the joy & the laughter

⌠ YANDEH SALLAH, 20, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, MARTINA WASHINGTON! according to their records, they’re a FIRST year, specializing in UNDECIDED; and they DID go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( the glisten and glow of a puppy dog stare, a feather from a dove, pinky promises held to the highest sanctity, & being placed atop an ionic pillar ). when it’s the (pisces)’s birthday on 03/19/2001, they always request their VEGETARIAN KÖTTBULLAR from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. ⌿ garnet, 23, she/her, kst ⍀ 

@gallagherintro

“You’re right,” Sam agrees, nodding once with a reassuring smile. “I think you’re a really compassionate person, Martina,” he starts, and it’s easier at least to focus not on the awful reality that he might not see her again for a while, and instead on all the wonderful reasons why it would hurt so much in the first place. “I think you’ve spent plenty of time worrying about what others think, what they need from you. It’s not like that’s a bad thing— you do it because you care about them. And everyone in your life is so lucky that you do. But I’m… really glad that you’re going to focus on caring about you, do the things you want to do,” he tells her. His head tilts slightly, eyes grazing over her expression, hoping to look past the painted features and instead see the canvas of the artist herself. “Moving on from here, that… is what you want, isn’t it?” Sam asks, and he hates the hopeful color that taints his voice. He should know better, know it’s too late, but he has to know for sure. If he can’t be there for her anymore, he just has to know she’ll be happy.

“If it… If it means anything, Martina, you—” Sam’s not sure he should say it, that he should say anything. He doesn’t want to influence her, doesn’t want to make any of this about him when the only thing that matters is her. Her thoughts, her feelings, her desires. He recalls for a moment what he’d said to her just minutes before. What about me? The sentiment hasn’t changed, he doesn’t think he matters here. But if she’s already leaving, if he’s already lost the chance to stay by here side, then it’s done, isn’t it? He won’t change her mind now, and maybe now it’s finally okay to say some of the things he’s always thought, the things he’s always kept close to his chest. They’d been protected there, kept safe where they wouldn’t be heard by anyone, where he’d been too afraid to ever speak them. But as he looks at Martina now, holds her in his arms as they sway on the dance-floor with the terrible relief of knowing she’s already made her choice, it’s suddenly easier to start to let go of those carefully protected feelings. Maybe they’re safe with her too. “You are the best thing about this place.” He supposes in a day it will be were, not are.

Sam’s eyes are soft, but he can’t hide the tender sadness still there. “Thank you. For letting me be in your orbit for however long I could,” he tells her, voice quiet, like this is their secret, like he can allow her and only her into this hidden part of his heart. He wishes he could lead her in further, that he had the courage now or even earlier to ask her to—… God, why is he still keeping it in? It feels like lying— to himself, to her— not to tell her, and Sam has grown far too attached, far too sentimental for the girl in his arms to bear the feeling of something even close to lying to her now. If he can’t allow himself to deserve speaking his feelings, he at least knows she deserves to have the truth. It’s intoxicating and terrifying, the idea that he might give in after months of making sure his heart stayed out of it, terrifying enough to threaten him into losing again. She’s so close now, just like all the other times he’d kept it in, and she looks like the angel he’s known her to be since that moment in the forest. Bare-faced, wide-eyed, sweet and real. Could he ever deserve a person like that? The things that really matter to you, that are right for you… it’s worth fighting for them. He hears his own words in his head. The only thing that matters is her. She matters. His face is leaned in close, his hand in hers, his expression falling in a soft heartache as the music ends and he can’t let go of her, and Sam whispers, “I wish you would stay.”

Sam is only reiterating what Martina already shared with him, but she nods astutely as if they shine with new meaning simply because they left his lips, as he’s teaching her a new way to communicate her truth. Martina cares about Sam in a way that doesn’t drive her to soften her honesty; it feels just as tender as the white lies she tells to protect the feelings of those she cares about. Is that what she wanted? Martina tries to picture what life outside of Gallagher’s walls would look like, but deviating from what she’s known her entire life is just as scary as remaining — what did non-spies even, like, do? She couldn’t imagine it for herself, but then again, what could she imagine while swaying in Sam’s arms? “Don’t worry about me, Samuel Song,” Martina reassures him. The question prods her to stare at a future of possibility that begins to take shape on Sam’s hopeful face. It unfurls like an inviting outstretched hand, and it was up to her to accept it or not. Orion decided for her what she wanted when she was unsure. PJ pushed her away when she decided he was what she wanted. Mamma and Big Momma and Monique — they didn’t give her room to figure out what felt right to her, out of love, out of the bigger l-word. Only Sam touched her now, but it felt as if there were so many hands pressing against the small of her back, urging her in different directions. Martina squeezed the hand that’s tucked safely in hers. “While I’m on break, I’ll have time to figure out what I want. Who knows, I could come back, I could become, like, the best spy of all time, make my Mamma really proud, or I’ll find something I’m better at, or something, but...” She inhales his hope, that the world is as bright as she’s dreamed and ready for her, that it won’t trap her in its jowls like Gallagher has. When she’s ready to exhale, his hope becomes her truth. “It is what I want for now, don’t worry,” she repeats, though she’s learned by now that he’s prone to doing it anyway. “This won’t be the last time you see me.”

He lets out a small laugh, both to alleviate some of the nerves buzzing in his chest down to the tips of his fingers that still try not to reach for her, and because it’s just a natural response to seeing that smile on Martina’s face. But when she goes on, Sam finds himself a little frozen in place, the word beautiful ringing in the space between them, causing that buzzing under his skin to electrify, and he has to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them steady by his side. “I… Thank you, Martina,” he says finally, feeling a warmth begin to touch the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears, but as long as he couldn’t see the pink also beginning to color them, he could pretend it wasn’t there. Instead, he focuses on the way she looks at him, smiling sheepishly in return at her. Sam keeps his gaze on her even when hers shifts, as she looks elsewhere into the crowd and he answers any question she has for him, foolishly and blindly prepared to give her anything. He thinks about how different the night might have gone if he’d had the courage to ask her to the party instead, if the first chance he had gotten to see her tonight hadn’t been with the moon already so high in the night sky. Would it have ensured this wouldn’t be the last chance at all? He continues to think about it as he assures her of his friendship with Kiki, and as Martina goes on to explain that she just thought they’d go well together, it cements the idea in his brain that she’d never entertained the thought of someone like her by his side. And why would she? Sam tries not to let it get him down too much, doesn’t allow the feeling in chest to turn to anything past bittersweet. Instead, he smiles, making her worries his priority over his own. “You’d never keep me from anything,” he says. “I’m right where I need to be.”

The pang of sadness as she alludes to her departure breaks through that bittersweet haze enough to make his smile falter, but he nods in understanding. The atmosphere around them shifts seamlessly, though he wishes it wouldn’t, but even Sam understands that not every moment can be as glitteringly blithe and happy as Martina’s presence usually is. The harder parts are necessary, he just wishes it didn’t have to come so soon. His hand inches even closer for a moment, in some way trying to keep her close to him, and then she goes on to explain his part in all this, and his movement stops. It’s supposed to be a kind sentiment— it is— so then why does his heart sink? Why does his chest seem to tighten, his breath slow, to hear that it had been his own help that had guided her to this decision. But he remembers in the next instant that it’s just that, her decision. “I’m honored, then,” Sam tells her, his voice sentimental and composed though it kills him, lower and quieter now so only she could hear it, and it feels like they exist in a bubble outside of the rest of the ballroom, like a picture frame he’d be able to look back to when he wanted, a perfect moment in his memory he’d never get back. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, that it probably won’t be easy for a while, but if this is what you want, Martina, then it’s worth it, right?” he asks. “The things that really matter to you, that are right for you… it’s worth fighting for them.” He says it to her, and though he means every word, they echo in his own ears for a moment, and he can’t help but feel like a hypocrite. He can’t stop wondering if she’s leaving because she doesn’t believe in herself, if he’s not asking her to stay because he feels the same way about himself. That pang reverberates in his chest again, and a tight-lipped smile grows on his face to keep from feeling it any further, though it’s hard not to think about how much he wants to fight for her as her touch glides against his skin again. “Of course. Even if you go, we’ll still talk. I’ll call you all the time and… we’ll do our best to visit,” he grins, but even then he knows it’s not the same, that without her in his life every day, his world would grow a little bit dimmer. Her promise to return for graduation makes his heart squeeze, and imagining her cheering earns a blissful laugh, merciful in cutting up the somber feeling weighing him down, and before he even registers it, his hand responds too, no longer holding back and instead reaching for the rest of her palm until her hand fits perfectly against his. Sam glances at them once, then squeezes her hand as he looks back to her.

“Dance with me,” he says, eyes gleaming again, feeling some sort hope prepare to take flight in him again as he leads them further into the dance-floor, one hand still gentle and firm in its hold on hers, as the other wraps around her waist, settling on the small of her back to bring their bodies together. God, she’s so close again, and for once it’s his own doing. For once, it’s him taking the step to be only inches apart, and the view of her angelic face this near is beginning to become so wonderfully familiar that Sam hates to think about what he’ll feel when he starts to forget the details. But he wont go any closer now, feet only moving to lead them in this slow dance, feeling a warm glow on every part of his body where her touch meets his. “How long do we have?” Sam asks quietly. “How long until you have to go?”

