LOG; and there's a blessing in every moment; REGGIE + CHARLOTTE
Happy five month anniversary-- backdated to this Wednesday, because Reggie failed and forgot it was on Monday.
His mother had described it to him in terms befitting the apocalypse. How could you, she'd asked, incomprehensibly livid, how could you forget your own anniversary?! (But mum, he'd tried to protest, five months isn't anyth-- and then she'd thrown his own shoe at him). As she had thoroughly put the fear of God (or Aphrodite) into him, Reggie had been forced to come up with a plan. Capital P Plan.
So it was that he stood again in his finest and only suit, having borrowed one of his father's pairs of fine shoes to avoid being seen in sneakers. And, phone in hand, he dialed Char's number.
Charlotte had remembered, but hadn't let herself expect anything from Reggie because for one, five months wasn't that big of a deal, and two, she knew he was always busy with football and his family and running around all about London. It was a little disappointing when the day went without so much as a single phonecall-- okay, maybe more than just a little, but she had told herself again that it wasn't a big deal. Instead she'd just texted him with a simple thinking about you, love, charlotte and that had been that. Admittedly, sometimes she did feel insecure about Reggie's blithe demeanor when it came to their relationship, particularly when they hadn't spoken or seen each other in several days. The thought that she cared for him more than he did her was one that came up more often than she would have liked to admit, but she usually forced the nagging in the back of her mind to shut up, usually by cleaning, studying, or calling Drake.
But this time it wasn't Drake calling, it was Reggie. Clearing her throat before answering, she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hello!" he fairly chirped, loading on the enthusiasm to try and drown out the nerves his mum had encouraged. (You'll be lucky if she doesn't tan your hide shrilled her voice in the back of his mind). "Get ready, right? Put on a bare nice dress, Dovonnica."
Bending, Reggie tugged on the end of his trousers, peering at the reflection of his foot and shoe in the mirror.
She paused for a moment, she had work to do for the night... but with a bit of coffee and waking up a few hours early she could probably catch up. When it came down to it she would usually drop what she had to accommodate Reggie even if it inconvenienced her.
"Get ready for what, Bond?"
"You'll see," he retorted, and with that, pressed the end call button and hung up the phone.
With a last glance at himself in the mirror, and a lingering swipe of his fingers through his never quite obedient hair, Reggie trotted down the steps. Patting his pocket to confirm the bulk of his wallet, he nodded to himself, walked out the door into the early evening fog, and began to walk.
As tempted as he was to run, as much as he wanted to, he knew that if he did, Char wouldn't be ready by the time he'd reached her flat. Thus, he took his time, and when he passed a flowering bush outside a nondescript home, he felt no guilt about dipping over and wrenching free a fistful (well, two handfuls) of blooms.
If only she'd known ahead of time she might have been able to put more effort into her looks, but if he had hung up like that then it was likely he was expecting her to be ready soonish, and it was only a matter of time before he would show up on her doorstep (or halfway through her window).
Even with short hair it took her about fifteen minutes to get out of the shower, another seven to dry her hair and fix it so that there weren't any random bits sticking up or out of place. Another ten minutes and her makeup was done; Charlotte changed into a deep red dress she'd worn to a party near the beginning of the year and waited.
Walking, actually walking at a normal person's leisurely pace almost killed him, almost drove him out of his mind. It was actually a pretty long way to her neighborhood. Everytime he moved to pick up the pace, subconsciously falling into a quickening, the voice spoke again, his mother's lecture, now a reminder of the time a woman needed, that he owed her after Monday's error.
He tried to distract himself by looking at the passerbys, the cabbies and double-deckers and advertistments on booths, but Reggie did his best thinking at absurd speeds and as such, it was a very, very, very long forty-five minutes.
Finally, and finally, he stood outside her door (not the window, do it properly, the voice urged), and knocked, or rather kicked. His arms were fit to burst with all the flowers he'd torn from bushes and even a windowsill along the way.
