Archive of Our Own

Once upon a time, Marcy Wu had crushed on Sasha Waybright. 

It hadn’t been that big of a deal. After all, Sasha has always been one of Marcy’s closest - and only - friends, ever since she had bravely defended her and Anne on a playground and cemented a lifelong friendship in the process. Marcy had immediately idolized her, because Sasha had been just so strong, and so brave, and so determined to help people she barely knew, and it had drawn Marcy in like a moth to a flame. Nobody had ever defended her so willfully before, not even her parents, and it caught her interest even as a kid. 

And then they grew up, and things got… intensely more complicated. 

Now, it’s senior year, and Marcy has moved on, capital M. She’s given herself distance from the people she loved the most so she could find her own footing, she’s thrown herself into her passions, she heads the chess club and she’s doing just fine on her own for the first time in her life. Sure, she’s maintained her friendship with Anne, but after years and years of being an awkward third wheel, she had Moved. On. 

So why is it that she’s here, sitting at the lunch table with her study partner, ears burning red as the speakers blare some vague, generic love song with none other than the Sasha Waybright standing in front of her? 

“Call me crazy,” her study partner whispers, “but I think Waybright’s asking you to prom.” 

Impossible, Marcy thinks, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. That can’t be what’s happening, cause Sasha is supposed to ask Anne like she’s always talked about. I accepted this already, what– what is she doing? 

“Marcy Wu,” Sasha croons, and everyone is watching them, eyes on the most popular girl in school as she makes her move, setting the stage for promposals all across the board. “Will you do me the absolute honor of being my date to prom?” 

People nearby are whispering. There are bystanders, staring at Marcy, and she can feel the heat of their judgement bearing down on her. The back of her neck sweats, and Marcy inhales, exhales, her breathing coming up choked and ragged despite how much she sucks down air. She feels frozen in time, or maybe the world has sped up beyond her comprehension, she doesn’t think she knows the difference at this point. 

Her study partner places a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Marcy?” Sasha questions, head tilted, cocky smile on her face like she’s planned this, she’s accounted for Marcy’s misery, this is all some messed up scheme to belittle her for abandoning their friendship, Marcy understands it now– 

-so she does the only sensible thing she can think to do. 

Marcy runs. 

~~ 

Here’s the thing: two years ago, this would’ve been Marcy’s wildest dream. 

Sophomores weren’t allowed to attend prom on their own, but the school would throw a giant winter formal, and Marcy had nervously, anxiously created her own measly little poster, had meticulously plotted every detail, had steeled herself to arrive at school early to corner Sasha. 

She had planned everything, and yet hadn’t taken into account the cold dread sinking into her skin when she pulled up to the school, when she peeked into the locker room she knows Sasha hangs out in before class, only to find her bragging to her friends about how she’s going to ask out Anne tomorrow. 

None of them had seen her. Marcy had clutched her poster to her chest, had turned, and she had done what she does best– fled. 

She had given up, after that. She had already been pulling away from Sasha and the pathetic, hopeless crush that had plagued their relationship, and she had been pulling away from Anne too because a part of her could not stand to watch her best friend get everything she had ever wanted for herself. It all made sense– Anne, perfect Anne, with her boundless energy and infinite kindness and social skills beyond anything Marcy could comprehend… she would be the one to catch, the one to win over, because loving Anne is easy. 

And Marcy couldn’t really begrudge Sasha of that, of loving Anne, so she hadn’t. She had fled not just from the scene of her passion crime but also from the friendship, citing her studies, her academics, her college applications. Anne had protested, but Sasha pointedly had not, and now, two years later, Marcy has acquaintances, she has people she studies with, she has… friends. 

Two years later, and she doesn’t need Sasha’s approval or her attention anymore. Maybe Marcy Wu was always meant to fly solo, despite her best efforts. 

…or maybe not. 

~~ 

She finds herself in the library, sinking to her knees as soon as the door closes. 

The school library has always been a huge comfort for her. When she couldn’t bear the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes on her at all times, she had escaped here, hidden herself in the back of the room where nothing but shelves and shelves of literature could keep her company. Only one of her newfound friends knows where to find her– well, them and Anne, who had always taken Marcy lunch when she lost track of time alone. 

Anne isn’t here now, though, and Marcy collapses into her preferred table all the way in the back corner of the library with an exhausted groan. Her hands are trembling as she drops her bag down on the floor next to her, and she’s barely thinking as she tugs her sketchbook out of it, pencil already in hand. 

The school counselor had told her, once, that drawing out her feelings could be good for her. Marcy hasn’t seen the woman since the beginning of sophomore year, but most of her lessons had stuck with her, helping her navigate a world she’d never been taught. Since then, she’s carried a sketchbook around with her, full of doodles to help her pay attention in classes she wasn’t as interested in and keep her mind off of her own troubles. 

“I can’t believe she wanted to ask me to prom,” she whispers to herself as she sketches, letting the horror of what she had don sink in– she ran away. She ran away from Sasha Waybright. If she cared at all for her social status, she’d be dead meat right about now, because who in their right mind turns down a queen bee like Sasha Waybright? 

But that doesn’t matter. There’s no way that Sasha actually wants to go with her. The entire ordeal was probably some half-cooked idea from one of the cheerleaders, wanting to publicly embarrass the valedictorian for senior year. Marcy clicks her tongue, and despite how awful the idea of public humiliation is to her… it’s better than letting herself believe for a second that Sasha is actually, finally returning feelings for her. It’s two years too late for that. 

I said no, Marcy reminds herself, it’ll all blow over tomorrow. I bet Sasha will move onto the next viable candidate for prom date, and I can go back to my own life. Easy peasy. 

~~ 

It is not, in fact, easy peasy. 

Marcy goes to school the next day like normal. She texts her study partner that they can meet in the science labs for lunch today– she doesn’t really want to face her peers after yesterday’s debacle, even if she wrongfully believes everything is over, said and done. She makes it through her first few classes with no issue, although she can feel the eyes on her everywhere she goes, and she thinks if she listens closely enough she can hear the whispers of her name, too. 

She has eyes on her all the time anyways, though, so she ignores it. After all, class rankings had came out at the beginning of the semester, meaning that everyone and their sister knows that dorky, socially awkward Marcy Wu is this class’s valedictorian. The attention is… not the best, but it’s the most that Marcy has ever had on her at one time, and there’s still a part of her deep down that craves the friendship of old, a part of her that has been withering away ever since she pulled away from Anne. 

