fall on your knees
Quick update today. The brother was on the computer all day yesterday, finishing up some paper and getting ready for his exam this morning. So, by the time he was finished, I was already shaking hands with the sandman.
And I have no time today, for I'm off to finish up my Christmas shopping. But! I finished my Ferris fic.
So, I present to you, the first ever Ferris Bueller fanfiction. I'm such a t00b. Hee.
[Ferris Bueller, 'Off With the Jeans, the Jacket and the Shirt']
A/N - Title and summary taken from Ryan Adams’s ‘La Cienega Just Smiled.’
You’ve always been known as Ferris’s girl. As long as you’ve been known, you guess you should say. People saw you before, they liked you before, but then. Then Ferris noticed you, asked you out, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Suddenly, you were the most popular girl in school. The most popular girl in town. You thought you had a taste of celebrity, all the celebrity you could handle anyway. Any time Ferris did something, anything, went to the bathroom, it seemed, people would comment to you about it. You found out about your anniversary present that first year that way, actually.
You were in the grocery store, picking up some milk and pears for your mother, and you were checking out, vaguely wondering whether you should dress up for the ‘surprise’ he was giving you. And you’d smiled at the check-out guy, and he’d smirked back, saying ‘I’d be smiling too. Have a great time tonight at the game.’ You’d smiled back and enquired politely ‘What?’ since you were used to people saying cryptic things to you since you’d begun dating Ferris. He’d said, ‘The Red Wings game. I still can’t figure how he swung those tickets. That’ll be $3.93.’ You’d laughed and handed him exact change, saying ‘That’s Ferris for you.’
And it was, it was Ferris. You never knew how Ferris did any of the things he did, except that he did them and in the end, they seemed inevitable, like they had to happen, like there was no question. You’d had fun that night, on the drive and the game and everything after. It hadn’t been a typical anniversary gift, but Ferris knew you and what he picked was perfect. A Red Wings game, even though he didn’t like hockey; hockey was something you and Cameron did.
Cameron was the best thing that came along with being Ferris’s girl. You probably would have never met him otherwise, you don’t think anyone would have met him otherwise, but you’re glad you did. He was like you, you thought; drawn into Ferris’s sane insanity, the whirlwind that was Ferris, but seeing it for what it was at the same time. You used to think that Ferris had put the whole school, the whole town, sometimes the whole damn state, country, under a spell, and you and Cameron were the only ones untouched.
You used to look at Ferris in wonder, wondering what made him look at you. What made him want you, what made him pick you out of everyone in the entire school. And he could have, you know that, Ferris had that thing about him. He wasn’t like the star quarterback, supposedly worshipped by everyone, but whom most of the school secretly hated. He wasn’t the ‘bad boy,’ supposedly reviled by everyone, but whom most of the school secretly lusted after. He wasn’t one of the ‘good ones,’ the ones you’re not supposed to notice until university or after. He wasn’t everyman, like Cameron, the ones that can slip through the cracks, diamonds unmined. He was Ferris, and that’s all you can say about that. And when you said that, everyone knew what you meant. Everyone, including the check-out guy and your parents and his sister and Cameron. Everyone knew what you meant, but only Cameron would roll his eyes with you when you said it.
Even after he left for university, you were still known as Ferris’s girl. And you talked to him twice a week and exchanged letters frequently and he got you to his school on the weekends more than even you’d expected. Every Friday, it seemed, some person would show up at your door, saying ‘Sloane, right? I’m heading that way, so Ferris asked me to swing by. Grab your stuff.’
You were surprised, to be honest. Not that Ferris wanted you there, and not that he found a way to get you there, but at what you found when you got there.
You knew Ferris wanted you there, you knew Ferris wanted you. You knew he was serious when he said he wanted to marry you, you knew because Ferris was serious about everything. You never had any reason to doubt Ferris’s commitment to you, his devotion to you, his love for you. You’d always known, Ferris made sure you’d always known; Ferris was upfront about everything. You also knew Ferris would find a way to get you there. Ferris always found a way to get everything.
