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Chapter Text

January 1^st: Resolution

It is New Year’s Eve and you’re holding another party. Not like the costume party that long, long time ago. No loud music and dancing and alcohol. Just a few friends and quiet chatting on the couch.

It’s still a little awkward in your friend group. You’ve all resolved to just let the events of the last year slip, but really, even on New Year’s Eve, the beginning of a new book, how can you? So much has changed, some for better, some for worse. But there’s still a lot of things that haven’t.

Bea and Ben are arguing in the corner again about something stupid until Bea effectively shuts Ben up with a kiss. Meg is energetic and laughing with Hero about something or another. Claudio is sitting nearby, but he’s not really in a specific group, Hero’s birthday is still a little too fresh in their minds. Ursula is quiet, taking pictures and occasionally adding a word or two in a conversation. Her “year nines” are interrogating- sorry, asking (interrogate is too forceful a word)- John about a missing cat, and he’s trying to convince them that he hasn’t seen Tibbles for weeks. Balthazar is strumming a guitar and gently humming “A Merry Note”. You’re sitting next to him, a small smile playing on your lips as you watch his fingers dance across the strings.

Yes, a lot of things have changed, but you’re glad a lot of them have.

At 11:45, Hero whispers something to Bea, and she immediately stands up and claps her hands. “We’re doing New Year’s resolutions now!” she says.

There is a little half-hearted grumbling at this, but it’s tradition, and everyone is in too much of a good mood to complain too much. You all gather in a circle around Bea.

“Ben first.”

“No fair!”

“Go.”

Ben stands up. “My New Year’s resolution is to get Bea to admit that I am hotter than Benedict Cumberbatch.”

It might be the ridiculous resolution coupled with Ben’s extremely calm voice and the look of triumph on his face, or maybe the look of shock and rage on Bea’s face that does it, but soon everyone’s falling over in fits of laughter, even John.

“I… don’t… think… that’s… a good idea!” you manage to gasp out.

“Or true!” Bea adds with a glare at Ben, but you can tell she’s trying extremely hard not to laugh either.

“Well, you see I have my work cut out for me then,” Ben says with a sad shake of the head towards Bea, who quickly raises her hand up to her face to stifle a giggle.

Hero, who’s still trying to catch her breath, chokes out, “Maybe you should make a backup resolution since your current one seems rather hopeless.”

“Fair enough. My backup New Year’s resolution is to convince Bea that I am not a Muggle, and am in fact a Gryffindor.”

Bea still looks a little disgruntled, but she nods assent defeatedly. Ben sits down with a smug look on his face.

Beatrice points to Meg, who is next to Ben. “What about you?”

Meg says she’s going to rely on herself more for happiness. You think she’s already doing a great job. She looks practically radiant when she sits down, and even more so when Ursula reaches over and pats her hand before standing up.

“I’d like to look after all my friends more.”

Bea smiles. “You already do a great job.”

A few people, including you, express agreement, and Ursula sits down.

Next are Ursula’s year nines. Dogberry and Verges, in jumbled language, both promise to fight crime and find Tibbles. It is very difficult for no one to laugh, but you manage it.

Hero is next. “I’m going to try to stand up more for myself. That, and learn how to cook.”

This earns her a lot of hugs, including an extremely awkward one from Claudio, who sits down looking a little flustered. It’s a good thing he didn’t notice Bea glaring daggers into the back of his head the entire time, or he might have fallen down. Though really, there wasn’t really any point, as he’s next up.

“I’m going to learn to think before I act and try to communicate with people more,” he blurts out when Bea points to him. Bea gives him a cold nod, and he sits down. Her gaze softens for a second when it turns to Hero, who is looking at the ground.

“John’s turn.”

John stands up a little awkwardly, all long limbs and messy hair. His voice is hesitant as he speaks. “I’m going to be a better brother and talk to people more.”

“Okay, Balthazar now!”

You give your boyfriend an encouraging smile as he stands up.

“I want to become a better performer and try to be less shy. Oh, and learn a new instrument.”

You give him another smile before you stand up. You clear your throat. “I- I’m going to try to be less of a dick” -laughs from the group- “And be a better friend.” A second of silence before you sit down. It’s Balthazar’s turn to smile at you.

Bea’s the only one who hasn’t spoken yet.

“Oh- oh yeah. I’m going to try to see more of the world.” Hero raises an eyebrow at her. “And… and try to be less judgmental of people.” These words are spoken like they physically pain her. Some things never do change.

“Okay, that’s everyone!” she cries hurriedly, then sits down. The group slowly breaks up again.

Balthazar takes your hand and leads you outside. “It’s a bit stuffy inside, don’t you think?” You nod and follow him. The night air surrounds the two of you like a cocoon.

“A lot has happened this year, hasn’t it?” he asks.

“Yes,” you murmur, wrapping an arm around his waist and drawing him closer.

“You didn’t have to apologize again, you know.”

“It’s my last apology. Promise.”

“Okay.”

He turns and gives you one of those smiles of his that tells you that everything is going to be all right, that smile that made you fall for him first. You smile back. "Happy New Year," you whisper.

And then you lean forward and kiss him, because it’s midnight on New Year’s Eve, the precipice of a whole new year, and it may not be perfect, but it works for you right now, and who knows, anything could happen, right?

Chapter Text

January 2nd: Birds

The first time Floyd feels left behind is when his human is writing that song and then she comes over. Floyd prides himself on being a rather tolerant flamingo.

But this? Being tossed on the ground like a piece of garbage from that insolent girl that his human seems to be head-over-heels with? This girl who prefers giraffes, giraffes for god’s sakes, over flamingos, and even refuses to acknowledge the majesty of them? This is an outrage!

Floyd knows all of this from his human (Ben, he’s called), before he went all lovey-dovey on her. When he was still his friend, and brought him everywhere, and would complain about all his problems to him.

That ended the day after he told Floyd about overhearing some of his friends saying that Bea liked him.

Stupid Bea. Interfering with him and Ben.

Floyd lies in the undergrowth and listens to them talking. Ben sounds nervous, Bea looks amused. They talk for a while, and then she leans in and ugh what is that they’re doing with their faces? Is it perhaps some method of transferring food?

The whole mouth-mushing thing ends much too late for his preference, and the two humans look up in surprise at the camera before bursting into laughter. Very annoying. What is so funny, when he is in this uncomfortable position on the ground?

They switch the camera off, take it, and leave.

Ben doesn’t remember to come back for Floyd until night, and he doesn’t even talk to him on the way home.

At least he doesn’t run over any more birds.

-

The next time, the human with the special voice (Stanley? was it? or perhaps Balthazar? Floyd can’t really be bothered to remember these things) is there as well. They spend a lot of time inside, the Stanley human and Floyd’s human humming and writing things down, occasionally laughing. Floyd is on the side, forgotten.

Then Ben picks him up and takes him outside. They set up the camera (why always that blasted thing?), sit down and begin making sounds which Floyd can only guess is supposed to be music. His human has a rather bad singing voice. Then he’s being picked up and violently shaken up and down and everything is blurry and god his head hurts and then it just keeps happening again and again until finally the camera is off and they leave.

Ben doesn’t remember to come back until a few minutes later.

At least it’s faster than last time.

-

Floyd forgives Ben a few days before Christmas.

