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artificialqueens · 1 year

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Galactica, Chapter 104 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: We know that it’s been a long time in between updates, and we’re so grateful to everyone who’s stuck with the story. XOXO! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Courtney scored a record deal, Shea met her newest subject, and Adore vowed to keep things casual with Alaska.

This Chapter: Courtney works out, Fame searches for stress relief, Shea has a theory, Jinkx tries to forget the past, and Violet gets a late-night visitor.

***

“Okay, five more,” Kameron said, “Come on! Five…four…almost there…”

Courtney groaned, abs burning as she pushed herself to do the last few crunches, before collapsing backwards onto the mat.

Kameron wasn’t having it though, and slapped her hand on the mat, right by Courtney’s ear.

“No way! No rest yet! Turn over and give me sixty seconds of Mountain Climbers.”

Courtney’s only response was a pathetic little whimper.

“Come on, lady. I’m not starting the timer until you’re in position…”

She hauled herself off the mat with another groan, getting into a plank position as she started doing the Mountain Climbers, eyes squeezed shut.

“Good girl. Keep going…only 55 more seconds to go…” Kameron said.

“I…hate…you…” Courtney panted, and Kameron laughed.

“Perfect. That means I’m doing my job. Fifty seconds.”

Courtney had been in the gym with Kameron since 6 that morning. It was barely past dawn now, and they’d already been working out for over an hour. However, with the recording schedule, this seemed like the only reasonable time she had to work out.

When she’d first learned of the exact timeline for recording her EP, she was shocked. They were supposed to write and record six songs in five weeks? Sure, one was a cover, but still. It didn’t seem possible, but time in the studio was apparently already booked. Yesterday, she’d listened to tracks from a bunch of different producers, and chosen her top 10. Today, she was supposed to have Skype meetings with all of them and then she and the label would choose 3 or 4 to move forward with. (It was already decided, much to her relief, that Olivia would be producing at least one of the original tracks in addition to the cover of ‘Crazy.’)

“Come on girl, pick up the pace!” Kameron called out, “Make these last 30 seconds really count.”

Kameron was, at this moment, Courtney’s worst enemy, but she was grateful for her too, whipping her into what promised to be the best shape of her life. Courtney was already starting to see muscles that she never knew existed. At least it would build up her strength and endurance, and hopefully her flexibility too, so that when she needed to get into the studio with a choreographer, things would come easier.

“Ten seconds! Double time! Right! Left! Right! Left!”

“Auuuuuugh!” Courtney pushed through the last ten seconds, sweat pouring down her back, every muscle on fire.

“Time!” Kameron said with a chuckle, as Courtney dropped onto the mat, gasping for air. “There ya go, excellent.”

She knelt down, handing over a bottle of water, which Courtney barely managed to take from her.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You’re the Devil.”

Kameron laughed again, then clapped her hands. “Okay, one more minute of rest and then let’s hit the elliptical!”

***

“Oh,” Fame bent down, touching the edges of the skirt, a backstage assistant practically taking it off the model to show it to her. “This is great.”

Fame had only meant for a brief drop in at the Marc Jacobs show, Marc's tendency to incorporate elements of streetwear so far from her own design aesthetic, but this year, as the last few pieces of the collection hit the runway, she had been captivated.

Marc had made the most fantastic geometric white skirt, the stitching in the layering forcing it to keep its shape when it moved. She showed one of the seams to Shea, who seemed equally impressed.

“Isn’t it lovely?”

“Absolutely. Are you going to buy it?” Shea asked.

“Well…”

Fame didn’t usually shop during fashion weeks, didn’t show such direct respect to other designers in public, even when she knew them personally, at the risk of cracking her tough exterior, but she needed to own this.

She looked around, trying to spot someone, anyone, who wasn’t some wet behind the ears intern or assistant with a clipboard and actually had a say at Marc Jacobs, when she saw her.

Bianca had just entered the backstage area, an inescapable vision in a bold red, black and white, the graphic prints and sharp lines drawing every eye to her.

At first, Fame felt ice cold, and then burning hot, her fingertips tingling, her throat dry, her heart hammering away in her chest.

Bianca’s brown hair was up in a bun, sparkling clips holding the neck hair that never managed to grow long in place. She was so achingly familiar, one of her favorite pairs of earrings dangling from her lobes, her ruby red lips parting in a smile as she spotted someone she knew, Bianca’s laugh breaking her heart.

