crush || maldés

[Angel Malvaux]

JUNE 1973
TRAIN RIDE HOME

The train hissed to a halt at King’s Cross, white smoke curling past the windows and spilling out onto the bustling platform. Angel stretched her legs, her gaze lingering on the crowd outside. Her first year at Hogwarts—over. The thought felt strange, it had been simultaneously a blink and endless.

Across from her, Elian was hunched over, utterly absorbed in something cupped in his hands. Angel leaned in, catching the glint of a beetle perched on his palm. A smile tugged at her lips as she lightly bumped his shoulder. “Is he coming with us? Better decide now.”

She rocked to her feet and grabbed her bag, but before she could move further the compartment door rattled open. Angel turned, half-expecting a stray first-year or the trolley lady. Instead Rocío Valdes stood there, one hand braced on the doorframe, her dark eyes sharp and fixed on Angel.

Angel blinked, surprise flashing across her features before dissolving into an easy grin. “Go on,” she said to Elian, nudging him toward the door. “I’ll catch up." She caught the glance he shot between them but ignored it, busying herself with her bag as he left.

Now alone, Angel slung her bag over her shoulder but didn’t step forward. Her lips curved into a playful smirk. “What do I owe the pleasure? Here to say you’ll miss me?”

[Rocío Valdés]

Rocío had waited until the train screeched to a stop before bothering to get up. The year was done, but there was still one thing she wanted to check out before leaving. Something she’d noticed. Something she wouldn’t get a chance to test again until next year.

Sliding the compartment door open, she registered the two people inside, but her gaze didn’t wander from its target. Not even when the boy—Angel’s brother—moved past her. Rocío leaned lazily against the doorframe to let him through, dark eyes trailing after him for half a second.

And then they dragged back to Angel Malvaux.

Rocío matched the girl’s smirk, but hers curved slower, more deliberate. She stepped into the compartment; the door sliding shut behind her with a firm click. Her bag hit the floor with a careless toss. For a moment, she said nothing, dark eyes roaming over Angel—down, then back up, lingering and purposeful.

The corners of Rocío’s lips tugged higher at Angel’s remark. She tilted her head slightly, gaze steady, catching how the smoke-tinted light filtering through the window made the hazel in Angel’s eyes shift green. Shadows, maybe. Not that Rocío particularly cared. What mattered was that Angel had done exactly what Rocío had wanted her to do.

An amused hum slipped past her lips as Rocío closed the space between them, her movements unhurried but precise. A chess piece lining up for checkmate.

“I think,” she murmured, stepping in close, so close their toes nearly brushed. Rocío tipped her chin up slightly, gaze catching Angel’s through dark lashes, her voice dipping low and quiet, a teasing edge curling through it. “You’re gonna miss me, cachorrita.”

[Angel Malvaux]

Angel held her ground, instinctively straightening as Rocío closed the distance. Her brow arched, lips curving in faint amusement, but her hazel eyes stayed sharp, tracking each deliberate step. There was purpose in the way Rocío moved—calculated, steady—and Angel couldn’t quite decide if it intrigued or unnerved her.

The faint scent of cinnamon and smoke drifted between them, grounding Angel in a way she didn’t expect. It was familiar now, undeniably her, and the realization had her shoulders relaxing for just a second—a mistake. Especially given the way Rocío was watching her, like a hunter closing in on its mark.

Angel’s head tilted, a crooked grin playing on her lips as she pushed through the fluttering in her stomach. “And what makes you think that?” She shot back teasingly.

The smile softened as she spoke, as if she were humoring the idea. Still, the question of why Rocío was here hung heavy in the air, unanswered. This could be the last time she saw her until term started again, and if there was some small part of her that might miss Rocío... well, she knew well enough to keep it to herself.

The corners of Angel’s lips tugged higher, her tone slipping into something bolder. “Perhaps you’re just projecting."

[Rocío Valdés]

Rocío wasn’t sure what was more unsettling: the fact that Angel didn’t flinch as she moved closer or the way she felt the tension drain out of her like her presence was calming instead of panic-inducing. That wasn’t something she was used to. Most people got twitchy when she leaned in—not relaxed. Except for the little feral child and that half-kneazle that trailed after her, but they didn’t count. Not like this.

Her head tilted slightly, her gaze flicking down to catch the constant grin tugging at Angel’s lips. Always smiling. She’d realized by now there was a reason for that.

