Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Rio steps off the train in New York City, she's immediately hit with a strange wave of melancholy. She's barely twenty, still a kid in the way she clings to her dreams—despite being told, over and over, to settle for something more realistic. But Rio has always had a tendency to go over the top.

She’s not new to New York, but the city still feels new to her. Rio was born here, to parents she can’t remember but still misses. The city is hot and humid. People walk with purpose, uncaring of the late hour, and she earns more than her share of dirty looks as she navigates toward the address of Hela’s dad’s apartment, where she’ll be staying for the summer.

Rio barely glances at the apartment. She checks the first door on the right, sees the bed, drops her backpack, and throws herself into it.

The morning of her first day at the summer internship—coincidentally the very next day—Rio wakes up with the first rays of sunlight, too giddy with excitement to sleep. There's an unread message from Hela on her phone. She reads it as she climbs out of bed.

You're probably gonna wake up before I do so good luck today on your first day of unpaid labour.

Rio laughs and fires off a quick reply. Hela is her roommate at Yale and her best friend, despite them having almost nothing in common. Rio is a music major on a sports scholarship; Hela is studying business and comes from a family she casually refers to as “filthy rich.” They have a deal: if Rio ever makes it as a musician, Hela will be her manager. Hela calls it the “babysitter deal” and claims to already regret it—but then again, she did reach out to her estranged father to get Rio a place to stay for the summer.

Rio’s pretty sure they’re a done deal.

Which is why she seriously considers Hela’s invitation to join her in Oslo for summer vacation. Rio isn't sure what’s even in Oslo, but it probably beats running around taking coffee orders and picking up lunch deliveries from the front desk.

A whole week of internship passes, and she still hasn’t done anything remotely related to music. The producer she’s working with, a guy named Ralph, keeps talking about a “secret project” he’s developing with his team—“the guys.” Rio isn’t one of “the guys.” Not yet. She’s “too green,” Ralph says, and sends her out for another coffee run.

By Friday, Rio is almost certain she’s going to quit—but then Ralph, maybe by accident, throws her a bone. It’s nearly six, and he’s grumbling and groaning in his office. Rio is sitting at her desk just outside, playing a game on her phone to pass the time. She should just go home, pour herself a drink from Hela’s dad’s scotch she found under the sink, and think long and hard about whether this is how she really wants to spend her summer.

Ralph bursts out of his office, adjusting his bucket hat with one hand, and tosses a folder onto Rio’s desk without even looking at her.

“Rita—” he starts.

“It’s Rio,” she cuts him off.

“That’s what I said,” he replies with a smile and a dismissive wave. “Listen, kid. The boys and I are calling it a day, but since you’re such a big shot from Yale, take a look at this thing, yeah? I want it done by Monday.”

He’s gone before Rio can ask what the hell he means.

Reluctantly, she opens the folder and finds a stack of forms that need filling out. She doesn’t know what half of them are. But near the bottom of the pile, tucked between two sheets, she finds something that stops her cold—something her Yale training actually prepared her for.

A single page of sheet music, scrawled over with annotations in a cursive so bad it takes her several minutes just to decipher the title. But for the first time since she got to New York, she feels a spark of excitement.

Rio spends all of Saturday pouring over the music. She manages to decode almost all the words and even corrects a few mistakes in the notation. Whoever A.H. is, they’re not great at writing music. And, of course, it’s written for piano—Rio’s single musical weakness.

By the afternoon, she’s also managed to fill out most of Ralph’s forms—mostly expense reports—and heads to the office under the excuse of leaving them on his desk.

The building is nearly empty, most people already gone for the day. Rio has no trouble finding an unused studio with a piano and a drum set. The hours fly by. She moves between instruments, stopping now and then to jot notes onto the copy she made of the original sheet.

For the first time all week, it feels like this might be where she’s supposed to be.

She’s in the middle of a break, sitting cross-legged on the floor and chewing on her pencil, when someone storms into the room and immediately starts yelling.

“Who the fuck are you? You’re not one of Ralph’s stupid boys, so why the fuck are you playing my song?”

Rio doesn’t answer. She didn’t think she was the type to get starstruck—she’d actually given herself a whole pep talk on the first day of the internship. She was ready.

But she wasn’t ready. Not at all.

Pop star Agatha Harkness stands in the doorway, blue eyes blazing with fury, and Rio drops her pencil. She decides, right there and then, that she’s totally, absolutely fucked—but also incredibly lucky. However this ends, she’s going to be insufferable when she tells Hela tonight.

“Hey!” Agatha snaps, clearly not impressed. “If you’re done staring, weirdo—who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Rio,” she says, standing quickly and brushing off her jeans. She steps forward to offer a handshake, but Agatha gives her a look so foul she immediately drops her hand. “Right, whatever. Ralph gave me the song. He told me to fix it,” she adds with a shrug.

Wrong thing to say. Super wrong thing to say.

Agatha steps forward, and suddenly it feels like the whole room belongs to her. She’s a star, and she knows how to own it. She’s also furious, if her expression of pure ire is anything to go by. Rio kind of wants to frame a photo of her like this—is that weird?

“Fix it?!” Agatha’s voice is ice-cold.

Rio nods, keeping her eyes averted. Technically, Ralph had told her to have “it” done by Monday, so it’s not a lie. But being this close to someone she’s only ever seen on TV is making her dizzy—and stupid.

Were Agatha’s eyes always that blue?

“Fix it?!” Agatha repeats, her voice growing sharper, more dangerous. She cackles—loud, manic—and Rio can’t even be offended because goddamn, that’s Agatha Harkness. Rio had a poster of her on her bedroom wall back in Texas, and the real thing is just…

Would she sign it if she asked?

“I did fix it,” Rio offers after a beat, when it feels safe enough to speak again.

Agatha’s expression darkens as her eyes follow Rio, who bends down to pick up her notes from the floor.

“Like hell you did, it was per—”

“Your handwriting is shit, by the way,” Rio cuts in smoothly, grinning to herself when Agatha actually looks taken aback. “And your notation is… poor.”

If Rio thought Agatha was intense before, the moment the other girl steps right up to her—so close she can see the blue of her eyes and the vein pulsing at her temple—she knows she’s completely miscalculated. Whatever fun she was having, whatever fleeting sense of control she felt, is gone. There’s no world in which Rio can handle Agatha Harkness.

“Alright, big shot,” Agatha says dryly, her expression mockingly sweet. She shoves Rio lightly toward the piano. “Show me how you ‘fixed it,’ then.”

Rio sits down on the bench, regretting every single decision that led her here.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She repeats the word in her head like a mantra—then Agatha slides in next to her, their legs touching. Rio takes a deep breath, and it’s all Agatha’s perfume.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mozart,” Agatha says, sounding utterly bored with Rio’s inaction.

And she must really be bored, because when Rio still doesn’t move, Agatha takes her hands and drops them onto the keys.

The sound of the piano finally snaps Rio out of her panic-induced silence. She fumbles with the sheet music, adjusting it nervously.

“Yeah, so the thing is—”

“Right, so if you don’t start playing right now, I will actually ruin your life,” Agatha says, tone casual despite the threat.

Rio turns to the piano and groans inwardly. There goes her life.

She makes it through the first line of music by some miracle, but she knows—knows—from the way Agatha is watching her, gaze burning into her side, that she’s been set up to fail.

And she does. She knows it the second before her fingers land on the wrong key, but she can’t stop herself—and Agatha looks delighted.

“Oh,” Agatha says, already laughing, “Oh, I see now. You’re useless.” She grabs Rio’s hands again, removing them from the piano and placing them in her lap.

“I’m a drummer,” Rio says, refusing to let Agatha believe she’s useless.

