prompt: lj's 30heartbeats no.1.08
notes: i feel like a sadsad song.
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/the odds
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She's pretty.
—is the only thought running through his mind, as he watches her scribble some words of art, pen anchored tightly in her hand. Her tongue sticks out, and with a furrowed brow, she taps her chin in a silent muse.
(He can't help but find her cute when she's thinking so hard, brownbrown eyes focused—so focused.)
And as he sits there on her bed, staring out that crystalclear window at the wide and open sky so blueblueblue, he wonders to himself,
what are the odds that she looks at him, like he looks at her?
(Probably the same odds that it rains tomorrow.)
"Hey, Lucy,"
She pauses in her work and tilts her head to the side.
"do you believe in luck?"
She thinks for a bit, and then she says,
"Not really,"
His face falls, barely—just barely.
"but I do believe in you."
And they share a brightbright smile, faces flushing so redredred, as if on fire. Then, on a strange and odd whim, she lets him read her story, and the words seem to fly and flutter around,
like the room is filled with butterflies.
And he's vaguely aware of what the tale is about—a girl and a boy, and some magic or so, but he can't seem to stop reading the last of the lines.
They fell in love,
and lived happily ever after.
It's corny and lame—with, really, no shame—but for some reason, it sets his veins on fire, so hothothot. She smiles at him with pinkpink lips, and her chin in her hand.
(And desperately, he wants this happy ending.
—even if the odds are against him.)
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It rains the next day,
and she's kissing him beside the river.
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notes: er, was this kind of weird?