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wannab-urs · 2 years ago

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mi corazón se está rompiendo, pero esto es tan lindo <3

Sé que van a ser tan felices.... eventualmente.

hot & heavy

chapter eight: up north

neighbor!joel x afab!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 11k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, undefined relationship, likely poor spanish grammar, pining joel, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, soft soft soft joel, sprinkle of possessive joel, Big Feelings

a/n: end of another summer of these two </3 this is the longest chapter by far but i hope you all love it!

h&h will be taking about a 2ish week break so i can catch up on requests and some other WIPs before we start the final summer!

i must say a huge THANK YOU to el @northernbluess for beta reading this behemoth chapter & previous chapters and always screaming about joel & mariposa with me. my sister wife/shared brain cell/sweet, sweet girlfriend (always willing to be the oscar to your pedro) 🥰

ok i will shush now, enjoy xxx

TO: Mariposa

Hey sweetheart, gonna head over to pick up Sarah now

Are you girls out of the pool?

Yep! Brushing Sarah’s hair out with some leave-in conditioner, got really tangled when we were swimming

Door’s open if you wanna come in :)

Joel deposits his phone into the pocket of his jeans before he steps out of his front door and walks across the grass to yours. He opens your front door and steps in, waiting in the entryway after announcing that he was inside.

You peek your head out from upstairs, looking down at him and smiling.

“Hey, stranger,” you bound downstairs, jerking a thumb behind you where you came from, “I’ve got a bunch of old childhood stuff like stuffed animals and dolls and books that I need to get rid of before the move so Sarah’s looking through everything in my room. I hope it’s alright that I told her to take what she wanted—”

Joel closes the gap between you and grins, shaking his head as he reaches a hand out to wrap around your waist. He pulls you closer with a gentle tug, kissing you sweetly.

When he pulls away, he leans in for one quick peck, rubbing his thumb in circles on your hip.

“Sorry, interrupted you…” He says with a laugh as you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yeah, how rude of you,” you kiss him one more time before continuing, “Anyways, I told her to take whatever she wanted. Not sure if you will be going home with a few things or all of it, so I apologize if it doubles the amount of stuffies that she already has.”

“It’s alright, Mariposa. No harm in her having something or a bunch of things from her favorite nanny,” he rubs your back as you turn to walk back upstairs, him close behind, “My favorite nanny, too.”

A hand dropped to your ass, he squeezes it while you climb the stairs ahead of him, chuckling softly at you reaching back to swat his hand away.

“Alright, hands to yourself, Miller,” you scold before walking down the hall into your room; he follows and smiles wide when Sarah looks up at him from a pile of stuffed animals around her.

“Daddy! Posey’s giving me some of her stuffies, and books, and dolls cause she’s the bestest. Should I take the blue elephant or the bunny with floppy ears?” She holds up both options for him to consider and Joel steps further into the room toward her, squatting down to look at them closely.

“Oh goodness, I’m not sure, Bug. They’re both very cute,” he rubs his chin as he thinks, a low hum as he looks between the two options, “I would say the bunny. How about you?”

Sarah grins and nods, setting down the elephant toy and holding the bunny against her chest, “I like it, too. Does the bunny have a name already, Posey?”

“Oh! Hmm, let’s see him…” you walk over to her and Joel, kneeling on your carpet next to him. Joel fidgets with his fingers, itching to reach out for you when you’re sitting that close. He keeps his hands on his knees, running his hands over the worn denim and focusing on the feeling of it against his palms instead of the warmth radiating off of you, the smell of the chlorine mixing with your perfume that he wants to lick off of your skin, the soft cotton of the oversized shirt that he wants to rest his cheek against as he lays with you.

God, all he wants is you. All the time.

“Now that I think about it, I think this bunny was one of my favorites when I was your age. I think I had decided he was a boy, and I named him Flopsy. You don’t have to keep that same name, sweet pea. I’m sure he would love whatever you wanna call him,” you grin and shrug your shoulders to her, picking up a different toy that sits in front of you.

“I don’t wanna call him anything different. I don’t want him to forget about you, Posey, so I wanna call him what you named him so he always thinks about you.”

Joel looks over to you as Sarah gets distracted going through your old Barbies and babydolls; your hand is pressed against your chest as you set the toy back on the floor, your other hand reaching up to swipe under your eyes. When you turn to face him, he offers you a sympathetic look that you respond to with a sad smile, tears in your eyes. You stand up, using his shoulder for support, and move to retreat to the hallway to give yourself a moment. He covers your hand at his shoulder with his, squeezing and giving you silent comfort before your touch slips away from him.

It’s another moment before he asks Sarah to wrap up with her decisions; he helps her gather everything she chose, slipping it all into a bag that you’ve lent her to transport her new belongings back to their house. He picks Sarah up as she yawns, holding her up with one arm and grabbing the bag in his other hand. One deep breath and he smells the same product that you use in your hair, pressing his head into his daughter’s hair to take it in entirely and giving her a kiss at the crown of her head. It constricts his heart in his chest, a reminder of your imprint on his life. Maybe it’s strange, but he makes a mental note to get the same product for Sarah the next time he’s at the store.

Joel and Sarah walk out of your room and meet you in the upstairs hallway. When you turn around at the sound of his footsteps, he can see the dried tear tracks and desperately wants to wrap you up in his other arm, to hold you there and do anything he could to make you feel better.

That same butterfly that normally stirs each time he looks at you drops from his chest to his stomach, the fluttering of wings turning into rolling waves of anxiety. He hates that feeling, one he hasn’t felt around you ever — it’s been there before you, and when you were away, but each time he has had you around, one smile or touch or even just a look quells his panic. His vision always tunnels on you, everything else that was affecting him falling away.

This moment though, it has the opposite effect. His tunnel vision on you spurs the rush of worry, seeping dread in between his ribs and making his chest cave in.

Without knowing what to do to help you, he clears his throat and speaks plaintively, “We’re gonna head out, Mariposa. Sarah’s got her haul here.” He holds up the bag a few inches, a benign smile that doesn’t reach his eyes passed to you.

A silent question exchange between the two of you with his eyes:

Are you okay?

To which you reply with a forced smile, still beautiful but not nearly as breathtaking as your genuine one.

“Bet you got all the good stuff, Sare-Bear. You’ve gotta tell me how all your new friends like your original stuffy buddies,” you guide them downstairs and Joel lingers in the door with Sarah, thanking you again for watching her and giving her some hand-me-downs to play with and read. You wave off his thanks and watch from the doorway as he crosses your lawn to his, the click of the door heard behind him.

