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

☉

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

☉

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 falls into the movement/moment/step. the kitchen is cozy; it still smells like blackberries and sugar. and she's at ease here, even though her skin is tingling where he's touching her and she feels magnetized almost, drawing closer when he allows. their hips brush, chest to chest, and it steals her breath. 

and then he releases her. one hand twirls back, the laced fingers of their other stretch. she comes back to him with a smile on her face, still a little breathless, as the song peters off and leaves them in the scant seconds of silence before the next one begins. 

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

he's relaxed, just like her, and the change in him is a little insignificant, but it's there. she can't be strong enough for roman and she's certainly not strong enough for bo, not when he's around her and the world isn't right and all her failings are stark against the backdrop of her hobbies and her passions and her loves. 

it's why she chases someone else. still trying to run with one foot in the marsh. 

she shakes her head because it's been two years since he first walked up into their lives and damn if he hasn't tried every single day. 

"you weren't here," she says and wipes her eyes. "and i don't say that to remind you of that. i say it because you hurt him one way, bo. and how many times have i failed? i haven't had enough hours in the day since he was born and a lot of the times, i chose myself instead of him." 

she looks away. "i was selfish. in a way, i left too. at least when you're here now, you're here."

the roughness in her voice stirs the stantler and so she quits her talking. instead her shoulders hunch and she chews the inside of her lip. 

boruta maher  Roman Maher

☉

"i'm afraid i won't have time for more unless i get that assistant i mentioned." she's afraid greyson doesn't understand what a full-blown enterprise would entail. she's already running two businesses now and the honey was meant to be a side project, not a thing of itself. she has the space for more hives, but they'll need people if they want consistent harvesting, bottling, and selling. 

"but we'll worry about that down the road. first let's get 'em started." she takes a bite of her dessert and offers the other plate to greyson. 

"d'you wanna see the greenhouse? stretch your legs a bit?" her own are feeling a bit cramped from kneeling down and putting wood together for so long.

Greyson Connors

☉

her regulars come and go and willow has to apologize over and over again because she doesn't have time to chat. and she hates that she doesn't. because she loves these people; they've been through thick and thin together. and because they support her family. they look out for each other. it's because of this, too, that they understand graciously and can move along with smiles, but she can't fathom that much right now. 

all she can do is keep her head down and her back turned while elisabet exchanges flowers for money.

once, a client requests after their pokemon. she glances over at ophelia, who seems lost in her work, and leaves the shop to gather up the sleeping skiploom. the pokemon's still dozing by the time willow comes back through the door. 

"she'll be resting more this time of year, but don't worry. she's on track to evolve this coming spring."

with that settled, and another pickup not for another two hours, and the rush dying down, willow finally has a moment to breathe. 

by the time she approaches, ophelia has just finished her fourth bouquet. the last two are marvels. the first, not so much. so willow tidies them quickly and finishes the sixth while ophelia works on the fifth. 

after handing the bundle to elisabet to store them in the cooler with some water, she grabs herself and ophelia a couple of refreshments. 

"sorry about that. i'm not usually this disorganized, though it feels like it more often. that's kind of why you're here." she laughs. "you can just call me willow. thanks for your help there."

Ophelia Reyes

☉

and she takes it, grinning all the while, chasing this feeling that's new and exciting and a little bit rusty/rough around the edges. her fingers are still a little soapy, but the song demands their attention, and so she steps towards him, and then away, laughing, giggling as she does. 

"you're not so bad at this," she says. the kitchen is a little cramped, too much so for them to really move, but she doesn't mind. she doesn't mind the way it brings them a little closer together. 

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

she thinks of all the things she'll need to take care of this baby and the stress works its way under her skin. but it passes through her and comes out her fingertips just as quickly, as she gently caresses the side of the stantler's face and coaxes her deeper into sleep.

when she's awake and hungry and no longer too exhausted to be scared, willow will have a time with her, but for now there's nothing but peace. 

and she's grateful for it, for this marvel of new life shared between them. because he wasn't there for her when her father passed. because she never expected him to be, not then, but gods, she'd wished he was. and maybe it's the same for him. 

so it's nearly a decade too late, but there's still healing to be done, so she gets comfortable by his side and tentatively leans against him. it's the closest she's been to him in years. and she hates that it feels so natural.

"maybe i heard her say it once," she mumbles. "thinking of them, it - it makes me happy you're here. i'm sorry things have been so difficult. with roman. i..." she swallows, jaw going tight as she tries (and fails) to fight off tears. 

"i don't know what to do, bo. what i did wrong to make him..." 

boruta maher  Roman Maher

☉

"oh, you can count on it," she says. she's never had the natural talent her father always had, but years of work have certainly paid off. his patience helped too. so one day, and hopefully in the near future, she'll sit down with lance, maybe touch their knees together, and she'll strum him a little tune. 

she laughs blissfully, grows a little bold and bumps her hip into lance's. "come on. this song has too much umph to stand around like this."

LANCE VOLLANS

☉

the way he's looking at her...the blanket doesn't mean anything. it doesn't mean anything because she'd kept it. hell, she hadn't even remembered it had been his, had been used on that picnic, until he brought it up. this shouldn't have him smirking at her with those dumb doe eyes of his. 

"of course not," she says. because of what it means. because of the history behind it - the history she'd rather forget. "it was your mother's. you should have it."

she raises a hand to stroke the snout of the stantler. "hmm. let's see," she says, musing aloud as she combs through the dictionary in her head. she still has the book (pressed flowers and handwritten passages courtesy of her mother), but the meanings have all long since been burned into her memory.

"mint's not quite right. and you're a bit too skittish for sorrel." she scratches her behind the ears, looking for the spot that - ah, and there it is. her eyelids droop and she nods off, tucks her legs gracefully and curls up in the blankets. 

"tulip," she says finally, withdrawing her hand. "for the sunshine in her eyes." just like yours. 

boruta maher

☉

her hips sway gently to the music and she hums while lance brings the plates over to her. "yeah, he really did," she says. they didn't make much of a mess, but she takes her time, because the music really is nice and some background noise to fill the gaps isn't all that bad. 

"he wrote some music himself. taught me a thing or two on the guitar." 

LANCE VOLLANS

☉