Work Text:
Red had been aptly named--born with a head of curly, red hair and eyes so amber they sometimes glinted red in the light. As she grew so too did full, red lips and her affinity for glittering red garnets and rubies (a byproduct of her mother). But the color red had duality, and though Red chose to decorate herself with clothes that reflected her namesake, so did the rest of the world. Bright red welts, lashes down her back, raw red gums and little red spots down her protruding spine.
The irony of her royal crest being a rich-red love heart, meant to represent a royal, loving family without any love at all, was not lost on her. But red hearts were meant to pump blood throughout bodies like Red’s, so maybe that was the through-line, maybe every time her blood was spilled upon red castle tiles, she was fulfilling some sort of prophecy manifested by a mocking heart emblem.
But it was confusing. Though Red had chosen to embrace the name which had been picked for and thrust upon her when she was too little to argue or question, the name also seemed to bleed into every aspect of her personality thereafter. There were days she was so furious, she threatened to breath red fire, and days where she was so sad, she wept until her eye whites turned crimson. And while she was struggling with the weight of all she’d been saddled with, her mother, who quite openly despised her daughter, chose to be Red. To have that red hair, the nails, the gown--every rose in their garden, red.
The Queen of Hearts was, as Red found most queens from the stories she read tended to be, extremely narcissistic and vain. This should’ve been obvious to anyone who so much as saw the woman glittering with red garnet stones itchily smeared across her eyelids, let alone had the displeasure of speaking with her. Red, unlucky as she was from birth, of course had the “honor” of living with the Queen, and from a very young age she understood how important the concept of beauty and looks was to her mother. Others were fooled by her disguise, perhaps. But Red knew better.
The Queen of Hearts would painstakingly parse together a look for herself each and every day, waking at the crack of dawn. It was all smoke and mirrors: red hair dye to cover up pink roots, dark and heavy makeup to make her feared, but beautiful gowns to make her admired; a carefully crafted and beautifully constructed balancing act. Red knew the hot sear of a curling iron since she was old enough (and stupid enough) to toddle into her mother’s boudoir as she got ready for court. Watching her mother carefully flatten her curls, the same ones Red was saddled with, made it obvious as to why Bridget despised Red’s appearance. She reminded her too much of herself. Which, in turn, made it clear why Red disliked her appearance just as equally--a vicious cycle that was the byproduct of what was quite possibly one of the only things both mother and daughter could agree upon.
But there were signs of the Queen’s facade, little cracks in her exterior, if you knew just where to look. Unlike Red’s eyes of blazing vermillion, the Queen’s brown eyes (which, to be fair, were very seldom ever looked in directly) were cool-toned like bark, leaning almost green. Where Red’s warmth was bone-deep, something that writhed under her skin, the Queen’s appearance was like a limp costume reeking of disingenuity. She could dye her hair to hide bubblegum roots every single night if she so chose, but Red would always know it was a lie. And that scared her almost more than anything, because she couldn’t understand why.
If her mother thought her so disgusting to look at, why did she perpetuate their similarities? Almost insist upon them? It was emotional whiplash, a physical manifestation of her mother’s fluctuating moods. She wasn’t always a cruel, unloving woman--sometimes, in the early hours of the morning before Red had done anything to upset her, she’d plant sweet, red kisses on her cheek.
Sometimes, when Red came back from the dungeon shaky, her mother would rub up and down her goosebumped arms with her soft hands and pout disapprovingly at her cold babygirl as though she weren’t the one who’d locked her down there. She said things like, “I’m doing this for your own good, Red.” And a tiny part of Red, the annoying little part of her that still craved her mother’s affection and cried loudly into pillows and considered giving up on all things good because wouldn’t that be so much easier, sort of believed her. Maybe her mother really did love her in her own uniquely fucked up sort of way. Why else would she keep her around on a chain pulled so tight it choked?
Though she often tried to suppress the painful memory, Red could distinctly remember the first time she ever saw her mother not done up with a heavy crown on her head. The crown princess was six years old, and only just beginning to understand the painfully depressing nuance of her life. From the moment she was born, Red knew at the very least to be fearful of her mother, but it wasn’t until around age six she began to understand what compliance was, and how, if she was “a very good little girl,” her mother might not be quite so terrible to her. (It took many more years for Red to conclude her mother would actually be cruel and horrible to her no matter how well behaved she was. She made the mistake of being born, which was the sort of thing she could never make up for regardless of how hard she might try.)
In an attempt at pleasing her mother following several previously failed attempts, including a bouquet of pink roses left on the Queen’s dresser (the punishment from which was a miserable two days in the castle dungeon), and now very desperate for love in the kind of way that made her bones ache and her skin itch, Red had decided to surprise her mother with breakfast in bed (a concept she’d read about in books). (To clarify, Red didn’t enjoy reading very much, but there wasn’t exactly a lot of other sources of entertainment on the castle grounds).
Though the acts of attempted kindness were primarily in the hopes of earning her mother’s affection, and also an act of self-preservation, this particular idea was also in-part self serving, as Red had never seen inside the Queen’s boudoir before. She imagined it would be equal parts terrifying and beautiful, just like her mother. What she hadn’t expected was for The Queen of Heart’s private sanctuary to be an absolute disaster . That unfortunate morning when she’d crept into that drafty, forbidden wing of the castle and slipped into her mother’s bedroom through the ajar double doors, tray full of stolen breakfast food teetering in her little hands, she felt her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates as they adjusted to the darkness.
