

“Already?”

“Nothing confirmed yet.” Nino assured him, there was no mistaking the fleeting panic on Ohno’s face. “And not all at once either. Frankly speaking, your salary won’t amount to much if you don’t start making more appearances.” Did Ohno even want to make a living this way? The man he’d known clearly didn’t, but according to the file, Ohno Satoshi the fisherman had never turned down a request.

That sobered the older man considerably. “OK. I’m sorry. I’ll do my best.”

“Don’t worry so much Oh-chan. I’ll be here to help you.” Nino was all swaggering confidence. “I’m the best manager on two continents.”

Once their business was concluded, Nino had to excuse himself to secure a few of the speculative jobs he had lined up, and to try to arrange similar for his other, younger charge. Just because he had his own people to manage now, didn't stop him from being called upon to pinch-hit or close deals for his colleagues, as well.

It was a busy afternoon, catching up after a morning spent out of the offices, so he didn’t notice Ohno hadn’t gone home after their meeting until the man himself emerged from Sakurai’s office at the end of the day. “Uh, Ohno-san?” The building was being closed for the night, lights dim and only a few scattered staff left at their desks. Sakurai hadn’t been back in the office all day.

“Sho-chan usually gives me a ride home when I come in, but…” Ohno closed the door behind him.

Really, how Ohno reached his late thirties and still managed to exude the aura of a lost boy, Nino couldn’t fathom -- he’d seemed so mature when they were actually boys after all. “If you needed a ride home, you should have told me.” Ninomiya was patient as he educated the other man. “It’s my job to take care of that stuff now.”

Ohno nodded, a relieved grin dimpling his cheeks as he realised he wouldn’t have to make his own way home. He walked close to Nino’s side as they left the building. Nino could have arranged a taxi, he could have paid for it out of company funds. Instead he opened the passenger side door on his way around his car. “You’ll need to give me directions.”

Ohno slid into the seat. “No problem.” He said, as he buckled up.

As it happened, they got lost twice, before Nino gave up trying to follow Ohno’s vague hums and haws and pulled over to the side of the road. He plugged the address into his smartphone, saving the location under a codeword as a security measure.

Satoshi peered over from his side. “Taka?” His brows twitched in amusement.

“I wouldn’t be a very good manager if any stalker could find you just by getting ahold of my phone.”

“Oh,” Ohno fumbled his own phone out of his pocket. “Should I save your details under Yuuji? I’ve got you listed under Kazu-chan right now.”

He’d forgotten just how absurd Ohno could be utterly unintentionally, and the burst of laughter he let out threw him backwards in the driver's seat. “I’m not the celebrity here!” He tried to sound stern and failed miserably. “And from that name, people will assume I’m a girlfriend or something anyway.”

“Ah, I’ll leave it then.” Ohno was, as always, unconcerned about what others might think of him. It was an odd mindset for someone who was now choosing a life in the public eye Nino admitted to himself as restarted the engine. He had thought something fundamental must have changed within Ohno to make him receptive to finally pursuing fame, but the more time Nino spent with the man, the less it felt like any time had passed at all.

Ohno’s economy of words wasn’t because he was taciturn or unfriendly, it was because most people simply didn’t understand how to talk to him. It wasn’t just his talents that made Satoshi unique. Nino recalled how he’d taken pride in being one of the few people who really got the cool older boy; it had made him feel useful. Acting as a bridge, he was able to bring others into Ohno’s closed off circle and to take him out of his comfort zone so that he could take centre stage sometimes.

As his manager now, he’d be doing the same on a much larger scale, Nino thought. At least he knew he had the experience for it.

He was so lost in his own memories when he pulled up to Ohno’s modest bayfront house, that it didn’t seem strange at all when the man took on his old alter ego and sidled too close to thank ‘Yuuji’ and wish him goodnight. He watched fondly as the older man -- still in character -- disappeared inside the weather worn, timber-clad two story A-frame house. Well, at least Ohno was practising his improvisation again. Nino turned around and headed home.

Over the next days, work at 8-Bit Magic ticked along as normal. His Instagram ingénue had a magazine photoshoot with a write-up and Ohno had an appearance at a fish market event that was not televised. Between such work, Ninomiya stuck pretty close to the office, and so did Ohno.  Mostly, he made a nuisance of himself, asking Nino a million questions about how he worked, helping himself to the catering trolley. He even wandered down to the studio spaces and took part in the onsite lessons like acting and modelling.

Nino, who had always walked a fine line between professionalism and irreverence for the job, was more than happy to spend his down time rekindling their friendship. Sometimes, he’d be at his desk, and Ohno would answer his phone pretending to be his secretary, and Nino would play along, taking the part of the asshole employer while the person on the other end of the line had no idea. Or, Satoshi would adopt the manners of a Hollywood Diva, and he’d order Nino around, making increasingly unreasonable demands until Nino’s henpecked persona finally cracked and he’d tell Ohno to do it himself.

If any of Nino’s colleagues had any comments to make about his conduct in the office, none of them voiced them to him. Besides, Sakurai, the most senior manager within the pool of staff at 8-Bit, seemed to actively encourage it: it was entertaining and boosted general morale.

The news that Aiba Masaki had won the lead in a highly anticipated drama broke the following week. Suddenly workloads doubled even for those talents unconnected to Aiba, as the industry in general put more stock in the 8-Bit name, and it was all hands on deck to manage everyone. In that time, Ohno was asked to appear on a late night variety program hosted by a notoriously incommoding comedian. He was grouped with a few other faces; a character comedian whose whole shtick was his love for all things fish and a recently debuted Idol who listed fishing as a hobby.

Nino coached him hard before the filming was due to start. “Don’t forget to talk Oh-chan.” They were huddled close in the green-room, with only minutes before filming was due to start. Ohno had insisted on doing his own make-up, so they were alone. “I want every audience member who tunes in to watch their baby Idol to be your fan too by the end, OK?”

They’d already discussed strategies in the car on the way, and Ohno was resolute. With the mix of people he’d be working with, he’s stand out more by playing the everyman, but he’d have to be vocal about it. He would have point out when the other guests stories were outside the realm of the average person and get the audience on his side that way. Nino gave Ohno a few one-liners he could use such as teasingly calling them stylish or indecent and smoothed away the creases in the stylist provided outfit.

Ninomiya watched from behind the cameras, standing on the sidelines with the director and a producer as the show began and the guests were ushered in. The focus was clearly meant to be on the young Idol, who had a stage play to promote and a VTR shoot that had followed him on a shopping trip.

The setup gave Ohno plenty of chances to play to his disbelieving everyman character, and Nino was glad he didn’t waste a one. Ohno had always been able to pull anything off with the right instructions after all. By the end of the second half, he was playing off the Idol, and giving the host, Ariyoshi, openings to riff on the young man. Nino smirked; whether he knew it or not, Satoshi had guaranteed that his own comments would survive the editing process, or the show would never find an even flow.

Maybe the young Idol felt the pressure of losing the spotlight, because he resorted to telling anecdotes that were clearly attempts at name dropping bigger stars he had worked with. Ariyoshi, a little cruelly, Nino thought, called him on it, trying to ridicule the boy for the big names in the contact list of his phone and accusing him of not actually being in a position to reach those people he mentioned.

A flurry of activity picked up behind the scenes as an obvious stand-off happened between the host and the inexperienced main guest, who somehow looked compelled to prove the ornery comedian wrong.  If Nino was that boy’s manager, he’d be fuming at the program staff who let the situation escalate to this degree and at the kid who didn’t know how to turn the barbs around. If he was that boy’s manager, he would never have allowed the AD to come back with a phone mic on the fly so that the boy could piss off his betters by calling them at random to prove a point.

Nino was Ohno’s manager though, and it wasn’t his problem, so he sat back. He was kind of looking forward to the shitshow that was unfolding before him. Unfortunately, the Idol did appear to have a manager after all, and after one call failed to connect, a hastily scribbled cue card had Ariyoshi reigning it in a little.

“What I’m saying,” Ariyoshi at least, knew how to make himself look less of a dick. “Is that most people, entertainers, you know, have people who are on the same… level as them in their phones.” It wasn’t what he’d been saying at all, but editing would take care of that. “For example, who do you guys have in your phones?” He turned to Ohno and the character comedian, taking the focus off himself. Nino admired his skill.

The comedian named other minor celebrities, and an out of work actor he’d co-starred with four years ago. Ohno just seemed confused, until Ariyoshi pressed, specifying he meant the most famous person Ohno could call.

“Uh… um. Jun-kun, I guess.” Ohno shrugged.

“Jun-kun?” Three voices joined in chorus.

Nino disguised his inadvertent laugh as a strangled cough when Ohno answered. “Matsumoto Jun-kun.”

The talents on the stage were spluttering for different reasons though. Once Ariyoshi had established exactly which Matsumoto Jun Ohno meant, and then marvelled at the casual way Ohno had named him, the host was signalling that they should try calling the star.

Nino already had his phone in his hand, tapping out a quick message to his college roommate with a request attached. He’d definitely have used up all the Matsumoto goodwill he’d saved all these years, but it was worth it.

The whole studio held its breath while Ohno’s phone was hooked up to a mic and he dialled through.

“Hello?” Jun’s voice was distinctive, and well-known throughout Japan.

Ohno though, had an audience to a phonecall he never really intended to make. “Uh, hi Jun-kun?” He floundered a little, which amused everyone watching.

“Yes, Ohno-san? Is everything all right?” At least Jun knew the script.

“I’m in the middle of a recording right now….”

“Oh? Did you want to grab some drinks after?”

The audience gasped, trying not to make any noise but so confused by the relationship between this d-list TV talent and the elusive star. Then Ohno confounded them further. “No, not really.”

Even Matsumoto seemed a bit lost after that, though in fairness to him, he’d been called out of the blue for no discernible reason. Nino was positive it would only improve his reputation. “Ah, well.... Oh, that’s right, your birthday is coming up. I have your present at my house—”

“Ah. Thanks. I’ll send my manager to pick it up later then.” The volume of the reaction to Ohno’s thoughtless dismissal completely drowned out the goodbye he added before he unceremoniously hung up. Chaos erupted throughout the studio with Ohno unmoving in the centre of it. He appeared immune to the awe everyone else gazed at him with, and whether by accident or design, reverting to his simplistic one word answers in the last moments of the recording was genius.

Replying to the young Idol’s question of where Ohno had met Matsumoto, his bored “In Miami.” Raised more questions than it answered and there wasn’t enough time left to ask them. When Ohno met Nino’s eyes from the set while Ariyoshi did his sign off, Nino threw him a wink. It hadn’t gone to plan, and yet it couldn’t have gone any better.

When the episode airs in a few weeks, Nino thought gleefully, Ohno Satoshi is going to be a whole lot easier to book. The timing would also overlap with the start of filming for Last Chance Olympian too, making the segment extremely relevant and thus worth it to the producers to pay whatever fee Matsumoto’s agency would charge to allow his inclusion in the show.

Triumph fills him; it’s a small thing, but Nino has successfully given Japan a glimpse of the amazing person that Ohno is, and it puts him in a celebratory mood. Neither are the type to linger after work is over, but Nino is too giddy to even pretend at nonchalance. What starts as a handshake between them becomes a back slapping hug and Nino rains praise on his client.

“That was amazing Oh-chan; you stole the show!”

Ohno was looking distinctly pleased with himself. Nino stopped as it dawned on him that Ohno’s seeming obliviousness had been as much of an act as his earlier everyman approach. Satoshi had even fooled him. Knowing that Ohno had known exactly what he was doing when he was rude to Jun just made it better. “C’mon Satoshi, I’m treating you to dinner!” He’d definitely earned a reward for his performance.

“You’re taking me to dinner?” On a dime, Ohno transformed his whole demeanour, his body language suddenly more fey. “Is this a date?” He fluttered his lashes in a failed attempt at being beguiling.

