Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sasha has felt like this before. Heart beating hard like her chest is a drum being hit with full force, over and over again. Her hands jittery, like ants had replaced the blood on her veins, her palm sweating like she had run a mile.

Before all of this, they were only the feelings she’d get before a big performance. She’d be dressed in a knee-length skirt, pom-poms clutched in her hands. She’d be in the locker room, chatting with the other girls, before she sees a glimpse of Anne walking by the corridors, and she’d run off to catch up with her.

The fluorescent lights flicker in the hallway as the awkward conversation resumes between the two. “ Hey, you look great!” - “you too, you look amazing!” - “good luck out there, I’m cheering you on!” - “of course, don’t fall while you’re at it!”. Shy laughs, even more shy hugs - “don’t forget to check on Marcy before the game starts!” - “don’t worry, I’ve got it . You’ll do great, Anne!” - “you too!”

The butterflies, raging in her stomach - the good kind, the kind that makes her smile dumbly afterwards as she waved Anne goodbye. The girls in the locker room would welcome her back with curious, teasing smiles on their faces - “ who’s the boy? Is he cute? Which class is he from?” And she’ll just wave it off and tell them to get off her back because none of them will ever understand how it is to fall secretly, silently, for the two people she had known and loved the longest. For the two people she calls her best friends.

No, they had grown more than that - they weren’t the same “gal pals” they had been all those years ago. Sasha isn’t sure when it changed, but it did, and now they’re a mess of red blushes and awkward touches and not being sure where the line is, how much is too much.

The thumping in her chest, the lump in her throat, the ants in her veins.




If Sasha had pretended hard enough, she could still pretend that that is what she’s feeling right now.



But - no. Now, they’re sitting on the Boonchuy’s dinner table that had been turned into a war council discussion table, much to Anne’s parents’ dismay. Not that they had a say in this. Not that they can tell their thirteen-years-old daughter no anymore, not when there’s a literal war looming above their heads as they speak.

A war. A war. The reality of the situation dawned on her more than ever now, as she sat down in the dimly lit dining room, staring at her hands. Battle plans sprawled all over the table, little figurines and a board that represent their strategies. Her heart clenched even more when the thought crossed her mind that Marcy would have loved these. That girl would go insane over the little figurines, the battle plans, talking about war strategies for hours. She’d mention references to her video games in every opportunity, act like it’s merely just a game instead of an actual war because that’s just how she is, dense and childish and smart and funny and lovely -


And Sasha misses her. She misses her so much, heart tightening just at the thought of her, the girl’s stupid grin and her endless rambles and the way she’d bounce up and down on her heels and hug her too tightly -

She felt like she could break down for the third time that day all over again.

But - no. She can’t - she’s Sasha Waybright, a general, second-in-command to Grime and the whole toad army, and she can’t act childish. Even when she knows she is, in fact, a child - a little girl playing hero so that she could have a go at her weak attempt to clean the mess she made, the things she had fucked up so badly she couldn’t even possibly think of a way to fix it anymore.

But at least she’s trying, right?

Wrong.

Because she’s still sitting here frozen in place, glued to her seat even after they had called it a night - after everyone else had gotten up from their seats and leave the Boonchuy household, after Grime has to literally be forced to step away from the thick tension in the room between the two girls and whispered to her that he’ll be waiting outside, whenever she’s ready.


Sasha doesn’t think she’ll ever be ready.


The dim dining room light flickers again, resembling that one night they had talked on the school hallway so closely that Sasha wanted to scream at how cruel all of this is.

Don’t you do that. It’s your fault, it’s all your fault, you made it this way.

None of them were moving, not an inch. They both sat there still, on the opposite sides of the table, but Anne has never felt so far away. Even when they’re just a table apart, she seemed so distant and in her eyes there was this glint of anger she had never seen inside her before and it terrifies her to the core, to see the once kind and happy girl turn into something like this - did she really do that? Was she the one who made her like that? How does she undo this? Which button does she press that screams I’m sorry I regret it I regret it please come back -

“Can I tell you a secret?” Says Anne; and once upon a heavenly, heavenly time, those words were caught in the dirty-soft realms of their girlhood, braided into something gaudy-harsh like a friendship bracelet; long ago maybe it’d be I have a crush on you, I miss being a little kid, I forgot to buy my mom a Christmas present.

