Chapter Text
Perhaps Anne was a tad bit dramatic. Sure, everyone deals with the occasional crush or infatuation towards a certain person, according to the sparkly, over-edited teenage magazines that she left in the Plantar’s basement, along with many ideals she currently found contradictory.
But the thing is, Anne Boonchuy had not had a single crush on anyone in her entire life.
She came to terms with this in the 6th grade, sitting among classmates who talked avidly about cute boys and the lives they wish to live in the distant future. When the group of girls—none of which she really knew all too well—turned to her for her romantic ideals, the realization settled.
She didn’t really want it. Sure, the guys weren’t… terrible looking—well, some were sort of ugly. They were all short, although that really didn’t matter.
They were in the sixth grade, for heaven's sake .
Besides, Marcy was short, and Anne thinks that they’re one of the cutest people around. Marcy makes it cute. But, despite her love for dramatic romance within magazines and extravagant drama shows, she found the idea of forever with another person to be, well, kind of scary.
Not that she doesn't want that , it’s more that… Well, what if they're the wrong person? What if she finds out something awful about them deep into the forever situation? She’d be stuck. There would be a lot that she would lose; things like extended friendships, trust, and the relationship you built with that person.
Anne Boonchuy hates losing. So, she’d rather stay safe with herself, Marcy, and Sasha. Because they're always together. No matter what. The only exception to this is when the three of them are in different homerooms, like now, because Anne’s last name starts with a B, and Marcy’s and Sasha’s start with a W.
Quite unfair .
Either way; with eight pairs of eyes turned to her, all varying in tones of gray, blue, brown and green, she lied. Essentially, Anne told the group she had a crush on Jamie—that one girl on the softball team—but she thinks they don't like her back.
So, she concluded that she would have to, tragically, set her sights elsewhere. It made sense; Anne basically turned herself inside out last year when she tried to befriend the girl. For whatever reason, they would always make excuses, leaving right as Anne’s two close friends sat down beside her.
Anne remembers them staring in awe, asking question after question about the dramatic little ‘fallout’, all of which was thankfully outside the subject of romance. Something she would never think about, deal with, or stress over.
At least, she thought so, until her junior year of highschool. Two random classmates barged into her love life, assuming she was dating Sasha Waybright or Marcy Wu .
Hell, they even asked her if she was dating both of them .
It may have been the push for her mind to think about spending the rest of her life with those two… romantically . And she didn't hate it. In fact, she felt as though… This was what she’d been thinking this entire time, just subconsciously.
Thinking about your two best friends in a romantic sense leads to you thinking about kissing them. And then you dream about kissing them, because despite your lack of a want for romance, you’ve always been a sucker for those romantic films and chick flicks.
And then it becomes a dream come true… Or, whatever you would call this .
&
“ We should kiss. ”
Anne did not mean to say it like that. Not that she doesn't want to kiss the two of them! She definitely wants to do that a lot, actually. However, the sentence came out all wrong. It’s embarrassing really, how her voice strained, jumbling out words and excuses that she herself did not think through at all. It was supposed to be perfect, y’know? All smooth and charismatic, but it ended up sounding so impulsive .
It's in the way she grasps onto Sasha’s coarse hands, lined with work and tales that could last a lifetime. The way her heart rises into her throat at the sight of warm, auburn eyes.
Of course, she couldn’t blurt it out correctly. How could she, when the person in front of her, her Sasha, who is always willing to do anything for the other two in the room, stares back at her like she's the sun itself? Embarrassing . So embarrassing .
To be fair , she hasn't exactly done something like this before. Hell, she found out about these… fluttery feelings five months ago. Ever since then, her life has been a living nightmare! Realizing that you're in love with the two people that mean the most to you can do that, especially when you were under the assumption that you just didn't fall for people at all.
So, logically, the blame cannot fall on Anne’s shoulders for being inexperienced in the ‘Asking your two close childhood friends to kiss you’ department.
Besides, it all works out in the end. Sort of. If you consider agreeing to ‘platonically’ kiss the people you have romantic feelings for a win, then yes, Anne is the biggest winner in the universe.
A winner who is climbing into a bed shared for years and years, to kiss not one, but two of her lifelong friends, apparently. The old bed embarrassingly creaks with every movement made, overlapping Sasha’s own movements.
Honestly, this is sweeter than she thought it’d be. Romance, feelings, the idea of being stuck with one person for the rest of your life—Anne thought she would be interested in it.
To have a lover, someone that she could share everything in the world to, a person who was her other half. Someone who comforted her through presence alone, carding gentle affections with each date, kiss, and conversation. In fact, she would have been able to experience it. If she didn’t reject any potential lover who came knocking at her door.
