at first, hearing his words, she thinks he doesn't get it. the surface is still there, frost blanketing flowers in a veil of white. but his cadence is soft and it's warm and she realizes this is the first sign of spring, sunlight cracking ice and color leaking through. 

the guitar is still between them. how far they've come since the first time he heard her play.

"bo," she says softly, still waiting. the words are easy now. "i meant what i said tonight; i'm trying to be more honest with my feelings."

she bites her lip. "i told myself this isn't what i wanted... and i thought i was protecting roman. and maybe at first i was, but not anymore. not for the past few years. 

"i got a little lost. i was scared." she plucks at the strings. "but i'm not scared anymore. well, actually," she says with a breathy laugh, shoulders shaking, "i'm worried i'm not saying any of this right... would you kiss me, if i asked? if i told you that's what would make me happy?"

boruta maher

☉

his knuckles still say death. those hands of his he'd hid from her that first day coming back into her life. she'd laughed it off with a guarded heart, curious but cautious. scared but steady. now she's struggling to know which way is up and where they're going - as intimate as this is, the two of them in here, there's a whole world outside. 

it's going to wake up. they're going to have to face it again.

she'd made a decision when she missed that turn. he doesn't know it yet. hell, she doesn't know it yet. she's still struggling her way through this, grappling with her guilt and the weight of bo's own; as he turns inward, so does she.

why can't she ask him? tell him?

i have. the words have always choked at the back of her throat. but she's pressed it into dried petals and tucked it in her hair and strummed it when -

she takes the bottle from his hands and screws the lid back on, nudges it away as she draws herself closer. but only for a moment. only long enough to touch her fingers to his chin and look down at him with a tremble in her lips.

her face is warm with the whiskey blanket. it's easy now, to see why she can't say everything. it's all blocked up, jumbled together from years and years of silence. so she stretches back; wood clunks with a dull echo as she draws the guitar into her lap. 

as her shaking fingers find the starting chords, she exhales. liquid courage brings her over the first hurdle and once she starts strumming, it's easier to focus. green eyes stare intently, willing clumsier than usual fingers to stroke with the muscle memory that's worked its way through her wrists the past few weeks.

"well, you and i have been through this about a hundred times before - " 

her voice is wavers, unsure, but her hands have practiced this enough. she leans into the guitar, eyes half-lidded, going back to the car. he hadn't - couldn't stand to listen to it then, a song about the two of them another lifetime ago. and that's okay. she doesn't want the past. 

"i’ll live savage and free and reckless and wild - "

she learned to live, and to love, without him. and if, after she puts her heart out on the line for him, he can't take it, she'll be okay. her lips tilt, wavering voice growing with her confidence. 

"i will never let you down, if you don't ever let me go. i know you want to give me space, so I have some time to grow"

it's with this confidence, finally, that she can look up at him through her lashes. her fingers catch, scraping the strings, and she winces through a smile: 

"well, this poison in my blood its seeping deep down to my veins, racing straight to my heart, causing pain that will remain - "

but he has to forgive himself. they're tangled up in their pain - in ghosts of empty promises, haunted by the life he fears he'll never have. she will feel that pain, always, but it would hurt more if he wasn't there to share the burden. 

"but this red string in my hand, a spell i must've cast, i know will follow back to you in our story that will last ~ "

her fingers slow and the last notes peter out. worrying at her lip, heart thudding, she opens green eyes she hadn't really realized were closed and looks up. 

boruta maher
<3

☉

"penny? penelope livy. she's dating your brother." her brows furrow. does he not know penny? "but that's not - i saw her tonight. at another bar. she said..." that i lead you on. and ollie. and lance. and the words dry up in her mouth because she can't explain all that without explaining herself and she can't explain herself because it's bullshit. 

all of it's bullshit and here's bo, apologizing again after she left him. 

and she hears penny, drunkenly slurring, of course i stood by him. there was no way in hell i wouldn't.

will frowns. she reaches for the moonshine again and unscrews the top, takes a slightly bigger swig than she had before. enough to make her think clearly. enough, hopefully, for her to say things right.

