Chapter Text
Someone once told Agatha that she hated having to admit she was wrong more than actually being wrong, and she didn't think too hard about it.
People say stuff—it doesn't mean she has to listen, or care. So she did neither.
But now, lying in Rio's bed for the third night in a row…now she thinks about it.
She's hot , she told herself first, she knows music , that's it. But now…now is not so simple.
Rio sleeps on her back with her arms open and legs outstretched, like the world’s cutest starfish—fuck.
Rio sleeps like she has no care in the world, like she's never been hurt, like she's not scared something will come at night and take everything from her.
And Agatha doesn't understand that.
How this bumbling idiot—this talented musician, attractive dumbass of an intern—just... does that.
Rio seems to charge through life with that misplaced confidence and awkward charm, and just a smidge of smug bullshittery when Agatha least expects it.
God... she’s everything Agatha never thought she'd be into wrapped in the body of a hot twenty-year-old who is obsessed with her. Because yes, Agatha has noticed that.
As has everyone with a set of eyes and a working brain. So probably not Jen.
Rio stirs in her sleep, bringing Agatha back to the moment, and she decides she cannot, in fact, handle this—whatever this is—while in such close proximity to this woman.
She gets up, stretches her arms over her head, and grabs a hoodie from the desk, sliding it on and stepping onto the balcony.
Agatha chuckles when she notices the stupid bulldog-with-a-hat design on Rio’s hoodie as she lights a cigarette.
She stays like that for a while, silently contemplating the night sky. Sometimes she wonders if she could ever be a normal person—if she could live life like Rio does: studying and working, and one day going home to a wife and two children.
Agatha is a star. She commands audiences with her presence. People love her. Women (and men—ew) fall for her. She’s something on stage that she can never quite be off of.
Untouchable.
Strong.
Unbroken.
When the lights dim, Agatha just is, and she's not overly fond of that.
All her life’s work has led her here. She's barely twenty-two, and the world is in her grasp. So… why does it still feel like it's not enough? Why does one dumb intern with an unhealthy relationship with hot chocolate and way too much college merch throw her off so much?
Agatha is on the precipice of her career and then this one girl shows up and just undoes her?
The question sounds stupid on principle, but the fact that she keeps coming back to Rio like a woman starved—and not the other way around—is cause for concern.
Because Agatha knows how to have fun. She’s taken girls back to hotel rooms—fans after shows, models she met at fashion week, the occasional girl at a bar. But Agatha is always gone by morning. She's not in it for the long haul.
So... why the fuck is she still here?
The question bounces around in her head, and her one cigarette becomes two, like maybe she’ll find the answer in the ashes.
She thinks back to their first meeting—Rio playing her music, acting like she knew better than Agatha. Fixing her song. God. Agatha had wanted to hurt her back then, to shove her around, show her her place.
Rio had resisted and bent in equal measure. She’d demanded, with her actions, to be treated as an equal. And Agatha had known, sitting on that piano bench, watching the intern drum to her heart’s content, that Rio was a star.
And Agatha, well… she was into it. She is still into it.
Which is why Rio not calling pissed her off. Agatha doesn’t chase people. But she went after Rio, and her stupid chocolate kisses, and into her bed—and woke up the next morning to an empty bed and the awful sounds of off-key piano notes.
They’d drunk coffee, and Agatha had tried to get her to play the song right—with little success—before dragging her back into bed with the excuse that she needed to wipe the memory from her brain to see Rio in a good light again.
Agatha had fun. Which shouldn’t be strange, but it caught her off guard. In truth, she'd met Rio without any intentions of ending up here—and maybe that’s where she went wrong. Because she liked her before she had her. And now it’s fucking with her head.
And it’s not just that. They didn’t even have sex last night. If they had, Agatha could rationalize it. But they just made out for a while, and when Agatha tried to pull Rio’s t-shirt off, she grabbed her hand and asked if they could just sleep. And Agatha had nodded, dumbly. And that was that?
