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wheresmynaya · 4 years

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Lopez’s 8 Ch.8 | Brittana

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

It’s the first Monday of May and the sun is just barely peeking up over the horizon when Brittany slips back into the loft after a morning run and a quick stop at the corner café. Everyone’s still sound asleep aside from Emma who is preparing to spend the day with Rachel Berry. She’s nothing but nerves as she packs her things and she’s so focused on her task that she doesn’t even notice Brittany approach her.

“Morning,” Brittany greets.

Despite Brittany’s softness, Emma jumps at the unexpected sound.

“Sorry,” Brittany smiles apologetically, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Emma laughs nervously and goes back to packing, “That’s alright. Just got caught up in my thoughts, I suppose. You’re up early, didn’t think I’d see anyone before I left.”

“Running helps me focus,” Brittany shrugs before extending her hand. She has been holding two takeaway cups and offers one of them to Emma, “Here. I got this for you.”

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful but I don’t drink coffee,” Emma declines politely, “It gives me the jitters.”

Brittany smiles, “It’s tea. Lemongrass and ginger, I saw you drinking some the other day.”

Emma’s shoulders ease and she gives Brittany a genuine smile as she accepts the drink, “That’s perfect, thank you.”

“It’s cool,” Brittany returns the smile, “I figured you could use it. It’s going to be a big day.”

“So…I see you and Santana have fixed things,” Emma comments as she takes a sip of her tea, “Or rather, I hear you and Santana have fixed things.”

Brittany blushes, “Yeah, we have.”

Emma smiles proudly, “I’m glad. I didn’t really care for how dicey it was getting there for a second.”

“Neither,” Brittany nods, “We’re working on it though. Sorry if we made things awkward.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just happy you two are figuring it out,” Emma winks before letting out a sigh, “Well, I should get going. Rachel has a pretty rigorous morning routine and she insists that I am there for it all.”

“Of course,” Brittany chuckles, “I’ll see you later then. Good luck!”

Emma bows her head before wheeling away her belongings.

When Brittany pokes her head into her room, she’s pleased to see Santana’s still sound asleep. The brunette has gravitated towards Brittany’s side of the bed and she hugs Brittany’s pillow to her chest. It makes Brittany smile as she tiptoes in, closing the door gently behind her, and settles on the edge of the bed.

When it dips, Santana let’s out a hum and stretches a hand for Brittany. The blonde takes it and places a gentle kiss atop it once she sinks down a little lower. She manages to pull her pillow away from Santana’s hold with one hand – the other is still holding onto a takeaway cup – and let’s the sleepy con artist cuddle into her side instead.

“Mornin’ San,” Brittany whispers as she caresses Santana’s bare shoulder. Her fingers trail down between Santana’s shoulder blades, tracing the smooth skin there.

Santana lets out a mumble and snuggles in closer.

“You gonna wake up?” Brittany whispers again, coaxing Santana from her slumber. She can tell by the subtle movements and sleepy sounds that Santana’s starting to awaken.

“Do I have to?” Santana asks groggily.

Brittany chuckles lightly at the question. This version of Santana is probably one of her favorites – all soft and sleepy, with her voice doing that sexy raspy thing. God, she’s so in love with this woman. If it wasn’t Game Day for them, Brittany would totally strip down and lie in bed with her all day.

“Yeah, you have to,” Brittany says and trails her fingers up over Santana’s hipbone, “Come on, I brought you a coffee. Don’t want it to get cold, do you?”

“You brought me coffee?” Santana asks and she sounds a little more awake now. She rolls a little and looks up at Brittany for the first time that morning.

Brittany can’t help but give her a goofy grin. To think they almost didn’t make it, look at them now. It’s almost like those past few days didn’t even happen. It obviously did because they’re more aware now, but they have so easily fallen right back into their rhythm as if no time had passed.

“I did,” Brittany answers and holds the cup in front of her.

Santana lights up even more and slowly pushes to sit up so that she can take the cup in her hands. She can already smell the roasted goodness and hums at the scent.

“You’re the best,” Santana says before taking a sip. Once she finishes, she leans in to kiss Brittany’s soft lips, “Thank you.”

“Big day today, thought we’d start it off right,” Brittany replies coolly.

Santana just smiles as she settles into Brittany’s side and sips her coffee slow. She has missed starting off her mornings like this and she’s so happy that she gets to do it all over again tomorrow. She never considered herself a morning person, but with Brittany? She might just change her mind.

A few minutes go by of them just sitting comfortably in each other’s silence when Brittany speaks up again.

“You ready for today?” She asks.

Santana smirks and downs the rest of her coffee, “I was born ready. What about you?”

“Totally,” Brittany mirrors her with a cocky grin, “We’ll be just fine.”

Noon;

“We are not fine!” Brittany says as she briskly crosses the common area to where Santana and Quinn are standing. There’s an edge to her voice and it instantly raises a couple red flags for Santana.

“What?” Quinn questions, “What’s wrong?”

“Look,” Brittany holds out her phone and swipes to play a video she received from Emma minutes ago.

Santana and Quinn lean in and watch as a guard uses some type of key to unlock the Toussaint’s clasp. When the video finishes, the three of them exchange looks of surprise: they had no idea the necklace needed a key.

“Mercedes,” Santana calls out as she walks towards the hacker, “Can you bring this video up on your computer? We’re going to need a better look at this thing.”

The four of them watch as Mercedes plays the video over and over again trying to figure out how they can fix this in time. The more time that passes without finding a solution, the more frustrated Santana becomes.

“Fuck,” Santana mutters as she begins to pace, “A fucking key? Who does that? Who unlocks a necklace with a damn key? It’s ridiculous.”

“Must be a thing when the necklace is worth millions,” Quinn replies. She’s still studying the video along with Mercedes while Brittany tries to get Santana to quit pacing.

“You’re making me nervous,” Brittany chastises Santana lightly. She takes a hold of Santana’s shoulders and runs her palms down the woman’s arms, “Relax. We’re professionals, we can come up with something.”

“I’ve got it!” Mercedes blurts out suddenly. Santana and Brittany rush to her sides as she begins to explain, “I’ve got a friend that messes with this kind of stuff. I can give her a call and see what she can do?”

Santana relaxes, “Make the call.”

Within ten minutes, Mercedes manages to enlist a friend who can confidently replicate the mechanism and have it finished within an hour. Santana’s so damn happy she nearly hugs the woman with all her strength.

“Okay great,” Santana nods, “That gives Tina just enough time to make her adjustments. Thank you, Mercedes.”

Mercedes just lifts her shoulder casually, “That’s nothin’. Someone will need to meet up with her though.”

“I can do it,” Brittany answers, “I have to pick up the catering van anyway.”

“And the food truck?” Santana questions.

Brittany shakes her head, “That one’s already organized. They’re going to park it so Mercedes and I will be set for later.”

Santana lets out a sigh of relief. She didn’t need this kind of scare so early in the day, but maybe now that it’s out of the way it’ll be smooth sailing from here.

Brittany’s out in the garage preparing to head off when Santana enters. She’s hugging her arms to her chest in that special way that let’s Brittany know she’s nervous about something.

“What are you doing out here?” Brittany asks. She’s straddling her bike and has got her helmet in her hands, “I thought you and Quinn were working on something?”

“She’ll be fine without me for a few minutes,” Santana shrugs as she closes the distance, “I just wanted to speak with you, just us.”

Brittany smirks and looks around the room, “You know, we don’t always have to talk in the garage. There are other places too.”

Santana relaxes a little at the joke, “Yeah, I know. You’re just always out here when I want you.”

Brittany softens and watches how Santana lingers just a few feet away.

“Come over here,” Brittany nods until Santana’s close enough to pull in, “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing crazy,” Santana replies as she wraps her arms around Brittany’s shoulders. The leather of Brittany’s jacket is cool against Santana’s skin, “I wanted to say good luck. I’ve been trying to think of something that’s more profound than that, but I’m not really getting anywhere.”

“I’m just going to pick something up,” Brittany chuckles, “I’ll be back.”

“I’m meaning for tonight,” Santana explains with a timid smile, “By the time you get back, we’ll be starting and I might not have the chance to say it. You know, with it just being us, and I wanted to have a moment before everything happens.”

Brittany swoons and her cheeks feel hot all of a sudden. This is Santana trying to open herself up to Brittany, to put her heart out there even if it’s only something small. It makes Brittany’s heart feel so full to see Santana already putting in the effort she always knew the brunette was capable of.

“I love you,” Brittany sighs because she can’t really think of any other words she wants to say right now, “Like so much.”

It’s Santana’s turn to swoon, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she leans in for a kiss. It’s slow and she can feel Brittany’s tongue running against her bottom lip while her arm wraps around Santana’s waist as they press even closer together.

It starts to heat up even more, but thankfully Brittany’s helmet acts as a barrier between them before they could get entirely distracted. When they finally pull away, Santana’s lips are swollen and Brittany’s got a dazed look in her eye.

Santana takes in a breath and pats Brittany’s thigh, “Good luck, Britt.”

“Short and sweet,” Brittany smirks, “Just like you.”

“Hey,” Santana fakes a glare.

“It was a compliment,” Brittany teases.

“Right,” Santana says with her eyes narrowed, “Well good luck. I love you.”

Brittany only winks as she slips into her helmet, “Thanks, but you don’t need luck when you’re this good.”

Santana shakes her head although she can’t help but smile at how suave Brittany can be.

“You be careful on that thing,” Santana warns as Brittany starts up the motorcycle.

“You got it, babe!” Brittany calls out before slapping down her visor and riding off.

Santana just watches until she’s out of view, never growing weary of how hot Brittany looks in that leather jacket. It’s just what she needs to get her through the next hour.

Mid-afternoon;

The crew – consisting of everyone minus Emma – is dressed in blank pants and tops with black beanies snug on most of their heads.

“Why are we all dressed like cat burglars?” Tina points out as she lugs a heavy case across the garage to store in the catering van Brittany returned with.

Sugar sits atop one of the cases and inspects her nails, “For the aesthetic, obviously. Everyone looks good in black.”

Tina just rolls her eyes as she fails to lift the case she’s pulling into the van, “Are you going to help or would you rather watch me struggle?”

Sugar quirks a brow and smiles mischievously, “You really want me to answer that?”

Santana walks by with Brittany and slaps at the back of her head, “Go help her, Sugar.”

The pickpocket let’s out a dramatic sigh and kicks off of the case to do as she’s told. Brittany just chuckles at the two while they walk over to Mercedes and Quinn.

“Got everything?” Santana asks Mercedes. The hacker has a few cases of her own ready to load into the van resting by her feet.

She nods, “Yeah. Should be easy enough to get set up. Got the other cases you asked for over here too.”

“Great,” Santana smiles and looks to Brittany, “Can you help them? I’ll trying wrangle those two over there so we can get a move on.”

“You got it, boss!” Brittany replies eagerly and gets to work with Quinn and Mercedes.

A moment later, they’re all piling into the van and Brittany hops into the driver seat. It’s a tight fit to get five women seated in the back, but they manage to squeeze in. Soon Quinn is passing out earpieces for everyone and once they’re is situated, Quinn runs through a sound check.

“Mercedes?”

“Check.”

“Santana?”

“Check.”

“Sugar?”

“Hey girl hey!”

“Tina?”

“Check.”

“Britt?”

“Check.”

“Okay, great!” Quinn nods before she leans forward a little so that she can see Santana. They exchange satisfied smiles before sitting back in their spots to continue on with the drive in silence.

Santana can feel the buzz of excitement and anticipation as they get closer to their first destination. It’s one of Santana’s favorite feelings when it comes to a heist. The feeling just rattles her bones and fills her entire being up with pure adrenaline. She might’ve had a few moments here and there so far when the nerves almost took over, but that’s what keeps her focused.

She was made for this.

“Alright kiddos, first stop,” Brittany calls out from the front seat as she parks just around the corner from the Met entrance.

Sugar, Tina and Quinn slowly make their way out of the van with Tina’s case of tools. They also have their own bags slung over their shoulders concealing their uniforms and a change of clothes for later.

“Let us know how you go,” Santana says to Quinn as Tina and Sugar begin to make their way to the staff entrance.

Quinn nods, “See you guys soon.”

Santana only nods too before Quinn’s shutting the door behind her.

The next stop is Santana’s and Brittany’s a little worried about the choice as she pulls up to the destination.

“A public restroom?” Brittany questions then she’s twisting around in her seat to spot Santana, “In a park no less? I can get you a hotel room instead?”

Santana chuckles as she prepares to exit the van, “You know everything’s fully booked. Besides, it’s only a short walk to the Met from here.”

“You’re going to walk there too?” Mercedes asks out of disbelief.

“Can I just do me? Damn,” Santana huffs.

Brittany only laughs, “This area looks sketchy. Can I drop you off somewhere else?”

Santana brushes her off, “I’ll be fine, Britt. Remember, I’ve done time. I wish someone would try me out here.”

“San…”

“Britt…” Santana mimics before she softens, “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Alright,” Brittany relents with a sigh.

Happy with her response, Santana makes her way out of the van with her bag. She comes around to the driver’s side window and waits for Brittany to roll it down.

“Can I get a kiss before I go?” Santana asks super sweetly.

“You think you have to ask?” Brittany giggles and leans down so they can share a quick one through the window.

“Okay, get going. I’ll see you in a bit,” Santana waves.

Brittany just winks, “See ya.”

Dusk;

Everyone’s had enough time now to get changed and into position. Quinn and Sugar are just finishing up with the service briefing for the staff working tonight’s dinner. Tina’s set up her work station in the staff bathroom off of the kitchen. Brittany and Mercedes are on stand by in the food truck with Mercedes’ equipment all up and running.

And Santana’s applying her final coat of lipstick.

Everything has led up to this moment and she’s anxious to see how it all will play out, because no matter how prepared you are, anything can happen. She takes one more steadying breath before she taps at her ear piece.

“Countdown’s on,” Santana points out first with one last check of the time.

It’s just after six so Emma should be arriving soon to the Met with Rachel and Dani. With everyone else deep in their covers now, Santana doesn’t hear a response but she knows they’re listening.

“So we made it, almost. I just want to start off by saying the nerves are normal. If they weren’t there, I’d be worried because these jobs don’t work without them. The nerves remind us that we really fucking want to pull this off and we will,” Santana starts off.

She’s watching her reflection as she finishes her make up and it’s almost like she’s talking to herself if it weren’t for the others’ in her ear. This pep talk is for everyone, including herself. She caps her lipstick and goes for her mascara next.

“Don’t worry about getting locked up either. It’s not so bad and I’ve still got a few connections on the inside so if all else fails, you’ll all be taken care of,” She pauses for a moment and shakes her head at her own honesty, “But no one’s getting locked up because we’re professionals and we’re ready for anything.”

From the food truck, Brittany smirks at Santana’s slip up. She can hear in her words that Santana’s trying her best to be professional. Afterall, this is her job and she has been the mastermind behind the entire thing so far.

Brittany’s proud of her though, she loves to see this kind of growth in Santana.

Santana clears her throat and continues, “These last three weeks have been one hell of a ride, huh? We were on such a tight schedule and you all really uprooted yourselves to be here. I want to thank all of you for sticking around long enough to see this through. You’ve all worked very hard for this so whatever happens tonight, I just want everyone to remember why we’re doing this.”

With her clipboard in hand, Quinn stares down at her list and nods. She’s not reading what it says but instead she’s listening to Santana’s words and thinks about her daughter, her family.

Tina too, thinks about her family and their business and what this money can mean for them.

“It’s not for me and it’s not even for you,” Santana adds, “It’s for all the little kids out there that dream one day of becoming a badass criminal.”

Surrounded by a bunch of nerds in waiter uniforms, Sugar grins proudly. She’s the youngest of Lopez’s crew so Santana’s words really resonate with her. She’s been a pickpocket for as long as she can remember and she fills with pride that she’s living out this dream.

“We’re doing this for them,” Santana says earnestly, “We’re doing this for the children.”

Mercedes quirks her brow and turns to Brittany, “Did she just say this is for the children?”

Brittany chuckles, “Yeah, she did.”

Mercedes shakes her head and swivels back to her screens, “That was not what I was expecting her to say.”

“Santana’s full of surprises,” Brittany replies through her smile, “You get used to it.”

The entrance of the Met is cluttered with the chatter of celebrities being interviewed by news outlets and the bright flashes of the paparazzi’s cameras. Santana hangs back a little when she catches sight of Emma, Rachel and Dani just ahead of her followed by the two guards looking after the Toussaint.

Santana can see that Dani’s changed her hair color once again – a deep brunette – while Emma fusses over Rachel’s train as they ascend the steps. She keeps her facial expression neutral as she follows at a safe distance until she’s stopped to be checked in. She gains entrance easily thanks to Quinn and continues to keep her eye on the three as they head towards the exhibits.

Inside the dining area, Quinn’s as cool as a cucumber. She’s flipping through the pages of her clipboard and double checking all the seating arrangements so that everything’s perfect. Oddly enough, her job at Vogue is sort of a perfect fit for someone as organized as her.

She glances up in Santana’s direction as she walks by the corridor and gives her a subtle nod before tapping at her earpiece.

“We can begin seating the guests,” She says so that those around her and the team in her ear can hear.

“I’m about to see so many famous people,” Sugar responds and they can just hear her chaotic excitement.

“Please don’t break character,” Quinn warns as she walks towards the dining room entrance.

“I’m not making any promises,” Sugar replies.

“Sugar!” Santana whisper scolds.

“Chill, I was joking. Lighten up people, you’re stressing me out,” Sugar groans and soon she’s entering the dining area as poised as ever.

Quinn catches sight of the pickpocket too and gives her a subtle nod, “Okay, bring them in.”

“Okay thank you. Enjoy!” Brittany says a bit too sweetly to another customer. She’s dressed in her chef whites with her hair tied up in a neat bun and she’s using the tongs she’s holding to wave goodbye.

From the other end of the food truck, Mercedes chuckles, “Why don’t you just put up the closed sign?”

