She was coffee with two sugars. Just how I liked it…
Pairing: Aerrow/Piper-centric
Genre: Hurt Comfort/Drama/Romance
Summary: To live on the streets and wait for the day when your dreams come true and an angel comes into to notice you… that was something Aerrow never believed, and never saw coming.
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Hey, everyone. Here is my third fanfiction for the Storm Hawks community. I hope you like it.
Note: Inspiration by this goes entirely to .Nana Potato., a terrific friend I've made on this site, and to her story ReacTionS where I stole this idea from. I'm sorry girl! I really wanted to make a story based on a scenario like this, but I tried to make different changes to it, so I hope it does you some justice!
All rights disclaimed. No duh.
Stimulated Souls
By: Abysilityy
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I lick my tongue over my dry lips. Without any balm, they're cracked over like dry fissures in the pavement. I would have sung a song to distract this displeasure, but my throat's just as parched.
So I decide to keep my mouth shut. And that way, the pedestrians staring me down idly won't see how desperately my teeth need to be brushed.
I strum my acoustic distractedly. What am I playing now, A-chords? I've lost count after my fourth scale.
I hum one note – my fingers follow in suit.
It's been so long. Everyday feels longer than the next.
I hum another – the chord goes up one sharp.
It's been weeks. Months feel more appropriate, and correct.
I hum another – this time the chord sounds out of tune. I have to loosen the string.
As I stop playing to do so, I hear the familiar cling of a coin being dropped into my scarf – it's being used as a money carrier during the daylight hours, and my warmth at night.
When I look up to give the Samaritan a grateful, closed-mouthed smile – remember, I won't show my teeth so thank you in words doesn't work – I've been disappointed. Again.
This sense of charity, this modesty to show his kindness, it embarrasses him. He'd rather pretend he seems above himself by ignoring my pity than to show genuine concern and look like the wuss he thinks everyone would assume he is.
I both hate and lament him. At least he has money, at least he has a home, at least he gets to sleep somewhere warm and soft tonight.
I put my guitar down and pick up his one coin from the many others in the scarf and hold it gingerly between my fingers.
Oh well, it's a hard-knock life, and a bittersweet journey.
I shove the coin into my coat pocket and go back to focusing on my out-of-tune guitar string.
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It's been several hours later.
It's pretty bright and there's heat warring down on my face from the afternoon sun. Is it possible to sweat at this time in the autumn season? I run a hand through my unruly red hair and sigh heavily.
It's bad enough my face and body look and feel this dirty. Sweat will only add onto this displeasure. It's something I've already experienced this summer, and not something I want to experience again.
The very thought of my un-cleanliness brings me back to my current disposition. I removed my hand from my tangled locks and stare into it with furrowed eyebrows. I hate how my nail beds are black with grime – and my fingerless gloves do nothing to help cover the dirt I can see and feel below on my palms.
How did I get this far? I don't even remember what it's not like to be in poverty anymore. It's as if my whole life was just born into this state. Before this, anything else seems blurry and black-hole worthy. And maybe, that's just how my life will continue to be. There's no sign of aid, no beacon of hope. Was I supposed to have had an epiphany that's now long overdue?
I quickly drop my hand back onto my guitar and strum mechanically. These strings are all that's keeping me from going crazy.
And I hear it. Another cling.
As I continue strumming, I look down to see a gold piece of currency spin lazily for a moment before falling atop the few rest. I stare at it intently.
Should I even look up this time? It's not like the last four people who dropped me loose change ever bothered to acknowledge me.
I decide this time to disregard the action of showing my gratitude. They've probably averted their gazes and postures away from me. But despite my better judgement, I go against myself and give the person a glance.
It stops me strumming momentarily.
It looked as though she decided to keep walking at the last minute; her foot was outstretched in a mid-step. But her body is angled towards mine and she's stopped moving to give me a glance as well. Now catching mine, I immediately notice the small smile that appears on her face.
