August 16, 2008
The apartment is empty, everyone's out and about. Except Rory. She's sitting on her bed in her pyjamas. It's too warm for it but the outfit is part of her strategy to stay in her room. She's been keeping her door shut. She's been staring at the folded boxes stuck behind her bookshelf. In that way this night is no different from the last few weeks. She thinks about Stars Hollow, about going back on the road. She'd be less lonely, have more purpose than if she stays put. She didn't want to leave one week ago, not two weeks ago. But she should now. She should move.
After the elevator, the night they got back from Stars Hollow, she just switched to auto pilot. Just roommates. She could do that. She tried to do that. She went to work, hung out with her colleagues, got her car back from the shop. Things would calm down in time.
Just roommates. Why aren't you dating anyone? Thus Adam. She just stopped playing defence with him, didn't take him long to renew his offer. But it's not meant to be serious, just fun, a distraction, and she knows he feels the same way about her. Dating is easy, these days, she hasn't cared since she broke up with Logan. It's no big deal. It's easy to enjoy the company of anyone, ignoring the implications. Jess was right about that, her strewing confetti about herself, but he was wrong about her not knowing the difference between what matters and colorful paper - she might elect to ignore it occasionally, but she knows.
Just roommates. She thought she could do that. She tried, but after the fight in the kitchen the other night, no, nearly two weeks ago, it's clear that they might not have just roommates in them. She can't even look at him without longing, or being angry, and she doesn't want to think about what it means that she still wants to stay in spite of that.
Work's been blissfully crazy, she's been tired when coming home, but it's Friday, Saturday technically, and she's out of excuses, out of functioning facades; If they can't be friends she has to go. She has to move.
She pushes herself into action, pulls out a box and opens it, even if her hands feel weak. She could be in Stars Hollow in time for lunch tomorrow.
She tentatively drops a book into the box and the walls shake.
It's the door slamming. Quick, decisive steps pass her door. Jess. By the sound of it alone. Nicks's door opens with a loud creak.
She moves closer to the wall separating their rooms, stands facing it. She expects music to start playing, but it doesn't happen. Instead drawers are pulled out, wardrobe doors opened, and the steps don't sease- He moves around in there. She leans on the wall. Her cheek against its surface. His voice, muffled, but distinctly angry sounds through it.
She starts walking without meaning to, doesn't even register it until she's halfway there. In her pyjamas. Shoot. The door's open. She peeks inside. He's jaggedly stuffing clothes into a duffel bag.
"What are you doing?"
He freezes. She half-regrets asking but has to own up to it now. She steps into the doorway. He turns, his eyes quickly scanning her, in her pyjamas. Darn. She presses her lips together.
"I didn't know you-" He starts.
"You wouldn't." She responds, and tries again: "What's going on?"
His expression goes grim.
"Nicks had the good sense to dump me."
Her heart beats, hard.
"Why-? I mean-"
He looks at her and she falls quiet, she realizes she's scared, even if she can't tell why. She wants to back away but is frozen. He tilts his head, face softer.
"This isn't your fault." He says.
She exhales.
"No?"
"It's mine." His voice goes sharp.
He shoves the last of his clothes into the bag, and moves over to the bookshelf. He sorts out his books from it, dropping them into his bag. She has to ask.
"What happened?"
He sighs sharply.
"Adam showed-" He interrupts himself, turns and makes eye contact. "Please tell me you're not seeing him again."
"I'm not." The words can't wait to leave her mouth.
He takes a breath.
"Good."
She's suddenly, groundlessly, wildly happy, but bites down around it.
"Then what?" She manages, slightly robotic, to make up for what she's feeling.
"He opened his mouth about you." There's a pause, and he starts packing books again, like the story is done. "Apparently my reaction was enough to send Nicks on her way." He finishes.
She swallows.
"Not my fault, huh?"
He stops mid-motion and fixes her with a stare.
"Just 'cause something happens because of you doesn't make it your responsibility. You didn't ask for this."
But she wanted this. She bites her lip. He turns back to the bookshelf.
"She's really kicking you out?"
"Can you blame her?"
"Nothing happened." She says and feels stupid for it, who is she convincing?
He answers, lower and slower this time.
"Even if that's true I don't think it matters."
