fic: it's been a long time since 22 (rpf, john mayer/tswift)
Title: It's Been a Long Time Since 22
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: RPF, John Mayer/Taylor Swift
Word Count: 972
Requested By: jmfangrrl
It's more than two years before Taylor talks to him again. She sees him, of course; there are industry events and parties, and they know too many of the same people for their lives to ever be totally separate. But they don't speak, or maybe the silence does the talking for them, Taylor doesn't know.
Time, distance, an album full of scathing songs later, and it's still too raw a wound to pretend like it's not. At least on her side of things. She doesn't know what John is thinking or feeling. But then she never did. That was part of the problem.
Still, it's not a situation that's sustainable, and so eventually it happens. There's a Grammy after-after party, and suddenly they're face to face and Taylor feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. She looks at him, standing not more than an arm's length away and she loses the ability to form words.
John nods his head to her, and says her name. "Taylor."
Somehow, some way, she manages to find a way to do the same. "John."
He steps left. She steps right.
With a flash of a tense smile, John's gone into the crowd. Taylor chugs the glass of white wine in her hand. Fort he rest of the night, she doesn't see him once.
It's only when she's back at her hotel that Taylor realizes that she's not sure whether or not she's happy about it.
*
After that, it's like a seal has broken. There's another party, and they manage to ask each other how they are without the world ending. At another meeting, she tells him how much she liked his latest album. The time after that, he returns the compliment. Taylor doubts that he actually listened to it, but she's not going to press the point, not when word by stilted word, they're making progress toward something. She may not know what that something is, but it has to be better than the deafening silence of the last few years.
Maybe they'll never be friends again (maybe they were never friends, the traitorous voice in Taylor's head nags), but they have to be able to be something more than this.
There's a benefit concert for the latest horrible natural disaster, and that's where they finally have an actual conversation. Taylor feels like a terrible person using someone else's pain to lessen her own, but it's not like she can just pick up the phone and call John. Well, she could. But she'd need to track down his number again and that would lead to more questions than Taylor wants to answer and it's easier to be a bad person. She'll send a check, and just once that will have to be enough.
Taylor studies the event schedule like her life depends on it, and comes to the conclusion that the two hour break between when John comes off the stage and when she goes on is her best chance. She lurks backstage, feeling like the worst kind of stalker, until she sees him go into the room they've cordoned off as his dressing room. She takes a deep breath. She knocks on the door.
John yanks it open, almost immediately and Taylor takes an instinctive step back. Shock flashes across his face, and she feels it like a slap, even though she knows that there was no reason for him to expect it to be her. But the romantic part of her won't die, no matter how much life and logic tells her it should, had hoped that he would just know. She hates that part of her more with every passing day.
"Taylor," John says, shock shifting over to confusion coated with politeness. "Did I know --"
She shakes her head. "I saw you were on the bill too," she says. "I thought I'd say hello."
"Ah," he says. He opens the door wider. "Did you want to --"
Taylor's inside before he can even finish the question.
"--in," he finishes unnecessarily. He closes the door behind her. "Drink?"
"Please," she says, with a decisive nod of her head.
John laughs a little to himself as he pours her drink into a paper cup. He passes it to her, and their hands brush in the exchange.
It feels like an electric current goes through her hand, and she jerks hers away, clutching at the cup. She downs the content in one gulp, her face twisting at the taste as the alcohol burns its way down her throat. "What was that?" she gasps.
"Johnnie Walker Blue," John says, clearly amused. "You're not supposed to drink it like that."
"Oh," Taylor says. "Well, sorry."
John holds up the bottle. "Did you want another?"
"No, I think the one has made me quite stupid enough," she says, the words tumbling out one after another, too fast to her own ears and she can't imagine what John must be thinking. She doesn't know what she's thinking. This may be the dumbest thing she's ever done. She takes a deep breath. "I need to know something."
He's instantly on guard, his eyes shuttering and all amusement gone from his face. It makes her heart ache. "What?"
"Did you ever love me?"
The words hang between them, unanswered. Taylor stares at him, unblinking, desperate to know one way or another. Knowing can't be any worse than not knowing has been. If she knows, Taylor can move on. One way or another, she can move on.
Finally, with a barely perceptive shake of his head, John gives her the answer that she needs.
She smiles, faintly. "Thank you," she says, closing the space between them and kissing his cheek. "Goodbye, John."
