Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

one.

“Heads up,” Kaleb says, sliding onto the bench across from her. “Your girlfriend’s having a rough one.”

Hope looks up from where she’s been staring at her math textbook for the past half-hour, furrowed eyebrows creasing even deeper down the middle.

Immediately, her concern outweighs the instinct she usually feels to say Lizzie’s not my girlfriend whenever one of their friends calls her such. (Or your wife, your better half, your more fashionable half, your partner in crime — the list goes on, really. Point is: Hope has long since stopped trying to correct them. She doesn’t think the joking stems from anything malicious, even if it does sting somewhere underneath her sternum.

That’s just the woe of the unrequited, she's learned. She’s dealing with it.

See also: ignoring it.)

“Where is she?” she asks.

She’s already moving to pack her things and stand, but Kaleb just points to the doors of the dining hall.

“Incoming.”

Hope looks over just in time to watch Lizzie all but collapse onto the bench beside her, joints and muscles seeming to give up all support as she slumps.

Arms pressed to the table and forehead pressed to her arms, she lets out a groan. Hope’s hand moves without delay to rub her back, between her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I have the worst headache,” Lizzie murmurs, still into her arms. She lifts her head and looks at Hope. “The new student was the most obnoxious dude-bro I have ever come into contact with, and—believe me—I have come into contact with a lot of them.” Hope nods, sympathetic. “He kept asking if there was a gym, and if I would come watch him play football, and when I told him I’m QB1, he said that’s not a job for a girl, and, seriously, what decade are we living in? Hello?”

Hope continues to nod, and so does Kaleb, agreeing but knowing wholeheartedly that it's best to let Lizzie air her grievances before trying to offer any real words of conversation.

"There should be some sort of requirement for school admission wherein the prospective students have to undergo a does not think Axe and themselves are the universe's sole gifts to mankind examination, because, so help me, if I have to smile through being hit on one more time, simply because dad thinks that I'll scare off new students if I tell them to stop, I am going to scream. Forcefully. With consequence."

Here, Lizzie slows, lets her eyes close. She inhales a careful breath through her nose. And Hope, of course, is already thinking of a number of ways to scathe Alaric with words alone, but she refrains from commenting on her plans to do so. (Mostly because she thinks Lizzie would try to talk her out of it.)

Instead, she waits until Lizzie seems to have lost the temporary energy her anger had provided her with. When she's leaned forward once more, this time with her elbows on the table and the heels of her palms pressed to her eyes, Hope asks her, "Do you want me to incinerate him?"

To which, Lizzie simply nods.

"Yes, please."

"Okay," Hope says, quietly, continuing to trail her nails along Lizzie's spine. "Consider it done."

Lizzie smiles a little, fond, familiar with the routine.

(Hope isn't actually going to incinerate the guy, of course. They both know that. But it helps Lizzie feel vindicated, for Hope to acknowledge when the other person was wrong. And vice versa. So, they've both taken to making threats for each other, whenever someone's pissed them off. They're always at least a little serious, too, but they haven't had to follow through. Yet.)

"Thanks, babe," Lizzie says. And she stills sounds absolutely miserable. Just worn down and exhausted.

She's been working so hard lately, continuously striving to better herself (in her own words), and to be helpful in places where she used to be a hindrance (again, her words. Hope is still working to help de-condition that thought process), and that means she's been spreading herself terribly thin in an attempt to be in multiple places at once.

Even then, there's still been people who have decided to take it upon themselves to speak down at her and make her feel like she's not doing enough.

It drives Hope to near tears sometimes, the anger that comes from that. Because if all of the demeaning people in the school took even half of the conscious effort and time that Lizzie Saltzman does to try to be a better person, they might realize they're not very good people to begin with. But that would involve shattering superiority complexes, and a pro-activeness they are, quite frankly, allergic to.

So, Hope doesn't often waste her own time on trying to get through to them. Not anymore, at least. Not after Dr. Saltzman told her that bringing people to tears was not an effective problem-solving tactic and that she should try calmer approaches to mediation.

(Needless to say, he did not appreciate Hope telling him that it was the calmest she was going to get when his daughter was involved, and that he should be thankful she hadn't sent anyone to the infirmary. In fact, she'd gotten three weeks' detention for that. Not that she'd really minded. Lizzie landed herself in it too so that they could spend time together, and because it's called solidarity, Hope, duh.)

So, where Hope knows she won't make headway with preconceived notions among the majority of the student population, she redirects her focus on more direct action. Such as, slowly trying to help Lizzie realize that she is enough, and that her trying is enough, and that she does not owe all ounces of her energy and health to trying to prove that to people. Yes, trying to be better and nicer to people is a good effort to make, for anyone, but if it comes at the cost of only sleeping about thirty hours a week, and always grappling with migraines, and overall feeling absolutely miserable, then who is the improvement really for?

And, honestly, at the base of it is the fact that Hope has never met a more selfless person than Lizzie Saltzman, and she just wishes Lizzie could see it in herself.

She also wishes the selflessness didn't come with self detriment. But they'll get there. Hope will ensure it.

For now, she trails her hand higher, until it's resting gently on the back of Lizzie's head. Then she murmurs the same spell she always uses to alleviate Lizzie's headaches.

"Relevo."

No sooner has she finished speaking is the tension in Lizzie's shoulders seeping away. A sigh slips past her lips.

She lifts her head from her hands and blinks over at Hope in relief, her smile grateful.

"Thank you," she says.

"No problem," Hope replies. Her hand has dropped now, to Lizzie's lower back. She leaves it there without really thinking about it, comforted by and used to the closeness. "Better?"

"Yeah," Lizzie says.

Hope smiles too, and she knows it's almost horribly soft, awfully tender, but she can't help it. She's tried before, to no avail.

But ever since she and Lizzie had begun to grow closer—had become best friends instead of friends instead of frenemies instead of enemies—she'd been forced to reckon with feelings that she'd only be able to ignore if she lacked her humanity. (Maybe not even then.)

And she'd been working with Miss Tig, and her other therapists after Miss Tig left, about not entirely repressing her feelings and emotions, because it's not healthy to bottle things up and deny yourself the truth and et cetera, et cetera. Whatever, she knows the spiel.

So, she acknowledges it, but only to herself. Just so she won't blow up and overflow from denial.

And if that means her smiles get a bit tender, and her touches last a bit longer, sue her. She's trying her best. To be a good best friend. To not ruin all she touches. To not lose another person she loves. (And, okay, so therapy is going, but she didn't say it always goes well. Again, she's trying. She and Lizzie both have stuff they need to work on realizing.)

The most present for Hope being that she's being spoken to, and, yet, she hasn't retained any of it. Can't even recall hearing the sounds of the words.

She blinks and focuses back in on Lizzie's face.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Lizzie's smile is amused now, lightly teasing, maybe a bit smug. Her eyes are sparkly too, and Hope would honestly let herself look like a fool all the time, if it meant keeping Lizzie from returning to the too-tired-to-even-laugh state from before.

