skins: naomi/emily fic; all sorts of inevitable pg
Title: all sorts of inevitable
Fandom/Pairing: Skins; Naomi/Emily
Author: yesssirrr
Rating: PG just to cover all the bases even though everyone should be all right
Warnings: Overtly literal take on love, an awkward ending and a lack of distinction.
Summary: Naomi should probably lay off the sweets before bed.
Word count: 1,195
Disclaimer: I once owned a caramel apple, but I ate all of it. Relatedly, I don't own anything or anybody.
A/N: I'm not sure I'm too happy with this. It started as a drabble and I was able to maintain it as a drabble for about ten minutes until it wasn'ta drabble anymore. I don't understand what it's about, either, so don't feel bad. I apologize for all remaining mistakes and the plotless story that came out of nowhere. Thanks for reading, though!
--
It's literal and metaphorical and nonsensical and whimsical all at the same time. Like your middle school English class just kind of took over. But that's not even the point. The point is: she has your heart. She has your heart. And you can see it held loosely in her hands and you're worried that she'll drop it.
Even though she doesn't have your lungs (thank the gods), you can barely breathe.
You try to stand up as straight as you can, considering the circumstances that she has your heart. Then you tell her in a coarse voice that you knew sounded much, much clearer in your head, "Give it back."
And she's defiantly un-obliging, what with that smirk in her eyes and the tighter grip she gives on the heart she continues to hold. So you repeat yourself, louder this time, "give it back."
And she narrows her eyes before moving her lips. "No, it's mine."
You stand there, blinking. Then, "Yours? Yours?!" you ask incredulously because really, you don't know how to ask nicely anymore. "How can it be yours?!"
She stops and stills herself, her swaying arm stopping just in front of you as she puts your own heart up to level with your eyes. And she's making you look at it but you don't see whatever 'it' is. She doesn't tell you anything.
And you're eyeing your own heart. Your own fucking heart is leveled with your eyes and if it was appropriate, you'd laugh that this is the closest your heart and your brain have ever been to each other. But you realize that this isn't appropriate, so you don't. Besides, they still argue on what’s important regardless of their proximity.
You're about to ask her again, maybe less on the incredulity and more on the curiosity when she interrupts you.
She says with finality, "It has my name on it."
You look at her hand and you look back at your own fucking heart and you finally see the faint but very clear etching of her name.
Her fucking name on your fucking heart.
Oh. Oh.
You’re still confused so you shake your head and try this again. It’s a misunderstanding, a mistake. Surely.
“How the hell did it get there?”
She smiles at you knowingly. “You wrote it there.”
“No, no. that’s not…no, that can’t be. How could I have possibly-” you say, stepping back, distancing yourself from her, looking around with your arms up to keep her at bay. You feel the air in the room push up against you and your lungs are having trouble.
Her smile is still there and you just want to wipe it away from her face, maybe give her a slap or two just for good measure. Who does she think she is, fucking with your mind like this? You’re sober and you’re thinking clearly, so it can’t be due to a drunken stupor or chemical mix-up in your head.
You can’t breathe, feeling paralyzed in your place.
“What’re you-what’re you smiling about? This isn’t funny. You’re carrying my heart around like some accessory or whatever and…and-and just please stop this, alright?”
She approaches you and you want to move but your legs aren’t letting you go anywhere and you shut your eyes tightly, hoping that when you open them, all of this is over.
You open your eyes and you see she’s staring right back at you, but her smile is softer, nicer, dimpled.
“It’s only fair,” she tells you. And you’re blinking rapidly attempting to make sense of it.
“What’s-what’s only fair?”
Her free hand grabs hold of one of yours and you notice just how soft and warm it is. She puts your hand up for you to see, just like she did earlier.
And there it is. It’s a heart. The confusion in your eyes is enough of a question as she turns your hand a little bit to show you what it is she’s looking at.
“It’s my name,” you say in a breath you were sure you weren’t holding, but apparently were escapes from your lungs and through your lips. An awareness sinks in until your eyes move from your hand to her eyes.
Oh. Oh.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind overcomes the two of you, like the pressure in an airplane has been released. She doesn’t move, but her hair whips about. She puts her hands close to her chest, protecting herself, protecting you.
Your once immobile body is easily pulled by the wind and you’re in the air trying to claw your way back down to her, feeling like a puppet on strings. You try to scream and yell but there’s nothing coming out of your mouth. You just know that it’s forming into a word that feels all too familiar.
The wind pulls you farther and farther away from her until all you remember seeing are wisps of red and the words don’t let it go ring in your ears.
--
Naomi, you hear someone say.
Naomi.
There it is again, but this time you’re slowly moving side to side.
Naomi.
The muffled sound gets clearer and you open one eye only to see red.
“Naomi, you were dreaming,” she says as she brushes your fringes out of your eyes. You move your body to fully face her. You see there’s concern in her eyes even though she’s smiling.
“Was I?” you ask groggily. You don’t really remember much now.
“Yeah,” she starts. “You kept saying things like “give it back” and “yours” and “mine”. Then you kept saying my name after that. You even managed to say something awfully loud. I think it was “don’t let it go”. It sounded panicked, so I woke you up.”
“Huh,” you say, trying to figure out just what it was you dreamt. “I’m sorry I woke you, then,” you offer lamely.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine. Better question is, are you?”
“Mmhm,” you say as she settles beside you and automatically, you move yourself to hold her from behind.
“So what were you supposed to not let go?”
“Dunno. Can’t really remember.”
She turns around and kisses you softly before turning back around. “All right, then?” she asks.
“Yeah, babe,” you assure her as you kiss her shoulder, snuggling closer.
She takes the hand you have on her stomach and pulls it upward as it settles right in front of her chest, both her hands holding yours. It feels oddly memorable but you can’t figure out how or why.
You go over what she said to you about your dream, trying to remember who said what. But for the life of you, you can’t really remember.
Your legs tangle with hers under your tangerine colored duvet and you find yourself falling back to a groggy lull.
It’s not until the back of her head becomes a blurry vision in your eyes as it fully closes that you recognize the same shade of red that you swear you’ve seen from somewhere.
It takes you a moment longer to remember that it wasn’t she who told you not to let it go.
Oh. Oh.