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Chapter Text

Becoming a makeup artist wasn’t Machi’s intended life-course, and working for the most prestigious dance company in the country was even less of her plan than that.

Machi had moved to York New with the intention of enrolling in design school and entering the world of fashion.

That didn’t happen.

Doing makeup had started out as a way to keep the lights on in the drafty converted factory that she and her eclectic art student roommate called home.

Machi actually had taken up several jobs to pay the bills, including giving kickboxing lessons at the local gym and guitar lessons out of the apartment.

Working all of these jobs was unstable and tiring to say the least, but her tuition wasn’t going to pay for itself, and her estranged parents certainly weren’t going to pay for it either.

By her third year in York New, she’d saved enough for a couple of semesters but with how constantly busy and upside-down her life was, she kind of… kept forgetting to enroll.

Somewhere along the way, she began to grow a client base for her (admittedly under the table) makeup business and the other two jobs fell back.

She soon realized that a cosmetology license was going to cost in total what only two semesters of design school would have. Begrudgingly, she forked out her hard-earned savings and became a full-time makeup artist.

Her income did increase, but it still wasn't stable. Some months were better than others and it sucked not knowing how much she was going to make week by week.

Which is why receiving a position on the York New Dance Company's hair and make up team was such a relief.

Finally a steady, predictable salary.

"You know, for someone who just got a big ticket job offer, you don't appear too happy about it."

Machi looked up from filing her nails to level her roommate with a blank stare.

"What are you talking about, Shizuku?"

"Well, not that you really ever emote that much, but you seem to be brooding more than usual."

The woman pushed her wide-framed glasses up her nose before looking back down at the sketchbook propped against her knees.

Machi sighed, blowing the dust from her fingertips.

"I guess I just have to get used to the idea that this is my career now," she inspected her short, neat nails for any ridges or sharp edges, "Not what I was going for, but it's a living."

"Is your job as a makeup artist not enjoyable to you?" Shizuku scribbled a few lines across the page, "If not then why continue?"

Satisfied with her work, Machi sat her file down on her lap and crossed her arms over her chest with a frown.

"I do enjoy it. I like it a lot actually. I just always thought I’d end up the owner of a fashion label. Not in the cards I suppose.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t happen in the future.”

“You’re unusually optimistic today,” Machi pulled her pink hair down from it’s ponytail and worked the tangles out with her fingers, “Did you sell another painting?”

Although the expression on the dark-haired woman’s face remained aloof, Machi recognized the excited gleam in her eyes.

“Actually I was invited by the city arts council to display some of my work at the charity gala they’re holding for the humane society this weekend.”

“Oh,” Machi’s brows arched, “That’s pretty cool, congrats.”

“Which reminds me-”

“Whatever you’re about to ask, it’s a no,” Machi deadpanned, standing up from the couch with her file in hand.

“You didn’t even let me finish. I’m encouraged to bring a plus-one, would you like to go with me?”

“Why would I want to do that? Art’s great and all that but fancy parties aren’t really my thing. I don’t really think I’d have much fun.”

“I thought it might be a good networking opportunity for you. A lot of York New’s social elite will be there.”

Machi rolled her eyes and started walking towards the rickety metal staircase that led to her bedroom.

“ Kikyo Zoldyck will be there.”

Machi stopped in her tracks.

Okay, maybe this wouldn’t be that bad…

Kikyo Zoldyck was a household name. The matriarch of the Zoldyck fashion empire had married a model and then proceeded to create a multi-million dollar family business out of selling her incredible designs with her children’s faces and bodies.

She was a legend, and she was Machi’s inspiration.

She turned back around, one hand on her hip, her face and voice flat.

“That’s great and all but what does that have to do with me?”

Shizuku tucked her pencil behind her ear and straightened her legs out along the couch, letting her sketchbook fall into her lap.

“Well it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you happen to wear that nice cocktail dress you’ve been working on and have her compliment you on it and then offer you an internship.”

Machi huffed and shook her head, “Have you been watching HBO again? That would never happen in real life.”

“So you say, but we both know just the idea is enticing enough.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at her bespectacled roommate.

Dammit she’s right.

“Whatever. What’s the date and time of this thing?”

“Friday night at eight. I put your ticket on your vanity,” The brunette looked down and began searching for something.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to go in my room when I’m not home.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is, I’m not going to hurt anything. Have you seen my pencil?”

Machi’s eyes flickered to Shizuku’s ear and she turned around, making for the stairs again.

“Nope. You’re on your own.”

“Well that’s not very nice.”

“When you put an ad in the paper for a roommate, nice was not one of the requirements I needed to meet. I’m going to bed.”

“Good night. Oh, here it is. Sneaky pencil.”

Machi had been hired a month before the Neo Broadway theatrical season began, meaning that her job would mostly consist of makeup tests for the different characters of each ballet for the next couple of weeks.

Wednesday night was her first taste of this, and though she wasn’t nervous, she did admit to herself that she may have been a bit intimidated by the petite and too-peppy artistic director/rehearsal manager.

Ms. Biscuit, or simply Bisky as she liked to be called, led Machi through the crowd of makeup artists and dancers at the mirrored stations backstage and down the hall. Some of the dancers already had full faces of makeup and were getting their costumes fitted. 

It looks like some sort of wackadoo renaissance fair in here.

“Since this is your first testing, I’m giving you over to Pakunoda. She’s our principal, the big cheese if you will. She’s been around for a long time, so she can tell you exactly what she wants and can give you good pointers.”

Machi made a noise of understanding, stopping abruptly as Bisky skidded to a halt in front of a closed door. The door itself had a gold placard with the name Sattari etched into it. Bisky knocked twice before swinging it open.

“Hey Paku I’ve got fresh meat for you,” Bisky ushered Machi in and laid a hand on her shoulder. She fought the urge to scowl and push it off, “Show her the ropes, will you?”

Machi finally looked up and her breath caught in her lungs and her gay little heart felt like it had lodged itself in her throat.

Sitting in front of her on a high-backed stool was a woman of inconceivable beauty. Her honey blonde hair was pinned back from her face and she wore nothing save for a silky lavender robe that revealed far too much of her cleavage for Machi’s brain to comprehend at the moment. She had her head propped up by her hand as her elbow rested on the arm of the stool and tawny colored eyes peered down the aquiline line of her nose with an apathetic gaze.

The woman uncrossed and recrossed her legs and the split of her robe revealed a smooth, mile-long stretch of skin and Machi swallowed thickly, quickly averting her eyes.

When Pakunoda spoke, her voice was deep and smoky, and Machi likened it to the feeling of velvet- luxurious and soft but also rough all at once.

“Thank you Bisky, I’ll take good care of her,” the woman gave a small, almost imperceptible smile and Machi ignored the innuendo her brain was trying to force into those innocent words.

Bisky left, shutting the door behind her and then it was just them.

Machi cleared her throat and composed herself, stepping up to her and offering her hand.

“Machi Komacine. Your name is Pakunoda, correct?”

“It is. Welcome to the team Machi,” her eyes softened at the edges as she clasped Machi’s hand in her own, giving it a firm shake, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Machi nodded, sitting her bag down on the makeup table and unzipping it. She reached in and grabbed a roll of fabric and a packet of papers. She pushed up the sleeves of her oversized flannel shirt and reached up to put her messy pink waves into a ponytail. She thought she may have caught Pakunoda staring at the line of her neck but shook the thought from her mind.

Wishful thinking.

She unrolled the fabric she’d pulled from her bag and revealed a full set of cosmetic brushes. She took it by the strings at each end and tied it around her hips before stepping further into the ballerina’s space.

Machi picked up the packet of paper and scanned the first page.

“Looks like the first thing on the agenda is the look for the Sugar Plum Fairy in The Nutcracker. I have some basic instructions here, but do you want anything specific before I begin?”

“No, just follow the instructions and afterwards I’ll tell you what needs to be adjusted.”

