A Little Too Hot
You lay on the couch, sprawled lazily as you watched TV, one hand on the remote, the other with an anahaw fan. It was summer, the worst part of the year. It was deadly hot, reaching 33 degrees centigrade in the shade. In the shade.
The doorbell rang, and you checked the gate to see a classmate there. Facepalming with the keys in hand, you went out to unlick the gate.
“Gilbert, what in heaven--?”
“Just get me in zhere, frau; it’s hot!”
You rolled your eyes, and he dashed into the relatively cooler house. After locking the gate, you trudged inside. There he lay on the couch, desperately fanning himself with your fan, despite the electric fan next to him being on its fastest setting, his jeans the only thing on him.
You barely heard what he said as you stood there, flushing at his bare front, images fluttering in your mind, where you’d lay back and he’d be the one standing there, with a glint in his eyes, a smirk stretched across his face, the one that made you melt—
No. Gilbert’s your only friend. He’d never think of you that way.
“Fraulein, vhy is it so hot here?” he complained, his own face flushed from being in the heat of the sun.
You rolled your eyes. “It’s the Philippines, you dummkopf,” you retorted. “Now move over.”
Gilbert Beilschmidt was a transfer student in your school, coming straight from Leipzig, Germany, and, having lived in Europe for most of his life so far, he was used to the cold and lower temperatures. And now, in the heat of Asia, all he did was lie in bed, fanning desperately. Even if he was well-off and could afford the AC every day, 24/7, they were supposed to cut back in the summer, and that meant he stayed out of the house. Meaning he visited you more and more.
Not that you didn’t mind, though. The moonlight-haired, red-eyed, pale-skinned fool was your friend, always making you laugh and always keeping you company, even in the most ‘unawesome’ of times, as he liked to call them, though he was a bit of an egomaniac, always saying ‘awesome’ in almost every sentence, thus dubbing himself ‘the awesome me’. The man was a prankster, and could be a pervert or a jerk, or sometimes of both. But as he liked living life to the fullest, it kind of influenced you, too, and your previously so-serious self turned into a fun-loving girl, though still responsible. He made you see that there was more to life than just academics, and that you only live once.
He changed you.
He made what sounded like a whimper, and you only raised the leather-clad pillow in the loveseat over your head, and he flinched, his hands up to his face.
“ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT I’LL GO MOVE,” he yelled, and he freed up a space next to him as you set down the pillow. He muttered something under his breath, sounding like ‘dummkopf frau’.
“What was that?” you asked innocently. “If you’ve got something against me, Gil, I’ll just have to throw you out into the sun again~”
He only pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as you laughed at him. You loved it when you both were being idiots these days, especially when he either looked or was going with the flow.
“Aw, come on Gil; you know I’m not that bad~ I’ll go get some water,” you sad as you pat his back before standing up to head for the kitchen.
Truth be told(which he can’t), he actually really liked you to the point it wasn’t friendship he was feeling anymore. You and your colorful personality, your beautiful (h/c) hair, your now-tanned skin(because of going to a pool party with your friends), your gorgeous (e/c) eyes…so much—no, all—of what you are amazed him to no end, from your smarts to your humor, from your cuteness to your ability to make him feel weak in the knees. And besides, you were the one who taught him how to be a smart-ass and be as deadly responsible like his brother Ludwig…in your own way; because apparently his own brother’s method of forcing him didn’t work like yours did. And he can’t seem to know how to tell you, thinking you’d ‘be unawesome and turn the awesome him down’.
You came back with two glasses of cold water, the condensation running and dripping from the glass like rain, and handed one over to him, which he consumed in just a few gulps. He handed you the glass with a sigh and demanding widened eyes and mouthed, ‘MOAR’. You rolled your eyes, smiling slightly, before standing to pour another round.
“You don’t happen to have some beer, do you, frau?” he called out.
“No, Gil; I don’t drink,” you replied as you returned with more water. You sat down as he drank more slowly this time.
”Oh, almost forgot; where’s Gilbird?” That silly little yellow puffball of a chick he always brought with him to school on his shoulder or on his head(despite no pets at school, birds can fly over any building) was missing today. Gilbird was one of the first things you noticed about Gilbert, and it was weird and arrogant and cute of him to make the chick after himself. You’ve showered affection over Gilbird ever since.
”Oh, he’s chilling vizh a cool bottle of water in my bag,” he said, and zipped open his bag. “I can’t leave Gilbird all alone, and he von’t stand a chance against the sun.” Gilbird then flew out of the bag and landed in your hair, peeping ‘piyo~’ cheerily. You giggled at the extreme cuteness.
After some time you leaned back on the backrest, getting confortable until you were practically sprawled on the seat like he usually was at the Beilschmidt home when you visited him.
You glanced at him with a smirk on your face, thinking ‘How do you like seeing me now with this ass sprawl on the couch?’ But you noticed he had a faint blush on his cheeks, and you sat up, flailing slightly.
“Gil?” you called slightly. “Anything wrong?” You set the glass down beside his on the coffee table.
“Ah, I-er, erm,” he stammered, which weirded you out. Gilbert Beilschmidt never stuttered.
But you smirked. He never really liked keeping things too nice like that. “What? Did my…awesomeness make you speechless?”
He only frowned, to which you were getting worried. What was up with this guy?
You were only cut off by a pair of sweet German—no, wait, Prussian—lips on yours. You sat, stock still, in shock, your eyes rivaling porcelain platters, before you felt heat up to your ears and started kissing back, eyes closing. You felt him smirk in to the kiss as you scooted closer. Soon enough his arms were around your waist, then your arms around his neck, then your fingers in his pale silver hair, then you were on his lap, then you both broke up for air, panting slightly. Your hands cupped his flushed cheeks as you stared into his deep red eyes clouded but full of wonder and awe.
He smirked. “So,” he whispered, voice husky, “liebst du mich?”
You smirked back. “Ja,” you whispered, and your skin tingled in the nicest way possible.
He only kissed you again, and you were lucky you knew and heard your father’s rumbling BMW engine.
Apparently, your parents had agreed to let you stay with the Beilschmidts’ after Gil had invited you. They knew Ludwig, after all; they knew they would have no problem dealing with Gilbert with Ludwig there. And you stayed…even without the AC on.
“Gil, it’s getting a little too hot,” you whispered hoarsely. You’d snuck into his room and it was pitch black. It was shut up or die now.
“Vhy don’t ve make it even hotter~?”