Title: Stuck
Rating: K, K+— nothing racy; just angsty.
Summary: It's not supposed to happen. She's supposed to find someone who's much better for her. But instead she's still stuck on you.
Disclaimer: Let me see... nope, still don't own Gilmore Girls.
A/N: Just a short one shot to cure my writer's block. Hope you enjoy!
The first time you see her, you resist the urge to call out her name. She is walking with a few of her friends—some you recognize, and some you don't. You tell yourself that you made this happen. You gave her the opportunity to meet new people. You are the reason that she is laughing and gabbing a mile a minute with these girls.
"Lorelai Leigh!" the girls all scold playfully. She smiles innocently, and you smile as you watch her look away from the girls and begin to giggle.
You almost want to cry. She's not laughing because of you. She would have made these friends anyway. You're not the one who made her smile. But you're okay with that.
You're used to being the one to make her unhappy, anyway.
"One day, you'll find someone who deserves you. But I… I just don't deserve you, Rory."
She willed herself not to cry. He controlled his urge to brush his fingers across her cheek. He closed his eyes, telling himself it was for the best. She needed someone who would build her up—not bring her down.
"I'm sorry, Rory," he said, taking in her appearance, making a memory. Her brunette curls falling loosely around her shoulders. Her black robe almost shined in the sunlight. Her blue eyes were sad, and he told himself that they wouldn't be that way forever.
He hoped he was right.
It's been a week since you've seen her. In the back of your mind, you wonder if she knows that you're in town again.
You tell yourself it's for the best when the grapevine reveals that no one, in fact, knows that you're back in town. Normally, you wouldn't be caught dead gossiping. However, you've since turned to gossip in order to keep up with her.
The grapevine, after all, had supplied you with one useful piece of information.
"So how is life in London, Tristin?" his mother asked him one afternoon.
"It's amazing, ma," he responded, his voice loud over the sounds of the bustling city. "Like nothing I've ever seen before." He paused, debating over whether he should ask the question that's been on his mind since he left the States.
"She's not with anyone," his mother said. "Hasn't been since graduation. And she's headed to Yale in about two weeks."
He smiled. "Thanks, ma. I'll be in touch."
"Be good, Tristin," his mother's voice warns. "Bye, son."
"Bye."
Your mother has taken ill. It's the reason that you're back here. At least, that's the story that you tell yourself. And her mother, when you happen to bump into her one afternoon.
Her mother tells you that she's not with anyone. And she not-too-subtly hints that her daughter is still stuck on you. You're not sure whether to happy or upset about that.
When you see her with her friend Paris three days later, you know for a fact that you are the reason she is not with anyone.
"I still think there's a chance that he'll come back for me," she says, and her voice makes you weak.
"Give it up, Rory," Paris scolds gently. "He's not coming back. Move on."
She shakes her head, her brunette curls shaking violently around her shoulders. "There's still a chance."
Paris says nothing, and you sigh from your hiding spot around the corner from them.
It's not supposed to happen. She's supposed to find someone who's much better for her.
But instead she's still stuck on you.
"I won't ever give up on you, Tristin," Rory told him as they said their good-byes.
"I know," he whispered. "That's what makes this ten times harder."
"Stay," she pleaded. "Come to Yale with me. We'll make it work. I know we can."
He shook his head. "I can't. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Ror, but I know I'm not meant for college. I'm meant for something different. And until I figure it out I won't be good enough for you."
She nodded. "I'll miss you. Promise me you'll come back."
He kissed her forehead and released her. "I promise." And with those words, he walked away.
You see her on the day you're preparing to leave again. Your mother is feeling much better, and you feel that your presence is no longer necessary.
She's sitting on a bench reading. And you're reminded of the first time you met her when you were sixteen. You won't let yourself remember that day. You don't deserve to remember such a thing.
You start to turn when she looks up and sees you. And you're frozen. You wish you could go back in time and not be here. But time travel's never been your forte, and you're here now. You think you may as well talk to her.
"Hi." The only word that seems to make sense in your head is this greeting. Somehow, you wonder if she thinks the greeting is beneath her. After all, she just finished up her first year at an Ivy League institution. She deserves a 'hello' or a 'salutations.'
She marks her page and closes the book. Ironically enough, she's reading Charlotte's Web. You tell yourself that some things never change. She always did have a thing for children's stories. And it's only fitting for her to be reading that book.
"Hey." Her greeting is more laid back. It's not as forced as yours. "I knew you were in town." Damn, she really did know you were back. The grapevine let you down. You silently pray it didn't let you down in telling you she was unattached.
"My mom was sick," you offer as an explanation. She nods, and you hope she believes you.
"I know," she says. "And you're leaving today, right?" How she knows these things is beyond you. You nod in response and let silence envelope the conversation.
She stands, holding the book close to her chest. You think if the conversation were different, you would tell her that it looks like she's guarding her heart. But you won't say that. Because she may very well be doing that.
"I'll see you around, Tristin," she says in parting. She doesn't offer a hug or a kiss on the cheek. And you don't like it. Not one bit.
And as she starts to walk away, visions of every time you walked away from her flash through your mind. You see the day you left for the first time. You see the first time you had a fight. And every other time you walked away from her.
You call out her name, because you decide you can't run anymore.
"I've waited long enough," she says, and it knocks the air out of you. "I can't wait any longer."
You're faced with a decision. And there's no time to really think about it. So you grab a hold of her and kiss her softly, trying to be subtle in what you're suggesting.
She stares at you quizzically. She obviously didn't get the hint. You kiss her again, hoping to make her understand. She still questions you, and you know it's because she wants to hear you say it. She wants you to tell her you'll stay.
"Then don't," you say, and she smiles at you.
You're not sure what the future will hold for the two of you. You don't know if you'll go to college or head back to Europe and make long distance work. All you really know is you need her in your life. Because she is what makes sense to you.
And this is what feels like home to you.