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Marella writes letters.
It starts as whispers. The ink on parchment, barely a breath, but somehow heavier than anything she’s ever held. The words spill out, from memories she’s shared with Sophie, to words that don’t quite say ‘I love you’ but don’t quite hide it either.
She buys gifts that mean far too much to be platonic. All of them are set alight, burned, desperately tried to be forgotten. Because Sophie.
Because Sophie, with her gleaming smile saying Marella’s name sweetly like she means something.
Because Sophie, who smells like vanilla and wildflowers and something else Marella can’t quite name.
Because Sophie, who will never look at Marella the way Marella looks at her.
And still—
“Hey Marella. Dinner at six?”
“Sure.” Sure.
—
They get there ten minutes late because Sophie forgot her phone and they had to run back, but Marella doesn’t mind. She never does.
The restaurant is warm, with lanterns glowing gold and an open-air space occupied by tables and chairs corrupted by vines. Sophie is glowing under the lights. Laughing— laughing like it doesn’t mean anything to her, when Marella is struggling to keep her heart from spilling out.
“I like the chicken curry here.” She says absentmindedly, scrolling to the menu, even if she always gets the same thing every time.
“Well we have come here more once we’re rooming together in Uni then!” Her words are too eager. Too hopeful.
There’s a subtle twitch in Sophie’s face and Marella knows she’s resisting the urge to pull an eyelash out. It’s almost invisible, to those that aren’t watching but Marella is. Marella is always watching Sophie.
Marella’s face falls. “What?”
“I… I was going to talk about this.” Sophie sucks in a breath. “I want to room with Biana instead.”
Her heart drops into her stomach. Of course. Why wouldn’t she? Pretty, perfect Biana with all of Marella’s strengths and none of her flaws. Miss Perfect who doesn’t write letters she never sends for all of them would be answered. Marella can’t do this anymore.
“Right.” She shifts her eyes.
She stands up, pushing the chair back and Sophie follows her, grabbing her wrists.
“Marella, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Leave me alone.” She mumbles bitterly, walking out the door, planning to slam it but Sophie catches it, trailing her into an alleyway.
“I didn’t think you’d be upset, Marella please hear me out.” Sophie stammers, running after her. “Biana and I just have a lot of the same schedule, and I’d have to walk a shorter distance to my classes, so—”
“I get it.” Marella scoffs.
“Oh, you do? Thank heavens. I was so worried, anyways—”
“You know there never was a measure for these things, but if there were a measure for love, my cup would be overflowing and yours would be bone dry.” Marella snaps, spitting at her.
“...What?”
“Sometimes I wish we’d never been friends. If being friends means this.”
Sophie glares at her. “Oh. You don’t get to say that to me. No. Over simple living arrangements?” Sophie spits in disbelief. “Marella, you cannot be serious! You do not get to say that to me!
“I’m sick of being second place! I’m sick of being left behind. I’m not asking for you to include me in everything, for I know I don’t even like most of the things you do, but goddammit Sophie, I want to see you try!”
“You’re not second place! We already spend so much time together!” The girl snaps, turning around.
“It doesn’t look like that to—”
“It’s not a fucking huge deal—”
“It is to me!”
“ Why? Why is this some earth-shattering revelation to you, Marella? ”
“Because I love you!” Marella screams and she stops, exhaling, her breath inches away from Sophie’s wet lips.
Because I love you.
It's more than that. It's because she knows Sophie doesn't love her back.
—
It was rather painful, how quick Marella fell for Sophie.
One the day they first met, the first thing she noticed about her is her hair. Blonde. But in the sunlight, it looks like molten gold. Marella’s favorite color. There’s a reason why she tends to fall for people like Fitz, and why she braids her locks with yellow plastic bands. Not because it makes her hair look more blonde and less ginger, but because it’s shiny. Yellow is the first color the eyes are naturally drawn to in a crowd, running out of a storm, and Sophie is a hurricane.
Sophie turns around, and Marella is done for. Her blue eyes are praised and eyelashes are fluttered towards, but looking at Sophie, she can’t imagine why. Her eyes are so warm, so cozy, unlike the harsh blue gazes that belong to her. Brown eyes are like hot chocolate, like toasted marshmallows. They radiate heat, and more importantly, warmth.
Sophie locks eyes with her.
Oh.
…Oh .
