disclaimer: TALES OF characters © BANDAI NAMCO
warning: mature themes, language.
a/n: I said I was gonna do an Alisha perspective... just didn't know it was gonna be 3 years later (whoops). Happy belated 5 year anniversary TOZ. You will forever lowkey be my favourite just because of these two.
This chapter is almost 30 pages with 12k words because I've been working on this since TOZX ended. Which was back in 2017. Eek.
synchronicity
pt. 2
You're not a crybaby. Well, you would never admit that you are, but… you cry. Just, every once in a while. Or, you don't know—quite often?
Maybe, actually, you cry a lot.
Doesn't really matter.
… the point is!
The first time Rose made you cry was not technically her fault because she didn't know. Still. No. It was her fault. It was definitely her fault!
It's your first movie night together (yes, it's a "Netflix and chill" night, as basic as it may sound, and even though neither one of you mentions it, you can feel it looming in the air). She suggests watching this endangered species documentary, of all things. You don't question her taste. Rather, you comply because… well, you love animals, and who doesn't like learning more about them? It's not like browsing through the selection for another thirty minutes is fun, anyway.
So she selects it from the library, and the two of you naturally cuddle up as the documentary progresses. You are thoroughly distracted by how close she is (it is, after all, only your third date). She has her arms wrapped around your waist and her head is resting on your shoulder. And although the sweet scent of her shampoo soothes you somehow, you're feeling tense because at times, you feel her turn her head a little to breathe against your neck.
(You swear she's initiating).
But all of this goes away when the documentary starts talking about how some of these animals can no longer be saved. Of how their numbers are dwindling to single digits—and that certain species actually require surveillance, otherwise it's guaranteed that they'd be hunted down. All of this is just so sad and unnecessary and why are humans so cruel? Why can't we just cherish life and not be so selfish? It's so unfair and—
"Alisha?"
Rose's voice is soft and filled with concern and she's looking at you like you just got into an accident or something.
"Are you okay? Did something happen?" she asks as she grabs the box of tissue on the coffee table.
You wipe away the tears before she can do it for you, but she does it anyway, thumbing away the warm droplets despite holding a tissue.
"Oh my god, did the documentary bring up some sort of bad memory? I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I—"
"No, no…" you interrupt. God no. You don't want Rose to feel bad. This is only your first movie night together! "It's not your fault at all."
"Then, what's wrong?"
Rose strokes the back of your head and you naturally lean into her, hiding in her neck as she gives you this sideways-hug. It feels so nice. To have her holding you like this, you can easily loosen up and that urge to bawl just goes away as she runs her hand down your back.
"Alisha?"
You sigh and explain to her that you get really emotional over matters like this. Of how you think it's sad the hippopotamus couldn't save her baby from the crocodile. Of how even though you know this is how nature works, you think it's all too sad.
And, thinking that she'd comfort you like the kind person you thought she was, you wait for her to say something. You wait for her to tell you that everything is okay, that we don't have to watch this if you don't want to… you know? Something like that.
But no.
What does she do next?
… she chortles.
And then Rose just bursts out laughing and it honestly is (one of) the most unbelievable thing that's happened in your relationship thus far. But then again, it's only, like, the first week. So.
"Rose!" You shove her away.
That doesn't stop her, of course. Instead, she just lies on the other end of the sofa, clenching onto her stomach as she continues to laugh.
"It's not funny!" you protest, wiping away your tears.
"Y-yes it is!" she argues, still laughing.
You pout and turn away, utterly infuriated with her. Actually, you're not really pissed off at Rose. You're more so angry at yourself for crying over a documentary. Or, you're angry that you let Rose choose the documentary. Which made you cry. Ugh. You don't even know what you're thinking anymore. It's just so stupid that you're crying and she's just laughing and—
Delicate arms circle your waist. You feel Rose leaning into you. Her chest presses against your back and her soft lips trail up the sensitive skin of your neck, behind your ear.
"You're not actually mad, are you?"
You tense up. She's purring and you can feel the tiny hairs on your skin stand up. A helpless moan escapes when you actually wanted to say, let go of me, you idiot.
She snickers and ugh, how dare she.
"I—"
Rose's fingers slip under your shirt. They run up your abdomen and you know that she's not really touching you anywhere inappropriate but this… this is…
"Alright, it's my fault," she says into your hair. "But I wasn't trying to make fun of you or anything, y'know?" she easily flips you over so that you're facing each other (not that you were putting up much of a fight, anyway), and you know that you're redder than a tomato right now, but that doesn't make you stop her from pushing you down entirely onto the sofa.
Great.
Now she's on top of you. And you're not resisting. You're just asking for it, aren't you?
"If you're trying to apologize," you say, and you sound totally angry, despite how embarrassed and vulnerable you feel, "This isn't looking very sincere."
She smirks. "I'm not trying to apologize, princess."
You feel yourself get hot. Like, er, your cheeks. Not anything else. Jeez. Certainly not anywhere else. Anyway, where were you? Oh right. No one calls you that. No one ever calls you that. It's kind of strange to hear it for the first time. And you have a feeling that Rose is going to continue calling you this for a long time.
"So," Rose goes on as she thumbs away the trails of tears still lingering on your cheeks. "Do you want to finish the documentary, or…?"
It's a natural reaction. You just roll your eyes and pull her in.
When her lips crash into yours, you feel her smile against you and you tell yourself—you'll get her back next time.
.
.
One may argue that the second time Rose makes you cry is technically not her fault. But it kind of also is. Because, well, you constantly think that you're not good enough. For anyone. If you're talking specifics, then you really mean for Rose.
A-and you can't help it! Rose needs to understand that she's… she's actually very, very, very attractive!
Also, this isn't just your opinion. All of her friends think so!
"Oh, Rose has the most beautiful skin!" Lailah commented once, to which you wholeheartedly agree, because you love running your hands along her waist, the small of her back… down, down to the smoothness of her hips, and then down, down—
Bad. That's bad, Alisha. Stop it.
"Her hair makes her stand out, I guess," Dezel said.
Well… yeah. You especially like it when she ties it up into a small ponytail despite its length. You think it makes her look cute.
"Rose probably has the healthiest body out of everyone in the group," Mikleo stated, "I mean, have you seen how athletic she is?"
Oh, Mikleo. Always so innocent. Rose's body is more than just healthy or athletic. Come nighttime, she's downright seductive. Not that you need to tell him. Or anyone, for that matter.
"Aw, our dear Rose? It's gotta be the eyes! Man, they're the sexiest blue I've ever seen!" You can never tell whether Zavied is joking or being serious, but most of the time, he's complimenting Rose in front of you. Perhaps it's to get you jealous? Apparently, he gets a real kick out of it.
Not that you mind, but you do want to correct him and say that they're not just blue, they're cerulean, which you love. Maybe even more so than pink. But, again, you don't need to tell anyone. You also don't need to mention that sometimes you'd just lose yourself when you stare into those eyes.
"She jokes around all the time, but Rose is actually pretty mature, you know that, Alisha? I always go to her for advice!" Sorey casually said as the two of you made your way to your history lecture the other day.
