#those two and the lagoona ones I desperately need

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Monster High core refresh dolls look soo good I need em all

[dawningofdrag]

Hiya; I would like to humbly request, Angst; 20. Might be any s13 ship, but preferably Rosnali.

I love your drabbles so much💖

well this took a while huh !! lmao thank u puddle for requesting !! u are an absolute dear so i really tried my best to make sure this rosenali angst was decent, i hope u love it <3 this is also uploaded on ao3 in case u wanna give it some love there

send me a number and a category and i’ll write something for you!

20. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you still love me.”

-

Nothing is more deafening than the beep of a car as it’s engines turn off. The heavy silence that sits uncomfortably on your shoulders, paired with the eeriness of the early hours of the morning, streets barren and dark, nothing but the occasional gust of wind grazing against the rolled up tinted car windows. It creeps up on you the longer you sit in it, soaking the carpets and drowning you in it’s heavy tension before you give in and open the door to finally breathe again. Rosé absolutely hates the feeling, despises it even, but she keeps finding herself in it again and again.

Rosé is cold, really cold, bare legs and arms wrapped by a blanket she knew from experience Denali kept in her backseat. The cold midwestern air causes her teeth to chatter and a shiver to run up her spine despite the old car’s desperate attempt at heating up the interior, forcing her to shake off the bitter temperature that plagues her skin. She winces at the migraine already creeping into the innervations of her mind, the four vodka sodas she had downed an hour ago losing its effect on her usually fleeting mind and allowing the thoughts she initially drank away to resurface and come back at full force. She keeps finding herself in a situation where she needs saving, sitting on the sticky pavement outside the bar she frequents unable to take three steps more, like a damsel in distress waiting to be saved from the strangers trying to give her a ride home and her phone running on three percent.

This is the third time Rosé finds herself like this. Drunk and incoherent and panicking as she runs through a mental list of people who wouldn’t hate her if she called them up at four in the morning to pick her up at a bar in the middle of town on a weekend. There’s Olivia who’d probably even offer to walk her to her apartment door, Lagoona who’d tell her off the whole ride home, and Jan who though is always up to help, is so bad at driving she’d throw up before she even got to her apartment. Rosé scrolls through all the eligible options that litter her contacts, but somehow from the moment she opens her near-dead phone to the second she ends the call she finds herself blacking out, finding herself waiting for Denali’s Prius with that tiny dent in the rear end and her stupid pride bumper sticker they had bought on a trip to New Orleans three years ago.

She doesn’t know why her drunk self somehow still manages to crawl back to her, but she does. It’s the third time it happens in the span of two weeks, and she is extremely humiliated by the questionable choice when the late morning comes, and Denali isn’t even supposed to pick up. But she does. She always does and maybe that’s why Rosé keeps calling her.

Every single time she calls her name through the heavy bass blasting through the club or with the echo of the dirty bathroom stalls, she answers her call like she’s been waiting for it and is by the front door of whatever club she finds herself in in fifteen minutes. It’s how Rosé keeps ending up in Denali’s passenger seat with goosebumps wrapping around her pale arms, worn and thin fleece blanket haphazardly covering her legs.

“You don’t have to keep picking me up, you know.”

Rosé attempts to cut the tense silence that suffocates the dark interior of the younger girl’s car, the lacking sound of a running engine causing the ringing in her ears to grow in volume. Her green eyes don’t even dare look to her left to meet the blonde’s heavy gaze, knowing just how well it’ll break her if she does. The tension rises to her feet, soles of her stiletto heels sticking on the rubber carpet and planting themselves there. Rosé feels as if she had been glued to her seat, arm not even daring to reach for the door handle. So many questions accompany her growing headache, mind begging for answers as if her life depended on it, but she decides against it.

“I know,” Denali mutters under her breath along with a dragged exhale, cutting her train of thought short. The blonde glances at her lap before her eyes shoot back up to look at the empty road in front of them, bare lips pursed like she had to hold back. “I just wanted to.”

The second half of her statement does nothing to ease the overbearing thoughts that are slowly eating Rosé alive. The restraint she has to practice on herself starts to prick her legs, the flooding tension that wants to swallow her whole reaches up to her calves and causing an unsettling feeling to make itself comfortable in her stomach. She wants to scream, meet the younger girl’s dark eyes and cup her cheeks, let the tears she cries in the comfort of her bedroom finally run free down her face as she begs for the answers to her questions she can never seem to figure out. Why do you keep picking me up when I call? Why do you still help me after everything I’ve done? Why do you still look at me when I can’t even look at you?

The uncomfortable feeling that plagues her soul rises up to her chest, filling her lungs and taking her hands and threatening to pull her under. She picks on the chipped nail polish that paints her fingers, projecting that ever growing anxiety onto the bright colors that glow under the warm yellow car light. Rosé feels the younger woman’s kind eyes bear holes into the side of her face, and it almost drives her man. The silence rings in her ears like a siren until the deafening sound is stopped with the simple whisper of her name, finally mustering up the courage to push her past the boundary she had been teetering off of.

“Rosie-”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still love me.”

“I don’t.”

Denali purses her lips the second the words slip out of her mouth, knuckles turning white as her tan fingers wrap tight around the steering wheel. Rosé watches intently with tired eyes, the sinking feeling crawling up to her shoulders, grazing her neck, finally swallowing her whole. The lump on her throat grows in size, words that so desperately want to roll off of her red stained lips suffocate and trip over each other in an attempt to escape, and yet not one does.

Rosé knows what Denali looks like when she’s thinking. When the gears in her head are turning at a rapid speed she could never keep up with. She catches the subtle twitching of her bare pale lips and her dead set gaze on the uninteresting scene playing out past the windshields, the heavy anticipation aching each muscle in her body crawling closer and closer to her pain threshold. Her body begs for more than those two stupid words she refuses to accept are true, arms tempted to reach out and take her hand and tell her about how she’s realized how much she still needs her-

The blonde leans over to her side of the car, hand reaching out to unlock the door on her side. She doesn’t even give her a glance as she sits back in her chair, back relaxing against the grey nylon-covered cushions of the driver’s seat.

“I can’t, okay?” Denali chokes out, and Rosé could barely make out the glossy sheen that accompanies her defeated gaze. “Just- get out of my car.”

[artificialqueens]

Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Six (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: We find out what happened to Rosé, and the Games continue.

A/N: Thank you so much for the incredible feedback on chapter five!! It made me so happy to see and I’m so glad how people enjoyed it. I’d really appreciate hearing your thoughts on this chapter as well!

Denali chokes back her scream as Rosé collapses, not wanting to give away their position. All the teams have targets on their back now, the danger even higher. And Rosé is motionless on the ground.

