Author's Note: So I drew these two just before getting into bed at 4 a.m., and I looked at the names in the dark using my phone to see, and I literally said "Oh, me likey." Why did I never think of this pair before? Also, I know the "one, two, three" thing is kinda gimmicky, but I feel like being creative so leavemealone.
Reviews, as always, make me indescribably happy.
One, Two, Three
Pairing: Alex N./Mia J.
one
It's after the second time Paige has broken up with you, you think (it's terrible, but you just might have lost count), so you want to regress and be bad again and you're younger again. Long story short, you're back at the Ravine. You've been done with Degrassi for a little while now so it's stupid to be here, but you don't care because you've been dumped by the first girl you've ever loved (for maybe the third time) and the urge to come back here was way too strong.
You light up a cigarette (you haven't smoked one in three years) and watch Jay trying to pick up girls who are trying way too hard to look legal. None of it bothers you. It just makes you feel better.
"Can I bum one?"
You look around and it's a pretty and somber-looking girl with brown eyes. She looks tired: boy troubles, or something. You wonder how old she is.
"Sure." And you even light it for her, because even if you've had a shitty day there could be someone who's had it worse.
You reflect later on how it's lucky (and much later on how it's maybe fate) that she bummed that first cigarette from you. Had it been some guy, her night might have ended up with a broken condom, but with you it was almost two hours of good conversation and milkshakes at an all-night diner, which was probably better for her bad day.
two
It's after the third time you've babysat, and by now the girl from the Ravine, the mom, it turns out, is home, and she collapses on the couch just as exhausted as you are. You like this job, you like kids and you really like Isabella because she's sweet (and pretty like her mom). It's a better way to make money than the Cinema (that place just reminds you of Paige) or the Zanzibar (no reason needed there), and besides you like doing this for a friend. Because after that night at the Ravine you've found you like one another's company, and you've found you get one another pretty well even with two years age difference between you. You find yourself questioning why you had to find out if it's legal, and why you were relieved when you found that it is.
She sits next to you, limp as a dishrag, and this is the most tired you've seen her in a while so you shut off the TV to give her some peace. You think about leaving her, letting her alone to rest, but she speaks to you.
"I'm so sick." Her voice is hollow.
"Of?" you say patiently.
"Of everything I've been doing with my life."
You want to help her, fix her, and you know exactly what to do to do it (how can you fix her if you can't fix yourself?), but you wouldn't, never, unless you got the go-ahead.
"And I just think about," she goes on, brown eyes cast over to the far wall, "you, what you've told me, and it really seems like all your problems were gone when you were done with men.
You swallow and shrug. "One problem started then."
She turns to look at you, eyes grave in the lamplight. "She was stupid. She didn't know what she had."
And maybe it's you and maybe it's her, but it's probably both, and you both lean in like you'd been thinking about doing this. Maybe you had, in the back of your mind where you couldn't even read it, but three parts of it are impulse. Your lips meet, gently touching in the half-light of a lamp with a sputtering bulb. Your nerves scream in velvet pleasure to be meeting her skin, the softest you've ever felt, hands down. She exhales into your mouth, and the two of you move so slowly.
three
"Come on," you mutter, hunched over chasing the giggling two-year-old, "C'mere, Izzy."
You finally catch her, and wrap your arms snug around her waist and lift her into the air. She screams with delight, laughter bubbling as she kicks her tiny legs, and you swing her down on the couch. You plop down beside her, the squirming kid sandwiched between her mom and you.
"Movie time," you say, tickling Isabella's ribs. Her tiny body wriggles like an eel's.
Mia beams at you as she grabs the remote, those brown eyes bright with warmth. Every time she stays home on a babysitting night (not really babysitting anymore then, but oh well) it rejuvenates the smile in her eyes the way sleep does for her batteries. You know it's because she loves her daughter, and you like to think you make her happy too. Maybe (probably) having you both at the same time is what it is.
The movie starts and you grab your phone to put it on silent: two text messages from Paige and three missed calls. She wants to talk. You know what that means, you've heard it before. And because you're happy, you're happy right now, you ignore it. You turn your phone completely off and stick it in your pocket.
Mia's eyes meet yours, those damn beautiful brown eyes, and you share a smile. Your chest automatically swells with air you have to inhale when she looks at you like that, or else you'll forget to breathe. You know it's kind of dumb, but with her you feel like you're one. No, scratch that, you think as you snuggle deep into the couch's cushions with a sigh; with the three in this room all together like this, you're one.