Now, this one… this one you don't know. It's a story for another time.
And Edna, being bloody Edna, simply said, "She's irritatingly friendly."
… Yeah. You're just going to drop 'irritatingly' and agree with the 'friendly' part.
It is precisely because of these traits that makes Rose so attractive, so appealing to you. She's like, an idol compared to your past relationships.
Like, look at her! Hell, you didn't even know you liked girls until you met her!
And that's the problem. Rose is… she's really good. She's good at everything. She's an aspiring business major, spearheading every presentation her marketing team puts together; she's the current manager of the freakinguniversity's volleyball league—and do you need to mention how many members are in it? It's a pain to organize that! She's also event organizer for, well, many campus-wide events, and… and she's just so involved!
Being with her makes you proud of yourself, because you're constantly striving to be better. For her. Yet, at the same time, you can't help but to think that you're dragging her down.
Because you're just… you.
Plain, boring, shy, quiet.
How can you ever compare to others out there who are so much better, so much more confident? Or even the people Rose works with? They help her out so much, and all you can ever do is watch.
These thoughts continue to haunt you, day and night. You're scared that one day, you won't be able to help it anymore. That you'd reach your limit. Your chest will eventually burst because of this uncertainty and you just have to let her know. You need to tell her that she deserves better. Someone smarter, more beautiful, nicer, more outgoing. Better.
But then—
"Alisha! Guess what?" Rose suddenly barges into your apartment one day (typical), brimming with more excitement than usual.
You look up from your laptop, away from the plethora of tabs on your browser—all of which are references for your upcoming case study on corruption in politics. But you weren't focusing on them. You couldn't.
Now that Rose is here, you put on a smiling façade and respond, "Hm?"
She grins before answering, "I've finally decided on my major."
"Oh?" You say, genuinely surprised. She's been thinking about it ever since the two of you met. Or actually, even further back—before everything, apparently. "What did you decide on?"
Her grin widens. A light flush spreads across her cheeks as she sits down, and she scoots closer to you with her crossed legs. "Management."
Your eyelids flutter and you tilt your head slightly, curious.
She sees her cue and follows up immediately, "Pretty exciting, don't you think?"
"It quite is," you start as you close your laptop. You move closer to her, "but, Rose… you do understand it demands a lot, right? Really time-consuming too. It's going to be hard on you, especially since you're involved in so many extra-curricular activities…"
Oh no, it's starting to sound like you're discouraging her. It's nothing like that. You want her to do what she likes. You want her to be happy.
"Rose, I just… I don't want you to stress yourself out, do you understand?" You reach for her hand to reassure her, and she takes it.
… Oh? It's so clammy. Her hand is usually smooth and soft to touch. Is she feeling nervous?
Your eyes catch hers. Emerald and cerulean clash. Suddenly, you don't feel so insecure anymore. No, you can't, because some instinct inside of you is telling you to be strong. For her. Because Rose looks so vulnerable. It's like a reflex. Don't waver, Alisha. So you give her a small smile. "Is everything okay?"
Rose darts her eyes to the side, looking away. She bites onto her lower lip and you can see that she's struggling to answer you. You can also tell that she's probably rehearsed for whatever she has to say because she's sitting very straight. Like she's about to do a presentation for one of her courses. You know this because she always practices in front of you the night before.
"Well, I… I just think that… um, someday, when you pass the bar, I should be doing something meaningful as well. I won't be working in the justice system, changing laws, helping those in need, but I just… I want to be more. Y'know?" She pauses, swallowing the lump down her throat.
You see that her cheeks are reddening, and her voice is getting quieter. Her hold on you is getting tighter as well.
And you feel a strange warmth building in your chest. A million things are going through your mind, but you opt to ask her something that is the best for her, "But, Rose, is this what you want?"
Your serious tone seems to have thrown her off. She fakes a chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as she responds, "Alisha, I didn't know what I wanted for, like, ever. But now..." then, out of nowhere, the light in her eyes return as she turns to you. She smiles, "… I do."
Your heart skips a beat. You forget how to breathe, the moment you realize what she's truly trying to convey. "Mm," you manage.
"Because I just…" she sighs, "… want to be better. Like, good enough for you. Something like that?"
You try to respond. You want to respond. Another mm would do. Just something. Anything.
"I mean, what would people think if they found out that barrister Alisha Diphda's girlfriend has a boring job? Or isn't anyone important? I don't want them to think little of you because of me," she lowers her head, like she's deliberately avoiding eye contact.
She continues and you can no longer hear her. Because you're trying to think of something to say. To tell her how you feel the same, how you want to be good for her as well, and oh man, you're still trying to answer her. It's hopeless though, as your voice is caught in your throat. Your vision is getting blurry and you're trying your hardest not to blink because if you do, tears will fall, and she'll see you cry again and she'll laugh and what the hell—
"Oof—"
Before she can get the slightest hint that you have been crying again, you have already thrown your arms around her, tackling her to the ground. Your laptop on your thighs gets knocked over to the side, forgotten.
"A-Alisha…?"
You're hiding in her shoulder and you've got her trapped in a vice-grip. There is no way in hell you're going to let go of her. Not even if someone pries you away.
But then she moves to return your hug. It doesn't take her long to figure out what's going on. Mostly because you're shaking like a lost child. She softens up and simply embraces you lightly, securely. Rose strokes your back and somehow, it makes you sob harder. You're not really sure if you're feeling touched for her kindness or stupid for wanting to break up with her for such a dumb reason or that you're just completely in love. Whatever the case—
"You're enough," you whisper.
Rose perks her head up and you swear you hear her gasp. Like she can't believe what she's hearing. So you draw back and let her see your teary eyes and your content smile.
"You're more than enough."
.
.
The third time she makes you cry is… a bit embarrassing to talk about.
Like, come on.
The two of you just came back from a party and neither one of you is exactly drunk, but definitely tipsy enough to lose control. Immediately after throwing your shoes off, you feel her arms wrap around your midsection from behind. You stumble forward because you can hardly maintain balance, and you end up crashing against the wall. If you were just slightly more sober, you'd probably turn around and scold her for being so aggressive, but no. You're not nearly as sober as you think you are.
But you do end up turning around, only to have your lips violated and utterly bruised by hers. Your hands struggle to grasp for something—some sort of leverage—and you end up holding onto her head. You have every intention to push her away, to tell her to stop, to tell her to be a bit gentler at the very least, but you end up pulling her in, inviting her to hurt you.
You taste blood, and it isn't until she pulls away that you realize she has bitten into your flesh; you are bleeding at the corner of your lips. But it doesn't faze you one bit. You look into Rose's cerulean eyes under the dim light and she looks back into yours, with just as much passion. Your chests heave and your breaths are rapid, uncontrolled.
"Alisha," she leans into your ear to whisper.
Her hot breath makes your spine tingle and you instinctively lick your lips, tasting the metallic tang as you brace yourself for whatever she has to say.
"… I want to fuck you until you pass out."
Oh god.
Your eyes widen. You're electrified. Your breath catches in your throat and you're completely stunned by her choice of words. But somehow, "Okay." You answer easily, "… then fuck me."
