Jenlisa Oneshots

be mine

Be Mine?

"That's kinda creepy."

Lisa jumps, hand flying to her chest, not having expected the voice or the chin on her shoulder from out of nowhere.

Heart beating loudly from the surprise, she turns in her seat to scold her best friend. "Jesus, Jennie, what did I say about sneaking up on me like that?"

"A bit cliché and possessive, don't you think?" Jennie asks, dismissive, ignoring her near death scare to wag a finger at the Valentine's card in her hand. "What modern woman would want to be chattel, private property and not her own person?"

"I think it's kinda sweet." Lisa defends. A smile forms at the earnestness, lips in a slant, though its slope is not as crooked as the red craft paper heart in front of them.

"Really? Miss independent, I don't date ever, and only wear black and a scowl, Lisa Manoban, thinks that is sweet?"

Curiously, when Lisa looks up, she finds Jennie is the one wearing the scowl, brows knitted together and her mouth downturned in something indecipherable beside clear disapproval.

"I like it. Simple. To the point."

"Be mine?" Jennie rereads with a scoff. "A question mark is weak, not even declarative like a period, or assertive like an exclamation mark."

"Are you seriously criticising the grammar of romance?" Lisa challenges, eyebrow quirked in amusement.

Jennie stares her down, gaze narrowed in judgment.

"Yes."

Lisa laughs.

Jennie turns her attention back to the ostensibly offensive misuse of language. Lisa watches, studying the way brown eyes scan the half-folded card, that's clearly homemade, in intensive focus as if searching for other points of criticism. She finds the poked out tongue endearing. Her observation is broken by a cheeky inquiry.

"Who's the wordsmith?"

Lisa turns the card over. There's no inscription of any kind other than the bold, black block letters of the two words. No signatory.

"Dunno. Found it in this book." She holds up the textbook to show.

"Oh, it's not for you?"

"No. Not that I'm aware of." For some reason, Jennie's face visibly relaxes. The sudden relief odd. Not knowing what to make of it, Lisa continues and guesses, "It must have been used by the last borrower as a bookmark and forgotten."

"Pfft, ha," Jennie claims victorious and makes her disdain loudly known. It garners them a few glares and several head turns in what is supposed to be the quiet study area of the library. Jennie ignores their audience but does lower her voice to a whisper. "Clearly, the poet laureate didn't earn the card's keep. No wonder they didn't want to put their name on it."

"Maybe the owner will be back for it."

Lisa decides it's worth hanging onto on their behalf in the meantime, slipping the card carefully into the back sleeve of the jacket cover. She isn't exactly sure how she'll return it to the rightful person seeing as he or she could be any number of strangers who took out this book before her. But the hopefulness of the question mark that punctuates the message, tugs at her chest. Be mine? is a plea and a polite request rolled into one. Present with uncertainty but full of promise nonetheless.

Stealing a glance at Jennie, who continues to be adorably (and inexplicably) affronted by the elementariness of the romantic gesture, she feels sympathetic to the card writer's plight.