Gilmore Girls Drabble: if two should meet
if two should meet
rory’s sentimental first
gilmore girls. rory. rory/jess.
future drabble. 247 words, pg.
Her teeth grind six steps over the stairs, down to the subway, and the reminder’s just sort of there. This morning a pen broke over old college friends, smearing article reviews for the split - but Rory’s sentimental first, Dad not Mom and holiday dinners stray for the burn every now and then.
With a walk, her fingers cue over the railing. The nails scrape cool, peeling chips of paint and a wince; dirty hands, it’s Luke’s bonding drop with her. But she shelters a smile down further and there comes the memory, panic and adoration, the simple loss of first, second, third. Again, the case was none before she had a voice. He knew and her throat ran dry, burning each turn away.
But hey comes at the crack of her heel, the press of shoulders as she stumbles in mid-turn to look up. Second stair, up and away, Jess pushes a lopsided mouth and amusement.
Rory mouths hey, maybe quick, maybe not, but her hands slide over her arms with her fingers pressing deep into her jacket. People pass. People curse. There are horns outside. A bicycle bell skirts by. And she feels it, you know, she feels the unadulterated return of the blush over her cheeks, the twist from the beginning - you know, when boys were boys and girls were girls; unending, ever-changing, her cycles still push that kind of panic.
But Jess takes that step back.
Of course, see; maybe, her eyes are wide.
-
rory’s sentimental first
gilmore girls. rory. rory/jess.
future drabble. 247 words, pg.
Her teeth grind six steps over the stairs, down to the subway, and the reminder’s just sort of there. This morning a pen broke over old college friends, smearing article reviews for the split - but Rory’s sentimental first, Dad not Mom and holiday dinners stray for the burn every now and then.
With a walk, her fingers cue over the railing. The nails scrape cool, peeling chips of paint and a wince; dirty hands, it’s Luke’s bonding drop with her. But she shelters a smile down further and there comes the memory, panic and adoration, the simple loss of first, second, third. Again, the case was none before she had a voice. He knew and her throat ran dry, burning each turn away.
But hey comes at the crack of her heel, the press of shoulders as she stumbles in mid-turn to look up. Second stair, up and away, Jess pushes a lopsided mouth and amusement.
Rory mouths hey, maybe quick, maybe not, but her hands slide over her arms with her fingers pressing deep into her jacket. People pass. People curse. There are horns outside. A bicycle bell skirts by. And she feels it, you know, she feels the unadulterated return of the blush over her cheeks, the twist from the beginning - you know, when boys were boys and girls were girls; unending, ever-changing, her cycles still push that kind of panic.
But Jess takes that step back.
Of course, see; maybe, her eyes are wide.
-