She had always been a meticulous cleaner.
Things like dust and cobwebs didn't even have a chance to land in her room.
So, when it came to how she had missed this of all things, Bubblegum was stumped. She sat down, holding the pillow case at arm's length as if a spider sat on the back.
How many times had she pulled this off for washing? How many times had she stuffed her pillow back in and slept on it?
Her eyes had simply never fallen over the tiny 'M' that sat in the fabric. Four little lines stained in handwriting she hadn't seen in years.
Honestly, it was childish. Who walks around marking everything with their first initial? And this hadn't even been hers to deface!
She must've marked this back when it had been 'her' pillow. She had always slept to the right.
And-if she had known Bonnibel as well as she claimed she had- Marceline knew she would find it. She had probably guessed it would have been found in the timeline of their… fondness for another.
"Well, weren't you wrong," the princess muttered. It was supposed to be a dry annoyance, but her lips betrayed her with a quiver. She dug the heel of her hand into her eye, crumbling the sheet with her other.
"Oh stop," she told herself. She had already wasted too much time on this, and it had only been a few minutes.
She got up, tossing the ball of fabric into the wastebasket by her desk.
She would just get a new one from the linen closet. The trashed one would never be used again. There. Problem solved.
Except that a thought crept in. A doubt.
Marceline hadn't really brought anything over to be left behind. And her gifts had always been songs.
Little three note tunes improvised on the spot. Always strummed out languidly on a massive axe bass that was not allowed in the room after it dug into her wall.
Night sky flights to bring Bonnibel closer to the stars than her telescope could have ever.
There had been a few things here and there (a heart shaped rock she had found, a pink and grey scarf she had stolen, an old band shirt), but those had all been trashed.
Save for the shirt—that had been kept on a technicality that it had been given during their friendship. It was the loosest thing Bonnibel owned, and the comfiest to sleep in.
The photos (Marceline hanging upside down as she held her hand, the girls lopsided in laughter) had been tossed.
But how many other 'M's' might there be?
She could only remember one other.
She could almost feel the finger tip on her shoulder blade now. How it had lazily traced the same letter over and over on the bare skin there, making her eyes close slower and slower until Bubblegum nodded off.
Every now and then, the vampire would hum her to sleep with a lullaby. But even then, there was tracing.
M for Marceline, she had finally whispered one night. Maybe to let the girl know she was aware of it. Maybe to make sure she was right.
Whatever the case, the vampire had surprised her.
For Mine, Marceline had added before touching her lips to Bubblegum's nape. And for Memory.
The tear slipping down her nose startled her back. And her jaw tightened.
Memory. Of course.
That girl had issues with being 'forgotten.'
That girl was smug and wild and juvenile and did whatever she pleased when getting the reactions she wanted.
She probably hid that 'M' after they broke up. She knew Bubblegum would find it, and think of her. Remember her.
'M' was for 'Miss me.' Was for 'Mocking.'
"Well, weren't you wrong," she repeated. Only this time her voice cracked. And like a fissure in ice, the tears poured down her face.
