First Elsanna fanfic. I have big plans for this story, so i'm not going to desert it or (hopefully if it gets some) its fans. This will probably be ten to twelve chapters of these two girls, their friends, romance, you know how it is.
In all honesty, i want to write about Elsa's powers, let alone the romance between these two fabulous characters. I love their personalities so much, polar opposites attract, i can't get enough of it! But i love the concept of Elsa's powers mingling in with her emotions. I swear the idea of it all makes me go stiff with interest. Frozen stiff...haha
(This fic will contain Kristoff, Olaf and even Sven)
Please enjoy :)
You Are - Chapter 1
She didn't ask for a coffee, but I'm bringing it up anyways. For one thing, I had some extra cash in my pockets that was begging to be spent and, for another thing, I had never seen Elsa look so horrible in all my years of being her neighbor, until this morning. So, in hopes to brighten her day, which I assumed was terrible due to the bags under her eyes and restless bed head, I decided to get her favorite blend by the coffee shop that is parked parallel to our apartment building.
Knocking on her door, I pray that she won't try to pay me back for the coffee this time, because really, after everything she's done for me through the years, the money spent on my fine ass getting lost or the nerves I struck when arriving at her door drunk and belligerent, a cup of coffee is the least I can do, and her friendship is just the beginning.
"Elsa," I knock once again, rapping my hand against the door, chiming out a soft, fine tune. "Do you want some coffee? It's your favorite," My voice is playful, teasing.
I can't wait for her to answer. I'm too worried and too confused about why elegant and poised Elsa looked like she was run over by a lawnmower this morning. Earlier, I had knocked on her door with a different sort of finesse, a calmer upbringing, never once assuming that she would answer with such a wearied look on her face. She was visibly tired, near the point of exhaustion. Her eyes were bloodshot, hair curled by the edges, sprayed in all sorts of directions. Seeing Elsa look so messy was oddly comforting, giving me clarity that even the most gorgeous of girls can have their off days, but I still found it incredibly amusing, even when she growled at me for laughing. While knocking once again, I have the image of messy, growling, tired Elsa rampaging around in my head, and I'm incredibly excited to see if her transformation had finally calmed.
The door is opened, but stops abruptly when I hear the clanging of locks thunder within the apartment and a loud feminine grunt from my neighbor. I laugh because she does this every morning. And I saw it coming from the moment I knocked. Through the years of our friendship, my once strong opinions on Elsa's strange fears have receded significantly. At some point the clanging of locks disturbed me, now they seem to only give comfort. Elsa's door, and her habitual detachment, is probably the reason why.
Following into the routine she had desperately gained a few years ago, Elsa always locks her door with a series of chains and bolts. It's so causal, so frequent, she does it without thinking. Her hands usually move swiftly over every chain and lock, turning and twisting, gripping and locking. It's strangely surreal, especially when watching her do it without a second thought. The moment she closes her door, she locks it.
I listen intently to the noises behind the thin layer between us, her muttering, the clanging of chains and locks. She tries to open it, but it jams once again. Elsa grunts. This time, the only thing holding it back is a golden chain. She slams it shut and jiggles the chain once more. I laugh softly and, when I hear the doorknob turning, I prepare myself with a warm smile.
"The coffee's iced right?" She pleads before even giving me a glance. Not even mentioning a hello as she gently cracks the door wider, revealing a poorly tamed mane of hair, sloppily applied makeup and two shapely slender pale legs, hidden underneath a - what seemed to be - man's t-shirt. It was big on her; the sleeves reached to her elbows and the collar was stretched far over one shoulder. I never knew it was actually possible to look so naked while wearing clothes, until now.
I felt as if I was intruding, which always springs forth my stuttering tongue. "O-Oh gosh. Am I- Are you busy? Like busy busy? Did I ruin your-"
She's glancing at me oddly and takes her iced beverage with a firm grip. Her touch is familiar, relatable. I can't help but want more. And, after taking a sip from her straw, she peers at her shirt and grins sheepishly at the ground, "Oh gosh, Anna. This is an old shirt-" She's laughing now. "No one else is in here. You know that."
I shrug. "Well, I don't know how many gentleman suitors you have, Elsa." I walk briskly into her apartment, stopping by the kitchen table, littered with her mail, to plop my searing hot coffee down on the side.