Because she wanted this. She remembers the Dance Marathon, it was a thousand years ago, but she still has to remind herself to breathe.
"How are you feeling?" She asks.
He drops another book into his bag, and his shoulders rise and fall in a deliberate breath.
"Empty. Drunk. Bad."
She leans into a step in his direction.
"Do you want me to-?" She doesn't even know what she's asking, he responds anyway.
"Better not."
She freezes.
"Besides, I should get going."
"It's midnight." She objects.
"All the more reason."
He hastily looks around the room. He throws the bag over his shoulder and walks towards the door. She follows and catches up halfway through the corridor. She grabs his jacket and makes him stop.
"Jess-"
He turns, the plea clear in his voice.
"Ror, I gotta go. I did enough damage here."
Her fist closes more firmly around his jacket, while she grasps for rhyme and reason.
"Okay, fine, just- just wait a second."
He shifts his weight and looks at her. She has no idea what to say even if words are flocking to her mouth, pushing to get out.
In one swift motion she puts her arms around him, and leans her head on his shoulder. For a couple of solid seconds he's stiff, still. But then there's a thud as his duffel bag hits the floor and pressure from his arms as they fold around her waist. It's quiet, but inside the noise is overwhelming. She's been wanting to do this all summer and the release of it almost lets her forget why she's able to. She shouldn't have done this now, this could take all night. She lets out a trembling sigh and tries to let him go, but his grip around her tightens. His chin rests on her shoulder and she feels his breath in her hair. It's so good, it pulls her in, time loses all meaning and he gives no indication, no sign of wanting to let go.
The door. He turns his head, whispers.
"Shit."
And before she has time to process it he's grabbed his bag and her, stepping into her room and shutting the door behind them. He lets go of her but doesn't move further. Steps pass in the corridor and Nicks's door opens. A voice, Paula's, is audible, carrying out one side of a telephone conversation.
"It's gone." Silence. "I know, honey."
Rory and Jess are right by the door, frozen where they entered. They're facing each other, he's still holding his bag between them, a barrier. She looks at his face, one inch from hers. She reaches between them and tries to loosen the heavy bag from his firm grip but fails. She settles for keeping one hand around his.
After a minute the front door opens and shuts again and Nicks's voice starts bleeding through the wall, mingling with Paula's. Rory can't make out the words but it's clear from their tone what's going on. Their steps slow outside her room and the muffled voices get lower. She doesn't dare to breathe as they both live through the moments in the room on the other side of the door.
Then the steps pass, water runs in the kitchen. Before she has time to react Jess has moved to the middle of the room, his gaze darting between its walls like a trapped bird. The sounds of Nicks and Paula approach again, and Rory leans on the door as they pass, fall away and move into Paula's room. She turns, cracks the door to look out, but Jess reaches her, pushing it closed.
"Her door is open, I won't get past it without-" He interrupts himself, lifts his bag. "I'll just use the fire escape."
He heads over to her window, opening it and tossing the bag out on the fire escape. She hurries to his side, grabs his arm.
"Where are you going?" She hisses.
He takes her hand in an attempt to loosen its grip, she resists.
"Are you gonna spend the night on a bus?"
"I got my car."
She glares at him. He smiles bleakly at her, seems almost amused at her reaction, the opposite of what she is.
"You can't drive." She bites her lip, looks away. "You should stay."
"I should go, Rory, you know that."
He finally loosens her grip on him, but she holds onto his hand. You know what you're doing.
"I don't think Nicks would want you to punish yourself-" She stops, she really knows nothing about Nicks, so she tries a different tactic, whispers sharply: "It's not the first time a couple's broken up!" She's afraid of his reaction, so she keeps talking. "And I'm not letting you sleep in your car again."
He doesn't move, she has to brace herself to get the words out.
"I want- I want you to stay."
She forces her eyes to his face for emphasis. He frowns. They stare at each other for a second, she has no idea how she looks. Loud music starts playing in Paula's room. He blinks at the sound. He moves, and she goes cold before she registers that he's reaching for his bag. He pulls it back inside, puts it on the floor. He looks at her and then at their clasped hands, she can't speak. Her voice will shake. He nods.
"Okay." He says.
She's strangely stunned, so unprepared even if she distinctly asked him for this just seconds ago. Luckily he is a man of action. He walks over to her wardrobe opening it and scanning the shelves before picking out sheets. He walks up to the bed, sticking one hand under the mattress.
