Oml I have a cute fluff story for you! (and take your time!) Perhaps the reader is very into a certain topic, or maybe many things. She doesn’t really speak about these things to others because of past feelings of being too chatty/annoying, also thinks that it’s boring. But one day Peter catches her talking about said thing and is just staring/admiring with the most love struck gaze head in his palm like “please never stop talking this is so adorable I love you so much.”
This is so cute!
You had somehow acquired every throw pillow in your living room and had surrounded yourself with them like a castle wall. They acted as a physical barrier between you and your television. The Haunting of Hill House was playing for the fifth time. It was one of those shows you couldn’t seem to stop watching despite it’s scary nature. Every time you rewatched it, you’d find something new. The show excited your filmmaker heart. It was the sort of thing you could only dream of making some day.
Peter was off in the kitchen making the two of you dinner. He insisted that you relax after your hard day at work. You could hear him cutting up ingredients for a salad behind you but you couldn’t pull your eyes from the screen. It was episode six. Your absolute favorite episode in the entire show. You held your breath as your favorite shot was about to play out.
Your foot excitedly tapped as Hugh walks into the funeral parlor. The camera pivots around, showing all his children as kids, only to slowly rotate to reveal them again as adults.
“That was all one shot,” you whispered to yourself. You liked to imagine all the actors having to scramble as quickly as possible to fill the shot before the camera returns to them. “Think of all the lighting cues. Every single person had to work in perfect harmony for that shot to be done.”
A moment later, you watched as Hugh makes his walk down the funeral parlor hallway. The hallway slowly morphs into his old house and suddenly you’re transported back into the past again. You try to suppress an excited squeal but it slips out anyway.
“That not even cgi. They built the sets like that,” you muttered under your breath. You weren’t sure who you were talking to. Peter was busy cooking. You were just too impressed to keep it all contained. “Imagine all the work for this. All the rehearsal. The result is a beautiful, stunning piece of television. The cinematography is absolutely astounding.”
“It’s still not as beautiful as you,” Peter piped up from the kitchen.
You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. Sometimes you forgot he had freakish hearing. You turned around on the couch and kneeled over the top to look at him. He had stopping using the knife to cut the food and was leaning over the counter towards you. A giant grin was toying on his lips and his eyes were glistening with happiness as he stared back at your face.
“Sorry. I’ll shut up. I know we’ve seen this a bunch already. I don’t need to tell you anything. You’ve heard it all before.” You hugged a pillow to your chest and gave him an apologetic smile.
Peter’s eyes widened, “What? No! I want to hear it again.”
You scrunched up your nose, “You do?”
“Of course. You like filmmaking. You’re supposed to watch things that interest you. You watch them into the grave until you’ve memorized every little detail. That’s part of how you learn.” He could see the doubtful look in your eyes and jumped over the back of the couch, landing on top of the pillow pile and snuggling into your side. “I could listen to you talk forever.”
“You’re probably the only one.”
“So?” He placed a quick kiss to the side of your head. “Who else do you need? I’m the greatest.”
“Thanks, Pete. I guess I could listen to you talk forever too. Even if I don’t understand half of what your saying.”
As you spoke, you noticed a plume of thick grey smoke wafting out from the kitchen. Both you and Peter turned your head towards it just as the fire alarm started to go off.
“Oh, shit. The chicken!” He leaped off the couch and ran to open the oven.
You quickly got up to open some windows to let the smoke out. Peter threw the charred chicken in the sink and turned off the fire alarm. He grabbed some towels and started fanning at the smoke while you coughed in the corner.
“Jesus, Peter. Are you trying to kill us?” You let out a little laugh and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist.
“I can’t help that you distract me with your cuteness. This is all your fault. Not mine. I claim no responsibility.” He gave you a wink. “Let’s go out for pizza instead. I’m a terrible cook. I should never be trusted in the kitchen. Who’s idea was this?”
“It was yours, Pete.” You stood on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “Pizza sounds great. I’ll go get my shoes.”
