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Knitting is hard. I don't care who thinks otherwise, because whoever down on Earth came up with it really had a lot of time on their hands and was apparently obsessed with knots. Who would even think, "huh, if I use needles and yarn, knot it like so, I could do this?"
Really, I wasn't cut out for knitting. But then again, I didn't think Foop would be either. He didn't look like it, but he could knit like a pro. His hands were quick, precise, and didn't mess up once. I saw him finish a row in under a minute, while for me it took five minutes (but that's only when I'm lucky.)
I remember one time Sanderson paid him twenty-five bucks for him to make a gray turtleneck sweater. Foop had that thing finished in under a day. There was no magic involved, just plain out knitting. I swear, if Mom catches him one day on one of her random visits, there would be a competition or a knitting club. (I would die laughing if the latter ever happened.)
So, why I am even knitting in the first place? In the beginning of December, Foop had given me a scarf he'd made himself. It was a dark shade of purple and soft; the feel of it against my skin was really nice. And in remembering how happy it made me (especially when he had pecked my cheek afterwards), I decided, "hey, I will make him one too!"
If only I knew how much of a pain in the butt it would be. I was making progress – the scarf now was long enough to touch my calf – but the whole thing was full of mistakes. There were gaps where I had lost a stitch and the yarn-tail was peeking out somewhere in the third row... the mistakes just kept adding up.
The scarf was a dark blue (I thought it would be funny to have the yarn look like his hair color, since mine was like my hair too), the yarn was scratchy, and that with all the mistakes made my cheeks burn in shame. Here Foop had made me something nice, and I was going to hand him a piece of crap of yarn and knots tomorrow for Christmas. He deserved something better than that. Something that would actually keep him warm instead of letting the cold in. Something he wouldn't be embarrassed to wear around Fairy World.
I set my knitting needles down. I had just finished a row, and the idea of starting another didn't seem all that appealing. The piece in my hand wasn't perfect and everything but what I wanted to hand him. I wanted him to be proud of me...surely he wouldn't with this. Maybe I should just use magic to repair it?
I shook my head. It won't be special that way, I reminded myself. Oh man, why did all have to happen on Christmas Eve? Why not sooner?
This scarf – I glared at it – was trash...and it deserved to be in it.
I went into the bathroom to carry out the deed, but the site of the toilet gave me an idea…maybe I could flush it down the toilet?
I peeked down at it and then the scarf. I would have to fight it to get it down, it was too thick. Getting the plunger and all that would be a lot of work, and not only that, but it would catch Foop's attention. Shaking my head, I went back to Plan A and opened the lid of the trash to throw out all my knitting stuff. No way was this going to be his gift.
Once that was over with, I floated out of the bathroom, rubbing my temples, and out into the living room.
In there, Foop was reclined along the whole sofa, scribbling down things on his notepad (it seemed to follow him around the apartment) with a concentrated look on his face. The look was only amplified with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose; he looked like a librarian.
Smiling to myself at the thought, I floated into the kitchen for something to drink. The fridge was mostly empty (I need to go shopping tomorrow), but I managed to find a small bottle of fruit punch in the back tipped over onto its side. It was hiding behind a bowl of leftover spaghetti. Getting that out, I went back into the living room.
Foop glanced up at me from his work, and sat up enough to free a spot for me to sit. I did so quickly, and promptly he laid back down, his head now resting on my lap. This was routine by now, him resting his head on my thigh. And if we were both lying down, his head would be resting on my chest. Foop would never admit it, but he was a cuddler.
It was those little secret quirks about him that I only knew about, that made me fall in love with him even more. And that's what made my guilt even worse: he deserved to know how much I loved him, and I had been planning on giving him a crappy scarf? Might as well break it off with him. It was like telling him his returned feelings were nothing to me, which was definitely not true. But how would he know that when all I had to give him on Christmas was some mistake-filled scarf?
To distract myself, I combed my fingers through his dark hair with the hand not holding my juice. His hair wasn't gelled up today, I noticed. It was wavy with little curls springing up from up from his finger-combed due. We had nowhere to go today, so he didn't bother putting product in his hair to straighten it. I giggled to myself a little. If Foop didn't crop his hair so short or comb it all that much, it would probably be like mine, all poofy (ironic, huh) and curly.
