{09--Aiba Masaki/Becky} Table For Two
Title: Table for Two
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Becky
Rating: PG, AU? (It could be real-life depending on how you read it.)
Words: 1,027
Summary: Semi-sweet moments from this couple that happen at their kitchen table.
Author’s Note: My very first AiBecky one-shot. Can it even be called that? One-shot, I mean. I don’t know. You can call it whatever you like. As with most of my fics these days, this was inspired from my twitter conversations with frostbittenlove . Also including jadenmd and april_0410 here just because. ♥
Disclaimer: I own only the idea behind this story.
Warning: Unbeta’ed.
They'd picked up the wooden table at their local thrift store two months ago when Aiba decided that Becky should move in with him. She had never responded yes or no, but simply just let Aiba go out of his way to buy furniture and turn his bachelor pad into a more suitable home for the both of them. She did, however, pick out that table because the pattern of the bare wood attracted her--it reminded her of puffy clouds and halos. That was what she'd told him when they paid for it, and something in her eyes must have told him that she liked it very much because he made no complaints while he hauled the thing back to their apartment five blocks away. She remembered the feeling she had as she walked behind him, looking at his sweaty back as he took steady steps and dodging obstacles in his way all while making sure she was still there by turning around occasionally and giving her a smile. She couldn't describe that feeling but she knew what it was and understood the rarity of it.
"You work too hard.”
Aiba always tells her that, especially in the early morning when the both of them sit at the table for breakfast over toast and eggs and bacon. He is always in the kitchen first, always standing at the stove and cooking while she comes in with her silky hair tied up in a loose bun on top of her head and pours two cups of hot tea with an exhausted look. And despite the everyday reminder that she works too hard-coming home late at night, bringing home scripts and notes and everything related to her current projects, she has never once thought about leaving the business. She knows that he cares about her health, but being the best that she can be at her own job is a promise made to herself.
"You eat too much."
That is what she always tells him at the table when he puts down a gigantic plate of breakfast foods and begins to munch his way through everything. She would have her hands around her cup of tea and watch him eat. After a few sips of the rich, flavorful liquid, she would set her cup down and dig into her breakfast, usually a much smaller plate of the same foods. As soon as she starts to chew, he would start talking animatedly about his upcoming day or blurting random thoughts that he'd probably stored overnight. She'd make fun of him for a couple of things, he'd let out a howling laugh, then she'd look at him in amusement and listen to the rest with a grin.
This morning routine will never get old.
At nights when the summer winds are soft like a lullaby, she would open up the kitchen window and sit down at the table with her composition notebook with her. The musical notes that flew around in her mind during the day would transcribe themselves into the notebook, and she'd sit there and hum the tune out loud. He'd come out from the bedroom and join her in his pajamas and ruffled hair and puffy eyes, and she'd apologize for being so loud. But he'd wave her off and sit down across from her, urging her to continue writing.
"I just wanted to hear your new song," he’d say, inching closer with a tired face but interested eyes. She’d smile at him and shyly begin to her hum the tune again, while he’d sit there and nod his head along to her voice. Sometimes he’d confuse her by adding his own tune and she’d hit his arm playfully with her notebook. But either way, in the end, she’d lock eyes with him and then he’d lean closer with one hand pressed against the surface of the table. She’d feel her cheeks burn when his lips press against hers and her arms would shoot out automatically to bring him closer as the kiss deepens.
He is the reason why she has a lot of unfinished songs in her notebook.
On rainy days, the two of them would sit at the table, nursing cups of hot tea in their hands as they watch television together. Once in a while they two of them would reach to the center of the table to the plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and have a fistfight over who gets which one. Once they come to an agreement-more like Aiba giving up and letting her win-they’d fall into a comfortable silence as they chew and sip and watch variety shows. They’d burst into laughter, make comments and discuss about what they watch, even if it’s the most insignificant things in the world. Sometimes it shocks her how perfect things are when they talk (and argue and laugh) and when they fall into periodical silences. Everything between falls into this pattern and it’s etched so deeply into their lives that if one day she were to break up with him (and this is when she promises herself over and over that she would not let this happen), she might never be able to find someone like him to match her pace or even understand her.
Whenever she thinks about this, she’d look over at him and then slide the last cookie his way as she brings the cup of tea to hide her appreciative smile. He’d throw her a puzzled glance at first but then his features would soften as he picks the cookie up and splits it into two pieces and hands the bigger half to her. She’d gladly take it and bite into it with a smile, feeling like a schoolgirl again. He’d watch her for a brief moment and then burst into fits of laughter for no apparent reason. She’d make a face at him but she’d be secretly taking in the way he looks at her while he laughs, as if she’s the only thing he can see.
There is no denying how happy she is to have someone like him to share a cookie with, to share this table and to share their life together.