Oh god oh god WHAT?!
You're not usually like this. No, scratch that. You are not at all like this! Where has that good-girl Alisha Diphda gone to? What is making you say something so… so shameless?!
You don't know—you don't have enough time to know that you don't know.
Because the next thing you do know is that Rose has dragged you to the bed, your clothes are discarded along the hallway, and you are making these strange, strange noises that you've never heard before. Honestly, you are very quiet during sex. B-but, like, Rose is rougher than usual and you never knew that she could be like this! Sure, she can be really passionate and good if she wants to, but this.
"Ohh—nnn… Rose!"
This is unreal. Every fibre of your being is reacting to her touch, and it doesn't help that the alcohol has made you so responsive and you swear Lailah's spiked the drink or something! Your body writhes and you try to open your eyes to look at her. Oh god, her head is between your legs, and for a hint of a second, those sharp eyes catch yours but you can't comprehend because your body is bent like a bow and her tongue—her fucking(gosh, why are you so vulgar?!) tongue is so hot. You can feel the warmth slipping between your folds, and it's (you're) so, so wet. She's just teasing and dear lord you want more. You need more.
So you squirm, moving, urging her to give you more but she's clearly not paying attention. To be fair, you shouldn't complain about this. Rose is great. It's just… she really needs to stop teasing. "R-Rose…!" Gripping onto the pillow you're lying on, you whine to her, as coherently as possible, "Rose, I… I need—" your lower lip catches between your teeth. You bite back a moan when her tongue flicks at your entrance. The heat bursts and pools at your abdomen and you hear yourself cry, "—hurry…!"
"Mmn," she hums, the vibrations of her voice make you jolt as her fingers spread your thighs farther apart. "And do what?"
Ugh. She's the absolute worst. "I-I… please, stop—"
"You want me to stop?" Rose feigns disbelief, thin brows arch in worry and she pulls away.
The second you no longer feel her hot breath against your centre, a sob breaks out. "No! No, don't—please don't stop…!" Tears blur your vision. Whether it's because she's bullying you or because of your pent-up frustration, you don't know. But through this blurriness, you catch rings of blue, piercing sharply into your own green ones.
She sighs, still refusing to lean back in. But she's smirking. Ah—she's enjoying this. "Then you gotta tell me what you want, princess."
You pout. That nickname again. You're not a princess. Far from it. Except she treats you like one. She sees you as a delicate flower that she likes picking at, both figuratively and quite literally. But then you also like it when she's super sweet and always gives you everything you ask for. Not that you ask much. In fact, you never do.
Which makes you think.
Does Rose like it when you ask?
"I want…" your voice comes out barely in a whisper.
Her eyes light up. That smirk widens into a sinister grin, and your heart pounds. She looks like a predator. And you're just a meek little prey waiting to be eaten.
Gosh, why is everything so literal today?
"... y-your tongue," you finish.
Rose comes back in. She nudges your legs apart with her shoulders, resting right at your dripping entrance and you nearly come undone right then and there when you feel her hot breath against you. "Where do you want it?" she purrs.
The longer she drags this on, the more aware you are of the fact that your walls are clenching uncomfortably at nothing. This whole thing is so weird and shameless and sinful and… and! God, you just want to be filled! So, with reluctance (you don't know what you're doing; you're blaming the alcohol even though you're pretty sure you've sobered up by now), you reach down. You hear yourself panting heavily, trembling with anticipation, and your own touch is sending sparks all over your body. Your fingers slide down your flat stomach, past your sensitive navel, past the blonde curls, and finally. Finally, your fingers rest at your folds.
"Here…" you squeak.
You think you hear a chuckle. But before you can reprimand her, she dives in—just as you had asked. Her tongue slips right in, and you are suddenly hyper-aware of how wet you are. You're pretty sure the sheets are soiled, and the fresh scent of linen is masked with the heady smell of arousal in the air. Oh, but what are you doing, distracting yourself with smell? Rose is… Rose is in you and it's so amazing because you can feel the appendage wriggling inside, brushing against your velvety walls and you can't help it—you want more. Need more. You need to tell her. You wrap your legs around her, heels digging into her back. You buck your hips, grinding yourself against Rose to meet her thrusts. Oh, god, that did the trick. Your sobs turn into shrieks when Rose widens her jaw, pausing to nip at your folds before dipping her tongue back in.
You don't know when this happened, but your hands are flung up above your head. You're gripping desperately onto your pillow, and even though you are thoroughly occupied, you can still picture how erotic this entire picture looks. Rose devouring you from beneath, your head thrown back in wild abandon, your breasts bouncing as you move to the rhythm. It's so much. It's too much. But—"Rose, please!" This is beyond your control. Not like you had much of it from the start.
"Mm," she hums again, even more nonchalantly this time. But you know your moans are leaving an impact. Because she's moving higher—her tongue withdraws. You feel her kissing upwards, to the bundle of nerves. She flicks your engorged clit with her tongue, and your reaction is immediate—
"More!" You cry, back arching higher towards the ceiling.
She does it again. Your screams escalate and you're pretty sure your neighbours will give you looks the next day, but fuck it—
"God, Rose. Please!"
—her lips wrap around your clit and then she sucks and you just— "... can't…! Aah!"
An explosion of stars and all the warmth in your body spreads to your chest, collapsing in the form of fireworks and it's like all of your nerves are contorting, twisting, blasting you into oblivion and then some.
When you come to, you realize what had just happened. And it certainly happened much too soon. Sooner than you'd like to admit. Which you don't want to admit.
Because it's just going to get her all cocky. You see, Rose knows exactly how and where to make you feel good. Like, of course she does. You two are not exactly innocent, no matter how it may seem so to the average outsider. Sure, you cherish the moments where the two of you hold hands and steal kisses which lead to blushes and giggles, but does anyone know that with her, sex has never been more thrilling? Like, there was this one time when the two of you were at the theatre watching a movie. Midway through, she just reached to... like. Y-you couldn't stand how hot her tongue was and… yeah. Thank goodness it was an empty theatre, because you think you got quite loud. Then there was this other time where Edna's brother hosted this thing and the two of you snuck away to the garden and she just took you right there. Gosh, it was thrilling and all. Except for the part where Dezel caught you two. Good thing he's not a loudmouth, otherwise the entire group would still be talking about it by now.
Anyway, that's beside the point. Rose is just… she's not stopping. She's not kidding about making you pass out, because you feel as though your soul is being sucked out of you as her teeth toy with the bundle of nerves between your legs. You pant and pant and think your lungs are about to collapse. The noises coming out of your throat echo in the room and through your muddled mind, you can somehow tell that it's getting louder as her fingers are circling your clit, practically vibrating at the speed that she's moving.
Your walls pulse, clenching painfully at the emptiness. God, you need more. You're dying for more. "R-Rose…" You call out in a desperate, shaky whimper. "Inside… please…!"
