one – never really existed
yeah, they fuck.
but, you know. it's different. no touching after. it makes her feel weird, all claustrophobic, all confined. no i love you, which she's sort of embarrassed to admit is usually part of her sex life. was usually part of, anyway. you know. before.
it's just nice to touch someone.
(but she knows— he's too gentle at all the wrong times, and sometimes when he'll look up at her, or down at her, his eyes are all like— and sometimes he tries to kiss her, you know, and it's kind of like—)
but whatever.
they fuck.
that's all.
two – to run great risk
"shh, god, be quiet—"
her heart's beating so fast it might as well burst right then, she swears. he looks at her indignantly, like he hadn't just been muttering in her ear— song lyrics, something slow, sweet.
this closet is too tiny to be anything else but a make-out spot (plus the farthest one from beck's current class). "just," she breathes. he presses their foreheads together. she closes her eyes, feels his hands, the inhale-exhale of his chest. "just give me a second."
even when he winds her up, he's just so good at calming her down.
three – misnomer
her lipstick tastes bitter. go figure.
"jade— are you listening to me, what the fuck was that—"
she might be listening, but she sure isn't looking. "why would you do that, why—"
"she doesn't deserve to have you."
for once, there is no maelstrom of emotion: for once, she sounds tired. all it does is make him angrier, because she ruined the soft imprint of tori's lip gloss still there from their rehearsal earlier, when they'd gotten just a littletooclose—
"i'm not yours, jade."
finally she raises her eyes to him, and he can't tell whether the look blazing there means you should be or i want you to be. one answer makes him shake; one makes him shiver.
"i know that."
she leaves and becomes the biggest anticlimax of his life.
(he tries: he can't remember what tori tasted like.)
four – for what it's worth
here it goes, he thinks.
"you know—" the words fall against her skin, she's pretending to be asleep but he can feel her too-quick breath. "i think—" he traces her shoulder with his mouth, the nape of her neck. "you're really—"
she's done pretending, rolls over and ends up tangled in his arms. "don't finish that sentence." bargaining, she kisses his cheek, the only part of him she can reach without stretching. he tries not to read into it.
—b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l he traces in the arch of her back, because she likes his hands on her, just not when he loves her.
five – and that's what almost happened
he rolls his eyes at beck, who's been distracted by some redhead exactly two minutes into their orientation. "hey," he calls out to a passing girl. she turns, frowning and tapping her combat boot.
"what?"
well, he might as well press on. "you know where the art room is?"
she shrugs. "nope." already half-leaving, she interrupts herself to turn back and appraise him. "you're in for visual arts?"
"nah, music."
maybe he imagines it, but it's like her eyes get brighter, that little bit bluer. "cool. write me a song, dreads."
"i don't know how to write songs," he calls, even though she's heading away by then.
"learn," she yells before disappearing in the crowded cafeteria.
wait, he almost yells back, because it's like— wait, don't leave.
"hey, man," beck says, appearing behind him. "i met this girl, right?"
"yeah?"
"she's a little—" he reverts to fifth grade and twirls his finger in a circle near his head. "still. what about you?"
he opens his mouth: ten seconds, man, but she's got these eyes, and she told me to write her a song—
"i came for the school, dude, not the chicks."
beck shrugs. "whatever you say."
six – raspberries
there's a distinct possibility he shouldn't be getting quite this much out of kissing his best friend's girlfriend for a play, but you know. only a possibility.
he rationalizes it with his complete lack of experience thus far. he's seen jade and beck make out more times than he can count (or wants to, that's just gross), so it's not like this lip-to-lip contact is anything new to her.
"—peace! i will stop your mouth."
she relaxes against him, and by the time sikowitz calls scene he may or may not be a little bit dizzy.
he figures he's allergic to raspberries and he should probably put in a request for some different lip chiz.
seven – family history
she's holding his hand. it's not something she meant to do, but he won't read into it like robbie or assume it will be a daily occurrence like cat. also, he probably deserves it right about now.
eventually she repositions herself in the pew so her knees are pulled up and she can lean against him. really, she doesn't know what to do, except when her dad calls her stupid or ridiculous all she wants to do is go hug beck for a little while, so possibly it's the same. possibly.
