#but im remembering that one handholding line from clarence and hnngg...

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | a reward for the diligent

After a day's hard work, you give your boyfriend a reward. He seems to disagree on who it's a reward for.

1.4k, post-azure island, established relationship + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

OUTSIDE THE LARGE WINDOW BEHIND your boyfriend's desk, the sun glows a soft red over the nearly empty streets. A young couple coming from class, oblivious to its quiet warning to head home soon, leisurely strolls past the building you're in.

Your tender gaze fixates on their held hands, quietly tracing the path their swinging arms take. The last of papers Clarence needs to look through rustle in the background, followed by the familiar sound of his pen etching his name into place. By now, you're certain all those hours of staring at his signature have, in fact, granted you the ability to forge it.

You've just never tried.

To you, surrounding his name with hearts on the margins of your various notebooks is a far more worthwhile endeavour. Sometimes, you throw in a Mrs. Clayden and marvel at how easily your future title slips off your tongue. It's an addictive thing, really, whether in singsong or screeching—you can't even begin to guess how many times Beanie has watched you warily, likely convinced that you're the victim of an on-and-off posession by some feral ghost.

The ghost of a bride, perhaps.

When you quipped about it to Clarence the first time, he somehow found an opening to discuss your impending last name situation. He had statistics and cited arguments and everything. Any lingering shame vanished in that moment, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

So, you did.

...only for William to walk in.

Since you'd gotten your kiss, you find you can look back fondly at that moment. The boys, on the other hand, range from being consistently flustered to berudgingly amused. It's easy enough to guess who's who.

"Thinking about something?" Clarence asks, his soft voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glance at him, the same dreamy smile most of your friends and acquaintances know to associate with your boyfriend still on your lips. A stack of completed paperwork sits neatly to his side, the very same one you stand on. And to his left sits the coffee you bought for him, empty and cold now, alongside other miscellaneous, but useful trinkets—including some cat-themed stationery that had reminded you of him, and vice versa.

Reaching over to be a helpful girlfriend, you pluck the coffee cup off the desk, adjusting the straps of your back once you're done. At the pointed look on his face, your smile transforms into something bigger—into a wide grin that leaves him knowing of what's to come.

"You." With a giggle, you clutch both of your coffee cups against your chest with one hand. "What else could it be?"

By now, the couple has disappeared into one of the nearby buildings. Your gaze flits to his hands—one rests atop the teal desk, fingers lightly curled in front of his propped-up elbow; the other supports his slumped cheek so effortlessly you feel like swooning.

The exhaustion from the previous days—though a definite cause for concern on your part—has done little to detract from how handsome he is.

You narrow your eyes fondly at him. "Tired?"

He only smiles helplessly as a near-imperceptible huff of laughter escapes through his nose. Your free hand has already crossed most of the distance between him and your when you remember to check the cups one last time. Though you're certain they're empty, considering you checked earlier, the last thing you want right now is a surprise.

When you're assured of their emptiness, you resume your prior quest, gently brushing his bangs out of the way. You're careful not to jostle his frames, taking the shortest path to your goal.

As the distance between your face and his steadily decreases, the coffee cups come to rest atop the desk. A consequence of the angle at which you lean over it, its front-facing edge digs into your skin. Still, you bear with the momentary discomfort, too distracted by the man in front of you.

And oh, is he worth it—

Clarence leans into your touch, his eyelids drooping until he seems to come to an agreement with himself and closes his eyes. The smile on his face remains, even as his eyebrows furrow in response to your wandering touch. You get as far as tucking his hair behind his ear—though, tragically, you're unable to dodge his glasses this time—when a brilliant idea creeps up on you from behind.

"Keep your eyes closed," you murmur, swallowing up half your words before they have a chance to escape.

By the time you've all but climbed atop his desk, he opens his eyes, his curious gaze offering a silent question. When the silence drags on, your only response being a cheeky smile, it becomes an audible one, tinged with a familiar exasperation he reserves only for you.

"Close my eyes? Okay..." Clarence sighs fondly, acquesing to your request. "But what are you going to do?"

Grinning, you hum. "It's like William said."

Your first order of business—in a hazily-conjured scheme with only a few steps—is to carefully divest him of his glasses. It earns you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend, though whether it's because of where this is going or the way you accidentally flicked his cheek is anyone's guess.

"It's easy to work hard when you have a reward waiting for you at the end, right?" you ask, handing him custody of his glasses once more. William had followed up his comment with a remark about how you and Clarence had it easy—then he'd fallen into faux despair when neither of you bothered to deny it. "Well, this is the reward."

After accepting your offering with practiced ease, he leaves them in his hand, inadvertently shielding them from your view. You condense your usual admiration for your boyfriend's pretty face into a quick moment, then cup his cheeks lovingly—though his own hand on his cheek restricts where yours can go.

With that same hand, Clarence grasps yours and cradles it against his cheek, properly this time.

"And who is it for?" he questions, sounding amused.

You're on your tiptoes, legs stretched out behind you. Every so often, you adjust yourself against the teal desk to offer your poor stomach some relief. Frankly, you think it might've been easier if you'd turned the corner twice instead, but you're too far in to back out now.

So, you laugh, pressing a kiss to the beauty mark under his eye. "Well, we can agree to disagree."

Once, around the time you grew aware of your feelings for him, you read online that some people believe a mole signifies the spot where your soulmate likes kissing you the most. And you've never liked being made out to be a liar, so you've made it your life's mission to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy—the only good one out there.

Clarence, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so lucky to have his spot somewhere visible. The memory of him turning pink when he pondered the implication a bit too intensely leaves you giggling once more.

"I haven't even started," he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "It's a bit early to say that."

Snickering, you move your lips to his forehead.

"Better not," you say teasingly, before your voice softens and you pull back. Then, as if you aren't the current hold up in his schedule (you are), you add, "We have to be heading out soon. It's late."

"Hmm...I haven't gotten my reward yet," he teases, opening his eyes. You think they look even brighter now than they did a few minutes ago, like ocean waves gleaming under the sun. "I believe you mentioned something about that."

Letting go of his glasses for a moment, he fixes his bangs back into place. They're parted differently this time—or rather, not at all. You think you must've mentioned it to him at least a few times, the way it makes you think of the future.

Of sleepy mornings and freshly brewed coffee. Of requests for five more minutes, Clarence and his warm breath fanning against your ear when he denies you even that much. Of being the first person to gaze upon his beautiful face in the morning and the last person to point out the exhaustion that's seeped deep into his shoulders at night.

Your lips curve into a soft smile. "Well, I can't have you calling me a liar now, can I?"

"No," he agrees easily, squeezing your hand. Concern swims in his blue eyes as he narrows them at the edge of the desk. "But maybe you could get off of there first."

"This first," you say, before you press your lips to his for a quick peck.

He only smiles helplessly at you when you pull back. Somehow, you remember to climb off the desk before you take him up on his invitation and kiss him again.