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The photo booth was cold, Star thought.
There was nowhere for the heat to be held, not in the booth, and not between her and Marco. It was cold. And she hated it, and she hated that she didn’t know why.
Star tried not to be discouraged by Marco’s lack of enthusiasm in the taking of their photos, but it got to her. Something was off. She seemed crazy, she knew, but she always did. And her gut feeling was always right, too, so it was no skin off her back.
Star folded her arms, frustrated and craving warmth. “Fuck. It’s fucking cold in here,” she grumbled.
Marco laughed and shook his head. “Damn. Earth influenced you. Got you swearing up a storm.”
“Mewni has its own swears, Marco,” Star said, defensive. “And anyway, even if we didn’t, it had to happen. It was natural. Everyone at Echo Creek swore every two seconds.”
“Not me.”
“Well,” she said. “You are Safe Kid.”
Marco rolled his eyes and flipped his middle finger up at her, and it made Star’s heart beat in a familiar rhythm.
This. This was what Star was looking for, that little competitive, lively spark in Marco that lit the fuse in her too. They were electric together. Or they had been. They were when they first took the photos she found. They just needed that.
But it faded as soon as it appeared, and then it wasn’t there. Star had no idea where that spark went when it was gone, but the absence of it ached.
“I thought Safe Kid was behind me,” he said.
“It never will be. You’re the safest kid I ever did meet, Diaz. Speaking of, save me from hypothermia, Safe Kid.”
Marco put on a show of sighing and rolling his eyes about it, but he unbuttoned his suit jacket and held it out to her. It would’ve made a former version of Star lose her mind. Now she just felt vaguely warmer. Just less cold. The real warmth came from that spark, gone and maybe for good. Maybe it was just really far. But it just seemed to be getting further and further away. Further and further the more times they tried taking photos, them looking wrong and upsetting and making Star’s jaw feel tight.
Too many attempts later, Marco scowled and slumped against the wall. “I hate magic.”
Star frowned at that. He didn’t use to. He was scared by her magic at first, he’d told her, but he grew to love it. Star still thought he never looked more alive than when in a fight, especially those first few. When the sparks from her wand’s spells would linger in the air for a few seconds, the pink and blue and yellow illuminating his face and making his eyes brighter than the adrenaline already did. He would’ve welcomed being trapped in a magical photo booth then. But then they wouldn’t have gotten stuck in the first place. Those photos would’ve shown them looking like best friends on the first try.
What happened here?
Star bit the inside of her cheek. “What’s going on? You used to love taking pictures in the photo booth.”
Marco shrugged. “I’m just… I’m worried about Nachos,” he said, his thumb tugging at a loose string on his jacket sleeve. It’s what he would normally do with his hoodie he wore practically every day – fiddle with the zipper, zipping it up and down, flicking it back and forth. It’s what he did when he was nervous. Or uncomfortable. “And I didn’t want to end up on a magical adventure today. But nope. Magical adventure.”
Oh. “I like our magical adventures." Star paused. "And I thought you did too.” She frowned and looked down at the money in her hand. “And we only have one bill left, so...”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Star said. “Photo booths are expensive,” she said with a stilted laugh both of them knew wasn’t real.
They were both quiet for a moment, sitting in that silent, cold photo booth, before Marco sighed. Star looked up to watch him look at the strip of their old photos, worrying his bottom lip. “You wanna know what’s different in this photo?” he asked after a moment. The way he said it, the timber to his voice, gave her pause. It was serious, what he was about to say. She might not want to hear it. “This was before,” he said.
Star felt her eyebrows furrow, unconsciously looking away before she bit her cheek and asked, “Before what?” Definitely don’t want to hear it.
Marco didn’t look at her, instead holding up the photo strip again, placing it almost right in front of his face like it was easier to make eye contact with the old Star rather than the one right in front of him. “Before you told me,” he said, looking away, “that you had a crush on me.”
Her eyes widened.
Right. That.
