This dream is familiar.

Riza bathes in this warm, empyrean-like light. The heat in her body rises, but summer heat isn't only to blame. It's his touch; the calculated and purposeful touch from his fingers and caresses from his lips sets her ablaze more than the sun. Kisses rain from her neck to her collarbones to the peaked tip of her breast, varying from mischievous to reverent, earning him pleased sighs and slight tugs of his messy hair.

And he fills her. Oh, how he fills her.

Slowly.

Deliberate.

In the liminal space of her dreams, it had been different. He had seemed different, when he asked her, "Don't you want to be with me?"

Reality is altogether another beast, but Riza lets herself be lost in the quasi-fantasy nonetheless. "Yes," she sighs out loud. She wraps her hand around a rail and then swiftly releases to palm her own temple as the sensations from his thrusts begin to reach a climax and he reaches a part of her that curls her toes and arches her back even further.

Seemingly attuned to this, he doesn't relent. His nails bite at the skin of her bare hips for the grip and his other hand moves to thumb her clit in lazy but continual circles. The nerves on her skin tingle completely and her legs open wider, invitingly, for him as if she wasn't already vulnerable as it is. She can do little but let him fuck her, and watch him as he does so. Sweat slicks his hair back at odd angles, but it glistens against his tan skin, running along the defined muscles on his chest and arms. He pants and grunts with each thrust and Riza is vaguely aware of her own voice, rising and falling against the rhythm of his body pushing up against hers. Every time Riza thinks she's reached a new, unexplored plateau of pleasure, Roy pushes her further, hips snapping against hers in an unrelenting, continual movement.

Physically, he fucks her with such ardent intent it's as if he purposely wants her to be beyond propriety and reduced to nothing but her most basic, carnal motivations - and in the middle of the sea, alone on this sailboat, she has no reason not to be. She wants to. His conscious efforts and the sense of what excites her body has never been more precise. It's damn near the best sex he's ever performed on her: but she's not in it. No matter how good he makes her feel at the moment, it's dampened by her own muddled thoughts. They only allow her brief respites; a moment to consider the way his fingers trail, blazing against her skin, a few seconds to take note of the way his weight feels on her. No matter how much she tries to push it away, the intrusive thoughts come back to her like the waves that rock the vessel they are on.

She feels emotionally and mentally detached. She's a textbook definition of distraction; occupied thoroughly by the newfound knowledge gained yesterday.

Are you sure about that?

Despite the questionable nature of her inebriated source, it had nonetheless weaseled its way into the recesses of her mind that were - until now - blissfully unaware that anything could be amiss.

Perhaps each new crest of pleasure coursing through her body, Riza thinks belatedly, is actually him just putting her through the paces of numerous multiple orgrams and she's merely unable to stop this trajectory he's on. It weighs heavily on her now that that the lack of information on his part may have been as deliberate as him fucking her on this boat.

It rolls restlessly in her mind. Are you sure? Are you sure? Can you be sure? Could you ever?

But it doesn't add up in her head. If he invited her, why have both of them on the same island? Why stay with her? Why be with her now? It's plagued her since yesterday, and she's been given no opportunity to process it on her own, in her own space and at her own pace. She hates it; hates this unsettled feeling that digs into her skin. No part of her feels untouched by this, this knowledge that envelops her tongue and heart like acrid oil.

The worst part about it is that there's seemingly no escape from being reminded of this situation either. They had shared a brunch with his sisters and mother earlier in the morning - farewelling the family before they jetted off back to the mainland for 'a proper holiday'. Perhaps not entirely in jest, Riza had asked them if they had room for one more on their itinerary.

They had all laughed, and promised to include her next time.

Logically, it should not have been a difficult two hours to spend: sprawled out on the patio of their hired villa, eating fresh fruits and drinking limoncello. Instead, it had felt impossible to relax - even more so under the watchful eyes of Chris Mustang. It was almost like the older woman knew what had happened. Hell, maybe she did. But even as Roy bickered with his sisters in ways that Riza somewhat recognised in her own relationship with Rebecca, there was still that uneasy feeling deep in her gut. There was an edge of tension permeating the air and their interactions that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

She might not know much about the 'normal' ways in which family interacted with one another, but Riza would bet money that this wasn't how it was done.