In truth, the company credit card would be paying their costs, but there was no fun in saying so. “Of course it is.” There’s not much difference in their heights, still, Ohno ducks down to fit better when Nino throws his arm manfully around his shoulders. “And after dinner, I will even see you safely home. Like a true gentleman.” Even as he said the words, the hand around Ohno’s neck pulled the collar of his t-shirt away from him chest, and he leered comically at the exposed skin. It may be the most childish he’s behaved in years, but Ohno is on the same wavelength and they’re both suffering through a fit of giggles.

At points, it’s only his arm around the other man that keeps Nino from doubling over in paroxysms of laughter. Ohno holds him up though. He’s always been reliable like that, Nino remembers, keeping Nino planted on the ground, even when he was sweeping the teenaged Ninomiya off his feet. Until he wan’t.

Crap. That’s not a memory he wants to examine right now. It had been confusing then, and it would still be confusing now, and he’d put it behind him, along with a little bakery in Tokyo he’d refused to revisit.

*

Ever since the troupe disbanded, the afterschool activities moved to another area, to benefit a new set of kids, Ninomiya has lost touch with most of the friends he made there. He’d exchanged contact details with plenty of people, but he doesn’t share a school or a neighbourhood or even any interests other than the troupe with any of them. He doesn’t care much though, because Satoshi answers his calls, and always meets Nino whenever they’re both free.

They’ll go to the movies or hang around at the park or at the arcade, and Nino will talk about his plans for the future. He is going to go to film school. He’s going to work in production. Or maybe directing. Or he’ll study a technical field like editing or lighting. He’s not too worried about which discipline to go into yet, he knows he’s going to get into Florida State and graduate film school via their Torchlight program. He doesn’t know what the future holds, but he’s excited for it.

Ohno never talks about what he wants though. He only discusses things he’s already achieved, like how he is now satisfied that he has perfected the dance he had wanted to learn. He never talks about school, but Nino knows he dropped out of High School. It doesn’t matter; Ohno Satoshi can make it on sheer talent alone.

It’s late autumn, the evenings are dark and cold, and he’s stayed later than he meant to, sitting side by side in a booth at a family restaurant instead of across from each other.  Nino is sitting too close to the door, and every time a customer walks in a fresh blast of cold air blows at him. He doesn’t want to put his coat on though, because Satoshi might take it as a cue to leave, and Nino isn’t ready to do that yet either. He has something he wants to say, and he’s been gathering his courage for weeks; he can’t flake out now.

It’s a difficult subject, and something he’s been wrestling with for a while. He’s not ready to tell anyone else, or to do anything about it, but he needs to tell someone. He trusts Ohno doesn’t he? Has admired his strength and resolve and enjoyed his kindness, so there is no one safer to share his secret with. Ohno wouldn’t judge him, would he? Not the boy who cared so little what others thought – he wouldn’t care that Nino had been hiding something, that didn’t even really matter. He shivers, but it’s not because of the doors.

“Hey Kazu-chan, you OK?” Ohno’s arm is around him quickly, rubbing up and down his skinny bicep briskly, chasing the cold away. Nino shrugs out of the embrace. It’s too awkward for the conversation he wants to have.

“I… I kind of have something I want to say.” It’s like trying to push boulders uphill, getting the words out. His blood feels leaden, his whole body stiff with the weight of it. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, it kind of is to me, but…” Ohno makes a comforting, curious noise without opening his mouth, and Nino kind of hates it because it makes his lip wibble. He looks anywhere except at his friend’s worried face. He’s not trying to be dramatic, really he’s not, it shouldn’t even be a big deal anyway he tells himself, angrily blinking back the wetness in his eyes.

“I’m just – You know how when Yamada-kun and Honda-san and the rest of the guys were doing the celebrity ranking? And I said that Hana-chan was my type?”

“Mm? Yeah,”

Nino is so mad at himself. Why can’t he just say it clearly? Maybe he should just leave it? Or tell Masaki instead, like he’d planned before this summer happened and he met Ohno. No. Masaki would be so fine with it, he’d forget that it was supposed to be secret. Nino couldn’t take the risk of any news somehow reaching his schoolmates. School was difficult enough without giving them any more ammunition.

Ninomiya clears his throat and squares his shoulders. He’s come this far, and it’s just a bit of information about himself. Like his zodiac year or his blood type, and he’d already told Ohno those things. “I lied.” A deep breath, and Nino just has to say it. “I only said it because I didn’t want those guys to know that I – Uh, that no girl is my type, you know?” OK, so it’s not as clearly said as he wants, but he’s praying that Ohno understands because now it’s just embarrassing and if Ohno asks him to explain, Nino is just going to deny the last five minutes ever happened.

But then, there’s a part of him that is praying that he could take back his words too. Ohno is silent, and Nino can’t tell if it’s too long or not, but then he does speak, it’s close to Nino’s ear, whispered, but perfectly clear, with no hesitation or judgement. “So you’re saying you don’t like girls, right?”

A quick nod and a side glance to see Satoshi’s face is completely neutral.

“Which means…? You like guys?”

Another nod, but then he has to rush to explain himself. There’s no disgust oh Ohno’s face right now, no confusion or anger, and Nino aims to keep it that way. “Yeah. Not all guys obviously. I’m just telling you because- because I had to tell someone; it’s not like I’m confessing to you or anything. How weird would that be!? But you’ve been my friend and you’re so cool about stuff, and I didn’t want you to be upset if you... if you found out later or something.” He was rambling, but at least he wasn’t crying. “So that’s it. If you feel awkward around me now, I’d get it, but I hope I don’t make you uncomfortable…”

Satoshi ruffles his hair like he’s a little kid. “It’s OK. I get it Kazu-chan. Don’t worry about me.”

Relief floods through him, and Nino feels lighter again. It’s said now, over with. They don’t talk about it later, in any of the phone calls they have since Nino came out to Ohno. It doesn’t relate to their conversations and even when they play-act as Taka and Yuuji, it’s the same as it always was. It’s a few weeks before they meet again, for the last time in their teens.

Nino finds him in a small bakery near Keio University.

It’s the first time Ohno has ever taken the initiative, and been the one to suggest they meet, but it’s also the first time they’ve gone so long between meeting because Nino has been busy on a promise to his mother to study hard for the High School entrance exams in a few months. He arrives at the address Ohno provides and thinks they’re just going to pick up some coffee choux or milk buns. Nino didn’t expect to see Ohno wearing baker’s whites, standing behind the glass front counter.

It’s funny at first, to see Ohno like this. The older boy does really like bread and pastries, and he’s oddly enthusiastic about his new part-time job. He’s bouncing between the warming ovens and the display cabinets, putting together a large order for an overstretched secretary on the lunch run, smiling and making recommendations as he goes. There’s a smudge of flour on his nose. Cute.

Then there are no more customers, and Ohno shouts into the kitchens that he’s starting his break as he joins Nino on the other side. There are a couple of tables and a handful of chairs; meant for decoration rather than any practical purpose, but he sits when Satoshi does.

“What’s going on Oh-chan?” he asks. “You know when I talked about making bread, I was talking about money, right?”

Making Ohno laugh is one of his favourite hobbies. Nino thinks he might have a skill for it, because Ohno seems to laugh loudest and longest for him. “Isn’t it great? I get to taste-test the first batch of everything we make and we close at 4, so I get every evening off.”

“That’s doesn’t sound like the healthiest diet.” He notes dryly.

“Don’t worry about my health.” Ohno replies.

“I couldn’t care less about that.” He puts the familiar teasing drawl in his voice. “but Yuuji won’t like it if Taka can’t fit into his costume.”

They sit and joke for a few minutes, then Ohno says something that catches Ninomiya off guard. It’s not the words that matter – it’s the implication; because this isn’t a part-time job for Ohno, it’s an apprenticeship. Ohno isn’t going to be working between auditions and tiny productions awaiting his big break. It’s the start of a whole career, away from film, away from cameras. Satoshi is swapping stage directions for recipes, choosing customer service over fan service.

For months, Nino has been telling Ohno about his plans for the future, plans that he’s always included the older boy in. Nino’s every forward thought has had them together: working together, supporting each other, redefining the entertainment business as a pair, and he’s made no secret of those plans. Sure, Satoshi never really contributed, but he never protested either. Nino had suspected that Ohno was simply being pulled along by his grandiose dreams – he just figured Ohno was the type who liked to be led. He didn’t imagine that Ohno didn’t want any of the same things Nino had envisioned for them.

“How long are you going to be playing at being a baker?” There’s a strange bitter taste in his mouth, and a cruel twist to his lips he doesn’t quite mean.

Ohno is as taken aback by his venom as Nino, equally as confused as he answers: “The apprenticeship is 3 years, after that-”

He can’t bear to hear the rest. “I’m going to film school.” The declaration is pretty pointless; Ohno knew this already didn’t he? He knew that Nino had made up his mind, and it seems Ohno has made a decision too, to remove himself from the role in Nino’s life that Nino had cast him.

“I know.” Satoshi has always spoken slowly, but now, every drawn out syllable is a slow stab to his gut. “That’s why I’m doing this now.”

“What, like this is for my sake!?” He scoffs. To spare him any further embarrassment, to keep him from making a bigger fool of himself? He doesn’t need to add.

“Exactly.” Ohno replies like it’s not the most painful thing he could say. When he carries on speaking though, the hurt piles up. “I know you have your dreams, but you’re still a kid Kazu-chan,”

The metal legs of the chair scrape the tile when Nino surges to his feet. It’s a betrayal of everything he thought he and Ohno were; and he’s consumed by the creeping sink of realising just how wrong he’d been in the first place. It’s the hot burn of shame at being belittled by someone he’s admired and the cold slap of reality crashing over him. It’s a cocktail of emotions that make him strangely numb as he’s looking down at Satoshi then.

He might have gotten past his own disappointment in time. He would have. Until that last bit, when all he heard was the man Nino looked up to telling him to grow up. Satoshi had called him a kid – saw him as a child, and the whole foundation of the relationship Nino thought they had crumbled around him. He’d always marvelled at the fact that Ohno didn’t see the paltry 3 years that separated them. Clearly, he’s been lying to himself from the beginning and he feels stupid for it.

“Don’t do me any favours Ohno-san. If I gave you the impression that I needed you at all, I apologise for the misunderstanding.”

“Just a minute!”

He is already on his way out the door, his words delivered to the empty air in front of him, because he will not look back.  “It’s OK. There’s no point until I’m older, right? I’ll see you then.”

*

When it comes right down to it, show business is a fairly closed circle, and Producers and Assistant Directors spread the word that Ohno Satoshi was going to be the next hot TV talent pretty quickly. Which practically guaranteed that that would be the case once bookings started piling up and the self-fulfilling prophecy began to unfold. It’s not just Ohno’s reputation that grows though, with Aiba Masaki having secured a prime drama role, alongside Matsumoto Jun, 8 Bit Magic gets a serious boost to its influence. Every manager feels the pressure of the increased workload, and every minor twitter talent and would-be comedian is taking home bigger paychecks because of it.

Ohno, as always, spends most of his free time at the offices. There isn’t much time left for fishing, he complains, when Kazunari packs his schedule so tightly. Nino didn’t feel bad about it anymore though, not since Ohno had nearly missed a radio spot because he’d gone ocean fishing and been unreachable for 36 hours. Ohno had plenty of chances to fish, Nino argued, during  various spots he filmed for TV, thanks to the nature of his celebrity. Even if Satoshi disagreed, Nino found the simplest way to keep Ohno away from boats in his down time was to suggest they hang out together.

Ohno has known since Miami that Nino will not willingly set foot on a boat. Even a cruise liner.

