#unfoldinglikeaflower

In one life, your lips are stained with kisses, and we're happy.

In another, your lips are stained with blood, and we're not.

The difference between those two is a bullet, a sword, and an arrow. A stone's throw, a crow's caw, a dog's howl. Everything is different. Everything is always different, but it's also the same.

The way I love you never changes. It's always all-consuming, slow and fast all at once. It rips me apart and sews me back together like patches on a quilt, and you're the seamstress, pricking yourself with the needles. 

I would kiss you, but my mouth is always too dry, my lips too chapped. I know if I'd just gather myself and do it, things would be better, but I'm always hovering, waiting for the right time.

It rarely ever comes, but I wait anyways.

I want to keep a book of the times we've met, for the times in between where I'm waiting for my next chance. I want a book of my mistakes so I can avoid them, and I want a book of my victories so I can relive them.

I am Dave Strider in every life, and you're Jade Harley. Our names change and our backgrounds flip flop, but I am always me, and you're always you, and I'm always wildly, wildly in love with you.

-----

The first time around, you bring things to life, and I kill them. We're Life and Death, twisted around each other so tight even fate can't find a way to detangle us. You're shining and beautiful, dripping in gold and awash in silver. I'm still crimson where you're a brilliant green, and wherever you go, I follow.

You're the Witch of Space, made up of stars and celestial debris. You can make anything by molding stardust into what you want, and no matter what you make, I will kill it. I'm the Knight of Time, defending something that doesn't need protection, and no matter how sturdy you make your creations, they cannot escape the tick of the clock.

You don't hate me for it. You never do. It's just the cycle of Life and Death. Without one, the other could not exist, and you continue on your way, casting a shadow for me to hide in.

I'm thankful for that much.

-----

Another time, you’re the princess and I'm the knight, only I'm not yours in the slightest. You are a gift of peace between two countries, and I'm the younger heir to a throne I will never have. My older brother marries you, and I watch as he kills you.

It's slow and painful, watching you wither under a marriage you didn't want, and this time, I cannot save you. No-one blames you when you ask the apothecary for poison, but everyone is surprised when it is not my brother that you poison, but yourself.

-----

The next time you're a stablemaid and I'm the prince. You care for all of the hounds like they're your own, and I watch from afar as you patch them up after hunting accidents. You hate the royal boar-hunts. With every trip and troupe, at least one dog comes back dead or injured, either at the end of a stray arrow or the tusks of a boar.

You marry a traveling trader in that life, a respectable desert man, and from what I can tell during trading visits, you are happy. I do not look for you again after I realize that.

-----

In one life, you're a worker of magic again, bringing plants back to life with your touch and taming horses with a word. Your hair is just as dark and beautiful as the first, and your eyes just as green. You are a woman named Janquil, skilled on horseback and even more so with your words, and you shine even brighter than any other.

I follow you in this life, just to be your shadow again. My heritage from a line of tinkering travelers gives you the opportunity to run when the war against witches begins. We travel down the line to escape the war, but it reaches us anyways, and when an arrow takes me, your tears burn hot as they fall onto my skin.

You sacrifice a part of your soul so you can find me again, and although it takes a few lifetimes in between, you do.

-----

The next time we meet, you're a governess and I'm the heir to a company and estate I don't want. I never seem to want the things I'm given in these lifetimes. You're sent to tutor my young cousin, an orphan living at the estate, and I fall in love with you from the other side of the bookshelf as we exchange novels. I mark the ones I'd think you'd enjoy with green paint along the spine, and you leave your recommendations in the window seat. It's a silent relationship, but a happy one that spans over years.

When you die of scarlet fever, I cut ties with the family name and move to London to become a clockmaker. By the end of my life my hands are sore and my eyes are weak, but every clock I have ever sold has been painted with a green lily along the bottom.

-----

World War II ravages our next life together.

