I shouldn't be here. No, this is very bad. I've fallen away from my regular routine of things and have not updated a few of my other stories for days, now. I keep getting distracted by the rather hard to get in character, eccentric, Buster Keaton man…Sam. You know who, or you wouldn't be here.
Anyhow, welcome to this [ONE SHOT] fiction, which means there will be no other chapters. And please excuse me if I get out of character. Sam is a bit on the quiet side and I never know what he's going to say…which is why he says almost nothing in this fiction.
And Benny and Joon seems so…complete, that I thought it would be horrible to write alternate endings or continuations. But I'm getting lured in… No matter, review anyhow.
[Go read my POTC story (Damn Fluff Bird) and I'll give you Sam's super cool hat. :D]
Lip Balm
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He had said it once. When he was laying down comfortably on the sunken arm of the couch, head tipped back and strands of hair rolling into his face.
"Joon…I love you."
He was hesitant, completely aware that the girl wrapped so silently in his arms could be a figment of an imagination, and that he could be holding onto a cloud of smoke. But no, she was real. He felt her heart beating ever so lightly, as if it coincided with his own. Like when the grass blades trembled before a warm, summer shower. That was love.
"Me too."
He had introduced her to his own body, as if they had slipped together and held on to each other as if by mistake. He knew her brother would get angry. Her brother was never happy. Child-like, he had noted it softly, as if he had tucked it in an envelope and mailed it to himself. Goodness, he could just hold her.
He had said it twice. When he looked up from the blurred words of the mixed up newspaper, one spring morning, and saw that she was staring. When she had lifted his hands and placed it to her own heart, and she had placed frail ones on his own. Again, that coinciding beating.
And then she had read the newspaper to him, enunciating the words carefully and looking up shyly before continuing again. They fell asleep together, like every evening, the black and white newspaper still rumpled in their laps.
He had said it thrice. When they walked in the park together, arms entangled and fingers entwined, eyes looking up into the sky above them, watching the birds fly over head. He had placed her in front of a large oak tree, the familiar hat tilted slightly on his head. He got down on a single knee, giving a look of entire seriousness.
He had said it when he slipped that secret diamond onto her left hand, dropping his cane when they kissed softly. He had said it when he smiled weakly, grabbing onto a large branch and climbing steadily. He had said it when he reached below and helped her up, as fiery orange leaves floated down to the two bodies.
He said it every day. When they woke up from their morning and found themselves entangled in each others arms. When he saw those large pieces of paper strewn about on the floor, charcoal smudged darkly onto the white plain. When he planted a kiss on her cheek every afternoon, before grabbing the ironing board for a lunch time meal.
"Joon…I love you."
"Me too."
It was like the raindrops on the grass blades after a warm, summer shower. That was love.
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What did you think? :] Review, please.