Sometimes, Ohno will invite Sho along for beers, or Aiba will tag along after filming and they will talk about work. Twice, Matsumoto called both Nino and Ohno at ridiculously late hours, once to a private club even Ninomiya wouldn’t have been able to smooth-talk his way into, and once to a restaurant that Sakurai had apparently recommended.

It’s different tonight though, because it’s not even 8PM and Jun has come straight from filming the penultimate episode of Last Chance Olympian, and he practically ambushed Ohno and Nino as they left a late photoshoot. There was an edge to his voice while he said that he needed some urgent advice, somewhere completely private.

Ohno offered his place; closer than Nino’s and less likely to be spied on by media types looking for a scoop than Juns, so Nino drove them over. The ride was tense, with Jun lost in thought and Nino worried about his friend. Was it work related? The drama ratings were holding steady at an encouraging average of 16% audience share nationwide, and while it was lower than Jun would have gotten if he was the lead, it was hardly a poor result. Maybe he just needed some managerial advice? It had been a long time since Matsumoto had needed Nino for that, but his own managers had been extra useless since Jun had taken a firm hand to his own fame years ago, and he might have encountered something that required a deft touch. Some scandal damage control perhaps? Nino would do that, if it was for his old college roommate.

The thought that Matsumoto’s squeaky clean image was in jeopardy, and the knock on effect that might have on Aiba, preoccupied Nino all the way to Ohno’s door. The pair were inextricably linked now, and not just by their co-star status. Nino had introduced two of the most vivacious people he knew to each other, and it had been no surprise when they stuck together like velcro. While Jun was a pro when it came to weathering unfavourable coverage, Aiba was still new to that kind of scrutiny, and liable to wear his worry for his friends like a shroud and Nino wasn’t sure Sakurai would know how to pull his client out of that kind of fog.

Jun was already wandering around the surprisingly modern interior by the time Nino had lined up his shoes. He  commented on the size of the place, and the homespun but pricey decor, but Ohno waved away Jun’s awe; he didn’t really pay attention to that stuff. Ohno had never had occasion to spend his earnings from the cruise liner, and after selling his art pieces in LA and returning to Japan, Sakurai had recommended an accountant who had been taking care of Ohno’s day to day expenses since.

When the trio have made themselves comfortable with cans of cheap beer from the fridge, Nino cut to the chase. “What’s going on J? You need my expertise for something important, I take it?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Jun was tight-lipped, his inflection flat. “It’s about Aiba-chan.”

It wasn’t what Ninomiya had been expecting to hear, and a flash of panic hit him. If that idiot had got himself in some kind of trouble….

Jun cleared his throat. “We’re close to finishing the drama and he’s started… he’s taken to coming into the shower when I’m already in there.”

It’s silent for a beat because Nino waited for Jun to add more. He assumed Jun’s complaint or concern would be built upon his first statement and was left feeling short-changed when the star didn’t elaborate. “That’s it?” If Nino sounded incredulous, it’s because he was; Jun was more of a prude than most of his friends, but surely not the point he’d need to consult Nino in private over it?

Ohno’s hand on his shoulder reminded Nino that the older man was there. “I’m sure there’s more to it, right Matsumoto-san?” He interjected softly.

“Right. The first time, we had just finished the training scene from episode eight. It was a pretty tough day and ended late so I thought he was just in a hurry to get cleaned up and out of there.”

“You didn’t say anything?” That was hard to believe; Jun was definitely the type to voice his displeasure. It was one of the things he and Nino had in common, though they had different methods of going about it.

Jun rolled his eyes in Nino’s direction. “Of course I did. I said: ‘I’m in here.’ but Aiba-chan said: ‘I got it.’ and just started washing up anyway.”

Nino laughed. It certainly sounded like something Aiba would do, and he told Jun as much. “What are you worrying about J?” He added. “I know Masaki can be an idiot, but it’s just a shower; I’m sure he’s not going to be telling his Instagram followers about your saggy ass or anything.”

“My ass is not-” Jun nearly fell for Nino’s diversionary tactic, but clamped his teeth shut over his retort before Nino could even get the debate going. “That was just the first time. It happened again a few days later. We hadn’t even shot any scenes together, and he finished half an hour before me. The last time, I know I locked the door but--”

Ohno didn’t know Aiba the way Nino did, the manager reasoned, when he felt a jolt protective ire aimed at the fisherman when he asked: “Is Aiba-chan harassing you Jun-kun?”

Still, it would be a serious allegation to levey, and Aiba didn’t tend to adhere to traditional boundaries with people he considered friends. What if Nino’s childhood friend had misjudged the level of friendship. Shit, what if Nino had put them both in this position? “I can have a word with Masaki.” He said. “Tell him he’s making you uncomfortable.”

“Eh!? No, that’s not what I meant.” Jun looked flustered at the very idea. “I mean, I’m perfectly capable of kicking him out but… well… when I was getting out the last time, he asked me to not lock the door and I wondered-” Jun paused to take a few -overly dramatic, in Nino’s opinion- deep breaths. “Do you think Aiba-chan might be interested in me?”

Ninomiya could only stare. “If you need to ask.” He scoffed eventually, “The answer is no. Aiba-chan has never been that subtle.”

Ohno was the one to argue Jun’s corner then. “Getting into the shower with another person is subtle?”

He shrugged. “It would be for Aiba-chan. That guy is always barging into my showers and I happen to know he’s bathed with Sho-chan on at least two different occasions.”

“I think, it’s more important, Jun-kun,” Ohno’s elbow connected with Nino’s rib, as pointed as the look he shot at his manager. “That you figure out if you want Aiba-chan to be interested.”

Jun waved away that question; it was not a question at all to him. “Have you seen him? I’m asking because Aiba-chan is becoming a good friend, but I refuse to perpetuate the stereotype of the gay guy pining after an unavailable straight guy. You get it, right Kazu?”

“Completely.” Nino agreed wholeheartedly, he explained further at Satoshi’s confused look. “There’s nothing more pathetic. The trick is to not even look at guys who aren’t playing in the same field as you, at least some of the time. Fortunately for Jun-kun here, Aiba-shi has never been that picky about where he plays his games.”

“Really?” The one-sided smirk perfectly matched the speculative quirk of one thick eyebrow, and Nino could practically see the gears in Jun’s mind moving. Gross.

Satoshi didn’t miss the by-play, or it’s implication, either. “Wait, that’s all you needed to know? Why didn’t you just ask Aiba-chan yourself?”

“Normally I wouldn’t need to.” Jun defended himself. “I usually have a pretty good sense about these things, but Aiba-chan is… complicated. Even if it seems like he’s flirting with guys, he’s still openly got three different ex girlfriends on his social media-”

“Masaki is still friendly with them all.” Nino interjected.

Matsumoto nodded, gesturing to Nino at Ohno as if to say See? Aiba is a mystery.

Ninomiya, as the closest thing to an expert on Aiba Masaki in present company, felt compelled to add a warning to his old college friend. “Look, just make sure you’re on the same page before you start trying to seduce my best friend ok? You might be bigger than me, but I fight dirty.” He was only half joking.

Jun paused with his beer hovering at his lips. “Why are you so sure Aiba isn’t already trying to seduce me? He broke into my shower stall Nino.”

“He probably didn’t even know it was locked.” Nino shrugged dismissively. It wasn’t even that far fetched; Aiba had once opened Nino’s bedroom door without knocking and taken the small deadlock off the frame without even noticing it was there. He was so completely unaware of his power, in so many ways. “Look, people fall over themselves falling for Aiba-kun; he’s never had to seduce anyone in his life. Apparently, yourself included; it’s kind of nice to know that even Japan’s national heartthrob isn’t immune.”

Jun was annoyed by Nino’s needling, he could tell. “Except you?”

“I never said that.” He was amused to see the way Jun and Satoshi’s expressions changed when he said: “Masaki is the reason I realised I was into guys.”

Ohno nearly choked on his beer. “You and Aiba-chan-?”

“Nope. I told you, I’m not into guys who aren’t into me. I can appreciate the way someone looks without wanting to jump them, you know? Geez.” Really, Nino knew he had a reputation in the business, but he never brought his personal life into it and he was a little offended at the conclusions Ohno seemed to have jumped to. Did Ohno think just anyone was good enough for him as long as they were gay?

“Oh, so what happened when you told him?”

Jun and Nino reacted in the same moment, in the same way. “Told him!?”

The manager continued, speaking for himself. “Why would I do that? I was over it in weeks, what difference would it make now?”

“You just got over it?” Ohno completely missed the point. “Just like that? How?”

“With Aiba-chan? Proximity.” Nino finished his drink, abandoning the empty can on the coffee table, missing the coaster. “That fool is the last person on Earth I’d want to date. No offence J, ah, you’ve always had strange taste anyway.”

Jun didn’t actually take Nino seriously; he knew him too well for that. He did get up, taking Nino’s trash with him to the kitchen. He had the information he’d been looking for now, and some unsolicited advice too and Ninomiya knew Jun had to be back at the set for a sunrise shoot. He wasn’t surprised when the film star declared that he was going to flag down a taxi to the station.

Ohno saw him to the door, while Nino simply said his goodbyes from his spot on the sofa, sprawling slightly to occupy the warm spot Jun left behind. He didn’t hear exactly what Jun said to his client but Ohno’s retort was much clearer. “If I didn’t take chances like that, I wouldn’t have met you and Nino in Miami.” Ohno didn’t go back to the armchair he’d been sat in; he wedged himself in the narrow space left after Nino had spread along the cushions. Nino, too stubborn to move ended up with his head resting on Ohno’s thigh.

“Hey Nino?”

“What?”

Nino had finished his drink, but Ohno still had his in his hand, his elbow braced along Nino’s side to avoid spilling the liquid. “Have you really never liked someone who didn’t like you back?”

“Not on purpose. Have you?”

“Just the once.” Ohno chuckled to himself, lost in some memory that he didn’t share with Nino. “It’s embarrassing to think about now.” The answer was unexpected. He couldn’t imagine that Ohno, so talented, so casually kind and unconsciously good looking would ever be rejected. Whoever had turned down Ohno Satoshi had to be deaf, dumb, and blind he thought.

“Why do you want to know anyway?”

“Sho-kun is in love with Aiba-chan.”

It wasn’t new information to Nino. Hell, the way Sakurai’s eyes followed Aiba around the office, it shouldn’t be news to anyone, and Satoshi had known Sakurai nearly as long as he’s known Nino. Longer, if you counted time actually spent together. But Sakurai Sho was the consummate professional, and managers held a unique position in the lives of their clients; all at once their superiors and their subordinates. Nino had seen enough Hollywood horror stories play out in front of him to applaud Sakurai’s decision not to pursue anything. To Ohno, he said only: “I know.”

Ohno sighed. Nino felt the way the breath moved the man; like the air inside him was too heavy to hold. “Poor Sho-chan.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him.” Nino pointed out. “He’s making a choice. Masaki is the one who has been trying to get his attention for the last nine months. I’m glad Jun came along to distract him or he was gonna start moping about it any day now.”

“Eh, but you said Aiba-chan never had to- that he didn’t-”

“I lied.”

Despite his concern for Sakurai, it was Ohno who looked about ready to tear up. Nino wasn’t sure if it was sympathy for his friend, or a faux pout at being deceived. “I guess I kind of did too.” His statement did nothing to clear it up for Nino. “At the door, I told Matsumoto-kun to take a chance and just say it clearly if he wasn’t sure, but I never could do that. I’m not good with words, so I’ve always waited for the other person to speak up first.”

Nino twisted, head raised to catch Ohno’s eyes. “Ah, so you’re the type that needs to be confessed to.” he teased. “That would be tough for a lot of women, I imagine.”

“Not for the type of women I like.” Satoshi protested, his cheeks puffed out with his denial. “And it wouldn’t matter for guys.”

He couldn’t hide his disbelieving laugh. “You’ve never dated a guy Oh-chan.” They might not have seen each other for ten years, but they had had months catching up, and Nino was sure of his facts.

