AN: POV: Angela in first, everyone else in third, Brian in tortured poetry

Tense: mainly past but Jordan occasionally switches into present when I feel the scene needs it

Soundtrack notes: (this is where I get nerdy) Each chapter has a song that I feel expands on what I'm writing or slightly skews the feeling. This is my season 2 soundtrack. Nothing allowed in that came out after Jan 1995 or was used in the show. I would love it if you felt the need to go listen to what I suggest but *shrug* I'm not the boss of you do whatever you like.

Content Warnings: there are a couple of things that might trigger but I'll always pop a warning up top.

You know those moments in life where it partly feels like you're in a dream? Like, these were not the rules of your actual life and you have to keep grabbing hold of the moment just to make sure that it was, like, real. That was what it felt like to arrive home and find Jordan Catalano's red car parked out the front of my house. He was in there somewhere, in my house…without me. A few months ago this would've killed me. Honestly, it still kinda did.

All day I believed I'd found this depth in him. This hidden treasure that nobody believed was even there but I'd found it. Me. The words of his letter circled through my mind as I held onto him. I hate this pen I'm holding because I should be holding you. As I kissed him. You could burn the whole world down. Again and again and again. You could tell me to go hell and I'd go.

This was the Jordan I got to see that nobody else could even fathom.

But now.

I leant against Jordan's car and watched Brian Krakow ride his bike in circles outside his house. Something I'd watched him do countless times. Brian was always there. Even when you wished he wasn't. Especially when you wished he wasn't.

"Uh, Brian?"

He skidded to a stop. Head down, hands braced on the handlebars.

"Brian, look at me."

I didn't know what I wanted to find on his face. Some kind of answer I guess. Something that made all of this make sense. But when he eventually turned his head towards me all I could see was him.

I pushed myself off Jordan's car and crossed the street.

"Um, that letter I told you about." Here it was. The question that had been steadily unpicking my heart since Rickie had so casually let it slip this evening. "Rickie said you wrote it. And I have to know because—"

"Know what? There's nothing to know," Brian blurted, shrugging his shoulders, eyes darting away from me. He was jittery and unsure, scanning the street behind me for a possible escape. Like an animal caught in a cage. A thief cornered on a dark street. And I'd caught him. I realised then that I had a choice: I could let him go. I could go on believing that Jordan had written that letter and never find out if Brian had any part to play in it.

But that was also a lie. Because I had to know.

"Okay," he swallowed, "what, what Rickie probably meant is that, see, Jordan Catalano asked me to, like, proofread it for grammatical errors."

My mouth went slack. "You proofread a love letter?" I could not believe this. Only Brian could think that was an acceptable thing to do. "Is this like a game to you?"

"Um, hardly," he scoffed.

"But you admit that you were involved."

"I'm not admitting anything!"

Here it was again: the choice. I could just walk away. But the idea of it, the notion of it: that Brian and Jordan had done this…together.

"This is a joke, right?" I said almost to myself. I should have known. "That the, the two of…" It was too perfect, too wonderful. My chest hardened. Of course it was a joke. "Oh God. I can't believe I fell for it. It's obviously a total lie."

"No," Brian shook his head. "I meant every word." Everything stopped as Brian's wide eyes met mine. His words snagged in my brain. I meant every word. I meant every word. I meant every word. Rickie had been right. "I mean," he tried to take it back, "the person who wrote it meant every word. Probably."

How was it that you could know somebody for basically your whole life but still not know them at all? Like, after while you stop actually seeing them and you just see, like, your idea of them. The picture I'd constructed of Brian Krakow was unfurling in front of me.

He wouldn't meet my eye. "I didn't write it."

"But Brian, you said—"

"Forget what I said." He turned on me with sudden anger. But I didn't know if he was angry with me or with himself. "Forget this whole conversation!"

I swallowed. "How?"

His gaze flicked between me and the street, again that idea of escape came to me, him wondering if he should ride away and leave me here. Then he seemed to soften, picking at the grip on his handlebars as he asked me, "You liked it, though, right? It made you, like, happy?" There was a hand's breadth between us. I felt the warmth of his breath when he spoke.

