Hellooo everyone! Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews! :D Especially the criticism *happily nudges at katil03* I now know what to improve on, so thankkies thankkies!
I apologise for the inactiveness been a little caught up with life and recently I fell in love with SnK so expect stuff from that fandom soon~ As thanks for sticking with the pathetic me, I give you guys Chapter 3 (well, technically 4)! A sliiiightly longer update this time hehehe!
This chapter is mostly attempted fluff and interactions before the BIG CONFESSION (oops, spoilers)! Ah, well, I'm just an uncreative bozo, so you guys'll bear with me while I improve, right? :D
orz orz I checked this a couple of times, but there's simply so many times you can check your own stuffs without becoming completely blind to the most blatant of mistakes, so if you find any, please tell meh and I'll change it ASAP!
K enough from me! Shh~ it's about to start!
Disclaimer: I own nothing but mai OC!
Enjoy!
Chapter 3: April
The phone rings in the late night, ending the silence in his still house with all the merry spirit of a fucking bluegrass band. Aomine looks up from the homework that is no closer to getting itself done, and scowls.
"It's 11 in the damn night, who is this?!" he snaps, flicking his pen in the air as he answers the phone, pressing it to his ear so roughly that it hurts.
"Daiki." Kimura begins, her voice cracked and fuzzy over the crap line. Aomine feels his throat dry. "I know it's crazily late, and this is gonna sound stupid, but my assignment is due tomorrow and I'm desperate."
He pauses. "What assignment are you talking about?"
A bit of hesitance. Aomine can hear paper rustling in the background, and he focuses on the messy characters on his homework instead. "Art," Kimura admits, a blush almost evident in her voice—Aomine can tell.
The pen in his fingers clatters onto his workbook as Aomine mentally waves farewell to a night of studying. "I'm listening."
"How do you draw a guy?"
In that one second of silence, he tries not to laugh. Not particularly effective, because his snort still makes itself known."I'll be right there."
"What," Aomine says, pointing to that monstrosity on paper sitting atop Kimura's desk, "the hell is that?"
"It's a guy." says Kimura, looking close to tears. Her cheeks are on fire, flaming, flaming, and she won't look at him, settling her embarrassed gaze fixedly on the paper.
Despite Aomine's nonexistent drawing repertoire, even he can tell that the pathetic excuse of a man on Kimura's assignment paper is but a subpar effort. He's sure he can draw loads better than that. With his toe.
"You call that a guy? Look at his skinny arms—he's a french bean!"
And indeed he is. The frenchbean sits innocently on the paper, mauled by pencil lines and eraser marks that – though filled with concentration and dedication and Kimura's painful efforts – sadly, did nothing for him.
"Hey! I spent a lot of time on this!" she wails.
"And you're gonna spend a lot more time on him if you want him to stop looking like a princess. Heck, if he were any gayer, he'd be Kise in a dress."
She smacks him for that, but it doesn't hurt. It's like Satsuki all over again.
"Oi," he grumbles, standing up from his seat in a mock-attempt to leave, "I'm trying to help ya here, and you hit me?"
"NO!" a banshee cry escapes her, so sharp it would've made a shrew proud. She launches forward and clings on to him, orange tresses flying as she refuses to relinquish that grip on his arm.
He doesn't know whether to feel happy over the fact that there are distinctly C-cup boobs pressed to his arms (god, she would smack him if she could read his mind) or pained over the lack of feeling beginning to creep up the entire length of his arms.
Shit, he really can't feel them now.
Struggling to kick-start his nerves once more, he manages a strangled, "I thought so."
After another hour spent agonising over the sad frenchbean's face, Aomine grabs the pencil and adds three impressive strands of hair on his head.
"Kimura," he says, exasperatedly, "you're a shitty artist. Shittiest of all the shitty artists on earth."
"Please, you're the one who habitually draws stickmen."
"I do not hapi...hebbi...habbitically—I do not always draw stickmen." Aomine's lips struggle to form those alien letters. Damn Kimura and her list of hard-to-pronounce words. "'Sides my stickmen are more man than your french bean'll ever be."
It's 1am, and they're no closer to finishing it.
God damn, it's just art. He cannot understand why she's investing so much time in this when they both could be sleeping. Kimura looks utterly absorbed in her damn assignment – and it's not even graded. Trust Kimura to care about things that don't even matter.
