I fall to pieces when I'm with you

by stateofally

Summary:

Helen Sharp has a plan: keep her head down, get perfect grades, and survive college in peace. But everything changes when her new roommate turns out to be Madeline Ashton a loud, glittery, theater-obsessed, and impossible to ignore blonde.

They’re opposites in every way… and yet, something soft and terrifying begins to bloom between cafeteria standoffs, shared beds, and late-night confessions.

Notes:

sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language

(yes, it's another madhel college au, what can I say i'm obssessed! also ltm if you catch the little smash reference)

Chapter 1: You look like an angel

Helen takes a deep breath as she looks at the fluorescent light of her laptop, her roommate has finally been assigned: Madeline Ashton .

She opens Instagram in a new tab and starts typing just to check who the girl is. But before she can hit enter, a DM request pops up.

 

@mad_ashton_official 

heyyy, Hel! (Is it okay if I call you Hel?) 

i just found out ur my roomie, yay 🥹💖

im Madeline Ashton-you may wanna remember that name because its soon to be on the Oscar nomination’s list-im a theater major and may or may not belt show tunes in the shower (sorry in advance).

ok, random infos: my fav color is pink, my favorite movie is pretty woman and if I catch you trash talking One Direction i might just have to shoot u 😁😁😁😁😁

Would love to hear about u!!!! 💖💖💖

xoxo

Helen blinks.

 

Wow. She seems… energetic.

 

She clicks on the profile. It’s public, so technically not stalking. Right?

 

✨ @mad_ashton_official

Theater major 🎭

star in progress 💋

 

Madeline’s posts are chaotic and glittery. Brunch selfies, pink floors, impromptu costume shots, and an absurd number of candids where she looks like she’s glowing with her own spotlight.

It’s Helen’s first glimpse at her roommate, Madeline is extremely blonde, big blue eyes and bright smile. Just looking at her pics makes Helen’s stomach cartwheel. She's so pretty, so full of life, so unworried… so unlike Helen. She spends an embarrassingly long time staring at one that she assumes it's a Halloween photo. Madeline is glowing in a tiny angel costume with soft blonde waves and shimmering thighs. The caption reads: “straight from heaven😇”. Helen’s face heats up, she can feel herself flushing so she forces herself to look away, stomach twisting in something between envy and something else she can't even name.

 

She forces herself back to reality, she's left Madeline on read for a while so she forces herself to start typing a reply.

 

helen_sharp

Hey! Thanks, it is nice to meet you too.

I'm Helen, pursuing english literature

Not really into pop music so I hope that’s okay.

 

Too cold? Who the hell says pursuing? Jumping out of the window feels like a great option right now. 

Delete!

 

helen_sharp

Hi, Madeline, thank you for your message! :)

I’m Helen, I’ll be studying English Literature.

I’m not exactly a party person, but I’m sure we’ll get along!

Also, I don’t hate One Direction.

 

Is the smiley face too much??

Delete.

 

Helen sighs as she reads Madeline’s message again trying to picture what she sounds like, she said she’s a theater major with show tunes on the go, so she assumes Madeline's got a soft angelic voice. She rereads it analyzing the emojis, the abbreviations and that one tiny 🥹, is that an actual facial expression?

 

Okay, Helen, get yourself together. Just send something. Anything.

 

helen_sharp

Hi, Madeline.

Nice to meet you.

Thanks for the message, I saw the housing portal today too.

I’m Helen (no one's ever called me Hel before, but I suppose it's okay), and I’m majoring in English Lit.

I don’t sing in the shower, and I do go to bed early, I hope that’s not a dealbreaker.

Also, I’ve never listened to One Direction on purpose, but I promise I won’t say anything mean.

Looking forward to coexisting.

 

She hits send, immediately slams her laptop shut. She jumps flat on her bed and lets out a muffled scream into her pillow. 

 

God. Why is she like this?

 

It’s just a roommate. A simple message. But her heart is pounding like she just gave a TED Talk naked.

 

She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark stars she stuck up there as a kid are still clinging, faint and sad and stubborn. Just like her.

 

Madeline is already everything she’s not. Loud. Beautiful. Effortlessly bright. The kind of girl who walks into a room and becomes the main character without trying.The kind of girl that would bully her in high school. The kind of girl that would mock her glasses and red hair. The kind of girl that Helen secretly longed to be. She saw it in every photo, every glitter-soaked caption, every heart emoji.

 

She hasn’t even met her yet and she already feels… lesser. But it's not just Madeline, Helen has always felt like that, though, like she’s always trying, just trying but never being someone real. 

 

She thinks of her parents without meaning to, the way they stand at the edge of all her decisions like ghosts in pressed suits, smiling tightly at report cards and correcting her grammar when she was still small enough to think words were just sounds. She knows they love her, well, they believe in her, they believe in her potential, in her discipline, in her future, the one they’ve drafted like a dissertation in progress: honors, scholarships, graduate school, tenure. Their faith in her has never wavered, but only because she never failed them, the poster child.In her house, achievement is love language. 

There was no glitter. No pink. No impromptu nicknames. But there was always something to reach for. Always something higher. And she’s always reached, the perfect daughter. 

 

She brushes these thoughts off and begins to wonder if Madeline’s already seen her text, if she’s laughing at how stiff and formal it sounds, how cold “coexisting” must read next to heart emojis and Oscar jokes and pink glitter-stained punctuation. She didn’t mean it like that, she doesn't want to sound distant, she just didn’t know what else to say. What can you say to someone like that, someone who sparkles even in pixels, who radiates so much color and ease and shameless,  so much joyful brightness that it practically leaks through the screen? She already feels unworthy of Madeline's presence.

 

Helen thinks of the angel photo again, and how the image clings to her thoughts like smoke, Madeline’s smile is carefree and unbothered, like the world has only ever said yes to her, like she’s easy to love. She looked like she belonged in that moment. In that life. In a world Helen’s never been allowed into, she already feels like she’s on the back foot. 

And yet… despite all of that, despite everything in her begging her not to care, she kind of wants to know her.

 

Not just the Instagram version. Not just the costume party angel.

Her. Madeline.

And that, more than anything, is what scares her.

Chapter 2: I was enchanted to meet you

Summary:

It's Madeline's pov of their first interection!

When Madeline Ashton finds out who her college roommate is, she's delighted! And immediately types an over-the-top DM with entirely too many heart emojis. But after hitting send, her confidence begins to unravel, especially when a quick Google search reveals that Helen Sharp comes from a family of elite academics and perfectly composed headshots. Suddenly, Madeline’s sparkle begins to fade.

And as she waits for Helen’s reply, she fears not being enough for someone who seems to have it all figured out.

Madeline is halfway through painting her nails, with her favorite hot pink nail polish, when she refreshes the housing portal, for what seems like the millionth time, and sees it.

 

Roommate: Helen Sharp

 

She gasps like it’s breaking news.

 

She let's out a high-pitched yelp, wiggling her still-wet fingers as she opens Instagram immediately, typing in “Helen Sharp” with the same urgency most people reserve for emergency calls. Shit, it's private. She thinks for a millisecond before she decides to send her a message. Be nice. Be Madeline. She goes all in, fingers flying, emojis flowing, her entire personality in paragraph form:

 

@mad_ashton_official 

heyyy, Hel! (Is it okay if I call you Hel?) 

i just found out ur my roomie, yay 🥹💖

im Madeline Ashton-you may wanna remember that name because its soon to be on the Oscar nomination’s list-im a theater major and may or may not belt show tunes in the shower (sorry in advance).

ok, random infos: my fav color is pink, my favorite movie is pretty woman and if I catch you trash talking One Direction i might just have to shoot u 😁😁😁😁😁

Would love to hear about u!!!! 💖💖💖

xoxo

 

She bites her lip, and pauses with her finger hovering over “send.” She considers toning it down, maybe removing the part about shooting her? But… no. That’s comic, she’ll laugh, right?

 

She presses send.

 

And immediately gets butterflies.

 

Which is stupid. She’s never nervous texting girls. Never nervous texting anyone actually. But something about this moment feels… different.

 

Fifteen minutes pass. Then thirty. Then forty-five. She goes back to painting her other hand then scrolls to her own profile, glittery feed, soft lighting, TikToks of her practicing monologues in the mirror, a picture from halloween with the caption “straight from heaven😇”, maybe she should delete that. 

She decides to make a snack, then starts rehearsing a monologue for Legally Blonde-The Musical in the mirror, but she’s checking her phone between every line. She sees bubbles appearing and disappearing, Helen's typing, then she's not…

 

Madeline starts building theories in her head.

 

Maybe Helen’s asleep. Maybe Helen doesn’t check DMs. Maybe Helen is checking Madeline's profile. Maybe Helen is a smart richie who thinks Madeline's shallow. Maybe Helen already hates her.

 

She groans to no one, flopping on her bed and dramatically tossing her phone onto the comforter. 

She decides that since Helen is taking forever to reply, she earned the right to google her. Her thumb drifts over Safari.

 

Helen Sharp  

 

She expects a school article, a poem in a student journal, an old Tumblr account. But instead, the first results hit like a punch.

 

“Dr. Andrew Sharp Appointed Dean of the Faculty of Humanities.”

“Dr. Elizabeth Sharp Receives National Grant for Literary Archival Research.”

“The Sharps: A Legacy of Academic Excellence.”

 

Oh no! Not a picture perfect family. There are photos of the three of them, smiling, brilliant-looking in sleek coats and book-lined offices. One picture shows, who she assumes, is a seven-year-old Helen at a podium with a medal around her neck, her red hair is pulled back and her eyes looking away from the camera like she’s already over it.

 

Madeline freezes, thumb hovering.

 

She’s not sure what she expected but she's faced with legacies and family names that open doors.

 

She lies back, letting the phone rest on her chest, screen still glowing up at her like it knows something she doesn’t.

 

Suddenly, everything about Helen from her formality to her fully-functioning family clicks into place. Not as aloofness, but as upbringing. Discipline. Prestige.

 

And all of Madeline’s easy glitter starts to feel a little… small.

 

She thinks about her own mother, a ghostly figure that Madeline sees every so often. Her mom owns a small salon, she doesn't read for fun, doesn't watch documentaries, doesn't know better.  She knows she's loved, her mom shows up when it's important: her recitals, her high school productions of Disney classics, the games that Madeline cheered for… But it feels placed, like Madeline needs to shine so bright that her mom doesn't have a choice but to watch. Someday, she tells herself, she will shine so bright someday that even her father, whoever he is, will know that he missed the chance to have an amazing daughter.

 

For a moment, Madeline feels silly. Small. She’s scared Helen won’t respect her, will toss her aside to the dumb blonde role she feels like's been imposed on her since birth..

 

She blinks fast, trying to push the feeling away. She’s used to being underestimated. She’s learned to sparkle harder, to show that she can achieve her goals, she's going to college for Christ's sake. But this is different. This girl has depth, has roots, and Madeline suddenly isn’t sure what she brings to the table beyond pink lighting and a decent belt.

 

She rolls onto her back and sighs, hugging her pillow close.

 

Because sometimes, girls like that, like Helen Sharp, they don’t laugh at her jokes. They call her shallow, superficial. They make her feel like maybe she’s not as shiny as she thought.

 

And part of her wants to earn their respect. Part of her wants one of them to crack that silent pink bubbly persona and see what’s underneath it, Madeline, simply, Madeline.

 

Her phone buzzes. The screen lights up.

 

helen_sharp :

Hi, Madeline.

Nice to meet you.

Thanks for the message, I saw the housing portal today too.

I’m Helen (no one's ever called me Hel before, but I suppose it's okay), and I’m majoring in English Lit.

I don’t sing in the shower, and I do go to bed early, I hope that’s not a dealbreaker.

Also, I’ve never listened to One Direction on purpose, but I promise I won’t say anything mean.

Looking forward to coexisting.

 

Madeline stares.

 

Then blinks.

 

Then squeals.

 

She clutches her phone to her chest, eyes wide, a full-body thrill like she’s just finished her hardest cheer combo.

 

“Coexisting”? What?

No one's ever called Helen Hel, like the most basic nickname ever?

NEVER listened to One Direction?!

 

“Oh she’s gonna hate me” she mutters. But there’s something soft blooming, there's a spark of curiosity, yes, but also warmth. She wants to know Helen, but most importantly she wants Helen to know her. Could Helen be the one to finally give her space to open up about her feelings, her desires? She's scared, but excited. Helen didn’t ghost her. She replied in full sentences. 

And Madeline feels, for the first time in a long time, like maybe, just maybe she could be seen by someone. She can't wait to move in-she thinks as she begins to type a reply.

Notes:

again, sorry for any mistakes, i typed this while waiting to complete my driver's education course

Chapter 3: message in a bottle

Summary:

Madeline and Helen can't stop messaging each other. Between the easy-going and profund conversations a real freindship seems to bloom.
However, Helen gets more and more terrified when thinking about meeting face-to-face, fearing she won’t be what Madeline expects.

Notes:

a shorter chapter that shows our girls getting to know each other better :)

It surprises Helen how quickly it becomes easy. The whole “texting Madeline thing”.

 

She fears it should be the opposite, right? Helen’s never been a good texter, she overthinks punctuation, spends whole afternoons reading the same sentence over and over again just to delete it entirely, and definitely has a chronic inability to say use ANY type of abbreviations. Besides, most people exhaust her, just asking boring questions about her parents or her achievements. 

 

But not Madeline. Madeline seems interested in actually knowing Helen, so the texts come to her easier and easier every time. With Madeline it feels like she is texting with the sun, she is so warm and unfiltered. She never makes Helen feel like she’s too quiet or has to be too formal. She asks about Helen’s likes, dislikes and replies with an enthusiasm Helen didn't think it would be possible for her to cause on another human being. 

 

@mad_ashton_official 

whats ur fav book ever hel? 

like the one youd take to a desert island? 

omg, wait!!! 

besides ur favorite book: three things you'd take to a desert island

goooo

 

Everyone always wants to know about the books she's read and praise how much of a book nerd she is, but Madeline formulates her question in an easy game-like way that brings a soft smile to Helen's face.

 

@helen_sharp

I think I’d bring The Secret History.

Besides that: my cello, a notebook and a life-longing stock of black gel pens.

 

Madeline sends ten crying emojis in a row and types:

 

@mad_ashton_official

YOU PLAY THE FREAKIN CELLO??? 

thats so BADASS actually 

thats like cottage-girl-autumn-core

what kind of music do you like?? 

lemme guess 

old indie rock

 

Helen feels a bit embarrassed, the word “badass” has never been used to describe her, never. But she can't help smiling, really smiling. Madeline's got her vibe right on.

 

@helen_sharp

I have no idea what “ cottage-girl-autumn-core” means but I'll take it as a compliment.

Also you're right, I listen to The Smiths, yes, and also Mazzy Star, Belle & Sebastian, and, unfortunately, some very sad instrumental playlists.

 

@mad_ashton_official

Oh, DEFINITELY a complement!

ill send u a pinterest folder with cottage-girl-autumn-core inspo

oh dear helen ull come to realize that im never wrong

also I love that kinda vibe for u it sooo matches the cottage-girl-autumn-core aesthetic !!!!

 

Helen's face is sore from smiling and she finds herself creating a pinterest account only so she can see what Madeline's talking about.

 

@helen_sharp

Well, how abou you? What do you listen to?

 

@mad_ashton_official

oh im a pop princess 4 sureee

sabrina carpenter, beyonce, taylor swift

u name it and i know their whole discography 

were past dm talk, right? send me ur number 😝

 

They proceed to talk the entire week before move-in. But not just surface-level things. They make a matched Spotify  playlist. They share photos of their childhood pets-Helen's scottish fold cat named Olivia, after Law & Order SVU best character and Madeline's fish named Shark, because she liked to tell people she had a shark at home. 

 

Helen tells her about the essay she’s most proud of-the one about the portrait of Anne Boleyn throughout history. And Madeline makes her laugh with voice-messages about accidentally falling off during cheer and turning it into “a dramatic Abby Lee Miller level of emotional choreography”, then proceeds to explain to Helen about the reality show Dance Moms. It's the first time Helen's hearing Madeline's voice, it's high and laughing and alive. She feels her warmth even more intensely. It makes her breath catch and her heart skips, is this how having a friend feels like? 

 

She doesn’t even know how it happened, but now they say good morning. And goodnight.

 

Madeline asked her to stop calling her Madeline “it seems like ur mad at me just call me mad plsss”.

 

Madeline sends heart emojis and unhinged TikToks.

 

Helen sends screenshots of book quotes or of her listening to their shared playlist and begging to get Sabrina Carpenter, sometimes an occasional “this reminded me of you,” usually accompanied by something soft like a picture of a red rose covered in snow or a pink and orange sunset sky.

 

They haven’t met yet, but Helen feels like she knows her. Every time her phone lights up, her heart jolts in a way she doesn’t quite know how to name. It should terrify her, itt kind of does. But Madeline makes it so easy. Madeline makes her want to reply, to ask questions because she wants answers, to stay in the conversation. 

 

Which is why, three nights before move-in, Helen stares at her ceiling, her anxiety creeping in as she whispers into the quiet:

 

“What if I can’t talk to her in real life?”

 

It’s a thought that’s been circling for days, but she’s been managing to brush it off. Now, however, it seems like it's taken a permanent place in her messed up brain.

In text, she’s been able to be braver. A little witty, even.

But will she manage to do it in person? 

What if she disappoints her?

 

What if Madeline sees her and realizes she’s just boring and not worthy of her bright presence? Does she know how to hold eye contact? What if she’s not enough?

 

When Madeline texts, she's overflown with an avalanche of emotions.

 

mad

3 DAYS!!! cant wait to see your face IRL you mysterious cello ghost 💘💘💘 

 

Helen replies with a “Me too!”.

 

It’s the truth, but nonetheless the scariest thing she’s about to do.

Notes:

sorry for any mistakes-english is not my first language

Chapter 4: cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme-part 1

Summary:

Moving in is a long-awaited college experience, and Madeline couldn’t be more excited to finally meet her roommate face to face. But between an awkward encounter with Helen’s parents, shared jokes, a little oversharing, and a compliment that slips out way too fast, Madeline starts to wonder if maybe Helen Sharp isn’t just an intimidating know-it-all… but something way more dangerous than that. Maybe Helen Sharp is kind of impossible to look away from.

Madeline’s mom couldn’t help her move into her dorm.

Not because of some tragic falling out, she just “couldn’t” which Madeline didn’t even pretend to be surprised about. So, naturally, she recruited Stefan.

 

Stefan, her theater friend way back from middle school, was the kind of person who announced their presence like a Broadway overture. He was currently carrying three boxes stacked to his chin, while humming along Madeline to Non-Stop for dramatic effect. They were a great duo, and have been ever since being paired as Lumieré and Belle in 7th grade.

 

Madeline was happy, truly happy. She felt like she was starting a new life, aiming for her goals and…and…her smile faltered when she caught sight of Helen Sharp's parents, both of them, carrying their daughters' boxes.

 

Stefan quickly left, mumbling some excuse about filling his water bottle.  

 

Dr. Andrew and Dr. Elizabeth . Of course. She remembered all the newspaper articles, all the perfect portraits…

 

Helen’s mom wore pressed linen and black scarpins. Her dad adjusted his glasses like he was preparing to deliver a lecture on the proper way to unload a box. 

They froze immediately when eyeing Madeline for the first time. Both giving her a judgemental look that started at her pink crop top and drifted slowly,  deliberately, down to her sandals before skimming right back up to her face. Followed by a polite, but dismissive smile.

 

Madeline felt the familiar pinch in her chest, a quiet and sharp little thing she’d learned to be used to. The look adults give her. The look that implies “oh, you’re that kind of girl”, the look that screams “cheap”, the look that squeals “what is she even doing here?”

 

She lifted her chin. “It’s fine” she tells herself. She’s used to it. She takes a deep breath and remembers that she deserves to be here, she cheered her way to this college and she isn't going to feel inferior here. 

 

Madeline decided to do what she always does, turn her light on and be her most sympathetic self. The idea of being anyone else just feels wrong.

 

“Hi, you must be Helen's parents! I'm Madeline, her roommate, it is so nice to meet you both!” she said flashing the smile that earned her the “most adorable smile” in her high school's year book.

Dr. Elizabeth Sharp’s smile looked as fake as Madeline's gold bracelet. She extended a perfectly manicured hand.

“Elizabeth Sharp. I'm Helen’s mother. And this is my husband, Andrew.”

Helen's father gave Madeline a soft nod while placing the boxes neatly on the floor.

A pause.

“Madeline,” Elizabeth pronounced Madeline's name like it was a food she was still deciding if she liked or not.

“Helen is a little behind us!” she gave a soft, almost rehearsed chuckle, Madeline was familiar with those “She insists on carrying her cello herself. Always so careful with it.”

Another pause.

Andrew added, with a trace of pride, “She’s been playing since she was eight. First chair by thirteen.”

Madeline nodded,she already knew this, Helen had told her. But, somehow, hearing this accomplishment told by Helen's parents made Madeline's heart twist somewhere behind her ribcage.

Helen finally caught up, red-faced, adjusting the strap on her cello case.

Madeline could swear that for a flicker of a second, Helen’s lips curved.

 

A tiny, silent “sorry about them” smile.

 

And that was all Madeline needed. Gosh, Helen was pretty, fiery red hair matching her glowing cheeks and the softest glance Madeline had ever seen. She was wearing a soft sweater with the sleeves pushed to her elbows and her eyes were darting everywhere except at Madeline.

 

Helen turned to her parents “I think we’ve got it from here.” she chanted with assurance.

 

Her dad hesitated a bit, but Helen just gave him a look. It was like Madeline was watching a silent film, they weren't talking, but so much was being said . Helen's mom nodded, and just like that, the Sharps were gone.

 

Inside the room, suddenly, the air shifted.

 

Madeline flashed a grin. “Look at you” she chanted

 

“Look at you.” Helen said back, but still not looking her in Madeline's eyes.

 

“Okay, let’s look at me then.” Madeline took upon herself to hold Helen's gaze to focus on her and softly lifted the red-hair's head to match her own's.

 

Helen blinked, caught off guard. Then… a laugh. It started small, but it was very real. 

 

“Sorry, I have this really bad habit of looking down” Helen apologized shyly and at that very moment Madeline’s heart did something quite traitorous. It beated really fast like it had a mind of its own. 

 

Madeline opened her mouth when she heard Stefan yelling from the hallway that he’d “order celebratory iced coffees in thirty!”

 

And then, way too quickly, the words slipped out.

 

“You know, you’re, like, really pretty… and you smell like cherries.” Madeline felt the heat flood her face. Oh my God. Madeline scrambled to cover, it's okay to call girls pretty, Helen is pretty, it's a fact, right?

 

Helen was even redder than before and her eyes flicked up like Madeline had just announced that she'd won the lottery, she gave a soft, awkward little, “Thanks.”

 

Madeline scrambled to cover, waving a hand. “Sorry, uh.. if I made you uncomfortable, I, uh… sometimes I forget to think before I speak.” she breathed “but I'm all for complementing my friends, you know girls support girls 'n stuff”

 

Helen smiled and opened a box, filled to the top with books. They started unpacking together. An almost comfortable silence settled between them.

 

While folding a stack of My Melody blankets, Madeline casually dropped, “I’m thinking of applying at the campus cafeteria. They said they need people. It’s flexible, and honestly? Could use the extra cash.”

 

Helen nodded. “That sounds… smart.”

 

Madeline shrugged, trying to hide the fact that she was delighted that Helen, of all people, had just called her smart. 

 

“Are you planning on doing something for extra money?” Madeline asked, knowing that Helen, unlike her, didn't need extra money.

 

“I’m thinking about tutoring some students here and there, although I'm not sure if I'm going to charge” Helen also began folding a Sanrio blanket of her own, Badtz-Maru.

 

They smiled at each other, turns out smiling to Helen was addictive and now Madeline couldn't stop grinning. Suddenly she felt the urge to share everything with Helen.

 

“I ditched my boyfriend before coming here.” Madeline said 

 

Helen blinked.

 

“Not that I really had one. He wasn't like my boyfriend , boyfriend, you know? It was… whatever. I never really liked kissing him. Thought I was supposed to, you know?” She said it lightly, she was watching Helen.

 

Helen’s hands slowed over her unpacked sweater pile. Eyes fixed on a beige cardigan.

 

“I get that,” Helen said softly while taking her off her sweater.

 

Madeline’s eyes instantly did exactly what she did not want them to do. Focused straight on Helen’s chest, Why the hell was she hiding them under that sweater? Perfect. Amazing. Gorgeous. Madeline was running out of words on her brain to describe Helen's chest. Jesus Christ, Ashton. Get a grig, Helen will notice.

 

She panicked and blurted, “Your necklace is really pretty.”

 

Helen straightened. Her hand lifted, fingertips brushing over the delicate silver “H” chain at her throat.

 

“Oh. Thank you. It was a gift.”

 

 "It's really cute" Madeline swallowed.

 

As they settled into unpacking again, shoulders bumping every so often, asking for each other's opinions on decor. Madeline wondered why it felt so easy to be near Helen. She had been so nervous about feeling less then, but she felt like she belonged with Helen.

 

She had no idea why it already felt so dangerous though. Helen Sharp had somehow wrapped herself into Madeline’s chest like a soft breath of fresh air.

Notes:

hey, guys! i've got another chapter planned for this week-it's Helen's pov of "move-in day". Then, i'm taking a week off to celebrate my b-day, i'm going to see wicked!! (brazilian gelphie yaaay).

also lmk if the pov switches are confusing ;)

Chapter 5: cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme-part 2

Summary:

Helen came to college expecting pressure, perfection, all imposed by her parents. However, she didn’t expect Madeline Ashton, sparly girl who talks too much, compliments too easily, and somehow makes Helen feel seen in a way no one ever has.

Between setting up their dorm and walks filled with coffee and laughter, Helen suddenly wants so badly to make Madeline happy… and close.

Notes:

also, I don’t tweet a lot, but you can find me @thestateofally 😊

Helen woke up before her alarm.

Not because she was excited, though that’s what she told her parents, but because her brain was loudly staging a 5 a.m. performance of Everything That Could Possibly Go Wrong in College: The Anxiety Remix.

She stared at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom, mentally cataloging all the things her parents had already said the night before.

Aim for valedictorian. Don’t get distracted. Be the very best version of yourself. And, of course, her mother's favorite, We've been working for this our whole lives, Helen, we expect great things from you. Jesus, she hadn't even had a single class yet.

By the time they loaded the SUV, Helen had already added “Bring up unrealistic expectations in next therapy session” to her mental notes. Right between I've started to grind my teeth in sleep again and work on assertiveness.

Helen sat in the backseat, clutching her cello case like it was the only solid thing in a morning already slipping out of her control. Her parents’ voices drifted between the front seats:

“I emailed Dr. Cooper,” her father was saying. “He’s open to having a freshman shadow in his seminar. You should follow up next week.”

“And don’t forget to inquire about the Literary Society,” her mother added, glancing at Helen through the rearview mirror. “They’ll want members with strong academic goals.”

 

Helen nodded, like she always did, but her stomach twisted and she was fidgeting with her fingers. First day of college, and her parents were already planting flags in a future she hadn’t even stepped into yet. She took a deep breath, “at least they’ll be far” she thought. This was fine. Freshman year would be fine.

 

Helen’s parents were already climbing out of the car, but Helen stayed frozen in place for a beat longer, gripping the handle of her cello so tight her fingers ached, she gave herself a moment to relax a bit and take everything in. The big buildings, the scent of the trees and the rush of people walking and talking.

 

“Come on, Helen,” her mother called. “We’ve got to get going."

 

She kept her steps slow, methodical, even if it meant trailing behind.

 

By the time she reached the entrance, her parents were already introducing themselves with the usual air of superiority that hung over them.

 

Helen blinked. The realisation that they were introducing themselves to Madeline settled. 

 

Helen walked through the door just as his father was bragging about her cello achievements. 

And then she saw her.

 

Madeline Ashton.

 

Standing by a pile of bags, with a soft smile, chatting animatedly with Helen's parents. She was wearing a pink crop top, denim shorts, and confidence like a second skin. Her voice burst into the air, loud and shameless.

 

Helen’s heart dropped into her stomach.

 

Madeline glanced over.

 

Helen’s throat went tight, she looked at Madeline's sandals while giving a smile that she hoped Madeline could translate to “sorry about them”

 

Inside the dorm, her parents stayed just long enough to set her bags down and repeat a few thinly veiled reminders about academic excellence.

 

And then Helen said it.

 

“I think we’ve got it from here.”

 

She surprised even herself with how steady her voice sounded.

 

Her parents offered a few more nods, the kind that spoke louder than words,  and Helen met their eyes with a steady look that almost said, “I’ve got this. You can go now”. After a beat, they understood. And finally, it was just the two of them.

 

Madeline flashed a grin. “Look at you” she chanted

 

“Look at you,” Helen said back. It seemed like the right thing to do. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Madeline directly in the eyes… afraid she’d either drown in them or turn to stone, like some unfortunate mortal in the Medusa myth.

 

“Okay, let’s look at me then.” Madeline was holding Helen's chin, lifting her head so it would be focused on Madeline.

 

Got it, option A, drowning it is. Helen would definitely be drowning in those big blue eyes. But Madeline seemed so approachable that Helen had no choice but to laugh a little at how stressed she was about a simple eye contact.

 

“Sorry, I have this really bad habit of looking down” Helen apologized shyly, when some random guy in a fedora passed by, yelling from the hallway that he’d “order celebratory iced coffees in thirty!”

 

“You know, you’re, like, really pretty… and you smell like cherries.” Madeline said, her smile seemed like it had softened even more.

 

Helen felt her face heat up, a fresh wave of red crawling up her neck. Her eyes flicked up before she could stop herself.

 

Get it together, Sharp.

 

“Thanks,” she managed, soft and awkward. Her voice barely cleared her throat.

 

Madeline’s eyes widened, and she waved a hand in quick defense.

“Sorry, uh, if I made you uncomfortable, I… sometimes I forget to think before I speak.”

She gave a soft little laugh, almost breathless. Was Madeline nervous? 

“But I’m all for complimenting my friends, you know? Girls support girls… and stuff.”

 

Friends. The word sat strange in Helen’s chest. Helen didn't have friends, she had colleagues at best and they looked nothing like Madeline. Could she really be her friend?  

 

They unpacked side by side, hands moving in easy rhythm.

 

She was folding another one of her sweaters when she spotted it, a tiny stuffed bunny perched on Madeline’s bed.

 

Helen raised an eyebrow.

 

Madeline caught her look and deadpanned, “If you make fun of Mr. Bunny, I will kill you.”

 

Helen snorted, actually snorted.

 

Madeline stayed in character “I have seen enough episodes of Criminal Minds to kill you and get away with it”

 

It was so natural . Helen stacking books, Madeline tossing plushies onto her bed like it was a competitive sport.

 

Helen caught herself exhaling and taking her sweater off. Her shoulders dropping a fraction.

 

Is this… what being at ease feels like? 

 

It seemed like Madeline was a bit bored from unpacking and folding, so she started to talk, a lot.

 

About their dorm theme, about the “guy in the fedora” being one of her best friends who'd also be attending this college, about how she broke up with her boyfriend, about wanting to apply for a job at the cafeteria and how much she hated unpacking.

Words flowed out of her in this easy, fearless way, like she didn’t second-guess every syllable, like she wasn’t worried about sounding stupid.

 

Helen envied it a little bit, but she couldn't help wanting to sit back and listen forever.

 

“Your necklace is really pretty,” Madeline said, voice offhand, like it was just a passing thought. It hit Helen like a spotlight.

 

She froze, her hand halfway to a drawer.

“Oh. Thank you. It was a gift.”

 

Her fingers instinctively brushed over the thin silver chain, feeling the small pendant.

 

No one ever complimented her like that. People, from teachers to classmates and even her parents, liked to talk about Helen’s grades, her cello awards, her “potential”... But Madeline had said so many genuinely nice things that were about Helen as a person. Like she actually noticed her. In less than a few hours she had gotten not one, but two compliments that had nothing to do with her brain.

 

It sent Helen’s pulse racing in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

She ducked her head, hoping Madeline wouldn’t notice the pink creeping up her neck.

 

“How about we take a break?” Madeline said like she hasn't been sitting in bed talking for the last minutes. “We can get our coffees with Stefan and walk around campus! He will organize this place better than I will anyways.”

---

Later, as they walked around, Stefan's iced coffee in hand, Helen found herself falling into step beside Madeline like it was natural.

 

Madeline nudged her shoulder and said, “So… I may or may not have smuggled in some wine. Figured you looked way too sophisticated for my tragic vodka taste.”

 

Helen flushed. “You brought wine?”

 

“For us.” Casual. Like it was obvious.

 

Helen’s pulse gave a treacherous little skip.

 

Helen found herself nervously rambling about campus clubs and academic societies, filling the space with facts and rehearsed lines about the literary society’s newsletter. 

 

Madeline looked genuinely interested and actually paying attention.

 

She was halfway through a sentence about student-led publications when her mouth got ahead of her brain.

“You recall… the thrilling social life of exceedingly pretentious freshmen,” she muttered, words slipping out in a low, dry drawl before she could stop herself.

The second the sarcasm hit the air, Helen froze.

Why had she said that?
 

Why couldn’t she just stick to sounding polite yet distant, like she always did with new people?

 

She was used to thinking snarky comments, silent little jabs she kept locked behind her teeth where they couldn’t do any damage. But actually saying them? Out loud? Especially about something academic? That was… rude. And reckless. And exactly the sort of thing her parents would call “unbecoming.”

However, instead of looking offended or confused, Madeline seemed delighted?

" Oh, I love sarcastic people with high vocabulary ” Madeline said, grinning wickedly like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Helen felt a sudden rush, this weird, urgent need to make Madeline laugh…

 

To make Madeline happy.

 

To make Madeline stay.

Notes:

hey, guys! As I said in the previous chapter, this will be the last chapter between this week and the next, since I'm taking a little break.

Well, it's my birthday, but here's a little gift for you. I've been thinking about some songs for them so here's a tiny playlist with some songs that give me the vibe of each of them.

