Just a little bit worried. Only / a little bit
Title: Just a little bit worried. Only / a little bit
Chapter: 1/1
Summary: In his head all sorts of scenarios play out: a melodramatic, 4-page long text with tears slathered across the digital characters, and choked accusations of how could you say that and but why? lining the edges of his screen. Alternatively, he thinks, it could be a spiteful, rude text, coloured fiery red with the Spitfire’s wrath smothered into every word and every sentence. Or, if he were lucky -- or rather not so -- he would receive the tense silence of No new messages in his inbox.
Pairing: Aoi/Uruha
Rating: PG
The cafe is a shocking quiet -- with only the soft knocks of chinaware against teaspoons and a faint buzz of a toaster from the kitchen. A gentle rain is pouring, and the skies slightly grey with a small smudge of sunlight; pedestrians scurry along the puddled pavements, donning dull raincoats and dull umbrellas and dull grimaces.
Uruha drums his fingertips on the table silently, watching steam escape his coffee. Its cooling down, but still, every sip scalds his tongue; he relishes it anyway. The pain jolts him back into reality -- he thinks. A sleek black iPhone rests snugly in his sweating palm, his knuckles white. For a moment he thinks he’s trying too hard when he purses his lips and tries to relax his stiff digits -- it’s futile, of course.
In his head all sorts of scenarios play out: a melodramatic, 4-page long text with tears slathered across the digital characters, and choked accusations of how could you say that and but why? lining the edges of his screen. Alternatively, he thinks, it could be a spiteful, rude text, coloured fiery red with the Spitfire’s wrath smothered into every word and every sentence. Or, if he were lucky -- or rather not so -- he would receive the tense silence of No new messages in his inbox. He doesn’t know, so Uruha just guesses and conjures up possible -- and even ridiculous -- ideas.
He clutches his phone like death’s about to steal it. Its silence unnerves him. Every minute or two he presses the Menu button, stares at his usual wallpaper of dreary sky across a desert -- it’s a nicely shot photograph -- but it still has no notices, no news, no updates.
“No news is good news” -- Uruha can’t help but think that saying is rubbish, and he inwardly swears at the idiot who came up with it.
He takes a nimble sip of coffee. It’s even cooler now and almost comfortable. Just almost.
A waitress sweeps past him, armed with a broom and a dustpan. She flashes him a broad grin. Uruha tries to smile back at those bright eyes of synthetic blue and aqua eyeshadow, but he finds the forced tilt of the lips stinging, harsh, and feels the alcohol-induced words of last night so carelessly spat out from his mouth resurfacing in his mind, gnawing into his spine and making his heart shudder.
But he smiles back at her anyway. It’s not her fault.
The early morning apology text has been sent already; but Uruha knows, that Aoi is not a morning person, not a forgiving person, and tends to oversleep on his free days. Especially when he’s been upset.
The iPhone remains motionless and still. Uruha sighs.
He wonders if it's alright for him to even be hoping for some form of salvation, because clearly everything's his fault -- he was the one who messed everything up -- and he thinks, maybe rum and vodka and irrational fury wasn't a good combination after all. His intention was to let Aoi know that he really didn't like Aoi's newly composed song and he really didn't want it in the new album. He even thought of telling the elder about it over a pleasant cup of wine at their shared apartment. (Uruha decided to move in last year, after Aoi's gift of a gorgeous diamond ring brought him to tears on Christmas, even though Uruha hated cliches more than anything.) But of course, it backfired, and Uruha feared being kicked out of his apartment (kicked out of his hard-earned relationship) (kicked out of his lover's heart). All because of a few intoxicated, slurred, impulsive sentences. (Which lead to yelling, screaming, and a lot of tears.)
An hour passes and Uruha decides, ultimately, to give up. Besides, he thinks, his heart must have already mended the guilty cracks with sloppy stitches; and Aoi’s not about to wake up soon, anyway. He stands and makes his way to the door after paying for his drink.
Just as his fingers feel the cold handle of the door, he feels something in his pocket vibrate.
Heart shaking, lips quivering (and maybe his hands are shaking too), he tenses his jaw and fishes out the phone, opens the message, thinking that he’s pretty much preparedfor any kind of dramatic reaction Aoi will have. (always seem to have)
But when his wounded heart shatters into a million pieces and guilt and remorse floods his eyes, he clamps his hand over his shuddering mouth, and he knows he’s wrong.
Because Yuu likes sunrises, isn’t unforgiving, and he’s more than wide awake now.
Uruha gulps and stumbles out of the cafe with tears held-back, suppressed sobs and clutching his phone to his trembling chest, those dear words still shining on the screen; Uruha can’t believe this.
“It’s okay.” -- says Aoi.
****
A/N: OHYEAH. I'M ALIVE AND BACK!! It's been a while! It's nice to be back writing again, even though I haven't had much time to write anything substantial xP But well at the moment, I only have this to post. Hopefully I can come up with more soon!! (I've only been able to manage snippets of disconnected stories... Maybe I can find some day to get down to actually writing out these stories properly)
I've promised earlier, I'll try to write as much as I can, amidst the rush of my workload and medical appointments (my health has been screwed up recently, I keep ending up at all sorts of doctors =_____________= In fact I've a surgery tomorrow wtf) But anyhow, please bear with me!! :) Thanks so much for reading!! Not sure if this one's a good story, but I hope you've enjoyed it :)