Neither of these things surprised you, but what you found at his school did. When you’d first thought about Ferris actually away, at school, you’d wondered what would happen to him, if anything would, if he would change. And you’d thought that he’d get a rude awakening. Ferris was like a killer whale in a puddle, but you thought he might be with sealife his size, in a body of water his size when he got to university. What you found when you got there was still the killer whale, in a slightly bigger puddle. One of your first weekends there, you’d walked to a convenience store on Sunday morning, desperate for coffee, and the cashier had smiled and said, ‘It’s on the house. And don’t forget the sugar, that boy does like his coffee sweet.’ And you’d smiled and wished Cameron was there to roll your eyes with.
After that, you’d resigned yourself to Ferris and his very Ferrisness, that you’d have to deal with the rest of your life. You knew Cameron was right, Ferris would do whatever he wanted, and he’d take you along for the ride, not even seeming to realize he was doing it at all.
Whatever he wanted, you think, except you.
You wonder if you’ll always be known as Ferris’s girl, if you’ll ever get away from it, if people will let you get away from it, if they’ll even believe what you’ve done. You know they will, though, and you know what kind of reception you’ll receive from everyone, as the community rallies around poor Ferris, with his broken heart. You wonder how long the watertower will go untouched, unmarked, and think it’s probably already up. They should save their paint, you think, you know; they don’t need to Save Ferris, he’ll save himself. But this time it’s real, for real, nothing fake about it, as he lays in his bed and wonders what went wrong. You know what kind of reception you’re going to get, and if they find out why you’re on a train for New York, the reception will be even worse.
You show up at his door a few hours later, soaked and clinging to your one bag. The 3 on his door hangs crooked, and one of the lightbulbs in the hallway is flickering on and off. It’s not as bad as you imagined, though. He’s here on his own, doing it on his own, and you don’t think you’ve ever been prouder of anyone. He’s doing it on his own, and coming home on holidays, and he’s better than you’d ever hoped he would be. Except the look in his eyes when the three of you would be out, and he looked at you and you’d looked at him and then Ferris would kiss you.
You don’t know what he’s going to do, what he’s going to say, what he’ll think, but you knock anyway. The door opens and there he is and he just looks at you, one hand on the knob as you stare back at him.
‘I broke up with Ferris.’
He doesn’t do anything, it reminds you of the time you thought he was catatonic, the day of the car disaster, the day he finally met his parents, the day his parents finally met him, the first day Ferris told you he wanted forever, the day he plunged into the water and you felt your heart stop and you think, irrationally, Ferris isn’t there to save him this time.
Except, of course, Ferris didn’t save him last time and this time he’s the one that needs to save you. You’ve jumped into the deep end of the ocean, and he’s the only one that can.
You blink, waiting for a response and he gives it to you, taking your bag and saying ‘You’re wet.’
You nod and follow him in, closing the door behind you. You stand in the middle of his one room, as he drops your bag against the wall and goes over to a shelf, plucking a towel off. He moves back to you, holding the towel out, staring at you. You don’t look away as you take the towel and drop it on the ground, taking a step toward him. He blinks and one side of his mouth lifts. He says ‘Seriously?’
You nod once, before launching yourself at him and almost knocking him over. His stiffens, startled, then melts against you, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt. You think you should feel relieved, that you should be thinking finally, finally, but you just feel desperate. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, beating painfully hard and your hands are shaking as they run down his arms.
You fumble with the buttons on his shirt as he licks a path down your throat, licking up the cool rainwater and leaving damp warmth in his wake. You shiver, feeling slightly feverish as you finally get his shirt undone and off, dropping it heedlessly to the floor. He draws you against him, his mouth finding yours again and your nipples tighten, his hot, dry skin feeling like it’s scorching your bare chest.
His hands are shaking too, as they run over your back and experimentally against your ass. You try to tell him without removing your mouth from his in any way that it’s okay. He seems to get the message, because the next thing you know, he’s picked you up and you’re slammed against the wall. You kick your shoes off, lifting your feet and peeling your wet socks off as he holds you up and kisses you. After your socks are on the floor, you wrap your arms around his neck, his body leaning against yours for support as he toes his shoes off.