Yes, she would—even when Lizzie asks, "Like what you see, Mikaelson?" and Hope's cheeks and ears immediately burn with warmth.

From across the table, she hears Kaleb laugh and mutter, "More like Hope-less," and she opts to turn to him with a glare, rather than continue to see Lizzie looking at her with dimpled cheeks.

All he does in response is meet her stare head-on with a widening of his eyes and a raise of his eyebrows. An effective, Am I wrong?

Hope's glower only deepens.

To her right, Lizzie is laughing as she starts to stand.

"Okay, I have another tour in fifteen. But I'll see you guys after? For movie night?"

Kaleb nods, but Hope frowns and reaches for Lizzie's hand.

"I thought you were free after your 4:15?" she says.

Lizzie has the decency to look a little sheepish.

[When Hope said she’s trying to take direct action, she means that she has partaken in a lot of (gentle enough) lectures lately. Meaning that Lizzie is well aware this could lead to another one about overburdening herself and deserving a break and so on and so forth.]

"Dad asked if I could pick up Josie's 5:15, because she's practicing some spells down at the docks, and he didn't want to interrupt her focus."

"So?" Hope says before she can think better of it. "That's not your problem. You've been up since, like, five in the morning, and it's a Saturday."

"Tours aren't that bad," Lizzie says, like she didn't just go through forty-five minutes of torture just a little bit ago. "At least, not always." When Lizzie notices Hope is still frowning, she softens, grows a little more serious. "I'll be okay, babe. I'll see you right after. Don't worry about me."

"Impossible," Hope says, sighing. "Feels like it's my main job lately." A beat. "I just wish you would let yourself have some time to rest. You don't have to pick up so much of the slack around here. That's what teamwork is for."

"Says the Chosen One," Lizzie says, but her voice is light, still. No bite. "How about tomorrow you take me out to the forest for a picnic? Would that constitute as rest?"

Hope feels warm not just in the face anymore. It's all through her. Soft and comforting.

She pretends it's not there. She isn't sure she succeeds.

She sighs and says, "I guess."

Lizzie's grin is blinding. Hope sees sunspots.

"Great. It's a date." Lizzie glances down at her metaphorical watch. "Okay, I really have to go now. But movie night. I'll see you guys there. Do not let MG go superhero this week. I can't do it three weeks in a row, no matter if I like them or not."

She squeezes Hope's fingers, and then in a quick movement, leans down to kiss the top of Hope's head.

"Bye, Kaleb!" she says, while Hope is sat still, watching her go.

Once she's completely vanished from view, all Kaleb says is, "Girl, you've got it so bad."

Hope buries her face in her hands.

"It's going to be the death of me."

A beat, mild contemplation.

"There are worse ways to go," Kaleb says.

That, at least, is something they can agree on.

two.

After hours of stillness and ringing silence, Lizzie’s voice comes to Hope's ears from her doorway, nearly too soft to hear.

"Nightmare, huh?"

Hope turns her head to look at her. When their eyes meet, Lizzie steps into the room and shuts the door. The orange light of the fire bathes her in glow, makes her look warm.

Hope watches her through vaguely hazed vision, blinking through a sheen of tears. She doesn't move to wipe away the ones already on her face, though. Only sniffles. (Call it growth, that she doesn't try to hide it, that she already knows it's no use in front of Lizzie.)

As Lizzie moves out of her line of sight and begins to shuffle around behind her, Hope's gaze drifts back to its original location, just above the flames. She doesn't have the energy to shift her position, facing the fire. So, she keeps vague track of Lizzie's movement through sound.

There's the muffled commotion of Hope's comforter being tugged at, then pillows hitting the floor. Hope just keeps staring at the flames.

She's a little too close to them for any sense of comfort, close enough that the heat holds a genuine burn. She can't bring herself to move. Not when she'd woken up and been cold—so cold, shivering and unsure of if she'd ever known what the sun even feels like.

It had been a bad one tonight. So much so that she shivers just remembering it.

So much so that she nearly jumps when Lizzie says a quiet, "Hey."

Now, perhaps through will, perhaps through instinct, she finds the energy to turn all the way, to look behind her.

A few feet away, against the foot of her bed, Lizzie has made a makeshift pallet on the floor. Hope's blankets laid out, and her pillows leaning against the bed's frame.

When Lizzie extends her hand, Hope doesn't hesitate to take it. She lets herself be pulled to standing, and then, just as easily, lets herself be guided to sit on the blankets.

Lizzie sits right beside her, leaning, first, against the pillows and then silently opening her arms — a pressure free offer. One that Hope readily collapses into.

As she rests her head against Lizzie's chest, Lizzie pulls the comforter over them both, and then her arms find Hope again, and they hold steady. Hope, in turn, wraps her arms around Lizzie's torso, too tired to be concerned with coming off as needy.

When Lizzie lifts a hand and trails fingers through her hair, Hope lets her eyelids flutter shut. Some of her tension seeps away.

Lizzie turns her face, just enough for her lips to press against Hope's hairline.

Hope has to fight the roll of a chill down her spine, when Lizzie murmurs, "You wanna talk about it?" into her skin.

Hope shakes her head immediately. No. She doesn't want to. Can't.

It's the same as always. Loved ones, lost forever. Lizzie included.

And this time, every time, it had been her fault. Had been blood on her hands. Her worst fear. So, no, she can't talk about it.

Instead, she just tightens her hold.

"Okay," Lizzie says. "We'll just work on being chill, then. Together."

It gets a little half-huff of a laugh out of Hope, at least. She knows Lizzie smiles without having to see it, and, somehow, that makes her feel better.

"How'd you know?" she asks after a moment, voice hoarse. "That I'd had a nightmare?"

"Don't you know?" Lizzie asks, still so hushed, terribly gentle. "I have a Hope Mikaelson Hunch. Like a sixth sense. I used to hate it, but it’s super useful, turns out."

Hope rolls her eyes, all fond.

"I saw that," Lizzie says.

"No, you didn't."

"Didn't have to."

Hope chuckles with more energy this time. The warmth she'd tried to find from the fire is slowly returning to her. She pulls back just enough to look up at Lizzie with her cheek still pressed to her shoulder. Lizzie looks down at her calmly, with such care that Hope almost can't stand to keep meeting her eyes, can't stand to absorb it all.

"Seriously," she says, in a whisper, careful. "How'd you know?"

Lizzie tilts her head. She reaches up to brush a lock of hair from Hope's forehead.

"You haven't slept much this week," she says. "What with monster number five hundred and three coming to wreak havoc. And whenever you get sleep-deprived, the first night you have real time to rest, you have a nightmare."

"That's..." A beat, a realization. "Huh. That is the pattern, isn't it?"

Lizzie nods, smile soft, without teeth.

"Told you," she says. "A hunch."

"Or a very astute observation."

"Two tomatoes."

"That is not at all how the saying goes."

"But you knew what I meant."

Hope shakes her head, but she's smiling too, feeling closer to normal than an entire hour in front of the fire had allowed her.

