my follies, now in writing

Whatever. It wasn’t her fault he was as approachable as a hungry lion.

“You need to stop worrying” Was her gentle hello. She gave herself a mental high-five for not murdering him on the spot. She was nailing this whole thing.

If it was possible, Kaz’s glare got even sharper. “I’m not worrying.”

“Sure you’re not.” At least he’d stopped that infernal pacing. “She’ll be fine.” Nina’s knuckles whitened as her fist tensed- not with anger, but worry. Inej had to be fine.

“You don’t know that.” Kaz was practically seething. Sankta Alina, Nina’s mind breathed in a faint whisper. He loves her even more than I imagined.

“No,” she replied evenly. A part of her wanted to extend some of her magic onto him to make this whole process easier, but no, she couldn’t. Fiery anger wouldn’t have been her first choice of emotion for him to display, but it was rare enough already that Kaz showed anything but stone cold precision, a lack of emotion that proved terrifying in its own right. Fire was better than nothing.

“But I do know that if she doesn’t, you’ll send this boat halfway across the world to hunt down anyone who ever wronged her. And no one has the time or energy for that prepubescent drama, so the gods will have no choice but to spare her.”

“Prepubescent-” His jaw clenched, hand curling around the crow’s head of his cane in a way she knew to mean danger. But Nina merely widened her stance and crossed her arms, daring him to disagree.

“Kaz. Stop worrying.”

“I cannot,” he said tensely, “stop worrying.”

Okay, drama queen. Even when Nina was at her worst after Matthias- well. She hadn’t been this bad.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Matthias suddenly appeared beside her, arms crossed and glaring down at Kaz. “If Nina is telling you to stop worrying,” he said slowly, “she’s right.”

Did he just-?

“Stop telling me to calm down.” His voice was gravelly and dangerous, with a dark undertone she’d never heard before.

“Then, what should we tell you?” Nina asked, refocusing on Kaz.

“Nothing,” he ground out. “Leave me alone.”

“Can’t do that,” Jesper interjected, resting his elbow on Kaz’s shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face. “You’re acting like someone just stole all your kruge.”

“In a way,” Wylan mused from behind Jesper, “he has. Inej is an essential part of this plan.” He paused. “At least, from what I’ve seen. Which admittedly isn’t much.”

Nina stifled her pity for the kid- how had he gotten wrapped up in this, anyway?- and merely nodded in agreement. “I’ve never seen you like this.” She teetered on the edge of making a comment about how he’d certainly not be this distraught if it were any of them but Inej, but no. Now was not the time or the place. Even she knew that.

“A whole different kind of scheming face,” Jesper said, face immediately drooping as he looked around and realized Inej was, in fact, not there to finish that train of thought. Although Kaz was dealing with it the worst of them all, the weight of her life in the balance hung over all of them.

“Demjin,” Matthias muttered.

“Ah, yes. Demonic plans brewing to kill everyone who lays a hand on her,” Nina said dryly, only half joking.

“I don’t enjoy killing” Was Kaz’s only response.

“No one does,” Wylan said as if were the most obvious thing in the world, but Matthias shook his head.

“Some people do. The worst type. This one…” He frowned at Kaz. “Maybe he wouldn’t enjoy it, but he sees it at necessary. A different kind of evil.”

Evil was a bit dramatic. Really, Nina thought Kaz just needed to find better coping mechanisms. Of their own accord, her eyes danced to his always-gloved hands, and a shudder rippled through her. Whatever made him wear those must have been truly horrifying.

“If Inej dies on this boat,” Kaz said sharply, leveling his cold gaze this time on Matthias, “I want you all to promise that you will help me avenge her. Sometimes,” he said with deadly apathy, “it is necessary. If you don’t understand that yet, you will.”

Nina understood immediately that when Kaz said that, he was making a promise.

She didn’t want to think herself a killer.

But for Inej? If she died? Her fists clenched at just the thought.

“I promise,” she cut in, voice sharp and clear as the ocean air around them.

“Me too,” Jesper said almost immediately after, jerking himself upright. His eyes were suddenly as icy as Kaz’s, and Nina realized with finality what an effect Inej’s death might have on all of them.

She really was the best of them.

Wylan cleared his throat. “I promise too. Inej was nice to me.”

“Is,” Kaz interrupted sharply.

Everyone slowly turned to Matthias. Nina found herself glaring at him, willing him to vow his loyalty. If not to her or any of them, at least to Inej.

“Yes,” he said after a long moment, not sparing her a glance before stalking off again, as if the admission that he might help them should Inej not make it any further angered him. Maybe it did. Matthias did not like relying on others for anything.

“Good.” Kaz’s cane started clicking once again as he headed to the deck of the boat, certainly ready to sulk and stab things again. She’d have to try again later.

“You know what they call a group of crows?” Wylan asked mildly after a moment, to no response from either Jesper or Nina. “A murder,” he said, answering his own question. “I thought that was rather interesting.”

“A murder of crows,” Jesper said, half a laugh hidden in his voice. “We set ourselves up for this, didn’t we.”

It wasn’t a question, but Nina corrected him anyway. “No. He did.” She didn’t have to specify who she was referring to.

“But we’re still here,” Jesper said.

She-Ra was the name Catra had been left with in the wake of Adora’s leaving, that carved into her skin, irreversible and true. She couldn’t have done anything about it if she wanted to.

But what was she supposed to do, when her worst enemy and soulmate were one and the same?

It was a mess, as Catra had been for three years. And now, here they were.

What was she supposed to do?

Adora was not choosing her. She never had. Destiny was another wall to break down in her mind, fate something to charge at headfirst and destroy herself, if she had to. She’d always been like that. Brave and bold and beautiful.

Catra wasn’t. Where Adora was strong, she was weak; where she was daring, Catra was clever instead.

But cleverness would bring her nothing right now. There was nothing to be figured out, no way to trick anyone out of this situation. There was only the harsh reality, stark against what could be, if only she were strong enough to do something.

Time moved in slow motion, Catra’s thoughts a million miles an hour. They did not have time.

Adora was fucking dying.

They would never have time again.

And suddenly she was angry, because these fucking names on her wrist had screwed her over from the beginning. Made her complicit and furious and stupid, thinking of everything else as a fucking commodity if they would be alright in the end. But soulmates had no guarantee, so she should have known from the beginning.

What made a soulmate anyway? And what made an enemy? She stared at Adora in her arms, and was a different kind of furious as she dared to ask who had ever told her she might make the one person she loved more than life itself her enemy.

Who decided that? Who wrote those names on her skin?

Who made her believe them?

She-Ra was not her worst enemy, she thought furiously. That was herself- always destroying herself from the inside out, making herself into the worst Catra she could ever be.

Adora made her better. She-Ra made her better.

But what did it matter if one name on her wrist was fake? She refused to believe the other wasn’t true. After all they’d gained and all they’d lost, she would destroy the fucking world if it dared test them again.

“Adora! Adora!” she screamed, overcome with too many thoughts, too many emotions, overflowing into her voice, frantic and loud in this vast emptiness.

“Adora! Please, you have to wake up. You can’t give up. You have never given up on anything in your life,” she said, whispering now, tired and broken and real in the aftermath of her shout. “Not even on me. So don’t you dare start now.”

“It’s too late,” Adora rasped, a broken voice matching the barely-there body in her arms, and she tightened her grasp, unwilling to let go. “I’ve failed.”

“No. No. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.” She shook her head, thoughts of soulmates and enemies and everything else leaving her mind because none of that fucking mattered when Adora was dying and she was right there and she couldn’t save her. “Don’t you get it? I love you. I always have. So please, just this once… stay. Stay,” she whispered, so quietly she didn’t even know if Adora heard her.

No, that wasn’t true.

She heard her. She always did.

Light sparked and everything began to shake, and Catra didn’t know what was happening but she did know it wasn’t good. She lowered her body closer, covering Adora’s. If only one of them was going to get out of this, it would be her. And if Adora died, Catra wouldn’t let her go alone.

And it was white-hot and it was death and it was not beautiful or gentle or quiet, but at least they were together.

There was some beauty in that.

When it stopped, Catra thought for a moment that they were dead.

But she wasn’t dead. She must have been dreaming, then, because there was She-Ra’s shield, over them, protecting them, in Adora’s hand.

But it wasn’t a dream, because suddenly Adora was awake again and sitting and her hand was on Catra’s back and it was too much all at once to be anything but real.

“You love me?”

And she laughed, because after all that had happened, was that even a question? “You’re such an idiot.” But the look on Adora’s face stopped her short, because she could have sworn there was some of her own adoration reflected back in her eyes.

“I love you too,” she said, and Catra felt her heart fucking explode, and this must have been a dream after all, but she never wanted to wake up.

Catra leaned in, holding Adora close, and their lips touched and nothing had ever felt more.

She was sure there were things happening around them, that something must have happened with the Heart of Etheria, but who cared? So what if the world was ending or mending itself back together? It had never loved Catra.

But Adora did.

Adora loved her.

They finally broke apart, and Catra’s mind played Adora on repeat. Her friend, her soulmate.

“I just realized something,” she whispered.

Adora touched their foreheads together, grinning like a fool. “What?”

“We aren’t soulmates because of the tattoos.”

“Mhm?”

“We’re soulmates because we chose each other.”

And Adora had the audacity to laugh. “Obviously, Catra.”

“Oh, shut up!” Catra shoved her in the shoulder, grinning despite herself. “How was I supposed to know that until now?”

“I don’t know, maybe the same way I was supposed to know the Horde was corrupt before I saw for myself?!” Adora shook her head incredulously, the laughter dying from her lips at the mention of the Horde.

“You have to go save the world now, don’t you,” Catra whispered.

“Yeah.” Adora looked tired, she realized.

“Okay,” she said. “Finish this. And then rest.”

“Together?”

“Obviously,” she said with a soft laugh. “Dummy.”

Laying it out neatly, he counted five foreseeable problems. 

One: he had a crush on Sirius, whom he had to pretend to date. 

Two: showing these romantic feelings at such a point in time would not only be incredibly inappropriate, but absolutely, ridiculously stupid. And as a general rule, Remus tried not to do stupid things if they didn’t have an enjoyable outcome. 

Three: admitting or giving away (the more likely option, considering his aversion to confrontation or unwanted dreams of bliss when they involved one of his best friends) his feelings would not have an enjoyable outcome.

Four: despite Sirius’s constant warnings, near-weekly rants, and several unwelcoming predicaments Remus had to help him get out of on prior occasions, he had somehow entirely skipped over the very real concept that the Black family was not a friendly sort. Or even approachable. They were more akin to a basketload of very angry snakes.

Five: he was currently holding Sirius’s hand on a far-too-posh train and felt like he might actually die, but that would probably make this situation a lot sticker for Sirius, so a short death where he’d go happy was unfortunately off the table. But he still wanted to scream. Maybe he could let out a yell, just a small one, and feign it as surprise or something else of the sort if an opportunity arose. To get it out of his system.

This was not a good situation. That was a fact. Logistically, there was only a 10% chance he’d get through this entire weekend without doing something horribly wrong and making Sirius hate him.

Of course, Remus had never been a logical enough person to care. And right now, he felt like he might fly.

“Hey,” Sirius whispered into his ear, tendrils of hair brushing Remus’s face in a gentle caress. “You look cute in that sweater. Good choice, it’ll piss off my parents.” His face might have turned bright red as he mumbled thanks and adjusted the ratty yet comfortable red-and-gold sweater.

Oh, yes. He had wings and was going to fly straight into the fucking sun, like a goddamn idiot. He was Icarus and Icarus was he.

-

The next morning had gone phenomenally. Sirius and Remus were, of course, separated into different bedrooms the night before on account of the supposed gayness between them. Sirius put up quite a fight, but in the end, the Blacks insisted. This time, however, he had won- albeit a much smaller fight. Remus had already known it, to an extent, but he was realizing now just how annoying Sirius could be when he wanted, and looked on the whole time like a proud boyfriend.

Following the extended screaming match, Remus then got to experience exhibit B: holding Sirius’s hand as they walked through a dusty old art museum, alone. (Sirius insisited they must continue to hold hands in case his parents or Regulus wandered by- and to anger any other homophobic fleabags- and Remus could hardly argue with that, now, could he?)

“I can’t believe you find this interesting,” Sirius groaned as they finally moved on from a 1970s piece Remus had been staring at for approximately five minutes.

“I don’t,” he protested. “Most of it, at least.” He charged forward to a blue-and-green painting next to the archway leading to the next room, nearly dragging Sirius behind him.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius laughed. “How long is this one going to take?”

“Hm?” Remus didn’t even look up from the painting, feigning complete and utter interest, though his cheeks were burning and he could hardly register what was in front of him. God, that endearing tone… did Sirius even know how he was messing with his heart?

He shook his head and laughed in response, glancing through the archway and into the next room instead of joining Remus at the painting. That was probably for the best, he told his rapidly-beating yet disappointed heart.

“Hey,” Sirius whispered. “They’re ‘round this corner here.”

Shit.

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

“Yeah. Come on,” he said stepping close to Remus again with only two long strides- close enough to kiss. “What should we do to freak them out if they come in here?”

Don’t mention kissing, do not tell Sirius to kiss you, do not even think about the idea of his lips on yours or his hands in your hair or, even worse, your hands in his-

“You could kiss me.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

No, he had not just said that, he tried to convince himself, mind nearly short-circuiting, trying to process far too much information all at once. But Sirius’s shocked expression confirmed that, no, it had not been some insanely realistic daydream, he had indeed just told his best friend to kiss him in a museum after a day of fake dating.

For a person wondering what the easiest way to sink into the floor and stop existing was, Remus was far too aware of Sirius’s shock clearing into a smile ten times more sexy than it had any right being. “I could,” he said, tone lazy, offsetting the intense stare he leveled on Remus, leaning down and in close enough that, no, before they couldn’t have kissed, but now…

“But the signs say not to touch the masterpieces.” He smiled crookedly and stepped back, typical smile back on his face as he turned to glance at the Black family who Remus hadn’t even noticed enter the room, but had clearly seen the display of… whatever it was they’d just done.

Taking a moment for his mind to catch up to everything that just transpired, Remus froze as he realized what Sirius had said. “Did you call me a masterpiece?” he blurted stupidly, face burning and feet glued to the floor. He was no doubt a sight, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind, leaning against the wall and observing his friend with a small smile. The idea that he had watched him have what could only have been described as a gay panic for what might have been several minutes almost spurred another, but he kept a very small reign on those emotions. Thankfully.

