fic for ylunio (1/2)

[nino-mod.livejournal.com]

For: ylunio
From: icecreamsuki

Title: Of postcards and flower petals – the little things that bind us
Pairing/Focus: Ohmiya
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of death.
Summary: Of childhood grudges, of unexpected reunions and partings, their paths would cross again
Notes: Okay, I’m not sure what genre this is – a mixture of friendship, romance and slice of life. What started out as a short story turned out to be a compilation of life events, until the fic blew out of proportion and grew crazy-long. Sit back and relax as you read it. I hope you like it! I would like to thank Inez for agreeing to beta this fic at the last minute. :) Disclaimer: I do not own Postcrossing. It's just a site my friend introduced to me. A line was copied verbatim from the site. No copyright infringement intended. :)


“Okaa-san, look! There are so many postcards and stamps in here!” The nine year old boy grabbed his mother’s hand and brought her to a corner of a little homey art shop in the heart of Tokyo.

“Yeah?” The mother was simply amused by her son’s enthusiasm and obliged. She was thankful that her son could find things that interested him and things to be passionate about. Once, he watched a TV show teaching kids how to draw and how to make crafts, and he practically dragged his mother to go to a store and buy a set of crayons and coloring books the day after. Another time, he got addicted to toy cars, and the question “What do you want for your birthday?” from his mother earned a resounding “A toy car! A toy car! Please mom, I want a toy car!”

He wasn’t like one of those spoiled brats who asked their parents to buy this and buy that, and then threw tantrums if they didn’t get what they want. He acknowledged that they weren’t rich and that if he wanted something, he would have to work for it. Or patiently wait for someone to give it to him, for that matter. That was why he always looked forward to his birthday, and Christmas was his favorite season. And questions like “What do you want for your birthday?” and “What do you want this Christmas?” were music to his ears.

For his birthday this year, he wanted postcards and stamps. And his mother merely smiled in fondness at how his son’s interests shifted from one thing to another.

It all started with a lunch break a week prior when his seatmate brought a pale blue envelope to school. During class, Ohno had been silently observing how his classmate delicately held the envelope as if it was fragile. He also noticed the soft smile on her lips as she stroked the inscription on the outside. Ohno thought it was probably her name, or the name of the person who sent it to her. He was familiar with mail. Those envelopes came every month to their house, the sight of which make his mother sigh. “Bills again! They come in like clockwork.” He didn’t fully understand what his mother meant because he didn’t ask. All he understood was that envelopes, also called “mail”, also called “bills”, do not bring good news. Which was why he was puzzled that the girl sitting beside him was smiling in happiness.

He looked at the envelope once again. It was pale blue, unlike the usual white envelopes that arrive at their mailbox and kitchen table. There was also a hint of something pink at the upper right hand side of the envelope.

It was completely normal for children to be curious, but most would want to immerse themselves in their curiosity so they ended up asking a long string of questions. Ohno, however, was contented with just watching. Like other children, he had a lot of questions in his head, but rather than asking, he enjoyed thinking and hypothesizing on what the answers could be.

At another time, he would have come up by himself with a list of possible reasons as to why the envelope seemed precious to the girl. But this time, he felt like he had to know. His curiosity got the better of him.

His question was already at the tip of his tongue – “What is that?” – when the girl swiftly turned her head and eyed him playfully.

“Want to know what this is?” she said. She seemed very excited to tell someone about the letter she was holding.

“What is it?” Ohno asked immediately. His face was starting to inch closer to the girl’s desk to have a better look at the letter but she suddenly hid it behind her back and away from Ohno’s view.

“It’s a treasure!” she said softly as she brought out her bento to eat her lunch, leaving Ohno frustrated and deprived of information.

“But won’t you share your treasure with me? Please, Erika-chan.”

The girl was munching on her chicken teriyaki as she pondered on what Ohno said. It took a full minute before Ohno brought him back to their conversation.

“Erika-chan?”

“Oh. Sorry, I spaced out,” she said shyly as she stuffed her mouth with rice to hide her embarrassment.

“You do that all the time.”

“So do you.”

“But you do it more often recently.”

“You were the one who started it. You space out all the time. And I am unfortunate enough to be influenced by Ohno Satoshi’s bad habit.”

“Keeping secrets is a bad habit.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Yes, it—” the argument was punctuated by a distinct sound that was undeniably that of a rumbling stomach. “Is.” He completed the sentence, pronouncing the last word softly and defeatedly, as if the rumbling of his stomach weakened his argument.

“Just eat, Ohno-kun,” Erika admonished as she continued with her meal, savoring every bite. The sight of her eating happily felt mocking to Ohno.

He brought out his bento and turned away from her. He ate his meal grumpily, with his head turned away from his seatmate.

Erika chuckled at Ohno’s pettiness. She knew he would give in eventually. Besides, she wanted to share her happiness with someone and Ohno was her most trusted seatmate.

Glancing at his desk, Ohno found a picture of an eight-post gazebo painted in clean white. The roof was cone-shaped, painted in silver with traces of white. There was a path of adorned with pebbles leading to the stairs on the front. The rest was covered with grass in different shades of green. There were two trees in the foreground casting shadows on the grass, highlighting the gazebo. The yellow color of the foliage of the trees on a sunny day added to the charm of the place. It looked like a perfect place for wedding photos. It could make any couple appear to be brimming with happiness and love. Just looking at it could make someone feel at peace.

Ohno stared at it in awe. The first thought that came to mind was how nice it would be to fall asleep in that place.

“It’s a postcard from my mom,” Erika explained. Ohno’s mouth formed an O shape in discovering what it was.

“My mom is a journalist. She travels to various places around the world to experience other cultures, mingle with people, interview famous personalities – the life of a journalist,” she said proudly. It was the first time she mentioned her mother to Ohno. Those two usually talked about school stuff or mundane things such as the menu for the day in the cafeteria, or the time-sale in the super market, or urban legends that Erika couldn’t quite get enough of. They rarely talked about anything personal, but Erika was glad they did. It was obvious that she was dying to tell someone about the postcard and her mother.

“Sounds cool,” Ohno said as he stared at the scenery on the letter, which he just recently learned to be called “postcard.”

