Been told this one's a doozy and a little hard to follow at first but you'll get there, I believe in you and if anyone's seriously stuck, PM me and I'll help out.
Chapter Title:
"take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God let me give you my life..."
- Take Me To Church, Hozier
Josie doesn't remember much from when she was little but there are a few outstanding instances.
She remembers a sweet babysitter who taught them magic; short visits to her mother's work and her father's strained smile whenever she was mentioned. She remembers meeting Damon Salvatore and his soon-to-be wife, Elena, and the supportive nurturing care of their witch-teacher and godmother; Bonnie Bennet before she went travelling the world.
But she also remembers her mother's smile; the way it was bright and pure and untouchable and the man who caused it – the patron name of their school; Stefan Salvatore.
She remembers the way he hugged and how he smelled; like pine and Christmas – and the way her mother laughed when she was around him, like the world was brighter and better just because he was in it.
Mostly she remembers how he looked at her; like there was nothing better in the whole world than her mother – like she was his whole world. He was a brooding, hurt man in the brief time she'd known him but he'd known her from the beginning of her life – had been there from the minute she was born, her mom had told her – and with the twins he had tried very hard to conceal such sadness.
It seemed easier whenever her mom was there; he'd look at her and peace would seep out of him, the knowledge that whatever was troubling him, whatever he might face was never something he would have to face alone giving him an unparalleled comfort. Her mom was his partner and his friend long before she was his wife and even then, marriage was just furthering that friendship, adding to it in leaps and bounds – making vows out of the promises they'd already made to each other.
The day her mother walked down the aisle isn't one she'll ever forget – the way Stefan had looked at her; a prince meeting his true love and getting his happy ending – no matter how long it might have lasted – still makes her feel warm.
She thinks about it now; the way his eyes had glowed and wonders if that's how she looks at Hope. If how she feels for her and thinks about her can be read in her eyes as easily as how much he loved her mother could be read in his.
It's an almost scary thought – comparing how she feels for Hope to the epic love of her mother and Stefan Salvatore – especially so soon after realising it – but it feels right. Perhaps that's the scariest part; being so okay with it, with the idea that she and Hope are epic – this unyielding belief that whatever she's feeling will be returned; now or otherwise and that they'll end up together; no matter what.
Josie's never had that kind of certainty before, not with a sister like Lizzie; who had people flock to her like the only drop of water in an endless desert. But even without Lizzie and "dibs", Josie's never been the kind of person to believe in a relationship that way; to think "we'll happen" and not doubt that belief – even the few times she knew the feelings were returned.
The only person she'd had that kind of feeling about was Penelope and even then that was only after weeks of near relentless pursuit and teasing on the other girl's behalf until Josie had succumbed to her charms.
Of course any positive feeling towards the girl had been brutalised beyond repair when she'd realised she wasn't the only one charmed.
But Hope is different.
Josie can feel it in her bones, in the flutter of her heart in her chest; Hope won't hurt her – will protect her from it to the best of her ability the way Josie will for her because as much as she loves Hope, Hope loves her too.
Whether they get together soon or whether it's days or weeks from now – or even years down the line, she can feel it.
She and Hope are endgame.
/
Day three of their perilous journey begins when Josie stirs into wakefulness in the evening; blushing and content. There's weight on her waist and soft puffs of air against her cheeks and she opens her eyes, blinking into barren, withering daylight to the sight of Hope's mouth inches away from her own; the tribrid's cyan eyes hidden in sleep. They're sharing breaths on the same pillow; Hope's arm wrapped snugly around her, her hand hidden beneath the edge of Josie's sleep-shirt, tucked against her back where her fingers flutter reflexively in sleep; the ghostly touches having stirred her awake.
She lifts her head from their pillow to spare a glance at Lizzie's half of the room, relieved to see the bed haphazardly made and her bag packed and waiting at the end; her phone charger loose and abandoned on top of it.
They've taken to only renting out two rooms in whatever motel they've crashed in over the past few days – the boys sharing one and the twins and Hope expected to share the other. Josie's pretty sure that wasn't originally the case – that Landon had forgotten about Hope that first day and just booked two rooms for the four of them – but it's the way things have panned out.
Josie has almost expected Lizzie to say something – about the room or how Hope and Josie are sharing a bed…and a pillow…and air – but her sister has seemingly opted for the route of wilful obliviousness when it comes to Josie's feelings for the tribrid.
Lizzie's sympathy and almost friendliness over the past few days has been a vast improvement over the way she used to treat Hope; her attitude coloured by Hope's agony and usefulness and her own personal disdain for Landon – the new focus of Lizzie's negative feelings – but there's still a ways to go before things are okay between them. Josie can only imagine how quickly it could change if Lizzie realises exactly what Josie feels towards Hope and how deep it goes.
While Hope has slowly been becoming more normalised and human to Lizzie, there's still a part of her sister that doesn't fully recognise the tribrid as a person – Lizzie can't seem to acknowledge that Hope can like people – romantically or sexually or both. She doesn't seem to register that Hope can be interested in people and, more pressingly, have them be interested in her.
It's lead to many frustrating moments – her sister tactlessly interrupting what Josie can only think to call moments between her and Hope. She wants – desperately, maddeningly so – to kiss her; to press more into Hope's space and seal their mouths together – to tell Hope the depth of her feelings and show her how overwhelming they are; to pry the breath from her lungs the same way Hope's sheer loveliness does to her.
And yet –
Every time she thinks she's closing in; that their endgame moment is coming; the flutter of Hope's eyelashes tickling her cheeks – in comes Lizzie.
But not now, Josie sighs, settling back into the pillow; her cheeks still flushed from sleep and her eyes closing briefly in contentment as Hope's fingers flex against her, the tribrid scooting closer in sleep.
That's the other thing that had bothered her – waking up with Hope so close and having to stop herself from lingering, from revelling in the closeness and Hope's indomitable softness because Lizzie was there, watching her.
She hasn't been able to stay until Hope wakes up. The one time they managed to wake within moments of each other Josie hadn't had the chance to stay long enough to get the full effect of Hope's eyes first thing in the morning (evening); having to get out of bed with little more than a shared smile and a squeeze of her waist.
It had been its own special kind of torture; leaving her shrouded with warmth that felt more stifling than comforting – the frustration of a half-fulfilled dream. It had felt like a djinn's wish – where a cruel loophole had been found and she'd been given what she wanted – specific down to the last syllable and intonation she'd used, only to be cruelly tricked by how vague and deceiving words and sayings could be; the intricacies of language and culture and slang leaving her wish lacking.
She'd felt cheated in the moment, but she looks back on it now, breath catching in her chest at the simple beauty of peace in Hope's expression and feels the tiniest bit relieved; grateful even.
Waking up to Hope has already left an impression – this sudden unwavering desire for an eternity of mornings with her. It's a quiet hidden feeling that had crept up on her when Hope had taken to the woods again as a wolf; alone with her thoughts and Lizzie and Landon's bickering, she'd been overwhelmed by its effects; a multitude of dangerously tempting day-dreams that leave her mind racing and heart aching. It's cloying – clinging to every breath, lingering at the back of her mind, ready to rush forward at any moment.
It's dangerous and delightful – and not something she'd ever foreseen being a problem until it had happened.
Waking up to her has been wonderful and perilous.
But waking up with Hope? – It might very well ruin her.
It probably already has.
