Bonnie had never been happier to hear the lunch bell.

Partially because she was in art class, which she basically hated, but also because she had an important question for her girlfriend. Rather unceremoniously, she dumped the stupid sketchbook into her pink backpack and pulled it onto her back. She yawned. It was probably the only sign of boredom she'd ever shown in school, because art class really didn't interest her. She'd only taken it because of some stupid school rule that she needed credits in at least one creative class to graduate.

(Any time she sat in the stupid art classroom, she always found herself envious of Marceline. Bonnie had zero idea of what to draw, and Marceline spent her entire day doodling all sorts of creative things in her notebook.)

"You coming to the cafeteria?" Lady asked her as they walked out of the classroom together. "Finn brought a 40 piece nugget box from McDonald's that he's going to share."

"As… pleasant as that sounds," Bonnie said hesitantly, glancing down the hall at the music classroom, "I was going to spend lunch with Marceline today. I have something I want to ask her."

Lady smirked, like she always did when Bonnie mentioned Marceline. "Finally proposing, are you?"

"Shut up," Bonnie rolled her eyes, watching as the majority of the class started exiting the music room. She knew that Marceline had been in that class, but she wouldn't be leaving until the end of lunch. "I just wanted to ask her over to dinner on Sunday. Peter wants to get to know her."

Lady frowned at her. "Isn't she at your house like, every day? You'd think he'd already know her."

"Well, yes, but it's different now, isn't it?" Bonnie pointed out, because having her friend over to hang out was a completely different thing to having her girlfriend meet her parental figure. "Besides, we've never really sat down with him, you know? Except for one time when she and I made pizza, but we were just friends then."

"Alright then," Lady said, and when Bonnie stopped outside of the music classroom, she kept walking, "have fun!"

Bonnie waited a few moments for the last remaining stragglers to leave, and then went into the classroom. She spent a couple of lunches in there, mostly to see Marceline, but to spend time with Keila too. They were both still there, sat on the desks rather than on chairs, playing a pretty sounding acoustic song together. Marshall wasn't there – he was probably in the cafeteria, trying to take as many chicken nuggets as he could from Finn – but the other two boys were, the sandy-haired keyboard player and the big curly haired drummer.

Bonnie came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend's waist. "Hey. I have a question for you."

Marceline's fingers ceased on the frets of her guitar, and she looked around to Bonnie with a soft smile. "What's up?"

"What's up is that you stopped playing, idiot," Keila bunched up a sheet of paper and threw it at her. It missed, but Bonnie was pretty sure that was on purpose. "We won't let you bring your girlfriend in here if you're going to get distracted."

Marceline rolled her eyes at her best friend's teasing, but ignored her to ask Bonnie, "What's your question, Bon?"

"Well," Bonnie let go of her, and despite all of her natural instincts telling her not to, sat on the desk next to her, and resecured her arm around Marceline's waist. Marceline started plucking the pretty melody she'd been playing before. "What's your favourite meat? Wait, you're not vegetarian, are you? I swear you're not; I've seen you eat burgers and pepperoni pizza."

"I'm really not," Marceline said, laughing at her sudden panic, "why do you need to know that?"

"I need to know because Peter wants you to come over for Sunday dinner. I don't know if it's really a thing over here, but at home, Sunday roast is rather popular. Peter and I do it every other Sunday, and he asked me to invite you," Bonnie said, blushing and looking away when she admitted, "He understands that I'm quite serious about you, and wants to get to know you. So… chicken, beef or pork?"

Keila laughed. "Damn, Marce, you're meeting the family? You're really in deep, huh?"

Marceline snorted. "Shut up, K."

"Hah," the keyboardist, Guy, laughed from the piano bench, "she didn't deny it."

The drummer, the one they called 'Bongo' for reasons unknown to Bonnie, coughed loudly and said, "Whipped."

Marceline rolled her eyes, and Bonnie went to pull away from her, give her a little space, if she was embarrassing her in front of her friends. But Marceline let go of the neck of her guitar and put her hand on top of Bonnie's as it started to slip away from her waist. "No, no. Ignore them."

"Aw," Guy laughed, "you going soft, Marce?"

"Going?" Keila snorted, strumming a few chords on her own guitar. "Dude, we all know she's a little baby."

"Okay, I'm literally older than every single one of you," Marceline reached over and shoved Keila, who just laughed at her. "Don't make fun of me just because none of you can get a girl."

"Ouch," Bongo clapped a hand over his chest, "harsh."