Though the wall opposite to the door was lined with tall windows from floor to ceiling, the tattered curtains were drawn, bathing the room in an ominous, yellow glow from only the lit wall sconces and what slivers of sunlight could peek in through heavy, red drapes like prodding fingers. Red had assumed that, just like every other aspect of the castle, the Queen’s room would be spotless, well-kept by maids terrified of losing their lives should they not measure up. Instead, the place was in shambles, as though the direct reflection of the Queen’s mind.
Shattered glass glittered on the floor, picture frames were broken and discarded from bedside tables, and red candle wax dripped down the walls like blood from where the sconces had burned too low. Though the curtains were drawn the bottoms were frayed and torn as though they’d been yanked, and even the gold and grand bedframe sat at an odd angle as though one of the feet had possibly snapped off only to be propped up by something else like a book or crumpled up blanket. The bed was unmade and every gown which should’ve been hanging up in the walk-in closet was strewn haphazardly across the floor.
It was truly as though a wild animal had gone romping through the room, destroying everything in sight, and as her mother emerged wild-eyed from the attached bathroom, still-wet scratches glinting across her chest where her sleep robe was parted open, Red thought maybe the comparison wasn’t so far off.
“What on earth are you doing standing there in my doorway, Red, creeping into my most private of rooms? Were days and nights in the dungeon not enough punishment for you? You crave retribution so desperately? Or can you truly just not conceptualize when you’ve stepped out of line so blatantly?”
Red’s lip wobbled, her little knees threatening to buckle. She didn’t understand everything her mother was saying but she understood that she was angry, and she thrust the tray of breakfast foods toward her mother as a placating sort of gesture, hoping maybe she would then understand her intentions. Instead, her mother snatched the silver tray out of her hand with red fingers like talons, and held it over them both for a moment before bringing it down violently to smash on top of her daughter’s head. It hit her so squarely that she must have passed out nearly instantaneously, because she remembered the intensely bright flash of hot, hot pain, but not hitting the ground alongside scrambled eggs and crumpets.
As Red aged and became more cognizant of her mother’s flaring temper and deeply-rooted hatred for all living things, she formed a mental list of hard earned lessons. Chief among those was the lesson that to be loved was to be desired--if you didn’t make yourself worth something physically, you would be treated as though you were worth nothing, regardless of smarts, kindness, bravery, or wealth.
She understood better as a teenager why her mother obsessed the way she did over her appearance, because, regrettably, Red found herself doing quite the same. A careful balancing act of dressing in such a way that drove her mother livid, but still appealing to other critical eyes. All those fairytales were wrong about love, but right about princesses needing to be beautiful. If the kingdom had final say, an ugly princess wouldn’t be considered a princess at all.
Like several other rogue kingdoms who weren’t united under Auradon, Wonderland had a huge disparity in wealth—the royal family made up the bulk of the autocracy’s wealthiest 10%, while the vast majority of their imprisoned citizens were extremely poor. Red had seen the way her people living in Tulgey Wood struggled to survive, often resorting to eating scavenged food and palace garbage; there were even rumors (Gods, she hoped they were only rumors) of Wonderlandians resorting to cannibalism.
The thought made her stomach twist with guilt at dinner time. As she struggled to choke down her mother’s disgusting avian delicacies, served to her on gleaming golden platters, she imagined all those starving just beyond their palace walls. But how did the Queen act? She paraded proudly around the plaza in gowns expensive enough to feed entire families for months at a time. “It gives them something to strive for, Red.” But she knew it was just one of the more subtle ways her mother showed cruelty, a way of visually showing her citizens that there was nothing they could do to escape her powerful grasp. It made them hopeless, despondent, and easier to control. Red knew the feeling well.
It was this heavy burden of guilt from birth, coupled with her mother’s inarguably bizarre taste, that first led to Red’s unfortunate eating habits, but it took little more than a niggling thought at the back of her mind to let it spiral into something else entirely. It started small at first, as it always does with things like this, by her skipping breakfast. She didn’t like being awake before noon (she almost always slept terribly for obvious reasons) and she especially didn’t like starting her day off by looking at her mother’s hateful face. When she realized this decision of her’s made the Queen disproportionally upset, her defiance easily extended to lunch as well. Dinner wasn’t so easily avoided, but just because she had to go and sit at the table didn’t mean she had to eat, and it was around that time Red realized she liked the feeling of being hungry. The way it sharpened her senses and made her feel powerful in a way, even. This decision to go without, however misguided, was something that was just her’s . When you’ve been intermittently starved by your mother your whole life, finally choosing to do it yourself feels like a win, even when it isn’t.
But because this behavior was so normalized to her, such a touchstone of her childhood, Red didn’t really even conceptualize that what she was doing was wrong. Of course she knew objectively that it was harmful to her, and by extension dangerous toward her health, but Red had long since learnt that whether or not she suffered bodily harm was something out of her control, something she had to learn to live with. Pain could be a powerful motivator, but it wore a person down. If limiting her food intake could be an escape--if she could have a sense of control over her own suffering even in just a small way, she figured it was worth it. And besides, who cared anyway? “I’m a lost cause.”