Hope's breathing changes, a subtle difference but one that Josie can't help but notice; a sound escaping her that raises a flush down the length of Josie's chest, heat settling as a rippling current beneath her flesh. Her dream rushes forward from the depths of her unconscious mind where those thoughts of forever and endless mornings sleep, and she huffs to stifle the whimper that wants to run free, hiding her face against the pillow for a moment as Hope begins to stir.
The fingers splayed across her back flex, nails digging into her skin with the lightest pressure, her senses zeroing in on the sensation. Her eyes lock on Hope's mouth, tracing the tempting contours of her lips and fighting down the desire to kiss her – to feel those lips against her own, to trace those curves with her tongue, to sink her teeth into the edge of her smile.
She exhales shakily, watching Hope's nose scrunch up as her eyes slowly blink open: ocean blue and hazy. They're as enchanting as ever; filled with light, glittering like diamonds of sunlight on water – exactly as they were in her dream.
Josie fights down a shiver, licking her suddenly dry lips and returning Hope's sleep-laden smile, silently begging the images running through her head to supress themselves.
It's not a dream, she reminds herself, unsure if it's hurting or helping as Hope's fingers stroke down her spine; her palm flattening against Josie's waist to tug her closer.
If this was her dream they wouldn't be in bed.
They'd be out roaming the woods, a girl and a wolf in a playful chase with the moon overhead and magic thick and intoxicating in the air; pervading every sense and gliding over her skin in gentle, teasing caresses.
If this was her dream she'd tumble into a bed of leaves, guided by Hope's sure hands, the confident touch becoming slower as every moment passes and they become more and more enchanted by each other and the way their skin glistens in the moonlight – white dresses long removed.
If this was her dream Hope would be pressing down into her, every inch of their bodies entwined – skin against skin, smile against breathless smile and heart against heart: beauty resplendent smiling down with the blue eyes of eternity , framed by the canopy of stars overhead and yet outshining them all.
If this was her dream, there'd be a bite, proud and aching, in the crook of her neck and a fullness in her chest – a claim offered and accepted, a bond sealed.
But it's not and there isn't.
It's just a simple moment in time that won't last in a series of ephemeral moments just like it on an unsanctioned road-trip. It's nothing like the inexorable night she dreamt of in the woods.
Yet somehow, it's just as good.
She nudges forward, grazing their noses together and Josie's breath catches as Hope presses her lips against her cheek, their mouths just brushing at the corners; a hidden kiss for another moment, a quiet promise.
This is how fire feels; flames dancing and intertwining; lit from the same ember, the same spark – parts of one iridescent thing in an infinite moment; dangerous and enchanting; living and breathing together.
Hope's eyes are so blue she could drown in them; the depths of the ocean are nothing in comparison to the complexities of her cerulean irises. They glitter and gleam and shine – enough to make bitter enemies of envious stars and Josie can feel herself slipping in the vastness of them; sinking into them and being consumed by their gentle intensity.
Josie's a little in love with her.
(A lot – she's a lot in love with her.)
"Hi."
"Hey," Hope's voice is a whisper, anything louder feeling almost violent in the quiet.
Josie hadn't really given much thought to the way Hope would sound in the morning, but she's husky and soft, her voice rich and textured with sleep and all Josie can really think now that she's heard that is that she was right – Hope's ruined her, but in the best way, because God, Josie could listen to her forever.
It's a little frightening how often that word has popped into her thoughts recently – forever is an awfully long time, after all.
With Hope though, somehow, she doesn't think forever will really be enough.
"We need to get up soon," Josie mutters regretfully, sparing a glance to the clock hung on the wall; the numbers just barely discernible and warning of the approaching night.
Hope shakes her head softly, nudging forward again until she can press their foreheads lightly together and closes her eyes. She blinks them open to kiss the end of Josie's nose; her eyes fond and amused at how the siphon goes cross-eyed briefly, trying to catch the movement.
"Just another minute," she suggests, trailing her fingers down Josie's spine to curl possessively over her hip; "I don't want to get up yet."
Josie acquiesces without any hesitation, going when Hope tugs at her and pressing herself into the hybrid, nosing against her neck with a contented smile; suddenly drowsy at her heady warmth and the smell of spring that pervades from her skin.
"Mmm…okay. But I'm doing this under duress."
"Oh of course – being warm and comfortable must be so stressful. Really, I'm practically torturing you," Hope drawls playfully, squeezing her hip.
"It's the only thing that makes sense."
"Absolutely. Not like you could just like being with me. No – must be Stockholm Syndrome or something."
"Or something," Josie teases, laughing when Hope scoffs quietly.
Josie grazes her lips against her neck purposefully and squirms away at Hope's chiding pinch – giggling as the tribrid tugs her back towards her; efficiently erasing the inches of space that had spawned between them. She wraps both arms tight around Josie and the siphon near purrs in content; slipping her hands under the back of Hope's shirt in revenge.
Josie laughs quietly at the shiver that wracks Hope's spine at the first touch of her cool hands; Hope huffs but she lets Josie curl her fingers against her skin and pull herself closer; nudging up Hope's chin to press a feather-soft kiss against her jaw.
"Another five," she tells her, "Because I like being with you."
Hope presses her smile against her temple and even when it evens out she leaves her lips there, pressed into Josie's skin like a brand; a quiet, ecstatic reciprocation.
I like being with you too.
Nothing feels as frightening with Hope holding her like this; her lips pressed into her skin and her arms like anchors, tethering her to the ground – to her; like she's the only thing that Hope needs to keep hold of in a world that so frequently tears things loose and sets them free.
They're inexorable, she thinks, infinite and she's just so in love with her.
/
Josie's woken up nearly an hour later by Hope's angelic laughter and the flutter of her fingertips sliding against the inside of Josie's wrist. She's shifted out from her position as Josie's pillow and somehow wormed her way to sit up despite Josie's vice grip around her waist still. Her fingers tickle the soft skin of her wrists, trying to lure her gently into wakefulness and Josie's heart stirs in her chest at the sweet gesture even as she squirms away from the ticklish sensation.
"Josie. Jo – wake up," Hope coos at her, carding a hand through her hair and laughing gently when Josie just nuzzles against her with a grumbled "no"; endearingly petulant.
"Why do we have to get up?" she asks, as if she wasn't the one insisting upon it before their drawn out nap.
"Well, we're supposed to meet up to plan out the next leg of this Scooby excursion so I need to shower – and you need to get out of that drool puddle before it drowns you."
Mortification floods Josie as she rips herself away from Hope's side, violently drawing her hand over her mouth before she pats Hope's shirt, looking for the dark indicative swatch of fabric. She tries not to get distracted by the flat feel of Hope's stomach; the gentle ridges of muscle toned from years of extensive exercise and training to hone her wolf-side but she can feel the blush welling in her cheeks as she draws her hand away; flustered and embarrassed.
There's nothing there.
Hope leaps from the bed, smug and crowing triumphantly as she stretches, "Free at last!"
The betrayal that curls in Josie's chest at the ploy is overshadowed by fondness at Hope's playful cheer; the light that shines in Hope's eyes enough to sway her anger at being deceived. She really does look free – weight she's always carried suddenly relieving itself from her shoulders.
Freedom is beautiful and enchanting; perfection; a howl in the wind and the delighted shimmy of Hope's shoulders as she smiles carelessly back at a pouting Josie.
Freedom is beautiful but it has never looked more beautiful than it does in Hope. Hope has never looked more herself than in this moment.