“Rosé, wake up. Please wake up.” She shakes her shoulder, mind running through a hundred possibilities. It can’t be because of the rain, or Denali would be affected too. Probably not poison either; they’ve been eating the same things. Whatever it is, she needs Rosé awake. Denali taps her cheek, dimly registering that Rosé shouldn’t be this warm. Her green eyes slowly blink open, and Denali loses herself in them for a second.

“What…happened?”

“I think you fainted. Or…” Denali trails off when she smells smoke. Thick gray clouds of it blot the sky, and where there’s smoke, there’s… “Fire. Oh, shit. Fire.”

A tower of flames writhes toward them, licking at the trees and filling the air with the scent of burnt pine. The fire is too large to be natural–figures the Gamemakers didn’t even wait five minutes after their announcement to unleash something.

Denali scrambles for their stuff, tugging Rosé’s arm. “We gotta go, we gotta go now.”

Rosé winces as she staggers to her feet.

“Can you run on that leg?” Denali asks.

“Do we have another option?”

It’s a fair point, and the flames are close enough to feel their heat. She puts her head down and runs, Rosé trailing behind her. They need to find shelter, somewhere safe enough for Rosé to rest. They’re not far from the mountain, and there has to be a cave or crevice they can hide in. They just have to get up there.

They sprint across a valley with the fire just feet behind them, and the only good thing is that it protects them from other tributes–no one can attack them with a wall of fire in the way. They trudge through weeds and gnarled roots on the mountain passes, Denali wordlessly catching Rosé when she stumbles, beating out the dying fire. A slit opens between two rocks, so small Denali’s trained eyes hardly see it. It’s big enough inside for both of them, and Denali’s shoulders loosen slightly. They should be safe for a few days, probably more if she disguises the entrance better. There’s even a stream nearby.

Rosé collapses against the wall with a gasp. Her face is ghostly pale and twisted in pain, her body drenched in sweat as she trembles.

The pain probably made her faint, but Denali thinks of how hot she was, and her heart sinks with what she doesn’t want to acknowledge. Their first aid kit didn’t have antibiotics, or a needle and thread—the Gamemakers wouldn’t make things that easy—so Denali had just rinsed the wound and wrapped it tight. Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Denali kneels beside her cautiously. “I need to look at your leg.”

“No.” Rosé clamps her hands over the wound with a wince. Denali isn’t sure if Rosé doesn’t want to admit that something’s wrong, or if she’s afraid of getting medical help from Denali. Denali isn’t a doctor by any means, and part of her wants to leave Rosé alone, pretend everything is fine, but she can’t.

“Rosé, you fainted.”

“Only a little,“ Rosé mumbles. "It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

There’s a hint of fear in her voice, and Denali softens. “I just need to check it, okay? I’ll go slow. And I used to hunt, remember? I’ve seen dead animals a lot worse than your leg.”

“Denali Foxx, did you just compare me to a dead animal?” Rosé asks in mock outrage. Her hands ease off her leg, Denali’s humor relaxing her like she hoped it would.

“Well, let’s hope we can avoid the dead part,” Denali says. “The animal part was spot-on, though.” She carefully moves Rosé’s pants down, grateful for her undershorts because Rosé’s bare skin is not something Denali can handle right now. She unwinds the bandage, her stomach churning once the wound is uncovered, red and inflamed and oozing at the edges. Denali knows, and the red lines streaking up Rosé’s thigh confirm it.

Blood poisoning.

“Oh,” Rosé says quietly. “Fuck.”

—

“Okay, don’t panic.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one panicking,” Rosé says. She sits against the cave wall, slowly getting her breath back while Denali paces.

Denali stops, wringing her hands together. “I saw leaves that draw out infection by the stream. I’m gonna get them. Stay here.”

“Not like I can go anywhere.” Her leg is throbbing, and moving will only make things worse.

Denali grimaces and heads out, desperate for a purpose, for something to help. Rosé knows the leaves aren’t enough to fix her infection; she needs real medicine from the Capitol. She has no idea what it would cost a sponsor to send it, because that kind of medicine isn’t a possibility in District 12, where the default prescription is drink some whiskey and sleep it off. If something’s really wrong, you usually don’t make it.

Denali rushes back in with a bundle of green leaves, crushing them up and making a paste with water. It’s not enough, but it can’t hurt, and Rosé won’t upset Denali when she’s trying so badly to help.

Denali’s movements are frantic, nothing like the measured motions for stringing her bow, and she almost drops the paste.

“Hey,” Rosé says. “Let me put it on. Your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah, because I care about you, you idiot.”

Rosé would make a snappy comment, but she sees how much Denali is shaking, how her eyes are wide in genuine fear. Denali really cares about her, and Rosé has a rush of affection for her.

Rosé gently takes the mixture from Denali. “I’ll do it, okay?”

Denali laughs bitterly. “You’re the one who’s–”

Rosé cuts her off before she can say how bad things are. “I’m gonna be fine, okay? This isn’t how I’m going out. I’m not going out at all, but if I do, I’m going out fighting, with my sword in my hand.”

Denali nods shakily.

“I’ve got some of the steadiest hands in the district,” Rosé continues, hoping to soothe Denali’s fear. “Cake-decorating hands, baby.” It slips out before she can stop it, and any worries are stopped by the fact that she should be saying this, should sell their romance for the camera. But none of this conversation has been for that; every part of it was real for Rosé; her need to soothe Denali, take away her fears, her insistence on making it through this. Denali must know it’s real too, because she’s smiling now, and she actually laughs, Rosé’s heart lightening at the sound.

“Too bad you can’t pipe icing at the tributes,” Denali snorts.

“Laugh all you want. I guarantee I could take someone out with a piping bag,” Rosé says. Her own laugh is strangled by muttered curses as the paste stings on her wound, but swearing is all she’ll allow herself. She won’t whimper like a baby in front of the Capitol, and she won’t add to Denali’s worry.

“What was it like, working at the bakery?” Denali asks, throwing her a line, a distraction, and Rosé takes it.

“It was…it was fun, really. My dad did the cakes, my mom did the breads. Me and Jan and Lagoona helped.” She rolls her eyes and smiles. “We mostly just played and tried not to get in trouble. When we were a little older, we’d make the cookies together, and my dad started showing me how to decorate cakes when I was ten. I still remember the first one I did that was good enough to sell. White icing with little pink and yellow roses. He let me put it in the window and everything.”

