A/N: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE! That's right...look who's decided to actually show up..? This antisocial human being!
yee-ha. It's your' foreverobsessedFillmorefan' "kaykay-writes" with a different Pen Name (hazy-buttons) a tiny drapple, a whole new state of "cray-cray", and lots of new ideas. I promise, this time. Yes, I made a RP blog (Wybie) and that was what.. 4 months ago? Yes, also school...even though Homework is trying to suck the life and soul out of me..I don't do it.
SHJDDU ANY-WAY. Here comes the good part. My first Coraline fic-drapple-thing. And no I ain't no amateur when it comes to Coraline cause RPying is almost just like FF. Oh, Coraline is my idea of perfection now and YEAH I have a bigger CxW fic in mind and almost ON PAPER.
This...story (if you can call it that) I wrote in math class -math? blegh- and boy is it cheesy! GUYS YOU KNOW I LIKE CHEESY.
Last but certainly not least. HEY FILLMORE FANS PLEASE HAVE NO FEAR. Don't go all: "OH NO. SHE CHANGED" nah no nope. It's still lilttle ol' me okay? New Fillmore FFs coming soon! :)
-Also before I forget, Italics in the story are flashbacks!- LETS DO THIS!

I DO NOT OWN CORALINE. CREDIT GOES TO HENRY SELICK, LAIKA, NEIL GAIMAN AND FOCUS FEATURES.

Skeleton Fingers.

Gloves: black, shiny material, wrapped, loose, around his fingers. On his extremely unique dark skin, shaping long, bony, skeleton hands: fake structure that looked real.

She had seen many types and shapes and colors that were similar to his beloved "5 fingered buddies", especially on Halloween, but everytime she'd look back at his, she became convinced: his ones were different.

She remembers that first time. The very first time she had managed to fit her petite fingers into those incredibly wide spaces where his fingers would lie.

The fabric is still warm and she flashes him a 'precise' smile, her head slightly cocked and her foxy eyes drowning in interest.

She recalls. It's her only guilty pleasure, to recall.
Late at night when murky Ashland is fast asleep, she dreams of another moment that could at least resemble, remind her of that day and wash her sassy, stubborn mask away.

His eyes travel down her motionless body, secretly admiring its glory. And he wonders, he is suddenly trapped in curiosity and there is no escape. But it was almost as she had read his thoughts then. And thus -was it the lust that his gloves 'caused', with their softness and sweet smell that was both tempting and 'erratic'?- she wraps her arms around his rough neck, and her gloved palms brush against his skin. The blue haired rascal then ignores his small, quiet cry and terrified looks. She had caught him, grabbed him, aspects of her annoying determination showing up once again. And like a hungry, wild animal she attacks him, as he wonders: why are her hands so tiny? And how come she is so scary and strong and determined? With those small, thin fingers and bright yellow 'swampers'?

And even now, she didn't know why she had done it, neither did the young 'slug maniac'. But she wants to recall it, yet he thinks about it night and day, two minds..same thoughts.

And they kiss. And it's like one of those moments when you can't say, or do anything. A brief second of linger and then, a strike of a breath that's deeper than any other. Youthful lips, tangled, craving for the 'top' with clumsiness, lips that would remain sealed for the rest of eternity. Hearts beating 'tremendously', and hands, arms, palms,fingers everywhere: on her hips, in his messy, dark hair, on her fragile waist..in his gi-normous skeleton gloves. They were only 13, but there was something there, oh so pure and fierce at the same time.
"Something." he thought.
"Something." she said.