"Gentleman suitors?" She's laughing now, leaning against the open front door frame and putting a soft hand against her lips.
We both laugh and then a man passes by the open doorway, clearly peeking into our space as he does so. His eyebrows reach his hairline after giving Elsa a good look down, and I laugh even louder as she slams the front door with a shaky hand. Then again with the locks. I listen to the snapping of metal, the cracking of chains. When the noises pause, I know she's making sure every single one is carefully applied. She turns and puffs a breath before sipping her drink once again.
"There's too many weirdoes living around us," I concur, taking my place on her kitchen counter. It's nestled between a small cabinet and her fridge, the perfect place to pull my knees to my chest and snuggle against the wall in complete relaxation. It's my seat. It's the spot I take every day when I visit her. She knows this by now, which explains why all her kitchen items (microwave, blender, etc.) are crammed at the other side of her counter. Her organization is out of care; the thought of this always makes me smile.
"You're one of them," She teases, giving me a quick, sly glance. Her lips are slightly curved upwards, and I can tell she's desperately trying to hide a smile.
"Oh, please," I flippantly wave my hand before shoving it out, fingertips meeting the hot coffee cup. Elsa knows me so well; she knows I want my coffee. I mutter a soft thanks and take a sip. "You're the weirdest out of us all, Els."
She turns from her mail and drops a stack of papers directly on the kitchen table she now hovers over. "Excuse me?" She's a bit shocked.
"It's the middle of December and you're drinking iced coffee and sleeping with only a shirt and some undies."
She's sipping her drink as I say this, rolling her eyes. A little noise makes it way from the back of her throat and she begins to shuffle through her papers again. Her lips are quivering, trying hard not to smile, her eyes are reading the mail in her hands, and she shuffles in her spot. Elsa mutters something then, low, light, soft. I can barely make it out, but her obvious nervousness makes me only want to know more.
"Pardon?" I ask, leaning in.
"I said…" She turns her head to sip her drink once more. "No underwear."
And my brain is short circuiting. Or maybe having a malfunctioning problem, because I start laughing, hard. My head slams into the wall behind me and I feverishly grasp the bump (I'm sure it's bleeding), while weakly whimpering past my laughter. I'm blushing. I know I am. And I can't help but peek from my ducking head to Elsa's pale legs and tracing the soft curve of her butt, just barely cut off by her shirt. I imagine, for a moment, that she hasn't noticed my wondering eyes yet. Her shirt is now translucent due to window of light behind her, revealing the indent of her small figure. And the more I stare, the more I memorize and hunt out the outline of her shapely back and ass, darkened by the light. I'm sure there's a thin line a drool making its way down my chin.
She's naked. Under that shirt. She completely naked. If she sat down and crossed her legs, I would probably see-
I'm attracted to her suddenly. I can barely move from my spot. My eyes are locked, frozen. My breathing is uneven, irregular. And it's about time she notices my roaming, perverted eyes.
It's early so the lights aren't on. And the only source of sight is from the sun, blocked by a layer of thick snowy clouds. I love this weather. And I fake innocence, by gazing off at the glowing window behind her, instead of seeking out that delicious body hidden underneath a large shirt.
She grins shyly and sips her drink once more. "You okay?" She doesn't look at me when she talks this time; her eyes are reading and concentrating on the letter in her hands. Yet, I wonder, if she's really focusing, why has she been reading the same envelope for the past few minutes now?
"Fine," I grumble out weakly, my voice hoarse from what I'm guessing is slight arousal. I clear my throat, blame my burning cheeks on the equally burning coffee on my lips and then try to start off fresh. "You looked like hell this morning."
Elsa chuckles, and then finally glances at me. "I went out last night."
I sit up, my legs dangle out from beyond the countertop, eyes wide. "You never go out," I'm leaning close to her, confusingly quirking an eyebrow upwards at her claim.
"Anna, I did."
"Impossible," I cry out sarcastically. "You? Go out? The first few years I lived here I was convinced you were a shut in."
