Fic: That's why we, make a good you and me {Glee-- Tina/Artie} Pt. 1/5
Title: That's why we, make a good you and me (Five times Artie realises he might have fallen for his best friend)
Chapter: 1. You and me, we couldn't stand being normal
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairings: Artie Abrams/ Tina. C
Rating: G, methinks
Warnings/Spoilers: If you've seen Glee, you're golden ^_^
Word Count: 1500, approx.
Summary: The first time Artie notices Tina- like really notices her in more ways than he would feel comfortable listing as an introduction (more than a “Hi, this is my friend, Tina.” way)- it really isn’t his fault. (Five times Artie realises he might have fallen for his best friend)
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: Erm. I'm not sure how I feel about it. But I've been staring at it for aaaaaages, while I try to work out whether to post it, or post them all together. And BLAH. So here it is. Constructive criticism always welcome. But please, be gentle, I bruise like bad fruit.
The first time Artie notices Tina- like really notices her in more ways than he would feel comfortable listing as an introduction (more than a “Hi, this is my friend, Tina.” way)- it really isn’t his fault.
He’s about fourteen, complete with pre-pubescent voice and no body hair and he’s stood at the lockers absent-mindedly tapping his combination in, the numbers swim underneath his fingers. He spends the majority of his time waiting for her, if only because if needed she makes a pretty good bodyguard (her version being, if someone gets in their face her immediate impulse is to ram Artie’s wheelchair into their shins or over their foot with more momentum than he can muster on his own and keep pushing until they’re both safe and away from the person) but actually more to do with the fact that they both are patient enough to let each other deal with their own flaws: no, he can’t walk, but she can hardly speak when she gets really flustered so they’re kind of perfect.
His books now safely in his locker (and it’s pretty safe, he should know- he’s been shoved in there more times than he’s going to mention) he turns just to see her come around the corner, his eyes widen as she walks towards him; her lips twisted into an anxious expression, steps small where she’s scared of tripping in her heels- her feet more accustomed to a flat terrain.
A shaky breath escapes his lips, “Tina… You look like a girl.” She pushes back the hair from her face, and he notices that the blue isn’t there anymore. But on the list of everything that’s kind of weird right now (dress, high heels, lip-gloss), that isn’t such a big deal (and he‘s not about to mention how much he misses it).
When the ‘holy frak’ reaction dissipates, he’s left remembering where he’s seen the tulle of her skirt before- poofy and purple and out of place in the middle of the halls- a memory of last weekend when she stepped out of her room in this exact dress and frowned, slumping into an ‘S’ shape and asking: “S-Seriously. How a-awful does it look?”.
“Uh… Why are you wearing that?”
“My mom figures I should practise for Gina’s wedding. Get comfortable.”
“So you just figured-- School was the best place?”
She smiles and then shrugs, blowing up into her fringe, “You’re the only one that’s mentioned it so far.”
“You don’t talk to anyone else.” He smirks, “You look… amazing, by the way.”
She rolls her eyes, “I look like a meringue.” She sighs, “Plus--” Taking a few more steps towards him (that equal about two normal steps), her fingers run up the stiff architecture in the corset part of her dress, “I can’t really breathe.”
He clears his throat, and his eyes dart up to where they’re meant to be looking and when he sees that she’s been looking at him for a while, a curious smile on her face, he feels like he should apologise for staring.
The thing is, he’s really not used to his best friend looking like more than just a best friend.
She kicks off her shoes, placing one hand on the lockers to steady herself as she takes off the others, her tights are flesh-coloured (he remembers her moaning about people being able to see her legs and why can‘t she wear jeans, and everyone‘s going to laugh at her) and then hands them to him.
“Come on, Artie.” she says, walking around to push him.
“Nah, it’s okay.”
“You gonna walk?”
“I’m thinking about it.” And then he stands up (and this is where violins should swell), like all those years of having the chair were because he was lazy and he really liked ramps or something. His legs aren’t shaky like he thought they would be, they hold him fine- he’s totally fine and what the hell were the doctors talking about all these years? He just collapses his chair, stands it against his locker and waits for Tina (whose now holding herself up against the wall for a different reason) to speak.
