It had been a sunny day turned cloudy, but the temperature was still hovering on the pleasant side and they decided not to return just yet. Free days were to few and even then, Relena had little time to spend with friends. On a whim she rang Heero, cajoled him into joining her, bribed him with slices of quiche he liked so well from the cook’s kitchen, and he succumbed to promises of pie.
The basket was packed, and Relena waved away the teasing comments about the way to a man’s heart. Heero’s heart wasn’t hers for the taking, and the more she knew of the boy, the more she wanted him to be the one for her to count on without strings. Her sporty convertible was just the car to take on the late spring day. Plans for travel, the need to reschedule several meetings, the stack of law drafts waiting to be read and just knowing her assistant would have another pile in reserve were cast away on the wind as she sped through the streets.
Heero waited out front of his two storey flat, jacket in one hand and a book in the other. After a glance, Relena held her silence, but shifted gears and pulled into traffic.
"You have a driver," he commented.
"Nervous?" she asked, peering at him over the rim of her sunglasses.
"No." But she saw him checking his seat belt and eyeing the speedometer.
The spot she chose for lunch was on the summit of a short hill just up a gentle slope from the ocean. Throughout their meal talk of work or politics or the latest in current events was avoided, and instead Heero told her of tales he’d learned from the mythology class he was taking. And Relena spoke of the sea monster legend so fondly believed along the coastal town.
And when the sun passed its zenith, Heero laid on the grass and opened his book. Relena sat back against the tree, a gossip magazine in hand. Though she was watching Heero more, fascinated by the minute changes in his expression as he read. She peered over his shoulder to see what the book was. She should have known; comments on his English Literature course were appearing more often when they spoke.
"Poetry really should be read aloud to get its full effect," she was telling him. "Its meaning is sometimes lost unless spoken with its full cadence and flow."
Heero was looking up from the page, held her gaze before settling back down. "Alright," he began, taking the bait. And she listened to him read, felt herself floating with the cadence of his voice, and imagined living in a time of magic and knights and mythical creatures.
Her fantasy faded in trailing ribbons; Heero had fallen asleep. She watched him for a moment, and picking up her discarded magazine, she let her imagination drift into a new world of magic and heroes and mythical creatures.