Helen:
The Prophecy - Taylor Swift
So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek
Fate Don't Know You - Desi Valentine
Buzzcut Season - Lorde
Dreams - The Cranberries

Madeline:
The Lucky One - Taylor Swift
Leave Me Alone - Reneé Rapp
Radio - Lana del Rey
‎the way things go - beabadoobee
Gypsy - Fleetwood Mac

 

ps: the phrase “Oh, I love sarcastic people with high vocabulary” popped up on my Pinterest and I thought it was so Madeline coded!

Chapter 6: this is what it feels like

When they got back to the dorm, the first thing Helen noticed was how… put together everything looked.

Her desk was neatly set up, bed made, even the string red lights she hadn’t remembered packing were softly draped over the headboard. On Madeline’s side, pillows were stacked in an organized mess that somehow looked intentional.

And taped dead center on the closet door was a neon pink Post-it, the handwriting all sharp angles and looping exclamation marks:

 

You’re welcomeee! Don’t forget the party tomorrow. - Stefan

 

Madeline let out a little snort, peeling it off with a dramatic eye roll.

“God. He’s like… aggressively thoughtful.”

Helen gave a small, tight smile.

She hadn’t known people like that existed in real life, the kind who left cheerful notes and set up your dorm like a Pinterest board.

Madeline held up the note.

“Well. I guess this means we’re going.”

Helen blinked.

“Oh. Um. I’m not really... into parties”

Madeline turned to her, pout already forming.

The pout. Her kryptonite. Lower lip soft, eyebrows drawn just enough to make her look adorably tragic.

Helen’s “no” disintegrated in her throat.

“I mean… maybe?”

Madeline grinned.

“Oh, Stefan remembered to bring my candle, I love him so much, ugh! Champagne Toast, ” Madeline said proudly, holding up the pale pink jar with a grin that could’ve sold it on a commercial.

“This is my shit!!! Best scent ever. Like… don’t even argue.”

Helen watched as Madeline struck a match with practiced ease. 

But before the flame could catch the wick, Madeline froze and turned to Helen with wide, worried eyes.

 “Wait, you’re not allergic or something, are you?”

Helen blinked, caught off guard by the sudden switch.
“No. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to read the ingredients just to be sure?” Madeline sighed. 

“It's okay, Madeline, swear”

Madeline seemed relieved.

“Good. I don’t wanna be the roommate who accidentally murders you with a candle. Bad PR for my career, you know? And also, no Madeline pleaaaaseee, I already told you that it seems like you're angry at me.”

Helen bit back a laugh.
The room smelled sweet, faintly fruity, and straight up Madeline.

“So… we’re going to that party tomorrow, right? I'm not accepting that ‘maybe’ as an answer, I really want to go and I want to have fun with you!” She held both of Helen's hands like she was praying. 

Helen opened her mouth to explain that fun and Helen were kind of contradictory, but then Madeline tilted her head, giving her, once more, that ridiculous, half-pouty smile.

Helen sighed, feeling it again, that impossible-to-explain rush that needed to keep Madeline smiling. 

“Fine.”

Madeline’s grin was all sunshine and mischief.

“You’re the best, Hel.”

She hopped up and headed toward the bathroom, pausing in the doorway.

“Mind if I shower first?”

Helen shook her head.
Madeline shot her a quick wink and vanished behind the door.

---

The shower kicked on and so did Madeline’s voice soft and playful over the rush of water. She was singing some pop song that Helen wasn't familiar with.

Helen could hear everything, the walls were really thin. She sat on the floor,  frozen, blinking at the door as Madeline’s voice floated out over the sound of running water. It was equally casual as it was beautiful in a way that sent a strange, unexpected warmth curling in Helen’s chest, it almost seemed invasive to be listening.

She shook her head, looking around the room and trying to distract herself.

Her eyes landed on Madeline’s half-unpacked tote bag. A notebook peeking out. A stack of brightly colored jewelry cases.

Don’t look, she told herself.
She wasn’t the kind of person who snooped. She respected boundaries.

However…

There was this tug of curiosity she couldn’t explain, a want to know the little things about Madeline. Her favorite earrings. The shade of lipstick she always wore. The messy, offhand details no one else bothered to notice.

The shower was turned off.

Helen pulled her eyes away, swallowing down the impulse.

The bathroom door swung open a few minutes later, steam curling into the room, apparently Madeline showered in a hellish scalding hot temperature. An even stronger scent of “Champagne Toast” filled Helen's nostrils, Madeline did say it was her scent, but did they make body wash? The blonde stepped out in a silk pink robe, hair damp, skin flushed from the heat.

“Go ahead, Hel” she said, flashing a grin.

Helen felt her face go hot, though she wasn’t sure why. So she gave Madeline a soft smile and slipped into the bathroom, letting the warm water cascade over her back as she let the day run through her mind. The first thing she spotted was a “ Champagne Toast ” body wash and Madeline's pink hairbrush that had definitely been the blonde's microphone. Helen laughed just picturing it in her head. Not Madeline naked , gosh, Madeline singing silly songs in the bathroom .

Her mind was all over the place, it had been… a long day. From her parents hovering, to her own nerves gnawing at her.

But somewhere in between the chaos, Madeline had shown up with her unintentionally funny comments and this uncanny ability to make Helen feel like she actually belonged.

And now here in the quiet hum of water and soft-scented air, the balance seemed different. Not perfect, but definitely lighter.

---

When she stepped back into the room, wearing her favorite set of red plaid PJs, Madeline was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, laptop open, face lit by the glow of the screen. There were pillows piled around her like a fort and a bottle of wine Madeline took from the depths of her suitcase.

“Wait, how did you even get this past your parents?” Helen asked, sitting next to Madeline.

Madeline shrugged, leaning back on her elbows, long legs stretched out in front of her.

“My mom thinks if I get arrested for underage drinking, it’ll build character.”

Helen gave her a look.

“You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Madeline said, all wide-eyed innocence and then burst out laughing.

Helen couldn’t help it,  the laugh slipped right out of her before she could catch it.

They sipped cheap wine from mismatched mugs, trading half-baked stories and random facts like it was a game they hadn’t realized they were playing.

Helen mentioned, almost offhandedly, how the literary society back home was basically a front for two seniors who quoted Nietzsche like it was a sport.
Madeline told her about a boy who once called theater “pretend acting” and how she’d dumped him the next day.

They managed to circle around more serious things without actually landing on them.

Madeline casually mentioned she’d worked every summer since she was fifteen. Helen admitted she’d never had a job, her parents thought it was “beneath her” and she'd be “better off in summer school”.

Neither of them lingered on those facts too long. It felt like way too much, it brought a sense of sadness they weren't ready to face.

And somewhere between the third and fourth glass, or better yet, mug of wine, Madeline sat up with a gasp.

“Oh my God! I was supposed to introduce you to Dance Moms, right?”

Helen blinked.

“…What?”

Madeline grabbed her laptop like it was a life-saving device.

“Non-negotiable. We’re watching children get screamed at by grown women. It’s a bonding experience.”

Helen opened her mouth, to protest claiming she had early classes, to say reality shows weren't really her thing.

And then, like she was sensing Heln's negative response. Madeline pouted.

“C'mon, Hel! Give it a chance, I'll explain everything to you, I swear!"

Helen, once again, agreed.

“Fine.”

They ended up cross-legged, half-watching the screen, half-laughing at Madeline’s running commentary.

Helen wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the company, but for the first time that day… she didn’t feel like she was bracing for something.

And when Madeline leaned a little closer during a meltdown between the mom's of the dance company, Helen didn’t pull away.

Notes:

hey, guys! i'm back post birthday celebrations (can't believe i'm 21, this age feels wayyy too serious 4 me) anyway, we're getting closer to things heating up btw the girls for worse or for better lol

Chapter 7: like real people do

Helen woke up before her alarm, again. But this time, she wasn’t nervous-just excited to begin this new chapter of her life.

She looked to the side and had to stifle a laugh at the sight of Madeline: hair a mess, drooling onto her pillow. She looked exactly like Anna at the start of Frozen.

Helen forced herself out of the warmth of her blanket, which, even in her excitement, was still a challenge.

It was initiation day. Her stomach twisted at the thought of meeting new people. So, to distract herself, Helen remembered the night before, while she was picking out her outfit.

 

“You’re telling me you don’t do any skincare? Like, nothing at all?” Madeline asked, examining Helen’s face under the harsh flash of her phone.

“No... should I?”

“Of course! Not like, you have to, but it’s always good to start taking care of your skin early.” Madeline turned off the flash and grabbed an absurdly large, sparkly pink makeup bag. “I can help you set up a mini routine if you want. Nothing long, just the basics-I promise.”

Helen was pretty sure she was tipsy from the wine, because what other explanation could there be for the girl who never put anything besides sunscreen on her face (because the texture bugged her) suddenly agreeing to a routine?

“Well, can’t hurt to try. But no promises I’ll keep up with it.”

“I swear I’ll keep it simple. Come on!” Madeline grabbed Helen’s hand and led her to the bathroom.

Madeline was very touchy, Helen had started to notice. Not in a clingy way, more like the kind of person who gestures so much with her hands that she needs to physically touch you to make sure you’re keeping up. Helen had never met anyone like that before. It was... fascinating.

“Hm, we’re gonna have to do something about this lighting, Hel. It’s fine for skincare, but yellow bathroom light for makeup? No way.”

Madeline pulled Helen from her thoughts and began opening her makeup bag. There were so many bottles, so many colors that it made Helen sway a little. Or maybe that was still the wine. She wasn’t used to drinking.

Madeline steadied Helen by placing a hand on her waist, but that only made Helen’s knees go weaker-like melting Jell-O.

“Careful, girl! I’m the actress. If anyone’s going to faint dramatically, it’s me.”

“Sorry, I guess I’m just a bit too-ouch.” Helen flinched as Madeline pinched her arm. “What was that for?”

“Have you noticed how much you apologize? Like, for nothing? I’ve known you for literal minutes and I think you've said sorry a billion times already.” Madeline placed her hand on her forehead and sighed like she was exhausted. “From now on,” she checked the time on her phone and placed her right hand over her heart, “00:30 on August 29, 2022, every time Helen Sharp apologizes for something dumb, I-Madeline Ashton, best roommate ever and future Oscar winner-will be officially in charge of pinching her arm in response.”

Helen laughed. She laughed for real-more than she ever remembered laughing. Her eyes teared up and her stomach hurt. How could someone who was practically a stranger make her feel so... happy?

“Deal?” Madeline asked, dead serious, holding out her hand.

“Deal,” Helen replied, shaking it.

“Perfeeeeect,” Madeline sing-songed, clapping twice. “Now let’s get to work!”

Madeline began studying the bottles and Helen’s face, switching her focus between them with intensity. Sometimes she sighed and put a bottle back; other times she squealed and placed one proudly on the counter. Helen just stood there, trying not to smile like an idiot because someone was spending actual time on her-and resisting the urge to apologize for it. She definitely didn’t want another pinch.

“Alright, Hel! I'm ready to walk you through this: face cleanser, moisturizer, and lip balm. In the morning, sunscreen is your final step, okay?”

“Okay... I think.”

“Let me take your glasses off so I can apply the cleanser. I do a mini massage-I'm really good. At least that’s what my mom says when I do it on her.”

Madeline smiled shyly, which made Helen want to ask more about her mom. She only knew Madeline's mom had a hair salon and was also blonde. That was all she’d shared so far. Helen wondered if she'd have had the courage to ask more if she were just a little bit more drunk.

“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” Madeline said, removing Helen’s glasses. Her hands trembled a bit. Maybe she was tipsy too.

“Avec tout le respect que je vous dois, mademoiselle,” Helen replied instinctively.

“Of course you speak French.” Madeline rolled her eyes while placing Helen’s glasses on the medicine cabinet. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any smarter, Miss Sharp.”

“I’m so-”

 

Pinch.

 

“I didn’t mean to sound smug.”

 

Another Pinch.

 

“Hey! I didn’t apologize that time! That one should be revoked!”

“My bad.” Madeline didn’t look sorry at all. “French is such a beautiful language. I always wanted to learn,” she said, picking up the cleanser.

“Maybe I could teach you someday,” Helen offered sincerely. She liked tutoring.

“Oh, don’t waste your time on me. I’m what teachers call ‘a lost cause’.” Madeline smiled, but it wasn’t her big, glowing kind of smile. It was shy, a little sad. And it pierced Helen’s heart.

“Well, then it’s my mission now. You’re guiding me through a routine, maybe that’s how I give back.” Madeline gently closed Helen’s eyelids with her fingertips.

“Thank you, Hel. That’s very sweet of you.”

Helen felt her cheeks warm as Madeline began massaging the cleanser into her skin. Madeline’s mom hadn’t lied-it was a great massage.

“I picked this one because it’s softer. Thought you’d get used to it easier. Go ahead and rinse.”

Helen washed her face and looked in the mirror. Could a cleanser really work that fast? She actually felt... good about herself.

“Next steeep,” Madeline sang, grabbing the moisturizer and listing all the amazing benefits that made it “the best face cream of all time” and how it would “change your life, Hel!”. But Helen didn’t catch a word-she was too busy getting lost in Madeline’s face. Her eyes were so bright, and her smile so full of genuine passion. If you asked Helen about the cream’s ingredients? No clue.

 

Now, if you asked her about the shape of Madeline’s lips...

 

The massage with the cream was even more relaxing now that Helen knew what to expect. Madeline’s touch was gentle, and Helen could feel the care in every movement.

“My special tip: never forget your neck! People always forget.” Madeline frowned in indignation. “Like, hello?? The neck is essential??”

“I’m sure it is, Mad.”

“Aaaand now, just a little chopstick to keep those lips nice and soft.” Madeline grabbed a yellow tube.

“Do this for me.” She pressed her lips together and slightly inward. It looked kind of ridiculous, and Helen laughed without meaning to.

“Stop laughing, Hel, I’m serious!” Madeline giggled as well. “Okay, it’s a bit silly, but I swear it works.”

Helen did as instructed, and Madeline burst out laughing, her hands shaking as she applied the balm. Helen tried hard to hold the pose.

“There we go,” she said, still breathless. “See? That didn’t hurt.”

She yawned halfway through the sentence-it was probably time to call it a night.

They stepped out of the bathroom and Madeline pulled Helen into a hug. Helen froze, then melted almost instantly. Maybe Madeline was a hugger, but she was not, her family wasn’t big on physical affection. But Madeline was so warm and inviting that Helen couldn’t help but melt into her.

Madeline broke the hug and dove into her bed, welcomed by a bunch of stuffed animals.

“Good night, Hel! May the angels watch over you tonight.” She blew a kiss in the air.

Helen got into her own bed and pretended to catch it. “Good night, Mad! Sleep tight.”

 

Helen opened the bathroom door slowly, making as little noise as possible-though she was 85% sure Madeline wouldn’t wake up even if she dropped a bowling ball on the floor. Madeline had told her that the night before:

“I sleep like a rock, Hel. If you need me urgently, I give you full permission to throw water in my face. And by urgent, I mean something like ‘they’re making Mamma Mia 3.’”

She laid her clothes out, locked the door, and turned toward the sink. Her heart skipped a beat when she noticed a pink Post-it stuck to the mirror.

“Have an amazing first day, Hel! Sending good vibes - Mad”

Madeline had beautiful handwriting. It was all loopy cursive, and every “i” was dotted with a tiny heart.

Helen’s breath caught in her throat. It was such a sweet gesture. Madeline knew she wouldn’t be up at the same time, according to her, it would be “a crime, and more importantly, a mistake to wake me up that early”, so her classes started later. And yet, she’d taken the time to write Helen a note. Probably in the middle of the night, when Helen was already sleeping.

Helen wiped away a stubborn tear from her left eye and started the routine Madeline had taught her. It wasn’t quite as fun without the blonde beside her, but she had to admit doing something just for herself felt... kind of nice.

She got dressed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the bathroom with the Post-it in her hand.

Madeline was still asleep. In the silence, Helen could hear a soft snore, more like a sigh than anything. She reached under her bed, pulled out a shoebox, opened her journal, and carefully stuck the Post-it onto a blank page. She glanced over to make sure Madeline was still asleep before tucking it away again.

She grabbed her bag, double-checked to make sure everything she needed was inside: lychee iced tea, laptop, granola bar, notebooks and her pencil case.

That was it. Helen Sharp was ready for a new beginning.

She pulled out her phone and took a photo of Madeline. Then she opened their chat and sent it as a view-once image, followed by a screenshot of the frame of Anna sleeping from Frozen.

Hel

Good morning, Sleeping Beauty or should I say Princess of Arendelle?

Thank you for the Post-it message, it meant a lot to me.

Hope you have a wonderful first day! ❤️

Helen hit send, opened the door, and stepped out, ready.

Chapter 8: there she goes

Notes:

small back to back updates? yes, blame Chappell's new single
stream the subway

Madeline woke up to her alarm screaming in her ear.

She groaned as she fumbled around her nightstand, blindly searching for her phone. When her hand finally found it, she turned off the alarm and decided to stay in bed just a little longer, doing some dumb scrolling. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about classes, her early semesters were all theory, and Madeline always thrived more in hands-on stuff.

A small, involuntary smile crept onto her face when she saw that not just one, but three messages from Helen were waiting for her.

