Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:38:17 UTC
A cool breeze picked up a few old sheets of newspaper and an empty plastic bottle on the road. They rattled and whispered along the tarmac, hopping over discarded cigarette butts and fat grey splodges of chewing gum before catching and tangling on the wheel of a red car parked beneath a streetlamp across the road. Elizabeta’s hair blew sideways briefly, lifting and brushing against Roderich’s shoulder and neck.
“Did...” he struggled. “Was - was work...okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Ah...g-good.”
He wondered if perhaps he should tell her that he really didn’t know what he was doing. Would that ease the tension between them? Or would it put her off? He liked her. He really liked her.
“Eliz-”
“Roder-”
They stopped abruptly, looked at one another, and laughed. The tension in Roderich’s gut didn’t ease, like he had imagined it would. Apparently all those soppy romantic movies were a complete load of rubbish, then. He looked down at his feet.
Elizabeta breathed in - her heard her - and then out. He heard the sound of her lips, too, and her tongue, shifting slowly, anxiously against her teeth and the inside of her cheeks.
“Listen - Roderich.”
He would have to look at her. He couldn’t go on staring silently, obsessively at the ground like some sort of strange socially-challenged idiot. Alright. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was raise his head, turn it to the left, and meet her eyes. He steeled himself.
“Roderich -”
And then they were looking at each other, and, oh damn, was he really blushing? Had he suddenly, inexplicably reverted to his twelve-year-old self? His brain was doing nothing but whimpering expletives, and his stomach was churning, and he found himself quite suddenly utterly devoid of breath. He wished desperately that he’d got all of this nonsense over and done with in high school or sixth form - then perhaps he could have treated her properly, been charming and funny and relaxed and confident, and if he’d been like that then maybe, maybe he would have stood some chance of...of...he didn’t know. He’d never really cared too much about relationships before. He simply hadn’t had time to. What with all the music practice, and his competitions, plus homework, plus...well, he’d never really felt like he wanted to be with anybody. Besides, all the girls at his old schools had thought he was a bit weird.
And now, here he was, in the frankly rather dirty front garden of two of the skeeviest men one could ever hope to avoid, his heart pounding, a perfectly lovely girl beside him - and he didn’t have a damn clue about how he was supposed to proceed. So he simply winced at his own ineptitude, cleared his throat, looked her straight in the eye, ignoring the stupid, childish red flush of his face, and said, “Yes?”
Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue... 6/?
anonymous
January 24 2012, 20:39:13 UTC
Elizabeta’s lips moved, soundlessly - and then her eyes closed, just for a second or two - and then she said, “I - I like you. I really like you. I’ve been with guys before who I’ve just...randomly met on a night out, and...but...I’ve never really met someone like I met you...who I liked...like I like...you -” her hands flew up to cover her face. “Oh, shit, I sound just like my friend, all the ‘likes’, and...fuck.” She laughed into her palms.
Roderich wondered if she would still like him if he fainted on her.
“Oh, God,” she said, and curled her hands into fists. “Never mind. Just - forget I said anything.”
“But -” said Roderich, and then realised he had no idea what he wanted to say next. “But I...”
And here, she looked up again, and the clumsy words became lodged in his throat. His mind went frighteningly blank, and he had no idea what was going to happen, or what he should do, or what she would do. But all of a sudden, her arms were resting upon his shoulders, crossed somewhere behind his neck, and his hands were shaking at her waist...and their mouths were open, and they were very close, very close indeed...
He reminded himself that he should probably close his eyes - so he did - and he froze, and didn’t move...but thankfully, Elizabeta, wonderful, sweet Elizabeta took initiative and moved her face up to his, and pressed their lips together.
And everything was, to be perfectly honest, a bit of a blur. But Elizabeta felt warm in his arms, and she was smiling against him, and he felt suddenly validated and comfortable, and he honestly could not think of anywhere he would have rather been than in the unpleasant garden beneath a small, albeit dubious block of flats, on that cool London night.
When at last they broke apart, awkward and grinning, bright pink with disbelief and victory, he didn’t quite let go of her - and she did not let go of him. Their hands slid down, away from each others’ sides and shoulders, and joined together, warmly, firmly, and it felt - nice. Yes, Roderich thought, it was nice. It was nice to hold someone’s hand. How simple, and how strange.
“We could,” he said, surprised at his own sudden boldness, “we could, maybe, you know, go out again sometime.”