I can't help but stare. I'm struck.
Her orange eyes in this autumn afternoon sunlight seem to burn so brightly. It's literally warming my insides. And suddenly upon impulse, and despite my displeasure for it, I go against myself again, and grin while giving a brave 'Thank you' for her act.
I feel a hard lump in my throat immediately after saying it. Why was I so forward? Why did I feel myself smiling like an idiot? I feel so open, too exposed. Like I've just stripped down in front of this stranger. Suddenly I wish she is like the other people, and will just turn her back to me, walk away, and pretend this moment never happened.
But she doesn't.
She quickly pulls a shy grin and replies with a warm and bright 'You're welcome' then turns to walk away, pulling my gaze with her for as long as she can hold it.
When her back is completely facing mine, my head drops back down to the coin she's just given. I suddenly feel dry-mouthed and hot all over again.
But it doesn't stop the small smile from growing on my face.
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And to my surprise, she comes everyday after that.
The first few days, she does the same routine – walk by, drop a coin, wait for my response, appreciate it, then walk on by.
Eventually she throws in more comments. Comments like 'Nice guitar', 'You play well', and 'Hang in there.' My line is always 'Thank you.' We still keep long gazes, so I'm sure she knows I mean more than that.
Then, she starts showing up more than usual. Not in the sense that she's given me ten dollars worth of coins everyday, but her presence appears more often than not.
As I strum through the daily working hours with the many by-passers slouching or creeping past my way, I find her across the street.
I notice the tips of her blue hair wherever she is.
Some days she sits there on the park bench with a book in her hand reading contentedly.
And I find her dark skin blending into the mesh of colours of the autumn swirls around her.
And on others, she just stares off into space and merely relaxes - her orange eyes shine even with the distance between us. I know she's here for me and my music. She's never had a reason to sit here before. And I've been in this area for not much less than two weeks. I would know.
There is even one day in the week when she comes by with two of her friends. I am immediately terrified and I revert back into my shy façade. When it comes to a group of onlookers, I feel completely embarrassed. More so with girls – as they are more gossipers by nature and, girls always make me a little pull-your-collar uncomfortable.
First she comes, familiar and bright as always. As we exchange glances, I even forget for a moment that the other two are there. Until she pulls back and confidently strides on as her friends pursue. In my curious state, I lean a little into the direction they are walking and eavesdrop on their comments.
The one who I note with violet hair and green eyes talks with an air of maturity around her.
'He seems…uhm, polite,' and barely audible in a low whisper she asks, 'are you sure it's safe to keep doing this?'
I stiffen a little despite her first defence. The hesitation is evident in her voice. And while I have not done or said or anything to back her up, it is still forced.
Then the other girl speaks up. She is very pretty with curves (although unmatched to the girl with blue hair), blonde hair and turquoise-coloured eyes – yeah, she is one of those. But it is her retort that stops my brain from ticking.
'Ugh, why do you bother with him? It's not like he's going anywhere. He'll dry you up.'
My eyes widen and I barely stop myself from strumming the guitar and turning my head in their direction. That would've caught their attention.
Oh no, is that what I've been doing? Setting her up for a failure and letting her throw her money away to a complete embarrassing stranger?
I bite my lip. I've never thought about it that way… the truth hurts though.
And then, I hear her voice.
'Will you come off it? I like him. And he seems to be doing alright. Besides, it shouldn't matter what I do with my money. I'm responsible and use it towards good intentions. I can't say the same for you, Lark…'
The rest of her speech and their laughter is drowned out in my head and only certain lines pass my ears.
I like him.
I can't help but smile as the earlier comments of her friends wash away.
It's these moments I share with her that I somehow feel the human personal connection that I long for so deeply.
I know, it's crazy. She's still a stranger. She hasn't even told me her name yet. But it's in her character that I find better confidence in looking up to people and smiling with my teeth showing, unafraid to show my gratitude anymore.