It reminded me of that one time I teased him that he was hiding the true nature of his hair. His response was to hit me on the arm and then threaten to cut my hair just like his. Since then, the topic has never come up again (because like hell would I get rid of the "cotton ball" on my head, as he dubbed it.)
Foop glanced up at me, a questioning look on his face. "What are you laughing about?" I had to smirk. He still had a British accent, but it has significantly lessened since we started living together. Goldie even points out that I sometimes say words in a 'British way.' It was funny, our combining of two very different accents.
"Oh, nothing," I said, smiling toothily down at him.
He sighed. "You're a weird one, Poof."
"And you're an evil maniac plotting to take over the universe. I think that's make us even." I playfully stuck my tongue out at him.
He just raised a brow at me and shook his head while muttering something I roughly translated as "no, that's much worse than weird" but said nothing more.
My smile slipped. Guilt was such an annoying emotion, I swear. I could feel it festering in my belly, and it's making me squirm. And hoping Foop wouldn't notice was stupid – I know I was already caught; he had his head on my lap for peat's sake.
"What's wrong with you?"
I winced. I don't think he realized his question came out snappy. "Nothing's wrong."
"Oh really?" he sneered. Sitting up and taking his glasses off, he turned to face me, and looked me straight in the eye. "Then why are you squirming all of a sudden?"
Yeah, I really was squirming. My thigh jiggled as I tapped my foot, and I couldn't stop my drumming fingers on the juice in my hand. "J-Just...nervous?" Great, now I was even stuttering. Way to hide it, Poof.
He gave me a look that made my squirming worse. For how long we've been together, he's gotten good at reading me. And I'm sure right now my face screamed just what I felt.
I was right when he asked his next question. "Then why do you have a 'guilty' and 'sad' look on your face?"
I almost shrugged, but the glare on his face convinced me that lying again was a big no, no. "...I was making something," I began slowly, watching his face as I admitted this.
He scrunched his eyebrows together, but nodded for me to continue.
I took a deep breath. "It was something I've been makin' for a month now...and it's bad. Like, really really bad. And I kind of just gave up on it just now."
Foop nodded again, a frown on his face. "What were you even making?"
I felt my cheeks burn. "I was...knitting a scarf," I said bashfully.
"You were knitting a scarf?" He looked at me with a bit of surprise. He didn't know I could knit yet, but then again, neither did I before this month. "Last time I saw you trying to knit, you were using the knitting needles as chopsticks and were playing ninja with them."
My cheeks burned even more furiously at the reminder. In middle school, we had a class for Home Education or something, and the teacher there made us learn how to either crochet, knit or both. I chose knitting because I thought the needles looked cool and would make the perfect set of ninja weapons. Let's just say I got nothing done in that class and had plenty of lunch detentions to prove it.
"Well, after seeing how much you loved to knit, I thought maybe I could try it out..." I said. It was sort of the truth, but not really.
And though Foop still looked at me with suspicion, he let it go and put down his notebook. He sighed. "Okay, let's see it."
I blinked dumbly. "What?"
"The scarf, you ninny. Show me the scarf."
"What for?"
"Are you dense?" Foop's face warmed. "I'm going to help you finish it."
I gaped at him. "Wait, really?"
"Yes, really," he snapped, looking even more flustered than before. "Now go get it before I change my mind."
I couldn't believe it. Foop was going to help me finish the scarf? "Someone's feeling generous," I commented as I put down my juice and got up.
Despite my smart comment, I couldn't help but feel excited. Foop was going to help me...maybe we could restore all the mistakes together!
"Yeah, well..." he coughed "...it's you..."
"Aww, Foop! You do care!" I mockingly batted my eyelashes at him.
"Can it, cotton ball! This is just a onetime thing, you understand? Now go fetch it."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Sure it is Foop."
I could feel his glare follow me as I went down the hallway. When I was about to go into the bathroom, his call stopped me. "Uh, Poof, why are you going into the lavatory?"
