Archive of Our Own

Marge Truman was never the kind of girl who went out much. Oftentimes she remained by her studies, rehearsing lines for school she promised she’d get right but never did. When it came to outside activities, Marge never really cared. She would rather think scenarios over in her head about how she should’ve said this or shouldn’t have said that. Or if she could’ve been smiling more at this moment, or refraining from making a joke during this. Marge never got invited anywhere, yet this time she did. 

Everything she and her friends had gone through had been long overdue, and it was time for a sense of normalcy. But, how normal could life be knowing the five of them had looked death in the face and won? Marge tried anyway, because that’s what she was good at. Simply trying, because maybe then that was enough. 

Will Hanlon was hosting a game night that evening, and he wanted everybody to be there. Ronnie, Lilly, Marge, and—Rich. That name sat warm in Marge’s chest, leaving her head a bit fuzzy, not as clear as when she would first see him. She thought of his dopey smile, eyes that beamed with energy and enthusiasm Marge was sure would last a lifetime. She hoped he would be there tonight, maybe then she’d be able to experience that warm and fuzzy feeling again. 

It was around five in the evening when Marge’s mother called from downstairs, “Are you getting ready, Marge?” She asked, her tone insinuating that Marge hadn’t done a thing. And to Mrs. Truman, perhaps that was the case. To Marge, however, she would argue the opposite. 

“I’ll be right down, mom!” Marge replied back, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

Typical yellow cardigan? Or zip-up hoodie? The girl puzzled, holding up each article of clothing like an undecided winner. Which would fit best on a game night? She didn’t want to come off too formal, it was just a gathering with friends after all. But what would Rich be wearing? If she knew that, maybe then she’d have a better idea. Maybe yellow would—

“Margaret Truman! Don’t ask me to allow you anywhere else if you’re late tonight!” Mrs. Truman called out again. Marge huffed, squeezing her eyes shut in agitation. Yellow cardigan it is then. 

She threw her shoes on, lacing them up with rushed precision. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, adjusting the clip in her hair, feeling the way her eyepatch pulled snug behind her ear, brushing dust off her pants that never existed. Marge felt ready, she could only hope that feeling was true. 

Downstairs, her mother waited for her, arms folded. She wore an ivory robe, hair done up in a messy bun that told Marge she was going to spend her night worrying about the girl. In this town, who could blame her?

“Be back by seven, got it?” She told Marge, standing by the doorway. 

“Yeah, mom. I’ve got it, you don’t need to worry,” Marge replied, not being able to help the annoyed crease in her brow. Mrs. Truman sighed, letting up on her strict demeanor. 

“Just—Be safe, okay?” 

“I will mom, I promise,” Marge smiled softly, waving her mother goodbye before leaving the house. 

The bike to Will’s house was easy, something Rich had done numerous times. When It had been defeated, Will and Rich took it upon themselves to hang out whenever they could. Long nights staying up together, bike rides by the river, or just a trip to the ice cream shop. Tonight would be just like those previous times, except with additional company. In Rich’s mind, that made it all the more exciting. He was excited to see his best friends, but most of all, he was excited to see Marge. 

Rich strolled to a stop when the Hanlons’ house came into view, resting his bike on a nearby tree. He smoothed his hair back, taking a moment to quickly sniff his plaid jacket before knocking on the front door. He could hear Mrs. Hanlon’s voice from inside calling Will’s name, saying he had more guests. More? I guess the others had already arrived. 

With a slight creak, the front door opened, revealing Will. He smiled that warm smile he always had, as if practiced many times over. But not for Rich, it was always genuine with him around. 

“Rich! I’m glad you could make it,” Will greeted, stepping out of the way to let him inside. 

“Ready to lose?” Rich teased, taking off his shoes and setting them by the door. 

“With your track record? I don’t think I have to worry about losing,” Will retorted smoothly, earning a small frown from Rich. That was always his way of trying to get Will to cave and to go easy on him; the puppy frowns. It never worked, Will knew better than to yield for half-assed guilt trips.

Mrs. Hanlon came out from the kitchen, drying her hands on a rag and throwing it over her shoulder with ease. She had her hands on her hips, looking at both boys fondly. 

“Buenos noches, Mrs. Hanlon!” Rich greeted sweetly, offering a small wave to the woman. 

“Hello, Rich. How’s your family?” Mrs. Hanlon asked, leaning against the doorframe. 

“They’re good! Although, mí papá said if I don’t win one game, I won’t get to see the re-run of Los Doce Sillas tomorrow night,” Rich shrugged, clicking his tongue in disappointment. Mrs. Hanlon nodded, completely in the dark about what the boy meant.

“Well,” she began,”I know you’ll be able to win. You just gotta believe, now isn’t that right?” 

Rich nodded, smiling brightly. Will took him back to his bedroom, talking about all the different board games he had in store for them tonight. 

“Did Marge get here?” Rich asked as the two of them walked down the hall. Will shook his head.

“Not yet. It’s only Ronnie and Lilly who showed up so far,” he replied. That twisted something dull in Rich’s gut. The answer sat heavily in his mind, uncomfortably, like an unexpected visitor he had the misfortune of meeting. He hoped she’d show soon, he needed someone to win for. 

Los Doce Sillas could wait. 

When Marge saw the warm lights of Will’s house come into view, she took a deep deep breath. The winter chill picked up briefly, gently blowing her hair in her face. Marge heard laughter coming from inside, and a voice—No, several voices, followed by additional laughter. She must be the last one there, Marge thought.