"Josie," Hope coos, her whole demeanour playful but cushioned in softness at the siphon's protruding lip.
She turns away pointedly, burrowing into the sheets to hide the smile that threatens to crack her façade.
"Josie," Hope whines, "It was a joke – though the fact that you're so worried about it says a lot."
Hope kneels back on the bed, shuffling slowly over to her with a subdued grin at the little indignant sound the siphon makes into her pillow, shooting up to stare her down and looking as intimidating as a grumbly kitten with her lip curled back like that.
"Not that I'm suggesting you drool," Hope teases, leaning carefully over her, "But if you did – I don't think it'd make you any less attractive."
Josie's cheeks are hot with a vivid blush she knows Hope can see by the shine of her eyes and the charming curve of her grin; visibly delighted with herself and just erring on the adorable side of smug.
She kind of hates her a little bit just for how attractive it is.
"Alright there, Bashful?"
"Really? Out of the two of us, I'm the dwarf?"
"Well no, out of the two of us, you'd be Snow White; fairest of them all and all that," Hope explains, tucking a strand of hair behind Josie's ear and brushing her hand against the rose of her burning cheeks.
"Well if we're talking Disney Princesses, you'd be Sleeping Beauty," Josie shoots back, heart hammering in her chest at the strange gleam in Hope's eyes, a look she isn't quite familiar with crossing her face.
"Sleeping Beauty? Does that mean you're kissing me awake?"
"You're not asleep," Josie points out, catching Hope's hand as it trails down her neck to rest against her shoulder and tangling their fingers together slowly; watching as they knot together and her whole body buzzes with electricity at the feeling.
Hope's not watching their hands, her gaze affixed on Josie's mouth when she looks back at her;
"I could be."
Josie's stomach swoops like she's taken a sudden death-defying turn on a roller coaster. It feels like her brain has suddenly shut off; like Hope's killed her – broken her entirely and hell, maybe she has. Josie is no longer functioning, no longer computing or comprehending or breathing –
She takes a shuddering, gasping breath in; letting it fill her lungs to capacity and ease the dizzy blackness that had started to set in.
Hope looks nervous in the lasting silence but Josie can't find the words to respond to that; very much certain that she'll probably never have words again – her heart strangling itself in her throat as she scoots closer to Hope instead, assuring her with a squeeze of their joined hands in place of the words that just won't come.
"Josie," Hope prods, an anxious furrow to her brow.
There's still nothing – but actions have supposedly always spoken louder than words, and Josie decides now is a perfect time to test that.
She cups Hope's cheek in her hand, leaning their foreheads together gently and breathing in the shaken breath Hope exhales in quiet relief. She purposefully trails her thumb along the edge of Hope's jaw, biting her lip to stop the smug smile forming as Hope swallows, eyes darkening.
"I'd much rather you be awake."
The words hang in the air between them, heavy and honest, somehow so revealing in their simplicity that the underlying tension between them is now undeniable – crackling in the air; a violent, passionate force urging them closer.
The door rattles in its frame from someone's heavy-handed knocks and the world spins on, the rug pulled out from under them – the moment ruined.
Josie near whines in frustration, certain that it's Lizzie on the other side of the door, key forgotten and that the universe is playing some sick joke; having her suddenly want to murder one of the only people she can't kill.
Hope seems more amused than anything, muttering something like "of course not" under her breath as she scoots away from Josie and off the bed, heading to the bathroom.
She probably thinks the universe is fucking with them too – Josie's not surprised. For all that she knows they'll be together – and soon – she also knows that they're in for a challenge. There are no two families with worse luck with women than the Saltzmans and the Mikaelsons, after all.
With a groan, Josie heads for the door, opening it with one last longing glance to the bathroom and–
/
White.
/
It was barely dusk when Lizzie had thrown open the door to their room, take-out in hand from a diner down the street in hand. She'd lectured them as she helped Josie pack up, informing them of the new plan like it was some sort of spy mission; phrases like "current trajectory", "rendezvous point" and "ETA" being thrown around as she traced out their next potential pit stops seven hours away in any given direction from their current location.
Josie had been suitably impressed and Hope was too if her quiet acceptance was anything to go by. She'd showered and eaten, listening attentively and with minimal poking before packing up her things. It didn't take more than an hour but by then the change was already setting in and Lizzie rushed off; leaving Josie to lead Hope out of the motel and into the woods, always conveniently located at its back.
She'd helped Hope deep into the trees where the tribrid had let the shift rip through her in a single wave; confident in her own ability to stay task-focused after three days. Josie had turned her back to her in respect, allowing the tribrid to go through it mostly alone, but with the knowledge that if she needed her, Josie was there.
The wolf had bowed to her, that strange half-nod of her head that Josie hadn't ever encountered before and pressed her nose into her stomach, let Josie card a hand quickly through her fur before it took off into the dawning night.
Josie had gathered Hope's shed clothes and headed back to the car, tucking most of them into Hope's go-bag but keeping the sweater she'd slept in, still radiating heat. She'd curled up in it, half-asleep against the window, the scent of sun and rain rich in her lungs and the hushed hum of Lizzie's Broadway playlist enveloping the car.
/
It's been hours now since she last saw Hope and yet the haze of her hasn't really dissipated; has persisted even as the storm sets in and the wind howls and the car chills. Josie feels almost unaffected by everything – like she's in a bubble, separate from everyone – even as Landon gripes about it and drags the other two into his misery, she's almost isolated from it. She's alone in the back; mind miles away as she sits, still curled in Hope's sweater, still surrounded by her perfume and warmed by the dream that courses through her; a fragile half-wish; a tentative wonder of what it would be like –
She doesn't wonder about being loved by Hope – she already is; can feel it in the softness of her eyes and the gentle, lingering nature of her touch. But she wonders what it would be like – being together and open about how they feel; what it would be like to walk into a room and stand by Hope's side and have everyone know they're equals; partners. That Hope trusts her, loves her the way Josie loves Hope. That even with all that's going on; they've still found each other.
But of course all dreams must end, and so does Josie's as Lizzie's whole body tenses suddenly.
"Whoa – whoa, shut up Average Andy," Lizzie interjects, her brow furrowing as her phone beeps ominously in her hand.
Josie shoots forward against her seatbelt trying to see it but Lizzie waves her off, indicating for Rafael to slow down as she fiddles with her screen, trying to zoom in on the blue dot they've been following. Hope has slowed to a complete stop, Lizzie notices with some surprise, but according to the map she's in the middle of nowhere. She might just be taking a break – she has been running for nearly seven hours non-stop by now. Lizzie tactfully ignores the little voice reminding her that this is day three of the same routine and that Hope hasn't stopped before; choosing instead to focus on the fact that it's close enough to sun rise that they should actually start heading for the nearest motel pretty soon.
Lizzie looks back at her sister, her body tense like a bowstring ready to fire, looking very much like she'd jump Lizzie just to get a peek at her phone and see what the problem is. She's been so different recently and as much as Lizzie is afraid of losing her sister – especially to Hope – she can't deny how lovely it is to see her smile so much. Hope makes Josie happy; they're close now and as far as Lizzie can tell the trauma this stupid knife is causing has only made them closer. Hope is important to Josie and that means that Hope is important to Lizzie, whether she likes it or not.
They can't go anywhere without following Hope; they're headed in her direction regardless of Lizzie's decision. But they're a little under an hour away right now and the road they're on goes nowhere near her – it's a choice, she realises.
And yet, it's not a choice at all.
