A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! Took me a while to write it, but here it is. Slightly different writing style here, as I said, I'm not too sure where I'm going with this story. This chapter's all L/L, Rory will show up later. Suggestions/criticism are definitely welcomed, and if anyone wants to beta, please email me. Thanks!

She wasn't sure what the hell she was doing, but she knew that it felt good.

So what if making out with Luke was just distracting her from her problems? There were worse distractions. Like drugs, or murdering people, or his hand gently rubbing her hipbone, slowly inching higher and heating her bare skin underneath her top...

Oh, and then there was the small matter that she was kissing him. And not the regular, stiff sort of kisses on the cheek you give relatives or French acquaintances, or even the "that was a great first/second/third date" kiss. This was...well, "we can't keep our hands off each other" kissing.

Can't you just shut up and enjoy this like a normal person? A small voice in Lorelai's brain asked.

No, not really. She replied, mentally rolling her eyes. Haven't you learned by now?

Not that he didn't kiss really well, because he did. Surprisingly well, even. He wasn't being overly touchy-feely or too conservative, just enough. His breath was nice, a bit of salt from dinner with Sookie's pie. And he was being gentle, sweet, not demanding anything of her, simply reacting to what she did. The loveseat was comfy, the fire provided nice, intimate lighting, and his sweater wasn't cashmere, but it felt soft beneath her spread fingertips. And yes, she had to admit that his shallow breathing and his chest muscles rising and falling beneath her hands and his quiet groans and his stubble scratching her chin and her leg caught between his were definitely very, very sexy.

So what the hell is wrong with you? Her brain screamed.

This is Luke. Who was trying to be nice. And he kissed you nicely. And you just had to turn it up a notch and now he's going to be thinking things that you're not entirely ready for, just because you were crying and insane and this was very, very stupid, especially before you've even gone out on a first date. With Luke.

This is what Rory was trying to tell you.

Immediately, she froze in his arms.

So. Here he is. Kissing Lorelai Gilmore.

Sounds a bit too much like a movie title, but he has to admit that Lorelai Gilmore sounds a hell of a lot better than Jessica Stein.

He didn't really know what to do, to be honest. He'd always been Mr. Comfort, the go-to guy for crying on shoulders over breakups, hospitalized parents, whatever. But after their first kiss, he thought he should do something a little nicer. He hadn't expected...this. Still, she was the one who had taken it up a notch.

Not that he was complaining.

Maybe she's realized how long this has been coming. He smiled into her mouth. Her straight, white teeth and seductive lips that hypnotized him into saying yes to anything she asked: feeding her caffeine addiction, fixing a broken pipe, probably even drowning himself in the Hudson River if she threw in some eyelash-batting. She was the greatest of manipulators, and Luke, for once, didn't mind.

But suddenly, she went rigid, pulling away and crossing her arms over her chest, effectively extinguishing any intimacy that existed between the two of them. She had a flustered, panicked look on her face, which wasn't much improvement from the I've-got-the-weight-of-the-world face she'd been wearing before.

Oh, yeah. She has.

"I, uh..." Lorelai stammered, self-consciously tucking her hair back in place and smoothing out her top. "We, um, w-we shouldn't be doing this here. There are people."

"There are people." Luke repeated dumbly.

"Yes. There are people. Who could...see us." She finished awkwardly.

Raising an eyebrow dubiously, he glanced around. "Like?"

"Uhm, the night manager. Michel or Sookie, if they're still here. One of the guests who have the midnight munchies. Cletus and Desdemona. Haley Joel Osment?"

"Cletus and Desdemona and who?" The eyebrow lifted higher.

"The, the, um, horses and the kid from Sixth Sense. Look, uh, I should go, I promised Rory I'd be back an hour ago." Grabbing her purse from the floor (where it remained after Luke slipped it off her shoulder), Lorelai stuffed her hands where her jean pockets should have been, only to realize that she was wearing a skirt. Damn. "So, um, thanks for, uh, letting me cry on your shoulder–you ever wonder why people say that they cry on your shoulder when they usually cry into, like, the front of your shirt or something? Who makes up these sayings, anyway? I mean..."

"Lorelai. What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? Did we move too fast?" Luke asked, unable to read her face as he followed her to the door. "I'm sorry if I did anything to make you uncomfortable, I just thought..."

"No, no, nothing's wrong. You didn't do anything." She assured him, her heart pounding so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. "I, uh, I just have to go. Really. But, um, thanks." She walked quickly down the porch steps and down the gravel driveway as tiny raindrops started to fall from the starless sky.

"Lorelai!" He called again. But the rhythmic pitter-pattering of the rain and the rumbling of the Jeep's engine drowned him out as she drove away.

