"He's not mine," Amy is, as per usual, completely in her element, even as Rory's brain freezes and his muscles clench. They're in her bedroom, a childhood haunt, and Melody is calmly reclining on Amy's bed, a place that Rory refuses to think too much about. And Melody is, as per usual, making things exceedingly awkward by seeking out unwanted truths. And then bluntly stating them for all to hear. Today, for example, Melody is announcing to Amy Rory's pathetic, secret love for his best friend.
Well, actually … I kind of am. One part of Rory wants to come clean; part of him wants to say, honestly, what's on his mind. What's always been on his mind. He's trembling, on the edge of spilling everything. He considers all the ways to explain years of devotion. But the other part of his brain, the part that's actually functioning properly despite his proximity to the girl of his dreams, is carefully taking note of the heavy disdain in Amy's voice. Nononono, it says, and this is the side that Rory listens to.
"No, no, I'm not hers." He, too, laces his words with derision, hoping to hide himself behind that mask.
Despite his best – well, perhaps not best – efforts, the conversation leads to her finally figuring things out. As well as Amy takes everything – well, Rory doesn't. He panics, and he runs. You coward!He berates himself, seeing this perfect opportunity slip through his fingers.
"Oh my god. Rory!" Maybe not.
She's chasing him, and his first impulse is to run faster, like prey from predator. Instead, he stops in the kitchen, hands colder than the freezer he's standing next to, and shaking like a leaf in a gale. This is it, he thinks, bracing himself. This is the moment you've been waiting for, basically for your whole life. And now she's going to reject you. Hopefully she'll do it kindly, and won't pity you too much. Rory knows that he will have to make an effort not to cry. He stiffens his shoulders, stands taller, tries to smooth out his expression. This will be bad enough without him breaking down and begging in the middle of it.
"Rory," she begins, her face even paler than usual, standing out in stark contrast with her fiery red hair. Get it over with! Each of those freckles on that glorious, oh so worshipped face, stand out, and to Rory they're more precious than the stars scattered across the night skies. Then again, everything about her was alwaysthe most, wasn't it? "Rory, why did you never tellme?"
"I – I – I –" and how desperately he doesn't want to tell her that he really wasn't brave enough, not like her, that he couldn't just wear his heart on his sleeve and beat people up if they bothered him or yell or tell the person he loved that he loved her. He just couldn't.
That's alright, though. Amy is brave enough for the both of them. She steps closer, pressing her body, soft and slim and only a few inches shorter, against his. Her shell-pink lips curve up in a perfect smile as their lips finally – finally – meet.