AN: Trying a new style. Bear with me here. I most likely screwed up parts.

Dont own. Anything.


Three times now. Three times and you know you should talk about it. Three times of intoxication and crossing the boundaries. Every time you see her, there is always that split-second look, that feeling in the pit of your stomach, then the knowledge that, no, it must not be brought up. Things mustn't change.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

A feeling of soft anticipation

Another confrontation I won't make

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

The first time, it was quick and innocent. You and the other's were out for a drink, to put a high on what had been a black hole of a week. You're job was often depressing and morbid, so witty remarks and trivial spats with your extended family became your way to cushion your life. Away from your job, with the added benefit of alcohol running through your blood, you're able to be more open, the issues of work pushed to the back of your mind.

You were tipsy. She was tipsy. They were tipsy. Glances that used to last a half second now lingered, everyone else distracted, no one else caring what their co-workers were looking at. You sidle up to her, making a chauvinistic joke that she is well used to by now. She scoffs at you, something that you are also used to. You notice her drink is empty and offer to buy her a new one. She remarks that it sounds like a line. You tell her it is. You notice a faint blush creep up her neck, but know that it might not mean anything. After all, alcohol does that to you. She allows you to buy her the drink and the two of you fling back quick comments all night, existentially flirting. Your hand comes into contact with her more often now, and she doesn't mind. Instead, she seems to welcome it, often reciprocating it.

You know this shouldn't be happening, that you'd be breaking million rules, not just spoken ones, but the unspoken as well. But you let the alcohol do the thinking and lean in closer, talking softly, so she leans in as well. The smile, the hair, the eyes, the semi-dimples she gets, make you more intoxicated then your beer and you wonder briefly if you would dare to do this if you both weren't drunk.

That thought is quickly erased from your mind as she beats you to the punch and presses her lips against yours. Your hands instinctively cup her face as hers rest on your chest. She tastes like raspberry and vodka and Maltesers. An odd combination. Your mind can't begin to comprehend what she's thinking.

The moment is soon over; you each pull away and look at each other. She gets up off her stool quickly; you down the rest of your drink and run your hand through your hair. The moment is gone, and you both avoid it the rest of the night.

The seed has already been planted and you know neither will truly forget.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Run, run, holding on to some pieces that you left behind

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

You know she has a boyfriend now. But you can see it in her eyes, the way she talks about it, there's something not right with being with him. Sure, she talks him up, but that's the point. Why feel the need to talk someone up if you're meant to be happy with just the way they are? It's cliché, sure, but that seed inside of you is fuelled by the thought that her heart isn't truly into it.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

While he's letting you in
You've got the feeling you've been followed under your skin
It will be weighing on your shoulder, believe it.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Then it happens a second time. Her boyfriend cheated on her. Her car has broken down. It's raining. It all has the makings of a cheesy chick-flick. You offer her a ride home; after all, it's on the way. The car ride is carried out in an anxious silence. She stares out of the window determinedly and a smile tugs at your lips. You park in front of her complex and wait for her to talk. She offers a quick thankyou and gets out of the car, getting completely drenched as she makes her way to the entrance.

Even though she's been gone for five minutes, you're still sitting in the car, watching as the rain runs down the windows of your car. Then you notice it. Her PDA. The thing that is permanently attached to her is sitting innocently on the passenger seat.

You grab it, get out of the car, become saturated and deliver it to her.

She opens the door, eyes sparking with unshed tears, a glass of wine in hand, but still drenched to the bone. You lean against the doorframe and give her back her PDA. She has never seemed as small and vulnerable as she does now and you give her a hug. You feel her body become limp against yours and you take the wine glass out of her hand and place is on the ledge. You close the door with your foot and hug it out. Then you express your opinion on the ex. She lets out a short laugh and you're glad that even the little stupid things that come out of your mouth are able to get that response.

Then she admits something. She didn't love him. And he didn't love her. But it still hurt like hell. You ask her why she didn't love him. She says she doesn't know. And the way she says is makes you believe her.

