AN: So I accidentally wrote a GrayLu oneshot instead of updating A Noble Pawn, and then I accidentally made the oneshot a twoshot. I'm actually a NaLu and Gruvia shipper, but I really enjoyed branching out and writing this, although I wrote the bulk of it in one night so there's bound to be errors. It's mainly inspired by Winter Winds by Mumford & Sons.
If there was one thing that Gray Fullbuster could say for certain, it was that his love for Lucy Heartfilia did not stem from her beauty. Not that she wasn't a stunner- oh no, her golden locks, doe brown eyes and flawless skin gave her an air akin to that of a fairy tale princess. It was just that he coincidentally first met her when she was at her least attractive; one can only be so glamorous when they're throwing up in the gutter.
The cold winter had struck London with several flurries of snow, with January looking like a frosty start to the year, sending transport into complete disarray. As such, Gray had been forced to travel by foot rather than wait for the already horrendously late buses- no way was he taking the underground, which was ten times more efficient but also hellishly crowded, especially with the reduction of people travelling by road. He was used to the cold anyway, having been born and raised closer to the comparatively chillier north, and barely affected by it. Whilst others shuffled around cocooned in as many layers as they could, he was fine with just his jacket.
That was the first thing he noticed about her: she was ridiculously unsuitably dressed. She was unsuitably dressed for the mostly miserable British weather full stop, let alone snowy British weather. Her short skirt and tank top were more suited to a heat wave than a cold, snowy spell.
Gray wasn't a gentleman. He would normally just glance at her and move on. But his first sighting of Lucy coincidentally took place after a huge step in his life that had left him lonely and empty. So whilst he would normally pass her by, this time he took pity on the poor creature, crossing the empty, icy road. She didn't look up, not when he took his jacket off and placed it on her shivering shoulders, not even when he reached over and held her blonde locks back and out of her face as she continued to vomit inelegantly.
When she had finally spluttered the last of it, she turned her head as though acknowledging him for the first time. Her eyes were red and puffy, cheeks damp from recently shed tears. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak croak. So she cleared her throat and tried again.
"Thanks." It was almost a whisper, but still audible.
"You okay?" He asked, immediately realizing what a stupid question that was- as if any crying girls in skimpy clothing vomiting into the gutter can truly be 'okay'.
She pressed a hand to her glistening forehead and he briefly wondered if it was even possible for her to be sweating in such cold weather. Then she shrugged and stood up straight. "I don't think I'm drunk enough to answer yes yet." Her voice was surprisingly articulate without as much as a hint of cockney.
Gray considered telling her no, she was already wasted, maybe even walking her home since she was so vulnerable. But she was already making a beeline back to the bar and it struck Gray that if there was one thing he needed to do, it was drown his sorrows in alcohol.
He told himself that he was just being chivalrous, going in to make sure that nobody spiked her drink or tried to assault her or anything. He didn't admit his strange fascination with her, nor the fact that he just wanted to drink his problems away.
The next morning, Gray woke up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room with a thumping headache and not an inkling of knowledge pertaining to the location of his clothes. The last part was actually the most familiar aspect of the entire experience. Yawning, he sat up and surveyed the room.
It was neater than any guy's bedroom he had ever seen, and the multitude of 'cute' things made it clear that its owner was female. The entire place was pristine clean, right down to the last inch. Even the surplus of books (or surplus in Gray's opinion- he wasn't the reading type) were organised into neat piles when they could no longer cram onto shelves.
Humming – not out of tune, but nothing to marvel at – came from the bathroom alongside the sound of running water. Whoever his hostess was, she was showering. Content that she was occupied, Gray set upon the task of finding his clothes. They weren't on the floor, they weren't under the bed, they weren't anywhere near the dressing table…
Gray paused, noticing that the dressing table had several picture frames on it. Curiosity defeating courtesy, he picked one up and examined it.
