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i saved you the best seat in the house
It goes unanswered, and she spends the first half of the play sporadically looking at the empty seat, trying not to hate him for standing her up, trying to remind herself that he never says anything he doesn’t mean and that something must have happened to make him go back on his word.
The play’s going so fucking well, and it should be enough to hold her attention – she created something that people are watching and engaging with – but the worry thrums like a second heartbeat between her ribs, and she’s scared for him.
Her crew deserves the world and then some, she decides, wrestling through a quick costume change before she has to run to the other side of the stage. She needs to get them all massive bouquets of flowers, and possibly foot some therapy bills.
Nate storms out during the locker room scene, which Lexi had anticipated, but it strikes something forlorn in her when she watches Cassie run after him. There’s nothing she can do about it, but it’s a persistent dull ache, watching her sister contort herself into something good enough for guys who treat her like shit.
She doesn’t have time to worry about it now, because the main doors swing open again, Cassie framed in the rectangle of light, and even from the distance she looks murderous. If it’s possible, Lexi’s heart jumps even further into her throat; something’s off, wrong. Cassie walks straight past her seat, towards the stage, and Lexi realizes what’s happening about three seconds after it starts.
It’s horrible, and she hates that she’s surprised. She should have known this would happen, that her play would push on hurt feelings enough for things to explode. Cassie’s never looked at her with this kind of raw hate, and Lexi’s almost glad when their mom runs up on stage and plants herself between them. For a second, she’s worried Suze might start yelling too, matching Cassie’s energy like she often does, but she’s steely calm, holding her ground. Something breaks in Lexi at the realization; she’s never been the favourite child, but here, her mom’s taking her side.
She just wishes it didn’t have to happen in front of half the school.
Maddy saves things from devolving into a full-on cat fight, rushing the stage herself, and Cassie bolts like the fucking coward she is – later, much later, Lexi will feel bad for the thought, but now, she’s earned her superiority complex – and the aftermath leaves the whole auditorium reeling.
She cries backstage for precisely ten minutes, then swipes under her eyes and stares at the hideous cracked paint on the wall, unsure and shivering and hurt. She should have known this would happen. How dare she expect people to be okay with her using their lives as fodder for her own artistic ambitions?
“Hey?” Bobbi’s tentative voice draws her out of her head, and she blinks, turns around. “You okay? That was pretty rough.”
Lexi laughs; it comes out choked. “Understatement of the century.”
“Yeah.” Bobbi sits down next to her, straightens her shoulders. “Everyone’s still out there,” she continues after a few beats. “If you want, I think we should finish.”
There’s a painful tug in Lexi’s chest. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “Is it even worth it?”
“Yes.” The answer comes immediately. “We all put a lot of work into this. You put a lot of work into this. It’s a good show, Lexi. It deserves to be finished.” Bobbi pauses, looks back at the door she came through, then smiles. “You hear that?”
Lexi follows her gaze, tries to calm the ringing in her ears so she can listen too. When she realizes it’s her name, chanted like there’s an entire sports stadium out there and not just a half-full high school auditorium, she thinks she might burst into tears all over again. “For me?” she checks, needing to know it’s not just in her head.
Bobbi grins. “Go get ‘em. I’ll tell everyone we’re back on.”
The crowd honest-to-god screams when Lexi takes the stage again, and she’s a bit grateful for the extra few seconds it grants her to gather her words. “When I was writing this,” she starts, pleasantly surprised when her voice doesn’t shake, “I was scared of what people would think. But I was talking to a friend about it, and he told me that sometimes people need to get their feelings hurt. So, even—” She catches movement at the double doors, a figure that wasn’t there earlier, and her heart dams up her throat when she realizes.
Fezco, in a suit, holding flowers, looking at her like she’s something otherworldly.
She pulls it together, clasping her hands behind her back. “This one’s for you.”
The rest of the show goes off without a hitch, and when they take their bows at the end, it’s everything.
Somewhere between getting offstage into a tangle of congratulatory hugs and making her way back to the dressing room, the adrenaline drains from her body, and she braces her hands on the counter, not daring to look up at her reflection in the light-studded mirror. She’s sure she looks a complete wreck.
The door creaks behind her, and when she turns around he’s there, and she’s going to him almost before she registers it. “Didn’t know you were gonna do that,” he says, all awe, and she knows instantly what he’s talking about, and in the same thought knows nothing she can say will be enough for what it all meant to her.
