build a new silhouette in the skylines up ahead
@weneedglitter Parenting!
ok so i wasnât gonna write a new thing and then @sunsetcurvecuddles and @oldsmobile-hotdogs convinced me to write a new thing, sooooo. Read on ao3 here!
Post-Orpheum. Ray/Rose plus Bobby, can be read as romantic or platonic, whatever you want (though my wip document for this was called Parenting so do with that what you will). Featuring a lot of Puerto Rican terms of endearment cause I could.Â
--
Rose isnât quite sure what wakes her. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads just after 2am. The night is dark and quiet outside her bedroom window. Next to her, Ray sleeps soundly on his stomach, snoring with his face buried in his pillow. But Rose is used to that, reaches over almost without thinking to bury a hand in his hair and gently tug his head sideways so he can breathe. It could be any night, calm and familiar, since they moved in together. It still doesnât explain what dragged her from her dreamless sleep six hours before her alarm, or why sheâs got this odd tingling feeling in the back of her mindâthe kind of feeling her abuela would call her âmaternal instinctsâ and set Rose off on a feminist rant about the oppressive expectations of motherhood on women under the age of 30âtelling her that somethingâs wrong.
It takes her another few minutes of breathing into the silence, glancing around her room like sheâs waiting for some monster to pop out of the shadows, and then something catches her ear from outside: a distant clanging sound, like metal against metal.Â
Her eyes widen, and Rose scrambles out of bed with a muttered curse, hurrying to the window to make sure sheâs come to the right conclusion. Luckily, her bedroom overlooks the driveway connected to their little townhouse, so she barely has to flick the curtains aside to glimpse Rayâs junk-bucket van and, just visible from this distance two floors up, the legs sticking out from underneath it.Â
Rose sighs, one hand on the windowsill, and considers just throwing it open and shouting down for her insomniatic roommate to go the fuck to sleep. But she knows he wonât listen, and that itâll only make him feel more guilty for inconveniencing her than he already does, so instead she turns back to the bed and crouches down to place a gentle hand on her boyfriendâs shoulder, leaning in close to murmur in his ear. âRay? Can you wake up for me?â He groans, and a smile plays at Roseâs lips. âI know, papi chulo, but I need you to wake up, just for a minute.â
Ray grunts, but obediently rubs at his face and pushes himself up. âWhatâs wrong, is everything okay?â he murmurs, his voice a groggy rasp, still clearly half-asleep and yet alert with concern.
Roseâs heart tugs with so much gratitude for him. âHeâs tinkering again,â is all she says.
Ray nods, rubs his hands down his face one more time, and then blinks owlishly, his gaze settling on Rose. âIâll get the coffee, meet you out there?â
âYouâre the best.âÂ
She darts forward to kiss him and then they both reluctantly get to their feet, moving in sync, Ray tousling his already-mussed-up hair as he heads straight for the kitchen while Rose throws on a bathrobe over her pajamas and slides her feet into slippers. She pauses only to grab her keys, a bottle of water, and the bottle of Imitrex from the kitchen cabinet, kisses Ray once more on the cheek where he stands scooping CafĂŠ Bustelo into the cafetiera, and hurries out the door and down the stairs into the night.
Rayâs bright orange 70s van sits up on blocks in the driveway. It broke down yesterday for about the sixth time this month when Ray was coming home from work; he had to push it the last two and a half blocks. Really, they shouldâve seen this coming.