It wasn’t like Star had ever forgotten about it. She couldn’t, could she? Not when it was announced like it was, not when she proved everyone right and told him, announcing it again. Not when it changed so much. And she’d really thought that they were past it. Stupid. It wasn’t so easy to move beyond; she should’ve known that. She swallowed, suddenly feeling very sick. “Go on.”
“Well, I was caught off-guard by it,” he said, putting his hand on his knee, smoothing the wrinkles in his pants.
Star watched his hand, and couldn’t place what she felt. She was always aware that Marco was a boy, but sometimes, like now, she really saw it. He had lived so much life, hadn’t he? And maybe they’d lived a lot of it together, but not all. He was wearing a suit to a wedding of people he’d met while Star’s kingdom was taken over. She hadn’t been there. He was taller than he was when she met him. He still had that same mole under his right eye, but his face was marked by more scars and was flecked with more facial hair than she’d realized he had. He smelled like mint, which he always did, but now she noticed the scent of vanilla on him too.
When did I stop noticing, Marco? When did you start smelling like vanilla?
His eyebrows were dark and his lips were chapped and he was wearing a suit. Marco was a boy, wasn’t he? Her boy, she thought. Not in that way, though she’d wanted it for a while. But they were Star and Marco, Marco and Star. Princess and squire. He was her boy, and that would always be true. They didn’t harbor things, keep secrets, or be wary around each other. Or they didn’t, until Star became more of a girl and Marco more of a boy and she fucked everything up.
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
“And I –” He had that nervous look now, his eyes darting back and forth, worry line cemented between his brows. Star knew that look, and she hated that now it was for her. “I never brought it up again, and that sucked,” he said. “I sucked.”
“Well, a lot was going on,” Star said. And it was. “But… yeah. That sucked.” And it did.
“It’s getting harder to end up on these adventures… pretending things aren’t different.”
A surge of panic and bile surged up in Star at that. No. Don’t say that. She thought she could cry, but she pushed it away, down and far away. “Are they?” she asked.
She knew right after she said it. Of course they were. Everything was. It was different. They were different.
No matter how much she tried to rationalize it, we’re different and things are different, something in her wanted to fight it so badly. It’s fine, we’re the same as we always have been. And she wanted that to be true.
She also didn’t. She was glad to be back in Mewni, she was glad her life was moving forward. She had things to do, for herself and her family and her kingdom. And for Marco, too. But change happened, and change revolved around him. She grew, he did, and then she started thinking his hair and its constant messiness and his favorite gum and his bitten cuticles would never leave her head.
But then she left. And she told him. And now she had Tom.
Marco folded his hands, looked down again. “They are for me.”
“Oh.” She let out a small hiss and reached for her earlobe, thumbing her earring.
His eyes flicked back up at her, big and brown. And shining, like he could be seconds from crying.
“Oh… oh.” She felt a chill go through her. “Like, different different?” Her hands flew back down to her lap, her fingers folding and intertwining. She didn’t think that she could do this. Not now. Not in the photo booth. She didn’t know what she meant by that. But she did.
The booth felt colder, somehow. It was charged and cold and quiet, above all else. Marco’s jacket couldn’t prevent her from feeling this. Fuck, she was wearing his jacket.
Marco reached down, putting his head in his hands in a gesture that was maybe supposed to be awkwardly funny. Star tried to grant him anything, a laugh, even a small one, but she couldn’t. She just watched him tug at his hair with wide eyes.
She cleared her throat and looked forward. She refused to look at him. If he was crying, or in any way close to it, she would be done. Over and fucking done. “Well, no wonder we’re trapped here hearing truth bombs like that.”
In her periphery she saw Marco lift his head up and rest it on his fists, mimicking the sound of a bomb going off.
“Weird question,” she said, already feeling embarrassed, “but what do your guts feel like?”
“My guts?”
“Yeah.” Your guts, Marco. They’re bloody and twisting inside you and if you could reach into yourself and grab them, wrestle them out and show me, hold them up to your hear and listen to they were whispering to you, what would they feel like? What do they feel like? She shifted. “My guts were all like…” She held up her hand and puppeted making warbling sounds like it could at all express what she was feeling. “You know?” she said, feeling quite pathetic.
