day after day

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/31350572.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Relationship: Nino/Jean Otus
Character: Nino (ACCA), Jean Otus, Lotta Otus, others mentioned - Character
Additional Tags: Fluff, I think?, some character analysis, slight timeskips, not completely
linear narrative
Stats: Published: 2021-05-17 Words: 3528

day after day

by extensive_scribe (lyssa_kei)

Summary

Sometimes, Nino thinks he’s wafting through memories of a dream.

Being with Jean is like that; he loses track of what happened, what he knows will happen,
what might happen, and what he’s made up in his fantasies. Maybe it’s the effect of being
with someone for so long.

This, too, feels like a dream.

or, there are subtle changes that nino is starting to notice, all taking place within familiar
scenes.

Notes

the acca fandom has such a tragic lack of fics that it hurts my soul

also, the timeline is not strictly linear - some of the scenes are further apart in time than
others.

pls enjoy!

See the end of the work for more notes

Jean isn't drunk yet.

He will be soon.

"Nino." Or maybe he’s already tipsy. His tone is accusatory, slightly rasped with alcohol and
drowsiness. Nino smiles.

"You're getting me drunk again," Jean says.

"I always do," Nino replies after a moment, watches how Jean still drinks down the glass despite it
having been moments, not even a few seconds, really, since he'd been complaining. He wonders
briefly if Jean is having trouble at work, seeing how quickly the whiskey drains from its glass, but
waves the thoughts away. If he asks, he'll probably get the familiar shake of head, that slight
bounce of Jean's golden hair as he blinks and tilts.

"No," he'd say, and Nino would believe him. "Everything's alright."

"Nino," Jean's voice cuts into the air again, something between tipsy and light, the type of floaty he
gets when it's Friday night and the promise of an off day loosens his tongue and frees his small,
gentle smiles. And, consequently, when he's with Nino. It's a strange sort of delight Nino lets
himself indulge in - the fact that he's the only one who sees Jean like this. “Hey, are you listening
to me?”

Nino blinks and turns, but Jean doesn’t wait for Nino to pour him a drink before he’s asking the
bartender for one himself, a scotch Nino really thinks he won’t be able to handle but is downed
before he can get the first warning out. Jean lets his cup hit the table and Nino tilts his head as it
clinks, solid glass against polished wood.

In an hour or so, Jean will probably be drunk enough that he can’t walk properly. If tonight is one
of those nights.

“Nino, you aren’t even listening to me, are you.”

Nino just hums. Jean looks a bit like he might be pouting, and Nino smiles, giving Jean his cup of
water.

“Drink,” he tells Jean when the other man looks up at him with a terribly unimpressed expression.
“You’ll regret it tomorrow.”

Jean listens to him after a few minutes of staring into his empty glass like it’ll give him the answers
to questions he hasn’t even figured out yet, lifting Nino’s cup to his lips and tipping water down his
throat. Nino’s gaze follows the line of his neck for longer than he’d like to admit before he forces
his eyes away and hides a smile into his whiskey.

Later, as he’s hoisting Jean up from the barstool and helping him out the door, he’ll feel the
momentary pang of guilt at the fact that he likes this, as much as he shouldn’t. He likes that he’s
the one Jean trusts to take care of him this way, he likes that he’s the one Jean presses into and
wraps long arms around in an effort to stay upright and balanced.

Nino catches the lighter Jean is fumbling with when it slips from his fingers and Jean smiles at
him, eyes hooded in his inebriation and exhaustion.

Nino returns the gentle expression with one of his own.

Should .

The word comes into play a lot in Nino’s life. In particular - his life staying in the shadows as well
as the space next to a man he'd first been familiarized with as his unofficial prince, then a friend,
then someone who brought up painfully confusing emotions that Nino had no idea how to identify.
He should have done a lot of things.

He should have kept hidden.

He should have stayed distant.

He should have known where the line was, between his targets and missions and orders from
Abend.

