Disclaimer: No. Just no. That is all.
A/N: And here is officially the randomest (oh, so a word =P) thing I have ever written. Half an hour. Song I liked on the radio. Annoyance with IO. And here we are. ;-) This kind of writing is very new for me but… It was fun to do. I'd love to hear what you think. (Please read the pre-summary thing to clear up the background of this.)
To Christie, because she's crazy and she's awesome. To Elise, because she is simply wonderful and a fantastic beta. To Lia, because she is amazing. And to all my friends. ((hugs)) I am so lucky to be a lit. Even if you aren't anymore or can't be around, I miss you and you rock no matter where you are.
Pre-summary: He ran away in your senior year. And after years passed and contact was regained and the gap was partially bridged, he came back to New York, where you had just moved, and he stayed with you when he got there and everything went far too fast. You're used to being perfect and untouchable. You are not a city girl, and this is nothing but a crazy mess (you don't know what to do). You just fought last night, about 24 hours ago, and it seems like it's been forever. Show him, show yourself…you can be whoever, just because you want to be.
Watch the way he looks at you.
You can't tell what he's thinking and you're so damn scared, but you know he must be thinking something. Suddenly he's moving forward, toward you, getting too close, and you forget whether you have had anything to drink, but the way you're barely suppressing a giggle suggests that you have.
You never act this way.
And nothing, nothing is even going to happen—this is a public place, a restaurant, a bar. But his eyes make you feel giddy and helpless, and you think you can feel him touching you, sliding his hand down your arm.
It feels fantastic and when he starts to move away you grab his wrist and you smile. It's a ridiculous smile, one you aren't used to using, but you think maybe you'll need it to make him stay and when he presses against you, you are glad you did.
You are so high on life—nothing unnatural, because you don't do that sort of thing—that you don't want to sit down or talk or apologize and you think this is the way things will be from now on. And somehow, you don't mind.
He knows you will, soon enough, and that's probably why he's cautious.
That's love, isn't it, that's love.
You love him too.
He guides you along the sidewalk but he doesn't know where to go because he's just moved back here three days ago, from someplace else (you haven't asked), even though for one of those days he was staying with you. You don't know where he's been till now, but you don't think you care, because he doesn't seem to. All you know is that the fight is over, and you are okay because his arm is safely around your back and you're smiling at him.
And you're not helpless, or anything. He's just there, because for once, as much as you hate needing anyone, you need him and it's alright.
He remembers where your apartment is, and he gets you into his car, and he drives there, quicker than the speed limit but everyone is so it doesn't make a difference. He parks haphazardly, and as you get out you feel off balance and you don't know if it's the drink or the fact that one wheel is on the curb. You make your way around the car and he's standing on the sidewalk, waiting, and now you seem to feel the alcohol in your veins, coursing through everything you say and do and you're losing control and why did you do something so stupid?
But he's there, right there, and he holds you up, and you're glad he's there. Not that someone is there, that anyone is there, but that he is.
You think the fight was stupid and right now you don't remember what it was about. But that isn't important, because he's here and he doesn't look mad and he came to you first, didn't he?
It must have been your fault but maybe it was his and something you said floats through your mind, something referring to drinking and doing nothing else, something referring to not caring, and you couldn't have (ever) hated him, you hypocrite.
He kisses you gently and you respond and you think he's probably used to the taste of alcohol. You are grateful for this and for him and for everything, because this is what you need and now you're sure of that. He kisses you again, and you lean against his shoulder, and then suddenly he stops and stands straight and he helps you up the stairs. You don't need help but you let him do it, because maybe you're wrong and you do need help, and then maybe this is a good way to heal the wounds you've already cut. He cut back, but you understand, and all the anger has dissipated now.
Your apartment looks different somehow and you feel dizzy and you step away from him and sink into a chair. He sits beside you, looking like he doesn't know how to handle the situation anymore. You try to smile, try to reassure him that you're fine and you appreciate it, but things are starting to spin in front of you and for the first time you see what it's like to have double vision. There are two sofas and two tables and two TVs, but as he steps in front of you and looks directly into your eyes, there is still only one Jess and god, you're glad.
He asks if you're okay and you don't know the answer, and he nods, and you guess he has probably been in this situation himself. Then you realize he probably had no one to take him home and probably didn't want anyone either, and you promise yourself that you will be there if he needs you, even though you know he won't.
You awkwardly stand up, because you're no longer seeing double but now you feel sick, and he tells you to sit down and he gets you a glass of water. You stare out the window, and the night sky is beginning to fade to light blue, and you realize you've been out all night and you feel like a disaster.
You drink the water he hands you and you set the glass down on the table with a louder crack than you expect as plastic hits wood. He looks like he wants to touch you but doesn't know how, and softly he lays a hand on yours. You look at the floor and you think you've ruined everything, although you can't figure out why you think that.
He stands and he moves toward the hall, and you watch him, and then you get up too. You try to act steady but you're nowhere near that, and he knows you want help but you don't want him to help you because you're tired of feeling helpless, and he waits.
And you meet him there, and you lead the way to the bedroom. You slip under the covers and he paces for a moment that he will deny for the rest of your lives, and then he kicks off his shoes and gets in too.
You curl up to him and he rubs your back and eventually you fall asleep.
And now you think you know the city life, even if you don't really, and somehow you aren't so scared.
And you were wrong about what love is but now you know, and maybe it's here, maybe it's you and him, maybe that's love.
And you are going to be so sick tomorrow and you can feel the headache creeping up already, and it's awful, and you feel stupid.
And everything is fine.