Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Get out of my sight,” Ludmila runs across the Studio 21’s entrance garden, her heels clacking every long step she takes - like magic, despite the grass she stomps on with her boots, it still sounds like she’s walking on metal. “I’m actually not really in your sight, Ludmi,” Naty trots steadily behind her, arms stretched outward as if she’s already sure her friend’s going to trip and fall.

“You know exactly what I mean, you idiot,” Ludmila growls. “Today I could’ve finally seen Camila walk out of the Studio and my life forever if it weren’t for you!”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault your plan didn’t work?” Naty asks, incredulous. Ludmila spins around on her heels, so close to Naty now that the shorter of the two is forced to take a step back. “Do you hear yourself? Of course it’s your fault.” Her tone is so chilling, Naty takes another step away from her, just for safety. An alarmingly large smile finds its way on the blonde’s lips. “It always is. Since when is it so hard to grab a phone and write a text message?”

“You wanted me to do it in the middle of class,” Naty quivers, her voice barely more than a whisper, but Ludmila hears it loud and clear for what she classifies it as: an affront. Her long blond hair cracks like a whip, and Naty’s far enough to not have to endure its blast, but a shiver goes down her spine regardless. “What I say goes, Natalia, how have you not understood this yet?!”

“But-”

“Stop it, just stop talking and leave me alone!” Ludmila’s hands are curled up in fists now, her eyes dark and stormy like Naty’s rarely ever seen them before. And that alone convinces her to obey. She gulps and stays quiet, her feet frozen in place. “God, I cannot believe how useless you are. Why do I even bother with you?” Ludmila says as she turns around again with a loud scoff, and walks away.

Naty is left all alone at the gates of the Studio, the sound coming from inside the building merely a whisper to her ears, too focused on her pounding heart. She lowers her head and all she can see is the shape of Ludmila’s boots on the grass, her footprints stretching out in front of her as if mocking her foolish need to follow them.

She wants to stand up to her, it’s all she’s wanted to do for a while now. But she’s nothing, no one compared to Ludmila. Once she really gets into it, and fights with her and they leave each other for good, what does Naty have? Who can she turn to?

Frankly, it’s not like Ludmila has much beside her, either, but it’s different. Because Ludmila’s very good at lying her ass off and pretending she’s fine with burning the ground around her, that she’s ok with being her own best friend and number one fan. If Naty disappeared into thin air, Ludmila would never even notice. If Naty left the Studio right then and there, who would actually miss her?

Ludmila is not as scary as she thinks she is, for as much as she loves the sound of her own barking, it’s Naty who is then forced to do the biting part. But she cares for her so much, she’ll go through it for her, like a haunted house of heart palpitations. She’s been almost caught, downright caught, thrown under the bus by Ludmila enough times that at this point people at the Studio have started to fear her more than the blond devil. Which Ludmila does not appreciate. But she can’t have her cake and eat it too. If Naty’s given an order, then she’s going through with it, but that’s that. There’s no fame or infamy she’s lusting for. She’s the middleman standing between Ludmila and the price to pay - better yet, in this case, she’s Ludmila’s wallet.

Naty’s eyes start to burn as she tries blinking the tears away, but it’s useless. There’s so much anger and sadness and something else, too, that she cannot name, buried deep inside of her, she needs to let out. And Ludmila keeps playing this game of push and pull with her, and she keeps getting hurt, as if she didn’t know better by now. She does - she does, but it’s magnetism, it’s the otherworldly pull of need. That’s her best friend. Assistant is just a silly way of saying it.

But this is not fair. This is not who she first met. This is not her Ludmi, that girl who paused hearing Naty call her by that nickname for the first time. That wide-eyed, ambitious bright star who annihilated everyone who came close with her shine, who loved every second of her music, loved every second of singing and performing and the life she was building for herself as an artist. Who took on every challenge with a confident smile. Who fell asleep on Naty’s shoulder in class from time to time, because she’d stayed up the whole night perfecting her choreography. Top of her class, because she knew she was the best, and she wouldn’t waste time paying attention to whoever dared question her authority.

It’s like as soon as the second year started, something snapped in her and the malicious yet still playful banter the two of them had formed with the rest of the class turned into something more sinister, and their innocuous pranks (depends on who you ask) turned into schemes and plans to eliminate the competition. No more let’s upstage Francesca, it’s let’s make sure Francesca doesn’t show up to this rehearsal so I can get the part. No more Camila is gonna hate it when I steal the spotlight from her, it’s Camila is gonna hate it when she gets expelled from the Studio. And Naty can’t help but wonder, why? What changed? Ludmila was still at the top, but it was her own behaviour that was dragging her down. And Naty stuck with her no matter what, because she knew who Ludmila really was, and this had to be a phase. It had to.

And if not, Naty has no idea how much longer of this she can take. Why would she even be taking the brunt of Ludmila’s temper, at this point, when there’s no more good job, Nat! This is why we must stick together at all times. We bring out the best in each other, you lift me up and in return I reflect my shine on you? Now it’s just of course it’s your fault, useless, why do I even bother-

“Are you crying?” a sweet voice asks her, making her look up. “I’m- fine,” Naty murmurs, taking in the scene in front of her, puzzled. The voice belongs to a woman, possibly around her teachers’ age. Her hair is long and blond, her clothes elegant and perfectly tailored. Her smile is kind, just like her greyish eyes, and her posture almost seems regal. Everything about this woman reminds Naty of a monarch, looking down at her as if she were showing mercy to one of her most desolate subjects.

What shocks Naty the most is the fact that she’s holding Ludmila in her place by one shoulder, when Naty was sure she’d just stormed off. Looking at them both, the resemblance strikes her all at once, and before the woman speaks again, Naty puts the pieces together. “I’m Priscila, Ludmila’s mother. You’re going to have to forgive her for lashing out, she’s been having a rough time lately, with all these hard assignments and all. And being a year younger, too- still getting used to how big the world is.”

“I’m-” Ludmila starts, but Priscila ignores her: “You must be Natalia, right?” Naty timidly nods. She wants to feel at ease, wants to take a breath and calm down, but something inside of her keeps her on edge still. “I figured as much,” Priscila hums, “I recognised you by the hair. My daughter is always talking about you.”

Ludmila’s eyes widen as she furrows her brows. “That’s not-”

“Thank you for being such a close friend and positive influence on my daughter, that’s really all she needs right now. You have no idea how happy that makes me! Ludmila, you know this just as well as I do, isn’t exactly the most…” Priscila tucks a strand of Ludmila’s blond locks behind her ear, making her flinch. “Well, easygoing person.”

There’s a sense of discomfort that presents itself to Naty as loud as ever as she observes them. Ludmila stares grimly at her - like this was Naty’s fault, but when doesn’t she think that - with her jaw clenched shut, as if she was cursing her through gritted teeth. But Priscila’s smile is so…warm. If they weren’t so physically similar, it would be impossible to pair them as mother and daughter. The energies and the way they present themselves to Naty are so radically different.

And yet, Naty can’t let herself trust that smile. It’s stronger than her. “Ludmila is a wonderful person, Miss Ferro. I’m very happy we are friends, too.”

Ludmila’s face goes neutral at that, though her eyes don’t leave Naty, taking in her words. “See, Lu? See how nice and forgiving she’s being? You ought to take a page from her book,” Priscila turns to her a moment, then back to the curly-haired girl. “Alright, Natalia, sorry for barging in like this, I just wanted to apologise on her behalf. I am very disappointed in her, how dare she treat her only friend this way?”

“Mother…” Ludmila winces, shutting her eyes. And as Naty notices that reaction, another alarm blares in her head. It’s strange - never before has her body reacted to something before her mind so violently, leaving her struggling to do anything but comply. She could bust Ludmila in front of her own mother, now that would be swift retribution. Maybe a telling-off from a parent would finally put her head back in the right place again. This would be overdue payback for these past months of emotional turmoil.

But…Naty isn’t a vengeful person, she realises now, and even if she was, this isn’t the right way to see Ludmila get hers. Because in this scenario, what classifies as getting hers Naty isn’t sure of, and doesn’t want either of them to find out, either. Something is clearly wrong in this dynamic, and if she can prevent a train-wreck she will, no matter how deserving it might seem. Ludmila has turned into yet another shade of her chameleonic personality, though this time, very obviously, not by choice. And that hand holding her by the shoulder makes Naty squirm at the sight alone, and she wonders how someone as touch-adversed as the blonde is could possibly react to that. It’s not tight like she likes it, it’s rigid. Commanding. Naty can identify and read the discomfort on her face pretty clearly by now.

So once again, since the beginning of their friendship, Naty makes the lover’s choice and decides to defend Ludmila, even if some people might think there’s nothing worth defending. Her classmates don’t, for example, and they try persuading her to drop the supernova from time to time. Not only is it not that easy, but it’s not that inviting an option either. Naty cares for her best friend in a way she’s never cared for anyone else before, and sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever care for anyone the same way again. She hopes she won’t. Ludmila gets to be the sole recipient of this special love of hers. And in return, Naty gets to be her only one. What a title. What luck, that in a world of losers, and nobodies, and untalented hacks, Naty gets to be the only one Ludmila thinks is worth her time.

This is why she goes to battle time and time again, she remembers at that moment: love. She’ll steal a phone and lock someone in a closet so many times that the handles start giving out, if it means at the end of the day it’s Ludmila and Naty against the world. Because there’s nothing else in that world they’re up against that she’d need more than her Ludmi.

She clears her throat, smiles, and starts over. “No, no, this is just a big misunderstanding! Everything is alright, Ludmila and I were just confused about how to do this assignment for one of our classes. She was right, anyway. There’s nothing to apologise over.”

Priscila’s smile has been wiped clean off her face in the time it takes Naty to blink once. And yet her tone is still disarmingly sweet as she keeps going, more insistent now: “But I heard her, she raised her voice at you and I cannot condone that, this is not the way I’ve taught my daughter to behave!”

“No, I mean it, Miss Ferro, it was mostly my fault anyway! Everything’s fine.”

“See! Everything’s fine,” Ludmila looks back at her mother. “Can we go now? I need to-”

“You don’t need to put up a brave face, Natalia, you were crying just a second ago! I know what my daughter is capable of, and letting her get away with it is out of the question. Don’t protect her this way.”

“I’m not- I’m telling the truth!” Naty lets a nervous giggle loose. Why can’t she let it go? “Nothing happened!”

“Mother, please, if you won’t listen to me just listen to-”

Priscila’s head jerks towards Ludmila, her eyes daggers that Ludmila nearly has to duck to avoid. But there’s something in the way she stands now, wary, head slightly bowed - not even a teacher’s scolding would get her to relent this visibly. She closes her eyes, as if anticipating something, as if to shield herself from it in advance, and at that, Naty feels the need to jump in, literally jump in, right in front of Ludmila. Be an additional shield. And yet all she can do is watch. “Natalia isn’t lying!”

“You can’t hide things from me, Ludmila, that is enough! You will tell me the truth right now!”

Before Naty can catch herself, she’s taken a step back, just like earlier. Her foot crunches the loudest of leaves and now both mother and daughter turn to her, eyes wide. Naty gulps. She shouldn’t be here. But she is, and her presence changes everything.

Ludmila’s stare darts to her mother. Not in front of her. Priscila’s hand goes to her hair. Like marionettes behind the curtain, they reset, and slow matching smiles appear on their faces - now Naty can see that blinding resemblance in their energies too. Blond and stiff, something grisly lurking under the surface. Ludmila gapes for a moment, wild eyes dashing to her left, where Priscila, distinctly calmer, simply looks back at Naty. “I’m sorry, girls. I just thought you were fighting.”

“Everything is fine,” Naty says for what she feels must be the millionth time. “I should…” She searches for Ludmila’s eyes, willing her to look back, but Ludmila only faces Priscila now, and she won’t budge. Should Naty leave the two of them to whatever this bizarre situation is turning out to be? But at the same time, what would her presence here do exactly? If she leaves, the back and forth goes on without her, and if she stays, she gets to bear witness, which she’s definitely done enough of. Seems like a lose-lose. It’s a matter of averting your eyes at the sight of a car crash: maybe you’ll sleep at night, but you’ll have heard the sounds, you’ll have to shoulder that knowledge forever.

Maybe comparing a conversation to a car crash wasn’t the most tactful of moves on Naty’s behalf, but something lingers and she can’t just walk away. So the other two do that for her. “Well, I came here to pick up my daughter, so! Again, sorry for all this, Natalia. You seem like such a sweet girl, I’d hate for Ludmila to mistreat you.” She eases into her smile again, hoping it’ll have a calming effect on Naty, and when it doesn’t, she knows it’s time to pack it up. “Would you like to come by our house sometime? I’ll have Ludmila warn me in advance, so we can have dinner together. I’d love to hear more about what your life is like at the Studio. My daughter, she- oh, you know how she is, all her stories are I did and I sang and me, me, me. But how about you, Natalia? How are you finding this new chapter of your life?”

Naty steals another furtive glance at Ludmila, who’s as still as a statue in her place. She’d never invited Naty around in the nearly two years they’ve known each other. At this point it might just be paranoia running rampant in her brain and grasping at any and all available straws, but she can’t even recall Ludmila mentioning her parents once. And Naty never pried, never thought to, honestly. She’d wondered, of course. Heard snippets of brisk phone calls and was left perplexed at the almost encoded words exchanged. And she’d dreamed about Ludmila’s house, huge and perfect and stylish, golden gates and maybe even a moat with a drawbridge at the entrance, like a real castle, like the princess deserved. But now that she’s being invited in…she doesn’t fear the princess any longer. Instead, before drinking from her cup, the person she keeps her eyes on in fear of possible poisoning is the queen.

She imagines now, asking Ludmila what’s your mom like? She imagines what kind of answer she’d come up with and how the words would undoubtedly clash with what was being presented in front of her very eyes.

But Naty is making the biggest deal out of the smallest thing. Priscila has just asked her a question. One simple question. “I love the Studio. I’m so glad I get to be here.” It’s the truth, but it’s also a neutral-enough answer to avert the woman in front of her’s interest. And it works. Priscila gives her another tight smile, turns to Ludmila and grabs her upper arm, gently - yet Naty knows how hard Ludmila must be recoiling from that touch. “Let’s go, hija, I’m sure you need to practice right now.”

The last thing Ludmila gets to do as she quickly whirls to Naty, catching the pure confusion in her face, her eyes only hopelessly staring at them as they get smaller and smaller in her view, is a miscalculated move. Something she’ll pay for in the long run. Just as miscalculated as Priscila’s mask slipping right in front of her, the one place it wasn’t supposed to.

Ludmila locks eyes with Naty at that moment, just for as long as Naty can still make out her features, and with haphazard dread taking control of her, she mouths, I’m sorry.

The apology is as loaded - I’m sorry you had to see this, I’m sorry it had to be this way, I’m sorry for her, I’m sorry for everything - as it is meaningless. Ludmila’s sorry. That’s a first. But it doesn’t hold up.

Tomorrow it will be another day at the Studio and Ludmila will have apologised for nothing, exactly the same way she was yesterday and the same way she will continue being from then on. If anything, every day will get that little bit worse. And when Naty will dare ask about that invite, that day, her family, anything out of place, Ludmila will divert as dramatically as she possibly can, more and more and more until Naty will learn to know better than to even try.

Still, there will be cracks. Even a self-described natural actress like Ludmila will have her moments. Her lapses. Her messages in the middle of the night. Her lucky - and unlucky - breaks. Naty will try to treat it as normally as she can, reassuring her, hearing her out without making it sound like the big, alarming deal it actually is, telling her what she needs to hear, holding her and handing her tissues without ever acknowledging the tears, never - ever - mentioning her father, pretending she’s oblivious to the curtain that’s been pulled over her eyes. But Naty will relive that moment with Ludmila and her mother at the Studio entrance a thousand times over in her head, and uncover a mystery she was never supposed to be investigating anyway.

She just wants to help - that’s all she’s ever wanted. But now it’s no longer a matter of Ludmila doesn’t want to be helped, it’s Ludmila can’t be helped, for the barrier that shields her from the help she needs isn’t one she built herself. And just like that, she has to keep another fragment in mind at all times. No one knows Ludmila, her Ludmi, like she does. A sad truth she’ll take to the grave.

Ludmila doesn’t dare look back after that anymore, trudging after her mother, dragging her heels with every step. She sees her car in the distance, and gets the urge to run in the opposite direction. She’s never liked that car, stuffy and claustrophobic and always the scenery for the worst conversations, scoldings after a terrible enough day at the Studio or what Priscila classified as pep-talks on their way there: moments a now more mature Ludmila can see exactly as they were and continue to be, the ones the woman deemed more fruitful for some good old fashioned brainwashing.

How it worked, Ludmila doesn’t know. She’d love to, it would come in handy to have the whole Studio at her feet, and yet that is the knowledge Priscila decides to be stingy with. How it keeps working, even after Ludmila recognises what’s actually happening…that’s the strangest part. Invisible strings of power, dynamics set in untouchable, intangible stone.

As Priscila opens the door to the driver seat, Ludmila pivots for the backseat as quick as she can, heart in her throat. “You’re sitting at the front,” her mother instructs instead, and Ludmila squeezes the handle of the back door with a studiedly quiet huff, before doing as she’s told.

Then they’re both in, and it’s so quiet Ludmila’s gulp almost echoes in the car. She grabs a hold of the seatbelt and drags it across her chest, feeling Priscila’s eyes surveying her mercilessly. Ludmila reviews her outfit, her hair, how she acted, and knows she’s in for a treat of a lecture on what to do or not to do to look presentable in her eyes.

“So that’s Natalia,” is all Priscila says. Raising her head, Ludmila meets her eyes, and as badly as she wants to read what that stare means, she knows better than to waste her energy trying to decipher it. Priscila is a fortress, unreadable as they come. Worse, she can put up the most convincing façade, so that even when you think you’ve got her all figured out, all you have on your hands is the cover of the book she’s trying to sell you. “Yes,” she hesitantly lets out, as if Priscila needs any further confirmation.

“You chose her well.”

“I followed your instructions, mother,” Ludmila stiffens. Priscila’s lips curve upward in a sly, enigmatic smile. Not quite pride - never pride, when it comes to her daughter. Perhaps only satisfaction. Another plan gone right, as if Ludmila was nothing but an extension of herself, a little robot programmed to do her bidding from a different body. “Good.”

“Is that all?” Ludmila toys with the zip of her jacket. “Why did you come pick me up? You never do that.”

“I wanted to make sure everything was ok. You’re always coming in late nowadays.”

“I’m practicing, I have a lot of assignments- and I don’t want to disturb you at home-”

Priscila’s smile falls as quick as it appeared: “There’s no point in lying to me, hija, you should be aware of that by now.”

“Stop saying that! I’m not lying!” Ludmila flushes. She’s not lying. She doesn’t think she is. “I’m not lying either. You’re always talking about Natalia. Don’t forget she’s just your assistant, you can’t trust her.”

Ludmila knows it’s imprudent to let out a groan, but the ugh she swallows as it comes up is so loud she nearly feels the need to retch. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re getting confused. Make sure you’re the one using her, and not the other way around.”

At that, Ludmila can’t help the incredulous burst of laughter that comes out of her. “Natalia? Using me? What for?!”

Priscila laughs too, but it’s so bitter and cold that it makes Ludmila suck hers right back. “You’re naive. People like her would do anything to get to people like us, there’s no place too low for them to stoop.”

For one, glorious instant, one split second in time, Ludmila gets to bask in the glory of that us. Her mother deeming her worthy of sharing those two letters with her. A pool in which to swim with safety, never to drown, knowing that even in deeper waters she’s not alone. People like us. The Ferros. Equals.

But either Ludmila’s become more starved for validation as she grew up, or those nibbles of us don’t work as they used to. Because that same sentence would’ve worked like a charm just years ago, one word detached from the others would’ve had her soaring for the rest of the day, hell, the week sometimes. Now it’s chained to the implications of the sinister sentence it stemmed from. “What do you mean?”