“Sounds cool? You mean very cool! My mom is awesome!” Erika held her hands together to keep herself from flailing.

“Does she always send you postcards?”

“Yes, every time she goes to a foreign country, she definitely sends me one. She describes in detail the places she’s seen, the people she’s met, the differences between their culture and ours. Sometimes, she doesn’t mail it anymore; she just gives it to me directly when she returns home. Even if she goes to the same country again, she definitely doesn’t send the same postcard scenery twice. She always says that there are too many places to see in the world and she wants to share that scenery with me.” Erika was already speaking faster and faster in her excitement.

“That’s really nice,” Ohno said, handing the postcard back to her who seemed eager to gaze at it again.

“It is,” she said. Her expression was the softest Ohno had seen. He was happy for her. More than that, he wondered how it would feel to receive something like that.


-=-

The day after the field trip, the class of elementary school students were at different energy levels. A few were chatting animatedly with each other while the rest appear physically drained. The classroom was unusually quiet as half of the class was practicing their mastered art of sleeping inside the classroom despite awkward positions. Many were resting their heads on their forearms expertly positioned on the desk. A few of the guys were resting their heads directly on the hard wood. The loudest and most energetic of them all - the leader of the gang - had his neck lying on the back rest of the chair with his head thrown back in a seemingly uncomfortable position. However, the drool on the edge of his mouth disproved norms and served substantial evidence that such a position could bring satisfying sleep after all.

The teacher entered and upon witnessing the state of her students, she merely shook her head in fondness. Besides it was not a rare sight for her anyway.

That day, she was in a good mood - smiles and sparkling eyes.

In contrast to the teacher's happy mood, Nino was in a terribly grumpy state. He was too tired the night before so he ended up falling asleep on the couch. He woke up that morning with a terrible backache.

He had been wishing that the teacher would take mercy on them and just let them free for the day. Being a manga fan, he sometimes wished that their teacher was like Yankumi in the Gokusen series - a carefree teacher who would just let them do as they pleased from time to time.

Unfortunately, they were stuck with a teacher who tortured them into having to sit in class after a physically taxing field trip. Nino was too busy despising the teacher for her jolly air so he didn't hear her announcement.

"All right class, since half of you are sleeping anyway, let's have a lazy day today!"

The students stirred in disbelief at their teacher's change in character and sudden generosity, while a few remained asleep.

They had done museum and temple hopping the day prior and apparently, the teacher bought 30 postcards, 30 stamps and 30 envelopes. She hurriedly passed them around as if eager to just get it over with. It was as if she had something else to do that day - something fun, which was actually the reason why she was in a good mood.

'Good for her,' Nino thought sourly as examined the postcard on his table. It had a picture of a temple – a replica of the one they went to the day before.

"Today, we will practice how to write a letter. I will be checking your grammar and your sentence construction. And guess what? These postcards would be sent randomly to different people around the world! Your letters may be read by someone from Hawaii, from Italy, from Africa, from anywhere around the world. So make sure you think it through. The topic of the letter is the things that caught your interest on our field trip yesterday. It can be anything, really, as long as it's descriptive," she said while she was handing out the postcards, stamps and envelopes. After she brought the last student into a state of acceptable wakefulness, she left - or rather skipped - out of the room.

"She must be in love. Maybe she has a date today," Nino muttered as he lazily twirled the pen in his fingers, not knowing what to write.

'Something that caught my interest,' Nino thought. He surveyed the classroom and none of his classmates appeared thrilled to write. He dropped his pen on his desk with force - a sound startling his seatmate who gave him a strange look.

He brought out his deck of playing cards to start practicing the new trick he watched on youtube, the postcard ignored. 'Maybe I will come up with something to write after I master this trick,' he thought as he focused on the task at hand.

He never mastered the trick, but he was able to write something on the postcard at the last minute – at the very last minute.


-=-=-

After hearing Erika's story about her mother, Ohno started to gather information regarding postcards. He even visited the library, which was a rare occurrence in itself. After he was satisfied with breezing through lots of books and countless internet sites, he had a general idea regarding the content of a postcard letter.

He daydreamed of receiving postcards from America, Africa, Australia, Antarctica (yes, he sort of memorized the names of the continents as he was browsing books). Not to mention Europe! Europe – the home of artists from earlier centuries!

How he would like to be in correspondence with people in foreign, faraway countries – to receive descriptions of sights and sounds, and imagine what it would feel like to live there!

After an hour of an endless click a link, read, and close the window routine on his laptop, he stumbled across a site named Postcrossing. It had a simple give and take principle wherein a person sends a postcard and receivess a postcard in return. You could share with random strangers where you’d been and what you’d seen.

The introduction of the site read:


The element of surprise of receiving postcards from different places in the world (many of which you probably have never heard of) can turn your mailbox into a box of surprises - and who wouldn't like that?


The sentence caught his attention at once. He almost wanted to shoot his hand up in the air like in class and call out, “Me! Me! I would really like that.”

Without thinking twice, he registered.

Scenery from all over the world left him breathless. How wonderful would it be to be able to draw that scenery, capture the awe, and preserve it in a timeless piece of art? And all at once, he felt it was what he wanted to do in life. Ohno Satoshi, nine years old, with a dream of traveling the world and making art. He didn’t care how long it would take. He promised himself he would do it before he died.


-=-

Erika called it girly when he shared his excitement to her. He didn’t understand why. What was so girly about wanting a friend from another part of the globe – perhaps a place completely foreign to his ears? Forget exciting – wouldn’t that be magical?

It was 3 months ago since he sent his first postcard. He talked about Tokyo. He talked about his classmates and friends. He talked about fishes, his set of toy cars, the art store near their school, the cafeteria food. Before he knew it he was filling the whole page of his composition notebook. He came up with an essay even longer than the ones they were assigned to write in class.

It was 3 months ago but he could still remember clearly how he asked and begged his mother to send the letter. Weary of his childlike persistence, his mother conceded to his wish and agreed to take it to the mailbox on her way to the grocery.