Ohno just agreed with him. “Well, yeah, but I’ve also never been confessed to by a guy.”

Nino sat up fully, searching Ohno’s face for some sign that he was kidding. Satoshi was smiling, open and at ease, but he wasn’t joking. Was Ohno really that simple? Nino knew Ohno wasn’t the type to over think his decisions, that was the why of how the fisherman’s life meandered the way it did. Of course, Nino had no way of knowing whether this particular view was old or new, or just said to match the flow the conversation that preceded it.

It had to be new. If it had always been that way -- if Ohno needed nothing more than to be aware of someone’s interest in order to reciprocate -- Nino wondered if things would have been different between them. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he harboured no crushes on people he couldn’t date, but there was a time when he had to make that choice. When he’d decided that feelings that could go nowhere were pointless.

It was a choice he made in his twenties, sitting under the stars on a beach in Miami.

*

Nino is still laughing at the fact Ohno thought he’d be able to fish off the side of a cruise ship, still half fallen into the older man’s lap, and Jun’s phone rings. Another invite somewhere else. Another invite that he extends to Nino and Ohno that they refuse and he accepts at their insistence. Jun needs people; to be surrounded by others, in a way that Satoshi and Kazunari don’t. They are perfectly content alone, even with each other.

The silence stretches, not uncomfortably, and Nino is leaning so heavily against Ohno’s side that he can see the muscles of Ohno’s other arm working to brace them both. He’s waiting for Ohno to shift him away, to tell him to move or complain about the additional weight. Nino’s not sure when it became a private game with himself; seeing how much people will put up with from him, seeing how long it would take for them to put up boundaries or push him away.

Most people, they enforce boundaries unconsciously through body language or tone, and Nino rarely needs to be told how far he can take it, he is quite the expert at finding that line himself, and reading others cues. People could be surprising sometimes though. Matsumoto, when they had first met, presented himself as someone incredibly guarded, and yet, he had slowly allowed Nino to break through all sorts of social norms without complaint.

Ohno is surprising in a different way. His arm must be aching by now, and it’s no longer a question of pushing the man to the edge of his comfort zone, but learning the limit of his edurence, because bearing Nino’s weight with his own must be a strain. Thinking on it, since the first days of their acquaintance, Satoshi rarely reacted to Nino’s tactile approach. He’d been younger then, probably cuter he thinks, so able to get away with more from a kind almost-adult like Ohno. Now, age is no longer a factor. Ohno should be able to drop him unceremoniously into the sand. He doesn’t and Ohno is beginning to tremble with effort.

He won’t say anything though, and the only reason Nino knows is because he is watching so closely; because he is pressed so close every twitch under Ohno’s skin is transmitted to his own. Nino has never abandoned his game because of guilt before, but he doesn’t actually want to hurt anybody.

It’s not easy to correct his position now though; he’s listed so far into the other man he is off balance, and the only way to right himself is to fall completely to the side he is leaning, or to ask Ohno to shove him in the right direction. The latter seems like the least embarrassing option. “Oh-chan, help me up.”

The man makes a small groan, but the complaint is not one Nino expected. “Don’t wanna: you’re warm.”

“Then put your shirt back on.” Nino says without missing a beat. It’s kind of hilarious that Ohno is too lazy to put on his shirt, so would rather break into a sweat keeping Nino upright. “You’re going to sprain your wrist if I don’t get off you.” Ohno has been suitably warned now, so Nino levers himself up, even so, the man lets out a huff of breath, his palm sliding roughly over the sand with the momentum.

Separate now, and Ohno looks a little sullen and a bit small, wrapping his arms around himself. “See? Now I’m cold.” He pouts. It’s a ridiculous accusation: Miami at night is cooler than the day, but it was not truly cold.

The fond smile comes unbidden; how can he help it when Satoshi is so adorable? They had both changed so much from the boys who had met over a shared summer activity, and Nino is constantly finding new things about Ohno to marvel at. For all that the older man is different than he was, or different to how Ninomiya imagined he would be in his youthful speculations; there is nothing about the man that doesn’t feel genuine.

He settles back, and he lets Ohno tuck himself under the warmth of his arm this time, tucking Ohno’s head under his chin. “Really, Oh-chan, how have you survived this long without me.” It’s meant as friendly jab, but it stabs at Nino’s own heart more than he thought it could. Is he bitter? Maybe once, but he’s had years to put his own hurt feelings behind him. It had been his own fault for not really considering Satoshi’s feelings when he was younger. He’d only thought of himself back then.

“I don’t know either.” The older man snuggles against him. Nino forgets to breathe. “But I’m glad I’m here now.”

Nino agrees, but not out loud. The other man must feel his tiny nod, maybe he can feel the way Nino is holding himself ridgid too, because he’s afraid, if he moves right now, he’s going to wrap his arms around Ohno and beg him to stay in a way that cannot be played as a joke.

Ohno sighs. “Matsumoto-kun said you’re studying production, just like you planned.”

It’s not just what he planned, but it’s close enough. “Yeah.”

“You really didn’t want to be a star yourself? I remember you were so good at it. The acting, singing and dancing, I mean.”

He’s been asked this question before, by teachers and friends, even his own family, so it’s easy to answer. Like reading a script. “I plan on being the best in the world at what I do. Not just good. I’m never going to be the best singer though. Or the best actor in Hollywood.” There is nothing humble in his delivery, he’s being honest, not self deprecating. “But I can produce the best. I can support and manage the people who are the top, and wouldn’t that make me the most important person in the whole industry?”

The other man’s spiky blond hair tickles as he moves away, finally he picks up his shirt, balling the cloth in his lap. Nino learns what it feels like to be left cold by the sudden absence of a warm body. “Is that why you’re friends with Matsumoto-kun?” He asks. “Are you going to produce him?”

He can’t help but laugh. “Jun-kun is a great actor,” he says. “And stupidly attractive. He’d do just fine without me; I just like having him around.” he wants to add that he likes having Ohno around too, but he doesn’t want Ohno to take it the wrong way.

The problem is, he’s not sure what is the right way all of a sudden. The older man featured in many of Nino’s fantasies, but never in that way. He’s always remembered the friend who could have been sensational. Who was once one half of a complete future Nino had dreamt up. Now though, he’s just a guy. He doesn’t want any part of Nino’s version of that future, but when Nino tries to reimagine the years to come, he doesn’t want to leave Ohno out of them anymore.

“It must be nice.” Ohno is unaware of the way Nino’s mind is racing. The lounge singer is barely looking at him, murmuring his words to the sky, talking to the sea, making Nino work to hear what he says. “To know exactly what you want and to just…. Keep doing it.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you do though? First with the dancing, then the bakery? You do whatever takes your interest until you reach your goal, then you just move on. That’s enviable.”

“It is?” He is not convinced, Nino can tell. “I don’t know what I’m doing this time. Just working my contract, I guess. Maybe I’ll go back to baking in Japan.”

“That sounds good.” His reply is automatic. Of course, even without plans, Ohno knows that he is going back to Japan. He knows the path ahead of him doesn’t include that guy he bumped into in the States.

Ninomiya should know by now not to cast Ohno in any permanent role in his life. Hadn’t he caused himself enough misery by forgetting that people had their own plans, their own dreams that didn’t revolve around him? He was the centre of nobodies universe, least of all Ohno’s, and he really needs to stop.

He needs to stop letting his head get away from him. He needs to stop treating Ohno as an unwilling extension of his own hopes and dreams. He needs to stop hurting himself.

“You’ll get to do more fishing than now, at least.” Nino adds. It doesn’t need to be forever to be Ohno’s friend, he decides right then. What matters is right now, because trying to chase any kind of future with Ohno Satoshi was like trying to catch smoke in his hands.

*

One week.

It had been one week since the rather revealing conversation with his client had thrown Ninomiya Kazunari into a maelstrom of confusion and conflicting principles.  Ohno Satoshi had been his friend for more than half his life; long absences notwithstanding. Nino is now living almost exactly the life he first envisioned with the man, as his manager and friend. Yet there is an undercurrent of regret. If he’d been smarter - braver - maybe there would not have been any long absences at all. Maybe Nino would be more than Ohno’s manager and friend.

It was galling to think on; to realise that a part of him wanted that, when it was already too late. Because Nino was Ohno’s manager now, and he could not and would not jeopardize either of their positions by acting on it.

Yet he can’t not think on it. Or rather, it is his job to think about Ohno’s needs, to constantly think about how best to show the world his charms. That makes it rather hard not to get caught up in his own thoughts about Ohno’s best points.

At least he knew he wasn’t as obvious about his predicament as Sho. He played his games with Ohno as always. He didn’t go to pieces every time Satoshi brushed too close; he flirted openly in the guise of Yuuji as often as Ohno played Taka. Nino never missed an opportunity at the casual physical intimacy they had always shared. These things did affect him now, but it was easy to hide when he pretended he wasn’t hiding it at all.

Ohno was napping in Sakurai’s office when Nino was called in by the more senior manager. Sakurai, hair perfectly coiffed, tie neat, had conducted a video conference while Nino’s client slept 4 feet away just out of sight of the camera. He hasn’t called Nino in to complain though, Nino can tell from the poorly hidden grin and the fact the Sakurai seemed to let Ohno get away with much more than any other talent on the 8BM roster.

“Did you hear the rumour?” Sho began as Nino shut the door behind him. “About the networks looking for new ways to build relationships with other agencies?”

His eyes travelled to the small sofa, to where Ohno didn’t even stir in spite of Sakurai’s volume. He really could sleep anywhere. “I’ve chatted with a few people about it.” Nino admitted. He didn’t mention that he might have made a few suggestions within the hearing of a handful of receptive listeners. It helped that Ohno had been so active lately, and so Nino was becoming a common face around the offices of some networks. People opened up to him quickly, the added familiarity gave him access to people and places he would have been kept away from before.

“I’ve just struck a deal with Takashina Tarou.” Sakurai had every right to look as smug as he did in that moment, Takashina was the Head of Broadcasting at one of Japan’s Top 3 Television Giants. There had to be a good reason for the man to lower himself to conducting business directly, and with their dinky little agency. “I need to run it by everyone first, but this could be big for us Nino.”

“Who’s everyone?”

“Everyone.” He emphasised the word heavily, the smile breaking out over his face. “All of the managers, every Talent and Twitch streamer signed with us.” From his desk, Sakurai picked up a printed proposal with the TV stations logo prominently emblazoned all over its pages. He handed the print out over.

Nino flipped through it quickly, scanning over the pages at speed, acutely aware of the impatience of his colleague. Sho was not lying, this would require the approval of everyone, and probably a huge amount of contractual wrangling which would overwork their already stretched workforce. Not that he thought many would complain about the result. “A 3-hour Prime-Time slot to showcase 8-Bit Magic Talent, Sho-san?” If he sounded skeptical, it was only because there was a worrying lack of detail in the outline.

Sakurai nodded, he picked up on Nino’s less enthused tone, and reigned himself in appropriately. “They have some suggestions for the type of content they want, but it sounded like we’d pretty much have creative control as long as they can approve the script beforehand.”

“Three hours is a lot of airtime to fill, especially without direction. And from the looks of it, there’s barely any budget. What exactly are we meant to be doing here?”

“That’s why I wanted to speak to you first Ninomiya-san.” Sakurai settled fully into business mode then, he sat down, leaning back commandingly in his console chair, hands steepled in front of his lips. “The real production is up to us. Isn’t that your forte?”

Huh. It was a risky enough set-up, a true sink or swim, trial by fire test for 8-Bit and Sakurai was giving him the responsibility for getting the agency through it. “What does Hosho-san think of this?” He dodged. Hosho Reiko was the CEO of 8-Bit Magic, but she was mostly a reclusive figurehead. She had provided the money to get the company started, but she appeared content for Sakurai to be her de facto second in command, despite refusing to actually name anyone to the position.

