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Noelle is a smart girl.
Smart enough to know that every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Smart enough to know that magnets only work because opposite poles attract. That electricity flows because positive and negative charges spend their entire existence trying desperately to reach each other. Smart enough to know that the moon pulls on the ocean and the ocean pulls back. That winter only feels so cold because summer exists. That stars only shine because gravity is constantly trying to crush them.
The world, beautiful as it works in harmony, is full of things that shouldn’t fit together. Things that spend their entire lives pulling toward one another anyway.
Maybe that’s why she isn’t surprised that she ended up here. Not really.
A year ago, she would have told herself, her blog, Kris, that she liked Susie because she was brave. A few months ago, she would have said it was because Susie was honest. A few weeks ago, she might have admitted it was because Susie made her feel safe. But those are newer answers, kinder answers.
The truth is uglier.
The truth is that before she knew, really knew Susie, before her dream of sentient computer viruses and pop-up ads, before chalk theft and ferris wheels and awkward hand-holding in the eye bowl and all the other things that came later, Noelle liked Susie because Susie was mean. Not cartoon villain mean, not movie mean, the real kind. The kind that made teachers nervous, made students lower their voices, made people stare at the floor instead of making eye contact, made dents in lockers. The kind that made Noelle’s stomach twist every time she entered a room and saw Susie sitting in the corner.
Everyone else had been afraid of her. Noelle had been fascinated, because there had been something strangely comforting, familiar, about a person who looked exactly as dangerous as they were. No hidden rules, no guessing, no wondering what she really thought of you.
If Susie hated you, she’d probably tell you. And if she grabbed you? Hurt you? Well. At least that would make sense.
Noelle winces at the memory, physically. She knows how awful it sounds. A pristine girl like her, the mayor’s only daughter, involved with the town bully. She knows what it says about her.
There had been nights where she’d imagined Susie grabbing her by the wrist, shoving her into a locker, calling her names, making her cry. Not because she wanted to be hurt, at least, she doesn’t think she did. Just because there was, is, something strangely appealing about the certainty of it, about knowing exactly where she stood. About having someone look at her and decide: good, bad, worth keeping, worth throwing away, anything, just decide.
Instead, Susie had shattered all that. The first crack appeared when she started saying these little things. Giving her stupid advice in her dreams, saving her from imaginary monsters instead of treating her like one, standing slightly in front of her whenever something felt dangerous, grumbling and complaining and then doing the nice thing anyway, looking embarrassed any time anyone thanked her, never laughing when Noelle was scared.
Holding her hand.
God, the way she holds her hand.
It’s entirely unfair to blindsight her like this, and Noelle wants to blame the girl beside her, but she can’t. She knows it was all in her head. Unforgivably, Noelle can’t avoid the parts of her that are imperfect, as much as she thinks that she should.
It’s almost ridiculous, the care with which Susie treats her.
Susie, whose knuckles are permanently scuffed pink against grey-purple scales. Susie, whose heavy boots have left scuff marks on half the lockers in the school, whose frayed leather jacket smells like asphalt, chalk, damp pine needles, and strangely, apples. Right now, sitting on the gritty tar and gravel surface of Susie’s apartment rooftop with her knees pulled up to her chest, those broad, claw-tipped fingers are draped over Noelle’s hand with the hesitant lightness of someone trying not to crush a robin’s egg.
Below them, Hometown is laid out in the quiet, sleepy squares of yellow light. The night air has that crisp, biting autumn chill that makes Noelle’s nose sting and makes her wish she'd brought a scarf. But, luckily for her, Susie has shifted her bulk just enough to block the wind, creating a pocket of heavy, radiating warmth.
A week and a half ago, a small ugly part of her had still been wondering when Susie was finally going to hurt her.
Now Susie was tracing absentminded circles against the back of her hand like she was afraid Noelle might disappear if she let go.
And somehow that was worse.
Because Noelle had spent years preparing herself for violence. She had absolutely no idea what to do with kindness.
