It only happens once
Fic. Rory/Jess, Gilmore Girls. ~900 words. Cigarettes. Nothing else to be warned about.
Written for stainofmylove's awfully fun ficathon. Go write it, people.
Prompt: we shared a cigarette and shaved the hours off by stainofmylove
It only happens once.
(But just once, that's important.)
She's a teenager okay, and she read in this book once that teenagers experiment with things, like they get drunk and pass out and do drugs until they pass out and have sex and then the boy passes out sometimes and various other things she'd rather not mention happen as well. She's read about it in books, because she doesn't just read Proust and Ginsberg and textbooks, because sometimes she also reads magazines with pink headlines and flowery dresses on the covers and watches movies and not all of the media she consumes is about existential crisis and revolutions and searching for lost times.
Some of it is about boys who smile at girls even if girls have boyfriends who are not that boy and the boys really shouldn't go around smiling at girls who have boyfriends because those girls already have their boyfriends for that. It's all clear to her, thank you very much. No confusion whatsoever.
She walks past Luke's. He runs after her.
"Rory."
"Hi, Jess."
"Have some free time?"
"When?"
"Now?"
"Sure. Why?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to go up to the lake."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"What for?"
"What am I asking you to go to the lake for?"
"Yes."
"To hang out. All very casual. I promise to get you home in time for all your other exciting plans."
"Ok."
"Ok?"
"Ok."
They walk to the lake and he guides her through various shortcuts and the path occasionally gets narrow and she's very careful not to bump into him by accident. (And it's not like there's a chance she'd ever bump into him or touch him on purpose. So, as long as she avoids accidents she'll be perfectly fine.)
He smiles at her the whole time, and damn it, why is he smiling at her? She really hopes she's not smiling at him, because really, she doesn't want to be smiling at him, but maybe she smiled by accident and then maybe he thought that meant something which it definitely didn't mean.
Definitely didn't.
"We could sit here," she suggests, pointing at the two tree trunks, away from the bridge over the lake, because sitting there again would be almost like making it their spot, and since there's no them, their spot can't exist by definition, so it's just better not to sit there again.
(Like the time when he bought her at the auction and they sat there and eventually he made her smile. But only then, and only like once.)
They sit down, and then she stares at her hands, because she's pretty sure he's staring at her and that she'd meet his eyes if she looked up. She doesn't see, but she hears the almost familiar sound of his pack of cigarettes against his hands, and then his finger against the lighter, and then the cigarette is lit, and he exhales, and then there's the inevitable question.
"Want one?"
"No."
She looks up for a moment, and then goes back to looking down again.
"Why not?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"There's different kinds of questions?"
"There's ones that really don't need to be answered because the answers are too obvious."
"And this is one of them?"
"Absolutely."
"Let's pretend it's not for a moment. So, why not?"
"They're not good for you, you know that."
"True, probably. But just one won't do you any bad."
There's a three second pause, in which she looks up again. Doesn't look down this time.
"I don't want to."
"You're scared."
"Oh sure. And what am I scared of?"
"That you'll like it."
Then he exhales and smoke comes out of his mouth and into the air and she watches and watches until it disappears, just like her eyes sometimes follow balloons or paper planes or clouds.
He doesn't say anything for a while, but she knows the conversation's not over. Because he's read too many books to count, and he's good at noticing ends of things. So she knows he's just waiting for her to speak, because he knows some things all too well.
But, then he doesn't ask her anything else for a while, probably intent on thinking that if she's left in silence long enough she'll ask him for a cigarette, which is obviously idiotic. So she just has to start talking about something else, that should be easy enough.
She just about opens her mouth and then he does as well.
"So do you want one, then?"
She chooses to stare at him, goes for the "I won't even dignify that with a verbal response" vibe.
"Just one."
Nothing.
("I don't want to. It's dirty and gross and smells bad.")
"I won't tell anyone."
Nothing.
("No. What if I like it? What if I like it, and then I won't know how to stop? What if I don't stop?")
"I promise."
She nods and her fingers shake during it and she coughs half the way through it, and the way he looks at her, it's almost as if he's proud.
"Congratulations, Rory Gilmore. You just broke out of your comfort zone."
"Every talk with you breaks me out of my comfort zone."
"Good."
He smiles while she puts out the cigarette.
