Notes: So, I'm at it again. This is my second attempt at a Rogan, my third attempt at Gilmore, and my first attempt at a multi-chapter for this fandom. I know this is incredibly short, but I needed to set the background for this story or there would be a lot that wouldn't make sense. This seemed the most logical way to do it, to get all-or most-of the Lit stuff out of the way first. I hope you guys enjoy this, even though it's entirely Lit. It's necessary to get to the Rogan, though.
Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls, its characters, plot lines and premise belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino, Warner Brothers and their affiliates. I do not own anything detailed in this story, and I make no monetary profit by these writings. The song lyrics depicted in this story come from the song 'Skinny Love' and belong to the band 'Bon Iver', the writers of the song itself, and 2008 Jagjaguwar Records. All rights reserved to respective parties.
Come on skinny love,
just last the year.
They say you can't fall in love at seventeen—that you can't possibly grasp the concept at such a young and tender age, that anything you feel is infatuation, obsession—trivial, fleeting…
As she reaches for a book on the top shelf, her hand grazes Jess' shoulder and a shiver runs down her spine. Her cheeks heat up and she avoids his eyes as she stuffs the book in her bag—it's already filled to the brim, but she's taking her anger out on the poor knapsack, its seams torn and tattered from the weight of its contents.
It was far safer than taking her anger out on the person that really deserved it.
Rory Gilmore thought she fell in love with Jess Mariano at a Distillers concert when she was seventeen—when he had looked into her eyes, stripped of his cool, even-tempered bravado and declared, 'I've never imagined a future for me, but I want one for us.'
Perhaps you can fall in love at seventeen, but she'll never be given another chance to find out. That night, she didn't fall in love with him; she fell in love with a dream. That wasn't uncharted territory for her; she was good at that—perhaps too good at that.
At five years old, she'd fallen in love with the idea of going to Harvard. At eleven, she fell in love with the dream of becoming an overseas correspondent.
And at seventeen, she fell in love with the dream of Jess Mariano.
His voice is raw, laced with coarse emotion as he cups her face, her hot tears dripping off his fingers. "I love you, Ror; why isn't that enough?"
She didn't know, and she told him as much. His gaze always expected things of her—expected answers to their quandaries, as if she was this omniscient entity that kept him—and their entire relationship—grounded. But she was just a girl. A girl who was sick and tired of pretending she knew more than he did.
He hasn't looked directly in her eyes for eighteen hours, not since she shook off his warm embrace and told him she was leaving—not since she told him that she'd applied for a transfer to Yale months ago. He's barely spoken more than three words, and when he did speak, it was monosyllabic and terse.
The passive-aggressive routine wasn't new for them, though. It was the unhealthy way they communicated, the way they always had.
She kisses him, closes her eyes and imagines he's someone else—imagines she's someone else; someone worthy of his devotion.
He kisses her, eyes wide open, praying she'll feel something in his touch that will make her reconsider.
The force of the door slamming behind her makes Jess wince. He sits at his kitchen table for twenty minutes, staring at a burn mark above the stove, his lips quirked in amusement at the memory of Rory attempting to cook them their apartment christening dinner nine months ago.
He squeezes his eyes shut, and when they open, they've hardened into apathy.
Jess Mariano is not a mourner. He rides the waves where they take him, and he adapts with spectacular ease. Rory Gilmore changed a lot of things about him, but she could never change that.
Now all your love is wasted,
then who the hell was I?
Now I'm breaking at the britches,
and at the end of all your lies…
She should be used to trains by now. She's lived in New York City for nearly a year, she should be used to the small, cramped spaces—the crazy characters, the invasion of personal space…
It shocks her sometimes just how well she hasn't adapted to New York City. She still yearns for long, winding backwoods roads and wide, expansive fields of open space.
Rory Gilmore is a mourner. She doesn't just wallow in her feelings, she analyzes them, because emotions are a guide for her—it allows her to map out a concrete direction, to file away what didn't work so she can discern what will work next time. Jess Mariano changed a lot about her, but he could never change that.
She picks up her bag, tears threatening to spill over in her damp eyes, and rushes out of the cramped compartment onto the New Haven train platform and into a heavy downpour of rain. A woman is standing, an umbrella in one hand and a coffee in the other, a sad smile etched into the curve of her lips.
Rory drops her bag on the wet ground and embraces her mother, salty tears spilling onto the older woman's shoulders, her young daughter shaking convulsively in her supportive arms.
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall, far behind?
Notes: So, what I'm really looking for from you guys is just a solid 'Yes' or 'No' on whether you'd like to see this story idea continued. I apologize again for teasing of Rogan and no actual Rogan, but a story needs to be developed and fleshed out with all characters involved, it can't be rushed.
Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you enjoyed, have comments, suggestions or constructive criticism. :)