December Birthday (Arashi)
Christmas Challenge Fic
given by; ames_909
prompt; general/friendship, Aiba-centric
Title: December Birthday
Pairing: None; Aiba-centric
Rating: PG
Summary: Aiba tries to understand the reasoning behind his recent relationship failure and gets a pleasant, odd surprise.
Aiba had a sketchbook that he liked to bring around with him, taking notes of his surroundings, the silly little quirks of his movements; he liked to brainstorm there, drawing strange, complicated diagrams and charts that even Sho, who considered himself far above such trivial things, and educated, couldn't figure out. He liked to imagine himself a scientist, a man sent out into the working world to discover and conquer, to find and understand.
As Aiba flopped down on the sofa, sketchbook tight in his hands, he didn't feel like any of those things. He just felt like a loser.
The book had actually been Ohno's, once: they had gone to practice and Ohno had gotten a phone call, supposidly urgent; he had left his sketchbook on the ground near his chair, and Sho and Jun had been jerking around, being idiots, and Sho had accidentally stomped over the cover, cracking the plastic. When Ohno came back, he couldn't say anything: he just picked up the sketchbook and scribbled through the picture he had been drawing so hard that the lead smeared all over his hand. Nino had laughed, carefully leading him away, while Sho looked sheepish and Jun gave him an unworthy glare. Aiba had smiled, and took the sketchbook in. After all, he thought, it must have been lonely.
Aiba stretched out across the sofa, his legs propped up on the arm. He thumbed past drawings of experiments and quick, messy notes. He turned past the page that Nino had gotten ahold of, drawing a very tilted Doraemon. He turned past the page where Sho had played hangman, past the hole where Jun had thrown a pencil at him, and Sho had used the book to dodge. He turned past a picture Ohno had forgotten he had ever drawn in there: it was of a dolphin. He turned past all the used pages, and stared at the widening gap of white for a long, long moment.
Two or three minutes passed and Aiba's pencil still lay mute in his grip, stuck between his fingers. He couldn't come up with what to write about at all. There was an anger growing in his chest, but it ached, and Aiba couldn't remember the last time he had felt so strangely useless. It was like a disease--but Aiba knew what diseases felt like, and this was not the same, it was a different, solid and sore, like it would be impossible for someone to reach their fingers inside his chest and yank it out. It felt like a growth that would never leave him: it felt like a big, aching bruise.
His pencil twitched, his eyes focused, and finally the lead began to move.
CASE ONE: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE FIRST DATE
Took her to the movies--didn't enjoy horror
Opposite reaction expected:
Girl+Scary movie=Fear
Masaki > Fear
Fearful Girl+Masaki=Cuddles (?)
The reality of the situation: cuddles (yes!) later
(later being defined as hours after the movie has finished)
CASE TWO: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE FIRST NIGHT
After drinking and dancing
Made out in taxi
Made out in the Aiba-doorway
Made out against the walls towards the Aiba-bedroom
Ruined the sheets
Quiet, but beautiful, like her hair (soft) which matched the pillows, like she really did belong there or something, and she looked so happy and she was so very
it was so very
it really was so
Aiba's pencil pressed down into the paper so hard the lead broke. His mind wasn't coming up with the sentences, he couldn't finish it, couldn't dreg up the memory. He was trying to be scientific about this, yes, he couldn't let emotions mess with his even-tempered head--
He sighed, resting the book against his knees, and ran a hand through his hair, swallowing as if that would drive him to continue.
His hand stalled around one easy sentence:
Too early in the relationship?
--And then it kept going.
CASE THREE: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE RELATIONSHIP
Aiba's writing fell into a flurry of tilted characters and round, loopy lines; he felt as though everything he wrote onto the paper somehow fell out of his mind and left his chest--he felt like this was absolution, like if he somehow got rid of it all, it would stop hurting. It would have never existed.
CASE FOUR: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE BREAK-UP
(2006.12.23)
Aiba's hand shook, his lips pursed, a thin, even line on his face.
"You don't know anything about me," He repeated, as the voice echoed in his head, shrill and weak and crying. "You don't care about anything except yourself."
The doorbell rang.
Aiba let the pencil fall out of his hand, the sketchbook slanting against his lap. He made a face--it felt like something Nino would do, hole up in his apartment and write depressing love songs after a break-up, refusing to see anyone. Then again, Jun might do the same--or he might go out for drinks, like Sho would, absolving himself of the memory. Ohno was almost an enigma to him; maybe he would be out doing those drinks too.
The doorbell rang again--and again, and again: Aiba couldn't help but laugh as he heard Sho's voice scolding Nino's trigger finger.
"Yes, yes," Aiba called, and stuffed the sketchbook between the cushions of the sofa, straightening out his pajamas as he made his way to the door. It was late, almost eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve. Why would they be here, of all places?
He opened the door, curious, and the sound of a carol hit his ears.
It was a little rough--Nino and Ohno were in the front, sharing a long, red-and-white scarf--Ohno had antlers on, with little red bells, and Nino looked smug as he sang, as if making some sort of strange implication by the way his hand found Ohno's, squeezing with excitement. Aiba giggled--Nino's eyes sparkled as they looked at him, warming the ache of his insides. Ohno fluttered his eyelashes over to Aiba, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Jun had an elbow resting on Ohno's head, behind the antlers--he was in a Santa hat, and his voice sounded stronger than usual, like he actually had reason to use it; he winked at Aiba, and Sho shifted over a little, his voice sounding the most awkward, but still the strongest, the deepest, and Aiba remembered all the times he used to crawl to Sho for help, all the times they had worked through problems and dealt with life as it came at them.
But it wasn't just Sho, no--he had really done that with all of them.
The carol was starting to go out of tune: people down the hallway were poking their heads out to see the commotion; some were angry, and some were amused, happy, smiling and pointing at the strange quartet of men belting out Jingle Bells in the dark cold of the evening. Aiba finally got a hand on his laughter and pulled his door open, waving an arm, trying to draw them in before he was forced to explain to his landlord why he was waking up the entire floor on Christmas Eve.
"Get in here, you guys," Aiba squeaked, and Nino gave Ohno a firm push--he tumbled through the door and Nino pulled the scarf out from around their necks, tossing it waywardly at Aiba's head as he walked past. Jun gave him a nudge in the shoulder, and Sho caught Aiba beneath his arm, grinning with shining, bright eyes.
"Okay, you guys, who's up for a Christmas drink?" He said, pushing the door shut before Aiba could even reach to do so.
Jun adjusted his hat and grinned. "Well we better be getting somethin' for all this. No presents for the birthday boy!"
"You guys..." Aiba tried to say, but he was feeling strange, like that disease in his chest was morphing--it still ached, but with something different, something less foreign.
"Let's show Aiba-chan that we're better than a stupid girl," Nino smirked, flicking a bell on Ohno's antlers. "Right?"
"Right," Sho replied, and Ohno was looking at Aiba then, their eyes meeting with a mutual, amused smile. "Let's show Aiba-chan what friends can do."
given by; ames_909
prompt; general/friendship, Aiba-centric
Title: December Birthday
Pairing: None; Aiba-centric
Rating: PG
Summary: Aiba tries to understand the reasoning behind his recent relationship failure and gets a pleasant, odd surprise.
Aiba had a sketchbook that he liked to bring around with him, taking notes of his surroundings, the silly little quirks of his movements; he liked to brainstorm there, drawing strange, complicated diagrams and charts that even Sho, who considered himself far above such trivial things, and educated, couldn't figure out. He liked to imagine himself a scientist, a man sent out into the working world to discover and conquer, to find and understand.
As Aiba flopped down on the sofa, sketchbook tight in his hands, he didn't feel like any of those things. He just felt like a loser.
The book had actually been Ohno's, once: they had gone to practice and Ohno had gotten a phone call, supposidly urgent; he had left his sketchbook on the ground near his chair, and Sho and Jun had been jerking around, being idiots, and Sho had accidentally stomped over the cover, cracking the plastic. When Ohno came back, he couldn't say anything: he just picked up the sketchbook and scribbled through the picture he had been drawing so hard that the lead smeared all over his hand. Nino had laughed, carefully leading him away, while Sho looked sheepish and Jun gave him an unworthy glare. Aiba had smiled, and took the sketchbook in. After all, he thought, it must have been lonely.
Aiba stretched out across the sofa, his legs propped up on the arm. He thumbed past drawings of experiments and quick, messy notes. He turned past the page that Nino had gotten ahold of, drawing a very tilted Doraemon. He turned past the page where Sho had played hangman, past the hole where Jun had thrown a pencil at him, and Sho had used the book to dodge. He turned past a picture Ohno had forgotten he had ever drawn in there: it was of a dolphin. He turned past all the used pages, and stared at the widening gap of white for a long, long moment.
Two or three minutes passed and Aiba's pencil still lay mute in his grip, stuck between his fingers. He couldn't come up with what to write about at all. There was an anger growing in his chest, but it ached, and Aiba couldn't remember the last time he had felt so strangely useless. It was like a disease--but Aiba knew what diseases felt like, and this was not the same, it was a different, solid and sore, like it would be impossible for someone to reach their fingers inside his chest and yank it out. It felt like a growth that would never leave him: it felt like a big, aching bruise.
His pencil twitched, his eyes focused, and finally the lead began to move.
CASE ONE: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE FIRST DATE
Took her to the movies--didn't enjoy horror
Opposite reaction expected:
Girl+Scary movie=Fear
Masaki > Fear
Fearful Girl+Masaki=Cuddles (?)
The reality of the situation: cuddles (yes!) later
(later being defined as hours after the movie has finished)
CASE TWO: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE FIRST NIGHT
After drinking and dancing
Made out in taxi
Made out in the Aiba-doorway
Made out against the walls towards the Aiba-bedroom
Ruined the sheets
Quiet, but beautiful, like her hair (soft) which matched the pillows, like she really did belong there or something, and she looked so happy and she was so very
it was so very
it really was so
Aiba's pencil pressed down into the paper so hard the lead broke. His mind wasn't coming up with the sentences, he couldn't finish it, couldn't dreg up the memory. He was trying to be scientific about this, yes, he couldn't let emotions mess with his even-tempered head--
He sighed, resting the book against his knees, and ran a hand through his hair, swallowing as if that would drive him to continue.
His hand stalled around one easy sentence:
Too early in the relationship?
--And then it kept going.
CASE THREE: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE RELATIONSHIP
Aiba's writing fell into a flurry of tilted characters and round, loopy lines; he felt as though everything he wrote onto the paper somehow fell out of his mind and left his chest--he felt like this was absolution, like if he somehow got rid of it all, it would stop hurting. It would have never existed.
CASE FOUR: AIBA MASAKI VERSUS THE BREAK-UP
(2006.12.23)
Aiba's hand shook, his lips pursed, a thin, even line on his face.
"You don't know anything about me," He repeated, as the voice echoed in his head, shrill and weak and crying. "You don't care about anything except yourself."
The doorbell rang.
Aiba let the pencil fall out of his hand, the sketchbook slanting against his lap. He made a face--it felt like something Nino would do, hole up in his apartment and write depressing love songs after a break-up, refusing to see anyone. Then again, Jun might do the same--or he might go out for drinks, like Sho would, absolving himself of the memory. Ohno was almost an enigma to him; maybe he would be out doing those drinks too.
The doorbell rang again--and again, and again: Aiba couldn't help but laugh as he heard Sho's voice scolding Nino's trigger finger.
"Yes, yes," Aiba called, and stuffed the sketchbook between the cushions of the sofa, straightening out his pajamas as he made his way to the door. It was late, almost eleven-thirty on Christmas Eve. Why would they be here, of all places?
He opened the door, curious, and the sound of a carol hit his ears.
It was a little rough--Nino and Ohno were in the front, sharing a long, red-and-white scarf--Ohno had antlers on, with little red bells, and Nino looked smug as he sang, as if making some sort of strange implication by the way his hand found Ohno's, squeezing with excitement. Aiba giggled--Nino's eyes sparkled as they looked at him, warming the ache of his insides. Ohno fluttered his eyelashes over to Aiba, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Jun had an elbow resting on Ohno's head, behind the antlers--he was in a Santa hat, and his voice sounded stronger than usual, like he actually had reason to use it; he winked at Aiba, and Sho shifted over a little, his voice sounding the most awkward, but still the strongest, the deepest, and Aiba remembered all the times he used to crawl to Sho for help, all the times they had worked through problems and dealt with life as it came at them.
But it wasn't just Sho, no--he had really done that with all of them.
The carol was starting to go out of tune: people down the hallway were poking their heads out to see the commotion; some were angry, and some were amused, happy, smiling and pointing at the strange quartet of men belting out Jingle Bells in the dark cold of the evening. Aiba finally got a hand on his laughter and pulled his door open, waving an arm, trying to draw them in before he was forced to explain to his landlord why he was waking up the entire floor on Christmas Eve.
"Get in here, you guys," Aiba squeaked, and Nino gave Ohno a firm push--he tumbled through the door and Nino pulled the scarf out from around their necks, tossing it waywardly at Aiba's head as he walked past. Jun gave him a nudge in the shoulder, and Sho caught Aiba beneath his arm, grinning with shining, bright eyes.
"Okay, you guys, who's up for a Christmas drink?" He said, pushing the door shut before Aiba could even reach to do so.
Jun adjusted his hat and grinned. "Well we better be getting somethin' for all this. No presents for the birthday boy!"
"You guys..." Aiba tried to say, but he was feeling strange, like that disease in his chest was morphing--it still ached, but with something different, something less foreign.
"Let's show Aiba-chan that we're better than a stupid girl," Nino smirked, flicking a bell on Ohno's antlers. "Right?"
"Right," Sho replied, and Ohno was looking at Aiba then, their eyes meeting with a mutual, amused smile. "Let's show Aiba-chan what friends can do."