Priscila starts the car, then her hand goes to Ludmila’s lap. Stuck in place by the seatbelt, Ludmila’s stare darts to her mother, whose eyes are strangely warm now. “It’s good that she wants more. You have to keep her hungry. If she doesn’t think there’s something worth sticking around for, she simply won’t. But don’t give her anything you can’t take back.”

Ludmila can’t wrap her brain around whatever she’s trying to say. What does Naty even have in the first place? And what, aside from the shade and protection Ludmila willingly offered, could she ever need? It was a mutual agreement they’d shook hands on, anything else was not part of their metaphorical contract. Naty is…well, she simply is. She exists within arm’s reach. She’s strong, and a good listener, and knows when to shut up. She is indispensable. Maybe that’s the part Priscila doesn’t need to know.

Naty is as indispensable as they come, and when Ludmila looks for her in the Studio halls, every day she can’t find her, every day she has to fend for herself is, in her head, a wasted one. She lights up a room with one of her unjustifiably enormous grins, and fills it with music with her stupid microwave giggle. She’s endearing. She’s nice. She has big brown eyes that hold the weight of the world and all its water when they swim in unshed tears for something Ludmila’s said. She dresses ok when Ludmila tells her what to wear, when Ludmila allows her access to her hand-me-downs. She’s a good singer. She’s a great writer. She has nice hair to lose her hands into. She cares. She cares so much sometimes Ludmila feels like she could choke her. She won’t. That only happens in her dreams.

Naty is Naty. That’s all there is. And before everything else, she’s her assistant. Not friend. Not anything. Assistant.

You chose her well.

As if she’d done something wrong, Ludmila feels the need to apologise - but bites her tongue just in time. Weird.

Instead, she resolves to keep quiet for the entire ride home, mulling over her mother’s words. What does she know? What has she seen that Ludmila didn’t even notice she was supposed to hide? Is Naty actually her friend? Is this friendship? It feels bigger, stranger, all-consuming - but then again, Ludmila spends every waking moment with Naty, so it would be impossible to not have it consume her whole. The only other friendship Ludmila can compare it to is Diego’s, and…yeah, no. Maybe Ludmila just doesn’t do friendships, and that’s totally ok. Of course Naty’s not her friend, not when Ludmila barely knows what that word means.

Everything is ok, it’s all under control. Priscila’s just paranoid, Ludmila knows this.

So the next thing she says is not a surprise. “I want to see your phone.”

Ludmila is aware that she can’t get out until she answers her, even if the car is still and they just got home. “Seriously?”

“Hand it over,” Priscila puts out a hand. Ludmila sighs. “This is unfair.”

“It’s only unfair if you’re hiding something from me.”

“Mother, I am not.”

“Good,” Priscila says pointedly, not moving an inch. “Fine,” Ludmila gets her phone from her purse and drops it in her grasp. “There’s nothing there,” she adds as she jumps out of her seat onto the driveway, rolling her eyes only when she’s safely behind a closed door.

But those words, that tone, the strange shade in her mother’s eyes as she looked at her is enough to make her paranoid too. She doesn’t have any secrets when it comes to Priscila - she’s not allowed. So she’s safe. And yet it stays with her, rotating in her brain, spinning like an object in space: impossible to stop, until a perfectly opposite and equally strong force comes around. What could that ever be?

When Priscila comes to her room after dinner to make sure she’s sleeping when she’s supposed to, she leaves her phone on the nightstand. “You need it for your alarm,” is her explanation. She says nothing else as she leaves. Ludmila watches her go from under the bedsheets, willing her to come back for a goodnight, in any way, shape or form - remembering the forehead kisses she’d get as a kid, that now felt like an arcane concept, and a false memory. But what she really wants from her mother now is acknowledgment that she’s done nothing wrong. That her phone has no incriminating evidence. That-

Buzz.

Ludmila’s hands are on her phone before she even realises that’s where the sound came from. And think of the devil, Naty’s name is on her screen. Ludmila cautiously opens up the message.

Hey Ludmi, sorry about today, I hope your mom’s not mad. Anyways, just wanted to say goodnight <3 that’s not weird or anything right?

Ludmila stares at the screen, speechless. Another message pops up before her hands can even think to reach for the keyboard.

You don’t have to say it back ok you just seemed a little off today and I want you to know I’m here for you you’re my best friend and I love you

And another.

You don’t have to say that back either I’m sorry

I really care for you Ludmi ok I’m always here for anything

Naty puts away her phone, heart in her throat, forcing herself to stop sending one damning message after another - she hasn’t stopped worrying for one second, despite her best efforts, since last seeing Ludmila. She leaves it on her table as she puts on her pyjamas, ready to slip into bed, and the buzz of a notification stops her with her head of curls halfway through the hole in her shirt. She stumbles to the phone again, reading the words with wide eyes:

Good night Nat

Ludmila turns her phone off after that. She has a biological alarm clock wired into her body by now, she’ll manage.

But she’ll sure be tired. She can’t seem to blink in the dead of night, sleep not even deigning her of a visit. She thinks of today and what Naty will think tomorrow and what she’ll do and what Priscila found as she went through her device. If she found anything. Which she didn’t. Because there’s nothing to find.

And so that’s how Ludmila spends those hours, playing over Naty and Priscila’s words, trying to get into their heads, trying to study their first encounter, how they move on from this. Because as hard as she fought to postpone it, she knew this moment was meant to happen, that the two of them would eventually meet: the woman who was actively ruining her life, and the girl who had inadvertently saved it.

“Oh, come on girls, no need to be so quiet. Pretend I’m not here.”

Even Priscila must know that’s literally impossible. Naty has to wonder if she’s done anything to make this car more of a torture chamber: the one song that keeps playing on repeat, awfully cheery despite the sinister energy of the ride, the broken clattering AC that seems to be breathing on her neck specifically, the car freshener that fills the tight space with a nearly unbreathable aroma of vanilla and- something Naty can’t find a nicer word for other than old people smell.

Or maybe it’s just Priscila herself’s essence that clogs the already claustrophobic enough car. Her unnecessary presence, Naty might add. They were supposed to get a driver. Why is she here? Again? Her presence was already unwarranted on their first meeting that bleak morning, what compelled Ludmila to ask her this time too?

Naty turns to her left, but the blonde’s looking out the window. They’re already sitting as far apart in the backseat as possible, but they’re still too close, and when Priscila takes a curve, their knees touch. It sends a jolt through Naty’s back, but not those that used to make her unreasonably giddy way back when. Now it’s just a full-on shiver that forces her to straighten her posture and move her legs to the far right of her side of the backseat, as if Ludmila herself was made of contagious electricity.

To her credit, she’d tried to take the passenger seat, but Priscila’d slung her bag over it before even taking the wheel. “Sit next to Naty, darling,” she’d said with a tight smile, and Ludmila, passively, plodded to the back of the car. Naty had observed the interaction with a frown. They don’t seem to be on any better terms than usual. The most plausible explanation for this whole thing is that Ludmila has reached the self-sabotaging masochistic part of her character arc. Good for her, but why does Naty have to suffer for it, too?

Because, she answers herself in Ludmila’s voice in her head. Because, Natalia. Shut up and do what you’re told.

Ludmila sits by her side, arms crossed, eyes glued to the passing trees and people. She won’t make this mistake twice. She knows by now what happens with the two of them in the backseat of a car. Disaster. It’s better to just ignore her altogether. Ignore everything, only look in front of her, no more past, only the future.

The meeting is her shot to show off the best way she can. Maybe if Marotti is impressed enough he’ll drop the Natal part of this sick ordeal, and ila can finally go on that solo tour she’d agonised for the better part of her life. The one she’d put on a million times in her bedroom as a kid, toy microphone in hand, the stuffed animals on her bed her adoring audience.

Her wish has come true, after all. Naty is a setback. A clause. A part of a contract that can be negotiated by knowing which buttons to push, and if she keeps her head focused and pristine today, she will. She’s never been good at playing the long haul, but this might as well be the most desperate time she’s ever been in, thus the desperate measure only comes natural.

Naty doesn’t exist. Naty doesn’t matter.

Ludmila turns to her for a second, and before she knows it, she can’t take her eyes off. Naty…does not matter. She killed her in her dream, so why can’t she kill her in real life, too? Find a way to hurt or sabotage her enough to become a one-woman-show again? It can’t be that hard. She’s no stranger to throwing her under the bus. She just needs to take a page out of her old books. Thankfully, she’s written a saga worth of schemes and plans, and even more thankfully, Naty is the only one her plans work on.

Maybe Ludmila has taken that nightmare the wrong way. Naty taunted and taunted until she snapped. Literally. Until Ludmila retaliated. And maybe that’s exactly what she needs to do now in real life as well, retaliate. What if Naty is taking advantage of her little on-stage slip-ups? This could all be a con to take her down, and after all, Naty would only benefit from it. Take down Ludmila and her promising career with her, oh, she’d just love that, wouldn’t she? At the end of the day, she can say whatever she wants, but nobody forced her hand on that contract. There has to be a reason why she did it. Finessing her mistakes. Maybe it’s her book Ludmila needs to take a page out of, and finesse her right back. Oh, the finessing wars have only begun.

Naty holds Ludmila’s eyes like two boulders about to pop out of their sockets and tumble right on her. But she knows her well enough to read that absent stare masking as wholly focused: she’s scheming, and by the looks of her erratic smile twitching and curving on one side of her mouth only, it’s about to be a very, very dumb scheme at that. And oh, is that a curved eyebrow? Ah, so Naty’s the sole victim this time. Good. Great, even. What a beautiful start to her day.

“So, you’re going on tour soon!” Naty avoids Ludmila’s demonic stare just to find Priscila looking at her from the rearview mirror. “When is that, next month?”

“I think so,” Naty clears her throat. Honestly at this point she knows just as much as the next guy - and she’s part of YouMix. Which is why this meeting might be more of a good thing than a bad one. If they want to give them more decisional power and also, perhaps, tell them what the hell is going on behind the scenes, it would be wonderful. Those videos during the interview for example. They obviously came from the YouMix archive, so who handed them over without any sort of permission? Marotti didn’t look pleased. And Naty can’t pin it on Rafa Palmer, he wasn’t malicious, all he wanted was a great show - and a great show he got.

We might have a double agent among us. Rubina, with her wig and sunglasses? Maybe. But Marotti would’ve fired her by now, you can only disguise yourself for so long. Besides, is there any older woman Ludmila and Naty had wronged on their destruction path, that would go as far as to dress up and camouflage herself to secretly ruin them right back? No, even in their golden years of villainy Natalila only taunted the smaller fish.

So who would actually sabotage them on their big night? Somehow, the girl sitting next to her is the only suspect that makes sense, so maybe Naty should retire the detective act. All she needs today is answers, not more questions. She’ll just go through the motions, she doesn’t want to start anything - not with her bosses, and not with the fuse just waiting for the first chance to blow humanity commonly refers to as Ludmila Ferro.

Naty is so tired of the charade, and if she could just cut the cord and pull the curtains on the whole YouMix venture, she would. But if the contractual obligations weren’t enough a reason to keep it together, the fact that she was doing so well also came with a certain aftertaste akin to morbid curiosity, sour on her tongue while inexplicably having her hand itch for the candy bag again. She’s good. She’s really good, so good that they want to sign her as a solo act. They want her to desert Ludmila, her pretend partner, when the time comes - when the couple act blows over and they’re not the shiny press novelty anymore, they want Naty as nothing more than Naty. Herself. For the first time, only herself.

But Naty is the one who doesn’t want that, and she never did. She was here as a songwriter in the first place, and whatever happened from then on was neither her intended nor desired career path.

Still, sometimes it’s nice to be wanted. Naty Vidal, solo act. Just her and her guitar and her songs. No one to share the stage with. No one to look over her shoulder for. No one to be constantly scared of. And most importantly, no one to hurt and stomp all over your feelings, no one to have to rely on, especially if they’re as unreliable and prone to torment as her current colleague.

Naty closes her eyes, and as she mulls over the thought, the blurry edges almost push back and make her feel guilty for imagining this possible future for herself. Don’t you dare even think about that. She opens them again, and she’s back in the car. Same as it ever was. Whatever her stupid dreams are, they’re going to have to wait. First comes the bloodbath, then the sauna.

We are a couple, I’m not doing anything without Ludmila, ok? I hope that’s clear, she’d said to Marotti just a couple of weeks ago, and now, as the words come back to her mind, she realises she’s saying them to herself, too. She can’t start a petty war just because Ludmila broke her heart. She can’t betray Ludmila just because she hurt her feelings. She can’t allow herself to not be the bigger person about this, all she has now is her professionalism. And she can’t, can’t, can’t screw up again.

Would Ludmila cut her off and keep going on her own without even looking back at her? Judging by her wicked stare from earlier, she was planning that out in real time. Even better, she’d milk that fake break-up like she knew it was her clip for the Oscars showreel. Because if it’s all fake for her, what’s another couple of lines to add to the script? All she needs is to memorise them overnight - not like she slept anyway - and that’s that. Naty, the drunk girl who kissed her one time, is old news with a snap of the finger. A new pretend partner comes to town.

The worst part now is that Naty knows exactly what she should do, what she and Ludmila should be doing: what they were supposed to have done since the beginning, what they promised they would do with those useless rules, their plan. Stick together. Work together. As a couple, yes, and as allies, even more. Shoulder to shoulder as they ventured into the perilous underbelly of YouMix. And yet, shoulder to shoulder has become sword to sword, knife to knife. A duel where only one of them comes out alive. An ending nobody likes.

“Must be so exciting to travel the world again. I know you’ve already done it, but just the two of you…it’s magic,” Priscila taps her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the song she’s playing on loop. “You deserve it, Naty, I know how hard you’ve worked for this.”

Naty furrows her brows. “Yeah…” Well, no. She was thrust into this ploy by YouMix. She’s just been doing their bidding for this past month, but that’s something she’s used to anyway. A vicious cycle of giving and giving and being taken from. “I guess I’m gonna miss-”

“Finally the rest of the Studio losers won’t weigh me down,” Ludmila speaks for the first time since entering the car. “Ay, that’s not very nice, Ludmila,” Priscila comments sternly. “What? Well, I guess I do feel kind of sorry for them. Not having me there will make for a disastrous outcome.”

Naty knows she shouldn’t interact, she should spare herself the headache, but if she’s about to have to be professional for an entire meeting, she can blow off some steam in the coffin-like waiting room. “We’re doing just fine.”

Ludmila turns her way with an astonished look. “Just fine? You would’ve been perfect with me. Your loss.”

“Oh, not mine.”

Ludmila’s look turns colder. “Yeah, not yours.”

“Right, you’re going on both tours! Wow, only goes to show what kind of artist you are,” Priscila smiles, “ready to give her all and more!”

Ludmila rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Natalia is the best. She should be in every show ever.”

“Nobody said that,” Naty passes a hand through her hair, feeling the irritation build up in her like ivy climbing up her veins. And she can see that same poison ivy simmering and growing in Ludmila’s wide brown eyes, focusing in on her, an eagle plummeting to her meal. “Oh, sweetheart, I can read it on your smug little face.”

Naty’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She doesn’t have the strength. She’s empty now, fully scooped out, tired from a forever tiredness. She thought she’d want to tear into Ludmila now, and yet when the perfect opportunity presents itself she’s empty-handed. Some things have changed, but some can’t. She is not this. Ludmila won’t make her this.

And Ludmila sees it like she saw it at Naty’s house, at her doorstep, in her bedroom: her wide eyes, recognisable in a crowd of thousands, losing that spark, shiny chocolate brown dulling into a much darker, sadder colour. It hurts just as much as stepping on glass, or slipping on it, and now Ludmila’s losing her own edge too, and that burst of self-reassurance fades into good old paranoia, the one she knows so well. “Come on, Ludmi.” Nails on a chalkboard. “We don’t need to do this every time.”

“Do what?” Ludmila feigns ignorance. It’s uncanny to meet Naty’s stare and not find that everlasting gleam. It’s as if she’s talking to an empty version of her. A robot, an evil clone of the girl she knows. How does she turn her back? Because this stare reminds her too much of the one she’d seen as she was choking the life out of her, and how could she have ever thought she could see that moment in a better light?

“You said it best once, purely strategical affair.” Naty laughs weakly at the memory, not noticing Ludmila’s perplexity. “Let’s get today out of the way, and hash everything else out later.” Or never. Because to address the last time they saw each other would mean…

Naty has to stop her hand, subconsciously halfway to wiping at her lips.

Ludmila blinks once, twice. Immediately shut down. This is not humiliating, it’s something altogether worse. She hadn’t even noticed she’d scooted closer as they were talking, so she sits back to her corner of the backseat. “Yes. You’re right.”

Priscila catches the physical distance between the two and chuckles. “Hey, I know you’re dating, you don’t need to hide from me just because I’m Ludmila’s mother.”

What a sentence to come from her. Despite everything, Ludmila and Naty still manage to exchange a silent, knowing glance. Play along. Another audience to perform for. “Everything is fine, right, Nat?”

“Yeah, it’s just so-” Naty’s eyes dart everywhere, “uh, hot in this car.” Of course, she catches a glare from the blonde, but that’s to be expected. “I need to get this AC fixed,” Priscila remarks, and the conversation seems so terribly mundane right then and there, so nearly obnoxiously banal. But it was never easy for Naty to let herself believe the Ferros have her best intentions at heart - even if she did think that of at least one of them, up until a few days ago. At least Ludmila’s honest and transparent with her disdain. Priscila acts like she’s the blinding sun, loving and beloved, admired and feared, shining down on everyone, demanding all humanity to bend at her will. It shouldn’t be surprising that this keeps happening. Naty’s a mouse breaking her back in her favourite snap-trap.

Met with a red light, Priscila huffs, then finally turns her head to get a good look at the two girls. Naty leans back, immediately crashing into her seat. Nowhere to run. “I’ve seen you kiss on live television, a mother isn’t blind to this kind of things. I know what you have is real, ok? I’m sorry about this whole YouMix thing, but you can’t let them dictate the way you love each other. Naty, you…” she pauses, a pause so strangely studied, every word more absurd than the next - what is going on? Before Naty can get any sort of input from Ludmila, Priscila speaks again: “You make my daughter so happy, you always have. I want you to promise me that you’ll stick together no matter what.”

What sort of alternate reality is this. “I’m serious, Natalia, don’t look at me that way! I know I haven’t been the most supportive person in the past, and I apologise.” She looks down, as if she was reading from invisible notes - but there are no notes, and the terrifying thought that this could all be actually genuine freezes Naty in place. “Just…don’t leave her alone. But- hah, listen to me. You’re such a sweet, loyal girl. I know you would never.”

The chill down Naty’s spine is so violent she wonders for a moment if it can be seen through her skin. But all Priscila does is smile, so it could be one way or the other. “I know she doesn’t tell you, but Ludmila really-”

“It’s green, Mother,” Ludmila raises her voice, just as a car honk wakes the woman up. “Ay, sorry, I got too caught up. We’re almost there, don’t worry, we won’t be late.”

Naty has not uttered a word since being spoken to, and once she recognises the YouMix building, and Priscila pulls in to the kerb, she throws herself out. A gust of wind nearly throws her off her feet and it reminds her to breathe again.

Who cares if it’s hyperbole, that might’ve been one of the scariest moments of her life. How did Priscila read into her mind? How did she know exactly her doubts and what she was thinking?

Trying her hardest not to look one heartbeat away from her grave, Naty turns to the car again. “Thanks for the ride!” she says looking to no one in particular, and bolts up the stairs to the glass doors of the building.

Sweet, loyal girl. Her flesh creeps again.

But no, no, this is not the time to lose her mind with worry. This is the time to be lucid, and rational, and resolute. Professional YouMix client and promising artist. Bright career ahead of her. She needs to start acting like it. She’s been invited to this meeting because she is the most important artist they have signed right now, and they trust her, and they want her to be part of the team even more. Everything is under control.

She fixes her hair quickly, something she always does now when out in the open, eyes perennially slightly narrowed to adjust to a camera flash. Abandon personal issues, all ye who enter here.

