This is a completely random, alternate universe, somewhat angsty and very short Radrian one-shot. I'm not really sure how I came up with the idea for this, but lately I love writing really angsty fanfics, so here's the result of that.
She'll just keep telling herself that her daughter's still alive and breathing, unborn inside of her.
And she'll even pretend that having Ricky in her arms right now has nothing to do with the fact that they're both a little lost and vulnerable tonight; that the reason he's with her is because he's still in love with her, even now.
And Ben won't be calling her for the fifth time in the middle of the night asking if there's anything he can do, if he can come over and make her feel better because "being alone isn't helping anyone," and he lost her, too.
He'll just keep telling himself that his biological mother isn't asking him to bail her out of jail for the second time – that Amy's not pissed at him for kissing another girl. (But that girl kissed him. He didn't even want her.)
And maybe Amy's not the one he wants, either.
Amy won't be upset about this tomorrow. (He's not even with her anymore, anyway. Her drama would be irrelevant and invalid.)
"Nothing's changed," Adrian chants brokenly, her voice barely pitching out a broken whisper as tears build in her eyes. With the room black and only the faint moonlight peeking in through the window, she freely allows the tears to mix in with the traces of her mascara and cascade down her face.
Ricky's fingertips trace the cove of her neck, allowing the stub of his fingernails to slightly brush against her skin. "Nothing's changed," he whispers back, even if it's a lie. He keeps his voice more steady than she had, but he's on the verge of crying, too. He doesn't dare let it show.
He kisses the space where her neck meets her shoulder, and she tangles her nails through his hair, brushing at the back of his neck. They're shorter and for once not manicured; it looks as if she's been biting them, chewing at the edges of them, which is a habit he never recalled her possessing.
He places kisses down her neck, allowing his lips to travel to her collarbone and jawline and to her shoulders. He pulls at the fabric there, undoing it and pulling it over her head. He kisses her stomach and her ribs and her thigh, and then he hears her sniffle and he knows she's been crying all along.
He slowly makes his way up to her face, lifting his body upwards an inch until he meets her eyes. "Hey."
She sighs and says softly, "Hey yourself."
He kisses her tears and under her eye and everywhere else, too. It's so wrong – they're so wrong, and they both know that, but right now that doesn't matter. (Maybe that's the point: it never really has.)
Adrian runs her hand across Ricky's bare chest, curling it into a fist at his heart: thud, thud, thud. Ricky leans down until his lips are at her ear and he mutters, "Tell me to stop, Adrian."
But she doesn't. She just tugs the zipper apart at his waistline and forgets the gap in their lives that's grown between them, the sequences of betrayals that they pretend to forget as well. "Let's just forget, alright?" Ricky murmurs, the tears evident as he speaks. "None of it matters. Any of it."
His heart's still thudding, and she knows he knows she can hear it; and it comforts her, pulling her in, closer, whispering of lies and secrets and love and telling her everything may one day be alright.
It won't be, not for long, but masked in each other's arms tonight the only thing they allow their minds to process is each other. And the bad things still manage to slip through the cracks, but Ricky's still here, wrapped in her arms. And it's only him, always him.