"I want

To do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." –Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.

"Sorry to make you wait, single-eyed. I always like to make myself interesting." The cyclops growled. He was even more horrible now she could see it completely. He was around eight feet tall, covered in dirt and had his hair braided with things that looked like bones, which made her decide she didn't want to ask. He wore a neon green Hawaiian shirt and shorts, which gave a clear sight of his hairy legs and disgusting feet.

"My name isn't single-eyed. It's Sheldon." Marisol held back the laughter.

"What I needed. One of Poseidon's offspring who went berserk." Apparently, the cyclops wasn't happy to be reminded of his father, because it made an angry noise.

"Pretty girl, I'll make a nice stove out of you." Marisol rolled her eyes.

"I don't deny the fact that I would give you a way better breath. Yours stinks right now." Sheldon bellowed in rage and plunged a hand towards her. Maybe he was expecting to crash her like a bug; or, at least, break all her bones with a single slap, which she considered very possible. Only she had a sword, and had to protect Martin. She slashed at the cyclops, and he avoided her swing at the very lost second. The movement he made to miss her blade got her by surprise, and as he hit her, he sent her flying across the cafeteria, to discover it was wider than she expected. Damn, she thought. Her body felt crushed.

"What a lame hit!" She yelled. "Even my abuelas[1] can slap better than that!" The cyclops didn't sound offended. "Did I mention one of them is dead?" She spoke for Esperanza, because she knew nothing about Calypso's mother. Marisol got up, cursing for the high heels (seriously, who could fight in high heels?) and charged again, but this time, two seconds before slashing, she willed her hands off. The cyclops couldn't see her, and she cut his legs. Sheldon howled in pain. The lights flickered on. She turned around, and saw Martin, with two flower pots and a charming smile.

"You know, babe, I appreciate the gesture, but this is no time for flowers." She said. Martin grinned, but his smile faded rapidly as he tried to warn her, she felt the excruciating pain of her broken ribs first, as the cyclops hit her again. Martin put the flower pots on the floor and creepers began growing from it. They tied around Sheldon, bringing him down. Marisol was up soon enough, but the effort it meant made her wince.

"Let me go!" Sheldon complained. "You'll regret this!" He threatened, though he was in no position to threaten anyone. Now there was light, she saw her dress tattered and completely ruined. New rage crept into her.

"You don't know how hard I tried to look nice for today. You don't get to ruin my mother's dress and get away with it!" She ran towards the cyclops, almost tripping various times, due to her heels. She muttered a curse before slaying Sheldon's head off. The monster turned into a pile of golden dust and Marisol fell to her knees. She'd never been more scared in her life. Martin hurried to her side, and knelt beside her.

"Maddie, you okay?" Worry and love swam in his eyes. Nothing like putting your life at risk to make your boyfriend forget he was ever angry at you. She hugged him and sobbed in his shoulder, until she felt steady. She pulled her head back, and before she could say anything, Martin kissed her. Right, kissing Martin was nice; very nice. She'd almost forgotten it. The hurried kiss she'd given him before hadn't been half as nice as the one he was giving her now. There was Martin and the flutter inside her when he touched her. There was Martin and what she felt for him. There was Martin and her love for him. She could've died and he wouldn't have known she loved him. She got apart, ready to tell him, but flinched.

"What's wrong?" Martin asked.

"Ribs. Broken." Was all she could manage to say.

"Let me take you home."

"That would be nice, yes." He helped her up, and offered her a piggyback ride, which she took without many complaints. They were on their way to the subway when Marisol dared to speak again. The subway made her realise he was taking her to her place. She couldn't find the courage to tell him she loved him. The rush of a near death experience was gone, yet not the certainty.

"That one," she began, "was a terrible date." Martin laughed, and Marisol felt her ribs killing her as Martin's ribcage shook under her. But she said nothing because, duh, he was carrying her, and she did not want him to put her down. She was okay there with his strong, wide back all for herself.

"Even so..." Martin hesitated for a moment. Was he glad by the way things had turned out? "I think you stole my—"

"Wait. No." Marisol rushed herself to say. "I don't think I deserve to win you over by a completely accidental battle."

"Love is accidental, yet not an accident." Martin sighed. "Let's not repeat this morning's conversation, please."

"I want to know I got out of probation for being able to charm you during a date, not for standing in front of a monster and slaying it in half." Martin smiled, even though it was almost the same as that morning.

"You stood in high heels, though."

"Don't remind me so, I feel like I sprained my ankle or something." She cackled, but the sound stopped rapidly, because her ribs sent a distress signal right away. "Martin. I'll give you a proper date and I'll make you fall for me all over again."

"I already have, Marisol. But I'm looking forward it, if that's how you want it to be." He said, and they went the rest of the way in silence. She didn't mind when Martin offered to help her, mainly because she had some broken ribs and that hurt as Hades. He took her upstairs and fed her some ambrosia, which tasted like the hot chocolate Martin had done the morning after his birthday. They sat on her couch, and she was feeling a bit groggy from the energy that was being channelled from her to repair her broken ribs. Martin wasn't leaving, even though it was very late, and had she had the energy, she would've told him it was late. But she didn't.

"Where did you leave your sword?" Martin asked, brushing her hair, softly, as she laid her head on his lap. Her breathing was slow and steady; calm.

"My anklet, it turns into my sword. Anávo has been my best forge so far, and I carry it always with me." She smiled. "I told you, a Valdez is never weaponless."

"But if I take your anklet right now, you'd be defenceless."

"Against you I have other weapons... there's no need to fight. I think my best chance is to ask for a truce, you'd like that better." Martin smiled.

"But, against a monster?"

