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justanotherfanwriter · 2 years

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a winter lover needs her jacket

a/n: one-shot, huntlow, unedited. I just wanted to write something. I feel it may be a bit ooc, so forgive me in advance

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“It’s not pretty to look at, is it?” Hunter asked Willow, surprising her.

She fumbled, embarrassed she had been caught staring, “Uh?”

Hunter turned his attention away from the map he was scrutinizing to smile at her. His smile was smaller then it had been in the human realm, and she didn’t think it would ever reach his eyes again.

“It’s okay, Willow,” He shrugged, “you can give it to me straight,” He gestured to his face, “ugly, right?”

Her heart dropped down into her stomach. A few weeks had passed since they had first returned to the demon realm. It had been emotional, to say the least. Heartfelt and heartbreaking, but their home, in some ways, was still here. Their small world—smaller then the human realm—seemed even smaller, broken up by the Collector and his sick, childish games, but witches were the resilient kind. The band of rebellious survivors they had been lucky enough to reunite with weren’t going down without a fight.

Today, they had set up base camp in the ruins of some town she could no longer recognize. It was a disorienting feeling, but not unfamiliar. For the most part, she swallowed down her discomfort, like she had been since the Day of Unity. It was starting to wear on her though, acting like everything was fine or going to be fine, just as she and Gus had agreed to do back in the human realm for Luz and Hunter’s sake.

Maybe if Willow could gauge how useful her part in this fight was, she’d feel better, but it seemed that even Ms. Noceda, who was quite literally a fish out of water here, knew more then she did. She recognized that these doubts and worries were just a culmination of her anxiety, but the obvious lack of transparency and trust amongst the grown-ups was slowly clawing at her sanity.

In the human realm, when it had just been the five of them, it had all felt so simple. Getting home had been their only goal, and they had all been in the same clueless boat on how to go about doing that.

Here, back home, it was like she had forgotten how frustrating everything could be, how little the adults listened, how everyone seemed to have their own secrets, and how small she actually was. Even in her own friend group, everything that should have been said was not being said. To her, it seemed there was a lot of very crucial, very important stuff to talk about, and anytime she tried talking about anything, she was kept a safe arm-length distance away.

Like for example, Hunter was a Grimwalker. At this point, she knew Luz had been aware, and was sure Gus had been too. And yet, no one was talking about it.

Or, better yet, tonight’s debriefing. No one had told her it was happening until she accidentally walked in on the tail end of it. A group of adults, including Ms. Noceda, had surrounded Luz and Hunter, talking in hushed tones and worried glances. They had disbanded when Hunter had noticed her, and Luz had tried dragging her back to Gus and Amity.

“I just need my jacket,” She had explained, shaking the other girl off, “I’ll be right out.”

And now, she had her jacket, but she wasn’t interested in leaving the tent. Instead, she stared at Hunter. Standing there, prior to being caught, she had thought about giving him a piece of her mind. It wasn’t fair, she knew why, but he hadn’t been the same after stepping through the portal. He was avoiding her, and he was making it obvious. Secrets aside, his avoidance stung. She had thought they were friends, but maybe, she had been wrong. Maybe everything in the human realm had been finite. Their relationship born out of convenience, not shared history. And maybe she could have dealt with his cold shoulder (she was unfortunately well acquainted with rejection), if he wasn’t also avoiding Gus. That was where she drew the line.

But then she thought about how lifeless and limp his body had felt across her lap, soaked to the bone with dirty graveyard pond-water, and the heart wrenching panic that had consumed her. She had thought about that moment more times then she could count. She thought about it every time Hunter left her and Gus behind, and she knew that maybe her friendship wasn’t important to him, but titan, his was important to her.

And then, of course, because how could she not, she thought about Flapjack. It was a fleeting, painful, and guilty thought. Because it was her secret. The one thing she would never admit. The relief she had felt when it had been Flapjack and not Hunter.

The thought made her sick. It killed the words sitting on her tongue, so she had stood there, and instead of saying anything at all, she had stared. What could she say to him, thinking something like that?

“Ugly?” She finally spoke after finding a handful of coherent words, “What do you mean?”

He tilted his head, smirking, “the scars. Don’t worry, they’re—” He glanced into a broken mirror, “—I get it.”

