Work Text:
Picture Imperfect
A room.
Not much at a first glance. Messy and chaotic. The walls were covered in tattered posters and photos. Captured moments in time. Forever immortalized. Old blended with new, a bittersweet past merging with the hope of an increasingly promising future. Graffiti was scrawled across every possible surface, declaration of adoration and rebellion in equal measure.
Lazing around on the bed were two girls, content as could be. A hazel-eyed blonde and punk bluenette. The pair were snuggled up as close as they could possibly get. They felt safe in one another’s arms, at ease. An impenetrable barrier to life’s bullshit.
Fuck, they both needed it.
Shuffling slightly, Rachel turned to get a better look at her girlfriend, smiling on instinct. “So, are we just gonna stay here all day?”
“Why? Got a problem with that?” Chloe playfully challenged, pressing lips to her cheek.
“Not really,” the blonde replied, a slight smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, “except I have something to do today and I need your help.”
“Oh?”
That could mean so many things. With Rachel, it was impossible to know which until it happened. What she did know is that it would be fun.
Rachel paused for suspense, knowing it would drive Chloe crazy . Just before the bluenette could prompt her – she had enough experience to know exactly how long to leave it – she answered.
“A little project.” When this was met with a curious gaze, she paused to let imagination run wild before continuing. “I wanted to get some practice for my glorious future in modeling,” hazel eyes sparkled with anticipation, “but I find myself without a photographer. Tragic, right?”
It took Chloe a moment to realize what she was getting at, an incredulous expression engulfing her. “Wait, you want me to help you?”
“My, you are sharp today,” Rachel teased playfully, jabbing her lightly in the ribs.
Batting her hands away, Chloe shook herself back to reality. “Why me? You have like a whole fan club of people who would do a better job than me.”
“Right, I’ll just go ask my BFF Bitchtoria Twoface.” Rachel couldn’t keep a straight face for long, chuckling at her own ridiculous suggestion. “She’d be lucky if I ever decided to voluntarily work with her.”
“I’d seriously start questioning your sanity,” Chloe scoffed loudly, her disgust obvious. “Rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty fork than put up with her bullshit.”
Victoria Chase had it out for Rachel early on. Why? The answer was simple. Jealousy. She wasn’t even subtle about it, despite her best effort to pretend otherwise.
“Don’t get me wrong, she has talent and the ambition. Her work just feels so…” Rachel paused, trying to find the most diplomatic words to use, “cold and lifeless. Passion in all the wrong places. Empty almost.” That made her shrug.
“Like her heart. If she had one,” Chloe replied with a smirk.
“Ouch, that’s harsh, Price,” Rachel managed through a giggle.
The blue-haired punk held her hands up. “Hey, I’m just stating facts here. We both know what she’s like.” That last part was tainted with anger, recalling all the times Victoria had fucked with them. Well, tried and failed.
“Yes, we do.” Rachel sighed, shaking her head. “Enough about the Queen Bitch of Blackwell, though.” She lightly tangled her fingers with Chloe’s, squeezing. “I want you to do this. Nobody else.”
Those last two words sent an involuntary shiver down Chloe’s spine. Intense. It was impossible to say no to her. “Alright, I think it’s a stupid idea, but okay. You owe me.”
Leaning in, Rachel kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “If you do a good job, I might have a reward for you later.”
Before Chloe could react, she slid off the bed and got dressed. The bluenette watched her for a second or two before joining in. Cursing until she found her truck keys and grabbing her dad’s old camera, Chloe took point as they raced downstairs. Everything was a competition, the pair jostling one another to get to the bottom first. Although the taller girl won, she managed to stub her toe on a boot which has been lovingly kicked off last night.
“Fuck…” she grumbled under her breath, examining her now throbbing toe.
“Language.” The stern word belonged to none other than Joyce Price, Chloe’s mother.
The punk rolled her eyes, half-limping her way to the kitchen doorway. “Sure, mom. I’ll just die more quietly next time.”