She must’ve seen the Post-it, there was no way she missed it. Madeline had made sure to write it in the middle of the night and sneakily stick it on the mirror while Helen slept.

It was the least she could do, since there was absolutely no way she’d be physically capable of waking up that early to wish her good luck.

Helen deserved all the good energy in the world.

 

Hel

Good morning, Sleeping Beauty or should I say Princess of Arendelle?

Thank you for the Post-it message, it meant a lot to me.

Hope you have a wonderful first day! ❤️

 

Madeline was going to kill her. With her bare hands. Screw good energy. Not a sleeping photo, seriously?! But, at least Helen had called her a princess. She was definitely claiming that nickname forever.

 

Mad

omg am i a princess??👸🏼👸🏼👸🏼👸🏼

im soooo changing my name in your contacts to “Princess Maddie” and you may now only address me by my title 🫡

getting ready for class now glad u liked the note 💘

 

Madeline sighed, her mind drifting back to the night before. That silly skincare suggestion, just a stupid excuse to get closer to Helen. She had this bizarre, borderline pathological urge to touch her. Okay, to be fair, physical touch was her love language since forever. Stefan had to endure many hand-holding mall dates. But this? This wasn’t her usual behavior. Not with someone she barely knew.

Let’s be real, she barely knew Helen Sharp. She was still trying to figure her out all whilst convincing herself that Helen wasn't secretly calling her dumb behind her back.Madeline wasn’t stupid, she knew that, but it was hard to hold onto when the world seemed to scream that she was “just a dumb blonde who’d only get anywhere in life with an equally dumb but rich husband” words straight from her ex-boyfriend David. He was a dick and oh so wrong.

Her interests just didn’t include math, geography, and etc. Madeline loved art and was used to going through not-so-legal means to find a good old movie. She could memorize long monologues and perform them with real emotion. She knew by heart every Best Actress winner at the Oscars and what dress they were wearing when they won. Unfortunately, none of that counted for the SATs, but she put in the work, sat her ass down, and studied like her life depended on it. 

She cried for hours when she got the acceptance letter.

 

She was going to be an actress.

 

She still remembered the moment she chose her path, when she stumbled across a YouTube video of Julie Andrews winning her Oscar in 1965. Mary Poppins was one of her favorite movies, and even though Julie had won for a different role (My Fair Lady, which Madeline scoured the internet to find and watch-it became another one of her favorites), her eyes welled up watching the actress’s emotion, the audience’s smiles, and the overall energy of the theater. She thought, “That’s what I want to do for the rest of my life”. She never told anyone. Least of all her mother.

Whenever people asked about her future plans, career wise, she’d say she wanted to go into public relations. It was easy to believe and it fitted her profile. So you can imagine her mom’s shock when she told her she’d gotten into a theater program.

 

“Oh, Madeline, we could’ve filmed your auditions together!”

 

“I could’ve coached you, just like the old days!”

 

Madeline said she just wanted to see if she could do it on her own. Her mother gave her the silent treatment for three days, until one random morning, when she decided everything was fine again and started treating Madeline like a normal human being again, as if nothing had happened. It was a terrible way of handling conflict, but it was how they’d always done things. Always.

As for her teachers, they were shocked to see the prestige of the college she’d gotten into. Once again, the assumption of stupidity.

That assumption, that she was dumb, was one of the reasons it was so hard for Madeline to truly get close to people. Everyone always thought she had a billion friends, but they couldn't be more wrong. She had a billion acquaintances . A couple thousand Instagram followers, sure, but that was it. She liked talking, she liked being around people. But real friends? She could count those on one hand.

She forced herself out of bed, avoiding the usual “no one really knows me” spiral she saved for Sunday nights, and mustered the energy to get ready.

She put on her morning playlist, because Madeline couldn’t function without music, and started rummaging for something cute to wear. She always felt better when she was well dressed. 

After flipping through a nearly ridiculous number of pink tops, she settled on a light pink tank top with lacy straps. It was delicate and cute, but still very Madeline.

She wondered how she’d dress for tonight’s party. She couldn’t wait to dress up, drink, have fun and look pretty while doing it. Plus, it’d be her and Helen’s first party together, a roommate rite of passage if you will. This party would solidify what Madeline hoped would be a real partnership. Also, she had a strong feeling it would be Helen’s first actual party party.

She couldn’t wait for the moment they’d get ready together. She wondered how Helen thought people dressed for college parties. Would she go for one of those beige sweaters?

 

If she did... Madeline would have no choice but to intervene. Aggressively.

 

Would Helen let Madeline do her makeup? God, she hoped so. Her mind drifted again, remembering last night, her fingers brushing over Helen’s face, gently rubbing cream into the redhead’s soft, warm skin. Her hands had trembled, and she was sure it wasn’t because of the wine. That wine barely had any effect on her. Though it might have been just enough to make Helen a little tipsy.

She picked out a pair of white pants, thinking it’d make a cute combo, and headed to the bathroom to do her hair, which had a life of its own in the morning. Madeline smiled like an idiot for the second time that morning, again all because of Helen. She saw the skincare jars lined up on the sink, exactly in the order she’d shown her the night before.

 

Helen had paid attention.

 

Helen had remembered .

 

It was silly. Seriously, it was so silly. But Madeline felt genuinely happy because Helen had taken her seriously. She followed her instructions. Madeline’s heart filled with something she couldn’t name. She felt seen. Heard.

She’d deny it to her grave, but she got dressed and did her hair with that same smile still on her face. She was brushing on her blush when she heard knocks on the door and let out a little squeak, half surprise, half panic. Shit, was it Stefan already at the door to walk her to class? It couldn’t be that late.

 

It was, in fact, that late.

 

Madeline opened the door, already blurting out:

“I’m sorry, I swear I’m almost ready!”

“Mad, I’ve never seen you on time in your life. I came prepared, darling,” Stefan said with a smile and a coffee in hand.

“You're a lifesaver,” Madeline said, clasping her hands in gratitude. She darted back to the bathroom to finish her makeup at lightning speed, one of her greatest skills. She could do a full face in record time when needed. But if she had four hours to get ready? She’d take four hours.

“All done!” she sang, slipping on her sandals.

“Let’s go, beautiful!” Stefan said, already opening the door, getting a little impatient.

“Wait a sec, I wanna take a pic for Hel!” Madeline opened her camera and posed in front of her full-length mirror, an essential dorm item, to take a mirror selfie for Helen. Phone in one hand, purse and coffee in the other, she angled herself to show off her super cute outfit and posed with her tongue between her teeth.

 

Mad

[picture]

the princess is ready to take on the first day 💘💘

 

“Okay, now we can go!” Madeline said to the empty room. Stefan was already waiting in the hallway, clearly their final cue to leave before they’d actually be late.

“So, you gonna tell me about your roommate? Do we hate her? Love her?” Stefan asked with a mischievous grin.

“Definitely don’t hate her! But I don’t know... we just met, so it’s too soon to say for sure. But it’s weird, it feels like we’ve known each other forever. I don’t know, I feel comfortable around her?”

“That’s good, Mad! My roommate only arrives next week, so if you need anything, I’m here, ya know?.”

“Thanks, love. Now, about the party tonight, want to meet at our dorm and go together? I think it’s Helen’s first real party, and I want her to feel welcome. Also, you two must meet.”

“Deal! Now speed up, or I swear to God I’ll leave you behind.”

 

Madeline smiled and followed her friend into this new phase of her life, ready.

Notes:

hey, guys, I swear the angst is coming for our girls, I'm just a sucker for fluff.
I might or might not be planning a (not so happy) birthday party for Helen…

ps: i just made my twitter account public, so feel free to reach out there 🙂 @thestateofally (I mostly complain about uni and retweet random stuff tho)

Chapter 9: american teenager

Helen liked the first days of school. She knew it sounded silly, but she genuinely enjoyed learning. She wasn’t sure if that feeling had been instilled in her during childhood, but there was something so magical about understanding things, about seeing how everything came to be. She could almost feel the gears turning in her brain when something finally made sense.

Her parents had texted her early that morning:

“Focus, it’s the first day of the rest of your life.”

“Remember: what’s taught today is what you study today. That way you won’t pile it all up before finals week.”

Even with all the excitement, she still felt that familiar flutter in her stomach, the same one she’d get with every new beginning since kindergarten. Her chest buzzed with anticipation, her mind racing through everything she’d do, everyone she might meet, wondering if they’d be kind to her, if her professors would be impressed. She had to be the best. Always.

She caught herself wondering about her “place in the classroom.” It was hard to explain, but when you’ve spent your whole life being the girl teachers sit between the talkative boys to “calm things down” or the student teachers just assume knows the right answer, there’s a certain weight you carry. A reputation, maybe.

She took a deep breath and opened the auditorium door.

She found a spot in the front row, her parents always told her to sit up front, it made it “easier for professors to notice you”, and settled in.

Her eyes bored into her notebook as she battled the strange mix of joy at everything she’d get to learn and the paralyzing fear of accidentally making eye contact with any of her new classmates. She could swear the room had gotten hotter, she slipped off her jacket and shoved it into her bag.

“Good morning, class.”

The professor entered. She was short and carried so many books they nearly blocked her face, plus a comically large bag. She placed everything on the desk and put her hands on her hips, surveying the room.

“I’m very excited to build this semester of Modernist Literature with you. I’m Professor Sinclair, and I hope you’re all ready to expand your understanding beyond the classics you read in high school.”

She began pulling her laptop from her bag to connect it to the projector.

“Who here has heard of Clarice Lispector?”

Helen raised her hand a little timidly.

“You in the back! Could you tell us a bit about her?”

A girl in the very last row had raised her hand too, but with confidence, raising a purple pen into the air.

Helen turned, just slightly, to look at her.

She had dark hair, tied back in a loose but effortlessly stylish bun, and there was something about her, like she hadn’t tried too hard to look good, but somehow looked absolutely perfect.

“She was a contemporary Brazilian writer,” the girl said, “and she often dives into human emotions in a deeply raw and touching way. Her work goes beyond words as she turns literature into a lived experience.”

Their eyes met for half a second.

“That’s... actually a great way to put it,” said the professor, standing as the slides began to project. “Clarice Lispector was born in 1920, in Ukraine, and came to Brazil as a refugee when she was still a baby…”

---

Helen was organizing her things, getting ready to head to her next class, when she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Have you read 'A Breath of Life'? I saw you raised your hand too, when the professor asked about Clarice.” The girl had sat right on the edge of Helen’s desk.

“Read it last summer,” Helen replied, still a bit startled. “It actually became my favorite of hers, I couldn’t put it down. It was… visceral.”

The girl smiled like Helen had just whispered a secret password.

“That’s the word. Visceral.” She pulled a piece of peppermint gum from her pocket and offered one. “I’m Viola, by the way. You look like the kind of girl who enjoys literature that hurts.”

Helen accepted the gum and smiled back. “I'm Helen. I’ll take that as a compliment. You look like the kind of girl who likes literature that provokes.”

“Touché. Give me your IG.”

---

Late in the afternoon, after a long and relaxing shower, Helen was reviewing her notes, after all, “taught material is studied material.”
Her headphones were blasting Pablo Casals playing Bach on the cello. So tragic and yet so beautiful. It reminded her of Água Viva by Clarice.
She considered DMing Viola about it…opened Instagram… and closed it. Not the time to go full nerd. Classical music and Clarice Lispector? Please.

She was halfway through an analysis of Clarice’s journalistic chronicles, that danced somewhere between fiction and daily life, when Madeline stormed into the room like a hurricane.

“Let’s gooo, we have to get ready for the party!!”

“‘Hi, Helen! How was your day?’ would’ve been a better way to start, Mad.” Helen sighed as she pulled out her earbuds.

“I’m just really excited! But of course I wanna hear EV-ERY-THING about your classes, even if it sounds like Greek to me.”

Madeline flopped onto her bed, cushioned by a million stuffed animals, and launched into a dramatic retelling of her Acting Through Movement class.

“We had to act out emotions using just our bodies. Sam, he’s adorable, ended up crying for real while trying to channel anger. It was kind of like a demon possession moment. Incredible.”

Helen laughed, trying not to show just how charmed she still was by the way Madeline could turn any part of her day into an interesting anecdote and deciding to ignore the fact that Mad had, once again, spoken first.

“My day was good too… surprisingly.” She looked down at her notebook, fingers still resting on a sentence underlined in purple: ‘Surrender as I have surrendered. Dive into what you don’t know, as I have. Don’t worry about understanding. Living surpasses all understanding.’

“The class really surprised me. I was already excited for it, but, Mad… it was almost magical. The professor asked if anyone had read Clarice Lispector before, and this girl, Viola, she gave this beautiful answer about how Clarice’s chronicles feel like an intimate conversation with the reader.”

“Oooh,” Madeline raised an eyebrow, smirking just enough to be annoying. “So Helly’s already got herself a shiny new literary bestie? Isn’t it a little early to be replacing me like that?”

She said it lightly, playfully,  but there was something in her tone. Something almost invisible. Almost.

Helen smiled faintly, trying not to blush. “You’re not that easy to replace. Plus, you’re my roommate. I have to see you every day. Viola’s not even in all my classes.”

"I hope not… I’m taking a super quick shower so we can get ready. Don’t run away!”

“I wouldn’t dare!” Helen laid down on her bed, arms folded behind her head, staring at the ceiling.

The truth was… she was excited. Which was weird.

Parties weren’t really her thing, she used to laugh nervously whenever people talked about “enjoying college.” For Helen, up until very recently, enjoying meant a hot cup of tea and a well-written academic paper, but something was changing. Or maybe… someone.

Showing up at a party with Madeline felt like holding a golden ticket, like a VIP wristband for life itself. She remembered Madeline’s Instagram feed, glitter scattered on the floor, groups of friends barely fitting into the frame, and one specific photo: Madeline walking away from the camera, in a pink dress, holding her high heels over her shoulder.

It stuck with her, not just because Madeline was beautiful (God, she was, with that effortlessly messy blonde hair catching the first rays of morning light), but because of the way she existed. Like nothing in the world was ever big enough to scare her.

Helen had spent so much of her life being… scared.

Scared of the future.

Scared of not living up to her parents’ expectations.

Scared of not being perfect.

From the bathroom, she could hear Madeline humming some pop song — missing a note and then laughing at herself, the sound echoing through the walls. Helen admired how easily Madeline could laugh at herself.

She smiled,  almost against her will.

---

“I want to transform you tonight. Full Princess Diaries,” Madeline said, dead serious, wrapped in a pink satin robe, a sharp contrast to Helen’s go-to loungewear: pajamas.

Helen laughed, but a flicker of anxiety flashed in her chest.
“I appreciate the effort, Mad, but it’s not necessary. I already know what I’m wearing.” She stood up and grabbed a long gray dress with a high neckline, one of her favorites.

“God, are you going to church? This is gonna be harder than I thought...”
Madeline pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, theatrical as always.

“First of all, take that dress and burn it. Second…” She turned to the closet and pulled out a red dress like she was unveiling a holy relic. “Wear this.”

“I don’t know…”

“Trust meee. Try it on in the bathroom and then strut back out here like a runway model.”

Helen rolled her eyes but did as she was told.

“Holy shit,” she whispered to herself once the door was closed.
The dress fit like a glove! Short, light, tight in all the right places. She felt... pretty. Maybe even beautiful.

She had never felt like that before, but she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. Or… did she?

She bit her lower lip, adjusted one of the straps, and exhaled slowly. She still needed to see herself in the full-length mirror, the one in the bedroom.

Helen opened the bathroom door just a crack.

“Mad?”

Across the room, Madeline was digging through her makeup bag like a paleontologist excavating fossils.

“Hm?”

Helen took a breath, then stepped out all at once, standing there frozen, like crossing that threshold was some kind of leap into the void.

Madeline spun around and froze.

Her eyes flicked up and down fast, like she'd just been caught off guard. A faint blush bloomed across her cheeks before she raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool.

Helen crossed her arms over her stomach. Now the dress felt too tight, too short, too much.

“It looks awful, right?” she said, already turning back toward the bathroom, ready to take it off and/or vanish completely.

“No! No, no, nooo,” Madeline shook her head emphatically, grabbing Helen gently by the forearm and guiding her to the mirror. “It looks… amazing. Like… wow.”

Helen lowered her gaze, her cheeks burning. The dress really was stunning, it had tiny beaded details, but not in a grandma-tacky way. No, it was stylish. It was Madeline-stylish.

“Is it too short?” she asked, subtly tugging at the hem.

Madeline let out a soft laugh. “Oh, come on. You know what they say: ‘The shorter the dress, the closer to God.’”

Helen made a face. “I’m pretty sure no one has ever said that in the history of the world.”

“Don’t second-guess it. You look beautiful.”

The words hung in the air a beat longer than they should have. Helen felt something strange, like her ribs had suddenly shrunk, too small to hold her heart properly.

Madeline was the first to look away, fiddling with her nails.

“Okay,” she said, shifting the tone, “now lie down so I can do your eyeliner.”

Helen lay back on the bed and Madeline climbed up behind her, kneeling between Helen’s legs. She leaned in with that weird mix of boldness and tenderness, one hand gently cradling Helen’s chin, the other holding a thin makeup brush. 

She leaned so close their breaths mingled.

“Don’t move.”