The makeup artist nodded and turned to the supplies strewn across the wooden surface of the table. She picked up the primer and squeezed a bit onto her fingertips. She held up her hands, “They’re clean, I just washed up,” and took the woman’s chin in her hand while the other dotted the clear gel across clean skin.

Deft fingers began to spread the primer across the dancer’s face in quick, circular motions until it had completely melded with her skin. Machi pulled away to grab the large, circular pan of Kryolan cake foundation and drag it closer. She then grabbed the tiny spray bottle full of water and took one of the sponges from her belt and dampened it. She sat the water aside and generously dabbed the sponge into the pan of foundation before taking Pakunoda’s chin again. 

She raised the sponge to the woman’s face and that’s when she noticed the dancer’s umber gaze was focused intently on her. Heat rose to her face and she hoped to whatever deity was listening that her own makeup was thick enough to disguise her flushed cheeks.

She tried to focus on bouncing her sponge across the woman’s features, and was succeeding for the most part until that rich voice spoke again.

“I like your piercings. You pull them off very well.”

Machi became hyper-aware of the weight of the metal against her philtrum and eyebrow.

“Oh. Thank you,” she chanced a look into the woman’s eyes and found them locked on her own. For a moment everything paused, including Machi’s breathing.

She was finally able to tear her gaze away and continued with her task.

One of the things Machi really liked about being a makeup artist was the amount of detail she could see in people’s faces from so close up.

Machi traced each fine line that settled around Pakunoda’s mouth and nose and eyes with her own eyes and then with the tool in her hand. Her attention dripped off the ends of the woman’s thick lashes as she applied eyeshadow and mascara, and settled in the bow of her lips as she painted them with lipstick.

Machi checked the list of instructions once more before grabbing the large, sectioned off container of cosmetic glitter and popped the top on the section that bore the right item number. After dipping a tiny brush in glitter glue and the glitter itself, she dotted the stuff along Pakunoda’s temples, along her cheeks, and at the corners of her eyes.

When the look was finished she pulled away and wiped her hands on the canvas material of her brush belt and motioned for the dancer to turn towards the mirror.

“Alright, what do you think?”

She waited with bated breath as Pakunoda leaned in to inspect her handiwork.

“You did quite well. I have no complaints, but I do suggest going a little heavier on the glitter,” She made eye contact with Machi in the mirror, “As the Sugar Plum Fairy, I have to look good enough to eat.”

Her tone was so dry that the innuendo sailed over Machi’s head.

“Ah, alright I’ll keep that in mind. Shall we move on to the next?”

It wasn’t until much later that evening, while Machi sat, concentrated, in front of her sewing machine that it hit her.

Was she flirting with me?!

Chapter Text

Machi’s next round of makeup tests were with one of the other dancers, a redhead by the name of Hisoka.

She couldn’t put her finger on why exactly, but something about the man got under her skin. Perhaps it was his inherent flamboyance, or the fact that he just would not shut up. 

“Tell me my dear Machi, how long have you been doing makeup?”

The woman sighed, waiting for his mouth to stop moving so she could finish applying his foundation.

“I’ve been doing it for money for something like four years,” she put down her sponge and picked up a pan of rouge, dabbing her ring finger into the bright cream and dotting it onto the apples of the man’s cheeks.

“ Fascinating, ” Machi scowled as his mouth began moving again, “ You know, it’s been quite some time since we hired on another artist. I hope you’ll last.”

Machi narrowed her eyes at the closed-eyed, snake-like grin. She didn’t dignify him with a retort, turning instead to locate one of the other items on the table. 

She happened to look up and her eyes caught on the tall, slender figure of the principal dancer from across the backstage area. Her eyes trailed up from her impossibly long jean-clad legs to her shoulders that were bared thanks to the sleeveless ribbed turtleneck she wore. She watched the woman tuck a strand of pale golden hair behind her ear as she talked to Bisky and a couple of other dancers.

“ Oh ho ho, how interesting.”

The makeup artist’s attention snapped back to the man on the stool next to her.

“ What?”

“Our dear Pakunoda is quite a looker, I don’t blame you for staring,” the smirk on his face was infuriating.

“Shut the hell up,” Machi didn’t realize how harsh her words were until after they were out of her mouth. She looked up at the man’s expression to see an odd twinkle in his golden eyes. His smirk stretched further across his face.

“Oh I like you. You’re feisty.”

Machi wrinkled her nose, finally grabbing the eyeliner she’d been looking for. She gripped the man’s bony chin, “Close your eyes you freak.”

Hisoka acquiesced, lashes fluttering shut to let her do her task.

After only a beat of silence, he spoke up again.

“You know, Pakunoda is single. And extremely homosexual. Use that information as you will.”

Machi glared at the man’s eyelids, “I don’t need love advice from a guy who looks like a rejected Jojo character.”

She pursed her lips, “I don’t get how someone like that doesn’t have a partner.”

“Ah, well Pakunoda always says she doesn’t have time for love, but I suspect there’s something else going on there as well.”

The woman rolled her eyes, putting the cap back on the eyeliner, “You were encouraging me to shoot my shot with a woman who’s emotionally unavailable? Gee, thanks.”

“To be fair, you also seem to be emotionally unavailable. What a perfect pair. ”

Machi huffed, “Will you just hold still so I can do my job?”

“Very well, I’ll be good and quiet for you.”

He was not quiet after that.

Friday night rolled around quicker than anticipated but Machi’s dress was finished right in time for the charity gala.

It was black and made almost entirely of intricate black lace, all hand stitched together. She’d been working on it for months.

She absently adjusted the golden body chain she’d laid over the dress as she and Shizuku entered the party. The gallery was a large, high-ceilinged building, and it was full of people.

Machi was already uncomfortable, but she told herself that she was there to support her roommate.

Her roommate that had already gone missing.

Typical Shizuku.

Machi waded through the people, looking around to see if there was anyone she recognized in the crowd. There were a few people she knew from television and social media, various Instagram models and influencers, juxtaposed to the ‘old money’ socialites who were also present.

She felt very out of place.

The makeup artist grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and made her way to the corner of the room where less people were standing around. She assessed that none of Shizuku’s art was in this room and had decided to make her way upstairs to the main gallery, when her eyes caught on a familiar figure amidst the patrons.

Pakunoda wore a pantsuit made of striking white and black windowpane plaid. The blazer was held together by a band at the underbust and there was nothing underneath. High-heeled leather ankle boots added to her already impressive height and pearls dripped from her ears and throat.

Oh. Oh wow.

Machi downed the rest of her champagne and quickly went for the stairs, pawning her empty glass off on some random stranger.

The main gallery was less crowded, and Machi was actually able to see most of the art in this room. She still couldn’t find Shizuku, but she had found Shizuku’s art. She meandered over to the largest painting. It took up most of the wall, and Machi couldn’t figure out what it was supposed to be, but it was impressive nonetheless.

It was relatively quiet in the gallery, save for the low chatter of the various groups of patrons, so when a loud, expressive feminine voice suddenly entered the room, Machi’s head snapped in the direction out of instinct.

She blinked before recognition slammed into her like a freight train.

“-And so I just insisted that my dear Illumi escort me tonight, isn’t that sweet?” the woman told her entourage, patting the arm of the man that was linked with hers.

The woman held the utmost air of sophistication, even her posture said that she came from high society and belonged there. She wore a floor-length white lace gown that Machi immediately recognized from the year’s spring fashion show. A pair of signature bulky shades covered her eyes. Attached to her arm was a younger man in a deep emerald green suit, long black hair pulled back from his face into a high ponytail. The blank facial expression suggested he was just as excited to be there as Machi herself was.

That’s Kikyo and Illumi Zoldyck. What do I do?

She turned back to the painting, crossing her arms over her chest.

While she did believe her when Shizuku said the fashion designer would be present, she didn’t actually think she’d run into her.

She weighed the options of doing nothing at all and going up to her.

