So I wasn’t sure how I wanted to do this because I’ve seen
fics that are inspired by the song but don’t have the lyrics while others do.
This turned a bit more serious than I meant it to given the happy tone of the
song but I hope you like it nonetheless. Sorry it’s so short! Titles will have links to the songs!
Aomine groans, trying to sit up but his head feels like it’s
in a vice; staying on the ground it is. As he rouses to further consciousness the
feel of water on his face startles him. Blinking, he curses when he realizes it’s
dumping buckets and he’s drenched, prone next to a dumpster with the staccato of
rain drops echoing in the empty bin. Finally able to move, he props up against
the brick wall behind him, the rough material snagging his t-shirt.
“What the hell happened last night?” he mutters to the ether.
Stumbling to his feet, he shuffles his way home, unable to
move quickly and since he’s already soaked he doesn’t see reason to push
himself any harder than he already is. Finally reaching his destination, he
climbs the stairs and enters the apartment.
Turning on the shower, he begins shucking his clothes, turning
to the medicine cabinet to get some much-needed aspirin but when his eyes land
on the reflection staring back they widen. Well, one does because the other is
bruised and tender, the effort to open it wider making him hiss in pain.
Leaning forward, he inspects the injury, citing a small cut with dried blood
crusted on it just below his eyebrow.
Frowning he tries to think of how he got the shiner and a
flash of memory strikes the forefront of his brain making him wince in new
pain.
You and him, fighting again. Shit, why was he always such an
asshole to you? Alcohol certainly didn’t help the situation either. He
remembers insulting you about something before heading out the door only for
you to follow him still yelling. By the time you’d reached the foyer of your
apartment building you’d garnered plenty of attention from the neighbors.
“You know what? Don’t come back until you’re sober, I can’t
deal with you like this,” you’d shouted.
“And if I don’t?” he grabbed your arm.
“Then I’ll knock some sense into you!”
“Tch, like you could!”
He didn’t expect the hit, a perfect punch to his left eye
from your right hand. “Get the fuck out Daiki, I’m done with your bullshit!”
And yet, you’d called, at least fifty times by his call log
count when he finally looks at his phone. He should be pissed that you clocked
him, but he can’t be, not when he knows he deserved it. Seems he’s one of those
people who it takes a literal kick or punch to the head to wake up.
But where are you now?
Intent on finding you, he tugs on a clean pair of basketball
shorts and t-shirt. He opens the door, almost bowling you over in his haste to
leave. You’re soaked, eyes filled with tears when you look up at him. But despite
your clear concern, you smack him, though it’s not hard.
“Asshole, why didn’t you answer your phone! I was worried
sick!” you snivel.
“Stop fucking hitting me,” he mumbles drawing you into his
arms. After a moment he adds, “I’m sorry, clover.”
You smile into his shirt when the stupid nickname he gave
you rolls off his tongue. “I’m not lucky, in fact I’m pretty sure I’m bad for
you.”
He shakes his head, kissing your forehead. “I’m the bad one,
you’re better.”
And so, he drags you back into the apartment, taking both of
you to the shower to warm and makeup, after which he dumps all the alcohol in
the house down the drain; he doesn’t want to risk losing you.
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