He should have known better than to fall for his charge.

Jean notices that Nino’s acting strangely. He doesn’t seem to know exactly what Nino is thinking
about every time he catches Nino staring for a second too long or frowning with an emotion that
appears to bother Jean simply because he can’t figure it out, and Nino plans to keep it that way.

He can’t risk what might happen if Jean ever does find out what makes his gaze linger on him for
moments longer than it should, because despite Jean and Lotta’s constant scolds that he should be
more selfish, that he should ask for more, that it’s okay to expect things since he does so much for
the two of them, he isn’t used to being a priority. His purpose was always to be in the background,
to stay with the siblings, put them above all else in his personal life.

Yet, Jean doesn’t let him focus on that.

You’re your own person, Jean has repeated at least a few times in each of their drunken Fridays,
lids hooded above eyes that held too much and not enough at the same time. He doesn’t know that
Nino is being selfish, even now, with just the thought - that he’d like more than they have now.
You aren’t a servant. You owe no one anything.

Nino doesn’t like that he’s the reason for Jean’s frustration, but he can’t do anything about this
either. It’ll take time to re-wire his thinking, after decades of being told that he was to be invisible,
to be a shadow, nothing else. Or maybe he’ll never get rid of this habit at all. He can’t quite
imagine living without putting Jean and Lotta first.

Forget about the past.

It’s a bit ironic, Nino thinks, coming from someone who still winces slightly whenever he catches a
glimpse of the two scars on Nino’s back - proof of how much Nino would sacrifice for Jean, how
little he thinks of himself in the process.

He’s doing it now, Nino can tell, even though he’s facing away from Jean. He doesn’t need to see
to know.

“It’s different,” Jean murmurs, without looking up from Nino’s back. It’s like he can read Nino’s
mind; he wouldn’t be surprised. “You could have lost your life.”

Nino exhales shortly. “Jean.”

It’s funny, too, how Jean insists on taking care of Nino’s bandages. He loathes the marks on Nino’s
skin, yet demands, every Saturday, that Nino let him wrap the plaster over the wounds. They’re
almost fully healed now. It’s been a month. They haven’t spoken about it since that day in the
hospital.

“I still don’t understand a lot of things,” Jean says.

Nino doesn’t think he ever will. The loyalty and devotion needed in his line of work - former line
of work - is something inexplicable. To be happy just because someone he’d never talked to was
laughing genuinely in the pictures he snapped. To be relieved hearing that a king that he’d never
even seen in real life had been pleased with his reports. To feel satisfied at getting the rare
compliment from Abend, too - it’s not something someone like Jean would ever truly comprehend.

“I know,” he says, instead of saying the words in his head. Because in his head, Jean and Lotta are
still worth everything, more than Nino could ever hope to give them. And because Jean would be
upset if he knew.

Jean doesn’t say anything else. He’s finished taking the old bandages off, and now he’s getting the
fresh ones from his little box, the one he keeps for Nino above the first aid kit he and Lotta have
for general injuries. Little by little, he seems to be carving out a place for Nino in their apartment,
and Nino never lets himself read too much into it.

It’s what they’ve always done, after all. Despite how much space they take up in each others’ lives,
they’ve never really acknowledged or tried to change the fact. Here, too, Nino pretends not to
notice that there’s more than pity in Jean’s eyes as he sits down behind Nino and uncovers the gun
wounds, careful not to irritate the surrounding skin. This is unfamiliar territory within an age-old
silence, and Nino can tell that neither of them know what to do about it.

Jean’s hands brush over the wounds and Nino tries not to shiver at the feeling on his bare skin. He
knows what comes next; the ripping of new bandages, the press of the clean cotton on his stitches -
but then the sensation of Jean’s hands doesn’t fade, doesn’t fade for minutes. Nino’s just about to
turn and ask if something’s wrong when he feels a gentle weight between his shoulder blades.