She thought about how long she’d been in York New, how hard she’d worked to get somewhere in the fashion industry just to have no results.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat and took a deep breath, setting her features flat, before turning and walking up to the gaggle of socialites in the middle of the room.

“Excuse me, Madam Zoldyck?”

The woman whipped her head around, putting on a diplomatic smile, “How can I help you darling? ”

“Pardon my intrusion, but I’m a great admirer of your work. You’re the reason I decided to pursue fashion. I actually made the dress I’m wearing tonight from being inspired by one of your pieces from last winter’s collection.”

The woman’s lips quirked up into a condescending smirk, and though Machi couldn’t see her eyes she could practically feel the malicious mirth radiating from them.

“My my, is that so? How fascinating,” she gave Machi a once over, “I don’t ever remember designing a line for prostitutes. ”

Machi felt like the wind had been knocked out of her as the other women in the group began to laugh. She gritted her teeth, fists clenching by her sides.

Kikyo stepped closer, reaching out a gloved hand to pat Machi’s cheek as if she was a pouting child.

“There, there, dear. I’m sure there are plenty of corners you can sell your work on. Best of luck to you.”

The woman turned and grabbed her son’s arm once more, “Come, Illumi, let’s go find a new painting for the foyer.”

The group exited the gallery and Machi had to grab her own hands to fight back the instinct to punch the nearest sculpture. She made a beeline for the balcony, letting out a deep breath when the cool evening air hit her flushed face.

She stepped up to the ledge and leaned against the railing, looking out over the city.

Well that may have been the most humiliating thing that’s ever happened to me.

She stood there for quite a while, fuming. 

Her peace and quiet was intruded upon a few minutes later by a familiar, husky voice.

“Well hello, Machi. Fancy seeing you here.”

Pakunoda stepped up to her, turning to lean back against the railing, arms crossed under her chest. The small smile on her face dropped completely as she noticed the makeup artist’s foul mood.

“What’s the matter, you seem upset?”

Machi let out a deep sigh, refusing to meet her eyes. She had no intention of explaining, but before she knew it her lips were moving.

“I met my idol tonight and she ended up being a total bitch.”

Pakunoda blinked before a chuckle slipped past her lips. It made something fond stir in Machi’s chest and she felt her shoulders lose their tension.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but you were just so blunt about it.”

Machi turned to see the smile on the woman’s face, seeing how the little lines around her eyes crinkled.

“May I ask who exactly you’re referring to?”

Machi faced back forward, running her fingers through her bangs, “Kikyo Zoldyck.”

“Ah yes, she is a bitch.”

“You know her?”

“Unfortunately. We run into each other at a lot of events like this. I’m not fond of her,” she scowled, “She reminds me of my mother in all the worst ways.”

Sounds like Pakunoda has family issues as well.

“Now what exactly prompted you to have a conversation with Kikyo Zoldyck?”

Machi glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, “It’s stupid.”

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s bothering you so much,” Pakunoda turned to face the street below, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Machi sighed.

“Kikyo’s the reason I want to go to design school. I made this dress and wanted to see what she thought.”

“She didn’t like it?”

“She told me I looked like a prostitute.”

There was a beat of silence as Pakunoda seemed to process what she’d been told.

After a moment, a delicate hand sat against her bare back, “That was horribly uncalled for, but I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s within her character.”

Machi shivered as Pakunoda’s hand rubbed comforting circles into her back.

“Now I get why they say to never meet your heroes,” She turned her head and had to crane her neck to look up at Pakunoda’s face.

When did she get so close?

“If you’re wanting to go into fashion, why are you a makeup artist?”

Machi averted her gaze, “Cosmetology license was cheaper than design school.”

Pakunoda nodded in understanding.

“Will you go eventually?”

“I don’t know anymore. I think tonight killed any of the confidence I still had left in that dream.”

Pakunoda suddenly took her away from the railing by the arm, making her do a spin before settling her back in front of her. She took both of Machi’s hands and pulled them away from her front, inspecting the dress. Machi frowned, brows knitting in confusion.

“What?”

“You made this entire dress yourself?”

“Yes. Even the lace.”

Pakunoda’s face remained even but her eyes sparkled with something that Machi couldn’t quite place.

“This is incredible. Just because it wasn’t Kikyo’s taste doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

She brought Machi’s hands down between them, holding them steadfast.

“Please continue to pursue this. I really think you have what it takes.”

Despite only knowing each other for the better part of a week, Machi felt her sincerity.

“You really think so?”

“I do. In fact, if you’re ever looking for someone to make something for, I’d love a Machi original.”

The makeup artist felt heat rise to her cheeks and fought to keep her expression passive. She opened her mouth to say something else when they were interrupted by a waiter offering them champagne.

Pakunoda took two and offered one to Machi before leading her over to the metal bench that rested on one end of the balcony.

They drank in silence for a while before the dancer spoke again.

“What brought you here tonight, Machi?”

“My roommate is one of the artists whose work is on display and for sale tonight.”

“Ah… I see. “

“So what brings you here, tonight?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m actually the main benefactor for the animal shelter,” she delicately sipped her champagne, “I always come to charity events like this. I’m very passionate about animals.”

Machi nodded, her eyes zeroing in on the lipstick staining the rim of the flute in the blonde’s hand, “That’s quite admirable.”

“Do you have any pets?”

Machi let out a chuckle, “Oh no, I’ve been too busy to remember to feed myself, I’d hate to do that to some poor animal.”

Pakunoda let out a bubble of laughter and Machi couldn’t help the small but genuine smile that crossed her face.

“Well, I have two kitties at home. You’re welcome to come play with them some time," Pakunoda's hand landed on Machi's hand and squeezed, not pulling it away.

Both sets of eyes widened a fraction when they noticed this and they averted their gazes, neither acknowledging the gesture as Pakunoda reluctantly pulled away.

Machi crossed her legs and rested her hands on her knee. She let a couple of moments pass before speaking.

“I would.. Like that actually,” she turned to look at the side of Pakunoda’s face, “If that was a real offer. I don’t…”

She sat up ramrod straight, trying to gauge exactly how vulnerable she wanted to be.

“I don’t really have many friends in the city.”

Pakunoda turned to look back at her and her eyes went soft around the edges.

“If you’d like. My door is open. I confess that I’m pretty busy myself, but I always have time on Sundays. Sometimes I have other people over, I’m sure they’d like you a lot.”

“That… sounds really nice. Thank you Pakunoda.”

“My friends call me Paku,” she insisted, and Machi felt secretly giddy.

“Alright, Paku.”

They smiled at each other in silence for a few minutes before the dancer stood and stretched, joints popping audibly.

“Well, I suppose I should get back in there before someone comes looking for me.”

“Ah, alright.”

Pakunoda took a step towards the door and looked back at her, “Coming?”

Machi’s heart skipped a beat, “Uh? Oh sure.” She stood and smoothed out her dress, following behind the older woman as she slipped back into the gallery.

She had a feeling she’d probably continue to follow the woman around for the rest of the night.

Or maybe even for a couple of years.

Chapter Text

Two years had passed since Machi joined the dance company’s makeup team, and quite a bit had changed in that time.

The biggest change had been Machi forming a tight-knit circle of friends. Such friends included a trio of young upstart dancers: Kurapika, Pairo, and Shalnark, as well as the infamous Hisoka and his intermittent boyfriend Illumi Zoldyck.

Illumi hadn’t once apologized for his mother’s behavior, but Machi didn’t really expect him to.

The Kikyo Incident as it had become known as between herself and a select few, remained in the back of her mind and was a constant reminder of what she considered failure. It was the reason that she hadn’t enrolled in design school, despite having the opportunity now that she was making a decent amount of money.

Hisoka had not been Machi’s first choice in companions but he had insisted on worming his way into her sphere and had ended up as her closest confidant. The man was brash and outspoken in a way that Machi was uncomfortable with, which ultimately made them a good pair. When Machi was tired of talking, she relied on Hisoka to pick up where she left off.