Fame didn’t even notice the skirt slipping from her fingers, didn’t hear it hit the floor, didn’t think as she turned around and walked away, even the thought of having to interact with Bianca making her stomach churn.

She needed a distraction, and she needed it now.

***

“Bob!” Maxwell groaned, reaching in front of his boyfriend, turning off the coffee machine and stopping the overflow of Bob’s cup, the machine gurgling as it swallowed up the excess liquid. “Watch what you’re doing!”

“What?” Bob looked up from his phone, only now noticing his cup. “Oh!” He smiled, taking it from Maxwell’s hand. “Thanks babe.”

“Just pay attention.” Maxwell sighed, though he couldn’t hide his amusement completely.

“You two are being ridiculous.” Jovan took a sip of his coffee, the three of them having one of their unofficial morning meetings by the coffee machine, all of them gathering their strength to go see the venue where the Galactica show would take place tomorrow.

“But the V List just updated!” Bob waved his phone, the signature pink of his favorite gossip blog visible in the browser. “Don’t you care?”

“About what the rich and famous are up to?” Maxwell smiled, this discussion one Jovan and Bob had had a bazillion times. “I doubt it.”

“Come on…” Bob said, “You’re a designer, you care about Fashion Week.”

“Everything I’ve ever learned about Fashion Week gossip has been against my will,” Jovan said. “I literally could not care less about the glitterati.”

“You literally work in the fashion industry.”

“Fashion just happens to be my chosen medium of artistic expression,” Jovan said.

From anyone else, a statement like that would have sounded incredibly pretentious, but for Jovan, it was just the truth. Bob rolled his eyes, but Jovan continued undeterred.

“It’s true! I don’t make clothes so that millionaires will like…” Jovan changed his posture, putting a hand on his hip and speaking with an affected, Valley-girl accent, “Oh my god, buy them and wear them and use them as a status symbol on social media because late stage capitalist decadence is like, so cool!” He finished by blowing a raspberry to show how he felt about late state capitalist decadence.

“Werk,” Bob deadpanned. “But, your ‘artistic expression’ is clothes for millionaires. Like…that’s literally what you make.”

Jovan wrinkled his nose and Maxwell put a hand on Bob’s arm, saying, “Bob. Please. That’s not fair.”

“Thank you!” Jovan said, clearly happy to have Maxwell on his side, while Bob bristled.

“Are you seriously-” Bob began, gearing up for a full-on debate.

“Yeah,” Maxwell continued, cutting him off, “I mean, some of them are billionaires.”

Bob burst out laughing, pulling Maxwell in for a hug so tight, it practically lifted him off the ground. For a few seconds, Jovan looked annoyed, but then a smile began to creep across his lips and soon, he was laughing along, the braying sound of genuine delight that they probably heard all the way in Connecticut.

***

After Fame fled from the Marc Jacobs show through the back exit, not caring that she probably looked insane, she beelined straight for the pickup area on 6th, praying that her driver from the morning would be there so she could get the fuck away. Shea was close on her heels but quickly losing ground.

Of course, when she got there, he was nowhere to be found. Fame whipped out her phone to call Violet, her assistant somehow not picking up by the third ring, which was an unforgivable offense.

Fame was about to burst with frustration, the task of keeping it off her face killing the very last ounce of her self control, the only reason she hadn’t lost it completely the fact that she was imagining firing Violet in great detail.

“Um…” Shea managed to catch up by then, breathlessly jogging alongside her, the journalist apparently not used to running in heels. “Is everything alright?

“Yes!” Fame snapped, then took a deep breath, pausing to slow her stride.

“Miss?” Violet’s voice sounded from the phone, her assistant finally picking up now that Fame no longer needed her, this short spurt of insanity not an image she could project to Vogue.

This was exactly why she never talked to the press, the pressure too much, the charade unbearable.

Fame hung up the phone without answering, shoving it to the bottom of her purse before turning to Shea, the smile she usually reserved for her mother-in-law plastered on her face.

“I apologize. I tend to get, some would say, a little unsettled-“ The word burned in her mouth, even saying it causing her anxiety to rustle, “the day before a show, and I simply…lost my head a bit. There I was, dilly-dallying and enjoying myself. Admiring a fellow designer when there’s so much to do.”

The thought had thankfully taken a somewhat coherent form, Shea clearly believing her, giving her an understanding nod.

