fic: la la love you
Title: La La Love You
Characters/Pairing: Rupert/Penny, Penelope, Aurelie, Henry,
Rating: PG-13-ish, I guess.
Summary: "I wish we could go back."
"I don't know how to rewind."
"The rewind button."
Notes: This is for vhari, mostly because I la la love you.
This is a bit disjointed, but it's all I've got. More fragments than anything else.
Penelope's nineteen when she meets the boy. He'll be gone by the time she's twenty-one, but she can't know that. A month past twenty and he'll kiss her unexpectedly, she'd have dreamed of it four times previously. Twenty years, six months and thirteen days, they'll fall asleep on her floor, her hand in his. When she's a week past twenty-two, he'll come back.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I wish we could go back."
"I don't know how to rewind."
"The rewind button."
♥ ♥ ♥
She looks out her window, and she's captivated by the houses and rooftops. (White houses, blue roofs.)
A pot of daisies sits on her windowsill, the sunlight glances off them. He bought it for her. Instead of flowers, he bought her seeds. She planted them in a little white pot with a blue trim, and she likes the symmetry.
♥ ♥ ♥
Tell me how this story ends.
♥ ♥ ♥
He takes her face in his hands and kisses her cheek, eyes closed, all heart.
Her hair is messy and her face is clean of make-up, but she doesn't feel self-conscious.
♥ ♥ ♥
So she gets on a plane.
♥ ♥ ♥
She paints her nails dark blue, fuel, she thinks it's called, and she likes that sound of that.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You're always on my mind."
♥ ♥ ♥
She buys the biggest wine glass she can find. She doesn't really have a reason, doesn't really know why; maybe she saw it on a movie once?
♥ ♥ ♥
She draws on his skin with the tips of her fingers. Tracing outlines of long forgotten scars.
♥ ♥ ♥
The curl of her hair falls down her back.
♥ ♥ ♥
They take a bus ride. To nowhere in particular. She kisses him in the backseat.
♥ ♥ ♥
She cuts herself a fringe and hates it. It grows out and she misses it.
♥ ♥ ♥
While unpacking a box of books, she slips and the stanley knife slices her skin. She doesn't react until she looks down and sees a red line of blood on her hand. There's no pain, just a swipe of her handkerchief and a bandaid. She doesn't mention it, doesn't think about it - just moves on. Pity.
♥ ♥ ♥
"So goodbye."
♥ ♥ ♥
"Why won't you write me a love letter?"
"Letters are for going away. You write them when you've away from someone you love. I don't ever want to be away from you."
♥ ♥ ♥
The pages run out fast, the ink dries up. He tops the pen, spins it, hoping for a few more words to come out. No luck. He was never really all that lucky anyway.
♥ ♥ ♥
She crosses her thin legs in front of her, pulls them to her with her arms, wrapped around her body like a blanket. She's not cold, not anymore.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her dark hair tangles in the breeze, she can't stop that. Her fingers gather the ends together in a bunch, a messy bunch, but she doesn't have a tie, not even a ribbon, so she lets go.
The loose curls rise with a small rush of air, cold, and a shiver runs down her back.
♥ ♥ ♥
Someone orders a caramel macchiato and she smiles.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her mascara runs.
♥ ♥ ♥
"What was it that you wanted to tell me?"
"I'm going home-" she says slowly, almost a question.
♥ ♥ ♥
She loves the look of twinkling lights in the night sky.
♥ ♥ ♥
She always thought that all the little puzzle pieces that were her life would just one day fall into place. Now, if anything, there's more of them, and they're all the confusing pieces of sky that she could never figure out.
♥ ♥ ♥
She likes it when he writes her little notes. She likes to think that if she joined them all together, they'd make a love letter.
The only other love letter was from William Hall when she was twelve. He asked her if he could smell her hair. SHe replied with a simple "No, thank you."
Rupert doesn't need to ask, although, out of politeness, he probably would.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You don't remember this."
"No. Not yet."
♥ ♥ ♥
But then again, this was never really about him.
♥ ♥ ♥
This isn't her, she thinks. But maybe that's a good thing.
♥ ♥ ♥
She's on the verge of fading.
♥ ♥ ♥
She thinks this might just be her happy ending.
♥ ♥ ♥
They play Damien Rice, and it's the nicest thing.
♥ ♥ ♥
"Sounds like us."
