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Oona misses Ramona. Two months, sixty days, and she thinks it might be the one genuine thing she's felt.
It's in the empty house visible across the lake, the freezing cold of her shoulder as she sits by the docks, the restless twitch of her empty hand.
She had done it, ironically, to save herself the hurt, to get ahead of it. How funny.
She doesn't care, anymore, about Ramona's future, or her freedom. She doesn't care about the distance, about New York, about everything that Ramona will have available to her. She cares about the vacant silhouette in her bed, and she hates herself for it.
She hates herself more for ever letting her go.
And so nothing changes, for two months, because Oona is too selfish to let her go, and too cowardly to call her back.
She drinks, mostly. She goes out and she drinks and she pretends that she's going to take the first girl who flirts with her home. She ignores the ghost of Ramona's touch, the lingering warmth it left, and the flinch everytime anyone else touches her, as though her body knows, decides, that it's wrong.
She can't even look at anyone else anymore, not without seeing Ramona. She can barely look at herself, barely touch herself, without seeing the empty space beside her, the missing half of herself.
It sucks. She's drunk, she's horny, and she's fucking miserable. The season turns, and summer ends. Oona, unwillingly, is dragged along with it.
Sully tries. Annie does too, even though Oona thinks she should hate her. She'd hate anyone who treated Maple this way.
They stay with her, prop her up as she stumbles, ply her with water, and ignore every tear that finds it's way past her drunken nonchalance, and Oona wishes, desperately, that any of it was enough. It isn't. It never will be. Only one thing will be.
Her fingers learn the pattern. Phone. Swipe Up. Photos. Ramona. Ramona. Ramona.
She lies in her bed and she stares at the pictures, the evidence, of everything she threw away. Seventeen, she thinks, is not too soon for your first lifelong regret.
"Fuck," she mutter, aloud, a release. "Fuck."
The Ramona on her screen is scowling, glaring somewhere just past the camera, her brows furrowed determinedly; but her lips. Her lips are curled, softened, a stubborn, relentless reminder of her happiness. And her eyes. God, her eyes. It's enough, always, for Oona to believe that Ramona really did love her. (Not enough, ever, for Oona to believe she would have stayed.)
She opens her message thread with Ramona, another familiar track. There's nothing, for months.
"Ramona," she mumbles, and she can taste salt and tequila. "Please, Mona. Please."
Ramona, who is miles away, exactly where Oona sent her, does not answer.
Another voice message then, sobbed into her phone, deleted seconds later like a coward.
"Ramona." Her thumb trembles on the button. "I miss you so much, baby. I never should've- I wish I'd been selfish. I'm sorry." She wipes furiously at her eyes. "I know you're- I know you're having fun, in New York, but I need you. I want you so bad."
She takes heaving, shuddering breaths into the receiver, pressing the heels of her palms sharply into her eyes.
"I can't," she sobs. "I keep trying, but I just can't. No one else-" It's half hiccup, half sob. "I haven't touched anyone else. I never will. Never. I can't even- myself. Just you. You."
She exhales heavily, suddenly exhausted, leaden. "I'm sorry, Ramona. I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry."
And she throws her phone to the side, deletes the message without a second glance, and cries until she falls asleep.
Oona wakes unhappily, unwillingly. She's unsettled, drenched in sweat, and her head is pounding. Her eyes filter open slowly, reluctantly, and she groans into her pillow.
The pounding, she realises, as she buries her face into her pillow, is not only in her head. There's an urgent thumping sounding through her room, coming from the door of the boat.
"Piss off!" she yells, voice croaky, and pulls the covers up over her head. Still, the thumping persists. "Fucking hell," she grumbles, then louder, "come back later!"
The knocking does not faulter, not for a moment. If anything, it becomes more frantic, and Oona groans.
It is by the grace of god that she manages to roll out of bed, sliding off the mattress and standing on shaky legs. She stumbles out of her room towards the door, stopping only for a pair of sunglasses "Are you serious," she mutters, snatching at the door handle, yanking it open. "The fucking audacity. Genuinely what could be so important…?"
Behind the door, fist raised, brows furrowed, hair tangled in a wild, windswept mess, is Ramona. Oona's words, barbed, die on her tongue.
"Mona?" she breathes out, staggering backwards, clutching desperately at the door for stability.
Ramona freezes, arm hanging limply in the air, before she snaps it back to her side. "Oona," she stammers. "Hey."
Oona feels dizzy. "How?" She wants to coil around Ramona and squeeze tighter and tighter so that she can never leave again. "Are you…? Why-?"
"I got your voice note," Ramona blurts, rocking forward with the force of it.
"My…" Oona blanches. Tequila and crying and holy fucking shit the voice note. The deleted one. The piles of deleted ones. The singular, relevant one, which in fact was not at all deleted and was very much sent. "Oh fuck."