She’s realized by now, as well as a few months ago, that her heart already seemed to settle on two special someones. But the thing is, she can't exactly depict when these feelings began to simmer, unable to decipher if this was before, after, or during her time spent in a world not forgotten, but cherished and shared between three souls. Maybe the unwavering certainty within her is a little scary. Just how sure can she be about this, when Marcy is intensely staring at Anne, who is making her way towards her doom, with Sasha in tow, and Anne slides right up to them, knees crashing together awkwardly.
“So–”
“Hi–”
“How do we?–”
“Um.”
“ So. how do you do this?” Anne huffs, her hand—not the one intertwined with Sasha’s—reaching up to cradle Marcy’s cheek.
Marcy gulped, cheeks growing warm. Their arms rest on Anne’s shoulders. “ I… I don't know? I haven’t exactly… Y’know. Not properly…” They trail off, distracted, eyes following Sasha, who is maneuvering his way over to his two friend’s sides.
Maybe the two of them stare a little. But things aren’t awkward! They aren’t. It’s just that… they're going to kiss , and kisses are, well… They’re kisses! Plus, Anne hasn’t even had her first kiss before!
Mainly because she didn't want to kiss anyone besides them .
Sasha has, though. A good amount of people, too. From dares, to boyfriends, to girlfriends, all short-lived, lasting just about a week. Marcy, too, had kissed one or two people before, if Anne’s memory serves her right.
What does a kiss feel like?
What would it be like to kiss them?
If Anne was alone, and not next to the two people she might have a giant ass crush on, she would probably try to pat away the fever-like warmth crawling across her cheeks and ears. As if she were standing by a furnace, or lounging around on a hot Californian summer afternoon.
However, she’s not alone, and summer definitely is far away. After all, two weeks of November have passed by. The air within her room is not the perpetrator of these flushed cheeks of hers; coincidentally, Marcy is pressing soft hands at the base of her jaw, tugging her inward bashfully.
Oh .
This was too perfect, too natural. Physical affection might come a bit too easily for them. Seeing how they've all done this before—the affection, not the kissing. It's the years of climbing, reaching, interlocking limbs until they become a perfect puzzle, falling asleep with the comfort of chins tucked into soft skin, familiar breaths like a melody only for the three of them. It takes years of vulnerability for that to form.
So, when it came down to it, there really shouldn’t be surprising how easy it was to get tugged forward, eyes fluttering shut as if this was the hundredth time they've done this. Perhaps, somewhere out there, in some other world or life, they have.
Moments pass, and they're apart. This time, Anne is the one who moves. Familiar, minty seashells cloud her mind, two chins digging into each other as they try again. It happens all too naturally, too timid yet overwhelmingly good. Feather soft touches, adjusting and angling themselves to somewhere comfortable. It’s a slow process, one that requires Marcy to pull back and remind Anne every few seconds. Whispering little nicknames and muffled reminders, such as, ‘not like that, silly.’ and ‘turn your head like this, instead.’
Anne stumbles, hand wavering timidly from Marcy’s cheek to Sasha’s warm shoulder, resting it there as the other drapes over the person she’s kissing.
Okay, not exactly perfect . Their teeth clacked a little. But this is all trials and errors, right? The giddy smiles and apologies laced between every soft press must hold some kind of grudge against Anne’s heart.
It amplifies when they pull apart, eyes fluttering open to the sight of deep warm cheeks, almost the same tone as those amber hazel fay flowers the three of them always pass by on the way to school. It's simply coincidental that Sasha’s cheeks remind her of the budding pink orchids planted right next to those hazel fays.
“Um.” Marcy swallows, eyes blinking rapidly. “Oh, Gosh, wow.”
“Wow.” Anne breathes, cheeks flushed. “That–”
“Felt like it was out of some–I dunno, romcom?”
“Yeah, it did.” Bashfully, Anne shifts her gaze away from a beaming Marcy.
Cute.
Maybe that shouldn't be Anne’s first thought after her first kiss, and maybe she shouldn't linger, hands wandering across cheekbones and reddened ears. However, Marcy is cute, and Anne yearns to whisper fleeting affections in their ear.
That doesn't happen, though. Because the moment Anne tries to speak, a hand pushes a curl behind her ear, and two gazes meet.
“Sorry–” Sasha flushes. “Sorry. It was, um, in the way.”
From what? The question immediately fades into dust when Sasha cards his fingers through long curls, scooting closer to press a kiss to Marcy’s cheek. To put it simply: Anne is stuck. She’s caught between these two, rapidly blinking at the absurd scene in front of her.
Maybe she wouldn't be so speechless if Sasha’s face didn't have that stupid grin. Or if Marcy’s bubbly laughter wasn't so shockingly clear, their shy expression and soft smile lighting up the dark room and Anne’s heart.
It doesn't help that she’s literally right between them either, noticing all the little details; like how Sasha playfully drags his fingertips upwards, right along Marcy’s arm to their neck, lying there as he scoots forward.