She knocked on the door firmly. Not too hard and not too soft, her mother would tell her. Mrs. Hanlon answered, smiling down at her with that kind expression she only had for a select few. 

“Marge, we’re happy to see you! Will and the others are in his room down the hall. You’re the last one here,” she told her. Marge knew it. Mrs. Hanlon didn’t mean that in a rude way. Of course she didn’t. But damn did that feel like a gut punch. 

The last one here. 

The words echoed in Marge’s mind like a bitter taunt. Of course she was the last one to the party, it only made sense for someone like her. Late to every joke, every punchline, the last one to understand what was so funny. It was a sour feeling that sat heavy in her stomach and left her mouth with a bad taste that lingered longer than Marge was comfortable with. 

“Oh, was I late?—“ she tried, quickly getting shut down by Mrs. Hanlon. 

“Oh, no, sweetheart, not at all! The other kids just showed up early. I guess they wanted to be the first ones to show Will who’s boss,” she laughed, a bold and warm sound Marge found herself admiring. 

“Now, get yourself inside. It’s cold out.” 

Marge didn’t need to be told twice. 

Inside Will’s room was buzzing with laughter and loaded conversation. Lilly smiled brightly on his bed as she chimed into whatever story Ronnie was sharing about how Will had spilled his ice cream on his shirt when they were out together. Rich nudged Will knowingly, earning a groan from the taller boy. 

“And get this, when we went back to the shop to get him another scoop, the girl manning the flavors gave him the wrong kind!” Ronnie exclaimed, voice rising as she told her story. 

“Sounds like you were going through it,” Rich chuckled, nudging Will again. 

“I didn’t mind,” he shrugged, “Fudge Ripple isn’t a bad flavor—“

“But it wasn’t the one you wanted,” Ronnie remarked, arms folded. Will nodded in agreement as they all talked amongst themselves. 

“Well, let’s all be glad Ronnie didn’t give the place a piece of her mind,” Lilly joked, still giggling.

“Oh believe me, I would’ve,” Ronnie retorted, making Lilly bark out a laugh. 

“Then what? You’re gonna risk getting banned for life?” Rich gasped. 

“What? No, I’m just saying—“

Knock. Knock. 

The room fell silent, Rich immediately jumping up to get the door. 

“Marge!” he greeted happily, tugging her in the room by the sleeve of her cardigan. Everybody greeted her, Ronnie giving her a snug embrace. 

“We haven't started yet. We wanted to wait for you,” Will told her, turning behind him to gather a box of various board games for all of them to see. 

“Thanks you guys, but you didn’t have to wait. I wouldn’t have minded if you started without me—“

“We wanted to wait for you, Marge. It’s okay,” Lilly spoke, smiling warmly at her friend. Marge smiled back, letting herself relax under the reassurance. 

The five of them arranged themselves in a loose circle on Will’s carpeted bedroom floor. The box of games sat in the center, as if daring one of them to choose first. 

Marge sat beside Rich, who immediately began sifting through the contents. 

“Got any classics in here, Hanlon?” he asked, digging through the box like an eager dog. Marge found herself warmed by the sight. 

“We’ve got Risk, Clue, Trouble—Oh! And just general cards,” Will explained, leaning back casually on his elbows. Ronnie rolled her eyes, muttering something along the lines of “old man” in Will’s direction. 

At last, Rich pulled something out of the box, eyes gleaming like he’d found pure gold. 

“Monopoly! You guys, this is a perfect game to play! Will, you never told me you had this,” he grinned. 

“Rich, do you even know how to play?” Marge asked, trying and failing to conceal the smile that graced her lips at the boy’s enthusiasm. Rich’s initial expression faded away, his smile faltering slightly.

“It’s okay Rich, we can teach you,” Lilly offered, reaching out to take the game from him. Sighing, Rich handed the game over so Lilly could see the instructions. 

“You’ve seriously never played Monopoly before?” Ronnie asked Rich, quirking a brow. He put his hands up defensively, eyes wide like he’d been caught committing a crime. 

“Aye, listen! I spent the main parts of my childhood helping mí mamá in the kitchen and roughhousing with my neighbor’s kids,” Rich explained, pointing a defensive finger at Ronnie. 

“Rich, you’re still in your childhood. We all are,” Will chuckled. Marge occupied herself with the contents of the board game. She set up the board, leaving the colored money to Ronnie, and the cards to Will. 

“Oo! Can I be the race car?” Rich asked, already reaching for the metal piece. 

“Awh, I wanted the race car. Did you know that the fuel they use contains a dangerous additive called ‘Nitromethane’?” Will asked, smiling proudly at his own knowledge. 

“No gramps, we didn’t know that,” Ronnie replied dryly, Will sighed and shook his head.

After a moment of playful bickering, Lilly took her piece: the Thimble. Ronnie was a step ahead, already twirling the Top Hat piece between her fingers. 

“Are you sure you want the race car, Rich? I think the dog is more your style,” Marge teased, holding the piece in front of her as if she were analyzing an ancient artifact. To that, Rich obliged, immediately folding under zero pressure whatsoever. 

“Eh, sure. Terriers can be cool, I guess.”

The game started off smoothly, each of them taking turns rolling the dice and moving their pieces. Colored currency was passed around, Ronnie barking out excuses when she landed on Lilly’s property. The atmosphere was warm, easy, in a way that refreshes the soul and calms the mind. 

Marge let herself get lost in the simple uneven rhythm of laughter and retorts no one really paid any attention to. Everyone in the room only had one goal: to win. Well—Everybody except Marge. She just wanted to be part of the picture, the entire frame. She never cared about who stole whose property, or when Will collected people’s taxes. She was content with simply being with friends, and that’s what she got. 

