Brontide

195 22 3
                                    

(n.) the low rumble of distant thunder.

"Fallon." He poked my shoulder.

"Fallon." He grabbed my wrist.

"Fallon," he sing-songed as he yanked on my arm, pulling me out from under the bed in one swift motion.

"Hey," I scowled, trying to crawl back under the metal bed frame.

Jasper rolled his eyes and blew his messy hair out of his eyes. "Hiding under the bed won't stop the thunder."

"I'm well aware," I replied, though as I was halfway under the bed, two hands grabbed my waist and tugged me back out. Then they lifted me up and then I was sitting in his lap, on top of the bed now.

"You need to calm down," he whispered, holding me in a gentle embrace.

It was hard to panic when someone held you like that. I was starting to actually forget the problem when there was a bright flash of light quickly followed by a loud bang like a cannon of an old ship going off in the distance.

"Stop jumping," he hissed in my ear, annoyance clinging to his silky voice.

"Sorry," I mumbled back, looking down in embarrassment. I'm sure there's a blush in my cheeks at the moment.

"Don't apologize," he sighed and turned me around to face him. In what appeared to be an attempt to lighten the mood, he grinned. "I have a question for you."

"Oh, okay. Shoot," I replied with a slight shrug, looking up into his vibrant ocean-coloured eyes.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" he asked, his expression nonchalant but his eyes pleading.

"Hm, I don't know," I teased him, looking away. There was another crack of thunder and I winced, my joking manner falling away. "Yes," I replied softly, nodding my head.

The grin on his face that followed made the terrifying sounds vanish altogether.

DefinitionsWhere stories live. Discover now