I like AUs where one of them has a super-power. I especially like when mind reading is involved. Yes.

The problem with being psychic is knowing what everyone thinks about you. Especially when everyone thinks you're worthless. And especially when they think it a lot.

Does she know what a wardrobe looks like?

Or the colour wheel? It's like she doesn't realise there are colours other than black.

I heard she failed last semester and she's only here this year because she slept with the principal. Gross.

I wonder if her boyfriend knows she sleeps with anyone who offers.

Pretty sure he dumped her.

She's such a loser.

That was a pretty standard assortment of thoughts to hear every day at school. It hadn't always been a problem. Telepathy was something that had developed over time. At first, it was just whispers in the back of her head; maybe a stray word or two from a broken string of thoughts. Nothing more.

The first time it had coalesced into an actual thought had been in the car with her father. They'd been arguing about her taking a music lesson outside of school. She wanted to learn another instrument, he wanted her to stop trying to divide her focus because something had to suffer and he knew which one it would be. The yelling had tapered out into a strained silence, full of ice and tension and unspoken words.

When some of those unspoken words had drifted through her mind – My daughter is going to end up on the street without any useful skills. I wish she'd just listen to me – Marceline had nearly jumped out of her seat. She'd spun, glaring at her father, ready to fire off another round of expletives he didn't know she'd learned. But he was staring out the window, a pensive frown on his face, the kind of expression he wore when lost in thought. He hadn't spoken a word.

She hadn't realised it straight away and snapped something about music being a perfectly useful skill, thank you very much. He'd grumbled and growled and the argument had fired up again. It ended with her slamming her bedroom door in his face when they got home.

Only then did it occur to her that he hadn't said anything out loud. That was the first time she'd picked up on the somewhat psychic nature of her ability. She was eight.

At first it was fun to play around with it. She stretched her talent as far as she could until she could tell who was nearby simply by the feel of their thoughts. It overwhelmed her sometimes so she taught herself to block people out. And as she got older, she got better at manipulating people based on what they were thinking.

Getting her father off her back by taking what he wanted to hear and using it against him was the most important part. Dumping her dumb-arse boyfriend two months into their relationship when she felt his intention solidify in the back of his mind was another. It was truly good for making decisions pre-emptively.

Admittedly, knowing what people thought of her as soon as she met them was probably why she didn't have many friends. Or… any friends at all really. There were a few folks she spoke too who didn't think she was hopeless, but she wouldn't term them 'friends'.

And, honestly, by the time she was twenty, Marceline was so used to the disdainful way people thought of her, that it came as a shock to the system so profound she was rendered utterly speechless when she bumped into a woman at the supermarket whose first thought had nothing but positive vibes thrumming through it. Well, okay, so the thought flickered to life after Marceline helped her pick up her groceries.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," Marceline gasped as the person bounced off her shoulder, bags falling free to send an assortment of fruits bouncing to the floor. "Totally my bad." She crouched to scoop a stray orange out from under a cardboard advertisement and dropped it back in the plastic bag with its fellows. A lone apple rolled her way so she grabbed it too. "Sorry about that," she apologised again, handing the oranges back.

The woman beamed at her. "No worries. I wasn't watching where I was going anyway."

Nobody should look that good in a plaid shirt.

Marceline's mouth dangled open as the thought – filled with the same tones as the woman's voice had been – danced through her head. Her eyes went wide, her cheeks filling with warm and the apple in her hand was completely forgotten. The woman, red hair pulled back from her face in a messy bun, green eyes laughing despite the awkwardness of the situation, kept smiling. Nobody thought things like that about Marceline, especially not when they are as cute as this girl. She had to resist the urge to look over her shoulder for someone else in a plaid shirt.

"Are you alright?" the woman asked. There was an edge of sarcasm around the fringes of her thoughts, an underlying current of happiness that bubbled through everything. A piercing sharpness indicative of someone intelligent and an openness that spoke of honesty not encountered every day.

Marceline didn't pay much attention to any of that because she was too busy floundering for words. "Uh… sure." So eloquent.

She laughed quietly. "You look like I just hit you with a fish." She stuck out a hand. "Bonnie."

Blinking, Marceline took the hand. "Mm… Marceline."

"Sorry I walked into you."

"Worse things have happened," she replied, trying to put a bit of wit back in her voice.

I'll say.

Bonnie's eyes flicked down and back up but Marceline was a little too perplexed by the most recent thought to pay it any mind. "Walk me to my car?" Bonnie asked, turning away slightly to motion to the car park.

"Mm… alright. Oh," Marceline – finally regaining a small measure of intelligence – lifted the apple in her hand. "Here."