These are the ugly, meaty routes of their fable. No knights and dragons; sometimes Sasha wonders if any of them ever left the dinner table, because they still tremble like they did back then. Because it’s the way Anne says those words. Like she hates that they’ve ever been in her mouth. Like a candied dead weight on her tongue.

“I wish it was you,” Anne spits out; a tremor bumps along every word, dark and tart, dream within a dream. “You know that?” Eyes like gouged-out buttons. Dream within a dream. “I wish it was you instead of Marcy.”

And those words, her words - they had torn her way into her heart and obliterated any remaining pieces of hope she had left, crushing her into tiny little shards. Not pieces, shards. The kind that you’d just have to sigh to and say, oh, well, it’s happened already; the kind that you’d carefully sweep clean, pack into a trash bag, and throw out.

And the worst part? The worst part is knowing that she deserves all of this. Every. Single. Bit of it.

Forget about making amends. Forget about fixing things, starting over, learning how to love again. Because if there’s anything that her parents taught her is that sometimes, some people are just meant to be broken forever. Because if a home torn apart at the ripe age of eight has taught her anything, it’s that Waybrights will never learn how to love, or how to be loved. Waybrights will never know how it is to be loved, Waybrights will never be loved. Waybrights are just fucked up souls meant to screw everything up, be hated for it, and then eventually leave.


So, with the same bitterness in her voice and everything else that screams I mean it, I mean what I’m saying -



She tells her back, “I wish it were me, too.”

Chapter Text

I wish it were me, too.



Anne had never regretted saying something so quickly before.

She had done horrible things before, yes - she’s not a saint. Never was, and never will be. She had been born with a flame inside her that was just too much for an immigrant household that is her home, too much for the humble, goody-two-shoes that are her parents.

Her mother wanted her to dress in flowers and modest silk loincloths; she wanted to wear something short and tight that she could easily run around with. Her mother wanted her to sit down straight with her legs crossed; she wanted to hit tennis balls and yell her lungs out. She wasn’t the well-mannered, first and only daughter they had wanted her to be, if she even ever was. And Anne, trapped in the middle of their expectations of her, had once yelled the words out loud in frustration from the very room she’s sitting in right now; “I wish I wasn’t your daughter!”

She had pushed that unpleasant, embarrassing memory into the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, dodging it every time it surfaces. She didn’t want to remember her mother’s face right after she yelled those words - startled, angered, heartbroken. She didn’t want to remember the way they both didn’t speak for weeks on end afterwards; she didn’t want to remember the guilt and regret that hurt her whole body, to the very end of her nerves.

It was the little dirty secret Anne had kept inside her for years. She had never told anyone, not even Marcy and Sasha, because she’s always that good kid who had a great relationship with her parents - always have been, and always should be. What would they think of her? Anne, quick-mouthed and short-witted. Anne, with a flame too big to fit her own body, a flame she couldn’t control. No, she kept it all inside her until it would inevitably happen again - her anger turning her tongue into a sharp knife, her words stabbing someone.


And that moment happens to be now, it seems.


To Sasha, out of all people. Sasha. The Sasha she had once fell head-over-heels for, the Sasha that would make her brain short-circuit, the Sasha that makes her flutter, as if her insides had been replaced by a million butterflies.

To Sasha. Sasha fucking Waybright.

I wish it was you, her mind recalls, her teeth and bone hurting to her very core, you know that? I wish it was you instead of Marcy.

And Sasha had replied, with the most bitter tone she has ever heard her say, I wish it were me, too.

And the worst part? The worst part is that she knew that Sasha, as mean and manipulative and horrible as she can be, isn’t someone who’s quick-mouthed. She isn’t someone who would say something stupid that she doesn’t really mean - there is always some truth to her words, no matter how little it is.