“Some drummer you must be—with two hands that don’t work. I bet you’re fun in bed,” she adds with a mean laugh.

Rio’s jaw drops. She must look ridiculous, gaping in disbelief, but Agatha just laughs dismissively and turns her attention to the sheet music. She begins to play, humming the tune from time to time. When she hits the parts Rio adjusted, her lips purse in thought. As the song winds to a close, she gives Rio a once-over and nods.

“Alright, then. So you may not be completely useless,” she says—and Rio figures that’s the best she’s going to get.

“Thanks,” she mutters, moving to stand—but Agatha grabs her wrist again.

What is it with Agatha and her complete disregard for personal space?

“No,” Agatha says, smiling wickedly. “Play the drums. Since you went through all that trouble messing with my work, I bet you wrote yourself a part too, didn’t you?”

Rio narrows her eyes, but starts flipping through the sheets atop the piano, searching for the drum notations. “I wrote it for… well, I didn’t know who it was for, but I figured you’d have a drummer.”

“We don’t,” Agatha says, grinning mischievously. She shoves the music sheets against Rio’s chest, nudging her to stand. “Go play.”

Rio stands, stumbling slightly. “You’re gonna watch me play?” she asks.

Agatha laughs, turning on the bench to face the drums. “I’m a very harsh judge,” she says with a smirk.

Great. Mean girl pop star Agatha Harkness is judging her drumming skills now.

At least this is the one thing Rio knows she’s good at. She ditches her hoodie and grabs the drumsticks. Before starting, she casts one quick look at Agatha—and catches her staring at her now-uncovered arms.

Oh.

Rio smiles, confidence blooming. She starts playing, easily falling into the rhythm. This is her element. Not even Agatha Harkness can throw her off here.

She sneaks glances at Agatha as she plays, like she’s checking in—Does she look interested? Is she into it? But Agatha’s expression is unreadable.

Rio finishes the piece, breathless, hands resting on her thighs.

Agatha stands then, eyes wild as she approaches the drum set. When she stops in front of Rio, she smirks.

“Again,” she says.

And as if under a spell, Rio plays.


***

What feels like many hours later, Rio drops onto the carpeted floor with a sigh, while Agatha kicks her foot—somehow still full of energy. Rio feels like she needs to sleep for a week.

“Get up, loser,” Agatha says, typing furiously on her phone without even looking at her. “You want something to eat? I'm having my assistant get us food. I need at least a bottle of wine.”

Rio looks up, raising her eyebrows, but Agatha ignores her.

“So?”

“I… could go for a grilled cheese,” she says with a shrug.

Agatha nods, still typing.

“And a hot chocolate.”

That finally breaks Agatha away from her screen. “No,” she says, like Rio must be joking. “You're serious?”

Rio nods.

“You’re drinking wine with me,” Agatha says resolutely, already back to typing.

“I can't drink,” Rio says with an eye roll.

Agatha sighs, assessing her like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “How old are you?”

“Twenty,” Rio says, staring up at the ceiling.

“Aw, you're a baby,” Agatha coos mockingly, then kicks her foot again to make her look. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she adds with a playful grin.

Rio bites her lip. She's so screwed. She nods. “Okay. But for the record, I wanted hot chocolate.”

“Okay, grandma,” Agatha laughs. “Should be here in like half an hour. Think you’ve got one more round in you?”

“Fuck me,” Rio mutters under her breath as she sits up.

Agatha chuckles. “I am buying you dinner…”

“Oh, fuck off, Agatha,” Rio groans, dragging herself back behind the drums.

When Agatha takes her place at the piano, she sighs and starts playing. She’s done this part so many times she can run it on autopilot by now. It’s been at least a couple hours in the company of Agatha Harkness, and Rio still can’t wrap her head around it.

Does this happen?

Randomly crossing paths with someone you've only ever seen on TV? Playing with the woman who used to look down at you from your bedroom wall at your grandparents’ house?

Everything about today has been… surreal.

But as they sit down on the floor later, and Agatha pours Rio a second glass of wine—into a plastic cup they got from an office two doors down, where Rio also learned Agatha Harkness can pick a lock—she thinks maybe this day isn’t so far-fetched after all.

It’s the absurdity of it, she decides, that makes it feel real.

Agatha has ketchup running down her chin from a fry she stole from Rio, and without thinking, Rio reaches out and wipes it off. Agatha’s eyes follow the motion, wide.

Rio panics and immediately wipes her hand on a napkin, offering another one to Agatha, who takes it with a laugh.

“Did Ralph really ask you to fix my song?” she asks after a beat. Rio looks away, gathering her thoughts.

“Well… he didn’t not say to fix your song.”

Agatha bursts out laughing, slapping Rio’s arm. “You’re a crazy woman, Rio Vidal.”

It hits Rio that’s the first time Agatha has used her name. Not weirdo, or loser, or you. She said Rio. Her name. And damn it, it does something to her.

“I didn’t think you’d show up, though,” Rio says—the alcohol in her veins making her bold, and maybe a little stupid. “You’re… you.”

Agatha’s eyes glint with something Rio can’t quite place as she watches her fumble. “I am me, yes. You’re cute.”

Rio groans, dragging a hand over her face. But Agatha catches it mid-motion, holding her hand gently and pulling her face free.

“C’mon now,” she says softly.

Rio has a hard time connecting this Agatha with the one who stormed into the studio yelling earlier. But she’s still holding her hand, still looking at Rio like she’s trying to figure her out.

“What?” Rio asks, unable to wait any longer for whatever Agatha is thinking.

“No, I was just thinking,” Agatha starts, her expression turning almost shy as she looks away. “Y’know, I have a lot of women vying for my attention…”

Rio raises an eyebrow. Where in the hell is she going with this?

“And anyone can have a pretty face. A charming personality—that’s not hard.”

Rio would like to object to that, actually.

But Agatha’s eyes land on her, and suddenly any protest dies in her throat.

“Y’know what’s really attractive?” Agatha asks.

Rio shakes her head dumbly. She is so out of her depth.

“Talent,” Agatha says, the word curling off her tongue like it means everything. Rio has no idea what she’s really saying—but part of her thinks she might not care, as long as Agatha keeps talking to her like this.

“You can’t fake talent,” Agatha continues. “You can do everything right, but if you don’t have that… well. You're in for a rough ride.”

“Agatha,” Rio says, her voice soft, like the moment might shatter if she’s too loud.

Agatha shakes her head and laughs, suddenly pulling away. “Sorry. That’s the wine getting to my head. Let’s, uh… let’s get our stuff. My driver can drop you at your place.”

The ride in the back of Agatha’s black SUV is quiet. Agatha is far from the woman who started the day yelling and threatening her, but Rio gets the feeling she’s seen too much. Agatha Harkness is human to her now—and there’s no turning back.

Agatha offers her a small smile as the car stops in front of her building.

“Thanks for today, Rio. I’ll see you around.”

Rio nods, unsure if she’ll ever really see her again, and gets out of the car.

Later that night, Hela laughs at her for a solid five minutes before sobering and clearing her throat. “You absolute fool of a lesbian,” she teases. “She told you she thought you were hot.”

“No, she didn’t,” is Rio’s immediate reply. But later, as she lies in bed staring at the ceiling, she goes over the whole conversation in her head. The words. The way Agatha’s face would light up when she had the upper hand—or when Rio would flail and give her the perfect setup for a jab. How, by the end of the night, her teasing had started to sound almost fond.

Like that’s just who Agatha was—not something she did.

By the time she falls asleep, Rio is sure of one thing:
She has a huge crush on Agatha Harkness. Even more than when she woke up that morning.

***

Monday morning passes without much excitement. Rio is thankful for the calm—she didn’t get much sleep over the weekend, too busy daydreaming, trying to convince herself Saturday night hadn’t been a dream.