Martina holds in the endeared laugh that blooms in her chest as pink sweeps Sam’s cheeks like a tender touch. He might be, like, embarrassed if she pointed it out, so she acknowledges it with a teensy-yet-tastefully-graceful nod. She doesn’t tell him how she’s endeared by the shade; the hue reminds her of the cherry blossom petals that cling to the branches of trees on spring days. A flush of color that surprises you, that you admire for the longest time, that vanishes far too soon. She disappears inside of her marveling, lids drooping slightly as she daydreams about Sam and soft petals floating in the springtime. Martina can usually sustain herself on her glittering dreams, but this image existing only in her head almost spoils the pinkness in the center of Martina’s chest. Sam didn’t even ask her to the dance as friend-dates. Coming to the dance with Trinity did not mean that there was a lack of offers, even as friend-dates, but Martina gently explained to all of them that she was going to the Gala with her cousin. If Sam asked her, would she have said yes? Sam’s reassurance temporarily cleanses Martina of the ickiness, but the weight of her tangled feelings pins her arms to her side, despite the optimistic high-kick that her heart gives. She almost wants to brush past how sweet it is for him to tell her so, even if he is just indulging her, but she wants to be honest more than she wants to be good. “Me too,” she says earnestly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Panic arcs through the rose-colored warmth in Martina’s chest, her eyes widen as she tries to find her faux-pas. She said the wrong thing. Sam’s dimming smile made that totally obvious, his flat tone validates her suspicions. Martina’s lips downturn subconsciously as she thinks. Lightening conversation with a joke or another comment undermines both her and Sam’s feelings. There is nothing comforting about Sam reciting something that Martina feels that he doesn’t really want to say. If he’s trying to tell her what she wants to hear, how can she tell him that his attempt is misguided? What she wants is what she knows that she will never get. And, anyway, it isn’t fair of her to want him to ask her to stay. To tell her that he’ll miss her again, and again, and again. Shoulders sinking, Martina nods glumly, the perfect portrait of Sam veiled by falling cherry blossoms growing fainter. “Yeah, it is worth it,” she tries to agree. Martina recently rediscovered her fear of upsetting those around her by letting disagreements explode in her face, and the last thing she wants is to upset Sam during one of their final moments inside Gallagher’s walls. She doesn’t know if that’s what he wants to hear, but she says it in hopes that it will thin the unspoken tension between them. “I’ve never been a good fighter. I mean, I literally got an F in a punching class.” Why did she announce that unprovoked? “I just mean,” she tries to correct herself. “I’ve always, like, tried what everyone wanted me do. But now is a good time to start fighting for what I want, right?” Isn’t that what she’s doing? Fighting for what you want isn’t just punches. Sam means fighting by being confident in her decision and going after what you want, but Martina knows that she fights to please, to be valued, and to be remembered. She is doing all of those things by clasping onto his hand. “Yeah!” Martina brightens when Sam grins, unable to help herself. “You’re always welcome at my house. You don’t even have to call first,” she laughs. “By the way, that’s a joke. Mamma would kill me. But, really, if you ever want to come over...it’s a date.” Martina reciprocates Sam’s squeeze with one of her own that she hopes adds an exclamation point to the core of her point: that distance won’t change their closeness. They will never be further apart than they are right now.

“You always look like that,” Sam answered naturally with a dreamy sort of look in his smiling eyes, not even thinking before the words left his mouth, and then he paused for half of a second to shake his head slightly once he’d realized what he’d said. “I mean— Not to say that you don’t look really nice tonight, or that your effort isn’t noticed, I just mean—” he stumbled for a bit, an awkward hand gesturing to her extravagant gown and perfect makeup and glimmering flowers adorning her hair. After a moment, he seemed to regain some composure, anxious expression softening as he came back to gaze at her own face, as lovely as he’d ever seen it. “You look beautiful tonight, I just mean that… I don’t know, I think you’ve always looked that way,” he finished, and he knew the words were going to come out anyway, that he couldn’t help it though he’d tried. He only hoped she wouldn’t read too much into them, that she’d allow a friend to call her beautiful and not think too hard on the way he couldn’t say it without staring perfectly into her eyes, without a gentle smile, without his hand inching towards her before bringing it back to his side. She was as beautiful to him now as she had been every day walking Gallagher’s halls, or caught off guard in the sunlight of the forest, or even with heartbreaking tears glinting off of her cheeks. Sam told himself to commit this image of her to his memory, too, scared it would be one of his last chances.

That unrecognizable sort of expression on her face seemed to fade, replaced by the more typical Martina style of blithe eyes and angelic smile and while he answered her, he tried to watch her face as her head turned in Kiki’s direction, more interested in her thoughts behind her expression, looking at her to make sure everything was alright, or catch what maybe wasn’t. He was just making conversation with her, prepared to say anything to keep her in his company longer, but he noticed belatedly that she seemed pretty hung up on his answers, he just wasn’t sure why. It was harder to focus and figure it out when he felt the slight tug of pressure of Martina’s delicate grasp on the edge of his cuffs, her hand so close to his, so easy to turn his own palm into hers, but he kept it where it was, devastatingly polite. His attention came back to the conversation when she spoke up again, peculiar questions on her lips, his brow creasing a bit as he tried to understand, studying her face again. You really like her, huh? Sam’s heart skipped a painfully nervous beat, fearing for a millisecond that she’d figured it out, that he couldn’t hide the heart he always wore on his sleeve, and it was all too obvious the way he felt about her. He almost said it just then— Yes. He wanted to blurt it as he looked at her, at Martina Washington. But then he noticed how she was still looking at Kiki and he finally put the pieces together, a contradicting sigh of relief and disappointment leaving him. “Kiki? No, no, I mean. I like her as a friend just fine, but it’s not… like that,” Sam answered with a sheepish sort of chuckle, “Just friends, honest.” He didn’t know why he would try so hard to make sure Martina knew when he didn’t think it would make a difference between them, but a part of him had to anyway.