Maybe she was looking into it too much. Maybe the line of tension she thought she identified in his shoulders was all illusion. Maybe the fact that his ex-fiancée had turned up when he had told her she wouldn't was just an unfortunate stroke of luck.

Maybe Maes was just full of shit and too much tequila.

The boat rocks in the water once more and Riza is dragged back into the now, reminded just how fucking good this feels. Isolated, on a luxury boat that isn't hers, with the sight of him glistening in the afternoon sun from sweat, his brow scrunched and his neck terse as he nears his own climax. He's a marvel to behold. Hers. Hers?

Unbelievable.

He groans but he doesn't finish inside her, but over her. The smirk resting on his lips is sin as he surveys what's before him, but she isn't given much opportunity to consider it. His mouth open, lush, and hot against her own makes it difficult to think of anything beyond the physicality of the act, how he demands her undivided attention.

The heat, the high, his hips, fuck - can she be blamed if it's easier to forget for now? It's almost impossible to focus on anything when he kisses her like he intends to wholly consume her. His fingers run through the hair at her roots, gripping firmly - Riza's moans are instant, freely letting him turn her head to expose her neck. The sun can't compare to the heat of him, the way he strokes her, fingers expertly coaxing that final crest of pressure and -

If she was a more suspicious woman, Riza would question whether this whole setup was deliberate from the get-go. But that kind of deviousness doesn't suit her estimation of him. Right from the first stumbling of spied drunken texts - hell, from when he blatantly propositioned her in his office - he had always been refreshingly honest and open with her. Perhaps that's what was confusing her the most about this whole situation. Her own thoughts about Greta to the side, it wasn't exactly a situation that made sense if her worst fears were the truth. Roy had an ego, yes, but he also knew how to pick and choose his battles.

His kisses are slower now, a softer application along the edge of her jaw, dipping down to her collarbone and then further to the sternum; delicate little touches that leave her just as breathless as his ministrations from before. He's whispering something against her skin, lips tickling as each unheard word is alternated with another soft kiss. If she tried, Riza could probably catch the edge of the words, but the sun is too hot and his touch too diverting to do anything beyond search for the next pleasure.

Eventually he makes his way down to where his seed is on her abdomen. He shoots her a dark, lecherous smile before licking it up deliberately in broad strokes. She can't help but moan at the image, tilting her head back as he continues down to her clit, spreading her legs with his hands and licking her folds unhurriedly. Two fingers join in, pumping a steady rhythm, and then they're joined by a third. It feels like an impossible request by him to cum again at this point - her nerve endings feel oversaturated and spent, her pussy is so swollen she can feel the folds rubbing against each other with every twitch of her hips, and she is lost in this haze of pleasure that won't let her submit and rest.

Roy's fingers curl in her and remain consistent in their pace and suddenly Riza realises what he's aiming for, and the sensations are all barreling to an endpoint that she can only hope will bring her satisfaction.

"Roy-" she manages. "Please-"

"Come," he growls and Riza is helpless to deny him now. She's far too gone to feel even a shred of embarrassment as she feels the liquid spill out of her, over his hands. He continues that steady pace and Riza groans as the orgasm continues. She feels debauched and wants to do nothing more than remain in that space - incapable of thinking, existing only in the moment for what she can physically feel. In the back of her mind, she's somewhat aware of the sensation of Roy's hands on her skin - but it's too much effort to raise her head right now, to focus beyond the pleasure little shivers that travel down her spine and emanate out her limbs as the orgasm winds itself down.

Time passes. Riza isn't sure for how long, merely noting that the breeze picks up slightly. It takes a lot of effort to pull herself up into a sitting position, and she's careful as her joints protest as she bends them. She shoots him a smile where he is sitting, just within her reach. Riza rests her temple against her knees, enjoying the view in front of her. It is a perfect picture: him, the azure blue of the sea and sky, the faint white spots just on the edge of the horizon that signal their way home.

