prompts: heartstopperweekly's week 1 prompts -> 1: summer break/holiday) & 3: "Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one."
word count: 2.2k+
warnings: flirting, established relationship, an almost-love confession, reader literally runs away from her feelings, anxiety
a/n: this was written for week 1 of @heartstopperweekly. it can be read as a standalone fic, but i do recommend reading my fic, "kissing montage" first for the best experience. also, idk if the 'essay themes' mentioned would actually be a thing, but let's just pretend for the sake of this fic
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Imogen flops onto the bed face first, and the contents of her pencil case all fall out and roll onto the floor where you have your own stationery and books spread out into organised spaces. You hear her begin to talk, but it's muffled due to the pillow her face is now buried in.
"What was that, Im?" Laughing, you rise to your feet and plop onto the edge of the mattress. "Didn't quite catch it."
She lifts her head just long enough to repeat herself. "I said we only have a week left to finish our summer homework, and I have no idea what to write for my English essay."
Imogen slams her face back into the soft pillow and groans loudly. You shuffle up the bed and lay down, peppering her shoulder in little kisses to get her attention.
Imogen sighs and then rolls over to face you. "It's your fault, you know?"
"Excuse me? What's my fault?"
"This... I could've had this stupid essay done already, but you're just so d—" She cuts herself off.
"'So', what?" You lift your brows and wait for her to explain the blush that starts to spread over her cheekbones, but then she suddenly shifts. "Hey, come back and tell me why this is my fault."
"Just forget I said that." Imogen slides off the bed and back onto the floor, picking up her book again to find a blank, lined page. She starts to draw a cloud with little lines coming out of it. "Come on, help me brainstorm ideas."
You follow her to where she's sitting with her legs crossed on the carpet and pull out your phone.
"Wait, what are you doing?" She asks, leaning over to try and look at your phone screen. "You're not gonna help?"
"I'm taking a break."
"But I need you! Help me, please!" She tries her hardest to plead with you, eyes wide and lips pouting. Reaching over, she lightly ghosts her manicured nails over your arm rhythmically.
You'd be lying if you said that the feeling didn't send shivers down your spine; make you want to give in, and then lean over and kiss her– homework forgotten.
"Nope." You shake your head, rapidly blinking heavenly thoughts of flicking her hand away and pulling her over you. "Not until you tell me why it's my fault that you can't write your damn essay."
She huffs, and you hear the little thud of her pen dropping onto paper as you continue playing a game on your phone. You purposefully turn up the volume and grin.
"Really?"
"Really." You look over the screen at her and wiggle your brows. "You can't just blame me and then not tell me why."
"It's just a stupid thing. I didn't mean it, alright." She rolls her eyes. "Just... ugh! Please help me with my homework. I'll owe you one. You're so smart and so creative and so good at—"
"Hold up, hold up, go back. You'll owe me one?"
"Yeah, anything." She perks up, desperate to keep you interested in the possibility of a deal. "We could, uh... go out after? Maybe a cinema date? Or we could order in pizza? I'll pay for it."
You drag your bottom lip in between your teeth and look up at the ceiling, thinking, then shake your head. "I'm not really feeling like going anywhere... or pizza."
"Okay, okay..." Imogen glances around her room. "Um... ooh! You can pick one of my plushies to keep. You can pick any one that you want! Besides my queen frog, of course."
You look over at the green frog plush sitting on her nightstand, a little crown on top of its head. You briefly remember when you'd given it to her years ago, when you were both in primary school and your friendship was beginning to bloom into something special; into a forever kind of deal.
You smile, but you don't answer, so Imogen carries on looking around her bedroom until she spots something lying under her bed.
"What about this guy?" She plucks the Luigi plush that she'd practically stolen from you at the arcade almost a year ago. She waves his arms around and pats his head. "I know you still want to steal him right back after I kidnapped him from you."
"Hmm." You reach out like you are going to take him, but then pull back just as quickly. "Nah. I'll have plenty of chances to reclaim him when you're not looking."
Imogen sudddenly throws her head back, and tosses Luigi across the room, making you flinch a little. He bounces off the door and lands perfectly upright in her laundry basket.
"God sake! You're so annoying." She exclaims.
"Rude!"
"You..." Imogen ignores you and she now looks both equally annoyed and nervous, the second emotion puzzling you. "You want me to tell you why I said it's your fault, don't you?"
"Ha, you know me well. Oh, yes." You smile. "I sure do, Im. I'll help you figure out an essay topic for the low, low price of..." You clap your hands against your legs, creating a drumroll sound effect. "Revealing why this is all my fault."
Imogen looks exasperated, but there's a hint of amusement in the slight pull at the corner of her mouth. Her lashes touch the bottom of her eyebrows when she rolls her eyes again, dramatically.
There's also a feeling of nervousness that momentarily washes over your own body and mind. You worry that she might be about to say anything that could cause discord, or a fight.
What if she was about to say something that would upset or anger you?
It's not like you had never had arguments as a couple before. After all, you had been going out for almost a year. When they did happen, it would usually be resolved in true Imogen and [your name] fashion; with a long talk, a couple of emotion-desolving jokes and lots of kisses.
Before you can overthink too much, Imogen groans loudly before saying, "You better not make fun of me. This is dumb."
"Im, I would never."
"Okay, fine!" Her head falls and she fixate on her fingers, starts to pick at a loose thread on the lilac-coloured cardigan she's wearing. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and shy, not like her usual bubbly self at all. "It's because of you. It's your fault because of... you."
