He loves these moments.

Sure, he lives for adventure, but these moments, these few seconds he's come to cherish, he wouldn't give up for even the most vicious of monsters asking for a wrestling match, or the oldest of treasure maps, seconds that bring a smile to his face and make a searing chill go up his spine and down into the pit of his stomach, where he imagines a small dwarf is making chicken noodle soup because it's just such a good feeling that it couldn't possibly be anything else. Even on days he's battled countless villains and his body begs for rest, for him to close his eyes and drift off into sleep, sleep where he won't see her, where she won't wake up and see him. Where he fancies she'll yawn and rub her eyes, then look at him, helpless and squishy, and smile warmly, not like she does when she's teasing him, (and pretty much every other part of the day), but a real smile, like the ones on the pancakes his mother used to make that he found so completely genuine, he decided they must be alive so he refused to eat them and had eggs instead.

The thing is, he can't remember exactly why she's there next to him. He knows how she came to be there, but the why, he just … Her house was destroyed, right? Yeah. What happened to it again? A giant smashed it? No, wait; it was burned to the ground by a dragon with a cold, right? He can vaguely recall her coming to the tree house, her hair littered with wood chips, her clothes a smoldering mess with holes like Swiss cheese. She didn't have anything with her, well aside from her bass guitar and a smug look that he knew was trouble from the moment he laid eyes on her. He does remember that, and the throaty, "I'm moving in" that followed. Now what was it? It's bothering him… Termites? A swarm of termites ate her house from the inside out? Or was it bees… No, bees eat honey, or do they just make honey? Oh, well. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. All he cares about is this.

He watches her. Her ebony hair drifts softly in the air, silky and alive, an ocean, like the one he fears, but instead of dread, all he feels is a quick pulse that drifts up both sides of his neck and up to his cheeks where it fades into a gentle throb. She's about ten inches off the bed. He knows because he's measured it with the flat side of his finger. An "estimation", as the Princess would put it.

Sometimes, on cold days, he pulls her down onto the mattress, careful not to wake her, and tosses one of his furs over her seemingly lifeless body. He knows she doesn't need it, but being the hero, he just has to. She's only woken up once when he's done that, and he's been very careful every day since.

"What are you doing? Is this some weird human version of tip-the-cow? Is it drop-the-vampire now?"

"Tip-the-cow? What's that?"

"Pfft, forget it you little weirdo."

He wants to pull her down now, but it's not cold tonight. Actually, it's unusually hot. In fact, under different circumstances he would have tossed all his blankets to the floor and stripped off his t-shirt, but she was here, and she would see him, and he didn't know if he was ready for that.

He shifts uncomfortably and tries to look out the small window near Jake's bed, which, with a recently applied set of curtains, is nearly impossible, but he manages. The sun's only a small sliver in the distance now. Soon, soon, he tells himself. Just be patient. But he's not patient. He doesn't want to wait any longer- he's waited all day! How long do vampires need to sleep? Why did they have to sleep different than the rest of the world? Why couldn't they be up during the day? Who made the rules for vampires anyway! His skin boils at the very thought, and then with that very ironic feeling in mind, he remembers. Because vampires can't be out in sunlight. Sunlight plus vampire equals dead vampire. Duh. He slaps his forehead in an attempt to knock some of the stupidity from his brain. At the sound, the girl next to him stirs, her nose wrinkling up at the ridge, and her eyebrows furrowed. He stops, his breath caught in his throat, maybe this was it! But, it's not, and she rolls over midair, her levitation dropping a bit so she's nearly eye-level with him now. He sighs, and holds his breath again when he sees her hair flutter from the sudden wind.

It's times like this that he feels conflicted. He's never been much of a romantic, well, okay, he's not romantic at all, at least not in the whole sense of the word, but as he stares at her, his head propped up on a pillow, her face only inches away from his, he can't help the thought of kissing her. Her lips just look so inviting, and her breaths, although she takes them and they aren't necessary, he imagines are warm, and if he was to take that kiss, to steal it now in her sleep, she would open her eyes, and he would feel that warm rush of breath let out through her nose and onto the side of his cheek, his cheek, along with the other one would be red, because what he was doing was wrong. Heroes don't just steal kisses because they want to, not unless there's a sleeping princess involved- wait is she a princess? No, no, a queen. She's a queen. He can't steal kisses from a queen. She'll probably kill him anyway, and he considers the thought. Would she kill him? She hadn't exactly been opposed to the idea of sleeping with him. In fact, she'd sort of demanded it.

" Yo Finn! Psst! Finn! Wake up!"

"Huh, what? Marcy? Is everything okay?"

