Cold

Christmas

Merry Christmas, good luck, don't get mugged or die, please don't hate me. Love Y'all! -M

Molly's embarrassment had limits. She was a naturally shy person and as such, embarrassing her was not a hard thing to do, however calling a random girl she'd just met -who (though admittedly attractive) was clearly half frozen, starved to death, and overwhelmed to the point of literally shaking- her girlfriend was the line. It was a very deep and very prominent line that made her want to slam her head into a wall.

Then, of course, there was Mal herself.

Mal was, in the bluntest and simple way to state it, the human embodiment of a kicked puppy. Molly had known that since she opened her eyes. Mal had some of the darkest eyes that Molly had ever seen in her life and though there were squinted through swollen eyelids Molly could tell they might even rival Ripley's for most innocent looking.

In her old sweater, Mal was still little more than a skeleton with a fearful expression and black hair hanging around her face. She must've used Jo's razor to cut her hair again because the sides looked shorter. Of course, she didn't exactly have a chance to observe it in detail earlier, she'd been gripped by the panic of "holy heck there's an unconscious girl!"

Then she'd been gripped by, "Fuck, unconscious girl is attractive!"

And finally, "SHE'S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!!!"

Truly, the time to take in her hair had not exactly come about. Perhaps during the initial "she's attractive!" would've been a good time, but Molly never really had a thing for hair, it was always the eyes that made her into a puddle of, "FUUUUUUUUUCK."

Which was just dandy that Mal did, in fact, have the eyes that made her into a useless pile of gayness. But mal had one other thing, the cherry on top of the big gay sundae. Mal had a tattoo and if her former clothing was any clue, she was a bit of a punk. Molly, unfortunately, had a thing for punks.

She was dead in the water.

"Earth to Molly," a voice interrupts and Molly nearly faceplants into the counter, apparently caught in her daydream, color flushing unbidden up to lick her cheeks.

"I'm here!" she calls desperately, only to meet Jo's smirking face and wish she had in fact face planted on the counter. It'd be less embarrassing.

"Not your girlfriend, eh?" Jo questions simply and, desperately, Molly smacks Jo with a spatula. The taller girl simply laughs and catches the spatula with a gloved hand. "Relax Mol', we're just joshing you."

"You're trying to kill me." Molly hisses under her breath. Jo rolls her eyes.

"Molly, do you honestly think we'd care if you liked her? I mean for real, I'm Trans, April and I have practically been married for years and Jen-"

"No!" Molly interrupts before blushing. "no... it's not... I don't..."

"Molly," Jo says gently. "We've all come from rough places. You can talk to us about yours, there's no judgment to give."

"Jo," Molly says the name like it hurts. "Please don't make me." Jo's face crumples like a Jenga tower. Molly almost feels guilty. "Jo, I-"

"No, it's fine." Jo straightens herself upright, but Molly notices that it's not as far above herself as it used to be. "you'll tell me when you're ready. There's no rush." With that she's gone, mumbling something to April about getting back to work on a project and plucking a screwdriver from Ripley's hand on the way out of the kitchen, leaving only five.

Mal looks more lost than ever.

"Project, like, school project?" she questions and April laughs shrilly.