You spend the rest of the night on the couch with her, watching terrible movies, going through two bottles of wine and trying to make her laugh. You know the night shouldn't progress to a third bottle or else your brain wont do the thinking, and neither would hers. You tell her quietly you should leave. Get a taxi. You know she thinks the same thing too.

She accompanies you to the lobby and wait for the taxi. You tell her to go back up to her apartment. She nods in agreement. Then she thanks you. And again, you find her lips pressed against yours in a short sweet kiss. She quickly spins and takes the stairs, instead of the elevator, to her apartment.

The game she's playing only makes the seed grow. It's stronger now; feeding off the things she does to you. And by the way she keeps doing this, surely, you think, she knows this.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Run, run, what are you running from?
Let all your small steps expose your secrets.
You don't have to speak for me to believe it.
But what do you mean?

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's been a couple of months. She's snappier with you and tries to be more business like. There have been no nights out for ages and the flirting has been kept down to a minimum. But you know she still doesn't have a new boyfriend. Things like that travel fast at work. You wonder if that's because of you. Or because of her.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Shaken and faint, it was the hardest thing to swallow.
Pretending you don't miss me.
You've got that seed in you.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Then it happens a third day. She surprises you at home with the unpleasant surprise of paperwork that has to be done ASAP. In the safety of your own apartment and with a beer in hand you confront her about her behaviour towards you. The unexplained edginess, the forced business-like approach, the fact that things seem different between you now.

She denies anything and you keep at it.

You see her get angry, then confused, then angry again.

You're now standing in the middle of your living room, face to face, waiting for her to blow up in your face.

Then, she says she hates you.

You're taken aback.

You wonder if she's joking and ask her why.

She says she just does.

You say that if she has no explainable reason then she doesn't hate you and that she's just trying to blame other people.

She looks more confused than angry now and you take that as a slightly better sign to the fact that there would be less violence.

You step closer to her, cautiously and place your hands on her shoulders. You ask her what's wrong.

She looks up at you.

"I hate what you're doing to me," she says and shrugs off your hands.

She starts yelling. You yell back. She started all this. She says you started all this. Things seem like they're going in slow motion and you keep arguing, not knowing or really caring about how this started in the first place. Yelling for the sake of it. She was holding back so much anger but you don't know why she's angry. You should be the one that's angry for her doing this to you as well.

Suddenly, she stops and looks away. You stop. Then the seed that was planted so long ago shoots up dramatically and you feel yourself grabbing her by the shoulders again, tipping her face to you and kissing her forcefully.

You expect her to slap you or knee you or shoot you.

Instead, she gasps into your mouth and kisses you with the same amount of force. You feel her hands wind around your neck and you press her against the wall. You fleetingly wonder if she bruises easy, then she pushes against you, one leg wrapping around you.

For the first time, neither of you are drunk. Instead it seems like all those emotions planted inside of each of you are exploding out at once.

The other leg wraps around you and you're now supporting her bodyweight against the wall, your mouths still attached firmly to each other's, tongues battling inside. You feel her hands holding onto your shirt now, desperately tugging at it and then her fingers fumble at the buttons. She succeeds with the first two buttons then impatiently rips the rest of the shirt open instead, the remaining buttons either falling off or dangling on their threads.

You didn't like that shirt anyway.

With her pressed against the wall, you grab her wrists and hold onto them, your mouth detaching from hers to suck on her neck desperately. You have both become sweaty and pant from exertion.

Then you hear her.

"Room."

And you comply, staggering to your bedroom with her now kissing your neck, before dropping down onto your bed to finish what you have both started. You know when morning comes, things will be different.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

While letting you in, I'll be thinking about tomorrow.
And every time we cross those lines.
You've got that seed in you.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Three times. And three times only. That seed will always be planted but must never be allowed to grow again. And you both know this.


(Inspired by parts of Seed- The Academy Is...)