Sarah speaks up from her head on his shoulder, her innocent tone asking him curious questions, “Why is Posey moving away from her house and her parents?”

Joel hikes her up in his arms, debating in his head on how to answer.

“Well, she got an adult job that she has to move for. She really wanted to do that specific job, and it’s far away from home, so she has to move.”

“What is her job?”

“You know when you see posters or billboards or commercials that sell things? Posey’s gonna be the one who comes up with all those ideas on how to sell those things.”

“That’s cool. I hope she gets to make one for Bratz or Strawberry Shortcake,” she picks up her head and looks at Joel as he opens the front door, “Is Posey gonna come visit before summer is over?”

“No, I’m sorry, mija. Posey can’t come back for a while, her job wants her to be around to learn all the things she needs to know for her job so she can’t take any days off like Daddy can sometimes.”

Sarah sighs and her shoulders fall, holding onto Joel’s shoulders as he brings her up to the bathroom to get the shower ready for her to wash off the chlorine.

“Can I talk to her when she’s gone? Like on the phone?”

“I’m not sure, Bug. I guess I would have to see if Posey’s okay with that. I’ll ask her; is that okay?”

When he sets her down, he sees the slight disappointment from his answer, clearly wanting an immediate yes to stifle her nerves about her nanny moving away.

“Well, aren’t you gonna call her, Daddy? Cause you’re friends? I can talk to her after you do,” she stands straighter, proud of her problem-solving skills and it twists his heart in his chest even more than the sight of you crying.

“Oh, mija, I don’t know…”

“I know what you can do! There is this boy named Luke in my class that told my friend Katie that he liked her and now they’re boyfriend and girlfriend and they spend every recess together. If you ask Posey to be your girlfriend, maybe then she would stay and hang out with us all the time!”

Is it possible for something to be incredibly adorable and incredibly tormenting at the same time?

How is he meant to answer that?

Why is his kid so perceptive? He was never this smart.

God damn him for actually trying to raise this kid well.

He kneels on the bathroom tile in front of her, making himself eye level with his daughter as he struggles to find an answer that will make sense to her unjaded mind.

“Mija, mi princesa, you are so smart. That is a very good idea, but I’m not sure if that would work for us. When you get older, it isn’t as easy to spend time with people cause life gets busy or people have to make hard decisions to move away or break up, like Mommy and I did when you were very, very little. I really like Posey and she is a very nice person, but she’s gotta move away, Bug. I’m sorry, mija.”

Sarah’s eyes well with fat tears, her bottom lip pouting in a tremble. She wipes at her eyes furiously as her tears fall, small hiccups shaking her body as Joel wraps her up in his arms, soothing her with soft ‘shhs’ and rocking her side to side.

“I know, Bug, I know. It’s sad when a friend moves away. But Posey will come visit, I promise. It’ll be okay, mi mariposita.”

It takes a few minutes to calm her down fully, but once Sarah is feeling a bit better, Joel gathers pajamas for her to change into and leaves the shower running for her. As he crosses the hall to leave the bag of stuff from you in her room, he pauses once it’s set on the carpet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop what’s brewing behind them. A single sniffle is felt in his nose before he shakes his shoulders loose, stowing away the feelings to unpack when he’s alone in bed tonight, without you to wrap his arms around and lay his head on.

The noise of the annual neighborly barbecue muffles as you shut the front door behind you, sighing softly as you find some peace and solitude on the front porch. Wood creaks under your feet while you cross the large open space, taking a few of the steps down and sitting on the edge. Smoothing the skirt of your sundress over your knees, you rest an elbow on your thigh and your chin in your hand. The street is quiet, everyone inside the house or out in the backyard; it’s been a while since you’ve seen the neighborhood this way, everyone always hustling and bustling up and down the road. You tune into little changes from the stillness — freshly cut blades of grass blowing across the sidewalk, the mailbox flag barely hanging on by a thread at the end of your neighbor’s driveway, your car parked next to Joel’s truck in front of his house. The last one hits you with a bit more feeling than simple nostalgia for your neighborhood. You volunteered to move your car to give room for others from around the neighborhood to park at your house for the party, and Joel, of course, insisted you take a spot at his.

It’s a glimpse into a life you could’ve had if there were a chance for you two. But you have the calendar in your room, counting down the handful of days that you have until that car is packed up along with a U-Haul and driven the nearly 2,000 miles to Boston. The week after, you start your new job, and from then on, you have no idea what is going to happen. Christmas will be spent away from home, the tickets to meet your parents at your grandparents’ place in Wisconsin have already been purchased. No summer vacation to look forward to next year, no date on that same calendar when you would be home again. When you would see Sarah. When you would see Joel.

Grieving what could have been — a life full of love with your next-door neighbor and his kid, two of the most important people in your life despite the short time they’ve been in it.

The Millers.

Joel, Sarah, even Tommy.

Maybe it could have been you, too.

The sound of the door opening and the rush of conditioned air takes you away from your thoughts, looking over your shoulder as Joel steps outside onto the porch, shutting the door gently behind him. He crosses the porch and stands next to you, grinning down at you and nodding to the spot next to you.

“Saving that seat for anyone?” One of his hands reaches out, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head. You lean into his touch, a coy smile on your face.

“Maybe…Do you have anything to offer for the spot?” You raise your eyebrows expectantly and bite back your own laugh when Joel chuckles. He pulls his other hand from behind his back, holding the necks of two bottles of beer.

“Matter of fact, I do. Is a beer a sufficient offer?” he removed his hand from your head to twist off the cap, handing the opened brew to you, “Could even throw in a kiss.”

“Hm, I think that might make me rescind the offer entirely,” you pull on a grimace, taking a sip of beer as Joel steps down the stairs and moves to sit next to you.

“Oh, fuck off, smart ass,” he shakes his head with a scoff, reaching to take your beer, “Gimme that back if it’s gonna be like that.”

You laugh and hold the beer on the far side of you, arm extended completely as you fight him off.

“Okay, okay, enough! I take it back — I was saving the seat for you and I would gladly take your offered kiss. It would certainly sweeten the deal,” Joel laughs at the exaggerated smile on your face, shaking his head again as he leans in and gives you a quick, chaste kiss.

“You fold pretty quick when your alcohol is threatened, drunkard.”

You scoff at the playful jest, taking another sip and sending him a knowing look, “You’re one to talk, Miller. I still have the singular voicemail you left me when I was away, and you literally told me how drunk Tommy had gotten you. Lots of other things were said, too.”

