A little drabble to amuse me as I am currently. Established Faberry.
She lies there. That obnoxious purple "I heart London" hoodie covers her body, and no doubt, her NY tee is under it. She's funny that way. She likes to wear her "I heart" clothes when she's sick, and usually wears them all together. The underwear is my favourite, "I heart Milan" but she doesn't agree. Each piece names a different city, no more than one item per city and no more than one of any article of clothing. So far she has a hoodie, a tee shirt, a tank top, a thong, and boy boxers (that she uses as shorts).
Each is from a vacation we took together. London, NY, Paris, Milan, and of course, Dublin. She loved Dublin, even though it rained most days. She thought the rain brought out that unique green that Irish grass has. We'd spend the dry days walking, hiking, cycling, anything to see that amazing green. Wet days were spent shopping, enjoying the city, which was nothing compared to our other travel destinations in size, but had heart; something that's lost in the big cities of New York and London. We'd spend every night, wet or dry, in a pub, drinking and singing and loving life. We got her boy boxers in Dublin, and they're the only article she wears when she's not sick.
But sadly, right now she is. She's lying on the bed, blankets barely covering her legs, and her face paler than normal. I can't see her hair; the hood is up, stopping the heat from escaping from the top of her head. Her eyes open once in a while, to check I'm still there. Still watching over her, protecting her. And I'm happy to do it. She doesn't trust many people because of the past she's had, but she trusts me. I feel I have to prove I deserve her trust.
Her lips curl at the corners into a weak smirk. She has smiles for everything, this is her "you're concentrating too hard honey" smile, and he causes me to huff a laugh every time I see it. She smiles wider when I laugh.
She lifts herself up slightly and rests her head on her fist. The position pushes the fat of her face up giving her a chubby face and I can't help but giggle.
"Is it possible that I fall in love with you more every day?" She whispers, catching me off guard. She's not expecting an answer; she knows I can't give one.
I thought it would bother her, but she knows how hard it is for me to express how much I love her.
She knows I love her, more than love itself. More than Adam loved eve. Or well... eve loved Jane. Let's face it, neither of us have had, or have wanted an Adam in a very long while.
I love her. I love that slight chubby face when her hand presses it up. I love that smirk she has for every occasion. I love that atrocious hoodie and all its brother clothes. I love those long tan legs, those sparkling brown eyes and that amazing, rich voice that she uses just for me. I love her and everything about her. Virtues and vices.
It pains me that I can't seem to tell her. But I'm glad she knows it. She's known since the first day when I wrote it on her locker in big black letters, for everyone to see.
Quinn Loves Rachel.
feel free to correct grammar, I like the help! Review if you want!