"Yeah."

Brian shrugged. "Cos that's probably all that, you know, matters."

My pulse picked up as I took another step towards him. "To who?"

"To," he glanced at my mouth, "you know, the person...who wrote it."

Brian Krakow had written the greatest letter I'd ever received. Brian who was easily reduced to stuttering and incoherent thought. He had written those words. I didn't know what to do. I knew what I wanted from Jordan. But Brian…did I?

This wasn't my life…not really. This was a dream.

"Angela?"

We both turned at the sound of my name. At the sound of Jordan's voice. He wandered over to us—Jordan Catalano was never in a hurry.

"Hey."

"Hey," I responded, my voice sounding far away.

"Hey, Brain," Jordan said as he took my hand. I'd wanted Jordan Catalano for so long…

"Hi. Hey," Brian stammered.

"Come on," Jordan linked his fingers through mine, "let's go."

I'd wanted him for so long but now I kinda didn't want to go.

"Don't worry," he said, tugging me towards his car, "your mom said it's okay."

Today I'd been lost in Jordan. Lost in the deep waters of him that I'd uncovered. And it had been so easy to believe because I'd wanted so badly for it to be true. Only it wasn't.

I peered over my shoulder at Brian, the threads of everything that had just happened between us still pulling at me.

Jordan nodded at him. "See ya, Brain."

Instead I'd uncovered something else. Something I hadn't been looking for and couldn't name. Only there it was.

Jordan Catalano's car had been a beacon in my life.

This car that, only a few months ago, I'd scan the parking lot for to see if he'd be in school that day. To hope that he'd turn up to class and sit in that empty seat across from me. To maybe actually touch his shoulder in the middle of a pop quiz. That felt like a lifetime ago. Now I knew the sound of this car, the weight and power of it as I tried to drive it down the back streets of Pittsburgh, the way the clutch slipped between third and fourth gear, the feel of the leather seat beneath me as Jordan pressed me back against it.

It all pointed to him.

But now...now it was him and—

"Stop the car."

"What?"

My fingers were on the door handle as I spoke, "Stop driving. Stop. I need to get out."

"Angela?" His eyes cut between me and the road. "What? OK."

He pulled over and cut the engine. I threw the door open and stumbled onto the sidewalk almost tripping on the curb.

I needed to think. I needed space. Away from him, away from his—and Brian. Just Brian...his words, oh God. I was having a complete mental break. How long had Brian been carrying all that around? He said he'd meant every word. But how could he? And I let myself...over Brian?

This was too much.

Around me the street was dark and quiet. Stores locked up safe for the night.

I steadied myself on the door of some closed shopfront and raked my hands through my hair. My breath came out in puffs.

Jordan was still in the car.

There was this part of me that was waiting for him to drive away. I was doing it again: being too much. Too hard. Well, fine. If he couldn't handle that then fine.

He got out of the car. Stood in the street. I could feel his eyes on me.

"You didn't write that letter." The words sounded harsh. Probably harsher than I'd meant but I didn't want to take them back. "You lied to me."

"Angela—"

"You. Who made this big deal about how you never lie and then this," I said, throwing my arms wide. "This."

"I'm sorry, OK?"

I couldn't look at him; at, like, the fact of him. It was all so screwed up. This was not how I wanted this to go. At the start. Before he'd even known who I was. I just wanted this feeling I had around him—this drunk, high, out-of-my-body feeling to swallow us both whole. But not like this. I'd dreamt I'd be able to find the centre of him and that it would be beautiful.

I'd dreamt the words of that letter existed inside him.

"Was it all some game to you?" The same words I'd asked Brian earlier but here they were again.

"What?" I could hear the hurt in his voice. "No!"

"I must be like this big joke between the two of you. Oh so funny, let's completely fuck with Angela Chase." My voice stretched on my name and I knew the tears weren't far off.

He edged towards me. "That wasn't it at all and you know it."

"Yeah," I breathed and rolled my lips through my teeth. "Maybe."

"Look..."

"And Brian—"

"What about him?"