He’s wearing a red hat with white fur trimmings and on the couch. The Stanley human and the one with the hair (Peter? Peedro? Pedro?) come over and talk to Floyd’s human. They seem to be asking him something, gesturing towards Floyd. Ben is shaking his head. No. They try again, looking a little angry… no, not angry, it’s a joking kind of angry, the one that means they aren’t really mad and are trying hard not to laugh. Ben shakes his head one final time, and they leave.

Floyd hopes they don’t run over any birds on the way back.

Ben picks him up. “Hey Floyd,” he whispers, “I’ve kind of been neglecting you for the past few days, haven’t I?”

Yes, you think indignantly, but you can’t talk.

“Sorry, there’s just been a lot going on. Want me to tell you a story?”

You nod vigorously in your head, but of course your head doesn’t move. Ben seems to understand anyway.

“Once, there was a boy named Ben, who was very afraid of being hurt. Because he was so afraid, he would never let anyone close to him, except his flamingo. One day, he met a girl named Beatrice who was brilliant and gorgeous, but because he was so afraid of losing her, he pushed her away like everyone else. But a few years later...”

It’s a wonderful story, and you like it very much, even if the flamingo has little part in it.

Ben talks to you long into the night, and you’re tired when he finally leaves. At least you don’t feel like you’re being left behind this time.

Chapter Text

Jan. 3rd: Breakfast

Ben checks to make sure Bea is still fast asleep before opening the door and stepping outside. He checks his watch. 3 a.m. God, no one should be up at this hour, much less Benedick Hobbes. “This is for Bea,” he whispers under his breath as he tiptoes down the stairs. Of course, it does nothing to boost his morale.
Hero meets him in the kitchen. “Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?” she whispers.
“Yes! Of course!”
“Alright, just checking.” She smiles at him reassuringly and points to a bag leaning against the wall. “All the stuff you said you needed is in here. The giraffe and flamingo were a little hard to get, but they were in the kid’s toy section. Do you have the recipe?”
“Yeah, thanks. Are you sure she isn’t going to wake up?”
“Bea will sleep through anything, I promise you.”
Hero stifles a quick yawn. “God, I’m tired! I’ll be in the living room if you need me for anything.”
Ben nods and pulls up the Dalek cake recipe he looked up yesterday. It was his first time baking, but come on, how hard could it be?
Though really, he should start with the eggs (Benedick, ha ha).
He plugs the toaster in and places an English muffin in, then fires up the stove and starts frying the bacon. The smell fills the kitchen. Ben hopes Bea doesn't wake up.
After that is poaching the eggs ad hollandaise sauce. But a new smell is filling the kitchen, driving the bacon scent out...
Oh great. The toaster.
Ben swears, throws the charred English muffin away, and pops a new one in. This time, he sets the time right.
Okay. Great. Now the cake. Ben looks at the recipe and frowns.
The cake was going all right, really, it was, until the stupid electric mixer thingy wouldn't turn on. After frantically flipping the switch on and off again, Ben left it in the bowl of mix and went off to find a pair of chopsticks, which was sadly the time the stupid electric mixer thingy decided to finally fire up and send the entire contents of the bowl flying across the kitchen.
"FUCKFUCKSHIT!"
Hero, who apparently wasn’t as heavy a sleeper as Bea, jolted up at the sound and ran into the kitchen. But even she was unable to save the cake, and they were out of supplies and time to try again. At least Bea stayed asleep the entire time.
Bea woke up to a weakly-smiling Ben, a kitchen that needed serious cleaning, Eggs Benedict, and a chocolate muffin with a candle stuck through it.
"Happy birthday?"

Chapter Text

Jan. 4th: Introduction

There were five important men in her life.
-
The first one she met when she was very young. He smelled of the grass he loved to play in and a different smell, a little ashy and gray. The green of the grass blocked most of it out though. She liked it for the first sixteen years of her life; the scent was comforting, and wrapped around her like an old blanket whenever she needed it. Then one day, the green left forever, and it was just the gray, clouding her vision and clogging her pores. She hated it, but the scent wouldn’t leave and he wouldn’t listen. He apologized afterwards, but the gray still hung in the air. 
Eventually, she learned to forget his smell.
-
The second was a few years later. He smelled of the tangy sea breeze and sand under your feet. There was some green grass too, but not as strong as the first man. His scent was always strongest around her cousin, but she still liked it. Then one day, the breeze turned stale, the sand cold and slimy; the grass yellow and dead. The smell returned to the original eventually though, and was strongest around the boy with the soft voice and the music like magic. He was still a little tentative around her. 
Eventually, she learned to forget his smell.
-
The third man, she liked his scent best of all, at least at the beginning. He smelled of freshly-laundered shirts and shade on a summer day and something acidic lurking in the corner that she never quite caught. Lemons, perhaps? It was always soft and gentle around her, and she felt right whenever it was in the air. But sometimes, it threatened to overpower her. One day, it disappeared completely. There was nothing in the air but fire, and nothing she did or said could put it out. She cried and cried for the loss of him. The smell came back, but for some reason, she didn’t like it so much anymore. 
Eventually, she learned to forget his smell.
-
The fourth man came with the second, but she didn’t meet him until much later. He smelled of oncoming rain. Lightning. All gray and foggy and obscured. His smell was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time, but it was almost never present. One day, it disappeared, and was replaced with something new, a scent that was more blurred at the edges. More light and less rain, until all the rain left. It came out sometimes, but very rarely.
Eventually, she learned to forget his smell.
-
After the four men were different people and different scents, but these were the four that she remembered most clearly. Stars against a velvety night sky, forming a constellation, though she never really knew what picture they were forming. The other stars were dim and out of focus. Until one day in college, when she stepped into a small coffee shop. 

The fifth man, the last man was in line behind her, and his smell was the first thing she noticed. Dark and rich like chocolate. Touches of lavender and vanilla. A hint of cinnamon. And light, so much light…

They introduced themselves, exchanged numbers. Two nights later, their hands touched, and it felt right.

She knew his smell would never change, not like the first four men.

She never forgot his smell.

Chapter Text

Jan. 5th: Watching

“Shut up!” Pedro whispered to Meg, who was giggling annoyingly behind them. “They’ll hear us!”
“Sorry,” she whispered back, “It’s just- I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”
“Of course we’re actually doing this; we’re Team Love Gods!”
“Are you sure that we aren’t intruding on their privacy or anything?” Hero asked worriedly.
“Their entire relationship is on YouTube already, what does it matter if we’re spying on their first date? Now shush, I’m trying to hear. You all seem to forget that I paid for the tickets.”
A few minutes later, Pedro had to admit that maybe his genius plan wasn’t so genius after all. The movie was boring and he had no idea why Ben and Bea wanted to watch it so badly. Ben and Bea were being boring too, just holding hands (he’d already got a picture of that) and occasionally throwing popcorn at each other. No sappy declarations of love or anything he could use to tease them with later. Ugh. It was going to be a long night.
Pedro looked down at his phone and texted Balthazar, who was sitting somewhere to the left of Team B (Ursula was on the right, Claudio was in the front, and they were in the back. They had Ben and Bea surrounded.), but he hadn’t seen anything. Neither had Ursula and Claudio.
Someone behind him jabbed him in the back. “No texting while the movie’s playing!” a voice hissed.
With a sigh, Pedro got up and whispered to Meg and Hero, “I’m going to the bathroom. Text me photos or a recording if they do something.” They nodded, and he left.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Pedro’s phone vibrated. Something at last? He looked down at the screen and immediately froze.
New message from Beatrice Duke: Enjoying the movie?
Back in the theater, Team B high-fived.