"And you, you sounded upset," Ramona barrels on, as though she's barely heard Oona, "and you said… yeah, and I just- I really wanted to see you." At Oona's unmoving expression, she winces, then tags on, "so I flew here."
Oona's mouth drops open. "You flew here?"
Ramona flushes, eyes dropping to her feet. Even now, Oona adores her. "Yeah."
"How?"
Ramona purses her lips. "Well, I sort of just went to the airport. Asked for their earliest flight. Paid, like, a shit ton of money." She shrugs. "So. Yeah."
"You- I-" Oona stares. "For me?"
In front of her, Ramona seems to deflate. "Yeah." It's quiet, and it gives Oona a reason to take two steps forward, to be reeled in to Ramona's presence. "I- yeah. For you, Oona."
When Oona blinks, she feels wet matte in her eyelashes. "Why? You haven't- for two months."
"Neither have you." Ramona crosses her arms, closes herself off. Oona wonders when she'll ever get it right.
"I know," she says, and she doesn't mean for it to sound quite so miserable. "I'm sorry."
Ramona seems surprised by the admission, brows twitching as she watches Oona closely. Oona, also, is surprised at it. She is, it seems, closer to desperation than fear.
"Did you," Oona clears her throat. "Do you want to come in?"
She takes a step back, making space for Ramona to fit by her, and Ramona's arm shoots out to grab her. Warm fingers close around her wrist and Oona freezes.
"You… In the voice note." Ramona isn't looking at her, but her fingers are only gripping tighter. "You said. You said- Did you mean it?"
Oona turns back, opens her body to Ramona. "Mona," she says gently, "I was drunk."
"Oh," Ramona says.
The warmth drops from her wrist and Oona panics, snatches at the receding hand, bringing it between both of hers. "No!" she says, frantic. "Not like- I didn't mean-" Ramona isn't pulling back anymore, and she breathes. "I don't remember," she says. "I was drunk, and I don't know what I said. That's all."
Ramona exhales, a shaky thing, and Oona wants. "You said you missed me. You want me. You… you love me."
"Oh," Oona breathes out.
Ramona nods, mouth a hard line. "Yeah."
"I- Ramona," she starts, and it ruins her that just her tone is enough for Ramona to understand, to tense, to withdraw. "I can't," she pleads. Understand, she thinks, just understand me, please. "If you're just- If you're just going to leave again. I can't."
"I'm not-!"
"You are!" Oona presses, and it's cruel and accusing and she doesn't want it to be. "You have a, a life, Ramona! Friends. Family. In New York! You can't leave that, and I know that, and I just. I can't."
"Fucking hell, Oona," Ramona sneers. She yanks her hand back and it is probably the most gruesome thing Oona has ever seen; she'd rather lose her own, she thinks. "I- I flew three hours! In the middle of the night! Because- because you were upset," she bites out, "and you wanted me. So. Here I am!"
She spreads her arms wide with a horrible, self deprecating scoff. "I can't believe I thought you meant it," she mutters, bitter.
"Don't do that," Oona says, voice shaking. Her calm confidence, a certainty of how things would and will be, is gone, drowned bit by bit over two months of sinking. "You're the one whose leaving. Not me."
"And I came back!" Ramona exclaims. "You didn't even have to ask, Oona! God," she growls, "you are- you are so fucking blind."
"What?"
"You want me to go, so I leave, and then you're upset. You want me to come back, so I come, and then you push me away." She shakes her head, a frustrated huff leaving her mouth. "I'm not the one whose leaving! If you really don't want this, just tell me, okay? I'm not a child; I can take it."
"No, Mona, what?" Oona rushes out. "Of course I want you. I don't- It's all I want."
"Then why won't you take it?" Ramona exclaims, jabbing an aggressive, exhausted finger at Oona, then lets it drop heavily. "Or," she continues, flatter, "at least, just, try."
Oona doesn't think she knows how to. Ramona sighs.
"You said, in the voice note, that there won't be anyone else. Just me." Ramona swallows. "Did you mean that?"
Oona nods frantically. "Yes. God, yes. I've never felt this way about anyone, Ramona."
Ramona nods and, slowly, purposefully, as though it takes great effort, unfolds one arm from over her chest and reaches out for Oona's hand. She stops inches away, and waits. It isn't even a decision for Oona to close the distance, to take Ramona's hand and twist it into hers.
"Then I don't understand," Ramona murmurs, "why you'd do this to yourself. If you mean it, if you really feel that way about me, why isn't this worth the risk to you?"
"Ramona," Oona whispers, "you're leaving. I can't ask you to stay. It's not fair."
