Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters. (Special thanks to Amy Sherman Palladino for giving us the GG and to Milo Ventimiglia for being Milo Ventimiglia…)

Author's note: This is a short chapter, just to warm up the atmosphere out there!!! Second chapter is coming soon. Please: REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! You can do it by e-mail or on my forum page (click on my name to find out the address). You can write in english, italian, spanish or even bosnian. Thanks!

By the way, English is not my first language, so, please, forgive my mistakes. I do my best.

That bittersweet taste of yours

*a literati fanfic*

CHAPTER 1

– INSOMNIA –

He woke up again. With a slow movement of his hand he turned the clock: 3.08 a.m. and no sleep in his eyes. Nothing. Again. It was becoming a sort of habits: every single night he woke up and spend the rest of time reading and writing something, mostly forcing himself to not think about her. Her. Still. Like a tattoo on his soul.

Living so far away from her wasn't supposed to be that hard. At least, he was always been the strong one, the one used to no need anyone, the one who has nothing to loose, the one who can make it on his own…But the same second he saw her getting off the bus, few months ago, he knew he wasn't strong enough to stand that freezing feeling through his veins…

He wasn't strong enough.

That's why he tried to call her all that times and all that times without the strenght to say a word. He wasn't brave enough. And than again, she had enough words for both of them. And she was right, too damn right: he did screwed up everything.

Jess sighed, running his fingers through his dark tangles hairs as it could wipe all those tangles thoughts out, and got off his father's couch. Walking trough the darkness of the room, he reached the green big bag, took a block and sat next to the open window.

There he was, again, lighting up a cigarette, alone in the californian night with the crying of the ocean and the crying of his heart and nothing but her eyes on his mind, like a vision, like an illusion, like a hope.

There he was, again, sitting in the moonlight, trying not to think about her but too fragile to win that battle with all the burning memories he had in the inside.

There he was, again, surrending to the deep need to write her a letter, to share a peace of his soul with her.

Dearest Rory,

He looked out of the window, puffing away the smoke in the darkness as he could puff away all his pain and frustration too. A lonely tear slided on his cheek, softly.

"It wasn't supposed to be that hard", he sighed.