Chapter Text

Jan. 6th: Makeup

"I am not doing this," Ben said firmly.

"Yes, you are! Don't you want to look as much like Ten as possible?" Hero asked, poised in front of him with her makeup kit and a bottle of hair dye.

"Besides, it's funny," Bea added.

Hero sent her a quick glare and turned back to Ben. "C'mon, I'll make it quick. Besides, you think covering yourself in gray is any fun?"

"But you had to do the gray to be a Weeping Angel, I don’t need the makeup to be Ten!"

“Please?” Hero begged.

Ben let out a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

Hero grinned. Bea stifled a laugh beneath her pink jacket sleeve (she'd complained about the color, but she couldn’t really be Rose without the jacket, could she?).

"Don't think I'm not going to do you later as well!" Hero cried. Bea groaned in response.

"Anyway, I think we should start with the foundation..."

"Foundation?!" Ben spluttered.

"Oh my god, when will you learn that makeup is gender neutral? Just because your massive masculinity says otherwise doesn't mean-"

Hero stopped Bea's sentence with a quick hand. "Shush."

Bea swatted the hand away but didn't say anything more. Hero turned back to Ben with a triumphant look on her face.

"Now, stay still! Unless you want to be late. The hair dye is going to take take a while."

"Or we could've just bought a wig!"

"I already told you they were out!" shouted Bea.

After Hero shushed the pair once again, they stayed relatively quiet the rest of the makeover, which was a welcome relief for all parties. Bea protested a little less than Ben, but much louder. Eventually though, everyone was in their costumes and looking rather well, if Hero could say so herself.

Late that night, Hero posted a picture of the three of them and their stash of free candy on her Instagram.

Chapter Text

Ursula hears the footsteps first.

Meg's feet makes a specific sound when she walks, a waltz of one-two-three one-two-three that is all her own. Ursula knows it will be a few seconds before she is assaulted by white teeth and dark hair and bright green eyes.

Ursula takes a deep breath and waits.

But apparently, her calculations were wrong, because a few seconds later, there is still no white teeth and dark hair and bright green eyes in front of her. The footsteps are slowing too, no longer the confident waltz but a tentative whisper that quickly halts right in front of Ursula. Ursula looks up into Meg’s face and tries for a casual smile, but is stopped by the expression on Meg’s features.

Meg looks uncomfortable, not angry like at Pedro’s party (Ursula's fists still bunch up when she thinks about Robbie), or sad and betrayed like the days after Hero’s birthday. Just uncomfortable, like she's in the wrong place and doesn't know what to do. Ursula feels a sudden urge to wrap her arms around her and comfort her.

Meg takes a breath. “I… have a hypothetical question for you.”

A hypothetical question? “What do you want to know?” Ursula asks as calmly as she can. Her heart is beating a tattoo against her chest.

Another breath. “I know you’re ace, but- say… say that I was… hypothetically heterosexual… but panromantic.”

Ursula’s heart stutters to a halt, but she forces a nod out anyway.

Meg’s next words come out in one incoherent mess. “Would-you-maybe-hypothetically-be-interested-in-girls-too-like-one-girl-specifically?”

The words are out. They are greeted by complete silence. Something in the air feels different now, but for some reason, the sentence doesn’t completely destroy Ursula’s already malfunctioning circulatory system. Instead, she feels a kind of calm sweep over her and still the blood frantically coursing through her veins. Though she’s still not one hundred percent sure if her suspicions are accurate, she has a feeling they are.

So she grins at the pale-faced and wide-eyed Meg standing in front of her. “Yeah. I think I might be.”

Meg’s relieved smile back is enough to reassure her, as are the arms quickly thrown around her waist and the feeling of Meg’s hair against Ursula’s cheek.

They leave the school hand-in-hand, their feet making a waltz of one-two-three one-two-three that is all their own.

Chapter Text

Jan. 8th: Crime

"I'm telling you, I don't have the cat!"

"We have been reliably deformed that you have Tibbles in your progression," Dogberry asserted, waving a wooden chopstick threateningly in front of him.

"Has anyone told Ursula that her year nines are kidnapping peop- ow!" John winced, and Verges poked his arm with a chopstick again just for good measure.

"We have told your parents that you are spending a fraction of your day with us, so you have plenty of time to egress and divulge all the information you know," Verges said.

Dogberry added from behind, "And we'll give you a cornflake for every word."

John groaned and wished fervently for his phone, but apparently Vergeberry had learned a few things from their last kidnapping attempt. "Fine, fine!"

Dogberry and Verges smiled triumphantly at each other. "I saw Tibbles crossing the road in front of my house to get to the other side. Then a blue box appeared out of nowhere. A purple man who looked like Benedict Cumberbatch stepped out and threw glitter over the cat. It transformed into Floyd the flamingo, flew off in the direction of Ben's house, and got shot down by a water gun. Then it landed in Ben's backyard, performed the chicken dance to the tune of “Mary Had A Little Lamb”, and fell down on the ground, lifeless. Soon, the ground rose up and swallowed Tibbles in its depths. A cherry tree popped up where he was but then a guy in a wig chopped it down and ran off screaming about honesty. A group of people descended from a cloud and set the tree on fire and the wind carried away the ashes. The ashes then clumped into a giant statue of Tibbles before it disappeared. I ran back to my house and the purple Benedict Cumberbatch guy told me that the only way to get the cat back would be for the cat owners to show mercy to someone they were accusing of a crime, and let them go! Then the blue box melted in thin air."

The triumphant smiles faltered.

"Don't you owe me like a hundred cornflakes now?"

Another sharp poke in the ribs by the chopstick before the two retreated into a corner to discuss what they had heard.

"I don't believe him," Verges whispered. "

Neither do I," Dogberry replied.

"Good cop bad cop?"

"Good cop bad cop. You try being bad cop this time."

-

John returned home in time for dinner, wondering when the year nines would find out that there was, in fact, no wooden shack in a hollow below the hill, nor was there any cat there.

Chapter Text

Balthazar stepped quietly into the Room of Requirement. Though it was still a little charred from the Battle of Hogwarts, the room still felt comfortable and right, like a first violin or a song from your childhood.

Balthazar had been a favorite of Professor Longbottom, who seemed absolutely overjoyed to help when Balthazar mentioned that there wasn't many places to play music in Hogwarts. So on weekends or when he was having a bad day, he would retreat to the room and work on a new song, or perhaps listen a little to the Muggle band he adored, "Mumford and Sons". The room always seemed to know exactly when he was coming and what exactly he needed.

Today, a keyboard was set up, along with some sheet music he had written the last time he was here. A Muggle film camera was there too. Balthazar took a deep breath and checked the time. Exactly 7 p.m. As soon as he looked up, Ursula and Pedro, Pedro Donaldson were coming in. Balthazar tried desperately not to look at Pedro, but failed, as always. Stupid perfect hair...

"Hey."

"Hey to you too," Pedro replied casually, "You have a new song that needs recording?"

Balthazar nodded. Ursula was already by the camera, adjusting the angle for optimal lighting.

"Balthazar, come sit over here, will you? I have to see how it's gonna look."

Mildly relieved that he didn't have to talk to Pedro any longer, Balthazar scuttled to the keyboard and sat down.