“So, like,” Susie says, staring intensely down at the diner across the street with narrowed eyes, like she’s trying to will the wafting aroma from the decades-old building to drag itself up to the pair, “if you eat the crust first, you get the worst part out of the way so you just have the cheesy stuff left, but Kris told me that I was crazy for that. They said the crust is the handle… but who the hell needs a handle for pizza? It’s food, not a damn briefcase! If it were up to me, I’d just fold it up and eat the whole thing taco-style!”
Noelle lets out a small, breathless sound that might be a laugh, reminding herself that there is a conversation at hand that she is very much involved in. Her heart is hammering against her ribs with the erratic panic of a trapped bird.
“I think,” Noelle murmurs, her voice slightly thin in the chill of the open air, “most people just eat pizza front to back, Susie.”
“Yeah, well, most people are cowards,” Susie mutters into her knees, but there’s no bite to it. In fact, her thumb makes a clumsy, tentative circle over the back of Noelle’s knuckles, tracing the delicate ridges of bone under the pale fur.
Susie glances sideways at her, catching Noelle looking, and immediately flushes a dark, dusky magenta across the bridge of her snout. She clears her throat loudly, looks back at the sky, and loosens her grip slightly, as of worried she’s crossed a line.
Noelle’s lip trembles.
What did I ever do to deserve this?
She has long resigned herself to playing the role of sacrifice, condemned to the fate of an observer as life goes on without her. But now she has a chance at something. Something immense and unknown.
Susie’s stare bores through her, and she feels as if she is an open book to her; every expression, every glance, Noelle is molding to her will, and she isn’t even aware.
What did I do to deserve her?
“Uh. Your hands are cold,” Susie mumbles, an excuse so transparent that Noelle feels something in her chest ache. “Figured… you know. Reptile body heat or whatever. Might help…”
Noelle stares down at their joined hands.
Back then, she hadn’t dared to imagine this. Shamefully, she hadn’t wanted to. She had imagined quite the opposite. She had imagined Susie finally snapping, taking out her frustrations on Noelle instead of on Kris. She thought of Susie dragging her behind the bleachers, baring those sharp, terrifying teeth, and fulfilling all of those empty threats that she had made to Kris all those times before. She thought about how easy it would be if Susie just broke her. If Susie made her cry. If Susie knocked the prim, pleated-skirt, straight-A perfection out of her with a closed fist.
It would be a relief; it would be an honest, physical reckoning.
Because Noelle was a fraud--she must be a fraud, to want to be dismantled so badly—and Susie was dangerous. A match made in simple, brutal arithmetic.
Instead, Susie had stood in front of a Queen for her. Susie had been violent for her, had been gentle. Susie had looked at her like she was something miraculous. Susie was sitting on a cold roof on a Tuesday night, worrying that Noelle’s fingers were cold.
It’s so quiet on the roof that Noelle can hear the low, rhythmic hum of the neon sign over QC’s two blocks away.
Susie’s thumb rubs over her knuckles again, back and forth, in slow, careful sweeps. For someone who can put her boot through a wooden desk without breaking a sweat, she holds Noelle like she’s made of sugar. It’s sweet, almost funny, really, when Noelle thinks about how terrifying Susie used to look lurking by the lockers with her bangs hanging down to her snout.
“I guess it’s just weird,” Noelle says aloud, letting the thought wander out into the chilly air. She watches the little white puffs of her own breath dissolve against the dark. “Sitting up here like this. If you had told me two weeks ago that we’d be hanging out, I probably would have thought you were setting up a trap!”
Susie snorts, a rough puff of air through her snout, though her hand doesn’t loosen its grip on hers. “Yeah? Well, I wasn’t exactly handing out friendship bracelets back then.”
“No, definitely not,” Noelle agrees with a tiny, lighthearted laugh. “I kept waiting for you to catch me alone behind the gym. I used to think: well, today’s probably the day she shoves me into the dirt or twists my arm until I give her my lunch money. Or just… you know, punches me in the arm to get me to stop staring like a loser! Honestly, I kind of still wish you would, then at least I could stop having to worry about what you really think of me!”