Nino didn’t even know what she looked like.

“She left it up to us.”

Of course she did. He thought uncharitably. Kazunari had little time for wealthy heritors who did none of the work but took all of the credit. Sure Sakurai was the highest up a person could go in 8BM, but Nino felt his senior deserved a loftier job-title to go with the sheer level of work he did. “This could really backfire on us you know.” He warned.

Sho wasn’t stupid. He proved that when he fixed Nino with a goading stare. “Not if it’s you though, right?”

Nino was already looking forward to the challenge. “Our clients might not agree to it when they find out what I’m going to ask them to do.”

Sakurai opened his mouth to respond, but it was Ohno’s voice from behind them that drew their attention. “I’ll do whatever Nino wants me to.” he said through a yawn.

Nino didn’t focus on the way Ohno stretched - graceful and supple - he didn’t read too much into his words - a careless offer that could mean anything. It wasn’t the time for such distractions. The past week had taught him that there would be plenty of time to replay such details in his head later, when work was over and he was alone. “Not fishing.”

Both managers laughed at Ohno’s answering pout.

Ninomiya left the office with the sketchy offer, leaving Sakurai to organise a company wide meeting. Ohno followed him out, apparently in search of the lunch he missed. Except he pulled up a folding chair to Nino’s small desk and sat there, slumped like he could fall asleep again at any moment. “I’m not getting your lunch for you Ohno-san.” he sat in his own chair, and had to elbow his way into the cramped space.

“I’ll go in a minute.” Satoshi said. “You want something?”

“No I don’t. You remember that you don’t have any work today don’t you? It’s your day off? Why did you even come in if you’re just going to sleep and eat from the canteen?”

“Sho-kun.” That is it; the entirety of his answer. Nino understood what he meant. It wasn’t always obvious, but Ohno had a quiet sort of way of being there for Sakurai just when he was needed. It had been the same for him, once. “It’s sounds like you’d rather I wasn’t here.”

“No.” Yes. “But weren’t you complaining about not having time for your hobbies a little while ago?”  He wasn’t looking for an answer really, so he turned his eye to the project he’d just been given scribbling a few notes on the paper in front of him right away. The first thing he’d have to contend with was the shoestring budget, They were being gifted a half day of studio time, but the staff costing would barely cover a one camera set-up and an AD.

“That’s a lot of English” Ohno leaned over him, brow furrowed as he tried to decipher Nino’s sloppy handwriting.

Nino didn’t move. Ohno’s breath tickled along his left arm, making it impossible for him to keep writing. “It’s just some ideas.” He choked out instead, because it was all he could do. If he moved, so would Ohno, and Nino was enjoying the warmth of him too much. He was enjoying the scenery of Ohno’s profile; they way his long straight nose wrinkled as he tried to sound out the unfamiliar words, his lips moving silently with his efforts.

“We don’t have the money for much in this proposal. But a few of our clients started as online personalities. I’ll bet some of them have fairly professional set-ups already. HD cameras, editing equipment, sound and lighting experience, that sort of thing. If we have them taking care of VTRs and their own stuff, we can get a more professional looking result.”

“That’s cool. You’re so smart, Nino.” Ohno gave up on trying to make sense of Nino’s writing -- it wasn’t meant to be understood by anyone but him anyway. Satoshi pulled back, giving Nino room to move again. The pen flew over the paper quickly, as if the characters staining the paper had been held back too long by Ohno’s touch. In truth, it was to cover how restless Nino felt.

He was doing so well keeping his interest in Ohno purely professional or at least platonic, but it got harder with every conversation, every unexpected contact or compliment. Nino had cultivated an image as a man who couldn’t be swayed by flattery but who knew the value of himself and others around him. And it was true, for the most part, but some simple words of praise from Ohno and he felt like a teen all over again, awed by the unassuming charisma of the older guy.

“I am the best.” He quipped, with faux ego. He added a question mark to his last word, circling the phrase for emphasis, pretending the ink held more interest than the man beside him.

“Set Design?” It made sense that Ohno would be able to read and understand that small bit of katakana.

“I’m not trying to plan everything right now Oh-chan. I’m just figuring out what sorts of thing I need to start thinking about.”

“But you’ll need help with set design?”

“Well yes.” The outline included access to the Art Department’s supplies, but not to the onsite staff. This opportunity was going to cost 8 Bit Magic a hefty chunk of change, but if it went well, it could make household names of many of their clients. The change to completely define themselves on TV was rare for any celebrity, but more so for those talents who came from niche markets.

“I could do it.” That was surprising. Ohno did as he was asked, after some grumbling, but the last time he volunteered for anything as far a Nino knows, it was to choreograph their dance number that summer they met. “If it’ll help.”

It really would. It could also present an opportunity to garner some international interest. Nino would have to dig up the address of that gallery in LA. “I’ll hold you to that. And you’re not escaping being in front of the cameras that way.” He pointed out dryly.

He’d get Ohno to sing and dance for Japan at least once, even if he had to write the song himself.

Satoshi ignored him, fixated on his self-appointed task. Nothing new there then, Nino huffs a laugh to himself. “Too bad I don’t have any of the pieces from the cruise sets I made, I might have been able to re-use some of it.”

Right, all of Ohno’s previous art pieces were in the hands of foreign collectors; but the gallery should have taken auction pictures if Ohno didn’t have any. Would the man have to start from scratch? Hadn’t he made anything since his inexplicably successful exhibition?  Did really have nothing left of his own work?

Nino had something, after all. A small portrait that Ohno had gifted him that day at the gallery. He’d left it behind in his haste to leave, but the staff had kept it for him, and had handed it over when he went back days later. It wasn’t worth bringing up, he decided. It wasn’t something he wanted to share anyway.

Beside him, Ohno’s stomach growled shamefully loud. “Go! Eat!” Nino sent him away. “You’re such a nuisance!” He called to his disappearing back. Nino sat back in his chair. He really needed to reflect on how much he’d been lying lately, even just to himself.

Nothing was decided that day, except the date for the company wide meeting, which Sakurai emailed everyone about just before the end of office hours. Sho took Ohno home, which Nino was secretly grateful for. Would it be completely unreasonable to outright tell Ohno not to turn up at the office tomorrow, he wondered. Probably. At the very least, it would be suspicious as hell.

It was the earliest he had arrived home in weeks, and Nino stripped down to his boxers and socks just inside the door, determined to collapse in front of his TV, and maybe unwind with a round or two of the videogame Aiba had unknowingly bought him for Christmas. He was barely through the selection menu when the puddle of his clothes sounded off, his phone buried under the folds where he’s left it in a pocket.

It almost wasn’t worth the effort of dragging himself across the room; it was just Aiba. “What do you want?”

“We’ve got a few pick-up shots tomorrow, then it’s the wrap party.”

“And?” He sounds disinterested, but the fact that Aiba launched straight into what was sure to be a long and complicated ramble if he didn’t interject is enough to have Nino mentally preparing to rearrange his plans for the evening. Drunk calls from Aiba almost always started with the man whining his name down the line, not giving an itinerary of his schedule.

“Then I’ve got the press junket for the last episode, and that’s every day for a week!”

“There’s a point in here somewhere, right?”

“Nino~!” Oh. there was the whine. Nino rolled his eyes even though there was no one to see. “You’ve been back half a year and I’ve seen more of the guy you went to school with than I’ve seen of you.”

“And I should be very thankful for that, from what I’ve heard.” He deadpanned. He wedged the phone to his ear with his shoulder, untangling his trousers to shove his legs back in them. “Where are you? Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll pick you up.”

“Wait. You’re home already?”

The handle of the heavy front door moved a quarter turn, stopped by the lock. He was outside? Nino ended the call, throwing open the door so suddenly that Aiba fell into the entrance while Nino stepped aside to avoid crashing into his oldest friend.

It wasn’t long before he learned what had inspired Aiba’s unannounced visit - aside from his burning need to see Nino, obviously. The rising star had been mobbed outside his favourite local public bath because the location had been leaked online, and he was feeling pushed out of one of his regular haunts. Keeping Aiba from enjoying a bath was tantamount to snatching a lollipop from the mouth of a toddler. The resulting pout was probably similar, too.

Then, even though Aiba had lost the crowd, he’d noticed a handful of people camped outside his building so had doubled back to Ninomiya’s place.

“You need to tell Sho-kun.” Nino informed him, though he used his own phone to send a brief update to Aiba’s manager. Sakurai would arrange to find Aiba a new place, somewhere more secure and close to work probably.

Aiba didn’t disagree, just shrugged and pointed out that Nino’s place was closer. Which was just stupid because waiting outside, right out in the open, was hardly a good way to lay low when trying to escape over-enthusiastic fans.

“How long will it take,do you think?” Aiba asked. “To find somewhere?”

“Not long. Unless you get picky about it. You do have some say in this, you know. You’ll have to live there.” Nino settled back to his game; Aiba would help himself to whatever he wanted, so Nino didn’t need to play host. Not that he ever intended to anyway. “In the meantime, you can crash with Sho-kun or Jun-kun or whoever.”

“Oh!? Then-”

“Not here.” He wasn’t serious and Aiba knew it. Nino knows Aiba though, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as the gears in Masaki’s head turned, thinking about imposing himself on his manager and co-star. He was so predictable.

Aiba snickered. “Does that mean you’ll tell me where Matsujun lives?”

“You don’t know?” Jun was very private, but Aiba usually barged his way into people's lives as easily as Nino did. With less finesse and infinitely more obnoxiously. Then again, Nino wouldn’t trust him with Jun’s address either. Which he told the man, in no uncertain terms and without sympathy. “Go bug your own manager instead.” He suggested. Sakurai wouldn’t be home yet, but Aiba didn’t look like he was ready to run out the door any time soon either.

In fact, Masaki deflated just a little. If Nino didn’t know him so well, he might not of noticed. Well that was interesting. Clearly Jun wasn’t quite enough of a distraction as far as Aiba’s crush on his manager was concerned. He nearly did give him Jun’s address then, out of pity and because Masaki might get over Sho if he actually got his leg over Jun.

Doubtlessly, it would make Sakurai’s situation 100% better if Aiba wasn’t flirting with him every five minutes.

On second thought, Jun hadn’t done anything to deserve Aiba turning up unannounced at his door either. Nino was feeling particularly benevolent tonight. Must be the change in the weather.  “Tch, fine. One night.”

It would at least save him the cost of take out. Either Aiba would pay, or Nino would cook because it was less of a chore if he wasn’t eating alone. Aiba could always be relied upon to clean up the kitchen afterwards, and to restaurant standards.

The night wore on, Aiba told stories from the set and talked about the people he worked with. The series was littered with cameos from former Olympic Athletes, and Masaki was awestruck with each one. The way he talked about them, you'd think he had sat backstage and conducted lengthy interviews of his own. It wasn't just celebrities though, he spent thirty minutes telling Nino about the girl behind the counter at the coffee bar, regurgitating all the little factoids Aiba had picked up about her.

Things like how she had memorised his coffee order after just one time, and she called him Dear Customer but was always kind of laughing when she said it. Wasn't it amazing that she'd only been working there the day before production started, and the director liked her so much he'd used her for an extra several times.

In truth, Nino had stopped listening fully, focused on the game he played, which was why Aiba just carried on. The man didn't really have a natural stop in him, and unless Nino said something, he'd share every thought in his head until Kazunari was all caught up with the minutiae of his life. Nino didn't mind at times like these; it was as familiar as the game music the older man drowned out.

They ate together, laughed with and at each equally, and Aiba tried his hand at the game Nino had been playing the hours before.

“This is a pretty good game, maybe I should buy a copy.” On screen, Aiba ducked down to avoid detection from the Alien antagonists.

“You already have. I gave Sho-kun the receipt for this one. Thank you for my wonderful Christmas present, Aibashi.” He added with a mock bow.