“That so? Enlighten me, please, Mariposa. What else was said?” Joel settles back, resting his weight on his hands with his arm brushing your back as he places one hand behind you.

“Nuh uh, you said never to tell anyone on the voicemail. I think that also applies to your sober self,” a smirk slides across your face, another swig of drink taken as you turn your attention out to the street again.

“What brought you out here anyway, darlin’? Too much going on in there?”

You shrug, looking down at the foamy bubbles popping in the clear bottle. Condensation drips around your fingers and onto the fabric of your dress, drying in no time thanks to the heat.

“Guess so. Lots of people asking me about the move. Just got to be a little too much, y’know?”

Joel sighs and nods, his hand behind you lifting to rub circles in your lower back.

“I get it, sweetheart. Is it getting real stressful? Not too many days to go.”

“Yeah, and it’s not something I want to think about. I wish I could have y’all pack up too and move with me, but I know I have to go on my own. Spread my wings,” you look at him at the last sentence, one side of your mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. He looks away from you at the echo of his words from last summer, taking a large swig of his beer.

It’s quiet for a few beats before you speak again, a confession rolling out of you in the intimate moment.

“Part of me wonders what would happen if we had all of this last year, too.”

Joel leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“I wonder the same thing, cielita. But you wouldn’t have to stay now for us to work. I think we could make a go of it this time, y’know the distance thing.”

“Joel,” you shake your head, a disbelieving chuckle leaving your lips, “If we couldn’t make a three-hour drive work, how are we supposed to make a three-hour plane ride work? You have work, so do I. And Sarah would either have to stay at her mom’s or come with you if you came up.”

“I know. I know you’re right,” he looks over at you, the look on his face so vulnerable it nearly makes him seem like a young boy. Wide eyes, softened with pleading, lips pursed to one side, chin turned down.

There’s something lingering between the two of you, the feeling in your gut that he wants to say something else, but instead, the conversation is dropped, and both of you turn back towards the street, watching as the sunset bathes your home in pinks and oranges and reds.

He should have said it then. Sitting on the porch, the sun setting in front of you both.

He should have said it then. After you confessed that you wondered what you two would be if he didn’t say anything last summer.

He should have said it then. He should have told you he loves you.

He was nearly there, words on the tip of his tongue and butterfly flapping its wings aggressively inside of him. But then you had said long distance wouldn’t work and he chickened out.

He should have said it then.

He’s going to say it.

He has to say it.

Since retreating back inside with you, both of you breaking off and filtering into the crowds of neighbors, he hasn’t stopped keeping tabs on you. Each time he gets close to grabbing you to the side to tell you to meet him later, you get wrapped up in conversations with random neighbors wanting to wish you luck and give you their goodbyes.

God, do they really need to? Do they even know where you’re moving or what you’re doing? How are they even worth the time, worth the goodbye when they don’t even know you?

They’re wasting the time he has left with you, and the frustration is sitting hot in his chest.

When he is able to catch your eyes across the room or across the deck, your eyes lock with a charge, jolts of energy and tension shooting down his spine. His fingers itch at his sides to have you near, running over the material of his jeans to satiate his tactile need.

Toward the end of the night, he lost sight of you for a good while as he chatted with your dad and the neighbor on the other side of you, Mr. Taylor. Matt he thinks? At a lull in the conversation, he excuses himself to head inside in search of Sarah watching a movie in the basement with other kids.

Closing the sliding door behind him, he turns forward and sees you at the sink, alone and washing up from dinner. He smiles to himself, attempting a stealthy approach but his heavy footsteps fail him. Over your shoulder, you look at him and grin, pulling your hands from the soapy water.

“Hey, Miller.”

“Hey, Mariposa.”

The two of you stand in front of each other, silent with gentle, closed lip smiles. It’s quiet inside, the sounds of everyone outside muffled through the glass, and the sounds of the animated kids’ movie stifled by the basement door.

What really would happen if he just grabbed you and kissed you?

Knowing his luck, your parents, brother, grandparents, everyone in your family would somehow walk in at the same time and see their responsible neighbor, and your former employer, with his tongue down your throat and hands on your ass.

That thought keeps his hands at his sides, and your voice hitting his ears pulls him out of his imagination.

“What’s up with you? You have a weird look on your face,” you laugh softly, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“I don’t have a weird look on my face. I’m just lookin’ at you,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, grabbing a dish towel off of the counter and starting to dry the clean dishes from the rack, “Am I not allowed to appreciate how beautiful my girl is?”

A chortle from you makes him grin, shaking your head and bumping your hip against his as you slip your hands into the water to start washing again.

“I suppose I can’t stop you from looking and thinking unless I blindfold you. But I need help drying and don’t want to clean up broken glass from you dropping something while blindfolded.”

“I am not that clumsy, Mariposa. Plus, I would clean up after my mess. Always do,” he nudges you at his side, grabbing another dish to dry and checking the time on the oven.

“So, I gotta go get Sarah home soon, but would you maybe wanna come over to my backyard once this all dies down? I wanna hang out with you,” he focuses on the dish in his hands, polishing it dry and setting it down as he glances at you.

“I’d love to come to hang out with you,” you place another clean dish in the rack, drying your hands again and waving him off, “Go grab Sarah, it’s getting late and I haven’t heard much noise downstairs so something tells me they’ve all crashed from their lemonade and popsicle sugar highs.”

Your quiet giggle brings a smile to his face, feeling as eager as a teenager to hear his crush say yes to going to the dance with him. He takes one step closer, only a few inches, and looks at you, biting his lip with a grin.

“I need you to know that I really want to kiss you right now. Like real, real bad.”

Your laugh makes that damn butterfly thrash its wings even faster inside of him, floating up to his head and making him nearly love drunk enough to forgo the boundaries around your house, around other people, and kiss you right now.

“Go,” you press on his chest and turn him around toward the entrance to the basement, “I’ll see you later, you can kiss me then.”

“Better hold up that promise, sweetheart. My feelings are still hurt after you nearly denied me earlier on the porch,” he winks over his shoulder and chuckles at your eye-roll. He makes his way downstairs, smiling when he sees all of the kids passed out with the home screen for Monsters Inc. on VHS playing over and over again. Scooping up Sarah from the couch, he holds her to his chest and slips out the front door upstairs and over to his house to wait for you.

TO: Mariposa

Heard everyone heading out from yours. I’m on the porch at mine whenever you wanna come over

Joel sends the message and watches the screen for a reply, bouncing his leg while he sits at the table on his deck.

