Safety
Disclaimer: I? Own nothing. This isn't new.
A/N: It's not supposed to have a worked-out background. This is it, 1/1, the epitome of Random!Fic. Feedback always very much appreciated.
To Christie, for all the encouragement and the read-over and because she's Christie. And to Mai, because it's her birthday and she's awesome. To everyone—here's to hoping it's back to the GG we've missed!
-o-o-o-
You're here, and he loves you.
He fucking loves you, no way around that. No way of changing it.
You wonder if you want to. But you don't think you do. You don't think you do at all. You like it this way.
You like him, there, lying next to you. You like the look on his sleeping face that you peg as adoring despite knowing it is simply content. You liked the way he smiled last night, and you liked the way he acted; you liked that you were powerful too.
He would have done anything for you.
But you hate that kind of power, you hate it, it kills you and breaks you up from the inside. You're afraid you might be getting used to it, getting used to liking it. You're so afraid.
It isn't normal to be thinking so much.
You do anyway; you like being abnormal. You love it. You love it almost as much as you love him, except you don't love him at all, you don't love him at all. Not the slightest bit. It's over before it started; it is easier this way. No explanations. How much longer is it before you're allowed to climb out of bed and leave? Leave with the door a crack open to make it easier for him to run after you.
If he wants to.
You doubt he will, but just in case, you will do it.
Who gives a damn about those dangerous people they say lurk around the city? He is safe, safe because he loves, and you are in danger, so much danger, because you do not.
You're pretty sure you don't and that's enough.
He opens his eyes, now, and your entire body is frozen. You can't move: it's that icy feeling of your heart dropping to your stomach; swallowing hard and hoping, hoping, hoping you're not seen.
You giggle slightly because you think you're supposed to, but it feels all wrong.
And you want to close your eyes and fall away, far away, far away enough that even running wouldn't do it, to catch up with you.
"You okay?"
"Fine." Your voice sounds so strange, rough and awkward and higher than you're used to. "I'm fine," you assure him, but really you are comforting yourself.
"I'm sorry," you say suddenly.
"You?"
"Me?" you reply, confused. You can't think anymore. You can't think, and you hate it. It's all his fault. It's all his freaking fault, that this happened, that you are here.
"You're sorry?" Jess repeats. He shakes his head.
You have no idea what to say.
"It wasn't supposed to be this easy," you say abruptly. He arches his eyebrows at you, and you know what he's thinking. "No, no..." You pause, and he pauses with you, and you fervently wish that you had left earlier...
But it was so damn hard even to consider moving. Leaving. Not being there. Because you love him.
You don't love him at all, but you like to think you do, that counts.
"I have to..." you say, and you turn away and you get up and you feel his eyes on you, burning themselves into your skin, the back of your neck. That staring feeling is absolutely overpowering, but you can do this. You can do this, you will never give in.
It has nothing to do with love.
It has nothing to do with strength, either.
"Rory," he says roughly, his voice low and more powerful than you have ever heard it. Compared to now, compared to last night, to the past...ever. You are both standing, now, dressed... You cast your gaze around the apartment and are startled by how messy it is. Clothes everywhere, empty CD cases, crumpled papers. It shouldn't look unusual, this is how he always is, has always been, except—
The books are gone, the shelves have disappeared. It makes the entire room unfamiliar and unwelcoming, a place you do not want to get to know.
"Rory."
You will pay no attention.
He takes your arms in his hands and he holds you, and immediately all you want to do is escape. But nevertheless, you find yourself leaning towards him, leaning in, and again you're under attack and lost and you will never get out.
Never get out.
You don't even know if you want to anymore. You should, but you don't know. You just don't know.
You think you see a crate of books peeking out from behind the couch and you understand, understand that he's just moving in and this is new, so new; it sticks out in the middle of all this rough, dirty city tradition.
His lips meet yours and it's magic, and you know why you stayed the night. You hate yourself for being so damn susceptible to temptation, but you are and that's the way it is and you're not fighting it.
Not pushing away, and not looking for something better, and simply not desiring anything else, anything but this.
You are not up to fighting and are well aware of this; you won't try.
It's dangerous to stay here but it's worse to leave, and you will let him protect you, loathing every second and thinking thoughts that read 'pathetic'.
"I love you," you tell him, so suddenly, and you know it is true.
He accepts it and agrees and swallows your words.
"I love you too," he answers.
And for the first time you are willing to hear it.