Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Frozen universe including, but not limited to, characters, names of places, lyrics, dialogue, or any other piece of product. Disney retains all the rights to this universe. I am making no money or receiving any kind of compensation, material or non-material, for this fiction. It's all for fun. Please don't sue me. I do claim the writing, the idea behind this particular narrative, and any peripheral characters or locations created to augment Disney's work.
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A/N: I just typed this straight from my paper draft and have not proofed it. It was either type it and post it now or not for another week. So if there is any weirdness, I apologize. I just needed to get this monster off of my 'to-do' list so I could focus my energies elsewhere.
This began as a response to Kristanna Harvest Festival's prompt "Starry Night"
(on tumblr) mixed with a headcanon that I have that modern Anna would be a painter since she has such a strong connection to the paintings in the castle. I suppose it could still be seen as a fill for that but only in the most tangential way. It quickly grew and became a challenge for me to write something that is neither a drabble nor a multi-chapter monster. I would love to expand all of the beats and explore more moments in this universe, but not today. I have too many other projects that need my attention, but this was fun. I hope you enjoy it.
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He sees her in the park almost every afternoon. Sometimes she is under his favorite giant oak. Other times she is up on the hillside looking down at the city. Today she is by the duck pond. No matter where she is though, she is always painting. Her easel and paints are such an integral part of her in his mind, he wonders if he would recognize her without them.
"What do you think she's painting, Sven?" Kristoff asks his dog as they walk by her yet again.
Sven looks up at his master as if to say you could always go ask her.
Kristoff laughs.
"She would think I am some kind of creep."
But what if she didn't?
For most of the month of April, Kristoff considers the outcome of every scenario that he could devise in response to that what if.
Every day grows and stretches turning closer to summer with every moment, and every day he sees her his evening stroll with Sven. Every day he keeps on walking.
Well.
He does until Sven decides to change that.
She is beneath the oak when he spots her about twenty yards away. Even at this distance he can tell that her tongue is pressed out of the corner of her mouth in concentration and Kristoff is so focused on that nuance that he is caught unawares when Sven bolts. The leash rips from his hand and Kristoff watches for one stupefied instant as Sven makes a mad dash for the artist. Sven's plan is as clear as his trajectory and that is enough to send Kristoff sprinting after his errant pup but there is no chance of catching him. All four of Sven's paws are off of the ground, galloping, and it is all he can do to not run in the other direction out of embarrassment.
By the time he does catch up with his pet, the mongrel is rubbing his huge head into the palm his unsuspecting victim, tail wagging furiously. His tongue hangs out long as he tilts his gaze towards his approaching master with a look that says you can thank me later.
He can think of plenty of things he would like to do to that damn dog later...
"I'm sorry. I am so sorry. He got away from me. That's never happened before and it won't again." He collects the end of the leash from the ground, not daring to meet her eyes as the words keep coming. Why do they keep coming? "I'm so sorry. Come on, boy, leave her alone. Come on!"
Kristoff yanks the leash, again, but Sven does not move. Instead he seems to dig all one hundred twenty pounds of his Irish Wolfhound self into the ground and dares Kristoff to make him.
Sven was so not sleeping in bed with him tonight.
"I think he likes me."
The sound of her voice catches him off guard. He has imagined conversations with her so frequently, what they would say, how he would approach her, yet he had never once considered what the quality of her voice would be. He is pleased to find that he likes it.
He looks at her. She has a blue streak of paint on her cheekbone that brings out blue flecks in her green eyes.
"He isn't normally like this. I don't know what's gotten into him."
"He isn't normally friendly?"
He shakes his head. Two sentences in and he has already put his foot in his mouth. Fantastic. "No - no. He is friendly - maybe even too friendly - but he is also leash trained." He shoots a glare down at Sven who is too busy being thrilled with himself to care. "What I'm trying to say is he doesn't normally bolt."
She scratches Sven's ears with paint splotches fingers. "Well I am glad he did. I love dogs, but I've never had one. My sister is super allergic. She is kind of super allergic to basically everything. Does he have a name?"
She uses her free hand to emphasize words when she speaks and he notices just how small her fingers are. Had he ever noticed that about a girl before?
"Oh - him? Yeah. It's Sven."
"Sven. That's a nice name. What about you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. Do you have a name?"
Her directness makes him blink, even more when he sees how the set of her shoulder belies something much different than confidence and something much more like compensation.
"- Kristoff."
"You hesitated." She cocks her head, red braid spilling over her shoulder.
"Did not."
"Did too." She squints. "Did you know that if someone hesitates before they answer it can be a sign that they are lying?"
His mind spins. Where is this coming from? "What?"
"It is. I read a book about it. So are you?"
"Am I what?" He cannot keep up.
"Lying."
"About my name?"
She nods.
"No. My name is Kristoff."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
She watches him with such scrutiny that he thinks maybe he should be unnerved, but instead he is amused. Even in this interrogation mode, this girl is about as intimidating as a daisy.
"You want proof? I could show you my ID."
It is a joke, but she holds out her hand and says: "Okay."
When he looks back at it later, the only thing crazier than her actually demanding to see his ID is that he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out for her without hesitation. He extends it to her and she snatches it in both hands, bringing it close to her face to scour it for details. She looks at the ID, then up at him, then back at the ID again until she thrusts it back at him with a satisfied smile.
"So either that is an excellent fake or your name really is Kristoff."
