Wildflower*

February 5th crept in on a breeze that felt far more like spring than winter. The air outside had a soft warmth to it, the kind that made you think of rolling windows down and music turned up just enough to feel like a memory in motion. Inside your home, the morning light filtered through the kitchen windows, casting a gentle gold hue over the marble counters and half-drunk coffee cups. 

Portia stood at the sink, barefoot and elegant even in her navy lounge pants and one of your oversized sweatshirts, her hair still tousled from sleep. She sipped from her glass of water, absentmindedly flipping through the mail when she heard a voice behind her. 

"How do you want to travel?"

Portia turned slightly. "Travel?"

"For the trip. You know-our romantic getaway with a side of emotional healing and generational trauma?"

She huffed a laugh, brushing her hair off her shoulder. "Plane. It's quicker. Easier. Cleaner."

"Boring," you drawled, stepping closer. 

Portia gave a slow, suspicious glance over her shoulder. "What do you mean boring?"

"I mean," you said, tone deepening as you inched close, "you, me, a few playlists, late night motel stops, and open roads? That's not boring-that's intimacy with snacks."

Portia opened her mouth to quip back, but before she could say anything, you pressed in-caging her against the counter, both palms flat beside her hips, leaning in with a wicked glint in your eyes. 

"Come on, Portia," you murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Can you really say no to a road trip with me?"

She rolled her eyes-defensive, amused, already losing this game. "I'm sure I could."

"Mmm," you hummed, lips grazing down your neck. "But would you want to?"

Portia shivered when teeth gently scraped across the delicate curve of her shoulder, her fingers curling against the edge of the counter. Your hands slid to her waist, keeping her pinned in place as you continued your slow, affectionate assault-kissing her throat, biting softly just beneath your jaw. 

"Stop that," she said weakly, though there was no force behind it. "This is manipulation."

"This is persuasion, darling," you whispered against her pulse. "One sensual detour at a time."

Portia let out a quiet breath, her head tilting just slightly to give you more access. "You are insufferable."

"And yet," you said, trailing kisses along the slope of her neck, "you're still not saying no."

She chuckled, breath catching when your mouth lingered on a particularly sensitive spot. "You drive. I'll complain about your music."

You grinned against her skin. "Deal." 

You stayed like that for a moment-bodies pressed close, laughter and heat mingling between you both in the quiet morning kitchen. It wasn't just flirtation anymore-it was something else. Something steadier. Something that felt like a beginning you were ready to keep choosing. 

"I'll make the playlist," you murmured. 

Portia smirked. "Just keep the biting to a minimum while I pack."

"No promises."

The bedroom was quiet sort of chaos-open suitcases on the bed, a playlist humming faintly in the background, and the soft rustle of fabric as clothes were folded, refolded, and fussed over. 

Portia stood by the wardrobe-your wardrobe, now more shared than not. Despite the guest room down the hall, her clothes had slowly migrated to hang next to your button-downs and long-sleeve sweaters. Her dresses hung in gentle contrast, satiny pastels and deep emerald greens against dark structures lines and clean, minimalist palettes. You couldn't remember the exact day her clothes had started showing up in the closet. But now, it felt...natural.

You folded a charcoal-gray sweater and placed it gently in the suitcase, brushing your fingers down the neat edge. Another followed-navy, then ivory, then a deep burgundy shirt that you hadn't worn since that one reading in Chicago. Always formal. Always safe. 

Portia passed behind you, draping one of her favorite travel shawls over the foot of the bed. "Are you planning to attend a board meeting on this road trip or impress the wait staff at every truck stop diner?"

You laughed under your breath. "I don't own anything casual."

"You own at least five tank tops," she said, turning to point at the drawer she'd taken over. "And I know because I've seen you wear one while doing dishes when it's hot."

"That's different," you said, brushing her teasing off with a smile. "That's domestic battle armor."

Portia smirked, but didn't press further, returning to her side of the suitcase and tucking in a silk blouse.

As she turned, you reached for a small box tucked behind a row of notebooks on the top shelf of the closet. It had been there for a while, barely touched. 

Inside, nestled between folded prescriptions and old receipts, were a few remaining pills- Risperidone.

Your fingers hovered above the bottle.

There weren't many left. Only a few.

The label stared back at you. Faintly faded. Familiar. That quiet whisper of something once necessary. Something still threatening to be again.

The voices hadn't returned. Not fully. But the weight of them sometimes danced at the edge of your thoughts, like distant thunder that might be nothing... or everything. 

You closed your eyes, exhaled, and slipped the bottle into the zippered pouch of the suitcase, sliding it under the sweaters. Hidden. 

Just in case. 

"Did you say something?" Portia's voice cut gently through the stillness. 

You snapped the lid of the suitcases shut too fast. "Nothing. Just thinking about what books to bring."

Portia didn't push. Instead, she adjusted one of her travel bags on the bed, one hand propped on her hip. "Do you think I should bring the flats or the heels?"

"Both," you said quickly, grateful for the shift. "Flats for the actual traveling, heels for intimidating the locals."

She raised an eyebrow. "You really think I'm going to intimidate someone in a dusty turquoise town outside Albuquerque?"

You grinned. "Portia, you once made a CEO stutter just by raising your brow slightly higher than usual. I think the barista at a gas station will simply pass out."

She gave a laugh, not graceful or delicate-but real. The kind that made you forget what was buried beneath cashmere sweaters and careful smiles. 

You sat on the edge of the bed for a moment as Portia double-checked her garment bag. In the stillness between you, you stole a glance toward her-barefoot, freckled arms bare in the morning light, hair swept back loosely, her features softened with makeup or poise.

