A/N: just a short little two-shot I think. Never wrote for this fandom before but I thought I'd take a stab at this couple. As always, don't like, don't read. If you do like, then enjoy and review.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from the show including the characters. A girl can dream though.
She's sitting precariously perched on the edge of his bed, which only slightly dipped down from her tiny mass. Her fingers (those damn fingers), slender, trace lazy circles across his bedspread, patterns he knows are not imprinted on his skin.
He's pretending to read one of those heavy leather-bound spell books, seriously typical. He faintly wonders whether he should flip it upside down for dramatic effect in the teen movie drama his life is rapidly morphing into. All that needs to happen now is for her call him out on his bluff, batting her eyes and smile that same goddamn smile that doesn't make his heart jump. He'll guiltily admit his defeat and they'll stop all this angsty shit and end up horizontal under that bedspread.
Once upon a time, he wouldn't probably have minded if his life was a teen movie. He would be the nerdy boy with limited social skills who harbored an unrequited crush on the beautiful popular girl. She would love the handsome jock, but sooner or later she would bump into the nerdy boy, goofily smiling while handing her back her books, and she would be struck by how kind and smart he was, so much unlike her Neanderthal boyfriend. Eventually after many high school trials and tribulations, they would meet in the middle of the dance floor at prom and realize how perfect they were for each other and live happily ever after.
"Okay…well you're being incredibly boring so I'm going to go before you start breaking out your dolls to 'clean' them." She unfolds herself from the edge of his bed, raising her arms high to stretch and her long tan (beautiful) legs slinking their way to the plush carpet.
He watches her saunter out of the room, hips swinging to some beat that probably constantly inhabits her mind. "They're action figures."
"Yeah whatever you need to tell yourself…" and she's out of his room, and his eyes are totally not glued to the door frame. The movie reel is still going and he knows he's somewhere in the middle of the plot, but no one's calling cut and telling him he's confused that beautiful popular girl with his sister.
Who the fuck even wrote those damn teen movies?
She's leaning over her homework, bright yellow pencil dangling from her pink lips. From just a glance one would suspect she's concentrating, but he knows her better. Their parents wave as they start to head to the door for a romantic dinner, pausing slightly to take in the sight of their daughter within ten feet of an open book without being under any noticeable signs of coercion.
She doesn't (pretends not to) hear them as they leave, and a warm smile tugs at his lips as he remembers just how good of an actor she is. He can't help but stare at her; now would be the time in the movie where she would catch his eye and they would blush simultaneously, playing it off as nothing while butterflies flutter rapidly.
She's out the door within seconds of their parents' departure, fake homework forgotten, and a mumbled bye escapes her lips before the door slams shut.
He's left sitting their staring at the bright yellow pencil on the floor, and really wants to remind who ever is writing this damn movie that clichés aren't unwelcome in his life.
She's sitting again, uncomfortably, in the plastic folding chair, clad her Sunday best. Her blue dresses clashes beautifully against her tanned skin and her black hair is curled up, ringlets softly flowing off her shoulders, and it's not like he can't take his eyes off her, just that he's too tired to move them.
He can hear the cheesy music sound up, and everyone begins to clap rhythmically, a chorus of happiness and congratulations fills the room. Blue caps are falling from the sky but his hands are gripped tightly to his own as he manages to tear his eyes away from her and focus them at the blue material in his hands.
If he were in a movie, he would be smiling at the cheering audience and jumping and hugging his friends as they threw their caps into the air. He would turn his head looking out into the audience, and his eyes would meet only her tear filled ones; she would be proud and sad, filled with so much emotion. She would realize then and there how much she was going to miss him, how much she loved him.
Here he is standing in that exact same place, staring out into the crowd searching for her, hands turning white from the death grip he has on his cap. His eyes find her again, slumped in that folding chair with her eyes glued to her cell phone as her slender fingers tap against the keys.
That blue crumpled cap in his hands finds its way fast to the floor, lost under a sea of foot prints and blue balloons, and he wants to scream at the damn director to redo the scene.
He's standing over, more like towering over, her as she sits cross-legged in the middle of her bed, glossy fashion magazine splayed open in front of her.
"What the fuck did you do?"
"It was sort of an accident…" and she's looking down at her bedspread, batting her long eyelashes, trying to remind him of when she was five and innocent (and untouchable), because maybe, just maybe, he won't scream and yell. She hadn't exactly meant it to go as far as it did, but as far as pranks go she might as well win the fucking Nobel Prize for this one.
He's fuming and steadily finding that he needs something ring his hands around, possibly something that isn't her neck.
"Bullshit we both know that it wasn't an accident."
"Well that's why I added the 'sort of' part."
"Alex…" his voice carrying over to her with a large dose of warning.
"Okay okay I know you're mad, but I can fix this."
"Really? Exactly how are you going to do that?"
"Umm well actually I was kind of hoping you would know…" and she's shifting a little on her bed, trying desperately to avoid his eyes.
In a teen movie, she would fuck up and he would be pissed, but she would fix it and he would forgive her because they were meant to be. But she's just sitting there expecting him to know what to do because he always does, and he's leaving the room, angry, and for once in his goddamn life he can't stand to look at her.
The movie in his head keeps rolling on with its royally fucked up leading cast, and he knows deep down that it will never stop, much as it would be easier if it did.
Easy never worked for them anyways.
A/N: review please. I need advice because it feels scattered.