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Chapter Text

Norman had always had trouble sleeping. The nightmares weren’t so bad anymore, and he was at least grateful for that. But “better” didn’t mean “gone;” and, nightmares or not, he struggled to fall asleep and stay that way. He was nervous and restless and he just couldn’t quit, not even if given the chance. Like a shark, he always had to move, always had to think. If he stopped, his mind would surely kill him.

Or someone else. 

So when Mary suggested he rest for a while— “Why don’t you lie down and take a nap?” she’d said, when he’d yawned earlier that afternoon— he was skeptical. In his half-lidded, drowsy state, he remembered worrying about what had happened the last time he’d let himself doze off. He’d woken up to a murder in his own home; and no matter what Mary told him, he still wrestled with the fear that he’d been responsible for it.

The memory of that hazy, too-warm afternoon in the kitchen only gave him the urge to yawn again. His eyes drooped, then watered. In search of a comfortable position, Norman rolled onto his side.

This was much better. From here, he could curl up defensively: a woodlouse under a rock, a wolf in a den. The room was warm enough that he didn’t need a blanket. Laying atop the quilt more than sufficed. Norman nestled against the nearest pillow and tried to follow Mary’s instructions: close his eyes, breathe deeply, quiet his thoughts until they were a dull hum in the background. The last of these was easier said than done. Even so, he found the sensation of being alone with said thoughts… surprisingly peaceful, after a while. Of course, he couldn’t just think about nothing. He’d never been able to. But perhaps, Norman figured, he was too tired now to dwell on his usual doom and gloom. The longer he lay motionless, the more he adjusted to doing so. It wasn’t long before opening his eyes again was harder than keeping them closed.

He knew there was no going back when

his

thoughts, 

once clear as day,

began blurring

                       together

                                      into nonsense. 

The rest that followed was unlike anything Norman had experienced before. When it came to an end, he remembered exactly none of it— ergo, it was perfect.  Hardly ever before had he slept so deeply, so thoroughly, so dreamlessly. And never before, he thought, as he scanned the room and found no signs of violence, had he been so certain that he was asleep. He adjusted himself in a vain effort to recapture that bliss—

—and blinked, surprised, at the sight of a familiar wool sweater on the floor beside him. 

Mary? 

You filthy, rotten boy! You’ve done it again, haven’t you?

What was she doing there? He’d told her he was going to sleep, didn’t he? Or did he not? He couldn’t remember. Oh, God, he couldn’t remember. That was never a good sign. Wide awake now, he tried to do as he’d been told. Deep breaths, he reminded himself. It’s okay. Don’t always assume the worst. Maybe you didn’t—

First you run off with that whore, then you cut her open just like you did all the others, and now— and now!— you have the audacity to sleep beside her corpse! Oh, what am I going to do with you?

The longer he lay there, the more his breathing trembled. Each hopeful thought drowned in a wave of rising panic and nausea, until he was compelled to sit up. If he wanted any hope of keeping his lunch down, he had to. If he wanted to know if she was still alive— if he wanted to know how the hell she got in here—

He looked over, and she was fine. 

No blood, no stab wounds; her nose was in a book. Mary lowered it and beamed up at him. Everything was fine.  So much so, in fact, that he blinked with surprise. 

“Hi!” she chirped, her smile softening. “You sleep okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Look at you! You’ve left your poor mother in shambles! You’re lucky I can’t get my hands on you, otherwise I’d beat you within an inch of your—

Norman tried to shake the excess fear from his mind. A sigh of relief escaped him; he relaxed his muscles to the best of his ability and closed his eyes. Maybe if he lay still, pretended Mary wasn’t there, he could return to that state of near-hibernation he had fallen into so effortlessly before. He had to ignore her. It pained him, but anything else was strange. Why was she here? This kind of behavior wasn’t normal.  Friends didn’t share rooms. Friends didn’t sleep side-by-side, not more than once. That was… it was…

Vile! Vile and sinful! Something you’d only do with a slut like her, that’s what!

Saliva rose into his mouth. He swallowed it before something else could come up after it. A dreadful feeling simmered in the pit of his stomach, one he had experienced countless times before but would never quite get used to. He wasn’t being a creep, was he? No, he couldn’t have been— Mary had entered the room of her own accord. Norman allowed himself a single, quiet groan and decided to distract himself by imagining someplace else. Another room, maybe? No, he was getting bored of those. A field? Too wide open. Not enough places to hide.

An aquarium.

Perfect.

Mary rose to her feet; the edge of the bed creaked and sank as she came to perch on it. In his mind, the sound made the fish scatter. “Norman, are you alright?”

He nodded.

“You sure? You’re sweating a little.” When he opened his eyes, her head had tilted to one side; his mannerisms were rubbing off on her. “Bad dream?”

“No, I— I— can you stop hovering over me like that?”

“Sorry.” She straightened. “I came in to check on you. You looked so peaceful. It made me want to stay. I hope you don’t mind.”

Norman didn’t say anything. His heart still fluttered; he had to focus on soothing it. 

Mary faltered. “Um… do you mind?”

“Not at—“ his voice cracked “—not at all. Just… ask next time, alright?”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, thanks for not trying to, you know…”

He trailed off. Mary understood. She always did. 

“Of course,” she said. One of her hands hovered near his head. “Can I ruffle your hair?”

“Sure.”

The gesture made him grin. Red-faced, his hair disheveled with sleep and affection, he gave a breathy chuckle. Mary leaned back and sprawled across the bed when she’d finished, reveling in the space she had now. Even though the apartment was a fraction of the old house’s size, the bed was twice as large. Probably, Norman thought, because it hadn’t been built for a child. 