“What?” Aiba's character died the moment he took his eyes off the screen, which just made Nino laugh harder. “Ah, dammit. I give up…”

Masaki abandoned the controller on the coffee table, letting the game over music play on as he fell back into the cushions of Nino's rarely used sofa. His words had been a childish declaration, but there was something in the silence that followed that changed the mood of the room. “I called my dad yesterday.” Aiba looked down to where Nino was laid out on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table. “He says hi, by the way. I wanted to know if he needed any help with work. It’s been so long, and I miss it, you know?”

“So, what, you were just going to put in a shift for old times sake?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Masaki’s smile only lit halfway. “They’ve gotten so busy that dad has hired three extra permanent staff.”  

Aiba was too easy to understand. For as long as Nino had known the Aiba family, their business had been stable, but very small; the only non-family permanent staff member, a young woman Aiba had been besotted with, but had cheered on when she’d met her husband while working there. He was probably the favourite uncle to her three children now.

With Aiba’s rise to fame, the family business had boomed accordingly, and now, Aiba’s place there couldn’t be the same anymore. Aiba wasn’t usually the type who got melancholy looking backwards. Then again, fame had prevented his much loved bathing time, Nino thought to cut him some slack. “Oh no, you’re parents must be so worried with you out there representing their good name.” He teased. “You could be sending a slew of A-listers their way, but instead they get a no-name barista from a Tokyo coffee shop who thinks she’s Masaki’s new bff.”

“She has a name.” Aiba corrected. “It’s on her badge. And I have taken people from the industry there.”

“Oh? Who?”

“I take Sho-chan all the time.”

“He doesn’t count!” Aiba seemed to have no idea what made someone a celebrity. Well, if Japan considered him one, it was little wonder the man was confused.

“Ohno-san then.” Aiba supplied. “We’ve hung out a few times, mostly before you came back.”

What? Nino had to wonder why he was only learning about this now. He and Aiba had spoken weekly for all the years Nino was abroad. Hell, he talked to Aiba more than his own mother, and Aiba never missed a detail of his day-to-day in those phonecalls. Aiba had to have known who Ohno Satoshi was to Nino, he’d talked about him too often with Aiba for his childhood friend not to have recalled.

“Why didn’t you tell me Ohno-san was signed with 8-Bit when I said I was coming back?” He asked incredulously.  

Did the pair talk about the friend they had in common during their meals? Did they talk about the Ninomiya they remembered? Did Nino really want to know? Aiba obviously didn’t think it warranted that much thought. “It didn’t seem important.” Coming from Aiba, that reasoning sounded ridiculous, not since Nino now knew about a barista with eyes like sunflowers, courtesy of Details Aiba Thought Were Important.

Aiba carried on. “I was so surprised when Sho-chan introduced him though. All those times you talked about the guy, and you never mentioned how cute he was.”

He nearly choked on his tongue, turning it into a strangled laugh at the last moment. “Ah- yeah, because that’s how I talk about all my good friends: ‘Have you met Bob? He and I bonded over salary negotiations and by the way, he’s got the face of an angel and the body of a greek god.’” The sarcasm was thick, which Aiba ignored entirely to quip:

“Who’s Bob? Is he single?”

Nino aimed a kick in Masaki’s direction, but it was difficult from his position on the floor.

“You’re such a liar Nino.” Aiba pointed out, as he tucked his long legs under himself, out of the managers reach. “The first time you met Matsujun you called to tell me your roommate was Japanese and too good looking for this world.”

“Ah, shut up. That was different.” He couldn’t really explain how, right now, so he can only hope that Aiba wouldn’t ask. “Besides, it’s true.”

“Maybe…”  There was a lilt to his voice that assured Nino that there was no maybe about it, as far as Aiba was concerned. “You know, Sho-chan is one of his biggest fans?”

Good grief, did Aiba even notice that he concluded every conversation with some mention of Sakurai? Or was he so far gone that his own near hero-worship of the guy that it didn’t even register anymore?

It wasn't that Nino couldn't see the startling similarity between him and whatever was going on between Aiba and Sakurai. Except he could not tell who he was meant to relate with more: The hopeless headcase pining after a person he couldn’t be with, or the self-flagellating martyr, who refused to act on his feelings because policy said so.

Or both.

And wasn’t that just shit?

The next morning, Nino dropped Aiba at the filming site and called Sakurai to say that he would work on the program production from home for the time being.

With a few days before Ohno had any more work, and just a handful of interviews for the young woman he managed, that he consolidated into one afternoon, Nino made huge leaps of progress on the project. Before the week was out, his concept had been submitted and approved by Sakurai and the broadcaster, and, once the staff and clients were on board, everyone seemed excited to play their parts.

It was a whirlwind of work; conference calls, emails and brief meetings in offices and corridors that were little more than a handshake, a bow and the exchange of business cards. Ninomiya Kazunari was so busy, he didn’t see the inside of his own offices for days and he had to let other managers handle a task or two that should have been his job.

The tentatively titled 8-Bit MAGICAL Show was a big deal though, and worth the extra work according to everyone Nino spoke with. For anyone else, the pressure might have gotten to them, but Nino had an ace up his sleeve.

The sheer shock value to the viewer, when confronted with the likes of Ohno Satoshi would have made for an entertaining show, but Nino was aiming for something altogether more ambitious. Everyone needed their moment to be highlighted, and Nino was determined that they would get that, even if it meant getting creative with roles. It meant he had to carefully study each and every person signed to the agency, to find their strengths and weaknesses, and how best to use them, and then detail exactly what he wanted from them in emails that he copied in Sakurai and sent at all hours.

He was so caught up; living off delivery food, holed up with the digital files of 8-Bit’s entire talent pool, and surrounded by carefully typed up proposals with scribbled margin notes, he wouldn’t have known what day it was if his constant correspondence wasn’t date-stamped. He ignored anything that wasn’t directly related to work.

He didn’t respond to a message from Aiba, asking Nino’s opinion on a photograph of a modest apartment. He didn’t click through the notifications of the social media applications on his phone. He flat-out told Jun not bother him with his asinine ‘private chats’.

The only person he didn’t have to avoid was Ohno, because Ohno never called anyway.

Until he did.

Ohno did not call Nino’s phone though. Much like the other lovable idiot in his life, Satoshi turned up at his door with no prior warning.

It was nearly 3AM on a Sunday morning when Nino was startled awake by the knocking.

What the hell was he doing? Did Ohno know what time it was? How did he even know where Nino lived? So many questions popped into Nino’s head at the sight of the man, and all of them died without being voiced when he saw the other man, weighed down with his fishing tackle and a couple of poles.

If Satoshi recognised the confusion on Nino’s face, he staunchly overlooked it. “C’mon Kazu-chan, let me in.”

Nino did as he was told, his movements wooden until the whiff coming off the man brought him to his senses like a particularly pungent smelling salt. “Urk- you stink like a fishery.”

“I was fishing.”

“Obviously. What are you doing here?”

Ohno, already out of his coat and shoes, wasn’t the least bit apologetic at having arrived at such an ungodly hour. “I was filming with Ryo-kun tonight for that Fish of Tokyo segment, remember?”

“I do.” Nino had had to arrange for another manager go in his place for a few reasons. If his colleague assumed it had more to do with his efforts on the TV programme and less about spending six hours on a too crowded, barely seaworthy skiff, well, Nino wasn’t going to be correcting anyone. “Why didn’t Takashi take you home?”

“But… you said that it was your job to take care of stuff like that.”

It took Nino a moment to realise that Ohno was referring to a comment he’d made months ago. Ohno’s memory was amazing sometimes, in the way it could be so detailed and yet still plain wrong. There’s no point in arguing at three in the morning though. “Whatever Oh-chan, but you have got to wash the fish stink off before it starts peeling the paintwork.”

He supplied a towel and some spare clothes from the stack he hadn't gotten around to putting away yet and steered Ohno towards the shower. He was wide awake, and had only dozed off in front of his work anyway, so he settled back to it while he waited for Ohno to reemerge. He was too used to being alone though, he thought, because the sound of the running shower was far too distracting for Nino to actually accomplish anything.

Waiting until Ohno came out didn’t help as much as he hoped, not when the sight of Ohno wearing Nino’s lounge clothes stole the breath from his lungs. It was ridiculous, he’s seen Ohno primped and styled by experts, sweat soaked and half-naked on a sunkissed beach, the sight of him in faded baggy joggers and a convenience store white tee shouldn’t affect him like he was still fifteen and Ohno had asked Nino to stay late to dance.

But it was just so… domestic; the way Ohno walked down the hall rubbing the towel roughly over his hair and sat close to Nino on the couch like he belonged there. He smelled like Nino’s soap, and everything about him was so utterly familiar, so comfortable that he didn’t even realise that he’d leaned into Ohno’s side until the man made room for Nino’s head to rest on his shoulder.

“You’re still working on the show?” Ohno was just trying to get a good look at what Nino had planned so far.

Nino nods. Satoshi has always been so at ease around him, and Nino didn’t want to jeopardise that by getting weird on him now. “Of course.”

Ohno stretched, reaching across to the coffee table where Nino had copies of various logos belonging to 8BM clients that had built their own brands online. Nino planned to incorporate them into the set design somehow, and the sheaf of papers contained the blueprint of the studio.

“Can I work on this?” He asked, eyes running over the few notations Nino had made. The yes is barely past Nino’s lips before Ohno launched himself up, displacing the manager. “Let me just grab my sketchbook.”

It had been rolled inside the small waist pouch Ohno carried everywhere. The refillable pages were curled but fresh, though the soft cover itself was battered and dog-eared and faded from years of use. Nino almost didn’t recognise his own writing on the cover; the bold, cocky way he’s inscribed ‘Kazu-chan’, the little hearts he’d drawn either side of the number he’d written quickly. The number he’d kept until he returned to Japan. The number that Ohno had never called.

Or nearly the same number; after ten years, Nino got pretty good about recognising his own number on sight, the number he'd written so confidently for Ohno that day had a zero where it did not belong.

Nino stared, mouth working to say something, anything, except, what does it matter now? It was water under the bridge years ago, right? It made no difference anymore, and it certainly changed nothing about Nino’s current predicament.

Ohno knelt at the coffee table on Nino’s left, brushing aside disorganised notes, his pencil scratching quietly over the paper, ideas pouring out in hurried but precise strokes. Nino looks across the room at the small portrait nestled on the low shelf. It reminded him that Ohno is no stranger to designing sets, that he must have made quite the impression to have earned himself a exhibit in Hollywood, no matter how nameless the gallery had been.

*

When he walked away two nights ago, he had sworn he would never return.  Ohno had hurt him, again, and all he had wanted to do was help; help showcase Ohno’s unique talents to the world, help him be self-sufficient, help him be able to fish once in a while.

The hunt for the gallery is harder than he expected it to be; when he had arrived, it had been night, and when he left, the nighttime and angry tears obscuring his vision made it so that he wanted to forget everything.  He had thrown up a mental block, and it almost felt like he had lost the map for the last two dungeon levels in his latest game, trying to make it back.

It feels like he’s spent countless hours fruitlessly asking directions but finally, he ran into someone that had attended “the birth of a new shining star.”  The owner of a large, brightly lit gallery on North Highland had directed him down Santa Monica to Art Players.  As Nino turned down the road, the fragmented memories returned and he knew he was headed to the right place.

It was a bit larger than he remembered in the bright LA sunshine, but as he entered, the staff lit up when they saw him and eagerly encouraged him to come in.  He smiled and laughed, but sobered instantly when he saw it; only slightly bigger than the palm of his hand, the likeness Ohno had pressed on him was completely, instantaneously, recognizable.

When Ohno had showed it to him and told him to keep it, Nino had laughed joyously at the picture; delighted that Ohno had thought to immortalise the fun they shared in such a way. And, as upset as he was, he’d been angry at himself when he had realised that he had left the painting behind in his haste to leave.