And Sasha, Sasha looked at her dead in the eyes, and said without a stutter, I wish it were me, too.

I wish it were me, too. I wish it were me, too. I wish it were me, too. Those six words kept replaying over and over in her head, making her whole body ache all the way to her fingertips, and she wanted to reach for her hand before she could leave and tell her with a strained voice that I didn’t mean that I’m so fucking sorry please don’t leave -



- but the words were stuck in her throat, forming a lump of unsaid sentences, and tears well in her eyes and she wanted to desperately reach for her and hold her so tightly until her body stops aching with regret - 

Nothing happens.


And Sasha leaves. She pulls her seat away from the table, stands up, and walks away, footsteps echoing against the silence of the night.


She leaves.


And now nothing remains of them but the worn-out polaroid of them in her pocket, the ashes of what they once were, and the unsaid words they’ll never say out loud. 

“Anne?”


Her mother’s voice startles her as she turns around abruptly, wiping away the remaining tears on her face. Her mother walked towards her slowly, closing the door behind her and sat on the front steps of their house beside her, draping a jacket over her shoulders to shield her from the cold Californian night. “What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold.”

She tries her best not to let out a sob. Her body immediately betrays her.

“Anne?” Her mother calls for her again, concern written all over her face, “hey, what’s wrong?”

So much, mom, she wanted to tell her, but the words were stuck in her throat, just like everything else. There’s so much wrong.

Instead, she choked out, “I did a bad thing, mom.” 

The words flowed out of her mouth and she kept her head down after, scared to look at her mother’s face. She felt like a little kid all over again, confessing of what would have been I broke your favorite vase or I got a bad grade in my test but instead it’s I told Sasha that I’d rather have her dead. “A really, really bad thing.”

That was an understatement.

“Oh, Anne,” her mother sighs, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer. “That’s alright. It’s alright to make mistakes.”

“It’s - it’s horrible,” she sobs harder, tears dripping down her cheeks and into her knees, “I did a horrible thing, and I - I’m a horrible person - “

“ No ,” Her mother’s voice says it with a gasp, as if she was so sure that it’s not true, and how could her own daughter say that? “No, no you’re not. Not my Anne.”

Maybe I’m not your Anne anymore, Anne wants to tell her between her sobs. Maybe I’ve never been. With a small voice, she asks, “how are you so sure, mom?”

“Because a bad mistake doesn’t make you a bad person,” her mother’s voice is so soft when she says it. “And you’re not a bad person. You’re my Anne, I - I know you…”

Anne looks up.

Her mother’s face looks older - more deepened wrinkles, more fine lines. She looks… tired. Worn out. And in her eyes?

There’s fear.

Fear of not being sure what was happening. Fear of not knowing who her daughter is anymore. And Anne tells her with a shaky voice, “mom, I’ve changed.”

Her mother stares at her for another while, eyes now so full of affection that Anne had to look away. She felt dirty and undeserving, to receive a look like that. But her mother gave them to her anyway, a hand reaching out to run her fingers through her hair softly and said, “I know you have. It doesn’t matter. You’re still my Anne to me.”

Anne melts into her touch, leaning her forehead into her mother’s shoulder. “Even if I’m a bad person?”

“You’re not a bad person, baby. Mistakes don't make someone a bad person.”

“Then… what makes someone a bad person?”


“It depends,” her mother says softly, pressing her nose onto the side of her forehead, “but for me? It’s if you’re not willing to change yourself and make it right. But you do, Anne. Every mistake you make, you regret it and make it right. You,” she presses a finger against her chest gently, “have a good heart. I’m sure of that, at least.”

“And if I am a bad person?” Anne kept pushing, like a curious little child testing the world’s limits. Do you love me? Will you love me ? “Would you still love me?”

Her mother doesn’t hesitate when she answers, “always.”

Maybe it’s the way her mother looks at her, like she’s looking at an angel, or the way she says it, gentle and thick with accent - but Anne instantly believes her words, all her doubts disappearing into thin air. Unconditional love, she realizes - that’s what they’ve all been missing, all this time. And Anne has it - she undoubtedly has it, always, from her parents who had always believed in their baby girl. But Marcy? Sasha? People grow when they’re given love and affection. So how could she hold it against them when they don’t?