Brittany just shrugs and goes to prep a plate of tots for them to share, “I’ve always wanted a food truck. Actually, I’ve always wanted an ice cream truck. Ice cream truck owners just seem so happy all the time.”

“Well I know what you’re using your share of the money for,” Mercedes jokes before turning back to watch the screens. She’s got eyes on everyone, but nothing too crazy is going down just yet.

Emma, Rachel Berry and Dani are slowly moving through the exhibits while Santana tails them. Across the venue, Quinn lingers around the host desk as guests begin to file in. Sugar’s there too with a bottle of sparkling wine, she wanders around the space filling glasses and offering top-ups.

“How’s it looking?” Brittany asks a moment later and slides a plate of tots between them.

Mercedes swipes one and pops it into her mouth, “Fancy as hell, but we’re good. Some of the guests are starting to be seated.”

“Sweet,” Brittany smiles and starts to untie her apron, “I’m going to head in then and check on Tina. Starters will probably go out in the next thirty.”

“Cool,” Mercedes nods, “See you in a bit.”

Brittany nods too and goes to fist bump Mercedes before she makes her way out of the truck.

Near the exit of the exhibit Emma, Rachel and Dani were just in, Santana lingers by the archway that leads into the dining area. She doesn’t actually have a place setting, so she hangs out near the bar and keeps her champagne flute close to her mouth to conceal her moving lips.

“They just left the exhibit,” Santana alerts the group with a subtle press to her earpiece.

Quinn looks up from her task and spots the three being guided to their table by another hostess. She begins to make her way over, “I’ve got eyes on her. She’s being seated now.”

“I’m coming by for arrival drinks,” Sugar says next and soon the pickpocket appears. There’s a quickness to her step as she approaches and begins to fill everyone’s glass.

“Britt, you can go on Rachel’s appetizer in fifteen,” Quinn instructs.

In the kitchen, it’s a mad house and there are bodies everywhere rushing to get dishes plated in time. Tina’s hidden away where all the other kitchen hands stay washing up and doing prep work. She keeps her head down though and waits for her signal.

Brittany stands off to the side too in her own section of the kitchen dedicated to special dietary requirements, watching everyone’s movements like a hawk while she listens to the others talk about what’s happening in the dining room. When she hears Quinn call her out, Brittany nods and checks her pocket for the bottle she’s meant to use on Rachel’s appetizer.

“Heard,” Brittany mutters before stepping up to the pass and calling out, “Ready on the vegan for table four!”

“Yes chef,” The line calls out in return.

Brittany smirks at the robotic response; one of the perks about this job is that she can be so many different things: a chef, a small business owner, a con artist. The possibilities are endless!

Minutes later, several dishes are brought to the pass. Brittany inspects them all and it really looks like she knows what she’s doing as she wipes away the chefs’ fingerprints left on the sides of the plates. There are a couple more finishing touches here and there including a few drops from the bottle Brittany had in her pocket into Rachel Berry’s vegan butternut squash soup.

She feels a little bad for what the star is about to go through, but it’s only a fleeting thought before she’s calling out, “Service please!”

Soon waitstaff enter and the dishes are on their way. Once they’re out of sight and Brittany’s sure no one’s looking, she presses at her earpiece, “Alright ladies, soup’s on.”

Emma sits rigidly next to Rachel Berry as she goes on and on about the projects she’s currently working on. The designer’s close to running off and hiding by the bar for the rest of the evening when an elegant bowl of soup is placed in front of Rachel.

Without an earpiece of her own, Emma has been pretty out of the loop so she can only guess where they are in the heist. But when the plate of soup is set down, Emma knows they’re deep in this now. She watches with bated breath as Rachel dips her spoon in and takes a huge mouthful. It’s a little disgusting to watch, especially paired with the obscene noises she’s making at the taste.

She could’ve gone her whole life without hearing Rachel Berry moan.

“God, this is incredibly delicious!” Rachel commends dramatically.

The rest of the guests at the table – including Dani – look somewhat uncomfortable as Rachel’s the only one with an appetizer for the moment. She takes another spoonful and hums in delight.

“I haven’t eaten anything all day,” Rachel sighs with her mouth full, “I must’ve forgotten, you know how long it takes to get prepared for these kind of events.”

Dani forces a smile, “Right.”

Rachel sees Dani’s failed attempt to mask her discomfort and pauses, “I’d offer you some, but I know you aren’t vegan as well and not everyone is accustomed to the taste of vegan food.”

“It’s just squash soup,” Emma says with the shake of her head before she realizes she said those words aloud instead of keeping them to herself.

Rachel shoots her a glare, “It isn’t just anything. Substitutes were used, sacrifices had to be made in order to preserve the lives of many. I’m a hero for what I do.”

Emma blushes, “Of course. I apologize.”

“Well,” Dani starts off with a flirty smile, “I happen to think your veganism is sexy.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You know what else I think is sexy?”

Rachel’s attention is swiftly stolen as Dani starts to whisper more. Emma tries to focus on anything else but them while Rachel laughs like a giddy school girl between bites of soup.

From offsides, Quinn catches Emma’s eye before closing the distance to the table to see how far Rachel is into her soup. She can just barely see the bottom of the dish and smirks.

“She’s nearly finished with the soup,” Quinn tells the crew, “T-Minus fifteen minutes.”

Sugar nods upon hearing the update and sets down her wine bottle in order to make her way towards the restrooms.

She moves quickly, only momentarily distracted by famous people twice, before she’s entering the bathroom. She’s surprised to see so many celebrities huddled in there taking mirror selfies and wonders if Santana would be mad if she happened to photobomb a couple of these. She decides against though, she’s on the job.

With everyone so distracted with themselves, Sugar starts to lock each stall door from the inside…only allowing to far stall to be left unlocked.

Fifteen Minutes Later;

“And I completely choked!” Rachel shrieks.

“No!” The guest next to Dani gasps.

“It’s true. It never happened to me before,” Rachel tells the table. She’s mid story about some audition she went for early on in her career when her stomach gurgles.

Emma actually hears it and goes to touch Rachel’s shoulder, “You okay?”

Rachel forces a smile and brushes off the feeling, “Of course, it’s nothing. Anyway, where was I? Oh, I managed to – “

This time Rachel burps and everyone at the table looks to Rachel half out of disgust, half out of worry. Emma subtly scoots her chair further away because the sounds coming out of Rachel do not sound pretty.

Dani’s probably the only one genuinely concerned as she leans in, “You sure you’re alr – “

This time Rachel gags and shoots up from her seat. She’s looking a shade of pale green but before anyone can tend to her, she gags again and takes off towards the restrooms.

Santana waits at the bar for a refill when the sound of Mercedes’ voice fills her ear.

“And she’s on the move, ladies!” Mercedes alerts them from the food truck, “Sugar, she’s coming to you.”

Santana looks towards the entrance that leads into the dining room just as Rachel rushes out. Just behind her, Santana can see the two guards running to her aid.

Or rather, to keep their eyes on the Toussaint. She doubts they care about wearer of the actual necklace.

“I see her,” Santana notes as she takes her newly filled glasses and heads towards the restrooms too. She gets there just as Rachel is slamming against the door and pushing her way inside before she hurls.

Two steps behind her are the broad-shouldered guards, but Santana cuts their path and begins pointing up at the sign hanging over the door.

“No way! I’m not letting you pervs in there,” Santana huffs, “This is the ladies’ room, yours is just there.”

“Miss, please. Move!” One guard demands but Santana is stuck in her spot.

“You’re going to have to carry me off, you’re not getting by. Trying to sneak a peek at the women in there, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Santana argues, shoving the men back with her free hand while she tries hard to not spill her champagne.

The guards eventually give up and instead stay posted just a few feet away from the restroom doors to wait for Rachel’s exit. Santana stays there too, careful to stand just outside of the blind spot’s edge so that she’s conveniently on camera for all to see.

Every so often the two guards glare her way and she gives it right back.

Inside the bathroom, Rachel stumbles into the last stall and drops to her knees before the toilet. Everything’s a blur; all she manages to focus on is aiming for the bowl. She feels so incredibly sick, she’s never felt anything like it before. Rachel’s skin feels clammy, her stomach is all in a twist and the nauseous feeling just won’t let up. The only thing that makes her feel any better is hurling.

Sugar appears out of the stall next to Rachel. Her nose is scrunched at the sounds the star is making, “This is so gross.”

“Quickly Sugar,” Mercedes warns, “Santana, you’re right on the edge of the blind spot. Stay right there. Quinn, ten seconds.”

Sugar nods and goes in after Rachel, “Oh no, you’re really barfing your guts out. You good?”

Rachel can vaguely hear someone come in the stall after her and soon a hand is rubbing gently at her back. It feels kind of nice and for a moment, she wonders if it’s Dani coming to check on her. She’s too preoccupied with throwing up to turn around and check though.

“You’re doing great,” Sugar prompts and just as Rachel heaves one more time, she’s able to unlock the necklace and quickly stuff it in her pocket.

Once she has it in her possession, Sugar makes her way out of the restroom.

From her spot by the restroom door, Santana sees the busboy Quinn got moving approaching with his tray. She begins counting down in her head and glancing towards the door for Sugar’s exit.

3…2…1

Just as the door opens, Santana accidentally bumps into the incoming busboy who then swivels around just in time for Sugar to smoothly plant the necklace on his tray. It happens quick and the two guards are none the wiser.

“And he’s out of here! Everyone’s still in the dark,” Mercedes cheers as the busboy heads off to the kitchen.

Santana and Sugar share a smirk before Sugar slips into the men’s restroom to hide. Santana just takes a slow sip of her champagne, loving how the evening is progressing according to plan.

In the kitchen, Brittany smiles proudly to herself then looks over to Tina who’s smiling back. They both look expectantly to the door, anxiously awaiting the busboy’s arrival. It’s meant to only take thirty seconds at the max for him to arrive, but it’s now verging on four minutes and he’s still nowhere to be found.

It puts Brittany on edge and she quickly presses at her earpiece, “Yo, where is this guy?”

From her spot by the bar, Santana straightens, “What do you mean?”

“No one’s come in yet,” Brittany explains. She keeps staring at the double doors as if she’s willing it to open and for this guy to come strolling through already.

In the food truck, Mercedes checks the cameras and instantly spots the busboy with another staff member chatting in the hall. She rolls her eyes at his behavior and goes to alert the team, “He’s in the hallway with some other kid.”

Santana tightens her grip on her glass, “Quinn, go kick his ass. He’s wasting time.”

From the dining room, Quinn nods and begins to quickly walk towards the hallway. When she gets near, she can already hear their voices from behind the door. She steels herself and slips on her bitch-face before slamming the door open.

“What the hell is going on here?” She snaps and the two busboys instantly look mortified, “Your job is to clear, not stand back here and chat. What’s the matter with you two? Move it! Let’s go.”

The two boys quicken their paces and get back to work with a renewed urgency while Quinn let’s out a relieved sigh.

“Good work,” Santana compliments, “Glad your mom-voice could be of some use.”

“Poor Beth,” Brittany teases too.

Quinn rolls her eyes at them both, “Shut up.” Then she glances up at the camera she knows Mercedes is bound to be watching and gives it a little wave before heading back to the dining area.

Soon the busboy enters the kitchen and heads towards the dishwashing area to unload his tray.

“Hi, can you bring that tray here?” Tina asks before the guy can start to unload. He looks at her oddly before shrugging and bringing the tray over, “Thank you. I just love washing dishes by hand.”

“Sure,” He says dismissively before heading back out to the floor.

Tina dumps everything into the sink of soapy water and then feels around for the necklace. Although the sink is full of other dishes and utensils, the feel of the Toussaint is hard to miss. She lifts the weighty necklace from the soapy water and goes to rinse it off. It sparkles beautifully, even under the fluorescent bulbs of the kitchen.

“Oh my God, I’m holding 150 million dollars worth of diamonds,” Tina gasps.

“Stay focused,” Santana warns.

“Sorry, okay,” Tina takes a steadying breath before slipping the necklace in her pocket. She looks around at the other kitchen hands, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

No one even gives her a second look before Tina rushes to the staff bathroom. Inside the small stall, Tina pulls out her tools she concealed earlier and sets off in dividing the necklace.

Back by the restroom Santana has been watching, she finally spots Rachel exit.

“Wow, that was such an experience,” Rachel sighs. She’s looking like a sweaty, disheveled mess but there is something noticeably different about her appearance: her neck is completely bare.

The two guards turn to her and gape.

“What?” Rachel frowns, “Why are you looking at me like that? Is it my make up? I tried to – “

“Move!” The guards demand and rush for the ladies’ restroom.

Rachel’s looking scandalized, as if a 150 million dollar necklace is more important than her well-being? It’s unheard of and she can’t wait to tell Cartier about their guards’ lack of empathy and compassion.

Fortunately for Rachel, Dani has been waiting off to the side for her to return. Dani approaches her looking rather worried and for a moment there, Rachel wonders if she had been waiting there all this time. Rachel hasn’t known Dani long, but she’s charming and attractive and the tabloids just love spouting rumors about their relationship. If Dani’s lucky, Rachel might just keep her around.

“Hey, are you okay?” Dani asks and Rachel is so relieved that someone finally cares that she almost died in there.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Rachel smiles appreciatively.

Dani smirks, “Oh course. You had me worried. What’s going on with the guards?”

Rachel rolls her eyes at their mention, “Apparently the necklace is missing.”

Dani’s eyes drift down to Rachel’s neck and back up to meet her eyes, “Oh yeah, so it is.”

Suddenly the guards are exiting the restroom. Their facial features are harder than before while they talk amongst each other in a hushed tone It’s not looking good at all.

“Did you find it?” Rachel questions when the guards still haven’t gone over for an update.

They shake their heads and one of the guards steps forward, “We’re going to have to shut this place down so we can do a proper search.”

“What?” Rachel gasps, “Over a necklace? Is it really that serious?”

“Yes, it is extremely serious,” The guard nods.

Dani scoffs, “Well, I didn’t take it so can we just get back to dinner?”

Rachel and the guards look at Dani like she has two heads before the guards are waving her off.

“No. We can’t,” One guard replies and taps at his earpiece, “We’re going to seal the exits.”

“Oh my God,” Rachel groans, “This is unbelievable.”

The guards don’t really pay her any attention as they begin to herd the guests towards the front of the Met.

From the food truck, Mercedes watches on with a careful eye as zones of the Met begin to filter out. At each exit, several guards are posted in order to check everyone individually for the Toussaint.

“Okay, everyone’s being moved to the entrance. Exits are being sealed now,” Mercedes alerts the team.

From the staff bathroom, Tina let’s out a shaky breath. She’s working diligently to break up the necklace but it’s probably her sloppiest work yet considering the time restraint. Regardless, she keeps her head down and stays focused as she keeps an ear out for Mercedes’ updates.

Within minutes, police and news vans are pulling up outside of the Met. It’s a flurry of police officers and camera crews wanting to get the first crack at this breaking story. Mercedes becomes giddy at watching all the chaos unfold from the safety of the food truck.

“Oh hell, it’s really going down out here! News vans and police have rolled up,” Mercedes adds.

Santana is blending into the crowd as it starts to move towards the exit, but she tries her best to hang back and wait for her signal.

“How’s it looking on your side, Q?” She asks.

From the dining room, Quinn scans the area and looks over to the exit where guards are scanning everyone.

“They’re about halfway through in here,” Quinn says then glances over to Rachel’s table where the star sits with Dani and two guards, “Rachel’s still getting questioned too.”

At the table, the guard asking the questions sits stiffly before Rachel and asks, “You didn’t talk to anyone once you were headed for the bathroom?”

Rachel lets out an aggravated huff. She doesn’t know how many times she has to repeat herself. She’s recounted her journey several times already and it wasn’t anything special. She felt sick, she got up from the table, power-walked to the restroom and put her head in a toilet.

“Miss Berry, please. This information is very important,” The guard presses further.

Not one to mask her annoyance, Rachel rolls her eyes and says, “Like I said, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to converse with anyone. In case you didn’t notice, I was rather ill. I went from this table straight to the bathroom.”

Back in the kitchen, Brittany anxiously awaits her signal. The guards have yet to come and clear out the kitchen and it’s important that Brittany’s out of there before that happens. When she checks the time again, she grimaces.

Time is running out!

There’s this energy and excitement coursing through Brittany’ body and she’s just itching to get the ball rolling already, but as time ticks away worry starts to chip away at her excitement. It’s becoming harder to keep her cool – usually she’s the most level-headed during a job – the longer she waits, but then suddenly there’s some static in her ear.

“Test. Test. You two hear me?” Mercedes asks.

Brittany’s never been so relieved to hear her voice and quickly replies, “Check.”

“Check,” Santana replies too. She has been evading the guards while she also waited for Mercedes.

“Okay. We’re secure. I’ve got eyes on the others so you’re free to move into position,” Mercedes instructs. This next part of the job only takes a select few to complete, so Mercedes patches them through to a private channel for the time being.

“Ready, Britt?” Santana asks.

Brittany beams with her infamous Pierce smile, “Whenever you are.”

“I’ll get into position,” Santana tells her.

Brittany nods and whips off her apron before tossing it on the counter. She heads over to area where Tina was once washing dishes and finds a slender man humming to himself in the corner while he scrubs at a pan. He’s tapping his foot to the rhythm as Brittany approaches.

She chuckles and goes to pat his shoulder, “Let’s go, Chang, it’s showtime.”

Mike Chang, former Olympic gymnast and personal friend of Brittany’s, spins on the spot and his bright smile matches the blonde’s. They’ve been in contact ever since Santana clued her in on this particular part of the job. When she had asked Brittany if she knew of anyone who was super flexible and down for a little thievery, Mike was Brittany’s first pick.

Mike quickly dries his hands on his apron before whipping it off as well, “Man, I’m relieved. My fingers were getting all pruney.”

Brittany scrunches her nose at the look of his hands, “Washing dishes is the worst.”

“Seriously,” Mike agrees before following Brittany as she retrieves their special cart.