“Yes,” he said, the word tinged with amusement. “I did.”

Remus sputtered for far too long to possibly be considered normal before finally pushing out a word. “Right then,” was what his tongue decided on. “Shall we, erm. Go to that other room?” He gestured limply to the archway they’d been standing near for ages.

“Lead the way.”

-

“Look in love, darling,” Sirius whispered in his ear, swinging an arm around Remus’s shoulders.

He had no clue how easy that was.

“I could say the same to you” Was his witty reply, lackluster as were most of the things he said at this point. All this back-and-forth between pretending to be dating then suddenly being chummy like the best of friends was exhausting, and he couldn’t keep up.

Sirius chuckled, a deep bass line reverberating through Remus’s whole body. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “I’ve got that part under control.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he muttered, not even lying. Half of the time he was too overcome with the awareness that if he looked at Sirius when they were pretending like this, his feelings would be visible in an instant, and the other half he tried not to think about it.

“Can’t do that,” Sirius chided in a soft voice. “Hey. Look at me.”

Fuck. Please, no, Remus wanted to say. I can’t look at you right now or else I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again- you won’t want me to. But, of course, that would defeat the entire purpose, so instead he simply did as told.

“Hi,” he whispered weakly, raising his gaze to meet Sirius’s, kind and intense.

“Look. I get that this is awkward as fuck, but…” He ran the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with Remus’s shoulders through his hair, and he thought (not for the first time) how much he’d like to do that for him. “Just this last night, then we’re done.” His smile was forced and tired, and Remus’s heart ached at the sight of it. He wanted to ask what was wrong, to talk it out- even just as friends- but the scream of his anxious, gay mind reminded him that was not a reasonable thing to wish for right now.

Sending a silent, mental apology to Sirius, he merely faked a smile of his own. “Right. Only a day.”

“God.” Sirius shook his head. His eyes were still on Remus, but he was clearly far, far away in his mind. “I never should have asked you to do this.”

Well, that’s a bit harsh, both the gay part and the friend part of him objected.

“No,” he said, trying to find the careless confidence that typically came to him so easily. “I wanted to. But,” he added, an uncomfortable thought occuring to him for what should not have been (but was) the first time, “I suppose I’m not very good at it. If you don’t want me to-”

“What?”

Shit. Sirius was just a tad too loud, and Mrs. Black looked at them with a cutting gaze from where she was sitting and conversing with the rest of the family in a gazebo. Yes, a gazebo. Remus hadn’t even known they were actual things anymore, much less that people actually went in them. It wasn’t actually very pleasant, despite the pretty white exterior, though that might have been due to the day’s weather. A lack of wind and some odd cross between sunshine and the greyish absence of it made for nothing to be envied- other than a day inside.

“Boys,” she said flatly. Remus was almost impressed with her ability to make every word directed at her eldest son and his “boyfriend” either entire apathetic or decidedly negative. “Do you have something to contribute to the conversation?”

“No, Mum,” Sirius said with a harsh frown Remus only ever saw on him with his family. He wanted to wipe it away, to kiss every centemetre of that space and transform it into something that made him happier.

God. He needed to stop this.

“Since Remus and I are lacking in… input, might we head inside?”

Mrs. Black’s lips pursed. She clearly didn’t want them to be in the house alone (who knew what sinful visions she was imagining they might get up to), but also didn’t want to have to deal with Sirius’s nagging any longer. “Very well,” she said primly after a long moment. “Regulus will go with you.”

Regulus, Remus observed, seemed to have no interest in whatever his mother decided either way. “Sure,” he said.

“Fine,” Sirius said flippantly, clearly not in the mood to argue. “C’mon, Remus.”

Slipping into the role of caretaking boyfriend, Remus took Sirius’s hand and headed down the steps of the gazebo into the fancy house awaiting, Regulus in tow. They stepped inside without fanfare, and Sirius immediately began to pull him upstairs, shouting down for Regulus to hear. “We’re not going to fuck, so you don’t have to worry. Stay down and sulk, or whatever it is you do.”

No response from Regulus, not that Remus was keen to know what he had to say about his brother’s profanity anyway. He seemed mildly more passable than the elderly Blacks, but didn’t do or say much that Remus saw. He had to admit that he naturally assumed the worst. “Erm, bye, Regulus!” he called down in turn, Sirius rolling his eyes at him for the effort.

“Where are we going?” he asked, lowering his voice to a normal tone where Regulus wouldn’t hear. Sirius was currently pulling him down the floral-wallpaper halls of the rooming area, but as he so bluntly pointed out to Regulus, they were not going to fuck.

“My room,” he responded, and Remus sputtered for what seemed like the millionth time that weekend. He had never done it much before now, but having to pretend to be Sirius’s boyfriend apparently did such things to him. God, he was a mess. How had he not been found out already?

They didn’t speak again until Sirius pulled him through the oddly fancy door to his oddly fancy room (Remus hadn’t even known fancy doors were a thing until this visit, but apparently they were), shutting the door with a soft click.

“You don’t think you’re good at this?” Sirius asked immediately, turning on Remus with his hands on his hips.

“Well- I- no, not particularly,” he fumbled.

Remus had never been put under such an excruciating stare, much less from Sirius Black, and he wondered if the proper mental response to this was to be aroused.

No, probably not.

“You’re-” Sirius stopped, and it crossed Remus’s mind for the first time that he might be fumbling a bit, too. Certainly not for the same reasons, but sputtering all the same.

“You’re not bad at it,” he said finally. “Really. I wouldn’t have asked you if you weren’t.”

“Right,” he agreed. “And I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to, either.”

“Right.” He nodded one too many times. Remus wondered what he had to be confused or anxious about. He wasn’t stuck on a fake dating escapade with his best friend he had a very big, very gay crush on. “Well. That’s sorted, then, I suppose?”

“Erm. Yes?” He got the distinct impression they both had many things within this conversation they were withholding. Even though one of these things was Remus’s aforementioned feelings, he didn’t much like not discussing things that needed to be discussed with Sirius; so yes was very deliberately phrased as a rather open-ended question.

One that Sirius might hopefully answer, and then the conflict would be resolved, and Remus wouldn’t have to say a thing about his own reserves.

“Yes. Well. The thing is, both of us are very good at this. Dating, I mean. Fake dating.” Sirius hurried to specify, eyes dancing every which way in a complicated game Remus couldn’t quite follow.

“We are.” Were they? He’d been so focused on not revealing his real feelings he hadn’t payed much attention to whether or not they were.

No, that was a lie. He knew every stolen glance, every shared laugh, every long gaze and hand brushing hand. He knew more than he cared to admit.

They were not good at this, his mind supplied. They were brilliant.

“Right. And- well- I was thinking, it might be good to do this again in the future. Because of my parents and all.”

Remus couldn’t help but thing that, although Sirius was talking and continuing the conversation as one should when being up-front and open with another, he did not sound at all as he should. He was nothing, right now, but stilted and awkward and jarringly unlike himself.

“Erm. Sure. Listen, are you alright? You seem a bit…”

“No, no,” he said, immediately waving away- both literally and figuratively, with his matching hand gesture- the concerns. “Really. Remus.” He met his gaze, a determination there not quite like anything he’d seen before. “Would you? Be willing to do this again?”

No, his mind whispered. I wouldn’t survive it.

Yes, his treacherous heart screamed, and his tongue followed suit.

“That’s good then,” Sirius said, seeming genuinely relieved.

“And how would you feel,” he continued, tone dipping considerably softer, a raw and anxious undertone revealing itself, “if we tried this at other times? Without my parents around?”

Remus had never known a blink could signify so much, but there was no way to describe his but entirely confused.

Sirius closed his eyes briefly, running a hand through his beautiful hair, and it struck Remus that it was a complete mess. God, he had never wanted anything more.

“Remus,” he said, tone surprisingly gentle, “I am asking you out on a date.” A pause. Remus’s mind was most certainly short-circuiting now, he thought, and all the other things had only been futile practice for this. “A real one.”

Bloody hell.

The silence was devastating, and he willed his mouth to start working again- begged it, even- but to not avail.

“I-”

“Yes,” Remus interrupted, finally wiring his tongue to mind to heart.

“I- what?”

“Yes,” he repeated, speaking fast now to get it all out before he regretted it. “I would love to go on a real date with you, Sirius. I’ve wanted to for nearly a year now, and- well- this entire time I’ve thought I might die from having to pretend but not getting the real thing, but I- God, do you mean it? If you mean it I think I might-”

“Remus.” Sirius stopped his blabbering with a single word, cutting the uncharacteristic rambling off short. Warm hands enveloped his, and Remus dared to let himself feel sparks without trying in vain to dull them.

“Hi,” he said, the word a scarce breath as Sirius neared him until suddenly he kissed him and there weren’t any more sparks but instead an entire block of electricity and dear god-

The door opened but neither of them moved away or even seemed to notice until Regulus spoke. “I thought,” he said in an incredibly bored tone, “you weren’t fucking.”

“Excuse you,” Sirius said, separating his and Remus’s lips only by the space necessary to speak. “Neither of our-”

“Okay,” Remus cut in, cheeks burning with the knowledge of what Sirius had been about to say. “Regulus, what are you here for?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said mildly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I just wanted to see if you’d finally gotten it on. Continue.” He shrugged, either oblivious or apathetic to their perplexed stares, and abandoned the room, closing the door behind him.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius whispered once he was gone.

“So this is what death feels like,” Remus observed.

“Pardon?” Sirius seemed alarmed, and Remus didn’t bother stifling his laugh.

“I thought I was dying before, when we were pretending,” he said. “This time it might be real.”

“God, you’re so fucking dramatic,” Sirius said, but he leaned in to kiss him again anyway.

“Yes,” he agreed.

“That’s alright,” he whispered in between kisses. “I am too.”

It was going to be a disaster. It had been for the past two years, when they did the exact same thing. The school board must have been particularly masochistic to know that and do it again. Hell, Catra had caused the prom’s demise herself (with the help of Scorpia, Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio) multiple times. But she was over such dramatic displays of hurt.

It was senior year. She just wanted to enjoy a prom night. To wear a nice suit and not feel alone for once.

Of course, the tense relations between the two schools might come between that. Even more likely, though, was that Catra herself would create the wedge between what she wanted and where she was.

She knew this, but she got ready anyway.

There was still an hour before the dance, and contrary to previous years, Catra got ready alone. She drew eyeliner with sharp precision and a knife, blended eyeshadow to a dark smoky black, and slipped into her black-and-white suit, making sure the lapels were pressed and forgoing the tie altogether.

She was ready.

Kind of.

Well, physically, she was entirely prepared. And although she tried to will herself to move forward, to get in the car and go, her emotions stopped her right in her tracks.

Fucking feelings. Who the fuck created them anyway?

Truth be told, Catra was not ready to see Adora again.

Freshman year at prom, she staged a “kidnapping” of Bow and Glimmer and brought them all the way from the Bright Moon gym to the Horde, where Adora predictably came to rescue them within an hour. Sophomore year, they made school history getting into a petty catfight in the middle of the dance floor. Junior year, things went really wrong and what was intended as a mostly-harmless prank ended up almost killing Principal Angella.

To be honest, she didn’t know what to do at prom if she wasn’t antagonizing Adora or her friends.

She didn’t know how to have fun there without her. Even if they only way they would speak was through harsh words and insults.

But that was pathetic bullshit. She had other friends. Scorpia and Entrapta, she reminded herself. Maybe even Lonnie and Rogelio. Kyle, if she was desperate.

She had to do this. Prove to herself that she could have fun- just one night of it- without Adora. Being a typical stupid high school student at an under-funded prom in a smelly gym with a million different students she didn’t know and didn’t want to. Making stupid decisions that were only stupid, not potentially destructive to everyone in the area. Stupid shit that didn’t hurt herself, either.

She deserved one night of fun, she thought. But it was up to her to make it happen, and Catra knew better than anyone how low those chances were.

She groaned, fighting the urge to run a hand straight down her face and ruin her makeup. Shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear its incessant thoughts and feelings, she walked out of the empty house and got in the car.

-

It was… loud.

That was Catra’s first thought as she stepped in the gym, already filled to the brim with people dancing and talking and sweating (mostly sweating). There was karaoke set up in one corner (who the fuck thought that was a good idea?) and refreshments in another, sparkly lights hanging from the ceiling, but Catra payed little attention to the décor. Her eyes searched the room before she even realized it, catching on Adora and her friends of their own accord.

She, Glimmer, Bow, Mermista, and Frosta stood in a small circle by the refreshments table, but she zeroed in on the only one she truly cared about.

Adora’s hair was in its signature ponytail and hair poof (god, she loved that stupid fucking poof), a golden brooch holding it in place. Her dress was white, hugging her curves on the torso but falling effortlessly like a soft wave to the floor. The neckline was rimmed with a black lace ribbon that covered all of the off-the-shoulder sleeves, and she looked so fucking gorgeous Catra couldn’t rip her treacherous fucking eyes away.

What stupid, vengeful gods of gay made her so fucking beautiful? Take pity on a poor lesbian, her mind begged as she shut her eyes tight, visions of an angel in white burned into the backs of her eyes. Let her be ugly for once. But when she opened them again, there she was, moving across the floor to talk to one of the chaperones- Netossa, Catra remembered her name being, and she looked as much a god-gifted, painfully starlike sight as she had before.

Fuck. This entire idea and night and lifetime was fucked if Adora insisted on looking like that for no good fucking reason.

“Catra!” Scorpia’s loud voice broke her from her trance, but not without nearly jumping out of her skin.

“Scorpia,” she said with gritted teeth, turning to face her friend.

“Oh man, I didn’t know if you’d come! You look great. I love the eyeliner. Your knife skills are amazing.”

Catra laughed awkwardly. “Uh, thanks. You look… good, too.”

She did. Really. Scorpia had gone all-out in a strapless aqua gown, accented with blooming pink flowers and flawless makeup. But she was unable to see the outfit as anything more than decent, a dull sight compared to Adora’s constant sparkle.

“Aw, thank you!” Scorpia beamed, going in for a hug that made Catra wince despite the slow warmth in her chest. She was too good for her.

Then again, most everyone was.