"Move to the left a little bit... a little more... Yes! That's it!"

Balthazar smiled a little at Ursula's excitement. "When do I start?"

"On three, one... two... three!"

Balthazar took another deep breath and let his fingers dance over the keys. "Seems it's about time that these words were spoken …”

-

The song was over, and Balthazar finally mustered up the courage to turn his gaze to Pedro. His breath stopped. Pedro was looking at him with such a mixture of raw confusion and realization and tenderness in his eyes that Balthazar stopped short. Could it...? Hope began to take over, because Pedro was looking at Balthazar like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at and...

And the shield came up. The emotion that had just been etched into Pedro’s face was completely gone, replaced by a blank stare. The hope that had been threatening to flood Balthazar’s veins vanished.

"The song's hilarious, Balthy!" Pedro cried with far too much enthusiasm and a smile that was much too wide.

"Thanks," Balthazar whispered to the bottom of his robe.

The next time he visited the Room of Requirement was after Hero’s birthday, and he didn't get anything done, just sat and looked at the floor. That time, he went alone and left alone. He felt much too empty to write anything, and especially anything for the boy he thought he knew but really didn't.

Chapter Text

Jan. 10th: Party

“Hey Bea!” that guy who Ben had been glaring at for the last hour or so (the one over there with the bad case of acne and simpering smile? See him?) leered, and Ben shot him another glare. What right did he have to call her “Bea”? He didn’t even know her! They didn’t even go to the same middle school!

“Um. Hi,” Beatrice replied and looked down at her feet. “Nice to see you. Oh wait, so sorry, I think my boyfriend needs to talk to me about something, wait...”

If Ben had already been in a foul mood before, that was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now. Boyfriend? Bea had a boyfriend? Why didn’t she tell him? Where the heck was he? Ben knew most of the people here and he was pretty sure Bea wasn’t dating any of them. She seemed to be walking somewhere towards his direction, but it definitely wasn’t Balthazar or Ursula and there was no one else near she could mean… But what if it was Balthazar? Or maybe there was a guy hiding behind that giant clump of party balloons? Ben began consudering walking towards the balloons to see if maybe he was right, but he was snatched out of his reverie by a far-too-cheery, “Hey, Ben! What were you saying earlier about the Eleventh Doctor?”

Him? Ben was Bea’s so-called boyfriend? This was good, he supposed, because it meant that Bea wasn’t dating Balthazar or invisible balloon guy, but what was it supposed to mean?

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

Bea groaned. “That guy,” Bea gestured towards Mr. Pimple-face, “has been trying to pick me up since forever and he won’t take a hint. Therefore, you are now my temporary boyfriend for the duration of this party. Now talk about Ten and take my stupid hand!”

It was actually Eleven that he had been talking about, but Ben obeyed anyway and tried to ignore how very nice the feeling of Bea’s hand in his was. “So you know how Tentoo got left in the parallel universe with Rose? Moffat later said that-”

His sentence was quickly interrupted by none other than Pedro Donaldson: football player extraordinaire, all-around great guy, and sixth-grade crush. “Are you guys holding hands? Balthy, you’ve got to see this! Someone get a camera!”

Ben gritted his teeth. “Remind me why I agreed to this again?”

Bea smiled sweetly at him and Ben felt his heart skip a beat. “No idea.”

I really like Bea, he realized.

God, he was so screwed.

Chapter Text

Jan. 11th: Sleepover

Bea looks down at the heartbroken Hero in her arms and tries desperately to think of some ways to cheer her up (not as fun as ways to viciously murder Claudio, but more important right now). Ben left a while ago after making them all cups of tea and giving Bea a quick hug that still makes her stomach go funny when she thinks about it. Ursula and Balthazar stayed a bit longer; Balthazar had played Hero a quick little song he'd written for her birthday and got a quick smile in return and Ursula had been a great shoulder to cry on before she left to check on Meg. So now it's just Bea and Hero, because Leo is doing god knows what locked up in his room, when he really should be out here because his fucking sister has just been slut-shamed in front of everyone for something she didn't do on her sixteenth birthday and he's supposed to be taking care of her but instead...

Bea tightens her hold on Hero, whose tears are just beginning to subside.

"But why would Claudio say something like that? If he thought something was happening between me and Robbie, he could have just asked!" Hero whispers.

Because he's a dick, Bea thinks.

"I don't know, sweetie, I don't know."

Hero nestles further into Bea's shoulder. Bea knows without looking that she's going to have mascara stains on her dress, but right now, that's not exactly her first priority.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Hero quiets a little and loosens her grip.

"Better now?"

Hero nods.

"Let's get you cleaned up now, okay?"

Another nod, and Bea leads Hero into the bathroom. Using a towel, she carefully wipes the makeup from Hero's face and undoes her braid, making sure she doesn't pull any hairs in the process. Hero allows Bea to help her out of her dress and into her pajamas, a fuzzy onesie covered in bright tulips that Bea hopes will cheer her up a bit.

"Thanks," Hero says with a small sniff at the end.

Bea gives her a small, awkward smile. She can't bear to see her beautiful, strong cousin reduced to this fragile state. She thinks about Pedro and Claudio in their homes tonight, sleeping peacefully, as if they hadn't just brought two people's worlds crashing down, and feels a surge of hatred. How can they be perfectly untainted, while Hero’s still suffering the consequences of their actions? Fuck stupid Pedro and stupid Claudio. The only time she ever wants to see them again is at their fucking funerals.

But back to Hero, who is still looking broken and powerless, curled up in the corner of the bed with the blanket tucked securely around her as if to keep her from falling apart.

“Do you want to go to sleep?”

Hero turns and shakes her head sadly. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

The words send a sharp pang into Bea’s heart. “Do you want me to leave?” she asks, hoping for a no. Her wish is granted.

“Not really. Stay?”

“Of course,” Bea says gently, then adds. “How about we have a sleepover?”

Hero seems to perk up a little at the words. “A sleepover?”

“Like when we were little, do you remember? We can gorge ourselves on ice cream and watch cheesy movies all night!” Bea smiles encouragingly. If Hero’s still got enough energy to be excited about a sleepover, maybe she’ll recover sooner than Bea thought she would.

“Leo might not-”

“Screw what Leo thinks. Yay or nay?”

Hero seems to consider. “Can we make popcorn? With cheese and extra butter?”

“Yes, we most definitely can.”

“Yay, then.”

Bea rushes to the kitchen in a much better mood than she had left it.

Several hours later, Bea watches Hero’s chest rise and fall slowly as she slumbers softly on her shoulder, a bit of cheese still smeared on the corner of her mouth, and wonders if maybe the world hasn’t come to an end after all.

Chapter Text

Jan. 12th: Olives

Bea hasn’t been dreaming very much lately, so tonight’s a bit of surprise.

She knows it’s a dream because there’s no way that Ben could be in her house at this hour in real life, that Ben could be anywhere near where she was right now, in fact, and definitely no way that Ben is lounging on her sofa and casually popping olives into his mouth because it’s Ben and there aren’t any olives in their house.

Strangely enough, Bea’s first words are not, “What the hell are you doing here?”. Probably because this is a dream and she’s really not that surprised. So, instead, she goes with, “You’ve left the refrigerator open.”

Ben nods, one fluid motion of the head. “Yes. I have.”