Rosé tries not to think of those days, of how happy and carefree they were, because it only makes the fact that days like that are now hard to come by hurt that much worse. But maybe it’s okay to tug memories over her like a blanket. She remembers running around the kitchen playing tag with her sisters, their father shaking his head fondly. She remembers the smell of yeast, watching her mother knead the bread over and over, mesmerized by the rhythms. She remembers the squishy piping bag in her hand, her father guiding her along, how he always said what a good job she did.

On her good days, when she leaves the house, she goes right to the bakery, soaking in the sweetness as golden and warm as the pastries her father makes. If she’s really up for it, she’ll even grab a bag and decorate a cake, the world fading away as she makes flowers out of butter and sugar.

“That’s really nice.” Denali smiles as she hands Rosé the bandages from the first aid kit.

“Yeah.” Rosé winds it around her leg, grateful to have the wound hidden again. It’s fine. She’s fine. She just has to outlast it until she and Denali are the only ones left. They can still win. “We should have a victory cake after we win.”

Denali leans in with the medical tape, her touch gentle as she tapes the bandage in place. She’s so close that their foreheads almost touch, and Rosé stares at Denali’s focused brown eyes, all the air knocked out of her lungs.

“Thanks,” she manages.

“No problem.” Denali smiles. “And I’m holding you to that victory cake.”

—

Denali tries, as hours blur into days. She tries to stay hopeful, to not let Rosé see how worried she is. Denali shouldn’t even be this upset, this stressed; Rosé is the one with her leg cut open and an infection burning through her, yet she’s calm and Denali can’t sleep because she’s afraid something might happen to Rosé while she does. She knows the odds, knows how bad things are, but she tries to ignore it. She tells herself it’s natural to worry about her teammate, but she hasn’t been this worried about someone since her father died and her mom couldn’t get out of bed. She hasn’t been this close to anyone since then either, but being thrown into the arena like this, trusting each other to survive, has brought them closer than Denali could have imagined. She’s grown to really like being around Rosé, hearing her laughter, watching her eyes soften when she tells stories about the bakery. She doesn’t want to lose her.

Losing Rosé would put Denali at worse odds, anyone can see that. But Denali doesn’t see her as just an ally anymore, and losing her would be losing a friend. A friend who’s been with her through the arena, who understands feelings Denali can’t even put into words. She won’t lose her. She can’t lose her. If anyone is stubborn enough to outlast an infection, it’s Rosé, and Denali lets the thought give her hope.

“How are you feeling?” Denali asks when Rosé wakes up.

“Fine.”

Denali touches her forehead gently, Rosé’s breath hitching at the touch. “You’re still pretty warm. I found some painkillers in the first aid kit. Nothing major, but they can’t hurt.”

Rosé nods, accepting the pills with some water. She becomes a bit more herself when they kick in, her eyes losing the shadows of pain and lightening up. Denali hopefully offers her breakfast, but Rosé shakes her head.

“Not hungry.”

Denali winces. It’s not a good sign.

“Not an option. If we’re gonna win, you need to eat.” Denali digs through their bags again, offering Rosé dried meat and apples like she didn’t refuse them five seconds ago. They need something light, something easy on her stomach. “If we had soup, do you think you could eat that?”

“Probably, but do you think soup is just gonna drop out of the sky–”

Something clangs at the mouth of the cave, and Denali finds a silver canister attached to the parachute. She unscrews the top and smells savory broth and vegetables. Clearly someone agrees that Rosé needs to eat, and she thanks their mystery sponsor.

Rosé snorts. “I’ll be damned.”

—

Soup keeps arriving, and Rosé keeps fighting. She does her best to eat, to keep her composure so Denali doesn’t worry. Denali’s only getting snatches of sleep, every second focused on Rosé, and Rosé doesn’t want to give her too much cause to worry.

Aside from the dull pain and the fever clinging to her like fire, it’s not so bad in the cave. It’s like their own little world, far away from the arena’s dangers. Just her and Denali, together like at the Training Center. Denali peeks her head out each night to hear the anthem and see if anyone’s died. So far, just the man from District 9. There’s still five tributes left, and Rosé knows something has to draw them together eventually. They both hate sitting here, being helpless, wanting so badly to go out and end things, but they can’t. Rosé can’t even sit up without getting so dizzy she almost loses whatever’s in her stomach. It’s her fault they’re stuck here, and she burns with guilt that she might cost them the win with her stupid infected leg. If someone would send the medicine, she could manage. Her leg would still hurt, sure, but she could power through long enough to get her and Denali home. Why hasn’t anyone sent it yet? She’s grateful for the soup, but surely someone in the Capitol can afford the medicine, and surely they would have sent it by now. What are they waiting for?

Maybe because Rosé is just laying on the cave floor like a baby, and they want to see her do something that’s worth the money they’d spend. Proof she’s worth dipping into their pockets. Deep down, she thinks they want more of the love story, more reason to watch them. Would kissing Denali be enough? Announcing her love? It’s terrible to do that to Denali, though, terrible to use her to stay alive. We’d be using each other, Denali said ruefully, but this feels like too much.

So Rosé talks instead.

She talks about the bakery, about the time Jan tried her own cake recipe and the thing was burnt outside and raw inside, or the time Rosé and Lagoona kept flicking flour at each other until they looked like ghosts. Denali laughs and laughs, and Rosé is grateful she’s let these stories out, grateful to share them with someone besides her sisters. She can’t remember the last time she talked this much, and even if it exhausts her, she keeps going. Because if she’s talking, Denali knows she’s okay.

“What was it like? Learning the woods stuff from your dad,” Rosé asks, hoping Denali doesn’t notice how her words slur.

Denali grabs a piece of cloth she’d cut from the sleeping bag, dips it in water, and rests it on Rosé’s forehead. She gets water from the stream each morning, and though it’s barely cool anymore, it’s heaven against Rosé’s hot skin, and she sighs in relief.

“It was…quiet,” Denali says finally. “Peaceful. He was always in the mines, so it was the only time I got to be with him, really. He didn’t talk much, but he was there, and it was enough. He would show me all the flowers and plants and tell me these rhymes about what was safe to eat. And he showed me how to use his bow. It was bigger than me the first time we practiced.” Denali smiles, and Rosé does too, heart warming at the image of a tiny Denali holding up a bow twice her size. “It felt so right in my hands,” Denali continues. “He drew targets on the trees until I got them all, and then he’d have me aim for certain leaves. Everything I can do with my bow is from him.”

“He taught you well.”

“Yeah. I–sometimes I wish he could’ve seen how good I got with it. I wish he could’ve seen me win,” Denali says sadly.

“He’d be proud of you. I know it,” Rosé says, touched that Denali trusts her this much, that she’s shown this part of her.

