fic: she said, hello mister
Title: She Said, Hello Mister
Characters/Pairing: Rupert/Penny, Penelope, Aurelie, Henry, Lily.
Rating: PG-13-ish, I guess.
Summary: Traces patterns, freckle to freckle, constellations on her skin.
Notes: I'm a little rusty at this.
This is dedicated to anyone who's still waiting for me to finish this. Thank you.
This is slightly happier than usual. You're welcome.
(Also, back & forth, back & forth, like usual.)
Bare legs and oversized tee-shirts.
She grabs his face with both of her hands and brings it to hers with such care and feeling. She kisses him.
Her eyebrows scrunch, her whole face shows her emotion, and she can't hide it.
He kisses her back, fingers intertwining with hair.
She wakes up.
Drifting.
"La la love you." She whispers, doesn't cry.
He slips his hand under her jacket, the heat of his hand sinking through the thin material of her shirt.
Her eyes go wide. He blushes and turns away. Her fingers catch his chin and she kisses him. Kisses him like she's never kissed anyone before.
This isn't a dream.
"It's raining and I think of you."
She can't stop thinking about kissing him, so in her attempt to do more of what she wants, she does it. Grabs him by the collar and pulls herself to him.
She can feel her heart quicken.
'Or is that his?' she wonders. Eyelashes flutter and fingertips linger.
When they break free of each other, he continues saying whatever he was saying like that was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
His hand stays on her wrist.
She loves the feeling of freshly washed pyjamas. Warm and friendly.
They race around, back & forth through her apartment. (It's happened many times.)
Suddenly the words 'tickle fight' are spoken and they lose themselves.
Then he's on the floor, and she ends up on top of him, somehow astride his hips. She tucks one side of her fringe behind her ear, and kisses him. Gently at first, then she gets some courage.
She is sick for a while, has this "weird cold thing" as he calls it, which basically means that she doesn't let him touch her and he doesn't really like that. One afternoon, he sneaks up behind her and takes her hand in his and spins her quickly and kisses her before she can stop him.
Holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands.
She's stuck.
She tries to contact him, in any way that she can think of. She even creates a Twitter account in search of his (created 2 years ago. 4 tweets:
"twoo?" 12w.
"twi?" 15w.
"tweet tweet." 24w.
"so. this is twitter." 48w.)
But to no avail.
"Where do you go when you go?"
He plays Bop-It! for two hours, trying to beat his brother's high score. When he gives her a go, she bops him on the head with it.
"Someday soon, I'll find you."
She tries to play a ukelele. She thinks it would be easy, the thing only has four strings, after all. But all she gets out of it is a twang that she thinks she can make into something vaguely Hawaiian sounding.
There's an old camera in his room and she's drawn to it.
"Is this yours?" she asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
He looks up from his paper for a moment, sees what she's pointing at. "Yeah. It belonged to my grandfather. I can't really get it to work, though."
"Have you tried putting a new roll of film in?"
He rolls his eyes.
"Hey," she almost throws the camera at him. "May I?"
"Help yourself."
She picks it up with care, puts the leather strap around her neck and starts fidgeting with the dials.
"You can have it if you'd like."
She's shocked. "Really?"
"Yeah, definitely. I've never really been into photography. I mean, I love looking at it, but I just don't have the eye for it, you know what I mean?" He looks up at her, "I think you'd be good at it."
She brings the camera up to her face, tries to get him into focus, and clicks.
"I think we've taken this too far."
Her eyes sting from all the tears. She hasn't cried for days.
The first time he kisses her, she cries. She sobs into him, and he doesn't pull back.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Henry. I really am."
"Don't be." He smiles and holds her closer.
Sometimes, first loves have to be let go.
She listens to Radiohead non-stop for a week. Then, Lisa Mitchell. Bon Iver. Angus & Julia Stone.
She lies awake in the early morning light. The air surrounds her, the sheet on the bed hugs her curves. Cotton on skin. A leg escapes the trap of sheets and blankets, shivers from the feeling.
His hand cups her cheek, moves into her hair, single strands entangled around fingers.
Traces patterns, freckle to freckle, constellations on her skin.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting it."
She drifts from room to room.
"I'll take you away."
She stops wearing nailpolish, lets her nails grow. She takes to tapping them on things. Drumming.
So she leaves before she ever gets to see snow. She flies away to the other side of the world and thinks that will solve the problem. If he leaves, so can she, right?
Except it's not his doing at all. This has never really been about him.
She misses Aurelie, but him more.
Penelope gets a new job, in an office, making copies, getting coffee, answering phones and typing, all day long. She never thought she'd miss the bookstore.
She meets some new people. One in particular takes a liking to her, Lily. She's homely but boisterous, if those two things could ever be in one person.
She hums constantly, but doesn't know all the words to songs. She's twenty ('Twenty's plenty' Penny thinks but doesn't say.) She hates the word "lover", as if that would come up in normal conversation.
She lives in a large studio apartment and invites Penny to move in with her after knowing her for precisely seven hours. She says yes.
"La la love you." She says one day, out of the blue, like she'd suddenly remembered words to a song.
"Pardon?"
She smiles, bites her lip. "Nothing."
Lily smiles and a light blush rises to her cheeks.
She never stops thinking about him.
Clean nails. Fresh face. She doesn't feel like "Penny". Maybe she isn't anymore. It seems like that was so long ago. She can't even remember what "Penny" felt like.
She slips.
