&& — * arsenal
prince charming. that’s how she would’ve first described him if anyone asked— okay, so she wouldn’t actually say such a thing ( first off, she’d be too shy to; second, she’d be admitting just how attractive she thinks thought he is ) but if she was brave enough, she would. years have taught her that would and could are completely different and separate things. a male protagonist even some of her favorite authors couldn’t fathom and write into creation, that’s how highly she thinks of him, how clouded her mind became because of him when they first met and wrote, not spoke.
it was a novel idea ( ba dum tss ), post-its left in one of the many books she’d read within nexus walls and one that found its way on her arm while she was sleeping in the library. fleur thought it to be her imagination but the name was very, very real. he wasn’t a total stranger, she couldn’t claim that in the slightest, not even through their library encounters alone, but it felt like it didn’t take long for him to become so much more.
it didn’t take long at all.
they say when you fall, you fall fast and hard, you fall as if you know nothing at all and fleur truly didn’t. she says she didn’t fall at all, it’s a little crush. a schoolgirl crush. an obligatory teen romance novel-like crush because he was one of her only closest friends. proximity, constant contact, she could list off excuse after excuse as if the proof didn’t sit right in front of her whenever they eat lunch together. organized and reasonable, that’s how she’d describe herself but even she couldn’t write enough lists to justify the crush she once had on him. “once,” again, so she says.
what didn’t fit the storyline in her head, the one she so creatively made up in the past before she set herself straight ( still has to from time to time, for that matter ), was finding herself in a shooting range. then again, fleur wouldn’t have believed elaine if she said it would happen— that fleur would leave home, that she would be in korea, that she would have such potent power within her hands. “maybe it’s not such a smart idea to let me hold a gun.”
i’m dangerous enough, the words are there on the tip of her tongue. the bitter taste almost makes her crinkle her nose and her arms dangle at her sides, soft pastel pink sleeves far too long for her petite frame and she pushes at her sleeves to no avail but even success would taste bittersweet as well. black gloves that contrast starkly against her clothing and the excitement in her eyes begins to dim more, even as she forces herself to say: “i can just watch, that’s okay with me!”