Fic: "Morning After" (Arashi)

Title: Morning After
Author: Tashy
Band: Arashi
Pairing: One-sided SakuMiya, SakuraBa
Rating: PG. Sorry, no smut.
Disclaimer: zomg I so don't own Arashi.
Notes: Please don't..kill me, Bry? I based this fic off of this story, so I would recommend reading it beforehand if only cause it's freaking hot. Of course, you don't have to, since I think it's explained pretty much in this one but...you might see a couple of more things if you read them both~ Ahaha I guess I also sort of borrowed the smoking thing from Amy? Not really intentionally, though, mou. Anyway, enjoy, don't kill me, and sorry if it's boring/badly written. ♥



Smoking was something that, as the years went by, Nino realized wasn't being controlled by him anymore.

It had started out as a dare, something simple and laughable and something he thought he could control. Slipping money into the vending machine near his house just to look taller, to look older. Pocketing the box of cigarettes and smoking them during breaks, smiling as girls approached him or sat next to him in the midst of the hazy smoke. He liked the attention. He liked the control.

But a simple dare soon grew into a tricky obsession, and it was all Nino could do to get out in the five-minute breaks and smoke to his heart's content--or at least to the time's content. It was tricky, and borderline disgusting how his clothes faintly smelt of tobacco. How everyone would simply raise an eyebrow at him, and say nothing more.

Today was different. Today, he lit one up on the walk to the roof. He didn't even bother to wait until he was outside, pulling the slim white box from his pocket and forcefully shaking a cigarette out. His nerves were on edge, and he almost growled in frustration as he dropped a couple in his quest for one.

Nino took the steps to the roof two at a time, and still each step thudded in him the conformation of what he had seen earlier.

Even the recollection made him sick to his stomach.

Practice was practice; usually everyone was wearing a t-shirt and track pants, or jeans, or something else equally comfortable. While they practiced dancing it didn't matter whose hair was done like what, who looked like they had spent the entire night drinking, who looked like they had taken a girl home. Nobody really asked, because nobody really honestly wanted to know. Friends were friends, but friends still had secrets to keep.

Nino had kicked the mirrored wall when he had seen that somebody had decided to break that little rule.

It hadn't been hard, and he'd barely gotten a scratch out of the thick glass, but Sho had certainly stood on edge, and eyed him, like he was some animal that needed to be kept in a cage. He hated it. He loathed it. Sho had never looked at him this way before, and it made him nervous, made him angry.

The frightened yet knowing look in Sho's eyes had caused Nino's feet to take a couple steps back, unsure of their position both on the floor and in those damned eyes that stared at him.

Nino had memorized every facet of Sho's face, and he remembered tracing those features as he stood there, practically seething, eyes locking on the one part of Sho that wasn't supposed to be there. That didn't belong.

He sighed, and slumped against the guardrails on the roof, letting his back ease against the cold metal and shakily bringing the cigarette up to his lips. He let the smoke out, slowly, like a disease permeating the air. It almost made him giggle, but he stopped himself. Nothing was a laughing matter anymore.

Friends were friends, right? Friends told friends things. But friends still had secrets. Friends went drinking and friends sometimes talked too much.

"It's true that I always want to be next to him," Nino breathed aloud, as if saying so would absolve his belief in actually thinking it. "But why did I have to say that to him?"

No one else had noticed. It had felt like the room floated away, that Sho staring at Nino and Nino staring at that thing were on a different plane, with no human contact and no ground to stand on. They were floating in the abyss of morality and unspoken rules, and Nino knew how to manipulate that place better than anyone.

He stared at the cigarette, eyeing it, watching the tip glow between red and dark black. It was comforting, almost, as he felt the tobacco circle his lungs and insides. It was soothing, as he realized that the one person he thought he could trust was the one person he was betrayed by.

It had been stupid, Nino would admit that. Going drinking and talking to Aiba about the man he dreamed about, the man he fantasized about, wasn't exactly the brightest idea. But Nino hadn't considered Aiba's feelings, and he cursed himself for that, because he knew that the origin of that abomonation on Sho's clear, soft skin was from the other man.

Simply the thought of that had sent Nino spiraling out of the plane he and Sho had stood on, and had sent him slamming out the door, leaving only Sho to stare at his back with confusion. Nobody else cared. Did they care? Nino thought it didn't matter.

Friends were friends, but friends were also rivals.

He hadn't been drunk enough last night to not recognize the look in Aiba's eyes: the false pretense of ownership as he mentioned Sho's lips, or throat, the blazing as he explained in detail the way he wanted to kiss him. Nino had seen it. Nino had noticed it.

And when Aiba hurried out of the bar, Nino had known exactly where he was going, but hadn't cared enough to chase after.

He flicked the spent cigarette to the ground, scraping the heel of his tennis shoes across the cement and into it, crushing that soothing red light from existence. "Red is a silly colour," Nino commented to no one in particular, as he continued to move his shoe back and forth over the cigarette, enjoying the way it broke open upon the ground, showing its ruined insides. Red was the colour of love, wasn't it? The colour of love, and the colour of destiny.

"How does that go? Fate is the red string tied between our pinkies, right?" Nino offered a consoling smile to the exploded cigarette, as if he truly cared.

Destiny? The concept was laughable, but he knew that with Sho and Aiba, it had to have been felt between the both of them. It was what had drawn them together, what kept them together the morning after. It was what would keep them together until the day they finally grew sick of each other.

And they would grow sick of each other, and that's why Nino hadn't bothered to chase after Aiba the night he went to see Sho. It was pointless, really, if in the end destiny and fate would be two broken words as they threw things at each other and yelled about silly, meaningless arguements that would eventually be their downfall. Words meant nothing in the end, Nino reminded himself, using one hand to propel himself off the roof and down the stairs again. It was simply easier to give up and not even bother.

Nino had been destiny. His slurred epiphany at the bar had been what sent Aiba to Sho, and if their love was destiny, then had Nino played god? He wondered blindly if that even mattered anymore, taking the steps slowly this time. Each resonaton of his sneaker against the pavement didn't remind him of the scene he had left, but of the scene that was waiting. He couldn't think about this forever. There was work to do: dancing, singing, laughing.

He couldn't control his smoking, he knew, and hiding the white box inside his jacket pocket just reiterated the fact. His lighter was tucked away safely as well, happening upon the practice room door and holding his palm against it, staring at his hand.

The pinky was potentially the weakest finger of the five. Nino stared at his own, twitching it, realizing then why the red string had to be tied there.

Smoking he couldn't control anymore, but destiny, fate? Those empty words were things he knew how to change, and knew how they would ruin.

Nino pushed the door open and smoothed his t-shirt down against his small chest, tossing the jacket to the side. He heard the clatter as the lighter hit the ground, jacket thrown across the linoleum with arms spread as if someone were in it, lying themselves prostrate before the other members. It certainly wasn't Nino inside. He stood tall, one hand on his hip, approaching the mirrored wall in the empty space left for him.

He saw Sho looking across the distance at him, and noticed the wavering in his eyes when Nino's gaze lowered, and examined the dark red blotch on his skin again.

Nino simply laughed and turned away.