Chapter Text
When Rio steps off the train in New York City, she's immediately hit with a strange wave of melancholy. She's barely twenty, still a kid in the way she clings to her dreams—despite being told, over and over, to settle for something more realistic. But Rio has always had a tendency to go over the top.
She’s not new to New York, but the city still feels new to her. Rio was born here, to parents she can’t remember but still misses. The city is hot and humid. People walk with purpose, uncaring of the late hour, and she earns more than her share of dirty looks as she navigates toward the address of Hela’s dad’s apartment, where she’ll be staying for the summer.
Rio barely glances at the apartment. She checks the first door on the right, sees the bed, drops her backpack, and throws herself into it.
The morning of her first day at the summer internship—coincidentally the very next day—Rio wakes up with the first rays of sunlight, too giddy with excitement to sleep. There's an unread message from Hela on her phone. She reads it as she climbs out of bed.
You're probably gonna wake up before I do so good luck today on your first day of unpaid labour.
Rio laughs and fires off a quick reply. Hela is her roommate at Yale and her best friend, despite them having almost nothing in common. Rio is a music major on a sports scholarship; Hela is studying business and comes from a family she casually refers to as “filthy rich.” They have a deal: if Rio ever makes it as a musician, Hela will be her manager. Hela calls it the “babysitter deal” and claims to already regret it—but then again, she did reach out to her estranged father to get Rio a place to stay for the summer.
Rio’s pretty sure they’re a done deal.
Which is why she seriously considers Hela’s invitation to join her in Oslo for summer vacation. Rio isn't sure what’s even in Oslo, but it probably beats running around taking coffee orders and picking up lunch deliveries from the front desk.
A whole week of internship passes, and she still hasn’t done anything remotely related to music. The producer she’s working with, a guy named Ralph, keeps talking about a “secret project” he’s developing with his team—“the guys.” Rio isn’t one of “the guys.” Not yet. She’s “too green,” Ralph says, and sends her out for another coffee run.
By Friday, Rio is almost certain she’s going to quit—but then Ralph, maybe by accident, throws her a bone. It’s nearly six, and he’s grumbling and groaning in his office. Rio is sitting at her desk just outside, playing a game on her phone to pass the time. She should just go home, pour herself a drink from Hela’s dad’s scotch she found under the sink, and think long and hard about whether this is how she really wants to spend her summer.
Ralph bursts out of his office, adjusting his bucket hat with one hand, and tosses a folder onto Rio’s desk without even looking at her.
“Rita—” he starts.
“It’s Rio,” she cuts him off.
“That’s what I said,” he replies with a smile and a dismissive wave. “Listen, kid. The boys and I are calling it a day, but since you’re such a big shot from Yale, take a look at this thing, yeah? I want it done by Monday.”
He’s gone before Rio can ask what the hell he means.
Reluctantly, she opens the folder and finds a stack of forms that need filling out. She doesn’t know what half of them are. But near the bottom of the pile, tucked between two sheets, she finds something that stops her cold—something her Yale training actually prepared her for.
A single page of sheet music, scrawled over with annotations in a cursive so bad it takes her several minutes just to decipher the title. But for the first time since she got to New York, she feels a spark of excitement.
Rio spends all of Saturday pouring over the music. She manages to decode almost all the words and even corrects a few mistakes in the notation. Whoever A.H. is, they’re not great at writing music. And, of course, it’s written for piano—Rio’s single musical weakness.
By the afternoon, she’s also managed to fill out most of Ralph’s forms—mostly expense reports—and heads to the office under the excuse of leaving them on his desk.
The building is nearly empty, most people already gone for the day. Rio has no trouble finding an unused studio with a piano and a drum set. The hours fly by. She moves between instruments, stopping now and then to jot notes onto the copy she made of the original sheet.
For the first time all week, it feels like this might be where she’s supposed to be.
She’s in the middle of a break, sitting cross-legged on the floor and chewing on her pencil, when someone storms into the room and immediately starts yelling.
“Who the fuck are you? You’re not one of Ralph’s stupid boys, so why the fuck are you playing my song?”
Rio doesn’t answer. She didn’t think she was the type to get starstruck—she’d actually given herself a whole pep talk on the first day of the internship. She was ready.
But she wasn’t ready. Not at all.
Pop star Agatha Harkness stands in the doorway, blue eyes blazing with fury, and Rio drops her pencil. She decides, right there and then, that she’s totally, absolutely fucked—but also incredibly lucky. However this ends, she’s going to be insufferable when she tells Hela tonight.
“Hey!” Agatha snaps, clearly not impressed. “If you’re done staring, weirdo—who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Rio,” she says, standing quickly and brushing off her jeans. She steps forward to offer a handshake, but Agatha gives her a look so foul she immediately drops her hand. “Right, whatever. Ralph gave me the song. He told me to fix it,” she adds with a shrug.
Wrong thing to say. Super wrong thing to say.
Agatha steps forward, and suddenly it feels like the whole room belongs to her. She’s a star, and she knows how to own it. She’s also furious, if her expression of pure ire is anything to go by. Rio kind of wants to frame a photo of her like this—is that weird?
