#((And if you look to your left here you can see Rosa's all consuming guilt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

allmcl · 4 months

Note

hi!! do you also write for armin (separately)? ive been craving some armin content for a while and i found your account, your writing is so amazing, and i was wondering if you'd write something where candy and armin arent back together yet in UL and, after a night in the snake room with alexy, rosa, priya and the others, armin decides to fight for her love not knowing he doesn't need to fight for it since she's head over heels for him

STILL HERE │ Armin Keenan.

When a reunion with an old love reminds Armin of everything they experienced together, he decides that after so much time, it's now or never that he should get you back.

pairing('s). armin keenan x f!reader

genre. fluff, angsty.

content wanings. mentions of breakup, alcohol consuming, cursing, kissing, suggestive themes.

author's note. MISSED THIS BOY SO MUCH DURING UL, hope you like this!! (tysm for requesting, sorry it took so long!) AND BTW, i found like a lot of lastnames and i decided for this one (not sure if is the canon one ://)

I was sure that my return to the city would be harder. After all, I couldn't blame anyone for being angry with me. If one of my friends just left, without even saying goodbye, I wouldn't be happy either. But, luckily for me, they had a much better reaction than I expected.

At the moment, I only saw Rosa and Melody. Although perhaps I didn't know how to show it at the time, having seen them after so long squeezed my heart so much that I still feel my emotions on the surface.

To tell the truth, I'm scared. Although I used to seeing eachother very often in high school, whether to go out for a drink or just to walk around the city, this is not high school anymore. And it's now, when I'm getting ready to go out, that I feel like I'm getting ready in my old room to go shopping with the them. The phone vibrates, and brings me out of my melancholic thoughts.

I look at him out of the corner of my eye, the screen glows with a notification from Alex.

Alex…

I refrain from further worries and simply read it from the preview.

"[Y/NNN]??? we are waiting for youuuu"

"Years waiting to see you, and you still late🙄"

I smiled wistfully. I know he says it jokingly, but the guilt is real. But that's not important now, because it's once and for all my time to fix that, and to get back on track with my life here. I type a quick, “on my way,” before pocketing my phone and heading out the door to my campus room. Although the phone rings again, I don't bother checking it and I hurry to arrive on time.

I look at the time on the screen: "11:48." I curse under my breath. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I'm lost, and that even though I've been wandering around on the same street for more than twenty minutes, I still can´t find the bar. On the other hand, who would think of inviting someone to a place and not sending the address?

When I start to stress again, I recognize a voice in the distance that I would recognize anywhere. It's Alex. I follow the sound, although I don't pay attention to what it says, none of it matters when I see it. His eyes light up and he falls silent immediately. As I expected, he almost hugged me to the ground. Rosa also briefly joined our hug, smiling as she watched us interact.

"Finally!" He screeches in my ear, and although it dazes me a little I laugh out loud. "I missed you like crazy…" He whispered to me, and I had to separate myself for a moment to not burst out crying in my place.

"I missed you, Alex.." I sighed, but he seemed to notice my mood, changing the subject slighlty.

"You´re back, all that matters." He jokes, and I smile. "I hope you're ready for the surprise then."

I raise an eyebrow. "Surprise?"

"Yes, I told you by text." He emphasized obviously, gesturing towards his phone.

Of course, the text I didn't read. I nod briefly, so he thinks I know what he's talking about. Their surprises honestly scare me. They can go from something exciting to something illegal, you never know what to expect from these two. I'm nervous yes, I assume the "surprise" is inside.

"It's not bad at all." Rosa calms me down, she seems to read my mind sometimes. "I promise you'll be happy"

Well, now I'm scared.

Alexy wastes no time in cutting off the conversation, and Rosa simply presses her hand on my back lovingly, urging me to enter the disco-bar, "Snake Room." This was definitely not there when I lived here. Well, most of the things I see now didn't used to be there. Upon entering I immediately notice the loud music, the smoke and the smell of alcohol, the lights blur my vision a little, and it is difficult for me to discern where Alex is.

Rosa guides me a little to the table near the bar, which seems to be one of the quietest places in the place. But that's when the colored lights hanging near the stage allow me to catch a glimpse of him.

"I thought it would be nice for you to see each other again." Alex says, trying to calm the tension in the air.

My breath stops for a few moments. I don't know how to feel, but my body responds on its own. I'm shaking a little, and at this point I don't know if it's the flashing lights or their presence that's making me dizzy. I can barely move to get close to greet him. He changed a lot. Of course his essence is still there, I can tell, but it's definitely different.

"Welcome back." His voice is also different, deeper I could say. It throws me off a little. Well, all of him does. I curse myself internally. I was convinced I was ready for this, but I see I'm not.

I smile at him reflexively, and sit down across from him. The silence feels quite loud now that I feel his gaze on me, even though I avoid making eye contact. Rosa clears her throat, and gestures indiscreetly at Alex. I would laugh, if it weren't for the fact that this whole situation has me totally overwhelmed. I look at him for a few seconds, but he was already looking at me. God, I don't know if I can handle this.

"I imagined you´d be happier…" He smiled with amusement, and I couldn't help but feel my heart skip a beat at his expression. He looks boyish, in a strange way. It's as if for a moment, his expression took me back to high school Armin.

"I'm surprised, that's all." I laugh nervously.

"Well, he came all the way here just to see you." Alexy clarifies, but Rosa waves him off with a glare.

I look at him with my eyes slightly open. "You´re not living here?" The question escapes me before I can think about it.

"Not quite." He clarifies, and takes a sip of beer. It's now that my throat feels a little dry, but I don't feel like drinking alcohol. I could end up doing things i´ll regret. "Although now that you're back, I'd think about it." He winks at me.

I looked to the side, and felt my cheeks burn a little. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

"I thought you were tougher." Rosa reproaches, tripping a little, but Alexy holds her steady. "Now you go to bed early and don't drink. You've become an old man." He grimaces, and a laugh escapes us.

"It's not that!" Alex complains. "I just wanted to greet [y/n] sober." He looks at me smiling, and I smile back. "I'll take care of the old drunk" Rosa exclaims a "hey!" and hits him lightly on the shoulder, but he doesn't flinch.

"Are you back on campus?" Armin asks me, and then I remember that he is, in fact, still here. He looks at me, waiting for my response but I freeze instantly. Every time he speaks I experience the same embarrassment.

"Well, I'll leave you, lovebirds." The idiot does it on purpose. But for the first time, I notice that I'm not the only one embarrassed, Armin's cheeks turn pink, and he sends a reproachful look to his twin, who smiles innocently. Some things never change, I see. "Take care of her." It sounds more like a threat than a request, to which the black-haired man rolls his eyes and nods.

I watch Alexy walk away in the opposite direction.

Silence falls between us, and it is until we see the two disappear after turning down the street that I understand that I am alone with him. I smile awkwardly at him before taking a couple steps back.

"I'll walk you back." I open my eyes a little, and look at him with surprise. He seems sure of his words, and looks at me expectantly with that smile of his that I still have to get used to. "I don't like the idea of you walking alone,"

"As much of a gentleman as I remembered." I reply, a flirtatious smile escaping me and Armin simply smiles wider. "It's close, anyway"

"I insist." His expression is confident, and well, I don't mind his company either.

