Don't blame me for this. Blame The Spookster. She bribed me with drawings and sugar.

Look, I know that they haven't even met and Naula is a thing. Just let me have fun!

By the way, in case anyone was wondering, this is an AU where PSI and monsters and the like still exist, but the big bads don't exist or have already been stopped, and the characters from Earthbound and MOTHER3 live in the same time period. Also, Kuma is only a little older than Paula.

Chapter One
Denial

She supposed it had been staring her in the face for a long time.

After all, even though she had no idea what attraction was supposed to feel like, she knew she should have felt something when Ness nervously told her that he had a crush on a boy. Even if she didn't care about her best friend's bisexuality, she should have cared about rejection from the boy her parents had practically arranged her marriage to. But she just chalked it up to not liking Ness that way, and she swallowed around the lump in her throat when her father's eyes narrowed disapprovingly at the news.

Her second clue had been when she hit puberty and her views on boys didn't so much as twitch. She still rolled her eyes rather than swoon when they flexed for her; she still didn't see the appeal of rascals running around shirtless. She awkwardly excused herself whenever her female friends chatted excitedly about their soon-to-be-boyfriends. She was utterly perplexed throughout the entirety of The Talk as her parents coached her on the feelings she supposedly had. Quite suddenly, everyone and everything in her life had begun to revolve around romance and sex, and Paula was struggling to keep up.

But she was just a late bloomer, right? Or maybe her apathy was because she only regularly interacted with Ness and Jeff, both of whom had boys in mind. Or maybe because everyone was always exaggerating, and she did experience those feelings―she just didn't know it. It could be any number of things. Nonetheless, she continued to uneasily change the subject every time romance came up, still not entirely comfortable with how long it was taking for these feelings to set in.

It had been right in front of her, but she had been silently in denial; refusing to even let herself consider the possibility that she would never be like her parents wanted her to be. Paula had never let them down, and she wasn't about to start now.

She wasn't.

And then her perfect world came crumbling down on top of her.

In the end, it had been her fault for not watching where she was going. As she made her way to school, moving on autopilot across the jagged, cracked sidewalk and expertly weaving around tree roots that had wormed their way through, she wasn't paying any attention. After all, she knew this route like the back of her hand, and she was far too preoccupied with a nagging anxiety for the upcoming PSI test. She was fairly sure that her PK Freeze β would prove satisfactory, but her PK Fire α was rather underwhelming. As she climbed the cement stairs up to the school gates, hand trailing along the rails, she absently wondered if she would have the opportunity to practice before class. Maybe she could sneak some training in during lun―

It happened incredibly fast. Paula's dress shoe clumsily missed a step, and she lost her balance. For a moment, she flailed her arms, and she nearly got herself back under control, only for one of her hands to slam against the railing with a loud crack. She shrieked, clutching the injured hand to her chest―and, consequently, losing her last bit of balance and sending herself tumbling.

Her stomach flipped, and, for a moment, she felt an elating sense of weightlessness. Then the ground was rushing up to meet her, and she instinctively threw her hands out to catch herself even though she knew that was the quickest way to a broken arm, another shriek escaping her―

A blur of blue and pink hurtled in from her peripherals and Paula collided rather roughly with another body, her outstretched arms automatically snapping shut around the first thing they could find. The collision hurt, although not nearly as much as her hand, and she shrieked one last time as her savior stumbled back, trying unsuccessfully to absorb the impact. Both clumsily sunk to the ground as their knees gave way, although Paula was protected from the brunt of the fall.

Belatedly, adrenaline rushed through her, and she gasped, her heart pounding in her ears. Her face went pink, partially from embarrassment, but mostly from the blood that shot through her veins. She closed her eyes, trying to regain control―'C'mon, Paula, you're better than this,'―and the concerned "Woah, you alright?" caught her off-guard. Her eyes opened again, and she glanced up.

Dark, concerned eyes; a shock of bright pink hair; a dingy blue hoodie with frayed sleeves.

And Paula Knew.

