Title: Not that solo
Pairing: Ohno/Aiba, and, uh, others.
Rating: R
Summary: Crack; in which Ohno and Aiba transport stuff across the Japanese mainland in an RV, Jun wears a fedora and seems to be a bit of a douche, Nino miraculously emerges from a car accident unscathed, and Sho spends the entirety of the fic in a penguin suit.
Warnings: NON-CHRONOLOGICAL NARRATIVE, lots of profanity, numerous sexual references, caricatured Arashi, Ohno being a very bad boy
A/N: I hail from a Commonwealth country, so heads up: British spelling and other Commonwealth quirks within! I imagine with all the North American influences I get from the media it’s not all foreign, but whatever, the setting is Japanese, right? Yeeessss. We’re all good.

Message to recipient: It’s oddly romantic, which worries me because romance isn’t what you asked for, but I hope you like it anyway! Also, you said you like mystery and detective stories and while this isn’t one per se, each section is out of order within the timeline, so I really hope you have fun threading the events together. (FYI, they were pretty much written out of order; I only wrote about four sections chronologically, lol—ENJOY.)

+++

The number is Nino’s, but Ohno knows who the message is from.

IT’S A MAGICAL CIRCLE!!!!!!! —Sho

Ohno just throws his head back and laughs.

***

The lights on the motorway cast a pattern of shadows on Aiba’s face, and Ohno tries to afford discretion as he finds himself staring.

Aiba is so pretty, it makes his insides ache.

Then a snore comes from the back, and Ohno turns to scowl at Matsumoto for breaking his concentration.

Matsumoto has certainly made himself comfortable, having lain down across the length of the bench seat, his fedora over his face. Ohno aims a venomous glare at the silly hat.

“You don’t like him?” Aiba angles his head towards Matsumoto before meeting Ohno’s eyes, and Ohno makes the mistake of looking right back at the gorgeous; he can’t speak when he’s faced with this - this.

“I understand,” sighs Aiba, nodding, taking Ohno’s silence for agreement. He reaches over to rub Ohno’s thigh comfortingly.

…Fuck this ridiculous heat in his face fuck fuck fuuuuuck.

“Didn’t you see how he was throwing his weight around just now?” manages Ohno, hoping that using words would siphon his stupid. He looks down at his hands, mumbling: “Not like he’s the boss of us.”

“Actually, he sort of is, being our client.” Aiba laughs. “Just for tonight, yeah? He’s not too bad, Ohno-san. Just cranky when sleep-deprived.”

Ohno raises his eyebrows, remembering how the two interacted when they first saw Matsumoto at the warehouse.

“So you know him well?”

“I know him okay.” Aiba gives a shy smile. “Slept with him a bunch of times.”

Ohno gapes at Aiba’s nonchalant confession, feels his stomach turn.

“So he’s your ex?”

“Kind of. We were never really together.”

Ohno takes this to mean they just had a lot of meaningless sex.

…Fuck. He shouldn’t have pictured it.

“It was my fault we didn’t work out. He wanted to sleep around; I was ready for a serious relationship.”

“Oh,” is all Ohno can manage without bursting out in song, because fuck is Ohno looking for commitment, they should totally be together, why the fuck is he even hesitating, oh god.

This is it. He has to tell Aiba how he feels, Matsumoto’s presence in the RV be damned.

Fisting his hands atop his knees, Ohno takes a deep breath.

“Ohno-san,” Aiba interrupts, pointing out the windscreen and frowning, “do you see that?”

***

They’re off the motorway now, on a national route that runs across Aichi Prefecture, and they’ll only get back on when they enter Shizuoka. Venus Transport helps their clients cuts costs like this; tolls aren’t exactly cheap.

Sakurai is right at the back of the van, sitting on the bed, gazing forlornly at the penguin head he’s set on his lap. Ohno wonders how the fuck does one get into a fancy dress party that ends in Satanic worship.

Maybe he’ll ask Sakurai when he’s feeling better.