By mid-afternoon, she’s about to fall asleep at her desk when Ralph steps out of his office, nervously pacing the room.

“Oh God, oh God,” he mutters repeatedly, then turns and spots her. “You—yes, come with me.”

Rio does her best to hide her groan, but at this point, she doesn’t care anymore. Ralph is a prick. Still, she follows him, just to see what’s got him so rattled.

They step into his office, and he instructs her to sit on the couch. She makes space by piling up discarded folders and loose papers. This place is worse than most locker rooms she’s been in.

Ralph takes his seat again, still muttering to himself, when the doors open.

Agatha steps in, followed by the rest of Sisters or The Craft.

Holy shit.

“Hey, Ralphie,” Agatha says in that mocking tone she used on Saturday. “How’s our new album coming along?”

Her bandmates groan behind her, clearly not in the mood for Agatha’s circus act.

“Agatha,” Lilia Calderu says, sounding dead tired. “You said this was important.”

“It is,” Agatha replies, grinning. She glances sideways and catches Rio’s gaze, offering her a knowing look. “You guys, I was busy this weekend and—”

“Agatha,” Jen Kale’s voice cuts in like a warning, which Agatha completely ignores.

“I was busy fixing our song. Well, my song. You bitches are just along for the ride. I got tired of Ralph here rubbing his two brain cells together, hoping for a spark, and figured if I wanted shit to get done, I’d have to do it myself.”

A pause follows, as everyone takes in the fact that Agatha fixed her own song—which she didn’t, but still. Rio watches the scene unfold with quiet curiosity. Agatha sits on the armrest of the couch and, without looking, subtly slides the coffee cup she’s holding to Rio.

“Anyway, I’ve got the song. We can play it now if you want. I swear it’s good,” she says with fake humility. She’s clearly enjoying every second of this.

Rio grabs the cup and brings it to her lips.

It’s hot chocolate.

“Let’s go, then,” Alice Wu Gulliver says, glancing at her bandmates. When her eyes land on Agatha—and then on Rio holding the cup—she frowns, but Agatha stands up, casually blocking her view.

“Let’s go,” Agatha says with a sly grin. “Oh, we’re gonna need a drummer too. It really adds something to the song.”

Rio sighs and raises her hand. “I can play.”

Agatha gasps dramatically. “Oh my God. You guys,” she says, ushering the band out of the office. “I think this is a sign.”

“Are you high?” Jen asks, deadpan, as Agatha rolls her eyes and shoves her—just a bit too hard—into the hallway.

“Jesus, a woman can’t be excited anymore? Heavens forbid I have a hobby,” Agatha huffs.

“Your hobbies are usually illegal,” Alice says with a laugh. “Or indecent.”

Rio raises an eyebrow, intrigued, but doesn’t get to ask any more questions as they step into the recording studio.

Agatha grabs her wrist before she can join the others and pulls her aside.

“You stole the credit,” Rio says, mustering as much fake bravado as she can.

Agatha just smirks, cupping Rio’s cheek with one hand, the other resting gently on her waist.

In a moment of weakness, Rio glances from Agatha’s intense blue eyes down to her very, very kissable lips.

Of course, Agatha catches her.

She looks smug as she speaks again, “I’ll make it up to you, doll.”

Rio watches her walk away, the pleased smirk never leaving her face.

As she takes a seat behind the drums, she goes to put the coffee cup down—then notices the scribbles in Agatha’s god-awful cursive: call me and her phone number.

When Rio looks up, Agatha throws her a wink.

God, Rio thinks, she’s so gone.

Chapter Text

The rest of her internship goes like this:

Rio arrives on the dot and sits behind the desk for a few hours, going over whatever paperwork Ralph left for her. Some time around lunch, Agatha drops by—usually with one of her bandmates (Rio quickly decides she likes Alice the most)—and Rio is dragged (willingly) into a studio to play with the band.

She’s quick to settle into the new routine. She loves music, after all. But there are moments—usually when she’s working with one of the bandmates—where she feels Agatha’s eyes on her, gaze demanding, burning holes in her back. When Rio looks up, Agatha is looking dutifully at the piano, or the notebook where she makes her notes. 

It goes on like that for weeks, and Rio spends hours she should be sleeping staring at the ceiling, wondering what it means. Hela is completely unhelpful when she brings it up, her best friend just laughs at her and then makes her tell the story all over again so she can laugh some more. 

Agatha starts bringing her hot chocolate by the second week. And when Rio offhandedly comments that she liked the addition of little marshmallows as they make their way to the studio one day, that becomes her staple drink.

It becomes a bit of a running joke with the band. Rio is spending so much time around Sisters of the Craft, helping them work on their next album, that one day Jen jokes she should get her own band name.

“Hot chocolate,” Agatha says from the piano, not bothering to look up. 

Rio wishes she would—just to see the look in her eyes. Does that mean Agatha thinks she’s hot?

“That's not mean enough,” Lilia says, kicking Agatha's leg. “You nicknamed Jen Connie the con–”  

“Don't,” Jen says, even though it's probably too late.

Agatha smirks from the piano, while Jen shoots daggers from her eyes at her. “I still like Cindy Swindler better.”

And that's how she learns Agatha is called Witchkiller by her bandmates—followed by Alice cracking up at her confused expression and simply saying, “Because of her high body count.”

“Don’t your fans call themselves witches?” Rio asks, confusion giving way to clarity as she speaks the words. “Oh.”

“I’m gonna go get something to drink,” Agatha announces, standing up and ignoring the music sheets that drop to the floor in her hurry. “Rio, come with me?”

Her feet are moving before she can think about it—it never really registers in her head that she could say no. Because who would say no to Agatha Harkness? The answer is not Rio.

Agatha is quiet the whole way to the coffee shop on the ground floor, and Rio watches her from the corner of her eye, trying to figure out if she should say something. But what would she even say? That she hasn’t stopped thinking about that Saturday in the studio? Agatha would probably mock her for it, and god, Rio would only be a little upset if she did.

And the witchkiller thing? Does she even wanna go there?

Before she can figure out if she should say something, they arrive at the coffee shop. Agatha bulldozes through the line and gives the barista her order, completely disregarding the young man who was clearly next.

“I’ll have a vanilla latte,” Agatha barks out, then turns to Rio. “And she’ll have a—”

“A lemonade is fine,” Rio cuts in quickly, giving the barista a small smile she hopes translates into an apology for this whole interaction.

“She can make you a hot chocolate, you like those." Agatha turns back to the barista. “Hey, Martha—”

“Oh my god. Agatha!" Rio says, and grabs Agatha by the arm, dragging her to the side to wait for their drinks. “I like lemonade too.”

Agatha looks more unconvinced than upset, so Rio—who still hasn’t let go of her arm—keeps talking, if only to fill the silence.

“And it’s probably best anyway. Coach is gonna be pissed if I show up to camp out of shape…”

She feels Agatha’s gaze then, blue eyes raking over her. At least she’s not yelling at the poor barista anymore, Rio tells herself. She’s being selfless, letting Agatha ogle her like she’s a piece of meat on display.

“You look fine to me,” Agatha says with a smirk. She closes her fingers around Rio’s bicep, squeezing lightly. “Yeah, definitely—”

She’s cut off by the sound of their drinks being deposited on the counter, the barista already turning away.

“Hey, no—no, get back here, Marty!” Agatha drops Rio’s arm to call the barista over. “I didn’t finish ordering. I want a cinnamon roll. One of the good ones, okay? Not the oddly shaped ones you keep giving me. You want something, hon?”

Just to escape this whole interaction.

Rio shakes her head no and takes her glass of lemonade, only half-wishing the floor could open and swallow her. Agatha too.

