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If March knew she was going to be stepping into her closet for more than a minute, she would’ve done something with it. Moved clothes, took some out, just… made space. Anything would be better than what predicament she put herself into by trying to show Stelle what usually goes on in sleepovers.
March suggested that they try out different games they’ve seen in movies or just online in general while they waited for the call for dinner. It was supposed to be a tame, quick little catchup to show Stelle what’s been missing out on. It wasn’t a real thing, not when there wasn’t an actual sleepover.
It was practice. Just practice. Not anything to stress out about. Well, that was originally the case. Then Stelle had asked about the one game scribbled light enough in pen so that she’d have to squint to see it.
“Skipping out on seven minutes in heaven?” Stelle teases with a sly grin.
“No no, uh, wait!” March practically yelped back, “that’s… that’s not one of the ones we should–“
“What? Afraid of your own closet, Miss March 7th?”
…It was March’s own fault, really.
She somehow caved immediately. She’ll have to curse her own betraying self-consciousness about it later. Her face flushed red at the vaguest thought of the game alone, her heart skipping a beat along with it. Stelle saw what kind of reaction that gauged and only got more interested in it. No amount of insistence would steer her away from it. She knew that fact a little too well and didn’t even bother to try.
There’s no point doing anything about it now either. Not even the hanging dress partially draping over her shoulder was enough to steal her attention away from the sight before her for more than a second. Not when Stelle stood close enough for a breath to stir the stray pink strands of her hair. Not when March’s eyes haven’t dared to leave Stelle’s face since they both stepped in together.
So she watches. Waits. The overall burst of familiar warmth from being in an enclosed space with Stelle settling heavy on her skin.
Even Stelle lost the confidence she strolled in with once the door closed behind her. Her smirk fell into a minuscule frown March could almost describe as nervous. Unlike March, Stelle’s gaze would land on her for a second only to suddenly dart away whenever their eyes met. It was a rare sight, and it only made March feel a little guilty that she kind of wanted Stelle to look this vulnerable, this helpless around her more often.
She banishes the thought immediately.
She can’t afford to get worked up in any way now. Time was still ticking, and there’d be plenty of time before it would all be over.
Sure, the door wasn’t locked. They weren’t being forced to stay, but it was about honoring the rules of the game more than anything else. March made sure to set a timer right as they went in anyway. So effectively, and to March’s plight, they were stuck in her closet for another six and a half minutes.
Six and a half minutes.
Standing in a dark closet in close proximity with Stelle for six and a half minutes.
The slight questioning tilt of Stelle’s head is enough for March to decide that she’s utterly doomed.
“Hey, March?”
March quietly squeaks as if she wasn’t spending the entire time just staring holes into Stelle with wandering less than appropriate thoughts. This elicits a short snicker from Stelle, who shuffles a little closer to her. Now she really was in March’s bubble for whatever Aeons-forsaken reason. She can practically feel the warmth of Stelle’s thigh through both of their pants and has to stave off another weak blush.
“Uh… What are you doing?” March finally asks without daring to inch away.
“Could’ve sworn you had a light in here somewhere,” Stelle huffs, and then has the audacity to gingerly brush her fingertips by March’s waist as she searches around. “Oops.”
This time March does audibly squeak. “Hey! You literally could have just-”
An audible click echoes in her ear before dim yellow light fills the surrounding closet space. The small battery-powered lantern March had on the floor was flicked on. At least she can see Stelle now, though she’s not sure if that’s better or worse in the long run.
Has it gotten a little warmer here?
Stelle glances up at her from where she’s crouched on the floor. She wears what March can only describe as the most sheepish grin she’s ever seen. ”Found it.”
“Like I was saying, you literally could have just asked! I knew where it was!” March barks out with an accusatory point of her finger.
“What can I say? Exploring is in the essence of the Trailblaze, even if the location happens to be March 7th’s closet.”
“You…” March growls, “that’s not what that... ugh, whatever! Just get back up here before I do something about you being down there myself!”
Emptiness weaves all throughout her mind as she winces at her own words. She’s not all that sure of what she even meant by that. It’s almost as if some switch in her brain flipped the moment the door shut behind them.
Maybe Stelle was right. Maybe she should be a little afraid of her closet after all.
Stelle’s eyes widen a little, but the part that surprises her is that she blushes afterward. Instead of backing down, however, Stelle only smirks and pushes back harder. “Make me.”
