[Fic] Those First Times ... 2/? (Ole Gunnar Solskjaer / Paul Scholes)
Title : Those First Times ... - Chapter 2. Attraction
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer / Paul Scholes
Rating : G
Disclaimer : Totally not true, just a fabric of my overactive brain which really should be studying now...
Author's Note :
1. Alright, here's the 2nd chapter. Another harmless little drabble - what can I say, their relationship hasn't started yet :p.
2. Thanks again to those who reviewed/commented the first chapter ♥♥. They're lovely and really made me write again :). Hope you'll like this chapter also ;).
Chapter 1. Meeting
2. Attraction
(Time line : around October 1996)
Paul Scholes hated attention.
He was a hopeless case no matter how many media classes he (was forced to) attend, no matter how many mock interviews he'd done (his friends' amused face didn't help any). Praises made him uncomfortable (unlike Becks who somehow could smile easily and bask in the attention), and he didn't like being stared at.
Oh, it didn't matter when he was on the pitch. He liked the praises from his team mates whenever he did something right (hearthy slaps on the back from Eric and Roy, bear hugs from Gary and Becks - they gave the best hugs, ruffling of hair from Ryan, punch on the arm from Nicky, encouraging words from Pally, Dennis or Brucey and sometimes if he did something exceptionally well he thought he could hear Schmikes' loud "well done" or "great job" all the way from where the big Dane was in the goal) and he didn't mind the admiring stares that the fans showered him. He liked it. Those things didn't matter if he was on the pitch.
But off of it, it was another story. Like now, as they gathered in the canteen to have some meal, he could feel someone's eyes on his back. Someone he knew a bit too well for his liking. Becks, pretending nonchalance, announced it to everyone on the table; “Paul, he's staring again.” How many days in a row had it been, and just like yesterday and the days before, the remarks caused some small chuckles and snorts to erupt in the table. Paul glared as menacingly as he could, which, as always, didn't do anything good because he always lost in the glaring department to one Gary Neville.
The Gary Neville who threw him a taunting grin at him now (“what did you do that he can't take his eyes off you, Paulie?”). Paul hated that nickname but right now his blush was not because of it, more like the implication of his taunt. Truth to be told, he had absolutely no idea why Ole kept staring at him lately. Of course his reddening face caused another bouts of giggles to erupt in the table (“Paul,” Ryan said. “That blush clashes too much with your hair” - trust him to still make a remark on that in the situation) and Paul really wanted to get away, but he couldn't really, because Becks would pull him back to his seat and keep him in place.
What a mess. At first, when the staring started, he took it as a kind of joke, something to amused himself more than anything. But these days, it made him restless, and the amusement had gone (if any, it had moved to his teammates, especially Gary, who took this all with such a glee that made Paul wince). Paul thought about confronting the Norwegian, but the more he thought about it, the worse it sounded. He liked Ole - Ole was nice and easy going and easy to talk to and funny - and he really didn't want to make things awkward because of a confrontation. Besides, the way Ole had slotted easily into the first team - Paul knew he was risking the Gaffer's wrath if things go wrong.
He said this all to Becks (who else should he go to about things like this? - Nicky and Gaz would definitely take the mickey out of him), who nodded and mulled over it and still said that talking to Ole about it still was the best course of action. But everytime he wanted to do it, his chronic shyness kicked in, and when Ole fixed him with that enquiring stare, the words flew out of his brain. Paul was a hopeless case and in the end, Becks could only shake his head and patted him on the back in silent support.
That was why, when they gathered around, like in the lounge or in the canteen, Paul tried his best to take the seat where he didn't have to face Ole. Ole could stare at his back, for all he cared. It didn't make the problem go away, but at least it made him feel slightly better. Becks said he's running away from the issue but for the time being, Paul couldn't care. This small victory was his to bask in.
Of course, Paul should've known that it wouldn't last long. Of course, Paul should've known what kind of people his friends were. Because one day, Ryan dragged Ole to their table, put him on the seat right in front of Paul, and declared to the table that from now on Ole was “part of the gang” and would share the table together with them.
Paul didn't need to look at the mischievous glances to know whose idea this was. His hand chenched and unclenched on his lap, swearing to himself he'd make a proper work on the said suspects later. He looked up then, determined not to be daunted, and Ole fixed him with a stare and a smile that felt more intimate than it should be and Paul hoped, really, very, fervently hoped that he didn't blush.