Well, the first time Maddox Hatter realized what Red was doing, he certainly cared. It scared her, sometimes, whenever he said or did something to remind her Hey, I care about what happens to you. I like having you around. She wouldn’t believe that it could even be true if he weren’t so incessant about it all the time, but for some reason she couldn’t fathom, she knew it was an inimitable fact that Maddox cared about her and believed in her in a way that no one else, certainly not her mother, did. For all her efforts to keep him at an arm’s length away for fear of rendering him guilty by association with her, or accidentally putting him in the path of her mother’s wrath, Red cared for Maddox too in a way she didn’t anyone else. (It helped that she didn’t really know anybody else, of course, but still. She was pretty sure she wasn’t the easiest person to get along with.)
So when Maddox said they needed to talk via a slipped note under her door, no cutesy stationary like usual, she went to his lab right away. She steeled herself for the worst: maybe Maddox had grown tired of her antics, or decided it was too dangerous for him to continue their friendship since her pranks continued to amp up in severity. Maybe he was just sick of having her around, following him and watching while he worked like a dumb, lost puppy. Worst of all maybe the Queen had discovered their secret kinship, and declared to do something awful to the one thing in this kingdom that brought her daughter any semblance of joy.
Instead, when Red all but burst into his workroom out of breath and still wearing her pajamas, Maddox greeted her with her usual cup of chamomile and, plainly seeing her anxious expression, gave her a nervous smile to help ease her nerves. It wasn’t a level 10 emergency then that he’d summoned her for, which at least meant it ruled out anything to do with her mother. Even still, his hands shook as he set down her teacup and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes—this definitely wasn’t nothing.
Red produced Maddox’s note from her pocket and opened her mouth to ask what she was doing here—but the taller man motioned for her to sit down on the purple, tufted couch across from him, sipping some tea of his own. Once she’d settled, he took a deep breath and began.
“Red, I’m worried about you.”
The rebel sat up straighter in her seat, uncrossing her arms in mild surprise. That was certainly not what she thought he was going to say…
Usually, for Red’s benefit, the two friends skirted around heavy topics and the reality of Red’s situation. Though Maddox of course knew the intricacies of Red’s life more than most people did, she still didn’t like discussing such terribly depressing things with her friend. Being in the Mad Hatter's workshop was meant to be an escape--the one place in the palace that didn’t feel like the palace, where the Queen would never set a single foot inside. It was sort of like a little play, their relationship, and they each acted out their respective roles. Red pretended to be fine and Maddox pretended not to be worried or curious or whatever he was feeling because that was the only way their friendship could really work, is if it was clouded with feigned ignorance.
But now, here Maddox was, laying his heart out on the line, and Red had no idea how to react. There were times before this that Maddox had asked vague questions about her well-being, or insisted upon her staying the night because of something that had happened, but he’d never confronted her like this with what felt like a pseudo-intervention. Red wasn’t good with confrontation, and she wasn’t very emotionally intelligent, nor the most socially ept. Being isolated your entire adolescence would do that to a person. Even just feeling like Maddox, who was probably the closest thing she had to a real parental figure, was upset with her—sitting there wringing his hands and staring at her all wide eyed, it made her want to curl up into a ball.
She’d done something wrong, or something about her was wrong, and without meaning to she shrinked into herself and bit her lip. What was she supposed to say? What did he want to hear? She needed him to continue, to clarify. He was worried about what ? There were too many possibilities, and the last thing Red wanted to do was go listing them off as though reading from a long list. Her mind reeled as she waited for him to continue.
“You haven’t…You look-”
Maddox hesitated, clearing his throat. Red watched carefully as he took off his top hat and rubbed the top of his head in thought, trying to decide how best to vocalize his thoughts. This was untrodden territory for both of them, and it made their friendship feel awfully precarious all of a sudden. It didn’t help that the girl was looking at him with eyes wide as though at any moment he might yell at her to get out. He couldn’t think of a single instance where Red had looked more her age, so small.
Maddox softened his voice even further.
“You aren’t in trouble or anything, Red. I’m not mad, I’m just worried.”
Red wrapped her arms around her middle, probably trying to look defensive but instead just looking insecure.
“Worried about what?”
The hat maker stirred some more sugar into his tea, avoiding Red’s gaze.
“You just…haven’t been looking so great lately.”
Red tried on a smile, but it fit her face strangely.
“Geez, thanks, Mads. If you just wanted to call me ugly I don’t think all these dramatics were necessary.”
Red’s half-hearted attempt at humor failed and Maddox forged ahead.
“I just mean that you don’t look healthy , Red. You look thinner and sort of…sick, almost. Have you been sleeping alright? Has your mother been feeding you enough? I know sometimes she…”
Maddox trailed off. He knew Red often ended up locked up down in the palace dungeon after defying the Queen. When she was little and still yelled for help down there in the dark, naively thinking someone might come and save her, Maddox could hear her through the vents under his feet. Now he usually just heard quiet weeping, but he wasn’t sure Red would want to know he knew any of that.
“I know how cruel she can be and I’m worried, that’s all, Red. I wanted to check in I…I want to help, if I can”
Red’s heart was hammering in her chest, and that familiar guilt twisted like a dagger in her stomach. Still she scoffed and stood up from the couch, stuffing her hands in her pockets to keep Maddox from seeing how they shook.
“Maddox, seriously, it’s sweet that you care but, I’m fine.”
Red’s voice had a very final-sounding clarity to it, like clearly she meant to put an end to the conversation. But Maddox pressed on, standing up himself to stop her from leaving.