“This is a dream, right?”

Another nod.

“So why are you here? I mean, probably weird brain stuff because I’m always thinking about you, but specifically, why?”

Ben pops another olive into his mouth and chews on it slowly before swallowing. “I saw the video where you declared your love for me, and then I watched all of the other ones. I figured I owed you a visit, since I feel the same way.”

“Y-you… you what?”

“I feel the same way. Obviously. You’re amazing.”

Bea knows this is a dream and her brain is just messing with her, but she can’t but help but feel shocked and overjoyed at the same time. “But you hardly know me!”

Ben shrugs. “So?”

“So what am I supposed to say to that?”

“Don’t say anything. Have an olive.”

Bea doesn’t know what to say except to accept the olive. “I don’t really like olives.”

Another shrug. “Just eat it.”

Bea puts it in her mouth. It tastes strange and she scrunches up her face. Her eyes open to darkness.

Bea fumbles for the light switch and quickly turns it on. Bed- sheets- light- poster of Ben. She’s back in her own room. Of course.

Bea lets out a laugh. To think that she’d dream about Benedict Cumberbatch and olives of all things! She should probably stop eating so much chocolate salad before sleeping.

Chapter Text

Jan. 13th: Family

Pedro buries his face in his hands and groans. "Why is this so hard? How Ursula does it, I have no idea."

John settles next to him, elbows on desk, and wonders what could possibly merit such exasperation when the footage needs pretty much no work.  "What do you still need to do?"

"Whatever you call the thingy at the beginning with all the title stuff and stuff!"

“Well,” John says, creasing his brow in thought mockingly, “from your eloquent speech, I’m guessing you need to write the title on something and stick it at the beginning. Helpful?” He sends Pedro a wide smile and Pedro rewards him with a grimace.

“No, not at all, thanks.”

“You are not welcome,” John replies with as much indignance as he can, though the laugh that’s currently bubbling up in his chest makes that a little difficult, and because he finds that laughing feels much better now when he actually has something to be happy about, he lets the laugh pass through his lips. Pedro glares at him.

“Sorry,” John leans forward again, face all seriousness, “what have you got so far?”

“I want the text to be white? And big?”

“Well, that’s specific. Do you want it to appear while the video’s playing or on a separate slide-thingy?”

“Slide-thingy. Who’s the eloquent one now?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

“While the video’s playing, I guess. I don’t want my channel to look like a remake of Ursula’s or something.”

“Well then, any ideas on fonts?”

“Something… fun?” Pedro waves his arms vaguely, though John isn’t entirely sure what he’s trying to express.

“Well then, I’ll be on it.” John whirls out of the room dramatically (oh god, he loves doing that) and pulls his phone out of his pocket. White, big, fun font. Should be easy.

Pedro wakes Christmas Eve morning with a newly-edited video and a note reading: Did the "thingy at the beginning with all the title stuff and stuff". In return, you are eating all of the fruitcake we should be getting from Aunt Miranda in the mail sometime soon. -John :)

Pedro shudders a little. If John's started helping him on things and ending his notes with smiley faces now, there is something very wrong with his brother. But it's something wrong Pedro thinks is perfectly okay. Better than okay, actually.

Chapter Text

Jan. 14th: Disgusted

Pedro knew that public high schools weren’t the safest place for same-sex relationships, so Monday shouldn’t have been surprising.

Pretty much everyone in the school knew about him and Balthazar, he was sure. “SONG” and “Way to Tell You” went pretty much viral at Messina High, and he was sure a whole string of new subscribers at his school had watched “one foot in sea one on shore on in the boiling hot lava” over the weekend. Which was completely fine, by the way. Pedro had agreed to putting the video up. He was getting tired of hiding, and even though a bit of honesty couldn’t completely clean his tarnished reputation, it’d at least help. He was working on improving, and communication, and all that, because he really didn’t need anyone else getting hurt for stupid reasons and for it to be his fault. Really, he was.

Of course, nobody tried anything drastic. No throwing things or loud name-calling; they’d learned enough from Bea’s response when someone had yelled something indescribably rude at Balthazar a week or so after his first boyfriend. Let’s just say that Bea was a very good slapper, especially when angry.

But Pedro could still hear the whispers as he walked through the halls. He saw the shocked, disgusted, and incredulous faces of people who’d just heard and how conversations immediately stopped whenever he was walking in their direction. Gossip flowed easily through the crowds of students, with “Pedro’s gay” as the top story (and he was not gay, for god’s sakes, he was bi and people needed to stop giving him labels that weren’t even accurate!).

Pedro sighed and wondered exactly how much Balthazar had had to put up with in Year 7, and if maybe he could get a list of names and addresses to take his anger out on. Nobody bothered Balthazar now, at least at school. It seemed like people had just grown used to the boy in the shadows with the soft voice and the pockets stuffed with sheet music. But student president Pedro Donaldson, school celebrity and all-around great guy, was different. Besides, Balthazar was old news, and Pedro supposed having a new victim was a lot more interesting.

Lunch included a few people “accidentally” stepping on his feet as he made his way to the table near the corner where he usually sat, but that was it. Again, nothing drastic, but it still got on his nerves.

Pedro sat down next to Balthazar and unwrapped his sandwich, frustratedly running his hands through his hair as he did.

"Tough time today?" Balthazar asked.

"Yeah. Well, it's nowhere near what you used to get, but still."

Balthazar took his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. "You'll get used to it eventually... besides, they aren't gonna bother you forever."

The soothing words only fueled Pedro's anger. "Yeah, but what if I don't want to get used to it? What if I want this to be something that never happens to anyone again? Why should anyone care if a guy likes another guy? Fucking disgusting idiots, all of them." Pedro punctuated his sentence by angrily tearing off the plastic wrap over his sandwich and accidentally ripping his sandwich in half. Lettuce and ham spilled on the grass. Pedro swore loudly.

Balthazar leaned over to help Pedro pick the remains of his lunch up, and giving Pedro a peck on the cheek as he did so. "I know, I know, but sitting around complaining about it isn't going to solve anything. It's something that's going to happen gradually."

Pedro sighed. Arguing with Balthazar was something Pedro didn't really like doing, and besides, he had a point. Plus, he was giving him that look again, the one that really wasn’t fair, because how could Pedro not agree with Balthazar when his expression was so adoring and amused at the same time?

"Fine. You win. I won’t get angry anymore; I’ll just ignore it. Now let’s hurry up and find somewhere to make out before class starts, shall we?"

Chapter Text

Jan. 15th: Clothes

It’s freezing outside, and you aren’t wearing a jacket because someone (cough cough, Pedro, cough cough) told you the weather was going to be just fine today, but that specific someone (cough cough, Pedro, cough cough) brought his own jacket anyway despite what he told you, and now he’s sitting on the grass, wrapped up nice and cozy and looking impossibly attractive with the wind blowing his hair back like he's in a fucking movie or something while you’re hopping around with your hair looking like some kind of bird’s nest, shivering and making an utter fool of yourself in front of the last person in the world you want to look like a fool in front of.

“It’s fucking cold,” you manage to say through your chattering teeth.

“C’mon Balthy, it’s not that bad!” Pedro replies.

“Easy for you to say! You’ve got a big comfy sweater, and a coat on!”

Pedro shakes his head and grins at you before turning to Ben and starting up a conversation about god knows what. You’d push the matter further, but you’re starving and the cupcakes on that tablecloth look very appetizing.