She flips you over abruptly so you are lying on your stomach. You manage to push yourself up with your elbows, despite the little strength remaining in you, and Rose straddles you from behind, moving a hand down your abdomen where she plunges into you with her—two? Three?—fingers, all the way to the last knuckle, and thank god she never stops her ministrations on your clit. You don't know what you'd do if she left it alone.
Whining and bucking your hips, you writhe with her movements and you can barely keep yourself up anymore, which makes you realize: you must look ridiculous, with your face in the pillow and your upper body flat on the bed and your bottom sticking up. Ugh. But you also can't deny how hot this is. The two of you so close. So intimate. You've been together for a while now, but this is the first time Rose is so rough with you. It's the first time you're being so passionate. And this just proves your point—sex with her is thrilling.
Rose leans in closer, burying her face in your neck as her teeth scrape across your delicate skin. Her other hand slips up to your breast, capturing the hardened bud between thumb and index finger and she digs her nails into you, almost like she's marking you as her own. Oh god, the thought of it is too much. You would never say it out loud, but Rose being possessive is something that turns you on so, so much. Probably because she never shows jealousy, and that kind of worries you. You're scared that someday, someone may snatch you away and Rose wouldn't care. It's ridiculous and is somewhat of an irrational fear but you can't help it. Rose is… Rose is—
"Please—please don't stop…"
—yours.
She's yours alone. And you. You're—
"Mine." You hear her say.
And you suddenly don't feel gravity. It's like her voice has taken you to another dimension when really, it simply touched something deep inside. Your emotions run wild. Your mouth hangs open and your world just spins and spins as your eyes roll to the back of your head. You claw at the sheets and all you want to do is tell her—
"Yes!"
I'm yours
"R-Rose—I… l-lov—you—hnnn!"
Your body starts to shudder again, but still, Rose just doesn't stop. It's borderline painful by now, and your hazy mind screams at you to push her away, because if you don't, you will most certainly be confined in bed tomorrow morning.
But you don't. Some sick, masochistic side of you holds on.
You place your hand over hers on your breast. You hold onto her hand that is between your legs. You turn your head a little to meet her gaze, and the two of you kiss. Your tongues battle inside, outside, and it's inelegant and messy, but that doesn't bother you. You just know that you want her, and you want her close. Your hips seem to have a life of their own as they struggle to match her pace even though your muscles are so sore and tired and you're just running on fumes.
Her fingers do a hooking-motion and they hit another high-strung nerve and you come undone a final time. Tears finally pour down your flushed cheeks not because you're hurting, but because you're suddenly ambushed by a surge of emotions. You can't explain precisely what it is—happiness? Sadness? Confusion? Comfort?—but you do know that it weirdly feels nice.
You are shaking, slowly coming down from your orgasm, but it soothes you to have Rose holding you so close, so securely. Just thinking about how she has you wrapped around her arms makes more tears run down your cheeks.
"You okay?" You hear her ask, voice filled with amusement more so than concern.
You breathe out. It's uneven and shaky. Talking right now is out of the question. Even the slightest movement sends pain all over your limbs.
Rose chuckles. The sound of her bubbling laughter makes you feel warm. "You don't need to hide, y'know? Crying during an orgasm is completely normal."
Stupid Rose, you want to say, it's not just one orgasm, but you end up hiccupping.
"Aw," she smirks, planting kisses on your nose, cheeks, brow, and finally your lips. "Aren't you adorable."
You manage to pout despite everything, and if you had an ounce of strength left in you, you would have said something like I'll get you back, but that would just be an empty threat. You're like, done. Completely so. The last thing you remember before passing out is Rose kissing her way up your neck, her lips stroking at your tendons before whispering something tenderly into your ear. It's so affectionate, so incredibly warm. It sends you into a cloud of euphoria when you hear the words.
"I love you too."
.
.
The fourth time she makes you cry is… hmm, well, honestly, it's nobody's fault. Maybe you should just admit you're a crybaby.
You see, you were in the middle of your seminar when you felt your phone vibrate unstoppably. And it's not the phone-call-vibrate, it's the message-vibrate. Needless to say, you were getting spammed with texts. But, y'know, being the responsible and respectable person that you are, you don't look at your phone until it is okay to.
And that's two hours later. You say goodbye to your peers and wish them luck on their individual presentations before reaching for your phone. Sure enough—146 messages and… oh, 38 missed calls.
You had to give it a double take. Are you being stalked? Is someone being a creeper? Has your phone been hacked? What the heck is going on?!
You unlock your phone and scan through the messages as quickly as you can. They all came from Rose's friends, the various group chats that you guys share, Lailah, Sorey, Edna, Mikleo, Zavied… and even Dezel who has never texted you before has left you more than a few messages.
"Hey, where are you right now?"—Sorey.
"Alisha, please answer as soon as you can."—Lailah.
"You have to call us back."—Mikleo.
"This is pretty urgent. So pick up your phone, you idiot."—Edna.
You no longer care who sent you what. You just know that you are sweating and you can barely stand and you have trouble breathing. Your heart almost stops when you see that the most recent message is from Rose herself—
"Holy crap, were they spamming you? They're just being dramatic. Everything's fine, so don't worry."
… which, naturally, makes you worry more!
You go to your contacts and press onto Rose's name at breakneck speed. Of course, it rings forever and no one picks up. At this point, you feel as though your blood is being drained from your body because you're getting so lightheaded. You drop your bag and lean against the wall for support before calling Sorey, whom you choose out of convenience because he is in the missed call section.
Thankfully—
"Hello? Alisha—"
"Sorey! What happened? What's going on? Where's Rose? Is everything okay?" You ask in one breath.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!" He says, purposely lowering his voice into a whisper.
Which quickly makes you conclude, "You're at a hospital, aren't you? Which one? I'll come right now!"
"How did you—"
"Sorey! Damn it, is that Alisha? Ugh, gimme that—"
"W-what? No, hey…!"
You hear a bit of a struggle on the other side of the phone, but you'd be lying if you say you didn't calm down a bit after hearing Rose's healthy voice. Even if it's for a bit.
"Hello, Alisha?"
"Rose, what happened? Why are you at the hospital?"
"Okay, before you freak out, let me just say it's not as bad as you think. I'm so angry at them for being so dramatic. All I did was pass out and—"
"You passed out?!" You nearly shriek. You're still technically in the classroom, so the remaining people around you are taken aback by your sudden outburst. Not that you care. Not that you have the capacity to care right now, for that matter.
"Like I said, it's not as bad as you'd think. I sound fine right now, don't I? Apparently, I was too tired or whatever. Which is no surprise if you think about it. The volleyball league finals have been quite hard to deal with. Oh, and the marketing assignment. Then I also had to attend the meeting-thing for the…" she pauses. You can literally hear the hesitation in her despite the silence. Then, she starts again, "Alisha?"
"Which one?" You hear yourself murmur.
"... What was that?"
"Which hospital, Rose."
She hesitates again. And it's getting you antsier than ever, but you don't have it in you to scold her. You don't know if you can.
"But I really am fine." She says quietly this time.
You take a deep breath. "I want to see you."