It showed two people. Whoever took the photo must have been behind the two, because it was taken with their backs facing the camera and their faces visible due to them turning around. They were in a forest area, possibly a wood or even a park. The guy had wild ginger hair, wearing sunglasses despite the fact that it appeared to be autumn (leaving Gray questioning what kind of prick wears sunglasses at that time of year)and his arm wrapped around the waist of the blonde girl, flashing a grin at the camera. The girl was blushing furiously, her face cherry red, but she too was smiling, albeit hers was gentler.
She looked almost completely different now that she wasn't vomiting her guts out in a snowy London gutter.
Gray was about to look at another photo when he heard the door opening – in his preoccupation he had failed to notice the sound of the shower ceasing. Feeling guilty, he shoved the photo back in its place and was about to make a speed run to the bed when the door opened fully.
It was the puke girl alright, although she seemed to have become at least five times more beautiful over the course of the night, despite the fact that her hair was soaking wet and she wore nothing but a towel. Her eyes especially were transformed, now a luscious brown rather than puffy red.
Except he didn't get to see her eyes for long before she covered them, screamed and pivoted around on her foot, only to slip on the wet bathroom floor and land on it with a squeak.
Concerned, Gray was about to try and help her up before she waved him away, getting up by herself and blindly stumbling around the room with a hand still covering her eyes. Eventually, her fumbling hand found a towel which she tossed back at him (of course, since she refused to actually look at him, it flew over to the other side of the room).
Getting the hint, Gray wrapped the towel around his waist before nodding at her, for she was peeking between her fingers to try and determine when it was safe to look properly.
She sighed in relief. "Sorry about that. I just didn't expect you to be up, that's all. You drank an awful lot last night." (Yes, just like the night before her voice was crisp and articulate- perhaps even more so now that her words were less slurred).
So that explained his headache. Sitting down on the bed, he questioned further. "Is there anything else that happened last night that I should be aware of? What the hell even happened last night? Where are my clothes?"
"Well," she went over and sat down beside him, drying her hair off with yet another towel, seemingly used to the idea of them sitting on a bed together whilst almost naked (which was not a good thing for Gray to think about because that let his thoughts trail to what events must have led to her being so casual about this and this led his imagination further than he wanted it to, leaving him with assumptions that, should they be correct, could only be summed up in one word- "shit"). "You drank more than I thought it possible for any human being to drink. You lost your shirt and jacket somewhere in the bar too. Anyway, we were both completely and utterly pissed and I'm pretty sure you princess lifted me half of the way here – impressive, by the way – whilst loudly declaring to all of the UK that you were going to fuck me until I couldn't walk. You then threw up all over yourself, your trousers and the carpet the moment we got in here and passed out on said vomit covered carpet. I couldn't really let you make such a mess of my apartment so I put you to bed and put your clothing in to wash for you."
"Ah." Was the only reply he could think of. "So… uh… what's your name?"
She beamed, holding out a hand to him. "Lucy. Lucy Heartfilia. You?"
"Gray Fullbuster."
"Ah. Well, I can give you clothes or you can wait for yours to finish washing. Whichever." She got up and crossed over to open the curtains, filling the room with a luminous white sheen that almost blinded him. Having averted his eyes and blinked excessively to try and accustom, he turned to the window to see the streets outside covered by a thick blanket of white, sparkling in the morning sun as though it consisted of tiny diamonds.
Lucy turned to him. "Okay, I'll make you some tea while we wait for your clothes to finish drying."
Over hot drinks (his being coffee, hers tea), Gray began to learn about Lucy. She was twenty two years old, having recently graduated from University College London with a degree in English literature and was now working as a primary school classroom assistant and part-time teacher while she worked on her second book. Her first had been rejected by pretty much every publisher she approached and failed when she tried to self-publish it, causing her a lot of unnecessary stress and lost money. She was now working on her second novel, although she described herself as having chronic writer's block. And yes, her breasts were natural.