"What does that mean, I don't—"
"Ugh! It's because you're so freaking distracting, okay!? You're cute laugh, and your face, and you're so pretty it's very annoying." She looks up like she's asking for help from a higher power. Continuing on, her eyes drop back to her fidgeting fingertips. "Ugh, it's so embarassing... but, I can never concentrate when you look at me the way you do— like that! Like you are right now! I can't focus when you're always so... you!"
You could swear that your heart literally flips inside of your chest as you hear the words tumble from her lips. It takes several minutes after she's finished to say anything back.
"I..."
One word is all you can manage before you take a steadying breath and try to regain a slither of the confidence you had been wearing before her outburst of honest affection. It takes a moment, but you find it, shuffling closer to Imogen.
"You find me... distracting, huh?"
You bump her shoulder with yours, in the space where her cardigan has fallen down to her inner elbow. The familiar sensation of tingles chase themselves all over your body at the innocent, yet intimate press of skin against skin.
It feels like fireworks.
"That's why you can't decide on an essay topic?"
Imogen tries to turn away, but you swiftly take one of her hands, stopping her. You use the other hand to take her chin between your thumb and fingers, and guide her face to look at you properly.
The rose-coloured shadow that dusts her cheeks is now visible, and you find it both adorable and a huge compliment towards you; making you feel all kinds of lovely and warm and prized.
"Im, that's so sweet. And you know I find it hard to get anything done around you as well." You lean forward and kiss the corner of her mouth. "All I want to do when I'm with you, is grab your gorgeous face and kiss you forever."
Imogen's fingers interlace with yours as a small, shy laugh escapes her. She finally replies, tinted cheeks still evident and pleasantly hot under the tender stroke of your thumb. "Really?"
"Can't you tell?" You move impossibly closer and peck the space between the top or her nose and her forehead. "That's why I can't stop looking at you, but I never thought you noticed, to be honest."
"Well, I wish you would stop, so I can get some work done."
"I don't think I could stop if I tried." You rest your forehead against hers and smile. You chuckle then, repeating the same phrase that has become your thing since you began dating. "I really, really like you."
She hums, content. "Hm. I really, really, really like you, too."
Imogen's hand comes up to hold the back of your neck, and you stay locked in the moment for as long as it takes for you mind to come up with an idea, dragging you out of the bubble moment and causing you to pull away.
Imogen's looks dazed and confused, her hand hovering in the air from the sudden loss of contact. "What— Come back! That was nice!"
"Sorry, I just got an idea for your essay."
"Really? Okay, wait a sec." Imogen's eyes widen, and then she reaches for her book and scrambles for the pen she wants; a purple one with a little fuzzy ball on the end. Once found, she rest the book on her leg. "Alright, tell me your brilliant idea."
"You can write about me." Imogen smirks and quirks a brow.
"I— ha— I don't mean that in like, a self-centred type of way. I don't mean you should write about me, specifically, but the theme is romance, right?"
"Or friendship, or family relations. Basically any type of relationship... it's pretty vague."
"Well, maybe you could write about chemistry, like in a relationship. Like ours." You pause for a beat. Imogen's smile is fond as she patiently waits for more. "It could be about how two people can become drawn to each other. How they can feel so connected that sometimes it's all they can think about, to the point where it becomes, you know... distracting."
"Mmhmm." As Imogen nods along excitedly, practically transcribing every word you say into her book, you start to feel breathless. You find yourself pressing a hand against your sweater covered chest.
You try to push on, wanting nothing more than to help Imogen, despite the beads of sweat suddenly adorning the line of your hair.
"Write about how it can actually interfere with your day, thinking about that person and how much you crave being around them, and how much you lo— uh, how much you... like them." You such in a sharp breath, wiping your now-clammy hands on your jeans. "Like being around them. Yep, okay."
You stop abruptly, and Imogen glances at you with expectant, sparkly blue eyes. Her head tilts in the way you've always found so alluring, and she gestures with her hand in a way that says 'carry on' without words.
"Uh— yeah... just write about... all that, and—"
"Wait, keep going, please. This is great." You blow out a breath, and Imogen frowns. "Are you okay?"
Your skin prickles with goosebumps when Imogen picks up your hand and runs her thumb gently over your trembling hand.
"Wait, are you feeling okay?" She puts down her book and lays a hand on your cheek. "What's wrong? You've gone pale, babe."
"Oh... God, don't call me that right now."
You shove her hand away, and immediately notice her mouth fall slightly, a hurt look crossing her features. "I'm sorry, I—"
"No, no. No, don't be, just—" You quickly pick up your phone and stand up. "I need to get out of here."
"You're leaving? But—"
"I have to..." You mumble, then swing open her bedroom door. "I have to go home."
"Wait—" You hear Imogen rustling around as you run down the stairs.
Once you've reached the door and gotten outside, you close the door and lean against in for a quick breath. "Oh, my God."
"What just happened?" You hear Imogen's mother say from inside, her voice prompting you to starting running again.
As your pulse races and your body moves on impulse, your mind reels with the words you are certain were about to spill out of your mouth if you hadn't left when you did.
It's not as though you don't want to tell Imogen how you've been feeling for the past few weeks now... it's just incredibly daunting to think about what her reaction could be.
That night, you don't get any sleep whatsoever as your mind acts like a never-ending camera roll of possible ways a confession like that could have gone; all of the awful, perfect and heartbreaking ways.
"Ugh!"
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Taglist: @whereimwritingfrom @wqxianwriting @httphayn @imdoingbetternow (lmk if you want to be added or removed to all future imogen fics!!)