She throws her arms around his neck, tucking her face into the scent of cigarette smoke and sandalwood that clings to the lapel of his jacket, and she can tell it catches him a little off-guard, but he pulls her close like it’s second nature. Belatedly, she realizes she’s crying, and she should be mortified, but the entire school just saw her get screamed at by her own sister, so she doesn’t have a great meter for what constitutes humiliation right this second.
One of his hands has made its way to the back of her neck, thumb stroking over her hair, and she wants to freeze time right here, stay caught in his steady embrace and breathe. “You came,” she manages, shaky. “I’m sorry it was such a mess.”
“Don’t gotta be sorry.” He starts to pull back, but she holds on tighter, and he lets her. His next words are muffled in her shoulder, and she can’t make them out, but she doesn’t care, because he’s here, and the worry that’s been sitting sharp in her chest is finally dissipating. “‘m sorry I missed the first part, but what I saw was real good.”
She pulls back then, convinced he’s just saying that, but there’s nothing but earnest truth in his face, and she loves him a little bit for it.
(That is something she doesn’t know what to do with, but it’s there nonetheless.)
“Cassie wrecked it,” she says, the words coming out tiny and unsure. “I don’t know why I thought she wouldn’t.”
(Stupidly, she’d wondered for a fraction of a moment during the tirade what he would have done if he’d been there to see it. She decides she’s glad he wasn’t; the idea that Cassie would latch onto it and make things even worse is gut-wrenching.)
She doesn’t want to think about Cassie right now. “I’m really glad you came,” she whispers. “Is everything okay?”
His hand has moved to the small of her back, and it’s distracting in all the best ways. “Somethin’ came up,” he says, leaving it vague. Belatedly, she notices the fresh marks on his knuckles, and her heart sinks.
“Ash?”
“He’s good.” Fez shakes his head. “Mad I didn’t drive him to get more deadbolts. He was goin’ through the camera stuff when I left.”
It must not have been that dangerous, then, if he’s fine with Ash being home alone. Still, because she has to make sure, she asks, “You’re safe?”
He nods, and she isn’t really sure if she believes him, but he hasn’t given her a reason yet not to trust him, so she lets it lie for now. “I have to go to the cast party,” she says, pushing down the urge to just drag him back to his car and kiss him like her life depends on it. “But can I come over later?”
The look he gives her is so soft she almost can’t stand it. “I’ll pick you up.”
Bobbi comes in then, calling for her apologetically, and Lexi has to consciously pull herself away. “I’ll call you,” she whispers.
She lasts an hour. She feels bad because she truly is so proud of her team and they deserve to celebrate, but a lot happened tonight and she’s a little overwhelmed, half on autopilot.
Fez is in the parking lot in about ten minutes, and she lets herself wonder for a second if he sped to get here, to get to her. She puts her hand over his on the gearshift, warmth flooding her at the contact, and he flips them to thread their fingers together properly. She chances a glance at him, and the soft glow of the streetlights casts him in shadows. When he looks back at her, she thinks she might burn down to ashes.
Ash makes a brief appearance when they finally get to the house, but other than a little nod directed at Lexi, he lets them be, and she’s painfully grateful for it. Fez gives her another once-over, asks if she wants to change. Something sparks in her at the idea of wearing his clothes, and at her nod, he brings her a pair of sweatpants and a faded Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. She smells him on the collar, something dark and musky, and it makes her feel safe, being wrapped up in his scent.
Casablanca is playing quietly on the TV when she comes back into the living room, and he’s made her tea. Tears prick at her eyes when she notices, and she pushes them back. She’s not going to cry all over him twice in one night.
“C’mere,” he says when he sees her, lifting an arm, and she curls next to him on the couch, unable to stop herself from tangling her fingers loosely in the front of his shirt, keeping him close. “This okay?” he asks after a few beats, and she hums, unable to verbalize that this might be the most okay thing in the universe.
“Thank you,” she whispers, a poor substitute for what’s in her mind, and he kisses the top of her head so lightly she thinks she imagined it.
She can’t focus on the movie, even though it’s one of her favourites. This is the first time all day – all week, all month – that the tension in her body keeping her going is nowhere to be found, and it’s dark but for the gentle glow of the TV, and Fez is warm against her, heartbeat steady under her ear.
She blinks, and when she opens her eyes again the credits are rolling. “Shit,” she murmurs, almost a reflex. They’ve moved as she slept, and she’s curled around his body like vines, head on his shoulder. “What time is it?”
