Drawing Hearts
Because—at least to someone who has fallen truly and inexplicably in love—there are many, many ways to draw a heart. / AustinAlly. Fluffy drabble; written in the spirit of Valentine's Day.
A/N: Ah, Valentine's Day. What better to do than write the inevitable Auslly Valentine's Day fic? (By the way, you wanna know who I'm asking out today? Yep, that's right—my computer, because I love my computer and its stockpile of unused and sickly sweet Word documents containing Auslly tidbits.) Ah, Valentine's Day.
According to Mr. Blake, a well-respected biology teacher at Marino High, a person's heart is just a big goopy mess of blood and arteries and quivering tissue that thump thump ba-dumps to a pretty arbitrary rhythm. This is where the captain of the science team transmits Mr. Blake a telepathic and vibrationally-amplified high five, and this is where the president of the debate club raises her hand assertively and insists that we must take into account the voyage of human emotions, not merely their physical representations.
This is where a certain academically-challenged, chronically-distracted teenage heartthrob finally looks up from his lab notebook (where he, of course, has been outlining guitar chords and abstract rhythms) and throws a few words into the whirlpool of chatter around him. "A heart—is a heart—" he says, quietly but clearly, "—is a heart."
And this is where the entire class turns to gawk—not only at his shameless reference to Gertrude Stein, but also at the fact that he's just participated in a class discussion. All he can see now is a field of eyes and acne and open mouths, and it's no wonder he feels intimidated.
He's not supposed to be this sappily romantic.
By whipping a rough circle out onto the board and declaring it to be a heart, Mr. Blake only proceeds to fire up even more controversy. This time, it's from the art students.
:::
He can't paint or sketch or even doodle for his life, which makes this task an exceptionally challenging one. He is trying—and the keyword is trying—to create a personalized Valentine's Day card, and for now he'll ignore the fact that making cards is a classic first-grade pastime. (Judging by his progress so far, he might as well be one.)
He's managed to get a shaky heart down on paper when she walks by and coos teasingly at his piece of work. "Aww, is little Austin making a card?"
He thanks the heavens that he hasn't written in the name yet. "And what does it have to do with you?" He furrows his eyebrows defensively, but she ignores him.
"Hey—is that supposed to be a heart?" She's staring incredulously at what he's drawn, and it's not like he has anything else to do, so he shrugs. "Do you—uh, do you need some help?"
Is it against the rules to have someone help you make their card?
:::
"Dez, do you even know what I'm talking about?"
His best friend assumes a sophisticated air and mildly smiles. "Oh, yeah, I know what you're saying. It's like—whenever you're around her, you can't breathe and you stutter and your whole world is collapsing around you, but in a good way; and whenever she talks to you, or says anything, you kind of float in limbo and hang onto her words; and whenever—"
"And whenever she laughs, I get this warm feeling in the pit of my stomach that just won't go away. Yeah," he laughs softly. "Yeah, that's exactly how I feel."
"It's like a deck of cards."
"Huh?"
"Oh, you know," snorts Dez offhandedly, "It's a game of chance, and you get caught up in the flurry. If you're near the top of the deck, you're more likely to get picked."
She's drawing hearts from the deck of cards, and he can only hope that she draws his.
There are, however, ways to increase that probability.
:::
Roses are red, violets are blue.
"Hey, Ally."
She looks up from her math textbook and smiles at him. He's starting to lose himself when her voice jerks him back to reality. "Hi."
It's still Valentine's Day. He still has time.
"Uh…hey," he croaks weakly. The antiperspirant that he has picked specifically for this purpose starts to fail on him, and he makes a mental note to complain to the company as soon as possible.
Antiperspirant should be able to withstand something as trivial as giving a girl some flowers.
"These are for you." He shoves the roses into her arms, and he'll admit that the motion is just a bit too hurried for his own taste.
"Oh, um—thank you, Austin. They're very beautiful… I don't know what to say. Uh—"
But he's already out the door, so she really doesn't need to know what to say.
:::
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
"Hey Ally, have I ever told you how much I dig those shoes?"
They're sneakers. She's confused.
"Girl, you got a great sense of style!"
She rolls her eyes. "Austin, if you're just going to annoy me, I'd like to politely request that you leave the store until you learn how to properly behave."
"Sorry, Ally. I'm trying to compliment you!"
"Well, you're being creepy right now."
:::
"Ally, hi!"
"What do you want, Austin?"
"Do you want to go stargazing with me?"
It's his last resort, because he is not planning to stoop so low as to ask her to go cloud-watching with him.
"Actually, that sounds nice. What time?"
"Pick you up at eight o'clock?"
He'd better make his move before midnight.
:::
The night fog envelops her body snugly and she shivers. A hint of rain begins to caress her cheek, but she really doesn't mind. There's something soothing, even therapeutic, about rain—especially in Miami during the springtime.
"Polaris," whispers Austin from beside her. He's referring to the star that marks the beginning of the Big Dipper, and she sighs appreciatively and nestles further into his side. For now, she'll ignore the mellow stings in her throat, those soft pangs that lace themselves along the insides of her chest and remind her that she's cuddling with her currently platonic guy friend.
"Orion," she murmurs back. She raises her free arm to gesture at the cluster of stars that vaguely form the figure of a hunter. It's truly amazing, she thinks, that unrelated stars from the depths of the universe can combine in such random and yet meaningful ways.
This is where he takes a chance, so as to increase his chance.
He takes her outstretched hand in a single, fluid movement and gradually eases their now clasped hands back down to the grass. Both feel the droplets of early morning dew clinging to the sides of their fingers—but it's romantic, really.
Technically, it's not Valentine's Day anymore. But it is a Friday, and frankly, Fridays don't matter that much in the overall scheme of things.
"Hey, Ally?"
"Hmm?" He can feel the vibration in his core. They're that close to each other.
And all of a sudden, their hands aren't the only things that are in contact.
Well, there's another piece of Valentine's Day Auslly fluff. Review and favorite if you'd like to! Many, many thanks to everybody for all the heartwarming support.