But Agatha keeps her eyes glued to the barista, now selecting her goddamn cinnamon roll.

“No, not that one, I want this one,” Agatha says, tapping the glass like a spoiled child.

As soon as the barista hands over the paper bag, Rio grabs her hand and drags her out of the coffee shop and all the way to the elevator. When the doors close and it’s just the two of them, she sighs into her lemonade.

“That was a nightmare.”

Agatha chuckles, mouth full of pastry. “I know,” she says through a mouthful of cinnamon roll. “They really need to hire better.”

Rio has to resist the urge to shake her—but thankfully, she’s distracted by a drop of glaze falling from Agatha’s mouth.

Fucking hell.

“You have—” She lifts her hand, like she’s trying to recreate the ketchup incident. Maybe she is. But the elevator doors open, and she lets her hand fall. A man in a suit steps in, gives Agatha a look, smiles politely, and turns back to his phone.

Rio sighs, dropping her head against the cool wall of the elevator. When she turns to Agatha, she’s got that wicked smile on her lips as she wipes the glaze from her chin and licks her finger clean.

For fuck’s sake.

“Didn’t have a napkin,” Agatha says with a little shrug, and Rio wants to scream because she can see the handful of napkins poking out of Agatha’s pocket.

***

Agatha doesn’t show up the next day. It’s a Friday, and Rio has grown accustomed to the pop star showing up by her desk with a hot chocolate and that usual mischievous look in her eyes. So when it’s just Alice, Rio can only hide her disappointment so much.

“Where is everyone else?” she asks, trying to sound conversational.

Alice snorts, like she doesn’t buy it for a second but indulges her anyway. “Lilia had an early tarot reading. Every year she swears she’s just gonna take lessons, but I think she might have a crush on this one witch in Soho. Jen said she had to look over some business ventures, which means she’s either still partying somewhere or she’s coming up with a new stupid idea to try to con our fans into buying something.”

Ah, so that’s what the nickname meant.

“Your nickname game is dangerous,” Rio mutters.

“I mean, she does use our name to try to get fans to buy healing crystals or vegan water, so…”

“Not vegan water,” Rio laughs as she sits behind the drum set.

Alice drops her bag on the piano, looking like she wants to laugh too.

“As for Agatha,” she says instead, giving Rio a knowing look. “She does this sometimes, y’know. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

Rio wants to ask what this is, but she doesn’t. Her laughter fades quicker than she’d like.

“So, I was thinking since it’s just us today,” Alice continues, thankfully, “we could try something I’ve been working on? It’s not the Sisters sound, so I kinda kept it to myself—but you look like you’d be into something… edgier.”

It turns out Rio does like Alice’s edgier sound, and they spend the rest of the day working on a song that will probably never see the light of day, but Rio kind of loves it.

When it’s dark out and the building is probably empty, Rio sits behind the drums, waiting for Alice’s signal to start playing.

“Sing with me?” Alice asks, pausing her nervous shuffling of sheets over the piano.

Rio feels the nerves in her stomach. Alice is a star, a piano prodigy. Rio will probably only make a fool of herself. But she nods before she can help it.

“Yeah, sure…”

What follows is the three longest minutes of Rio’s life. She’s hyper-aware of her own voice, of the way her hands tremble just slightly as she plays.

Her music teachers would be shaking their heads if they could see her.

Halfway through, Rio looks up and catches sight of Agatha standing by the door. She’s wearing ripped jeans and a hoodie with her own face on it. When she catches Rio’s gaze, her eyes glint with a silent challenge behind her soft demeanor.

Rio has half a mind to drop the drumsticks and die. Why does she look so soft? And why does soft look so good on her?

She ventures a second, subtler glance, finds Agatha already watching her, one hand in her hair—and Rio swears she can feel the earth shift beneath her feet.

Fuck.

How weird would it be to run her hands through Agatha’s hair? Probably a lot weird, right?

She’s so busy thinking about it that she fumbles her next move, and the drumstick falls from her right hand.

“Fuck,” she groans.

Alice stops playing, looking amused as Rio drops to the floor to find the drumstick.

“It’s okay, kid,” Alice says, peeking over the drums. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you miss before, though.”

“Me neither,” Agatha says, announcing her presence as she steps into the room. She smirks down at Rio.

Rio re-emerges from the drums with a huff. “One, I’m not a kid—I’m maybe a few years younger. And two, it was literally one time.”

Alice and Agatha both stare at her like she’s a kid throwing a tantrum and they think it’s adorable. Rio immediately hates it.

“I bet I could make you do it again,” Agatha says, leaning against the piano, smug as hell.

And fucking hell, smug is a great look on her. Rio doesn’t have a comeback, so she turns around and starts picking up her stuff.

She catches bits and pieces of the two Sisters' conversation—something about Agatha having an okay meeting with a lawyer, and Alice offering her support.

Rio has packed her backpack and is circling the drums to either join them or leave—she’s not quite sure—but Agatha steps in her path, body angled toward Alice.

“I wanna get a drink. You guys in?” she asks.

Alice laughs and shakes her head. “A drink with you? After today? No, thank you. Rain check for when we’re in France, though.”

Agatha rolls her eyes at her, and they make their way out of the studio, Rio following because Agatha wouldn’t let her leave.

The bandmates keep chatting in the elevator, listing European cities and talking shop.

The ride isn’t even that long, but it feels longer when Agatha pretends to stretch and slips her fingers into the belt loops of Rio’s jeans, effectively trapping her.

Agatha doesn’t let go as they step out into the underground parking lot, and Rio follows after her, battling with herself—because she could push Agatha’s hand away. But she doesn’t want to.

What does that say about her?

Alice stops by her car and looks at Rio as she unlocks it. “Hey, do you need—”

“I’ll drive her home,” Agatha cuts in, her words sugary sweet.

Alice snorts. “It was nice knowing you, Rio.”

Rio frowns. “What?”

But Agatha throws an arm over her shoulder, steering her toward her car. “Ignore Alice. She’s weak.”

***

“You never called,” Agatha says, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. They're waiting for their food at a drive-thru, after Agatha insisted on buying her dinner.

Rio thinks Agatha's stupidly large SUV feels smaller after those words are uttered. “Agatha, I—You came by the office the next day, and the day after—” She stares at her, dumbfounded. “I didn’t—”

“It’s whatever,” Agatha says, like it’s not actually whatever.

When the woman at the drive-thru hands them their food, Agatha—thankfully—doesn’t make a scene. She passes the bag to Rio and starts driving again.

It takes a moment for Rio to notice Agatha didn’t ask for her address, but is definitely going the right way.

Okay, stalker, Rio thinks to herself, while simultaneously being completely unbothered by the fact. At this point, she doesn’t even ask herself what that says about her. She has a huge crush on Agatha Harkness—that’s what it says. And unlike everyone else who shares her feelings, Rio is starting to think… she might actually have a chance.

When Agatha stops the car in front of the building, Rio feels the kind of bold she usually calls stupid.

“Do you wanna come up?” she asks, finding Agatha’s eyes in the dimly lit vehicle.

She thinks she sees Agatha nod a little too quickly—but it might just be wishful thinking.

“Sure,” Agatha says after a beat.

Rio opens the door to her apartment with one hand, the other clutching their drinks. Agatha stands behind her, a little too close. Then she leans in even closer, whispering, “Need a hand?”

The door miraculously opens only then, and Rio steps in, letting Agatha to follow after her. She crosses into the kitchen quickly, puts the drinks down on the counter and opens the fridge, telling herself she's looking for something to drink. 

When she turns around, Agatha’s already made herself comfortable on the couch, taking up as much space as possible—arms stretched along the back, legs spread out in front of the coffee table.

