A/N: Alright...so...first off, I wrote this story for the lovely Carissa Miller as a very late birthday present. So I'm not really putting it up here for reviews, it's mostly here so I can print it off in the library. Being the case, it'll probably only be up for a day or so unless I decide otherwise.

If anyone's wondering, yes, it is an "A Ghost Between Us" short story of some kind, probably something set a little later in the story.

(if anyone's wondering about that, I am slowly working on the courage to reconstruct and finish it. This may be a chapter in it later...who knows?)

”We’re really fucked up, you know,” I told Vincent, as we sat in his car, admiring the half-empty moon and passing around an illegally acquired bottle of Kahlua. It was one of those inescapable nights where there was nothing to do but…well…each other…and we weren’t even doing that.

”You think so?” He muttered, looking like he hadn’t slept in a few days. Which wasn’t entirely unusual.

”Definitely,” I confirmed, staring at him sheepishly from the corner of my eye. He looked so fucking gorgeous it made my stomach hurt. “We’re going to be doing this forever, aren’t we?”

”Doing what?” He asked, scanning me with his ashen eyes.

A million things to say invaded my head, things that would, inevitably, make things worst than they already were. Because things can always be worst.

”This,” I said, stupidly, shrugging.

”I don’t know what ‘this’ is,” He said. “Though ‘forever’ is a bit dramatic for anything.”

”It’s not dramatic,” I said. “You think everything I say is dramatic.” I took a deliberate swig from the bottle that had been dormant in my hands for a good ten minutes. It tasted horrible, like bad coffee, and burnt my throat when I swallowed.

”Everything you say is dramatic,” He pointed out. I glared as he grabbed the bottle from my hand.

”Everything you say is dramatic too, you know,” I mumbled, indignantly.

”Maybe,” He said. “Probably.”

It was silent for a while, then, except for the soft, almost mechanical noises of the radio. He drank from the Kahlua bottle, almost elegantly, with apparent ease while I thought of something to say. Anything. Preferably something clever.

When I finally thought of something, the alcohol in my system prevented it from being clever in any way.

”Do you want to have sex?” I blurted out before any logical fiber of my being could stop me.

I wasn’t granted more than a moment of awkward silence before Vincent started laughing.

”Really now,” He said. “Is that an appropriate question to be asking?”

”Since when does anything have to be appropriate between us?” I muttered under my breath, cheeks burning red.

”Seriously though, if you wanted to fuck, you should have taken up my offer from before,” He said.

”Two years ago?” I snorted. “Besides, you were so drunk I didn’t think you were serious…like now…” I added on observation, as he took an unusually long swig of the Kahlua. He quirked an eyebrow.

”You think I’m not being serious?” He asked.

”No, I think you’re drunk,” I said.

”I’m not drunk,” He protested.

”Yes, you are,” I said. “You only ever talk about that when you’re drunk.”

”You too,” He said. “But in all good honesty, I’m glad we didn’t fuck.”

”You’re only honest when you’re drunk too,” I muttered sullenly.

”Telling the truth and being honest are too entirely different things,” He said. “Besides, I’m always honest.”

”So why are you glad we didn’t fuck?” I poked him hard in the side. He glowered.

”Because,” He said, matter-of-factly. “Then we couldn’t have this.” He gestured around himself vaguely.

I blinked. “The car?”

”No,” He scoffed. “This…relationship.”

”Relationship? I wouldn’t call this a relationship.”

”Then what is it?” He asked.

”This? This is you fucking around with me.” I said, intently. He snorted and shoved the dwindling remains of the bottle into my hand.

”God, you’re always so fucking dramatic,” He said. At least he didn’t deny it. “Honestly, if we had fucked, we couldn’t even have this, whatever this is. You’d be like everyone else.”

”What’s that?” I asked, curiously.

”Just awkward acquaintances and random people I fool around with,” He shrugged. “Nothing, really.”

”Does that mean I’m something?” I asked, eagerly. He didn’t answer; just put his head on my shoulder. His mouth was so close to my neck I could feel his breath, almost painfully warm against my skin.

”I think we’re going to have to sleep here tonight,’ He said, softly. “I don’t think I should drive back.” I was reminded of all the urban legends where two teenaged lovers were ripped to shreds when they spent the night fooling around in their car in the middle of nowhere. Vincent and I had an advantage though-we weren’t lovers and we weren’t fooling around.

”Vincent,” I swallowed. “Do you like me? You know, more than just a friend.” I felt like I was in elementary school and this was my first crush.

”Don’t,” He sighed. “Don’t start that.”

”Cause I love you, you know.”

”Why are you telling me this?” He said, sounding strangely calm. Like he was fighting off sleep and didn’t have enough energy to get worked up over it. Over me.

”Because, you’ll forget about it tomorrow,” I all but whispered.

”How do you figure that?” He asked.

“You always do,” I sighed and cuddled closer to him.

”Maybe I don’t, maybe I remember every time,” He said, hypothetically.

”I would hate you if you did,” I said, confidently. “So don’t tell me if you do.”

”See? This is what I mean about being overly-dramatic,” He muttered, nuzzling closer until I could feel his mouth along my throat. I suddenly found it very hard to swallow. “But fine, I won’t say anything about it.”

”So you do remember?” I started, sounding painfully hopeful.

”I thought you didn’t want me to tell you,” He mumbled.

”You have to now, or I’ll hate you for not telling me,” I could barely hear him whisper “drama queen” under his breath.

”Shut up,” I said, defensively, and then added, “So do you?”

