Title: iDance For Fireflies
Challenge: Put your iPod/mp3 on shuffle and write to what you hear
Song: #02 – Fireflies by Owl City
Word Count: 600
Summary: She doesn't expect things like this...
iDance for Fireflies
She doesn't expect things like this, but here she is, standing in the middle of a park with fireflies everywhere. They light up so innocently and flutter about, circling here, dancing in her hair and landing on Freddie, who looks terrified.
She rolls her eyes. "No need for an aneurysm, Fredster, they won't hurt you."
He pretends he's not scared, shrugs and shakes his head. Then he glares at her with little effort. "I'm not scared… They're just… creepy…"
She snorts. "Please." She lifts her hands to them, begins to dance in the dewy grass and laughs like a worriless child. Smiling, she lets all inhibitions go, she kicks her feet in the air and watches as lightening bugs scatter around her. "They're beautiful," she admits, wanting to reach out and take one home, keep it.
There's no homework or school or drunk mom's who break-in bikinis rather than do normal things like bake or care. There's no reputation to keep up or people to beat on. There's just her and a sky full of ten million fireflies lighting up the world, lulling her into a security as sweet as sleep. And then she's dizzy and she comes to a stumbling stop, still giggling with a drunk adoration.
When her eyes focus, she's facing Freddie and he's looking at her likes he's never seen her before. Immediately, she touches her face, "What? There a booger or something?"
And he laughs, chuckles under his breath, his mouth turning up on one side, and then he walks toward her, his hand held up. Instinctively, she thinks to duck away, but she doesn't. Because his eyes aren't laughing at her, aren't filled with malice or hurt like they often are when she makes fun of him. Her hair is a tangle of blonde curls and a few strands are tugged sharply as he touches her head. She almost hits him, more out of instinct than anything else, but then his hand is held up in front of his and sitting in his palm is a little firefly, one that was once caught up in her golden hair. With a quiet buzz, it lifts from his hand and flies away, leaving a sweetness between them that makes her stomach clench and her heart flutter in her ears.
He's looking at her and not the firefly now and she licks her dry lips and swallows tightly. His hand is in her hair again, fingers tangled, but she knows there's nothing there for him to get out. It's just a touch, tender, affectionate, and his lips follow to press against her own, slant and meet in a kiss that makes her toes curl in her converse and her eyes flutter closed.
She thinks if she opens them now those fireflies would be dancing all around them, a circle of burning light that leaves a misty trail all around; their wings fluttering like silent claps of approval. But she doesn't open them, couldn't if she wanted to, because she's drugged on him. On the dork that was scared of fireflies and now kisses her beneath their glow. And she kisses him back, lets herself fall a little more in love with a boy she's always been hesitant to care for. It's not until drops of rain slide down their faces that they part and laugh, and hand-in-hand, they leave the park and whimsical fireflies behind them.
She only hopes she doesn't wake up to find it all a dream, 'cause then she'd have to hit him out of self-preservation and she'd really much rather kiss him again.