"And false," Keila added, poking Marceline's arm, "didn't you see me leave with that girl at our show last weekend? Those two can't get a girl, but don't lump me in with them."

As Guy piped up with an argument about how he could too get a girl, Bonnie nudged Marceline. "You still haven't answered my question."

"Oh," Marceline blinked, "um… I don't mind. Your uncle can cook whatever he wants."

"Well, he wants you to choose," Bonnie rolled her eyes, "so, chicken, beef or pork?"

"Chicken, I guess? I really don't mind, though." Marceline shrugged, flashing the soft smile that belonged to Bonnie. "Honestly. Just the invite to your weird British ritual is sweet. Unless I'm the sacrifice and you're going to roast me over an open fire while you both sing the national anthem."

Bonnie mock gasped, "How did you figure out our master plan?"

"Just a lucky guess," Marceline laughed, but she softened and asked, "Are you staying here for lunch?"

"If I'm invited," Bonnie said, glancing over to Keila, who was still mid-argument with Guy and Bongo about her skills with the ladies, "Wouldn't want to distract you."

"She was joking, you know," Marceline reached over and squeezed her hand, "You know Keila likes you."

"Keila likes who?" Keila repeated, then glanced at Bonnie and realised. "Oh, yeah, duh. I was just joking before, don't worry. You were my friend before you were Marceline's, anyway."

Bonnie nodded in consideration. "Okay, you're not wrong."

Marceline rolled her eyes. "We're not going to talk about that."

"You know what?" Keila laughed, "Maybe you are good with girls, because I have no idea how you managed to make her like you after all of that."

"My dashing good looks, talent and charisma," Marceline deadpanned, before she reached over and poked Bonnie in the arm, "and she was mean to me too, so…"

Despite all of the apologies and assurances that it was water under the bridge, Bonnie still felt bad about that. About prejudging based on rumours, and actively mocking Marceline for an injury. An injury she couldn't help, because she was a victim of abuse.

Keila's laughter pulled Bonnie out of her thoughts. "You were always bickering. It was so flirty."

Because she was so perceptive, Marceline had picked up on Bonnie's rather pensive mood. "Are you okay, Bon?"

"What?" Bonnie blinked in surprise, and when she saw the concern on her girlfriend's face, she felt that guilt again. Yes, Marceline had poked fun and called her princess, but that was never really offensive. There was that one time she'd threatened to give her a black eye, but that had been after Bonnie threatened to tell her father she wasn't pulling her weight on their project. An obvious defence mechanism, now Bonnie saw the truth. God, she must've been terrified.

"I asked you if you're okay," Marceline repeated, because Bonnie was probably looking increasingly horrified, "because you really don't look it."

"I just… I hope you know I'm really sorry about all of that," Bonnie mumbled, "about the things I said."

Marceline laughed, and it was coupled with a bright and easy smile, "Of course. And I know you know how sorry I am, too. It's all good, Bon. Seriously."

"Are…" Bonnie bit down on her bottom lip, "are you sure?"

"If I wasn't, do you really think you'd be my girlfriend right now?" Marceline pointed out, and Bonnie had to admit that she had a point. "It's all good, really."

Bonnibel nodded, at least a little bit comforted by Marceline's words. "Okay. Good."

"So, what time do you want me over on Sunday?" Marceline asked, nudging her playfully. "I'll actually try to be on time."

Bonnie smiled. "That'll be a real miracle, right there."

"So…" Bonnie said, picking up her phone and reading the time. 2pm on the dot. "Miracles really do exist."

"Ha ha," Marceline rolled her eyes, stepping inside and pulling off her jacket. Admittedly, it was one Bonnie was trying to steal, and she had plans to conveniently forget her own coat when it got into the colder months. It was the letterman style one, red with white sleeves, with a little white M embroidered. Bonnie wondered if she'd had it custom made.

Instead of asking her about the jacket, though – Bonnie didn't want to look too obvious – she asked about her shoes, as Marceline unlaced her boots and pulled them off. "Do you only own one pair of shoes or something?"

Marceline laughed but shook her head. "Nah. I got my shoes for when I go running. And I have like three pairs of Vans that I used to wear everywhere before I got my Doc Martens. Now they're gathering dust."

"I see," Bonnie hummed, watching as Marceline stood up from where she'd sat down on the staircase to untie her shoelaces. "Peter said that dinner should be ready in about half an hour, so we can relax and watch a bit of TV if you'd like."

