water hit his face, ice cold from pipes finally beginning to chill. it occurred to him then just how long he’d been putting this off.

every day for months, since the fall of blackwell, he’d set out on a walk towards fallarbor—towards the atkins’ shop. most days, he got a little bit further each time before turning back around. he struggled with himself, wondering if it was maybe best at this point to just stay away. he’d been gone too long. he could never make up for his absence.

he’d never told a soul—but he’d also never stopped thinking about her, either. fear had kept him from being there, and then, it was fear that had kept him from returning sooner. he couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the hatred in her eyes that he knew she had for him. he knew he deserved it.

he tore away from the mirror after brushing his teeth, towards a closet, pulled on a shirt, and was soon out the door. no breakfast; not for some time. bo always had an appetite, except for during these mornings before his walk towards her. it gave him butterflies; the kind that felt like they might bust right out of his chest and leave him there to bleed out.

near the building he’d reached the prior day, he stalled, and eventually found himself sitting on a bus bench. he sat, and thought hard about what he might say, for about an hour. so, he should’ve probably come up with something better. in fact, he’d had years to think about it.

eventually, he’d made it off the bench, down the road, through the route, and onto the block.

he’d made it.

fuck.

stepping into the greenhouse, past plants, he saw her. all at once, his thoughts ran together, good as mud.

“hey, will.”

he’d thought about bringing flowers, but this had felt like a silly place to bring flowers to, and it had also seemed like a pitiful gesture and a bad idea; until now, that he felt how empty his fingers were, shoved in his pockets. it served a purpose, though. he dreaded showing his hands.

willow atkins

☉

gretchen greets her when she emerges. the outdoor area of the greenhouse has a low overhang, but the awning that usually covers the plants has been pulled back, tucked away for the oncoming winter. a cluster of gloom huddle together for warmth, dozing in the early morning dawn. 

the glameow twines around willow's boots, rubs her spine along her jeans, and willow crouches to give her some proper scratches behind her ears. the iron head of the shovel is wedged in the ground, held with one steady hand near its hilt. 

if gretchen's hearing weren't almost gone, she'd have warned willow of the man's presence. but instead of spitting and catterwauling, she purrs heavily. willow chuckles. she sounds like an engine on its last legs. 

and then she hears a voice, his voice, except it's gruffer, deeper than the one she remembers. her fingers slip. the shovel clatters to the ground as she drops that hand to the ground to steady herself. she pauses, takes a moment to breathe in, to exhale, and then she stands. 

she turns. and whatever he's expecting isn't there. hatred and love are so close together and without one, there is no other. her eyes are soft, and they are sad, and her heart gives a painful squeeze. 

gretchen sniffs a couple of times, pads forward, and then makes a low hissing noise before scuttling off. willow watches her go and then looks down, anywhere but at him, to pick up the shovel. 

she checks her watch. "he won't be home for a few hours, bo." now, with roman at the forefront of her mind, her gaze hardens. she shoulders the shovel. "you can stay and say your piece, but i want you gone before he's back."

you will not tear down this garden i have built. you will not raze this earth and leave again. 

boruta maher

☉

she was really pretty, even covered in dirt and with her hair in this weird bun thing. he stared, enchanted, but hating every second of the suspense before she looked up—sort of. she wouldn’t actually meet his eyes, so his own eventually fell instead to the glameow at her feet.

gretchen.

he almost reached out to invite her over, but her hiss soon made him think better of it.

he hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but there still hadn’t been any preparing for the feelings he found escalating within him. there was no telling how this was going to go, but he could only imagine bad things. his head hung a little on tense shoulders.

say your piece.

what was it again?

“okay.” he gave an affirmative nod.

“sorry for just uh… showing up.” a hand absentmindedly left his pocket and went up to scratch the back of his head when he found it ran suddenly empty. fuck. he kicked himself, but his nerves constrained him.

“plants looks nice.”

stupid. try again.

“sorry. i didn’t mean to come here and compliment you on your garden.”

say your piece.

“i think about you all the time. and roman. i always have.” it was the first time he’d said his name out loud in so long. it triggered something behind his eyes. “i fucked up. i’m not here to ask you to forgive me or try to weasel my way back in or anything.” he shifted in his shoes the tiniest bit. “actually, i just got a new job and wanted to bring you some money.”

“and, you know, tell you i’m really sorry, will. for everything.”

fuck, that sure didn’t sound like enough.

willow atkins

☉

she doesn't expect him to get it all out at once. yes, she's run this moment over in her head a hundred and one times. mostly it ended anticlimactically, with the last loose end tied and the rest of her future waiting for her. some release. but there are times, at her lowest, loneliest points, where she thinks of him as he was - young and sweet and full of dreams for the two of them, as foolish as he'd sounded then (as foolish as she had been to believe him). 

her shovel bears her weight as she leans against it and listens to him bumble. at the mention of her plants, she peers at the greenhouse walls. what grass-types hadn't been planted have their faces pressed curiously to the wall. 

it's sweet, really. heartbreakingly so. but he can't break her more than he already has. but indignance, she can feel. indignance has heat pooling in her cheeks. that after all this time, he's come here to give her money. 

are you here because he's gone? 

her face twists and so does her heel as she turns around on him. she shoves the spade into the earth and kicks with her heel; one of the gloom makes an aggravated sound as it's jostled. and all at once her fury calms. her movements are slower, more deliberate, as she worms the spade around to carefully uproot the pokemon.