Nino freezes.

“I still don’t know how to say the things I feel about your scars,” Jean whispers. His words are soft
breaths of warm air that leave goosebumps down Nino’s back. “I know you won’t apologize.”

He’s right.

“I’d do it again, if it came to it,” Nino says, even though he knows it’s not what Jean wants to hear.
“I don’t regret it.”

Jean huffs a ghost of a laugh into his skin, pulling away and taking with him his warmth. Nino
feels his shoulders relax their muscles. Dangerous territory, years of restraint scream at Nino as
Jean rubs an ointment to his back and covers the marks with one of the last remaining bandages.
He does nothing about it, waits it out instead hoping the feeling will fade.

It doesn’t, not even when Jean is tapping his shoulder to let him know he’s done, letting Nino rise
from the couch and pull his shirt back on.

“You should stay the night,” Jean says towards the back of the kitchen. “It’s late.”

Nino glances at the clock on the far side of the living room. It’s one in the morning; might as well.

“Are you sure it’s not just because you want a good breakfast in the morning?” Nino asks, but the
smile in his voice is clear. Jean will be able to hear it.
Jean pokes his head out of the kitchen area and smiles. Ever the hopeless cook, Nino knows, which
is why he tends to come over during the weeks Lotta is away - to make sure Jean doesn’t end up
relying on a diet that consists purely of bread, or just ends up starving.

“You act as if you didn’t already know.” Jean moves from the kitchen to his own room, “Hold on,
I’ll get you sleepwear.”

Nino chuckles and lets himself into the guest room, flicking the light on with the switch in the
corner of the wall. It’s second nature these days. He feels like he’s stayed with the Otus siblings
more than he’s slept in his own apartment. Jean comes in a minute later with soft folds of fabric in
his arms.

“Lotta says she’ll bring chocolates from Korore, by the way,” Jean says, handing Nino spare sleep
clothes. “Your favorites from all the stores she can get to.”

That brings a small smile to Nino’s lips. “When’s she coming back?”

“Next week.” Jean’s halfway out the room now, pausing only for a moment by the doorframe. “We
should eat dinner together then.”

Nino opens his mouth to respond and almost forgets to. Because this is such a - what’s the word?
Comfortable scene. Familiar habits written into their actions, predictable yet easy in its pace, the
anticipated movements and words.

Domestic.

Tiny sparks light up the inside of Nino’s chest at the thought. He supposes it’s fitting. Giving this
space between them a name, letting the warmth create shape in his mind as syllables and sounds to
form a word.

Then he looks up, and he realizes that Jean is staring at him with a tilted head, like he doesn’t
know whether to be worried about Nino or not. He must have stayed silent too long.

Nino offers a smile. “Of course. Whenever you’re free.”

Jean’s mouth opens, then shuts. Hesitation and concern are conflicting emotions in his expression
but there’s fondness there too, until finally, he nods.

“Goodnight, Nino.”

“Goodnight, Jean.”

They don’t actually get around to eating dinner next week.

“But it’s fine,” Lotta assures them excitedly. She’s sitting on the rug in the couch area, unpacking
from her trip to Korore only to pack again later for yet another trip, “We can just all eat together in
Dowa!”

She claps her hands, squealing as she gushes about how much she’s missed their grandfather - His
Majesty, a part of Nino’s brain translates for himself unconsciously - the bread she’ll be able to
take Magie and Schwan, but Nino is still blinking at her wording, turning to Jean.
We?

Jean reads the question in his gaze. “What, you aren’t coming?”

Nino frowns. An invitation had come in the mail to the Otus siblings’ apartment, a fancy envelope
with a letter from Schwan inside. His haughty tone mellows out when put to pen, Nino had found
with amusement, and the prince had asked for Jean and Lotta’s presence at Dowa for one of the
family celebrations coming up soon. A birthday, maybe, but Nino can’t quite remember which one.

“This is a family event.”

