Spring.

I don't know how it began. I suppose it's like being caught in the rain—you don't know it's coming until it's there. Until you're drenched in it.

And then there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. No take-backs.

.

"Tell me," I plead and instantly hate the desperation in my voice. "I need to hear you say it."

You turn to me then with such empty eyes and I try my best to keep from crying out. The silence stretches far, far beyond my reach and I find myself grasping at words that don't exist. My fingers wraps around your shoulders and I shake you. As if the physical action would force an emotion out of you.

My hands are pushed aside and the second you turn your back on me, I know that I've lost you.

"I'm sorry, Sam," you whisper.

The last thing you need to be is sorry. It's the last thing I want you to be.

.

My honest moments are few and far between. They've yet to pay off.

And people still wonder why I don't tell the truth more often.

.

"There's something wrong with Freddie."

My back involuntarily straightens and I try to concentrate on pretending to do my homework. Except I'm gripping my pen far too tight and my heart is beating way too fast. I need to take a deep breath before I reply. "Really?" I say and I force a small smile. "You just noticed?"

Carly sticks her tongue at me and I feel sick to my stomach. It's not a game. It's not supposed to be funny. I clear my throat, hoping that it'll clear my emotions, too. It doesn't.

We both turn back to our schoolwork all strewn messily on the floor of the iCarly studio. I think that I've escaped what could have been a painful interrogation from my best friend. But I forget sometimes that I'm Sam Puckett. I'm not that lucky.

"You never did tell me what you guys talked about," Carly says softly.

I shrug and focus my eyes on the paper in front of me, trying to get my vision to unblur past the gathering tears. "We just agreed to be friends."

"I know that part."

"That's the only part."

.

I didn't expect much. In fact, I expected absolutely nothing. I give absolutely nothing, too. Balance, you know?

So. Receiving absolutely nothing from you... It shouldn't be such a surprise, should it? But it is. Because... I do want the fairytale. I want one with you in it. I want it so bad that it hurts.

I thought I could reminisce one day and say something stupid like "It started with a kiss."

But it ended with a kiss.

.

"Are we good?"

I shut my locker slowly, procrastinating having to look at you. Because I need to look at you. To avoid your eyes would tell you too much about how we're not good. I'm not good. But I'm good at pretending. Hey, I made you think I hated you for so long, right?

When I finally look at you, your eyes are earnest. And anxious. A part of me wants to make this painful. It wants to hurt you so that things can be balanced once again.

"As good as it's gonna get, dork." I even smirk. I don't know how I pull it off, but I do.

.

Life goes on. It has no choice but to move forward and tomorrow comes after today and so on and so forth. I cope.

The heart break isn't easy. But that's what happens when you put yourself out there. You're either found or become lost. Right now, I have no idea where I am.

But summer is coming soon. No school. No iCarly.

Maybe I'll find myself then.

...

Summer.

It doesn't stop. This constant ache in my chest. I manage to get out of bed each morning, though, but the days are always half over by the time I'm ready to face it.

"Such a sleepyhead," Melanie jokes as she makes me a sandwich. "You going over to Carly's today? I was thinking maybe I could come with."

I shake my head slowly. "I, uh... I've been thinking about getting a summer job, actually."

"A summer job, Sam?" When she says it I see how weird that sounds. Me. A job.

Maybe I'm just a sucker for impossibilities.

.

Carly calls me and she tells me that you'll be going away for a month to visit relatives. I think that's her way of saying "The coast is clear. Come on over."

Funny. How you hurt me even indirectly.

.

I manage to get a job at the Groovy Smoothie. I know. What the hell? Even I'm surprised that they've deemed me fit to be employed.

Brad comes in one day while I'm working a shift. He gives me a silly face when he pays and I know know (know) that when his fingers brush against mine, it's deliberate. Deliberate everything. Soft and gentle and slow. My eyes snap up to his and they are glittering with hidden meaning.

"Wanna catch movie later?"

.

I know vulnerability. I wish I didn't. I don't like it.