Even still, he was compelled to make room for her. 

In the silence— now that his nerves had subsided— the faint sounds of nature outside enveloped him. Drowsy birdsong, insects he couldn’t name, the distant cry of… was that a coyote?

How long had he slept?

“Hey,” Mary said, after staring at the ceiling pensively. “Has anyone ever told you that you snore?”

“I do?”

“Yeah. You snore like a cat purrs. Almost made me fall asleep. Even when you’re out cold, you’re still polite.”

“Oh.” Norman allowed himself a smile. “That’s good to know. I guess I needed the rest.”

“Probably. It’s been an exhausting week.”

“I—“ He paused. “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe it’s been exhausting for you, because of midterms.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Way to rub it in. ‘Ooh, you have midterms and I don’t.’ Shut up.”

“But—“ he snorted “—but, me, I’ve had a lot worse.” 

“You’ve had a lot better, too.” She sat up and looked at him. “Like last week. And the week before that. You’ve actually been doing really well for a while now. And whether you think you’re ‘used to it’ or not, this kind of stress takes a toll on you.”

“Mary, I’m not stressed.”

“You broke down crying yesterday because I came home late.”

Norman’s temper flickered at the mention of it. “That— I was—“

“Anyway,” Mary interrupted, unwilling to discuss it further, “you rested, and I’m glad. How do you feel now?”

“Fine.” No, that wasn’t quite it. “Great, actually. I’ve half a mind to go back to sleep.”

“Then why don’t you? I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Norman’s chest tightened. “Because— because I— I—“ 

“Hey,” Mary said, her voice softening. “If you want me to leave, I can. I will. It’s okay.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It isn’t that. I want you to stay, I just… I…”

He swallowed. 

“Mary, is this normal?”

“Is what normal?”

“You know—“ Norman gestured vaguely at the bed “—this.”

“What? Hanging out? We do this all the time.”

Irritation crawled up his throat. “No! Not that, I mean… oh, come on, you know…”

“Sharing a room?”

He nodded. 

He certainly hadn’t expected Mary to laugh. 

“Norman,” she began, “of course! Haven’t you ever heard of a sleepover before?”

“I was never allowed to have sleepovers,” he reminded her, bitterly. 

I was doing you a favor, boy. It’s not as if they’d have invited you, anyway. 

Mary’s face fell. “Oh. Right. Well, you are now. So think of it like that.”

“But… aren’t— aren’t sleepovers for girls?” 

Come to think of it, Norman had never heard of boys doing that sort of thing— let alone anyone past high school. 

“Do they have to be?” Mary asked, shrugging. 

Norman didn’t know. That uncomfortable feeling, the one that churned and writhed, was settling into his stomach again. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want me here. I promise. You can say no to me.”

“You— you can lay on the floor,” he decided. Oh, God. That sounded rude. Hastily, he added, “I’m sorry. I meant—“

“Okay!” Mary flung herself off the bed, approached the closet, and withdrew her sleeping bag. “I don’t mind. I have this, anyhow.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.” She lowered it onto her spot beside him; his eyes followed her. “I’ll just sit here and read. Let me know if you need anything.”

Norman nodded and resumed lying placidly on his back. Before long, his eyelids drooped again; his entire body was weighed down with oncoming sleep, waiting for it to wash over him, crouched beneath it like a rat on a railroad. 

“Mary?” he began, steadily less and less awake.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“No, I mean—“ he stifled a yawn “—thanks for respecting me. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Mary reached for his hand and squeezed, her grasp warm in his. 

“Sleep well, okay?” she said softly, before returning to her book.

“Mm…”

What little thought he had left, he had dozed off before he could finish it.

Chapter Text

Mary was busy touching up her mascara when there was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” she said, not looking away, laser-focused. “It’s unlocked.”

From behind the door, Norman spoke, softer than usual. “What are you doing?”

“Fixing my makeup.”

The door creaked open. Barely awake, his shirt only half-buttoned, he squinted at her. “We haven’t even left home yet.”

“I know.” She was experimenting, damn it, this kind of style took time. Afraid that she sounded dismissive, Mary added, “You okay?”

“Mm-hm.” Norman approached the sink, rubbed his chin, pushed her aside ever so slightly. “Just tired.”

She smiled obstinately and shoved him back. “How’d you sleep?”

“Can you—“ he yawned “—‘scuse me. Could you get out of the way? I have to shave.”

“…You do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look over here.”

When he did, Mary carefully held his face in both her hands. Tiny hairs prickled against her skin. 

She beamed. “Aww, you’re fuzzy!”

Norman grumbled and pulled away from her, reaching for the medicine cabinet instead. 

“Yes, Mary,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “I’m an adult man. I shave.”

“Well, sorry! I’ve never seen you like this before.” She sat at the edge of the bathtub. “I didn’t think you could grow facial hair.”

“That’s because I wake up—“

“—ass-crack of dawn, yeah, I know.” Mary finished her mascara, using the bathtub drain as a mirror. 

Norman sighed. “Would it kill you to watch your language?”

“Yeah.”

“One day you’re going to say the wrong thing to the wrong person,” he continued, “and—“

“Too late. You should see the fights I’ve had with my mother.”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“No.”

Norman delicately rubbed aftershave on his face.

“It’s too early for this,” he murmured, though not before glancing fondly back at her. 

