No Fast-Forwarding (Play it Loud)
Title: No Fast-Forwarding (Play it Loud)
Author:
dramatic_sigh
Fandom: Gossip Girl (I can't seem to write much else these days)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nate/Vanessa
Summary: He calls her at the end of Summer, out of the blue; surprising, but not unwelcome.
A/N: I'm not 100% happy with this, but it will have to do. Mostly fluff, set after S1, but ignoring most, if not all, spoilers. The title comes from the title of a mix CD someone made for me and I only just really glanced at the other day and thus felt inspired. There isn't enough Nate/Vanessa fic out their, which is sad because they have so much potential. Enjoy!
He calls her at the end of Summer, out of the blue; surprising, but not unwelcome.
I’m coming home early, he tells her, grin evident in his voice and she smiles herself.
Really.
Really.
She pauses, letting him squirm, before he interrupts.
So…
Well, she chuckles softly, I do have a spare ticket to this concert tomorrow night, if you’re interested…
He is, which is surprising.
But again, not unwelcome.
---
He doesn’t mention Serena and she doesn’t mention Dan. Not out of courtesy, but out of fact.
(Summers that didn’t work out the way they both envisioned, no clandestine romances, no torrid, long yearned for affairs. Just the dull ache of disappointment.)
In the crowded streets, he grabs her hand. He lets the girl he’ll never have go.
He feels lighter. (Watch them as they fly.)
---
Vanessa doesn’t really believe in ‘love’. She feels (felt?) something for Dan that could resemble that, but cynicism is her middle name and while her ‘free spirit’ parents preach ‘soul mates’ and ‘true love’, she lacks their faith.
She’s not a pessimist, god no. She believes in human decency and doing things for the right reasons. She roots for the underdog, the good guy, the geek and all that jazz.
The summer sun fades behind the New York skyline and a chill sets in, autumn closing in around them. An involuntary shiver and he wraps his jacket around her shoulders, ever so gently.
(Later, in the privacy of her living room, she’ll tell her sister of this gesture, who - ever the romantic, even if it is of a different persuasion - will squeal and sigh and swoon. Vanessa will merely roll her eyes, but the two sisters will huddle together on the couch, French film playing, M&Ms always present. Her thoughts, however much she focuses, will flutter back to that moment…)
She keeps his jacket. Not because of him, she argue to anyone who will listen, but because she likes the style.
Not because she loves him or anything, because, honestly, love? It’s so ridiculous, the concept even, she doesn’t even know him…
(Somewhere in the distance, a bullshit alarm rings and rings and rings.)
…oh crap.
---
He takes her sailing and his nervousness is evident, hands busying themselves with ropes and knots as she films it, witty commentary included (it’s a package deal).
“Do you like it?” he asks, glancing at the water and back at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She smiles, sunglasses perched on her head, pushing her hair into place.
“It’s alright,” she smiles, leaning back.
“I love it out here,” there’s a gentle honesty to him and she sits up straight, curious, always filming.
“I just feel so free.”
The waves lap against the boat; soft and steady, drowning out everything else. It’s hypnotic and she finds herself lost in his eyes. (This could be very dangerous…)
“Being with you…well, you make me feel like I’m sailing.”
Not one for words, that Vanessa. (She finds that gestures and actions speak louder and truer than anything else can.) Placing her camera on the ground, she makes her way over to him, hands finding his instantaneously, her kiss soft and hesitant. He presses forward, hands holding her firmly by the waist, any lingering doubt washed away like the tide.
He doesn’t want to lose this feeling.
---
She talks in her sleep, a fact he finds utterly adorable, but she vehemently denies.
He films her; wrapped in a pressed, 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet, mumbling French phrases and snack foods, mouth curled into a serene smile.
When she awakes, he shows her his footage. She laughs and calls him ‘Detective Archibald’ for a week.
“I can’t argue with that evidence,” she shrugs over breakfast, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“No,” he grins triumphantly, “no you can’t.”
---
Her parents fly into town, (unexpectedly, of course) for an art show and, while they wouldn’t admit it, to check in on their two daughters. Artists first and parents second, has always been their private motto, but they were never short of love.