Elizabeta’s eyes were wide and delighted. “We should go out,” she said, confidently.
“Yeah,” he said, and she leant against him, swinging their hands backwards and forwards between their bodies.
And then, just because he could, he turned to face her again, and he kissed her.
Aha, of course you would update when I'm busy procrastinating on a uni essay. Anyway, GOD. It's like you're writing this just for me. I mean, in a way, you sort of are, but... I mean on a personal level. I empathise with Roderich a lot and I think you capture that gritty real-life university atmosphere amazingly.
And this sounds mean but I can't wait for them to break up because oh ho ho Gilbert.
“Did...” he struggled. “Was - was work...okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Ah...g-good.”
He wondered if perhaps he should tell her that he really didn’t know what he was doing. Would that ease the tension between them? Or would it put her off? He liked her. He really liked her.
“Eliz-”
“Roder-”
They stopped abruptly, looked at one another, and laughed. The tension in Roderich’s gut didn’t ease, like he had imagined it would. Apparently all those soppy romantic movies were a complete load of rubbish, then. He looked down at his feet.
Elizabeta breathed in - her heard her - and then out. He heard the sound of her lips, too, and her tongue, shifting slowly, anxiously against her teeth and the inside of her cheeks.
“Listen - Roderich.”
He would have to look at her. He couldn’t go on staring silently, obsessively at the ground like some sort of strange socially-challenged idiot. Alright. This was going to be easy. All he had to do was raise his head, turn it to the left, and meet her eyes. He steeled himself.
“Roderich -”
And then they were looking at each other, and, oh damn, was he really blushing? Had he suddenly, inexplicably reverted to his twelve-year-old self? His brain was doing nothing but whimpering expletives, and his stomach was churning, and he found himself quite suddenly utterly devoid of breath. He wished desperately that he’d got all of this nonsense over and done with in high school or sixth form - then perhaps he could have treated her properly, been charming and funny and relaxed and confident, and if he’d been like that then maybe, maybe he would have stood some chance of...of...he didn’t know. He’d never really cared too much about relationships before. He simply hadn’t had time to. What with all the music practice, and his competitions, plus homework, plus...well, he’d never really felt like he wanted to be with anybody. Besides, all the girls at his old schools had thought he was a bit weird.
And now, here he was, in the frankly rather dirty front garden of two of the skeeviest men one could ever hope to avoid, his heart pounding, a perfectly lovely girl beside him - and he didn’t have a damn clue about how he was supposed to proceed. So he simply winced at his own ineptitude, cleared his throat, looked her straight in the eye, ignoring the stupid, childish red flush of his face, and said, “Yes?”
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Roderich wondered if she would still like him if he fainted on her.
“Oh, God,” she said, and curled her hands into fists. “Never mind. Just - forget I said anything.”
“But -” said Roderich, and then realised he had no idea what he wanted to say next. “But I...”
And here, she looked up again, and the clumsy words became lodged in his throat. His mind went frighteningly blank, and he had no idea what was going to happen, or what he should do, or what she would do. But all of a sudden, her arms were resting upon his shoulders, crossed somewhere behind his neck, and his hands were shaking at her waist...and their mouths were open, and they were very close, very close indeed...
He reminded himself that he should probably close his eyes - so he did - and he froze, and didn’t move...but thankfully, Elizabeta, wonderful, sweet Elizabeta took initiative and moved her face up to his, and pressed their lips together.
And everything was, to be perfectly honest, a bit of a blur. But Elizabeta felt warm in his arms, and she was smiling against him, and he felt suddenly validated and comfortable, and he honestly could not think of anywhere he would have rather been than in the unpleasant garden beneath a small, albeit dubious block of flats, on that cool London night.
When at last they broke apart, awkward and grinning, bright pink with disbelief and victory, he didn’t quite let go of her - and she did not let go of him. Their hands slid down, away from each others’ sides and shoulders, and joined together, warmly, firmly, and it felt - nice. Yes, Roderich thought, it was nice. It was nice to hold someone’s hand. How simple, and how strange.
“We could,” he said, surprised at his own sudden boldness, “we could, maybe, you know, go out again sometime.”
Elizabeta’s eyes were wide and delighted. “We should go out,” she said, confidently.
“Yeah,” he said, and she leant against him, swinging their hands backwards and forwards between their bodies.
And then, just because he could, he turned to face her again, and he kissed her.
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And this sounds mean but I can't wait for them to break up because oh ho ho Gilbert.
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I LOVE
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