“Uh,” he said, “my guts are more like…” He held his hands up to his abdomen and groaned, loud and long and silly. Her boy, playing along. Things had changed, but they were still them, right? A part of her seethed that she was wrong, but she knew better. They’d talked. They were okay.
She just had to believe it.
Star laughed softly. “Well, they do feel better after you talk about it.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He smiled begrudgingly. She knew he still had more to say, it was written all over his face. It was alright, she would let it slide, because she did too. But even in their moments of honesty they hid. That's what they’d always done, and she had to keep some semblance of normalcy.
Star looked down at their last bill. “Last photo,” she said, and though it was only the last picture they were taking of themselves, it this moment, it felt massive. Like a black hole would swallow them up soon. Hell, maybe it would. She had no real idea where they were, anyway. Probably somewhere where a black hole could come up and take them away. “Anything you need to tell me?”
Marco’s face was blank, and he said nothing. It was only a second, maybe less, but it felt like years. Maybe Father Time hopped off his wheel again. “No,” he said. “But there’s one last thing I need to do.”
“What’s that?”
He grabbed the bill decisively, clenching his fists. “Take the photo the booth is waiting for.”
Star grinned. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Marco let out a breath and inserted the bill like it was his lifeline. Maybe it was. Sort of felt like it was Star’s, too. He sat back and plastered on a smile, a real one that crinkled his eyes and showed the softness in his mouth. Star glanced at him, jumpy but calming down, and happy. She put on a smile of her own.
The light flashed, and she had a good feeling. She couldn’t see herself and Marco as the camera did, but she saw Marco in his suit jacket and dress shirt, the gel he once had in his fair totally gone from movement and time and sweat. She saw the light green of her dress (her current favorite color) and she felt the heavy bone against her clavicle and her eyeshadow pressed into the creases of her slightly greasy eyelids. They looked like them, like them but dressed up, like them but worn out, like them but a little older than they used to be.
Marco turned to look at her, and she gave him a smile, one for him and not the photos. She hoped that it said, I’m glad that we’re okay. I’m glad that you're here. I’m glad that we talked. I’m glad that you’re you.
He put his hand, warm and living, on her arm and she couldn't help but smile wider. They were here, and there was a lot left to do, but they would be okay. His other hand went up to hold her other arm, and the photo booth flashed, and then he kissed her.
It couldn’t have been longer than two seconds, maybe three. She pulled away, slowly, like their faces could rip apart if she leaned back too fast. They looked at each other, eyes wide and wet, and Star felt like she’d been fucking burned.
The door slid up, and Star stood up and walked out, her heart pounding. She stared, horrified, at the man whose name she couldn’t remember. She could’ve sworn she was paying attention, but she only caught flashes.
Couple… Needed… That photo booth ain’t magic… Trapped…
They were ushered back inside, the booth rumbling on its way back to the venue, and she sat with her legs far apart, elbows leaning on her knees. “We kissed.” It was all she said – it was all she could.
She’d imagined kissing Marco. She’d pictured it warm and unhurried while watching some old movie, fast and teary-eyed after a difficult fight, in more ways than she could possibly remember. She fell asleep to the thought for months. Every night, for months. For it to happen just like that. To be in her best friend’s photo booth; to be stuck in said photo booth. For it to be so quick, so fast, to just feel like skin against skin and nothing else. For Star to have a boyfriend when it happened.
For it to happen just like that.
“I thought the booth was magic,” Marco said, raddled, as he rubbed his neck and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.
“So did I,” Star said. She recognized that her voice sounded very far away, but she felt very far away. She looked at Marco, eyes eyebrows lips nose chin mole eyes eyes eyes mole lips lips lips. Glitter on his cupid’s bow. "Is that why you did it?"
He didn't look up. "I wouldn't have otherwise."
"Okay."
“Do you want your jacket back?” she asked him, looking away, already taking it off. She, suddenly, felt very warm.
“No,” Marco said quietly. “You can have it. You’re cold.”
“Not anymore.” She watched him play with his hands, his hair falling into his face.
You look so much like you did that first day. So why do you feel different? And how could I not have noticed this before?