She says it with the easy, conversational cadence she might use to talk about a pop quiz or the weather forecast. It’s just a funny little memory, an obvious observation about the way things were.
Susie’s thumb stops moving.
The sudden stillness is so absolute that Noelle glances up, blinking.
Susie is staring down at her. Her golden eyes are so wide in the shadow her bangs are creating. Her pupils are dilated, her brow pulled tight in an expression of sharp, disbelieving distress. The heavy slant of her shoulders has locked rigid.
“…What?” Susie asks, her voice barely above a rasp. “Why the hell would you think that? Or want that, even?”
Noelle smiles nervously, her nose twitching. She nudges Susie’s shoulder with her own, trying to coax the tension out of the girl’s posture. “Oh, come on! You know what you were like! You slammed Kris into lockers every other Tuesday! You used to tell people you’d bite their faces off if they looked at you wrong.”
“That was- I was just trying to make people back off!” Susie’s voice cracks slightly, a little rough and jagged around the edges. She doesn’t laugh; if anything, the lines around her mouth tighten further, pulling down into a pained, bewildered grimace. “I was just being an idiot. I wouldn’t- Noelle, did you seriously think I was gonna beat you up?”
“Well… yeah,” Noelle admits, her tone terribly light and conversational, the way someone might describe a reasonable household chore. She lets out another airy, self-deprecating chuckle. “I mean, it would’ve made things so much simpler. Everyone else in town tiptoes around me like I’m made of glass! Oh— don’t talk to the mayor’s daughter or she’ll break! But with you… Honestly, there are so many days that I almost wished you’d just catch me alone in the halls, slam me into the lockers, and just get it over with, you know? At least then the hurt would be over, and I wouldn’t have to spend our time together wondering if I was ever gonna get hurt. It’s normal.”
“Normal?” Susie repeats. The word cracks in her throat, catching like gravel scraping against iron. Her yellow eyes go wide, staring at Noelle not in anger, but with a sudden, frightened shock. A raw, sickened disbelief blooms within her at how casually Noelle’s words had spilled out. “You… you wished I would do that? How the hell is that normal, Noelle? Why would I ever hurt you?”
Noelle blinks, genuinely taken aback by the question.
She looks at the tight, alarmed wrinkles on Susie’s face, then down at their joined hands, feeling a strange, hollow prickle of confusion. Why is Susie looking at her like she just confessed to something horrifying? It’s just how things work. It’s how the world has always operated; Noelle has simply just been keeping track of arithmetic.
When you love people, they hurt you. That’s the rule. It’s the guaranteed transaction.
Dess had loved her more than anyone in the whole world, had swung her around by her hands in the front yard untill they were both dizzy with grass stains on their knees. Then, Dess had vanished into the cold dark without a single goodbye, leaing a jagged, bleeding crater in the middle of their home that Noelle falls into every single morning.
Her dad loved her, told her she was his little angel, let her ramble about video games for hours. Now, he sits in a room that smells like bleach and rubbing alcohol, his skin turning thin and translucent like wet tissue paper, breaking her heart into a thousand tiny pieces simply by running out of breath.
Her mother was supposed to protect her, but her love was a set of iron calipers measuring her posture, her grades, the spotless wool of her sweater, never once wrapping an arm around her without checking the clock first.
Kris looked right past her in the halls, hollow and untouchable when they used to spend every waking hour together.
Berdly, attentive as he is, took her achievements as his own, shoved her in the background so he could stand on her shoulders and pretend he was tall.
The waiting was just the worst part; the quiet, agonizing uncertainty of never knowing when the floor would drop out from under her feet. If Susie had knocked her down, bruised her ribs, made her choke on dirt behind the bleachers, well, at least a bruise was honest. At least physical pain had definite edges you could touch. You could press your thumb hard against purpling skin to prove you were still solid; it had a clear beginning, an exact peak, and a day when it finally faded. It was an injury you could measure and survive, rather than a bottomless dark. If Susie would hurt her, Noelle would finally know where she stood.