A loud yawn from Aiba makes Ohno turn away from watching Sakurai in the rearview mirror; Ohno touches Aiba’s shoulder, and suddenly he feels like every nerve ending is on fire and he can’t breathe because it hurts so much to want.

Fuck love. Fuck love and all its horny misery, fuck.

“You should rest.” Ohno strokes Aiba’s shoulder with his thumb, braving the fresh wave of sensory malfunction. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just one straight road.”

“Okay.” Aiba rubs his eyes, stretches, turns on his side to face the window. “Thanks, Oh-chan,” he says sleepily.

Ohno freezes. Aiba has never called him ‘Oh-chan’ before.

Was it just a friendly address? Or was Aiba hinting at something more? God, did Aiba know Ohno is completely hung up on him? WAS AIBA TRYING TO—

No.

Aiba’s like this, Ohno thinks in disappointment. There’s a guy at work who joined Venus the same time Ohno did; Aiba’s just started calling him ‘Kazapon’. And then there’s the slightly insolent ‘Matsu-nii’ and ‘Ken-chan’ that Aiba reserves for those senpai.

It’s just an Aiba thing, Ohno tells himself. It’s nothing special.

God, but why? Why isn’t it anything special? Why does Aiba have to be super nice to everyone, see the good in everyone? Hell, he can even see the good in Matsumoto, and Ohno just feels inferior and wicked and ugly on the inside, and it’s killing him that he’ll never be good enough for Aiba, and wait IS THAT A CAR WHY THE FUCK DOES IT NOT HAVE ITS TAIL LIGHTS ON—

There’s an almighty crash, and Ohno rear ends the kei in front of them so hard that he sends it skidding into a closed up petrol station by the side of the road.

Shit.

Aiba wakes up with a jump.

“Sorry, sorry—” moans Ohno, melding his foot to the brake, his life flashing before him. The people in the car must be dead, he’s so dead, shit—

“Don’t panic,” says Aiba, flicking a switch near them, and the lights in the van come on. “Park by the pavement.”

“Fuck, what happened?” Matsumoto groans, massaging his back as he gets up from the floor.

“Is everyone all right?” Aiba twists around to look at their passengers.

Ohno anxiously checks on Sakurai and Matsumoto in the rearview mirror. He sees Sakurai staring at Matsumoto with an incredulous expression on his face.

“You’re the guy from last night!”

Matsumoto squints. “Oh, hey. I see you decided on the penguin. Personally I’d have picked the swan. Really showed off your abs.”

Ohno decides they’re fine. Their speech functions aren’t impaired, as far as he can tell. Now he needs to get outside and check on the car he’s hit.

Fuck.

As he disembarks the van and tracks across the concrete, Ohno feels like he’s in a nightmare. This has been his worst fear ever since he started driving. He’s going to lose his licence, his job, and he won’t get to see Aiba again because he’ll be in fucking jail, oh god.

***

Ohno doesn’t just want to get into Aiba’s pants.

He also wants to get into his heart.

Ohno pinks as he thinks this, finally admitting it to himself.

Ohno knows he doesn’t look like a FEELIIIIIIINGS!!!! kind of guy, but boy is he one. He sometimes finds himself so chock full of emotions that he thinks he might’ve been one of those tormented artists in his past life, going mad as they sculpted clay and other epic shit, except in Ohno’s case he just gets drunk in his living room and cries a lot.

And thinking about Aiba gets him drunk and crying a lot, mainly because Aiba’s completely out of his league.

He hasn’t known Aiba that long—five months, thereabouts—but he’s perfect. It’s not just because Aiba is fucking beautiful, no, it’s because Aiba is a good person: genuine and kind and sensitive and treats everyone with respect. He’s also the most hard-working person Ohno has ever met.

Ohno will never be good enough for Aiba.

