is it casual now || rolo

[Lorelei Kensington]

May 5th
6 p.m.

It boiled in her veins—that call of the moon overhead that was not quite full. Again, her eyes darted skyward, only drawn back down to wait for the imminent arrival of her date.

Lorelei still couldn't quite believe it. Even last summer, the prospect of something like this had seemed unattainable—always just out of reach. Trying to get to know Rocío Valdés, to partake in girlfriend things had been difficult, even before the word had been spat back in her face.

She wasn't foolish enough to think this meant that. Not again.

But it was something.

A sight more stunning than usual turned the corner and Lorelei grinned. Moving away from Pasta Vino's well-decorated facade to meet her halfway.

"You came."

[Rocío Valdés]

It had surprised her when Lorelei asked, but maybe not as much as it should have. Her awareness had been entirely focused on Lorelei—on her mouth, on the press of her body, on the way her fingers were tangled in the hem of Rocío’s sweater when she had asked it.

Rocío wasn’t new to dates. But a date with Lorelei felt very different. She knew how to dress the part—black dress, heels; she knew that part. It helped ground the stupid, weightless pull in her chest.

When Lorelei came into view, smiling like that, Rocío couldn’t help the way her mouth tugged upward, slow and inevitable.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Rocío’s voice dipped low, teasing.

But her gaze softened as it moved over Lorelei—then returned to those brown eyes.

Lorelei always looked beautiful. Rocío knew that. She’d spent enough time trying not to think about it. But tonight, she let herself. Reaching out, she laced their fingers together and gave a gentle tug. “You show up looking like this, of course I came.”

[Lorelei Kensington]

Her hands reached for Rocío's, happy to see hers reaching back.

She had doubted, though—just a bit. If only because she suspected there were still others. Or, worse yet, that Rocío still harboured doubts of her own.

"No," She said, nevertheless. "I knew you'd come." Despite everything, she knew. When Lorelei called, Rocío would come running, no matter where they stood.

Lorelei took a moment to take her in, admiring this woman who was always so effortlessly beautiful. Tonight, though, she was absolutely stunning, all in black, where Lorelei wore all white.

"Let's go inside."

Leading the way, she pushed the door open, holding it for Rocío. Inside, they waited only a moment before she gave her name to the hostess and both of them were lead to a table in a quiet part of the restaurant, near a window overlooking main street.

Picking up a menu, Lorelei glanced over its edge before looking at any of its offerings.

"What's your favorite food?"

[Rocío Valdés]

She let Lorelei lead her inside, biting her lip again—but this time it was at the sharp, shifting tightness low in her chest. None of this was bad. It was just weird. Lorelei had asked her. Held the door open for her. Would probably try paying.

Rocío hated how off it made her feel. How her spine straightened just a little too much.

(When it came to girls, she wasn’t used to taking the back seat with the driving. Irrational or not, it still felt weird.)

Dark eyes swept the restaurant as they were seated. She’d done this kind of thing before—with guys, mostly—but never like this. Not this fancy. Not with someone who actually mattered (a little too much).

Not since Angel, at least.

Rocío felt distinctly out of place, half-expecting someone to ask if she was lost.

This was stupid. She wanted to be here—with Lorelei—even if she didn’t know what they were anymore. Looking across the table, she let out a breath. Rocío would try (for her). Like at that stuffy pureblood ball with Caius, she could play the part.

“We’d have to go to L.A. for that, princesa.” Rocío murmured, lips curving just enough.

“Tal vez—” Rocío half-shrugged, eyes scanning the menu. “—spaghetti?” Because at least she knew what the hell that was. “With arrabbiata sauce.”

Dark red lips twitched as she looked up, gaze catching on Lorelei’s. “With actual spice,” she added, the smirk pulling a little more, “Not ‘British spicy.’”

But beneath the teasing, the tension in her chest stayed—tight, restless. Still trying to settle, to fit into place.


Tal vez - Maybe

[Lorelei Kensington]

Lorelei felt, to her surprise, quite nervous.

This should have been her element. An elevated environment conducive to propriety and politeness the likes of which had long since become second nature. An outfit that put her best assets on display. Silver jewelry that made her shine.

All of it dim spectacle in the face of Rocío Valdés. All the decorum in the world wouldn't matter here, with her.

But even so far out of their element, out of the familiarity of Hogwarts and their dormitory, Lorelei felt herself precipitating toward all the things she wanted to know about Rocío—the things that lay beneath the surface, that they had not yet found the time to learn about each other.

Not just the way Rocío acted, or the things she said.

