Characters belong to the Wb and that wonderful lady. Plot and story ideas belong to me, don't steal.
*I'm finding my way back to sanity again
Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there
I take a breath and hold on tight
Spin around one more time
Then gracefully fall back to the arms of grace*
He laid in bed, the cold, unwelcoming sheets wrapped around his tired body. When he had recieved that letter today, he did nothing in his free hour but read it over and over, unable to do anything else. He tried to write one back, but words wouldn't come to him. Not that ones he wanted to speak, anyway.So now he was doing absolutely nothing but laying there, thinking. It still shocked him that he had gotten a letter today. For the first weeks after he came here, no one had sent him any mail. Not even his parents, his aunts and uncles, no one. After awhile, He hadn't expected anything from anyone, and after a little while, he forced it not the bother him.
But today had been different. He had heard his name, and then a letter flew onto his bed, landing gently against his blankets, face down. He hadn't touched it for a moment, afraid it would disappear. He just stared at it, wondering. After a few moments, a shaky hand reached for the white envelope, preparing himself for the worst. His father writing him to tell him he'd be staying longer than intended. His mother finally saying she was divorcing his father and moving to France to start a new life with her half of the money.
It took him a few minutes to drag his eyes up to see what the return address said, and as his eyes finally landed on it, he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping just the slightest.
Rory Gilmore
1385 Pine Drive
Stars Hollow, CN
89715
His trembling hand shook all the harder. Why would Rory write him? He had torn the envelope open, making sure not to rip the return address and unfolded the letter. Fumbling in the dark, doing his best to be quite, he grabbed the letter again and the small flash light he kept hidden under his pillow. He opened the letter, now wrinkled from being read so many times, and rolled over, placing it under him, and began to read again.
Tristan-
Surprised? I am too. If you're wondering just why I'm writing you, you're not the only one. If this letter comes out scrambled, and you can't understand it, please don't be surprised. I'm not quite sure exactly what I mean to say here...
Um, I guess a good start would be: How are you? I hope you're well. Military school rubbing you the right way? Hopefully you aren't getting into much trouble. A girl can dream, right?
It took me a few days to write this, I'm sorry to say. I kept tearing the pieces of paper up and starting over. It took me three days to get this far, and still it seems slightly less than what I really want to say.
We miss you Tristan. The school, strangely enough, actually misses YOU. And not just the entertainment value you used to bring, but having you around. Although it shocked and amazed me, you do have friends here....true friends.
I miss you too. I'll stop there, and leave it at that, as well. The less you know, the smaller your ego will stay.
Her hand writing had change there, just the slightest, but Tristan had picked up on it. It seemed a little less steady, more messy than before.
Everything here is good, I guess. Normal, as usual. The teachers, though they miss you deeply and they sometimes have to stop in the middle of a lesson to grab a tissue and cry a little tear for you, haven't lightened their homework load at all. In some ways you're lucky, you got out of having to do a 15 page paper on either Moby Dick or Madame Bovary. Frankly, I think the teachers are seriously evil.
Paris pouted, (she thought secretly but we all knew she was) over you're leaving for a few days, before returning to her usual overly charming self. Can you see my smile from there? *Rolls eyes*
Well, Tristan. I hope you're happy with yourself. It is now 3:30 am, and I have to get up in 2 hours to get ready for school. I hope you write me soon, cause I really would love to hear how you're holding up.
Hear from you soon?
Always,
Rory
P.S. I can't believe I'm doing this, but...There was so much more I would have done that night of the play Tristan. So much more I would not only have said but acted upon. Even though I am not in your head, I know you did too. My only regret is I didn't do anything about it....
And that's how it ended. Completely open, completely confusing. The first parts of the letter had brought a smile to Tristan's face that hadn't been there in quite some time. The rest of the letter left him nervous inside, and all through the day his stomach was tied in knots that seemed to get worse as the hours went on. No matter what he was doing, no matter what else was on his mind, he kept coming back to the letter. What would he write back?
*Cause I am hanging on every word you say
And even if you don't wanna speak tonight
That's all right, all right with me
Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside Heaven's door
and listen to you breathing
That's where I wanna be
Where I wanna be...*
He knew she wasn't going to make the first move. She left that PS as some way to hint at him that if there was to be anything going on, he'd have to start it, and he'd have to start it in the right way. No sly comments, no cheesy lines.
That was exactly the problem. Never in his life had he had to say exactly what he felt without sugar coating it with someone sexual, or just hiding it with something any other girl would have fallen for. Now he actually had to find a way to say what he wanted, and he had to find away that showed it meant it.
Ripping a piece of paper out of his journal, Tristan grabbed a pen and laid it upon the piece of paper, unmoving. Licking his dry lips, he listened to the knots in his stomach. The way they made it hard for him to breath. The way it made his stomach feel weak, vulnerable, and edgy.
Rory-
You were right, I was surprised. I had every right to be, beyond the point of you sending me a letter, if you get what I mean. Your letter left me feeling...confused, yet I knew exactly what you wanted. Although I was sure I'd never hear (read) that from you, I can tell you, it made me happier than I've ever been.
Words don't come easy to me, Rory, but I know that what I feel for you is beyond them, and even if I was the best writer or poet in the world, I wouldn't be able to put it into words.
I may have acted like a jerk, a completely asshole if you will, but I did it because I didn't know what else to do. My minds stops with you, Rory. I go numb, and everything that I want to say to you is replaced with empty lines and crude remarks. I take back all the ones that truly hurt you Rory, but I wont take back the things I said that brought you out for me to see. I have very few moments that I cherish, but everytime you spoke to me, I stored it, and they're some of my best memories.
I hope to make many more, with you. You're where I want to be.
I'll be home for Christmas, and I'm hoping I'll be able to see you at one point. If I don't...Merry Christmas, Rory.
Write back soon?
With Love,
Tristan.
He signed his name, and allowed his shaking hand to rest beside the now finished letter. He would have to send it out tomorrow, or he'd lose his courage, take the letter back and change it to sound more romantic. He'd just end up screwing it up more, or something. He folded the letter, letting his well formed fingers trail over the page for a moment before slipping it under his pillow, ready for delivery tomorrow.
He laid down and closed his eyes, his stomach still in a nervous twist. He'd have to wait at least a week to get any kind of response back from Rory, and he knew it would drive him crazy.
The rest of the night, Tristan barely slept. Memories of Rory haunted his mind. Her voice wouldn't fade from his head. As the night went on it would get stronger and stronger, to the point where he wasn't even sure if it was her anymore. Anytime he fell asleep, she would sneak her way into his dreams and smile at him, her innocent blue eyes gazing up at him under her lashes. He wanted nothing more for this to be real. To reach out and feel more than a pillow. To feel her warm soft skin underneath his hand, shivering at his touch. To feel her breath on his neck and she curled up against him, needing to feel him.
Why couldn't his dreams ever come true?
*Looking past the shadows in mind into the truth
And I try to identify the voices in my head
God, I wish it was you
Let me feel one more time what it feels like to feel
And then break these callouses off of me, one more time*
When morning came the next day, the sleepiness Tristan had felt the whole night through seemed to suddenly be gone. The first free second he had, he made his way down to the postal room and sent off the letter before he could have any chance to change anything he said.
And two weeks later, two weeks before Christmas, a small letter fell on Tristans bed. Falling gently onto his blankets, face down. This time, Tristan didn't hesitate to grab hold. He took hold, and held on tight.
-Song credit goes to LifeHouse, "Breathing"