"Hit the gas Raf and listen really closely, I'm gonna tell you when to turn to get off this road."
"What – Off this road? What do you mean off this road? There's nothing out here but this road! –"
"Look Mika, let's relax and take it easy, okay? Great. Because you don't have a say in this. Hope has stopped –"
"So? What's the problem? Doesn't that just mean she's found the knife –"
"I don't know what it means, Mr Schue, that's kind of the whole problem! It could be the knife or it could not be the knife but either way, we're going to go get her. So keep your perm on and calm down."
"She's stopped? For how long?"
Lizzie meets Rafael's eyes in the rear-view mirror as he slowly presses on the gas, the tension in his shoulders winding tighter. Landon looks at him, opening his mouth to say something before wisely closing it, choosing to be silent in his support instead of making the whole situation more anxiety inducing than it already is.
Josie scoots forward against her seat-belt, her hands clenching in the sleeves of her sweater.
Lizzie wonders if Josie even realises the way she sinks into it; like if she's swallowed up by it she'll be safer from everything. It makes her hurt a little bit, reminded of when they were younger and their parents had decided that their kids could handle how demanding their jobs were; the way Josie would curl up with a blanket draped over her shoulders as if it could fight the sadness of missing their mom and dad.
"Yeah, Jo – but just a few minutes maybe. The GPS is still working so we're just gonna go get her," Lizzie explains, reaching back to squeeze her sister's hand briefly before turning her attention back to Rafael and the road.
Josie makes a noise, quietly distressed and disbelieving and curls back up against the window and Lizzie sighs, watching the blue dot slowly get closer, trying to ignore the twisting feeling of apprehension in her gut – the way it feels like everything is slowly spiralling out of control.
She's sure Hope is fine.
She has to be.
/
"Josie?"
Her name comes to her like it's said underwater and she can almost feel it – the slick draw of wetness around her; the way her limbs feel heavy and her head feels stuffed like she's slowly losing oxygen.
"Josie?"
There's pressure against her chest, dark and constricting and slowly being eaten away – a terrible fog setting in.
Where is she?
- They speed passed a mile-marker; - Maya, 5 miles. - "You're freaking me out here – what's going on?" "We're in the middle of nowhere –" - There's a ringing in her ears; tyres screeching and sliding -
"Josie!"
She blinks, clenching her hand around the door knob to their room and trying to fight the dizziness rushing through her.
Her vision swims and her head aches but she takes a breath, keeping her eyes closed until the feeling fades a little and she feels a little steadier. Her skin crawls but she shrugs the unsettled, endangered feeling away as some vulnerability caused by her recent flu – everyone feels off-kilter when they've been sick.
She's at home –there's literally nowhere safer for her.
It's a wonder it doesn't feel that way though.
"Josie?"
"Lizzie?"
She opens her eyes and her sister is there, concerned enough to frown; harsh creases forming in her brow. Josie can only imagine what she must look like – swaying almost drunkenly in the doorway, confused and a little sweaty and paler than she's ever been. She's been in the same pair of sweats all day and has been cuddled into her mom's side on the couch in her office so she wasn't alone all day while Lizzie was in class.
"Yeah. Jo – you okay?"
She considers lying to her or even just passing it off as her still being sick or just upset – it's the day before their birthday after all and while Lizzie has been up here finalising her dress choices, Josie has been facing the reality that she might not be well enough to go to her own birthday party. But that's not what's bugging her and she doesn't want to lie to make Lizzie feel better for once.
She can't quite explain what it is; what's making her upset or any of the other things she's feeling – doesn't know anything beyond that she'd really like a hug.
She shakes her head, letting her sister wrap an arm around her and lead her over to her bed. Lizzie eases herself down beside her, butterfly clips forgotten in her hair as she stares Josie down.
Lizzie takes her hand, squeezing softly at first and then more strongly when Josie doesn't react, staring down at her lap in distraction.
Her head is pounding and she brushes her fingers over her temple, more surprised when there's no bandage or blood to be found. There's a cool pressure around her wrists but she's not even wearing bracelets and she shakes her head again when Lizzie gently prods at her, unable to stop the tears as they well in her eyes and spill down her cheeks.
There's something so wrong.
Her tears spur Lizzie into immediate action, the blonde wrapping her in a panicked hug, rubbing her back and trying to figure out what's wrong even as Josie dissolves into tears and sobs incoherently against her; suddenly overwhelmed.
Her chest aches but differently than the pain in her head – deeper, like a wound on her heart but not one that anyone would be able to see. The ache in her chest is so sharp that Lizzie winces, flinching away from her briefly before she hugs her even tighter; humming when her words begin to fail her.
"Jo – Josie what's wrong?"
She doesn't know – all she knows is that there's something. She's lost something – is missing it and –
The door creaks open.
"Hey Glinda, your dad needs – Josie?"
"Hope."
She can't help herself; the girl's name falling from her lips absentmindedly even as she blinks up at her; tears still slick on her blotchy cheeks. Her eyes are red and stinging and she's still miserably upset but she locks gazes with those ocean blue eyes and everything feels that bit clearer – softer; safer.
Her chest flares and soothes itself all at once, her heart fluttering beneath her ribs and Josie barely holds in the gasp – relief somehow surpassing her confusion and flooding her senses.
It's Hope – this thing in her chest – it's her.
But of course it is, some part of her sighs, as if it could be anyone else.
Her pain and her feelings and the way the world feels blurred at the edges and out of focus; it all has everything to do with Hope and the certainty of it is so comforting that she can't help but sob in pure relief. Hope strides further into the room at the noise, even as Lizzie glares at her, and before she can stop herself Josie is tearing free of her sister's grip and hurling herself into Hope's arms; nosing against her neck and clinging to her waist. It should make her feel better, some part of her asserts – being with Hope, in Hope's arms, pressed up against her like there's no such word as space – it should make her feel better. It should make the world sing with rightness and all uncertainty fade away.
But it doesn't.
Hope's arms hover uncertainly around her, her whole body twitching between relaxation and pure tension – like she can't quite decide how she feels about Josie being so close. Lizzie is making some confused noise behind her and Josie's chest pangs with wrongness at the whole thing. It should make her feel better because Hope makes her feel safe – they've got each other's backs; they'll protect each other and figure things out together.
You don't run and I don't leave, she thinks.
But it doesn't feel safer either.
She doesn't smell right, some part of her whispers.
She should be holding you, another part worries.
It's right but so wrong still – being close to Hope somehow helping and hurting her at the same time.
She can't stop the sobs from coming, tears fresh and thickly coating her cheeks and –
Hope's arms lock around her at her distressed noise, holding her tight; one hand rubbing her back, the other curling possessively around her hip.
And everything is wrong –
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
/
She falls asleep cocooned in Hope's warmth and wakes up alone in her bed, her family sitting by her bedside on tenterhooks; her mother gently carding her hand through her hair and her sister leaned against the vampire's side, holding Josie's hand. Her dad is noticeably absent but she assumes someone still has to run the school and focuses instead on the soft conversation she can make out.
"Is she going to be okay?" Lizzie whispers, "It was like she didn't even know where she was or anything that happened and – mom, Hope –"
"I know, sweetheart. I sent Rafael to check on her, he'll probably sit with her for a bit and make sure everything's alright. But Josie…she's just sick right now and the fever isn't helping anything. We just need to look after her and make sure it breaks and she'll get better in her own time, okay?"