No. Anne would love them, fiercely and unconditionally, no matter what happens - no matter if they scream or kick around like she had when she was younger, denying to be loved because they didn’t feel like they deserved it. But first…


Apologies. 

The guilt weighs her down again, making her body ache, her mind recalling her words, I wished it was you instead of Marcy, and Sasha’s strained reply, I wish it were me, too. That , Anne thinks, was going to be the hardest part of them all - because how does one even begin to fix a damage so great like that? 

But, her mother’s voice says inside her, you can try.

Yes. Try.

If she could survive seven months in a foreign dimension, she could do that, at least. 

“There’s… something we haven’t told the rest of you about.”

The dining room table was deathly quiet once again, save for the humming of the refrigerator on the side. Anne fidgets with the little figurine that represents two-hundred fucking toads from the rebellion army, realizing with great burden of what she’s holding in her fingers. Sasha sits across the table from her, eyes like an eagle, focused on the battle plans and maps and figurines and anywhere but her.

Anne feels her whole body ache again. It’s that ache, always - she feels it all the way to her fingertips, throbbing in her body begging to escape, and she thought that it was guilt but she doesn’t think it is anymore now. No, it’s more than that. It’s something that’s stored inside Sasha’s blue eyes and Marcy’s brown ones, something the animal inside her craves whenever she’s just too close to them, just a step over the line that she doesn’t even know where exactly it is.

Love. Desire. Longing. She doesn’t know anymore. All that she knows is that she can’t lose Sasha the way she lost Marcy. She can’t. She’ll bury her feet in the ground to hold her down and beg for her to stay if she has to.



“Your friend Marcy is alive.”



Anne feels something blunt and painful stab her chest.


It was those words, those five words, “your friend Marcy is alive” - was what had stabbed her. Anne doesn’t think any sword or dagger can be as painful as hearing those words with her own ears, and then looking around the table wildly, tears in her eyes, questions all over her face.

And Sasha -

Sasha growls . Hands clutching on the leather straps on her armor, fire in her eyes. “Don’t fucking mess with me like that, Yunan.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Olivia speaks up to defend her. “Andrias, he - he had… plans, for her, long before I could see it coming. I saw it in his notes, his books - he’s using her. For - I don’t know. But he won’t let her die because he needs her. It was only logical.”


Anne feels like her head is about to burst. She turns over to Sasha, hoping that she would clarify, explain, anything, tell her that this is just some sick joke -


But Sasha stares at the table with a knowing look, hand now fidgeting with the figurine that represents herself.

And Anne stays silent.

“Where did you get the information that she’s alive?” Sasha spoke up, trying to hide the strain in her voice. Nobody else would have known or noticed, but Anne does - she always does. Long ago it would have been the question how was your sleep? or how was your weekend? And Sasha would give her and Marcy a smile as expressive as a mannequin and wave it off and tell them I’m fine, it was fine - but Anne knows the truth. She knows better than to trust the words and acts of Sasha Waybright, because she knows. She always knows.

Sasha Waybright always lies because that’s what keeps her alive.

“One of our scout team on the perimeter saw her a week ago,” Grime was the one who spoke up, this time, because he was the only person who could do it that wouldn’t get stabbed by a dagger after. “She’s being transported in a tube down to Andrias’ new base.”

“In a wh - one week ago?” Sasha was furious, voice high-pitched and broken . “Why didn’t you fucking tell me - “

“We had to confirm what we saw, Sasha,” Grime says calmly, and when he says Sasha and not commander, Anne knows that he’s really talking to the girl he now sees as his daughter, not his lieutenant. “I wouldn’t want you to hang on to false hopes.”

False hopes is better than none, Anne wants to say, but those words were stuck in her throat again, and she could only watch Sasha stutter and freeze for a moment before she shakes her head, clears her throat, and regains her composure again. Just like that.