“Red you aren’t fine, I can tell.”
Red had never seen her old friend so confrontational, and again she inadvertently shrunk in on herself. Had she really lost that much weight the last few months? She’d always been thin as it was, but maybe the bags under her eyes had grown a little darker, her skin a little paler.
“If your mother isn’t feeding you enough, we need to do something about it before you see some real adverse effects. You’re a growing girl."
Red looked ready to protest, but Maddox continued before she could get a word in.
“And I know, you probably think yourself plenty capable of stealing food under her nose or living out of the garbage—and I don’t doubt that you could either—but I have palace rations I can happily share, Red. Really, it’s more than enough for two.”
Maddox stood up from his armchair to go and collect said rations, and Red’s stomach sludged with a guilty sickness like poison. He had greatly misunderstood her lack of response to mean it was true, and she didn’t have the heart or courage to correct him. What would he think of her if he knew the truth? That she was selfish? Undeserving of his friendship? Or worse yet, worrisome and pitiful in an entirely different sort of way.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was eat Maddox’s food--as palace staff, Red knew logistically that he wasn’t going hungry, but it still felt terrible taking something that wasn’t meant for her, made even worse by the fact that she didn’t truly need it. But Red knew cognizantly that the hat maker would be upset if she said she were half starving herself , even if she tried to explain in her own flawed logic that there wasn’t actually anything wrong with her behavior, that she was being careful and was completely and totally in control of the new coping mechanism. He wouldn’t get it.
The two of them had had very brief conversations in the past regarding Red’s reckless-- what was the word Maddox used…”self-harming” behaviors. She knew he didn’t like them, that they caused him undue stress, so she kept them a secret from him. He was the only person who cared enough to notice, anyway, and the alternative would be to upset him…and what good was that? Red felt like a burden to everyone else in her life, she didn’t need to add Maddox to the list; even as the guilt in her stomach roiled.
“Here, this is my packet of lunches for this week. You can take half.”
Maddox tore off four of the seven little silver packets he was holding from where they were stapled together at the top, and thrust them toward Red, who was watching, speechless. She felt like vomiting, his kindness like a slap, and a loud voice in her head shouting you don’t deserve this .
At her hesitation Maddox smiled softly, gently pushing the packets into her open hands.
“It’s okay to ask for help, Red. It doesn’t make you weak, or vulnerable. I’ll always do what I can to help keep the people I love safe.”
The conversation weighed heavy on Red’s mind the following weeks, which turned into the following months, and for what it was worth she did make an actual effort to eat more like Maddox had said for a little while, purely out of guilt. She wouldn’t rejoin her mother for lunch, but she started eating the rations the hatter had given her alone in her room when she could stomach it, and she at least picked at her dinners. She tried desperately to feel in control of her life in other ways—she pulled more pranks and did so even more recklessly than before, which meant she got herself punished more than ever. It was a good distraction from the misery and monotony.
Maddox continued to give her half of his rations, and she continued to accept them without protest, even as they piled up more and more.
And then the Queen of Hearts got that letter from Principal Uma at Auradon Prep inviting Red to attend, and Red had met Princess Chloe of Cinderellasburg and fallen fast (too fast for either one of them to even realize it had happened before they were exchanging I love you’s) and they both traveled back in time to stop a war (which was somehow not even the strangest part of their story), and everything in their world--the new one, the old one--all of it had changed. Except, some of it was actually still the same—because it turns out that just because you jump timelines to replace your abusive mother with a newer, shinier version, that lifetime of trauma doesn’t just disappear.
A few weeks after settling into Auradon Prep (for real this time), Chloe admitted that she noticed it too—the oddness of their present reality, the way it didn’t really feel like theirs’ , like wearing squeezy shoes a size too small. Even though Chloe’s mother hadn’t completely changed personalities thus rewriting her entire childhood, there were still little pieces of her new puzzle that didn’t fit, times when she had to pretend to remember a memory that wasn’t her own. And, of course, she had (more than that) noticed how Red was struggling—really it was impossible for her not to, considering Red woke her up screaming most nights from nightmares that gripped the girl so viciously they forced her into corners shaking and begging for a foreign forgiveness that would never come. That conversation had felt a lot like the one with Maddox, lots of I’m worried’s , and Red tried harder after that to keep her crying quiet (which was, of course, exactly the opposite of Chloe’s desired effect.)
But the difference was that, for whatever reason, and for all her trying, Red couldn’t fake it for Chloe. She couldn’t just plead alright until Chloe let it go, not only because her girlfriend (which was what she supposed the other princess was to her now, though acknowledging the title even just to herself still felt too good to be true) was quite possibly the most stubborn, hardheaded girl she’d ever met; which said a lot, because Red was pretty damn stubborn herself. It wasn’t just impossible because Chloe could see right through her lies either (which she could, despite Red’s decades old poker face), but because something about deceiving Chloe, the act of looking into those big brown eyes so full of unbridled compassion and trust and deceiving her, made her physically ill. She had thought she knew guilt before, but it was nothing compared to the full body aches she got from lying to Chloe. Maybe it was the other princess’ naivety, or maybe her mother was right and love did make a person weak, but for whatever reason Red just couldn’t seem to do it.