I know she doesn’t tell you, but Ludmila really-

Where is Ludmila? Naty swears she saw her getting out of the car right after her in the corner of her sight. As much as she hates to have to do it, she regrettably turns to the vehicle from hell once more, right as a- surreal, to say the least, scene takes place.

Ludmila, Ludmila Ferro, the Ludmila Ferro Naty has known for years that have spanned to centuries in her brain, all too well, Ludmila Susana Ferro opens her arms and, taking two steps forward, wraps them around her mother. Priscila reciprocates the hug, quickly, and as they break apart, she grabs Ludmila by the shoulders and tells her something Naty can’t possibly hear from here, but she can see the laugh that transforms Ludmila’s entire face. Naty isn’t great at reading lips, but Ludmila has definitely just said thank you.

Naty feels the sudden urge to run as far as possible, away from whatever is taking place, this parallel reality where Ludmila goes to hug her mother of her own volition and laughs at her words and thanks her. She missed a few chapters - nay, a few books, because since when were they civil? When Priscila had said earlier that Ludmila had asked her for a lift, Naty had immediately assumed it was a lie, that she’d been forced to or something, but Ludmila’s actions sing a different song now, one completely and gratingly out of tune.

Ludmila finds her staring then, and slips away from her mother’s embrace. By some strange, sadistic and occasionally benevolent star in the cloudy March sky’s will, Priscila doesn’t follow her, and instead goes back inside her car, driving away mere seconds after. Ludmila finally reaches Naty’s side, and with raised brows, she slightly shakes her head - as if what she just did hadn’t altered the course of this entire day. “What?”

“I- uh…”

“Natalia, the door is right in front of you. You just have to push-” Ludmila goes to the glass door, that remains stuck in place. She squints at the word right above the handle, “Pull, you just have to pull.” She opens the door, and a still stunned Naty barely registers how she walks in, deserting her outside, so that when she tries following her, the glass smacks her right in the forehead. “Ow.”

“I thought you knew how doors worked,” Ludmila reprimands her from the inside, then pauses as if reminded of something, and just turns to the corridor in front of her. “I think the meeting is in the same room as last time- I won’t let you make us late.”

Naty finally accesses the building and scuttles across the hall to where Ludmila is already off to her exaggeratedly-long-stepped strut. The corridor seems never-ending, red tiles on both the left and right walls, stopping halfway to give way to a sloppy sort of vanillish white. It looks like the distant memory of a hospital, in a horror movie. “I did not miss this place,” she shivers. “Honestly I’d hoped I never had to come back in here.”

“You work here, Natalia,” Ludmila says dumbfounded. Naty shrugs, “Still.”

“I thought we’d agreed this was a good thing.”

“Well, yes, it is good that they invited us!” Even though the place looks completely deserted, Naty still keeps her voice a little lower than her usual timbre. “But, I mean, it’s still YouMix.”

“You better get used to it, not like you’re leaving any time soon.”

“I know that.”

“Ok, then stop complaining about everything and let’s get a move on!”

“I’m not-” Naty sighs as she tries to keep up with Ludmila, “I’m not complaining about everything, it’s-”

“Whatever it is, shut it. Talk only if you’re saying something useful, which judging by your average rate of saying useful things is never. So just never speak again.”

“Ludmila, it’s a meeting with-”

“Yeah, and I’ll do the talking.”

Naty chokes on the air she’s breathing, “I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

Ludmila stops abruptly in the middle of the corridor, forcing Naty to stop as well - gladly, to get anything at all in her lungs. But Ludmila seems to be ready to empty hers. “I’m sorry, since when was this the Natalia tour starring Natalia and Natalia only? Because last time I checked, I am the YouMix star and you are the accessory. Nobody cares about you. They invited you here out of pity. Spare yourself the humiliation and do what I tell you to do.”

Naty only gives her a long, good stare. So much she could say, just debunking her incredibly misjudged claims, reminding her that she’s the one who got the double check, and not the other way around. She could ask her what the deal with her mother is, why they suddenly turned over a new leaf now, what that ominous pep-talk in the car was for. Or she could simply ask where they stand, after Monday’s mess. If there’s a shred of a possibility to co-exist without the tension that seems to follow them everywhere they go.

She wants to ask if she remembers their promise now. If it came back to her.

Stupid questions. Stupid Naty. She wouldn’t like the answers, if Ludmila ever gave any, either way. This is how things have always been, and sparse miraculous moments of good don’t erase the lifetime of pain Ludmila’s inflicted on her. There is no such thing as her Ludmi, because there exists only one Ludmila in this planet, and she sure as hell isn’t hers.

Naty breathes in and out. “Ok.” 

Ludmila pauses, suddenly completely still. “Ok?”

Naty passes her fingers through her lips as if sealing them shut with a zip, then puts her thumbs up. Ludmila almost wants to gawk at the gesture. This should make her feel good - Naty obeying her with no resistance. It had been a good while since this was the order of things, and she’d missed it, or at least she thought she did before her assistant started acting like- this. Broken. A broken toy, and Ludmila has no idea how to find the culprit, or better, doesn’t want to acknowledge who the culprit is. “Good,” her voice nearly falters, but she manages to keep it levelled enough. “Now, let’s find that elevator.”

Last time she’d definitely taken one. She remembers very well just how caged she’d felt going up to the second floor, eyes glued to her shoes and breathing quieter than quiet, so much so that she’d wondered herself if she was actually taking air in. But that was a month ago, and she’d been scared for her life. Also, Priscila was there. She isn’t here now, and the fact alone releases some tension from Ludmila’s shoulders.

The elevator has to be around here somewhere, and the last thing she wants is to get lost in a maze of ugly sickly red and white YouMix corridors, a labyrinth with her own shadow as the minotaur. The most grim, most ironically perfect ground for her death-

Enough, enough with her spiralling mind! Meeting, meeting, meeting. Nothing else, no more distractions. Nothing’s going to go wrong unless she wills it to go wrong, and in that case, then it’s her fault. But that won’t be the case, not today. Once she consolidates and reassures herself that, really, none of this is her fault, then she can move on with her day. Her favourite scapegoat’s right next to her anyway.

“Permission to speak?” the goat says.

Ludmila groans loudly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Ok, well- the elevator’s that way. I think.” Ludmila follows Naty’s finger all the way to an adjacent corridor on their left that connects their hall with another one, the tiles abruptly turning more orange in an absolutely horrendous stylistic choice. But at the end of that much smaller corridor is one unmistakable metal door. Ludmila knows she would’ve spotted it without Naty’s help anyway, but then again, a month ago all she could look at was her shoes. This entire place is a foggy, distant memory, and her being severely sleep deprived that day only helped reinforce that feeling of walking on air, or more aptly, through a field of clouds.

Ludmila swiftly turns to her left, Naty close behind. The elevator doors open to a YouMix employee who seemingly recognises them and throws themselves to one side to let them pass - surely, Ludmila’s grim march contributed to their desire not to be trampled over. Naty sends them an apologetic glance. When she looks back in front of her, Ludmila’s already in the elevator, arms crossed, and the doors are almost closed. “Ludmila! Seriously?!”

“I told you you won’t make me late!”

“Just wait a second,” Naty squeezes herself through the doors that slowly and mechanically open again after she’s already in. “We still have- like, ten minutes before it starts.”

“You’d be the kind of person to walk in on a meeting as it starts,” Ludmila scoffs, pressing herself to one wall of the elevator to avoid even just brushing Naty’s shoulder. “Have you ever heard of being early?”

“Says the one who justified showing up whenever she wanted every time we hung out in the last five years as being fashionably late,” Naty grumbles, taking the hint and slouching against the opposite wall. Ludmila looks her up and down pointedly: “I don’t think that excuse holds up with what you’re wearing today.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing today? I’ve had this shirt for years.” Ludmila’s lips form a straight thin line. Naty’s shoulders slump. “Oh, come on.”

“You asked!”

“You’re-” Naty gesticulates her way, “you’re the one in ABBA cosplay!”

“It’s called having a style, but I’m not surprised you don’t know that. And I thought you liked ABBA!”

Naty looks to one side, her voice significantly lower. “I love ABBA.”

“Whatever, I can’t waste my time teaching you the ways to dress well, that ship has sailed ages ago. Now you’re stuck with your- obscenely casual flannel collection.”

“My obscenely cas-” Breath in, breath out. Not worth it. “Ok, then.”

Ludmila’s eyes widen. Again with that ok. As if she’s supposed to get something Naty’s encoded between the two letters, decipher that bleak look in her eyes, make sense of her sudden shift of personality ever since their interview. Had the entirety of their day dawned on her then, or is something else brewing that Ludmila can’t see? And how does she stop this from sabotaging the meeting any further? She can’t have Naty be a liability at dire times such as these. “Let’s just not talk until the meeting starts,” she hears herself say in a voice way smaller than the one she mustered up in her head. “So we can- um- save our energy for Marotti.”

Naty only nods absently, as the doors close after what seems like an eternity.

Finally, finally they can get this over with, this day had already felt way too long for-

“Stop!”

Huh?

“Stop the elevator! We’re coming through!”

Both girls perk up. They’ve heard this voice before.

“It’s ok, Jade, we can take the next one.”

Oh, they definitely know this voice.

Ludmila tries pressing the button to close the doors again as if that could make them go any faster, before a fully blinged-out arm slides through the crack, bracelets clinking as it moves around to make the elevator sensor finally open and let the mysterious voice in. A woman with luscious dark hair, bright eyes and one of the most radiant smiles Naty’s ever seen makes her way through. “Why thank you!” She’s rocking an elegant black tailleur and a white silk shirt under it, heels clacking as they make contact with the metal ground.

But it’s the person in a much simpler pale blouse and long jean skirt she’s dragging in by the hand that makes the girls pause. And once Angie realises who she just got in the elevator with, she’s already trying to make her way out. “Jade, really, let’s wait for the next one. It’s already stuffy enough in here-”

“Nonsense!” Jade dismisses her with a wave of her hand, “There’s enough space, and Angie, you need to assert yourself. If there’s an open elevator, you take it! You bow to no one!”

“It’s not that, it’s-”

“Wait!” Jade shrieks, making Ludmila and Naty wince at the sheer volume of her tone. “You’re the- the dating girls! Tati and…don’t tell me- Lucinda, right?”

“Um…” Naty looks Ludmila’s way, but the blonde’s eyes are already on her way out. “Actually, Nat, we can take the next one.”

But right as she says that, the doors close.

Great.

Angie straightens her posture, caught right in Ludmila and Naty’s crossfire of contrasting energies. “Hey girls,” she tries. Ludmila just turns her head, sticking her nose up with her arms crossed, not even deigning her with a response. “Hi Angie,” Naty awkwardly greets her back. “What are you doing here?”

Angie wonders for a second if she should be honest. After all, it’s not like this is a secret mission she’s conducting or anything. But on the other hand, as much as she cares for and loves Naty, she’s a YouMix client first and foremost. Her trust can only go so far. Plus, the way she’d silently left the Studio lately told Angie either she’d chosen her team, or someone went ahead and chose it for her. Both explanations came to the exact same conclusion, which unfortunately meant Naty was playing for the enemy - hopefully just temporarily. Angie knows her heart is in the right place. But that means it’s with the wrong person.

“Yeah, Angie, have you come begging for a job now that the Studio ship is sinking?” Ludmila sneers - Angie knows how unprofessional it would be to let a deep sigh out, so she just sucks a quick breath in instead. “No.”

“Well, what are you here for then?”

“She’s here to teach Marotti a lesson,” Jade answers for her, a proud grin on her face. Angie coughs, “No, that’s not-”

“What? That’s what you said in the car!” Jade puts her thumb and index finger in the shape of an o, and connects them to her earlobes, as she clears her throat and makes her voice slightly lower. “I’m done with him walking all over us without getting what he deserves!” Before Angie can say anything, her hands go to touch her own pendant earrings with a frown.

“I have no idea what that means but Marotti has a meeting with us, so, tough luck.” Ludmila lets out a sharp self-satisfied chuckle. “His clients, you know? His stars.”

“Well, I have a meeting in ten minutes with someone called Rubina? His assistant. That’s good enough for me.” Even better, she thinks, because looking at his face again might actually drive her over the edge and make her give in to her intrusive thoughts, giving him just the right punch to break his nose.

“Ah, relegated to the shady assistant. They really value your opinion here, Angie,” Ludmila gives her an ironic nod. Naty rubs at her forehead. “Ay, Ludmi, didn’t we say we were going to be quiet until the meeting?” she says with a tone so tired it might as well be a yawn.

Ludmila has to arch her whole body to dodge Angie and look right at the curly-haired girl. “Natalia, are you telling me to shut up?”

“I’m just repeating what you said earlier…”

“Alright, I’ll tell you when I need a parrot.”

Naty only blinks slowly. “Ok.”

Ludmila might really choke her the next time she says that. Instead, her rage is directed to the stupid elevator. “How long does it take to go up two floors?!”

“We should be here,” Angie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, “the doors are going to open any second now-”

Clang.

The structure suddenly halts, making all four of them jolt, before coming to a striking stop.

Utter silence.

Four pairs of eyes dart to each other, bone-chillingly quiet. “Did everyone hear that?” Jade is the first one to speak. “This better not be what I think it is,” Ludmila growls, but it sounds more like a whimpering kitten. “Everyone keep calm, I’m sure the doors are just taking a moment to open,” Angie tries her best to give them the most reassuring iteration of her voice. She goes to the button station, making Ludmila stumble backwards - nearly into Jade - and presses the one that is supposed to open the elevator up.

Nothing.

“Angie, press the button!” Jade says. Angie huffs, “I’m trying-” One, two, three times. Absolutely nothing happens. “Didn’t you hear me, I said press the-”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Jade!”

“Well, press harder!” Jade throws herself forward, tripping over Ludmila’s shoes and landing on Angie, who luckily saves her from plummeting to the floor. “It’s not working,” Angie cries out. Jade puts a hand over her chin pensively, “Try pressing many times, as quickly as you can. Maybe we can pressure the elevator into getting us there faster.”

“Oh my God, seriously? We are stuck in here, Jade!” Ludmila facepalms, exasperated. “Angie trapped us!”

Jade gasps loudly, “Angie, how could you?!”

“I’m sorry, I did what?” Angie says, “You think I am to blame for this? That I wanted to be stuck here?”

Ludmila raises her hands, “What better way to sabotage YouMix than to get rid of their biggest acts? That’s all I’m saying.”

Angie just stares at her, mouth wide open. “Do- do you hear yourself?”

Ludmila finds Angie’s accusing stare a little too discomforting for her taste, and her eyes quickly dart to Naty. “Natalia, back me up on…Natalia?”

Naty is quiet, still as a statue in a corner of the elevator, head in her hands, covered by her fountain of curls. Ludmila winces, “Nat? Are you o- oooooh, right. I forgot. You’re claustrophobic.”

Angie’s eyes widen. “Oh my God, Naty, I’m so sorry-”

“Why, because it’s your fault?” Ludmila turns to her curtly, her tone coloured with a sort of an aha! timbre, as if that was enough of an admission. “Anyway, she’s fine. You’re fine, right Natalia?”

Naty’s still unmoving. “Natalia!”

“I’m fine,” comes as a choked whisper between her fingers, tightly covering her whole face. “See? She’s fine,” Ludmila shrugs. “Now get us out! We can’t afford to be late!”

“Why do I have to get you out? I don’t have any more knowledge on how to fix elevators than you!” Angie laments. “You know, as a teacher, we should have to rely on you. Aren’t you the only responsible adult here?” Ludmila says, to which Angie turns to an unfazed Jade. “That doesn’t offend you?”

“What? No, she’s right, you should get us out, Angie,” Jade nods, clinging to one of Angie’s arms. Angie tries her hardest to keep her calm, but these two are really testing her. “Ludmila, you literally have Marotti’s number. Call him and tell him we’re stuck!”

Ludmila pouts, hating with every fibre of her being that she does make a good point. However, as she fishes for her phone in her purse, a good old lie comes to her rescue and saves her from the embarrassment of having to admit Angie is right. With a small smirk, she closes her purse again. “I don’t have a phone.”

Angie closes her eyes, and it’s a good five seconds before she opens them again. “You don’t have a phone,” she repeats numbly.

“Nope,” Ludmila says innocently, “it broke ages ago and I never got a new one. Sorry, Angie.”

“How are you a pop star without a phone?” Jade asks, genuine wonder in her tone. “I barely survived a couple days without mine!”

“Oh, come on, Jade, she’s clearly lying. She just doesn’t want to help us for some reason, when it would really benefit everyone here!” Angie reprimands Ludmila, hands on her hips. Ludmila scoffs, “Excuse me?! What reason would I have to lie here?! Natalia, tell them I don’t have a phone.”

Natalia has yet to move an inch. “Natalia!”

“Ludmila doesn’t have a phone,” Naty chokes out, though the sentence is incredibly hard to make out. “Exactly. What she said.”

“Well, Naty, can we use your phone?” Angie’s tone is now way kinder in its request. Ludmila rolls her eyes, but Naty won’t budge. “Nat, get over yourself and call Marotti.”

“Mmfghrp.”

“What does that even mean?” Ludmila grumbles, losing every shred of patience she was trying to keep intact for the meeting. “I said,” Naty repeats, hands moved slightly from her face in order to make her words clearer, “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“No!” the other three all screech in unison. “Naty, it’s ok, don’t worry, you’re not alone here-” Angie starts before being interrupted by Ludmila: “Seriously, Angie?! That’s the whole problem, that she’s not alone! That’s like, the point of claustrophobia!”

“What is claustrophobia? Is it contagious?! I don’t want to throw up!” Jade is now holding onto Angie’s arm for dear life. “Claustrophobia is the fear of confined spaces,” Angie tries to explain patiently. “And us being here isn’t helping, since we’re occupying literally all the free space,” Ludmila adds.

“We’re scaring poor Marty? Then we should leave her alone!” Jade chimes in as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Ludmila turns to her mechanically, “Oh, my God, Jade. You’re right. How had we not thought of that before? Tell us, do you have any other genius ideas?”

“Actually, yes! Why aren’t there any body lotions that smell like feelings?”

“Great point,” Ludmila nods, and looks up at her former teacher. “Why aren’t there any body lotions that smell like feelings, Angie?”

“Ludmila, stop. Naty, is it ok if Ludmila takes your phone to call Marotti?”

Naty’s arms flail by her sides now, and her face is terribly pale, but she nods. Ludmila gets closer to her as slowly as possible, as if retrieving a personal item in a lion cage - it’s not that much space separating them anyway, and with one full step, they’re basically already entangled in each other. Ludmila jumps back with a yelp, “Don’t throw up on me!”

“Actually, I-I think I’m fine. I’m not gonna be sick,” Naty says with an unconvincing smile, her voice brittle. Sighing out of relief, Ludmila’s hands go to the purse that slings to Naty’s side, but as soon as she opens the zipper, Naty makes a gagging sound that gets Ludmila to fly back, so violently she slams the back of her head on one of the elevator walls. “Nope, nope, not risking that.”

“Ludovica, that’s your girlfriend!” Jade dramatically puts a hand on her heart. “And that means I should want her to vomit on me?!” Ludmila bites back, frenetic. “I’m sorry,” Naty looks down. Ludmila’s hand goes to the back of her head, trying to massage the pounding self-procured headache. “Why can’t you call him anyway?!”

“Because she’s sick, Ludmila,” Angie breathes deeply, and Ludmila turns to her again, “What does that have to do with making a phone call?!”

“She could barely make out words until a second ago! Do you think she can handle a phone call?”

“No, Ludmila is right, I’ll do it,” Naty retrieves her phone from her already opened purse. “I’ll just say we’re stuck here. That’s, like, three words, I can manage.” She tinkers with her screen for a few seconds, her face unreadable. The other three stare at her in anticipating silence until Ludmila blurts out: “What is taking so long?!”

Naty glances back up at her, almost afraid to meet her eyes, and hesitantly mumbles: “No service.”

Ludmila twitches, her whole body tensing up, then she starts giggling manically under the others’ concerned looks as she slowly slides to the ground. Sitting in a corner, she hugs her knees, and lets her head fall between her legs. “Well, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure knowing any of you, but I won’t let my last words be lies.”

