Chapter Text
If Gilbert Blythe knew anything (and, as one of Avonlea’s best scholars, he knew quite a bit), it was that Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was never more beguiling to him than when she flew into a passion about one thing or another.
And Anne was certainly a passionate individual.
Gilbert had just traversed the muddy, early spring roads to the schoolhouse, where he was planning to finish the backdrop he was making for the concert Miss Stacey’s senior pupils were putting on next weekend. The plan, having been cooked up by Anne in a patriotic fervor after the recent election, was to spend the funds raised by the concert to install a flagpole our front of their humble school building.
Gilbert had expected to find the schoolhouse deserted on this golden Saturday morning, having borrowed the front door key and garnered special permission from Miss Stacey to access to the school and finish his project in peaceful solitude. After all, it was quite difficult to do one’s best work AND keep a wary eye out for Moody Spurgeon’s haphazard and entirely luckless movements at the same time. No one, Miss Stacey least of all, wanted a repeat of the many carefully laid plans Moody had destroyed just by being, well, Moody.
But as Gilbert approached the schoolhouse, he found the front door to the schoolroom propped open by a large river rock. Gilbert slowed his pace, hoping his arrival would go unnoticed until he could discover who had entered the school building without permission. Miss Stacey certainly hadn’t mentioned expecting anyone to be there, nor the existence of a second key.
Gilbert’s heart began to pound audibly, at least to his ears, which were on high alert as he crept up the front stairs and peered into the schoolroom. What if he was happening upon someone who meant to vandalize the school? Or a vagabond who was using the schoolhouse as a makeshift hotel for the weekend?!
Gilbert was seeing red as he peered into the room through the ajar door.
No, really. He saw red.
He felt lately that it must be only in his mind’s eye that red had become the focal point. But as Gilbert looked on from his unobtrusive vantage point, his gaze was instantly drawn to the fiery red of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’s hair, which practically flew out behind her like a cape as she paced agitatedly across the front of the classroom.
She was clearly upset about something, but, for a moment, all Gilbert could focus on was the way suddenly finding Anne here made him felt — and he thought that his heart had been pounding before!
She was wearing the brown day-dress that Gilbert assumed Marilla had made, practical as it was. But he knew that Anne herself had hand-embroidered it with those pretty little flowers along the neckline.
Gilbert knew the flowers to be Anne’s handiwork because she had been holding said embroidery project when he and Bash had come to call and announce the birth of baby Delphine a few months back. Bash’s exultant exclamation of, “IT’S A GIRL!” had resulted in Anne’s flinging the project - dress, thread, needle et al - high into the air with a boisterous whoop!, much to Marilla’s chagrin.
It’s hard to say whether Anne or Bash had started the bout of hand-holding while jumping up and down with wide eyes and gleeful shrieks that followed, but the two things that ARE known are as follows: 1) Gilbert Blythe did not join in; and 2) He hadn’t only because he was rooted to the spot with the sheer force of the love that filled him in that moment. Love that felt like he had been weighed down irrevocably- tied to the people in the room with him forever - while lifting his heart and capacity for joy to previously undreamt-of heights. It was somehow a dizzying and sobering experience, and to this day Gilbert could not think about Anne and excitement of any kind in the same moment without experiencing an overwhelming urge to sit down and breathe deeply.
He had known that his feelings for Anne were different from anything he felt for anyone else before that day, but since the throwing and shrieking and bouncing he now knew how deep and broad and immovable those feelings were. It was a terrifying experience and also the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Those same feelings were definitely stirring in Gilbert’s heart now. He looked-on in suspended animation as energy sparked off of Anne’s kinetic form, roving back and forth, from wall to wall, where Miss Stacey usually stood placidly teaching.
After a few moments, Gilbert allowed his gaze to roam from Anne’s fiery hair and brilliant eyes, and he noticed that her long, slender fingers were holding open a book. Her voiced travelled to him through the crack in the doorway, and Gilbert realized what Anne must be doing here, inside of the school on a brilliant spring Saturday morning.