(Hippie parents have made her somewhat resentful; her search for rules and structure long abandoned as she accepts her fate. Paint what you feel echoes alongside the truth isn’t always pretty and her mothers tired, heartbroken eyes after the latest affair of a man she loves too much to leave; her personal tragedy, fit for a living room wall. Money can’t buy happiness just like Vermont can’t fix a marriage and freedom doesn’t apply in every context. Passion isn’t an excuse; this she knows, just like she knows one should never pour their tears into water colours.)
“Where is this beau of yours?” her mother trills, bangles jangling, sipping her tea.
“His chauffeur probably got lost,” her sister unhelpfully smirks.
“God, Ruby,” Vanessa sighs, turning to her parents, “he doesn’t have a chauffer.”
“Isn’t that his friend? The one that owns that hotel and you can’t stand?” Ruby laughs, nudging the younger Abrams, who promptly rolls her eyes.
“A hotel, oh my.”
“Oh, and get this, Mom,” Ruby blabbers on, ignoring the murderous looks, “he took her sailing the other day. On his yacht.”
He arrives, saving her from further humiliation.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he smiles apologetically at her and her parents, extending his hand to her father, “Nate Archibald, pleasure to meet you, Mr Abrams.”
Eyebrow raised, her father takes his hand.
“Jonah, please. It’s nice to meet you too, Nate. This is my wife Josie - ”
“Wonderful to meet you, Nate.” She smiles, shaking his hand, “Vanessa has told us…well, very little about you.”
“Really?” Nate grins, glancing at Vanessa, pink tinging her cheeks, his grin widening by the shade, “why am I not surprised.”
Dinner passes, relatively pain free and with little embarrassment on her behalf. His father and him trade small talk and playfully fight over the bill while her mother drags her aside.
“I like him, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Vanessa smiles softly, turning away, but not before her mother catches her arm.
“Vanessa…” There’s a pain in her eyes, years of lies and false hope (this is the last time, I swear…) weighing on her shoulders; the older woman resigned to her fate long before she knew what it was.
“I know, Mom,” Vanessa squeezes her hand reassuringly; “he’s one of the good ones.”
Laughing at a joke her dad is telling, as if on cue, his eyes meet her from across the room.
She gets a weird fluttering feeling in her stomach. Well, that or indigestion.
(She’s hoping it’s indigestion.)
---
“School starts tomorrow,” he states, flipping through course readers and text books, as she types away on her laptop, sprawled on his bed.
“Indeed it does,” she grins. He walks across the room and peers over her laptop, “no peeking. Hand me a blank CD, will you?”
He complies and she kisses him in return.
“You’re welcome,” he smirks, returning back to a particularly heavy history textbook, “do you wanna hang out tomorrow?”
“Well, I have a spare last period, so I could swing by your school, if you want.”
Silence.
“Don’t answer right away or anything, it’s not like I don’t have another boyfriend on speed dial eager for a ride.”
“Boyfriend, huh.”
(Heat rises on her cheeks and she silently curses whatever force made her so susceptible to his charms. He’s all smirks, shoving her laptop to the side and tangling his fingers in her hair, kissing her deeply and lowering her, ever so gently…)
Her phone beeps, signaling reality.
“That’s my cue,” Vanessa murmurs, pulling away and hopping off the bed. “Here.” She thrusts the CD in his hands.
“What’s this?”
“A ‘Vanessa Abrams Special’,” she grins, shoving her laptop in her bag. “But I’m giving it to you on two conditions.”
“Which are?”
“No fast forwarding.”
“Uh huh.”
Halfway to the door, she pauses, turning to face the wide-eyed boy behind her.
“And play it loud.”
---
She’s waiting by the gate, as promised. A welcome change from girls with brightly coloured handbags and headbands, with too much money, but not enough sense. He embraces her tightly, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around, which elicits something that resembles a giggle (she denies it, of course) and a put me down, you dork.
He complies, and settles for kissing her, showmanship obviously his specialty. They break apart, she’s blushing (always) and he’s playing with her curls.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, hands clasping hers.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere.”
She smiles and he chuckles.
Between the two of them, it sounds like something real.
(Funny that.)
---
He presses play while she turns his stereo up as loud it can go. He opens his mouth to speak, but she stops him, with a shake of her head and a smile.
Reaching for a pen and paper, she scribbles something, showing him before tossing it to the side. (She’s a mysterious one, that Vanessa Abrams.) Grabbing his hand, she closes her eyes, him quickly following suit.
Just listen.
(Watch them as they fall in love.)