"You're very quiet today," he says after a while. His smile matches her - not the kind that stretches over his teeth, not the kind that brings out his dimples. Tempered, perhaps - or cautious.

"I've lost count of how many times I've cum," Riza replies, because it is true and she isn't sure what else to say. Everything is still a gaussian blur, like the mirror in his bathroom that always fogs up no matter how quick her showers were. The details are not as detailed as they should be. She knows a version of the truth, she reminds herself.

But not his.

It's difficult to coalesce her thoughts into something logical to say, because on the face of it, this whole situation is just a series of unfortunate coincidences. There's nothing technically wrong with the simplest of the facts. They broke up. They kept in contact… somewhat, if Maes' nickname and Roy's explanation during that conversation at three in the morning is to be taken at face value.

And therein, Riza stumbles upon the crux of her problem. All these versions of the same story don't align as neatly as she feels they ought to. Somewhere, someone isn't being completely honest with their retelling of events. Maybe what stings the most isn't the fact that Greta is here, or that she danced with Roy in a manner that was far too intimate for ex-lovers… but that he had assured her she wouldn't show up and yet, here she was, all glittery and sumptuous. Internal comparisons aside, Greta Flores de la Vega was a formidable woman on paper alone, let alone in the flesh.

Roy's fingers flutter over hers, dragging Riza back into the present. That same tempered smile is on his face and as Riza watches him, she can't find any hairline fault, no crack or shadow or tell that would reveal his truth. Perhaps it wouldn't matter anyway, she thinks somewhat bitterly, if you really believe in your own narrative then it's not technically a lie.

"Is this about my mother?"

Riza blinks, and immediately feels bad about the snort she lets slip. "No, I- no, not at all," she clarifies, shaking her head. "I mean - this whole situation just makes it a bit awkward, you know?"

His smile turns sympathetic and he squeezes her fingers within his own. "It's not ideal, no. I believe the academic term you're looking for is 'complete and utter clusterfuck'."

She hates that her immediate reaction isn't to feel relief at his acknowledgement. Instead, that niggling feeling just burrows deeper. About his mother? Yes. But nothing for the ex-fiancée who was draped all over him last night like an ill-fitting suit. He's as much a stranger to her as he is her best friend at this moment, and Riza isn't sure which one scares her more.

Which version of betrayal hurts the most? The version where she has only herself to blame, for thinking that there was longevity in this tryst, or that he took the time to learn her insecurities, only to throw them back at her in an incredibly cruel way?

"But," he continues, watching her face with almost equal fervour as she feels she is watching his, "I think you're a poor liar if you're telling me that my mother is the only reason why you've been so quiet."

"Oh?"

"...Or maybe I should be congratulating you for not being terrified of Greta? I thought she would at least try and butter you up first."

"You're scared of her?"

"You're not?" His response is lightning quick, incredulity bleeding through his tone. "Please tell me you saw how she threw that glass."

Riza thinks back to the drama of last night. "She dropped one, yes-"

"Dropping implies a level of carelessness and Greta is anything but careless in her actions," Roy replies firmly. "Don't play dumb Riza, it doesn't suit you. I don't expect you to immediately understand why she acts the way she does, but you're still one of the most observant people I've met."

"I don't think I follow." Riza isn't sure what's more unexpected about this situation: the fact that this conversation is seemingly allaying her fears in one fell swoop, or that they're having it while still utterly naked from the earlier afternoon activities. She leans over to her far left, where his shirt was tossed and goes about undoing the remaining buttons. He's watching her with a look she's well familiar with but Riza gestures her hand towards him to continue. It's not lost on her that he apparently noticed her unsettledness, but took her out on the ocean regardless. Yes, she accepted his invitation, and it wasn't like she hadn't rejected his advances sometimes. It's not… selfishness. Deliberate ignorance? There's an element of burying one's head in the sand here that seems to be a recurring theme with Roy across multiple aspects of his life - one, Riza recognises, she had employed herself for today. Perhaps it's an overhang from his childhood - but nonetheless, Riza tucks the concern away for now. There will be time to examine it in detail later, when her emotions aren't quite so mixed.