“Where’s Entrapta?” she asked, wondering why she even bothered coming. She said they were brilliant “social experiments”, but that was hardly reason to go to four of them, at least in Catra’s opinion.

“Oh, she went to talk to Bow about something sciencey or another,” Scorpia said flippantly, entirely unaware of the way Catra’s heart beat, connecting the dots between her friend to Bow, who was Adora’s friend, and therefore the possible interaction that could arise from-

“Oh! Catra. Let me introduce you to my date, Perfuma!” Catra snapped back to reality, arms crossed protectively over her chest, a movement she hadn’t even realized she’d made. A slow smile grew across her face as the girl she knew to be Adora’s friend handed Scorpia a red cup full of water.

“Hey,” she said simply.

“Catra,” Perfuma said cordially, though her disdain was clear. Catra couldn’t exactly blame her. She hadn’t been the nicest person through the years, though it was nothing personal.

Well, it was everything personal, but not in regards to Perfuma herself.

She looked her up and down, processing the flower-studded hair and dress that she realized with a click of recognition matched Scorpia’s. They were… they were dressed like a couple.

When had that happened?

She knew Scorpia was into women. It was no secret she’d had a crush on Catra herself for a few years, not that she’d cared much. Friends were hard to come by, and Scorpia didn’t push. But… Perfuma? When? Had Catra been so wrapped up in her own internal Adora drama, again, that she’d missed something so crucial happening in her friend’s life?

Fuck. She needed to do better.

She would do better, she insisted. As soon as she could get over this stupid crush-on-Adora shit. As soon as she stopped caring about seventeen years of history.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, drawing Scorpia’s and Perfuma’s attention back to her. “For past years.” She stared at Perfuma, trying to offer the promise that she was genuine through her expression alone. “For what it’s worth- which probably isn’t much- I do think you’re a good person.” She paused, then changed her expression to something a bit more menacing. “But if you hurt Scorpia, I will come for you and it will not be pretty.”

This, as opposed to anything else she’d said, made Perfuma grin so wide Catra was genuinely kind of worried her face would break. What the fuck? That had been a threat, not a joke.

It surprised her even more when Perfuma wrapped her in a hug, smelling of flowers and overwhelming Catra completely. What the fuck?! What was it with everyone and hugging?

“You’re not so bad, either,” Perfuma said, finally releasing her from the embrace. “And I’d say the same to you.”

She frowned. “Scorpia and I aren’t dating.” They wouldn’t ever be. She loved her, really (not that she’d ever say it unless under a lot of duress), but… they weren’t meant for each other that way. They never would be. And she was more than okay with that.

“I know,” Perfuma said with a laugh. “I mean as a friend. Don’t hurt her.”

“You know, I’m standing right here,” Scorpia said, frowning slightly as if confused. Catra thought with some amounts of wonder that she probably thought Catra and Perfuma would never hurt her. God. She was too good a person for this world.

“Right,” she muttered, Perfuma’s words echoing on repeat in her mind, almost replacing the image of Adora in that fucking dress.

Almost.

“How about we dance?” she asked suddenly, wanting badly to escape from this mess in her mind and spotting a familiar head of purple hair on the dance floor, talking amiably with Bow.

“Oh, yes!” Perfuma clapped and Scorpia cheered, and Catra was swept onto the dance floor, willing herself to be happy.

-

The night was coming to the close, and Adora was at the karaoke machine.

Catra almost hadn’t noticed it. She tried her best to ignore her former best friend the entire prom, trying to banish any nagging memories of soft golden hair or shining blue eyes or a dopey grin from her head. But she always seemed to seek her out in the crowd regardless, finding that familiar face no matter where either of them were in the room and what Catra was doing.

Adora argued with the DJ whose name Catra didn’t know for a moment, which was what drew Catra’s attention. Adora hardly ever argued with people- she was far too much of a people-pleaser. Catra herself had been standing by the punch bowl alone for approximately five minutes, sipping from a cup and letting her mind wander to anything but Adora.

Needless to say, it was not going well, and it was going worse when Adora picked up the microphone and the DJ started playing a song Catra recognized immediately.

Of course the quarterback of Bright Moon’s football team would get the DJ to play a song with curse words in it.

A crowd began to form around her, almost blocking Catra’s view- but not quite. “Oh Hannah, I want to feel you close…”

Catra was going to fucking die. That was it. She was going to have a fucking heart attack from being too gay for the universe. God was finally punishing her for the eternal sin of loving women.

“Oh Hannah, tell me something nice; like flowers and blue skies.”

Was anyone going to tell her that Adora was sapphic, or was she supposed to find out at senior prom on her fucking deathbed when Adora sang karaoke to “I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend” herself?

And then Adora’s eyes unmistakably found hers through the crowd, and she actually might have combusted on the spot.

“Oh, this can’t be real, it’s all just a dream…”

Catra thought vaguely through a sea of what could only be described as gay panic that this was most certainly a dream and she never wanted to wake up.

“I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips.” Adora raised her arm slowly, pointing through the crowd. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell who she was pointing at, Catra was sure, what with all the people there.

She knew.

Her knees buckled and she let out a sound that was part a scream, part a groan, part something that must have come straight from the devil.

“I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath. I don’t wanna be your friend-” The music played on to a different line, but Adora continued anyway, a dare in her eye. “-I wanna be your bitch.”

What the fuck was Catra supposed to think of that and why the fuck had Adora done that and why the fuck had she not melted on the spot already and what the fuck?

She wanted to scream, or faint, or punch something. Maybe all three at once. But instead, she ran to the bathroom, face burning and unable to even form cohesive thoughts. In the corner of her eye, Adora pushed her way through the crowd in a direction she could have sworn was towards her.

Pushing open the door of the bathroom with no regard to who was in it, if anyone, she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over her face frantically, not giving a shit about makeup. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and she could hear it in her ears, the sound filling her empty, panicked mind.

“Catra?”

Fuck.

“Hey, Adora,” she said without looking up. She couldn’t look up, or else she’d probably do something unforgivably stupid like kiss her.

Taking a deep breath, she collected herself as best as she could, taking a quick glance in the mirror and noting with satisfaction that her makeup wasn’t completely ruined. Then she turned to Adora.

The sight of her so close hit Catra like a blow straight to the heart.

“Are you okay?”

It took her a moment too long to realize that was a question directed at her.

“Yeah,” she said roughly, unable to tear her eyes away from Adora’s worried face. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, pausing, through her face was skewed in that way Catra knew meant she was thinking, hard. “Did you see that?”

She didn’t need to specify what that was.

“Yes,” she said entirely too quickly.

“And… what did you think?”

Did she want her to tell her she nearly fucking died and it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life? If not, what was she supposed to say to that?

She realized once more a moment too late that she meant liking girls. “Oh,” she said quickly. “Yeah. Great. That’s, uh.” She cleared her throat and turned to the side, scratching the back of her neck. “Great. For you, I mean. To come out.”

Adora laughed awkwardly. “I’ve been out since freshman year.”

What? “What?”

“Yeah. Glimmer and I… well.”

Oh. That was an even bigger blow than… any of this, and Catra had to steel her will and tell herself not to cry. “Oh. That’s… great,” she said, acutely aware that she’d used that adjective way too many times in the past few minutes. “I’m happy for you, I mean. Congratulations.”

“What?”

What was confusing about that? Catra wanted to die on the spot. She was a gay fucking mess. She barely even knew what was happening right now. Why was Adora confused? Why had she not known she was gay? How had she not known she and Glimmer were a couple?

How had she missed all of this?

They stood there, blinking at each other for a long moment before Adora spoke again.

“Oh,” she said with the tone of dawning realization. “Glimmer and I aren’t together anymore,” she hurried to specify, looking oddly embarrassed. “We haven’t been since the end of junior year. We’re still best friends, but that’s it. I am a lesbian though. Um. Gay. That’s why I was… the song.”

This was a fucking roller coaster, and Catra didn’t know if she could handle it for much longer.

“Cool. Um. That’s… great, then. Not about you breaking up, though I’m glad you’re still friends. But the lesbian thing.” God, could you sound any more creepy?

Adora laughed again, and Catra wondered why the fuck either of them were even here. “Yeah. Thanks. Did you…” Another hesitation, another moment with that look on her face. “I made eye contact with you when I was… singing that, you know.”

Yes, Catra knew. She knew it better than she knew herself, and she was surprised she hadn’t died from the knowing of it. But what the fuck was she supposed to respond to that with?

Wait. Was mentioning staring at your ex-best friend while singing an iconic gay song to said ex-best friend coming out to them gay?

Like, gay gay? Possible-crush-territory gay?

She suddenly wished Scorpia were there to recreate the situation so she could look at it more objectively. Around Adora, her logical brain was screwed. Actually, every version of her brain was screwed. It was lesbian panic, constantly, 100% of the time.

“Yes,” she finally said, speaking abruptly. “I am too. Uh. Gay, I mean. Lesbian.” She fumbled over the words, even though they weren’t a secret. She didn’t make it a deal to come out to anyone, but if they asked, she told.

“Oh,” Adora said, eyes wide. Catra tried to think outside of her rapidly beating heart and failed.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good! Sorry. That’s… I’m happy for you.”

“...thank you.”

They stood there, and they both seemed to be waiting for something, but Catra didn’t know what. Was this the point where she told Adora she had known she was attracted to girls since she saw her beat Lonnie’s ass playing during P.E. in kindergarten and she’d been in love with her ever since?

She was high on confusion and panic and gay, so she was halfway to indeed saying just that when Adora spoke again.

“I-”

The door flung open, and both of them jumped and turned, seeming to be jolted out of a world where they weren’t in a high school bathroom during prom.

“Adora, Catra! Great, I thought I saw you come in here!” Entrapta grinned, and Catra tried to force a smile, but she was pretty sure she was glaring daggers. Fortunately, Entrapta never seemed to care about things like that.

“I need input,” Entrapta continued. “What do you think are the chances a communist winged unicorn horse exists in this dimension? Because my research says-”

What the fuck? “Low,” Catra interrupted.

“I don’t know,” Adora said, seeming to genuinely be considering it. She was such a fucking idiot. Entrapta rapidly typed something into that tablet she seemed to carry everywhere. “It could be-”

Entrapta gasped loudly, effectively cutting her off and taking them both aback. “Hold on! I just got new data from one of my sources a few miles from here. Hold that thought. I’ll be back!” she called, disappearing out the door as quickly as she’d come.

And they were back to standing in silence.

“So,” Catra said after a long moment. “Don’t you have your Princess friends to get back to?”

Adora’s face contorted into something troubled. “You know, I really think you’d like them if you gave them a chance.”

Catra stared at her own reflection in the mirror. “I know.”

“Okay,” Adora replied, nodding rapidly as Catra turned back to her. She was almost tired of the constant reality of Adora being that fucking gorgeous, but she still was. She always was. “Well, yeah. I guess I should…” She gestured toward the door, and when Catra didn’t move to stop her, opened it, starting to leave the stupid fucking bathroom, when she suddenly turned back with a sad smile. “I sang that for you, by the way. That was why I looked right at you. And pointed.” She laughed a bit. “I’m not subtle.”

Catra’s mind was a flatline overloading, and she couldn’t think anything, much less respond.

“Okay. Um. Bye, Catra.” She waved a little- god, why was that one movement so fucking stupid and cute and make Catra’s heart do fucking acrobatics?- and left, the door swinging closed behind her.

Fuck.

That, she couldn’t take any other way.

Could she?

What if she was wrong?

What if she was about to ruin all the progress they’d made in being friends in the past year?

Fuck it, she decided, bursting out of the bathroom with a renewed energy, eyes searching the crowd until she found the person she was looking for. She ripped Scorpia away from Perfuma with a rushed apology, staring her friend straight in the eyes.

“Scorpia,” she said, breathing frantic and eyes surely manic, “is it gay to tell someone you sang ‘I Wanna Be Your Girlfriend’ for them? Like, gay gay?”

“W- what? Did Adora say that?! Catra! This is amazing! You should-”

“Scorpia,” she interrupted. She appreciated the sentiment, but it wasn’t what she needed from her right now. “Please. Just answer the question.”

“Oh! Right. Sorry. Um, yes. Definitely. That is very gay. Like-”

But Catra wasn’t listening, already leaving to charge ahead as the sound of “Girls” filled her ears and there was Adora again, standing in front of that fucking microphone and crooning into it like a goddamn lesbian goddess and making Catra lose her fucking mind, and she swore this was the worst kind of torture.

She pushed through a million people, ignoring them and their shouts and their glares as she pushed until she was at the very front of the crowd and Adora’s eyes locked with hers.

“Afraid of what they’ll say, so I push them away…”

Jesus fucking Christ. Catra was going to fucking die, but it was not going to happen before she kissed Adora, so help her.

So she did just that, stalking forward and next to Adora, who turned her face to see what was happening, singing into the mic still. Catra leaned forward so her mouth was against Adora’s ear and whispered so only she could hear.

“I don’t want to be your friend, I want to be your bitch.”

Adora’s cheeks flamed bright red, but Catra was already leaning in to kiss her, the karaoke and people staring entirely forgotten. The world, as far as she was concerned, could go fuck itself.

And it was great and brilliant and all very well, but Catra’s mind was going haywire as she wondered if she’d misread everything and did Adora hate her now and fuck this had been the best bad idea-

But then Adora was kissing her back and she was going to fucking combust. The heat from the karaoke spotlight, long forgotten, the sparks in Catra’s own chest, and the starlit brightness of Adora’s soul was just too fucking much.

It was perfect.

It was messy and people were yelling and whistling and booing, even, but it was fucking perfect.

“Wow,” Adora whispered when they broke apart, eyes lidded heavily and smile wide.

“Shut up, you dork,” she responded.

“Gladly,” Adora said, crushing her lips to Catra’s again.

This is not a phase, or a coming of age… girl in red sang over the speakers, and Catra smiled against Adora’s lips.

This would last.

It had to.

It would.

Some people believed in a God. Catra didn’t, but she wanted to find every single one of them right now and laugh and laugh. Cruelty was an addicting poison, to both the victim and the perpetrator, and if God existed, He’d gotten high off the power long ago. Not that she could blame Him, when she’d done the same.

It was so fucking easy to take pain and wield it like a sword, on herself and anyone in her way. It was the only control she had left, and even now, she wanted it badly, the aftershocks of remission shaking her mind until it was bound to crumble and fall apart.

