Chapter Text
Heather Chandler sipped a solo cup of beer, her nose crinkled in distaste. Watching the other two Heathers, McNamara and Duke, dance clumsily, both already a couple drinks in. She sighed, hoping she wouldn't have to stop one of them drunkenly being led upstairs by Ram or Kurt or any of the stupid jocks. It'd happened before, ending with Chandler having to drag McNamara away from some horny frat guy who was practically slobbering all over her.
Though she shouldn't be one to talk, she'd practically slept with half of the football team, she was always in control. It wasn't a reckless, heated decision in the haze of alcohol. She wasn't stupid, and she certainly didn't just open her legs for anyone. It was always to get something she wanted, whether it was attention or power or a distraction. Or just to show that she could. In fact, she couldn't think of a single time she pulled someone into a secluded room or invited them into her queen sized bed because of lust. Or a single time she got an ounce of pleasure out of a tryst.
Shaking off those distracting thoughts, her eyes returned to their original view, watching the newest addition to the Heathers, Veronica, who was trying to down some vodka without cringing. It was obvious that the girl was new to parties, alcohol, and, well, everything. If Heather wasn't so coldhearted, she would've thought it was adorable. But since she was the mythic bitch whose reputation preceded her, she watched with a stony face as Veronica placed the cup down after a few more swallows, her face twisting in disgust. From a distance, she wasn't sure, but Veronica began to cough like she'd just inhaled battery acid or something.
Heather sighed dramatically to no one but herself, snatching a nearby shot and downing it before striding over, her little red dress swishing around her thighs as she approached Veronica. "What the hell is wrong with you?" She demanded, crossing her arms, and when Veronica turned her dark eyes to her, confused, she clarified: "have you never had alcohol, ever?"
"No, and this tastes like detergent and drain cleaner. Why does anyone drink this?" Veronica retorted, unhunching her back as she swallowed hard, probably trying to push the burn of vodka down her throat. As she straightened up the lighting was thrown to her exposed collarbones in her grey sweater, which was off the shoulder. Heather's eyes darted down momentarily before she grabbed Veronica by the elbow and pulled her into a quieter corner of the room.
"Listen, I didn't bring you to your first frat party so you could humiliate me. Get your act together and stop making those stupid fucking faces." Unfortunately, as Heather said so, she focused in on Veronica's face, which was slightly red from holding back coughs. Were her eyes always that particular shade of brown? Did her hair always frame her cheekbones like so?
To cover up her initial surprise to her own reaction to Veronica, Heather gestured aggressively at her clothes. "You're wearing a sweater for God's sake. You look like a librarian or someone who eats mothballs as a hobby."
Veronica's lips tugged down in a displeased expression, and Heather was again surprised by how she wanted to press her thumbs to Veronica's lips and force her to smile. It was a party, not a funeral.
" 'M sorry, Heather." Veronica say in a sarcastic fashion, swaying a little on her feet as she faced off the blonde. "I don't remember it being me that forced me to come to a frat party with a bunch of odious, shirtless guys all grinding against me at every chance and awful beverages and no food." She leaned precariously against the wall.
"You should at least try to enjoy yourself! You're one of the Heathers now, why don't you start acting like it and try not to be such a loser for once?" Heather argued, mimicking Veronica's stance and leaning against the wall as well. Though that might have also been the effects of the handful of shots she'd taken in case she did something tonight she'd rather forget. The thought of other guys trying to touch Veronica, to grope or flirt with her or even stand too close in her presence, irked her.
"Well, easy for you to say." Veronica prodded at her chest, "you're a bitch all of the time and you obviously don't care about anything besides yourself." Her eyes narrowed in concentration like she was trying to pick out the right words. Damn, was the girl was drunk? "And I was actually perfectly fine without you coming over here and throwing a fit, so you can go back to tonguing with Ram Sweeny or whatever the fuck you were doing."
Heather should not have found it so attractive that Veronica stood up to her, but it was the beer talking, wasn't it? She knew better than to lose sleep thinking about it. "That's not true. I care about-" She retorted, but stopped. What did she care about? Well, Duke and McNamara were two of her best friends, but she knew better than to ask them to catch her during a trust fall. She didn't hate her parents, certainly, but they were like distant figures that came and went on weekends and rarely made cameos in her life. She cared about herself, but she knew that wasn't what Veronica was getting at. Damn it, did she really have to be so snappy, even drunk?
"What? What do you care about, Heather?" Veronica said in a faux-sweet voice that made Heather want to gag. At the same time, it was rather enticing, and she wondered if Veronica knew what was running through her mind at the moment.
Heather stared at her for a moment more. To answer with you would be stupid, and uncharacteristic, but Veronica was really growing on Heather. The first person with a sense of wit in the damn school, someone who was constantly proving she wasn't a naive puppet to be pulled around like McNamara sometimes could be, or any of the two-faced girls who probably wanted to stick out her foot when Heather was walking. No, Veronica seemed genuinely earnest in their friendship, and uncomfortably nice, even rubbing heads with figures like Martha Dumptruck of all people.
What was even more confusing was the strangeness Heather felt around her. At first, she brushed it off as the oddness of having another person in the Heather's trio, but as they became increasingly familiar, she realized it wasn't it. It was an odd sensation in her lower stomach whenever Veronica bit her lips when thinking, or told off someone furiously for teasing Martha, or put up her hair. Which was, of course, fucking ridiculous because those were all normal, everyday events, nothing to get upset about.
Veronica was still watching her, and Heather realized it'd been a good fifteen seconds of no response from her end. Staring at Veronica's slightly parted lips and glinting eyes was almost like getting tunnel vision. Heather's world narrowed from TV's and Pucci pumps and her rock-hard reputation to her unfairly attractive face.
It was fortunate that both of them were drunk, it was an easy excuse as Heather brought her hands to Veronica's waist, the sweater unpredictably soft as she tugged her closer and kissed Veronica firmly on the lips.