"No! The bed Jake made me sucks dog buns."

"Oh… Well, I guess we'll just have to build a new one."

"Sh'yeah."

"Hey wait a second- don't you just float when you sleep anyway?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"And it's still dark outside-I thought this was your awake-time."

"Look, it doesn't matter- what does is I've got a song in my head and I need somewhere comfortable to chill while I write the lyrics- so SCOOT!"

Wow. She did demand it. He smiles. Sometimes she hums to him if he asks her to, or sings, but he prefers humming. He likes to think that her voice is so good she doesn't even need the words. She stirs again, and again he holds his breath, her levitation letting up a little bit more, she's only about two inches off the bed now. Her hair, usually a great twitching mass, is calm, almost like it's resting on the bed, almost like real hair. He ponders on the thought and suddenly realizes how funny it is that a dead girl could have hair that's more alive than most living people. With a wary hand, he reaches out and touches it.

It clings to him. Like grape-vines growing at super-fast speed, the small tendrils wrap themselves around his fingers and weave through his hand like they're feeling him, like they want to suck him dry, which Marceline has, on several occasions, threatened to do. But he knows her better than that, because he knows she cares about him, well, he likes to think she does. He's caught her on several occasions, many, in fact, and he never hesitates to call her out on it when he feels it's necessary, because it's all about power with Marceline, and sometimes it's funny when things get flipped.

"Hey Finn, could we talk for a sec?"

"Sure! What's up?"

"Look- I just wanna say that I don't think you're just a silly human… or a joke. You're more than that, a lot more, and I want to thank you…. and Jake, because you let me move in after my house got trashed and I know I'm not always the easiest person to live with… but I want you to know I can take things seriously- you know? That I can like… take you seriously."

"Marceline are you… Are you actually trying to be a good friend?"

"What! ? NO!"

"YOU TOTALLY ARE!"

"NO! SHUT-UP! I'LL KILL YOU!"

He retracts his hand, and the hair slips back onto the bed and causes a small amount on the sleeping girl's shoulder to also fall into the heap, revealing her neck. Although he has been waiting for his moment for far too long, right now he doesn't mind if she stays asleep a little bit longer. As long as he gets to see her bite marks which he, although at times a bit shy, hasn't exactly hidden his curiosity over. He sits up, looking down at the girl next to him. The room is nearly pitch black now, and only the dull gleam of the lantern kept on the nightstand next to his bed allows him to see the object of his current obsession. What does it feel like to have them? Do they itch-like mosquito bites? Do they ache like an old scar? Is it a mixture of both? Do they feel raw, like a scab peeled off too early, with only a thin layer of skin as protection- skin that's sensitive and itchy, because it's dry, that craves touch, but then hurts when it's rubbed too hard? He imagines it's like that, like the last one, because being an adventurer's left him severely wounded on plenty of occasions, and there isn't any type of pain he can't imagine.

He can't stand it anymore. All the wondering, he's never been one to wonder, that's Jake's thing, Finn just does, and right now stupid, but true, he's going to do. Slowly, he lifts his hand again and reaches for her neck, and gently, lightly, almost a tickle, he touches them, quickly gaining confidence and placing the whole of his finger-pad there. They don't feel the way he imagined they would- soft, almost blister-like, thick around the sides, small indentations at the center, lukewarm. He rubs his thumb across them several times, trying to gain a feel for what it must be like, when Marceline mumbles, or is it a whine? A whimper? The boy looks down to see her looking back at him. Her eyes drowsy, her face, although he's seen her flushed before, never has he seen her like this, the lightest shade of pink, that cascades from her cheeks down to her shoulders. She's not smiling, or frowning. Her mouth is open, her teeth peeking out from her upper lip. Terror quickly makes its way into his system, his hand whips back to his body in a flash and he scoots away from her.

He's ruined it. He waited all day and he's ruined it. The moment, the few precious seconds when Marceline wakes up right as he's going to sleep. Where she drifts down onto the bed and actually lies there with him, lies there like a real person- like the human he's never known. And they just stay there like that for a while, and she'll stretch, and he watches as her toes point out and grab the lion fur at the end of his bed, and the way her back arches, how her arms slide underneath his pillows, sometimes brushing past his face, or under his arm. How she'll squint her eyes closed, and let out that breath she doesn't need, then collapse on the bed and she'll smile at him, and he'll ask her to hum that new song, whichever new song she made the previous day, and she'll roll her eyes and open her journal, scribbling whatever it is she scribbles in there. Fine. And he'll smile and himself drift off into sleep. But that's all gone now, probably forever.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry Marceline! I-I didn't mean to-"

He waits for her to turn into some sort of menacing beast, his hands covering his torso, he clenches his teeth and braces himself for impact, but nothing comes. No claws, no teeth, just silence. When he feels her weight drop onto the bed he opens his eyes and looks. Her face, still the light pink it was before, her eyes droopy, nearly closed, her body rigid.

