Chapter Text
At Graphia Academy, there are a plethora of activities that are ongoing at all hours of the day. Classes, afterschool clubs, rehearsals, back alley bullying, rooftop lunch breaks, and not the least of it all, dropping love letters in unsuspecting (or in this case, very suspecting and a little delighted) lockers.
For the past two months, a certain locker has been practically overflowing with love letters of varying colors and decorations. They're all signed, of course, hoping to catch her attention, and they're from all sorts of classmates. Some don't even go to the same school, some are mechatrons. It's insanity at the point it's gotten to—especially since Stelle has to clean them out every day. (Well, every Friday, at least).
…And by clean out, it means read them because her curiosity creeps from the back of her mind until it's itching at her fingertips and tearing open the envelopes like a woman possessed at the lunch table. A pile of them sits neatly (thanks to Dan Heng constantly adjusting the growing stack) to the left of her bento box while March is sidled up against her right side, her own food long forgotten, poring over the letters with amusement.
“And…forever be by your side..?” Stelle reads, her eyes scanning the letter again to make sure she reads it properly. There's multiple ink smudges making it highly illegible and so only a small snippet of it makes sense.
“Forever’s a long time to be by someone’s side,” March airily accounts. She tilts her head at the grey-hair, the bunny barrette keeping her hair from swaying anymore than it has to, and cheekily grins. “Especially yours.”
“You'd kill to be by my side forever, don't lie,” Stelle mirthfully chitters, nudging March with her elbow and setting the smudged letter in the pile. Dan Heng immediately fixes it as she reaches for the next one and casts a sidelong glance at the girl. “You're glued to me.”
March scoffs and makes a show of scooting away from Stelle, then crosses her arms and pouts. “Am not.”
“Are too.” Stelle shrugs and opens the next letter. “You're cute when you pout.”
“I'm always cute!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”
Another huff and Stelle can hardly contain her smile. She pathetically clears her throat.
“Meet me on the rooftop Friday after school for a special surprise. Come alone,” Stelle reads. She holds the piece of paper between her index and middle finger and nonchalantly waves it around with a sigh. “What do you guys think the surprise is?”
“...Something tasteless, if I have to guess,” Dan Heng murmurs in his usual stolid tone.
“You're not thinking about going, are you? You got banned from the roof after the whole thing with Skott,” March points out, sounding unusually apprehensive about the whole ordeal. She's wordlessly scooted back up beside Stelle to swipe the letter and read it for herself. Their thighs and shoulders are mashed against each other like they belong there, shared warmth seeping through their uniforms.
Despite the contact, March still wants to shiver every time they touch.
“...Seriously, this is so unromantic! Who do they think they are demanding a meeting like this?”
“At least they're getting bolder,” Stelle casually says, plucking the letter back and setting it in the pile. (Yes, Dan Heng fixes it again). “I don't think any of them care about romance.”
It's silent for a moment—Stelle misses the look that her two friends share as she's digging into another envelope. March makes a sound in her throat and smooths her skirt with her palms.
“The mystery person is pretty romantic, isn't she?” She asks. There's a glint of hopefulness sprinkled on her words.
“Still don't know if they're a woman,” Stelle specifies, snapping her fingers one time as she says it.
March huffs again. “As if a high school boy could ever be that romantic with their words…”
“Dan Heng is—”
“I am not writing you letters—”
“—He is not writing you letters!”
Stelle laughs at the two of them and they join in after a moment at the sheer silliness of it. The simple idea that Dan Heng would ever write a love letter, let alone to Stelle, is nothing short of comedic. To Caelus, perhaps, but even then it's a bit of a long shot because they're all completely positive that boy wouldn't appreciate a poem painstakingly written in gorgeous calligraphy.
Being as they're twins, it's odd to think about Stelle appreciating something like that, but a girl can dream. Or…boy, perhaps.
Probably not.
“My love for you is as eternal as the sun, and as full as the moon.” Stelle blinks. “What?”