Rose sighs over the phone, before continuing, "It's… the one in downtown. Alisha, you don't have to—"
You don't know what she said afterward because you've already hung up. It was a bit rude of you. You'll apologize later, but right now you have to call for an Uber. And even during the car ride there, you continuously tell yourself that everything's going to be okay. It repeats in your head like a mantra.
Rose is okay. She's talking. She's fine. Everything's okay.
You leave the car, tip the driver who kept shooting glances at you because tears wouldn't stop welling up in your eyes. Good news is, you're not actually crying. Just tearing up. Now that's a big difference. A big improvement.
At the hospital entrance, you see the paramedics pushing strollers in and out of the building; the sirens from the ambulance resound at the driveway, and it scares you to think that Rose—that healthy idiot you adore so much—likely just went through all of this. Your chest becomes sore when you step forward, but you are determined to ask the receptionist for the room number without trembling (you can't text the group, because you know that your hands would be; or that your voice would if you tried to speak).
Actually, you're trembling already. God, Alisha, stop being so pathetic. You hold onto your hands, ignoring how they're so dry and cold and that somehow, all this shaking is spreading throughout your body. You feel your shoulders tremble. Your knees start to buckle and you think you're hyperventilating.
Think of something. Think of something else. Anything. You listen to the voice in your head and look up—oh god, don't look at the hospital—and you tear your eyes away from the building. Your head is down and you don't really know when you can bring yourself to look up again, but god forbid you from crying in the vicinity of a hospital.
So don't cry. Don't you dare cry, Alisha Diphda. It's been enough. You've cried enough.
But you can't breathe. You can't help it. You can hear yourself gasping for air. The trembling hands that you have been holding onto are now gripping at your shirt. Your fingers threaten to tear through the fabric to claw into your chest. I-it's too much. You don't think you can stand up or think or breathe—
"Alisha."
You turn to the voice. And what do you know—"Rose!"—the nerve of her! It's… not that cold, but how could she! Being out here in nothing but her hospital gown and w-why is she in a wheelchair?! "What—" you run towards her, "... what are you doing out here?" you quickly drop your bag and take off your jacket, draping it over her shoulders, "Y-you told me it's not as bad as I think, so why are you in a wheelchair?" You're trying your best not to freak out, but she's really not making it easy at all. "Where are the others?" you continue to question as you drop to your knees, checking if she's hurt her legs.
"Which question should I answer first?" She finds room between your panic attack to chuckle.
She holds onto your face, and it isn't until you feel her fingers on your cheeks that you realize tears are streaming down your eyes. You try to ignore it, putting all focus on her instead, "This isn't funny!"
She just smiles as she looks at you with an indescribable tenderness.
And then a comfortable silence fills the air. Your heart suddenly jumps and you feel so stupid. All the scenarios—the accidents, the sicknesses, the catastrophes—that you've imagined to have happened to Rose on the car ride here come resurfacing, reminding you of how delicate people are. But another, more rational voice inside is telling you how ridiculous you were for imagining such extremities.
"I…" you look down, hiding from her gaze as you rest your forehead in her lap. "I'm sorry."
Rose pats the back of your head. "Alisha," she calls, and you look up to meet her signature cat-like grin. "I'm out here to see you, I'm in a wheelchair because the nurses said I shouldn't strain myself even though I'm perfectly fine. They're just being dramatic. And, erm, I've sent the others home because I'm pissed off at them. Oh, and I made them apologize to you. They'll probably be spamming you with texts soon."
Now that she's mentioned it, your phone has been vibrating for a while. Her words give you some semblance of relief, and you sigh, only to feel your breath shake. "They were just worried about you, so you didn't have to do that," you mutter. "And you didn't have to come out either, I was going to go in to find you."
"Oh," she says, scratching her cheek with a finger. "I just thought… if I came down, I could see you sooner."
Typical Rose. She's just making excuses. She knows that you have this fear of going into hospitals. She knows what you've been through when your mother was sick. That's why you can't find it in you to be mad at her. Because you know that she's doing this for you. So you play along, diverting the subject, "Are you trying to flirt with me to avoid a lecture?"
"I mean…" she raises her shoulders, "Is it working?"
There she goes again. Being a joker. Just like Sorey described a while ago. You used to disagree with his comment about her being 'mature', but you're starting to understand what he means. "Hey, Rose."
"Hmm?"
You pause, looking deep into her eyes before saying, "I'm sorry I'm always like this."
Rose heaves a sigh. It sounds more like contentment than anything. Her fingers curl at the strands of hair that frame your face. She pushes them behind your ear, and then she caresses your cheek with the back of her hand.
You lean into her touch, moving in closer to rest your head against her shoulder. "I know I'm a bit… overbearing at times, but… y-you don't make it any easier for me, you know?"
She laughs. "I know." A comfortable vibration spreads throughout Rose's warm body and you find yourself softening up. "But I like that about you," she says as she strokes the back of your head, now combing through your ponytail.
Her gentle touch can lull you to sleep. It's always been like that. When she sleeps beside you at night, when you two sit on the sofa to watch TV, when the two of you are just together. It's comfortable. You find yourself closing your eyes to the sensation.
.
.
You made her cry once. Just once. And it breaks your heart every time you think about it.
"A dinner?" she perks her head up.
You nod. "Just… with my family. My, um, father's side."
Rose raises a brow to your hesitation. "Wait, you're actually going this time? And aren't they, like, super cruel to you or whatever?"
Sighing, you plop yourself down beside her on the sofa. "They're not cruel. Just... we were never close. Maybe that's why we never got along. Maybe it's because we never got the chance to."
"What about that whole thing where they didn't even show up to your mom's funeral?"
You tense, clenching the hem of your dress. "My father came."
A pause. You feel the air thicken and maybe this isn't a good idea after all. You are about to say never mind or I'll go by myself or something, but then Rose puts her hand on yours, her warmth enveloping your skin. It catches your attention and you turn to her, who just stares at you observantly. Like she knows you're totally coming up with excuses and you just feel obligated to go because family is family and you're far too polite and just—
"Okay. Let's go."
You blink, eyelashes bat curiously as you spin to her. "Wha… you'll come with me?"
Rose shrugs. "Sure. On the condition that if they make you uncomfortable, I get to lose my shit on them."
You chuckle. "While I find that to be very sweet, I'd much prefer you not. It'll just make things more problematic. It's not like anything I do matters to them, anyway."
"Mmn, alright." She frowns, "I'll be good."
A smile breaks and you lean in to peck her on the cheek. Rose giggles adorably to that.
You were informed that the dinner isn't going to be extravagant compared to the past parties that your father has hosted. You genuinely thought it was just going to be a family dinner. You know, with aunt Maltran (whom you actually admire), cousin Konan (whom you think is a brat but will never say out loud), and those uncles you would rather avoid.
But no.
It's not just a dinner. It's a freaking party. After all, your father's an important figure in the political world and therefore it is crucial for him to represent himself in the most appropriate way possible.
So of course you end up seeing those uncles you don't care about. Of course cousin Konan shows up with his arms wrapped around some CEO's daughter's shoulders as he comes out of his sports car. And, most importantly, of course you've come prepared in an extravagantly extra and pretentious gown.
