The Blind Boy

24.

Isabel kisses him goodbye. 

Sometimes Rory is taken aback by how beautiful she is, with dark, long hair and olive skin that makes her appear perfectly sun-kissed at all times. He smiles against her lips, pulls her closer, (as if there could be a close enough) and she breaks the kiss with a giggle. 

"You're drunk," she chides, taking a piece of his curl and tucking it behind his ear.  

Rory sways a little, knocking their foreheads clumsily together. "Not drunk enough to stop what's about to happen." 

She pulls away with a teasing scoff, rolling her eyes. She's still in her cheer uniform, and fuck, everything about Isabel is perfect. Even Rory's neurotic mother approves of her, something that rarely happens. 

From stellar grades to being the victor of beauty pageants, everyone wants Isabel Jordan. Even some of his own friends. Rory can tell, but he doesn't get jealous - he gets smug. She's his. She'll always be his. 

"Go home with Daniel," she insists good-naturedly, pecking his cheek. Some of her maroon lipstick stains his cheek. "Don't drive. I'll see you tomorrow." 

Rory whines petulantly, pulling her back to his chest. He cups her cheeks, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her mouth. They're heedless kisses -  not his best, not by far - but she sighs against him, leans into his touch. "Stay with me tonight," he says against her lips pleadingly, even as his vision blurs slightly. 

"We'll have this weekend," she reminds him coyly, looking up at him through long, painted lashes. 

Rory has never understood the term 'siren eyes' until her. Her onyx eyes slide over from him to two boys in Baseball uniforms. "Peter, Daniel!" she calls. "Make sure this one gets home alright." And then Rory's shoved halfheartedly in their direction. "Love you," she exclaims, turning on her heel to walk back to her own throng of friends. 

Even through the haze of alcohol, Rory's chest soars at her words. "I love you too," he yells, nearly tripping over a bush as he walks backwards (if not for a disgruntled Peter, who catches Rory before he can faceplant). Rory likes watching her walk away, enjoys eyeing her long legs, the curve of her hips, and the way her long hair ripples. 

It isn't just lust that has him desperately watching her walk away. It's nostalgia. It's pain. 

A part of him, however distant, is somehow always worried it'll be the last time. He isn't certain as to why. 

Rory has always been good with girls, flirtatious and charming, but Isabel is different. They've been dating since Sophomore year, sometimes on and off, but always ending up back together. They're like magnets, he supposes, the way they gravitate back towards each other. Like they're meant to be. 

Shit. Rory doesn't know when he's gotten this soft. It's silly to be thinking about marriage now, what with how young they are, with the uncertainty of their future, but he is. For once, he can't help it. 

He feels things for her so intensely, thinks she might be the first girl he's ever truly loved. 

Peter and Daniel take in Rory's moonstruck expression, turn towards each other with a knowing grin, then simultaneously start making kissing noises from beside him. "Fuck off," Rory slurs, pushing Peter - and therefore nearly falling on his own ass again. 

Rory's usually not this uncoordinated. 

"You have got to stop drinking so much," Peter remarks, catching his arm. "You get so fucking sloppy."

If he was sober, he'd agree. But he's not, so he doesn't. He knows why the drinking has become such an issue lately - it's all the pressure. And sometimes it's crippling. From his father, the team, to the scouts who come to watch his games - everyone is watching him. Even his teachers are invested in his future.