Through a haze of tawny, sun-bleached hair, she watched him without his knowledge as she laughed. He was watching her and her friend inconspicuously. The gentle smile on his face suggested that the light-hearted, tinkling laugh bubbling from her mouth was the source of his quiet smile; her laugh pulling at the edge of his own. With a frantic pounding in her chest, she looked away, afraid of being caught. The room grew more and more quiet, the test began, but the look on his face stayed in her mind.
His hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, the arch of his eyebrow, the gentle smile that dared to stretch into something like a mischievous grin. She was sure it was meant for her. For her snorting, chuckling laugh. For her happiness. Despite her inclination to doubt, she let herself dream that her laughter elicited the same nervous tingle in his chest as his rumbling voice did in hers. He was exactly what she wanted. Exactly what she needed. Exactly what she didn't expect to find. His clean cut suits and sweaters along with his dazzling smile made her weak at the knee. But what really held her captive, what really made her mind wander back to him every few minutes, was his sarcastic wit.
She had been told she wasn't gentle enough as a girl. That her sarcasm and cynicism were intimidating. But he didn't seem to notice. For every action of hers, he had a remark and she had a witty reply. The shot meaningless insults and wily retorts back and forth like bottle rockets.
For every stray though she let slip from her lips, he had a joke to which she was ready to respond. He initiated most of their repertoire, but some days she felt brave enough to start it herself. Their energy was, to her at least, magnetic. When they were on a roll arguing or invalidating one another the rest of the world ceased to exist. She never knew that friendly fire could rekindle that feeling that she had thus far attributed to inevitable heartbreak.
Through everything, the grief, the ache in her chest, the jaded mindset, she swore she wouldn't fall so easily. One look would never change her future, she vowed.
What she didn't plan for though, fell into her lap without her consent. Like-minded friendship, easy conversation, laughter, the unfamiliar feeling of acceptance, all descended on her in one large wave. It all came down, drowning her in refreshing, blissful waves of exhilaration. That was how things needed to be. And with all the new, he snuck in quietly with a friendly challenge of intellect and a look.
Lord, that look. That look tore her apart. It was like he was trying to see through her and into her soul, into the inside of her mind. Like he was slowly, gently taking her apart just to see how all the pieces fit back together. It was a feeling that terrified her and intrigued her at the same time. She was scared that he might actually see through her and find the betrayal, the heartache and the loss and the fear that created her cocktail of bitterness and sarcasm. But at the same time, she was flattered he bothered to look at her at all.
For as "intimidating" as they said she was, he showed no signs of backing down from her challenge. When their eyes locked, he never looked away first. He met her embarrassed gaze with a steady stare. Neither could be blamed as the habitual starter of their staring contests, for both of them started in equal parts. It hardly seemed though that their interactions which were so glaringly obvious to her even registered in the minds of those around them. Is it all imagined then? She wondered quietly.
No little princess, keep fighting. I think you've finally found prince charming, and if not him, then a representative of his court, coming to guide you home to his arms.
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