A/N: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my attempt at this playlist-shuffle-fic thing. To fit into the songs, sometimes they might be a little OOC, I hope you won't mind.

However, since most of my playlist is not English (Japanese or Mandarin Chinese), if I do use the lyrics in the story, I will be using romaji / pinyin and translating whatever parts I feel are "important". If you want the full translation, you can PM me / Google it / YouTube for it.

Also, most of my playlist is pretty angsty (not a word, I know), so… uhm… yeah. Just a heads up in case you didn't see the one in the summary.

I hope you enjoy my first foray into Adventure Time fiction!

Song Title: Monochrome Blue Sky
Artist: Hatsune Miku
Original Language: Japanese

Alternate Universe – High School

Bonnibel's POV

The classroom has long emptied, the dismissal bell having gone off a full thirty minutes ago, and only I am left behind. Everyone else has things to do after school, have lives to lead and friends to meet, all but me. I have no meaning to my existence, I don't know what I want to be, I don't know what I want to do, I just lower my head and study robotically, unsure of who I even am.

Every single day, I do the exact same thing. Get out of bed at the same time, eat the same breakfast, put on the same uniform, attend the same school, keep silent as usual unless asked to speak, sit in class alone for a few hours as always, walk the same path, enter the same house, shower at the same time, lie in the same bed, sleep at the same time, rinse and repeat. It has long become tiresome, I have no reason to continue this tedium, but I do anyway.

Staring down at my Mathematics workbook, I attempt to focus on the exercises, but my heart is far too cloudy to obey. Gazing out of the window with a sigh, I take in the everyday landscape, the concrete jungle of the town, the empty basketball court right at the foot of the building… nothing will ever change, this tedium will only drag on and on.

The road stretches out before me, bleak and gray, flanked on both sides by utter desolation, dead grass and gnarled trees. The color that I am desperately looking for, the life that I am seeking, the friendship and feelings that I desire, there is no evidence that I will ever be able to find them. The road ahead looks the same as the road behind, endlessly unchanging scenery, endlessly monochrome skies, endlessly heavy repetitions.

My gaze flickers to the artwork on the walls, the "paint your personality" project we had been given earlier today. There are so many colors, brilliant yellows, bright oranges, deep blues, rich purples, sensual reds, and then there is mine, pinned right at the bottom so as to not catch any attention.

A blank piece of paper.

It is empty, colorless, just like I am, flat and lacking personality. A pure white piece of paper, without a single mark on it, an empty teenage girl, without a single dream of her own; we are not very different.

The art teacher initially disapproved, unable to believe that anyone is truly empty and lifeless and monochrome the way I am, but in the end, she let it slide. It most probably was because the twins, Finn and Jake, were trying to eat the yellow paint, Mi-Yun, Jake's Korean girlfriend, was trying to paint the tables rainbow, and some of the other boys had started a paint war in the back. She had much more important things to pay attention to than a strange girl's desire to showcase herself as blank.

Trying to return my attention to my homework, I continue on the boring road of my unchanging life. At the exact same time, I leave the school, taking the exact same route back to my house, arriving at the exact same moment as I did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that…

And as always, no one is home, no one will ever be home. My parents have long gone to the other side, and my uncle, whose house I am living in, rented himself a new apartment closer to work because he could not stand the awkward silence being around me entailed. As always, I eat the exact same thing, he brings over the same foods every Saturday at three in the afternoon, never a moment before or after. Nothing ever changes.

My shower lasts the exact ten minutes it has been for the last four years, ever since my parents' deaths, and at the exact same time I stand at the balcony, leaning against the railing, letting my long black hair dry in the wind. Every Thursday, I will dye the roots of my hair black, before the natural pink gets too obvious. No one in high school knows that my hair is actually pink, and I would like it to stay that way.