Josie's more confused now than she was before, her heart speeding up that bit in concern. Where's Hope? Why does she need someone to check on her? Did something happen?
Her mom looks down at her in concern, probably picking up the way her heart is racing; her hand slowing in Josie's hair for a moment before she gently starts nudging her, smiling softly when Josie looks up at her in an effort to hide the worry in her eyes.
"Josie-baby," she coos, helping her when Josie tries to sit up and nearly falls.
She feels warm suddenly and yet so cold at the same time and she dazedly raises a hand to her forehead and feels the sweat and the heat radiating from her. She has a fever. And – she palms her chest – the pains from earlier are gone.
Well, almost gone. One is still persisting but Josie is intimately familiar with the feeling of heartache and is more concerned about the source; one auburn haired tribrid.
"Hope," she croaks, her throat dry and grated with the effort of speaking.
Lizzie shoots her mom a look that she pointedly ignores before the siphon paints on a smile for Josie, reaching over for a glass of water with a straw in it on Josie's nightstand.
Her mother helps her take small sips, pulling it away when she thinks Josie has had enough and helping Josie relax against her side; Josie exhales in quiet relief at the same moment her mother coos at her in concern; her fever distinct against the cooler temperature of her skin.
"Where's Hope?" She croaks again.
Lizzie looks at her, sad with sympathy and her mother cards a hand through her hair to settle her.
"Oh baby," she whispers softly.
"Where's Hope?"
/
They tell her eventually; recapping all of the awful things that have happened recently – the things leading up to her getting sick.
Her fever is so high her dad nearly took her to the hospital, her mom tells her.
"Until you magically started setting fire to things," Lizzie adds on, "Mom didn't think they'd buy that as a symptom and she couldn't very well compel the entire hospital to forget if you torched it to the ground."
They'd called Dr Gilbert instead and made sure that Hope was as far away from her as possible for the duration of her visit. Dr Gilbert had provided supplies for an IV and fever-relievers and instructions for her care but she couldn't do much beyond that. She'd left to go home – apparently having a rather uncomfortable interaction with Hope on her way out – but had made regular check-ins over the phone once Josie had slipped straight into a fevered delirium.
It's why she doesn't remember any of the things that've happened, they tell her; but she will, once she's better.
Things like her being elected onto the Honour Council and kicking Landon out of school.
Things like Jo coming back from the dead and spending their birthday with them and dad and mom.
Things like being buried alive and being rescued and re-killing Jo.
It doesn't explain why Hope is gone or why she's upset or why she apparently doesn't want to see Josie but they don't seem to think it's important, hushing her when she tries to ask.
Her mom holds her until Josie starts to fall asleep, and when she leaves Lizzie snuggles up beside her; the remains of a sympathy sweat still to shining on her forehead.
Her sister curls an arm around her, letting Josie cushion her head on her shoulder and takes up their mother's habit; slowly carding her hand through Josie's hair and soothing her into sleep when she clings on.
"Hope," Josie slurs insistently.
"Go to sleep, Jo."
/
They're ten minutes out from where Hope is when her phone glitches and the blue dot she's been watching flashes; once, twice and then disappears.
Lizzie freezes, breath catching as she panics, trying desperately to refresh the app, hoping that maybe it's just crashed.
It hasn't.
She's been staring at the thing for the last thirty minutes, guiding Rafael off of the highway and down less beaten paths, worry growing incrementally with each moment that passed and Hope just didn't move. But they're within reach now and the last thing she expects is the dot to disappear. It can't just disappear.
She tries to zoom in on Hope's last location but there's nothing there – literally nothing. There isn't an indication of a tree or a house or a gas station anywhere near Hope. She's been sitting in the middle of nowhere for an hour and now she's disappeared and yet that's where they're heading – straight into the middle of nowhere.
"Fuck."
"What?"
"It's Hope –"
"What? What about her?" Landon spins around in his seat and is promptly strangled by his seat-belt and Lizzie allows the brief spark of amusement it causes to steady her.
She glances over her shoulder at Josie, who'd finally slipped into a restless sleep out of pure exhaustion ten minutes ago; her sister looks so worried even in slumber that Lizzie's stomach rolls with nausea. What can Lizzie possibly say to her if they get there – assuming there even is a there – and Hope is gone? After she talked them into this whole thing – after she told Josie that the collar was safe, that the GPS was fool-proof.
What if she's gotten Hope killed? Or kidnapped?
"She's gone – the GPS is gone."
She shoots forward, tearing the map from the centre console and thrusting it at Landon, who obediently props it open, already searching for their location as she tells Rafael to hit the gas.
"Where are we?"
"I – I don't –"
"Swap," Lizzie growls, thrusting her phone at him and ripping the map from his hands. She can barely see it and she grasps agitatedly for the flashlight she'd forced on Landon two days ago when he wouldn't shut up about wanting to help but not being able to see.
It isn't the same as the GPS map, but perhaps that's the most concerning thing. On the GPS the road they're on is a dirt path, clearly marked out even if it's not named but on this there's just tree markers and a faded park name that extends for miles.
The road they're on doesn't exist according to this.
Lizzie swallows thickly, peering out the window as they speed passed a mile-marker;
Maya, 5 miles.
She looks at the map again but there's no indication of Maya being anywhere on it. She takes her phone back from Landon, aggressive in her panic but even before she looks at the map she knows it's not there either.
"Lizzie," Rafael interjects, the corner of his mouth turned down sternly, "You're freaking me out here – what's going on?"
"We're in the middle of nowhere –"
"No kidding, we've been in the –"
"Can it, Eeyore! We're literally in the middle of nowhere. Like according to a map this road doesn't exist and neither does that town sign we just passed and Hope's GPS is gone! –"
"What? Lizzie?" Josie stirs in the back and Lizzie's whole world fades out for a second as she looks back at her. She doesn't think she'll be able to face her after this. After losing Hope. God, what if something really awful happened to her and –
Her phone glitches and the radio cuts in and out; the heavy pounding of the rain mixed with the screech of white noise until Landon quickly turns it off. Lizzie's stomach turns with something like anticipation just as the car rocks.
There's a thump like they've hit something and Rafael cries out – the wheel turning sharply and the car spinning out of control.
There's a thud – a crash –
And darkness.
/
Her fever breaks eventually and over days she slowly starts getting better; becoming less and less fatigued until she's back to herself.
She starts going back to class and catching up on the homework she's missed out on, slowly getting back into routine and yet –
Hope won't see her.
She won't talk to her.
It hurts like nothing she's ever imagined – like her very soul is wilting inside of her, withering into nothing at this distance between them.
Hope will walk into a room and stop if she sees Josie there; hovering like she's contemplating leaving and then stubbornly tilting her head – standing strong and strutting through in a way that makes it very clear she's doing everything to spite her.
She's hurting, Josie knows, but it all feels so pointless – so petty.
Being dragged to parties in the woods and dinner with their friends by Lizzie is soured by Hope's normally vibrant presence – now embittered and angry; feverish and aggrieved; like a pulse of blood in an open wound.
It coats her every interaction; hidden in the way she stays and sits straight-backed beside Rafael; the way she laughs and smiles – with subtle tightness; all cutting edges and cool stares any time she so much as inclines her head slightly more towards Josie than she wants to.
I won't be weak in front of you, it all screams and Josie's chest screams with it.
It's like they're back before talking was a thing between them – before smiles were soft and eyes even softer – cerulean pools of blue have frosted over in that upsettingly familiar way. They're back to poking and ignoring each other and Josie's never felt so distressed before.