But she makes it through the day– partly, anyways. She makes it all the way until right before her lunch period. 

Marcy hums to herself absent-mindedly as she rummages through her locker. She doesn’t use it all the time, but she promised herself she’d bring her chem notes to the lab to study for college entrance exams, even though she’s not taking chemistry right now, and that means sorting through her old binders for the one she had as a sophomore. 

It takes… some digging (she has kept far too many of her old binders, and her preference for certain colors means they all look the same– she has got to start coding her binders better when she’s in college) before she locates the right one, and she tugs it out with a satisfied laugh, hugging it to her chest one-handed and shutting her locker– 

–only for it to slam hard , smacked shut by a painfully familiar hand. 

"Hey," Sasha grins, her smile prideful from behind the absolutely absurd bouquet of flowers she boasts. 

"Oh my god," Marcy whispers. 

"Listen, I know the proposal earlier was too much," Sasha says, and she tosses her head a little, chin high and gaze a bit too intense for Marcy's liking- she looks down at the floor instead. "But I was being serious. Come to prom with me?" 

There's a note in the blue, blue flowers. Marcy swallows, and though she's already pressed against the lockers, she squirms, every muscle in her body screaming at her to escape the situation like she had before. 

"This is... so sudden," she stammers, weakly mustering a smile. "I mean... the flowers. They're-" 

"Bluebells and periwinkles," Sasha beams, like there is nothing wrong with this, like blue hasn't been Anne's color since the eighth grade.  "Come on, Marce, it'll be so fun! You, on my arm for the night..." 

...she keeps talking, but Marcy drowns her out. There's a queasy, sickly feeling in her stomach, and she's really dizzy all of a sudden, her heart pounding as she contemplates the idea of being a thing on Sasha's arm, like a prize to be won, and comes to a horrifying conclusion. 

Two years ago, this is all she had ever wanted. 

Today, the bell rings, and Marcy uses the suddenness of it all to push her way out of Sasha's entrapment, skirting around her with an apologetic half-glance. "Sorry Sash, let me think about it, gotta go!" she proclaims, panicky and rushed, and she darts away as fast as her feet will take her. 

If Sasha stands there like an idiot afterwards, drooping like a kicked puppy in defeat... well, it's not like Marcy notices. 

~~ 

So it’s a thing now. 

Marcy barely makes it to the science labs before collapsing into a stool, slumping to the table with a loud groan. “Sasha Waybright wants to take me to prom,” she wails, dramatic and whiny. 

“Is that really a bad thing?” Her study partner asks, raising an eyebrow at her. “Most people would kill for that, you’d be the talk of the town.” 

“I don’t want to be the talk of the town,” Marcy snaps, rubbing her temples with two fingers as she drops the binder she had brought to the table. “I just want…” 

…I want Sasha to actually like me. 

Not like this. 

“...I have too much respect for myself to agree to be Sasha Waybright’s arm candy just so that I can be ridiculed and laughed at all night,” she says instead, because the thought of even admitting her former feelings for Sasha to someone else has her shuddering, the nausea bubbling back up. 

“If she wants you to go with her, she’s not going to stop,” Her study partner points out. 

“Well, eventually prom will pass and she’ll have no reason to keep pestering me,” Marcy says, with a weak smile. “I can manage until then. Now come on, I really wanted to go over the different reactions again.” 

Sasha’s gonna have to try a lot harder than by giving me blue flowers, she tells herself, satisfied with her reaction. I am not going to let her get the best of me. Not this time. 

~~ 

The problem now, of course, is that everyone knows of Sasha’s intentions. 

If they didn’t know from the initial proposal during lunch… and if they didn’t catch wind of the second proposal at Marcy’s lockers… they definitely know when Marcy walks into school the next day to her locker, only to be greeted with a giant poster taped across it. There are stupid little doodles of what might be herself holding hands with a creature that could be Sasha, and across the top in sparkly red letters reads: MARCY WU: PREPARE TO BE WU-ED. 

It’s so stupid it could be endearing if it weren’t so… 

so… 

…so public. 

Marcy flushes a red as bright as the letters on the poster. Sasha herself isn’t around for this one - probably so that she wouldn’t have to risk Marcy balling up the poster and throwing it in her face - but everyone else is watching her, waiting to see her reactions. 

Stupid. It’s all so stupid. 

Marcy tears the poster down as her cheeks heat, and she stuffs it into her bag, swallowing bitterly. She can hear whispers from around her, and they have her skin crawling. 

It isn’t enough that Sasha wants to make a fool out of her by dragging her to prom. No, apparently public humiliation is the name of the game: why else would she leave something like this so public? Where everyone can see her intentions and wait for Marcy’s reactions? 

“Sounds like that’s another no,” she hears someone mutter from behind her. “Waybright’s playing a dangerous game here.” 

“Maybe it’s Wu who’s playing the dangerous game,” someone else says in the same low, muttering tone. “Why else would she keep rejecting Sasha? I mean, who does that?” 

“Someone playing hard to get,” the first person snickers. 

Marcy grits her teeth, and she spins on her heel. She can’t bring herself to make eye contact with the people gossiping, but she does throw her head high - even as her skin tingles, goosebumps pricking along her arms like the anxiety eating at her soul - and she forces her way through the crowd to get to her first class. 

The poster remains, virtually untouched, in her bag. 

~~ 

At lunch, when she sits down at her preferred table, the spot next to her is immediately taken with a loud bang, and Marcy groans. 

“Sash, I really don’t–” 

“--you have quite the nerve, standing up Waybright like that,” the girl croons. She isn’t someone that Marcy has ever seen before, all dark hair and dark clothes and spikes. It’s a fashion type reminiscent of middle school emo days, not for senior year of high school, but Marcy would never actually begrudge someone of their clothes– even if she hadn’t invited this girl to sit with her. 

“I mean, it isn’t… hard?” Marcy attempts, the words lodging in her throat anxiously. Her study partner isn’t here– probably spending the period in the labs again, which means that Marcy is painfully alone. 

“It’s awfully brave, and it gives us little guys a chance! I mean, if Sasha Waybright has been trying to ask out the likes of you, surely it means we all stand a chance at getting her attention,” the girl sighs dreamily. “Say, you wouldn’t mind putting in a good word for me? I’d gladly take your place.” 