So I decide this day and realize that I want to thank her for all she did and more. What it has really taught me, and what I have taught myself.
In her embodiment, I also decide to hold up on spending until I raise a good amount. I've been starving for days now, and I'm wondering if she would consider going to have a coffee with me one of these days.
Naturally, I learn to limit myself and understand this budget process I keep. And impressively, it looks like I can save up enough for some new bargain-brand clothes and cheap toiletries to clean myself with. I grin as I finish up the last of the G-sharp chords on my acoustic. Looking up into the sunset, I decide to pack it in for the day. I head for the dark, enclosed alleyway in which I've been sleeping in for the past two weeks.
But as I'm laying down on the cement, I smile unwillingly. I can't help it. Tomorrow I'm going to buy new supplies for myself, which I can use to finally clean myself up, and then maybe – just maybe, show gratitude to my good Samaritan friend who deserves it so well. I fall into sleep, pulling the thick winter jacket around me as a blanket.
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When I awake, I am utterly pissed and more so devastated.
I didn't even come to comprehend my own safety last night. My coat's gone, and to my even worse dismay, all the money I saved up until now is stolen. My acoustic guitar lies safely beside me unscratched, but someone's went and cut all the strings.
I pull my back up against the brick wall of the tall apartment complex behind me and sit with my head between my knees. My hands fly up to clutch the red hair atop my head in aggravation.
I can't believe this is happening to me.
Everything that I pushed so hard to work, to gain, to give me the stability I thought I deserved. It's gone.
I can't go back out on the sidewalk anymore. Without a guitar, I look talentless. I'd be even more of pity to people than I previously was. I don't want that doubly sympathy.
And what about her?
She won't come anymore once the music's stopped. And even if she does, I'd feel so embarrassed around her – so helpless and dependent by the 'tsks' and 'awws' that she would inwardly give me.
I don't want that.
With a heavy sigh, I remove one of my hands from my head and rub my eyes with the back of the glove. I'm pretty sure the dirt from them has given my eyes that bloodshot, infected look. It's not as if I wasn't bloodshot before.
If I wasn't on the verge of tearing up, I might have screamed. But male egotism and a dry throat can leave you from doing otherwise.
With a shaky inhale, I quickly scrimmage around in my denim jeans for any change I might have left. I wasn't stupid enough to leave all my savings in my coat pockets.
After fumbling around for a few minutes, I find some. I exhale softly and run a hand again through my hair. It's a nervous habit.
Well, there's enough for one coffee. I haven't eaten in days and I was really looking forward to getting new clothes…
But, this will have to do.
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A heavy wave of coffee grind and cocoa beans rush up my nose. It's intoxicating. I rub my arms unconsciously – without my winter jacket, the sweater I'm wearing is doing nothing to protect me from the autumn chill outside.
I let the glass entrance pull mechanically shut behind me as I step cautiously into the café. Being in a public store in my hobo appearance almost feels like I'm a Satanist walking into a cathedral during a mass procession. Not even ten seconds inside and I already feel about twenty stares down my back.
It doesn't help to the amount of stress and frustration I'm feeling after losing everything important I had. All I need to do is waltz up to the cashier, buy the drink, and leave before it gets worse.
Easier said than done. There's a line of about seven people in waiting and only two cashiers work today. I sigh heavily and run a hand through my hair.
It'll be a long wait. And even longer humiliation.
About twenty minutes pass before I'm finally able to see up front to the counter and all the menu forms behind. They should really consider increasing the font sizes in their letterheads - squinting was doing nothing to help see from far away.
I keep myself distracted from all the stares I'm still getting by looking at the different coffee flavours and brands they have. I'm a regular Java-Joe type of guy so I don't bother considering them.
"Next."
As I step up to the counter I freeze precariously. Should I hesitate and turn around and leave before she sees me?
