The scent of marigolds filled the apartment long before the candles were lit. Y/N stood barefoot on the wooden floor, scattering bright orange petals in a trail leading from the kitchen to the little table by the window. The ofrenda was almost aready — photographs, sugar skulls, a cup of café steaming beside a plate of pan de muerto.
Miko watched from the couch, chin resting on her tattooed hand, brown hair glinting faintly under the fairy lights they'd strung up earlier. "You really do make it feel like magic in here," she said softly.
Y/N smiled, glancing back at her. "It's not magic," she said. "It's memory."
Miko got up, padding over quietly. "Maybe that's the same thing."
The two stood side by side, gazing at the altar. There were photos of Y/N's family — her abuela with her bright scarf, her cousins laughing in a field back in Mexico. Y/N gently touched the edge of a frame. "We used to stay up all night, waiting for the candles to burn low," she murmured. "My mom would tell us stories until sunrise."
Miko's hand brushed Y/N's arm. "You miss her," she said, not as a question.
Y/N nodded. "Every year. But tonight doesn't feel sad. It feels... like they're here."
Miko exhaled slowly, letting her eyes rest on the candles. "Back home, we don't really celebrate it this way," she said. "We visit graves, light candles too — but this..." She smiled softly. "This feels alive. Like they're part of dinner with us."
Y/N turned to her, searching her face in the candlelight. "They are."
Something flickered between them — something quiet and certain. Miko leaned in until their shoulders touched. "Then maybe your family won't mind if mine stop by too," she murmured, half teasing, half tender.
Y/N's lips curved into a small smile. "They'd love that."
They stood there in silence for a while, the hum of the city outside fading beneath the soft music playing from Miko's phone. Then Y/N picked up a marigold petal and tucked it behind Miko's ear. "For luck," she whispered.
Miko tilted her head, amused. "You sure it's not for flirting?"
"Can't it be both?"
Miko's grin turned gentle. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple... slow, deliberate. "Then maybe I'll leave an offering for you, too."
Y/N chuckled quietly. "What, a candle?"
Miko shook her head. "No. My heart."
Y/N looked up at her then, eyes soft and glassy from the glow. "I think they'd approve."
They ended up sitting together on the couch, plates balanced on their knees — tamales steaming, laughter soft between bites. The ofrenda flickered quietly across the room, the air rich with flowers, sugar, and a sense of something bigger than both of them.
Miko rested her head against Y/N's shoulder. "I get it now," she murmured. "It's not about death."
"No," Y/N whispered. "It's about never forgetting love."
Hours later, the apartment was still glowing. The candles had burned low, their wax pooling around the wicks, and the faint hum of Miko's playlist floated through the air — an old bolero mixed with the ocean sounds she loved to fall asleep to.
Y/N was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the couch with a mug of atole in her hands. Her hair was loose now, a little messy from the long night. Miko came over, barefoot and half-smiling, holding one of the sugar skulls Y/N had made.
"This one's me?" Miko asked, turning it in her hands. The icing around the eyes shimmered silver, just like her hair.
Y/N grinned. "Maybe. I made it too pretty to be mine."
Miko crouched beside her. "You even got my tattoo right," she said, pointing at a swirl of blue icing across the skull's side. "You pay attention, huh?"
Y/N took a slow sip of her drink. "Always."
For a moment, the only sound was the gentle crackle of the candles. Miko leaned closer, eyes soft. "You know, this was my favorite part," she said quietly.
"The altar?"
"No," Miko smiled. "The way you talk about them. The way you make them feel real. Like you carry them in every word."
Y/N's heart warmed. "That's what the night's for," she said. "To remind ourselves that love doesn't stop."
Miko thought about that, then reached for the petal Y/N had tucked behind her ear earlier. She brushed it gently against Y/N's cheek. "Then I hope," she whispered, "that even when we're long gone, someone leaves us marigolds too."
Y/N smiled, meeting her gaze. "They will. We'll make sure of it."
Miko laughed softly. "You planning that far ahead already?"
Y/N shrugged, teasing. "I'm Mexican. We plan for everything — even the afterlife."
Miko laughed again — that low, familiar laugh that always made Y/N's chest flutter — and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to Y/N's. "Then I guess I'm in it for eternity."
Y/N tilted her head just enough for their lips to meet — slow, warm, the kind of kiss that felt both new and ancient, like all the love they'd just honored lived in that moment too.
When they finally pulled away, Miko whispered, "So... next year?"
Y/N smiled. "Next year, you pick the playlist."
Miko grinned. "Deal. But I'm sneaking in some reggaetón."
Y/N groaned, laughing. "That's not exactly traditional."
"Neither am I," Miko said, smirking.
And somewhere, under the soft glow of candles and petals, they laughed again — two souls celebrating not just the ones who came before, but the beautiful, living love they were lucky enough to share right now.