"It's the later." He stuffs the laminated card back into his pocket.
"Well then Kristoff- my name is Anna and it is really nice to meet you."
His mind whirs for the rest of the day and well into the next. For all the imaginings he had done about that girl, the reality of her is so much greater. She is everything he had thought she might be - kind, smart, quirky - but just more and wholly unlike anyone he had ever met before. That thought is equally terrifying and exhilarating.
The hours at work drag by as he wonders about the encounter and tonight's potential encore. He tells himself that if he sees her as he almost always does he will wave, but nothing else. Sven had practically attacked her last night. That is the only reason they talked. She is probably always that chatty with strangers. He is nothing special. He knows that, and the last thing he wants to do is to make either of their routines awkward by expecting too much.
So he will wave.
That is it.
It is polite, efficient, and maybe - if he is lucky - she will wave back.
He spots her first.
Her red hair is a beacon on the green hillside and he holds his breath waiting for her to look up and notice him as well. His free hand twitches at his side, waiting for the perfect moment to unleash his practiced Hey-I-Know-We-Are-Not-Friends-But-I-Want-To-Be-If-You-Want-To-Be wave, but it does not come. She does not look up, and he realizes then that she never looks up. Never, in the history of his observations of her, had she looked up and spotted him. Perhaps that is why he had taken such a shining to her, his ability to watch her without her returning the favor, but now he is distinctly aware of his disadvantage.
Shit.
Maybe if he slows down she will notice, but how slowly can he walk without being the creepy slow-walking guy leering at the pretty girl? He has already stretched that limit to max capacity. He could always just say 'hi', but what if she is not interested in saying hello? What if she is interested in him at all? What if she has a boyfriend? What if she is one of those couples that is married but does not wear rings and oh hell this is a terrible idea -
He mentally tortures himself in the way he has perfected over the years, sweating and cursing under his breath, until he is interrupted by something like a howl. Blood rushes to his cheeks as he tugs at Sven's leash in retribution. Of all the stupid, horrifying - she is going to think he has trained his dog to get her attention - dammit-dammit-dammit-dammit-!
She looks up and dammit all to hell if he does not wave.
She waves back and smiles.
"Hey! Come here! I wanna show you something!"
He goes, smiling like an idiot.
His plan totally worked.
It becomes their routine. He finds her. Sven barks. She looks. He waves. She invites.
Sometimes she shows him what she is painting. It is always something odd, a single snowflake, the hands of a clock tower, never anything around her and he wonders just what that means. Sometimes he picks up strawberry lemonades at the corner market just outside the park and Sven has to walk with great trepidation so they do not spill before they find her. Kristoff swears he has never seen anything quite as alluring as the way her cheeks hollow as she sucks on the straw. One day she shares the cookies she had baked. Each time he stays a little longer. Each time he is that much more sad to go, but he can hear her voice all bright and chipper saying:
"If you never leave you never get to look forward to seeing me again!"
So he leaves and tries to enjoy the burn in his chest that only her presence can soothe.
"Why do you paint the things that you paint?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you never paint anything in the park. You never paint anything that you see around you. Why is that?"
Gallic shrug. "Why paint something that you can already see in real life?"
She had been engaged once. She tells him about it between bites of ice cream bars bought from a passing cart beneath the oak tree. She does not seem torn up about it, but her bright eyes dull a bit as she remembers.
"He lied about everything. Even stupid stuff that didn't matter, you know? Like ice cream flavors. He said his favorite flavor was chocolate, like mine, but he never ate chocolate ice cream. Like why would you lie about that?"
Kristoff has no idea how to answer that. "Maybe he just wanted you to like him?"
Anna shrugged.
"But how can you like someone if you don't know anything real about them? You don't like them at that point you just like the idea of them that they created to impress you. You know?"
Kristoff does not know. He has never experienced this, but he gets the idea, so he nods. She looks up at him from where they sit with a hollow expression he has never seen from her, like she has a gaping hole inside that she desperately needs filled.
"Tell me something real about yourself, Kristoff. Tell me something true."
He does not hesitate, overwhelmed by the foreign need to help.
"I'm adopted."
The words slip out before he can weigh the consequences and her eyes shoot wide. Had he shared too much? He scrambles to cover, to circumvent the pity he had come to expect with that particular confession.
"But I was super young. I don't even remember my birth parents - and my adopted family is everything I could want so I'm fine. Adopted, but fine. So that is something true about me."
He looks to his ice cream, unable to meet her eyes, and sees a drip fall to his lap as he once again turns into the thing that will not shut up. She puts a hand on his shoulder and now he really can't look at her. This is the first time they have touched - ever - he is sure and the sensation stopped his words in his throat.
"You are one of the bravest people I have ever met." She said and he scoffs.
"I'm really not." He suddenly is overly interested in finishing his ice cream.
"Fine. Disagree with me, but that doesn't make it less true."
They are quiet for a moment. Sven is snoring next to them. Then:
"Do you think that ice cream guys still around? I want another!"
They pack up her paints and go on the quest for more ice cream. All the while Kristoff thinks how sweet she would taste if he could only be as brave as she thinks he is and kiss her
He doodles her names in meetings. He never doodles, but she reduces him to it. He doodles and daydreams and sighs. He sighs and he is getting close to admitting that this feeling burning in the center of his chest is more than just heartburn.
"Do you believe in fate?"
"No. Not really."
"I do."
"Really? Why?"