In return, Gray answered her questions, rather embarrassed to admit that he wasn't nearly as well educated. He was twenty three, was born in Scotland and had lived there with his adoptive mother before moving down to London a few months ago to live with Lyon, his adoptive brother, who had moved to the English capital when Gray was twenty one following their mother's death three and a half years before. He was now doing a course in art and design which he doubted could ever result in a successful career or stable income whilst working dull job to painfully dull job. And dang, how were those natural?
Despite all this conversation, Gray felt as though he was only scraping the surface. However, at the same time he was conscious of the fact that he did meet this girl when she was crying and throwing up into a gutter and perhaps he should be at least slightly sensitive when inquiring. Besides, there were things he didn't want to talk about either.
It was Saturday, and neither of them had anywhere else to be. So, even when his clothes were clean, he didn't leave, not even when Lyon sent him a text asking where he was (not that he would have replied to him anyway). Then the sun went down and the alcohol came out and she started talking more freely.
She sat on the opposite end of the sofa, cross-legged with her drink in her lap, dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a tank top with a blanket over her shoulders (she didn't want to turn up the heating too high)."Loke used to live a few doors away. He was such a player, always coming home with this gaggle of girls who giggled a lot and kept me up at night. I thought he was such an asshole so I kept out of his way. Anyway, one night I'm on a date with this guy who has a bit too much to drink and offers to walk me home, and he's sticking his hand up my shirt before I've even got the door open. I tell him to back off because it's our first date and I don't feel like it, but he starts telling me that I'm just being a tease and why else would I have worn that skirt etcetera, and I'm actually starting to get scared when BAM, Loke comes out and punches this guy in the face before shoving his miserable ass outside of the apartment block." Lucy paused to drink before continuing.
"I'm surprised at this because it's pretty heroic, which was not a word that I'd come to associate with Loke. Anyway, Loke and I get talking and he's not all that bad and after a while I start falling for him. So, natural progression of relationships; I confess, he confesses, he moves in with me because I've got the better apartment. And it's great. I was still a student at the time, he's just under two years older and had a job with stable income and we're a pretty happy couple for three years."
She got up and left the room without warning, coming back with the picture frame he had sneakily looked at earlier. "See? My friend Levy took that a few months ago. I think it was late September? Or early October. That sort of time. As you can see, we were still getting along fine by that time, and we kept that up until December."
Lucy looked down to see that she had finished her drink. Putting down her glass, she reached over to the table and picked up the entire bottle, taking a swig and placing that on her lap instead. "So in early December, he tells me he's going to visit his family for Christmas. That's fine with me, although I'm going to be lonely without him, since there's no way I'm visiting my dad. Anyway, he leaves about a week before Christmas and promises to be back the day after boxing day.
"I decide to not spend Christmas with Levy and Gajeel because as fervently as she denies it they're practically a couple and I'm not getting in the way of their special day. Instead I spend Christmas with a few of my co-workers, the Strauss siblings: Mirajane is a teacher at the school where I work and Elfman is a gym coach, while their sister Lisanna (who studies in Birmingham) came down for the holidays. It's somewhat awkward since I'm not in their family, but at least I don't feel like a cockblock. Anyway, Christmas passes, as does boxing day, and two days after that I call Loke to check that he's okay and that the weather hasn't delayed him. He says he doesn't feel like leaving his family just yet, which is understandable since he hasn't seen them for years, but he promises to be back for New Year's eve.
"I decline the chance to watch fireworks because I can only see them from the south facing window of our apartment and I end the year completely sober waiting to see my boyfriend's car, wearing a hoodie over the lingerie I wore in his honour because it's freezing when I don't close the curtains. I fell asleep by the window and had horrendous back pains."
As if reliving it she stretched, almost knocking over the bottle between her legs before carrying on. "I call him up again on the afternoon of New Year's day because I didn't sleep until 9 am, and apparently something has happened which means he can't come back yet, although he doesn't specify what and when I ask he says that I wouldn't understand, but he'll be back in a week. So when I finished work yesterday I was about to call him when I realised he'd left a voice mail.
