Dreams: A Collection Of Romance One-Shots

Hands

She watched his hands as he worked. Watching his fingers jump from each key as he filled the blank page with words. There was a sort of grace that carried his hands, like a gazelle jumping through the grasslands. She sat on the table, watching his hands, and sighed softly. She was bored but, not quite bored enough to leave. He must've heard her sigh and he looked up at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Why are you still here?" He asked and she shrugged. "My ride's not here," she replied with a smile and watched as he turned back to the computer screen. "You drove yourself here."

She nodded and swung her feet out from under her and jumped off the table, landing a little ungracefully on the carpeted floor. The library had a certain smell that clung to the stale air, one that almost all libraries had. The smell of old books, the smell of the pages coated with residue from fingers turning them, the smell of dust that lay atop the shelves where the janitor had given up dusting years ago. "Are you gonna publish it?" She asked and he looked up at her with a confused look. "Your story, I mean," she said and he answered with a silent shrug. She nodded slowly, sighed again, and took out her phone. "How long are you gonna be here?" She asked him and he shrugged again. "Cool. Great talk," she muttered and watched as he either didn't hear her or ignored her remark. "So...how are you and Steph?" She asked and he looked up at her and furrowed his thick brows. "We're good. Why?" He asked and she shrugged. "Just trying to start a conversation which you aren't good at," she said with a matter-of-fact voice. "Ah okay," was all he said before turning back to the computer where he paused and turned back to face her. "Are you okay? Lately you've been a little distraught."

She nodded and turned to face a row of books. She pulled one off the shelf and wrinkled her nose. Non-fiction: the genre she despised. Why write about things that happened when you could create your own little world with just a paper and pencil? "Are you sure, A? You've been avoiding Steph too or at least that's what she thinks." Arianna, or as Lou would call her, A, shrugged. "I'm fine," she said and wandered to the shelves labeled fiction. She pulled off a book that seemed interesting enough and came back to the table she had sat at previously. "Ari-" Lou started before A cut him off, "Lou, I'm fine. I would like to read...in silence." Lou huffed but, turned to face the computer screen again and she felt something eating away at her lungs. She could tell him now, while Steph was at cheerleader practice, while she and Lou were alone. I'm in love with you, Lou! Let's run off into the sunset together and live happily ever after! She almost snickered out loud by her own stupid thoughts. Yeah, let's run off with your best friend's boyfriend.

She sighed, stood, and silently grabbed her bag. Besides, what would she accomplish? Her feelings would be out there, sure but, it's not like they could play happy couple anytime soon. How long had Steph and Lou been dating? Four months? Lou and Arianna wouldn't be anything for a long, long time.

So instead, she watched his hands, jumping from key to key, putting words on a semi-filled page. This time however, the gazelle was running from something, a lion perhaps; his fingers moved faster, something he did when he was upset or frustrated. His hands were always moving, drumming his fingers on the desks or fidgeting with a jacket zipper. The gazelle must've grown tired of running all the time but, nonetheless, it kept running and jumping, for the thrill or for survival,  she couldn't tell.