With Mike at Brittany’s side, the two begin to make their way towards their destination. Most were too concerned with complaining about the evening’s interruption and making their ways towards the checkpoint to notice them sneak by the dining room. They kept up with their swift pace until they spotted Santana lingering by the entrance of their intended target.

“Wow Santana, you look…” Brittany couldn’t find a word worthy enough to describe the woman who stood before her. The hair, the makeup, the dress…everything about Santana was jaw dropping. It made Brittany’s outfit of chef whites seem so inadequate next to her.

Santana blushed at the compliment and tried to hide her coy smile behind her champagne flute. She knows she looks good and she has received compliments all night from strangers, but it does something different to her when they come from Brittany. With Brittany, she’s heard it all but the blonde’s flirty words never seem to lose its effect.

“No time for sweet talking, Britt,” Santana chastises lightly.

Brittany smirks, “There’s always time, especially when you look like that.”

From behind them, Mike looks at the two fondly. Like Quinn, he has also worked with Santana and Brittany on and off throughout the years. He’s also well aware of their little…dance.

“Hey Chang,” Santana finally tears her eyes away long enough to spot the gymnast lingering behind Brittany.

He bows his head politely, “Miss Lopez. You’re looking sharp.”

“Thank you. Well you two better get in there,” Santana replies with a nod to the exhibit.

Mike and Brittany give her a resolute nod and head inside, but not before Brittany steals a quick kiss from Santana.

Once Brittany and Mike are in, everything becomes way more real for them. They’re surrounded by the crown jewels of eight different royal families and they’re going to nab them all.

Brittany’s quick to set up their cover. She pulls out a twenty foot selfie stick from the cart then attaches her phone to it before positioning it in before the exhibit’s camera. Mike’s already shedding his baggy chef pants and grey t-shirt covered in patches of drying dishwater to reveal the all black leotard he’s been wearing underneath. While Brittany moves on to unload the suspension system from the cart, Mike clips into his harness and shrugs on a backpack.

They both finish up around the same time and when Brittany spots his outfit, she smiles.

“You look like Catwoman,” Brittany points out then pauses to wonder, “Or Catman? Is there a Catman?”

Mike shrugs and adjusts his night vision goggles, “I have no idea, but I’m about to feel very Catwoman-like.”

Brittany nods and turns him around to load the suspension system into his backpack. Once everything is secure, she gives him a pat on the shoulder and he’s off. All Brittany can do is watch as Mike uses his height and agility to make it up onto the rafters. Brittany’s never not impressed by Mike’s fluid movements, he makes the most difficult of tasks look so easy!

Mike continues to stay focused as he moves along, careful to avoid the sensors as he goes and pray that he doesn’t make a wrong move and plummet into the moat below. Once he gets into position, he removes the suspension system from his backpack and begins to set it up. Brittany watches from below for a moment until she’s confident that he has everything under control up there.

When she’s satisfied, she heads back over to their cart and starts unloading waterproof bags containing replicas Tina made before. Brittany also unloads the small toy submarine she picked up the night before and sets it in the water. She attaches the first bag of replica jewelry and uses the toy sub’s remote controls to tow it in Mike’s direction.

It’s perfect time because Mike gets the suspension system online and begins his descent just as the bag of jewels arrives below. From there, it’s a simple switcheroo that they just have to repeat until they’ve wiped the entire exhibit.

Outside the exhibit, Santana has already had to redirect a guard’s attention. Luckily, she was able to smooth talk her way around it but she doubts she’ll be able to do that again. She keeps an eye on the time and tries to refrain from pestering Brittany and Mike.

“How we looking out there, Mercedes?” Santana asks instead. She hasn’t heard an update since this part of the job began, but she supposes that’s a good sign.

“Still on the hunt. We’re all good,” Mercedes replies almost instantly.

It’s a relief and she waits a few more minutes before she checks in with Brittany, “What about you, Britt?”

“Making great time. So glad Mike was free to do this. I’m flexible but not like this,” Brittany says and it makes Santana smirk.

“I beg to differ,” Santana flirts.

“Gross,” Mercedes feigns a gag.

Santana’s in mid laugh when another guard comes appears. Her smile quickly drops, “Fuck. Someone’s coming. Stand by.”

The sound of slight panic in Santana’s voice has Brittany rushing to store the stolen jewels. Mike’s too far away for her to talk to, so she can only hope that he can feel the sudden tension and pick up the pace. They’re on the last display now which happens to be one large piece instead of several smaller ones so that’s at least a little good news.

In a matter of minutes, Brittany’s packing away the final bag and Mike’s ascending to the rafters to get packed up.

“Okay, we’re wrapping up now,” Brittany says.

Mike joins her a moment later and wipes the sweat from his brow, “That was fun.”

“Looked like it,” Brittany replies as she shuts the doors to the cart, “Now let’s bounce.”

While Mike and Brittany retreat with the cart to the catering van and Santana hides herself away in a janitor’s closet to avoid the guards, Mercedes patches everyone back through to the main channel as she scans the cameras.

Santana’s safe. Quinn, Sugar and Emma are safe. Brittany and Mike are safe. Tina’s –

“Oh shit,” Mercedes gasps then presses to her earpiece, “Someone’s in the kitchen.”

From the staff restroom Tina whisper-yells, “What?! I’m not finished yet.”

Mercedes watches the man inspect the recently cleared kitchen. His movements are slow and methodical, “Tina, he’s right there.”

Tina shakes her head. Her hands remain steady although her heart rate spikes, “Just a few more minutes.”

From the janitor’s closest, Santana hangs on every word between the two but she knows when they’re pressing their luck.

“You’re out of time, Tina,” Santana warns.

Mercedes watches the guard cross the room. It looks like he has his eyes on the restroom door, “Guys…he’s close, just by the door.”

“Fuck,” Santana curses and she’s quick to think, “Q? Where are you now?”

Quinn lingers by the water in the dining room and replies, “The moat. What’s happening?”

“You have to pull it out of the water,” Santana instructs.

Quinn pauses, “What? That wasn’t the plan.”

“It doesn’t matter! Just do it, pull it out of the water. Hurry!” Santana urges.

“Okay, okay. I’m going,” Quinn replies and hastily lifts her dress to reveal the replica Toussaint hanging off of her thing by a garter. She makes a show of retrieving from the water and lifts it high as she calls out to the guards, “I found it!”

Guards rush to her in an instant to inspect it with Rachel and Dani close behind. With a once over, the guard radios in to the rest of his team, “We’ve found it.”

Mercedes watches the guard in the kitchen retreat without another look, “You’re good, Tina. He’s gone.”

From the Janitor’s closet, Santana slumps against the wall in relief, “Fuck. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“You and me both,” Mercedes replies with a light chuckle.

Soon after the guards retrieve the necklace, the lockdown on the venue is lifted.

“Alright Sugar, you can move,” Mercedes instructs, “The lockdown is lifted.”

Sugar slips out from the men’s room and adjusts her blazer before heading towards the kitchen to meet with Tina. Santana exits the closet too and rejoins the rest of the guests while Mercedes goes to get changed into her evening dress.

Sugar’s one of the first people to return to the kitchen and she beelines it for the staff restroom where Tina is just finishing up on the Toussaint pieces.

“Wow, that’s a lot of bling,” Sugar gasps and she’s almost star-struck as she reaches out to touch.

“Careful of the glue,” Tina warns before she takes it upon herself to load Sugar’s pockets with the new pieces of jewelry.

Sugar’s pockets are heavy and it makes her feel a little giddy that she’s basically wearing 150 million dollars worth of jewels, like she’s allowed to do it this time without fear of Santana scolding her. She thinks back to her leader’s pep talk from before about little kids dreaming about being criminals and she straightens up a little taller, because what she’s doing…it’s history in the making.

Once Sugar heads off, Tina leaves to get changed into her evening dress too now that her part of the job is over.

Out around the venue, Sugar begins to distribute the jewelry amongst the team. First its Quinn then Mercedes – now all glammed up in a beautiful red dress – followed by a drop off to Emma and ending with Santana. All smooth handovers and nothing is suspected. Once Sugar has distributed everything, she slips away to get changed too.

Meanwhile out in a parking garage, Brittany has just finished stowing the catering van and the cart of jewels. Now she slips into her helmet and mounts her motorcycle, heading for a place to get gussied up like the others.

Back inside, Santana lets the weight of the jewelry weight heavily in her palm while she keeps her eye on Dani who returns to the bar for another drink. Santana takes the brief moment to reflect on the past, their past. It wasn’t very long and it might’ve been a little bit of whirlwind, but she supposes it’s time to really look her pain in the eye and acknowledge it. Like Brittany said before, she doesn’t always have to pretend to be so tough. She can take a moment to honor her pain and how Dani hurt her.

And Santana does. She watches as Dani flirts with the bartender and smiles that same smug, shit-eating grin that once hooked her too. She takes in the expensive, designer suit Dani wears and wonders if it was the money they acquired together that paid for it. She remembers being in that interrogation room, remaining tight-lipped and loyal until she got word that Dani had cracked. She remembers feeling heartbroken. Not because she was in love with Dani, but because her trust was obliterated by Dani’s betrayal.

When Santana looks at Dani now, she just shakes her head. To think that she could ever get away with hurting Santana like that and not pay a price? She must’ve not known Santana at all to begin with. What Santana’s about to do now, it’s more than just payback. It’s more than just being petty or cruel.

This is for her.

So Santana makes her move. With a well-timed bump and avoidance of Dani’s eye, Santana manages to slip her piece of the Toussaint into Dani’s blazer pocket. When she feels it fall to the bottom of Dani’s pocket, it’s like the final piece of a puzzle sinking into place. It’s a great feeling and she disappears into the crowd of guests with the most proudest of smirks on her face.

Now, all there is left to do is enjoy the rest of their night. The entire team looks drop dead gorgeous, especially donning their new, custom-made jewelry.

With spending most of her night amongst the guests and their pretentious attitudes, Santana doesn’t really want to hang around any longer than she has to. Instead, she slips away and heads out into the night. She might have just a slight buzz going – an open bar can do that – but she’s coherent enough to read a watch. When she checks hers, she frowns at the time.

She glances down the street then looks the other way and her frown deepens: Brittany’s late.

Or so Santana thought.

Brittany steps out from behind the food truck parked across the street and her eyes instantly find Santana’s. She’s dressed in a shimmering green suit and there’s this swagger to her step as she crosses that Santana can only sum up to being completely Brittany. There’s this lopsided grin filling her face too and Santana can’t help but mirror it as she nears.

“Wow,” Santana breathes out once Brittany stands before her. Brown eyes rake up Brittany’s frame and it’s like Santana’s words fumble to land with grace, “You look…”

“Better than your ex?” Brittany supplies with a smirk. She can spot the telltale signs of Santana beginning to short circuit and she supposes it’s only fair considering Santana also left her kind of speechless earlier by the exhibit.

Santana chuckles and tugs Brittany in by her waist, “Way better.”

Brittany molds into Santana’s embrace easily and glances at the woman’s hairline, “The blonde surprised me. You really committed to the part.”

“Thought I’d switch it up,” Santana shrugs, “You like it?”

“I do,” Brittany beams before glancing down Santana’s cleavage, “I like this dress even better.”

“Yeah?” Santana asks, her tone growing husky at the hungry look in Brittany’s eye.

“Mhmm..” Brittany hums, “But I think I rather see you out of – “

“Dear Lord, Sweet Baby Jesus. Don’t finish that sentence,” Mercedes’ voice rings out startling the woman, “Take out your damn earpieces!”

Santana and Brittany laugh as they pull apart and send off their apologies before taking them out. While Santana stores them in her purse, she looks to Brittany and asks, “What took you so long before? I thought something happened.”

Brittany quirks a brow and goes to tease her with a poke to Santana’s side, “Were you worried about me? That’s cute.”

“No,” Santana blushes as she bats away Brittany’s hand, “I was just wondering. You’re never late.”

Brittany teasing grin turns mischievous as she lowers her voice enough to send a shiver down Santana’s spine, “You really wanna know?”

“Uh-huh,” Santana hums almost entranced. She watches Brittany lick her lips and she’s suddenly so aware of how long its been since she’s felt them on her skin.

“I slashed Dani’s tires after I parked the van,” Brittany admits slyly, “At least, I think it was Dani’s tires. I’m not one hundred percent sure but it still felt good.”

Santana bites her lip, “That’s so hot.”

“You think so? I thought about just taking it for a joyride and maybe parking it on a different level so she’d never be able to find it but that would be too time consuming,” Brittany explains before setting her hand on Santana’s hip, “I didn’t want to keep my girl waiting too long.”

Santana swoons and she can’t tell whether it’s because of Brittany’s suave ways or the fact that she was out slashing her ex’s tires in her honor or maybe it’s because they just finished up a huge part of the heist and everything went so smoothly. Her body is all a buzz, but she becomes more aware of the familiar throb.

“God,” Santana just about moans, “I’m so turned on right now.”

Brittany knows. She knew it the instant she uttered the words slashed Dani’s tires that Santana would become all hot and bothered.

“You and this thing with crime,” Brittany jokes, “It really gets you going, huh?”

Santana can only smirk, “Sex after a successful job is kind of tradition, don’t you think?”

It doesn’t take long before Santana’s pushing Brittany up against a streetlight and kissing her way along Brittany’s jawline. It’s about as public as they’ve ever been – not that it’s an issue – but it’s something new and that excites them both even more so.

“But what about the Gala?” Brittany pouts half-heartedly, “Don’t you want to go inside?”

“I can think of somewhere else I’d rather be,” Santana replies smoothly.

Really, that’s all Brittany needs to hear before she’s relenting. She can scam her way into some other famous party another time, because right now all she wants to do is fulfill every dirty little tradition she and Santana has.

“You’re right,” Brittany mumbles against Santana’s lips. She places one last kiss there before nudging her away, “Let’s grab some champagne and churros while we’re at it!”

“Really go all out,” Santana jokes.

“Hell yeah!” Brittany beams and then the two of them are sauntering down the block hand in hand just coasting on that euphoric high of a job well done.

#Lopezs 8 #brittana #brittana fanfiction #oceans 8 #yall ive never worked so hard on a chapter before wtf so many moving parts

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thethousandyearwitch · 3 years

Text

The Show Must Go On! Chap.6

- A Youtuber AU you didn’t want and didn’t need -

Hisoka Morrow, italian Makeup Youtuber, enjoys his life in the comfort and occasional drama of his profession. But nothing brings more drama into his life than the eldest son of the Zoldyck fashion magazine empire.

Meanwhile, aspiring australian Twitch Streamer Gon Freecs forms a special bond to a Speedrunner commonly going by "Kil".

Chapter 6 “Blue Sky Athletic” out now!

AO3 Link

The hotel room was quiet, the Italian sun hadn’t risen yet. Illumi sat himself up in bed and started to mindlessly comb through his hair. He had excused himself from the fashion show the previous night as early as he could. Because he couldn’t stand the lights. The music. The smells. The people.

Yet he was going to return the next night. There were contacts to be made, images to be upheld, a new name to be made for himself…

And he didn’t have to be alone.

A single text message to his butler:

“Illumi: Get me the keys to a Mercedes AMG GT Black series and leave me be the rest of the day.”

Killua had run away from home for the first time when he was 10 years old, with the intent to stay away. His father had scolded him about neglecting his studies, and in response he snuck out through his window with a backpack stuffed with a few clothes and snacks. In the end, a butler had caught him before he was able to sneak through the fencing around the large property.

He was undeterred and proceeded to perfect his means of sneaking away from the mansion. By the next summer he was able to consistently make it into town and stay there for an hour or two before a butler eventually found him. Though he wanted to, he never went further than that. Afterall, where was he supposed to go? A young boy traveling without adult supervision would attract attention almost immediately, and it wasn’t like he had friends he could visit (And the risk of running into his father or grandfather when visiting Alluka was too great).

But what if he had a place to go? He was older now, old enough to travel by himself for sure, and money wasn’t a problem as long as his lazy brother would stay blissfully unaware of his credit card expenses. Neither Illumi, his father, nor grandfather were home to surveillance him. Milluki barely registered what happens in and around the mansion. Kalluto was young enough to be bribed and trust his big brother when he tells him to keep quiet.

The setup couldn’t get more perfect. Now or never.

Killua shouted down the hall that he didn’t want dinner, peppered with swears here and there to underline anger, and he told Kalluto that if anyone were to set food in front of his door, he was free to take it for himself or Milluki. His CD player blasted metal music loud enough to give the impression of a moody teen dealing with anger issues, but not too loud as to prompt his mother to come in and turn it off herself.

Another cautionary glance down the hallway before he closed and locked his bedroom door from the inside. Now or Never.

Killua grabbed his pre-packed duffle bag and executed his well-practiced escape via window. His mother would regret the day she removed the bars framing it, foolishly thinking that Killua was ‘grown up’ enough to stop his escape attempts.

A cold breeze grazed his face, and the young boy granted himself a couple of seconds to take it in, wild hair gently swaying in the wind. Of course, he was not going to leave forever. It would only be a matter of time before someone went to retrieve him and lock him back in, chiding him about his ‘responsibilities’ that he couldn’t care less for.

But I won’t make it easy. With that thought, he gave the mansion one last middle-finger, before he quickly turned and headed towards the edge of the property that was closest to town. By now he had the surveillance pattern of the guard dogs memorized and knew exactly where the brick fence was covered by enough ivy to enable easy climbing. Soon enough, Killua was treading through the thick forest in a steady pace. He tried to listen for signs of someone coming after him despite his heart drumming louder in his ears.

Usually he’d be calm, collected, non-caring for breaking out. But this time was different. This time he had a destination in mind, wouldn’t be collected so easily. The grip around his phone tightened. He wondered how long it would take someone in the house to notice. Who would be sent after him; A butler? Would Illumi be called back? His father? How severe will the punishment be-

A branch snapped into the boy’s face, pulling him back from wherever his thoughts were about to wander. The lights of the town became clearer in his sight with every step. It wasn’t a big city by any means, but he didn’t need it to be. All he needed was a cab driver to who accepted credit and didn’t ask question.

