Chapter Text
The artificial lights of each skyscraper in the distance could nearly be compared to stars if one were to squint. This was technically a consoling thought since, without these lights, the night sky would feel so empty. The light pollution snuffed out the stars in the city, you see. Rory Gilmore could sometimes pretend the bedroom and office lights were the stars, however, she only attempted this when she was feeling especially homesick for Stars Hollow, where she could spot nearly every constellation and even make up a few of her own.
Rory did her best to dance across the bustling streets of New York City without tripping and falling onto her face. This was a rather difficult feat, considering the raging army of passersby. She’d been living in New York City for a few months now and had still not gotten used to it all.
Besides her longing for the stars, one other aspect of the city that she was still unused to were the violent sounds of cars, sirens, and screaming children all around her all at once it seemed. She had been able to make her way back to her apartment around eight after eating out at a restaurant --because Rory could still not technically cook-- but she found herself pacing across the cold tiled floor of her tiny kitchen deep into the night, with the only light illuminating her being her open refrigerator.
The main reason for Rory’s pacing was the fact that she was having a difficult time with an article she needed to mull over. Usually, she would call her mom or Lane or even Paris, but what with it being past midnight-- she checked-- the chances of her call waking them up was too great. Besides, each of them had a life. Rory supposed so did she, but on nights like these, it didn’t feel like that. She wasn’t satisfied with her career, her love life was non-existent, and even more tragic was her social life, considering all her friends were back in Stars Hollow, or wherever Paris was at the moment (Rome maybe?), and she hadn’t been able to hit it off with her colleagues yet.
And so, to attempt to remove these midnight thoughts from her brain, Rory charged back out into the depths of the city. She needed the cold air to lap at her skin and give her something else to complain about. Rory really had no destination in mind. Once again, she didn’t know anyone here, so she simply walked aimlessly about the city. It was still a marvel to her, that this late into the night, you could still find plenty of people walking about. She supposed she was now one of these odd city residents who trotted around at midnight for no discernable reason.
As Rory walked across the street, she noticed a couple, hand in hand, and then a group of friends following, chatting it up, shortly behind the couple. It’d be nice to know someone, Rory couldn’t help but think. And as if on cue, she saw a familiar face. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks and considered running until she realized he wasn’t actually there. It was simply a picture. Rory wasn’t sure why she was so upset by that fact. She decided to ignore that sorrow and replace it with confusion. What was his picture doing on some book store/coffee shop’s window?
Rory walked up to the window display, only half-conscious of what she was doing. Based on the picture, he looked almost exactly as she remembered him. He was wearing a heavy black denim jacket on top of a red button-up flannel shirt. The flannel, specifically, reminded her too much of Luke’s fashion sense, which now that she thought about it, must have rubbed off onto him by now. He was clearly a few years older, with longer hair, and his stubble, which he’d been trying to grow the last time she’d seen him, was more pronounced. If she didn’t have every detail of him memorized, she might not have recognized him. But there was no doubt about it, staring back at her, with what could only be described as “puppy dog eyes,” was a giant, life-size photo of Jess. Her Jess.
It took a while for Rory to pull her eyes from his photo to read the sign below it.
"Book signing with Jess Mariano for his Sophomore Novel, THE STARS YOU STOLE.
November 15. 1:30 P.M. @ The Cheshire Book Shoppe & Café."
Without thinking, Rory darted down the street, not caring who she bumped into, and didn’t stop running until she was back in the safety of her apartment. By the time she slammed the door shut behind herself, she could hear her heart beating through her nose. Jess is coming. He’s coming in three days. Rory slowly let herself slide down to the floor with her back still against her front door and she just sat there for what felt like an eternity.
She only got up when a thought flickered across her mind like a freshly lit candle. Rory stood unceremoniously and headed over to her bedroom. Her body wanted to flop onto the bed and sleep, but her mind was far too engaged to do so. Instead, she opened up her nightstand drawer and pulled out the one book that did not reside on her bookshelf in the living room. She didn’t want people to walk in and see it. She was far from embarrassed by it-- well maybe she was embarrassed by the condition it was in; with its broken spine and tattered cover, but that had all come about because of just how often she’d read it. No, she wasn’t embarrassed. But it still felt like her secret, one that she wanted to keep close to her chest, and hidden away. It was only for her eyes.
Rory flipped the well-read book open to the title page, where the author had signed it. She knew the signature was there, she’d spotted the small note the first time she read it, but every once and a while she just needed to open it back up, to make sure that the black sharpie words hadn’t wandered off the page.
It was formatted so that this page was mainly covered by the title of the book in a faux typewriter font that read, “The Subsect,” and just below that in a slightly smaller font read, “Jess Mariano.” And just below that, at the bottom of the page, written in messy slanted handwriting was:
“For the girl who inspired me to do and be better.
- Jess Mariano.”
Rory forced herself off the floor and crawled into bed, but instead of trying to sleep, she opened “The Subsect” back up and began to read it for possibly the fortieth time. It was a short novel, so that didn’t say much, she told herself. But, deep down, she knew she would have read it just as much if it had been as large as “War and Peace.” She would never be sick of seeing Jess’s name at the top of every other page.