My Love, a hey arnold fanfic

A/N: And now for my 12 random CRAPS! ...GO!

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear

Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair

Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't fuzzy was he?

Fin

I have a penguin named Waddlesworth!

The Canadian flag has a leaf, yes, but Japan's flag has a dot... *Bursts out laughing*

What's the difference between a telemarketer and the guy who pulls the switch on your electric chair? ...I have no idea.

The Spanish word for pants: Pantalones.

The Spanish word for milkshake: Batido.

The Spanish word for spicy: Picante

The Spanish word for hot: Caliente

I'm in Caliente Espana, with mucho el Picante Batido all over the front of my Pantalones!

*Bingle Snort*

Your pupils get about 45% larger when you see something pleasing... My pupils are so getting smaller as I look at you. *Shields eyes*

If there's a short cut to where you're going that will save you about eight hours of driving, but there's a hummus shop on the way, and the longer way has NO hummus shop, but instead has hell's gate on the way... do you go the short way or the long way? ...The long way, for sure. *Shudders horrifically*

People keep saying it's weird that I like 90's shows when I've lived MOST of my life in the twentieth century... but I lived my first FIVE YEARS on this earth in the 90's... Best five years of my life. *Pulls up pants real high*

*Walks up to microphone* ATTENTION EVERYONE! I have something important to say... *Clears throat* ...Chocolate... *Bows to thunderous applause*

~Nick-Nick-Nick-Nick-Nick-NICK-Nick, Nickelodeon~ ...Man I miss that song.

What's the deal with air line food? Huh? Am I right? Huh-huh? ...Yeah... I'm funny, you all just have a horrible sense of humor. Now excuse me while I go curl up in fetal position. *Humphs and walks off*

Disclaimer: I don't own "Hey Arnold!" I know, I know. Crappy life!

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My Love

One-Shot

It was the same thing, every Valentines Day.

I'd get a letter saying to meet her at Chez Paris, and I'd always get there early, a rose in hand and my heart on my sleeve. She'd show up in a lovely, flowing dress that seemed to vary in different shades of pink each year, and some golden hair over one of her captivating blue eyes.

We'd order dinner, and playfully feed eachother. We'd talk for hours, about all sorts of different topics: Our lives, dreams, goals, passions, likes, dislikes, and so much more. I'd always try my hardest to make her smile, and when she did, I couldn't get enough. I'd always hold her hand from across the table, and she'd always blush, and I'd think it was adorable. Whenever she'd talk, I'd zone out and just stare at her, admiring her, and when she realized I wasn't listening, she'd wave a hand in front of my face, and then I'd blush, and she'd laugh, and soon I'd laugh too, just because her laugh was so contagious and fun. She'd always lean across the table when she was passionate about what she was saying, and I'd just smile and lean forward too, playing along. And she'd always blush at how close we were, but never say anything about it. And then after eating and talking and laughing and blushing, we'd just talk outside of the restaurant, because I wanted to keep her talking to me, so she wouldn't leave so soon... But soon she'd have to leave, and before she'd go I'd always kiss her hand, and she'd either sigh or giggle or blush before she'd kiss my cheek and leave without another word. And then I'd walk home in a daze, my mind fogged over with thoughts of the wonderful night I'd just had.

She'd never tell me who she was, and I'd only see her once a year, but whenever that time of year came, I'd always get butterflies in my stomach from how anxious I was to see the mysterious beauty again.

All I knew was that she was actually from America, not France, and she was simply from 'around here'. But that's all I knew. She told me to just call her 'Cecile', since she refused to tell me her real name.

It's always been the same, every year... every Valentines day... since I was nine-years-old... I'd always been okay with it, with only seeing her annually. She was just another girl I liked. It wasn't that big of a deal to me, as long as I could see her that one time every year. Then I could dream about her for the rest of the time in between each meeting. Of course, now I'm fourteen, and just one time every year simply isn't enough. I need more of her. I begged her last year, begged her to meet me more than just one time a year. I pleaded that it hurt, and that I needed more than just a few hours with her every year. She contemplated that, and then agreed to spend ALL of Valentines Day with me next year. I pleaded that that still wasn't enough, but she said that she thought it would be best if we only saw eachother on Valentines Day.

"But, Cecile, please, why can't I see you every day? Why only one day each year? Why can't I know who you are? Why are you still hiding from me?"

So many questions, and she didn't answer any of them. She said that she couldn't tell me. I'd wanted to cry, but then she kissed me, briefly, barely even a peck, but it was enough to have me at her mercy after that. I gave in and agreed. I'd see her next year, at the fountain in the middle of Chez Paris and Chez Pierre, in the morning, so we could spend all day together.

That day has passed. I'd brought her to the boarding house, where everyone had miraculously had plans and were out of the house, and before the big day I'd warned all my friends to stay FAR away from my house that day. I didn't want anyone disrupting our date.