He accepts the shorts she tosses at him and he runs his hands through his hair, looking off in the vague direction of San Clavel. "Okay, I'll tell you what I know I saw, and then you can tell me if that sounds about right compared to what you saw, yeah?"

Riza nods slowly.

"So, we have Greta turn up to a party where Maes assured me she wouldn't. Strike one for me, that was dumb to assume in hindsight. She knew I was… involved with you, but not who you were precisely. Point for us."

"How is that a point for us?"

"You're an unknown as far as she's concerned, which means she doesn't have enough information on you to pull any shit. I'd like to keep it that way. All she could manage last night was cheap insults about your age. I would greatly prefer if she could only stick to middle-grade insults."

He pauses here, thinking. "Some of what she said had a point - about my treatment of her, my treatment of our relationship - but most of it was coming from a place where she just wanted to be hurtful for the sake of it."

"I'm not saying you deserved it, but -" his eyes crinkle at that critique, and Riza wishes her lips weren't automatically lifting up to match his rueful smile. "Ignoring egos for a moment, did she have a salient point?"

Roy hums, the smile lessening. "Yes," he says, but it's more like a question - like he himself doesn't know. "No? I don't want to give her credit where she doesn't deserve it. You saw how she acted last night - throwing around flutes because her cousin is expecting and she's still childless-"

"You said she doesn't want kids."

"Fervently not. What we would like to do versus what we actually do never seem to align very well. But like Gracia, she's an only child - pressure, for women at her age especially, is a whole other beast. Add on the fact that she arrived alone and I brought my partner… people will be gossiping."

"Like they would be gossiping about me?"

Roy's brow furrows.

"Last night, when the two of you were dancing, the only person who bothered to keep me company was Maes, who was completely wasted by that point. Neither Chris nor your sister's thought to step up. It sucked, feeling like I was an outsider compared to your ex."

He ducks his head in acknowledgement. "Point taken. I'm sorry for leaving you, for not preparing you better, for dancing with her. Exposure to me doesn't automatically mean you're prepared for the other parts of my life, and I shouldn't have expected that from you either. You deserve better from someone who positioned this trip as a way for us to spend time together." He turns away from her for a moment, leaning across the deck of the boat, and when he rights himself he's holding some soda cans. "You should have some fluids," he says, passing her one.

Riza chews on the side of her tongue as she considers his apology, and cracks her own can. It feels strange, in ways she can't quite identify, to be speaking so frankly to another person about their actions. Ordinarily, she would be wanting to talk to Rebecca about this situation, get her take on the mess that had unfolded. It would make her feel better, to be sure - to be validated by Rebecca's interjections of that bastard! and that bitch! - but perhaps, Riza realises, that wouldn't actually quell the emotions raised, wouldn't do anything beyond furthering the anxieties that were present before they had even boarded the plane to come here in the first place.

Instead, she's somewhat struck by the simplicity of his words, how quick he is to acknowledge his mistakes. So far he's been nothing but an open book, and Riza internally toys with that concept. It's hard for her to trust, yes. But these are not issues she's had to struggle with exclusively with Roy - in fact, it's been the opposite. He has been nothing but patient with her, but day by day he had managed to uncover information about her that would usually take years to be brought into the light, not mere months. It is a curious thing to realise, in hindsight, just how well he had gotten under her skin, to the point that the anxiety she is feeling isn't to do with their future and the unknown shape that that will take, but rather a chance meeting months ago.

The fear grips her, and for a moment, Riza is stuck on the edge of a decision. She knows who she saw - the change in scenery didn't do anything to diminish the impact that Greta had on her memory, even in the darkened corners of Roy's office on campus.

Even then, she was still exceedingly beautiful and put-together.

She takes a long sip from her can before she speaks. "I guess we should be lucky she didn't recognise me," Riza begins, choosing her words with care. He has been measured and patient with her, and she should be the same. "I suppose she wouldn't think much of a single afternoon in the scheme of her everyday life, but…"

The confusion is clear on Roy's face, his hand stalled, half-raised to take a drink. "Why would she recognise you?"