You think that maybe you should stop kissing or open your eyes for what you know is going to happen next. This is when Ferris would do something to turn you on even more, or make you laugh, make you smile. Do something that you never expected, but something that was exactly perfect at the same time. But. But this isn’t Ferris, and you’re not sure what to feel. Elation. Relief. Exuberance. Grief. You don’t know what to feel, and the only thing your brain is processing is your heart, beating hard against your ribcage, you feel like if you look down, you would see it trying to squeeze through your ribcage it’s pumping so hard.
He’s staring at you, his heart beating counterpoint to your own and his mouth opens and you wait for him to say something. To make you feel more turned on, or to make you laugh, make you smile. But his mouth just closes and he bends his head, so his forehead is touching yours. Your eyes close as his arms tighten around you and, you didn’t think it was possible, but your heart is pumping even harder. You think you might be crying, but you’re not really sure; the only thing you can think about is the way your stomach feels like it’s imploding.
You don’t take your time with the next part, with either the undressing or the sex that follows. You can’t really think during, neither of you say anything at all. Not like Ferris, he seemed to keep up a running commentary during, like you weren’t there and a participant. Ferris always asked you things, whether you liked this or that or over here or was this right. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. You don’t feel perfect, like you always felt with Ferris, like you weren’t actually doing it, like you were having an out of body experience.
You are in your body for this experience, and you feel like you’re dying. Like you can’t get enough air and both of you are crying and you think maybe you should stop. Stop, talk, then decide. But, then, you think if you don’t do this right now you might actually die. You can feel every touch, every thing, and. And. It’s hot and pain and your chest is imploding. Moments are perfect, so perfect, more perfect because they stand out against the pain. And. It’s real, you keep thinking. It’s so real, more real than anything you’ve ever felt before. It, all of it, is searing into you, everything, into every part of you. And you understand now, you think, you understand what it, all of it, is about.
It’s messy, and sometimes uncomfortable, and you don’t think your hip is supposed to bend that way. And you’re crying and one of your nipples aches from where he bit down too hard. But. But.
It’s real. And right. Not perfectly right the way everything seemed to be with Ferris, but actually right. You’re crying but so is he, and your tears are running together and you can’t tell where one of you ends and the other begins. You’re sweating and he tastes like salt, above anything else. There are no candles or music, just his heavy breathing and your keening and a bulb hanging from the ceiling, harshly illuminating the whole scene. He’s inside you and you’re staring at each other and now you’re thinking finally, finally because this might possibly be what you were built for. You fall asleep draped over each other, your wet hair soaking into his pillow.
Inevitable, you think later. Inevitable in that way that Ferris used to make everything, the way when you look back, you see that it was going to happen all along; if you looked hard enough, you might be able to pinpoint the exact moment where it became inevitable. You do that, the next morning, watching him still sleep. Your hip still hurts and your chin and cheeks burn and you notice he hasn’t shaved in awhile. You look at him, with his arm still draped across you and his sheets against your skin, and figure out exactly when this became inevitable. You almost laugh, because now it seems so obvious. The day of the car, and the pool, and Ferris singing in a parade to him in the middle of Chicago. That was the day, you think, the day it became inevitable. You didn’t know it at the time, you don’t think, but that was the day, and you can do even better than that, you think. It was while Ferris was singing to him.
You had lost Ferris and you were running around, trying to find him, and you had grabbed his hand as you worked your way through the crowd. And, then, you didn’t realize it until later but, then, you didn’t let go. You held his hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not Ferris natural, like you were in a movie or a show, but real. And then, Ferris was up there, up on that float, singing to him and you and the rest of Chicago. And you were staring up, in wonder and he said, ‘Ferris will do whatever he wants to.’ And you’d agreed, and you were standing there, staring at Ferris in wonder, knowing that he would take you along for the ride, and he was standing right there beside you. He was always right there beside you, holding your hand, watching Ferris in wonder.
While this is still running through your head, his eyes open and you just look at each other. You thought you might have a conversation, but looking at him, you don’t think you will. You know why you’re here, and so does he, and you both know that it wasn’t just about last night. It was about forever, or as long as you can make it.