Ohno sees the irony. They’re employed by a logistics company that has no problem servicing criminals, providing vehicles and manpower for the transportation of contraband. Venus Transport does have plenty of unsuspecting, honest enterprises in their clientele and a large network of individual customers, but the year-end ‘secret bonus’ that they dole out to their employees in cold, hard Yukichis hints that a significant portion of their revenue is undeclared and very likely from illegal sources.

Aiba’s been at the job longer; he was the one who showed Ohno the ropes. It’s still a mystery to Ohno why Aiba’s working for the company.

For Ohno, it’d been a natural progression. He hadn’t been on moral high ground to begin with. He’d been a full-time ticket scalper for years, and the market had been great for a while until a bunch of artistes came together and campaigned against his livelihood.

Fuckers.

With the music industry breathing down his neck, Ohno knew he had to find another way to survive. He needed a new plan. A new skill.

He went to get his driver’s licence—at a proper place too, the type where the instructors wore uniforms and they rap on your desk when you so much as dip your chin during boring-as-fuck traffic safety DVD screenings.

Months later, with the help of his equally shady friends who pulled some strings for an interview, he ended up becoming a runner for Venus, and apparently it’d been the driver’s licence that clinched him the job.

“There,” says Aiba, pointing to a figure in the parking lot of the warehouse where they’ve arranged to meet the client.

Jobs like these don’t require them to wear their company uniforms, and the vehicle they’re using tonight is an incognito one that doesn’t bear the company insignia. Ohno manoeuvres the camper van further into the compound, parks sloppily—they’re going to have to drive it into the warehouse soon, anyway—and climbs out of the vehicle.

“That is some shitty parking,” a snide voice remarks, and as the speaker comes into view, Ohno hears Aiba let out funny noise that sounds very much like surprise. Ohno barely registers Aiba’s reaction; he’s busy flipping the guy off in his head for the unnecessary comment.

“Hey,” the guy greets as he sets his eyes on Aiba.

Aiba just nods, giving him a smile that looks a little forced. “Wasn’t it supposed to be Ikuta-kun tonight?”

“He switched with me last minute.”

“I see. Well, please take care of us,” says Aiba, more perfunctory than polite. Ohno assumes they’ve met on the job before and is kinda thrilled Aiba seems to have a less-than-favourable impression of the guy.

“Wait a minute—is this a camper van?” the stranger asks, turning his attention to the vehicle.

Ohno feels a flash of annoyance at the man’s disdainful tone. He takes in the pompous designer suit, the carefully groomed eyebrows.

Too bad how, Ohno thinks, these things can’t hide a shit personality.

“Yes. Your side requested a freight capacity of two tonnes,” says Ohno flatly.

“We were expecting a truck.”

“No trucks tonight.”

“Why the fuck not?! It’s always been trucks!”

“Consider the season. Most of our fleet is busy moving furniture for teenagers and relocating families.”

“Fuck.” The client sighs, shaking his head. “Whatever. All right. We’re lucky tonight’s cargo isn’t bulky.”

He looks at Ohno. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Matsumoto,” he says, crooking a finger towards the half-open shutters of the warehouse. “Come with me.”

A minute later Ohno and Aiba are standing in front of a hundred crates of—

“Umeboshi,” says Matsumoto, making a grand sweeping gesture over the soon-to-be consignment, “Wakayama’s finest.”

In the five months he’s spent helping to move illegal goods into, out of and across the country, Ohno has only been given clues about the contents of his cargo on two occasions: the first, when the client let slip that it was Serbian electronics; the second, when he had to wear a gas mask throughout the entire job to ‘prevent hallucinations in case of a leak’.

And tonight they’re moving pickled plums.

Two tonnes of pickled plums.

“This the weirdest thing I’ve ever transported,” Ohno tells Aiba in a low voice.

“Good on you. I’ve encountered a half-tonne shipment of horse manure.”

“…You win. This doesn’t trump animal shit.”

“Yeah. It even came with the horses.”

“Like I said, you win.”

At Matsumoto’s behest, several workers come forward and are instructed to listen to how Ohno and Aiba want them to pack the bags of umeboshi into the camper van.