Chapter Text

Norman stretched. He twisted first one way, then the other; something in his spine popped. Her legs crossed on the couch, Mary winced. 

“Doesn’t that hurt?” she asked, watching him loosen up and sigh deeply. “It doesn’t sound good at all.”

He arched his back like a cat. “It feels great. You’ll understand when you’re my age.”

“If you need a massage, just say so. But don’t do that. You’ll give yourself arthritis.”

“Oh, yeah?”

There was a challenge in his voice. Norman tilted his head until, to Mary’s horror, the bones in his neck cracked. He straightened out, then got to work on the other side. 

“Norman, stop.”

He cracked each of his fingers individually. 

“I’m gonna throw up,” Mary joked.

Norman resumed stretching. “You know, the arthritis thing is a myth.”

“I don’t care. Stop cracking your bones. It sounds gross.”

He collapsed onto the cushion beside her, rolled his neck and shoulders, and gave one last heaving sigh. The whole ordeal struck Mary as awfully melodramatic. “Come to think of it, though, a massage would be nice.”

She looked eagerly at him. “Do you want one?”

“I…” Blindsided by the offer, Norman tripped over his words. “I— well, I, uh— I was just…”

He trailed off. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said, sheepishly avoiding her eyes. 

“Alright. Turn around.” Mary grabbed his shoulders and adjusted him. “There. Hold still, okay? I’m going to start up here.”

She patted his back. 

“Aren’t you supposed to—“

“Well, I never said I was a massage therapist,” Mary clarified immediately, almost defensively. “But you can trust me. My friends from university told me I was great at it. Now stop squirming. And sit up straight.”

“Sorry. I’m not used to thhhh…”

Mary had dug her fingertips into his shoulders. A tidal wave of relaxation folded over him, pushed through his muscles again and again like lapping water, made him want to lay down and sleep for the rest of the day. His eyes rolled back; as she continued, they drifted shut. Mary was much better at this than he’d anticipated. He would have purred if he could. 

“You’re tense,” she said softly, over the white noise in his brain. “Breathe, okay? In and out. Just breathe.”

“I’m always tense,” Norman told her, hardly coherent. 

“Well, then, let’s fix that.” Her hands moved lower, until they found a tender spot right next to his spine. He groaned; briefly, Mary withdrew. 

“Shit.” He could clearly picture the anxiety on her face. “Does that hurt?”

“I think so.”

Mary’s hand ran over his back until she found it again. Gooseflesh rose on his arms as she worried it, back and forth, back and forth. “Oh, yeah. That’s a knot right there.”

“Knot?”

“Mm-hm. It’s a point where your muscles get all tight and sensitive. You can get them out, though, let me just…”

With the heel of her hand, Mary kneaded the spot aggressively. Pain and comfort alike radiated through his entire body; Norman had to bite back a whimper. At last, when she pressed harder than ever, there was another pop from somewhere in his back. 

He teared up with relief. 

“There,” she said, rubbing his shoulders more softly this time. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Aren’t you relaxed?”

Relaxed didn’t begin to cover it. “Thank you… so much.”

Still massaging him, Mary said, “And this is much better than being your own chiropractor, isn’t it?”

Norman smirked lazily. “Sure.”

Chapter Text

After an hour or so of reading, Mary decided to give her eyes a rest. She lowered Crime and Punishment and examined her surroundings. Just above her, Norman was still snoring peacefully; to one side, the dusty void beneath his bed stared back at her. 

She inched closer to it, feeling nosy. 

Mary’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. As she scanned the lengths of shadow, up and down, back and forth, she found nothing out of the ordinary. An old house key; a single dead moth, suffocated in a cobweb; the hair tie she’d lost last week, and—

She blinked. 

Was that a stuffed animal?

As she drew closer still, she narrowly missed thumping her head against the bedframe. No, she hadn’t been mistaken— that was some sort of plush critter, alright, off-white and flattened as if dejected from years of neglect. She twisted and squeezed halfway under the bed, grasping for it, a fox in a rabbit hole, until her hand closed around something soft. 

Oh, shit, she thought, straining as she emerged back into the fading sunlight. Mary shook the dust from her hair. Seeing it in the light now, she caressed a pair of worn, leporine ears. This isn’t mine. It must be…

Mary glanced up at Norman. 

…Could it be his?

After a glass of milk, Norman looked at Mary inquisitively. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Hm?”

“Penny for your thoughts. It’s an expression. It means—“

“No, yeah, I know what it means.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “There is something on my mind, actually.”

“What is it?” 

He tilted his head. Mary went to his room, then returned with the stuffed rabbit in her hands. 

“Do you recognize this?” she asked, before setting it on the table. When it began to tip over, she hastily sat it up again. The fluff inside must have been uneven. Every time she tried to right it, the poor thing toppled, until watching it bob up and down and back again had become a game in itself. 

She was so caught up in it, she almost didn’t notice that Norman had fallen silent. 

When she looked at him, he was avoiding her eyes— glancing from the door, to the fridge, to a discarded paper towel on the kitchen counter. Anything but her, it seemed. His cheeks were flushed. 

“Norman?”

“Huh?” he began, as if startled. “Oh. Yeah, he’s— it’s mine. Was mine. I don’t really need it anymore, I just…”

Norman sighed. 

“I had it when I was a kid. I needed a stuffed animal, like lots of kids do, so I… I’d… I used to cuddle with it a lot.” His hands fidgeted. When he spoke again, his voice strained somewhat, as if it hurt him to say. “But I really should get rid of it. It’s old and ratty and filthy and—“

Mary stared pensively at the rabbit and picked at its remaining button eye. “Does he have a name?” 