Maybe she’s a little dramatic. Because suddenly, Sasha has Marcy’s chin between her thumb and index finger, whispering something that Anne’s ears cannot comprehend. Marcy—hazel fay cheeks and all—nods quickly, and the two of them seem to dive into each other perfectly.
It's without her, but is not, awful? Perhaps her brain is playing some trick on her, but the way Sasha slides his hand down to Marcy’s neck, the way Marcy tugs him closer with a sweet sigh—
It's a little overwhelming. After all, this was her idea in the first place.
Honestly, though, wasn't this her idea? Why, why aren't they looking at her?
It’s unfair. It’s so unfair that Anne pouts as soon as they separate. Shifting slightly, she pushes herself onto Sasha's lap, looking at the both of them with a fake sour expression that screams, look at me, look at me, please.
She doesn't know if she's a winner when she does, because when the two of them turn their attention towards her, eyes laced with softness, adoration, and a plethora of emotions Anne cannot comprehend—her pout softens, and she can't help but return a bashful smile their way.
“Hey there, Annie.” Sasha whispers, all strangely fond, too audible into the dark room. Marcy gently grasps their hand in hers, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her palm. Sasha rests his fingers along her sides, thumb rolling along her upper hip to her waist.
How late was it? Anne forgot. Either way, every shift, creak, and whisper that escaped into the air was too apparent. It was that time of night where everything was just too noticeable. So, she doesn't say a word, opting to continue to just flush at every kiss, to lean into every press and knead.
“ Anna-Banana, ” Marcy teases, pressing another kiss to her palm, then her wrist. “Earth to Annie, our Annie, sweet lovebug,” They continue to list on and on, making Anne flush and twist away with a soft smile tugging into her cheeks.
What's wrong with those two? Sitting there, with those smiles, so handsome, so pretty. Each breath that is caught between the two, catching their breaths while giving so much affection to her.
“Oh, Mars. I think she's out of it.” Sasha presses a finger to Anne’s cheek. “Just how good was that kiss, anyway? You broke her.”
“ I did not–”
“I mean, I would understand,” He fans himself. “Cause whew , what a kiss Mar-Mar.”
Marcy giggles, legs kicking back and forth, causing the blankets around their center to push off of them. They move even closer to Sasha, linking their arm around his while still holding Anne’s hand.
Anne sighs, shaking her head ever so softly. “You two…” She leans in close, pressing a kiss to Sasha’s cheek, and then pulling Marcy’s hand towards herself, leaving a gentle kiss onto their knuckles. “There. We’re even.”
Two blank stares turn back to her, gawking, cheeks warm.
“What? What’d I do?” She giggles, placing light taps along Sasha’s jaw, leaning in close, stopping to hover right above him. “Did I do something, buttercup?”
“I– uh.” Sasha gulps, hands resting on Anne’s sides. “No… There is something you haven't done, though.” His eyes flicker down, moving back to meet her own. “ Unless you don’t wanna kiss me, I mean that. That’s okay if you— ”
“Who said I wouldn’t want to kiss you?”
With widened eyes, Sasha pushes himself back—well, as much as he can—leaning away from a very determined Anne, who is crawling right after him.
“Look, Anne–” He flusters, words failing all over themselves as his cheeks turn redder and redder. “I just, I didn’t, agh, I’m sorry– ”
“ For what? ”
“Uhm.”
“Didn't I ask you to kiss me in the first place??” Anne mutters, glancing to the side, turning back towards Sasha. “And you think… That I don’t want to kiss you?”
She pushes herself up, hands latching underneath the yellow bandana tied underneath long curls, untying the little knot at the back of her neck. She allows her hair to fall back down, folding the bandana within her fists and using the other hand to tuck away any loose coils.
“Hold this for me, Mar-Mar?”
“I– uhm, Ok.”
Passing the bandana to Marcy, Anne turns back to Sasha with a small grin.
“So, you don't want to kiss me?” Anne sighs, feigning a pout as she runs her hands through Sasha’s blonde locks. “What a shame”—she ruffles his hair—“I was really looking forward to kissing The Sasha Waybright. ”
Blinking rapidly, Sasha stutters. “I… I didn’t say that, specifically.”
Anne giggles to herself, deliberately making a mess out of the layered blonde hairs atop Sasha’s head. “Alright. What’d you want to say, then?”
“ I– ” He pouts, looking away from the two pairs of eyes on him. “I just, I want to,”
“ Hmmm? ” Anne lets out a breathy giggle, leaning in close, their nose brushing against each other. “Honestly. I thought you were teaching me how to kiss Waybright.”
Sasha puffs his cheeks, avoiding Anne’s stare. “Well, it looks like you’re a really fast learner.”
“You were looking?”