"I don't want you to." Ramona sounds tired. "I want you to let me come back."
It's a quiet, pathetic thing when Oona manages to say it. "But what if you don't?"
Ramona steps forward and loops both arms under her shoulders, pulls her closer, slides one palm up to the back of Oona's head and then Oona is enveloped in her. "I already have," she murmurs, gentle, against Oona's ear.
Oona turns and buries her face in Ramona's shoulder, tears seeping off her face into Ramona's shirt, and she collapses against her. "I'm sorry," she gasps, "I want to. I want to try. But I can't put this on you. It's not yours to carry."
"No." Ramona presses a soft kiss to her neck, and Oona melts. "It's not." Another one. "But you are." One more, to the crook of her jaw. "If you want?"
God, Oona wants. "Are you sure?"
Ramona clings tighter. "Certain."
"How?"
"Because," Ramona pulls back, gives her a wry smile, "I love you." She cups her hand against Oona's jaw, strokes once over her cheekbone. "I really, really love you."
Oona searches her face desperately, finds everything, and then thinks, fuck it, and kisses her.
Ramona surges up to meet her, crashing into her desperately. Her other hand comes up to grab at Oona's face and tug her down, closer, as she crushes the wet heat of her mouth against Oona's. Oona gasps, reaching blindly for Ramona's waist, curling her finger's greedily around her hips.
Oona licks into her mouth messily, pressing close to Ramona, swallowing the little grunt from Ramona. It's as dizzying as it always has been to have Ramona like this, like the first time, like every time after.
"Ramona," she whispers against reddened lips. Her eyes are closed, other senses heightened, and she can feel the wisp of Ramona's unsteady breath over her face.
"I'm here," Ramona says, forehead glued to Oona's. "I'm here."
And then they're kissing again, Ramona backing her into the boat with needy, searching steps. Her hands slide backwards into Oona's hair, tangling, and Oona groans. Against her mouth, she can feel the smug uptick of Ramona's lips as she tugs again, gets a deeper, rougher moan in response.
"Shut up," Oona mutters, in between suffocating kisses, and Ramona has to break away from her to smother her laugh in Oona's shoulder.
"Nooo," Oona whines, wrapping her arms around Ramona's torso, "no laughing. More kissing," but she makes no move to pull Ramona back up, and she becomes aware that there's a soft, aching smile on her face as she gazes down at Ramona.
"Hey." She pokes Ramona in the side and Ramona's laugh filters into a grumble.
"Mmh?" She twists her neck to look up at Oona, resting her chin on Oona's sternum.
"I really missed you," she says, tucking a stray strand of Ramona's hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry that it took two months and a whole bottle of tequila to reach out." Ramona is so soft like this, in Oona's arms, that trademark frown smoothed out. "I wish I'd done it sooner."
Ramona hums, a small smile fixed on her lips. "Yeah. Me too. I wish… I wish it hadn't ended like that, so… quickly. If I'd just stayed, or- or found you that morning," she sighs, "I think we would have worked it out."
Oona winces. "I actually, uh, asked Maple to lie to you."
"What?"
"I was there," she says, bracing, "in the morning." Ramona is frowning again - cons - but she's still settled in Oona's embrace - pros. "I didn't want to hold you back. Which," she rushes, "I know, now, was stupid. It was either or, to me. Leave or stay."
Ramona's face works through something that is expressed entirely in various eyebrow furrows, and then she sighs, turning and letting her cheek rest over Oona's heart. "It was."
"What?"
"Stupid," Ramona continues, "but I forgive you. I don't want to argue anymore."
Oona swallows. "Okay."
"Okay," Ramona agrees. "So. More kissing?"
Oona laughs despite herself, tension seeping out with it, and steps back, trading the embrace for her hand twined with Ramona's. "Insatiable," she teases, tugging Ramona towards her room.
"And?" Ramona follows her happily, smile smug, brow quirked.
"And nothing," she says, shutting the door behind them. "No complaints. In my life. Ever. Never had anything bad to say-"
Ramona smothers the words with a kiss, laughing into her mouth, pushing her back towards the bed. "Shut up," she says, rolling her eyes. "You are so stupid."
Oona falls back onto the bed with a dramatic floomph, propping herself up on one elbow and watching Ramona stalk towards her. "Your stupid," she grins, a little lovestruck.
Ramona rolls her eyes harder. "That," she says, pointing down at her, "is disgustingly cringe," and she settles herself in Oona's lap.
"So you hated it?"
Ramona's mouth twists into an adorable little knot as she considers it. "I'll tolerate it," she decides, and Oona's response dies as Ramona places a finger over her lips. "As long as you shut up now, and kiss me."
Oona, with the prettiest girl she's ever seen sat in her lap, decides that she'll do just that.