For obvious reasons...
(Whatever you do, hear me out before you turn away, ok? ;)
First of all, I'd like to wish each and everyone of you a wonderful International Florists' and Confectioners' Day, aka happy Valentine's Day!
You know me, I'm not one for sappy, cheesy romance, therefore I never published a story or a scribble in honour of this day before.
However... looking at the many dramatic, dark and more or less depressing drabbles (yay for alliteration) I put up so far - 'Sparks of Darkness', anyone? - I thought I could prove for once that I can still write romance.
However, it's not about Valentine's Day, and despite being quite sweet, there is a trace of bitterness in it as well. Just a trace though, I promise.
Three final remarks, before you can start reading:
First of all, let me point out that this is - as some people might immediately recognize - an outtake (shortened and with a changed perspective) from my original-story-project. I don't want to explain exactly who or what it is about, so that you can interpret it in whatever way you like (if you don't already know the characters involved). It's a military setting, but you could have figured that out on your own... However, if you have any questions or would like to know anything in more detail, just ask.
Second, note that this is a very simple drabble. I didn't put in much time and effort, so forgive me if it shows. I wanted something plain yet sweet, and I thought it was fitting.
Third and last: yes, there is a soundtrack (shouldn't surprise you, should it?). Actually, there are two options to chose from.The two protagonists of my story have a song they consider 'theirs', which is "Ready When You Are".
In case you want something even more 'romantic', however, I'd recommend "Making Love Out Of Nothing At All". I know it's a classic and bordering on sappy quite a few times, but if you take a closer look at the lyrics, you'll realize that it's less cheesy than you might have thought. The 'lyrical I' in the song is portrayed as quite talented in all fields of life, knowing just about everything and being very aware of that (plus you might even call them a 'player' to a certain degree). Yet they have to admit to their own surprise that there might be one very simple, very small detail that is totally out of their control, and that someone else can actually do better.
I know all the rules
And I know how to break 'em
And I always know the name of the game
But I don't know how to leave you
And I'll never let you fall
And I don't know how you do it
Making love out of nothing at all
One final piece of information, before I forget: The abbreviation MOS stands for Military Occupational Specialty code, a nine character code used in the United States Army and Unites States Marines to identify a specific job.
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~
If someone had told me a few months ago that love can be found in the oddest of places, I would have laughed. An amused laugh, unbelieving, secretly pitying such an overly romantic attitude. Maybe I would have returned that I wasn’t looking anyway.
But sometimes love is just bound to find you. It will set up an ambush, and attack you when you least expect it, tearing down all you defences one by one, showing you just how futile your resistance is. Still, I decided to counterattack, and embarked on a mission to prove myself that this was my own will, not some petty emotion forcing me. I had been on missions like this before, yet this time, it was not about getting there and burning bridges on the way back, it was not about conquering and raising a flag. It was... different.
I clear my throat, and try to focus, yet the numbers and letters on the computer screen blur in front of my eyes. My mind refuses to obey, insisting that it’s too late and I’m too tired, and my thoughts start to drift again. Annoyed, I force them back in line, when I suddenly hear the office door open.
There are not many people I would recognize without even looking up, but you are one of them. My heart starts beating at a faster pace immediately. Damn, even my body is refusing to obey orders tonight... While I still try to at least pretend I’m working, you walk up to my desk, and soundlessly hold out a light blue porcelain mug.
The smell of coffee fills the small room immediately. Real coffee, rich and strong, not that dishwater you can get from the machine down the hallway. A rare treat. Just like your presence.
“Does medical duty include serving coffee, or did no one inform me that you changed MOS and are now working as my personal secretary?” As taken aback as I may be, I can’t resist the teasing.
You cast me an offended glance, yet the amused sparkle in your eyes gives you away far too clearly. “Oh, it’s actually part of my job description. We do whatever it takes, remember?” You move the mug even closer to me, another silent invitation. “I’d recommend drinking it as long as it’s hot -“ a theatrical pause “- sir.”
