Tonight Will Be the Night That I Will Fall For You

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

perceptiveli:

Her feelings for Morty. Right. He forgot. Rolling his eyes, smirk still intact, he leaned forward and began typing again. It was only a matter of time before he invited her out, half expecting her to say Edward Cullen’s half-smirk made her swoon and she had to stay in. But there was still hope.

eli-gold49: Morty misses you, you know. his engine just doesn’t rev the same when you’re not around. care to remedy that, miss edwards?

Indirect yet direct, he found that that was the way to respond to a flustered Clare Edwards, because he knew she was flustered, fingers shaking as she anticipated his reply. He was sure the eli-gold49 is typing… on the bottom of their chat window left her trembling in wonder, teeth clamped around her bottom lip. No, he didn’t know this for sure, but he could imagine. She wasn’t predictable — quite the contrary, actually — but in his mind, she was this perfect girl whom he couldn’t help but want to talk to, to contemplate every facial expression and twirl of her perfect curls.

He wanted to see her, that was obvious. His foot was tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor, knee bopping up and down. He was dizzy, head spinning and screen blurring. Talking to Clare was a trip… a trip he wished he could stay on forever.

Clare released her curls from the clip, anxiously waiting for Eli to respond. When he did, her heart nearly stopped again. She wondered why she was so sensitive; why every little thing he did sent her emotions on a whirlwind of excitement and elation. Looking at the time, she realized it was nearly 2 AM, way past her bedtime and certainly not an acceptable hour for leaving the house.

But maybe it was the high off talking to Eli, or maybe she was just in the mood to be reckless and stupid. Something found Clare trading in her sweatpants for a pair of blue jeans; her tank-top for a button-up top.

Her fingers then found their way to the keyboard, typing out the message with trembling fingers and a bit lip, (even though she already knew the answer.)

clare-e23: he misses me now? isn’t it a little past his bedtime?

He chuckled as if she could hear him, as if she was next to him, in the passenger seat of Morty, or on the swings in the cool of this Spring night. And somehow, his smirk had turned into a smile along the way. Her resolve was wavering, like a mast in a heavy wind on a boat in the middle of nowhere and he knew he was winning. What he didn’t know, though, was when she’d give in.

eli-gold49: bedtime? Morty? you must not know him very well then, edwards. because he is a firm believer in ‘sleep is for the weak’. in fact, i think he wants to go for a drive…

‘Enter’ was hit without thinking, but he didn’t need to think anyway. He was used to skirting around the issue with something less extreme and more coaxing. He wasn’t a fan of being forward, but he did enjoy playing with his captive. And that was exactly what Clare was. A captive, his parlay. He knew what to say to get her going, and he was so sure he’d have her soon.

Biting her lip, Clare debated with herself internally. She knew it was all a game. It had been a game since the moment they logged on and entered chat together. It was a dangerous tango of flirting and testing, of taunting and trying to win the upper hand. Hadn’t she possessed that just moments before?

Now, Clare felt powerless. She could go to sleep now. She could try to forget those green eyes, but she knew better. He would haunt her dreams. So what to choose? Loose the battle now or fight the ghosts later?

Closing her eyes, she prayed that he still respected her, that he still wanted to dance their tango if she gave in; let him have this little victory just this once. That being said she placed her hands on the keys, (they were shaking even more now,) and, carefully pressing the keys down, typed her response.

clare-e23: then what are you waiting for? i’ve only been sitting here all night. morty needs to pick up the pace. i’ll be waiting.

The words stared her down, enunciated by the blinking line at the end of her sentences. Past the point of no return and she pressed enter.

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

Clare was a little girl in most senses. She was naive, innocent, and sheltered. But sitting at the computer, reading Eli’s words with a tightening to her stomach and a blush gracing her cheeks, she froze. She wasn’t as naive as everyone thought, and right now, she was aware enough to realize that there was more meaning then said directly in Eli’s words.

She gnawed at her lip, debating how to respond. She could play it safe, insist she had to work on her homework, log off, never to speak of this strange exchange again. Or… She squirmed slightly. She could respond.

It took a few moments of debating for Clare to reach a verdict. Brushing a curl from her line of vision and taking a deep breath, she responded.

clare-e23: what, Morty isn’t enough? he’ll be very offended to hear that. don’t hurt yourself… but pray tell. what’re you thinking, Goldsworthy?

Her breath froze in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed ‘enter.’ No turning back now. (But she didn’t want to.)