It was a miracle it hadn’t already.

But even in the absence of anger or blame, Catra held not a single shred of hope.

Promises were bullshit, and the people who believed them set themselves up for failure. That was all she knew, and she’d repeated it to herself so many times in the past hours that the words felt like white noise in her mind. But she had to remind herself, or else she was overcome with the immense desire, even more intense than that to claw out her own skin from inside out, to think about the possibility of a better world. One with hope and happiness and futures in store for people like her.

She wanted to scream.

She was trapped in a ship with a psycho robot ruler of the universe whose dreadlocks mocked her culture, the person Adora replaced Catra with, and a million clones in between, and her biggest problem was that she wanted to fucking scream. But that would be disruptive and confusing and probably send an army of said clones to force her to Horde Prime’s feet. So she didn’t.

Screaming, the more she thought about it, seemed like a rather fitting response to everything that had happened to her in the past three years. It was, after all, a painfully inadequate way of expressing anything that was happening right now, but it got the job done.

There were no more tasks to complete though, and that terrified Catra, an electric static line of anxiety like a vein through her heart at the knowing that she’d done it all and still failed. The impossibility of it was tangible in her mind. Who had ever tried so much and still not gotten it right?

Maybe Shadow Weaver was right, and she really was just a failure from the beginning. It certainly would explain a lot. After all, she’d reached the height of achievement, the best position she could ever hope for, and she’d ended up with Horde fucking Prime and Sparkles and Adora was nowhere to be seen.

Though it was hard to decide, the most painful part of this might have been knowing that Adora was going to come. Her heart beat faster at the thought, but nearly stopped all together when she reminded herself that it would not be her she came to save. Glimmer, unlike Catra, was a good person. A decent woman and a lovely soul, who tried her best and treated people well and lived life in a way that helped others.

There was no reason why Adora shouldn’t come for Glimmer. Catra didn’t even have a reason to hate her anymore. She was everything Catra was not, and her heart ached like a fucking open wound but she was glad Adora had found someone like her to spend the rest of life with.

And yet. It would be nice, she thought, tears welling in her tired eyes, to have someone come for her.

Just once. One more time, before she accepted her destiny as the worst person to  live and stopped trying, really stopped, and probably died within four days, not that it mattered when she didn’t have anything to live for.

Mattering to someone was the last memory Catra wanted, but she noted its unlikelihood and resigned herself to one more disappointment. One of many to grow blurry and tear-stained but never less painful as time went on.

She wondered if Adora had meant it the times she asked Catra to join her. If she’d really wanted to keep her promise. If it really was true that she had no one to blame but herself. If she’d been so busy looking forward she didn’t notice the hole she dug herself into.

She wondered a lot of things, and then she wondered if she’d ever be able to ask Adora about them.

How beautiful would that be? Not only to be able to ask her those things, but to face her again and not lunge for the heart. To be friends again. To love her again, to grow together. To have something like Glimmer talked about what seemed like days ago but was really only hours, something pure and happy and alive.

Maybe, if she got the chance…

No, her mind screamed, and she flinched at the ringing in her mind from the loud shout. People like you don’t get happy endings.

People who opened portals that might destroy the universe and tried to kill their best friend and drove the only friend they had left away didn’t deserve happy endings, or middles, or beginnings. Maybe she was destined to this from the moment she was born, some unspeakable defect engrained into her mind since childhood.

Bad people didn’t deserve good things.

Catra was a bad person.

So why, she dared to ask, was she ever even allowed to know Adora, the only thing in her life that could ever have been described as truly good- and even then, it was too small a word, too fickle an adjective?

The universe, she decided, didn’t care what people deserved. It did things anyway, with no rhyme or reason.

God, if you would, messed with humans like marionettes on a string, a grin on His face as he added meaningless trinkets of hope into the worst peoples’ fates. As He fed the fire of insanity with reassurance. As He killed their souls, one by one, and laughed at the cruelty of it all.

Inevitably, this made Catra wonder if she might get a happy ending after all. If fate was nonsensical and she was a demon, what did it matter? But she scoffed the notion away, disgusted with herself.

Always with the excuses. As if anything could explain away hurtt from a wound in the heart that would never heal.

She should know. It was unforgivable.

And a part of her, in the very back of her mind, began to whisper. What did she have to lose? When she would likely go to Hell on Etheria or the Underworld beneath it every day of her life, atonement for her neverending sins, who was to say that she couldn’t do good for once?

It had been years and years and years of tearing things apart. Maybe- just maybe- she could feel, only once, what it was like to mend.

Maybe fate would allow bad people to be heroes and good people unhappy endings.

Maybe fate didn’t exist; or if it did, she should give it the middle finger and walk away.

Maybe it was time to do what she wanted for once in her goddamn life.

I know you didn’t mean it. Adora’s voice flashed through her mind, a silver sliver of memory before it disappeared.

No. She hadn’t meant it. Not any of it.

But maybe she would, this time.

Maybe she’d go down in fucking flames. She deserved a brilliant ending, she thought. Maybe not soft, or pretty, or sweet, but brilliant. Brilliant would do just fine.

Not often. Not a lot. Nothing that would even be of much worth to anyone else. A paper clip, the carm that fell off a bracelet, an old utensil from the kitchen they were about to throw away. Useless things. She didn’t even like the, but they were hers, and she needed that.

She hadn’t seen them since Horde Prime, and she didn’t want to. If you had to take things for them to be yours, they lost any sort of shine. She knew that now.

It was hard to understand this until someone stole something from her and she caught them, entirely unable to do anything about it. There was nothing material, nothing of enough worth that she owned for anyone to consider taking, but there was plenty more for people to take when they were longing for the thrill of capture.

Shadow Weaver stole her innocence and her happiness at five.

Then her demons took away the rest: self-control, empathy, confidence, rationality.

And then.

And then Horde Prime stole the last thing she had left, and suddenly it all made sense that of course she liked stealing things. No one had ever taught her to ask instead. And now she was left with nothing.

A sheet of paper, a paper clip, a fork, a metal charm.

Nothing. Nothing was left. All because she’d never fucking learned to ask. Because no one had ever told her that there were people in the world who would not manipulate or hurt her if they knew her soul.

Wanting things was a liability. Liabilities created hurt. But so did, apparently, the lack of them.

These were the thoughts that consumed her as she sat on a pretty bed in Bright Moon in a pretty room with a pretty castle surrounding it and pretty people inside.

Catra did not belong here. She was an empty shell with only the echo of evil in a place full of heroes, and she did not belong.

“Catra?”

“Hey, Adora,” she choked out, hating herself for the way her throat tightened and she wished to bring her into her arms. Hating herself, hating herself, hating herself.

“Are… are you okay?” Catra was vaguely aware of Adora closing the door behind her, brow furrowed, stepping close and sitting next to her on the bed. Anxious eyes set on Catra and her arms wrapped across her legs, legs against her chest, head down, tail curled around her body, making herself as small as possible. As invisible as she could. As little a stain on this perfect place she could be.

She didn’t answer.

“It’s Horde Prime again, isn’t it,” Adora said softly, and Catra shuddered away from the name, shutting her eyes tight.

“Hey,” she whispered, putting a gentle arm around Catra that she shrank into before she even realized she was doing it. “It’s okay. It’s over. You’re here, in Bright Moon.” A pause, and then, even quieter, “I’m here.”

“Stay?” she asked, giving into the want in her heart, the chaos in her mind that demanded a constant, a tether to hold on to.

Adora. Every part of her wanted Adora, and even if she weren’t the most consistent dumbass Catra had ever known, she would have anyway. It was a part of her. They could have never met and she would still long for her, for this comfortable companionship and love that was alive within her. For the familiarity of the only family she’d ever known, the one she would choose over and over and over.

“Of course. Always.”

They sat like that, Adora’s arm wrapped around Catra, making herself small. And it was chaos, and it was pain, and it was okay, because she was there and she was alive and Adora loved her and everything would be alright.

It had to be.

She had to believe that it would be alright.

She didn’t know if it was minutes or hours later when her mind finally began to calm. Once it did, she looked up, uncurled herself, staying in Adora’s arms and gazing at her, slight smile and wide eyes and beautiful, every part.

“Adora?”

“Mhm?”

“Promise me that you’ll never say I stole your heart. Or that you stole mine.” Catra hadn’t meant for it to come out as much of a plead as it did, but she decided that she didn’t care. This was something she’d plead for, beg for, on her knees and tears in her eyes.

Never.

She wouldn’t let her demos take this from her again. Anything else, if they had to, but not this.

Not Adora.

Never again.

Bewilderment was Adora’s norm, but this didn’t seem to surprise her. “I promise. That would be a lie anyway.”

You gave it to me.

“I gave it to you.”

She really fucking loved her.

“Hey, Adora?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, idiot.”

That smile. That was it, the sunrise at the end of the tunnel that made everything worth it.

“I love you too.”

But she played a game sometimes. When she sculpted Helen out of ice and snow, she drew her as anything. A queen, a witch, a mermaid, stunning and mysterious and beautiful in any form. The imagining helped both of them, but for the most part, Aline did it for Helen. She knew how hard it was for her with all her family in Los Angeles, how hard she took being on Wrangel Island. She hoped that the sculptures might lessen the hurt a little bit- to see herself live out a million impossible dreams, if only as a frozen statue.

Today, she had sculpted her beautiful wife with a crown of flowers, delicate and strong as a tree adorned by the fruits of its labour.

As always, she’d had the urge to sculpt herself next to her, but as always, she’d resisted. Placing herself in the serene picture she created always seemed out of place. Someday, she promised herself. Someday she would join Helen as an eternal figure of warmth sculpted from the cold. But not today.

“Aline.” The familiar voice made her turn, a smile already half grown, shocked out of her vigorous focus to the most welcome sight in the world.

“Hi, darling,” she responded, greeting her wife with a kiss so much like home for a moment she couldn’t even feel the cold around her.

“I’m finishing dinner,” Helen said, wrapping an arm around Aline’s waist. “I tried my best.” A soft half smile curled across her lips, and Aline smiled to herself. In the days after a call with her family, it could be hard to get Helen to smile enough.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said. “And if not, I’ll eat it anyway.” She blew out, watching her breath turn visible in front of her for only a second before it disappeared. “You got me right in time. I just finished.”

Helen was already there, admiring the ice sculpture with widened eyes. Aline lost track of time watching her wife’s cheeks and nose turn pink in the cold, smile widening. How had she ever gotten so lucky?

“You keep getting better and better,” she finally breathed out, and Aline nestled closer to her side. “I look better there than I do in real life.” She laughed, and Aline shoved her, shaking her head despite the wide grin she couldn’t help.

“Hey,” Helen whispered after a second, leaning down to speak into Aline’s hair. She loved when Helen did that, and nearly swooned into her arms on the spot. “Why do you never sculpt yourself with me?”

“Well,” she started without thinking much about what might come out of her mouth, “I sculpt you. As a… as a dream. Something you could be if you were given the chance. An escape. You, but… freer.” She paused, wondering for possibly the first time if that was weird. A single glance at Helen, however, quelled her fears of judgment, and she took a deep breath, charging ahead.

“It always feels out of place to put myself in. I want to, but…” This time her pause was genuine, a million fragments of thoughts running through her mind but never enough to form anything concrete enough to make such a thing as a sentence. “I think,” she said after a long moment, “that I… well, we, seem too real for those imaginary worlds. Your love for your family, for example, I know is just as strong as yours for me. But I don’t know what it’s like to be on either side of that love. So there’s an aspect of the unknowable that makes it possible for it to stay in a fictional, dream universe and not stain it.

“But with us…” Her hand grasped Helen’s of its own accord, intertwining their fingers. A tangible reminder that they were there and they were real and it was so, so beautiful that they could even exist like this.

“With us, I can feel the way I love you like a real, physical thing in me. And that makes it hard to put it in any sort of perfect dream, because the realest things come with pain, too. And I don’t want you to feel pain,” she whispered. “That’s the whole point. To make a perfect universe, where you’re happy and with your family and able to be yourself.”

There was a certain kind of anxiety that penetrated Aline’s soul whenever she let someone into the deepest parts of her mind, no matter who that person was. Oftentimes, she preferred to run away and stay silent or not wait around for any sort of reaction that might hurt her. But this was Helen, and she loved her (oh, she loved her), so she took a deep breath and calmed her mind and tried to be patient.

“This is my perfect world,” she said after just long enough.

Aline blinked at her wife. “We’re on Wrangel Island.”

Helen’s laugh was sharp and short, drawn out of her in surprise, but a twinkle returned to her eye. “Yeah, well. This is it for me. Wrangel Island and all. It’s not great all the time, but it’s good, Aline. It really is. And I have you. I know it’s tough sometimes, and I get down as much as anyone, but…” She hesitated, clasping Aline’s hands between them, looking into her eyes like she might drown in them, and Aline always started to think when she stared with such longing that she might let her.

“This is better than any imaginary world. I have you. I’m still me. I’m alive, and we’re trying, and I still get to talk to my family. We’re happy.”

“Well, yeah,” Aline said. “But what would be your dream world? The one you would, I don’t know… wish on a star for?”

“This,” Helen said, the world half a laugh of ecstasy, as if this conversation were as serendipitous for her as it was for Aline. “All my imaginary worlds, all the pretty dreams, they all end up being this. I wouldn’t give you up for anything, Aline. Not being a queen or a star or a fucking dragon. Yeah, it’s really fucking cold here and people assume bad things because I’m half-faerie, but look around.”

Aline did, dropping Helen’s hands slowly and turning, trying to soak up everything in a single minute, burning every bit of this perfect moment into her mind so it might stay forever.

Snow shone on the ground almost perfectly untouched like the softest blanket. The sky was a dusky blue-grey, cloudless and clear, a colour that reminded her a bit of Helen’s eyes when she was tired and sad on the worst of days. But it was beautiful, stars beginning to light the expanse where sadness littered Helen’s on those nights. The trees were barren yet strong, a haunted safety lingering between their branches. It was only a backyard, hardly the great outdoors, but there was something raw and breathtaking about it all the same.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Helen smiled wide, taking Aline’s hand again and using her other arm to wrap it around her waist, leaning her head against the top of Aline’s. “This is my imaginary world,” she said. “And, no offense intended to your brilliant sculpting and beautiful mind, but it’s a million times better than any of the ones you’ve created. Know why?”