Later, walking to get coffee at a shop down his street, you think about the difference between him and Ferris. If anyone had asked you about love with Ferris, you would have just said. It’s perfect; he’s perfect. Perfect, in a way that was easy and you didn’t have to work for. There was never any fighting or pain with Ferris. Ferris made everything comfortable. Being with Ferris was like existing in a hermetically sealed world, where nothing could touch you.
But with him, it’s not. Things can touch you, and sometimes they hurt. They sear and you wince and can feel them. This, being with him, is something that fights will come along with; fights and yelling and life. But, even though you know it won’t always be easy, it won’t always be comfortable, this is the one thing, he’s the one thing, you’ll fight for every time. So, even though it might not be comfortable, it might not be easy, it’s right.
You know that he won’t surprise you with a Red Wings game, because he can’t afford it, and neither can you. And he’s not like Ferris, and he won’t find some way to magically make it happen. You’ll have to listen to the games on the radio, eating take-away on the floor and celebrating by yourselves, not surrounded by a stadium full of fans. You know that the lady at the coffee shop won’t know how he takes his coffee, she probably doesn’t even know him, even though he goes in there every day. She won’t say to you, ‘Don’t forget the creamer. Doesn’t like sugar, but loves his creamer, that boy does.’ She won’t say that to you and she won’t wink at you and wonder how you did it, why he picked you. But you won’t forget the creamer anyway and you’ll smile to yourself and be glad you don’t have to share him with everyone else. No one might know him, but you do, you do know him and that’s all you need.
You don’t think you’ll ever be known as his girl, you’ll always be known as ‘she used to be Ferris’s girl.’ And you know no one will understand, girls will stop you in the street and ask you if you’ve lost your mind. And you’ll smile, and feel your sore nipple, and something will implode in your chest when you think of him and you’ll just shake your head.
It’s all right, you think, that you’ll always be known as Ferris’s ex-girl and you won’t be known as his girl. Because you’ll know and he’ll know, and you belong to each other.
END
Sloane/Cameron - Feels so good, but damn, it makes me hurt.
No beta, no overhualings, just sat down yesterday and wrote it in one shot. There may be more down the pipe.
Again, I'm such a tOOb.
Enjoy!
And I have no time today, for I'm off to finish up my Christmas shopping. But! I finished my Ferris fic.
So, I present to you, the first ever Ferris Bueller fanfiction. I'm such a t00b. Hee.
[Ferris Bueller, 'Off With the Jeans, the Jacket and the Shirt']
A/N - Title and summary taken from Ryan Adams’s ‘La Cienega Just Smiled.’
You’ve always been known as Ferris’s girl. As long as you’ve been known, you guess you should say. People saw you before, they liked you before, but then. Then Ferris noticed you, asked you out, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Suddenly, you were the most popular girl in school. The most popular girl in town. You thought you had a taste of celebrity, all the celebrity you could handle anyway. Any time Ferris did something, anything, went to the bathroom, it seemed, people would comment to you about it. You found out about your anniversary present that first year that way, actually.
You were in the grocery store, picking up some milk and pears for your mother, and you were checking out, vaguely wondering whether you should dress up for the ‘surprise’ he was giving you. And you’d smiled at the check-out guy, and he’d smirked back, saying ‘I’d be smiling too. Have a great time tonight at the game.’ You’d smiled back and enquired politely ‘What?’ since you were used to people saying cryptic things to you since you’d begun dating Ferris. He’d said, ‘The Red Wings game. I still can’t figure how he swung those tickets. That’ll be $3.93.’ You’d laughed and handed him exact change, saying ‘That’s Ferris for you.’
And it was, it was Ferris. You never knew how Ferris did any of the things he did, except that he did them and in the end, they seemed inevitable, like they had to happen, like there was no question. You’d had fun that night, on the drive and the game and everything after. It hadn’t been a typical anniversary gift, but Ferris knew you and what he picked was perfect. A Red Wings game, even though he didn’t like hockey; hockey was something you and Cameron did.
