Numbers
One.
The number of times she tried to explain factorization to him. She realized it was a completely pointless exercise about fifteen minutes in, and gave it up as a bad job. He didn't blame her.
Two.
The number of cups of coffee it takes to wake her up in a morning. He finds this rather amusing to watch – the slow transgression from sleepy mindlessness into architectural mastermind. He once remarks to her that caffeine calms him down rather than wakes him up, and she looks at him quizzically. She understands a lot about this world. But some things she never does quite get. He is one of them.
Three.
The number of mega chocolate muffins they buy for every time they have a night in. One for her, one for him – and one to fight over by way of a Mario-Kart marathon. She usually wins the marathon. He never lets her know that he usually just lets her win, just so he can see her smile as reaches over for the final muffin. It's a worthwhile sacrifice.
Four.
The time in the morning he once called her, just to say hi.
Five.
The number of days in a week when he doesn't get to see her. They e-mail and talk on the phone, of course, but it's not quite the same. Her school has a strict policy about days the boarders are allowed out. He hates this. He was going to try and persuade her to come to Goode ('Goodeis good', after all), but when she started talking about the amazing architecture program at her new school, he dropped the idea. So he spends two days a week with her, soaking in every little bit of her, from the feel of her lips on his to the precise shade of grey of her eyes, and five days cursing the boarding school that keeps her from him with every curse word under the sun.
Six.
The number of times he can throw a grape up in the air and catch it in his mouth in a row. It's completely unrelated to the object of them as a couple, but he's really, really proud of it. And she thinks it's kind of funny to watch.
Seven.
The number of episodes of Heroes it takes for her to become completely obsessed. He has been begging her to start watching since forever, and now she feels she has no choice. And it is brilliant. Until one day she remarks that she thinks Peter Petrelli is hot, and he turns off the TV faster than you can say 'jealous, much?'
Eight.
The number of times she's glanced over at him and wondered what Percy would be like as a father. Not as a father to herself, of course (that would be a rather disgusting, Oedipus-like situation that she'd really rather avoid), but to potential off-spring. She's never thought herself as maternal before, but since they've been together, she's changed her mind. Eight times she's allowed herself the dangerously taboo thought about (whisper it) – getting married and having a baby. Okay, so maybe it's a few more times than just eight. But definitely less than twenty. No, thirty. Nothing more than forty, for sure. Oh, who is she kidding. She's thought of it so many times she's given up counting.
Nine.
The number of times he's wondered what the Hades she is thinking about when her eyes stray to the baby car-seats in the hardware store.
Ten.
The number of times old ladies have come up to them in the street and let them know how cute a couple they make. Actually, it was the same old lady ten times who may have a small problem with forgetting things, but it's flattering all the same.
Eleven.
The number of seconds she can remain under the water for, before resurfacing, gasping for air. He is horrified when he sees her doing this, and pulls her from the water in a blind panic. She is about to ask him what he is doing as he pulls her to shore, but she sees how pale he is, how worried he looks, and drops the subject. She's scared him. For a moment there, he thought he'd lost her. Needless to say, she has never done it since.
Twelve.
The number of months it takes him before he can finally muster up the courage to say those three words. He had been trying to get it out for about six months prior to the event, but it had always ended up sounding like he was close to vomiting, and instead of smiling and saying it back, she'd passed him a bucket. But when he does say it, she goes a bit quiet. And then her face breaks into this grin, and there's this odd, wonderful moment, like when you've finally worked out the name of the song you've had in your head for a week, or when you've finally finished the sudoku puzzle after hours of fruitless guesswork, when all she does is smile. She can't help it. Knowing that you are in love- and being loved in return - is quite a profound sort of circumstance. And one, she's sure, that she'll re-live countless times.
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I personally like number 7! xD haha
