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 this way that he frowns when he's trying to drill words into his brain that makes me fall a little more in love with him every time. Not that I'm stupid enough to tell him. Most days I'm content to remain his friend, content to enjoy the close proximity that that particular moniker allows without doing anything foolish to jeopardize my standing. Most days.
Then there are some days when I open my mouth and thoughts spill out that have no right to be aired. I swear that's how we became friends in the first place. After being paired for a project I glanced over at the hunk ambling towards me and muttered - at a decibel I thought no one could hear - 'fuck me, we'll be the giraffe and the hamster'.
Of course he heard the comment, and his warm smile melted into a heartfelt chuckle that zipped straight into my chest and stayed there. From then on, in addition to the various assignments we tackled for the sake of education, my mission as I chose to accept it was to make him laugh at every opportunity. It's great watching him double over because I've laid another horrible pun on him. Don't get me wrong, I aim for wit. I just usually miss.
Don't start swooning over the height difference, either. It's comical, not endearing. Like a chihuahua befriending a great dane, comical. I've never been so grateful for an intro class, though. Never before, and never since.
While our shared classes have ended, the friendship has not. Study sessions are great for torturing myse- I mean, focusing on the things that will be coming up on our respective exams. I'll blame sleep deprivation and chemistry - sadly just the formulas making me cross-eyed in my textbooks and not the other kind, for what came out of my mouth that night. It certainly wasn't a moment of bravery.
"Why aren't we together?"
He emits a harrumph and tosses his head just enough to make his fringe flop out of his eyes for a moment, even though in the next second it's settling into place over his eyelashes again. Out comes that smile that makes making myself cross-eyed over formulas worthwhile. "Your poor jokes and - as you've told me on many occasions - I snore."
He thinks I'm messing around, as usual. I act mock affronted, placing my hand over my heart to try to play it off a bit before switching to point at him, "You love my jokes. And I could invest in earplugs."
He raises an eyebrow at me before dropping his gaze back to the book propped on his knees, a smile on his lips. "Hm. Guess you'd better go shopping, then. Let me know if they have bulk rates."
