Disclaimer: This is getting repetitive! I so don't own! If I did, you think I'd let the lits suffer the way they've been doing for the past two seasons?

This is for the lits at S-H, because they're special, generous, wonderful girls who can't give up hope.

Rewrite # 3: Keg! Max.

"Let's go, let's get out of here."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere."

"It's early."

"It's boring."

"Jess, we can't just go."

"Yes, we can."

You want to answer him, but Lane calls for you and you, ever the best friend, put your boyfriend on hold, asking him to wait, telling him you'll be there with him soon. You think that whatever has been weighing down on him, whatever chip he's been carrying on his shoulder, can be dealt with later. Sometime that is not now, somewhere that is not here. So you kiss his lips, and turn away from him.

A few minutes. That's how long you've been gone, curtesy of Lane Kim, and you can't find him anywhere. You look around, searching for him downstairs, climbing up to the first floor and opening doors to rooms, disturbing couples, intruding upon stolen privacy. You will yourself not to think that you wish you were up there with Jess, or somewhere similar, doing similar things. You think of all the times you kissed him on your bed, listening for the sound of your mother's car and pushing him out the window, left wanting more and unable to determine which consequences more would entail.

Fifteen minutes later, and he is still nowhere to be found, and you suddenly consider that he was so adamant about wanting to leave, he might have done just that... and left.

You are running out the front door and into the street, then. The key bounces heavily around your belt, hitting your hip in reminder of your mother's words. You wander aimlessly around town. You find yourself at the bridge. You think you almost see him, sitting and looking out into space and smoking... but there he is not.

And you take off again.

The lights are on at the apartment above the diner. You know that it must be him.

The door is unlocked. Up you go.

"There you are."

"Hey."

"You should have told me you were leaving... I've been looking all over for you." You want to muster up some anger, and find out you can't. There's something in his eyes... or maybe in the way he sits there, an unread book in his lap, his shoulders sagging.

"Just got tired of everything." He looks at you. "Couldn't be there anymore. Sorry... I... " He does not complete his thought, leaving you hanging upon his words.

You walk up to him, stroke his cheek, watch him kiss your palm and avert his eyes.

"Sad boy, what's wrong? You were looking forward to this party, what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Something did. Come on, tell me." You let him kiss you, trying to quell that irrational fear... "You're not tired of me, are you?" which slips out of you right then, before he launches another attack on your lips. "That's a pretty good answer."

You see something shift in him, in the air around you.

There is something slightly different in the way he curls his arms around you, now.

In the way you close your eyes as you kiss him, as he walks you back to the bed and your fingers reach for his hair.

As you sit, and you kiss, and you lie down, and you kiss, still. And he lies down on top of you...

..."Wait..." and his hands... "Jess"...are everywhere... and his lips are against your neck...

"Wait..." and then... he reaches for your belt, and you feel your keys bump against your hip, and you jump up, away from him..."Jess!" You look at him. He looks so...

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me."

"Something is! You think you could just... and that we'd... without talking..."

You don't know why you stopped. Maybe because of that key, hanging from that stupid belt. It's just a house key, but it is heavy on the symbolism.

"I don't know what I think anymore."

"Jess..."

"Rory, stop, just stop! I did not invite you up here, you came up here on your own!"

Damn those tears that pool in your eyes. Damn them for spilling out of your lids. Damn them for tumbling down your face.

"I don't know what I did." Damn him for cornering your feelings like this, again. You're both standing now, he near the window, you almost out the door.

"You didn't do anything. Rory. . . "

You talk over him, angry and sad and scared. "What's happening, Jess? What's going on with you?"

He just sits down on the bed again.

You notice how he doesn't look at you. How he looks down at his hands. How he lies down to stare at the ceiling, and he's still not meeting your eyes.

How he waits.

Slowly, hesitantly, you walk back to the bed, and tower over him.

"I'm not graduating." He talks to the ceiling. To the lamp hanging from the celing. "I'm not graduating, I cut too much school, and they're not gonna let me take summer school." He closes his eyes, shutting himself off from the rest of the room, from you, from the disappointment he thinks you'll be feeling.

"Jess..."

"Go away, Rory."

"Jess..."

"Just go."

You stomp your foot in frustration.

"I'm not going anywhere! I'm going to stay here, and you can just deal with my presence, if it bothers you that much!" You climb on the bed and sit on his stomach, determined to be acknowledged and dealt with.

Time elapses.

He hesitantly relaxes under you, and reaches up his hands to your face. You let him run his thumbs over your cheeks, your lips, your nose, your neck. You bend, tentatively, for a kiss, feeling his hands over your body once more.

"You should have told me." You accuse, softly, while brushing your lips to his.

He nods. "Yeah." He sighs as you feel him holding you tighter. "I didn't want..."

You shush him, against your better judgement. Right now, you just want to kiss him. You'll have time to talk later, to fight and resolve this issue, you reason. You reach down, towards your belt, and unbuckle it.

Clink!

Jess pulls away, his eyes boring into yours. You keep your gazes locked as you slowly withdraw the belt from the loops, hold it up for him to see, and then rebuckle it, only to drop it to the floor.

Clink!

He pulls you against him, kissing you almost ferociously. You don't know what to do with your hands, so you finally slip them under his shirt to rest on his bare skin. You push upwards, until you've manged to rid him of the garment. You feel him smirking against your lips. Your shirt flies across the room, his pants come undone under your fluttering fingers, yours end up on the floor on top of his, along with two pairs of discarded shoes.

His lips are everywhere, your hands are roaming over his body. Two sets of difficult breathing, two racing heartbeats.

A condom packet fished from the bedside table top drawer, the distinct noise of foil ripping.

The sharp pain at the beginning, the little jolt like lightning. The sheet balled up in your hands. His eyes into yours, a million unspoken conversations held in the few seconds it takes for you to acclimate yourself to this. You nod, bringing your lips back to his, giving in to the impulse of wrapping your legs around him. The gasp escaping your lips, and his sudden halt.

"Ok?" He arranges his features into a frown.

You move your limbs, shift your hips, kiss him again before closing your eyes. You pull him close, making him rest his weight on top of you, and stop thinking about how, and why and am I doing this right?

His hands, your hands, his lips, your lips. Him, you. You, him. Something pulls at you, lifting you, releasing you, making you fall before you can really soar.

Then it is over, and you don't know what to do, or what to think. You hide under the sheet. It only takes a minute for him to coax you out, cuddle you in his arms, pull you close and ask if you're ok. You whisper to each other a thousand meaningless things, until you fall asleep in his arms.

When you wake up, he's still there.

A/N: So, here it is. Feed Carys the muse with reviews, please. And stay tuned for more.