They all said that it would get better, that there will be great change in my life and I will want to live again, back when I was in deep mourning. Four years later, it still has not happened. My parents took with them my hopes and dreams for the future. I shut myself in from the day they left me, and before I knew it, I could not break out. Trapped within myself, Bonnibel Burroughs perished in the suffocating darkness.

At the same time as usual, I leave the balcony, going about the rest of my mundane routine. Dinner is the same old, just like breakfast and lunch, and for entertainment I stare at the paintwork and think about death. Nothing ever changes.

My sleep is dreamless, as always, and the same alarm pulls me from the same darkness at the same time for another tedious day of life. Walking down the same path to school, I take the exact same amount of steps as I do on any other day, the length of my strides never changing. My uniform, as always, is impeccable, the same navy blue jumper over a white collared shirt with a red tie, a short, pleated black skirt, black knee-high socks and perfectly shined black shoes.

Arriving in class, the first as always, I take my seat and stare quietly at my desk, remaining motionless as my classmates file in, noise beginning to pick up as per normal. The twins are goofing around, Mi-Yun is laughing, the pack of rowdy boys at the back is messing around, nothing has changed, nor will it ever.

The teacher walks in, frowns, and screams at everyone to settle down. Again, that is nothing out of the ordinary, and the class takes its own sweet time to obey. The words coming from her mouth do not register in my head; it always is just roll call and announcements anyway. I react to the sound of my name, but other than that, I remain in my usual cloudy state, staring at the monochrome world around me.

Homework is collected, students reprimanded for not completing it, and then lessons begin. Today is just like any other Tuesday, the same classes, the same teachers, the same faces, it really is tiring. How many more times will I repeat these boring, lifeless cycles? Will I ever be able to find that which I am looking for?

A reason to live, I need that, I desperately need that. When your dreams have vanished, what is the point of staying in this world? There's no meaning to my existence, my life is just a huge waste of time.

Later, at lunch, I arrive alone at the school roof as always. The wind rakes through my hair as I stare down at the same scenery as I did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. My heart sinks even further, the weight of life pulling it down, down, down, until I can feel it throbbing in my ankle. The mere thought of living another day is painful, I do not want to have to do everything again.

This time, I shift to the edge of the roof, the wind picking up and blowing both my hair and skirt sideways. Looking up at the same old blue sky that shines over my monochrome existence, I wish I could become colorful, I wish I could find a reason to live, I wish I could stop feeling so damn tired all the time…

Living is heavy. If I jump, will I feel lighter?

Taking a deep breath, I resolve to break free from my tedium in my own way. My toes are already over the edge, and soon, my entire body will follow…

"Whoa, hey, don't jump!" an unfamiliar voice calls out, a cool and gentle hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me backward.

I turn, shocked at the sudden and unexpected interruption, to see an unfamiliar girl in the boy's uniform. Pale skin, long, black hair to her ankles, her tie loose and her jumper missing, replaced with a red checkered jacket; she is not someone I have ever seen before. There is no way I can ever forget someone who stands out so obviously, the only red in a sea of blue.

Anger, hot and unforgiving, bursts out from deep within me, and I pull away from her violently, shouting, "Why don't you mind your own business?"

Her eyes are a vivid scarlet, like blood, yet they are filled with a very human warmth, her tone civil, "I'm not going to let you jump. Whatever it is can be worked out, okay? And if it's someone, I can beat him up for you."

Her smile is crooked, deliciously so, the kind that would make girls melt into squealing puddles. Keeping her at arm's length, I ask almost suspiciously, "Who are you? I've never seen you around before."

I am cautious, wary; unsure what reason a stranger may have to help another. Maybe she is a mere figment of my imagination, the remnants of Bonnibel Burroughs who doesn't yet want to die.

She looks up at the sky, the wind tossing her hair about beautifully, "I'm Marceline Abadeer, just transferred in today."

That explains it… "Bonnibel Burroughs."

"Well, Bonnie," she looks me in the eye now, sincerity radiating from her, "From now on, I'll be your friend, so don't do anything stupid, alright?"