She gave him that light-hearted air again, but Sam seemed pick up on the way she just wasn’t herself, not fully. She was lovely, and cheerful, and bright, but she wasn’t shining the same way she did before, like she was dulling some part of herself, only he didn’t know why. He tried to hide his concern, and wondered if he was imagining it, if it was okay to ask whether or not she was alright, if it was even his place anymore. “I guess we’ve just been missing each other all night,” he said with a slight laugh, and couldn’t help but think of the way he might be missing her for even longer, and how maybe he could change that if he just took her hand that still lingered by his. His laugh bubbled into a brighter one as she went on, nodding in agreement about the party, sharing in the happiness at everyone else’s happiness, and when her stance faltered even just that little bit, it was instinct for him to reach for her, that same hand now steadied at her elbow, soft touch against her smooth skin. He now more in tune with her expression, her somber mood as she looked around the ballroom. Sam only smiled in return at her question, feeling like that was enough. What about you? What about him, what did he matter when all he cared about now was her, when something in his chest longed for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close to him, to tell her? But with that desire came apprehension, a foreboding sadness that slipped in just in time, just as she finally answered him too, first with that slow nod, and then the confirmation of the words he was dreading. Sam could feel his heart sink in his ribcage. It hung in the air between them for a moment before he nodded with a sad smile, eyes wistful, but he mustered up that grin just for her. “That’s… that’s really too bad,” Sam said finally, finding it hard to get words out when a tight hand seemed to squeeze at his chest and his throat, but he tried to remind himself that this wasn’t about him, and he couldn’t let her feel regret or guilt on his behalf. He would have to carry those on his own. “I’m happy for you, you know. Anything you choose, I’ll always be happy for you, I hope you know that,” he told her, voice quiet, sentimental as he looked at her. “But I really…” He felt himself falter, throat ache again as he blinked a few times and tried again. “I really will miss you, Martina,” Sam said. If Martina gave him years or days, he’d relish in every last second, grateful for every moment she gifted him.

A delicate crease dips between her brows, but a little confusion doesn’t dull the light shining in her eyes. Martina waits patiently for him to find his pace, leaning forward on her tiptoes so she doesn’t miss a word, diving into a guess when he gestures to all of her. “...Mean you like my dress?” she offers, nose scrunching, as she lands back on her heels. Always? It can’t be right for him to think that she looks like this all the time. Even Martina’s exquisite cuteness has a baseline and, like, he’s actually witnessed her at those record lows. However, the kindness to pretend that he hasn’t is totally appreciated and she accepts the compliment with tinged cheeks underneath long tresses of her hair. Holding his gaze flips her stomach — she’s dressed as an angel but for the first time in her life she distinctly doesn’t feel like one. She could never hope to have her halo glow as bright as Sam’s. Martina basks in its warmth, smiling in return, before lowering her eyes to the floor and exhaling out her fresh wave of nerves with a shy laugh. “Oh, hush,” she says simply, and for the first time tonight, she meant it. It’s hard to tell, though, because her smile widens. She can’t help it. “When will you let me compliment you for a change?” Martina teases. “I’m running out of ways to tell you how beautiful you are.”

Consumed by her own thoughts, any trace of red under Martina’s skin should turn green to match the toiling feeling of envy. She doesn’t feel him watching her as she transforms from a saint to a green-eyed goblin internally, but Martina catches the creature that almost masquerades as her, wearing her hair and skin and dress that Sam thinks is beautiful, shoos it back to its cage and drives a key into the lock. Sam doesn’t owe her any explanation for asking someone else to the dance, a lot of her friends arrived to this party with dates. But, like, she doesn’t know, it feels wrong for Sam to ask someone else, to have someone shinier and smarter in the picture when it is supposed to be a portrait of the just two of them. As her hand gently curls a touch tighter on his cuffs for balance, pads of her fingers skimming warm skin, they study each other. For a moment, Martina notices that Sam looks caught, which speeds up how her heart thumps in her chest; the green-eyed goblin inside of her senses an opportunity to escape. Martina blinks rapidly, preparing herself for the inevitable yes, he really likes her, unaware of her advantage being so close to the heart on his sleeve. At least, she reasons, she won’t spend time in the future wondering how Sam looks when he’s in love; she’ll see it for herself before she sees less and less of him. “Friends?” It slips out too eagerly, feathery with disbelief. Relief floods Martina, washing away the green-eyed goblin. Martina almost lets it fill her mouth and spill in a laugh, but she nibbles at her lips so her smile doesn’t budge. It's totally rude to celebrate two people being just friends, honest. Loudly, anyway. “Oh, like friends!” Said with the same verve of oh, like dates! that she said moments prior. “Right, totally, friends are, like, so important to create memories with. I — I thought you two were, like, a thing. You guys are just so matchy-matchy and would be soooo gorg together,” she rambles, unable to be anything but earnest. Martina stops herself from asking if there’s anyone, preferably in the room, who he isn’t just friends with, because —  “It’s totally not my business, you can date who you want, obviously, but….” Her frenzy slows, what’s she even saying? Martina allows herself a cleansing breath, her imagination pausing its projection of fake scenarios and alternate endings and vivid stories, as she lets herself focus on what’s in front of her. “I don’t know, I’m glad I’m not keeping you from someone or anything,” she admits. “That I get to, like, have a moment with you and really see you before...you know, you know?”

He tilted his head. “Yeah, I’m sure it was. My eyes were on you the entire time so I saw it happen.”

“So you thought I was cute this entire time?”

He didn’t know how he kept earning the grace of her close proximity, words halting in the tender moment of Martina bringing her gentle hand to his face as she smoothed down a lock of his hair. Her angel eyes were looking up past his forehead, but all he could do was stare down at the deep mauve coloring her dark brown cheeks, eyes lingering for just a moment on her lips again. It was so easy, entirely too easy to get lost in the same old thoughts of how often he could find himself so close to her smile and not be able to do something to close the rest of the distance. He felt the warmth of her hand graze his ear, and it seemed to leave heat in its place, though he prayed she couldn’t see the slight pink beginning to tint them. “Oh, you think so? Thanks, that, ah, means a lot coming from you,” Sam smiled sheepishly, unable to voice some of his thoughts when her words made him feel so light and grounded at the same time. He’d have to work harder to keep the deeper truths at bay. She was Martina, perfect in her imperfections, a marvelous warmth dancing in his life that would soon take her final bow and exit the stage, and he’d be selfish to ask her to stay in the lights she’d created in his life. But she wasn’t leaving right now, in fact she wasn’t moving back to her place before, chin still lifted up towards him as the two just gazed for a moment, and Sam wished for all the things he was good at, that telling her how he felt could be one of them.

