of half-bloods and happenings
new year's eve
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Ten. Her hands are in her lap, clasped, ten bitten nails looking perfect in the starlight. It'd be awkward to reach in there and take on of her hands, he decides, so unless she moves them…
Nine. His heart is going at an utterly ridiculous pace. He can count nine freckles dotting the side of her neck, and he wonders what it would be like to kiss them, one by one.
Eight. The waves whisper on the shore, hissing like harmless snakes. There are eight holes in her belt, he thinks absently. She buckles it on the third.
Seven. A single blonde curl hangs down over her forehead, a small butterfly clip with seven shiny pearls keeping the rest in place. He wants to reach over and take the clip out, run his fingers through her loose princess curls.
Six. He swallows heavily. There should be some sort of rulebook for situations like these. He looks down and sees six small scars creeping up the side of her leg, white and pale and each more beautiful than the last.
Five. Should he have kissed her by now? Maybe he should make a move. He shuffles closer, ever so slightly, biting his lip. There are less than five inches between his hip and her hip. The space between seems hopelessly solid.
Four. Well, that didn't work. She shivers slightly, four little tremors down her body. He stills, thinking that maybe this is his chance. He stretches an arm out, then instantly pulls it back in. She's looking right at him.
Three. "Seaweed Brain?" she whispers, and those three syllables shake with unspoken words. He breathes out slowly, smiling, and shifts through that seemingly impenetrable, solid space until they are almost nose to nose.
Two. His hands are horrendously sweaty. He tucks them behind him, not wanting her to notice. Her eyes dig deep inside his heart, two grey pinpoints of light in a world of otherwise darkness. He is infinitely glad he decided to delay the hand-holding.
One. He's so close to her he can hear her heartbeat, thumping in time with his own. They pound one rhythm, a steady beat, and he brings his hand up to her cheek, cradling it in his palm.
Zero. In the end, she's the one who closes the distance between them, and he has never felt more alive.
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Author's Note: HAPPY NEW YEAR! So, this is infinitely AR, as you would've noticed. Percy was never stolen away. You might ask why he's so wary of all this kissing business, however: haven't they been dating for over four months? Well, that doesn't make Percy any less obtuse, and their relationship is still in its early stages. He has a right to be nervous. So, here, as requested, something far lighter and hopelessly fluffy. I've been on a recent Percabeth kick, haven't I? Well, don't expect the following chapters to be about them, I think they need a bit of a break. In other news, if you're a fan of Once Upon a Time, I'd be gratified if you checked out my story hooked. I suppose it's obvious who I'm referring to in the title! Please review this chapter, thanks. xoxo