In which Robb returns home from the war.
Roslin hops off the train and hoists her purse higher onto her shoulder. Her steps are brisk, her heels clicking and echoing loudly on the pavement as she pushes her way out of the train station. She had never liked taking the train; the stations were always much too crowded, and she felt suffocated in the small cars. But she had never taken the time to learn how to drive, so riding the train it was.
Her apartment is only a five minute walk from the station, which is especially advantageous today, since the sky is gray, threatening them with a promise of a storm. Roslin doesn't have her umbrella today, but she figures she should have enough time to make it to her flat. Anyway, a little rain can't hurt her.
She turns the key in the lock and pushes the door open. The smell of Robb's cologne hangs heavy in the air, along with the scent of his favourite cigarette brand, making her suspicious. He's been in France for the past year, fighting in the war.
She notices a bouquet of roses on the couch. White and red; her favourites. With hesitant steps, she makes her way to the couch and picks up the bouquet. She pulls out the small note buried amongst the flowers, and sees Robb's familiar handwriting. Her heart stops in her chest as her eyes scan the messy scrawl; go to the roof. There's a surprise for you.
Still clutching the bouquet to her chest, she dashes to the stairwell, not even bothering to lock the door to her flat. She sprints up the stairs, and the closer she gets to the rooftop's door, the more she can hear thunder and rain. With trembling hands, she fumbles with the doorknob and swings the door open.
Roslin drops the bouquet and is oblivious to the rain pouring down on her. "I know I should have called first," he says, shrugging, "but this is romantic, isn't it?" He grins cheekily, his hands thrust into his pockets. A pathway made out of rose petals leads directly to him, and the rain seems unable to wash it away. "I know the rain is ruining it, but-"
"No." She shakes her head, damp strands of her hair flying in all directions. "It's perfect. All of it. You." A thousand thoughts and questions are running through her mind, her head spinning. "Since when are you the romantic type?"
"It's a nice change, isn't it?" Robb's grin widens and he holds out his arms, beckoning her to come into his embrace. "Come on, Rosie. It's been a year."
She follows the path of rose petals, running like she's never run before.
I guess my "one a day" attempt really didn't go so well.
I'll definitely try my best to update more frequently!
xoxo