With a slight nod of my head, Armin understands that I agree, so we start walking towards the campus. The silence this time is not awkward, and although we don't talk about anything, it really feels like there are an infinite number of topics to touch on. Not very pleasant topics. After all, we can't ignore that we were together, and that the break-up wasn´t the most pacific thing either.

"I was also glad to see you again." I whisper, and even though my voice sounds quiet, he hears me. He always does.

"I figured you'd be mad." He confesses, and although I don't see his face I know he's looking at me.

Deep down, yes I am. But I'm not sure if that was enough of a reason to ruin the evening and Alex's surprise. It would have been nice to have mentally prepared myself so that I wouldn't have reacted like a schoolgirl to seeing him.

"Well, it's been a long time…" I clear my throat a little. "I have my reasons to be tho."

"Yeah, but I bet you forgot all of it with how good I look." He mocks, smiling widely.

I click my tongue. "You can't use your face to change the past."

"You're right, but I can use it to change things now." A lopsided smile appears on his features, and his comment takes me by surprise.

I tense up suddenly and simply look away. I hate that probably if he tried… "You're too cocky." I complain.

Deep down, I wonder if that would bother me. It's stupid. Armin didn't care that we broke up, I really wonder what his intentions are now. But, I can't deny that the memory is still alive in me. Everything about him remains in me as if he had never left, and it bothers me that I couldn't change that in this embarrassing amount of time we were apart.

"I just feel like I'm not the only one." Armin grumbles, shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants. Now I also notice that his style is different. It doesn't seem like his brother intervenes as much in his clothes as before, that is, he maintains a bit of his own style more than anything. More calm and informal.

"What is that supposed to mean?" I grimace, crossing my arms before looking back at him.

"I say that because I notice the way you look at me." His words make me even more angry. Sometimes I feel like there is no one who can read me like he does. It was always like this, since we were young. One expression on my face was enough for Armin to decipher what was happening to me.

"I―no.." I stuttered and he noticed it, however, he didn't continue probing and I remained silent.

The walk to campus was getting shorter, and I wasn't sure I knew how to say goodbye. Everything was so strange. It's not that I want to see him, but knowing that he was going to leave made me feel like I couldn't just leave him like that. My heart is beating fast, I feel like even he can hear it.

And although it seems like things can't get any worse, several drops falling on my hair bring me out of my frantic thoughts. The chance of rain was quite low today, but of course it has to rain anyway.

"This weather is a bit nice." Armin points out, extending his palm to feel the raindrops on it, which slowly intensify.

"Nice? I'm soaking my clothes." I grumble, trying to cover myself a little.

"On one of these days we kissed for the first time" Armin smiles to himself, and simply lowers his gaze to look me in the eyes.

Shit. I didn't expect to have to think about this again. Less now that he´s here. Of course I remember it. I invited him to eat at the restaurant where we made that ridiculous double date that I actually still remember as one of my most precious moments.

On the way back home, rain started pouring and us, like idiots, hide nder a tree until it calmed down a bit. I wouldn´t forget something as special as that.

"You have no right Armin." I feel my eyes water at the memory, but I am relieved to know that because of the rain it is not very noticeable. "You can't say that now."

"It's not easy to pretend that I don't remember anything that happened." He frowns a little and stops in the middle of the street, forcing me to do the same.

"I'm not asking you to do it but…" I stop, feeling a sudden lump in my throat.

"And you can't pretend that the same thing doesn't happen to you."

And he is right. He always is when he talks about my feelings. He is correct, of course. Since I saw him, I knew that in fact, nothing of what I felt for him had managed to dissipate over the years. My heart still belongs to him.

"I lost you once, [y/n]. I can't let you go again…" His words hit me like a bucket of cold water. "When I knew you were coming back I―…"

I interrupted him. "Do you think it's easy for me?" I raised my tone of voice slightly, the fierce rain drowning out the noise a little. "Your lack of interest tired me out, Armin. You can't come back into my life like this and expect me to throw myself into your arms like it was nothing."

"I know I did things wrong, but I can still show you that I changed!" He raised his voice too. My heart was racing, and his blue eyes looking at me like I was the only thing in the world made me feel like a teenager again. "I'm not the same one who made mistakes. The only thing that remains of me is the love I have for you, [y/n], it's the only thing I couldn't change."

Tears are streaming down my face, and I don´t think it comes unnoticed by him anymore. He sheepishly tries to dry them, but the water keeps running down.

"Look at me," Armin approached me and forced me to look at him with a gentle movement of his hand. He pressed his fingers a little on my chin. "I love you." And now, in his bright eyes, in his warm hands and in his smile that I never thought I would see again, I see the truth.

Without being able to get the words out of my mouth, frustrated, angry, I let myself go and as if my hands knew their way, they wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him closer to me. Our breaths merge and his arms end up around my waist. We are so close I memorize every feature of his face, every new thing my eyes notice.

"Are you going to kiss me or keep making me wait?" He murmured, and to silence him once and for all I kissed him.

I felt safe, at peace. Like I've been waiting for this forever. His lips fit perfectly on mine as always, his grip tightens and I need to hold on to him as I feel my legs shake a little. It's passionate, fierce. It's not like the way he kissed me before, so innocent and clumsy.

The butterflies that I thought were dead begin to flutter in my stomach again, and the only thing that separates me from jim is the lack of air. But even though we break the kiss, Armin doesn't let me go, he keeps me close to him and brings our foreheads together.

"This time I'll make you stay." He sighs, and kisses me again to seal his promise.

©allmcl !

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

Relighting A Flame // Part Two

Ron Weasley x Reader

Summary: After meeting with Ron, things change between you.

Warnings: mentions of death, grieving and guilt, break ups, brief anxiety, fluff, kissing

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This is the second and final part, I hope you enjoy! Thank you to my lovely Soph @loony-loopy-lupinn for helping me out with this one 🧡

(gif found on pinterest, credits to the maker!)

It was a perfectly sunny Thursday afternoon, almost too perfect in comparison to the way you felt in the current moment. The nerves bubbled away in your stomach as you approach Rosa Lee Teabag, and you were strongly considering turning in the other direction and high-tailing it out of there. But you didn’t, you took a deep breath and you carried on forward through the busy and winding walkway.

The little bell over the small door had rung out when you entered the little shop, and you almost winced at the attention it pulled to you. More specifically the redhead who’s eyes were now on you as a blush stains your cheeks.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft smile when you approach, spotting a steaming cup of tea already waiting at your seat. The familiar scent of lemon was immediate and so was the widening of your smile at the simple gesture. “You remembered?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks stain a rosy crimson. “I did.”

You nod as you take a seat across from him, a quiet settling over you both in the crowded little cafe. It was terribly awkward and you hated it, you wanted desperately for things to go back to how they were.

“Thank—”

“I just—”

You spoke at the same time, cheeks reddening deeper as you laugh softly, gesturing for him to go on. He chuckles, taking a deep breath as if to gather himself for what he’d wanted to say. Though he’s not quite sure which to say, he’s got a million things on his mind.

“I’ve never been in here before, have you?” He asks, taking a sip of his tea.

He was skirting around what he’d really wanted to say, that much was obvious. You knew Ron Weasley well enough to know when he was avoiding something, but you let it go for the time being in favor of answering his question.

