she was young, yes, but roman never asked for that. roman never got a choice. if she'd been stronger, even if it was just a little bit, maybe she could have spared him some pain. maybe she could have at least seen it. that's the worst part about it. she'd seen his anger manifesting, but she'd never looked deeper. 

only donned those rose-tinted glasses and thought all would be alright. but a flower bed needs cultivating, needs maintenance, and weeds are pesky little things that come crawling in if you're not careful. 

she finally looks at him and he's reaching for her and she wants it so badly and so she takes it, slumping into him and gritting her teeth as tears flow freely. she turns her face into his neck and she feels so ridiculous and stupid and relieved. 

"what if he hurts someone, bo? really hurts someone? i'll never forgive myself."

boruta maher

☉

she took him up on his offer for comfort, and he felt a small wave of relief for it. her tears fell, and as much as he hated seeing her in pain, he couldn’t help but feel like they were getting somewhere as family in such a moment.

so, he would do his best to console her in whatever way he could. for her, for roman.

but the concern was real. he shared it. what if? roman had hurt someone. what willow was talking about, he figured, was murder. it scared the fuck out of him. for now, though, how could he be anything apart from reassuring? problem-solving?

he sighed into her hair, holding her tighter, and allowing her to drown his shoulder with her pain.

”we should get him into sports, or something,” he suggested. and it might’ve seemed counterintuitive on the surface, but, ”like boxing, maybe. something like that.”

willow atkins

☉

really hurts someone. that's the length of what she can go to with that thought. because the idea that roman could take it a step further, could...no, she can't even fathom it. but her stomach feels sick and she can't stop crying and being this close to bo is as confusing as it is comforting.

she sucks in a breath and thinks, where did it all go wrong? even though she knows. even though she knows it was the moment bo turned his back on her. every day that passed and he didn't come back and every minute she wasn't strong enough to do it on her own. 

but he squeezes her just a little tighter and it's been a good, long while since someone she's cared about has held her so closely. she sniffles, tears not drying, but stoppering, for the moment. 

and then she laughs into his neck. after a beat, she withdraws, raises a hand to wipe her cheeks. "boxing? so he can learn to properly beat the hell out of people?" she sniffs again and shakes her head. "and here i was throwing him in the pen with the tauros. i don't know which he'll hate, or enjoy more."

she looks up at him, touches his cheek. "he looks up to you, you know." we both do. 

boruta maher

☉

the squeeze, and her laugh against his neck only made him hold her tighter. it was more than a mere comforting embrace. it was loving, gripping, as though he didn’t want to let go. as though he would never let her go again.

he wanted to reach up and brush her tears away when she pulled from him, but he figured he shouldn’t. it would be too soft, too much… like the past, for he had never run from her, except in the end—surely when it had very much mattered the most.

his smile returned, if only to encourage her own. so he could beat people up properly? ”yeah,” he responded, his tone lightened with humor. then, he faltered. ”wait, you’re throwing him in with the tauros?”

he chuckled, because surely, she was joking. right?

right?

she reached up and touched his face then, and it was nothing short of wonderful. he froze briefly, unsure of how he was supposed to react.

’he looks up to you.’

bo knew in his heart, in his soul, that he was hardly the example he wanted for his son.

but how could he tell her that? how could he sputter and profess his insecurities, when he had not been strong enough for them for so long?

”will…”

he couldn’t find any more words, and despite all warnings in his head not to, he tentatively leaned in towards her face, drawing closer than he had been in over ten years. was this the wrong move? probably. but if nothing stopped him, his lips would seek hers.

willow atkins

☉

all he's done is good. and she thinks, for a brief moment, that maybe she's made a mistake. when here's a man (because that's what he is now) beside her, who's waited for her, who's been so patient and loving and kind. he's spent the past couple of years trying to right every wrong he's ever done and she loves him for it.

but they can't turn back time and all the forgiveness in the world still can't soothe the scars he'd left on her heart. 

she's caught in this moment of indecision, of trying to sort right from wrong and all the things she's feeling. she's frozen as bo comes nearer, as bo's lips ghost hers and then it's almost like she's waking up. the scars are freshly opened wounds, rubbed with salt, because this is wrong.

she'd made herself vulnerable to him. and in her moment of weakness, he'd thought that the best time to make his move. 

so, angrily, she shoves him away with a scowl. she scrambles back and all the sudden movements make the stantler wake with a start. she trips over her blankets and into willow's lap, hoarse baying coming from her throat.

willow's still a stranger, still unfamiliar, so she bucks. pointed hooves dig into the skin of willow's arm, leaving a ribbon of red. she sucks in a breath, wraps her arms around the stantler all the same in an attempt to wrangle her, but the smell of blood only startles her more. 

"lavender," she calls. and the venomoth is there with a flutter, beating her wings gently as she shakes spores from her body. the sleep powder lulls the stantler back down and willow releases her, gathers the blanket and stands, lip quivering. 

lavender. she shakily crosses to her workbench for a clean hand towel, presses it to her arm, and then grabs scissors. she goes to her herb pots and finds the purple stalks, cuts one swiftly, and then returns to bo. 

she takes his hand, and she presses the flower into it, and it pains her because after all this time, he still doesn't know. but she does. her tears, her aches, her sadness - all of it is bottled back up. he will not see her cry again. 

