OVERLOOKED ㅤkotlc

078

We sit quietly at the base of a tree. Pine, this time, so different from the gray-clawed trees of the Neverseen, but our backs lean against it the same way. Distance, this time, has taken its place between us, and I can't bring myself to bridge it. My heart thuds to the rhythm of her earlier words.

I can't understand how it's possible to not love you.

I feel like I'm overflowing, with a love that's been gently unbridled.

"My butt's cold," she says, and a laugh spills from me.

"Mine, too," I say, but neither of us suggest returning inside. There's a long and pensive silence, as the two of us mull over the time we've spent without the other. "Do you know what you're going to do about Ixora? Have you told your mom?" It starts to snow.

Rosaleen winces, and despite its invisibility, the pain is visible. "Ixora said she'd come find me, once she's ready. I don't know if I believe her, but my mom does. But I think it may be a maternal naïveté." She doesn't meet my eyes—she never has, when it comes to her sister. Instead, she stares out at the snow, snowflakes caught in her hair.

I resist the urge to brush them off.

She hesitates, then asks about my family. And so I tell her, in a way that's reminiscent of our old conversations, about the triplets and my parents. I tell her how they swapped my handsoap for dye, and how I had blue hands for three days. I tell her how they made me mallowmelt. I tell her how I've had my mom's cinnacreme everyday since my return; how my dad asked me for advice on all the new, unfinished concoctions he'd brewed.

I find that I've profusely missed the way she listens to me. Everyone else listens, too, but no one listens the way Rosaleen does. Since the day we've met, she wears her heart on her sleeve, and the genuinity of her interest and joy for me is thrilling.

Time slips and slides through our fingers, our distance going with it. We don't touch—tacitly, we know it breaches a code of conduct, and we feel content to just talk after our separation. But we can't stop our body warmth.

Finally, she makes the first move. She reaches out to me, palms up, and says, "My hands are cold—are yours?"

I take off my gloves to feel her hands, then let out a small laugh of disbelief. "Oh my God, your hands are cold."

I cup them in mine. My warmth seeps into her. I wonder if it'd be okay to warm them with my breath, so I look up, maintaining eye contact as I painstakingly guide our hands upward.

She only smiles.

I breathe.

All is well.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When we go inside, cinnacreme waits for us on the kitchen table. Steam twirls from twin mugs. We take one each, and, unbidden, my feet lead her to my room, where we sit on the rug and sip. When she finishes first, I take her mug and pour her some of mine.

"What time do you need to go back?" I ask, my voice as soft as the ticking clock. I don't want her to leave, not when this night feels like a haven from the past and the future alike.

"Whenever you want me to," replies Rosaleen.

My lips tip into a crooked smile. "A sleepover would go hard, don't you think?"

She laughs. Again, I'm seized with relief for the normalcy we've eased into. "A sleepover would be fun."

I grin, then rise to my feet with a sudden remembrance. "My room has a skylight!"

Her Neptune eyes alight as I trigger the mechanism above our heads. The ceiling slides away to reveal the sky, bigger than any I remember, but I swear her smile is brighter than the stars themselves.

I drag the blankets and pillows off my bed, and we lie on top of them, blanketed by the comfort of the universe and of each other's presence. Chastely, our bodies touch, just barely—our pinkies brush, her head's a ghost by my shoulder. She observes the beauty of the sky, and I can't help but observe hers.

This time, it's me who parts the languid silence. "Are you ready for the battle?" I whisper.

She turns on her side to meet my eyes, and I move to meet hers. If I moved inches closer, our noses would touch. "Not at all."

I laugh quietly. "Me neither."

"Do you think you can do it?"

I don't need to ask what she means. Do you think you can fight family? "I guess it helps I don't know most of them."

"But Ruy, and Alvar, and Melia?"

"I don't know." Our proximity beckons morbid truth, so I move away, sitting up. She sits, too. "I haven't even opened the tomple Prattle pin."

"Why not?"

"I... don't know." I'd tossed it onto my desk when I got back home. Now, I stand, fishing for it through papers, cogs, and half-full vials. "I guess it slipped my mind."

A pause. Gently, she asks, "Did it really?"

It hadn't. I'd avoided it in a futile attempt to forget the kindness I'd received. I find it beneath a folder of the work I'd missed from Foxfire, and I sit back down, the small silver box held gingerly in my hands. "Here it is."

She watches as I open it as slowly as I can. I feel naked, pinned beneath her soft gaze. The scent of candy wafts from the tin box, and I gently dig for the velvet pouch.

Wordlessly, Rosaleen takes the box from my hands as I open the pouch. In it lies, as promised, a tomple pin. I take it out, my vision swimming as I hold it in shaking hands.

But Rosaleen watches the pouch, her brows furrowing. "Dex," she says, and the gravity of her voice pulls me out. "When you were opening the pouch—I heard paper."

My heart lurches. She's right. Barely discernible in the starlight, there's a slip of paper in the depths of the pouch. "Do you think..."

Her eyes don't leave the pouch. "I guess Ruy's left you a note."

˚ ༘ 🌷 ── author's note!

if u compare this to like chapter 1 u actually cant tell its written by the same person 😭

with that said hi!! :-)

out of curiosity, what color vibe do i give off?? i'll tell u yours too! 😆 lwk itd be fun if we all just assigned each other colors LOL