Machi was often invited to Pakunoda’s penthouse on Sunday evenings, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. Despite their consistent communication, a wall had remained between them and Machi realized one day that she couldn’t tell anyone anything about the dancer on a personal level.

She could tell you her favorite roles to play, her favorite pieces to dance to, and her favorite costumes to wear. She could tell you the exact shade of foundation she wore, what eyeliner she preferred, and what setting powder she was allergic to. But she couldn’t tell you anything about her. In fact, no one could.

Pakunoda was very good at keeping people at arms’ length, it seemed, for no one else really knew much about her either.

The most knowledge came from Illumi, who only knew through his mother, and even that wasn’t much. Apparently Pakunoda was born into wealth but there was some sort of family scandal and now she was estranged from her parents. 

Machi couldn’t help but wish she knew more, especially since it seemed their circumstances weren’t all that different in certain regards.

The makeup artist wasn’t one to push people, though, and so they remained casual friends at best.

That began to change on the evening of the company’s New Year’s Eve Party.

This time, the whole company- staff, dancers, stagehands, makeup and hair artists, costume and set designers, everyone- had gathered in the obnoxiously large mansion of the stage manager, Pariston.

Nobody was all that fond of Pariston, but they could admit that he knew how to throw a party, and the booze was always top notch.

Machi had arrived with Hisoka, who otherwise would have come alone because he and Illumi had broken up for the nth time that week.

It was a few hours into the party when Machi realized she hadn’t seen neither hide nor hair of the principal dancer for a good chunk of the evening. She excused herself from her friends and grabbed a drink at the open bar before stalking upstairs. The glower on her face must have been especially bad, as everyone she passed seemed to shrink back.

Machi checked as many rooms as she could, almost giving up, until she heard the sound of angry yelling coming from behind a door. The language was one she couldn’t understand but she would recognize that voice anywhere.

Paku?

She slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside, only to find Pakunoda pacing around aggressively and barking into her phone. Her face was pinched and Machi absently noted that she’d never seen such fire on her features, even when she was acting during performances.

She closed the door behind her with a click and leaned back against it. Pakunoda still hadn’t noticed her and she felt kind of awkward, just standing there.

She looked around and took stock in the room. It was a library, quaint and cozy, with a fire in the fireplace and a couple of chairs and a chaise lounge. Bookcases went from floor to ceiling and the color scheme complimented the rest of the house.

Machi’s attention flew back to Pakunoda as she abruptly stopped speaking and tossed her phone onto the chaise. The blonde let out a sigh and shook her head before seeming to notice Machi for the first time.

“Oh.. Hello Machi.”

Machi took in the sight of her and realized that she was wearing one of the evening gowns Machi had designed for her. It was white and fit close to her body, the top made of golden lace and crystal embellishments that left next to nothing to the imagination. It was sexy and elegant, the two words that perfectly described the dancer in her opinion.

The makeup artist cleared her throat, willing her heartbeat to slow.

“I.. Uh.. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just noticed you’d been missing for a while… and...”

“Were you worried?”

The blunt question took the woman by surprise and she fumbled with a response before simply nodding. Pakunoda stepped closer and Machi saw that her face was flushed and could smell the tell-tale scent of alcohol on her breath as she spoke.

“It’s sweet of you to be concerned,” She took Machi’s empty hand and held it between her own.

Machi craned her neck to look up into her eyes and her stomach did a flip. In the two years she’d known her, she’d never seen Pakunoda tipsy before.

Before she knew it the older woman was pulling her over to the chaise lounge. They sat close and Pakunoda wouldn’t let go of her hand. Machi took a big swig of her Whiskey Sour before asking the big question on her mind.

“Paku, who was it that you were talking to on the phone?”

The woman’s expression soured and Machi regretted asking immediately.

“My mother.”

“Oh…” Machi nodded, contemplating whether to dig any further, but Pakunoda offered up more information anyway.

“She only ever calls to complain that I haven’t found a husband and settled down yet.”

Laughter bubbled up from Machi’s chest and Pakunoda pouted.

Machi shook her head, “I-I’m sorry I don’t mean to laugh but- A husband ?!”

I don’t think any woman who displays a lesbian flag over her bar in her penthouse is searching for a husband. 

The dancer rolled her eyes, “ Mâmân doesn’t care about my preferences. My family is very traditional. They don’t think dancing is a suitable career for a woman of my status and keep reminding me that I’m losing valuable child-bearing years.”

Machi wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“They don’t support your dancing? Even though you’re the best of the best?”

The woman shook her head, “No. In fact, I’ve been told by several relatives that my dancing is what put my father in an early grave,” she eyed the drink in Machi’s hand, “Are you going to finish that?”

The makeup artist eyed the drink for a moment before shrugging and handing it to her. She watched the woman down the rest.

“I usually don’t answer Mâmân’s calls, I don’t know why I decided to today. We’ve been arguing back and forth for hours. She threatened to dissolve my inheritance if I don’t comply with her wishes by the end of the year.”

“And what did you say to that?”

“I told her to take her worthless money and shove it up her- well, you get the point.”

Machi’s eyes widened, “You’d give up an entire inheritance just like that?”

“I have plenty of money to sustain myself that I have made myself, without anyone’s help. I refuse to give up my career and future just to please someone else. They’ve disowned me before. I didn’t hear from them for almost an entire decade. It was the most peaceful time of my life. I’d count it as a blessing, should that happen again.”

Machi watched intently as Pakunoda pulled the cherry from the skewer in the glass and popped it between her lips.

She looked down at where their hands were connected and swallowed thickly.

“I don’t talk to my parents either. Not really by choice,” she took a deep breath, “We had a great relationship until I came out of the closet.”

Pakunoda’s face contorted in something akin to pity.

“I never realized they were… like that… while I was growing up. We were so close, I thought it would be fine when I brought home a girl for the first time,” her free hand smoothed out the fabric of the long white button-down she was using as a dress, “They kicked me out that night.”

Pakunoda sat the empty glass down and pulled Machi’s hand into her lap. She turned it over with her own and traced the lines of her palm with her finger tips. Machi’s cheeks heated at the intimacy of the gesture.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You deserve better,” Machi scoffed and Pakunoda looked up at her with an intense gaze, “You do. I mean that.”

“You do too,” Machi gave a small smile and they fell into silence.

Machi’s eyes fell back to their hands as Pakunoda’s fingers dipped under the cuff of her shirt sleeve and stroked against the pulse in her wrist. She shivered and let out a small gasp and didn’t dare look up at the woman’s face.

“You look really nice tonight.”

The makeup artist swallowed thickly, trying to keep her face impassive.

What is happening right now? Is it just the alcohol? She doesn’t seem that drunk.

“You do too. That dress looks familiar.”

A soft hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head until she was staring directly into lidded, tawny eyes. Her breath caught in her throat at how intense the woman’s gaze was. She instinctively licked her lips.

“It’s my favorite. It’s by the best designer I know.”

Machi felt as if her heart was going to break itself out of her chest.

Pakunoda’s thumb traced her silver septum ring reverently.

“You still haven’t started design school. Why?”

Machi was unable to come up with an answer, having lost all grasp of the english language at this point. 

“It’s a new year. You should go for it. You’re so talented Machi. Don’t waste it.”

She nodded dumbly, her mouth going dry as Pakunoda pressed closer and closer until she was leaning over her, Machi’s back to the cushion of the lounge. One arm caged Machi in, and the other hand stroked up her neck to cradle her jaw. 

Machi didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe , her hair was fanned out around her and Pakunoda’s own cascaded around their faces. Machi’s legs, clad in thigh-high leather boots, were spread around Pakunoda’s hips.

When Pakunoda kissed her, she realized she could tell what brand of lipstick she was wearing based on how it tasted.

Why that was the first thought that came to her, she’ll never know.

It was a deep kiss, one of longing and curiosity. Machi’s fingers curled into Pakunoda’s hair and she sighed into her mouth.