“Long time, no see, cowboy,” you bound up the stairs and over to the table, producing two cold beers from behind your back, “Brought refreshments.”

“So polite of you not to show up empty-handed, darlin’,” he stands and steps over to you, taking the beers from you and clasping his free hand around one of yours.

“Of course, sir. Always polite, you know that,” you smirk when a groan rolls out of his chest, shaking his head at your teasing and leaning down to run his nose along the side of yours.

“Guess it’s only polite if I ask, so, may I please have a kiss, mi chica dulce?”

“Hmm…” You act like you’re thinking, squinting your eyes and tilting your head from side to side. Joel huffs again and drops your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Pretty please?”

“Well, if you add the pretty,” a giggle slips from your mouth before Joel is dampening the sound with his lips attaching to yours in a heady kiss. A whimper is breathed from your mouth, your arms sliding up his chest and hooking around his neck to hold him against you. He lets his own sigh out, melting his tongue into yours and savoring the taste of you.

After a moment, you pull away, eyes fluttering open and staring up at him through your lashes with kiss-swollen lips still parted.

“Really glad you asked so nicely,” you laugh quietly and smile with closed lips, leaning up for a quick peck.

“You wanna sit here or inside or—”

“Tire swing! I wanna sit on the swing with you,” you beam at him, pleading with a pouted lip as he considers, sighing dramatically and retaking your hand.

“Lucky you’re cute, Mari. Lead the way,” he nods towards the stairs and laughs to himself as you eagerly guide him toward the far end of his backyard. Joel sets the beers on the ground, helping you to get onto the rubber swing before handing you the bottle and climbing onto the tire, starting a slow momentum and settling his legs on either side of you across the swing. Joel opens the bottles of beer, passing you one and cheersing with you.

It’s quiet for a beat as he leans his head against the rope next to him, taking you in with an amorous gaze and studying your features before he feels compelled to fill the silence.

“Can I tell you somethin’ Sarah told me the other day?”

Your grin is sleepy but eager, nodding slowly as you lean into the motion of the swing, “Course you can. I always wanna hear about Sare-Bear.”

He reaches for the backs of your legs, pulling them up and over his to entangle yourselves further.

“She was very sad about you leavin’ and was asking me a bunch of questions about your job and you movin’,” his fingertips skate over your bare calves, eyes trained on the soft skin shining with the trails of condensation from his fingers, “And one of her questions was if I was gonna call you, and if that she could talk to you on the phone after. She came up with the genius idea that I should ask you to be my girlfriend 'cause her friend Katie became this kid Luke’s girlfriend and they hang out every recess so if you were my girlfriend, then you would hang out with us all the time.”

“Oh, what a sweet pea she is. That is incredibly adorable.” A hand rests on your chest, Joel clears his throat before he continues, the words flowing out of him without any second thought.

“It is adorable. And it got me thinking, that maybe I should be fully honest with you before you leave so that you know exactly where I stand. I don’t wanna hold anything back with you anymore.” The butterfly inside of him has multiplied, feeling like thousands released in his chest as he looks into your eyes.

“Whenever you’re around, I feel like there’s a butterfly just fluttering around in my gut and up into my chest. I feel light as the air around you, completely calm with just one smile from you. And right now, I have to admit, it feels like there are about a thousand butterflies inside of me.”

“Te amo. I love you, mi Mariposa.”

He holds his breath, awaiting any response from you.

Are you speechless? Or thinking?

It’s been quiet for a good minute now.

“Joel…”

Fuck, that isn’t good. That is not a good ‘Joel’, that’s an ‘I’m about to say something that will upset you’ ‘Joel’.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What could you have to say?

You told him last year. Months ago. Did everything change that much? Don’t you still love him? He thought he had understood some signs, but maybe he was blinded by his own feelings.

No. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

He says it. You say it back, he kisses you, takes you inside, shows you how much he loves you, and you would consider staying. Consider long-distance even. Choose him in some way.

That’s what was supposed to happen.

Temper rises with bile, burning his throat and bringing stray tears to his eyes and a tingle to his face. Power manifests itself in the clench of his jaw, certain that he’ll break a molar the longer he keeps this wire-tight press of his teeth together.

Nothing from you, still.

Fuck this.

“Is there anything you can say?” He hears himself as if it isn’t him speaking. It doesn’t sound like him. There’s venom woven in every word, the question spat out as if it’s bitter in his mouth. The self that is outside of him, screaming at him to shut up watches you deject, shoulders dropping and the corners of your lips turning down as tears line your bottom lids.

“Um, yeah. I’m sorry, I was going to say something I was just surprised…” your fingers are nimbly gripping the neck of the bottle, focus completely on the light amber liquid, “I don’t know if I can do this right now. I’m moving, and I don’t know when I could be back…”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

This can’t be happening.

And there’s no way he can bring himself to say anything more, all he wants to do right now is get up and go inside, alone, and slam a few more beers to forget this even happened.

“It’s alright, darlin’. We don’t have to do this right now,” he clears his throat and avoids your eyes, body heating under your pitiful stare, “I think I’m gonna head inside. It’s late and I should probably be there in case Sarah wakes up lookin’ for me…”

His hands gently move your legs off of his, gracefully getting out of the swing quickly and rubbing the back of his neck as he nods up to his house.

“Stay as long as you want. I’ll, uh, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Joel—”

“Night,” he adds your name at the end, the syllables foreign on his tongue after not speaking them for so long. You’ve been his Mariposa, Sarah’s Posey, even every affectionate nickname he could think of instead of your God-given one. It’s beautiful, of course it is, but the sound feels clunky in his mouth, short against his lips as he starts to retreat, to seek out those walls he feels so comfortable hiding behind.

Standing in your room with open boxes and plastic bins piled around, you can’t seem to quite focus on the task at hand. Your mind keeps replaying the end of last night — watching Joel’s face, hearing his frustration, seeing those walls go up in real-time. And hearing your name, clipped with his ‘goodnight’ as he withdrew from you, physically and emotionally, made you nearly feel sick to your stomach. It sounded so uncanny coming from him. You weren’t only ‘you’ to him, you were his ‘Mariposa’. With his voice repeating your name echoing in your head, you resigned to packing up more of your books and knickknacks, wondering what Joel was thinking about.

Maybe he shouldn’t have left you sitting there, alone and upset in his backyard, but God, his skin felt like it was burning him from the outside in, breath tight in his chest and barely squeezing out of his lungs. He settled that night, taking a pause to figure out precisely what these physical symptoms meant for his feelings.