"I've always noticed you," Lizzie says next. "As we already know.” Here, she rolls her eyes, mostly at herself. It’s a kind enough gesture to not be real self-deprecation. “I just don't have to pretend I don't anymore. Now that we're..."

She trails off, doesn’t finish, but Hope fills in the blank in her head.

Now that they're close. Almost inseparable.

They sure have come a long way.

And Hope does have moments, like now, where she wishes they hadn't spent so much time apart, at each other's throats in the pettiest and most hurtful ways.

But then she thinks they might not be the way they are now if they hadn't gone through that. Even if going through that sucked.

(Mostly, she refuses to think about the alternative. Of knowing a love so rooted in mutual understanding and respect for so much of her life. Of the potential effect that could’ve had on her. It just makes her sad, and mad, all over again.)

So, she just nods and says, "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me," Lizzie says. "Not for this. Not ever."

"I do," Hope says. "You deserve to hear it."

Lizzie looks like she still doesn't agree, like she thinks this is just a given, but it's not something Hope will ever take lightly.

Instead of arguing about it, though, she asks, "Will you stay?"

Lizzie's smile here is the softest yet, eyes dark blue and shining.

She says, "Of course," and she means it. 

So, they stay like that, wrapped around each other, even after they fall asleep.

And when they wake up in the morning, they're stiff and sore, but neither of them minds much.

Hope definitely doesn't. It's the best she's slept in days. (If not weeks.)

three.

So, okay, Hope might be a bit jittery. Antsy. Anxious. If the up and down bobbing of her leg is any indication.

And it is, as Kaleb has so kindly—read: rudely—pointed out to her over the past hour.

As he does now, by putting a firm hand on her knee just to cease its motion.

"I'm sorry," Hope says, before he can get onto her again, or call her pathetic, or annoying, or say she was only gone for three weeks, Mikaelson, pull it together.

Because, as she previously stated, she already knows those things. It still doesn't mean she has control over the way her nerves manifest. In fact, he should be glad it hasn’t involved busted windows and broken glass. Something she'd pointed out the third time he'd said Hope, seriously.

Because okay, yes, Lizzie and Josie and Dr. Saltzman had all been gone for three weeks, and in the grand scheme of things, three weeks is really not that long. It isn't even the longest Hope has gone without seeing any of them before.

But it's the longest she and Lizzie have been separated since they'd become so close, and it hadn't been until she'd waved goodbye to them in the driveway of the Salvatore School that she realized how much she missed Lizzie when she was gone.

Because somewhere along the way, Lizzie Saltzman had become Hope's best friend, and go-to person, and along with that came the natural arrangement of her entire universe around Lizzie Saltzman. Like the sun and the orbit. (It doesn't help, of course, that Hope is also desperately in love with the girl. Hope, still, can't believe she's become such a cliché.)

Now, of course, all of this sounds a bit unhealthy, but it's not in the way that Hope can't function without Lizzie near. She can go without speaking to her, and she doesn't drop everything that she wants or needs to do to make room for always accommodating Lizzie.

No, the arrangement, and the orbit, comes from waking up for breakfast and grabbing Lizzie a bagel with cream cheese because Lizzie always glides into the dining hall fifteen minutes after Hope does. It comes from her leaving third period Geography to find Lizzie waiting for her with an apple and a water bottle, because Lizzie knows she likes to have a snack before training with Dr. Saltzman.

It's eating lunch side by side and smiling at each other before sixth period as they pass in the hall, and all of the other little habits that they've built up, slowly but surely. It’s about structure, and the building of an instinct to provide care, and how when Lizzie is gone, it all feels a little emptier. A little off.

Even when she knows Lizzie won't be there, Hope never fails to find herself still searching for blonde hair, blue eyes, a head stood above the others, and she never fails to feel disappointment when she remembers she won't see what she's looking for.

So, more succinctly, she misses Lizzie. Has missed her. Almost as desperately as the aforementioned unrequited, except trying much harder to deny it.

Unfortunately, though, as the time for reunion has gotten closer and closer, Hope has only become more transparent to all who have remained on campus during winter break. Especially—most irritatingly—to her friends.

Kaleb has cycled from amused to annoyed to, rarely, sympathetic. MG, more commonly, has been the latter, and Hope figures that makes sense. Because if anyone understands what it's like to want or need Lizzie Saltzman near, it's him.

(She doesn’t let herself be bothered by his lingering infatuation. Not like she used to. Not since she’d asked Lizzie what she didn’t see in MG, and Lizzie had looked at her with a strange expression before joking that he’s a little tall for my liking. It was a bit of a weird response, really, because MG really isn’t that tall, but Hope, in the moment, didn’t want to push. Not with the relief so strong in her veins.)

Even Pedro had clicked his tongue and patted her on the shoulder when she’d glanced down at her watch for the hundredth time of the hour before lunch. That one was particularly mortifying. If not for the experience itself, then for the fact that she caught Landon watching the exchange.

And she and Landon are still not exactly on speaking terms after the breakup. It’s just a little too awkward and a little too painful. She figures that’s just as well. She doesn’t particularly want to have the conversation of so hey I’m in love with Lizzie with him any time soon.  

Hell, she doesn’t want to have that conversation with anyone. It’s hard enough to do it with herself.

Except, it really doesn’t seem she has to have the conversation at all. Because, just as she glances to her left, sensing movement in the hall, she and Landon catch gazes. She freezes, like she always does, but he just gives her a small smile, a glance at the door, and then a thumbs up. Then, he’s gone. Toward his room.

Hope nearly groans out loud. She is super, super sick of being see-through.

Instead of groaning, though, she hears someone from the front of the little welcome wagon call, "Hey, they're here," and she stands so quickly she almost upends one of the tables by the couch.

"Finally," Kaleb says.

Hope refrains from shoving him. She’s working on maturity. (Or she doesn’t want to have to waste time helping him back up. Two tomatoes.)

The "Welcome Back!" banner that the younger kids had made for Dr. Saltzman hangs happy and colorful over the front doors as the van pulls in. Hope, shifting weight from right foot to left foot and back again, hangs back with some of the older ones who have also come. Mostly those who are on the spirit squad. Or, like Hope, are actual friends of the twins.

Dr. Saltzman is, as expected, the first one out, head appearing over the roof of the car and then rounding the front to reveal a smiling face. Hope only spares him a glance, as she hears the door closest to the group slide open.

"Josie, I swear, do not make me touch that bag. That is all you. The toxic waste facility is at the back of the school."

Hope's heart, traitorous, picks up pace as soon as she hears Lizzie's voice. She watches Josie slide out of the car first, rolling her eyes with a—this time plastic—bag in her hand. She has a fleeting thought that she should look into a motion sickness spell, or some Dramamine at least.

But then all thoughts, quite frankly, disappear from her head.

Lizzie steps onto the pavement with a distinct, combat boot clunk-clunk. She's got on black overalls and a navy-blue shirt that looks suspiciously like one of Hope's. Her hair is half-pulled up, and she has in little crescent moon earrings, and Hope really has not ever seen anyone prettier. It's almost not fair.