She caught you staring. 

"What?"

You shook your head, smiling softly. "Just... glad you're coming."

Portia didn't answer right away. Then, after a beat, she walked to you and rested her hand lightly over yours.

"I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

And in the that quiet honesty, the weight of what was hidden-for now-eased just enough to breathe again. 

The suitcase was zipped. The closet was closed. Everything was packed and in place-but the tension still lingered like static in the air. 

Portia moved past you again, grabbing her overnight bag to add her cosmetic pouch. But you didn't move from where you stood by the dresser-watching her, silently admiring every curve and stride, the way she moved with elegant purpose even in the most mundane tasks. And then, without thinking-without needing to-you crossed the space and grabbed her wrist gently. 

Portia blinked, turning with a curious hum just before she was pulled toward you and your mouths met in a kiss that knocked the air out of you both. 

It started slow, soft-one of those tentative, warm-mouthed kisses meant to be quick... but never was.

Portia's fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater as the kiss deepend. Your hand slid up her side, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against you. Portia gasped softly into your mouth, her other hand sliding up to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. 

You backed her toward the bed, not breaking the kiss, your breaths mingling as heat bloomed between you. 

Portia let out a quiet laugh into the kiss. "You're going to wrinkle your shirt."

"Can fix it later," you murmured, voice gravelly as you pressed kisses along her jaw, her throat. "Right now, I want you beneath me."

And like a slow motion scene from a movie-Portia found herself laughing into another kiss right before you lifted her effortlessly and dropped her onto the mattress. Your hands were firm, slow, teasing as you crawled over her, pinning her down gently but with purpose. 

"You've got that look again," she whispered. 

"What look?"

"The one that says you're about to ruin me."

"I'm just admiring the view," you said, voice low, leaning down to kiss her again, and again, until.

Knock knock knock.

You both froze. 

You pulled back an inch, groaning against her skin. "You're got to be kidding me."

Another knock. "Hey? Are you guys up here?"

Portia stifled a laugh, biting her lip. "You've got five seconds to wipe that feral look of your face."

You rolled onto your back with a frustrated sigh. "Melissa! You are the reason I don't have balls or a dick right now!"

A beat. 

"...What?!"

Portia was laughing now. She rolled off the bed and grabbed the nearest pillow, smacking you with it. "You absolute menace!"

"I stand by it!" you called, tugging on your shirt again and adjusting yourself, cheeks slightly flushed as you stomped to the door and opened it to find Melissa standing there with a bag of snacks. 

Melissa blinked. "You good?"

"We were fine."

Portia appeared behind you, smug and unbothered as she adjusted the sweater, tossing a wink toward Melissa. "It's nothing urgent, is it?"

Melissa held up the snacks. "Just wanted to say I'm heading out for a bit. Didn't realize I was interrupting... whatever that was."

You groaned again. "One day."

"You'll thank me later," Melissa called, already heading back down the stairs. 

You closed the door and turned toward Portia, eyes dark again. "Where were we?"

Portia gave a sultry smile. "Back where we started, I hope."

The door had barely clicked shut when you turned around again-only to find Portia already reclining on the bed, head propped up on her hand, sweater slightly wrinkled, her lipstick kissed half-off, and an amused glint in her eye. 

"Well," she purred, "since our time was so rudely interrupted..."

"I owe you," you murmured, crawling back onto the bed.

Portia laughed, but it dissolved quickly into a quiet gasp when you were once again on top of her, hands splayed across her waist, your mouth brushing hers in a kiss that lingered like honey and heat. This time, the kiss was less rushed, less desperate-but no less intense. Your lips moved slowly, intentionally, savoring the burn, the softness, the way your breaths hitched and met again. 

"Still want to wrinkle my sweater?" you teased against her mouth. 

Portia slid her arms around your neck, pulling you closer. "I think it's beyond saving now."

You kissed until the light outside the windows dimmed into the warm amber of early evening. When you finally separated-hair mussed, hearts still racing-you lay beside one another on the bed, tangled in quiet contentment, limbs lazily intertwined. 

It was calm.

Until the soft creak of the floorboards signaled Melissa's presence once again, followed by a knock on the bedroom door that was now-thankfully-closed.

"Don't come in," you called instinctively. 

"I wasn't planning on it!" Melissa replied from behind the door, sounding both amused and exasperated. "Just wanted to ask if you could bring me something back from Albuquerque."

Portia, resting her head on your chest, arched a brow. "What does she want?"

You sighed, voice half-laughing. "What do you want, Mel?"

Melissa's muffled voice came through, casual and matter-of-fact. "Something handmade. Cool. Weird. Maybe a turquoise ring. Or one of those woven blankets. Or a lizard carving. I don't know. Surprise me."

Portia blinked. "A lizard carving?"

You chuckled. "You heard the woman."

"I'm just saying," Melissa added. "Since you two are probably going to come back all glowy and satisfied from your little romantic southwest adventure, the least you can do is bring your favorite roommate a gift."

"We'll think about it!" you called back. 

"Think fast," Melissa muttered, her footsteps fading back down the hall. 

Once it was quiet again, Portia let out a soft breath and nuzzled closer. 

You looked down at her, running a hand over her hair gently. "You okay with all of this?"

"With you?" she asked, without hesitation. "Yes."

There was a pause. Warm. Safe.

"I think... this road trip might be good for us," Portia added, her voice quieter now. 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Yeah. Just you, me, the open road-and Melissa's future lizard sculpture."

Portia smiled against your skin, the kind of smile that said she might actually be excited too.