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"Mar," Gabby starts, nerves already visible, "I think we should keep this...casual."
Marine looks up from where she's standing, in Gabby's kitchen, cutting fruits for them, confused.
"What?"
"I think we should keep this casual. Informal." Gabby swallows.
"...I mean, sure? But what's spurred this thought into existence?" Marine asks, putting the knife down and walking over to Gabby, who was sitting on the couch.
"Just...thoughts." Gabby mumbles, trying to look away when Marine's fingers graze her jaw gently.
It'd been a week since Marine had asked her out, and Gabby had panicked and said she needed more time to think, then quickly let Marine know that it was just her fear of the unfamiliar that was holding her back. Even then, Gabby had been scared to say more, to let Marine see her in her entirety. Even then, Marine had reassured her that it would be okay, and she could take all the time she needed.
"Tell me." Marine commands. She wants Gabby, and she knows wanting doesn't always mean you already know, but she want to learn Gabby too, to be able to read her like a book.
"Huh?" Gabby blinks.
"The thoughts. Tell me." Marine elaborates, forcing Gabby's eyes onto her with a nudge of her hand.
"I..." Gabby hesitates. She doesn't know how to. She's never been asked to. Marine doesn't interrupt, but she doesn't judge either. Her eyes hold that warm, challenging glint that Gabby loves to see on the court when she makes a shot she's particularly proud of or when she manages to lock someone up, even as a competitor.
"I'm abnormal." Gabby decides. She can't quite place her finger on the word she's looking for, but the essence is there. While it may be a word that, to Gabby, encompasses her as a person pretty well, Marine, rather blatantly, disagrees, if her expression is anything to go off of.
"Explain?" Marine sounds less harsh now, but there's a slight edge of concern when she speaks.
"My brain." Gabby says simply. That explains most things in regard to her, anyways, though it seemed to take Marine a little longer to catch on.
"Your ADHD, you mean."
"Yeah, so—"
"Not convinced. I'm still going to call you my girlfriend." Marine says decisively. Gabby takes a little longer to process Marine's statement. When she does, she crosses her arms over her chest like an indignant toddler.
"Well that's just going to end in disaster." Gabby scoffs. She knows how this plays out, and she's not delusional enough to think otherwise. Friends, significant others, really, anyone who's ever become hers—gone in a hurry when they decide she's too much, when she's finally talked too much or shifted too often.
She doesn't want Marine to hate her. Distance would prevent that, surely. Time away from Gabby so she wouldn't be consumed by Gabby and her problems would make them easier for Marine to deal with.
"How do you know that?" Marine challenges. She's just as, if not more stubborn than Gabby is.
"Because it always does." Gabby mutters. She's tired of the conversation, so she jerks Marine's hand off her jaw harshly, even if the loss of contact makes her feel off, like she lost a piece of her.
"I don't know who said this bullshit to you, but I do know it's not true." Marine says, unfaltering in her stance. Even after Gabby jerked her hand off, Marine didn't waver, blue eyes boring into Gabby.
"Do you remember what I told you the first time I asked you to watch Spirited Away with me?" Gabby pivots the conversation, cocking her head curiously.
"…Not exactly." Marine admits after taking a second to try and recall.
"I said, 'I'm a little weird about this movie,' and then talked over most of it. You didn't complain, but…" Gabby is barely loud enough for Marine to hear.
"I liked hearing you talk." Marine butts in.
"Wasn't done." Gabby crosses her arms, frustrated. "And you're too close." Gabby is suddenly too conscious of Marine being in front of her and she can't think properly, can't put her words in a cohesive sentence.
"Sorry, love. Continue." Marine apologises and takes a step back to let Gabby have the space she needs.
"But I stopped talking halfway anyway." Gabby finishes. Marine frowns, remembering that Gabby had done that.
"You did. Why?"
"It's not nice to talk over movies. It's rude." Gabby explains like it's the most obvious thing.
"But I liked listening to your commentary."
"That's the easy stuff." Gabby argues.
"Okay then. What's the not-easy stuff?" Marine questions.
"Which part?" Gabby snorts, glaring at the ground like it would open a hole for her to crawl into and die.
"All of it." Gabby blinks. She wasn't expecting Marine's straightforwardness.
"Uh…" Gabby hesitates for a second, unsure. She takes a breath and begins to speak again. "Well, for one thing, I can sometimes take 2 hours to do something like laundry which should only take me 5 minutes, because the other hour and 55 minutes are spent dreading the task."
"I can do the laundry." Marine replies. Laundry was pretty fun anyways.
"I get stressed in situations with too many things going on and sometimes leave parties and dinners early because of it." Gabby counters. She's met with a indifferent shrug from Marine.
"Works for me, I want to leave early too."
"I lose everything I own."
"I can help you find your things."
"Even when it takes forever?" Gabby contests.
"Even then." Marine nods.
"I don't like people moving my things without my knowledge."
"Then I won't touch your things."
"How?" Gabby finally ends her list there. She sounds almost angry at how easily Marine fought back, like she'd practiced this over and over.
"How what?" Marine raises an eyebrow.
"How can you make it seem so simple?" Gabby's voice cracks at the end of her question.
"Gabby," Marine started, "why is it so hard to believe that I care about you?"
"I…what?" Gabby swallowed, looking up at Marine with those tear-filled big brown eyes that made Marine crumble like a cookie every time.
"I care about you." Marine repeated. "Let me." She reaches out, tucks a stray curl away and smooths it down. Gabby's eyes flutter shut, and when they re-open, none of the concern in her eyes has left.
"But…"
"Let me ask you a question, Gabs." Marine swoops in to reign Gabby back in. "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"
"Yeah, but—"
"No. No buts. If I want to be your girlfriend, and you want to be mine, then that's all we need to be. It doesn't have to be hard, you know." Marine says.
"Why do you want me?" Gabby asks quietly, voice small like she still can't believe it. Marine has one goal in mind: make her believe it. "There are so many people who would be so much more deserving of your love."
"They aren't you. They don't love anime and commentate the whole thing. They don't let me tattoo PAC-man on them. They will never, ever live up to you. You are one of one, Gabrielle, and I want that. All of it."
"Even if it's frustrating sometimes?" Gabby sniffles.
Marine reaches forward and wipes Gabby's tears away, meeting her eyes with unfaltering affection. "Especially then."
Gabby lets out a sound somewhere between a broken sob and a whine, and Marine murmurs, "hug?" because she doesn't want Gabby to feel pressured into having to hug Marine. Gabby responds by standing up and promptly falling forward into Marine.
The blonde hushes her gently, rubbing small circles where Gabby's shoulder blade is. Her hand traces the tattoo on Gabby's shoulder—the first ever one, matching with her sister. She uses her finger to follow the lines of the rose and letters. She knows the words by heart, seen them so many times that she no longer needs to see them to know what they say.
Gabby is like putty in her hands, always has been, so Marine holds. She doesn't let Gabby melt onto the ground like a pile of goop. She is here to hold Gabby until she can stand on her own.
"I want you to know," Marine whispers into her ear, "that you are perfect the way you are and I wouldn't choose anyone above you."
Gabby can't respond verbally—she's still crying—so she cries harder to let Marine know she heard her.