A/N: seventh entry for OQ prompt week, Sunday.
1. Friends with benefits.
Horizon
She slowly readies her tools, in that religious silence that always precedes one of her evenings on the balcony. The sunset is very promising, tonight. No clouds, the sun is going to go straight into the sea, everything will be aflame, red and yellow and orange. Maybe a bit of pink.
Regina exits from her bedroom, takes the colors and her brushes, and places them all above the little wooden table she keeps outside. The sunflowers she has got yesterday are still there in their vase. I should change their water, she thinks. Later. For now, she sets the easel and the canvas. She has still time, though, the sky is light blue. Maybe half an hour, maybe a little more.
A very familiar cough comes from her right. She smiles, doesn't turn, keeps arranging her things. "Hey, stranger," she says, with that fondness she has only for him. "How is life?"
"Boring," he answers. She steals a glance of him – as she predicted, he's in his favorite position: on the armchair he keeps there, legs up and crossed, reads a book with a glass of wine next to him. "Are you waiting for the sunset?"
"Mm," she answers. She's pondering, choosing a pencil from her collection, to draw the general lines before the sunset starts. "There's still some time to go, though."
When she has chosen this flat, high at the 20th floor, she couldn't have imagined she would find such a wonderful friend there. They share a balcony, there is only a small wall to divide their places. At start, she rather disliked him – but then he's let her stay at his when her heating broke down in January, and… well… things have taken an interesting turn.
Friends with benefits, it's their mutual rule. The sex is great, and they don't want to ruin a great friendship with couple-y things. He cares for his independence, Robin, and she does too. They don't do romantic gestures, they do… stuff. Together. Movies, meals. Evenings like this one where she paints and he reads. Cinema. Friends, they are. Just friends. Things work.
But that is, perhaps, just a lie Regina keeps telling herself. Things work. Things work, with no kissing, no hands-holding. If she stays away for the night, he doesn't ask. If he brings a woman home, she just… puts on earphones and muffles out the sounds. Things work, splendidly. Then why does she almost cry in the bathroom every time he leaves her home after they've fucked?
"Regina?"
He must have asked something. She turns at him, surprised. "What is it?"
"You okay?" he tilts his head. "You're flushed."
"Yes," she says, lying. "What did you say?"
He gulps, noticeably embarrassed that he has to repeat the question. "I said… what do you think if we spend the time we have left before the sunset… otherwise engaged?"
She's confused, for a minute, until he raises an eyebrow. Oh. That.
"Oh – okay," she shrugs. He smiles, fondly, with that smile that had her convinced the first time they did this. "My place or yours?"
"Open the door," he says, gets up from the chair. "I'll be right there."
.
He is in love with her. With every single, adorable, invaluable detail of her. From the way she bites her lip to the way she always complains that she's out of blue to paint the sky. Worst thing is, she doesn't even imagine it. She's poised, Regina, reasoned, wouldn't get her feelings involved in their friendship. As she opens the door, he finds her without sweatpants, in her oversized sweater, eyes looking down at the phone. "I'm setting an alarm for the sunset," she explains.
"Okay," he shrugs. "I've bought two beers."
"The Belgian one I like?"
"The very same."
"Wonderful," she says, sounding very distracted as she walks towards her room. He follows, stops by the fridge to push in the beers, and then enters. Regina is already in her bra, gathering her hair in a ponytail. She glances at him, says, "So?" and Robin realizes he's very much dressed. So he quickly unbuttons his trousers, they pool on the floor along with his shirt, and follows her up on the bed.
There is a moment of stillness. Then Regina demands, Kiss me, almost a plea. It's… unlike her. She is, usually, more respondent and involved. But Robin complies, they don't do this often, the kissing, but sometimes it gets things going, it's an easy start.
Regina, though, stiffens in his arms, presses her lips against his, moans into the kiss, and then parts from him. "I'm sorry," she says, her eyes wide, almost… frightened. "I can't do – I can't anymore," she tells him, her voice about to break, a first tear rolls down her cheek. She pushes herself down the bed, towards the bathroom, slams the door, a key turns in the hole before he can even reach the edge of the bed.
"Regina!" he screams. His hand slams on the door, but there's no use. He places his forehead against the wood. Muffled sounds come from the other side. "Regina, please," he whispers. Somehow, he knows she hears him. "Please. Whatever it is, we'll talk about it, but open up."
He waits. And waits. He even sits, his back against the door, like in the fucking scene from Frozen, and talks to her. "I'm still here. I'll wait for you, until you're ready, but I won't go away. Not unless you tell me to."
.
She makes him wait.
It's unfair to him, but she cries a river, and then she has to wait some time to be presentable again. And then he says one of those uplifting sentences and she cries again. He can't see her like this. Except he can, because against her best instincts, she finally opens the door.
Her eyes are dry, and he stares at her, worried, expectantly.
"I can't do this anymore," she blurts out. "Because it hurts. Every time I pretend that – that I'm okay with being your pastime, it hurts. And I don't – don't want to l-lose this. Lose you." She realizes she's crying again, but who cares. He'll go away from her anyway, he'll –
"Regina," he starts, with that annoyingly calm voice.
"Wait," she murmurs. "I haven't finished." He waits, for her to gather up the nerves to speak. "I – I don't want to lose you, but if – if you're… you don't want… all of me, and not just the fun parts, I'm going to have to ask you to step away," she says.
"Regina," he takes one step towards her, cradles her face in his palms. "I absolutely want all of you, my dearest," he says, calm, serious, like this is the most important matter of his life. "I've never wanted anything else. I want to be with you. But… for real."
She tries to shake her head, one last hiccup, trying to understand what he's saying. "So you… you really…"
"You're not just my best friend," he tells her, and now, now she believes. He thumbs away a tear. "You're the one, Regina."
She doesn't need anything else. She kisses him like she's never kissed him before, they laugh in the kiss, when it breaks, their foreheads touching, she cries and laughs at the same time, the immense relief washes over her soul like a balm. They stumble back on the bed, she pushes him towards it, peppering kisses on his face, his hands tangling in her hair.
In that moment, her alarm rings. He stills, under her, but then laughs, when she launches herself towards the nightstand to shut the phone down. "Screw it," she murmurs, glancing at the horizon. One of the most beautiful sunsets ever, and she's missing it, she thinks, kissing him – but for a very good reason.
