Chapter Text
You’ve been in love with Buckee for so long that you didn’t know it was love.
As wigglers, you are inseparable. You meet him soon after your emergence from the trials (he is a few perigees older than you) and soon you spend most of your nights together--you see each other as often or more than your lusii. Your blood is a few shades above brown and his a shade above yours, and all is right with the world.
You assume that the feelings you have for him are just strong friendship, and wonder why more trolls don’t have friends like you do.
One night, when you're four and a half, you and Buckee save up enough to see a movie. It's the third movie you've ever seen, and it's a pale romance. You're completely enthralled but it's only when you step out of the theatre and look at Buckee, identical smiles on your faces, that you realize you're madly, sadly pale for your best friend.
But really, what can you say? “Hey, Buckee, I know we've been great friends for sweeps now but thanks to a movie I now know that I've been unknowingly hankering to hop into a pile and feelings jam with you and pap your adorable face. No pressure.”
Yeah, no. No way are you going to wreck your friendship because of a little palecrush.
Nevertheless, it’s a rather awkward perigee as you continually scrutinize your interactions, watching everything you say to him to make sure you don’t come off as too pale.
You grow up like this and learn to appreciate your crush without Buckee ever knowing.
☆
You almost tell him, once. He’s just turned eight (your wriggling day isn’t for a few perigees more) and he’s not back at the usual time.
You stay up, waiting for him, and eventually he returns to the small hive you two share, perilously late into the morning. He’s flushed and grinning and slightly sunburnt. He flops on the reclining mat, arms spread wide.
“I just got pailed and oh my god it is the best thing ever,” he says in a rush.
You want to hug him, kiss him, snuggle up next to him and talk about feelings all day long, and it hurts, almost. But your previous silence weighs heavily on your tongue, so instead you put a bit of a laugh into your voice and say, “So that lime you were making eyes at reciprocated?”
“Hell yes,” he says, breathless.
“That’s good,” you say. You sneak a look at him and he’s still laying there, grinning up at the ceiling. “You should probably get to ’coon.”
Buckee is silent for a good ten seconds and you panic because that sounded pretty pale to you.
“Yeah,” he says eventually, unbuttoning his shirt distractedly. “You need to find someone concupiscent soon, Steave, it’s amazing as fuck.”
And how he wounds you! Surely he doesn’t mean to tempt you, obviously you’re misinterpreting normal, friendly advice.
“Tomorrow,” you say, undressing as well. You both get to sleep eventually, and neither of you mention your conversation the next night.