♥ ♥ ♥
There they sit, on the windowsill, her between his feet, her legs to his left. He leans back against the timber frame of the window and watches her. She takes lit the cigarette and put it in her mouth, takes a breath and doesn't choke. His hand rests against his knee, and she takes it, with more force than she realised she had.
She can't remember if she's ever been here before, doesn't think so. When did he play guitar? Her mind wanders. The smoke exits her mouth slowly, like fog the morning after rain.
The cigarette falls from her hand, out the window. They both look.
♥ ♥ ♥
Something about an airport escalator. Her leaving, for once.
♥ ♥ ♥
She talks to him sometimes, in her head.
She doesn't know if this is normal or if she's crazy, but she doesn't know how to stop.
♥ ♥ ♥
She doesn't think of him anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped.
♥ ♥ ♥
She gets another tattoo.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her hair sweeps over her eyes, she doesn't move it.
♥ ♥ ♥
Penny wraps her scarf around her neck. Once, twice, and lets it falls over her shoulder. Aurelie taught her this, said it was the new 'it'. Whatever that means.
♥ ♥ ♥
She has a clock in her room. It has three golden hands. An hour hand, a minute hand and a second hand. It belonged to her grandmother, and she loves it dearly.
One morning, she almost throws it out the window for how loud it was ticking.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I'd follow you anywhere."
♥ ♥ ♥
The boy with the tired eyes and the peach-pink lips (Henry). She doesn't think about him. Doesn't. Doesn't, doesn't. Does. She can't help but think that this is somehow cheating on him. Even though he left her. And they were never really together in the first place.
He reaches out gingerly, closing his hand before he has hers.
♥ ♥ ♥
Heavy eyes, soft breath.
♥ ♥ ♥
She delicately swipes the colour over her nails, careful not to mess up the edges.
The metallic shine is new, and she likes the way it makes her feel. Bright, special, free. Golden.
♥ ♥ ♥
Soft kisses on her shoulder, a hand to hold.
♥ ♥ ♥
"La la-"
"Love you."
Her eyes smile.
♥ ♥ ♥
The sun rises.
♥ ♥ ♥
Sitting close in the corner, whispering.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I miss when things were simple and good."
"You're very articulate."
"Thank you," smiles softly.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You break me in two."
♥ ♥ ♥
She doesn't think of him anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I'll always pick you."
(One hundred pieces of paper, all with her name on them.)
♥ ♥ ♥
And it feels like a first kiss. Light. Gentle. Soft. Lingering.
♥ ♥ ♥
She leans into the warmth of his body.
♥ ♥ ♥
She imagines conversations. (She can't even remember whether they happened or not.)
♥ ♥ ♥
Fingers skimming over soft skin. Scars. She shivers.
♥ ♥ ♥
She leans up, places her hand lightly on his cheek, kisses him lightly on the lips.
♥ ♥ ♥
She buys yellow coffee mugs for no other reason than it makes her happy.
♥ ♥ ♥
Soft skin, warm breath.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her hair is messy; his fingers get caught.
♥ ♥ ♥
This time, she leaves. She quits without notice and gets on the first train away from there. She doesn't take much, just a bag with a few clothes and belongings. Funny how such a complicated life can fit into such a small box. She doesn't tell anyone, leaves Aurelie a note slid under her front door, doesn't mention anything to Henry or Rupert or any other other. She doesn't even know herself where she's going or why.
She disappears.
Just like that.
♥ ♥ ♥
Red checked blanket in tow, they set off up the hill.
"This is steeper than I originally anticipated," he says, and takes her hand seconds before she trips over a rock.
She falls into him, he steadies her with a hand on her hip. She shies away from his gaze, but smiles.
They reach the top of the grassy hill, the sunniest spot, and set the blanket down, the basket laid carefully on top. He sits first, she naturally follows.
"Nice spot."
"Nice day."
"Nice-" she trails off.
"-you."
She blushes, and he takes her hand again.
"What would you like first?" he says as he opens the picnic basket.
"You."
It's his turn to blush.
She pulls him toward her, fingers lingering on the soft skin of his neck.
♥ ♥ ♥
He buys a harmonica, gets it engraved. She finds it on her doorstep the next day with a heart printed ribbon tied around it.
La la love you.
She smiles brightly.
♥ ♥ ♥
Turns out, some of this isn't true.