A girl raised to wear a mask that wasn’t her face. A girl raised to bury everything so deep inside her until the point where she doesn’t even know what it is she buried down there anymore. Until she doesn’t know how to stop burying things anymore, and before she realizes it, she’s burying herself.

“Right. Okay, listen up.” She grabs a pen and circles over Andrias’ base on the map, far off the Californian shore and into the sea, “we are going to send a rescue mission as quickly as possible.”

Grime speaks up. “Sasha - “

“ - no, let me speak, just - listen,” there’s this anger and ambition in her voice Anne hasn’t heard since she had sworn to beat up a couple of teenagers in the park who had called Marcy the r-slur (which she did later on), and  Anne is… terrified.

Anne had always had a fire inside her that was too big for her own good, yes. But Sasha? Sasha had always been on fire.

“If we get a hold of Marcy, whatever Andrias’ plan is would be put on hold or setback if not destroyed completely because he needed her for his plan, whatever it is, right?” Sasha asks. “She’s crucial. If only we could get her back…” 

Yunan nods thoughtfully. “You are right, commander.”

“But it won’t be that easy,” Olivia tells her worriedly. “Andrias… Marcy is far too precious for him. He’ll have guards, protection, everywhere - don’t rely on him holding back. He’s willing to stab a child for all of this.” The woman’s voice breaks at the words a child, like she’s carrying some sort of guilt over it too, like she was somehow responsible for not being able to protect Marcy. “I need you to think clearly of this, Sasha .”

Sasha takes a shaky breath, angry tears welling in her eyes, “I know. I - I am . We are saving her, it’ll help us gain an upper hand on this war, and nobody has to get hurt because I’ll be the only one who’s going. It’s all a win.”

“But - what’s your plan?” Olivia pushes, “once you get there?”

“If I go alone, I’ll be able to make it quick - find Marcy, get her onto Joe Sparrow, and send her back. I’ll do everything in my power to get her back, I swear.”

Anne feels a wave of guilt overcome her once more as she begins to realize what Sasha was trying to do. Her gums and teeth hurt, her hands shaking, desperate to grab on Sasha and hold her tight until the aching disappears.

“But it’ll be a suicide mission,” Grime says in concern, too. “You can’t go alone, commander - I’ll come with you, make sure you both get out of there safely - “

“No. You need to stay here, look over the rest of the army.”

“But - “

You told me once that a commander should be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good,” she cuts him off. “ That is what I’m doing. I’m going. It’s final, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me, so the best thing you can do now is to help me finish my plan and pack up.” Sasha finished her sentence and stood up from her seat, chair dragging across the kitchen tiles, echoing against the silence of the room. “Meeting dismisse d. Further plans to be discussed later, after my mission.”

Grime tries again. “Sasha - “

“I said, meeting dismissed.”  




Anne feels the thick pain in her throat surfacing, hot tears beginning to slip down her face.


She doesn’t say a word.

Screaming. Raw, terrified screaming, coming from the spare room downstairs, where Sasha had been staying for the past few weeks. And Anne has never jumped up and ran so fast, feet tripping against each other as she stumbled down the stairs, past her startled and dazed parents, slamming the door open and climbing into bed to hold the trembling girl in her arms.

“Sasha!” she exclaims, holding her shoulders and tries to shake her awake. “Sasha, wake up! Sasha!”

The girl in her arms gasped awake. Eyes wide and alert and scared, trying to find the danger from her dream and finds a certain brown-haired girl instead.  Anne felt hot tears on her palm making its way down Sasha’s cheeks, and she wipes them away softly, whispering “ It’s okay, it’s just a dream, you’re okay, look at me - “

“Anne?” Her mother’s voice asks from the doorway, concern written all over her face, “is everything alright…?”

Sasha jumps in her place at the voice, shaking, pulling her close and grasping on her shirt. “It’s fine, mom,” Anne tries to assure, holding the girl tighter, “I’ve got it. I’ve got her.”

