A/N: I love Maroon 5. I do. More than I can properly articulate. And I've loved them for a long, long time, way before those fuckers were famous. And I still do. So I decided to try something (the operative word here being try) with their songs. Songfics, even. I've never written one. I'm attempting it now. We'll see how it goes. These will all be drabbles, they'll all be off "Songs About Jane" and in order, to boot. Each drabble will be a different pairing (with some recurrences). As always, I own nothing but my fantasies about Edward Norton. And damnit, those are mine for keeps.

I am a feedback whore, so feel free to leave some (subtle, aren't I?)


Title: Harder to Breathe
Pairing: Brooke/Lucas
Rating: PG-13 for some language and sexual references

So condescending, unnecessarily critical

So he thinks you're cheap. So fucking what?

But, you think, it does matter. In ways it shouldn't, it hurts. Because he's the last person you expected to hurt you.

And there he is, standing in front of you with maliciousness in his gaze you haven't witnessed before. "Screw you, Lucas."

He sneers, and you decide it doesn't suit him. "We've done that dance, Brooke. Well, you'd know it better than anybody else."

But you're not as stupid as you look.

You know how to play this game, and you'll be damned if you don't beat him at it.

Clutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat
Hoping someday someone will do you like I did

"And wouldn't you love to try again? Unfortunately, I don't fuck guys as pathetic as you. I'm cheap? You don't deserve me."

And he should know. Because if you can't convince yourself, you need to make sure that someone believes it.

So you smile, and you think it's so contrived you want to choke on it.

You don't.

Does it kill
Does it burn
Is it painful to learn
That it's me that has all the control

You pull him closer and breathe a kiss against his lips.

And as soon as he feels it, you push him away.

Does it thrill
Does it sting
When you feel what I bring
And you wish that you had me to hold

It is the last kiss you will share, and the taste is bitter.

Fittingly so.

"Miss me, boy wonder?"

You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone
not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on

He is quiet.

"Of course you do. But know this, Luke. I am better than you. I'm not the one who fucked this up."

What's left of his determination has slipped away, his anger all but dissipated. Luckily for you, he doesn't know how to be cruel. Not for long, anyway.

You do. You're an expert.

"You're cheap," you finish.

And just like that, you walk away.

Everything you've said, it's the truth. If only you believed it.

But for that one instant, when you look back and see that he's broken...

...you're okay.

That's the thing with moments like these.

They're always fleeting.