"Bathroom," I corrected, "and I'm going in here 'cause that's where my knitting stuff is."
"You were knitting in the loo?"
I could hear the hitch in his voice as he tried to contain his laughter. I can just picture what he was imagining: I sitting on the toilet with the bathroom door locked, painstakingly trying to knit my scarf. It was funny to imagine, but he was getting the wrong idea.
"I, uh, well," I tried to explain, and sighed. Let's start again. "Well, you know how I said I gave up on the project?" I went into the bathroom as I asked to go fetch my knitting.
Foop's voice echoed throughout the apartment. "Yes, I remember."
Getting my knitting from where I had thrown it out, I emerged from the bathroom with it in my hands, a nervous grin across my face. "Uh, well, funny thing 'bout that. I threw it away…in the bathroom's garbage."
I can't tell if his face told he was relieved to hear I wasn't knitting on the toilet or not; it looked a cross between.
I flew over to him, sitting beside him on the sofa again, and showed him that yes, even though it had been in the trash, it was fine. It wasn't covered in anything gross; the garbage had been emptied yesterday. Mostly it just had used q-tips. "It's not dirty, if that's what you're worried about."
"Poof, I"—Foop rubbed the knot between his furrowed eyebrows exasperatingly—"just, just never mind." He held a hand out to me. "Hand it over, cotton ball."
Sticking my tongue out at him for the nickname, I did as he demanded, and handed it over.
He took it apprehensively, like little green germ monsters we're going to start crawling up his arms, infesting him with some virus…okay, that thought just grossed me out. Great, now I am paranoid too.
"Hm, good thing your stitches stayed on the needles," Foop commented idly as he examined the scarf. "You did a good job for a beginner," he complimented, glancing up at me.
I rubbed the back of my head, frowning. "Uh, thanks I guess." I didn't really feel like it was good – it's nothing compared to what he could do. He's probably just saying that to make me feel good, I thought. I watched his hands as they ran over the fabric, and mentioned, "The yarn's really scratchy."
"Don't be ridiculous," Foop said, running the end of the scarf through his fingers. "The yarn is very soft."
"Yeah, I guess, but it's nothing like the one you gave me."
"That's because with yours I made it softer with magic. This isn't interlaced with any to make it like that, so really you're feeling what your scarf would feel like if I hadn't done so."
"Oh...but Foop." I waved a hand at the unfinished scarf in his hands. "It's full of mistakes."
"Yes," he agreed, "but this is your first project, I'm assuming. I don't expect you to be perfect." Color came to his cheeks, and he turned his head away as he muttered, "plus, it's the small things like this that make me"-Foop face scrunched up as he tried to get the next word out- "h-happy...and love you even more.
I felt my own cheeks burn with what he admitted, and bashfully I wrung my hands on the ends of my sweatshirt, not sure what to say.
"The small, simple stuff you do for me make me really happy too," I said softly. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders in a hug. And awkwardly, he did the same back (after putting down the scarf) with one arm around my waist. I tried not to giggle; whenever we hugged, it always seemed like he never knew where to place his hands. He was getting the hang of it now, but still he ran into the issue sometimes. "I love you."
"And I don't hate you."
This time, I couldn't hold in my laugh. "Typical Foop response."
He turned his head to look at me and raised an eyebrow. "What? Why are you laughing?"
"You're supposed to say..." I pulled him closer to murmur against his cheek "...I love you too, Poof."
"You know what I mean."
I knew that, but sometimes I couldn't help to push him to say it. "C'mon, you said it earlier," I whined, but he still didn't look convinced into saying so. I tried another route. "Oh, I know, you can say it with me!"
A dark look came over his face. "Poof..."
"On the count of three, ready?" I asked cheerfully.
"Poof..."
"One!"
"Poof...!"
"Two!"
"Poof!"
"Three! I LOVE Y-!"
