2003.
Peyton hates PDA. She hates it when Nathan puts his arm on her shoulders, as if he owns her. The idea of belonging to this jock makes her feel ashamed of herself. She feels relieved when they break up again on Feb 12th - that means that, on the 14th, she won’t have to spend her whole night pretending to care about Nathan and basketball in her room, knowing damn well he doesn’t care about her in the slightest. He never asks her anything. He didn’t even know she had sketches all over her walls. She’d be better off spending Valentines with Brooke anyway.
At least Brooke asks her things. Wants to know how she is. Takes care of her.
And she knows that Brooke won’t have a date for the night, first of all because she rarely does - guys want to sleep with her, but not take her to dinner or to the movies. Peyton feels a bit guilty because, every year ever since they started dating boys, she feels relieved when Brooke tells her no one asked her out for VDay. She gets cards, she gets hit on, but she’s never seriously considered as an option. Peyton knows it bothers her, because every time she jokes about it, Peyton sees her smile faltering for a millisecond.
The other reason Brooke won’t have a date this year is because she seems fixated on Nathan’s brother, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck about her.
So, she knows she’ll find Brooke in her room when she parks the Comet in front of her house.
She knocks on the red front door. Some new gardener opens it for her.
“Is Brooke home?” She asks, already walking in. They nod and give her space, so she rushes upstairs. She knocks on her bedroom door and opens it slowly after hearing her voice say It’s open! She opens it and walks over, a tingling feeling rushing over her when she sees Brooke in an oversized sweater, her hair up in a bun, a carton of vanilla ice cream in her hands.
She lights up when she sees her, rushing to her, her arms around her waist.
“Hi babe,” Peyton says, chuckling, wrapping her arms around Brooke and squeezing her back briefly. Her perfume makes Peyton feel warm in the low of her stomach. Brooke kisses her cheek and hands her the carton of ice cream when Peyton gestures to her that she’d brought food and movies.
“My hero!” Brooke squeals, stimming. Peyton finds it lovely.
2007.
For the first time in a long time, they’re both single on Valentines. Peyton is single - this guy she was dating, Julian, had broken things off with her. And she knew Brooke’s flings were not emotionally charged (she avoids wondering why).
And she’s so fucking bored in LA. So, when Brooke invites her over and buys her a ticket to NYC, she doesn’t hesitate.
She says yes right away. Feb 14th was on a Wednesday that year, but Peyton could take some days off if she told her monster of a boss that her dad was sick. So she did that, and she got to New York on Monday the 12th at night. Brooke’s driver was there to catch her and take her to Brooke’s flat - Brooke had been unable to go herself because she would still be on a meeting at the time of her arrival.
So they meet at her flat.
Brooke’s grin when she opens the door is so huge it makes Peyton’s heart skip a beat. It’s only when she feels her own cheeks aching from smiling that she realizes hers was probably was huge as Brooke’s.
“Hi Dimples.” Peyton says, kissing the top of her head and her temple and her cheeks and her nose. Brooke laughs, her hands on Peyton’s face, grabbing her closer, her lips planting a sounding kiss to her cheek.
“Can’t believe you’re here! We’re gonna have so much fun!”
So they plan out their days - Brooke had taken the 14th off, and the rest of the days they’d meet at night, but Peyton didn’t mind, she could spend the week wandering around New York, going into every bookstore, trying out cafes, going to the MET. It’d be fun anyways.
Brooke had thought a lot about Galentines and had a bunch of activities planned - they’d go to every artsy place she’d discovered recently and some places she’d saved to go with Peyton for the first time. I want you to love it, P. Sawyer!, she’d said, clearly very proud of herself for the itinerary she’d made. Peyton smirked at her, her eyes scanning her face as Brooke described the places they’d go. She bit her lip, trying to contain a smirk, and took Brooke’s hand on hers, bringing it to her mouth and planting a kiss on her palm.
Brooke’s cheeks turn pink immediately, but she doesn’t mention it.