“Loose ends to tie up, lists to go over. I’m a bit of a…” Fame had to force the final words out, the truth of them making it so much harder to say, “...control freak.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Shea said, giving her a friendly smile, the two of them now just standing on 6th Avenue in the pickup zone with no chauffeur, like a couple of impoverished Dickensian urchins about to hail a taxi.

“Exactly.” Fame smiled, her cheeks starting to hurt. “I simply realized that the list was a little long, and I had a bit of a… panicked moment. Sorry if I came off as….somewhat unstable.”

“Miiiiiss…”

Fame turned her head toward Pearl’s familiar voice as it rang out down the block. She was strolling towards them in what looked suspiciously like last night’s party clothes: combat boots, painted-on leather pants, a white crop top, a shaggy black fur coat falling off her shoulders. She was a sloppy mess, and on anyone else, Fame would have found the whole ensemble appalling, an insult to Fashion Week, but the annoying thing about Pearl was always her effortless, just-rolled-out-of bed beauty, her thick blonde curls and smudged eyeliner just as stunning whether she was fresh from the salon or rolling up after a week-long bender. Which she might have been at the moment, from the look of her.

Fame straightened her spine. Just because she personally found this disheveled party girl infinitely charming did not guarantee that Vogue magazine would. It was time for a bit of damage control.

“Hello, Pearl,” she said, using a firm, ‘Be on your best, professional, big girl behavior’ warning voice.

“Heyaa,” Pearl drawled, her sleepy smile growing, absolutely not catching the hint as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. She wasn’t wearing a bra—though the camera strapped across her chest made it clear that she probably needed one. Fame tried to avert her eyes. “You headin’ uptown? Can I get a ride?”

“Perhaps, if you behave,” Fame said sharply, daggers in her eyes, an icy smile on her lips trying to play it off as a joke. Pearl blinked, not picking up on the clue, and she groaned internally, pushing through. “Have you met Shea? She’s spending the week with us while writing a feature for-”

“Oh yeah. We go waaay back. Hey there, Shea,” Pearl grinned, giving Shea a wink, which Fame absolutely did not like. “Been awhile.”

“Hi Pearl. Nice to see you again,” Shea said, her smile dazzling.

Pearl leaned in for a hug, sliding her arm around Shea’s lower back and up under her jacket.

Fame’s breath got caught in her throat as she watched the way Pearl pressed a kiss against Shea’s cheek that lingered—far, far too long. Her breathing still hadn’t recovered when Pearl turned back to her.

“So, how about that ride? I’m sure I saw Nicky-“

“I need to talk to you about the press release for the party,” Fame said quickly. “You forgot to add that thing we discussed. And we need to get it done. ASAP.”

“Oh?” Pearl paused, her eyes widening. It was one of their old codes for sex, so to speak—Fame demanding to speak to her alone, about an urgent but nonexistent work situation.

Fame wondered for a moment if Pearl would turn her down—if she even felt like she could.

“I thought you changed your mind about that…” Peal said slowly, eyes bright, “but of course, I’ll happily add whatever you want. My only goal is to make sure you’re happy.”

Fame nodded, secure in the knowledge that Pearl still wanted her. She turned to Shea with a slightly exasperated eye roll.

“Shea, I’m so sorry, this is a bit of a sensitive internal issue, so…do you mind if I stepped away for a few minutes to speak to Pearl, off the record? Publicity can be a bit of a minefield, you know.”

“Right, of course. I completely understand,” said Shea.

“Thanks. We shouldn’t be very long.”

“Take as long as you need.”

***

Wearing sneakers to work was its very own, special kind of luxury, and one of the few perks of not attending fashion week.

Even though Kiara worked in design, it was common knowledge at Galactica to never come into work looking less anything than your absolute best, if there was the slightest chance of bumping into either Fame or Raja.

She didn’t know if she actually believed it, but Bob swore that Raja had once fired an intern for wearing a backpack, Alexis getting dismissed from a meeting with Fame because her manicure was chipped and it had been ‘too distracting’.

Kiara pushed the door to design open, having just returned from tailoring. Tailoring had been as close to chaos as it ever was under Dela’s firm grip, everyone working on the final details and rushing to meet their deadlines, while the design floor was fairly chill, everyone either twiddling their thumbs or biting their nails while waiting for the Galactica show to happen.

Everyone, except one.