She tilts her head, “Vertical looks good on you.”
He reaches forward and takes her hand from the wall, pulls her in close and fits his other hand at the small of her back “I always wanted to do this.” He pulls her hand up onto his shoulder, and moves his feet so that she follows, leaning in, he whispers: “Did you ever imagine me leading?”
She speaks, softly into his sweater, “Kind of, yeah…” and then giggles when he dips her, “We look pretty good, Abrams. Too bad this won‘t last till prom.” He laughs and brings her back up, and the two continue dancing (he starts to wonder whether he watched too much Fred and Ginger as a kid, because he never really had any cause to learn this dance he seems to be an expert at). It’s the perfect moment for dry ice, a light fog descending around their ankles, music that only they can hear, maybe even fireworks. That doesn’t happen.
What does happen is that the floor changes, feels softer underfoot and the place is darker than it was all of five seconds ago, looking around, they’re on grass- the football field. He’s never seen it from this angle before, from right in the middle looking out, he’s always been on the sidelines (or with his eyes screwed up, tightly shut, because he’s dreading what he’s being carried to and that goes away a little when he doesn’t know).
“You’re taller than I thought.” She rests her head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of fabric conditioner from his just-pressed clothes, “You should have been my date last week.” She smiles, “I was the only one alone.” Then adding in a rebellious conviction she only uses when talking about her family, “Plus… You’re not Asian.”
“You noticed, huh?”
She laughs into his chest, “They would have freaked.”
“If it was last weekend… Why are you wearing your dress now?”
There‘s a moment where she figures out where she messed up, before shrugging, “I liked the way I felt in it…”
She removes herself from him (however wrong and empty that makes her feel right now) and he spins her, her hair moving across her back and dress following after her just a half-second later, she laughs and he pulls her in closer again. She looks up at him, a curious mix of nervousness and wonder as she takes in a version of Artie that’s sort of happier as he gets used to the new altitude.
For the first time in his entire life (or the part of it that he can remember in any kind of detail), Artie feels close to someone. There isn’t a huge, clunky chair in the way to keep his distance for him, or the need for ramps to make his presence that much more awkward. Instead, he just feels warm next to her and even warmer still when she takes his face in her hands and brings it close to her. Parting her lips to let in his, he feels her breath, all Colgate-fresh and tingly, kind of laughing and kind of not. Next to the sound of her singing (which she’s done a grand total of three times, twice when she didn’t know he was listening), he’s pretty sure his favourite thing is the sound of their lips coming unstuck.
He leans his forehead onto hers and slowly opens his eyes, hers are either closed or she’s looking down at his feet, and to be honest if he wasn’t so fixated on her face right now, he might be looking down at them too.
“Tina?”
They were closed, he figures out, because he watches her eyelashes flutter open and now he knows that she’s staring at his feet, “Mmhm?”
“You’re not stuttering.”
“You’re not in the wheelchair.” She smiles desperately, “It’s a little too perfect, right?”
He nods once, and brings her hands up to his lips, “I’m gonna wake up soon, aren’t I?”
It’s her turn to nod and when she takes a step back, and lets go of him, he feels his knees shake and suddenly his feet can’t hold him anymore.
He can’t remember how long he’s been waiting or if he ever wasn’t.
As his butt hits the dew-soaked ground, he wakes up, looking around his small room filled with handrails and easy-to-reach shelves and an alarm clock that tells him he’s got a few more hours until school. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to remember his dream. At first, it was everything, every detail bright and clear and then it faded. And the harder, he tried, the fuzzier it became. Until he was kind of unsure whether he’d had the dream in the first place and whether he‘d walked, and whether it had been her.
The next morning when she meets him at his mother’s car, he just puts it to the back of his mind and stays grateful for the rest of the day that she’s not wearing anything that resembles a bridesmaid’s dress.