In an instant, she went from heavy breathing to near hyperventilation, her eyes widening and her heart skipping a beat. Heat built in her ears and behind her cheeks, and her face went from pink to tomato red. There was a feeling there that she can't quite describe; some macabre mix of elation and fear, because she Knew.

Suddenly, she was hyper-aware that her arms were wrapped around toned shoulders, strong hands were clutching her sides to keep her upright, and she was inches away from a delicate nose with a band-aid pressed across its bridge; close enough to count the long lashes and sparse freckles on…

Paula jerked back suddenly, eyes wide and horrified, her entire body shaking. Before she could escape, long fingers wrapped gently but insistently around her forearm, jostling her hurt wrist. A bit-off cry of pain interrupted her inconsistent breathing, and she liked to pretend that was why she gasped again; it certainly wasn't because of the skin-to-skin contact or the press of well-worn fingerless gloves.

The stranger winced, her smooth brow furrowing, and she gently pulled Paula's hand closer. One palm pressed against Paula's, holding her steady, while the other gently prodded her wrist; Paula wasn't sure whether the pain or the surprise hand-holding made her recoil. "Shit," swore the pink-haired beauty, her voice forceful yet concerned and almost melodious in a way―

Paula was having a hard time concentrating. Pink hair―dark eyes―beautiful voice―muscular arms―she finally settled on the warm hand holding hers. Rainbow-striped gloves―now wasn't that just ridiculously fitting?

"Maybe sprained." Paula was barely listening. Rustling fabric, a concerned voice; none of it mattered. She squeezed her eyes shut and just about wheezed. Or maybe that was a sob. Who knew; who cared?

Someone cared, apparently. "How bad's it hurt?" Another gloved hand settled on top of hers comfortingly, and her eyes shot open against her will. Tousled pink hair; the most intense gaze she'd ever seen; the edge of the band aid on her nose peeled up to reveal another faint freckle. She wanted to say Let go; her hands were boiling hot, and the added body heat was not helping. She wanted to say Please don't let go; she desperately needed the pressure of gloved palms sandwiching her pale fingers. Needless to say, she didn't say anything.

Mouth twisting into a frown that seemed so utterly wrong on her face, the stranger released her hand, instead holding onto her forearm again. "Can you move it?" she asked, and Paula nodded dumbly, still unable to form a verbal response. Almost as an afterthought, she demonstrated, swiveling her wrist from side to side. It hurt, and that must have shown on her face, because not all the worry cleared off of the stranger's. "Still might be best to visit the nurse," she muttered.

Finally, Paula regained enough self-control to shake her head rapidly. Mustering up all her strength, she tried to pry her arm out of the other girl's grip, but to no avail. "Woah, woah," her savior cut in appeasingly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Okay, okay. No nurses. At least lemme help you out."

Paula's heart stopped for a few moments. She was solid as a statue, frozen in the rainbow-gloved grip, unable to articulate that she needed to get away from this girl now, but she couldn't go to the Nurse's Office and miss her PSI test. Too late. The girl was already closing both hands around Paula's wrist, gently encasing them in colored fabric and warm skin, as her eyes closed. Her legs jumped and fidgeted restlessly as a soft green glow began to emanate from her skin.

Light shifted and pulsed as her toes tapped, flowing down to focus around her hands. Slowly but surely, the light seeped into Paula's wrist, alleviating the ache and cooling the heat that had pooled there, and, oh, jeez. As if this girl wasn't impressive enough for catching her―Paula had never once been able to pull off a Lifeup.

Soon enough, the light ebbed away, and Paula hastily snatched her arm back and stumbled to her feet, ignoring her scraped knees. Get out of here get out of here get out of here get―she searched frantically for her bag, but it wasn't anywhere to be seen―

"Here." She heard a rustle of fabric and jingle of keychains that was obviously her bag ('How did she get that?'), and Paula hesitantly but quickly turned on her heel and made a grab for it. As soon as her hand closed around the strap, another hand, clad in a rainbow-striped glove, landed over it, holding her in place. She stiffened, looking anywhere but at those eyes―'Nonono, she noticed, she Knows―'

"Name's Kumatora. What's yours?"