But she was the one to speak up again, and it seemed like they’d broken whatever quiet partnership had been between them for a moment, voice high and airy again like this was just another casual, funny conversation, and not one of the last ones Sam might get. He hated the way that idea stayed in the back of his head, but tried to grin through it anyway. “Yeah— yeah, I mean, she’s just doing me a solid,” he insisted with a chuckle, repeating the same sentiment he’d given Anya, and even though Anya had told him anyone would be lucky, he still held on to the fact that he was the lucky one here. “Besides, it’s fun to go to these things with friends, you make a lot of good memories, you know?” Sam continued on, and he was sure that Martina would understand, because her night was probably filled with various hearts wanting time with her bright presence, burning memories into their own lives with the light she provided. Sam was just one of the many, he knew that. Martina was so innately good and kind to so many, that he couldn’t dare to claim that he had any special place in her heart. But strangely, his brow furrowed ever so slightly at the odd tone in Martina’s voice, something he couldn’t quite place, though it definitely differed from her usually sweet and melodic timbre, turning legato into staccato. He let out a breathy laugh at her comments on Trinity, and though he’d never held too long of a conversation with her cousin, even he knew she was telling the truth. But he wouldn’t care to fact check or dawdle too long on questions about Trinity when Martina was really the only cousin he cared about, and the only one who could consume his thoughts every day. But at her question, he got the sinking feeling that it didn’t go both ways, that while he could spend too long thinking about her, he was only a passing thought in her life, only just having noticed him this late in the night. “Ah, no, we’ve been… around for a bit,” Sam answered, trying to keep the dejected feeling in his heart out of his voice, eyes crinkling with the best version he could muster of his classic smile. “Enjoying everything, having fun. It’s a pretty insane party, after all,” he chuckled, gaze shifting back to her. “What about you? You’re having a good time, right?” Sam could mope all he wanted later, but with Martina still so close to him now, suddenly all he could think to care about was how she was feeling, and if she’d made her decision of her own happiness yet. Trying again, he did his best to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help the somber look in his eyes. “Is it… one of your last here?”

“I know so! We clean up so well, don’t we?” Martina sang. Her mascara stuck faithfully to her falsies and neither her nor Sam were in their gym clothes. This was how she wanted to remember him, like the perfect angel who appeared by her side at her darkest moments, and she prayed that he’d remember her like this, like the dream came true. However, she wouldn’t in a gazillion years recant any moment that they shared, but she wasn’t so bold as to assume they carried the same weight for him as they did to her. Martina’s feet haven’t touched the ground since she floated to him; her bones poofed into thin air, clouds forming under her skin in their place, and the boost of her heels added to her airy feeling. She was closer to his lips, closer to scrutinize the tiniest sliver of emotion that caressed his face. Martina wouldn’t know suspicion if it cuddled with her  in bed every night, but his shy smile hid something that she hadn’t uncovered just yet. She resolved to figure it out before she lost the opportunity to be this close to him for a long, long time. An infinite conversation passed through their silent regard of each other, but if Sam were trying to tell her something, she wouldn’t have heard any of it. The ground reappeared under her feet, catching her before she plummeted out of the air as a sadness curled its weight around her ankles. She told him that she’d miss him the last time they spoke, but she hadn’t expected it to start so quick.

Martina wished that she never interrupted to ask for clarification. It was a different kind of agony that she wasn’t equipped for. For every word that leapt from her lips, hundreds more sprouted in its place until her head filled with a field of questions that she didn’t really want answered. She pushed through the thought of how she could have done him a solid if he had asked, shoulders drooping from the exertion. Her eyes whisked away to Kiki again, a ribbon of guilt pulled taut around her chest, because she knew that she wasn’t being fair — Martina already kissed PJ, and she was so sure of her love for him even if he didn’t want it. But she couldn’t explain how she felt when she was with Sam, the ache for more than innocent friendship, something that wasn’t love yet but it was going to be. Her gaze returned to him, soft and wet, but she smiled. “Well, she struck gold. Who wouldn’t want you as their angel date?” Her smile gradually became sweeter with each sentiment, her fondness unable to be contained by the flimsy self-restraint that she has. “She’s so lucky that you asked her.” As Sam continued, her nods were slightly off-beat, lagging behind his tempo, before she realized. The epiphany rewinded to that part, then sped forward in time to meet him at the question mark. Her searching fingers curled around his cuffs, close to the soft landing pad of his hand, tips of her fingers grazing the underside of his wrist. “Just friends?” she asked. Her head leaned almost imperceptibly in Kiki’s direction. “Does she know…?” Martina didn’t know how she stumbled upon this conclusion, but the mention of memories made her assume that he waited for the perfect moment to tell her how he felt. What better moment than the saints and sinners gala? “You really like her, huh?” she pressed anyway, too tipsy for reading of any kind, much less reading between the lines.

