The Happiest Guy in the World
Dec. 21st, 2014 03:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spacewhistlerGenre: Romance/Drama
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Becky
Synopsis: She often wonders how he could be optimistic even in hopeless situations. Then a first arrives, she sees the slight quiver in his smile.
If you asked Becky what she liked about Aiba Masaki, she would undoubtedly answer you with, “His optimism, of course.”
Although unwanted, Becky always saw Aiba Masaki. Her day would not be complete without his lingering presence inside her lone bookshop. Whenever the front door chimed, she would raise her head to see the tall guy bouncing happily on the way to the counter. She pretended to be irritated but she loved his impromptu visits because arguing with him was the most enjoyable part of her day. Not to mention, she could practice the use of her wit on him, too.
“Say, Becky,” he asked once, leaning over the counter to whisper near her ear. “If I ask you out today, will you say yes?”
Becky denied the flutter she got from that simple question. She simply brushed him off, feigning nonchalance, “No. I would never agree to go on a date with you.”
“Why not?” he asked with a tone full of curiosity.
“Because…” Becky thought of a nice excuse for half a second. “You’re not my type.”
Her air of finality did nothing to quell Aiba’s growing amusement. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Aiba started laughing like he never did before, slapping his knees in effect, too. He was near hysterics by then and Becky was glaring at him like a madman.
“Okay, Becky,” he said, with his arms up, his smile still lighting up his countenance. “I’ll ask another time then.”
With an amused whistle, he skipped out of the bookstore with a jolly wave.
That was weeks ago.
Becky waited patiently for his arrival today. She figured if he asked the same question again, she might surprise him and say ‘yes’. She sat down on her chair by the counter, crossed her legs and started to read another Jane Austen novel.
Her front door chimed and with an unusual hopeful look in her eyes, she stirred to see who came in.
“Um, do you have a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee? I really need it,” a guy asked. Definitely not Aiba. She tried not to put on a disappointed face as she moved around the counter to cater to her customer.
When the first, and probably the last customer, of the day got what he wanted, she returned to her chair, casting a longing look at the door.
The door never chimed for the rest of the day.
Becky sighed as she locked the door that evening. He didn’t come. Maybe he was put off by her mean response to his invitation. But no, she knew he understood it was a joke. Well, at least that was what she hoped.
She started trudging down the sidewalk, her hands buried inside her coat’s pockets due to the cold night breeze. She hastened her walk and halted when she noticed a figure by the bench. He had his head bowed and his shoulders were slumped at his sides. He portrayed a picture of defeat. Her compassion made her take a step closer to the person.
When she saw a glimpse of his face through the dim streetlight, her eyes widened in recognition.
It was Aiba Masaki, looking utterly depressed. It was him, but at the same time, it wasn’t.
“Aiba?” she called in a hushed whisper. He turned to her and tried to smile. The sides of his mouth quivered, a sign that he was faking it for her sake.
He stood up, his knees wobbling slightly. With his head down, he walked until he was directly in front of her. Then, he gave in to tears.
Becky was taken aback. She never thought seeing him cry would rattle her nerves. She felt like the worst person in the world as she stood there, within an arm’s reach from the guy she learned to love, frozen solid in her place, refusing contact. He whimpered like a lost puppy, loudly and brokenly, with the back of his hand covering his eyes.
“I can’t stop remembering, Becky,” he muttered between sobs. His words stirred chaos in her heart that she finally made a move. She wrapped her arms around his torso and let him cry on her shoulder. She closed her eyes and hushed his cries with an assurance that everything will be all right. He held onto her. She didn’t let him go.
She forgot how the night ended but he did say he’d come and see her tomorrow. She took it as a promise.
The front door chimed for the first time the next day and she didn’t need to raise her head to know if it was him. His jolly walk was gone, but his smile brightened up his pale face. She returned it with one of her own.
“I just want to say… that if I cry in front of you, I'm really hurting. I hate crying in front of people. I feel weak, like I'm begging for sympathy and that's not me*,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re there last night.”
“It was nothing,” Becky uttered.
Becky couldn’t keep up with her lies anymore as she felt those butterflies again when he reached over to hold both of her hands with his own. His hands were cold and rough yet surprisingly gentle. “My mother would have loved to meet you.”
Explanations were pointless.
“Say, would you like to go out on a date with me?” Becky asked, sniffling and smiling like an absolute idiot.
He wordlessly gathered her up in a tight embrace as he responded with, “Even if you’re not my type, sure. It would make me the happiest guy in the world.”