"we don't need your money. and i don't care that you're sorry. it's been eight years, bo. eight. years. you and i, we were a lifetime ago." she stands up, wipes her brow, finally looks at him - really looks at him. 

"we both know you fucked up. maybe i never forgave you, maybe i can't forgive you, but i've let it go. i've made my peace. and roman? say and do whatever you want to me, but i will not let you come crashing into his life only to leave."

her eyes are cold. "you will not hurt my son. so if all you wanted was to come and give us money, then go."

boruta maher

☉

he cut the edge of his nerves by distracting himself over her work, watching as she loosened the earth and the gloom resting there.

the words hit like stingers, but he took them without interrupting. when she finally did look up at him, her eyes caught him off-guard. the rest of the words ran together in a way.

never. i can’t. let it go. leave.

money was the best start, he’d figured. something tangible—not just words left for them to decide whether or not to trust. it hadn’t occurred to him until after speaking that it might’ve only seemed like another cop-out. or, maybe she was too proud. both were fair enough.

“it’s not all i wanted. just figured it might be a start. i have a lot more to say, i swear.”

he paused to look at her. the coldness in her eyes was unfamiliar, and he absorbed it with regret and a nod.

careful not to step on anything, his gaze lowered when he tentatively entered further into the greenhouse, sighing, “damn, seein’ you is something else...” but he cleared his throat and shook his head, because that wasn’t the quite right tone or direction either.

“i’m not here to crash into anything. i don’t think you need anything from me, and i’ll stay as far away as you want me to—but i can’t just not try anymore.” a shrug. “i want to be around; as an option. support. whatever i can do; whatever you’ll let me.”

he bit his lip lightly a moment. “i want to quit bein’ a fuck up.”

willow atkins

☉

i have a lot more to say, i swear. she wants to know. she wants to pick apart his brain and ask him why he's never come to her before, why he's coming here now. eight years has made her wary, has made her put up walls. but giving roman a father is the only reason she won't shoo bo away from her garden. 

still, he's a stranger. a lot can change in a few short years.

she lets him talk, lets him get it out, and then sighs. "as long as it's on my terms." she shoves the spade into the earth again with another crunching sound. "because i don't trust you. and until i can, i don't want roman knowing who you are."

she wiggles the shovel. one of the gloom finally pop free. drool dribbles down its front as it takes a few tentative steps forward; roots trail at its ankles and willow nudges it with her foot while still holding the shovel and trying to dig out the rest. 

then she pauses and closes a bit of that distance between herself and bo and holds the shovel out to him. 

"you'll come tend the plants with me at least five days a week. you'll leave before roman gets home. you'll prove to me that you're not going to run away again. and you're - oh, stop that!" she pushes the shovel into bo so she can turn and stop the gloom back burrowing its way back into the earth. 

damn, seein' you is something else... she shakes her head and purses her lips, annoyed that of all the things he'd said, that's what's floating about in her mind. 

"be gentle. go in at a curve and a few inches away from their base so you don't pierce the roots. i'll herd them."

boruta maher

☉

as long as it’s on my terms.

the words took a thousand pounds off his spirit. hope. he hadn’t been expecting her to allow him in; to give him a chance. suddenly, he found himself back in her life, at least—and that was something. a big something.

not trusting him was more than fair. he nodded, though the thought of roman not knowing him was a painful one. it was time to face the truth of what he’d done and what he’d left behind.

it was that little ’until’ that summoned the light in his heart.

“i understand. whatever you want, will.”

he watched her continue her work, edges of his lips curling both at his opportunity, and at the gloom that popped from the ground thanks to her efforts. his eyebrows raised a hair as she began to lay down the details of his new job, but his smile didn’t fade. fortunately, his work only had him out on early mornings on a typical day, and his afternoons were free. it would give him a few hours before the school day ended.

“i’ll be here. five days a week,” he confirmed with another nod. no excuses; rain or shine.

he felt his smile well into his cheeks at her frustration, unable to keep from chuckling at the difficulty the gloom was giving her. his amusement was cut off, however, when the shovel was pushed into his hand, as he suddenly realized he’d have no idea what he was doing, and that there were mistakes to be made.

“oh. we’re starting now.”

that was fine. great, even.

“okay. uh…”

the spade broke the ground maybe too gently, and he attempted to follow her instruction. scared to harm anything, he worked from an odd angle at a gruelingly slow pace.