“I’d give you my jacket,” Hero says apologetically, “But I don’t really think it’ll fit.”

“It’s okay, thanks.”

But it is definitely not okay that Pedro Donaldson can sit there looking so impossibly attractive and chatting to Ben without a care in the world. And it is definitely, definitely not okay when Pedro Donaldson gets tired of talking to Ben and turns all his charm and wit on Bea, who seems completely oblivious to the fact that Pedro is desperately trying to flirt with her. Not even the cupcakes help.

Oh, to hell with this, you think. You’re not planning to do absolutely nothing at this picnic (you forgot to bring any instruments and everyone’s doing something with someone else) and you’re not going to let Pedro fucking Donaldson get away with misinforming you about the weather and then talking to everyone in the world except you because even if he doesn’t feel the same way about you as you do about him you’re supposed to be friends and... how is his hair doing that thing?

So you take a deep breath, walk boldly up to Pedro, snatch one of the flaps of his jacket, and wrap it snugly around yourself, leaning into him for some added warmth. Pedro stops talking mid-sentence, and you feel a brief surge of triumph.

“Um… hey, Balthy, what are you doing?”

“Trying not to catch frostbite,” you reply with as much dignity as you can, voice muffled against Pedro’s shoulder. Though really, it should be a wonder your vocal chords are still intact. Well, I guess I can check “cuddling with Pedro” off the bucket list, you think.

“Um. Okay then.” Pedro’s voice is a little awkward, and you’re pretty sure Bea has her phone out and is taking photographs of the two of you, but whatever. You bury your face further into into his sweater, close your eyes, and inhale deeply. The scent of vanilla and freshly-mown grass tickles your nose. You hope that your face is hidden enough to keep your growing blush from view.

Pedro continues talking to Claudio about a movie or something, and you continue standing there with his jacket wrapped around you, breathing in the smell of him and wondering what in the world you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s almost as if Pedro has just forgotten you’re there. Or at least, you would have thought that if, a few minutes into the conversation, Pedro hadn’t cautiously taken an arm and securely wrapped it around the small of your back, pulling you closer as if to keep you warmer. You wonder if he can feel the frantic thudding of your heart against his ribs.

At least you aren't cold anymore.

And then everyone's finished eating and you're all running off to play football. Pedro lets go of you like nothing happened at all, and you follow the rest of the group to a slightly more grassy area. But then Pedro takes off his jacket and hands it to you with a casual, "You look like you need it more than I do," and you put it on and quietly thank him for it, sending a silent prayer to the sky that your cheeks aren't as warm as they feel.

You're usually a pretty good football player, but something has gone wrong today and your limbs refuse to work, all because a much-too-big soft cotton jacket that belongs to the boy you've had a crush on since year nine is hanging innocently over your shoulders.

You're really starting to regret this.

So of course Pedro (who's on the other team) completely destroys you, and of course he gives you that smirk of his when yet another of his kicks makes it past you and into the goal, and of course that stupid smirk gets you so flustered that you full-on body-slam into the ground right in front of him.

And of course Pedro will take your hand as he helps you up. And of course you'll notice how very perfectly his fingers slide into yours like every other time your hands have touched.

And of course you'll have gotten his perfect jacket completely stained green and muddy. And of course your stupid mouth will offer to take it home and wash it so that you’ll be walking back to your house holding Pedro’s jacket that still smells like vanilla and grass (though the grass smell is much stronger now) and your mind still in a whirlwind.

Even though the first thing you do when you open the door is chuck the coat in the washing machine (the urge to take it up to your room and keep it is too great), you end up smelling vanilla the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Jan. 16th: Birthday

Bea has always been able to see the strings. She isn’t really sure why, or why nobody else can see them, but occasionally they come in handy.

If she notices, that is.

-.

Her parents have always had the strings, as long as she can remember. Two red strings, tied around the pinkies, linking to the other’s. The strings seem to be able to pass through anything. Bea knows. She’s tried grabbing them before, but they slip right through her fingers.

She’s asked Hero about them before, and her parents, of course, but they all just gave her bemused smiles and shook their heads. “There’s no string, dear,” her mother had said and Bea stomped her feet. Of course there was, couldn’t they see? Hero, at least, believed her. She’s the only one.

After a while, Bea learns to stop asking.

-

Bea eventually learns what the strings mean. Love. Just love. Every time someone fell in love with another person, the string would appear around their pinky. If the feeling was mutual, there’d be two. The only thing was, if there was only one string, you’d never know who was the one in love and who was the one who wasn’t. If both parties no longer loved each other, or if one of them died, the string would snap and disappear. A taut string means a strained relationship. Bea knows this from the year of the broken dishes and angry silence all through the house and the shouting and crying late at night. Her parents make it up though. They always make it up.

After a while, Bea gets used to the strings.

-

The summer of Ben when Bea is fourteen is a good summer. Two red strings tied around her pinky. She is so, so happy, until she moves away and watches her string get tighter and tighter with every missed phone call or unsent text. A few months later she watches one string snap and disappear. She screams, “No!”, and grabs at the air where it used to be, but it’s gone forever. Bea cries the entire night, and then swears to herself she’ll never let herself fall in love again. It hurts far too much. It’s Ben who’s stopped loving her. It has to be, because if Bea no longer loves Ben why would she care so much about her string? Bea cries and cries and tries to cut her own string with a knife she found in the kitchen, but of course, it won’t yield.

Bea tells her parents the next morning that the blood in the kitchen is from an accident. Nothing to worry about.

Besides, the string had disappeared when she was sleeping anyway.

After a while, Bea stops noticing or caring about the strings.

-

Bea doesn’t need Ursula’s teasing to know how Hero feels about Claudio. There are two red strings tied around her cousin’s pinky, both leading to the football player dashing around on the field. This is the first time Bea’s ever seen Hero with a string before, and she doesn’t know what to think.

Bea tells herself that even though love is disgusting, she wants Hero to be happy and if Claudio is what makes her happy, then so be it. After all, the strings don’t ever lie. Bea tells herself, later, the day after Hero and Claudio finally work it out and are “officially an item”, that she is most definitely not jealous in the least of their perfect happiness.

After a while, Bea learns to not feel anything about Hero and Claudio.

-

Bea holds her baby cousin in her arms and wonders how she could have been so stupid. It was obvious! The evidence was right before her! And she couldn’t save Hero, because she hadn’t counted that there was only one stupid string around Hero’s finger the night of her birthday. It’s still there- the string, though it’s getting tighter and tighter. Hero still loves that idiot, at least for the moment.

Bea’s mind flickers back to the party, Claudio’s face and his voice and all of the anger. She remembers Pedro’s, “You’re not always right, you know,” and the way Balthazar looked at Pedro when he ran off after Claudio, the two strings around his pinky getting tighter and tighter.

Hero’s string wasn’t the only thing that broke tonight, Bea thinks to herself.

Bea buries her face in Hero’s hair and lets self-loathing and rage take over her.

After a while, Hero stops crying and Bea leads her to her bedroom, helps her into her pajamas, watches grimly as she falls asleep. Watches grimly as the string around Hero’s pinky pulls and pulls before it snaps completely and disappears.

Good riddance, too.

-

Ben comes over the next day, and Bea doesn’t order him away. His presence there is somehow comforting, though Bea hasn’t the slightest idea why it should be.