“Do you… want a beer?” Rio asks, after she’s stared at her the appropriate amount.

“Thought you didn’t drink,” Agatha says instead of answering, and Rio sighs, holding her gaze until Agatha laughs and nods.

Rio takes a seat in the armchair, and Agatha passes her the food, smirking a little when she slides the drink her way. Rio narrows her eyes and takes a sip. Hot chocolate. Again.

“Figured one more wouldn’t hurt,” Agatha says with a little shrug. “You can work it off later…”

Rio holds her gaze, feeling like she’s slipping closer and closer into insanity with every passing second. So she takes a long sip of her drink to keep herself from spiraling.

When she goes to put the drink down, Agatha catches her wrist and gently tugs her forward. An invitation Rio’s not sure she wants to deny. So she follows the motion, stepping between Agatha’s legs.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Agatha says, voice soft as she guides Rio to straddle her.

When their lips meet, Rio’s reaction is instantly forgotten—because Agatha sighs against her lips and mutters a quiet, “Fuck,” and she’s gone.

Rio’s mind only returns to her body when breathing becomes necessary. She becomes aware of her hands tangled in Agatha’s hair. Agatha’s hands are on her back, under her shirt, and she’s looking at her—blue eyes wild, like she wants nothing more than to do it all over again.

“I thought about this,” Agatha admits, smirking like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “I was right, you know—your mouth does taste like chocolate.”

Rio stares at her in disbelief. Truly, she stopped listening after Agatha admitted to thinking about kissing her.

“You thought about kissing me?” she asks, dumbly.

Agatha shakes her head, the smile on her lips far from smug now. She seems amused.

“I did give you my number,” she says, words pointed.

“Oh.”

“I don’t just hand that around, y’know,” Agatha continues. Her hands cup Rio’s face, a finger tracing her bottom lip. “And you didn’t even call…”

“If I had known this is what you wanted…” Rio says, barely containing her laugh.

Agatha rolls her eyes but laughs too.

“I like you more quiet, so I’m gonna—”

Rio cuts her off with a kiss meant to shut her up, but she has no complaints when Agatha wraps her arms around her waist and lays her down on the couch. She has no complaints either when Agatha helps her up and asks where her bedroom is.

***

“I was wrong,” Agatha says, sitting up and scanning the room for her clothes.

Rio watches her from where she’s still lying down, propped up on a pillow. “I know. About what, though?”

Agatha grabs Rio’s shirt, slipping it on as she continues her search. She stands again, holding her jeans and rummaging through the pockets. “Your hands aren’t useless.”

Before Rio can reply, Agatha finds what she was looking for and climbs back into bed, straddling Rio’s lap.

“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” she whispers against her lips. “Join me?”

Rio nods, but Agatha doesn’t move. It delays the smoking part of Agatha’s plan for another hour.

Later, Agatha sits with Rio in her lap on the single chair out on the balcony and lights up a cigarette, offering it to Rio first.

“I’m good,” Rio mutters, taking in the city around them, trying to wrap her head around… everything.

Agatha mutters something under her breath, then brings the cigarette to her lips.

“You need a vice,” she says after a moment. “You don’t smoke, you don’t drink. Boring.”

Rio chuckles. You could be my vice, she wants to say. But she doesn’t. The silence stretches between them, and Rio is okay with it. Agatha’s hands are warm on her stomach, fingers drawing absentminded patterns.

Rio thinks she could get used to this. Though she probably shouldn’t… Doubt creeps up, and suddenly, Agatha’s touch feels like a weapon.

“Agatha,” she says softly. “What are we doing?”

Heavy question, for sure. But she needs to know. Even if—.

“I’m having a smoke,” Agatha says after a beat. When she looks up and catches Rio’s eyes, she tenses.

“It’s not—” Agatha pauses, gathering her thoughts. Rio runs her fingers distractedly through her hair, and Agatha sighs. “I like you, Rio.”

Rio almost laughs. I like you, Agatha says it like they’re kids. But when she looks into her eyes, she sees the struggle there, and decides against it.

“Okay,” she says instead. She feels Agatha relax everywhere they touch.

“We’re leaving next week,” Agatha says after a pause. “The band. We’re playing the first half of our tour in Europe. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” Rio asks, thinking she must have heard her wrong.

“Come with me to Europe,” Agatha repeats, her eyes searching Rio’s face. “Let me prove to you that I… I’m serious, Rio.”

“You want me to leave my internship, which I need for future job opportunities, to follow you through Europe so you can prove something to me?” she asks. She intends it to come off harsh, but drops the pretense quickly.

“Yes.” Agatha doesn’t even waver. She exhales a cloud of smoke like it’s a thing people do, and tightens her hold on Rio’s waist like that will help her case.

It kind of does, but Rio doesn’t say that. She just… laughs. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Agatha rolls her eyes, muttering something to herself. “I can convince you if I have to,” she whispers, lowering her mouth to Rio’s shoulder, tugging her shirt to the side.

“Agatha,” Rio tries to speak, to think. What is she trying to achieve here? “Agatha,” she says again.

“What, you don’t like being seduced?” Agatha whispers cockily—doing a phenomenal job at it, unfortunately.

“Oh, is that what you were doing?” Rio asks, trying—and failing—not to show her hand. Her voice sounds fake, even to her own ears.

Fuck.

Agatha chuckles, biting down a little harder than necessary, then looks up at her, smirking like she owns her. Like she already knows she’s won.

Rio just stares at her in disbelief. How is this her life? How did she end up here? How is any of this real?

What the fuck?

“Don’t do that,” Agatha says, dropping the cigarette to the floor and cupping Rio’s face in her hands.

“What?” she asks, looking into the eyes she’s starting to really, really… like.

“Look at me like I’m a star.”

Rio thinks she understands what Agatha is asking, and nods. “Okay.”

With the way the day has gone, Rio feels powerful. So she lets her fingers thread through Agatha's hair, keeping her eyes on her face, carefully assessing.

“Stay the night,” she says—not as a question, maybe more of an offer.

Agatha studies her for a moment, clearly weighing her options. Rio thinks she can feel her own heart pounding in her chest.

“Okay,” Agatha says at last. “But this is a one-time thing.”

Rio doesn’t believe her. She’s not sure if she’s being dumb, or if Agatha has some wild manipulation powers she’s using on her. Either way, she starts laughing the second the words leave Agatha’s mouth. “Which part?”

At least Agatha looks amused now, leaning in to kiss her lips—before changing her mind and tilting Rio’s head up to kiss down her neck instead.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Agatha mutters between bites and kisses.

And Rio wants to yell something dumb like thank god , but she doesn’t.

Agatha would probably laugh at her if she did.

“You think we’re even now?” Agatha asks, tugging Rio up with her.

Rio stumbles back a bit, trying to follow her train of thought. “Oh, about you stealing the credit?”

Agatha nods, closing the distance again. When their lips meet, it’s Rio who sighs this time—because she missed Agatha’s mouth on hers, in the whatever number of minutes she wasn’t kissing her.

Fucking hell.

“Not yet.” Rio smirks at Agatha’s expression. Feeling stupid-bold again, she shoves Agatha against the balcony doors. “I think I know how we can make it even, though.”

Agatha lets out a yelp, followed by another muttered fuck that’s dangerously close to driving Rio insane. Then she nods. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And god, Rio hopes Agatha does steal all her music—if it means she gets to keep kissing her.

She’s so, so gone.

Chapter Text

Someone once told Agatha that she hated having to admit she was wrong more than actually being wrong, and she didn't think too hard about it.

People say stuff—it doesn't mean she has to listen, or care. So she did neither.

But now, lying in Rio's bed for the third night in a row…now she thinks about it.

She's hot , she told herself first, she knows music , that's it. But now…now is not so simple.