In the end, an older cabdriver, he must have been in his sixties already, shrugged carelessly at the request of the young boy to be driven to the airport, mumbled something about rebellious youth and getting paid regardless. Killua discarded the duffle bag into the trunk of the car and sat himself down in the backseat as he fumbled with his phone. The Radio played some repetitious top 40s song about being young and freedom and friendship and following your heart, and he couldn’t help but snort at how grossly it fit.

The sun set against the horizon, the town steadily disappeared behind him, until it was completely out of sight. Every new meter the car cleared was the furthest Killua had ever made it away from home alone.

Ping.

His phones alarm startled Killua out of his thoughts once again. A single discord notification.

GON: Good morning! =v=

The runaway looked through the windshield of the car, in the distance an airport started to come into form.

Kil: morning, did u sleep okay?

GON: Like a baby :p

GON: How’re you?? Did you get your PC back yet?

Kil: about that actually

He handed the driver his/Millukis credit card and lifted his bag over his shoulder. No one ever told him how much to tip a cabby, so he assumed 50% was about right.

Kil: remember how you told me to give you a heads-up if i ever came over so you could clean?

GON: Yeah?

Killua took a quick peace-sign selfie in the large entrance of the airport, in front of the arrival/departure board, and send it promptly in their chat.

Kil: get cleaning.

Gon paced around the house as if driven mad, he mumbled about preparations, and food, and accommodations, more to himself really than to Mito who sat at the table, gentle smile on her lips.

“Gon, it’ll still be almost an entire day till he gets here. I’m sure he won’t be disappointed. Now remind me again, his parents are really okay with such a spontaneous visit to a virtual stranger across the globe?” Her smile was warm, but her eyes drilled threats into him.

“We’re not virtual strangers! We’ve been talking for months; I probably know him better than any of his siblings!”

“I’d just feel a bit more at ease if I could have talked with his parents in advance. What if he has any illnesses or allergies I’d need to be mindful of? What if there’s an emergency and I need their contact information?”

Instead of admitting that he did not think of all of that, Gon chose to smile with more confidence, “I’ll just make sure there’s no emergencies! I’m not a little kid anymore!” He stepped closer to where she was seated and rested with his arms and head on the table. “He’s a really good friend and hasn’t been feeling well. I think this could be really good for him, and it’s not like I have many other people to hang out with around here. But if you are really that concerned, I promise that he’ll write down his parents’ number and address! So, it’s okay, right?”

The woman sighed in defeat and brushed through Gon’s unruly hair. “You really are a troublemaker with best intentions. Don’t make me regret this.” The young boy beamed in response and pulled his guardian into a hug. Before he could promise that he wouldn’t, she raised her voice again, “But don’t think this will get you out of studying.”

Gon groaned in agony, though it was quickly followed by another laugh. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“I do, but it doesn’t hurt to be reminded once in a while. Now go fetch the cot from the garage, or do you want your friend to sleep on the floor?”

With an energetic nod, he sprinted out the room, leaving Mito alone in the room as she tapped her fingernails against her cup of tea. Her eyes wandered to an old picture of Gons father. He’s becoming just like you. She didn’t know if the thought made her want to laugh or cry.

Gon was a bundle of nerves the entire drive to the airport. Killua had offered that he’d take a taxi from the airport to Gons home, but Mito insisted that they’d meet at the airport (“Just to be sure, you know?” And Gon didn’t know).

He tapped his fingers at increasing speeds against the interior of the red Subaru XV, and watched as the scenery outside transitioned slowly from deserted dirt roads to busy highways to the even busier parking area of the airport.

Would Killua even recognize him? Would he be able to recognize Killua? He’d like to think so, but then again, people always said celebrities look different face-to-face than on TV. His heart was beating hard and fast against his chest, but a smile never left his face, strained in anticipation of the best kind.

Mito sat down in a designated waiting area, exhausted from a long drive. She considered asking Gon to sit down as well but disregarded the thought as he fidgeted and started to pace again. Excess energy needs to be let out somehow.

“The plane has already landed, right? Shouldn’t he be here already?” he blurted out, nervously bouncing on his heels.

“He’s probably still waiting for his luggage, things like this take ti-“

“Gon!” Mito got cut off by a voice that shouted his name in such a familiar way, so recognizable that it was almost startling.

He whipped around, and his eyes caught onto the silver hair in the distance immediately. There was Killua. He looked like he had just jumped out of any of the pictures that Gon had ever seen of him, messy hair, bright eyes, pale skin, and a confident yet laidback smile.

It took about 5 seconds before Gon had cleared the distance between them, and he wrapped his arms around the other boy in a big hug. Killua hesitated for a moment, before he returned the hug, and patted Gon on the shoulder.

“It’s really you!”

“Who else could it be?” Killua snorted.

“I don’t know! But it’s still so weird to, just, have you here now!”

They spent what felt like an eternity looking at each other, laughed and giggled and commented on each other’s features, more defined than any picture could do. Killuas eyes sparkled in the low airport light, and Gon tried to burn every detail of his face into his memory, his long eyelashes, the creases of his eyes, and his sharp smile. Everything looked so natural, so right, and Gons heart stumbled over itself.

“So, would you like to introduce your friend to me, Gon?” As Mito spoke up, both boys pulled out of the hug with a jump.

Killua quickly held out his hand and stood straight, “I’m Killua, thank you so much for letting me stay over for a bit, miss. It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand with a giggle. “You can just call me Mito or Auntie, alright? And it’s nice to meet you too, thank you for getting along so well with this little troublemaker.”

Gon felt heat rush to his cheeks but couldn’t bark a complain before Mito ruffled a hand through his hair. “How about we all grab something to eat, and then had home. You must be starving, Killua. Do you like burgers?”

The boys cheered in unison, and the group headed towards a fast-food chain.

And if Gon didn’t notice how easily he and Killua fell into step next to each other, too deeply invested in conversation about flights and food and seemingly the entire world, Mito surely did.

#HI IM ALIVE AGAIN <333 SORRY THIS TOOK CENTURIES #killugon #hisoillu #Killua Zoldyck #Gon Freecss #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter fanfiction #hisoka marrow #illumi zoldyck #mito freecss #fanfiction #hxh fanfic

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missmarquin · 4 years

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Slow Healing Against a Purpling Sky, Chapter One (Modern AU, Sylvix)

Sylvain watches the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls. When he leaves the cafe, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on.

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving.

At the end of the week he pauses at the shop once more before making the boldest, stupidest, dumbest decision he’s ever made. Instead of going to the cafe for coffee and a warm strawberry pastry, he goes to the bank instead.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place.

Read here on A03 for better formatting!

---

Hegira

Sylvain just drives.

He drives and drives and drives, a random radio station blasting an eighties tune that he doesn’t really like, but he’ll listen to because anything is better than the alternative.

His father screaming obscenities like Sylvain’s never heard before, slurs and other terrible, terrible, things flowing from the man like it was second nature. His mother hadn’t been surprised-- not really-- but she’s always known Sylvain better than he’s known himself. Suddenly it makes sense, her pursed expression at girl after girl he’d bring home, arm slung around their shoulders but enough space between them that’s as wide as the Rio Grande itself.

Sylvain’s ears are still ringing from the slam of the front door. His father yelling as he chases after him, Gautier-this and Gautier-that, and we have images to uphold, and good Gautier boys marry well and pump out kids, and Sylvain will abide by this, he will he will he will--

His mother’s soft crying as Sylvain pulls on his leather jacket, her breath hitching because she knows the moment that he leaves that door, the moment that he walks right out-- it will be the last time she ever sees him.

Sylvain hates that it had been such a hard choice to make, but there’s a point that you hit when you just can’t anymore, and he’s far past that, he’s been beyond that for years.

Footloose isn’t loud enough to drown out the deafening silence, so he turns up the dial as loud as it’ll go before rolling down the windows for a little bit of freedom. There’s wind in his wild red hair and the smell of the fresh prairie land as he speeds down old country highways.

Dallas hadn’t been like this. Dallas had been large and loud, car horns honking and air like the backside of an industrial warehouse. Where high society knocks boots together at stupid state dinners, preening business ventures and futures full of empty marriages that mean nothing--

Sylvain pulls off to the side of the road, chest heaving and hands tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles bright white as they sear, fingernails digging tightly into his skin--

Sylvain breathes. He breathes again, eyes falling closed as he leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He doesn’t regret this. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t. The mantra seems to work as he calms down, letting go and breathing out a long sigh.

He’s gone, he’s finally gone, he’s left and he can do anything he wants, and he hates that all he thinks about is how he should go right back. That he should apologize to his father for his mistake. Kiss his mother with a hug and promise that he’ll never leave again.

But he doesn’t, he can’t, because as long as he lives in that tidy home in University Park, he’ll never be allowed to be himself and that’s--

Sylvain can’t say it. He’d finally admitted to it in a bout of anger towards his father, but despite that outburst, he still can’t bring himself to properly acknowledge it. To acknowledge his very being.

He glances at his phone. Nine missed calls, eight of them from Ingrid and one from his mother, quickly followed by a text message. It’s the latter that he pulls open and the words are kind-- the words are so kind that he can feel the prickle of tears at the corner of his eyes.

He won’t cry though. He’s far too angry and bitter for that.

Always be yourself.

He wants to, he needs to, and now he’s given himself that opportunity, so no, he can’t go back, not when he’s finally walked free of that life and just started a new one.

Sylvain glances at the dashboard clock. He’s driven for six hours and is nearly on empty, and as far as he’s gotten in the buttfuck middle of West Texas, he hasn’t seen a gas station in eons. He catches sight of a green billboard on the side of the road, crumpled over and dented like someone hit it and was never fixed.

Pecos. Pop. 870.

He taps his fingers along to the beat of Africa as he thinks, mind reeling and trying to make the right choice. But there is no right choice, there’s the only choice, and it’s to finally take that freedom and just go go go.

He shifts the car into gear, turning right at the sign and driving towards the burning red sun that drips into the horizon.

…

“You’re not a face I’ve ever seen before. Are you from out of town?”

Sylvain jerks at the voice of the waitress, realizing that he’d been staring out the window at the purpling sunset. The woman is around his age, blond hair cut short and around her ears, and gray eyes that twinkle as she regards him with curiosity.

“That obvious, huh?” he replies, scrubbing at the back of his head nervously.

She’s holding a carafe of coffee in one hand, the other pressed gently against her cheek as she surveys him for a moment longer. Then she reaches out to fill his cup up. “It’s not as good as Hubert’s, but it’s coffee nonetheless.”

Sylvain’s not even sure what that means, but he takes the cup with a quiet thanks.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

Sylvain’s surprised by the question, but motions to the chair across from him. She’s a pretty girl in her cream colored blouse and somewhat drab skirt, curvy in the right places with a bust that would be the envy of many, but as much as he tries, as much as he wants--

Nope, she just doesn’t do anything for him.

“I won’t ask,” the woman says as she slides into the chair across him, “But people don’t find their way out here unless they want to.”

Sylvain finally gets a good look at her nametag. Mercedes.

“I was just driving,” he tells her. “Ran out of gas and this was the closest town.”

“Where are you headed?” she asks him, serene and full of grace, and he finds that he doesn’t mind telling her, that he wouldn’t mind explaining things to her. But he doesn’t.

“Anywhere,” he tells her instead, fingers wrapped around his mug to warm them. “Nowhere. I don’t care, really. Just anywhere that isn’t there.”

Mercedes doesn’t seem to mind the vagueness of his words, only nodding with a small little hum. And then, her lips quirk into a sly little smile and Sylvain just knows that she’s a special one, this girl here.

He looks back to the pink and purpling sunset and she follows his gaze. The silence stretches between them for a moment before Sylvain says something.

“It doesn’t look like this back home. The sunset I mean.”

“Yeah, things tend to look a little bit different around here.” Then she turns to him, head cocked to the side. “As I said earlier, people don’t usually find this place unless they’re looking for it. I don’t know your story, but if you’re going anywhere, why not stay here for a bit? Clear your mind? The motel is clean and the food is good.”

“I’ll…” He trails off, but she waits patiently, hands folding neatly in her lap and the coffee carafe steaming between them. “I’ll consider it,” Sylvain finishes.

Mercedes smiles, tapping her finger against her lips before she stands up and leaves him. Moments later, she reappears with a small plate and fork in hand.

“I didn’t--”

“It’s on the house,” she tells him, her voice soothing as she sets it before him, napkins quickly following. And then she flits away to take care of whatever she has to in the back.

It’s an apple pie, crusty and golden brown. He’s never really been a pie person, but he’s hungry and he didn’t realize it and it’s free and Mercedes has just given it to him--

He doesn’t really deserve her kindness, but he takes a bite anyway.

It’s the best damn thing he’s ever eaten.

Sylvain finishes it, watching the beautiful West Texas landscape out the window as night falls.

When he leaves, he heads for the motel. It’s small but clean, just like Mercedes promised. When he wakes in the morning and walks back to the cafe, he sees an old mechanic’s garage for sale. He pauses to look at it, head tilted to the side for a moment before moving on.

Sylvain meant to stay for an extra day, but he stays for a week because Mercedes is right, there’s just something about Pecos that’s homey and warm and loving.

He empties his private account and buys the damn place.

---

Sylvain stares at his phone for a long time before he finally hits call. The line rings three times and then picks up, and before he can even get a word in, Ingrid’s already yelling at him.

“Oh so you are alive!” There’s anger in her voice which is nothing unusual, but it’s different this time, there’s something about her tone that makes Sylvain wince. “Which is good, because it means that when I finally see you, I can kill you myself!”

“Ingrid, my best girl--”

“No,” she snaps. “None of that, Sylvain, I won’t hear any of it.” She pauses and he hears her take a deep breath, trying to suss out her words. He can just see her pressing her fingers to her brow, rubbing at the skin there wearily. “Three days.” There’s a waver to her voice and Sylvain sighs in resignation. “You haven’t texted me back and then I called your mother, and she just--”

Sylvain starts at that. “You what--”

“She was crying Sylvain! Not a word from you for an entire week and then you finally decide to reach out.”

Sylvain sighs quietly. “I didn’t call you to argue,” he says to her tiredly, already regretting the phone call.

“Sylvain, what have you gone and done now?”

“I’m in Pecos,” he tells her. “Six hours away. It’s small but the people are nice, and fuck, I had the best apple pie I’ve ever had in my life. And I watched the sunset-- you know that I’ve never really done that? It looks different here though, all purple and pink and I just--”

“Sylvain--”

“I bought this old, run-down mechanic shop. It needs a lot of work but the equipment there is solid and maybe I can finally put my useless hobby to some fucking use. You know, make a difference or something.”

“Sylvain.” The moment she says his name though, she hesitates before asking, “Are you alright?” Her voice is quieter, less angry and full of concern. She’s never been without her love, but Sylvain can count on his hands how many times he’s actually heard that tone and he just kind of breaks down and--

“I told them,” he says to her shakily and he can hear the hiccup in her voice, and the words that she really wants to say, but Ingrid just makes a squawking sort of sound instead. “Stuck it to the man and then I stormed out of there before he could do much else. I drove until I couldn’t anymore and I pulled off to grab gas here and I--” He sighs.

“It’s nice here. It’s quiet and the people don’t judge, and the sunset really is different and it’s just kind of… magical.”

“I’m coming out there--”

“No,” Sylvain cuts her off. “No, there’s no need for that.”

“Sylvain, you bought a garage on a whim.”

“And oddly, I don’t regret it.” He pauses. “Yet.”

“Are you truly okay?” Ingrid asks him for a second time and Sylvain considers her question.

Finally he tells her the truth, because there’s no point in hiding it from her. She’ll know, she always knows, because they’ve been attached at the hip since they were four and nothing can really break a bond like that. “No, Ingrid, I’m not.”

“Syl--”

“But I think that I will be,” he cuts in. “I just need some time.” He hears Ingrid sigh heavily, so he adds on, “You know that I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Goddess knows why I put up with you though.”

Sylvain laughs. “Will you keep an eye on Mom? Tell her that I got her text?”

Ingrid’s mother’s been dead for over a decade, so his mom has always just been Mom to her. He’s not going to risk his father’s anger by texting her back. Ingrid sighs once more over the line, this time out of weariness not annoyance. “Of course I will.” A pause and then, “Sylvain, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Sylvain laughs again, this time sharp as it leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. “Oh Ingrid, I never know what I’m doing.”

---

Sylvain’s mornings have a routine.

He wakes up in his modest room at the Sunshine Motel. It’s clean and bright, sheets changed every few days because while he’s now a permanent fixture, he’s not picky either. The water is warm and because he’s the only guest, it never runs out.

Pecos is so small that it’s a quick walk to anywhere, so he trots across the empty main street to For Whom the Brew Tolls. He’s never put a lot of thought into his coffee, but Hubert does, and despite his gothic vampire-looking ass, he knows said coffee well. Sylvain always orders a medium A Brew, Darkly and proceeds to utterly ruin it with as much cream and sugar as possible.

Hubert doesn’t have fangs that Sylvain can see, but he threatens with a near snarl at the idea. Ferdinand is nicer about it though, because he understands drowning the dark sludge as much as possible. And then, every day like the one before, he offers Sylvain a nice brew of tea which he takes without a thought.

His next stop is The Grateful Bread, because he’s learned over the months that Mercedes has a wicked sense of humor and a taste for classic rock, which contradicts her sweet and demure disposition. He’s barely in the door before her hand is held out, not even bothering to look away from the morning paper. He gives her the tea and she gives him a pastry, and with a smile and wink he’s on his way again.

She’s the best fucking baker in the world and her food is literal magic, because he’s pretty sure her pie is ninety-five percent of the reason why he stayed in this dumb town. The other five percent is more important though-- life changing, really, because Mercedes is like him. He likes it, he lives for it because no matter how much he flirts, she’ll only laugh and smile at him in return, a wide and genuine show of affection that means nothing more than that.

It’s not a false show of Dallas socialite wealth and, for the first time in his life, being around a woman is refreshing, not daunting.