There’s a lightness in her eyes Rosé doesn’t think she’s seen since Denali was a kid–the kind of lightness Denali was rarely without as a kid. It was why Rosé had sneaked cookies in her bag years ago, trying anything to ease the sadness. And being with Denali now, closer than they were as kids, closer than Rosé has been with anyone besides her family, makes her ache to do it again. To be there for Denali’s pain and sadness, and do her best to lighten the load. To maybe let Denali do the same for her. Because all this–spending time with Denali, being on her team–feels so right. They’re the perfect team, and they’re both going to win, and go home. And if–when–they do, Rosé won’t lose Denali again.

When she first got home after her Victory Tour, she spent most days in her room, tired yet fighting sleep because of what she might see, the excitement of her return crushed by the weight of what she had to do for it. She was cold to her sisters when they tried to help, cold to Denali when she tried talking to her. She isn’t proud of it, and while she fixed things with her sisters, she never formally did with Denali–she just let them drift, though she forced herself to work extra hard when she mentored Denali. Surviving the Games could have reunited them, but Rosé let it push them further apart, because it was something she didn’t want to share with anyone–especially not someone she cared about. But she’s sharing it with Denali now, and she’s grateful to. And when they go home, she won’t let them drift. She’ll work to keep Denali in her life, to go outside more, to appreciate what she has.

“Do you want more soup?” Denali asks, once more desperate to help.

“No.”

“Just a little more?” Denali pleads. “Please? For me?“

Denali’s eyes are too much for Rosé. “Anything for you,” she says, and even in the cave, she can see Denali blush. She eats three more spoonfuls, then turns to Denali. “Can you do something for me now?”

“Anything.”

“Get some sleep, Denali. Please. I’ll be okay, I swear,” she says before Denali can protest. “You need to rest.”

“But–”

“I have my sword. I’ll wake you if anything happens. I’ll be fine for a few hours.” Rosé fixes the sternest look she can muster, and Denali finally gives in.

“Don’t let me sleep too long,” she says, slipping into the sleeping bag. Her breaths even out in minutes, and it tugs at Rosé’s chest how much Denali is exhausting herself to look after her. The stress of the arena slowly leaves Denali’s face in her sleep, and she could be nine again, curled up in her sleeping bag for a sleepover with Jan. The determined kid who used to protect other kids from the class bully and beat the older boys in races during recess. The determined woman who’s been there for her since the reaping, who didn’t give up on her and helped her fight again. Who makes her want to live again.

Rosé grips her sword tightly as she watches Denali sleep, and when Denali lets out a little sigh, it occurs to Rosé that if she were to confess her love, it might not be a complete lie.

—

Hours after Denali wakes up, things take a turn for the worse. Rosé is too weak to feed herself, and turns her head away when Denali offers her soup. Her skin is so hot she instantly dries out the cloth Denali puts on her forehead. She slips in and out of consciousness, her sleep full of whimpers for her sisters, and Denali vows not to mention it to her.

“I’m sorry,” Rosé croaks. Her eyes are closed, and Denali isn’t sure she’s fully awake.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Denali says, trying to keep the worry from her voice.

“Your mom’s…necklace,” Rosé says. “We nev-never went back.”

Right. They were supposed to go back that morning, but the announcement came, and Rosé collapsed, and then the fire arrived. Denali had forgotten about it in the chaos.

“It’s not your fault,” Denali says quietly. “That fire came, remember? We couldn’t have gone back anyway.” She bites her lip. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You got hurt saving me, if I–”

“Don’t,” Rosé says. “Not your fault.” She wheezes, the talking taking too much out of her. “Maybe you should go on without me.”

“Not a chance in hell,” she growls so fiercely that Rosé doesn’t even attempt to argue.

Rosé grunts as she reaches for her jacket, and her shaky fingers unclasp the lion pin and offer it to Denali.

Denali’s heart sinks. “Rosé, I can’t take this, it’s your sister’s.”

“I promised Jan I would bring it back to her. Denali, if I can’t make it, I need you to make it. I need you to bring this home to her,” Rosé says seriously.

Rosé would never give away the pin–the promise–unless she was really worried about being unable to keep it, and Denali blinks back tears of helplessness.

“No–no. Don’t think that, Rosé. You’ll bring it to her yourself,” Denali says. She can’t even consider bringing this pin to Jan, can’t even consider that Rosé won’t be with her. The past weeks with Rosé have only left Denali certain that she never wants to be apart from her again.

“Just in case. Promise?”

Denali knows Rosé won’t take no for an answer, and she doesn’t want to upset her. “I promise.”

“Good.” She sleeps again, and the pin sits like lead in Denali’s pocket.

—

By night, Rosé’s forehead burns Denali’s hand. Denali helplessly watches her toss and turn, like she’s trying to get the heat off her. God, Denali was so stupid. She seriously kidded herself that Rosé would magically get better. Rosé’s held out longer than most, but blood poisoning isn’t something you get better from–not without serious medicine.

Denali’s no stranger to pain or misery or suffering–her own or someone else’s. But she watches Rosé sweat and shiver and she can’t bear it. Rosé used to give them piggyback rides even when they were too big, hiding the backache with a smile. When Jan forgot her homework, Rosé ran home and back, handing Jan the work just as the bell rang. When an older boy kept bothering Lagoona, Rosé threw herself between them, firmly standing her ground until he left her alone. She was a hero to her sisters, to Denali, though now Denali knows Rosé isn’t so much a hero as a woman who’s made mistakes and is just trying to survive. Rosé should be home with her family, piping beautiful roses on cakes. Not thousands of miles away, suffering on this hard cave floor. It hurts Denali to even look at her. It should be Denali trembling with fever and pain. Would be Denali if Rosé hadn’t taken that hit for her. This is all Denali’s fault. How could she spend so long preparing for a fight and be too slow when the attack finally came? All the dreams of them going back home, of inviting Rosé over for breakfast, of taking her on walks in the woods, are slipping through Denali’s hands.

No. She’s not losing Rosé. She turns the lion pin over in her hand. What had Rosé called it in her interview? A symbol of love and home, Denali recalls, and more tears sting in her eyes. This is the one of the most important things in the world to Rosé, and she gave it to Denali, wanted to give her this piece of love and home. She trusts Denali to bring it home if she can’t. She trusts Denali, period, when she hasn’t trusted anyone in years. And Denali trusts her. Trusts her in the arena, trusts her in this cave, trusts her to talk about her family with. Rosé isn’t going home without this pin, and Denali isn’t going home without Rosé. There has to be a way to get the medicine. What if she–

Rosé coughs, her brow furrowing in pain.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Denali says quietly, for Rosé’s benefit as much as her own.

