(no subject)
Title: If the Rain Comes
Fandom: RPF
Characters: Gaspard Ulliel/Katie Leung
Rating: G/PG
Word Count: 1013
He orders them two cups of coffee. She stops him.
"Un té, s'il vous plait."
He looks on warily, his expression difficult to decode.
"I've never been a coffee drinker." Coffee reminds her too much of what she has left behind.
He nods, understanding her meaning. Her look is wistful, faraway. He almost feels like he was intruding if she wasn't the one who intruded.
"Sorry about the short notice. I hope you aren't too busy." Her fingers play with the sugar packet, twisting it into a compressed shape.
"Don't worry about it, I'm not working for a good while anyway. Still waiting on a few projects." He thinks he knows that's not what she meant at all, but that's beside the point.
"Yeah?" She secretly thanks God when their drinks finally arrive, giving her hands something to do. Being occupied by lemon and honey and the task at hand should effectively distract her from bringing up things that she never be touched. At least, she hopes so.
He stares at the coffee, turning from black to brown as he stirs in the cream. No sugar. He could never stand sweet things.
The girl sitting across from him is a clear exception.
Which is why he, too, is thankful their drinks have come. Staring at her would have been dangerous. Staring often leads to wanting, and he really shouldn't want more than he could chew.
He takes a sip, somehow making it safer to speak. How, he doesn't know. "How are you?"
She knows she can't give him the party answer. But really, how is she? She doesn't know if she can be honest with herself or anyone else.
She shrugs, the safest answer.
He copies her movement all too well, ending with a half-smirk that made her laugh. The first time since he's gone.
"Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
She smiles, genuinely this time. She can be honest with him. Mostly. "Hmm, I suppose not."
She looks out the window, at pedestrians strolling leisurely despite the rain. Blacks and browns cover the streets and she wonders why rainwear is always so gloomy.
She asks him. "Maybe it's so people can become part of the storm, a raindrop."
He offers a smile, but she frowns instead. "Well, that's not very fun. Why would you want to be a raindrop? Then you're one of the million, not one in a million."
She's cornered him now, and there is nothing he can say. "Sometimes it's better not to stand out."
"Hmm, maybe." She takes out her new prized possession, her larger-than-necessary Nikon. Her fingers are too quick for him as she steals a photo of him, following her gaze out the window.
He laughs, seeing the smile on her face. "If you weren't you, I would've snatched that camera away from you right this moment."
Her smile softens, still inspecting the photo. "Have the paps been following you?"
He nods, his coffee half-finished. "Yeah. It's ridiculous. My photos are worth nothing. I guess they just want to catch me with Clémence. It's daft, really."
She ignores the small sinking feeling in her stomach; now is really not the time. "Oh? Then I suppose I may be putting you in tabloid danger right now."
Just as the words leave her mouth, he sees a couple at the next table being a little too curious at their conversation. He leans closer, whispering to her for her ears only. "Let's go."
Instinctively, his hand covers hers as he leads her out of the shop; his worry for appearances on the gossip columns goes out the window. Her heart uncontrollably skips a beat, surprised by his action. She can’t help herself but to ask how her hand could possibly fit so well in his. His is so soft and tender, in a way that is similar yet so different from the other pair with which she has grown so familiar.
The small calluses caused by too-hot coffee are nowhere to be seen on these hands.
She shields the top of her head from the rain with one hand, not wanting to pull the other away from him. Distracted by all senses, especially the touch of his skin on hers, she almost misses what he has said as he lowers his lips close to her ear.
“I hope you’re not wearing anything too expensive.”
Before she could respond, all she manages to catch is the playful and mischievous spark in his eyes as he pulls her out from under the awning.
Her initial feelings of incredibility and coldness and frustration and concern over her now-ruined top and hair are quickly overwhelmed by his contagious cheerfulness as he leads her in an impromptu dance in the rain. The grin on her face cannot be suppressed at all as he twirls her around and around and around again. Curious passers-by glance at them, furrowing their brows in a disproving way, almost as if to mourn her destroyed Mulberry handbag.
When he finally sets her back down on her feet, she splashes his legs with the puddle nearby in a failed retaliation. “Fortunately for you, I’m wearing a TopShop jumper for once. You can afford that, can’t you?”
He half-shrugs in response, one hand running along her arm, feeling the now-mushy texture of the material. “I half-expected the dye to start running,” he states matter-of-factly, his voice almost in harmony with the sounds of rain around them. “But see, the street doesn’t look too gloomy now, does it?”
She tilts her head to the side, wondering what he meant for a moment before she looks down at her outfit, the red of her jumper setting her apart from everyone else. She smiles up at him, needing no words to thank him. “I thought you were trying to stay off the tabloids.”
He catches the photographer out of the corner of his eye, his mouth curling up in a half-smirk. In a small motion, his lips capture hers, not a care in the world. "This will give them something to write about."