Of course. Of course she’d say that. Why wouldn’t she say that? She gave Stelle a lead when she was starting to get nervous, so of course she follows wherever it pulls.
Against better judgement, she rolls her eyes and nudges Stelle’s knee with her foot. ”Oh, grow up and get off the floor!”
Stelle’s hand encloses around her ankle and tugs on it hard enough to drag her leg forward. Her other foot skids, but can’t hold up the rest of her body weight. March overcorrects her fall with a frantic wave of her arms. Her fingers only graze the hanging clothes instead of bothering to properly grab them. Just when she thinks she’s going to hit the ground, Stelle lunges forward. One hand catches her by swooping behind her back in a mock version of a low dip.
A really, really awkward, low dip.
“Oops, my bad,” Stelle says with a nervous chuckle. This time she actually means it if her rapid blinking and remaining embarrassed blush is any sort of indication. “Definitely only meant to startle you, not, uh, knock you plum over.”
Strands of her dangling gray hair tickle March’s nose enough to nearly make her sneeze. March lets out a short puff of air to move it. All it does is reveal Stelle’s sparkling eyes for a second before they’re covered again. She can’t help but reach up and tenderly brush Stelle’s hair behind her shoulder to recover the sight. Stelle doesn’t stop her, but then again, it’s not like she really can. Not with one hand cradling her while the other braces them against the closet’s wall.
It’s... weird.
She’s not angry, nor is she remotely infuriated in the slightest. Something about Stelle holding her the way that she is has somehow blanketed any kind of annoyance she knows she should normally be feeling in this scenario.
“March?”
March blinks owlishly and squints at her own hand. Stelle’s hair was wrapped around her finger as if she’d been absentmindedly twirling it without realizing. “Oh!” She yanks her hand away and curls it close to her heart. “Sorry, did you say something?”
Stelle frowns for a fraction of a second, her eyes tracing March’s hand as it moves away before settling on her. The frown is then replaced by another sheepish smile. “Well, not really, but, uh, I don’t think I can hold you like this much longer? Unless you want us to join all the clothes we’ve already knocked onto the ground, we should probably, y’know, move.”
Oh, right. She was technically being suspended like a couple inches off the floor.
“Right…” March replies, disappointment sneaking into her tone before she can stop it.
She can’t help but feel a little betrayed by her own thoughts.
Stelle is her best friend. Nothing more, and definitely nothing less. She shouldn’t be disappointed that they’re not a heap on the floor together. She shouldn’t be upset that Stelle is no longer casting a shadow from where she was towering over her. Shouldn’t be missing the warmth of Stelle’s touch crawling through the fabric of her sweater before she bothers to let her go.
Yet here she is, pathetically left to do all of the above.
Her heart sinks further as Stelle shifts her grip enough to help her back to her feet. The absence of the hand on her back leaves a special sort of ache that she can’t quite understand. Stelle hadn’t let go of her entirely. No, she had moved on to gently squeezing March’s shoulder while her other hand twitched uncertainly against her pant leg.
“Hey,” March breathlessly whispers.
“Hey,” Stelle answers back, somehow just as equally breathless as she is.
Nervous wisps of frost slip from the corner of her mouth when she dares to do so much as breathe. It’s not like her nervous habits matter anymore. Nothing else matters besides the girl standing in front of her. Her fingers somehow ended up entwined with Stelle’s without her bothering to think about it.
Stelle doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t act otherwise, but something in her eyes calls out to March like a siren’s song. Warmth spreads from head to toe, a stark contrast from the ice she was trying so hard to not let unconsciously slip through her skin. Neither of them had been drinking prior to entering the closet, so it’s not like that’s somewhere she could pass the blame for the sudden onslaught of impulsive thoughts. Her eyes refused to break contact with Stelle, who held the same enamored look as she did.
The magnetizing pull between them grows stronger to the point where she can’t ignore it, can’t fight it, can’t stand around waiting for Stelle to make the first move.
So she takes matters into her own hands.
Instead of pulling, March pushes. Not hard enough to injure, not even hard enough to do so much as scare anyone. It’s just enough so that Stelle’s back presses against the wall with March’s hand planted next to her waist. It’s not perfect, especially since Stelle naturally sits a few inches higher than her even while partially slanted on the wall. For those first couple seconds, Stelle only manages to gawk at her as if she hung the moon.