He had been anxious to tell you such a big thing; it was a huge step for him so he was already on edge. He hadn’t said it to anyone, romantically, since Tiff. And looking back, he isn’t even sure he meant it. He’s sure with you though.

And when you said nothing, his anxiety turned into fear which mounted into frustration and anger. Mostly toward himself; he was frustrated he put himself out on the line to get hurt, but he was also admittedly a bit frustrated with you or his misunderstanding of you. He really did think you would say it back. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d heard it from you. He’s reeling a bit, the boil of his irritation toward the situation he’s created is now simmering in his gut.

Sarah had come over to swim again, not wasting any time hanging out with her favorite nanny in the mere three days you have left at home. The two of you have a blast for the afternoon and evening, eventually drying yourselves off and heading inside to wait for her dad to come and pick her up. There’s no message this time, only a ring of the doorbell. Another tell that he’s stewing with something — upset, frustration, resentment?

When you answer the door, you tell him that Sarah’s changing into some dry clothes in the bathroom. You give him a sympathetic smile, heart racing as he steps inside after your invitation. Awaiting the moment he grabs your hand, wraps you up in his arms, rubs circles in your lower back — any of those little touches he’d sneak in when you’re alone, no stolen kisses ‘cause he just needs one’ — but those moments never came. Sarah came bounding out of the main floor bathroom and Joel scooped her bag from her, taking her hand and leading her home with a curt nod goodbye to you.

If he loves you, why is he acting this way? Did he really not mean it? Was he saying it only to appease you, what he thought you had wanted from him?

He knows he’s making things worse by being so closed off to you. But no matter how he tries, his mind keeps bringing him back to that moment where your face fell as he said the words. How instead of happiness, affection, and love of your own painted across the beautiful face he’s studied for hours, you were sad, disappointed, and even afraid of him when he lashed out bitterly.

Bile has been eroding his throat for two days now since he told you, and it is tasting more and more acrid as it sits there. It takes like his anger, his frustration, his avoidance. His disappointment in himself, his shame that he made you feel so small, so ignored.

It’s the afternoon before you’re meant to be leaving. You have the last bits of packing to get done, sitting on your bed with the curtains open and some of the last sips of Texas sun that you’ll have for a while seeping into the room. In front of you are mementos from the last few years — old movie tickets, photos of friends, football game souvenirs from college. Most are placed into a pile to be put into a shoe box to live here at home, to be opened years from now when your parents beg you to finally get rid of all of your things from their house. The few that don’t make the stay pile are memories of your family — vacation photos, funny gifts from your parents, the newspaper clipping of his first No Hitter game that your brother pitched in college. The very last item brings tears to your eyes — the tiny little butterfly magnet that Sarah begged Joel to buy that day at the farm, slipped into your hand the next time she saw you and told you it was for your new house. Looking at it with blurry vision, the colors of its wings kaleidoscope before you shut your eyes, sniffling and clutching it to your chest.

Joel watches you from his window, again, but this time it’s a much different sight. He’d come up here while Sarah is engrossed in her coloring book, needing a moment of peace to attempt to turn his brain off. It feels like these bad feelings are going to last forever; carved into his chest forever. But, as he reminds Sarah when she’s angry or upset, it will end. The disappointment in himself has evolved into understanding — you were scared but for good reason. You said those words to him last year when you had felt them, and he ignored them. He burned you so badly that you must have blistered scars on your heart that haven’t quite healed. He jumped to his anger, not bothering to pay any mind to what that moment must have been like for you. How terrifying to say anything, in fear it would be the wrong thing again.

Seeing you sitting on your bed alone and wiping at your eyes, he feels like the biggest idiot. Not only did it take him way too long to come to understand you, but he wasted what little time he had left with you. The person he loves, his Mariposa, is leaving, for real and possibly for good in less than 24 hours, and he’s let 72 pass without a second thought.

The two of you may only be transitory, seasonal in your time with each other, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make his love for you feel endless.

TO: Mariposa

You probably don’t want to hear from me right now but please come over tonight, sweetheart. I really want to talk, and I understand if you don’t wanna listen but I’ll come banging on your door and begging.

Please Mariposa

I’ll be over at 9.

He’s been restless ever since he tucked Sarah in about half an hour ago. All afternoon and evening, he rehearsed what he wanted to say to you, whispering it under his breath until he perfected it — all of his feelings laid out, nothing missed.

Shortly after 9, a weak knock comes from the front door. Joel shoots up from his spot on the couch, shaking out his shoulders and attempting to calm his inevitable nerves while he makes the short distance to the entry. A sweaty hand grips the doorknob, opening it to the sight of you in biker shorts and an oversized Astros t-shirt. Arms crossed over your chest, shoulders rolled forward, shrinking yourself in front of him. You look tired — of packing or of him, he isn’t too sure.

“Hi.” The word gets caught in his throat and he clears it, hand twitching at his side, overwhelming need to join your hands at the very least tingles his fingers.

“Hey.” It’s breathy, exhaled with a sigh and your shoulders drop back slightly.

You step inside after he opens the door wider for you, shutting it with a click of the lock and nodding for you to lead the way into the living room.

“You could use your key, y’know. Knew you were coming over, darlin’,” he tries to lighten the mood between the two of you, the jest falling to the ground between you two when you shrug.

“Didn’t really seem right to do…I didn’t know if you wanted me to even have the key anymore. It is from last summer so—“

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. It’s yours. You’re always welcome here, whenever.”

Silence covers the room as you nod, taking a seat at one end of his leather sofa. You curl your legs under you, settling with a throw pillow in your lap. The position makes him assume you still feel comfortable here like you have a small claim over the space.

He thinks you do, he sees you in every little thing. The way you reorganized his kitchen, flitting around expertly at Sarah’s birthday last year.

You won’t be around for her ninth birthday this year.

He sees you in the throw blanket and pillows that you encouraged him to refresh. You’d complained about how crumpled they were, how they looked like they came as a set with the sofa. They did, he didn’t see anything wrong with them, but he knew it would bring a smile to your face to see new ones. And it did.

He needs to make more changes for you to smile at when you come back.

He hears you in little mannerisms of Sarah’s now, her calling him ‘cowboy’ the other day and her spewing all the gardening facts you’ve taught to her. Nearly made his heart burst — little reminders of your impact on not only his life but his daughter’s too.

You’ve made both of their lives infinitely better since they met you.

There are not enough ways to say ‘I love you’ that tell you what you mean to him. What he feels for you.

“Um, so what did you—You said in your text you wanted to talk?” Nervous fingers run over the threads of the pillow’s pattern, Joel watching you fidget as he finds his own seat opposite of you on the couch.