"I already told you, Martín. I'm a Valdez, I'm never weaponless. My best weapon is my intellect, and that's something you cannot take away from me. I see things were others don't, and I assemble them. I'm awesome that way."

"You are humble that way, too." He joked, but Marisol was fighting hard to keep her eyes open, so there was no comeback. "I thought you were never going to call me Martín again." He confessed.

"You called me Maddie after I defeated that cyclops quite flawlessly. Now we're even, pretty boy." Martin thought it safe now, so he leaned and kissed her temple. Whatever she could've done as a reaction to that, her sleep took it away, because she was no longer awake.

"It doesn't bother me anymore." He told her, while she slept. "I'll always be Martín for you, as you'll always be my odd chocolate cosmos." His eyelids felt heavy as well, and he dozed off seating on the sofa, with her head on his lap, his hand lifeless on her hair, as he caressed it until he drifted to Morpheus's domain.

Martin woke up at midnight, his neck was stiff and when he moved his head, pain ran through him. Brilliant. He didn't recognise the place immediately, but when he saw Marisol sleeping peacefully on him, he didn't mind. If she was with him, then it was okay. He was startled to notice Marisol was crying in her sleep.

"I can't lose him." She muttered, grabbing his sweater in her fist, like trying to get a grip onto anything, something to reassure her. "I could've died and he wouldn't have known. How do I tell him? Red roses?" I love you. He thought; his pulse racing. She was mainly mumbling, but her words were quite clear. "It's easy to say so if you're a pink elephant." Martin chuckled. That time when they'd fallen asleep together watching Star Wars, Marisol had kicked him and had snored with a muffled and low sound, like a congested kitten. He didn't know she also talked asleep. He smiled and went back to sleep, thinking it wasn't fair, because Marisol Valdez could steal his heart with her eyes shut, and not being even conscious. But he was also relieved because, at least in her dreams, he had stolen hers.

Martin woke up to a still pained neck, but there was no longer a light weight on his legs. He searched with his eyes around the room, and caught movement in the kitchen. He walked there, to find Marisol recently showered, her hair still dripping wet, making pancakes. She smelled hard of plum now, the scent invading all the space around her.

"Morning" he said. She turned, and oddly blushed when she saw him.

"Hi" she said, shyly, which made Martin frown.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling better?"

"It's nothing. Yeah, thank you. I'm so sorry you had to stay for me last night." She flipped the pancake just by shaking the pan. Seriously, he thought. I thought that flipping pancakes midair was a TV trick, how does she even manage? Marisol finished the pancake and let it slip off the pan over a pile of other pancakes on a plate. She poured more dough onto the pan and another pancake began taking form.

"It's cool. You had broken ribs; I couldn't just leave you here." He ripped a piece off a pancake and ate it, not without Marisol's hand slapping his, trying to stop him. "There's no one in my apartment anyways. No one noticed I didn't spend the night there."

"No touching the food before it's served." She warned, and he smiled. "Isn't your dad with you any other day during the year but for Christmas?"

"He only comes on the twenty five, since he's able to close the flower shop for a day. He does have a lot of work these days, and not much calm before February. February is always chaotic." Marisol finished the last pancake and put a fair amount of them on two plates and took them to the dining room. Martin followed.

"Why is February so chaotic?" She said, setting the maple syrup on the table and sitting.

"Well, you know. Valentine's day." Marisol recognised the stupidity of her question and nodded.

"Of course, Valentine's day. My parents make a big deal of it."

"They do?" Martin poured syrup on his pancakes.

"Oh yeah, they take the day out and all." She took a bite of pancake and swallowed. "I prefer it that way. Not like I want to see my parents being cuddly and making out all day."

"You are not one to have a say on the matter, since you're not exactly an example of shyness and secrecy." She blushed again and Martin stared, blanched, wondering what had gotten into her. Maybe it had to do with her half-asleep rumbles.

"Shut up." She said, and he didn't mind having breakfast in silence, counting how many were the lashes in her eyes.

"Do you have anything planned for today?" He asked Marisol.

"No. Why should I?" Then she realised. "Oh, well, not exactly. I thought it would be fine for me to prepare something... more elaborate, you know?"

"More elaborate than pancakes for breakfast?" He was surprised. "Well, that's a shame. I wanted to count this one as the third date. Or at least get the fourth soon."

"You're being way too anxious for that last date. Aren't you supposed to act distant and pretend I have very few possibilities of taking you back?" Martin laughed.

"I was willing to do so, but you make it very difficult, risking your life to protect me and so." Marisol looked away.

"I already told you I don't want that to count."

"It doesn't change the fact that it happened. Like that walkie talkie conversation late at night." Like that mumbling in your sleep last night, he added in his mind. Martin rested his hand on hers. "Come on, Marisol. Take me out today. I want to date you again, I miss dating you." To this, Marisol blushed so intensely, Martin thought for a second maybe she was feverish from the broken bones.

"Alright." She gave up. "I'll pick you up at five. Now get the Hades out of my flat, so I can plan a great date." Martin smiled.

"It doesn't need to be great."

"Yes, it does. Because I hurt you and I need you to know I'm worthy of you. I have to make clear that I'm sorry and I'm capable of being serious about this. I told you I'm all in, and you made me realise that I need to prove it, not just—"

"Marisol." Martin was standing by her chair then and she stood up out of reflex. "Can I please count all of this as the third date?"

"Okay, if you want it so bad. Why?" Martin smiled sideways and Marisol almost forgot to breathe. He never grinned playfully like that.

"So I can kiss you goodbye." He held her face with one hand and kissed her sweetly, just as always, three seconds of absolute unreality to her. "Goodbye, Maddie. I'll see you later."

"Yeah." She managed to say, and she stood there, dazed, until a couple minutes after he had left. "Damn you, pretty boy." She muttered to herself.

