Ursula Flint will just read a book instead. (uninterested) wrote in caged, @ 2013-10-01 06:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 97-10, [ log ], samson capper, ursula flint |
WHO: Samson Capper and Ursula Flint
WHEN: 6:30 AM, October 1, 1997.
WHERE: Quidditch pitch.
SUMMARY: Ursula doesn't really think this is a good idea, guys.
RATING: PG-13 for an F-bomb.
STATUS: Complete.
He was used to running with Ursula. It had been something he'd been looking forward to the whole school year thus far. It was great to get out outside in the fresh morning air, and even better to be around her. So when he'd made it out of the common room without seeing her, out the castle entrance without seeing her, and even jogged in the wrong direction for a circle to see if he'd catch her, he realized that something was off. Ever since she'd been so passionate about being on the team she had never missed a morning. He half wondered if she had just not woken up on time, and then looked to the pitch. He could see a figure in the morning light, and took off jogging toward it. He hadn't brought his broom to fly, so he could only wave his arms at the figure that had to be Ursula. He was so proud of the poise and agility that she had. He knew it wasn't anything he had done, but he liked to think that he had helped encourage her to develop in those ways. In any case, he was proud of her. "Oy! Little Bird!" he called. Like the struggle that she had fought with throughout the night, Ursula was tangled - one thought this way, one thought the other, curiosity facing off against loyalty, uncertainty against conviction. and as she always did, the young Ravenclaw took to the sky to figure it out. It was the classic solution for athletes; she even called it a trope in her head sarcastically as she had kicked off the ground, unusually first on the pitch as she skipped her typical running schedule in favor of getting her head together. There had to be a right answer here among the confusion. She just needed to find it. It was only about ten minutes before she saw the figure approaching, too high to hear the shouts for the first few moments; she hesitated, hovered there on her broom after she’d pulled to a stop, not sure if she was ready to talk to him. Not sure if she had her answer yet. But, reluctantly, she tilted it downward, sliding into a graceful dive and pulling the brakes as she approached the ground, such that she could hover just above the ground, making their height even and their eyes level though they were a few feet apart. When she spoke, it was tired, but not unhappy. “Hey.” "Sneaking in a little extra practice?" he teased gently. "You looked great up there." Samson was a young man of little words, but he spared a few extra for Ursula, and they were generally complimentary. "You should have let me know, I would have gotten my broom," he said, sticking his thumb back toward the castle. "It's too late now. But I wanted to make sure you got up all right. I'm just so used to meeting you in the mornings and… Yeah." He shoved his hands down like they would go into his pockets, taking a step back awkwardly. But he didn't have pockets on his training clothes and so his big hands just slid down his thighs awkwardly. He cleared his throat and stood straighter. He had noted the tiredness in her voice, but he'd just imagined that it was from an early morning, so he chose not to comment on it. “Yeah,” she answered, not hollowly but in a tone that seemed a little lame - she glanced back at the pitch as she said it, as if there would be something lingering there where she’d been flying a moment before, but then looked back at him and went on, “I needed to clear my head, that’s all.” She gave a little shrug, looked down at where her hands touched the handle of the broomstick, still answering, “It’s the only way I really sort things out anymore.” Unconsciously, she pressed against the pedals with her feet, hovering a foot lower such that she had to look up at him when she lifted her chin again. This time the look on her face was uncertain. It took her another moment before she said, haltingly, “I’m not sure we should do this. You and me.” Samson had been about to ask her what she needed to sort out, but it turned out that he didn't need to. He stood there, a bit dumbfounded. It had taken him so long to finally admit his feelings, and he'd only done so on the fear that he would lose her to whoever it was that Tilly was fixing her up with. Maybe it hadn't been right to do it then, but she was the one he'd fancied for months and months and maybe it had just been time anyway. "Why not?" he asked softly, reaching out to put a hand on her broom as though he were afraid she'd fly again. Or perhaps he really was afraid of that. "Did you realize you don't fancy me?" he asked. She hesitated before she responded - then caught herself, her answer coming all the more hastily for it. “No. I just--” Her small hands gripped the broomstick, though she knew very well that she wouldn’t have tried to fly away from him even if he hadn’t touched it. Slowly, helplessly, she gave a little shrug as she answered, “I don’t know if I can do this to Tilly. And…” Shaking her head, trying to keep straight what her reasons were, if they were even valid reasons, she hadn’t gotten to sort it out, “Neither of us know what we’re doing here. Neither of us know how to handle things like this.” The broom sank another foot as the look on her face did as well, and she said, frustrated already with herself and trying to make him understand, “She feels like you rejected her. I can’t just-- it makes me an awful friend for even wanting to see what happens.” His heart and good mood dropped just as her broom did. He kept his mouth closed for a moment, breathing out of his nose and trying to collect himself. He'd liked her for so long, and now she wanted to end things before they had even begun. Samson let go of the broom. "I didn't fancy her," he said. "I can't help that." He was quiet again, trying to figure out what to say to make this situation go the way that he wanted it to. He wanted her. He wanted to snog her, he wanted to hold her hand, he wanted to go with her to Hogsmeade. "Why does that make you an awful friend? You already fancied me, didn't you? And she knows I don't fancy her. What is so hard about that?" Helplessly, she answered, “I don’t know what else to do.” Slowly, she let her broom sink to the ground, stepping onto the grass and pulling the broomstick up to the side, looking up at him and biting her lip, then forcing herself to look down at the ground to try to focus on what it was she was trying to voice. In a tone that was more frustrated with herself and the