“Yeah, yes I did…” he sits up, a hand running through his hair before he runs them up and down his denim-clad thighs, “I owe you an apology, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you in the dust the other night, I’m sorry for dropping that all on you when we didn’t have much time together, but I needed you to know. I don’t regret telling you, but I regret how I reacted and how that must have made you feel. Lashing out. Being bitter. Closing off and avoiding you. That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s no excuse for how I acted but I was so nervous to tell you, and when you didn’t respond, I got so scared and that turned into frustration — at myself — and I took it out on you. I was mean and then I completely shut down. I am so sorry if I made you feel anything like how I have felt for the last three days because of what I did last year. I never wanted to hurt you, and if you spent the last ten months feeling like this? That's a lot of hurt to cause you.”

“I’m just—I’m sorry, Mariposa. I understand if you don’t want to accept any of this and want to leave and never speak to or hear from me again.”

Nothing is said for a moment, and it takes him back to that moment a few days ago, bearing his soul and waiting with his lungs seized up, breath held inside.

His eyes meet yours when you flick them up from your lap, voice meek, “I’m sorry I’m quiet, I’m just thinking…”

You look as if you’re bracing for him to be annoyed with that, and he slumps forward in failure, standing up and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover over you, unsure if you want his touch until you nod minutely. He runs his palms along your thighs, settling them next to your hands in your lap.

“Sweet girl, you don’t have to apologize for that. I’m sorry I got angry last time. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t take any sort of time you need with me. I’d wait for you forever, darlin’. You talk to me whenever you’re ready.”

“I want to talk to you, I do. There’s so much going on in my head right now,” you laugh sadly and look down at his hands on your thighs, laying your own over them, “I didn’t mean to make you nervous or scared or frustrated. I was surprised, and then I got nervous, too. I couldn’t find words to tell you what I was thinking but I—I don’t think I’m ready to say it again. I care about you so, so much, Joel, but I’m leaving tomorrow and—and I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

You sniffle and look up at him, the look on your face nearly crushing his heart to crumbs. There’s anxiety in your eyes, looking around everywhere but his gaze, the corners of your lips downturned into a pouty frown. A crease between your brow, he can see the frustration you feel. Without a second thought, he reaches up, rubbing away the line and relaxing your brow. You lean your head into his touch, palm gently skating along the side of your face to caress your cheek.

“I know. It’s alright, Mariposa, I understand. You don’t have to say it back. I know I hurt you before, and I didn’t have the thought that you wouldn’t be ready now. But I told you, I don’t regret it. I love you. I would wait if you asked me to.”

“Joel, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“But I would if you did.”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“Not asking you to. Just telling you I would.”

A chuckle falls from your lips as you roll your eyes playfully, bringing a faint smile to his face.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love. That’s not ridiculous, amor.”

“What a line, Miller.”

“Did it work?”

Another laugh, your gorgeous smile peeking through your emotion, and the butterfly inside him flapping its wings again. His thumb brushes along the high point of your cheekbone, locking his eyes with yours.

“Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.”

Joel smiles wider, inching closer with his knees aching in the door.

“Stay the night? I’ll set an alarm for you to get back home. I jus’ wanna hold you, Mariposa. Fall asleep and wake up with you, while I still can.”

His hand moves from your face, pulling you forward from the back of the couch and wrapping his arms around you. He lays his head in your lap, your warmth easing his eyes closed. A low hum rolls from his chest when he feels your fingers card through his hair, pressing his head against your touch like a cat.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

Sighing, he opens his eyes but leaves his head in your lap, arms tightening around you.

“Gimme a second, I like sitting like this.”

“You’re gonna kill your back sitting like that, hon. C’mon, we can lay down upstairs,” your fingers leave his hair and he whines quietly, chuckling when you poke the side of his head before running your nails across his shoulders. He groans involuntarily, picking his head up and tugging you to the edge of the couch.

“Gonna need you to do that again, darlin’. But first, ‘m taking you to bed.” He stands and offers you a hand, helping you off of the sofa. You walk ahead of him, at least one hand kept on you the entire way up to the second floor and into his room.

Slowly shutting the door with a click, you turn over your shoulder and give him a delicate, closed smile. He’s drawn to you like a tide pulling him in, his arms finding their place around you and his lips finding their place against yours. It’s a fragile kiss, feeling with one false move the moment will shatter and reality will seep in and cloud this embrace. But for now, Joel allows himself to indulge in the narrative that his imagination is giving him; there’s no job in Boston for you, no moving truck parked in your driveway a hundred feet away. Instead, it’s him, standing with you in what should be your room, too. Kissing you so tenderly simply from the fact that he feels it’s what you need right now, what he needs. It’s another night that he is dying to show you how much he loves you, how much he cares. He would do it every night over if it meant you would stay, and right then he finds himself asking whatever power might be out there to give him a Groundhog Day situation so he never has to get to the minute he says goodbye.

Lips pull away from each other, you staring up at him as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes flickering back and forth between yours. His hands around you slip under the hem of your shirt, seeking out skin. Fingers splayed across your back, he lifts the fabric up, voice hushed as he speaks.

“You’re so beautiful, amor.”

You give him a bashful smile, one of your own hands finding space at his upper back underneath his t-shirt, “So are you.”

Another feathery kiss. Joel guides his nose along the side of yours, crossing your cheek to press a kiss to your jaw, hiking your shirt up higher as he raises his hands on your back.

“And so smart. Way smarter than me—”

“That’s not true,” you breathe out as his lips find a spot on your neck, grazing his teeth before soothing the skin.

“It is, darlin’, and I have no issue with it. You’re smarter than me, kinder, more patient, funnier…” He pulls your shirt over your head, kissing you again before the fabric is fully off of you. A heavier exchange; throaty, inhibited moans slipping between you two. The sound, and taste, and feel of you are making him lightheaded with desire, blood rushing below his waistband.

“Made me a better man, Mariposa.”

Your mouth drops from his with your chin, his own shirt getting tugged off and discarded with yours. He closes his eyes when your silky skin, such a contrast to his worker’s hands, grazes his cheek. Your thumb on his cheekbone encourages his eyes open again, a beat of silence exchanged before you speak.

“You were already a great man when I met you, Joel.”

“I don’t feel like one without you.”