She dropped a recyclable tray onto the floor and bent over to pick it up. But once she uprights herself, she'll recognize it's me.
Before I know what's happening, she's smiling widely and trying to get me in a quick conversation. All her greetings, her open questions and comments about her own reasons for being here are muted out, as I drown out the 'why' and focus on the 'what' – the 'what' she really looks like.
On the streets, she never stays long enough for me to get a good look of her and I posed her off as a woman in her late 20's. Now being this up close and in this great lighting, I'm utterly astounded.
She looks no older than my own age, probably in her early years of university. She must've looked taller in the boots she wore outside, but now in her uniform, she appears a head shorter than me. Her hair is more indigo than blue and her eyes change to carnelian under the pale fluorescents. Her skin tone contrast sexily against them and her eyelashes curl so strikingly that I am pretty sure many girls were jealous of her – whether it is mascara or not. Her build is long and slender against the tight golf shirt and black slacks she wears.
I blink repeatedly. I know my mouth is slightly agape. But what else can I say when I can't even register her here?
"S-so, what do you want to order?"
She obviously wonders why I'm here when I'm always on the streets. Since she doesn't come to see me until afternoon rolls in, I guess this is where she is during the morning hours. My mouth goes dry again and the lump in my throat returns. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with uneasiness. What did I come here for again?
Behind me, I hear a man cough loudly while another man yells behind him.
"What's the hold up?"
Regaining composure, I shake my head and I'm ready to say what I want. But I stop myself.
I've never said anything but 'Thank you' to her before. What will I sound like to her now? As she watches me curiously with a little concern in her eyes, my palms become sweaty.
"Hey boy, are you gonna order or what?"
She nods her head in agreement. The customers behind me have begun to grow impatient and comment so edgily.
"Y-yes. What would you like to order?"
My eyes shift nervously from side to side before flickering back to her face. This moment was supposed to be pictured so much differently the next time I saw her. When I wanted to-!
"Kid. Stop holding up the line. Either buy somethin' or go back to streets and let us order."
That stops a beat in my heart.
I hear a woman behind the gentleman who spoke, quietly question his outburst.
"Why would you say that?"
"Do you see the way he's dressed? Yeah, I've seen him. He sits plays a guitar all day near the east-end intersection."
I hear her gasp audibly.
"He's homeless? Then, don't force him to hurry."
Another person speaks quietly near the front.
"Yeah, I've seen him there."
I bite my lip nervously. I didn't come here for sympathy.
"Why not? He obviously thinks he gets free dilly-dally time because he's needy."
Would you shut up? I can hear you.
The girl at the cashier I see through my blurring vision, leaned out on the left of the cashier. Her voice sounds desperate.
"Sir, please-!"
"Maybe this is all he can afford. Can't you be a little more patient?"
I grit my teeth softly behind my lips. I was supposed to come in here clean, with money, and to show the girl before me that I'd gotten stronger – not the total opposite of how I looked and what I felt now. It was a mess, a joke.
"Well, whatever the case, hurry it up, boy."
I'm so frustrated.
"Enough, everyone please."
She shouldn't have seen me like this again.
"Can we please quiet down now so we can move this along?"
And there's no way I can get it back…
"So, what would you like?"
…all the money I lost. And the dignity it held.
Suddenly the world turns into a red haze and I feel the wind whip past my ears. My hair flies back and my breathing goes ragged.
What is happening?
The woman from the back of the line who was talking on my behalf suddenly screams. I don't know how, but her face is suddenly so up close to mine. Then just like that, it swishes away. Everything seems to move in slow motion and colours everywhere I look are blurred and melted together. What is happening?
"Hey! Come back!"
"What do you think you doing, crazy kid!?"
"Somebody stop him!"
"Help!"
That's when I realise, I am running. I am running out the door and I didn't even known it. To where? I'm not even sure why I start doing this.
"Don't let him get away!"
"Do something!"