”Do I what?” He asked, innocently.

”Do you remember?” I urged.

”Sometimes,” He admitted. “I try not to, but I can’t forget it, it’s just there. I wish you wouldn’t say it to me any more.”

”Why?” I asked, almost sulking. “Clearly it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

”Of course it does,” He said.

”How could it possibly matter?” I asked, almost hostile. Almost.

”Because,” He said. He sounded like he was on the verge of falling asleep. I shook him a little to make sure he didn’t.

”Because why?”

”Just, because,” He said, again, his answer unusually short and vague. It usually didn’t take much prompting to get him to elaborate-I was convinced he loved to hear himself talk. I loved to hear him talk.

”Because why?” My voice was dangerously close to a hysterical scream.

”Because,” His voice was very firm. “I love you too.”

”What?” I stared and squirmed around to look at him so neither of us were comfortable, mouth too far open for my own good. “Why?”

”Stop asking me that,” He growled. “Not everything has a reason. There is no reason why I do, I just do.”

”No, I mean…why are you telling me this now?” I gaped. The words “does not compute” blared through my head.

”Oh,” He said. “Because you won’t remember it either.”

”What if I do?”

”If you do, at least I won’t,” He said.

”I thought you said you weren’t drunk,” I grumbled. This wasn’t going the way I had hoped it would.

”I’m not,” He confirmed again.

”If you love me too, why aren’t we going out?” I asked, ever the persistent one.

”You ask too many fucking questions,” He said. Before I even had time to protest my case, he was kissing me, tongue shoved down my throat and hands trailing lightly up my shirt. It was like that for a few minutes, too few really, before I pushed him away.

”About that night, you know, when we were going to fuck,” I said. He groaned irritably and hunched sulkily back in the driver’s seat.

”You know,” He said, before I could finish. “You should be pretty damn happy right now. Ecstatic really. But no, you have to kill the moment with your fucking questions.”

”I am ecstatic. Euphoric almost. But I need to understand why we can’t…be together.” I said.

”Whatever,” He sounded almost agitated, pushing the seat back into something of a makeshift bed. “I’m going to sleep now.”

”Vincent,” I said, hating the palpable desperation in my voice. “Don’t be a dick.”

”I’m not being anything remotely close to that,” He said. Now he sounded agitated. “Night.”

”Good night,” I sighed.

I couldn’t sleep. I knew I wouldn’t be able to as soon as I started staring at the ceiling, as soon as I tried to get comfortable. There wasn’t anything to distract me, no astonishingly bright stars, or strange looking trees to contemplate. The only sounds were the electronic hum of the radio and Vincent breathing, which wasn’t very loud. I vaguely wondered whether leaving the car on all night would kill the battery, but it seemed a trivial thing to consider.

Essentially, it all came back to much I hated not being able to be with Vincent. How stupid it was. Especially after his somewhat drunken confession.

I swallowed the rest of the Kahlua and opted to take some form of action. Because clearly waiting for him to get over it (whatever, exactly, it was) wasn’t working.

Everything made perfect sense in my pleasantly buzzing mind, and I knew what I had to do.

Very noisily I made my way over to the driver side, where Vincent had just gotten to sleep, and straddled him on the seat the best I could. He immediately opened his eyes and glared at me.

”What the hell are you doing?” He hissed.

“Before you get too mad,” I said, too fast for my own good. “I want you to understand, I don’t want to be a virgin forever.”

”That’s great,” He growled. “Now get the fuck off of me.”

”No, that’s not-“ The Kahlua born confidence I had had earlier was evaporating fast. I grasped for the words I had thought I had. “Vincent I really want to have sex with you.”

”Jesus,” He said. “Why can’t I have one fucking night where I’m with someone slightly sane.”

”This isn’t not sane,” I stammered, the word “insane” completely escaping my vocabulary. “Just…the first time you have sex you’re supposed to be with someone you love, who loves you back. And…well…we love each other…so…I mean…”

”I don’t know who told you that, but that’s rarely the case. And it’s defiantly not going to be the case with us,” It was clear that he was regretting anything he had said to me earlier. “So get off of me.”

”It’s supposed to be like that. I didn’t say it always was,” I stared at him, still vaguely hopeful. “Was you’re first time with someone you, you know, loved?”

He noticeably bit his lip, glaring at me fervently. “Not exactly. Look, I’m still willing to not hate you if you get off of me right now.”

”Will you at least somewhat consider it?” I asked, hopefully.

”Dori, if you want someone to pop your cherry that bad, go ask Magi. I am not going to be the person to do it.”

I sighed, defeated. But instead of moving, I collapsed on top of him. His body was unusually stiff and I realized I had more than likely pissed him off. Peachy.

”Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m just…I donno…”

”Drunk?” He offered.

”Yeah, that and I’m completely and utterly in love with you,” I sighed again, more audible this time.

”I wish you’d stop saying that,” He didn’t sound as angry any more, just tired again. “You’re really stupid, you know that?”

”Yes,” I snuggled close to him and he reluctantly put his arms around me. “Do you know what this is?”

”No, what?” He asked.

”This is everything falling apart,” I said, gravely.

”Everything, huh?” He muttered.

”The whole fucking thing,” I said. “I think I can sleep now, if we just stay like this.”

”This is really fucking uncomfortable,” He said, fingers vaguely playing with strands of my hair.

”Is it alright if we stay like this?” I asked.

”I guess,” He said. “Just stop trying to rape me.”

”I make no promises.”

-End :3