Characters/Pairing: Rupert/Penny, Penelope, Aurelie, Henry, Lily.
Rating: PG-13-ish, I guess.
Summary: Traces patterns, freckle to freckle, constellations on her skin.
Notes: I'm a little rusty at this.
This is dedicated to anyone who's still waiting for me to finish this. Thank you.
This is slightly happier than usual. You're welcome.
(Also, back & forth, back & forth, like usual.)
Bare legs and oversized tee-shirts.
She grabs his face with both of her hands and brings it to hers with such care and feeling. She kisses him.
Her eyebrows scrunch, her whole face shows her emotion, and she can't hide it.
He kisses her back, fingers intertwining with hair.
She wakes up.
Drifting.
"La la love you." She whispers, doesn't cry.
He slips his hand under her jacket, the heat of his hand sinking through the thin material of her shirt.
Her eyes go wide. He blushes and turns away. Her fingers catch his chin and she kisses him. Kisses him like she's never kissed anyone before.
This isn't a dream.
"It's raining and I think of you."
She can't stop thinking about kissing him, so in her attempt to do more of what she wants, she does it. Grabs him by the collar and pulls herself to him.
She can feel her heart quicken.
'Or is that his?' she wonders. Eyelashes flutter and fingertips linger.
When they break free of each other, he continues saying whatever he was saying like that was the most natural thing in the world for her to do.
His hand stays on her wrist.
She loves the feeling of freshly washed pyjamas. Warm and friendly.
They race around, back & forth through her apartment. (It's happened many times.)
Suddenly the words 'tickle fight' are spoken and they lose themselves.
Then he's on the floor, and she ends up on top of him, somehow astride his hips. She tucks one side of her fringe behind her ear, and kisses him. Gently at first, then she gets some courage.
She is sick for a while, has this "weird cold thing" as he calls it, which basically means that she doesn't let him touch her and he doesn't really like that. One afternoon, he sneaks up behind her and takes her hand in his and spins her quickly and kisses her before she can stop him.
Holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands.
She's stuck.
She tries to contact him, in any way that she can think of. She even creates a Twitter account in search of his (created 2 years ago. 4 tweets:
"twoo?" 12w.
"twi?" 15w.
"tweet tweet." 24w.
"so. this is twitter." 48w.)
But to no avail.
"Where do you go when you go?"
He plays Bop-It! for two hours, trying to beat his brother's high score. When he gives her a go, she bops him on the head with it.
"Someday soon, I'll find you."
She tries to play a ukelele. She thinks it would be easy, the thing only has four strings, after all. But all she gets out of it is a twang that she thinks she can make into something vaguely Hawaiian sounding.
There's an old camera in his room and she's drawn to it.
"Is this yours?" she asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
He looks up from his paper for a moment, sees what she's pointing at. "Yeah. It belonged to my grandfather. I can't really get it to work, though."
"Have you tried putting a new roll of film in?"
He rolls his eyes.
"Hey," she almost throws the camera at him. "May I?"
"Help yourself."
She picks it up with care, puts the leather strap around her neck and starts fidgeting with the dials.
"You can have it if you'd like."
She's shocked. "Really?"
"Yeah, definitely. I've never really been into photography. I mean, I love looking at it, but I just don't have the eye for it, you know what I mean?" He looks up at her, "I think you'd be good at it."
She brings the camera up to her face, tries to get him into focus, and clicks.
"I think we've taken this too far."
Her eyes sting from all the tears. She hasn't cried for days.
The first time he kisses her, she cries. She sobs into him, and he doesn't pull back.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "Henry. I really am."
"Don't be." He smiles and holds her closer.
Sometimes, first loves have to be let go.
She listens to Radiohead non-stop for a week. Then, Lisa Mitchell. Bon Iver. Angus & Julia Stone.
She lies awake in the early morning light. The air surrounds her, the sheet on the bed hugs her curves. Cotton on skin. A leg escapes the trap of sheets and blankets, shivers from the feeling.
His hand cups her cheek, moves into her hair, single strands entangled around fingers.
Traces patterns, freckle to freckle, constellations on her skin.
"Sorry, I wasn't expecting it."
She drifts from room to room.
"I'll take you away."
She stops wearing nailpolish, lets her nails grow. She takes to tapping them on things. Drumming.
So she leaves before she ever gets to see snow. She flies away to the other side of the world and thinks that will solve the problem. If he leaves, so can she, right?
Except it's not his doing at all. This has never really been about him.
She misses Aurelie, but him more.
Penelope gets a new job, in an office, making copies, getting coffee, answering phones and typing, all day long. She never thought she'd miss the bookstore.
She meets some new people. One in particular takes a liking to her, Lily. She's homely but boisterous, if those two things could ever be in one person.
She hums constantly, but doesn't know all the words to songs. She's twenty ('Twenty's plenty' Penny thinks but doesn't say.) She hates the word "lover", as if that would come up in normal conversation.
She lives in a large studio apartment and invites Penny to move in with her after knowing her for precisely seven hours. She says yes.
"La la love you." She says one day, out of the blue, like she'd suddenly remembered words to a song.
"Pardon?"
She smiles, bites her lip. "Nothing."
Lily smiles and a light blush rises to her cheeks.
She never stops thinking about him.
Clean nails. Fresh face. She doesn't feel like "Penny". Maybe she isn't anymore. It seems like that was so long ago. She can't even remember what "Penny" felt like.
She slips.