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.
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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