Which meant a lot of hard conversations those first few weeks. Lots of untrodden territory. There were so many things that had happened to her, or that she’d done to others in the name of surviving—so many awful things she’d thought and so many fears she held close enough to her heart that they pumped like blood when she tried to sleep at night—things she had never dared to tell another living soul. Things that, more importantly, another living soul had never asked her about. Things she couldn’t imagine someone like her loving, honor-code following Chloe being able to comprehend or excuse.
But Chloe asked about it all, a little too candidly at times, maybe, and every time Red was sure she’d said something that showed too much of her (too sad, too scary, too emotional), or she’d acted too broken (the shaking, the tears, the pushing until she was sure Chloe would leave), Chloe stayed. She stayed, and she listened, and she helped her just by running fingers through her curls and holding her tightly until all the broken little bits of her clicked back into place. In turn, Red did what she could to earn such kindness that she knew she’d never deserve anyway—she helped Chloe navigate the new world they’d created and she made her laugh without trying and, according to the bluenette, she gave the best cuddles—which was a good thing, because if there was one thing clingy-Red loved about this new world it was endless snuggles with her girlfriend.
But, of course, there were still a lot of things Red hadn’t told Chloe. She had spent 16 years building walls that couldn’t so easily be crumbled, held secrets so deeply that they felt inaccessible even to her, and been taught since infancy that vulnerability was a weakness, that shame was the greatest unavoidable motivator, and most of all that she was completely and utterly unlovable. Most things Chloe knew about Red’s past were inadvertently shared—whispered in the dark by half-asleep and fear-driven creatures of the night, or sputtered out between gasps for breath when the panic of a flashback shook Red to her core. Things that by the light of day she’d deny until she was blue, even though both girls knew that they were the truth.
One such topic that they seldom breached was Red’s insecurity surrounding her appearance and, by extension, her eating habits. Chloe knew--she knew it whenever she called her girl beautiful with all the sincerity she could muster and Red’s smile slipped off her face, or when they left the shower together and Red’s eyes avoided the steam-filled mirror reflecting them back at one another. Most of all, Chloe could tell when Red went days eating nothing but a sleeve of crackers.
It wasn’t even like Red did it cognizantly, most of the time. It wasn’t like she decided to skip meals because she wanted to look a certain way—she knew logically she was already thin, and if anything she admired bodies like Chloe’s: strong, sturdy, smooth and lean and beautiful . But she knew she would never look that way, because Chloe had a foundation beyond brittle, bruised bones, and the likeness she shared with her mother was a unanimous gift instead of a curse, which all made it that much easier to concede to the gnawing feeling in her stomach.
When Red had days where she couldn’t bring herself to look at her appearance and do anything other than grimace at the face so like her mother’s ( old mother’s), she felt too nauseous to eat. On days when she could hardly get out of bed or drag herself to class, she didn’t have the bandwidth for the noisy cafeteria filled with leering strangers. When she felt like her new life was all completely and utterly foreign and everything was out of her control, food was still that one thing she could rely on controlling. It was easy to slip into those old habits, easy to make that coping mechanism the through line to fall back on between this world and the old, the thing to help ground her when there wasn’t Chloe around.
Of course Chloe noticed all this. Chloe may have been naive, but she wasn’t oblivious, especially not when it came to the one person she’d managed to form an inseparable bond with. Red tried to be discreet, because she knew Chloe cared too much for her own good and wasn’t capable of understanding the use of going without, nor the simple fact that it was what Red deserved after being spoon fed a better life she had no idea what to do with. Red knew Chloe was too good and too sweet to ever agree with her on that point, to ever concede that her girlfriend deserved anything less than the best when most days Red found it hard to believe she deserved just to have met her and gotten away from her abuser.
Chloe tried being subtle at first in her approach to the issue, because she knew Red had a deeply-seeded fear of confrontation. She tried to invite Red to accompany her to the lunch room every day, but the rebel usually came just to keep her company, always saying she’d “already eaten.” Chloe tried bringing her breakfast in bed and leaving out meals for her—which had a slightly better success rate, but the princess suspected that that was only due to the guilt Red would feel if she left the food untouched, and as much as Chloe wanted (needed) Red to take care of her body, she knew it couldn’t be purely out of guilt, however powerful a motivator it may have been. Forming new bad habits doesn’t fix old bad habits.
So Chloe finally decided, after Red actually had a dizzy spell in history that led to a very anxious day spent in the nurse's office drinking plenty of water and gross protein shakes, she had no choice but to breach the topic directly. She did what she did best, which was research optimal approaches to the conversation and carefully plan her words. If Chloe pushed too hard, Red would close up and shut down making everything harder and worse, but if she was too light handed, Red would dominate the conversation until it went exactly the way she wanted and no real change was made, Chloe being none the wiser. There was also the possibility that Chloe got too emotionally charged, which risked scaring her girl. A crying Red was her least favorite thing in the world. Chloe never wanted to be someone who made Red cry.
The Charming princess eventually decided the best way to go about it would probably be to wait until Red got out of her art class. It was her favorite class (the only class she liked at all, if she were being honest) which meant she’d hopefully be in a good mood. She’d bring it up casually to start, probably centering it around that night’s dinner, and see if Red felt like opening up on her own. She’d go from there, no need to get caught up in the hypotheticals as she often did. As socially inept as Red may have been, it was often forgotten due to her naturally bubbly personality that this was all new ground to Chloe too. Growing up sheltered in a castle with only talking mice and servants for company meant Chloe wasn’t exactly the perfect social butterfly most assumed.