Rosé stills, opening glassy eyes. “Jan?” she asks hoarsely, and Denali’s stomach drops. The fever is high enough to mess with her brain—what if it’s too late even if she can get the medicine?

Denali hesitates, heart in pieces, wondering if she should play along or tell the truth. If she plays along, Rosé might get upset after realizing she’s lying. But denying it might upset her even more, and Denali can’t hurt her.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Jan,” Denali says. She strokes Rosé’s hair and hums the lullaby Rosé hummed to Finn, and it’s not quite right, but it soothes her anyway.

For a few minutes at least, and then she stubbornly opens her eyes.

“You’re not Jan,” Rosé says, and before Denali can wonder if she’s mad, she smiles. “You’re Denali.”

Denali blushes. “Yeah, I am.”

Rosé looks at her in wonder, a shy smile on her face. “Denali, I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I love you.”

Blood roars in Denali’s ears, her heart racing. What the hell is Rosé doing? She must still be delirious, she doesn’t know what she’s saying–

“I’ve loved you for a while,” Rosé continues, her eyes clearing a little, her voice sincere. “And you’re so special to me that I want you to know. I want everyone to know.”

And then Denali understands. Rosé has mustered up one last plan to get the medicine. A love declaration on live television. If this can’t get a sponsor’s sympathy, nothing can, and Denali has to play along. This is the game, it’s what they agreed to, so why does it feel so real, like at the interview? Why does part of Denali want it to be real? It’s just a game, she tells herself.

“I…I know, Rosie. I know you love me.” Why can’t she say I love you back? Rosé’s damn life is on the line, but the words won’t come out. But maybe she doesn’t need words. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Rosé breathes.

Denali holds her breath as she leans down to meet her lips. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t imagine this before. She was eleven when she realized she wanted to kiss girls, and so what if her fantasy kissing partner had red hair and green eyes? It was just her imagination. Nothing real. And Denali doesn’t know if it’s real now, but she’s doing it.

Rosé’s lips are fiery, but soft and delicate. Denali knows this has to be believable, so she runs one hand along Rosé’s arm, the other stroking her sweaty hair. If Denali’s heart was racing before, it’s running a sprint as the kiss deepens, and she feels more alive than she has since the fight in the clearing. It’s been so long since she’s kissed anyone, touched them so tenderly, and she wants to do it again and again. But she shouldn’t enjoy it this much, because it’s just a game, right?

Right?

She doesn’t have time to think, because a clanging at the cave mouth announces the arrival of their saving grace.

—

Denali tears the lid off the container. Inside, there’s a syringe, a needle and thread, bandages, and painkillers. Denali grabs the syringe, whispers an apology to Rosé, and sticks it into her arm.

Rosé, falls asleep seconds later, exhausted from the talking and the kiss. Denali isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. She assumes the medicine is a fast-acting Capitol creation, since she only needs one syringe. But how fast? Minutes? Hours? She doesn’t know how much longer they can hide here before the Gamemakers force them out.

Denali sighs. She might as well stitch the wound properly while Rosé is asleep. For the first time in the cave, her sleep is peaceful, and Denali feels a rush of gratitude. The lines of infection are already fading, and she stitches the wound with new hope, tinged with anger. All that work, all that suffering, for one little syringe. How could the Capitol have something that practically works miracles and make it so hard to get?

“Rosé McCorkell, you better wake up soon,” Denali says. “Because if you die on me after all this, I swear I’ll bring you back just to yell at you! I–I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life! I’ll–”

“‘M pretty sure I’d be haunting you, since I’m the dead one.” A wide grin crosses Rosé’s face as her eyes ease open.

“Rosie, you’re–”

“I’m okay. I feel like shit, but I’m okay.”

Relief slams into Denali, filling the cave with joy, and she cups Rosé’s cheek gently, feeling that she’s alive and okay. Denali isn’t going to lose her.

“Thank you, Denali,” Rosé whispers, and Denali knows how much she means it.

“We look out for each other, remember?”

Rosé nods as Denali helps her sit up. They eat the last of their food, making a plan to wash up at the stream, find food and water, and re-enter the arena.

Five tributes. That’s all that’s between them and the train home.

“One more thing.” Denali carefully re-pins the lion on Rosé’s jacket, ignoring how the touch reminds her of the kiss–just a game, just a game. She’ll have to deal with the kiss at some point, but not now. “Let’s go. We’ve got a game to win.”

[artificialqueens]

How Wonderful Life Is (While You're in the World) (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Rosé has the perfect plan for proposing to Denali. If only she could get the plan to work.

A/N: So this idea came into my head and wouldn’t leave until I wrote it! I wish I had the same motivation for my homework honestly. It’s basically pure fluff and a little chaos. Thank you so much to Writ for beta-ing and helping my pull the final scene together. Please leave some feedback if you’d like, I really appreciate it!

Title from Your Song by Elton John.

Rosé has had the ring for two weeks now. The plan, however, she’s had even longer. It’s carefully organized, each step written on the checklist (which Lagoona’s been teasing her for) in Rosé’s prim-and-proper handwriting (which Jan’s been teasing her for since they were kids). But she needs this proposal to be perfect, everything Denali deserves and more. Denali deserves the world, but even with her promotion at the fashion magazine, that’s out of Rosé’s price range, so this has to be special.

She sits with an eye on the door, waiting for Denali to come in and fling her bag on the couch. Then Rosé will spontaneously-but-not-really-spontaneously suggest they go eat at the Thai place where they had their first date. After dinner, she’ll develop a sudden desperate craving for ice cream–hey, she might as well put those old acting classes to good use–and they’ll go on a walk to get said ice cream. But not any walk—a path Rosé created herself, one that takes them to the same ice cream place where chocolate and pistachio sweetened their first kiss, past the art museum where they officially became girlfriends in front of a Monet, and finally into the park where they first met years ago, where Rosé will get down on one knee and pull out the ring burning a hole in her pocket.

A perfect full circle moment, one she knows Denali will love.

Her leg bounces as she waits. She knows Denali will say yes, but this is still a big step, even bigger than moving in together. But that had turned out so well, letting her be around Denali all the time, learning new parts of her girlfriend that she could tuck inside herself. Like how Denali still has a battered Nike shoebox of her old Pokémon cards. How her early rising for skating still lingers, inviting warm sunrise cuddles. How she’s so brave and fearless, yet still shrieks and throws random objects across the room when she sees a spider. It’s a step that let them create a home together, with fluffy blankets on the couch and cheesy photo-booth pictures on the fridge and both their favorite chips in the cupboard. A home in each other, hugs and kisses and support all the time. A step that became amazing, and this one will be even more so.

Until the door flies open and in comes a slightly limping Denali with a scowl on her face.