Something flares inside of Marcy, and she huffs, rolling her eyes. “If you knew anything about Sasha, it’s that she’s so stubborn she won’t listen to a “good word”; why do you think she has persisted in her promposals? So as much as I would love the help… no thanks.”

The girl is gaping at her, but Marcy ignores it to shove away, storming away from her own lunch table with her lunch bag still in hand, and something akin to dread settles where the anger had rested as she marches into the library once again. For all of her bravado, she’s never actually told someone off before– preferring to let everything sit on the surface but not sink into her. In fact, with her own social incompetence, she very rarely picks up on the sarcasm and the overt malice in the tones of others, but she’s spent the week riled up and she’s gotten better and for once, she hadn’t missed it. 

The nerve of people! 

Marcy drops into her table with a groan. 

This is exactly why she hadn’t wanted the publicity. The goth girl would only be the first; after all, Sasha has male and female admirers all throughout the school! Hundreds upon hundreds of people who are now scorning Marcy for having the audacity to turn Sasha down– but they don’t know her like Marcy does. Nobody knows Sasha like Marcy does, not even Anne. 

If only she were being genuine, Marcy wishes, and while it isn’t a thought she allows herself to process very often, she sinks into that fantasy today, squeezing her eyes shut. Like this, she can recall the pictures that she so frequently visited when she was younger– ones where she is on Sasha’s arm, has those intense eyes and aloof smile directed on her and her alone, ones where Sasha is the one who sweeps her off of her feet and carries her everywhere for the sake of it, laughing at Marcy’s protests… 

…it’s wishful thinking, and Marcy doesn’t let herself linger on the images for too long, but sometimes it’s nice to pretend she lives in a world where she can be loved. 

~~ 

Marcy doesn’t drive to school. 

She barely drives at all, actually. Driving - especially in this city - terrifies her, as much as it would grant her freedom to do as she pleases. She’s done the required hours for her license, but nothing more, living in constant fear that she’s going to do something stupid and make some dumb mistakes. So no, she doesn’t drive; in fact, she usually takes the bus, save for the days she needs to get to school early and thus instead just walks. 

Today, though, it’s the bus, and she’s halfway to the bus loading area when her wrist is grabbed. It’s startling enough that Marcy jumps half out of her skin, whipping her head around just in time to catch the sheepish look in Sasha’s eyes before it steels into faux swagger. 

“Marcy,” Sasha greets, casually, like she hasn’t been actively making Marcy’s life a living hell for the past three days. “Headed to the bus?” 

Marcy frowns at the place where Sasha’s hand encircles her wrist. “You know I take the bus home,” she says, tugging lightly at the connection. It works; Sasha glances down and winces, and then she’s letting Marcy go, though she clearly wants a conversation. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Sasha says, and she smiles something arrogant and prideful. “Come on, Marce. Let me drive you home.” 

Sasha, as the total opposite of Marcy, had been overeager to learn to drive. She had gotten her license and her first car the minute she turned sixteen, and has been driving to and from school ever since. Marcy knows– because Sasha had only kept her passenger seat free of clutter and bags, and that seat had been reserved for Anne since sophomore year. 

“No Anne?” she tries to joke about it, but it comes off flat, disbelieving, and she is disbelieving.

“Anne’s real busy nowadays.” Sasha waves her hand flippantly, and she offers her arm. “Come on, Mars, I know you don’t like the bus as much as you might say you do.” 

And Marcy, heavens help her, still can’t say no to Sasha on matters like this. She swallows, and takes Sasha’s arm, glancing stubbornly at the floor as Sasha smiles triumphantly and guides them both to the parking lot instead. 

Sasha’s car - a bright pink convertible, in true Sasha fashion - is sleek and parked real close to the entrance, and Sasha herself seems entirely too pleased with herself. She’s probably just happy I said yes, Marcy thinks sourly, even though she really hadn’t actually said yes, had just let herself be swept along like the damsel in distress she used to be. Still, when they get to the car, Sasha’s opening the passenger side door all chivalrously and shit, and it isn’t like Marcy lives very far from the school so the ride doesn’t even last all that long. 

It’s awkward. Sasha clearly wants to say something, but Marcy shrinks into the seat and stares out the window the entire time. Maybe I should invest in headphones, she muses to herself. If I’m gonna be doing this more often. 

“I don’t mind, you know,” Sasha says, when they near her house. “Taking you home. Or picking you up, either; literally, your house is on the way from mine. So… what do you say? You’ll never have to take the bus again.” 

“If this is your attempts at “wu-ing” me, you’re not doing a very good job,” Marcy says flatly, and she snorts at the way Sasha’s expression constricts. “Besides, my schedule’s erratic– you got lucky.” 

And with that, she slides out of the car, the door slamming behind her. 

~~ 

When Marcy was younger, Anne would gush about boys all the time. 

She never actually seemed all that interested in them herself– but maybe that was just Marcy reading things wrong. She hadn’t quite understood the hype herself, but Anne would always choose the cheesy romance movies, and she obsessed with all the teen crush magazines, and she would beg Marcy to pick her favorite male heartthrob out of a lineup of movie stars that Marcy genuinely could not care less about… and Marcy would do it, because she loved her friend, but she never understood it. 

She understands more now, she thinks. She thinks she might want to be genuinely romanced, the way that any girl in the movies are. She wants that for herself, because she can’t imagine herself ever actually making moves, and besides, she longs for love– what better way to prove she’s loved than by being swept off her feet? 

But this, she thinks, as she stares at the newest sign on her locker, is not what she had in mind. 

ARE YOU A VEGETABLE? it reads in the same giant, sparkly red letters as before, BECAUSE I THINK YOU’RE A CUTE-CUMBER. 

There are dozens of glittery foam hearts littering the rest of the poster, and though there are eyes on her just like the day before, Marcy just rolls her eyes and shoves the poster in its entirety into her locker. 

“I heard Waybright gave her a ride home yesterday and everything,” someone says, hushed and yet not entirely too quiet considering Marcy can hear them. “Talk about playing hard to get.” 

“Eh, Sasha could do better than some cheesy puns,” someone else says. 

“She’s certainly stubborn, right?” 

“Which one? Waybright or Wu?” 

Everyone’s laughing now, and Marcy keeps her head down, slamming her locker shut and shoving through the crowds of people that have, apparently, decided she was the school’s most worthy subject of gossip. 

Fuck Sasha Waybright, she thinks viciously. All I wanted was a peaceful senior year, I don’t have time for this. 