She was terribly nervous, and she cursed Martin in her thoughts, because she betted he was never this troubled before a date. He didn't have to do anything, he was a natural romantic, and took away her heart with every glance. She didn't have it so easy. She still didn't know what she'd done to make him fall for her, how she'd done it. She'd been utterly annoying most of the time, and that couldn't conquer anyone's heart.

She parked the motorbike and jumped off, accommodating her knitted hat, trying to calm herself down. It was going to be alright. She didn't have time to enter the building, because Martin opened the door just as she pulled it open. It was a cold afternoon, forcing them to wrap up more carefully. Marisol couldn't help to notice how nice scarves suited him.

"Hey" Martin said. "You didn't give me time to make it look like I've been waiting outside forever." Martin complained.

"That's cheating." She answered, holding up the bouquet she had in her right hand. "I was supposed to knock your door, so you could put these safe from the cold." Martin was clearly surprised. The unsaid rule of only guys being able to give flowers hadn't stopped her from giving him yet another bouquet. Now, most guys would've been awkward and confused receiving flowers not only one, but two times. But Martin was a child of Demeter, and he knew to appreciate flowers. He liked them; he enjoyed them and most importantly, he understood what they meant.

"Tulips." He recognised, and his eyes shone, enthusiastically.

"Yeah, tulips."

"Tulips" he insisted. If Marisol knew what tulips meant, she didn't let on. The bouquet was quite feminine, with its pink and red tulips, but Martin didn't mind.

"Tulips, yes. Now, shall we go? Or are you going to go back upstairs put those ones in water?"

"Let's go. They'll stand a bit of cold."

They drove all the way to Central Park, where that year they had put an ice ring. Martin looked at the ring suspiciously. Several couples enjoyed the opportunity to ice skate and plenty children tried to learn and failed or succeeded, depending on their luck or skill. Christmas lights were shining on every tree. He had thought of taking Marisol out in the middle of all that Christmassy spirit, but now they were finally in the middle of it, he couldn't quite believe it. It was the day after Christmas, but right there, it looked as if Christmas had come to stay that year. He looked at Marisol, hoping to find some clue in her face about what were they doing there, but she simply stared at the ice ring with dreamy eyes.

"Are we going to watch how people ice skate?" He asked. Marisol laughed.

"No, silly. That'd be terribly boring. We're going in." Martin gave her an alarmed look, and she dragged him to rent the skates. Martin seemed weary of the ice. The tulip bouquet waited on the motorcycle.

"Come on!" She insisted. "It'll be fun!"

"I don't know how to ice skate" he admitted.

"Me neither. We gotta try." And so, between smiles from Marisol, and slight fear from Martin they entered the ice ring. Marisol fell just as she stepped on the ice. Martin's struggle to help her up without falling himself was most hilarious. After a couple loops, Martin stood his ground confidently, and slid swiftly on the ice. He was a natural. Marisol, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky, gliding a couple metres just to fall again.

"It isn't fair!" She exclaimed, frustrated. "I just can't do it!" Martin stopped beside her, and helped her up. He held her hands, to find them slightly cold for the first time, the ice of the ring putting her fire-heated temperature to test.

"Maddie, it's okay. Come on, I'll help you." With Martin there helping her, she improved quickly, but whenever he let go, she fell almost instantly.

"I'm a mess." She cried once they were outside, as she took off the skates and changed them for her combat boots. Martin smiled.

"I think you're cute when you have to depend on someone else."

"I ache all over for having to depend on someone else. I bet those falls will leave some nasty bruises." She was moody for her failure at ice skating, and Martin had to hide how much it amused him. She bought them chocolate and Martin only let her because after that date, he'll never let her pay anything ever again. They sat on a bench, despite the cold, and drank the hot chocolate calmly. Martin passed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, so she wouldn't be cold.

"It's hot!" Martin complained when he took a sip. Marisol giggled.

"Of course it's hot. It's called hot chocolate, you know?" He glared at her, but didn't say anything when she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Martín."

"It's okay; you were just being your usual annoying self." Marisol shook her head.

"I'm sorry for leaving you when I did."

"I thought we had already closed the subject." She lifted her head and looked him in the eye.

"I needed to tell you in order to tell you another thing." Martin arched an eyebrow.

"And what would that be exact—?"

"Tulips." Martin's pulse began racing again.

"Tulips." He repeated.

"Yes, tulips. They are your favourite flowers, remember?" Martin grinned.

"I remember. What do you want to tell me, then? About tulips, I mean."

"Well, what do they mean? Tell me what tulips mean." Marisol'd her poker face on, her eyes hid whatever intention she had. She felt her throat dry, put she had to pull that off. It was her only shot.

"Well, if you give them to me, tulips mean I'm the best you've ever had."

"And you are." Martin's expression softened.

"Why, thank you." He took another sip of chocolate. "They also mean I'm perfect for you."

"For anyone, really."

"I'm happy you're flirting with me again, but I'd explain way faster if you quit interrupting me."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." He dared to kiss her crown, and then continued. "And if red, they also are..." he doubted.

"They are what?" She insisted. Martin's heart was so accelerated he feared for it to drum his chest too loud.

"They are a declaration of lo—"

"I love you." Martin fell silent and stared at Marisol, not knowing if he'd heard her right. Once the words were out, Marisol noticed how nice was to speak them aloud, how they eased her, and made her feel free of the torment of not being able to get them out of her system. Now they existed, now they were real, and now she was no longer their slave.

"What—?"

"I said I love you, Martin Windflowers. I love you, Martín. I love you, pretty boy. I love you, I love you, I love—" Martin shushed her with a kiss, and Marisol was like a wave. She first collected herself and got to know what was going on. Then she let go and crushed the shore, reaching out for more. Martin took a deep breath, passing his hands through her loose hair, hiding them under her knitted hat.

