Park & Eleanor

Ten

park

He thought it was bad before the was there. No, now it was legions worse. His hands were pouring out sweat, the heat once confined to his ears spreading out into his now fiercefully pale face. He could only imagine how terrible he must look.

He almost didn't want to see her.

eleanor

Hope flickered falsely inside of her. She was practically yelling at herself to give up on him. He wasn't going to show up here and she knew it. And anyways, she was in a fucking dress. She didn't want him to see her like this.

What would he say if he did show up? What would he think when he saw her in a dress? What would he think about her ponytail?

Why did she care?

Oh. Right. Now she remembered.

park

"Why your ears red?" He rubbed at his ears.

"I dunno." He scratched at his nape.

"You ready to see Big Red?" He cringed at the sound of her nickname.

"'Course he is. He wants to stick it in."

"Josh," his father scolded. Park felt himself redden. "Park, don't ever 'stick it in' Eleanor." The blush in his cheeks rose again. If only he knew about when Park took her home. "Mindy, tell Park not to 'stick it in' Eleanor."

"I'm not saying that," she replied, fluffing at her hair. Park breathed roughly, trying to smuggle out his nerves. Park's father opened the door. Park almost choked.

eleanor

Her face was beginning to ache. Feigned smiles made your face sting after a while, she found.

Eleanor sighed. Her eyes found her mother. She was hugging some woman Eleanor didn't even know, both of their eyes brimming with tears. Eleanor's face hardened.

Her mother didn't deserve this. She should even be at this funeral, much less be one of the lead mourners. But who was she kidding, her mother didn't even deserve to have to put up with Richie this long.
But every ending is a new beginning. And Eleanor was overly grateful for this ending.

She just hoped she would get to shake whoever killed Richie's hand.

park

There she was. Holy shit. It was actually her. This was real.

Fuck.

This was real.

Park didn't know if he was ready for this or not.

But she did look nice. Her hair looked like a big red pom-pom, and he didn't quite know how he felt about that.

Wait, was that a dress? Was she actually wearing a dress? She owned a dress?

No, that proved it. This is all fake. She's fake. This is a dream. This couldn't be real.

But damn. She looked amazing. And those legs.

She should wear dresses more often.

eleanor

Her cheeks tinged with pain as yet another person shared their condolences.

She didn't even like Richie, and Richie sure as hell didn't like her. So why was she here?

She knew the answer to that. She was the crutch. Everyone leaned on her because if they got emotional and had to duck out, she could cover for them.

She sighed. Responsibility was a bitch.

Her eyes fanned the line that snaked up to her. Some of the faces caused a flicker of recognition go through her, but most just gave off nothing. She sighed again.

Wait, was that Park? The Park? Park as in the guy with the unsettling eyeliner and the angsty outlook on life? (Minus the angst. Minus the eyeliner.)

Fuck. Shit. Hell. Ass. Piss.

She ran out of curse words.

Her eyes looked up again, trying to see where Park was in line. But, before she could look for him, her eyes met a pair of green ones.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."