Aline twisted in her arms so she faced her, admiring the way Helen’s golden hair fell in slight curls around her face and down her back, how her smile lit up her whole face. “Let me guess. Because I’m here.”

“Yeah.” Helen touched her nose to Aline’s, grin fading into something softer. “Because you’re here.”

Aline lost herself in the kiss, and the worlds that ran through her mind this time weren’t fictional scenes, but a story that was real and theirs. From the first time they met until now, every glorious moment of it.

Yeah, she thought. Dreams don’t compare to a beautiful reality.

A scent of something tainted the moment, and Aline slowly pulled away. Her smile was no doubt goofy and her hair a mess, but she laughed anyway. What was the point of having a wife if she couldn’t be a fool around her?

“Is that dinner burning?” she asked, placing the smell.

Shock, confusion, and then humor passed over Helen’s face in tandem, and she rushed back inside, shouting behind her as Aline’s laughter turned raucous. “Shut up, Aline.”

“It’s okay!” she chirped back, barely containing the last dregs of her laughter. “I think we still have some peanut butter.”

“I hate you.”

“You guys,” she gushed, looking over the red and white ribbons and glitter with awe. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s a best friend squad tradition!” Glimmer protested.

“The day wouldn’t be complete without it,” Bow agreed. “Besides, we don’t mind.”

“Well, thank you.” Careful not to disturb any of the decorations, she opened her locker (17-21-6) and shoved through the mess inside. “I can’t believe it’s the last game of the season already.” Although her tone remained what she hoped was carefully nonchalant, inside Adora was freaking out. There was a lot of pressure on her as the quarterback, and she didn’t want to let everyone down.

“Soooo, are you excited for the big game?!” Glimmer asked, nearly bursting from excitement as they walked down the halls toward homeroom.

“I planned an afterparty!” Bow cheered. “Just a small one. With lots of cake.”

“Cake?” Adora’s eyes snapped to Bow’s, all other thoughts leaving her head. She loved cake. Shadow Weaver always said it was too unhealthy for her and didn’t let her have it, so when she transferred to Bright Moon, Glimmer and Bow made her try pretty much every flavor ever. Her favourite was chocolate. Or maybe vanilla? But strawberry was so good…

“Stay focused!” Glimmer groaned. “How are you feeling?”

She sighed. Cake was way better than thinking about her feelings. “I don’t know. I’m kind of nervous,” she hedged, allowing her mind to flash, if only for a moment, to the inevitable. “Seeing Catra again and all.”

Catra had been her best friend at the Horde Academy since they were little kids. Adora wanted them to stay friends even after she came to Bright Moon, but it was an unspeakable betrayal to abandon each other- though Adora wouldn’t really call it abandoning. But they still saw each other at every game, Adora as Bright Moon’s quarterback and Catra as the Horde’s cheerleading captain. Their rivalry was near-famous between the two schools, and it could get in the way of her game. Their friendship was on the mend- sort of- but it was still… delicate. To say the least.

The end-all game, of course, just had to be Bright Moon versus the Horde.

“Don’t worry,” Bow reassured. “She can’t do anything! Remember last time? The Horde wasn’t even allowed to have cheerleaders on the field for the rest of the game. She wouldn’t risk something like that again.”

“That was months ago,” Adora fretted. “Things have changed.”

“Yeah, they have,” Glimmer agreed. “Catra likes you now. At least a little bit. You don’t have to worry. And if she does try something to mess up your game, Bow and I will go after her.” She made a fist, raising it threateningly. Or, Adora assumed it was supposed to be threatening. Even with her fiery temper, Glimmer was about as scary as a kitten.

“Exactly! We’ve got your back, Adora.” Bow grinned at her, soothing her nerves a little.

She laughed anxiously. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let’s hope we never have to find out,” Bow said with a slight frown. “I love you guys.”

“Aww, Bow,” Adora laughed as Glimmer punched him on the shoulder. He was by far the sappiest of them, Glimmer the snarkiest. She reminded Adora of Catra in some ways. Though Glimmer was way less irritable, more willing to talk about her feelings, way more understanding and forgiving, and probably a better person. Just in general.

So why, she wondered, if Catra wasn’t even someone good enough to be missed, did she long for her so much still?

-

Everything passed by in a blur, and all of a sudden Adora was standing on the field, eyes searching desperately for Catra as the National Anthem played, hand on her heart. She tried to make herself look away- what was the point, anyway? Purposefully throwing her off her game? But she couldn’t stop searching. All she needed was one glance, just to make sure Catra was there. A split second of eye contact, confirmation that she still didn’t hate her.

That was all. Really.

Finally, as a crowd of anxious, bored children sang the final verse, her eyes found a familiar brown pixie cut and playful smirk. Catra. Before she could stop it, her heart lifted like a weight had been taken off and a smile bloomed across her face. As if sensing her, Catra turned from where she was at the very edge of the field and held Adora’s gaze.

Fuck. The moment those burning eyes, that daring smile, met hers, Adora knew there was no fucking chance.

She was going to throw the game.

Shit.

This was so fucking stupid, she thought frantically, taking her place on the field and exchanging a high five with Mermista, mind racing to match the frantic beat of her heart. What, she looked into her former best friend’s eyes for two seconds and suddenly she couldn’t help her team win the biggest game of the season? What did it matter that Catra was gorgeous and her short cheerleading uniform nearly made Adora’s mind short-circuit? Why did her electric smile light something in her own chest? It wasn’t as if she liked her or anything.

Oh, fuck. She liked Catra.

The realization hit her like a train, and she found herself incapable of moving, standing on the field like a fucking idiot as everyone around her screamed for her to move, for fuck’s sake Adora, what’s gotten into you?!

Taking a deep breath and attempting to clear her mind of any thoughts of smooth brown skin or the memory of how Catra’s hand felt in hers, Adora prepared herself to lose the game or her heart.

-

Bright Moon won, no thanks to Adora. It was quite possibly her worst game yet, but no one seemed to care as the team high-fived and hugged their quarterback, ecstatic at the win. Coach Light Hope alone seemed disappointed in Adora’s performance, shaking her head and giving her a cutting look. But there was no time to dwell on her abysmal game. A crowd quickly swelled around her- Glimmer and Bow enveloping her in a hug, Mermista halfheartedly joining, Perfuma (Bright Moon’s head cheerleader) squealing so loud Adora was sure they might have been able to hear it at the Horde. It was good. It was brilliant, actually, and Adora willed herself to be happy for herself and her team. But she was incapable, mind drifting time and time again to Catra.

Thank god for alcohol and afterparties.

Bow’s “small afterparty” ended up being half the school, though that was at no fault of his own. Once word got around, everyone wanted to come, and he was just too kindhearted to turn them away. Adora didn’t care anyway. Downing her third drink of the hour, Glimmer and Bow looked on anxiously.

“Is it because your game wasn’t great today?” Glimmer tried. “Because it doesn’t really matter. You were great! And you’re allowed to have off days. Plus, we won anyway.”

She shook her head. How nice, she mused, would it be to tell them about her unrequited crush? They’d support her, she knew. She wasn’t worried about homophobia or anything. Everyone knew Adora was a lesbian, and it wasn’t as if Glimmer and Bow were straight, either. But somehow, this new… development felt unspeakable. Shame wasn’t quite the right word, and neither was shock. Some part of her had known this was coming for a long, long time. No, her relationship with Catra was… private. It was theirs. Quiet and personal and, honestly, something that made no sense. But they were, and it was enough for them, and they didn’t care what anyone else thought.

Or, they hadn’t. But, she reminded herself for the millionth time that evening, they weren’t anything anymore. Not friends, hardly even acquaintances. Certainly not something more.

Fuck. Yeah, that was depressing. She’d drink to loneliness and unrequited feelings and lost friendships anyday, the sappy bullshit.

“I’m going to be honest, Adora,” Bow was saying. “I’m worried about you. You’re not usually a drink-away-my-feelings person. You’re, like, the…” He paused.

“You’re the punch-your-feelings-out person,” Glimmer supplied, and Bow nodded profusely beside her. “This is kind of unlike you. Did… did Catra do something?” She exchanged a glance with Bow, and Adora got the feeling this wasn’t the first time they’d wondered this.

She laughed, unable to help it. The mixture of alcohol, her newfound feelings, and delirium from god knew what bubbled up in her chest, heaving out into raucous laughter she couldn’t seem to stop. This was all just so stupid.

“No,” she said, gasping for breath. “Catra didn’t do anything.” That, didn’t they see? That was her whole problem. They weren’t friends anymore.

They weren’t anything anymore.

“Oh.” Bow paused. “O-kay.” He paused once more, another strange glance between himself and Glimmer taking up the space. “Well, that’s good. Because she’s here.”

Adora nearly spit out her drink. “S- she’s here?” Whipping around in her seat, for the first time since sitting down, she fully registered where she was. She sat at Bow’s island in the kitchen, where no one came unless they needed more booze or food, although that was probably floating around everywhere in the house at this point. Swarms of people dancing, talking, and laughing could be seen in the other rooms, but she didn’t see a single glimpse of Catra.

Trying not to show her disappointment, Adora reprimanded herself internally. It was for the best if they didn’t see each other, really.

“Yeah. She came with Scorpia and Entrapta about ten minutes ago.” Bow scratched the back of his head, staring intently at Adora. “Do… you want to talk to her?”

Did she want to talk to her? What a stupid question. Of course she wanted to talk to her. Every fibre in Adora’s being wanted to have a conversation with Catra. To laugh with her like they used to. It wasn’t about whether she wanted to. It was about whether she could and still be okay after.

“Too late,” said a familiar dry voice. It was like slow motion as Adora looked up from her drink and directly at Catra, standing behind Bow and Glimmer, hand on her hip, smirking like a devil. She’d changed out of her cheerleading uniform at some point and was now wearing black leggings and a crimson tank top. Casual wear, but she looked as amazing as she had decked out in ribbons.

“Catra.”

“Hey, Adora,” she purred, stepping forward to lean on the table across from her. Adora vaguely registered Bow and Glimmer leaving them and heading out into the masses of the party, but her focus remained on one person.

“Are you drunk?” Catra’s eyes snapped to the cup in Adora’s hands. She never drank.

“No. I’ve had three and a half drinks, but I’m not a lightweight. I’d need two more to be properly drunk,” she responded, taking another swig of alcohol. She fully planned on enacting that drunkenness as soon as she could. Anything to make this go away.

“Good. I need you sober.” Catra snatched the cup from Adora’s hands before she even realized what was happening, drowning out her protests as she dumped the contents down the sink and filled it, instead, with coffee. Bow always had some brewing, he was addicted to the stuff. Placing the cup in front of Adora again, she pulled out a chair and sat, staring intently. “You are going to drink that, and you are going to regain all your sobriety. I am going to watch you and make sure you don’t get drunk. And then,” she said, flashing a hint of a smile so dazzling Adora felt dizzy just from seeing it, “we’re going to go on an adventure.”

Well. She could hardly argue with that, could she?

She sipped the coffee slowly, realizing that Catra had already stirred in sugar and cream as she liked it. Fuck. Did that mean something? Was remembering how your ex-best friend drank her coffee gay?

Before she knew it, she’d downed the mug and felt whatever effect the alcohol might have had on her conscious alleviating. Fuuuuck. She glanced at the clock on the wall, trying not to seem too obvious. Was there still enough time to get crazy drunk after this… what had Catra called it? An adventure? The last thing she wanted was to be sober and have to deal with her problems right now.

“Good, you’re sober again,” Catra said.

She frowned. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “You have that look on your face. You know. Like you just remembered a bunch of stuff you have to do and you don’t have time to do it all and be happy. But relax. This’ll be fun. No thought required.”

“If you say so,” she mumbled, wondering if Catra realized that, around her, there was no way her mind wouldn’t go haywire. It was a different kind of awareness, exhausting and exhilarating in one. But right now, all she wanted was for it to be gone.

“Come on.” Catra stood, gesturing for Adora to follow her. She did, hesitantly, weaving her way through the crowds of people, too busy or drunk to acknowledge Bright Moon’s quarterback or the Horde’s head cheerleader. They finally reached the door, and Adora realized with sudden clarity that they were leaving.

“Uh,” she said, glancing behind her. “We’re not going far, right? I have some-”

“Relax, Adora. You’ll be back to your Princess friends and this lame party before you know it.” A tinge of bitterness tainted Catra’s voice.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just- I promised Glimmer I’d leave with her-”

“It’s fine. Whatever. Not as if I care.” Her cold tone almost distracted Adora from noticing the exact second when Catra enveloped her hand in hers, pulling her out the door. And suddenly they were running, out of the neighborhood to the threshold between Bright Moon and the Horde, standing in front of a lone house most people would miss if they weren’t looking for it, something of a forest stretching on beyond it. Chipped white paint and peeling wood, more of a home than any other place Adora had ever known.

“The hideout.” A laugh escaped Adora before she could stop it, a million memories flooding her mind without warning. An abandoned house in the middle of nowhere, where they could be. They came all the time when they were… when they were still friends. It had been so long, Adora had nearly forgotten about it.

Catra let go of her hand, and Adora couldn’t help the surprised look that crossed her face before she schooled it into nonchalance, heart beating wildly. She hadn’t seen that, right?!

“Yeah.” Catra scuffed the toe of her shoe to the ground, looking shy suddenly. “I figured…” She frowned, staring at the dirt. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

She bolted to the tree closest to the side of the house, starting to climb with catlike agility. Adora started, blanching as she realized what she was doing. “You’re not going to the roof…”

“Of course I am, dummy,” she called down as she perched on a branch. “Come on. Don’t wimp out on me now.” Her teasing smile lit something in Adora that reminded her of the good old days, when they were still friends and there was none of this… awkwardness between them. She wished things could be that simple again. She wished they could be friends again.

She hesitated for only a second more before sighing and starting to climb the tree. Pleased, Catra leapt from the branch to the rooftop, hardly making a sound.

Adora wasn’t as agile as Catra, but she was strong, and smart. Well, smart enough. It had been ages since they’d come up to the rooftop, so she was pretty proud of herself for even making it, even if Catra scoffed over how long it had taken her. “Shut up,” she said, punching her shoulder but finding herself laughing, too. She’d missed this easy rapport.