She smiles despite herself, but she's determined to wait until the rounds of greeting have reached her to step forward. Just because everyone beside her knows that she's been going off the walls doesn't mean she needs Lizzie to know that.

So, she clasps her hands behind her back, watches as Josie and MG hug, and waits her turn, toward the far end of the congregated.

Because she expects Lizzie to start at the right of the group like Josie, and make her way over, one by one. What she gets instead is Lizzie's eyes trailing over everyone before locking onto her. What she gets is a blinding grin and an immediate beeline to her location.

What she gets is two armfuls of Lizzie at a force that would probably make a weaker person stumble. But, as it is, even in her surprise, Hope remains steady, and she returns the hug without hesitation, on instinct, arms wrapping around Lizzie's torso, as Lizzie's go around her shoulders and neck.

As the impact is absorbed, and the embrace settles, her eyes close. She inhales slowly, like she's finally gotten fresh air, and, really, she would be embarrassed if it weren't for the fact that she's too busy battling with the sudden urge to cry. (Maybe Kaleb was right to call her pathetic. A little bit.)

Soon after, almost too soon after, Lizzie is pulling back, but before Hope can feel disappointed, she's struck silent again by Lizzie lifting her hands to frame her face.

Warmth is rising to Hope's cheeks, and she hopes that Lizzie can't feel it in her palms.

If she does, she doesn't comment. As Hope blinks up at her, and doesn't know what to say, Lizzie speaks first.

And even though all she murmurs is, "Hi," Hope is so fond it could cripple the knees. (And, okay, alright, Kaleb can have this one. Whatever.)

Hope's hands move to Lizzie's waist on instinct. Her gaze tracks over her face, the curves of her cheekbones and eyebrows and nose. She'd gotten a little tanner from her time at the beach, and her eyes are as blue as ever.

Hope is a little breathless as she murmurs, "Hi," back.

Lizzie's smile is still so bright, and Hope neglected to wear sunglasses even when she'd thought of it earlier, but, really, she can't bring herself to mind. She can't even bring herself to take it in properly, because Lizzie's thumbs are slowly moving back and forth over Hope's cheekbones, and Hope is trying really, really hard to not shiver involuntarily.

"I missed you," Lizzie says.

That warmth, so ever-present whenever Lizzie is involved, grows in the center of Hope’s chest, right underneath the sternum. It spreads to her stomach, makes it swoop low, all butterflies.

Hope says, "I missed you too," and, for a brief moment, an instant, she's seized by the desire to do something awful and reckless, like grab Lizzie's face and kiss her in front of everyone. 

Lizzie, too, has a look on her face, contemplative, but before either of them can speak again—or ruin everything, in Hope's case—Dr. Saltzman's voice sounds from behind them.

"Girls, come help with your bags so I can get the car parked. Reunions can wait until later."

Lizzie scoffs, takes her hands back to herself, but only so far as to sling her arm over Hope's shoulders and round on her dad.

"Let them be sappy," is what Josie says before Lizzie can form a retort. "If I had to listen to Lizzie asking when we would arrive every five minutes for seven hours just because she wanted to see Hope, then you better let them see each other. Or I'll have suffered for nothing."

Hope, who hasn't really stopped looking at Lizzie since she first got to lay eyes on her again, watches a pinkish tint come to color Lizzie's cheeks. She grins and lightly squeezes Lizzie's hip.

"Really did miss me, huh, Saltzman?"

"Shut up," is what Lizzie responds with.

Hope does, but she makes sure to make her smile look smug, to cover up the fact that her heart is beating three times faster than the healthy rate.

Kaleb, as he walks over to give Lizzie a side hug, even while she's still half-attached to Hope, just shakes his head. (Hope wonders if he can hear her heart without even trying. Bets that he can.)

"You guys are so sad. It was only three weeks."

"Three weeks is almost a month. And twelve of those makes a year," Lizzie says. "And, plus, time is fake, Kaleb." She shrugs. "So."

She leaves it at that. Like it proves her point. It kind of does. It kind of doesn't. Hope just nods along.

Kaleb shakes his head again. Hope thinks he does at least. She isn't really paying attention, still looking at Lizzie like she is.

And she isn't sure if she's always this prone to staring, or if it's just that she hasn't seen Lizzie's face in person for so long, but she does become hyper-aware of how this much staring likely isn't appropriate. So, she tries her best to snap out of it.

She offers to get Lizzie's bags, and Lizzie, always grateful to not have to do manual labor, graciously obliges. And Hope, all through the halls, tries her best not to stare.

It's after dinner, after curfew even, but the rules had been fudged a little to allow for a proper welcome home moment.

Now, though, with everyone dispersed, the halls are quiet. She follows Lizzie to her room—a single, now that she and Josie are attempting healthy boundaries—without a word.

When Lizzie pushes her way into the space with a groan, she simply smiles and places the bags down near the door. She does laugh when Lizzie flops onto her bed, splaying her hair everywhere and making herself bounce up and down on the mattress.

"How was the car ride?" she asks, moving towards Lizzie's closet to look for some sleep clothes.

"If you mean on a scale of how many times Josie threw up, it was a perfect ten."

"I didn't," Hope says. "But that still tells me all I need to know."

She turns around with a red, long-sleeved shirt—another that looks suspiciously like one she owns—and a pair of gray shorts. She lays them across Lizzie's body haphazardly.

"Here, get changed. You know you don't want to fall asleep in your car clothes."

"Correction, you don't want me to fall asleep in my car clothes."

"Yes, because I'd never hear the end of it tomorrow."

"It's not comfortable, Hope."

"I know, honey." She taps Lizzie's leg. "So, get changed."

Lizzie groans again, lifts her arms so that Hope will grab her hands and pull her up. Hope does, and suddenly they're face to face again, Hope standing and Lizzie sitting.

The easy calm, routine rapport, they had fallen into grows heavier. Or maybe it's Hope's mind playing tricks on her. She's always so far in her head when it comes to Lizzie, she can't tell what's happening and what she's merely perceiving to be happening.

She does know that when her eyes flit down to Lizzie's lips that she's walking a dangerous line, a very thin tightrope. When she glances back up, she knows Lizzie saw it, and a white-hot edge of panic lodges itself in her stomach, makes something tighten in her chest.

She's starting to think that maybe avoidance is the best technique, after all, when she's saved by a knock on the door.

"Hey, Liz, dad said—oh, I'm sorry."

Hope startles like she's been caught doing something. In a way, she has. Falling into too noticeable, too carefree. She'll have to work on it. She'll have to do better.

She absolutely will not lose her and Lizzie's friendship because she can't figure out how to not be in love with her.

"It's okay, Jo," Lizzie says, and she doesn't sound any different. She doesn't sound like she hates Hope either. So, good signs. "What's up?"

"Dad said Pedro wanted to see you before he went to bed. He was going to be at the welcome back, but had some homework he'd forgotten about."

Lizzie smiles at that, happy and soft in a special way that's reserved only for Pedro. Hope is always happy to be able to see it.

