A/N: I don't write holiday stuff. That's just not in my nature. However, I'm feelin' the love today, even as I am an avid member of the unofficial Lonely Hearts Club. So, I wrote a fanfic. I'm actually going to be writing another Valentine's Day themed fanfic soon, too. I don't know why. But here it is. My 2013 Valentine's Day Jella fanfic. By the way, "Constant Conversations" is a fantastic song.
If there's a bump in the road yeah you fix it / but for me I'll just run off the road
But tonight you've got me cornered, and I haven't got a place to go
Passion Pit, "Constant Conversations"
Today is Valentine's Day.
Yeah, I can't believe it myself.
Just like you said, it truly is the fourteenth of February. In the real world, this is important to everybody, simply because everybody's had a taste of love, no matter how big or small, ranging from a slight crush to lifetime commitment. Love is a crazy, addicting thing—once you experience something that sweet, that fucking poignant, you can't get enough. Valentine's Day is like a free bar. Everybody gets a taste and everybody uses it up. It's a fake holiday in the real world.
Once love is over, though, that's a different story. It takes away even less purpose. Valentine's Day is simply nothing to me now. It's merely a day on the calendar. I am frozen. I am still. Nothing matters to me, let alone a fake, cheesy holiday.
I did use to have little fantasies about this day… fantasies of spending them with Edward. Those fantasies came crashing down, though. Of course they did. Nothing goes right with me, anyway. Now I'm stuck with you and an almost-finished Volkswagen Rabbit. Broken hearts, a somewhat repaired car… it works. Just no more bikes. One thing holds us together right now, though, and it's a small box. It's a stupid, small, pink box of conversation hearts. I really shouldn't care about this box, since I've seen only a trillion of them since I was five years old and receiving valentines from everyone (because it was mandatory) every year until the sixth grade. This box is different, however. It is, Jake. And you know why?
It's from you.
It also makes me feel absolutely terrible. Worse than any five-year-old could ever feel.
If only I knew I had to give you a tacky box of nasty-tasting sweetheart candies, I would have. I would have given you two of them. That's the least I could do. I feel like a complete asshole standing here now, as I've given you nothing. Not a damn thing. And it's not even today's date that hits me.
It's that I've given you nothing since I came to you in pieces, just like the bikes. I've never been one to seek safety in strangers (is that what we were?), but I couldn't help myself. I imagine how I was back then, and it sucks because I still haven't changed much. I've given you nothing to work with—I'm like a doll, just to sit here and nod occasionally and murmur the occasional "uh-huhs" since there's nothing for me to contribute to the conversation (it's like I'm ignoring you, really), when in reality, I love you. I adore you. I can't even leave you alone.
Can you hear that through the frantic beats of my heart?
I love you.
I fucking love you.
Am I in love? I don't know. Do I love you? Of course I do. There's a fine line between both of the concepts, but I know for sure that I love you.
I love you so damn much, and I couldn't even be bothered to buy you a box of conversation hearts. They can't possibly mean that much to you—you've probably gotten candies with "Be Mine" or "Call Me" or "My Baby" just as much as I have—but it would mean a lot for me to actually do something.
So maybe a box of lame hearts isn't good enough. I mean, of course, you'd accept it since I know that you love me, but that's not good enough for me to give to you. Love is still a crazy thing—I'm pulled in now. I want to be an active member in a way. My sappy, romantic heart aches to realize that I haven't given you a thing in the world, whether it's physical or emotional. I need to. I can't remain frozen like this.
This isn't just an ordinary day anymore.
The box of conversation hearts burns in my hand as we make our way to your garage from where we were, and I am sure—no, I am positive—that I can't leave this alone. You like to fix things, and even as I'm broken, I'm still broken beyond repair. I also run away. I'm a coward in that way. Running is my only way to seek safety when my feelings come caving in, and I'm about to double over in exhilaration as I realize this. I've been hiding from your gestures, and that is easily the most selfish thing I've done.
I don't want to be selfish any longer.
I have nowhere to run, and I don't want to run. I don't want to run from your tight hugs or your secure grasps of my hand. I like it. I love it.
Call me love-drunk, but I might want to kiss you.
Your lips are all I can stare at as you carry on the regular business, adding the finishing touches to the Rabbit. I have no idea what you're doing, but I hand you the items you need like I do. Your full, lush lips move sensually. I almost feel like I'll harm them if I touch them—they're that perfect. You're that perfect.