“I’ve been in here a handful of times. It’s a nice little place, especially on a rainy day. Though I have to say, I do like Madam Puddifoot a bit more,” you say, your smile returning.

“Harry said that place is horrid on Valentine’s Day, he’s quite insistent on that,” he says, meeting your gaze and matching your grin.

You laugh softly, nodding at his words as you look away for a moment. “Her choice in decorations may be a bit over the top—well they definitely are, but she can make a remarkable cup of tea. And her desserts are really good too. You’d like it.”

He nods, picking at the napkin as he fights to think of something to say next, anything to avoid the obvious that was waiting to be spoken about. But the lack of conversation was becoming increasingly apparent, and he can only busy himself by looking around the small shop for so long without looking like a fool.

When the laughter and light conversation had died down between you both, you resorted to stirring your spoon around in your drink. You tried to ignore the fact that your heart was still beating wildly, and tried focusing more on your intricate little teacup and it’s matching saucer. At the impossibly delicate and hand-painted flowers adoring it. It felt as though you were on a first date, though the more you thought about it, you were quite sure not even that could match this very moment.

“Y/n,” he started, much less humor in his voice. You look up, his smile having long since faded by now. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow slightly, wordlessly telling him to continue on.

“For pushing you away, I mean,” he says, looking down at his cooling drink as the very tips of his ears burn redder than the hair that covered them. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. You were only trying to be there for me and I shut you out.”

You slumped a bit in your seat, your expression softening as you looked at him. When you opened your mouth to speak he held up his hand, a silent gesture to tell you he wasn’t quite finished.

“Losing Fred, losing my home, I—I mean…I don’t know. I almost lost you in that bloody war. It was too much to deal with everything all at once...not that I had to deal with you, that’s not what I meant,” He stammers, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I know what you mean, Ron,” you say with a soft smile, reassuring him only slightly. “It’s okay.”

He could tell by your faltering smile that it absolutely was not okay, that you were hurting regardless of his reasons. You were just about as discreet with your emotions as he was, and the pang that struck his heart hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.

You weren’t angry with him, his reasons were perfectly valid. But missing your best friend for six years, someone you deemed to be the love of your life, was one of the hardest things you could have been through. It was quite like how you missed him when he’d begun to date Lavender Brown; you couldn’t bear to be around him, for you were far too hurt and too in love to subject yourself to witness their affections. You couldn’t blame her, she was a girl love, but the very way you missed your best friend had left you miserable. So, it was a similar feeling but different all the same.

“Bloody hell, this was way easier in my head,” he chuckles humorlessly, looking out the window. Anything was easier to look at than the look on your face, he felt he might crumble if he looked at your frown a moment longer. “I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t love you, or that I didn’t care. Because I did, I still do. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You nod even though he didn’t see it and you watch the way his jaw tenses, his gaze bouncing around the scenery just outside the window as he tears another piece off his napkin. The silence was thick and all-consuming, not even the conversations and clinking of dishes and silverware around you could help it. You fumbled with a packet of sugar pinch between your fingers, a million different words sitting on the very tip of your tongue.

“I’m sorry too, you know,” you manage, swallowing thickly as his gaze returns to you in a narrowed stare while yours remains on your hands for a minute longer.

“Y/n, don’t.”

“I left, Ron. I...I feel just as guilty as you.”

You look in his eyes again, biting the inside of your cheek in a valiant attempt to keep your tears at bay. You wouldn’t go into specifics on just why you had eventually left, it wouldn’t be fair to him. It’d only make him feel worse when it had been your choice to do so in the first place. You could have stayed, he wouldn’t have isolated himself forever. But it’d hurt too much and that was something you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him.

“If I hadn’t been so distant you wouldn’t have needed to. It really is my fault,” he said, and you could see he’d started to get worked up.

“Ron.”

You offer him a pleading look in hopes he’d calm down, for any more anger towards oneself was not necessary for either of you. There had been enough of that in the past few years to last a lifetime. He settled down after a moment or two, a small yet sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nods.

The following minutes were silent and almost the rest of the time spent there for that matter, and it was much less awkward though the tension was still very much there. But conversation had ceased nevertheless, and it was more so a quiet agreement to enjoy the other’s company even if neither of you would admit it. Company you found yourself needed more than you could have imagined. It certainly hadn’t gone how you had expected it to go, whether it be a good or bad kind of unexpected, you weren’t sure. But sitting there with him hadn’t felt as miserable or awkward as it may have looked from an outsiders viewpoint. It was a mutual feeling that maybe things would be okay after this, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

8 Months Later

Eight months had passed since you’d gotten that tea with Ron, and things had changed drastically since that day. There was plenty more that had gotten sorted through, and plenty more lengthier talks were had in order to clear things up and move forward. It hadn’t been remotely easy at first, but Ron Weasley wasn’t someone you could stay mad at, he never was. He may have been stubborn but he cared deeply for you, that much was certain. It had taken a good month or two for things to feel somewhat how they used to or at least as best as they could, but everything good happens in time, you suppose.

You’d spend more and more of your free time with each other, until any and all of that free time had been taken up. He’d given in to your suggestions of going to Madam Puddifoot’s, and he did in fact love her pastries just like you thought he would, even though he would never admit it. You were a month away from completing your training as a healer, and he’d graciously offered to help, though he’d helped more than intended with the handful of quidditch accidents he’d gotten himself into at home. Perhaps the most notable was the way you still missed him, the way he’d missed you. It was an adjustment being friends once more, but friends were better than strangers.

Currently, it was the long awaited spring holiday at Hogwarts for students and professors, one that delightfully coincided with your time off of work. Therefore, you’d bought up a handful of books from Flourish and Blotts, and accompanied Ron for a week at the Burrow.

The first time you had been at the family home wasn’t unlike every other visit you’d had, much to your surprise. Despite not having seen any of the Weasley’s for a considerable amount of time, it felt as if it’d been just yesterday that you’d seen them. They welcomed you with near suffocating hugs to make up for what surely would have been millions of embraces, and they had swept you away into about ten different conversations at once. It felt as though no time at all had passed, as if you hadn’t been separated from the welcoming family for just over half a decade.

It was a relief to your relentless nerves that they hadn’t held any animosity towards you for leaving. That very guilt had been weighing you down the moment you had made that decision. But you suppose it would be rather hard for the Weasley family to think ill of most anyone; they were wonderful, more love in their hearts than anything.

You had spent the better part of the warm spring day in a spot you and Ron had declared your own the very moment you had found it as teens. It was perfect. It was nestled within a clearing of trees and foliage, a small body of water settled in the very midst of it all. This time of year, the wildflowers were in full bloom to douse the area in its colorful floral beauty. Birds chirped and sang high up in the trees, the sun’s golden rays weaving in and out of old and twisting branches. The trees were perhaps your favorite part. They were older than you could imagine, covered in winding vines and moss that swirled up their trunks, their knotted roots perfect for nestling in with a good book. That is exactly how you’d been spending your afternoon.

It was a place that housed many fond memories amongst you and the Weasley family, and you were overjoyed to be able to take in its beauty again.

“Are you going to read all day?” Ron complains, mouth nearly full with a bite of his sandwich.

