[Fic] Forever

[nilielh]

Title : [Fic] Forever - 8
Rating : PG
Pairing : Ohno/Nino (very tiny Aiba/Sho)
Disclaimer : fiction, yo!
Wordcount: 1, 105 words
Summary: What would you do if the person you knew was destined for you happened to live decades before you and died even before the two of you met? Can love surpass the hands of time and eventually brings two destined hearts together after all?
Note : Re-written!

 

“Nino-chan, wake up, come on,”

He blinked once, slowly opening his eyes and almost regretting it when the first he saw was the ugly look of concern marring Aiba’s face. A whining sound escaped the back of his throat as he shifted to his side with all the intention of sleeping some more, but couldn’t when there were cold fingers tapping his cheek to wake him.

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he batted Aiba’s hand away, before he found himself bolting upright on the bed, confused and equal-parts terrified.

What in hell just happened?

Panic rose in his chest, before it settled firmly in his throat. “Nino-chan, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Nino ignored his friend’s frantic voice and darted his eyes around. A figure standing by the door made him pause.

“O-Oh-chan?” he whispered, half-hoping and half-expecting to be disappointed. After all, the figure there didn’t as much as resemble the man he was hoping to find when he woke up.

Aiba came to his rescue, reaching for his hands and effectively pulling him away from the stranger standing there.

“Ah, Nino-chan, that’s Matsumoto-san,” Aiba said; Nino frowned, confused. “You remember? He was here with us earlier. He passed out the moment you did. And after he spooked you and your other friend, too.”

Nino frowned harder, remembering that guy from earlier, everything he’d said that honestly confused the shit out of Nino. The man, Matsumoto, looked as if he had no idea what was happening either.

“Does he remember what happened?” he asked, to Aiba. “What he said to me, earlier, before we both passed out?”

Aiba didn’t answer but he did turn his eyes to Matsumoto, who shook his head. “No, not at all. The last thing I remember was when I took the paintings that needed repairing. Then I swear I heard someone call my name, and when I turned, that was it. I guess I passed out by that time.”

“You didn’t see who it was?” he asked.

Matsumoto shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Nino guessed there was no use asking him about the things Matsumoto told him earlier, either. He felt his frustration doubling on its own, and the urge to scream and break something was too strong he’d barely resisted it.

“I – don’t really understand what is happening,” Matsumoto added, and Nino could very well relate. “First the paintings, now this?”

Nino frowned. “The paintings?”

Aiba nudged him again. “Matsumoto-san found one, same as the others,” Aiba said, not really finding the need to elaborate on it further. He didn’t need to; Nino understood perfectly.

It didn’t, however, stopped him from feeling as though he’d been kicked in the gut at the realization.

“Where is it?” he muttered.

This time, it was Sakurai who came forward, holding something in his hand. Nino didn’t have to be a genius to know what it was.

He accepted it with trembling hands, and found himself staring at his own face, drawn on a canvass, wearing that traditional Japanese yukata. Throat tight, he scanned the painting in search of something, that now-too familiar signature and felt his heart jumped to his throat finding it scrawled there, at the exact same place.

The date, however, made Nino squint at the numbers in confusion.

April 18, 2004

What. The. Hell?

He raised his head and darted his glance between Sho and Aiba. “Did you check this one?”

Both nodded in unison. “The date –“ he paused, torn between laughing and crying. “Did you see the date?”

“It’s tomorrow, we know,” Sho said, “We don’t understand it, either, Ninomiya-san.”

Nino let out a hollow laugh, feeling as though the universe was conspiring to fuck around with him. He honestly had no idea what was happening anymore, but a part of him was insisting he should stop wondering and just start believing. After all, everything that happened had to mean something; he wouldn’t be here, or seeing these things if it didn’t otherwise.

“I have to go,” he muttered, carefully putting the painting down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you guys. I know you’re busy. I just –“ he said, shaking his head.

What was he supposed to say, really? He already looked like he’d lost the few remaining working screws in his head at this point, and explaining his side obviously wasn’t going to make things better either.

He sighed and swung his legs, preparing to stand but Aiba was already there to help him up.

“Um, before we go, there’s something else you need to know, Nino-chan,” Aiba said, breaking through Nino’s mental conflict. Nino blinked at him, feeling that mild twitching in his temple that signaled the start of a headache. God, the stress alone was something he’d have to deal with since this shit started; he wished it didn’t have to balloon into something as problematic as brain tumor just to make things even more interesting.

“What is it?”

“Well, I just thought you should know that the jerk followed us here,” Aiba said, making Nino halt his movements as he frowned back at this best friend. Aiba’s voice dropping to a whisper when he added,

“You know, the pretty one? Earlier, right after you lost consciousness.”

That only served to make Nino’s headache worse. “And you’re telling me this now?”

Aiba shrugged. “I just thought you should know, is all. I wasn’t planning on telling you, really, but I didn’t want to be hit later because of it when you find out about it from someone else.”

Crap. “Did he talk to you? Did he say what he need?”

Aiba shook his head. “Apart from making sure I didn’t end up slapping your face to oblivion just to wake you up? Pretty much nothing. He just made sure you were okay before he’d bolted out of the door and left.”

Nino’s headache was a full-blown migraine now. Damn it. “Where is he now?”

Aiba looked at him as if he was contemplating slapping him again to make sure he was already awake.

“Right, you weren’t able to ask, sorry. Uh, I have to go.” He said, before turning to Sho and bowing in quiet apology.

“Home?” Aiba asked, helping him up.

He shook his head and gave the painting resting on the couch where he left it, catching sight of that familiar-looking object and feeling his heart hammering hard in his chest at the recognition.

“No, I’m going back to the house,” he muttered, in determination. “I have to, Masaki. I didn’t get the answers I needed here, and I’m sure that’s where I’ll find them. So, I have to go back there. Now.”