"Don't worry, I've got this!"
But, why are they all calling out to me? Trying to stop me? I didn't do anything. Aren't I giving them the relief they want by leaving? I'm just a young man with no future. What does it concern them that I decide to step out of their way? Isn't that what all people really want secretly deep down when they encounter people like me?
The truth hurts, and as I continue to sprint down the street, I can't help but catch my reflection in the glass windows along the way. My face is grimy, and my hair's a tangled mess. The clothes I'm wearing are filthy, and I must smell strongly.
I bite my lip. I've never felt so defeated.
Acting on impulse, I change direction abruptly and head into a small alleyway. Not the one where I'm sleeping, or where my guitar lays hidden, but to conceal myself nonetheless.
I turn in circles, not really looking at anything in particular. I'm just dazed. My head is spinning from this lack of energy. My legs are sore from hours and days on end of contacting with concrete. My arms are tired – but why won't they rest at my sides?
"Hey! Stop!"
Oh shit. That's all I can think when I hear the footsteps stop and heavy panting.
Despite my common sense, I'm looking around desperately in this dead-end passageway, looking for an exit door or a secret magical opening. There is none, imagine that. The only things here are some discarded cardboard boxes flattened like pressed down shirts, me, and my pursuer who is exhausted from the chase.
"Y…you… y-you have…to…" There's a deep intake of air.
I'm a bit worried. This person's gasping a bit too much. I ran even harder and I'm the one who's gone without food and water for days. Maybe I'm just in more shape than I thought.
But, I've always been pretty fast.
There's still gasping.
"Com…come back… pl…"
I bite my lip. Is she having an asthma attack? Wait. She??
I immediately recognize the voice calling me and it causes me to spin on my heel and turn to face her. And I'm right. It is her.
With her left arm to the brick wall supporting her, her back is hunched over and she's breathing deeply with her head to the ground. I don't have to take another glance to see her blue hair sticking out in odd places.
I step quickly over to her.
"H-hey, are you alright?"
That's the first time I've ever said a sentence to her. Let alone anyone in the past 6 months.
After taking another gasp, she responds.
"Y..yeah. I'm good."
"Good, because you worried me for a minute. Do you take a puffer? Inhaler or something? "
Regardless of the situation, I watch her pull her head back up – a smile is glowing on her face though the colour of her skin turns pale.
"No, no. I just… haven't ran that hard in months….Outta shape."
I know I should show amusement. A comment, a chuckle, a smile to encourage her well-being. But I can't. Instead I turn my head away and look awkwardly to the other wall, my lips a thin line.
She doesn't even take notice. She quickly jumps into the topic at hand.
"I need that back."
As quickly as she speaks, I turn my head back to face her.
"W-what?"
She's pointing down to my front.
"That. I need that back. You can't just take it."
Looking down, I realise what she means and why my arms are so tired. It's probably the whole reason why this chase started in the first place.
I took the charity container full of change. It's mostly pennies and nickels but it carries a hefty weight. Realizing what I've done, I grasp it nimbly between my fingers.
"Look, I know you're having a rough time…"
Her voice causes me to look into her eyes. Do I look as vulnerable as I feel right now?
"…and I don't want you to feel like I'm pitying you… You're stronger than that, I know."
At this, she smiles shyly. I can't help but return it.
"But, we've been working hard to get something out of the customers …a-and it just wouldn't be right i-if you go and take it all away… Especially since I contributed a lot to helping make this w-!"
"Here."
I quickly shove it into her hands and step back. As I watch her eyes widen and blink repeatedly, I'm reminded of Christmas mornings. I grow fuzzy inside.
She looks back up into my eyes and grins. I grin back.
I am drawn to her immediate happiness like a moth to a flame.
"Now, go. You probably have a lot of upset customers and an even more upset manager."
Blinking again, she looks shell-shocked. I chuckle inwardly. Her facial expressions are too much.
