FIC: talented at breathing (Degrassi, Paige/Alex, PG-13)
Title: talented at breathing
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: Degrassi, Paige/Alex, post Love is a Battlefield. Written for simplelyric for fandom_flood_ap. Just over 1000 words.
Try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
- Dashboard Confessional, “Bend and Not Break”
--
It doesn’t work out. Nothing does. You should know this by now.
Ajax is far. Farther than you thought. By the time you pull up in front of her apartment, your neck is stiff and the CD has played through, skipping in the same places. You can hardly remember why you’re here, doing this. It’s Alex’s birthday, of course, but you don’t feel invited despite the email she sent you two weeks ago, full of lower cased sentences and no punctuation.
It’s the right thing to do, being here.
She has an apartment all to herself now. Her mom’s cousin lives down a series of blocks, after the hill, to the right. She’s alone, mostly. You have all of her rambling emails saved, a missive arriving in your inbox almost every six months. You wonder if she was just getting bored, clinging to something that used to mean something to her. Emotions in a click. She told you all about getting the job at the grocery store, the complete boredom involved in stocking shelves, and how it only got a little better standing at the register, talking to the scum of semi-rural Canada.
You pull the car parallel in the street, and settle into park. You’re barely out the door when she comes running -- you’re not sure where from -- and thumps the passenger window with her open hands. “Planning on sitting there all night?” she shouts, thumping again for extra emphasis.
“Give me a minute, will you?”
She looks thinner, maybe. Her hair done up, all in pieces around her face.
It’s a fifteen minute walk in the chilly weather, but the little Italian cafe is worth it, her arm in yours. You shiver out of your coat, breathing it all in. There’s the tiniest hint of her scent on the breeze, cold and pure. You’ve missed it. That certain je ne sais quoi. Her. You’ve missed her.
“I got you a present.”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s easy with you, like none of that ever happened. There’s a smirk hiding out behind her eyes.
“I left it in the car. You don’t get it yet.”
“Not even if I ask nice?”
“You never ask nice.”
Alex points at some things on the menu, her finger taking its time. The server is there and gone before you can properly pronounce the appetizer. For awhile, you’re determined to make small talk. You ask her if she had work today. She asks you how Marco and Ellie are doing. Keep things light. Easy. But it comes out, it always does. “I hope no one here has seen you.” Your voice snapping, rough. “Perform.”
She glares for a moment, tapping her fork on the edge of her plate. “Is that what you came here to talk about? Maybe I overestimated you.”
You feel a quick kink in your heart, frowning back at her. “I came here because you invited me.”
“And I certainly didn’t invite you to bring up stuff that’s long over. Stuff neither of us are proud of.”
And there, it happens, that tightening of her jaw. The waitress brings over sized bowls of pasta, sliding them between you. You reach between the bowls, stretching your fingers out towards her. It feels like it always did, wanting and not having.
--
Her apartment has an eclectic collection of quaint used furniture. Nothing matches. The photos on the wall are of bleak landscapes, not of friends. She offers to make tea.
“You should really visit Toronto, next time.”
“That’s not my scene, Paige. You know that.” Mugs, on the counter. Water in the pot.
“You can’t tell me that you actually like it out here.”
That smirk again. Anger buried somewhere underneath. “I do, actually.” She turns to the cupboard. “What flavor do you want?”
You eye each other over the rims while you sip. The steam feels good on your face.
Later, she opens the bedroom door and shrugs. “I don’t have another bed, so you’re welcome to the couch if you don’t want to share.” It’s all terribly diplomatic, blase.
“Miss a chance to snuggle with the birthday girl? Never.” It comes out more enthusiastic than you feel, though you can’t ignore the twisting in your stomach when you see the bed, her hand on the comforter. You can’t ignore it, but you will.
--
Maybe you dream this part.
There’s a kind of muscle memory to this, the way your body remembers Alex’s. How her skin feels, sending waves of nostalgia, or whispers of desire to places you’d tucked away. The familiar look in her eyes, when she says your name, the shape of her mouth. But still, this time is different. It always is, something is always new. But this time. She’s electric. Her hands around your waist, pulling you close, and there is such a heat there, between you--
--it catches quickly. You don’t expect it to flare up so fast, so hot. Soon, there will only be ashes. Soon, that will be all that’s left of your life.
It burns silent--
--there, where you haven’t felt a stirring like this in months, in longer than you’ll admit. And her mouth, and her fingers. “I love you,” she whispers, against your neck, the words plucking at your every sinew, arcing your body, digging your fingers into her flesh.
--
The morning sun hits your eyelid from between the blinds. You blink, yawn, stretch. It’s cold outside the covers, too warm underneath.
“You never gave me my present.” She’s sleepy, but beautiful, her eyes at half-mast. She always was. She will be, again, after you.
“I didn’t?” You press your forehead against her shoulder. You know she can feel you smile. Her muscles tense. “Happy birthday,” you mumble there.
“I don’t forgive you, you know.”
And there it all is, between you. In the tiny spaces. Shouting, accusations, a silk negligee being untied. Suddenly her skin is too hot to the touch. You roll over, face the sun.
“Likewise.”