He sighed inwardly. This was going to be long and trying.
-***-
Author : hiro_chan
Pairing : Ole Gunnar Solskjaer / Paul Scholes
Rating : G
Disclaimer : Totally not true, just a fabric of my overactive brain which really should be studying now...
Author's Note :
1. Alright, here's the 2nd chapter. Another harmless little drabble - what can I say, their relationship hasn't started yet :p.
2. Thanks again to those who reviewed/commented the first chapter ♥♥. They're lovely and really made me write again :). Hope you'll like this chapter also ;).
Chapter 1. Meeting
2. Attraction
(Time line : around October 1996)
Paul Scholes hated attention.
He was a hopeless case no matter how many media classes he (was forced to) attend, no matter how many mock interviews he'd done (his friends' amused face didn't help any). Praises made him uncomfortable (unlike Becks who somehow could smile easily and bask in the attention), and he didn't like being stared at.
Oh, it didn't matter when he was on the pitch. He liked the praises from his team mates whenever he did something right (hearthy slaps on the back from Eric and Roy, bear hugs from Gary and Becks - they gave the best hugs, ruffling of hair from Ryan, punch on the arm from Nicky, encouraging words from Pally, Dennis or Brucey and sometimes if he did something exceptionally well he thought he could hear Schmikes' loud "well done" or "great job" all the way from where the big Dane was in the goal) and he didn't mind the admiring stares that the fans showered him. He liked it. Those things didn't matter if he was on the pitch.
But off of it, it was another story. Like now, as they gathered in the canteen to have some meal, he could feel someone's eyes on his back. Someone he knew a bit too well for his liking. Becks, pretending nonchalance, announced it to everyone on the table; “Paul, he's staring again.” How many days in a row had it been, and just like yesterday and the days before, the remarks caused some small chuckles and snorts to erupt in the table. Paul glared as menacingly as he could, which, as always, didn't do anything good because he always lost in the glaring department to one Gary Neville.
The Gary Neville who threw him a taunting grin at him now (“what did you do that he can't take his eyes off you, Paulie?”). Paul hated that nickname but right now his blush was not because of it, more like the implication of his taunt. Truth to be told, he had absolutely no idea why Ole kept staring at him lately. Of course his reddening face caused another bouts of giggles to erupt in the table (“Paul,” Ryan said. “That blush clashes too much with your hair” - trust him to still make a remark on that in the situation) and Paul really wanted to get away, but he couldn't really, because Becks would pull him back to his seat and keep him in place.
What a mess. At first, when the staring started, he took it as a kind of joke, something to amused himself more than anything. But these days, it made him restless, and the amusement had gone (if any, it had moved to his teammates, especially Gary, who took this all with such a glee that made Paul wince). Paul thought about confronting the Norwegian, but the more he thought about it, the worse it sounded. He liked Ole - Ole was nice and easy going and easy to talk to and funny - and he really didn't want to make things awkward because of a confrontation. Besides, the way Ole had slotted easily into the first team - Paul knew he was risking the Gaffer's wrath if things go wrong.
He said this all to Becks (who else should he go to about things like this? - Nicky and Gaz would definitely take the mickey out of him), who nodded and mulled over it and still said that talking to Ole about it still was the best course of action. But everytime he wanted to do it, his chronic shyness kicked in, and when Ole fixed him with that enquiring stare, the words flew out of his brain. Paul was a hopeless case and in the end, Becks could only shake his head and patted him on the back in silent support.
That was why, when they gathered around, like in the lounge or in the canteen, Paul tried his best to take the seat where he didn't have to face Ole. Ole could stare at his back, for all he cared. It didn't make the problem go away, but at least it made him feel slightly better. Becks said he's running away from the issue but for the time being, Paul couldn't care. This small victory was his to bask in.
Of course, Paul should've known that it wouldn't last long. Of course, Paul should've known what kind of people his friends were. Because one day, Ryan dragged Ole to their table, put him on the seat right in front of Paul, and declared to the table that from now on Ole was “part of the gang” and would share the table together with them.
Paul didn't need to look at the mischievous glances to know whose idea this was. His hand chenched and unclenched on his lap, swearing to himself he'd make a proper work on the said suspects later. He looked up then, determined not to be daunted, and Ole fixed him with a stare and a smile that felt more intimate than it should be and Paul hoped, really, very, fervently hoped that he didn't blush.
He sighed inwardly. This was going to be long and trying.
-***-