Helen froze completely. Madeline’s warm hand on her chin, her blue eyes laser-focused, the tutti-frutti breath and the Champagne Toast perfume that was so Madeline, it all made Helen feel oddly dizzy. It was... weird.

“You nervous?” Madeline whispered, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Helen tried to laugh. “Just don’t wanna end up looking like a panda.”

“Relax. I’m good at this.”

A few seconds of silence, and the line was done.
Madeline reached for the handheld mirror, but before Helen could take it, she said:

“You look beautiful, Hel.”

Helen turned her head slowly. The compliment landed with more weight than it probably should have, like it had been spoken with absolute sincerity.

The pause lingered. Too long. Far too long.

Madeline snapped “Just… not as beautiful as I will be in…” Madeline grabbed her phone off the nightstand. “Oh my God, 20 minutes!” she finished.

Helen laughed, but the sound came out a little shaky.
She could still feel Madeline’s hand burning on her cheek, even though it was long gone.

Madeline stood up, opened the wardrobe, pulled out a deep sapphire-blue bodycon dress, and disappeared into the bathroom.

---

Madeline emerged from the bathroom exactly ten minutes later.

“It’s a new record, ladies and gentlemen,” she grinned, arms wide open like she was actually being celebrated.

Helen smiled, and the two of them laughed together. It was a new routine, but it already carried a strange sort of intimacy.

Madeline looked flawless, polished from head to toe. The blue dress contrasted beautifully with her blonde hair, styled half-up, half-down, cascading in perfect waves.

“I just need to finish my makeup. Seriously, Hel, we have to change the bathroom lighting. It’s basically a hate crime.”

Helen watched her through the mirror as she touched up her makeup, almost hypnotized by how someone could look so effortlessly perfect.

Her jealous thoughts were interrupted when Stefan knocked on the door to say he had arrived.

Helen moved to answer it, but was stopped by Madeline’s hand on the doorknob.
She took Helen’s hand gently and whispered:

“Relax. It’s going to be fun. I promise.”

---

The party was crowded, stifling, and perfumed with cheap alcohol and sweat. Helen had stuck close to Madeline ever since they arrived. She felt out of place, but she’d committed to at least trying to have the college party experience.

She could tell Madeline was trying too, a handful of guys had tapped her shoulder or whispered in her ear, but Madeline blew all of them off.

“Sorry, girls' night!” she would say. She didn’t seem to care much, but Helen felt guilty, like she was keeping Madeline from actually enjoying the party.

Suddenly, Helen felt someone tap her shoulder.

“You’re here!” It was Viola, holding a red cup. Behind her, two guys and a girl were smoking in silence. “These are my frien-guys, come meet Helen!”

Helen smiled. Viola liked her enough to introduce her to her friends? That had never happened before. She was so caught up in the moment, eager to make a good impression, that she completely forgot to introduce Madeline.

“Stay with your new little friend then,” Madeline said in a bitter tone Helen had never heard from her before.

“Mad…” Helen reached for her arm, but Madeline had already disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up by the pink and blue lights of the makeshift dancefloor.

Helen found herself surrounded by people curious to meet her.

“So this is the famous Helen, the literature expert?” said one of Viola’s friends.

“Well, I wouldn’t say famous…”

They slipped into a surprisingly good conversation about Russian literature and The Death of Ivan Ilyich.

Out of the corner of her eye, Helen saw Madeline making out with a shirtless guy. She rolled her eyes inwardly and figured her roommate was doing just fine.

The conversation was flowing, and she was starting to feel like she belonged, until one of the guys spent a bit too long staring at her cleavage. 

Suddenly, someone lit incense, the music grew louder, everyone’s voices followed, and everything began to spin, just slightly.

Viola laughed at something, but the sound felt distorted, endless and vaguely sinister. Helen’s palms started to sweat, and it felt like the floor was shaking beneath her feet. Rationally, she knew it was probably just the bass, but it didn’t stop the wave of panic from crashing into her chest.

She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to look. Every question felt like a trap, and her body started screaming silently: leave.

“I… I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” she mumbled.

Helen crossed the room with trembling hands. Her vision was foggy, and it felt like she was walking through quicksand.

She pushed open the upstairs door, locked herself in the bathroom, and leaned against the cold wall.

She tried to breathe, but it felt like there wasn’t enough air on Earth to fill her lungs. She stared up at the ceiling of that unfamiliar bathroom, in that unfamiliar house, where she felt like a stranger even to herself.

Her throat tightened. Her vision blurred. And then they came: the tears, like a violent current.

Helen Sharp wanted to disappear.

Chapter 10: mirrorball

Notes:

kinda emotionally mature Madeline Ashton enters the chat??? So a bit ooc I guess

Madeline stormed off, fuming. Who did that girl think she was? She should be grateful that Madeline had dragged her to this party, done her makeup and picked out her outfit. But the second she got the chance, she ditched her for people who were "more intellectual"? What the fuck?

There was a small, almost imperceptible part of Madeline that whispered that this jealousy was irrational, since everyone wanted to meet new people in the beginning of college so it was normal. However, a much louder, monstrous part of her screamed that it was completely unfair that Helen had all but abandoned her.

She supposed it had been inevitable. She had sensed Helen's quiet superiority from the beginning and maybe that was the issue. Maybe deep down, Madeline was afraid she wasn’t enough, she should've known better girls like Helen made you realize just how ordinary you were.

Madeline found some random guy and started dancing with him, mostly to kill time and maybe, just a little, to be desired by someone. She would cast a few casual glances toward Helen's group now and then, making sure Helen could see the fun she was missing. But apparently it didn’t work, since their eyes never met, Helen looked like she was thriving, deep in conversation, glowing under the party lights… and to think Madeline had given up several guys tonight just to hang out with Helen. For God's sake.

Of course Madeline herself was glowing, she was sure of that. It was her mirrorball quality, spinning in the middle of the dance floor, reflecting everyone’s light, performing... 

Minutes passed, but it seemed like hours. The guy’s hand slipped lower on her back, maybe even grabbed her ass, she wasn’t sure, and Madeline realized just how bored she actually was.

She looked back toward Viola’s group, her eyes skimming the faces of random weirdos, but Helen wasn’t there anymore.

Confused, Madeline walked over to ask where she’d gone: “Where's Helen?” 

They just shrugged and returned to their conversations.

“She disappeared a while ago,” one of them said after Madeline stayed there, setting each and every one of them on fire with her eyes. The guy barely looked up.

“What do you mean disappeared? Disappeared to where?”

The same boy shrugged again. “I don’t know, couldn’t really hear her.”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “Assholes who can only hear themselves talk!” she muttered louder than she probably should, then spun on her heel and started searching, her heart starting to race like sensing that something wasn't right.

She had dragged Helen to this party, she was her responsibility. Guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and growing by the second. She began opening doors at random, interrupting makeouts sessions, stumbling over empty plastic cups, calling her name. Nothing.

She ran upstairs. One of the bathroom doors was locked.

 

She paused.

 

It was a college party, bathrooms were often tricky places. Maybe Helen didn’t want to be found. Maybe she was hiding. Or maybe she’d found someone to hook up with. Madeline wasn’t sure what was worse, but something in her gut told her Helen wasn’t okay.

So, she knocked.

“Hel? Are you in there?”

 

Silence.

Madeline sighed, already turning to leave when she heard it. A soft click and the door creaked open, just a sliver. Just like earlier that evening, when Helen had tried on the red dress and opened the bathroom door with the same kind of gentle hesitation.

“Mad?” Her voice was hoarse, almost a whisper. Her eyes were red and puffy. She’d been crying.

Madeline’s tone softened immediately. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

They sat down on the cold tile floor, facing each other. 

“I-” she tried to talk, but was stuck on a single word, her voice caught painfully in her throat.

“Helly, breathe. Please.” Madeline began to panic herself “Do you want me to call your parents or something?”

“No.” Her voice sounded fragile, like glass about to shatter.

Madeline wished she could erase this night from existence.

“Okay, okay. Let's just focus on breathing, right?.” She took Helen’s hands gently. “Follow me, okay? Let’s breathe together. I’m right here. We’re in this together.”

A few shaky breaths later, Helen broke down into a sob. Madeline physically felt her heart splitting. 

“I’m sorry,” Helen choked out. “I’m such a fucked-up roommate. You don’t deserve this, you deserve to have fun, not sit here with me.” She sniffled. “I don’t know what happened, I was fine and then suddenly everything felt like way too much. The lights, the people, the... I swear to God I couldn’t breathe.”

Madeline nodded slowly, thumb rubbing soothing circles on Helen’s knuckles.

“It’s okay. It happens. I get like that too sometimes… but I just take a few shots and head back to the dance floor.”

Helen let out a tiny laugh through her tears. Madeline felt a flicker of hope.

“Hel,” she said softly, “there’s a lot changing in our lives right now. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed. You’re not broken, believe me, You’re just… human.”

Helen wiped her face, barely audible: “Can we go home?”

“You didn’t even have to ask.”

They shared a quiet Uber ride back to the dorm. Madeline held Helen’s hand, gently stroking her thumb, checking on her every few seconds. Helen offered a small, grateful smile.

---

Back in the room, Helen went straight to shower. Madeline stayed behind,her heart was heavy with guilt. She never should’ve pushed her into going. Never should’ve left her with those stuck-up snobs. She paced the room for a minute, tried to scroll through her phone, but her hands were shaking. 

She didn’t want to cry in front of Helen. Not because she was ashamed of crying, maybe she was, but mostly because, for the first time in her life, it felt unfair to make this about her. Still, the weight of it was unbearable.

When Helen came out, wrapped in a soft fluffy pyjama, eyes tired and looking as small as a ladybug, Madeline went in. She turned on the water, sat on the floor of the shower stall, and cried silently under the spray. Her guilt mixed with shame and something else she couldn’t quite name, a quiet fear that she was screwing this up already, that she didn’t know how to be the kind of person Helen could trust.

It took a few minutes for her face to stop looking like she’d been crying. Once the puffiness dulled, she finally stepped out. Helen was curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. The shower steam still clung faintly to Madeline’s skin as she climbed over to Helen's bed and asked gently, “Do you want to talk more about what happened tonight?”

Helen hesitated. “Not really,” she said, brushing it off with a tight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Madeline didn’t push, not at first. But she could sense there was something Helen was hiding, after a beat, she added, “I just don’t want you to think you're a bad roommate or anything.” Her right rand brushing a strand of red hair behind Helen’s ear.

There was a pause, and then, softly, she continued, “You know, hum, I used to do pageants when I was a kid. Like, the whole shebang TLC thing, sparkly dresses, fake lashes, go-go juices... so I got pretty good at pretending, my mom would coach me and… it helped pay the bills, but I'm still uncomfortable talking about it, it was a pretty bad time…”

Helen finally looked up from her phone, meeting Madeline’s gaze with something unreadable in her expression, it wasn't judgment, nor pity, but something else. It made Madeline feel exposed in a way she usually hated, so she turned her face away.

“What I'm trying to say is everybody’s a little fucked up,” she murmured. “Some people just hide it better.”

She pulled out her laptop to change the subject and lighten the mood a bit “Wanna keep watching Dance Moms? The next episode will make you bawl out laughing”. 

Helen gave a short laugh. “Yeah.”

They ended up watching a couple more episodes, giggling occasionally at how much a grown woman yells at little children and trading whispered commentary about the mom's fashion styles. At some point, Helen yawned and stretched. 

“I should let you sleep.” Madeline said, closing the laptop.

But before she could move, Helen murmured, “Could you stay?”

Madeline paused.

“I just... I don’t want to be alone tonight. I know you’re technically like, three feet away, but still.”

Madeline let out a quiet sigh, one that wasn't annoyed but full of understanding. “Sure.”

She turned off the lamp on the nightstand, settling beside her on the mattress.

“Good night, Hel.” she said, lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling.

“Good night, Mad.” Helen replied, voice softer now, as she rolled onto her side, facing the wall.

Notes:

Hey, guys! We’re going on a short hiatus because I’m trying to get my driver’s license… emphasis on trying (send positive vibes, pls).

I’ll probably be back with a tiny time jump 😝

Chapter 11: add up my love

Notes:

It took a little while, but we're back! And with a time jump and double POV chapter :p

Unaware jealous Mad enters (and never leaves) the chat.

a few months later

Helen’s been in the library for what feels like forever, typing her report with such determination and speed that sometimes she mistypes words, her brain moving faster than her fingers. It’s incredible how much you can bloom when you don’t have two people in your ear every day forcing you to be brilliant. Sure, there were still the texts and calls, but Helen could simply reply when she wanted, or not reply at all, and excuse herself by saying she was studying. That was enough for them, and more than enough for her.

She’s writing about Hamlet and the representation of women and “madness” in classic literature, and how women are still wrongly labeled as “insane” nowadays. Her mind involuntarily drifts to Madeline and to how she dreams of playing Ophelia in the play. She certainly has the flair the role demands.

Many people think Madeline is silly, leaning toward shallow or even dumb, but after these months of living with her, Helen has learned more about what makes Madeline Madeline. Not just “leading lady Mad” or borderline-Instagram-famous Mad, though those exist, of course. But also a version of Madeline who keeps a Katherine Hepburn DVD collection under her bed “just in case it disappears from the streaming apps,” who can’t watch movies without whispering her favorite lines under her breath-trust her, Helen's seen Enchanted so much these past months that she herself almost knows the lines by heart-and who understands theater better than anyone she has ever talked to and that includes her parents’ obnoxious friends. Like, she really understands theater, she turns words into emotions. Sometimes she doesn’t even need words, just one look already tells Madeline everything she needs to know about what the character is feeling and she is able to portrait it with such perfection that should be illegal.

Getting to know Madeline is quite an experience. Some days, she’s a ball of energy, talking nonstop and bouncing around. But there are other, rarer, days when she goes quiet, and that unsettles Helen. Part of her feels guiltily proud, she’s almost sure she’s the only person who sees Madeline that way, except maybe Stefan? But another part of her feels disoriented, it’s strange to see Madeline without her sparkle. On those days, Helen usually finds her swallowed up in one of Helen’s oversized hoodies because “they’re warmer than mine,” curled up on Helen’s bed with one of her billion stuffed animals, her gaze distant but seeming to soften and gets closer, almost reachable, when it meets Helen’s. Maybe she’s imagining things, but Madeline always seems grateful to see her on those darker days, even if she never says it out loud.

They don’t talk. Not the way they did after that party, with Madeline opening up so much. Instead, Helen makes chamomile tea and goes to shower while Madeline drinks it. Usually she comes out just in time to hear Madeline murmur, “Mm, delicious" as she takes her final sip. Helen takes the cup and lies down beside her, their shoulders barely touching, syncing  her breath with Madeline’s breathing, in and out, in and out, staring at the ceiling until they both drift off.

Her phone buzzes, pulling her out of her thoughts. She knows who it is before even picking it up. They have this weird habit of texting each other at the exact same moment one is thinking about the other. It’s almost mystical.

Mad
whos ur fav princess?

Madeline’s planning her birthday party. It had been a long, exhausting debate between what Helen wanted: an afternoon at her favorite coffee shop with her friends and what Madeline wanted: a huge party with disco balls and beer pong.

They’d settled on the coffee shop, but Madeline got to handle the decorations, and afterward, they’d stop by one of her friend’s houses for a few celebratory shots.

“One for every year the world’s been blessed with your presence, Hel!” Madeline had said, crushing Helen in a hug with a strength she shouldn’t reasonably possess.

Helen was already starting to regret letting Madeline be in charge of the decorations. Their styles were just… so different. Madeline was extravagance, glitter and chaos. Helen couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going through her roommate’s beautiful, silly mind.

Helen
You’re not throwing me a princess-themed party, right, Madeline? It’s really important to me that you know this.

Mad
just asking…

Helen rolled her eyes, turned off her phone and went back to her notes. She knew exactly what was coming...

Seconds later, her phone started buzzing so much that it danced across the library table. Helen gave a small, childish smile.

She’d discovered early on that there was something wickedly satisfying about keeping Madeline on the edge. Madeline had the patience of a  two-years-old toddler, she hated waiting for her Starbucks order, couldn’t stand a grocery line and definitely couldn’t handle waiting for replies. Sometimes Helen left her on read purely for the glory of, like now, watching her phone flood with aggressive emojis and “HEL”s in all caps.

Mad
HEL
c’mon I NEED to know
ITS IMPORTANT
if u don’t answer ill just pick it myself
HEL
HELLY
C’MON
😩😩😩😩😩
PLS
😠😠😠😠😠
PLS
😡😡😡😡😡
PLS
🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

Helen
Belle, I guess.

Mad
good to know…

Barely two minutes later, Helen’s phone buzzed again.

Mad
hey
wanna know what I got you?
im not telling
but u can guess
u wanna know
i know u do

Madeline had been teasing Helen about her birthday present for weeks. Every single day she’d wake up asking Helen if she wanted a hint, or to sneak a peek, or to guess. Helen suspected Madeline was more excited to give the present than she herself was to get it. It was actually kind of funny.

Hel
Mad, unlike you, some people actually do their homework, you know?

Mad

rude

ur no fun at all
btw run lines with me tonight?

Hel
Can’t today, going to a movie with Bobby.