“It’s really not a big deal, Susie,” Noelle murmurs, trying to smile, waving her free hand dismissively as if to swat the heavy air away. “Really! I’m not saying you’re mean or anything. I was just being silly… that’s why you’re looking at me funny, right? It’s really fine—“
“It’s not fine,” Susie interrupts. Her voice isn’t loud, but the trembling, fiercely protective panic in it cuts right through Noelle’s excuses.
Susie shifts her whole body around on the gritty tar until she’s facing Noelle directly, their knees knocking together. She looks unsettled, her chest rising and falling heavily, her chest rising and falling heavily, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle she doesn’t have the pieces for.
Slowly, deliberately, Susie takes Noelle’s hand again. She curls her thick, scaled fingers around Noelle’s palm and gives it a firm, steady squeeze; not tight enough to pinch, just solid, grounding.
“When I do this,” Susie says, her voice thick and gravelly, staring right into Noelle’s eyes, “does it feel nice?”
Noelle’s breath hitches in her throat. Her ears flick backward. “...Yes.”
Susie doesn’t let go of her hand. With her other arm, she reaches up, clumsy and hesitant, and brings her wide palm to the side of Noelle’s face. Her scales are rough against Noelle’s soft, fuzzy cheek, but the touch is so careful, so profoundly tender that Noelle’s whole body shivers.
“When I do this,” Susie mumbles, a nervous darting of her eyes traces along Noelle’s expression, “you want me to, right?”
“Susie…” Noelle whispers, her chest tightening until it feels almost difficult to draw air. “You don’t have to-“
“Noelle. Answer me. You want me to, right?”
“Yes.” Noelle breathes, leaning into the warmth of the palm almost without realizing she’s doing it. “I do.”
Susie swallows hard. Her jaw works for a second, teeth catching on her lower lip as she gathers her nerve. Then, leaning forward until her messy dark bangs brush against Noelle’s forehead, Susie presses a quick, clumsy kiss right to Noelle’s left cheek.
It is soft, dry, and entirely earnest.
Noelle’s eyes fly wide. A tiny, surprised sound squeaks out of her throat, and before she can stop it, a high, breathless giggle bubbles up past her lips. “Fahaha…”
Susie blinks, her golden eyes lighting up at the sound. Seeing the pink rush into Noelle’s face, Susie leans in again and plants another kiss, this one right on Noelle’s temple.
Noelle lets out another laugh, ducking her head with a shy, flustered squirm. “Susie! Wait-“
Susie doesn’t wait. Emboldened, she presses a loud, sloppy peck against Noelle’s other cheek, then one right on the tip of her cold, red nose, and then another right below her eye.
“Susie!” Noelle gasps, her hands coming up to bat weakly at Susie’s leather jacket, but she is completely hopeless against the barrage. The absurdity of it, the overwhelming, ridiculous sweetness of this giant, terrifying girl peppering her face with dry, awkward kisses, breaks something wide open inside her.
Noelle starts laughing in earnest. Not the quiet, polite chuckle she gives the teachers, but a real, loud, undignified belly laugh that shakes her whole frame, her shoulders bouncing, tears of pure amusement pricking the corners of her eyes.
Susie finally pulls back, breathing a little fast, her entire face glowing dark magenta in the rooftop shadows. But instead of letting go, she brings both of her hands up to rest firmly, squarely on Noelle’s shoulders.
Her grip is heavy, warm, and utterly unshakeable.
“See?” Susie says, looking at her with an intensity so raw and clumsy it makes Noelle’s breath stall in her lungs. “This is… this is good, right? You like it?”
Noelle nods, still catching her breath, a giddy smile lingering on her lips. “I… yeah. I do.”
“Then that is what you want,” Susie insists, each word coming out stubborn and deliberate, like she’s hammering nails into wood. “You don’t want me to be mean to you. You don’t want anybody to stomp on you. That’s stupid.” She shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting away for half a second before snapping right back to Noelle’s face. “I mean… I don’t know a lot about all this. Romance stuff, or feelings, or whatever. But…”
She squeezes Noelle’s shoulders gently, holding her in place, anchoring her to the present.