Characters/Pairing: Rupert/Penny, Penelope, Aurelie, Henry,
Rating: PG-13-ish, I guess.
Summary: "I wish we could go back."
"I don't know how to rewind."
"The rewind button."
Notes: This is for vhari, mostly because I la la love you.
This is a bit disjointed, but it's all I've got. More fragments than anything else.
Penelope's nineteen when she meets the boy. He'll be gone by the time she's twenty-one, but she can't know that. A month past twenty and he'll kiss her unexpectedly, she'd have dreamed of it four times previously. Twenty years, six months and thirteen days, they'll fall asleep on her floor, her hand in his. When she's a week past twenty-two, he'll come back.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I wish we could go back."
"I don't know how to rewind."
"The rewind button."
♥ ♥ ♥
She looks out her window, and she's captivated by the houses and rooftops. (White houses, blue roofs.)
A pot of daisies sits on her windowsill, the sunlight glances off them. He bought it for her. Instead of flowers, he bought her seeds. She planted them in a little white pot with a blue trim, and she likes the symmetry.
♥ ♥ ♥
Tell me how this story ends.
♥ ♥ ♥
He takes her face in his hands and kisses her cheek, eyes closed, all heart.
Her hair is messy and her face is clean of make-up, but she doesn't feel self-conscious.
♥ ♥ ♥
So she gets on a plane.
♥ ♥ ♥
She paints her nails dark blue, fuel, she thinks it's called, and she likes that sound of that.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You're always on my mind."
♥ ♥ ♥
She buys the biggest wine glass she can find. She doesn't really have a reason, doesn't really know why; maybe she saw it on a movie once?
♥ ♥ ♥
She draws on his skin with the tips of her fingers. Tracing outlines of long forgotten scars.
♥ ♥ ♥
The curl of her hair falls down her back.
♥ ♥ ♥
They take a bus ride. To nowhere in particular. She kisses him in the backseat.
♥ ♥ ♥
She cuts herself a fringe and hates it. It grows out and she misses it.
♥ ♥ ♥
While unpacking a box of books, she slips and the stanley knife slices her skin. She doesn't react until she looks down and sees a red line of blood on her hand. There's no pain, just a swipe of her handkerchief and a bandaid. She doesn't mention it, doesn't think about it - just moves on. Pity.
♥ ♥ ♥
"So goodbye."
♥ ♥ ♥
"Why won't you write me a love letter?"
"Letters are for going away. You write them when you've away from someone you love. I don't ever want to be away from you."
♥ ♥ ♥
The pages run out fast, the ink dries up. He tops the pen, spins it, hoping for a few more words to come out. No luck. He was never really all that lucky anyway.
♥ ♥ ♥
She crosses her thin legs in front of her, pulls them to her with her arms, wrapped around her body like a blanket. She's not cold, not anymore.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her dark hair tangles in the breeze, she can't stop that. Her fingers gather the ends together in a bunch, a messy bunch, but she doesn't have a tie, not even a ribbon, so she lets go.
The loose curls rise with a small rush of air, cold, and a shiver runs down her back.
♥ ♥ ♥
Someone orders a caramel macchiato and she smiles.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her mascara runs.
♥ ♥ ♥
"What was it that you wanted to tell me?"
"I'm going home-" she says slowly, almost a question.
♥ ♥ ♥
She loves the look of twinkling lights in the night sky.
♥ ♥ ♥
She always thought that all the little puzzle pieces that were her life would just one day fall into place. Now, if anything, there's more of them, and they're all the confusing pieces of sky that she could never figure out.
♥ ♥ ♥
She likes it when he writes her little notes. She likes to think that if she joined them all together, they'd make a love letter.
The only other love letter was from William Hall when she was twelve. He asked her if he could smell her hair. SHe replied with a simple "No, thank you."
Rupert doesn't need to ask, although, out of politeness, he probably would.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You don't remember this."
"No. Not yet."
♥ ♥ ♥
But then again, this was never really about him.
♥ ♥ ♥
This isn't her, she thinks. But maybe that's a good thing.
♥ ♥ ♥
She's on the verge of fading.
♥ ♥ ♥
She thinks this might just be her happy ending.
♥ ♥ ♥
They play Damien Rice, and it's the nicest thing.
♥ ♥ ♥
"Sounds like us."
