she opens the door and lochlen is standing there with a bouquet of colorful flowers in one hand and red roses in the other. he tilts his head and gives her his version of puppy dog eyes, asking if he can come in. she steps back, wordlessly, to allow him access once again. he tries small talk as he puts the flowers in water but she sits on the couch and barely responds, pretending to scroll through streaming options. he takes the roses into her bedroom and leaves the bright bouquet on the kitchen island.

she knows what he’s doing: he’s trying to show her that he knows the little things she appreciates but that knowledge, earned over years, makes it all the worse when he fucks up. she rolls her eyes as he sits down next to her, unable to say exactly that to him once he sits too closely and she can smell him. he’s clearly just out of the shower and smells like nothing but soap and lotion. she wants to melt into it but she can’t help wondering why he needed to shower and the thought makes her chest tighten.

he holds his palm up on his thigh, waiting for her to slide her hand in place but she refuses. she is clearly angry and she wants to hold onto that anger for a little while longer so she jumps on him, straddling him and feeling a little satisfaction when he grunts in surprise. he searches her face and she can see the moment when he recognizes what this is, that she needs to work this out in her own way.

he lowers his eyes and she watches his eyelashes vibrate in contemplation and understanding. she pulls his head back by the hair so his neck stretches and she watches his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. "take what you need, baby girl." his whisper evaporates into the ceiling as his hands grab her hips and her fingers pull at his belt buckle. the tinkling of the metal covers the catch in his breath.

when he leaves, hours later, they both know it's the last time again.