The van was the bosses’ idea—they’re big on staff welfare, and wanted to provide the runners with a portable washroom and place to sleep, since drives can last a whole day. They’ve gotten six RVs remodelled; goods can now be hidden inside hollowed-out seats, under floorboards, inside carefully crafted storage spaces behind appliances. In the case of a nosey police officer stopping them for a routine check, it’d be hard for them to find anything incriminating.

It takes about an hour for all 200 sealed plastic bags of umeboshi to be packed neatly into every secret compartment, and even the haughty Matsumoto looks impressed after the packing is done and there is no hint of the cargo in sight.

“All right then. Let’s go,” says Matsumoto, plopping down on the bench seat.

Aiba stares. “You’re coming with us?”

“I need a lift to Yokohama, yes.”

Ohno makes a move to retrieve the clipboard with the invoice, but Matsumoto lets out an impatient noise.

“Come on, don’t be so calculative. With our bosses’ friendship, this isn’t something you need to bill us for.”

Ohno looks at Aiba for help. Aiba gives the tiniest shake of his head—leave it, Aiba’s telling him—and turns to Matsumoto.

“We’re scheduled to arrive Yokohama tomorrow at 7:30 AM.”

Matsumoto kicks off his fancy shoes, stretches out on the seat. “Nice. Wake me up at a service area.”

“Okay.”

“But only after midnight.”

“All right.” Aiba settles himself in the driver’s seat and straps on his seatbelt.

“And only if the place has a Starbucks.”

“Got it.”

Ohno fumes. No one should order Aiba around like this. Especially not fuck-hats like Matsumoto.

“All set?” Aiba asks Ohno, his smile a sweet, sweet balm to Ohno’s irritation.

“Yeah,” Ohno grunts, throwing Matsumoto one last dirty look before buckling himself into his seat.

***

It’s two in the morning and there aren’t any other vehicles on the road, thank god.

The petrol station is definitely closed up; there’s an office void of furniture, and through the glass Ohno can see that there’s a thick carpet of dust on the floor. The fuel dispensers have no hoses or nozzles, and the zinc on the ceiling has been consumed by rust.

As Ohno approaches the kei cautiously, a hand slips into his.

“Don’t worry,” says Aiba, squeezing his fingers. “Things like that happen in our line of work.”

Ohno is thankful for the concern, but it doesn’t make him feel better. “I probably killed—”

They jump when the door on the driver’s side swings open and someone—a man around Ohno’s height—stumbles out of the car.

“God,” he groans, cracking the joints in his neck by pushing his chin back and forth with the heel of his hand.

Ohno lets go of Aiba, gives him a reassuring nod. He’ll be fine.

“Excuse me…” Ohno ventures, stepping closer.

“Did you hit my car?” The man’s voice is loud in the night, his tone sharp.

Ohno is relieved—surely someone who’s badly hurt won’t sound this robust?

As they approach each other, stepping into the dim light offered by the street lamps, Ohno sees the man’s face.

His jaw drops.

“Nino?”

“Oh, my god. Oh-chan?!”

They stand rooted to the spot for a moment, then Nino rushes up for a hug.

“It’s been so long! How are you?”

Ohno is dazed; this is Nino—looking as boyish and stunning as he did all those years ago, maybe he really did discover the secret to eternal fuck-worthiness like he once vowed he would—and it should be awkward, but it isn’t; not yet, maybe.

“I-I’m great, working in logistics, you?”

“Well, I just got hit by a car,” Nino deadpans, before he takes a step back to look at the vehicle Ohno was driving, “—oh wow, it’s an RV. I could’ve fucking died.”

Nino laughs.

“You sure you're okay? You’re not hurt?” Ohno asks, patting Nino’s arms, back and legs.

“I’m fine.” Nino turns to look at the car. “This piece of crap, though… It’s been breaking down quite a bit lately, I haven’t found the time or money to go get it serviced. Airbags and seatbelt definitely working, but you know what? We should stand further away from it, it just might catch—”

Smoke starts coming out from the bonnet.

