(no subject)
Title: Twenty Centimeters
Fandom: RPF
Characters/Pairings: Rob Pattinson/Katie Leung
Rating: G/PG
Word Count: 832
Notes: Squee, they're so cute. In my head, anyway.
Robert was glad for the twenty-centimeter difference between their heights. Being those twenty centimeters taller than Katie meant his lips were perfectly leveled with the crown of her head as he leaned slightly over from beside her, brushing against her inconspicuously. He made sure the cameras weren’t looking before he did so every single time. Secretly, though, he hoped that for once, just once, there would be a photo of them in such a questionable position. Sometimes, he would sneak a peek at the newsstand as he returned home from work, hoping to see some absurd headlines as “Potter Stars Pattinson, Leung Dating” on The Sun. Of course, that would never happen, not because they were always so clandestine, but more because she was always such a sensible girl. “Later!” she would whisper through a suppressed giggle as he tried to kiss her during one of his many visits to her dressing room. After acknowledging the look in her eyes that said “someone might see,” he would counter out loud with “well, let them see.” Pouting would be involved somehow, too, but often to no avail. Honestly, weren’t their characters supposed to be a couple?
That was another thing Robert enjoyed about their height difference, the way he had to bend down slightly for his lips to meet hers. It was to the point just before his neck and back would start hurting, and he appreciated that. The fact that he had to lean his head down even as she tiptoed in that adorable way in order to kiss her made him feel as if he was tasting a rare and exotic fruit. He didn’t know why his mind created this odd association. He thought maybe it was because her lip-gloss would always have a subtle passion-fruit flavour. That, or because the way she bowed her head down and hid shyly under her fringe always made him feel as if he was stealing her innocence bit by bit. He didn’t know which explanation was more plausible, but it didn’t matter. All he knew and all what mattered was that he was impossibly intoxicated by her.
Being that much taller than her gave him an unwritten sense of duty: he wanted to protect her. She wasn’t weak or vulnerable by any means, and he knew that. Her shy and soft-spoken demeanor should not be mistaken as a tendency to be a damsel in distress. He was well aware of her ability of self-preservation as he saw her keeping her chin up and continuing to smile, shining in self-confidence, even after receiving her first piece of hate mail. He admired the way she would always, without a doubt, pick herself back up after people tried to pull her down time and time again. It made him curious that, despite this innate bravery, she would still hide behind him as soon as she spotted one creepy crawler or another. He knew for certain that he could protect her from all insect-kinds, at least. Sometimes he would want to protect her from men who try to chat her up, too; they were as despicable as insects, anyway.
The only time he regretted being this much taller than her was whenever she tried to whisper little secrets into his ear. Being on set filming the two or three scenes they were in together meant the constant exchange of inside jokes between the two. Her face would light up as she thought of something amusing that she has got to share with him, and he would begin to anticipate. He would wait for her hand gently grasping his arm, steadying herself as she tiptoed enough for her mouth to reach his ear. He would wait for her warm breath to tickle his cheek and ear teasingly, her voice chiming sweetly like bells, her subtle accent driving him pleasantly mad. Then it would be her turn to wait, waiting for his reactions to her whispers, and he never disappointed. She was funny and intelligent, and it wasn’t hard for him to genuinely chuckle or smirk or laugh heartily, depending on her joke. She was the first person to make him laugh on set, venturing fearlessly into his “I’m so serious” self-seclusion phase. He wouldn’t be able to tell you what she’s said if you asked him now; he was already bewitched by her then, to be honest. He’d ask you, though, to pardon the pun. It was the kind of thing she would have giggled over, and not only for his sake.
If he was completely honest with himself, he knew that deep down there was a number-one reason why he would always cherish these twenty centimeters. During premieres and conferences and photocalls, there would be cameras catching her glancing at him admiringly, caringly, lovingly. And whenever he saw these photographs, as his breath became hitched in his throat and his heart skipped a beat, he would always remember those amazing times he has spent with this tiny treasure.