"Keep it. I've got others." Then she handed Marceline a few bags and started walking, evidently expecting to be followed. So Marceline obliged. And when Bonnie's groceries were stored safely in the trunk of her car, the thoughts – which had remained relatively quiet during the walk – spiralled into incoherence.

Figuring she'd save the other woman from herself, Marceline offered a tight smile. "Might see you around," she said, backpedalling.

Bonnie's face filled with something that might be deemed sorrow (or akin to it) and she let out the tiniest of sighs. "Yeah. Maybe."

As it happens, Bonnie's mind is spectacularly unique. No one else in the entire universe wanders down the street or buys coffee with equations and formulae whirling through their head. No one. And Marceline knows that for a fact.

So when a familiar spark flashed through her head while she was standing in line for a muffin – a spark accompanied by a stream of chemical components and a sharp twist of panic regarding a thesis – her head whipped around. The door tinkled pleasantly and in stepped a familiar head of red hair. Marceline had tuned out all the other minds in the shop (and out on the street), but apparently she'd been waiting to feel this one pass her by again.

"Your order?" a bored barista enquired of her.

"Black coffee and a strawberry muffin and," she twisted to point Bonnie out in the line, "whatever she usually orders."

The barista rolled her eyes but took her money and went off to fill her request. It didn't take her long, in the scheme of things, before she was handing Marceline a tray of food, a coffee and a hot chocolate. Marceline thanked her (in spite of the casual rudeness she exuded) and headed for the door. On the way, she prodded Bonnie's shoulder.

The woman looked up and blinked, squinting slightly through her glasses (which she looked unfairly cute in, it should be noted). The thoughts spinning through her head took an extra-long time to dispense with the chemistry and register Marceline's presence. And when they did, she wasn't disappointed.

God. Say something, you idiot, don't just gawk.

Marceline could only smile at the internal scolding. "Hot chocolate?"

"That's my order," Bonnie accused, narrowing her eyes. "How did you know that?"

"I can read minds," Marceline laughed.

"Sure."

Marceline shrugged. "I just told the barista to get your usual order. I figured you'd be a regular if you come in with your nose in a book. Otherwise you're just really good at navigating a foreign environment blind."

"Good guess. Let's go outside."

Across the street from the café was a park with little wooden tables and benches. Bonnie dumped her bag on one side and sat down with a leg tucked up under the other. Her thoughts were fairly disjointed at this point, caught somewhere indecisive between actual human interaction and more anxiety based on her thesis.

"So you study something chemistry related," Marceline observed, pointing to the book. "What's your thesis on?"

"Chemical imbalances that cause emotional reactions to flare and induce a panic," she sighed, pushing the book away and wrapping both hands around her cup.

"Sounds awfully complicated."

Bonnie shrugged. "Just stressful. What do you do?"

"I'm currently doing odd jobs for an IT firm in the centre of town," Marceline told her. "I was going to study, but it seemed pointless. My goal is to not have to work at the IT place anymore and instead play music."

"What instrument do you play?"

"Bass is my favourite, but piano and guitar too."

So awesome. "That's cool. Do you have any gigs coming up?"

Marceline fired her a smirk. "Why? Are you going to start stalking me?"

"I might." Absolutely. "Maybe it's just to find out if you really can play."

"I'm hurt; you just called me a liar."

Bonnie laughed. "You're twisting my words against me. And you didn't answer my question."

"Yeah, I'm playing at the pub down on Victoria Avenue this weekend."

"Maybe I'll be there."

The way her thoughts were turning though, Marceline was convinced it wasn't a 'maybe' thing. It was a 'definitely' thing.

And it was, as it happened. Bonnie showed up at the pub, head full of her usual positive vibes, thoughts full of things that Marceline was probably reading into way too much. But she didn't care. It was nice.

Six months and thirteen gigs later, Bonnie's number was in her phone complete with last name, Marceline knew her address off the top of her head and had come to expect a little bit of a vacuum in her mind whenever she walked into a room. It happened a lot. Marceline would step into her apartment and there would be a suspicious pause in whatever Bonnie had been thinking before conversation started up.

There were always those little thoughts in Bonnie's head. Even six months later. They were fleeting and never mimicked in Bonnie's voice or expression. They were a purely internal happening. And mostly, Marceline had learned to tune them out. They couldn't be important. It was pretty great to know that Bonnie wasn't superfluous though. She actually did think Marceline was amazing.

She'd gloss over the mental comments on her wardrobe. Those were too hard to explain away.

Of course, it was never going to last. This equilibrium they had. Marceline was a loser – everyone had always said so, no confidence on Bonnie's part would change that. As for Bonnie… well… she was definitely too amazing to be hanging around with Marceline. So something had to snap.

Marceline had kind of hoped it would snap before she realised she might be just the tiniest bit in love with the redhead.