Abruptly, he tackled me off the couch. We rolled, knocking into the coffee table and the legs of the sofa as we scrambled for dominance. And unfortunately for him, his attack led to him below me. I straddled his hips, hands holding down his above his head. He didn't struggle much; we both knew if he really wanted to, he could've had me down on the floor in the same position he was in. But he didn't do anything, and feigned defeat. It made me grin.
"Now then," I began again, "how 'bout that 'I love you' you so rudely interrupted?"
"Don't make me say it."
"Oh, but I will." My grinned morphed into a smirk. "So, are we going to be doing this the easy way or the hard way?"
"The hard way," Foop chose, frowning up at me. "You're not going to get anything out of me."
It was all a playful act, this was. And my heart warmed that he was playing along. "Oh? But what if I do this?" Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his jaw.
"What, are you going to attack me with kisses?" He smirked up at me, eyelids lowered.
I pecked his lips as confirmation. "You better give or else."
"Or else what?"
I grinned evilly. "Or else prepare for total kiss-annihilation."
I didn't give him time to respond; my lips were already on his. The kiss was long and wet, and just like every time, perfect. Foop had a unique taste, one that I found addicting and hard to put into words; it made my wings flutter happily.
When we broke a part, Foop's eyes were half-lidded, his pupils blown. He had that look on his face, and I could just tell what he thinking. But I had another plan – I hid my smirk as I wiped my lips on my sleeve.
Time for payback.
Let's just say Foop never saw it coming. In a second, I had him in a headlock, giving him a noogie.
Sedated look gone, pure outrage replaced it. "POOF, STOP OH MY GOD STOP—OW!"
I cackled. "NOT UNTIL YOU SAY IT, BAT BREATH!"
Foop kicked his feet, trying to get me off him, but it was futile. I had him down, and there was no getting up until he said those magical three words.
"ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I LOVE YOU! HAPPY?!"
Instantly I released him. He pushed me off him, and sat up against the sofa. He glared at me intensely, trying to fix his hair, but I didn't care. I just sat where I landed, grinning happily.
"I am now," I answered him, pulling on his pant leg.
He just rolled his eyes at me, gave up on fixing his hair, and though he still looked mad, pulled me between his legs. It was kind of awkward, me kneeling there, but his kiss made up for it. Trying not to smile into the kiss, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and tried to enjoy it despite how much this position was killer on my knees.
Foop must've noticed because he pulled away. His face was beat red (or purple, really; he looked like a grape, I thought humorously) and he was panting slightly. I'm sure I wasn't fairing much better either.
Pulling me even closer to him, he rested his forehead against mine, and whispered, "I'm glad."
On Christmas morning, I woke up around five, a half hour before Foop's alarm clock was set to wake him up. It was hard getting up then - several times I stumbled and had to use the wall for support just trying to get to the door – but I made it without waking Foop (how he got up so early everyday was beyond me.)
Heading into the living room, I shuffled over to the coffee table where Foop's scarf laid. It was for the most part done – hours of him supervising and editing my mistakes led to that – and all it needed now was to be taken off the knitting needles. (I didn't really know how to do that, so I had to take a few minutes on the internet to learn how.) Once I had done so, I held it up for me see.
Yeah, it really was filled with holes, but noticing it now, the closer it got to the end, the better it looked. I smiled softly. It reminded me a lot of me and Foop's relationship.
Starting off as enemies and gradually growing into something akin to friendship, the faults we had ever so slowly started filling up. Sure, our relationship now wasn't perfect (the occasional screw up near the end in the scarf marked that), we had our arguments and times where we wanted nothing more than to wring each other's necks, but hey, what relationship doesn't have those times? Where's the excitement if all you had was rainbows and sunshine all the time?
And even though the scarf ended, I really hoped Foop and I's relationship continued. Never have I found happiness better than what I have when I'm with him. I wouldn't trade this love for anything else in the world.
The muffled sounds of his alarm clock beeping startled me. In a split second decision when I heard the sounds of the bed squeaking as he got up, I shoved what was left of the ball of yarn and the knitting needles under the sofa. I then hastily folded his scarf up and put it inside my red flannel pajama bottoms. Great, giving him his gift from my pants, great job Poof!