A prickle of doubt runs through her mind like a needle.
Is she moving too fast? Did she overstep? Is this… not what either of them want?
No, scratch that. Mark out any previous thoughts about friends and fear aside. All her thoughts about Stelle have been repeating like a mantra. March does want this. She wants it more than anything else. Above it all, she just wants Stelle.
Then she eyes Stelle again, who hasn’t said a single word since March pinned her to the closet wall. Considering who she is and how many quips she spouts in rapidfire fashion, March can’t help but feel guilty. She thought Stelle was waiting around for her to do something, but what if that pause was from hesitation?
Does she want this?
“Stelle?”
Stelle hums shortly in some sort of acknowledgment.
“Is this… okay?” She continues with a guilt-ridden mumble. “Are… Are you okay with any of this? I should have asked earlier, but I kind of just…” her voice trails off, leaving them in dimly lit silence.
What was she supposed to say in defense? She just… went with it? She let her body act before her mind? What kind of sorry excuse was any of that?
Fear etches deep scratches into the depths of her mind, but she doesn’t back away. There’s a chance that she ruins things between them forever if she leaves before Stelle gives any sort of answer. There’s also the slim chance that she makes things worse by staying. It’s an impossible situation, but not one she can give up and walk out from now. It’s too late, and she’d reap the consequences no matter what she had originally sowed.
As if always setting herself up to defy expectations, Stelle finally responds with a chuckle. It’s a low, soft sort of rumble from deep within her chest that March can barely recognise as a noise from her at all.
“Anything is okay as long as I’m with you,” Stelle tips her head to the side far enough to allow her hair to spill over March’s arm. “Listen, I’d let you know if I wasn’t comfortable with something that you did. I trust you, March, so much more than you’d ever know.”
Relief floods through March’s chest palpable enough to where it could almost make her cry. This time, March does laugh right back. She didn’t make a mistake. She didn’t misread her surroundings. She didn’t royally fuck up everything the two of them have been building since the start.
Warm yet gentle fingers trace the edge of her cheek and down to her jaw. March can’t help but melt into Stelle’s delicate touch. When Stelle slightly tilts March’s head up, March instinctively leans forward to fill the final gap. Like sliding in a missing puzzle piece, Stelle meets her halfway.
In that instant, Stelle’s lips meet hers, yet all March can see are twinkling stars.
Stelle doesn’t pull away after a couple seconds, and March doesn’t want her to either. Stelle’s back presses further into the wall behind them. It doesn’t matter if they knock a couple of hoodies or sweaters off the rack. She can pick them up later. She abandons holding the wall altogether in favor of interlocking her fingers behind Stelle’s neck and dragging her impossibly close.
Without her balancing them, they both slowly slide down the wall until Stelle is practically sitting on the floor. In March’s mind, it’s all for the better. The last thing she needs to do is screw everything up by slipping on some stupid shirt if they had kept standing. At least that's the excuse she’s telling herself anyway.
March clings to the feeling, clings to the pure rush Stelle’s contact gives her and doesn’t let it escape. She switches to straddling one of Stelle’s legs with both of hers, one knee sure to press firmly between Stelle’s thighs. The action itself sends a sharp jolt that settles into more of a constant tingle thrumming through her entire body.
It feels both right and wrong all at once. She meets Stelle's eyes to search for any sort of sign of discomfort, but sees nothing but affection swirling within them.
Stelle doesn’t protest in her actions either. If anything, she only encourages March as Stelle’s hands drift from her delicate collarbone, down to her chest, and finally settles with digging her nails into both sides of March’s waist. Pleasure coincides with the pure unfiltered desire of just wanting more. It’s difficult for her to suppress any sort of sound from her mouth while in the middle of a kiss, but she surely tries regardless of the outcome.
If Stelle’s soft yet raspy whines are anything to go by, she’s not trying all that hard to be completely silent in comparison.
At this point, stopping was completely out of the question. Not just for her, but for both of them.
She can’t help but also let her hands wander like Stelle’s did. They slip out from between the wall and the back of Stelle’s neck far easier than when she first slid them in. It’s a little gross to consider that the back of her neck was already slick with sweat, but she’s not going to think too hard about that one. Instead of slowly descending down her body like Stelle did, she removes her hands altogether and pauses.