Taylor walks out the door without waiting for an answer. She has no regrets.
Disclaimer: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.
Fandom/Characters: RPF, John Mayer/Taylor Swift
Word Count: 972
Requested By: jmfangrrl
It's more than two years before Taylor talks to him again. She sees him, of course; there are industry events and parties, and they know too many of the same people for their lives to ever be totally separate. But they don't speak, or maybe the silence does the talking for them, Taylor doesn't know.
Time, distance, an album full of scathing songs later, and it's still too raw a wound to pretend like it's not. At least on her side of things. She doesn't know what John is thinking or feeling. But then she never did. That was part of the problem.
Still, it's not a situation that's sustainable, and so eventually it happens. There's a Grammy after-after party, and suddenly they're face to face and Taylor feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. She looks at him, standing not more than an arm's length away and she loses the ability to form words.
John nods his head to her, and says her name. "Taylor."
Somehow, some way, she manages to find a way to do the same. "John."
He steps left. She steps right.
With a flash of a tense smile, John's gone into the crowd. Taylor chugs the glass of white wine in her hand. Fort he rest of the night, she doesn't see him once.
It's only when she's back at her hotel that Taylor realizes that she's not sure whether or not she's happy about it.
*
After that, it's like a seal has broken. There's another party, and they manage to ask each other how they are without the world ending. At another meeting, she tells him how much she liked his latest album. The time after that, he returns the compliment. Taylor doubts that he actually listened to it, but she's not going to press the point, not when word by stilted word, they're making progress toward something. She may not know what that something is, but it has to be better than the deafening silence of the last few years.
Maybe they'll never be friends again (maybe they were never friends, the traitorous voice in Taylor's head nags), but they have to be able to be something more than this.
There's a benefit concert for the latest horrible natural disaster, and that's where they finally have an actual conversation. Taylor feels like a terrible person using someone else's pain to lessen her own, but it's not like she can just pick up the phone and call John. Well, she could. But she'd need to track down his number again and that would lead to more questions than Taylor wants to answer and it's easier to be a bad person. She'll send a check, and just once that will have to be enough.
Taylor studies the event schedule like her life depends on it, and comes to the conclusion that the two hour break between when John comes off the stage and when she goes on is her best chance. She lurks backstage, feeling like the worst kind of stalker, until she sees him go into the room they've cordoned off as his dressing room. She takes a deep breath. She knocks on the door.
John yanks it open, almost immediately and Taylor takes an instinctive step back. Shock flashes across his face, and she feels it like a slap, even though she knows that there was no reason for him to expect it to be her. But the romantic part of her won't die, no matter how much life and logic tells her it should, had hoped that he would just know. She hates that part of her more with every passing day.
"Taylor," John says, shock shifting over to confusion coated with politeness. "Did I know --"
She shakes her head. "I saw you were on the bill too," she says. "I thought I'd say hello."
"Ah," he says. He opens the door wider. "Did you want to --"
Taylor's inside before he can even finish the question.
"--in," he finishes unnecessarily. He closes the door behind her. "Drink?"
"Please," she says, with a decisive nod of her head.
John laughs a little to himself as he pours her drink into a paper cup. He passes it to her, and their hands brush in the exchange.
It feels like an electric current goes through her hand, and she jerks hers away, clutching at the cup. She downs the content in one gulp, her face twisting at the taste as the alcohol burns its way down her throat. "What was that?" she gasps.
"Johnnie Walker Blue," John says, clearly amused. "You're not supposed to drink it like that."
"Oh," Taylor says. "Well, sorry."
John holds up the bottle. "Did you want another?"
"No, I think the one has made me quite stupid enough," she says, the words tumbling out one after another, too fast to her own ears and she can't imagine what John must be thinking. She doesn't know what she's thinking. This may be the dumbest thing she's ever done. She takes a deep breath. "I need to know something."
He's instantly on guard, his eyes shuttering and all amusement gone from his face. It makes her heart ache. "What?"
"Did you ever love me?"
The words hang between them, unanswered. Taylor stares at him, unblinking, desperate to know one way or another. Knowing can't be any worse than not knowing has been. If she knows, Taylor can move on. One way or another, she can move on.
Finally, with a barely perceptive shake of his head, John gives her the answer that she needs.
She smiles, faintly. "Thank you," she says, closing the space between them and kissing his cheek. "Goodbye, John."
Taylor walks out the door without waiting for an answer. She has no regrets.