He feared for a moment, when she apologized, that she could sense his jealousy despite his best efforts to ignore it. Was he that obvious? Could she tell from the way his eyes looked at her that she’d been on his mind constantly, that he hadn’t been able to get the image of her sunlit eyes out of his head since that moment in the forest, when her lips had been just one ounce of courage away? But after a moment, he realized that wasn’t the case, and Martina in her endless compassion, was apologizing for making him concerned for her. “Don’t worry about me,” Sam responded, pulling together a sympathetic smile for her, anything for her, to get her to feel lighter and happier in turn. If he could ease her pain even the slightest bit, it would be enough for him.

With her arms held tighter around him, and her warm body pressed close against him, he felt the tips of his ears start to heat up, and he was glad they were outside, where he could chalk it up to the spring sun coming down on them. How often was he going to find himself in this position? With Martina so close, and every desire in his heart at the forefront of his mind, but unable to do anything about it? Your heart’s racing. The moment stilled to just that sentence, Sam frozen with his arms around her, Martina’s soft whisper in the air revealing the way she had his heart. She isn’t for you, he thought to himself, trying to bring his heart-rate down again. She belongs to herself, and she’s vulnerable, he repeated. Just be her friend. It would be so far past foolish to tell her why she could hear his thrumming heartbeat in his chest, so Sam did his best to take an even breath, and summon a polite smile. “I just care about making sure you’re okay,” he said softly, and thanked every god in the sky that by the time she raised her face to him again, he’d regained most of his composure. Despite so much of him wanting to tell her to stay, Sam only smiled brighter for her, nodding his head. “I really think that. You wouldn’t be throwing it away, you’d be moving on,” he told her confidently. “You’d be exploring new things, making your mark in more places in any way you want. Your legacy doesn’t live and die here, Martina,” Sam said, fully believing these words he gave her. “You will always be a Washington, and every good thing you do will make that legacy shine brighter, but it won’t be because of your last name. It’ll be because that’s who you are.” There was contentment in his heart as he told her this, knowing that it was true, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she chose to leave, she would still find ways to be happy. And that was enough for him.

Her question made him pause, unsure how he felt if he’d put himself in her shoes. Sam had his own worries about his legacy and his place in this world, but he always knew that at the end of day, he was happy to keep working toward it, that this was his calling no matter how hard he had to struggle for it. “I think I could, if I wanted to. I wouldn’t think myself any less for it, if I knew it was the right decision for me. But I want to be here, and I can’t make that decision for you, Martina,” Sam said, softer this time, trying to let her know that whatever choice she made, he would support her. Just like before, he missed the feel of her body so close to his as soon as it was gone, but he concealed that feeling too. It was harder, though, when her soft hand caressed his, and she let his hand cup the side of her face, causing a feeling in his chest like waves crashing against the inside of his ribs. Her words nestled in a tender place in his heart, and despite the way he wanted more from her than friendship, it brought a blithe light to his eyes. “I’m glad. That’s all I want,” he lied with a smile on his face. That had to be enough.

Martina sensed that there was something Sam wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t push it. Because she will worry regardless that she’s too much for his strong arms to carry, an unnecessary load that he had no obligation to bear. Her arms tingled with her own exhaustion from dealing with her own problems, the static dancing from her wrists to her shoulders. “Fine, I love talking about me.” Her watery voice aimed to match his smile, bright and happy, but fell short of its mark. Martina didn’t add that he’s going to have to let her worry about him one day, that she worries because she cares more than she should. That there was always room for one more in her heart, even when it was shredded. Her mouth opened but invited her lower lip between her teeth, biting down on her instinct to overshare. No one wants her heart when it's full and whole, who would want it when it’s in pieces?

“Yeah?” Martina tried for the third time - the best things came in threes, and she’d really believe him after one final reassurance. He spoke with the conviction of, like, an oracle or something, like he’d already foreseen what the universe had up its star-studded sleeves for her life. Your legacy doesn’t live or die here, Martina. It echoed through her head; she never realized that it was an option for her legacy to make its bed elsewhere. She hoped that it’s a very beautiful bed, wherever it is. In Spain, Brazil, Mozambique, China, Paris, Montenegro like where Mamma’s assigned — anywhere. Martina hovered over different possibilities, and the window of her imagination flew open, bad thoughts swarming out of her mind like a flock of dark birds. She didn’t want to join their flight, but if she did find her wings at a later time, Martina would send Sam a postcard from wherever she landed. Tears almost spring to her eyes again, because she’d have to leave Sam if she left Gallagher, but she kept them at bay. “I guess - I guess I never thought about it like that,” Martina admitted. “I thought I had to be something I’m not for someone to be proud of me.” Her tone hushed, and Martina couldn’t quite look Sam in the eye as she said it. “Maybe, I could, like, I always wanted to design clothes?” It wasn’t a question but the end of the sentence flew up like one. Being in the same realm as Sam rejuvenated her, her exuberance charging from the electricity of her fingers still trailing on either side of him. Martina wasn’t at full battery but she would be, he promised her that she’d be happy no matter what. “It’s not, like, as cool as being a spy, but, I dunno, clothes make me happy. And I have so many ideas I could bring to life, and Mamma knows a lot of designers who could help me,” she rambled, her thoughts and mouth working in tandem. A delicate crease formed between her eyebrows. “That’s might be who I am. But I tried to, like — I’d have to tell my cousins. And Mamma, and, gosh, everybody.” What if they didn’t forgive her for it? What if they were angered by her decision? 

