Wherein a word or phrase can be the start of something fun and wonderful.
Some are simply stand-alone ficlets or drabbles. Some link up with published stories. Some end up previews for things yet to come.
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There's a thumping & bumping noise progressing through the house, announcing the simple fact that you are no longer home alone. You twist over onto your side, burying your face almost entirely into your pillow. What is the need for air, really?
It's easy enough to track the noises through the house. The thump there would be a satchel clunking down on the coffee table. That bump and muffled series of words - drawing a short-lived smile out of you - must be the love-seat jumping into his path, because we all know inanimate objects have it out for him (at least in this house). Then, of course, is the approaching sound of footfall - the wooden floors not disguising his path in the slightest.
He's headed to find you.
"Knock, knock."
The gentle rap of knuckles on wood doesn't need to accompany his entrance, nor does he really need to further announce himself, but he does. That's just who he is. You groan in response, cause that's just who you are. At least, that's who you are right now. It's the headache's fault.
"I've got something for you."
This headache is making you miserable. Unless it's something meant to provide relief, you're not interested. Saying as much would mean speaking, which would mean stringing several words together and voicing them, which you know from experience does you no favors in your current condition.
You groan again, instead, though you brace to move and see.
"Roses are red..."
At the start of this well practiced poem you release your muscles, relaxing back into the mattress, and your pillows again. Sweet words are not helpful right now. He can take that gooey poem and kind manner right back out of the bedroom.
Except he doesn't.
"Violets are blue..."
He's come closer, you can tell, even though he's taking care not to speak too loudly. After the sonorous approach its almost amusing. It's the same man, just more care being taken. What could have had him so intent on being in the same room?
Your answer comes as you feel the bed shift with his weight. Not the full shift of him joining you in the bed - you're too close to the edge he's approaching from for that - but the movement paired with the leaning of one's weight against the side of the structure.
"If you'll have me - I'd like to marry you."
It's a ploy to get you out of the dark sanctuary that is currently the bedroom. A smile on your lips, you don't quite roll to face him, and don't open your eyes - up until you hear the creak and small pop of a jewelry box. That forces you to open your eyes with a startled jerk of your head, all to seek him out, and the little maroon box he holds in his hands.
