[fic] Grasp
Well, I still haven't managed to finish more than half an hour of Diabolical Box, but it looks like I'll have the first fill for the Fanwork Exchange. Prompt was written for ptps, and is under the cut because it is spoilery for Last Time Travel.
Title: Grasp
Length: 734 words
Prompt: Layton/Claire, hand-holding
Pairing: Layton/Claire
Other: Just fluff, really.
Excerpt: It was a popular theory among the young graduate students that Layton was, if not married to, then seriously involved with puzzles.
It was a popular theory among the young graduate students that Layton was, if not married to, then seriously involved with puzzles. Archaeology was his passion, certainly, but even archaeology was one big puzzle. Who were these people? How did they live?
Layton saw little difference between rearranging matchsticks and uncovering bones. They both gave the same feeling of accomplishment.
And that's how his life was-- school, student-teaching, an evening at home with his puzzles or his archaeology thesis, and then to bed. He'd never wanted anything more. He had friends, of course; he wasn't hopelessly inept with other human beings. And sometimes they dragged him to cafes or theater or other normal pursuits. Though there were a few women who found his focus endearing instead of worrying, they were all gently let down after a date or two.
That is, until Claire. Something about her crept into his mind, into his bones: her gentle laugh, her strong personality, her kind smile. She was as devoted to her experiments as he was to his archaeology.
He wanted to hold her hand.
It was a realization that came to him in a flash of insight, with the same rush as he felt when he managed to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.
But immediately after, he was filled with an odd sort of fear. He didn't know how to express this desire to her. He didn't know if she'd accept it. He didn't think she'd noticed; she smiled at him across the table and he nodded, though he wasn't hearing anything she was saying.
"Hershel? Hershel?"
Oh, perhaps she had noticed. Layton blinked.
"Er, yes?"
She smiled and the heaviness of it turned his face red. Her brow creased in worry.
"Are you all right? You don't look well."
Layton wasn't sure how someone who had just realized they were in love was supposed to look. But he didn't think she'd be giving him the look she was if it was a pleasant look. He flushed deeper, uncomfortably.
"Maybe we should go home?" she continued.
She cocked her head to one side and her glasses slid down her nose just a little. Layton resisted another sudden urge to reach out and push them back up for her. The expression that must have crossed his face momentarily made the decision for them. Her brow wrinkled with worry.
"You shouldn't have agreed to come to dinner if you were sick, Hershel!" she said, and before he could find the courage or desire to explain himself, she called for the bill. A few minutes later, they were on the street and Layton found himself utterly unable to look at her, his face still flushed with embarrassment. She made a tsk sound in the back of her throat.
"I'd hoped--" she began, but then stopped. "Come on, let's get you home," she said instead, gently.
Layton spent most of the walk back to his apartment (not far from the restaurant) trying to figure out what she'd been hoping. He was no closer to solving the puzzle when they arrived in front of his door and paused, awkwardly.
"I... Feel better soon," she said, almost hesitant. He glanced up at her.
"Terribly sorry," he managed to mutter, wondering how he'd never gotten caught in her eyes before. It made it quite difficult to think.
She hesitated again, but then suddenly she was there, and her hands were warm in his for a second. He was just beginning to feel the awe, his thumbs on her soft palms, when she pulled away again. His hands tingled hotly. He could still feel her fingers.
"Next time I want to talk longer," she said, a bit of a blush dusting across her own cheeks, and before Layton could think of a proper response she was gone, disappearing around the corner toward her own home.
Had that been what she was hoping for? Layton had the sudden thrill of puzzle pieces shifting into place. He broke into a bright grin, alone there in front of his door, not caring who saw.
"We will!" he said out loud, though she'd already gone too far to hear. "We will!"
Still smiling, Layton unlocked the door and let himself in. He lifted his hand to the lamplight. It looked just the same.
But now, everything had changed.
Title: Grasp
Length: 734 words
Prompt: Layton/Claire, hand-holding
Pairing: Layton/Claire
Other: Just fluff, really.
Excerpt: It was a popular theory among the young graduate students that Layton was, if not married to, then seriously involved with puzzles.
It was a popular theory among the young graduate students that Layton was, if not married to, then seriously involved with puzzles. Archaeology was his passion, certainly, but even archaeology was one big puzzle. Who were these people? How did they live?
Layton saw little difference between rearranging matchsticks and uncovering bones. They both gave the same feeling of accomplishment.
And that's how his life was-- school, student-teaching, an evening at home with his puzzles or his archaeology thesis, and then to bed. He'd never wanted anything more. He had friends, of course; he wasn't hopelessly inept with other human beings. And sometimes they dragged him to cafes or theater or other normal pursuits. Though there were a few women who found his focus endearing instead of worrying, they were all gently let down after a date or two.
That is, until Claire. Something about her crept into his mind, into his bones: her gentle laugh, her strong personality, her kind smile. She was as devoted to her experiments as he was to his archaeology.
He wanted to hold her hand.
It was a realization that came to him in a flash of insight, with the same rush as he felt when he managed to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.
But immediately after, he was filled with an odd sort of fear. He didn't know how to express this desire to her. He didn't know if she'd accept it. He didn't think she'd noticed; she smiled at him across the table and he nodded, though he wasn't hearing anything she was saying.
"Hershel? Hershel?"
Oh, perhaps she had noticed. Layton blinked.
"Er, yes?"
She smiled and the heaviness of it turned his face red. Her brow creased in worry.
"Are you all right? You don't look well."
Layton wasn't sure how someone who had just realized they were in love was supposed to look. But he didn't think she'd be giving him the look she was if it was a pleasant look. He flushed deeper, uncomfortably.
"Maybe we should go home?" she continued.
She cocked her head to one side and her glasses slid down her nose just a little. Layton resisted another sudden urge to reach out and push them back up for her. The expression that must have crossed his face momentarily made the decision for them. Her brow wrinkled with worry.
"You shouldn't have agreed to come to dinner if you were sick, Hershel!" she said, and before he could find the courage or desire to explain himself, she called for the bill. A few minutes later, they were on the street and Layton found himself utterly unable to look at her, his face still flushed with embarrassment. She made a tsk sound in the back of her throat.
"I'd hoped--" she began, but then stopped. "Come on, let's get you home," she said instead, gently.
Layton spent most of the walk back to his apartment (not far from the restaurant) trying to figure out what she'd been hoping. He was no closer to solving the puzzle when they arrived in front of his door and paused, awkwardly.
"I... Feel better soon," she said, almost hesitant. He glanced up at her.
"Terribly sorry," he managed to mutter, wondering how he'd never gotten caught in her eyes before. It made it quite difficult to think.
She hesitated again, but then suddenly she was there, and her hands were warm in his for a second. He was just beginning to feel the awe, his thumbs on her soft palms, when she pulled away again. His hands tingled hotly. He could still feel her fingers.
"Next time I want to talk longer," she said, a bit of a blush dusting across her own cheeks, and before Layton could think of a proper response she was gone, disappearing around the corner toward her own home.
Had that been what she was hoping for? Layton had the sudden thrill of puzzle pieces shifting into place. He broke into a bright grin, alone there in front of his door, not caring who saw.
"We will!" he said out loud, though she'd already gone too far to hear. "We will!"
Still smiling, Layton unlocked the door and let himself in. He lifted his hand to the lamplight. It looked just the same.
But now, everything had changed.