Work Text:
Mary had thought from a very young age that three might be the perfect number for her.
She believed that if it were just her father, her mother, and herself, things would be fine, things would be right, but there were always too many people around and so many things for them to do that they died before she could prove her theory.
That day, she, Dickon, and Colin were running so close together in the garden that when she tripped, the three of them fell together, laughing. None of them got up immediately after the fall. There was no need to say anything, they simply knew what the other two were going to do. This had happened often in the years since they had known each other. Only a few rays of light reached their faces, passing through the leaves.
"You two look like elves with those leaves in your hair," Mary said.
"You have leaves on your hair too," Dickon said.
"I wouldn't be an elf, I'd be a fairy."
"Those things don't exist," Colin hurried to say.
"Said the boy who believes in ghosts," Mary said.
"I don't believe in ghosts."
"The first time you saw me, you thought I was a ghost."
"Wrong, that was you. I thought you were a dream."
She smiled and kissed each of them on the lips once before feeling her face sink into the grass as she held Colin's hand with her right hand and Dickon's with her left.
It was moments like that when she feared that maybe it was all just a dream, because everything fit together, everything felt right. She was in love with her friends and in love with her life, and in that moment, Mary knew for sure.
For her, three was the perfect number.