"bo," she says seriously, "every time you've hit someone first, it's because they deserved it." how many times has she patched up his own bloodied nose after he'd stood up for someone else?

boruta maher

☉

it burrows deep in her and finally, thankfully, she feels herself loosening up just a bit. it hits her harder and faster than her ciders, that's for sure, and it's why she doesn't reach for the bottle again. just watches bo's thumb press against one of her dad's last notes to her. 

not to bo because he's right; he probably is rolling in his grave, knowing one last piece of himself is going to the man who shattered his daughter's life. but will doesn't know about the other note, the letter with their return address on it - a reconciliation, a plea to return to them as family. 

her hands linger protectively over the bottle, tipping it to the side, but she doesn't move her gaze away from bo's face.

as he speaks, that anxious knot shifts into dread and then anger. her long bangs slip free of the tie, wavering against her cheek. "stupid." how could she be so such an "idiot."

there come her dumb tears, the ones that show up when she's really, finally angry.

"i knew it. i knew something wasn't right. he wouldn't tell me all of it and still i didn't push him. i just...i just left you there." bitterly, wiping angrily at her eyes, she mutters, "maybe penny is right about me after all."

boruta maher

☉

in response, she unscrews the lid and presses the rim of it to her lips. one taste and bo's unasked question is answered - no, roman hasn't found her secret stash yet. the clear whiskey goes down sharp and volatile down her throat, leaving her with a twisted grimace and a dry cough when she sets the bottle back down. 

she screws the lid back on and then offers it to bo.

"dad's own," she says hoarsely. warmth spreads through her veins, blanketing the nape of her neck. "it's the only reason he grew corn every year."

swaying rows of it just outside the perimeter of the flowers. he'd dreamed of the bee boxes, of making something special with honey and time, but even he hadn't had enough of the latter. turns out helping your seventeen-year old daughter raise a kid kept you busy. 

she nudges the other sitting pillow with her foot and looks up at him. "you don't need to drink, but you do need to talk. please."

boruta maher

☉

here are their faults -

he has never understood her language and she has never been a very good teacher. how many times has she wrapped bundles of flowers expressing her love and her wanting and her hope, only to have them ignorantly looked over, met with a smile drawn only from skimming her surface.

she makes dust from gold, tucking what he gives her away and not giving enough in return. skittish like the stantler he'd brought her, terrified of the rug ripped out from under her and blaming all the rest of the world when chances past her by. 

she takes a breath. "bo, you still haven't asked me what would make me happy."

her nose scrunches at his apology, shoulders shrinking. "that's it. i need a drink. and then i'm hearing from you why you punched him in the face." she reaches for the door and cracks it open. the cold wind greets her face, sending a flush to her cheeks.

the ground is still a little slippery, but not so much she's worried about bo's ability to walk the ten steps up to the shed. she knows he'll follow, so she walks up the steps and turns on the interior lighting. 

then she squats down and grabs a box beside her guitar stand and some loose leaflets of sheet paper. from inside, she withdraws a glass bottle of clear liquid. samuel's scrawl is visible in sharpie on the side. she cradles it close to her chest and sits cross-legged on a pillow on the floor.

boruta maher

☉

she is callous and she is cruel, dragging him along like this. it's wrong of her to miss the exit. she should turn around and do the proper thing and keep her distance and pretend that this is okay. she should give him less of herself and splinter the bridge between them; eventually a river will make its way through. time will corrode the rest of the scars. 

you don't hurt me.

her breath catches. she bites her lip hard. eyes widen slightly in disbelief, going glassy. she blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the road. it's hard and then it's impossible. the car bumps as they hit the curb and she swears, swerving back onto the vacant road. 

"but that's just it. you can't go back and change things. you can't change what you did or how i felt and i just...i see it on your face every time you look at me. all your regrets and your pain. even if you say it's not my fault, it's still there."

is love supposed to hurt like this? third to fourth, fourth to fifth, the little car rocking with each shift. she blinks away the rest of the almost-tears and just focuses on getting them home. none of this matters if they end up dead in a ditch somewhere. 

and finally, finally, they pull up to her driveway. she drives off the gravel and onto the grass, carefully as she takes them close to her shed. the engine dies. she drops the keys in her lap, leans back in her seat, and turns her head to look at him. then down at her hands. 

"and what if it doesn't go away? what if it doesn't stop hurting?"

boruta maher

☉

how wholly unfair it is for him to bleed like this. he fumbles, drunk and clumsy, and she jerks her chin forward, lower lip jutted out and quivering. with ollie gone, the awful, painful silence between them, and fresh pain resurfaced, all she can think about is what PENELOPE LIVY said to her. 

you always did love forcing people to feel dependent on you.

what would you know about a healthy relationship?

...so you still have him on the hook?

she's forgiven him. she's given him her life and her son and she's welcomed him back and is it so cruel to ask him of this? for a small moment of joy? to pretend like -

the sign to turn to rustboro flashes in the headlights and there is a scowl on her face as she misses it, knuckles white as she keeps the car moving straight. her right hand jerks to third gear as the road turns into a winding incline. 

