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So, I went home for Easter and turned on my old computer and pulled out my folder of stories. Inside that folder were some incomplete stories, some notes, and a couple of completed pieces. They need some work, but at some point, they'll all make their way onto this board. This is the first one I decided to polish and post.

It's from Joey's POV during Castaways, which is probably my favorite episode.

sarah

~**~

You were right about one thing. There are about a thousand reasons why we would never work.

Why do my own words always come back to haunt me? As I lay here, looking over at the man who emerged from a boy I've known for as long as I can remember, I regret having ever said those words.

Of course, they're true. I've lived my life since the end of senior year of high school to a constant mantra of reasons that I cannot be with this amazing man who changed my life completely. I've listed them over and over and over and over. They flow now in a constant stream, low and steady, stilling my hand as it tries to reach out for him, stopping my lips from seeking out his. Keeping my distance.

It's necessary. A girl has to survive, after all. Even as I dreamed that whole summer of his return, of him sweeping me up into his arms, telling me he loved me and that everything was still going to be okay, and grand romantic gestures, my primal instincts took over. Fight or flight. I knew that I had to prepare for a more realistic return. He would come back and he wouldn't seek me out. Maybe being near me would be too painful for him. Maybe it wouldn't be painful to be around me and he wouldn't want to hurt me with that knowledge. Maybe he just wouldn't know what to say. I just knew that he would return and I wouldn't know.

I knew he would re-enter my life. Old roots run deep, after all. Even though there are situations that love cannot overcome, the love still remains. So I knew he would come back into my life and I hoped desperately that it would be as my friend. I knew even then that the only way to keep that friendship would be to never let myself think about the possibility of more. Never.

Only I discovered that I'm not capable of being in the same room as him and not thinking about the possibility of more. So, I devised a plan. I needed to remind myself constantly of why he and I couldn't be together. Of why we had to be friends. It was ridiculously hard work, even before he came back and I had to face those beautiful blues, but practice makes perfect. But new or well-practiced that low, quiet buzz has thrummed continuously in my mind. The white noise of my existence.

It's worked. We are friends and it's been wonderful to still be in his life. To still go to him with my hopes and dreams and problems and worries. To know that he comes to me in the same way. His relationship with Audrey kept me safe in many ways, because I could not and would not get in the middle of their relationship. She's a wonderful friend and he's a wonderful man, and I was happy that they could make each other happy. When they broke up, I realized how much I'd been using their relationship as a crutch to keep the mantra going, but I am a stubborn woman and I regained my skills. I still stayed away from him. And through it all, the steady hum kept me on my plotted course.

I felt so secure in my strategy that I agreed to come with him on this faux-date. I was so sure we could get all the way through safely as friends. And, to be honest, I just couldn't resist being on an almost-date with him. Even though I know it won't be and can't be more, I still can't completely deny myself his attention.

It's been wonderful. Though we danced into dangerous territory, referring, however briefly, to our erstwhile romance, we managed to find our way safely back out. Drawing closer, enjoying one another's company, but with the distance safely returned.

And then he threw the entire plan out the window when he captured my lips with his own. All logical thought whisked from my head as the warm familiarity, the soothing comfort, and the electrifying passion of something that always feels so right took over. The sheer perfection of that moment.

But I haven't lasted six hundred and twelve days without developing elaborate methods for keeping up my plan. Tonight I even discovered that he has maintained a similar plan to my own. But, ever the brave one, he seized the moment.

He always kisses me first.

And I'm never ready for it.

I asked for some time, for time to consider and contemplate. To analyze and compute this new information. And, gracious as always, he granted my request. Yielding control, again. Waiting. Leaving his own heart on the line.

And now these words. My own words. They always do come back to haunt me. Because even as he says there are about a thousand reasons why we would never work, even as the logical part of my brain reminds me that I've done nothing but rehearse those reasons over and over for six hundred and twelve days, I cannot remember a single reason.

Not one.

There is one thing in the pro column though.

I move to him, slotting my body into his. Fitting easily into a place that has always fit me perfectly. That probably always will fit me perfectly. His arm wraps around me, and our lips find each other, and we move with practiced ease.

I never quite know how to describe my kisses with Pacey. I've kissed quite a few boys now, but it hasn't helped my ability to describe this. Other boys, descriptions flow easily. It's safe, it's comfortable, it's nice, it's exciting, it's awkward, it's uncomfortable, it's passionate. But, just like Pacey himself, his kisses defy easy explanation.

We fall into them easily, naturally. Like a skill we were born with. We have a practiced rhythm; we know how to make this pleasurable for each other. It's passionate. The sparks are always there between us. There is still that gravitational pull though it's no longer bizarre. It feels safe and secure. When I'm in his arms, I feel like nothing can ever hurt me. It's a gift. I feel precious, special and desirable as his lips and tongue work their magic. It's new and exciting and never the same, except somehow it's always familiar.

Perhaps I could liken it to a practiced dance always done to new music. You know all the steps, but there's some danger because you don't know what's coming up next. You follow the rhythm from moment to moment and in the arms of your partner, you know that the dance will go perfectly, every time.

When we finally stop, I still can't quite reach out and take what I want. I can never choose the easy path. I claim coldness, and he wraps me even more securely in his arms, throwing the sleeping bag around us.

I miss you, Pace.

That doesn't even begin to cover what I feel. Four little words cannot compare to the magnitude of my feelings. My feelings for him have colored and defined every action in my life since I had to let him go.

But his eyes meet mine, and I know I don't have to explain.

I miss you, too.

As we snuggle in, I take his hand in mine. I squeeze it gently and he and I both know what that means. My words may have said one thing, but my heart says another. In most situations, with most people, my words would win out. They wouldn't know how to dig past my fear-fueled words to my well-guarded heart. But not him.

This is the boy, the man, who inspires me to let go of my fears and chase after what I truly want. To never settle for something that doesn't leave me breathless with joy. And only with him have I ever been truly happy. Only with him has my life ever made total and complete sense.

So as my eyes fall closed, and he places a soft kiss in my hair, we both know what my kiss meant. Because this time I kissed him. And that only ever means one thing between us.

I've made my decision.

End