Blue Skies Prompt 25: Hold the Moment (Tangled)
Title: Hold the Moment
Author: must_fear_harpy
Prompt: Prompt 25: Genius Next Door
Fandom: Tangled
Characters: Eugene/Rapunzel
Ratings: T
Word Count: 304
Summary: Eugene can hold her flowers for her. He can also hold his breath.
He watches as she plucks wilted flowers from her hair. Her fingers move absently. Her eyes may be inspecting each blossom, but her mind remains with their talk of dreams fulfilled and dreams unreached. He holds his breath so as not to disturb her. The silence is pleasant, which is unusual.
Then there’s this point when she has picked out too many flowers. They threaten to spill out of her thin, cupped hand, and she falters for a moment as she tries to juggle them. It briefly pulls her from her thoughts and her eyes seem to clear.
So he holds out a hand, one that’s so much bigger than her own it’s almost comical, and she grins up at him and dumps a cascade of petals into his palm. He holds his breath so she doesn’t hear it catch.
He doesn’t trust his own lungs and he waits for his crumbling identity to piece itself back together, for this moment of decency to pass. He waits for the floral scent to drift away, but it lingers, as does the thought that if he cupped her face in his hand they would both still smell like flowers.
She plucks up one blossom from his hand, her fingers not quite brushing his skin, and cheerfully sets it into the water to watch it float. She looks overly pleased with herself, proud of her cleverness and knowledge of buoyancy, happy that she could create something so simple and lovely, and pleased that she has him go along with her whims so very easily. He’s practically putty in her hands.
And the weird thing is that he doesn’t really care. Self satisfied is a nice look on her.
He holds his breath because if he breathes it means that time is passing.
He holds his breath.
He holds the moment.
Author: must_fear_harpy
Prompt: Prompt 25: Genius Next Door
Fandom: Tangled
Characters: Eugene/Rapunzel
Ratings: T
Word Count: 304
Summary: Eugene can hold her flowers for her. He can also hold his breath.
He watches as she plucks wilted flowers from her hair. Her fingers move absently. Her eyes may be inspecting each blossom, but her mind remains with their talk of dreams fulfilled and dreams unreached. He holds his breath so as not to disturb her. The silence is pleasant, which is unusual.
Then there’s this point when she has picked out too many flowers. They threaten to spill out of her thin, cupped hand, and she falters for a moment as she tries to juggle them. It briefly pulls her from her thoughts and her eyes seem to clear.
So he holds out a hand, one that’s so much bigger than her own it’s almost comical, and she grins up at him and dumps a cascade of petals into his palm. He holds his breath so she doesn’t hear it catch.
He doesn’t trust his own lungs and he waits for his crumbling identity to piece itself back together, for this moment of decency to pass. He waits for the floral scent to drift away, but it lingers, as does the thought that if he cupped her face in his hand they would both still smell like flowers.
She plucks up one blossom from his hand, her fingers not quite brushing his skin, and cheerfully sets it into the water to watch it float. She looks overly pleased with herself, proud of her cleverness and knowledge of buoyancy, happy that she could create something so simple and lovely, and pleased that she has him go along with her whims so very easily. He’s practically putty in her hands.
And the weird thing is that he doesn’t really care. Self satisfied is a nice look on her.
He holds his breath because if he breathes it means that time is passing.
He holds his breath.
He holds the moment.