"Marceline?" he says it softly, nearly a whisper, and scoots closer, his knees wrinkling the blankets. "Oh my Glob- did I like turn you off or something? Are those like buttons? Like a robot? Vampires have buttons?"

The boy scratches his head under his hat and leans over her, genuinely concerned now. If vampires have buttons and he's turned Marceline off, although he's pretty sure she'll be furious at being turned off in the first place, he really wants her to be on again, even if it means facing the consequences.

"Uh… Hello?" he waves a hand in front of her unwavering stare, and fails to get a reaction. "Don't worry Marcy- I'll turn you back on." He tugs at his collar "Maybe it'll take you a while to reboot and I can get the plop outta here, hehe."

His laugh fades as he takes another look at her. Again, he reaches out, his hand working past her snake-like locks, until, cautiously, he places it on her neck once more. Slowly he slides his fingers up and rubs his thumb along her "buttons". She gasps, her eyes snap open, then just as quickly, they droop again, and her hands, he notices, twisted in the sheets, slowly ease their grip. After a brief moment of silence, she cocks her eyebrows and leans her cheek into the cup of his hand.

"What're you-" she questions, sleep still thick on her voice, her arm reaches up and grabs his hand. He tries to pull away, but she holds it there and repeats, "What are you doing Finn?"

"I uhhh… I think I like, broke you or something." He bites his lip. "Are you okay?"

"I'm… fine."

He looks away, his face getting hotter by the second. "Did I … hurt you?"

Marceline pauses, his hand still on her cheek, which he notes, has a smoldering heat behind it that's slowly fading as is the pink from her face. She clears her throat. "No." she sits up now and pulls his hand down from her neck, but doesn't let it go, she laughs. "Why'd you do it dummy?"

He leans back with her against the headboard "I dunno… I was just curious… I guess."

"You guess?" she mocks him, finally letting go of his hand, she brings her own to her sides, "Okay, well, next time you get 'curious', give me a little warning, will ya? Because that- that was just…." He thinks he sees the pink color come back to her cheeks for a moment, but he's not sure. She giggles and blows a stray hair from her eyes. "So what's on the to-do list for today?"

A grin makes its way to his face for being let off the hook so easily.

"Well, Jake's asleep on the couch, and I'm pretty wiped out- but I heard there's gonna be a party at the cloud kingdom later tonight-"

"You sure you're up for that?" she's already pulling out her journal and scribbling in it again "I mean, 'cause you're wiped out."

"I'll go if you'll go."

"Hmmm… Well, I guess it doesn't sound completely lame… Maybe we could just chill here for an hour or two though- I had a pretty wicked dream about this giant turkey leg and then this song popped into my head and, well, it's great , it's great, you'll see…"

She slides down into the heap of blankets, her journal propped up on her legs. He does the same and listens to the scritch-scratch of her pen as she writes. He ruffles the tuft of hair sticking out of his hat and fluffs the pillow underneath his head and just watches her, his eyes slowly closing. Suddenly they stop, and he's awake again. Perhaps his moment isn't gone. Maybe he can still have it. Maybe he doesn't have to wait till tomorrow.

"Hey Marcy?"

"Hmm?"

"Can you hum that song, you know the new one? I don't think I'll be able to fall asleep on my own. Oh, but wake me up for the party okay? It's at eleven, late party, cloud people ya know? Mostly" he yawns, "storm clouds."

She taps her pen on her chin. "Okay, fine, just gimme a second… Eleven, huh? Well it's still early for me."

"Yeah," he stretches his arms "yeah, super early… the night is like redonculously young- don't forget to wake me up, okay?"

"Alright I won't, haha. Hey ya know, you're pretty hard-core." She flashes him an evil grin. "Like me."

He smiles.

"I'm glad you moved in with us Marcy."

She stops writing for a moment and looks at him, and her tone is sweet, and he thinks maybe even a bit cheesy, so much so that she may look back on it and gag a little, but he won't.

"Me too."

Hey guys! I probably know a bunch of you from Deviantart! I'm seriously not much of a writer, but I do have a lot of ideas so I thought I'd give it a try.

I probably never would have published this story if it weren't for my friends HVK, Neverthrive, RubySword, and MasterHama encouraging me. :) So thanks for that guys, and to anyone who gives this story a chance.