A/N: Okay. So, this is Mike and Mona - Vandergomery - and I was just kind of feeling them out, characterizing them to the best of my ability as they never interacted much on screen. Also, I have yet to see the PLL finale or the episode before, so no spoilers please! :) This story is Mike, after Mona's death, recounting memories of their relationship, of when they were together before she died...sniff sniff...I hate that they killed her off. Anyway, that's why this entire story is in italics. Line breaks symbolize separation of events. :) Without further ado, my first ever Vandergomery story: Reverie
Her hair would sit, so lovelily along her bare shoulders, golden with a sunshine that was not only physical but also an internality - exuding from her in such bright and blinding rays.
It was when she was with him that she was her happiest.
It was when that day came, one like any other, when she stood next to him under the awning, keeping solace from the rain.
"How are you?"
"I'm alright, and you?"
"Great...just...fantastic." This here, was said with a sarcastic intonation.
She replied, though there was an absence of irony and a small smile, "that bad, eh?"
He turned to face her, to look her in the eye and grin - a genuine upturn of the mouth - "just one of those days."
It was then that orb of yellow luminescence broke through the cloudy sheen of wetness, blocking its chill and bringing her and those near an interconnected warmth, as happiness was often contagious. "Same here."
Her cheeks would turn a carnal red, the same shade of the lip which her teeth would delicately nip, and with a roll of her eyes she'd murmur, "nobody," the pitchy inflection depicting embarrassment.
"Who's M?" Hanna had asked, with more than a mild intrigue, bending forward on the barstool to get a better look at her friend's phone.
"Just one of the boys?"
The question's vacuity had angered her some, and she tucked the phone carefully into her bag, hidden from the view of anymore prying eyes.
"He's not."
"He's not...what?"
"One of them."
She wanted to make it clear, emphasize not the opinion but the fact: "he's not...not just one of them...he's so much more."
Again, she whispered - so quietly as though to herself and not Hanna: "much more."
Her eyes would sparkle, the irises gleaming, a twinkle of caramel.
They were laying on the lush grass, damp from the rain that stopped a few minutes or so before. She had looked at him, with an unbelieving grin etched along her lips, elevating her cheekbones, bruised with blush.
"I can't believe you."
"Why not?"
"Because!"
He began to laugh, a full, noisy, chuckle that portrayed great amusement. "Why not!?"
Her eyebrows were furrowed, threaded together in a perfect concave curve. Her lips fought to stay in a smile, tugged down at the corners, their physicality oxymoronic to the starlight within her eyes, making them wider, somehow.
"Why not?" he asked again, this time seriously, as he lay a hand on her upper arm, bare and slick with moisture.
Earlier that day she'd suggested they go to the farmer's market, though it was raining, and he'd agreed, packing a picnic lunch and ignoring her necessitating questions.
She took a bite of her sandwich, barely managing to swallow, before responding. The sparkle her eyes held was dulled, lips forming a frown.
"I'm not good enough. You deserve better. Not me. Maybe that overly perky brunette in your History class. But not me."
"Charlotte?"
"Is that her name?"
"She's just my project partner."
As she spoke, there was a crack in her voice, a nuance that threatened the forthcoming of tears: "Really?"
He was beginning to get frustrated, especially when she'd made the move to pull her arm away from his hand and the loss of touch heightened his exasperation.
"Yes, really. I love you. More than I've ever loved anyone, or anything. Can you please just accept that?"
"No."
"Mona."
"Yes." She sniffled, swallowing down the thickness that had stuck her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, finally able to talk clearer, her syllables no longer broken.
"I love you, too."
"Yeah?"
She kissed him.
At this time, at eight and a half months into their relationship, their eyes and lips have become well acquainted. Thus, in that gaze, and in that kiss, he could really see, really feel, her certainty and the truth she placed in those words, as well as the ones following them.
"I've loved you more than I've ever loved anyone, or anything."
Smirking, she added: "can you please just accept that?"
"No," he deadpanned, turning away from her in an attempt to remain neutral.
"Mike!" she squealed, aghast, slapping his knee.
