24 Hour Challenge A
Title: Brainstorming
Word Count: 1184
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): Him/Her
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): None, really.
Summary: She needs an idea for this silly writing competition -- and he's more than willing to help her find one.
She chews her bottom lip, her pen pressed to the notebook underneath her hand. She needs ideas. She needs them now. Needs to have at least a small idea of what she’s doing next for the writing competition.
After all, he’ll be there, soon. They agreed to a meet-up in public, at a Panera Bread close to her home. While she’s enjoying the sunlight and the moments of peace and quiet without her child, the writing prompt “At the last minute,” torments her.
She’s a procrastinator by nature, after all. Why do today what one can put off until tomorrow, and all that. Except this prompt is due in the next 48 hours, many of which she intends to spend with her friend -- it’s the first time they’re meeting in person, after all, and she doesn’t want the looming deadline to dictate how they spend time with one another.
Except she knows him -- he probably hasn’t even started his entry, yet, and yet here she is, berating herself for not having at least an idea of what she wants to write about. At the last minute.
Maybe fiction? She jots down a few choice words, “Too late,” “Saved in the nick of time.” Little cliches and phrases, each one as useless as the last. Maybe nonfiction? But she wrote nonfiction the past two weeks in a row, and she prides herself not writing any one particular thing, one particular theme.
Nothing pulls at her, though. She taps her pen against her notebook, resting her chin in her palm, her shoulders slumped and back to the entrance of the restaurant. She’s sitting outside, since the inside was too crowded, too filled with talking and the clatter of plates and bowls for her to concentrate.
She doesn’t notice him walking up behind her, not as she bends her face close to her notebook again, pen in hand as she begins to twist the prompt in any way she can. She needs this to be unique, she needs it to be good, perfect -- her spot in the competition hangs in the balance, after all, and --
“Well hello, there,” she hears him murmur from behind her, his breath awfully close to her ear. She jumps, putting her hand to her chest as a startled yelp escapes her.
“Jesus,” she gasps, ignoring the burning in her cheeks as she looks up at him over her glasses. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He just smiles back at her, laughter dancing in his eyes as he settles in the seat opposite of hers. He then glances towards her notebook, the pen in her hand. “Writing by hand?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you did all of your writing on your computer?”
“I do,” she answers, willing her blush away as she pushes her hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. She sucks on her bottom lip for a moment, trying to will her sudden bout of nerves away. “I’m trying to think of what to write for Idol, though.”
His eyes light up, then, and he leans his elbows on the small table, moving closer to her. “You don’t have an idea yet?” he asks. “‘At the last minute’ is so easy.”
“Yeah -- that’s precisely my problem,” she says, pursing her lips together for a moment. She glances down at the notebook in front of her, at her notes and quotes and single lines, jumping points for anything that might grab her. “I mean, how many people d’you think are gonna do meta? Or talk about how they’re procrastinators in real life, or --” She cuts herself off as he grins at her, shaking his head. “What?”
“You’re thinking about it too hard,” he says, tugging her notebook free from her fingers. He leans back in his seat, some, studying her sloppy handwriting.
“This coming from the guy who has to have the whole plot of his stories before he can write the right words?” she teases, twirling her pen between her fingers. She chews on the back of it a little bit as he glances at her before returning his attention to her notebook. His brow furrows a bit as he flips through the couple of pages of notes she made.
“I, at least, already know what I’m going to write,” he says, smirking at her as he puts her notebook down on the table. His finger lands on one sentence, in particular. “Write this one.”
She raises an eyebrow and squints at the words. “‘A last minute kiss’?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “But that’s so -- basic and reminds me of fairy-tales and -- look, I’m not so good at the fairy-tale thing, okay?”
He shrugs his shoulder, another playful smile tugging at his lips. “It doesn’t have to be a fairy-tale, though -- could always be realistic fiction. Or even nonfiction, if you wait to write it ‘til tomorrow.”
Her confused expression doesn’t falter at first, but with the teasing look in his eyes, she feels her face heat up again and she looks away from him. “You say that like I’m gonna be able to wait that long,” she mumbles under her breath, closing her notebook and resisting the urge to hide behind it.
“Wait that long for what?” he asks with feigned innocence, a wide grin spreading itself across his features.
She wants to hate him, but she can’t contain her grin, either, as she pushes herself out of her seat. She leaves her notebook on the table, her hand brushing against his as she walks along the edge of the table. Part of her wants to bite the bullet and lean down now -- catch him off guard while she can.
Except with the way he looks up at her expectantly, there’s no way kissing him now would catch him off guard.
She’d just have to wait, she tells herself as she feels the moment pass. Instead, she taps her fingers on the table and picks up her notebook, cradling it to her chest. “Want something? I’m gonna go get an iced green tea.”
He snickers quietly to himself, pushing himself out of his own seat and standing directly in front of her. Their height difference is more apparent, now, and she feels so short, compared to him. Safe, even if this was the first time they met in person. “Here -- I’ll go with you,” he says -- and without warning, he leans down and presses his lips against hers. “And now you don’t have to wait,” he continues, smirking at her as she blinks at him in surprise.
She just shakes her head and smiles. “I guess not -- though that takes nonfiction off the table, definitely.”
He laughs, following her inside the Panera Bread. She turns her pen over in her fingers and steps in line, frowning in thought. After a moment, her eyes widen, a wide grin spreading across her face.
It might not take nonfiction off the table, after all.