“You are,” you rasp to him, trailing kisses on his chest as you work the button of his jeans open and his zipper down, “You’re honest. Confident. So incredibly thoughtful…”

You’re walking him backward toward his bed, pushing the denim down his legs. He kicks them off as he sits down, your hands find his shoulders and scratch your nails along them like you had before. Goosebumps spread over his skin, mouth falling ajar as he breathes heavily at the sight of you sinking to your knees in front of him.

“You’re solid, steady. Reliable. You make me feel so safe, so cared for.” You kiss the plushness of his belly, one of his hands holding your head as you rub your cheek against his hardness and kiss the spot where his tip is through the thin fabric. Another chill runs through his veins, your gentle affections overwhelming him.

It’s a blur as you strip him of his boxers, his hands cupping under your breasts as you stand to remove your shorts. You’re back on your knees in front of him, a deep exhale from his chest when you wrap your hand around his hard cock; the sight of you dribbling spit onto him causes him to shudder a moan. Your motions are slow and deliberate as you stroke him, kissing his tip. Fingers run through your hair, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him as you start a measured pace.

“Fuck, sweet girl…So good to me, so good for me always.”

As you swallow once around him, his head falls back with a reserved moan of your name, tilting his chin back down to look at you.

“Feels so perfect, sweetheart. Eres todo para mí. You’re everything to me.”

He hears a hum from you in response, the vibrations adding to the sensation. You work him toward a high, chest rising and falling shallowly. Before he can come, he eases your mouth off of him, shaking his head.

“Wanna come inside you, mi Mariposa, c’mere.” He helps you to stand, crawling back on the bed and pulling you over him. Catching your lips with his, his hand slips between your thighs, sighing as he feels your arousal coat his fingers. As he teases your entrance, you stop him with a grip on his wrist, pulling out of the kiss.

“I want you now. I wanna feel you.” Dilated pupils in your pleading eyes face him, brow knitting with concern.

“Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. You would never. I want it, please,” you give a sly smile, pursing your lips, “Plus, I’m leaving tomorrow. You have to gimme what I want.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls his hand away, your grip loosening as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth to suck clean. He holds them there, attempting to memorize the taste of you. Your hand tightens at his wrist again, coaxing his fingers away from his mouth.

“You’re right, Mariposa. Anything you want, I’ll give to you.”

“Can I—Could I try…” you trail off, looking down coyly.

“What, darlin’? What do you want to try?” Languidly, his palms run up and down your sides as you sit on his thighs, his back against his headboard.

“Could I try being on top?”

He smiles widely at your question, the sweetness in your voice taking him back to last summer, experiencing your firsts with you.

“You wanna ride me, sweet girl?”

A nod keeps his smile there, leaning in and kissing you — all teeth.

“I’m yours, sweetheart. Take what you need, amor. Déjame ser lo que necesitas. Úsame. (Let me be what you need. Use me.)”

A nervous walk on your knees brings your wet cunt to hover over him, one of his hands wrapped around the base of his cock while the other guides your hips. You grip his shoulders tightly, your nerves taut in your forearms. When you start to sink onto him, your face contorts with uncertainty, a look he can’t distinguish between pain or pleasure.

“You okay, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

“No, no. Well, a little, but I wanna keep going.”

“Maripo—”

“I can do it. I can take it.”

Hearing that dries his mouth, his face heating up with a craving for you.

“Okay, baby. Keep goin’. Talk to me.”

You whimper as he fills you up more, still not fully wrapped in your walls. Your brow relaxes as you adjust to the stretch of him, tongue poking out to wet your lips.

“Doesn’t hurt as much. Think I can do more.”

“Good girl. Take what you can handle, Mariposa. I’m here if you want to switch, amor.”

With a hushed exhale, you’re fully filled with him, a quiet moan of his name breathed out as your eyes flutter close and you lean into him.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so good like this…”

“I know, baby, feels real good. You always feel perfect.”

After another minute, your hips start a relaxed rhythm, rising and falling with a steady grind. It’s driving him mad, the sight of you over him, using his cock to get yourself off. Wanting him enough to give him this, the image of you over him — a fallen angel fucking him. That’s what you have to be.

Your legs tremble from the burn of them, and he swoops, holding your hips still as he starts to fuck up into you. Joel maneuvers his feet under him to get more leverage, giving it to you hard and steady how you like it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel, honey—”

“Again, Mariposa, tell me again how it feels.”

You whimper, looking at him with a pained pleasurable expression, his cock driving into you at a perfect pace.

“Gonna miss this, miss you. Never gonna feel this good with anyone else.”

Joel groans from under you, smirking wildly as he moves faster.

“That’s right, darlin’, nobody’s as good as me. Ruined you for everyone else, didn’t I? S’cause it’s my pussy, remember? Mine.”

As you nod furiously, he uses the moment to flip you around, pressing his weight over you to drive you into the mattress with his strong, steady thrusts.

“Yours, honey. Always gonna be yours.”

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart.”

“M’gonna come, Joel, fuck I—”

“Come for me, mi Mariposa, let me feel it.”

A mess of moans and whines leaves you underneath him, breathless as he fucks you through the intense orgasm, your walls tight grip plummeting him to the edge and snapping the taut rope inside of him.

“Fuck, Mariposa, fuck. I love you, te amo. Te amo, mi Mariposa. I fucking love you,” he sighs, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you, fucking his come further into you with a few quick thrusts. He blindly searches for your lips, passionately kissing you with all of the emotion he can muster.

Once the two of you have come down completely, he eases out of you and slips on boxers to go out to the hallway, grabbing a washcloth. He wipes some of the sweat from your body, swiping the cloth between your legs before he deposits it in his hamper, padding over to his dresser and pulling out the navy blue shirt that you love. At the side of his bed, he gently gathers you up to sit straight, slipping the fabric over your head and guiding your arms through the sleeves. Your malleable form falls back to the mattress, pulling him to lie down with you.

“You can keep that shirt, y’know, for when you’re away. I want you to have it.”

“Thank you,” the two of you tangled up in each other, your head ending up on his chest with one leg between his, “M’gonna wear it all the time and then it’s not gonna smell like you anymore.”

“Jus’ send it back then, sweetheart. I’d give you another. And another. And another, until you’re sick of my shirts.”

“Doubt that’ll ever happen.”

“Never say never, Mariposa,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, kissing the top of your head, “Gonna find someone for you, or it’ll end up in the bottom of one of your drawers. Nothin’ wrong with that, darlin’. Means you’re living your life, which is the only thing I could ask of you.”

At the sound of a sniffle, he tucks his chin in, pulling himself away from you to see your face. There’re damp paths down your cheeks, glossy eyes, and runny nose.