When her second cigarette dies out, Agatha decides the chill of the night isn’t worth it and steps back inside, sitting at the foot of the bed, gathering her thoughts.
Rio stirs again, moving blindly in the dark. “Are you leaving?”
Agatha shakes her head, climbing into bed with a sigh. “Just went for a smoke.”
“So you don’t just smoke after sex, then,” Rio says, like she’s conducting a field study and Agatha is her subject. Agatha can just make out the smile in the dark.
“Sometimes I smoke before,” Agatha replies, seductively.
Rio shakes her head with a quiet laugh.
“I’m just saying… I’m leaving tomorrow, y’know, and it’s two whole weeks before you get another chance with me…”
Rio rolls her eyes, like the idea of her not getting another chance with Agatha is ridiculous. It is. Rio is not supposed to know that though.
Rio stares at her for a moment, thoughtful. “Come here.”
Agatha stays rooted on the spot, caught in the fond tilt of Rio's voice when she speaks. “What—?” She cuts herself off, because Rio is looking at her like she’s trying to read her mind and not listening at all.
“Do you–I—” Rio stammers, and Agatha exhales, tired. She wants to laugh, but Rio’s eyebrows are furrowed, her expression intense—like she’s trying to get inside her head.
“Choose a sentence and stick with it,” Agatha says. She means to sound cutting, but her voice comes out more like a whine—breathless. She wants to hide under the covers. Maybe jump off the balcony and run into the night.
What the fuck was that?
Rio cups her face—warm fingers around her jaw, brown eyes soft in a way that has no business existing in... whatever this thing is between them. Just a pair of… lesbians?
It feels wrong to assume, but…
Rio looks at her with a softness Agatha immediately blames on the hour. It’s the middle of the night, that’s all. Rio’s just a little tired, and—
Then Rio moves forward, closing the distance, and kissing her. Soft, lazy lips against her own, then down her jaw, her neck. With one last kiss, Rio lets her head rest on Agatha’s chest, arms draped lazily over her side.
She’s asleep within seconds.
Agatha stares at Rio’s head, watches her slow breathing, the way she scoots closer, burrowing herself into Agatha’s side.
What the hell.
She should push her away. Maybe even leave.
Instead, she runs a hand through Rio’s hair, careful not to make a sound, and is rewarded with a little content sigh.
This is fine.
Totally fine.
***
When Agatha was ten she told her mother she wanted to be a singer just like her.
Evanora Harkness had looked her up and down, and laughed.
You just don't have the talent, dear, her mother had said, with the usual condescending tone she saved just for her.
After that, Agatha hadn't touched the piano for years.
It was on a summer evening, when she was fourteen, that she signed to a record label. Yes, she had faked her mother's signature, but everything else was all her.
She may not have had the talent, but she had the drive, the fire, and more than anything she wanted this.
Talent or not, she was gonna make it.
And she did make it. Because her mother loved appearances more than her own daughter, and when the news broke that Agatha had been signed, she had smiled for the cameras and said all the right things, but the moment the door closed it was a whole other story.
But Agatha made it. She proved the doubters wrong. She made the great Evanora Harkness eat her words. And when her mother came after her work, her achievements, everything she had worked for, Agatha didn't let it get to her. She reinvented herself as the front woman of Sisters of the Craft, she made something her mother couldn't touch.
She won.
But for a while now she hasn't felt like a winner. The days blur together, the same routine, rinse and repeat. She knows her bandmates know that she's been trying to beat a monster they can't see. A ghost that's hers alone.
Agatha knows Alice thinks she gets it, but is not the same, Lorna Wu is not Evanora Harkness. Agatha doesn't take it lightly when she says her mother is the worst, and as much as she hates to admit it, she still thinks about her words, and sometimes she still believes them to be true.
She thinks that’s why she’s so drawn to Rio—who just has it. The talent. Agatha doesn’t think Rio knows that, or understands it fully. And Agatha oscillates between wanting to take care of her... and wanting to exploit her.