“What?”

“Does he have a name?”

Norman was beet-red now. “Well, I… I’m sure it did, at some point. Years ago.”

“He’s cute,” Mary said. “I’ll keep him if you don’t want him.”

“But—“ As if reflexively, Norman’s hands twitched. He breathed in, steadied himself, then hid them under the table. “Yeah. You can have it.”

Mary stared, perplexed by the air of defeat that had settled over him. “Why are you being so weird about it?”

“I’m not being weird,” he retorted. “It’s just stupid that I held onto it for so long. I should have given it away when I got back from the institution. Or sold it, or thrown it out, or— or something.”

“I don’t see why,” Mary said, absentmindedly snuggling with it now. It smelled faintly of rain and stale candy corn. “He must’ve meant a lot to you, at some point.”

Norman wouldn’t look at her. He only nodded. 

“Then what’s so bad about that?”

“Well… I shouldn’t need it anymore.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I’m supposed to grow up, and have adult coping mechanisms, and— and grown men don’t have stuffed animals they cuddle with.”

Mary squeezed the rabbit’s plush belly, thinking. 

“Do you really believe that,” she began, “or do you just think you’re supposed to?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Norman,” Mary said, “there’s nothing stupid about it. Lots of people like stuffed animals. Hell, I do, too.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “You should see my bed back home. It’s covered in them. Actually…”

Remembering something, Mary went over to the coat rack by the door and fished in her purse.

“Here,” she said, pulling out an orange, rotund toy. She couldn’t restrain herself from smiling fondly at it; when she flipped it over, its plastic eyes looked serenely back at her. Fur slightly discolored, perhaps better-suited as a paperweight now than anything to cuddle with, it was nevertheless a reliable friend through and through. Mary set it on the table, next to the rabbit. 

Norman tilted his head. “Is it a cat?”

“Ever heard of Garfield?”

“…The president?”

“No, the comic. You know, in the papers?” Mary’s grin faltered as she tried to jog his memory. “Jim Davis?”

Norman stared blankly at her. 

“Guess not,” she said softly. “Anyway, I bought him a couple years ago, and he’s been with me ever since. I always keep him in my purse for good luck. He hasn’t failed me yet!”

“I guess he is cute.”

“Right? See? You don’t think I’m dumb for having a stuffed animal, do you?”

“…No,” Norman decided. “But—“

“Hey. No ‘buts.’” 

She handed the rabbit over to him, and his eyes widened with worry. 

“It’s okay,” Mary said. “Take him. He makes you happy, right?”

Norman gave her a shy nod, before pulling it into his arms. At once, his entire body relaxed; all the tension and embarrassment wound tightly within him seemed to leave with a comforted sigh. 

“Thank you.”

Mary’s head rested on the Garfield plush, as though it were a pillow. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sure he didn’t like being stuck under the bed very much.” He paused for a moment, as if in thought. “He… he does have a name, by the way.”

“Really? What is it?”

His face was tinged with pink. 

“It’s, um… I— I always called him Bunny,” Norman said, looking away. “I know it’s a little—“

“That’s adorable.”

“…Is it?”

Mary played with a stray bit of orange fur. “Yeah! Are you kidding? That’s so sweet. Bun and Garf. They can be friends.”

“Like us.”

“Yeah.” She beamed up at him. “Like us.”

Chapter Text

Mary hadn’t gotten dolled up in ages. She was halfway through realizing it when she caught herself— dolled up? Really? Who was she, her mother?— but it was true. By the time she’d met Norman, the only product she used had been mascara. Maybe a tinge of blush, if she was feeling provocative. A few months in, though, Mary found herself stepping outside every day with no makeup to speak of. 

Was it freeing? Maybe. Sure, it had taken her a while to feel presentable without it, but she liked to think she was getting there. She’d lost interest in trying to impress anyone else; and impressing herself was always out of the question, with or without makeup. It certainly hadn’t been the revolutionary act some people said it was. As far as she was concerned, it was hardly even something she’d done so much as it was something that had happened. 

But it was nice to have a few extra minutes on the way to class. 

One rainy Memorial Day, when she and Norman had nothing to do and nowhere to go (for once!), Mary decided that she missed being extravagant. She scoured her room for every palette, brush, tube, and sponge she had.

Then she set out into the dining room, looking for a guinea pig.

“Come on, they’re just brushes,” Mary teased, dragging Norman into her bedroom by the wrist. “They’re not gonna bite you. Sit down.”

She eased herself onto the mattress, taking care not to sit on any of her meticulously-laid supplies. Norman followed suit. 

“When you said you had a surprise for me, this isn’t what I imagined,” he stammered, eyes darting nervously around the room. 

“Well, what did you imagine?”

“I don’t know. Are… are you going to…” He gulped. “You’re not going to do my makeup, are you?”

“Only if you want me to.”

Norman studied her arsenal and seemed to drift into deep thought. His brow furrowed. This was a great deal more serious to him, Mary thought, than it was to her. 

Hastily, she said, “You don’t have to—”

“Sure,” he interrupted. “I’ve always wondered what it feels like.”

“Great!” One look at his boyish smile, and Mary was convinced. “I’ll just be doing your eyes, okay? Maybe a little blush, if you want it. Hold on, let me look through these… I’m not sure which one matches your complexion, so I might have to test one on your wrist or something. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” His eyes were on her as she clicked open eyeshadow palette after eyeshadow palette, scrutinizing each one. When Mary looked up, he was staring, mesmerized, at one awash with red. Norman leaned forward to examine it. 