The thumping at the door was hard to miss, but it didn't.. sound like knocking. With a small purse in hand she opened the door, to see Reggie with a ridiculous amount of flowers.
"That's quite the impressive bouqet, Bond," she started, before Charlotte won out over Dovonnica. "...Are those for me?"
If so, where on earth would she put them?
Reggie couldn't help but give Char a funny look at that question.
"No?" he asked, even as he extended his arms toward her, inviting her to take the bunch, small wildflowers shaking loose and drifting to the floor.
"But I reckon you'll have to take them anyway."
She gave him a sheepish smile at that and took the flowers.
"Will do." She had to have an unused vase around the flat somewhere.. right? After kissing him on the cheek as a gesture of thanks, she turned around to head off to try to find somewhere to put them.
Not the very instant that her back turned, but the next one, Reggie sprang into action. Stepping quick after her, he promptly, easily scooped her up into his arms, like so many of the flowers, only bride-over-the-threshold style.
"Ready?" He asked, but never waited for the reply, instead pivoted, kicked the door closed behind him, and launched into the run he'd been waiting for.
Charlotte couldn't hold onto Reggie for dear life at the same time as all those flowers, so as he ran, they left a trail of flowers in their wake.
"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, not sure if she should expect an answer or not.
"I don't know," he answered, lying terribly, laughing recklessly as the wind tore through his hair and every muscle in his body sang for joy. This was moving, if not at the speed where it actually endangered their clothing.
But they were going quite far, at least halfway across the City, into one of the vastly more upperclass districts.
She had to laugh, too, and she hadn't stopped smiling since he'd picked her up. Her hair was going to be all wind-blown by the time they stopped but somehow she didn't care so much, it wasn't often that you met someone who'd carry you at top speed all over London, after all.
"Alright, I won't ask. Just don't trip again when I do this," and with that she kissed him on the cheek.
Reggie managed not to trip, but he did grin so hard his cheeks hurt, the expression lingering for the entire duration of the run. That was a good sign, right? It was hard, no, impossible to worry while dashing down London streets, Char in his arms, the feel of her kiss lingering on his skin.
He stopped in an alley around the corner from the restaurant, so to give themselves time to pat down their hair - and to not give all the other diners a fright when he skidded to a halt.
When he set her down she smoothed out her dress and ran her fingers through her hair to brush out any tangles, to make sure that it looked somewhat neat.
"Do I look decent?" She asked, fixing Reggie's hair for him as well.
His eyes went half-lidded when she fingered his hair, almost feline (or, really, canine) in his adoration of attention.
"Um," he stalled, maybe missing his moment as he recovered. Reggie looked her over, and the smile that began to infect him moved gradual, with more subtlety than his standard beat it all grin.
"More than," Reggie said, because how could any girl look better than Char? There were prettier, taller, more sultry, voluptuous, outgoing women - but she stood red-faced and calm after his mad-dash, pink cheeked and wonderful.
Holding out his arm, Reggie bowed in the direction he intended to walk.
Charlotte smiled back, taking Reggie's arm and following his lead. It was tempting to kiss him again-- not just one on the cheek, but a real one, so she stopped him to hook her arms around his neck and press her lips to his.
That was a welcome surprise. Reggie had to stop himself from grinning so he could kiss her back, his hands finding a place at the small of her back.
"M'sorry," he said, almost against her mouth, "about Monday. Please don't tan my hide."
"It's all right," she returned, pulling away to smile warmly at him. "I know you have a lot on your mind as is."
For a moment, his eyes darkened, seeking something behind her smile. Though often pretty daft, Reggie wasn't a complete idiot, and he knew that what had gone on worldwide was catching the attention of uninvolved folk. To say the least. But did Char --
No. He didn't have to shake his head to force it out, to think, this is a nice night and she means football!, and the moment passed, his eyes were bright and his smile wide.
"But I've always got to have time for my girl." Leaving a possessive arm around her, Reggie steered toward the restaurant.
Charlotte noticed his expression falter for a moment and she thought to ask about it, but they were walking again and his arm was around her-- perhaps she'd only imagined it.