After a few moments Pakunoda went rigid and Machi opened her eyes as she pulled away and sat back. She frowned, noticing the tell-tale signs of regret seeping into the dancer’s features.

“Paku?”

Clarity was coming back to her eyes and Machi could almost visibly see the bricks piling back up between them. Something sour twisted in her gut. 

“I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.”

Machi scowled, sitting up against the back of the chaise. 

“It’s.. it’s fine, I-”

Pakunoda abruptly stood and picked up her phone. She floundered for a moment before turning away.

“I’ll be going now.”

“Paku, wait-”

The door clicked shut, leaving Machi with a confused muddle of feelings, an empty whiskey glass, and the mental image of Pakunoda’s lipstick-smeared mouth.

Chapter Text

They didn't talk about the kiss.

Pakunoda didn't treat her any differently in conversation, but their time alone dwindled.

Machi ached to have some sort of closure on the matter, but was thankful to have kept her as a friend nonetheless. 

After the new year, Machi enrolled in design school.

It was surprisingly easy to balance her school projects with her job as a makeup artist, and for that she was grateful. She truly enjoyed working with her friends at the company.

Things were changing, but some things would never change.

Like Shizuku’s forgetfulness and disregard for others' personal space.

"Shizuku, it's absolutely destroyed, this is exactly why I ask you not to touch my stuff," she scowled, turning the broken foot of her sewing machine over in her hands.

"You never told me not to touch the sewing machine, though. I just wanted to fix the rip in my jeans, I didn't realize how difficult it would be."

"Why didn't you just ask me to fix it?!" Her voice was rising, but Shizuku didn't shrink back.

"You're always busy, I didn't want to bother you."

"So you broke a piece of my sewing machine."

"Not intentionally. I don't see what the big deal is, I can get you a new one."

Machi slammed the metal foot down onto her sewing desk, shoulders going rigid.

"It's not about the stupid foot, Shizuku, its about your lack of respect and airheaded tendencies."

The artist pushed up her glasses and crossed her arms, "Oh."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Machi got fed up and sighed, turning around.

"I'm going out."

"Where are you going at one in the morning?"

" Out. "

Machi stood on the sidewalk next to the apartments and pulled out her phone. She knew that, most-likely, everyone in her friend group was still awake, but wasn't sure who to impose upon.

Hisoka and Illumi were an absolute no-go. The one time she'd stayed at their place, the noises in the middle of the night had scarred her for life. She couldn't look either of them in the eye for weeks after that.

Shalnark and his boyfriend Uvo were private people, and only let people stay over in emergencies. 

Pairo and Kurapika would have taken her in, but she didn't particularly like sleeping on their couch. 

She bit her lip, thumb hovering over Pakunoda’s contact on the screen. 

Pakunoda had a perfectly good guest room.

She cursed under her breath and hit the call button.

God, I fucking hate phone calls.

It rang a few times before the dancer picked up.

" Machi? Is everything okay?"

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"Hmm? Oh, no, I just got home from the studio. Is something wrong?"

Machi huffed, looking down at her sneakers.

"Uh. Shizuku and I had a fight. Would you…. Do you mind if I stay the night at your place?"

There was a dip of silence and Machi bit her lip.

"Of course I don't mind, come on over. I'll pour you a glass of wine."

The makeup artist let out a deep breath. 

"Thanks, Paku. Be there soon."

Pakunoda’s penthouse comprised the top three levels of one of the tallest high-rises in York New. The first few times Machi had been there, she felt horribly out of place. 

She still thought it was weird that she had to get off the elevator on the second story, instead of the bottom one, in order to reach the main living area.

She supposed that when money was no object, you could do whatever you wanted.

Pakunoda buzzed her in and when she walked through the door she was greeted by the true mistresses of the domain, the cats.

Opal the Ragdoll and Minerva the Tabby were Pakunoda’s pride and joys. They were horribly spoiled, having only the best food and toys and given free reign of the whole penthouse, with the exception of Pakunoda’s personal dance studio. 

They were both rescues, and the dancer insisted that they deserved everything she gave them for what they’d endured earlier in life.

Machi bent down to pet the cats who were weaving around her ankles and meowing at her in recognition, “Hello ladies, where’s your mom?”

“Right here,” the woman stepped around the corner, out of the kitchen, with two glasses in hand.

Machi took in her appearance as she walked across the room to the bar and reached up into the racks on the wall that held the wine. She wore a pair of tight fitting grey pajama pants and a sports bra covered with a fluffy, cropped pink sweater. Her hair was damp, suggesting that she’d just come from the shower.

She plucked one of the bottles from the rack and poured the deep red liquid into each glass before sitting it on the counter.

Machi joined her at the bar and took the glass that was offered, swirling it before taking a sip.

“Thank you. For the wine and the place to stay.”

Pakunoda leaned against the bar, taking her own sip before replying.

“Of course. What did you and Shizuku fight about this time?”

Machi rolled her eyes, some of the tension from earlier leaking back into her posture.

“She used my sewing machine without permission and broke the embroidery foot.”

Pakunoda gave a look of sympathy and shook her head.

“She can certainly be a bit… hmm…”

“Inconsiderate?” Machi offered, reached up to scratch behind Minerva’s ears when she jumped on the bar. Opal must have gone to curl up somewhere to sleep.

“That’s a lot nicer than what I was going to say but yes.”

Machi let out a deep sigh.

“She’s not a bad person, she’s just a bit scatterbrained. She can’t help it.”

Minerva jumped onto Pakunoda’s shoulder and settled there, nuzzling into the side of her face. Machi watched the smile spread across the dancer’s face and found herself wishing she could make the same expression happen for her.

“Come on,” Pakunoda grabbed her glass and the bottle of wine and came out from behind the bar.

Machi followed her back across the room and out onto the well-lit balcony. Pakunoda sat the bottle of wine down on the coffee table and Minerva jumped into her lap as she sat down on the couch.

Machi hesitated, contemplating sitting in one of the other seats, but Pakunoda patted the cushion beside her and she sat down there instead.

There was a long stretch of silence and Machi used it to marvel at the sight of the city lights from such a great height. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it, but something about it seemed different tonight.

“How’s school going for you?” Pakunoda’s husky voice broke the silence first and Machi’s head whipped back around to see her petting the cat in her lap.

“It’s going really well, my grades are pretty high. I’m working on a small fall collection right now, which is our final project for the semester. And then I’m off for a few weeks before the next semester starts.”

Pakunoda’s eyes softened around the edges, “Good, I’m glad you’re doing so well. You’ll have to show me your collection when it’s finished.”

“I will,” she gave a gentle smile, before turning back to the view.

This is the first time we’ve been alone in months. I want to ask her about the kiss, but-

She sighed, polishing off her glass of wine before taking the liberty of filling it up again. Pakunoda’s glass and elegant fingers came into her vision and she filled it up too, turning to look at her with a questioning gaze. The woman’s face offered up no answer, and so she sat back.

They sat and talked about recent news and the various shenanigans their friends had been up to for a while, until it felt forced.

At some point Minerva had settled between them on the sofa.

Machi took a sip of her wine and her free hand came down to stroke the cat’s fur, only to find Pakunoda’s hand there as well. They turned and looked at each other, neither moving their hand away.

Minerva purred away between them, oblivious to the tension that weighed down the air around them.

Machi’s throat ran dry and she struggled to say something, anything, but Pakunoda beat her to it.

“Machi, I-” she paused, seeming to gather her thoughts before pulling her hand back into her lap, “I think you’re a wonderful person… and-”

Oh my god, is this a confession? Is she confessing?

“And I appreciate your friendship,” Machi winced, “Which is why I feel horrible for my behavior at the New Year’s Eve party. Tipsy or not, I should have known better.”

Okay… not a confession…

Finding her tongue, Machi cleared her throat.

“You don’t need to apologize, Paku. If I didn’t enjoy it you would have known,” it was a bold statement, but she was hopeful that a little push might send things in her desired direction.