"Because - I mean - how can you look at this world and everyone in it and see how we are all so connected without knowing how connected we are and not consider that there is something bigger at play? Like somehow all the hurt and pain everywhere is okay because the universe always balances it out with something beautiful?"
"Or maybe everything is more amazing because it is all dumb luck. Like none of this was supposed to happen but it did anyway and now you are painting a portrait of my dog."
"Yeah. Maybe, but I don't like that as much."
A week goes by without him seeing her and each day through the park winds a gear tighter in his chest till he feels like he may explode. There have been odd days where they have missed each other. A handful of stretches of two or three where their paths have not crossed but never so many in a row, so on the night of the eighth day he is near panic.
He thinks to go to the police and report her missing, but what can he tell them? He does not even know if she is really missing. All she is doing is not coming to the park. He would not even know where to begin in filling out a Missing Persons Report because he does not really know anything concrete about her.
The things he knows are intangible, quantifiable, but still true.
He does not know her last name but he knows how her eyes sparkle when she laughs. He does not know her phone number but he knows her favorite color (green), food (chocolate), and that her hands are as small as a child. He has no idea where she works, but he knows that she has a sister (Elsa), a fear of spiders, and a love of roller coasters. He'd be damned if he knew her address, but he knew her favorite brand of paint (Liquitex Heavy Body).
So he does the only thing he can do and wait, and worries, and pretend that he is doing neither.
On day nine he turns to Sven and says:
"I'm sure she's fine. Right?"
Sven looks away.
It is day sixteen when he sees her again at the same spot where they met for the first time beneath the oak tree. It is all he can do not to run to where she stands and throw his arms around her. Sven barks, his entire body wiggling in recognition, and Kristoff uses Sven's momentum as an excuse to jog in her direction.
Upon approach he can tell that she looks wan, skin sallow, and eyes dull. Had she been crying? His heart clenches at the thought.
"Hey!" It is a lame opener from ten feet away but it is all he can muster. He does not trust himself to say more.
"I was going to call but I didn't have your number. Why don't I have your number? I thought I had your number." It is her turn to babble upon his approach, but it makes him more uncomfortable than his own verbal train wreck because her voice sounds different than normal - thin, broken.
"Where have you been?" He is close enough now to see the canvas blank. Her paint is no where in sight. It is unsettling.
"The hospital. I'm fine. It's my sister. Again. I had to be there. I want to be there. I just - I always think it's just going to go away - you know?"
He does not know. He never knows. There is so much about her he does not know.
"She's better now?"
"She's out of the hospital."
He catches the nuance, had been piecing it together for a while now, but this is the first time he really starts to understand. He shifts feet, close enough now to touch her - burning to touch her - but unable to do so. Sven nudges her hand as a surrogate. She scratches his ear half-heartedly. Kristoff wants to grab that hand, to offer comfort, but he does not know how.
He never knows how.
"If there is anything I can do…" He does not finish the idiotic sentence, equally uncertain if she wants his comfort and if he even knows how to give it. He is not well versed in sympathy, always having rejected it himself, but for her he will try. For her he will do anything. He tries not to think too much into that.
She sniffs and fishes her free hand into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out her phone.
"Yeah you can give me your number. Not talking to you for two weeks sucked."
He can not agree more.
He programs his number into her phone. She returns the favor. When they trade back, she smiles, not quite her full self but closer.
"Now we are real friends and park friends." She says like this is an auspicious moment in their history.
Gauging off of his hammering heart just at the idea that he could call her now whenever he wants (even though he will never have the courage to do so) he may just have to agree.
"What does that even mean? Park friends and real friends?"
Her smile widens.
"I hope you have unlimited texting."
ANNA 1132AM
GOOD MORNING!
KRISTOFF 1135AM
It's almost noon
ANNA 1136AM
But it isn't yet it's still morning.
ANNA 1136AM
Grouch
KRISTOFF 1140AM
What's up?
ANNA 1141AM
r u going 2 the park 2nite?
KRISTOFF 1146AM
Planning on it. What's up?
ANNA 1146AM
r u bringing sven?
KRISTOFF 1147AM
Not sure I could leave my house without him if I tried
ANNA 1147AM
LOL! Then ill c u 2nite
KRISTOFF 1153AM
Where are you going to set up?
ANNA 1154AM
Not sure. Gotta see what inspires me 8D
KRISTOFF 1154AM
So you can paint everything EXCEPT what you see
ANNA 1154AM
EXACTLY
KRISTOFF 1156AM
You are so weird
ANNA 1157AM
But u like me neway :)
ANNA 1201PM
GOOD AFTERNOON
He whistles in the break room. He never whistled in the break room before, but just the idea that he may receive a text from Anna at any moment sends the melody out through his lips and then to the world.
A co-worker notices as they pour a cup of coffee.
"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" They asked and Kristoff just shrugs.
"Got a song stuck in my head." He says and returns to his desk and does his best not to check his phone every five seconds.
She brings a picnic for them to share. When he finds her beneath the oak tree it is all laid out. There are sandwiches and sides and even a bowl with kibble for Sven.
"What's all this?" He asks as he approaches.
"It's been three months since we met. I thought it would be fun to have a picnic to celebrate our friendiversary."
"Friendiversary? That is not a thing."
"Sure it is. We are having one right now. I didn't know what kind of sandwich you would want so I made a bunch of different kinds. I hope that is okay."