After a while, a knock sounded on the door, Mr. Hanlon peeking his face through. “Hey kids,” he smiled, turning his gaze to Will,”don’t tell your mother,” he whispered, opening the door some more to reveal a platter of snacks. Chips, cookies, whoopie pies; things that kids should never have past seven. But it wasn’t seven, and tonight was a night to let loose. 

“Thanks dad, we appreciate it,” Will smiled, getting up to take the snacks from his father. Mr. Hanlon placed a caring hand on his son’s head, nodding once. 

“Y’all go easy on my son, now. He’s rusty when it comes to Battleships,” Mr. Hanlon chuckled. The rest of the kids laughed, looking at Will teasingly. 

“That game is purely luck, dad,” Will countered. Mr. Hanlon only shook his head, a cocky grin on his face. 

“Gotta have the mind of a military man.” With one final huff from Will, Mr. Hanlon shut the door. 

They went back to their game, Lilly clutching her cards close to her chest when she saw Rich peeking. The small boy chuckled, denying any and all accusations he knew were one-hundered percent true. It was Marge’s turn to roll the dice, she picked it up with confidence. Shaking it in her hand a couple times, she let the dotted cube fly onto the board. She picked up her piece, moving a couple spots to land on the same one as… Rich. 

Oh. 

She turned her head slightly, only to see if he was looking at her as well. Rich was absentmindedly eating a chocolate whoopie pie, talking to Will about how much money he had in the game. Rookie mistake. After Marge, it was Lilly’s turn. The game continued for several more rounds, the group getting more and more desperate to see who would come out triumphant. While still learning along the way, Rich tried his best to play the game right. Occasionally, Marge would direct him on the right path, to which Ronnie would playfully accuse her of being biased for a reason no one in the room would disclose. 

The answer hung in the air like a lingering scent. Ronnie could sense it, Lilly and Will could too. The three of them would steal glances between each other, a silent conversation that said everything Marge was afraid to. They decided to let the two of them figure it out for themselves, or matter of fact, to let them air it out in due time. 

Marge knew what their silent conversations meant. She wondered if Rich knew it too. He must have. The way his ears would be tipped pink when Will would whisper something incoherent into his ear. Or when Ronnie shot him a look after Marge would speak that told him everything he needed to know. 

The room was still filled with that easygoing conversation and lighthearted bickering, but now it carried something else with it. It harbored an underlying sense of restrained realization. And who would break the ice first? Nobody knew. 

During that traumatic night, when the Black Spot had burnt down. Marge and Rich didn’t know if either of them would survive. All Rich knew was that he needed to put Marge first, no matter what. She hated that. She hated that he was so stupidly brave, and so adamant on being selfless for her, Marge didn’t know how to repay him. All she could offer was an “I love you”, as she awaited the boy’s answer from on top of the ice box. 

When they both survived, Marge and Rich never touched his confession again. First and foremost, they both needed to recover and ease the traumas of nearly dying. For now, their company was all that was sufficient. 

When Marge had taken her turn again, she got up from the floor. 

“Everything okay, Marge?” Rich had asked her. She could see the way his brow creased in mild concern. 

“Yeah, just gotta get a drink,” she replied. 

“Okay! I’ll make sure Lilly doesn’t peek at your cards,” he joked, earning a confused look from the dark-haired girl. Marge chuckled, heading down the hallway to the kitchen. 

Will’s house smelled good, the kind of good that felt like a warm hug after a night out in the cold. Marge could hear Mrs. Hanlon humming a tune to herself, the faint crackle of a radio keeping the woman company. The source of the good smell was there, something savory cooking in the oven, while a pot was left to boil on the stovetop. Mrs. Hanlon was chopping away at a medley of vegetables; celery, onion, carrots, a few tomatoes here and there. The scene felt so nostalgic in a way Marge couldn’t explain. 

“Mrs. Hanlon?” she spoke, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. The woman turned her head, eyes still on the cutting board. 

“What is it, baby? Need something?” 

“I was just coming to get a drink,” she said. 

Smiling, Mrs. Hanlon set her knife down to open the refrigerator. “We’ve got pop, tea, water, or lemonade. How do those sound?” she offered. 

“Lemonade’s fine by me,” Marge replied, smiling faintly. She didn’t feel awkward in Will’s house, but she didn’t really know how to make herself feel at home either. She wasn’t used to this. This feeling of care that was coated in warmth and not caution. How the eyes that were directed her way were filled with familiarity and understanding. Not judgement and harsh whispers that were pointed indirectly at her like knives. 

Mrs. Hanlon fixed her a glass, a couple ice cubes, and her homemade lemonade. Marge took a tentative sip, the tart taste grabbing her only to hold her, not to sting. 

“Y’know, Marge. It’s not often you meet a kind boy like that,” Mrs. Hanlon started, going back to idly cutting vegetables. Marge could’ve choked right then and there. Clearing her throat, she replied hesitantly. 

“I’m.. not sure what you mean.” 

Mrs. Hanlon chuckled to herself, sliding tomatoes off to the side, grabbing another one to chop it just the same. 

“I was your age once, child. I know that look when I see it.” 

Marge could only listen from now on. 

“What made you choose him?” She asked, halting her cutting to really focus on the girl. In situations like these, Marge would immediately begin defending, hiding any and all truths from meeting the surface. Keeping it all hidden in a mental vault and throwing away the key. But this time, something in her wanted to be seen, even if it was just for a moment. 