As Rose gets closer, she gets a better glimpse of the legs sticking out from under the van, loose black sweatpants and grubby sneakers, feet tapping the concrete to the beat of music Rose can just barely hear, muffled but pounding like itâs blasting through headphones. She sits on the curb and gently nudges the tapping foot with one of her own. It freezes, the music abruptly stops, thereâs the unmistakable clanging of tools being tossed back into their toolbox, and then Bobby rolls out from under the car on his makeshift dolly, tugging off the headphones connected to the Walkman hooked to his waistband. Heâs shirtless and almost ghostly pale in the dim streetlights, the dark circles under his eyes standing out in stark contrast as he sits up and braces his hands on the ground behind him, blinking widely up at her.Â
âI woke you up,â he says, voice hoarse and crackly like heâs been sick. Or crying. âI was trying to be quiet.â
This is something Rose has learned about Bobby in the last few weeks. He gives reasons, never excuses. And he never apologizes, not directly, not with words. She canât help but wonder if this has always been true of him, or if itâs a tendency heâs only developed since that terrible night at the Orpheum.Â
She shakes her head, forgiving him, and holds out the water and pills she brought. He makes a face but takes them and comes over to sit next to her. âIâm fine,â he says unconvincingly, even as he cracks the water bottle open and takes a sip with a pained wince.
Rose waits until heâs popped two of the pills and drunk half the water before she lets herself relax, scooting closer with a feigned shiver (even though itâs a warm August night and sheâs wearing more clothes than he is) so that she can get away with pressing into his side, offering comfort he didnât ask for under the guise of seeking some extra warmth. âRayâs making coffee.â
âShit,â Bobby whispers, rubbing at his forehead. âI woke him up, too.â He doesnât apologize, but she can tell he means to in the tightness of his jaw, the shadows on his face.Â
âActually, I did.â Rose bumps her shoulder against his, making him blush and duck his head away from her gaze. âI thought you could use some company.â
Bobby shakes his head, drinks some more water, winces with every swallow. For a long time, he says nothing, and Rose doesnât push him, just sits there next to him, ready and waiting to listen when he can find the right words to say. He frowns into the middle distance for another minute or so, then shakes his head again like heâs refusing some unwelcome thought and says, âI just couldnât sleep. My head hurt.â
She slowly reaches a hand up, telegraphing every inch of movement, ready to stop if Bobby so much as flinches, and strokes his hair back out of his face. He tenses up at the touch and then sinks into it, a shudder running through him. He drops his head onto Roseâs shoulder and she abandons all pretense, carding her fingers through the silky strands of his hair, gently rubbing some of the tension lines out of his forehead. âYour head hurts because you donât sleep, muĂąeco,â she murmurs.
Bobby raises his head just enough to shoot her an annoyed glareâhe claims not to like the Spanish terms of endearment she and Ray throw around, claims he doesnât know what they mean and therefore thinks theyâre making fun of himâbut thereâs no real heat to it, and he returns his head to her shoulder a moment later, nuzzling in closer as she strokes his hair. âI canât,â he says after another long silence, so quietly Rose almost doesnât hear him. âEvery time I close my eyes, I see them. I just canât stop seeing them.â
Rose tugs him closer into her side, presses a kiss to the top of his head, smiles into his hair when he makes a disgruntled noise but doesnât actively protest.Â
This is something else sheâs learned about him. Bobby wants so badly to be touched, so badly to be cared for, so badly to be loved. But it must be given freely to him. Because heâll never ask.
Behind them, the front door creaks open, and Rose turns her head to give Ray a tired but grateful smile as he joins them in his ratty pajamas and socked feet, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. He hands one to Rose and keeps the other for himself, then settles down on the curb on Bobbyâs other side, pressing in close as he sips his coffee. Bobby sits up and frowns at him, mock-offended. âHey, whereâs mine?â
Ray shakes his head, doesnât even look at him. âMm-mm. You donât get coffee until you sleep through the night. House rules, cariĂąo.â
Bobby makes a face and turns to Rose for help. She just laughs into her own mug, shrugging unapologetically, and Bobby pouts.Â
âHow can there be house rules when you donât even own a house?â he grumbles, but shuffles closer, leaving Roseâs gentle hold to press his face into Rayâs shoulder. âGod, Iâm exhausted.â
Rose drinks her coffee and rubs soothing circles into Bobbyâs back, feeling the too-thin, too-cold planes of his shoulder blades. A shudder runs through him that might be from the cold, the touch, or something else entirely. Rose meets Rayâs gaze over the boyâs head, sad and sympathetic and more worried than either of them has any right to be at 21 and 23. They may be older than Bobby, but theyâre practically still kids themselves, and yet somehow in the last month theyâve taken this frail, broken boy under their wing, and sometimes they donât know how to help him, donât know if they can, but other times, like this, just being there for him is enough.