"i don't mean to hurt you, bo."

willow atkins

☉

will casts him a worried glance, but doesn't comment on it any further. instead, she shifts the car back into first and pulls away from the hotel. she goes slow at first, slow enough to watch ollie's shape make it through the lobby and, convinced he'd managed to make it back to his room, she focuses solely on getting them home. 

rustboro's a decent ways away, but the roads are more consistent. the way to fallarbor is snakelike and bumpy. she doesn't interrupt his quiet. the air is different. more stale. colder without ollie between them. 

so she turns the music up without thinking. it's a new cd, burned since she borrowed grace's car, and she'd thrown on twenty of her most recently played songs. so she startles when this one comes on. 

memories come flooding back in of the two of them in a car much like this one, heads tossed back while they sang their hearts out like only teenagers can. and it hurts, of course, but not as much as it feels good in its nostalgia. and this is plain to see - in her smile, her eyes, her arched brow as she waits, hopeful to shake him out of his melancholy. 

boruta maher
music

☉

it's as natural as breathing, really, ollie leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek. she smiles warmly at him, chuckling as he gives the same heartfelt good-bye to bo. it's dark enough that willow doesn't see the blush crawl over bo's face, but she sees the awkward slump of his shoulders. 

"don't be so dramatic," she chides. "besides, i was already going to ask if you wanted to move up here." as she's talking, she's leaning back over to the passenger seat and pulling the latch on the bottom of it. the seat slides back as far as it can, able to now that ollie's no longer in the car. 

while he rearranges, she fiddles with the heat some more. "you warm enough? feel okay?"

boruta maher ollie morales

☉

bo deflates and willow instantly feels terrible about snapping. she doesn't even know why, really. things have been strained - well, they've been good. they've been okay. they've been fine with lance. it's an awkward situation, surely but she can't fathom his short fuse when it comes to him. 

her jaw tightens when he drops a nonchalant threat. her fingers tap nervously on the shift, on the steering wheel, and she thinks back to that night.

he keeps talking. her expression softens. she shouldn't take too much of the drunken babble to heart, especially with bo looking so...sad. 

"ollie, i don't think you can take much more partying. you still have to wake up pretty early." she chuckles. "can't wait for those texts tomorrow morning..."

the car noses up onto the hotel's side street. she takes it slow around the little circle by the entrance and throws it in park so she can twist around in her seat. 

"go on and get some sleep, captain morales. we'll all have a sleepover next time," she promises with a smile.

ollie morales boruta maher

☉

it's soft music anyhow. the lazy strokes and plucking of guitars, the gentle voice of lucy rose. she hums along and finds herself smiling at ollie's good-natured, if ridiculous, invitation. no, that sounds like a recipe for disaster. well, not really. ollie looks sleepy as all hell and will's fairly certain as soon as he gets to the hotel, he's going to pass out. 

leaving her awake and by herself, kicking herself for spending the night away from her plants and her pokemon and her family. 

"maybe next time, ols. i gotta - what? no, i did not kick him out. and neither did lance." she glowers at bo in the rearview. lance was fine with it. well, he wasn't around much to protest anyway. "ollie just got better is all.

"ols knows i wouldn't let him out of my sight if i still thought he was being dumb about his health." gaze drops back to the road, and then kindly up to ollie, and then back again. she purses her lips and shakes her head, turning the music up just a spell. 

boruta maher ollie morales
music

☉

bo's reaction does not spark much confidence, but they're two fully grown men. they can handle their liquor. as slurry as their words are, it's not bad enough that they're gibberish. still, as she gets the car started and waits for it to heat up, she leans over to the passenger seat. her small frame has to bend pretty far so she can blindly pat around on the floor, but eventually she finds her water bottle. 

"it's only half full so don't be greedy," she says as she hands it back to them.

"bo's lap is still technically in grace's car." she thrusts her hands in front of one of the heaters and shivers as the hot air chases away her chills. blue-green eyes flicker up to the rearview and watch the two boys in the backseat. 

she drops a hand onto the gear shift and pulls out, wary of some of the other folks on the road (who absolutely shouldn't be). when her hands aren't gripping the wheel as tightly, she fishes around in the car's console for one of her cd's and pops it in, setting the music low enough that ollie and bo can talk if they want. 

"we're dropping ollie off first 'cause he's closer," she reminds them. "you're only about fifteen minutes away, ols."

boruta maher ollie morales

☉