Tomorrow is another day
Aug. 8th, 2012 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lackadaisicalnereidSURPRISE PEOPLE. I WROTE KLAUS/CAROLINE :D
371 words. Klaus/Caroline. Written for a ficathon at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bangel_4e a long time ago.
The prompt was A century of courtship. She doesn't make it easy, but he doesn't give up., bysimply_aly
She likes him best when he's quiet.
Mostly, he's all grand gestures and words, words, words, words.
(I fancy you, I love you, You are beautiful, You are amazing.)
Things anyone can say, things different people, dead people have said, things she's heard too many times for them to count.
When he does that, she knows what to do.
Yell at him, tell him his Cinderella fetish is creepy at best and that she has no interest in leaving glass slippers throughout the world and waiting for him to follow her. (She leaves little notes in her hotel rooms instead; leaves a note saying Rome for him to find while she's on her way to Cuba, because it's a game, it's fun, and they're at an eternal tie, because sometimes he won't find her for weeks, and she'll call him because sometimes she's not as patient as he pretends to be, only sometimes.)
She'll be sitting in a bar, flirting with some dark haired man, and he'll be talking to another woman, because sometimes he likes to be chased as well.
But then she'll tell him she's leaving for the night, and he'll leave the other woman in a second to go dance with her, or eat with her, or whatever she wants to do.
(Those night, she lets him kiss her.)
Sometimes she lets him close. (Because chasing isn't fun if the distance between the prey and the hunter never changes.)
She rents a house on a beach, spends months in it. She leaves her terrace door perpetually open, buys plants that she forgets to water, sits in the sun and listens to loud music and drinks Margaritas, and thinks things like, I could grow old here.
(But then she never does.)
He's on her terrace one morning.
(Finally, she thinks, it's been seven months, not that she counted.)
He bites his lip like he wants to say something he doesn't want to say, so she kisses him and he doesn't have to.
(Three days later, while he's taking a shower, she leaves.)
She leaves one white stiletto by the bed, and a note that says Those are my second favorite pair, and also, London.
(They never end; only begin.)
371 words. Klaus/Caroline. Written for a ficathon at
bangel_4e a long time ago.The prompt was A century of courtship. She doesn't make it easy, but he doesn't give up., by
simply_alyShe likes him best when he's quiet.
Mostly, he's all grand gestures and words, words, words, words.
(I fancy you, I love you, You are beautiful, You are amazing.)
Things anyone can say, things different people, dead people have said, things she's heard too many times for them to count.
When he does that, she knows what to do.
Yell at him, tell him his Cinderella fetish is creepy at best and that she has no interest in leaving glass slippers throughout the world and waiting for him to follow her. (She leaves little notes in her hotel rooms instead; leaves a note saying Rome for him to find while she's on her way to Cuba, because it's a game, it's fun, and they're at an eternal tie, because sometimes he won't find her for weeks, and she'll call him because sometimes she's not as patient as he pretends to be, only sometimes.)
She'll be sitting in a bar, flirting with some dark haired man, and he'll be talking to another woman, because sometimes he likes to be chased as well.
But then she'll tell him she's leaving for the night, and he'll leave the other woman in a second to go dance with her, or eat with her, or whatever she wants to do.
(Those night, she lets him kiss her.)
Sometimes she lets him close. (Because chasing isn't fun if the distance between the prey and the hunter never changes.)
She rents a house on a beach, spends months in it. She leaves her terrace door perpetually open, buys plants that she forgets to water, sits in the sun and listens to loud music and drinks Margaritas, and thinks things like, I could grow old here.
(But then she never does.)
He's on her terrace one morning.
(Finally, she thinks, it's been seven months, not that she counted.)
He bites his lip like he wants to say something he doesn't want to say, so she kisses him and he doesn't have to.
(Three days later, while he's taking a shower, she leaves.)
She leaves one white stiletto by the bed, and a note that says Those are my second favorite pair, and also, London.
(They never end; only begin.)