Everything's exactly as you remember it when you were a child.
"I hate you." Rose mumbles as she tries to fight the stunning red dress trailing behind her as she walks. It matches her hair, which, by the way, is set up in a cute updo—a little ponytail of sorts—just the way you like it. "So much for a family dinner."
Nervously (because you actually do feel bad for dragging her along to such a lavish event), you tuck a lock of hair behind an ear and swallow. "Sorry."
She grunts but immediately softens up. Like she knows how hard this is for you. "There better be an open bar," she says as she glances around.
The party takes place at one of the mansions at the Diphda Estate. It's… as excessive as it sounds. Chandeliers, spacious ballroom dance floors, marble pillars, a full-blown buffet that serves anything one can possibly think of. It's excessive, but typical. Very Diphda-like.
"I am certain there is," you say as you loop your arms together. "Just don't drink too much, okay?"
She shoots you a toothy grin. "If I drink too much, mayhap Your Highness escort me to your royal chambers?"
Your cheeks heat up instantly. She means way more than just to show her your room, obviously. And while the idea makes your spine tingle, you choose to clear your throat and stand taller. "Behave."
Rose frowns. "You're no fun."
That's not true, you want to argue, you're a ton of fun. But then you are interrupted when you see a flash of red—nearly the same colour as Rose's hair, but slightly brighter in tone.
"Aunt Maltran!" you call to the person.
Said person turns to you, an affectionate yet elegant smile graces her charming features. She approaches, and you cannot help but to ogle at the way her hips sway as she moves. Gosh, everything she does is so beautiful. You weren't wrong to have developed a girl crush on her.
"Alisha," she says when she stops right in front of the two of you. "You've grown so much since the last time I've seen you. How long has it been? Five, six—"
"Eight years," you finish for her, unable to withhold your excitement. You think your cheeks are going to crack from all the smiling, "I'm so glad to finally see you again. I thought you'd never come back to the country!"
Her expression softens, like she's amused by your excitement. "It's what happens when you decide to handle business overseas, only to find out that nobody else is capable but yourself," Maltran says. Her hazel eyes dart to Rose, and that's when you remember—
"Oh, where are my manners? This is—"
"—I am well aware of who she is," your aunt interrupts, her tone turning solemn all of a sudden.
Which throws you off completely. You've never heard Aunt Maltran speak like that before. Then again, the last time you spoke to her was when you were only fourteen or something. It takes you several moments to recollect your thoughts. "Well… aware?" you tilt your head, curious.
"In spite of your attempts to keep a low profile, Alisha, you are still Senator Diphda's daughter." She pauses to eye Rose, from head to toe. Her gesture is imposing, as if she's asserting her dominance between the three of you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, and not in a good way. "It is impossible to escape the tabloids," she continues. "Being seen with someone with so little status will undoubtedly tarnish the family name."
"Aunt Maltran," you cut in.
Rose shifts a little. You can feel her looking at you, but you're not sure what her expression is; you're not sure you want to see. Because if you heard anything like this—because if you heard this in Rose's position, this… this is just—
"Rose is much more capable than anyone in this room. Myself, father, and you included." You take Rose's hand into your own, gripping it tightly. "Now, if you would excuse us, I would like to introduce my girlfriend to the rest of our guests." You don't let Maltran respond. Your purposely brush your shoulder against the taller woman's as you drag Rose behind you.
Soon enough, you see the open bar. It's quite empty, which is no surprise. This party is some kind of important event for people to network, not to actually party party. And while you know this is exactly what Rose needs to get cheered up, you feel yourself grounded in place. You can't move.
"Alisha."
Rose is calling to you. How do you even begin to apologize?
A sigh.
You're not sure if it came from yourself or Rose, but eventually, you find the will to turn to her. Actually, not really. You're just looking down at your feet. "... I'm so sorry." You manage.
Rose reaches for your chin; she tilts your head up, and you're greeted with the most wonderful smile. Her eyes are so soft as they meet yours, and she's so captivating because her expression is kind and warm and gentle and gosh, you just want to hug her.
She seems to have read your mind, because she leans in, kissing you on the cheek before burying herself in your shoulder, planting more kisses on your bare skin there. "I'm okay," she whispers. "You know I don't care what others say about me."
You breathe out, closing your eyes as you indulge yourself to the warmth of her lips. Somehow, you find more relief in her touches than in her words. "Mmn," you mean to hum in agreement, but it turns into a moan, which immediately darkens your flushed cheeks. Hastily, you take a step back, rubbing at the spots where Rose has kissed you to make sure that she didn't leave any marks. You also take the time to look around to see if you've drawn attention to yourself (PDA is not your thing at all). Luckily, nobody seems to care about a pair of girls fooling around. Like you already presumed, everyone seems to be here on business, anyway.
"Don't worry," Rose giggles, winking, "No lipstick tonight." And then she smirks. "But… you don't actually need lipsticks to leave hickeys."
"Rose!"
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" She laughs. "I'm not going to do that out in the open like that." A pause, and then she looks mischievously at you, "... in your royal chambers, however…"
"Ugh!" You grunt, turning away, "You're the absolute worst!"
Rose just laughs, clenching onto her stomach. But then, the laughter dies down and a prominent silence fills the air between you two.
"Are you okay?" She finally asks.
You arch a brow. "Hm?"
Rose shrugs. She looks behind her to where you came from. "Wasn't she the 'cool aunt' you always talked about?"
Oh. Oh. Rose is… she's showing concern. In her own, subtle manner of speech, Rose is trying to make sure that you're alright because you've always told her that if there's anyone decent in the family, it's aunt Maltran. But the encounter just now seems to show otherwise. "I'm fine."
At that, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. The two of you look at each other in contentment. "Okay," she smiles. "Let's get something to eat then?"
You nod, returning her smile.
The rest of the night goes on without much trouble. You introduce Rose to a couple more judgemental and condescending relatives because they bother to acknowledge you. But it's as simple as it sounds. They acknowledge you and that's that. No further pleasantries; no 'what are your plans for the future', none of that 'how's law school', or 'we wish you the best of luck'. In a sense, it should be a good thing, because at least you won't have to deal with any more awkwardness. Somehow, you just assumed the estranged daughter of the Diphda family would get more attention after disappearing for so long. Maybe you're giving yourself too much credit? Or maybe it's because cousin Konan managed to knock over the champagne tower, drawing all the attention on him?
"Oof. This is what happens when you drink too much," Rose whispers to you as Konan is dragged out of the grand hall.
"You're the one to talk," you whisper back.
"Hey, I'm not rowdy when I'm drunk."
"No, but you definitely are aggressive."
"True," Rose shrugs. And then she leans into your ear, "Only in bed."
She's doing everything she can to get you flustered, isn't she!? Your cheeks puff up, you're prepared to scold her, but when you see her grinning so happily, like she's welcoming your anger, you immediately loosen up. She's letting you take it out on her—in case you're still angry. The thought of it makes you loosen up. It makes you want to throw your arms around her, embrace her with all the strength of your body. Because as much as she makes you want to melt in her arms, sometimes, it's nice to have her in yours. The affectionate gaze you give her makes her blush a little, and on instinct (because she's clearly super shy when it comes to stuff like this—especially coming from your end), she just turns to look away.