"Can you manage without this?" He asks.
She nods and he pulls the mattress, fully made, off the bed. It lands on the floor and she bends over to remove the sheets.
"Don't bother. It's fine." He says.
"Really?"
"I just wanna go to bed."
"Okay."
He nods and puts the sheets onto the bed. He gestures vaguely over his shoulder.
"I'm just gonna-"
He walks into the corner, stepping out of his shoes. She makes the bed and tries not to look when he pulls his t-shirt off and steps out of his pants.
She waits until he's gotten under the covers on the mattress on the floor, then steps in behind the wardrobe door, swiftly pulling her own pyjama pants off, unbuttoning her shirt, and putting on her tank top instead. She glances down to see how much of her is showing through the thin fabric but doesn't have time to dwell on it. Instead she hurries back to the bed and gets under the covers of her mattress-less bed. It's surprisingly soft, but she senses the springs in it and squirms a bit to find the right spot. She notices he's looking and freezes.
He actually smiles a little.
"Hey, my suggestion meant only one of us had to sleep uncomfortably, I hope you're happy now."
"Over the moon." She says and does her best to sound sarcastic. "You?"
He doesn't respond, just turns to his side and strokes his hand down her pillow. His gaze gets stuck on something an inch from his face and he removes one of her hairs and drops it on her floor. She blushes.
"We could just make the mattress with fresh sheets-" She starts.
"I told you it's fine." He says.
"Are you sure?"
"It's more than fine."
He pushes his face deeper into her pillow for a second, taking a breath. Her heartbeat gets harder. Then he smiles at her, and it might be the most genuine she's seen him in weeks, she mirrors it without any reservations. Then she remembers why they're here.
"Jess."
"Yeah?"
"What did Adam say?"
He stops smiling.
"Nothing worth repeating."
She looks at him and he sighs.
"He was talking about you like you might as well be someone else."
She frowns.
"So? That's not so bad." She snorts. "You know, the last time we went out, he couldn't stop talking about Nicks, he's obviously into her."
Jess sighs.
"Of course he is, everyone is, Adam, Matt, Chris if he could finish the thought."
"You're not jealous?"
"No."
"Why not?"
He shrugs.
"Paula once let it slip that Nicks was really into me not being that into her."
"And what are you into?" The question just asks itself like it's inevitable.
He fixes her with his gaze.
"You know."
She shakes her head, embarrassed, stubborn.
"No I don't."
He frowns but answers anyhow, almost immediately, voice slightly raised.
"I'm into you!" He takes a shaky breath. "I thought that was obvious."
She feels like crying, it takes her by surprise.
"Why would it be obvious?" She whispers.
For a second he looks like he's been struck by lightning. He blinks and his lips fall apart, he's clearly processing. Meanwhile she swallows down the lump in her throat as best she can.
"You're right." He says. "It's just-" He rolls onto his back, looks away. "-all I have ringing in my head these days, hard to believe no one else can hear it." He closes his eyes, his fists, and when he speaks his words are evenly paced like he's beating them out. "I'm jealous of Adam because he can do what he does, just be with someone he considers anyone." He gestures. "I've wished it could be anyone else but you for so long. I can't even-" There's a pause before he mumbles the last words. "-fantasize about anyone else."
She's too warm, and at once intensely grateful that there's distance between them while still wishing to close it. She reaches her hand towards him, hesitates before stroking his cheek. He opens his eyes at the touch and takes her hand.
That settles it.
"I'm getting next to you." She mumbles.
It's not a request and she follows it by getting on the floor beside him, and it's like things go quiet down there. You know what you're doing. He turns his face to her, scooches over obediently and makes room for her. He lifts his blanket and lets it down over her. She lays on her back also, shoulder to shoulder with him. It's soft and firm and she looks at the ceiling where the lights from traffic mixes with light of the day to come. She glances at the watch, so late it's early.
"This is nice." She breathes.
"Yeah."
He stretches out his arm and scoops her up with it, so she's leaning her head on his shoulder, just like that, a move of comforting intimacy. He's warm, smells nice, familiar. Still, never like this. She realizes that this is as close as they've ever been; Both of them only in their underwear, in bed together, skin on skin. Her heart races and she almost jerks when he speaks, easier than before.