This does elicit a small yet awfully pathetic whimper from Stelle. Maybe it’s a little bad that March doesn’t feel guilty for the tiniest smidgeon of teasing if that’s the result.
It doesn’t last long. Even March can’t keep herself from putting her hands back on the whining mess of a girl in front of her. Without wasting another second, one hand roughly shoves back on Stelle’s shoulder. The fingers on her other hand smoothly snake under the hem of Stelle’s yellow shirt and flat against her bare skin. She travels about halfway up Stelle’s abdomen before Stelle’s nails sink deeper into March’s waist without warning.
Stelle squirms beneath her, her entire head lurching away from March in favor of sucking in a trembling gasp. It’s hard to miss the small string of saliva between them as Stelle breaks away.
March goes rigid with a slight hitch in her own breathing. She too has to stop to pant and catch her breath. Not only that, but both sides of her waist lightly stung beneath Stelle’s grip that had yet to ease. She’d be more surprised if Stelle didn’t draw blood by the time this was all over. Despite this, it takes everything to not give up and collapse against her right then and there. However, she’s not a coward and neither is Stelle, so she presses on. Not even the overpowering shiver rolling down her spine is a deterrence when Stelle is doing just about as well if not noticeably worse than she is.
She really underestimated how much power came from the simple action of letting her hands wander where they usually wouldn’t. That, and the fact that their first kiss had lasted longer enough for both of them to briefly forget that they had to breathe. Stelle stared up at her expectantly, her labored breaths close enough for March to feel on her face. Once again watching, waiting for March to do something else as if she hadn’t done plenty already.
Irritation washes over her before she can stop it. Stelle is the one that broke away, that left aching marks on her skin, yet March is the one that’s left to call all the shots.
If that’s the case, Stelle is not getting off as easily as she thinks she is.
Her hand slides up so that it rests on Stelle’s ribs. Her fingertips dare to barely caress and cup the underside of Stelle’s chest, mindful of the typical sports bra she happened to have on beneath her t-shirt. She doesn’t move only higher, only teases her with the idea of it. The dull hum of the Stellaron grows more and more noticeable beneath her touch. She can only imagine the increase in pulsating if she dared to actually move on to her chest. Stelle’s breathing skips in erratic stutters, but March continues without hesitating.
She’d have to save that train of thought for another time. She already had something else in mind.
March leans back over Stelle. She feigns going in for another kiss, but moves to the left at the last moment. The hand that was on Stelle’s shoulder moves to grip at the back of her messy mop of gray hair. Stelle makes some sort of noise between a higher-pitched huff and a groan. In that moment, March’s insatiable greed takes over. Her teeth sink into the tender skin between Stelle’s neck and collarbone.
Stelle audibly whines again before it dies into a muted whimper. Pain strikes all the way up March’s back as Stelle slides her nails up under her sweater until they reach her shoulder blades. Apparently she didn’t bother to ease her grip before attempting to do so. March retaliates by weaving her fingers around Stelle’s hair and yanks harder. As if that’s not sufficient enough for her, Stelle swings her right leg around to lock behind March’s ankle.
March falls entirely into Stelle once the aforementioned woman desperately sweeps her closer. Friction sparks between their jeans as March scoots further up onto Stelle’s thigh. Stelle’s chin nestles into the crook of her neck with a trembling sigh. Despite this, March doesn’t remove her teeth. If anything, she only manages to bite down with more ferocity.
Stelle yelps loudly, and March jolts back with comically wide eyes. Her canines unintentionally scrape against Stelle’s skin on the way out.
It’s only then that March realizes what the hell she actually was doing.
“Oh Aeons, Stelle, I-I’m sorry!” March blurts in a near panic. She’s sure the flustered red spread all the way down her neck by now. “I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have done that! It was an accident! I–You– ah geez are you bleeding?! Did I draw blood? Was that me?”
What a dumb question. Of course it was her. Who else would’ve left a March-shaped bite mark on Stelle’s skin?
She stops running her fingers through Stelle’s hair in favor of checking out where she tried to ravage Stelle like a dog. An angry red mark full of teeth indentations stood out like a signaling beacon against her skin. A thin line of blood trickled from where presumably one of her canines had punctured and continued to rip through her skin when she moved away in a panic. The blood also pooled downwards into the dip between her collarbone and the side of her neck, making it look like an entire mess.