Pakunoda’s cheeks warmed but her gaze didn’t meet Machi’s.

“Ah. I see.”

Machi waited for something else, but Pakunoda remained tight-lipped and pensive.

“Did you… did you not want to kiss me?” Machi turned her body towards the dancer.

“No… well, yes.. But…”

The makeup artist frowned.

“You’re giving me very mixed signals here.”

Pakunoda sighed deeply and reached up to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear. She finally looked up into Machi’s deep blue eyes and Machi couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of foreboding creep up on her.

“I’m very fond of you Machi,” She took Machi’s hand and pulled it into her lap, “I like your attitude, and your sense of style. I like your dedication to your work, and the tough love you give your friends.”

Machi’s breath hitched in her throat as the dancer turned over her hand and began tracing the lines with her fingers, like she had the night they kissed.

“I think you’re beautiful, and any woman would be lucky to have you. And I have an inkling that you might feel similarly about me.”

Pakunoda looked down at their hands and Machi’s heart sank.

“But?”

Pakunoda took a deep breath, steeling her nerves it seemed.

“But I can’t give you the type of relationship you deserve.”

Machi frowned and tilted her head in confusion, “I don’t understand?”

“I’m sorry, but my dancing is everything to me. You’d always play second fiddle to my career, and I couldn’t bear doing that to you,” she squeezed Machi’s hand between her own, “I have cats because for the most part they can take care of themselves. They don’t mind that I’m not home more, that I can’t give them more attention.”

“But people aren’t cats, and I don’t have the time to give to you.”

Machi forced her facial expression back into something placid and uncaring, swallowing back her feelings.

“Ah. I see.”

“I hope you understand. I just can’t be the reason you are unhappy, I could never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

How ironic.

“I hope this doesn’t change things between us. You’re my closest friend.”

Machi shook her head, her other hand sitting her wine down and coming up to lay on top of Pakunoda’s.

“Nah, don’t worry. I understand.”

She watched the dancer’s shoulders drop as she let out a relieved sigh.

“Thank you. I think I should head to bed now. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Pakunoda let go of Machi’s hands and stood, scooping Minerva up into her arms.

“Ah. Okay, yea have a good night.”

She watched Pakunoda go back inside before leaning forward to pick up the bottle of wine from the table. She poured a bit more into her glass before giving it a second thought and filling it all the way to the top. 

That was the most elaborate friendzoning speech I’ve ever received.

She sat the bottle down and brought the glass to her lips.

Well… Bottom’s up.

Chapter Text

Months passed by and Machi and Pakunoda remained close friends.

Best friends, even.

Whenever they were free, they were together.

Machi’s friends often remarked on how inseparable they were, often teasing the makeup artist about how they were practically already together. Machi couldn’t blame them. From the outside looking in, it must have been incredibly hard not to see something there.

Truthfully sometimes Machi forgot herself, especially when the dancer would play with her hands while they sat and talked.

Hisoka was the only one who knew the truth of the whole friendzoning debacle, and how much the teasing of the others actually affected her.

She told herself that her discomfort was a fair price to pay to keep Pakunoda in her life.

Machi tried to move on, putting herself out there to see if she could find that same spark that had ignited when she met Pakunoda.

She went on a lot of first dates, but always ended up disappointed. She was getting fed up with trying.

And then she met Gel.

Another student at the design school, Gel had captivated Machi with her wide blue eyes and her quiet, reflective personality. Something about her demeanor calmed Machi and put her at ease.

There wasn’t electricity between them, but there was warmth, and before she knew it, they’d been seeing each other for a month.

Her friends had been anxiously waiting to meet Gel, but Machi hesitated to bring her around.

Hisoka commented that she was doing it out of consideration for Pakunoda, and she had to admit to herself that he was right.

Every time she mentioned going on dates or seeing someone new, the principal dancer’s expression would become stony and she would get very quiet.

The next time the company came together for an event, she decided she didn’t need to tiptoe around Pakunoda’s feelings anymore. It was an informal party for Bisky’s birthday, and Machi asked Gel to be her plus one.

They arrived together and walked into the party, hand-in-hand. Machi wasn’t overly fond of public displays of affection, but Gel was and she didn’t mind compromising for this one gesture.

Machi introduced Gel to the various members of staff and her fellow hair and makeup team members as they waded through the crowd. Machi finally spotted her friends and made her way over to them. 

At the moment, one of the faces was missing, and Machi didn’t know if she was upset or relieved at it.

“Machi, you finally made it! I know you’re in design school but do you really have to be fashionably late all the time?” Uvogin let out a bark of laughter and the makeup artist rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. You guys have been driving me nuts trying to get me to introduce you to my girlfriend, so here she is. Everyone this is Gel,” She turned to look at the woman and gestured to each of her friends, “Gel this is Shalnark and Uvogin, that’s Hisoka and Illumi, and Kurapika and Pairo.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Gel nodded her head in acknowledgement, a smile set on her full lips.

The group said their hellos and quickly fell into conversation with the woman, prodding her for details about her life. Machi was content to sit back and watch the conversation take place, but she noticed that Hisoka had a pensive expression on his face and was unusually quiet, a hand on his chin as if he were puzzling something out.

As the night wore on, Machi continued to see that expression on his face and it perplexed her.

The group eventually migrated to one corner of Bisky’s enormous flat and sat down in a circle of couches and chairs.

Machi took up the end of one couch and Gel was pressed up against her side, holding one of Machi’s hands in her lap. 

The group chit chatted among themselves, and Machi noted that Gel seemed perfectly comfortable with her gaggle of eccentric friends already.

What a relief.

Said relief was short-lived, dying where it stood when Pakunoda’s velvet voice entered the fray.

“So this is where you all ran off to,” Machi looked up and saw that the rest of the group seemed just as on edge as she herself felt, “I see we have a newcomer this evening. Machi, you didn’t tell me your sweetheart was coming.”

Machi swore she saw a flicker of something melancholy in the dancer’s eyes as she looked at her hand entwined with Gel’s, before she became stone-faced and impassive once more.

Pakunoda walked right up and took the empty seat next to Gel, offering her hand with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m Pakunoda, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Gel sat up and accepted her hand, a genuine, though reserved, smile gracing her dark features.

“Ms. Sattari, it’s an honor to meet you. Machi has told me so much about you and your accomplishments.”

The mask cracked for a moment and Pakunoda’s eyes went soft around the edges, “She did, did she?”

They made eye contact and Machi forgot where she was for a moment.

It was then that conversation picked back up around them. 

It didn’t take long for Pakunoda to fall quiet, and Machi ignored whatever her girlfriend was trying to tell her to peek around her to check on the dancer.

This happened several times. 

At one point Gel asked Machi for a drink refill and she complied, standing up with Gel’s empty glass in hand.

She made her way across the flat and to the drink table. Hisoka appeared next to her and she frowned.

“What’s up with you today? You’re acting weird.”

Hisoka crossed his arms and sighed as if the answer should have been obvious.

“My dear Machi, you certainly have a type don’t you.”

Machi looked up as she poured more champagne into the glass.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh you know… Quiet, reserved attitude. Slightly older. Tall. Large bosom.”

Machi accidently let the champagne spill over and cursed, setting the bottle down and grabbing a wad of napkins to mop up the spill.

“What are you trying to imply here, Hisoka?”

The man was silent and Machi looked back up at him.

“You’re not really that stupid, are you?”

Machi felt her blood start to boil in her veins.

“Machi, they may not look all that similar, but it’s pretty obvious that you’re using Miss Gel as a replacement for our darling Pakunoda.”

Machi’s body went rigid.

Is… Is that really what I’m doing?”

She shook it off and glared up at the redhead, “Shut up. You’ve really lost your remaining brain cells this time.”

“If that’s what you choose to believe, fine. But I know you aren’t as blind as you’re pretending to be.”

With that he turned and made his way back through the crowd.