Angie crosses her arms and looks down at the blonde. “Come on.”

“Let’s not give up yet!” Jade exclaims, her energy burst incredibly misplaced. “What if…what if…oh! What if, we all jump as high as we can at the same time? The elevator will jump with us and we’ll be on our floor in no time!” The smile she’s flashing Angie’s way is so bright and earnest and adorable that the other woman can’t help but soften, as she takes both her hands and rubs the palms softly with her thumbs. “That’s not how it works, Jade, but we can keep thinking.”

Jade melts into the touch, a slight blush appearing on her already rosy cheeks. “Honestly, no offence to these poor girls, but I don’t understand why YouMix is such a huge deal and then elevators just break like that, and service isn’t working. It sounds cheap. Aha! Maybe it’s a way to test their endurance!”

“You’re testing my endurance.” Ludmila growls. “I’m sorry, why are you even here?”

“Oh, I’m-”

“Don’t engage, she just wants to be mean,” Angie quickly interrupts her, narrowing her eyes at Ludmila, who can’t help the smug expression she meets her with. “What, am I on timeout now?”

“Ay, Lucignola, all I want is to help your aunt, I promise! I’m on a path to redemption, aren’t I, honey?” Jade chirps, looking at Angie with a spark in her eyes, the colour of the stormy sea. Her excitement is contagious, and also incredibly inviting, were they not in the worst kind of company right now - Angie’s students. 

“She is not my aunt-” Ludmila’s eyebrows rise all at once, and she exchanges a baffled glance with Naty, who’s still toying with her useless phone. “Honey?”

Angie goes red once realisation settles in, and her mouth opens, and closes, and opens again. “I-”

“Are you two dating?” Naty’s tone is full of genuine stupor. “Angie, you’re dating your brother-in-law’s crazy ex-girlfriend?” Ludmila adds on, way less stupefied than genuinely delighted at the pure chaos, laughter coating her every word. “Ludmila, that’s not-” Angie tries to admonish her, but it’s way too late, she got the ball rolling. “Does he know? Does Violetta know?! Oh my God, Angie, how did this even- huh?!”

“Oh, I can answer that,” Jade says giddily, “Angie saved me from going to Germany!”

“That’s- Jade, you have to give a little more context.”

“Um…she saved me from going to my cousin in Germany? Well, actually, it all started when she helped me out of a closet. Wait, should I start from the beginning? Ok, so, Angie was lying to her niece about-”

“It’s nice that you moved on from Germán, clearly you’re much happier now,” Naty gives them a genuine smile. “Angie is the best teacher I’ve ever had, I’m sure you will-”

“Oh, my God, Nat, she won’t raise your grades if you suck up,” Ludmila rolls her eyes once more - it seems like she hasn’t stopped ever since stepping foot in the elevator. Naty only looks at her colleague dully, before sighing and going quiet again. “Ok,” she mumbles.

That is it. “Alright, Natalia, are you mad at me or- what is with you today?!” Ludmila raises her hands in defeat. “You keep going ok with that sad puppy face like I did something. How am I supposed to work with you if you’re just gonna act like this with zero explanation?!”

Naty keeps her stare on the blonde, not even flinching. And Ludmila feels herself shrinking, because in that stare, for a second, she recognises an impossible beast of limbs and eyes tackling to the ground, stripping her of every single defence. But even if her brown eyes light with a strange flame for that split second, it’s gone the next, and Naty’s completely numb again. “I’m not mad at you,” she says, no emotion in her tone.

“Oh, that’s a lie,” Jade intervenes pointing at Naty - Angie quickly grabs her arm and puts it back down. “Jade, sweetheart, don’t.”

“Why? I thought communication was key.”

“Yeah, but this is none of our business.”

“And I don’t think we need advice from a lady who’s been in jail twice,” Ludmila says matter-of-factly, already trying to distract herself from Naty’s piercing glare. “Ludmila, why would you think it’s ok to say that?” Angie pinches the bridge of her nose, her patience fading almost completely by now. “What, it’s the truth,” Ludmila only shrugs. Angie goes back to Jade, “I’m sorry-”

“No, she’s right, I have been in jail twice,” Jade shrugs too. “I’m trying to help here.”

“Thanks, Jade, but really, I’m not mad at anyone. I’m just very…busy, and tired, and- and does anyone else feel like we’re running out of air?” Naty inhales deeply, then exhales in a panicked huffing sound, like a chicken gaining self-consciousness as it lays eggs. She repeats the action a few too many times before Ludmila retorts: “Well, don’t gobble it all up then.”

“We’ll get you out of here, Newt.”

“I still don’t get why you’re here,” Ludmila’s attention focuses back to Jade. “Did you bring her along just because you wanted your girlfriend with you, Angie?”

Angie sighs deep from within her. Honestly, after yesterday’s mess, the last thing she wanted was to let Jade out of her sight at all. So having the meeting the very next day after finding her made her scared of the fact that she might just run away again. She wouldn’t, Angie’s pretty sure she got her point across enough to have made Jade feel safe and wanted. But telling her all she’d told her yesterday, and then deserting her the day after is way too harsh. She’s not risking it again, she’s not risking anything again when it comes to Jade, the one good thing in her life at the moment.

Plus, when she’d brought up the idea to tag along, Jade had seemed delighted - not only to get to see the YouMix headquarters up close and personal, but even just to have been included in the first place. “Germán never took me to any of his meetings,” she’d said as Angie helped gather all her things from her decaying abandoned mansion. “Honestly I’m still not a hundred percent sure what he does in them. He says I’m talking to the people in Austria!, or I need to call the Norwegians!, but then what happens on those calls? Is he calling every Norwegian? I don’t get why he’s talking to all these countries when he’s always home anyway.”

Angie was patiently waiting for Jade to conclude her rambling, but just seeing her slowly come to her senses, going back to the woman Angie knew so well now, that energy that pervaded her every move, that electricity in her tone that Angie had no idea she’d missed so much, was a pull magnetic enough to get her to draw her in again, kissing her deeply in the middle of a sentence. When she pulled away, Jade’s eyes had the shine of an entire galaxy in them. And her smile? The most beautiful constellation Angie could have possibly found. Jade’s tight hair bun had come off, letting Angie’s hands wander through the forest of her stylish dark locks, the soft, delicate smoothness of them enough to make her want to tear up. She got her. She got her and she was forgiven.

“Are you ok, Angie?” Jade had said cautiously, her hands now resting on top of Angie’s, still entangled in her hair. “Is it that bad? I do need to wash it. I haven’t had the time to go to my hairdresser lately, and the water isn’t exactly working in here-”

“Move in with me,” Angie said like a reflex. Her eyes went wide as soon as she heard herself. Did she just- “I mean, you don’t have to. But you could! As long as you feel like it, or just while you find a new place- obviously you can’t stay here, and I don’t want you to go back to Matías or-”

“Really?” Jade interrupted her with a high-pitched, incredulous near-sob. “Move in? With you? In your depressing little apartment?”

“I…wouldn’t call it depressing-”

“You would want that?” Jade wrapped her arms around her so tight that Angie almost coughed in response. “Live with me?”

That me, spoken so incredulously, as if the only thing Jade was waiting for was for Angie to laugh in her face and admit it was a joke all along. Angie’s arms found their way around her waist then, not as tightly, but with such care that Jade gasped in surprise. “It would be an honour,” Angie whispered sweetly.

Was she rushing this? Maybe. Could she let Jade live in the ruins of her childhood home instead? Absolutely not. This was the smartest idea. And Angie could sleep on the couch for a while, she already did before anyway, when she was too depressed to get up from the place she’d kissed Jade last. At least, if she moved in, even just for a bit, that meant they could make new memories to replace the ones that had been haunting her lately.

So now Angie’s already overly cramped car hosted Jade’s moving boxes, which, as much as she’d insisted were all the bare minimum to survive, were not exactly a couple. As soon as they found their way to Angie’s even more cramped apartment, they were already taking as much space as half of her living room - with more on the way, as now that Jade was not going anywhere, she had already contacted Nicolás to get everything she left at his place back. That meant her enormous collection of clothes Angie was already shuddering at the thought of finding a place for. Not to mention the shoes.

But hey, Angie knew that no part of this was going to be easy. From the moment she met Jade she immediately recognised her as a not-easy person. That didn’t mean that Angie wasn’t willing to put the work in, as much work as required. Because if there is someone who deserves it, and even more important, who deserves to be shown that they deserve it, it’s Jade LaFontaine. Angie’s ready to go through it all if it means she gets to keep her in the end. With how much she screwed up, with how much they both screwed up, the way they found each other despite it all…it’s the tale of destiny all over again, destiny and fate and that god-awful coffee and all that came after it.

As Angie keeps ruminating about the events of the past twenty-four hours, Jade’s attention is entirely elsewhere. “Girlfriend? Oh, I’m- I mean, I am, but- am I?” She goes to grab Angie’s arm once again, shaking her awake and staring right into her blueish eyes. “Angie, what are we?”

Angie is so startled that she has to cough out a breath. Ludmila’s head sinks further, “Kill me now.”

“Well…Jade, given that we really only started talking again yesterday, I-”

“No, no, don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out!” Jade snaps her fingers as if she just remembered something vital, which she apparently did. She opens her small purse hurriedly, “Now let me find-” She takes out a comically huge makeup pouch which miraculously fit in there, and frowns. “No, not now. Mandala, be a darling and hold this for me,” she says, chucking it to a distracted Ludmila and landing it right on the blonde’s head. “Ow?!”

“Be careful with those, you have no idea how expensive they are!” Jade clicks her tongue as her hands rummage through the chaos of her Mary Poppins-esque bag. “I swear I put it in here somewhere. Angie, do you have a pen?”

Completely mesmerised by the scene taking place in front of her, Angie can only look in awe as Jade explores the never-ending abyss that is her very tiny purse. She looks stunning in her suit, arguably even more professional than Angie’s own clothing choice. And that hypnotising stare could come in handy: she has no idea how anyone could say no to that, Angie sure couldn’t.

“Angie?” Jade waves a hand in front of Angie’s face, “Do you have a pen?! This is important!”

“Yes, yeah, I-” Angie opens her own shoulder bag and takes out one of the million pens that she must’ve forgotten in there. “Here,” she hands it to Jade, whose eyes light up again. She grabs it with one hand, a piece of paper Angie hadn’t noticed in the other. “Good. Now, listen up. I thought this plan through very thoroughly, so it’s foolproof. Or me-proof.”

“Don’t say that-”

“Ay, Angie, it’s not very polite to interrupt someone in the middle of explaining something.” Ludmila offers Jade a shit-eating grin. “Please, continue.”

“Thank you Magnolia!”

Ludmila’s face falls. “Ok, this has got to be a bit, that’s not even remotely my-”

“Naty!” Jade points to the other girl. “What?” said girl perks up, still awfully queasy, still breathing in as much air as she possibly can. Jade walks to right in front of her, followed by Ludmila’s incredulous glare. “But you know her name, no issue.”

“Do you still feel like you’re going to throw up?” Jade inquires as she takes Naty by the upper parts of both her arms, studying her closely. What Naty feels like is that if she does throw up it’ll be this woman’s incredibly strong perfume’s fault if she stays this close, but she ends up shaking her head. “I think I’m ok-”

“Good!” At that, Jade spins her around without warning, and stops her when she’s facing the opposite direction. Then she puts her newly found piece of paper on Naty’s back, and with Angie’s pen, she starts scribbling something, aggressively. “Are you- using her as a desk?” Ludmila asks slowly.

“What? I noticed she had an impressive back, she was the best choice here,” Jade doesn’t even turn to her as she keeps working. Naty catches Ludmila’s stare, and shrugs. “She’s pushing a lot. It’s oddly relaxing.”

“You enjoy that massage, Natalia. Sorry, did everyone just give up on getting out of here?!”

“You’re the one sitting in the corner doing nothing, Ludmila,” Angie says, inspecting the button station. She’s tried to press the alarm bell one, to no real avail. Nothing seemed to happen at that. “And what exactly do you want me to do?” Ludmila snaps, to which Angie promptly responds: “What do you want any of us to do? We’re all stuck!”

“Yeah, but I’m important! If anything you should all work to get me out!” She looks around as if piecing the puzzle together, and then concludes: “You know what? That’s enough. Natalia, you’re strong, pry the doors open.”

Naty only blinks at her. “What?”

“Yeah, you can do it. Just open the doors! We’re already late!”

“You want me to open…the elevator…with my bare hands?”

Ludmila doesn’t like that tone. “Well, I suppose you’d have to put your whole body into it.”

“Nobody’s gonna pry any door open,” Angie intervenes before either of the two girls explodes. “I’m sure some help will eventually come. Did you say you have a meeting? They’ll see you’re not showing up and they’ll look for you, and someone’s bound to figure out the elevator’s broken.”

Ludmila looks at her for a few moments. She had not missed her teacher voice, that now, disgustingly enough, morphed in her head with the new intonation she’d been forced to notice in her tone: the aunt voice. It is so clear, in the way Angie tries to calm everyone down, in the way she tries to find the best, most rational solution to every problem, in the way she immediately takes the reins of the situation she’s in without even wondering if maybe someone disapproves of her leadership, who her niece took after. There’s that same exact curve of her lips when they’re talking about music, that way they scratch their head trying to figure out where a lyric is supposed to go, the slow chew of a pen, the half laugh when they’re embarrassed. How had Violetta not figured out Angie was her aunt from the first time she saw her? She’s basically a clone of her with longer legs and somehow an even worse wardrobe.

And now Ludmila’s cursed with the unstylish aunt plague too. Because she hears just the slightest twinge of compassion in Angie’s tone, in her eyes when she looks at her. No. No. Ludmila’s worked too hard on making Angie afraid of her presence in a room to deserve this. There is nothing that connects them, thus, Ludmila wants nothing to do with Angie. Why’d she have to come back from France? Was she that bored? Whatever the reason is, Ludmila will never, ever give her the satisfaction of winning her over. They have always hated each other and this is how things must stay. At least one thing to keep in order from her disastrous life.

So Ludmila only looks at her, and says: “Yeah, no, I like my plan better. Nat!”

“Can’t you see she’s busy?!” Jade screeches as she keeps scribbling away. Naty winces at how loud she is right next to her eardrums, and crosses the blonde’s gaze again. “I’m busy,” she echoes Jade.

Ludmila gawks. She knew Naty would end up being the reason why she’d get fired, but she never would have predicted this as the circumstance. Then again, with how much of a circus everything had turned out to be, what ending would be more fit for a clown than this? “Well, then, I give up! Call me when you’re ready to choose who to cannibalise first.” She rests her head on the cold door behind her and closes her eyes with a groan.

In the meantime, Jade has finished her writing and holds the paper sheet like it’s fresh out of a printer. “Here, Angie! I planned everything, so that our relationship can be perfect! Nobody messes anything up and nobody leaves!”

The words hold a weight that makes Angie’s eyebrows sink. “Jade…I don’t think that’s a-”

“Up-up-up, trust me here, angelita, I promise I know what I’m doing. Ok, phase number one,” she shoves the paper sheet Angie’s way and points at the first part of it with her pen, as if Angie’s supposed to make anything out of the messy and frantic handwriting she’s presented with. “Dates. We go on a lot of dates, like the aperitif the other day, and we make sure we know what we like to do and what we don’t.”

“Oh,” Angie’s shoulders relax. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“See? And then once we figure out what makes us strong, we can move on to phase number two: fights! We start fights every day for a month to test how much we can handle!”

There it is. “Well-”

“And when that’s done, it’s time for phase three…” She points at a small drawing she made at the end of her…pamphlet. In it, Angie can recognise a simple stick-figure version of herself, in what seems to be a tuxedo of some sorts. Her eyes dart to the figure holding her hand right next to her, Jade in-

Oh, no.

Angie sucks in a very sharp, very still breath. Jade’s entire happy demeanour flattens like roadkill just from that, and for the first time since the elevator broke down, the claustrophobic space is dead silent.

Ludmila looks at Naty, eyes wide with confusion. Are we witnessing a real-time breakup?

Naty only narrows her eyes at her.

Ludmila raises an eyebrow. Nat.

Naty doesn’t move.

Natalia, don’t ignore me. This is the funniest thing ever.

Naty shakes her head in a slight panic. Ludmila purses her lips, cheeks puffed. Naty shakes her head more urgently.

Not even dating and they’re already breaking up at their big age? That’s hilarious-

“Don’t laugh!” Naty yells, apparently unable to access her inner voice. When she realises that she’s very much said that out loud, emphasis on loud, all colour drains from her already sickly white face. “Laugh?” Ludmila pouts, head tilted to one side. “This is no laughing matter, Nat. Ay, please forgive her,” she turns to Angie and Jade, still huddled over that piece of paper like their life depended on it, “pretend she’s not here. Go on with your breakup.”

“Ludmila, shut up,” Naty says through gritted teeth, but Ludmila only smirks. Try ok-ing that.

Angie and Jade may be on another dimension entirely anyway, both afraid to say the first word, but in the end it’s Jade who can’t handle that pressure anymore: “I’m sorry- did I do the wrong thing again?” she says, tone as frail as crystal.

Angie moves her tongue around the inside of her mouth, fearing that whichever way she decides to move the conversation might end up in disaster. This is the hard part. This is the part Jade needs help with the most. We’ll figure it out, she promised yesterday. Just be yourself. This is Jade, and the idea of a marriage to fix any and everything wrong in her life is nothing she hasn’t thought of for a long time before this moment. But this, Angie knows. This, Angie will take her time to teach. And if all Jade needs is to be herself, then it’s what Angie has to follow through on, too.

“Look, Jade…” She slowly lowers the sheet of paper with her plan, “I know what you’re thinking right now-”

“Of course you don’t want to marry me, of course! I- I don’t know what I was thinking. I- oh, forget about it, Angie, please, this is so embarrassing!” Jade’s hands curl up in fists, pressing her wrists on her temples, then hitting them over and over again. “I ruined it! Stupid, stupid-!”

“No!” Angie takes her hands before they strike another blow. “No, Jade, no. Don’t ever say that again. You are not stupid. Ok?”

“But-”

“Jade,” Angie says firmly. Jade straightens her posture, almost like a soldier before battle. “Listen to me. You’re not stupid. The people who tell you that, they’re the stupid ones. You are not. Say it back?”

Jade squints. “All of that? Ay, Angie, that was a bit of a long sentence.”

“Say, I am not stupid.”

“You are not stupid?”

“Well, Angie, that pretty much sums up your point,” Ludmila snickers. The wordless glare Angie gives her back is grim enough to make Ludmila fall silent again.

“I like you, Jade, I really do. And I want this. I want us. I looked for you all over Buenos Aires, and I won’t let you go now that I finally found you. Just…” Angie gives her a smile, genuine and honest, one that makes Jade’s heart skip a beat and her cheeks heat. “Let’s take this one day at a time.” Maybe that’s what Jade doesn’t know about love, that it’s not just one way, not just one sequence of things to do, marks to hit. “We don’t need to follow a plan, a set of rules, as if our relationship is some kind of- contract that we need to sign and obey.”

(Behind her, Ludmila and Naty go so pale they almost turn transparent.)

“But I want it to work!” Jade leans in eagerly, the space between the two of them already so little that she’s basically climbing on her now, just to get even closer eye contact. “I want to show you how much I lo-” Just at the way Angie slightly winces at the first letter of the word, Jade knows it’s time to backtrack with all she has. “How much I love- spending time with you!”

“I know! I love spending time with you too,” Angie squeezes Jade’s hands. “But that’s exactly it. Time. We have all the time in the world, and it’s all we need now. Time to figure it out, to figure each other out. Nobody’s rushing us. So can we take it one step at a time?”

Jade has never understood that turn of phrase - honestly, most sayings she had a hard time grasping the meaning of, but this one, especially…one step at a time. Why would she want to take small, baby steps when Angie’s right in front of her, one quick leap away, holding the answers to all her problems? It seems inconvenient for everyone involved to not just jump right in. Jade knows she likes Angie and Angie likes her too, so why can’t they just get married? Yeah, they might have differences, that’s what phase two is all about. And once they get rid of all doubts, it’s just smooth sailing from then on! It sounds perfectly logical to her!