“Fuck,” Ohno and Nino say collectively as the bottom of the car bursts into flames, and they take a huge leap backwards.

“I’m really sorry,” moans Ohno, turning towards Nino, pressing his palms together and dipping his head.

“It’s okay, though I guess we should call the fire department—” Nino takes out his phone.

Ohno is about to agree, when he remembers he’s on the job.

Shit. The plums. Matsumoto.

He claps a hand on Nino’s, stopping him from hitting ‘Call’.

“You can’t call the fire department.” Ohno takes a deep breath. “In fact, I would very much prefer it if no one knew about this.”

Nino stares at Ohno, then laughs.

“You’re kidding, right? I mean, we’ve got a flaming car by the side of the road, there’s no way we can hide this…” Nino trails off as he sees the expression on Ohno’s face.

“You’re actually serious?”

“I’m working right now,” Ohno tries to explain, “I drive this RV, it’s my job, and there’s a schedule and my client’s actually riding back to Yokohama with us tonight… Nino, I can’t afford to stay here and get this settled, or risk the traffic police coming near my cargo.”

Nino narrows his eyes. “Oh-chan, are you still involved with gangsters?”

“Yes and no. It’s… It’s less complicated now.”

Ohno gives Nino a pleading look.

Nino sighs. “I think your friend’s coming to put out the fire,” he says, pointing with his chin.

Sure enough, Aiba’s running over from the van, fire extinguisher in hand.

“I’ll take care of it!” Aiba calls, stopping a few feet in front of the car. “You keep on negotiating!”

Ohno feels a blinding surge of affection for Aiba before he remembers now is not the time, and turns to Nino.

“Nino, I’ll pay you back. Whatever it costs, I’ll pay you.”

Nino nods. “Fine. But you’re not leaving me here.”

“Huh?”

“Why do you think I was driving at two in the morning? I have someplace to be.”

“Wait, you want to ride with us?!”

Nino shrugs. “You said you’re going to Yokohama. I’m headed there too. After robbing me of my only means of transport, the least you could do is to drop me off somewhere close.”

Why the fuck is everyone headed to Yokohama tonight?

“What about the car?” asks Ohno. “You can’t just leave it here; someone has to be responsible for it.”

Nino gives a noncommittal wave of his hand before scrolling through the contacts on his phone. “I have a friend living a block away. I can just tell him my shit excuse of a car finally gave up on me and caught fire by the side of the road, and I hitchhiked my way out of here because I have that Very Important Thing tomorrow, and he’ll take care of it.”

“He’ll do that for you?”

“He owes me a favour; I came to Aichi to help him out. Don’t worry.” Nino winks. “You know I’m excellent at getting my way.”

Nino steps away to make the call to his friend, and Ohno walks over to Aiba, who’s just put down the fire extinguisher.

“Thank god it was just the front part!” exclaims Aiba, mopping his brow. “What about the owner? You know him?”

Ohno is suddenly uncomfortable; saying Nino is a ‘friend’ seems weirdly evasive. Then again, it’s not like Ohno’s special to Aiba.

Fuck it. Nino’s a friend.

“We were neighbours for a while and went to high school together,” says Ohno. “We used to be quite close.”

“Cool! So he’s not too pissed about the car? I don’t think he’s driving it anytime soon, it looks bad.”

Ohno sucks air through his teeth. “About that, Aiba-san—can he come along with us? He hopes we can give him a ride to Yokohama. He’s got to be there by morning, it seems.”

“Sure!” says Aiba immediately. “There’s still room, and he was really nice about not pursuing the matter.”

Ohno squeezes his eyes shut to keep himself from telling Aiba how he fucking loves him.

Nino comes back with an update.

“My friend’s on his way. We can go,” says Nino, keeping his phone into his back pocket. He gives Aiba an amiable smile. “Hi. I’m Ninomiya. Call me Nino.”