“Fix it?!” Agatha’s voice is ice-cold.
Rio nods, keeping her eyes averted. Technically, Ralph had told her to have “it” done by Monday, so it’s not a lie. But being this close to someone she’s only ever seen on TV is making her dizzy—and stupid.
Were Agatha’s eyes always that blue?
“Fix it?!” Agatha repeats, her voice growing sharper, more dangerous. She cackles—loud, manic—and Rio can’t even be offended because goddamn, that’s Agatha Harkness. Rio had a poster of her on her bedroom wall back in Texas, and the real thing is just…
Would she sign it if she asked?
“I did fix it,” Rio offers after a beat, when it feels safe enough to speak again.
Agatha’s expression darkens as her eyes follow Rio, who bends down to pick up her notes from the floor.
“Like hell you did, it was per—”
“Your handwriting is shit, by the way,” Rio cuts in smoothly, grinning to herself when Agatha actually looks taken aback. “And your notation is… poor.”
If Rio thought Agatha was intense before, the moment the other girl steps right up to her—so close she can see the blue of her eyes and the vein pulsing at her temple—she knows she’s completely miscalculated. Whatever fun she was having, whatever fleeting sense of control she felt, is gone. There’s no world in which Rio can handle Agatha Harkness.
“Alright, big shot,” Agatha says dryly, her expression mockingly sweet. She shoves Rio lightly toward the piano. “Show me how you ‘fixed it,’ then.”
Rio sits down on the bench, regretting every single decision that led her here.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She repeats the word in her head like a mantra—then Agatha slides in next to her, their legs touching. Rio takes a deep breath, and it’s all Agatha’s perfume.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Whenever you’re ready, Mozart,” Agatha says, sounding utterly bored with Rio’s inaction.
And she must really be bored, because when Rio still doesn’t move, Agatha takes her hands and drops them onto the keys.
The sound of the piano finally snaps Rio out of her panic-induced silence. She fumbles with the sheet music, adjusting it nervously.
“Yeah, so the thing is—”
“Right, so if you don’t start playing right now, I will actually ruin your life,” Agatha says, tone casual despite the threat.
Rio turns to the piano and groans inwardly. There goes her life.
She makes it through the first line of music by some miracle, but she knows—knows—from the way Agatha is watching her, gaze burning into her side, that she’s been set up to fail.
And she does. She knows it the second before her fingers land on the wrong key, but she can’t stop herself—and Agatha looks delighted.
“Oh,” Agatha says, already laughing, “Oh, I see now. You’re useless.” She grabs Rio’s hands again, removing them from the piano and placing them in her lap.
“I’m a drummer,” Rio says, refusing to let Agatha believe she’s useless.
“Some drummer you must be—with two hands that don’t work. I bet you’re fun in bed,” she adds with a mean laugh.
Rio’s jaw drops. She must look ridiculous, gaping in disbelief, but Agatha just laughs dismissively and turns her attention to the sheet music. She begins to play, humming the tune from time to time. When she hits the parts Rio adjusted, her lips purse in thought. As the song winds to a close, she gives Rio a once-over and nods.
“Alright, then. So you may not be completely useless,” she says—and Rio figures that’s the best she’s going to get.
“Thanks,” she mutters, moving to stand—but Agatha grabs her wrist again.
What is it with Agatha and her complete disregard for personal space?
“No,” Agatha says, smiling wickedly. “Play the drums. Since you went through all that trouble messing with my work, I bet you wrote yourself a part too, didn’t you?”
Rio narrows her eyes, but starts flipping through the sheets atop the piano, searching for the drum notations. “I wrote it for… well, I didn’t know who it was for, but I figured you’d have a drummer.”
“We don’t,” Agatha says, grinning mischievously. She shoves the music sheets against Rio’s chest, nudging her to stand. “Go play.”
Rio stands, stumbling slightly. “You’re gonna watch me play?” she asks.
Agatha laughs, turning on the bench to face the drums. “I’m a very harsh judge,” she says with a smirk.
Great. Mean girl pop star Agatha Harkness is judging her drumming skills now.
At least this is the one thing Rio knows she’s good at. She ditches her hoodie and grabs the drumsticks. Before starting, she casts one quick look at Agatha—and catches her staring at her now-uncovered arms.
Oh.
Rio smiles, confidence blooming. She starts playing, easily falling into the rhythm. This is her element. Not even Agatha Harkness can throw her off here.
She sneaks glances at Agatha as she plays, like she’s checking in—Does she look interested? Is she into it? But Agatha’s expression is unreadable.
Rio finishes the piece, breathless, hands resting on her thighs.
Agatha stands then, eyes wild as she approaches the drum set. When she stops in front of Rio, she smirks.
“Again,” she says.
And as if under a spell, Rio plays.
***
What feels like many hours later, Rio drops onto the carpeted floor with a sigh, while Agatha kicks her foot—somehow still full of energy. Rio feels like she needs to sleep for a week.