Her mother still isn’t convinced. There’s a clear hint of hopelessness when she spoke again in her thick Thai accent, “if there’s anything I can do…” 

“ I know, mom,” she replies back. “ Go back to bed. We’ll be okay.”

Anne watches her mother nod disappear into the dark hallway, closing the door behind her. She turns back to see Sasha’s wide eyes still staring at her, tears still freely streaming down her face, hands still clutching on her shirt, desperate to get a hold of her.

Anne tugs her closer and rests her head on her shoulder, wrapping her arms around her tightly - her way of saying I’m here, I’m right here, you’re safe. And Sasha sobs, her whole body wrecking with each one, holding onto her too tightly but Anne didn’t have the heart to tell her that. She lost hers somewhere in the dark corners of this house, in the places where she had told her mother I wish I wasn’t your daughter and Sasha I wish it was you instead of Marcy.

But if her heart’s really gone, then what’s causing all of these feelings exploding inside her right now? All these guilt, longing, relief? What’s causing her to feel the ache in her nerves all the way to her fingertips, in which she held Sasha tighter, closer, finally -



Sasha pulls away.


And Anne was too much of a coward to make her stay.



“Sorry,” the blonde whispers, wiping the remaining tears from her face almost angrily, her voice dripping with shame. “I - sorry. Tell your parents I’m sorry.”

“Sasha - “ Anne tries, a hand reaching back out, every cell in her body begging to touch her again. 

“I’ll be fine,” Sasha insists, her voice raising slightly, and Anne wonders how she could regain her strength and control just like that. But then again, Anne knows her better than that - and what she has isn’t strength. It isn’t control. “I’m okay,” she says, sounding more like she’s trying to convince herself, “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

(She didn’t say the darker parts of it. She didn’t say “ I have to be. I have no other choice.”)

And still, Anne keeps reaching out anyway, because she knows better than to let her go again. “Sasha - “

“ No!” she’s yelling, now, throat raw with pain in her voice. “Anne. Please.”

Anne doesn’t cower at that; not even a flinch. She wonders when she had stopped doing that. Maybe somewhere along the times when she finally realized that Sasha isn’t a fierce, fearless warrior but rather a scared, confused child hiding in the shell of one. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”

Sasha doesn’t reply back.

She tries to push her luck, an arm extending to reach for her again; Sasha says with a sharp, warning voice, her body trembling, “don’t fucking touch me.”

“Okay,” Anne nods, pulling her hand back. “Just - I’m sorry.”

It sounded rather insincere when she said it out loud. How do you say I’m sorry like you mean it? Who thought that someone could fix mistakes as big as mountains with two simple words? 

So she says again, in her mother language, “ ขอโทษ .” I’m sorry.

Another moment of nauseating silence, the air around them so thick  Anne could have cut it with her mother’s chopping knife. So thick that it was hard to breathe.

But she’s always felt like this around Sasha, doesn’t she? So why was this any different?

You know why.

“Did you mean it?” Came Sasha’s voice - no more than a whisper, as if for the first time in her life, she’s scared. Scared of the answer that the other girl would give her. Scared that the answer would be yes.

But Anne doesn’t hesitate to answer “No,” the same way her mother didn’t hesitate to answer “ always” when she asked her would you still love me.

“Then why did you say it?”

Anne swallows thickly, trying to find a logical explanation for it. Fearing that Sasha would disappear into the night if she said one thing wrong or a second too late. Why did I say it? Why did I say it? “Because I wished it was me instead of Marcy, too.”

Sasha looks up from her knees, eyes bloodshot with tears - Anne could see it, even in the dark of the night; the tears brimming in her eyes reflecting the faint light from the moon outside the window.

“You weren’t wrong,” Sasha whispers, averting her gaze, spitting out those words like a filthy secret. “It should have been me.”

“No,” Anne says almost immediately, hands reaching out to hold her in reflex - anything, anything just to ease the aching guilt boiling inside her. “No, no! You - “

Sasha pushes her off once again, gentler this time. “I have to go on that mission.”

“Sasha,” her voice broke when she said her name, like it was a tragedy. “ Please. I can’t lose you too.”