He’s usually at his shop by ten in the morning. The town complains that he doesn’t open early enough for a proper mechanic, but, seeing as he’s the only car garage in the town, they don’t have much of a choice. The alternative is to wait, or to ask your neighbor who claims to know how to replace an engine and before you know it, you’re dishing out twice as much because they’ve fucked up the engine valves by putting them in upside down.

Buying the shop had been, admittedly, a wild and not-so-smart decision, but Sylvain has always lived life in the fast lane and he’s never done anything by small measures. It’d taken a bit of time to get it back to working order, but the place had good bones and enough equipment for a starting point.

The first morning he’d properly opened the place, Mercedes had greeted him with a piece of that damn apple pie again and he should have told her no, he should have, but he super didn’t and if he could be in love with her, he absolutely would be. At first glance, Mercedes is kind of perfect on the outside, but once Sylvain had gotten to know her, he saw a darkness underneath that perfect surface that was well-recognized. It’s probably why they got on so well.

And so, she gets her morning tea courtesy of Ferdinand and hand delivered by Sylvain himself. Ingrid would always be his best girl, but Merce was slowly wedging her way into a special place in his heart.

She’s a balm across his heart, because he’s emptied his account to buy his dumb garage and he’s drowning in debt. He’s been living off of the kindness of Mercedes’ free pastries and Hubert’s half-priced coffee at Ferdinand’s insistence. Hubert’s vowed to charge him double later on when he can afford it, and Sylvain isn’t unsure that he and the ginger-haired teamonger aren’t actually a match made in hell.

The Motel insists that he only pays weekly-- and Sylvain’s almost certain they aren’t charging full price either, and the pink-haired and loud bartender at the Pecos Grill gives him free sodas with a wink.

Despite all of this overwhelming gratitude and immense debt, it’s been a long time since Sylvain’s been able to be himself and… it’s a nice feeling.

For the first time in his life, he’s kind of happy, and that’s saying something.

---

The beginning of the rest of Sylvain’s life comes in the form of a foul-mouthed, dark-haired man with circles under his eyes that are sharp enough to cut a hand on.

Sylvain’s early to the shop for once, because of a sleepless night filled with nightmares, restlessness and one angry text message from Ingrid. She’s still annoyed at him for refusing to answer her calls, but he needs time, he needs time to figure things out.

And while he loves Ingrid and she loves him, patience isn’t one of her virtues.

Still, early isn’t early enough for some, apparently. He’s barely got the key in the front door when he hears a scoff from behind, and he turns to find a man leaning against the hood of the rattiest looking Mustang he’s ever seen. Really, the car is a fucking travesty and the vintage car-obssessed fool within Sylvain is cringing at the rust that lines the belly of the thing.

“It’s nine in the morning. Why the fuck aren’t you open?”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, letting go of the key and turning to the man. “I make my own hours,” he replies smoothly. The dark-haired man sneers, arms crossed in front of his chest and foot tapping impatiently against the ground.

“Don’t you know how garages operate? You open up early enough for people to drop off their cars before work.” The man pauses, his scowl souring even further. “I know you’re new to town, but do you even know what you're doing?”

“As in owning a garage?” Sylvain asks. “Not a fucking clue, but if you mean working on cars, then I’m your man.”

The other man’s brows raise as if he’s briefly amused. “Doubtful.”

Sylvain nods to his own car which he keeps parked at the garage. Safer than the Motel Parking lot and since he walks everywhere, he doesn’t really need it at all hours of the day. “That ‘68 Lambo didn’t restore herself.”

“I’m sure it didn’t, but the man that you paid to--”

“Are you here to drop off your car or not?” Sylvain cuts in and while he’s decent at hiding his anger, it’s hard with this particular asshole of a man. The other man starts, tching in annoyance.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” he admits, pulling himself away from the hood. “I was able to drive here, but it’s making the strangest noise and I don’t want to push it further.”

Sylvain strokes his chin in thought. “Well, I’ll take a look but I won’t know till I get under her hood.”

“Her,” the prickly man repeats. “It’s a car.”

“That’s a ‘68 Mustang and it’s definitely a her. You’re a dick, but you have taste.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Then whoever she belongs to has good taste.”

“Whoever is dead.”

Sylvain frowns, the mood immediately tense, but it’s the other man who relents with a long sigh. “Look, just take a look or whatever, and give me a call when you figure out what needs to be done. Some people were expected at work three hours ago.”

Sylvain doesn’t know what kind of job would require you to be at work at literally dawn, but it's definitely not a job that he would ever want. Before he could even reply, the man thrusts a business card and keys into his hands. “I have orders to catch up on, so make sure it’s later in the day.”

The man doesn’t give a proper goodbye, he just turns to leave and Sylvain watches as he rounds the corner without another word. Dick. But then he looks at the Mustang and there’s this pang through his heart as he steps towards her.

“Oh honey, he doesn’t deserve you,” he whispers, running his hand along the pockmarked hood.

He pockets the car keys and looks at the business card. “Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” he says, mouth curling around the name with a little bit of difficulty, because it’s long and unwieldy. “Farrier--” His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the words. “What the fuck is a farrier?” he wonders aloud, pocketing the card and glances woefully at the car once more.

“It’s okay,” he says, once more patting her hood. “We’ll fix you right up.”

---

Sylvain doesn’t usually trip into the coffee shop more than once a day because he values his sanity, but for the sake of the beautiful red Mustang, he’ll make an exception.

Hubert stares at him over the espresso machine for a long moment and then says, “Why are you asking me?”

“Come on Hubie--”

“Call me that again and I’ll boil you alive--”

“I want something to bring as a peace offering. You know, to placate the man. He was angry this morning even though I opened the shop earlier than I normally do. How’s he going to react when I explain that his timing belt is so fucked that it chewed up his engine?”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.” Judging by Hubert’s tone though, an angry Felix sounds like everyone’s problem.

“It’s not that it’s a problem, Hubert,” Sylvain eases, “I’m just asking for a little bit of help.”

“By asking what his regular coffee order is.” Hubert looks away, pouring milk into a cup before pressing it under the steam wand. “I strictly abide by Barista-Client Confidentiality.”

“Barista-Client Confidentiality-- That’s not even a thing.”

“It is at For Whom the Brew Tolls. Buzz off.”

“Oh don’t listen to him,” a chipper voice says from the front register and they both turn to look at Ferdinand in his ginger-haired and finely freckled glory. Sylvain’s never liked a man-bun on anyone, but… it’s not entirely awful on the man. His cable-knit burgundy and cream sweater is far more offensive… if Sylvain were one for fashion. “Felix usually has a blonde roast if he’s having coffee, black as his soul-- but I’ll let you in on something.” Ferdinand leans in close, like he’s telling Sylvain a secret. “He actually prefers tea--”

“Nonsense,” Hubert cuts in. Sylvain almost laughs aloud at the pout the Ferdinand throws on at the sight of Hubert’s scowl. “Seriously, promoting your pansy water over a nice cup of--”

“He likes Almyran Pine needles,” Ferdinand interrupts with a subtle grin, leaning against the second espresso machine casually.

Hubert regards him coolly over the current drink he’s working on. “Pecans, maple and hints of vanilla, with enough caffeine to fuel an army--”

“Now guys, it’s not a competition,” Sylvain tries to interject, but neither man is listening, solely focused on each other.

It’s not the first time he thinks that they’re a weird pair. When Mercedes had told him that they were married, Sylvain had honestly thought she was joking. He can see the appeal in Ferdinand at least, with his clean skin and charming smile-- but Hubert?

He looks like he stepped out of a gothic poetry book and settled into the wrong century. But Hubert is staring at Ferdinand, like truly staring, ignoring the milk cup in his hand as he over steamed whatever latte he was in the middle of, because he’s so thoroughly distracted by his husband. The good kind of distracted, that makes you feel like you should be anywhere else, except for right there and watching.

Sylvain’s one part jealous, one part annoyed, and every part tired of dealing with them.

“I’ll just take the blonde roast,” Sylvain finally tells Ferdinand, and it’s like they’re snapped from whatever spell they were under. Ferdinand pulls away from the spare machine.

“I’ll have to do a pour over because we don’t keep a carafe of that--”

“You’ll ruin it--” Hubert says, but Ferdinand rolls his eyes before looking back at Sylvain.

“Three years here and he still thinks I cannot brew a cup of coffee.”

“You can’t.”

“Maybe not to your standard,” Ferdinand says tartly, eyes sweeping over the entirety of his husband, slow and pointedly. “That’s alright though. There’s plenty of things that you can’t do to a standard just as well. Felix won’t care either way because he’d prefer to directly inject caffeine into his veins.”

That’s a feeling that Sylvain can get behind. Hubert scowls at Ferdinand’s back, but it’s not without its weird brand of affection.

“Say, Hubert,” Sylvain asks, leaning against the counter that housed the back of the machines as he scrutinizes the slightly dopey expression the man wears. “What do you find attractive in Ferdie?”

“That’s something that I won’t answer.” A pause, followed by a threatening narrowing of the eyes. “And don’t call him Ferdie.”

Sylvain shoots him a dopey smile in return. “No promises. Also, I’m only curious.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Sylvain frowns at the jab, but before he could ask more, Ferdinand appears at his side with a steaming cup. “On the house,” the man tells him. “I hope we’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you? I come every morning.”

Ferdinand laughs at that. “Yes, well, you’re also about to enter the personal space of one angry little man. I wish you luck in your endeavors.”

Sylvain pauses, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Ferdinand. “You can’t tell me he’s actually scary. He’s like this tall.” He motions to just under his chin.

To his surprise though, it’s Hubert that answers. “Felix is a nasty creature. Ferdinand is only trying to warn you.”

Sylvain blinks in surprise and then eyes the coffee warily. “Well, too late for that.” Then he smiles back at Hubert. “Besides, who can resist this charming smile?”

Hubert doesn’t even warrant that with a reply.

....

Sylvain still doesn’t know what a farrier is because he’s too lazy to properly google it, but he isn’t expecting Felix’s office to be an outdoor workshop.

He’d found the building easily enough, but had to round the entire edge of it to find the entrance, only to be surprised by a garage that was not unlike his own. The coffee is hot in his hand though and he’s already burned his thumb on dripping liquid, so he hurries into the workspace without a thought, only to look up and--

Sylvain stops dead at the sight of Felix.

The garage here actually isn’t anything like his own. There’s a traditional if somewhat low-tech forge off to the side, blazing hot with nearly purple flames. Felix is beside it, wearing loose khakis and stripped down to a thin v-neck shirt. The black cotton makes him look paler, but his cheeks are flush bright red with the heat of the room and he’s a literal sweaty mess, dark bangs plastered to his forehead while the rest of his hair is pulled high up into a ponytail.

Sylvain hadn’t noticed his hair was long before. Why hadn’t he noticed that?

Felix is working, hammer heavy in a gloved hand as he uses tongs to hold a red-hot billet still, striking down in a quick stroke, lean muscles rippling with sheens of sweat and--

There’s always one point in a person's life where they see someone and time just stands still. Like, everything else just disappears and the only thing there is the person you’re looking at, and it’s like it just punches you in the gut, because they look perfect, they feel perfect, they are perfect, they are the only thing that exists and it’s all consuming and it just burns through you and--

Sylvain drops the coffee in his surprise and Felix looks up, mid stroke to watch the cup skitter across the floor.

“Are you mad?” he snaps. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to sneak up on someone working like this?”

No, because Felix is apparently a fucking blacksmith, which Sylvain assumes the word farrier is a fancy term for and he’s probably wrong, but he’s distracted. He’s very very distracted right now.

Felix isn’t his type; his type is… well actually, he doesn’t really know what his type is because he’s never really given it a lot of thought because he’s so fucking repressed and--

“And you’ve gone and made a fucking mess,” Felix continues, carefully placing the billet aside to cool. He pulls off his gloves and throws them against the anvil, and Sylvain can just see the annoyance radiate off of him.

“I-- uh, well--” But he’s not the most articulate, so he drops to pick up the cup instead, rubbing at his hair sheepishly. “I thought this would be easier in person than over the phone because uh--”

“And so you brought me coffee?”

“As a peace offering? Yeah.”

Felix sighs before pulling a rag out of his pocket and wiping the sweat off of his face. All he does is drag soot across his cheek though and Sylvain wants to reach out and rub it away with this thumb and--

He swallows shakily at the thought, ignoring it, ignoring it. “So when was the last time you replaced the timing belt?” Sylvain finally asks.

“The what now?”

“Oh wow, okay that explains a lot--”

“Just spit it out,” Felix snaps, crossing the forge to pull a towel from a cabinet. He drops it on the floor, using his foot to kick it around and soak up the spilled coffee. “What do I owe you?”

Sylvain winces. “In my honest opinion, you shouldn’t bother.” Felix stops at that, staring at the floor for a long moment, and Sylvain wonders what he’s said to put that kind of look on his face.

But then Felix goes back to mopping up the mess without a beat missed. “Nonsense,” he says to Sylvain. “What do I owe you?”

“The timing belt is pretty shredded,” Sylvain says, leaning against an unused anvil and he hopes Felix won’t get annoyed. “I’m surprised that you made it to the shop actually, but that drive probably destroyed the engine.”

Felix looks up at that, blinking at him. “And how much is a new engine?” he asks, like he’s trying to draw out information from a five year old who keeps dodging around the answer.

Sylvain supposes that Felix isn’t entirely wrong in that respect.

“Look, you probably don’t want to know--”

“How much?” This time there’s actual bite to the words, not the annoyed-yet-slightly-teasing tone used earlier that morning.

“You’re looking at like seven thousand dollars, including all the labor,” Sylvain finally says with a wince, mentally preparing himself for whatever blowback is about to happen. “And I fucking swear to the Goddess that I’m not overcharging-- I’m actually undercharging.”

Felix leans over to pick up the soiled towel, considering. “Okay then,” he replies, tossing it into a laundry bin tucked into a dark corner. “Whatever the cost.”

Sylvain flounders for a moment. “You could buy a decent car for less. Something that’s in better shape, because even if I fix the engine, you’ve got a lot of other problems and that’s not even including the smaller things like rust and dents and--”

“Whatever the cost,” Felix repeats.

But Sylvain blabbers on, uncharacteristically nervous in his verbose monologue. “I mean your water pump is barely hanging on, the undercarriage is literally missing entire bolts and--”

“Sylvain--”

And it’s in the moment that Sylvain realizes that he’d never properly introduced himself that morning, what kind of mechanic is he and how does Felix even know his name--

“I’m not getting another car. Order the parts and I’ll contact you in the morning for final details.” Felix’s tone isn’t mean, it’s just very… curt. Sylvain knows that it’s a fruitless effort.

“You know, if you took better care of it, it wouldn’t have even come to this point,” Sylvain blurts. Felix’s face immediately darkens, his face twisting with a snarl and Sylvain remembers Hubert’s words about how Felix was a nasty creature, and he knows that he’s definitely said the wrong thing. “Look I--”

“Out.”

Felix could have said nastier words, but that one is dripping with poison and Sylvain knows better than to stick around longer than invited, because there’s a very hot forge and very dangerous tools laying around, and Felix seems the type of man who would absolutely kill someone and dispose of the body personally.

“I’ll uh-- Yeah, I’ll order those parts for you. Tomorrow then.”

Sylvain bolts before Felix can yell at him more, and he really, really hopes that he hasn’t fucked this up.

The job, he means, because Sylvain doesn’t have time for any other distractions.

…

“You seem distracted,” Mercedes tells him later that night. They’re at the Pecos Grill, chilling in the bar, her hand wrapped around a delicate glass of the hardest fucking whiskey that they carry. She might be sweet and loving, but she’s never been one to do anything by half measures, and that includes drinking liquor.

“Tell me about Felix,” Sylvain demands, fingers wrapped around the stem of an awfully tacky margarita glass, stirring it gently with a straw.

She blinks at him, momentarily surprised, but then her lips quirk into a small and knowing smile, and immediately Sylvain is on the defensive. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says quickly. “I’m just curious. He’s a very angry man.”

“Felix has been here forever,” Mercedes finally tells him, swirling her glass around idly. “And by that I mean he’s born and raised here, generations of family before him on the same plot of land kind of born-and-raised.”

“And yes, he’s an angry man,” another voice cuts in. Mercedes and Sylvain look at the barkeep pressed against the counter, indelicately leaning into their conversation. “Sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” There’s two types of barkeeps-- those who keep to themselves and those who over involve. Sylain’s learned that Hilda is definitely the latter. Her hair’s tied up into twin buns and there’s the loud clack of chewing gum, lips smacking around it.

“He’s all bark and no bite,” Mercedes assures him, but Hilda laughs. Sylvain regards her once more, but the woman rolls her eyes and shrugs.

“Look, Felix is a weird dude. He usually hates everyone on principal. Whatever happened between the two of you… don’t take it personally.”

“Nothing happened--” But Hilda leaves before he can finish, flittering towards the end of the bar to take the order of a blonde-haired man with an eyepatch. Sylvain’s seen him once or twice, but stayed far, far away after witnessing the man have an in-depth conversation with himself.

“So he did take the car to you?” Mercedes asks.

“I was wondering how he knew my name--”

“Everyone knows your name, Sylvain.” He pauses at that, because she’s right. Word travels like wildfire through small towns and he’s been in Pecos for several months now, so he shouldn’t even be surprised. “But yes, I told him to take the car to you. What’s the damage?”

“Too much.” Sylvain groans at the thought. “Honestly, seeing a classic in such a state, it kills me Merce. Does he even know anything about cars? He didn’t know what a timing belt is.”

She looks amused as she says, “Probably not. He doesn’t drive much.”

“I told him that he should buy a new car. This one’s not really worth fixing, she’s a literal money pit.”

Mercedes frowns and Sylvain is immediately put off. She’s a close friend now, they spend most of their nights together chatting, but he’s never seen this look on her face and it’s off-putting in a way that makes his stomach literally crawl.

“I knew it,” Sylvain bemoans. “I pissed him off.” He’d immediately known he’d said the wrong thing by Felix’s reaction, but by just how much did he fuck this up? “What’s up with him and the car?”