They leaned back on the rooftop, hands steady behind them, legs hanging over the edge. The sun was just starting to dip from the sky, and the view was beautiful, soft colours and painfully beautiful memories. “Wow,” she whispered. “I forgot how great the view is up here.”

Catra was silent for a moment before responding. “Yeah.”

“So.” Adora glanced at Catra, wanting badly to get rid of this awkward tension between them. “Last year of high school.”

At that, the hint of a smile curled at Catra’s lips. “Yeah. I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Me too,” Adora said without thinking. She loved Bright Moon- she did. But she wanted to see the world. To help it.

“I know.” The smile had disappeared, replaced with something Adora couldn’t quite name.

She didn’t know what prompted it. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or the realization of her feelings mere hours before, or last traces of alcohol in her veins. “I’ve missed this. Us. Sitting on this rooftop. But I get it. I ruined everything.” She winced, turning away. “I didn’t mean to, but I did. And I know you’re only doing this- bringing me back here- out of pity. But you won’t have to see me ever again after this year.” She forced a weak smile. “I’ll be gone, and you won’t ever have to see me again.”

Catra’s silence spoke for her, or so Adora thought. She was ready to leave- to go back to the party and get drunk, to forget forget forget everything Catra had ever meant to her- when she finally responded. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“W- what?”

“Don’t you get it?” Catra seemed angry, and though this was hardly something Adora wasn’t used to, she didn’t understand. “I don’t want you to leave. I’ve never wanted you to leave, or for us to grow apart, but I know you hate me. I-” She shook her head. “You hate me.”

“I’ve never hated you!” She stared at Catra, trying to read the face she knew so well, but she turned away.

“See? So fucking stupid.”

Was it just Adora, or was her voice breaking?

Silence. Silence had never been so fucking loud.

“If you don’t hate me,” Catra said after a long moment, “why do you want to leave me?”

“Because you hated me!” Adora said. “Or if you didn’t, or don’t, you’re… I don’t know, you don’t like me. Because you’re so fucking confusing, Catra, and after three years of doing everything you can to hurt me, you tell me you don’t hate me?! I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t know what to-” Catra whipped around, staring at Adora with an intensity so strong it took her a few moments to realize there were tears in those beautiful eyes.

“I love you,” she said, voice breaking. “I always have. I’ve always fucking loved you, Adora. I never wanted you to leave. I never want to leave you. I just-” She closed her eyes, sealing them shut as if warding off a million demons. “Please. Please stay. For once in your life, stay with me.”

“You love me?” Adora’s voice was scratchy and broken, quiet and tired, but hopeful all the same.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I love you too,” she said, daring to speak the impossible.

Slow motion and yet all too fast, Catra leaned forward, gentle surprise like serendipity clouding her expression, and Adora realized only a split second before that- oh.

Lips on hers, that beautiful smirk and electrifying smile and gorgeous heart, and suddenly there was no more noise in her mind. Instead, there were sunrises and sunsets, smiles and beauty, long nails and short hair and a longing gaze and her heart was full and her mind was empty and she might have died, right then and there, but she didn’t because Catra was there, Catra, and death would be an absolute waste if she didn’t meet Catra there in the afterlife.

“I love you,” she whispered again when they finally broke apart, memorizing the feel of the words on her tongue and her heart.

But a goddamned English prince with a goddamned stupid accent and a goddamned mind of his own that made him kiss Alex under a tree in the moonlight and fuck him in a hotel room and sing karaoke doing oddly sensual air guitar riffs is ruining his whole fucking brand. This isn’t, like, a new revelation. It had been pretty obvious ever since that first kiss that Henry turned Alex into the type of person who sat around all day daydreaming about living in a fucking cottage making bread and eating chocolate in bed.

He makes the best of it. It’s not as if he has much of a choice, considering that his options are to do nothing all day every day and be absolutely useless to his mom’s campaign, democracy, and the entire country of the United States, or work no matter what stupid images of blond hair and soft smiles and quiet laughter infiltrate his mind at the most obscene times. Besides, he’s pretty sure that being useless was his Achilles heel. Alex always has to be doing something, in motion, helping someone.

But now he realizes with the most abundant clarity that he, the very person who had insisted he and Henry’s relationship remain purely for convenience- that they were friends with benefits, a casual fling- has fallen in love. The first son of the United States has fallen in love with the fucking Prince of England. And it’s an absolute clusterfuck, but he can’t help congratulating his heart on having the audacity to do something so mind-blowingly stupid.

Unfortunately, Alex’s mind and heart seem to be working in tandem at the worst possible time, because Alex is incapable of doing anything. His days are filled with listless wondering, images of soft kisses and rough fucking and secret smiles across very official, very important tables with very important people sitting at them. When he sits down to look at Texas’s polling, his mind fills with the image of a reluctant selfie Henry sent him wearing one of the campaign pins he sent him all those months ago. When he tries to talk with Nora about the statistics involving the Lometa longshot turning Pennsylvania and Texas, the only thing he’s able to say is that, dear god, doesn’t Henry look like a goddamned prince of olde, a famous painting, an unknowable God posing as human when he’s well rested under the sun?

Alex is useless, and it’s his biggest fear, but he doesn’t even fucking care because he’s useless in love.

Desperately, somewhere in the deepest bits of his soul, he’s aware that he needs Henry to tell him exactly why this can’t happen. Why love- even more than anything else they’ve done, all of which could possibly be labeled stupid (as Zahra has, does, and will continue to do)- is the most crazy, ridiculous, idiotic thing to come out of this whole affair.

He needs Henry to look him in the eye and tell him, word for word, breaking it down and breaking Alex’s heart, why this is wrong. Why they can’t. Why this is the worst idea he’s ever had and, for once in his fucking life, he has to choose to not be a dumbass.

But.

But more than that, he needs, with his entire soul, for Henry to know that he’s the God Alex prays to. That he’s so in love he can’t think straight and that Henry saved him, that he pulled him up when he didn’t even know he was in the abyss, and he wants to scream because there’s no way, in any language Alex knows and probably not the ones he doesn’t either, to articulate just how much he’s in stupid, messy, crazy, beautiful love.

June and Nora roll their eyes as Alex counts down the days to when he next sees Henry, his mom shakes her head and laughs, Leo is oblivious. He doesn’t care about any of it, what anyone else thinks, and that’s his first sign that he’s too far gone.

The second is when he’s on the phone with Henry- something he finds himself needing more and more of lately- and he confesses that he’d like to live a normal life. To find a house in a quiet town with nice people and lovely evening skies, where he and Alex could just be and he could tell him how beautiful he thinks he is every day, and all Alex can think is that his heart is filled with hope and all he wants in the entire world is to give Henry a taste of that.

The third is when he wonders, for maybe the first time in his life, if he’s truly enough. It’s not as if he’s never had self esteem issues before, but they’re nothing compared to the white-hot horror that dons on him when he realizes that he’d never be what Henry deserves, and maybe he knows that too. But then it slips out on a late-night call, delirious with love, high on sleep deprivation and coffee and whispered dreams, that he hopes he’s enough, and when Henry laughs like the question is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, it’s like Alex is flying.

The inexplicable thing was that neither of them were longing for it. Not anymore. Maybe at first. It had ended with the same gentle passion it lived with, ten times more abrupt but a dreamlike aura of wishing on stars marking it undeniably as theirs. Nova’s and Narcissa’s.

Indeed, she wished on a number of stars at first. Schedar for comfort, Caph for revival, Ruchbah for a rekindling of what they grew. All from Cassiopeia, the constellation they looked to the most. But she was too old to believe in the stardust in the sky anymore. It was too far away, a distant hope compared to the walking, breathing pulse of magic in every person she met. People granted their own wishes, she decided. They were all their own brightest stars.

The fact, however, was that with what had been in Narcissa and Nova, there was nothing left to wish on. Friendship had returned to them, and it was what they were far more suited for in this life.

Besides, they both had what they wanted and needed. Adrian gave Nova a star and Danna gave Narcissa the warmth of one. The garden erected with the memorial to their love was grown over now, nothing but a well-loved memory.

The issue Narcissa was faced with was not to do with love. She still had that for Nova in spades, if not in the same way as before. The issue was that, somewhere in between her mind and her heart, a torch burned in the middle of memories where flowers tried to grow. The flowers were a natural ebb and flow, growth and death, life and nothingness. But the flame was a constant passion, reminding her day by day of something she no longer had or longed for.

She had to let it grow. A memorial to romance could become an alter to friendship if she let it, but that required blowing out the flame.

Blowing out the fire required strength, and that was something Narcissa had never had much of. And, she had to admit, she still had questions. Stamped somewhere in the very back of her mind, she wondered if Nova thought of what they’d had too. If she thought of Narcissa has a childish folly or a true love, or maybe both or even neither.

That was the strangest thing about it. While in her own mind, Narcissa pictured what they once felt as true and strong and beautiful, Nova could think something entirely different. Her memorial could be filled with hate and stupidity and screaming as easily as it could laughter and soft hands and rosegold. And she wanted to know, no matter what was inside. It was as much hers as it was Nova’s, she thought. And if all Nova wanted was for her to scoop up the ashes and store them in her own mind, she would.

But she didn’t think that was it. She’d been there, and she had and did know Nova. It was too magnificent to burn. Too bright to be gone from her mind completely.

Yes, she thought mildly. Their love had been great. It was constellations and closed eyes, dusty books and adventures, quiet and passionate all the same. Maybe, in some other universe with more stars and more goodness and more hope, it had never gone away the way it did in this one.

The fire still burned. It reminded Narcissa of playing pranks on Ingrid and listening aptly to Gene as he rambled about some ancient text, Nova teaching her how to sneak through a window and Narcissa teaching her how to dance like in a movie. Them teaching each other how to wish on the stardust around them rather than in the sky, so long as they were together.

It should stay lit a while longer, she decided. Maybe it could teach her to have wonder again, remind her enough of what love had felt like once upon a time that she might know if it reappeared again. Or maybe it would teach her nothing, remaining a pointless tether to the unshakable feeling that by holding on, she was letting go of something else. That it would not teach her love but hinder it.

He didn’t know how. He had seen even the darkest trenches of his soul, and there was nothing there that deserved kindness. But because he was selfish and valued his own life and wellbeing maybe a bit more than he should have considering that he knew how horrible he really was, he took it anyway. And then, because there was nothing else he knew how to do, he tried his best to give her a little bit back.

“How’s Ginny?” he tried, voice meek and hesitant as he tried to talk through the pain. A part of him wondered why he’d gone through with this. A bigger part of him knew it would be worth it when it was done.

Luna smiled, not once removing her gaze from Draco’s forearm as she carefully used the strange needle-like muggle device. She’d had to take classes to figure out how it worked, but said it was worth it. He hoped it would be for himself, too. Strange as it was, he wanted the mark that covered what had previously labeled him one of Voldemort’s to not come from magic at all.

People would say he didn’t deserve it. That he should own up to what he did.

He was getting there. He was trying. But he didn’t have to have a mark of evil that he had never wanted to get in the first place on his arm to do that.

“She’s good. Happy, I think. It’s still very hard for her without Fred around, they were close, you know. But she’s trying. That’s what matters, really.”

He could hear the hidden meaning in her words. You’re trying too. You matter.

He didn’t know if he had the heart to believe them.

Not once looking up from her work, she continued. “I’ve finally convinced her you’re not a horrid Death Eater, you know! She never really believed it, but she had to maintain some sort of wariness, after everything, I think. I know you’ve said you’re not ready yet, but whenever you are, she’s decided she’d like to meet!” As if sensing how very important this was, Luna removed the needle from his skin and examined her work for a moment before beaming at him. He made sure that his eyes remained steadily on her, never once glancing towards the tattoo.

Draco felt as if a garden were blooming right before him, all planted and watered and lit by Luna’s words. Someone else wanted to meet him. Someone else might care.

Of course, the shadows came as soon as the sunshine. He could never keep them away for long.

Luna went to work again, and Draco hoped she thought the tears beginning to form in his eyes were from the pain rather than his own thoughts. “It’s… she means it, right?” he asked, treading carefully. He doubted Luna would leave him now, after everything, but maybe she would. His father had. His friends had. It wasn’t as if he could blame her. He was doubting her girlfriend. He tried to tell himself that his doubt was hardly a measure of dislike: he doubted himself plenty, after all.

But then he was abundantly reminded of the fact that he didn’t like himself all that much either. The point, as most things were in this dreadful time of greys and cloudy skies, was null.

However, Luna only laughed at the suggestion, a trickle of a thing he’d grown to enjoy after his original misgivings. “Oh, don’t worry. She might warn about hexing you, but she’s all talk. She knows how much I care about you now and that you’ve changed. The war was hard on us all, and we’re all only kids, really.” She paused. “I really think she’d rather play you on the Quidditch field than hex you. She always pretended to think otherwise for Harry’s sake, but she thinks you’re rather good,” she admitted.

The garden was back. Maybe this time sunshine might stay? It felt foolish to ask.

“Oh,” he said softly, then cleared his throat. “That’s… I would like that. That’s very kind of her.” The words felt choppy on his tongue. He was still learning. After years of being on the receiving end of a well of cruelty, it had been so easy to spill out all his anger on others. But he was trying not to do that anymore.

He was trying. Luna said that was what mattered. She was right, he told himself. She had to be. Otherwise, what was the point?

“I’ll tell her!” Luna seemed genuinely excited by the prospect, and Draco’s heart jumped a little. What a strange sensation, to feel wanted. Like a hand reaching out when he still didn’t know if it was all a ruse to slap him.

“Ron and Harry are going to take some more convincing, I’m afraid,” she said with only equal amounts of cheer. “They’re stubborn as mules. Absolutely ridiculous, we all say, but they’ve got the idea in their heads and now they won’t let go. Either way, I’ll get to them eventually. Ginny’ll help. And Nevillie and Hermione are just about ready to give in, although Hermione is taking the war a little harder than the rest of us. It has to do with her parents, I think. She’s not always up for seeing people, you know.”

He did. Loneliness was a comfortable companion, safe if nothing else. It paired rather well with grief.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure what I would have done without you.”

“Given into the Wrackspurts, probably,” she said airily.

He laughed. Wrackspurts or not, he would have been lost.

Finally, Luna stepped away from his arm and surveyed her work. Draco was almost scared to look, but Luna stopped him before he could turn anyway. “I have to put a cream on it. You can look after.”

