I'm Not What You Think I Am
I'm Not What You Think I Am
“IbrokeupwithSantana,” Noah Puckerman finally spit out all in one big blur.
“Oh.” London Finch said as the surprise blocked her brain from producing any real words.
“For you,” he panted, slower this time.
“Oh!” Her eyes widened as she punctuated her surprise. The sound felt small in the vast auditorium. The dim glow from the chandeliers was absorbed into the blue velvet interior like hot sunlight. The way it reflected around the room made Puck’s grey irises look almost icy, especially compared to his flushed cheeks. The contrast of hot and cold made her dizzy.
He isn’t saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything?
“Um,” London let her quiet voice float through the echoing space to him, “care to elaborate?”
At this point, he closed the gap between them. Their eyes remained locked and they slowly sat into two chairs, small, but comfortable, in the middle of the room.
“I couldn’t stand wondering anymore,” he began. “Every time I was with her, I couldn’t help thinking about you. When she’d hold my hand, I’d wonder how yours would feel. Would it be soft? small? fragile?” As he explained, London intently returned his gaze nodding ever so slightly. Her attention was so wrapped up in his words she almost didn’t notice his hand weave into hers on the armrest between them. His skin was so warm! Almost fiery, scalding compared to his eyes. Downright scorching on her marble hand.
“And when her hair would touch me, I’d wonder how it would feel so touch yours. Would it be smooth? Would it feel like water in my fingers... like this...” He murmured the ending as his other hand gently ran through her black bob. She tilted her neck towards his touch.
“And when she kissed me,” he was barely breathing the words at this point, “I’d wonder about how it would feel to finally kiss you.”
London gently bit her bottom lip. “And?” she whispered.
“I don’t want to wonder anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
“Curiosity has gotten the best of me, I guess.” he said just before pressing his lips into hers.
All was quiet and still around them as Puck and London shared this moment. Everything was so tranquil that London was almost afraid to break the kiss.
“I shouldn’t do this,” she whispered into his lips. “You’re a player, Noah Puckerman.”
Now Puck was the one to pull back. His deep, brown eyes were fixated on her every feature. Dead serious and determined. London was captivated.
With the smallest shake of his head, Puck answered her every insecurity, “I’m not what you think I am.”
“Oh.” London Finch said as the surprise blocked her brain from producing any real words.
“For you,” he panted, slower this time.
“Oh!” Her eyes widened as she punctuated her surprise. The sound felt small in the vast auditorium. The dim glow from the chandeliers was absorbed into the blue velvet interior like hot sunlight. The way it reflected around the room made Puck’s grey irises look almost icy, especially compared to his flushed cheeks. The contrast of hot and cold made her dizzy.
He isn’t saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything?
“Um,” London let her quiet voice float through the echoing space to him, “care to elaborate?”
At this point, he closed the gap between them. Their eyes remained locked and they slowly sat into two chairs, small, but comfortable, in the middle of the room.
“I couldn’t stand wondering anymore,” he began. “Every time I was with her, I couldn’t help thinking about you. When she’d hold my hand, I’d wonder how yours would feel. Would it be soft? small? fragile?” As he explained, London intently returned his gaze nodding ever so slightly. Her attention was so wrapped up in his words she almost didn’t notice his hand weave into hers on the armrest between them. His skin was so warm! Almost fiery, scalding compared to his eyes. Downright scorching on her marble hand.
“And when her hair would touch me, I’d wonder how it would feel so touch yours. Would it be smooth? Would it feel like water in my fingers... like this...” He murmured the ending as his other hand gently ran through her black bob. She tilted her neck towards his touch.
“And when she kissed me,” he was barely breathing the words at this point, “I’d wonder about how it would feel to finally kiss you.”
London gently bit her bottom lip. “And?” she whispered.
“I don’t want to wonder anymore.”
“Then don’t.”
“Curiosity has gotten the best of me, I guess.” he said just before pressing his lips into hers.
All was quiet and still around them as Puck and London shared this moment. Everything was so tranquil that London was almost afraid to break the kiss.
“I shouldn’t do this,” she whispered into his lips. “You’re a player, Noah Puckerman.”
Now Puck was the one to pull back. His deep, brown eyes were fixated on her every feature. Dead serious and determined. London was captivated.
With the smallest shake of his head, Puck answered her every insecurity, “I’m not what you think I am.”