... welcome to a small corner of the universe you can still go back to reality

series of moments in a story following Freyja and Marah

"Do you think that things will go different this time?" She always tilted her questions in such a sweet way with her voice, managing to pierce the moment in Freyja's heart. Marah always made anything and everything different, especially now, leaving any feelings of dread in the air to be damned.

It shouldn't sound so serious, really, Marah just had a deep flair for the dramatic. It led to a grandness in moments as simple as dreading an interview. She had her reasons to worry, and Freyja could only do everything she could to console them. Her voice never came as soft, nor did she feel she was great at reassuring Marah enough. She would speak anyway, "I'm sure it will, you'll be great."

Marah poked around at the concoction of egg, sausage, and cheese that had been tossed into a pan for an odd number of minutes until it looked good. It did look good, Freyja was a proud cook. When anxious, Marah became a picky eater. It was no one’s fault, maybe the concept of pressure itself was to blame? Either way, the girls would figure it out together, somehow.

By the time Freyja finished eating, Marah had justified that half of her breakfast would be better than none of it, and not much worse than all of it. She had eaten, that would give her energy to get through the day.

As soon as it seemed appropriate enough, the anxious girl bolted off to her room and made quick efforts getting to her closet. Freyja put everything still on plates or in pans into a container, into the fridge. After it was all settled, she rounded a corner to their room, met with a flurry of clothes landing around the place.

”Weeks of waiting and I couldn’t take a single day to plan an outfit,” Moving around like a storm, Marah cut herself off by second guessing one of the items on the floor. She had tossed aside a pair of black slacks that seemed the formal casual she was going for.

Scooping the pants off the floor was easier than the process of getting herself into them, but Freyja wasn’t going to complain about the sight of her lady’s attempts. She was easily captivated by Marah this way, ever since they had met.

It was in school they had first encountered each other, but not until a chance moment in a shared class that they became friends. They had been partnered up for an assignment, which gave Freyja a wonderful opportunity to get close. Times then felt simple compared to what was falling into place now.

Freyja was tumbling around, lost in thought, watching Marah and reminiscing. Doing a presentation on history back then had been nothing for them, they had so perfectly teamed up that they simply kept talking to each other afterward. Love blooms often in those sorts of companionships, the ones that start so simple.

This was not middle school, or high school, presenting in classes to teachers. This was Marah going off to present herself. Alone. Freyja was never fond of how anxious it made Marah, nor the strange churning idea of how many eyes could glue themselves to her girlfriend no matter how close she was herself. Marah never minded the eyes as much as she worried over her performance, Freyja quite minded the eyes and always would.

Truly, Marah had gotten used to presenting herself in college, for her PHD especially, but Freyja had been glad to have graduated senior year of high school having spoken over only two PowerPoints. There was no presenting herself at Freyja’s job. Just customers that read a nametag.

Marah’s voice pierced through Freyja’s thoughts, darling and indecisive, “Do these pants still look alright on me?”

”You look alright to me always, and I don’t think your pants will make-or-break you nailing this,” Freyja returned, trying not to overdo it to any degree that came off too strong.

”Thank you,” Marah breathed a sigh of relief, seemingly reassured by the compliment. She found a red shirt, a button-up, and a white one, a long-sleeved blouse. Within the seconds after Freyja gave the white one a gesture, Marah was slipping it on with grace.

Freyja silently mourned the lost sight of her skin. She would see it later, after she was off work and Marah had secured the new job.

More shuffling bounced around the room, Marah was hopping into socks one at a time instead of sitting down to put them on, doing the same with her flats. Before there was anything else to be said about it, any time to protest, Freyja had a kiss planted against her lips and a blur of bleach blonde hair rushing to leave her.

The door slammed shut, cutting off Marah’s goodbye and I love you, the impact of all of it not lost to Freyja. She had an hour before work, one she spent cleaning up the aftermath of Marah’s wardrobe disaster. Picking up, folding, placing back in proper spot, repeating, it was a nice sort of tedium she didn’t mind.

It took Freyja a lot less to get ready, mostly because there was not a lot to consider when you wear a uniform. She would make sure her nametag was visible, make sure that she looked like she had just enough sleep with some concealer under her eyes, and head out the door. Marah had taken the car to work, they had agreed on this, Freyja enjoyed walking to work when she could, it just meant leaving a bit earlier than she usually thought or felt to. Most of the time it was to wrangle out more time with Marah.

A walk to work is usually a good time to think of more things, to remember more things, but Freyja found her mind occupied with worry for Marah’s sake. She kept thinking of the interview process for the position. It was a research opportunity, one Marah strived after for years in grad-school, one she geared her academic career toward. She had only ever pursued this singular position so vigorously, was it not reasonable to feel jealous, even just a little? Freyja had always supported her towards this, of course, Marah’s joy was her pride, whether it was brought upon by her or not. It was the idea of how Marah would be stood before some group of industry vultures that lingered, her perfectly adjusted professionalism being unappreciated by them. The idea that Marah may come home upset, feeling seen-through. Freyja didn’t want to jinx anything with her thoughts.

She couldn’t help it, but she tried thinking of other things, more and more. It was easier when she reached her workplace, a store that supplied tech-parts. It was a nice job, the place opened in the afternoon, stayed open all night and into the break of dawn. All, of course, to gear itself toward customers scorned by other places that closed in the early afternoon. There were a few safety concerns here and there, but it didn’t seem to be any more than any job in the grand scheme of things.

Freyja had landed a good position of opening the place, closers had to clean at 5 to get out at 6, and Freyja hated cleaning about as much as she hated staying up until the break of dawn just to clean. Unlock door, disarm security system, clock in, change sign to open, wait for others to clock in, start shelving and rearranging.

Shelving and rearranging, mostly pulling things to the front of the shelf, putting misplaced items back where they should be. Freyja enjoyed the sparseness of directing customers to aisles, she had the store layout memorized so it wasn’t the most difficult thing to shepherd them to the spot they’re looking for, but she would always drift back to where she had been prior to their questions. When she didn’t feel the counting to be droning, she enjoyed doing general inventory the most, but then would come shelving, rearranging, shelving, rearranging.

It would be a long set of hours into the night before she would be off the clock, until then, she would try not to think about Marah at the interview, those circles of eyes on her dedicated to judging her worth and sizing her up.

She would not think of Marah coming home to an empty place after that interview, a house with no security cameras to document any happenings outside its doors nor within. She would, mostly genuinely, not entertain a single worry about Marah’s safety. Freyja trusted her to handle herself, a little too well really, she trusted Marah with keeping herself safe. Trust enough to never worry to keep her safe, but the fear of losing her ever present. Marah had people to impress, and Freyja was so much smaller and less full of authority than they were.

The shift would continue to drone on for hours, and Freyja saw the shape of Marah in every sweet curve and sharp edge of every piece of metal. The cold on her hands, desperate for something warmer and softer to hold onto. She would not think of other hands on her Marah, she would desperately jump over the thoughts every time that they came about, she had to, or she would lose herself in that spiral, make her own nerve-ridden fantasy about Marah leading someone back to their bed to secure a job, she knew Marah to be better than this, more full of pride than stooping to that level. Freyja knew Marah to be just as horribly committed to their love as she, a devotion that lingered with any distance and any time. Until seeing the girl herself, Freyja would think of her girlfriend to keep her sane while shelving, rearranging, shelving, and rearranging.