kris allen, katy allen (kris/katy)
summary: hello sunshine actually consists of 3 ficlets--each of which can stand on their own--portraying 3 events in kris/katy life: the finale night, the first wedding anniversary and a date night in a coffee shop.
notes: i started writing this a looonnnggg time ago, hee, but never really had the time to finish and edit everything. it's now finished, though. and unbeta-ed, oops. but i thought, ah screw it, i'm posting this.
Most people have a very complex concept of God. Just because they can’t see Him, they’d like to think He’s untouchable. Unreliable.
Kris always treats Him as a best friend, as simple as that. Someone he can count on; who’s there at the finish line.
Like John who constantly reminded him of exams’ schedules that somehow kept sliding out of his memory. Like Cale who once patted him on the back and promised to follow him everywhere. Like Charles who gave him a good laugh when he didn’t even know he needed one.
So some time after Ryan mentions his name and Adam wraps him in a hug; after the confetti falls and he’s standing on the platform, he looks up at Him and smiles.
“Dude,” he calls out in silence. “What are you doing?”
But next to him, Jorgé steps back, like he’s about to make way for something; for someone. Kris’ eyes follow his.
He blinks. And there she is; heels trying to find some kind of a footing to tread on, stretched out arms reaching for his.
Kris takes Katy by the wrists, pulling her up in one swift moment. The last thing he sees is the corner of her smile before he closes his eyes and buries his face in her shoulder.
They have this weird way of embracing each other, where his left hand would slip under her right elbow and snake her waist, while his right one would circle her upper arms—and she would mirror his position, holding him in place. And somehow, even between the roaring sound of thousands of people ringing in his ears, under the shower of white spotlights blinding his eyes, his arms still manage to find her—and hers him.
When he breathes in, all he can smell is the familiar scent of her shampoo. And then it hits him that maybe, just maybe, God is a woman.
In the morning of their first wedding anniversary, Kris wakes Katy up by placing soft kisses under her ear. When she merely frowns, not even bothering to open her eyes, he chuckles and plants himself on top of her instead. He starts kissing the line along her jaw then, all the way to her chin, down to her throat, before resting his head on the pillow beside hers.
Her eyes are still closed when she murmurs in his ear. “You know,” she drawls. Her voice is rusty and she clears her throat before she continues. “Some cultures still believe that the devil lies on top of people when they’re asleep to possess them.”
She hears his snickers, heavy and cut short when his lips move to brush her skin and press a kiss on that one spot where her shoulder meets her neck.
Katy keeps her eyes closed, trying to remember. There’s countless dates, a wedding dance and a finale night, among many others. And there’s him, sighing against her shoulder before grazing the crook of her neck with a kiss.
The thing with Kris is, he’s not the one who kisses and tells. He’s the boy who held her hand at the town square in one December and came up to her in January, singing something about how clueless she was in her crimson red gown.
When she did ask, it was some time after he won and he let her listen to a song he wrote about an unscripted kiss in an evening. He looked at her with wide eyes when he finished, like he expected her to just know. She let out a question then, “You were really hurt, weren’t you?”—which was supposed to be a joke. But that didn’t stop him from staring at her disapprovingly; the words he didn’t say were hanging from the corners of his mouth: You didn’t know?
But then, she thinks, it’s the twenty sixth. So she opens her eyes and decides to try.
Yet Kris stirs all of a sudden, grunting as he moves away from her and slowly steps down the blown-up mattress. Katy props herself up on her elbow, watching him as he stands up.
He’s mumbling again, “I have this—” He gazes at the wall, searching for the name of a street; for the numbers and a comma of a radio station, where he’s supposed to go in 2 hours.
“Thing,” he says when nothing comes up. He’s rubbing his eyes too, if only to avoid her stares altogether.
She mutters her reply, “Oh, right,” and pushes herself up to sit straight. Kris drags his feet to the bathroom lazily. His shoulders shudder when his toes touch the cold tiles.
Katy chuckles at Kris’ back before it completely disappears behind the closed doors. She lets out a subtle grunt when her head finds the mattress again, totally forgetting that it’s not; it’s never as soft as she thinks.
She watches the morning sun’s rays on the ceiling in silence and as she tries to recall the title of the song that Kris is humming in the shower, she’s slowly drifting into sleep again. It’s still early, anyway and everyone knows she’s never been an early riser. It’s hard to be one when you’re a night owl—or so she keeps telling herself.
Besides, she expects a long day—and night—ahead.
It’s Kris who wakes her up again. And with a kiss too, although he’s more shy this time, as he lands a quick peck on her cheek before whispering a “Later.”
Katy waits a few minutes after he shuts the front door before leaping out of the mattress. Kris has promised a brief return and she still has a lot of things she needs to do before they leave the apartment.
There’s a trip to the beach that they look forward to—and she still hasn’t finished packing. In her own defense, she will say that this whole trip is fully unexpected, which is not a lie.
It’s the company—his company—that thought it would be cute if they gave their first married winner a free trip prize on his wedding anniversary.
As for them, there’s a silly no-gifting pact that started as a conversation about Kris’ show schedules, which changed into a promise to enjoy themselves on their anniversary. It went fine until Julie came to visit last week. They were going shopping when Katy told her everything and Julie rolled her eyes, dragging her inside one of the stores without a second thought.
And now, as she sits in front of her slightly-organized luggage, Katy blushes at the sight of the newly bought green lingerie before carefully hiding it underneath her stacks of clothes.
She spends the next hour or so taking a bath and wandering around the apartment. There are congratulatory messages she needs to reply to, as well as a call from her agent about a pilot she might be perfect for. She’s decorating the shelves when she hears the sound of the doorknob being turned.
“Katy?” It’s Kris’ voice echoing from the doorway. She pulls her hand away from the picture frame she’s holding, listening to his footsteps as he walks closer to where she is.
Kris lets out a half-smile when he sees Katy, lazily throwing his bag on the couch at the same time. He runs his hands over both of her arms when he’s near enough and carefully ducks his head to kiss the crook of her neck.
caffeine /’kæfi:n/ n [U] stimulating drug found in tea-leaves and coffee beans. It is used to boost energy and provide a feeling of heightened alertness.
Sometimes Kris forgets that they’re married. That he doesn’t have to drive Katy back to her father, who would sigh impatiently because apparently he and Buck (Not his real name; Kris can’t remember what it was) the policeman used to be classmates and of course he’d heard about that time with them on the pickup car beside the lake.
But forgetting happens.
That’s why they, occasionally, have to take a slight pause before a “September.” Or add a question mark behind a “Eight and a half years? Nine?”
As if they can’t remember when it all began.
(As if they’ve been together forever).
Right now, he doesn’t remember that he doesn’t have to make excuses just to spend more time with her. Like he used to do when they were still in high school and he, on purpose, took the long way back to her house.
There’s a small coffee shop near their apartment building in LA.
Both of them have been here before—together, separately. The coffee is so bad that they make inside jokes about it, although they always come back because the baristas are nice. Katy always scrunches her nose after she sips from her cup. Kris always laughs.
Katy puts down her cup then, looking back at Kris with a loopy grin, and he giggles at the unsaid punch line. There are traces of whipped cream on his upper lip and Kris brushes his left thumb against her skin instinctively. The ring on his finger catches the light and he lets out a subtle gasp as he stares at it, like a child tries to comprehend his shiny new toy.
It’s the end of Katy’s smirk, nudging the finger that stays on her lips, that calls him back to her.
He sighs. “Wow.”
Her eyes are bright, reflecting the light from his ring, as she gently nods at him. “Yeah—” she says.
Kris smiles and drinks his coffee.