She doesn't understand why it has to be this way; why even Lizzie quietly discourages her attempts to seek her out and solve things but she knows that even if she doesn't remember it's her fault.
In truth, that's what hurts the most. Not Hope's absence or even her presence – but the knowledge that she's the cause of it all. That she hurt her to the point where all of this has become necessary to Hope – a way to cope and endure her so she can still have the comfort of their shared friends.
It makes her chest ache and her eyes sting near constantly – the threat of tears often entreating her to leave – Hope's disdainful and curious eyes following her, rich with hollow victory.
There's no true victory in whatever they're playing at – in Hope's quiet aim to inflict suffering on her; to measure how she cares, if she cares, by how much she can take. If she wasn't constantly being fended off by their friends, by her sad-eyed sister, then she'd take her by the hand and tell her – fix things and show her even; there's no measure to how much she cares about Hope and it certainly isn't in pain.
But she can't – isn't allowed near her and doesn't think Hope wants her to.
She only hopes she doesn't let her down in this test Hope's constructed because no matter how much she'd like to prove she cares, there's only so much Josie can take and sooner or later it'll all fall to pieces.
She can only hope it's enough – that she's enough – before it does.
/
The world is a whirl of colour, Lizzie's ears still ringing with the echo of a gunshot and her hands immediately shoot to her stomach as she shoots up from her position splayed out on the floor with a gasp.
Her arms wrap around her stomach instinctively, trying desperately stop the blood from gushing out – brain already spinning out in desperation, every part of her desperate to live. She presses down hard enough to hurt herself, to feel her pulse pounding against her skin and she gasps, eyes wide and focus coming slowly.
There is no wound, she reminds herself, it's not real.
Her chest is heaving, blood rushing in her ears and she clenches her fists, digging her nails into her palms and curling her legs to her chest to try and centre herself.
She's not dead and she's not dying – and honestly, though that itself deserves a fucking award, she's not stupid enough to think that she couldn't kill herself by going into shock if she doesn't get a handle on herself right now.
The dream world is slowly slipping out of focus; reality seeping in, facts and memories asserting themselves again but she can't quite escape it – can feel the blood sticking her clothes to her skin even if it's not real.
Well, there is blood sticking her clothes to her skin she realises; patting dazedly at the drying mess on her shoulder, a sluggish flow leaking from a gash in her forehead. It takes a moment to recall where it came from; her stomach still rife with phantom aches but when she finally does place it everything comes rushing back.
The GPS failing.
The radio cutting out.
The car crashing.
The feeling of her magic – her connection to it being tucked away…
A boundary, she figures, standing up slowly to not jar her head.
It gets fuzzier after that but she remembers hearing voices; the pressure of hands around her wrists and vicious, barking growls.
Lizzie remembers one of them mentioning werewolves and siphons – that and the boundary, can only mean one thing.
Witches.
She looks around, noticing for the first time that she's in some kind of abandoned wine cellar; rickety shelves half-empty, stretching from floor to ceiling along all the walls bar the one behind her; dust and cobwebs coating every inch. There's broken glass and empty bottles littered all over the floor and stacked around the concrete stairs behind her, leading up to the cellar-doors. It all smells like damp and dirt and she stands with stilted gait in the centre of it all; examining the chaos.
She's alone but all the pains she can feel seem to be her own – or she hopes so. If they're not then Josie's suffered similarly enough that she can't tell them apart and the idea that her sister is out there with these abductors, injured and unconscious and probably trapped in a dream-world like Lizzie was is concerning.
She doesn't know what Josie's world could be but maybe it'll be more convincing than Lizzie's. Maybe Josie will over-look the oddities or the spell will adapt to accommodate them in a way Lizzie had resisted but Lizzie doesn't care. She had no real connection to the dream-world she was accosted by and she's still shaken by it – can feel the horrors – one horror in particular by the name of Penelope Park – clinging to her still. And worse than the horror of experiencing it – though she doesn't know what else could be worse than having Satan incarnate mooning at you and acting like her presence isn't enough to make Lizzie want to Wicked Witch it and melt just to escape her – is the nightmarish way she'd had to escape.
There had been a class on dreamscapes and spells once; Dorian had taught it as a special elective that their mom – all too familiar with the way things in the mind can be twisted – had insisted they take, demanding that they know how to fight against it. It's days like today that Lizzie's grateful for her mother's paranoia as much as she's upset by the turn her life has taken – things she'd always thought ridiculous and unnecessary are now life-saving skills.
There are only two ways to break a dream-spell, Dorian had informed them after days of learning the lore and the skills necessary to weave them. The first, most obvious one, is once you realise you are in a dream-world – if you realise you're in a dream-world – is to counter-spell. Even if the dream you're in doesn't have magic, once you start deconstructing the dream for yourself, your connection to your physical-self – your magical self – becomes stronger and the spell will work.
The second way, is much, much harder. It leaves lasting affects – a bleed-over of the dream into reality, so you'll feel parts of the dream as if they're real still even though you know they're not. Your brain is immersed in the dream and even with that fraying of it – that connection to your physical-self, your mind is in the dream. So what it perceives there is real. If you get injured in your dream-world, your brain will think you're injured in real-life. This second way to wake up – it's much more dangerous because of that.
Lizzie remembers the way he'd looked at them all; the way a pin could be heard dropping in that room – every student holding their breath, anticipating and yet somehow knowing where he was going.
If you are desperate – if you have no magic – the best way to get yourself out of that dreamscape…is to kill yourself. This is not a quick fix. It's not like turning a switch – where you wake up and you're awake. Like in a nightmare, the feeling of dying jump-starts the brain – frightens you awake. But it doesn't just go away.
You will bleed over. You will be confused. You risk going into shock or having a panic-attack. This is dangerous. And if you haven't deconstructed the dreamscape enough that you have a physical connection to your body – you risk the chance of actually killing yourself, of your body having a physical reaction to the trauma. You asphyxiate yourself in the dream? Drown? You start choking in real life – can't breathe. Stop breathing. Dead.
I am not telling you this because I want you to do it. This is not some fix-it. This is a last resort – a survival tactic for dire situations. If you use this technique – and I say technique because it requires skill – then it better be a life or death situation. Because you may very well die.
She'd never imagined actually needing to follow through on that. Dorian hadn't even let them consider it, insisting during the next few lessons where he had them construct, deconstruct and escape dream-worlds that he would plug the fool that tries full of vampire blood and expel them if they didn't end up immortal. And even if she'd thought about it, she's certainly never imagined shooting herself to be the go-to solution but, you work with what you got and what Lizzie got was a slow death.
It occurs to her then that Rafael and Landon might also be here somewhere – trapped in dreamscapes but without this essential knowledge. Theirs might be nightmare worlds with the things they've experience – especially recently. Rafael might live in a world where his girlfriend is dead – and him the cause, no less – but he might be sucked into a world where she's there, smiling at him and the pair of them are happy. A perfect dream that she'll have to pull him out of. Real-life will become the nightmare world then and Rafael will be forced to relive the guilt that's only just started healing.
She can't begin to imagine what Josie's dream might be but such is the magic of dreams – of nightmares – they can be anything. But without magic, there is only one solution to those dreams if Josie even realises that's what they are. Lizzie was lucky getting out successfully, but Josie might not be and Lizzie will be damned before she lets something happen to her sister.
