A Light on in Chicago

By the time the group had completely gotten used to each other a few days later, Patrick had decided one thing. Scout was beautiful.

She was beautiful when she stumbled around his house half-asleep in the morning.

She was beautiful when she shoved pizza into her mouth like there was no tomorrow on the horizon.

She was beautiful when she sang and moved to any sort of music – head bobbing or full out dancing if she really liked the song.

She was beautiful when she destroyed her jeans just to keep her hands busy.

She was beautiful when she mouthed the words to anything she read, and half of what she thought, but too quickly for anyone to understand.

She was beautiful when she danced around dramatically in her socks on any wooden floor she could find.

She was beautiful as she talked music and comics and Harry Potter with her newest friends.

She was beautiful when she suggested a night on the town.

She was beautiful as she laughed in her little black dress and Patrick’s hat, looking out the van window for a decent bar.

She was only kind of pretty as she drunkenly flirted with every male specimen to be found in the pub.

But oh was she gorgeous as she turned her flirtatious attentions upon Patrick.

She was beautiful when she dragged him out of the stuffy bar and hopped around in the street to hail a cab.

She was beautiful when she snuggled into his side on the way home, mumbling things about chiropractors and mummies and birds that Patrick couldn’t understand.

She was beautiful as she ran straight for the nearest toilet when they reached his house, upchucking most of the night’s watery provisions.

She was beautiful as she stripped from her clothing, crawling into the first bed she could find.

She was beautiful as she snuggled into his pillow, smiled slightly, and fell into deep sleep in his bed.