Ever since then, each day he would be sprinting back home from school just to check if a postcard arrived for him. Sorting through a heap of envelopes – from bills to invitations for insurance – he always found nothing. And to this day, he was still regularly checking the mailbox upon returning home, to no avail.

One fine Saturday, his mother offered to pick him up from Art Club activities. While his mother was steadily holding the steering wheel, she happily broke the news, “A postcard came earlier this morning after you left.”

“You’re kidding! Really?” the boy’s heart swelled in excitement. He jumped a fraction of a centimeter from his seat. It was what he had been waiting for for years! For ages! For eons! All right, that was an exaggeration, but that was what it felt like. He couldn’t deny the building impatience he felt just to go home.

Even before the engine of the car stopped, he was already dashing out of the car, through their driveway, into the kitchen where he knew his mother usually placed the mail. Grabbing the thinnest envelope with his name on it, he sprinted up a flight of stairs and into his room.

In his haste, he tore the envelope and brought out the postcard inside. The picture was oddly familiar. It depicted a lake in the foreground. The flowers, trimmed shrubs and trees, and the clear blue sky were reflected on the calm waters of the lake. There was a temple in the background, tall and reaching towards the sky. Examining the picture closer, he noted a Japanese inscription on the lower right hand side. Dejected, he couldn’t believe that his very first postcard was from Japan, but he had hope that perhaps the content of the better would compensate for the lack of novelty.

Turning the card around, his jaw dropped in incredulity at the message written there.


Something that caught my interest?

It was the new Nintendo DS the monk was holding! I mean, do monks normally play with a DS? I want one!

Nino


It was written in huge letters in plain black ink, the character size making it obvious that the one who wrote it was a lazy ass who supposed filling the whole space of the postcard with his message would compensate for the lack of content – lack of sense – in his message.

The possibility of a message written in invisible ink crossed Ohno’s mind, but the idea seemed improbable considering the size of the stupid message occupying the whole area of the back of the postcard.

He felt deceived and betrayed to receive such a foolish letter after having poured his heart out and giving his all in the postcard he wrote. It was not fair! Shouldn’t postcards be screened first before they were sent to people? The website talked about receiving postcards from different parts of the world, but he received one from Japan? Oh, there was an element of surprise there, all right.

Re-examining the envelope he tore, he noted that there was neither a full name nor an address of the sender.

Just a name. Nino. Nino who had possibly been to that temple. Nino who wanted to have a DS.

Ohno felt that given a one in a million chance to meet that Nino guy (or girl? He wasn’t really sure yet), he would strangle him (or her) to death, and demand compensation for tainting a child’s innocent dreams.


-=-=-

As winter rolled into spring, Ohno found himself standing before a building different from what he was used to. It was the time he least looked forward to in a year – the start of classes, especially now that he was stepping in his first year in high school. Not that he hated going to class. On the contrary, he enjoyed it. What he wasn’t thrilled about was the idea – the inevitability – of meeting new people and having to make friends.

Unlike the usual tradition of classifying students with the smartest in class A and the least smart in class D, their high school, Ichinomiya Koukou, decided it would be more interesting to randomly assign students to a class to let them ‘meet new people and foster solidarity’, so the gifted students can teach those with poor performance in class.

The possibility that his friends from middle school would be in the same class as him was relatively slim. Ohno didn’t yearn for a lot of friends anyway; being on good terms with his seatmate was enough. Erika was the closest he had to a friend back in middle school.

-

“What? Haven’t seen a DS before?” a bratty voice came from the seat beside him, waking Ohno to the realization that he was staring at his seatmate’s gaming device. Taking a good look at his seatmate, he was about the same height as him, a hint of childlike mischief in his eyes, a boyish grin on his lips and a carefree air about him. He was totally different from Erika, who had a kind, welcoming presence. Ohno’s new seatmate seemed sly and calculating.

“To tell you the truth, I am very familiar with it,” Ohno replied. It was true. He was very familiar with a Nintendo DS. Ever since he received that foolish postcard, he had researched what a DS was. He even went to a gaming store to have a closer look at it.

He was not impressed. Besides, he felt like anyone owning a DS was an enemy, even if his name was not Nino.

Even as the teacher was already doing her roll call, Ohno observed that his DS-owning seatmate was still sneakily playing with his beloved DS, strategically placed between his thighs under the desk.

“Matsumoto.”

“Hai.”

“Nakai.”

“Hai.”

“Ninomiya.”

“Hai.”

“Ohno.”

Ohno was gaping at his DS-owning seatmate, complete with comical bulging eyes and open mouth. Did he just respond to the name Ninomiya?

Nino-miya.

Nino.

“Ohno? Is Ohno-san absent?” the teacher called out.

“Ah! Hai!” Ohno shouted, shooting his hand up in the air in panic.

“All right. Okada.”

The teacher continued her roll call as Ohno noticed that his seatmate named Ninomiya was snickering, his DS in one hand while the other was covering his mouth, the mirth evident in his eyes. “You should really pay more attention in class, Oh-chan.”

Ohno flushed in embarrassment. His DS-owning-seatmate-named-Ninomiya had the gall to laugh at him even though they were practically strangers, and Ohno intended for them to remain that way. To top it off, he even gave him a nickname! Oh-chan, he thought vehemently. ‘Nobody has called me that before,’ he thought.

Ohno decided right then and there. He hated this Nino guy, and nothing could change that. He firmly decided that he would ignore this Nino person all throughout his high school life, wishing that they would have different classes next year.

‘Oh-chan,’ he repeated in his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but he actually liked the sound of that nickname. But of course he’d be caught dead before he told Nino that.


-=-=-

Nostalgia. That was the air Ohno was emitting in Nino’s point of view.

Ohno had always been a man of few words, Nino observed. He only spoke when necessary and when asked. He preferred to listen rather than share his own stories. He believed that every person would want his or her story to be told, and he wanted people to have somebody listening to them. Storytellers definitely wanted listeners and he was always first to enlist for the role. He didn’t mind not being able to tell his story. He figured the stories of others were more interesting anyway. And how very wrong he was. There was a certain person who had been itching to know more about him, who wanted to hear the stories he kept to himself just to give way for other people to talk.