She doesn't even want to consider that Hope might be here too.
She might not always like the tribrid but the things that Hope might be subjected to are too awful to even consider; happiness there and then ripped away again. No.
Lizzie eyes a broken bottle; the neck mostly intact and the body cracked, large shards jutting out in a way that looks delightfully menacing.
The consequences of using it are purposefully ignored as she picks it up, testing its weight in her hand and eyeing the doors for shadows and movement in the dim light.
If it comes to it, it comes to it, she tells herself.
Me or them.
Mine or theirs.
She opens the door.
/
She lasts a week.
The world thunders on around her the entire time - preparations made for another ball; her mother and Lizzie's eager hands guiding the preparations; matching clip-boards annotated and the psychotic gleam of control happily burning in their eyes.
Hope is there and not there just as much as Josie is – watching and not, curious and quietly infuriated with herself, the tribrid diligently ignores anything outside of her classes and coursework; making clear her intent to abstain from the ball entirely. She's been slightly more aggressive in her disdain recently, watching with dark, apathetic eyes as the cracks start to form; Josie's heart slowly crumbling in her chest.
Hope wants Josie to hurt because she's hurting, Josie knows; reminding herself over and over that it's just a test – that she did this and she can buck up and take this if it helps – if it proves something to Hope but –
It's too much.
She's holed away in the library, curled into a chair, away from the happy faces inside at the dance; trying to stave off tears rather fruitlessly.
She can still hear Penelope's taunting as she'd sauntered up to Josie, offering her a hand and gesturing at the crowd on the dance floor. Josie had refuted her on the spot, very much against even looking in the girl's direction but Penelope wouldn't leave it be.
"Why not, Saltzman? You're at a dance – you should dance. Besides," she'd smirked, "Not like anyone else is going to ask you, right?"
She wasn't wrong; Josie was invisible to most of the population unless there was a crisis and Lizzie had slunk off the moment they'd arrived; MG in tow while Rafael was bro-ing it up with the wolves in a corner. But it didn't mean it didn't hurt – the idea that the only person who'd even offer to spend time with her being the person who'd broken her heart once was salt in an open wound.
She hadn't stayed after that – couldn't bear it and figured that the library was as good a place as any to hide away.
She shouldn't have even gone really; it was all going to end in disaster anyway but she'd thought…
Hope had said she wasn't going to her birthday and yet…
It was stupid to expect Hope to show up. And even if she had – what was Josie going to do? Corner her at the dance? Cause a scene? Demand to know what was going on – why she wouldn't talk to her or look at her –
She sniffles, wiping at her cheek and looking disdainfully down at her dress.
A floorboard creaks.
Josie looks up and feels her heart flutter in her chest; her eyes meeting Hope's.
They're not cold like they've been for weeks; just soft and concerned – like in this moment, with no one around, she's forgotten her anger at the sight of Josie upset.
She cares, Josie thinks.
She wouldn't have been like this if she didn't, she chides herself, glancing away embarrassed and hurrying to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
There's the ruffle of a skirt and then Hope's sitting softly at her side; their dress skirts layered over each other; light and dark in wonderful contrast.
Hope doesn't reach out for her, doesn't offer any comfort beyond her presence; allowing them to sit in silence while she collects herself and Josie near hates herself for how loud her sniffling sounds in the quiet.
"You're not at the dance," Hope says leadingly.
"No, I – I got sick of being on my own."
"So you decided to be on your own in the library?"
There's a teasing sparkle in Hope's eyes. They glimmer in that wonderful way Josie had grown so used to and she can't help the thoughtless smile that forms at the sight; one quietly reciprocated by Hope instantaneously. It's such a change from the last few weeks though that she almost thinks she's dreaming. Hope's meant to be testing her; meant to be angry and hurt and lashing out. She's not meant to be...this. Gentle. Warm. Teasing.
Forgiving.
She doesn't want to ruin it – but she's so confused. Hope being angry with her might almost be worth it if she only knows why she's so angry.
"…Not that this isn't nice or anything," she prefaces, "but you've been really angry with me recently…"
Hope heaves a sigh, looking down at her hands and then where their dresses lay over each other; studying the contrast intently.
"What's the point of kicking someone when they're down?"
"Isn't that what you've been doing this whole time?" Josie shoots back, all the hurt and anger she's been struggling with raising its head suddenly.
Hope looks up at Josie's tone, eyes narrowed before she shakes her head.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Well, clearly you are so…" She stands suddenly, turning away and Josie reaches for her, following even as Hope pulls her hand out of Josie's reach.
"Hope –"
"No, I'm not doing this with you –"
"Doing what? Talking? Like we should've been this whole time? I –" Josie chokes on the words, chest tight and aching, sobs half-formed and tears shimmering in her eyes again, "I don't even know what's going on, Hope. You just – It'll kill me if you are but... Be angry with me, hate me…just tell me why. Please."
"You don't know why –"
"No," Josie asserts, "I know it was something I did but just, please –"
"I didn't know why, Josie – why one day you were perfectly happy and the next day you just –" Hope huffs, running a hand through her hair, heedless of how it screws with the style. She's rigid with tension, near glaring at Josie but the siphon can see how put-on it is. Hope is clinging to her anger with desperate hands but it slowly seeps away; raw hurt revealed.
"Is it because of your fever?" Hope mutters tersely, looking away pointedly.
Josie nods, explaining quickly how little she can actually remember of before her fever and Hope nods blinking, the whole atmosphere of the room changing as her shoulders fall; posture softened. It's sombre – sad, like a great unravelling; a painting peeled back to reveal the underdrawing; the messy foundation of it all. Their bones are bared in this moment, Josie knows.
"…Do you… remember the concert?"
Her eyes are shining; hopeful and wet and Josie's own mirror them, heart twisted in her chest at the way Hope winces minutely, a tear slipping free when Josie shakes her head.
"It was our first date," Hope offers tentatively, hands fisted in her dress skirts; a sad smile brightening her eyes.
"You said you wanted to do something new…something that I liked…so I took you to this, um, this jazz concert in a pavilion after we got dinner and… there was dancing and ice-cream and we went for a cliché moonlit walk…And you – you looked so happy and just so – lovely that I couldn't quite help myself and I –…I kissed you."
Her voice cracks and Josie aches to take her hands into her own, to fold herself around Hope and hold her and never let her go.
She's envious and sad because it sounds amazing – like the perfect first date for them and yet she doesn't remember any of it. She doesn't remember their first date or their first kiss. She doesn't remember holding hands on that walk; the tentative way they'd reached for each other and slowly wound their fingers around each other's. She doesn't remember what Hope looks like in the glow of the moon or the way it felt to hold her while they danced. She doesn't remember Hope's smile that night or the softness of her mouth.
Her tears slick her cheeks and she closes her eyes against them, trying helplessly not to get too upset as Hope takes a miserable, hesitant step closer.
"What about Wolf-Night?"
"No," Josie mutters.
"The beach?"
She shakes her head.
"That time you met my family? At my – my Aunt and Uncle's wedding anniversary?"
"Nothing." "You really don't remember?" Hope prods again, her voice warbling slightly, "Not even – not even the talisman I gave you?"
Josie's hand reflexively closes around the talisman around her neck; the silver warm against her palm. She'd found it in her dresser this week and the feeling of safety it brought out in her was enough reason to put it on. It was a shield when she was hurt; a crutch she'd relentlessly clutched at when Hope's distance was too much.