Helen regretted mentioning his name the second she hit send. Madeline read it but didn’t reply. She couldn’t care less about Bobby, or rather, she almost seemed to hate him.

Helen had met Bobby in the coffee shop line, she was stretching on tiptoe to reach an apple, panicking at how embarrassing it was to be holding everyone up, when a tall guy with curly dark hair grabbed it for her. They locked eyes, he complimented her Doctor Who t-shirt and they ended up having lunch together.

He studied computer science, loved sci-fi as much as she did and had been playing piano since he was five. Helen also found it surprisingly easy to talk to him, easier than she ever had with anyone, except maybe Madeline or Viola. But then again, Madeline probably didn’t count; she could have a full conversation with an inanimate object.

By the end of lunch, he invited her to a special Star Wars screening that Friday. He was respectful, funny, kind, and at the end of the night, he kissed her at her dorm door. Since then, they’d been going to movies or bookstores every week. Helen was almost certain she could call it dating. They liked each other, they saw each other often, it ticked all the boxes, except that Madeline didn’t like him.

The first time they went out, Helen came back gushing, legs swinging off the chair like a kid as she spilled every detail to Madeline. It wasn’t like her to chatter so much, but she’d been so happy.

Madeline, however, had stayed absolutely silent, only opening her mouth to say:

“Who names their kid Bobby? It’s like setting him up for bullying, you know?”

Helen rolled her eyes, she was getting used to Madeline’s habit of blurting things out. Helen didn’t think she meant harm, it just… came out.

“His name isn’t Bobby, Mad! It’s short for Robert.”

“Even worse. You’re telling me he chooses to go by Bobby?”

“You’re just jealous because my dates actually happen, like in the plural, date-s, moving past a hook-up in some dark corner of a party.” Helen choked on her own saliva. Where had that come from? She opened her mouth to apologize, to blame the beer Bobby had given her in his car.

But Madeline didn’t seem fazed at all. She just raised her right eyebrow like Helen had challenged her to a sports competition or maybe even a duel, tossed her hair back in perfect, impossible-to-replicate fashion, and said:

“Pleaaase. It’s our first year, we’re supposed to hook up, not date.” She hopped off the bed, leaned close to Helen’s face. “I’m happy for you, Hel.” Her words sounded sincere enough, and she sealed them with a kiss on Helen’s cheek before skipping out the door.

Helen stayed frozen for five whole minutes after hearing it close, Madeline’s red lipstick stain warm on her cheek and her words staining a looping in her head like a scratched record.

“Then I guess we’re both happy,” she concluded.

Helen forced herself back into academic mode, her beautiful productive groove before all those thoughts. She still had a few hours to spare before she’d head back to get ready, hoping Madeline would be willing to at least pretend to ignore the fact that she was going out with Bobby and help her get dressed.

---

Madeline was definitely not willing to help.

She thought she had terrible taste in guys, but apparently it was nothing compared to Helen’s. First off, Bobby? Who under fifty went by Bobby? Second, hadn’t Helen ever heard “opposites attract”? She seemed to be dating the male version of herself, just duller and way more boring.

Madeline had had the misfortune of meeting him twice. Both times, when he dropped Helen off after one of their nerdy little dates. What was the fun in being with someone who knew everything you already did? She couldn’t wrap her head around it. Her ears practically bled hearing their stupid giggles echo down the hallway. Helen opened the door, and Bobby would nod faintly at Madeline, making more eye contact with the floor than with her.

His face was always so red he looked like he’d swallowed forty chili peppers. Pathetic, really. Boys were disgusting when they blushed. Girls, at least, blushed beautifully, skin glowing, noses crinkling. But boys? They just looked like tomatoes.

So when Helen opened the door, smiling so wide it was borderline psychotic, Madeline stared straight into her eyes and said:

“No.”

“Please, Mad. You’re always saying I have no sense of style, that even your grandma dresses better and-”

Madeline wasn’t about to let her finish.

“You’re ABANDONING me for a guy! I never did that to you!”

“Mad, even you don’t believe that. How many times have you ditched me for some random hookup?”

“But we were still in the same room, Helen!” She enunciated every letter of Helen’s name, ditching the nickname to make sure Helen understood this was serious. “You’re leaving me alone to run lines with Teddy?” She pointed to her stuffed bunny like a prosecutor pointing at the accused on Law & Order SVU.

“C’mon, Mad, I’m begging!” Helen pressed her palms together, pleading. Madeline couldn’t decide if it was a trick or if she was really that desperate.

Madeline sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll help you. But only because if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure the fashion gods would strike me down for letting you leave in a beige turtleneck.”

“You’re the best, Mad!” Helen rushed to hug her.

“I know.” Madeline breathed in Helen’s hair, hoping to catch that airy, floral scent, but only smelled her own perfume. “But if you use my shampoo and conditioner again, I’ll shoot you.” She smiled, patting Helen’s back twice.

Helen went to shower while Madeline rummaged through her closet, since Helen’s wardrobe was a lost cause. She settled on a green satin dress. Not too fancy, they were going to the movies after all, but perfect against Helen’s fiery hair, and it worked with her trusty black Converse she refused to give up.

Helen stepped out, damp red hair soaking her oversized t-shirt that read "Forget love, I’m falling in chocolate".

Madeline laughed. “I wish you’d actually live by the wisdom of your shirt.” She handed Helen the dress. “If you stain this with popcorn butter, I’ll kill you with a harpoon.”

“I’ll try not to think too much about the fact that you’ve threatened to kill me in two different ways in less than two hours and just say thank you.”

Helen finished getting ready while Madeline pretended to be busy with her script, though all she could really think was how beautiful Helen looked. She’d never admit it, but the dress looked so much better on her. Madeline’s strawberry frappuccino twisted in her stomach when she remembered who Helen was getting dressed for. He couldn’t possibly be worth it.

“Okay, I’m off. Text me if you need anything!” Helen blew her a kiss from the door.

“You too!” Madeline caught it, pressing it to her chest before Helen shut the door.

Madeline tossed her script on the table thirty times before giving up completely. Her brain refused to memorize more than four words. Finally, she slammed it down one last time, grabbed a bottle of vodka and sat on the floor to start cutting cupcake toppers shaped like Lumière.

Notes:

thanks to my cousin for helping me review it, you're the best and maybe someday I'll actually watch arcane for you :)

Chapter 12: it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

Notes:

sooo, remember the angst? yep, it's here
but there's a lot (like a lot) of cute moments before ‘cause i'm only human

The sun was shining particularly bright on the morning of Helen Sharp’s birthday.

The natural light was so strong that her eyelids began to protest, furiously wanting to open and face the day. Meanwhile, she was gathering just enough courage to untangle herself from her blanket when she heard a quiet “shit” and the sound of the door creaking open. It couldn’t possibly be Madeline. Since the day they met, Helen couldn’t recall a single morning when Madeline had woken up before her. It was impossible.

She rubbed her eyes as she got up, maybe she was still dreaming and the real Madeline was actually deep asleep, nearly suffocated by her battalion of stuffed animals. Helen was absolutely convinced that Linda the Lamb had an evil plan to smother Madeline in her sleep and she always made a point of pulling the plush toy away from under Madeline’s nose whenever she woke up at night or before heading out to class. ‘Not today, Linda. Not today’ she murmured to the plushie while placing her in Madeline's desk.

But, apparently, she wasn’t dreaming, because she heard a very real squeal burst from Madeline’s throat, followed by:

“You’re awake! Happy birthday, Hel!”

Madeline looked ridiculously cute, wearing a red party hat tilted slightly to the left, shutting the door with a playful kick of her right foot while holding a cupcake with a little candle on top as if it were a priceless gem she’d been entrusted to protect.

She set the cupcake down on the nightstand, then jumped onto Helen’s bed, wrapping her in a warm hug and peppering soft kisses across her forehead and cheeks. Helen wasn’t the biggest fan of physical affection, in fact, most of the time she avoided it altogether, but Madeline always seemed like she was going to have a psychotic break if she wasn’t touching someone. Like when they went to the movies and Madeline clutched Helen’s hand during every tense scene like it was a life-support machine, or when she was overly excited to go somewhere and hooked her entire hand around Helen’s index finger to pull her along, or even when she was particularly bored and started experimenting with different braids in Helen’s hair.

Madeline left the bed and grabbed a pink lighter from her drawer, lighting the candle. Today, she was wearing a fitted white dress, a pair of pink Converse, “in your honor, Hel!” she had said later, pointing enthusiastically at her feet, and, of course, the red party hat still perched on her head. She carefully handed Helen the plate with the cupcake.

“Red Velvet for my favorite redhead!” she sang.

Helen felt a little disoriented. No one had ever done anything like this for her before, not with so much care and dedication for her. She was embarrassed, even a little guilty for the effort Madeline had put in. But the blonde seemed happy enough, so Helen decided to brush it off, recalling her therapist’s words: “Loving and caring for you isn’t a burden, Helen.”

Madeline started to sing Happy Birthday. Helen just stared at her blue eyes and smiled, she seemed to notice Helen wasn’t singing along, just watching her, so she pouted, squeezed her eyes almost shut and said that even though her voice was amazing and everyone should shut up and listen, birthday songs were no fun unless they were sung together. So, naturally, Helen joined in.

They went through the entire song, and Madeline was smiling so wide Helen was pretty sure she could see every single one of her friend’s teeth.

“Now make a wish, Hel! A good one!”

Helen closed her eyes and tried to think. Her birthday wishes had always been the same: not to feel lonely or not to feel insufficient. But this year, for the very first time, she didn’t need to wish for that. She had friends, real friends; a boyfriend who liked her for who she was and a roommate who genuinely cared about her. Helen wished she could look back at little six-year-old Helen, at her absurdly large birthday party-one clearly designed more to impress her parents’ friends than to make her happy-with too many rules and too little fun. Or at twelve-year-old Helen, who didn’t have enough friends to even dream of throwing a party. She wished she could tell them both that everything was going to be fine, that she would eventually find her people.

So when she filled her lungs and blew out the candle, she only wished for things to stay exactly as they were.

Madeline clapped and bounced enthusiastically, making Helen laugh despite herself. She was genuinely grateful for Madeline’s presence in her life. She had this unique ability to bring color into Helen’s previously beige world, to say the most inappropriate thing at the worst possible time and even to pretend to listen when Helen rambled on about her classes.

“Okay, let’s go over your itinerary,” Madeline said clearly breathless after all the squealing and jumping. “I refuse to share you with anyone else in the morning! So I'm running an in-dorm spa, we're doing a self-care morning here with manicures and face masks provided by yours truly. Then, we’ll get ready for brunch at your café with everyone, and from there, we’ll hit my upperclassman Lisle’s sorority party for your birthday shots and daaaancing.” 

Helen giggled like a little girl, but she didn't care, she was that happy.

They were sharing the cupcake, faces smudged with cream cheese frosting when Madeline jumped out of Helen's bed and pulled a yellow box from under her bed, handing it to Helen “And this one’s just for you!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows mischievously.

Helen opened it carefully and her eyes lit up. Inside was a pastel yellow dress, it was short and flared, with shoulder straps that tied in delicate bows, a framed photo of the two of them from the very first day they met as roommates and a Yellowface by R.F. Kuang.

“I’ve been wanting this forever!” Helen exclaimed, holding up the book tucked neatly in the box.

“I know!! Every time we go to the bookstore, you always point to it” Madeline said with a grin, leaning against Helen.

“And this, Mad!” She picked up the framed photo, laughing softly.

“Remember the effort it took me to convince you to take it?” Madeline said, poking Helen's shoulder.

“I was a complete mess after the move and I still wasn’t used to your pathological need to photograph everything, okay?”

“I just like to capture things, Hel! Now we have this moment frozen forever, our first day as roommates!” Madeline said, her voice warm and filled with love.

Helen held up the dress against herself, eyes sparkling. “Madeline… you shouldn’t have.” 

“Do you like it? I was thinking you could wear it today!” Madeline said, her voice somehow softer, like she was waiting years and years to see Helen's response to the gift. She knew Madeline had spent a good portion of her tips on this, she had been doing multiple extra shifts at the campus café these past weeks. She always said it was because she liked staying busy, but now Helen realized the truth: she had been saving up just to buy this.

“It’s beautiful!” Helen breathed.

“It’s no biggie! People tip me a lot, and you deserve it! Believe me, if I could, I’d buy you a thousand dresses, you look so cute in them!” Madeline now poked Helen’s side playfully, aiming for the spot that always triggered her laughter.

Helen wriggled, trying to dodge, but it was useless. Madeline found the exact spot and started tickling her until her eyes watered and she begged for mercy through giggles.

Finally, after Helen caught her breath, Madeline clapped her hands together. “Okay, spa-day, let’s get started!”\

---

Madeline covered Helen’s eyes with both hands as she carefully guided her through the café.

“Ready, Hel?” she whispered with a smile in her voice.

“Not even a little,” Helen muttered, half-nervous, half-laughing.

Madeline began to count. “Three… two… one…” and she finally lifted her hands away.

“Surprise!” came the cheerful chorus from the corner table.

Helen’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. Madeline raised her palms dramatically, fanning at Helen’s face.

“No, no, no tears! I worked way too hard on this makeup for you to let it streak down your cheeks.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Helen said, laughing as she started to also fan herself with both hands.

Viola was the first to spring up and hug her. “Happy birthday, Helen!!” she sang out, pressing a little gift bag into her hands.

Before Helen could even peek inside, Madeline intercepted with mock severity:

“Presents after food!”

“Yes, General Madeline!” Helen replied, rolling her eyes, earning herself a playful punch on the shoulder.

The long table was filled, Viola, Stefan, Stefan’s roommate Chagall, Bobby, and a handful of classmates Helen hadn’t even expected. She knew, without a doubt, that Madeline must have called ahead to book a space for so many people. The thought, this small, ridiculous detail, made her even happier, if such a thing was possible.

And the theme, that ended up being princesses after all, was surprisingly refined. The decorations weren’t childish at all. Gold accents shimmered softly in the café’s warm light. The table was dressed with delicate rose petals scattered between porcelain teacups, a glass dome at the center holding a single red rose. The cupcakes came adorned with little toppers of Lumière and Cogsworth. Even the napkins were folded like roses, she didn't even know this was possible and the playlist drifting through the café's speakers had classic French instrumentals that seemed to come out straight from Helen's own playlist.

Madeline pulled out the chair placed right at the center of the long table.

“Mademoiselle.” she said, slipping her left hand under the seat with an exaggerated flourish, guiding Helen into it like she was escorting true royalty to her throne.

As Helen sat down, she realized everyone already had tall flutes of mimosas sparkling in front of them. Madeline, smiling from ear to ear, suddenly produced a satin sash emblazoned with Birthday Girl in glittering gold script. She draped it carefully over Helen’s shoulders, before settling a small tiara onto her head, the kind Helen could swear had once belonged to Madeline’s old pageant days. Maybe it had.

Laughter rippled through the group, everyone was talking to each other and the interactions were actually working. But Madeline wasn’t done. She pulled out her phone and placed it in the middle of the table, revealing a spinning digital roulette wheel.

“Alright” Madeline announced, voice commanding like a pro game-show host, “the rules are simple: whatever it lands on, you do. Maybe you roast a professor. Maybe you share your most embarrassing freshman story. Maybe you… confess your guilty pleasure TV show.”

Groans and laughter erupted all around, and within minutes, the table buzzed with energy. Even the quieter classmates leaned in, laughing at each outrageous answer.

“Violetta is not a guilty pleasure TV show”

“It so is”

“Oh, your Mr Smith impersonation is so accurate!”

It was impossible not to join in, Madeline had made sure of that. How could such a cool popular girl like Madeline have such care in the sense of making sure everyone felt included? 

Helen noticed the details in between the chaos. Madeline had placed herself at Helen’s right, close enough that their elbows brushed every now and then and Madeline could squeeze her in a hug every other minute. To her left was Viola, endlessly chatty and charming. Bobby, on the other hand, was seated much farther away, tucked at the opposite end of the table. It wasn’t random. Helen realized that Madeline had arranged the seating herself, subtle, deliberate, as if orchestrating the whole evening so that Helen would not be close to her boyfriend.  It was so like her. 

They hung out at the café for hours, chatting and playing random games while nibbling on buttery mini croissants and perfectly poached eggs Benedict. After a round of Uno that almost ended with Viola jumping on Stefan over a +4 card, Madeline clapped her hands together with severity.

“Alright, everybody! I just want to thank you all for coming today, it was so much fun celebrating Helen’s life with you guys! Don’t forget we’re heading to Lisle’s sorority house afterwards for some shots, but right now…” She smacks her hands on the table like a drumroll. “It’s time to open the presents!”

Cheers and drumrolls from the table followed. Viola was the first to hand over her gift, a purple bag filled with tissue paper the color of lilacs. Inside, Helen found a thick, beautiful special edition collecting all the letters of Clarice Lispector.

“A little nod to our first encounter!” Viola said with a grin and Helen immediately pulled her into a hug, gratitude swelling in her chest for the girl who had so boldly approached her on their very first day of college.

Next came Stefan. He handed Helen a neatly folded package; she wouldn't expect anything else from him as she was pretty sure he helped Madeline with the party decorations. She opened it and laughed aloud, it was a green Shrek graphic tee, the words “Can’t today, I’m swamped” emblazoned in the movie's logo font.