Jean replies just as easily, “You’re family.”

Nino doesn’t get to respond because Lotta makes a delighted noise down on the floor, and his
attention is brought to the box of chocolates that Lotta is giving him with her wide, beautiful smile.

“I have more, but this is the first I’ve found!”

Nino takes it after a moment of staring at the wrapping, gaze flicking between the two of them.

“Are you sure…”

Lotta’s smile never loses even a bit of its radiance. “Nino, of course you should come! We’ve
talked of you before, Schwan doesn’t admit it but he’s curious. And grandfather still wants to thank
you.”

Nino falls silent. But the king has already thanked him, he thinks, remembering that day in the
pastry shop, where Jean had munched on his yukinotama without a care as to the guards around
him, the king behind him. Remembers the knowing, “I should be the one thanking you.”

He wonders if Jean has figured that one out.

"So you're coming, right?" Lotta asks. Nino glances up to see both the Otus siblings gazing at him
expectantly. He lets out a small chuckle and turns his head.

There's no saying no to them.

The air of Dowa is always tinged with the smell of heavy bread wafting through its cobblestone
paths, familiarity laced into the names and places but not their sights. More than that, lingering
memories weave through the stone and the fragrance of the city, lurking somewhere in the corner
of Nino’s mind despite years of forcing it down, away, somewhere it can’t reach the fragile grasp
of control he has on his own life.

“Welcome,” a pinched voice says before Nino can question, again, whether coming with Jean and
Lotta was really a good idea. He turns to see the young prince, his curly white-blonde hair moving
with the breeze that winds through the streets, piercing blue eyes sweeping over him like Nino
doesn’t deserve the attention. They stop at Jean and Lotta and a myriad of emotions pass through
them; grudging respect, pride, disdain.

Nino bites back a smile. Schwan hasn’t changed much. But his arrogant, cold expression crumbles
when Lotta greets him first with a blinding smile that looks too much like the former second
princess’ for Schwan to not have had the same thoughts.
“I’ve brought you some of the cake you were wondering about before!” She exclaims, listing them
happily, and even Schwan can’t hide the curious glint in his eyes. “And some for Magie! There are
more for others in my bags.”

Her chatter turns away towards Magie after a moment, and Schwan turns to Jean once the greetings
have all been exchanged. “Come on,” Schwan says, and the guards snap to focus. Nino realizes
he’s tense, though he’s not sure why. “We should get going.”

They start walking. Jean sees Nino looking over the guards that greet them and comes over, Lotta’s
bags still in his hands. He lets go of one of them to reach up, tapping Nino’s mouth. It takes him by
surprise. He doesn’t have time to blink before Jean is pulling away.

“You’re frowning,” Jean says.

Times like this remind Nino that Jean is probably the person who knows him best in this world. As
much as he’d watched Jean over the years, Jean has been observing him for quite some time as
well. They can read each other with a single glance, and Nino lets Jean do just that. He can afford
to, now that Jean knows, well - almost everything.

Eventually Jean’s pensive gaze softens and he picks up Lotta’s bag again. He turns to follow their
escorts, and Nino follows his shadows, falling in step to a familiar rhythm with Jean.

“I wish you’d fix that habit of yours,” Jean says. Nino glances at him but Jean isn’t looking at him,
eyes up ahead where Lotta is talking to Magie animatedly, probably about bread. “I’m not friends
with you out of obligation, you know.”

Nino blinks. “Where did that come from?”

“It’s fine if you can’t tell me now,” Jean says, the same tone he’d used when he told Nino,
someday, “but I’d like it if you stopped thinking yourself the same way you used to. All of it was
real, for me.”

It takes a moment for Nino to understand. When he does, he laughs. He moves a little closer to
Jean.

“Sometimes I really think I should have more friends than you and Lotta,” Nino says, hands in his
pockets.

