Paperman

He stood. He did not lean or shuffle his arms. No, Kristoff stood, a tree in a forest of others. The city was a crowded, lonely place. You kept things to yourself and if you fell, no one caught you. People were always moving, no time to aid strangers, especially someone like him.
Upon first glance, he seemed foreboding in his white shirt with a black tie and pants. His shoulders were too broad for a jacket. He was a gruff, impatient man with things to do and places to go. Though, only some of that was true.
Passing trains created a breeze that blew against his side and lifted his sandy blond hair. Something hugged his arm and crinkled in his ear. Paper. It slid from his shirt and flew as a girl chased after it.
She twirled, letting her braids of strawberry whisk around in the air. Once the sheet was back in her hands, she stood beside him adjusting her hair. Kristoff watched as she smiled at him. He glanced away, and she did the same.
Another burst of wind came, snatching one of the forms Kristoff had tucked in his arms. It stuck to the girl's face until he removed it. Now, he truly took her in, her face covered in freckles, her eyes like sunlight on an ocean. Her image was burned into his memory.
Her laugh brought him back from that small place inside him. That place in which everything you wanted was yours. In that moment, it was her he wanted. Kristoff followed her eyes. A red lipstick stain brightened the page, and he laughed hoping to share one with her.
But he heard nothing other than a closing door. The girl was behind it. Soon, her train was gone, and the world felt defeating again. The thought of the maiden lingered with him even as he made it to his desk.
He stared at the form and dreamed of their encounter. A shadow loomed over him; a stack of paper fell before him. Kristoff watched the man disappear then sighed. The stained page slid towards the window.
Desperate hands clung to it, a sound of relief escaped his lips. There. He pressed his face against the glass. Just across the street, he saw her. The girl from the station, her presence lit a nearby office.
He waved for her attention before a cough interrupted him. Kristoff sat back down and grabbed one of the sheets beside him, folding it into a paper plane. He felt of its crisp edges and threw it into the wind.
The plane spiraled downward, soon another flew from the window. Its tip kissed the side of the building inches away from the girl. Dozens more followed, each a failed attempt. Kristoff's hand knocked an empty tray to the floor. The only page that remained was the one marked with lipstick.
Kristoff used great care in constructing the final plane. He took a deep breath as the page slipped from his hand, falling from reach. The girl was outside on the sidewalk now. She was leaving.
He threw himself into a frantic run, forcing one leg in front of the other. All his strength came from fear, the fear of missing her. Finally, he reached the door. Dashing through it, he hurried across the road avoiding collision with the passing cars.
Kristoff glanced up and down the curb, his heart pounding in his chest. Gone. He tugged at his hair and slammed his hands against a mailbox. "Idiot!" he thought hanging his head. All of that time, wasted, on a girl that had vanished within seconds.
But, wasn't that life? So full of failed attempts and dreams of romance. Yes, why try changing it? He put his hands in his pockets and headed home. It was the only place welcoming in such a shattering town.
Kristoff was a frightening sight walking down that street. A mountain of a man with narrowed eyes, thick eyebrows, and hair that dangled in front of his eyes. It was how he would always be thought of, a loner with an uncontrollable temper. Only part of it was true.
Something clung to his leg, a tax form with a lipstick mark, his plane. He held it in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the stain. Suddenly, a multitude of planes covered him, forcing him backwards. It was surprising paper could be so strong. The marked plane split from the others and vanished from sight; the others still pushing him.
It was pointless to fight it Kristoff realized. Wherever they were taking him, he was going whether he wanted to or not. They drug him down the sidewalk, across the streets, up the stairs, and lastly onto the train. They held to him like magnets even when he sat down.
His short rest was soon finished. Again, the planes forced him forward, out the door onto the concrete of the train station. Then, they stopped. Kristoff stared at them confused until he heard familiar footsteps. Here. Before him, was the girl, her eyes still gleamed, her hair flowing in the breeze.
The planes dropped to the ground as he staggered forward. She smiled at him, brushing a section of her hair behind her ear. In her other hand, was the missing page.
"I believe this is yours." she said handing him the plane, "I'm Anna. Anna Arendelle."
"Kristoff," he marveled looking into her eyes. A blush on his cheeks. "Kristoff Bjorgman."