With a smile, I reach out to accept the offer. My glance drifts from the mug to the hand holding it, and for a moment, I can’t do anything but stare at those slender fingers, helpless and mesmerized. They belong to a hand that seems to hold anything - a file, a pen, even an M 16 - in the same manner, gentle but firm.
I suddenly remember the first time I ever held that hand. Like any basic mission, it seemed a simple task at first, but turned out unexpectedly difficult.
I had never gotten that little out of a date. No promises, no kissing and surely no indication of anything further than that... But for the first time ever, I didn’t mind. Just being with you seemed to be more than enough. Still, I had to admit that there was one thing I really wanted to do before this evening was over, a small, petty thing. I longed to hold your hand.
But for some reason, it seemed inappropriate to just go ahead and do so. There was this carefully calculated distance between us, and I had to find a way to bridge it first. What I needed was a strategy, and I had prepared none for this occasion. Normally, I would have just said something. As cheesy as most pick-up lines were, they always worked for me. After all, it’s not about the content, it’s about the delivery. Say it charmingly enough, and the silliest line can earn you a smile. Even more, if you play it the right way. But I tried my best not to think about that option.
Remembering the last point of our conversation - families - I somehow managed to turn the discussion towards heritage. I had developed a vague plan by then, silly, maybe too daring, but all I could come up with in this moment.
“Oh, and some of my grandmother’s ancestors were gypsies. They knew quite a few things about fortunetelling, and believe it or not, the talent runs in the family.”
You looked at me with trace of doubt. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really. I can prove it, if you want. Right here and now.”
The expression on your face changed into a mixture of honest interest and subtle mockery. “I’d like to see you try.”
As nonchalantly as possible, I held out my hand in an inviting gesture. And you played along, offering yours in return, palm up. For a moment, I pretended to study the lines on it.
“So, what do you see?”
I announced a few very general, random things first, before claiming boldly: “And as for love, I can see very clearly that you recently met the man of your dreams, and that you will definitely go on another date with him on the following weekend.”
At this point, you chuckled. “You are just making this up as you go along, aren’t you?”
For a moment, I was tempted to laugh, but then I decided to stay serious. With an honesty that was almost inappropriate for such a ridiculous situation, I replied: “You are right. Truth be told, it was just an excuse to hold your hand.”
And you simply looked back at me, your eyes equally serious. “Well, you could have just asked.”
The memory makes me smile, but also creates a dull, dragging pain in my chest. Before I can help it, I reach out, not to take the mug but merely to put my hand on yours, to touch it, to feel it, even if it’s just for a moment.
My fingers trail about yours, gently. You look at me with a deep, knowing expression, before your lips form two inaudible words.
I nod, hesitantly, and retreat. Not knowing what else to do, I lean back on my chair and take a slow sip of the coffee. As to be expected, it’s hot and strong, just perfect.
The tiny smile on your face tells me that you consider your mission fulfilled, yet for some reason, you are lingering, leaning lightly against my desk to study the numbers and letters on my computer screen.
Before I can help it, I reach out for the keyboard and type a simple question: ‘When can I see you?’
You turn to look at me immediately, with deep green eyes that seem to glisten in the dim office light.
“Tonight?” I ask simply.
You tilt your head.
“I know, it’s late and you start duty about as early in the morning as I do, but...”
“That’s not the problem, and you know it,” you point out. “There is nowhere we could go. My room is shared, and I have no official reason to be anywhere near your quarters. If someone notices, we are in trouble...”
I know the rules. I’ve always known them, and played along. Yet in this moment, I really wish I could simply ignore the fact that you are right.
“However,” you continue softly, as if you had read my thoughts, “there is always the next weekend.”
Five days. Five incredibly dull, endless days. Still, it’s something I can hold on to.
You push yourself off of the desk, lightly brushing your arm against mine while you do so. “Enjoy your coffee,” you whisper, before you head for the door.
If someone had told me a few months ago that love can be found in the oddest of places, I would have laughed. Well, maybe I’m not laughing now, but I’m smiling. Not because I found love. Because I found you.
~°oOo°oOo°oOo°~