Agatha thinks Rio would let her, either way. And that thought—the power—settles uncomfortably on her chest for days.
But the tour keeps her busy. And Agatha, like she always does, lets the routine quiet the thoughts that make her uncomfortable. Her days are filled with interviews, soundchecks, and outfit changes. She eats from takeout containers while getting her hair and makeup done, and on more than one occasion, she falls into bed with some woman to end the night.
She tells herself that is unrelated. This is just how tours go. Agatha slips out of hotel rooms for a smoke and never returns. But even as she drops into her own bed, her mind always wanders to Rio—wondering what she’s doing, if there’s a woman in her bed too.
The idea makes her so upset she has a hard time figuring out what to do with it.
Most nights, she ends up taking a scalding hot shower, like she’s trying to erase the ghost of the women from her skin, then wrapping herself in the hotel’s fluffy robe and slipping into bed to not sleep.
I like you, she had told Rio. Come to Europe with me so I can prove to you… what? What did she want to prove?
She never gets to the bottom of it, tossing and turning in the bed until tiredness wins out.
Agatha checks her phone methodically, and oftentimes finds a text from Rio, something dumb, like a picture of her hot chocolate from the coffee shop on the ground floor, or a blurry picture of Ralph in another stupid bucket hat indoors. Agatha sends stuff sometimes, a photo of an empty stadium during soundcheck, or on her days off she shows Rio around, touristy shots while she hangs out with her bandmates.
It doesn't take long for her to realize Rio is never in the photos she sends—but it takes her longer to admit she wishes Rio were in them. Even longer to actually say that to Rio.
With only a few days before the intern is set to join her—the band—Agatha decides to broach the topic.
Show me your face.
She regrets the wording immediately, staring at the screen, agonizing over the message and cursing her impatience. Of course she throws her phone across the bed and leaves the room.
She finds Alice stepping out of her room and asks if she wants to get lunch.
They find a table by the floor-to-ceiling windows in the hotel’s restaurant, and Alice says something about the city outside (Paris? Not-Paris?). A waiter offers them wine and drops off the menus. Agatha scans the pages, trying to calm her racing mind.
Has Rio answered yet?
Did she send a photo?
“Did you know Rio is coming?” Alice asks conversationally, scanning her own menu, “Oh I'll have the—you think it's cool to order pasta in France?”
So they are in France. Nailed it.
Agatha shrugs, “They wouldn't put it on the menu otherwise.”
She calls the waiter over with an exaggerated wave of her hand, and the man hurries over while still trying to look elegant in his fancy uniform.
“Two pastas, and more wine,” she barks out. “And bring me more bread.”
The man takes the bread basket from her, now almost entirely made out of chunks and crumbs thanks to Agatha's nervous fidgeting, but she's already dismissed him, turning her attention to Alice who's laughing.
“You order funny,” Alice says in explanation.
“It's efficient,” Agatha counters.
Alice laughs harder. “Agatha,” she says, voice teasing, “it’s rude, and you know it.”
Agatha rolls her eyes in dismissal, and Alice chuckles again.
“So, anyways, Rio told me she's coming on Monday. Did you know? It's a day off so she could probably work on some of the stuff we left unfinished back in New York—”
“I invited her,” Agatha says, testing the words in her mouth. It's just Alice. Alice is mostly harmless.
Her bandmate doesn't seem surprised by it, her smile feels heavy with implications.
“What?” Agatha asks, immediately regretting it because her voice comes out defensive.
“Nothing,” Alice says, too confident, like she knows something Agatha doesn't. “Make sure we have time to work, yeah?”
“What–?”
Alice cuts her off with a wave, “She's here for work, dumbass. Her internship, remember? She still needs that.”
Agatha rolls her eyes like a last line of defense, but it doesn't take a genius to know Alice isn't buying it.
Lunch ends up being a bust and Agatha returns to her hotel room, finds her phone on the middle of the floor and remembers why she left in the first place.
