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Every time that the Astral Express makes a warp jump, March tries to stand through it. She plants her feet firmly in a wide stance, knees bent and arms outstretched in a futile attempt to balance against the physics-breaking momentum. Without fail, the young woman flies backwards every single time, landing on the carpeted floor of the parlor car with a whump and a surprised cry, as if the outcome were not already predetermined.
Equally without fail, Stelle will subsequently stand up from the sofa on unsteady legs, fighting the lurch in her stomach as she walks over to help March up from the floor after every tumble.
Today is a day like any other. Pom-Pom announces the jump, March braces herself, everyone else takes a seat, and the tell-tale “Ow!” rings out as Stelle’s center of mass twists and accelerates and recoils with the warp. No matter how many times she undergoes a warp jump, her body can never seem to adjust to it, the spatial distortion leaving her feeling like she has been entirely deconstructed and put back together again from the inside out.
Once her innards feel like they have resettled and the spin in her head is no longer overwhelming, Stelle stands up gingerly and walks the few paces over to where March lies sprawled out on the floor. She bends down and fixes March’s skirt to preserve the archer’s decency before reaching out a hand to help the other woman up, just like usual—except it’s anything but the usual that transpires in the next few moments. Instead of Stelle bracing herself as she lifts March into an upright position, she falters on her feet, her own knees buckling with the unpleasant somersault of her stomach. She watches as March’s eyes grow wide as the support she was clinging to suddenly wavers, then with a flurry of slipping limbs, Stelle tumbles down atop the shorter woman. A sharp pain numbs her lower leg as her right knee crashes at an awkward angle into the floor followed shortly by her left elbow, and Stelle curses loudly as the impact to her funny bone causes her to crumple even further.
The last thing she sees is March’s nose as she, very literally, faceplants onto the other woman’s face.
The inside of her mouth and her front teeth ache from the impact, and her nose positively throbs, causing her eyes to water uncontrollably. But even through all the pain, Stelle finds that she is suddenly hyperaware of the fruity sweetness of March’s lip balm.
“Mmph?!” March says, her attempted exclamation muffled against the heavy press of Stelle’s mouth.
“Ngh,” Stelle replies, and when she manages to lift her head back up, she catches sight of the blush that paints March’s cheeks a pink two shades darker than her hair.
There’s a smear of blood along the seam of March’s lips from where the other woman’s teeth had broken through the fragile skin. Stelle finds herself staring at the red streak as March starts wailing beneath her in panic.
“Ahh! I—w-wait, no, I didn’t mean to do—to do that!” March rattles off, her voice pitched even higher in shock and confusion, as if she had somehow been at fault for dragging Stelle down atop her own splayed body. “What… what even happened?!”
The petite woman’s chest heaves beneath her own with the gasped words, and Stelle marvels, for the first time, at just how soft March feels. At least, she assumes it’s the first time before her mind helpfully reminds her of all the different times she’s experienced the other woman’s softness firsthand: March flinging her arms around her shoulders in exuberant hugs, the plush curve of her breasts squishing against Stelle’s smaller ones as March squeezes her tight; the warmth of March’s thigh as it presses against her own while they sit closely together in one of the party car booths, heads touching as they watch a video playing on the small screen of one of their phones; how gently March wraps slender fingers around her wrist when dragging her along somewhere, the edges of carefully manicured nails indenting the thin skin over her pulse; the supple give to a puffed-out cheek as she pokes March’s huffy expression after teasing the petite woman into a tizzy—and so many more, months upon months of memories filled with vivacious laughter, prismatic eyes, and the softest touch of skin upon skin.
Stelle swallows thickly as she comes to the sudden realization that she likes her best friend in ways that best friends typically don’t like each other.
A bead of blood splashes onto March’s chin from her own face as she stares down at the other woman, eyes tracing over the contours of March’s features and the haphazard spread of her hair against the carpet. March looks back up at her with those open, guileless eyes, and something in Stelle flares when their gazes lock.
Today was supposed to be a day like any other, but since it’s clearly not, Stelle decides that it’s time to break some rules.
March all but squeaks when she presses their mouths together again, this time intentionally. Her own split lip stings as she brushes it tentatively against March’s, the other woman’s mouth parted and slack with shock.
“Mmph—!” March protests a second time, but the sound is weak and borderline whimpering as those deceptively strong fingers tangle into the mess of hair on either side of her head, the stinging of her scalp making Stelle’s heart thump almost frenetically.
The coppery taste of blood seals their first kiss as Stelle lets her body settle along the soft planes of the smaller woman beneath her, heedless of the rug burn that prickles along her knees. She feels March’s fingers tighten one last time before loosening on her hair, sliding down instead to rest lightly against the nape of her neck, and the touch causes a shivery sort of heat to unfurl deep in her belly. The way that their bare thighs slot together feels like a homecoming, and she hums softly into March’s mouth as she kisses her gently, imploringly.
When delicate lips hesitantly return her kiss, Stelle thinks that she might simply vibrate out of her skin with excitement. She giggles into the kiss, her giddiness only growing as an answering titter muffles against her own eager mouth, drowning out the background noise of Dan Heng’s exasperated snort.
As she boldly slips her tongue between spit-slicked lips to a reedy gasp, Stelle hopes that this is the new routine they follow for all future warp jumps.