Unfortunately for her, though, the cheesy pickup lines don’t stop at being glittery letters on posters. She’s nudging her way to her next class when she feels an arm link into hers, and though she barely manages to suppress the flinch, she jerks on impulse, whipping her head around to glare at a far-too-confident Sasha.

“Hey Marmar,” Sasha greets casually, like she hadn’t just left a cheesy poster, “I think I figured out why you’re an artist.” 

Marcy raises an eyebrow, tugging at her arm a little bit again. 

“It’s cause… you’re always making me so…” Sasha finally releases Marcy, but only so that she can step in front of her, staring at Marcy with her head tilted downwards, eyes dark and coy, face written with emotions that Marcy just can’t read. “... drawn to you .” 

Marcy swallows nervously. 

“I think I might be allergic to you… cause you keep taking my breath away,” Sasha hums, and she reaches a hand out, smoothing a stray hair behind Marcy’s ear so, so slowly. “So what do you say? They say the best equation starts with you plus me and ends in us, after all.” 

Her hand lingers, after that. She’s just… blatantly cupping Marcy’s cheek now, and she licks her lips all suave-like like she’s going to lean right down and kiss her, and Marcy swallows again, taking a step backwards– but her back hits the wall so now she’s cornered, and Sasha’s giving her that smile again, the one that suggests she’s gonna try to lean down and flirt some more, and Marcy can’t… 

…she can’t. 

“That doesn’t sound like a very balanced equation,” she whispers, and when Sasha pulls back a little to tilt her head like a confused puppy, Marcy bolts, darting right out of Sasha’s arms and speeding off towards her next class as fast as her little legs will take her.

“Marcy!” she hears Sasha call after her, but she doesn’t follow. It’s good that she didn’t follow, Marcy doesn’t know what she would’ve done if Sasha had followed her, had kept sprouting off lines she probably stole right off of a bad twitter post, had reached out to catch her wrist and pull her inwards and lean down and– 

–but she’s not following her, and that’s a good thing, Marcy reminds herself as her heart pounds in her chest, her head spinning. It’s a good thing, because if Sasha had kissed her, she’d probably kiss back, losing her entire resolve and everything she’s been fighting for. She doesn’t deserve that. 

She doesn’t even bother trying to go to lunch like a regular person, too– just marches over to the library, ignoring her phone and everyone else. At least here, she’s safe. 

~~ 

She’s awoken by the sound of music blaring. 

Marcy doesn’t sleep very often, she never has. There’s always been… more important uses of her time, like playing her favorite video games until her eyes physically couldn’t handle the strain anymore, or studying for the upcoming exams, or doing literally anything else but sleeping. It has always eluded her, and as such it was just far easier to drop dead from exhaustion into her bed than try to force herself to slumber when she wasn’t tired enough. More productive, too, she doesn’t think she’d have ever gotten anything done otherwise. 

But tonight, she’s gone to bed early – well, if midnight is early, but it’s certainly earlier than her usual time – and as such, when the guitar starts blaring, she’s jumping half awake out of her bed immediately, slamming her hand down on her phone to shut off what she drowsily assumes is a video that popped up randomly like a virus. 

The music continues. 

Marcy rubs her eyes, and she rolls out of her bed, following the music to its source: her window, which is cracked to let air in. And there, standing like an idiot in her backyard at three in the morning, is Sasha Waybright, looking far too chipper for someone who just committed breaking and entering to get back here and make a fool out of herself for no reason. 

Marcy would recognize the song that’s playing if she weren’t so tired, she thinks. 

“Hey baby girl,” Sasha calls up to her, winking dramatically, “this one is for you.” 

Marcy can’t help it. She flips her off. She blames her half-asleep state; she’d never dream of flipping Sasha off otherwise, but she doesn’t know how else to get her to leave her alone. “Go serenade someone else,” she snaps, and she slams her window shut all the way. It doesn’t stop the music, but it does dim it significantly, and within a few minutes, the guitars and singing stop entirely. 

And then her phone lights up. 

[Sasha]: didn’t want to get you in trouble, figured this would be the only time your parents would be asleep 

[Sasha]: did you like the song at least? It’s one of Anne’s favorites. 

Marcy turns her phone off, and she flops back into her bed with a loud, exaggerated groan. 

~~ 

It’s fitting, after being slapped in the face with the brutal reminder that she will always, always be a second choice, that Marcy finds Anne in the library during lunch the next day. 

It’s Friday, which means Marcy should be sitting at her lunch table, discussing plans with her study partner and some of her other classmates, but she had wanted… well. To avoid another confrontation, because if she has to hear one more person talk about her behind her back she might scream, and Marcy doesn’t like to scream in anger if she can’t help it. 

Point is, she never comes in the library on Fridays, and maybe that’s why Anne is sitting in her spot at her table, picking through one of her parents’ meals with a satisfied smile. She barely glances up when Marcy takes a seat across from her, and though she has her headphones on her, they lay around her neck instead of over her ears– a clear signal that she was preparing for a conversation. 

Marcy’s never been great at small talk, though, so she stares nervously down at her own lunch, fiddling in place as she scoots the chair forwards. “Uh,” she tries to say, and her words get all lodged in her throat, sticking on the inside her mouth. 

“Hey Marmar,” Anne says, and she smiles, “how have you been?” 

Considering they had pulled away from each other naturally, and Anne’s been haunting her this entire week in every move Sasha makes, there’s a familiarity to her, an ease that comes with being friends for so long. Anne seems content, and peaceful, and maybe that’s just what Marcy needs right now. 

“I’ve been better,” she replies awkwardly, pushing at her food with a strained smile. “I’m sure you’ve heard… everything, going on.” 

“I have,” Anne nods, “Sasha’s really trying hard to pursue you now, isn’t she?” 

Marcy makes a non-committal hum in the back of her throat. 

“It’s funny. I’ve never seen her be… this intense about it, before.” Anne laughs, and she’s taking a bite of her own food like this is a natural conversation. “Even when she asked me out last year and I turned her down… she let it slide, I think. I guess that’s why I wanted to check on you.” 

“She did ask you out last year?” Marcy asks before she can stop herself, the words slipping right out of her mouth. 

Anne just nods again, and her eyes are sparkling. “It wasn’t a very serious confession, and that’s what I told her,” she admits, “I wanted her to really think about it, and… I guess she did, and this is her answer. She wants you ; I think she’s always wanted you, it just took losing you for her to see it.” 