Just like there was a reason Angel hadn’t stepped away yet. Rocío moved closer, her fingers barely brushing over Angel’s waist, lingering just above her hips.

“You’re still on the train, aren’t you?” Rocío's voice dropped low with something between curiosity and challenge. Her gaze never left Angel’s, green flecks in hazel catching her attention, holding her there longer than she expected.

Then, with deliberate ease, Rocío slid her hands fully to Angel’s hips, firm now, gently pushing her back. There was no hesitation, no break in her focus, just the steady pressure until Angel’s back met the cool glass of the window.

Leaning in closer, Rocío brought their foreheads a breath apart, her fingers pressing into Angel’s hips, just enough to feel the warmth of her through the fabric. Dark eyes darted down once—just once—to Angel’s mouth before dragging back up to meet hazel.

“Maybe I am.” Her voice was a soft murmur, her words more suggestion than answer, and Rocío didn’t bother hiding the slight smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.

(But maybe she was.)

[Angel Malvaux]

Angel’s breath stilled as Rocío claimed the remaining space between them, the air shifting with a tension that tightened around her chest. The teasing lift at the corner of her lips faltered, suddenly thrown as the heat of the hand on her hip seared through the fabric of her trousers like a brand.

Her back met the glass of the window, the cool surface biting through her shirt. Had they been moving? She hadn’t noticed. Her hands twitched at her sides, caught between the sudden need to push the other away so that she could breathe and the more damning need to reach out, to feel soft warm skin under her fingertips.

This wasn’t the teasing, fleeting game they’d been playing all year. This was heavier, charged, and Angel could feel it coiling tight in her chest.

Then Rocío leaned in, her forehead brushing hers, her breath ghosting against Angel’s lips. Angel’s stomach twisted sharply as she watched Rocío’s gaze flick downward, lingering on her mouth—so fleeting Angel almost convinced herself she’d imagined it. But the thrum of her pulse, the heat rising to her cheeks, told her otherwise.

(What was she doing?)

“Maybe I am.”

Rocío’s murmur was low, a timbre that sent a shiver skittering down her spine. Angel’s own gaze dropped, following the words that spilled from red-stained lips. They were so close. Close enough that Angel could feel the heat of Rocío’s skin, the faintest tremble of her own breath minging with hers.

Her fingers twitched again, and this time, she gave in. Slowly, Angel reached out, her hand faintly brushing Rocío’s arm before hooking a finger into the loop of her jeans, and tugged.

One corner of her lip curved upward, reclaiming the part of her that rose to a challenge, one she knew Rocío was always looking for. It wasn’t enough to erase the fluttering in her chest, the heat curling in her stomach, but it was something—something that reminded her she could play this game too. Her voice escaped at last, a whisper laced with feigned confidence. “Go on, then.”

But her voice cracked, ever so slightly, betraying her.

[Rocío Valdés]

Rocío watched intently, dark eyes tracking every flicker of Angel’s expression. The proximity seemed to be unraveling her—finally. Angel had let her get so close, had let herself be pushed back against the window, and now Rocío was near enough to feel the other girl’s breath ghosting over her lips. That ever-present smile—the one Angel always wore like armor—faltered.

(She kind of missed it.)

But then hazel eyes dropped, lingering for just a moment too long, and Rocío’s lips curved into a sharp, victorious smirk. Her stomach twisted in a way she wasn’t expecting though, a jolt of anticipation she hadn’t invited. Ignoring it, she kept her focus on Angel’s face, on the fact that the girl wasn’t stepping back, wasn’t pushing her away. If anything, Angel seemed rooted in place, like she wanted Rocío to stay exactly where she was.

Then Angel moved—closer.

The shift surprised Rocío more than she’d like to admit. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she felt the tug at her waist, pulling her in. Automatically, her own fingers tightened on Angel’s hips, grounding herself as the space between them vanished. She caught the grin reappearing on Angel’s lips—stubborn, defiant—and Rocío couldn’t help but smile back, equal parts amused and challenging.

Angel Malvaux, it seemed, was different. She flirted back in a way that somehow wasn’t annoying, but thrilling. Almost endearing, even. And Rocío hated that it made her pulse race. It was unexpected, exhilarating, and no way in hell was she letting Angel outdo her. Challenge lit her gaze.