But I feel it.

.

"I still can't believe you went out with Brad!"

I shrug, in no mood to really be talking about it. Suffice to say, it wasn't horrible. In fact, it was nowhere near horrible. I had a good time. Being Brad made me feel special. He made me feel like I was worth something. Something more than a couple of meaningless kisses. Something more than one-sided feelings.

"It was fun, Carly," I explain lamely. "We're just hanging out."

"But what about Freddie?"

"That doesn't mean anything anymore."

.

Fact is, when I say something doesn't mean anything, it always means something.

.

I let Brad kiss me after the fourth 'date'. His lips are soft on mine and when he pulls me tighter against him, I start to think of you. I let the comparisons fly through my mind. And the one painful reality is that you never held me like this. Like you couldn't get enough of me. But I felt more with you than I ever felt with anyone else.

I feel his hand move from my waist to the small of my back and my arms involuntarily circle around his neck.

"I really like you, Sam."

I don't know what to say. There are too many words inside of me but I'm too scared to let them out.

So I just kiss him again.

.

I've thought about it, you know? I still don't remember how it happened. I just... woke up one day and everything was different. You know how when you rearrange the living room furniture? Everything is still the same, sure. But nothing is where it used to be.

Everything inside me got messed up.

.

"Don't you get tired?" Carly asks me as we sit on her sofa watching reruns of Girly Cow.

I push a handful of popcorn into my mouth. And then another.

I tear my eyes away from the television screen when she repeats my name. "Tired of what?"

"Pretending you don't care?"

All the time.

"I don't pretend, Carly," I reply, returning my gaze to the cartoon, "I don't care."

.

Pretense is my security blanket. Sometimes, it feels like it's all I have.

.

"Are you with Brad now?"

I thought I had more time before I would see you again. But, like always, it turns out I'm wrong. There you are, standing in front of me in the Shays' kitchen, accosting me before I could cool myself in front of the fridge. Your fingers are tight on my shoulders and I try to shrug them off to no avail.

"Let go of me, Benson."

You never listen to me.

"We need to talk."

No we don't, I want to tell you. I don't want to talk to someone who doesn't listen to me. Because talking to you is like talking to my heart. Neither of you will listen to a word I say. I'm sick and tired of it.

"There's nothing to talk about." I try shoving you away but you don't even move an inch.

"Are you with Brad?"

"No!" I cry and then suddenly you let me go.

Are you happy? Is that what you wanted? A reason for you to let go of me?

.

Summer is wretched. My skin holds a constant sheen of sweat, making my clothes stick uncomfortably to my body.

I feel no better in summer than I did in spring.

.

Brad stops talking to me. I don't blame him.

I don't know who to blame.

Carly says that it'll be okay. She describes things as being "awkward" but that it'll work itself out eventually.

I just smile and pretend that I believe her.

.

Life goes on. I still love you.

...

Third: Autumn.

School... Huh.

Let's try this again.

.

School. I never liked school before, but it was at a tolerable level that I could still go and maybe attend class when I felt like it.

But now it feels like a prison with pieces of my heart scattered all over the floor.

"You all right, Sam?"

I nod stiffly at Gibby at the same time I'm trying to teach myself how to breathe again.

He cocks his head to the side studying me for a bit before trying to make me smile. "How about I let you give me a wedgie? I won't even complain."

I give him a grateful smile before walking away.

I don't like that I've changed, but something tells me that this is the only way to feel better again. To feel whole.

.

Sometimes, at night, I wonder why I wasn't good enough. Because that's it, right? It's either someone is or isn't. Black or white.

You taught me that. You know. Technically speaking.

.

"I'm still not used to seeing you actually do homework," Carly confesses one afternoon. I'm over at her house and after tucking into a quick snack, I have my books pulled out of my bag with my pen at the ready. "It's kind of surreal, like seeing a unicorn in the middle of my living room."

I chuck an eraser at her, which she deftly catches then promptly bounces it off my forehead. "Thank you, I really needed that," I say sarcastically, but my tone isn't as biting and my heart isn't in it.

