So I'll call it a ficlet. *shrug*
Veronica Mars, ladies and gentlemen. You have to put up with my new crack.
Her name is Veronica.
That hadn’t changed, even if everything else did. Names don’t change when people do, even if they should, because something has to mark the change, something else than appearance, something else than pain.
Her hair is shorter, her eyes are colder, her tongue is sharper, but she’s still Veronica, scent of summer, taste of honey. Skin so soft it would bruise if his fingers dug a little bit deeper. And they do, because he he needs his perfection flawed, marker with red.
Lilly would love the irony.
Her name was Lilly and she was nothing but white and pure. Names don’t describe us, even if they should, and they sound as hollow during our lives as they do after we’re gone.
He wonders if she laughs at them from heaven and hopes not, because Lilly would bore herself to death in heaven. He loved that about her, just as he loved the smile, the spice and the speed. She wasn’t perfect and that was alright.
His name is Logan and that doesn’t matter.
His name is Logan Echolls and that matters too much.