His eyebrows furrowed the same way they always did when he was mulling over anything from the insignificant ants on the sidewalk to Belos. Generally, she found it endearing. Hunter was bad at masking his emotions when he didn’t have a, well, actual mask.

She found nothing endearing about it right now. Chewing on her words, she crossed the space between them until she could lean comfortably against the table next to him. She didn’t know if she had the words she needed to explain what she had been thinking about with all of her anger, hurt, and guilt swelling, then cresting. She did know, however, that she hadn’t been standing there thinking about his looks, or lack thereof, in his opinion. She wanted to be offended that he would ever think of her as so shallow, especially after all they had been through together, if it didn’t make her so sad.

“I don’t think your scars are ugly,” She crinkled her nose, “don’t say that about yourself.”

He snorted, glancing away from her and back to the map, “sure.”

Willow frowned, trying her hardest to rationalize the way he shuffled a few inches away from her.

“You should find Luz and Gus,” he turned his head at an angle so she couldn’t see his eyes.

“Are you not coming?” She crossed her arms, trying to nonchalantly take a peek at the map he seemed so invested in, but Hunter was too quick for her. He started to fold the end closest to her up, seemingly reorganizing the space. She knew him well enough by now to know that was his polite way of dismissing her. Hunter didn’t want her to read the map, just like he hadn’t wanted her to read the book on Gravesfield’s witch hunters.

He fiddled with a stack of books, “I’ll catch up.”

“I can—“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“—wait.” She teetered off awkwardly, deflating.

She was barely able to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” That, or something like it, was all she heard from him nowadays.

“Well, okay,” She sighed, now knowing she really had been dismissed, “but Hunter?”

He turned away from her to place a few items in a chest, but hummed in acknowledgement.

She wet her lips. In truth, she still had nothing to say. They hadn’t had a chance to talk one-on-one in so long, she didn’t know where to start. She hadn’t even had the chance to personally say how sorry she was about Flapjack, but still, no words came to mind. She could find nothing to say. Or at least, nothing right to say. Things like I’m sorry, or I’m here for you, felt so...empty and impersonal. And not one hundred percent truthful. Because she wasn’t really sorry sorry. She wasn’t sorry Hunter wasn’t dead. She couldn’t decide if that was evil, or selfish, or cruel, but it was how she felt.

Instead, she blurted the next thing that came to mind. Anything was better then nothing at this point, anyway, if it meant staying in his presence just a few seconds longer.

“I’m serious.” She reached out and tugged the back of his shirt, pulling him to her, “your scars? They’re not ugly. Do…do you really think that?”

He turned slightly, putting his most prominent facial scar on display. “Well, they’re certainly not pretty. People stare; you were staring, so...” He trailed off, shrugging again.

She quirked a brow at him, tilting his chin towards her so she could look at him in full. Despite the way his eyes widened with surprise, his body followed her direction.

“Now, I’m staring,” Willow chided. She looked at him for good long minute, pursing her lips in thought as he fidgeted under her gaze before continuing, “Is there something in particular I should be looking for? Because there’s definitely no way you’re talking about my friend like that.”

There was a beat, and then Hunter snorted and rolled his eyes, “okay, har har, I get it. I’ll be nicer to your friend.”

“Thank you,” She met his smile with a wider one of her own before relaxing.

“They’re going to call for dinner soon, and I’ve got to—” he started backing away from her, but she pulled him closer, positioning him between her knees as she hopped up onto the table, Then, gently, she cupped his face between her hands, “—um, h-hi?” He finished with a nervous laugh.

Willow was too focused to really notice the way Hunter’s whole face seemed to flush as she continued her assessment of him, turning his head this way and that.

“Do they hurt?” She hummed, gently rubbing the pad of her thumb over the scar tissue of his right cheek. While there were a few bumps, she was surprised to find the skin there was extraordinarily soft.

“U-uh, no,” Hunter’s voice cracked, which usually made her giggle, “not anymore really.”

She frowned at that, “so it had, though? It had hurt?”

He shrugged, his face warm to the touch, “I’m okay.”

Don’t worry. I’m okay. It’s fine. He was always playing the martyr, she was beginning to suspect he enjoyed it. She let out an exasperated huff, shaking her head fondly before meeting his eyes.

Eye contact with Hunter never lasted long, but at this proximity, it lasted mere milliseconds. She was able to hold his gaze for maybe .5 seconds before his eyes flitted down her face then quickly to the door.