“He sees me for me, I guess,” Marge said, eyes glued to the floor. She couldn’t stand the way her face had gone hot. 

“You guess? Anyone with half a brain within a five mile radius can see that boy is head over heels for you,” Mrs. Hanlon stated. 

That made Marge’s ears burn something flustered. The glass of lemonade in her hand fogged, and she felt her mouth go dry. Regardless, she tried to speak anyway. 

“W-We’re just—“

“Friends?” Mrs. Hanlon smirked, placing a kind hand on Marge’s shoulder. 

“Sunshine, the eyes never lie.” 

Marge’s mouth formed an uncertain line, as if trying to keep everything from coming out as well wanting to release everything within. All she did was nod in understanding. 

“They really don’t. Do they?” was all Marge could manage. Mrs. Hanlon smiled at her thoughtfully, an expression that said “I believe in you”. 

Down the hallway, Marge heard an eruption of noise. Someone whooping and cheering, another person yelling profanities accusingly. Someone must’ve won. She cracked the door open, stepping inside to see Ronnie with her hands gripping her hair as Rich laughed victoriously. 

“How is that even possible!? You’ve never even played before!” she seethed, staring daggers at him. 

“A knight always prevails in battle,” Rich replied, that dopey grin plastered on his face. 

“You’re a downright cheater,” Ronnie accused.

Marge sat down beside him like she had done before, Rich turned to her with eyes beaming so bright he could’ve been the sun. 

“Marge! I won! Look!” He exclaimed, taking Marge’s hand in his without thinking. She let him, feeling the warmth of his palm against hers. And—yeah, they were still very soft. Marge’s heart thudded in her chest, heat rising beneath her skin as Rich still didn’t let go. Something in Marge’s expression must’ve given her away, because it looked as if Rich had been shocked with electricity. He jumped slightly, suddenly aware of the eyes on him. 

He looked around the room, only to see Lilly, Will, and Ronnie doing their best to conceal their giggling and knowing glances. They weren’t doing a very good job. Marge squeezed his hand slightly, only tight enough to let him know, not anyone else in the room. It was his own subconscious action that had begun all of this. It was like the two of them were magnets meant to be drawn to each other and each other only. Their hands found each other without either of them thinking clearly of it. No matter where they were, they would find each other. Like a lighthouse in the fog. 

“Got Ronnie bankrupt, hm?” Marge chuckled. Rich nodded slowly, a shy act he performed while he averted his gaze from her. 

Good lord, they’re so obvious. 

“So uhm, what game do you guys wanna play now?” Lilly asked, looking down at her game piece. 

Ronnie flipped the board spontaneously, metal figures and money flying up. 

“Now, clean it up,” Will spoke, folding his arms. 

“Rich has no experience! It was beginner's luck!” she argued. Rich shook his head in denial, Marge cleared her throat. 

“A knight always reigns victorious, Ronnie. There’s no luck needed,” she said. Ronnie huffed. 

“Yeah, yeah… You two and your medieval talk. No wonder both of you got a case of the goo-goo eyes,” she teased, no bitterness whatsoever. Lilly side-eyed Ronnie, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. The room went completely silent after that. 

Rich’s hand was still in Marge’s, now vaguely sweaty. Whether that was from holding them for too long, or the newfound feeling of embarrassment, was up for them to decide. 

Marge tucked her knees beneath her chin, her thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles on the back of Rich’s hand as they sat in silence. Again, like magnets, Rich scooted closer, wanting to be near the girl even without truly thinking about it. 

“I’m just saying, it’s apparent that–”

Will shot Ronnie a look that told her to watch her words, to which she replied with a quick roll of her eyes. Nobody knew how to break the silence, not with words at least. A weight that pressed down on all five of them had even halted Rich’s playful antics. Suddenly, Mrs. Hanlon opened the door, wooden spoon in hand as she looked at the kids. A flicker of curiosity crossed her face before she quickly regained herself. 

“Will, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she said. 

The tall boy nodded, going to clean up the board game. Ronnie assisted him, gathering the cards, shoving them all together and positioning them uniformly as she did. Marge reached across to grab the box, taking the board and folding it back into its conformed shape. Rich and Lilly took care of the pieces and money, all five of them working as one to repackage the game. 

As they worked together, the silence grew into something more comfortable. Rich muttered something to make the group chuckle, Lilly looked over the cards to make sure they were all accounted for. Once the game was packed up and set neatly in Will’s box, they all sat back into that same loose circle. 

“Are you guys staying for dinner?” he asked. 

“I think my appetite’s a little spoiled from those whoopie pies,” Rich said, patting his stomach jokingly. 

“And whose fault was that?” Marge asked. 

“Mine. Guilty as charged,” he replied. 

“You’re a disaster waiting to happen.” 

“Too bad I’m already born.” 

Mrs. Hanlon’s cooking could open a restaurant if she dreamed of it. Beef pot roast alongside creamy mashed potatoes, with corn bread and green beans on the side. The five of them all chatted to Mr. and Mrs. Hanlon about the game, Will chiming in to tell them how and why each player lost. He made sure to factor in the statistical theories as well. 

Marge poked around at her food, her stomach too twisted in a knot to focus on eating. Her mind was full, for lack of better words. Everything that had happened tonight shrouded her head, crowding it like a room built too small. The tight feeling in her stomach rose to her chest like a snake coiling around her lungs. It wrapped taut around her heart, squeezing like a warning. She looked around the table, everyone still chatting animatedly about metal game pieces and bankruptcy.