Nino stood holding it for several moments, while the clerks fluttered around him and told him how amazing it was, how Ohno originals were currently the “it” thing in the art world, that one just a little larger than what Nino was now holding had sold for over fourteen grand the night before.

Usually, the statement of how much money these paintings were worth would echo through Nino’s skull and he would feel his eyeballs turn into dollar signs, but all Nino saw was Taka and Yuuji; Taka sketched in lapus, Yuuji in gold. As the sketch shifted in his palms, the unique characteristics of the precious stones ground down to make the ink Ohno had used almost seemed to glow; the liquid warmth of Yuuji, the flowing grace of Taka.  The pose they were stuck in, time immemorial, was Taka holding Yuuji, about to fall, on the stage in a town during a time that would forever be the highlight of Nino’s own teenage years.

What he had missed the other night, and found now in the warm, revealing daylight, was how Nino could see how much joy Yuuji’s expression held.  The lens of the moment itself covers the picture, and Nino can imagine Yuuji’s expression holding the exact joy and hope that had been born in Nino’s chest at that moment.  Nino knew that what Ohno had painted was really the game they played, Yuuji’s yearning for Taka.  The game was revealed in that Taka too, had eyes fixed on the likeness that resembled Nino, the lines of his body rigid, as if he had held Yuuji at arm’s length for fear that he might pull him close, too close.

The clerks continued to cluck about the “honor,” and Nino, bewildered, accepted a tissue from one of them before he realized that he had been crying.  He had worked for years, really, to try to recapture this moment he was now holding in his hands, but wanting it to be real instead of just play-acting.

At that moment, he almost imagined that it had been real; but Ohno had always been perfection, and it wasn’t a surprise to see how well Ohno could turn their improvisation into a different kind of art.

*

Ohno’s shower-fresh appearance continues to haunt Nino, appearing behind his eyelids every time he dares to blink or, in more detail when he completely close his eyes.  It’s been days, and with the big show coming up Nino does not have time for it..

His lack of sleep is making him restless, and the only surefire thing to calm his nerves is to get them irritated at someone else entirely.  He scrolls through his phone, landing on Aiba’s name and gives him a quick call; maybe if he works it right, he can get Aiba to buy him lunch and get annoyed enough for a certain spiky-haired someone to quit haunting his daydreams.

He punches the button and gets hit with the message that the number has been changed.  He snarls a little and tries again for good measure; a relic of the time in the not-so-distant past where your fingers could fumble the number, rather than your hand-computer’s brain getting scrambled.

Getting the same message, he feels his annoyance growing and grins a little bit; Aiba isn’t even here and his plan is working.  He remembers Aiba’s visit to his house and realizes that any good manager would have had him change his number anyway, it’s a totally reasonable set of circumstances, but Nino stomped over to Sho’s office like the inconvenience was personally meant. He pushes open the door without any warning, catching Sho half-asleep with his eyes glazed over, dark circles grotesquely highlighted with the light of Sho’s desk lamp.  Nino grinned wide as he recalled that Aiba is staying at Sho’s house until his new place can be secured.

“I need Aiba’s new number.” it’s not quite a demand, nor is it a polite request.

“He didn’t give it to you?” Sakurai blinked blearily, then sighed. “He probably hasn’t even realized I’ve changed it, even though I told him twice already.” He clicked through to the contacts page on the computer in front of him, scrolling down the listings.

The office door at Nino’s back is pushed open with the same lack of preamble that Nino himself had displayed. “Sho-kun, I need Aiba’s new number.” Sakurai had always maintained an open door policy, but Nino didn’t think it extended to people outside of the company. Not even famous people like Jun.

Still, he was amused at how closely Jun mimicked his own statement, and smirked; even Aiba’s new love interest hadn’t yet been given the number, and Aiba hands out his digits like candy.  

Or he used to. Nino  doesn’t miss that Sho’s fingers start scrolling a little more slowly down the list, as if he’s suddenly less eager to provide the information.

Technically, Sakurai could refuse Jun, and all three of them know it. Nino can see the senior manager struggling with the moral implication of giving out Aiba’s private details. Sho is also aware -- probably painfully so -- that Masaki would have no problem with Jun having his number.

Poor Sho has probably had his fill of moral conundrums lately. Nino can relate.

It’s not quite an impasse, and Nino does his best to make sure it doesn’t become one. He cut through the tension with a carefully timed jab at Jun; he rarely got the opportunity to tease him these days anyway. “Oh? Are you sure he’s not avoiding you Jun-tan? Did you come on too strong? Like your face?”

Jun failed to rise to the bait, just rolled his eyes and rapped Nino on the back of his head. “He asked me to call him to arrange something you idiot.” Jun explained, though he didn’t elaborate on what the pair were arranging. “Seriously, what kind of moron asks someone to call them but doesn’t supply the right number?”

The comment hit a nerve that made Ninomiya cringe, his hand covered his face as if he could hide from his own stupid mistake of the past. He swore in a hiss through gritted teeth at the unwelcome reminder.

It’s not the distraction he had meant to create, though both Sakurai and Matsumoto looked at him like he had lost the plot. Maybe he had. Sho half stood from behind his desk, the picture of fraternal concern. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.” He lied. He waited a beat, but it was clear neither man was buying his bullshit. He tried deflecting again, championing Aiba’s faultlessness. “We’ve all fucked up a phone number once or twice, right?”

Jun scoffed. “You’re only saying that because you did the exact same thing to me when you got back, aren’t you? You two are more alike than you think.”

“That,” Nino is thoroughly distracted by his own fake indignation. “Is just plain rude. Beside’s I had had that same number since college, if a few people slipped  through the cracks when I changed phones to come back to Japan…. Well, it should have been obvious that I would need a new phone. Aiba-chan knew.” He added the last bit just to needle Jun a bit more.

Matsumoto looked at Sakurai then, who had been following the exchange silently. “For the first six months he had that number, he gave it out wrong half the time.” He told Sho flatly. “People at school used to come to our place looking for him because they couldn’t get him on the phone. Then they’d end up watching him play videogames all day; eating the stuff from my side of the fridge and leaving a mess.”

That is new information to Nino; he had always assumed that his classmates and friends just prefered to consult with him in person. It’s not just this revelation that sobered Nino quickly though, it’s the fact that Jun apparently knew. Knew and said nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He voice was cold, but then, he felt like his blood was running cold too, in that moment. He felt like everything in him turned to ice, then, all at once, he was alight, anger burning in him; raging at long-ago what-ifs. “Why didn’t you tell me!?”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t know, OK!? If I had known.. If you had told me, I’d have checked. I’d have…. I- Shit. You should have come. I should have made you get your drunk ass out of bed to see him off. You’d have seen it then. You’d have corrected me. You wouldn’t have let me give him the wrong number, right?”

Jun has seen Nino angry before. He’s seen him irrational and angsty too. They’d lived together through some pretty formative years after all. But he’s never seen Nino lose it so completely, so quickly, over something he didn’t know. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He asked.

“Spring break.” Nino groaned. “I gave Ohno my number and told him to call me.”

Jun’s answering “Oh.” is small, full of quiet understanding.

Sho is a second behind, but the strangled noise he makes in much louder, and about three octaves higher than his normal voice. “You’re the guy that gave Satoshi a fake number?” Sakurai was on his feet, pointing rudely at Nino at first, then he swung to include Jun under his accusatory finger. “That means you’re the boyfriend?”

Jun, confused, threw his arms up in the air. “I have no idea what anybody is talking about right now.” He growled, before he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t ask for an explanation, but he clearly expected one to be forthcoming.

The story that Sho laid out then twisted Nino’s gut.  

*

Sho and Ohno have been friends since their meeting at the bakery, and as soon as Ohno gets off the boat after the latest cruise, he calls Sho and they make plans to get together.  They meet at their old stomping grounds, and Ohno looks around at the fresh paint on the walls and the new booths along the left side of the bakery as he orders his french bread, pairing it with a nice cafe au lait.

Sho, having arrived moments before, flags him down to sit in his normal booth in the back.  Sho catches Ohno up first, talking about the small production start up he joined as a general cast member and how he fell in love with managing schedules and coordinating transportation.  He talks about the few pieces of talent that he’s met, all low key and mostly from YouTube and Instagram.

The conversation eventually shifts to Ohno’s last cruise, and he seems nervous as he dances around the topic of how it went.  Sure, they went from Japan to Miami, with a few additional stops at famous international ports of call. The clients were swanky, Ohno had a few close encounters with the true starlets of Japanese film, but Ohno’s usual descriptions were emotional.  How the waters felt outside of Thailand; how the sunsets in the Southern hemisphere were startling similar but also provocatively different. None of this colored the conversation this time.

Then Ohno hastily skipped over Miami and started vaguely describing the Caribbean, Sho puts up his hand to just… stop the conversation.

“What has you so nervous, Oh-chan?”

Ohno nibbles his lower lip, reaching out and opening a sugar packet to pour on the table and then swirling his fingertip through the powder.  Without making eye contact, he mumbles something under his breath.  Sho stares at him until he repeats himself, loud and clear.

“I met someone in Miami. Someone I used to really…. anyway, he gave me his phone number but....”

Sho is a little shocked.  There is that saying, that the world is actually really small, but neither Tokyo nor Miami are tiny and the odds of running into someone you know is… fateful. “So? What’s the problem?”

“He has a boyfriend.”

A few pieces of the puzzle that is Ohno Satoshi fall into place for Sakurai in that moment.  It also raises a few questions. “If this guy has a boyfriend, should he really be giving his number to other guys?”

“He’s not like that!” Sho is glad he asked the question gently, because the way Ohno rushes to his defence tells Sho that the older man would not have tolerated a harsh word spoken about the mysterious stranger. “He’s cool, and one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”

“So, you are happy you ran into a friend?” Sho asks, and Ohno nods. “And, you want to keep in touch?” Another nod. “But you’re upset that he has a boyfriend?”

This time, Ohno can’t decide whether to nod or shake his head, his neck twisting awkwardly, as he frowns out his own confusion. Eventually he starts to talk. It’s a quiet sort of mumbled monologue, and despite the sad story, Sho can sense an undercurrent of renewed hope.

“I was going to wait for him in this bakery. Because I’m older, you know? I was always going to wait but…. He didn’t need me to. I would still wait, but he still doesn’t need me to so, I think… I think I just want my friend back now.”

Sakurai has never heard Ohno talk much about his past, he feels a little bad that he’s never asked. “Well,haven’t you called him then?”

Ohno shrugs again and mumbles something about the aforementioned boyfriend getting the wrong idea, and the satellite phone on the cruise ship being notoriously unreliable whenever he did try. “Now, I’m worried that it’s been too long, Sho-kun.  He’ll be busy with college and I’m just someone he bumped into on vacation. What if I call and I’m just bothering him?”

“Didn’t he recognize you in Miami?  After how many years?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

After a few minutes of Sho’s patient needling, Ohno picks up his cell phone and begins tossing it from hand to hand.  Sho pretends nonchalance, but continues to push gently. Ohno needs that sometimes.  When he gets up to “get another coffee, be right back, Ohno-kun”  he keeps watch on the booth as Ohno clicks through his contacts and presses a button, glancing around quickly before putting the phone up to his ear.

Sho smirks as he orders two cafe au lait and another roll.  The cute girl behind the counter was working there when Ohno was still part-time, and it is as easy as it always was to sweet-talk her into getting the employee discount.  He is juggling the coffees and roll back to the table, and only glances at Ohno when he successfully sets everything down.

Ohno’s head is bowed, both hands gripping the phone so tight that his knuckles are white.  Sho slides the coffee over towards him, where it remains untouched.  He gives Ohno a few minutes, waiting until his hands relax and he puts the phone back into his pocket.

