30 | in the palm of her hand

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| 30 |

I don't need my glasses to see how beautiful you are.

THE CAR RIDE home was silent.

Charlotte found her head in the Lost Boy's lap, his fingers combing through her tangled hair.  She got her well-deserved sleep, not once caring that this act was public to both Malcolm (who claimed he moved on) and Shane (who shipped it immensely).

Charlotte had slept more in the past week than she had in the last year; in due time, as her senses had finally cleared a little and her mind was no longer buzzing with every nagging thought she could possibly have.  She didn't know what she had been thinking last night. Of course she wanted Teddy as more than a friend. The repercussions were what scared her.

Charlotte floated between subconscious and sleep, her brain getting small inklings of what the conversation was.

"-ve her." The fingers paused.

"-makes you say that-"

She struggled to open her eyes, as if her eyelashes weighed as much as boulders.

"-never done that for a g-"

"-and it's totally obv-"

Charlie was on the verge, only hearing snippets. The car rumbled to a stop, her heart thumping.  She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I'll carry her," the Lost Boy whispered, a breeze on Charlotte as a car door was opened.

"You sure?" another said. The Broken Boy. His voice was just as soft.

"Positive," the other replied as she lay limp in the car.

A warm hand felt around, making her body shiver. The arm wrapped around her legs and the other around her waist.  Charlotte sleepily snaked her arms around his neck, her glasses crooked against the nice man's chest. 

"Can you get the doors, Malc?" It was the same voice, Charlotte struggling between dreams and reality.

"Yeah, Shane's got the luggage," the Broken Boy softly responded.

Charlotte felt her head bobble as they walked up steps, her brown hair tickling her face. The creak of a door. Hushed voices. More steps, head bouncing, glasses slipping, hands weak, body limp.

The Lost Boy laid her on the bed, sliding the bed covers on top of her.  Her fingers curled around the end. 

She felt her glasses being removed from her face and felt her sandals falling off of her feet.

Heavy footsteps, the scratch of a pencil.  Ticklish breath on forehead.  Warm lips.

She felt something being placed in the palm of her hand, and she subconsciously held tight.

"Sweet dreams, Charlie," the Lost Boy whispered.

Like a flash of lightning, he was gone as quick as he came.


Rolling around, Charlotte felt her eyes peel open and the bright sun blind her.  It began to come back to her. They had spent two nights at the hotel, and then at the end of the next day they began to drive home, Malcolm taking the wheel, Shane in the passenger seat.   Teddy tucked her in, and then placed . . .

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