“Well, today fucking sucked.”

Rosé jumps off the couch, easing Denali’s skating bag off her shoulder. “What happened, baby?”

“First one of my design clients decided they wanted to change their costume right after we settled on the original design. Then this minivan mom screamed at me outside the rink for like ten minutes because I said her kid needed more practice before moving to the next age group. And then I was so distracted from everything I fell on my knee when I was practicing.”

“I’m sorry, Nali.” Rosé winces, one hand steady on Denali’s waist, the other rubbing her back, soothing Denali with gentle touches, reminders that she’s here. “Is it bad?”

“Nah, it’s just a bruise. I’ll put some ice on it and it’ll be fine.” Denali flops down on the couch, leaning back and sighing. “Can we order pizza?”

Rosé’s heart sinks as she realizes the proposal is off for the night. Denali’s stressed and exhausted, clearly not in the mood for having dinner out or going for a walk. Rosé doesn’t blame her, and she isn’t going to push things. Part of her is disappointed, her perfect plan in ruins, no chance of them going to bed giddily planning a wedding. But Denali needs comfort after a bad day, and that’s something Rosé will always love to give her.

“Of course,” Rosé says. “Anything else you need?”

Denali shakes her head. She’s tough, and after some food and sleep, she’ll be ready to take on the world. But that won’t stop Rosé from giving her anything she wants tonight, making sure she always has a soft place to land.

“I’ll order it and get you some ice. You just relax.”

It doesn’t have to be today, Rosé reminds herself as she settles next to Denali, careful not to bump her knee. She’ll just propose another night. Everything is fine. And when Denali falls asleep with her head in Rosé’s lap while Rosé gently strokes her hair, everything really is fine.

—

Rosé waits a few days before her second try, giving the universe time to let out all its bad, proposal-killing vibes. The ring is secure in her nightstand drawer, nestled between her vanilla lotion and melatonin gummies, and Denali is secure in her arms when they wake up. Tonight’s the night. Rosé can feel it.

Until the rain starts.

And not just any rain, but heavy, pouring rain, pounding on the roof and destroying umbrellas. The kind that soaks you through in seconds and leaves you shivering the whole day. No one would want to spend five seconds in that rain, let alone go for a romantic walk in it.

But it’s only morning, and these heavy storms never last. By tonight, the sun will shine and the world will glisten with leftover rainwater. A perfect setting for a proposal.

But when the rain is still screaming down when Rosé leaves work, rattling the windows as she and Denali curl up under a blanket with hot chocolate, she has to give up on this one.

—

Third time’s the charm, everyone says that, so Rosé’s optimistic when Attempt Three rolls around. Hope follows her all day at work, as she arranges photos of models and meets with Michelle to discuss next month’s issue, and there’s a spring in her step when she leaves her desk and strolls to the elevator with Symone.

“I can’t wait to see your layout tomorrow!” Symone says, adjusting her purse and closing the door.

“You mean Friday.”

“Tomorrow is Friday.” Symone’s excitement becomes concern. “You feeling okay?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Rosé stammers, batting away the hand Symone extends toward her forehead. “I just mixed my days up for a minute.”

Symone nods, and only when they’re both out of the building does Rosé allow herself to exhale, frantically checking the date on her phone and swearing when it confirms that today is, in fact, Thursday. She’s been so focused on this round of the proposal that she missed a day somewhere. Her layout is due at midnight, and even though it’s almost done, she puts so much care into each one there’s no way to do the proposal and the layout tonight without hurting the quality of one of them, and she can’t do that. It’s not fair to give Denali anything less than her full attention, and she can’t submit half-assed work weeks after her promotion either. The proposal will have to wait.

Again.

The hope turns to lead as she drags herself into the apartment, sprawling out at the kitchen table with her laptop, massaging her temples to ward off the looming headache. She doesn’t even hear Denali come in until she drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“Deadline?” Denali guesses.

Rosé sighs, leaning back to chase another kiss, which Denali gives her. “Yeah. I got my days mixed up and it’s due tonight. I’m gonna be here a while. I’m sorry.”

Denali nods in understanding, brushing Rosé’s hair off her face, calming the stress buzzing in her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make dinner and then I can keep you company. I have some costume sketches to work on.”

Rosé nods gratefully, heart swelling with love as she returns to her work. She faintly registers Denali moving around the kitchen, swaying and humming whatever her favorite song is this week, until she sets down two plates of grilled cheese.

They eat their sandwiches, and Denali replaces the plates with their floral coffee mugs–pink roses and blue forget-me-nots–a comfortable silence spreading between them as they work. They didn’t need to talk, didn’t need much of anything, but liked knowing the other was there anyway. There’s always been this connection between them, the way they were completely attuned to each other’s moods, knowing when to give space or comfort or talk things through.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Rosé says, stretching her back and jumping as it cracks. “You can go to bed.”

“I’m staying,” Denali says, stubborn as always. “Besides, I don’t sleep as good without you, which makes no sense because you’re always kicking me.”

Rosé sneaks glances as Denali works, sketching a blue skating costume. Denali’s been teaching skating lessons for years and started making outfits for clients last summer, and it’s really taken off lately. Rosé loves watching her sketch, the way her tongue curls over her lip, the way her dimples peek out, the way her dark eyes narrow in focus. She’s absolutely beautiful, hair in a messy bun, sweatshirt that Rosé is pretty sure was once hers sloping down to reveal the curve of her shoulder. The woman Rosé’s going to marry. Denali grins as she finishes, and finally catches Rosé staring at her.

“What?” Denali asks.

Ask her, Rosé thinks. Ask her right now. And she almost does, plan be damned. But she doesn’t want it to seem like she’s just blurting it out for the hell of it, like it’s thoughtless. “Nothing,” Rosé says quietly.

“I’m on to you, Rosie,” Denali says.

Rosé’s heart skips a beat. What if Denali found the ring, what if she knows–

“You were just so dazzled by my smile it made you speechless,” Denali says, flashing her dimples again.

Rosé grins, trying not to sigh in relief. “You’re right, baby.”

It’s 11:03 when Rosé sends her layout to Michelle, slumping back in her chair and letting her exhausted eyes slide shut.

“Come on, Rosie. Let’s go to bed.” Denali’s hands help her up, and Rosé leans into her. Denali stayed with her this whole time, refilling her coffee mug and rubbing her shoulders, showing her funny videos she was watching on her phone, letting out soft encouragements when she got frustrated. Rosé knows how lucky she is to have Denali, and she nuzzles against her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she mumbles sleepily. “For stayin’ up with me.”

“Of course.” Denali presses a kiss to her cheek.