Cameron was the best thing that came along with being Ferris’s girl. You probably would have never met him otherwise, you don’t think anyone would have met him otherwise, but you’re glad you did. He was like you, you thought; drawn into Ferris’s sane insanity, the whirlwind that was Ferris, but seeing it for what it was at the same time. You used to think that Ferris had put the whole school, the whole town, sometimes the whole damn state, country, under a spell, and you and Cameron were the only ones untouched.
You used to look at Ferris in wonder, wondering what made him look at you. What made him want you, what made him pick you out of everyone in the entire school. And he could have, you know that, Ferris had that thing about him. He wasn’t like the star quarterback, supposedly worshipped by everyone, but whom most of the school secretly hated. He wasn’t the ‘bad boy,’ supposedly reviled by everyone, but whom most of the school secretly lusted after. He wasn’t one of the ‘good ones,’ the ones you’re not supposed to notice until university or after. He wasn’t everyman, like Cameron, the ones that can slip through the cracks, diamonds unmined. He was Ferris, and that’s all you can say about that. And when you said that, everyone knew what you meant. Everyone, including the check-out guy and your parents and his sister and Cameron. Everyone knew what you meant, but only Cameron would roll his eyes with you when you said it.
Even after he left for university, you were still known as Ferris’s girl. And you talked to him twice a week and exchanged letters frequently and he got you to his school on the weekends more than even you’d expected. Every Friday, it seemed, some person would show up at your door, saying ‘Sloane, right? I’m heading that way, so Ferris asked me to swing by. Grab your stuff.’
You were surprised, to be honest. Not that Ferris wanted you there, and not that he found a way to get you there, but at what you found when you got there.
You knew Ferris wanted you there, you knew Ferris wanted you. You knew he was serious when he said he wanted to marry you, you knew because Ferris was serious about everything. You never had any reason to doubt Ferris’s commitment to you, his devotion to you, his love for you. You’d always known, Ferris made sure you’d always known; Ferris was upfront about everything. You also knew Ferris would find a way to get you there. Ferris always found a way to get everything.
Neither of these things surprised you, but what you found at his school did. When you’d first thought about Ferris actually away, at school, you’d wondered what would happen to him, if anything would, if he would change. And you’d thought that he’d get a rude awakening. Ferris was like a killer whale in a puddle, but you thought he might be with sealife his size, in a body of water his size when he got to university. What you found when you got there was still the killer whale, in a slightly bigger puddle. One of your first weekends there, you’d walked to a convenience store on Sunday morning, desperate for coffee, and the cashier had smiled and said, ‘It’s on the house. And don’t forget the sugar, that boy does like his coffee sweet.’ And you’d smiled and wished Cameron was there to roll your eyes with.
After that, you’d resigned yourself to Ferris and his very Ferrisness, that you’d have to deal with the rest of your life. You knew Cameron was right, Ferris would do whatever he wanted, and he’d take you along for the ride, not even seeming to realize he was doing it at all.
Whatever he wanted, you think, except you.
You wonder if you’ll always be known as Ferris’s girl, if you’ll ever get away from it, if people will let you get away from it, if they’ll even believe what you’ve done. You know they will, though, and you know what kind of reception you’ll receive from everyone, as the community rallies around poor Ferris, with his broken heart. You wonder how long the watertower will go untouched, unmarked, and think it’s probably already up. They should save their paint, you think, you know; they don’t need to Save Ferris, he’ll save himself. But this time it’s real, for real, nothing fake about it, as he lays in his bed and wonders what went wrong. You know what kind of reception you’re going to get, and if they find out why you’re on a train for New York, the reception will be even worse.
You show up at his door a few hours later, soaked and clinging to your one bag. The 3 on his door hangs crooked, and one of the lightbulbs in the hallway is flickering on and off. It’s not as bad as you imagined, though. He’s here on his own, doing it on his own, and you don’t think you’ve ever been prouder of anyone. He’s doing it on his own, and coming home on holidays, and he’s better than you’d ever hoped he would be. Except the look in his eyes when the three of you would be out, and he looked at you and you’d looked at him and then Ferris would kiss you.
You don’t know what he’s going to do, what he’s going to say, what he’ll think, but you knock anyway. The door opens and there he is and he just looks at you, one hand on the knob as you stare back at him.
‘I broke up with Ferris.’