Red knew as much, because she’d seen it first hand when they’d met (bumbling, nervous word-vomit, sarcasm straight over her head) but most assumed she was a socialite like her mom. It’s true that Chloe was perfectly adept at making civil conversation with diplomats or waging peace between foreign lands, but when it came to emotional intimacy with anyone aside from her own family (and even then, emotional and intimate were strong words) it was a skill both girls lacked. Slowly they were learning together—but Chloe was a fast learner and she viewed every obstacle as something to overcome and conquer. Red, not so much, she could go whole days without talking to anyone aside from Chloe and, as far as she was concerned, that was just fine.
When Red finally arrived back at the dorm, smile ear to ear and arms already stretched out for a hug before the door was even shut behind her, Chloe knew it must’ve been a good day. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Someone’s happy to see me.”
The blue haired girl couldn’t help but smile herself as the shorter girl all but collapsed into her arms, face nestled into the warmth of her neck. When Red spoke her voice buzzed hot against Chloe’s skin, kisses softly peppering her neck between words.
“I’m always happy to see you, Bluey.”
The nickname sent butterflies swarming in her stomach, even though she heard it about a hundred times a week. If Chloe had her way, she’d hear it a hundred more.
“Class went well?”
Red emerged from the embrace only briefly enough to drag Chloe over toward her unmade bed, and even though the princess was still in her sweaty workout clothes from the gym earlier, she let Red drag her down to the mattress anyway. Physical touch was one of her girlfriend’s biggest love languages, and certainly her greatest reassurance, so Chloe indulged in it whenever possible. It helped that she too found Red’s company to be irresistible, and her clingy enthusiasm was absolutely infectious. Every part of Chloe turned pink at her touch.
“Class was fine. But this is much better.”
Red and Chloe assumed their usual cuddle position with Red’s head on Chloe’s chest, arms wrapped around her waist and leg hooked around her thighs. Red let the sound of Chloe’s heart beating in her ear sooth her, a sense of calm and content unlike anything else washing over her as she melded into the one person she’d longed to spend time with all day long. Chloe wrapped her arms around Red, one hand carefully massaging her scalp and the other tracing gentle patterns on her upper arm. She peppered Red’s hairline with kisses, and commanded her own nerves to stay at bay while she enjoyed this moment. She didn’t want to betray anything to the other girl and ruin her chance at an honest conversation. Plus, selfishly, she wanted to enjoy the rare sight of that relaxed smile playing at red lips just a little bit longer.
“I missed you today.”
Red melted into Chloe’s touch, all but purring as her fingers commanded all the tension out of her body. Chloe laughed softly, the sound like stars twinkling.
“Yeah, I missed you today, too. Swords and Shields practice was a nightmare. I was hoping I’d see you at lunch.”
Thursday was the busiest day for both of them. It was the only day of the week that, because of their conflicting schedules, they really didn’t see one another until they both got back to the dorm room at night, dead on their feet, aside from 30 minutes during their shared lunch block. Today, however, Red had been noticeably absent.
“Ugh, yeah, the Homework Hawk kept me after in potions class. Apparently we had some project due that I didn’t turn in, whatever, point is it made me miss our lunch block. Sorry, boo.”
Mr.Hawkins, AKA the Homework Hawk as students not so endearingly referred to him as, often gave Red a hard time for her lack of effort in Potions 101--but keeping her after during lunch? That felt next level. Her strong sense of injustice flared, and Chloe made a mental note to circle back to this point in their conversation at a later date. Plus, she imagined she needed to help Red with that mysterious project.
“Did you at least get a chance to still eat something I hope?”
Here was her in. Red hummed noncommittal in response.
“Yeah, I just had something small between classes.”
Chloe cleared her throat, though was careful to keep up her small ministrations, Red’s eyes now closed.
“What did you have?”
Now Red was getting a little antsy, because the truth was that she hadn’t actually eaten anything, obviously. She didn’t want to admit that to Chloe because she didn’t want her to worry and because, well, she didn’t really have a good excuse for it other than the fact that she hadn’t been very hungry and she’d forgotten. Well, okay, “forgotten” was maybe a strong word--but by the time she’d remembered she was meant to have eaten something she was still so worked up from Mr.Hawkin’s stifling disappointment (she had issues with authority, for obvious reasons) and so she’d wanted to reclaim the day a little bit by choosing not to eat.
She hadn’t really even meant to tell the lie to Chloe, but it had slipped out and now she had committed to the bit. Her lies sounded stale even to her, though, as she stammered out:
“Uh, a sandwich, I think.”
Red was a very picky eater. In Wonderland, food was (like most things) highly restricted, so there were lots of dishes or entire food groups that were outlawed. The punishment for being caught with baked goods was, you guessed it, beheading. And even beyond the laws restricting certain foods, as aforementioned the Queen of Hearts had odd tastes even by Wonderland standards. Growing up being force fed dishes like goose heart and rocking horse flies would make anyone apprehensive of new dishes.
Which meant Red had a very specific list of “safe foods” that Chloe had helped her curate upon her arrival in Auradon, before her food issues really started to rear its ugly head and everything about their new life together was still just exciting and new. Mostly Red was drawn toward plainer foods after a lifetime of weirdness, things like potatoes and rice and pasta. She disliked vegetables (even though Chloe explained to her, over and over again, that she needed to have some as part of a balanced diet--which was a totally foreign concept to the rebel) and she had quite the sweet tooth after being denied sugar her entire life (red velvet was her favorite, fittingly).
