"How come you never asked me why I call you Heidi?" Helmut murmured after they've been sitting awhile in his living room, as he attempted to pluck out some tunes.
Helmut was in a band during college. But he was a drummer. He couldn't play stringed instruments to save his life. His father, Stiles, was really good at guitars though, and had handed Helmut his treasured acoustic after he became a producer.
Helmut can make sounds from it but not music.
"I thought you've been calling me that for no reason," she sounded a little profound. "You mean it has a meaning all this while?"
"There's no meaning though, I think," he said. "But it's from a story..."
"Tell me," she said in a whisper as she snuggled next to him.
"My mom used to read me this Swiss children book," he began. "It's Adelheid: The Girl from the Alps. It doesn't have those fairy tale bullshit. More like... I don't know."
Hayden didn't interrupt him.
"Anyway, Heidi was a short for Adelheid," he cleared his throat when he realized he sounded too sappy. "The end."
"What?" Hayden squeezed his arms. "I thought you were going to tell me the story!"
"I'm not good at telling stories," he pretended to strum something, busying himself. "My mom is a better storyteller, you go ask her."
"But I wanna hear it from you..." she pleaded. "Please~?"
"Now is not the time to tell bedtime stories," he placed the guitar aside. "Now is the time your parents will be worried sick if I don't send you home."
"Come on," Helmut stood up quickly and offered his hand to pull her up.
Hayden reached out. But pouting.
"Don't make that face, Adelheid," he teased, grabbing his shirt from the couch.
She watched him put his shirt on with haste. Still pouting.
"Gimme that pout," angrily, he grabbed her hand and pulled her chin up towards his face.
And their lips burned as it collide with each other.
