This is my attempt at a second person point-of view story. It's a drabble typed thing that I'm not even sure was done well. Wrote it over the course of two days. Partly inspired by the fact that I'm probably never going to make it was an artist because I have too firm a grip. Oh well, there'll always be FanFiction.

You're never going to be an artist. You've tried it before, but your hand is too heavy, your strokes too hard. You're never going to be an author. You write plays on occasion, but you know your twisted ideals will get you nowhere. You are a person built for center stage. For singing in the rain and defying gravity. You're not really any good at anything but singing, acting, and when it's called for, dancing. But you can't even be that anymore. All because of Tori Vega.

When she first arrived on the scene you thought nothing of her. You'd left before her part in the big showcase because although André is one of your closest (and only) friends, you weren't willing to sit through what you thought was going to be a performance by one Trina Vega. The next day in school you were able to pick up a bit of the buzz, but honestly you didn't care because she was just another new student.

Then you found her rubbing your boyfriend.

You didn't hate her for rubbing him though. You disliked her because Beck seemed to be okay with being touched by her. All your insecurities bubbled to the surface then. Really, the coffee thing was just a way to vent. If you'd waited a little bit until the break of class and went off to slice up some bin liners, it wouldv'e had the same releasing effect, with less repercussions. After all the bin liners wouldn't have shown you up the next day and kissed your boyfriend. She would go on to steal the spotlight from you.

Even after everything though, you never hated her. You knew whenever she stuck her nose into everyone's problems, she wasn't looking for glory. She honestly wanted to help. You figure there's few enough people in the world like that. And so you let her be, lashing out only when she tried to talk to you. And the garbage coffee wasn't really garbage coffee.

She started growing on you after a time. Your burning dislike mellowed into tolerance. You started going to her house when invited, even without the gang. You even spent the weekend together to finish a project one time. She's a great listener, you reluctanly admit it because it's true. She was quiet throughout your rant about Beck and the ganks that he gives a ride to school to.

After the whole Platinum Music Awards fiasco, you finally consider her a friend. You don't make it easier for her by any means, but at the times you drop the word 'friends' around her, her eyes widen and her face lights up like she's just won the goddamn lottery.

You start inviting her over to your house for sleepovers, doing silly childish things like running after the ice-cream van, sharing secrets, hope, dreams, fears, anything. Because now you're best friends, and you don't know how she did it but she did, and you can't say you're not glad she managed it. Once you break up with Beck, you grow closer, she's one of the only people you spend time with anymore, simpy because it feels so right with her. Forced things like smiles and small talk become second nature around her.

It's your first year in Juliard when you figure out that you can't live without her. So at the first chance you get you hop on a plane back home and though the hours seem to drag by, before you know it your knuckles are pounding on her room door. When she opens it, even at one in the morning her face ignites and she pulls you inside.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too."

Then your arms are around her neck, and her hands are on your hips and you're kissing her pretty little face for all it's worth and she's kissing you back and it's kind of the best thing you've ever done.

At least until you make it to her bed a few months on.

You're never going to be an artist. You've tried it before, but your hand is too heavy, your strokes too hard. You're never going to be an author. You write plays on occasion, but you know your twisted ideals will get you nowhere. You are a person built for center stage. For singing in the rain and defying gravity. You're not really any good at anything but singing, acting, and when it's called for, dancing. Maybe this new thing with Tori will help, maybe hinder. You don't know. All you know is that as long as you can sing and dance in the rain with her, it doesn't matter if you can't defy gravity.