Now, this feeling—Marge knew what it was. She knew exactly what it was. And that’s what frightened her. If she came to terms with it, that may just be her breaking point. To admit everything aloud, to have it all out in the open. That in and of itself would put a target on her back. 

Now more than ever she could feel the way the elastic band of her eyepatch pressed against her ear, tugging just enough to be noticed only if focused on. She drowned out the noise, still moving meat and mashed potatoes aimlessly about her plate. When she glanced up, blue eyes met brown instantly. Rich had already finished his food, now commenting here and there on separate stories from separate days. His eyes asked Marge all the right questions between short glances, eyebrows punctuating everything. 

Are you okay? He asked across the table. 

Marge smiled firmly, nodding her head a bit too sharp. A bit too fast. Rich could see in her face something wasn’t sitting right. Maybe she ate something bad? Was she upset over losing Monopoly? He won for his fair maiden, afterall. Rich puzzled over what could possibly be wrong with Marge, though it was short lived when Mrs. Hanlon cleared her throat. His head shot up immediately.

“Care to explain why there’s chocolate around the mouth of that boy, Leroy?” Mrs. Hanlon asked, her expression disappointed as she lazily pointed to Rich. Mr. Hanlon halted his utensils, fork raised mid-bite. He cleared his throat nervously, setting his knife down. 

“Must’ve had something before dinner, Char,” he replied. The kids held their breaths, shooting glares toward Rich who swallowed nervously. Marge sighed, he should’ve washed his face.

“You know damn well he did,” Mrs. Hanlon deadpanned. She turned toward Rich, that gentle and loving expression back as if she wasn’t just imagining tearing her husband apart. 

“Rich, honey, I want you to know that I’m in no way, shape, or form blaming you.” 

Her eyes darted back to Mr. Hanlon, who found the walls much more interesting than the conversation. 

“I just wish someone could’ve told me he’d be giving children whoopie pies before dinner,” she spoke, voice rising as emphasis.

“Mom, it’s okay, we didn’t have that much anyway,” Will tried, giving his mom an unconvincing smile. Mrs. Hanlon gestured to the chocolate partially smudged on the corner of Rich’s mouth.

“Boy, do not try me on a Friday evening.” 

Ronnie looked at Lilly, Lilly looked at Marge. And like dominoes, they all busted out into a fit of giggles. One after the other. Rich and Will chuckled awkwardly, and that collective laughter loosened the snake in Marge’s rib cage. Ever so slightly. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hanlon looked at each other, Mrs. Hanlon gave in to the laughter first. Her husband shook his head in amusement, reaching over to ruffle Rich’s hair. 

“It didn’t spoil my appetite if that’s what you were worried about, Mrs. Hanlon,” he protested, showing the woman his empty plate. Mrs. Hanlon chuckled, taking a bite of food. 

“You’re a bottomless pit, Rich,” Ronnie joked. Marge laughed at that, a sound that bubbled up in her throat and escaped before she could catch it. Rich zeroed in on her, smiling warmly like he’d caught the sunrise. Marge felt her cheeks go pink. 

Dinner wrapped up smoothly after fits of laughter had died down, and chocolate had been discretely wiped from faces. Lilly was talking to Mrs. Hanlon about her time at school, and the woman listened attentively. 

Will discussed interesting scientific concepts he’d been reading up on with Rich, though the smaller boy was barely paying attention. Will picked up on his distractedness, so he spoke slower. Rich absentmindedly nodded, giving him little “mhms” and “uh-huhs”. He looked far away, distant even. Wanting to get to the bottom of this, Will asked both of them to be excused for a moment, which shook Rich out of his head. Will took his hand, leading them both to the bathroom. 

“What’s the matter?” he started, arms folded loosely over his chest. Rich cocked his head to the side in confusion, Will furrowed his brow.

“Is it Marge?” 

That tampered something in the small boy’s head. Rich nodded begrudgingly, eyes to the wall. 

“You know you can talk to me about anything.”

Then it all came spilling out. 

“Does Marge seem a little detached lately? Like she’s been transported to a whole other universe? I mean, she looked fine when we were playing games, and joking around. But at dinner… Something wasn’t right, I know it wasn’t. I know that look when she’s…” Rich trailed off. Will filled the silence.

“In her head?” 

“Exactly! In her head. I just wish I knew what she was thinking.”

Will nodded, thinking to himself. Rich looked at him with an eager expression, something mixed hurriedly with concern and desperation. 

“Just talk to her, Rich.” 

It was the simplest way, the straightforward way. Will knew the only way to solve any problem, or discover new information for that matter, was to simply explore it. And in this case, an honest conversation seemed most appropriate. Rich twisted his hands in his shirt anxiously, his lip caught beneath his teeth as his own thoughts started to spiral. Will sighed softly.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked. 

“She could hate me! Or even worse, never wanna talk to me again!” 

“Just from having one conversation?” Will asked, raising a brow. 

“Well, I mean.. Isn’t that how these things normally go?” 

“Not if the other person’s willing to listen. It sounds to me like your thoughts are clouding your reality.” 

“And.. What’s my reality?” 

“That Marge isn’t the type of person to do that sort of thing. Especially to you.” 

That ignited something warm and fluttery in Rich’s stomach, his face turning red, a shade he was far too familiar with since he’d met the girl. He looked up to Will, a newfound confidence blooming in his chest. They nodded in sync, giggling shortly after.

“You can do this, Rich.” 

In that moment, he believed him.