There is a pointed, sharp edge of a knife in those words. Marcy shifts in her seat uncomfortably. 

“Two years ago, that would be everything I wanted,” she whispers, each word strangled. “But she didn’t… I don’t… why are you here, Anne?” 

“I’m here because I’m your friend,” Anne says, “and I’m hers too, and I don’t want to see my best friends suffering, even if we’re not as close as before. I care about you a lot, Marmar; plus, you know I love a good romance story.” 

“Well, Anna-Banana, you’ll have to pick someone other than me for that,” Marcy says, and it’s as easy as breathing, falling back into her old habits, returning the affections her friend so clearly has for her. “But I don’t mind talking with you, it’s been awhile. How has tennis been?” 

Anne beams, and though she had clearly been disappointed by the lack of drama, she launches into a conversation so easily, and Marcy finds herself genuinely smiling and nodding along cause she has missed this. She’s missed her friendship with Anne more than she’d care to admit, and something inside her clicks into place, like a missing cog.

There’s still a piece missing though, and Marcy willfully ignores it. It’s fine, she tells herself as Anne gossips about the girls on her tennis squad, this is just fine. 

~~ 

On Monday, Marcy has a chess competition. 

It isn’t really anything fancy; it’s not even a formal competition, merely a practice meet with one of the schools in the district so they can test their skills. Marcy has, admittedly, slacked off during her former years, but now that she’s graduating, she’s doubled down this year, ensuring that her entire team is well-prepared for the upcoming competition season. 

So it’s a practice meet, hosted at their high school. They had only invited one school to participate, and Marcy had highly anticipated the match– she’d be going against their club head, and it’s been awhile since she’s had a genuine challenge. 

The meet itself is held during 2nd-4th period, and though the school is invited to come watch, Marcy doubts anyone would show. It’s boring, a chess competition, and she didn’t really want anyone to come because that would be a distraction she’d much rather do without. 

And yet. 

She’s halfway through her own game when the door creaks open and slams shut. She doesn’t look up, far too concentrated on the match, but in her peripheral vision she can sense the person who is now crowding her space, hovering over her shoulder. It’s not one of her teammates– they know better at this point, they’d never disturb her like this. 

The intruder keeps quiet though, and doesn’t do a thing; though when Marcy glances up and to the side with her peripheral vision, she catches blonde hair and the neon flares of the school’s cheer uniform. Sasha. 

Because of course Sasha would interrupt something so important to her. Marcy shoves her frustration down inside of her chest, and she focuses solely on the match, but it’s too late; the distraction had been enough for her to slip up, and the rising anger in her chest has her continuing to slip up, making two rookie mistakes in a row and watching in dismay as her opponent takes the win. 

“Checkmate,” he declares, and then stands, offering his hand to her with a faux but friendly smile on his face. “Good game?” 

“Yeah,” Marcy mutters, and her smile is equally fake as she avoids his hand to give a courteous nod instead. “Good game.” 

And she doesn’t bother to look at the cheerleader who so clearly wants attention badly enough she’d risk Marcy’s concentration and her practice match to get it. She doesn’t want to look at anyone at all, actually– she mumbles something about going to get a water from the vending machines, and shoves out of the library space, fanning her face to cool herself down. 

It’s fine, she tells herself, this was just practice, remember? It doesn’t count– besides, the actual match won’t allow intruders, and you’ll have your peace and quiet. It’s fine. 

“-ey, Marcy!” 

Marcy groans. 

Sasha catches up to her without so much an uneven breath, not one hair out of place. She’s in her cheer uniform as Marcy had suspected, and smiling, and she follows Marcy all the way to the cafeteria vending machines, leaning against the machine as Marcy exchanges money for a bottle of water. If she senses that Marcy’s upset with her, she doesn’t notice– and has she ever? 

“That was a good match,” she says, so casually, “I still don’t know much about chess, of course, but I wanted to watch you play.” 

“I would’ve beaten him if you weren’t there,” Marcy mutters under her breath viciously, keeping her chin down and tapping her foot as she waits for the machine to give her the water bottle. 

If Sasha hears her, she ignores it. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me,” she says, casually again, seamless and without so much as a second glance at Marcy herself. “Just for a coffee or something– and we could talk? In person, I know you prefer talking in person.” 

That’s a lie. Marcy has always preferred texting; it helps, not being able to see the person’s face and thus not feel like she’s being much of a bother. However, in the past, her texts had gone nowhere, and after both of her friends continuously ignored her pictures and infodumps and everything else, Marcy had stopped trying, stopped caring. 

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she snaps, tapping on the vending machine as it stalls. “Will you stop leaving me posters if I do?” 

Something flashes across Sasha’s face, but Marcy misses it entirely. “Aww, you don’t like them? I thought the glitter was a nice touch.” 

“It gets everywhere, ” Marcy complains, and despite herself, she’s snickering, shaking her head. “I mean, what were you expecting? Me to come swooning over your feet in the gym before class?” 

“You know I’m in the gym before class?” Sasha asks, and now her eyebrows are raised. 

Marcy flushes red, and she kneels down to retrieve her bottle after it finally dispenses, keeping her face pointed towards the ground so that Sasha can’t see her reaction. “I mean, doesn’t everyone? You’re not exactly subtle about it.” Or anything else, she adds in her head. 

“Fair enough,” Sasha laughs, and when Marcy finally composes herself enough to look up, there’s a hand thrusted in her face. “Come on, nerd, the period’s not over yet and I bet your team needs instructing, right?” 

“Uh huh,” Marcy mumbles, and she takes the hand, propelling herself back onto her feet. Sasha’s hand is warm in her own, her fingers longer and bonier than Marcy had expected, and she’s smiling that weird, fond little smile she’s had recently– one that Marcy has never, ever seen directed at herself. “Uh, thanks?” 

“No problem,” Sasha chirps, and she releases Marcy’s hand, though she lingers in the shared space between them for a moment longer. “Gotta get back to class anyways. See you later, girlfriend!” 

She’s disappearing before Marcy can fully process the interaction, and even then, all Marcy can do is groan. 

A date? Really? Marcy agreed to a date. With Sasha. Her inner fifteen-year-old is leaping for joy, but her heart pounds with dread, skin tingling with trepidation. People are already talking about her behind her back, what if a date just makes things worse? 

But what if it makes things better? A voice in her her head that sounds suspiciously like Anne whispers. What if this is the proof you need that Sasha’s actually being genuine? 