But the way Angie looks at her, the way she chews on her lip, this might be a dealbreaker. If Jade doesn’t do as she’s told now, she will most definitely regret it later. And she’s come way too far to be pushed away again. She is here for the long haul, the real thing, the altar marathon. Plus, she knows she doesn’t have the greatest track record when it comes to relationships, so maybe allowing Angie to guide her through this will help her figure out what she did wrong on her previous tries. “Alright,” she nods. “One step at a time.”

“Good.” Angie’s eyes fall to Jade’s lips, and that bright lipstick looks terribly inviting - with all the kissing they’ve done the day before still not being maxed out is a testament to the raven haired woman’s talent. But they’re not alone. What’s more, they’re stuck in an elevator with two of Angie’s students, and she’s not this shameless. She can wait. So what she does instead is kiss her cheek, which makes Jade lean into the contact by slightly leaning her head towards where Angie’s lips are.

The moment is short and sweet and yet Ludmila still finds reasons to be annoying: “I’m glad being stuck here gave you the time for couples therapy.”

“Yeah, I’m also glad we talked, Angie!” Jade beams. “So…does this mean I’m your girlfriend?”

Angie considers the word. It feels so childish somehow - she hasn’t had a partner in so long, let alone a girlfriend. Her attempted Parisian flirts were mostly miserable, and before that the thing coming closest to a relationship she had was with Pablo. But with Jade, it’s different. It’s not a moment of confusion and blurred lines, nor a quick spark Angie knew from the start was never going to last. No, Jade is someone she wants to put in the work for. Jade is the one who brings out the fighter. “Would you like to?” Angie shrugs with a timid smile. “Be my girlfriend, that is?”

Jade lets out an overjoyed yelp, throwing herself in Angie’s arms. “I thought you’d never ask! Yes, of course, angelita!” She slowly feels Angie wrap her in a hug as she nuzzles closer, and thinks, in a way, this can be a new plan. Play every card right, do what she wants, at a certain point, she’s bound to be your wife, isn’t she? Another turn of phrase Jade hates: fake it ’til you make it. Nothing to fake here. All real, all authentic, all Jade being the most perfect bride this world will ever see. Not only will Angie fall head over heels, no, even Germán will realise all he’s missed and will come back begging for another chance-

Wait, Germán? No, he doesn’t matter anymore. She's moved on, and he’s with that scary lady Jade’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to cross again. He’s no one- he’s nothing now! All that matters is Angie, Angie, Angie. That’s where she needs to put all the work in. Plus, clearly, revenge has never looked good on her, and one thing Jade will always be extremely careful about is how she looks.

“Congratulations!” Naty says, pretty unsure what word to use to make this any less awkward than it inevitably is. But Jade doesn’t seem to mind, instead she gives her a wide grin. “Thank you Naty, darling! We’ll be sure to invite you to our wedding!” Then she stops, eyes wide, looking back at Angie. “I mean…uh-”

“One step at a time, Jade,” Angie laughs nervously, rubbing her girlfriend’s back. “But thanks, Naty. And I suppose I never really congratulated you and Ludmila on…everything. As much as it hurts to see you leaving the Studio, I’m proud to see how far you’ve come. I always knew you could do it, and you finally blossomed into the artist you were meant to be.”

Naty swallows a knot in her throat the size of a ten-story building. “Thank you,” she murmurs sheepishly, sneaking a look at her partner in crime - Ludmila doesn’t seem to even be listening to their words, staring absently at nothing in particular in front of her. “I’m not leaving the Studio, though. I’ll do both.”

Angie’s brows furrow. “Both?”

“Yeah, YouMix and the Studio. I can manage, and Marotti is ok with-”

“How…how are you going to be on stage for two concerts that are happening at the exact same time, Naty?” There’s no anger in Angie’s voice, neither is there disappointment. No, it’s genuine, sympathetic confusion, and it doesn’t calm Naty down in any way, shape or form. “I’ll figure it out! I’m not- I’m not going to leave you guys now, I’m not like-”

You’re not like me? This again? Please. What you are is a two-faced liar. Remind you of anyone?

Naty turns to Ludmila briskly, but she hasn’t even moved her mouth, still lost in her own world - probably tuning off their conversation the moment she heard the praise was directed towards Naty and not her. Naty takes a second to shake her head, her curls with her. That was definitely Ludmila’s voice though. Was Naty already going so mad that she could hear her in her brain? She can’t possibly think about that now. And of course, Ludmila will do damage even where she isn’t involved at all.

Forget about it, that’s the smartest thing to do. Forget about Ludmila. All she is, from now on, for the rest of her life, is a business partner. A colleague she can’t help but be stuck with. Nothing else to it. Taking it this way, everyone is happier. She delivers a more objective performance for YouMix, no questions asked, no feelings involved, the executives get their preferred results and that’s the end of it. The conclusion to that thought is comfortable enough that it gets Naty’s lips to curve in a small, hesitant smile. She’s ok. Everyone is ok.

You keep telling yourself that, the blonde’s giggle echoes through every wall of her brain, almost tickling her skull. And when she goes to scratch her fountain of hair, that’s the last she hears of the demonic voice. Good. She’s not insane. One less thing to worry about. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sure we can find a way if we all work together.”

“Natalia, isn’t it obvious? The Studio hates YouMix, no matter how much we try to work with them they’ll never accept our help. You need to pick a side, and to me, the choice seems pretty obvious,” Ludmila remarks briskly. Naty narrows her eyes at her, wondering if she’d actually listened to the whole conversation. “I love the Studio. I’m not leaving any time soon.”

“You can’t do both!” Ludmila says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world - which, the more Naty’s forced to grapple with it as a concept, the more it seems to be proven so. “Or what, are you going to clone yourself? Do you really want the world to suffer two singing Natalias instead of the usual, already barely bearable one?”

“Ludmila, that’s enough!” Angie steps in, and Naty sighs in relief, glad that at least someone is on her side- “But she has a point, Naty, you just can’t do both.”

“Exactly. You can try to be a double planet all you want, but in the end, there will always be a Pluto and there will always be a Charon, and most importantly, there will always be a 19,640 kilometres long distance between the two. The choice is yours.”

Jade looks at Ludmila, blinking profusely. “Are you in another dimension right now?” she asks. “I wish,” Ludmila replies without missing a beat.

Naty feels even more choked up than she did without this additional pressure, the most uncomfortable of spotlights pointed directly at her sweaty face. “I…am going to…”

“Make a choice?” Ludmila eggs her on. “Crazy concept, I’m sure.”

“Look, you don’t need to choose right now-” Angie cuts in, but gets promptly ignored by the blonde, who is now awkwardly standing up again: “Why not? Actually, it would be great if you could choose right this instant. So, you know, the grown-ups - she waves her hand around her own face - can get to work without anyone getting in the way. Honestly, Natalia, why are you even here?”

Angie turns to her with knitted brows. “Ludmila, she’s as famous as you.”

That gets the ugliest of laughs out of Ludmila: “Please! She’s famous because she’s with me. I’m the actual star here.”

“Even with your girlfriend, you’re still finding a way to make this a competition? Where do you think this attitude will get you?”

“I don’t need a life lesson, Angie, you’re not my teacher anymore and you’re definitely not my aunt.” Ludmila has had enough of everyone in her life taking the first chance to lecture her on morality. It’s exhausting to have to listen to the same five words in different sequences over and over again, as if the whole world was looking down at her from a higher level of a staircase she just couldn’t see. Whatever Angie thinks she’s getting out of scolding her like someone who’s not mad, just disappointed, she can genuinely go to hell for all Ludmila cares. “I’m not at the Studio anymore, where we’re all pretending to be friends til the end. This is real life.”

All Angie can do is frown. What a sad life that is. “Maybe the Studio wasn’t the right fit for you, but you can’t make that decision for Naty.”

“Neither can you! The way you’re talking, it’s obvious that you have a bias! How do you expect her to be neutral?!”

“I’m not choosing for her!”

“You’re saying choose the Studio or kill yourself, that’s what you’re saying.”

“When did I-”

“It’s what comes across! That’s the only thing that matters! And Natalia thinks you’re the best teacher ever, of course she’s gonna do everything you tell her to!”

“Well, you’re her girlfriend, and-” Angie knows what she’s getting sucked into, and despite that, she can’t get out of it. “I’d say there’s a pretty big track record of you telling her exactly what to do for years, Ludmila.”

“She needs me to!”

“Maybe she wouldn’t need to if you let her make her own decisions!”

“I’m not making any decision for her! Natalia, please, let’s get this over with. YouMix or the Studio?”

“Yes, Naty, the Studio or YouMix?” Angie repeats, crossing her arms - then realising Ludmila has hers crossed too, which makes Angie’s flail at her sides. “Seriously, Angie? Was there a need to put the Studio first?” Ludmila shakes her head. Angie covers her face with her hands, “Oh, come on-”

“No, you made a point of saying the Studio first. Has that gotten you her favour?”

“Um- Angie?” Jade tugs at her girlfriend’s sleeve, to no avail. “I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“Right.”

“How petty do you think I am?!”

“You’re here to get revenge on a company that barely knows your name, why? Because they can’t give you money anymore? Sounds pretty petty to me. But hey, you do your thing, just-” Ludmila says in her worst Angie impression, “let Naty do her own thing, too.”

“Angie,” Jade says again, “you should-”

“Has something happened, Ludmila? Why are you so upset?”

“Oh, don’t start-”

“Because whatever you have going on, you shouldn’t take it out on Naty.”

“I’m not taking it out on Naty, I’m not even talking to her! And whatever I tell her she just says ok anyway, so we’re not really having a conversation here!” Ludmila laughs again, “Has something happened?! Funny you should ask that, let me think- oh, I’m stuck in an elevator with the dumbest people on Earth, when I should be in the middle of a meeting discussing my actual job! And I seem to be the only one caring about getting out since you don’t, Jade is just on another frequency, and Naty-”

“Angie, Naty’s dead,” Jade manages to sneak in the second Ludmila pauses to take a breath, effectively making the machine gun-like speech come to a striking halt. Naty stands in the corner of the elevator, white as a sheet, eyes wide, looking at nothing, possibly not even breathing. She looks like a cadaver.

“Well, congratulations, Angie,” Ludmila says, tone emotionless. “You killed Natalia.”

Angie stares at her nervously. Naty is a wax statue. “She’ll be ok.”

“Oh, she’s never been better,” Ludmila nods. Angie looks everywhere around her for an emergency solution, “Uh, maybe we need to give her more space? If we all just stand in the opposite corner maybe-”

“We tried that ages ago! It’s over, she’s just the first one to die and we’ll be next! Ugh!” Ludmila starts pounding both fists on the door, “Let me out! I don’t wanna die surrounded by these idiots!”

“Ludmila, where’s my pouch?”

Ludmila turns to Jade, startled. At what, precisely, between her suddenly incredibly serious tone, her mention of a pouch Ludmila has no recollection of, and just getting her name right, she’s not sure. “What are you talking about?”

“The bag with all my makeup- oh, there it is,” Jade bends to the corner of the elevator Ludmila was sitting in earlier and picks up the pouch. Back to Naty, she studies her carefully, so close to her face that even in her catatonic state the curly-haired girl is forced to follow her eyeline. “What are you wearing right now, nena?”

“Uh…” Naty gulps, her tone very quiet. Not wanting to get into any sort of Studio-vs-YouMix related fight before the meeting, she’d hoped to blend in the background during Angie and Ludmila’s back and forth, but now she realises there’s not much of a background to blend in when the space you’re sharing with three other people is about four square feet. “My…shirt, and-”

“No, I meant your makeup, what did you put on this morning,” Jade explains as she rummages through her bag. Naty takes a second to think- and comes up short. “Well, I washed my face and…” She’d had a rough night - she’d had a rough few nights now. And the way Jade stares through her soul with those hypnotising gemstones she has for eyes, something tells Naty it’s starting to show.

“Ay, no worries, that’s what I’m here for. You’re going to a meeting now, aren't you? You have to look like it!” Jade takes her by the cheeks without warning, and leans even closer in, examining every pore. “Your foundation isn’t matching your skin tone, sweetie, and why are you only putting it under your eyes? You’re not fooling anyone. What brand even is this?” She runs a finger under Naty’s eye, making her shut her eyelids as a reflex. Ludmila takes one instinctive step forward, “What are you doing?”

“I thought they’d discontinued this!” Jade shakes her hand as if to free herself of some great evil she’s caught by touching Naty’s foundation. “Listen to me, Naty, the brand you’re using is really bad for your skin, and I need you to throw it away as soon as you get home.”

“If she gets home,” Ludmila chuckles. Jade gives her one look, and it's enough. “Oh, I’ll get to you too, Ludmila. Your foundation makes you look like a snowman.”

For the first time that day, Naty genuinely laughs - well, snorts, but that’s already a lot of progress. Ludmila sends her a death glare. And before Naty can say anything, Jade has her back facing her and her only. “No turning around, bright eyes! Don’t move, I’m working here!”

“Yes ma’am,” Naty now closes both her eyes as Jade takes an eyeliner pen out of her bag. She winces slightly as the pen comes closer and closer to her eye - and yet, when Jade finally gets to work, it feels more than anything like a caress. “Oh, wow,” she whispers, Jade holding her gently by the chin. And for the whole time the brush is on her skin, she forgets she’s in a broken elevator on her way to what could be a death sentence as well as anything else. It’s magic.

“Oh wow indeed,” Jade juggles a couple shades of blush and a lipstick in one hand, her pouch in the other, never-ending tools coming out of it. “See how much a good concealer can change your day? I bet you’re not even thinking about throwing up anymore!”

The reminder isn’t great. “Mm.”

Ludmila and Angie look on, just as entranced as the girl in the non-existent makeup chair. There’s something about Jade when she’s fully focused, completely concentrated on her task. Her entire chaotic energy stills to just one frame per second, precise movements like a painter with centuries of experience behind her. Even Ludmila has to admit to herself, as Naty transforms with just a few touches of Jade’s skilful artistry, that it’s incredibly impressive. And from her sickly hue and wilderness-survivor look, Naty turns into-

Your mother was right. You are a disgrace.

“So…what do you think?” Jade boops Naty’s nose one final time and, since apparently she just does not do warnings, shoves her Ludmila’s way, making her trip right into her arms. “Isn’t your girlfriend just gorgeous?”

Naty steadies herself in Ludmila’s improvised grip, pushing her curls back to reveal fully her big brown eyes, shining under the LED light of the elevator ceiling. Ludmila’s eyes are also aglow, so bright Naty can almost see herself in them, like a mirror. Had Naty’s body fallen into Ludmila in any other way, by now she could’ve been able to hear her racing heartbeat. Had she been holding her by the arms, she’d be able to tell how, for just a few instants, her hands tremble with unearthly anticipation.

Hell, honestly even just looking into her eyes should’ve done the trick. It would’ve, just a few days ago. But now it doesn’t. Just a few days ago the contact could’ve been sparks, jolts, shivers of that never-told, never-spoken connection and desire that seemed to be buried under the most sacred of oaths. Always on the edge of something, always bubbling under a surface that could’ve dissolved with the easiest of confessions.

Instead, the surface crumbled in the most violent way conceivable. All that could’ve gone wrong went wrong, and like a wickedly sadistic tide, Ludmila and Naty’s dance of desire has been erased and reset, back to the beginning. Perhaps even earlier than that. Because the sparks were there in the beginning. All Naty feels now is a burning itch everywhere Ludmila touches.

So in the end, as soon as Naty finds her footing again, the blonde pushes her off. “I don’t care how she looks,” she mutters, and turns the other way. Jade emits a little strangled yelp as she turns to Angie - who had hoped to be the next client of the improvised hair salon. Shaking her head, she starts: “Again, don’t listen to her-”

“Oh, I know she’s lying, I just want my work to be appreciated,” Jade crosses her arms. Naty is now looking at herself in the small elevator mirror, and gives her the brightest smile she can conjure despite the situation. “I love it, Jade, I don’t know how to thank you.”

And the grin Jade gives back is just as blindingly bright. “You have such a sweet face! I need to make you my test subject!”

“If you can always make me look this good, I’ll take it,” Naty giggles softly. Jade went for a simplistic, nude look, that makes her feel a lot more comfortable than YouMix’s previous attempts to doll her up. She never had problems with makeup, it’s not that - it’s the feeling that her face is being drawn on, to hide instead of complement, conceal instead of show off. This way, she can still recognise herself, and also recognise she is really pretty on top of that.

“And now…” Jade moves her brush all the way to where Ludmila stands and points at her with it, making her turn her head. “Crudelia.”

Ludmila gives her an unimpressed pout. “No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t you want-”

“I said no, and this is such a waste of time anyway,” Ludmila concludes, rolling her eyes. “Waste of time?!” Jade gasps, but Naty cuts in just as she’s about to tear the blonde a new one: “Well, Ludmi, all we have is time to waste. We’re stuck in here anyway.”

“Exactly. There’s no reason to play beauty boutique if we’re gonna die inside this stupid elevator anyway. Like, congratulations, Nat, you look presentable, does that even matter if Marotti’s never gonna know we’re in here?!”

“Ludmila? Are you in there?”

Ludmila straightens up, completely still. Naty’s eyes widen. Angie turns to them so quickly that her hair gets stuck in her mouth. Jade throws herself on her back, almost making her lose balance: “Angie, someone else is in the elevator!”

“I swear I heard her voice. You know, it’s pretty unmistakable,” Marotti says from somewhere outside their metal cage. Then after a moment of silence, he laughs. “Or maybe she’s just haunting me in my head.”

Ludmila’s nostrils flare, and the words awaken in her the deep, ancient, undying energy she possesses of being the loudest person in every room she walks in. “Marotti!” she screams as she bangs both hands on the elevator door. “Marotti, I’m in here!”

“See, I heard her again just now!” Marotti is still laughing. “This is crazy!”

“No, I heard her too,” a voice intervenes. “I think it’s coming from the elevator.”

“Yeah! That’s what I just said!” Ludmila hits the doors harder. She turns to the other three, “Will you help me or not?!”

“The elevator?” Marotti turns to the source of the sound. Just as he does, the same banging starts again, now four times louder. “Why is she punching the elevator? Wait, no, don’t tell me, I give up on trying to understand that girl. I told her to be punctual, we should’ve started the meeting twenty minutes ago! What am I gonna tell the executives?! They’re already pestering me about the tour, and now this!”

Even through her thick dark sunglasses, the pointed look Rubina gives him is detectable. “Remember you had to call Mateo about the shaft problem?”

Marotti furrows his brows. “Yes?”

“Remember I told you about fifteen times to call Mateo about the shaft problem? And you told me you did?”

“Yeah…?”

Rubina crosses her arms. “Did you call Mateo about the shaft problem?”

Marotti’s wide eyes stare at nothing in particular, then all at once he shakes his head as to wake himself up. “As I said, I did. Now, for a completely unrelated reason, I will walk closer to the elevator.” Rubina only purses her lips as he does as announced. “You’re my assistant, go- do assistant things!”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, it’s your job,” Marotti puts his hands on his hips. “It’s you I’m assisting, sir, you’re supposed to give me instructions,” Rubina sighs - why she ever picked this position is still a mystery to her. And when Marotti can’t come up with anything, she deadpans: “Shall I go tell the executives Ludmila and Naty have arrived?”

“Yes! But tell them I told you that,” he smiles. Not even deigning to respond to him, Rubina simply turns around and walks to the meeting room. In the meantime, the elevator sounds have only risen in sound and frenzy. 

“Marotti!” That’s definitely Naty’s voice as she slams her hands on the other side of the door. “Please! We’re stuck!”

“Why isn’t he responding?!” This sounds like the teacher lady from On Beat. “We heard him, he’s literally in the corridor!”

“Maybe he heard you and thought it wasn’t worth it,” Ludmila’s typical sour tone comes next. 