There was a time when Ohno was talkative. When he was eight he would run back home to tell his mother about what happened in school. He possessed the usual enthusiasm of a child back then.

The popular guys in class had a certain charisma about them that drew all the rest to their stories, complete with variation in the tone of voice, and of course, confidence which Ohno felt he lacked. It was then that the decision came that he’d rather have these kinds of people talk and do the favor of entertaining a lot of people. Ohno didn’t want to waste other people’s time with his boring stories.

He didn’t completely shut himself off from the world though. Once in a while he told stories, but more often than not, he would end up as a stuttering mess so that other people couldn’t comprehend what he was trying to say. Sometimes, he would forget to explain the context properly leading his listeners into a labyrinth of confusion. And if he was telling a funny story, he would be the first to laugh, making him feel embarrassed, making him unable to deliver the punch line properly.

He tried. He really tried, but in the end he was resigned to the conclusion that perhaps he wasn’t really cut out for telling stories.

But that didn’t hinder him from telling stories to himself, introvert that he was. He enjoyed formulating stories in his head. In the eyes of others, he was spacing out, but inside his head was far more entertaining than other people could ever imagine. He enjoyed it even though he wasn’t able to share it with others, or possibly, he enjoyed it exactly because of that.

-

It was frustrating! Nino felt like Ohno was teasing him, even though that was not really the case.

It was just adding to his longing to be able to chat freely and comfortably with Ohno. To have access to all the random spontaneous things that sprouted in Ohno’s brain. Whether they were deep, interesting or just plain silly, Nino wanted to know whatever it was Ohno was thinking about that made him have a small smile of nostalgia on his lips.

“What are you smiling about?”

Submitting to his curiosity, Nino had already asked Ohno before, twice to be exact.

The first time, Ohno didn’t answer. He seemed so absorbed in his own world that he didn’t hear Nino’s question. Patiently letting it slide that he was ignored, Nino just continued throwing discreet gazes towards Ohno as he listed down the possibilities of what Ohno could be thinking, some realistically feasible and others bizarre.

The second time, Nino made sure his voice was loud enough for Ohno to hear. Ohno glanced at him, appearing slightly embarrassed that someone was watching him during his rather private conversation with himself. Ohno was flushed. He was startled. No one had ever asked him regarding his random thoughts. A part of him was flattered and eager to share his stories, but a larger part of him was afraid of being judged. He wasn’t ready yet.

He laughed nervously and shook his head, hair bouncing in the process. For a moment, his eyebrows furrowed a little and he let his lower lip jut out a little in a pout. Then he was back to that little smile on his lips as he looked past the window to the greenery outside.

The softness of his gesture tugged at the corners of Nino’s heart. He immediately looked out the window with his face resting on his palm slightly covering his mouth to cover the shy smile forming on his lips.

Maybe he was the one who is not yet ready to know more about Ohno, Nino thought.


-=-=-

Of clouded judgment and lack of action

He knew it was a drinking party. He knew drinking was not really something he enjoyed, or practiced for that matter. He was content with just tasting, for the sole purpose of satisfying his curiosity why countless nameless people, including his peers, found drinking enjoyable.

He had his first taste of beer back in sixth grade when his cousins were already drinking during the holiday festivities. When he was sure there were no prying eyes around, he took a furtive sip. He did not expect the bitterness, neither did he expect the nasty burning sensation in his throat, for why would people take pleasure in punishing themselves that way?

Drinking beer was exactly like that for him - a punishment game. His young mind concluded that people who drank beer must have been sadists.

He knew it was a drinking party but he still attended it for the sake of belongingness.

It was mentioned in passing in class – Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. It stated that after physiological needs such as food, water and air, and safety needs such as security of body, family and resources are met, human beings yearn for belongingness.

It was one of the few moments that he was really paying attention in class, and it struck a chord in him. There was actually a theory for that? Isn't that supposed to be common sense? And then, as usual, he drifted off in his own thoughts again. His unconscious was awakened upon hearing such a theory. He started to get irritated because it bugged him.

How would he fulfill his need for belongingness?

And that was what made him come to a drinking party with his peers. To make a connection.

With drinking parties came drinking party games. The rules were simple. The winner of the game got to ask the loser a question. Any question. And no backing out.

While it was entertaining, would you really tell a stranger such personal things? Granted they weren't really strangers, but rather classmates who saw each other 5 times a week. However Ohno thought about it though, frequency of meeting did not necessarily connote closeness.

The questions ranged from simple to crazy to embarrassing.

"What is your most embarrassing moment?"

"The day I pooped in my pants back in grade school but still constantly denied it even though it was obvious to everyone that it was me who was stinking."

“What is your oldest, most ancient fantasy?”

“To be given a piggy-back ride.”

Or other questions like:

"What is the sexiest part of your body?"

Or worse, "What is the sexiest part of your seatmate's body, and why?"

Perhaps it was due to the alcohol, that honesty and neglect of social norms were evident in their answers.

People, especially the popular ones, came up with witty and entertaining answers to such questions. But Ohno was not like that. He knew it himself. He was the type who continually pondered questions without answering right away unless he was put on the spot.

Fortunately enough, luck was on his side as he constantly played mediocre in the game, neither being the first nor being the last, just enough to stay in the game and not stand out.

However, he knew that it was just a matter of time before someone realized that he hadn’t yet had his share of the punishment game.

The game rolled on, each of the players with close to the maximum amount of alcohol in their system. Both the questions and answers were getting bolder and bolder. It was amusing for Ohno for some time, seeing his classmates make fools of themselves, but he couldn’t deny the dread of the possibility that it may soon be him on the spot.

Nakai, the loudest of the gang, was blabbering like a fool for half an hour already, and it was a wonder he still had enough functioning connections in his brain to lead him to victory in their game. By a mysterious turn of events, Nakai won and Ohno lost, and it was because he was preoccupied with the thought of losing that he lost, ironically so.

It was as if he was struck by lightning upon hearing the question, giving his whole being a jolt. His heart felt like lead, with gravity adding force, pulling his heart to the pits of his stomach. He was nauseated and for a moment he wished he would end up vomiting just to have an excuse to leave and once and for all escape the situation he was in.