Ten minutes later, Luke was lying in his room at the Dragonfly (Lucky number 7. Like hell), staring at the ceiling, and trying very hard not to think about Lorelai Gilmore.

It was how he had always dealt with problems of this nature. Ignore it long enough and it'll go away. It worked for Dad's death, it worked for Rachel, it worked for Nicole and her Sock Man. For his reputation as Mr. Fixit, it was kind of interesting how he'd taken a completely opposite tack when it came to his emotions.

But he changed all that. For her. He'd invited her to Liz's wedding. Danced with her. Asked her to a movie. Bought her goddamn flowers. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so wounded. After Rachel had stuffed his heart through the meat grinder, he'd tried to remain as detached from the world as possible. Which wasn't exactly an option at this point.

The more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Who was she to string him along, let him have hope for a blissful 90 minutes before it all came crashing down? It was typical Lorelai behavior, sure, but he'd never expected it to happen to him. He didn't deserve this. He was a good friend, helpful, and he'd always been there for her, dammit. He couldn't walk away and pretend nothing happened now.

He sighed heavily before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat. Maybe I should've become a monk.

Twenty blocks was a long way to walk, especially in fancy shoes. He would've preferred to drive his truck, but Lorelai had insisted that he ride one of those ridiculous Dragonfly carts in for their test run. And, like most things concerning Lorelai, he'd given in. And, like most things concerning Lorelai, he was beginning to regret it. Those damn shoes hadn't been worn for at least a year before being worn at both Liz's wedding and the Inn test run, and they were really starting to annoy him. He gritted his teeth and kept walking.

What the hell are you going to say, man? Luke silently questioned himself. She walked out on you. You're just going to look like a lovesick moron.

Which you are, really.Get a grip, Danes.

Too late.

As he reached her house and noticed the light from the windows spilling out onto the lawn, he immediately had the urge to turn and run back down the street. Self-preservation instincts, he supposed. But he continued on until he was stepping on their ancient WELCOME mat, decorated with pink bunnies and neon yellow chicks. They had names, too, Luke remembered, named after the characters in Lorelai's favorite sitcom of all time. Lucy, Ethel, Fred...what the hell is that other guy's name? Dickie?

Quit stalling.

By now, most of his anger was replaced by complete terror. Come on, man, you haven't even been on a date with her yet. You can't possibly come over and–

Decisively, he shot his arm out and pressed the doorbell twice. He froze immediately when he heard her shuffling footsteps grow louder, wishing he could take it back while clowns did cartwheels on his stomach and his toes throbbed in their leather prison.

"L-Luke." Lorelai managed, opening the door. "Wow. Um. Do you...need something?" Dirty. She thought, but knew that now wasn't the time to say such a thing out loud. Finding herself unable to meet his eyes, she instead focused on her bare feet that were badly in need of a pedicure. "I, uh, wasn't expecting anyone."

Struck temporarily speechlessby Lorelai's appearance, Luke shook his head briefly to clear his mind. God, she's beautiful.

Even when her eyes were red and swollen with mascara smeared on her cheeks, she was beautiful. Even when she was dressed in ratty pajama pants with faded monkeys printed on them, she was beautiful. Even when she was wearing a too-tight, extremely thin tank top that revealed just about everything in the surprisingly chilly May night...

Stop. Right. There.

"What's wrong?" He'd already asked before, but he didn't know what else to say. His need to rant seemed trivial now, somehow.

Lorelai swallowed, trying to compose herself. "What I told you before. I'm okay. Really." She wasn't very convincing. Her voice was shaking. She lifted a trembling hand to her heart to check if it was still beating.

He sighed deeply. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"No." She took a deep breath and wiped her tearstained cheeks with her index finger.

"Lorelai..."

She crossed her arms stubbornly in front of her chest. "No. You've got problems of your own. You don't need me."

"I do need you." Luke didn't realize how true it was until the words had already escaped from his mouth. "Let me help."

"I don't want you to get hurt too, dammit." The words escaped from her mouth like doves from a cage as she closed her eyes in resignation and shut the door on a shocked Luke.

Once she was safely on the other side of the door, she sank down on the floor and let the tears fall. Her vision was blurred so that she couldn't read the words of Rory's letter in her hand, but she had already memorized the contents of the hastily scribbled note.

Dear Mom,

I'm taking a break from Stars Hollow. I should be back in a week or so. Please don't try to find me; it'll only make it harder on both of us. I need to figure this out by myself. I'm so sorry about Dean and running away like this, but it was the only way I could think of. Please don't worry.

I love you, Mommy.

Rory

It was always the same.

She never did it on purpose, but Lorelai Gilmore always ended up hurting the people she loved the most. And it looked like Rory was following in her footsteps.

A terrifying, sudden thought struck her.

What if she does what I did? What if she never comes back?