Sighing, he decides he will oblige her this one time, and if she ever asks for favours during ungodly hours of the night again, he swears he will hang up on her and come all way over just to rip her fucking paper and make her eat it.
Aomine pinches the bridge of his nose when she shows him her latest result. "How's this, Daiki?"
It takes about less than one second to give her his complete and detailed analysis:
"Guys don't look like that."
Even if his artistic abilities only extend to stickmen and basketballs, he has seen enough sports magazines to properly identify the lacking in Ko's French bean. (And there's a lot lacking.)
"They're more..." he searches for a proper way to word it, waving his hands animatedly. "...you know..."
"Angular?" Ko helps, forever the voluntary dictionary.
"Not the word I was looking for. " grunts Aomine, "...defined. That's it."
"Guys are more defined. Like," Aomine reaches out, feeling a little braver than usual, and catches Ko's fingers, running them down the length of his arm. "Like this."
"Oh." she says, looking like she's searching really hard to find something to say, and he feels a stab of painful self-consciousness at the pit of his belly.
Her fingers brush his skin, pliant and curious, searching the crooks of his elbows and muscles with a gentleness that is mirrored in her eyes. He watches soundlessly as she bites her lips, the lightest of blushes colouring her cheeks.
It's strange how she only lets him see her like this.
Her hand has frozen on the insides of his forearm. It's like she doesn't know how to continue. Kimura blinks furiously, withdrawing her hand—and Aomine does not like the way air blows on his arm, replacing the receding warmth of her fingers.
(Stay?)
She coughs, and says, "Uh, okay. I know what to draw now." Turning away from him – no doubt to mask that idiotic blush on her face that is becoming more and more obvious – she picks up her pen and continues drawing.
The silence turns pointedly awkward.
Aomine sighs mentally, and tries to recall the feeling of her fingers again.
"YES! I'M DONE!"
"...Kimura, he looks like a freaking cabbage now..."
"Good enough for me!"
When they are finally, finally, finally done, it's about 2 in the morning and Aomine's homework still sits alone at home, uncompleted. He makes a mental note to bribe Tetsu with popsicles to copy their literature homework (god, literature was a bitch) tomorrow.
Mutely, he watches as Kimura packs away the cabbage guy into her bag, slotting the paper into the file with a deft familiarity that has him thinking of her fingers on his arm again.
Swallowing, he starts, "So..."
"So." she echoes, a smile playing on her face. "Thanks. I owe you one."
Pft. "You owe me three." he counters with a roll of his eyes as he stretches on her sofa. "One for making me staying up late, another for neglecting my damn homework, and the last one for making me sit through the torture session that is watching you draw."
She makes a sound that is caught between a huff and a laugh. "I—Daiki, what."
He snorts, poking a toe at the legs of her coffee table as he watches her fiddle with a braid from the corner of his eye.
"Uh, anyways! It's really late now, so would you—"
A grin spreads across his face as he hops onto her bed, already making himself comfortable.
"—would you like to stay over for the n...DAIKI, GET OFF MY BED!"
It takes her another 15 minutes to wrestle him off the bed (he won but she threatened to burn his porn), before kicking him into the toilet to shower and brush his teeth (his back hurts because she threw a fuckin' clog at him). Much to his protest, she makes him take the sofa; and when he's out of the bath, the crappy thing has turned into a makeshift bed, complete with the sorriest excuse of a pillow he's ever seen in his life.
"Where's the blanket?" he demands, hopping onto the sofa to test its bounciness.
She tosses him one that is so thin it might has well have been a rag. Picking it up (wow, it doesn't even cover his toes), Aomine scowls.
"This place is shittier than a cheap highway motel."
The light switches off.
"Oi. This sofa is hard. What kind of sofa is hard? Did you get this shit from a thrift shop or something?"
A sigh. "No means no, Daiki. You're not coming on the bed with me."
"We could compromise!" he argues, turning around to try and find a nice spot on the sofa—because goddamnit, the thing feels like it's made from stone. "I won't take more than 30% of the bed!"
"You're already larger than half of my bed, Daiki."
"Fuck you, I shrink at night!"
"Daiki, shut up."