"Ah, if it isn't Alisha Diphda herself, finally attending our family gathering."
The deep voice startles you, and if you think your encounter with aunt Maltran was bad, you have definitely forgotten about a certain someone in your family, who is, by far, much, much worse.
Worse than any human being, that is.
Baring your teeth, you shoot Rose a glance. You pray that the subtle gesture is enough to tell her, please, don't go crazy on this one. Please.
"Uncle Bartlow," you greet, bowing courteously. "It's been a long time."
"Indeed, it has, dear child." The man says as he takes a sip from the glass of wine he's holding.
An uncomfortable pause.
You watch the lump in his throat bob.
Subconsciously, you swallow as well.
There's always something about Bartlow that frightens you. Perhaps it's his gaze that always seems to be patronizing people. He does this all the time with his eyes—just staring. He does it as if a million thoughts are going through his mind; like he's processing what he deems worthy and what isn't. You remember that when you were younger, even your father had to heed to his call. Well, of course he did. Bartlow has so many connections to both the business and political world that some say even world leaders have to take in his opinion at times.
Those are just rumours, though. But you don't want to take any risks. Never did. Especially not now, because you're not the only one whose future he can ruin—
"I never did give you my condolences for your loss, have I?" he suddenly speaks.
No, he hasn't. Nobody in this family has, save your father, who only did so out of obligation, and aunt Maltran, whom you no longer care much for. "It's no problem," you force yourself to say. "It's already been a while."
Bartlow hums. "Quite a misfortune. She was a talented woman," he pauses to take another sip. "… despite her stubbornness."
You feel a muscle in your jaw twitch.
"Very noble of you to have gone along with her. I have always believed it to be a waste of your potential to be caring for someone so uninspiring."
What…?
"I suppose lowlifes will always be disappointments," he continues, swirling the contents in his glass casually. "Perhaps you felt more at home when you were with her? Hence your obvious discomfort at this party."
A chill runs in through your body. It's an unprecedented anger infused with confusion, mixing together in the most excruciating way that you're suddenly overwhelmed with a dizziness. Your need to respond to your (yet another) condescending relative is distracted by the blood coursing through the veins in your head. Like, you want to speak, your jaw's already hanging loose, but you find yourself just gasping for empty words. Don't. Don't do it, Alisha, the voice in your head tells you. Just endure it. It's fine. It's always been like this. It's—
"Your decision may have very likely hindered you from living up to the Diphda name. I cannot imagine the disappointment your father feels—"
"Wow." Rose cuts in, her voice unnervingly soft.
It sounded menacing enough to make uncle Bartlow stop talking. And you would think that it's a good thing given the right circumstances, but right now isn't it. Right now, you're kind of freaking out.
Rose's expression is threatening—dangerous, even. You've never seen her like this before. Eyes sharp, brows knitted tightly together, and she just looks like she's ready to kill.
"Alisha, dear, you have yet to introduce your friend." Uncle Bartlow states as he stands firmly in his place, ignorant to how conflicted you are feeling right now.
"Oh, um…" you scramble for words, "she's—"
"Oh, don't mind me," Rose interrupts. She's smiling, and you can feel yourself trembling to how menacing it looks. "I'm just a lowlife who has snuck in here to get a taste of pretentiousness."
Bartlow frowns, tilting his head in confusion. "I'm sorry?"
She chuckles in response. "Aw, how cute. Can't say I can forgive you, though."
"Rose, that's enough."
But she ignores you (of course she does). "Tell me, old man, do you find it thrilling to act all superior?" Rose takes a step forward, pushing you aside. "Is this your way of validating your authority? By talking down on someone who is much younger than yourself? On your own niece?"
Your heart pounds, and your mouth has gone dry. T-this needs to stop. She has no idea what this man is capable of. "My apologies, uncle Bartlow," you grab onto her arm, pulling her back, "… she's had a bit too much to drink…"
"Alisha, seriously. Never mind how he's bullying you, but you are not about to ignore the fact that he was badmouthing your mother."
You hesitate. You don't know how to respond. Because… because she's right. How are you okay with this?
Rose scoffs to your silence. She shrugs out of your grip and steps closer to your uncle, now pointing a finger at him. "Just because you're rich, it doesn't mean you have the right to speak to people like that."
… Y-you're not okay with this. You're really not. But more importantly, you can't imagine what will happen if she continues to talk to your uncle like this; you have to intervene. So you take a deep breath, mustering the remaining courage in you to step right between the two, "I said that's enough," you end by glaring at her.
"No, it's not enough," she declares adamantly. "I'm not you, Alisha. I don't have that much patience with douchebags. Somebody has to keep this asshole's ego in check—"
Slap
"…"
Ow. Well, that certainly hurt your hand.
(And your… heart.)
"Rose…" you start immediately as all the air escape your lungs.
She doesn't look up. She just covers her cheek. The side that you've hit, and then she turns and runs off.
Your body turns cold. What have you done? She was only standing up for you! "Wait—"
"My, my," uncle Bartlow interrupts, stopping your tracks. "If this is the type of people you associate yourself with,"
Instinctively, you furrow your eyebrows.
"… then it is unlikely that you will see much success in the future."
Your entire body tenses. God, how you wish you slapped him instead. You chew on your lower lip not just because you need to suppress your need to spaz at him, but also because you're trying to think of the right words. Words that wouldn't escalate this situation any further. "Uncle," you say softly. Out of respect, you find yourself actually turning to face him—to look him in the eye as you speak. "Rose is the best thing that's happened to me since I left with mother." A natural smile graces your expression, the tension in you eases at the realization that the mere thought of the girl in question is able to reduce you to such a forgiving softie. "I believe that my future is quite secure with her."
And then you walk off—pacing yourself only when you are out of the dining hall, out of sight from your uncle and those onlookers.
Well, you have certainly drawn attention to yourself. Perhaps more so than Konan did earlier. You're not sure what to think about that, because right now, you're tasked with something much more important.
Finding Rose in this labyrinth of a mansion was initially daunting, but luckily, she didn't run off too far. She's just sitting on a bench in the empty hallway, right outside the giant doors to the hall. You let out a sigh of relief, clutching onto your chest to create the illusion that you are physically calming down your beating heart.
She doesn't move when you approach. It's like she's expected you to come after her, which isn't anything surprising—because of course you'd go after her.
"I'm so sorry…" you take her hand, kneeling down next to her. With her head down, the reddened cheek that you've given her is covered by the strands of her hair, and you find some comfort in that. She's also not brushing you off, so that's a good sign. "Let's… go somewhere else? I'll take you to my room and we can talk about this, okay?"
She doesn't respond but lets you lead her away. You grip onto her hand, hoping that you can pour some affection through your skin—because you really don't know how to apologize. After all, she didn't do anything wrong. Uncle Bartlow was the one at fault.