Word Count: 1184
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: Original
Pairings (if any): Him/Her
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/etc): None, really.
Summary: She needs an idea for this silly writing competition -- and he's more than willing to help her find one.
She chews her bottom lip, her pen pressed to the notebook underneath her hand. She needs ideas. She needs them now. Needs to have at least a small idea of what she’s doing next for the writing competition.
After all, he’ll be there, soon. They agreed to a meet-up in public, at a Panera Bread close to her home. While she’s enjoying the sunlight and the moments of peace and quiet without her child, the writing prompt “At the last minute,” torments her.
She’s a procrastinator by nature, after all. Why do today what one can put off until tomorrow, and all that. Except this prompt is due in the next 48 hours, many of which she intends to spend with her friend -- it’s the first time they’re meeting in person, after all, and she doesn’t want the looming deadline to dictate how they spend time with one another.
Except she knows him -- he probably hasn’t even started his entry, yet, and yet here she is, berating herself for not having at least an idea of what she wants to write about. At the last minute.
Maybe fiction? She jots down a few choice words, “Too late,” “Saved in the nick of time.” Little cliches and phrases, each one as useless as the last. Maybe nonfiction? But she wrote nonfiction the past two weeks in a row, and she prides herself not writing any one particular thing, one particular theme.
Nothing pulls at her, though. She taps her pen against her notebook, resting her chin in her palm, her shoulders slumped and back to the entrance of the restaurant. She’s sitting outside, since the inside was too crowded, too filled with talking and the clatter of plates and bowls for her to concentrate.
She doesn’t notice him walking up behind her, not as she bends her face close to her notebook again, pen in hand as she begins to twist the prompt in any way she can. She needs this to be unique, she needs it to be good, perfect -- her spot in the competition hangs in the balance, after all, and --
“Well hello, there,” she hears him murmur from behind her, his breath awfully close to her ear. She jumps, putting her hand to her chest as a startled yelp escapes her.
“Jesus,” she gasps, ignoring the burning in her cheeks as she looks up at him over her glasses. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He just smiles back at her, laughter dancing in his eyes as he settles in the seat opposite of hers. He then glances towards her notebook, the pen in her hand. “Writing by hand?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you did all of your writing on your computer?”
“I do,” she answers, willing her blush away as she pushes her hair out of her eyes and tucks it behind her ear. She sucks on her bottom lip for a moment, trying to will her sudden bout of nerves away. “I’m trying to think of what to write for Idol, though.”
His eyes light up, then, and he leans his elbows on the small table, moving closer to her. “You don’t have an idea yet?” he asks. “‘At the last minute’ is so easy.”
“Yeah -- that’s precisely my problem,” she says, pursing her lips together for a moment. She glances down at the notebook in front of her, at her notes and quotes and single lines, jumping points for anything that might grab her. “I mean, how many people d’you think are gonna do meta? Or talk about how they’re procrastinators in real life, or --” She cuts herself off as he grins at her, shaking his head. “What?”
“You’re thinking about it too hard,” he says, tugging her notebook free from her fingers. He leans back in his seat, some, studying her sloppy handwriting.
“This coming from the guy who has to have the whole plot of his stories before he can write the right words?” she teases, twirling her pen between her fingers. She chews on the back of it a little bit as he glances at her before returning his attention to her notebook. His brow furrows a bit as he flips through the couple of pages of notes she made.
“I, at least, already know what I’m going to write,” he says, smirking at her as he puts her notebook down on the table. His finger lands on one sentence, in particular. “Write this one.”
She raises an eyebrow and squints at the words. “‘A last minute kiss’?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “But that’s so -- basic and reminds me of fairy-tales and -- look, I’m not so good at the fairy-tale thing, okay?”
He shrugs his shoulder, another playful smile tugging at his lips. “It doesn’t have to be a fairy-tale, though -- could always be realistic fiction. Or even nonfiction, if you wait to write it ‘til tomorrow.”
Her confused expression doesn’t falter at first, but with the teasing look in his eyes, she feels her face heat up again and she looks away from him. “You say that like I’m gonna be able to wait that long,” she mumbles under her breath, closing her notebook and resisting the urge to hide behind it.
“Wait that long for what?” he asks with feigned innocence, a wide grin spreading itself across his features.
She wants to hate him, but she can’t contain her grin, either, as she pushes herself out of her seat. She leaves her notebook on the table, her hand brushing against his as she walks along the edge of the table. Part of her wants to bite the bullet and lean down now -- catch him off guard while she can.
Except with the way he looks up at her expectantly, there’s no way kissing him now would catch him off guard.
She’d just have to wait, she tells herself as she feels the moment pass. Instead, she taps her fingers on the table and picks up her notebook, cradling it to her chest. “Want something? I’m gonna go get an iced green tea.”
He snickers quietly to himself, pushing himself out of his own seat and standing directly in front of her. Their height difference is more apparent, now, and she feels so short, compared to him. Safe, even if this was the first time they met in person. “Here -- I’ll go with you,” he says -- and without warning, he leans down and presses his lips against hers. “And now you don’t have to wait,” he continues, smirking at her as she blinks at him in surprise.
She just shakes her head and smiles. “I guess not -- though that takes nonfiction off the table, definitely.”
He laughs, following her inside the Panera Bread. She turns her pen over in her fingers and steps in line, frowning in thought. After a moment, her eyes widen, a wide grin spreading across her face.
It might not take nonfiction off the table, after all.
