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“What about this one?”
“It is pretty, however it is- er, on an angle.”
“It’s Aedes Elysiae, one of Stelle’s”
March laughs, trying to keep her hands- and held picture- steady, despite her own mirth. A black gloved hand snakes along her forearm and presses the photograph down to the page, a gray nail smoothing the edge.
“I see, not as good as yours.”
“You’re more than bias, you know!”
The response is bright, only becoming a wider smile as March glances over her shoulder to meet Evernight’s gaze, a mirror smile- if somewhat more reserved- filling her face.
“I know. Where’s the tape?”
Both look at each other as if expecting the other to have stolen it as a joke.
“March, where is the tape?”
“Eve, where’s the tape?”
…
“I’ll go get it… ♭”
Evernight shifts away from how she had been half laying atop March’s left side, swinging a leg down and over the bedcover’s edge to stand. Her joints sighed as her silently strained effort to not fall off the sheets concluded.
The floorboards groaned softly as she walked to their March’s expansive and ever-growing sprawl of mementos, photos, titbits and displays. The entire wall was almost taken up by now, years upon years of trailblazing emanating from the centre, like the rings of a tree stump. She wouldn’t shy from calling it her own pride as well.
The roll of tape was buried among many of its spent kin, disorganised as usual. She spun it idly around her index while walking back over, taking great enjoyment seeing March glance up at her thrice, attempting to hide her easy smile with the diary.
“How did you decide to organise this little activity, and not organise the supplies. You know I do not come at beck and call? Hm? ♭”
March’s smile grew to a teasing grin, biting at the opening bait presented.
“You do for me, Eve!”
Evernight feigned insult, shifting her stance to rest her weight on one leg and staring the pinker of the two down. It entirely failed to cow March’s glowing enthusiasm.
“Sure I do, perhaps I simply feared what you and scissors would get up to without supervision.”
“Ohhh, because I’m so irresponsible? We both know Stelle would manage to do something crazy, like- chop one of Pom-Pom’s ears off.”
“Mhmm, a good thing she isn’t invited. ♭”
She settled back into March’s side, head on her other’s shoulder blades. Comfortable minutes passed with only the occasional murmur of conversation.
...
“Where was this one?”
“It’s from- I think it’s somewhere in the World’s End?”
“Ominous name for a drunkard party.”
…
“Look at this one, we all look so silly here!”
“You do look silly, Dan Heng does more than you.”
“You’re just defensive because we look alike, and you’re definitely never silly?”
“Never, my 7th. ♭”
...
“Do you read my diary?”
“When you do, and times like now obviously.”
“I meant- like- do you ever read it other than then.”
“Sometimes.”
“And?”
“You write about everyone in a… heart warmingly ‘larger than life’ way. ♭”
“… I suppose so. Everyone’s like that though.”
“… I read the first ones after Amphoreus often.”
“Sap.”
“I am not!”
March grinned, turning again to give Evernight a winner’s smile. Losing to her never felt like giving anything up, she imagined it must be how children felt crowning themselves winner of a made up game.
“You’re salty!
“I am not a ‘sap’. ♭”
“Says the one reading my diary and smiling over the bits where I talk about you.”
Evernight didn’t have to fake the slight embarrassment creeping to her ears. Still, it didn’t twist the usual frayed ends that giving grounds to others did. People often said it was impossible to enjoy arguing with oneself, perhaps they just needed a better partner to argue with.
“You are extrapolating what I meant. I didn’t smile like some highschooler. ♭”
“I never said you smiled like a dork!”
March twitched her shoulder, jostling Evernight’s head. Despite the antagonisation, she huffed a concession and passed another tab of tape to March. Hours more pass in the abstactness that good times brought.
...
Photo after photo, page after page. The diary still barely filled by two thirds, leather bound cover and gold accents hiding what must be hundreds of pages.
The blue of earth like skies, the streaking lights of the Express’s windows mid-jump, smiles or rolled eyes of Stelle and Dan Heng, choppy shores and foggy springs. They were well taken photos, if lacking any of the theory behind ‘professional’ photography.
“You don’t appear often.”
“It’s not exactly a selfie taking camera, Eve~.”
“You have a phone… ♭”
“And this is more authentic!”
A battle lost before it started, truly.
…
“Do you miss the moments?”
“What do you mean?”
March glanced over to Eve, who now rested her head sideways on an arm, drowsily tracing her gaze over March’s fingers as they scribbled quips and notes, attached photos and doodles.
“Do you ever wish you could go back and live it again, not just with a camera.”
Long moments passed, but talking to herself each other made heavy topics lighter and deep questions inconsequential. Like time didn’t matter.
“I suppose it would be nice, like that Lightcone we had our chat in?”
“I suppose.”
March rolled her eyes at her living reflection, exhaling dramatically.
“You suppose?”
“I do. ♭”
More pages of history were covered, increasingly desaturated to the fading Evernight, her own night’s curtains rustling of the day’s final act.
The distant chatter of her March was soothing in the way a babbling stream was, despite knowing it was what others might call distracting. Every word sliding past her as she herself let it fade.
March’s eyes lingered on Eve as her paler face smushed into her arm, asleep- or almost there. One last question for this ever-night.
“Do you want to? The Lightcone, I mean.”
A quiet mumble.
“Anything, dear.”
March smiled fondly, setting the diary beside the still waiting photographs. Slipping her arms under Eve’s and tugging her closer to the centre of the bed, kicking a pillow down to the foot of the covers where they had been wasting away the hours.
Evernight opened an eye and moaned a low complaint as the pillow was shoved under her head.
Her complaints were soon silenced as March settled her own head in front of Eve’s, already closing her eyes and smiling.
The quiet antics of her favourite paranoid parallel had made filling our her diary more than just a mundane activity, fun in a carefree way that came only from the absolute trust in being with herself.
The cheerful foolishness of her beautiful other was always worth the strain of waking up, always brought colours to a vivid sharpness she hadn’t known in her own story. It was always worth it, no matter how much she wished to be redundant.