"When I was a kid, me and Liz lived in this weird two room apartment. It was one of those that used to be bigger but was chopped off into smaller pieces to fit more families, so it had all these nooks and crannies that made no sense." He uses his free arm to gesture as he speaks, she looks at his hand as if it were a paintbrush. "Anyway, she had me in the separate bedroom until she met this guy who made a living buying up large stocks of, anything really, and selling it off for more money. He'd regularly need to store it somewhere so I had to give up my bedroom, but Liz had a rubber foam mattress that she cut out to fit on the floor of this crooked walk in closet in the living room, and made a bed for me there."
A physical memory is triggered by his story - from the shed at the Independence Inn, her and Lorelai's only room; Her first own bed was in the space where they used to keep garden tools, Lorelai consequently referred to it as the alcove after they moved, until it became one in her memory. It was too small to grow in, but big enough for a toddler, she remembers the feeling of the walls against her head. Jess goes on:
"I was about six or seven at the time, I got that it was a demotion, but I kinda liked the place." There's a smile in his voice. "I'd lie there, smell the clothes and listen to everything going on in the apartment. Liz never ran a child-proof ship but… it still felt safe being close like that."
She swallows, reaches her arm across his torso, resting it against his shoulder.
"I think that's the first nice thing you've ever told me about your life with your mom."
He breathes in, her head rising with his chest.
"It's never all good or all bad."
"Kinda like this."
She turns her head to see his face. He looks back.
"I'm on the floor, but next to you."
"You're broken up." She says.
He nods, and reaches to stroke her temple, down to her cheek, following his fingers with his eyes.
"It really frustrates me sometimes," he mumbles, "things never being pure."
Her mouth is dry, she presses her forehead to his shoulder and speaks anyway.
"I think pure's overrated, I think nothing means anything until it's mixed with something else. Everything needs a point of reference, to make sense."
Her jaw is trembling, she presses her lips together to make it stop. He rolls over onto his side facing her, puts his hands around her head and puts his forehead to hers. She looks at him, he closes his eyes and speaks with his slow deliberate voice again.
"I was on my own for a long time. It's not nice, but pure. That's why I had trouble with you. I wasn't built to hold what I felt, so I had to make modifications especially fitted for you and after- they were just these useless constructions." He opens his eyes. "You broke my heart. Before we even got together, when we were, and after, just, constantly." He takes a trembling breath. "It still beats just about everything else. How do you make sense of something like that?"
She grips his shoulder, not sure if she's holding him or herself steady.
"I don't know." She manages. "I guess it depends on what kind of sense you're looking to make of it." She takes a breath. "When we were together- I needed things to fit back then, because I knew where I was going but- now I feel like nothing makes sense except you, and I know it's horrible, and I'm a horrible person for feeling… elated right now." Her voice falls away.
She looks at him. Their eyes meet and she watches his gaze trail her face. She almost feels it on her skin, it looks like a caress. There's nothing she can say. Her mind is too busy absorbing everything, and her body is busy raging; Her heart is pounding, it's in her jaws, throat, belly, thighs. She's still holding onto his shoulder. He looks spent, open, she gets the distinct thought she only needs to make one move to set everything in motion.
She knows it'll be good, that's not it. It's that it'll be so much more. Whenever they see each other it's a reminder of what is always there, what doesn't change. It's not residue, or a phantom limb, it was never like that with them. He was the first guy she wanted and he left, and it was like she knew it going in. She wanted him and he went away but not the feeling. She had to cover it up with something else as quickly as she could bear. Make it too late. But it didn't work, and that she knows now, that's why she's scared.
Being loved was simple, pleasant. Doing the loving herself… It wasn't what she'd expected. Strange how something that came from her, that she chose to do, could come out so feral, unpredictable, chaotic. It wasn't that he was a stranger, it was that she was, to herself.
She can make the move, and everything can happen, anything can happen. She wants it, and she doesn't want it. Any second it'll be inevitable. And it'll be real but far from perfect. She looks away, tries speaking but has to clear her throat.
"Hey, have you read...?"
She was sure she had an actual question, but maybe that was just her desperation talking. Forget the dragon, leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness. He just looks at her, serious. Then he takes a breath that looks like it hurts.