“like this?”

willow atkins

☉

maybe he really does mean it. but she must hold fast, keep her resolve close to her, because he hasn't given anything yet. not really. he may stay however long she needs him and even then, he still might walk away after meeting roman. and if not after meeting him, then after realizing it's not going to be easy. in fact, it's going to be real. fucking. hard. 

because i've done all i can, but i couldn't do enough, and he's so angry all the time, bo. and i don't understand it. she holds her breath and doesn't say this because it's shameful. she doesn't want him to meet roman because, ultimately, she fears he will leave him - and while that's true, part of her is terrified he'll see all of roman's cracks and flaws and think you could have done better. 

"yes," she says, "we're starting now." the gloom she'd corralled with her foot springs free and bounces over bo's shovel. willow skirts around and catches it gracefully, hands still gloved. she flattens her palms against its bulbous petals, gloved hands protecting her from poisons should it try to irritate her. 

but after a bit of coaxing, it settles down and plops onto its butt. willow sprinkles some dirt on it to keep it occupied, looking over it to watch bo work with a frown. 

he sinks the spade maybe an inch into the ground. she raises a brow, but it's not really at his work. it's at whatever the fuck he's done to his hands. 

"does that say...death?"

boruta maher

☉

he did mean it. something had clicked; that one family couldn’t be more important than the other; that roman and willow meant just as much to him; that there would be no more fresh blood on his hands. things had been all wrong. getting older had finally removed the veil of all-knowingness he’d seen his father through. hindsight was near-20/20, and fuck was it devastating.

it would perhaps never occur to him to make any criticism of her at all, and it wasn’t only because she’d been there 3,256 days more than he had (so far).

the look on her face told him no, he wasn’t doing it right. then, the reason for it made him immediately retract the hand in question off the shovel, but there was no hiding it now.

“yeah,” he admitted reluctantly.

what was the excuse?

“i was uh… drunk.” technically not untrue. “sorry. it’s really embarrassing. i’m gonna do something about it.”

two years would pass and he still would not have done anything about it. it would become a dumb fact about him, typically unmentioned.

fairly quickly, he clarified, “i don’t usually drink, by the way.” he never had, when they’d been a young item, not even when other kids had started. despite the friends he’d kept in school, bo had been a little-known straight shooter. good grades, no drugs, half a beer at the parties he’d found himself at. bo had always been the one too busy looking out for others.

until the most important moment of his life. what a slip.

willow atkins

☉

"mm, you sure? makes you look quite intimidating." sarcasm drips from her mouth. there are startling ways that he's changed, yes, and surely she will lose herself when he's gone, and after roman's gone to bed. she'll curl up and shed her tears and in the morning she will be all the stronger for it.

but now, looking at his hands the way they are, it's easy not to think about the ones who used to hold her. besides, roman will probably be impressed, if anything, and she's not sure whether or not that pisses her off. 

her gaze softens a bit when he adds i don't usually drink, by the way, and she wants to say that he doesn't have to do this, but he does and they do, because she doesn't know him. 

i don't know him i don't know him i don't know him. 

she chases the familiarity away, the nostalgia of the ease that comes with talking to him. but not entirely. because she gives him something in return, even though this isn't how it's supposed to work. 

"i like to end my work days with a couple of ciders. a client brought me some a few years ago from their brewery as thanks and i was hooked."

she eyes the immobile shovel. "you need me to show you again?'

boruta maher

☉

that’d been the point, of course. briefly, bo’s eyes lowered to the ground with regret, but he willed himself not to frown. this was good. he’d take whatever he could get. the smallest chuckle still sounded wounded.

he was relieved at her response about the ciders, and it’d be clear in his enthusiasm and the way his eyes lit up.

“yeah, i’ve tried one of those before. they’re not bad.”

“i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, by the way. i was just sayin’… didn’t want you think i have a problem or whatever.”

he blew air in a way that was fed up with himself and wished he could find better words. his bright gold gaze fell over her, to her own hand, wondering if he might see a ring there. when there was none, a feeling washed over him.

she broke through and willed his attention back to work.

“uh… yeah. sorry.”

he looked down at the shovel and the gloom still there in the ground, really hoping he didn’t mess anything up.

“please.”

willow atkins

☉

regret. guilt. things she'd never thought she'd get to see pictured on his face. not in this lifetime, at least. as hard as it's going to be later (when it really hits her), he's come back to her as best he could. what better way is there, when you've abandoned someone for eight years?

"i appreciate the sentiment," she says and delicately extracts the shovel from him. "but you ought to relax some. the gloom can sense your nervousness. and you're not going to like it when they decide to do something about it." her nose scrunches at the thought. she turns, avoiding stepping too close in his personal bubble, and suddenly she feels clumsy. awkward. out of her element. 

her hands slip on the shovel and she makes a noise in the back of her throat. her hair unspools from more of her bun as she jerks the shovel into the ground and she's thankful for the curtain that hides some of the tint on her cheeks. 

"they're still young and they haven't been ingrained for very long. their roots shouldn't be more than five inches. so measure that and then," she instructs, kicking her heel against the spade and burying it in the earth. she presses down and draws up dirt. one of the gloom topples and shakes free. 

"see? easy." she holds the shovel back out. "and if you cut a root, it's not the end of the world. they'll grow back just fine." her eyes soften as she looks upon the patch. "they're resilient creatures."

boruta maher

☉