It was all the whys that Lorelei wanted to learn about now.

"Is that what you'd be ordering if we were in L.A.?"

She'd often wondered whether things would be much different, across the pond. Between united states or a united kingdom, Lorelei had never imagined there would be much difference.

"If we were in Nepal, I'd be ordering momos." Not that they'd find them in a fancy place like this. "The closest thing here is probably the arancini."

And close was a stretch.

[Rocío Valdés]

Watching Lorelei across the table made things easier, in a way. Easier to forget where they were. What this was. Rocío tried to ignore the exposed feeling that came with sitting here, like she was on display.

But at Lorelei’s question, an amused smile tugged at her lips.

“No,” Rocío murmured, a light, half-sardonic laugh slipping out as she shook her head. "Para nada.”

She didn’t elaborate, not right away. But her smile pulled a little wider.

“I know,” she admitted, low. Her eyes dropped to the menu, using it as cover more than anything; an excuse not to meet Lorelei’s gaze.

But she did know. That’s why she’d harassed the house elves over the holidays about the food. They couldn’t make the exact dumplings, but she’d talked them into something close enough in flavor.

(It used to be easier, pretending she didn’t feel anything. Until someone came along who saw through it without even trying. Who picked up on the smallest things about her without her saying a single word.)

After a beat, Rocío bit her bottom lip and looked back up. Her gaze met Lorelei’s—steady, trying. She wasn’t good at this part. Letting people see her. Letting someone else in, even a little.

(She’d already let someone too far in once.)

“Depends,” Rocío said finally, voice easy again. “If I drag you to Olvera Street, we’re getting taquitos dorados with guacamole.”



Para nada - Not at all

[Lorelei Kensington]

“I know,”

Two simple words, and they meant the world.

That summer, Lorelei had been so concerned about all the things she hadn't been learning about Rocío—a concern that had stuck to her to the point those same questions were spilling out now. Meanwhile, Rocío had simply watched. She had simply learned.

It made Lorelei smile, and she felt the impulse to reach across the table, or knock it out of the way entirely so that she could pull her into her arms. Alas, she would never dare be so indecorous. Not even for Rocío.

“If I drag you to Olvera Street, we’re getting taquitos dorados with guacamole.”

"Well, then we should do that someday." She said, as if it were the most simple thing. "Next summer, maybe."

The waitress chose that moment to come take their order. Lorelei chose charbroiled bistecca, alongside several appetizers she thought might sate her boundless appetite—arancini, salmon tartare, a burrata salad—and a bottle of red, to share.

The perks of being adults.

When the waitress left, she resumed the subject.

"I'd like to take you to Nepal someday, too."

She barely even remembered the place herself.

[Rocío Valdés]

It was a small thing that Lorelei had said. Casual, on the surface, but something beneath it made Rocío’s shoulders tense. Just slightly. Next summer felt too far, too uncertain. She hadn’t let herself think too much about what came after graduation.

(Or who.

If anyone.)

She’d only ever really talked about California to three people (Rae didn’t count; Rocío only ever told her the good parts). The other two, at least, Rocío knew she’d see after graduation. Maybe even take a trip back with them.

But the third.

Sun-warmed green flashed then, tinged with bright gold.

I don’t know if I can be what you want me to be.

Her own words rang back at her, entirely uninvited. Rocío took a slow, careful breath, keeping her face still, unwilling to ruin this. Whatever it was she and Lorelei were reaching for now.

And sometimes Lorelei made it easy.

Rocío bit the inside of her cheek to keep her amusement in check; though she wasn't very successful, she could feel it. Even after ordering, the smirk was still tugging at her lips, curling dark red, a teasing eyebrow arching at the amount of food the other girl ordered.

"I'd like to take you to Nepal someday, too."

And sometimes Lorelei made it so damn hard.

The smirk almost faltered. Almost.

Instead, Rocío tilted her head slightly, studying the other girl. “Is that where you plan to go after school?”

[Lorelei Kensington]

She caught that tension in the air, like she'd said something wrong. For a moment, it twisted at her gut, worrying that she'd erred in mentioning a potential future when all this—even the ground they'd tread before—still felt so new.

Even with all the time they'd spent together since the holidays, with Lorelei carefully picking at Rocío's walls and using the ruins to rebuild what they'd lost one brick at a time, the foundation often felt shaky, rocky, as if the softest spasm could send the whole structure tumbling back down.

The waitress's arrival, then, had been a blessing. A distraction from that tension. And when Lorelei returned them to the conversation, pressing forward despite her doubts, she thought she felt that tension ease.