"I'm tired."
"We could try and sleep."
"Not the kind of tired I'm talking about."
She stops breathing.
"Rory," he only says, then again: "Rory."
The pull has her. She puts her hands to his face and kisses him, softly. His hands close around the back of her head before anything, holding her in place, then he kisses her back like he's already knee deep in it, like he's been waiting for it forever. She's taken by how much she's been wanting it too, and how hard she's denied it, how she can't anymore. She makes a sound when it overwhelms her. He pulls back and shushes against her mouth, she nods urgently and keeps kissing him.
It's slow at first, lips brushing, caressing each other, it has to be slow, she thinks, or it'll be too fast, falling. So, she paces herself, holds him close, lets it come back in every breath. It's partly muscle memory, cogs in an old machine starting to turn again, she's two years younger, struck by vertigo in Truncheon, she's three, four years younger, taken by his kisses in couches, street corners, on top of her, his bed, at the Inn, everywhere they could think to, everywhere. They're kissing for the long haul like they used to, with the kissing being everything they would do, so that was everything, and it could go on forever. It's everything falling back into place, everything feeling right again.
Then it's now, and they're breathing deeper, and they're not teenagers anymore, but wielding the magic all the same, and she knows exactly how to kiss him to drive him crazy, to drive herself out of her own busy mind. So she does. Turns her head and pries his mouth open, and pulls at his hair in the neck inching closer. He follows her cue and leans his body on hers. His breath is on the side of her face, his hands around her head, his lips move against hers, his tongue in her mouth.
They keep kissing and thing after thing falls away from them. The past and even the present. They keep kissing until there's only that. They're on the floor but don't know why. She loses track of time. Breathes quickly. She holds back sounds, without remembering why. And then, it's all gone. There's just them at the center of the world, they're its core of skin and tongue, lips and teeth, hands and muted sounds of them crashing into each other.
Then it's clear that they've grown passed kissing until their lips are chapped. They could possibly have gone on fooling themselves, but she pulls at him to get closer so he rolls on top of her, and pushes her legs apart, rocking her with his body. Needing more is like a sledgehammer to her, and she's all ache all at once. The entire summer catches up with her, as well as her prior longing, he was the first guy she wanted. Her legs start to shake. She rips her mouth from his and gasps, her heartbeat is trying to break her apart one pulse at a time. She manages some sort of primitive thought that feels more like muscle memory and reaches for the drawer in her bedside table and picks out a condom. He reacts at her movement and looks at her, half lost in the haze first, and then increasingly sober as he fixes his gaze on what she's holding. He's panting, but still frowns at her, like the thought hadn't occurred to him. She's too far gone to be ashamed.
He takes it from her, drops it next to the mattress. He leans on an elbow and lets his free hand rest over her clavicle for a few seconds. She's anxious and her voice twists in her throat looking for a way out. Then he strokes his hand down her body, his gaze in tow. It's slow and he's a cruel, cruel man, so she arches her back, pushing her chest and tummy to his hand. He actually makes a sound at that and she has to look at him to see that he's laughing, or something like it. His lips are pulled back in a strange, absent smile, he looks up at her and his eyes are black. She swallows, but smiles back at him, tilting her hip a little upward into his, he gasps and stops smiling. He slides his hand up under her top over her breast. She can't help a little sound but turns it into a whisper, words meant to command come out more like a plea instead:
"Come on."
She reaches down to touch him, strokes her hand over the surface of his boxers, feeling warmth and hardness. He breathes sharply again and takes her hand stroking it up the length of him, turning it over and lacing his fingers together with hers, pinning it down next to the pillow. He puts his face to hers and nods slightly.
"Alright."
He gets on his knees and helps her pull off her top. When she's on her back again he drags his hands down her body, grabs onto her waist, squeezing slightly, then on to the rim of her panties and hooks his fingers into it. He looks at her and she gets it, they can stop, they've been standing on this precifice for years, they could stay here, it doesn't have to be real and far from perfect, but her body won't let her head take the wheel now.
"It's too late." She whispers incoherently.