Author:
dramatic_sigh
Fandom: Gossip Girl (I can't seem to write much else these days)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nate/Vanessa
Summary: He calls her at the end of Summer, out of the blue; surprising, but not unwelcome.
A/N: I'm not 100% happy with this, but it will have to do. Mostly fluff, set after S1, but ignoring most, if not all, spoilers. The title comes from the title of a mix CD someone made for me and I only just really glanced at the other day and thus felt inspired. There isn't enough Nate/Vanessa fic out their, which is sad because they have so much potential. Enjoy!
He calls her at the end of Summer, out of the blue; surprising, but not unwelcome.
I’m coming home early, he tells her, grin evident in his voice and she smiles herself.
Really.
Really.
She pauses, letting him squirm, before he interrupts.
So…
Well, she chuckles softly, I do have a spare ticket to this concert tomorrow night, if you’re interested…
He is, which is surprising.
But again, not unwelcome.
---
He doesn’t mention Serena and she doesn’t mention Dan. Not out of courtesy, but out of fact.
(Summers that didn’t work out the way they both envisioned, no clandestine romances, no torrid, long yearned for affairs. Just the dull ache of disappointment.)
In the crowded streets, he grabs her hand. He lets the girl he’ll never have go.
He feels lighter. (Watch them as they fly.)
---
Vanessa doesn’t really believe in ‘love’. She feels (felt?) something for Dan that could resemble that, but cynicism is her middle name and while her ‘free spirit’ parents preach ‘soul mates’ and ‘true love’, she lacks their faith.
She’s not a pessimist, god no. She believes in human decency and doing things for the right reasons. She roots for the underdog, the good guy, the geek and all that jazz.
The summer sun fades behind the New York skyline and a chill sets in, autumn closing in around them. An involuntary shiver and he wraps his jacket around her shoulders, ever so gently.
(Later, in the privacy of her living room, she’ll tell her sister of this gesture, who - ever the romantic, even if it is of a different persuasion - will squeal and sigh and swoon. Vanessa will merely roll her eyes, but the two sisters will huddle together on the couch, French film playing, M&Ms always present. Her thoughts, however much she focuses, will flutter back to that moment…)
She keeps his jacket. Not because of him, she argue to anyone who will listen, but because she likes the style.
Not because she loves him or anything, because, honestly, love? It’s so ridiculous, the concept even, she doesn’t even know him…
(Somewhere in the distance, a bullshit alarm rings and rings and rings.)
…oh crap.
---
He takes her sailing and his nervousness is evident, hands busying themselves with ropes and knots as she films it, witty commentary included (it’s a package deal).
“Do you like it?” he asks, glancing at the water and back at her, trying to gauge her reaction. She smiles, sunglasses perched on her head, pushing her hair into place.
“It’s alright,” she smiles, leaning back.
“I love it out here,” there’s a gentle honesty to him and she sits up straight, curious, always filming.
“I just feel so free.”
The waves lap against the boat; soft and steady, drowning out everything else. It’s hypnotic and she finds herself lost in his eyes. (This could be very dangerous…)
“Being with you…well, you make me feel like I’m sailing.”
Not one for words, that Vanessa. (She finds that gestures and actions speak louder and truer than anything else can.) Placing her camera on the ground, she makes her way over to him, hands finding his instantaneously, her kiss soft and hesitant. He presses forward, hands holding her firmly by the waist, any lingering doubt washed away like the tide.
He doesn’t want to lose this feeling.
---
She talks in her sleep, a fact he finds utterly adorable, but she vehemently denies.
He films her; wrapped in a pressed, 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheet, mumbling French phrases and snack foods, mouth curled into a serene smile.
When she awakes, he shows her his footage. She laughs and calls him ‘Detective Archibald’ for a week.
“I can’t argue with that evidence,” she shrugs over breakfast, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“No,” he grins triumphantly, “no you can’t.”
---
Her parents fly into town, (unexpectedly, of course) for an art show and, while they wouldn’t admit it, to check in on their two daughters. Artists first and parents second, has always been their private motto, but they were never short of love.
(Hippie parents have made her somewhat resentful; her search for rules and structure long abandoned as she accepts her fate. Paint what you feel echoes alongside the truth isn’t always pretty and her mothers tired, heartbroken eyes after the latest affair of a man she loves too much to leave; her personal tragedy, fit for a living room wall. Money can’t buy happiness just like Vermont can’t fix a marriage and freedom doesn’t apply in every context. Passion isn’t an excuse; this she knows, just like she knows one should never pour their tears into water colours.)