Then came the faintest crack in Angel’s voice, and everything shifted.

Rocío froze for a beat, her gaze dragging up to meet Angel’s again. She studied her for a long, silent moment, catching the green flecks in hazel that seemed brighter up close, reading something unspoken in the tilt of her head, the set of her mouth. Her stomach twisted sharply again, and Rocío felt a flutter of frustration flicker alongside something else, something she wasn’t going to name.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed an exaggerated sigh, her voice low and laced with exasperation. “God, just come here.”

Leaning in, Rocío pressed Angel more firmly against the glass, her head tilting slightly before she closed the last inch between them. Her lips met Angel’s with a heat and urgency that had been simmering beneath the surface for months, pouring all the pent-up want into the kiss, half daring Angel to keep up.

[Angel Malvaux]

The silence between them wasn’t really silent at all. It thrummed, a quiet hum beneath Angel’s skin, alive and electric. The narrow space separating them felt heavy, charged. She was keenly aware of Rocío. The shift of her weight as she leaned in closer, the dark sweep of her eyes that didn’t waver.

Angel’s chest tightened, her pulse quickening. She didn’t know what this was, didn’t have a name for the knot twisting inside her, but her body seemed to know. She wanted to be closer. Wanted Rocío to keep pushing.

Her bravado was met with a sigh—exaggerated, theatrical. Rocío’s voice cut through the static in Angel’s head, low and rough. As their eyes stayed locked, Angel could feel the same heat blooming, unfurling in her chest, her throat, the tips of her ears. It wasn’t like her to feel this… unsteady.

Angel barely had a chance to process them before Rocío leaned in, closing the gap entirely.

The windowpane was cold against her back, but it was nothing compared to the heat that surged through her as Rocío’s lips found her. The kiss was all sharp edges and urgency, months of tension snapping like a coiled spring. Her breath caught in her throat, a flare of adrenaline coursing through her.

For a split second, she froze, caught off guard by the sheer force of it all. But then her hands moved of their own accord, gripping the front of Rocío’s shirt, pulling her until they were flush together and she could feel their shared thumping heartbeat through her chest. She tilted her head just enough to deepen the kiss, the playful edge she’d clung to slipping through her fingers like sand.

A faint sound, the thud of her bag slipping from her shoulders to the floor, barely registered. Too consumed by the press of lips and the smell of cinnamon and smoke. Angel leaned into it, letting herself fall into the fire, letting Rocío pull her into it.

[Rocío Valdés]

Rocío barely had time to register what was happening before she was pulled flush against Angel, the sudden closeness stealing the air from her lungs. Her fingers instinctively gripped the curve of Angel’s hips, grounding herself against the sharp jolt of heat that coursed through her.

She had expected hesitation—Angel freezing, faltering like she’d done before. But the urgency in the way Angel held her, the way she wasn’t just allowing the kiss but pulling Rocío deeper into it—she hadn't been expecting at all. It was like Angel had been waiting, too, as if they’d both been balancing on a razor's edge for months, and now it had finally snapped.

The scent hit her next, rich, faintly sweet, with just enough sharpness to make her dizzy. Of course Angel would smell like this. Addictive. Distracting. Rocío’s lips curved into a faint smirk against Angel’s, but it faltered as the kiss deepened, heat twisting low in her stomach. She tasted sweet too and something maddeningly, distinctly Angel.

Rocío hated the way it had suddenly become so easy to get swept under, how quickly teasing had given way to something rawer, more electric.

She had only wanted to test the waters, to confirm a suspicion, to see if she could make a crack. But now Rocío was pressing harder into Angel, pulling her in tighter. The world started to narrow dangerously.

The screech of the station beyond pierced through the haze, and Rocío finally tore herself away, lips parting reluctantly. For a moment, she just stood there, chest heaving, her breath ragged as dark eyes searched hazel. Her thumbs brushed slow, thoughtless circles over Angel’s hips, a motion that betrayed her reluctance to let go.

She hated herself for the ache that spread through her chest. That she had gotten so distracted. That she was actually going to miss Angel.

Rocío buried it with a smirk, one that flashed a little too much teeth. Her grip on Angel’s hips tightened in a playful squeeze, before she dragged herself from the other girl with deliberate slowness.

She let her gaze linger; her smirk deepening as she caught Angel’s eyes one last time. Then Rocío turned sharply on her heel and strode out the door without a word.