Knowing all of this was why it made it so unbelievable to think Red had possibly wandered into the cafeteria and found a random sandwich for herself that just so happened to tick off all her food boxes. And the Wonderland princess knew as much, because though her eyes remained closed Chloe could feel the way she tensed up in her arms. She steeled herself, forging ahead despite Red’s obvious discomfort because she knew she had to.
“...You don’t have to lie if you didn’t have anything, baby.”
When Red’s eyes opened to meet Chloe’s, they were already starting to brim with unshed tears--shocking both girls. Even when she was caught lying to her face, her girl spoke so unbelievably softly to her, like she was worried Red might combust right there in her arms. Unspoken words and other implications pressed up around the edges of Chloe’s worried expression, and Red had to evade her gaze lest she burst into tears right there and then.
The day had been long and she was tired, more tired even than the day had probably warranted (and briefly she wondered if her lack of food intake was a contributing factor in this realization) which was making her overly emotional and uncharacteristically sensitive. She really didn’t want to talk about this right now, but at the same time the guilt in her stomach screamed that didn’t Chloe at least deserve that? Didn’t she deserve honesty?
“I-...I didn’t mean to…”
The words felt like glass scraping her throat as she attempted to squeeze them out, Chloe watching her so expectantly.
Suddenly their proximity was too much, and Red shot up from her position to sit up on the edge of the bed. Chloe desperately reached after her, groping the air, and her heart shattered when she saw that tears had started streaming down Red’s cheeks. Her mind crossfired between being glad that Red was showing vulnerability, feeling guilty at having been the source of her girlfriend’s tears, and feeling that debilitating sense of worry she’d grown accustomed to the last few months.
“Hey, Red, look at me, baby.”
Red buried her face in her hands, body turned away from Chloe. When she spoke between her fingers her voice was as soft as a whisper and shaky with emotion.
“I-I’m sorry, Chlo-”
She punctuated her sentence with a hiccup, her breathing becoming noticeably more shallow and labored. Sensing the impending panic attack, Chloe quickly hopped off the bed so she could kneel on the ground in front of Red, hands on her knees where her thumbs could rub circles on the calloused skin peeking through her ripped jeans.
“You don’t have to apologize baby, hey, listen to me.”
Chloe carefully grabbed one of Red’s hands and peeled it away from her face, squeezing it tightly in an attempt at grounding her.
“I’m not mad at you, Red, I’m just worried, that’s all.”
Red shook her head vehemently, still gasping for breath.
“Y-you don’t-, y-you don’t understand I-, I-”
Chloe delicately pressed a finger to Red’s lips, rubbing her bitten bottom lip with her thumb to silence her broken half-sentences of worried rambling. She wasn’t getting enough air to properly communicate, and Chloe knew she needed to help calm her down before she could try again to speak.
“Babygirl, you gotta breathe for me. Can you do that?”
Again Red shook her head, openly sobbing now. Chloe used her sleeve to help wipe her drippy face, moving from the floor to sit beside her again on the bed. Red reached blindly for her girlfriend, grabby hands desperately searching for some sort of comfort.
Chloe, taking Red’s motions as the go-ahead for physical touch, happily scooped the girl up, letting her wrap her legs around her waist as she sat in her lap and latched right onto her. With her head and chest again pressed to Chloe’s, she let the vibration of her beating heart help ground her in the present. Chloe took big, exaggerated breaths, encouraging Red to mimic her efforts.
“Just take a big breath in with me baby, you can do it.”
Slowly Red started to take staggered breaths, putting all her effort into listening for Chloe’s instruction and praise.
“You’re doing so good, Red. Just like that, my love. Just keep focusing on me.”
It was far from the first time Chloe had successfully helped guide Red through a panic attack, but it was the first time she’d done so when it wasn’t the result of a nightmare and, therefore, taking place in the middle of the night in the dark. As Red started to finally calm herself down enough that black spots receded from her vision, she started to feel exceptionally embarrassed. But sensing that Red was beginning to pull away from her, Chloe pulled the girl in even closer for a proper hug. Red melted into it instinctually, her head resting on Chloe’s shoulder where she couldn’t see the girl’s face as she spoke.
“You just have to let me help you, love. Can you do that?”
Red sighed, deflating. She was so tired. Tired of lying, and pretending, and being strong. She knew she wasn’t thinking straight, that all her usual logic had left her and her reeling mind had defaulted to a survival mindset, but for a moment she couldn’t understand what would be so bad about letting Chloe help her. She hadn’t wanted to worry her, to burden her--but fuck it, wasn’t she doing that already? If Chloe was going to leave her, wouldn’t she have done so by now?
“Just let me in, baby.”
And for once, Red did. She started from the beginning; she told Chloe about her mother’s morning routines, about how she’d grown up being told that appearance was everything but that she couldn’t escape the inherent hatred of her own given its similarity to Bridget’s. She told her about her starving subjects and the guilt monster that lived and breathed inside her stomach. She told her about the long days and nights spent in the dungeon, about how her mother turned food into a punishment before she turned it into her own escape. She explained how it helped her feel in control, how she couldn’t bring herself to care about the harm it was doing to herself. And though Red couldn’t bring herself to look at Chloe, all the words being mumbled with eyes closed right into Chloe’s soft skin, she could tell her girlfriend was listening intently. She felt the way she gripped more tightly around her when she revealed something especially heinous, and worse she felt the wetness on her shoulder from the princess’ silent tears.