So he waited while she lathered the liquid on his still-burning forearm, then wiped it off with a soft fabric. “There,” she said quietly. “It’s done now.”

He looked.

Flowers. Luna had painted flowers.

When she asked him what he wanted, he’d had only one request: that it wouldn’t look like the mark of Voldemort anymore.

And, of course, she had covered it in the thing Voldemort had probably never even thought of before, something so quintessentially Luna that there was no mistaking whose work it was.

What had once been a snake was now the stem of what seemed like a million gorgeous blooms sprouting. She had used only vague touches of colour, but they brought a sort of light to the design that seemed at place. It wasn’t too much or too little. The flowers varied in size and petal shape and other things that certainly had names Draco didn’t know, but each one of them was beautiful. They looked real, like he might reach forth and pry them from his very skin.

The skull remained. It might have deterred him, if it weren’t for the fact that nothing about it looked the same.

Patterned with swirls and bright splashes of colour, hearts and dots and sunshine, it no longer felt like the reminder of death.

No, this was a celebration of life.

When he looked up again, after what felt simultaneously like two seconds and twenty hours, Luna was fidgeting with her hands. “Do you like it?” she asked, and it took a second for Draco to place the nervousness in her voice.

How could she ever have nerves about this? When she had created such beauty?

“Can you teach me?” he asked, before he could think to try and articulate the joy, the happiness, the love he felt gazing at this new ink adorning his body.

She looked surprised. “Teach you?”

“To paint,” he said. “Or draw, or sketch, or whatever you want. To… I don’t know, to make something beautiful.” His voice tapered as he said the last bit, realizing how foolish this must be. The Death Eater, the traitor, the disappointment? All he did was break. He probably didn’t even have the capacity to make something like Luna did.

Besides, there had to be a limit to her kindness. This was almost certainly it.

“Draco,” she said, and he braced himself for the let down. But it never came. “I would love to teach you. I’ve never taught someone before! I might be horrible at it,” she admitted. “But it would be so fun to ry! Ginny always says I need someone to paint with.”

He looked up again, and- oh. She wasn’t faking it. There was no way. The smile on her face was so wide he actually thought she might burst, and her hands were clasped together in joy as she rambled on and on.

Overwhelmed, entirely unsure what to do, and feeling uncomfortably happy at this strange sensation, before he knew it he was wrapping her arms around her in an embrace.

“Oh!” This, maybe even more than his question, caught her off guard, but she hugged him back almost immediately.

“Thank you,” he said, not noticing the tears welling in his eyes until he felt their cold sting on his cheek. “I love it, Luna.”

He knew that Lucie and Cordelia wrote letters, and did other things he wouldn’t pretend to understand besides. They didn’t have even a trickle of this newness, because there had never been a part of each others’ souls they didn’t know. But for him, it was different, and he had to admit that he missed his friend.

Matthew told him he was an idiot for choosing training, of all things, to bond over. He thought it rather smart.

Cordelia had always been skilled. Even as a child, she was the fastest of them, the one with the quickest reflexes (and smile). It would be interesting to see how those talents matured in her. He hardly expected her to be better than him anymore- he’d put in too much work for her to be able to beat him on foot any longer- but she was most likely a rather exceptional warrior. She held Cortana, after all.

But he was the son of Will and Tessa Herondale.

“James!” He was shocked out of his thoughts by the sight of the lady of the hour jogging towards him and skidding through the halls of the Institute to reach him and the doors to the training centre. Her bright smile brought a strange sort of sunshine to his chest. It had been so long.

“Daisy.” Her face seemed to brighten at the old nickname, and he made the mental note to use it more often, if only to see that intoxicating smile.

Shuffling her weight from one foot to the other somewhat awkwardly, her hand went to touch Cortana at her side. She nodded towards the doors. “Should… um, should we go in?

Oh. Of course. He had invited her here for training, and instead had spent the past ten seconds staring like an imbecile. It was no wonder she seemed flustered. “Right, of course,” he said quickly, turning fast so she might not see the hint of a blush climbing up his neck.

He opened the doors and walked in, letting the cool air and familiar area wash over him in a single wave of reterned confidence. He knew what he was doing in this room, if not when having a conversation with Cordelia. Hopefully he might get better at the latter in this time, but if not, at least he had some solace.

Cordelia stepped beside him and surveyed the area, her eyes sweeping over the glossy floors and wide space hungrily. This, James realized belatedly, might be her first time ever seeing the area.

“Err, should we-” he started after a moment too long of awkward silence.

“Oh!” She blushed a light, hazy pink. “Right, of course. Where do you suppose-”

“Throwing knives, mayhaps?” he said, fumbling over his words a little. Get it together, he warned himself. She’ll think you’re a bumbling fool. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the targets as if they might make his meaning more clear.

“Sure.” They walked over together, and James knew he wasn’t imagining the strangeness between them. Were they beyond remedy?

Cordelia carefully selected a golden dagger, and James chose a near copy in silver. They stood a good distance away from the targets, two metres or so. Eyes solely fixed on her target, Cordelia exhaled and sent the blade flying.

Bull’s-eye.

He raised his eyebrows, looking to her for any sign of surprise. But there was only a clever smile playing at her lips, and she turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Your turn.”

So this was how they’d play. Smirking to himself, James decided to raise the stakes. “I have a proposition.”

“Do tell.”

“We make this a competition. Whoever’s best at combat wins bragging rights.” He didn’t bother implementing a points system or harsh rules. Cordelia was fair- she always had been- and he was more than certain that wouldn’t waiver now.

Her smile grew into something devilish until it nearly matched his, and she nodded once. “Deal.”

Bragging rights were no joke. The bull’s-eye hadn’t been a fluke, then. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, James sent the dagger flying. He had to admit that this certainly wasn’t his area of expertise, but there was something almost calming about the familiarity of the motions. If he used them in an actual fight, he imaged there would be more panic involved in the process of stabbing someone than comfort, but within the safety of the Institute with only a wooden mark to bear the sharp indents, it was easy to forget that these actions were even violent at all.

“Good one,” Cordelia said, and James realized a bit too late that he hadn’t even bothered to look at where his dagger landed yet. For the second time that day, a blush rose on his cheeks and he looked hastily away. A bull’s-eye from him, too.

As they continued with their competition of sorts, he felt the air of distance melting. That bright smile was coaxed out a few more times, and on two occasions a laugh even accompanied it. In the past years she’d become increasingly witty, he learned, a trait he both enjoyed and admired.

It remained a sort of unspoken rule between them that they would save the duel for last. When the time came, as Cordelia unsheathed the legendary Cortana, he had the sinking suspicion this was where her expertise lay.

He had already been surprised multiple times by how talented she was. He’d underestimated her, as much as he might be ashamed to admit it. But Cordelia Carstairs might have been even more talented than himself- and that was high praise indeed.

“Scared?” she teased, noticing his hesitation.

He took the bait. “Never.” Taking a hold of his own blade, he raised it.

She moved without warning.

It was a strange, unusual sort of beauty. He was right in his assumption this time, that much was clear from the start: swordplay was where her true talents were. But she fought like no one he had ever seen. As their blades crashed and they moved through the room, he almost felt as if she were dancing but he’d never learned how. There was such a grace to the way she moved, and her steps were careful yet efficient to the point where his strokes were sloppy by comparison.

“You’re not nearly as good at this as you led me to believe,” she said between deep breaths.

He smirked. “You haven’t beaten me yet. I wouldn’t get so cocky, Daisy.”

“Wouldn’t you?” She smiled, and the look caught him off guard long enough for her to force him into a somewhat more compromising position than he had been. Touché.

“Well, maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s never a becoming look on a lady.”

She tutted, bur the words only made her smile grow. Her eyes lit some sort of fire, and her actions seemed somehow even more sharp than they had been. “What a backwards thing to say. You should know better. And besides, I’ve never been a lady-” She leaned forward, close enough he might have kissed her if they’re swords hadn’t been in the way. “-James.”

Faster than a whirlwind, she had suddenly whipped away and knocked his sword out of his grip. Even as she beat him soundly, her body moved in such fluid and beautiful movements he couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded.

“Well look,” she said casually, sheathing Cortana again as if their entire duel had been nothing. “Do I have the right to be cocky now, Herondale?” A single eyebrow quirked up as she inquired, her expression toughened despite the smile tugging beneath. She was proud of her win, he was sure. She should be. He was hard to beat.

“Yes,” he said simply, biting back the snide and smart remarks that came to mind. Stepping forward, he took her hand and raised her knuckles to his lips, noting her stance taken off guard as his eyes remained on hers even when his lips brushed her bare fingers. “It was an honor.”

Or, as he was proving right now, unsuccessfully bargaining for a trident.

“Let’s move on already,” she groaned, attempting to pull him from the stand. The long-bearded, burly man behind the counter glared, clearly unhappy with her trying to interrupt his sales. She had zero shits to give.

“No! I must win my love her trident.” Sea Hawk looked far too proud of himself for that singular statement. Didn’t Adora, like, literally bring Catra back from the dead at one point?

“I don’t care about the stupid trident,” she said, 100% lying but simultaniously 100% done with this poor attempt at bargaining. She was pretty sure at this point he was offering more money than the original price, and the salesperson was eating it up.

He scoffed, unfortunately able to see through her. Ignoring her crossed arms and eye roll, he raised an arm towards the sky. “I will get my magnificent girlfriend a trident to defeat the gods!”

“We have She-Ra. If anyone defeats gods, it’ll be her. She’s like eight feet tall. Besides, I’m an atheist.” He really should have known that. Did Mermista really seem the type to believe in giant people in the sky dictating their very moves? Creepy.

He waved her protests away like flies. “Psh posh. The great She-Ra is no match for the greatest Mermista!”

“I would not like to test that theory,” she muttered, but felt a familiar heat rising to her cheeks. It came up way too often around Sea Hawk. Gross. Why did he have to be so damn charming?

“Mister,” the salesperson snapped, clearly tired of Sea Hawk’s attention being on anything other than giving him money. “Are you buying or not?” He rattled off a few numbers.”

“That’s, like, a hundred more than your original price,” she groaned. This man was practically worse than her boyfriend.

“Watch it,” he growled.

No, definitely worse.

Sea Hawk’s fake gasp was loud enough to gain attention from neighbouring stalls of the market, and Mermista facepalmed. Why did she decide to bring him here again? What made her think that this was a good idea?

“You dare insult my lover?” He raised a fist. If he was trying to look threatening, it was not working. “She could have your head!”

The shopkeeper threw his head back and laughed. “Oh yeah, lover boy?” he asked once he had finally finished cackling. “And why doesn’t she try?” It was less of an invitation and more of a threat, but Mermista briefly considered taking it anyway. He was a pretty big nuisance. She doubted anyone would miss him.

“That’s a few minutes of my time I could be spending, like, far away from you,” she said after a moment more of thought. “So no, thanks. I appreciate the offer though, or whatever.”

Sea Hawk lost it. Like, literally lost it. Laughing so hard he almost cried, the shopkeeper’s face getting redder and redder with each guffaw. Mermista looked between the two of them, baffled at how she managed to end up stuck with the two biggest idiots she’d ever laid eyes on in the same afternoon. She groaned out loud, wondering if she’d have to fight something as a result of this disastrous encounter.

The salesperson grabbed the front of Sea Hawk’s shirt, lifting him by it like in some damn cartoon. She fought the urge to facepalm again. Yeah, definitely fighting someone.

“You dare laugh at me? Who do you think you are?” he growled, sounding way more like a petulant child than an actual threat.

“Your mom,” Mermista muttered before spraying him in the face with water. It hit Sea Hawk too, but he was used to such things by now, and the shopkeeper dropped him like a hot potato as soon as the icy liquid met his face.

Sea Hawk laughed once again. “Good one, Mermista!” He held up a hand as if awaiting a high five.

“Ugh,” she groaned, but gave in. Glancing at the salesperson again, he looked even angrier than before. She grimaced. “We should probably, like, get out before he decides to kill us.”

“We’ve had enough of that this year,” he said, agreeing with her for once.

A single other glance between them exchanged, they took off running straight past the booth and towards the harbor, where Sea Hawk’s ship lay waiting. Hopefully he wouldn’t set it on fire this time.

Out of breath and panting, Mermista glanced behind her as she sprinted up the walk to the ship. Thankfully, the salesperson hadn’t bothered following them- although he was staring, staring his fist like a cartoon villain, probably cursing them in some incredibly cringy and over dramatic fashion. Ugh. People exhausted her.

Finally aboard the ship, Mermista sat straight on the deck as Sea Hawk set them asail. It was only then that she noticed the trident.

“Did-” She paused. “Did you steal that?” There was the slightest bit of admiration in her voice, but she refused to let it show otherwise.

Nonetheless, he grinned like a fool at the mere observation. “I did! As we were running away, I had a stroke of genius and pulled it from behind the curtains of his shop. It was a movie-worthy scene. Entirely swashbuckling and chivalrous,” he said cheerfully and without a hint of irony.

Mermista took the trident gently, admiring its excellent craftsmanship. “Do you even know what any of those words mean?”

“Not in the slightest! But they seem rather impressive, don’t they?”

She groaned, but there was no heart in it. Struggling to keep a smile off her face, she turned to fully look at him. “Why are you like this?”

He grinned. There was no one happier to hear those words from her than Sea Hawk. It was practically their tradition at this point. “Because I love you, dearest,” he said simply.

The rouge returned to her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop the smile either. Maybe she should say it back?

No. Not yet. She wasn’t ready yet.

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t set this ship on fire.”

Most of her friends found it endearing, if nothing else. Kai and Cress shared her enthusiasm for the holiday, and they spent many an evening discussing presents and decorations and dinner arrangements. Jacin was perhaps the most happy to see her enjoying it so much though, and seeing her light up over a cup of cocoa or a Christmas song or a particularly gorgeous wreath was enough to make him smile.

This, apparently, was where he drew the line in the snow.

“Please?” she begged, outright pleading at this point. She could tell he was softened by her emotion, but had yet to give in. And he would give in. He had to.

“Winter. I love you, but no.”

She made her best puppy dog eyes, but he turned away, arms crossed defiantly over his chest. “It’s only a hat.” She waved the thing in front of her again, as if he only needed a reminder of what it was to give in. Maybe there was some horrifying alternate definition of “Santa hat” and he only needed reassurance that this was the red kind with the fluffy white ball at the end.