Rich and Will returned to their seats shortly. Marge spoke unintelligibly with Mrs. Hanlon, Ronnie and Lilly listened closely as Mr. Hanlon regaled them with his military stories. As well as tales of horrors they all experienced but never knew the other perspectives of. Stories of a monstrous being beneath the sewers, morphing into nightmares beyond comprehension. Mrs. Hanlon hushed him softly before he could go too far. 

“Now that we’re all accounted for, are you kids looking for dessert?” Mrs. Hanlon offered, getting up to open the refrigerator door. 

“Depends. Whatcha got for this wild Friday night?” Rich asked, a toothy grin on his face. 

“‘Wild’ wouldn’t be the word I’d use to describe tonight. All we did was roll dice and screamed over who went to jail,” Marge said. 

“Exactly, it was a wild night,” Rich replied. 

“Touché.” 

With a light thud on the kitchen table, an apple pie gleamed in the dining room light. It had been baked this morning, since Will had mentioned to his mother he’d be having guests. During the winter, pie was a relaxing and soothing choice of dessert. The crust was flaky, the crumb top was laid delicately over apples cooked to perfection, tempting all five kids to dig in right then and there. 

“Now, who wants the first slice?” Mrs. Hanlon asked, a sparkling kitchen knife held steady in her grasp. Rich was the first to raise his hand; typical. The kids laughed, raising their hands eagerly afterwards. 

Plates were passed around, bickering over whose slice was bigger was quickly stirred up by Ronnie and Lilly. 

Rich and Marge struck up conversation, nothing too deep just yet. Only a back and forth about jesters in far away lands. Stories of enamored kings, and knights that had been sent off to battle. Some that came back with pride, others that weren’t so fortunate. Those endings hurt Marge’s heart the most. She couldn’t help but wonder if Rich felt a similar feeling. 

Marge took small bites of her pie, nodding as Rich talked with his mouth full. She found his antics amusing. Small behaviors others would’ve deemed “annoying” or “bothersome”. Marge found that she didn’t mind his goofiness at all. In fact, that was one of the qualities she enjoyed most about Rich. He made her laugh, to put it simply. Intentionally or not. Sometimes Rich knew what he was doing, but most times he simply said what came to mind. Maybe it was blind curiosity? Maybe he just wanted to remind Marge he was still here. So he filled the silence, in hopes to bring her back down to Earth. She could spend a lifetime listening to his voice if she truly wanted to. Marge hoped her future held something along those lines. 

When time passed enough to get under Marge’s skin, she decided it was time to head home. Luckily for her, others had the same idea in mind. Ronnie and Lilly both thanked Mr. and Mrs. Hanlon for their hospitality, promising Will they’d be back to beat him at other games. As Rich saw Marge lacing up her shoes, he knew what to do.

“Mind if I walk you home, Capitana?” he asked. He caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips as she finished tying the last of her laces.

“Actually, I do tonight. Thank you anyway, Sir Rich,” Marge replied. 

Yeah right. He wasn’t gonna give up that easily.

“Pero, it’s dangerous to walk alone at night. Please, let me accompany you on your journey.” 

“I made it here just fine on my own. And—plus, we fought a shapeshifting demon clown. I’m sure one walk alone won’t be any trouble for—“

But before Marge could get another word out, it was already too late. And she knew it. A small frown that demanded her resignation. Eyes that held nothing but adoration and love stared directly into hers, sealing her fate. She pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her good eye in disbelief. 

“The puppy frowns? Are you serious?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“You’re unbelieveable.”

“Thanks, I only try for you.” 

That earned a chuckle from Marge, prompting the boy to keep up his tactics.

“Is it working yet?” Rich asked. Marge sighed, shaking her head.

“Unfortunately.” 

“Great! Then after you,” he chirped, opening the front door. 

The two of them said their goodbyes to the Hanlons’, stepping out into the frigid air of December. Rich snagged his bike from where it had been parked, the handlebars worn from years of use. The night sky was a vivid navy blue, stars freckling all around the cosmos. The wind had died down, leaving the general bitterness of winter in its wake. 

Rich kept his hand stuffed in his jacket pocket, tapping a rhythm on his side no one knew but him. He whistled a tune to a song Marge had never heard before. It must’ve been a melody he heard a few times at home, sticking just enough to get caught in his head. Marge stared blankly at the sidewalk, not daring to glance down at the boy walking casually beside her. Too casually she thought. 

Had he forgotten it all? How they had evaded death multiple times within the past month? Yes, they did, but Marge’s mind could only fixate on one memory and one memory alone. A memory laced with angry flames that licked up walls, turning everything to ash and rubble. People gunned down the second they thought they'd reached salvation. And that clown, that God awful clown. 

It haunted her in a way she didn’t know how to fully confess. The recall of that night at the Black Spot ripped Marge from her sleep every few nights. Evenings she hoped would be a good night’s rest turned into her waking up screaming, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She’d find herself clutching a pillow at times, holding it like a corpse in her arms. She didn’t like to imagine whose corpse it was, though the answer sat thickly in her heart. 

For a moment, she spared Rich a glance. His eyes were vaguely heavy, his whistling had stopped. Brown curls of his blew softly as they both walked, a piece of hair just barely out of place. Marge fought not to fix it. Down the street, a dog barked, spooking both of them. Instinctively, Marge reached out a hand to lightly hold his arm, squeezing a little harder than she meant to. Rich turned his head to her, chuckling awkwardly. 

“I guess we got used to the quiet, huh?” he smiled crookedly. 

“Knights get scared sometimes, it’s only natural,” Marge replied. 

“Then pirates must get scared too, right?” 