Not so much in her, however, though this was a different flavour of anxiety, and one that had little to do with Rocío herself.

"I'm not sure," She answered. Lorelei's eyes fell to the table. Despite the distance it forced between them, she found herself reaching across its surface, palm up expectant. "I don't think the Kensintons would let me go very far. I'm sure they have plans for me."

They'd never told her what those were, but they had always been implied. And since she'd gone to Hogwarts, since he'd proudly learned she'd been sorted into Slytherin, Abernathy in particular had taken a liking to talking to her about finances. Lorelei had never known what to make of it, but she'd surmised that her own interests, her own wants, mattered little in whatever equation he was working.

So, really, there had never been any point in thinking too hard about what came after Hogwarts. Surely, it would all be decided for her.

"I'd like to visit, though, at least."

[Rocío Valdés]

The moment she caught the tense set of Lorelei’s shoulders, that familiar, slight crease in her brow, Rocío’s focus immediately shifted. Whatever discomfort she’d been feeling before disappeared, replaced by a growing unease in her chest as Lorelei’s gaze dropped to the table.

Then Lorelei reached out.

Rocío blinked, surprised; unsure if the hand was meant for her. But she only hesitated a second before taking it in hers. She laced their fingers together, brushing her thumb gently over Lorelei’s knuckles as she listened.

She really hated the table between them.

The second Lorelei said Kensingtons, with words like let and plans, Rocío’s shoulders tensed. A knot curled in her gut, cold and tight. She’d learned fast the way these pureblood families operated. Especially the old, rich ones. They liked to dress up their outdated, bullshit traditions to look like duty when it was just control.

“Loré,” Rocío’s voice dipped low on the nickname, softer than it should’ve been here in public, but steady.

(She hadn’t said it before. Not out loud. The accent on the é slipped from her lips with an almost careful warmth, like it had been sitting in her chest for too long.)

Rocío gave Lorelei’s hand a careful tug, trying to coax the girl to look up, to look at her. “Who gives a shit what they want? You’re an adult. Que se jodan.”

Despite the seriousness in her voice, faint amusement curved at the corner of Rocío’s lips. She hadn’t expected Lorelei to have gotten to that part of the Spanish language.

But then her fingers curled tighter around Lorelei’s, the lightness fading almost as quickly as it came.

Dark eyes searched deep brown, her teeth catching lightly on her bottom lip at the shadows she found there. When Rocío spoke again, her voice softened; the sharp edges that had wrapped around the Spanish smoothed into something quieter, more warm. “What do you want?”


Que se jodan - Fuck them

[Lorelei Kensington]

“Loré,”

Her ears caught on the name. Not Lorelei, not Princesa, not Lobita. Something new, more intimate, familiar. It sounded like a new beginning, a balm smoothing the frayed edges of their story.

It helped ease the tension caused by the thought of her adoptive parents, too, even if they did end up remaining on the subject.

Already, Lorelei has tried to start distancing herself from them. She was, as Rocío had said, an adult now, and that allowed her some measure of independence. It loosened their stranglehold enough that she could stop replying to all their letters, that she could take a few more risks, now, and that she didn't have to worry so much about what Angel Malvaux might way, and to whom.

However, that independence hadn't been fully put to the test. Not yet. Not until she stood before them that summer, and either did as they demanded, as she always did, or disobeyed, as she had that night a wolf had rewritten her future. Until that time came, any rebellion, any fortitude, even inspired by Rocío herself, would only ever be hypothetical.

Until then, she didn't know if it mattered what she wanted, because she didn't know whether she had the strength to claim it. Lorelei had attempted to think about her future, about where she wanted to go and who she wanted to be, but it hurt too much to look at the possibilities too closely when they remained so out of reach.

"I don't know," She said shrugging, squeezing the hand in hers. "I know a lot of things I don't want to do, but…" The words trailed off into a sigh. "I guess I have a whole year left to figure it out."

By then, maybe, she'd know what the Kensingtons wanted from her. Then, she could determine whether that was really a path she wanted to follow, or whether it fell to her to carve her own path. Whether she even had the liberty to do so.

[Rocío Valdés]

With Lorelei, Rocío had learned to be patient. She’d learned to wait, watching as the gears turned behind those deep brown eyes. She didn’t like the shadows she could see at the edges of them, but she didn’t flinch or press. Just held Lorelei’s hand and waited.

This was a topic that didn’t sit right with Rocío, that hadn’t since winter break—when Lorelei had asked her to stay with her. It was something that made that knot tighten, become colder.