Rainbow-gloved hands, carefully but firmly locked around hers; an oversized blue hoodie and black shorts, shifting with their owner; earnest black eyes staring back as Paula glanced up, startled. A band aid, now smoothed back into place, concealing that secret freckle. Disheveled pink hair.

"Paula," she said before she threw all her weight against Kumatora's hold, broke free, and ran until she was bracing herself against her locker, panting, sweat pouring down her face.

It was nice. The feeling of Kumatora's arms around her waist was nice. Callused hands, not as large or thick as a boy's, encasing her own―that was nice. Wide eyes meeting hers; a singsong voice speaking to her; long legs covered only by black shorts. Nice, nice, nice. More than nice.

Paula Polestar knotted her fingers into her hair and Knew.

She failed her PSI test. Not only was her PK Fire predictably subpar, but her PK Freeze― her best PSI―couldn't have passed for an α, much less the required β. As the teacher lectured her on extracting her PSI and focusing it properly to the tune of her classmates' laughter, she was thinking about faded blue hoodies and pink hair and the feelings her friends had described to her back when everything was simple.

She hadn't dared to sit with Ness and Jeff at lunch. She hadn't dared to remind herself of her utter lack of feelings for Jeff's thin form or Ness's more fit body; not when her overwhelming feelings for Kumatora were so fresh in her memory. Instead, she'd told them she was going to practice for the PSI test outside, where she'd actually picked at the lunch her mother had packed, eyes staring blankly at everything and nothing.

Ness's mother was the nicest, most supportive woman you would ever meet in your life, and hadn't batted an eyelash when he told her of his sexuality. His father wasn't around often, but would always be behind Ness every step of the way, straight or not. Dr. Andonauts, on the other hand, probably didn't care, but Jeff never saw him, so he wasn't affected either way.

Paula still remembered the look of distaste on her father's face when she told him that Ness was going after a boy in their class. Paula still remembered her mother politely requesting that Jeff and Tony not kiss in her house. Paula still remembered.

She remembered, and she Knew.

By the time the bell rang, she hadn't eaten a single bite.

The school day couldn't have ended sooner. As soon as the gates opened, Paula ran. She ran the entire way home, not caring anymore if she slipped and fell again. When she reached home, she immediately told her parents she wasn't feeling well and penned herself off in her room, afraid to look them in the eye for fear that they'd Know.

As soon as she was alone, she buried herself under the covers and curled into a ball, the heels of her palms pressing into her forehead. Still, the images ran rampant through her brain. Bright pink, pale blue, and swirls of black completely overtook her thoughts.

Nightingale Syndrome. People who were sick or injured often developed feelings towards the one who helped them recover. It was psychology 101. But she'd first felt the… the… she'd first felt it before she'd been healed.

Just adrenaline. Adrenaline could easily have set her cheeks ablaze and made her mouth go dry as a long summer. But did it explain the electric feel of Kumatora's hands? Or how Paula had found herself gulping down the sight of her face, lightly dusted with freckles and framed by wild pink hair cropped short against her head? Or…

Paula shook her head as if to physically dispel the images from her brain. No, no, no! It was a coincidence; that was all. Her knees pressed firmly against her chest and she tucked her face into them, gripping her hair firmly and tugging it down to cover her eyes. It didn't help. All she could see was Kumatora, her eyes black yet bright and lively―

'No.'

―But what was some attraction between friends? It wasn't anything she had to act on. She could be like Ness and like both guys and girls; she didn't have to bring Kumatora home to her parents. An image of her hanging onto some boy's arm flashed across her mind, and nausea curled tightly in her stomach―

'No.'

―Or maybe she could just not ever be with anyone; there were plenty of women who were perfectly happy living alone. Romance wasn't a quintessential part of her life. Bearing kids one day wasn't her only duty. Another image arose: her, still working at Polestar Preschool, but never putting her own children through; her going home to an empty house and feeling too nervous to call a friend and ask to come over because she hated imposing on others like that―

'No, no, no.'

There were tears on her face now; hot and wet as they slid down her cheeks. Soon, she made some sort of gross, unladylike noise that she refused to call a wail, trying to press herself into an even tighter ball; trying to make herself even smaller.