Rio sleeps on her back with her arms open and legs outstretched, like the world’s cutest starfish—fuck.

Rio sleeps like she has no care in the world, like she's never been hurt, like she's not scared something will come at night and take everything from her.

And Agatha doesn't understand that.

How this bumbling idiot—this talented musician, attractive dumbass of an intern—just... does that.

Rio seems to charge through life with that misplaced confidence and awkward charm, and just a smidge of smug bullshittery when Agatha least expects it. 

God... she’s everything Agatha never thought she'd be into wrapped in the body of a hot twenty-year-old who is obsessed with her. Because yes, Agatha has noticed that.

As has everyone with a set of eyes and a working brain. So probably not Jen.

Rio stirs in her sleep, bringing Agatha back to the moment, and she decides she cannot, in fact, handle this—whatever this is—while in such close proximity to this woman.

She gets up, stretches her arms over her head, and grabs a hoodie from the desk, sliding it on and stepping onto the balcony.

Agatha chuckles when she notices the stupid bulldog-with-a-hat design on Rio’s hoodie as she lights a cigarette.

She stays like that for a while, silently contemplating the night sky. Sometimes she wonders if she could ever be a normal person—if she could live life like Rio does: studying and working, and one day going home to a wife and two children.

Agatha is a star. She commands audiences with her presence. People love her. Women (and men—ew) fall for her. She’s something on stage that she can never quite be off of. 

Untouchable. 

Strong.

Unbroken.

When the lights dim, Agatha just is, and she's not overly fond of that.

All her life’s work has led her here. She's barely twenty-two, and the world is in her grasp. So… why does it still feel like it's not enough? Why does one dumb intern with an unhealthy relationship with hot chocolate and way too much college merch throw her off so much?

Agatha is on the precipice of her career and then this one girl shows up and just undoes her?

The question sounds stupid on principle, but the fact that she keeps coming back to Rio like a woman starved—and not the other way around—is cause for concern.

Because Agatha knows how to have fun. She’s taken girls back to hotel rooms—fans after shows, models she met at fashion week, the occasional girl at a bar. But Agatha is always gone by morning. She's not in it for the long haul.

So... why the fuck is she still here?

The question bounces around in her head, and her one cigarette becomes two, like maybe she’ll find the answer in the ashes.

She thinks back to their first meeting—Rio playing her music, acting like she knew better than Agatha. Fixing her song. God. Agatha had wanted to hurt her back then, to shove her around, show her her place.

Rio had resisted and bent in equal measure. She’d demanded, with her actions, to be treated as an equal. And Agatha had known, sitting on that piano bench, watching the intern drum to her heart’s content, that Rio was a star.

And Agatha, well… she was into it. She is still into it.

Which is why Rio not calling pissed her off. Agatha doesn’t chase people. But she went after Rio, and her stupid chocolate kisses, and into her bed—and woke up the next morning to an empty bed and the awful sounds of off-key piano notes.

They’d drunk coffee, and Agatha had tried to get her to play the song right—with little success—before dragging her back into bed with the excuse that she needed to wipe the memory from her brain to see Rio in a good light again.

Agatha had fun. Which shouldn’t be strange, but it caught her off guard. In truth, she'd met Rio without any intentions of ending up here—and maybe that’s where she went wrong. Because she liked her before she had her. And now it’s fucking with her head.

And it’s not just that. They didn’t even have sex last night. If they had, Agatha could rationalize it. But they just made out for a while, and when Agatha tried to pull Rio’s t-shirt off, she grabbed her hand and asked if they could just sleep. And Agatha had nodded, dumbly. And that was that?

When her second cigarette dies out, Agatha decides the chill of the night isn’t worth it and steps back inside, sitting at the foot of the bed, gathering her thoughts.

Rio stirs again, moving blindly in the dark. “Are you leaving?”

Agatha shakes her head, climbing into bed with a sigh. “Just went for a smoke.”

“So you don’t just smoke after sex, then,” Rio says, like she’s conducting a field study and Agatha is her subject. Agatha can just make out the smile in the dark.

“Sometimes I smoke before,” Agatha replies, seductively.

Rio shakes her head with a quiet laugh.

“I’m just saying… I’m leaving tomorrow, y’know, and it’s two whole weeks before you get another chance with me…”

Rio rolls her eyes, like the idea of her not getting another chance with Agatha is ridiculous. It is. Rio is not supposed to know that though.

Rio stares at her for a moment, thoughtful. “Come here.”

Agatha stays rooted on the spot, caught in the fond tilt of Rio's voice when she speaks. “What—?” She cuts herself off, because Rio is looking at her like she’s trying to read her mind and not listening at all. 

“Do you–I—” Rio stammers, and Agatha exhales, tired. She wants to laugh, but Rio’s eyebrows are furrowed, her expression intense—like she’s trying to get inside her head.

“Choose a sentence and stick with it,” Agatha says. She means to sound cutting, but her voice comes out more like a whine—breathless. She wants to hide under the covers. Maybe jump off the balcony and run into the night.

What the fuck was that?

Rio cups her face—warm fingers around her jaw, brown eyes soft in a way that has no business existing in... whatever this thing is between them. Just a pair of… lesbians?

It feels wrong to assume, but…

Rio looks at her with a softness Agatha immediately blames on the hour. It’s the middle of the night, that’s all. Rio’s just a little tired, and—

Then Rio moves forward, closing the distance, and kissing her. Soft, lazy lips against her own, then down her jaw, her neck. With one last kiss, Rio lets her head rest on Agatha’s chest, arms draped lazily over her side.

She’s asleep within seconds.

Agatha stares at Rio’s head, watches her slow breathing, the way she scoots closer, burrowing herself into Agatha’s side.

What the hell.

She should push her away. Maybe even leave.

Instead, she runs a hand through Rio’s hair, careful not to make a sound, and is rewarded with a little content sigh.

This is fine. 

Totally fine.

***

When Agatha was ten she told her mother she wanted to be a singer just like her. 

Evanora Harkness had looked her up and down, and laughed. 

You just don't have the talent, dear, her mother had said, with the usual condescending tone she saved just for her.

After that, Agatha hadn't touched the piano for years. 

It was on a summer evening, when she was fourteen, that she signed to a record label. Yes, she had faked her mother's signature, but everything else was all her. 

She may not have had the talent, but she had the drive, the fire, and more than anything she wanted this. 

Talent or not, she was gonna make it. 

And she did make it. Because her mother loved appearances more than her own daughter, and when the news broke that Agatha had been signed, she had smiled for the cameras and said all the right things, but the moment the door closed it was a whole other story. 

But Agatha made it. She proved the doubters wrong. She made the great Evanora Harkness eat her words. And when her mother came after her work, her achievements, everything she had worked for, Agatha didn't let it get to her. She reinvented herself as the front woman of Sisters of the Craft, she made something her mother couldn't touch. 

She won. 

But for a while now she hasn't felt like a winner. The days blur together, the same routine, rinse and repeat. She knows her bandmates know that she's been trying to beat a monster they can't see. A ghost that's hers alone. 

Agatha knows Alice thinks she gets it, but is not the same, Lorna Wu is not Evanora Harkness. Agatha doesn't take it lightly when she says her mother is the worst, and as much as she hates to admit it, she still thinks about her words, and sometimes she still believes them to be true.

She thinks that’s why she’s so drawn to Rio—who just has it. The talent. Agatha doesn’t think Rio knows that, or understands it fully. And Agatha oscillates between wanting to take care of her... and wanting to exploit her.

Agatha thinks Rio would let her, either way. And that thought—the power—settles uncomfortably on her chest for days.