You're covered in someone else's blood when I first meet you, your white uniform spattered with gore, but I still think you are the prettiest woman I've ever seen. I'm a wounded pilot, crawling out of a crash landing with blood spilling along my jaw and neck, and you're the nurse that saves me.

As you patch me up you joke that I'm never going to make it as a model after my close encounter with death, and with my quip that you probably could, you flush a deeper shade of red than the blood on your dress.

When the attack on Pearl Harbor hits, I die trying to hold things together, and you spend the rest of your life trying to build it back up.

-----

You’re a witch again in the next timeline, blessed with great magical potential and a sharp wit, and although many familiars fight to be by your side, I eventually win.

I'm a particularly powerful being, given the ability to change forms depending on what you need me for, and as a bright young hedge witch, you grant me the freedom to be a normal man if I so choose.

I choose to stay with you anyway, dashing between a human form and the one of a crow.

We're happy in this life, happier than we've ever been, and in early modern New York, we build balcony gardens and new lives for ourselves. Modern times brings a strange mingling of magic and science, and you balance the two on the edge of a blade, bridging the gaps with formulas and theories.

The laws binding magic users are strict, and combined with your brown skin and wild hair, discrimination is fierce. I count your freckles and kiss your tears away when you come home to slurs along our windows, and the next day, we scrape away the red paint from the windows.

Neither of us die young in this life, and it's my favorite victory. When you finally do pass over, I choose to follow, as familiars usually do. I used to wonder: all dogs go to heaven, but do crows follow suit?

The house is filled to the brim with Christmas decorations, and you begin to think to yourself that not even Santa Claus himself is this into Christmas as Rose Lalonde’s mother is. You’d also like to think that she puts a literal meaning into “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”, because if Santa were real, she’d be all over him like jelly on toast.

You take a sip of the eggnog in your hand, pretending to listen intently to the rant Karkat is busy delivering to you. He always does this, and most of the time you really do listen, but your mind is a million miles away right now. Every once in a while your eyes drift over to the other side of the room where a lanky blond in a red suit is busy conversing with Terezi. You kind of wish it were you over there conversing with him, but you’re not. You’re in the spot you are currently standing in, listening to a stout angry man rant about the world. Kind of the opposite of what you want, really. You sigh and take another sip of your nog.

“–And then he has the nerve to call me out. Me! I mean, I was so ready to–”

“Hello, you two. I didn’t mean to barge in, but I spotted Jade’s dress and just had to compliment her on it. It’s quite gorgeous.”

Kanaya, Rose’s girlfriend, cuts into your conversation, pointing at the dress you’re wearing. It’s a sleeveless, barely-above-knee-length black sparkling dress with a green trim on the top and bottom of it, as well as a green ribbon in the middle. You’re wearing gray striped tights with it, and ruby red shoes to match (sort of like Dorothy’s own ruby slippers!) You have a few other small, red embellishments that you added, partly because of the holidays, and partly because of a certain someone not-to-be-named who happens to wear the same color constantly. Just a mere coincidence, really.

“Thank you, Kanaya!” you chirp, beaming. Karkat cuts back in, visibly irritated.

“Excuse me, Kanaya, but I was in the middle of a conversation here! That was pretty fucking rude of you.” Kanaya snorts, ruffling Karkat’s hair, to his dismay (it doesn’t help that she’s a giant in stature compared to his dwarf-like appearance).

“Oh, come off it, Karkat. It is not like Jade was even listening.” Karkat turns to you abruptly, scowling.

“That’s not even the slightest bit true, right, Jade? You were listening to me, weren’t you?” You grit your teeth, brows furrowed as you slowly shake your head.

“Sorry, but no … ” Karkat storms off in a huff, leaving you alone with Kanaya.

“Just like him to think everyone is ready to listen to every last thing he has to yell about. Besides, I know exactly why you weren’t listening.” Kanaya suddenly dons a coy grin upon her face, tenting her fingers as a sparkle forms in her eyes. “You were checking out Mr. Strider over there, weren’t you?” Your eyes widen and you grow stiff in place, feeling the color leave your face.