*the quote was taken from tumblr as prompt.
Pairing: Aiba Masaki/Becky
Synopsis: She often wonders how he could be optimistic even in hopeless situations. Then a first arrives, she sees the slight quiver in his smile.
If you asked Becky what she liked about Aiba Masaki, she would undoubtedly answer you with, “His optimism, of course.”
Although unwanted, Becky always saw Aiba Masaki. Her day would not be complete without his lingering presence inside her lone bookshop. Whenever the front door chimed, she would raise her head to see the tall guy bouncing happily on the way to the counter. She pretended to be irritated but she loved his impromptu visits because arguing with him was the most enjoyable part of her day. Not to mention, she could practice the use of her wit on him, too.
“Say, Becky,” he asked once, leaning over the counter to whisper near her ear. “If I ask you out today, will you say yes?”
Becky denied the flutter she got from that simple question. She simply brushed him off, feigning nonchalance, “No. I would never agree to go on a date with you.”
“Why not?” he asked with a tone full of curiosity.
“Because…” Becky thought of a nice excuse for half a second. “You’re not my type.”
Her air of finality did nothing to quell Aiba’s growing amusement. As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Aiba started laughing like he never did before, slapping his knees in effect, too. He was near hysterics by then and Becky was glaring at him like a madman.
“Okay, Becky,” he said, with his arms up, his smile still lighting up his countenance. “I’ll ask another time then.”
With an amused whistle, he skipped out of the bookstore with a jolly wave.
That was weeks ago.
Becky waited patiently for his arrival today. She figured if he asked the same question again, she might surprise him and say ‘yes’. She sat down on her chair by the counter, crossed her legs and started to read another Jane Austen novel.
Her front door chimed and with an unusual hopeful look in her eyes, she stirred to see who came in.
“Um, do you have a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee? I really need it,” a guy asked. Definitely not Aiba. She tried not to put on a disappointed face as she moved around the counter to cater to her customer.
When the first, and probably the last customer, of the day got what he wanted, she returned to her chair, casting a longing look at the door.
The door never chimed for the rest of the day.
Becky sighed as she locked the door that evening. He didn’t come. Maybe he was put off by her mean response to his invitation. But no, she knew he understood it was a joke. Well, at least that was what she hoped.
She started trudging down the sidewalk, her hands buried inside her coat’s pockets due to the cold night breeze. She hastened her walk and halted when she noticed a figure by the bench. He had his head bowed and his shoulders were slumped at his sides. He portrayed a picture of defeat. Her compassion made her take a step closer to the person.
When she saw a glimpse of his face through the dim streetlight, her eyes widened in recognition.
It was Aiba Masaki, looking utterly depressed. It was him, but at the same time, it wasn’t.
“Aiba?” she called in a hushed whisper. He turned to her and tried to smile. The sides of his mouth quivered, a sign that he was faking it for her sake.
He stood up, his knees wobbling slightly. With his head down, he walked until he was directly in front of her. Then, he gave in to tears.
Becky was taken aback. She never thought seeing him cry would rattle her nerves. She felt like the worst person in the world as she stood there, within an arm’s reach from the guy she learned to love, frozen solid in her place, refusing contact. He whimpered like a lost puppy, loudly and brokenly, with the back of his hand covering his eyes.
“I can’t stop remembering, Becky,” he muttered between sobs. His words stirred chaos in her heart that she finally made a move. She wrapped her arms around his torso and let him cry on her shoulder. She closed her eyes and hushed his cries with an assurance that everything will be all right. He held onto her. She didn’t let him go.
She forgot how the night ended but he did say he’d come and see her tomorrow. She took it as a promise.
The front door chimed for the first time the next day and she didn’t need to raise her head to know if it was him. His jolly walk was gone, but his smile brightened up his pale face. She returned it with one of her own.
“I just want to say… that if I cry in front of you, I'm really hurting. I hate crying in front of people. I feel weak, like I'm begging for sympathy and that's not me*,” he said. “But I’m glad you’re there last night.”
“It was nothing,” Becky uttered.
Becky couldn’t keep up with her lies anymore as she felt those butterflies again when he reached over to hold both of her hands with his own. His hands were cold and rough yet surprisingly gentle. “My mother would have loved to meet you.”
Explanations were pointless.
“Say, would you like to go out on a date with me?” Becky asked, sniffling and smiling like an absolute idiot.
He wordlessly gathered her up in a tight embrace as he responded with, “Even if you’re not my type, sure. It would make me the happiest guy in the world.”
*the quote was taken from tumblr as prompt.