He swallows, nods, and pulls off her underwear. She's bare and can't look at him, it's too much. But then she has to since he isn't moving. He's watching her, expression impossible. She's the one who has to be brave. She sits up and wraps her arms around him finding his mouth with hers. Then she leans back pulling him on top of her sliding her hands down his body and pushing his boxers off with them. She keeps kissing him to stay tethered to some kind of conscious action. He rips his lips from hers moments later anyway and leans on the side of her stroking his hand down her body. He reaches her hip, and laughs shakily and she looks to his face, he looks at her, dazed.
"I don't know what you like." He sounds surprised, like he hadn't considered it.
"I think you do." She mumbles.
"Tell me." He whispers.
She shakes in quiet laughter, or maybe it's something else.
"Well, I don't know what I'll like with you. Probably everything."
He takes a breath like he's bracing himself, and she almost perishes at the thought of him fantasizing about this, imagining what she'd like. Then he slides between her legs and his fingers stroke her thigh all the way up and into her. She holds back a sound by biting her lip. He's looking at her, attentively, and she's full of laughter at the thought of him reading her, like a book. Then it stops being anything but what it's meant to be and she buries her face in his chest, choking back her sounds. He touches her slowly until he figures out what makes her go. His attention clearly pays off and she has trouble keeping it together. She throws her head back and whimpers, lips pressed together. He answers her call and kisses her to muffle the sound, holding her still with his weight.
There are noises from Paula's room. The LP player scratches as the record is changed, and a new type of base starts humming through the wall. It's a reminder of their presence, the situation, and her heart skips a beat when she makes deliberate eye contact with him. The room is light. The sun rises early, so early it's still late, but she hadn't thought about it up until now, being stuck in their own twilight. He looks at her, chest rising and falling, he's heard it too, and it's woken him up. They see each other clearly, real and far from perfect.
She swallows and waits for his reaction despite aching with wanting him. He moves slowly, firmly, reaches for the package he dropped on the floor earlier, opens it and puts it on. Nicks's and Paula's voices are heard through the wall in what could initially be read as crying but is probably laughter, Paula's doing her best friend duty very well. It's clear that he hears them from his serious expression, but he gets back on top of her anyway. He looks at her and she can't protect herself by disappearing, not now. They only have each other to hold onto in this. He leans in and kisses her with his eyes open, and is inside her all at once. She gasps into his mouth and he starts moving.
It's not usually like this for her. She's used to the comfort of soft mattresses, dimmed lights, a possibility to float away, to be alone in herself. Now she's feeling everything at once and can't filter out anything. The firmness of the floor through the mattress is chafing her back, sticking it's hard fingers along her spine, and knocking the air from her lungs, but it's too good to stop, so she tenses her muscles instead and pushes back against him, wrapping her legs around his hips and lifting her torso toward him.
More sounds leak through the wall from Paula's room, furniture dragged over floor, perhaps they're changing the sleeping arrangements in there.
"Like this?" He asks her hoarsely.
She doesn't trust her voice to answer, just nods and kisses him, feeling like crying a bit.
He halts a few moments later, shaking, so she pushes at him to move them over. She winds up on top, but curves her back, leaning down over him like a willow. He looks soft and strokes her face, placing her hair behind her ear. She hazily smiles at him before straightening her back.
She's doing the moving now and he holds onto her waist, her breast. She looks at his face and it's spectacular from lust and reverence. His breaths whisper through the air, and she's doing her best to hold onto her own, uneven and raging in her throat. She bites the inside of her cheek, pressing her lips together to keep them in check.
These are their circumstances, the only ones they're allowed, it is what it is. Once she accepts that she gets to feel everything, the ambiguity, her point of reference, but the full width of what they're doing too. How she's wanted it since she learned how to want. She's been so angry with him, so desperately frustrated with everything they lost, mourning that which they didn't get a chance to say, trying to keep it civil and protect the friendship, that term is too small for them anyway. Now it's too late to pretend that they're anything but what they are, that's what she meant before, and she's rampantly happy realizing it. Her knees hurt but doesn't stop her from falling over the edge.
She climaxes and loses it. At first she thinks it's just a whimper escaping her, then she hears the words.
"I love you."
Her heart flutters when she hears herself. She didn't mean to say it, thought she was beyond words, but she means it, there's never been anything more obvious to say to him.
His eyes widen and then immediately shut as his grip tightens around her, and he follows. She wilts down over him again to be as close as possible when it happens. His voice is in his breathing, a tone that makes her moan in response. He kisses her, holds her close through his convulsions.