The sounds of your heels tapping at the marble in the plethora of hallways are the only sounds being heard. The empty space surrounding you two is creating this cloud of distress; a part of you wishes that you can at least bump into a worker or two—just to ease the tension a little. When you finally reach your room, you shut the massive doors behind yourself, pay little attention to the fact that despite not living here for nearly a decade, everything is still intact and spotless. Everything is as you have left it. You know that people have come in to clear the dust and whatnot, but the pink bedsheets, the light-grey carpet, the white vanity—everything is the same. It's almost eerie.
You know what else is eerie?
Rose being quiet. That's not just eerie, actually; it's unsettling.
You have to break the silence.
"I…" you swallow, staring at her back as you begin, "I know you were trying to help me, but you have to understand. Uncle Bartlow—he's… he has the power to do anything he wants. He can take away all the opportunities you've built for yourself—or even ruin your future. I don't want him doing that to you. You've worked so hard." Still silent. You walk around to face her. It feels like you're invading her personal space, but this is important. "Please, Rose, I…" but now that you're looking directly at her, you see that her cheek is really red. The sight of it makes your stomach churn. You need to make this right. So, with shaky hands, you reach to touch her.
When your cool skin comes in contact with her cheek, she winces, turning away.
"I'm so sorry…" you whisper.
She refuses to look at you, and you can only feel your heart compress in an agonizingly slow way. But you can't give up. Rose was trying to protect you, to stand up for you. And what did you do? Slap her? God.
"… Was this how they treated you when you were young?"
You don't care if she's not looking at you when she speaks. You don't care that she's mumbling. You're just happy that she's finally giving you a reaction. "Ye—" you pause, clearing your throat. "N-no. I, um."
"Alisha, you don't know how to lie," Rose's head is still down. It's like she's just talking to herself. "Do you just indulge their words, every time?"
"No, I…" you sigh. Perhaps it's best to tell her everything. "I'm just so used to it. It's nothing new, really. I just did not anticipate that you'd be here to witness all of that. I… I'm sorry you had to see that. I should've known better," you explain softly. The lack of response prompts you to step closer. Cupping both her cheeks, you bend down a little to look up at her. "Rose…?"
Oh no.
The aforementioned feeling of compression just tenfolds. Your chest implodes when you see tears streaming down her glassy blue eyes; your instinct is to pull her in for a hug and comfort her, but when you hear her sobbing into your shoulder, warm tears coming into contact with your skin, you're at a loss for words.
You've made her cry. It's all your fault.
"I'm so sorry, Rose. I'm…" you whisper into her ear, planting gentle kisses there, "I'm so sorry."
Slowly, her arms move to wrap around your waist. You react by holding her closer, fingers threading into her beautiful red hair. The two of you need to sit down. Not just because your feet are killing you, but also because all of this is so tiring. Talking to people you don't care about. Looking fancy. It's all too much.
"Come here," you say, dragging her towards the bed. When you sit down, you immediately pull her back in to resume the hug.
Her whimpers are the only noises heard in the room, up until she finally speaks again. "I'm just so mad." She whispers into your shoulder. "That I—I couldn't do anything to help you. That you had to go through all of that. Alone. When you were just a kid."
"Oh, Rose," warmth bursts in your chest. It isn't often she's so sweet to you, which is why you find it impossible to stop grinning. You kiss the spot behind her ear. "It's okay. I'm fine."
She shakes her head, and her voice trembles as she presses on. "But it doesn't make it right for them to talk to you like that." She draws back a little, enough so that you can see her face, but not too much so that you're still holding onto each other. Her tear-stained eyes make your heart clench. It's a feeling you're not so fond of, but you swallow it down. You want her to smile; you don't want to see this expression—it… it shouldn't be on her. Rose needs to smile. No matter how mischievous she looks when she does, it always fills you with joy.
So you lean in, kissing her the trail of tears on her cheeks up, up to her eye. Your touch is soft, undemanding—because you don't want to hurt her. It concerns you, however, when she shows no reaction, and plant your kisses a bit more passionately on her. You aim for the corner of her mouth, down to her jaw, lower, lower—until you're at her neck. Collarbone. Chest. Any inch of skin that's exposed. By now, you have pushed her onto the bed, and she's just staring back with the softest, kindest eyes. It seriously makes your stomach flutter and your eyes tear a little.
Rose reaches up, wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you in.
Your face is just an inch above her, and as much as you want to kiss her again, you wait patiently.
She brushes away the few strands of hair obscuring your eyes, tucking them behind an ear. The back of her fore and middle finger caresses the tender skin under your eye, and then her soft palm cups your cheek. "If he takes away all my opportunities," she begins with a gentle voice, "or my future,"
You blink.
Her lips arch up a bit. Just a little bit. "… I don't think it matters."
Another blink.
"Since… y'know." Her thin brows crease with worry, and she bites at her lower lip before continuing, "I'll have you."
Her delicate voice and her flushed cheeks make blood rush up to your head. All of a sudden, you're overwhelmed—lightheaded.
"I mean… that's only if…" she quickly adds, "You're okay with it."
For some reason, it's your turn to have tears running down your cheeks. You only notice you're crying when you see droplets splashing onto Rose's face. You barely squeak out a yes, and already, Rose is reaching to wipe your tears away with her thumbs.
She holds onto your face delicately, pulling you down at the same time. Your foreheads touch, and you try your best to remain eye contact no matter how blurry your vision is. "I love you," she says.
The words don't hit you right away. They replay in your head several times before the meaning behind them finally takes effect. When it does, you burst into a tender laugh. It bubbles in you so warmly you can barely make sense of what to say next.
Rose seems to understand, so she just lies still as her thumbs continue to wipe away your endless tears.
.
.
The following morning arrives much too soon. You wake to the sound of your own stomach rather than your hunger itself. Well, you barely ate last night, so you can't be blamed. You have every urge to get rid of this restraining gown that you've fallen asleep in, but when you catch sight of the redhead, still breathing gently next to you, you're suddenly not so bothered by the infernal contraption anymore.
Instead, you just find yourself reaching over, stroking her cheek. Your fingertips trace her eyelashes, letting them get tickled by the soft hairs.
Rose isn't just beautiful (that's established); her personality, her ideals, her—all of her is the reason you're in love.
And it hits you now how lucky you are to have her. How lucky it is that she adores you.
This goofy, aggressive, impulsive, soft, protective girl who makes you cry so much.
It can be annoying at times, but if it means that you can wake up to this, you're content.
She wakes, eventually, and you give her a moment. A ray of the sunlight is shining in a line, right over her eyes, and it accentuates the blueness so beautifully. She doesn't yawn—just stretches. A few bones pop and she's finally conscious enough to notice you staring.
"Good morning," you greet.
She smiles effortlessly.
You don't wait for her to respond before lunging in—knocking the wind out of her as you pin her down.
"Ooh, somebody's eager."
A rare smirk forms across your lips. You don't bother to answer.
Because you know there are so many more chances to do so later.
.
.
a/n: if it seems rushed or the two are OOC by the end it's because i've forgotten how they're like. i mean it has been any years, so please forgive me. Hope i still got Rose's sass and Alisha's shyness down.