"It's fantastic."
And it is. No one had ever done something like this for him before.
"Great then let's dig in. I'm starving!"
They laugh and talk and eat and watch the sun go down together. Kristoff cannot help but wonder how each night he spends with her replaces the last as the best night of his life.
She is not normally at the park on Wednesdays or Saturdays, or at least not when he walks Sven on the winding paths. He is not sure why she is not there on those days, but he can imagine. She has never mentioned a boyfriend, but that did not mean she did not have one. She is cute with just the right amount of curves in just the right places and he cannot be the only man to notice this about her.
Despite all of his logic and reasoning for why thinking about her on a date with someone else should not make his stomach churn - it does. They are friends. Park friends and real friends, she had said. It is fantastic, he had said that. He cannot remember the last time he had enjoyed being friends with someone as much as he enjoys being friends with Anna, and that should be enough he tells himself. It should be enough to talk with her for hours almost every weeknight, to hear her laugh and bask in the light of her smile from a careful distance, but it is not. It is not enough.
"I need to come up with a plan." He says to his furry companion. "Girls like it when you have a plan, right?"
Sven looks at Kristoff down his muzzle. You remember that you had me neutered, right?
ANNA 233PM
whats ur favorite color?
KRISTOFF 237PM
Blue. Why?
ANNA 237PM
cuz i didnt kno and i wanted 2.
ANNA 237PM
U wanna kno mine?
KRISTOFF 238PM
Sure.
ANNA 238PM
Green
ANNA 238PM
and pink
ANNA 238PM
and yellow
ANNA 239PM
And red!
KRISTOFF 239PM
Normally "favorite" implies just one
ANNA 240PM
well since when was normal any fun?
It takes him two weeks to come up with a plan.
Fourteen agonizing days of scouring websites and local event pages to see if anything could possibly fit the complex yet specific interest of a certain redhead in his life. His hard work pays off when he stumbles across an ad promoting an exhibit at a local museum. She likes art. He likes her. So it is perfect. He buys tickets online for the next night before he heads to the park.
He cleans up a bit more than normal. His hair is brushed back, and he makes sure his shirt is fresh. He even puts on his nicest sneakers though it does nothing to keep his insides from trembling.
He should not do it, he tells himself. He is just going to ruin the good things they have going. There is no way a girl like her could have any interest in a guy like him, but there he is anyway, sweating profusely with her in front of him and the printed tickets in his back pocket.
What the hell is he doing?
He does not give himself time to answer his own question.
"I want to take you on a date. I mean - if you want me to. I mean - if you are interested - you don't have to say yes. I won't make this weird if you say no. I mean - I just have so much fun with you and I thought that maybe you have as much fun as me and I thought a date would be fun too. But you don't have to say yes. You could say no. It will be okay. We could still be friends -"
"Kristoff!" she mercifully cuts him off and he steals a glance at her. She is smiling and his heart soars.
"Yeah?"
"What should I wear?"
They decide to meet in front of the museum. It seems easier that way somehow, less awkward, more like their regular routine. Except this time there is no Irish Wolfhound and he is wearing a dress shirt tucked into jeans with a belt and tie instead of sweats. He is there a half an hour before their appointed meeting time and he spends the entire time rocking onto his toes and fiddling with the bouquet of sunflowers he bought for her. He checks his watch for the thousandth time that half hour and reassures himself this is not a huge mistake.
What if she stood him up? What if she only said yes to get rid of him last night? He will have to find a new park to walk in. He will never be able to come to this museum again. Sven will never let him live it down. Hell. He will never let himself live it down.
Ten minutes after their appointed meeting time and two seconds before he is about to throw the flowers on the ground in march home in shame, he sees her. She is in a knee length green dress with delicate flowers embroidered along the edges. Her hair is down long and flowing around her bare shoulders. This is the first time he can remember seeing the fragile length of her collar bones.
She spots him across the way.
He waves.
They meet in the middle.
"Hi." He says, impressed that he can even get the word out. She is so beautiful.
"Hi." She says, and he thinks she is blushing. Is he blushing? Should he be blushing? "Are those for me?"
He remembers the flowers, stems crushed in the moments of his anxiety, and thrusts them towards her. "Yeah. They are for you."
She takes them and hold them to her nose with a smile. "Sunflowers are my favorite."
He knows. She had told him one day by the duck pond.
"I hoped you would like them."
"I do."
She is smiling with her eyes the way that always makes him tingle from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He made her smile like that and somehow he thinks he can never do anything greater.
"Should we go in?"
"Oh! Yeah. Let's go." He could have stayed and basked in the glow of her smile for the rest of the night
They climb the stairs and he gives the tickets to the man at the door. The doorman tears them in half and returns the stubs to Kristoff.
"Van Gogh is in the gallery to your left."
And just like that they are inside the museum. Kristoff cannot recall if he has ever been in this museum, or any museum for that matter, before. He is not sure what to do with himself in the halls of marble and spotlights. Anna on the other hand seems right at home. She makes a sharp left and head straight for the Van Gogh gallery.
It is a small room and rather crowded. From what he can tell there are only three paintings to see and they are all hidden behind swarms of people. He looks to Anna for what to do but she has already made a beeline for the first painting and is trying to work her way to the front of the group. He follows.