Bonnie. No one has called me that in four years, and here she is, just using it right off the bat. Strangely, it does not irk me the way it should, I… I kind of like the way that nickname rolls off her tongue…

"Why would you help me?" I turn away, unable to meet that scarlet gaze, instead staring down at the same old scenery that spreads out before me. Why would anyone have any reason to take even a single glance at a flat, lifeless girl such as myself? Is she lying to me, will she only hurt me? Or is she my brain's last-ditch attempt at survival?

"Because you remind me of myself," she replies, a sorrowful look clouding her eyes, "Just that I used a knife…"

The wind tugs her hair back, this time pulling the collar of her jacket with it, and I see it. A long, jagged scar on the side of her neck, most likely aimed at cutting open the jugular, running from her hairline and stopping millimeters above the shoulder. So she, too, found living heavy…

Shaking her head, she smiles that crooked smile again, "Anyway, it's not about me, it's about you. Whatever's the matter… you can count on me, I promise."

"Marceline…" a single tear rolls down my cheek as my knees buckle, and she easily catches me before I fall.

"Marcy's fine," she pats the back of my head as I bury myself into her jacket, taking in the sweet scent of her skin, like the night and fresh rain. Though the scenery out there remains the same, my life has changed…

Is this what I was looking for? Is she going to splash my monochrome world with color, give my life meaning? Only time will tell…

One Year Later

We are on the school roof together again, it has become a common hiding place of ours, and sometimes, we skip classes just to sit here together. Though it is a ritual, albeit one without a fixed schedule, I am perfectly fine if it never changes, I would love to just stay here with Marcy forever.

The last year had been a tough one, but I managed to change myself for the better with her help, getting over my antisocial nature, trying to create bonds with people other than Marcy and actually having a life. It wasn't easy, the night before I had to talk to Mi-Yun I spent sobbing for hours, trembling in terror, wishing I could go back on my word and hide forever. I had chosen her to be the first of my "new friends" because she had seemed the nicest of all the girls in class (save my Marcy), and didn't radiate a scary aura of superiority the way some girls (LSP, the school gossip) did.

Marcy was my rock, whenever I was afraid, hurt, tired, she would open her arms and welcome me into a warm, safe haven where I could hide and rest for a little while. She waited patiently by my side as I took baby steps out of my shell, never once growing impatient with me, always understanding, though she wasn't, and still isn't, very good at the sappy emotional stuff.

Now, I have even allowed my hair to remain in its natural color, which looked weird when it was growing so I ended up dyeing the whole thing as close a shade of pink as I could manage (which wasn't as close as I would have liked). Now, most of it is natural, save the last couple of inches at my waist.

Those couple of inches are all that remain of the old Bonnibel Burroughs, the hollow girl with a personality like a blank piece of paper, wading through a monochrome life with weights dragging at her body. Everything else has changed, colored, brightened.

Looking up at the sky, I lean against Marcy's shoulder, savoring the warmth of her body. "I can't believe that at this time last year, I was going to jump off this very roof."

"You've come a really long way, Bonnie," she smiles that beautiful, crooked smile as always, the one that turns my insides to mush. "I'm really proud of you."

"I couldn't have done it without you," I reply, burning the image of a vividly blushing Marceline into my memories, "One year ago today; you barged right into my life and gave it meaning, gave it color, and I can never thank you enough for that. You saved my life, Marcy."

"Ah, well…" she looks away, still blushing. Marcy isn't very good with words; she never has been, unless she's singing them. She's cute that way, and I wouldn't have her change for the world. "I didn't really…"

How strange, that a girl who used to desire change would now turn her back on it. I guess it's because I have something to lose now, and I fear that change might make me lose it, lose her, even though it was what brought her to me.

Changing the subject, she says, "Your hair is coming along great."

I hit her lightly to let her know that I am aware of what she is trying, but oblige her anyway. "Yeah, I'm glad. Why do they only have hot pink hair dye?"