Marceline frowned. "Doesn't he need any help with it? I am basically the second coming of Gordon Ramsay, you know."

"You can go and ask, but I'm eighty percent sure he'll say no," Bonnie shrugged, holding out her hand for Marceline to take. She led her through to the kitchen and laughed a little bit at her uncle. He was looking at the chicken, carving knife and fork in one hand. Usually, their Sunday dinners consisted of beef, which he could just slice. Chicken had to be carved off the bone. "Everything okay?"

Peter blinked, like he hadn't noticed them entering. "Oh, yes, I'm just… figuring out the logistics."

"I can do that, if you want," Marceline offered, and Bonnie must've looked slightly alarmed, because she quickly assured her, "seriously, I can. I made Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner last year, so… had to carve a huge turkey."

"Well, if you'd like to give it a shot," Peter held out the carving tools handle first, "I'm certainly not going to manage. I'll get the table set instead."

He grabbed three sets of normal knives and forks and headed into the little dining room. Bonnie watched, a little bit amazed, as Marceline carved the chicken. "Maybe you are the second coming of Gordon Ramsay."

Marceline laughed. "Trust me, I had no idea what I was doing the first time. But googling things is easy, and practice makes perfect."

The oven beeped, and Bonnie realised it must be the roast potatoes – or the Yorkshire puddings, and she couldn't allow those to burn – so she checked on them and moved everything to a lower shelf, plus switched the oven off. They would stay warm but wouldn't burn. She had just closed the oven door when she heard—

"Oh, fuck!"

Though you probably wouldn't think it by looking at her, Marceline didn't really swear or shout that often, so it was a little bit alarming. Bonnie whirled around to see the knife on the counter by the mostly carved chicken, and Marceline's right hand wrapped around her left. She was mumbling, "Oh no, oh no, oh no…"

"Are you okay?" Bonnie asked worriedly, and when Marceline just shook her head, she held out her hand. "Show me your hand, Marcy."

Marceline reluctantly stopped covering her hand and held it out, squeezing her eyes shut and refusing to look at it herself. "How bad is it? Did I chop off a finger? Oh my god, I did, didn't I? That's my fretting hand, Bonnie, I'm never going to be able to play music again, my life is over-"

Bonnie looked at the bleeding cut on Marceline's hand and had to hold back her laughter. It was barely a scratch, an inch long, and not at all deep, with a little red blood oozing down her thumb. "Oh my god, you're such a baby. It's just a scratch."

Marceline chanced a look, and then scoffed irritably. "Uh, there's blood."

"As your doctor, I assure you, it's nothing fatal," Bonnie laughed, "but I'll get you a plaster if it'll make you feel better about it."

Marceline blinked at her. "A plaster?"

Bonnie nodded, and grabbed a little kitchen roll to mop up the blood on Marceline's hand. The cut had already stopped bleeding. "Yes, if you need one. Plus some anti-septic spray, we don't want your hand dropping off from an infection. Wash your hand, okay?"

Bonnie quickly ran to the bathroom and rooted around in the medicine cabinet. She found everything she needed and rushed back to her girlfriend, who was just drying her hands.

"God," Marceline commented when she noticed her, "I really thought I'd chopped my thumb off. Imagine going through life without a thumb."

"Better than going through life without both thumbs," Bonnie shrugged, shaking the little can of anti-bacterial spray. "Okay, this will sting a little bit. Hold out your hand."

Marceline did as she said, and when Bonnie sprayed it, she cringed, but didn't complain. Instead, she noted the other item in Bonnie's hand and realised, "Oh, you meant a band-aid. Hah, plaster. That's cute."

Bonnie held up the can of spray threateningly. "Want me to spray it again?"

Marceline scoffed in offence. "I said it was cute, Bonnie."

"Mhm, sure," Bonnie answered rather sarcastically, and held up the two boxes of plasters, one pink, one blue, and deciding, "Hm, I think I'll give you a pink plaster, just for fun."

Marceline rolled her eyes. "Lame. Don't you have any of the cool patterned ones? Like, with superheroes?"

"Do I look like a five-year-old?" Bonnie retorted, taking out a pink one and sticking it onto the cut before Marceline could protest. "There you go. A nice, pretty pink plaster for you."

"Hey, life's too short to pretend you don't like pink," Marceline shrugged, surprising her completely. She leaned in and kissed Bonnie's cheek. "Thanks for taking care of me, Bon-Bon. But maybe work on your bedside manner before you get your first doctor job."

