Summary: If you could write your love story, what would it say? Would it include the good with the bad? The sadness with the joy? The laughter with the pain? You x OC. A series of drabbles.

Take My Hand And Never Let Go

By

K.N. Proctor

Chapter Three:

C Is For Contagious

There he was; the very source of your obvious distress—well obvious to everyone but him. How could he just lie there comfortably? How dare he do so while you suffer?! Well, this would certainly not do…

You hovered behind him as he attempted to read the chapter for this week’s assignment—something that you probably should be doing, but you couldn’t care less right now. “Darling…” You cooed into his ear, gently playing with his hair. “Sweetheart…”

He quirked a brow, but that was apparently all the response you were going to get. Apparently, the book was much more fascinating than you were.

‘I am going to burn his library one of these days…’ You sighed, moving to the end of the couch. Gently picking up his legs, you rearranged them so that his feet were in your lap—this should have tipped him off since you happened to despise feet. “I am sick, honey…”

“Perhaps you should go to the doctor.” He offered, still keeping his eyes locked onto the paper before him, but you did notice the faint twitch of his lips, which either meant amusement or annoyance…either way, at least it meant he was paying you some attention.

You let your lower stick out, trying to look as helplessly pathetic as possible. Think, wounded puppy. “Come on, can’t you stop reading for one second, dear?”

Finally, he sighed, tossing the book onto the coffee table. “You must be ill; I don’t think I have ever been addressed by such endearments.” He pressed a hand to your forehead. “Hm, you don’t feel too warm…”

His unusually cool hand chilled you, but you moved closer to him nonetheless. “But I am ill… I may not recover!”

He didn’t seem too convinced. His amused grin added fuel to your growing fire of annoyance and frustration. He dropped his hand, recovered his book, and returned to his place on the couch. “I am sure it isn’t as bad as you think, {Name]. After all, you have always been a bit dramatic.”

This time, you weren’t being dramatic…well, okay, so you were a little bit, but he really had made you ill and you were determined to prove it! You pressed closer until there was no space between you, leaning forward so that your breath surely tickled his ear. “I am sick and it is all your fault…”

He tensed when you had moved so close, almost appearing as if he had quit breathing altogether…which confused and intrigued you, so you noted that reaction in the back of your mind. “What?” He finally muttered uncharacteristically.

You were rendered speechless just for a moment for his odd actions, but you recovered, nuzzling his neck affectionately. “Oh, I said ‘I am sick and it is all your fault’…”

He scooted to the side, pulling you from his personal space. He seemed flustered…never had you seen him so speechless…his reaction, it was interesting. Finally, he cleared his throat and tried to appear calm—he failed something awful. “Now, I am afraid that I am confused…”

“Are you?” You kept moving forward until he had nowhere to escape—he was trapped between you and the couch. “I think you must have some idea of what I mean…”

He studied you—it wasn’t like his normal appraisals, but this was something deep and probing, as if he was trying to see past everything you hid behind into your inner being. “I see.”

It was too late for you to catch what the look in his eyes meant, he had already turned the tables and had you trapped. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“You see, I think I might have caught the little bug that you have.” His smile was sly as he slowly inched closer. “I am afraid you are highly contagious, [Name]…”

There was something about the way he said you name…it sent your stomach into flip-flops and, what you had intended to be a game, was twisting into something you weren’t so sure you could name. You were trapped, but you weren’t about to accept that—you weren’t locked into his web just yet… “Don’t look at me like that!”

He was close, pressing his forehead against you and you lost all hope. “Oh, [Name], you never finish what you start.” The way he purred your name, it didn’t sound like something a friend would do…

“I-I… I was joking okay! Back off.” Yet, he didn’t move and each second he lingered there, the more your will crumbled. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you feel how I feel each and every day.” He drew back, but not too far—you could easily make out the flecks of gold in his intense eyes. “You see, I have been sick for a very long time…but I think I know the cure.”

Your eyes snapped closed, expecting a kiss…and he did give you one, but one innocently on the cheek. “William…”

He pulled you close, allowing you to rest comfortable in his arms, and you held onto him just as tightly. Well, if this was a sickness, you wouldn’t mind being it incurable…