"It was just before we broke for the semester," she continues. "I interrupted you two because I had a question about my essay topic for that final assignment. You weren't… happy at the intrusion."

He breaks eye contact with her, looking to the side as he tries to remember. She waits for seconds that feel like hours and then suddenly the tension in his brow releases as he arrives at the aforementioned intrusion. She watches as his hand clenches around the soda can, his drink spilling out and over his hand, dribbling pitifully to the floor. "Fuck… I forgot about that."

The less secure part of her wants to blurt out all the thoughts bubbling on her tongue - how could he forget his ex-fiancee and… well, was she his girlfriend at that point? Why wasn't he more upfront about her? Why were they still seeing each other if he had sworn off her like he had said previously?

Instead, she focuses on taking a breath in, exhaling as calmly as she can manage. If he was sitting any closer to her, Riza would worry he could hear the way her heart was thumping uneasily in her chest. Don't jump to conclusions, she reminds herself. He did the same for you that weekend.

Speaking of which, Riza raises her eyes to meet him. He's watching her - not suspiciously, or apprehensively.

Waiting.

It's easier, she reasons, to cut to the chase and ask for the answer that they both know needs to be asked. "Was her visit to your office connected to the texts she sent you that weekend?" She'd like to pretend her tone is cool and unaffected but under the surface she's anything but. There's a storm brewing in her ribcage, constricting her heart to painful throbs.

"Yes."

The small relief at how easily he answers that question is quickly engulfed by other rising anxieties. "Was she at that dinner where you skipped out early for me?"

"Yes," he answers again, and it's another clean, but deep cut. "She invited me. Well, orchestrating the whole party would be a more accurate understanding."

The details are both a blessing and a curse in this moment. "Why?" she asks, swallowing thickly.

"Because she engrained herself into wherever I worked. At the military, at the university. Her way of keeping an eye on me, I suppose."

"Maes said you left her in Central."

That catches him off-guard for a moment, but he nods, gaze still unwavering as he looks at her. "Not my finest moment. There were a million better ways to walk out of it with both our dignities intact. I just… didn't care anymore. I wanted away from her, the life we shared. She was trying her hardest to make caring for Elicia a painful experience so that I wouldn't bring up the idea of starting a family with her." He laughs bitterly. "She got her wish."

"But you cared enough to keep fucking her, right? Or was Maes just wrong about that?" She can't keep the acid out of her tone. It hurts, damn it. Would it have hurt less if he lied? Could she have swallowed her pride enough to pretend she didn't know any better? Fucking Maes and his fucking tequila and fucking bleeding heart to give her the decency of a heads up when he didn't have to.

Roy shakes his head slowly. "He wasn't wrong."

Riza physically bites down on her tongue - not hard enough to draw blood, but enough that the pressure distracts her from the tears threatening to spill over. Part of her just wants to roll off the side of the boat into the ocean, let the water envelope her so she can't be aware of the way her face is unnaturally hot, so that her tears can't be discerned from saltwater.

"So when did this stop?" she manages. "Because what you've told me isn't adding up."

Shame blooms over his face. "Okay," he breathes out, looking out beyond her shoulder towards the vast expanse of the ocean. "Before that faculty dinner, I hadn't seen Greta since before the semester started. Our last… interaction-" Riza fails to suppress a derisive snort, but he continues on as if no interruption was made. "It didn't end well. She had tried to get my mother involved - I had learned that I wasn't the only person she was sleeping around with casually at that time - hence, why I could tell you I was clean. Am clean," he corrects.

"I don't hold that against her," Roy continues, "because we weren't in any kind of serious relationship… or relationship at all, really. If I was in Central seeing Maes and his family, or on university business, or she was out East on one of her charity projects, eventually we'd be on each other's radar and… we'd meet up. I'd be lying if I said it didn't always end up with fucking but she was familiar and could at least understand me when it came to complaining about the friends and family around us. But… it was messed up. I just didn't care enough to be bothered about the details, and neither did she.

