Just a sort of summer project, to see if I can write a story and update it every day. I really doubt I can, but hell if I won't try.

So yeah.


(monday, june 9, 2008)

(starring: jordyn & rory)


It's kind of weird, how Rory is always there.

I guess I don't notice because normally I'm with Alex, helping him solve his problems, doing whatever it is we do because we're best friends. You know how your world sort of revolves around your best friends? It's like that.

And I guess Rory is my best friend too; I've known him for longer than I've known Alex, I think. But he just sort of fades into the background sometimes, and I don't notice until I really need him.

I'm okay with admitting that; I'm okay with admitting that he doesn't always get the attention he deserves from me. I can't give him my world.

It's kind of weird that he's always there, but it's normal. It would be weirder if he wasn't there, wasn't waiting for me to need him. Waiting for me to call on him.

I think he takes pride in being there when I need him. Just like he takes pride in people thinking he's some psychotic freak of nature when he's everything but. Rory is weird like that.

It's also pretty weird that he's in love with me.

I'm good at self-realizations.

Rory is good at being there, and being blunt.

I had no idea; I hadn't even suspected the slightest thing until Alex had looked at me one day and said, "Maybe Rory needs you more than I do."

Until Rory had said, "Maybe I need you more than Alex does."

I'm embarrassed just remembering that; the cold discovery that I'd been following Alex around like a puppy on a leash and completely ignoring every hint Rory had dropped my way.

But during those three days I spent alone afterward, I could do what I was good at; realize and rationalize.

Yes, I'd abandoned Rory.

Yes, I'd centered my world around Alex.

I could remember the day that Rory had tossed that bundle of snapdragons and marigolds my way on Valentine's Day (he'd remembered that I thought roses were ridiculously cliche) and blushed a bit, stared at his feet, and said, "Happy Valentine's, Jordy."

I remembered the day after Valentines, when I'd presented him with a myriad of nail polish and persuaded him into letting me paint his nails, right there and then, in the courtyard while we missed sixth period and I'd held his hand just a little longer than I had to.

I could remember when he'd found me leaning against the wall (looking so good, he'd said--what had I been thinking?) at prom, by myself, and he'd brought me outside and danced with me under the moonlight and tangled ferns and maple leaves into my hair.

When I'd half dragged him to his house the day he broke his ankle and stayed up all night with him while we waited for his parents to come home, and my hold on him had been there too long for simple support.

My birthday, when he'd taken me out and walked around the park with me and given me the ring I twisted around my finger when I was nervous or anxious or bored and never took off (how could I not notice?) and made me laugh until I cried, and then he'd shoved me in the lake and told me I should never cry on my birthday.

He'd told me I should never cry, for any reason ever, and if he did he'd find out why and he'd fix it right away. He'd told me never to cry over anyone; and if I did he'd kick their ass and then mine.

Today was the fourth day, and I knew what to do.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

It wasn't hard to find him; I knew exactly where he'd be during a situation like this. God, I knew him this well, and I still hadn't realized he was in love with me.

In love with me. It still felt weird to think those words, let alone say them.

He was in the park, standing at the edge of the blue-gray lake, silhouetted lanky and crooked against the golden fall leaves that ringed the water. I knew he heard me coming because he turned to me and immediately turned back, trying to pretend like he hadn't seen me. Really. I may be oblivious, but not that much.

"Rory," I say, stopping a few short feet away. A breeze sails by; I wrap my arms around myself and fix my eyes on him.

"Jordyn," he said, without looking at me, and the shot of shame and sadness that enveloped his voice in that single word made me wince. And it was my fault; before I knew it, tears clouded my throat and blurred the edges of my vision.

"Rory, I--" I'm sorry. I'm ashamed.

I...love you?

"Are you crying?" He's distracted by the sudden thickness in my voice and he turns, abandoning his pride, and closes the distance between us with two quick strides. "Jordyn, what's wrong?"

I'd love to answer, I really would, but I'm in the middle of a realization.

Oh my God. I'm in love with him. And I've been horrible to him.

It seems so obvious now. How the hell thick am I, that I don't even know I was in love with him myself? Je-sus Christ.

I'm in love with Rory fucking Christopher.

"Jordyn?" I look up at him and the concern in his eyes shines so clear and so evident that it makes my heart thump erratically. That can't be healthy. "Jordyn, don't tell me you're crying over a boy."

I don't care that he assumes it's a boy and not a girl; all that comes out when I open my mouth is a pathetic sob that probably looks a little odd coupled with the watery smile I can feel on my face.

"Oh my God, Jordy," he says softly. "Tell me who it is and I'll kick his ass from here to Sunday--"

"How are you going to kick your own ass?" I choke out, and he looks stunned. Shocked. And, after a moment, hurt.

"I don't...Jordyn, I'm sorry." His voice is weak and his face pained, but all I can do is laugh.

"I'm sorry too," I say, because I've got a plan in my head now, and I grin when he looks confused.

"For what?"

For not telling you sooner. God, I love you. "For this," I say, and shove him into the lake.

He yelps before he goes under--damn, this lake is deeper than it looks--and when he comes back up, rusty-copper hair plastered to his forehead, he still looks clueless.

And just a little scared, I think, as I jump from the bank and tackle him back into the water.

Hell yes, it's cold.

Yeah, I'm wet and my clothes are definitely ruined.

Damn straight my hip hurts because I didn't aim properly and he kneed me by accident.

But I'm kissing him underwater now, so I can't say I really mind.

Except I do need to breathe, so when I jerk him back up out of the water I gasp for air while he regains his bearings. His pale, pretty face is stuttered in rouge and his gray eyes are bright and searching when they meet mine.

"Jordyn?" He says hesitantly, eyebrows furrowed.

"I love you," I exhale choppily, head ducked, so low I don't think he can hear me. But his eyes light up a bit, hope flaring, and he asks, "What did you say?"

"I love you," I repeat, just as low, and when he goes to ask me a third time I beat him to the punch. "I fucking love you! Is that clear enough for you? Jesus Christ, man, way to ruin the moment!"

While I'm irritated that my declaration of love (Oh God, that's too cheesy) has been thoroughly fucked, Rory looks ecstatic. So much so, in fact, that he knocks me onto my back and kisses me again through my ranting.

"I love you, Jordy!"

I grin wryly and let him kiss me again, regardless of the water lapping at my ears and the sand that's surely ingrained into my hair.

I may not be able to give Rory fucking Christopher the world.

But I'll be damned if I don't try.


Aww, how sweet. -chokes on the sap-

But yeah. The next drabble will probably be about Oliver and Kayne, because I love them.

Reviews keep me alive, people. Remember that.