Not that she'd secretly hoped that might happen. No way.

But she was incredibly glad that Bonnie wasn't the psychic. Otherwise those moments when they were standing in the kitchen cooking… whatever; and Marceline had an incredible urge to kiss the other woman… well those moments would be awkward. At least this way, it was only embarrassing in her head and didn't have any impact on their friendship.

Wait… friendship?

Yeah, Marceline guessed that's what it was. There's nothing else it could be.

But still, the argument at three in the morning about Marceline's roommate (a douche if ever there was one) had gotten way too out of hand.

"He's an idiot, Marceline!" Bonnie exclaimed.

"He's not. And he's not hitting on me. Please. No one would ever do that."

Bonnie huffed angrily. "You always do that."

"What?" she snapped.

"Put yourself down. You don't realise how great you are. He flirts and you let him. That encourages him and he doesn't deserve you."

"Why not? He's got a job, a car."

"That doesn't make him worthy of you though." Bonnie didn't seem to know whether she wanted to yell or whisper. She seemed to be trying both at the same time. "He doesn't pay any of the rent, he's been trying to force you into a domestic housewife role for months and you just… you just let him."

Marceline sighed. "I know that, but I've gotta take what I can get, alright? I need a roommate, so it might as well be him. But people don't hit on me, Bon. Not on me. Just on you."

I flirt with you all the time.

That thought gave her pause. "What?" Marceline asked, before remembering that Bonnie hadn't spoken.

"I didn't say anything," Bonnie muttered, crossing her arms, looking away.

"Do you want me to go?"

No. Not ever. Aloud, Bonnie just shrugged one shoulder.

"So do you want me to stay?"

Yes, always. Another shrug.

"Then what do you want me to do?" Wow, but it was weird to be responding to outward cues when she knew exactly what Bonnie was thinking.

I want you to kiss me. I want you to love me like I love you. I want you to believe in yourself like I –

Bonnie's line of thought terminated the moment Marceline kissed her. It just ended, wisping away into silence. For a brief moment she didn't do anything. Then this light bloomed in the back of Bonnie's mind, slowly at first, but growing until it filled every last corner with white and gave Marceline a headache. She was so focused on the change in Bonnie's head that she almost didn't notice the way her fingers had wound into her hair, the way her lips moved, the way she sighed into Marceline's mouth.

The light flickered, a thought flashing through the brightness. Why?

Bonnie ripped away, took two steps back and frowned. "What was that?" It sounded so stern out loud, but inside, there was a ripple of hope and a thread of warmth that took a while to place. When Marceline realised what it was her face went red.

Trying to be cavalier about it, Marceline smirked. "Pretty sure it's called a kiss, Bon."

"Why though, smart arse?"

"Because you wouldn't tell me what you wanted, so I did what I wanted."

The thread of warmth twisted, pulsing as it expanded. Why would you want that?

"Because you're gorgeous and smart and you think I'm awesome and… and I dunno. You're just amazing…" Marceline trailed off when she noticed Bonnie frowning at her. "What?"

"I didn't say anything. What question did you just answer?"

Marceline's brow creased then, confused. "You just asked me why I'd want to do that…"

"No I didn't."

"You did though. I heard… Oh shit." Marceline scrunched her eyes shut.

She felt Bonnie move, knew exactly the expression she'd be wearing, the tilt of her head. Can you hear my thoughts, Marceline?

"Maybe a little bit," she exhaled.

"Have you always been able to?"

"Yes."

So you hear all the nice things I say about you?

She nodded.

And you heard me admit that I flirt with you… Oh my god. You heard me say I wanted you to kiss me.

"Yep."

"Did you do it because I wanted it or because you did?"

"Can I say both?"

If I asked nicely… would you do it again?

"If you ask nicely, I'll do just about anything for you."

Now, that thudding filament was so blinding, Marceline was a little bit scared to open her eyes. She did it anyway. There was no sense being stupid.

Bonnie was so close. Her hands reaching up tentatively to fist in Marceline's collar. Her expression was weirdly serious, a shadow of something else coiling behind her eyes.

Marceline, would you kiss me again?

In ten seconds (less probably) Marceline had Bonnie up against the wall, more than happy to spend the entire day kissing her slowly. Delightfully pleased with the way it felt to have Bonnie's hands tucked into her back pockets.

Can you overlook the part where I said I'm in love with you, please?

"No," Marceline mumbled into the curve of Bonnie's throat. "I can't."

Why?

"Because I'm in love with you too."

Move in with me.

Okay, that one wasn't even a request, but when Bonnie's brain provided a slew of images that could be nothing but positive reasons to move in, she was more than happy to comply.

So… maybe being psychic wasn't so bad. It just took a while to get to the good parts.