“Do you like that one?” Mary asked.

“I think so.” He squinted as if struggling to read, then turned it around to show it to her. “This bright one at the top is nice.”

“That’s…” Mary leaned in. “Pomegranate? Hey, that one’s my favorite, too! You want it?”


At this notion, Norman brightened immensely. “I sure do!”

“Give me your hand.” She reached for a small brush, dusted it with red powder, and applied it to his wrist. “Does that look okay?” 

He’d been looking at her pensively. Stealing a glance at the palette, Norman asked, “How can you read that tiny print?”

“I dunno. Maybe your eyes are bad. We’re going to let that sit for a while, just to make sure you don’t have a reaction to it.”

“Reaction?”

“Mm-hm. You know, like an allergic reaction?”

Norman tilted his head, examining the bright red streak on his skin. “I didn’t know you could be allergic to makeup.”

“Sure you can. It’s all just chemicals, like anything else. Or it might be poorly made, or I could be applying it wrong. We’ll have to wait and see. If anything itches or burns, you let me know right away, okay?”

“Okay.”

The two sat in silence for a moment— Mary fiddling with the hinges on a palette full of blue, Norman avoiding her eyes. Outside, a pigeon cooed. 

The rain must have stopped, Mary thought.

“So,” Norman began hesitantly, “what should we—”

“Oh, shit, hold on.” Mary took his hand again. She hadn’t realized he was speaking. “I forgot to show you, but check this out…”

Carefully, Mary slid off the bed and went to her desk. She turned on her lamp, quickly examined its cord, and attempted to bring it over to the bed. She’d overestimated how far the cord could stretch; it stopped her midway. Reconsidering her decision now, Mary took a few steps back, held the lamp at arm’s length, and angled it slightly downward.

Norman was baffled. “What are you doing?”

“C’mere.”

“Why?”

“Do it. Put your hand under the light.”

Norman obediently approached her.

“The other side,” Mary said. “With the eyeshadow on it.”

“Oh!” He gasped. “It’s glittery!”

“That’s right!” Mary tried to hold back a fit of surprised laughter. At last, she let it overtake her. She’d never seen him so sincerely joyful, his eyes so brightly lit from within. She was still chortling as she returned her lamp to its rightful place, turning it off and resuming her position on the bed.

“How long should we wait?” Norman asked, following her.

She shrugged. “I don’t have a specific time. Does anything hurt? Itch? Burn?”

Norman looked at his wrist again, as if trying to search for signs of pain. “No.”

“Great. Then let’s take this off…” Mary took a moist towelette and wiped the eyeshadow from Norman’s skin with all the care of a volunteer rubbing crude oil off a seagull. “There we go. That’s going to look great when it’s on your eyes.”

He nodded excitedly. “What order do you usually do your makeup in?”

“I tend to go with eyeshadow, then eyeliner, and then mascara,” she said. “Or I used to, when I did all that. Sometimes, if I knew I was going to be out all night, I’d put on some primer.”

“What’s primer?” Norman asked, enraptured. He squeezed his eyes shut as Mary reached for them with a slightly larger brush. 

“It’s like… it’s like this liquidy substance. Relax your eyes.” He did. “There we go. Uh, primer is what I use to hide minor stuff, like freckles or wrinkles or anything like that. It goes on before your makeup. I knew some people who did even more than that, they’d put concealer on after. And I knew others who didn’t use it at all.”

“Hm.”

Mary finished one eye and moved on to the other. “Looking good so far.”

His mouth twitched as he tried to fight an enormous smile. “When you went out at night, what did you usually do?”

“Oh, typical college kid stuff. Drank, got slushies, pulled all-nighters in the library, terrorized the local populace.” Mary chuckled. “Sometimes I went to parties, but eventually I realized they weren’t for me.”

“Why not?”

“Too many creepy dudes hanging around.”

“Oh,” Norman said softly.

“Yeah. For a while it sucked, but eventually I started to love it. It was nice having more time to myself, time to study. Besides, I wasn’t really missing much. When you’ve been to one college party, you’ve been to all of them. Open your eyes.”

In his eyeshadow, Norman almost looked youthful. Honey seemed to swirl in the depths of his eyes.

“Wow,” Mary said, sighing faintly. “You’re gorgeous.”

Norman flushed, his cheeks as red as his eyelids. “I— um, I… I’m— I’m— I’m—”

“But we’re still not done.” Teasingly, she swatted his nose once with the brush. “Do you want to see how you look?”

Norman shook his head— a gentle motion, as if he feared disrupting his makeup. “No, I want it to be a surprise. I trust you.”

“Aw, thank you.”

“With my life.”

Now it was Mary’s turn to blush. Trying to cover it, she reached for a tube of eyeliner and popped it open.

“Hold still,” she said. Norman leaned back apprehensively. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful. It looks a little sharp, but it’s basically a pen.”

“A pen…” Norman swallowed. “On my eyelids?”

“Yep. Now stop squirming.”

She grabbed his collar, held him in place, and proceeded to do his eyeliner one-handed.

“The first eye looks fabulous, if I do say so myself. Now, let’s see if the other one turns out as good…”

Norman spoke through gritted teeth. “Shouldn’t we have tested this one first?”

“Maybe!” In a tremendous stroke of luck, Mary drew a perfect, razor-sharp wing. “Oh my God, that’s beautiful.”

Finally free from her grasp, Norman seemed to itch with excitement. “Can I see?”

“Nuh-uh. It’s a surprise, remember? You said it, not me.”

He harrumphed.

“Don’t worry. We’re almost done. Let me just… you really don’t need mascara, you know,” she said as she applied it. “You have longer lashes than me. And… with that, we’re done. How does it feel?”

“Uh… a little weird.” Norman laughed sheepishly. “Feels like I’m doing something I shouldn’t be. Feels… rebellious.”

“Do you like it?”

“I think so.”

“Good!” Mary grabbed both his hands in a fit of excitement. “Let me grab a mirror for you, okay?”

Norman tensed— the subtlest contraction of muscles beneath her fingers. Concerned, she looked up and examined his face, as if trying to read what was bothering him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

He relaxed in an instant, smiling as if nothing had happened. “Yeah, why?”

His hands shook as she gave him her little shell-shaped compact mirror. Whether with excitement or trepidation or something in between, he didn’t know. Thinking about how he looked was one thing. This was a different beast. Fighting down the sickness that always haunted him whenever he saw his reflection, he closed his eyes, opened the mirror— and didn’t look at it.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mary’s voice was distant now, as though she were fading away.

Norman swallowed the lump in his throat. It bobbed back up again. “I’m fine. I just… I need a minute.”

“Take your time.”

He sat still, waiting for his resolve to build, imagining his nerves coiling inside of him until they formed neat, tough stacks. When he’d painstakingly coiled up every inch of his body— at least, every inch he could imagine— he opened his eyes and glanced hastily at the mirror. His eyes darted away as soon as they reached it.

“Norman,” Mary said, almost disappointed.

“I’m sorry. This is new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’d think you’ve never seen yourself before.” She gathered up her makeup and brushes and got to neatly organizing them in a bag. “I mean, come on.”

His heart ached. Mary was supposed to understand. She always understood. And yet… he couldn’t blame her this time, could he? How could he expect her to get it when he’d never been able to explain it to himself? He didn’t know why he hated mirrors, or why mirrors hated him. He couldn’t tell her about how he saw waves and ripples that most people didn’t; about how, to him, every mirror may as well have come from a twisted funhouse. 

He sighed and faced the compact mirror at last. When he did, the waves captured the light around them: red, and gold from a beam of sunlight crossing the room, and a deep caramel from the way his eyes caught it. Together the hues danced and spun until they formed a warm, dizzying kaleidoscope, intercut with rays of black.

He was…

He was…

Norman was…

His lip quivered. Before he could think to stop it, he began to cry. Mary rushed over to him, leaping across the bed in a single, catlike motion. 

“Woah, woah, hey,” she said, gently grabbing his shoulders. Mary laughed nervously. “Don’t cry, you’re going to ruin your mascara! What’s wrong?”

“I feel so pretty,” he sobbed. He buried his face in his hands, not caring whether he ruined it or not, his heart swollen with an emotion he didn’t understand. Something bittersweet, adjacent to joy, overwhelming in its intensity. At the warmth of her arms wrapped around him, he cried harder, until it hurt to even think about forming words.

“Shh,” Mary said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay… it’s okay… you are pretty, Norman. You look wonderful. I’m so glad you like it. Shh, shh…”

“I—” he couldn’t lower his voice. His face had begun to itch from the makeup smeared across it, secured in place with his tears. “I’m… I’m… I’m…”

“I know. I know." She patted his back. "It’s alright. You did great. I had a lot of fun."

"Me, too."

"We can try this again someday, if you'd like."

“Maybe.” Norman sniffled. “When I can handle it. For now, I— I think I need a break from makeup for a while.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“You’re… you promise it’s alright?”

“Of course I do.” She ruffled his hair. “Let’s take all this off, okay?”

Norman chuckled, even despite the pain in his chest. “Yeah. It sure was fun while it lasted.”

“It was,” Mary said, reaching for another towelette. Her voice was almost playful. “But I guess it wasn’t meant to be right now. We loved it, and now we must let it go.”

Chapter Text

Mary had wanted nothing more than to go home and forget today. Forget about Lila, forget about school, forget about her dead father and her lonely afternoons and her mounting list of failures. She marched up the stairs. Jabbed the keys into the doorknob like she was gouging out a human heart. Flung the door open. 

If anyone fucking looks at me, she thought, I’ll go ballistic, I swear to God. 

She was not prepared to see Norman at the dining table, intently reading one of her books. Her books. Goddamnit, hadn’t everyone taken enough from her, Do you have the slightest idea how hard I worked to get those, I fought like hell so I could study literature, I busted my ass and I made my mother fucking hate me hate me hate me hate me and now you have the audacity to just—

She took a breath in. Swallowed her rage. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

Norman jumped. “Huh? Oh! Hi, Mary! How was—“

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…” 

For the first time, his stammer grated on her nerves. Mary was on the verge of a hernia, her teeth gritted, her throat dry, I will not snap, I will not yell, I will not turn into her. 

“I— I’m reading,” Norman said. “I’m, uh, I just started, um…”

He checked the cover.

“…Homer’s Odyssey?” He said it tentatively, with a wide, sheepish grin, as though he would be penalized for getting it wrong. “You know, I think you were right when you said my eyes are bad. I—“

“Why?” Mary stood rigid in the doorway. 

“Because…” Norman’s brow furrowed with confusion. “Because it was there. Why else?”

He finally took the hint. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. He stood up, hesitated, then approached her. Something sparked in Mary. Something with teeth. 

She stormed over to the couch. “Does it fucking look like it?”

“Language.” Norman closed the door. 

“To Hell with my fucking language!” Mary whirled around and raised her voice. “Answer the question! Does it look like I’m alright?”

“No, but—“ 

“Exactly!” Seized by unholy vitriol, she took up her bag and flung it onto the floor, not caring if she broke anything. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to! Okay? I’m not alright and I don’t want to talk about it!”

Norman had cowered. Only when Mary threw herself onto the couch did he loosen up. She couldn’t allow herself to feel guilty. If she allowed it, she would cry. Tears already pricked at her eyes. She couldn’t risk coaxing them further. Norman almost tiptoed back to the table, as though Mary were a sleeping tiger, as though she’d maul him if he made too much noise. She might have. She didn’t entirely know. 

She was being—

Selfish. Just like the rest of your generation. Lila’s voice still rang clear in her head. Mary wished Norman would allow liquor. How else was she meant to forget that damned phone call? I’m the only family you have! I’ve done everything for you, I do everything for you, and you abandon me! All for some slob you won’t even tell me about! It’s Bates again, isn’t it? Whatever he does to you, you’ll have had it coming! I’m done trying to—

“Mary?”

She needed a minute. Tears were rolling down her face now. Mary wiped them up with her sleeve and tightened her throat until it stopped shaking. “Yeah?”

“I…” Norman’s voice became firm. “I don’t like it when you talk to me like that. I’ve been nothing but kind to you, and I want to help, and… and… and I’ve been yelled at enough for one lifetime, okay? So please don’t do it again. Thanks.”

“Alright.” The dam cracked. “I won’t. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive y… are you crying?”

She’d burst into tears. That was all it took: I’m sorry, I forgive you. Words she’d heard precious little of before him. Words she didn’t deserve to hear. Not after how she’d treated him. Not after lashing out like that. 

“No,” she said, voice fraught with desperation, fraying as pain overtook her chest. “I’m— I’m not— I’m—“

“Hey…” 

Norman emerged into the room and sat, his movements careful and deliberate, on the couch next to Mary. She couldn’t look at his eyes. Whether it be her own pathetic reflection or a compassion held deep within them, she knew what she would see. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t offer to touch her. Didn’t come closer. Wouldn’t, until she told him to. 

“Mary, what’s the matter?” he asked softly. 

She bawled. “I don’t know why she hates me so much.”

“Who?”

“Her.”

“Your mother?”

“She’s not my mother!” Shit. The neighbors definitely heard that. “Lila! I don’t know why she hates me so fucking much! I don’t know what I did to her! All I ever did was love her and want to make her happy and try to be with her and please her ‘cause she’s been all alone since Dad died and— and— and—“

She buried her face in her hands and allowed the waves to overtake her. Mary wept. Drowned. From the way Norman reached out to embrace her… she couldn’t explain it, but the tenderness told her something. It must have hit close to home. 

She didn’t bother pulling away. 

“Come here,” he said, his voice a low rumble now. Like a cat’s purr. Mary allowed him to take hold of her; to bring her closer, until they echoed their positions from that warm, nerve-racking, fragile night last June. He held her head to his chest and ran his fingers through her hair. He should have been repulsed. He should have banished her to her room until she was normal again. Why didn’t he? They both knew that Mary was supposed to be the stable one, the rock in a tumultuous sea. She wasn’t supposed to allow the waves to overtake her. Her one job, her one duty to Norman, and she’d failed. She wasn’t good enough. She didn’t deserve to be his—

This is why you don’t have friends, Mary. 

In his arms, she fell apart. God. She hadn’t done that since she was a little girl. But he was the perfect environment for it: a safe, quiet room, with some ambience or other running in the background, full of dusty pillows and well-loved toys and sunlight filtering through a grimy window. Every time she tried to speak— to say sorry, perhaps, though she couldn’t be sure— she only strained her throat fruitlessly. Norman wasn’t put off in the slightest. He only rubbed her back, scratched her head, shushed her whenever words failed. No doubt because it was her go-to whenever she comforted him. Her chest throbbed with emotions that couldn’t find their way out. She wanted to scream in abject pain. When the tears worsened still, Norman embraced her fully— both arms, this time— and rocked her back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. 

“I’ve got you,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I’m here. Mary, I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Can you hear me?”

She nodded feebly. 

“Good. Deep breaths, alright? In and out. Like you always tell me. Here. Listen to my heartbeat.”

She would have done anything to quiet the raging, screaming despair in her head. Mary pressed her ear to Norman’s chest. 

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

Mary hadn’t expected it to be so steady. (Had Norman calmed himself for her? The notion made her want to weep again.) Nor had she expected to hear so much. The rhythmic pulse beneath his ribs; the rise and fall of his lungs; the occasional contraction of his gut. The place in his throat where every hush or hum or gentle word started. His inner workings. His machinations. He was human and alive; and she was human and alive; and recognizing that, already, was an improvement. 

She must have calmed down considerably; because Norman patted her head and said, “There. See? Isn’t that better?”

Mary could only nod. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She buried her head in his chest, craned her neck to hear his viscera again, then cleared her throat. Her voice came out tight and nasally. “It’s just… I don’t know. She called me. And I wanted so badly to scream at her, and tell her to never contact me again, but I— I couldn’t. I can’t. I’ve felt so shitty about it all day. I just keep crawling back to her. I’ll leave for a little bit, but it always ends the same way. I want to say she makes me come back, but the truth is that I fucking let her. Every time!

