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Boscha was also a liar. Chronically, and rhythmically, the only thing that stayed true was her body language. Boscha’s frown towards Willow were never in congruent with violent actions, often times her hand would briskly graze Willow’s when passing by, or she’d gracefully pull the pin from her hair without pulling a single hair from its root with or without magic.
Boscha was a brute most times, her grudgby persona winning out and feeding the outlook that she was all spines. But Willow knew that every Wicked Rosebill has its thorns and that if Boscha was a Rosebill then her thorns were overgrown and protective of its precious petals.
The triclops when confronted with her staring scoffed and tossed Luz Willow’s pin without a word. She couldn’t find a reasonably mean way that felt justified and intended on walking off. But it was Willow, not Luz that reached out for her arm. The moment her fingers touched Boscha the girl froze, keeping her false frown set. Willow then asked in such a worried tone “Please tell me why?” Boscha didn’t notices she was subconsciously nodding no, raising her head and taking a breath before mumbling, “Get away from me.”
Yet her hand, her soft warm pink hand slipped into Willow’s and entangled their fingers for a fraction of a moment. Her actions have always spoken louder than her words. Still, she chose to walk away, there were too many witnesses, there was too much at stake, too much change, and there were too many things she hasn’t apologized for. Boscha could only hear the sound of her and someone else’s footsteps as she walked then gathered the momentum to sprint pulling herself into the photo memory class. Willow would find her, she’s sure, but she had some time to breathe and think before looking at the girl who came from nothing and had everything.
When Willow does catch up she finds Boscha looking down, tears spurring from her eyes and blurring her vision. The triclops turns and reaches a hand not trusting her voice, her words always twisted her defense too strongly engrained into her core. Willow hesitantly offers her own hand only to find it coddled between Boscha’s. Her fingers lightly touched her knuckles and traced the word sorry on the back of her hand. Willing herself to look up at Willow, without letting go but making sure the other witch had the ability to pull away.
“You- You’re sorry?” Willow responded in surprise, Boscha flinching at the tone only for Willow to reassure with her other hand on Boscha’s wrist asking her to stay silently. “I can’t forgive everything, not yet, but you have to know you don’t have to be this way with me.”
“I don’t want to be.” Boscha crumbles, her voice wavering and tears falling free. “I don’t want to be against you but I could never be near you before and now everything is just…not the same.”
"Many things have changed Boscha, and I do have to thank you." "Thank me?" Boscha asked incredulously. "Yes, you have systematically been the constant in everything that has happened. Everyone around us has changed, everything has been built or fallen, or both, and yet you Boscha you have been exactly the same, the same attitude and the same personality. We didn't have to worry about you because you were always just you. But you were hiding all this huh?"
Boscha simply nodded and glanced away back at their hands. "You... you are allowed to hate me."
"I don't want to hate you Boscha, I never wanted to hate you."
Boscha swallows before leaning in and kissing Willow's cheek. "Just so you know, I don't want to be your friend either." She averts her gaze except for her third eye which keeps itself on Willow. A frown present on her face now makes itself comprehensible as the sort of frown one gets when holding back not from anger or frustration but from keeping her body in check. Willow blushes lightly and smiles. "Always making things difficult Boscha."