This would work with any pairing, really, but I love it with Rose and Scorp. I'm playing around with writing styles and I think I love this one, did I pull it off?

It's something like a tingle in your stomach (what can you say, he just gives you the butterflies). That tickling, wiggling, soaring sensation you feel when he looks at you with his oh-so-perfect grey eyes.

You've never been the kind of girl to hopelessly fall for a guy but his eyes make your breath catch in your throat, and his hair (how does he get it that perfectly tousled?) makes you want to run your fingers through it, and his lips make you want to kiss him in the rain.

You really know that you shouldn't be here, here in the bleachers of the quidditch field, bathed in the light of the rising sun, but you don't want to leave. He's flying around above you and you just want to spend the rest of eternity watching his windswept face light with glee as he performs daring maneuvers.

And it's a really bad idea, you know, to be here taunting yourself as he pretends you don't exist. Because, because you can't change what you've done but you just can't get over him. And it's something like love that is blooming in your stomach (making it tingle), your heart (making it beat), your head (making it spin).

You are sure he hates you (how could he not?) but you just want him to come back down to earth and give you that look (you know the one, the one that says I am falling for you) you want him to kiss you. But he won't. You know that, but you still crave the feeling of his lips pressed to yours.

He's hovering now, watching you with those stormy eyes. He wants to know what you are doing here.

"Hey," you find the breath (all that's left that he hasn't stolen) to murmur.

"Hi," his voice proves that he is oblivious to his perfection, to your desire, to your need (because, face it, you need him).

You want this to be a scene from a cheesy, cliqued romantic film, the one where he would lean in right now and the two of you would kiss a fiery, passionate kiss. But he's not moving, and tears are welling up in your eyes (why doesn't he want you?).

You kinda, almost hate him for making you like this (you were never weak before) but, you want him, need him, love him too much for the feelings of hate to take hold. And he's so perfect for you but so blind for not noticing and you just want to have him hold you like he use to (before you screwed up).

It's not always easy, you know that, but that doesn't mean he should just give up now. You want to scream, to hit him, to make him know how you feel, instead, instead you cry (how pathetic is that).

You hate being the damsel-in-distress, you know, that girl, the one who can't do anything for herself. You are habitually selfish, a private person who needs her space. But, right now you can't think of anything but him.

He's flying towards you, dropping the broom so it hovers at his feet like a loyal dog. It's too perfect to actually be happening, and you can't believe it but he's walking towards you with that look on his face (you know, the I'm smitten with you look) and all of a sudden you can't think of anything but him.

It's something like bliss, the moment he touches his lips to yours (of course it is, he's perfect). And that bliss? It's something like flying.