Small Fic Writer and Big Shipper

Trying to stay together as the world pulls you apart has its challenges, but it's worth it.

ft. Ada & Luis

—

It had been months since the chaos in Spain. The world had gone back to its usual rhythm, though neither of them really fit into it anymore. Ada Wong arrived first, her dress bright against the muted tones of the riverbank where people gathered to feed ducks, take photos, and let time pass.

Luis came minutes later, half-running, half-smiling like he hadn’t expected her to actually be there. “Here, Señorita,” he said, handing her a small arrangement of flowers.

Ada raised an eyebrow. “Still trying to charm your way through life?”

He shrugged. “Only when it works.” And it did. She tried not to smile but failed.

She smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You still talk too much.”

They found a quiet spot near the edge of the river. The sun was bright and high, warm on their faces but cool in the air. Ada sat with one leg crossed, her gaze drifting over the calm water. Luis leaned back on his hands, watching her tilt her head toward the breeze, the corners of her lips softening.

“I’m surprised you agreed to meet here,” he said after a moment. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”

“I was in town,” she replied simply, placing the bouquet beside her.

“You didn’t answer my message for two weeks,” he said finally.

“I was busy.”

“With what?”

“Life.”

He chuckled. “So, a polite way of saying I was annoying you.”

“Something like that.” Ada paused before changing the topic. “Daffodils? That’s random.”

Luis grinned. “It was the only arrangement left.”

She didn’t answer. The petals moved slightly in the breeze, yellow and white against the gray stones. They talked about nothing and everything—travel, the strange quiet after missions, people they hadn’t seen in years. Ada listened more than she spoke, but her tone softened around him.

The street photographer caught them off guard. “Una foto, por favor?” he asked. Luis nodded before Ada could refuse. And that was the picture—her squinting against the sun, his eyes steady. The flowers by her side, daffodils already beginning to wilt.

Ada glanced at it while they walked away. Luis noticed her staring at it, her fingers brushing the edge of the photo. The corner of his lips curved slightly.

He didn’t say anything. He just smiled, pocketing the truth he’d never tell her. He had bought the daffodils that morning, not by chance.

Daffodils meant rebirth, new beginnings. It felt fitting. They had both died in different ways and come back again. But there was one more meaning he hadn’t realized when he chose them.

Yearning.

A quiet, unspoken wish for something that might never be returned.

As they walked down the crowded street, Ada slipped the photo into his coat pocket.

“Keep it for us,” Ada said.

He didn’t need to ask if he’d see her again. The answer was in the way she held the flowers close, as if she already knew they would.

—

One might say that Claire had an early breakfast, hihi

Leon had to wash his face before cooking REAL breakfast for his beloved <333

D.C. Metro, 7:42 p.m.

The train noise fills the station. It’s sharp and steady. I stand still and let it move around me.

I think about D.C. more than I want to. About how fast things cracked. I pushed for answers. Leon pushed back. He chose the line he swore to follow. I chose the truth in front of me. That was the split.

I still hear it. I can’t.

It sits in my head like a bruise that never fades.

I wonder what he’s doing. Hopefully not drinking. I miss him. I miss his dry humor. I miss the way he tried to hide how tired he was.

The train slows. Doors open. I step inside and lean against the glass, watching the station slide away.

—

During the first nights without him, Claire sleeps well (as far as it's possible to sleep without her husband), but after a week or so she starts waking up in the middle of the night to check if he arrived.