A/N: Yeah, I'm writing this. It's the prequel to "Give Me Reasons," and it's based just about a month before that takes place.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I could buy Milo Ventimiglia on EBay I would, but unfortunately that is not possible. And therefore, I own nothing.

However, I did alter the reference in the end – only slightly. Very slightly.

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And every time I look at you I can't explain, I feel insane, I can't get away.

You're staring at me like I've lost my mind. Quite possibly, I have. That seems to be a fleeting thought whenever I'm around you anymore.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Jess," I'm whining. I don't care. Your expression softens a little but you still give me the same answer.

"No."

"Why not?" I huff, plopping down on one of the stools at the counter. You smirk.

"I don't do these stupid town things," you shrug, wiping down the counter. I glare at you for a moment.

"Jess, it's the fourth of July festival. We'll go, we'll watch the fireworks, and we'll leave. That's it."

"Why are you so determined to make me go to this thing?"

I pause. I don't have an honest answer to that question.

"Is Bag Boy busy?"

I can hear the bitter tone in your voice. I cringe.

"No, actually, I didn't ask Dean."

It's your turn to pause. You stare at me for a second, indifferent expression never faltering.

"One condition," you said quietly. I grin.

"Name it."

"We have a movie night tonight. And I get to pick the movie."

I smile warmly at you and you smirk.

"Done."

You move from behind the counter and go to bust the table of an older couple that just left. I watch you for a moment before catching myself and going back to drinking my coffee.

I keep slipping up lately.

It's a bad habit to be falling into.

"Luke, I'm leaving!" you shout towards the kitchen, tossing your rag onto the counter and locking eyes with me for a moment.

"What time is it?" he replies as he comes back into the room.

"Five," you say shortly, pointing at the clock. He sighs.

"Go," he concedes. I smile at him and hop down from my stool, following you out the door.

We walk in silence to the video store, close to each other but not touching. Never touching. It would break our agreement.

Our unspoken agreement, the one that simply forces us both to refrain from any physical interaction whatsoever. The one that keeps us from losing control.

But we still approach that line sometimes.

The line between friendship and more.

The line between flirty banter and serious development.

It's a very, very thin line.

"Almost Famous?" I ask incredulously when you hold up the box. "Jess, no, we've seen that like four times in the past two weeks," I whine.

"What was our agreement?"

The unspoken one or the other one?

"You get to pick the movie," I mumble. You nod.

"I'll make you another deal, Ror." I look up at you.

"If you watch this with me again, I'll watch Willy Wonka with you," you smirk. I smile.

"Much better," I giggle and run off to retrieve the film.

I return a moment later and you pay, fighting off my objections and leading me out the door towards Doose's for candy.

"You get the popcorn, I'll get the sugar," I grin. You laugh and shake your head, walking towards the aisle.

"Hey," a familiar voice whispers in my ear. I jump slightly and turn around.

"Hi, Dean," I smile, trying to act cheerful. I catch your gaze out of the corner of my eye and make an imperceptible nod that only you understand.

'Don't interrupt. I'll take care of this. Then we can go.'

You nod and continue on your way to the popcorn.

"Movie night?" he asks, referring to the bag in my hand. I nod. "What are tonight's selections?"

"Almost Famous and Willy Wonka." He looks confused for a moment.

"Almost Famous? I thought you hated that movie."

"I've grown fonder of it as of late," I reply easily. He nods.

"Right. Are we going to the festival tomorrow?" I shake my head. He furrows his brow.

"I'm going with my mom. It's tradition," I shrug. He nods again.

"Ok. I'll see you later then?" It's my turn to nod. He kisses my forehead and returns to stacking shelves. I sigh and move over to the candy aisle, loading my arms with Pixie Sticks, Red Vines, M&M's, and Hershey's Kisses.

You're waiting outside for me by the time I'm done arguing with Taylor over the price of candy. Dean looks out the window as I leave and glares at the scene. I ignore it.

I smile at you and you inquire as to what I bought. Nodding in approval at my choices, we start walking towards my house.

We arrive a few minutes later and you graciously open the door for me.

"My mom should be home around ten, so if we start now we should finish both movies by then." You nod and step past me into the living room.

………

"Want a kiss?" I ask absentmindedly as I hold out one of the chocolate candies to you. You raise an eyebrow. I blush furiously. "You know what I mean," I mumble while you take the candy from me, laughing.

"Not that I'd be complaining if you meant it the other way…"

My heart skips a beat. I groan inwardly and risk looking at you. You're staring at me intently. I involuntarily shiver when I see the way the lamp light illuminates the contours of your face, bringing the defined line of your jaw into my focus.

I'm slipping up.

And that's a bad habit to fall into.

But for some reason I'm starting to care less and less about bad habits.

My mother says you're a bad habit. I defend you until the topic has been beaten so badly that she gives up and promises that she trusts my judgment.

"Jess," I sigh, looking warmly at you. You nod.

"I know," you whisper. I bite my lip for a second before deciding on my next move. I sit up and slide across the couch, resting my head in your lap.

Your fingers are sliding through my hair now. I smile softly at the gesture.

Maybe that unspoken agreement of ours should be demolished.

I don't have to lose control around you.

You manage to keep me grounded; even when I'm slipping up.

"You made my song take wind," I whisper.

You lean down and press a gentle, chaste kiss to my temple.

"Phantom of the Opera," you reply. I smile and turn to look up at you.

"Yeah," I continue to whisper, trying desperately to get around the lump in my throat.

"Good movie," you say nonchalantly. I smile again.

"Good book."

"Good story," you decide finally. I giggle and nod in agreement.

I'm slipping.

Slipping often leads to falling.

Maybe slipping is a good thing.

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A/N #2: Again, that didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it to but oh well. This whole concept just sort of randomly appeared in my head, so I can't expect too much.

Reviews are love!