ove, love to ease my mind
You should stay, he tells her, and that's when it starts. Tori/Andre; for Lucy.
Angsty/romantic super random, pointless Tandre fic. (wow, i'm really selling this.) Because I am in an updating CRAZE; and also, i love tandre, especially after tonight's episode. i can't even. my love for them, like, rivals bade right now!
LUCY- I'D GIVE YOU A PIECE OF MY TARDIS. YOU'RE A ROSE TYLER, AND LET'S MAKE PURPLE MMKAY?
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it's just that it's delicate
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You should stay, he tells her.
And that's when it starts.
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Tori knows, but she doesn't know, at the same time- why her heartbeat slows down, why it feels like her stomach is turning itself inside out, twisting and knotting up. She knows, but she can't explain it, how with one part of her she's thinking, no, i won't, i'm not, but the other part of herself, the small part, is wishing,
please, don't ever not look at me.
Usually, though, she tries not to think about Andre, at all, which is becoming harder and harder to do; considering he's her best friend, and she is around him all the time, now.
Tori tries to tell herself- Andre has not been there, for her, not her whole life, anyways. And she doesn't need him because she had other friends before him, and she'll have other friends after, and other people mean more to her than him- or at least, that's what she wants to believe. And it's true, kind of. She doesn't need him.
Tori doesn't like it, this idea of needing someone, because she never has. She's been on her own her whole life, with Trina always being crazy and her parents being too busybusybusy (like bees, or something like them).
She doesn't need anyone.
You don't, she promises herself, over and over and over again. You don't.
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(You like Andre, don't you, Trina says nonchalantly, when they're in the bathroom at school. Trina is putting on lipgloss, it's gold and sparkly. It reflects the light above them.
No, Tori says, her voice defensive. No, I don't. I mean- he's nice. But not in any other way. Or anything.
Trina laughs, leans against the wall, and meets Tori's eyes in the mirror. Is that why you're always talking about him?
Tori flushes. Shut up, she says, tries to play it off like it's nothing.)
(It isn't.)
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It's not like she wanted to, really, but she kisses Beck. And he's nice and beautiful and looks like Aladdin, but then he isn't- anything, really. And he loves Jade, beautiful broken Jade and they make so much sense and she doesn't know why she has to ruin it, ruin everything, but she does.
And at this point; Andre doesn't even mean anything to her, so she doesn't know why it still bothers her, when she looks at him, why she feels a pang inside herself,
area unspecified.
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Things get better. She falls into rhythm, with all of them, even Jade, who is her friend but not, at the same time.
But, (still), now, when she least expects it, she finds herself thinking about Andre. About how on the first day when she came to Hollywood Arts, he told her she should stick around, and she had licked her lips and tasted coffee on them.
She remembers how he had touched her hand, and he felt warm, and nice.
Tori has tried to forget about it, she has. It's not like- she doesn't want to be thinking these things, not really, or at all.
But-
(but.)
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Andre, she says, slowly, stupidly. Then again- Andre.
Yeah? He asks. His fingers are drifting across the keys, slowly. She is sitting next to him.
Play me a song, Tori whispers.
He turns to look at her. Are you okay? You sound- I don't know, you sound sad.
I'm not; she says, cutting him off. I'm just tired, that's all.
Okay, he replies, and plays Tell Me That You Love Me.
She's not thinking about it, but still, she mouths the words.
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One day, she giggles, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, sitting at the piano bench, you'll write me a song, and I'll sing it.
He presses a kiss to her forehead.
I've already written a thousand.
(Her heart beats.)
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The first time she kisses Andre-
and it has absolutely nothing to do with him, it's just she's sad, kind of, and she needs to prove to herself that what she feels for him, it's nothing-
he tastes like sugar; sticky and sweet. The taste lingers on her tongue for a long time after.
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So, he says, sitting down next to her.
So, she repeats.
We should talk.
About what? She asks.
Tori laughs when he looks hurt, and bites her lip, quiets.
Yeah, okay.
(She lays her head on his shoulder.)
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She holds his hand in hers, underneath their desks.
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Nothing changes; not really.
Sometimes she kisses him, and sometimes he kisses her. Sometimes her fingers slip underneath his jeans and his hands travel to her waist and they hide in broom closets during lunch, legs tangled together, hair mussed.
And sometimes they go out with Beck and Jade on double-dates that are not double-dates, and she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth when the other couple starts making out, and when Sikowitz does something crazy, she laughs against his neck, humming vibrations through his skin.
They sing together and their voices harmonize. Tori thinks it might be the prettiest thing she's ever heard.
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(I don't think you understand, she had said, voice soft and heavy, like velvet. I don't know if I can- love, that is.
I think you can, he replied, and took her hand, very, very, slowly.)
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