'I-I'm… God, I'm…'

Bright black eyes. Loose blue hoodie. Tough pink boots. Rainbow-striped gloves.

'...I'm gay.'

She didn't bother trying to contain her sobs as her entire body shook with each.

Finally, after all these years, she Knew.

God, why had she ever wanted this?

Infatuation (n): an intense but short-lived passion or admiration for someone or something.

Twelve hours of fitful sleep and one desperate dictionary check later, and Paula's puffy eyes were finally getting a break. As she hopped from definition to definition, swallowing thickly around the nail in her throat when she reached the term sexual attraction, Paula was infinitely relieved to find that it wasn't going to last. Sure, she probably would never get a husband and have 2.5 kids like her parents desired, but it wouldn't be long before the all-consuming thoughts of pink hair black eyes blue sweaters faded away into a bad memory. Then she could put all this behind her and start to put her new façade into place. And pray to Doria that she never had these… feelings towards any of her friends or classmates who she'd have to spend time around.

Shutting the dictionary with finality, Paula gathered her discarded books and slid them into her bag, hoisting it over her shoulder. Allowing herself a glance in the mirror, she straightened her cardigan. Although the mix of gray and dark navy blue wasn't really her style, she figured it could never hurt to alter her style. Her mother had been ecstatic at the idea and had happily dug out some fitting clothes. Besides, as much as she preferred her usual pink and white clothing, she had to admit that wearing such serious-looking colors made her feel a bit more important and self-confident.

Encouraged, Paula brushed her hair back over her shoulder and straightened her back. Meeting her own eyes to further bolster her courage (but also because their blue color helped chase the black and pink out of her brain), she nodded firmly and turned on her heel, snagging a piece of toast and heading to the back door. She had long past decided against going through the school to reach the front door―she didn't want to worry the children with her sudden change in wardrobe; they were just toddlers.

With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, as if to ascertain no one was looking, she quietly slid out the back and began to make her way to school. Partially to assure she didn't trip again but mostly to chase the memories of Kumatora out of her mind, she kept both eyes fixed firmly on the ground, carefully stepping over the outcropping roots and uneven cement.

Eventually, as she stepped through the dappled shade, carefully making her way up the path, her mind began to wander. First of all, how was she ever going to redeem herself to her PSI teacher? It was nearing summer vacation, and she still was incapable of producing a proper PK Fire β. On the exams, she would have to execute it flawlessly if she wanted to keep up her 4.0 GPA. Perhaps her previous idea of practicing outside during lunch wasn't so bad.

Holding out her hand, palm up, she gave her PSI an investigative nudge, trying to focus it into her fingers while still keeping the energy fluid. A flame flickered into existence between her splayed fingers, twisting and writhing as she fed it with PSI, but it quickly destabilized and died out in a shower of sparks. Paula sighed sharply, her shoulders sagging. After spending half of the school year learning how to compress her energy until it was packed tightly enough to make a PK Freeze, channeling PSI without making it a solid seemed impossible. For the first time in her life, the thought of just accepting defeat came to mind, but she quickly banished it. Her parents hadn't raised a quitter, after all.

Another tongue of flame twirled between her thumb and pinky, but quickly faded to smoke. Pursing her lips, she tried again, although she devoted most of her attention to the steps she'd tripped on yesterday, making sure her steps were accurate and deliberate as fire ignited and faded out atop her palm.

Until an all-too-familiar voice behind her called, "You usin' liquid PSI?"

Paula froze.

A few fallen leaves crunched under what she knew to be pink combat boots, and she resisted the urge to bolt. The toe of her ballet flat was just on the top step―she was so close―but she had never been a fast runner, and she was almost positive that Kumatora (warm hands dark eyes electric touch) could easily catch her.

Then the boots were clomping up the steps, and her fate was sealed. "Your PSI's too solid," Kumatora said. She pronounced PSI as a word, rather than saying each letter individually. Paula refused to turn around, hoping the pink-haired girl might leave it at that, but it was too late; a familiar pair of rainbow-striped gloves appeared in her peripheral vision, a well-controlled ball of fire hovering over them.