“Why are you ugly?” came the brutal blow.

He channelled all his energy into keeping his hands, his feet - his whole body – from trembling, despite being crushed inside. Perhaps if he focused his attention on his body, he would be able to divert the pain he was feeling. But being preoccupied with his body would lead him back to the question he was trying to escape from.

“Why are you ugly?”

His vision was starting to get blurry as he let out an awkward laugh.

"Foul!" He heard someone shout.

He couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to go home and be alone, away from people who didn't know how hurt he was, away from people who didn’t know shit about him.

He wanted to appear indifferent. He thought, ‘Oh please, let them not console me, for that would just be worse.’

He understood that it was his alcohol addled mind that led Nakai to blurt out such a thoughtless and insensitive question, but he also knew that alcohol could make anyone lose his inhibitions and be honest and frank.

“Why are you ugly?” As Ohno was on his way home alone, he played that question on repeat on his head. He stopped by a parked car and looked at himself using the tinted side window as a mirror.

He tried to look at himself objectively. He was small compared to his classmates. He had chubby cheeks and he could still feel the baby fat on his sides. His face was like the surface of the moon, with valleys and craters caused by his unstoppable habit of fiddling with his pimples. He was average-looking in his opinion, but he never considered himself ugly. ‘Ugly,’ was a cruel adjective in his opinion. He didn’t want to believe he was ugly. Doing so would just diminish what little self-esteem he still had. It would just lead to unnecessary depression caused by insignificant people.

-

For the umpteenth time or so, Nino was harshly rubbing his face in frustration – frustrated at what happened that night, and frustrated at his good-for-nothing self.

He was alone in his room, squatting on the floor, back leaning against the side of the bed.

Why did other people treat the people who matter to him like trash? And why? Why, for heaven's sake, couldn't he do anything about it?

He was unsure if he should talk to Ohno about it. On one hand, doing so could be cathartic for Ohno. It could be a channel for Ohno to vent his anger and frustration. On the other hand, reminding the other of what occurred that night could just reopen past wounds and add fuel to the fire. Reminding Ohno could mean torture. And Nino had no contingency plan for that.

Also, Nino didn’t know if he had any right to talk about something personal to Ohno. They may be forever seatmates, groupmates and partners due to the proximity of their surnames, but that was that. They never really talked much, and Ohno was rather cold towards him, as if there was an invisible barrier between them which Ohno set up, and crossing that barrier or even coming close could cause it to strengthen even more.

Besides, Nino wasn't even sure how Ohno was feeling, because the next day, he was greeted by the usual sight of Ohno quietly staring into space. He appeared the same as usual, the same as any other day. Yet Nino knew more than anyone else that appearances could be deceiving.


-=-=-

1, 2, 3.

He had been counting the number of times Ohno was fixing the collar of another classmate, be it a boy or a girl.

4, 5, 6.

He had been noting the times Ohno was closing a bag left opened, turning off a faucet left running, turning off a light not needed, throwing an empty soda can into a garbage bin.

7, 8, 9, 10.

With or without people watching, Ohno had been voluntarily doing these little things, and Nino’s heart swelled in admiration. He once considered leaving his collar unfixed or his bag open, but he stopped himself from doing so. But that seemed too… desperate. He didn’t want to be trying too hard.

Ohno had always been warm and caring, but never to him. Never to him. Never to Nino. Ohno was usually indifferent and aloof towards him, and Nino couldn’t figure out why.

But Nino could not forget the water incident, as he fondly called it.

Sleeping late the night before and failing to set the alarm, he woke up late for the midterm exams. Horrified, he pedalled his bicycle at a speed that could match the cars on a highway. Quickly and haphazardly parking his bicycle, he ran towards the building and up two flights of stairs. He was breathless and sweaty. His feet felt like jelly and crazily enough, he felt like he just wanted to sleep again.

The class was startled as he entered with a loud sliding of the back door. They looked back and found Nino in that pitiful state. Some were annoyed for being disturbed during their exam. Some were exchanging amused whispers which the teacher silenced. Some ignored him and continued troubling over the answers. While one placed a water bottle on his desk and said, "Drink first."

Exhausted from his unplanned physical exertion, Nino drank right away without noticing who the provider of such a treat was. After he settled down - decreased heart rate, normalized breathing rate and sweat wiped off - he looked to his side and found out who gave the bottle of water. Of course it was him - his eternal seatmate. The letters N and O were always next to each other in the alphabet after all.

Even if he troubled over several questions, even if he totally didn't know a few and just answered them as if he was a contestant in a guessing game, it was the only test that Nino had taken with a smile all throughout.

Even if the following day, Ohno treated him coldly as per normal, Nino continued to treasure that small moment of kindness.


-=-=-

“I think Ohno-kun wants to try it as well.”

It was the season of preparations for the school festival. As per tradition, classes were cancelled on the day before the actual festival to give the students time to finish their preparations. High school class 1-C would be doing a haunted maze.

Being one of the most artistic in the class, Ohno was tasked to design the maze and to instruct his classmates on what to do. He was busy designing the entrance – a message written in what seemed like blood, when something caught his attention in his peripheral vision. There was a toy car moving in his direction, dangerously near the paint he was using to write on the cloth.

As with any group or class project, it couldn’t be avoided that there would be some slackers. Nakai and his gang were playing with a remote-controlled car, taking turns playing with it. Soon, even the girls joined the fun as well. Nakai proudly taught them how to operate the remote control to allow the car to move smoothly.

Ohno couldn’t focus on his calligraphy as the urge to watch them was too overwhelming. He kept on stealing glances at the remote controlled car as he absently dabbed excessive paint on his brush. He kept on glancing not because he wanted to scold the group for slacking, but rather because he himself wanted to join in the fun as well.

He had always wanted a remote-controlled car, and not just any cheap car, but one that was strong and could conquer grassland. He knew it was pricey which was why he was saving, dropping coins and bills on his piggy-bank from time to time. Oh, how he wanted to try the feel of it, to give him inspiration to save more.

“I think Ohno-kun wants to try it as well,” Nino’s voice came, loud and firm.