“It’s special,” Mercedes says quietly, lips pursed slightly as her gaze dips far away. Sylvain decides right then and there that he never, ever, wants to see this look on her face again. “The person it belonged to was special.”

“Got it. Former girlfriend or something.”

Mercedes is amused by the assumption, but it’s drowned out by the utter sadness in her gaze. She isn’t the type to issue any sort of dismissal, which is why Sylvain has come to love her-- genuinely love her-- so much, but he’s learned over the years when it’s appropriate to stop forcing an issue.

He backs off, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Well, he said to fix it at any cost, so I ordered the parts after I left the forge.” He pauses. “Also-- a blacksmith?”

“Farrier,” she corrects.

“What’s the difference?” He can tell by her face that it’s a dumb question, but his mind is a little fuzzy with drink and he’s still too lazy to google it.

“He shoes horses, not that he doesn’t have hobbies on the side.” Honestly the idea of the prickly man having any sort of hobby was laughable.

“Shoes horses-- Oh.” Sylvain’s not a stupid man, but he can be slow at times.

“Family business,” she says with mirth, the sparkle settling slowly back into her eye.

“Yeah, he seemed to know what he was doing.”

Lithe, corded muscles glistening with sweat and-- goddess damn it’s been too long. He drowns the rest of his drink with impressive gusto, Mercedes raising her brows at the display. “I hope I haven’t wasted my money. I’m half convinced he won’t show up tomorrow morning.”

“He will,” Mercedes reassures him. “He’d do anything for that car.

Sylvain grunts in reply.

“A word of advice from someone who’s known the man his entire life,” Hilda says, sliding in between them once more. She leans over the counter to coyly display her low-cut neckline. “Don’t engage longer than necessary. I like you alive.” Then she winks at Sylvain and he winks back, even though he feels nothing, even though he tries. Even if it’d make this entire thing so much easier.

Hilda drops a fresh drink in front of him and he sighs in relief, because he’s way too sober to be dealing with this. Before he can down the drink though, Mercedes reaches out, her fingers soft and warm against his wrist.

“Sylvain,” she says softly and he caves, taking a small sip through the straw instead.

“Last one, Merce,” he finally says. “I promise.”

If this were back-home in Dallas and the end-of-the-night party post state-dinner, he’d be attached at the hip of the most scantily clad woman he could find, downing enough liquor so he could at least try and pretend.

But this isn’t Dallas and as much as he likes Hilda’s margaritas, he likes the comfort of Mercedes’ warm smile and ever understanding patience instead. He won’t wake up in a pile of sheets and naked limbs, more disappointed in himself, than whoever he was with.

Instead he goes back home with Merce and they binge watch reruns of the Bachelorette, while stuffing their faces with the leftovers from the bakery.

----

Sylvain doesn’t bother waiting for Felix the next morning.

He’s at the shop early again, unlocking the office door at an appalling seven AM. His night had been restless once again, but he’s traded angry memories of yelling and slurs, for images of sweaty and flushed skin, rippling muscles and imagined whines, dark hair pooling around shoulders and--

Nope, nope, nope he needs to stop that right now.

He drops his bag in the lopsided desk chair and decides to forgo any paperwork, because there’s absolutely no way that he can possibly concentrate on numbers and bank accounts and financing. So, by eight-thirty, he’s managed to haul the old Mustang into the Garage proper and hoist her up.

He pats the hood gently, fingers catching slightly on the rust there. “Pitiful,” he sighs. “If he’s so in love with you, why’s he let you get like this?” The metal is cold under his fingers as he taps at it lightly before pulling back. “Whatever the cost,” he murmurs, echoing Felix’s ridiculous request from the night before.

Sylvain’s suggestion hadn’t been unreasonable, but Felix had gone from sightly annoyed to angry enough to explode, in the span of several seconds, so clearly there was something more there. Mercedes had confirmed it with her comment later in the night that the car was special.

Obviously, Sylvain thinks with a frown, but he doesn’t dwell on it longer than he has to, getting to work on the car.

Around nine in the morning, there’s a kick to the right front wheel well, and Sylvain curses in surprise, jerking up and knocking his head against the undercarriage where he’d been situated. He slides back on the creeper, rubbing at his forehead with a soft groan, only to meet the face of a surprised Felix.

“It’s before ten and not only are you here, you’re actually working?” Felix’s tone is sharp, but it’s not angry, and Sylvain lets out a breath that he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. He sits up properly, eyes raking over Felix’s form.

He looks good in loose track pants and a plain navy t-shirt. His hair is pulled back neatly and he looks fresh, despite the apparently permanent circles under his eyes. Sylvain has no idea why he likes the look of them, because on anyone else they’d be ugly little shadows. Sylvain sighs at the sight of him before--

“Goddess, is that coffee?” Felix is holding a carrier with two takeaway cups.

“What was it you called it last night? A peace offering?” Felix lifts the cardboard slightly, motioning to the office. “I… figured I should apologize for--” But then he sighs, annoyed. “Just take the damn coffee.” He says the words so quietly that Sylvain’s gaze narrows shrewdly.

“You don’t seem the type to apologize.”

“I’m not.” The testy edge to his voice has crept back in, but then Felix sighs, dragging a spare hand through his bangs, mucking up his neatly styled hair. “Look, let’s just-- let’s get everything settled. I have other things to do today.”

Sylvain pulls himself up properly, wiping at his forehead with a rag and motioning to the office. Once inside, Felix drops the coffee onto the desk before settling into the chair. Sylvain watches Felix finger the worn edge of the splintered wood. He’s not like him, Sylvain realizes, Felix just doesn’t do people well. Mercedes had told him, Hilda had told him, even Hubert had warned him but…

Felix looks visibly disturbed at the moment, like he wants to be anywhere else.

“You’ve tidied it up in here,” Felix finally says. “This office was always a mess.” He must have seen Sylvian’s confused glance, because he adds, “It’s the only garage in town. Do you think I’ve never had a car worked on before?”

Sylvain decides to not tell him that yes, he’d absolutely thought that, moving to open a manilla folder instead. “So the immediate problem is the engine, as I told you last night. The timing belt is what helps time the rotation of the crankshaft and camshaft, so the engine valves close and open at the proper time. So when it--”

Felix is ignoring him, popping off the lid of his coffee to check it, before taking a sip.

“Right uh, probably too much info. Point is, the engine’s entirely destroyed, it’s a hard model to find and it’s labor intensive. I wasn’t joking about the seven thousand at least.”

“I wasn’t joking about whatever the cost.” Felix points to the other cup and Sylvain drops the folder, gabbing at it. “Hubert refused to fix it the way that you do and wouldn’t tell me anything more than an absurd amount of sugar and cream. So I just dumped it in there until it didn’t look like coffee anymore. Take it or leave it.”

Sylvain tips the lid, finding the color of the coffee to look satisfactory enough and a quick sip confirms. Felix grimaces, sharing Hubert’s views on how he takes his coffee. Popping the lid back down, Sylvain sighs. “The engine’s just the tip of the iceberg,” he tells Felix. “She’s got so many other problems, and all of them make her dangerous to drive.”

“So what’s your point?”

“How much are you actually willing to spend on her?” Sylvain asks.

“I said--”

“I know what you said,” Sylvain cuts in. “But promising whatever the cost, is vastly different when it comes down to the actual numbers. You’re looking at tens of thousands of dollars.” Sylvain pauses. “Look, I’m happy to do the work for you if that’s really what you want, but I’m laying all the cards down here. It’s a lot of work and it will be expensive. I’m asking this not to be rude, but because I’m honestly curious-- Is she worth it?”

Sylvain expects Felix to get angry like the night before and just leave, but he doesn’t. Felix is quiet as he stares at his coffee cup, like he’s trying to carefully word whatever it is that he’s about to say.

“I’m not expecting you to understand,” Felix finally starts, suddenly weary and tired and clearly wanting to end the conversation before it properly starts. “But the car is worth everything to me.”

Sylvain is surprised by the quiet sincerity in Felix’s voice. “Alright then,” he says, dropping the folder on the desk between then. “I’ll make a full list of work, compile a price on parts and labor, and I’ll let you know.”

Felix nods shortly before standing to leave, but Sylvain starts again, making him pause at the door. “You know, you’re my first real customer here. The work on her alone will keep this place afloat for a while.”

Felix sighs, rubbing his fingers across his brow. Sylvain doesn’t know him very well yet, but there’s an inkling that the motion is out of character. “My apology was honest. There’s a lot that you don’t know and it’s unfair of me to expect you to.”

Sylvain has assumed as such. “I know it’s hard for new people to come to a small town like this and just wedge themselves into everyone’s quaint little existence, but I’m happy for the work. So thanks.”

Felix hesitates before saying, “Tch. I guess.” And then he’s gone.

Sylvain isn’t sure that he’ll ever quite figure the man out, watching the door long after Felix is gone, but there’s a desire there that makes him want to. He wants to get to know Felix better, and it’s not his high cheekbones, or silky hair, or those damn muscles. There’s something else that lurks underneath the surface of the harsh exterior, just like everyone else in this damn town, and Sylvain’s determined to figure out what it is.

But first, the car needs a nickname.

#Sylvix #felix/sylvain #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #felix and sylvain #fire emblem fanfiction #fanfiction #Fire Emblem Three Houses #fe3h #modernau

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hannah-heartstrings · 5 years

Text

Flower Crowns

The story I’ve been promising since Dimileth week is finally finished. I’m sorry for the wait but it is better now than it would’ve been had I posted it before.

It turned out to be nearly 2,000 words so I’m putting it below the cut, but first a quick description:

Upon realizing that Byleth doesn’t know the White Garland Moon tradition Sylvain and Annette scheme to have her give one to Dimitri.

As spring started giving way to summer the sun beat down on the town below.

“Sylvain!” a girl weaved through the busy market street and up to the redhead. She held up a crown of white flowers.

Holding an arm behind his back and the other across his chest he bowed to her as she placed it on his head. “Thank you,” he gave her a bright smile. As he walked away he pulled out his arm, three more flowers wreathes hanging from it. He sighed at them. Looking back up he stopped as another woman stood in front of him. “Oh hey professor.”

Byleth looked amused at him draped in flowers.

“I don’t suppose you have a garland for me too?” he smirked.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I’m kidding, you don’t have to seemed so appalled.”

“What? No, I was just confused.”

“Because girls make them this time of year.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

At that he looked a little confused.

“I… also don’t know where I’m supposed to go,” she glanced off nervously. “I wanted to stock up on vulneraries.”

He pointed to the side. “Need me to walk you there?”

“No, I’ve got it,” she walked away, calling back, “but thank you.”

He turned to watch her, his surprise slowly turning to a smirk.

“She does too!” Annette’s voice echoed down the hall as she glared up at Sylvain.

He kept his voice low. “I’m telling you she was completely baffled.”

“But it’s a long running tradition, how could she have never even heard of it?”

“There seems to be a lot our professor has missed out on. She hadn’t even heard of the church of Seiros.”

She crossed her arms as she glanced off in thought. “That is true… Even though she’s been all over Fodlan she does seem to have lived a pretty secluded life.” She frowned. “Poor professor.”

“And…” he smirked, “I may have left out an important detail.”

Byleth sat at a table in the gardens reading over a textbook.

“Hello professor,” came a cheery voice.

She looked up to see Annette and Mercedes, each with a basket in their arms.

“Mind if we join you?” asked Annette.

“Go ahead,” she said politely before looking back down at the book. As the girls talked and laughed she kept glancing up at them.

“I’m sorry,” Mercedes finally noticed, “we must be terribly distracting.”

“Want to make garlands with us?” Annette was quick to add.

Byleth started to scoot out of her seat. “I’ll just-”

“We brought enough flowers. Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“I…” she searched for the words to get out of this.

“Soon the flowers will be gone so we have to hurry and make them.”

Mercedes waved a hand. “But we understand if you have to work.”

Before she could answer Annette added “But you did tell me not to work too hard.”

She glanced curiously at her friend.

“Fine,” Byleth sighed, closing the book.

Annette squealed before pushing a basket towards her.

Pulling out a flower she looked confused at it.

“Like this,” she held up the row of flowers she’d woven together.

Taking out another flower Byleth began twisting the stems together. About an hour later she was holding a white garland, a little sloppy but finished. Looking over it she was surprised by how much fun she’d had making it.

“So Mercie, who are you going to give yours too?”

“I just made one for fun.”

“Oh come on.” She looked across the table. “What about you, professor? Anyone you want to give yours too?”

“I don’t know.”

Her lips pressed tight together.

“Thanks girls, this was fun,” she gathered her things, “but I should get back to studying.”

“Of course,” said Mercie, “we’ve kept you long enough.”

Annette, starting to look stressed, just nodded as Byleth walked off.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah,” she turned to Mercie. “Meet you later for kitchen duty?”

“Of course.”

Jumping up she ran off to search the monastery. She was glaring by the time she found Sylvain standing around.

“Uh oh. What’d I do now?”

“How am I supposed to get her to give it to him without mentioning him?”

“You just have to play it smooth.”

She threw her fists down. “What does that mean?”

“Look, if we’re right about those two then he’ll naturally come to mind, you just have to say something that makes her think of him.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” he ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Hey, seen any cute guys lately?”

“That’s playing it smooth?”

Pulling his hand from his hair he shrugged. “I don’t really have a line for this kind of thing.”

She huffed.

“Just be patient and keep a lookout for the right opportunity.”

She crossed her arms but resigned. “All right…”

Byleth came down the stairs with an armful of books.

As the professor walked away Annette peeked out from behind a corner before starting after her. She froze for a second before running off.

Byleth walked back, looking around confused before going another way. Walking through the reception hall she found herself in a small courtyard. She looked around confused.

“Professor?”

She turned to see a tall blond man behind her.

“Hello Dimitri.”

“Is everything all right? You look lost.”

“I am. Where’s…” she grimaced, “the classroom?”

He gave a kind smile. “This way.”

As they walked away Annette peeked out from the doorway and grinned.

He passed the gazebo, Byleth following beside him.

“Thank you.” Her embarrassment left a heaviness in her tone.

“Think nothing of it. I found this place to be a maze at first too.”

“I feel like I need to walk around with a map.”

“It might not be a bad idea.” He glanced at her. “That’s a lot of books.”

She looked down, the stack nearly reaching her chin. “Yeah… Just making sure I’m read up on everything I need to teach. To be honest I don’t know why they’d choose me to be a teacher.” She glanced up at him surprised she’d just told him that, that she’d felt safe to.

“Your experience more than makes up for what you lack.” Reaching the classrooms he turned to smile at her. “You’re the reason we won the mock battle after all.”

She smiled a little back. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I can hold my own but I’m better with you.” His smile faltered, looking nervous. “You can find your way from here.”

“Thank you.”

He bowed before walking off.

She turned away slowly, her gaze lingering on him.

“Hello Professor!”

She was startled as Annette was suddenly at her side. “Hello. Do you need something?”

“Just saying hi.”

She quickened for the classroom, Annette practically running after her.

“Where did you get all those?”

“The library,” dropping them on her desk she rolled her shoulder.

“Tomas let you take them?”

She looked back at her worried. “We’re not allowed to take books out of the library?”

“Uh,” she looked a little worried herself, “it’s probably fine for teachers to.” As Byleth turned back to the books she stepped closer. “So… have you put any thought into who you’ll give your garland to? It’s part of the tradition.”

“Oh,” she started sorting the books, “no then.”

“You should give it to someone you appreciate.”

She turned to her, a book still in hand. “Should I give it to you?”

“No,” she laughed, “I wasn’t hinting around.” Her smiled turned nervous. “I’m sure you’ll think of someone.”

She watched her walk away before her gaze drifted to the side.

The sun hung high over the training grounds. Dimitri sat at one side sharpening his spear, at the other stood his childhood friends.

“Put that up,” Sylvain pointed his training sword at Felix’s real one. “We’re supposed to be practicing.”

“Then practice not dying.”

Ingrid sighed before tossing a wooden sword to Felix. “You two quit fooling around.”

Catching it he held it up. “How is this not fooling around?”

They continued to argue as Byleth stepped onto the stone courtyard, her gaze immediately finding Dimitri. Her chest tightened, her grip tightening around the garland. Why was she so nervous about this? Taking a deep breath she crossed the grounds.

Finally conceding, Felix held out the practice blade.

Sylvain took his stance. Seeing Byleth with the garland he froze, missing his block and getting jabbed in the chest. “Let’s take a break,” he rubbed his chest as he passed Felix, grabbing his arm to drag him along.

“But we just started!”

“What are you up to?” Ingrid followed.

Dimitri stood as Byleth approached. He smiled when he saw her, it falling when he saw the flower crown.

She held it up to him.

His face reddened. “Uh…”

Heartbeat quickening, she looked worried.

“I-I’m flattered,” he cleared his throat, “it’s just that we haven’t known each other long…”

She looked half anxious, half confused. She lowered the garland. “Are they not just gifts you give to friends?”

He looked a bit flustered. “Typically women give them to potential suitors.”

After the surprise washed over she glared back at where Sylvain had ran. “They left that part out.”

“They?”

“Sylvain and Annette.”

His shoulders relaxed. But at seeing Byleth so upset he felt bad for her, even a twinge of guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react so badly, I was just surprised.”

She looked uncomfortable.

“Why did you want me to have it?”

Looking down, her hair half covered her face. She looked sadly at the floor. “I just… wanted to thank you, you’ve really helped me with this job and with adjusting to my new life; not just by helping me find my way around, you’ve helped me feel like I can belong. And I… hoped we could be friends.”

“In that case, I’ll gladly accept your crown.”

She risked glancing up at him.

He smiled at her. “And your friendship.”

She gave a small sad smile back.

He bowed his head to let her place the wreath upon it.

As he straightened she stifled the grin that tried to surface at how cute he looked in the garland.

“I feel like I should give you something.”

“Don’t worry, you have.”

“Aww,” Annette peeked around the corner. She stepped back where the rest of the Blue Lions stood.

“Nice one,” said Sylvain, “though following her isn’t really what I meant.”