Paula tried her best not to roll her eyes; she knew that perfectly well. "Thank you," she replied nonetheless, her voice stiff and robotic as she tried and failed to produce another fireball.

But Kumatora wasn't done. "Hey, try this." She stepped closer until she was directly by Paula's side, moving her hand close to Paula's. "Loosen up. It's easier to make liquid PSI." Her own fingers copied Paula's tense, perfectly straight posture, then relaxed into a more natural curve.

Reluctantly, Paula followed suit, still not so much as glancing over her shoulder. Much to her shock, the next flame she tried persisted for a good few seconds before burning out. "Th-thanks," she stammered, and not just because her heart was hammering in her chest. For as much as everyone liked to scold her for being bad at PK Fire, they never seemed to have advice on how to improve. Why had everyone withheld this vital piece of information?

"No prob," Kumatora replied easily, and, with a swish of her large hoodie, she was standing on the top step, grinning down at the blonde underclassman.

Paula was now 100% certain that her heart was going too fast to be healthy, and she could feel her cheeks begin to heat up. So much for avoiding her first crush until the infatuation wore off. It certainly didn't help that Kumatora was now staring, taking in her uncharacteristic outfit. She bit her lip. Maybe there was a reason her mom always gave her pink clothes almost exclusively. Maybe blue just looked bad on her. That infatuated side of her was mortified at the thought of looking anything less than her absolute best in front of Kumatora. This had been a bad idea from the start…

"Can I draw you?" Kumatora blurted out, eyes wide and sparkling.

If Paula had expected anything, it wasn't that. Her own eyes widened, and the pink dusting on her cheeks turned to bright red stains. "I―what?"

For her part, Kumatora winced, nothing but repentant. "Err―sorry," she amended, her hands held in front of her placatingly. "That was a little random. Lemme try again." Straightening her back and clearing her throat, she reached into the messenger bag hanging casually at her side and pulled out a large sketchbook. "I think your outfit would be really good for a character design. You mind if I draw you?"

Reeling, Paula placed a hand over her nose and mouth in an attempt to hide her blush. "I―uh―" she stammered, voice muffled behind her hand.

'Say no. There's no way you could stand being around her any longer. Besides, the plan was to spend as little time with her as possible and wait for the infatuation to wear off.'

"Uh, yeah, sure!"

'For Aeolia's sake―'

Before she could properly punch herself in the face for her inability to go through with her own plans, Paula found herself speechless when a huge smile spread across Kumatora's face. Light seemed to radiate from the cracks between her teeth as her entire face lit up to the point of being nearly blinding. "Thanks! You won't regret it!" Kumatora swore, throwing a fist into the air.

'Too late,' Paula thought to herself, rather nauseously. 'Already regretting it.'

She could pinpoint the exact moment when an idea bloomed across Kumatora's face, but she didn't have the energy left to be alarmed. "Oh! I got it!" Kumatora said definitively, her face lighting up again (and it was in no way adorable when she did that, Paula told herself forcefully). "I can help ya with your PSI!" Her hand opened and a pillar of fire roared out with enough force to make Paula stumble back, shielding her face from its light. "My class is at PK Fire γ. I can help you get ahead!"

'Absolutely not. Why on Earth would you willingly spend even more time with the girl who you were specifically trying to avoid?'

"That would be great, thank you."

'Dammit, Paula!'

"Great!" Pulling absently at the bandage on her nose, Kumatora slid her sketchbook back into her bag. "What time is good for yo―?"

The school bell was so loud that they both jumped, shrieking in unison. Kumatora's eyes went wide. "Lunch today! We'll talk more then!" she shouted, and then she was gone, sprinting away, her form soon nothing more than a pink and blue dot in the distance.

As Paula hastened to her own homeroom, ballet flats slapping against the pavement and arms pumping, she grimaced, pushing the thoughts of pink hair, dark eyes, bright grin out of her mind.

The school year couldn't be over faster.

Look, I've already told you. Don't blame me. Oneechan is the one who made this a reality.

Just enjoy the cute gays, OK?