One scene
This is for forgettingapril , because the drabble that she wrote was fantastic. So here's my offering for the night. I'm afraid with Uni starting soon, I can't supply crack as potent as I have in the past. I'm still in awe by the fact that people actually read my stuff.
*
He was drunk on words, the pen gliding over new phrases and scratching old ones.
He once said it took him forever to write a song and she wondered how many words, phrases, songs the tattered little notebook in his hand contained.
She watches him from the bed, fascinated and intimidated by this private moment.
A momentarily red glow appeared on his lips, the only source of color in his other wise gray silhouette. His body leaned against the glass, legs outstretched on the window seat, the smoke trailing languidly towards the open window. The moonlight, however pale or bright, always cast him in a glow that uncomfortably made her think of perfection. He never looked at her when he’s there, and she sometimes think that in these moments, with his little notebook on his lap, one hand fiddling with a cigarette as the other one held onto a pen, Robert was untouchable.
*
Michael was moving to New York.
Two men waiting for her to react.
Robert was expectant, ready to tell her goodbye and hid behind a glass of whiskey.
Michael was resigned, tired and gave her a quick hug before he left to the airport, Kristen’s promise ring in his pocket.
*
Nikki asked Robert if he was seeing anyone.
He gave Nikki an amused look, “Since when do you care Nikki?”
The older woman shrugged, and Kristen could tell that Nikki was definitely curious. Robert cast a glance towards her, his eyes still amused but the question crackled between them.
“What am I?” she later asked as they both sat on the window seat.
He looked at her, his closed notebook between them.
“Whatever you like,” he replied, giving her a choice.
She looked at him, noting the slight changes of his features-more angular than awkward-since the first time she met him all those years ago. He was handsome, a fact that was the norm in Hollywood. But sitting beside her, on the window seat that he never shares, he was exquisitely beautiful under the pale moonlight.
“ I don’t like labels,” she told him.
He smiled, just a small upward tug of his lips that seems secretive in the dark. “I don’t think there’s a label for this.”
*
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