“Marco?” she said, passing the jacket to him. She would pry his hands open if she had to. She couldn’t hold it anymore. She just couldn’t.
He took it, his hand brushing hers. "Yeah?"
"Is that really the only reason?" she asked, her voice so quiet she wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't hear her. She had to ask. She had to ask, just this once, right after it happened, and then she never would again. She would forget it ever happened. If she couldn't do it herself, she would use magic.
He looked at her for one second, two, three. She could hear the cogs turning in his head, the words bubbling up in his throat. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing like he was fighting a gag or a sob. "No," he said, hushed, shaking his head.
They looked at each other then, nothing in their gaze except understanding and realization and just Star and Marco.
Their spark. This. This was it.
She couldn’t explain it, how she knew they would kiss again. She just knew it. Their eyes met and she just knew: you are going to kiss me again, Marco Diaz. And if you don’t, I’ll kiss you.
Facing drawing closer, Marco hesitating, Star whispering something even she can’t understand, her hands around his neck, slowly, Marco understanding, slowly, connecting their mouths again, eyes closing, kissing, his hands on her shoulders again, kissing, Star kissing and thinking and thinking and deciding not to think anymore and to just kiss him and keep kissing him.
It was sweet and it was light and it felt, to Star, very much like one of her softer spells. Like when she got lucky, when there was no fire or roaring or anyone getting hurt. Just something that involved warmth and a brief, smattering of kind little sparkles, lavender and maybe chartreuse but mostly lavender. Not lavender. Vanilla.
You smell like vanilla and mint, Marco. Marco, I want to go home, let’s go home. We are home here, you are home to me, always. Marco, I can feel your teeth and they are jagged and perfect. You chewed your gum before this, the minty blue one that I think hurts my mouth. But I like tasting it on you.
Star thought that maybe she could do this for the rest of her life. Fuck being a princess, fuck magic, fuck Mewni’s drama, fuck Toffee. She would make this photo booth her home – Pony wouldn’t mind – and spend her days and nights kissing Marco Diaz, and she would be alright.
But thinking of living in the photo booth made Star think of Pony and the booth being hers, which made her wonder if she knew about the strange small man living in it, which made her realize that he had directed them back and that they were back at Ruberiot and Foolduke’s wedding and that she could not, in fact, do this every day of her life.
Star kept her hand on the back of Marco’s neck and drew her head back, knocking her forehead against his. She could kick herself. Maybe she would magic up some legs later so they could do it. Star kept her eyes close, both embarrassed and exhilarated by how she was puffing air into Marco’s face, but he seemed equally out of breath, so she felt okay about it.
She pulled back again to look at Marco to find his eyes still closed. He looked delicate. Like a boy. Then he took a small inhale, so slight that Star shouldn’t have noticed. But she noticed damn near everything about him, didn’t she? His eyes opened slowly, and something filled them when he looked at her, something that made Star feel elated and sick.
“I think we should get out of here,” Marco said. His voice was tired like he hadn’t been using it (he hadn’t) and like he’d done something to feel guilty over (he did, but so did Star, and more so, and that was something they would have to live with).
“Yeah.”
Marco stood up first, putting on his jacket. Star raked her eyes over him, a boy with hair and teeth and nails. He flexed his hands after putting them through the sleeves of his jacket, and Star took it as her cue to stand.
They walked out, not hand in hand, but together. They walked out of the photo booth older, so much older, than they’d been when they walked into it. Star looked around, feeling like years had passed, but everything was still the same. She saw Kelly with leaves in her hair, Nachos on her leash. Foolduke’s mother talking to a guest from Ruberiot’s family. And then Tom, all horns and eyes and teeth. Oh, Star thought, his eyes . They were always noticing, always scanning. Now it was no different.
Star’s eyes darted over to Marco, his eyes as glossy as his lips, covered in the shimmery pink of her lip gloss. She noticed, when Tom clocked it. The glitter on his face, the air between them. She waited.
She didn't feel good. She didn't feel bad.
She was cold again. She looked at Marco. You’re my boy, you know. And she just waited.