Fez reaches for the coffee table and taps at his phone screen. “Late,” he says ruefully. “Wanted to let you sleep. You were out real quick.”
She should go home. She knows for a fact Cassie didn’t make it home tonight and there’s a chance their mom will wait up for Lexi in an uncharacteristic display of parental concern. “Can I stay?”
He shifts under her, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He’s never touched her this boldly, but then again, she’s never fallen asleep on him. She’s suddenly aware of all the places they’re touching. “You want me to take the couch?”
She shakes her head, feels his breath catch a little. “Stay with me?”
The weight of what she’s asked comes later, hidden away from the world in his bedroom. She’s never done this, and the alarming thought occurs that she might get it wrong. Is there a right way to share a bed with the boy you’ve been falling for all year?
“Okay?” he asks, ever gentle, and she loves him.
It’s a double bed, but they still end up on the same pillow, foreheads touching, her hands curled against his chest. Slowly, like he’s waiting for permission, he wraps his arms around her, and everything in her head goes quiet, coaxed into submission. There’s still a part of her that longs to fill the silence, worried that she’s being weird, but it gets pushed further back the longer he holds her.
She falls asleep tucked into his collarbone, leg hitched up over his, and she doesn’t even dream. She opens her eyes somewhere around four, finding him curved around her from behind, breath tickling her shoulder where the shirt’s slipped down. His hand has found its way to the bare skin of her stomach, and she glows a little when she notices. He’s never initiated touch before today, and she kind of hates that it’s when they’re asleep and she can’t even enjoy it properly. The safety of it all lures her back under moments later.
When she wakes up again, it’s after ten and he’s gone, and she takes the opportunity to sprawl out under his sheets and revel in the fact that she slept in his bed and he wanted her there.
After a few minutes, she gets up, because she’s hungry and she smells pancakes. At the last second, she remembers to pull last night’s sweatpants back on, not wanting to scandalize Ash more than he already will be.
(Not much scandalizes him, she reasons, but they’ve only recently established a tentative peace, and she doesn’t really want to show up in his kitchen in nothing but his brother’s t-shirt.)
Despite her efforts, he still gives her a disgusted glance, but all he says is, “Y’all better not start doing that corny shit where I can see it.”
From the stove, Fez shoots him an exasperated glare. “C’mon, man, shut up.” His gaze lands on Lexi, open and drenched in sunlight, and she grins at him, unable to help it. Ash mutters something before wandering back to his room, but it’s all background noise; this is so painfully domestic that she doesn’t want to imagine any other kind of future.
(That’s another one of those terrifying thoughts that she’ll pull out and examine later.)
“Hey,” she says quietly, moving closer to him like they’re magnets, pulled together by internal forces.
“Hey,” he echoes, looking nervous. It’s endearing. “Sorry ‘bout him.”
She shrugs. “It’s okay.” It hadn’t been anything she wasn’t expecting, and she’s sort of familiar with Ash’s moods at this point. If he had a genuine problem with this, he wouldn’t leave them guessing. Fez looks unconvinced, a remnant of frustration lingering in the way his mouth turns down at the corners, but he doesn’t argue.
She’s a little unsteady in the light of day, but there’s a want in her that’s been building for months, and it’s unbearable, almost too much, how pretty he is right now. So unfairly fucking gorgeous she could cry, all broad shoulders and careful hands, and she wants to kiss him more than she’s ever wanted anything.
Fuckin’ fearless.
She waits till the pancake on the stove has been flipped off onto a plate, then takes a breath and reaches for his wrist, tugging him into her. It’s more graceless than she’d hoped, but there’s a look in his eyes that makes her think he might just let her do whatever she wants with him, and when she leans up to kiss him, he’s already meeting her halfway.
Light explodes in her chest, compounded by the sparks that skitter across her skin when he slides a hand into her hair, and she lets him press her against the counter. She’s dizzy with the relief of it, of finally having him where she wants him.
When they break apart, he runs his thumb along the line of her jaw, reverent. “Gonna be the death of me,” he says, rough and breathless.
There’s no euphoria quite like knowing he’s as gone for her as she is for him. She pushes up on her toes until their lips are almost brushing, whispers, “Only if you want,” and when he kisses her again, it’s hungrier, impatient, like he can’t get her close enough.
If she gets to have him, it’ll be worth everything it took to get here.