Sleep didn't escape Bonnibel anymore. The comfort the shirt offered had gone, yes, but the warmth of the bath presented a new sense of comfort. The smell of berries and Marceline rested on her skin each night and it helped her sleep. The bath was no longer a failed attempt. Her miserable restlessness had been replaced with light-hearted dreams and happy illusions. It was back to pretending and longing. The fantasies kept her mind in a nicer, imaginary place. It was better than misery. Anything was better than misery.
Marceline didn't always run a bath when she visited, but Bonnibel mostly hoped she would. She stayed longer then, not always in the same room, but she liked to see Bonnibel to bed after the bath. She claimed to want to admire her work and the princess believed her. There could be no other reason.
Bonnibel wanted to know the secret recipe, wanted to know what exactly made it so effective. She wanted to know badly. But once she knew, Marceline would stop visiting as often. She wouldn't be the last thing Bonnibel saw before she fell asleep, and that was one of her favourite facets of the evening. It couldn't end. Bonnibel didn't want to lose anything anymore. She'd made enough sacrifices.
When night took hold of the land, Marceline arrived with a new addition to the ritual. She had her axe bass. Bonnibel was actually surprised she hadn't brought it with her sooner; it was her favourite instrument, after all.
The bath was prepared as mysteriously as always, and then Marceline played her bass by the door. She sat outside of the bathroom so the music didn't echo and disrupt the peace she was trying so hard to maintain, but Bonnibel missed her company.
"You can come in if you want. The volume will be fine," Bonnibel assured. She tried - wanted - to sound calm. She didn't want Marceline to hear, to even partially detect, the burning need to have her in the bathroom, to have her close.
"Cool," Marceline replied.
She pushed open the door and walked over to the bath, sitting down next to it, her back resting against the porcelain. She played a soft tune with a slow plucking pattern. It was soothing.
"Can I ask you something?" Bonnibel questioned. Marceline glanced at her and the princess lowered her head, quietly adding, "It's likely that you'll find it silly."
"Go ahead."
Marceline strummed once.
"You float a lot, but most of the time… when you're with me… you walk. Am I seeing things?"
Marceline didn't say anything for a while. She stopped playing and twisted the tuning pegs of her guitar. She fidgeted like that when she was nervous; she didn't like being put on the spot.
Bonnibel was about to tell her that she didn't have to answer, but the vampire sighed and said, "I do land with you more; you're right." She tested a string, wasn't satisfied, and adjusted the peg again. "I didn't think you'd notice."
"I did."
"Do I have to have a reason for it?"
"I suppose not. I was just curious."
Silence. No fidgeting or movement. Marceline was stalling. She wasn't finished, but she wasn't sure how to continue.
But finally:
"I do have a reason, though… Reasons, actually."
"May I know what they are?"
Marceline turned her head, her eyes meeting Bonnibel's. She smiled. Her embarrassment was obvious.
"I like to be on the same level as you. I like to stand by your side, not float above you. I like when our elbows touch or when we walk and our footfalls have the same pattern. I also think it's polite. I do respect you, you know? It just feels right to be on my feet around you. I like it."
Bonnibel stared at Marceline. She hadn't expected it to be anything like that. She'd thought it was because it was easier to trip her over, or because floating tempted her to fly off when Bonnibel bored her too much. There were so many reasons and none of them were any of what Marceline had just told her.
"Thank you."
A string was tweaked clumsily and it whined. Marceline turned to look at it as if she had done it accidentally. She was blushing.
"Don't be weird about it. I don't want it to be weird."
"It's not. I appreciate you telling me. I appreciate you."
"You're still making it weird."
"Sorry."
Marceline strummed twice.
"It's fine. You've always been weird, so I don't mind."
"You're a butt," Bonnibel told her, sinking under the surface of the water.
She heard a mumble from above. It could've been the guitar strings being plucked or it could've been Marceline retorting. Bonnibel couldn't be sure. She was submerged.
Welcome back, dear friend c:
