Thirty-five Already [1/2, Aoi/Ruki; Uruha/Reita]
Thirty-five Already: Chapter One
Written by
snowinwhite (aka
tongy_bear )
The year-round number of times which Aoi had found himself wishing for his own mind, body and soul to just shut up and take it like a real man was, quite frankly, impressively depressing. Three hundred sixty-five days a year, two whines a day, and one internal swear a minute was enough to send even the calm, abnormally tranquil temper of Reita to combust in a furious rage, smoke and fire and all that jazz blowing out of his ears and nostrils; after all, if you were someone who isn’t Aoi, say, for example, a certain suspicious-looking-nose-hiding uke thief, you would always be certain to fail at understanding the inner workings of the fascinating yet highly confusing mind of Shiroyama Yuu. If you were Aoi himself, however, or if you do have a personality and a mindset that are more than relatively similar to his, you would be totally making sense of him and his reasons for whining seven hundred thirty times a year; he was thirty-five already and still single since the night he got ditched by his ex-girlfriend, a skinny figure with legs like a pair of obnoxiously thin chopsticks- and this was back in 2000.
Being the undeniably capricious person he was, his mood was decreasing by the nanosecond, and by the time Uruha and Reita had arrived to aid him in whatever way they could (usually they would just distract him by means of renting a few unromantic comedies or even do some crap karaoke, especially with poor Uru’s way too manly voice around), he was already half-drunk in the tender ethanol of beer (Stella Artois makes the world go round! No argument here), and it wasn’t long before he was passionately pelting out all his despairing worries and woes to Reita and Uruha, who for once did not touch a single drop of the lightest alcoholic drink served in the bar they were currently listening to their elder friend’s problems at; he drank swiftly and noisily, barely letting any room in between the sloshes of said wheat gold liquid for mere breathing, which was one very important ingredient in a werewolf’s life.
Just like any friend would do, Uruha frowned, slowly knitting his eyebrows together to show that he was indeed pondering deeply about Aoi’s latest rant of the bar night, and that he was by no means daydreaming about Reita cosplaying Yuki from Vampire Knight. Soon after, said daydream victim joined in, and in the time span of a minute, both could be seen with odd facial expressions stuck to their faces like an Olay face mask, neither any of them having drank their share of Stella Artois.
“Well?” Aoi finally demanded, raising an eyebrow, his patience growing dangerously thin.
Contrary to his expectations, however, both men shook their heads, in the end downing the beer glasses that were placed for their pleasure over fifteen minutes ago. Had they not been his childhood friends since kindergarten, Aoi swore he would have blown into a blazing pot of flames like a Phoenix would, though, of course, not as prettily. Muttering a truly decipherable curse that started with a B in Romaji and ended with a U in Romaji as well, or maybe he said something else, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, slapped it on the bar table to catch the bartender’s attention, and immediately slipped out of the night club, stumbling drunkenly away from its heavy music and high-pitched female giggles.
It was then when- dare I say this- a miracle happened. Because if it didn’t, Aoi would head straight home, or at least what he thought was the correct direction to his apartment, only to find himself cornered by a gang of thugs, and he would finally be mugged and robbed of his beloved wallet and precious iPhone, and this story would never reach its climax, which would be a sad, sad situation, as it had already gone past its resolution, initial conflict, and small bits of the rising action. So I conclude, the drunken Aoi, instead of turning right, took the wrong turn left, and found himself colliding with a complete, total stranger in less than a second later.
“What the fu-” He began to slur, only to shut his mouth when he saw the slightly twitching body by his feet. Actually, scratch that. He was about to end his current swear word, only for the scent of said twitching body to stop him. Oh yes, his scent- it was the odour of the sweat of a werewolf.
Written by
snowinwhite (aka
tongy_bear )
The year-round number of times which Aoi had found himself wishing for his own mind, body and soul to just shut up and take it like a real man was, quite frankly, impressively depressing. Three hundred sixty-five days a year, two whines a day, and one internal swear a minute was enough to send even the calm, abnormally tranquil temper of Reita to combust in a furious rage, smoke and fire and all that jazz blowing out of his ears and nostrils; after all, if you were someone who isn’t Aoi, say, for example, a certain suspicious-looking-nose-hiding uke thief, you would always be certain to fail at understanding the inner workings of the fascinating yet highly confusing mind of Shiroyama Yuu. If you were Aoi himself, however, or if you do have a personality and a mindset that are more than relatively similar to his, you would be totally making sense of him and his reasons for whining seven hundred thirty times a year; he was thirty-five already and still single since the night he got ditched by his ex-girlfriend, a skinny figure with legs like a pair of obnoxiously thin chopsticks- and this was back in 2000.
Being the undeniably capricious person he was, his mood was decreasing by the nanosecond, and by the time Uruha and Reita had arrived to aid him in whatever way they could (usually they would just distract him by means of renting a few unromantic comedies or even do some crap karaoke, especially with poor Uru’s way too manly voice around), he was already half-drunk in the tender ethanol of beer (Stella Artois makes the world go round! No argument here), and it wasn’t long before he was passionately pelting out all his despairing worries and woes to Reita and Uruha, who for once did not touch a single drop of the lightest alcoholic drink served in the bar they were currently listening to their elder friend’s problems at; he drank swiftly and noisily, barely letting any room in between the sloshes of said wheat gold liquid for mere breathing, which was one very important ingredient in a werewolf’s life.
Just like any friend would do, Uruha frowned, slowly knitting his eyebrows together to show that he was indeed pondering deeply about Aoi’s latest rant of the bar night, and that he was by no means daydreaming about Reita cosplaying Yuki from Vampire Knight. Soon after, said daydream victim joined in, and in the time span of a minute, both could be seen with odd facial expressions stuck to their faces like an Olay face mask, neither any of them having drank their share of Stella Artois.
“Well?” Aoi finally demanded, raising an eyebrow, his patience growing dangerously thin.
Contrary to his expectations, however, both men shook their heads, in the end downing the beer glasses that were placed for their pleasure over fifteen minutes ago. Had they not been his childhood friends since kindergarten, Aoi swore he would have blown into a blazing pot of flames like a Phoenix would, though, of course, not as prettily. Muttering a truly decipherable curse that started with a B in Romaji and ended with a U in Romaji as well, or maybe he said something else, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a wad of cash, slapped it on the bar table to catch the bartender’s attention, and immediately slipped out of the night club, stumbling drunkenly away from its heavy music and high-pitched female giggles.
It was then when- dare I say this- a miracle happened. Because if it didn’t, Aoi would head straight home, or at least what he thought was the correct direction to his apartment, only to find himself cornered by a gang of thugs, and he would finally be mugged and robbed of his beloved wallet and precious iPhone, and this story would never reach its climax, which would be a sad, sad situation, as it had already gone past its resolution, initial conflict, and small bits of the rising action. So I conclude, the drunken Aoi, instead of turning right, took the wrong turn left, and found himself colliding with a complete, total stranger in less than a second later.
“What the fu-” He began to slur, only to shut his mouth when he saw the slightly twitching body by his feet. Actually, scratch that. He was about to end his current swear word, only for the scent of said twitching body to stop him. Oh yes, his scent- it was the odour of the sweat of a werewolf.