Turning away from the stove, practiced at seamlessly switching between cooking and talking, she put a hand on her hip. “You know, sometimes I’m not sure which of you two is the bigger drama queen.”
“At least I have a reason, you know being a theatre kid,” Rachel chimed in with a smug smirk. “What’s your excuse, Price ?”
Chloe scoffed. “I can do what the fu-” another scathing look from her mother made her stop mid-sentence, “whatever I like, Amber . That’s my excuse.” She put her hands behind her head, blue eyes challenging her to argue.
Daring .
Rachel was about the only person who stood a chance against her. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, the blonde usually bested her. Even if she deployed underhanded tactics. Not that it stopped her from trying. Chloe Price was stubborn and everybody knew it.
Refusing to take her up on the bait – as tempting as it was, she actually wanted to get something done today – Rachel shook her head. “Whatever you say, Chloe.”
Joyce shook her head and smiled at her daughter’s visible disappointment. “Now, Chloe. It’s too early to start an argument.” She flipped the final crepe in the pan before jabbing her spatula at the steaming pile sat on the side. “Eat instead.”
Food was the one thing Chloe never argued with. No further objections, the three of them sat down, ready to eat.
“So,” Joyce began as she started assembling her own crepe, “do I want to know what you two will be up to after you’ve done here?”
“Nothing ominous,” Rachel replied with an innocent beam.
“Mhm…” the older woman didn’t believe that for a second. “If I didn’t know you both better, I’d have fallen for that. You’re good kid, but not that good. Just…” she sighed deeply, her age showing, “try not to get into too much trouble.”
The two girls exchanged confident glances. “No need to worry there, Joyce.”
“Yeah, mom. Rach and I make an awesome team,” Chloe added with a smile, shoveling syrup soaked crepe into her mouth and swallowing with minimal chewing. “Nobody can stop us.”
The rest of the meal passed by without incident… compared to the average breakfast at the Price house, anyway. One impromptu fork duel over the last crepe later - which Rachel won, but gave it to Chloe anyway - and they were done.
After helping Joyce clean up, much to Chloe’s protest, she and Rachel headed outside. The punk unlocked the truck, heading around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her girlfriend.
“Oh, such a gentleman,” Rachel grinned, getting into the vehicle.
Chloe shut the door, going around to the driver’s seat and sliding in. “You sound so surprised.”
Rachel elbow nudged her. “When your girlfriend tries to act tough in front of everyone, it can be a little surprising when there is a soft and mushy center. One not many people get to see.”
Even after all this time, Chloe’s sweetness under her bad girl punk exterior was endearing. It never failed to make her melt.
Lowkey flustered, the bluenette didn’t deny it. Instead, she focused on driving. Well, as much as she could with Rachel by her side. There was something so… magnetic about her. Everyone at Blackwell clearly felt it too. Even the people who hated her, Victoria as the prime candidate, were obsessed with Arcadia Bay’s very own celebrity.
Chloe more than anyone.
After driving for some time, with Rachel providing directions, they ended up at the beach. Parking up, they got out of the beat-up truck and headed towards the water. Sun glistened on the ocean’s surface, crabs scuttling across the sand. Birds lazily swooped in the late morning sky, awash with pastel colors.
Peaceful.
Wind gently rustling her hair, Rachel kicked off her shoes and rushed to the water’s edge. She gasped as a wave gently lapped at her toes. “Fuck me, that’s cold.”
Chloe joined her but not too close, trusting her judgment on temperature. “No shit, Sherlock.” Pouting slightly, Rachel kicked water her way. It made a graceful arc in the air, landing at her punk’s feet. “Hey!”
She stuck out her tongue, watching the bluenette try to stay mad. “You’re just too cute sometimes. Still trying to act like a badass bitch.”
“Rude. I am a badass bitch,” Chloe replied, splashing her back. “And don’t even try to say otherwise. Or so help me...”