Machi sighed and turned to stare at the too-full glass of champagne.

She must have been there for a few minutes, zoning out, because the next thing she knew someone was gently grabbing her by the elbow.

She turned and her heart jumped into her throat when she saw Pakunoda standing there, a concerned look on her face.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone for a while,” her face stiffened up a little, “Gel was getting worried so I said I’d come find you.”

“Oh. Yea, I’m alright,” she lied, looking down at the champagne glass. Pakunoda still hadn’t let go of her elbow, and she didn’t know if she wanted her to.

There was a beat of silence between them before Pakunoda spoke again.

“She’s very pretty, I can see why you’d love her.”

Machi floundered for something to say.

“I don’t-”

“We should be getting back, if we both stay away they’ll send a battalion after us.”

Pakunoda dropped her hand from Machi’s elbow and she watched her back as she retreated through the crowd. She carefully lifted the champagne to her lips and took a hardy sip before following after her.

For the remainder of the party she felt as though everyone’s eyes were on her. 

She didn’t like it.

Another month passed and Machi felt that things were going quite well between her and Gel. They were getting quite serious, and had been talking about moving in together.

In the back of Machi’s mind, however, something was bothering her. There just seemed to be something missing.

Which was utterly preposterous . 

Gel was gorgeous, and considerate. She was an attentive partner and great in bed. Her even temperament complemented Machi’s perfectly and they rarely ever had disagreements. She also fit in well with her friends.

Gel was the total package.

Machi had tried explaining this to Hisoka several times, but he always replied with something akin to 

“ Yes, the contents seem to be of similar quality, but she’s not the brand you prefer. ”

“What are you making?” Gel’s inky black hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned in to inspect the garment Machi was working on.

It was late and the glass cage that Machi and Shizuku called a studio was lit by moonlight and two dim lamps.

Machi took her foot off the pedal of the sewing machine and turned the garment under the metal foot, pulling out a few pins before beginning to press down on the pedal again. The sound wasn’t very loud, attesting to the quality of the machine, so she didn’t have to strain to be heard.

“It’s a blazer. It’s for a pantsuit.”

“Is it for an assignment? I don’t remember that being in our curriculum.” 

The sewing abruptly stopped before starting up again.

“No. It’s for Pakunoda.”

The pressure against her shoulder disappeared and the tense silence between them stretched for several minutes.

“Machi, why don’t you ever make me anything?”

The tone of her voice was as cool and even as it ever was, but something about the question made Machi horribly uncomfortable.

She took her foot off the pedal and turned to look at her girlfriend. The dim lamp light warmed her skin and turned her cream colored chemise a soft orange color.

“You’ve never asked. And anything I can make you, you could probably make for yourself anyway.”

Gel nodded and looked down, clasping her hands in front of her, “I see.”

Machi started to turn back around when Gel began to speak again.

“You know, sometimes I feel like there’s a third person in this relationship.”

A chill ran up Machi’s spine but she tried to keep her face impassive.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Perhaps you truly don’t. But everyone else does. I see the way your friends look at me when she’s around. The pity in their eyes…”

Gel met her gaze with one of sadness, but her voice didn’t betray her.

“It’s a bit humiliating, you know, to watch your partner pine after someone right in front of you and everyone else that matters to them.”

“Gel, what are you talking about? I don’t pine- ”

“I already knew the jacket was for her. It’s her favorite shade of purple.”

Machi’s mouth snapped shut.

“And do you know how I know that? Because you told me.”

“You’ve told me so much about her over the course of our relationship, that I feel as if I know her better than I even know you.”

The heat of shame began to creep up Machi’s neck.

“Gel…”

“She and I are a lot alike in some ways. Especially in the way that we both love you.”

Machi felt like she’d been smacked across the face.

“Pakunoda doesn’t-”

“Yes, she does. And everyone knows it.”

Machi’s temper began to flare in defense and she stood abruptly.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve seen, but there’s nothing between Pakunoda and I. That ship sailed long ago and she wasn’t interested in boarding.”

“Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

Gel began to pace, eyes roaming across the various unfinished paintings Shizuku had on the brick walls. Machi felt her heart drop into her stomach.

“Do I?”

“Yes… Mostly gibberish. But everything that isn’t gibberish is Pakunoda .”

Guilt clawed at Machi’s gut. She reached out and grabbed Gel’s hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”

As if by some divine timing, Machi’s phone started insistently vibrating in it’s place on her desk.

She let go of the other woman’s hand and stalked back over, confused and a bit irritated.

It’s after three in the morning, who in the hell-

Her breath hitched when she read the caller ID and she glanced up at Gel who was giving her a knowing look.

She swiped her thumb on the screen and turned away, putting the phone to her ear.

“Paku, what’s going on, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“ I need you. ”

The weight of those words was almost too much to bear. She leaned over, bracing her free hand on the desk.

Something wasn’t quite right about the dancer’s voice. It almost sounded like she’d been crying.

“Where are you?”

“I just got home from the hospital, it’s.. It’s my mother…”

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

There was a noise of affirmation and then the call ended.

Machi’s feet were moving before her brain could process the snippet of conversation, and it wasn’t until Gel spoke as she got to the glass double doors that she even remembered the other woman was present.

“If you go to her, I won’t be here when you return.”

The makeup artist turned and saw Gel standing there, a small, sad smile on her face.

She didn't look angry, simply resigned to her fate.

She deserves better.

"Gel, I-"

"It's okay. I understand," she stepped up to Machi and brought a hand up to her cheek, "I can see why you love her."

Machi remembered her conversation with Pakunoda at Bisky’s party, and the parallels in their speech struck her hard.

Machi leaned into the woman's palm, remorse open on her normally guarded features. 

"I'm so sorry."

Gel gave a small, sad smile and leaned down to kiss her. It lingered for a moment before she pulled away completely. 

"Good night, Machi."

Machi couldn't find any more words to give and so she turned around and left.

Chapter Text

The passing of Pakunoda’s mother marked a turning point in their lives and relationship.

Machi was a shoulder for the dancer to cry on, a counselor for her to talk out her conflicted emotions to. Machi helped her with funeral preparations, listened to her complain about her aunts and uncles disapproval with how things were handled, and sat in on meetings with lawyers and accountants to settle the estate.

Whatever Pakunoda needed, and whenever she needed it, Machi was there.

No one brought up the fact that Gel had suddenly disappeared from Machi’s life. The makeup artist had spoken about it briefly to Hisoka, but other than that was content to leave the past in the past.

The unspoken something between Machi and Pakunoda hung heavy in the air whenever they were together. Lingering touches, stolen glances, and words of appreciation were all that gave anything close to acknowledgement to their feelings for each other.

Time seemed to fly by. Before she knew it, it had been nearly five years since she joined the dance company. She was working on finishing her fashion degree early, aiming towards getting an internship the following summer.

Machi had noticed that Pakunoda had been especially tired lately. She was also having more physical therapy sessions these days, and she spent less and less time at the studio.

The design student didn’t bring this up, not seeing it as her place to.

And then there came the first accident.

It was during one of the final performances for the spring show season. Machi hovered at the edge of the curtain with her belt of brushes and supplies, waiting to be of use when the dancers came off stage.

All of a sudden the music cut out and there was a collective gasp from the audience. There was a beat where everyone seemed afraid to move, and then all of a sudden Pariston and Bisky were racing past her onto the stage with Phinks and Nobunaga in tow.

Machi’s brows furrowed  but she remained in place, listening as Pariston’s voice made a word of apology and promised that the show would resume in a few moments.

Next thing she knew, Pakunoda came through the curtain on one foot, one arm around each of the male dancer’s necks as they carried her weight, Bisky trailing after. Her face was contorted in a grimace and her free leg wasn’t hanging quite right.

“Paku?” She turned and trailed after them towards Pakunoda’s dressing room. 

They were met by one of the staff medics, and Phinks helped lower her onto the sofa before he and Nobunage left the room.