“You know, I just might now that you mention it,” you jest, laughing as you watch him let his head fall forward, his hair dangling out of his face and sticking every which way.

“It’s almost sunset and you’ve spoken what, three sentences to me? Three, Y/n,” he complains, huffing out a sigh as he narrows his eyes at you playfully.

You peer over the edge of your book to see the sky was in fact filling with orange and pink hues the more it’d dipped down into the horizon, effectively dissolving your argument against his words. You sigh softly, folding the corner of your page and tucking your book away.

“You’re a pain. Have I ever told you that?”

“Yes, Y/n, you have,” he says, his attempts to sound displeased quickly failing as a smile pulls at his lips.

“And rightfully so.”

You rest your head back against the tree, gazing up at the expanse above you. A flock of birds had been flying high overhead, the breeze blowing gently over your face. His scoff at your words was well heard beside you as you let your eyes fall closed, a soft laugh leaving your lips at the way he’d been acting. In your moment of bliss you’d missed quite a lot, his attention settling on you once more while he had the chance to do as such.

The hair tangling with his lashes and tickling his skin was of no importance in that very moment, nor was the fact that the very tree root he’d been leaning his hand on was poking into his palm rather uncomfortably. You were too enchanting to care about much else. You always had a way of stealing his attention yet still being so blissfully unaware of it. Perhaps that was for the better that you weren’t privy to his admiring, perhaps sometimes he found himself wishing you weren’t.

He wanted to reach out and brush the stubborn strands of hair out of your face, tucking them away behind your ear. He’d done it countless times before. It was awfully hard for him to enjoy the beauteous world around him when he’s got you sitting before him, making even the most enamoring of sunsets pale in comparison to you.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when you move to stand to your feet, and he just barely manages to tear his eyes from you. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t felt him staring, you could always feel it, you had caught him gawking plenty of times and each ended with incredulous scoffs and awkward laughs. Regardless, you chose not to say anything, the pink staining his cheeks enough of an indication.

You leave his side and walk to the waters edge, dipping your feet in as you hear him sigh behind you softly. You smile to yourself, laughing quietly at the thought of him.

“What are you doing?” He calls out, and you turn to face him, finding him squinting against the evening sun as he stood to his feet.

“Enjoying the water, not reading. What’s it look like?” You quip with a raised brow and a smirk.

The water wasn’t quite as enjoyable as it may have been in the summer season, it still had a brisk coldness that nipped at your skin too much to fully swim in it. Though that didn’t mean you couldn’t have your fun.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, so much so that you had to turn away from him before it became much too evident that you had been up to something. Unfortunately for you, Ron was rather observant and had caught on to such things fairly quickly, but not quick enough.

You crouch down and stick your hand in the cool water, drawing up a considerable wave to splash him with. His mouth fell agape at the near icy shock of your antics, a laugh leaving your lips that soon turned to a squeal as you took a few steps back from him. The very same mischief had begun to dance in his eyes as he dipped both hands in the water, scooping out a much larger handful before sending it cascading over your skin.

“Ronald Weasley, that was way more than I did!” You shout, his laughter immediate at your reaction.

“Was not!”

Your frown hadn’t lasted very long as you bit back your smile. He looked away as he continued with his soft laughter, shaking his head. It wasn’t long before you too had found yourself staring, it was hard not to with the way water droplets had been falling from his hair and rolling down the bridge of his freckled nose. More so when those very droplets had dripped over the curves of his lips in a way that was almost too irresistible. You had to look away before you got yourself in trouble, instead focusing your attention on the way the stars had begun to twinkle just above you both.

It was perhaps your favorite time of day, for it was when the sky held the most color, and when the world had started to slow down. Any cloud that hung in the sky was pigmented with the prettiest oranges and pinks, and the fireflies were starting to make their reappearance with the warmer weather. The crickets began to chirp and the breeze had blown across the overgrown grass.

Unbeknownst to you, Ron had picked up where you left off, his eyes falling to you when yours return to the setting sun. You looked radiant to him, with the way your hair glimmered in the glowing orange hues, or the way your smile had been brighter and more enamoring than the very view before you both. He found himself admiring you as a friend that was too in love for his own good once more, the same way he did when he was a teenager. He didn’t want to be your friend, he wanted to be yours. He wanted to tell you he loved you because he’s never stopped, he didn’t want to blow it this time as he’d done once before.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You say. You pull your attention back to him after a few silent moments had passed without response.

“Yeah,” he smiles, and it was clear he’d been far too busy looking at you. “It is.”

You grin at him before shaking your head fondly, exhaling a laugh at his distracted words, unaware of the nerves fluttering around within him. He was always too caught up with you too pay attention to seemingly anything when you were around.

“Is it wrong that I want to kiss you right now?” Ron asks, swallowing thickly as he lets his hands fall to his sides.

You look up then, the look on his face filled with hope and the underlying regret of even speaking in the first place, fearing he may have messed things up by being too bold for his own good. The seconds had quickly felt like hours and he felt like he may just melt if his cheeks burned any redder. Regardless of his obvious inner turmoil, you find yourself smiling softly as you shake your head.

“No, I don’t think it is.”

He stood there, stunned as his eyes widen a fraction. He wasn’t entirely sure if he’d heard you correctly, or if he’d just conjured up the answer he so desperately craved to hear. The very thought was one he found himself playing in his mind ever since the day you had gone your separate ways, and now that it’s here he doesn’t quite know what to do. Doesn’t quite know how to handle himself around you; it’s as if it’s his first time ever seeing you, like a bout of new love came cascading over him and became all that he had known. Except it wasn’t new. It had been the same undying love he’d felt for you for the past nine years, and that was something that would never change.

“Are you going to kiss me?” You ask with a soft smile after a few short moments, effectively pulling him from his thoughts.

His mouth opened and closed, his heart pounding in his chest as a smile tugged at the very corners of his mouth. And with all of the certainty in the world he enveloped your hand in his own and closed any remaining space, his hand settling on your cheek as the tips of his fingers tangle in your hair.

It was a kiss to rival all others, even the very first kiss he’d ever shared with you. For he’d had six years to make up for, of thinking of this very moment, of missing you. He held you as close as he could manage, his heart pounding in his chest as he began to smile.

You were just short of breathless when you part, not straying more than a few inches from his lips as a soft laugh escapes you. You look at him, at the love dancing in his eyes and drop of water that fell from the very tip of his nose, or the ones beaded on his flushed cheeks. It was only mere seconds before you found yourself kissing him again, and again, your laughter mingling with his as his lips brush over your own.

Six years had regrettably passed him by, years that equated to lifetimes without having you with him. Your hold on his heart never faltered in that time, however, not even a little bit. The truth is, you’ve entwined yourself around his very heart and soul.

Those three words didn’t need to be spoken, they were already known. And there wasn’t a single risk he’d take of losing you once more.

—

Tags: @vogueweasley @lupinsclassroom @amourtentiaa @hahee154hq @snitches-at-dawn @theweasleysredhair

#ron weasley #ron weasley one shot #ron weasley fanfiction #ron weasley x reader #ron weasley x you #ron weasley fluff #ron weasley angst #ron weasley fic #ron weasly imagine

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female-overlord-3 · 3 years

Text

Bring Them Home Ch 15 Smash

This fic is slow going with everything but going. Kept this baby as a draft until I wrote the next chapter :D

Alex, Michael, and Isobel bond and talk! Enjoy 💛

Read on AO3

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They get their 3 hours and a little bit more until Michael finally becomes the voice of reason.