Please, read and review ^_^
Chapter: 1. You and me, we couldn't stand being normal
Fandom: Glee
Characters/Pairings: Artie Abrams/ Tina. C
Rating: G, methinks
Warnings/Spoilers: If you've seen Glee, you're golden ^_^
Word Count: 1500, approx.
Summary: The first time Artie notices Tina- like really notices her in more ways than he would feel comfortable listing as an introduction (more than a “Hi, this is my friend, Tina.” way)- it really isn’t his fault. (Five times Artie realises he might have fallen for his best friend)
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libellous, defamatory, or in any way factual. All song-lyrics mentioned belong to their respective owners, not to me.
Author’s Note: Erm. I'm not sure how I feel about it. But I've been staring at it for aaaaaages, while I try to work out whether to post it, or post them all together. And BLAH. So here it is. Constructive criticism always welcome. But please, be gentle, I bruise like bad fruit.
The first time Artie notices Tina- like really notices her in more ways than he would feel comfortable listing as an introduction (more than a “Hi, this is my friend, Tina.” way)- it really isn’t his fault.
He’s about fourteen, complete with pre-pubescent voice and no body hair and he’s stood at the lockers absent-mindedly tapping his combination in, the numbers swim underneath his fingers. He spends the majority of his time waiting for her, if only because if needed she makes a pretty good bodyguard (her version being, if someone gets in their face her immediate impulse is to ram Artie’s wheelchair into their shins or over their foot with more momentum than he can muster on his own and keep pushing until they’re both safe and away from the person) but actually more to do with the fact that they both are patient enough to let each other deal with their own flaws: no, he can’t walk, but she can hardly speak when she gets really flustered so they’re kind of perfect.
His books now safely in his locker (and it’s pretty safe, he should know- he’s been shoved in there more times than he’s going to mention) he turns just to see her come around the corner, his eyes widen as she walks towards him; her lips twisted into an anxious expression, steps small where she’s scared of tripping in her heels- her feet more accustomed to a flat terrain.
A shaky breath escapes his lips, “Tina… You look like a girl.” She pushes back the hair from her face, and he notices that the blue isn’t there anymore. But on the list of everything that’s kind of weird right now (dress, high heels, lip-gloss), that isn’t such a big deal (and he‘s not about to mention how much he misses it).
When the ‘holy frak’ reaction dissipates, he’s left remembering where he’s seen the tulle of her skirt before- poofy and purple and out of place in the middle of the halls- a memory of last weekend when she stepped out of her room in this exact dress and frowned, slumping into an ‘S’ shape and asking: “S-Seriously. How a-awful does it look?”.
“Uh… Why are you wearing that?”
“My mom figures I should practise for Gina’s wedding. Get comfortable.”
“So you just figured-- School was the best place?”
She smiles and then shrugs, blowing up into her fringe, “You’re the only one that’s mentioned it so far.”
“You don’t talk to anyone else.” He smirks, “You look… amazing, by the way.”
She rolls her eyes, “I look like a meringue.” She sighs, “Plus--” Taking a few more steps towards him (that equal about two normal steps), her fingers run up the stiff architecture in the corset part of her dress, “I can’t really breathe.”
He clears his throat, and his eyes dart up to where they’re meant to be looking and when he sees that she’s been looking at him for a while, a curious smile on her face, he feels like he should apologise for staring.
The thing is, he’s really not used to his best friend looking like more than just a best friend.
She kicks off her shoes, placing one hand on the lockers to steady herself as she takes off the others, her tights are flesh-coloured (he remembers her moaning about people being able to see her legs and why can‘t she wear jeans, and everyone‘s going to laugh at her) and then hands them to him.
“Come on, Artie.” she says, walking around to push him.
“Nah, it’s okay.”
“You gonna walk?”
“I’m thinking about it.” And then he stands up (and this is where violins should swell), like all those years of having the chair were because he was lazy and he really liked ramps or something. His legs aren’t shaky like he thought they would be, they hold him fine- he’s totally fine and what the hell were the doctors talking about all these years? He just collapses his chair, stands it against his locker and waits for Tina (whose now holding herself up against the wall for a different reason) to speak.
