So this is sort of odd... It got stuck in my head, though, and I had to write it. I couldn't even focus on my History book. (Not that it's difficult to distract me from that...) But I wrote it.

So, yep. Here's my first sort-of-fic with the SethxJane pairing. Which has never been done before (at least not on this website) I definitely don't expect a big response, but if you like it, you could tell me...Thanks.


He Loves Her


She knows she'll be back, and what's worse, he knows it, too. He doesn't even try to stop her from leaving anymore, other than asking her to stay. He pleads with his eyes, because he can't stand even one second away from her. "Don't go."

She hates doing this. She hates knowing that she's so dependant on him. He's like her own brand of heroin, always available. She wants to quit. But she can't. She needs her fix—a stolen kiss in the hallway, in the back of the classroom, at his house, whatever. Wherever.

They only kiss—she's not keen on losing her virginity to someone she doesn't even love. Even if she can tell that he loves her. She can see it in his eyes, in the tender way he holds her. But she can't return it, so she doesn't acknowledge it.

She wants to love him, so bad. But all she feels is lust, desire, addiction. And she hates it.

She doesn't understand how it got this far. They aren't even friends! How did she ever end up in this position? She hasn't even had a boyfriend—Seth doesn't count; he's more like a friend (no, acquaintance) with benefits. Who just so happens to love her, but she can't help that.

She's demanding. Lusty. Angry. And taking it out on him.

The worse thing is that he lets her.

But it feels so right, so good. Why can't she love him?

He's asked her out a few times, but she pretends to be busy. She ends up with him, anyway, appearing on his doorstep and asking him if he's doing anything.

He never is, because he knows she'll come. He always knows.

She wishes she knew why she couldn't just say yes. Isn't that what she wants? To be with him? It's what he wants, too. She wants him to be happy. So why can't she just say yes?

She's afraid, but she refuses to admit it.

So she slinks back to him, pleading, begging, demanding.

And he accepts her every time. He loves her.

He loves her.

"Please, Jane. Don't go"

"I have to." He has to understand. He has to.

He looks like he does—he drops the arm he grabbed to stop her, lowering his eyes.

She can't bear the look of pain that crosses his face. The look she's caused so many times.

So she takes his hand, and he looks up at her, hopeful. "I have to go," she reiterates. "But will you come with me?"

And he will. Because he loves her.

He loves her.