It had gone wonderfully, as always. We'd watched some movies I'd picked out for the occasion together in the living room. Horror films, to be exact, as I'd known how much she loved horror movies. Which had been surprising to me when I'd found out, as she'd seemed like such a delicate, feminine flower. But for some reason, it only made her more alluring to me. She's undoubtedly a tomboy, if you look hard enough. After all, all she ever does when we go on our dates is put her hair down and throw on a dress and some heels. She never has to try hard to be beautiful. But no matter how lovely she is, she's a tomboy. She loves horror films, and sports, and is a true city girl. She loves pizza and sloppy joes and hot dogs, and you never have to get her anything too flashy. She's always happy with what she has. She's simple like that, but also beautiful... She's simply beautiful.

So we'd watched horror films, and eaten pizza, and I'd slipped my arm around her somewhere during it all. I'd been ecstatic when she cuddled into me. I didn't think it could get any better... that is until she laid her head on my shoulder. Her hair was so soft, and she even smelled like a flower. Her scent, her feel, her warmth... I'd lost track of the movie after that, I couldn't pay attention to anything but her. It all set my heart aflame, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. My mind was clouded over with adoration for her, desires to pull her closer and kiss her with all I had, though they were just fantasies, I knew... She didn't even know what she was doing to me. It wasn't until after the credits were rolling, and she was telling me she'd have to go soon, that I realized what a horrible error it was to have her over at my house. It only made everything worse. Sure, I'd seen her and talked to her in Chez Paris, but actually seeing her be so comfortable since we were in a homey environment, and to actually cuddle into her and smell her and feel her and hold her made everything worse for me. She'd gotten off the couch, announced she'd be leaving, and I'd never felt so horror stricken in my life. I'd pleaded that she stay, that I had to be able to see her tomorrow, every day, or I'd lose it. But she'd just smiled, told me I'd be fine, and kissed my cheek. That kiss on the cheek had been my undoing. I'd embraced her passionately, and nuzzled my head into her neck, seeking comfort in the very thing that was causing me pain.

She'd embraced back hesitantly, tensely, and then I could feel her turn her head to look at the clock. She'd told me she really had to go, and I'd just embraced her harder and whimpered slightly in response. I felt so attached to her. I didn't want to have to wait a whole year to see her beautiful face again. It simply wasn't fair.

That was when she pried my face out of her neck, and pressed her lips to mine. I didn't even know what was happening at the time. All I knew was that I didn't want her to leave. But as soon as her lips touched mine, it had all melted away. I'd kissed her desperately, feverishly, passionately, with everything I had to give her... She was only making it harder to let her go, but I felt determined not to let her leave me again. After she released my lips from her own, we'd both been panting hard. My mind was dead, my limbs were weak, my stomach was upside down, and my heart was pounding so hard I thought it would burst... But the funny thing was that I actually really liked it... and I wanted more. But she'd taken advantage of my weakness to whisper she was sorry, and dash out the door, her last words being that she'd see me next year...

I've been a wreck ever since.

I've been looking everywhere for her. I need to find her. I can't stand it anymore. She's been driving me insane, and she isn't even here. But that's what's been driving me insane. I need her to be here, I need her beside me, I need to hold her, I need to feel her lips against mine, or I swear, I'll spend all the days up to Valentines Day sobbing.

Oh, what's that, Helga? You don't think I'll ever find her? Ho ho, I'll find her. I'll definitely find her. You just wait and see! ...No, I can't just wait until next year, Helga... I'm serious... If you ever see this... golden haired angel in pink walking around, give her this message...

Tell her that I love her, first off, and that I'm a wreck without her. She's let this all get way out of hand. She was too... too her, and I guess that's where the problem began.

First Date: Really liked her.

Second Date: Really, really liked her.

Third Date: Liked her more than I felt I was SUPPOSED to like her.

Fourth Date: Was getting freaked out by how much I really, really, really liked her...

Fifth Date: Fell in love, for sure.

Sixth Date: Sealed my fate...

I'll find my love, Helga, I swear...

Or I'll die trying.

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A/N: *Confetti bursts in your face* Welp, I worked really hard on this. *Nods in approval of crappy fic she just wrote* ...*Scratches stupid looking head in cluelessness* Uh... Can we get someone to fix the action bubbles, please? *Glares at gorgeous manager she secretly likes with dirt colored hazel eyes* ...*Growls through orange teeth* ...Seriously! Fix the freaking action bubbles! *Rips out hair, but it doesn't matter because hair is dull and ugly* ... *Eye twitches like a crazy person* ...SOMEONE FIX THE ACTION BUBBLES NOW BEFORE I FREAKING MURDER SOMEONE! *Tries to look enraged but comes off as childish and-* ...

Okay, you didn't see, but I just totally threw a chair at my action bubble. It won't be bothering me again... Okay... Uh... I'm grinning, right now, in like... triumph, so... yeah... Someone put that action bubble on ice!

REVIEW, BATIDOS!

Uh... I'm laughing right now.