The Twelfth Day of Christmas--The End!

[ciircee]

Day Twelve!

There was actually a lot of different fic that I wanted to write these last twelve days. Doing two stories a day really sort of killed that—I have a list of ideas (written both before Christmas and after the New Year started) so I really, really do hope to write them this year! And I hope to get better, too. I know that some of the fics from these last twelve days haven't been what they could have been and I'm going to do my best so that I can't say the same next year.

This fic, as it happens, is on that list and for today, too. Since the first day was also on that list, and in its proper spot, I'm really happy to be ending here. Thank you to everybody who has listened to me cry, who have offered me ideas, who have prompted me when my brain didn't work (I wrote those ideas down, too!) and to everybody who has taken the time to send me a PM or IM about what I've been (hysterically) throwing at the internet. I'll get to replies soon, now that I can take a day or two to think. All of you have been so good to me and always there when I needed it.

And, finally, thank you to everybody who has been reading even without letting me know. Comments are off because I've got my issues but I always have the hope that you're out there.


Spoilers for the end of Maou

The End

It doesn't hit him until two-thirty in the morning.

Standing at the kitchen sink and having a glass of water it hits Ohno why he can't sleep: It's not that he's not tired. It's not that he's too-wound up to sleep. It's not even that Maou is over, really over, for everybody.

Serizawa and Naruse are dead.

Ohno fumbles his cup into the sink and clutches the edge, his breath suddenly coming tight in his chest. They died in that stupid material yard, sitting side-by-side and finally forgiven only when it was too late. All those ruined, wasted lives. All that hurt. And they didn't even live. He feels his breath hitch in his chest as he thinks about the production staff's blog, about the director seeing him and Toma having dinner after filming that scene and being touched by the sight of their backs bent together over their food, sharing their meal with each other.

He doesn't even bother to get a shirt, just goes out into the night in his bare feet and pajama pants. LIVE/EVIL is playing in his head, Grace. He's got images of running, the night lights of Tokyo blurring around him as he runs and runs and runs, racing toward the future of the next few hours. The night is cool and dark, clouds blocking the stars as Ohno starts out.

Nino's car is parked at the corner, Nino's face lit from the DS in his hands. Ohno climbs into the passenger seat and buckles up, waiting for Nino to save his game and start the car. Nino checks traffic and pulls out, driving without asking and Ohno reaches between them, catching Nino's hand and lacing their fingers together.

"It's all right," Nino tells him, sounding soft and a little tired.

"I'm sorry," Ohno apologizes. And he means it. He can't help himself and he can't change the fact that Nino will.

Nino gives him a smile, sideways in the night as they turn a corner. "That's all right, too," he says.

The car goes back to quiet. The radio is off but Ohno can still hear the music, can feel it rushing in his veins with each push of his heart. It isn't fair. The injustice of it is beautiful and bitter in Ohno's throat and he keeps trying to swallow it down.

As the car slides to a stop at another corner, Nino lifts their joined hands and kisses his knuckles. "If it takes you more than an hour, I'm leaving you here," he says.

Ohno pulls their hands over and rubs his chin over Nino's fingers before he gets out of the car. The light over the door isn't on but there is a light in one window, dim and gray-yellow. Ohno goes into the house without a thought, heading for the light.

The light that is on, as it happens, is coming from the kitchen and—more specificially—from the open refrigerator door. Toma is outlined in part: the dip of his head, the width of his shoulders, the curve of his back. Ohno cannot say anything for a moment and then Toma turns around, a bottle of peach soda in his hand.

"Hello," says Toma. He sounds a little sheepish, a little surprised, but mostly awake and aware and not surprised.

Probably, Ohno thinks, probably he could have knocked or something. "Toma," he says, and then he really, just really, cannot help himself. He grabs Toma in the tightest hug he can manage. He means to say something more but all he can manage is a shuddery breath.

"Oh," says Toma and then his arms are around Ohno, too, and they're clinging to each other in the dark Ikuta kitchen. The peach soda is cold against Ohno's ribs and Toma in his arms feels more delicate than he looks.