“The sun will eventually burn out and the moon is not always full. It is…a poor attempt,” Dan Heng concludes.
“Someone didn't take astronomy,” March pitches in. “...Or basic science.”
Stelle sighs as she doesn't even care to fold it before tossing it in the pile, knowing it'll be neat the second it touches down. She reaches for the last one—a white and pink envelope with a bow sticker on the seal, Stelle’s name written on the outside in delicate cursive, and a baby blue card with an excerpt from a book glued on it.
An excerpt from The Edge of Desire by Stephanie Laurens.
“My heart only ever had one thought, one want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all…All my heart has ever wanted is you,” Stelle wispily recites, her amber eyes tracing the words over and over even after she's read them.
Unbeknownst to her, March watches and wrings her hands in suspense. Dan Heng’s grip on his crossed arms tightens imperceptibly. They study Stelle’s expression for…anything, really.
“She definitely knows how to get her point across,” Stelle finally says. It's raspy as she says it and she clears her throat afterward.
March momentarily gawks. “Now you think they’re a she? That's all it took?”
“Like you said, it's romantic.”
“So…you like it?” March asks, her eyes shining. She balls her skirt in her fists to distract from the beating of her own heart. “Turn it over! Maybe there's more.”
Ah. There is.
On the back of the card is a handwritten note this time. Simple, short, and clean. No smudges, no poor attempts at poetry or confessions, and certainly nothing a high school boy could ever fathom writing.
“In my own words, it is yearning. My heart aches for you in the purest beats, craving nothing more than your presence. I cannot breathe without you, I do not wish to. I hope only that your heart beats for someone like mine does for you,” Stelle reads in awe. She blinks half a dozen times before setting the letter neatly in the pile and picking up the envelope to investigate it again. A subtle hint of vanilla is all it smells like, otherwise she doesn't recognize the handwriting.
“This secret admirer certainly has a way with words,” Dan Heng says, pleased that he didn't have to fix the stack again. He eyes the pink-hair. “Perhaps it's time you tracked them down?”
March shakes her head and immediately sheepishly smiles when the movement earns her Stelle’s puzzled attention. “Maybe it's a mystery for a reason? She could be too scared to confess her feelings for real!”
“Aren't you always lamenting about how people should go after the ones they love?” Stelle asks, cocking a brow. Every romcom they've watched together, every romance book they've had to read for classes, March has been vocal about how you only have one life and shouldn't waste time regretting not chasing love. It's odd for her to go back on that all of a sudden.
“Well—yeah,” March chokes, her mouth soundlessly moving for a few seconds before she groans. “So…what, you lure her out or something? What if you don't even know her?”
Stelle sets her elbow on the table and leans her face against her palm with another shrug. Her other hand drums against the table. “Future me’s problem.”
“You're unbelievable.”
With a smile, Stelle quirks her head at March. “You wanna help me lure her out?”
“And how exactly are we going to do that? It's been two months of these letters and none of us have ever seen them dropped off.”
“Date me.”
“What?” March squeaks, red rushing to the tips of her ears before she can stop it. The lack of space between them suddenly feels suffocating.
Stelle shifts and their thighs dig even further into each other. She settles a godlessly muscular forearm on March’s shoulder and gets as serious as her whimsical self can.
“Hear me out. I get more letters and attention if people think I'm taken. You get to find this mystery writer you seem so interested in and you'd be dating the school’s top athlete.”
Despite her fluster, March narrows her eyes to demonstrate that she's entirely unimpressed by the hypothetical ruse. “Why does it seem like it only benefits you?”
“It…would work, in theory. There are already rumors that you two are in a relationship and the letters have not let up,” Dan Heng thoughtfully says.
“Wait, what?”
“Fine,” March cuts off, nipping any spiral into that rabbit hole in the bud. “Why do you read the letters anyway? Are you scouting for the perfect partner or something?”
“Mmm nope. I just find them entertaining.”
“...Seriously?” March deadpans.