I'm already taking big risks by being here. I'm already so tainted and flawed—I don't want you to be like me. We're the unofficial Lonely Hearts Club (we'd be official if we got jackets), but I don't want to be lonely anymore. I'm only just doing something now.
I hope you know how lucky I am to have you, Jake.
Valentine's Day is a bitch, I swear. Look at me—I'm admitting my feelings to myself! Now, if I can just admit them to the person that the words belong to, I'll be golden. I'll be happy and bubbly and perfect. I'll be someone worthy of the legendary box of conversation hearts.
I rip open the box of hearts somewhere in the middle of a conversation (is that what this is?) about what happened at school to you the other day, and you laugh.
"What?" I ask.
"At first I thought you didn't like them," you admit with a grin. It's a trademark grin that I'll never forget. "I wouldn't blame you, though; they're not that good."
"Sweethearts are okay," I reply. "I guess I've gotten used to the taste." I pop one of the hearts into my mouth and I immediately know that what I last said was a lie. The heart is disgusting. Anything sweet is disgusting these days. Anything edible is, really. I can't remember the last time I really found food that appealing. Now, it's sort of just… there. That's a different issue for a different day, though.
"Toss me one?" you offer. I tilt the box against my hand and a couple of hearts slide out. I lightly chuck two of them at you (they're stuck together) and you catch them with ease into your large hand. You look down at the hearts, separate them, and laugh again.
I don't get what's so funny about the hearts since nobody really pays attention to the sayings, anyway. "What do they say?" I ask.
"'Nice Body' and 'Do Me.'"
I feel myself blushing deeply. I probably look like a tomato. "They don't print those messages on these kinds of candies," I murmured pathetically.
"C'mon and take a look," you suggest. "See for yourself."
I get up from my spot on the toolbox I was sitting on and make my way to you. I notice just how much taller you are than me at this moment. It's almost scary, but very nice. It makes me feel secure and protected. I take the hearts out of your hands to see the messages for myself. They really do read "Nice Body" and "Do Me." It's not like they're not true; you really do have a nice body (not like I've seen it uncovered, I mean), and I'm not particularly ready for you to do me, but that honestly doesn't sound like a horrible idea. (Am I a whore for that? I don't know… Are you willing?)
"Oh," I say bluntly.
"Well, it's all fair in Valentine's Day spirit, of course," you tell me. I love that about you, Jake. You never make me feel bad. You never make me feel guilty, even when things are completely my fault. It's not like you're lying, though—you're just covering up the bad. I need anything but the bad.
"I guess since I'm your valentine," I say after taking a deep breath, "then you'll have to be mine."
You grin. "Alright. And what do I owe you?"
"I don't know," I reply honestly. Everything. A lifetime of dedication. "Just don't ever leave me, okay?" is what I eventually ask. "I mean, I know I sound… needy, but I kind of am, you know? And I know this is a lot, but… just don't go, alright? I couldn't take it if you did. Okay?" Yeah, all I really did was ask questions. I, the hot mess, am being messy. Of course.
Your grin fades because you see that I'm serious. I am one-hundred percent serious.
And so are you.
"Oh, honey, I'll never give up on you." Then you pull me in for a hug. Your hugs make everything better—no doubts about that. I can't let you go now, though. I embrace you more than you could embrace me, and I linger. I sway a little bit and I clear my mind. I just want to feel this—feel you. I am breathing. I am living.
I am thawing.
My hands are at your neck, and I can't bear to let you go. I can't. It's just not possible. I breathe into your covered torso, and I know you may feel awkward as fuck, but I don't care. I want this. I need this.
I need you.
Love is a terrible, powerful thing. Love is also a double-edged sword; it can cause great happiness, or great suffering. Everybody knows that. I'm a gushy, ridiculous, absolutely absurd romantic, but I can live with that. Only this time, I know that my love won't leave. This is natural. This is real. I may be a total idiot, but I'm not going to soar into the clouds this time. Not again. I'm not going to dash through the air and reach impossible heights only to be catapulted down to depressing lows, and I'm not going to freeze when it's all over.
I am going to thaw. I am going to be human. (And yes, I am going to be your valentine—every single day of the year.)
I can totally believe it now. It makes more sense than anything. It's just a fact. And you know something? I can also imagine us being like this every day. Ordinarily, if I can't feel or see love on the other three-hundred sixty-four days of the year, then I can't see it today either. Today I feel love, though.
Today is Valentine's Day.