"Okay, I'll be right over to say goodnight to him," she says. "Goodnight, Jo."

"Night, Liz," Josie says. "Goodnight, Hope."

Hope is proud of herself for being able to manage, "Goodnight, Josie," in a completely level voice.

Lizzie stands as Josie's footsteps recede down the hall.

"Let me go say goodnight to the little one," Lizzie says, quieter again, now that it's returned to the two of them.

"Okay," Hope nods. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"If you're lucky," Lizzie says back.

"I'll be sure to wait up for 11:11 and make my wish."

Lizzie laughs softly.

"Or you could just wait up for me here. It won't take long."

Hope wants to. Obviously. She just isn't sure it's the smartest move for someone barely managing to not reveal all of her secrets. Or, really, her one, largest secret. (A poorly kept, pretty much public knowledge secret, but still a secret from the one person who doesn't need to know it.)

So, she says, "I'm pretty tired, actually. I think I'm ready to go to bed."

Lizzie just looks at her like she's completely missing the point.

"Yes, babe, I know. So, stay here."

That, if possible, might be even worse of a choice, logistically.

But then Lizzie tilts her head and says, "Please? I missed you, and if you spent the last three weeks like me, you probably didn't sleep all that well. At least this way, if you have a nightmare, I'll be right here."

And how is Hope supposed to argue with that logic? Especially when she wants to, always wants to, spend time with Lizzie.

So, she nods and says, "Okay. I'll be here when you get back."

Lizzie grins, mega-watt, and quickly pecks her cheek.

"Be right back."

Hope inhales slowly, through the nose.

She goes through Lizzie's closet again, because she doesn't feel like walking to her room only to walk back. She pulls out a Salvatore sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants that she has to roll up three times, and she tries not to think about the time that Lizzie had let her borrow a hoodie and told her she looked cute in her clothes.

Her eyelids are already heavy when she slides underneath the covers, and she thinks that if any bet is the safest, it’s pretending to be asleep when Lizzie gets back. This way, she’ll be far less likely to act reckless, to feel the urge to, with Lizzie so close.

So, that's what she does. She closes her eyes, pulls the covers up to her shoulders, snuggles into Lizzie's pillow and tries to memorize the smell of laundry detergent and Lizzie's shampoo, still there even after weeks of absence.

She isn't sure how much time passes before Lizzie returns, but she's acutely aware of her presence, like always. A pinprick of focus.

Lizzie moves about silently and swiftly, so much so, that Hope almost thinks she might have tricked herself into believing she's back.

But then the bed dips behind her, and in the cold at her back, comes the warmth, solid and sure.

She has to physically resist a surprised stiffening of the spine when Lizzie scoots across the mattress and presses against her back. Then she has to do the same with a shiver, when Lizzie wraps an arm around her stomach and hugs her closer.

Keeping her breathing slow, steady, like she's still lost in sleep, is a feat in and of itself, too.

Lizzie settles into place with a quiet sigh, and Hope feels goosebumps ripple across her skin.

And just when she thinks she's gotten through all the tests without much of a flinch, there's the gentle pressure of lips on her shoulder, just a quick kiss over the fabric but enough to make Hope feel like she's on fire.

She absolutely was right, she thinks, when she told Kaleb her feelings were going to be the death of her.

She still thinks, as she cautiously covers Lizzie's hands with one of hers, there are many worse ways to go.

four.

Hope has been waiting for Lizzie for twenty minutes by the time she wanders into the jewelry shop.

It's a quaint space—cute—like most shops in town. Hope thinks she might've even been in it once before, years ago, but she can't be sure.

Either way, she's definitely not familiar with it. So, it should serve as something new enough to distract her from the passage of time. Or the lack thereof, that is.

Seriously, how can every handful of minutes feel so much like fifty of them? It should be illegal or something.

Or maybe Hope is just impatient. Evidence seems to point that way, at least.

She bites back a huff and eyes the countertop rack of earrings in front of her as it exhibits a subtle shake.

Her gaze darts to the owner, a middle-aged woman with cat-eye glasses, held around her neck by a teal beaded necklace. Gray hair pulled up into a bun, long dress with a floral pattern. Artsy, weird, but kind. You know the one.

Ms. Frizzle. She's basically Ms. Frizzle.

At least, that's what Hope thinks the woman from the old cartoon's name is. She has no remembrance of how she came across it. It's before her time. But when looking at the woman, the name had supplied itself so naturally that she can't be wrong, can she?

She doesn't think so. Just like she doesn't think that Ms. Frizzle-but-not-Ms. Frizzle saw anything.

Seeing her looking, she only gives Hope the same kind smile she'd supplied when Hope had first walked. She shows no sign of noticing her minor magical showcase.

So, Hope gives a closemouthed smile back and moves over to the rings in the case.

It's become clear by now that the jewelry here is not her style. Big, statement pieces seem to be the mainstay of the woman's art. And though Hope respects that, it definitely is not what she is inclined to wear.

She tends to go for practical, modern, sleek and simple. Not that she's much of a fashion person to begin with. That's more Lizzie's wheelhouse—read: entirely Lizzie's wheelhouse.

In fact, if Lizzie were next to her, Hope would certainly be hearing about the different outfits each piece could work with, and Hope would be nodding along even if she couldn't picture it entirely. It's just how the routine goes.

Hope glances at her watch again. Still barely a movement of the minute hand. Still no Lizzie. Seriously, how long does a study session with MG—Hope still isn't letting it bother her, she promises—take?

She's not mad that Lizzie's a little late, or anything. She's just impatient, and, okay, potentially, a little clingy.

She doesn't mean to be, of course. It's just that Lizzie is still extremely busy with her aforementioned schedule of trying to be helpful, and between that and Hope continuously facing monsters head-on—and then schoolwork on top of those things—they haven't gotten too much time together recently.

The past three weeks, especially, have seemed to separate them. They're both always slipping just out of reach of one another with an oh, shoot, I can't tonight and I have to research potential weaknesses for a Hydra and I promise soon, okay? I miss you. 

Ironically, the only times they've really gotten any amount of minutes in each other's proximity has been either during the fight or immediately after the fight of the monster of the week.

Side by side, they'll stand and move and watch each other's backs, and, after, they'll tend to each other's wounds and fall asleep in the same bed. And then it starts over again.

So, Hope just misses Lizzie—it's been established already that she's good at that—and if she wants to will time into moving faster, then that's her business.

Does it mean it works? No. There's proof in that in the fact that she's now examining a gold and emerald brooch in the shape of a beetle.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take her very long to move past that one.

She's just reaching the wall of necklaces when she decides she should probably just give the woman a polite wave and a semi-hasty exit.

But just as she sets herself into motion, something catches her eye: a delicate blue butterfly charm, attached to a thin gold chain. 

With a body of gold too, both wings fully outstretched and fully detailed, it looks like it's in flight. To get a better look, Hope reaches and rests it on her pad of her finger.

She gets about five seconds of that, and then: "It called to you, didn't it?"