“Of course they do.” 

Rich hummed in acknowledgment, both of them slowing their pace while they walked. He wondered how to open up what he and Will discussed earlier that night. His palms became clammy as he gripped the handlebars of his bicycle. Just talk to her, Rich he replayed in his head, eyes glued to the worn rubber. Just as he was about to speak, however, Marge spoke up first. 

“Does it ever come back to you?” She began, looking at him. He met her gaze, taking a moment to remind himself of what they’d gone through. Rich nodded, eyes to the pavement. 

“Sometimes. Mostly when I’m alone, though.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“Which part?” 

Marge had to remind herself to breathe for more reasons than one. She wanted to ask him straight up, ask him all the questions she’d been harboring the past month since their nightmare had ended. What was holding her back? She didn’t know.

“The ‘saving me’ part,” she finally spoke. Rich immediately shook his head. 

“If given the chance, I would do it one hundred times over.” 

“Why?” 

Rich halted his steps, turning to look at Marge with uncharacteristic seriousness. His eyes were still round, now filled with something more akin to devotion. 

“You said it yourself, knights protect fair maidens—” 

“You almost died, Rich!” Marge blurted, unaware of her volume. Rich didn’t move, he didn’t back away. His eyes told Marge everything he didn’t say out loud. 

But I didn’t. 

“Y-You could’ve died, and then I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you weren’t here,” she continued, feeling the warmth of tears in her eyes. It vaguely stung the healing wounds under her eyepatch, she didn’t care. Rich took both of Marge’s hands in his, staring up into watery blue. 

“Marge, you will never lose me. I promise you,” he softly said, squeezing her hands reassuringly. Marge shook her head in denial, wanting to push him far away and hold him forever at the same time.

“You don’t know that,” she argued, voice wavering. Rich only listened, never interrupting a single word she had to say. He lifted a hand to wipe away a tear that slipped down her cheek, letting his thumb linger there for just a moment. 

“You’re right, I don’t know that. But, what I do know is that I’m still here, aren’t I?” he asked, brows furrowed. Marge sniffled softly, nodding silently. Rich sighed, opening his arms as a silent invitation.

“Ven aquí, mi vida. No llores, por favor,” Rich frowned, taking her into his arms. Marge held on tight, letting more tears roll down her face. Rich’s own eyes were glassy now, his bottom lip quivered.

“I have no idea what you just said,” Marge chuckled through sobs. Rich smiled against her shoulder, the two of them swaying slightly under street lamps as stars shone overhead. 

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing special.” 

“It’s special to me.” 

“Because I’m special to you?” 

“Something like that.”

Rich grinned, Marge pulled away to wipe the tears fogging up her glasses. “You look pretty tonight,” he said suddenly, ears burning. Casualty wasn’t his strong suit. Marge’s stomach flipped again, she didn’t refuse it. “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m a crying mess right now,” she sniffled, removing her glasses to wipe her eye. Rich watched in awe, eyes dilating in the soft lighting. “Would it be too much if I said that made you look prettier?” he asked, not once taking his eyes off her. “Knowing you? Not at all,” Marge shrugged. They both laughed, a light sound in contrast to the bitterness of the night. 

Rich held out a hand, letting Marge take it without a second thought. They’re fingers intertwined easily, as if the shape of their hands had been formed solely for one another. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, sending shock waves through their hearts. They kept walking, Rich keeping his bike extra steady now that he was down a hand. He stole one look at the girl beside him, initially going to say something he had in mind but stopped when he noticed the slight crease still in Marge’s brow. 

“A dollar for your thoughts?” He asked. Marge bit her lip anxiously. This was the moment she’d been dreading. Admitting everything she kept inside? Yeah, she didn’t want to. This could be a pivotal change in her life, a change where everything really did come toppling down before her. On the contrary, however, it could lead to something beautiful. Something she always wanted yet never let herself have. All she had to do was take a chance. 

“Back at the Black Spot,” she started, swallowing the lump in her throat,”When you said what you.. said.” 

“Mhm?”

“Did you mean any of it?” 

“Every word.” 

She hated the way her hand went rigid in his. Marge took a second to collect her thoughts. 

“You really scared me, back there.” 

“I wanted to keep you alive.” 

Marge closed her eyes, she could never seem to understand that. No matter how many times her head tried to wrap itself around it. How Rich could just throw his own life away at a moment’s notice when it came to her safety. Maybe she should’ve felt gratitude for his selflessness. But all Marge could feel was guilt. He truly loved her, and that’s what made that tight feeling in Marge’s chest worsen. She almost lost him once, she wouldn’t risk that twice. 

“You should’ve saved yourself, Rich.”

“And what? Leave you alone to die?”

“If that’s what it would’ve taken to keep you out of harm’s way, then yes!” 

Rich furrowed his brow. He squeezed her hand softly, she didn’t squeeze back. 

“I’m just afraid that… If something happens in the future, you won’t be so lucky the second time around.” 

“Is this what’s been eating away at you all night?” He asked. Marge nodded slowly. Rich pursed his lips in thought, brows knitted together as he mulled over her words. This was what she was so afraid of admitting. “You don’t have to be so afraid, Marge. We don’t know what the future holds, but that’s why we take it one day at a time,” he said. Marge looked down at the pavement, to her scuffed canvas sneakers, then to their clasped hands. Maybe Rich was right, no matter what came their way, they’d always stay by each other. She let that thought settle down in her mind, easing the tension she’d been holding for so long. She met his eyes again, though Rich had already been looking at her. 