Effortlessly, the blonde sidestepped her attack. “Hmm… well, the rest of the world might see you that way.” Swiftly, she bridged the gap between them and held Chloe’s cheek, face close enough to feel her breath. “But to me, you'll always be a sweetheart.”
That got Chloe blushing, unable to hide it. Rachel didn’t torture her this time, instead leaning in to steal a kiss. No matter how many time the blonde kissed her, it always felt like the first. Just… with new meaning, more confident.
When she pulled away, she smiled. Mesmerizing. “Let’s get to work.”
Tapping her cheek thoughtfully, she combed the area for a good place to start shooting. This wasn’t her first rodeo and she always took her modeling seriously. Eventually, she found a spot that just felt… right .
“Here we go,” she muttered to herself, getting a feel for the flow of energy.
Some people might call her weird for this method, but it sure worked. Definitely got results. It took her a moment or two before she settled on something that clicked.
Seeing how seriously Rachel was taking this, Chloe couldn’t help but get pulled in. She left her girlfriend for a moment while she prepared to get the old Polaroid camera. There wasn’t much film. Not like she could afford it.
Every shot would have to count.
She stopped mid-step, almost frozen to the spot a couple of feet away from Rachel. At that moment, she was reminded of Max. The first time she got her camera, insisting she take pictures of everything. Of the childhood best friend she ended up abandoning… Chloe’s face crumpled up.
Max fucking Caulfield.
Noticing the scrunched-up expression of disgust, Rachel stopped posing and approached her. She’d seen this face a handful of times over the years. Twisted pain and rage inspired by betrayal.
“What’s wrong?” she cooed softly as she gathered Chloe’s face up in her hands, thumbs lightly brushing against her cheeks.
It was enough to make the blue-haired punk almost drop William’s camera.
Once she had a firm grip again, she let her eyes meet Rachel’s shimmering pools of jade, flickering with concern. “I’m just… not sure if I’m cut out for this photography shit.”
Rachel sensed the sudden hesitation went much deeper than that, especially based on what she knew about Chloe's life, but didn’t want to call her out. “Oh please, it’s in your blood.”
She gently rubbed her arm, giving an encouraging smile before returning to her spot and resuming her position. Taking a deep breath, Chloe held the camera up. When it felt… well, right she took the picture.
Hazel eyes connected with hers, asking without words if she was ready for a change in pose. Checking the picture, pleasantly surprised when it turned out decent, she nodded softly. Rachel smiled, assuming another relaxed - no, vulnerable - pose.
Sunlight glistened off her hair, golden and shimmering. Like a lion’s mane. Or perhaps a halo. Illuminated pale skin, almost ethereal. Stray water droplets from the ocean’s spray. Blue feather earring fluttering in the gentle breeze. Expression at ease, eyes exposing her most honest emotions and deepest desires. Truly windows to her soul.
Far from the usual modelesque aura, she exuded something rarely captured in its rawest form. Something that betrayed the Rachel Amber she wanted the rest of the world to see.
A flawed girl desperately searching for happiness and freedom.
Before either of them knew it, the film ran out. When that time came, Rachel took a deep breath in and out, stepping out of her pose with grace. Chloe was speechless, only able to hold out the pictures for her girlfriend to look at.
Rachel was… fucking gorgeous.
Obviously she had known from the beginning, but now…
“Hmm.” Rachel examined the photos, her impish smile widening as she shuffled through the pile. “I think we’ve found your style, Price. These are pretty good.”
“Helps when you have a kickass model,” she muttered back breathlessly, barely loud enough.
“Can’t argue there.” The blonde gave a wink, watching Chloe role her eyes at the lack of modesty. “But it also takes a special kind of photographer to capture a moment with as much feeling as you have today.”
Smiling, she handed the photos back to Chloe and took a seat on the sand. The bluenette joined her, splaying her work out in front of them.
These felt so different to the pictures she’d seen of Rachel, taken by practically everyone at Blackwell. No fronts.
Picture imperfect.