Natsu was bored.
Sure, Lucy's bed was comfy and the room smelt awesome thanks to her freshly washed, still drying hair, but Natsu truly was bored.
Happy had shoo-ed him off earlier that evening to try and attempt to woo Carla uninterrupted; and as soon as Natsu reached Lucy's room (through the window as usual) she had stormed out of the bathroom - all clean, nice-smelling and dressed - with an expression that meant she had an idea and that she had to write, ready to take down Vulcans with her bare hands should they come between her and her desk right then.
She didn't even say hi.
'Did she even notice me here?' he had asked himself.
Now sick of staring at the ceiling, Natsu sat up on Lucy's bed, ready to whine and catch her attention, when his own was diverted. By her.
She was hunched over her desk writing so furiously, a small part of him wondered if she would up setting the paper on fire.
'That'd be pretty cool,' he decided, with a small grin.
But what had stopped him from unleashing his distract-Lucy ammo were her eyes. Even from this angle he could see the passion they held for the words she was churning out a mile a minute. Her face scrunched up, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed - she was clearly in the zone.
And he couldn't mess with that.
But there was one thing marring that image of sheer determination and focus – irritation.
No, not at Natsu (for once), but at the strands of her hair that would fall over her shoulder, tickle her face and land onto the sheets on which she was currently painting her protagonist's ruin. She would flick the offending locks back distractedly, and in a rush to get back to her penning, not do a very good job of it. Which meant in moments her hair would fall back onto the work she didn't want to pause even for a second, much to her annoyance. This had happened several times in the few minutes Natsu had been observing and he nearly found it funny.
Actually he did find it funny.
Only he liked observing her passionately writing even more.
Making up his mind, he walked over to Lucy's dresser.
Lucy actually had noticed him when she came out of the bathroom (thank goodness for remembering to take her clothes in this time). But she had just experienced one of her best Eureka-moments and really really needed to pen down the sentences already forming in her mind before she forgot. Oh, how she loved the swarm of ideas and words that signalled sweet end of a writer's block; and she knew there wasn't a second to lose.
She sat down and began writing with all she had. The editing could be done later but she simply had to get this scene down, trying to keep up with her chain of thought. She only began noticing the slight ache in the wrist and fingers as she reached the end of her latest chapter. Her pace had slowed down by then and she was panting ever so slightly, brushing a bothersome lock of hair behind her ear as she mulled a good way to present the cliffhanger.
She began writing again as the words came to her, but stopped abruptly when she felt warm fingers glide along the back of her neck, followed a slight tug on her scalp.
