I just wanted to try and write an air-like Nellie, but I think it didn't go as I had thought it'd be. Oh well, whatever. Enjoy. OWN NOTHING.


It's her giggles. It has to be.

It's the way she lets out that light giggles of her that makes him so hooked (&line&sinker) on her, that it will just burns him by the end of the day.

Because it's the way she moves- one minute she's there, just tip-toeing her way through the crowds of people who doesn't even give a second to glance at her, and the next minute, she's gone as if she's just another figment of his imagination.

But it's her giggles. It's her giggles that tells him she's there; she's real.



"Nellie, are you okay?"

"Of course I am."

"But your father-,"

"-is dead."

He hesitates. "And you're okay with that?"

And she looks up- and he knows- not a single tear shed, not a hint of redness brushing her pale cheeks- but he knows (oh how he knows) she's not.



"Let me help you."

Another step. "I don't need your help."

Oh, but she does.



He lifts his chin up to meet her gaze and she smiles- and those smile should bother him for making him feel so lightweight (almost high) but it doesn't, and she leans down, faces just inchesapart and he feels her breath tickles the corner of his mouth, "Stop worrying. I'm perfectly fine."

She backs away and continues walking. He stops and stares. I can't, he says to himself. Not when you're hurting.



He catches her just in time- and her skin feels so soft against his, he feels like he's probably touching silk.

"What's your name?" he breathes.

And she blinks, once and then twice. And just like some sort of magic, she gives him a smirk- and like how she is, she gets away from his grasp and he runs, run to catch her again. Her feet flies in the air, making him, the athlete, feels breathless even though he's getting closer to just reachingher within his fingertips.

He stops at the bleachers, where she suddenly stops and stares at the field. "My name's Nellie."

He watches as she extends her hands and index fingers to draw alphabet in the mid air, "N-E-L-L-I-E, Nellie." He comes closer and closer and finally, he's standing next to her. It's like she's trying to show him something, but he doesn't know what. She turns to him, and doesn't seem surprise at the small space between them.

"Nellie," he repeats her name, like a chant.

She smiles, tilting her head to one side- and giggles. "That's right," she says softly, "And you're Blake."



He finds her 2:15 in the morning, playing sands at his backyard.

She looks scared, wrapping herself around with her pale blanket and head facing downward and toes dragging to make new marks on the sand. The door of the backyard opens when he pushes it and she immediately looks up, meeting him straight in the eyes. "Nellie, what are you-"

"He's dead."

He pauses, taken aback. "W-what?"

"My dad," she says, returning to gaze at the sand underneath her soles. "My father's dead, Blake."

"H-how? When?"

"I d-don't know," she tells him, shrugging her shoulders but doesn't move her face to meet him. And that's weird and strange- because she always look him in the eyes. "The police came and- and- he's dead. I don't know how he died, b-but... he's dead."



He holds her during the funeral and realizes how she's gripping onto him like she's his lifeline.

It's after the funeral- or maybe it's during- but she leans down into him, and there's a crack in her voice that breaks him just slightly as she says, "I hate funerals." I hate that it's my dad's.

(because whatever he did in the past, he's still my dad)

He squeezes their joining hands, like they're meant to be and hears when she shudders at that gesture, and he replies hoarsely, "Me too." It's okay, 'cause I'm here.



It's the blue&purple&violet bruises that makes him ask, makes him worry and it's the begging&pleading that makes her finally tells him, "My dad, he loves me... but sometimes, he gets angry."

"And he hits you?"

She glances up at him for a second, and something struck him with that particular look. She shrugs one shoulder easily, "Sometimes. Most times he likes to yell."

"And- and you let him?"

"Blake," she says sternly, annoyance smearing her word. "I'm fine."

"But you're not," he argues.


Suddenly she stands up, "But I don't care," and runs away.



Her bruises are healing, and her scars are disappearing and he smiles at that, and she does too, after a while.

He kisses her and he feels alive- but never kisses the lips, he's too afraid to do so. "I love you Nellie," he tells her one day.

She turns to him slowly- and for a moment, he thought he'd ruined it- but she smiles widely back at him. "I love you too, Blake."

And her fragile pale hands cup his cheek slowly and bringing it down to her, and their lips meet and he could literally feel the electricity running up his spin and tickling him in every bones possible. Kissing her is just like how he imagined it'd be- light-like, hunger and furious yet gentle and delicate all at the same time.

"Thanks for saving me," she murmurs, in between kisses.

He kisses her harder and pushes her against the bed, "Anytime."

She giggles- and he knows, he's hooked.



He makes faces at the teacher because he's bored- he doesn't expect anyone to notice it.

But as he's making faces at Mr Gray one day, he hears that out-of-ordinary sound. He turns, just quick enough to catch her giggling at him. His mind goes blank for a while before it all adds up and he realizes she's giggling because she's amused at what he does. So, those who doesn't report on Mr Gray while he's making faces is definitely a friend.

He throws his head back, smirks and throws a wink.

She giggles back, only quieter and smiles widely.

That giggle.

Somehow, he finds himself addicted to it all so suddenly.

WHAT AM I DOING? UGH. It's so late at night, I'm just writing this for fun. Please, leave a review. Any mistakes, I'll do it later.