French Kiss (Skam - Chris Schistad x OC)

Rule N°10

Rule number ten: When life's tough, be tougher.

When he opened the door, Helen awkwardly stood on the other side, looking extremely embarrassed and sleepy. It seemed obvious that she was still clad in her pj's. She wore loose gray shorts, a worn out tee shirt with cartoon characters he wasn't familiar with on it and topped it with a zipped sweater that was two sizes too big for her. It was longer than her shorts. When Chris' eyes reached the floor he saw that her socks didn't match and that her feet were tucked in fluffy pink slippers with ears and eyes glued on them. He couldn't tell what animal it was supposed to be.

But most importantly, she was carrying a huge tray with what he guessed what mean to be a lavish breakfast that must have taken some time to prepare.

"Hei," she croaked out before clearing her throat. She sounded like she had either spent the night crying or hadn't used her voice in a while. "I- uhm I'm sorry maybe I should come back later? It's too early, right? God I might even have woken you up, you look like you just came out of bed. This was a dumb idea, I'm gonna leave now-" Helen began to babble.

Her fingers clenched the handles of the tray in such a way that Chris knew she would be fidgeting with her fingers and making big hand gestures if they were free. When she realized that she was rambling she bit the inside of her cheeks.

"I- I brought breakfast?" Her voice was hesitant now, as if she wasn't sure how he'd take it. "I'm sorry; that's all I wanted to say," she eventually told him before handing him the food.

Chris, like a robot, took the tray without blinking an eye, still staring at Helen as if he was trying to solve a complicated puzzle, clearly not quite awake enough to fully understand what was going on. At least he had the good sense of setting the tray on the small table next to his door, pushing aside his keys and jacket to make room for it.

Helen dived her hands in the pockets of her gigantic sweater as soon as they were free, then looked at her funny slippers in shyness. Before she could scurry away like a scared mouse, and when her words reached Chris' foggy brain at last, he reached out for her. His hand stopped centimeters away from her arm but he simply made a gesture for her to come inside.

"Don't stay out there, it's cold in the hallway," Chris said.

It was the worst casual excuse to invite a girl in that ever crossed his lips. A look of surprise twisted her features and Helen carefully took a step forward. She only walked in when she was sure Chris wasn't trying to lure her in only to lash out again.

"Tea?"

She made a face. "Coffee?" She asked with a timid smile.

"Ah right, I almost forgot French people are obsessed with coffee," Chris sighed amusingly, causing her to blush a bit and rub her arms though it dissipated a lot of the tension.

"Not all of us, obviously. But I do," she giggled a bit more confidently.

Chris grabbed the tray and gave Helen a little head tilt to gesture her to follow him to the kitchen, where he began to set the breakfast table. One might think that by living alone Chris took bad bachelor habits and didn't have two matching set of plates and only one spoon in his kitchen, but his mother will be damned before that happens. He pulled out everything they needed under Helen's inquisitive gaze. He could practically feel her getting ill at ease for standing there without doing anything – clearly she had been raised to give a hand whenever she could too.

"Can you grab the mugs-"

"On it," she cut him off, bolting from where she stood like she had been waiting for his signal to set in action.