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!”
Anne recited as she paced, repeating the stanza over and again, trying ways to emphasize different words, using hand gestures and what Gilbert was sure she once would have called “tragical” faces as she rehearsed.
Anne must be here to practice the poem she is set to recite at the concert, thought Gilbert.
“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart!” Anne commanded.
“One kiss,” she reverenced.
“One kiss?” she pleaded, almost a whisper.
Gilbert felt like the gravity around him was shifting as he watched her. He wasn’t thinking about where he was, about whether or not he should be standing here, silently watching her. He couldn’t think about anything, except for a vain hope that the pounding of his heart would stay just quiet enough for him to continue to stand here - to watch, to listen, to absorb these moments in stillness and happiness and anonymity.
A loud whap nearly made him jump out of his skin as Anne slammed the book shut, shaking her head and kicking at nothing in front of her.
“One kiss! Hah. And what, pray tell, do you know about kissing, Anee Shirley-Cuthbert?! After all, who would ever kiss an ugly orphan?”
Gilbert had kept his wits about him through the initial outburst, but at this exclamation his own body betrayed him. His lips didn’t open, but he ground his teeth together at the thought of Anne feeling unworthy of any romantic advance Anne could dream up (and, knowing her imagination, he was sure she could conjure up something quite spectacular). No, his fingers betrayed his shocked dismay by loosening their grip on the pail of tools and supplies he had carried from home to help him with his task.
CRASH!
Gilbert’s body went instantly still, his traitorous fingers splaying stiff and wide, as if saying, “Oops!”
All was still inside the schoolhouse for a single moment, too. And then Gilbert heard quick, fierce footsteps headed his way.
His guilty face naturally arranged itself into a sheepish grin as the door was opened from inside, and Anne found herself nearly nose-to-nose with him.
Either from the shock to her heart from the crashing tools just outside of her makeshift performance hall, or from the instant ire that was provoked from seeing what she determined must be a smug and laughing look upon Gilbert Blythe’s face, who must have heard everything - EVERYTHING - Anne felt no relief in seeing this friendly face.
“What do you think you are doing, GIlbert John Blythe?! How dare you spy on me?!!” Anne shouted, beginning to turn red around her pale, sharp collar bones.
“Anne, I’m sorry. I-- I-- You… You’re not supposed to be here. I thought I had the only key.” Gilbert should be used to being tongue-tied around Anne by now, but every time he opened his mouth in front of the girl he was horrified anew at just how stupid he felt.
Gilbert watched as the blush crept from Anne’s throat, up her neck, and settled lightly onto her freckled cheeks. He thought about what it would feel like to allow his fingers to follow the trail of her blush, to brush lightly across her shoulders, then up to her face. To see if his fingertips could decipher any minute temperature change as her skin went from fresh cream to sweet spring blossom in less than two seconds.
His thoughts were interrupted, though, somewhat violently, as the red came closer, filling his vision. His impulse should have been to step back as from an assault, but Gilbert had been attacked by Anne on a number of fronts since the day they met, and he never quite saw her coming.
He couldn’t be wary of clashing with Anne even if he wanted to be. It seemed his destiny to crash against this beautiful, passionate girl. He would stand his ground and take his lumps, however she saw fit to dole them out.
Anne’s single step forward had placed her exactly toe-to-toe with Gilbert, her eyes wild, hair waving behind her in the spring breeze. Her chest rose and fell rapidly in what he assumed to be an all-consuming anger, and Gilbert held his own breath, eyes wide, as he awaited her outburst.
And, well, she gave it to him, alright.
Time slowed to a crawl as Gilbert watched Anne raise her arms to grab his face, palms on his cheeks and splayed fingers straying into the dark, curling hair around his ears. She seemed to pause only long enough to lift her fire-filled eyes from his lips to his eyes.