“Yes, you can. I’m horrible.”

“Fuck that, then, because I’m horrible too,” Anne held her desperately, looking her straight in the eyes, dark brown against blue, “ I don’t care.”

Sasha’s eyes widened with a small, breathy gasp. As if she couldn’t believe that she’s hearing those words said to her with her own ears. As if she refuses to believe that there’s someone that doesn’t care whether she’s a bad person or not. “...what?”

“I said, I don’t care.” Anne says again firmly. Her hands finally reached out to cup the other girl’s face, letting her hands be full of her. Stroking her face, the faint scar on her cheek. Finally, finally. “I love you. And I don’t care that you’re not good - you’re Sasha, the girl I learned how to tie my fucking shoelaces with, and I love you. I really, really do.”

Sasha shakes her head in disbelief, trying to back away from her. “No. You don’t - “ she swallows thickly, “you don’t mean that.”

“Yes, fuck you, I do,” Anne held on her still keeping her close because she’d be damned if she lets her leave again. “I love you. I love you.”

She shakes her head again, harder this time, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks once again, “I don’t - I don’t know how to believe that, Anne.”

“Then take all the time you need,” Anne tells her softly, wiping them away. “I’ll love you anyway.”

Sasha’s voice was no more than a whisper when she asked her like a scared child seeking certainty, “promise?”

Anne doesn’t hesitate when she answers, “I promise.”



Sasha sobs into the other girl’s shoulder. Anne lets her.


“D’you wanna know something?” she speaks up between the quiet of the night, between Sasha’s silent sobs, the trembles of her shoulders, her gaspy breaths. “In Thai, the words I’m sorry don't literally mean that. The first word, “ ขอ”, means request - it’s a rising tone. The second word, “โทษ” is a falling tone - meaning, punishment.” Anne swallows thickly. “So when I say I’m sorry In Thai - “

Sasha pulls away to look at her.

“A request for punishment,” she finishes. Her eyes staring right into Sasha’s to tell her that I mean it, I’m sorry.

Without missing a beat, Sasha replies, “love me, then.”

Anne smiles softly. “I don’t think that’s a fair punishment, Sash.”

“I don’t care,” Sasha mutters, resting her shoulder. “Love me anyway.”

“Remember that one time in literature class?” She asks her. “When we had to read out that thick book, Orestes?”

“No,” Sasha lets out a breathy laugh. “Only Marcy would remember that.”

The surroundings stiffen upon that name; like it’s a slur, like it’s a forbidden word. Like it’s a tragedy, only that it is. The girl who’s so scared of losing everything that she lost herself somewhere in between. Marcy.

“Sorry,” Sasha swallows thickly, shifting uncomfortably in Anne’s arms. “I didn’t mean - “

“Marcy,” Anne cuts her off, saying it loud and bold like nothing happened. “Marcy. You’re right. She’d be the only one who’d remember something like that.”

Sasha breathes in sharply every time Anne says that name. Marcy, Marcy, Marcy.

“We’re going to get her back,” She says again, bolder now, trying to fight the shaking in her voice, the uncertainty settling deep in her chest. “We’re going to get her back because nobody can take us away from each other. Friends until the end, right?”

A small chuckle. “Friends?”

Anne smiles. “Mm, you’ve got a point there.”

Sasha reached her hands out to pull her face down gently, meeting the tip of her nose on Anne’s. Quick, shy breaths, brown eyes against blue, the freckles on Anne’s face, the fading scar on Sasha’s cheek.

Anne doesn’t pull back, this time. Instead, she closes her eyes and sighs, relaxing against the other girl. “I’ll take care of you, Pylades said,” she murmurs, thumb lightly tracing the scar on her cheek.

“It’s rotten work,” Sasha replies, like she’s remembered it all along. Maybe she secretly does, burying it deep inside her, where the Sasha nobody’s seen before resides. The Sasha that’s aching for love. The Sasha that loves.

“Not to me,” Anne whispers in her ears softly; a promise to keep. A reassurance that she’ll always love her no matter what. “Not if it’s you.”