She makes a tut tutting noise and leans over to pull me into a hug. "Aww, does Sammy-bear not want to play today?"

"Stop it, Carly." I push her away and ignore her as she pouts petulantly, much like a child.

"You're no fun anymore."

It's like a slap in the face. I brush at the tears quickly forming in my eyes as I try to gather my things as quickly as possible.

"Sam, I'm sorry," she says softly. But the damage is done.

Fun? What does that even mean anymore?

.

I'm not even sure what I feel anymore. Do I still love you? I don't know. The butterflies are gone, chased away by the pain of rejection so my stomach is empty and hallow.

But ham has lost its comfort and my eyes are almost never dry.

.

You're waiting for me at my locker one day. For a second, I'm not sure what I should do. But it's been too long and I think I might survive another encounter with you just so long as I remember how to exhale after I breathe you in.

"Hey," I greet you before turning to my locker. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"Sam..."

Inhale.

I pop my locker open and pull out a couple of books only to shove them back in. Exhale. "Yeah?" Inhale.

"Are you okay? Carly talked to me last night, saying that you haven't been around all week and that you've been avoiding her here at school. She's worried about you—"

"I'm fine." I slam my locker with a little more force than is necessary. Exhale. "I'll talk to her soon." Inhale.

Suddenly, your hand is on my arm. "I'm worried about you, too, Sam."

"Don't be. Please."

Exhale.

"Tell me what to do."

I walk away, pretending that I'm alive, that my heart is still intact.

.

My dad calls me on a rare day. I've never really told anyone that. Mostly because there's not much to tell. It's weird talking to someone who is, essentially, half of me are but is, at the same time, a complete stranger.

I'm not sure if he loves me. That scares the shit out of me. If someone who's supposed to love me doesn't, then who will?

.

"You'll get over him."

My mom, folks. We're sitting in the backyard in mismatched chairs as we look up at the stars. She's nursing a glass of wine and I have a mug of hot chocolate in my hands. The stars are out and the sky's never looked so alive.

"That's the idea." I take a sip, letting the warmth of the beverage spread throughout the rest of my body. "Or the goal, I guess."

"He's just a boy," she offers. "Just a boy."

Just a boy.

.

Life goes on. I think I'll manage.

...

Winter.

I'm feeling better. At least whenever I wake up, my chest doesn't feel like it'll collapse under all the weight.

My mom is still offhanded with her comments about boys but it slides down my back a lot easier. Sometimes, I even manage to smile.

.

I hear from Carly that you're seeing the new girl, Cynthia. I feel the slightest of twinges but I'm able to brush it off with a roll of the eyes and a sigh.

"Of course the nub is going to mack on the new girl," I joke. It doesn't come with the same punch but I'm getting there and I'm feeling quite proud of myself.

Carly is also equally proud of me as she wraps her arm around my shoulder and we walk down the hall. We pass you on the way and Carly gives you a small wave.

I do the same.

.

I don't know what I expected on that night when I kissed you that second time. Although, the last thing I expected was to have my heart so full of love then just...

Well, you know how the story goes.

.

I'm walking to Bushwell Plaza after school with Carly and Brad. Yes, Brad. I suppose Carly was right (and feeling quite smug about it, too) but things do work out. I'm elbow deep in a bucket of fried chicken when we hear someone calling our names. Upon turning, we spot Gibby running toward us, huffing away with each step.

Gibby complains about being left behind so I figure that's enough reason to slap his cheek with a drumstick. For some reason, everyone is stunned into silence.

"What?" I ask, kinda creeped out but still munching on delicious chicken.

Carly breaks out into a grin and shakes her head. "Nothing," she says softly before we start walking again.

Gibby doesn't bother wiping his cheek. Odd.

.

I don't remember why exactly I became such a "menace to society" but my elementary school guidance counselor thought it was because my dad left us.

