Flufftastic Meredith/Addison
She sits there, a disgusted scowl on her face as she taps the mouse impatiently. You watch from the bed. Discretely of course, your face hidden by your book. Meredith doesn't get the newspaper but she has row upon row of annotated, coverless, beloved books. Some in other languages for God's sake. Can she read them? One day you'll ask. As for now her brow is crinkled in confusion. She reaches out to touch the screen and it makes a shocking static noise and goes haywire for a minute. You stifle a laugh. Did she stick her finger in a socket or something? She's muttering indistinctly now and you really can't help laughing. She looks up distractedly and frowns at you. After a moment she says despondently, "How did this happen? How did this pass me by?" You smirk and watch her eyes narrow in annoyance. You respond with a question. "How did the internet pass you by? You're kind of clueless sometimes? Do you want me to help you?" Stubbornly she turns back to the computer. "No," she says petulantly. You smile again and retreat behind your book. Her book really but she's not selfish. She's so generous actually that sometimes you wonder how you could have ever thought differently. You hear her tapping away feverishly at the keys. Probably any keys because right now she's not picky. She's trying to make anything happen. Anything at all. She hates computers.
For a few moments you fall easily back into the action of the book. You always considered yourself well-read but the minute you stepped into her closet for the very first time your jaw dropped in disbelief. Had she possibly read all of those books? You had never considered Grey truly intellectual. You knew she was a brilliant med student with plenty of intelligence but there on the shelves were copies of Voltaire, Proust and Nietsche. Actually, you should have known Meredith was a philosopher. The way she agonized over her hasty, thoughtless actions and analyzed her own perceived stupidity and shortcomings should have tipped you off. It should never have given you a moment's pause to find huge, worn, boring books in her closet. You asked Meredith one night as you sipped wine together downstairs in her mother's long abandoned study where on earth she had gotten all those books. Meredith had a way of responding that was both hesitant and forthcoming. She was never truly evasive. When she talked about her mother, which was rarely, she had a habit of being even more direct than usual. Initially it had disarmed you. You felt the pain that she evidently did not. You felt the awkwardness and distance of her realtionship with Ellis while Meredith seemed to be oblivious to it.Or at least resigned to it. But she never denied you. You only had to ask and she gladly gave you what you wanted to hear. You had believed she would be private; guarded to a point of paranoia almost but she's so frank sometimes it shocks you. It's strange though. All the things most people would hide away or flinch at; for example emotionally neglectful parents, solitary childhoods, and messy affairs, Meredith would give simple, honest answers to.
She's so unlike you it's almost alarming. But you can't help loving it. And there's the first thought. You do love it. You love the lazy, easy afternoons together. The improbable, wild, hilarious conversations and the equally improbable, but wonderfuly electric sex. Between you it's all about statistical improbability. Things you never expect to happen happening right in front of your eyes. You love it. It's so unexpected and bizarre yet ridiculously comfortable. You love her.
Of course you haven't told her. It would be inappropriate to tell her that when you're not sure she feels the same way. You're scared to death that she doesn't and so you're not going to make the first move. Well, actually you probably will. If she looks up at you every now and then with that sweet, somewhat befuddled smile or throws another wadded up piece of paper at you simply to watch you jump in fright and drop her book you might tell her then. A crazy thought hits you. Nobody knows about you two. Nobody. Grey never even told Christina and even if there was someone you could tell you wouldn't because she'd asked you not to. You wonder idly if she thinks that the two of you can hide in her room forever. You look around the room again. You try to imagine little Meredith growing up there. It's a heartbreaking picture and almost cruelly, you wonder if she's even normal enough to know how sad and lonely she was. Then you know you don't care. You'll take her normal or you'll take her crazy.
"Addison". Her voice is raspy, like usual. You look up. She's smiling wickedly and you wonder what she has in mind.
For a few moments you fall easily back into the action of the book. You always considered yourself well-read but the minute you stepped into her closet for the very first time your jaw dropped in disbelief. Had she possibly read all of those books? You had never considered Grey truly intellectual. You knew she was a brilliant med student with plenty of intelligence but there on the shelves were copies of Voltaire, Proust and Nietsche. Actually, you should have known Meredith was a philosopher. The way she agonized over her hasty, thoughtless actions and analyzed her own perceived stupidity and shortcomings should have tipped you off. It should never have given you a moment's pause to find huge, worn, boring books in her closet. You asked Meredith one night as you sipped wine together downstairs in her mother's long abandoned study where on earth she had gotten all those books. Meredith had a way of responding that was both hesitant and forthcoming. She was never truly evasive. When she talked about her mother, which was rarely, she had a habit of being even more direct than usual. Initially it had disarmed you. You felt the pain that she evidently did not. You felt the awkwardness and distance of her realtionship with Ellis while Meredith seemed to be oblivious to it.Or at least resigned to it. But she never denied you. You only had to ask and she gladly gave you what you wanted to hear. You had believed she would be private; guarded to a point of paranoia almost but she's so frank sometimes it shocks you. It's strange though. All the things most people would hide away or flinch at; for example emotionally neglectful parents, solitary childhoods, and messy affairs, Meredith would give simple, honest answers to.
She's so unlike you it's almost alarming. But you can't help loving it. And there's the first thought. You do love it. You love the lazy, easy afternoons together. The improbable, wild, hilarious conversations and the equally improbable, but wonderfuly electric sex. Between you it's all about statistical improbability. Things you never expect to happen happening right in front of your eyes. You love it. It's so unexpected and bizarre yet ridiculously comfortable. You love her.
Of course you haven't told her. It would be inappropriate to tell her that when you're not sure she feels the same way. You're scared to death that she doesn't and so you're not going to make the first move. Well, actually you probably will. If she looks up at you every now and then with that sweet, somewhat befuddled smile or throws another wadded up piece of paper at you simply to watch you jump in fright and drop her book you might tell her then. A crazy thought hits you. Nobody knows about you two. Nobody. Grey never even told Christina and even if there was someone you could tell you wouldn't because she'd asked you not to. You wonder idly if she thinks that the two of you can hide in her room forever. You look around the room again. You try to imagine little Meredith growing up there. It's a heartbreaking picture and almost cruelly, you wonder if she's even normal enough to know how sad and lonely she was. Then you know you don't care. You'll take her normal or you'll take her crazy.
"Addison". Her voice is raspy, like usual. You look up. She's smiling wickedly and you wonder what she has in mind.