♥ ♥ ♥
There they sit, on the windowsill, her between his feet, her legs to his left. He leans back against the timber frame of the window and watches her. She takes lit the cigarette and put it in her mouth, takes a breath and doesn't choke. His hand rests against his knee, and she takes it, with more force than she realised she had.
She can't remember if she's ever been here before, doesn't think so. When did he play guitar? Her mind wanders. The smoke exits her mouth slowly, like fog the morning after rain.
The cigarette falls from her hand, out the window. They both look.
♥ ♥ ♥
Something about an airport escalator. Her leaving, for once.
♥ ♥ ♥
She talks to him sometimes, in her head.
She doesn't know if this is normal or if she's crazy, but she doesn't know how to stop.
♥ ♥ ♥
She doesn't think of him anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped.
♥ ♥ ♥
She gets another tattoo.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her hair sweeps over her eyes, she doesn't move it.
♥ ♥ ♥
Penny wraps her scarf around her neck. Once, twice, and lets it falls over her shoulder. Aurelie taught her this, said it was the new 'it'. Whatever that means.
♥ ♥ ♥
She has a clock in her room. It has three golden hands. An hour hand, a minute hand and a second hand. It belonged to her grandmother, and she loves it dearly.
One morning, she almost throws it out the window for how loud it was ticking.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I'd follow you anywhere."
♥ ♥ ♥
The boy with the tired eyes and the peach-pink lips (Henry). She doesn't think about him. Doesn't. Doesn't, doesn't. Does. She can't help but think that this is somehow cheating on him. Even though he left her. And they were never really together in the first place.
He reaches out gingerly, closing his hand before he has hers.
♥ ♥ ♥
Heavy eyes, soft breath.
♥ ♥ ♥
She delicately swipes the colour over her nails, careful not to mess up the edges.
The metallic shine is new, and she likes the way it makes her feel. Bright, special, free. Golden.
♥ ♥ ♥
Soft kisses on her shoulder, a hand to hold.
♥ ♥ ♥
"La la-"
"Love you."
Her eyes smile.
♥ ♥ ♥
The sun rises.
♥ ♥ ♥
Sitting close in the corner, whispering.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I miss when things were simple and good."
"You're very articulate."
"Thank you," smiles softly.
♥ ♥ ♥
"You break me in two."
♥ ♥ ♥
She doesn't think of him anymore. She doesn't know when she stopped.
♥ ♥ ♥
"I'll always pick you."
(One hundred pieces of paper, all with her name on them.)
♥ ♥ ♥
And it feels like a first kiss. Light. Gentle. Soft. Lingering.
♥ ♥ ♥
She leans into the warmth of his body.
♥ ♥ ♥
She imagines conversations. (She can't even remember whether they happened or not.)
♥ ♥ ♥
Fingers skimming over soft skin. Scars. She shivers.
♥ ♥ ♥
She leans up, places her hand lightly on his cheek, kisses him lightly on the lips.
♥ ♥ ♥
She buys yellow coffee mugs for no other reason than it makes her happy.
♥ ♥ ♥
Soft skin, warm breath.
♥ ♥ ♥
Her hair is messy; his fingers get caught.
♥ ♥ ♥
This time, she leaves. She quits without notice and gets on the first train away from there. She doesn't take much, just a bag with a few clothes and belongings. Funny how such a complicated life can fit into such a small box. She doesn't tell anyone, leaves Aurelie a note slid under her front door, doesn't mention anything to Henry or Rupert or any other other. She doesn't even know herself where she's going or why.
She disappears.
Just like that.
♥ ♥ ♥
Red checked blanket in tow, they set off up the hill.
"This is steeper than I originally anticipated," he says, and takes her hand seconds before she trips over a rock.
She falls into him, he steadies her with a hand on her hip. She shies away from his gaze, but smiles.
They reach the top of the grassy hill, the sunniest spot, and set the blanket down, the basket laid carefully on top. He sits first, she naturally follows.
"Nice spot."
"Nice day."
"Nice-" she trails off.
"-you."
She blushes, and he takes her hand again.
"What would you like first?" he says as he opens the picnic basket.
"You."
It's his turn to blush.
She pulls him toward her, fingers lingering on the soft skin of his neck.
♥ ♥ ♥
He buys a harmonica, gets it engraved. She finds it on her doorstep the next day with a heart printed ribbon tied around it.
La la love you.
She smiles brightly.
♥ ♥ ♥
Turns out, some of this isn't true.