“Well, I still don’t see anything ugly, Hunter,” she teased; now, carding her fingers through his hair, pushing the fringe up and off his forehead, “just nothing.”

“Thanks, um, you too,” he said after clearing his throat, and then cringed, lips twitching into a wince as he corrected himself, “like, I mean, I don’t see anything ugly either.”

“Oh!” She teased, peering at him from over the rims of her glasses, “Was there supposed to be?”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered through another sentence, “No! No! I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve never...there’s never been anything ugly about you. You’re, uh...”

“I’m...?” Willow slipped her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, urging him on.

She was now acutely aware of the red that scrawled across his face, and it would have made her just as flustered if she didn’t know who Hunter was, and how easy it was to embarrass him. It wasn’t like he was flustered because of her, but she still enjoyed it. It felt...normal, like nothing bad was beyond the tent they stood in, just her and Hunter talking again. She didn’t want it to end.

“Pretty.” He finally choked out, settling on the same socially appropriate adjective Willow would have used to save her feelings too.

And she had the good grace to be appropriately humbled, “Aw shucks, thanks, Hunter. You’re pretty too,” He opened his mouth, likely to argue, but she talked over him, “I mean, look at your hair! It’s the palest blonde I’ve ever seen!”

His hair was still long, or maybe, now, even longer from when they had first reentered the portal back into the demon realm. Though, she would admit, she was a bit biased towards his last haircut, she liked his hair long or short. He didn’t seem to have a preference either.

She pulled her fingers through the almost shoulder length strands, marveling at how impossibly soft the tresses were.

Her attention fell back to his eyes a moment later. The difference in color was still slightly jarring, and if there was anything that she would stare at, it was that. She had grown used to his previous eye color. Actually, she had been embarrassingly fond of it.

In some lights, his eyes had glowed a reddish-pink, in others a dark mauve, and no matter what, they seemed to twinkle like precious jewels.

Willow had thought his eyes had been so interesting, she caught herself staring at them often. It should have clicked earlier that he was a Grimwalker. In the abomination track, she had learned about the fabled “creature.” While Grimwalkers weren’t abominations, since Grimwalkers were sentient, the process in which they were created involved the same magical techniques, plus a significant amount of complicated wild magic involving the other magic tracks that Emperor Belos had banned long ago.

(The irony was not lost on her.)

The magic behind Grimwalkers was about the only thing she could confidently say she paid attention to during her time in the abomination track, and that was because it was the only time an abomination Professor mentioned plant magic, so of course, she had paid attention.

Now, his eye color was brown. A good brown. The color was a warm kind of brown that felt less exotic and more homey, and made her think of honey, and for whatever reason, hugs. Or at least, soft things, which she had come to associate with Hunter now as opposed to the sharp and jaded boy she had met all those months ago.

“Your eye color was so pretty before, but this color,” she paused, smiling at him as she again pushed his hair off his face, “I think it really suits you.”

It was her turn to break eye contact, hoping her tone hadn’t admitted too much.

She was in luck, he didn’t notice a thing. Instead, his face twisted and he looked away. Hunter from the human realm was gone in an instant, leaving behind Hunter from the demon realm.

“Caleb had brown eyes,” Hunter spat, pulling away from her, though not far enough that he had stepped away from her entirely.

Willow bit the inside of her cheek. Hunter had never mentioned Caleb before, at least, not to her, but she was semi-aware of who the man was thanks to a bunch of half-whispered gossip and context clues. It was obvious how much this admission tore him up, and she was, again, confronted with the horrifying fact that she had nothing to say to that.

Willow had her dad’s eyes. She was smart enough to know this wasn’t anything like that.

However, she could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, and every second that ticked by where she didn’t say something, his features only grew darker. This, she felt, was a crucial moment, and she had to say the right thing, so she decided to tell him her honest truth.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.”

“What?” He asked after a beat of the absolute heaviest silence she had ever had the displeasure of sitting through.

“Flapjack had brown eyes.” She repeated, “And I...I see who I know in you, and I knew Flapjack, and those are his eyes. Not Caleb’s. And they,” She tried again, taking a deep breath, “they suit you.”

“Flapjack’s?” He echoed, his voice very small and very far away.

