Hey guys, this three chapter story was inspired by episode 6x12, I was re-watching the Brooke/Julian scenes and suddenly this came out of nowhere. Please give it a chance and review! Thanks.
'Why did you do it?' Your voice was dry and tired. You're washed out, literally unclean. Your usually slick hair is slightly fuzzy, and your lips are chapped. But the way he's looking at you right now, with his cocky eyes, makes you feel like the beautiful woman on earth.
He doesn't say anything. The smirk that is always permanent is nowhere to be seen. His lips are sealed tight, as if he's physically stopping himself from speaking. He's sitting opposite you, on your bed. Your bed that hasn't been nursing anybody but you, for quite a long while now. You're in your silky white robe and slippers, but you're still unshowered, unclean and washed out. He shrugs and unbuttons the fourth button on his crispy striped shirt, as if the awkward tension is making him uncomfortable.
You know he's uncomfortable. Of coure you do. You are both practically the same. Although you've grown out of it since highschool, the bitchy façade is still up strong sometimes, the same with his witty, cocky jerkiness. You don't really mind that he's purposely ignoring your question, because his eyes are still glued to yours. He wants you to feel intimidated, exposed, vulnerable under his supposed glare.
You know he's trying to pretend to read you. Of course you do. You are both practically the same. He's trying the whole frowny, squinty face that only Lucas Scott can pull off. But you know that he knows that you know he's just pretending, faking, lying. He can already read you, understand you, decode you, probably write a whole character analysis paper on you. You also know that the only reason Lucas Scott constantly has that look on his face, is because most of the time, he doesn't have a clue. He didn't have a clue that you were attacked, that Peyton is battling her inner demons, and that Julian Baker isn't actually the villan. Lucas always places things in boxes, he catergorises, ticks the appropriate boxes and then makes a firm decision. Simply because Julian is a charming man with witty words and a past with Peyton, Lucas instantly files him in the bad guy box. No wonder he's such a bore now, you muse.
You smile, despite the situation. Despite the fact that both of you have been staring at eachother, mutely, for the past five minutes without breaking eye contact. He's not saying anything, but he's here.
That's all that matters to you, frankly. It doesn't bother you that he's drumming his fingers on his designer jeans, like a little boy with a short attention span. You know he's doing it for a show, just like how you sometimes do your pout. You both lie, pretend and hide your gigantic, giving hearts.
But don't tell anybody that. It's a secret.
You're impatient now. He's still sitting on your bed, eyes moulding into yours. You don't think he's challenging you anymore, he's sympathetic. You need to hear him say it. Say that he's a decent guy, and then she will swallow her pride and say thanks.
And actually mean it.
You raise one eyebrow, 'Would you like some coffee?"
He actually smiles. For one slight moment, you wonder how he's going to charm his way out of it. His eyebrow raises to match yours, as if he knows that you know.
'Sure.'
For someone as talkative as him, it's pretty shocking he doesn't elaborate further. You're still glaring at eachother, back to the game now.
'How would you like it?' Normally, a question like that would be followed by a nurturing smile, a nod and perhaps a 'right away'. But when you say it this time, it's almost a threat, a challenge, a chance to twist and turn this damn rubik cube of a man.
He stands, finally making some kind of movement.
'I don't know, how everybody else takes it?'
You nod and supress a smirk, despite the situation. He knows that you've figured him out.
'How did that waitress make it then?'
Caught. Like a deer in the headlights. But he's still trying so hard to grasp what's left of his shattered façade, you curse yourself and him for thinking it's pretty damn adorable.
He shrugs. Again. Goddamnit he's irritating.
But adorable.
'You've figured it out priss. Well done. You should have studied psychology, you know that?'
You smile. 'That doesn't explain why you did it, stoner.'
He shrugs again, as if that will answer everything.
'I don't think it matters. Doesn't change the fact that I still did it.'
But it does, he knows it does.
Just then, your phone rings and your heart skips a beat.
'It's her.' you whisper.
He's standing still, not saying anything, not smirking, not shrugging, not tapping.
But what he is doing, is stepping closer to you, too close.
As you tearfully, frantically try to reason with Sam, pleading her to come home, he's stepping even closer to you, so close that our faces are nearly touching.
And then as Sam tearfully agrees to come home. you let out a relieved sigh and a broken smile.
His face is still so damn close, and if the circumstances were different, you would have been creeped out .
you thought he was going to kiss you, or even elope you in a hug.
But because he's trying so hard to be unpredictable that it's getting predictable.
He chooses to rest his forehead against yours, and wrapped your smaller hands into his.
And you curse youself and him for thinking it's pretty damn adorable.
