Author's Note: First fanfiction. I don't really know what I'm doing, but I've been reading stuff here for awhile, and kind of started writing too. So I figured, why not share, right? So this used to be on a sticky note on my desktop. It's set sometime vaguely in the 2nd season, but disregard 2.13 and on, because it was written before that, and wouldn't really make sense. So yeah, just the vague future/present/wherever you want it.
She rolls her eyes at you, like she does when you've been talking for too long. You ignore her though, because you have to rant and she has to listen.
She's sitting on the edge of your bed, swinging her legs, and you can tell she wants to leave. You smile at her, while continuing your story, because you can see the life in her eyes, and it really hasn't been like this for a while, and you're happy she's happy again.
As you pause to reorganize your thoughts, she reminds you that you are in fact having a party and therefore should probably not be sitting in your bedroom, boring your best friend to tears. Now you roll your eyes at her, and remind her of how often you have listened to her complain and rant, and plot. She explains that plotting is exciting, while your troubles are merely redundant, and you are ready to respond when you noticed a slight knock on your door.
As he enters, smirking, you feel the girl beside you tense, her legs falling motionless. She says something incredibly sarcastic about his appearance, allowing her eyes to run up and down his form, before returning to his eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips. He says something equally witty in response, only you're sure that it was much more of a compliment than an insult, and your suspicions are confirmed when her cheeks redden slightly and his grin widens. You nudge her, not because you want to encourage their behavior - because you maintain that it is disgusting and unnatural - but because he's the reason she smiles so much and you have to thank him for that.
She gets up slowly, and leans into him so that they are almost touching, and he just clasps her hand, allowing their fingers to meld. She grins widely and now it's his turn to blush, as he leans down and their lips meet briefly. They say their soft 'hello's, and engage in cutesy-witty-couple-banter, and you remember why you hate them so much. You clear your throat loudly, and she barely reacts, while he nods at you casually, his eyes never leaving hers. You smile in spite of yourself, because you never thought you'd see the day.
You ask if he's enjoying the party, but don't really listen to his response, because you're too busy realizing that they're still holding hands, and it's too damn cute, and really, they don't just hold hands: they like...molest hands: his fingers are playing with hers, caressing her thumb as she wraps her pinky into his. It's some sort of intricate dance, and you are totally captivated. You suddenly look up from your reverie, hoping they didn't notice, but thankfully they are just as lost in one another as you were just a moment ago.
You finally stretch out, get up from the bed, and push past them and out the door, turning only to remind them to keep it clean - this is your room, after all. She rolls her eyes at you and elbows him before he can make the perverse comment dancing on his tongue, and you appreciate that. You remind yourself to periodically send people into your room to 'grab something', not only to prevent whatever sick things may or may not happen, but also because you think it wouldn't be all bad if someone else saw how they are together. Sweet and compassionate, yeah, that's something no one else would expect. You laugh at the thought of the outrage that would certainly cause.
You're walking away, and you can hear them whispering, and the door is slowly creaking shut. You shake your head and smile. You weren't sure if they were ever going to get to this point, but you're happy they did. They really are perfect together.