"As much as I want to spend the rest of the day with you, I need to check in with Sanders and do my actual day job. Plus Izzy is nothing but greedy for all the attention on her."

Alex just gives him a look before dragging Michael back onto the bed and rolling to be on top.

"This is a once in a blue moon lazy day for me Michael. You give me another hour and then I'll be satisfied."

Their first hour was the nap after their call, Michael carrying a dozing Alex to his bed so they'd be more comfortable. The second was Michael thoroughly massaging Alex's full body after Alex does his at home PT routine. The third was them switching between kissing and talking.

Michael wouldn't mind the third hour becoming 2 straight hours of more talking and kissing. He also doesn't think he can move because Alex is pretty much the ideal weight for holding him down.

Then the small touches start. One hand moving to his neck as a thumb swipes up and down his throat slowly before it moves to sink into his curls. Fingers gently digging into his scalp as lips press randomly across his torso and above. Michael is in actual heaven as he loses time to Alex's devoting touches until his left hand cramps and he lets out a hiss from the pain.

Lifting up Alex gives him space to do whatever he needs, his face pinched in worry and flickers of guilt at seeing Michael cradle his hand.

"Do you need a heat compress or acetone for the pain?" Alex quietly asks but Michael shakes his head.

"It'll pass. Give it a minute."

Hesitantly Alex reaches for it and let's the tips of his fingertips rest ever so lightly on the ridges of the scarred skin that Michael barely feels as Alex traces it. Michael lifts his hand up to feel the pressure and warmth of Alex’s hand but Alex snatches it away.

“Doesn’t it-” Alex's voice was quiet and a bit hoarse. “I don’t want you to hurt. I was trying to-” He stops himself again with his words stuck as old guilt starts to consume him.

Sighing Michael sits up but keeps his hands to himself.

“You think we’re ready to talk about this?” He waves his left hand between them.

He gives Alex a good minute to breathe through what he’s feeling right now before slowly inching his right hand to the thigh resting next to his.

“I am but that’s cause I made peace with it a long time ago. If you’re not then we can put it on hold for another time but you didn’t do this to me, you’re not a monster or violent like him. I’m not gonna lie, it reminds me that there’s bad in the world, that it’s cruel and doesn’t care but,” His hand has traveled up and cups Alex’s cheek. “It also reminds me that there are kind people like you who somehow left me a medical kit even though I didn’t see you for a week because you were hurt too. That wanted me to get help and go to the hospital but found an alternative when I kept telling you no.”

Alex’s eyes fall closed as he leans into Michael’s hand.

“You’re lucky your antibodies are immune to human infection and diseases.” Is the only thing he can say.

“Pretty nice that my form of power boost is just 5 bucks a bottle too, though my personal brew is much better.” Michael raises his left and holds it in front of Alex. “You didn’t need to go and make us a matching set but of course you had to one-up me.”

All he gets is a soft noise from Alex who’s finally reached for his left hand, both of his cradling Michael’s like it’s precious as he brings it to his chest to lay right over his heart. The steady thump is a song he’s missed.

“You could’ve healed it but you didn’t want to. You wanted to remember the good and the bad.”

Michael snorts at that. “I mean Max only offered like once but it also would’ve become a thing if people found out. Even though I didn’t know how much your dad was actually watching us, I didn’t want to give him anymore reasons to start snooping around. Hey you think he knew before and that’s why he went psycho?"

He asks it like an actual question, one of pure curiosity because now with everything they know it might actually be true.

"Maybe but I knew regardless he'd do something to anyone I brought home. Sure it was like an open secret but I tamed it down around him, the eyeliner and punk was just the easiest way to be proud but on just the edge. It helped that he hated both."

Michael watches as Alex's face pinches again.

"Would you heal it now or like a partial one?"

Smiling Michael just rubs his thumb against Alex's chest.

"Don't know. Depends really."

He pulls Alex back down and holds him close, soaking up as much comfort and the feeling of safety, love, and peace.

Of course not 10 minutes later there's a honk and a mental nudge from Isobel.

"Nooooo." He groans and buries his face in Alex's hair.

Alex agrees and presses closer as their phones start ringing.

"How is she calling both of us!"

There's a knock at the door then the sound of intentionally loud footsteps that stop at the window of their room.

"I promised lunch."

"We could be having really kinky sex right now Iz."

"Oh that reminds me I need to find a new playmate. Alex we're going to a gay bar. I want to see if me going all obsessed over Rosa was a me thing or his and I need a wingman who gets me."

Michael makes a face and holds onto Alex tighter. He doesn’t want Alex going to any bar without him.

"In my professional opinion it might be too soon and you're technically still married but screw it let’s go have fun." Alex pauses and reconsiders his words. “Actually if anything Kyle might be more game then me. I may be out and proud but I kinda dislike people… and crowds now.”

He gives Michael a deep but short kiss and starts to wiggle free. Michael makes a valiant attempt to keep him in bed which is funny because earlier he was trying to head out for work and be responsible. He flips them over and tries to distract Alex with more kisses and he can feel Alex starting to give in when Isobel knocks on the window.

"We still game to blow up stuff or was that just the land around the cabin? Also will someone please let me in!"

They both groan and finally scramble out of bed to put pants on. Michael turns to face where the front door is and glares at it until it opens.

“It’s open.”

“Lovely. I’ll bring my stuff in.”

Michael slips down to slide on the sleeve then prosthetic for Alex before waddling closer to wrap his arms around Alex’s waist so he can bury his face in a very warm stomach.

“No bar without me. Someone’ll snatch you up.”

The vibrations and sound of Alex’s quiet laugh is nice.

“I was being honest about not really liking bars Michael and I'm only a tiny bit better about people. Have no fear everyone will be flocking to your sister.”

Silently Michael stands before climbing into Alex’s lap and latches onto him like a koala.

“Jesus I forgot how clingy you are.” Alex teases as his hands settle on Michaels sides. “Not that I mind.” He adds.

Leaning back to face each other, Michael gives him a dramatic pout. “You’re hot stuff and people will absolutely flock to you. I can’t stop people from looking but I can at least stop them from touching.” He eyes Alex’s neck hungrily and starts to lean down but a hand in his hair stops him.

“Ah and the marking thing. You sure you’re not a vampire?”

“It won’t be like-”

The unamused look Alex is sporting just makes Michael grin smugly. “You made it go around my whole neck. You gave me an actual hickey necklace Michael and it lasted for a whole week. No hickey necklace.”

“What about like two where everyone can see?” Michael questions and his eyes stare at the perfect spot. “I’ll keep them small.”

They roll over with Alex keeping him pinned down.

“You and I have a very different idea of what small is. No hickeys or marks until we go on another date.” He kisses Michael’s cheek before rolling off and leaving to go see what Isobel’s up to.

Michael mopes and gets dressed slowly. If the hoodie he has on is unusual for him well it’s Alex’s fault for leaving it in the room. In the closet and folded up top but Michael found it so finders-keepers.