She shot a glare back. “You couldn’t tell me what you meant.”

Felix looked disgusted at them. “What is wrong with you?”

Ingrid frowned. “I’ll say. Tricking our professor?”

“And his highness,” Dedue added.

“Though I don’t condone tricks,” Mercedes said before smiling, “it looks like it all worked out in the end.”

Ashe looked uncomfortable. “Can we train now?”

“You can all come out now,” Byleth called, leaving them all surprised.

Sylvain started to run but Ingrid grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the grounds.

The rest followed, standing in a row before their teacher.

Dimitri practically smirked from behind Byleth.

She looked a little nervous as she held out a hand.

Eyes went wide and mouths fell open.

“I made one for all of you.”

#dimileth #fire emblem three houses #dimitri blaiddyd #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #byleth #byleth eisner #fire emblem #fanfiction #fluff #one shot #writing #my writing

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echoes-of-realities · 5 years

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be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 14/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Santana invites Brittany to go with her today; Brittany learns a little bit more about Santana, and finds herself hard pressed to hide that she’s definitely falling in love with her.

Notes: This is for the people that have a hard time around the holidays because they’re missing people, or something fell apart for them, or went through something life changing, because as much as I absolutely love Christmastime, I’m missing lots of people in my life and it always gets hard around this time. This is the second Christmas without my grandma, and it’s hard to remember that she’s never going to kick my ass in a game of crib; it’s been thirteen Christmases since my dad left and even if it doesn’t hurt anymore it’s so weird to me; and the my sister is facing the possibility of another tumour. So believe me when I say that I know that this time of year can be Hard when your missing people or going through something difficult, but it’s also the only time of year all fourteen members of my family—and whatever other stragglers and dogs we drag in from the cold—are all in the same town long enough to spend time together eating too much food and trash talking each other during games of cards, so I still love it more than any other time of year.

So to those who are missing loved ones at the table this year, to those whose lives changed drastically, to those who suffered failure after failure, and to those who’ve faced so much pain that they didn’t think that they’d ever get through, but still did; this is to say that I know the holidays can be hard this time of year, but that you’re loved and you deserve to let yourself be happy.

It’ll get easier as the years go by, I promise.

Chapter 14: but somewhere in winter misery

///

It’s Brittany’s phone ringing that wakes her up, and she rolls over with a grunt and blindly gropes her bedside table until she locates the annoying loud and annoyingly bright object and squints at it. The sun’s up, but only technically, and her phone casts her dim room in too much light, but the picture of Santana laughing that Brittany had snuck last week greets her and every ounce of annoyance in her body melts away.

She quickly swipes her thumb across the screen, fumbling a couple times to get it to respond, before raising it to her ear. “Hi,” she mumbles, sinking back into her pillow, the dark wrapping around her like another heavy blanket.

“Hey,” Santana greets quietly, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

Brittany debates lying, but she’s pretty sure Santana would somehow know. “Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Santana mumbles.

There’s a long moment of silence as they just breathe together, long enough that Brittany pulls her phone from her ear to make sure it’s still connected; as soon as she processes the date at the top of her screen her heart clenches and she’s suddenly wide awake. “You okay?” Brittany whispers.

Santana hesitates a little before she answers. “I’ve been better, obviously. But, uh, honestly? I think I might be. Getting there, at least.” She’s quiet for a moment, and when she continues speaking Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice. “Talking to you about her yesterday helped. A lot, actually.”

“I’m glad,” Brittany says earnestly. “It was really cool to hear you talk about her. She sounds like she was amazing.”

“Yeah,” Santana says simply, “She really was.”

Brittany hums and waits for Santana to continue. She knows Santana called her for a reason, and Brittany’s content just to patiently wait.

“Listen,” Santana says, and there’s movement on the other end as fabric shifts and scratches together, “I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come with me today? To, um— To visit her grave.” Before Brittany can even blink, Santana’s already rambling on, breathlessly and nervously; it sounds like she might be pacing. “I mean— I just— You don’t have to, you know, if you don’t want to. You just— You make me feel calmer and like— I dunno I just feel more settled or whatever but you— I mean I— Just forget I—”

“Santana,” Brittany interrupts and Brittany can hear the click of teeth as Santana snaps her mouth closed, “I’d love to go.”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. “Really?” she asks shyly.

“Of course,” Brittany says softly, “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me too.”

“Cool,” Santana whispers, but Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice.

“What time? And where do you wanna meet?”

There’s more shifting of fabric, and it sounds like Santana’s sat down. She wonders if she’s on the couch or in her bed, if she slept well last night, if Brittany should have done more than give her a hug when they left the theatre yesterday. “Um. The show’s at eight tonight,” she deliberates aloud, “and we’ve gotta be there around two. And it’s a bit of a trip to the cemetery, and I uh— I always stop to get lunch at this café in the neighbourhood, if— If you want to, I mean.”

“I’d love to,” Brittany says quietly.

“Okay,” Santana continues on a breathy sigh of relief, and Brittany smiles a little because Santana’s so soft and bashful and adorable when you really get to know her, “So meet me at my apartment at ten then? That’ll give us plenty of time.”

“I’ll see you then,” Brittany promises.

“Bye, Britt,” Santana murmurs, “And— Thanks. For coming with me.”

“Of course. Bye,” Brittany says softly, waiting until Santana’s hung up before she sighs, high and dreamy.

Brittany allows herself a little bit to lay there and stare up at the ceiling before forcing herself to sit up, stumbling through her room until she makes it to the door. She can hear Mercedes in the kitchen making coffee and singing along to the speakers. She’s been listening to some Spotify playlist of Christmas songs for the last couple weeks now, and today is starting out with some Coldplay as Brittany emerges into the kitchen.

“Morning,” she calls softly, not wanting to startle Mercedes.

It doesn’t work, because Mercedes jumps and almost throws the spoon she’s using to stir her coffee across the kitchen as she spins around. “Brittany,” she shrieks, “You just about gave me a damn heart attack.”

Brittany scrunches her face up in apology. “Sorry, I was trying to avoid that. But you know what they say about heart attacks.”

“Jeez,” Mercedes says breathlessly, clutching her chest. “At this point if I loved you anymore I’d need a casket.”

Brittany winces a little. It’s not like Mercedes would ever know why that hits a little close to home today, so she just heads further into the kitchen. She figures she can have a cup of coffee and maybe a bowl of cereal before she gets ready.

“What are you doing up so early?” Mercedes asks once she’s finally regained her composure and Brittany’s already shoved a coffee cup under the Keurig.

“I’m meeting up with Santana,” Brittany explains, sniffing the milk before she starts pouring it into her cereal. She sets it up on the kitchen island in front of her usual stool with a spoon before exchanging the milk for the coffee creamer.

Mercedes’ face splits into a wide smirk and she nudges Brittany with her elbow. “Really?” she says suggestively. “You’re meeting with Santana?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says simply. She turns to grab her coffee from underneath the Keurig when Mercedes’ gentle hand on her arm stops her.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Is everything okay? You’re really quiet this morning. And usually you’re a blushing mess when I mention Santana.”

Brittany hesitates because, while this is her very best friend and she trusts her with everything and she knows Mercedes would never say a word, she doesn’t want to betray Santana’s trust. “Everything’s fine,” she says slowly, trying to keep her explanation really vague, “But it’s just— Santana asked me to go with her to do something really personal and she’s really sad about it.”

Mercedes is quiet for a long moment, searching Brittany’s eyes before she finally smiles softly. “I get why you aren’t telling me everything,” she says, “But can I offer some advice?”

Brittany nods quickly.

“Take some flowers,” Mercedes suggests.

Brittany blinks, wondering how in the world Mercedes could even know that she had been quietly debating whether or not it was appropriate to bring flowers for Santana’s mom. Instead, she just wraps Mercedes in a hug and murmurs her thanks into her hair.

Mercedes holds her tightly for a moment before releasing her with a playful poke in Brittany’s stomach. “Now hurry up and eat before your cereal gets soggy.”

Brittany gasps and glances over at her bowl, only to find that it’s definitely too late. “Damnit,” she mutters, and Mercedes just giggles beside her.

///

The air is freezing when she steps out of her apartment, the cold instantly taking her breath away and burning the inside of her nose. A thin layer of white covers the city and her breath mists in front of her face in tiny clouds, dissipating even before she can walk through it. She shoves her hands deep into her pocket and heads in the direction of Santana’s apartment, looking for the small florist shop that Mercedes found for her while she showered.

When she finds it, tucked between a hair salon and a thrift store, the shop is empty, but the bell above the door prompts someone to call “I’ll be with you in a moment!” from the back.

Brittany wanders the shop, more than a little overwhelmed by all the choices and colours, flowers she can barely recognize let alone name and every single combination of colours she could ever imagine. She scans rows and rows of flowers, each more beautiful than the last, until she spots a bouquet tucked away behind a bunch of others; it’s nowhere near as big as the others around it, in fact it’s kind of small, but that’s what catches her attention. There’s so many flowers she doesn’t recognize, but it’s the blue forget-me-nots spotting the white carnations and the gladioli that catches her eye. She carefully extracts it from the others and fingers the petals of a cluster of forget-me-nots. She already knows it’s perfect, but she carefully inspects the flowers to make sure, before heading to the cash register just as the florist exits the back.

“Sorry about that,” he says, dusting his hands on his apron. “I see you’ve already found something.”

Brittany just nods and hands the bouquet over, digging through her jacket pocket to find her wallet.

“Flowers for a special someone?” the florist says suggestively as he rings the bouquet up. “Twenty-nine ninety-nine.”

Brittany fumbles for a moment before shrugging. “For her mom, actually,” she clarifies as she holds up her debit card. The florist hits a button on the cash register and Brittany waits for the debit machine to respond.

“Ah,” he says knowingly, “Meeting the in-laws then.”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees vaguely, punching in her pin and forcing herself not to take out her card too early as she is wont to do.

The florist must sense something in Brittany’s answer because he studies Brittany for a long moment before smiling a little. “Well, if you’re nervous I know this will make a good first impression,” he says, handing the bouquet, now slipped into protective plastic, and the receipt over, “But the only thing that really matters is that they know you’re making their little girl happy.”

Brittany flusters, and a part of her wants to explain everything; that her and Santana aren’t actually— That they’re not— At least not yet—

She wants to explain that she won’t be showing up to Santana’s mom’s house with a bottle of wine and a desperate hope that she’ll accept Brittany.

She wants to explain that they’re spending the morning out in the bitter cold instead, staring at cold grey when they should be laughing with warm brown eyes.

But instead Brittany just smiles gracefully and takes the bouquet with a murmur of thanks and quietly leaves the store, carefully tucking the bouquet against her jacket to protect the flowers from the winter wind and heading down the street.

///

Santana’s huddled in the lobby when Brittany arrives fifteen minutes early, and she spots Brittany out the window of the front door and quickly hurries to greet her. Brittany’s still on the steps when Santana opens the door, and Santana’s small smile of greeting falters at the sight of the flowers in Brittany’s arms, the door swinging shut behind her with a resolute thud. Brittany flusters and chews on her lip, her blush burning her cheeks even more fiercely than usual because her skin is so cold. “I—” she starts and then breaks off when Santana’s smile comes back, somehow softer and more tender than Brittany’s ever seen.

“Is that for my mom?” she whispers.

Brittany searches for her voice but finds it curled up somewhere deep in her chest so she just nods wordlessly.

Santana’s eyes catch on hers, melting and liquid and deep like molasses. She closes the distance between them, her hand landing on Brittany’s ice cold one where it cradles the stems of the flowers. She’s taller than Brittany for once, standing at the top of the stairs and Brittany still a couple steps down, and Brittany nearly stops breathing as Santana leans down, her face drawing impossibly closer to hers.

Brittany’s heart pounds so fast she thinks she might be having a heart attack.

Santana’s lips are achingly soft as they brush over Brittany’s numb cheek, burning Brittany’s skin with their warmth and waking up every single nerve ending until they’re all tuned to Santana, and Brittany gasps at the gentle pressure. When Santana draws back, she’s still smiling softly, her eyes melting and liquid and deep.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s voice, as well as most coherent thought, remains lost somewhere deep inside her, so she just nods dumbly. Santana’s smile widens a little and she steps down beside Brittany, nodding down the street. “If we hurry we can catch the next train,” she says.

Brittany trails after Santana and tries to gather her scattered thoughts, but when Santana shoots her a shy smile over her shoulder Brittany realizes she’s probably never going to collect them ever again, and she’s kind of okay with that.

///

The café is tiny and its doorway is tucked around the corner, but it’s warm and homey inside and Brittany’s legs immediately start prickling painfully as they’re exposed to the wave of warmth in the café.

Santana gasps beside her. “God that feels nice,” she says, turning her face up to the heater above the doorway.

Brittany stomps the snow off her boots and blows quick puffs of hot air into her one hand, her other arm occupied with cradling the flowers. “It hurts,” she whines.

Santana smiles at Brittany. “Let me buy you a coffee then,” she offers, “It’ll warm you up.”

Brittany tips her head to the side, squinting and scanning the menu hanging above the front counter. She bounces up on the balls of her feet, the burning in her thighs forgotten as she reads the options; she reaches over and grabs Santana’s arm with a wide grin. “Can I try the caramel hot chocolate instead?” she asks excitedly, “I haven’t had one in forever.”

Santana smiles and agrees. There’s a couple people scattered around the café, but no one in line so Santana steps right up to the counter. A college aged kid is dancing a little as he cleans the counter, his back to them and large headphones around his neck, singing quietly under his breath, his voice smooth with just a hint of a growl. Santana whistles to get his attention and he jolts at the sound, spinning around with an embarrassed and wide-eyed look. He relaxes as soon as he sees Santana and his face ripples as he tries to adopt a stern look around his grin. “You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he grumbles.

Santana just smirks at him, completely unapologetic. “Maybe you need to stop blasting that noise you call music through your headphones when you’re working, Mr. Full Ride Music Scholarship,” she teases.

The kid’s eyes roll before sliding to take in Brittany and the flowers and snapping back to Santana, his eyes close to bulging as his jaw slackens a little, parting full lips. “A caramel hot chocolate and a café con leche,” Santana says before the kid can even say anything, and as Brittany glances at Santana out of the corner of her eye she can see the slight flush to her cheeks.

The kid seems to notice this too and smirks but doesn’t push Santana further. “Names for the drinks?” he asks playfully.

“I Used to Hold Your Hand to Cross the Street and None of Your Business,” Santana snarks.

The kid’s smirk turns a little wicked and his eyes slide back to Brittany. “That’s a little long,” he says with barely contained seriousness, “Do you go by nicknames?”

“Watch it or I’ll—”

“Brittany and Santana,” Brittany interrupts. Santana looks at Brittany with exaggerated betrayal but Brittany just bumps her hip against Santana’s until her face creases into a dimpled smile.

“How much?” Santana asks as she turns back to the kid, digging her wallet out of her jacket pocket.

“On the house,” the kid says easily.

Santana seems to know better than to argue, so she just grins her thanks and ushers Brittany to the pick-up counter.

“So how do you know about this place?” Brittany asks.

“It was mami’s favourite café,” Santana explains, giving a warm smile as she glances around the café before meeting Brittany’s eyes, her voice lifting with rehearsed cheer, “Best café con leche in the whole damn city.” It sounds both quoted and comfortable, and Brittany wishes, not for the first time, that she got a chance to meet the woman who raised Santana.

“It’s cute,” Brittany says softly. Santana beams at her and shifts a little until their arms press together and doesn��t make any move to pull away.

“Roderick’s dad owns the café,” Santana explains, nodding at the kid as he starts making their drinks, “I’ve been coming here since we moved to the city and Roderick was still a dorky kid in elementary school. Now he’s just a dorky kid in his first year of college.”

“Hey!” Roderick protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Santana, the tea towel in his hand swinging lazily between them across the counter, “I resent that.” Santana sticks her tongue out at Roderick, who sticks his tongue out right back as his face twists in a mock sneer, much to the horror of the old woman who just stepped up to the cash register. Roderick flushes at being caught making fun of a customer, and abandons Santana and Brittany’s drinks to take the old woman’s order.

“I used to babysit him sometimes,” Santana continues. “When we first moved here my mom only worked a point eight, and we were kinda struggling to make ends meet. But she came in here one day for a coffee and her and Roderick’s father got to talking, and he ended up hiring her part-time while we got our footing in the city, so I spent a lot of time here doing homework or whatever. In exchange for free coffee I’d babysit Roderick a couple times a week.”

Brittany’s lips curl up in a smile as she glances at Roderick, who now dwarves Santana in stature. “That’s cute,” she says honestly.

Santana laughs. “He was a good kid. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

Brittany smirks. “You’re cute when you’re pretending you’re not, like, the biggest softie,” she observes.

Santana instantly flusters, ducking her head down to hide her dimples. “Oh, shut up you,” she mumbles.

Brittany just grins and resists the urge to wrap Santana, blushing face and all, into a tight hug; the flowers in her arms would make hugging her difficult and help her resist the urge, though not by much.

///

They end up having a second cup of coffee and hot chocolate together, sharing a pastry as they people watch. Santana talks about her mom a little more, and Brittany notices its with more nostalgia than pain, but mostly they just enjoy the other’s company outside of the theatre, complaining about the show and the company and making fun of people passing on the street and sitting a little too close to be entirely friendly.

They linger in the café for perhaps longer than they should, because they’ll probably end up being a little late to the theatre depending on how long they spend at the cemetery, but Brittany can’t find it in herself to regret it as they stand to leave. Before Santana can, Brittany quickly grabs her jacket off the back of her seat and helps her into it, feeling even more couple-y than she has all day doing couple-y things with her. Santana smiles, dimples deep and nose scrunched, up at Brittany as she slips her arms into her jacket before winding her own scarf around her neck while Brittany grabs the flowers off the table. Santana takes their dirty cups to the bucket of dirty dishes by the napkins and spices and lids while Brittany trails after her to the door.

