Work Text:
As it turns out, there were many more advantages to having a best friend than Ayda first thought.
She studied friendship as much as she studied any subject she craved to know everything about, so of course she knew there would be a lot of advantages. When she befriended— or… be-best-friended— Adaine Abernant, Ayda knew she could possibly make more friends as a result of this union. That excited her. However, that excitement turned to surprise when she learned exactly who Adaine Abernant’s friends are.
A dancing pirate, a saint, a detective, and most shockingly: rockstars. Specifically, a duo known professionally as members of Fig and The Cig Figs. A band that Ayda has come to love, though Ayda knows a disproportionate amount of affection is directed at Fig herself.
See, she’s simply amazing. She’s loud for one, playing that bass guitar at such a volume that Ayda’s bones feel it. It’s a new and exhilarating thing to her. Fig just seems to exist differently. She understands confusing social cues with ease and sends some of her own, she both casts spells and uses them in some of the most creative ways Ayda’s ever seen, and she’s drop dead gorgeous. Compared to Ayda and her cooped up studying, Fig is in a world of her own.
Despite everything, however, she managed to befriend Fig, as well as Gorgug and the rest of Adaine’s friends. Even if she’s as worried as she always is of being weird around them, she’s comfortable around them.
…Fig in particular. Ayda can’t blame herself, Fig’s energy is irresistible.
Somehow, that’s what’s on Ayda’s mind as she walks up the driveway to Fig’s front door. Tonight, at this party, she’ll tell Fig how she feels. That Ayda’s gotten to know the woman behind the rockstar and loves her just as much, if not more.
She stops before the door, takes a deep breath, and rings the doorbell. She waits a moment, then the door opens.
“Hey!” Figueroth Faeth herself cheers, smiling widely. She’s dressed as she usually is, in magazines, on album covers, during interviews. Ayda will admit to herself and no one else that she’s seen every one of the aforementioned pieces of media. Fig is dressed impeccably, fishnets and chains and piercings draping off her form. Ayda sees lipstick as black as the void and she bites her tongue to keep from asking to try it on herself.
“Hello. I’m here for the party.”
“Of course you are! C’mon!” Fig takes Ayda’s hand and pulls her into the house in full.
The mansion is lavish and huge and decorated in the way anyone would expect of a rockstar, if you count messes of clothes and miscellaneous knickknacks a decoration. Amid all that are people, dancing and talking and drinking and eating seafood. Kristen and Tracker are making out in a corner, Riz is ranting to Adaine about a corkboard he’s brought, Fabian and Gorgug are cheering on Ragh as he shovels shrimp down his throat. Typical party stuff.
But Ayda doesn’t pay attention to all of that, at least as not as much as she pays attention to Fig herself. She’s excitedly talking about things that happened before Ayda got there, but the pumping music and absurdity of her words makes it come out in a mess of syllables and laughs. Ayda doesn’t even bother responding besides nods, and then a plastic red cup is shoved into her hand.
“It’s water!” Fig shouts over the music and the boys’ screams. “I know you don’t drink!”
Ayda nods and takes a big gulp of it. “Thank you!”
“Course!” Fig says.
The party continues as all the other parties Ayda’s attended have. She sticks to Fig— or maybe Adaine— for the entire night and talks to them, and if or when they leave, she finds an empty room to sit in and read a book or something.
Tonight, she escaped to the back porch. Fig got pulled into a crab stand and everyone wanted to watch, but the noise was too much for Ayda. It’s much better out here, where the dull cheers are accompanied by the sound of crickets.
She doesn’t really notice the noise inside toning down, as her mind is too full. However, the sliding glass door opening and therefore doubling the volume makes her jump before Fig sits next to her.
“There you are! What’re you doin’ out here?”
“It got loud,” Ayda says. She doesn’t know when she made the subconscious decision to not say anything about her hatred of parties, but she’s been keeping that secret for a while now.
Fig looks sheepish. “Yeah, once Fabian starts talking about Shrimp River none of us can really shut him or Ragh up about it. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, I’m fine,” Ayda says. When she looks at Fig, she sees small boxes in her hand. “What’s that?”
Fig looks down at them, as if she forgot about them. “Oh! Yeah, someone ordered takeout at some point. Thought you’d want some.”
Ayda takes one of the boxes, as well as the cheap pair of chopsticks. She knows Fig could afford solid gold chopsticks inlaid with the most brilliant crystals ever known, but somehow she feels like these casual, flimsy pairs fit into their hands better. “I like takeout, thank you.”
Fig smiles, and that’s when Ayda gets the urge to kiss her again. Or be kissed by her. She still doesn’t really understand the difference.
Either way, the dinner is nice. Under the stars, with the cool breeze between their warm bodies, Ayda finds herself… comfortable. It’s a strange, semi-new feeling. She’s really only felt comfortable with Adaine and even then, this is a whole new feeling.
“And then we got super drunk, and got tattoos! I actually don’t remember it, but, I mean, we all have tattoos now,” Fig is saying. She laughs, “You should see Riz. His mom lost it.”
She holds her hands out to Ayda, showing off zajiri script on her knuckles. “Look!”
Ayda takes Fig’s hands and holds them closer to her face to read what’s written: pain and pleasure. “This is beautiful calligraphy.”
“Thanks!” Fig says, “Next time we go do something stupid you should totally come.”
“Why would I want to do something stupid?” Ayda asks, looking up to Fig. Eye contact is important right? She doesn’t break it.
“I don’t mean like, you’re stupid or we’re stupid or anything, I just… everyone needs mindless nonsense every once in a while. That’s why The Bad Kids have shrimp parties!”
