Emily has never felt more resigned. For the past three days, Gabriel has successfully installed himself as her personal wheelchair. At the end of every lecture, he would scoop her out of her seat and, despite her extremely verbal protestations, carry her to her next destination cradled like a helpless baby in his arms. Oh! How embarrassing that was, to be seen in such a vulnerable position by hundreds of sniggering oh-my-look-at-them peeps. How did he even know when and where her lectures are held?
What had irritated her to no end was the annoying smug look he’s got plastered on his face every time they encountered her friends in campus. Friends who looked like they were about to congratulate the bride and groom after a wedding ceremony. What’s up with all that “Oh sure, you two aren’t attached, but where are you two heading for your honeymoon now?” look on all of their faces? Which part of “Gabriel and I are really just friends” did they not understand?
And it certainly is uncanny how you can find it difficult to meet friends for lunch but keep bumping into them when you least desired it. That accursed Murphy’s Law.
But that wasn’t the end of it. What was most aggravating was that she had grown accustomed to this free-of-charge translocation service before she even realized it. Oftentimes, Gabriel had already carried her halfway around the campus before she remembered to protest, only to find that her arms had somehow wound themselves around his neck and her head rested against his shoulder.
How did he do that? How did he turn her from that ball of unrelenting non-cooperation into the now compliant kitten?
That is not to say that she didn’t like being carried around princess-style. In fact, she quite liked the feeling of being so utterly taken cared of in the most gentle of ways. She liked the way she could feel his every heartbeat against her own. She liked the way his arms encompass around her, so strong yet so tender.
Even now, she is vaguely aware of the lulling rise and fall of his chest with his every breath, compelling her to synchronize her own breathing in tune with his. His unique scent envelops her and seems to mark her as his own. It all seems so serene, so…… right.
But, how could this be right? They were just friends, right? Friends don’t feel uneasy yet anticipative when they touch. Friends don’t look forward to getting so close to each other that they could count the other’s pulse rate. And friends most definitely do not feel forlorn when rare moments of intimacy extinguish into incontrovertible friend-to-friend care and concern.
And then, there was also that irritating skipping of heartbeats and difficulty of breathing that she could not account for, in the name of friendship.
Emily frowned. She angled her head upwards and gazed at Gabriel. Exactly when did she start having such…… inappropriate sentiments towards the guy she had always thought of as a brother? Granted, Gabriel did do lots of sweet things for her that normal brothers would gladly die than to even think about doing. But still, he had never done anything that made her aware of his being a man and her a woman.
A man.
Gabriel.
Is a man.
Why hasn’t she seen that before? Those strong brows and piercing eyes; the determined curve of his lips, the pronounced jaw; the arms.
Why hasn’t she seen him before?
Entranced, she reached up, letting her fingers trace over the contour of his neck.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
What had irritated her to no end was the annoying smug look he’s got plastered on his face every time they encountered her friends in campus. Friends who looked like they were about to congratulate the bride and groom after a wedding ceremony. What’s up with all that “Oh sure, you two aren’t attached, but where are you two heading for your honeymoon now?” look on all of their faces? Which part of “Gabriel and I are really just friends” did they not understand?
And it certainly is uncanny how you can find it difficult to meet friends for lunch but keep bumping into them when you least desired it. That accursed Murphy’s Law.
But that wasn’t the end of it. What was most aggravating was that she had grown accustomed to this free-of-charge translocation service before she even realized it. Oftentimes, Gabriel had already carried her halfway around the campus before she remembered to protest, only to find that her arms had somehow wound themselves around his neck and her head rested against his shoulder.
How did he do that? How did he turn her from that ball of unrelenting non-cooperation into the now compliant kitten?
That is not to say that she didn’t like being carried around princess-style. In fact, she quite liked the feeling of being so utterly taken cared of in the most gentle of ways. She liked the way she could feel his every heartbeat against her own. She liked the way his arms encompass around her, so strong yet so tender.
Even now, she is vaguely aware of the lulling rise and fall of his chest with his every breath, compelling her to synchronize her own breathing in tune with his. His unique scent envelops her and seems to mark her as his own. It all seems so serene, so…… right.
But, how could this be right? They were just friends, right? Friends don’t feel uneasy yet anticipative when they touch. Friends don’t look forward to getting so close to each other that they could count the other’s pulse rate. And friends most definitely do not feel forlorn when rare moments of intimacy extinguish into incontrovertible friend-to-friend care and concern.
And then, there was also that irritating skipping of heartbeats and difficulty of breathing that she could not account for, in the name of friendship.
Emily frowned. She angled her head upwards and gazed at Gabriel. Exactly when did she start having such…… inappropriate sentiments towards the guy she had always thought of as a brother? Granted, Gabriel did do lots of sweet things for her that normal brothers would gladly die than to even think about doing. But still, he had never done anything that made her aware of his being a man and her a woman.
A man.
Gabriel.
Is a man.
Why hasn’t she seen that before? Those strong brows and piercing eyes; the determined curve of his lips, the pronounced jaw; the arms.
Why hasn’t she seen him before?
Entranced, she reached up, letting her fingers trace over the contour of his neck.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