“Mhm, and anyway, I may not know who this Caleb guy is, but,” Willow shrugged with what she hoped was a bashful smile, “still not bad looking.”

He didn’t respond to that right away either, but he no longer looked like he was ready to attack, and she counted that as a personal win. With a sigh that could have also been a laugh, he ran his fingers through his hair, and she watched the lock of hair that had never know any kind of rhyme or reason, pop out and fall back down across his face.

“Hunter?” She twisted a finger around the forlorn lock and gave it the slightest tug, watching as Hunter’s pupil’s dilated, “We’ll see you at dinner, right?”

“Yep,” He breathed, swallowing, and then gestured to the mess around them, “I just, um,” His eyes fluttered closed and he shook his head, thinking something she wasn’t privy to, “gotta put this stuff away.”

Understanding this was his polite way of asking for a moment, Willow hopped off the table. Given how close Hunter was to her, their chests grazed against each other as she stood and she could feel her face tingle with a sudden, embarrassed warmth. Sometimes she forgot how much space she could take up, but he didn’t move away.

“Don’t take too long, okay?” She said, peering up at him over her glasses once again, “We miss you.” And then she realized, if she didn’t say what she really meant, she’d never find the courage to say it later on, so quickly, she corrected herself, “I miss you. A lot. So, stop avoiding me, okay?”

“I’m not av—”

She put a finger to his lips, shushing him, “You could be Boscha’s Grimwalker for all I cared, but you’re Hunter to me, so no more, okay?”

He nodded with an unwavering gaze, and didn’t so much as whisper, but moved his lips against her finger, “Okay.”

Willow let her finger fall away from his mouth, and winked, “see ya at dinner then.”

“Yeah,” He nodded again, “see you then.”

She smiled, giving his lock of hair one more playful tug before saying her final airy goodbye.

“Byeee,” He copied, waving as she walked out of the tent.

It wasn’t until later that night, while in the dinner line with Gus, mulling over her conversation with Hunter, that she realized she had forgotten something crucial.

”Willow!” Gus cried out in surprise as she smacked her forehead, “What the heck!”

“I forgot my jacket!”

———————————————

Hunter watched Willow leave with his heart lodged hard and fast in his throat. When the tent flap fell down behind her, he allowed himself to suck in a gulp of much needed air, melting into a random chair like a puddle.

“Whoa,” he breathed, still sinking with relief as the areas Willow—Willow Park—had touched and caressed, tingled, and he licked his lips.

Then, he pinched the top of his hand, hard, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He registered the pain, heard himself hiss, but still couldn’t believe it. Good things didn’t just happen to him like that?

Without thinking, he glanced at the broken mirror hanging to his side. Its once smooth surface now had a million fissures shooting off in different directions, likely damaged when the Collector had first attacked, and a cracked reflection stared back at him. This time he didn’t see the face of a man he didn’t know, but himself. A deep red flush that traveled from the tips of his ears down to the base of his neck was just beginning to fade as his heartbeat evened out. He forced himself to take another deep breath, gaze falling to his mouth, only for him to blush again as he thought of the measly few inches Willow’s mouth had been from his own.

Again, he looked at the whole of his face. His. Not Caleb’s. And breathed, enjoying the pink of his cheeks, why it was there, and the excited gleam in his eye. He hadn’t looked so alive in a good few weeks. The last time he had enjoyed what he had seen in the mirror, he had been in the broken down “club house” back in the human realm with Flapjack.

His gladerstone-heart-thing let out a hard pang at the thought of his palisman. He felt guilty all of the sudden, that he could even fathom enjoying anything at all without his very first loved one right by his side. Tears gathered quickly in the corner of his eyes—

No.

Flapjack’s eyes.

Willow’s words echoed in his head, making him smile all over again as he stared a little deeper into his irises. After awhile, he let out a little whistle, like the one Flapjack did when he said hello, and just the sound of it forced a laugh—thick with tears—from his mouth.

“Hey buddy,” he sniffled at his reflection, wiping snot away with the back of his hand. “I miss you.”

He knew from personal experience how nice that was to hear.

#huntlow #I doubt they’ll get an actual minute together in the last two episodes #I think it’s gonna be one of those ambiguous relationships~#but I can dream #and come on he almost died in her lap they deserve a moment #willow's a semi-unreliable narrator #guess why

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