It is three in the morning when Scorpius shows up completely out of the blue at her doorstep. Rose only stares at him for ten silent seconds before briefly going back inside to grab her jacket along with her wallet and boots, and follow him back to his car without a word. Because that's what Scorpius always does. He ignores your texts, he declines your phone calls, he doesn't bother listening to your increasingly anxious messages, he drops off the face of the Earth for three weeks straight and then, he shows up unexpectedly at your doorstep at three in the bloody morning, his eyes bloodshot red, dark circles all around, and a poorly rolled joint dangling from his chapped lips. And even after an entire month of cold radio silence, Rose follows him to his car. She has an early morning test in just a couple of hours and she didn't even open one book but she still takes a seat next to Scorpius and lets him take her wherever he pleases. Because that's what she always does, too.
Nineteen years they've known each other and she still has yet to learn how to say no to him.
.
They've been cruising down the PCH for what feels like hours and Scorpius hasn't uttered a single word. His hands are clenched on the steering wheel, knuckles white, his golden hair as disheveled as his unshaven beard, and his eyes stay focused on the road, unblinking. They're a little watery too, Rose notices every time she steals him a concerned glance from the passenger seat. At first, she thinks it's a trick of the light – they've been aimlessly driving in the warm Californian night, their road bathed sometimes in the softness of street lamps' rays, sometimes in the harshness of tunnel neon beams – but then they stop at a traffic light down the empty Jefferson Road and he slightly turns his head to the left, exposing his eyeballs to the red glow, and yeah. Those are definitely suppressed tears.
Paralyzed in her seat, her heart hammering in her chest, Rose feels completely useless. A legion of words remains painfully stuck down her throat, waiting to be freed. Words of reassurance, words of affection, kind little words, sweet nothings, pieces of advice, light jokes, simple questions, heartfelt declarations, and she wants to unleash them all, to let them wildly flow out of her mouth. He's such a raw, gentle soul. She wants to press his thigh and whisper to him : whatever inner battle you're currently going through, just know that it will be okay in the end, Scorp. I promise. She desperately wants to say all those things and fill this screaming silence surrounding them. She just doesn't know how.
Nineteen years they've known each other and she still doesn't know how to cure Scorpius' everlasting sadness.
.
So they drive.
Terrified because it's my very first time writing anything in English (so please, be gentle with me). Relieved because I've been longing to write a Rose/Scorpius for such a long time. Title taken from "Drive" by Halsey. A thousand thank yous to whoever will be reading this.
xo,
IACB.