But the squeeze to her fingers eased the tension that was tightening around her chest; just enough. Brought dark eyes back to Lorelei’s, and Rocío couldn’t help lacing their fingers tighter. Like maybe that would keep Lorelei with—

She stopped the thought before it finished.

Taking a quiet breath, she didn’t know whether to frown or smile, sardonically, at what Lorelei said. She settled on the latter. Brushing her thumb over her knuckles again, Rocío studied Lorelei.

A lot of things I don’t want to do.

“We both do, I guess,” Rocío muttered, voice low, almost offhand—because Rocío still had no idea what the hell she was going to do either.

But she was more focused on the girl across from her. She squeezed Lorelei’s hand gently. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

Whatever happened.

When the food finally arrived—along with the wine—Rocío leaned back a little, but didn’t let go. She’d let Lorelei do that.

Rocío would hold on to her for as long as Lorelei wanted her to.

[Lorelei Kensington]

“We both do, I guess,”

This brought a wry smile to Lorelei's lips. For all that she tried to project nonchalance to the world, for all that she pretended to be nothing but a delinquent, Rocío was the smartest person she'd ever met. More, even, than the adults who paraded themselves as Professors, masters of their fields. She felt absolutely certain that Rocío could do whatever she put her mind to.

Her eyes fell to the hand squeezing hers, cementing her to the realities of the world they both shared.

Together.

And it felt so good to her Rocío say it out loud, settling far more anxieties than those they had been voicing for the past few minutes.

"Any idea what you'd like to do?" She asked. "Potions Master? Healer? Werewolf tamer?" An eyebrow arched playfully, eyes glinting.

When the food came, though, Lorelei was almost disappointed. She let her thumb grave against the back of Rocío's hand one last time—a promise to return, soo, to find the place it belonged—before it had to find her fork and knife instead.

She gestured to the many appetizers sprawled out between them. "Take some."

[Rocío Valdés]

Rocío had just caught the smile playing on Lorelei’s lips when she felt an unexpected flush creep up her neck. The other girl was naming off potential career paths for her, sort of, and Rocío’s bottom lip caught between her teeth. Dark eyes flicked away under the pretense of rolling her eyes.

But it did no good stopping the smile, its curve amused, sharpening into playfulness at Werewolf tamer. An eyebrow arched as she looked back across the table, catching deep brown eyes—and that glint of teasing behind them.

(Rocío liked Lorelei like this. Missed her like this. Just being with her. Without worrying over saying or doing the wrong thing, what might be too much or not enough. For either of them.)

She leaned back in her chair after Lorelei let go of her hand, ignoring the flare of disappointment that came with it. Lorelei was literally right there. That should’ve been enough (it wasn’t).

Rocío waited until the server walked away before lifting her wine glass. She swirled the deep red liquid slowly, but her gaze never left Lorelei.

“Is that what I’m doing?” Rocío asked, voice dipping low, teasing. “Taming you, lobita?”

Rocío leaned in, just enough, dark eyes catching Lorelei’s. The smile that curled at her lips was slow, soft around the edges, but there was a heat beneath it. “Porque capaz que me gusta cuando muerdes.”

She didn’t know how far Lorelei had gotten in her Spanish, but even if she only caught pieces, it didn’t matter. It was true, even if she was mostly teasing right now. Mostly.

(A deeper truth was there too, threaded in the words. She’d always wanted all of Lorelei—everything. The parts she kept hidden, the wild parts, all of it. Rocío had always tried to get Lorelei to not hold back with her.

Especially now.)


Porque capaz que me gusta cuando muerdes - Because maybe I like it when you bite

[Lorelei Kensington]

A smile curled at her lips as Rocío caught on to the tease, leaning in to play along. Lorelei's secret had never been spoken so publicly, even veiled in hypotheticals, and that held almost as much thrill as the reply.

And then—

“Porque capaz que me gusta cuando muerdes.”

Not every word registered, but the final sequence translated easily enough—I like it when you bite. In the second it took to process the spanish, to realise what had been said and fill in the blanks, a thrill of nervous excitement ran up her chest, sending a flutter through her heart.

A reminder of the thing she'd done last summer that was oh so wrong and how Rocío had liked it, still wearing the scar on her collarbone proudly. Lorelei's own lips curled into something wicked, though only in the very best way.

"Well," Lorelei, keeping her own voice low and level, took a quick pause to take a sip of wine, eyes never wavering as she stretched a leg to knock against Rocío's—finding new ways of thwarting the table and the food keeping them apart. "Who says you have to tame the girl?"