She picks it, debating if she should check it or not. Curiosity wins after all, and Agatha finds a text from Rio waiting for her.
Should I pack this one?
And attached is a photo of Rio wearing the stupid hoodie with the bulldog in a hat. God, Agatha hates that hoodie with passion.
Yes . She texts back, and opens the photo again.
Rio stares back at her with a little smile Agatha remembers from those three days they spent together. The smile she knows means Rio is trying to contain herself.
Why does she know that? Fuck.
A second message from Rio breaks her from her reverie.
Do I get to see your face?
Agatha rolls her shoulders and exhales. It takes her a moment to think of the best response, she smirks as she types.
You can look me up on google.
Feeling like she won the interaction, Agatha drops her phone in her pocket and goes to find her bandmates.
***
On Monday Agatha makes up an excuse to skip brunch with the band and finds one of the drivers they have working with them to drive her to the airport.
She texts Rio that she's waiting for her in a car outside when she arrives, and waits, absentmindedly tapping her fingers on her leg.
She is not nervous.
But when she catches Rio stepping out the airport–looking lost and adorable, balancing her duffel bag on her shoulder, inspecting the sidewalk from under her hat– Agatha has to resist the urge to go find her. She has the driver go get her instead, sliding her sunglasses and rolling down her window.
When Rio slips into the car, Agatha smirks and presses the button to have the division come up.
“A little presumptuous,” Rio notes. Her smile is nervous, like Agatha had her moved to first class and insisted she sleep on the plane just to make her write music for the band.
“I don't think so,” Agatha says, forcing herself to stay rooted in the spot. She's going for cool, popstar Agatha here, not I-haven't-stopped-thinking-about-you-Agatha.
Rio hums thoughtfully, and slips her hand into hers as the car starts. It's so dumb, and childish, but warmth spreads in her chest at the gestures. She has to hide her giddy smile, so she looks out the window and clears her throat.
“Do you want to grab lunch?”
“Can we?” Rio asks curiously, and it dawns on Agatha what Rio means.
She shakes her head as they pass a street sign that's been vandalized by fans with graffiti of the band with Agatha front and center. “Take out?”
“What's the take out like over here like?” Rio asks, her smile soft.
Agatha shrugs, “Let's find out.”
The driver is a local, so Agatha entrusts the man with getting them good food on the way back to the hotel. Rio spends the entire trip looking out the window, taking in the city. Agatha stares at her the whole time, and refuses to call this for what it is.
The driver gets them burgers and Rio’s laughter fills the car, Agatha’s own laughter subdued because she's too busy taking in the way Rio’s whole face lights up when she laughs.
“I blame you,” Agatha tells her after a moment, moving closer so their legs are touching and taps the bill of Rio's cap with one finger. “This is yelling american undercover. Don't even get me started on the rest. Does your bag say Yale, Rio?”
Rio grins, filling her mouth with fries instead of answering.
“You think they're still called French fries here?” She asks once she's swallowed the food, grin still in place.
Agatha wants to kiss her then. God, she's so stupid . But Agatha doesn't kiss her then, because she's being cool Agatha today.
“How are you so hot and so dumb?” She says, and there goes the cool guy act.
Holy fuck, that was short lived.
But Rio whips her head and stares at Agatha like she's grown a second head. Agatha watches her recover over the course of the next minute, and the longer it goes on the less she regrets it.
“ Agatha ,” Rio says eventually, the name comes out of her mouth like a whine, and an affront.
Agatha raises an eyebrow but doesn't budge. Cool Agatha is back.
“Finish your food,” she instructs, a smug grin drawing in her lips and she knows Rio catches it because she bites a mouthful or burger muttering to herself something that sounds a lot like ‘fuck my life’.
***
“Hey, Agatha! There you are,” Lilia’s voice carries down the hotel hallway, and Agatha’s head snaps up from where she stands in the doorway of Rio’s room.
Fuck.
The three Sisters step out of the elevator on a floor that is definitely not theirs—or Agatha’s—grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Agatha thinks Jen is enjoying this the most.