She was curious, and that was good. Curiosity was said to have killed the cat, but he was fairly sure that this cat was too smart to let something so trivial end her fun. Clare was smart and cautious, and Eli realized that in her response. She could have easily signed out and put an end to their potential public embarrassment, but instead she played, albeit safe. Not to get her hopes up. Eli liked that in a girl.

It took longer for him to respond this time. The last time he’d invited her out in the dark of the night she’d declined, for what he had assumed to be Twilight, something of which bored him to the point of begging for a lobotomy. That movie itself led up to brain damage.

eli-gold49: oh, Morty is sensitive, but I think he has a soft spot for cinnamon curls and blue eyes. or maybe that’s me? i’m not sure, it’s all just a blur.

There wasn’t a spot of regret when he hit ‘enter,’ his arms resting behind his head, chair creaking as he leaned back against it. The smirk was permanently painted across his face as he imagined the squeak she’d possibly make, the way she would have stammered had he said such things in person. Oh how he wished this was in person.

At this point, Clare was very closely resembling a tomato.

It was just little black lines, words cast in darkness against a bright screen, but the words made her breathless. Cinnamon curls. Her heart was pattering, light and quick as summer rain on the pavement. Cinnamon. Curls. Maybe he was just being nice, but a strong intuitive voice in her mind told her that this was it. Eli Goldsworthy had most definitely crossed the line. He was flirting with her. Him. Flirting. With her.

Taking a deep breath, she contemplated her next move. While she hated to give Eli any sort of victory, (though she was sure he was smirking now, especially given how long it was taking her to respond,) she was itching to see where their conversation was going to go.

clare-e23: well you’d better unblur the edges. leaving a lady clueless is rude- especially seeing how you know my feelings for Morty.

The response was kind of juvenile and pathetic, but it was the best way she could get more information out of him without appearing too desperate. Looking over the words, she, satisfied, pressed enter.

Her feelings for Morty. Right. He forgot. Rolling his eyes, smirk still intact, he leaned forward and began typing again. It was only a matter of time before he invited her out, half expecting her to say Edward Cullen’s half-smirk made her swoon and she had to stay in. But there was still hope.

eli-gold49: Morty misses you, you know. his engine just doesn’t rev the same when you’re not around. care to remedy that, miss edwards?

Indirect yet direct, he found that that was the way to respond to a flustered Clare Edwards, because he knew she was flustered, fingers shaking as she anticipated his reply. He was sure the eli-gold49 is typing… on the bottom of their chat window left her trembling in wonder, teeth clamped around her bottom lip. No, he didn’t know this for sure, but he could imagine. She wasn’t predictable — quite the contrary, actually — but in his mind, she was this perfect girl whom he couldn’t help but want to talk to, to contemplate every facial expression and twirl of her perfect curls.

He wanted to see her, that was obvious. His foot was tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor, knee bopping up and down. He was dizzy, head spinning and screen blurring. Talking to Clare was a trip… a trip he wished he could stay on forever.

Clare released her curls from the clip, anxiously waiting for Eli to respond. When he did, her heart nearly stopped again. She wondered why she was so sensitive; why every little thing he did sent her emotions on a whirlwind of excitement and elation. Looking at the time, she realized it was nearly 2 AM, way past her bedtime and certainly not an acceptable hour for leaving the house.

But maybe it was the high off talking to Eli, or maybe she was just in the mood to be reckless and stupid. Something found Clare trading in her sweatpants for a pair of blue jeans; her tank-top for a button-up top.

Her fingers then found their way to the keyboard, typing out the message with trembling fingers and a bit lip, (even though she already knew the answer.)

clare-e23: he misses me now? isn’t it a little past his bedtime?

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

Clare was a little girl in most senses. She was naive, innocent, and sheltered. But sitting at the computer, reading Eli’s words with a tightening to her stomach and a blush gracing her cheeks, she froze. She wasn’t as naive as everyone thought, and right now, she was aware enough to realize that there was more meaning then said directly in Eli’s words.

She gnawed at her lip, debating how to respond. She could play it safe, insist she had to work on her homework, log off, never to speak of this strange exchange again. Or… She squirmed slightly. She could respond.

It took a few moments of debating for Clare to reach a verdict. Brushing a curl from her line of vision and taking a deep breath, she responded.

clare-e23: what, Morty isn’t enough? he’ll be very offended to hear that. don’t hurt yourself… but pray tell. what’re you thinking, Goldsworthy?

Her breath froze in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed ‘enter.’ No turning back now. (But she didn’t want to.)

She was curious, and that was good. Curiosity was said to have killed the cat, but he was fairly sure that this cat was too smart to let something so trivial end her fun. Clare was smart and cautious, and Eli realized that in her response. She could have easily signed out and put an end to their potential public embarrassment, but instead she played, albeit safe. Not to get her hopes up. Eli liked that in a girl.