"I'm glad."
His mother had described it to him in terms befitting the apocalypse. How could you, she'd asked, incomprehensibly livid, how could you forget your own anniversary?! (But mum, he'd tried to protest, five months isn't anyth-- and then she'd thrown his own shoe at him). As she had thoroughly put the fear of God (or Aphrodite) into him, Reggie had been forced to come up with a plan. Capital P Plan.
So it was that he stood again in his finest and only suit, having borrowed one of his father's pairs of fine shoes to avoid being seen in sneakers. And, phone in hand, he dialed Char's number.
Charlotte had remembered, but hadn't let herself expect anything from Reggie because for one, five months wasn't that big of a deal, and two, she knew he was always busy with football and his family and running around all about London. It was a little disappointing when the day went without so much as a single phonecall-- okay, maybe more than just a little, but she had told herself again that it wasn't a big deal. Instead she'd just texted him with a simple thinking about you, love, charlotte and that had been that. Admittedly, sometimes she did feel insecure about Reggie's blithe demeanor when it came to their relationship, particularly when they hadn't spoken or seen each other in several days. The thought that she cared for him more than he did her was one that came up more often than she would have liked to admit, but she usually forced the nagging in the back of her mind to shut up, usually by cleaning, studying, or calling Drake.
But this time it wasn't Drake calling, it was Reggie. Clearing her throat before answering, she picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hello!" he fairly chirped, loading on the enthusiasm to try and drown out the nerves his mum had encouraged. (You'll be lucky if she doesn't tan your hide shrilled her voice in the back of his mind). "Get ready, right? Put on a bare nice dress, Dovonnica."
Bending, Reggie tugged on the end of his trousers, peering at the reflection of his foot and shoe in the mirror.
She paused for a moment, she had work to do for the night... but with a bit of coffee and waking up a few hours early she could probably catch up. When it came down to it she would usually drop what she had to accommodate Reggie even if it inconvenienced her.
"Get ready for what, Bond?"
"You'll see," he retorted, and with that, pressed the end call button and hung up the phone.
With a last glance at himself in the mirror, and a lingering swipe of his fingers through his never quite obedient hair, Reggie trotted down the steps. Patting his pocket to confirm the bulk of his wallet, he nodded to himself, walked out the door into the early evening fog, and began to walk.
As tempted as he was to run, as much as he wanted to, he knew that if he did, Char wouldn't be ready by the time he'd reached her flat. Thus, he took his time, and when he passed a flowering bush outside a nondescript home, he felt no guilt about dipping over and wrenching free a fistful (well, two handfuls) of blooms.
If only she'd known ahead of time she might have been able to put more effort into her looks, but if he had hung up like that then it was likely he was expecting her to be ready soonish, and it was only a matter of time before he would show up on her doorstep (or halfway through her window).
Even with short hair it took her about fifteen minutes to get out of the shower, another seven to dry her hair and fix it so that there weren't any random bits sticking up or out of place. Another ten minutes and her makeup was done; Charlotte changed into a deep red dress she'd worn to a party near the beginning of the year and waited.
Walking, actually walking at a normal person's leisurely pace almost killed him, almost drove him out of his mind. It was actually a pretty long way to her neighborhood. Everytime he moved to pick up the pace, subconsciously falling into a quickening, the voice spoke again, his mother's lecture, now a reminder of the time a woman needed, that he owed her after Monday's error.
He tried to distract himself by looking at the passerbys, the cabbies and double-deckers and advertistments on booths, but Reggie did his best thinking at absurd speeds and as such, it was a very, very, very long forty-five minutes.
Finally, and finally, he stood outside her door (not the window, do it properly, the voice urged), and knocked, or rather kicked. His arms were fit to burst with all the flowers he'd torn from bushes and even a windowsill along the way.
The thumping at the door was hard to miss, but it didn't.. sound like knocking. With a small purse in hand she opened the door, to see Reggie with a ridiculous amount of flowers.
