Title: Restless Nights
Author: Rhea R. Rin
Rating: T
Summary: Takao was a naturally good person; too good he ends up being chased, too good he ends up increasing the number of people living in his house, too good he ends up as a... MATCHMAKER!?
Warnings: Too much angst for the prologue and I ain't a romantic fella.
Disclaimer: Beyblade belongs to Aoki Takao. None of the characters used in this story belong to me. I write for the sole purpose of entertainment and definitely do not make money with this.
Prologue: [Sleepless]
The clock having already struck midnight, tiny spots of light twinkling like little stars in the horizon; it wasn't anything new, it was the same old, same process of night and day followed through and through the ages. He wasn't one to stay up throughout the night to play games nor was he someone who indulged in reading at night. The reason was mostly medical, a deep worry he felt within, triggered by events that had lead up to his current state. It wasn't anything new. It was just the same old, much unwanted process of non-sleep that he had fallen into. Just as any other faults people saw in him, no one said otherwise.
The room wasn't very big. Its foundation had been built long ago, perhaps during the time samurai still existed. The roof had to be mended at least once or twice in a year and the floor covering had faded to a lifeless hue. His bed and his study table were only about a few feet apart. For someone who walked a lot to ease his frustration, the accommodation was extremely suffocating. From the moment he left his house to the moment he'd come back, like a swallow back to its nest, his way he viewed his house had entirely changed. Sometimes, he thought his room wasn't worth mentioning. At the very least, it was better than living in the middle of nowhere.
And just as any other day, he still believed his room was congested. He had nearly shrieked in surprise as his foot collided with something. Brushing his now throbbing foot, he tried to identify his assailant, an old table fan unplugged by the winter months, against the darkness of the night. With his foot, he pushed the object closer towards the wall, keeping an eye out for any witnesses to his embarrassing cry of displeasure.
It seemed that the other occupants of the house were too deep in sleep.
He wasn't complaining.
He sat along the side of his bed, grimacing as the massive object creaked. Ignoring it, he quickly searched through his messages. He hadn't heard the notification, but a tiny hope rose in him. There was always a chance that he had missed it among the wailings of the crows or the overhead cars. Anything that would justify his reasoning. His breathing quickened as he held the device in his hands. Somewhat hopeful. Largely anxious. He had to stop himself from biting his nails; which was surprising as he thought he had gotten past the habit long ago.
No new messages. The words flashed through the screen. He didn't know whether to be anxious or relieved. He gave it another glance. It was still the same. He shoved the device away in mild anger. If a reply wouldn't pop up in the next few minutes, he might go insane from all the waiting.
~•••~
Ten minutes, and his will was close to withering. It was just a damn reply. "It's all been solved, I'll explain things later" or "Let's meet tomorrow, I have something to tell". How long did typing a message take? The last time they had met wasn't a very pleasant encounter.
At some point, he had heard movement downstairs, not wanting anyone to know about this. The lamp was quickly turned off; blankets were thrown as he dived into the pillow. His heart nearly thumped out of his chest. The bed was too loud. Listening carefully, he could hear the footsteps coming closer. He did not dare to move; the person downstairs whoever it was, wasn't very fond of young children staying up at night. With the sound of the footsteps receding, he allowed himself to calm down.
*Vrrng*
It was at the thirteenth minute, thirteen very long minutes later, a single sound, a long awaited vibration reached his ears. The number of stars he had counted, the overhead vehicles that had kept him company, the faithful ticking of his loyal clock and over all of it, the single hum stood out the most.
Eyes hovering over the source, hesitation making itself known, he took long, heavy steps towards it. His legs felt like lead; his heart was melting down from the anxiety. He could've sworn he'd aged a decade or more. The resonance, however, didn't appear as music to his ears; the bland monotonic vibration ringed like a requiem specially designed for him. It sounded too creepy, too eerie, like a bad omen.
He fumbled for his phone, unconsciously chewing on his thumbnail as he clicked on the screen. The momentary change in luminosity was almost blinding.
「You have received a new message」
~•••~
The possibility that he had tossed and turned throughout the night was high; his crumpled bed sheets were solid proof. A part of his pillow was wet. Perhaps he waited too long? Too long that he had fooled himself. It had an answer he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to express it. He had stayed up for so long, worried so much, thought of it for too long; concern and apprehension hit him too hard. A part of him wanted to face reality, another wanted to kick the guy's ass. He kept telling himself that there was nothing that could be done. He had tried shutting off his senses, forget all that had happened. His body was already experiencing the strain of being awake for too long. His mind kept fogging up from all the exhaustion.
He remembered his anger momentarily flaring up; the anxiety, the frustration, the desperation all hit him at once, until he thought he couldn't feel anymore. Even before he knew, tears were flowing out. Gradually, painfully, he stopped the flow; he couldn't bear the thought of him submitting to that bastard.
Out of habit, his hand reached out to his phone; his rather lethargic fingers swiping it and checking for his messages. The newest message was displayed at the top. His gaze remained cold but his heart immediately felt heavy. Something had clogged his throat. He mentally scolded himself; one heartbreak was more than enough. Subsiding his burst of whatever he felt, he threw an accusatory glare at the poor phone, as if it was the app's fault he had fallen into the miserable pitfall. And at this point, even the ceiling looked like it was laughing at him.
His eyes rested over the blank space above. The ceiling stared back.
"Ha!"
He burst into forced laughter.
She had introduced herself as Urara. Or that's what she told when they met a month ago. They had met at several other occasions after that. And at another. And another.
Once was a coincidence, twice could be overlooked, thrice, however, was an obvious answer.
Therefore, he wasn't surprised when Urara stood before him, hands clasped around an envelope meant for him. He stared at the ground. No one had asked him out before; he didn't have experience asking out either. He concluded that perhaps silence was the best answer.
"Ah," Urara's fingers fiddled with her scarf. Her lips trembled, her hands shoved the envelope back to her pocket. "I-I don't mind... really."
And then she left.
His hands fished out for his phone. A monotonous swiping until he came across that.
「Are you serious? You talk as if it meant something. I have a goddamn life! Let me live it properly」
That was four years ago and all he could say was, "Who the hell texts at 02:47?"
A/N: Ain't I playing the pronoun game on you all?
For those wondering,
"I didn't understand, Would you explain it next chapter?" I haven't read a story that explains everything in the prologue.
Chapter 1: [Home-ful]