Hope's fervent abrasiveness this week made a lot more sense if Hope was the one that gave it to her.
"What does it..."
"Make quiet things heard," Hope says, a bitter twist to her smile.
"I didn't know," Josie mutters, "It just…made me feel safe."
Hope doesn't say anything in response, letting the moment lie and Josie clings to the silver talisman, clenching it in her fist as they look away from each other, a light tension seeping into the room at what they both know comes next.
"…Why are we…"
"Fighting? We can't really fight if we're not talking, can we?"
"Then why aren't we talking?" Josie asks instead.
"Because," Hope pauses, "because you told me you didn't want to anymore."
"Didn't want to what?"
Josie knows where this is going, can almost anticipate what Hope is going to say but can't quite believe it simply because it's so unbelievable. The very idea that she'd turn her back on Hope is absurd and yet –
"Anything. To fight. To date. To talk. You didn't want it anymore…didn't want me anymore."
Hope's eyes narrow at the way Josie scoffs, her cheeks reddening with frustration and anger.
"That's ridiculous."
"That's what you said," Hope huffs, striding closer.
"That's bullshit! There's no way that I could ever say that – that I could ever hurt you like that, Hope – I wouldn't do it!"
"But you did! You said all that to me! You told me that!" Hope spits, "You didn't want to date anymore! Didn't want to see me! Didn't want to talk! You didn't want me!"
I always want you! Josie wants to shout at her. I want to be near you and talk to you and hold you and kiss you and just – I just want you. Always. All the time. There isn't a world where we exist where I don't want you – where you and I don't end up together because I love you. Only you. Always you.
She doesn't. She wants to but she won't – or, not yet at least. Because regardless of this moment; of how much she loves Hope – of how intensely it burns in her; she did say those things. Whether she remembers it or not, Hope remembers it – was hurt by it and that's not something she can just ignore.
"I still think that's crazy," she offers, quieter than all their shouting; meeting Hope's curious, angry eyes with a level stare, "I don't think there's a world where I would ever say anything like that. Where I would ever say something to hurt you like that. But apparently there is…and it's this world."
Hope looks away from her, crossing her arms in front of her and looking very much like she's trying to hold herself together instead of protect herself. It makes Josie's heart twinge.
"I'm sorry," she says, because she needs to, "I don't remember saying that – I don't remember any of this but that doesn't change it and it doesn't make things okay. Because you had to deal with that and then you had to deal with me afterwards and I'm so, so sorry. I never – I never want to hurt you, Hope, and I can't believe that I ever would or that I did. But whether I believe it or not doesn't matter – because I did that. I hurt you. And whether you ever forgive me or not , I'll never forgive myself for it."
Hope clears her throat, sniffling.
"You didn't want to talk to me," she says.
"I love talking to you," Josie refutes, stepping closer.
"You didn't want to see me."
"Seeing you is the best part of my day." Step.
"You didn't want to date me."
"I'd love to date you." Step.
"You didn't want me," Hope mutters.
"I always want you," she dismisses, standing close enough to see the dark of Hope's eyes and the twinkle of starlight in them.
"I'm really tired of being angry at you," Hope tells her, looking up at Josie from under her lashes before ducking her gaze down; eyeing the distance between their hands.
"It's okay if you still are," Josie grazes her knuckles along the back of Hope's, closing her eyes briefly in relief when Hope's fingers catch hers, slowly winding together.
"I forgive you."
"You don't have to."
Hope's fingers squeeze hers; "I want to…I won't forget it any time soon but…I don't want to hold a grudge about this – about something that you don't even remember doing. That's not fair to you."
"It's not about me, Hope," Josie chides, catching Hope's eyes and feeling her breath come easier at how warm they are.
"To me, then. Holding grudges isn't easy." Hope pauses, looking at her hesitantly, uncertainty in every word as she continues; "At least…not against someone I love."
It's not an 'I love you' exactly – but the sentiment is there regardless of the phrasing and Josie can feel her heart take flight; a hummingbird fluttering in her chest – like if it stops for even a second she'll wither away into nothing without its wings and the rush of this feeling pulsing through her.
Hope loves her.
Hope loves her.
Hope loves her.
Giddiness doesn't describe the feeling slowly encompassing her being. She's in awe – softened by it and easily bowled over, elated and moved. It's like time has slowed down to give her this one moment; to allow her the privilege of revelling in Hope's quiet confession and Josie does; revels in the bravery and the vulnerability and the sincerity of it. The love.
It takes everything in her not to just kiss her to try and explain the sentiment in this moment of speechlessness but she manages, somehow, instead just staring awestruck at the girl she loves – who loves her back.
"You're amazing," she breathes, catching the quirk of Hope's eyebrow; the way her eyes shine a little brighter, hesitance fading away; "And beautiful and wonderful and so, so brave and I just…It's sucked – this whole time. You being mad at me because I hurt you and I didn't know what to do or what I had done but I just wanted you to talk to me again because I missed your voice – and your smile and your laugh and how blue and expressive your eyes are."
Josie pauses, willing herself not to get swept away by those blue eyes; shimmering stars twinkling at her. "But I would take all of that – missing every inch of you if it meant that you were okay – even if it meant you hating me or never forgiving me. Because I love you."
She's practically at Hope's side, whispering in the space between them and when Hope laughs wetly, softly, turning away like she's embarrassed, Josie's hand is there, cupping her cheek; her thumb brushing away the tears that slip free. Hope fists a hand in Josie's dress, breathing for a moment like she can't believe it's real in her grasp before she slides her hand along the curve of Josie's hip and pulls Josie against her.
"What?" Josie asks.
"Nothing it's just…That's the first time you've ever said that to me," Hope explains, her eyes fluttering shut gently as Josie edges closer, their foreheads resting lightly against each other.
"That I love you?"
This close, she can hear as Hope's breath catches in her chest and she smiles for what feels like the first time in forever as Hope hums her agreement. There's no questioning if she means it, like Hope can feel her sincerity for herself; see it in her eyes and feel it in the way she breathes; there's no questioning what is so clearly a fact. The sky is blue, fire is hot, water is wet and Josie loves Hope.
"I'd say it forever if you'd let me," Josie mutters, "As many times as you like."
"I don't need forever," Hope dismisses, though the gleam in her eyes at the words betrays her. Josie laughs breathily, letting her know she's caught as she brushes their noses together, enchanted by the way she can feel Hope's breath against her skin and on her lips; like she's breathing life itself into Josie's lungs.
Josie shrugs, "I do."
Hope kisses the quiet with you from Josie's lips, ensnaring her in a perfect moment; her breath catching in her lungs, her heart racing and all thoughts gone – seeping out of her into the night.
It feels like everything has been building towards this moment; like Josie has only ever been a river flowing home; carving out a path to get there. No matter how winding or long-winded it was – she was always coming here; right back to the ocean where all rivers lead. Back to home. To Hope.
It's here; in the softness of Hope's eyes and the safety of her grasping hands and the heat of her mouth.
It's here.
/
They kiss and kiss and kiss – each one lingering longer; lips meeting and parting and teeth biting and nipping; mouths learning and relearning each other. Each gentle meeting is a hello, each hot breath a promise and each tender touch a dream shared between them.
They kiss 'I love you's' and 'forevers' into each other's skin, carve out their futures into each other's backs and paint tender galaxies into existence along each other's flesh. They are one being, moving and living and breathing together, curled and curved around each other.
Always and Forever, they think.
Only you, they promise.