“Oh, please, Ludmila, all he can hear is you!”

“Yeah, you have an impressive voice, Annalisa, it’s really powerful! Have you ever thought of doing opera? You know, you really don’t know you have it in you until you just-” The one voice Marotti can’t recognise unexpectedly breaks into a perfectly pitched opera voice. “Try it!” the soprano belts. The rest of the elevator entourage fully stops whatever they’re doing, presumably to cover their ears.

Because the corridor is now completely quiet, Marotti finally clears his throat. “How many people are in there?”

The ruckus starts from the beginning, everyone talking over each other - “Just open the damn door!” Ludmila kicks in front of her, immediately yelping and staggering to the opposite side of the elevator with a muffled groan. “Why did you do that?!” Angie cries with her face in her hands. “I can’t stand being with all of you one second longer!” Ludmila shouts.

“Well, now it looks like you just can’t stand, period,” Jade observes, still in her opera voice. “Did you break your ankle?”

“Stop fucking singing-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice I was still singing. Wait, am I still doing it? Oh, it’s like with the bipolar thing, I don’t know when I’m French!”

“So we’ve had a couple of problems with the shaft,” Marotti tries to talk over all of them, basically screaming at the door. “The door gets stuck because it’s…rusty? Old? I have no idea- I should really call Mateo.”

“You can hear us from in front of you?” Naty also tries to make herself heard, but of course, when she needs her voice to be as loud as it accidentally was when going off at Camila, she’s just squeaking. “Yes,” Marotti says, “it’s the door’s fault! I have no idea how to get you out, maybe I should tell the executives to have our meeting here! I’ll tell Rubina to bring chairs-”

Naty panics. That is the least professional idea she’s ever heard, and her one goal for today was to be as professional as humanly possible. So logically, the second she realises not even Marotti can help, she’s already rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. “Don’t hurt him, Naty! He’s trying to help you!” Jade sings. “Natalia, what are you doing?” Ludmila stares at her intently, with furrowed brows. “What you told me to,” Naty groans, and starts pushing the door open - as her partner suggested, with her bare hands.

“Naty, no-” Angie tries to stop her, before she actually sees Naty is managing to make the two doors separate with her sheer muscle force. Unfortunately, these are desperate times. “I mean, Naty, yes! Keep going! Do you need help?”

“We should all sing a song together to encourage her!”

“Jade, I don’t know if that’s-”

“Ay, it’s what your niece does all the time!”

“No- I-” Naty pants. A sudden shot of bile threatens to work its way up again, but she manages to swallow it back down as she keeps pushing. “I’ve got it-” After she hits a certain breaking point, the mechanism repeats one single click, similar to the one they heard when they got stuck in the first place, and the doors slide apart as easily as curtains. The elevator has always been stuck on the right floor, just one step below its level. And like walking up the shortest staircase in existence, the four unfortunate souls make their way to their agonised second floor.

Marotti meets the stares of eight unforgiving eyes, ranging between brown, grey and blue, but all very, very unhappy. Still, he puts on his most charming smile: “Hello, ladies-”

“Save it,” Naty holds herself up by placing her hands on her thighs, completely out of breath. “I’m gonna go throw up.” With that, she hurries to one side of the corridor and disappears behind the bathroom door.

Jade is the only one out of them who actually smiles back, “You must be-”

“We should go, Jade, I’m sure Rubina’s waiting for us!” Angie grabs her by the hand and drags her away, not before giving Marotti her best grim look. “Aw, ok. Bye Violetta, have a great meeting!”

Marotti follows the two women for as long as his eyes allow him too, before breaking into a snicker. “Hah, she called you Violetta.”

Ludmila keeps quiet, her face as red as probably humanly possible. She clears her throat- it sounds more like a moan. “We could sue you for that. We could’ve seriously been arm. I mean- harmed.”

“I’m sorry?” Marotti shakes his head, confused. Ludmila passes a hand through her hair as if to look for any sort of comfort in there. “We were stuck in there for forever! And you didn’t think to call for us or check the elevator?! Getting out of that was a real muscle! I mean hassle!”

“Are you ok, Ludmila?” Marotti somehow looks genuinely concerned. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Can we go to this meeting or not? I hope you have Nat started without us.”

Marotti stifles a snort. Ludmila blinks. “What’s so funny?”

“You said not weird.”

“I did Nat.”

“You just did it again!”

“I am Nat saying Nat weird!”

He lets out a hearty laugh, and wipes at his eye as if there really were tears coming out at the edges. “Alright, can’t waste any more time now. Let’s go.”

Ludmila waits for him to turn around and lead the way before she checks under her nose if it actually started bleeding.

When Naty joins them, feeling significantly better than earlier, they’re in front of the fateful door of their doom. Marotti is patting down his suit, straightening it as if it made any difference how elegant he looked, since that horrible eyesore yellow scarf pops out of his shirt like an overgrown pimple. “Ok, girls, now, I know you look up to me as your mentor and boss and everything and I really appreciate it, but those people in there? They’re the real deal. They’re the people you want to impress to keep your job, so…please be…not you?”

Ludmila crosses her arms, and as Naty turns to take a good look at her, she realises the blonde’s yet to look her way since she got out of the bathroom. Perhaps once out of the elevator she dropped the civil (or civil-er) act and is now purely honest with herself. No need to look Naty’s way. No need to care for her dumb pet, some chewing gum stuck to the sole of her shoe. “What is be not us supposed to mean?” Ludmila growls.

“Well- of course, we love your banter, but- let’s save it for the tour. Right now, all I need from you is professionalism.” And there’s that word haunting Naty again. “We can be as professional as necessary!” she’s quick to reply, to which Marotti glances at her with narrowed eyes, a benign smile that’s evidently reserved for her only, as is made clearer by his next words: “I’m sure you can.” If Ludmila catches how he’s just thrown her under the bus, she doesn’t show. “So what do you think we should say to them? You know, to keep things going smoothly,” Naty asks.

“Oh, oh, no,” Marotti shakes his head laughing, “we don’t talk to them. We don’t even interact with them, really, they’re just here to observe. In that room, all you need to know is that if you mess up, it’s everyone’s lives on the line. Let’s put up our best show, shall we?” Ludmila and Naty send him the most puzzled looks. “Ok, let me put it more clearly. Um…” He massages his chin, the sweat on his face glistening under the bright corridor lights. “Let’s say- ah! Let’s say we’re at a zoo, and they’re…very rich tourists looking for the best animals to buy. And we’re the penguins, and we’re swimming around and being cute and adorable and harmonious and so in love, right? Right?” He points at the two of them frenetically with both his index fingers. “Right?!”

“You can buy animals at the zoo?” Naty raises her eyebrows, but Ludmila’s attention is elsewhere: “Haven’t we given so much already? Everyone is still talking about the interview even two weeks later. I’m doing a great job so far!” She takes a beat to consider her next words, but Ludmila is never much of a considerer, and when she is, that might result in an even worse outcome. “If anything, it’s Natalia who’s acting all mopey lately for no reason.”

“For no reason?!” Naty jumps up before she can really think twice. “I’ve been asking for you to give me one and all you can say is ok,” Ludmila says, the last word in an exaggerated sluggish tone. Naty only looks at her, every feature on her face strained, that desperate smile appearing on her face when she’s actual, literal seconds away from losing it. “You are so far up your own-”

“Should I be worried about this?” Marotti interrupts the lovely entr’acte. “No,” Ludmila and Naty answer in unison, apparently on the same page for once. “Good, because another thing you should keep in mind is…those people in there, they think we’re investing in you as a couple.”

“And…aren’t you?” Naty cocks her head. “We are. But in order for them to- uh- believe in us, we…haven’t told them it’s an act.”

Silence.

“So forget Rafa Palmer, forget the cameras, this is the time when you have to look the most civil. Now is when you have to really sell that you’re- soulmates or something, because if they find out we are not taking a loving couple on tour, but…whatever the hell you two are to each other, then we’re over. I’m fired, you’re fired, that lady who follows me around in a dollar store wig is fired, everyone is fired! And we don’t want that. Do we?”

The grimacing YouMix couple are slowly shaking their heads. “Do we?!” The head shaking becomes a hundred times more energetic, so much so that both Ludmila and Naty get headaches when they’re done. “Good. So apologise to each other now and get everything out of your system, and when we’re in there, I want nothing but smiles.”

“I’m not apologising to her!” Ludmila shrieks, but at Marotti’s finger on his lips and wide eyes, she manages to dial it back a bit. “I have nothing to apologise for,” she whisper-shouts. “Me either!” Naty says in a tone just as hushed. “Ok, whatever, I don’t care what you get up to in private. All I know is that interview was the best thing to happen to YouMix in a while and we can’t drop the ball now! So if neither of you are ball droppers, you will enter that room holding hands and not let go of each other until the executives are far, far away from sight. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Naty nods reluctantly. “Good. Ludmila, is that clear to you too?” Instead of answering, Ludmila goes to grab Naty’s hand, and when Naty instinctively shoves it away Ludmila takes it by force. After the initial struggle the two now look at Marotti with terrifyingly forced smiles. Marotti puts a hand on his forehead as he whispers something only he can hear, and then turns around to open the door - before he turns back again. The two girls almost groan out of exasperation. “One last thing,” he says. “They can’t know about the elevator problem. That’s super not professional. So let’s say…you were in a car accident.”

“No,” Ludmila and Naty answer at the same time, even though that torturous ride with Priscila might as well have ended in a crash. “Ugh, fine. I wish we had a script for this too.” Now his hands are on the handle and with one push, the door opens to the all-familiar room where it first happened.

And it looks exactly the same as Naty remembers from that feverish morning, washed out blues and reds on the walls like an abandoned lunch hall for children. The table is not the same one they’ve sat at a month ago, instead a larger one to accommodate every member of the committee: three men who look older than Marotti, but kept together a lot better than him, dark suits and ties and their expression as blank as probably humanly accessible. On their right, a woman who must be around their age, scribbling something on a notebook without even looking up when Ludmila, Naty and Marotti enter the room. Then in front of them four empty chairs: one for the two YouMix clients, one for Marotti himself, and the last one probably for Rubina, who is hurrying out as the three of them walk in.

“You’re not staying?” Marotti furrows his brows. “I’ve got that teacher lady who wants to vent for a bit. I’ll let her talk, throw her a sop to shut her up- I don’t think it’ll take any longer than a couple minutes, I’ll be right back,” she says fixing her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose. She smiles at the two girls, offers them a good luck, and she’s gone. Naty can’t help that peculiar feeling of deja vu again and whispers as quietly as she can to her two comrades, “Who is she?”

“Honestly, I don’t even remember hiring her. But she gets a lot of stuff done so I’m glad she’s here,” Marotti answers quickly before straightening up and walking to the table. “Good morning everyone! Leo and Lucas, dashing as ever! Manuel, is that a new haircut? And Valeria…oh, did someone let the sun in or is it just your beauty blinding me?” His nervous laughter of circumstance doesn’t seem to impress any of the people he’s speaking to. “Marotti,” one of them simply says - Naty thinks he’s the one he referred to as Manuel - and that’s really it.

Ludmila and Naty are still standing by the door, gripping each other’s hands like the most nervous of middle schoolers on their first date. Marotti turns to them, waving an arm to encourage them to walk forward. “Come, come! Our very own Natalila want to apologise for their tardiness, right girls?”

“Yeah, uh- so many fans! They swarmed us!” Naty says - or better, shouts from her position. “Nat, we have to walk to them,” Ludmila whispers through gritted teeth. With that, they start walking in tandem: one foot in front of the other at the exact same time, like programmed robots. “We had to give everyone an autograph, that’s just who we are.” Ludmila’s smile is supposed to be relaxed, and it’s not at all. “As we always say, Natalia…” She looks to her partner, communicating something Naty can’t understand, “there’s nothing we love more than…”

“Each other.”

“Our fans.”

Ludmila’s smile twitches. Nat. Naty’s also scrambling for a way to stick the landing now. “Well- each other, because-” She encourages Ludmila to follow her train of thought by reading her lips, and somehow this they do say in perfect unison: “…our fans bring us closer together every day!”

“Not that we need them to!” Ludmila adds. “We’re so in love!”

“So in love,” Naty nods. “You’ve never seen a couple like this.”

“You really haven’t!”

“Jack and Rose? Yawn. That movie was too long.”

“And they’re dead too, so who cares! Romeo and Juliet? Who’s heard of those two? Have you, Nat?”

“Uh- who are they, some losers we’ve learned of in school? I was too busy loving you to pay attention!”

Marotti’s thunderous forced laughter effectively shuts up their back and forth when both girls have cringed so hard their faces might be stuck in a wince for the rest of their lives. “Hah! Lovely, girls! They’re incredible, aren’t they? Oh, you two, never change,” he sends them a quick look that screams please change right this instant.

Ludmila and Naty sit at the table, with Marotti’s watchful eyes commanding them to take two seats next to each other. This way, Naty’s right in front of Manuel, and across from Ludmila is the woman, Valeria, as Marotti called her, whose green beady eyes, framed by thick-lensed glasses, only now rise from her mysterious notebook to take one long look at the blonde. Her lips tighten, and she seems to come to some conclusion before Ludmila’s even released her first breath from her lungs, as she goes back to scribble something - an error Ludmila didn’t even notice she’s already made. Her jaw locks, and she has to force it open just to take air in, in a voracious gulp.

Naty brings up the hand she’s holding Ludmila’s with and rests them both on the table, as if to signify what kind of business they’re here for. Luckily, she hasn’t had a real breakfast this morning, and anything that could’ve upset her stomach is long gone now. Still, the nervous cramps are there, and she’d rather them not be. “Good morning everyone,” she flashes her teeth in her most kept-together smile. “Again, sorry for being late.”

“Natalia,” Manuel sits up straighter, “though I’ve heard you’d rather be called Naty?”

The curly-haired girl sends a glance Marotti’s way, since he’d told them just seconds ago that they weren’t to address the executives. He instead urges her to answer with a nod of his head, and she immediately corrects her mistake. “Yes, that’s what everyone calls me.” Everyone but the girl at her right, who seems to be allergic to addressing her by that one. Natalia or Nat and no in-between, because Ludmila doesn’t do things halfway, not even names.

Not even heartbreak. Thorough enough, Nat?

Naty shakes her head as if to shoo the voice in her brain away. “Yes or no?” Manuel asks following her movement, and she lets out a nervous giggle: “Yes, sorry! I just- thought I saw something.”

The man gives her a reassuring smile. His long grey hair is held together in a small ponytail, and his beard of the same colour has been styled meticulously down to the last millimetre: he’s most definitely a man who cares about how he looks. And in fact, when he reveals: “My name is Manuel Reyes, I’m the marketing manager for YouMix. In easier words, I’ll take care of everything regarding the art department,” it makes sense why he does. “But it’s very important to me that we hear your input as well! We want you two to be at the forefront of this thing, of course. So if you ever have any problems regarding the set designs for your tour or anything of the sort, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll have someone report directly to me, so I can make sure I can help your vision come to life.”

“That’s great! We definitely want to participate more in the creative side of things, right, Ludmi?”

“Yeah,” Ludmila’s eyes still haven’t left the woman’s in front of her’s pen. She’s still writing. Ludmila just wants to rip that notebook from her hands and tear it to shreds, and it genuinely takes all out of her not to.

“Lucas is in charge of the recording part. He supervises your future music,” Manuel pats the shoulder of the person next to him, a taller, bald man whose expression has yet to change since they first lay eyes on him. He looks both of them up and down, and that’s all he gives them. “And Leo is-” Before even being able to introduce the man at the end of the table, Leo’s phone rings. “I have to take this,” he says quickly, and leaves the room in the fastest strut across the room Naty’s ever seen despite his short and not exactly athletic build. “Our producer,” Manuel laughs. “He does that a lot. He’s usually on the phone with the big guy- he couldn’t be here today, he sends his apologies.”

“And well, that’s the team!” Marotti intervenes, finally sitting down - he was too nervous to move before. Lucas and Manuel give him a barely hidden side eye as he clears his throat: evidently, he’s not well-liked in the circuit. It’s not hard for either Ludmila or Naty to see why. The former of the two wants to ask who the woman who seems to have immediately taken a dislike to her is, but Manuel is quicker: “Marotti, you have your presentation ready?”

“Yes! I’ve been working on this a lot, so once again, thank you for showing up today,” Marotti opens the bag that had been slouching by one side of his chair. “It’s the bimonthly meeting,” Lucas crosses his arms, “of course we’re here.”

“You didn’t show up in January, so!” Marotti chuckles. “Can you blame us for not showing up in January?” Lucas replies curtly. Marotti only takes a second to blink and gain his composure again. “No. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road, shall we!”

“Yes, please,” Manuel clasps his hands together. Marotti, finally off the grill, takes a breath of relief and a hefty folder out of his bag. He picks up three photocopies of the same document: two he slides to Lucas and Manuel, and one he hands to Ludmila and Naty.

The Natalila tour - Peligrosamente Internacionales!

It takes everything out of Naty not to laugh out loud as she reads that, so she only bites the inside of her cheek. Under the name, a rough photoshopped version of their two faces on astronauts, sitting astride a spaceship. Ludmila’s speech bubble is saying Something space-related! 

Ludmila’s lips form a straight thin line. Marotti seems to notice the dissatisfaction in the room and is quick to add: “This is all subject to change, anyway! We’ve just been storyboarding with the team. Now, these are the established dates we’ll be working with.”

Starting with three dates in Buenos Aires, the Latin American leg of the tour spans two shows in Mexico City, then Monterrey, São Paulo, and San Juan. Huh. These are not…as many as Naty had expected. No, these are probably the bare necessity dates for this to be considered a Latin American tour, as if they had to cut down expenses and choose just the essential cities.

Then it flashes in Naty’s mind - that’s what the Studio is doing. Because they have to actually cut down expenses. And there it is, white on weird space graphic blue, that final nail in the coffin: the dates all coincide with the Studio tour dates. At the same time, too, as Angie said. She wanted not to believe her up until the very end, wanted to think perhaps the dates were just provisory - and yet here’s life once again making her the butt of the joke, putting her right in the middle of the most uncomfortable impasses. Naty is stuck in her own personal nightmare, the worst kind: the one where she has to make a choice.

But any choice now could lead to certain death. Even if there’s a very right and very wrong here, there’s also the doable and the undoable. It’s not even a matter of choices, she thinks as she reads the rest of the document without even focusing on its words, for she doesn’t need to, since she already knows these dates by heart: it’s a matter of delaying the very unavoidable end of the road, the one Naty had tried up until the very end to handle as best as she could. And now she can’t anymore. Now, there’s just the bitter, bitter reality waiting for her like the coffin at the end of a church aisle. And this is Naty’s open casket funeral.

With opening act, LENA. Of course she’d have her name in all caps, that spoiled brat of a diva. As if anyone even cares who she is or could recognise her by name! The only reason why she’s on this tour at all is because Naty is, and the only reason Naty is is because Ludmila is. It’s time the blonde lets Marotti hear a piece of her mind: “Lena-”

“Yes!” Marotti’s eyes shine at the mention of his new favourite pupil, “Thank you for bringing her up, Ludmila. Lena is our new big name! We just recently signed her for YouMix and she’s a powerhouse of a singer. We’ve gone through a lot of trials to make sure she was the best choice as an opener, and we’ve come to the conclusion that taking her in is the best way to kickstart her promising career while also taking advantage of her internet fame!”

Ludmila takes a breath in. “Yes, but she-”

“Right, I almost forgot, thank you Ludmila for reminding me! Ever since we announced her as the opening act, our sales doubled! We are officially sold out on all three Buenos Aires dates!”

Ludmila stifles a growl. Now Lena gets to take the glory for her hard-earned success? This will not stand. “Lena is just-”

“Perfect, right?” This time it’s Naty to interrupt her, as she gently nudges her under the table with one foot. “I was so happy when I found out she’s coming on tour with us. She’s my little sister and I couldn’t be any prouder.” Never mind how they haven’t been speaking ever since the day she opened that letter. That’s not important to the executives.