"What was it you said to your brother the other week?" Bonnie frowned in mock thought. "Oh, yes. I save the grumpiness just for you."

Marceline laughed and finished off carving the chicken without any more mishaps. "No, you don't. You like-like me."

"Delude yourself, alright," Bonnie joked, but once she'd passed Marceline the serving plate – which she'd already put the roast potatoes on – she kissed her cheek and gently touched the plaster on her hand. "Do you really not care that it's pink? Because I'm kind of annoyed it didn't annoy you."

Marceline snorted. "Of course I don't care. It's just a colour, and like I said, life's too short to pretend you're too cool for pink. Besides, pink reminds me of you, so…"

"Oh… aw," Bonnie blushed, "come on. Let's take everything in."

Upon the discovery that he wouldn't have to carve anything, Peter insisted they both sit down while he brought the rest of the food in. Bonnie pulled out Marceline's chair for her – she was a guest, after all – and sat down next to her, taking her hand on top of the table until it was time to actually eat.

"So, Marceline," Peter started, "you know your way around a kitchen, then?"

"I guess it's kind of a hobby? I like to cook and I've basically made dinner every day since I was around twelve," Marceline shrugged, "you know, if the music thing doesn't work out, I'm going to open my own restaurant."

"I'll be the manager," Bonnie teased her, "we both know it'd be the most chaotic restaurant ever if you're running it."

Marceline laughed. "Aren't you going to be off doctoring?"

"I can't do both? You underestimate me," Bonnie said, and looked to Peter with a smile, "but I won't have to, because Marceline's a very talented musician, so that's definitely going to work out."

"Ah, yes, you mentioned that," Peter nodded, "Bonnibel said you were in a band."

"Yeah, I sing and play bass," Marceline said, and then thought about it and added, "sometimes guitar too, if Keila needs a backup and my brother isn't around."

"I think I might've met your brother," Peter commented, and Bonnie had to try not to cringe, "You went to those school things with him, didn't you, Bonnie?"

Marceline laughed quietly, and Bonnie elbowed her lightly. "Yes. Both nice, friendly nights. Because Marshall is a good friend."

Marceline snorted, and Bonnie held her elbow up threateningly. Her girlfriend just grinned. "That still makes me laugh."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Do you want me to break up with you right now?"

"It's just funny," Marceline wasn't even trying to contain her laughter now, "You were trying to figure out if you liked guys with what's basically the guy version of the girl you liked. That's… hilarious."

"Alright, alright, shut up," Bonnie had to fight to keep her face serious, because when Marceline was smiling, it was hard not to smile right back. "Besides, he was so sweet about it when I came out to him. He was the first person I properly said the words I'm gay to. It was terrifying."

Marceline's gaze softened, and even Peter was smiling in a different kind of way across the table. As he helped himself to another Yorkshire pudding, he said, "I'm very happy that you're happy, Bonnibel. That you've accepted yourself."

She always had an inkling that Peter knew, especially because of that one time when she was younger. Fourteen, she must've been, a little way into year nine at the school in York. At parents' evening, teachers had mentioned that she was rather closed off from her peers. He'd noticed that she wouldn't even look at the other girls – it was almost like she was afraid of them – and he'd asked her about it. Bonnie had sat in an almost catatonic state of panic as Peter had explained it was okay for her to like girls if she did, and that she would always have an accepting home with him.

After she'd snapped out of her panic, she'd snapped at him. She was still very ashamed of it, especially because a certain homophobic slur might've tumbled out of her mouth. Just because you're a…

Bonnie shook that horrid memory from her head and asked the question on her mind. "Did you always know?"

"I had a feeling, because you were always so defensive about it, but I didn't want to push you," Peter smiled, "I just let you know it was okay and that you'd always have acceptance here. I knew you would tell me when you were comfortable and ready."

Bonnie glanced over at Marceline with a soft smile. "Thanks to a certain someone, I've never felt more comfortable."

"Nah," Marceline shook her head, "that was all you, Bonnie. Your own bravery. You had it in you the whole time, I just said what was already there."

Bonnie stared at her, her heart clenching. She didn't know how somebody so perfect could exist, and she also didn't know how to put it into words. Aside from… that thing, but it was far too soon to be letting that fall out.

Peter smiled at her across the table and pointed to Marceline with his fork. "Don't let her go."

"Don't worry, Uncle Peter," Bonnie answered, bumping against her girlfriend. "I don't plan on it."