Chapter Text
Princess Bonnibel Bubblegum was highly intelligent. A brain-lord, if one listened to certain people. And unfortunately— despite years of trying to change it— she was attuned to that certain person. Which is to say that she knew Marceline was outside her window. Marceline had a certain presence; a sort of gravitas that she wished she could effortlessly achieve— not that Marceline’s had been effortless, likely, but those were quibbles she didn’t need to get into now. Unless—
She was stalling. She could admit to that, at least, and it wasn’t like she didn’t know why. She was stalling because she knew perfectly well why Marceline was here. What she wanted to see.
Self check-in: gritted teeth; heat rising to her face; a faint pressure beginning to build behind her eyelids— ah. Likely a mixture of hurt (which made sense, considering exactly what had happened earlier that day) and embarrassment, which was producing a defensive anger reaction. At least her emotions were properly quantifiable. No reasonable words were going to make her publicly embarrass and hurt— No. She wasn’t doing this. She wouldn’t let Mar— Abadeer live in her mind like that—(Another lie. Of course she would. She had been, for years. Centuries, even.)
Her back was to the window, but it wouldn’t matter either way— Marceline would be invisible. And she knew Bonnibel knew she was here too. So. Then. It was between painting herself as a liar or getting a good night of sleep.
“You know, if you’re going to watch, at least look me in the eyes, Marceline .” Bonnie turned on her heel and stared out the window. It stayed blank for a moment— just long enough for Bonnie to think she was losing her mind— before Marceline faded into view. She’d taken off the gloves and the hat from before— left in her stupid red tanktop, and the jeans Bonnie always teased her about.
The pressure in her gaze was akin to a controlled explosion, but her gum wasn’t warping, so she forged on. Shzzzzt. Her zipper was cool on her back, and the brocade fell slowly from one shoulder, and then another. It was as if she was watching herself from another perspective— this must be another person— this couldn’t be her. What was she doing? How did Marceline do this to her, after centuries? The fabric fell past her hips. She stepped out.
“Did you come here to tease me? Is that what this is about? To— rub it in?” To rub it in that Bonnie had never gotten over her? That she didn’t date again— couldn’t even think about it— that she still slept in her damned shirt? Marceline’s gaze, which had been trailing somewhere around Bonnibel’s stomach (at least she still cared about something of hers) snapped back to hers. “Is that all you want from me?” She could feel a helpless laugh force its way up her throat. “To humiliate me further ? I understand I wasn’t perfect, Marceline, but do I really deserve this?”
“Bonnie—“
“Don’t call me that. Not after today.”
“Can I— Can I come in?” She didn’t have the energy to analyze Marceline anymore. She looked remorseful? Maybe? She hated that she didn’t know Marceline’s expressions like the back of her hand anymore. She hated that she was thinking that. The window was open now—(she’d done that, she recognized distantly.)
“Here. Want to release anymore wolves in? Maybe get Finn to come wrestle me? Or are you just sticking to embarassing me verbally now? If you want to make up with me, you’re doing a shit job, you know.” Her wardrobe was large, and she was sure Marceline could see the photo of them that she’d never had the heart to remove. What did it even matter? From the third person, Bonnie could recognize this was bad— she was well on her way to a shutdown, she could feel the tears behind her eyes— the uncomfortable press of the sticky liquid— she didn’t want to cry twice today— where was her shirt — someone—- it was in her hands— She pulled the shirt on. It smelled like it always did. She sat down on the bed.
“I’m sorry.” She nodded. She didn’t— her mind was going a million miles an hour, but somehow her voice couldn’t anymore. “I— can I help?”
“You got what you wanted, right?” Barely more than a whisper, but she knew Marceline could hear. “So go.”
“I can—“
“It’s not your place to comfort me anymore, Marceline. Just— go.”