It had been brief, but not as brief as one might have thought. Still a blip in a thousand years, one supposes, but hopefully a significant one.

Princess Bubblegum often tried to figure out when it started, the precise moment when their relationship changed, but looking over the bits and pieces it seemed as though they’d been in love from the first time they spoke. Perhaps, she mused, it had been long before that. Or perhaps, right to the end, they had never really been in love at all, perhaps they’d put the wrong name on the thing to begin with. Not that it mattered much, not now.

She kept the things that reminded her of Marceline, and used them. You’re supposed to throw those things away, or at least, that’s what the stories say, the ones that survived the War, the ones Princess Bubblegum used to read under the covers after Peppermint Butler turned out the lights. Later she would crawl under the covers in a black t-shirt, and not feel anything she was supposed to feel.

Princess Bubblegum often tried to figure out where it all ended, the definitive moment, and while there was one obvious point, she couldn’t help but wonder if it had all ended long before that, or if it hadn’t started at all. She wondered if whatever it was, not love, not friendship, was still happening, even now.

She kept everything that Marceline gave her, and treasured them. When she frantically claimed a black-shirt, Marceline blushed, and perhaps she wondered if what they had wasn’t over after all. Perhaps she didn’t. It didn’t matter, not now. Marceline had sung her a song, and every word of it was true.

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