“Michael you're staying 20 minutes so you can praise me while I break stuff with my mind." Isobel eyes the sweater and frowns. "Are you having a mental breakdown? That's the only time we wear hoodies." She comments and takes a step closer, ready to bring Michael into a hug for comfort which kinda confuses him.

"Um no. I'm good Iz. Just claiming one of my rights to wear something of Alex's." Michael pauses before taking his own step forward in concern. "Are you good? I know I haven't fully been there for you with everything but if you-"

Isobel rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm a big girl. It's been…. A lot but Alex and the others have helped in their own way. I do know breaking all this stuff will feel good so come on teach me how you do it." She says as she pats his shoulder then heads to Alex's backyard, Michael quickly following her.

"You're sure?" He asks. "I know we all have a tendency to avoid actually talking about our shit so if there's anything you want to then I'm here."

The tight line of Isobel's lips hold for a few seconds before dropping as she sighs.

"I'm still mad and hurt. Also sad because I- this whole mess started with him and I was just a tool he used. I was finally starting to feel like I could be myself but even that's a lie. First it was thinking I was the one who killed everyone and that sucked but finding out the actual truth was worse." Her voice wobbles a bit before she takes a deep breath to steady it. "I know I'm not okay and we're all dealing with our own shit but for once I don't feel totally alone. I'm gonna try and be a better sister to you because you've always been there for me Michael, you carried what happened that night with you for a decade so I wouldn't have too. I've let myself follow whatever Max decided because we got to grow up together and I thought he was right, that he was protecting us and the normal life we had."

She swallows and her eyes dart away.

"And he was but that meant you were left out because you never got our type of normal. So I'm gonna work on being there for you too and making sure you're included. Now let's go break stuff."

Michael grabs onto her hand and squeezes it. Isobel squeezes back and both their eyes are a bit misty but the smiles they wear are bright.

They see Alex a couple yards out, placing items from the box Isobel brought around his open backyard.

“Whatever you break you also clean up so I would suggest a tarp or something.”

Michael swaggers over and latches onto his side, nuzzling into his neck.

"Of course gotta keep the place clean. I'll go grab one." He leans to take a sip from Alex's milkshakes but it's moved away.

"You hate mint."

Michael blinks at him and can't help how big his smile turns.

"I don't mind it when it's from you." His eyes land on Alex's lips in an obvious request.

Michael's curls slap him in the face.

"Ow Iz why!"

"What? I'm just practicing my power." Her sickly sweet voice and eyelashes fluttering says anything but.

Michael rolls his eyes and pecks Alex's check. "You get thirty minutes and then I have to head to Sanders."

A hand slides into the back pocket of his jeans and he's pulled closer to Alex's side.

"Whatever you don't break or wanna leave to burn will be our bonding time."

Isobel's eyes light up at the offer.

"You really weren't lying about getting to explode shit! Like actual explosives?" She grabs onto Alex slowly and starts tugging him back to the house so he can show her.

Michael doesn't let go and they all walk back inside relatively easy for the three of them latched onto each other.

"More like I have the basic materials needed to make bombs which you would be surprised on how easy they are to make." Alex comments as Michael gives an understanding nod.

"Though I do have some minor explosives that are probably closer to fireworks which are easier to clean up after and that can easily be stated as such."

Alex slips out of their arms and goes to the small closet hidden behind the bathroom, the three of them bring all the goods to the living room.

"Does this mean I can use you as an excuse to come here instead of my mother's Fourth of July barbeque? I'm always stuck talking about nothing and everyone keeps expecting me to be pregnant. Do I look like mother material to you?"

She's settled in Michael's lap as they hold each other comfortably. Michael rests his head on her shoulder as he chuckles.

"Hmmm you're more Aunt material. You'd spoil my future kids rotten but also make sure they know how to talk circles around people the second they learn how."

"Their first words will be aunt Izzy or some variation of that. I'm not picky."

Her tone is casual but her eyes don't leave Alex who's gone quiet.

"I'm not saying a hard no to possibly being a surrogate but in a few years ask me again. I'll be back, just need to use the bathroom." She glides off of Michael's lap and out the door.

Michael doesn't pay her any mind and flops back to lay back on the bed.

The thought of having kids have been an off and on thing for him. Sometimes he doesn't because he's not even human and not the stablest person, being in the system didn't do him any favors. There's so much entailed with it that if he ever did he's worried the poor kid will turn out worse than him, that Michael won't have or be able to provide what they'll need. Then there are days he'd love to be that parent for someone who needs it, to be who he needed as a kid. Save at least one kid from a bad situation. Have the type of family he's sometimes let himself dream and barely hope for.

Sometimes it's just him raising a kid alone but other times Alex is there too, both of them sharing the love they have with someone else who might need it. Alex would never be like his father and would give their kid everything they needed no matter what but also make sure they have boundaries and morals and good life lessons.

"Would you want kids Alex?"

Michael voices once he's brought back to the present.

Just because he wants kids doesn't mean he needs them. He knows better than anyone that you gotta be committed and ready for that type of responsibility.

There's always the future but for right now he just wants to get his mom and people free, to deal with Noah, and to be with Alex.

"In another life… yes but I'm not sure about this one." Alex gets this nervous look on his face before sighing. "I'd have to think about it."

That's pretty much on par what Michael knew he'd say.

"Do you- I mean obviously you do but I'm not-"

Michael uses his powers to tug Alex to him. He takes Alex's hands and gives a light squeeze.

"I do but not now or for a while. I want to get my mom out and deal with the insanity of our lives first then enjoy being with you. I would like them in the far far future but I don't need them. I'm not letting some punk take all your attention until I've gotten my fill."

Alex clings to him and nods.

"Okay."

"As of now I love you and my meddling sister. You can come back in Isobel."

She walks in stubbornly with her head held high.

"I didn't mean to bring up future kids. You did that all on your own Michael and I'm sure you'll both be amazing uncles when Max and Liz figure their shit out. Max will finally have a reason to quit the force and stay at home to write like he's always wanted while Liz works on saving the world and all that jazz."

She grabs all the explosives quickly and carefully to do something with her hands.

“I mean who wouldn’t want an adorable hybrid of me though right, the world would all but perish under our reign. I’m sure i’d be a good mom though… with time and everyone else’s kids as a trial but like you guys said, now is a horrible time.” Her voice lowers to something almost hushed. “I’m sure plenty of kids need a home once i’m ready so all we need to do now is learn and be as prepared as possible.”

Michael smiles fondly at her as he stands and wraps an arm around her waist, pressing his forehead to the side of her neck.

“There’d be nothing stopping you once you decide your ready Isobel.”

Alex leans into her other side and they all just take a moment to breathe together.

“When we’re ready.” Alex voices with hope and it brings a smile to all their faces. “Does that mean we’re ready to go blow stuff up now?”

That gets a laugh.

“Come on all this emotional talk is ruining the mood. I’m ready to see how much control I need to learn to beat Michael!”

The three proceed to smash, break, and explode the contents of Isobel's boxes while enjoying their lunch.

Isobel is a bit shocked and proud of how much control Michael has on his power. A bit jealous too but she’s only just started. She finds it sickeningly sweet how awed Alex looks when he looks at Michael but the kind one he gives her makes up for it.

“How did I not see it?” She asks them. Her tone is light with wonder. That she never saw how much love just poured from them. It’s been a decade and she’s only finding out now.