As Kiara walked over to her and Aurora’s station, she was greeted by the sound of a sewing machine. When she had left for tailoring to check up on her pants, Aurora had been running ruffles through her machine. Now, she had an insane couture jacket almost fully completed, her pitches for Raja’s Met Gala look coming to life through some of the fastest working hands Kiara had ever seen.

It had been the talk of the department when Trixie handed over the folder of Violet’s sketches to Aurora, everyone talking in hushed tones as they flipped through it, Maxwell even gasping at one particular page when he saw how harsh Raja’s notes were.

It didn’t sit right with Kiara that they had essentially done it behind Violet’s back, but it wasn’t like she and Violet were friends, and this was a major opportunity for Aurora.

“What the fuuuck.” Kiara stepped up behind Aurora, hands on her shoulders, leaning over her, unable to understand what she was seeing. “How long was I gone? Did I fall into a wormhole?!”

“Excuse me?” Aurora looked up, letting go of the sleeve she was making to focus on Kiara, the hum of the machine stopping.

“You did all of this in an hour?”

“Yes?”

“Oh my god,” Kiara bit her lip, swallowing the outburst that was threatening to erupt, the rest of the department for once thankfully minding their business. “This is insane.” Kiara’s finger dug into Aurora’s shirt, “It looks like you’ve been working on it for 3 days.”

“Oh,” Aurora’s lips curled into a smug smile, and Kiara couldn’t help but focus on the plumpness of them, a delightful sprinkling of pink settling on Aurora’s cheeks. “I’m fast.”

“No shit.” They were so close, Kiara only needing to lean forward the slightest bit to get the kiss she was suddenly longing for.

“Do my nimble fingers make you horny?”

“Desperately.”

“Let me finish this sleeve.” Aurora grinned, “and I’ll get right on you.”

***

“Mmh,” Fame moaned, the sink digging into her lower back. She shivered as she felt Pearl’s familiar fingers on her inner thigh, her blunt nails dragging in the most delicious way. Lips touched her neck, Pearl’s mouth on the sensitive skin.

They were in a handicapped bathroom, Fashion Week thankfully full of enough wardrobe malfunctions that no one had looked twice when they disappeared together.

“Ah!” Fame’s tightened her grip on Pearl’s hair, the thick blonde locks between her fingers.

“Shhh,” Fame could practically feel Pearl’s grin, her lips curling into a smile, her breath hot on her neck. “I didn’t wipe off my lipstick for you to make noise.”

“Oh please,” Fame whispered, snarling a little. She didn’t want to have sex in a bathroom stall, didn’t exactly enjoy the knowledge that her clothes were touching unsanitary surfaces, but she hadn’t been able to keep her hands to herself. “You wiped your lipstick off so that you wouldn’t make marks.”

“I know,” Pearl pulled back, their eyes meeting, a smug expression on her face. “Discretion above all else.”

Fame hadn’t expected to be so completely seduced by Pearl, but there was a reason that they ended up in this position again and again and again.

Pearl was annoyingly charming, and she knew it.

“Shut up,” Fame used her hand in Pearl’s hair to push her down, her pussy throbbing the second Pearl’s knees hit the floor.

“Yes ma’am,” Pearl took hold of her thigh, lifting it over her shoulder before disappearing under her skirt.

Fame braced herself, tilting her hips forward, the porcelain of the sink cold under her fingers.

“Hurry up,” Fame hissed, Pearl’s teeth grabbing the edge of her panties. “Everyone is-“ She yelped as Pearl released, the fabric snapping her skin.

“Fuck,” Fame groaned, using her thigh to trap Pearl’s head. “I’ll strangle you if you don’t move.”

“Well…” Peal paused, and Fame felt hot lips against her hip bone before she continued, “Death by pussy would be a glorious way to go.”

Fame laughed, Pearl so utterly ridiculous, her heart aching with how much she had missed their sex life. “Good girl.”

***

“Where is she?” asked a sharp voice.

Shea turned around. Violet and Nicky were hurrying down the block, and as usual, Violet looked tense and high strung, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Nicky attempted to calm her by putting a hand on her upper arm, but she shrugged it away. Yikes.

Obviously, Shea didn’t know anything for sure. Nor did she know what Violet and Nicky did or didn’t know, but she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to bring up any suspicions. After all, it was a feeling more than anything.

Everything Fame and Pearl said sounded completely plausible. Pearl worked in publicity, and revisions to a press release for a party the next day would be a timely and sensitive matter. It would also be something they wouldn’t want in a magazine article, or even known to someone outside of the company, if there was something particularly sensitive to consider.

