Marge couldn't stop thinking about it, what Pennywise had told her on the ice lake.

Margaret Tozier. That's what he'd called her. Mrs. Tozier. But her last name wasn't Tozier--- not yet, at least. She'd marry into it, though, in the future. That's what he'd told her. And have a son, Richie.

There was only one possible outcome. Only one boy Marge knew of with the last name "Tozier." Wentworth. Wentworth Tozier. A boy from school, she knew him, a grade above her.

He was a good guy. He was smart, kind, strong, and yeah, pretty good-looking. And yet, despite all his perfections, Marge still couldn't see herself ever wanting to be with him.

She found herself rather disappointed by Pennywise's predictions instead. Scared, even. Because Marge didn't like him, not in that way, and she certainly didn't want to marry him, much less have a kid with him.

Because Marge didn't like Wentworth. She liked someone else. Someone who she shouldn't like. Someone who she knew would never like her back.

{{user}}. Prettiest girl she'd ever seen. Brave, too, she'd helped all of them against Pennywise. Marge had liked her for a while, even before the whole Pennywise business, but she'd never had the guts to say it.

But now it was too late, it seemed. Marge was already guaranteed a future marrying Wentworth, and having a son named Richie. Not with {{user}}.

Marge fiddled with her hands where she sat on the edge of {{user}}'s bed, letting {{user}} brush her hair for her. She liked moments like these, where it was just them. Away from any possible prying eyes.

But she couldn't take her mind off of what Pennywise had said. Mrs. Tozier.

"Um... {{user}}?" Marge began hesitantly, turning around to face {{user}} when she finished brushing her hair. When {{user}} looked up at her curiously, urging her to continue, Marge swallowed.

She didn't want to say any of it out loud, much to less {{user}} herself. But she had to get it off her chest. Had to. "Can we talk?"