Marella isn’t a stranger to crushes, the exciting thrill of something new. The rush, the feeling of something different. But Sophie? The two are strangers, yet there’s something about Sophie that’s so familiar, so like home. Something about Sophie that says, gently, softly, warmly ‘Hey. We’ve met before. We’ve loved before.’
There’s something so beautiful about Sophie, something that Marella can’t quite name. She’s heard about slow love. This is not it. She falls, deeply, madly, truly in love with Sophie. Maybe not, maybe not yet. She believes in crushes, and dreamy princes, but she doesn’t quite believe in love at first sight. This though. This is pretty darn close.
Marella can spin words to tell a tale, and craft stories to enchant, but there are no amount of letters that can deny that Sophie has bewitched her heart from the moment they’ve locked eyes.
“Do I have to make it any more obvious, Sophie?” She chuckles sadly, the sounds in her mouth long and drawn out. “I’ve been in love with you ever since the day we met.”
—
Sophie doesn’t remember the day she met Marella.
She knows that logically, it should be somewhere in the middle of grade school, where she enrolled in foxfire halfway through the year. She just can’t remember the exact moment. Marella has… just always been there. Constant.
Her mind has just been littered with Marella. A footnote after every sentence, after every page. Marella doesn’t haunt her heart but she’s always on the back of Sophie’s mind. She doesn’t remember the day they met. But she can recall memories of them playing in the backyard, of gossiping about boys and Marella comforting her after a particularly bad break-up with Keefe.
And it’s starting to run through her mind now, the way that Marella’s gaze sometimes lingers for too long, or that she sours when Sophie talks about going on dates. She’s known Marella as loud, red-hot firecrackers and fireworks, but being given this, the burning, lingering, flame that’s yearning, she doesn’t know what to do. Something quiet, silent, that she can’t notice. It’ll burn her.
Marella knows how obvious she is. And Sophie doesn’t want to hurt her. But Sophie does not like Marella like that. It’s not the kind that Marella wants. And deep down it hurts too, that Marella has always wanted her in a way she doesn’t want to give.
—
Marella’s not the one who kisses her.
Sophie’s lips are warm. Hauntingly soft.
For a moment, Sophie lets herself lose her thoughts in the kiss, and Marella just doesn’t care. She’s hungry, she’s yearning, and she’s been starved for far too long. Sophie runs her lips along the curve of Marella’s lower lip, and the girl lets out a sigh.
It’s not enough. Sophie pushes in, deeper, harsher, more desperate and Marella gasps for air. She, breaking her own heart, breaks the kiss. For Sophie, this isn’t some confession of love, but it’s panic. It’s a tether. It’s a ‘Don’t leave me please.’ She’s imagined this moment hundreds of times. Still, it hasn’t actually happened yet. She pushes the girl away. Sophie looks at Marella, hurt.
“You don’t love me.” Marella hiccups. “Don’t— Don’t do this. Please.” Her voice cracks, as she looks up at Sophie.
“You don’t know that.” Sophie replies, uncertain, her voice wavering.
Marella shakes her head, her tears spilling out. “No. I do.” She whispers, her words blubbering together. “I know all too well.”
She knows though. Because the look in Sophie's eyes are screaming ‘I’m not queer.’ and her mouth is seconds away from spitting out ‘I don’t know—’ “I don’t know why I did that. I'm sorry.”
Marella scoffs. Because oh, she knows. Sophie isn’t the slightest bit interested in her. Sophie has never wondered, not like Marella, dreaming what their hands would feel like interlocked, yearning for the warmth, the familiarity of Sophie under her. Sophie has never looked into Marella’s eyes, not once and was warm. Sophie has always looked there and saw fire.
Fire that burns. Because Marella is a blaze, hungry for Sophie, devouring, rummaging, searching for the smallest bits to consume. Fire that is so visible people notice, and people talk. Except Sophie is far too oblivious to see. To recognize it as danger.
“Mare, I—”
“It’s Marella!” Marella shrieks, falling to the ground. Sophie drops down, following her immediately, steading her, hugging her and comforting her. And oh, Sophie is so warm. And in the end, it’s not words or her sweet whispers that get to Marella. It’s this hug. “I can’t be friends with you if you do this. I can not just be friends with you.”
Marella lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t love me” She repeats. And really, there’s nothing Sophie can say to make her feel better, because what do you say to someone who’s loved you in silence, in eternity?
Sophie still chooses the worst fucking answer possible.
“I know.”