Why would I talk to you if you’re just gonna lie about however you’re feeling?!

Naty swallows the lump in her throat and forces a smile that hurts her cheeks.

“And before you ask, we’ve already talked to every venue and organised all the organisable so we’re set! All that’s left now is the rehearsals, which we’ll get to in a second.” Marotti takes a quick, breathing pause. “Ok, second’s up! These are the rehearsal schedules.”

The next piece of paper he passes around is just a timetable of when Ludmila and Naty are expected at the YouMix gym to prepare for their performances. “Our girls will be trained by their very own dance instructor, who will follow them closely to make sure they give their all. They are already well-versed in the art of dancing-”

“Well, yes, we had the best teacher to help us every step of the way back at the Studio,” Ludmila is quick to make a point of namedropping Gregorio. Not only was it very obvious to everyone around her how unbreakable the two-way favouritism bond was between the high-strung dancer and the blonde, but also Gregorio Casal is a household name, he was actually famous before dedicating his life to teaching - and even at the Studio, despite how hard that middle life crisis had hit him in the past two years, he was still renowned as one of the best Argentina had to offer. Diego (of all people) had helped him get his head back in the game.

It was a shame to see his Art Rebel dream go up in flames after it had just gotten up on its legs. Was Gregorio also secretly hoping that the Studio would go down so he could go back to what he’s always really wanted to do? No, Ludmila answers her own question, because he gave up on everything to save the Studio when they needed it the most - when YouMix deserted them, when Antonio died, when Pablo started spiralling, Gregorio was right there.

Ludmila realises then, she misses him. His singular way of caring and how he’d find her sometimes after class, and they’d have brief, fleeting exchanges he’d mask as dancing feedback to make sure she was ok. There were times, when even Naty could barely look her in the eye, when those moments were all Ludmila had. Sometimes she’d even purposefully mess up during practice and risk her classmates’ ridiculing just to assure herself a moment of her favourite mentor’s time. More often than not, if she forced it, it wouldn’t happen. More often than not, when Gregorio did come looking for her, it was days when she’d threaten to burn the Studio down if he put Violetta at the forefront again. But she gained nothing then, and now that that one connection is gone too, she’s gaining nothing still.

Marotti’s eyes darken at the mention of the Studio from Ludmila’s lips, and he immediately pivots as best as he can. “Sure. Anyway. Here’s where you girls come in,” he turns to them with a grin. “The setlist. You’ve got your songs you can choose from, and Naty’s written a new one too, haven’t you?”

“I have! I e-mailed the lyrics and music sheet to you this morning,” she confirms. “Send it my way too,” Lucas points to Marotti, then looks directly at Naty: “Can you tell us anything else about it?”

“Well…it’s called Llamame, and…”

The mere mention of that name makes Ludmila spin faster than any object in space could. Llamame? She tries to focus on anything Naty says after that name, but it’s suddenly like being lost at sea, her voice only a very distant siren, impossible to reach. Llamame is…the song Naty’s been working on from the first day Ludmila met her, possibly even before that. It’s the song she holds nearest to her heart, from her childhood up to now. It’s the song Ludmila met her with and- and she’s giving it to YouMix?

Or maybe it doesn’t matter to her as much as it matters to Ludmila, and somehow that brings her back to the torn up photos she stumbled on just a few days ago. If those don’t matter, then maybe nothing matters anymore. Maybe Ludmila’s the one who’s been making a big deal out of it the whole time, and Naty simply couldn’t care less.

The pages she ought to take from her book are so many by now they could fill up a library, and isn’t that so shameful? That Naty doesn’t care? That she’s possibly never cared, ever? Pretty words and prettier eyes and it was all for show? Then damn it all, what a great performer this Natalia Vidal is, and she deserves everything coming her way. Ludmila will sing every last word of their song like her life is on the line, and she will turn herself off after every single show. Llamame will just be words. Pretty words that have tied them together for years. Crumpled photos in the trash bin. Empty, empty rose-coloured walls.

Ludmila and Naty are gone. Now there’s only Natalila, and Natalila are a business transaction done right. Money in their pockets, a monthly check. Ludmila has never thought of herself as the nostalgic type, but if these last few months have taught her anything, it’s that she’d cash all YouMix checks and the rest of her life savings to get a time machine and do things right. Never meet Naty. Never join the Studio. Never listen to your mother and get that degree in stellar astrophysics. Pursue another life.

Ludmila squeezes Naty’s hand in hers just to feel anything, and Naty doesn’t even turn her way as she keeps telling the story of her song. Nobody’s asked Ludmila about the love song she promised she’d bring to the table. Nobody’s noticed Ludmila’s even at the table. Failed supernova. Black hole.

Good. Let them think she’s no one. Let them think she’s nothing. Let them think she’s meek, defenceless, a chipped shell of her once mighty self. She’ll get them all back in due time. And that’s a promise, not a threat. The light at the end of her infinite tunnel.

“…and as things are right now, it might fit as the end to the show,” Naty concludes triumphantly. Ludmila smiles to herself. “It should be at the beginning.”

Naty turns to her as if she hadn’t even expected Ludmila to be listening to what she was saying at all. “What did you say, my love?”

“We should put it at the beginning,” Ludmila straightens up, her tone more resolute. “It’s how we started. It’s how the show should start too.”

Something flashes in Naty’s eyes - surprise? She’s taken aback by this affirmation. Maybe she doesn’t even remember that’s the song she sang at the auditions. Maybe she didn’t even know Ludmila knew about it. Hesitantly, the spark dies down, lost to that dull brown that has been haunting Naty’s eyes for the whole week, and she nods feebly. “Sure, why not.”

So the story remains ours, Naty’s heart screams, pounding in her chest. So the story remains mine. Mine and mine alone. And you don’t get to touch it. You don’t get to walk all over it. I’m your only one. I’m your only one. Say it. Say it!

“I expect you girls bright and early for rehearsals on Monday, as for the rest of the month leading up to your first show in April. No excuses will stand. From now on it’s work, work, work. Is that clear?” Marotti’s hand goes down on the table a little too hard, startling even himself, but the message has come across anyway: whatever is going on in the two girls’ heads comes at a full stop when the tour is involved. This is smaller than their first Studio tour - way smaller - but it’s just the two of them, on stage, the whole time. It’s not one number, it’s every number. PeBe times thirteen. But no stress.

“Well,” Marotti goes through a list he’d written down for himself, “I think that’s pretty much everything! Of course, the press tour for the tour will start soon, so get ready for that also- don’t worry, all scripts will be sent to you via e-mail since someone here does not answer her phone, like, ever.”

“It’s broken,” both Naty and Ludmila say at the same time. Marotti raises one eyebrow, numbly, and then shakes his head: “Ok, fine. Promotional shoots will go through our new creative director, and-”

“New?” Manuel asks suddenly. “Why do we need a new one? What’s wrong with Lucia?”

Marotti takes one second to suck in a breath, as clearly he did not want to address this issue now, but alas. “We had to let go of Lucia last month for her…behaviour towards some of our clients. But don’t worry! We have a long list of possible names who are all very excited to join the YouMix family-”

“Yeah, I got it,” Manuel dismisses him. “I don’t need the whole speech. Just let me know when you find a new one. They go through me.”

In the mean time, Naty tries to remember where she’s heard Lucia’s name before. Wasn’t she someone she met during the interview? That…strange lady who was telling her to get naked in the dressing room- suddenly her behaviour issues make a lot more sense. If Rubina was the one to report the weird harassment to whoever fired her, then Naty owes her one.

“Anyway, as we finalise the new name, we have a few exciting things on the horizon this month. We want you to focus mainly on the rehearsals as the tour is coming up, but still, we have organised a fun weekend thanks to our friends over at WearItFit, with a promo shoot, an ad to promote their new drink, and a popup meeting with fans! Since they’re the main sponsor of the tour they’re more than willing to help wherever necessary. Plus, they love you.”

Ludmila remembers the last time she had to wear one of their horrible hoodies with a nonsensical proverbial quote such as An apple a day keeps the doctor away, but WearItFit helps you every day! She’s still not sure one, what that means, and two, how all of that fit on that pathetic excuse of a clothing item. “We love them too,” she says, emotionless.

“Perfect then! A match made in heaven, like our girls right here,” Marotti pats Naty, closest to him, on the head. The giggle she coughs out is a cocktail of nerves, bitter irony, and quite frankly, irritation. “If that’s all, then…I suppose it’s time to talk real business.” He takes two envelopes out of his folder, and the warning bell rings in Naty’s head like that very first day - she knows what those are. Again?

Ludmila and Naty are, once again, presented with pens and papers: a chunky-looking NDA, way thicker than last month’s, and another contract. Naty sees the scene in slow motion: the papers hitting the table, Ludmila picking up the pen, no, no, not this time - her hand leaves Ludmila’s, as she slaps the pen out of her grip. It clatters on the ground, making all the men in the room just stare at her - even the mysterious woman taking notes stops for a moment to take a good, studying look at her. “I-” Naty turns red. Her body went into survival mode, she just had to act, but of course this is not how she wanted to-

“Natalia, what is going on?” Ludmila hisses. And at least this pushes the words out of the curly-haired girl: “Can we- go over these for a moment before we sign?”

Ludmila stares daggers at her. “Natalia-”

Marotti frowns. “They’re the same as last month’s.” To him, this is a professional hangup. But Naty can’t let this small hangup become a problem of gargantuan dimensions in the future. Plus, not only is that a blatant lie, given the sheer dimension of them, but that’s also precisely the problem. She’s never read that first contract, and she’s not about to make that same mistake again. “I know, um- just the two of us, for a moment.”

Marotti dares look back at the executives, raising both his shoulders. Manuel and Lucas give each other a knowing nod, and the former lowers Valeria’s notebook for her: “This goes off the record. Fine, ten minutes. But be quick, we have a flight to catch and we need these all signed before that.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Naty goes so far as to bow her head at him as he takes his phone out of his pocket and walks out, followed by an annoyed Lucas, and a reluctant Valeria. Marotti is the one to close the line, and as he shuts the doors behind them, he gives the two girls a stone-cold look. “Careful,” is all he says.

Even though she waits for the click of the doors, Ludmila’s tone is so loud no wall can conceal it. “What the fuck, Natalia! Do you want these people to hate us?!”

“Last time I signed a contract without even looking at it this happened, so forgive me for wanting a bit more clarity with this situation!” Naty rolls her eyes as she takes the NDA in one hand, trying to run through the thousand points - but as hard as she tries to read, the main problem isn’t Ludmila’s constant buzz as she goes off about God-knows-what, it’s the legal jargon, and Naty can’t make sense of any of it. “In connection with its respective evaluation of the transaction…each party, their respective affiliates and their respective directors, officers, employees, agents or advisors…do we even have agents and advisors?” Naty scratches her head, losing her fingers in her own curls. “A party disclosing its Confidential Information to the other party is hereafter referred to as a Disclosing Party. A party receiving the Confidential Information of a Disclosing Party is hereafter referred to as a Receiving Party. Ay, I’m actually gonna cry. This makes zero sense.”

“Do you think this is any time to party, Nat?” Ludmila rests her head on the table, defeated. “See, this is why we had my mother here last time. At least she helped with-”

“Helped?!” Naty laughs, baffled. “I’m sorry, did you say helped?! How exactly did she help us last time?!”

Ludmila blinks once. “She was a comforting presence.”

“In what universe is your mother a comforting presence?” Naty asks in a tone that suggests she now believes Ludmila has completely lost her mind. And Ludmila doesn’t favour that tone. “You don’t get it.”

“No I don’t, that’s why I’m asking! What the hell was that about in the car? Who does she think I am, an actual threat?”

“Ugh, get over yourself- she was trying to be nice and supportive for once!”

“Nice? Supportive? Priscila?” Naty giggles bewilderedly, “Are we talking about the same person right now?! She hates me, she’s always hated me and you know it!”

“Do we have to talk about my mother all the time?”

“You brought her up! You asked her to drive us here- you were laughing with her and hugging her- what is going on, Ludmila? Are you in trouble? Is she-”

“Oh, so now people can’t change,” is Ludmila’s quick interruption.

Naty’s reply comes just as quickly. “No, they can’t.”

Ludmila and Naty hold each other’s gaze in a way they’ve done countless times before when they argued, and yet, and yet. There’s no battle here. Pools and pools of contempt to drown in, that’s for sure, but this is no argument - maybe a screaming match, or a need to let stuff out. There’s an argument where both parties can at least communicate. But not even being able to see the giant wall between them, the way the two of them are talking in circles, to themselves more than each other, makes these ten minutes of torture utterly pointless. 

“Natalia, what did I do to you?” Ludmila breaks the silence. “Because you’re acting like you did when I used to do stuff to you, and I can’t have you being all petty with me for no reason. Can you just snap out of it so we can have a civil conversation?”

The way she’s speaking, Ludmila Ferro might really believe she’s capable of holding a civil conversation. But she does have a point, doesn’t she? She hasn’t done anything. In fact, Naty’s wounds are nothing if not self-inflicted. Being hung up on one little phrase. So stupid. So childish. Ludmila hasn’t done anything, and yes, that’s the problem in and of itself, but it’s also exactly why Naty isn’t allowed to be mad at her. Because who she should be mad at right now is herself and herself only.

Swallow the pain, Nat. Keep internalising it, genius idea! I’m sure nothing can go wrong, can it? 

“Ugh, shut up!” Naty cries, exasperated at the voice inside her head. “Seriously? I’m trying to talk to you and you just tell me to shut up?!” Ludmila bites back.

“You didn’t do anything,” Naty says with yet another forced smile. “You’re not the problem.”

You pathetic liar.

The smile broadens, not too dissimilar from the one Ludmila saw in her nightmare, minus the gory details. What that is supposed to even mean, the blonde has no idea, but if Naty refuses to cooperate, if she’s more comfortable living in this precarious state of bubbling animosity for the rest of her life then so be it. Ludmila was definitely not the right person to tell her who and who not to hold a grudge against. “Alright. Then keep reading your contract,” she replies, and gets her pen from the floor to actually sign hers. Naty watches her defeatedly, “You’re ok with just signing something even if you have no idea what it says?”

“Honestly, I don’t care about the fine print in a situation like this. The big letters are fucked enough as is,” Ludmila scans both documents to see where her signature’s supposed to fit. Naty sighs deeply. “We needed a lawyer here with us.”

“A lawyer?” Ludmila snorts not even looking her way. “What for? Do you think we’re doing something illegal here?”

“It’s not that, you just…need someone who can handle this stuff to advise you on what to do- if Violetta’s lawyer-butler-person-friend had looked over your contract a couple years ago, you wouldn’t have had to do the pig com-”

“Shut it.”

It’s not a laugh, but at least Naty allows herself to exhale through her nose. That will never, ever get old. “That’s what I mean, though. I don’t want us to be stuck in something like that here.”

“Natalia, we’re the biggest clients YouMix have ever had, and we’re about to go on an international tour, think about it. They’re not going to ridicule us any time soon. We’re the stars.” As Ludmila pushes away her signed papers, there’s some sort of edge in her words that almost makes them haunting: she’s trying to convince herself as well. And she said we - she needs Naty by her side at least on this.

“Ludmi…I’m not sure I want to sign.”

Ludmila puts her pen down, and faces Naty fully, turning her chair. “What’s the problem?” she says, with the tone of someone who wants to get it over with. Despite her best efforts, Naty still feels herself going small at that. “I don’t- I don’t know-”

“Is Marotti the problem? Is YouMix the problem?” Ludmila crosses her legs, her pretty star pants creaking at the contact of the fabric, and swooshes her blond hair away from her face. Her annoyed signature pout comes out in full force then, and why Naty feels like she’s being stripped naked, she has no idea. “Is the tour the problem, Natalia?”

“No. I- I don’t think so.”

“Ah. You don’t think so.” Ludmila looks at her in the dead quiet. “Am I the problem?”

Here she is giving her a chance to tell her everything, from A to Z, lay it all out in the open, be honest for once, just this once- “I told you you’re not,” Naty avoids her stare. Typical.

“So what is it, Nat?”

“I don’t-”

“Because I think I figured it out.” Unexpectedly, Ludmila grabs her purse, slinging on one side of her chair, and takes out…a notebook. It takes just that one distracted glance at it for Naty’s breath to catch. Not just a notebook. The notebook.

And suddenly Naty’s transported back to simpler times, Ludmila’s hands in her hair, the aroma of the park, the grass, the wind, the hope. The naivety. The silly, selfish dreams. The blindfold she’d willingly tied around her eyes. Naty shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She’s never gonna get through any of this if even just the sight of an object gets her mind to relapse. So all she does is clear her throat. “What do you mean?”

“Remember those rules we wrote a while ago?”

What a joke of a question. “Yes.”

“And do you know where we messed up with that?”

Naty has to blink away the pointed look she really wants to give her right now. “Where.”

“Whatever those rules were, they were for us. But we don’t need rules, we already have them with YouMix. We need hard vetos.”

Naty looks at the pages she’s flicking, and the one where all their rules had been neatly written together seems to have been ripped out.

Rule number one: don’t insult Naty. Where the limits of an insult were established, she was never sure. Maybe what happened in that car could’ve qualified as an insult of the worst kind. Ripped out.

Rule number two: don’t tighten your jaw. Ludmila can do whatever she wants with her body, after all. And now that Naty was on the edge of figuring out what that involuntary gesture really meant, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her best guess was grim enough. Ripped out.

Rule number three: don’t say things that might make each other uncomfortable. They might’ve never followed this one in the first place. But if the mere presence of someone already makes you so uncomfortable, what difference do words make? Ripped out.

Rule number four: normal sleep schedules. Even if that was mostly meant for Ludmila to follow, recent developments found Naty as the most thorough rule breaker. Ripped out.

Rule number five: Ludmila initiates touching. And she did. She did. She initiated many things. Most things. Ripped out.

Rule number six: from now on, no more lying. But did Ludmila even lie from that moment on? No. In fact, she was way too honest. My only one? What kind of bullshit is that now? Thank the stars my brain seems to have erased that. Ripped out, and Naty would’ve chewed on that paper if given the opportunity.

“Here,” Ludmila flips the page to an empty one where there’s only one line written out, small enough that Naty has to lean in to read its content.

Rule number seven: no kissing.

Oh boy.

Naty turns around and Ludmila’s face is so close to her she might already be thinking of breaking this new rule. Startled, she pushes her chair back and almost stumbles out of it. “Ludmi-”

“No, wait, hear me out.” Ludmila pulls out her astronomer voice, the one she puts on when she’s about to go into a long, detailed explanation of something that doesn’t require it at all. “You and I, we’re like…two asteroids, spinning around each other. But we used to be one, until the sunlight split us apart. How that works, is that YouMix is the sunlight, and it hit us and we absorbed it, and expelled it in a way that gave us enough momentum to spin and spin towards the Earth until, get this, the force outward from the rotation overpowers the gravitational pull inward and we split!”

Naty looks at her with narrowed eyes. “I wasn’t supposed to get any of that, was I?”

“What’s so hard to understand, Natalia?! It’s the YORP effect!”

“You just made that up. You have to have made that up. There’s no way there’s something called the YORP effect.”

“Whatever, look it up in your free time, I don’t have the patience right now.”

“No, me neither, Ludmi,” Naty’s head falls in her hands, “we are Argentina’s number one couple right now and you want us not to kiss?”

“As I was saying, I studied this, and it ruins our whole flow! Not only does it obviously make us uncomfortable, but it’s unnecessary and- and only bad things have happened after we kissed!” Ludmila points at the notebook, emphasising every word. “The first one, I don’t even have to say it. The second one, the interview went all weird and- the one during the interview messed you up! Now you’re acting like I poisoned you or something!”

Naty’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Is Ludmila seriously trying to blame all her wrongdoings on their kisses? “Ludmi. We can’t not kiss.”

“Well…” Ludmila leans back on her chair, her already brittle confidence dissipating at the fact that Naty isn’t immediately on board with her. “As YouMix’s most important clients right now, I believe we’re allowed to have a few rules of our own. What are they gonna do, drop us? We’re everywhere! We’re the best thing that’s happened to them since…ever!”