“But Ohno is still busy with the designs,” Nakai reasoned as he guided one of the girls in maneuvering the car.

“Why don’t you do your job then, Nakai, so the work is not dumped on him?” Nino’s voice came again, still loud and firm.

Nino had a reputation of being a sharped-tongued cruel monster in the class. He was frank. His words may be hurtful but they were honest as well. And the class listened to him because they feared him. They were frightened of what he would say. They were frightened of the truth.

“Fine. Would you like to try it, Ohno?” Nakai offered, feeling small under Nino’s apparent watchful eye.

Ohno’s eyes immediately brightened. “Really?” He stood up quickly and washed the traces of paint on his fingers with the wet cloth nearby.

He was sporting a huge smile as he took the remote control from the girl. He didn’t need Nakai to teach him how to operate it. Hours of surfing the internet, reading a lot on the workings of remote-controlled cars, had finally paid off. He was giddily playing with it – accelerating and decelerating, side to side. Even his jaw was twisting when he was maneuvering the car to the side. It was a comical sight – watching Ohno play with the remote-controlled car for the first time.

Ohno didn’t notice that his classmates had already dispersed to do their designated tasks for the school festival. He was too busy having fun.

He was grateful Nino spoke the words he didn’t have the confidence to say. But he wouldn’t admit it of course. He didn’t know if he should thank Nino. He didn’t know if Nino said that to do him a favor. Perhaps he just said that on a whim – he was a pretty unpredictable and carefree person after all.

Ohno didn’t want to believe that Nino did it for him. He didn’t want to be indebted to the man. Not ever.




-=-=-

Of the distinct warmth of reunions

Twenty-eight year old Ohno Satoshi found himself standing at the gateway of a house, with his fingers resting on the doorbell, seconds away from making it ring. It felt strangely foreign to him to be standing there, after practically being a nomad traveling from one place to another with no permanent address, yet at the same time nostalgic to be standing at the same spot after neglecting to visit the house for years.

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a gracious woman, with wrinkles on her eyes but with a loving aura about her. She appeared thinner from what Ohno remembered. Years apart had changed her appearance, indeed.

She didn’t leave time for Ohno to observe her carefully. Without wasting any time, she pulled him into her arms.

That hug. That warmth was what he sorely missed. It brought tears to his eyes which he didn’t bother wiping away. All he knew without doubt was that it was the right decision to go there. He scolded himself for putting it off after all this time. She withdrew from the hug to scrutinize his face closely, holding him by the cheeks as if making sure that he was real and would not just disappear anytime soon.

‘You’ve gotten thin,’ she wanted to say, but she quickly remembered how Ohno would scrunch his eyebrows and get apparently annoyed whenever she commented on his supposed ‘lack of fat.’ Instead she settled for the simplest of all greetings.

“Welcome home, Satoshi,” she softly said to his ears as she pulled him into another hug. Ohno didn’t notice the subtle weakness of her right arm as she hugged him. He was too overwhelmed with the feeling of having her close once again. Her smell, her softness, her warmth – just taking it all in made him glad to have come back.

He was home. It was just his mother and him, but it was home.

-=-

His mother held his hand as she led him to the kitchen. He found it ridiculous that she was guiding him for he was completely knowledgeable where the kitchen was. It wasn’t like the house was rearranged or anything, and even if it was, he was certain that he would still be able to find his way around.

He quietly sat on his usual seat as per tradition – the one facing the kitchen and nearest to the couch – and watched his mother prepare dinner for him. She was cooking curry, or rather heating the pack of instant curry that was kept in the cupboard after checking the expiration date. Ohno wondered if his mom kept a stack of instant curry and replenished it from time to time as she waited for him to come back. Perhaps she did. She was thoughtful that way. So thoughtful and loving, in fact, that Ohno wondered with disappointment why he didn’t get those genes.

She told him that the bakery was doing well. Ohno came up with the idea of setting up a bakery for business despite neither of them knowing how to bake. “Then we’ll just have to hire people who can bake!” he said when they were brainstorming the idea. She was telling him that the head baker was coming up with new ideas for their bread. Ohno caught the words ‘weird’ and ‘bizarre’ as he was carefully watching his mother stir the contents of the pot with her left hand as the smell of curry wafted through the air, teasing Ohno’s senses.

Ohno noticed that she appeared awkward in her movements, which was not how he remembered her. His mom used to navigate through the kitchen with undeniable grace and fluidity of movement, owning the kitchen as her territory. Ohno thought that she appeared different – a difference so subtle that he couldn’t quite put a finger on. He was not listening to what she was saying anymore as he observed her even more. After she was satisfied with the appearance, taste and smell of the curry as she heated it, she walked back to the cupboard to get a bowl. And there he noticed it – a slight limp in her gait, as if she was nursing a sprained ankle, or probably worse.

“Okaa-san…” The way he said her name was filled with worry and unspoken questions of ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘Are you feeling any pain?’ and she recognized it right away. Despite her conscious efforts to hide it from her son, Ohno was just too keen with observations. She knew right away that her cover was blown. She prepared herself for an interrogation.

“When did this happen?”

“A month ago. The doctor said it was just a mild stroke,” It was just mild, she emphasized. “And that with rehabilitation, I could regain the power of my arm and leg completely. There’s really no permanent damage, and it’s not like I’m dying, right?” she offered with a smile, wanting to appease her son’s worry and unspoken frustration. The truth was she didn’t tell him because she had no idea how to reach her nomadic son. He never gave her any of his previous addresses. He didn’t even have a mobile phone because he felt no need for it. Moving from one country to another entailed changing sim cards for different telecommunication networks. At first, he had different sim cards for every country he visited but eventually as his moving out increased in frequency, doing so became bothersome so he gave up completely. He disposed everything except one – his Japan sim card.

Knowing that his mother was sentimental, and true to his filial duties, he made regular calls home through a payphone during special occasions and whenever he felt like it. That was all the connection they had. Ohno had a facebook account but he seldom visited it to update. Besides, his mother didn’t know how to operate facebook so there was no real use there.

Ohno was not convinced by his mother’s words but he let it slide for now.