"That's quite the impressive bouqet, Bond," she started, before Charlotte won out over Dovonnica. "...Are those for me?"
If so, where on earth would she put them?
Reggie couldn't help but give Char a funny look at that question.
"No?" he asked, even as he extended his arms toward her, inviting her to take the bunch, small wildflowers shaking loose and drifting to the floor.
"But I reckon you'll have to take them anyway."
She gave him a sheepish smile at that and took the flowers.
"Will do." She had to have an unused vase around the flat somewhere.. right? After kissing him on the cheek as a gesture of thanks, she turned around to head off to try to find somewhere to put them.
Not the very instant that her back turned, but the next one, Reggie sprang into action. Stepping quick after her, he promptly, easily scooped her up into his arms, like so many of the flowers, only bride-over-the-threshold style.
"Ready?" He asked, but never waited for the reply, instead pivoted, kicked the door closed behind him, and launched into the run he'd been waiting for.
Charlotte couldn't hold onto Reggie for dear life at the same time as all those flowers, so as he ran, they left a trail of flowers in their wake.
"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, not sure if she should expect an answer or not.
"I don't know," he answered, lying terribly, laughing recklessly as the wind tore through his hair and every muscle in his body sang for joy. This was moving, if not at the speed where it actually endangered their clothing.
But they were going quite far, at least halfway across the City, into one of the vastly more upperclass districts.
She had to laugh, too, and she hadn't stopped smiling since he'd picked her up. Her hair was going to be all wind-blown by the time they stopped but somehow she didn't care so much, it wasn't often that you met someone who'd carry you at top speed all over London, after all.
"Alright, I won't ask. Just don't trip again when I do this," and with that she kissed him on the cheek.
Reggie managed not to trip, but he did grin so hard his cheeks hurt, the expression lingering for the entire duration of the run. That was a good sign, right? It was hard, no, impossible to worry while dashing down London streets, Char in his arms, the feel of her kiss lingering on his skin.
He stopped in an alley around the corner from the restaurant, so to give themselves time to pat down their hair - and to not give all the other diners a fright when he skidded to a halt.
When he set her down she smoothed out her dress and ran her fingers through her hair to brush out any tangles, to make sure that it looked somewhat neat.
"Do I look decent?" She asked, fixing Reggie's hair for him as well.
His eyes went half-lidded when she fingered his hair, almost feline (or, really, canine) in his adoration of attention.
"Um," he stalled, maybe missing his moment as he recovered. Reggie looked her over, and the smile that began to infect him moved gradual, with more subtlety than his standard beat it all grin.
"More than," Reggie said, because how could any girl look better than Char? There were prettier, taller, more sultry, voluptuous, outgoing women - but she stood red-faced and calm after his mad-dash, pink cheeked and wonderful.
Holding out his arm, Reggie bowed in the direction he intended to walk.
Charlotte smiled back, taking Reggie's arm and following his lead. It was tempting to kiss him again-- not just one on the cheek, but a real one, so she stopped him to hook her arms around his neck and press her lips to his.
That was a welcome surprise. Reggie had to stop himself from grinning so he could kiss her back, his hands finding a place at the small of her back.
"M'sorry," he said, almost against her mouth, "about Monday. Please don't tan my hide."
"It's all right," she returned, pulling away to smile warmly at him. "I know you have a lot on your mind as is."
For a moment, his eyes darkened, seeking something behind her smile. Though often pretty daft, Reggie wasn't a complete idiot, and he knew that what had gone on worldwide was catching the attention of uninvolved folk. To say the least. But did Char --
No. He didn't have to shake his head to force it out, to think, this is a nice night and she means football!, and the moment passed, his eyes were bright and his smile wide.
"But I've always got to have time for my girl." Leaving a possessive arm around her, Reggie steered toward the restaurant.
Charlotte noticed his expression falter for a moment and she thought to ask about it, but they were walking again and his arm was around her-- perhaps she'd only imagined it.
"I'm glad."