Both Alex and Michael sigh but there’s less of a haunted look in their eyes.

“Shit timing and even worse communication.” Michael voices and then he’s at Alex’s side. “It’s hard to have something when everything’s going against you.”

Alex nods with his face set in a hard look before it clears.

“We kept it to ourselves cause it was safer but now there’s less bullshit to fight against.”

Isobel hurts from even the idea of what they’ve been through, the flashes she’s gotten from Alex flickering before she lets it all go.

“Well you’ve got someone else on your side.” she stands tall again, stronger and more solid with this certain topic worked through. "I'd happily melt anyone who's brain keeps giving you guys trouble. I'm sure I can make it look like an aneurysm."

She’s trying to be reassuring but the pained and overwhelmed look on Michael's face makes her feel unsure, like she's miss stepped somewhere.

It's only when Michael launches at her and holds her in a crushing hug, that his mind is so loud it's screaming at her by being in contact, that she understands.

Michael's always been so strong and never truly had anyone who he felt he could rely on, to truly rely on. Alex probably now with everything known but not really anyone else and that hurts Isobel all over again.

They should've been united from the start. They should've been together, able to rely and trust each other without doubt.

She holds on tight to him and lets out a sigh when Michael’s mind quiets, Alex’s presence closer being the obvious reason why.

Isobel is going to have a talk with Max about Alex and about Michael. Alex is right that they need to all work together to figure this mess out.

#malex #my work #moon writes #BTH #Look I can still write!#malex fic #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #Isobel Evans

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wunderlass · 4 years

Text

Heart-Shaped Box

For RIPRoswell Day Three: grief, joy, remembrance, acceptance.

We don’t see Halloween celebrated in season one, but the timing of the finale suggests we’ve passed it by somewhere along the way, probably in the six weeks that passes between episodes eight and nine. It’s implied that Liz and Max haven’t seen each other much, if it at all, during those six weeks. For the purposes of this story, I’m going to act like they did cross paths a handful of times while Liz worked on a cure for Isobel.

Thanks, as always, to @maxortecho for her beta skills. All Spanish errors are mine. Anything Max gets wrong about the traditions are a clueless white girl taking advantage of having a clueless white boy to write about.

For A. 13 years. You picked an apt day to die. No altar, no roadside memorial, but a candle for you tonight.

A cluster of aliens swarms down the street, heading for the patrol car and quickly surrounding it. There’s no escaping them now.

Max slumps back against the headrest and heaves out a weary sigh. Cam is still inside Beam Me Up and they aren’t going anywhere until the kids have finished trick or treating down this road.

Aliens. All of them: ET, Yoda, Buzz Lightyear, a bizarrely adorable xenomorph, and an entire galaxy’s worth of Star Trek characters. It’s a beloved Roswell tradition at Halloween, and one he’s always hated.

One of the kids, a preteen in a generic little green man mask, is jiggling the handle of the car. Max grabs the bucket of candy and rolls down the window to distribute it out to the delighted mass.

They’ve moved on by the time Cam saunters out of the coffee shop, and he doesn’t think it’s a coincidence. She hands him his tea and stares after the motley crew.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. There’s nobody in sheets pretending to be ghosts. No little witches on broomsticks. Every last one an alien.”

“There are always some rebels,” Max replies.

“Oh yeah?”

“Isobel always had to be a princess. The closest compromise she could reach with my parents was Princess Leia.”

“Is she even an alien?”

“As far as Iz was concerned, she was from a galaxy far, far away, so she couldn’t be human.” It was hard logic for their mother to argue with, especially not when Isobel argued it so decisively. Almost as if his sister was identifying with the idea.

“And you?”

“Me? I wanted to be Harry Potter.” He ducks his head, grinning to himself as he remembers his yearning for a pair of spectacles. He’d practiced drawing a lightning scar on his forehead with his mother’s eyeliner.

Cam laughs. “Figures.”

“Yeah. But my mom insisted I had to keep up the tradition, so she put me in an old bathrobe and sent me as a Jedi instead. I didn’t have the right hair to be Luke Skywalker though.”

That hadn’t been so bad, out of the options. He’d never had to go as a murderous alien, or the little green man, a reminder of his origins and the loss of his people in the crash. His costume had sent Max down a rabbit hole, watching the movies and then discovering all the tie-in novels, marveling at the powers the Jedi had and wondering if they came from the same galaxy. Max didn’t have powers, not yet, just his bond with Isobel, but Jedi powers seemed like a cool trade-off to being an alien. Maybe even better than being a wizard.

Until he got his powers and then it wasn’t cool at all.

“That sounds on your level of nerdery,” Cam says. “And your mom was right, Jedi is cooler than Harry Potter.”

“Hard disagree. If I wasn’t in uniform, I’d be in my wizard robes right now.”

It’s not true. He hasn’t put on a costume since childhood, and this night of all nights isn’t one he observes with any merriment anymore. Instead, it’s a countdown until midnight. That’s the only holiday—holy day in the traditional sense—that he honors these days.

That’s private though. For after their shift is over, under the cover of darkness. When he can head to the cemetery gates.

The cemetery is quiet and still, its gates locked early to keep out any teenagers who might decide it’d be a special kind of thrill to run riot through it tonight. Max has nudged the patrol in this direction several times in their circuits of the city, and Cam was far from suspicious: given Sheriff Valenti’s stern warnings to keep their eyes on it, it made good business sense.

Max left Cam at her door half an hour ago and made his way here instead of heading to his own home. This is the tenth year of his tradition, but the first time he’s visited Rosa’s grave since Liz returned to town. Not since that night he caught Liz herself here after midnight. He doesn’t want to intrude on her, not when he’s promised her space, not when she has every right to her grief and he has no right to her time.

It must have been harder for her to clear the gates—for him, it’s an easy spring and drop onto the path on the other side, flashlight clutched between his teeth. The gates really don’t serve much of a deterrent to anyone, teenagers or drifters alike, but the place is silent around him. Silent as the grave.

He knows he can come up with a better metaphor than that.

Doesn’t matter. He’s not here to write. Tonight he is here to remember, to honor Rosa in ways her family no longer risk publicly. Using the beam from the flashlight, he picks his way through the rows of graves until he finds her. Shoved in a back corner, the grass a little long around here, like even the caretakers don’t want to do right by her. The gravestone is thankfully free of graffiti—he brought stuff to clean it off if he needed to. Instead, from his rucksack he gets out what he’s here to bring.

He’s sure he does this all wrong. It’s not his tradition, and he doesn’t know anyone he can ask for more information, except for Liz. Then she’d know, she’d have to know, and he’s not sure if she’d understand. He isn’t doing this for atonement. He’s simply doing it to keep the memory of a girl who died far too young alive, in his own fumbled way.

Besides, he’s been doing it so long he’s kind of made his own traditions, and it would feel weird to change them now. Even if it was to correct himself.

The first thing out of the rucksack is the bouquet of marigolds. They’re a little crushed and wilted after a day in his locker at the station, but they’re vibrant against the night. He lays them in front of the stone, and though the grass almost swallows them, their orange glow refuses to be diminished.