"Because only weirdos dye their hair pink, and that's the shade they're going for," Marcy responds, pouting when I punch her in the shoulder. When I dyed most of my hair hot pink, even Marcy was stunned, and she knew I was going to do it. The rest of the class, though…

"No one could believe I was the same girl," I laugh at the memory, "Finn and Jake confronted you and swore you replaced me with a clone or something."

She laughs as well, that musical, lilting laugh that I love so much. "Well, I sure taught them a lesson they wouldn't forget in a hurry."

"Marcy, you nearly killed them."

"Well, they started it," she shrugs, and I have nothing to say against her there. Finn and Jake did tackle her before she left class that day, and if there's one thing my Marcy doesn't like, it's being touched by other people. She's really picky about who can touch her, and if you're not on her list, you'd better not try to if you want to keep your body parts.

I shake my head in a mock-rebuking manner, which makes her laugh. "Marcy, Marcy, Marcy, what am I gonna do with you?"

"Pat me," she replies lazily, shifting so that her head is now against my shoulder. Shaking my head in a mock-rebuking manner, I oblige, running my fingers through her raven locks, watching as she closes her eyes and purrs in pleasure.

That day, she had freaked out and thrashed the twins across the room, as expected, nearly breaking Finn's leg in the process. Fortunately, since there was a lot of proof that they had started the fight first and Marcy was (and still is) undergoing serious therapy for her touch-related issues, the punishments weren't too severe on Marcy's end. The twins, on the other hand, received a hefty detention sentence after a one week suspension, all applied after their hospitalization had ended, of course.

Everyone in school was terrified of her from that day forth, they called her Marceline the Vampire Queen, and Finn and gang tried to dissuade me from spending time with her. They pulled me aside whenever they could and roped Mi-Yun in on it too, calling Marcy crazy and dangerous and feral, which pissed me off so much I nearly beat them up myself.

Those idiots, they know nothing about Marcy at all, yet they feel the right to judge her as if they do. Marcy is a monster on the outside, but beneath that protective layer is an awkward, sweet little kitten who isn't sure about her place in the world.

And even if she is a dangerous psychopath, there is no way I will ever leave my infuriatingly adorable Marcy, my rock, my home, my closest friend, my savior, the owner of my heart…

Looking out over the scenery that has remained unchanged over the last year; I silently admire the beauty in it, the color in it, that I never managed to see before. If it weren't for Marcy, I would never have opened my eyes to the color that exists in my world, and I would have ended up embracing the asphalt in my misery.

"Marcy?"

"Yeah?" she turns to look at me, those scarlet eyes the same color as the magnificent sun setting behind us – no – more beautiful than the magnificent sun setting behind us boring into mine.

Wordlessly, I lean up to press my lips against hers, a silent thanks for all that she has done for me, for all that she will continue doing for me, a silent proclamation of my hidden feelings. She flushes the same color as her eyes before deepening the kiss, arms wrapping around my waist as I wrap mine around her neck, pulling her closer.

She kissed me back. Oh glob, Marceline kissed me back...

"Be mine, Marcy?"

"I'm already yours."

The endless road which I am walking no longer seems so lonely, so boring, so lifeless. The asphalt may still be a dark gray but the road is flanked with color, with fountains, local parks, cozy cafés, ice-cream parlors and school roofs in the sunset. Best of all, I am no longer walking it alone.

And it all started with a dark haired girl with blood red eyes standing under a monochrome blue sky.

A/N: It didn't quite come out the way I want it to, but meh. I've rewritten it a lot and have pretty much given up as I don't know what I want, just that it's not quite this. Please leave a review if you have any comments at all!

If you want me to listen to a certain song, I guess I wouldn't mind, just pop it in a PM and I'll go check it out. If I have the feels for it, I'll definitely write something, but if I don't… haha my muse is a picky one.

Haruka