Healing Hearts | Virgil van Dijk

romantic enough

"There is no way he's that stupid." She exclaims, pulling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes focused onto the TV in front of her while she pops some fruit into her mouth.

Virgil stares at her, hearing her comment. His face twisting in confusion. Their bodies close to each other, on the sofa. The city view sparkling behind her.

"Why? He's trying to save himself." He says, trying to argue.

"Because everyone knows if you split up you'll get murdered by the psycho killer!" She tuts, shaking her head.

He clicks his tongue, eyes back on the horror movie he had chosen.

So much for inviting him, and he chose a horror movie? She thinks, trying hold back a yelp as the
character on the screen gets caught.

"I swear- gross, why's he stabbing her fifty times. ENOUGH." She says, her hands coming op to cover her sight.

The screen switches back to another character, running in the woods, the sound of panting and crunchy leaves flooding their eardrums.

"Run, don't look back!" She shouts, sitting up and getting way to invested.

His eyes drift from the screen, landing on her frame. He realizes, even though he chose the movie, it doesn't seem to be that interesting as her commentary and facial expressions are.

"Oh he's safe?" She questions, leaning forward.

The screen suddenly flashes, and the killer immediately kills the character on the screen.

"Oh shit-" she shouts almost knocking over the marble table. Her body instinctively curling up, and burying her head in between the sofa cushion and Virgil's broad chest.

He freezes, though a sudden smug feeling creeps up his chest. His plan had definitely worked out, even though she'd bluffed about not being scared earlier. His hand comes up to her back, comfortingly running his hands over it while reassuring her with soft whispers.

Her heartbeat picks up, whether it was because of the bloody scene on the TV or the actual situation she'd put herself in wasn't exactly clear to her. Even going as far as mindlessly grabbing onto his bicep and gripping it for dear life.

A grown woman, scared of some fake blood. You've done it again, y/n. She thinks, embarrassment creeping up her face.

She pulls back a little, head down in shame. Not wanting to make eye contact.

He raises a brow, his hand traveling to her chin, gently raising her head to look up at him.

Her reluctant eyes meet his brown ones.

"You okay? I'll turn it off if you want me to." He says, a twinge of concern in his voice.

"No- It's fine, just got umh- startled." She mumbles, head whipping away from his hold, back to the TV.

A deep chuckle leaves his lips, her not-really-unbothered state leaving him to stare at her.

She shuffles awkwardly, not allowing herself to remove her eyes from the screen this time. Waiting for something else to happen to make a comment about, hoping he'll forget whatever it was that she unconsciously did.

"He's not killing her?" He asks, trying to return the mood into what it was before, glancing at her side profile.

"He likes her?!" She gasps, standing up from the sofa in shock.