She tilts her head, “Vertical looks good on you.”
He reaches forward and takes her hand from the wall, pulls her in close and fits his other hand at the small of her back “I always wanted to do this.” He pulls her hand up onto his shoulder, and moves his feet so that she follows, leaning in, he whispers: “Did you ever imagine me leading?”
She speaks, softly into his sweater, “Kind of, yeah…” and then giggles when he dips her, “We look pretty good, Abrams. Too bad this won‘t last till prom.” He laughs and brings her back up, and the two continue dancing (he starts to wonder whether he watched too much Fred and Ginger as a kid, because he never really had any cause to learn this dance he seems to be an expert at). It’s the perfect moment for dry ice, a light fog descending around their ankles, music that only they can hear, maybe even fireworks. That doesn’t happen.
What does happen is that the floor changes, feels softer underfoot and the place is darker than it was all of five seconds ago, looking around, they’re on grass- the football field. He’s never seen it from this angle before, from right in the middle looking out, he’s always been on the sidelines (or with his eyes screwed up, tightly shut, because he’s dreading what he’s being carried to and that goes away a little when he doesn’t know).
“You’re taller than I thought.” She rests her head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of fabric conditioner from his just-pressed clothes, “You should have been my date last week.” She smiles, “I was the only one alone.” Then adding in a rebellious conviction she only uses when talking about her family, “Plus… You’re not Asian.”
“You noticed, huh?”
She laughs into his chest, “They would have freaked.”
“If it was last weekend… Why are you wearing your dress now?”
There‘s a moment where she figures out where she messed up, before shrugging, “I liked the way I felt in it…”
She removes herself from him (however wrong and empty that makes her feel right now) and he spins her, her hair moving across her back and dress following after her just a half-second later, she laughs and he pulls her in closer again. She looks up at him, a curious mix of nervousness and wonder as she takes in a version of Artie that’s sort of happier as he gets used to the new altitude.
For the first time in his entire life (or the part of it that he can remember in any kind of detail), Artie feels close to someone. There isn’t a huge, clunky chair in the way to keep his distance for him, or the need for ramps to make his presence that much more awkward. Instead, he just feels warm next to her and even warmer still when she takes his face in her hands and brings it close to her. Parting her lips to let in his, he feels her breath, all Colgate-fresh and tingly, kind of laughing and kind of not. Next to the sound of her singing (which she’s done a grand total of three times, twice when she didn’t know he was listening), he’s pretty sure his favourite thing is the sound of their lips coming unstuck.
He leans his forehead onto hers and slowly opens his eyes, hers are either closed or she’s looking down at his feet, and to be honest if he wasn’t so fixated on her face right now, he might be looking down at them too.
“Tina?”
They were closed, he figures out, because he watches her eyelashes flutter open and now he knows that she’s staring at his feet, “Mmhm?”
“You’re not stuttering.”
“You’re not in the wheelchair.” She smiles desperately, “It’s a little too perfect, right?”
He nods once, and brings her hands up to his lips, “I’m gonna wake up soon, aren’t I?”
It’s her turn to nod and when she takes a step back, and lets go of him, he feels his knees shake and suddenly his feet can’t hold him anymore.
He can’t remember how long he’s been waiting or if he ever wasn’t.
As his butt hits the dew-soaked ground, he wakes up, looking around his small room filled with handrails and easy-to-reach shelves and an alarm clock that tells him he’s got a few more hours until school. He stares up at the ceiling and tries to remember his dream. At first, it was everything, every detail bright and clear and then it faded. And the harder, he tried, the fuzzier it became. Until he was kind of unsure whether he’d had the dream in the first place and whether he‘d walked, and whether it had been her.
The next morning when she meets him at his mother’s car, he just puts it to the back of his mind and stays grateful for the rest of the day that she’s not wearing anything that resembles a bridesmaid’s dress.
Please, read and review ^_^