"Apparently, he met his childhood sweetheart again and they really hit it off, so he's staying. He's sorry to end our relationship and none of it's my fault, and I don't have to worry about posting his stuff because he's coming to collect it on Monday. So I crack and I decide to get pissed so that I don't think about it and you know the rest."
She finishes the bottle and slams it down on the table. "Okay. Your turn."
"My turn to what?"
She slumps across the sofa, long legs brushing against his as her posture slackens. "Tell me a story. You've got to have one."
He shrugs. "Nothing important."
"Mine wasn't either. You look like the kind of guy who has a story."
Gray sighs, reaching for his third (or was it fourth?) can and taking a deep chug. "Okay, so my adoptive mother, Ur, died when I was eighteen, nearly nineteen, which is when Lyon moved to London, while I stayed. When I say that I stayed though, I don't mean I stayed where I'd been when she died. I only mean I stayed in Scotland, and the reason for that was Erza.
"Erza had been my best friend for my entire childhood. She was the kind of girl who the boys were too scared to mock in primary school, but even more scared to befriend. The girls loved her, but I was the only really close friend she kept, mainly because I neither feared her nor was in awe of her. So we became friends in Year 1 or 2 or something, and we stayed as best friends throughout the rest of our childhoods and into our teenage years. I guess I fell for her around Year 7 or so, when we went to the only decent secondary school in our town.
"The thing about Erza was that I knew she was out of my league. She never really went through an awkward adolescent phase; she just went from a little girl to a young woman. Erza was smart and hardworking, with exam results far surpassing mine. She was the most capable at sports out of anyone in our school. She was beautiful and seemed to keep up with everything, and everyone respected her for it. I was just a normal teenager- yeah, after puberty I wasn't exactly bad to look at, but there wasn't really much else I had going for me, besides above average artistic skill.
"When Ur died during my last year of school and Lyon, who was in his gap year at the time, moved down to London after getting a place to study engineering, I stayed in our town not just for my education, but because I wanted to stay near Erza. So when she got a scholarship and went to study History at Edinburgh, I kept quiet about my offer from Cardiff to study art, turned it down and became her roommate. I took a gap year then applied to Edinburgh, but I got rejected and so started shitty dead end jobs instead.
"But Erza was enjoying student life, and she made other friends. That was the scariest thing, actually: confirmation that she didn't need me like I needed her. And then she met Jellal, and within a week he was going out with the girl I had loved for the majority of my life. She finished her degree a few months ago and he moved in, and after a few weeks I decided it was too claustrophobic so I moved here to live with Lyon. Yesterday I received an invite to their wedding."
Gray blinked, looking down to realise that he hadn't drank since starting his sob story, and promptly finished his can off and opened another one. Lucy was studying him with those huge, deep cocoa coloured eyes. Erza's eyes had been brown too.
She threw her head back and laughed. The apartment was gloomy – it had grown dark since their conversation started, but neither had thought to turn on so much as a lamp – and the only light came from the window, through the open curtains, the moonlight glittering on the snow, like a white sky with millions of tiny stars. Some of it was muddy, horrid and grit-covered, with none of the pristine beauty he had seen that morning; but other, untouched sections, like the sheets on top of the roofs and on the windowsill, twinkled and shimmered. And in this limited light was Lucy, cheeks rosy from alcohol, eyes sparkling and shining from a combination of liquid and life, the blanket having fallen off one creamy shoulder while her hair glistened like spun sunshine . In that moment, the girl he had found throwing up into the gutter was a goddess.
They curled up under the covers and several added layers of blankets, her head resting on his chest. They were both fully clothed. Despite their close proximity and the fact that her ample chest was tantalisingly close, he felt no arousal, only a deep emotional intimacy conveyed neither through words nor even body language, as both lay perfectly still. He could hear her breathing, not the rhythm of sleep. Her presence was warm, while the rest of her apartment was like a freezer due to her turning the heating off completely. Her hair smelled like vanilla.
