Let’s play a game.
Type the following words into your tags box, then post the first automatic tag that comes up.
you, also, what, when, why, how, look, because, never
It’s not like you haven’t planned this moment. You’ve got it all worked out, how it’s going to go when he opens the door; you’ve even factored in the self-saving eye-roll. (Like you weren’t going to roll your eyes. Like he wouldn’t be expecting you to roll your eyes at something. You’re making a Grand Gesture, not completely ditching your entire personality.)
You tune your ukulele, which proves to be so untuneable you have to buy knew strings. You fiddle around with the arrangement at odd hours and tell yourself not to think too much about your voice and what to do with it, because you’re better when you’re spontaneous. (You think way, way too much about your voice and what to do with it.) You blow out your hair. Your bangs are the most important bangs have ever been. You line your eyes and volumize your lashes. It’s not enough, but it feels a little like the armor you wish you had. You won’t be able to hide behind such a tiny instrument; you can’t even hide behind the umbrella that is stupidly, ironically necessary, since you need two hands to hold the ukulele.
You didn’t plan for the weather, but you can work with that. And you didn’t plan for his interruptions, which is how you end up telling him to shut up. Which isn’t really the kind of thing you want in the middle of your grand gesture, singing to this impossibly tall person with his eyes boring right though, past your bangs and your lashes and your sarcasm and every other defense you could throw up if you thought it. So you don’t mean to tell him to shut up, not really, but the fact of it is that you were probably going to tell him to shut up no matter what.
Because the thing is, yes, you were in a bad mood and it made you rude, but he wasn’t necessarily completely wrong when he said you weren’t a nice person. You’re not a nice person, always. You have moods. (Or more accurately, you have Moods.) You are acerbic, acidic—you could burn a hole in his tongue on your very worst days. And probably your best. You need balance. Acting gives you that. Your mind is a tangled wilderness of too many feelings, too many ideas, too many ways to see the same thing, and you get lost in it sometimes. Characters help you find your way out. Friends like Pam keep you from getting too much stuck up in there, whittling away at the same paths and worries over and over again. And James…
You’ve tried not to think about what James might be. But there’s a reason why that song is your song, the only song for him that you could possibly sing. He breaks through all the things closing in and wakes you up. It would be too cliche to say he lights the path, but there’s nothing about this moment that’s not cliche. You, the rain, the ukulele, the dumb beautiful look on his face.
It’s probably cliche, too, the way you kiss your way into his home and wind your arms around your neck. You hadn’t quite planned this part, but it’s working out better than you could have anticipated. And next time you tell him to shut up, you’ve got a pretty stellar plan how to make that happen.
When the tweet appears, it prompts a fandom meltdown.
Faces are clutched at. Chairs are fallen out of. One Jily shipper is so shocked that she squeaks, “Shut up!” out loud in the middle of her AP Calculus class and gets her phone confiscated.
You are my capy
You make me feel less crappy
When skies are grey
You’ll never know, deer,
How much I moose you
So please don’t take my capy away
The other night, deer,
As I lay sheeping
I dreamed I held you in my hooves
When I awoke, deer,
I was moose-taken
So I hung my antlers and cried
You are my capy