He doesn’t do anything, it reminds you of the time you thought he was catatonic, the day of the car disaster, the day he finally met his parents, the day his parents finally met him, the first day Ferris told you he wanted forever, the day he plunged into the water and you felt your heart stop and you think, irrationally, Ferris isn’t there to save him this time.
Except, of course, Ferris didn’t save him last time and this time he’s the one that needs to save you. You’ve jumped into the deep end of the ocean, and he’s the only one that can.
You blink, waiting for a response and he gives it to you, taking your bag and saying ‘You’re wet.’
You nod and follow him in, closing the door behind you. You stand in the middle of his one room, as he drops your bag against the wall and goes over to a shelf, plucking a towel off. He moves back to you, holding the towel out, staring at you. You don’t look away as you take the towel and drop it on the ground, taking a step toward him. He blinks and one side of his mouth lifts. He says ‘Seriously?’
You nod once, before launching yourself at him and almost knocking him over. His stiffens, startled, then melts against you, his hands already reaching for the hem of your shirt. You think you should feel relieved, that you should be thinking finally, finally, but you just feel desperate. Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, beating painfully hard and your hands are shaking as they run down his arms.
You fumble with the buttons on his shirt as he licks a path down your throat, licking up the cool rainwater and leaving damp warmth in his wake. You shiver, feeling slightly feverish as you finally get his shirt undone and off, dropping it heedlessly to the floor. He draws you against him, his mouth finding yours again and your nipples tighten, his hot, dry skin feeling like it’s scorching your bare chest.
His hands are shaking too, as they run over your back and experimentally against your ass. You try to tell him without removing your mouth from his in any way that it’s okay. He seems to get the message, because the next thing you know, he’s picked you up and you’re slammed against the wall. You kick your shoes off, lifting your feet and peeling your wet socks off as he holds you up and kisses you. After your socks are on the floor, you wrap your arms around his neck, his body leaning against yours for support as he toes his shoes off.
You think that maybe you should stop kissing or open your eyes for what you know is going to happen next. This is when Ferris would do something to turn you on even more, or make you laugh, make you smile. Do something that you never expected, but something that was exactly perfect at the same time. But. But this isn’t Ferris, and you’re not sure what to feel. Elation. Relief. Exuberance. Grief. You don’t know what to feel, and the only thing your brain is processing is your heart, beating hard against your ribcage, you feel like if you look down, you would see it trying to squeeze through your ribcage it’s pumping so hard.
He’s staring at you, his heart beating counterpoint to your own and his mouth opens and you wait for him to say something. To make you feel more turned on, or to make you laugh, make you smile. But his mouth just closes and he bends his head, so his forehead is touching yours. Your eyes close as his arms tighten around you and, you didn’t think it was possible, but your heart is pumping even harder. You think you might be crying, but you’re not really sure; the only thing you can think about is the way your stomach feels like it’s imploding.
You don’t take your time with the next part, with either the undressing or the sex that follows. You can’t really think during, neither of you say anything at all. Not like Ferris, he seemed to keep up a running commentary during, like you weren’t there and a participant. Ferris always asked you things, whether you liked this or that or over here or was this right. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. You don’t feel perfect, like you always felt with Ferris, like you weren’t actually doing it, like you were having an out of body experience.
You are in your body for this experience, and you feel like you’re dying. Like you can’t get enough air and both of you are crying and you think maybe you should stop. Stop, talk, then decide. But, then, you think if you don’t do this right now you might actually die. You can feel every touch, every thing, and. And. It’s hot and pain and your chest is imploding. Moments are perfect, so perfect, more perfect because they stand out against the pain. And. It’s real, you keep thinking. It’s so real, more real than anything you’ve ever felt before. It, all of it, is searing into you, everything, into every part of you. And you understand now, you think, you understand what it, all of it, is about.
It’s messy, and sometimes uncomfortable, and you don’t think your hip is supposed to bend that way. And you’re crying and one of your nipples aches from where he bit down too hard. But. But.