Fandom: RPF
Characters/Pairings: Rob Pattinson/Katie Leung
Rating: G/PG
Word Count: 832
Notes: Squee, they're so cute. In my head, anyway.
Robert was glad for the twenty-centimeter difference between their heights. Being those twenty centimeters taller than Katie meant his lips were perfectly leveled with the crown of her head as he leaned slightly over from beside her, brushing against her inconspicuously. He made sure the cameras weren’t looking before he did so every single time. Secretly, though, he hoped that for once, just once, there would be a photo of them in such a questionable position. Sometimes, he would sneak a peek at the newsstand as he returned home from work, hoping to see some absurd headlines as “Potter Stars Pattinson, Leung Dating” on The Sun. Of course, that would never happen, not because they were always so clandestine, but more because she was always such a sensible girl. “Later!” she would whisper through a suppressed giggle as he tried to kiss her during one of his many visits to her dressing room. After acknowledging the look in her eyes that said “someone might see,” he would counter out loud with “well, let them see.” Pouting would be involved somehow, too, but often to no avail. Honestly, weren’t their characters supposed to be a couple?
That was another thing Robert enjoyed about their height difference, the way he had to bend down slightly for his lips to meet hers. It was to the point just before his neck and back would start hurting, and he appreciated that. The fact that he had to lean his head down even as she tiptoed in that adorable way in order to kiss her made him feel as if he was tasting a rare and exotic fruit. He didn’t know why his mind created this odd association. He thought maybe it was because her lip-gloss would always have a subtle passion-fruit flavour. That, or because the way she bowed her head down and hid shyly under her fringe always made him feel as if he was stealing her innocence bit by bit. He didn’t know which explanation was more plausible, but it didn’t matter. All he knew and all what mattered was that he was impossibly intoxicated by her.
Being that much taller than her gave him an unwritten sense of duty: he wanted to protect her. She wasn’t weak or vulnerable by any means, and he knew that. Her shy and soft-spoken demeanor should not be mistaken as a tendency to be a damsel in distress. He was well aware of her ability of self-preservation as he saw her keeping her chin up and continuing to smile, shining in self-confidence, even after receiving her first piece of hate mail. He admired the way she would always, without a doubt, pick herself back up after people tried to pull her down time and time again. It made him curious that, despite this innate bravery, she would still hide behind him as soon as she spotted one creepy crawler or another. He knew for certain that he could protect her from all insect-kinds, at least. Sometimes he would want to protect her from men who try to chat her up, too; they were as despicable as insects, anyway.
The only time he regretted being this much taller than her was whenever she tried to whisper little secrets into his ear. Being on set filming the two or three scenes they were in together meant the constant exchange of inside jokes between the two. Her face would light up as she thought of something amusing that she has got to share with him, and he would begin to anticipate. He would wait for her hand gently grasping his arm, steadying herself as she tiptoed enough for her mouth to reach his ear. He would wait for her warm breath to tickle his cheek and ear teasingly, her voice chiming sweetly like bells, her subtle accent driving him pleasantly mad. Then it would be her turn to wait, waiting for his reactions to her whispers, and he never disappointed. She was funny and intelligent, and it wasn’t hard for him to genuinely chuckle or smirk or laugh heartily, depending on her joke. She was the first person to make him laugh on set, venturing fearlessly into his “I’m so serious” self-seclusion phase. He wouldn’t be able to tell you what she’s said if you asked him now; he was already bewitched by her then, to be honest. He’d ask you, though, to pardon the pun. It was the kind of thing she would have giggled over, and not only for his sake.
If he was completely honest with himself, he knew that deep down there was a number-one reason why he would always cherish these twenty centimeters. During premieres and conferences and photocalls, there would be cameras catching her glancing at him admiringly, caringly, lovingly. And whenever he saw these photographs, as his breath became hitched in his throat and his heart skipped a beat, he would always remember those amazing times he has spent with this tiny treasure.