You Had Me But I Never Had You - Gossip Girl, PG-13

Note: Written post 104, "Bad News Blair." Title is from a lyric by John Lennon.

What the fuck was he talking about? Going on and on. About his mother, as if he knew anything about hers, and the words rushing out of his mouth like the cabs on Sixth Avenue when she needed one the most. What did he know about guilt-ridden bites of breakfast, of discarded unworn dresses, of endless self-loathing? What did he know of not ranking on the to-call list during vacations in Paris, or late-night business meetings, or her own heart?

What did he know?

And he was staring. At her. And had stopped talking and she was staring back and she noticed now, knowing he had noticed too.

Staring at her with those big brown eyes. Like hers. Putting a hand. On hers. Saying, "We're not so different, are we?" and smiling until she found herself smiling back.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I came here to talk to you about your mom, not mine."

"No," Blair said automatically, surprising herself. "It's okay." It was the first conversation she had had in—in as long as she could remember—that wasn't about Serena or fashion or Yale or that stupid blog. It was the first time she had talked to a man about another woman without the ulterior motive of plotting something totally evil.

He continued his story and she listened this time but couldn't bring herself to share hers. That would have to wait. And she stood in her usual spot on the sidelines when she heard him ask out Serena and didn't even feel a tinge of jealousy, because at this point she was used to everyone, everyone, everyone choosing Serena over her. Even Blair did it constantly too.

Not to worry. Her time would come.

Something More This Time - Instant Star, PG

Note: I think I wrote this last summer...? I just found it in a notebook that I forgot I had, so I'm typing it up now. I wrote it for a challenge (to write 15 fics about 15 different ships from the same fandom) which I never completed. The prompt was "friends first, lovers second."

When they were five, they pretended that the lightning bugs were fairies and wished to be swept away to a magical land.

When they were six, they rode their bikes around the neighborhood. Jude's training wheels came off too early and she fell and twisted her ankle. Jamie scraped his knee on purpose so she wouldn't feel so bad.

When they were eight, they locked themselves in Jude's bedroom and danced to the macarena all summer long.

When they were nine, they swore that the events of the previous summer had never happened.

When they were eleven, they pored through Stuart's record collection and memorized every lyric that Bob Dylan had ever written.

When they were twelve, Jamie helped Jude write her first song.

When they were fourteen (gawky and pubescent), an article in Seventeen magazine inspired her to kiss him without warning in her living room and then go back to reading like nothing had happened. He never forgot it.

When they were fifteen, she became a star.

When they were sixteen, they got matching tattoos and swore to stay best friends forever. A few months later, she broke his heart.

When they were seventeen, they went their separate ways romantically and, finally moving on, he found out how easy it was to forgive her.

When they were eighteen, she had an important decision to make.

When they woke up this morning, her warm skin against his bare chest, she looked into his eyes and smiled.

"You see? This is how it always should have been. This is how it always will be."

She kissed him and he squeezed her tight, hoping to god she was telling the truth. They'd gone too far to go back now.

Easy Way Out - The Big Bang Theory, PG

Penny doesn’t know anymore why she does it—or why she keeps doing it over and over.

She tells herself that if she keeps it spontaneous, Leonard will never ask questions, but the questions that she’s most afraid of answering aren’t his. Mostly she doesn’t want to start asking questions herself. Like what it means, or why. More accurately, why not.

If she were as shallow as she used to be—which she tells herself she isn’t—maybe her hesitation would have something to do with social status, or lack of attraction, or some immature delusion that they were of different worlds. But Penny doesn’t believe half the lies she tells herself now.

She doesn’t want to notice how well they complement each other. Because they are opposites in almost every way. Because, by all definitions of the universe (though she finds herself wondering whose), they don’t make any sense and they don’t belong together. Girls like her never date guys like him. Guys like him never get girls like her.

It’s stupid to believe this crap and she knows it, but it resonates within her every time they meet (crashing into each other, worlds colliding). The fairytales never said it was supposed to be like this, but it is: the way her throat tightens up around him, the way she catches herself deflecting her nervousness with a joke or a roll of the eyes. She doesn’t understand how he’s able to makes her feel so smart and so stupid all at once.

It’s easier to avoid it altogether. It’s easier to date the beefed-up buffoon, to have screaming, mindless, meaningless sex because it’s fun and it’s what she’s always done and no hearts can get broken if they were never invested to begin with.

When things become meaningful, she gets stuck. She either screws it up or gets screwed over. Penny abhors meaning. She runs from it. Life is one big party and she’s the one pouring drinks.

So she doesn’t think about what it would be like to date him. The suspicious glances and judgmental whispers. (Surely she isn’t dating him. What would a girl like that be doing with a guy like him?)

And she doesn’t wonder what it would be like to sleep with him. How clumsy and awkward he would be. Star Wars paraphernalia looming over them in the shadows.

And she doesn’t imagine what it would be like to love him. And to have to, for once, deal with the reality that someone actually loved her back. That he didn’t -- like everyone else -- think of her as just a good lay.

Because he doesn’t make her feel hot, or sexy, or desirable. He makes her feel beautiful. He never thought of her as another dumb blonde and she’s surprised that she no longer thinks of him as her hopelessly nerdy neighbor. It’s scary how vulnerable she suddenly feels. How exposed.

So she smiles when he flirts with Leslie, or with Sheldon’s sister. She smiles when he flirts (or attempts to, anyway) with her. She smiles when she kisses him and his lips are chapped and he’s too stunned to kiss back.

Dates with other guys are easier, of course. Flirtatious smiles are easier. Jokes and eyerolls are easier. Spontaneous, unexplained kisses are easier. Anything is easier than the truth.

She puts her arm around him and holds her breath. Don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it, she tells herself. Don’t kiss him. But then she does, and she already knows it will happen again. Because she doesn’t wonder what it would be like to fall for him. Because she already has.

She just hopes he doesn’t ask questions.