"I was angry that she had gotten Chris involved this time, and embarrassed," he confesses, "more than I deserved to be, considering how I acted. But then the new semester was here and all of a sudden the Head of Department was giving me two extra classes on top of the workload I had already been assigned and any thought of contacting her flew out the window. And in one of those additional classes was you. Greta sent plenty of messages - so did Chris, so did my sisters, Maes even. I was busier, but I was also ignoring my responsibilities. But, then you appeared and piqued a good deal of my interest. You were the first student I've had to be quite so persistent about making up your participation grade. It was intriguing - a welcome distraction from all the relationship issues in my life that I didn't want to think about too seriously. As you can see, that worked out well."

The attempt at levity isn't lost on her, but Riza lets it slide. Answers are more important right now than being stubborn about a point, though she's itching to. She prods him back onto the right path. "How did she involve Chris?"

"I think the plan was to get us back together… in a more socially-accepted way than letting us bump uglies in the night. She gave Chris a proper performance, probably better than most telenovelas. It had the opposite effect on me, however. I told Chris that when she wanted to listen to me she could contact me but until then I didn't want to hear from her. I wasn't ignoring her entirely," he explains, "but I certainly wasn't being her dutiful son. My sisters had enough sense to stay out of that mess, which is probably why they were quicker to guess that maybe it wasn't just that argument keeping me from visiting them all. Greta, on the other hand…" he sighs again. "Delusional? I don't really know. But she was self-absorbed enough to think my silence was entirely put on for her to notice, that I was throwing a tantrum and hoping she'd pay attention."

"Would that have been the case?" Riza asks quietly. "Years after breaking off an engagement, you're still in some kind of relationship with her. If it wasn't for me," she clarifies, "would you still be going back to her every time she called?"

"Does that matter?"

"How does it not?"

"Because that'd be focusing on hypotheticals. Would I? Maybe? No? There is no way of knowing one hundred percent. And besides - it doesn't matter, because I brought you here, Riza. Not her." He reaches for her hand to hold it, caressing it reassuringly. His touch is warm, like the sun still shining down on them. It feels different to times before - this time not hesitant, nor demanding. Just waiting. Patient.

Home. The word rises unbidden in her mind, distracting her even as he continues speaking.

"Riza," he says quietly, tilting his head to the side as his dark eyes find hers. There's depths in those irises now that seem to distract her even as he speaks. "I love you. And we don't have to stay. We can leave after the ceremony tomorrow and that will be the end of it. I am committed to you."

Riza blinks once, then twice. The words roll around in her head. "You love me," she repeats. She feels it's more for her own understanding than communicating to him that she's heard him correctly.

"I do." There's no teasing smile at the corner of his lips, no lines in his brow. "I love you very much."

The latter half of his declaration clicks into place because that's all that she can coherently respond to in this moment. "But you already paid for the tickets…"

An endearing smile blooms on his face. "I meant here, Riza - the island. I'm sure we can find a million ways to entertain ourselves on the mainland. I'd like to stay for the ceremony, but I realise that might be too big an ask for you. Maes will understand."

I love you. The words sit heavily on her tongue, on her heart. Although she liked to pride herself on her pragmatism, Roy had done a very good job of rearranging her priorities. Years of being exposed to romance in the media had created this… understanding of the importance of this moment, and yet when faced with the reality Riza finds herself taken aback for other reasons.

It would be a lie to say she hadn't given thought to this shift in their relationship; in different circumstances, however. A part of her wants to be angry at what's led to this moment. Another part says the means don't affect the ends, let alone justify. Comparison is natural, normal, but dwelling on it any more won't change what has happened, nor what's been said, right up until this second.

What's important right now is them, and Riza's feelings now, not how she felt two days ago, she reasons. Would she still be plagued with these worries, these fears of his love being a lie if he asked her to move into her apartment properly? If he wanted to marry her?

No, she realises with startling clarity. This situation they're in - it's a mess to be sure, one that will certainly need to be revisited when they're not currently in the midst of it. But his explanation just means that timelines were close, never overlapping. She feels deceived because she had retrospectively treated the entire span of their relationship as a committed one, even though neither made such promises in the beginning. Perhaps what hurts more is the realisation that all of this could've been cruelly taken away from her if Greta had simply been quicker to insert herself back into Roy's life.