Naty recognises it in that look, she was about to say since Vilu. But she’s right. Damn it all, she’s right. “And how do you suppose we go about that?”

“Clearly, they need us to sign these contracts. What we do is, we hold onto them until they give us what we want.”

“Ludmila, you already signed yours.”

Ludmila lets a quiet beat pass, then pushes the contract off the table like a cat. “That doesn’t matter. We still have yours. And I know I’m the star here and I could go on without you, but still, we can try. Plus, if they drop you, nobody important gets hurt!”

She really lives in her own world, doesn’t she? Hasn’t she connected the dots from seeing that second check in her room? That she’s the one that’s at risk here? That if Naty wanted, she’d be gone in the blink of an eye? That the dynamic here isn't the one they had three years ago? That everything changed? No, she likes the reality she built for herself at the beginning of her career and has no intention of ever peeking out her window. “Ludmila…about Monday.”

Ludmila’s eyes widen like she’s just been punched in the gut. “What about Monday?”

“We need to talk- well, I need to apologise.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for,” Ludmila straightens her posture, her hands going for the notebook as she closes it and puts it back in her purse. “There is,” Naty insists. “No, there isn’t- in fact, I barely even remember what happened on Monday!”

“Ludmila, the check-”

“It was a moment of-” Ludmila stops in her tracks. “The check?”

“Yeah, I need to explain what happened to you, I don’t want you to think-”

“Who cares about our checks? They’re just money. Why, are you gonna start complaining they gave you less than me? Call that a reality check.”

“But I’m not saying-”

“And we both leaned in, didn’t we?!” Ludmila erupts, so loud she winces when she realises how she’s exploded. “We agreed that we both accidentally- and that happened. I moved on, you should too.”

Before Naty says anything else, realisation hits her like a train. Ludmila didn’t see the second check from Rubina. That’s not why she left that day. She has no idea. She actually has no idea. There’s a level of sick and twisted advantage now that Naty isn’t even sure she should have. But she does. And until she figures out what she wants to do with it, she’ll hold onto it for safety.

“So we agree?” Ludmila asks when enough quiet time has passed. “No more kissing?”

There’s a split second where she dares look at Naty with a beggar’s eyes. One last time she allows herself to believe maybe Naty doesn’t want this. Maybe Naty wants to kiss her every second of every minute of every hour, and she’ll hate this veto vehemently, and she’ll fight for them, for their right to kiss. That she’ll say she did lean in. She did want it. That she’s sorry for wiping Ludmila’s lips away from hers like there really was poison in them. 

“No more kissing,” Naty echoes her. That’s the answer Ludmila was expecting anyway. And that smile afterwards is the last confirmation she needed. Naty doesn’t care. “Perfect.”

Right as she says that, the doors to the hall open to reveal the three men striding to the table, Valeria quick on their trail. Leo is still nowhere to be seen, but at this point he might’ve left altogether. “So, what’ll it be, girls?” Marotti’s hands are already stretched outward as to grab their signed contracts.

“Just one thing,” Ludmila crosses her arms smugly. “We’ve decided to sign your contracts as long as you listen to our one request.”

“Request?” Marotti’s hand goes to his forehead. “What request?”

“We don’t want to kiss anymore.”

Everyone in the room stares at Ludmila, perplexed. Naty can’t handle the pressure and almost hides behind her. Marotti takes a deep breath and tries to sound friendly when he asks, “Why?”

Of course they would’ve expected a motivation. Naty looks around herself trying to figure out something, anything plausible. “We-”

“Natalia is an awful kisser.”

To say this leaves Naty dumbfounded is an understatement. “I’m sorry?” 

“I know, I know, it’s embarrassing for you to admit, but we have to give these people an explanation!” Ludmila nods. Manuel exchanges a look with Marotti. “Shall we call the intimacy coordinator? He owes me a favour.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’m sure our girls will snap out of it now.” Marotti glares at them, and Naty knows she needs to find a better reason - one that doesn’t throw her under the bus, possibly. “The problem here is…I’m…always chewing gum, and- and! Ludmila’s allergic to mint,” Naty concludes proud to have landed on her feet.

According to her. “I’m allergic to mint?” Ludmila repeats mockingly. “That doesn’t even exist-”

“Ay, Ludmi, yes it does, I know you feel like it’s something to be ashamed of, but I love you anyway.”

“If she’s allergic to mint, why don’t you just chew a different flavour of gum?” Lucas asks like it’s the most obvious thing - which it kind of is. Naty hadn’t thought that far. “All gum contains residues of mint, a recent study found out,” she tries. Lucas raises his hands. “Then don’t chew gum?”

“Miss Ferro already signed her contract.”

Everyone turns to look at the source of that voice, just to see Valeria crouched down on the floor. She rises, Ludmila’s NDA and contract in her hand. “We only need Miss Vidal’s.” Even though all people in the room seem startled to have finally heard her speak, the men’s entire behaviour changes, especially Marotti’s: “I’m sure you understand, Naty, that this is a very hard compromise to meet, considering your…position here.”

Naty steals a glance at Ludmila, who doesn’t look too pleased to have been completely stepped over in this transaction. Still, she tries to stand her ground. “Uh- well. We don’t need to explain ourselves. This is our one condition. So.” She shrugs. “Take it or leave it.” Assertion really wasn’t a look that fit her, but this is all she can do.

Before Marotti says anything else, Manuel takes him by the shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Ludmila and Naty look at them with raised eyebrows, then at each other, until finally Marotti announces: “We’ll figure something out for you. Now please sign.”

Naty realises that’s definitely the best she’ll get here, and quickly signs the contracts before they’re ripped out of her grasp. “Thank you,” Manuel smiles, and goes to shake her hand. “We’ll be in touch soon. For any questions about stuff like transport, and the private jets - Ludmila and Naty’s eyes light up at those words - just ask Marotti, he’s the one in charge when it comes to you two.” He only looks at Ludmila’s extended hand and gives her a little nod, before leaving hurriedly, Lucas on his feet. Valeria clicks her pen shut, and with one last look at the two of them, she’s the one closing the line.

When they’re gone, Marotti puts both hands on his head as if trying to squeeze his skull. “You don’t want to kiss?! Do you know what being in a relationship means?!” he groans. “I’m gonna get fired for this!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Ludmila says. “They were fine with it.”

“They were desperate to catch their flight!”

“We’re the clients and we have rights! Oh, speaking of. I don’t know who’s writing our scripts but they need to either be fired or changed quickly. I’m not making a fool of myself like during the Rafa Palmer show ever again.”

Marotti’s fist presses hard on his lips. “And just how many of those rights do you think you have?”

“You invited us to the meeting, Marotti.”

“I followed Rubina’s advice- wait, where’s Rubina?” She said she’d be right back at the beginning of this meeting. Perhaps Angie managed to hold her back longer than she’d hoped. Good for her. “I don’t care who did what, we are here now,” Ludmila points an accusatory finger at him. “If I ever have to say some bullshit like you’re my only one again I’m leaving.”

“That- was never in the script. I read it myself, that- I’d remember it. Naty, do you remember it?” Before Marotti can say anything else the laughter that comes out of Naty startles all three of them. But she can’t help it. “Sorry,” she says, before letting another burst of laughter come out of her. “See, we both think it’s ridiculous!” Ludmila uses it to her advantage. “It’s been haunting me for days, that’s how dumb it is. Fix it!”

“I’m not your butler, Ludmila. Now go. I need to talk to Naty, alone.”

“Why? Whatever you tell her you can tell me as well.”

“It’s about her song.”

Ludmila rolls her eyes. “Fine. I don’t care anyway.” She slings her purse on her shoulder and marches away. “See you on Monday, Nat, don’t be late!”

Marotti watches her leave as he shakes his head helplessly. “What is wrong with her?”

Naty has managed to hold a battle against her tears, but her eyes are still glossy as she says, “That’s Ludmila for you.” Relentless on her path to destruction. Fix it. How Naty wishes she could. “Alright, so what about my song?”

“Actually…” Marotti starts, “I wanted to ask you if you’d reconsidered that solo contract.”

Naty sighs, “Mar-”

“No, just let me explain. The executives were very impressed by you today, and they don’t want to let you go any time soon. Ludmila is…Ludmila, but you have so much potential, Naty. Plus, with your sister on board now, we could really do something special, without having to rely on your troublemaker girlfriend.”

Naty doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be a solo artist. She doesn’t even want to be an artist, per se. She wants to write. Everything that comes after that is out of her comfort zone, and jurisdiction. Plus, how would Ludmila even take it?

Wait. Why is she worrying about that? Clearly, if it were the other way around, Ludmila wouldn’t even consider her feelings in the matter. So why should Naty play the role of the martyr if there’s nothing in it for her?

Hesitantly, very hesitantly, Naty feels the cogs of the most recondite part of her brain turning. There’s nothing wrong with keeping her options open. Not like she’ll ever actually do this. “I’ll think about it,” is all she says - but it’s enough to make Marotti nearly somersault in the air. “Yes! Yes, thank you! And of course, I don’t have to tell you this, but don’t say a word to Ludmila. You don’t know anything about this, understood?”

“Of course,” Naty scratches the back of her neck. “But can you not send me double checks? I really don’t want to be bribed with more money.”

“What double checks?” Marotti says, still ecstatic from the positive outcome. Naty furrows her brows, before she understands his game - from now on they’re playing dumb. “Right, what double checks?” she laughs, elbowing him softly. He still looks very confused, but just shrugs it off. “I’ll go look for Rubina and we can talk about this again soon. Seriously, thank you. I know today was a stressful day, especially with Valeria there.”

“Valeria? Oh, the woman? She didn’t seem so bad.”

“Yeah, but I get that everything becomes more stressful with a lawyer in the room, so thank you for keeping it professional.”

Naty’s mind blanks. Slowly, words come back to her, but it’s hard to even breathe. “A…lawyer?”

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry about that though, she only has to be in the room when we renew contracts. Those ten minutes really scared me, Naty! For a moment I thought you’d desert us or something. But that’s on us for making that last contract last only a month.”

If her face could sink any deeper, by now it would be melted on the floor. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault. We were careless to leave open that window between a contract and another. But that first month was an experiment, and this contract now is the way we all love them to be: indefinite!” Marotti shakes his head as he keeps laughing, “Can you believe you almost weren’t signed to us this whole week? Crazy, right? What we made you sign here today is rock solid and foolproof. Or Ludmila-proof, if you will,” he pats her on the back. “Seriously, Naty, you couldn’t have made a better choice here.”

Naty’s migraine blares in her brain like a fire drill. At that moment, as she slowly makes her way to the exit, a sluggish pace that has her struggling to even properly put one foot in front of the other, she thinks no other statement could be more factually untrue.

(As Naty leaves, Marotti takes out his phone and registers a voice note: “Keep in mind for the future: you're my only one. Very marketable.”)

But she does think twice before calling for the elevator. Instead of putting herself through that again, she looks for the stairs.

She was not signed under YouMix for almost a week. She could’ve done anything with that time. Talked to Lena, talked to her friends, found a solution with the Studio, and yet…she just signed again. Not only that, she gave her word to Marotti himself that she’ll consider a solo career. How mindless could she really be? What did she think she’d get by shaking hands with their worst enemy? Just because Ludmila thinks their words are dumb?

Think of the devil.

Naty finds the blond menace standing at the top of the stairs- no, the escalator. She’s gripping both handrails for dear life without moving an inch. Before Naty can say anything, she remembers that moment at the airport at the end of their last tour. Before everything happened. Before it all came crashing down. Like she crashed down.

“Don’t just stare at me like that,” Ludmila says out of the blue, catching Naty unprepared. “I know I’m ridiculous.”

Naty softens at the tone she’s met with. “Ludmi.”

“Don’t Ludmi me! This is stupid, I can-” And yet, she can’t even put her foot on the first step. She’s completely frozen in place. “I’ll get over it.”

Naty’s body reacts before her mind can. “Ludmi, let me help.”

“Hah! How?! Do you want to bridal carry me down the escalator?!”

“No,” Naty is now standing right behind her. “But you can hold my hand as we go down.”

Ludmila turns to her, finding her unexpectedly close, and having to grip the handrails even tighter not to lose her balance. Her face is so pale it shines under the light of the sun, a ray hitting her square in the eyes. She squints. “Do you think this is funny?”

“I think you can’t live on this second floor for the rest of your life. And also that you’d rather die than take the elevator again.” Ludmila’s expression is so mortified, as if Naty had proposed to her something indecent. This only helps soften Naty’s eyes. “Ludmi, it’s ok if you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared!” Ludmila laughs loudly, as if the mere suggestion of that is ridiculous. “Ok, then,” Naty shrugs. “Go ahead.”

“I will,” the blonde says, and puts one foot forward. When the escalator starts effectively propelling her body forward is when her eyes go wider than wide, and suddenly not even the handrails can help her. A muffled yelp is followed by a strained cry as she tries her hardest not to fall down again - before she’s met with strong Naty’s strong grip. She turns - now it’s Naty’s face that’s blinded by the light of the sun. “See? It’s ok.”

Ludmila feels her cheeks heat exponentially. She just turns back the other way, but tightens the grip on Naty’s hand. “Whatever.”

As they go down, Naty feels so much guilt bubbling up inside every inch of her body that she needs to occupy that space with something - anything - else, and as she goes over today’s events one thing in particular comes to mind. “Wait, you called us two asteroids?” she giggles. “That’s new. Usually I’m the pathetic asteroid and you’re the unreachable supernova.”

“It’s a metaphor, Natalia,” Ludmila is quick in rebuttal. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even got any of that. If you’d studied the YORP effect you’d know what I was talking about.”

“Yeah, hm, still not sure that word exists.”

“It’s an acronym, not a word.”

“Oh, like Natalila?”

“No, that’s our pairing name. YORP is-” Naty giggles quietly again before Ludmila can finish her explanation. “What is funny now?”

“Sorry, go on.”

“As I was saying, YORP is-” Naty can’t help the giggle, and Ludmila groans: “You just want me to say YORP, don’t you?”

“It’s a funny word,” Naty is full on laughing. Ludmila’s heart tightens at that. That selfish, selfish desire may never leave, but perhaps a veto on Naty’s lips might help tame the hunger. Either way, just because that instrument is off limits, it doesn’t mean Ludmila isn’t allowed to listen to its music. As Naty laughs, Ludmila just closes her eyes. And when she opens them again, it’s because they’ve arrived on the ground floor.

“There we go!” Naty pats her hand as she lets go of it. “Congratulations, you managed to go down an escalator.”

“Shut up,” Ludmila immediately distances herself as she starts walking away. Then, after a few steps, she goes still again. Turning around, a sheepish, timid smile threatens to take control of her mouth. But she can’t help it. “You heard private jets too, didn’t you?”

“Private jets,” Naty says with just as much wonder in her tone. “Private jets…” Ludmila echoes her. They don’t realise now, but they’re such an easy buy. “Well. See you on Monday,” the blonde shakes her head and starts her way out the building again - before she turns one last time.

And she mouths thank you.

It reminds Naty of a memory not too distant, her first time talking to someone who would become a permanent antagonist in her life. It’s the little things - I’m sorry, thank you - that suddenly weigh down on Naty like a ton of bricks. She doesn’t deserve this. Ludmila doesn’t deserve this.

But she mocked their special words. She ridiculed her in front of Marotti, made fun of their oath. Forgot the most important part of their entire friendship. She made her sign that evil contract, again. She treats her like shit and then two words can bring her right back to her doorstep? No. Unfair.

But her heart’s beating in her throat now. There was a lawyer there. There were executives and a lawyer, and a tour and a contract that may as well last a lifetime. There’s Marotti, and Rubina, and those men, and a battle against the Studio she can’t even seem to be allowed to say the name of.

And then there’s Ludmila Ferro. She fits nowhere, and Naty still takes out her own organs to make Ludmila a home inside of her. Single anomaly Ludmila Ferro still triumphs even when Naty has sealed her heart shut. She can’t go through this again.

She promised Marotti she’d think about that solo contract. That’s as good as saying she’ll sign it. She can’t go through this again.

She’s keeping secrets. She can’t go through this again.

That night. That very first night.

You like her, don’t you? Well, there’s something you should know.

You can trust me. She’s head over heels for you too.

She’s just waiting for you to make the first move.

So, Naty, what are you waiting for?

Naty catches herself moments before plummeting to the ground, her weak knees buckling like the strongest earthquake has targeted her and her only. She barely manages to rest her back against the nearest wall that she’s sliding down, until, sitting crumpled on the floor, she hugs her knees and lets her head rest between them, and she just sobs. Sobs and sobs and sobs.

Ay Nat, Ludmila’s voice inside her brain berates her. What a mess you’ve made of things.

“I like them! They’re cute together.”

“Jade, to me it just seems like they can’t stand each other,” Angie grimaces as she turns yet another corridor - this place really is a maze. A cold, unwelcoming maze. “No, Angie, they’re just nervous!” Jade explains. “I’d be nervous too if I had to work in here. It’s such a scary place, and so ugly too. Seriously, who thought the red and orange would go well together? It’s like some people don’t even know what colour theory is.”

“Do you?” Angie swings the hands they have intertwined together. “Excuse me? Have you seen me? Of course I do. But really, it’s all about having even the slightest amount of good t-” Jade has to cover her own mouth before her loud high-pitched gasp threatens to break the windows next to her. “What? What’s going on?” Angie takes one protective step in front of her.

“Oh God, what’s that woman done to her hair?!” Jade points a finger to a figure standing a little further from them at the end of the corridor, her blond hair sticking together like a piece of Lego. Angie looks at the memo Pablo had sent her this morning. Meeting with Rubina in room 205. That has to be it…thus, this must be the famous Rubina Cingolani. Her hair does look kind of funny. “Jade, you can’t say that. It’s a wig, maybe she’s bald-”

“Oh no, no, no, Angeles. That is not a wig. That’s someone who needed to dye their hair fast but had no idea what they were doing and ended up with- whatever that is!” She turns to Angie with imploring eyes, “Please, Angie, let me talk to her for a moment and then we’ll do whatever you want. I just need to help her. She can’t live her life thinking that’s an ok thing to do to her poor hair!”

Angie opens her mouth to say something, but then shakes her head with a small smile. “Alright, fine, you do your thing. But that’s the woman I need to talk to, so don’t scare her off, ok?”

“Me? Scare people off?” Jade pffts. “If anything, she’ll thank me for the rest of her life.”

Angie presses a soft, quick kiss to Jade’s cheek. “Definitely.” With that, she disappears inside room 205, with one last wink Jade’s way. The raven-haired woman holds her cheek, a grin growing on her lips, the spot where Angie’s touched her heating up. With that small blessing, she marches up to Rubina. “Excuse me! Lady! YouMix assistant woman!”

Rubina, still turned around, suddenly jumps up as Jade comes close, and seems to want to bolt away. “No, no, I only want to help you take care of your hair! What shampoo are you using? Because right now it looks like you’re a Christmas tree decoration and yes, they’re pretty, but they’re not a compliment when it comes to-”

“I don’t have time right now, excuse me,” Rubina says hoarsely, lowers her head and tries to run, bumping into Jade’s shoulder as she makes her escape, her sunglasses clattering to the floor-

Unfortunately for her, Jade’s been gifted with the most impressive of auditory memories.

“Oh, hi Esmeralda!”

A beat.

Rubina’s head rises, and as those unmistakable emerald green eyes meet Jade’s, her own brain catches up to her.

Jade goes completely still. “Esmeralda?”

Rubina is quick to grab her big sunglasses again, putting them back on at record speed. Jade doesn’t even know what to say, how to react, as Esmeralda presses a hand to her mouth, hard. “You are not ruining this for me again. If you don’t shut up, I’ll kill you,” she seethes, and just like that, she’s gone.

Jade doesn’t move for a few minutes, until Angie reemerges from her room: “Where is Rubina?”

And Jade shakes her head. “Who is Rubina?” she asks innocuously.

But as of right now, she might be the only person in the world who knows the answer to that question.