Marcy’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and though she curses herself under her breath relentlessly - stupid, stupid, you are so stupid Marcy Wu - she’s not dumb enough to pass up the opportunity now that she has it. This can be it; a test, to see if Sasha’s actually going to put her first for once and not just asking her out for the approval points or whatever bullshit reason she’d do it for. 

And despite herself, she’s smiling as she steps back into the library with her water, clutching it close to her chest. 

~~ 

The date is at a popular coffee shop near the school. 

They head there together after class– though Marcy stores her school stuff safely away in her locker, not wanting to drag everything with her to the coffee shop or risk keeping it in Sasha’s car only to lose it forever. Sasha herself drives, and she doesn’t make any small talk attempts this time, and for that Marcy’s actually grateful because it means she can stare out of her window and rehearse conversation topics in her mind. 

No matter how much she rehearses, though, she’s not quite ready for when they pull up to the coffee shop. Sasha parks, and she’s quick out of the car, arriving at Marcy’s side to open her door chivalrously with a smug grin before Marcy has the chance. “After you,” she says, and Marcy huffs but can’t help her own smile as she steps out of the car, stares nervously at the coffee shop. 

The clouds are dark around them– it’s going to rain. 

“Come on, we don’t wanna get rained on,” Sasha urges, and she takes Marcy by the hand, leading her inside without so much as asking for permission. It feels… familiar, if only because Marcy is still used to her friends dragging her around when she isn’t paying any attention. She’s gotten better about that, and she isn’t a danger to herself anymore like she had been as a middle schooler, but she allows Sasha to pull her along anyways cause it means she’s not doing any of the work. 

Once inside, Sasha leads her to a table and pulls out a chair for her. “What do you order?” she asks, gesturing to the menu, “I’ll go up and buy it for us.” 

“That’s… sweet of you,” Marcy mumbles. “I usually get a white mocha– iced, and with an extra shot of espresso, and caramel drizzle.” 

Sasha winks at her, which has Marcy far more flustered than she’d like to admit. “Coming right up,” she grins, and she walks off to the register, leaving Marcy alone with her thoughts. 

She is… nervous. 

Nervous might actually be an understatement– she’s terrified. Not for if things don’t work out, that she can handle cause she’s been handling it for two years now, it’ll be fine… but what if things do work out? What if Sasha has changed? What if this entire prom business was Sasha being genuine and just a little confused on how to go about her so-called “wooing” process? 

Marcy doesn’t know which she’d rather prefer at this point. She fidgets relentlessly in her seat, shifting around as she waits for Sasha to get back. 

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough, Sasha’s sliding into the opposing seat, setting Marcy’s white mocha down in front of her. She herself has some sort of fancy blended drink, one of the ones that has far too much sugar and not nearly enough caffeine to be worth the price or the appearance, and Marcy snorts, taking a sip of her own. 

“I know it’s real sugary, but every girl deserves a sweet treat every now and then, right?” Sasha asks teasingly, like she had read Marcy’s mind, and Marcy shudders a little at the thought. 

“I guess,” she mutters in return, and shyly stares down at the whipped cream on top of her drink. “So…?” 

“It’s nice getting to hang out with you one on one,” Sasha says, “we’ve never really done that before.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I mean, I’ve always known you were something else, but Anne just… needed my attention more, at the time. You’ve always been so independent.” 

Marcy stares at her drink harder. Her heart is fluttering in her chest– it’s not a good sign. 

“Anne brought me to this place for the first time too,” Sasha continues, and all of Marcy’s previous hopes - the reassurances she had told herself, the wishful thinking she almost let herself believe in - go flushed right down the sink. “It’s pretty great– and so are you!” 

“Sasha,” Marcy warns. 

“And I mean, you’ve always dreamed of going to prom with someone, right? I saw you making a poster once a few years ago, it’s where I got the idea to give you posters actually. So I thought… why not?” Sasha flashes a winning smile, like she’s so smart and so thoughtful and so nauseatingly kind for this. 

“Why not,” Marcy echoes. Her hands are trembling, she realizes, and she closes them around her drink, the icy chill of the beverage steadying them. 

“It’s been fun chasing you, too,” Sasha continues, and everything inside of Marcy’s chest turns as icy as the drink in her hands. “But–” 

“-this is a game to you.” 

It slips right out; a statement, not a question, because there is no more doubts in Marcy’s mind. She’s not questioning it anymore, isn’t willing to give Sasha the benefit of a doubt, because… because…

“...what?” Sasha questions, her head tilted with an innocent smile on her face. 

“This is a game,” Marcy repeats, slowly, and she laughs a bitter, hollow laugh, clenching her drink harder. “You don’t… you saw that I was into you a few years ago and thought it’d be funny, because… what, cause Anne rejected you and I was your best second option?” 

“What?” Sasha says again, and that innocent smile has faded into something more questioning, like she can’t comprehend the words coming out of Marcy’s mouth. Something inside of Marcy rejoices at the sight, because finally, finally, she’s made Sasha feel what she herself has felt. 

“Well it’s not funny,” she continues, a laugh escaping her once again. “And I was just starting to think… it’s not funny, Sasha! I am my own person, you can’t keep… using all of these flirtatious methods you’d use on Anne, I’m not Anne!” 

“I know that,” Sasha whispers, her voice coming out strangled and hoarse. “Marcy, wait–” 

“-no, I’m tired of this!” Marcy stands, her chest heaving. “You haven’t respected a single decision I’ve made for myself in the past week, you keep stringing me along and for what? So you have your perfect prom date? So you can make me the laughingstock of the school? Well guess what– it’s working! It’s all anyone can talk about!” 

“Marcy,” Sasha chokes, but Marcy’s done listening to Sasha. 

“Why can’t you just want me ?” she asks, and it comes out strangled, a sob building in her chest that she swallows down even as her eyes burn with the fury of unshed tears. “Will I ever be good enough for you? For Anne?” 

Sasha, for once, is quiet, her mouth agape like a dead fish. 

“Forget it Sasha,” Marcy says, and the words burn coming out of her mouth as that quiet voice in her head - the one that had pleaded to give Sasha a second chance - is drowned out entirely. “We’re done here. Leave me alone.” 

And with that, she turns away for the last time, storming out of the cafe. She doesn’t bother even bringing her drink, because Sasha had paid for it, and it leaves a bad taste in her mouth now– there’s no point. 