The voice nearly makes her leave her skin. She manages, through miracle, to not jerk any of the necklaces out of place or make the wall come crashing down.

She drops her hand and pivots around to see the woman standing a few feet away. She's got her glasses off now, and it serves to let Hope see the twinkle in her eyes. Sort of mischievous, sort of all-knowing, very reminiscent of every suspected-to-be-a-witch you see in movies.

Hope clears her throat to keep herself from narrowing her eyes.

"I—um—" she glances back at the necklace, charm still swinging ever so slightly "—yes, I suppose it did."

The woman nods, like she expected this answer. She hums a little too, and then she steps forward and pulls the necklace from off its hanger.

"Well, it does not do to ignore what calls to you, dear," she says. She tilts her head, her eyes on the necklace. "Though I must say—" she lifts it to dangle beside Hope's face "—this particular piece doesn't match your energy."

Hope is inclined to agree.

It's why she says, without thinking, "Oh, no, not for me. Lizzie, she—."

When she realizes her slip, her teeth clack together. But it's too late. The woman's grin is now ten times as all-knowing.

"Ah, I see," she says.

Hope doesn't doubt that she does. Really, she wishes she was better at being mysterious. She usually is. Just not when it comes to Lizzie Saltzman.

"In that case, shall I gift wrap it for you?"

And Hope can't tell if she's reading into it—she definitely is—but there almost seems to be a challenge to the question. Not aggressive, or rude, more like the gentle nudging of a bit-too-invested parental figure.

It doesn't really matter, honestly, because if there's anything Hope will rise to, it's a challenge.

So, that's how she ends up walking out of the jewelry shop fifteen minutes later with a palm-sized gift box in hand.

She puts it in her jacket pocket and continues to bring nervous fingers to the ribbon on the top until Lizzie's voice pulls her from her park bench solitude ten minutes after that.

"I am so sorry," Lizzie is saying in approach, somewhere around seventy miles a minute. "We finished studying on time, but then dad was asking where you were, and I had to spend, like, twenty minutes talking through a problem with him so that he wouldn't come find you and make you travel to fucking Connecticut for something that you do not need to help him with. Like, okay, I get it, you’re super smart and helpful, but it’s not your full-time job to drop everything. You're still in school, and you're not an adult, and—”

Hope, recognizing the signs of full-speed ahead, grabs Lizzie’s hand.

“Lizzie.”

Lizzie, under both the touch and her name, seems to blink into awareness. What she finds when she does is Hope, looking up at her with likely one of the most endeared smiles known to mankind.

She smiles too, softly.

Hope, noticing this, finally says, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Lizzie breathes. “Sorry.”

“No need,” Hope says, squeezing Lizzie’s fingers. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Well, you know—” Lizzie shrugs “—that actually is my full-time job, so.”

She grins a bit, lips closed, cheeks dimpled, and she’s so pretty, lit up by the mid-morning sun, that Hope finds herself reaching for the box without thinking.

She presents it flat in the palm of her hand.

Lizzie’s eyes light up.

“What’s this?” she asks.

It’s Hope’s turn to shrug, just a little.

“A gift.”

“Well, you know I love those.”

Hope does. In fact, it’s about eighty percent of what actually influenced her decision to follow through with purchasing. (Maybe seventy-five. Like she said, she will answer a challenge.)

It doesn’t make the nerves any better as she watches Lizzie open it. It's actually quite a feat that she manages silence while Lizzie reveals the necklace in the box, and even as she takes it out and lays it on her palm. But as she examines it quietly, Hope breaks.

“I—uh…” Lizzie looks up at her, and under the gaze—and the silence—what made sense before feels easily like a mistake. Hope feels heat creep up the neck. “I just—I saw it, and I thought of you. That you might like it, or—I know I’m not, like, as fashionable, so accessories are something I can’t exactly say I’m well-versed in, but—.”

Hope’s rambling is cut off by a bone-crushing embrace. Her sentence end-stops with an oof.

Her arms move on instinct, around Lizzie’s upper back, before falling to encircle her waist. She doesn’t have the space to really readjust her head, so she just lets herself be kind of smothered in Lizzie’s shoulder for a bit.

She doesn't mind. Lizzie smells like sun-warmed fabric softener and springtime—something fruity like honeysuckles. Hope's eyes fall closed.

“Thank you,” Lizzie says, and then she's pulling back just as suddenly. Hope has to blink her eyes back open. “This is so sweet.”

Hope smiles, despite the disorientation, heart settling into something calmer.

With the threat of full humiliation alleviated, she regains the wherewithal to say, “Call it compensation.”

Lizzie grins at that, teeth glinting in the sun.

“I will,” she says. “But don’t think this gets you out of returning my butterfly clip. I am still expecting it one of these days.”

“I know,” Hope says, and she thinks if she were to be cut open, she’d bleed fondness—some pastel color, warm to the touch. Her gaze lingers on Lizzie’s eyelashes, as Lizzie continues to look at the necklace in her palm. She asks, “You really like it?”

Lizzie’s eyes meet hers again.

“I love it,” she says immediately. “Help me put it on?”

Hope does. With a press of tiptoe to ground and a lingering brush of fingertips against skin.

She loses a bit of her breath when Lizzie turns back around, hair swept over one shoulder, eyes sparkly and blue.

“Don’t worry,” Lizzie says. She steps forward and grabs Hope’s hand. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” Hope asks, still dazed, slow on the uptake.

“That you’re a giant sap.”

Hope rolls her eyes.

“Like, redwood tree giant,” Lizzie continues.

“Okay—”

“—Arborists would like an interview, actually. I heard something about it—”

“The point’s been made, Lizzie.”

Lizzie’s smile is tight-lipped, like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Like I said.” She steps closer. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Hope knows that's a lie. She knows Lizzie will tell anyone who asks that Hope got the necklace for her. (She decides not examine why that makes her feel even warmer.) But before she can think of something to say, or even complain about being picked on immediately after being nice, Lizzie leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. And though she’s done it before—has been doing it more often lately, in greeting and goodbye—this time it lasts a little longer, feels a little more tender. All Hope can do is freeze under the contact.

And when she withdraws, for just a moment, the span of a few breaths, Lizzie looks at her in this way that makes Hope's fingertips tingle. She looks at her like she's something she can't believe she found, like she's something to be cherished.

(Hope only recognizes it because she's seen photos people have taken of her looking at Lizzie, and she remembers thinking the same exact thing.

She can't allow herself to think about the parallel too long, at risk of doing something irrevocably stupid.)

“Are we ready for our coffee date?” Lizzie asks, finally. "I'll buy."

I love you, Hope wants to answer.

“Yeah,” she says instead.

And it’s enough, she thinks, that Lizzie squeezes her fingers and doesn’t let them go until they get to their destination. (It’s enough, she thinks, that even then it’s only because they have to sit across from each other in the booth.)

Because it means Lizzie wants to be connected to her, still, in some way. And it's enough. It's enough.

It has to be enough.

five.

Hope cannot believe that she'd been convinced to attend a party only to be ditched at it almost as soon as she arrived.