All of it made perfect sense.

However…there was just…the look in Fame’s eyes when Pearl first strolled up. And the note in Pearl’s voice when she said ‘my only goal is to make you happy.’ After all, there had to be some reason that Pearl had such a plumb position at her age and with her reputation—she wasn’t exactly the picture of responsibility. And sure, she was a perfectly decent PR person, and savvy about social media, but this was New York.

You couldn’t walk three feet without bumping into PR cunts of every level of experience, and the city was just swimming with all kinds of social media experts.

Fame was obviously on edge today, obviously desperate. And Shea had known Pearl for a long time—if there would be anyone at Galactica who’d be an obvious ‘connection,’ she’d be it. Would it make more sense for Fame get some kind of prescription from her doctor like all the other Upper East Side ladies? Yes, maybe, but if Shea had learned anything about Miss Fame in the short time she’d spent with her thus far, it was that she didn’t trust people very easily.

But…it was all conjecture. And honestly, truth be told? Shea didn’t give a rat’s ass about drugs, prescription or otherwise. Or who did them, or why, or when, or how. That wasn’t the point or focus of her story. So instead of saying anything that could cause a problem, she just gave Violet and Nicky her most winning smile, saying, “Oh, she and Pearl needed to discuss something. They’ll be right back. I also think she might want to skip the Carolina Herrera show and go back to the office for a bit? She mentioned something about loose ends for tomorrow. She seemed a little stressed when we left Marc Jacobs; I think that’s why she left through the back.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Maybe she didn’t even see her,” Nicky said. “You don’t know when she left.”

“Her?” Shea asked. “Who’s ‘her’?”

“Nothing,” Violet said sharply, giving Nicky a look as if she could murder her, effectively shutting her up, then turned to Shea, her voice as sugary sweet as Shea had ever heard it. “I’m sure you’re right. Just some pre-show jitters.”

“I’ll check on the car,” said Nicky.

“Thank you.” Violet took a deep breath as Nicky stepped away, and Shea gave her another kind smile.

“To be honest, she actually already seems calmer.”

“Okay,” Violet sighed. “Okay.”

“So…are you gonna tell me who ‘her’ is now?” Shea asked, her interest piqued.

“No.”

“Well. Alright then.”

***

“This is so stunning,” Jinkx commented, flipping through the color charts that Alaska was showing her of looks for the Galactica show. “I can’t wait to see the photos.”

“I wish you’d come see it all in person,” Alaska said.

Jinkx sighed, shaking her head. She’d never really talked much about how her friendships had fallen apart all those years ago, how Sutan breaking their engagement had been a catalyst for one of the worst downright spirals of her life.

Without all the disgusting, shameful details of the story, Alaska was probably imagining something a lot prettier and less painful than what really happened. Jinkx was still deeply scarred from what a horror show she’d been, what a mess she’d made, how she’d alienated everyone with the unfortunate luck of being close to her, destroying almost every relationship that mattered in an absolutely spectacular shit-show.

Her only consolation, the only thing that allowed her to sleep at night, when it came down to it, was that for the worst of it, for the most humiliating moments and deplorable behavior, she didn’t remember it. The upside to blacking out for months of her life, she supposed.

It hadn’t been her first stint in rehab either, but it was the first time she took it seriously, staying for the better part of a year and then coming back to New York to rebuild her life from the ground up. She only relapsed once after that, and caught it quickly—that was the one Alaska saw, pretty early into their friendship so all she really knew was that Jinkx was a Good and Responsible Addict who checked herself into rehab after a few weeks of drinking, before any hard drugs entered the picture, and had been sober as a fucking Mormon ever since.

So Alaska didn’t know—couldn’t know. And Jinkx didn’t want her to. Jinkx didn’t want to risk her finding out what a terrible person she’d been, why her friends giving up on her wasn’t just understandable, but actually smart. She thankfully didn’t remember when or what, but she knew something had happened at one of Kelly’s dance recitals, and to this day, looking Juju in the eye gave her the sickest feeling in the pit of her stomach, even though she was the least stand-offish of all her former friends. And sure, Bianca had stuck around, but Bianca was crazy, so that didn’t count.