They collapse into bed, and Rosé falls asleep with her arms full of love.

—

Attempt Four doesn’t go wrong right away. In fact, everything is fine–no bad work days, no rain, no deadlines.

And then Jan calls.

“What do you mean your sitter cancelled?” Rosé demands into the phone.

“I mean my sitter cancelled. It’s not a difficult statement,” Jan says on the other end.

“And why does this involve me?” Rosé plays dumb, but she already knows where tonight is going, and it doesn’t include a ring.

Jan sighs. “Because Jackie has this work dinner tonight, and I want to be there for her, but we can’t leave the baby. Please, Rosie, pleeeease?”

“All right.”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

Rosé sighs, adding another tally to the failed proposal column.

She tries to make the most of the night, not wanting Denali to suspect anything’s wrong. She’ll know if something is off with Rosé, and Rosé doesn’t want Denali to get suspicious about what’s bothering her, or think she’s hiding something. Well, technically she is hiding something, but not in a bad way. So she happily takes baby Joey from Jan and rocks him slightly, smiling as he smiles. Denali leans over and tickles him, giggling as he giggles, and there’s something about her smile, about the overjoyed the-baby-likes-me gleam in her eyes, that makes her even more adorable.

“I bet I can make him laugh harder than you.” Denali sticks her tongue out to prove her point.

Rosé gives into her competitive side and twists half her mouth up and crosses her eyes, cheering when Joey shrieks with joy.

“All right, that’s enough. You keep making those faces and you’ll scar the kid for life,” Denali mumbles.

Joey sleeps most of the night, but they watch the whole Disney movie anyway, snuggled together, Rosé softly singing in Denali’s ear.

—

Over the next few weeks, Rosé tries, refusing to let the universe take her hope away. She tries again and again, each time thinking that this will finally be it, the day they finally become engaged. The ring glares at her every time she reaches for her melatonin, because as the failures pile up, so do her hours of tossing and turning. Attempt Five is crushed by the dump truck the city brings in to clean the park. Denali catches a cold from one of her skating students and Rosé makes soup and fusses over her on the night of Attempt Six, and when Rosé wakes up sneezing two days later, that’s the end of Attempt Seven. The ice cream shop posts on Instagram that they’re closed for the day due to electrical outages, and Attempt Eight melts away like ice cream in the sun. By this point, Rosé’s tempted to make a damn bingo card for the next thing to go wrong.

“I see I still don’t have a sister-in-law,” Jan says as she enters the apartment, Lagoona trailing behind her.

“Why do you want another sister? You have us.” Lagoona throws an arm around Rosé and flashes Jan a cheesy grin.

“That’s exactly why I want another one.”

Rosé sighs. “This is what I wanted to talk about, actually.”

Jan and Lagoona must sense her seriousness, because their bickering stops, faces attentive like every time Rosé has gone to them for help. They were there when she failed a math test, and when she realized she wanted to kiss girls the way other girls kissed boys, and when she was getting ready for her first date with Denali. They’re always armed with hugs and decent advice and (usually) decent fashion tips, and Rosé loves them for it.

“What’s going on?”

Rosé fidgets with her sleeve. “It’s just–every time I try to propose, something goes wrong. What if …” Rosé pushes on despite the crack in her voice, “what if it’s a sign I shouldn’t propose? That we shouldn’t get married?”

She’s been trying to stay hopeful. She and Denali have been together for four years, after all, and if a few mishaps delayed their proposal, well, they’d get there eventually, and laugh about everything later. But that was about four mishaps ago, and Rosé can’t shake the feeling tightening around her chest that they’ll never get to the laughing-about-it stage, that Denali will never wear the ring. A few mishaps are a coincidence, but how many coincidences can you have until they become something more, something you can’t ignore?

“Don’t even let yourself think that,” Jan says softly.

“Jan’s right, and I’ll probably never say that again, so stop analyzing and listen,” Lagoona says. “You’re trying too hard to make this perfect. Stuff just goes wrong sometimes. It only feels huge because you’re putting so much pressure on yourself.”

“And it doesn’t need to be perfect,” Jan adds. “I know you want to give her the best proposal ever, but Denali knows you love her. She wouldn’t want you to be this stressed. You could propose in a dumpster and she’d say yes.”

Lagoona nods. “Look, your plan is amazing, but maybe it’ll help if you lose the plan and just propose when it feels right. Then you don’t have to cancel it every time the smallest thing goes wrong.”

“But how will I know when it’s right?” Rosé asks. “I don’t want it to seem thoughtless, or disappointing.”

“Nothing you do would be thoughtless, and you’d never disappoint Denali, first of all.” Jan pulls her into a hug. “And honey, I think it already is right. That’s why you bought the ring.”

Rosé nods, every doubt immediately pushed away. Instead of clinging to the plan the way she would cling to her script and run lines over and over at theatre camp, she can let go of the plan, of waiting and waiting for every single factor to be ideal. She loves Denali, and any time to propose to her is the right time. Rosé knows it’s right, just like she knew moving in together was right, just like she knew asking Denali out in the first place was right. Denali has always felt right to Rosé, someone she can show herself and her heart to, and she’ll know when to do it.

—

Rosé has taken to carrying the ring around in her purse, just in case she’s pushing her luck keeping it hidden in the apartment, but also in case the moment hits her while she and Denali are out somewhere. She likes having it close, touching the black velvet box and assuring herself of the promise inside.

Even with her new plan of not having a plan, she still struggles to get the words out. There have been some close calls–a weekend morning half-asleep in bed together, sunlight making Denali’s face gold, or having coffee in a cozy cafe, Denali tilting her head back to laugh at something Rosé said. But she always stumbles over exactly what she wants to say, or hesitates just a second too long, and the moment passes, or Denali moves on to something else.

Tonight, she’s flipping pancakes while Denali tends to the eggs.

“Why do you love breakfast for dinner so much?” Rosé mumbles, dodging Denali as she throws salt and pepper on the eggs like they’ve personally offended her.

“Breakfast food tastes better at night. You’re having a certain food at a time you’re not supposed to have it, so it’s like all sexy and forbidden and shit, and it tastes better. Same rule applies to pizza for breakfast.” Denali shrugs, like it’s common knowledge.

“I’m sorry I asked.” Rosé adds chocolate chips to the pancakes, Denali’s favorite.

They dig in to eat, and Denali jokes that she should make a skating costume based on breakfast foods, with a waffle skirt and ruffles that look like bacon, and Rosé can’t stop laughing, torn somewhere between amusement and horror.

Denali is laughing too, arms swinging around as she pretends to model the garment, her eyes sparkling, and it hits Rosé all at once in that moment. God, I love her so much.