"Just." I folded my arms. "Him. Of all people. Why did you have to involve him?"

"Look I..." He stepped back, hands on his hips. "I don't know. Look would you just stop for, like, one minute."

"Why?" I gave him a hard look. "What could you possibly have to say?"

"It was low, alright? What I did." He stared at the pavement then back at me. "I know that. Fuck. I wanted to take it back, like, immediately. You just..."

"What? I just what?"

"Like, expect too much from a person...from me."

I straightened up. "Too much?" I could not believe what I was hearing. "You had sex with my best friend!"

"I know that!"

I was back in my dream again yelling at him only now I wasn't dreaming. "Is it too much to say, oh I don't know, sorry?!"

"I tried OK?"

"When? God, I don't know if I can believe anything you've said to me—is Brian, like, in a tree somewhere feeding you lines?!"

"What? Why would he...No! Would you shut up for two seconds?" The look he gave me reminded me of when he'd called me abnormal, of when I'd said I'd never seriously thought about killing him, or when he'd asked me how old I was.

"I don't believe this," I muttered. "Fine." I leaned back into the shop door and slid down onto the stoop. "What?"

He stood beside me and pressed his forehead to the glass window. If I reached out I could touch him with my finger tips. Inside they sold real estate and I wondered what it would be like to pick up and start again somewhere else.

Jordan closed his eyes. I waited. The cold fingers of the night were beginning to find me. I'd left my coat in the car. I hadn't been able to feel the cold when I was yelling at him. I shivered against the hard glass door.

"OK," he said, eyes still closed. "OK. It's like I know you deserve so much more than whatever's gonna come out of my mouth." He took a breath. "And maybe—fuck, I dunno—maybe you'd rather be with someone like him." His voice dropped and I had to shift closer to hear him. "Who could, like, tell you all the stuff you want to hear. And when you're not around...when you're not around—" he bit his lip "—I think maybe I could do that. But when you're here it's like nothing... nothing will come out right. But ahh..." He pushed off the glass and looked up at the sky. The street was too bright to see any stars. "I need you okay. I just, I need you...and it's scaring the shit out of me."

I hugged my knees into my chest and looked up at him. "Why?"

His eyes met mine. "Why what?"

"Why do you need me?" I knew I was pushing it, pushing him, and ordinarily all these alarm bells would be going off in my head but now I didn't care. I did want more from him.

He closed his eyes again. "You don't..." he muttered. "OK. OK fine. Just gimme a sec." He pulled off his striped beanie and scrubbed his hand through his hair. Walked to his car, back to me, back to the car. I could wait. I wasn't going anywhere. He sucked in a breath and sighed it back out. I felt aware of the part of me that was watching him do this. Watching him work up to whatever he was going to say. As if I wasn't all the way here but somewhere further back––somewhere safe.

"I didn't want to, OK? I knew going into this, I knew it was all too important to you and I'd fuck it up." He wasn't looking at me but I could see his reflection in the car window. "But it's like I couldn't get you out of my mind, you were, like, this song stuck in my head. I just couldn't help myself. The way I could feel how you felt about me...it was like this high. And the way you care about stuff that could happen to me, like with school and stuff. No one's ever really given a shit before. Girls look at me and they like me or whatever but they don't want to actually...know me."

Each word he spoke brought me back to myself. I could feel them slot into place as if what he was saying was creating this world around us. I stood and was walking toward him before I even realised I was doing it. Like being pulled into a star. The image of Brian Krakow on the street faded from my mind with each step. This was Jordan right in front of me. Honest and open. I'd wanted Jordan Catalano for so long and now here he was. I rested my head on his shoulder.

"I wanted to know you," I said.

"I know."

"I still do...want to know you."

"Yeah?"

I felt him hesitate then he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. But softly, like a question, like asking if he could hold me. I stepped into him, my hands finding the shape of him beneath his warm coat, and pressed my cheek to his heart, right in that perfect place where he could rest his chin on my head and I could hear him breathe.

Soundtrack: Antonio Carlos Jobim - Heatmiser (Cop and Speeder 1994)