Now she's floating, she doesn't know for how long. Then he awkwardly inches out from under her and rids himself of the condom. She rolls herself into the blanket while he does, then holds a corner out for him when he turns back to her. He gets under it and lies with his forehead to hers, hand stroking her body up and down. She shivers, and it's as much from pleasure as exhaustion.
She closes her eyes and feels herself drifting off, floating again, as he moves her onto his side, with her temple to his clavicle. She registers his heartbeat slowing. She's blissfully spent and feels her own in her entire body and how it wanes from her resting.
Instead of fading into darkness she fades into light as the sun rises. She hears his breathing, and faint voices from the neighboring rooms, and traffic on the street outside. She sleeps, or something like it.
She feels his body move, his hand on her face, her eyes flutter open and their faces are an inch apart. She makes a little sound, a greeting, an emotion. He strokes his face to hers, reaches her mouth and kisses her, hungrily. It's an electric shock: they're naked together. She catches on and goes for matching his fervor, swings from one drift to another kind. His hands caresses, squeezes and pinches her and he rolls on top of her. She's about to lose herself again when there's a knock at the door.
In an instant she's back in the situation, their circumstances. They're on the floor because he can't stay next door because he just broke up with his girlfriend, like, hours ago. He's back too, it's clear. His eyes are serious, and he seems pale, tired. She doesn't know why she looks at the watch, it makes no difference what time it is. It's seven o'clock.
"Rory?" Nicks's low voice leaks through the door.
Jess opens his mouth but makes no sound, she can't do anything.
"Sorry to bother you this early." Nicks continues.
Jess looks away and silently, eerily effectively loosens himself from her. She has to answer. She clears her throat.
"What is it?" She's just buying time.
Jess is in his pants now and gathers the rest of his loose items, picking up his bag, backing towards the fire escape.
"We should probably talk." Nicks sounds embarrassed, but resolved.
"Okay, just- gimme a sec." She replies but can't seem to get tone into her voice.
She gets up. She's naked, funny how that means something completely different now than a few moments ago. He looks at her. She steps into her crumbled up panties, and gets hold of the tank top she usually sleeps in. She slips into it. He opens the window and lifts out his bag onto the staircase.
Their eyes meet before he climbs out of the window and she turns to the door.
She doesn't have time to clear the room, so she doesn't open the door all the way, just cracks it open and peeks out. Nicks is outside, just inches away, there's no way to get out of making eye contact. The air starts moving even through the small crack in the door as the best draft in the apartment on summer days forms. There was no time for closing the window.
Nicks looks at her for a beat, then away.
"I'm gonna assume you know what happened." Pause. "You don't have to answer."
She might not have to, but her head scrambles to, anyway, she settles for a nod. Nicks looks at her, properly this time, frowns slightly, then lifts her chin.
"He in there?" Her tone is curt.
Rory has to look away to shake her head, technically not a lie doesn't seem to work for her now. There's silence. The floorboards creak as Nicks shifts her weight, sighs. Rory meets her eyes.
"I'll move out." Rory offers.
Nicks nods.
"It's probably for the best."
She looks away, then turns to leave. Rory doesn't know why she feels like speaking.
"I've liked living here. It hasn't been the best days of my life, but I've liked the place."
Nicks stops and nods without looking back.
Rory hurries back into her room. Not her room. Nicks's room. Nicks's empty room, the window left ajar. She walks up to the window anyway, looks outside. The sidewalk, the street looks like every other morning, cars, a couple of people passing, but nothing else of consequence. She turns back, turns around and catches her image in the mirror hung on the inside of the door and everything comes back to her. She sees everything that happened last night, hours ago, minutes ago. Her hair is on end, one cheek redder than the other, her lips too, and her knees. Also, her top is see-through. Her chest burns and it takes her by surprise, the shame. I'm the dragon. Just hours ago it was irrelevant, non-existing. The harsh light of day, now there's an expression. All her intentions from the past weeks suddenly kick into action and she tears out one of the boxes stacked behind the bookcase. If she hurries she can be packed up in an hour. She could be in Stars Hollow in time for lunch.
Notes: Paraphrased poetry by Richard Siken "Litany in which certain things are crossed out" again.