It is a picture of a field, or at least what Kristoff assumes is a field. He is bad at art. The style is loose and flowing in a way that bends his perceptions of reality. He does not really understand it or its importance, but Anna seems to. She presses up close and peers at each brush stroke. It is several minutes before she's had her fill and is ready to move to the next painting.
The look on her face tells him he had made the correct choice in bringing her here. Her eyes light with a new energy and he can feel her warmth in it. She reaches out and takes his hand. He will follow her anywhere, anywhere, anywhere. She pulls them both close the next painting.
It is a bunch of sunflowers in a vase.
"I like the ones you gave me better." She brings the flowers up to her chest with her free hand and smiles at him.
He almost forgets to smile back as he is still so wrapped up in the fact that she is holding his hand. Her fingers feel so small in his, like he could break them if he squeeze too hard, and it is distracting.
"No offense to mister Van Gogh," he says in a hush. "But I think I always like the real thing more."
"Yeah. Me too." She is still smiling. She has not stopped smiling since she saw him outside. He could get used to that.
The last piece is packed around with the most people by far. It is an impenetrable shield of bodies keeping them from getting even a peek at whatever lay behind. Anna tried to edge her shoulder in, tried to find a gap small enough to make headway, but not even she could wiggle into the cramped space. She quirked her mouth to the side, lips pink and shiny, and Kristoff thinks of bubble gum. He wonders what she tastes like.
Would he get to find out?
It is suddenly scorching hot and he runs a finger around his collar.
For all the people in the gallery - it is quiet. There is the shuffle of feet, the low murmurs of appreciation, the ambient buzz of the air conditioner, but there is no music - nothing to muffle the coughs and sniffles of the crowd. So when her phone rings it has the effect of someone throwing an entire set of metal pots onto marble tile. The collection of people jump in alarm and Anna's hand is out from his in an instant.
She fumbles for the small purse he had not noticed before, struggling with the sunflowers, and finally reaches her phone on the third ring.
"Sorry. Sorry everyone." She says as she searches, pulls out, and answers the call. "Hello?"
The docent, stoic and cold, moves in. Kristoff sees him coming and circumvents him by grabbing Anna by the elbow and steering her back from whence they came. She lets him lead her, face intent as she listens to every word coming from the other side of the line. He stops them near the exit, the doorman who had taken the tickets only minutes before does not seem to recognize them. Kristoff is not sure if that is actually upsetting or if he is just upset because he is watching Anna's face and he call tell that she is upset.
She hangs up, hands shaking.
"It's Elsa." Her smile is gone. He wants to find it, would kill to find it. "She needs me. I have to - ugh - I have to go. I have to go now. I'm sorry."
She is already walking, chin down, into the evening air. He follows dumbly. He does not know the protocol for dates interrupted by mysterious sisters.
"Is everything all right?" It clearly is not, but he is at a loss.
She does not stop walking, does not slow down, but she does hesitate to answer.
"It will be. It always is - but she needs me first or else she won't be."
"Doesn't she have someone else she can call?"
He feels awful the second the words leave his mouth but he does not take them back. The words, petulant as they are, are also the truth. Why did Anna have to go?
The look in her eyes reminds him of that day she came back from being gone for so long. There is a special sadness there reserved especially for the topic of her sister and he wonders -
"It's Wednesday." She says with a shrug and pulls her keys out of her clutch like that one sentence explains everything.
He does not understand. "What?"
"I am sorry. I can't - it's just - ugh - she needs me. You know?"
He does not know. He never knows.
She puts her keys into the door of an old silver Volvo that he distantly registers must be hers. He sees her easel in the backseat.
"Can I come with you?" He knows he sounds desperate, but the idea of her climbing into that car and driving away from him without the faintest idea why makes him crazy.
"I'm sorry." She looks at him then, really looks at him, for the first time since the call and it is like seeing her rip in two. "I'll call you, okay? I will. Thank you for the flowers and the museum and everything but I have to go."
She raises to her toes and ghosts her lips across his cheek. He can feel the trail left by her lip gloss and it sets something burning deep in his stomach. He wants to grab her and force her to stay with him. He wants to back her against her car and kiss her full on the mouth. He wants to know just what in the hell is so crucial that she has to run out ten minutes into the most important date of his life.
He doesn't do any of those. Instead he stands back, watches her pull away, and waves.
Two days pass and she does not call or text or come to the park. Two turns to three, then four, five… and he knows he could pick up his phone and call just as easily as she could, but he is not the one who ran out on their date. He is not the one who said they would call. She had said she would call, right? He replays the memories of that night again and again in his head until they are raw and blistered.
She had said that she would call right? He wasn't making that up, right? He wonders if the date even happened at all or if it had just been the strangest dream. He cannot decide if it being a dream would make it better or worse.
So he waits, and worries, and lick his wounds. All the while passing time by wondering just why Elsa needed her so badly.
On the ninth day his phone buzzes on his desk.
ANNA 344PM
hi
KRISTOFF 400PM
hi
ANNA 401PM
u r mad at me
KRISTOFF 405PM
I am at work.
ANNA 405PM
i will b at the park 2nite
KRISTOFF 407PM
Cool.
ANNA 408PM
will u?
KRISTOFF 410PM
got a lot of work to do.
ANNA 412PM
o ok maybe tmrw
He is mad at her. He is furious, but mostly because she could tell from one text his exact mood before he had even put a finger on it. Talk about adding insult to injury.
The last thing he wants is to go to the park tonight.
All he wants is to go to the park tonight.
