A/N: Ha. Well, this is what happens when there’s an ice storm outside, and I had absolutely NO idea what to write but wanted to do something because, like, I love you and stuff. Shut up. Happy birthday, @maxortecho. It’s the very definition of random freestyle, so I hope you like it.
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He dreamed of spending cold winter nights with her, but he never thought his dreams would come true.
He loved Liz his entire life, but he always felt she would be inaccessible -- out of reach, someone to pine over.
He never anticipated this.
They're not kids anymore, but sometimes when he's with her, they're teenagers again, and their life hasn't been mapped out for them yet.
The future is full of possibilities, and the past isn't filled with pain.
She's laughing, care-free and unburdened, and he wants to capture the tinkle of her voice in a jar and keep it propped up on his bookshelf.
He wants to have it stored away to listen to whenever he pleases, but then he pinches himself.
He has to remind himself that he's thinking about her like she's lost, and he won't find her again. He doesn't need to hoard these moments; he doesn't have to lock them away in his memory as if they'll fade with time.
She's right there. Flesh and bones, real, and with him.
She's with him and wants him, and she's his, and he's hers, and everything makes sense.
She's -- being a little shit when she pummels him in the face with a snowball and teases him for getting distracted. She loves the power she has over him, and he loves that she loves it.
They say love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting that they won't, and he did, he gave it all over to her, and she eventually knew how to handle his love with care.
But more importantly, she gave it back to him, and he guards it with his life, quite literally, and he can't imagine what their lives would be like without each other now.
She's stunning, with snowflakes clinging to her hair, a poof ball knit hat pulled down so far he could barely make out her big bright eyes, but it didn't matter.
He knew they were lit up with that childlike wonder and sparkle she never lost no matter how many jabs life threw her way.
He chased her down, one of the rare moments he took full advantage of his height and how he towered over her. He lifted her and swung her around, laughing so wholly and fully at her squeals of delight, his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
He never thought it was possible for him to be this happy. Happiness just never seemed like it was in the cards for him.
She wrestled her way out of his grasp, and he only panicked a little bit this time. He's still conditioning his heart not to sink in its chest every time he lets her go.
He's still reminding himself that her absence isn't permanent - that this isn't a dream, and she's not leaving him.
He's still grateful that she could be anywhere in the world, but she chose him. He still can't believe she chose him.
She pummels him with more snow and ice slides down his back much to her delight. She laughs at the face he makes, and a small discomfort is nothing if it means seeing her smile at him like that.
He tosses a snowball in her direction, missing her on purpose, and she raises her brow at him because she knows he's letting her win.
She calls a truce, creeps across the snow as it crunches beneath her feet and hurls her whole body into his arms with so much force she catches him off-guard.
They fall back into the snow, and she scrunches up her nose and tells him they're making snow angels now.
He hasn't made those since he was nine with Isobel who complained about how wet she got and ran back into the house in favor of hot chocolate and barbies.
He stares up at the sky, listening to her giggle beside him as they expand their limbs back and forth, and he cannot believe he got this lucky.
The sky is dark and heavy -- more snow is on the way, and somewhere out there is a place that's supposed to be home, but for him, home is in Liz's laugh.
It's in the way she wraps her arms around him. It's in the way she kisses him like he's her lifeline -- her oxygen like she needs it to sustain herself.
It's in the way she feels beneath him, on top of him, around him -- when their bodies are entangled as one.
She is his universe, the galaxy is what he sees when he stares into her eyes, and for him, that's enough.
Their angels are imperfect, but then again, so are they, and it's what makes them all the more beautiful.
The air is chillier than when they started, and without giving her a head's up, he swings her over his shoulder like a caveman, smacking her ass and runs for shelter.
She's laughing so hard he can feel her full body shake through the puffy coat she's wearing.
They make a plan to strip their clothes and raced to the shower, but they both get there at the same time, and it's not like they weren't planning on taking one together anyway.
They're nothing if not predictable.
The steam fogs up the windows, but all he can see is her, all of her, smooth brown skin slick with water, dark hair clinging to her skin, and the brightest smile he's ever seen.
It gets brighter every time he kisses it. He presses her against the door, water sluicing down their backs, and their hands entwined.
Some days he doesn't think he's good at much, but he's good at this. He's good at worshiping at the altar of Liz Ortecho, and his lips are like a prayer against her skin from collarbone to navel then lower until she's breathlessly singing his name like a hymn.
She's still trembling when he wraps her up in his fluffiest towel, and it's the only time he feels cocky. She curses him out in Spanish, but he knows it's in good fun.
She disappears into the kitchen while he gets dressed, and his heart swells when she settles in front of the fireplace he added on ages ago just for nights like this.
She's wearing his nightshirt like it's a nightgown, and he doesn't tell her how he never washes those because he loves that her scent clings to them.
They're all soft banter and light jokes as they make two steaming hot cups of cocoa that she adds some secret ingredient to every time.
It never tastes the same when he makes it, and he's pretty sure the secret ingredient is just her.
It's warm, rich, and sweet as it slides down his throat and warms him from the inside out.
She settles down on the couch, her feet resting in his lap, and he massages them without even thinking.
Sometimes she picks one of those old books off his shelf to read and other times she wants him to recite the poetry he wrote for her, but he hates those nights because his poetry is terrible.
She loves it though. She finds it flattering, but he opts for reading Russian romance, and he's just now discovering what the sound of his voice does to her, so he milks it for all that it's worth.
She closes her eyes, occasionally sipping her cocoa as he rubs her feet, and he reads like the night will never come to an end.
Frost covers the window, and the snow falls like it won't stop anytime soon, but then, neither will he.
They stay like that for hours, and he can't believe his luck. He lived for nights like this.
Roswell New Mexico Creators Appreciation Day 7 - Cheerleaders
This one goes out to @maxortecho who has become my beta reader for this fandom but in a way that goes beyond other betas I’ve had - she’s a co-creator in many ways, there for me to toss ideas around with and helping me focus them when I’m struggling. Without her presence I wouldn’t be writing the stories I am.
#project hail mary
#photography
#lana del rey
#aesthetic
