I was reading speculations for the upcoming episode, and suddenly this sprung out from nowhere. I'd like to think of this as angsty romance, with a hopeful, positive yet not cheesily perfect ending. Please review!
He cant believe he's with her. The sensitve, yet snarky film producer who has hid behind make believe for so long, creating stories of people who are more messed up than him, love more selflessly than him, cooler than him. He hides his deep rooted insecurities behind his ruggedly handsome features, his uncertainty through witty quips, his real fears behind soft kisses.
With her, he no longr has to hide.
He knows the mockery he would receive from the guys if they knew about his sensitive speeches, making him Lucas Scott's alter ego. But he doesn't really mind.
No, he really doesn't.
He convinces himself. He's not her replacement for the blonde.
It can't happen again.
He's out of his element with her, he feels off balance, constantly nervous. Worried that something stupid will fly out of his mouth, again. He hates to see her cry, he hates the way her eyes open up to him, and most of all, he hates how he sees a better version of himself through her vulnerability. He feels like they've been to happy, too unconventionally blissful, now he treads carefully, as if he's just waiting for something to happen again.
If he screws up, he'll keep running back to her with pretty words and charming smiles. He knows as well as anyone, that she lives for these words, she comforts herself with his assurances and proclamations of love. Despite being an unwilling wild child, she has always longed for someone to hold, someone she can truly claim as hers. But somehow, he's afraid of her, he's afraid of how she hangs onto his words, as if she'll break if he stops mid sentence.
For a confident, stunning girl, she sure needs reassurance.
But he can't complain, because with a sentence or two, he's able to crack another fraction of her wall. He can't lie and say that it doen't make him feel good.
That it doesn't make him feel worthy.
He knows that sooner or later, words won't be enough, But for now, he needs to build her up, because, well, simply because
She's it for him.
And he
He
He loves her.
But she can't know that yet, she'll run and freak and put up her defenses and scream at him.
Then she'll utter some weak, feeble excuse that both of them know is a lie. But she will just deny all accusations and reject his peristance. She's a runner, and sometimes he wonders if she really wants to be caught.
Sometimes he looks at her and wonders if she can truly be happy with him. He's never had much of a family, a similarity they both share. But sometimes he wonders if they're both too fractured to start a new one together.
Sam is cautious, he can see that. She too, hides behind her words and dry humour. God, the three of them just won't let their guard down properly.
But perhaps that's what it'll take. For the three of them to heal eachother.
Sam is worried, he knows. She's so close to getting a new family, but his and Brooke's hot and cold relationship just keeps throwing her off, teasing her with an inch of stability, then throwing her off course with hesitant fights.
They've been together for three months.
He's suffocating, bursting with temptation to say it.
A part of him imagines her smiling wildly and attacking him with kisses.
But it's strange how he never once imagines if she'll say it back.
She's a runner.
And he's willing to trail after her, if that means she'll be within his sight.
It's been three months and two more weeks. He doesn't quite understand why he's so damn afraid of honesty. She's happy, he can tell. But somehow, there's a bit of tension, distance between them, and suddenly he's transported back to highschool, when he feels incompetent with girls and insecure with his dad.
He finally comes to a conclusion that their relationship is at a crossroad. They either have to end it now, or he has to say it. To make it real, make it mean more than it already does.
Make it mean everything.
He didn't know how to say it, god this is pathetic. For a guy who interjects and comments voluntarily, he's actually lost for words. This isn't some clichéd romantic scene from one of his films, it's his life. Real life, and he tends to scew this reality up a lot.
They've already outdone themselves, he figures. Nobody thought they'd actually last this long. She's still flirty, fun and feisty. But sometimes he catches her looking through him, her eyes burning into his, as if she's trying to figure this out too.
Sooner or later he can't wait anymore. He's getting increasingly frustrated, irritated, maybe even at her. Because she just doesn't seem to want to hear it. She's not dropping hints, grumbling or giving him the silent treatment. Despite the various cosmos and marie claires that he has seen women read, he's pretty sure that they won't have an article that would tell him what to do with her. She's so complex, complicated that sometimes he's so tired. He's tired of second guessing himself, and her. He's tired of feeling off-balance.