It’s real. And right. Not perfectly right the way everything seemed to be with Ferris, but actually right. You’re crying but so is he, and your tears are running together and you can’t tell where one of you ends and the other begins. You’re sweating and he tastes like salt, above anything else. There are no candles or music, just his heavy breathing and your keening and a bulb hanging from the ceiling, harshly illuminating the whole scene. He’s inside you and you’re staring at each other and now you’re thinking finally, finally because this might possibly be what you were built for. You fall asleep draped over each other, your wet hair soaking into his pillow.
Inevitable, you think later. Inevitable in that way that Ferris used to make everything, the way when you look back, you see that it was going to happen all along; if you looked hard enough, you might be able to pinpoint the exact moment where it became inevitable. You do that, the next morning, watching him still sleep. Your hip still hurts and your chin and cheeks burn and you notice he hasn’t shaved in awhile. You look at him, with his arm still draped across you and his sheets against your skin, and figure out exactly when this became inevitable. You almost laugh, because now it seems so obvious. The day of the car, and the pool, and Ferris singing in a parade to him in the middle of Chicago. That was the day, you think, the day it became inevitable. You didn’t know it at the time, you don’t think, but that was the day, and you can do even better than that, you think. It was while Ferris was singing to him.
You had lost Ferris and you were running around, trying to find him, and you had grabbed his hand as you worked your way through the crowd. And, then, you didn’t realize it until later but, then, you didn’t let go. You held his hand, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not Ferris natural, like you were in a movie or a show, but real. And then, Ferris was up there, up on that float, singing to him and you and the rest of Chicago. And you were staring up, in wonder and he said, ‘Ferris will do whatever he wants to.’ And you’d agreed, and you were standing there, staring at Ferris in wonder, knowing that he would take you along for the ride, and he was standing right there beside you. He was always right there beside you, holding your hand, watching Ferris in wonder.
While this is still running through your head, his eyes open and you just look at each other. You thought you might have a conversation, but looking at him, you don’t think you will. You know why you’re here, and so does he, and you both know that it wasn’t just about last night. It was about forever, or as long as you can make it.
Later, walking to get coffee at a shop down his street, you think about the difference between him and Ferris. If anyone had asked you about love with Ferris, you would have just said. It’s perfect; he’s perfect. Perfect, in a way that was easy and you didn’t have to work for. There was never any fighting or pain with Ferris. Ferris made everything comfortable. Being with Ferris was like existing in a hermetically sealed world, where nothing could touch you.
But with him, it’s not. Things can touch you, and sometimes they hurt. They sear and you wince and can feel them. This, being with him, is something that fights will come along with; fights and yelling and life. But, even though you know it won’t always be easy, it won’t always be comfortable, this is the one thing, he’s the one thing, you’ll fight for every time. So, even though it might not be comfortable, it might not be easy, it’s right.
You know that he won’t surprise you with a Red Wings game, because he can’t afford it, and neither can you. And he’s not like Ferris, and he won’t find some way to magically make it happen. You’ll have to listen to the games on the radio, eating take-away on the floor and celebrating by yourselves, not surrounded by a stadium full of fans. You know that the lady at the coffee shop won’t know how he takes his coffee, she probably doesn’t even know him, even though he goes in there every day. She won’t say to you, ‘Don’t forget the creamer. Doesn’t like sugar, but loves his creamer, that boy does.’ She won’t say that to you and she won’t wink at you and wonder how you did it, why he picked you. But you won’t forget the creamer anyway and you’ll smile to yourself and be glad you don’t have to share him with everyone else. No one might know him, but you do, you do know him and that’s all you need.
You don’t think you’ll ever be known as his girl, you’ll always be known as ‘she used to be Ferris’s girl.’ And you know no one will understand, girls will stop you in the street and ask you if you’ve lost your mind. And you’ll smile, and feel your sore nipple, and something will implode in your chest when you think of him and you’ll just shake your head.
It’s all right, you think, that you’ll always be known as Ferris’s ex-girl and you won’t be known as his girl. Because you’ll know and he’ll know, and you belong to each other.
END
Sloane/Cameron - Feels so good, but damn, it makes me hurt.
No beta, no overhualings, just sat down yesterday and wrote it in one shot. There may be more down the pipe.
Again, I'm such a tOOb.
Enjoy!