Converted Hosie Oneshots

Realization

Original : slytherinmayflower on archiveofourown

There's a moment – when the monsters are gone and the students are asleep; when the world is still and quiet, not even the rustle of the wind in the trees breaching the peace; when Hope is splayed out on her bed, eyes locked on the waning moonlight streaming in through her window – that she thinks about it.

I had a crush on you.

The words are ring in her ears, soft and bell-like and she can picture it; the soft curve of Josie's mouth and the warmth of her eyes, her cheeks flush with childhood embarrassment as she confessed. There's a carelessness to her shoulders as she shrugs; admitting her helplessness to her feelings in a single motion just as she admits her possessiveness, her protectiveness in the next.

There was a quiet ferocity to the statement as Josie had stared down Lizzie and Hope's chest warms, thinking of a younger Josie, fumbling and shy but fierce and attached; selfish and so involved in her feelings that she'd play her sister against her crush just to protect it from her.

She thinks of three years ago, fresh off the death of her parents and miserably alone, unwilling to even talk to anyone. There's not a whole lot that she thinks is attractive about her younger self; she was impulsive and childish and hurt; sad and yet somehow Josie had thought she was crush-worthy.

Hope thinks about how very little has really changed with her – the more things change, the more things stay the same – and tries not to wonder if that means Josie might still like her.

She doesn't, she reminds herself, Josie has Penelope.

But Penelope's never inspired that darkness in Josie.

Josie would never lie to Lizzie for Penelope and yet she had for Hope.

About Hope.

Three years of Lizzie hating Hope and now she knows it's all been Josie's fault and yet...

As much as it should raise her ire; as much as it should piss her off that she was used like that – and more, that Josie torched her room; cremated what remained of her sweetest memories, of her connection to her father...

She isn't.

She doesn't think about Josie's guilt; her admission; the words are there, she's heard them and yet they're not what's caught her focus.

It's not about I started the fire; it's about I had a crush on you.

It's about how she'd burn down the world of whoever used her to hurt Lizzie like that over something so serious, so personal, but she'd forgive - betrayed as she feels - Josie doing it.

It's about how warm it makes her feel; how special, to know that someone cared when she was hurting and didn't think less of her for it – that somehow even when she was so broken, someone still found her so lovely. Still thought she was enough.

It's about how sad she is – knowing that she'd never seen it before; the way Josie's eyes must have smiled at her when they were younger – and the knowledge that if she had, Hope's response wouldn't have been as kind as Josie deserved.

She thinks about the shine of silver around Josie's neck; the graceful way her talisman hangs, the way it nestles itself perfectly against Josie's skin. She thinks about the steadiness of Josie's shoulders, the way they inclined softly to cushion Hope's head when she fell asleep against Josie in the car. She thinks about the shimmering tear-streaks on Josie's cheeks in the dark, the way Hope's heart raced beneath her skin and desperation clung to her in a vice grip that night in the cemetery. She thinks about Josie's laugh and her smile and the gentle way she nudged at Hope in the park; playful and teasing. She thinks about Josie singing; sweet and lilting and the delighted gleam in her eyes – so expressive and so enchanting.

You had a crush on me?

She thinks about Josie's little smile, the barely-there curl of her mouth and the dimple that just barely formed; the liquid warmth of her eyes and the tiny bob of her head; a quiet helplessness to Hope's gentle tease and feels her breath catch in realisation.

Of course I did. Who wouldn't?