“I– no– ”
“Shh,” Anne smooths down Sasha’s hair, dragging her fingertips through brown roots, pressing their foreheads together. “You talk too much”
“Can…” His eyes flicker downwards, then up. “Can I fix that?”
Anne doesn’t hesitate. “ Please , do.”
Warm, calloused hands meet flushed cheeks, and she’s dragged into him.
First things first. Kissing Sasha Waybright was quite the gentle experience. Some may describe him as a brute, always getting into fights and collisions usually started by the other party. Bruised cheeks, eyelids, and cold compresses go hand in hand whenever these casualties happen, Anne scolding him for fighting, Sasha looking away in shame, eyes just about if not more bruised and battered than his own face. She cares. She cares so much that she chastises him while dabbing disinfectant on a cut at his shoulder.
However, she always kisses these wounds better. She could never be mad or upset at his face for over three seconds, especially if he had a black eye.
Maybe that’s why he treats her with gentle care. Soft fingers pushing back fallen curls and tracing down her back, pulling her in, kissing the corner of her mouth and whispering words she can’t comprehend. He’s meticulous, a low flame, one that doesn't burn, but soothes.
And Marcy is kissing her hand once more, right along each knuckle, as if she’s a treasured thing, a princess, an angel they’ve devoted their lives to. Perhaps that might be the case. Because she opens her eyes to such raw, tender emotion shown in two pairs of eyes. Staring at her as if she’s the sun and the two of them are Icarus, intoxicated by whatever they feel for her, helplessly infatuated.
Sasha cups her chin, softly running over her bottom lip, eyes focused and glazed over. He smiles, lifting his chin to press a kiss on her forehead, cheeks, nose, and eyelids. It’s almost like their little moments outside the vice principal’s office, except Anne doesn't have a first aid kit in hand, and she’s the one receiving feather-like affections this time.
“Now we're even.”
What does that mean?? How the hell is she supposed to respond to that??
Saving the day, Marcy tugs Anne into their own space, jutting their tongue out at Sasha. “You've had her long enough, you brute. This Anne-gel is all mine now.”
“That's unfair! You got to like, kiss her for twenty minutes.”
Are they?–
Marcy hugs Anne's arm, pulling her closer. “ You got to kiss her while she was on your lap . I think I deserve quality Anne time.” They giggle, tucking their chin into Anne’s shoulder.
Oh. They're fighting over me.
It's sort of addicting. Honestly, she didn't think this through. Her face heats, and everything becomes painfully noticeable. Like the small little smile on Marcy's face, growing second by second, leaning on Anne’s shoulder with a certain sparkle in their eyes. Sasha then snuggles up to Anne’s left, pressing kisses along her shoulder.
She can practically feel the two individuals' gazes turned towards her, silent yet telling.
We can share.
It was a little scary, the thought of them liking her back. Scary, because what if she doesn't meet their expectations? What if she’s not enough, after the acts of heroic deeds, the powers, saving two worlds in one night? Those things could never happen again, unless some magical gem wanted to land in their hands once more.
So what if after all of that, after everything they've seen her do, the Anne of the present just isn't enough? Isn't deserving of want, at least not for their entire lives.
She wants to be with them, so bad. But if it's not forever… Why mess up the friendship they already have? Is she that selfish? To hold on to them like this forever? Is that selfish of her to want?
She doesn't know what she’d do if things didn't work out, if they fell out of place, in a way that could never mend. Maybe that's ironic, considering her little speech about change and what not. But sometimes it's hard to listen to your own advice, especially when you've just kissed the two loves of what's left of your life under a ‘platonic’ lens.
Eyes heavy, and mind running faster than she can comprehend, she droops, leaning into soft skin and built shoulders, two hands wrap around her, and she succumbs to sleep. After all, she doesn't need to dwell or worry when their arms are around her, safe and sound. Especially when they have the rest of their lives ahead of them.
It's too much to think about, anyway. She’ll get to it another day.
&
Apparently, today is the other day.
How does one react to a confession? An awkward laugh? A strained smile? Running out of the room like a complete idiot because you like the person back?
It was all so confusing. Everything was fine. Marcy’s eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the stars at Sasha’s declaration. Meanwhile, Anne was…
Anne was distressed.
She smiled? But then she frowned. She felt confused. Then Marcy looked confused.
Sasha looked devastated. He looked rattled, with his strained smile and down-turned face. He was fidgeting.
After a moment of silence, Anne clenches her jaw, her leg bouncing against wooden floors.
She needs to get out; she needs to move, run, or escape to anywhere her legs can take her.
“No—Yes?” Anne shook her head, eyes darting around the room with furrowed confused eyes. “I—um, need to go. I need—I need to think..” she mutters, before dashing out the door, down the stairs, right into the January rain, two footsteps following close behind.
So fucking stupid. What's wrong with her?