In the last year or so Ohno has noticed that somehow the muscles on his chest have deepened, thickened, become more 'man' than 'young man'. Toma is taller and maybe even broader than Ohno is but Toma, Ohno can feel now, does not have that heft. Toma is still young. Ohno buries his face in Toma's shoulder. He can't help but think... "He was Hideo's age," he coughs around the tears that are thick in his throat. "He could have thrown it away to protect him."

Toma chokes against him, pressing his own face into Ohno's neck. "He couldn't fix things. He never could. Even at the end, he failed."

"They were so stupid," Ohno says. "They had each other the whole time. They could have had each other the whole stupid time."

Toma makes a small keening noise in his throat. "They could have saved each other if they weren't so caught up in feeling guilty and trying to live other people's lives. They were idiots."

"We're idiots," Ohno realizes suddenly. The music in his head drifts to a quiet close. He draws back to look at Toma's tear-streaked face and loosens his grip enough to smooth some of those tears away with his thumb. His own face feels wet, too. "We're standing here in your kitchen crying like idiots."

A number of emotions flicker across Toma's expressive face and then Toma's smile comes out, wide and bright and changing his whole face. "It's a t.v. show," he says. He sounds a little delighted. "We're crying over a t.v. show."

"Our own one," Ohno agrees and suddenly he's laughing and he and Toma are not clinging to each other anymore. They're just holding on to each other, snickering together in the dead of night.

His hand is still on Toma's cheek and it seems only right to kiss him. It's nothing strange or incredible, just something soft and sweet and affectionate. Toma kisses him back with things that feel like warmth and gratitude and laughter. The kiss breaks and they stay in each others arms and Ohno feels better.

"How'd you get here?" Toma asks after a little while. The peach soda is still cold against Ohno's side, but not as cold as it was at first. "You don't drive, right?"

A deep breath pushes their chests together and it's reassuring. Ohno breathes out with a little sigh. "Nino drove me."

"I guess that explains why he e-mailed me," Toma says with a wrinkly sort of frown, a realization frown. "He said he just wanted to see if I was awake."

"Nino is kind of scary," Ohno agrees.

"Nino knows both of you," Nino says as he pads cat-quiet into the kitchen. He reaches around them and pulls a can of iced coffee out of the refrigerator. The crack of the tab is loud in the little room. "Do you feel better?" he asks pleasantly. It's the same sort of voice he uses to point out really stupid things that people have done.

"Almost," he answers. He doesn't want to let go of Toma just yet and Toma seems happy enough to stay with him for now.

"Gay," Nino opines cheerfully. He leans back against the counter and drinks his coffee, poking interestedly at the cascading leaves of the spider-plant that is sitting in the window.

Sometimes, Ohno thinks, sometimes Nino really is a kind person. He nuzzles Toma's cheek affectionately and takes one, two, three more tiny kisses from him. They're playful kisses, though, ones that say smack on purpose, just to be silly. Happy, friendly kisses that happen because it's funny when they do. "Okay," he says, stepping back from Toma at the same time Toma steps away from him. "I'm done."

Toma salutes him with the bottle of soda before he opens it. "Thanks for stopping by," he says politely before he takes a drink.

Ohno giggles a little bit.

Nino pops a kiss onto Toma's shoulder. "Go to sleep, you dummy," he tells him as Toma tips his head to the side, catching Nino against him for a brief second. Nino lets out a puff of air that's really a laugh and points at Ohno. "You-dummy, come with me," he orders.

He and Nino troop out of Toma's house, Toma following them to wave and lock the door after them. They climb back into Nino's car and Nino makes a u-turn right in the middle of the street. Ohno tucks his feet up under him, realizing that he's a little cold without a shirt and with no shoes. He notices when Nino gives him an amused smile from the driver's seat. "Toma has a pretty singing voice," he says. "He sang on set sometimes." Nino laughs at him but agrees.

They spend the drive back to Ohno's house singing TOKIO songs and sharing Toma's coffee between them. Even so, Ohno is yawning when he gets out at home. He knows Nino won't come in and sleep. If Nino stays then he will have to explain to his mother where he went in the middle of the night and then Nino's mom will tell them that she really pities their future spouses. Ohno supposes it's a lot cuter if you don't live with it every day. He goes around to the driver's side window and puts a squeaky kiss on the glass, making sure he leaves big lip prints behind.

Inside he climbs into bed, curls around his pillow, and goes to sleep. His dreams are happy.