arashi, sakuraiba. snapshots.
gosh you cannot even imagine how hard this was for me to write, and it's barely anything. i don't even read this pairing, let alone write it :\ only jun/ohno to go, then i've written every pairing! ahaha, oh holidays.
snapshots
aiba/sho, g, 583 wds.
The train is packed when Aiba gets on, early Saturday morning. There’s still a chill in the air outside; the weather report says there will be all day. His stomach grumbles in discontent, but Aiba ignores it. He’ll be off this thing in a few minutes anyway, and then he’ll be able to get a bite to eat.
The train slows to a stop, and Aiba grabs his bag and files out hastily, eyes scanning the crowd. (It’s only a matter of time.) He takes a few steps across the platform, stumbles a bit but recollects himself quickly.
“Aiba-chan,” calls a voice, warm and welcoming and only slightly weary.
Aiba’s heart jumps into his throat. He spins around and his eyes catch Sho, waving him over. Ah. Aiba presses through the mob of people and jumps on Sho, arms and legs wrapping tightly around him. “I’m back,” Aiba murmurs into Sho’s shoulder. It’s so good to be back.
Wandering eyes linger on the two, and Aiba slides down, laughing. “I’m back,” he repeats, and Sho just nods and hugs him again.
Aiba fishes into his bag and drags out a camera, snapping a photo of Sho sipping at his lemonade before he gets the chance to object. He giggles at the photo, Sho’s face scrunched up but straw still sitting between his lips.
The waitress appears with a quiet, “Excuse me, can I get you anything else?”
Aiba shows the girl the photo, proud of his work, and then orders the first salad on the menu. Sho stares out of the window in embarrassment. The waitress bites her lip and nods. (She probably recognises them, Aiba muses.)
The salad is crisp and refreshing like the autumn air. Aiba forces a forkful into Sho’s mouth, grinning in satisfaction. “It’s good, isn’t it.”
Sho nods, pleasantly surprised, and Aiba’s grin widens.
By the seventh drink, Sho is a lost cause. His words are so slurred Aiba can’t even be bothered trying to interpret them. Sho rolls over and off the couch onto the floor, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe he’s sleeping, Aiba ponders.
He prods a finger into Sho’s side and Sho’s hand immediately grabs at Aiba’s wrist, eyes now open. Sho continues to stare, straight-faced, and Aiba isn’t sure what to make of it.
Until Sho bursts into laughter, fingers reducing their grip to an annoying tickle. Aiba flops down on the floor beside him, and Sho curls up, hugging Aiba’s arm to his chest possessively.
If he goes to sleep here, he’ll be in so much pain when he wakes up. Aiba thinks about it for all of a few seconds, and then falls asleep anyway.
Aiba doesn’t care if Sho’s completely against the idea. He grips Sho’s hand tightly and helps him up to the next branch. “It’s not much further,” he reassures him, “Just one more branch.”
Sho pulls himself up the rest of the way, and shifts until he’s as comfortable as possible, resting all his weight on Aiba, still shaking.
Aiba places two fingers lightly on Sho’s cheek and turns him to face him, then leans in and presses a chaste kiss against Sho’s lips. There are no pretty words or petty comments, but he knows Sho understands. The wind picks up and Aiba wraps his arms around Sho’s waist as he snuggles up close, nose buried in Sho’s neck.
“Oh,” Aiba remembers with a smile, “If you fall asleep you’ll probably die, so watch out for that.”
Sho squeaks.
snapshots
aiba/sho, g, 583 wds.
The train is packed when Aiba gets on, early Saturday morning. There’s still a chill in the air outside; the weather report says there will be all day. His stomach grumbles in discontent, but Aiba ignores it. He’ll be off this thing in a few minutes anyway, and then he’ll be able to get a bite to eat.
The train slows to a stop, and Aiba grabs his bag and files out hastily, eyes scanning the crowd. (It’s only a matter of time.) He takes a few steps across the platform, stumbles a bit but recollects himself quickly.
“Aiba-chan,” calls a voice, warm and welcoming and only slightly weary.
Aiba’s heart jumps into his throat. He spins around and his eyes catch Sho, waving him over. Ah. Aiba presses through the mob of people and jumps on Sho, arms and legs wrapping tightly around him. “I’m back,” Aiba murmurs into Sho’s shoulder. It’s so good to be back.
Wandering eyes linger on the two, and Aiba slides down, laughing. “I’m back,” he repeats, and Sho just nods and hugs him again.
Aiba fishes into his bag and drags out a camera, snapping a photo of Sho sipping at his lemonade before he gets the chance to object. He giggles at the photo, Sho’s face scrunched up but straw still sitting between his lips.
The waitress appears with a quiet, “Excuse me, can I get you anything else?”
Aiba shows the girl the photo, proud of his work, and then orders the first salad on the menu. Sho stares out of the window in embarrassment. The waitress bites her lip and nods. (She probably recognises them, Aiba muses.)
The salad is crisp and refreshing like the autumn air. Aiba forces a forkful into Sho’s mouth, grinning in satisfaction. “It’s good, isn’t it.”
Sho nods, pleasantly surprised, and Aiba’s grin widens.
By the seventh drink, Sho is a lost cause. His words are so slurred Aiba can’t even be bothered trying to interpret them. Sho rolls over and off the couch onto the floor, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe he’s sleeping, Aiba ponders.
He prods a finger into Sho’s side and Sho’s hand immediately grabs at Aiba’s wrist, eyes now open. Sho continues to stare, straight-faced, and Aiba isn’t sure what to make of it.
Until Sho bursts into laughter, fingers reducing their grip to an annoying tickle. Aiba flops down on the floor beside him, and Sho curls up, hugging Aiba’s arm to his chest possessively.
If he goes to sleep here, he’ll be in so much pain when he wakes up. Aiba thinks about it for all of a few seconds, and then falls asleep anyway.
Aiba doesn’t care if Sho’s completely against the idea. He grips Sho’s hand tightly and helps him up to the next branch. “It’s not much further,” he reassures him, “Just one more branch.”
Sho pulls himself up the rest of the way, and shifts until he’s as comfortable as possible, resting all his weight on Aiba, still shaking.
Aiba places two fingers lightly on Sho’s cheek and turns him to face him, then leans in and presses a chaste kiss against Sho’s lips. There are no pretty words or petty comments, but he knows Sho understands. The wind picks up and Aiba wraps his arms around Sho’s waist as he snuggles up close, nose buried in Sho’s neck.
“Oh,” Aiba remembers with a smile, “If you fall asleep you’ll probably die, so watch out for that.”
Sho squeaks.