So, on Galentines, as Brooke had been calling it, they wander around the city. Brooke takes her to brunch in an indie place in Brooklyn. Brooklyn is the new cool spot in the city, she says to an amazed Peyton, who’d been chewing on a bite of the best eggs in purgatory she’d ever had. After brunch, they walk around for some time - there were some art galleries they felt like exploring, and some thrift stores Peyton made Brooke walk into with her. In the afternoon, they go to the West Village, grab some coffee, and then by 5:30 they’re walking into Mercer Streets Books & Records in Greenwich Village. They didn’t touch at all the whole day, which is so weird. Peyton feels her hands itching from the lack of contact. But she doesn’t reach out for Brooke - Brooke’s hands are inside her coat’s pockets all the time.
Brooke shows her some books she’s been listening to - It’s like listening to a radio station talking about all my favorite interests!, she sighs, holding a fashion non-fiction book against her chest. Peyton doesn’t reply - she’s trying to save this moment in her mind. They walk into the Long Plays section, Peyton’s fingers running through the record sleeves quickly, looking for one she would want to listen to.
“You’re such a geek,” Brooke says, rolling her eyes playfully, but her chin is too close to Peyton’s shoulder, and Peyton can’t find anything to fire back at her because there is that warm, fuzzy feeling on the pit of her stomach again. Brooke grabs a record and shows her. It’s girly and it’s from the 80s. Kath Bloom. Nothing more Brookesque. She hands it to Peyton, who takes the disc off of its sleeve, and Peyton puts it on a record player nearby. The store allowed customers to listen to whatever they’d like, in low volume, in a corner close to the bathrooms.
A known song starts playing right away when Peyton places the needle on the LP. Come Here. There's a wind that blows in from the north, and it says that loving takes this course… Come here. Brooke stares at her for a moment, the shadow of a shy smile on her lips, her dimples showing discreetly. Peyton smiles back, a timid smirk, and Brooke sighs and looks at her feet. No, I'm not impossible to touch, I have never wanted you so much. Come here… Peyton taps Brooke’s foot with her own, mouthing a Hey! without making much sound, and hazel eyes face her again. Brooke whispers, Hi. Her cheeks are pink again. Her hair looks so nice - it’s shorter now, shoulder-length, and it’s darker - it’s chestnut again, she’d stopped painting it dark red after High School. She has some new freckles, some new, very small wrinkles, close to her eyes. She smells nice. She bites her lower lip, looking down again. Peyton sighs. Have I never laid down by your side? Baby, let's forget about this pride… Come here. Peyton reaches out for her hand, locking her pinky with her own, giving Brooke a goofy, toothy grin when she looks up at her again. Brooke beams at her, wrapping her arms tight around Peyton’s neck, resting her face on the crook of her neck, her nose sniffing playfully behind her ear. Peyton laughs out loud because it tickles, but her arms envelop Brooke’s waist, bringing her closer, her nose finding Brooke’s Chanel perfume on the back of her neck and inhaling deeply. She feels Brooke’s goosebumps on her fingertips.
2025.
“Mom! No–” Jude says, rolling his eyes, as Brooke kisses him on the cheek - he’s on his way out to his first Valentines with his girlfriend, Maisie.
“Have fun, champ!” Peyton says before he closes the door. She’s walking down the stairs, adjusting her suit jacket. Her smile is huge as ever when she lays her eyes on Brooke. “God, I’m the luckiest–” She says, closing the distance between them and bringing Brooke closer, her arms around her as Brooke’s hands find her curls and her lips brush against her slowly before giving her an open mouthed kiss.
Davis, being single, agreed on babysitting Anna for the night. He clears his throat, looking away.
“Moms, please.” He says, a horrified look on his face. Little Anna seems unfazed - she’s way busy watching some Barbie movie. They laugh.
“Sorry kid, my wife’s too pretty,” Peyton says, holding out her hands. Brooke chuckles, wiping some lipstick from the corner of Peyton’s mouth with her thumb.
“We won’t be too late! Behave.” Brooke says, holding a finger out to Davis playfully.
He scoffs, running a hand through his curls, all Peyton’s mannerisms.
“Please. You behave.”
They find it funny that he says that, and they talk about it as they walk into the car, but they’re aware they’re not past the make out sessions in the driver's seat. So they have to give the kid some kudos.
Well I'm in no hurry
You don't have to run away this time
I know you're timid
But it's gonna be alright this time
There's a wind that blows in from the north
And it says that loving takes this course
“Come here.”