This feels right. It feels good.” Susie mutters, her voice softening into something terribly tender. “And that’s what you’re supposed to have. Not the other crap. Just this.”
Noelle stares at her.
The laughter fades from the air, leaving behind a silence that feels vastly different from before. The wind catches Noelle’s black skirt, the cold biting at her knees, but Susie’s hands on her shoulders are like twin furnaces, keeping the chill away from her core.
You’re supposed to have this.
The words echo in the hollow spaces of Noelle’s ribs.
She isn’t cured. She isn’t suddenly free of the sharp, tangled mess of her head. Tomorrow, her mother will still inspect her room with a ruler. Tomorrow, her father will still look pale and fragile in the hospital bed. Tomorrow, the town will still feel too small and too quiet, haunted by the ghost of a sister who left no trace.
None of the bad things will have gone away. Noelle is still a girl who looks at danger and thinks of rest; she is still flawed, still anxious, still so deeply twisted up inside that she had expected a fist instead of a kiss.
And yet, Susie is looking at all of that, looking right through the cracks in Noelle’s porcelain veneer, and telling her that it’s okay. That she doesn’t have to bleed to earn warmth.
And suddenly, a violent tremor ripples through Noelle’s lower lip.
Her breath shudders, turning thin and ragged. The stinging in her eyes isn’t from the wind anymore; hot, heavy tears well up over her lower lashes, spilling over and tracing hot tracks down the exact spots Susie had just kissed.
Susie’s eyes go saucer-wide. The fierce certainty on her face instantly crumbles into absolute, horrified panic.
“Wait—shit!” Susie stammers, her hands instantly jerking away from Noelle’s shoulders as if she just realized she was burning her. “Noelle, what-what did I do? Did I say something? Did I press too hard? Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- should I stop? Do you want me to leave?”
Susie starts to scramble backward across the tar, looking entirely terrified of herself.
Noelle doesn’t let her.
Before Susie can pull away, Noelle lunges forward across the gravel. She throws both arms around Susie’s neck, burying her face straight into the crook of Susie’s throat, right where the cold leather of her collar meets the hot scales of her neck.
She clings to Susie with every ounce of strength in her small hands, her fingers digging into the worn fabric of Susie’s jacket, holding on so tightly her knuckles ache.
God.
Her heart hurts, she realizes, from hopeful insecurities. Is that what happens when something feels too good to be true? But what if this time she gets to choose instead of being fated to a terrible end?
God, she loves this girl.
She loves her so much that it feels like her ribs might crack from the sheer pressure of it. She loves the rough scales, the stupid messy hair, the clumsiness, the way Susie is terrified of hurting the people she loves despite being built like a demolition crew. She loves her with a desperate, terrifying clarity that drowns out the wind, the town, and every cold shadow waiting for her at home.
Susie goes rigid for a half-second, startled by the impact.
Then, slowly, carefully, Susie’s heavy arms come around Noelle’s back. One broad hand settles between Noelle’s shoulder blades, warm and solid, while the other cradles the back of Noelle’s head, tucking her in close against her chest.
“You’re stuck with me,” Susie whispers gruffly, resting her chin awkwardly against the top of Noelle’s head, her claws careful not to snag on Noelle’s antlers. “And I’m not gonna hurt you. Ever. You hear me, Holiday?”
Noelle lets out a small, watery laugh that turns into another hiccuping breath, her tears soaking the white cotton of Susie’s shirt.
Susie undoes the fawn in a thousand different ways while she still struggles to be whole, but she welcomes it all the same. Even if Noelle still holds onto the certain fear, lingering at the back of her mind, a small inkling that these beautiful things are not in the cards for a girl like her, that she’s taking it for granted, that there’s an uncertain end awaiting them, maybe she’ll ignore that for now.
For now, she will be happy to just to be by her side, a moon forever caught in her orbit.