"Don't say it so many times. I think I'm going to pass out if I hear you say it once more. I can barely take it if you say it once."

"I love you" she tried, and Martin blushed slightly.

"I know." He said, with a faint smile. Marisol looked at him with shy eyes, and looked down.

"Don't go all Han Solo on me. That tactic was for before me, you don't get to use it now. Do you still—?"

"Love you?" She looked away, dreadful, and Martin chuckled. "Marisol, there's no moment I stopped loving you. I was angry and hurt, true. But if I ever felt that way, was because I cared, and I care. Because I love you too, Maddie." Marisol lit up then, the way fire does. Weakly at first, to turn suddenly bright and full of strength.

"Am I your girlfriend again and not just your date?" Marisol checked, and Martin cracked up.

"Yes, you are my girlfriend again."

"You look happy." She noted.

"You too." Marisol smirked.

"Well, had I known the secret to your happiness was tulips, I'd have given to you sooner. What does it take to get you laid?" She teased. Martin shook his head.

"You are a tricky being. You just said you love me, take it easy."

"The rest of the masculine population don't understand your caution." Martin laughed.

"The rest of the masculine population don't understand about treasuring."

"I want to feel treasured that way." Marisol tried again, Martin gave her a look that said 'You won't give up, will you?' and Marisol didn't look away.

"Soon." She tried to hide her impression, since a 'Soon' was very different from the 'Eventually' he'd given her first.

"How soon?" Martin laughed.

"Easy there, little grasshopper. What about we take a little walk before it becomes too cold to be outside?" Marisol made a doubtful face.

"Do I get any kisses?"

"As many as you want." He promised.

"Then let's go." She stood up, and Martin stood behind her. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss. "I've missed you." He kissed her again.

"And I've missed you, Maddie."

It was New Year's Eve. They had no one to share it with, but each other. The past days, Marisol hadn't let go. She'd managed to get into his apartment and had slept on the couch against his wishes, only to jump over him every morning. Whenever he'd complained about it, Marisol had smiled slyly.

"Is it because of morning boners?" She'd giggled. "You know I'd gladly help you get rid of them, don't you?"

"Marisol!" He cut her the two times she used the same tactic. But he had to put up a real fight against her and her wishes, because they were half of his wishes as well. He actually didn't know what he was waiting for anymore. He'd been about to have sex with her the day everything had crumbled to pieces. If she hadn't been scared of not being able to say 'I love you' they'd be way past sex by now. Maybe it was that. The fact that he'd almost lost her then. It was most probably that. Even so, now he was upon the moment. He knew what was about to happen, because Marisol did not care for being subtle. Oh, she didn't care at all.

He hesitated at the door. He knew when he knocked it; he wouldn't have any control of the situation. He thought of Marisol. Of Marisol, looking beautiful for his prom. Marisol, messy and perfect working on cars. Marisol, slaying Sheldon, the cyclops. Marisol, falling asleep after a Star Wars marathon. Marisol, teasing him, jumping to kiss him and hang from his neck. He thought of her furious and slightly intimidating, but mostly shocking deep dark eyes and they way she was beating Evan pretty effortlessly when he'd showed up for sword skills class. Thinking back on it, he was certainly guilty of all of this happening, because the gentle dark eyes from the contrary team that had checked on him during capture the flag were the same onyx eyes he saw inside the Hermes cabin when he went there to talk to Sebastián.

"Is that your sister?" He'd caught himself asking him as those eyes fixed on him to then drift away, uninterested.

"Yeah, everybody's pain." He smiled, and Martin knew he didn't really mean it. But Martin didn't pay attention to her brother's joking, he just paid attention to the confirmation to his thought, his mind recollecting the admiration he felt for those eyes, the way they'd taken the time to check on him before capturing the flag and disappearing with it. It had been an honour to lose to her. And yes, he had been always mocked by his friends to learn how to use a weapon. A spear, a bow, whatever. Not necessarily a sword. Yet he knew he would find those eyes. Indeed he found them, beating easily their practise partner. Indeed he found them, part of a face... of a girl who was completely unexpected. Quick, witty, flirtatious. Marisol hadn't been what Martin had expected, but their meeting was an appointment in time and space he fixed himself, when he obsessed over those merciful eyes and wanted to know more about them. He wanted to find the gentleness they had once gifted him. I've found them, he thought, as he dropped his knuckles against the door, knocking. I've found the dark almond eyes and the kindness in them. The door swung open.

Two days before, December the twenty ninth, it had been Martin's turn to make breakfast. Marisol had refused to leave his apartment and he feared for his T-shirts. Just as his camp T-shirt, Marisol was very capable to steal other ones as well. And he didn't exactly have clothes to spare. He didn't mind having her around, though. He'd missed her, a lot, and being able to reach out for her tiny shape whenever he felt like it was something he was enjoying very much. Marisol was still on the couch, asleep. The blanket was over the coffee table, and her congested-kitten-like snores where only audible if you kept very quiet. He thought it was a good thing, considering he wouldn't know if he'd fancied her to snore any louder. The way she did was cute and loud enough for it not to ruin the cuteness of it. He had to admit Marisol had improved his cooking, too. Now he could make decent tea and coffee, and crunchy (but not burnt) toasts. He had to brew tea, due to Marisol's weird habits. Tea for breakfast, he thought the first time. What does she think she is, British? But she explained it to do with her mother not allowing her to drink coffee when she was little so she got used to tea instead. It was nevertheless still weird.

He poured tea into a cup, coffee into another one. He was about to pick up the toasts from the toaster when he felt the dreadful feeling of someone ready to jump on him.