He spends the rest of the work day trying to reconcile those two thoughts.
By the time he decides to go to the park, the sun is almost setting.
He walks slower than normal tonight and Sven notices. The dog pulls hard at his lead, but Kristoff does not give an inch. He wants to be sure that he can turn around and Bolt the second he sees her if he wants to.
All ideas of fleeing scatter from his mind the moment he sees her on the grassy hill overlooking the city. She does not have her paints, or her easel. She is there alone, standing in the same dress she wore to the museum, holding a withered bouquet of sunflowers. The wind whips her hair around her face and even at this great distance he can tell that she is shaking.
The site stops him dead in his tracks though he does not recall the cardigan concealing collarbones he has dreamed of tracing with his tongue.
She lifts one hand and waves.
Sven tugs at his lead.
Kristoff does not move, cannot. So she does.
She strides over the hillside. Her pace is stilted and awkward, but each step makes his heart beat harder. He catches the way the evening light plays on her skin. The way her eyes burn with that need to fill some empty part of herself.
She stops so close to him their toes nearly touch. She has to crane her neck back to look up at his face. She is so small. Everything about her from her head to her toes seems to be miniature, but her smallness had never struck him before now. Now, she looks small. She has never looked small to him before. It rips something in his chest to see her like this. All the anger and embarrassment melt away in the wake of her contrition, but he is not ready to let her know that. He tries to keep his expression as impassive as possible. It is his greatest achievement of self control to date.
"I'm sorry. I screwed up everything and I know I did and I am sorry." She tries to wring her hands while holding her sunflowers. It only kind of works. "I am just no good at stuff like this, and I like you so much, and now you are mad at me and probably never want to see me again and it is all my fault."
She is not crying, but she may as well be. Her voice quivers. Her eyes shine. It punches him in the gut, but nothing more than the words I like you so much. The weight of her confession squeezes the breath out of him.
"You never called." He cannot fall into her, not right away. He has some pride after all.
She looks at their feet at that, head jerking down like he had slapped her. His stomach turns.
"I know. I can explain. I can - I just - I am so, so sorry." She looks back up at him but this time her cheeks are damp. The sight is a knife to the gut. "Forgive me?"
He wants to give her the words to fix this, but her expression leaves him speechless. She is bleeding in front of him but he can stop it without words. He will stop it.
He drops Sven's leash, takes her face in his hands, and does what he has wanted to since he first saw her near six months ago. He kisses her.
He should have asked permission. He knows he should have asked permission. You do not just go around kissing beautiful, crying women in parks without asking permission first but dammit all to hell if that is not exactly what he is doing. Double dammit if she did not kiss him back like her life depended on it.
She tastes likes peppermints and chocolate. He did not know that people could taste like that, but she does and it is intoxicating. He could kiss her like this forever, but they are in a park and someone just whistled and only gods know where Sven is at this point so he pulls back. He opens his eyes to see her press her lips together like she could keep his kiss there all by herself and it is all he can do to not choke.
"So do you forgive me?"
His hands fall from her face to her shoulders, down her arms, till he pulls her against his chest and just holds her. He feels her shuddering sigh against his chest, smells the mix of her shampoo, soap, and her until the ache in his chest changes from one of anger to one of empathy (he is not ready to give it another name yet).
"Shhh…" He murmurs into her hair, unsure if he should be comforting or reprimanding her yet. "There is nothing to forgive."
That night they sit on the hill and talk for hours. Time has never escaped him the way it does that night in the summer air and soft air as he watches her braid blades of grass together until the light fades and all they can do is talk. They do not touch more than the brush of a hand over the shoulder, a touch of a foot along a calf, but it is somehow the most connection he has ever felt with another human being.
Then, somewhere in the dark, she grabs his hand - or he grabs her hand - or they grab each others then they are holding hands side by side in the night talking about everything that does not matter.
"Do you know what painting we missed at the museum the other night?"
"No. What?"
"Starry Night. It is one the most famous paintings in history and we missed it, but you know what?"
"What?"
"We have the real thing tonight and I like the real thing better."
He is going to ask about her sister. He is. He swears it. He needs to, at this point almost deserves to, but not here. Not in their park. Not when their first kiss still tingles across his skin.
When the sky lightens with the rising sun he is neither surprised nor horrified. He simply rolls up on his side and watches the dawn spread over her cheeks.
She smiles at him.
He calls in sick.
They go to breakfast at the cafe where he has picked up strawberry lemonades for them more than once. He orders coffee, a bagel, and some plain scrambled eggs. She orders coffee and two blueberry muffins. She has grass in her hair, green flecks sticking out in the red, but he does not tell her. It makes his heart jump in his chest to see evidence that last night was not some bizarre dream.
The light of day makes this all a little less easy at first. Their traditional signal of the sun setting is no longer the marker for a conversation gone too long. They have the entire day - and somehow that is more terrifying than anything he has encountered up to this point.
What if he only likes her in small doses? What if the spell they have woven in park-bound and text conversations is broken when the are out in the real world?
He jumps when his name is called for his order with hers right after. Kristoff and Anna! Order up! It is the first time he has heard their names strung together out of his mind and it is jarring. Is that what it really sound like? He does not hate it, and looks to her to see if she noticed the way he did but she is already up and heading to the counter to pick up their food.
He goes to help.