“You’re here now. That’s what’s important now,” she said as she held his hand tightly, feeling roughness on his finger pads and some calluses on the side of some fingers.

-=-

It was around an hour before sunset when Ohno went to his father’s grave. Besides the obvious and practical reason that it’s cooler at that time of the day, sunsets had a special significance to his father and him. Whenever they went fishing, they usually started before sunset, idly watching the afternoon roll towards the evening, being charmed by the sun’s descent across the Western skies. That was the most vivid of his memories with his father.

In the cemetery on his way to where his father was, he saw a man lying on the grass of a grave, arms folded together and a cap covering his face. Instead of the usual bouquet of flowers, plucked petals of different colors and from different kinds of flowers were scattered all over the green grass, making the grave appear like a garden itself, punctuated with red, pink, purple and white. He was fascinated by the ingenuity and the wit of the person who came up with that idea. With the image etched in his memory, he made a mental note that he would paint something like that in the future.

Upon reaching his father’s grave, he placed the bouquet of red and pink roses on the left of the head stone like he usually did, but he felt that something was off. He took it back and placed it on the right for a change. He frowned; there was still something wrong.

Being an artist, he had developed pickiness with regards to details and a fixation on positioning things perfectly. Yet wherever he placed the bouquet, it didn’t stand right to him. It was the first time he was troubled over such a tiny thing, and he blamed it all on the grave he saw earlier. He gave up and in one wild motion, he plucked out all the petals of a red rose he picked out. Stretching his arms out, he let the wind carry the petals and let it scatter at random on the grave.

He remembered how he stretched his hands to feed the pigeons when his father and he were in Osaka for a vacation. He remembered how he stretched his arms and sprinted as he let the kite the father and son pair made together soar on the sky, higher up than other kids’ kites could reach. He remembered how he reached for his father’s hand in a clean white room, his father’s eyes closed, and machines beeping everywhere as if warning bells. He felt a certain tug at his heartstrings. The good ones and even the not so good ones were all part of his memory of his father, and what better time to reminisce than being there beside him. It was nice to be back in his hometown. It was comforting.

He left when darkness had already enveloped the sky, and as he passed by the grave that intrigued him earlier, the guy lying on the grass was already gone.


-=-=-=-

It was 8 in the morning when Ohno woke up from his long, restful slumber. It had been years since he last felt the comforts of sleeping in his own room and on his good old mattress. He did a few more stretches on his bed before he decided to call it a morning and get up.

He went straight to the kitchen to prepare a cup of coffee for himself. Luckily, there was already coffee in the coffeemaker. It was only when he was pouring it in his cup did he realize that there was a figure of a man leaning his head on the kitchen counter, sleeping. His attention divided, his pouring shifted sideways, hot liquid on his left hand.

“Aahh!” he shouted in panic as he dropped the coffee pot on the table. He quickly wiped his hand dry using his shirt, and massaged the skin for relief.

The commotion Ohno created made the figure at the kitchen counter stir. Looking up, Ohno realized that the figure was indeed a man. And as he looked more closely, he thought he recognized who it was, but he doubted his pre-coffee judgment.

“Oh, you finally woke up. Want some breakfast?” Ohno heard the man say. That voice. That voice was a confirmation of his guess. But how was it possible that he was here in his house? Was he just a figment of Ohno’s imagination?

“Would you like some toast? I can cook you some eggs if you want,” the voice came once again.

“Ha? Wha- What…? You live here?” Ohno shouted. He felt unsettled as he saw the man heating the frying pan, comfortable like it was his own house.

“I’m sorry,” the man turned and bowed, his face truly remorseful. “I didn’t expect you’d be back home so soon.”

“Huh?” Confused, Ohno didn’t know what to say.

As if on cue, his mother appeared to rescue him from the labyrinth he was in. “Finally you’re awake! I see you’ve met Nino,” his mother said as she took the ladle from the guy. “Nino-kun, can you go back to the bakery, please? Aiba-kun is out of control with his new recipes. Only you can save the bakery from him,” she said in desperation.

“All right,” Nino said as he surrendered the ladle and headed out of the house, eager to do one of his favourite pastimes recently – poking fun at Aiba, the Master Baker.

Once Nino was out of earshot, Ohno got back to business. “What is he doing here?” he hissed.

“He needed a job and we had an opening at the bakery so I offered it to him. Besides, having a good-looking guy in our store was a really wise strategy to draw customers in,” she said, giving her son a wink.

Ohno sighed, “How long has he been working here?”

“About 3 months. He has been a great help. He does his work well, but he can’t be disturbed when he’s on break playing his DS,” she said, the side of her lips curled upwards in fondness for Nino’s habit.

The word ‘DS’ incited a different feeling in Ohno, though. The feelings of annoyance and irritation were starting to resurface no matter how hard Ohno tried to keep the memory to his subconscious. It was high school all over again, inevitably so. “And you let him stay in our house?”

“His job in the bakery starts very early in the morning. It’s more convenient for him to have a place to sleep nearby. But you know, sometimes I catch him not sleeping but just playing until sunrise – that crazy boy,” she said with a hint of motherly love in her eyes. “You knew each other from high school, right? He told me.”

“Yeah,” Ohno mumbled timidly. He couldn’t tell his mother that they were not really close back then, for that would just lead to an unceremonious interrogation.

“Anyway, it was really nice having someone in the house to keep me company. He’s already like a son to me.”

Ohno bowed his head down to show his regret and repentance. The truth was that he really didn’t know what to say.

“Awww, there’s nothing to be jealous about, Satoshi!” she said cooing as she gave him a tight hug and wildly rumpled his hair.

“Okaaaa-saaan!” Ohno laughed.

“Just try to ignore him if his presence bothers you, is that okay?” his mother said. She needed her son’s approval on the decision to have Nino stay. It was their house after all – both mother and son. Despite being the authority figure, she still wanted her son’s approval on decisions that considered both of them.

Looking at his mother’s pleading eyes, Ohno felt like he had no choice but to agree. Besides, he could just ignore Nino’s presence. Ohno was skilled at doing that anyway.

-=-=-

Of the idea of worrying for someone else

“Don’t go,” he heard him say in a restrained voice.