      “  𝚢𝚘𝚞  𝚜𝚊𝚢  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  as  if  we  aren’t  going  to  see  each  other  over  the  summer  .  ”  there’s  something  about  what  martina  says  next  that  doesn’t  sit  well  with  lari  .  she  knows  she  isn’t  good  with  goodbyes  .  but  at  the  same  time  ,  she’s  not  saying  goodbye  to  her  friends  .  it’s  symbolic  .  a  promise  that  she’ll  still  be  in  their  lives  despite  not  being  at  gallagher  .  she  thinks  she’s  done  a  pretty  good  job  of  that  before  she  went  to  gallagher  .  and  it’s  a  shame  that  after  years  of  knowing  each  other  ,  martina  doesn’t  understand  that  .  

“  like  i  said  ,  probably  over  the  summer  .  ”  downs  the  rest  of  her  drink  .  “  you  can  be  hurt  that  i  didn’t  tell  you  .  that’s  fine  .  but  it’s  kinda  funny  ,  ”  lari  starts  .  “  it’s  our  last  night  at  school  and  you’re  making  my  departure  about  you  ,  ”  she  can’t  help  but  point  out  .  the  alcohol  is  making  her  more  vocal  and  she  has  no  intention  of  stopping  .  “  think  about  how  you  feel  ?  i  did  .  martina  ,  did  you  stop  to  think  about  how  i  feel  ?  or  consider  why  i  chose  not  to  tell  anyone  ?  yes  ,  our  families  know  each  other  .  but  you’re  also  not  the  only  family  friend  i  have  here  .  tommy  and  charlie  don’t  even  know  that  i’m  leaving  .  ”

“I think we both are.” Honestly, it was more him than her, though that all depended on if either told others about this. P.J. wasn’t going to tell Trinity, Scott, or Ruby about this intimate moment. But he was for sure telling Simon about it. Even as her hands dropped to her lap, his never left from around her. If both pulled away completely then this moment will come to an end. And maybe P.J. wasn’t ready for it to end, because he was happy. Happy that in this very moment, happy ( and grateful ) that she liked him, just happy in general that he met Martina. His stomach dropped as he leaned into her touch for stability and comfort. P.J. could answer the first one but the second– “We’re still friends,” he answered her, inhaling and exhaling deeply to control himself. “I won’t disappear on you, I promise.” His first promise to her that he was breaking, all because he was too much of a coward to tell her about him leaving. How pathetic. His lips twisted up into a sad smile before he kissed her, this one softer and shorter than the last one. It was their last and final kiss of the night, more like their last kiss ever. “You weren’t dreaming, Mars.” 

“I didn’t say you were.” They feel like they’re in grade school all over again, not because of Martina who is obviously right, but because of their own childish response. She looks beautiful but it feels foolish to point out because she always does. A shining sun in the world of anyone that has the privilege of getting to even see her walking down the hall. “Well, maybe this way you’ll actually believe that I’m not any good for you.” They’ve selfishly taken her along on a rollercoaster that’s hanging off a cliff, they’re willing her to finally jump off. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, kissing and pulling her close to him like his life depended on it. He should’ve pulled away or left the photo booth, he should’ve done anything that wasn’t this. And yet, despite the voices in his head telling him to stop and how wrong this was, he continued. Doing what felt right to him at this moment, P.J. destroyed any last distance between them as he practically pulled her on top of him. Neither of them cared or thought of stopping, Martina for her own obvious reasons and P.J. for his that weren’t as obvious. Such as feelings and how he felt for her. He thought of Scott and Ruby who both were aware of Martina’s feelings for him, how both asked him, well how do you feel about her? Even when Martina asked him, he gave the same half assed answer. I don’t know. Which was true, he didn’t know. Never has he had to deal with his emotions from a romantic aspect, either because he never met someone who made him feel like that or all of his partners were strictly sexual. Until Martina Washington walked into his life with sickly sweet smiles and words to match. Her presence alone made him question everything, made him want to seek out answers on how he felt for her. As he deepened their kiss, he could swear on his life that he felt something. Though, he wasn’t sure if he was confusing lust with the potential idea of love. The two felt the same or maybe P.J. was just like your typical man, mind always on one thing and one thing only. And he’ll be honest, his mind did go there. The longer he lost himself to the taste and feel of her, the more he considered leading her out of the photo booth and ballroom, and to somewhere more private. The fact that this was his best friend’s cousin was thrown out the window. He didn’t care about any of that as it was just the two of them in their own little world. There was only thing that stopped him and it was the fact that he was leaving tomorrow. That after tonight, he’ll be long gone from Gallagher and its students. That he was going to cut all ties with his friends, that he was going to cut all ties with her. And while P.J. had little shit and bitch tendencies, he wasn’t an asshole who would have sex with a girl then ghost her. Much less someone who had feelings for him. “Martina,” he said her name as he pried himself from her, forehead leaning on hers. “We should stop. Others probably want to use the photo booth.” 