"Don't." He warned, as he turned around to find Marisol, who'd been half a second away from jumping on him, to let herself hang from his neck. To her, that activity must've been fairly fun, but to him it was mainly painful. Not in the moment, but the aching muscles around his neck a few hours after were annoying enough for him to prefer Marisol to stay on the ground.

She looked especially dazzling that morning. That was the first thing that came to his mind. She stood on tip toe and patted his shoulder, and he bent, instinctively.

"Morning" she whispered to his ear, sleepy, before kissing him good morning.

"Morning" he said back, and Marisol took his hand in hers.

"Come." She demanded, pulling him.

"What about breakfast?"

"Not hungry yet." She said, and walked them to his room. She fell on his bed, still undone, and pulled the covers over her. Martin chuckled.

"Did you bring me here to watch you sleep?" She moved to make room for him, and patted the empty space.

"It's still early, let's sleep."

"Come on, Marisol, it ain't that early."

"Lazy morning." She announced. Martin shrugged, but obliged, not without feeling that slight nervousness that creeps into absolutely every teenager to the situation of sleeping with the girl they're in love with. He slid under the covers, trying to escape the cold that was visible out the window. Marisol held to his back, and he was sure she dozed off immediately, but he just couldn't fall asleep. The idea of Marisol there, the fact that it was morning... his brain was already working full time to make it believe it was time for a nap. He turned around to, at least, check which kind of face was Marisol making in her sleep only he found she was, well, not sleeping at all either.

"What about lazy morning?" He asked.

"I can't help to think that—"

"What?"

"I'd like to..." she said nothing, she drew the words on the space between them, stopping midsentence, her eyes sparkling tenderly when she reached for his head with both hands and traced his hairline with gingerly fingers. Martin closed his eyes, that bubbly feeling creeping into him. He felt like he was in a swing, all the way down, his stomach fluttering, nervous. Marisol happened to him like a shooting star, beautiful, exciting, and marvelling; yet so, so brief. He wished he could make her last, last for at least a little forever. He breathed her in. Plum shampoo, the muffled and distant scent of motor oil, almost inexistent. He felt her fingertips, gentle but of rough texture, the fingers of a mechanic, a blacksmith. He caught her hands in his, rubbing her fingers between his, trying to make the sensation of those calloused hands one unforgettable to him. And distracted as he was, she found his lips, numb, absent at first. Lazy. Then he felt her, so near. So close to last a little forever. He held her waist, and she climbed on top of him, without Martin even noticing. His fingers played absent-mindedly with the hem of Marisol's shirt. His shirt, actually, but whatever. Unaware of the ideas that single movement sent across his passionate and seductive girlfriend's mind. Marisol smiled, then got apart and took her shirt off, in a single graceful movement. Martin's eyes were still closed, ignorant of the view in front of him. His hands warned him, though, when she kissed him again, and his hands on her hips found no hem, no shirt. They went up on silky, creamy skin, and his eyes fluttered open, surprised, to find her grinning mockingly. His eyes drifted uncontrollably away from her face to the black fabric and lace over her chest. Her bare chest, and bare shoulders, and bare abdomen and bare back; just a piece of fabric over her breasts, which were delicately small, big enough not to pass for a little girl's, but somehow elegant in their size. Bigger breasts would've been out of place in Marisol's thin and small complexion.

"I am irreparably in love with you, Martín." She announced, as his eyes met hers again, and their lips got together, Martin's hands kindly tracing the new, bare skin. His caresses were sweet and made her skin tingle, and it felt just so good. Loving Martin was like eating chocolate. Melting, creamy and pleasuring. He stopped, and sighed with what Marisol recognised as disappointment.

"What's wrong, guapo?" She asked. Maybe she'd been too overeager taking her shirt off herself, maybe Martin just wasn't in for it yet. But she saw his red face and understood that wasn't it.

"I don't have any condoms." And just like that, the instance was gone. He felt bad, like he'd spoiled everything for her.

"Of course you don't." She wanted to slap herself for being so stupid. Martin was a nice guy; he wouldn't be expecting to have sex with her just because she was sleeping at his place. He wasn't the kind of guy who has a stack of condoms in his bedside table drawer, or the kind of guy who carries a condom in his wallet.

"I'm sorry." He apologised. She passed a hand through his hair, lovingly, before resting it on his cheek.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Martín." She rolled to his side, cuddling into him. "I should've thought of it. In some ways, it's nice to know you don't have any."

"Why?" He asked, calmer now, the panic of the moment slipping away.

"Because all these days of me staying over, and you didn't plan to get lucky. Tells me how much you enjoy my sole company. Plus, shows me how attentive you are as well, caring for safety, being sincere. I rush myself into things so eagerly, so easily, I would've gone all the way without a condom hadn't you stopped to tell me there weren't any." She kissed his shoulder, over his pyjama shirt. "You're a good guy, Martín. You do me good. You make me stop." She used his arm as a pillow, and played with the neckline of his shirt.

Martin realised he had been wrong. She did not want them to be perfect. She never idealised love or what they had. She just thought them different, wanted them to be different, and expected them to be different. Different was good, different was okay.

"I'm in love with you, Maddie." He whispered, hugging her, kissing her crown.

"I'm in love with myself, too." She teased, and his grin was wide and true. They stayed there, enjoying the lazy morning, Marisol content with what hadn't happened, Martin starting to think that maybe he wasn't such a good guy. He couldn't get out of his head the 'What if'. Real, distant, tormenting 'What if'.