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Becky
Rating: PG, AU? (It could be real-life depending on how you read it.)
Words: 1,027
Summary: Semi-sweet moments from this couple that happen at their kitchen table.
Author’s Note: My very first AiBecky one-shot. Can it even be called that? One-shot, I mean. I don’t know. You can call it whatever you like. As with most of my fics these days, this was inspired from my twitter conversations with frostbittenlove . Also including jadenmd and april_0410 here just because. ♥
Disclaimer: I own only the idea behind this story.
Warning: Unbeta’ed.
They'd picked up the wooden table at their local thrift store two months ago when Aiba decided that Becky should move in with him. She had never responded yes or no, but simply just let Aiba go out of his way to buy furniture and turn his bachelor pad into a more suitable home for the both of them. She did, however, pick out that table because the pattern of the bare wood attracted her--it reminded her of puffy clouds and halos. That was what she'd told him when they paid for it, and something in her eyes must have told him that she liked it very much because he made no complaints while he hauled the thing back to their apartment five blocks away. She remembered the feeling she had as she walked behind him, looking at his sweaty back as he took steady steps and dodging obstacles in his way all while making sure she was still there by turning around occasionally and giving her a smile. She couldn't describe that feeling but she knew what it was and understood the rarity of it.
"You work too hard.”
Aiba always tells her that, especially in the early morning when the both of them sit at the table for breakfast over toast and eggs and bacon. He is always in the kitchen first, always standing at the stove and cooking while she comes in with her silky hair tied up in a loose bun on top of her head and pours two cups of hot tea with an exhausted look. And despite the everyday reminder that she works too hard-coming home late at night, bringing home scripts and notes and everything related to her current projects, she has never once thought about leaving the business. She knows that he cares about her health, but being the best that she can be at her own job is a promise made to herself.
"You eat too much."
That is what she always tells him at the table when he puts down a gigantic plate of breakfast foods and begins to munch his way through everything. She would have her hands around her cup of tea and watch him eat. After a few sips of the rich, flavorful liquid, she would set her cup down and dig into her breakfast, usually a much smaller plate of the same foods. As soon as she starts to chew, he would start talking animatedly about his upcoming day or blurting random thoughts that he'd probably stored overnight. She'd make fun of him for a couple of things, he'd let out a howling laugh, then she'd look at him in amusement and listen to the rest with a grin.
This morning routine will never get old.
At nights when the summer winds are soft like a lullaby, she would open up the kitchen window and sit down at the table with her composition notebook with her. The musical notes that flew around in her mind during the day would transcribe themselves into the notebook, and she'd sit there and hum the tune out loud. He'd come out from the bedroom and join her in his pajamas and ruffled hair and puffy eyes, and she'd apologize for being so loud. But he'd wave her off and sit down across from her, urging her to continue writing.
"I just wanted to hear your new song," he’d say, inching closer with a tired face but interested eyes. She’d smile at him and shyly begin to her hum the tune again, while he’d sit there and nod his head along to her voice. Sometimes he’d confuse her by adding his own tune and she’d hit his arm playfully with her notebook. But either way, in the end, she’d lock eyes with him and then he’d lean closer with one hand pressed against the surface of the table. She’d feel her cheeks burn when his lips press against hers and her arms would shoot out automatically to bring him closer as the kiss deepens.
He is the reason why she has a lot of unfinished songs in her notebook.
On rainy days, the two of them would sit at the table, nursing cups of hot tea in their hands as they watch television together. Once in a while they two of them would reach to the center of the table to the plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies and have a fistfight over who gets which one. Once they come to an agreement-more like Aiba giving up and letting her win-they’d fall into a comfortable silence as they chew and sip and watch variety shows. They’d burst into laughter, make comments and discuss about what they watch, even if it’s the most insignificant things in the world. Sometimes it shocks her how perfect things are when they talk (and argue and laugh) and when they fall into periodical silences. Everything between falls into this pattern and it’s etched so deeply into their lives that if one day she were to break up with him (and this is when she promises herself over and over that she would not let this happen), she might never be able to find someone like him to match her pace or even understand her.
Whenever she thinks about this, she’d look over at him and then slide the last cookie his way as she brings the cup of tea to hide her appreciative smile. He’d throw her a puzzled glance at first but then his features would soften as he picks the cookie up and splits it into two pieces and hands the bigger half to her. She’d gladly take it and bite into it with a smile, feeling like a schoolgirl again. He’d watch her for a brief moment and then burst into fits of laughter for no apparent reason. She’d make a face at him but she’d be secretly taking in the way he looks at her while he laughs, as if she’s the only thing he can see.
There is no denying how happy she is to have someone like him to share a cookie with, to share this table and to share their life together.