only fools rush in

01 · someday when we're dreaming

WHEN THEY WERE eight and strictly told not to bother their sitter Missus Cumberland from down the street as she baked her sweet cinnamon apple pies during the dusty-filled Saturday afternoon, they ran away.

Or—more like, Jasper tried to run away. And Elora followed.

He was sick and tired and bored and so, so crestfallen—because he can barely handle more than ten seconds of playing with her special case of zoo animal jigsaw puzzles before his foot started tapping and his hands started wiggling. So, he ran. Attempted to do so, more like; but years later, when she asked him over stale ginger ale as the soft sunshine dew hit his face, he asserted that she, indeed, foiled his plans.

Jasper had only followed about sixteen seconds of Elora's 'no talking while puzzling' rule—in which he sighed and groaned and moaned until she looked up and saw his amber eyes shining with something other than true intentions.

"No," she said simply, shifting her gaze back to her puzzle. She was about three-fourths done with the giraffe's neck at that point, and until she reached the blue tongue, Elora remained singularly focused on this one task.

"I didn't say anything."

"Still. No."

He was silent for about three more seconds—probably mulling around his words until he could assure he got what he wanted. And when he spoke moments later with a gruff tenor, Elora ascertained that that was the moment she fell in love with his voice. All tones of it, in every possible way. She could never settle down on whether his raspy whisper as he talked for eons about inconsequential things or his little huffs of indignation as she tried to braid his hair sounded better to her ears. 

He would whisper, "Let's run away together."

And she would gulp and eye the glass of strawberry lemonade that nice, sweet Missus Cumberland left out for them on the dresser, and suddenly, a wave of guilt would form at the base of her throat until—

Until.

Until he reached out to twirl her clammy hands in his. Jasper would drag her over to the sliding window and cajole her into helping him lift the heavy pane as he swung his gangly legs over.

He'd glance back and help her climb over with all the power he could muster, grunting as she accidentally pulled a patch of his hair because she just had to grip onto something tangible. And she'd look down from the diagonal roof and see the long, long fall that awaited them in their future demise.

So—they climbed back inside the playroom; it was more her doing than his, but he quickly succumbed to the idea because of the little whine she let out from the back of her throat and the viper grip on his forearm from her tiny little paws.

He helped her back inside, lifting her legs and pushing her over the window sill, before she grunted as she pulled him back inside the house.

They went back to doing puzzles. Her doing the actual puzzle; and him studying her doing the puzzle, really. 

And that was that. 

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a u t h o r ' s   n o t e: oh, hi ! thanks to everyone who commented on my last chapter—honestly, it's so cool that people actually read my work. and, i'm also terribly sorry that I don't have a beta reader, so i probably have a vast amount of errors (i'm working on my editing skills with this short story too, lmao).