“I knew you’d like it!” Stefan said, shrugging his shoulders. “Mad told me you have a thing for graphic tees”.

“Thank you, Stefan, I loved it!” Helen giggled and shook her head, slipping it out to hold it against her chest. 

Finally, Bobby stood up and walked towards her, handing her his present. Helen unwrapped it carefully to find a sleek hardback copy of Cleopatra and Frankenstein.

“Oh! Thank you, Bobby!” she said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. His shoulders straightened almost imperceptibly, as though the small gesture had meant more than it should.

Madeline’s voice rang out. “She already has this one, dumbass.”

The table broke into laughter, the kind that rolls and tumbles until it swallows everyone. Bobby flushed but smiled politely, trying to laugh along. Helen, however, felt a sharp little sting in her chest. 

“I'm sorry…I…I didn't know. The woman at Barnes & Noble said it was good…” he murmured.

Madeline shouldn’t have said it like that, she thought. Not here, not to him. Just because Madeline didn’t like him didn’t mean she had to cut him down in front of everyone.

“Don’t worry!” she told him. “I never return books, even if I have duplicates at home, because every time I look at this edition, I’ll think of you.” She pulled him in for another kiss, deeper. 

She could see Madeline fake gagging from the corner of her eye. 

---

They were dancing, Helen’s arms finding comfort around Bobby’s neck, the lights flashing and the music pulsing through the crowded sorority house. She felt safe, warm, and energized with him. The room was packed, but whenever her eyes met Bobby’s, it seemed like there was no one else, just the two of them. That is, until Madeline poked her shoulder and shoved a shot down her throat, Helen had long lost count somewhere after number thirteen.

He ran his hands through her hair, which Madeline had meticulously styled into a half-up, half-down look, gently removing the pins so her red locks cascaded around her face like a waterfall. He tucked a strand behind her ear and muttered something almost inaudible over the thumping music.

“What?” she shouted.

“I like your hair like this… don’t tie it back anymore.”

Bobby kissed her, he tasted like beer and calm, like a grounding presence amidst the chaos.

Viola passed by and called Helen to dance. She hesitated, feeling guilty for leaving Bobby alone since he didn’t know many people there. But Madeline winked and muttered, “Don’t worry! I’ll Bobby-sit him for you,” before disappearing into the crowd. Helen was pretty sure Madeline was wasted, because sober Madeline would never voluntarily choose to spend more time with Bobby. She decided to just be grateful for the chance to dance with Viola and enjoy herself for a bit.

They danced a lot, Helen feeling lighter than she had in, well, forever. Viola leaned in close to whisper that she was pretty sure Lisle was flirting with her and was wondering whether she should actually let herself respond.

Helen encouraged Viola to go for it, she should go after Lisle anyway. Helen could go find Bobby; it had been a while, and Madeline had probably already ditched him.

---

Helen had been scanning the crowded house for Bobby for a while. She needed to check in on him, he wasn’t really part of the rest of the party crowd and she knew he might feel a little out of place. Her feet guided her through the throng of bodies, the bass vibrating under her black Converse, until she spotted a quiet doorway slightly ajar. Hoping it might lead her to him, she slipped inside.

The room was dim and smelled faintly of leftover drinks and vape essences. Her eyes spotted Madeline's hair shining even in the dark. “Shit” she thought to herself and began to walk backwards aiming to shut the door after she left, afraid to ruin Madeline hooking up with some random guy. 

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized it wasn't some random guy, it was Bobby, her Bobby. She saw Madeline sitting casually on Bobby’s lap, her fingers running through his hair as if she owned it. His fingers ruining the blonde curls it took Madeline ages to tidy this morning. She froze. Every motion, every small touch was like a burning arrow straight through her heart.

This couldn't be happening. Her friend. Her boyfriend. Together. 

She couldn't recall how many minutes she just stood there, watching them together between kisses and longing touches. It was only when she heard Madeline gasp and lock eyes with her that she snapped back to reality and spun towards the stairs, vision blurred, tears threatening to fall at any second and her chest heaving frantically, searching for air that never came.

She managed to hear Madeline shout, “Don’t you dare go after her!” just before she bolted down the stairs as fast as she could.

Shock was giving way to anger, she had never felt so betrayed in her life. Madeline didn’t even like him! Why was she with him? Why? 

She could feel Madeline behind her, hovering, trying to reach out, and every instinct in Helen screamed to push her away. She hated her. Hated her like she’d never hated anyone, not her parents, not the teacher who’d given her a B in third grade, not anyone . But yet again, she froze. Her feet clung to the grass in the front yard.

“Madeline, you're the last person in the world I want to see right now, I'm leaving.” the words tumbled out in a rush, stitched together with rage and disbelief. She didn’t turn back, she didn’t want to look at Madeline’s face, she didn't even know if she was capable of looking at her ever again.

“He… he messed up your hair. I…” Madeline murmured, voice fragile, almost pleading, but it only fanned the flames in Helen’s chest.

“Shut up, Madeline. I don’t want to hear anything from you.” Her stomach twisted violently, and taking all those shots suddenly seemed like the worst idea in the world. “I think I’m going to throw up.” She bent over, hands on her knees, the ground tilting beneath her, spinning her world into vertigo.

She felt Madeline’s hands brush against her back as she emptied her stomach on the grass.

“Don’t touch me,” she muttered, wiping her mouth with her arm. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run from everything, to erase this entire day, but she just took a deep breath and said, “I’m taking the bus home. Find somewhere else to sleep, I'm sure it won't be too hard for you.”

“He messed up your hair!” she shouted, this time into the empty air. Helen was already running toward the bus stop, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the chaos she had just left behind.

Notes:

Madeline’s last line might come off a little random, but I just feel like sometimes, when we’re not ready to face the real reason behind our actions, we end up blaming other minor things instead.

Also, my classes were canceled this week, which is why the update came so quickly lol. I’m planning one chapter per week (if everything goes right)

Chapter 13: liabilty

Notes:

denial is a river in egypt

Madeline woke up with a pounding headache on a bed that wasn’t hers. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar, shadows swimming in her blurred vision. Her skull throbbed as though someone was hammering at it from the inside, each pulse sharp enough to make her nauseous. Flashes hit her in fragments: dancing, dizzying lights, mouths, oh so many mouths, all the wrong ones...

Her chest ached with a heaviness that felt physical, like her ribs were being pried open from the inside. Anguish, raw and merciless, pressed against her lungs until every breath felt shallow. It was more than a hangover; it was grief, shame, and rage curdled together, but she couldn't place where those feelings were coming from.

She turned her head. A boy lay beside her, sleeping peacefully, his mouth slacking in the kind of oblivion only people who had never really worried a day in their lives could afford. Probably a football player, his broad shoulders and the room’s decor confirmed it.

Blue-painted walls. Posters of athletes staring down from the walls with glassy eyes, as if they were personally offended by her existence, as if she had trespassed against them. The perfect all-American aesthetic. Classic drunk Madeline move, throwing herself into clichés as if they could fill every single hollow she carried.

Her eyes caught on a white blur on the floor, her dress. She wondered if Helen had made it home safe, a thought that struck sharp with resentment for her own choices. Why had she drunk that much?

When she sat up, the whole room spun, tilting dangerously. Her body still buzzed with leftover alcohol. At least she picked a guy that had an en-suite bathroom, she staggered toward it, gathering her dress and underwear from where they were strewn across the floor. 

She opened the door and the memories flung to her brain, Helen’s name broke through her thoughts like glass in her throat. Helen. Bitter taste on her tongue. Helen. Helen. Bobby.

 

Shit.

 

Her stomach lurched, and she barely made it to the sink before bile burned its way up her throat. She retched until there was nothing left, her legs folding under her until she slid down the counter, crumpling onto the bathroom floor.

Pieces of last night slammed into her: Bobby’s hands wrapped around Helen’s waist. A shot. The way he leaned in, loosening Helen’s hair and undoing her hairstyle. Another shot. Helen smiling, maybe even laughing. Two more shots down in one gulp. A room. This room? She couldn’t remember. Her skull pounded with merciless rhythm. All she could see was Helen’s face, wet with tears, disappointment etched so deep it was unbearable.

Madeline pressed her forehead against her knees, trying to breathe through the nausea and the shakes. She had fucked up, she had fucked up badly.

It wasn’t her pain that scared her. She could survive headaches, hangovers, even heartbreak. What terrified her was the exposure, the indignity of being stripped bare, her worst impulses shining under someone else’s gaze. She thought of Helen and recoiled, nausea returning like a second wave. She must have hurt her so much. Helen cared about Bobby, or at least Madeline knew she did. And she hadn’t cared. She hadn’t thought. She had been selfish, a bitch, destructive and vindictive.

Her sobs tore out of her, sharp and uneven, echoing against the tiled bathroom walls.

She wondered if there was a better version of herself out there. A Madeline who knew how to be good, a good friend, a good daughter, someone who didn’t ruin everything she touched. She hated that version, resented her, because she herself would never be her. This Madeline was stuck in a loop of bad decisions, clawing at the same mistakes.

The reasons for what she had done seemed so clear at the moment. Bobby had been irritating her, pressing too close to Helen and she hadn’t believed Helen truly wanted his attention. It had felt like she was rescuing Helen from him. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t about Helen, it was about herself. About control. About wanting something, anything, that was hers. Now she could admit she should’ve acted differently. But the realization only made the regret worse. She replayed the scene over and over in her mind, gnawing at the edges of it, as though repetition could rewrite the ending.

A knock on the door shattered her spiral.

“Hey, babe! Round two?”

Her stomach clenched. She stood too fast, gripping the sink to steady herself. The girl in the mirror looked like a ghost, pale, hollowed, weak and alone with smudged mascara, smeared foundation, lipstick long gone and eyes puffed from crying.

She drew in a shaky breath and pushed the door open, her thoughts refusing to linger on the boy, whatever his name was. Her pink Converse slid onto her feet and she grabbed her jacket from the floor yanking it around her shoulders.

The air bit at her skin, sharp and merciless, and for a moment she froze, disoriented, unsure of what hour it could be. Her phone lay dead somewhere in her bag, silent as the world around her. She hugged the leather tighter, seeking some small comfort in its scratchy warmth and forced herself forward, one uncertain step at a time.

It felt like she and Helen were balancing on the thinnest of wires and she didn’t know which step would send them into ruin. Maybe she herself had already taken it. Maybe they had already fallen.

Find somewhere else to sleep, I’m sure it won’t be too hard for you.

That was the last thing Helen had said to her.

Once, Madeline had thought Helen understood her, that she listened, that she cared. Now the thought seemed too embarrassing, too childish. She needed to face reality, nobody had ever really seen her, not then, not now. They only saw the outline: a girl too willing, too available. An easy target. A liability. A slut.

Madeline sank onto the curb, cold seeping through her legs and wept. 

The last thing she wanted in the whole world was to hurt Helen, her Helen, who had been so sweet and shy when they first met, but who had blossomed in her company and become one of the funniest people she had ever known. She thought of Helen’s green eyes and how red they had turned when she was screaming at her yesterday, her auburn hair spilling loose and messy in stark contrast to the beautiful hairstyle Madeline had spent hours perfecting. She remembered how soft Helen’s strands had felt between her fingers as she arranged the half-up, half-down style, how radiant Helen had looked, how happy she had been and how, on a reckless impulse, Madeline had somehow managed to ruin it all.

She thought she had no more tears left, but when the sobs tore free again, they came harder, crueler, as if mourning not only probably losing Helen, but herself. She no longer knew how to exist without Helen. There was no Mad without Hel anymore. She thought of how Helen had sat with her through endless monologues, patient and precise, stopping her mid-line to say ‘try it again’, ’you can do better, Mad!’, ‘breathe with it this time’. She mourned nights when they were sprawled on the dorm floor, binging the most random TV shows, Madeline mocking bad acting, Helen mocking bad writing, both laughing until their ribs got tough.

It was the quiet rhythm of their routine, the nights when Madeline would crawl under Helen’s blanket on especially bad days, and somehow, just Helen’s presence was enough to make the heaviness lift. Or the afternoons when Helen would show up out of nowhere with a strawberry frappuccino, just because she knew it was Madeline’s favorite.

Helen had woven herself into every inch of her life, stitching herself into routines, into laughter, into habits so ordinary yet so vital that Madeline could no longer tell where she ended and Helen began. 

She cried until her chest ached and her throat burned. 

And beneath it all, a darker thought that sounded a lot like her mother whispered: maybe she wasn’t crying because she wanted to change. Maybe she was crying because destruction, of herself and of others, was the only thing she was truly good at.

---

Helen woke slowly, her eyelids resisting the pull of the morning. They were sticky, sealed by the salt of last night’s tears, as if grief itself had glued them shut. Grief for Booby? Grief for Madeline? She couldn't point it out, so for a moment she lay there, eyes closed, and thought she could never open them again, not because of exhaustion, but because of what waited on the other side of wakefulness. She didn't want to face the day, she didn't think she even could.

Her chest hurt. People always said heartbreak was a metaphor, something novels dramatized. But this, this sharp, tearing ache beneath her breastbone, felt mercilessly real. Every breath carried the weight of disappointment, the sting of betrayal.

She had thought Madeline was her friend. A real friend. Foolish of her. You don’t get to be friends with girls like Madeline. Girls like Madeline, pretty and reckless, with hair that always seemed to fall perfectly into place, with that laugh that pulled people in like a magnet. Girls who didn’t have to try, who got what they wanted just by existing. Madeline was the type of girl people fell for, chased after... Not the type you leaned on. Not the type who held steady. Helen should have known better.

She didn’t have the strength to roll onto her side, but she knew Madeline wasn’t there. The absence in the room was almost louder than her presence could ever be. And still, against every ounce of logic, Helen worried. Where had she slept? Was she safe? She despised herself for it, despised that worry came before anger, before pride even.

Her head pounded, a dull, nauseating rhythm that only worsened when she sat up. So this is what a hangover feels like? Dizzy, fragile, and stupid? She dragged herself upright, forcing her gaze to Madeline’s bed. Empty, except for the little stuffed animals Madeline always arranged there, making fun of her for trusting their owner, maybe she should've let Lancy, the lamb, choke Madeline after all. The sight nearly broke her. She wanted to crawl back under her own blankets, shut the world out, but she took a long breath instead, pressing her feet to the floor.

The mirror did her no favors. A stranger stared back: swollen eyes, skin blotched from crying, streaks of mascara down her cheeks. She hadn’t even managed to take off her makeup last night. Madeline would tease me for this, she thought bitterly. Helen was always the one reminding her to remove it before bed and Madeline would sigh like a brat murmuring “Okay, mom.” under her breath. And now here she was, undone, ruined.

Madeline.

Where was she?

Helen forced herself to focus on something simple, something controllable. Makeup remover. Cleanser. She needed to at least look presentable, even if she felt like she was collapsing inside. She was a Sharp, after all, they didn’t let their feelings spill into the daylight, didn’t let heartbreak dictate the rhythm of their lives. They brushed it off, straightened their backs and turned the chaos into something useful: sharper minds, stronger wills. Helen told herself she could do the same, even if every stroke of the cotton pad across her face felt like a reminder of how fragile she really was beneath it all.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Madeline, she thought, but her face scrunched when she saw it was actually a message from Bobby.

 

Bobby

Helen, I’m sorry. I swear when I came to my senses, Madeline was with me. 

I like you. I don’t want to lose you over other people’s mistakes.

Call me.

 

Other people’s mistakes? Helen scoffed. He wrote as if he hadn’t been an active participant. As if Madeline had dragged him into it against his will. Her fingers trembled with fury as she locked the phone again. She was mad at her, but she knew she didn't do it alone.

There were also a few messages from Madeline. Helen hesitated. Her thumb hovered over them, heart hammering. Part of her wanted to know, to see an apology, some explanation. Another part of her dreaded finding excuses, or worse, silence where remorse should be.

Finally, she tapped, quickly, as if someone was watching over her and judging her for it. The texts were messy, barely coherent:

 

Mad

herlk 😭😭

im 🥴🥴

dnt harte meewewee i cwnt

?

😭😭😭

 

They were all from last night, Helen exhaled, disappointment settling heavier than anger ever could. Not one of them said the one thing she wanted to hear the most ‘I’m sorry’. Not one owned the hurt. They were desperate, incoherent, childlike. She put the phone down with a sigh and turned back to her morning routine. 

Helen gathered what little strength she had and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded over her skin, but instead of washing anything away, it only magnified the dread coiled in her stomach. Her eyes landed on the bottles lined neatly on the shelf: Madeline’s shampoo and conditioner, all pink labels and sweet scent. For a split second, a childish thought hit her, how easy it would be to twist the caps open, pour every drop down the drain, leave the bottles hollow and useless. Just like Helen herself was feeling at the moment.

She wanted to hurt Madeline. To ruin something of hers, anything, to feel the satisfaction of retaliation. But she also wanted to forget her, scrub her off forever. It took every ounce of her self-control, every piece of maturity she still clung to, not to give in to the urge. Instead, she shut her eyes tight and let the water burn against her face until she could no longer tell what was heat and what was anger.