Like, really, that is just sad. And a bit upsetting.

Well, a lot upsetting, if she’s honest. Because she had wanted to stay in her room, painting, or listening to Lizzie give commentary on one of the shows they’ve agreed to only watch with each other, or, simply, doing anything but going to a party where she’ll have to fend off small talk.

Because, honestly, she’s tired, and the idea of being surrounded by drunk teenagers, when she, herself, would not be drinking did not sound appealing. Like, at all.

But, no, of course Lizzie managed to convince her with one to two pretty pleases and a well-placed pout of the lips. Because she always knows exactly what she's doing, and it always ends the same way. With Hope sighing and relenting and agreeing to whatever it is that Lizzie wants.

It's something to be concerned about, Hope thinks. Sure, this time, it was only the bonfire the werewolves were hosting. But next time? Who knows. Could be grand larceny in the first degree, and Hope would be just as useless as ever in fighting it.

She would be just as prone to winding up in situations that displease her. Like right now, sitting alone by the fire.

All around her, people are laughing and talking, playing games, dancing to music, but she's only watching. Every few breaths, her eyes find Lizzie in the crowd before flicking away.

Each time, she can hear Kaleb's voice in her head.

This is just sad.

Believe her, Kaleb, she knows; and she is not happy about it.

Sure, she and Lizzie had shown up separately and all, but she still thinks that if someone asks someone else to a party, they should then, perhaps, not ignore the person they invited for the entire night. Call her old-fashioned.

Maybe she wouldn’t mind as much if it wasn’t Lizzie doing the ignoring. Maybe she still would. She doesn’t know. She won't find out.

Because it is Lizzie, and that’s exactly what she’s been doing. Drinking and having the time of her life, while Hope has been left on her own, scaring off any who might try to speak to her with her arms crossed and her face impassive. (If only to hide her growing irritation.)

And it’s not that Hope doesn’t like to see Lizzie happy and having a good time. She does. If anyone is the supporter of Lizzie doing all the things she wants to help her relax and be carefree, it’s Hope. She just wishes she’d been allowed to stay in her room if she wasn’t going to be spoken to but for a brief hey, you came! when she first walked up.

She’d gotten one, short squeeze of the fingers, a peck on the forehead, and then Lizzie was being called over by someone to play some drinking game. And Hope had waved and told her to have fun, that she would find her later, but every time after that she had tried to find Lizzie, Lizzie was getting caught up in something else, with someone else.

And Hope really could’ve stayed in her room if she wanted to be alone. She’d much prefer truly alone, over alone and surrounded by people.

So, it’s probably been an hour and a half, with Hope only letting MG and Kaleb close enough to talk to her, and she’s way past the point of fed up.

By now, Lizzie is well past tipsy, light and laughing, with flushed cheeks, and Hope is happy that she’s happy. Like she said. But she also doesn’t want to stay at a party she didn’t want to attend in the first place if the only reason she came isn’t going to spend time with her.

In fact, she’s just beginning to stand, mentality along the lines of screw this, when Lizzie appears in front of her.

“Hope,” is what she says upon greeting. Right before swaying a step sideways.

Hope reaches out to steady her quickly, a spike of panic lighting up her nerves as the flames on her left continue to send sparks into the air.

Lizzie laughs—giggles really—as she grips Hope's arms back and lets herself be helped into an upright stance. 

"Whoops." She looks at Hope with the direct force of her smile, face pink-tinted and eyes sparkly. Hope swallows. "Thanks, gorgeous."

And, see, this is the thing about Lizzie that Hope has discovered. It's very, very hard to stay mad at her for very long. At least, in Hope's more recent experiences, after they've gotten close, and come to understand one another.

Because she'll look at you like you're all that matters and call you soft names, and it's just not fair. Hope never stands much of a chance under it all.

But she really is irritated at the moment. She kind of has a thing about being ditched. Abandoned. Not that she wants to make it that deep, but, also, it still kind of stings, okay?

So, she says, "No problem," but that's all. She doesn't smile back, and she doesn't keep her hands on Lizzie like she might normally be inclined to. 

Lizzie looks at her for a beat.

"What's wrong?" she asks on the second one, stepping closer. She takes a strand of Hope's hair in between her fingers and begins to play with it. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Hope says. She shrugs. "I'm fine. I'm leaving, though."

"Oh. Okay." Another beat. "Well, I'll come with you."

"No. Stay here. Have fun." Hope waves her hand vaguely. "It's fine."

And maybe it's the way she moves to step around Lizzie, or just the way she steps out of her touch without giving her a parting one in return. Maybe it's because, at the moment, she doesn't have as much lovesickness in her tone as usual. Maybe it's none of it.

But something indicates to Lizzie some of the underlying emotion.

She moves sideways, into Hope's path. She blinks at her through what is almost certainly blurry vision. Her eyebrows crowd together.

"Wait, are you mad at me?" she asks, all levity in her voice quickly dying. At Hope's silence, her eyes widen. Almost comically if Hope were in more of a laughing mood. "Wait, nooo, don't be mad at me."

Lizzie reaches out with both hands this time, to grab each of Hope's, tugging her closer. Hope goes with the pull, but not without a press of her lips together.

When Lizzie sways again, Hope has to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. She guides her to sit on one of the logs behind her. So, Lizzie, sitting now, looks up at her with a pout.

"I'm sorry," she says, and Hope can tell she's earnest, even if she hiccups halfway through. "What'd I do?"

Hope casts her eyes up at the night sky, trading blue for even darker blue, for just a second. Because looking at Lizzie head-on for any prolonged period of time is bound to erode her upset. (It already has, if she's being honest.)

She releases a slow breath through her nose, feels herself start to calm, anyway.

That is, until Lizzie squeezes her hands and says, "Baby," to get her attention. Then she's not calm for entirely different reasons. She glances back down on pure instinct, almost startled. Lizzie tilts her head. "Talk to me."

And she already sounds so sorry, even if she's confused, and Hope doesn't want to make her feel worse. Not really. Not at all.

She actually wants to say never mind. Because she doesn't think that this conversation really needs to be had when one half of them is drunk. But she knows Lizzie, and she knows she's not going to let it go, lack of sobriety notwithstanding.

So, when she replies, she keeps her voice level and quiet, void of any earlier irritation.

"I didn't really appreciate that you left me alone all night, when you wanted me to come to the party with you in the first place," she says, honestly. She reaches up without thinking to move a lock of hair that had fallen across Lizzie's forehead. "But we don't have to talk about it right now. It's okay."

Lizzie shakes her head, though, because of course she does. And now her eyes are a little shiny, too, and Hope really should have just said never mind.

"I'm sorry," Lizzie says.

"Liz, really, it's okay. I'm not even upset anymore."

"But you were upset," Lizzie says. She blinks, hard. "I didn't mean to—." Her eyes flit over Hope's face, looking for something. "I thought it might've been what you wanted."

Now it's Hope's turn for confusion, for a crease between the eyebrows.

"Thought what would've been what I wanted?"