situation than anything he’d done, she went on haltingly, “She needs more time. To be comfortable with it.” Then she glanced up, said uncertainly, “It can wait. You can wait. Or not, I mean,” and she laughed a little, looking down at the ground, shaking her head, “Maybe it’ll give you time to-- come to your senses or something.” Wryly, she quipped, “You do realize I have no idea how to be a girlfriend.” Then, as if disgusted with herself, she shook her head, looked down at the ground again, waiting for the response, not sure what she wanted it to be. He was quiet as he watched her slip to the ground. He studied the way she held the broom, because it was easier to focus on that instead of the way his nerves were overtaking him. He didn't know what to do or what to say, but he knew that this was an important time. Samson just really, really wished he had something to compare it to. But there was little that he could say. He wasn't going to push Ursula to rush into something that she didn't feel good about. He didn't want to wait, but he didn't want her unhappy. And Tilly had been his friend, too. So he took a step toward her and put a hand on her shoulder. "I've waited for six months," he said. "I mean, really I was just not sure how to say something and I was… The point is, I've waited for you. And I can wait longer, if this is what you really think you have to do." His insides constricted, wondering if she was going to find someone else in the interim. "I don't have any idea how to be a boyfriend. I'd hoped we'd find out together. And," he added. "I know what I want. I'm not going to change my mind." Her stomach twisted with every word he spoke - unable to meet his eyes, unable to look up from the ground or dislodge her teeth from where they bit into her bottom lip, unable to know what the right thing to do or say was. His hand was warm on her shoulder, his words were strong and certain and-- just-- “Fuck,” came the word, bursting out of her in frustration and helplessness and uncertainty, and then she looked up at him with that anxiety, that confusion in her eyes, her hands balled up in fists at her side like she was trying to contain something that didn’t want to be contained. Confusion. Uncertainty. Unbalanced as ever when he said things like that, things that made her doubletake. She wanted to reach for him - started to, then yanked her hand back like she was fighting with herself on what to do or who to listen to. So many tangled thoughts, and she just stood there looking at him helplessly. When she yanked her hand back, he reached for it and took it. He moved his hand from her shoulder and took hold of the other hand, pulling them gently toward himself. He couldn't remember the last time she had cursed like that, but he knew enough to understand that it had been a very long time since she had. And he knew what he should or shouldn't do. He knew he needed to give it time. But there was something he had longed for, and something he couldn't wait for anymore. It wasn't just that he was nearly of age and still hadn't kissed anybody. It was that he'd long since wanted his first kiss to be with Ursula and he knew that he might well be losing his chance. And he knew that she might reject him even now. But he leaned over to press his lips against her own, if she would let him. Miserable in her uncertainty, she didn’t refuse when he took her hands, when he held them in his own - she didn’t react, beyond looking up at him with the same defenseless look she’d had since she told him what it was that was on her mind. Didn’t move, didn’t hide, didn’t even look alarmed even as he leaned down. She had to know what was coming next. Had to know that those six months were enough time for him to find the resolve. But she didn’t move, not until he was kissing her, and then only to harshly return it - to lift herself up on her tiptoes and channel her frustration, her heady confusion, into answering him with hands that fisted his shirt and a mouth that opened under his until the moment he pulled back. It was just as good as he had hoped. Her mouth opened, and so did his. And he continued the kiss as long as he could, but he was new to it and fumbled and was not as adept as he had hoped he could be. Still, the kiss lasted a good long time before he finally lifted his head. He looked down at her with a goofy grin, having forgotten the seriousness of their conversation in the moments previously from the joy of having finally kissed her. He wanted to caress her cheek, but he wasn't sure if that was what someone was supposed to do after they kissed somebody, so he put his hand on her shoulder as he tried to remember what it was that they had been talking about. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Well, that was brilliant. But, uh," he swallowed. "Not exactly conducive to holding off with things but I just… I had to. In case you change your mind. I wanted. I wanted this. Just for a second at least." Exhaling sharply as he pulled back, she watched him with dark brown eyes, a look of resigned acceptance on her features even as he spoke to her; it mingled with amusement at his stammering, exasperated pleasure at his doing what he could to pull back now that he’d gotten a taste, now that he could-- she didn’t even know, be all right without her? “Stop,” she finally said, brows creased in amusement, watching him from under dark lashes with curiosity, resigned curiosity, and the words, huffed out in a soft sigh, “She said it was all right. So…” Glancing down at her feet, then forcing herself to look back up at him, raising her chin, she answered, louder than usual, as if she were making a great effort to say what it was at all, “So.. let’s… do it.” Another quick glance down, then back up to meet his eyes, as if uncertain he was still in. As if kissing her might have magically changed his mind. "Yeah?" he said, a lilt of excitement to his voice. "Yeah? Well." He grinned at her. "You're sure? Even with the Tilly thing? You're sure? Because I can wait." He reached for a hand again but stopped halfway. "Not that I want to wait, but. That's just. My point." Returning her eyes to his chest, as if it were impossible to do this with eye contact, she repeated, “Let’s do it,” before meekly looking up at him, one hand clutching her broomstick even as she watched him, suddenly shy despite now knowing what the heat of his mouth felt like. With her free hand, slowly, slow enough that he may very well get impatient, but at the pace that made her exhale when she finally got there, she found his own and laced her fingers through it, biting at her bottom lip as she watched her small hand entwine with his own. Give it a try. Why not? |