“And then,” Mary continued, unable to stop now that she’d started, “because you never just feel shitty about one thing, right, that snowballed into me thinking about everything else. Like my dad, and how it’s like I’m in freshman year all over again, because everyone’s got this whole college thing down pat except for me, and I have no one but myself to blame for it. And— and the breakup with that asshole Rhonda, way back in January. You remember Rhonda, right? Who am I kidding, of course you do, I couldn’t shut the fuck up about her.

“Except, really, I was the asshole. I was stupid, and if I hadn’t been, we’d still be together. It’s been eating me alive ever since. The one time someone actually liked me back, actually gave a shit about me, and I blew it, like a moron. So now, here I am, feeling sorry for myself.”

Norman was incredulous, bordering on indignant. “You’re not stupid! Mary, you are not stupid. You made some mistakes, sure. I— I mean, I think. Based on what you told me. I don’t actually know. You could just be beating yourself up.”

”Deserved,” Mary said.

He ignored it. “But the point is, you’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t met a whole lot of people.”

Norman didn’t respond to this, either. He just kept rocking her back and forth. Probably because he knew she was right. But, if nothing else, Mary was beginning to understand why he liked repetitive motion so much. Unlike the rest of the world, it was predictable. Soothing. Safe.

“I’m really sorry.” It had taken him a while, but he finally spoke again. “It all just sounds so horrible. I… I’d feel sorry for myself, too, if I were you.”

He paused for a moment. Probably thinking. Mary resisted the urge to start rocking herself, to whine piteously until he continued.

Then: “Can I ask why you want to cut Lila off?”

“Because—“ oh, great, here came the waterworks again “—because I can’t deal with it anymore! She’s never happy with me. She hasn’t been since I was a kid. It’s almost like she’s mad at me for growing up, or something. And she hates you. And I feel like it’s all my fault, and I have worked my ass off trying to fix it, and—“

“How could it possibly be your fault?”

Mary had to stop and think. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “These things are usually my fault. You know. Interpersonal things. Maybe— maybe if I’d just tried harder, if I’d been better… there are so many things I could do to be enough for her. But why the hell would I do them? They make me fucking miserable. And it’s clear I make her miserable, too. I’m not the victim here. We’re just… not good for each other. Like a couple that didn’t work out.”

“A daughter is a poor substitute for a lover,” Norman said softly. Maybe to himself. 

Mary had to make sure she heard him right. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

She nuzzled his chest again. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.   

Norman’s voice stayed soft. “Do you want anything to drink? There’s still some Gatorade left in the fridge, if you’d like any.”

Mary shook her head. 

“You sure?”

Nod. 

“Alright. Are you hungry?”

No. 

“Well, let me know if you need anything.”

Nod, again. 

Silence. 

“Hey, Mary?”

“Hm?”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I…” Norman hesitated. “I think you’re really brave.”

“Yeah, right. I’m such a pussy, I can’t even say no to my own mother.”

“But you try. You keep trying. Far more than I ever did. Your mother sounds a little like mine. They’re very different, of course, but they’re… similar.”

Norman swallowed. 

“I wish I’d been as brave as you when I was your age,” he said. “Maybe things would be different.”

Mary was too tired to muse about what might have been. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“The point is,” Norman continued, “I’m proud of you, okay? That’s the first thing. Even if you don’t think I should be, I am. And I think you… well… I don’t know if you should break ties with her, but you still can. If you really want to. And it isn’t your fault. At least from what I hear.”

Mary found it in herself to smile. “That’s rich coming from you. Mr. ‘My-Mother-Wasn’t-That-Bad.’”

“I know.” Norman laughed softly. “I know. But everything I’ve said, I mean. Okay?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“I’m sorry for—“

“No.” His voice got firm again. “Don’t apologize to me. If I’m allowed to cry, so are you. Frankly, I can’t believe it took you this long.”

“But I can’t get like this. It’s not fair to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t help you when I’m like this!” More tears fell. She was back to sobbing before she knew it. “And you already go through enough! The last thing I want is to add to it! I just want to help you, Norman. I’m supposed to help you.”

“Mary…”

“And there’s all this shit I’ve done that I have to make up for, and… you deserve better than this. You deserve better than me.”

Norman shook his head. “That’s not true. We’re friends. You can’t be my doctor and my friend at the same time, can you?”

Well, when you put it that way…

“No, I… I guess not,” Mary said, clinging to him. 

“I think…” Norman’s movements had turned absentminded. Mechanical. A brush of fingers against her hair, a moment of swaying— she could tell he was deep in thought now. “I think… you… you act like the kind of person you needed once.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I— I think that’s why you’re so nice. And if that’s the kind of person you need… well, why push it away?”

“Because I’m the one who helps people. Not the one who is helped. That’s just how it is. I worked so hard to get where I am, and if I just let someone coddle me—“

“It’s not coddling.” He shook his head. “You know, I think you’re just not used to it. I used to feel a lot like that, too. Before I met you, I didn’t think I deserved help or friends or comfort.”

“I… I…” Mary spluttered. Before her? She had changed something for him? Made something better?

Norman shushed her again. “But that’s why we have each other. Look, whatever kind of person you need, I want to be that for you. Okay? You deserve to have a rock just as much as I do. But you’ve got to let people in. Because if you just give and give and get nothing back... that’s not living. I don’t know if I can be the person you need, but I want to try.”

Mary closed her eyes. Her voice was rough now, softened with exhaustion. “Why?” was all she could manage. 

“Why not?” Norman asked, rubbing her back. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. I’m a real handful.”

He shook his head. “Not to me, Mary. Never to me.”