"Some distance," Lizzie says, even though she doesn't sound sure. "Space. I don't know. Like—" she waves her hand about briefly "—boundaries."

Hope, for the life of her, can't think of what to say to that. Mostly because she isn't sure where this is coming from, or if she accidentally gave off the indication that having Lizzie around isn't her favorite part of the day.

So, she asks, quite bluntly, "Why would I want that?" A beat. "Not the boundaries, but, like, the space? The distance?"

Lizzie presses her lips together, head ducking down. Hope takes a step closer, instinctively.

“Lizzie.”

Lizzie looks up and lifts her shoulders in a shrug.

“Josie and I were talking about... some stuff, earlier today, after I invited you, and she might have mentioned kind of off-hand that I might come off as clingy, and I don’t… I don’t wanna suffocate you. Or—Or be too much, you know? I—That’s how I always mess things up.”

Hope kind of, sort of feels like she's just been punched in the solar plexus.

"And, I don't know, you have been a little distant lately, but I don't blame you for that. You've made it clear that you need time after Landon, and I respect that, and I want to let you have time to heal, which is why I want to respect your boundaries. So, I—yeah... Yeah."

Lizzie trails off with another weak gesture of the hand. Like that's the start and end of it all. Hope, practically gaping, has to take at least three seconds to forcibly close her own mouth. (You never know what mind-controlling insects might be lurking. Or, you know, regular insects, too.)

Lizzie sniffs, wipes under her nose with her shirt sleeve, and Hope is too busy absolutely aching all over to say anything.

She tries, though. She has to try. Immediately.

"Lizzie, I—." She shakes her head. "I—."

Love you. Never want to be away from you. Think you're the best person to exist and would literally commit murder for you, why would I not want to spend time with you?

Something close to that, at least: "You're my best friend. You're my favorite person. I always want to spend time with you."

Lizzie's eyes meet hers again, from where she'd been looking at her hands covering Hope's. Hope tightens her grip.

"I'm sorry," she says. "If I made you feel like I don't want to spend time with you. If I made you feel like you're too much. You're not.” A beat. “And even if I did happen to want space, I would tell you."

Lizzie watches her for a few moments, like she's trying to decide whether or not to believe her at face value.

Hope knows, that in the moment, written all over her is the truth. The evidence of the unrequited. But she doesn't try to hide it. Not right now, when hiding it, attempting to keep it at bay, had played a role in Lizzie thinking she didn't want her around.

So, she lets Lizzie see it, and, eventually, Lizzie says, quietly, “I believe you.”

“Yeah?” Hope breathes out.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Hope says.

And because she can’t help herself, she steps all the way forward and brings Lizzie into a hug. The roles are reversed now, with Hope’s arms around Lizzie’s shoulders, and Lizzie’s arms around her waist, head against her chest.

The position makes Hope feel steady, protective, at peace.

It makes her feel weak, like she’s not enough. Like she'll never be enough to help shield those she loves from all that can hurt them. Especially when she’s one of those things.

She sniffs, tries to breathe through the unexpected emotion, and pulls back. She rests her hands on Lizzie's shoulders. Lizzie keeps her hands on Hope's waist.

"Wanna come with me?" she asks.

Lizzie nods.

"Yeah," she says, smiling a little again. "Gotta hold on to me, though. The world's a little spinny."

Hope smiles too.

"Okay. We'll go at your pace."

And they do. They go back to their usual positioning. Lizzie slings an arm around Hope's shoulders, and Hope winds one around Lizzie's waist, and she helps keep her steady as they walk slowly away from the party.

Around them, in the night, fireflies blink in and out of visibility. Insects chirp. A breeze moves through leaves.

Lizzie, somewhere along the way, has begun to hum a slow song she's always listening to. Hope can't remember the name of it. But she'd know the melody anywhere, especially in Lizzie's voice.

The sound of it, and the feeling of Lizzie right beside her, leaned against her, both make for a calm feeling Hope has been missing all night. She’s content to walk in this liminal space, this in-between, forever, really.

But Lizzie whispers, suddenly, “Hey, Hope.”

And Hope glances up immediately. She takes in the way the moonlight makes Lizzie's face shadowed on the side closest to her.

"Yeah?" she asks.

Lizzie stops walking, trails her fingers down Hope's arm to entwine them with Hope's own.

"Dance with me."

Hope laughs, faintly. Heart full, full, full.

"You can't even stand completely straight right now," she says, without bite. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"'Course I am," Lizzie says. "My ideas are always good."

Hope decides to let her have that one for now.

She hums in response and also lets herself be brought closer by Lizzie's pull on her hands.

She's sure, in the middle of the woods, under the moonlight, looking up at Lizzie as she begins to hum again, she's the most see-through she's ever been. She can't bring herself to care all that much. Especially not when she knows Lizzie likely won't remember the love-struck look on her face in the morning.

“C’mon,” Lizzie says.

So, Hope wraps her arms around Lizzie's neck, and she soaks in the warmth of Lizzie's responding smile. She sways, ever so slightly, when Lizzie begins to. (She keeps herself prepared, in case Lizzie's balance begins to fail once more.)

In the night air, cool against the skin, the smell of the fire still drifts to them. But there's also Lizzie's perfume, overwhelming Hope's senses.

At some point, her head comes to rest under Lizzie's chin. Her eyes close, and then she can't be sure how much time passes with them like that, in the midst of trees and starlight and shadows.

But she doesn't particularly care to find out either. She'd stay sunup to sundown, dusk to dawn, really.

It's only when Lizzie says, "I'm sorry," that Hope pulls back enough again to be able to look at her. “For ignoring you earlier. I’m sorry I hurt you. I should’ve just asked how you felt. I got scared.”

“It’s okay,” Hope says, and it’s much more convincing this time, than before. “I understand. We’ll both be better communicators next time.”

Lizzie hums.

“I hated doing it, if it helps.” She smiles that one smile that always makes Hope feel special for reasons completely separate from her being a tri-brid. Closemouthed and tender, eyes entirely soft, only for Hope. “You’re my favorite person too.” A beat. “Don’t tell Josie.”

Hope thinks she laughs a little, but she can’t be sure. Not with all the emotions running rampant in her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says. Honestly. Vulnerable only when she doesn’t think it’ll stick later. (Again, therapy, an ongoing process.) “Thanks for giving me all those chances. To be in your life. Even if they didn’t work for a lot of years.”

And where Lizzie would normally make a joke of some kind, laugh a little too, here she looks at Hope with an open intensity, entirely earnest without deflection.

She says, “I’ll always wait for you,” and knocks quite a bit of wind out of Hope’s lungs. “However long you need. Any time.”

And there’s something significant there, Hope can feel it. She can’t decipher it, though. She doesn’t get enough time.

Because Lizzie is still intoxicated, and she proves it by breaking the moment with a yawn.

“Let’s head back now,” she says. “‘M sleepy.”

Hope nods and lets their earlier path resume. But she doesn’t speak much for the rest of the night.

When she's in bed later, she closes her eyes with I’ll always wait for you still ringing in her ears.