By starstruck
Disclaimer: I wish they belonged to me.
Author's Note: This started out as an original fic while I was listening to "You Won't Be Mine" by Matchbox Twenty. But as I wrote it, I was really thinking of our beloved characters, so I'm posting it here. Still, you'll notice, the characters names aren't mentioned. So I suppose you can think what you want.
***
She was his light.
Innocent and pure always.
Life had stolen her away from him before he could really have her.
Funny how things worked out.
Funny how after two years of trying to find her and only her, she decided to turn up on the one night he just wanted to get drunk or get laid.
He couldn't decide which.
But there she was, in the corner of the shabbiest bar in all of Paris, drinking a martini with all the class she possessed.
Which was also funny, because he had always loved her because she was so un-classy, so normal, so – perfect.
And as much as he wanted to give up on her, the empty seat next to her was an open invitation he never could've resisted.
He slid in casually, asked for a beer, and glanced sideways at her.
She didn't notice.
Or maybe she did.
She just didn't acknowledge him.
So they sat in silence.
It wasn't really an awkward silence, but it wasn't companionable. It wasn't quite the silence you'd expect from two acquaintances who hadn't seen each other in two years.
It was just – silence. In it's purest and most simple form.
She twirled her necklace delicately.
But not delicately enough.
That was how he knew she had drunk a little too much. Not precisely drunk, but not precisely sober.
It was one of those details only he would notice.
Funny.
She swirled around on her chair toward him slowly.
"Do you waltz?" she asked him.
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said softly, standing up.
They didn't waltz, though.
The song was a soft jazz one, and we just ended up swaying to the music. He reveled in the way she felt in his arms. She kept him at arms distance, though, pretending he was a stranger when she knew whom she was really dancing with.
He almost smiled at that.
Almost.
He wished every little thing about her still made him smile.
But it had been two long, hard years without her. Two years watching everyone else be in love, while he tried to find his.
It had scarred him.
And whatever was left of his innocence when he left school was long gone.
After the dance, they wordlessly grabbed their coats and left.
The rain was pounding outside, so he walked her to her flat – the same one as before – because she didn't have an umbrella.
"Funny, isn't it?" she asks suddenly.
He raises an eyebrow. These are the first words spoken between them since before they danced.
"How the heart works?"
He nods, understanding.
"I could've fallen in love with someone like you – someone nice and decent and kind, you know," she whispers.
He simply looks at her.
"I wish – I wish I'd had a choice in the matter," she tells him.
"Don't we all?" he laughs. If he'd been able to choose, he wouldn't have loved her. No matter how beautiful, how good and how intelligent she was. If he'd been able to choose, he wouldn't have searched. He would have lived.
She laughs.
"I wish I loved someone like you," she says.
He gives her a sad smile.
"If – " she ventures, "I – would you have loved me?"
"If you wanted me to," he says, and as much as it is a lie, it is the truth.
She smiles, content.
She starts to leave, but he catches her hand.
"Does he love you?" he asks. She hasn't mentioned anyone, but he knows anyway.
Her mouth opens slightly.
"I – " she starts.
But he knows her answer.
"Nevermind," he whispers.
She leans towards him and kisses his cheek, then runs into her building without a word.
He watches her through the glass windows streaked with rain.
He waits until she can't see him to touch his cheek.