mariana santamaria didn't really care for people.

standing just shy of five foot eleven, her dark brows etched in a perpetual frown, and face card that was serving bitch, unwanted social interactions were well taken care of. three friends, that's all she really needed.

except you. she did sort of need you.

you were the dawn to her twilight–in other words, you antithetical. while she was the local lesbian social outcast, you were arguably more popular; you always had been, from high school to the trenches of your sophomore year in college.

who knew young adults could still be so judgmental?

"does santamaria really smoke in the law department bathroom?" livia’s inquiry carried across the library with all the subtlety of a gunshot, carrying to where mariana was borrowing a criminology textbook from the front desk. "can't they like, sue her?"

"that's not how it works, liv. poor thing, she always seems so lonely." kimoyo offered, more sympathetically, yet still managing to be condescending in a manner that made her blood boil. you just sat there in silence, idly toying with a discarded mint wrapper.

this was a problematic morning, considering that you were accompanying mariana to get a tattoo that afternoon.

"you're breathing too loudly." mariana's tone was indifferent, despite how the muscles of her bicep tensed as the slightly scandalized tattoo artist, anneliese, added the finishing touches to the jellyfish that was now inked onto the inside of her wrist.

her shaggily cut bistre hair hung in messy waves over her brows, and the tops of her shoulders. the gold piercing on her brow glimmered in the low light, matching the septum under her pointed nose. her dimples were visible, but for the wrong reasons.

"me? prickly? never." she scoffed, propping her chin on her free palm, so you were dangerously close to the constellation of freckles marring the crests of her cheekbones–spattered down her honey shoulders. "why would i be in a bad mood? it's not as if your friends aren't fuckwads–oh wait, they are."