“Marry me,” Rosé says.

Denali stills at once. “What?”

“I–hang on.” Rosé sprints to her purse, digs out the ring, and lowers her knee to the kitchen floor. Her heart throbs in her chest, but a smile from Denali shows she has nothing to worry about. “Denali, I … I had this perfect plan of how to propose to you, but every time I tried, something went wrong and stopped me. But the plan doesn’t matter. You matter. You matter more than anything to me, and this might not be perfect, but it’s you, and you’re always perfect to me. Will you marry me?”

Denali’s eyes glisten with tears. “Of course I’ll marry you, Rosie. I love you so much.”

The ring fits perfectly when Rosé slides it on her finger, and Denali fits perfectly in Rosé’s arms when she pulls her in for a kiss.

“So you did that little speech on the fly, huh?” Denali asks when they pull apart and sit back down.

“I am an improv queen, you know. Got the theatre camp certificate to prove it.” Rosé laughs. “But yeah. Instead of writing what I wanted to say, or thinking too much, I just … said it. And it’s all true, because I love you.”

Denali smiles, reaching out to take Rosé’s hand, stroking her thumb across the back of it. She gets a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, how many times did you try to do this? I just want to know.”

“I think the official count is eight.” By the time Rosé finishes telling them all, they’re both crying tears of laughter and clutching at sore stomachs, splitting the bottle of champagne they opened.

Denali looks at her after she’s done, and Rosé knows she’s crying for real now.

“You’re not disappointed, are you? The plan was way better, I was gonna–”

“I don’t need to know what the plan was,” Denali says firmly, “because I love the proposal you did. You could never disappoint me, Rosie. Never.” She sniffles. “I’m crying because I just–I can’t believe you tried that hard to do this for me. You’re basically the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“I love you,” Rosé says simply, and even if she couldn’t do the perfect proposal, she’s glad Denali knows how much she loves her, how she would do anything for her.

“I love you too,” Denali says. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll get to do that proposal some day after all.”

But Rosé doesn’t care if she does or not. Because she and Denali are getting married.

—

One Month Later

Rosé has a new checklist (which Lagoona’s been teasing her for) in her prim-and-proper handwriting (which Jan’s been teasing her for since they were kids). It’s a notebook, really, stuffed with all the things they have to do for the wedding–check out venues and finalize the guest list and then look at menus and decor and about a hundred other things. But Denali commanded her to leave it home today, because they both need a break.

“Can we get lunch?” Denali asks.

“We didn’t even shop yet.”

“But I’m hungry,” Denali whines.

“Okay, okay.” Denali’s hanger can level a city block, and Rosé knows she needs to get some food in her. “How about that burger place?”

“Too far. We’re only a block from that Thai place, let’s just go there.”

They get to their table just before the lunch rush hits, and Rosé thinks of how she’d been so sweaty before their first date that she had to put on extra deodorant in the bathroom. She’s calm and peaceful now, Denali slurping noodles across from her, their feet brushing without any thought of whether a first date was too early for that.

“I think those noodles gave me heartburn.” Denali rubs her chest as they walk out.

“Maybe it was the fact that you ate a giant bowl of them–”

“Oh, hush, Rosie. Oooh, you know what my mom says cures heartburn? Ice cream!”

Rosé doesn’t think that’s medically accurate, but she’s not going to challenge her future mother-in-law; even if the woman is miles away, her hearing is excellent, and it’s just not worth the risk.

She follows Denali into the ice cream place, helping her sort through all the flavors for her massive cone with extra rainbow sprinkles (‘what kind of lesbian would I be if I didn’t get rainbow sprinkles, Rosie?’ Denali demands, and Rosé gets extra on her strawberry cone too).

“Okay, I officially ate too much.”

“Again, you literally had three scoops of ice cream and a waffle cone.”

“Don’t remind me.” Denali looks slightly green, and Rosé just hopes this day doesn’t involve vomit. “I just gotta–I gotta walk it off,” Denali says, trying to nod convincingly, easing her hands off her stomach.

“If you throw up, please don’t do it on my shoes.”

“Noted.”

As much as Rosé hates barf, she can’t stop keeping a close eye on Denali as they walk, one steady hand on her back in case she needs it. Denali’s taking measured, trying-not-to-throw-up breaths as they walk, Rosé so focused on her that she barely notices where they’re going.

Denali comes to a sudden stop, her breathing back to normal in an instant, and Rosé finally notices they’re in the park.

And then it hits her.

They had Thai food.

They had ice cream.

They went on a walk together.

And now they’re in the park.

“I think you have something to ask me.” Denali grins smugly, but Rosé’s brain is still lagging, trying to piece together how Denali executed the plan perfectly.

“How did you—I never even told you what the original plan was!” Rosé stammers.

Denali’s smile stretches to her ears. “No, but Jan and Lagoona were more than happy to tell me.”

“Those two and their big mouths.” Rosé shakes her head, but she can’t believe how they teamed up with Denali and went through all this so the proposal could happen the way she dreamt.

“Yep. They also said they were gonna hide in the trees and watch, and I think they were joking, but you never know.”

Rosé cackles. She wouldn’t put it past the two of them to abuse the internet and order those fancy camouflage hunting suits to hide in, and when her quick look at the trees reveals nothing, she wonders if they really did.

“You—you really did all this for me,” Rosé says in wonder. “Lunch and ice cream and pretending to be sick so I was distracted and wouldn’t figure it out.”

As much as she told herself things ended up okay, part of her still wanted to do it, express her love the best way she could. She’s always been one for big, meaningful gestures where she could let out the love bursting inside her. And now she gets to, because of Denali.

“You’re not the only actress in the family,” Denali teases. “I know how much the proposal meant to you, Rosie. I wanted you to be able to do it.” Denali slips her ring off and offers it to Rosé. “Go on, ask.”

Rosé takes the ring and carefully gets down on one knee. Her body is warm from the sun and from love, and the words she finally says are a combination of her planned speech from months ago, and everything bursting in her heart right now.

“Denali, the first time we met was right in this park, at the skating rink. I bumped into you, and when I saw you, I was so glad I’m a shitty skater.” She grins. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. I love your passion, and your talent, and your kindness. I love you when you’re screaming over video games, and when you’re in your sad blanket burrito, and even when you drink too much coffee and get too hyper. And you love me too, even when I’m grumpy or I won’t stop singing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I promise that I will never, ever stop loving you, no matter what. Denali, will you marry me?”

“For the second time, yes, I will.”

She slides the ring on Denali’s finger for the second time, and as she pulls Denali in for a kiss, she knows that, plan or no plan, her life as Denali’s wife will be infinitely perfect.