"Right. Right, of course." With that she turns and head back out onto the streets. But not before she turns quickly and flashes me another smile.
"Thank you."
Then she's gone.
My heart beats wildly as I grin ear to ear.
It's been such a long time since anywhere has said those words to me.
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And so I try again. And I realise, it isn't as hard as I had once thought it would be.
Sitting back in the streets with the uncomfortable people going on with their own lives, while giving me what little morality they can, is my basic and repeated routine.
What becomes different this time is that I have sit with my broken guitar beside me and try to handle to the bearings. Some part of me even feels detached without my music to listen to. I sometimes lie awake in the alley wondering if I'll ever play again – and if not, should I even keep the instrument as a skeletal reminder of the only chance I lost? Then I think against it and I continue going through the days without it.
It is tough, but I push myself to face it. For now I have two reasons for sticking it out here in all this mess.
And the second reason is for myself.
I haven't given up on the goal I set myself to have. To clean myself up and take her out for a coffee.
Every time I think about her, I feel that surge of energy the way coffee stimulates your brain.
She is a kind person who, even since that incident in the shop, still comes everyday to pass me and give her little blessings.
Every piece of charity she gives me, I tuck safely into in my pocket among the growing heap that will eventually make my goal.
I see it in her, a beautiful soul.
If she was God-sent, then I was a believer. And I tie myself wholeheartedly to that.
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When the day finally comes, I can't stop suppressing the holler in my throat. I immediately blush and curl back into my silent state after it's over. I know my teeth are shockingly yellow and I must smell like 3-months worth of morning breath when my mouth opens, but I can care less.
I have reached the amount worth spending.
After I gather my rumpled scarf on the pavement and my guitar in one hand, I jump up quickly and look around the area. I notice that a couple of the people who walked passed me at the exact moment, jump in response to my sudden action. I smile sheepishly. I didn't mean to. They just don't see an excited homeless boy get up so unexpectedly a lot these days.
As I stand, I search around the park area to see if I can see her figure. As much as I want to run up to her and celebrate this moment, I don't want her around just yet.
When I don't find her anywhere, I grin widely. It must be around early afternoon so she is probably still at work. This gave me lots of time.
When I am sure I have everything I own, which I remind you isn't a lot, I turn to stare down at the spot I've been living at for such a long time. Then in a burst of speed, I am gone.
The money I have raised isn't drastically a lot for a someone like me to make, but when you have good Samaritans like I have and the will to not eat for days on end, it is considerably much more than I ever hoped to see in my hands again.
A decent amount that allows me to buy a cheap buttoned shirt and a pair of black jeans, and the basics – a bar of soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. I know it isn't very practical, but it is just enough.
Just enough to look better.
I've also forgotten how clean my face can be after I finally scrub it down with some soap. With all the dirt gone, the grime washed away and the happiness I didn't know I could feel again, my whole face has lit up.
My complexion has strangely been clear all this time. My red hair is so vibrant, my green eyes so alive. More alive than I'd ever felt since I can remember. I didn't realise how handsome I could have been under all that dirt.
It's amazing how much of a change this all affects me. I feel broken out – broken free. Like for once that black-hole is actually closing up a little. And everything feels warmer.
Despite my cheesy poetic rant, I can't help but grin back to myself in the mirror.
It's because of her that I'm able to even be this far, remember?
When I finish giving myself triple look-overs – l can't help it, I still feel a little uneasy – I reach into the pocket of my new pants and pull out what I still have left.
When I count how much I have, I scrunch my face a little.
It is strange. There is actually more than I had originally planned for to be at the end.
So, what can I spend with the extra?
Not enough for guitar strings. I can always buy cheap shoes. Or something to finally eat…
Then I blink.
I have to remember to save what I can for that kind girl. I promised myself, she would get a coffee on me. My way of saying 'thank you'.
I look down at the change, then to my new change in appearance.