But the tour keeps her busy. And Agatha, like she always does, lets the routine quiet the thoughts that make her uncomfortable. Her days are filled with interviews, soundchecks, and outfit changes. She eats from takeout containers while getting her hair and makeup done, and on more than one occasion, she falls into bed with some woman to end the night.

She tells herself that is unrelated. This is just how tours go. Agatha slips out of hotel rooms for a smoke and never returns. But even as she drops into her own bed, her mind always wanders to Rio—wondering what she’s doing, if there’s a woman in her bed too.

The idea makes her so upset she has a hard time figuring out what to do with it.

Most nights, she ends up taking a scalding hot shower, like she’s trying to erase the ghost of the women from her skin, then wrapping herself in the hotel’s fluffy robe and slipping into bed to not sleep.

I like you, she had told Rio. Come to Europe with me so I can prove to you… what? What did she want to prove?

She never gets to the bottom of it, tossing and turning in the bed until tiredness wins out. 

Agatha checks her phone methodically, and oftentimes finds a text from Rio, something dumb, like a picture of her hot chocolate from the coffee shop on the ground floor, or a blurry picture of Ralph in another stupid bucket hat indoors. Agatha sends stuff sometimes, a photo of an empty stadium during soundcheck, or on her days off she shows Rio around, touristy shots while she hangs out with her bandmates. 

It doesn't take long for her to realize Rio is never in the photos she sends—but it takes her longer to admit she wishes Rio were in them. Even longer to actually say that to Rio.

With only a few days before the intern is set to join her—the band—Agatha decides to broach the topic.

Show me your face.

She regrets the wording immediately, staring at the screen, agonizing over the message and cursing her impatience. Of course she throws her phone across the bed and leaves the room. 

She finds Alice stepping out of her room and asks if she wants to get lunch.

They find a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the hotel’s restaurant, and Alice says something about the city outside (Paris? Not-Paris?). A waiter offers them wine and drops off the menus. Agatha scans the pages, trying to calm her racing mind.

Has Rio answered yet?

Did she send a photo?

“Did you know Rio is coming?” Alice asks conversationally, scanning her own menu, “Oh I'll have the—you think it's cool to order pasta in France?”

So they are in France. Nailed it. 

Agatha shrugs, “They wouldn't put it on the menu otherwise.”

She calls the waiter over with an exaggerated wave of her hand, and the man hurries over while still trying to look elegant in his fancy uniform.

“Two pastas, and more wine,” she barks out. “And bring me more bread.” 

The man takes the bread basket from her, now almost entirely made out of chunks and crumbs thanks to Agatha's nervous fidgeting, but she's already dismissed him, turning her attention to Alice who's laughing.

“You order funny,” Alice says in explanation. 

“It's efficient,” Agatha counters.

Alice laughs harder. “Agatha,” she says, voice teasing, “it’s rude, and you know it.”

Agatha rolls her eyes in dismissal, and Alice chuckles again.

“So, anyways, Rio told me she's coming on Monday. Did you know? It's a day off so she could probably work on some of the stuff we left unfinished back in New York—”

“I invited her,” Agatha says, testing the words in her mouth. It's just Alice. Alice is mostly harmless. 

Her bandmate doesn't seem surprised by it, her smile feels heavy with implications.

“What?” Agatha asks, immediately regretting it because her voice comes out defensive.

“Nothing,” Alice says, too confident, like she knows something Agatha doesn't. “Make sure we have time to work, yeah?”

“What–?”

Alice cuts her off with a wave, “She's here for work, dumbass. Her internship, remember? She still needs that.”

Agatha rolls her eyes like a last line of defense, but it doesn't take a genius to know Alice isn't buying it. 

Lunch ends up being a bust and Agatha returns to her hotel room, finds her phone on the middle of the floor and remembers why she left in the first place. 

She picks it, debating if she should check it or not. Curiosity wins after all, and Agatha finds a text from Rio waiting for her. 

Should I pack this one?

And attached is a photo of Rio wearing the stupid hoodie with the bulldog in a hat. God, Agatha hates that hoodie with passion.

Yes . She texts back, and opens the photo again. 

Rio stares back at her with a little smile Agatha remembers from those three days they spent together. The smile she knows means Rio is trying to contain herself.

Why does she know that? Fuck.

A second message from Rio breaks her from her reverie. 

Do I get to see your face? 

Agatha rolls her shoulders and exhales. It takes her a moment to think of the best response, she smirks as she types.

You can look me up on google.

Feeling like she won the interaction, Agatha drops her phone in her pocket and goes to find her bandmates.

***

On Monday Agatha makes up an excuse to skip brunch with the band and finds one of the drivers they have working with them to drive her to the airport. 

She texts Rio that she's waiting for her in a car outside when she arrives, and waits, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on her leg.

She is not nervous. 

But when she catches Rio stepping out the airport–looking lost and adorable, balancing her duffel bag on her shoulder, inspecting the sidewalk from under her hat– Agatha has to resist the urge to go find her. She has the driver go get her instead, sliding her sunglasses and rolling down her window. 

When Rio slips into the car, Agatha smirks and presses the button to have the division come up. 

“A little presumptuous,” Rio notes. Her smile is nervous, like Agatha had her moved to first class and insisted she sleep on the plane just to make her write music for the band. 

“I don't think so,” Agatha says, forcing herself to stay rooted in the spot. She's going for cool, popstar Agatha here, not I-haven't-stopped-thinking-about-you-Agatha. 

Rio hums thoughtfully, and slips her hand into hers as the car starts. It's so dumb, and childish, but warmth spreads in her chest at the gestures. She has to hide her giddy smile, so she looks out the window and clears her throat. 

“Do you want to grab lunch?” 

“Can we?” Rio asks curiously, and it dawns on Agatha what Rio means. 

She shakes her head as they pass a street sign that's been vandalized by fans with graffiti of the band with Agatha front and center. “Take out?”

“What's the take out like over here like?” Rio asks, her smile soft. 

Agatha shrugs, “Let's find out.”

The driver is a local, so Agatha entrusts the man with getting them good food on the way back to the hotel. Rio spends the entire trip looking out the window, taking in the city. Agatha stares at her the whole time, and refuses to call this for what it is.

The driver gets them burgers and Rio’s laughter fills the car, Agatha’s own laughter subdued because she's too busy taking in the way Rio’s whole face lights up when she laughs.

“I blame you,” Agatha tells her after a moment, moving closer so their legs are touching and taps the bill of Rio's cap with one finger. “This is yelling american undercover. Don't even get me started on the rest. Does your bag say Yale, Rio?”

Rio grins, filling her mouth with fries instead of answering. 

“You think they're still called French fries here?” She asks once she's swallowed the food, grin still in place.

Agatha wants to kiss her then. God, she's so stupid . But Agatha doesn't kiss her then, because she's being cool Agatha today. 

“How are you so hot and so dumb?” She says, and there goes the cool guy act. 

Holy fuck, that was short lived. 

But Rio whips her head and stares at Agatha like she's grown a second head. Agatha watches her recover over the course of the next minute, and the longer it goes on the less she regrets it. 

“ Agatha ,” Rio says eventually, the name comes out of her mouth like a whine, and an affront. 

Agatha raises an eyebrow but doesn't budge. Cool Agatha is back. 

“Finish your food,” she instructs, a smug grin drawing in her lips and she knows Rio catches it because she bites a mouthful or burger muttering to herself something that sounds a lot like ‘fuck my life’. 

***

“Hey, Agatha! There you are,” Lilia’s voice carries down the hotel hallway, and Agatha’s head snaps up from where she stands in the doorway of Rio’s room.

Fuck.

The three Sisters step out of the elevator on a floor that is definitely not theirs—or Agatha’s—grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Agatha thinks Jen is enjoying this the most.