It was a Wednesday. Sam was sleeping over at a friend's, a slightly gothic girl whom he's sure Brooke is terrified of. They're working on a creative writing project together and he's with Brooke, probably spending the night.
They've slipped into a comfortable silence, with him absentmindedly flipping through potential scripts, and her thumbing through Vogue. He contemplates for a second if this is a good time, and then he realises that he'll probably mess it up anyway and decided to go with it. Besides, if he's this nervous about saying this, what will he be like on the day of a proposal.
Not that he's planned that far ahead or anything, he tells himself. But somehow it feels more like he's comforting himself, because in his mind he's already picturing the big house, the slightly quirky, attractive kids, plus Sam, and her chanel perfume faintly sprayed around the house.
The more he thinks, the more he's frowning. She turns to look at him, her magazine now laid on the coffee table.
'What's wrong?'
Is she for real? In a matter of seconds, all the anger, fear, devotion and nerves that he's possesed came coarsing through his veins, and he can't stop.
'What the hell is wrong? Are you seriously asking me that?'
Her eyes widen slightly, she's never seen him raise his voice before and slightly backs away from him. He hates himself, but he's so blinded by how he feels to stop.
'Ju-'
'No Brooke, I'm sorry. I can't do this anymore.'
Her eyes tear up slightly and he suddenly realizes how that sounded. His hand instinctively reaches to touch hers and she flinches.
'That's not what I meant, ugh. I meant.' He's stuck now, and the written words on a crumpled sheet in his jean pocket seems redundant somehow.
'You're beautiful, so bright, but ugh your're so oblivious! You don't even seem to want me to say it. Now, I know you're used to my speeches, goddamnit you live for these corny speeches, just so they can get you through a few insecure nights. You hang onto my words and I'm fucking terrified okay? All I want to do is show you I want you, I want all of you. Every insecurity, especially the insecurities. I want it all with you. But I know we've got a lot of work ahead of us, your complexity runs so deep I'm not even sure I'll cover them all. But I need you to let me try, Brooke, please.' His face is flushed, partly from embarrasment and frustration, but partly from relief as well, he thinks that was a pretty good try. But he still hasn't said all that he had to say.
'Ju-'
He's stood up infront of her sitting form now. Pleading like a desperate child, but he doesn't care, he's still suffocating.
'Words don't mean anything Brooke, and all they do is build you up for a few minutes then you're back to square one.' That was a cheap shot, he knows, but he needs to get this across.
'Why are you trying to hurt me?'
His head shakes, ' I'm trying to tell you that I'll be here, if you want me. I'm taking a leap here, okay? You won't be hearing sweet words from me, but you'll have all of me.'
'What are you saying Julian, you're scaring me.'
And there it is, he breaks out in a huge grin, he's done now.
'I'm saying, Brooke, although not very well, that I well. I-'
Her lips are pursed together and he tries to envision how they feel against his, to calm him down.
'I, I love you.'
What he didn't expect was her lips attacking his, he's pushed back onto the couch and she's snaking her hand up his shirt, silencing his mutters and mumbles.
'Don't say it back, please, not just because I said it first.'
She silences him with another kiss and all he remembers before falling asleep was the swift removal of clothes and them snuggled on the floor.
He wakes up at 3am, he thinks, and she's still snoring slightly near the fireplace. He's worried about her reaction, and wonders if this is the end. But then he feels a soft hand pull him back down to the scattered pile of clothes, she's half awake and he's willing to settle.
'I love you,' it was sleepy mumble. Her voice was raspy and he's not sure if she even knew what she had just said. But he did, he heard. Although it was a dysfunctional way to utter their first exchange of those three words, it's out in the open.
He's willing to stick around until she's brave enough to look him in the eye and rasp out those words. And as her hands meets his in the dark, he only hopes she'll stop running one day and let him catch up with her.