"i want you to leave."

boruta maher

☉

wrong move. duh.

he was shoved back sharply, and despite his size, it knocked a lot out of him.


”fuck, will. i’m sorry…”

and the stantler brayed and bucked—“shit.”—and willow was left bleeding.

this was a lot, all in an instant, and it had been his fault. he knew this, but his concern overrode it, and suddenly he was looping, reaching out again. ”shit, are you okay?”

he stopped short, realizing that contact from him was probably the last thing she wanted at that moment. after she'd crossed to her bench, he stood himself, but remained there.

panic. he wasn’t sure what had possessed him to do it. he saw years of patiently hoping and waiting go up in smoke. maybe it had never been meant to be again, anyways, but never making a move had left it open-ended—at least, from his silent perspective.

now, he had made his move at a very terrible and inappropriate time, and perhaps if there had ever been any hope to begin with, he figured now there most certainly wasn’t.

”i’m sorry,” he repeated, at a loss for what else to say, except after a moment, ”that was really dumb.”

and then, she was calling lavender. what did the lavender mean? what did any of this stuff ever mean? maybe he should have asked her before.

overwhelmed and a little wide-eyed, he looked at it when she pressed it into his hand, and then back up to her. he was wracking his brain… lavender was like, calming, right? no, that couldn’t be it…

her words to leave were deflating, but he didn’t blame her.

”yeah, okay. that’s fair,” he said with a nod. his eyes went to the small baby on the ground. ”uh… is she okay here? i wanted to help. i didn’t mean to just dump her on you, y’know?”

willow atkins

☉

this is what he does. he splashes about and he acts and he does these things without understanding their consequences. and they're so different, the two of them, because she's thought about that very moment, where their lips touched, a dozen and one times, but she'd had the sense to know that it's wrong. that it can - and will - do more harm than good. 

why, why, did he have to muck it all up again? because at the end of the day, she's the one that has to act. she's the one who has to decide, to set the rules, to pray he follows them. 

the hand towel is red now, but the cut was shallow. when she removes it to look at the damage, she's relieved to see it's pretty much already cauterized. still, she flinches away from bo's touch and looks down at the stantler. 

she'll have to scrub the blood before the gal wakes again. 

"i told you," she says. some of her pokemon have waddled and strutted and fluttered nearer to her, watching bo warily. she doesn't notice. "this can't happen. whatever feelings we have - we had - are over with. i'm seeing someone else. and this is what's best for roman."

she sighs. and suddenly she's exhausted and all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep the rest of the day away, but she can't. so she won't. "i know you meant well. with her."

boruta maher

☉

it was a sickening feeling, to finally be faced with the reality check he knew had been headed his way. the dates, the distance… she was no longer going on dates. she was seeing someone.

and this was what was best for roman.

his mouth ran dry and he stared for a long moment, unable to form appropriate or coherent words in at this particular defeat.

fuck.

he hung his head, but eventually nodded, resigning painfully to the fact that this was the way things were going to go, and despite his best efforts, his opportunity had been long gone.

although it was nearly drowned out by the obvious kick to the chest, there was a tiny slip of words that he’d remember later, that might give him the smallest glimmer of hope. maybe he hung on to the wrong things, sometimes.

whatever feelings we have.

his attention dropped to the stantler once more.

”so what do you want to do about her. you want to me to take her?”

willow atkins

☉

she has too much on her plate to worry about him. she has too much on her plate to care about him. there's too much history. there's too much something there. she needs a fresh start. they need a fresh start. and lance is just that for her. and maybe she should tell him this, all these words in her head, but she doesn't trust herself to say them right. 

and she doesn't want to hurt him more than she already has. even though she's the one with the gash on her arm and the unwanted kiss still warm on her lips.

"no," she says. "she'll be better off with me." and she doesn't mean for it to sound so cold, or callous, but her brows are knit with frustration and her face is long with her exhaustion. she could have nodded off, really, sitting next to bo like she had, if he hadn't gone and messed it all up. 

"i'll set her up proper. she'll have everything she'll need. 'sides, i know you're busy with your ranger work. i can handle it," she says firmly, standing a little straighter.

boruta maher

☉

he hadn’t expected these words to hit him as hard or at the angle that they did. his brow scrunched, because he couldn’t help but see some historical implication in them. it sat in his stomach. he did his best not to look more emotional than he felt, not quite meeting her eyes.

the vague, heavy feeling that he was repeating himself in some way throbbed painfully in his chest, but he didn’t have much of a choice this time.

he wasn’t sure what to say. he wondered how this might affect his time with Roman Maher . ultimately, he swallowed and shrugged. ”okay.”

his eyes finally went to her directly. ”i really am sorry, will. and i’ll always make time.”

pressing a small smile, he then gave one last glance to the stantler baby before making his way out of the greenhouse and towards the road.

willow atkins

☉