NOTES: So. I got the idea for this this afternoon while reading a Harry Potter fanfic ... yeah, weird. Just a cute little drabble with little to no substance and large amounts of fluff. Yay.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, etc., etc., etc.

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Hey lady, got the love I need,
Maybe more than enough.
- Over the Hills and Far Away / Led Zeppelin

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“Steven?” Jackie’s voice cuts through my thoughts. It’s a warm July night, and we’re sitting on my cot, her head resting in my lap.

“What, Jackie?” I ask, just managing to keep the annoyance out of my voice. It’s late, and I am tired and just want to go to sleep, having only not done so because it’s quiet and comfortable, and I’m in no position to complain that I have a girl’s head on my lap.

“Why do you love me?”

Inwardly, I groan. Ever since Kelso got us back together, she’s been driving me nuts with her, “Steven, do you love me?” and “Steven, how do you really feel about me?” and “Steven, tell me you love me.” It’s getting incredibly frustrating, because every time I ignore her, or just respond with an answer she obviously doesn’t want to hear, I’m treated with a swift kick in the shins and the silent treatment for at least half a day. And although not having her talking to me is a great rest, when Jackie isn’t talking to me, she also refuses any sort of contact with me. Which kind of sucks.

I absently grab a piece of her hair, and started playing with it, seriously considering answering her question. The way I see it is that if I answer this one (which isn’t nearly as bad as, “Steven, tell me you love me”), I may get into her good books for a while. Which is generally a bonus. And the question wasn’t even that bad - for her, anyways. Plus, if I answer, she’ll stay agreeable, rather than just nag at me for the next twenty minutes.

I open my mouth to say something, then close it again. She’s staring up at me, expectantly, though I’m sure that she’s sure I’m going to ultimately disappoint. God, why do I love her?

And before I can stop it, my thoughts have run away on me. I hate thoughts. They’ll attack you from behind when you least expect it, and that’s exactly what just happened. All of a sudden, I’m thinking about how she feels pressed up against me when we dance. And how she’s just the perfect height. And how she’s so soft and warm. How she’s so corny and extravagant, but so damn cute. How she plays with my hair just before we fall asleep. How she kisses me. How she’s everything that I’m not.

“Steven? Why do you love me?” She’s repeating herself.

Like hell I’ll admit all that to her. I can hardly admit that to myself. But I know she wants and answer.

Embarrassed, I just shrug, hoping that maybe it’ll be enough. But she remains silent, and I realize it’s not. I just have to tell her something, anything that I’d rather not say is what she really wants to hear. Just do it, I tell myself. Just get it over with.

“Because …” I begin, before hesitating. Just do it, I think again, remembering that if I say this, Jackie will be happy. And when Jackie’s happy, I’m not too miserable. “Because you’re warm. And soft,” I add as an afterthought.

She wrinkled her eyebrows. “You love me because I’m warm and soft?” she asked. “Why don’t you just get a dog?”

I groan. It’s never enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have said exactly that, but still. It’s better than she expected.

“Steven, I want a proper answer.”

Despite every part of my brain screaming at me to not do it, to just defy her again for trying to force me to do something I don’t want to, I lean down and whisper, “Because you love me.”

And though she could throw the dog thing right back into my face, she doesn’t. Because even when she’s demanding more, she understands me, and we both know it.

Maybe now I can get some sleep.