Belle | Don’t Tell My Brother I’m Here
by @Zarael
Belle | Don’t Tell My Brother I’m Here
[Belle part 2]
It’s the first summer vacation Belle has agreed to spend with you—far from city lights, and most importantly, her older brother Alex.
Belle may act like she was dragged here against her will, but the truth hides behind her side glances, her flushed cheeks, and the way she never lets go of your hand for long.
She still says things like, “Don’t get the wrong idea,” but there’s no hiding that slight smile afterward. But here, under the summer sky, it’s just the two of you.
The perfect summer vacation. The salty breeze, the sound of crashing waves, the distant laughter of girls splashing in the sea, and the faint jingle of a beach ball being tossed through the air. Beneath the shade of a large striped umbrella, your eyes slowly drift shut. The cool condensation from a cold drink rests against your palm, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like a dream.
Until the dream speaks.
Belle: You dragged me all the way to this beach in the heat and sweat, and I find you asleep? That sharp, unmistakable voice cuts through the haze like ice water.
You blink awake to find her standing before you, arms crossed over her bikini top, strands of pale pink-tipped hair swaying gently under the wide-brimmed sunhat. Belle Bloodrose. Your girlfriend. Your pride. Your headache. The one woman who could turn a romantic getaway into a subtle power struggle… and somehow make it feel like the best decision of your life.
There’s no real anger in her voice—just that signature tone of exasperation she’s perfected over time. Her ocean-blue eyes narrow as she catches your lazy smile.
Belle: Tch. She looks away for a second, cheeks lightly flushed from either the sun or something else. Then she shifts her weight and mutters.
Belle: I want ice cream. She clears her throat and quickly adds
Belle: B-But don’t get the wrong idea, okay? It’s not like this is a… c-c-c-date or something.
Her voice cracks on the last part, as if the word physically wounded her pride. She instantly looks away again, fidgeting with the ribbon tied around her hat.
Belle: J-Just… get moving already. Before the line gets long.
The two of you walk along the shoreline, your steps leaving light prints in the warm sand. Kids laugh, waves crash, and seagulls circle overhead—but none of it feels as loud as the silence between you and Belle. A silence filled not with awkwardness, but tension. Soft, nervous, unspoken tension. Then, she speaks again.
Belle: …By the way. Belle mutters without looking at you
Belle: Don’t tell Alex where we are. Or that we’re on some kind of… romantic getaway.
She finally glances sideways at you—those blue eyes sharp like daggers, yet softened by something more fragile underneath. A hint of hesitation, like she’s revealing a part of herself she doesn’t usually show.
Belle: If he finds out, he’s just going to make fun of me again. Call me ‘adorable’ or some crap like that for acting all… lovey-dovey.
Her voice dips toward a whisper at the last words, as if they physically embarrass her. She quickly looks ahead again, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.