When she was nervous, she would pull out a pack of gum. Soft from the warmth of her body and being in her pocket for too long, she would stick a piece in her mouth and chew. It was just a force of habit. It could be any flavor, but he knew her favorite was this apple and peach variety you could only get from this old fashioned shop a few blocks from their apartment. You could say he knew everything about her, and you would be right. When she was seven, her dad had left her, saying that he wanted to chase the freaks, not have one for a kid. Her mother had consoled her by telling her that the color of her skin reminded her of the sky at twilight and that sometimes people weren't as sweet as she was.

For most of her college years, she wore anything long enough to cover up her pink skin. She would briskly walk away or put her head down whenever she was called because she hated drawing attention to herself. To her color. She would often dart into empty rooms and stay there until all the fuss had dissipated, even though it was warranted. She was at the top of her class. It was one day that she made a mistake and stumbled into the wrong room, at the wrong time, and into the wrong person. It was then at that moment she had met the man of bones, glass, and later, ice. Simon Petrikov.

"I'm sorry!" She said, snatching her fallen hat off his chest. He looked at her, wide-eyed, holding up two shards of bone in his hands as if in surrender. "Your skin…," he said in awe. "It's—"
"I know." She snapped and got up, rubbing her arms self-consciously.
"Beautiful. Like…cherry blossoms in the spring."
She flinched. "I…really?"
He smiled shyly. "Um, well, yeah." She backed away, looking for the door. "Where are you going?" He said.
"I-I need to go. This was the wrong room, anyway."
"But wait! What's your name?" Slam.

A few days after their meeting, he learned her name and her dorm number, the muttered "Pink Girl" who kept her head down in the halls. He sent her flowers every day, from peonies to poppies, to soft ranunculus to sweet peas, and to tulips and roses that looked like cotton candy, all in varying shades of pink. Along with these floral heralds, he carefully scrawled messages on the wrappers of sticks of bubblegum and left all of this leaning on her door. It was one day, a couple of months after their meeting that she burst into his study with a peach orchid in her fist and a flyer for the spring formal.
She was blushing, flustered, her eyes wet with angry tears.
"Do you think this is a joke?" She growled.
He set down his brush. "What?" He said. "No!"
"How long? How long are you going to keep tormenting me?"
He went to her. "What do you mean? The flowers?"
"Not just the flowers, dammit! The notes. The questions. Have you heard what they've been saying? That you want to go out with me."
Simon pulled at his hair. "Of-of course I want to go out with you!"
She blinked in disbelief. "You do. You actually do?"
He sighed. "Uh, yeah." He got a coral carnation from a desk and held it out to her. "So, will you go with me or not? Please."
After a few moments, she smiled. "Truth be told, I liked the gum better than the flowers." He laughed, and she decided she liked the sound of it.
"I thought you would."

A couple of weeks later, she appeared in his doorway in a simple light green dress and a silver wreath in her hair. For reasons unknown, he bowed and called her Princess, and they both had a silent agreement that they might as well dance there among the remnants of lost civilizations. They felt like they couldn't have been more alive. He whispered into her ear the stories of forbidden love, of poems etched onto temple walls and skeletons found, their bodies entwined in embrace. She murmured about the creatures her father talked about, cryptids who roamed the land aimlessly, whose existence weren't possible in terms of science. Alone.
"Have you ever felt alone?" He had whispered in her ear.
"Many times."
His hands found hers. "Not anymore," he promised.

A few years after that night, and she was in his doorway again, a hand on her plump belly.
"Twins,"she sobbed, her face contorting with the weight of the hopelessness of their future together. "I can't be with you, Simon. Not like this."
He had his hand on her arm. "Betty, that wasn't me. You know that."
She shook him off. "Look at your hands." He did. They were blue, the color of icebergs and of winter skies. Numb. He was numb.
"You're going to leave me alone," he choked.
She looked back, and he swore he never saw her so conflicted. So hurt. "I'm sorry," she said before closing the door.
He crumbled to his knees. "Come back," he whispered. "We weren't supposed to leave each other alone. Come back."
She never did.

Ever since the human boy had gotten with Flame Princess, Princess Bubblegum seemed to stray away from the crowd, preferring to do monotonous things like fill the glasses or fiddle with some small contraption. This behavior seemed particularly unusual as she was hosting a party that day. It was rumored to be for her birthday, but no one was sure.

Ice King frowned. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't actually sure if he was in love with PB. It was another feeling, but he couldn't put his finger on it. In fact, he hardly cared about the difference. Until now. He was feeling that prickly sensation in his head, like something was trying to scratch itself out of his head. Like how an old memory arises from the depths of time.
Before he knew it, he was in front of the princess and had asked her to dance.

Simon's consciousness arose once in a while, and most of the time, he would lock himself in his chamber and cry over his belongings, but he had to make the most of it this time. He wasn't sure how long he would maintain control of his wrecked body, but he knew. He knew who she was, but it wasn't like she would believe him. Not in this body.
"Dance?" She scoffed. "Were you even invited, Ice King?"
"Well, no, uh," he wrung his hands, as in nervous, to stay in character. "I sort of…let myself in." He chuckled. She narrowed her eyes.
"Look, it's a party," he said," it's your party! Just think of me as another one of those guys who want to dance with you."
She paused, taking a moment to look at the crowd she was separate from, that was having fun and a perfectly great time without her. She looked down. "No one wants to dance with me."
"Hey. Didn't I just say I did?"
"Well…"
"Fine, fine. I get it. I'll just let myself out, then." He had just turned around when she said, "Wait! One dance. That's it. No funny business or I'll throw you out the window."
"Aw, princess. You shouldn't have."

She was like her mother in so many ways. Tactical, firm, and well, albeit, a bit stubborn with how she was leading him. He took that moment to think that this dance was for a wedding she would never have, with the father she never got to know. But even so, he felt a sense of accomplishment. It sickened him that his other self was infatuated with her, but he had this and that was all that mattered. He wanted to tell her the truth so badly, especially when he realized that the music playing was being managed by the little girl he had once been a father to-Marceline. The confession got stuck in his throat, so all he could muster was an uncomfortable smile that made PB raise an eyebrow.
"No funny stuff," she said.
"Fingers crossed," he said through his teeth.
The worst form of suffering is not being able to tell anybody that you are.

His body went rigid, and he clamped her hands in his. "ICE KING!" She winced.
The frost. It was coming back, clouding his vision and icing his sanity. The crown was taking back control of his body. No! His teeth bit down on his tongue, pain knifing there. He had to stay awake. It was too soon. Now, she would never trust him. Now, he would never get his chance. Gunter, his son, and Bonnibel, his daughter. He would have looked for them if he had known.
"I'm proud of you," he said before the Ice King grabbed her. There were tears in his eyes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I actually made this for a contest held by this Adventure Time group on Facebook I'm in. Each written entry was supposed to have a word limit of 1, 500 words, so this was just something I whipped up while in post The Fall trauma. It's a headcanon of mine that PB is Betty's and Simon's daughter. Like, maybe using the elements of magic and science together, Betty had managed to mutate Bonnibel into PB so she could survive the nuclear winter. Oh, I don't know. Please review! I'd love to hear what you guys have to say about this. ^^