He waits for a couple of minutes more, before saying again, his voice ringing loud in the sleepy silence. "Kimura! My back hurts! It's cold! Don't be a fucking wuss and let me come over, dammit!"
He hears the telltale rustle of sheets being thrown back, and a furious 'gahhhhh' of exasperation, before a light sound of padding footsteps echoes in the room, heading towards him.
Smirking – not that she could see in the dark – he lets her slip a socked foot up the sofa to angrily kick him.
Feigning ignorance, he asks, "What is it."
Her fingers find his arm in the dark, and she drags him up and towards the bed, muttering furiously with every step, "Stupid...whiny...childish...idiot, idiot, idiot..." Kimura shoves him unceremoniously onto her bed, heaving the duvet over his head before slipping in from the other side.
A warm body meets his own.
"Don't you dare do anything to me, or I'll rip your dick off."
He snorts.
"Heh. You caved in after all."
He feels the body beside him squirm, before she elbows him in the gut. "Go to sleep, Daiki."
As per usual, after looking all over the street, Momoi finds Kuroko standing outside Aomine's home.
"Found you, Tetsu-kun!"
"Good morning, Momoi-san." Kuroko replies, canting his head to greet the female, his glacial eyes softening in the morning sun.
It's been this way since they all became friends—practically habit now, to meet up outside Dai-chan's house and spend about 15 minutes looking for Tetsu-kun, before going in to wake their idiot of a friend up and heading off to school together.
Funny. It's always been this way, for ages and ages and she's so used to searching up and down for Tetsu-kun now, to the point that she's memorised the entire street. But today becomes the strangest of exceptions, because—
"Ehhh, Dai-chan's not home? Isn't he's normally still asleep at this time?"
"Ah, not today." Aomine-san says, frowning. "He was out since yesterday, that idiot son. And on a school night too—I don't know what that boy was thinking..."
"Out since last night?" Momoi echoes, looking thoughtful. "Where to?"
"He was on the phone with a friend before he left...I could have sworn I heard a girl..."
"Aha!" the pink-head squeals, looking as if holy enlightenment has come and struck her on the head. Kuroko peers curiously at her, entirely used to her spontaneous nature by now. "Do you have an idea, Momoi-san?" he says, carefully.
"You betcha!" A look of pure wickedness comes over her as Momoi replies, "Funnily, I didn't see Ko-chan on her way to school today..."
"Shh," Momoi grins when they've arrived, stopping outside the door to put a finger in her lips. "Ko-chan lives alone! I know she keeps her spare key under the doormat – she showed me when I came over – so we'll have no problem sneaking in!"
"Let's be super quiet, Tetsu-kun! We'll give them a nice surprise!"
It's a wreck inside.
It didn't even look like a tornado went through that mess— the entire place looked like a tornado got through it, then swallowed it up and vomited it out before running everything over with a steamroller.
Momoi winces at the pile of ripped paper on the ground, and spies a pair of shoes on the floor that were definitely Dai-chan's—he was the only person she knew of that left his shoes overturned and socks scattered all over the place.
The pair navigate the room, moving over the woefully-dirty carpet that at one point in time must've been clean and happy had Aomine not happened. Momoi feels a prickle of fleeting sympathy for Ko.
"Come on now, Tetsu-kun!" she says, cheerfully, and Kuroko drops a shirt that is undoubtedly Dai-chan's, an amused tilt to his lips as he followed her.
Creeping towards the bed, Momoi takes a deep breath, and prepares a rousing wake-up-call for the pair of lovebirds snoozing away—
—and stops.
Kuroko frowns when she veers to a sudden halt in front of him, peering curiously over her shoulder to witness a scene that was glorious to behold.
Momoi smiles.
Momoi smiles like she is plotting world domination.
The pair on the bed are undoubtedly sound asleep. Aomine has a leg over Ko as he slumbers, face buried protectively into her hair as he cradles her. The action is reciprocated—Ko's arms are linked around his waist.
Jeez, he didn't even bother changing out of his jeans. Momoi notes appreciatively that he's lost the shirt, and at least the duvet has been cast on the ground, long forgotten.
"Ah, ah, ahh," she coos, beaming at Kuroko as she says, "They're too cute to disturb! Just look at our Dai-chan, all grown up!"