“Where is this beau of yours?” her mother trills, bangles jangling, sipping her tea.
“His chauffeur probably got lost,” her sister unhelpfully smirks.
“God, Ruby,” Vanessa sighs, turning to her parents, “he doesn’t have a chauffer.”
“Isn’t that his friend? The one that owns that hotel and you can’t stand?” Ruby laughs, nudging the younger Abrams, who promptly rolls her eyes.
“A hotel, oh my.”
“Oh, and get this, Mom,” Ruby blabbers on, ignoring the murderous looks, “he took her sailing the other day. On his yacht.”
He arrives, saving her from further humiliation.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he smiles apologetically at her and her parents, extending his hand to her father, “Nate Archibald, pleasure to meet you, Mr Abrams.”
Eyebrow raised, her father takes his hand.
“Jonah, please. It’s nice to meet you too, Nate. This is my wife Josie - ”
“Wonderful to meet you, Nate.” She smiles, shaking his hand, “Vanessa has told us…well, very little about you.”
“Really?” Nate grins, glancing at Vanessa, pink tinging her cheeks, his grin widening by the shade, “why am I not surprised.”
Dinner passes, relatively pain free and with little embarrassment on her behalf. His father and him trade small talk and playfully fight over the bill while her mother drags her aside.
“I like him, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Vanessa smiles softly, turning away, but not before her mother catches her arm.
“Vanessa…” There’s a pain in her eyes, years of lies and false hope (this is the last time, I swear…) weighing on her shoulders; the older woman resigned to her fate long before she knew what it was.
“I know, Mom,” Vanessa squeezes her hand reassuringly; “he’s one of the good ones.”
Laughing at a joke her dad is telling, as if on cue, his eyes meet her from across the room.
She gets a weird fluttering feeling in her stomach. Well, that or indigestion.
(She’s hoping it’s indigestion.)
---
“School starts tomorrow,” he states, flipping through course readers and text books, as she types away on her laptop, sprawled on his bed.
“Indeed it does,” she grins. He walks across the room and peers over her laptop, “no peeking. Hand me a blank CD, will you?”
He complies and she kisses him in return.
“You’re welcome,” he smirks, returning back to a particularly heavy history textbook, “do you wanna hang out tomorrow?”
“Well, I have a spare last period, so I could swing by your school, if you want.”
Silence.
“Don’t answer right away or anything, it’s not like I don’t have another boyfriend on speed dial eager for a ride.”
“Boyfriend, huh.”
(Heat rises on her cheeks and she silently curses whatever force made her so susceptible to his charms. He’s all smirks, shoving her laptop to the side and tangling his fingers in her hair, kissing her deeply and lowering her, ever so gently…)
Her phone beeps, signaling reality.
“That’s my cue,” Vanessa murmurs, pulling away and hopping off the bed. “Here.” She thrusts the CD in his hands.
“What’s this?”
“A ‘Vanessa Abrams Special’,” she grins, shoving her laptop in her bag. “But I’m giving it to you on two conditions.”
“Which are?”
“No fast forwarding.”
“Uh huh.”
Halfway to the door, she pauses, turning to face the wide-eyed boy behind her.
“And play it loud.”
---
She’s waiting by the gate, as promised. A welcome change from girls with brightly coloured handbags and headbands, with too much money, but not enough sense. He embraces her tightly, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around, which elicits something that resembles a giggle (she denies it, of course) and a put me down, you dork.
He complies, and settles for kissing her, showmanship obviously his specialty. They break apart, she’s blushing (always) and he’s playing with her curls.
“Let’s get out of here,” he murmurs, hands clasping hers.
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere.”
She smiles and he chuckles.
Between the two of them, it sounds like something real.
(Funny that.)
---
He presses play while she turns his stereo up as loud it can go. He opens his mouth to speak, but she stops him, with a shake of her head and a smile.
Reaching for a pen and paper, she scribbles something, showing him before tossing it to the side. (She’s a mysterious one, that Vanessa Abrams.) Grabbing his hand, she closes her eyes, him quickly following suit.
Just listen.
(Watch them as they fall in love.)