Shourtney Oneshots (M)

Impossible, Part Two

Courtney had been nothing short of ecstatic to be able to actually invite Shayne over to hang out in person again. She'd missed people in general, of course, but no one more than her dumbass of a best friend who always managed to make her feel comfortable and light and like she could just have fun without thinking about anything else. Even when they had fallen into talking about his own relationship with sex, it had felt nice: it gave her an opportunity to be beside him supporting him to talk through something difficult the same way he'd done for her so many times, and all she wanted was for him to feel comfortable to talk as much as he wanted to.

And then they'd made a couple of jokes and suddenly they were deep in a conversation she'd never thought they'd have, the balance they'd silently woven between the tension they both knew was there and the impossibility of anything actually happening snapping away in an instant. Only, instead of all of the stupid fantasies she let herself delve into occasionally of Shayne telling her he loves her and pulling her into his arms and never letting go, everything fell apart. It couldn't happen. They both wanted it so much – but it couldn't. And, realistically, after admitting everything, they couldn't just go back to their balance, either.

She knew she shouldn't ask for anything, she knew it would only hurt more to know he would be all but gone from her life afterwards, but she had to ask for a kiss. Just the one – just to know one moment of the comfort and home she'd always known it would be, before it all crumbled away. She knew it was desperate. She knew she laid herself bare and vulnerable for him to see how much she needed him in her life, but she figured if it was all going to end this way, she may as well be honest. He could see through any lie she ever told, anyway.

The kiss had been perfect. It had been everything she'd ever dreamt of kissing Shayne being, her mind spinning in happiness as his lips pressed gentle, adoring patterns across her own and he pulled her closer. She was acting on pure instinct when she moved her tongue into his mouth, and she'd had a moment of panic that he would pull away and tell her it was too much, but instead he only seemed to tug her closer.

Courtney tosses and turns restlessly in her own bed. She can't stop thinking about the fact that Shayne – the love of her fucking life, her best friend, her everything – is sleeping, or probably also lying awake, out on her living room couch. Part of her knows that he'll lie around for a few hours – maybe drink a couple of glasses of water – and then, as soon as he feels like he's sobered up enough, slip out and drive home without a word.

It won't be the last time she ever sees him – they do work together, after all, they'll still have to be social enough to work together like they always have – but it will be the last time she ever sees him with the honesty and closeness and comfort of her best friend. She wonders how long it might take for her heart to get over aching at the impossibility of the whole situation – his, too – and how they'll manage being around each other at work. Whether one of them will just quit, and then she truly won't see him anymore.

She tries not to repeat his admission that he sees her as his soulmate over and over in her head, but despite her best wishes, it sits there firmly, repeating over and over into madness as it becomes even more tinged with sadness each time.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. If they were soulmates, shouldn't their love transcend all these stupid fucking obstacles their lives put in their way? Is her heart going to ache at his memory for the rest of her fucking life if he truly is her person? Or is the entire idea of that bullshit anyway, and he might have been the person she wanted but with enough time and distance she'll be able to move on and find a new person?

The thought of that almost makes her feel sick, twisting roughly in her sheets and throwing one pillow over her head.

"Fuck," she mutters, almost silently, sighing roughly after she does. Part of her wants him to hurry up and leave, so at least she isn't constantly waiting for the sound of footsteps and the lock clicking closed on the front door again.