He glared. “It’s detestable.”

“It’s adorable!” She beamed, pointing to the hat already adorning her dark curls. Scarlet had bought it for her after seeing her faun over the one Wolf wore for a full hour. He had been just about ready to give her his, but didn’t want to deprave him of the gorgeous accessory either.

After forcing everyone (with the unfortunate exception of Jacin) to at least try on the hat, she came to the conclusion that it looked absolutely adorable on everyone.

Jacin had to try it.

“It’s monstrous. Tacky. Unnecessary. I could go on.” Winter knew he was serious, but she couldn’t help a laugh. There was something so incredibly endearing about his repulsion to a Santa hat, of everything.

“What is it? The poof ball? Because I won’t remove the poof ball,” she warned.

That earned her at least a small smile. “I wouldn’t dare inquire, Trouble. It’s not that, anyway. It’s everything. The whole hat.”

She looked down at the fabric in her hand, aghast. “Everything? How?! It’s so cute! The red’s so festive, and it would look so nice against your eyes. And it’s so comfortable! Plus it keeps your ears warn. You know I love when yours go all pink-” they did so now, earning an excited squeal from Winter “-but you shouldn’t be suffering. And the poof is just adorable! It would be too much without it,” she said fondly.

“It’s too much with it,” Jacin mumbled.

Winter hit him with the hat, and he feigned injury. “You’re going to hurt its feelings.”

His laugh was abrupt, born out of surprise more than humor. “It’s a hat.”

She glared, crossing her arms in a similar stance to the one he had adopted but dropped around the time she mentioned the poof ball. “You should respect it anyway. I’m sure someone put a lot of work into making this hat. And besides, you’ll hurt my feelings too.”

Jacin’s eyes softened. Groaning, he took the hat delicately in his hands and examined it. His nose curled up slightly, and although Winter knew it was in disgust, she couldn’t help the giggle that burst out of her. He was just so cute.

“I will wear it if it’ll make you happy,” he finally relented, earning a shining grin from Winter. “But only this once.”

“And on Christmas?” she hazarded.

He smiled wryly. “If I’m feeling generous,” he said, but they both knew it was really a yes.

Sighing far more dramatically than was necessary (although she wasn’t complaining), Jacin slowly put on the hat. When he looked up, he seemed far more tired than before he’d had on the adornment, but there was a smile on his face and light in his eyes.

“Jacin!” She squealed, wrapping her arms around him tightly. It caught him off guard, but he quickly melted into the embrace. “You look so festive!”

“Is that really a good thing?” he grumbled as they separated, but he was still smiling. Shaking his head, he placed the softest kiss on her temple that made her smile all the harder.

“Always,” she whispered, leaning her head on his chest.

She was sure that if these insecurities were voiced to anyone, she would be met with nothing but reassurance. That was something people did- Catra, even- a lot nowadays. It took some (okay, a lot) of getting used to. So did having a girlfriend, and Catra having a girlfriend, and both the concept and existence of such things as tomatoes and apples. And, of course, there was the fact that she had actual, real friends who were good to her.

There were people who cared. Gosh, it was the greatest thing she ever could have wished for. Better, even.

But for all her happiness and wishes come true and new love of fruits, Scorpia could not understand how to grow plants.

And so here she sat, staring at the succulents she’d ruined within a week, on the verge of tears and wondering what had gone wrong. Was there some rare gene she had that made her incapable of maintaining plant life? Was it a symptom of the Hoarde? Maybe there was something in the paperwork. She really should have read that paperwork more carefully.

Sighing, Scorpia glanced around as if the walls of her new room at Bright Moon might give her the answer. At this point, anything was possible and anything would help.

Eventually returning her gaze to the plants after discerning that the walls would not, in fact, give her the answers to gardening, she stared at the grey and withered things inscrutably. Maybe she could will them back to life somehow?

“Come on, come on,” she whispered, wondering vaguely if there was a quota on wishes that might be granted in one’s lifetime and whether or not she’d reached it yet.

A soft knock on the door broke Scorpia out of her stupor, and she glanced away from the plants, a bright smile climbing onto her lips. Only one person knocked like that. “Yeah, you can come in!” she said cheerfully, scooping the succulents into her arms and quickly stuffing them into a nearby closet. It was awkward, but less so than Perfuma walking in to ten dead cacti, still in their little ceramic pots, and the overwhelming scent of failure.

Perfuma caught her just as she was closing the closet door. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Oh! Um, nothing! Just a dress. You know how they are here on Bright Moon, so many dresses! Back in the Hoarde I wore one thing every day and rotated through five copies of it. Princess Prom was the first time I wore something other than the uniform in months.”

She frowned. Perfuma hated hearing stories about the Hoarde. She said it was because they had done so much harm to the people she loved, and she hated to think of them hurting.

Scorpia always tried not to think too hard about the implications of her possibly being one of those people she loved.

Thankfully, both women were good at focusing on the positive.

“Oh! Can I see? You know I love your fashion sense. I feel like I always wear the same type of dresses, it gets so old.”

“What?! Who told you that? Did someone tell you that?” Scorpia’s mind raced. How dare someone insult her girlfriend!? “Your dresses are so flowy! They’re like water, or flower petals, or a cloud. Aw, remember that one from my first party here? The pink and gold? You should wear that one again. Not every day, like the Hoarde, but you looked so nice in it.” She smiled fondly, recalling the sunny memory. That had been such a nice day.

Perfuma laughed, her giggled spilling out like actual pockets of joy. Scorpia couldn’t help the look that crossed her face. How did she get so lucky?

“No, silly! I just feel like that sometimes because I like simpler colours and designs. But I’m glad you like them. I loved that pink and gold dress too. But don’t think you can distract me, I still want to see your new one! Unless you’re saving it for a special occasion.”

Yes. An out. She might have wiped her brow if it wouldn’t have been too overbearingly obvious. “Oh! Yes. Special occasion dress, definitely. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise! It’s, for… um, it’s for this… dinner! That Glimmer’s holding. Yeah, yeah, a dinner. With lots of, uh, vegetables.”

Perfuma raised an eyebrow. Crap. Had something given her away?

“Scorpia. You ramble when you’re nervous, and Glimmer doesn’t even like vegetables.” Placing her hands on her hips, she leveled the most intimidating look she could muster on her girlfriend. “What are you hiding?”

She shuffled, scratching the back of her head. “Nothing! Nothing. I think Emily’s hiding something though. Ooh, maybe she has a date! She’s been really fidgety with me lately, keeps running off-”

“Scorpia.”

There was nothing she could do, even if she wanted to. It was just too hard to lie to Perfuma. “I was just trying it out! Trying to get better. It’s not a big deal or anything…” She opened the closet door, revealing the dead succulents hastily shoved inside minutes prior. She blushed slightly and turned away. “I just didn’t want to disappoint you! You’re so good with plants. You even have plant magic! And I didn’t even know what a carrot was six months ago. I felt like I should try to make it up somehow.”

Perfuma gasped, a hand covering part of her face involuntarily. She carefully stepped forward and knelt, growing the cacti again within mere moments. “Oh, Scorpia. You didn’t need to do that. I like you no matter how good you are with plants. I didn’t like cacti until a few months ago anyway.”

She had been about to protest, but got caught up in that last comment instead. Perfuma, not liking a plant!? That seemed like a foreign concept. She had to know more. “Really?”

“Yes. I had to learn to like them in the Crimson Waste, but I really only managed it when I realized how complicated their root system was! They’re just so prickly.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest. Scorpia stared and tried to comprehend this.

“Is that way I couldn’t grow them? Because of the roots?” She frowned at the succulents, as if she could see the roots now just by looking at them again.

Perfuma laughed and smiled again. “No. You’re just not good at growing plants yet. But that’s okay! You don’t need to be good at plants. I do that enough for the both of us, and you’re good at so many other things instead.”

Scorpia sighed. “I know. I just felt like if I were good at something like you were, we might have more in common, and then you might want to keep me around longer. I mean, I was in the Hoarde! I only had Catra for a friend, and I sent Entrapta to Beast Island, and yeah, I might give great hugs, but what’s the use when no one ever wants them?!” She shook her head, feeling tears sting the back of her eyes. “I thought if I was good with plants, then maybe I could be a step closer to being something as good as you; or at least good enough to deserve you. But I guess that was useless, huh?” She rubbed the back of her neck, looking away as she felt a blush rise in her cheeks.

Perfuma placed a hand on her arm gently. “Scorpia,” she said. She looked down and saw the slightest wetness in her eyes. Was that because of her?! Oh, God. She had never meant for that to happen.

“Scorpia. You’re the greatest person I’ve ever met. You’re so kind and brave and strong! And I don’t care if we don’t have a lot in common. I’ll always want your hugs, and you’re cuddles, and your kisses.” She smiled softly, a quiet sort of warmth enveloping them both.

“I don’t care if you can’t grow plants or understand the roots of a cactus. You have roots of your own, right here in my heart, and that’s all you need.”

Scorpia felt her eyes well up. Looking down at her love, she saw only confidence, reassurance, kindness. Perfuma meant it. Maybe she wasn’t useless at growing things after all, if she had created a root Perfuma didn’t want to leave.

“Thank you,” she said, certain there were no other words (though she could definitely say a few anyway if she weren’t so choked up).

“Of course,” Perfuma replied, letting Scorpia wrap her arms around her willowy body in one of those great hugs. “You’re amazing, Scorpia.”

“I- I don’t know,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe Pigwidgeon got out of-”

“Pigwidgeon?” he asked, very nearly holding back a laugh. “You think that tiny bird did this?” He gestured to the pillows that Hermione could really only describe as ravaged. She winced. Poor Crookshanks still seemed to hold a grudge against Ron for accusing her of eating Peter Pettigrew when he was still in rat form back in year three. They needed to make up, she decided. Her boyfriend and cat would learn to coexist, for her sake if nothing else.

“Fine,” she relented.”

“Ho- fine?!” Ron’s eyebrows shot up. He knew as well as anyone else- probably better, in fact- that Hermione Granger did not relent. She didn’t enjoy it now any more than she did under any other circumstance, but there was a bigger goal here than upholding her integrity. They both knew that at any point she could beat Ron in practically every measure, wit or otherwise, anyway. There was no need to prove it, although that was still a concept she was getting used to.

“Yes, Ron. Fine. I’ll get Crookshanks and tell her to apologize.” Ignoring Ron’s gaze, which was somehow even more incredulous than before, she started out of the bedroom.

“Get- Mione, you do realize it’s a cat? She can’t exactly speak.”

Hermione waved away the sentiment as she stepped out the room, letting her voice carry through the apartment. “She has her own way of communicating. You would know that, if you ever spent any time with her at all.” She marched back into the room, where Ron stood somewhat slack-jawed. Her furry companion lay in her arms, looking quite tired, an expression that only increased once she laid eyes on Ron. “You should really try better to get along.”

She placed Crookshanks carefully on the bed, where she casually kneaded her claws into the comforter, not taking her eyes off of Ron. “Oh, hush up,” she told the cat. “You know he’s not all bad. He did apologize for the whole Peter incident.”

Crookshanks mewled, her meaning clear. It simply wasn’t enough. Turning towards Ron once more with enough determination to make him flinch, she met his eye. He knew what happened when she got that look on her face.

“Now, you two are going to stay in this room together until you learn to get along.” Both made immediate noises of what Hermione wasn’t sure was disgust or simply protest, but it mattered not. They were going through with this.

“Mione,” Ron interrupted gently. “Do you really think this is necessary-”

“Ronald, I have saved your ass too many times to count since first year. You can handle learning to get along with my cat. Which, quite frankly, you should have already done. It’s been six years since I bought her and you still can’t stand to even tolerate her presence.

“Now, I am going to lock this door and listen in until you two have figured out all your problems. Work. It. Out.” She glared at each Ron and Crookshanks in turn before offering what she hoped was an encouraging smile and stalking out the door to complete silence. She locked the door, cast the enchantments, and took a deep breath.

This had to work. Crookshanks wasn’t a fluffy devil like Ron often called her, she was a fluffy badass with a heart of gold who just so happened to hold grudges. And Ron wasn’t an inconsiderate jerk as the cat regarded him, he was just an overly awkward sweetheart. Hermione wanted them to see in each other what she saw.

Was it too much to ask for her boyfriend and cat to live in peace?

As she wandered the apartment, tidying things as she saw fit (Ron had really never learned to take care of a house, though he was learning), she was met with a concerningly loud series of cussing and yowling. Sighing, she leaned her head back to rest it against the wall. Please let it not be too much to ask. Please. She helped defeat Voldemort. A redhead and feisty cat couldn’t be worst than that, right?

Right?!

“HERMIONEEE,” Ron wailed through the door. The nail-biting sound accompanying it informed her that Crookshanks had started scratching the door again.

“NO, RONALD,” she shouted back, trying her best to hide the laughter from her voice. She wondered if she should phone Harry or Luna to have someone to talk to about this. It really was amusing, high stakes and emotional purpose aside.

After approximately fifteen minutes too long of more fighting behind the closed doors, Hermione finally heard Ron give in. “Alright, Crookshanks. Hermione clearly isn’t going to give up, so I guess we’re going to have to get along. Here’s what I- you fluffy little devil, stop-”

The near silence that followed was almost undoubtedly filled with wrangling and frustration, but Hermione waited eagerly. Finally, after one particularly exasperated sigh, Ron continued.

“Here’s what I propose. We get along. I’ll try not to bother you- what is it now? Oh, fine. I’ll treat you like an equal, never mind that you’re a cat- OW!”

This time she couldn’t quite contain her laugh. “I HEARD THAT, HERMIONE,” came Ron’s bellowing reply, but she could hear the humor in his voice too.

“Alright, alright,” he continued, talking to Crookshanks once again. Hoping that this strange situation might soon be remedied, Hermione moved toward the kitchen to refill Crookshanks’s food and start preparing dinner. “I’ll treat you like an equal, and in return you won’t claw or bite or pee on any of my things. I won’t get in your way, and you won’t get in mine.”

Crookshanks’s responding meow was quiet enough that Hermione almost didn’t hear it. There was a small moment of silence before Ron spoke again. “You aren’t so bad, I guess. You look like a hairball and have the personality of a devil, but Hermione’s fond of you, and you’ve never been mean to her. We can bond on that, yeah? Maybe someday we’ll even be mates.”