“What happened?”

“I called.” Ohno continues to keep his eyes downcast, refusing to pick his head up.

“I get that.  But what happened next?”

“It didn’t even connect. No dial tone or out of service message or anything.”

“Well, maybe he changed his number, Ohno.  I guess it can’t be helped, right?”

Ohno nods, plastering on a shaky smile. “He did say to call him when I’m famous; maybe he meant it.” he tries to joke, but Sho isn’t fooled when he picks up a napkin with his coffee to “blow his nose.”  

*

Nino still didn’t know Aiba’s number when he left Sakurai’s office. He’d walked out without a word when it became clear how much of his miserable past was his own damn fault. He marched right by his desk, ignoring the ringing phone, and choosing to take the stairs, two at a time down four flights to the basement studios where rehearsals and practice sessions for the 8BM show had begun to take place. One of the smaller rooms had been converted to a workshop, and Ohno was inside, working of a few of the more mobile set pieces they would be using.

“Oh-chan?” He was breathless, and the name crosses his lips hoarsely

The one-time baker had been absorbed in painting a large piece of shaped plywood, but even Nino’s sudden arrival didn’t shake his focus. “Hmmm?” It’s a small curious sound, like his mind is too occupied to form any words.

“Ohno-kun, I need to speak with you, urgently.”

“Is it about the set design?” Oh finally looked up from his work then, worry plain on his face.

“What? No.” Nino said it like the answer is obvious, but then realised that he wasn’t being fair to Ohno, would couldn’t have known the revelation Nino had been going through recently. “Sorry, no.” He corrected himself. “It’s kind of, a private matter.”

He put down his tools and wiped his hands on a small towel he’d tucked into the belt loops of his jeans. He must be able to read the discomfort on Nino’s face, Nino made no effort to hide it, after all. “Sure. Uh… do you want to go somewhere or…?”

Now that he’s there, alone with Ohno but surrounded by activity and the threat that at any moment, they wouldn’t be alone anymore, the adrenaline that fuelled Nino’s drive wore thin. He stammers for a second, tongue tied like when he was fifteen and about to confess his greatest secret to his best friend. Which is exactly what he is about to do, he supposes. Because it doesn’t matter anymore, as far as Nino is concerned, whether it’s appropriate for a manager to admit to having feeling for his client; he could not --  would not -- allow Satoshi to live another day thinking Nino had intentionally deceived him.

Whatever happened after that…. Well, he’d just have to live with the consequences.

“Do you have your sketchbook with you?” Nino asked.  He knew he was talking in circles already, finding any way to avoid saying it directly, and a part of him hoped Ohno would say no; would force Nino to explain why he’d even asked.

Ohno pulled the tattered book from under a dozen loose leaves of paper from the central table.

Nino snatched it from him, and flipped the cover around to the ill-fated inside.  He pulled the pen out of his breast pocket and added the extra loop onto the zero, magically transforming into the eight that his telephone number had actually needed to connect.

“The number was new,” he murmured, shame making it difficult to make eye contact.  “It was new, and I was trying to be smooth, and I messed it up.” he pressed the pages back into Ohno’s hands, stopping only long enough to see Ohno’s eyes are fixed on the fresh ink over old.

He wasn’t going to stick around to see Ohno become angry, to blame his younger self for putting them into this position.  He muttered something about an appointment and the show, and gathered his things and rushed out the door.  He didn’t stop there, hailing a taxi and climbing in - giving direction to the small restaurant in a nearby neighborhood at which he did have an appointment… in an hour.

Nino continued with his day,  putting twice as much effort and energy in every single thing he touched than he usually did, anything to keep his mind occupied enough that he wouldn’t have to let his mind return to that moment, those hands taking that notebook and the small, sharp gasp he had done his best to overlook.  It’s not like he didn’t have enough to do, with the show coming up and the client he had lunch with telling him that she’s not quite sure that show business is all she thought it would be.

Eventually, though, he did have to return home to his apartment, to his dishes and his dinner and his digital distractions.  He grabbed a taxi to the office, not even entering the building but grabbing his car and heading home.  After preparing himself a light dinner, which he barely touched, he straightened up the kitchen and plopped himself on the couch in front of his playstation, opening up his game library and mindlessly clicking through, never quite settling on anything to actually play.

At half past eight, his phone rang and the annoying tones of the “Yatterman” theme song made Nino groan in frustration.  He did love to ignore and needle his boss, but Sho calling this late with the show so soon… it was probably something rather important.

“Yo,” he answered, holding the phone awkwardly between his head and shoulder, hitting the button to choose Little Big Planet just so the background music would provide solid cover if Sho thought Nino wasn’t busy.

“I’m sorry to call so late,” Sho’s smug voice implied the exact opposite.  “But I just asked Ohno-kun if he would like a ride home, and he said you were going to take care of it.”

Only the very thin string that connected Nino to his sanity kept him from cursing up a storm in Sho’s ear.  

“I’ll be right there.”

The whole drive back to the offices, Nino can’t decide if Ohno’s insistence on using Nino as his personal chauffeur is a sign that nothing has changed for the fisherman since last week, or everything had.  Either way, there’s no escaping this part of his job, so Nino sends a message after he parks, telling Ohno that he has arrived and is waiting in the parking lot.

Ohno’s demeanor is relaxed as he climbs into the passenger seat of Nino’s car, offering up a smile and immediately fiddling with the radio station; finally landing on some weather report that indicates that fishing conditions should be dismal this evening, but really nice for the rest of the week.  Nino takes this simple normalcy as a sign that he can settle fully in the seat, releasing his guard and no longer prepared to defend his actions of several years ago.  He feels a small bubble of relief in his chest, that the huge revelation in their shared history did not rock their current relationship beyond recognition.

They arrive at Ohno’s home, and for once Ohno does not immediately bound up the small flight of stairs and disappear inside. He also does not wish goodnight to Yuuji, as Taka.  Instead, he walks around to Nino’s door, as Nino’s heart begins to race faster inside his chest.  Ohno pulls open the driver’s side door, leaning against it as he asks:

“Aren’t you coming, Kazu-chan?”

There’s a quality to Ohno’s voice that takes Nino back to those lessons long ago, when Ohno, so young, so cool, had been willing to challenge Nino to anything, and Nino had been so quick to try to prove himself. It’s a question, but it’s a question that Ohno expects a certain answer to, and Nino can only comply.

Heart pounding, Nino clambers out of his seat, feeling like he no longer knows how to control his legs and any grace he’d possessed as a former theatre kid abandoned him on this stage.  The inside of Ohno’s house is the same as it was their last visit, but Nino’s impression was entirely different; with Jun, who was impressed by the quality of the furnishings, he acted like it didn’t matter and he didn’t care.  But now, he’s looking for something, anything; a search for forgiveness in inanimate tabletops, unfamiliar ceramic knick knacks, and elaborate pencil sketches of ocean fish native to the Sea of Japan.

Ohno leads him through the kitchen to the tiny back parlor, where Ohno obviously usually keeps his fishing tackle and whaling boots, or whatever.  He’s shown to a small couch, and hesitantly takes a seat as Ohno begins digging through the plastic boxes stacked haphazardly along the side of the room.  Eventually, Ohno pulls out a rust-colored album, pages wrinkled and stained with age, and unceremoniously dumps it in Nino’s lap before murmuring something about tea and leaving Nino alone.

His confusion is evident as he reaches after Ohno, but the man leaves the room so swiftly that Nino realizes he’s not meant to follow.  Casually, he pulls the book open to the middle, curious as to what is inside.  He does not expect to see his own face, standing alongside the first client he had in LA who made it moderately big as a model-turned-actress in B-rated science fiction films.  The photo was attached to a small write-up in a less-than-unknown cult magazine published and sold only within a few blocks in downtown L.A.  Nino hastily flips through the rest of the album, finding mentions of his name highlighted in print, flyers for some of his talent where his name is a tiny byline on the back of a production pamphlet. There are business cards from almost everyone he had worked for; dog-eared programs from his high school productions; a copy of the headshot he had attached to his application for Florida State’s film school.

It must have cost a small fortune to have amassed the collection of obscure publications; to have found them at all and had them shipped to Japan. Yet it’s all there; every major (or minor) accomplishment of Nino’s career abroad.

Tucked in the back, an envelope taped to the back page contains tickets to shows they had caught together during camp, the few purikura taken together that had not been stuck to Nino’s old, defunct laptop, and the few notes that Nino had written in his sloppy handwriting.

Nino scrambles back, finds the announcement in the trade magazine about Nino being the newest manager hired at 8-Bit Magic, and a print out of the Instagram post Nino had been cajoled into taking, and a cut out of Aiba’s first magazine interview; not with Aiba, but the part in the article where he had mentioned how excited he was that his friend Nino was coming to work with his agency soon.

The album is close to sliding off his lap, as Nino sits in slack jawed contemplation of what this could possibly mean, when Ohno casually returns with two cups of tea, sitting one in front of Nino before settling in on the coffee table himself.  

Ohno sees that Nino is done looking through his collection; he doesn’t look embarrassed or ashamed, even as he ducks his head and says: “Sorry. Is it creepy?  I had help; I made some connections when I was in LA.”

Of course he did. Nino can’t keep the grin from turning up the corners of his mouth. He feels lighter than he’s felt in years -- wants to jump out of his seat, but he might never land if he does. But here, in his lap, the only thing keeping him grounded, is the proof that Ohno cared about the future Nino had made for himself. The future Nino had thought Ohno wanted no part of.

“I never forgot about you either, Oh-chan,” Nino’s confession boils out of him, unable to be contained. Nino bounces off the couch, accidentally dropping the album on to the floor in his haste.  Ohno laughs, getting up and helping him collect the pieces that have become strewn across the small room and putting them back into the album.

As they place the final piece back in, their fingers touch and sparks of electricity zap their way through Nino’s nervous system like so many stinging ants. It’s hilarious, he thinks, because he’s touched Ohno a million times before, and he can’t help laughing at the notion that fission exists between them now. And when Ohno meets his eyes, not understanding Nino’s mirth, he laughs harder.

“All those times, Satoshi,” he began, wheezing. “All those times we pretended that we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and I’ve only just realised I wasn’t joking at all.”

Ohno chuckled in response, but Nino could see that his meaning didn’t fully sink in. He knew, because he saw understanding dawn a few seconds later -- saw the way Ohno’s smile turned wolfish, his eyes narrowing, growing dark.

His hand came up, knuckles brushing over Nino’s jawline before settling at his nape and drawing him closer. Nose to nose, Nino lets Ohno move him around the furniture between them and closer to the warmth of his chest.  Nino rests his own forearms in the dip at Ohno’s waist, leaning forward and breathing in the familiar scent of the sea, paints, and something that was distinctly just Ohno.

Their lips touch, and it’s not the first time, but it’s the first time Nino has meant it like this. It’s the first time he’s felt Ohno’s lips press so insistently, felt the other man’s tongue push at the seams of his mouth. He gasps, and lets Ohno explore, and he licks and sucks and tastes too; nearly twenty-years of nearly kisses being made real.  

When Nino can’t take it anymore, when he has to break away to catch his breath, Ohno is equally afflicted.  However, that doesn’t stop him from reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

“Say cheese.” Ohno takes a quick photo of Nino’s kiss-red mouth and disheveled hair.  

Nino is still blinking in confusion when he asks Ohno what he is doing.

“Sending a picture to Aiba-chan.” He shrugs, entirely too casually. The phone dings with the sound of a successfully sent message; apparently, Aiba hadn’t forgotten to give Ohno his new number.

“What?”

“Now he owes me;” Ohno explains, taking Nino by the wrist and leading him towards the stairs. He follows, only stumbling for a moment when Ohno adds: “I got to kiss you first.”

 “I am not kissing Aiba.”

Ohno’s laughter in response echoes down the stairs.