Between the two of them they carry the plates and mugs back to where Sven is tied beneath the table. Kristoff puts the scrambled eggs on the ground for Sven and watches her pour no less than eight packets of sugar into her coffee. It is impressive, really. If anyone put that much sugar into his coffee he would go into a diabetic coma.
When she eats something she likes her eyes close and she smiles. It is one of his favorite things about her. So when she takes the first bite of her muffin he watches with great intention. After all, he knows just how those lips taste now, and to watch them wrap around a smile is almost more than he can take.
"I love muffins." She speaks with her cheeks bulging and he cannot help but laugh.
She laughs, too.
It is easy again. It is good, but still something lingers. It is now or never.
"So the other night, when you left, is everything - is that going to happen again? Like - regularly?" He does not ask for details, not sure what details he wants to know, but if he is going to keep paying for dates that leave after ten minutes in he is going to rethink his ticket purchasing strategy.
Anna looks at her plate like she has finally been caught red handed, and he hates that he has to ask but he does. He had avoided asking the entire night, glancing around the question with careful sidesteps, but here in the light of day it deserves attention.
"It's complicated." She picks at one of her muffins and he has to tell himself it is fine to reach across the table and catch her worried fingers.
"I've got all day." He squeezes those fingers and she looks at him the way she did that first day in the park, like she is just waiting for him to lie to her.
"I love her more than anything."
"I am sure you do."
"That is why I have to go."
"Why else?"
After a long moment - she heaves a sigh and launches into a story so long and detailed he does not wonder at her hesitation any longer.
Her sister has one of those diseases that makes doctors scratch their head and get published in journals. It has been diagnosed as everything from cancer, to lupus, to the super flu - but the end of the day it is none of those and symptoms do not change. She cannot regulate her body temperature, Anna explains. At times she is too hot, but mostly she is too cold - always too cold - so her parents had Anna in hopes that she could somehow fix her sister with her own healthy cells.
For as long as she could remember she had been used to keep her sister alive. Even after her parents had died in a car accident, the pattern continued. Whatever Elsa needs - Anna gives her, always, forever, without question.
Anna used to try to explain this to everyone she met. She tried to make her sister seem like a saint, her parents seems blameless, but in the end all she got was pity and secondhand judgement for choices that were not her own. Now she just does not try which is why she never told him, tried not to bring him into this. The last time she had let someone in this way….
She does not finish, but he knows from that look in her eyes that she is thinking about her ex-fiance.
He tries to pull her back to the present. "Is there anything else?"
"No. That's about it." She grabs her mug and takes a sip. "My coffee is cold now though. Woo boy I talked way too long. I'm sorry."
His coffee is cold too, and that realization sparks an idea.
"Yeah. Well I need to get Sven back home anyway." He says and her face darkens with disappointment.
"Oh? I could buy you another cup of coffee?" Hope raw and bleeding but he has a better idea.
"Or - you know - I don't live far from here. We could walk over to my place and I can make us both a fresh cup." He has never asked a girl over to his apartment. He adds this the list of firsts he is experiencing with this amazing woman.
"Do you have sugar?" Any darkness that had lingered in the corners of her eyes is gone.
"Of course." He says - but that does not stop him from stuffing his pockets with sugar packets just before they leave.
When they step over his threshold, he does a peripheral scan of the area. He is not in the habit of leaving anything out, but this is Anna in her pretty dress and he is also not in the habit of inviting pretty girls in pretty dresses into his apartment under any circumstances, so he looks. Everything seems to be in place, though there is not much to be out of place.
His place is small, functional, and sparse. The kitchen, living room, and entry hall are all the same space, his bedroom is just as compact, and his bathroom is the kind with a shower with no tub. He has never seen the point of decorating much beyond a calendar on the wall and a picture of his family on his bedside table. Since he is not much one for entertaining the space suits him just fine.
His favorite thing about the place is the windows. They are huge affairs going almost floor to ceiling that open out into the world. When he looks out them it is easy to imagine that he does not live inside a glorified box but instead is out in the air living in the mountains he can see from his couch.
"Oh wow! I love your place." She steps into the middle of the room and spins, dress flaring out around her hips before she throws her withered bouquet on his coffee table. "It is so cozy."
The morning light rushes in through the windows behind her giving her a halo. She is spellbinding.
"Thanks. It works all right for me and Sven." He remembers his dog then and reaches down to remove his leash. "How about that coffee?"
He goes to the corner that serves as his kitchen and pulls out a coffee maker. After going through the necessary steps of preparation, he sets it to brew and pulls out Sven's bowl and kibble. He does not have a kitchen table, so she leans up against the wall and watches him. He does not let himself think about that for too long because if he does - if he stumbles over the bizarreness of the entire situation - he will screw this up. He cannot screw this up, not when she is so close and beautiful.
He pats Sven's back as he straightens from feeding him and meets her gaze.
"Sorry I don't have a table or chairs or anything." He has never been more aware of his lack of furniture before.
"Oh I don't mind."
He could tell she really did not.
"I don't normally have guests."
"It's fine, Kristoff. I love your place."
She reaches out and rests her hand on his arm - skin on skin. He had not realized they were that close, that he stepped so far into her, drawn to her like she has her own gravity. He is too happy to be alarmed by it.
"You should give me a tour."
"A tour?"
"Yeah. Of your place."
She had seen most of it already, but the coffee was not ready and he how could he deny her anything?
"Yeah. Okay."