She shrugs her shoulders as she talks, tilting her head and moving around. She looks nervous. Is Ayda making her nervous? Is she being too weird?
“Shrimp parties?”
Fig nods. “Yeah, it’s all just masking pain.”
Ayda looks down at their still linked hands, then back up. “And where does the pleasure come from?”
Fig giggles again, face darkening. “Tons of places, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
“Nevermind,” Fig says, shaking her head. “The parties are the pleasure. They’re a break from doing serious stuff all the time. Like, I think if I didn’t do a crab stand every so often I’d explode out of anxiety, you know?”
Ayda still doesn’t quite know what a crab stand is or if she’d want to do it, but she understands what Fig is saying. “I do. I wish I could find pleasure in parties the way you do.”
Fig’s face softens. Ayda wants to hold it in her hands. Fig says, “It doesn’t have to just be parties. Anything that gets your brain to stop for a minute is fine.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” Ayda admits. Why she’s suddenly revealing so much about her life, she has no idea. What started as a plan to confess romantic attraction is now something much more intimate and confusing.
Right. She was going to tell Fig how she felt. That plan went right out the window, and now she’s here talking about crabs and parties.
Ayda starts crying. Tears of flame roll down her cheeks and she desperately tries to not sob or keep crying.
“Woah woah woah, it’s okay,” Fig says, reaching forward to wipe away the tears. Ayda would’ve stopped her, but Fig is infernal. Fire doesn’t hurt her. That’s… something… right?
One hand wipes away the tears on Ayda’s face, but one hand still holds onto Ayda’s. It’s a lot of contact and Ayda finds herself not recoiling like she usually does.
“I’m sorry,” Ayda says, feeling Fig’s sharp nail light scratching her cheek. Her touch is warm to everyone else, but colder than the entirety of Ayda, so Fig really is cool in every way. “You’re just so amazing. You’re loud and popular and you move and do things and I’m just me.”
Fig furrows her eyebrows at that, looking into Ayda’s eyes. Ayda hates it, she hates the vulnerability of staring into each other’s souls. She breaks the contact and looks down at Fig’s hand on her own.
“I have to go. I’m sorry,” Ayda says, standing suddenly. Fig’s hands leave her, making her uncomfortably warm. Sweaty and sticky, she casts teleport and is gone.
hi! its fig. but u already knew that since u have my number. um. was yesterday weird? did i do smth wrong?
Fig looks at her crystal, thumbs poised over the keyboard as she looks at the typed out but unsent message. Huffing, she holds the backspace button until it disappears, then tries again.
hey, i wanted 2 talk about the other night. if i did anything wrong im sorry
Oh fuck, that’s so fucking honest. She’s Fig! Of Cig Figs fame! Rockstars don’t send messages like that. Rockstars don’t care about people’s feelings.
But… Ayda is different. She was honest too. She opened her heart up about some deep shit to someone half drunk on crab. There’s some kind of bravery in that, isn’t there?
She presses send before thinking, then lets gravity pull her head into her pillow, groaning into it. She’s relieved at actually sending the message, but nerves bubble in her stomach at the fact that she’s probably getting a reply.
Rolling over, she looks up at her ceiling. She’s long since covered it in posters and pictures and graffiti, and it’s a nice distraction. Group selfies between her old adventuring party punctuated with stickers glow in the dark stars.
She sighs. It was so easier back then, when all they had to worry about was Kalvaxus. Now she’s got feelings and shit.
Then a ping from her phone makes her jump so much she falls off her bed with a yelp. She kneels on the floor and grabs her phone in a hurry to read the reply from Ayda.
Hello. The night in question was a moment of extreme vulnerability for me, and I left in panic. I apologize if you found that weird. I did not find you weird. You aren’t weird.
Fig reads that once, twice, thrice… Her hands fold around the crystal and her thumbs hover over the keys, waiting to type, but the words don’t come for a long time.
u arent weird either. i wish i was like u, tbh
Ayda’s response is immediate. Why?
Fig types, ur really analytical and practical. u make things make sense when i cant. ur smart
Ayda: You’re a brilliant spellcaster. Your ability to play music in the way you do is more impressive than my intellect.
Fig rolls her eyes. as if
There’s a pause, then Ayda sends: I don’t think there’s a point to arguing who is smarter. Intelligence is subjective to whatever topic is being discussed at a given time, not to mention intelligence bears no weight on a person’s quality of character. However, you understand parties and conversations and friendships much more than me, which is arguably more practical than my knowledge of spells.
Fig quirks a brow at her screen. u don’t understand that stuff?
Ayda: I’ve read that a lot of autistic people have trouble fitting into neurotypical social norms, and I am no exception. I know there’s nothing wrong with that but it feels alienating at times.
Fig: oh
Fig: u don’t have to come to parties if u don’t wanna then
Ayda: You invite me. I should come.
Fig: i only invite u cuz i thought u like them. if you don’t then we can do smth else
Ayda: Like what?
Fig: u pick
There’s a longer pause and Fig fidgets her thumbs, watching the typing bubble appear and disappear over and over on Ayda’s end. This was stupid. This should’ve happened in person. She should change her name and move to a different country. Not like it’ll be hard for her.
As she’s contemplating which of her alter egos she should transform into, her phone buzzes and she jumps, focusing on the screen instead.
Would you like to go on a date with me?
Fig’s eyes blow wide, processing what was asked of her. After taking a quick second to scream into a pillow, she types a response.
yea that sounds gr8
Perfect. Cool as casual, how rockstars do it. But still, Fig acts very unlike a rockstar as she squeals into a pillow in girlish excitement, and she somehow can’t find herself embarrassed for that. After all, she thinks Ayda wouldn’t find her weird for doing that, and she’s always hoped she could be more like her.