He looked to her then, tongue in his cheek as, at long last, that smile freed itself from the shackles of his resolve, working its resilience as it spread across his face.
"Yes."
Her nose would crinkle first, he noticed, and the ripples would fade before any auditory sound. Her laughter would be bashful, always bashful, and to the cannel of his eardrum, it would be sweet, always sweet, as it frolicked in echoing beats.
Just as it was now.
"Mike! Stop!" she whined, convulsing with giggles, those spastic and breathy.
"I can't - I can't breathe!"
"Oh no?"
"No!"
He smirked at her red cheeks, lips chapped from the promise of a wintery breeze.
"Too bad."
He was on top of her now, his knees in between her legs, restricting her movement as she tried relentlessly to wriggle from his grasp.
Suddenly, he gasped, feeling a pressure on his chest, one that she applied with the pushing of her hand. Then came her lips, crashing down on his with a force of wild abandon.
He caught up quickly, lips parting in time with the last breath she took, so now it was his turn to surprise her.
Her hair was splayed atop her cheeks, raven locks tangled in betwixt his fingers like a spider in its web. In its home.
His hands crept tauntingly, moving from her hair to below her shirt and hers moved from his chest to around his neck. Both moved in a practiced rhythm, a mellifluous melody of skin and pleasurable moans.
"Babe...babe..." She murmured against his lips, pushing him lightly off of her.
"My mom's home." She sounded regretful, sad.
He sighed, moving a strand of hair away from her face with one hand and circling a finger around the creamy skin of her belly with the other.
"Noted."
She would call for him, voice scratchy with a childish need. When she was sick, she could be quite the wimp, despite being stronger than most in other ways.
"Mikeyyyy! Can you get me a Tylonel?"
He asked her, like he always did, wether or not she was allowed to take so many - by four pm or so, having been awake since seven, she'd taken three, and though she begged for more - bribing him with kisses and...other things... - he was proud to say he'd held out. Until now.
"You know baaabe...tomorrow's my eighteenth birthday..."
His breath caught promptly in his throat and she smirked, knowing she'd done it.
"Mo..." He licked his lips, staring at her now, stopping halfway to the kitchen to turn around at her words.
She tugged on her ear, a sure sign the pain was starting up again and seeing her like that - hurting - was almost enough to send him to the medicine cabinet. Her words previously were quite an incentive too, if he was being honest.
She took a ginger sip of water with a careful nod. When he didn't say more, she did: "we've talked about this before..."
"I - I - I know." At his voice crack, unfortunate timing, she laughed. "Can't handle it, big boy?"
There was a pause and walking into the kitchen, Mike opened the cupboard. He came into the living room a second later, stood above her on the sofa, and dropped one pill into her hand without word.
She didn't take the caplet right away, leaving it to melt in her hand as she shyly met his eyes. "Is that a yes?"
He picked up on her mannerisms, the tight strain in her words: fear. "Oh Mona...my diamond, we don't have to. Not if you're uncomfortable with it."
Placing a hand on his, and intertwining their fingers, she squeezed reassuringly. "I want to. I do. But Mike...?"
Reciprocating her gesture, he replied, "Yeah?"
"I want to hear you say it..." she whispered a bit sheepishly. He smiled.
"Mona, I love you."
"I love you too, Mike."
Suddenly, Mike heard the door open and frantically moved to click on the T.V and wipe his tears with a bashful flick of the wrist: like an umbrella before the storm, as if it never happened. "Hey Aria," he greeted, sighing with sadness and relief both as she greeted him also and moved along to the kitchen, not bothering to stop and sit down beside him - like she had for the last few weeks after Mona's death - and for that, especially today, he was grateful.
A/N: R AND R! Please and thank you! This was just kind of a feeling out, characterization exercise for me. I would appreciate it greatly if you could tell me how I did with that - their relationship - their personalities individually etc. Oh, and I kind of took the 'I want to hear you say it" bit from a movie. Think you know it? Take a guess! Hint: it's not a romance drama. It's actually a comedy. There's more than one in the "series" of movies. ;) Anyway, I may write more Mike and Mona if reviews are good! :)