âThey wouldâve liked you,â Bobby says into Rayâs shirt sleeve, tensing under Roseâs hand. He doesnât specify whom he means, and he doesnât have to. Rose will never forget their names, even if she only heard them once, couldnât even bear to read the article about them after that damn reporter tried to track Bobby down for a comment. Luke. Reggie. Alex. Bobbyâs band. Bobbyâs boys.
âIf they loved you, nene, then Iâm sure we wouldâve liked them, too,â Ray says softly. This is what Rose loves most about him, these moments when she doesnât know what to say, how to soothe, but he does, always. Sheâs so grateful for him, her sweet Ray who never met Sunset Curve, never knew Bobby before he was broken, not even for the hour that Rose did, and welcomed him into their lives anyway, didnât question or complain for a second when Rose said, Meet me at the hospital. He canât go back there. Please, mi corazĂłn, canât we help him?
Bobby shudders again, and Rose thinks he might be crying, but he makes no sound as he slumps forward, arms around Rayâs waist, face buried in Rayâs chest. Ray startles just the slightest amount, lifting his coffee cup out of the way so that it wonât spill, and then slowly lowers his arms to cautiously wrap around the boy. Rose reaches over and takes his mug for him, places them both on the curb next to her, and leans in to join the hug, pressing her lips to Bobbyâs bare shoulder and whispering senseless reassurances into his skin.Â
Later, Ray carries a sleeping Bobby back into the house and lays him down in Ray and Roseâs bed, and they climb in on either side of him and hold him close as he gets his first full nightâs sleep since the 22nd of July.Â
In the morning, Bobby shuffles into the kitchen bleary-eyed and squinty, moving slowly like he always does when heâs coming down from a migraine and doesnât want to risk making it flare up again. Rose nudges him until he agrees to eat some breakfast, and Ray places a mug of fresh Cuban coffee in front of him with a kiss to his forehead and a whispered, âYou earned it, bonbĂłn.â Bobby doesnât thank them, but he doesnât need to.
âIâll finish fixing the van today, Ray,â he promises once heâs finished eating. âAnd Rose, I noticed some of your guitars need re-stringing, if you want me to take a look.â
Rose exchanges a sort of fondly exasperated look with Ray across the table and strokes Bobbyâs hair out of his face. âWe already told you, Bobby. You donât need to earn your keep. You just focus on getting better, and let us take care of you, okay?â
He blushes, ducks his head, but nods and mutters, âYeah, sure, okay.â
Ray reaches a hand out across the table, palm up, pointer finger extended. Rose grins and links her finger with his, then nudges Bobbyâs shoulder. He looks up, confused, and then his face relaxes in understanding and he manages something almost approaching a smile as he reaches out and taps his index finger against theirs, not quite joining Rayâs little handshake but not refusing it either. Itâs good enough.
As they sit there, the three of them, Ray and Rose forcing water and painkillers on Bobby and giving him judgmental looks when he pours a second cup of coffee, Rose wonders if this is what parenting will feel like, when someday (in the very distant future, Abuela) she and Ray are ready to have kids (because there is no doubt in her mind that she will marry this man). Theyâre not Bobbyâs parentsânot even closeâbut she thinks he might be good practice for them anyway. In late nights and little sleep. In how to work their lives around someone elseâs wants and needs. In caring for someone with so much of your heart you hurt when they do.Â
She thinks theyâre doing a pretty damn good job at it, too.Â
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Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @nickalicious @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @spidergirl0325 @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @cest-la-vie-de-la-lee @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @moreflowersthanweeds @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @shellydominiqueÂ












