The days after their conversation were like walking on eggshells. Ruin had tried, she really had. But every time she stepped into The Forge or even thought about Marceline, the weight of her insecurities dragged her down, making her second-guess everything. She'd sit at the bar, sip her drink, and force herself to smile, even though her mind was screaming with doubt.
Marceline, to her credit, was patient. She never pushed, never forced Ruin to talk about her feelings or what was bothering her. But that patience only made things worse. It made Ruin feel like she was failing even more—failing to live up to what Marceline deserved.
That night, Ruin sat at the bar, the whiskey burning down her throat as she tried to drown out the thoughts swirling in her head. Her brown ears twitched nervously, her tail shifting in restless agitation behind her. She couldn't focus on anything. Not the faint music playing through the bar's speakers, not the clinking of glasses, and certainly not Marceline, who was busy serving other customers.
What does she even see in me? The thought had been plaguing her for days, creeping into her mind at the worst moments. Every time Marceline smiled at her, every time she gently touched her hand, Ruin couldn't shake the feeling that this was all a mistake—that Marceline would eventually see her for the mess she really was and leave.
"Another one?" Marceline's voice broke through her thoughts, gentle but slightly guarded. She was standing across from Ruin now, holding a bottle of whiskey, her dull blue eyes scanning Ruin's face carefully.
Ruin nodded, offering a weak smile as Marceline poured her another glass. "Thanks," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact. She didn't want Marceline to see the turmoil brewing inside her.
Marceline hesitated for a moment before she spoke, her voice soft but steady. "You've been drinking more lately."
Ruin's stomach twisted at the comment. She knew it was true—she had been drinking more, both at the bar and alone in her tiny apartment. It was the only way she knew how to cope with the overwhelming feelings, the insecurities that gnawed at her every waking moment. But hearing Marceline point it out made her feel... ashamed.
"It helps," Ruin muttered, taking a sip of the fresh whiskey. The burn in her throat wasn't enough to numb the growing ache in her chest.
Marceline leaned on the bar, her eyes searching Ruin's face with that same look of concern that made Ruin's skin crawl. She hated that look. She didn't want Marceline's pity, didn't want her to see her like this—so broken, so fragile.
"You don't have to do this alone, you know," Marceline said softly, her voice barely audible over the background noise of the bar. "You can talk to me, Ruin."
Ruin's grip on the glass tightened, her knuckles turning white as she stared down at the amber liquid. Talk? What was there to talk about? She couldn't even begin to explain the mess in her head. Every time she tried to form the words, they tangled up, caught in a web of fear and self-loathing.
"I'm fine," Ruin mumbled, her voice colder than she intended.
Marceline frowned, her cherry-red hair catching the soft light as she tilted her head. "You're not fine," she said quietly. "And it's okay not to be."
Ruin's chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears. She didn't want to do this—didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of breaking apart. She downed the rest of her drink in one go, hoping the alcohol would silence the screaming thoughts in her head.
But it didn't work.
"Marcy," Ruin whispered, her voice shaking, "why are you even with me?"
Marceline blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice soft but confused.
Ruin clenched her fists, her brown ears flattening against her head as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. "You... you deserve better than this. Better than me."
Marceline's expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly with surprise. "Ruin, don't—"
"No, listen," Ruin interrupted, her voice rising, panic threading through her words. "I'm a mess, okay? I drink too much, I can't even handle my job without falling apart, and every time I'm with you, I feel like I'm just... dragging you down."
Marceline's face softened, but there was a hint of frustration behind her blue eyes. "You're not dragging me down," she said firmly, leaning closer. "You're not perfect, Ruin. No one is. But that doesn't mean you're not worth being with."
Ruin shook her head, her throat tightening as she fought back the tears that were threatening to spill over. "You don't get it," she whispered. "You don't see how broken I am."
"I see you," Marceline shot back, her voice steady but laced with emotion. "I see all of you. The good and the bad. And I'm still here, aren't I?"
Ruin flinched at the intensity in Marceline's voice. She wanted to believe her—wanted to believe that Marceline saw something in her that was worth staying for. But the doubt wouldn't let her. It clawed at her, pulling her down into a pit of insecurity and fear that she couldn't escape from.
"I don't know why you stay," Ruin whispered, her voice barely audible.
Marceline sighed, running a hand through her cherry-red hair. "Ruin," she said quietly, her tone softening, "I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because I care about you. But you have to let me in. You can't keep pushing me away every time things get hard."
Ruin's heart pounded in her chest, her mind spinning with conflicting emotions. She didn't want to push Marceline away—but she was terrified. Terrified that if Marceline saw too much, if she got too close, she'd realize Ruin wasn't worth the effort.
"I don't know how to do that," Ruin admitted, her voice breaking. "I don't know how to let you in."
Marceline's eyes softened, and for a moment, she was silent, as if searching for the right words. "It's not something you have to figure out overnight," she said gently. "But you have to try, Ruin. You have to stop running."
Ruin's throat tightened, her emotions a chaotic mess as she stared down at her empty glass. She wanted to try, wanted to be the person Marceline believed she could be. But the fear was suffocating, the doubt overwhelming.
"What if I can't?" Ruin whispered, her voice barely audible.
Marceline reached across the bar, her fingers brushing lightly against Ruin's hand. "Then we'll figure it out together," she said softly, her voice full of quiet reassurance. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you make me."
Ruin's chest tightened at the words, her heart aching with a mix of relief and fear. She didn't deserve this—didn't deserve Marceline's patience, her kindness, her love. But she couldn't deny that, in this moment, she needed it more than anything.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ruin allowed herself to hope. Just a little.
