Author's Note; Greetings dearest readers and Fillmore fans! I'm fine, I'm here, and I still can't and will not get over my Fillmore obsession. I am extremely and overly sorry. Yes, it's summer and I let it get the best of me; books, books, lazy life, my birthday and a new camera. How can one resist? Nevermind my 'developed' love for CoralinexWybie. Thanks a lot, Henry Selick.
Needless to say that this idea was literally staring at me, and forced it's way out of my 'motionless' fingers and on top of that I got distracted. I had a completely different plot in mind.
First came the title, then the story. My main inspirations; jasmine oolong tea -trust me, it's delish.- and "Wild Man" by Kate Bush. Random, slightly humorous, a bit "fluffy".
I also have a new FAQ section thing going on, on my profile, you can check that out if you want.
My school starts on Tuesday. oops.
*a drum roll moment and...* enjoy.

Peace&Crackers. Late.

The beauty of a daydream hides in its 'outstanding' nature. Fleeting and glorious, it flies by, inhabits your brain and captures you. Just like that.
4:50pm. Rain and mud with a hint of 'mist', pale white crumpled tissues and her troubled majesty. She felt stunned and dizzy as her mind once again wandered off and pierced into meadows of books, chamomile tea, bitter medicine, and books...
4:51pm She glanced back at the arrows. Him and his utterly obnoxious confidence. Would he even dare to show up? What says 'Fillmore' brings trouble.

It had been a surprisingly cold summer, windy and slimy and perfect for colds and illnesses. And one of its victims was Ingrid, caught off guard, whereas Fillmore safe and sound, had apparently decided that she would all of a sudden wait patiently for his 'oh so grand' arrival.
And so, there she sat, on a small, 'vintage looking' bench, surrounded by light green grass and tiny-winy bugs and lake flies. There were no trees around, only boring bushes and modern apartment buildings but it was quiet and cozy. She sneezed. 4:55pm.

-'Hey you! Sicky-vicky!' there went his heavy -but rather queer- voice, crashing down the deadly silence.

-'I hate you.' she mumbled through some hair.

He settled down on the small bench, forcing her to shift her position . 'No you don't.'

His voice was soft and calm and all in all delicious, he smelled like vanilla and mint. She glared at him cautiously.

-'So.' she exhaled. 'You made me wait for another half an hour, because..'

-'Pick one.' he declared while pointing at his hands which were now hidden behind his back.

-'Left?' she raised an eyebrow pointing out; 'confused' rather than 'interested'.

-'Dawg..' he muttered ,and one could easily observe his slight disappointment.
-'Right..? Why don't you pick, mister smarty pants!' she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
-'No, you're right..m-my bad.' he started playing with his fingers. 'It's your choice.. 'both are for you anyway.'
-'Both?' she repeated surprised then in fractions of seconds threw herself on him and grabbed both his hands violently. 'Give it up, belt. Pass me the reward!' her voice turned into a loud and amusing snicker.
-'In. Your. Dreams.' he groaned pushing her away softly. 'You know you don't stand a chance. Now have some patience.' he smiled sarcastically.

She missed all the teasing. For all Ingrid knew, they'd been working too hard, and that was it. Being best friends with Fillmore is a lot of work, but loving him for frankly everything is surely a bigger deal. However that invisible line between them would not go away, would not simply disappear. Awkwardly enough, a plain deja vu. They would laugh, they would hug, they would do everything and anything together but after realizing their guiltiness, they would back off and let it be.
Yes, Fillmore meant hard work. But the torture fascinated her.

-'Fine..' she groaned quietly. She then scratched her chin and looked back at him. 'Right.'
His straight face turned into a grin of delight.
-'Drum roll, please!' he 'announced', chuckling loudly.
She waited. To her, it felt like it was Christmas morning.
-'Ta-dah!' he screamed and held her 'gift' above his head. A navy blue fish, swimming casually inside its plastic 'pet shop' bag.
-'You got yourself...another fish?' she giggled , still a little bemused.

-'No, dummy.' he mocked her tone. 'I bought it for you.'
Her eyes widened and she grimaced, clearly not showing any bit of excitement. 'Miles..feels lonely?'

-'Forget it' he huffed and dropped his shoulders. 'I just wanted you to have it. I mean look at it.' he pointed at the fish. 'It's blue!'

Ingrid smiled timidly. She knew how much he loved Miles, and fish, and fish. He was acting like a small stubborn kid, and he in fact -thought Ingrid- claimed the rights to it.
She approached him and daintily wrapped her arms around his neck.

For a moment he looked petrified.
-'I'm taking it.' she let go off him and carefully grabbed the plastic bag, then cracked a mischievous smile.
He smirked. 'I can work with that'.

-'Wait.' She frowned. 'What's that smell?'

-'I don't know what you're talking about.' he shrugged innocently enough to make Ingrid feel suspicious.
The air was filled with a delicate and tasteful aroma, dried flowers and something warm.

-'No, I know that smell..' she insisted strongly and nosed the sudden whiff.
He looked around, evading her statements and idle talk.
-'Jasmine..' she spoke in a whisper. 'Jasmine Oolong tea!'

-'I..' he delayed his answer.

-'Give me that!' she jumped on him fiercely, like a feral cat on its prey.

-'HOLD up.' he managed to swiftly stop her and held the paper cup away.

She hissed.

-'Now Ingrid, manners.' he chortled foolishly.

-'Hand over the tea, Fillmore' her tone unusual and slightly 'dark'. 'Then we talk.'

He was still laughing. He adored those moments, and he always missed them. Frustrated or not Ingrid was different. His kind of different. 'Relax, sunshine!'
The girl sighed and looked away, beaten.

-'Alright, here..' he brought his hand closer to hers.
She reached out and snatched the paper cup, her fingers mistakenly brushed against his smooth skin and she pulled away right immediately, then -while still 'protecting' her precious tea with her body- made a few steps forward and took a 'loud' sip.

-'Just what I needed!' she let out a small sigh full of pure enjoyment.
-'But Ingrid..' Fillmore lowered his eyes, disenchanted 'what about the fish?'

She neared him promptly and gently caressed his cheek at 5:03pm sending shivers down the boy's back and arms.

'At least the tea isn't chamomile..' she whispered.