When she stepped out, towel wrapped around her, irritation swelled again. The room screamed Madeline. Her perfume clung to the air, her shoes were scattered carelessly by her bed, her makeup bag half-open on the desk. Rationally, Helen knew it was normal, they live together, for Christ’s sake. But every trace of her felt unbearable, like being stabbed over and over with reminders of what she’d done and how much Madeline had hurt her.

Helen yanked on clothes as quickly as she could, grabbed the first bag she found, her computer, an energy drink and dashed through the door. She didn’t know where she was going, only that it had to be somewhere Madeline wouldn’t go, somewhere impossible to cross paths with her.

The library.

She walked briskly across campus, energy drink on hand, headphones on and staring at the floor. The possibility of encountering Madeline too unbearable to face. 

She spent hours in the library, letting the scent of books release little bursts of serotonin into her brain, her trembling hands steadied as they glided over spines and more spines. She found escape in cataloging her favorite reads on her computer.

It wasn’t until her stomach began to protest for solid food that she finally stood to leave. On the first step of the exit, she bumped into Stefan. 

“Hey, have you seen Mad?” he sounded concerned, running his hands over his temples.

Helen froze. “No. Why?” Her heart started to beat fast, damned energy drink.

“She’s not answering anyone! Thought she might’ve been gossiping with you and forgot to charge her phone. You were my last hope, Helen!”

The ground seemed to tilt beneath Helen’s feet. Her first instinct was to snap, to say she couldn't care less. But the words stuck in her throat. Madeline wasn’t answering anyone.

For all her anger, all her disappointment, worry quickly clawed its way back to the surface.

Notes:

I can’t write angst to save my life… this hurts me more than it hurts them 😭💕

Chapter 14: afterglow

Notes:

Hey, guys! We’re diving a little deeper into Madeline’s relationship with her parents (especially her mom for now). This chapter touches on some unhealthy choices her mom makes, like strict grounding. If that’s a sensitive topic for you, it might be best to skip this chapter, please take care of yourself and I hope you’re doing okay.<3

Stefan’s words hung heavy in the air, his hands pressed tight to his temples. Helen exhaled hard, trying to sound more in control than she felt.

“She’s probably crashed at some random guy’s place.” she muttered, her voice low and bitter. “Football team, most likely. That’s her thing, isn’t it? Besides my bo-” she stopped herself before saying something stupid in the heat of the moment. 

Stefan gave her a confused look, probably a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “You think I haven’t tested that theory already? Apparently she bolted from Sean’s place last night. He doesn’t know where she went and, honestly, didn’t look like he cared either.”

Helen blinked. “Sean Hicks? He’s such a dick! God, what is wrong with her?” She found herself rubbing her own temples, the words spilling faster than she intended. “What does that girl have in her head?”

Stefan’s shoulders slumped, he looked tired and restless at the same time. “You were my last hope, Hel. If she’s not with you then I…I don’t know what to do-” His voice broke off, his breathing quick and shallow.

Helen felt the panic rise in her too, but forced it down. She’d figured that losing their minds was the last thing they needed right now, she wasn’t going to let this spiral out of control. They needed a plan, she touched his arm, firm and with intention.

“Breathe. You’ve already done more than enough!” she said, pulling her dorm keys from her pocket, a red 'H’ keychain hung there, swinging from side to side like it was mocking her, Madeline had given her that keychain, she had a similar one, Helen wondered where could the pink ‘M’ be?

She took a deep breath with Stefan, they both could use some air, and pressed the keys into his hand. “Go wait in our room. If she shows up, you’ll be there. I’ll look for her.”

“But wh-”

“Where have you already checked?” Helen cut him off, her voice steady, almost too rehearsed, she could've fooled herself in her calmness.

“Basically everywhere I could think of, the theater, the cafeteria, even the practice field. Nothing. Do you think it’s time to call her mom?” His tone carried the dread of someone who really didn’t want to.

Helen’s stomach twisted. The last thing Madeline needed was her mother sweeping in. She used to talk a lot about how busy her mom was, Helen had heard it enough times to know it by heart: the way Madeline would skirt around the subject of her mother, always with a quip or a half-smile. She never outright complained, but the picture was clear if you paid attention. Her mother was always way too busy and hated being disturbed. So she decided to save the whole act of calling her mom as a last resource.

“No.” Helen said quickly, firmer than ever. “Let's wait. Give me two hours. If I don’t call you by then, we’ll get her mom involved.”

Stefan hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“And, Helen… about last night...”

She froze, her stomach twisting at the thought of a conversation about her boyfriend and Madeline rambling to Stefan about it. “What about it?”

Stefan rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t want to make excuses for her. God knows she usually doesn’t deserve them. But… I saw her, after.” He said, avoiding her eyes. “At the party, after you left, she was-” he exhaled hard, like the memory itself made him uneasy. “She was drunk out of her mind, yeah, but also crying, sobbing, actually. Saying over and over how bad she screwed up. I didn’t even catch half of it, she was slurring a lot, but… she kept saying your name.”

Helen’s throat tightened. 

“Whatever happened between the two of you…Madeline regrets it, even if she never properly says the word ‘sorry’.”

She wanted to hold on to her anger, she deserved to, but Stefan’s words crawled under her skin.

“Go. I’ll find her. I know you're used to looking after Madeline for a long time, but trust me on this, ok?”

Stefan hesitated again, torn between his exhaustion and his urge to help. “Alright. But please… just bring her back safely.” 

Helen forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, but that she hoped would be enough for him. “I'll keep you updated. Now go!”

Stefan left, walking slowly, almost defeated. The instant Helen saw his figure vanish, she allowed herself to crack, just for two seconds. Just two. A scream clawed at her throat, but she swallowed it whole. Her gaze shot upward, begging gravity to pin back the tears gathering in her eyes, tears she hadn’t even realized were there.

She took a deep breath and ran. She didn’t know where, she just ran, as if sheer motion might bring her closer to the only person who mattered. How could it be that in less than thirty seconds, Madeline had flipped from being the last person Helen wanted to see on earth… to the one she would give everything just to glimpse at again?

---

Her lungs burned by the time she reached the old theater, not the one where they’d been rehearsing nonstop, Madeline strutting across the stage like she owned it-Stefan had probably already looked there. This was the other one, the forgotten one, the one Madeline had begged a professor to give her the keys to, swearing it would let her ‘experience theater in its purest form.’ After much debate, the professor had relented, making her promise to keep it a secret from the other students, Madeline was that persuasive. 

Of course, Madeline never kept it entirely to herself. She had bragged to Helen about her private “dressing room,” turning its cracked mirror and rickety chair into a makeshift shrine. When Helen pointed out she was technically breaking her word, Madeline had just shrugged, that mischievous little tilt of head and shoulders and murmured: ‘You’re not one of the other students. You’re my Helly. You don’t count.’

She’d later confessed to Helen, cheeks pink with embarrassment, that she was never the best dancer. That she felt shy, even humiliated, moving in front of other people. So she’d practiced alone in the dusty theater, spinning under its cracked ceiling, her laughter echoing in the rafters. 

If Madeline was hiding, she’d be here. But if she wasn’t hiding, if something had happened…Helen didn’t let herself finish the thought. She fanned her hands quickly across her face, as if she could scatter her fearful thoughts into the air.

The doorknob turned easily under her palm. Unlocked. Helen froze, not sure whether to feel relief or fear. Inside, the theater was as it always was: dark, dusty and hollow. She flicked on lights as she moved down the hall and stopped at the dressing room door, a cardboard box yellow star that Madeline made greeted her. Her chest tightened, she took one long breath, ignoring how inhaling all this dust would affect her rhinitis, and opened it.

Empty.

Way too empty.

The chair shoved back, mirror bulbs dark, a handful of Madeline’s lipsticks tossed across the counter like an abandoned ritual. But no Madeline. The silence pressed down sharp as glass. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed so tight it hurt. Her pulse roared, hot and loud, her blood pounding against her skull. Anger and despair wrestled for dominance, leaving her trembling right in the middle.

The empty chair looked wrong. Lonely. As if it missed Madeline as well.

Her mind reeled back to last month, the last time she saw the chair just like that, empty. Helen had been summoned-ordered, really-to bring a strawberry refresher to her. She’d arrived to find the room deserted. She called Madeline, the blonde’s voice had cut through: “I’m in the costume hall. Come find me!” The call had ended, replaced by faint giggles and little yelps that guided Helen down the dark corridor.

When she finally found her, Madeline had been curled up in the corner, hair messy, body slick with sweat, bundled like a discarded costume herself, her eyes red, but her laugh echoing brightly.

“Mad…” Helen had whispered, trying to sound as gentle as possible, she could tell Madeline had been crying.

Madeline let out a laugh, but it broke halfway through, uneven and awkward, like a line poorly rehearsed. Helen had become surprisingly good at distinguishing Madeline’s real laughs from the fakes, this was definitely the latter.

Madeline’s genuine laugh, Helen thought, was like sunlight itself hitting the earth: effervescent, contagious, warm, and inviting. When it came, Helen could see every one of her teeth, perfectly aligned, and when the laugh was strong, yet tempered by Madeline’s awareness that she probably shouldn’t be enjoying herself so much, she would press her tongue between her teeth, a little restraint in the ecstasy of it. In those moments, Helen noticed the smallest details: Madeline’s left eye ever so slightly smaller than the other, her eyes sparkling like diamonds, the way her entire face seemed to scrunch radiating joy. It was impossible not to be drawn in, impossible not to feel the pull of that pure, untamed warmth and laugh as well.

When she faked her laugh, only her upper-set of teeth showed and her eyes didn't crinkle nor sparkle. 

Helen hadn’t asked questions. She’d just sat beside her in the dust, shoulder to shoulder, while Madeline sipped her drink. No words, no explanations, no questions. Just the quiet insistence of being there. Together. 

Now, standing in the empty dressing room, that memory twisted in Helen's chest. Maybe, just maybe… She spun on her heel and bolted down the hallway.

---

Her heart thundered louder than she thought was medically possible when she saw Madeline. 

Madeline was on the floor of the costume hall, knees tucked tight, head bowed between her knees. She looked impossibly small. Helen found herself involuntarily scanning Madeline’s body with her eyes, checking for any bruises or injuries. Her white dress was wrinkled, her jacket was working more as a blanket and her pink Converse were scuffed and dirty, aside from that, everything seemed fine. Relief hit Helen first, hard and sudden, followed by anger, hot, sharp, biting at the edges of her calm.

She took a step forward, drawing Madeline’s attention.

“What are you doing here?” Madeline lifted her head, her voice a rasp, barely more than a whisper.

Helen barked out a laugh, raw and shaky. The nerve of this girl should be studied. “What am I doing here? Madeline, have you even looked at your phone?”

“Dead.” Her tone was flat, clipped. “You can leave now. Please.” The last word stung, it was barely a whisper and so raw, so unlike Madeline.

“No, I can’t leave, because I’m still trying to wrap my head around how you left Sean’s place and ended up here. He lives miles away. God, Madeline, have you even eaten anything today?”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re worried about?” she snorted disdainfully.

“No, Madeline. I was too busy trying not to think about you, until you pulled this little stunt.” Helen dug into her bag, desperation making her clumsy. Thank God, a crushed cereal bar at the bottom.

Helen sank to the floor across from her, tore open the wrapper, and shoved it toward her.

Madeline wrinkled her nose, so Helen shoved it closer, scowling.

A beat.

“You don’t get to be the victim here, Madeline. Making this about you, like you do with everything else, this is my life.”

Another beat, this time, longer.

Suddenly, Madeline’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wide, her pupil dilated, the blue was almost all gone, stunned. Her lips parted, trembling, like she’d been waiting for this moment all along, as if waiting for Helen's punishment. The words tumbled out, ragged and messy, like she hadn’t rehearsed them at all, whatever she was going to say, seemed to be sincere enough.

“I just… I knew he wasn’t good enough for you…” she said, voice breaking, her hands twisting in the hem of her jacket. “Bobby’s an idiot, Helen. He doesn’t see you, he could never keep up with you. I thought if I could just…if I pushed him away from you, maybe he wouldn’t waste your time. Maybe you wouldn’t…” Her breath hitched. “God, I didn’t want to watch you get hurt, let alone be the one who caused said hurt…I didn't mean to, I swear.”

Helen’s chest flared with heat. “You don’t get to decide that, you don't get to decide anything!” she snapped, the words louder than she intended, echoing through the mostly empty room. “My parents have controlled everything, everything. From what I wear to what I study and who I talk to. The last thing I need is someone else dictating who I should or shouldn’t date, let alone you.”

Madeline’s head jerked back, as if struck. Her eyes shone wet and wide. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

Silence hung between them again.

Helen clenched her fists, torn between wanting to scream at Madeline and let them fall into another state of heavy silence.

“What I’m saying is that I want to take control of my own-”

 “No, that’s not it.” she interrupted. 

“C'mon, Madeline. Don't act like you're the most qualified person in the dating department! Tell me again, where did you spend the night?”

“Only because I couldn't go home!” Madeline was flustered, her head was turning scarlet red and she was fidgeting with her nails, twisting them in the palm of her hand.

“And remind me of why? Oh, right, ‘cause you kissed my boyfriend!”

“I already told you, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that! He was just so close and smothering you, when you should’ve been enjoying the party, he was holding you back!” Madeline locked her gaze with Helen’s, as if the sheer intensity in her eyes could make Helen see how truthful she was being, make it forgivable. “And when he undid your hair, I just snapped. I don't know…” Part of Helen wanted to believe her, but God, there had to be a better way to handle this.

“Madeline, if you thought he was that bad for me, you should’ve told me, you know, with words. Not thrown yourself at him. And if I had been uncomfortable, I would've told you, but I was just dancing with my boyfriend and yes, he undid my hair, but who cares? Besides, you didn't even like him, how did you go from that to kissing him?”

“I just… I-”

“And you didn’t even bother to apologize. Just sent me those bizarre messages begging me not to hate you.”

“… and do you?”

“What?”

“Hate me.” Her voice cracked, rough as if she’d sobbed for hours and the words were cutting their way out of her sore exhausted throat.

Helen drew in a heavy breath. She had, in truth, disliked Madeline more in the past twelve hours than she ever thought possible and she still wasn't fully convinced on the reasons behind Madeline's actions. But hate? Hate was a strong word. Way too strong. Way too strong to be used towards Madeline.

“I don’t hate you, Madeline. But you did hurt me. You hurt me a lot.”

“I know. I wish I could turn back time and undo it, but I can’t.”

“You can’t…”

Madeline took the last bite of the granola bar, then rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Helen mirrored her without meaning to, the floor was cold and hard.

“This is a terrible place to hide, Madeline.”

“Full disclosure of why I've been hiding here?” she asked with the same offhand smirk she used when a rehearsal had been particularly bad. 

“You know, my mom wasn’t awful.” Madeline said “She did her best. Raised me on her own, worked whatever jobs she could. The pageants helped, I told you about it, right? The prize money… for us, it wasn’t just about rhinestones, hair spray and sitting pretty, it kept the lights on, it brought food to the table.”

Helen nodded, listening to her and staring at the ceiling.

“But when weeks went bad…” Madeline’s voice dropped, even thinner. “When she lost jobs, when we lost competitions… that’s when the booze came out. That’s when she…”

“When she what?” Helen asked gently, encouraging Madeline to keep telling the story.

Madeline laughed then another fake one, Helen didn't even need to catch the body language, this one sounded fake, the kind of laugh that gives you chills. “Locked me in the rehearsal closet once or twice. Said I needed to learn how it feels to sit with failure… the consequences of my own actions… She used to say if I couldn’t handle that, how would I handle anything else? She only did it when she was drunk though. The rest of the time she was… fine. Busy. Always busy. But I learned pretty early that a smile and a nod got me out faster and since then, everytime I screwed up I ended up locking myself in a closet or somewhere similar. I know it's not healthy, but it helps me think.”

Helen had felt something cave in her chest. She’d reached for Madeline’s hand but didn’t know what to say. “That’s… that’s not okay. You were just a kid and you shouldn't punish yourself now.”

Madeline shrugged, still not looking at her. “Please, don't think that I'm trying to be the victim here, I'm just explaining why I came here…It was just sometimes… She wasn’t a monster or anything, she was just tired. Tired of me, maybe tired of everything, I guess. We're fine now.”

Helen just let her thumb brush through Madeline's knuckles, the words, if she even had any to say, were lodged in her throat.

“I know what I did was wrong, I just didn't know how to act…” 

“I can’t promise I’ll forget this anytime soon…”

“And I don’t expect you to, I swear. All I hope is that you… stay with me.”

Helen didn’t answer. Again, the words felt insufficient, too fragile and too breakable. Instead, she squeezed Madeline’s hand tighter, as if to anchor them both, and let her eyes fall shut.

Notes:

Just a quick note: if any of you have been in my DMs on Twitter recently, I’m currently off social media because I’m trying to focus on my TCC (it’s a kind of like a huge thesis, a year-long college project required for graduation). I should be back on Twitter on weekends… hopefully 🥺🥺🥺

PS 1: I bought the DBH vinyl, let’s all pray in unison that I won’t get taxed.
PS 2: Things are so weird rn I actually considered rewatching Smash. Should I do it and embrace the chaos? Maybe I should just binge Ivy moments on yt...