Nochelle - Our Stories

W O O I N G

~Anytime Post S4 I guess~

"Can I hold your hand?"

It carries on the gentle summer evening breeze, lifted lightly by the complete lack of any false bravado or pretences; Richelle, previously lost in thought about how they're going to be four minutes late to their dinner reservation and whether they're going to lose their table, looks at him and finds a softness there that never ceases to surprise and delight her.

"What?" They stop in the middle of the street - Noah nervously fiddles with the buttons on his jacket, staring at the ground – she feels a warmth that begins to flicker and glow in her chest. Really, she just wants to hear him ask again.

"Can I...you heard." He shakes his head, dismissive and almost bashful as she laughs, bright and melodic and the kind that only he can elicit from her, completely unfiltered and carefree. She adds this kind of sweet shyness to the ever-growing list of sides of him she's never really seen before, feeling a powerful rush of affection that almost overwhelms her. He holds a hand up in theatrical defence.

"I just wanted to ask, 'cause I know you're not into PDA and all that and-"

"-Yeah. Yes, you can."

"Cool." He grins – she pauses to look at him expectantly but he just raises an eyebrow. "What? Don't get too excited, Richie. I was just checking if there was a form I had to fill in first or-"

She rolls her eyes, grabbing his hand and practically dragging him forward because being anything more than five minutes late might actually cause her to have a nervous breakdown and because it's so easy. It's so easy, the way they fit together, and she's so grateful for how the new romantic aspects of their relationship are yet to send all the other parts of their treasured partnership off-course.

Richelle's never felt this comfortable, this relaxed, this safe navigating the waters of a new relationship; then again, she's never dated anyone like Noah.

She's always hated change; seeing the soft smile on her boyfriend's face as they walk down the street, she can't seem to remember exactly what she was ever afraid of.

"This is nice." He says after a moment of comfortable silence, swinging their intertwined hands; his is warm, a perfect complement to her perpetual coldness even in the summer months, and her heart swells. It's been doing that a lot, lately - their teasing rapport has remained startlingly similar except for the previous hidden layers of endearment underneath that now shine brilliant and bright in the both of them.

"You're such a dork." She grins – his eyes predictably widen in mock offence.

"Hey, I'm being all romantic and gentlemanly for you! I'm..." He pauses to waggle his eyebrows suggestively. "...wooing you." He says it in a deep and objectively terrible British accent for her benefit – she can't help the snort that escapes her, which of course only serves to spur him on.

"I'm going to woo you so hard, Richelle. You're – you're not going to know what hit you." His laughter breaks the last word and soon they're just two lovestruck kids doubled over, giggling, right in the middle of the sidewalk. An old lady frowns as she sidesteps them, grumbling – usually it would completely ruin her mood, but she finds herself strangely untroubled, and part of her wonders whether Noah might actually be a little bit magic. Dinner reservations? What dinner reservations?

"I can't believe you're wooing me."

"Can't believe I get to do this." There's a colour of sincere disbelief, this wonder in his tone that catches her off guard, a reminder that this kind of happiness is just as surreal and wonderful to him as it is to her.

"You've held my hand before, Noah." He has – in hospital beds and in dances, backstage in the wings of old theatres and when she's been sad; always light brushes or reassuring squeezes.

He's always been tactile – she hadn't really known what to make of it when they were first becoming friends, but now even after barely a week of them being together she often finds herself craving forehead kisses, warm bear hugs, the tender caress of her arm or idle stroke of her hair.

Richelle always feels safe with him – he's surprised her a lot over the past few days, but his gentleness is wonderfully familiar, only amplified tenfold in the wake of throwing caution to the wind.

"Yeah, but, y'know. It's different now. I get to do this—" He twirls her around giddily, "And this—" He steadies her, hand protective and as firm on the small of her back, "And this." He pulls her in for a soft, quick kiss before she can protest. Truthfully, she finds she has no objection, deepening the kiss on pure instinct, revelling in their new intimacy. It takes a surprising amount of willpower not to practically swoon into his arms.

For the moment, it's like no-one and nothing else in the whole world matters; and sometimes it scares her, this bubble of happiness they're currently inhabiting, because she has no idea how long it'll last before it pops. The way Noah looks at her when they break apart does wonders to diminish all her fears and doubts in an instant; maybe he is magic after all.

"So, not a fan of PDA, huh?" He laughs as she feels herself blush, wondering when he became the exception to all her rules. She buries her embarrassment into the cotton of his shirt and smiles at the cadence of his laughter vibrating in his chest, instantly soothed by his hands snaking around her waist.

She is so unbelievably happy that they finally get to do this; the rapid heartbeat she can feel and the grin that takes up most of his face when she finally glances up at him tells her he feels the exact same way. They share a look that signifies the exact same wonderful thought running through both of their heads; you were worth the wait.

They end up being ten minutes late for dinner—he makes it up to her later.

~~~
Fluff