Without making another sound, she tiptoes to the door, picks up her bag and links arms with the male, smiling sneakily. "Shh. Let's go, Tetsu-kun. We shan't wake them up."
"But Momoi-san," Kuroko frowns, studying the pair on the bed. "Koharu-san and Aomine-kun are going to be late."
The pink-head tuts, shaking her head. "No, no, no, Tetsu-kun. What do I always tell you?"
"...you actually don't tell me anything..."
Momoi pointedly ignores that, reaching over with pat Kuroko's shoulders merrily. "Only I understand the ways of love, Tetsu-kun. It's too complicated for you. As I always say – and make it a point to remember that, 'kay? – leave the lovebirds to their own devices and all will be fine and dandy."
Hooking an arm across the bluenette's own, she drags him out.
"But—"
The door slams shut.
"WHAT THE FUCK. IT'S TEN—KIMURA, WAKE THE FUCK UP! WE'RE LATE!"
"W-what? What are you—GODDAMNIT DAIKI GET YOUR ARM OFF ME!"
.:extra:.
To no one's surprise, they are late. No one really understands why Momoi won't stop laughing, and much to Aomine's confusion, Kuroko keeps apologising. Kimura is the one everyone is staring at, crouched in a corner smacking her head on the wall for her ruined good-girl record.
She also got a C- for art.
Aomine facetables, but what can he say? They tried.
.:the proper omake (sorry guys ^u^ I couldn't resist):.
"Goddamnit, Akashi won't stop giving me shit just because I'm late—Satsuki, for fuck's sake, what is so funny?"
Momoi stifles another bout of laughter with her fist as Kuroko gives Aomine the saddest look on earth.
"I'm sorry, Aomine-kun." he says, dutifully tragic. "I tried."
Aomine chokes on his burger, spitting out bits of chicken that Kuroko skilfully avoids. "You tried what."
Coughing, Momoi interjects, finally having stopped that damn laughing. Aomine scowls at her, flicking a fry onto her plate as he chews. "Where's Ko-chan, by the way? I didn't see her around."
Without even batting an eyelid, Aomine points to the remote corner of the threshold, where obvious sobbing could be heard. "She is right there, bashing her head on the wall because she finally ruined her good-girl record."
"Ah," the pinkette nods, looking suspiciously innocent as she folds her napkin and smiles. "Poor Ko-chan."
(In the background, the neglected rest of the Miracles lean forwards to attempt to join in the conversation. Midorima offers his lucky item for eavesdropping privileges. Muraskibara obviously can't be shitted, but he donates a licked chip. Akashi is still salty over Aomine's late-coming. Kise is giving out free hugs that no one seems to want. Aomine shoves a napkin into Kise's face and they all stop trying.)
Heh.
Psst, if you guys want to chat (yes please, I get lonely TuT) or ask about stuffs, y'all can find me on tumblr: dunnoifgraluornalu and if anyone is interested, I can post a before/after picture of Ko's drawing for the fun of it LOL
God, if anyone wants to know why Aomine is being such a little kawaii-awkward boy-boy here, I'm just gonna say this is Teikou period, so he's not as teenagerly-awkward and angsty and arrogant. Yet. (PFFFT anyone notices how Aomine and awkward and angsty and arrogant all start with 'a'? XD)
HEHEHEHEHHEHEHHEH I tried ;w; and I apologise for my short chapters! I hope you guys enjoyed it a little at least?
A little moar play on style (does anyone like it?) and this chapter is mostly a build-up to the big confession *wriggles eyebrows* :3 so yeah yeah!
Please review, if you like, and give comments on how I can further improve this to you readers' likings! It would help loads (and you're doing this kinda for yourselves too~ to make this fic a better read) so don't be shy! I love criticism, no matter how harsh, and nice reviews are lovely too! Tell me what you liked about it, what you hated, fav lines, worst lines, fav moments, what you want to see in the next few chaps! Anythings!
Anyways, I'll try to get the next chapter up after my exams, so stay tuned, dearies~
btw here have a random headcanon-thing I thought up 10 seconds before posting: Did anyone notice that Ko keeps saying 'Daiki' in between her sentences when she talks to Aomine? :3 she really, really likes the sound of his name. (Hahahahahhahah *waves and flies away*)