He’s brought loose-leaf tea because he’s Ben and of course he would bring loose-leaf tea. Bea manages to smile a little as she watches him put the kettle on, though the movement still feels wrong and unnatural. She’d never admit this to anyone, but Ben makes the best tea, better than even Hero. Hero...

The kettle whistles, and Ben pours the tea out before meticulously adding the milk and sugar. When he hands Bea’s cup to her, their fingers brush. Bea looks down at their hands instinctively. Her breath catches in her throat.

Two red strings, tied around her pinkies, leading to Ben.

-

Bea’s always been able to see the strings. She isn’t really sure why, or why nobody else can see them, but occasionally they come in handy.

Like today, for instance.

Chapter Text

Jan. 17th: Song

Balthazar always makes a bad first impression.

After all, in a world where pretty much everyone's got a song, it must be weird to see someone whose stereo is completely silent. After all, everyone calls the song your soul. Which pretty much translates to no song= no soul.

Balthazar’s therapists have all told him that that idea is completely wrong. It's genetics, they say. One person in twenty thousand. A mistake with the DNA.

Of course, they never call him a "mistake", but the word is implied enough. And sometimes that's all Balthazar thinks he is. A mistake.

Unplanned pregnancy (his father had walked out a few months before he was born), and this whole song-less situation.

And then the realization in primary school when Balthazar notices that most of his friends don't have crushes on guys, but that's later. And besides, that's not a mistake. It's nothing to be ashamed about, his mother says the day he gets punched because he was holding Tony's hand at school.  Balthazar nods as she carefully dabs at his swollen eye, and thinks of another word to describe himself. Broken.

Balthazar's mum's stereo plays a soft jazz song, mournful sounds mixed with happier beats by a composer whose name Balthazar keeps forgetting. It's beautiful anyway.

-

The first thing that makes people surprised when they meet Balthazar is his silent stereo. The second is usually his passion for music. It's hilarious, the guy without a song being so in love with music. Sounds like the setup for a joke. A boy without a song walks into a bar... Except Balthazar can't come up with a punch line.

Sometimes, Balthazar thinks there's somebody up above laughing at him. Fate, probably, he thinks faintly. Fate is laughing at him.

And having a good time at it too.

-

School is noisy and loud and headaches. Way too many different songs, clashing with each other, demanding to be heard. Stereos can be turned down for class, but never completely shut off. It's so loud.

Most people get used to it. Balthazar never has.

-

Is there a specific reason I don't have a song? Balthazar asks one of his doctors one day.

No. Just random. The doctor's voice is as calm as the gentle piano melody drifting from his stereo nearby. The notes are relaxing. Gentle ocean waves. Balthazar considers asking the name of the song so he can try it out at home, but he doesn't need Dr. Capulet to laugh at his musical dreams like so many others. Instead, he looks at the floor.

-

Balthazar imagines fate, sitting up on her throne, blindfolded, pointing her finger at someone, anyone, to be her next victim.  Laughing.

-

Composing has a special place in a society governed by sound. Balthazar loves it. It's the few minutes he can forget about his missing song and focus on the song he writes himself. It makes him feel less broken.

-

Balthazar scribbles another chord down on the sheet music and frowns. No, that's not quite right... maybe if he made that C a C-sharp, a major triad instead of minor?

Balthazar plays the line he's written (A major chord at the end, not minor) and smiles.

It's beautiful.

Maybe fate doesn't hate him as much as he thought.

-

Then along comes Pedro Donaldson with his golden hair and wide smile and deep voice, and well, Balthazar's completely lost, isn't he? How could he not be? It's like a moth being helplessly attracted to a fire, going closer and closer and closer.

But the flame's got to devour the moth eventually.

Balthazar wonders when that will be.

Someone up there is most definitely laughing at him.

-

Pedro's stereo plays one of those popular songs on the radio that Balthazar's never cared much for, but he thinks it's beautiful anyway.

After all, it's Pedro's song.

-

Pedro never asks about Balthazar's silent stereo. Doesn't even seem surprised, or shocked, or horrified, or anything else Balthazar's seen in his life.

Balthazar ends up being the one who tells him. Pedro nods and smiles at him in response.  

He does the same when Balthazar tells Pedro that he's gay.

-

It takes a while before Balthazar plays Pedro one of his songs. He hasn't showed anyone any of his songs before, save his mom and Ursula. He's quite nervous, actually.

"Wow, that's amazing. Your voice- it's brilliant. You're gonna make a great musician someday."

Amazing, Pedro calls him, brilliant.

Not broken or mistake. Not broken at all.

Fate may not be very kind, but she has a few good qualities.

-

Then Hero's party. And Pedro. Pedro.

-

You should've known, Balthazar tells himself. You should've known something like this was gonna happen eventually.

But even so, he feels his heart cracking and breaking and breaking and breaking.

If Balthazar ever finds fate, he's going to punch her in the face. Hard.

-

Of course, he doesn't stay that way for long. Pedro realizes that he's wrong eventually and Balthazar's still in love with the idiot. Instead, there are apologies and explanations and confessions. And then kissing. A lot of kissing.

It takes an hour for Balthazar to realize that his stereo is no longer silent. It's playing a song. His song to be exact. An Ode. To Pedro.

If Balthazar saw fate walking down the street just then, he probably would've hugged her. Or at least said thank you.

-

No one can explain it. It's almost like magic.

Pedro has an explanation though. It's not scientifically accurate or anything, but it's good enough for Balthazar.

"There wasn't a song around that could completely explain who you were. So you wrote your own."

And in that moment, Balthazar feels far from broken.

-

Balthazar's life isn't perfect. But he has friends his mum and Pedro: people who care about him, and people he cares about too.

They are two idiots in love and they are happy.

And though neither of them is completely whole, together, their jagged edges fit together and make something that almost is.

So Balthazar's wrong. Fate may not be kind, but she knows exactly what she's doing.

She'll make sure you have a happy ending.

Chapter Text

Jan. 18th: Shopping

"C’mon, Urs, it'll be fun! Even Bea’s coming, and she hates shopping!"

Meg is bouncing up and down, face completely alight as she looks at Ursula imploringly.

"I probably shouldn't- I mean, I have that paper to write and my maths test is next week…”

Meg firmly places her finger on Ursula’s lips. “Shush. Knowing you, you’re going to pass that test anyway, and all you have to do on that paper is proofread it a few times. You have an entire week for that boring stuff!  You’re coming with me. Now.”

Ursula lets out a sigh of defeat, because it’s true; she’s already written most of the paper and the test will probably be easy. Besides, how is she supposed to say no when Meg’s face and those eyes are that close to her?

"Okay."

Meg squeals and gives Ursula a quick hug. “Yes! We are going to have so much fun! I know a place with some clothes that would look absolutely gorgeous on you! Not that you don’t already look nice, of course!”

Before Ursula can process that Meg has just called her- her, gorgeous, she’s being whisked into a car on the way to the nearest shopping center.

Today is Meg’s annual clothes-shopping-extravaganza day. Usually, she takes a lot of her friends (Ursula’s always declined the invitation) and her boyfriend (usually Robbie, it's been on and off with those two for a long time, thank god it’s finally off), but this year, she’s chosen only to go with Ursula and Beatrice. Hero had been asked too, of course, but she’d turned the offer down. Meg hadn’t tried to get Hero to change her mind the way she had Ursula’s.

