K, Another Tartie fic.... To be honest its really hard not to include spoilers in these fics that I'm writing/have written so far. But I decided to leave it as it is now.
It's a bit tricking spelling Tina's stuttering correctly so sorry if any typos have snuck in there. As always any mistakes are mine but is Glee's!!
Hope you like and please review!
His favorite dream is that he invites her to prom.
She's putting books in her locker, one by one, so she can avoid going to class. Her straight hair falls over her shoulder as she bends down to reach into her bag. The color of her streaks change every time, he notices. They're pink this time. And contrast loudly against her heavy black boots.
He goes up to her hesitantly, pushing the glasses up his nose several times as he watches his feet. He's worried he's going to trip. But his feet manage to take one step after another (it's his dream, of course he can walk), at a seemingly confident pace.
She notices him before he even gets halfway to her, and offers him a little smile. Not an oh-my-god-you're-walking smile, not even an I'm-excited-to-see-you smile. But rather a simple I'm-happy-you're-here smile. It's subtle, but it's genuine and this is his favorite part.
She moves to put the last book into her locker and closes it, turning to him, smile still in place.
"Hey." He says casually, leaning on the locker next to hers. He remembers he's got a haircut and he's a little bit of a stud (again, dream.)
"Hey."
"So, I, uh, wanted to ask you something." He continues, playing with his shirt collar. A little bit of anxiety sets in, but he can still do this.
"Yeah?" she has a little bit of a smirk, and raises her brow questioningly. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she knew what he was going to say.
"Would you, if you want, like to go with me? To prom." He trips over his words a little, but it's out there. Her smirk widens and she hugs him, suddenly and tightly. Her excitement warms him.
"Yes! I'd love to!" She exclaims, stutter-free. He doesn't mind the stutter, but he wants her to be happy. And he's pretty sure that she'd be much happier without it. (And he definitely wants her to be happy in his dream.)
He can't wipe the grin off his face as she peels herself off him. "Awesome." He swoops down to pick up her bag and offers to walk her to class.
She looks at him admiringly, and as they move she links arms with him. And as they walk to class, they are definitely not freaks.
His least favourite part is when he wakes up, to a beeping alarm clock, and his mothers clinking of the breakfast bowls in the kitchen.
He sighs, fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses. When he finally finds them and slaps them on, the first thing he focuses on is the picture of him with her at last year's football game. She's smiling kind of how she was in his dream, and it feels nice to know that he was there for that.
He sits on his bed for a moment, relaxing, before hauling himself out of bed and into his chair. It's not even hard anymore, just annoying. And it's mornings like this that make him wish dreams came true.
His father opens the car door for him and he slides back into his wheelchair, places his bags on his lap and chucks a quick goodbye into the air before wheeling off towards the entrance. He doesn't like his parents to stick around school too long. Partially because they're embarrassing. But also because if they see too many teenage boys running around they start to feel sorry for him and blame themselves and one time his mother even started crying in the parking lot.
She's waiting for him at the entrance, checking her phone and fiddling with the strap of her bag. His eyes fly to her hair, while a couple of strands are pinned back, the rest is down. But more importantly, her streaks are pink, baby pink. His dream pink. He shakes his head, but they're still there. He continues wheeling up to here, and she turns, catches his eye. Her smile. It's the same one. Of course he's seen it before, but today it seems a little different.
He still cannot feel his legs.
"H-hey," she struggles slightly over the simple word. Still.
"Hey!" He hopes his placed enthusiasm will cover any disappointment in his voice or demeanour. "You changed your hair."
She nods, obviously happy that he noticed "G-gues-s I g-got a l-little s-s-s-ick of blue." Then drops her bag into his lap and places her hands on the handles of his chair, pushing him up the ramp and through the doors.
The hallway is buzzing with caffeinated high-school students trying to avoid their first class. He tries to ignore how there was no one else around in his dream.
She stops suddenly in front of his locker, and when he realises where he is he quickly moves to unlock it.
"H-hey..." She says again, getting his attention. He looks up eagerly and sees her leaning against the locker next to his. "P-prom i-is ne-x-xt m-mont-th."
He nods lightly, not wanting to give away any feeling of disappointment about the whole thing.
"I-I w-anted t-t-to ask you s-s-someth-thing."
She looks more nervous than usual, and stutters a bit more. He makes his face as open and inviting as possible, "Shoot."
"W-would you w-want to g-g-go to pr-p-prom w-with me?" She looks down as soon as she says it. And misses his wide grin before he manages to hide it.
"I can't dance with you." He replies politely, and a little saddened. After all, it is the harsh truth. Even if there is nothing more he would rather do.
She looks at him again, seriously, but there's a glimmer of a smile behind her eyes, "T-that's ok-kay. I d-don't like t-to d-dance anyw-way."
This is a lie. He knows and she knows. But she's telling it for him and this makes his heart swell a little. Okay, a lot.
"I'd love to go with you." He says, smiling widely up at her. She smiles back, and bends down. At first, he thinks she's just going to give him a hug. But her lips brush against his cheek and he decides this is way, way better.
He throws his last book into his locker and closes it, before wheeling himself around to sit face in the right direction. They'd be going to her locker next, as always. As if his day hadn't just been made.
His thoughts were away with the fairies, as he listened to her stutter through her rough morning and an argument with her parents. Suddenly an icy chill freezes his senses, the smell of orange filling his lungs, his lips numb and his eyes burning.
He hears her scream and then hush herself quickly. He opens his eyes against the sticky substance that's now covering his face and shirt. It was a jock, not Puck though. Puck wouldn't do that anymore.
She crouches down next to him, whipping a tissue out of thin air and mopping up his face a little before running him to the nearest water fountain. The students around them don't even make a fuss. It's not as if this doesn't happen fairly regularly.
She finds more tissues and wets them before trying to clean his shirt. She runs her wet hand through his hair, attempting to get at least a little bit out. He know it won't work, and that he'll smell of orange the whole day. But as he tries to de-smudge his glasses, her fingers brush his cheek every so often.
This would have never happened in his dream. But it's kind of okay. Besides, he doesn't mind orange too much.