Author: aphrodite_mine
Info: Degrassi, Paige/Alex, post Love is a Battlefield. Written for simplelyric for fandom_flood_ap. Just over 1000 words.
Try to understand there's an old mistake that fools will make
And I'm the king of them, pushing everything that's good away
- Dashboard Confessional, “Bend and Not Break”
--
It doesn’t work out. Nothing does. You should know this by now.
Ajax is far. Farther than you thought. By the time you pull up in front of her apartment, your neck is stiff and the CD has played through, skipping in the same places. You can hardly remember why you’re here, doing this. It’s Alex’s birthday, of course, but you don’t feel invited despite the email she sent you two weeks ago, full of lower cased sentences and no punctuation.
It’s the right thing to do, being here.
She has an apartment all to herself now. Her mom’s cousin lives down a series of blocks, after the hill, to the right. She’s alone, mostly. You have all of her rambling emails saved, a missive arriving in your inbox almost every six months. You wonder if she was just getting bored, clinging to something that used to mean something to her. Emotions in a click. She told you all about getting the job at the grocery store, the complete boredom involved in stocking shelves, and how it only got a little better standing at the register, talking to the scum of semi-rural Canada.
You pull the car parallel in the street, and settle into park. You’re barely out the door when she comes running -- you’re not sure where from -- and thumps the passenger window with her open hands. “Planning on sitting there all night?” she shouts, thumping again for extra emphasis.
“Give me a minute, will you?”
She looks thinner, maybe. Her hair done up, all in pieces around her face.
It’s a fifteen minute walk in the chilly weather, but the little Italian cafe is worth it, her arm in yours. You shiver out of your coat, breathing it all in. There’s the tiniest hint of her scent on the breeze, cold and pure. You’ve missed it. That certain je ne sais quoi. Her. You’ve missed her.
“I got you a present.”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s easy with you, like none of that ever happened. There’s a smirk hiding out behind her eyes.
“I left it in the car. You don’t get it yet.”
“Not even if I ask nice?”
“You never ask nice.”
Alex points at some things on the menu, her finger taking its time. The server is there and gone before you can properly pronounce the appetizer. For awhile, you’re determined to make small talk. You ask her if she had work today. She asks you how Marco and Ellie are doing. Keep things light. Easy. But it comes out, it always does. “I hope no one here has seen you.” Your voice snapping, rough. “Perform.”
She glares for a moment, tapping her fork on the edge of her plate. “Is that what you came here to talk about? Maybe I overestimated you.”
You feel a quick kink in your heart, frowning back at her. “I came here because you invited me.”
“And I certainly didn’t invite you to bring up stuff that’s long over. Stuff neither of us are proud of.”
And there, it happens, that tightening of her jaw. The waitress brings over sized bowls of pasta, sliding them between you. You reach between the bowls, stretching your fingers out towards her. It feels like it always did, wanting and not having.
--
Her apartment has an eclectic collection of quaint used furniture. Nothing matches. The photos on the wall are of bleak landscapes, not of friends. She offers to make tea.
“You should really visit Toronto, next time.”
“That’s not my scene, Paige. You know that.” Mugs, on the counter. Water in the pot.
“You can’t tell me that you actually like it out here.”
That smirk again. Anger buried somewhere underneath. “I do, actually.” She turns to the cupboard. “What flavor do you want?”
You eye each other over the rims while you sip. The steam feels good on your face.
Later, she opens the bedroom door and shrugs. “I don’t have another bed, so you’re welcome to the couch if you don’t want to share.” It’s all terribly diplomatic, blase.
“Miss a chance to snuggle with the birthday girl? Never.” It comes out more enthusiastic than you feel, though you can’t ignore the twisting in your stomach when you see the bed, her hand on the comforter. You can’t ignore it, but you will.
--
Maybe you dream this part.
There’s a kind of muscle memory to this, the way your body remembers Alex’s. How her skin feels, sending waves of nostalgia, or whispers of desire to places you’d tucked away. The familiar look in her eyes, when she says your name, the shape of her mouth. But still, this time is different. It always is, something is always new. But this time. She’s electric. Her hands around your waist, pulling you close, and there is such a heat there, between you--
--it catches quickly. You don’t expect it to flare up so fast, so hot. Soon, there will only be ashes. Soon, that will be all that’s left of your life.
It burns silent--
--there, where you haven’t felt a stirring like this in months, in longer than you’ll admit. And her mouth, and her fingers. “I love you,” she whispers, against your neck, the words plucking at your every sinew, arcing your body, digging your fingers into her flesh.
--
The morning sun hits your eyelid from between the blinds. You blink, yawn, stretch. It’s cold outside the covers, too warm underneath.
“You never gave me my present.” She’s sleepy, but beautiful, her eyes at half-mast. She always was. She will be, again, after you.
“I didn’t?” You press your forehead against her shoulder. You know she can feel you smile. Her muscles tense. “Happy birthday,” you mumble there.
“I don’t forgive you, you know.”
And there it all is, between you. In the tiny spaces. Shouting, accusations, a silk negligee being untied. Suddenly her skin is too hot to the touch. You roll over, face the sun.
“Likewise.”