"so i was thinking," she breathes, tapping her fingers on his knuckles. "about that time you guys had to do a project, and like, video-chatted it. and she came in and started destroying— um, everything."
it takes a long moment, but he chuckles. the fabric of his suit is rough against her cheek. "yeah."
she prods him again: "broke your computer and everything. intense shit."
he nods. "yep."
there's nothing else to say, so she stays with him until the funeral director tells them it's time to leave.
eight – folly
it's sunny when she says they have to stop.
they're in the park, which she hates, on a bench, which she hates. he figures that's why she draped herself across his lap instead, but as she shields her eyes from the sun that's now glaring across her face he wonders if it's just so she wouldn't have to look at him.
"is it— does beck—"
"no," she says quickly, then sighs. "i have a heart, you know. unlikely as that sounds."
he winds his fingers through her hair and says all he can think:"i make you happy."
she turns her head so he can feel her breath on his knee. "no more."
the fact that she didn't contradict him doesn't make it sting any less.
nine – pining for normalcy
they're a public secret.
they exit janitor's closets together, tousled hair and tired faces. she doesn't hide the bruises on her neck; he doesn't hide the bruises on his arms. she makes a show of walking to his car after school. he tosses a left-over camisole at her in the middle of Improv. everyone whispers about it but they live off the side glances from only two people.
"harder," she hisses in the front seat before school starts— "i don't care, make me bleed."
he does and she gasps, returning the favor with crescent-shaped half-scars on his collarbone that tori will see when they finish their english project. at lunch she will flip her hair to the side and let beck notice the bright red mark that will last who knows how many days.
look at what you're missing, they think they're saying.
look at what you've driven me to.
ten – oh, the insanity
"why does he do that—"
"you know he likes winding you up."
"well, i hate that!"
"it makes him feel better. come on, you hardly tell the guy you love him."
"so?"
"so why are you so surprised he likes to make you jealous?"
"that's a stupid reason!"
"everybody likes knowing their girlfriend cares about them."
"not everybody has a girlfriend, you homophobic asshole."
"should i leave you alone for a while or..."
"no."
"...just, like... try being a little nicer? yeah? maybe?"
"...i still don't like it. even when i know why."
"i know."
eleven – some people stay
that's the big epiphany— she is playing over her life two months before her wedding and realizes that she cannot remember anything without him.
to be honest, she half-wants to wait until her wedding day just to have the honor of being a runaway bride, but somehow adulthood instilled some kind of moral conscience in her. instead, she calls him and asks if he wants to go for coffee.
"you're everything," she confesses, hiding behind the foam of her latte. "like, if i try to have a memory without you, it— it unravels."
he's smiling. early-morning sunlight dapples their hands, too close for comfort, she would say, but he is the comfort.
another confessions slips out, this one purely accidental. "you never put up with me."
he shrugs. "never had to."
twelve – to feel or not to feel
good thing her dad's a workaholic, because they never do make it to her bed.
he slams her to the wall, yanks her hair, bites her neck until marks don't fade, anything to get a reaction. the bruises on her thighs definitely won't be fading any time soon, and the hickey's are here to stay. but she's shockingly desensitized— she sighs, hums, but all he wants is a moan, a yelp, noise. there must be something beck hasn't done, some reaction he can get instead.
on their third attempt at getting to her room, he forces her to her knees.
(more, harder, all of it, now—)
she closes her eyes, whimpers, and fuck it's perfect.
thirteen – the fourth dimension
their romance is nothing more than a series of almosts.
almost-kissed at cat's birthday party, almost-leaned-too-close during script readings, almost-hugged-too-long each new school year, almost-asked-why-are-you-with-him, almost-asked-why-do-you-want-her?
drunk the year after high school ends, she slurs, "we were the greatest thing that should-have-fucking-been, dude." he couldn't agree more.
they never happen.
a/n: lol writing how do you do it. i stole these prompts from an lj community for rarepairs, for which jandre SADLY qualifies. seriously. ship this. more stolen things include the title, which is from lenka's the show, aka the jandre song (aka my own personal renaming).
also if anyone was marginally interested, the play they're performing in "six" is much ado about nothing (as benedick and beatrice, obvs.). also negl "twelve" is there purely for the porn. sorry~