“Can we just… Stay like this? I don’t wanna think anymore,” Marge asked. 

“Yeah, yeah we can stay,” Rich replied, squeezing her hand once more. 

This time, Marge squeezed back. 

The rest of the way to Marge’s house was partially silent, Rich only mentioning how he was excited to tell his father of his victory in Monopoly. Their hands were still interlinked, a grounding warmth that comforted both of them in all they discussed. The temperature dropped, little snowflakes began to dot the surfaces of streets, leaves, and roofs. Marge shivered in the cold, her yellow cardigan not quite thick enough to ward off the frigid air. Rich removed his jacket, handing it out to her. 

“Rich, please–” 

“Marge, I insist. Here.” 

She sighed, maneuvering the plaid jacket over her cardigan. It was a little snug around her body, Rich was smaller after all. His jacket carried a faint scent of his detergent, along with whatever had been cooking when he left home. The fabric was soft, warmed from his body heat. It took the chill Marge felt on her skin.

“Better?” he asked her. 

“Warmer, yeah. Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

Bicycle wheels eventually skidded to a stop in front of Marge’s home. Snowflakes continued to fall softly from the night sky, dusting their hair like frozen glitter. The two of them stood there silently for a moment or two, noses pink and hearts bound to one another. The porch light of her home was soft, comforting during this time of year. The living room light was still on, an indistinct murmur of the television playing inside. It snowed harder, a light dusting turning into a small flurry around them. Rich couldn’t help but giggle as a snowflake melted on his nose. “Welp, this is my stop,” Marge sighed. Rich gave her a sad smile, removing his hand from hers. The initial warmth faded away as quickly as it came. Marge missed the feeling immediately. 

“We’ll see each other soon, right?” Rich asked. 

“You’re acting like this is goodbye,” Marge chuckled. 

“It never is. Pero aún así, it still pains me to part from you,” he lamented. Marge rolled her eyes, not fighting to conceal the smile that graced her lips. 

“In that case, until we meet again, Sir Rich,” Marge smiled, holding out a hand. She felt her cheeks go pink. She blamed it on the cold. Rich put his hand out as well, expecting nothing of what was to come. Snow still circled around them, painting the moment like a timeless portrait. His palm rested softly in Marge’s, still warm. Time seemed to slow when it happened. He didn’t even register what was occurring until he felt the featherlight touch of lips against the back of his hand. Rich stood paralyzed, face and hand tingling as Marge released him, her eyes nervously off to the side.

He looked down at his hand, then to Marge, then back to his hand again. Sparks ignited in his chest, blooming like fireworks going off one by one. Rich had lost his breath as well as his words. He wanted to speak, anything that could capture this moment before it fled. Marge was already at her door, staring back at him with a soft smile. The shine in her eyes—Well, her one good eye, could never be comparable to all the stars in the universe, he thought. In that moment, no amount of winter chill could quell the warmth of how he felt. No fear of the future, no dread of the past. 

“Have a swell night, Rich,” Marge smiled, waving shyly at him. Rich waved back slower, shaking his head to clear the fuzziness. 

“Y tú también, Capitana.” was all he could manage, heart pounding wildly in his chest. With one final glimpse, Marge shut the door. With a desperate hand on his heart, Rich gasped all the air he could. He smiled wide, setting his bike down on the ground a moment to punch the air triumphantly. 

Marge heard the commotion outside, giggling to herself as she rested her head against the door briefly. She could still vaguely feel the warm sensation of her lips against the soft skin of his hand. She remembered that starstruck look, as if Rich had seen the galaxy. She treasured those images, committing each one to memory. The way his hair was lightly damp with melted snow, the redness of his cheeks and nose, as well as the lopsided smile that made a slight appearance when reality had dawned on him. Marge put a palm to her heated face, taking a deep breath to still her beating heart. “Margie?” Her mother called from the living room. Marge walked in, locking everything she felt earlier away in that mental vault. “Did you get home alright?” she asked. Marge nodded, a small smile on her lips,“Yep, Rich walked me home.” Mrs. Truman nodded approvingly, Marge couldn’t help but see the way her mother’s shoulders relaxed at the mention of his name. 

“He seems like a nice boy. You speak very highly of him.”

“Yeah, he is—”

“Is that his jacket?” 

Marge glanced down, remembering the warm plaid that rested comfortably over her cardigan. She cussed to herself quietly, wasting no time to run back outside. Rich had already gone, bicycle tracks and footprints trailing away in the snow. Sighing in defeat, she shut the door and went upstairs to her bedroom after wishing her mother goodnight. Shrugging off his plaid jacket, Marge set it on the back of her study chair. She stared at it from her bed, her lamp shining on it as if it were a prized possession. And to her, it pretty much was. She thought back on the night, surrounded by friends and a type of warmth that doesn’t just envelope the skin, but the heart as well. 

If Marge focused hard enough, she could still hear easy laughter and the back and forth of playful arguing. She thought of Rich, how his eyes lit up when she first entered the room. It stirred that same fuzzy feeling in her chest, and this time it never held apprehension behind it. Marge knew of her feelings, and instead of remaining worried or anxious, she sat with them. The reality that once sat uncomfortably in her body now paved a new path she never thought possible. It was a calmer path, a path that felt like hope. 

Marge got up from her bed, reaching out to touch the soft fabric of his jacket. She held it close to her chest, pressing the material to her cheek. Now more than ever, the answer was clear to Marge. And this time, it wouldn’t be uttered under thick plastic and carbon monoxide. Instead, it would be said in security and life. 

“I love you, Rich.”