"Because I was a shut in," She gazes at me, a soft smile resting on her brilliant features. We both eye the locks on her door briefly. I can barely make her face out; the window light is hitting her back sharply so her blond locks look absolutely radiant and I can't help but realize, once again, that Elsa is beautiful. And she's too good to be true. Too good to be living in a horrible little apartment right above a Chinese restaurant. Too good to never have had a boyfriend at the age of 23. Too good for any of it. "But, Anna, you were the one who got me out of my shell."
"More like forced you out."
"With iced coffee," she chuckles, dangling the cup in the air, before taking a sip.
"Okay, so where were you last night?" I can't help but sound like a boyfriend. "I sound like a boyfriend," I laugh.
She does too. "No, I get your obvious curiosity," She places a finger to her chin, as if to remember the recent events. "I met some people from my classes up at NYU and we all decided to just get drunk."
I cross my arms. "With the way you looked this morning I don't think drunk even covers it."
Her lips purse out. And I know that look. It's her annoyed look. Her teasingly, narcissistic, playful, annoyed look. I hate it as much as I love it. "I'll have you know, Anna, that I wasn't even tipsy," She gazes at me and then settles back down at her mail. Her lips are in a thin line, eyes clear and dominant. There's a little boastful tone to her voice. "I didn't have one drink."
"Okay, so wait-" I scratch my head, hitting the bump by accident which makes me wince. "Okay, so then why did you look so terrible this morning?"
"Maybe I look terrible every morning."
A let out a huff of air. We both know that's not true. "Are you searching for compliments right now?"
"Anna!" She gasps. "Anna, I would never…"
I sip my coffee. And continue to look at the window behind her. Every once in a while, I shift my eyes to her profile which is still reading the same letter. Her cheeks are blushed. I notice this instantly. "Elsa, I'm here every morning. We both know you never look terrible."
"If I don't look terrible then-"
"You look beautiful," I say thickly, quickly sipping my coffee to maybe choke down the stutter or heavy panting that I know will start up again soon.
Elsa turns to face me, and I swear the second she does a light blip of snow comes cradling down to earth, settling right against the glass window behind her. I rush out towards the glass. "It's snowing!" I'm grinning wildly. I love the snow. But my favorite season is summer for various reasons, the main one being my introduction to Elsa. Which was happily on one of the warmest days of the year.
My face is cold as I rub it against the window, staring down at the people walking below on the sidewalk. They're ants. Everyone's an ant. It begins to snow harder, which causes a few ants to run faster, covering their heads with newspapers, umbrellas, bags, anything. I laugh. "It's really coming down, huh?"
There's silence, which I believe is from Elsa currently drinking her coffee, but then she, nimbly mutters out, "You think I'm beautiful?" Her voice is so soft. As soft as the snow outside, I swear.
When I turn, I realize she hasn't moved from her spot by the kitchen table. Which I find instantly unnerving. Elsa loves the snow. Yet her eyes are wide with fear. She's still as a stone and there's an envelope in her hands lightly held up without care. I can finally make out the details of her emotions, now that the window light shines brilliantly upon her features. I laugh weakly, nervously, concerned. "Of course," I, myself, can even hear the shakiness in my voice.
Elsa snaps out of this trance and glances at the kitchen table, eyebrows growing closer and closer, lips in a firm line once again.
"You've never said that to me before," She says suddenly, glancing at me once again. The mail is now completely disregarded. It's in the past. "You've never told me I was beautiful before. In all the years I've known you."
"Well-" I shrug. "I mean, you are." I push a lock behind my ear, a nervous trait. "Beautiful..."
It was something that always itched at the tip of my tongue. Always so close to wording out. And now that I've finally said it, complete with my nervous stuttering, I feel dumber than I look. She was beautiful. She is beautiful. Elsa, I believed, would always be beautiful. If not her complexion, then maybe her insides. Her insides would always be beautiful. Healthy and pure, her soul, her being, her innards, would be blessed, beautiful, clean, neat.
She grins suddenly, her eyes fluttering about, shyly toying with the letter. "Thank you, Anna."
I shrug again, aching to turn back to the window. But her eyes have me on lock down. I can barely move let alone nervously tuck a stray hair behind my ear once again. "I bet lots of people tell you that."
She shakes her head, the smile still in place. "Really, they don't."
"Not even your boyfriends?"
"Anna. You know I've never dated anyone before."