“N-no!” you stammer, berating yourself in your mind for sounding dumb. “That’s not … hey, wait a minute … Rose sent you over to confront me, didn’t she!”

“I must admit, my intrusion was all her doing. She’s been noticing your certain … transfixation on her cousin, and she intended to make you do something about it. She knew you wouldn’t listen to her, but perhaps if another person consulted you on the matter, it might give you the extra push you need to interact with him? Perhaps tell him how you feel?” You shake your head violently.

“I am doing none of those things! Tell Rose that perhaps she should keep her suggestions to herself, okay?” Kanaya realizes you’re not going to give in right away, leaving you to your own thoughts.

“Alright, well, at least consider it, okay? I’m sure you will find your feelings are not as one-sided as you think.”

As you watch her walk away, you gulp and start to move backwards before bumping into something, immediately releasing your death grip on your cup. You catch sight of a hand extend out as you turn, catching the cup in mid-air before it hits the ground. You follow the direction of the arm to its owner, a certain man decked out entirely in red. He adjusts his posture, standing upright again, placing your cup back into your hand.

“Here, you almost dropped this.” The ability for you to formulate words escapes you completely as you stare back at Dave Strider, who is most definitely standing in front of you.

“Uhhhhh …” you trail a moment before remembering how to speak again, “Thanks.” You swear you see a flash of a smile, but as soon as it’s appeared, it’s gone in the blink of an eye.

“No prob, Har. Didn’t want you to have to clean anything up.”

Always the gentleman.

“Uhhhh … right.” What the hell is WRONG with you??

“So, you enjoyin’ the party? I was gonna wear my sweater that said, ‘Jingle My Bells’ but Rose specifically 'forbade’ it. She said it was a formal party and that I wouldn’t be getting any presents or desserts this year, the witch.” You watch as his lower lip protrudes from his mouth, creating an adorable pout.

“I’ll give you something sweet,” you blurt out without thinking, but then try to recover quickly, “I meant desserts! I have desserts … John’s dad?” You mentally facepalm yourself.

“Oh yeah, his dad is a baker, isn’t he. Your uncle, right?” You nod your head.

“Yup! Uncle Egbert knows his way around a kitchen. Wish I could say I inherited those skills too, but alas alack.”

“But you’re not at a loss of skills. You’ve got the bitchin’-est green thumb around,” he offers, making you smile a bit. “Also, I know you’ve got a better taste in movies than John.

"Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah. You watched both Kill Bill movies with me, so that’s already saying something.” He takes a sip from his own red solo cup, his eyes peering at you over the top of his shades.

“This is true. John’s kind of a wuss when it comes to movies. He wouldn’t even watch Django with me!” you say as you wave your arms around sporadically.

“Why didn’t you ask me to watch it with you? I would’ve in a heartbeat, you know that, Harls.” Heat prickles at your cheeks, and you’re almost positive your face is turning a stupid shade of red as your heart jumpstarts at his comment.

“Uhhhhhh …” Suddenly you’re at a loss for words again, berating yourself in your mind. Damnit! You just wish you could hold an entire conversation with him without freezing up! It was never like this when you first became his friend, but ever since you realized your feelings for him, you never really knew how to act now. Every talk with him became terse now, and you hate yourself for it.

“You okay, Har? You’ve been acting a little strangely,” Dave comments, and you feel the full force of the blush on your face, your throat closing up.

“Uh, yeah! I—uh—I gotta go! I just remembered!” Your feet seem to find a mind of their own as you rush away from him, heading towards the door.

“Jade where do you think you’re going? The party’s just getting started!” You flash past Rose who recognizes you without a thought, her brow arched upon her forehead.