So this is love, Riza thinks. She doesn't feel more enlightened for having stumbled upon this realisation. There's no swelling strings or fireworks. Just… acceptance of this new normal, like it's always been a fact. Water is wet. The sky is blue. Roy loves her.

"I don't mean to brush aside what you've just told me," she begins, her fingers adjusting comfortably in his grasp, "but won't us leaving cause you problems? You say she doesn't know anything about me, but we can't discount that she might remember too. From what you've said, I doubt she will want to remain in the dark about who I am."

His expression sours a little, but Riza knows she has a point. "It's a possibility," he admits. "I don't think she would remember that meeting, simply because at that point she was still so confident in herself. It certainly helps us to leave early though - less time spent around her will always be better."

"What will happen if she does?"

"She'll be angry," he answers after a beat. "Insulted even more than she thinks she is right now. I could see her slapping me - scratch that - she will if she's given the chance." His brow furrows deeply, eyes looking out towards the ocean. "But, the only people here who know the whole truth are Maes and Gracia, and they're both going to be busy the whole night. Greta won't get anything out of Gracia, no matter how hard she tries, and honestly I would pay good money to watch her and Maes go at it. Once we leave though… what can she do? Be angry and sulk because things didn't go her way? If she wants to go about ruining this celebration, then let her make a fool of herself. What she wants and thinks isn't important to me anymore."

Riza remains quiet to that declaration, chewing thoughtfully on her lip instead. Part of her wants to ignore the angst and issues that led up to this point, because the warmth in her chest has firmly spread to her cheeks and her ears, pooling pleasantly in her stomach. It's easier to leave the genuine hurt caused as something in the past… but that wouldn't actually solve the core of this problem.

It's tricky. It's not really her business - but in a way her hand has been somewhat forced, dragging her into this soap opera before she can object. In an ideal world Roy would've been more mature in his previous relationships.

In an ideal world Riza wouldn't have found herself falling for him like he did with her, though.

Roy seems content to leave her sitting where she is, as he goes about collecting clothing, errant cans, the tequila bottle that had quickly been booed and poured off the starboard. The breeze has picked up some more now, and Riza tilts her face to the sun, breathing deeply. She's an internal riot: butterflies, joy, incredulity. But it's tempered by this undertow of numbness, just below the surface.

She just wants to trust him. She hates that it's so easy.

Riza hears him settle down next to her, his fingers tucking her fringe behind her ear with deliberate care.

"I'm just thinking," she tells him, sliding her eyes shut.

"I know you are," he replies. "May I know these thoughts?"

Riza would like to say that she hesitated here, that she took a moment to think about her actions, consider the consequences. But like so many times before where he's concerned, her reaction is instinct and instant.

"Part of me thinks I'm missing something," she begins. It feels a little strange but mostly comforting to be so plain with him. "That I'd feel more secure in myself if I had more information. But really, it wouldn't help things either way. I have to trust you, don't I?" Unbidden, a smile pulls at her lips. "I have to trust you when you say that you love me. It's not really something you can… ever really know, y'know? We want it and look for it and just have to accept it when people say it's so."

"I could tell you again if you like." The hand fiddling with her hair has dropped to the back of her neck, rubbing the skin unhurriedly.

"If you like," she teases. "I certainly wouldn't object."

She feels his lips press a kiss into her hair. "I love you, Riza," he says quietly. "You have changed my life irrevocably for the better."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," he tells her emphatically, fingers curling along her jawline, inclining her head back and exposing her neck. His lips kiss her forehead, the edge of an eyebrow, the top of her cheekbone. "We didn't meet under the best of circumstances but I do not regret it one bit." His touch is firm: possessive even, with how his fingers spread over her neck. It's a different kind of thrill now, as he pulls her closer to him, into his lap properly. Automatically, her hands cup his jaw, fingers threading into his hair as she seeks out his lips - this kiss is sultry, and Riza hums pleasantly as she feels his tongue against her own. His manner is unhurried but insistent and while she did come from his touch barely half an hour ago, that familiar heat is blooming once more and it's just as irresistible as before.