“Maybe I will find a girlfriend some day. Since it bothers you so much,” Stelle smugly says.
March pales.
“I highly doubt you'd find any of the senders remotely interesting,” Dan Heng says. Impassive as always, that one. “Those that loiter around your locker don't seem to possess any extraordinary traits.”
Beside Stelle, March is trying not to physically reel from the conversation. A girlfriend? Someone dating Stelle? The thought alone is enough to nauseate her—but then she remembers the proposal and that vortex in her stomach swirls a little faster until she's confident the rest of her lunch won't go down without a fight.
What if she was the one dating Stelle?
It gets rid of other prospects. As far as they know, Stelle hasn't told them of any crush she has, so it's safe to assume she isn't doing it to get to someone via jealousy. But…dating would include a lot more physical touch than they already do. Holding hands is one thing, but…
The thought of kissing her has kept March up at night beneath more than one moon and has occupied her dreams for more than one day in the past. Dating would entail that they'd be able to…oh, she's sick again.
Perhaps she would benefit from the arrangement, albeit selfishly, though the truth lay between her and God at that point.
“Whaddaya say?”
An apology is etched into Dan Heng’s expression as Stelle’s voice turns back to March after whatever conversation they just had. Absolute horror.
“What?” March stutters, unsure if her lightheadedness is from the coil in her chest or the vortex in her stomach or a combination of both.
“Is the idea of dating me really that bad..?” Stelle asks with furrowed brows as she drags her whimpering March beneath a microscope. “Am I a bad person?”
“No! No, I just—we—i-it's weird, right? Us together?”
Both of them look at March as if saying, what are you talking about? You're literally inseparable. A high pitched sound, something between a grunt and a whimper, gets caught in her throat as she resigns.
“March, if you’re uncomfortable, I'm not forcing you,” Stelle gently says, her bravado and smugness absent. Sincerity drips from each of her words like honey and the coil in March’s chest ties itself tighter. “Buuut no one else at this school is worth dating—except, like, Firefly, but she's got that whole thing with Robin and—”
“It's just for show, right?
Stelle nods. Then, “Unless you want it to be real.”
“No,” March grumbles with a blush. Her eyes flick to Dan Heng as she swallows hard and then back to Stelle. “Fine. You get attention while we both get to play detective on this mystery writer. Deal?”
“Deal.”
March hardly says a word the rest of lunch, rather keen on spinning the previous conversation in her head like a significantly less sweet stick of cotton candy. No matter how it's spun, she can't seem to fathom what just happened.
Stelle is now her—fake—girlfriend, she supposes. From best friend to fake girlfriend feels like a demotion of sorts. A mediocre displacement from platonic soulmates to toeing the line of accidental romance with every interaction between them feels otherworldly dangerous.
Especially when the feelings are wholly, achingly, and agonizingly one-sided.
Danger.
The news spreading like wildfire doesn't help either. All they did was hold hands on the way to their classes and the hallway sparked with a journalist column’s worth of gossip despite them casually holding hands all the time.
This?
This feels different somehow.
Charged. Electrifying. Each point of contact of their skin sets March’s veins alight in a way she's never felt before and the only thing that's changed is a title. Stelle hasn't suddenly gotten new hands, nor has her body temperature gotten any lower. She's always been scalding hot year round.
The tingling in her hand doesn't fade for an hour, nor does the drumming of her heart quit echoing in her skull like an omen of war until the school day is long over and she's sitting in the activities classroom unable to focus on anything. Pictures she's using for the yearbook are scattered in front of her and she can't identify a single one over the noise in her heart.
“Did you hear? Starch finally came true!”
“Stelle has a girlfriend? What the fuck??”
“You're joking. Those two? I thought they were dating for years already.”
Another thump as March’s forehead hits the desk.
Girlfriend. Girlfriend. It’s terrible. It's an atrocity. It's the greatest thing she's ever been able to call herself.
The worst part?
It's only been four hours and she's already getting used to it.