“I gotta get home early. Something about Grandpa needing me? Anyways, thanks!” Your getaway is swift and short-lived, because after you make it off her porch, you remember something very important—there’s a coating of snow lying on the ground inches thick, and you left your jacket inside on the coat rack, leaving you cold and feeling as naked as the day you were born. So much for leaving early.

“Yo, Jade!” You turn on your heel to see Dave exiting his cousin’s house, your black pea coat in is hands as he rushes up to you. “Jeez, Har, you’re gonna go out into cold-as-balls weather and not bring your jacket? Are you tryin’ to catch a cold or something? Here.” He holds the jacket out to you, waiting for you to slip your arms inside it. You do so, embracing the warmth of your jacket eagerly before you freeze your butt off.

“Thanks, Dave,” you thank him shyly, a slight smile gracing your face. He smirks back at you, and you feel it warm you up right at the core.

“No prob, Har. Didn’t want you to freeze, is all. Walk you home?” The last part slips through his lips in a slurry of words, but you still pick up on it, nodding your head in response.

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.” He gestures in front of himself, allowing you to walk ahead of him, out down the sidewalk. You’re glad you don’t live too far away, but you are grateful to have someone accompany you in the pitch black of the night, the lamps the only thing illuminating your way. You feel something begin to sting at the tip of your nose and you see specks of white float down from above, more snow gracing the earth.

“Looks like we’re gonna be getting some more snow again,” Dave comments, taking his shades off to rub away the flakes that have melted on them. “Ugh, I fucking hate snow. Heat is where it’s at.” You gasp, shaking your head.

“No way! Snow is amazing! You can build snowmen, have snowball fights, make snow angels … the fun is just endless!”

“Yeah, it’s fun if I want to freeze my ass off in it. No thanks.” You pout, but don’t argue further, letting the conversation die. You watch Dave out of the corner of your eye as you walk side-by-side with him. Perhaps Kanaya and Rose are right—maybe you should tell him …

“Whoa. Har, hold still.” You’re about to ask what Dave is talking about, but then it turns dark, a pair of cold-as-hell hands covering your eyes.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?!” You try to swat Dave’s hands away, but he manages to hold you off.

“Just hold on a sec, okay? I’ve got something cool to show you.” A huff escapes your lips but you comply, trying hard not to think of how close you are to Dave as he guides you towards wherever it is he’s taking you. He lifts his hands not too long after, but you keep your eyes shut until he gives you the okay.

“Ready?” you ask him.

“Yup. Go ahead and look.” Your eyes flutter open and let out a little gasp, your mouth falling into an ‘o’ shape.

“Wow! This is beautiful, Dave! I love Christmas lights,” you smile, admiring them next to him. The house in front of you is enormous and decked head-to-toe with twinkling white lights along the edges, and the bushes with bright, vivid rainbow lights. Two little decorative reindeer are seated on the front lawn, both bowing down as though they are eating grass.

“That, I can agree on with you, Jade. Nothing makes the Christmas season better than lights,” Dave says, his arms folded to his chest, lips quirked upward.

“Mm, I’m gonna have to disagree with you there, Dave. That’s not the only thing that makes the Christmas season great.” Dave turns his head towards you, his brow arched upward.

“Oh yeah? What is that, praytell?”

“Hot cocoa!”

“Hm, I’m not sure about that, Har. I think I need a lil’ convincing.” You stare at him a moment, contemplating the weight of what he’s just said. He needs convincing. From you. Fuck it all to hell! If you’re gonna do this, you’re gonna do this right!

“You’re gonna eat those words, Strider,” you huff, finding his hand and threading his fingers with yours. “Let’s go!” You tug Dave along down the snow-trodden sidewalk, not pausing even a moment to provide idle chatter. He says nothing as he follows beside you, but he’s smiling–a real, honest-to-god smile–and you can’t help but feel euphoric. Score one for Jade Harley!