Looking into Anne’s passion-fueled eyes set him instantly ablaze, like a lit match to dry tinder. The heat from her internal inferno started in his stomach and spread rapidly to consume his entire body. Every nerve, every molecule was alight with sensation. She was so close. His hands went out to her hips of their own accord, as much to steady her approach as to increase the feeling of burning for her.
He felt her weight shift slightly forward as she stood tiptoe to bring her face even closer to his. She paused again, her eyes breaking their hold on his as she moved them back down to his lips.
He felt his traitorous fingers, now reaping benefits never before dreamed of from their earlier clumsiness, tighten around her frame. They cried out to him to roam - to caress, cradle, consume the girl that was finally in their clutches - but their will was nothing. Nothing could distract his thoughts from the eyes that were filling his vision, their focus on his own parted lips, and on the sudden fire that made him feel as though he would burn up and become nothing but ash and desire floating on the breeze when she was finished.
And then, she kissed him.
Her lips came down hard on his - all of the anger and embarrassment and frustration and electric energy she had been trying to contain when he had happened upon her rehearsal in the schoolhouse unleashed in her lips on his. This was the kiss equivalent to a slate to the side of the head; Anne teaching Gilbert Blythe once and for all not to ever, ever humiliate her again.
Gilbert felt like he would have been knocked clean off of his feet if he hadn’t been holding onto this girl,his girl, the only girl, tightly. He felt her passion in the hard press of her lips to his, and he took his beating gladly.
When they broke apart, both of their chests were heaving. They locked eyes across the inches of space now between them, and Gilbert recognized that the all-consuming fire had left her eyes. He searched the large, grey orbs to try to decipher the feeling in them now, but she was suddenly a complete mystery to him.
What was she feeling? What was she thinking? The only coherent thought being shouted on a loop in his head was, “Kiss her again! Don’t let go! Kiss her again!”
Her fingers moved against his head (was she tousling the ends of his curls?), and her eyes, her enormous, shining eyes, moved once more to his lips, her head tilting to the side, almost as if she was thinking something that made her feel curious.
Gilbert froze entirely this time - stopped breathing, stopped thinking. He was caught in her spell and he no longer cared what happened to him. Let him die from lack of oxygen, right here, right now, before he move a single muscle and scare this wood nymph from his arms.
Anne drew her face close to his once again, and this time her lips met his with tenderness beyond measure. Her head tilted toward the other shoulder and she leaned her weight onto his chest. Her hands moved to the back of his head, drawing him even closer - it was this movement that brought the statue who was formerly Gilbert Blythe back to life.
His hands moved up the small of her back and held her close, his arms enclosing her entire frame. His lips, too, began to move. His kisses ranged from her wanting lips - first both, then top, then bottom, then bottom again, with a sucking-while-kissing movement that made her sigh sweetly, which made him groan softly, which made her grip him even closer - down her cheek and onto her jaw. He longed to kiss every inch of her beautiful, slender neck, and back again. He could have kissed all of her, forever.
This was the height of existence. Gilbert had no doubts about it. This was all he wanted, all that his ambition amounted to. He would win this woman’s love if it was the last thing he did.
He slowed his endearments as he moved back to her mouth, pressing his lips to hers sweetly, infusing every ounce of feeling he had within him into his final, tender kiss.
Their lips hovered close together for a breathless moment as they both opened their eyes slowly. Anne was the first to take a small step backward, her eyes locked on his as they each panted quietly in synchronized movements.
Gilbert’s hands slowly fell. He could feel their wanting - wanting to reach out, keep her close, never, ever let go - but he schooled their actions at last as they came to rest at his sides.
He opened his mouth to speak, to declare every word written upon his heart to her. To tell her that he loved her, had loved her, would continue to love her for all of his days. He opened his lips to tell her exactly what she meant to him, how desired and vital and loved - wholly and irrevocably loved - she was. To win her to him forever.
Gilbert took a deep breath, and as he pressed his own two lips together to form the first of the tidal wave of words he was about to pour over her…
Anne turned on her heel and ran away.