Roderick stops them before they leave to pull Santana into a tight hug; Santana protests and rolls her eyes, but as soon as she’s wrapped in his embrace she softens. “My dad wishes he could have been here to see you today too but he’s got some business meeting he couldn’t get out of,” he whispers, and Brittany quickly averts her eyes, feeling a little bit like an intruder. “He’s missed you.”

Santana sighs into Roderick’s shoulder. “I missed him too, both of you. I just—”

“I know,” Roderick interrupts quickly. “We get it, but you should stop by more often.” Roderick’s eyes slide to Brittany over Santana’s shoulder and he gives her a shy smile. “I’m sure my dad would love to meet Brittany.”

Brittany doesn’t need to see Santana’s face to know it’s breathless and flushed and too bright, because she can feel a blush crawling hotly along her own cheeks and down into her neck. Roderick gives Santana one more squeeze before letting her go and Brittany and Santana’s eyes catch briefly before averting as they both laugh breathlessly, blushing furiously, and leave the café.

Santana turns left as soon as they’re on the sidewalk, the bitter cold stealing the air from their lungs and the gently falling snow dusting Santana’s hair like stars in a night sky, silent for half a block before they both start talking at once.

“I’m sorry about that—”

“It’s fine, really I—”

“They’ve just never met anyone I—”

“They seem really nice—”

“They’re going to be super embarrassing—”

“I’d really like to meet Roderick’s dad now too—”

They both pause in their rambling and meet each other’s eyes before bursting into giggles, both of their cheeks pink with more than the cold. “Really?” Santana says, unable to hide the pleased and hopeful gleam to her eyes.

“Totally,” Brittany promises, chewing on her lip for a moment. “I have a feeling they have all kinds of embarrassing teenage Santana stories,” she teases.

“Oh god,” Santana groans, burying her face in her hands, “I can’t believe that slipped my mind.”

Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow. “Hey,” she says softly, waiting until Santana’s peaking at her from behind her hands, “I don’t want to know those stories because they’re embarrassing, I want to know them because they’re what made you you, and I want to know everything about you.”

Santana’s hands drop from her face and she shakes her head softly at Brittany, her expression unbelieving, her smile soft and sweet enough that Brittany’s heart starts to ache with how beautiful Santana is and how much she really, really, really likes being around her. Neither of them look away until they almost run straight into another couple walking down the sidewalk, and they both laugh a little as they finally look away and focus on walking. They’re mostly quiet as Santana leads them through the neighbourhood, occasionally exchanging soft smiles or guiding the other out of the way of another pedestrian with a gentle hand on the small of their back.

They turn a corner and Santana’s sucks in a sharp breath. Brittany follows her gaze until she spots the sign above the cemetery, high above the neighbourhood and easily seen even from blocks away, and Brittany’s chest clenches.

“Sometimes I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Santana suddenly mumbles, “That I can’t just call her up and tell her about whatever dumb thing happened at the theatre, or that she won’t ever call me to complain about what drunk patient she had to deal with. That I haven’t heard her ringtone in four years. That I have to visit her at a cemetery now and I can’t just show up unannounced at our old apartment in Washington Heights because someone else has moved in— Has lived there for years,” Santana corrects. Santana’s silent for a long time, studying the ground as they walk. She finally sucks in a shuddering breath and glances up at Brittany, giving her a tiny smile, her eyes both warm and heartsick. “I just miss her,” she says simply.

Brittany doesn’t know what to say, so she just gives Santana a soft smile and makes a small acknowledging sound, which seems to be the right move because Santana just smiles back and presses closer to Brittany as they near the cemetery in silence.

Santana slips her hand into Brittany’s as soon as the iron wrought gate comes into view. Brittany sucks in a sharp breath before breathing it out in a puff of white, glancing down at Santana only to find Santana already staring up at her. Her brown eyes are a little pained, but mostly they’re soft and adoring as she looks up at Brittany. “She would have liked you, you know,” Santana says with a small smile.

Brittany’s pretty sure her heart stops beating; she definitely stops breathing, and her mind kind of goes a little haywire at the words. Santana’s told her all about what an amazing woman her mom was, and the idea that she— That Santana’s mom— That she would have—

“Really?” she manages on a gasp.

Santana nods and squeezes Brittany’s fingers where they’re tangled with her own. “You make me happy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Brittany supposes it kind of is.

She sighs and melts and smiles softly at Santana. “I wish I could have met her,” she admits quietly, “But I kind of feel like I already have, in the way you talk about her. And how you are, because she raised you.” They draw to a stop in front of the gate, the snowy grass crunching beneath their feet. She turns to Santana, tugging gently on their clasped hands until Santana is facing her. “But, I still would have loved to meet her. Because you make me happy too. And I think,” she pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts because this is important and she wants to make sure she gets it right, “I think that she would have liked to know that. Not just that there’s someone that makes you happy, but that there’s someone who you make happy too. That— That you can share your happiness with someone.”

Santana’s smile widens a little as she ducks her head. “She definitely would have liked you,” she mumbles, glancing up at Brittany from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m glad you came with me today,” she admits, “This year feels less— Absolute, I guess, that she’s gone. I— This is the first year that I haven’t felt like there’s this empty, aching hole in my chest and I— I’m just really glad you’re here.”

Brittany tugs gently on Santana’s hand until she’s falling into Brittany’s body, their thick jackets scratching together as Brittany wraps her free arm around Santana and pulls her into the cradle of her body, the flowers falling somewhere by Santana’s shoulder blade. Santana sighs into the collar of Brittany’s jacket, tightening her own arm around her waist, the fingers of their other hands still hopelessly tangled. “I’m really glad I’m here too,” Brittany whispers into the dampness of Santana’s hair, the snow dusted waves cold against her chin even though her chest burns with a gentle warmth.

Santana sighs again as she finally draws back, tightening her grip on Brittany’s hand, as if Brittany would ever actually let go of her. “Come on,” she prompts gently as she leads them to the gate, “Let’s go see her.”

#brittana #brittany pierce #santana lopez #glee #brittana fanfiction #glee fanfiction #there's another character in here that I wanna tag but I don't want to spoil it lmao #I might go back and change the tag Later #my writing #story: be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)#okay so I didn't know finding a cemetery--let alone a plot in a cemetery--in manhattan was so hard???#so I took Artistic Liberties with that part lmao #also bonus points to anyone who knows what song I mentioned early on in the fic and catches the second reference to it #because that's what I listened to while writing the last couple chapters

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yinxiong · 6 years

Text

the sun is always setting somewhere else

Characters: Lee Haechan x Reader (3rd person perspective)

Genre: drabble + fluff, oneshot

Word count: 2428

Summary: all that glitters is not gold, but maybe the boy who walks in sunlight would beg to differ.

Notes: inspired by Lisa Oppenheim’s photograph series I saw at a museum recently (should definitely search it up). also not really sure where this story went, or why it ends so badly, but it used up the last of my fanfic juices, so enjoy :)) (also for my evil hyuck stans @hyu-ck and @thorns-and-bumpy-roads <3)

she’s stuck.

stuck in her room, stuck in her house, stuck in the suffocating world of pretty dresses and shoes and glitter and money, money, money.

she’s sick of it.

“if you’re so sick of it, why don’t you just leave?”

she glares at the boy lounging on her king-sized bed, sinking into the plush velvet pillows as he taps away on his nintendo.

“easy for you to say. you’re just working here for the summer. you don’t have to live in this ugly world of gold forever.”

“yeah, but you can at least leave the house. no one is stopping you from going down to the carpark and taking one of those oh, i don’t know, shiny porsches and making a run down the hill. i’d say you’d get halfway to the main gate before they even notice your room is empty.” he snaps the gum in his mouth and blows a bubble, eyes fixed on the screen and not even sparing her a single glance. (not that she cared, or anything. she doesn’t care for much these days.)

“might i remind you that the reason i’m grounded right now is because i tried to do that last week with my father’s motorbike?”

he simply shrugs and pops another bubble, “you just chose the wrong vehicle. those things don’t cover like my shiny four-wheelers. plus, why would you take one of his personal bikes? he doesn’t even let me touch them, let alone you.”

“maybe i just wanted some attention,“ she grumbles, throwing a poorly-aimed pillow at his head (it misses). “no one remembers i exist unless i do something bad.”

he suddenly jumps up and rolls off the bed, shaking out his caramel hair streaked with blue and pink so it’s falling daintily over his forehead (she wonders if it feels as soft as it looks).

“wanna get something to eat? i’m starving.”

“from the kitchens? i’m so sick of eating gourmet food,” she sighs for the nth time that day, flopping down on the too-comfortable mattress in defeat.

“who said anything about gourmet food? i’m in the mood for some ramen.”

it takes her a moment to register his words.

“you mean you’re going out?” sitting up, she furrows her brow in confusion. “you don’t have a car.”

he smirks and waggles a finger dramatically, “yeah but i can always borrow one.”

she stares at him blankly, “they moved the keys so we wouldn’t be able to get into them.”

her ears are met with a soft groan, though instead of frustration she catches a hint of amusement in his tone, “you’re literally so dumb. makes sense you’re always stuck in here.”

“shut up, hyuck.”

“just kidding, angel.”

with a chuckle, he pulls a bright red key from thin air, dangling it in front of her face triumphantly, “you forget that i literally live in the carpark. i’m the one who moved the keys, so guess who has a ride out of this place?”

she scoffs, unable to hide her grin, “idiot. where are we going?”

reaching out, she makes a grab for the ticket to freedom, but before she can even brush her fingers against the plastic, he’s jerking his arm back with a teasing smile, “who said you were coming with me? i’m pretty sure you’re grounded-”

“hyuck!”

it’s been approximately forty-seven minutes since she’s left the mansion riding shotgun in the cherry red mercedes-benz convertible donghyuck snagged (so much for stealth), and so far there’s been no sight of any security car or helicopter out to hunt them down. maybe they could pull off this escapade after all.

“if you fall out because you leaned too far, i’m not responsible,” he shouts against the roar of the wind, and she can’t help but roll her eyes at his disguised worry.

“it’s better than having to go back to that hellhole.”

“normally i’d argue, but you’re being exceptionally annoying about it today so sure.”

“be quiet and just keep driving, please.”

“what does it look like i’m doing?”

she turns around to shoot him a glare, “i’m pretty sure i said to ‘be quiet’ too, though it sounds like you’re doing the exact opposite.”

he raises an eyebrow above the ridiculous gold-rimmed sunglasses perched on his nose – a complimentary gift scavenged from the glove box – and gives her (or what she assumes to be) a pointed look.

“who said i had to listen to you? my car, my rules.”

“my family owns this car, hyuck.”

“well i’m driving, angel, so better deal with it. unless you want to go to that business party at seven o’clock tonight, and i’m pretty sure that’s at the very bottom of your to-do list right now.”

sighing in defeat, she crosses her arms and falls back into the seat, watching the pristine emerald lawns of rich properties bloom into landscapes of rugged mountains and stubborn trees, grass now running rampant in their true realm. it makes her feel a little better, to know that no matter how hard they try, humans could never conquer the wild spirit of nature.

closing her eyes, she unties her hair and lets the wind take it up in its greedy hands, combing through with an untamed freedom she doesn’t remember experiencing in a very long time.

perhaps there’s still a little hope left for her.

the closest city is not much of a city at all, just an assortment of sun beat shops and motels surrounded by tiny houses dotted along a single road, but it’s filled with people who don’t eat and sleep in money, who don’t give a shit about whether their champagne tastes french enough or not (they don’t even drink champagne here).

for the first time in ages, she’s able to breathe.

“convenience store ramen has never tasted so good,” she sighs, happily slurping down the sodium-packed bane of her mother’s existence. “i missed being unhealthy.”

“if we were closer to seoul, i’d take you to the little ramen shop my brother works at.” donghyuck drums his fingers on the tiny wooden table they’re crowded up against, watching her attack the bowl he abandoned. “they make the best noodles in the entire country.”

“even better than the ones chef lee makes?”

“a hundred times better.”

“you better swear on it.”

he places a hand on her head and ruffles her hair playfully, “of course, angel. anything for you.”

his voice is void of mirth, replaced with something new, something bordering a fondness that makes her pause mid-bite.

she’s never noticed that before.

“what’s your favorite thing to do in the summer? besides stealing cars and hiding in my room because mrs. park will have your head if she catches you skipping jobs?”

tilting his head, he props an arm beneath his chin so she can catch the familiar twinkle in his eye. “why the sudden question? i thought we were on strict ‘no invading personal space’ terms.”

“shut up, you broke that the moment you started hanging out in my room.” huffing, she turns away so he wouldn’t see the sudden flush in her cheeks. “i just… never asked you about your life outside of mine. you’ve been here for two months but i don’t think i know much besides what music you like and which video games you play instead of studying.”

he blinks, pink lips parting slightly in surprise before he snaps out of his daze and gently prods her in the shoulder, “well, angel, it’s never too late to find out.”

the sun is skating across the surface of the water when donghyuck pulls up to the beach. jumping out the moment he stops the car, she begins running toward the water, not even stopping to check if he was behind her.

she gets about halfway there before stumbling to a stop in the sand.

“wow, thanks for waiting, angel. i didn’t know you were this excited to see my favorite place in the area,” he pants when he finally catches up. glancing at her face, he furrows his brow when recognizing her lost expression. “what’s wrong?”

she glances down at her trembling hands, then back up to see his concerned eyes. brown and warm and laced with an emotion she doesn’t know.

“i’ve never gotten this far before, hyuck.”

there’s a soft touch on her fingers, and he’s squeezing the anxiety from her nerves.

“hey, it’s going to be okay. i’m here with you,” he smiles, so sweet and genuine and she wonders why there are two suns in the sky. “don’t you want to see the sunset?”

somehow she manages to nod, and the next thing she knows they’re standing at the place where the sea kisses dry land.

“whenever i miss my family, i convince doyoung to lend me a car and drive out here. it’s only been a few times though.”

“did you come here a lot with them?”

he laughs, a melodious sound that turns her insides to melted chocolate. “nah, only once with my brother when he got me the job. we were just passing by, actually, but the sky was covered in purple and he just had to stop the car and take a picture.”

“oh. why is it so special to you then?”

he pauses, watching the lazy waves crawl ashore in scattered petals of white foam.

“before we left, he told me… he told me that no matter how far apart we were, the sun will always be setting somewhere. like it doesn’t matter where, but as long as i remember we still see the same sun every day, it’ll set and we’ll be a day closer to seeing each other again. kind of silly, i know.”

she takes a breath, inhaling the salty sweet air and letting the foreign scent wash through her mind.

“i don’t think it’s silly.”

his hand falls from hers as he flashes her a look of surprise. “really?”

“yes, really.” shrugging, she steps closer to the water, sticking out a foot as if daring the sea to lash out and pull her in. “if anything, i think that’s beautiful.”

from behind, she hears a light scoff, and she feels the corners of her lips lift up.

“you’re not really so bad, you know.”

“wow, i’m touched. what makes you think that?”

“most rich kids are really dumb and pretentious after growing up in money, but you’re nothing like them. you have real dreams and never looked down on someone poor like me.”

she almost loses her balance when she whips around to find him staring at the sand, hands shoved in his pockets and looking so, so small.

it makes her heart twinge.

“poor? you, poor?” a loud laugh of disbelief tumbles from her mouth. “how could someone who spends his entire summer working at a hellhole just to help support his family, someone who listened to the broken girl when no one else would, someone who saw me as something more than a spoiled brat and actually became my first friend, ever be poor?”

“angel, i’m working for you because i have no money. i’m literally poor.”

she shakes her head and grasps at his sweater sleeves, trying to find the ends of his heartstrings sewn into the seams.

“donghyuck, you have a heart of gold. you’re the richest person i’ve ever met.”

finally catching his fingers again, she looks up at his glowing honey face, the amber flecks of sun dancing in his eyes sending her into a mesmerized daze that steals her breath away.

their shoes are wet and the water is freezing, but she feels warm, oh so warm, when his firm arms wrap around her numb body and squeezes the lifelessness from her veins.

he smells like cinnamon and peaches and late summer bonfires, and she never wants to let go.

“you deserve so much more than what they see.”

the summer ends as fast as it came.

“angel, you have my number. just because you’re going across the ocean for a few months doesn’t mean you can’t contact me.”

she angrily bites down on her lip, blinking back the tears prickling at the corner of her eyes in frustration.

“i’m going to miss you.”

he chuckles and runs a hand through his faded hair, and she almost hits him for looking so pretty when she’s about to cry.

“well me too, angel, but it’s not like you’ll never see me again. i still have to take you out for ramen, remember?”

“can’t i just not get on the plane?”

“i don’t think how it works, angel.”

“don’t call me that, it’s just going to make me miss you more.”

with an angry huff, she shoves the stuffed bear he won her at a carnival into his arms, stomping away as childlike as she dares.

“christ, why are you so cute even when throwing a fit?” he mumbles, picking up her abandoned belongings and chasing after the spirited girl. “hey angel, wait. i have a gift for you.”

she counts to five seconds before slowing to a stop, listening to his rushed footsteps and the jingle of keychains bouncing on her bags until he stumbles into view. from his sweater, he pulls out a polaroid camera, finally revealing the reason behind the bulge in his pocket she’d been so suspiciously staring at since leaving the car.

“remember what i told you that evening at the beach? well, i thought that since it worked for me, it might work for you too.” clearing his throat, he holds it out as a peace offering, a smile ghosting his heart-shaped lips when she hesitantly accepts the present. “for each time you miss me to the point of going insane – which i really hope you don’t, that would be really hard to explain to your parents – i want you to go and take a picture of the sunset. doesn’t matter where or how pretty, just a sunset. that way, you’ll remember that we’re still connected, and we’re one day closer to seeing each other again. how does that sound?”

one pause turns to two, three. yet still he stands there, patient and waiting with his heart on his sleeve.

“hyuck?”

“yeah?”

“can i kiss you?”

“well if you’re really that desperate, angel, i guess-”

there’s nothing more satisfying than the feeling of being able to shut donghyuck up, and with his soft sighs and sweet lips and gentle hands tangling in her hair, she knows this is something she could definitely get used to.

fin.

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