This was my second fanfiction I ever wrote, and it's a long one. A very long one. Disclaimer: Don't know (met once), don't own (I wish), don't steal (will kill). :)

Hand In Mine, Into Your Sapphire Blues

The two teenagers lounged on to the bed next to each other, their feet touching. They were reading the same magazine, laughing and making noises of disgust at the same times. The girl pushed her long hair behind her ears and leaned across the spread to read the last column, bringing her head closer to the boys. Instinctively, he moved closer to her, his hair brushing against hers. She didn't notice, giggling too much at the words on the page.

"Can you believe this, Frank?" she asked him, turning her bright blue eyes up from the magazine to look at him, grinning like an idiot. He shook his head, chuckling.

"Four operations? Dude, if it were that many I'd stick with what I had!" he laughed, laughing about the article.

"Ooo, and what do you have?" she asked evilly, widening her eyes suggestively, making him blush, laugh and push her gently on the shoulder at the same time.

"Watch it Sapphire! Lucky for me I no where near…'an inch long and the width of a pencil'!" he read from the magazine, raising an eyebrow. She laughed and poked his eyebrow.

"Go down, fuzzy worm thing,"

"I think you'll find it's called an eyebrow,"

"Not in my book,"

"Well duh! You can't even spell properly, let alone write! Miss Braintan!" he reminded her, when she had to write the names of countries on the board, panicked and mis-spelt Britain. She turned red, burying her face in her arms.

"Meanie!" she squealed into the duvet, kicking her legs. He tickled her, making her contort away from him and slid off the bed with a little yelp of surprise. Sapphire looked up at him from the floor, confused as to how she managed to end up there, and then frowning when he laughed, the magazine lying forgotten on the floor. She rolled her eyes and got up, grabbing the magazine and stuffing it in her Nightmare Before Christmas shoulder bag, complete with badges, patches and about a million safety pins to keep the strap attached. Frank stopped laughing eventually and watched her pull on her jacket with a smile playing over his lips and his eyes playing over her body when he thought she wouldn't notice. She wore a short black skirt with a blue devil cat patch sewn onto the hip pocket and about a million zips, and a black top with blue stripy sleeves and blue and black stripy socks that had gathered around her ankles. She whisked her hair over her shoulder and caught him watching her.

"What?" she asked, granting him a lopsided side. He smiled, saying nothing.

"I was just thinking how cool you look today. Very blue," he shrugged, propping himself up on his elbow. She cast her eyes over his ripped black jeans and black T-shirt with its humorous logo and grinned.

"A lot cooler than you, any day, I'm always in blue," she laughed, grabbing her huge clompy shoes and shoving her feet into them, pulling her socks up to her knees.

"Granted. You going?" he asked, hiding the disappointment in his voice. She swung her hair over her shoulder once again and spent a minute trying to spit it out of her mouth.

"Argh! My hair is conspiring against me!"

"There's enough of it to form a small democratic government, that's for sure," he told her, looking at her hair which just managed to reach her waist in soft waves of dark brown. It shone in the light coming in through his small window and rippled at she shrugged.

"Actually I think it's Communist, but whatever! Yeah, I've got IT coursework to attempt. Mum's orders," she groaned, slumping and widening her eyes expressively. He laughed and swung his legs off his bed, ready to wish her goodbye.

"Are you coming around later?"

"If I get it done before dinner, yeah. I'm going out tonight, so we're gonna have to postpone that movie marathon," she told him, looking away as she sorted out her laces as best she could be bothered. He felt a stab of annoyance; he had been looking forward to their evening together.

"But it's Friday night! You never go out on date night, it's too cliché!" he said, teasing her. "Who with?"

"Nice attempt at casual, mate. It so happens that I am going out on a date, hence date night," she said, looking back at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He nodded, pretending to be impressed.

"Wow. You on a proper date! About time, luv!" he laughed, cracking his knuckles. He needed to do something with his hands. She sighed, scuffed him around the head and waved one ringed, braceletted, black-fingernailed hand at him.

"See you later, hopefully. Depends how bitchy my computer is being," she said, winding her way through the rubble in his room and running up the stairs to the garden entrance to his basement room. He stayed on his bed, watching her vanish up the stairway and listening to the sounds of her closing the trapdoor at the top of his stairs. As soon as he heard the crash of one door on another, he sighed and flopped back on his bed. He felt bummed, depressed she had a date. He wondered who it was, idly imagining someone with looks like a model and a sensitive soul or something like that.

"Fuck," he whispered, stumbling across a mental picture of her kissing afore-mentioned tortured poet. He stayed on his bed, trying not to think about her, her date or how deep her date's poetry was.