“I’m Aiba.” Aiba smiles back. “Oh-chan and I work together.”

There it is again. Oh-chan. Oh god.

As they walk to the RV, Nino says: “To tell you the truth, Oh-chan, I’m kind of glad you trashed my car. I’ve been having some major financial problems recently. Haven’t even got the money to change the small lights at the back.”

“You? Financial problems?” Ohno knows Nino’s very good with money; he’s the last person Ohno would expect to have a lack of it. “What happened?”

“Had a falling out with my business partner.” Nino shakes his head. “He’s—”

Nino stops dead in his tracks.

“Sho,” Nino breathes, staring.

Ohno and Aiba follow Nino’s line of vision to Sakurai, who’s standing by the entrance of the RV looking right back at Nino, shock and displeasure etched on his face.

***

“I really should be sleeping,” Aiba grumbles from the passenger seat, “that’s the point of having two drivers!”

“But Aiba-san—fate brought the five of us together! The least you could do is to talk to us,” says Nino, and Ohno just marvels—Nino is so cocksure of his conversation skills, and rightfully so, because so far Nino has managed to get Aiba to talk about his ideal date, his favourite colour, his favourite song, his love of fried chicken; basically all the Aiba-trivia Ohno has craved to learn but never dared to ask about.

“Oh, oh! I have one,” Sho speaks up, “ideal birthday present?”

Ohno grins. Sho isn’t too bad himself. He got Aiba to tell them the names of the peacocks that lived in his grandparents’ yard when he was a kid.

“Your birthday’s Christmas Eve, right?” Matsumoto asks Aiba. “Do people do that thing where they give you a two-in-one present?”

“They totally do,” Aiba answers, a faint moan in his voice, and Ohno silently vows to never commit that sin.

“Ohno-kun, what’s your ideal birthday present?” asks Sho.

“My ideal birthday present…” Ohno takes a second to think about this. “A fishing lure, I guess. I fish in my spare time.”

“I didn’t know that!” Aiba exclaims. “You’d have to take me sometime.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Ohno’s skin tingles as he thinks about how Aiba has unwittingly set up a date for them.

“How about you, Aiba-san? Ideal birthday present?”

“A vacation would be nice. Maybe to some tropical country, spend my birthday in warm weather. I’ve never done that before.”

“I hope you’re taking notes,” Matsumoto whispers in Ohno’s ear, from the side of the driver’s seat furthest away from Aiba.

Ohno nods. He’s keeping up. Anything about Aiba is going to be fucking branded into his memory, no doubt about it.

Also, this let’s-get-Aiba-kun-and-Ohno-kun-to-talk-about-what-they-have-in-common plan that the three goons hatched?

Genius.

“Do you guys have any foods you hate?” Nino suddenly asks. “Because I despise anything raw.”

“No way! You can’t eat sushi, then?”

“Hate most of it.”

“How about you, Aiba-san?”

“If I had to spell it out, well… I really don’t like umeboshi.”

Ohno takes his eyes briefly off the road to look at him in surprise, and Aiba’s sporting this cheek-aching grin that’s obviously saying yes I know what’s under our feet at this very moment, and Ohno just loses it. Aiba laughs along with him, and soon they’re wheezing, tears in the corners of their eyes.

“What’s the joke?” Sho asks, puzzled, and Nino says he doesn’t know; it’s Aiba’s and Ohno’s secret.

Ohno wonders why Matsumoto hasn’t made a comment yet, then he hears his voice floating over from the back of the van.

“Yeah, I’m still with them,” says Matsumoto, and then there’s a pause, “What? So Yokohama’s a no-go? All right. Fine, be careful. Yeah. I’ll get them to reroute. Yeah, later.”

Aiba’s heard the phone call too; he turns to meet Matsumoto, who sighs and says:

“The Yokohama venue’s gotten a bit dangerous, there’s been a skirmish… My boss asks if you could head to the Atami meet-up point instead? We’ll still pay for the full journey, of course.”