It took longer for him to respond this time. The last time he’d invited her out in the dark of the night she’d declined, for what he had assumed to be Twilight, something of which bored him to the point of begging for a lobotomy. That movie itself led up to brain damage.

eli-gold49: oh, Morty is sensitive, but I think he has a soft spot for cinnamon curls and blue eyes. or maybe that’s me? i’m not sure, it’s all just a blur.

There wasn’t a spot of regret when he hit ‘enter,’ his arms resting behind his head, chair creaking as he leaned back against it. The smirk was permanently painted across his face as he imagined the squeak she’d possibly make, the way she would have stammered had he said such things in person. Oh how he wished this was in person.

At this point, Clare was very closely resembling a tomato.

It was just little black lines, words cast in darkness against a bright screen, but the words made her breathless. Cinnamon curls. Her heart was pattering, light and quick as summer rain on the pavement. Cinnamon. Curls. Maybe he was just being nice, but a strong intuitive voice in her mind told her that this was it. Eli Goldsworthy had most definitely crossed the line. He was flirting with her. Him. Flirting. With her.

Taking a deep breath, she contemplated her next move. While she hated to give Eli any sort of victory, (though she was sure he was smirking now, especially given how long it was taking her to respond,) she was itching to see where their conversation was going to go.

clare-e23: well you’d better unblur the edges. leaving a lady clueless is rude- especially seeing how you know my feelings for Morty.

The response was kind of juvenile and pathetic, but it was the best way she could get more information out of him without appearing too desperate. Looking over the words, she, satisfied, pressed enter.

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

perceptiveli:

eli-gold49: ouch. your assumption that I don’t produce anything but quality assignments hits home. I don’t think I’ll be able to recover, tiger lady.

Had Clare been there, she would have seen the way his hand covered his heart, mouth agape and brows furrowed in frustration. He found that hand gestures were the key to sarcasm, and they suited him so well. King of Sarcasm couldn’t keep from using his hands to speak even when no one was around.

He wasn’t as hurt as he’d led on, but he could imagine the chuckle on her end of the screen, along with the proud I beat Eli Goldsworthy smirk on her face. She was the easiest to play along with, because she did it so well. But she hadn’t won, no. And he was sure that she wouldn’t.

Somehow, when Clare read Eli’s words in her head, it was Eli’s voice, not her own, that she heard. She could picture Eli’s actions perfectly, and it made her heart race a little. Slowly, a small smirk twitched at the corner of her lips. Even though she was sure he wouldn’t go down without a fight, she felt she had the upper hand in their conversation, and the feeling was one she relished.

clare-e23: yes, I’m sure even now that you’re overwhelmed with misery. how ever will you survive, Goldsworthy?

The use of his last name to address him felt intimate and special, like an inside joke that just the two of them knew. She wouldn’t admit to getting shivers when he called her Edwards (or better yet, Blue Eyes,) but she did.

Paper long forgotten, (she’d do it in the morning), Clare redirected her attention towards the screen, anxiously checking her newsfeed again and again, trying to pretend like she wasn’t waiting for Eli to respond. (But she was.)

How will he survive? Simple. By making her squirm. His smirk was devious, his fingers quick on the keys, the tap-tap-tapping just a series of muffled sounds, gone by too fast to even process. He liked a feisty Edwards, the way she never gave up and fought the good fight.

eli-gold49: hm. i don’t know. i think to survive i’d need a little persuasion. you know. a reason to survive. suddenly, i’m thinking. i know, how surprising. eli can think.

He snickered, index finger hovering over the ‘enter’ key menacingly. Persuasion could mean many things. What would go through her head? Would she blush? Oh how he’d pay to see a rosy tint to her soft cheeks, a shy smile much like the day they first met. But maybe it would be different this time. Different in the sense that they knew more of each other. He’d made her skip class after all. What else could he make her do?

Clare was a little girl in most senses. She was naive, innocent, and sheltered. But sitting at the computer, reading Eli’s words with a tightening to her stomach and a blush gracing her cheeks, she froze. She wasn’t as naive as everyone thought, and right now, she was aware enough to realize that there was more meaning then said directly in Eli’s words.

She gnawed at her lip, debating how to respond. She could play it safe, insist she had to work on her homework, log off, never to speak of this strange exchange again. Or… She squirmed slightly. She could respond.

It took a few moments of debating for Clare to reach a verdict. Brushing a curl from her line of vision and taking a deep breath, she responded.

clare-e23: what, Morty isn’t enough? he’ll be very offended to hear that. don’t hurt yourself… but pray tell. what’re you thinking, Goldsworthy?