She isn't quite sure how to describe what they're doing - making a promise, a vow? It feels new but these motions are anything but - they're more. Sure, he's bitten her lips and dipped wandering fingers into her sex a million times before, but now it comes bundled with this knowledge that he's doing it absolutely and fundamentally because of her, and not for other reasons.

Like fucking her because Greta wasn't available at the time. The woman unfortunately comes to mind, and Riza registers with clarity that she has an opportunity here to be honest not only with him, but herself as well. Inwardly, she knows she's still stinging a little from the realisation that it was some well-placed chances that meant Roy hadn't gone back to Central, to her. But he was right. It didn't matter about what didn't eventuate between the two of them. What mattered was what he chose to do.

It takes a bit of effort to extract herself from his ministrations - he makes an unhappy noise as she pulls back, and Riza is rather tempted to put aside these thoughts for later and indulge both his and her lust. Nonetheless, she settles on his lap, hands resting on his chest. "I want to tell you something," she begins. "It's… I want to say it."

There's a thin sheen of sweat that reflects on his brow, and automatically she moves to wipe it with the side of her hand. He leans into the touch, dark eyes sliding shut. "Tell me then," he says.

She wants to say that he's gotten under her skin like nobody else has ever managed to. She wants to say that this is partially because she's never let anybody get as close as he has. But that's not the whole truth - as much as he has been persistent and patient with her, he has also proven to her time and time again that it's okay to drop these carefully constructed barriers. This was never about pursuing her. He made sure she met him halfway.

"You know it's… difficult for me to talk about my emotions and feelings," is what Riza does say, because that much at least should be established. "I'm still practicing." She watches his lips twitch upwards, but to his credit he stays quiet. "But I am getting better at it, thanks to you."

In truth, she has a lot to thank him for. He has had a foundational impact on her character, and it seems like she can recognise more and more changes in her as time passes. Ordinarily that shift would scare her. Instead, she's left with a left with little bolts of pride as she navigates her day-to-day life differently than before.

"There's still things that we'll need to talk about more," Riza continues. "But they're not - it's not conditional, y'know? Yeah, it's kind of fucked up what you and Greta were doing but I also know it wouldn't be fair to blame you for acting that way when you had no reason not to… at the time."

His brow furrows and Roy tilts his head slightly, eyes opening to focus on her. "You've lost me a bit."

"I love you!" Riza blurts out, and she winces slightly at how abrupt her approach ends up sounding. "I don't know, it's just - you're right. She can do whatever. That doesn't change how I feel about you." She watches him, how the lines around his eyes crinkle, his lips tugging upwards once more.

"You better not be laughing at me. It sounded better in my head," Riza grouses, trying not to compare his confession to hers. He made it look effortless in comparison.

It's one of his dimpled smiles, but so broad she thinks it might split his face in two. Roy shakes his head, and he leans forward to steal a kiss from her before she's aware that he's shifted closer. His arms snake around her waist tightly and he pulls her properly back into his lap. "It's just - very you," he tells her between kisses, struggling to contain his amusement. "But I'm very happy you told me." At this distance she can see the different shades of brown in his eyes, and it's a little overwhelming to be the sole focus of such a gaze.

"I'm very happy you told me," she parrots, partly because it's true and partly because she's forgotten how to formulate original thoughts as she watches him smile at her unabashedly. It's infectious - she can feel her own lips tugging upwards and Riza is paralysed in that moment by wanting to watch his grinning face, but also wanting to kiss that smile for as long as she possibly can.

For all the problems they're dealing with, this is one she is happy to deliberate over for the rest of the day. Compartmentalising is a skill she's perfected, and the hurts are tucked away neatly. Right now, she just wants to indulge in what feels good.

They are their own little island out on the ocean.

2020 might be shit but at least we updated

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful

than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon

and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone-
and how it slides again

out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance-
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love-
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure

that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you

as you stand there,
empty-handed-
or have you too
turned from this world-

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?

mary oliver, the sun