“Oh, sweet girl, why are you crying? Did I actually hurt you before? D’you feel okay?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” your voice is thick, tightening his chest and squeezing his ribs, “M’just…I’m gonna miss you so much, Joel. I feel like we could figure things out for us, and—and now I have to move across the country. And I don’t know when I’ll be home, and we can’t make promises to each other. And-and—”

You hiccup with a cry, Joel reaching to wipe away your tears.

“And I have to leave Sarah, too. I feel so sad that she’s sad and asking questions that you can’t answer. I feel like I’m making a mistake, Joel.”

It would be easy for him to lean into this spiral of yours, to convince you to stay, selfishly, to abandon your plans — your dreams. He would be the biggest asshole ever if he did that.

“Mi amor, mi Mariposa, it is scary to leave home and start over somewhere new. I am going to miss you so much, so fucking much you don’t even know, but you are not making a mistake. It’s never a mistake to pursue what you want, what you’ve dreamed about and worked towards for years. You gotta do this for yourself, baby, and it will be hard at first, but if I know anything about you, you’re gonna be kicking ass and signing checks at that place this time next year. We love you, Mariposa, we do. But that won’t change with you across the country. You’re a part of our lives. Always gonna have a place if you want it, my sweet girl. It’ll be alright.”

He nestles you into his side again, lips finding your hairline and pressing gentle kisses there. You rest on his chest again, sighing as your larger cries calm to smaller ones.

“What do you think about when you think about the future with me?”

He hesitates, not wanting to encourage any more thoughts about staying — you have to go.

“I don’t know if I should answer that, Mariposa, I don’t want you to be sad again.”

“Please? I want to have the same daydreams as you. So we can have a life together even if it’s just our imaginations.”

Holy shit, he thinks his heart is actually stopped and shattering.

How in the world is he going to get over you?

“Alright, for you, darlin’... A future with you…”

“I think about us actually giving it a proper go. Tellin’ your family, tellin’ Tommy and Sarah. She’d be over the moon. Think we’d date for a while, but I’m an impatient bastard, so I bet I’d be asking you to move in before we reached a year. And if you agreed, we’d wake up and fall asleep to each other every day. Go grocery shopping. You’d help Sarah with her homework cause you’re smarter than me and I’d make dinner for my girls. We’d be subject to many Disney movies, but I would make you watch all my favorites. And I would happily watch yours. We’d just live together. Be partners. Help and hold each other when we need it. I’d ask you—” he catches the words in his throat, “I’d ask you to marry me. Would be the easiest question, but I’d still be scared shitless about your answer cause I know I still wouldn’t understand how someone like you would want someone like me. We’d get married, live all that domestic bliss. And…and I’d wanna have a baby with you if you wanted to. You’re going to be a great mom. And I would be so lucky to be your husband and the father to your baby.”

He hears your sniffle again and shakes his head while holding back a smile.

“I told you I didn’t want to make you sad again, Mariposa.”

“No, no! Not sad. At all, I promise. I just, I would want all the same things if we could have it. I’ve thought about all of that with you,” you hold him tighter, taking a deep breath into his chest while he feels tears litter his skin.

Both of you lay with each other, the sounds of your steadying breathing the only noise in the room. Joel switches off the lamp, settling more on the pillows and closing his eyes after you do; his fingertips run up and down your back, compelled to break the silence at that moment with a hushed voice.

“Estás hecho para mí. El universo te hizo para mí. Te amaré durante toda mi vida. Te amaré mañana. Te amaré dentro de cinco años. Todavía te amaré incluso cuando soy viejo y gris, mi Mariposa.”

“What does that mean? Will you tell me?” you ask sleepily.

“You're made for me. The universe made you for me. I will love you for my whole life. I will love you tomorrow. I will love you five years from now. I will still love you even when I'm old and grey, my butterfly,” his own voice breaks slightly, opening his eyes to have his vision blurred around the edges. He blinks away the tears, quiet falling over the room again as you fall asleep in his arms.

When Joel is sure that you’re sleeping deeply, he whispers to you, “I just want you to be happy, mi Mariposa. Whatever that looks like, I want it for you. I love you. I miss you already.”

Metal rumbles as your dad pulls down the back of the U-Haul truck, securing the lock on it after you’ve double-checked that everything is packed securely. It’s a quiet morning on your street, the only other souls awake at this early hour are Joel and Sarah, the younger of the two having insisted on seeing you off so she can wave goodbye. They’re standing on their porch like last summer, Joel behind Sarah with his hands on her shoulders and sleep still in his eyes.

He woke you up just an hour ago to sneak back home, the goodbye between you two somber and prolonged. It was cutting it close to your parents’ alarm when you finally dragged yourself out of his arms and out of his house, looking back over your shoulder at least three times while your feet carried you across the lawn for the last time. He waited, watching you from his doorway until you couldn’t look anymore, quietly slipping inside and upstairs to get ready to go.

Now you’re standing on your driveway, your mom and brother in their pajamas while your dad is dressed to do the drive with you over the next few days. You exchange one last goodbye with each of your family members staying home, the truck rumbling to life as your dad ignites the engine from inside the cab.

You don’t know when you’ll be back here. Home. With the Millers right next door. With Joel, your Joel, always there for you.

One last look towards their house, Joel offers a wave, and Sarah’s lip visibly trembles, even from as far from her as you are. In the next second, she’s bounding down the porch stairs, little legs carrying her over to you in her pajamas. Her small frame slams into your legs, wrapping around you as she hugs you tight and cries.

“Please don’t go, Posey. Please,” she sniffles, looking up at you with wet eyes, “I don’t want you to go, I want you to be around for the summer and next summer and next summer.”

You bend down to her level, wrapping her up in a squeezing hug, whispering to her, “I’m so sorry, Sare-Bear. I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back and you’re going to be the first person I see. Gonna miss you so much, sweet pea.”

Joel has jogged over by that point, sighing to himself before he walks over to the two of you, picking Sarah up to continue to comfort her when you pull out of the hug.

“You’ll have the best summer, Sare-Bear. And I am definitely going to call to hear all about it, okay?”

She nods and wipes at her eyes with her whole hand, leaning into Joel’s shoulder. You look at him, a tight smile communicating the same sentiments you did this morning.

I’ll miss you. I care so much. You know how I feel about you.

I’m not gonna be able to forget you.

His voice pulls you out of the memory of an hour ago, the faintest glassiness to his eyes.

“Good luck, sweetheart. You’ll do great things.”

With a hard swallow, you give him a nod, holding back tears of your own.

“Thank you, Joel. Thank you.”

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