“Yeah, sure.” Aiba inputs the new venue into the navigation system. “Atami’s coming up in an hour, actually.”

For the first time that night Ohno is genuinely relieved Matsumoto is with them. If they missed the memo and headed to Yokohama anyway, they might have gotten into gang trouble; Ohno knows from experience that just being at the scene of a skirmish can seriously fuck your life up.

Matsumoto turns to Sho and Nino. “Sorry for the change of plans. If we were going to Yokohama we could’ve dropped you off first, but now that we’re going to Atami, you guys can’t be around when we unload the goods.”

“Why not?” asks Nino.

“We shouldn’t involve you. You guys aren’t part of either of our organisations.”

“Jun-kun,” says Nino with a sigh, and it makes Ohno shudder, because that’s the voice Nino uses when Nino knows best.

In a carnal way.

“The moment we got on this van we’ve been involved,” Nino continues, “and we’re perfectly fine helping you to move the goods or do whatever it is you deem fit.”

“Yeah, I can help too.”

“Sho-san, you’re basically a glorified ornament, no offence.”

“I can stay here and look cute.”

“This spot you’re in—you’re actually sitting on five hundred kilos of cargo, did you know that?”

“What?!”

“Jun-kun’s saying you’d be fucking in the way.”

Ohno tunes out the conversation, letting the three sort out the details of the Atami stop by themselves. He glances at Aiba, who’s fast asleep in the passenger seat.

Ohno smiles. The night is drawing to an end a little earlier than he thought, and thinking about it, it really hasn’t been that bad.

***

“We didn’t break up because we were drifting apart,” answers Sakurai angrily, “we broke up because we were in a fucking power struggle!”

“That’s all in your head!” Nino bellows back, thumping his fist on the table. “You fucking overthink, Sho. All the fucking time!”

Ohno looks back and forth between the two, panic building in his chest. They’ve been arguing for ages.

Ohno has garnered this from their quarrel: they’d carried their relationship troubles over to the workplace, which led to Nino leaving their company, but it wasn’t official yet, and he hadn’t tied up loose ends before he left and Sakurai was holding on to the penguin, whatever the significance of that was—it’s all really messed up, and Ohno wishes he isn’t, in the most literal sense, caught in the middle.

Buffer, his ass.

“You’re the one who packed up and left! I wanted to sort things out!” Sakurai retorts.

“I left the office; you left our apartment!”

“What was I supposed to do? You left the office! You’ve never left the office!”

Ohno hates confrontation, even if it doesn’t involve him. He throws a pleading look at his companions in the cab, but they’re bent on leaving Ohno alone to deal with the squabbling pair—Aiba is staring stolidly at the road in front of them, and Matsumoto shifts his hat over his face without so much as a backwards glance.

Heartless fuckers.

“Guys…” bleats Ohno, holding up his hands at Sakurai and Nino. “Please.”

Nino takes one look at Ohno and snarls:

“You know, sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I never broke up with Oh-chan. He never made me feel this way.”

There is a deafening silence. Then—

“Wait, what?” asks Aiba.

***

Ohno follows Aiba’s finger; it’s pointing out the windscreen to what looks like a man-sized penguin standing by the side of the barrier.

Impatient not to let the courage he’s mustered up trickle away, Ohno says: “You know how sometimes businesses have mascots by the side of the road, waving to cars to—”

“We’re on a major expressway, Ohno-san.” Aiba has already slowed down. He checks the mirrors and signals left. “That’s no promoter.”

Ohno looks at Aiba in horror, shelving his plan of telling Aiba he loves him.

“Aiba-san, are you stopping—?”

“Of course I’m stopping. It’s not safe for him to be there.”

Ohno knows Aiba is a fucking saint, but they’re also carrying two tonnes of stolen pickles.

“Aiba-san, our cargo… and Matsumoto,” says Ohno frantically, remembering that their client is travelling with them. Oh god.