Jean chuckles. It’s an argument they’ve had almost as long as they’ve known each other; Nino will
say, you need more friends, Jean shoots back with, look who’s talking , and when he’s drunk, the
sound of his drink slamming into the table accompanies his whinier tone.

“You say that, but nothing’s going to change.”

Nino follows his gaze and smiles when Lotta claps her hands, handing Magie one of the cake
boxes she’d brought for him.

“Yeah, I know.”

Sometimes, Nino thinks he’s wafting through memories of a dream.

Being with Jean is like that; he loses track of what happened, what he knows will happen, what
might happen, and what he’s made up in his fantasies. Maybe it’s the effect of being with someone
for so long.

The day they get back from Dowa, Jean and Lotta drag Nino back to their apartment and bring out
comfort food and alcohol, though Lotta doesn’t touch the drinks. It’s a strange thing, but Nino
thinks they’d all needed this. No matter how much they travel, no matter how often they’ve
experienced the cuisines of the other districts, this is home.

The next morning, Nino wakes up on the couch with Jean on his shoulder, large quilt thrown over
them both.

It seems like a dream.

Because it’s too good a picture to have been conjured of anything more than his feeble hopes and
repressed desire, and Nino has never been one to wish for more than he can dare.

Yet, as he counts to ten, blinks twice, then three times, the image doesn't change. Nor does the
weight against his side, tucked into his shoulder.

How much had they had to drink last night?

Nino closes his eyes briefly, then looks up at quiet footsteps that shuffle in from the kitchen. A
head of gold peeks over the wall.

“You’re awake!” Lotta whispers, smiling. There’s a delighted glint in her eyes, and Nino braces
himself.

“Lotta,” Nino starts, but stills when Jean shifts next to him. Lotta giggles silently.

“I’ll make breakfast today,” she says, waving, and leaves the living room area again. “Soup, for
your hangovers. You’re welcome.”

As if on cue, Nino feels a dull throbbing in his skull that slowly makes itself known, and he leans
back into the couch. The movement makes Jean press closer, though, his breaths warm against
Nino’s collar, and he gives up.

Nothing’s going to change , huh.

“I love you,” Nino ends up saying. Jean’s eyes widen.

A small, irrational part of Nino wonders if Jean will hate him. Small and irrational because he
knows that that would never happen, that Jean would never do that to him. It’s still a fear though,
because it’s his worst nightmare. Nino, quite frankly, has no idea what he would do if Jean ever
came to hate him.

Those thoughts are all brushed away with Jean’s gentle hand, coming up to cup Nino’s cheek. Nino
leans into it.

“I know,” Jean says, and Nino almost wants to laugh - of course Jean knows. He might be
oblivious, but he isn’t a fool, and ever since the events of last year, Jean has been hypersensitive of
Nino, more aware of his every emotion and action due to effort Nino doesn’t think he’s seen Jean
put into anything else in his life.
 Jean slips into his arms. “I love you too.”

Against the soft hair that tickles Nino’s chin, he smiles.

Epilogue.

“This is a boring life to have,” Nino says, once. It’s not anything new. Jean hums lightly.

“Probably.” He turns in Nino’s arms, burying his face into the soft material of his sweater. “But
you and Lotta are here. That’s all I need.”

This, at least, was predictable. Nino kisses his hair.

End Notes

i've had this fic in my docs since 2018 and never knew what to do with it, but i figured it's
better out in the world than not. i've mostly just touched up the scenes i'd already written
and edited some parts, and it's also been a while since i've watched acca so forgive me for
any errors.

kudos, comments, bookmarks! all of them make my day, but thank you anyways for
reading this fic in the first place! this pseud is for my non-main fandoms so i can't guarantee
that i'll be writing in this fandom again, but my main fandom pseud is lyssa_kei where i
post exo fics.

you can also find me as lyssa_kei on twitter, and feel free to talk to me about acca, bsd,
haikyuu, jjk, exo, or well, anything else lol

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