One step and they are out of the kitchen. He was going to make a sweeping gesture with his arm to the multi-purpose area, but she grabs his hand with hers before he has the chance. That is better, he decides. Much better.
"Kitchen." He nods with his head to where they just came from. "Living room. Closet. Bathroom." Each name he lists comes with a nod of his head as they stroll the short length of the room. They come up to the final door. It is slightly ajar. He does not open it further. "Bedroom."
She reaches out her free hand and pushes it fully open. He does not stop her as she pulls them both into the small space. It is as plain and simple as the rest of his place, but she looks at it like it is amazing. She lets go of his hand and beelines for the family photo on his Ikea nightstand. He fights the shock of disappointment that swells through him at the loss of touch but does not follow her closer to bed.
"Is this your family?" She sits on the edge of his bed and brings the picture up close to her face.
He nods and then realizes that she is not looking at him: "Yeah. That's them."
"They look really nice."
"They are."
She takes her time going over each face in the photo like she is trying to memorize them. Perhaps she is. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. There he finds the dozen crinkling packets of sugar he had stolen from the cafe and he remembers the coffee. He should remind her of the coffee. That way she wouldn't be sitting in the gorgeous morning light on his bed in her pretty dress looking so small and sweet and edible.
He does not get the chance. She sets the photo down and looks at him. She smooths her hands out across the quilt his mother made for him. It is childish, endearing, and disarmingly sexy.
"And this is where you sleep?"
And fantasized about her on numerous occasions: " - uh - yes."
"You hesitated."
"I did not."
"You did. Do you sleep on the couch?"
"No - I sleep here, but beds are for more than sleeping.."
He does not realize how that will sound until the words are already out of his mouth. A deep red spills over her cheeks showing him that his accidental insinuation was not lost on her. He rakes his hand through his hair, his own temperature rising.
"I mean - I'm not saying that we should - that I expect us to - no - I mean - I would never unless you wanted - not that you should want -" Oh. Shit. He is making this worse. Is he making this worse? Could this be worse?
"Kristoff." She looks nervous. Shit he has made her nervous and now he is the creepy guy who invites pretty girls to his apartment and makes them uncomfortable.
"Yeah?" He can feel his heart in her hands at this moment, unprotected and terrified.
"I'd be okay with that - if it happened." She bites her lip and looks to where she picks a bit of loose thread on his quilt. "I mean - if you wanted to, we could."
All of the air in the room rushes into his throat and clogs it. He coughs.
"I didn't bring you up here - I mean I didn't expect you to -"
"I know." She looks back at him again. "That's what makes it okay."
He cannot move, paralyzed by permission, and she just looks at him. She looks at him with those too wide green eyes and she pats the spot on the bed next to her. He does not tell his legs to move, but they do anyway. He sits, not touching her, but so close he can smell how the sweet scent of grass still clinging to her skin from the park.
He licks his lips. Is this really happening?
"Just tell me to stop if you want to stop."
She nods.
He feels the muscles in his chest jump in anticipation. He wants her. It seems like she wants him, but he cannot move without her permission, will never. She looks at him with eyes that say she understands. She shrugs her shoulders and her cardigan falls back. She pulls off the sleeves and his eyes follow each new inch of skin revealed. There are large bruises at the crooks of her elbows and he is only just beginning to understand what Anna would do for her sister.
He lifts one hand and traces a single finger down the length of her collarbone. Her skin is so thin, so soft. It would be so easy to add to her bruises.
She shifts so their knees bump. He can feel her breath on his face and this is real. She is real. His hand curls around the back of her neck, tangling into her hair, and the moment their lips touch it is like there was never a time where he had not been kissing her. He was born to kiss her. He can feel the earth shift beneath them as he lowers her back onto his pillows. He can see universes in her eyes as she guides her hand to the zipper on the side of her dress.
She is wearing a simple cotton bra, all function - no frills, and somehow it is the sexiest thing he has ever seen. He also sees the scars, clean and surgical, marring the expanse of creamy skin she reveals to him. When she said she gave her sister everything…. Someday he will ask her about them, find out their history, but now he bends and kisses each one.
He is not a poetic man, but the feel of their skin sliding together sends revelation through his blood. Nothing in his previous experience with women prepared him for this. He is inside of her and yet somehow she is inside of him. Her heat, her taste, her scent - he cannot - cannot - oh gods.
"I love you." He groans into her mouth, unable to deny it any longer - to keep it from her. "I love you so much."
Her fingernails dig into his shoulders.
"I love you, too."
He swallows her words, tastes them, feels them fill him with something bright and real. They settle inside of his chest and wrap around his heart. Nothing will ever be the same now, and he could not be more glad about that.
They lay in the afterglow side by side. He turns his head to look at her and in the warm glow of the morning he struck by how real this is. She is here, in his bed, and she loves him. She loves him, he loves her, and somehow it does not much matter if fate or accident brought them here because it is perfect either way. She is perfect.
He rolls up on his side, head propped in his hand, and traces the underside of her breast.
"So how 'bout that coffee?"
She laughs low and warm in her throat. The sound thrills him.
"Later." She curls her body up against his, leg thrown over his hip rocking against him. "We have better things to do."
He feels the first stirrings of his body agreeing with her.
"I suppose we do."
They do not get to the coffee until much, much later.
o000o
A/N: for other stuff, you can go check out my tumblr: .com.
Pissed you are getting an update for this and not one of my multi-chaps? Harass me about it. Twitter handle: Ravenswrite