bedshaped
She presses her hand to his. / He keeps a picture of her in his wallet, except he never has any money, so he doesn't see it but he knows it's there. Jade/Beck.
A/N: most random, fragmented thing i have ever done. gosh. well, i hope you like anyway and may i just say DAMN i love this pairing.
second A/N: i changed the title because i remembered singsongsung has a fic w/ the same title, and i love her fic so i don't want to steal anything from it. hope everyone still likes it:)
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follow me back with the sun in your eyes
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::
He kisses her one day (a long time ago, right after they've broken up the second time but right before she leaves for L.A) in the winter when the branches scrape against their frosty windows and wind whispers across the skyscrapers.
She looks at him after; stares.
"Well?" He asks.
She sets her cup down. "That was stupid."
Never claimed it was smart, he wants to say. Instead, he watches her go (the door slams shut behind her, he waits for her to come back).
Her footsteps echo.
::
It is a long time before she remembers him, when she's a big pretty star up in the shining beautiful lights and her smile burns brighter than that bonfire they built in his backyard (it seems like a million years ago).
(but he remembers her)
Beck moves towards her, unwillingly, as he always has and it's not his choice (except it is it always is it's always been this way)
he calls her.
She doesn't pick up. He's not even a little surprised.
("this is jade. don't bother leaving a message, i'm not listening."
That doesn't stop him. The machine has to cut him off because his voicemail is so long.)
::
"I loved you since the first time I saw you," He tells her.
She brushes the hair out of her eyes.
"No," She sighs, "You haven't."
::
He gets a part.
They say they need one unknown and one big name, and he knows.
((Jade West has always been a star.))
::
Lights flash in his eyes, he walks on the set. He sees her first.
Hi, he almost yells, hi, Jade, hi, but he just sounds like an idiot, even to himself and Jade has never appreciated idiot-ness.
So he doesn't say anything.
(he sees her and all he can remember is the way she used to braid her hair when she was bored, the way she would change channels every five seconds and slap his hand if he tried to touch the remote, the way she would kiss him, hard and fierce and burning, like a thousand suns.)
She comes up to him.
Hello, she says, and her voice is almost a whisper.
He tries not to grin.
::
She presses her hand to his.
::
She had allowed him to kiss her in public, in the summer, the days when her favorite drink had been pink lemonade and she always tasted a little sweet, her tongue curling around his, and she had worn the locket he got her one day because it had a stone on it the color of her eyes-
He thinks of these days when she ignores him off camera, when she slides her sunglasses down her nose, dark and unyielding.
"What happened to us?" He asks her in between takes, and she turns towards him, slightly.
"What always happens." She lights a cigarette.
He fills in the blanks. ("Life." She once said, before, when she answered his questions.)
She watches the smoke curl away, he watches her.
(They'll never change, except maybe one day he'll look at her and she'll be looking back.)
::
They fuck in her hotel room, sheets damp with sweat and the room sticky with heat and sex and she digs her fingernails into his shoulders.
She whispers something into his neck; he can't quite make it out (he used to know the shapes of the letters she would trace into his sides, he used to be able to spell the alphabet on her skin).
He runs his hands over her stomach. He can feel her ribs.
He wakes up the next morning and sees her opening the door. (Of course, he thinks, of course, Jade, not even a note. Beck clutches his fists around the stained sheets.)
You should eat, he calls out to her, she faces him.
Okay, she replies, her voice hoarse. What do you have in mind?
::
He makes her pancakes and gets the batter all of himself, so she licks it off, lips sliding against his wrist, against the dip of his shoulders.
She laughs at him the whole time, giggling into the curve of his bones.
It's been about four years since he's heard her laugh. He had forgotten the sound, almost.
::
"You'll never be a star," Jade tells him through clenched teeth at their premiere when white lights blind their eyes.
"Didn't think I would be." He murmurs back.
She glares at him when the cameras aren't looking (one second), her arm is cocked on her hip.
He is careful not to touch her.
::
they broke up five years ago and he followed her to hollywood and she fucked him in dirtyrotten motels or trailers or darkhidden closets and he let her and he reminds himself over and over again- this is them. they aren't happy
(except they were once, weren't they, high school romance and all that, but if it was true he would have forgotten her already and he never has, not her prettyrarestarbright laugh or her eyes multicolored, lit, and just-
he'll never forget her but he'll never get her either, not really, so.)
(He keeps a picture of her in his wallet, but he never has any money, so he doesn't see it but he knows it's there.)
::
It's hate, or it's love, but it's not both.
(Except it is. It always is. He loves her but he hates her or he hates her but he loves her.
Never stops.)
::
Their movie ends. She gets rave reviews, so does he. Words like "chemistry" and "made for each other" are thrown around and he can't help but laugh at how mocking they all sound, ringing in his ears to the tone of her voice.
He chucks a magazine at her the last day of set cleaning; "Yo, Angelina, read this" and she flips through the pages lazily.
"Mhm," She mumbles, "That's interesting."
"What?" He asks, curiously. His hands are perched on the edge of her chair (so close still).
"They spelled your name wrong, Aladdin."
She throws the magazine back at him. He doesn't catch it.
::
On his fifth night of binge drinking, Andre and Tori come to pick him up.
Tori looks at him pityingly and he sees their matching rings through the haze of vodkaorwhatwasitscotchmaybe and he'd be happy they're happy, but, but he's so.. it's hard to not feel jealous and angry and- he does another shot.
They pull him and throw him on his bed and Tori tells him to "slap out of it" and Andre laughs but then sighs and ruffles his hair.
"When are you going to take a stand for yourself?" He asks.
I don't know, Beck thinks, I don't-
(he wakes up the next morning with a killer headache and a note from them.
tell her. be happy.
So he does.)
::
She picks up on the third ring (which isn't great, but it's not her voicemail, either and honestly he'll take what he can get).
"Hello," He says, not letting her speak, "I love you."
There's a pause. He can almost hear her laughing through the phone.
"Yeah," She replies simply, "I know."
::
A week later, he gets a text from her.
hey loser, you better have money cause you're taking me out tonight
-He grins, wide and bright and burning and he thinks, this is what it's like, this is what's it like to feel happy.
(it's like high school and RV's and holding hands underneath desks and knowing exactly what coffee she likes and the bright colors of her streaked her and her eyes and lips and everything-)
(she says loser and he hears i love you, he hears it loud and clear)
alright, He texts, like he hasn't been waiting for this (her) for forever.
what time?
::
fin.