Written for fic chat a few days ago
Prompter: Sandy
Prompt: The dying flowers were poignant and ironic, and it took all her strength not to hurl the vase against the wall.
Pairing: A/Z
That he would send her a note of apology with the flowers was insulting.
It was a perfectly harmless note, written in his neat penmanship on generic college-ruled lined paper folded precisely in half. The flowers were almost identical to the clutch of violets that he'd bought for her on a whim when they'd walked through the campus downtown that day, likely from the same vendor, and its mates still stood in the little vase on her desk.
Amy crumpled the note in her fist and glared at the door. It was him knocking, she had no doubt about it. He was too decent, too brave and honourable in his diffidently soft-spoken way, to do this via notes and posies. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she pulled it open.
He held up a hand before she could speak, and there was a silent plea for understanding in his eyes.
"I let it get too far, too fast. For that, I am sorry."
Amy cast a baleful glance at the withered violets in the vase, the fresh ones still lying in their wrapping of pale green tissue. The dying flowers, which he'd given her THAT day-- a few hours before they'd ended up tangled together in her bed-- were poignant and ironic. It took all her strength not to hurl the vase against the wall. She settled for her most sharp, stately tone of voice.
"In case you need me to refresh your memory, Zane, I kissed you first that night." After a semester of too-long glances and not-so-accidental hand-brushes and talks about everything and nothing in addition to the Organic Chemistry discussion group, it had been kismet that they'd run into each other at the cafe and while the evening away. Everything else just fell into place in an inevitable progression, the oxidation of a term's worth of heat and pressure.
He blushed, and she tried not to be charmed. His voice, so confident and collected when leading their discussion group, cracked. "I... I'm still technically your TA."
Amy took a deep breath, expelled it slowly in exactly five seconds, and picked up the fresher clutch of violets from the table. Fingering one delicate, dewy petal, she glanced up into his vivid green eyes.
"Why did you send me flowers with your apology?" she asked softly as she stepped forward, green heart-shaped leaves and delicate breakable stems clutched in her hands.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but as though they were magnetized, his fingers sought out hers, palms wrapping around her fisted hands, and warmth immediately shot through her system. She almost didn't catch his response, and had to strain to hear.
"I'm not as sorry as I should be about what happened, that's why."
This time, he kissed her first, desperately and deeply, and she dropped the flowers on the floor. He could always buy her new ones later, when she was done dispensing with the last of his guilt. Much later, as she listened to his heartbeat underneath her ear, she glanced up at him as his gingery hair flowed all over her pillowcase.
"I'm acing the class, and the final's in two weeks. You won't be my TA any more next term."
Prompt: The dying flowers were poignant and ironic, and it took all her strength not to hurl the vase against the wall.
Pairing: A/Z
That he would send her a note of apology with the flowers was insulting.
It was a perfectly harmless note, written in his neat penmanship on generic college-ruled lined paper folded precisely in half. The flowers were almost identical to the clutch of violets that he'd bought for her on a whim when they'd walked through the campus downtown that day, likely from the same vendor, and its mates still stood in the little vase on her desk.
Amy crumpled the note in her fist and glared at the door. It was him knocking, she had no doubt about it. He was too decent, too brave and honourable in his diffidently soft-spoken way, to do this via notes and posies. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she pulled it open.
He held up a hand before she could speak, and there was a silent plea for understanding in his eyes.
"I let it get too far, too fast. For that, I am sorry."
Amy cast a baleful glance at the withered violets in the vase, the fresh ones still lying in their wrapping of pale green tissue. The dying flowers, which he'd given her THAT day-- a few hours before they'd ended up tangled together in her bed-- were poignant and ironic. It took all her strength not to hurl the vase against the wall. She settled for her most sharp, stately tone of voice.
"In case you need me to refresh your memory, Zane, I kissed you first that night." After a semester of too-long glances and not-so-accidental hand-brushes and talks about everything and nothing in addition to the Organic Chemistry discussion group, it had been kismet that they'd run into each other at the cafe and while the evening away. Everything else just fell into place in an inevitable progression, the oxidation of a term's worth of heat and pressure.
He blushed, and she tried not to be charmed. His voice, so confident and collected when leading their discussion group, cracked. "I... I'm still technically your TA."
Amy took a deep breath, expelled it slowly in exactly five seconds, and picked up the fresher clutch of violets from the table. Fingering one delicate, dewy petal, she glanced up into his vivid green eyes.
"Why did you send me flowers with your apology?" she asked softly as she stepped forward, green heart-shaped leaves and delicate breakable stems clutched in her hands.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but as though they were magnetized, his fingers sought out hers, palms wrapping around her fisted hands, and warmth immediately shot through her system. She almost didn't catch his response, and had to strain to hear.
"I'm not as sorry as I should be about what happened, that's why."
This time, he kissed her first, desperately and deeply, and she dropped the flowers on the floor. He could always buy her new ones later, when she was done dispensing with the last of his guilt. Much later, as she listened to his heartbeat underneath her ear, she glanced up at him as his gingery hair flowed all over her pillowcase.
"I'm acing the class, and the final's in two weeks. You won't be my TA any more next term."