The kiss was both expected and unexpected. Expected in the way that it should’ve been known, that P.J. should’ve seen it coming. So confined in such a small and tiny space, with knees that knocked against each other and arms that were hooked together. Minutes ago with hands that were locked together, as if either let go then they’ll lose each other. Careless touches of fingers that brushed against his chest, of his own lingering touch on her cheek, of glances and stares. All little things that signaled it, the moment of intimacy that was to come. And when it did, as Martina softly pressed her lips to his, he found the action electrifying. But then came it. The alarm, now louder than before, telling him to get away. That this was a bad idea and that he needed to be the one to put an end to it. So loud and annoying, P.J. almost listened to it. But he didn’t. No more pulling or stepping back from Martina, he only moved forward. When she pulled back to look at him, P.J. went forward, closing the gap between them again. All alarms fell on death’s ear as he pulled her close to him, ignoring the screen that asked the two on how many pictures they wanted. None of that mattered in this very moment of intimacy, a moment where he didn’t pull away from no matter the reason.

      𝚒𝚝’𝚜  𝚗𝚘𝚝  𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝  lari  wanted  to  keep  this  from  all  her  friends  ,  but  she’d  just  never  been  good  at  saying  goodbye  .  and  she  figures  she’ll  run  into  them  later  on  in  life  .  being  at  gallagher  proves  that  .  “  of  course  we’re  friends  .  ”  takes  another  sip  of  her  drink  .  she  peers  over  from  her  glass  .  and  when  martina  brings  up  her  departure  from  gallagher  ,  she  pauses  for  a  moment  .  “  i  wasn’t  going  to  tell  anyone  ,  ”  she  answers  truthfully  .  telling  margot  felt  necessary  since  she  still  works  for  her  friend’s  family  .  and  as  for  marifer  ?  she’s  leaving  gallagher  too  .  and  adam  ?  it  came  up  and  she  didn’t  want  to  lie  to  him  .  “  my  plan  isn’t  to  leave  and  cut  off  ties  with  all  my  friends  here  .  ”

He had to kick himself now for trying not to think about her. He’d done it in an effort to preserve his heart, to not fall farther down this lovely rabbit hole, because he’d known once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her all evening. But now, with her in front of him, a vision of every precious thing in the world, Sam knew he’d have gladly spent his night dreaming of her, lost in turmoil over his feelings, blissful in watching her like she’s the angel she is. He would have taken the bad along with the good, he should have, he could have happily spent all night absolutely smitten, sinner or saint, no matter if it had given him heaven or hell. She was kind for complimenting him, but he held on to it anyway, as if he could ever look half-way as lovely as her. “That’s a unique choice of words,” he chuckled, unable to keep from smiling wide at it, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair, surprising himself again when he could feel the difference in length. “Oh, uh, Ingrid cut my hair for the party,” he blurted, like he needed to explain himself for the change, or maybe he just wanted to fill the space with words that weren’t all his jumbled feelings for her. He held on to the way she said ‘me too’, turning the words over in his to head to wish them into something they weren’t. “No, no,” he laughed. “Actually, Kiki made them for me. She said we had to match if we were going to be dates,” Sam explained with an innocent chuckle, gaze shifting to Kiki and her own wings somewhere farther down the ballroom, and to her credit, silly as she was, Kiki looked like an image of effortless beauty, soft features accentuated by her smokey makeup, flowing white dress, and golden halo in her hair. Sam was just lucky she was a good enough friend to let him come along with her. “Hey, where’s Trinity? I bet she cleaned up well, too. Though, don’t tell her I said this, but I doubt she’d be able to look as nice as you,” he grinned, his attention fully back to her so quickly, because with her in front of him, nothing could pull his focus for longer than a moment.

“I live to make a lasting impression.” Impressing certain someones was high on her list of priorities. A smile warmed her face, or it could have just been her cheeks flushing at his smile. Martina’s gaze trailed along a gold-embellished sleeve, following the scenic trail of the curve of his arm as Sam carded a hand through his hair. He obviously knew to use shampoo and conditioner, caring for the gift that the hair gods and goddesses blessed him with. It looked so soft, too, softer than the patch of grass that caught them in Gallagher forest. “Seriously, though, like, wow.” Martina shrank the distance between them to smooth down a flyaway that went askew. Perfect again. “I’m impressed.” Her palm gently brushed against the top of his ear as it floated down to her side. “She did a good job! I’m starting to think there’s nothing she can’t do.” Video games, reading, cutting hair, general spyness...Martina wondered if Ingrid found time to get an eight hours of beauty rest. “Short hair suits you, easier to see your face. Not that you looked bad with, like, long hair. Your face is totally...versatile!” Lord. “In a good way.” Martina tipped her head up, because she didn’t take a step back, standing close that she could feel his presence in front of her, could close the distance if she really, really wanted to, rest her head on his chest to hear his heartbeat or lean her head on his shoulder or.... 

      𝚜𝚑𝚎  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜  𝚊  face  at  the  insinuation  .  “  okay  noooo  .  definitely  not  that  .  just  friends  as  in  we  broke  it  off  and  we’re  on  good  terms  .  ”  as  soon  as  they  reach  the  bar  ,  she  orders  a  jalisco  express  .  for  someone  who’s  always  observant  ,  lari  can  barely  notice  the  shift  in  martina’s  demeanor  .  blame  it  on  the  alcohol  she’s  had  .  but  if  martina  has  something  she  wants  to  talk  about  then  she  better  say  it  .  tipsy  lari  isn’t  going  to  pick  up  on  the  hints  as  easily  .  drunk  lari  sure  as  hell  won’t  .  better  work  fast  ,  martina  .  as  soon  as  her  drink  is  served  ,  lari  grabs  it  and  takes  a  sip  .  “  i  think  you’re  gonna  have  to  be  a  little  more  specific  .  ”