Lilly & Leclerc ~ [CL 16]

19. Twelve Days

Never say I don't give you guys fluff...there's so much of it to come!

Charles has a cap tucked over his head as if it offers some sort of instant camouflage from the outside world - I'm not convinced of it even if it does seem to be working. Nobody has even so much as done a double take at him. Unless that's just because we're in London and people tend to avoid interacting with eachother where possible.

With the temperatures this weekend reaching a charming (also known as horrific) twenty nine degrees the two of us made the decision to escape the flat for as much of today as we could.

At eight thirty Charles woke me up with kisses trailed along my shoulder. Kisses that pulled me from bed to the kitchen for breakfast then the shower where Charles 'helped' me wash (he didn't help at all, I had to kick him out halfway through). I'd barely finished getting dressed when he started insisting that we go on that picnic I'd mentionned in passing all those weeks ago. I could only agree to the plan, pulling the blanket from the couch to roll up into a bag as he expressed his excitement. And shit if I wasn't excited too, cause if Saturdays weren't for spending time with the man who's definitely not your boyfriend on a picnic blanket in the sun, what are they for?

So we're here, my head resting on Charles as he toys with my hair lazily under the sun with his free hand as I watch the world go by. He brought a new book, having finally finished his success one and is lazily turning the pages every so often with his other hand. "Le Art de La Victoire." I find myself saying, nose scrunching in slight distaste at the very name of it. Okay, so maybe this one isn't much better than the last. Even with my limited understanding of the title I don't think it sounds like something I'd want to be reading.

Charles peeks at me from over the page of the book, eyebrow raised in questioning as a quiet questioning "huh?" Leaves him.

"L'Art de La Victoire." I repeat, the words rolling from my tongue in my best French accent. Really my accent is just Charles's mimicked. Charles hums in acknowledgment of my words. "Still doesn't sound very fun." I note blinking at the cover of the book, squinting under the rays of the sun to try and read the description before realising it's all written in French and I'm never going to understand a word. It's really a reminder to sign up for those French classes - Maddie and I received a flyer for a list of new language classes starting at one of the coffee shops around the corner, something no doubt they were implementing to boost sales. I'd be attending (if I ever remembered to sign up) to boost my understanding of Charles and his quiet mumbled thoughts. I'm about to frown and add a reminder to my phone when Charles begins speaking.

"It's fun when you speak French, maybe I understand your obsession." I can't help the laugh that slips from me with his light and teasing tone. I've never hid how attractive I find him when he grumbles things in French or says something to me with such confidence that my cheeks burn despite not understanding a word. Each time it's like something swirls up in my stomach, excitement or nervous butterflies I'm not sure - maybe they're the same thing.

"You don't ever read fiction?" I ask and Charles just shakes his head, his eyes falling back to the pages infront of him in disinterest.

"This one is better than the last Fleur." Charles tries to comfort me as I eye him cautiously, doubting his words entirely. I doubt anything could be as bad as the other one - despite it's picture section - it sounded plain dull. I can't gauge a lot about this one, you know, it being in a foreign language and all. "Come here." Charles instructs, his words breathy as he reaches for me, pulling me up from his lap. Without understanding how I'm suddenly tucked against Charles, head resting in the crook of his neck, his arm curled around my back as he tilts his book towards me a little.