She smiles as well.
(But just once, that's important.)
Written for stainofmylove's awfully fun ficathon. Go write it, people.
Prompt: we shared a cigarette and shaved the hours off by stainofmylove
It only happens once.
(But just once, that's important.)
She's a teenager okay, and she read in this book once that teenagers experiment with things, like they get drunk and pass out and do drugs until they pass out and have sex and then the boy passes out sometimes and various other things she'd rather not mention happen as well. She's read about it in books, because she doesn't just read Proust and Ginsberg and textbooks, because sometimes she also reads magazines with pink headlines and flowery dresses on the covers and watches movies and not all of the media she consumes is about existential crisis and revolutions and searching for lost times.
Some of it is about boys who smile at girls even if girls have boyfriends who are not that boy and the boys really shouldn't go around smiling at girls who have boyfriends because those girls already have their boyfriends for that. It's all clear to her, thank you very much. No confusion whatsoever.
She walks past Luke's. He runs after her.
"Rory."
"Hi, Jess."
"Have some free time?"
"When?"
"Now?"
"Sure. Why?"
"I was wondering if you wanted to go up to the lake."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"What for?"
"What am I asking you to go to the lake for?"
"Yes."
"To hang out. All very casual. I promise to get you home in time for all your other exciting plans."
"Ok."
"Ok?"
"Ok."
They walk to the lake and he guides her through various shortcuts and the path occasionally gets narrow and she's very careful not to bump into him by accident. (And it's not like there's a chance she'd ever bump into him or touch him on purpose. So, as long as she avoids accidents she'll be perfectly fine.)
He smiles at her the whole time, and damn it, why is he smiling at her? She really hopes she's not smiling at him, because really, she doesn't want to be smiling at him, but maybe she smiled by accident and then maybe he thought that meant something which it definitely didn't mean.
Definitely didn't.
"We could sit here," she suggests, pointing at the two tree trunks, away from the bridge over the lake, because sitting there again would be almost like making it their spot, and since there's no them, their spot can't exist by definition, so it's just better not to sit there again.
(Like the time when he bought her at the auction and they sat there and eventually he made her smile. But only then, and only like once.)
They sit down, and then she stares at her hands, because she's pretty sure he's staring at her and that she'd meet his eyes if she looked up. She doesn't see, but she hears the almost familiar sound of his pack of cigarettes against his hands, and then his finger against the lighter, and then the cigarette is lit, and he exhales, and then there's the inevitable question.
"Want one?"
"No."
She looks up for a moment, and then goes back to looking down again.
"Why not?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"There's different kinds of questions?"
"There's ones that really don't need to be answered because the answers are too obvious."
"And this is one of them?"
"Absolutely."
"Let's pretend it's not for a moment. So, why not?"
"They're not good for you, you know that."
"True, probably. But just one won't do you any bad."
There's a three second pause, in which she looks up again. Doesn't look down this time.
"I don't want to."
"You're scared."
"Oh sure. And what am I scared of?"
"That you'll like it."
Then he exhales and smoke comes out of his mouth and into the air and she watches and watches until it disappears, just like her eyes sometimes follow balloons or paper planes or clouds.
He doesn't say anything for a while, but she knows the conversation's not over. Because he's read too many books to count, and he's good at noticing ends of things. So she knows he's just waiting for her to speak, because he knows some things all too well.
But, then he doesn't ask her anything else for a while, probably intent on thinking that if she's left in silence long enough she'll ask him for a cigarette, which is obviously idiotic. So she just has to start talking about something else, that should be easy enough.
She just about opens her mouth and then he does as well.
"So do you want one, then?"
She chooses to stare at him, goes for the "I won't even dignify that with a verbal response" vibe.
"Just one."
Nothing.
("I don't want to. It's dirty and gross and smells bad.")
"I won't tell anyone."
Nothing.
("No. What if I like it? What if I like it, and then I won't know how to stop? What if I don't stop?")
"I promise."
She nods and her fingers shake during it and she coughs half the way through it, and the way he looks at her, it's almost as if he's proud.
"Congratulations, Rory Gilmore. You just broke out of your comfort zone."
"Every talk with you breaks me out of my comfort zone."
"Good."
He smiles while she puts out the cigarette.
She smiles as well.
(But just once, that's important.)