Taking his attention away from Lucy, Gray spared a look out of the window to the snow once again. It was not the first time the young man had seen snow, and it certainly wasn't the last, but he was almost certain that this was the most beautiful it would ever be. Whether filled with stars or diamonds, it was certainly too breathtaking to simply be a form of frozen water. This was the snow that had gifted him and Lucy with a miniature world, where these two strangers felt able to speak without fear.
Lucy glanced up at him. "What are you looking at?"
"The snow."
She shivered and snuggled in closer, her voice little more than a whisper. "I don't like the cold. When I was younger our house was large and draughty no matter how much we paid for heating. Mama used to give me hot water bottles, but when she died I burned myself while trying to pour in the water so I was always cold."
Gray was faintly aware of just how privileged he was, to hear such things from the heart. The heart was an organ he disliked exposing.
"I don't mind the cold." He replied. "Lyon used to stuff snowballs down my back, and then I was more grateful when we got indoors. I realised that cold is just not warm, and when I got my head around that it didn't seem so bad."
"Did you and Lyon spend Christmas together?"
"Yeah."
"I wish I could have spent it with my father. I cut ties with him when I left to become a writer instead of going to medical school like he wanted. He told me that I wouldn't make it, but Mama's stories had always made me want to write. I thought I'd be one of those special exceptions, like J.K. Rowling. I still haven't accepted that I'm not. That I'm no more special than anyone else."
Under the sheets, his fingertips brushed against hers and she looked up. eyes wide and emotional. "Ur always told me that we're the ones who make ourselves special. You know the saying that some are born great, some achieve greatness and others have greatness thrust upon them? She always told me that was complete rubbish, and that we all have to achieve true greatness." He chucked slightly. "Well, I threw away my chance, but I don't think you should rule yourself out."
There was silence, and Gray thought she might have drifted to sleep before Lucy unexpectedly rolled to the side and all but fell out of the bed to scramble over to her desk. "I found it!" She exclaimed, fumbling around to switch on her desk lamp. "I finally found it!"
The light came on, its harsh fluorescent glow garish in comparison to the moonlight. Lucy opened a notebook, scrawling with several biros before finding one that was satisfactory and beginning to write.
"You found what?" He asked. Now that she was out of it, the bed seemed less comfortable so he sat up, bare chest no longer covered by the sheets – although he didn't mind the cold, she hadn't seemed to consider it and he could see goosebumps on the bare skin of her arms. Getting up, he lifted off one of the blankets and placed it around her shoulders, although with her enthusiastic writing she barely seemed to notice.
"A metaphor!" She cheered, pausing to turn and beam at him. "Part of why I've been stuck on this chapter for so long is because I couldn't find the right metaphor."
"A metaphor for what?"
He didn't receive an answer until she had finished writing. "A metaphor for the human heart, and what it is to live with one."
"Well that's cheerful."
She raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell me if this sounds okay?" When he agreed, she cleared her throat and began to speak.
"It's like we're holding all of our hearts, and they're covered in a layer of ice. It makes them cold and it's no reinforced steel, but it's all the protection we've got. Holding it makes our hands numb, but putting it down means it will melt in the sun. So we keep a tight grip on our hearts, unaware that we're melting the ice away anyway. It would be so much easier to just let it melt, but we're too scared of what we'll be without our protection, however fragile it may be."
Silence, before he laughed. Lucy frowned. "Is it that stupid?"
His laughter faded away, leaving him with just a grin. "No. You're just fantastic." He leaned forwards and kissed her. She tasted like vanilla, just like her hair, with the faint remnants of alcohol still lingering.
Lucy did nothing, and when he pulled away, her gaze was elsewhere. She closed her notebook, wrapping the blanket around her. "I'm sleeping on the sofa. See you in the morning."