Fandom: RPF
Characters: Gaspard Ulliel/Katie Leung
Rating: G/PG
Word Count: 1013
He orders them two cups of coffee. She stops him.
"Un té, s'il vous plait."
He looks on warily, his expression difficult to decode.
"I've never been a coffee drinker." Coffee reminds her too much of what she has left behind.
He nods, understanding her meaning. Her look is wistful, faraway. He almost feels like he was intruding if she wasn't the one who intruded.
"Sorry about the short notice. I hope you aren't too busy." Her fingers play with the sugar packet, twisting it into a compressed shape.
"Don't worry about it, I'm not working for a good while anyway. Still waiting on a few projects." He thinks he knows that's not what she meant at all, but that's beside the point.
"Yeah?" She secretly thanks God when their drinks finally arrive, giving her hands something to do. Being occupied by lemon and honey and the task at hand should effectively distract her from bringing up things that she never be touched. At least, she hopes so.
He stares at the coffee, turning from black to brown as he stirs in the cream. No sugar. He could never stand sweet things.
The girl sitting across from him is a clear exception.
Which is why he, too, is thankful their drinks have come. Staring at her would have been dangerous. Staring often leads to wanting, and he really shouldn't want more than he could chew.
He takes a sip, somehow making it safer to speak. How, he doesn't know. "How are you?"
She knows she can't give him the party answer. But really, how is she? She doesn't know if she can be honest with herself or anyone else.
She shrugs, the safest answer.
He copies her movement all too well, ending with a half-smirk that made her laugh. The first time since he's gone.
"Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
She smiles, genuinely this time. She can be honest with him. Mostly. "Hmm, I suppose not."
She looks out the window, at pedestrians strolling leisurely despite the rain. Blacks and browns cover the streets and she wonders why rainwear is always so gloomy.
She asks him. "Maybe it's so people can become part of the storm, a raindrop."
He offers a smile, but she frowns instead. "Well, that's not very fun. Why would you want to be a raindrop? Then you're one of the million, not one in a million."
She's cornered him now, and there is nothing he can say. "Sometimes it's better not to stand out."
"Hmm, maybe." She takes out her new prized possession, her larger-than-necessary Nikon. Her fingers are too quick for him as she steals a photo of him, following her gaze out the window.
He laughs, seeing the smile on her face. "If you weren't you, I would've snatched that camera away from you right this moment."
Her smile softens, still inspecting the photo. "Have the paps been following you?"
He nods, his coffee half-finished. "Yeah. It's ridiculous. My photos are worth nothing. I guess they just want to catch me with Clémence. It's daft, really."
She ignores the small sinking feeling in her stomach; now is really not the time. "Oh? Then I suppose I may be putting you in tabloid danger right now."
Just as the words leave her mouth, he sees a couple at the next table being a little too curious at their conversation. He leans closer, whispering to her for her ears only. "Let's go."
Instinctively, his hand covers hers as he leads her out of the shop; his worry for appearances on the gossip columns goes out the window. Her heart uncontrollably skips a beat, surprised by his action. She can’t help herself but to ask how her hand could possibly fit so well in his. His is so soft and tender, in a way that is similar yet so different from the other pair with which she has grown so familiar.
The small calluses caused by too-hot coffee are nowhere to be seen on these hands.
She shields the top of her head from the rain with one hand, not wanting to pull the other away from him. Distracted by all senses, especially the touch of his skin on hers, she almost misses what he has said as he lowers his lips close to her ear.
“I hope you’re not wearing anything too expensive.”
Before she could respond, all she manages to catch is the playful and mischievous spark in his eyes as he pulls her out from under the awning.
Her initial feelings of incredibility and coldness and frustration and concern over her now-ruined top and hair are quickly overwhelmed by his contagious cheerfulness as he leads her in an impromptu dance in the rain. The grin on her face cannot be suppressed at all as he twirls her around and around and around again. Curious passers-by glance at them, furrowing their brows in a disproving way, almost as if to mourn her destroyed Mulberry handbag.
When he finally sets her back down on her feet, she splashes his legs with the puddle nearby in a failed retaliation. “Fortunately for you, I’m wearing a TopShop jumper for once. You can afford that, can’t you?”
He half-shrugs in response, one hand running along her arm, feeling the now-mushy texture of the material. “I half-expected the dye to start running,” he states matter-of-factly, his voice almost in harmony with the sounds of rain around them. “But see, the street doesn’t look too gloomy now, does it?”
She tilts her head to the side, wondering what he meant for a moment before she looks down at her outfit, the red of her jumper setting her apart from everyone else. She smiles up at him, needing no words to thank him. “I thought you were trying to stay off the tabloids.”
He catches the photographer out of the corner of his eye, his mouth curling up in a half-smirk. In a small motion, his lips capture hers, not a care in the world. "This will give them something to write about."