Machi hovered at the edge of the room, fiddling with her septum ring just to have something to do as she waited for some sort of verdict.

The medic said something about softening cartilage in her knee, topping it off with a recommendation of an Xray and MRI while strapping an ice pack to her leg. 

The medic left and Bisky followed, pausing at the door to reach out and pat Machi on the arm. She closed the door behind her.

Machi’s gaze fell back to Pakunoda, who was staring into her lap. It would have been funny, seeing a woman dressed as a fairy laying on a leather sofa, but the expression on the dancer’s face sent a feeling of dread down to the pit of her stomach.

She pushed off from the wall and walked over to sit next to the couch.

“Are you… I mean I know you aren’t okay but…”

Pakunoda looked down at her and Machi was struck with how much older she looked compared to when they had first met. Not to say that she wasn’t still incredibly beautiful, but the lines around her mouth and eyes had deepened, matured her in a way that only time can do.

“It’s finally happening,” her expression was somber, her tawny eyes betraying the pain she was in.

“What’s happening, Paku?”

“The end of my career.”

Machi’s features must have betrayed how perplexed she was, as Pakunoda continued right along.

“My legs are giving out on me.”

“You don’t know that, this is just one injury,” she insisted.

Pakunoda reached down and took Machi’s hand, pulling it into her tulle-covered lap. She turned it over and traced the familiar path of her palm lines with her fingertips.

“It’s alright, Machi. I’ve been expecting this for a while,” she gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “I’ve been very tired lately. No matter how much I rest, my body doesn’t recover like it used to. My muscles don’t feel as sturdy as they should anymore. The arthritis in my feet is becoming unbearable.”

Machi’s brows knitted together, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

Pakunoda’s thumb stroked against her wrist.

“I knew it would happen eventually. I’m very fortunate, most dancers don’t get to stay on stage as long as I have.”

Machi nodded, knowing that she was right. Pakunoda had been dancing professionally for nearly two decades.

“What are you going to do?”

Pakunoda looked up at her, giving a deep sigh.

“I’m going to enjoy the time I have left. I predict that I’ll retire by the end of the year. I’m going to talk to Bisky about taking someone on as my apprentice.”

“Oh?” Machi mused, “Did you have someone in mind?”

“Kurapika. He’s incredibly talented and dedicated, and he’s versatile. I think he’d be a perfect fit.”

A small smile slipped onto Machi’s face, “I think you’re right about that.”

They fell into silence.

After a few minutes, Machi looked at their entwined hands.

“What will you do after you retire?”

Pakunoda averted her gaze, “I’ll volunteer at the shelters more. Maybe get a few more cats.”

She paused and looked back into Machi’s eyes with a gaze so intense that it sent a ripple of heat from Machi’s head to her toes.

“And maybe, if I’m not too late…”

Before Machi could process the insinuation, there was a knock at the door.

Pakunoda’s features steeled over and she let go of Machi’s hand as Pariston and a few other people clamored in.

Machi stared at the dull tan carpet and tried to put her thoughts in order.

She wondered all night what Pakunoda would have said if they hadn’t been interrupted.

Pakunoda’s knee gave out three more times over the course of the summer, and both she and Machi were relieved when Kurapika had agreed to be her understudy.

Kurapika was a fantastic dancer, and a loyal friend though his temper could rival her own.

She often thought about the insensitive remark that he'd spat in anger on his birthday at the club, referring to how she was simply “letting herself pine” for Pakunoda. It got under her skin in a horrible way.

Pakunoda had been an enormous part of her life for five years now. After Gel, she hadn’t even attempted to find another romantic partner, knowing that her heart would be unevenly split between whoever she met and the principal dancer.

The longer the summer wore on, the tenser things seemed to get between them. It was as if they were both waiting for a bomb to drop.

Pakunoda was the one who dropped it.

It was one of the rare days that both Pakunoda and Machi had free of obligations. They were in Pakunoda’s bedroom, the woman draped in an unfinished black dress as she stood on the edge of the raised platform that housed her four-poster canopy bed. Machi knelt in front of her, pinning the hem in place, a pin cushion strapped to her wrist. Opal and Minerva were curled up in Pakunoda’s vanity chair together, napping.

They had been in comfortable silence for a while now, but it seemed that Pakunoda was ready to break it.

“ I love you. ”

Machi missed her mark and pricked herself with one of the pins. She cursed and stuck the injured thumb in her mouth, sitting back on her heels to look up at the dancer through her bangs.

Did I really hear her say that???

The woman’s face was even and unabashed, she was clearly sure about what she’d said. Even so, Machi couldn’t help but question her.

“Excuse me?”

“I believe you heard me.”

“No, I’m sorry what? ” Machi stood and backed up, pushing her bangs back from her forehead, “Are you fucking with me?”

Pakunoda crossed her arms under her chest.

“I’m being incredibly serious.”

Machi’s face pinched up in confusion.

“Why are you saying this now ?”

“I’m afraid that if I wait any longer you’ll give up on me.”

She looked up into the woman’s warm eyes and watched as all of her defenses fell. The amount of longing present in her gaze was enough to make her lose her breath.

“As you should. I’ve been very selfish with you, stringing you along like this,” she gathered the skirt of her dress in her hands before stepping down off the platform and approaching Machi, “I’ve played around with your emotions and caused the downfall of a good and healthy relationship.”

“How do you know-”

“It was obvious, Machi. Gel suddenly stopped coming around after mâmân passed and every time I asked you where she was, you had the most guilty look on your face. I’m not stupid, Machi, I know you were given an ultimatum.”

She reached out and grabbed Machi’s hand, holding it between her own.

“I know you chose me.”

Heat creeped up the designer’s neck and settled in her cheeks. She licked her lips and swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“And?”

“And I’m tired of denying myself what I truly want. My original intention was to retire and then have this conversation with you. But I’ve realized that I’ve run out of patience.”

She lifted Machi’s hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against her injured thumb and then against her palm. Machi’s heart lodged itself in her throat.

“You’ve become an irreplaceable facet of my life and I can’t believe I've been so stubborn as to let you and your feelings orbit me for so long without doing something about it.”

Machi’s gaze flicked to their joined hands, as the woman’s gaze was too intense for her to handle.

“Am I too late?” her gaze was imploring as she pressed Machi’s hand to her heart.

Machi took a deep breath as she felt the organ pound against her hand much like her own was doing inside her chest.

After all this time… Anyone with more sense would have moved on.

I guess I don’t have any sense.

“No,” Machi stepped closer, invading her space to lean up on her toes, “No, you’re right on time.”

She took back her hand and slid her arms around the dancer’s neck, pulling her down to lock their lips together.

One of Pakunoda’s hands settled at the base of her spine and the other cradled her face, tilting it just slightly to deepen the kiss.

They broke apart only to gather enough oxygen to go back in for seconds. This time yearning bled into hunger and they licked into each other’s mouth like they were starving.

They stumbled up onto the platform and the trance was broken as Pakunoda laid back on her bed, Machi between her legs, and yelped, jolting back up. She reached behind herself and pulled away a pin from the dress, holding it up between them for Machi to see.

They both stared at it for a moment before falling into a fit of laughter.

Machi watched as Pakunoda’s laughter died out and her stomach flipped when a bright smile adorned her face.

She took the pin and stuck it in the pin cushion on her wrist for safe keeping.

The designer took a moment to process the situation, and found herself with one unanswered question.

“So, what does this mean for us? I love you, and you love me, but what about-”

Pakunoda shushed her by pressing an elegant finger to her lips.

“There’s no more what-ifs, no buts, and no more putting off feelings. We’re together. That’s all I want now.”

Machi smiled, but it turned into a look of curiosity as the woman’s eyes lidded.

“Well, I suppose that isn’t entirely true.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s one more thing that I want, but you’re going to have to unpin me for me to have it.”

Machi’s face flushed in recognition and she gulped at the dangerous look on the blonde’s face.

“After all this time? I think I can manage that. ”