Crush
Setting: Together Forever. AU, with an ish; Craig still leaves, what happens leading up to it however…
Summary: Stop, she wants to say, because I can't pretend as well as you do. Stop, because I don't know if I can. He doesn't.
Disclaimer: not mine.
A/N: So I was watching this episode and had this idea about how I'd wanted it to go, but sadly, it did not. So, here it is. BTW, I was slightly under the influence of "Crushcrushcrush" by Paramore while writing this. (Hence the title.) Review?
She hates moments like these. She hates when she allows herself to forget reality, when her mind wanders, getting wrapped up in the possibility of what could be rather than what is. It's not who Ellie is; she's a realist, not a dreamer or a romantic.
She isn't this.
But still, she guesses she lets that (non-existent) part of her run free whenever he's around. She guesses, in some ways, that she can't help it.
His fingertips graze her skin, all in the pretense of jovial humor. She laughs it off, reminds herself that the heat left behind on her skin means nothing, can't be anything more than a joke between friends.
Stop, she wants to say, because I can't pretend as well as you do. Stop, because I don't know if I can.
He doesn't— instead he leans closer, his mouth coming too close to hers for her not to be tempted, too close to ignore the unsettling (yet familiar and comfortable) stirring in the pit of her stomach.
She tilts her head upward, her mind screaming at her all the while to stop, that by doing this she will only hurt herself further; she is good enough at inflicting pain all on her own, she doesn't need any help.
Don't, she tells herself. Instead, he does it for her.
"Craig," his name slips from between her lips, a plea, a wish, a bargain. He stops what he's doing, looks at her, but he doesn't pull away.
Still, from the look in his eyes—caught, stuck, and unsure—she wishes she'd kept her mouth shut.
After that, she avoids him and doesn't hide the fact that she's doing so.
It—whatever has happened (correction: is happening) between them—is not a game to her and she can't help but feel a little bit like cat-nip whenever she's in the same room with him and Manny, the omnipresent and ever demanding girlfriend. They toss her around, using her to gauge whether or not what they have will mean something. (And she won't admit that it hurts.) No, this is definitely not a game she wants to participate in.
It's why she protests his need to assist on her drumming, why she insists all she needs is practice, alone, without him and she'll be better.
She guesses that could probably apply to just about any aspect of her life that he's a part of.
But, still, she has no idea why she stays behind with him anyway. Masochist, she curses herself.
"That better?" He slides his hands over hers, directing, and helping her to gain more control of the rhythm.
"Perfect." His voice is too close to her ear, his breath feels too good on her skin, and if it weren't for his hands, she would have lost the rhythm completely.
And, if it wasn't for Manny interrupting, she would have kissed him again.
She's trying to decide whether she should be angry or grateful as she watches him run after his girlfriend, but stop halfheartedly at the door.
She decides to let herself be relieved when he walks back through it.
"Sometimes simpler is better." She realizes then, that beneath her subtle hints there is an underlying message that she hadn't really been aware of until now, that despite all her protests of bravery, she doesn't have the courage to reveal.
"What if I don't want simpler?" his voice, soft, telling her all the things she's wanted to hear up until now.
"Well then you've got a problem, don't you?"
"Looks that way," he responds frankly. She notices that the space between them has gradually decreased, that his hands resting against his sides, are lightly brushing against her thighs.
"What if… I play and I win? That means leaving. What about Manny or Joey or Angie?"
Somehow, she doesn't even flinch at the mention of Manny. Somehow, she finds a way to not let this moment be about that, about her, but to be about them: Ellie and Craig and no one else. "They'll get over it. They'll be fine."
"…What about you?"
"I'll wave goodbye." She's used to it; she tends to have to do that often. "Go to that club and knock them dead, Craig. For all of us."
She rests her hands on his shoulders, then pauses, the thought occurring to her that maybe skin to skin contact, regardless of how innocent it may seem, is probably not the best idea right now.
"Elle…" This time, she kisses him, without the fear of what this means for their friendship or his relationship; she kisses him simply because she wants to. This time he kisses her back, with equal fervor, with equal enthusiasm. This time when she pulls away, she's more disappointed by the lack of contact than the look of panic in his eyes.
He rests his forehead gently against hers and his hands find a comfortable spot on her hips. "I really am going to miss you, Elle."
Me too, she thinks. She doesn't say it, but she guesses she doesn't have to.
fin.