“Did you get lost in another model’s pants, Agatha?” Jen asks, proving her point.
Agatha catches Rio’s gaze. The younger girl is still standing in the threshold of her room, biting her lip to contain her laughter. Agatha has half a mind to push her back inside and slam the door in her face. Or on her back. She’s not sure… or picky.
“I found Rio,” she says lamely, panic creeping in with every step her bandmates take closer.
Rio snickers and steps forward, invading Agatha’s personal space until every ragged breath Agatha takes smells like her.
“Hi,” Rio greets the band, giving Agatha a subtle nudge so it doesn’t look like they were making out in her bed five minutes ago.
Lilia ignores her greeting, stopping in front of Agatha. “Since you and Alice skipped brunch, we’re having dinner in my room.”
Agatha shoots Alice a look. Why did she miss band brunch? But Alice only glances between her and Rio with a raised eyebrow. Agatha flips her off.
“Rio is invited too, of course,” Lilia adds, giving Rio a long look, like she’s trying to see through her.
“Oh, thanks, Lilia,” Rio replies with a nervous smile.
Lilia hums, holding her gaze a moment longer, assessing, before turning on her heel and walking back the way they came.
When no one follows, she stops and sighs. “I don’t know why I joined a band with you kids,” she mutters, loud enough for them to hear. “Dinner. Now!”
“Gosh, Lilia, stop acting like my mom!” Agatha calls after her, rolling her eyes. “You’re just thirty.” She adds the last part with a mean laugh.
Lilia halts immediately, turning to face Agatha. “I am twenty-nine!”
Alice and Jen groan. Rio looks surprised—but not in a bad way—which only encourages Agatha. She grins at Lilia. “And yet you're in my band.”
“Fuck,” Alice mutters, shifting her weight like she’s trying to decide if it’s wise to intervene. Jen, beside her, openly glares at Agatha.
Rio clears her throat, stepping between the bandmates with that misplaced confidence again. God, she’s hot when she does that. Agatha watches her move flawlessly among them like she belongs.
“What floor are you guys on?” Rio asks over her shoulder, already walking toward the elevator. “I did some tweaks on the song we were last working on. I think you’ll like it. Also, I wrote some lyrics for the other song we talked about—no pressure to keep them, of course, but—”
Agatha tunes her out. Rio is insane for getting in the middle of that—and the band is following her?
Fuck.
That’s hot.
“Agatha, hurry up!” Rio calls from the elevator, then immediately turns back to her conversation with the rest of the band.
Agatha quickens her pace, and when she steps into the elevator, she ends up pressed against Rio’s front. She quickly picks up on the conversation. Lilia seems to have gotten over their earlier disagreement, only rolling her eyes a little when Agatha speaks.
She’s halfway through a super important monologue that has her bandmates at the edge of their metaphorical seats when Rio’s hand subtly begins to trace her leg—from her thigh to her hip—then wraps around the belt loops of her jeans, pressing firmly.
Oh .
Agatha stutters mid-speech and hides it behind a cough. Rio giggles behind her.
What a bitch.
The elevator doors open, and everyone steps out, following Lilia. Rio drops her hand, but Agatha grabs her wrist, keeping her in place.
“Don’t start games you’re not gonna finish,” she whispers against her ear as the others turn their backs on them. Then she drops Rio’s hand and walks away.
***
Dinner comes and goes around the piano—everyone talking over each other, pouring more wine than is probably wise—and after a while, Agatha steps outside to the spacious balcony of Lilia’s room to light a cigarette and get some air.
Rio had been sitting in the piano next to Alice, making notes in a music sheet Agatha was pretty sure was gonna be ineligible come morning, but she had given her a look when Agatha said she was going outside, like she wanted to go with her. Agatha has shaken her head and stepped outside to clear her mind.
“You have the hots for the intern,” Jen says, sliding in next to Agatha with a sly smirk. She lights her own cigarette and waits patiently.