"Which, I say again, complete shocker." I gasp out, laughing lightly. I'm being friendly. I'm not flirting. I'm being nice and sweet to one of my closest friends, who, consequently, I live next door to, visit every morning, think about when I go to sleep at night and know like the back of my hand. I finally rip my gaze from Elsa's and turn back to the window, which is now littered with snow; it's pushed around the edges, covering the view completely. I can barely make out the streetlights. I gasp out of disbelief.
"Turn on the news," I say, glancing at Elsa who is already at her small TV, clicking the remote feverishly.
Her cheeks are still red. I note this before coming beside her to listen in on the forecast.
"What seems to be a sudden snowstorm has made its way into Manhattan," The forecaster pats the map with the palm of his hand. "And get this folks…only Manhattan. That's right. There's a small snowstorm, only in Manhattan. Everywhere else? Completely dry."
"How strange," Elsa mutters, casting a weary glance at her window. "Did they know this was going to happen?"
We both lock eyes once more, a bit of worry trekking across our features. But our obvious nervousness wasn't from the random, unexplainable, snowstorm currently binding us into our homes. It was- well- is it strange to say it's all a bit intimate suddenly? The moment changes so drastically I barely felt it coming. The mood shifts without our control. It was as if we suddenly realized the predicament we were in and, shockingly, how much we loved it.
Before we kiss, I recall the very moment I met Elsa, crammed in her room, the only distance between us being a silver chain attached to her door and the inside of her apartment. She was so shy then, reluctant to try anything, desperate for solitude. The first thing I saw on Elsa, before words were ever spoken, were her eyes, and now I'm staring directly at them with the same amount of nerves and fears I felt the moment we first met.
The cold wind shutters around the apartment, snow covers the windows, casting a shadow onto the kitchen and dining room. I'm in the dark suddenly, with Elsa, and before I can say something to distract from the thick tension, I'm shifting forwards, following the beautiful girl's lead. We're close. So close I can already taste her lips on mine. I slam my eyes shut, casting fate before me, opening up my walls, letting it all just go. We've been friends forever, yet why did this experience feel so right? Why did it feel so incredibly revealing? I'm shaking now, my hands searching her sides; I'm almost there, just a few more inches-
Elsa's window suddenly cracks open. Both doors flap out, slamming against the walls, causing the gust and snow to flood into the kitchen and living room.
We gasp and then scream at each other. Yelling demands this way and that as we storm to the window, bracing it with all our combined forces. The shutters quake beneath Elsa's hands and my back, and we both are a bit too nervous to even glance at each other. Swiftly, I re-lock the windows while Elsa steps back and grunts in absolute disbelief.
We stare at the windows, willing them to stay shut, but they continue to rattle as we both fall to the floor in a heap of exhaustion.
There's snow littering her apartment; it's on the floor, countertop, the TV (that is still playing the forecast) and we finally share a glance, our faces red from either arousal or disbelief, and laugh. My hands brace the ground as I barely stop my back from shuddering with laughter. Elsa is on the floor, covering her mouth slightly as she too chuckles gleefully.
The snow around us is already melting when I ask, "Did you have the nightmare again?"
And Elsa looks at me fearfully.
"That's why you look so tired. I mean- You didn't sleep last night did you?" My voice is quiet, hushed.
She nods, faintly. Daintily rubbing her eyes with thin slender, pale fingers. "It's the same dream. Every time."
I nod, knowing she can't see me, and remain silent.
We were going to kiss. We were so close. I could feel her soft breath, gracing my lips. Her cold hands carefully trailing under my shirt.
"Want to talk about it?"
I didn't know if I was referring to the kiss or the dream. Either way Elsa shakes her head. The same answer every time. "No thanks," I never heard her voice sound so shrill before.
"Want to go to mine?" I say aloud, pulling my bangs back to glance at Elsa who is still cramming her fingers in her face.
She looks up, then around, taking a look at her kitchen table and her mail, sopping wet. "Sure," She rises and we both climb out to the hallway. "At least I don't have to worry about my bills anymore."
I laugh softly as she closes her door.
The storm continues and we watch it rage on all night long. It finally settles once Elsa leaves my apartment at midnight.
We didn't kiss after all.