“You’re fine, you’re fine!” Stelle reassures with a borderline lovestruck smile. “I just have a stupidly high pain tolerance. I couldn’t tell how far into it you were until you… you know. Broke my skin. Pretty sure I felt that one. I didn’t think you had that in you, March!” She teases with a snicker, a mischievous spark lighting in her eyes.
“I still didn’t mean to do it! What am I, some kind of evil monster that lured you into my closet to maul you?”
“Actually,” Stelle puts a hand to her chin. “I wouldn’t mind if you were the monster in my closet.”
March promptly pushes Stelle’s smirking face away as she clambers off of her. “You’re so full of it!” She snarks and rolls her eyes, the gesture surrounded with nothing but fondness.
Stelle pops back up beside her.
She’s only a little more embarrassed when Stelle reaches over and wipes her fingers across the bite mark. It’s worse when she flips her hand around to show not only droplets of fresh blood staining her fingers, but also the smallest hint of crusted blood beneath her own fingernails.
Great. That means her sweater is probably also at least speckled if Stelle scratched the hell out of her during it.
A synchronous ping rings out from both of their back pockets. March quickly snatches hers and holds it in front of her while Stelle lazily fishes it out of hers. The harsh light of her phone against the dim light of the closet leaves her squinting at the text on the screen.
It’s from the group chat between her, Stelle, and Dan Heng. That explains why Stelle’s phone also went off when March’s did.
> DAN HENG: Are you two going to join the rest of us for dinner? You’re usually only late if Himeko is cooking. Need I remind you that tonight was my night?
> DAN HENG: ???
> DAN HENG: I know you’re both still on the Express, so I'm not going to ask. Do me a favor and spare me the details if you do bother to show up.
Apparently they’d been in that damn closet way longer than seven minutes.
Stelle busts out in a full-blown cackle. She must’ve finished reading right after March did. “Dude, how mortified do you think he’d be if we told him what we were doing?” She snickers, elbowing March in the side as she speaks. “That or I can tell him we started fighting and you bit me! That’ll probably be equally as funny.”
March buries her face in her hands. “Nope, nuh uh, not talking about it! We are done talking about it!”
“Aww, come on, March! You weren’t all flustered and shy a minute ago!”
“I just said I'm not talking about it!”
Stelle laughs for the umpteenth time in a row. Rude. “Well, come on then. We don’t gotta say anything to anyone else about it, but I am hungry!” Stelle huffs and nudges her with another smirk. “And apparently so are you. Gotta remember to feed you beforehand next time so you don’t get the bright idea to take a chunk out of me.”
“Hey! Stop being mean!” March whines, though the implications of “next time” makes her heart skip a beat.
Stupid heart. Stupid Stelle. Stupid closet. Stupid everything.
Stelle tries to walk straight past her without saying anything else. March glares, walking up beside her and yanking the collar of her shirt back over her collarbone. Stelle visibly droops, but March doesn’t particularly care.
“Congratulations! You can start not being mean by not showing that off to literally everyone on the train!”
“Aww,” Stelle sighs dramatically as if she’s just been told some terrible news.
March rolls her eyes again. She opens the closet door, but not without grabbing Stelle’s hand first. Stelle is not getting a chance to run off anywhere. They step back out into the much brighter light of her room.
She pauses in her steps, Stelle coincidentally stopping with her. A twinge of amusement passes through March. She hadn’t noticed before, but now she can tell that Stelle has been enjoying getting led around too much lately.
Not that March is really complaining though.
“I hope you know I’m treating that and the scratches you left on me later. I mean it! We’ll never hear the end of it if anything gets infected,” March hangs her head, but doesn’t leave any room for argument in her tone.
“Okay, fine, sure,” Stelle groans, her foot tapping at the floor impatiently. “You’re not covering this up after you do that though. All honorable warriors should be proud of their battle scars, this one included. I think I’m going to nickname it my little mark of the Trailblaze.”
Yeah, no. She’s not dumb enough to humor that one with a response. It’s really hard for her not to sigh in exasperation either. As she wordlessly drags Stelle out of the room, she can only hope that she has the decency to keep her less than subpar comments to herself.
She won’t. She definitely won’t, but March can dream. She can also coincidentally dream about Stelle’s previous phrasing about “next time”.
…How embarrassing. As it turns out, March really should have been afraid of her closet after all.