“Matsujun’s only waking up at a rest stop that has a Starbucks after midnight. He won’t know a thing if we drop this guy off earlier,” whispers Aiba.

Spurred by the discomfort at having heard Aiba call Matsumoto by a more endearing term—Matsujun, the hell?—Ohno finds himself desperate to get into Aiba’s good books, and simply nods.

Aiba parks on the shoulder, and together they climb out of the van. Ohno approaches the guy more cautiously; Aiba just straight up marches up to him.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” asks Aiba, and as he draws closer Ohno can see a large penguin head set on the ground beside the man, completing his costume.

The guy looks like he could be their age, and is actually quite handsome—large eyes, full lips, all soft edges. He also looks fucking scared.

“I - I think I am,” says the man, his voice quivering. “There’s no pain.” He wraps his arms (flippers?) around his body as he averts his eyes.

“I don’t really remember what happened,” he finally says, bracing his forehead with what would be his fingers if they could be seen.

As discreetly as he can, Ohno sniffs. He doesn’t smell alcohol. The guy isn’t wasted, at the very least.

Aiba exchanges a quick look with Ohno.

Maybe he’s high? mouths Ohno, and Aiba nods.

Better high than dangerous, Ohno thinks. This man better not turn out to be some fucking Jason Voorhees; penguin heads are just one material away from hockey masks, and Ohno’s pretty sure that costume can hide a machete.

“What’s your name?” asks Aiba gently, changing his approach.

“Sakurai Sho,” the man replies slowly, like the words are taking an immense effort.

“Okay, Sakurai-san. I’m Aiba, and this is Ohno. Could we take you someplace safe?”

Sakurai immediately looks wary.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” assures Aiba. “You’re on the Nishi Meihan Expressway, and the nearest service area is tens of kilometres away.”

Sakurai actually looks surprised at this bit of information. “You’re serious?”

Aiba nods.

Sakurai blinks several times, as if trying to recall something. “I was at this fancy dress party, invited by my clients…” Sakurai lets out a gasp, and his mouth falls open.

“They started praying to Satan!”

“Huh?” Ohno utters in disbelief.

“Then they made me drink this awful tea, it tasted like sweaty socks—” Sakurai pauses, shaking his head as if to clear it. He looks down, pulls the front of his suit away from him, and yelps.

“They took my clothes! And my phone and wallet was in my pants! Oh, no, no, no, no, no—” Sakurai starts tearing at his hair, but he can’t because his hands are in those ridiculous flippers. He groans, collapsing onto the floor, and for one horrific moment Ohno thinks he’s going to smash his head on the ground but thankfully the costume cushions his fall.

Ohno has never seen panic like this. He feels really sorry for Sakurai.

“Look, we’re not bad people,” Ohno says, and it’s not entirely a lie, “so if you’d like, you’re welcome to travel with us for a bit until we can drop you off at a train station or something. We can pay your fare.”

Sakurai looks up at them sadly as he lies on the asphalt. “I live in Yokohama. I was just in Kansai on a business trip. You’d have to loan me quite a bit of money.”

Aiba’s face lights up. “Yokohama?”

Ohno closes his eyes. No, Aiba. No.

“We’re going to Yokohama!” says Aiba excitedly. “We could take you home!”

Ohno pinches the bridge of his nose. “Aiba-san. We have that passenger in our van?”

Aiba waves Ohno’s comment away. “He’ll do me the favour if I ask nicely.”

Ohno gives the still-supine Sakurai a sweet smile, asking him to hang on, before pulling Aiba roughly to the side.

“You are not having sex with Matsumoto just so this guy can ride in our van,” Ohno says, unable to contain his hatred of the idea. “I won’t allow it.”

Aiba’s jaw goes slack. Then he explodes into a laugh.

“Matsujun’s actually a nice person, Ohno-san! I won’t have to do anything for him to say okay to this!” Aiba’s eyes crinkle adorably as he puts a hand on Ohno’s arm and squeezes it.


Part 2