31, 37, or 60 for nalu? (From the new Drabble prompt)❤️
31: “You may be an idiot, but you’re my idiot.”
37: “I tried my best to not feel anything for you. Guess what? I failed.”
60: “You are my sunshine.”
I couldn’t pick one so I picked all of them. :’)
(prompt from here)
They are eating takeout on their couch the day everything changes. He’s got his feet propped up on the table, shoveling bites of chow mein so quickly that she gives up trying to count. Lucy flicks a piece of her chicken at him, garnering a smirk when he catches it in his mouth without missing a beat. It’s nothing unusual, most weekends are spent watching crappy movies and hanging out in her apartment, pretending that they don’t have a bunch of tests the following week.
Or at least, that’s what she thinks till Natsu sets his unfinished fortune cookie aside and drops his feet onto the floor, bending one leg underneath himself to watch her. She chokes on her chicken, pounding her chest to dislodge the food as her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he doesn’t flinch. Which is good because she had once seen him choke on a chip and had to punch his back for a good five minutes so he can hardly lecture her on things like manners. But she’s still blushing because his eyes are a dark green now, far more so than they have ever been, and he’s watching her far more closely than usual.
She sets her food aside as well, fixing him with a look. “What? Do I have something on my face?” With a napkin, she brushes off her face, trying to feel for crumbs or smeared sauce, but it comes back blank save for the remnants of her lip gloss. She stares blankly at him, waiting, and he doesn’t fail to lean in close, their noses nearly brushing, and she tries not to go cross-eyed or let her breath falter with minimal success.
“Lucy, you’re a weirdo.” She sighs, leaning back and lightly flicking his nose. Natsu scrunches his face at her before a grin settles on his face and he continues without complaint, “But you’re my weirdo.” His words end on a soft note, one that is as uncharacteristic as it is serious.
She stares at him with an open mouth, trying to decipher the meaning, because he doesn’t say things out of the blue. Not ones whose meanings could be something entirely different. She knows where they stand usually, there’s a line in the sand that she drew a while back when his lips became fascinating and his touches drew shivers and she vowed never to cross it for fear of what would change.
He was Natsu. She was Lucy. There wasn’t a them in that sense.
“You’re weirdo,” she affirms because she’s pretty sure he means his weirdo, his friend and not his weirdo, his Lucy. He doesn’t need to know how she feels, she can’t stand the thought of earnest, honest Natsu having to let her down.
She expects him to nod and continue with his food, the same thing he always does when questions about their friendship surface. She blames some of their friends for planting that doubt in his head with their jokes.
But he doesn’t. He huffs instead, sitting cross-legged on her pink sofa. “No, I mean.” Natsu wrinkles his nose, fighting for words and she tilts her head, brushing hair behind her ear in a movement that he follows with his darkening eyes.
“What do you mean then?” She asks softly, hardly daring to breath. Hardly daring to hope.
“You know how Gray disappears with Juvia for a few days to visit family and then they came back all lovey-dovey with that stupid grin on their face? She practically had an umbrella saying ‘engaged’ when she came back,” he says suddenly, tapping his fingers on his knee. His head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling as though it would help him find the words and she tries not to make it obvious that she wants to kiss his throat even though it’s painfully obvious. She blinks, nodding slowly, heart stuttering at the build up. It’s unlike Natsu to beat around the bush and she holds her breath, waiting for it. “I want something like that. Just don’t tell the Stripper that, he’d be more annoying than usual.”
“Okay,” she says faintly, now frowning and a little cold. The hope is dwindling, dying by the second, and she tries not to show confusion on her face because that will lead to questions and confessions and words that can’t ever be taken back. He wants advice, she thinks, preparing herself because she wants Natsu happy, even if it’s not with her, and she knows how to mend a broken heart. She’s done it before, after all, even if this Natsu shaped one seems insurmountable.
“Thing is, I want that with somebody and I want that somebody to be you.”
Her head jerks up to face him, but he’s still looking at the ceiling, a tinge on his cheeks that she’s never seen before. It’s oddly endearing, she thinks, her heart stopping then threatening to beat straight out of her chest and into his hands.
Silly heart, trying to go somewhere it had always been.
He doesn’t notice the way her face changes as he talks, from the uncertain hope to the certain heartbreak to the unabashed happiness, and he keeps going, like the words had built up and he’s finally given up on holding them back. And she wonders, for the first time, if maybe she’s been a little blind. “I tried really hard not to feel anything for you.” How rude, she thinks, lips twitching because she had done the same. “But guess what? I failed. Probably the best failure of my life, really. Except maybe that time I failed making those cupcakes and made the exploding lava cakes, because those are–”
“Natsu?” She cuts him off, leaning closer to him.
Finally he looks at her; there’s no blush on his face, just pure relief and she figures he’s stronger than she thinks when it comes to feelings. He throws himself into the storm without hesitation, taking the consequences of them alongside the victories, and she’s definitely never been more in love with him than when he looks at her with eyes dark with love. “Yeah?”
“Shut up.” She kisses him, surprised to find that their roles have spun. She’s generally the one with words and he’s the one with actions, yet here they are, facing something different. Her hands hold his face, stroking over his jaw and his cheeks and every bit of him she can touch without disconnecting their lips. She’s got fire dancing beneath her skin with every brush of his chapped lips and his hands are squeezing her waist, trying to hold her in place. It’s sloppy, messy, and a beautiful first. The beginning of many, she knows.
She draws back for air, heart racing worse than ever, but steadying and when he shifts back, she already misses the contact. He fixes it instantly, dragging her with him to the other end of the sofa, propping his feet up on the table once more while she sits sideways in his lap, her back supported by the arm rest and one of his hands holding hers.
It’s not so different than usual, except that she can cuddle closer to his warmth and she drops her cheek on his shoulder, content.
“What brought this up?”
“Fortune cookie,” he replies, playing with her fingers.
“… Fortune cookie?” He points and she reaches for a broken cookie, a thin piece of paper fluttering into their lap. She reads aloud: “’Someone is your sunshine, let them know.’ You confessed to me because a fortune cookie told you to? That’s so lame.”
Then – he stares at her and she stares at him – both of them laugh.