My way of saying 'thank you'…
I start to frown.
When it sums up to all that she's done for me, what I've learned from her, and …how she makes me feel…
Will I really spend that much only?
So I look down at the amount of money in my hand and count again. There's more than enough here for something better than decency…
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I don't remember how, but I find her name in a local phonebook.
Along with her phone number and address.
I consider calling in her instead of choosing to do this. But I realise I won't have enough bus fare if I use part of it in a toll booth.
Now I'm in this bus and recite the directions to her address in my head for the fifth time. It's a long ride and I start to feel all fidgety and uncomfortable.
Which is ridiculous.
But then again… What might she say? What might she show do? I know I am doing this for a little bit more than gratitude. I can't deny the fact that she is a very attractive woman. And I think that is what is making this whole thing seem more nerve wracking. Because I'm starting to picture in my head what I want to happen… and I know it's wrong.
I don't look to the other people on this bus the way I have been for months. I blend in with them now and it almost elates me that I don't make them feel squeamish anymore with my presence.
I can especially say that last part, because I've noticed it started to out to be the opposite.
Two girls a couple seats ahead of me keep turning their heads in my direction before giggling away quietly.
I try not to blush or notice despite the little surge of pride and narcissism that flows through me.
At least my confidence isn't shattered by all this.
When I finally arrive at the right address, I stare up at the many floors in which the many people live and I frown slightly.
It makes me feel alienated a bit. But with a shaky breath, I walk up to the building complex and head for her floor.
When I reach her door, I almost stop in a mid-step. I hear my heart pounding in my ears.
I shake my head of the shouts that keep telling me turn back around.
I continue walking. I made it this far!
I face the door. She's just on the other side.
I take a deep breath. And I want to do this.
Then I knock it twice with the knuckles of my right hand.
And wait.
The sight of her makes my heart flutter and my mouth go dry like it always does.
When she opens her door, I'm overwhelmed by the strong smell of micro-waved popcorn and hot chocolate. Her hair is sticking out in odd places and she is clad in her large white t-shirt and pink pyjama pants with a green bathrobe draped over her shoulders.
Despite her shocked expression, I can't help but grin – this time, I'm unafraid to show her my teeth to which I've brushed thoroughly. She blinks multiple times.
And before she can even say anything, I produce the large bouquet of flowers that I have holding behind my back.
Nothing about her silence stops me from grinning. In her utter shock of widened carnelian eyes and an opened mouth, I take the opportunity to speak.
"A man once said, 'All God's angels come to us disguised.' "
When she hears me speak, I pull her back to reality for I notice the sparkle of energy and the tender smile she gives me through half-lidded eyes.
Seeing her expression makes my heart grow fuzzy and I feel myself lean down towards her a little more.
And despite the romantic moment, I chuckle nervously. She giggles softly. With a sigh of relief, I hand her the flowers and cough awkwardly.
"A-and I…I…well Piper, I…"
Should I even continue finishing that sentence? I'm pretty sure she already knows what I am trying to say by this cheesy moment. So in an attempt to end it, I avert my eyes from hers and smile shyly.
But when I glance, she doesn't even care for me to finish. The look on her face says it all.
It makes me turn back to face her and smile.
"Thank you." That's what I meant to say all along.
I watch as she brings her gaze down to the flowers again before pushing back a lock of blue hair over her ear.
As she smiles, I notice her try to blink back tears.
The emotion is so much more than I imagined.
I bite my lip nervously. Then I reach forward and touch her cheek softly before placing a kiss on her forehead.
My heart has never flown so high.
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I was thinking of adding something extra in but I thought, 16 pages already?! Oh my gosh! This has to stop!! Haha, but there's still more I wanted to write didn't want to you leaving without. So, tell me – should I continue with an epilogue? Are do you prefer keeping this as a one-shot?
Let me know! Thanks for reading everyone, and don't forget to drop me a review! They make me really happy.