There’s no point in anything anymore. 

It’s raining, and Marcy’s soaked within minutes, and she thinks she can see Sasha stand like she’s going to chase after her again– but she doesn’t, and it’s a long walk back to her house but that’s a sacrifice she’s very willing to make. 

And if she’s crying, at least the rain hides her tears. 

~~ 

Anne calls her when she’s home. 

Marcy doesn’t want to answer, not at first. She’s barely warmed up, having changed into her pjs and wrapped blankets around herself to stave off the chill that settles into her bones: her constitution has always been terrible, unable to handle prolonged periods of time spent in the rain. She’ll probably end up sick after this, and she doesn’t care if it means she’ll miss out on the harassment she’s received at school. 

But Anne calls, and Anne doesn’t call much anymore, so reluctantly, Marcy answers. 

“ Marcy,” Anne says into the speaker breathlessly, “I’m glad you picked up, I was really worried.” 

“Why?” Marcy questions, and she curls up in her bed, pressing the phone against her ear and leaning against her pillows. “I’m fine.” Then, it slowly dawns on her and she scowls viciously. “Did Sasha ask you to call?” 

“No, I called on my own– but she did text me real frantically saying you ran off in the rain and she was worried you wouldn’t end up home,” Anne admits, sounding sheepish over the tinny phone speakers. “But she didn’t think you’d want her to call you, so I called instead. Are you okay?” 

It’s a sweet thought; or at least, it would be if Marcy wasn’t still just so angry at her. “I’m fine,” she repeats, and she sighs loudly, shaking her head even though Anne surely can’t see it from the other side of the receiver. “Listen. It isn’t your fault Sasha is chasing me after your rejection. You don’t have to check up on me on her behalf though, okay? I’ll be fine.” 

“...I’m not,” Anne whispers. “Marcy, I haven’t… Sasha asked me out last year, but it was… half-hearted, at best. I could tell she had something else in her mind– someone else. She hasn’t talked to me since, except to ask advice… about you.” 

“Well, she did a poor job of it,” Marcy grumbles, and she groans, flopping over onto her back. “This whole time, she’s been trying to ask me out doing nothing but stuff she thinks you’d like. I don’t… she hasn’t stopped to consider what I want during this entire ordeal, and I’m tired of it. I… I have friends that actually like my interests now, Anne. I don’t need her anymore.” 

“And I’m real glad to hear it,” Anne laughs, “I’m not gonna tell you to give Sasha a chance, Marce, don’t worry. I really did just want to check up on you, make sure you’re okay.” 

“I’ll probably be sick tomorrow, but it’s fine. I’ve never been better, actually, I’ve… never stood up for myself like that before. Is this how you felt in eighth grade?” 

Anne just laughs again. “ Maybe,” she says, mysteriously, “okay, okay, I’ll let you go now. Get some rest, okay? I’ll call you again tomorrow after school, and… see you later, dude?” 

“See you later,” Marcy promises. 

Once Anne has hung up, she stares up at the ceiling, at the dots she had once drawn onto it. Her parents had been furious, but they wouldn’t let her hang stars like she had wanted, and so she had improvised, placing the smallest of black dots to paint out constellations. Of course, when Sasha had heard, she had asked Anne to hang up stars in Marcy’s stead, and they had spent the day together in Anne’s room, placing glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling even though it hadn’t been Anne’s idea. 

Marcy hasn’t been to Anne’s room in years. She doesn’t even know if those stars are still in place; but the black dots have become a grounding point for her, a way for her to relax her eyes and map out constellations and think. 

“I think I was stupid to think that Sasha could actually like me,” she says out loud, to nobody, just to get the words off of her chest and out of her mouth. “But I really wanted her to like me. I’ve never stopped, have I? I just want her to see me, for once. Maybe then I could be happy with her, like I was before.” 

There’s no answer. She’s talking to an empty room. 

“I just can’t believe she’s done so much and yet so little. It’s frustrating. I have the right to be angry with her, don’t I? I mean, she’s not the one who’s been publicly humiliated; unless being rejected by a nerd has done anything to her social standing.” 

Marcy’s not expecting an answer, but she groans anyways, rubbing at her eyes as her head starts to pound. She’s definitely getting sick, but she’ll accept it. 

And then something at her window bangs, loud enough that Marcy jumps straight out of her bed in startled shock. 

It bangs again, and Marcy sucks in a breath, tiptoeing carefully towards her window. She snags a dictionary off of her desk just in case, wielding the book like a dangerous weapon as she approaches slowly. 

And there is an intruder at her window, but one with familiar locks of blonde hair, hanging loose around her head damp from the rain like the world’s sorriest-looking wet rag, and there is a hand pressed against the window, and eyes that pour into Marcy’s own with the guiltiest, most pathetic expression she’s ever seen from the girl. 

Once again, Sasha Waybright has committed breaking and entering. Marcy groans again. 

She’s half-tempted to ignore it. Surely, if she just walks away after the acknowledgement of her presence, Sasha will get the hint and leave her alone, right? Hadn’t she made it clear in the coffee shop earlier that she had wanted to be alone? 

But it’s still raining, and Sasha’s staring at her like a helpless puppy, and Marcy’s always been weak-willed and unable to hold a grudge. She opens the window against her better judgement, and Sasha comes tumbling inside of her room, sprawling against the floor immediately as Marcy closes the window behind her so that rain doesn’t get on her belongings. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she snaps, keeping her voice low so that she doesn’t wake up anyone in the house– that’d be embarrassing. “I thought I had made it clear–” 

“-I’m sorry,” Sasha interrupts. Sasha, who has never apologized for anything she’s ever done, ever, in her entire life. Sasha, who is still looking at Marcy all guilty and pathetic like, and it instantly shuts Marcy up solely because of just how fucking shocking it is to hear the words I’m sorry come from her mouth. 

When it’s clear that Marcy’s not going to keep rambling, Sasha inhales, and she sits upright on the floor, staring up at Marcy with big eyes. “I fucked up,” she admits, and she’s fidgeting with her hands now, her lips drawn in a frown, “with… a lot of things. I thought I was appealing to you, because I thought… I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight, clearly. But I didn’t… it was never with the intents of humiliating you, and it wasn’t to make you feel second choice either, okay? I really genuinely wanted to go with you. And…” 

She fumbles with her pockets for her phone, pulling it out with a delighted expression before holding it up, screen facing Marcy and beckoning her closer. Marcy scowls, but she scoots forwards anyways, glancing down at the phone screen before her eyes widen. 