What ifs revolved around the cup of tea and the cup of coffee, that didn't feel lonely since they had the toasts, burnt by the dying heat of the toaster which still hosted them. It was a messed up breakfast, cold tea and cold coffee. Burnt toasts. Or wasn't it? Is a terrible breakfast still terrible if there's no one to notice it? Because what ifs revolved around it, but it stood there, forgotten, after much past breakfast time.

Marisol had done waffles with marmalade for breakfast, and after that they laid on the couch, legs tangled. Marisol's head rested on Martin's chest, and she liked the way she could feel his heartbeat and his respiration. His diaphragm expanding and contracting his ribcage as air made it in and out his lungs. She liked the peaceful pillow Martin was. He had his hands on her hair, braiding it, and he knew Marisol wouldn't be pleased when she found all the little braids in her hair, but he wanted to swim in the smell of plum from her shampoo, now faded into his own shampoo, which wasn't a bad fragrance, either. He liked it a little more than just a lot. His mind wondered off to the previous morning, the way Marisol's skin had felt under his careful grazes. He hadn't been worried then, amid so much bronze skin. But now he thought of it, he couldn't help to notice the easiness of Marisol about it all, and his only, shameless (he knew), theory was that Marisol knew exactly what she was doing. But you don't ask a girl about it, you don't. That's why gentlemen don't have a memory, so they don't talk disrespectfully about their past acquaintances. That's why ladies didn't have a past, because they were damsels on the present, no matter what deal happened on the past.

"Maddie, you know, about yesterday..." she looked up, with a tiny sigh. She knew he would feel remorse.

"Martin is okay. I understand. You don't have to be sorry, I dragged you into it, and I won't do it again. You'll call the shots."

"No, I actually..." he hesitated, then blushed. "I actually was going to say I wouldn't mind if you wanted to repeat it sometime." Marisol grin was inevitable. Martin continued. "I just couldn't help to notice..." She exhaled deeply, he hadn't been able to say it but she got it anyways. Well. She had been expecting remorse, not insecurity.

"It's an evident thing, Martín, that I'm not a virgin. I know how the theory turns into practise." She eyed him, to be sure. "I hope you are okay with that. I never attempted to make it look like you were going to be my first." Martin noticed how, in her eyes, it seemed she wanted for him to have been her first. What had happened? "It was a stupid thing, and I let no boy get too close to me again, until I was beating up my dear friend Evan in sword skills class and this pretty boy walked in demanding a sword. I knew immediately he wasn't my type. Too nice, I thought. Probably has been friendzoned his whole life."

"Ouch." He complained.

"But Kristin told me that he was exactly my type. The kind of boy I needed. So I began flirting with him. And the more I tried to get him, the more I began to like him. I liked the way he didn't like flirts, the way he liked queen bees with soft voices and ladylike ways. The way he was too polite to tell me to go away, and the way he spent hours staring at flowers, watering them, taking care of them. I wanted to be one of the boy's flowers, the ones he liked and cared about so much." Martin smiled, and kissed her crown.

"You are the most important flower in my garden, Aster." She grinned.

"I know. So, I obviously got the boy due to my undeniable charm and flirting skills. And I realised he was different. So much different, that I wanted for him to be close, to touch, to feel as much of me as he wanted. Because he held doors for me, and gave me bouquets. Because he really cared and got upset when he thought I didn't." She rolled to lie on Martin, looking him in the eye. "Because you are sincere and don't make up condoms and you wait to make sure I'm truly sure of the things I'm doing."

"So you really want me to."

"Yup." She said, before leaving a brief kiss on his lips, then going back to rest her head in his chest. Raising and sinking. Back and forth.

"Huh." Martin hadn't been ignorant of the fact Marisol was up to getting laid whenever he felt like it, but getting to hear it so frankly and straightforwardly was an entirely different thing. At least for him.

"What about you?" She asked. "What's your story?"

"I don't have—" Marisol interrupted him.

"Crushes. The girls you've fell for."

"Oh." He swallowed. "Well, I had my first crush when I was four. I know because my dad found it very amusing to share the story with my Aunt Kylie every time we went to visit. Even though she already knew it."

"Who did you fall for? Preschool's queen bee?" She mocked.

"Ha. No. I fell for the ice cream shop lady. She always gave me extra sprinkles and my dad said I would spend all the money I got from my birthday, Christmas, and occasional kindness of him in ice cream. Even in winter. And when I didn't have money, I would stand outside the shop with a heartbroken expression, looking at the ice cream lady." Marisol giggled.

"Oh my gods that's so cute, it sounds so much like you. If I offer you ice cream, do I win any extra points?"

"No mocking." He warned.

"Okay. Go on."

"The second girl I had a crush on was called Stacey. She wore her auburn hair braided and we attended kindergarten together."

"What happened?"

"I left town. We were in school together until third grade, when I left for New York and the safety of Camp Half-Blood."

"That's awful." She thought aloud. "Did she ever like you back?"

"I'll never know." Marisol pouted.

"Aw, come on, didn't she give you a kiss on the cheek or something? A hug?"

"She gave me a very tight hug and said she wouldn't forget me, but she never reached out for me." Marisol heard the way he talked about her and couldn't help herself.

"Which flower was her?"

"Why would she have to be a flower?" He knew it was pointless to ask, Marisol knew him that much. "She was a Tiger Lily."

"And you were Peter Pan." She sighed. "It's such a pretty story; I don't make half a good story myself." Martin was about to say something, but she kept on talking. "So who was it?"

"Who was what?"

"Who kissed you first on the cheek?" Was that really necessary? But the tone of her voice told him she wouldn't drop the subject until she knew.

"Her name was Elise. She had green eyes like new spring grass, and her hair fell in perfect chocolate curls. I was her best friend for five years, until eighth grade, when she transferred to another school because her dad had lost a lot of money in a crisis and she could no longer attend private school."

"She said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek?"