Next comes the pan de muerto he picked up earlier in the day. They’re only wrapped in a little paper bag, so he’s sure the only thing consuming them year after year are rats, but it was in the list when he Googled all those years ago. He doesn’t even know if Rosa liked them. He’s not even sure if he likes them: after all this time, he’s never been able to bring himself to try one. They’re too associated with the girl he’s offering them to, and the thought of swallowing them chokes him, guilt rising like bile.

Third, he pulls out the cardboard cup to put next to the bread. He had to quit leaving thermoses out here, knowing they were only getting broken or stolen. This is the cheaper, more environmentally friendly option. Others might have brought a bottle of tequila, but he cannot in good conscience leave that for Rosa. Instead he brings her tea: good tea, his favorite, now cold but still aromatic.

And lastly, his calavera literaria.

It’s not in Spanish. It has no humor to it, because that’s never been his strong suit, and to joke with her or about her is too intimate for a girl he barely knew. But the little poem he writes for her every year is the best he can do, a small exchange of his soul for hers. This, he tucks down into the grass, hoping it will be rotten long before the grass is cut or anyone comes to the grave.

He doesn’t say a word. He can never find the words when he’s here, not like he can when he has a pen in his hand and the entire year to think of what to say to her next. The hundred ways he can apologize and it never be enough, never fix what happened. Rosa would probably laugh if she got a chance to read these poems, like she did when she read his letter to Liz. Laugh, shove him away, remind him he’s a stupid boy. And he wouldn’t stop her.

His ritual complete, Max wends his way back to the gates. The wind rustles through the grass, and he almost wishes he could hear it whispering to him, the sound taking on a voice. What words would it say to him? Forgiveness? Not likely.

But the wind is just the wind. This is just a field on the edge of the desert, where the people of this town plant their bones and pretend their loved ones are here when they visit. The dead are just the dead, and there’s no changing that.

The cruel irony of this night is that to get home from the cemetery, he must drive along the road where he staged the crash with his siblings. He has learned to avert his eyes when he passes by—if he does, instead of taking the long way around, but that’s not feasible at this time of night. He’s in that state of exhaustion where he’s becoming wired up again, and that makes him a dangerous driver. It’s not much of an issue on roads as quiet as these, but he needs to get home and find ways of subduing himself.

Instead he grips the wheel and tries to keep his gaze off to one side, away from the three memorial crosses wedged into the roadside dirt. All he needs to be aware of are headlights, ahead or behind, otherwise he can drive half in a trance and he’s only a danger to himself.

Just this once, there are headlights. And they aren’t on the road. They’re stationary, at the side of the road.

He’s alert enough not to slam the brakes, instead allowing his Jeep to roll to a stop near the lights. His eyes adjust to make out the scene through his window, and he swallows.

A car is parked beside the memorial, engine off but lights on. A car he recognizes.

He should keep driving, but it looks weird now he’s slowed down. In fact, she’s turned to look at him, her brow wrinkled in question, her stance alert, tense. She’s expecting trouble.

He rolls down the window to show who he is, to prove she’s in no danger.

“Liz,” he says over the rumble of his engine. He’s not seen her in a few weeks, not since Isobel went into the pod. She’s a sight for sore eyes, but one he tries not to look at too intensely, averting his eyes into the shadows around her. It’s like trying not to look at the sun during an eclipse. It’s like trying not to look at god. It will be painful afterwards, but it might just be worth the pain.

She smiles, but it’s tense. Things are still weird between them. Things will likely always be weird between them, and he knows better than to hope for different. She deserves her anger.

He knows better than to ask her what she’s doing here, especially given that she’s clutching her own garland of marigolds. Rosa’s makeshift cross is upright, a sorry rarity.

Max wonders if Liz has ever built an ofrenda for her sister. It seems unlikely, given what he knows of her scattered adulthood and the emotional ties she’d cut with Rosa.

There’s nothing to say. So he says the first stupid thing that comes into his head. “You’re not in costume.”

Her breath hitches and her fingers tighten around the flower stems.

“Sorry. That’s--”

“I don’t really celebrate Halloween,” she says. “Not since Rosa…it doesn’t feel right.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. The awkwardness lies heavily between them, a veil he cannot breach. But where he shrinks into silence, Liz seeks to escape it.

“She always did the most elaborate costumes,” she says. “She only learned to sew so she could make her own costumes, and she’d paint my face for Día de los Muertos. I loved them so much, I always insisted she painted my face for Halloween too, even though she told me it was silly, that everyone in town dresses as aliens so we had to as well.” It’s the word aliens that brings her back to the awkwardness, her voice trailing off as she finishes the sentence.

“I remember,” Max says fondly. “Rosa with her face painted silver, but you with floral patterns all over your skin.”

“Papi always goes overboard at Halloween, and we hated it. We thought it was so cheesy. It was one of Rosa’s earliest acts of rebellion—she wanted to be a bruja. Or Selena.”

Liz is smiling, though sadness tugs at the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head, looking away from him, her gaze tracing the road he has just driven down.

“Where are you coming from at this time of night?” she asks, and the question is so unexpected that he stills, glad her stare hasn’t returned to him. She always can see him. Through him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she says, and it’s almost teasing. “There’s nothing much that way. Nothing except…” She pauses and looks back at the roadside cross “...Rosa.”

“I laid flowers on her grave.” The words are out before he can stem their flow.

Once again, she takes him by surprise. “That’s you?”

“I didn’t know anybody ever noticed,” he replies.

She nods. “My father goes on Día de los Muertos. It’s safer that day than any other day—the other girls weren’t Mexican, their families don’t visit that day. Only the other Mexican families do, and they look after papi.”

Max resists the urge to cringe until he folds into himself. To think that Arturo might have read his poems…

“He said somebody was visiting her grave,” she continues. “But he thought it was maybe a boyfriend of hers. Certainly no gringo.” She smiles again, and this time it’s teasing, light. “Though this does explain why you’ve been wasting the pan de muerto. You’re supposed to eat it, not give a whole bag to the local rodent population.”

He takes a deep breath. “I know…I know this doesn’t—”

But she silences him with a shake of her head. “Not tonight.”

She turns her back to him, crouching to place the marigolds underneath the wooden cross. For a moment he thinks this is a dismissal, but when her hands are free she turns back to him.

“Come on, pull over. I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

It takes a few moments for him to get context. She crosses to her car, reaches into the passenger seat, and brings out a little white cake box. He knows what’s in it. Shame and bile rise in unison.

The only thing he can do is follow her instructions, pulling to the side of the road and turning his engine off to give himself a moment to collect himself.

Then she’s at his window with the lid open on the box, the sugar crystals on the pan de muerto sparkling in the stark brightness of the twin headlamps. He doesn’t smile, but takes the offering reverently.

It’s soft in his hand, softer still between his teeth. Sweet, delicate, a hint of anise. This isn’t what his guilt tastes like.

Liz closes the lid, watching him as he chews. She doesn’t say anything, and for the first time he notices the lack of anger in her expression. He never thought she’d look at him without a hint of fury, but either she’s cloaking it well or she’s forgotten it in this moment. He grasps the moment, commits it to his memory for when her anger returns.

He doesn’t choke on the first bite, or the next, or the next. Maybe he won’t choke on it after all.

#roswell new mexico #riproswell #fic #rnm echo #liz ortecho #max evans

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