Ursula doesn’t really want to dwell on what that means, because she’s already had too many disappointments already and adding Meg to the list is not something she looks forward too. Not that it isn’t going to happen eventually.

Ursula leans her head against the cool glass of the car window and listens to Meg and Hero’s voices mixed with the soft drone of the wheels, occasionally adding a few of her own thoughts in. It’s comfortable here. Meg and Bea don’t bother Ursula about not talking (they never do) but they’ll listen closely whenever Ursula opens her mouth, something a lot of people at school still haven’t quite gotten used to yet.

The car slows to a stop and the three girls step out.

-

A few hours later, they’re still at the mall, it’s dinnertime and Ursula’s starving. After some debating, they get a combo pizza to share, the logic being that anyone can pick unwanted toppings off their slices. They set their bags down and dig in.

Meg’s usual theatrical persona is gone, all the dignity and exaggerations no longer there. Her smile is relaxed and natural. It’s not often that she lets down her guard, but Ursula’s noticed that it happens a lot more around her than anyone else (Ursula doesn’t want to think about what that means either) She’s sitting across from Ursula, meticulously picking the mushrooms off her pizza, a bit of tomato sauce clinging to the corner of her mouth. Ursula has to silence the urge to take her finger and wipe it off herself. Instead, she just gestures, and Meg laughs and picks up a napkin.

Ursula wonders if Meg would be willing to model for some portrait photography. She’s pretty sure if she tells Meg it’s for a school project, she wouldn’t mind.

She catches Bea smirking at her in the corner of her eye. Bea knows about what she feels for Meg, and she’s actually a really good person to talk to. Bea’s smile broadens when Ursula turns to glare at her. A laugh embedded in her eyes, she mouths, You might want to stop gawking at Meg like that. Ursula’s eyes widen and she immediately turns her full attention back to the pizza. She hopes her face isn’t too red.

When are you going to tell her? Bea mouths, and Ursula shakes her head.

Bea doesn’t reply to Ursula’s head-shake. Instead, she looks down at her food and furrows her eyebrows, like she’s trying to make a difficult decision. After some seconds, she sighs and stands (“I’m going to the bathroom.”) and walks off, giving Ursula a quick wink before she disappears.

Oh no, Ursula thinks.

The next few minutes are spent quietly chewing and making small talk with Meg. Ursula makes sure the conversation is moving at a normal pace, that it isn’t awkward or strange. She doesn’t need her own feelings complicating her and Meg’s friendship. She checks her watch. It’s been fifteen minutes. Bea’s still “in the bathroom”, and she’s pretty sure she knows why.

Where are you? she texts.

Just outside the food courts, watching you two. is the reply.

The rest of the conversation goes something like this:

Ursula: You sound like a stalker. Are you planning on coming back?

Beatrice: Are you planning on finally telling Meg?

Ursula: No, not at all.

Beatrice: Why not? She obviously likes you.

Ursula: And what makes you think that?

Beatrice: I said obvious for a reason.

Ursula: Well then, do I have to do it now?

Beatrice: Might as well, because I’m not planning on coming back until you two’ve worked things out.

Ursula: Well then, you’re going to be waiting for a long time.

Beatrice: I’m a patient person.

Ursula: I’m really regretting telling you.

Beatrice: I would’ve figured it out eventually. Besides, this is payback for Team Love Gods, remember? I’ll be Team Love God part 3!

Ursula lets out a small sound of frustration. She thinking of a response when Meg walks over.

“Hey, is that Bea?” Meg asks, peering down at Ursula’s phone, “Why isn’t she back yet? Can you ask her if-”

Meg freezes and her eyes widen. Oh no, Ursula thinks, she’s seen the texts. Oh my god. I’ve ruined everything.

Ursula quickly shuts her phone off (much too late) and pretends that something very interesting is stuck to her left toe. She can hear Meg go slowly back to her seat and sit down. It’s unnaturally quiet, and Ursula notices for the first time how empty the food court is.

Okay, what now?

Suddenly, Ursula’s text alert beeps. She jumps and promptly drops her phone. Meg picks it up and hands it to her. Her face is very red. Ursula mumbles a shaky “thank you” and opens it. Her breath stops.

Text from Meg: For the record, I do like you. Quite a bit. Coffee next week? :)

Ursula grins, relief and joy washing over her. She looks up. Meg is smiling back.

Text from Ursula: I’d love to. Now, we should probably call Bea so she can get back to her pizza. And stop communicating through texting.

“Okay,” Meg says, and takes Ursula’s hand.

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Jan. 19th: Letter

Dear Bea,

Ever since you’ve moved back, I’ve been crying every day. There's an ocean of tears in my room, and I'm stranded in the middle, on my bed, with nothing but my laptop, tissue boxes, and T-shirt collection. My mum brings me supplies and tea every other day so I don't die. Also, I’ve taken to listening to Coldplay songs and writing poetry.

Why am I so sad? There’s no one here to feed me mango skins! Except Floyd, and he can’t move. Speaking of Floyd, he says hi and that he's still better than any giraffes you own. Anyway, it should be Valentine’s Day by the time I send this. I think. Possibly. Maybe. You know I’m not very punctual; it’s not my fault I get lost on the way to the grocery store! (You’re going to send me the dictionary definition of ‘punctual’ and explain that punctuality has nothing to do with sense of direction, aren’t you? Too bad, I already know. Ha!)

Anyway… back to the future Valentine’s Day. You should be celebrating by rewatching every single Rose/Doctor moment in Seasons 1 and 2 and then every Romione moment in the Harry Potter movies, because that’s what I’m doing and I’ll be very disappointed in you if you aren’t. I might've cried at Doomsday. Hence, the tissue boxes.

Also I watched Sherlock like you told me to and it was okay I guess. Don’t see what’s so great about this Benedict Cumberbatch bloke, because I’m obviously much hotter than he is. Doctor Who beats it any time. But before you attempt to rip my heart out and eat it, just know: I DID like it.

I have tea attached to this card. You'd better drink it. And admit that tea is a necessary part of life. Okay I'm running out of paper and I'm too lazy to get another sheet (besides, stranded on my bed in an ocean of tears, remember?) so bye! The sloths and flamingos send their love! xx

-Ben

from: Beatrice Duke <[email protected]>

to: Benedick Hobbes <[email protected]>

date: February 17th, at 1:53 AM

subject: Punctuality

Punctual. Adjective. Arriving or doing something at the expected or planned time. Synonyms: timely, dependable, expeditious. Antonym: sending a Valentine's Day letter that arrives two days after Valentine's Day.

You could always try email, you know (My eCard was beautiful. Admit it.). And mail the tea separately. And you can eat mango skins without people feeding them to you. Again, a quick reminder that eating mango skins can send you into anaphylactic shock. Not that I care. At all.

As for Sherlock, you're only going to be hotter than Benedict Cumberbatch the day you get razor-sharp cheekbones. Meaning never. So there. And sorry to disappoint you, but I am NOT rewatching all the Rose/Doctor and Romione moments. Some people still have school, you know. As in work. Grades. Stuff.

Thanks for the tea though; caffeine is necessary for staying up late. BUT not to life. So there.

-Beatrice the Vivacious

P.S. Giraffes are still better than flamingoes. This debate, as well as the Benedict Cumberbatch one, will continue the next time we see each other.

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The Dictionary of Us