"Yeah, she said I was always her favourite and that she'd always keep me in mind." He frowned. "I don't think she meant it."

"They all leave or get left behind." She noted.

"Sorry?" He didn't hear her well.

"I won't leave you, Martin. Not ever." Marisol promised. He smiled, and kissed her crown one more time.

"I know that now." His grin went wider. "What do you want to do today?" He asked, going back to braid her hair.

"After I disentangle all of the braids you are definitely making with my hair?" He dropped his work. "I want to go home, actually. To make a few jobs in the repair shop and change into some real clothes." He chuckled.

"I thought you liked my shirts."

"I certainly do." They smell of you, she thought. "But I'd like to wear my stuff for a change."

"Will you come back for tonight?" He asked, lately used to her presence.

"I will sleep at my place." Martin seemed disappointed. "But you should come over tomorrow. Live in my room the days we've got left." He thought of plum shampoo and her room with Shakespeare novels on a shelf.

"I'll think of that."

"Let me know when you've decided."

Okay. And, Marisol?"

"Yes, Martín?"

"You make the best story I've ever had." Marisol looked up to Martin and crawled up to kiss him. Love was so easy with Martin.

And that's how, more or less, he ended up standing nervous in front of her apartment's door, watching it fly open. What he saw confused him terribly. Marisol looked sleepy, and was still wearing her messy overall from the repair shop. She did not seem conscious of it. Her ponytail was loose and half undone, and she did not look like she'd been expecting him.

"Hey babe, I didn't know you were coming... but nevermind, come in." Music was playing somewhere in the flat, Marisol's room, Martin guessed. Carol by The Rolling Stones played loud and cheerful. Martin walked in; a bit troubled by the plastic bag he had in one hand. He stood awkwardly inside, distracted by Marisol's soft looks. Sleep suits her, he thought.

"So, you didn't know I was coming over?" He was in complete disbelief. She'd probably planned all of this, to make him even more uncomfortable.

"Well, we did talk about it yesterday, but we didn't set a time. And two in the afternoon is a bit early, don't you think?" She was already going through the fridge, looking for something to feed him.

"Marisol, it's almost ten."

"Ten past two? I know I took a tiny nap, but ten minutes doesn't make much difference, pretty boy." Martin sighed. It all made so much sense.

"Ten o'clock at night." He explained. "You called me and told me to come ASAP."

"TEN AT NIGHT?" She exploded, looking everywhere for a clock, until she found one. "Holy Hephaestus, I slept more than a tiny nap. And you said I called you?" She slapped her face, looking out the window to notice it was, in fact, night. "Damn, did I mumble any nonsense?"

"You were sleep-calling?" He couldn't believe his luck. Gods, how could he fix that?

"I think so. Why, what did I say?"

"Just two words."

"Which ones?"

"Very specific ones."

"Which ones?" She insisted.

"Coral rose." Marisol had the decency to blush, making Martin feel a little less out of place, since he was already red as a traffic light.

"Oh." She sighed. "I'm so sorry Martin, I didn't mean to." You didn't mean what you said, or you didn't mean to say them sleep-calling? He wondered. "I should change to celebrate New Year's."

"Or you could stay the same." She only smelled a bit more of motor oil.

"Martín?" She glanced at the plastic bag hanging from his hand.

"Yes?" His fingers tingled. He felt so far away from her, standing in the kitchen's doorway, Marisol still holding the fridge's door open. She did not answer. She dragged him towards the living room, and placed her socked feet over the sofa, her hands over his shoulders for balance. "What are you doing?" He looked up to her, for the first time, curious.

"Getting to know how it feels to be the tall one." She kissed him then. And Martin dropped the bag, the damn plastic bag. Her nose rubbed his from an upper angle, and he was not used to it, but he liked how it felt. How her kisses were even more violent and dominant this way, and how he had to be more gentle and dedicated to make the kiss steady; possible. Marisol took a breath, with a wide grin in her face.

"Ranunculus." She whispered. I am dazzled by your charms. He traced the shape of her clavicle, visible thanks to the wide neckline of the white tank top she used under the overall.

"Are you sure you were sleep-calling?" He asked, hopeful.

"Pretty sure." She saw his uneasy look. "But it isn't necessarily a bad thing. Maybe my subconscious took a chance I should, too." Her eyes sparkled, and Martin's mirrored hers.

"How so?" She smirked. She clapped, and all light went out. Even The Rolling Stones' Tell Me died. Only New Year's New York's lights formed their languid shadows on the carpet.

"What's in that bag, Martín?" He looked away, embarrassed. "Well, just my luck. Coral roses, Martín. Many coral roses." I want you. She leaned again, liking being able to lean. She threw her arms around his neck, and Martin held her waist, so she wouldn't take a chance to fall off the couch. Martin tried not to think, but his thoughts escaped him anyways. The lights were out. Marisol's dark eyes seemed like magical torches in the middle of the dark. And she was, without a hesitation, making him forget every single consideration he should have. His hands didn't ask him, they just travelled to her hips, and held them tight. She then made the grip around his neck stronger and suddenly her legs where wrapped around his hips. His hands had travelled to her thighs, holding her in her place. Her figure was numb and vague through the overall. He gasped for air, for clarity. Marisol's eyes were on him, burning through him again.

"Is everything okay, Martín?" She asked.

"I don't know." He admitted.

"You don't have to do this for me." She told him, sweetly. "It has to be because you want it, otherwise I can make dinner and steal some champagne and we can say cheers for the New Year... and you could stay, just to lie beside me. Just to—"

"It's not that, Marisol. I want, I'm just... insecure. I'm not sure it's okay for me to want it. I'm not sure I can make it right." Marisol batted her eyelashes slowly and magnetically. Again, how long were they?