I was just having fun, though. I don't know. I guess it did hurt. I mean, we weren't good enough for him and he left.

Kind of sucks. You know. I'm sorta getting used to the "not good enough" part.

.

It's the first day of Christmas break. Mom, Mel and I are in the kitchen and in a fit of rare mother-daughter bonding, we're baking cookies. I'm pushing a tray inside the oven when there's a knock on the door and the two other occupants suddenly appear to be more interested in the ceiling than making any move to see who's there. Figures.

I open the door and there you stand, your expression a mixture of apprehension, nervousness and... guilt? Your hair is in disarray as if you've ran your fingers through it repeatedly and then I realize that you're also slightly distraught.

Panic immediately rises inside me. "Did something happen?"

You shake your head slowly and sigh before motioning for me to come away from inside the door and outside to where you are. "Can we talk?" you ask slowly. Nervously. Like you're afraid that I would deny you.

"Sure."

.

I don't know why I kept it in for so long, honestly. But I did hope that one day, you'd wake up and find your living room in a mess, too, you know? Then you'd march up to me and... kiss me.

Then you'll ask me if I love you would die if I didn't. Because you love me that much.

And we'll live happily ever after.

.

It takes me a good few minutes before I understand what you're saying. At first it feels like a jumble of letters and sounds strung together and thrown at me while you pace back and forth. I'm about to shout at you in frustration but before I can even throw my hands up in the air, you turn to me abruptly.

"This is all your fault, you know?"

Excuse me?

"What exactly is my fault?" I ask testily. "I didn't catch anything from that verbal diarrhea you released all over my front lawn."

Your fingers rake through your hair as you look away for me. "I kissed Cynthia."

Of all the three word combinations that I wish you'd tell me, that's really not one of them. I look down at my feet. I wiggle my toes in my rainbow-colored sneakers because... I don't know what to do. I feel my heart breaking all over again, pieces falling on the cold ground. But I take a deep breath and my hands ball into angry fists.

"I don't see how you kissing Cynthia is any of my fault."

.

Don't you wish that we could go back to that time when all we'd have to do was get on a swing to make us feel better?

.

"It's not that." You shake your head before laughing bitterly. "I kissed Cynthia and you know what? I didn't feel a thing. Nothing."

It's at the tip of my tongue to say that it serves you right but the look in your eyes as you turn to me makes me think twice about breathing.

"You've gone and done it, Puckett," you say softly, almost a whisper. "You've ruined me completely. And now... Now it's too late."

"Too late to what?" I'm desperate for answers now that you're finally giving them.

"To make you love me back!" You throw your hands up in air. "To make you believe that I love you... It's too late. I hurt you. I look at you and I see it in your eyes... all this pain. All of it because of me."

I don't even realize that I've started to cry until I can feel the saltiness of my tears on my lips. These words, they slice through me, cutting me in half. I shake my head vigorously, willing for you to stop telling me these things because they hurt more than anything else you've ever done or said.

Desperately, I turn toward the house, intent on putting as much distance between us as possible. I'm already halfway there when I hear you speak again.

"Is it too late?"

.

Remember that time I kissed you? And then you apologized for not feeling the same way?

Yeah. I always knew you were stupid.

.

Life goes on.

...

Author's Note:

I needed to write a post-iOMG fic. It needed to be done. Well. I needed it done and that's always reason enough for me. And I know that these iOMG fics are a dime a dozen but...

I do realize that it's pretty OOC all throughout. But...

(Hehe. See what I did there? Absolutely nothing!)

Anyway, I was supposed to post this a day earlier and with a sad(der, depending on how you've chosen to interpret this) ending. Except the boifran dragged me away from the internets and plied me with cheesy lines so I figured I'd kinda cheese this up too, you know?

Anyway, I'm highly motivated by music. It's really my first love so a lot of what I write is inspired by music. This fic is a combination of Twice by Little Dragon, The Closing of the Doors by Roisin Murphy, and Is This The End by Zee Avi. Give them a listen and then you'll see why I had to write it the way I did!