It’s tickets to the first convention of the season. Two tickets, and it coincides with prom– it had been too expensive for Marcy to go on her own, and she couldn’t find a single person that would skip senior prom with her to go with, and she had all but abandoned the idea of going. 

“What is this?” she asks, breathlessly, incredulously. 

“Con tickets,” Sasha answers seriously. “You don’t have to… it isn’t a ticket for the two of us, I just got two tickets so you wouldn’t be alone, I know you don’t like that. It’s… an apology. For how I treated you.” 

It’s the first genuine thing Sasha has done for her in the past two weeks. 

Marcy tears up. 

“Wait… wait, shit Mars, don’t cry!” Sasha stands up quickly, and she’s leaning forwards to brush the tears away from Marcy’s eyes, her expression concerned and genuine and sincere, and the voice in Marcy’s head that had been smothered everywhere starts slowly surfacing again, whispering sweet nothings that she can almost, almost believe. 

“Would you go with me?” she asks, her voice hoarse. 

For a minute, Sasha just stares at her, and Marcy swallows, staring up and meeting her dead in the eye. “Would you go with me,” she repeats, steeling herself. “Abandon prom? Come to the convention with me?” 

“Yes,” Sasha answers quickly, and she’s nodding along, “I… if you want me there… forget about prom, I never really cared about that; I thought it was your dream to go to senior prom together, but yes, I’ll go with you.” 

“Are you sure?” Marcy questions, and she tilts her head, something devious and mischievous sparking inside of her head that she’s sure can be read in her eyes. “I’ll make you dress like an anime character. Oh, you can be the Tamaki to my Haruhi! Do you remember watching Ouran with me?” 

“I still rewatch it,” Sasha confesses, and she nods again, her hair plastered to her forehead as she takes Marcy’s hands in her own. “Whatever you want, really. I… I want to listen. To you. For once.” 

“Okay,” Marcy inhales, and she squeezes Sasha’s hands tightly. “Okay. No more public humiliation though, okay? People were talking about me behind my back and I don’t like that, I don’t need that. And we can take things slow?” 

“As slow as you want,” Sasha promises. “I want to make things up to you. It was never about Anne, and I shouldn’t have kept bringing her up; it’s only that she was helping me a lot, you know.” 

“So she did know about this,” Marcy realizes, and she snorts, shaking her head fondly. “And the flowers?” 

“...will you kill me if I told you I didn’t even consider the color?” Sasha admits, and she’s laughing too, shaking her head at herself. “Bluebells are for humility and gratitude, and periwinkles are for everlasting love, it’s what Anne recommended when I asked her for flowers.” 

“Oh.” Marcy says simply, and then she sneezes. Violently, too, barely able to cover her nose in time– if she didn’t think she was going to get sick before, she is definitely sick now. 

“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you into bed,” Sasha frets, and she’s guiding Marcy forwards again; but this time, Marcy allows it easily, without a second thought. “You need rest.” 

“Will you stay?” Marcy whispers. “You’ve never stayed with just me before. It was always Anne.” 

“As long as you’d like me to,” Sasha promises again, and sure enough, she slips into the bed after Marcy, curling arms around her. She’s warm even despite the dampness to her clothes, and though she’s been fighting it, fighting this for so long… Marcy can’t help it, she gives in. 

 The last thing she remembers as she drifts off is the feeling of lips against her forehead and a breathy whisper of her name followed by a heartfelt goodnight. 

~~ 

So yeah, Marcy definitely had a crush on Sasha Waybright. 

Had, past tense, because her feelings - for the first time since seventh grade - are fully requited, as proven by the way she and Sasha walk arm in arm into school a few mornings later. 

Sasha’s still a bit of a loser, though. As promised, she stops leaving Marcy posters, but she does learn Marcy’s locker combination solely to put little gifts inside of it when she’s not looking. Nobody else can see them, so it’s not the public humiliation that had taunted her for so long, but each little flower - green chrysanthemums, for good luck - and sappy love poem has Marcy swooning at her locker, grinning like an idiot. 

It isn’t perfect. Marcy’s still touchy about the entire ordeal, but true to her word she forces Sasha to buy them both cosplay, and they spend an entire weekend at the convention instead of going to prom, just like she wanted. Sasha spoils her and buys her all of the merch that she had been eyeing, and in return Marcy stays glued to her side, basking in the affection she’s been denied for far too long. 

In a way, she thinks, long after the events have died down, it worked. Sasha did technically figure out how to woo her– even if it had taken a vicious verbal beating to do so. 

Anne is happy for them too, although she grins smugly at Sasha like she’s saying I told you so the first day they arrive at school arm in arm, and she exchanges a fond smile with Marcy all in the same shy look. She confesses to her meddling later, when Marcy corners her and asks for the secrets she knows her friend holds; you’ve been pining for her since forever, Marmar, and she real obviously liked the attention, it just took some nudging in the right direction. I hope things work out for you two! 

A month later, Marcy’s sitting in Sasha’s lap in her bedroom. There’s some cheesy romcom anime on the tv, but neither one of them are paying attention, too lost in each other. Sasha’s arm is around Marcy’s waist, and it’s the lazy kind of morning that they can afford because who is going to stop them from taking their sweet time?  

They’re kissing, and they’ve been kissing - the kind of sweet, lingering kisses that Marcy had craved without ever actually wanting for herself, the ones that Sasha has been only happy to provide - and Sasha’s been wearing her hair down ever since the initial confession of feelings, and it’s wonderful. 

“I still can’t believe you like me,” she whispers, in between kisses, “I mean, I really thought you only liked Anne for like, forever. I tried asking you out once and heard your plans to ask her out instead, and it was an immediate downer, I never worked up the courage again.” 

“I mean, who doesn’t like you?” Sasha snorts, and she’s pressing kisses against Marcy’s cheek, against her nose. “I mean really Mars; you’re like… the sun.” 

“Oh yeah?” Marcy raises an eyebrow. 

“You know, cause you’re so… compelling. Like gravity,” Sasha kisses Marcy’s nose again, and she giggles as it twitches, “pulling me to you.” 

“You’re such a sap,” Marcy complains. 

“And I’m your sap, baby girl,” Sasha coos, and then they’re falling right back into each other, and for the first time in Marcy’s entire life, everything is totally, completely perfect. 

THE END