Jinkx closed the leather portfolio, swallowing hard. Sure, she was used to seeing everyone around, at parties and events. New York was a small town, when it came down to it. But Galactica was Raja and Fame’s turf, and even Jinkx, with all the chutzpah she’d always had, wouldn’t dare show up uninvited.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said simply, handing the portfolio back to her, and Alaska nodded. She looked disappointed, but didn’t push, and for that Jinkx was grateful. “But I do want to see the pictures.”

“Of course.” Alaska gave her an understanding nod and then slipped the color charts back into her handbag, glancing quickly at her phone in the process.

Jinkx watched her face, seeing a hint of a smile pass across her lips before putting her phone down again.

“Do you need to answer that?”

“No,” Alaska replied, looking back up to meet Jinkx’s eyes, that smile still pulling on her mouth. “It’s just a friend, I can reply when we’re done.”

“Hmm.” Jinkx found herself wondering about this friend, who seemed to be texting her constantly. “Is your friend…anyone I know?”

Jinkx was a great actor, but even so, she was too neurotic to pull off the faux-casual tone she wanted. The result was a little shrill and she cleared her throat, covering with a shaky smile.

“Yeah, actually,” Alaska said, taking a sip of her latte. “Adore Delano.”

Bianca had warned her, of course, that this was still going on. But even she didn’t know whether things were serious, since her sister was keeping a tight lid on things (for once). She was also admittedly distracted by her own relationship, and her job, and didn’t exactly seem to appreciate Jinkx’s repeated requests to play detective. Alaska’s use of the word ‘friend’ indicated maybe not so serious, but her face…there was a brightness to her expression that Jinkx knew all too well, although she hadn’t seen it in years.

“Ah. Are you two, um…” Jinkx faltered. She didn’t want to be a bitch here, or say anything to indicate that she disapproved. Lord only knew that Alaska deserved to be happy, and if she was honest with herself, Adore was the perfect match for her. Fun, sweet, sexy without trying too hard—sometimes without trying at all. (Jinkx wasn’t ashamed to admit that Adore’s posts on both Instagram and Facebook often popped up first for her.) Things with Adore would be easy, and that was something that Jinkx knew she could never offer. Something she knew Alaska would appreciate.

“We’re having a good time,” Alaska said, that smile growing ever so slightly before shrugging and adding, “It’s nice to have such a no-pressure situation, you know?”

“Right.” Jinkx sipped her own coffee, trying to buy herself some time to think of something supportive to say. She landed on, “Sounds like exactly what you need.”

***

“Violet!” Sutan knocked again, trying not to wake Violet’s neighbors up, but also feeling sillier and sillier, and like he had made a mistake just showing up in the middle of the night.

He was just about to give up, order a cab and go back home, when he heard the rattle of a door latch being pulled back, and there she was, peeking out, his girlfriend in all her glory.

“Sutan?” Violet opened the door fully, a concerned expression on her beautiful face. “What are you doing here?” She reached out, touching his arm and pulling him inside, closing the door behind her. “It’s like, 3:30? Is everything okay?”

“Do you always wear that to answer the door?” Violet was wrapped in her robe, the knot barely tied, a sheer negligee and bare breast visible underneath, a weird flare of jealousy rumbling in Sutan’s stomach. Who lived in the building besides his girlfriend? Did they ever come to visit? Had her neighbors seen her like this?

“I don’t usually have someone knocking at this time.” Violet crossed her arms, looking up at him, the only light in her apartment coming from the bedroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” She took a step forward, coming into his space. “Are you alright?”

“You didn’t answer my text.” Sutan knew he was being petty, knew he was being stubborn and ridiculous, but Violet hadn’t answered his goodnight text. Sure, he had sent it after midnight, and he knew she had the Galactica show the next day, but Sutan had been at a party, his phone burning in his pocket, a nagging voice in his head forcing him to check it again and again and again.

“I was asleep. I have to get up at 5. Are you drunk?”

“... A little.” Sutan scratched his chin, realizing that he really wasn’t drunk enough to pull off behavior like this. He had no idea what was going on, had no clue why he was acting like every jealous girlfriend he himself had hated. “Maybe a lot.”

“You ridiculous man.” Violet smiled. “Come here.” She got on her toes, giving his cheek a brief but sweet kiss, reaching for the buttons of his jacket. “You’re chugging a lot of water before I’m letting you into my bed,” Violet pulled it from his shoulders, throwing it on the couch, taking his hand to take him to the kitchen, “and don’t you even dare think about hogging the blanket.”

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