“Did you get lost in another model’s pants, Agatha?” Jen asks, proving her point.

Agatha catches Rio’s gaze. The younger girl is still standing in the threshold of her room, biting her lip to contain her laughter. Agatha has half a mind to push her back inside and slam the door in her face. Or on her back. She’s not sure… or picky.

“I found Rio,” she says lamely, panic creeping in with every step her bandmates take closer.

Rio snickers and steps forward, invading Agatha’s personal space until every ragged breath Agatha takes smells like her.

“Hi,” Rio greets the band, giving Agatha a subtle nudge so it doesn’t look like they were making out in her bed five minutes ago.

Lilia ignores her greeting, stopping in front of Agatha. “Since you and Alice skipped brunch, we’re having dinner in my room.”

Agatha shoots Alice a look. Why did she miss band brunch? But Alice only glances between her and Rio with a raised eyebrow. Agatha flips her off.

“Rio is invited too, of course,” Lilia adds, giving Rio a long look, like she’s trying to see through her.

“Oh, thanks, Lilia,” Rio replies with a nervous smile.

Lilia hums, holding her gaze a moment longer, assessing, before turning on her heel and walking back the way they came.

When no one follows, she stops and sighs. “I don’t know why I joined a band with you kids,” she mutters, loud enough for them to hear. “Dinner. Now!”

“Gosh, Lilia, stop acting like my mom!” Agatha calls after her, rolling her eyes. “You’re just thirty.” She adds the last part with a mean laugh.

Lilia halts immediately, turning to face Agatha. “I am twenty-nine!”

Alice and Jen groan. Rio looks surprised—but not in a bad way—which only encourages Agatha. She grins at Lilia. “And yet you're in my band.”

“Fuck,” Alice mutters, shifting her weight like she’s trying to decide if it’s wise to intervene. Jen, beside her, openly glares at Agatha.

Rio clears her throat, stepping between the bandmates with that misplaced confidence again. God, she’s hot when she does that. Agatha watches her move flawlessly among them like she belongs.

“What floor are you guys on?” Rio asks over her shoulder, already walking toward the elevator. “I did some tweaks on the song we were last working on. I think you’ll like it. Also, I wrote some lyrics for the other song we talked about—no pressure to keep them, of course, but—”

Agatha tunes her out. Rio is insane for getting in the middle of that—and the band is following her?

Fuck.

That’s hot.

“Agatha, hurry up!” Rio calls from the elevator, then immediately turns back to her conversation with the rest of the band.

Agatha quickens her pace, and when she steps into the elevator, she ends up pressed against Rio’s front. She quickly picks up on the conversation. Lilia seems to have gotten over their earlier disagreement, only rolling her eyes a little when Agatha speaks.

She’s halfway through a super important monologue that has her bandmates at the edge of their metaphorical seats when Rio’s hand subtly begins to trace her leg—from her thigh to her hip—then wraps around the belt loops of her jeans, pressing firmly.

Oh .

Agatha stutters mid-speech and hides it behind a cough. Rio giggles behind her.

What a bitch.

The elevator doors open, and everyone steps out, following Lilia. Rio drops her hand, but Agatha grabs her wrist, keeping her in place.

“Don’t start games you’re not gonna finish,” she whispers against her ear as the others turn their backs on them. Then she drops Rio’s hand and walks away.

***

Dinner comes and goes around the piano—everyone talking over each other, pouring more wine than is probably wise—and after a while, Agatha steps outside to the spacious balcony of Lilia’s room to light a cigarette and get some air.

Rio had been sitting in the piano next to Alice, making notes in a music sheet Agatha was pretty sure was gonna be ineligible come morning, but she had given her a look when Agatha said she was going outside, like she wanted to go with her. Agatha has shaken her head and stepped outside to clear her mind.

“You have the hots for the intern,” Jen says, sliding in next to Agatha with a sly smirk. She lights her own cigarette and waits patiently.

“Let me guess,” Agatha gives her a long look. “Vegan cigarettes? No, wait—do they improve breathing? Flavored breath? All of the above?”

Jen rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I'm gonna have to put you on the payroll if you keep that up. Head of advertising?”

Agatha scoffs and shoves her away.

Jen chuckles, regaining her balance with an annoying smirk. “I see it, though. The intern, I mean—she’s hot.”

Agatha laughs like Jen just told her the dumbest joke, then looks back inside, where Rio is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Alice. The two are laughing as Lilia reads their future in tarot cards.

“Our world’s gonna eat her alive,” Jen notes casually.

Agatha shakes her head, mulling it over. She thinks Rio is stronger than she gave her credit for—but she’s not sure how to put that into words that make sense and don’t sound… mushy.

Alice’s laughter makes them both turn, just in time to see Lilia drop the deck on the table with a tired sigh.

“No! Lilia!” Alice says through fits of laughter. “You can’t tell me I’ll die young if I don’t follow my heart and leave it there!”

Lilia narrows her eyes. “That is not what I said!”

Her gaze shifts to Rio, and she groans, taking in her expression. “And you—if I hear one more joke about your card, I will kick your ass.”

Jen and Agatha share a look and silently agree to head back inside. The air smells like incense and weed, and Agatha coughs dramatically as she steps into the room, leaving the doors open behind her.

She takes a seat on the couch and beckons Rio closer. The younger girl drags herself up from the floor and drops beside her, hiding her face in Agatha’s chest.

The comfortable closeness earns them a few looks from the band, but Agatha ignores them, reaching out to gently grab Rio’s jaw, tilting her head up. Her eyes are red and glassy, and she pouts adorably when Agatha doesn’t immediately let go.

Agatha chuckles lowly. “You bullshitter,” she says, laughing. “What happened to no smoking, no drinking?”

Rio shrugs, licking the tip of Agatha’s finger holding her chin. “You gave me wine.”

That explains nothing. Agatha sighs and pats her cheek. Rio leans into the cool touch, letting her head drop back to Agatha’s chest.

“I’m taking her back to her room,” Agatha announces, and her bandmates exchange looks ranging from amusement to disbelief.

Agatha helps Rio up and maneuvers them to the door. She stops with a hand on the doorknob and turns to Lilia.

“What card did she get?” she asks.

Lilia rolls her eyes. “Death. Should've gotten The Fool instead, if you ask me.”

Agatha smirks. “That's not how tarot works, Lilia,” she says mockingly. 

Out in the hallway, Agatha considers taking Rio to her own room—just two doors over—but then she remembers her bandmates’ tendency to burst in whenever they please and changes course, heading for the elevator instead.

When they step into Rio’s room, Agatha lets go of her and watches from the door as Rio sits on the bed and kicks off her shoes with a tired sigh.

Next, she removes her shorts, and just as she’s about to take off the hoodie Agatha gave her in the car, Agatha finally moves—crossing the room and pulling the hoodie back down.

“You look good in that,” she comments.

Rio looks down on herself, like she's taking it in for the first time. The Agatha on the hoodie looks at Rio with a smirk, and when she looks up, Agatha, in the flesh, smirks down at her too. 

With an eye roll, Rio moves further into the bed and kicks the covers down.

“Stay?” she says—a soft request.

Agatha knows it has nothing to do with her intoxicated state, but she’s beginning to figure out that there are uncharted lengths she's willing to go for this fool. So she kicks off her shoes and socks, slides her shorts down her legs and slides into the bed behind her. 

Rio groans when Agatha tentatively wraps her arms around her waist, making her laugh.

“You’re twenty, and you’re stoned,” she whispers, pulling Rio closer to her chest. “You’re the little spoon. Sleep, baby.”

She intends the pet name to sound a little mocking, but it comes out softer than expected—and the room is quiet enough that she hears the sharp intake of breath from Rio.

Oh .

Cool Agatha wins again.