Ohno woke up that morning and felt the urge – no, the need – to be near the sea. Upon opening his window, he was greeted with fine fishing weather – sun, clouds and wind seemingly in perfect condition. He had already packed his fishing supplies which were conveniently kept in a cabinet inside his room. His fishing rod, a birthday gift when he was in middle school, was still in good condition after he checked it. He did a few simulations of casting to regain the feel of it, just like old times. Wearing his favorite fishing vest, he left his room, ready to leave the house as soon as possible. He was as excited as a child waiting to receive a longed-for gift.

“Don’t go,” Ohno heard Nino say just as he was about to leave. It was still early in the morning and Ohno wondered why the other was already awake, and why he was not at the bakery. He stared at Nino, waiting for him to elaborate on his reason for saying those two words.

“Why?” Ohno demanded, but he was answered by silence except for the vague sounds of commercial jingles on the television. He stared at Nino who was merely staring at the screen with a blank expression on his face as if ignorant of Ohno’s question.

Ohno was starting to get annoyed with the lack of response from the other. He heaved a deep sigh, intentionally letting Nino hear the impatience in his exaggerated exhalation. Besides, the high pitched voices of the campaign girls on the TV were starting to ruin his mood. He rearranged his backpack on his shoulder and turned to leave.


"Just... Just be careful."


Ohno threw an incredulous glance at Nino. Of course he knew that! He was not a kid, for crying out loud! He could take care of himself quite well, thank you very much, as he had been doing for years now. Besides, he was not his mother! He shouldn't be acting like a worrywart.


Slamming the front door shut, Ohno left the house even though his previous enthusiasm for fishing had greatly diminished.


-


"Do you enjoy fishing, son?" Ohno suddenly heard a voice beside him, slightly hoarse and slow. He looked up bewildered and saw a man possibly in his seventies, his hair and beard a salt and pepper color. There was a distinct sallowness in his skin brought about by old age. His eyes caught Ohno’s attention. They were deep with a certain wisdom and confidence within. By gut feeling alone, Ohno had the impression that he could trust this man.


The man sat beside him, uninvited.


Ohno didn't reply. He merely observed the man, not caring if it was rude considering the distance between them. He forgot social norms of propriety as he was overcome with curiosity.


"Do you enjoy fishing?" The repetition of the question brought him back to reality.


"Yes," he muttered as he brought his attention back to his fishing rod, unmoving for more than an hour already. He woke up that morning, wanting to go near the sea. The smell of salty water had always calmed him and helped him think, and he figured he could use some quiet at the moment.

He had every intention of going to the sea aboard a cheap boat he could rent, but Nino’s words had a sort of subliminal effect on him. He ended up in a riverbank, safely sitting on the last piece of earth before it was hugged by the saltless river water. It was completely different from how he had imagined. His fishing vest appeared ridiculous and a little overboard.


"You don't seem to enjoy fishing," the old man commented as he removed his shoes and pulled up his pants up to his knees to feel the cold water on his feet. "You look troubled."


"Someone told me not to go," Ohno found himself being honest with the man. "I was told to be careful."
He watched the thin scrawny legs stamping on the water, as he let water splash everywhere - from his folded pants, to his shirt, and even to Ohno who was sitting a few feet away. Ohno wondered if this was the man's form of exercise. He had the impression that the man was doing it like it was in his routine.


"Yet you still went," the man said gently. Ohno felt that the man was merely stating facts and not trying to reprimand him. The man continued with his little exercise, now kicking the water instead of stamping. He appeared happy. The gentle smile on his face had a calming effect on Ohno.


"Why didn't he want you to go?" The man asked as he was walking back to the riverbank, satisfied after playing with the water.


"I don't know. When I asked him, he just ignored me completely!" Ohno said as if trying to defend himself.


'Can this man read minds?' he thought. 'Can he see through houses?' How did he know Ohno was talking about a male when he only mentioned 'someone?' It could be a safe assumption that it was a man. Just as Ohno was starting on his bizarre train of thought about psychics and extrasensory perception, the old man asked again, "Does he watch television?"

Ohno was taken aback. It was just what Nino was doing before he left the house. "Yes," Ohno mumbled as he watched the man lie down on the grass a couple of feet away from him. "I don't see how that is relevant, though. Anyway, he has no right to dictate what I can or can't do. He just wants to appear like he's worried so I would accept him as part of our household."


"Maybe he really is worried."


"There's nothing to be worried about! I can take care of myself; I've been doing so for the past several years!" Yelling his irritation and frustration, his hands were trembling as he gripped the handle of the fishing pole.


"Maybe it's not you he's worried about."


'Huh? What does that even mean? Who else could it be?' Ohno thought. Before he could ask, the old man cut him again.


"How would you feel if no one worried about you anymore?"


Ohno had always believed that time spent worrying was time wasted. He wanted to live a carefree life.
Worrying about his problems, or other people's problems, or the problems of the world would just unnecessarily bring wrinkles to his face, not to mention sleepless nights.

“The way I see it, he found out from the morning news that the weather would turn bad today so he doesn't want you to go, or at least, he wants you to be careful,” the old man was calm, but the tone of his voice indicated his certainty with his opinion.

Ohno couldn’t help but gape at the old man in incredulity. “That sounds totally far-fetched, sir! Plus, that's an overly generous way of putting it. That guy doesn't care about me that much,” he said before he continued his silent monologue.

He had been living with the belief that worrying was pointless. And if he was asked to write in a slam book, he would have written “no worries” beside the word motto. But the thought of another person worrying about him was a totally different matter. He had never given it a thought before. He used to believe that he had already mastered the art of not worrying. However, finding out that his mother was not well formed his resolve to stay. He argued with himself that that was caring and being concerned, an entirely separate matter from worrying.

But he couldn’t deny he was worried when he found out. He was filled with thoughts of his mother – of how sick she was and how on earth he would take care of her considering his lack of experience at that.

Looking back, he realized he unconsciously violated his “no worries” motto. Perhaps worrying is not really something people can control. And no matter how hard you try to avoid not worrying, it would still be inevitable, because it’s human nature to worry after all.


Part 2