Eventually your feet find themselves planted out front of the Harley Mansion (Dave likes to call it that, but it’s only because your house is fractionally bigger than his, amongst the nouveau riche district of your neighborhood), and you’re telling him to wait outside a moment while you fix him the best goddamn cup of cocoa he’ll ever taste in his life. As you begin to putter around in the kitchen, you catch sight of your grandfather eyeing the window, his brow arched.

“Jade, is this young man on the stoop waiting for you?” he asks, and you can almost feel the game of twenty questions begin to happen, but you ignore him for the sake of science—making the perfect cup of cocoa.

“Yes, Grandpa. That’s Dave. You’ve met him before plenty of times,” you huff, popping the mugs into the microwave.

“Are we going to invite him inside?”

“No,” you tell him firmly, because you’re on top of your game at the moment, and as long as your grandfather is inside the house, you’ll have no family interruptions on you and Dave.

“Alright, alright, I get the picture. If you need me, I’ll be in the den writing letters. Be good!” You pause a moment to let him peck you on the forehead before watching him disappear down the hall, relief washing through your system. The timer on the microwave dings and you grab the cups of cocoa, making a mad dash to the door without spilling a drop, glad to see Dave still waiting on the front porch.

“This better be a fucking good cup of cocoa, Har, because I’ve been turning into a fucking icicle out here,” he huffs, but you know he doesn’t mean it as he takes the green mug you hand him graciously, and you stare at him as he takes a sip, awaiting for his approval.

“So?”

“So,” he begins, his face still placid, your heart racing, “This is probably the best fucking cup of cocoa I’ve ever had. You’ve outdone yourself, Harley.” You practically jump with joy then, because hot dog! You won his approval, and you didn’t stutter at all during it! That’ll be ten points added onto your scoreboard, for sure. “But,” Dave adds at the last second, and your smile drops from your face.

“But?”

“But I have to disagree with you again. There is one other thing that makes the Christmas season great.” What? You can’t possibly see how there’s something you’ve been forgetting! What could you have missed that’s so important that even Dave noticed?

“And what’s that exactly?” He sets his mug on the railing, offering to take yours to set it beside his. You’re not quite sure why he’s doing that, but you let him, wondering just what his answer is going to be. He points upward above you two, and as your eyes turn upward, you feel your face heat up like a furnace, the cold be damned.

“Mistletoe.” Your muscles go taut and stiff as your eyes flash back to his, finding his glasses pushed back up onto his head. His red eyes gaze into yours softly, his mouth twitching upward at the corners as he reaches over to grab your hand, the cold no longer a problem you have to worry about. “You okay with this, Har?” The only movement you make is a quick nodding of your head, your eyes closing as you ready yourself for the moment.

And holy hell, you were not prepared.

Dave closes the gap between the two of you as he leans forward, his lips pressing up against yours fervently, threading his fingers through the thick locks of your hair with his free hand. You feel yourself being warmed up at the core, the sensation spreading outward to the tips of your fingers and toes. Against your better judgement, you push yourself even closer against his chest, deepening the electric kiss being shared between the two of you. The sparks light your brain up, the overwhelming thoughts in your mind sending you into overdrive. You could probably do this forever if he’d let you.

But, alas alack, the kiss ends after a minute (a minute!!!), Dave leaning his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses rubbing together lightly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do that.” Your mind explodes at that comment because what??? He’s been wanting to kiss you for a while now and didn’t bother telling you?!

“Huh?” He chuckles at your confusing, his hot breath warming your rosy cheeks.

“I really like you, Har.” Ohhhhhhh. You think you’ve got it now.

“I really like you too, Dave,” you echo back to him, a smile forming at your own lips. “You know, you can kiss me even without the mistletoe.” He grins at that, his eyes lighting up with mirth and eagerness.

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good.” He presses his lips against yours, this time for only a chaste peck before saying, “Now that that’s over, can we please go in your house? I really am underdressed for the cold.”

“Oh! Whoops, forgot about that. You wanna go inside and watch a Christmas movie with me then? I’ll make popcorn,” you offer him, gesturing to the door.