“Let me guess,” Agatha gives her a long look. “Vegan cigarettes? No, wait—do they improve breathing? Flavored breath? All of the above?”
Jen rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “I'm gonna have to put you on the payroll if you keep that up. Head of advertising?”
Agatha scoffs and shoves her away.
Jen chuckles, regaining her balance with an annoying smirk. “I see it, though. The intern, I mean—she’s hot.”
Agatha laughs like Jen just told her the dumbest joke, then looks back inside, where Rio is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Alice. The two are laughing as Lilia reads their future in tarot cards.
“Our world’s gonna eat her alive,” Jen notes casually.
Agatha shakes her head, mulling it over. She thinks Rio is stronger than she gave her credit for—but she’s not sure how to put that into words that make sense and don’t sound… mushy.
Alice’s laughter makes them both turn, just in time to see Lilia drop the deck on the table with a tired sigh.
“No! Lilia!” Alice says through fits of laughter. “You can’t tell me I’ll die young if I don’t follow my heart and leave it there!”
Lilia narrows her eyes. “That is not what I said!”
Her gaze shifts to Rio, and she groans, taking in her expression. “And you—if I hear one more joke about your card, I will kick your ass.”
Jen and Agatha share a look and silently agree to head back inside. The air smells like incense and weed, and Agatha coughs dramatically as she steps into the room, leaving the doors open behind her.
She takes a seat on the couch and beckons Rio closer. The younger girl drags herself up from the floor and drops beside her, hiding her face in Agatha’s chest.
The comfortable closeness earns them a few looks from the band, but Agatha ignores them, reaching out to gently grab Rio’s jaw, tilting her head up. Her eyes are red and glassy, and she pouts adorably when Agatha doesn’t immediately let go.
Agatha chuckles lowly. “You bullshitter,” she says, laughing. “What happened to no smoking, no drinking?”
Rio shrugs, licking the tip of Agatha’s finger holding her chin. “You gave me wine.”
That explains nothing. Agatha sighs and pats her cheek. Rio leans into the cool touch, letting her head drop back to Agatha’s chest.
“I’m taking her back to her room,” Agatha announces, and her bandmates exchange looks ranging from amusement to disbelief.
Agatha helps Rio up and maneuvers them to the door. She stops with a hand on the doorknob and turns to Lilia.
“What card did she get?” she asks.
Lilia rolls her eyes. “Death. Should've gotten The Fool instead, if you ask me.”
Agatha smirks. “That's not how tarot works, Lilia,” she says mockingly.
Out in the hallway, Agatha considers taking Rio to her own room—just two doors over—but then she remembers her bandmates’ tendency to burst in whenever they please and changes course, heading for the elevator instead.
When they step into Rio’s room, Agatha lets go of her and watches from the door as Rio sits on the bed and kicks off her shoes with a tired sigh.
Next, she removes her shorts, and just as she’s about to take off the hoodie Agatha gave her in the car, Agatha finally moves—crossing the room and pulling the hoodie back down.
“You look good in that,” she comments.
Rio looks down on herself, like she's taking it in for the first time. The Agatha on the hoodie looks at Rio with a smirk, and when she looks up, Agatha, in the flesh, smirks down at her too.
With an eye roll, Rio moves further into the bed and kicks the covers down.
“Stay?” she says—a soft request.
Agatha knows it has nothing to do with her intoxicated state, but she’s beginning to figure out that there are uncharted lengths she's willing to go for this fool. So she kicks off her shoes and socks, slides her shorts down her legs and slides into the bed behind her.
Rio groans when Agatha tentatively wraps her arms around her waist, making her laugh.
“You’re twenty, and you’re stoned,” she whispers, pulling Rio closer to her chest. “You’re the little spoon. Sleep, baby.”
She intends the pet name to sound a little mocking, but it comes out softer than expected—and the room is quiet enough that she hears the sharp intake of breath from Rio.
Oh .
Cool Agatha wins again.