"I want it too, so we can be not okay together." She smiled, and his lips almost followed her grin. "It's you. It's me. It's already right. There's nothing any of us can do to un-right it." Was it like she said? Was it not? He had missed her so much, the curve of her lips, the shade of her steps. The ghostly presence of her mouth. Was it bad to want her close? Was it good to want her to last... last her longest? Last for a little forever? "Make me bloom, Martín." She whispered in his ear, and he felt himself melt. It wasn't wrong. "Be my spring. Do me like spring does flowers." It couldn't be wrong. He held her close, kissed her, first sweet, then instinct kicked in, and his own kind violence took place in the battlefield. He bent, ever so slightly, to pick up the plastic bag. The foreign observer plastic bag. He took the steps, but it was definitely Marisol who guided him through the dark, it was definitely her who had set the course. He was just following her warmth and her blinding light.

He placed her carefully on the bed. He did not want to damage such a perfect flower in any way. The plastic bag was forgotten once again, this time on the bedside table. The dragon lamp was flaming a warming light. He crawled to be on top of her, but he was tricked into being bottom. Marisol was born to top, her hands were crazy and happy and anxious. She did not know what to do with them first. She dug them into his hair, feeling its softness, and kissed him sweetly, like she rarely did. Eyes closed, just her lips onto his, a subtle promise of love. She retreated. Martin's hands immediately held her in her place. Marisol giggled.

"I think this is on the way." She said, sliding his hands off her, and stepping out to get rid of the overall. "Better this way, isn't it?" She sat on him with her knees at his sides.

"You're such a tease." He accused her.

"I can be worse." She warned. She unclasped her bra over her top and took it off without removing her tank top.

"You didn't." Martin said, in awe.

"I certainly did." She kissed his neck then, and Martin's nervous hands double traced everything. They taunted first, exploring with the fear of being told off. Then, reassured, they caressed it all over again. He found the bare sides of her chest, and he paused any move.

"Are you sure about this?" He asked. Marisol, tender and patient, smiled.

"Are you?" He smiled. Marisol had learnt how to creep into his heart and his world. She simply grew into you. She took off her shirt and Martin finally left his doubts and forgot about anything that wasn't Marisol, and how she knew about flowers.

Maybe it was that, maybe it was the way she was so beautiful when flustered or the arousing colour her skin turned when she blushed. Maybe it was the hypnotising colour of her eyes. He wasn't sure, but one thing was certain, and it was there was no doubt the timing was right, not a second before, not a second after. Manhattan was shining through the window, but no light in the city was as captivating as Marisol was to him.

The lamp of Festus the dragon ignited like Marisol's hands, which flickered on and tickled Martin, gifting him the touch he would never want to lack off. He felt her, so he could imprint her figure in his mind. So his memories would be sealed by the curve of her waist, the crescent moon that rested there. Somewhere, far away, people cheered, and through the window, fireworks were a great scene. Marisol rested on his bare chest. Sheets were warm and soft.

"I'm in love with you, Marisol." He let the truth out of his lips once again; his arms making her presence tighten on him.

"You won't be when I burst into your dorm at uni." She whispered.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you'll never know when I'll show up so you won't be able to date any other girls." Martin giggled.

"I don't want any other girls, Aster."

"That's what you say now. But you're so handsome and so perfect... you're a perfect gardener. And so smart. Girls will be all over you and there'll certainly be one that's prettier, or smarter, or—"

"Marisol, I have eyes for no one but you. You are the sun that turned me into a freaking sunflower. My gaze only follows you. And when alone, my eyes stare at the floor, waiting for you." Marisol grinned, and her fingers grazed a hickey she'd left on his neck.

"I like how it looks on you." She teased.

"You are so incredibly mean, Maddie. What would've happened if it hadn't been winter? I wouldn't have been able to hide it with scarves and such."

"People would've just known you are private property. And what an owner you must have." She mocked. He chuckled, and silence followed. Marisol thought maybe he was asleep, but still reached out for him.

"Martín?"

"Yes?" He said, still holding her close. There're some who believe that the way you spend New Year's Eve, is how you'll spend the year. Marisol liked the idea of spending the year loving Martin.

"Happy New Year." She wished him.

"Happy New Year, Maddie."

Even when after he actually left for uni, Martin kept his promise to be only in love with her. He missed her and her absence ached, her ghost gloomed in his dorm and the faint memory of her smile made any chance other girls could've had crush in an instant. He studied harder than ever, but nothing stopped him from dropping his books and loving Marisol whenever she visited. She always brought flowers and, sometimes, his birthday cake. She became known around his dorm's building and quite a buddy of his roommate, who'd the delicacy of leaving them alone whenever Marisol visited. But it wasn't until Martin's studies were over that he actually dared to ask her the question that had been haunting him since that New Year's Eve, the moment after, when her warmth was gone and only her shadow remained, untouchable, heartbreaking. Knowing he only had the graduation ceremony ahead, he called Marisol to that phone he'd forced her to get. It was so difficult to reach her when she disappeared on her road trips.

"Maddie?" He asked the phone, remembering the walkie talkie they used to talk through.

"What is it baby?" She was at a gas station on her way to New Mexico.

"Do you still dislike the idea of a white picket fence?" His hands were shaking, and hers stopped filling the bike's tank.

"Yeah." She almost whispered to the phone. He smiled.

"Well, that's great, because my apartment doesn't have any fences." Marisol laughed.

"I'm almost to New Mexico; it'll take me a while to be back." She said.

"It's that a yes?"

"That's for you to find out."

[1] Grandmothers.

I'd like to thank you all for reading and reviewing and sticking with this story till it's end. I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it and I hope to see you soon in a different story. Take care.