I looked up when I heard the soft swish of his bat wings as he floated into the living room to hover beside the armrest. His hair was much worse than it was yesterday, much wavier at the tips. And though I wouldn't say it would loud, it looked really handsome on him.
He rubbed a palm over his eye, while the other glanced over me until settling on my shirt. He groaned. "God Poof, could you pick a sweater any uglier than that?"
I tried not to laugh. Just before heading into the living room, I had poofed on a sweater my Mom had made me, knowing he would hate it. The sweater was a gaudy red with a bunch of snowmen, reindeer, and snowflakes across the front. Really, it was the embodiment of all ugly sweaters.
I acted offended and placed a hand on my chest dramatically. "I'll have you know this sweater isn't ugly, but sensational. There's a difference."
Foop rolled his eyes. "Sensational means very impressive or attractive. Yours is everything but that."
Pouting, I folded my arms across my chest. "You insult my sweater, but I know you think I'm cute." It wasn't a question. I could just tell that's what he was secretly thinking.
And I was right if his reaction was anything to go by. A flush spread across his face furiously.
Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Wow, that eggnog Goldie got us, huh? Rum in it and all; I think I had one too many last night."
"Yeah, sure, Foop, whatever you say."
"It's true!"
"Mmhm, and Pixie's are now apparently dressing in Hawaiian shirts."
"Godammit Poof," Foop growled, and suddenly flew towards me. I had no time to move out of the way; before I knew it he had me pinned and was, was-
"No, NO! STOP IT!" I cried, wiggling underneath him as he attacked my sides. My head was flung back, and my chest heaved with each laugh he pulled out of me. It was even worse when he got his hands underneath my shirt. By now, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. "FOOP, NO! YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE ME-" I couldn't finish my sentence, too out of breath to say anything more.
He grinned evilly at that, and leaned down towards my face and demanded, "Admit your sweater is ugliest sweater there is in the world and that you'll burn it soon as possible, and then maybe I'll stop."
"I...I can't..." I took a deep breath, but it did little to cure my breathlessness "...burn it, Foop, my Mom got me this."
"Then at least say you'll hide it in the furthest corners of the closet, where it may never be seen by the eyes of any creature ever in existence."
"Okay, okay!" The tickles let up a little, but only enough for me to catch my breath to say, "My sweater is the ugliest there is in the world, and I swear to hide it and never wear it again—NOW STOP TICKLING ME!"
I knew Foop had on a triumphant smirk before I even saw it. His hands stopped tickling me, but still remained underneath my sweater to cup my hips. His eyes were trained on mine, and bending down to rest his forehead against mine, he said, "Merry Christmas Poof."
I giggled softly. "Merry Christmas to you too." I smiled widely and kissed him, but remembering something, I broke it. "Oh, and Foop?"
"Mhm?" He connected our lips again.
I broke the kiss again, and this time playfully shoved at his shoulders. "Stop it," I demanded, laughing. "I have to get you something. You don't have to get up." He raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't try anything and waited.
I grinned, and reached into my pants to get his gift. Foop gasped, eyes wide, and mad garbled protests, something along the lines of "we can do it if you want to but damn don't be so forward—" but stopped when I began pulling the scarf out from my pants. It piled on my chest as I pulled all of it out, and when I did, the look on his face was one of horror.
"Well, I know it's not wrapped and all that, but this is for you." When he didn't do anything but just stare down at me, I rolled my eyes and started wrapping it around his neck. Pulling the ends of it, I yanked him back down until we were nose-to-nose. "There, I got my scarf and you got your crotch cloth."
That snapped him out of his stupor. "Wait, what did you just call it?"
"Nothing!"
"Don't act all innocent, I saw where this—"
My kiss cut him off. "Oh shut up and just kiss me."
He seemed to debate over it for a second – ignore what Poof said and kiss him or start screaming? his look seemed to ask. Guessing from how he begun kissing me again, I knew he chose the former.
After a minute, we had to break a part again to catch our breath. And taking the chance, I breathlessly murmured against his lips, "I love you."
"Yeah, yeah." Foop rolled his eyes, and touched his lips with mine. "I love you too."