When she finally finished, the two sat in silence for what Red felt like could have been hours together like that, limbs wrapped around one another and faces buried in the other’s warmth. As the minutes of silence ticked on, Red kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the rug to be wrenched out from under her. You’ve really done it this time. She prepared her shot nerves for the angry shouting or the bitter disappointment or, worst of all, the cool indifference of someone who had realized oh, you were right, you are too broken for me to help after all. Instead, when Chloe eventually pulled away from Red, it was only far enough to look at the girl through bleary, red eyes. Carefully, she extracted one hand from around Red’s waist in order to grab her by the chin and oh so gently tilt her face to meet her’s, eyes finally meeting. Without breaking eye contact, Chloe pressed a short lived but very emotionally charged kiss to Red’s puffy lips, as though she could somehow communicate all her love through the small gesture.
“I love you.”
Red felt like opening her mouth to speak might be too great an effort, but she wanted Chloe to know she loved her too, more than words would even be able to properly convey regardless. She pressed a tender kiss back, and leaned their foreheads together. She didn’t deserve her. She would never deserve her, or understand what she’d possibly done for the pocket watch to have brought them together, but she tried desperately not to question it lest the universe should decide she’s right and take it all away again. She didn’t need to tempt fate tonight. Tonight, she just needed to be here with Chloe. No dungeons, no strange delicacies or harshities spoken through gritted teeth--just red mixing with blue and a palpable, mutual adoration.
Now having Red’s full attention, and seeing how clearly anxious the rebel princess still was, Chloe tried her hand at a very small smile. It still looked sad on her, and didn’t quite fit her teartracked face right, but it put Red at ease even as the guilt monster clawed at her insides harshly, tearing her insides to ribbons.
“Could we…do you think we could try to eat something small together for dinner now, Red?”
Instinctually she wanted to say no. Of course, she wanted to say no. Every fiber of her being was shouting no! in fact , and just the idea of actually chewing up and swallowing something right now, her mouth still tasting salty with tears and snot and her heart hammering, was enough to make her feel like puking.
But then there was that look, that look Chloe had when she held Red in her gaze like the young girl had hung the fucking moon--brimming even through her pain and sadness with this hopeful optimism that Red had sworn was a thing of stupid fairytales and not real life until she’d met her.
“You could just try, Red. Just try--for me?”
She hadn’t even realized she was nodding her head yes to her girlfriend’s request until it was too late to go back and change her mind. She knew she wouldn’t have been able to tell that look no, anyway. She could try. For Chloe, she could try.
So Chloe produced some chocolate chip protein bars from out of her practice bag, snacks she kept stowed away in case she felt faint at swords and shields. Granola bars weren’t Red’s favorite texture, but she did have a soft spot for sweets, especially chocolate (which Chloe knew, of course, when she decided to fish out the bars), so she reasoned she could be brave and eat the protein bar with Chloe’s encouragement. Chloe unwrapped it for her, leaving some of the wrapper still on the end so Red didn’t have to touch the food with sticky fingers. She averted her eyes casually as Red took her first bite, though the rebel was still acutely aware of the way Chloe watched from her peripheral for her swallowing, and every time she held the bar up for another bite her lips twinged with a small smile of pride. Red basked in it.
She ate very slowly and took very small bites, but she hung on her Bluey’s every word as she finished her own protein bar and took to littering Red’s face with kisses. She spoke words of affirmation into her hairline, just little whispered words of encouragement and praise, and Red closed her eyes to focus on that and rather than the actual act of eating. It wasn’t a whole meal, not even close, but it was a start, and Red was embarrassed to admit she actually felt some small sense of pride when she was able to finish the whole thing, Chloe’s smile like a beacon.
“You did such a good job, Red. You did really well. I’m so proud of you, my love.”
And they both knew that they had a lot more that needed to be talked about, a lot more that needed to be said and unpacked, Chloe’s mind was already reeling trying to figure out how she could possibly convince Red to see Auradon Prep’s health professionals who specialized in helping the VK’s with unique issues like this (because it was, sadly, probably pretty common), but just for tonight this would be enough. Chloe just needed to see Red eat something , just to convince herself that they would both be alright and her girl would still be there cuddled up beside her in the morning. That the hours of dusk and dawn wouldn’t make her girlfriend whither away outside of her vigilant gaze. Red needed a lot more from her--more than she was maybe convinced she could give--but for right now, just the both of them trying, it would be enough.
Without words, because they didn’t need any, the two finally got dressed for bed. Chloe helped Red into her favorite cozy blue jumper without the girl having to ask, and Red buried her face in the neckline, soaking up the sweet scent of the princess. By the time they were tangled up together again for sleep at long last, Red had finally rediscovered her voice.
“Thank you, Chloe. For everything.”
Chloe sighed contentedly, eyes heavy, but she knew she’d keep watch over Red until she fell asleep. She’d always watch over her girl and keep her safe, even when the thing Red needed to be kept safe from most often was herself.
“I love you too, my beautiful, brave girl.”
As Red drifted off toward sleep, nightmares awaiting but feeling safe under Chloe’s watchful gaze, she thought: I half believe her.
And for tonight, that was perfectly enough.