Fic: A Thousand and More
Title: A Thousand and More
Pairing: OhBa (Ohno/Aiba)
Prompt: Paper Cranes
Rating/Genre: PG/Angst
Warnings: Hospitalization
Summary: Sometimes, all you can do is wait. But waiting doesn’t have to be an idle process.
Notes: For Rainbowfilling! Thank you to sharksoul24 for the emotional beta! And check out the rest of my table here.
It’s raining. Because of the lack of natural light, Ohno has to make do with his desk lamp. It irks him that he has to resort to using it, because of the harsh shadows it casts against his skin and the paper and depending on the angle, sometimes he can’t tell if he’s making the right folds. By now, though, he has the instructions, the movements, memorized. He could fold them in his sleep, which he sometimes wonders if he actually does, because every once in a while he’ll find one he can’t remember doing sitting inconspicuously somewhere in the apartment. Or sometimes he just forgets, and finds a crane sitting unobtrusively on the kitchen mantle or near the air freshener in his bathroom.
At first, it was something to keep his hands occupied. He figured doing anything on his phone would be considered rude, but his hands kept fluttering restlessly between his legs and the bed. And if he even so much as dared let his hands wander, he knew he’d probably break something or disconnect a tube, causing the machine next to him to go out of control, bringing in the nurses who would flurry around, making sure all the readings were working and that nothing dire had happened. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. So one day, as he was sitting in the chair (“his chair” they affectionately referred to it as) next to the bed, his eyes chanced on a spare slip of lined paper. Slowly, as to not wake the other person, he reached over and carefully plucked the paper from the table, holding it like a feather. He flipped it a couple times to make sure no one (especially a doctor) had written on it. Then, in whatever space his lap could give him, he began to fold.
Another one done, added to the shoebox on the corner of his desk, next to the assortment of stuffed animals he had received as gifts from the other man’s trips throughout the years. Various sizes, made from whatever paper he can find. He ends up making the tinier ones the most: even though they’re made the same way as the big ones, they look so delicate, so frail. Making the small ones strain his hands, but that’s OK. It’s just a little pain.
At first, the other members approached him, tentatively, their eyes asking for permission to join him, to help share his pain. He would watch them: Sho, his tired eyes going back and forth between Ohno and the bed; Jun, gripping his coffee with his other hand in his pocket, pretending it wasn’t itching for something to hold onto, something to do. And Nino. Nino, who was probably going through more pain than him, than anyone else in the group. But he would just softly shake his head, turning away from them and back at his work, realizing that he was gently cradling the group of cranes he had already finished.
It was his pain to bear, and his alone.
Another one done. It’s still raining, but now the sun has set, making the shadows even harsher against his hands, covering more parts of the paper in unbalanced darkness. His hands are starting to shake; he doesn’t remember how many he’s made since he got home, but he’s willing himself to finish this one, maybe finish a few more.
Yes, it was his pain to bear. And it was the least he could do while he waited.
Another one done.
A thousand. And a thousand more. He would make as many as it took until Aiba’s eyes opened again.
Pairing: OhBa (Ohno/Aiba)
Prompt: Paper Cranes
Rating/Genre: PG/Angst
Warnings: Hospitalization
Summary: Sometimes, all you can do is wait. But waiting doesn’t have to be an idle process.
Notes: For Rainbowfilling! Thank you to sharksoul24 for the emotional beta! And check out the rest of my table here.
It’s raining. Because of the lack of natural light, Ohno has to make do with his desk lamp. It irks him that he has to resort to using it, because of the harsh shadows it casts against his skin and the paper and depending on the angle, sometimes he can’t tell if he’s making the right folds. By now, though, he has the instructions, the movements, memorized. He could fold them in his sleep, which he sometimes wonders if he actually does, because every once in a while he’ll find one he can’t remember doing sitting inconspicuously somewhere in the apartment. Or sometimes he just forgets, and finds a crane sitting unobtrusively on the kitchen mantle or near the air freshener in his bathroom.
At first, it was something to keep his hands occupied. He figured doing anything on his phone would be considered rude, but his hands kept fluttering restlessly between his legs and the bed. And if he even so much as dared let his hands wander, he knew he’d probably break something or disconnect a tube, causing the machine next to him to go out of control, bringing in the nurses who would flurry around, making sure all the readings were working and that nothing dire had happened. He didn’t want to be a nuisance. So one day, as he was sitting in the chair (“his chair” they affectionately referred to it as) next to the bed, his eyes chanced on a spare slip of lined paper. Slowly, as to not wake the other person, he reached over and carefully plucked the paper from the table, holding it like a feather. He flipped it a couple times to make sure no one (especially a doctor) had written on it. Then, in whatever space his lap could give him, he began to fold.
Another one done, added to the shoebox on the corner of his desk, next to the assortment of stuffed animals he had received as gifts from the other man’s trips throughout the years. Various sizes, made from whatever paper he can find. He ends up making the tinier ones the most: even though they’re made the same way as the big ones, they look so delicate, so frail. Making the small ones strain his hands, but that’s OK. It’s just a little pain.
At first, the other members approached him, tentatively, their eyes asking for permission to join him, to help share his pain. He would watch them: Sho, his tired eyes going back and forth between Ohno and the bed; Jun, gripping his coffee with his other hand in his pocket, pretending it wasn’t itching for something to hold onto, something to do. And Nino. Nino, who was probably going through more pain than him, than anyone else in the group. But he would just softly shake his head, turning away from them and back at his work, realizing that he was gently cradling the group of cranes he had already finished.
It was his pain to bear, and his alone.
Another one done. It’s still raining, but now the sun has set, making the shadows even harsher against his hands, covering more parts of the paper in unbalanced darkness. His hands are starting to shake; he doesn’t remember how many he’s made since he got home, but he’s willing himself to finish this one, maybe finish a few more.
Yes, it was his pain to bear. And it was the least he could do while he waited.
Another one done.
A thousand. And a thousand more. He would make as many as it took until Aiba’s eyes opened again.