Okay, George had missed work yesterday. When your roommate was your boss, that probably gave you a pass on getting fired, right? Seifer didn't seem all that strict
( Read more... )
Okay. Jeremy had been meaning to come to Apathy Club last week, he really had. But, see, then he'd decided he wanted to bring flowers, except he'd had a hard time deciding on the kind of flower, and then it'd already been late. And then he'd been a kid for the weekend. And then this week, he'd had trouble getting the kind of box of chocolates he wanted and it had just been generally a huge mess that would've probably made for a great sitcom episode.
But, today. Today he had it together. He had flowers. Boy, did he have flowers. His bouquet was made up of 27 roses: 12 blue, 12 black, and then two purple and one red in the middle, because he hadn't wanted to go super traditional because George didn't seem like a super traditional kind of girl, but then he'd panicked about not knowing her favorite color and what if she was expecting tradition after all? So. Blue, black, purple, and just a little bit of traditional red it was.
He also had a box of chocolates. Yes, a fabric-covered one, with Swarovski elements on it. Yup, he had flowers
( ... )
George was ... just kind of lolling on the bed, not very gracefully, and looked up to see Jeremy ...
Holy fucking shit.
She could barely even make out Jeremy behind all of the motherfucking flowers (roses?!) and he had fucking chocolates and okay she was wearing like fucking flannel and she hadn't done her hair or anything. Not that her hair ever did anything but like she would have liked to pretend to make it behave instead of just lying here on her ass if he was going to fucking show up like this and ... and ...
"Fuck," she said. Helpfully. Before actually getting up and maybe helping him with the pile of roses. Roses?! No one ever brought her roses. People brought Daisy roses. Guys. Guys she had blown. Like Clark Gable.
No, Daisy's roses were red, or white, or pink. The roses were ... were blue and black and purple and ... and kind of punk rock. So. So these were for her.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
"... hi?" she offered. Um. That would be helpful. She hadn't said that yet, had she? Um.
"Hi," Jeremy agreed, because he hadn't said that yet either, and it was a really good start, wasn't it?
"These are for you," he added, as he was carefully shifting the bouquet to her. "You know, I really should've had these delivered." Because really, it was a hugely awkward bouquet to carry, as pretty as it was. "But then I wouldn't have been here."
George took the bouquet, careful not to drop them. And. And then she gave herself a moment to close her eyes and just breathe them in. They were hers. They were for her. They were amazing and weird and awesome and he was here, and he'd brought them for her.
"They're incredible," she said, very softly. "I -- I'm glad you're here. If you want to be. If -- if you just wanted to drop them off and say hi or whatever and then bail again, that's ... that's okay too. If you ... are still ... if things are still weird. I mean. I'd ... understand."
This was an important distinction. It was why she hadn't kissed him yet.
Comments 26
But, today. Today he had it together. He had flowers. Boy, did he have flowers. His bouquet was made up of 27 roses: 12 blue, 12 black, and then two purple and one red in the middle, because he hadn't wanted to go super traditional because George didn't seem like a super traditional kind of girl, but then he'd panicked about not knowing her favorite color and what if she was expecting tradition after all? So. Blue, black, purple, and just a little bit of traditional red it was.
He also had a box of chocolates. Yes, a fabric-covered one, with Swarovski elements on it. Yup, he had flowers ( ... )
Reply
Holy fucking shit.
She could barely even make out Jeremy behind all of the motherfucking flowers (roses?!) and he had fucking chocolates and okay she was wearing like fucking flannel and she hadn't done her hair or anything. Not that her hair ever did anything but like she would have liked to pretend to make it behave instead of just lying here on her ass if he was going to fucking show up like this and ... and ...
"Fuck," she said. Helpfully. Before actually getting up and maybe helping him with the pile of roses. Roses?! No one ever brought her roses. People brought Daisy roses. Guys. Guys she had blown. Like Clark Gable.
No, Daisy's roses were red, or white, or pink. The roses were ... were blue and black and purple and ... and kind of punk rock. So. So these were for her.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
"... hi?" she offered. Um. That would be helpful. She hadn't said that yet, had she? Um.
Reply
"These are for you," he added, as he was carefully shifting the bouquet to her. "You know, I really should've had these delivered." Because really, it was a hugely awkward bouquet to carry, as pretty as it was. "But then I wouldn't have been here."
And that would've defeated the whole purpose.
"I, uh, hope you like them."
Reply
"They're incredible," she said, very softly. "I -- I'm glad you're here. If you want to be. If -- if you just wanted to drop them off and say hi or whatever and then bail again, that's ... that's okay too. If you ... are still ... if things are still weird. I mean. I'd ... understand."
This was an important distinction. It was why she hadn't kissed him yet.
Reply
Leave a comment