Her breath froze in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed ‘enter.’ No turning back now. (But she didn’t want to.)

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

perceptiveli:

wallflowerclare:

perceptiveli:

Just about to sign out of FaceRange, Eli’s cursor hovered over the “Exit IM” button when a little box blocked his escape. clare-e23 has just signed in lit the bottom corner of his screen and his face lit up along with it. Leave it to Clare Edwards to brighten his Internet experience.

He didn’t…

Clare sat at her computer, her unruly curls held back from her face with clips, a pen resting idly on her lip. She’d been trying to focus on her assignment- a paper focusing on why or why not parents should restrict their child’s clothing choices- but the never-ending stream of words in her mind had seemed to run dry.

Suddenly, a ping from the Facerange browser she had up alerted her attention away from the blank word document. Who would be up at this hour? Heart racing, she switched tabs.

Eli Goldsworthy sent her a message.

Biting her lip, she contemplated the words, trying to decide how to respond.

clare-e23: procrastinating? i’m an A+ student, if you remember. what would make you think that?

Had he been in the family (a.k.a. shut up, Clint Eastwood is on the screen) room, Cece and Bullfrog might have worried for Eli’s mental stability, thanks to his chuckling at the computer screen. But as it was, he was alone in the safety of his room, eyes glued to the bright light and alluring text in the instant message box. Clare, always so defensive and proud. Eli couldn’t help the way she pulled him in.

His response was quick, easy. Simple, even. They rivaled and equaled each other. They could throw out comebacks like there was no tomorrow and could hold a debate for hours on the color of the ocean if need be (and since the day he met her, he’d decided that the color of the ocean was her eyes, and no, not the other way around). But they usually settled for books, poets, the way movies can ruin the most perfect book… And they never once agreed on a thing.

He’d long since finished his assignment. He felt no need in dilly-dallying his paper because he knew what he wanted in the first place. Parents had no right to restrict their originality. Though, the only argument against that would be for the pre-teen girls dressing in mini-skirts, belly-shirts and go-go boots. That was something parents should keep an eye out for. Cece and Bullfrog didn’t care what he wore, as long as he didn’t use the spikes on his bracelet to slit anyone’s throat.

eli-gold49: oh, right. A+ student. how could I forget the smug look on your face when dawes hands back your assignments? have you forgotten my equal grades, edwards? and the fact that my assignment is done.

Reading the words on the screen, Clare scowled slightly, the corners of her lips pushing downwards in a pouty huff.

How was it that someone could make her feel so good yet rile her up at the same time? Without even meaning to, Eli managed to push all her buttons and make her react in the exact way that would make her make a fool out of herself. She’d never experienced that with anyone before, and now with her gothic English partner? No thank you.

In a huff, she managed to type out a response.

clare-e23: congratulations. do you want a cookie? sorry if I take time to produce quality assignments, not that you’d know anything about that.

Feeling that her response had enough snark and sarcasm to prove her point without being overtly cruel, she smiled, satisfied, and pressed send.

eli-gold49: ouch. your assumption that I don’t produce anything but quality assignments hits home. I don’t think I’ll be able to recover, tiger lady.

Had Clare been there, she would have seen the way his hand covered his heart, mouth agape and brows furrowed in frustration. He found that hand gestures were the key to sarcasm, and they suited him so well. King of Sarcasm couldn’t keep from using his hands to speak even when no one was around.

He wasn’t as hurt as he’d led on, but he could imagine the chuckle on her end of the screen, along with the proud I beat Eli Goldsworthy smirk on her face. She was the easiest to play along with, because she did it so well. But she hadn’t won, no. And he was sure that she wouldn’t.

Somehow, when Clare read Eli’s words in her head, it was Eli’s voice, not her own, that she heard. She could picture Eli’s actions perfectly, and it made her heart race a little. Slowly, a small smirk twitched at the corner of her lips. Even though she was sure he wouldn’t go down without a fight, she felt she had the upper hand in their conversation, and the feeling was one she relished.

clare-e23: yes, I’m sure even now that you’re overwhelmed with misery. how ever will you survive, Goldsworthy?

The use of his last name to address him felt intimate and special, like an inside joke that just the two of them knew. She wouldn’t admit to getting shivers when he called her Edwards (or better yet, Blue Eyes,) but she did.

Paper long forgotten, (she’d do it in the morning), Clare redirected her attention towards the screen, anxiously checking her newsfeed again and again, trying to pretend like she wasn’t waiting for Eli to respond. (But she was.)