(Untitled)
So.
I seem to have acquired a diploma-shaped thing.
O.O!!!!!!!!
Guys, if you want to give me a graduation present, leave me drabble prompts please! It's a long flight home tomorrow, and a longer few weeks after that as that whole Real World Terror thing starts to hit, and so write-y distractions would be useful for both.
I seem to have acquired a diploma-shaped thing.
O.O!!!!!!!!
Guys, if you want to give me a graduation present, leave me drabble prompts please! It's a long flight home tomorrow, and a longer few weeks after that as that whole Real World Terror thing starts to hit, and so write-y distractions would be useful for both.
Jamie boy, he tells himself, this is not a smart move. Yes, she’s very pretty and you like her quite a lot, but she can also kill you with one little finger - and all right, you happen to rather like that in a girl. But still.
The one comfort is that Elle, being Elle, probably does not flirt like ordinary people, so it’s possible that she won’t realize.
He looks at her hopefully to see if she has. She smiles, not a particularly nice smile but that’s normal for Elle, and gives him another shock.
Maybe that’s Elle’s version of flirting.
. . . it’s actually not that ineffective.
He releases her hand. “All right,” he says, with an easy smile. “You win, as usual.”
“Sure,” Elle says, and gives him a half-patronizing look, one that seems to ask if he even knows what they’re playing. Of course that’s how she is with everyone, Jamie knows, but it stings still. He’s not approximately-thirteen anymore.
So at this point, stupid idea or not, Jamie decides, there’s really nothing he can do to prove he has at least some idea except lean forward and kiss her.
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Elle doesn’t seem all that surprised, really. There are sparks, after a second, but Jamie is occasionally stubborn, and he has actually done this a few times before. So he doesn’t pull back until he realizes that Elle is giggling.
At which point the safest thing to do seems to be to disengage. He leans back, attempting to look terribly casual - hard when his heart has been racing faster, and sometimes he gets really sick of being teenaged - and says, “You know, I’ve actually heard from one or two people that I’m not bad at that -”
“So that was, what, practice?” Elle’s still smiling, and she looks at him through narrowed eyes.
“Doesn’t practice with you tend to involve dead demon bunnies?” says Jamie - grinning, to show he’s joking, though you never know how a joke’s going to go over with Elle, but old habits die hard. “I’d be afraid to risk it. I wanted to do that, is all. But if you’d rather not it needn’t happen again.”
Elle shakes her head, idly jumping sparks between her fingertips. Clearly she doesn’t find this a useful answer. “Sometimes,” she says, “you’re really weird, Jamie,”
Which is not a useful answer for Jamie, either. Though she’s not setting any of his things on fire, which at least is a sign that she’s not hugely cross.
“And that thing on your face is scratchy,” she adds, at which point Jamie reaches up a self-conscious hand and realizes that every hair on his face is standing straight on end.
“Bloody archer, I probably look like a hedgehog.” He tries to pat his face down with his hands, fully aware of how ridiculous it must look; Elle is giggling again. Which means, he thinks, glumly, that whatever else the outcome of this is, at least he’s been entertaining.
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