Fallen Bicycle (Part 1/2), an Austin and Ally two-shot/

I do not own Austin and Ally. Naada wanted something based off of "Won't Say I'm in Love," so here's my interpretation. Review!

Overall, she'd like to think that she's good at judgment. It's just, there's those moments where she hasn't made the best of choices.

When she was six, she bit off a large chunk of jalapeno. It was hot, tears running down her cheeks.

Then at age twelve, she had trusted that her friend had checked both ways before crossing the street. The car slammed on the brakes, honking at her. Tears had formed out of pure fear.

This time when she makes the bad judgment, she's not going to cry.

No matter how hard she wants to cry her heart out.

Which is very hard. Like concrete hard.

But this time she refuses to cry. She is not going to waste her tears. She's going to buck up, and smile so wide her eyes shut.

If they shut, the tears can't escape.

There's no reason to hide it. The door is closed, and she's tucked underneath her covers. They form a cocoon over her. And maybe when she comes out, she can be a beautiful butterfly.

Butterflies can't cry, can they?

It is perfectly natural to cry over love. There are too many things that can go wrong. You could fall for someone who loves someone else. That someone else could be dating them. You could fall for someone who doesn't love you back. You could fall for someone who loves you back, but then takes it all away. Or they let you keep the love, with the sole stipulation that its the love of friends. Friends who can't push boundaries for fear of what will happen when you break up, because that's the way the world works.

You fall in love, only to get your heart broken.

Does it always have to be like that?

Can't you fall in love, and stay in love, happily ever after until the world ends, with them right by your side?

Sure you can. That's why she won't cry. She's not going to dwell on the present. One day there'll be Prince Charming, riding in on his steed, in shining armor to whisk her away.

There's one tiny detail that gets under her skin. It shouldn't aggravate her as much as it does. Only on her list of pros and cons (her mental list, because she is not letting him get his hands on it) it's a major pro. Pros are supposed to make her feel better about this situation she's found herself in.

He's single.

There's not a girl holding him back anymore. There's no reason she can't ask him out and have him say 'Why yes, I believe I'm free Thursday afternoon if you'd like to make my acquaintance at the theater.' Except most boys don't speak like that. He'd say something more along the lines of 'Sure, sounds great. How about Thursday?'

Actually, if what she's picturing in her head is anywhere near correct, he'd say 'You're kidding right?'

There are many worse case scenarios. But with him being a nice guy, she doubts he'd tell her he'd rather lick the seat of a hobo's pants than hold her hand. He doesn't have a problem holding her hand. He does it all the time.

What he doesn't do is kiss her on the mouth and tell her that she means all the earth and heaven to him.

She could settle for meaning Miami to him.

She pulls her knees up to her chest. This is all too cliché. Falling in love with your best friend is what she had told herself she wouldn't do. She wouldn't fall for his kind eyes, a perfectly flopping hair. She hadn't even thought about it until he read about Dallas in her book.

Now she can't stop thinking about it.

Why can't they go back to those times? The times where she would bumble over her words with her crush, and he'd just be her best friend who comforted her at her failed attempts. He can't comfort her about being an idiot around him.

If she's being honest, that's already happened. Not her dancing around, or saying things that sound funnier in her head than out. It's the bruise from when she punched him as her 'pal,' or the way she dodged his hug when they were at the beach because she didn't need to feel his bare stomach against her.

When Kira broke up with him, and he came looking for someone to hug (that someone being her, despite the fact that Dez was closer) she did hug him. And even with his shirt on, it was hard. She didn't let go.

Funny, neither did he.

She could brush it off to him being upset about the breakup. Her reason had yet to be written.

Hiding this crush can be so hard.

If her heart would stop doing so many flips, maybe it could think straight. She could get a grip on this situation. Her grip would be so tight she could choke it into nonexistence.

Stop being such a gymnast heart. She gets that you can flip. Now be a responsible body organ and get her blood pumping to her brain instead of her cheeks. Enough embarrassment. She wants to think logically about why she fell for him.

There's a difference between when she realized it and when it happened. From that moment on the blanket where she first realized it, she had backtracked. Waiting in line for the salami she had been slammed with memories of all the little things he had done for her.

Even if she got in line when they opened shop and she stayed until close she wouldn't be able to name them all.

It had happened far before then. She wouldn't say it was the day they met. When they met she was bothered and disgusted and in authoritative Ally mode. But sometime, perhaps the first time their hands touched, she had felt a spark. One that had been written off as her tired body playing tricks on her.

Her body could be playing tricks on her again. The whole blanket thing could be a fluke. Seeing him be the perfect boyfriend for someone else had touched the romantic in her.

It's time for her to grow up and stop believing in sparks. Sparks have to fizzle eventually. She needs to find someone who keeps her heart light. A heavy heart can't stay afloat.

There wasn't a point where she ever denied having the crush. However, she has denied giving the crush life. She won't give it the satisfaction of letting him know, by words or actions.

Nor will she give it the satisfaction of one tear.

There's a voice narking at her in her head. It sounds like Trish, pushing her to give in. Sometimes you have to lose to win. If she loses her fear, if she loses the war of hiding the crush, she can win the reward of his requited love.

Is it possible to hire another voice to combat that one? One who can argue for her, because she's tired of fighting back.

Yet here she lays, wide awake in bed.

The doorbell rings. She uncurls herself and opens her door. Making her way to the entrance, she checks herself out in the mirror. One of the tears has managed to escape.

Fine, he gets one tear. One tear that'll get wiped away with the bottom of her tee shirt before she answers the door.

Unlocking the door, her mouth drops. It's late (well, later than she usually sees him anyhow), and there he is, standing on her stoop. He tugs her out with him.

His lips find hers. It's dark out, with the faint glow of the house light, but he does it with such ease. There's no 'Hi Ally,' or 'Can we talk?' or 'Would you come out for a moment?' It's tug and connect, like two magnets being attracted to each other.

There's no steed and shining armor prince to whisk her away. It's Austin, in his silver jacket, bicycle fallen over in the lawn.

Somehow that's better.