“Get up, loser,” Agatha says, typing furiously on her phone without even looking at her. “You want something to eat? I'm having my assistant get us food. I need at least a bottle of wine.”
Rio looks up, raising her eyebrows, but Agatha ignores her.
“So?”
“I… could go for a grilled cheese,” she says with a shrug.
Agatha nods, still typing.
“And a hot chocolate.”
That finally breaks Agatha away from her screen. “No,” she says, like Rio must be joking. “You're serious?”
Rio nods.
“You’re drinking wine with me,” Agatha says resolutely, already back to typing.
“I can't drink,” Rio says with an eye roll.
Agatha sighs, assessing her like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” Rio says, staring up at the ceiling.
“Aw, you're a baby,” Agatha coos mockingly, then kicks her foot again to make her look. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she adds with a playful grin.
Rio bites her lip. She's so screwed. She nods. “Okay. But for the record, I wanted hot chocolate.”
“Okay, grandma,” Agatha laughs. “Should be here in like half an hour. Think you’ve got one more round in you?”
“Fuck me,” Rio mutters under her breath as she sits up.
Agatha chuckles. “I am buying you dinner…”
“Oh, fuck off, Agatha,” Rio groans, dragging herself back behind the drums.
When Agatha takes her place at the piano, she sighs and starts playing. She’s done this part so many times she can run it on autopilot by now. It’s been at least a couple hours in the company of Agatha Harkness, and Rio still can’t wrap her head around it.
Does this happen?
Randomly crossing paths with someone you've only ever seen on TV? Playing with the woman who used to look down at you from your bedroom wall at your grandparents’ house?
Everything about today has been… surreal.
But as they sit down on the floor later, and Agatha pours Rio a second glass of wine—into a plastic cup they got from an office two doors down, where Rio also learned Agatha Harkness can pick a lock—she thinks maybe this day isn’t so far-fetched after all.
It’s the absurdity of it, she decides, that makes it feel real.
Agatha has ketchup running down her chin from a fry she stole from Rio, and without thinking, Rio reaches out and wipes it off. Agatha’s eyes follow the motion, wide.
Rio panics and immediately wipes her hand on a napkin, offering another one to Agatha, who takes it with a laugh.
“Did Ralph really ask you to fix my song?” she asks after a beat. Rio looks away, gathering her thoughts.
“Well… he didn’t not say to fix your song.”
Agatha bursts out laughing, slapping Rio’s arm. “You’re a crazy woman, Rio Vidal.”
It hits Rio that’s the first time Agatha has used her name. Not weirdo, or loser, or you. She said Rio. Her name. And damn it, it does something to her.
“I didn’t think you’d show up, though,” Rio says—the alcohol in her veins making her bold, and maybe a little stupid. “You’re… you.”
Agatha’s eyes glint with something Rio can’t quite place as she watches her fumble. “I am me, yes. You’re cute.”
Rio groans, dragging a hand over her face. But Agatha catches it mid-motion, holding her hand gently and pulling her face free.
“C’mon now,” she says softly.
Rio has a hard time connecting this Agatha with the one who stormed into the studio yelling earlier. But she’s still holding her hand, still looking at Rio like she’s trying to figure her out.
“What?” Rio asks, unable to wait any longer for whatever Agatha is thinking.
“No, I was just thinking,” Agatha starts, her expression turning almost shy as she looks away. “Y’know, I have a lot of women vying for my attention…”
Rio raises an eyebrow. Where in the hell is she going with this?
“And anyone can have a pretty face. A charming personality—that’s not hard.”
Rio would like to object to that, actually.
But Agatha’s eyes land on her, and suddenly any protest dies in her throat.
“Y’know what’s really attractive?” Agatha asks.
Rio shakes her head dumbly. She is so out of her depth.
“Talent,” Agatha says, the word curling off her tongue like it means everything. Rio has no idea what she’s really saying—but part of her thinks she might not care, as long as Agatha keeps talking to her like this.
“You can’t fake talent,” Agatha continues. “You can do everything right, but if you don’t have that… well. You're in for a rough ride.”
“Agatha,” Rio says, her voice soft, like the moment might shatter if she’s too loud.
Agatha shakes her head and laughs, suddenly pulling away. “Sorry. That’s the wine getting to my head. Let’s, uh… let’s get our stuff. My driver can drop you at your place.”
The ride in the back of Agatha’s black SUV is quiet. Agatha is far from the woman who started the day yelling and threatening her, but Rio gets the feeling she’s seen too much. Agatha Harkness is human to her now—and there’s no turning back.
Agatha offers her a small smile as the car stops in front of her building.
“Thanks for today, Rio. I’ll see you around.”
Rio nods, unsure if she’ll ever really see her again, and gets out of the car.
Later that night, Hela laughs at her for a solid five minutes before sobering and clearing her throat. “You absolute fool of a lesbian,” she teases. “She told you she thought you were hot.”
“No, she didn’t,” is Rio’s immediate reply. But later, as she lies in bed staring at the ceiling, she goes over the whole conversation in her head. The words. The way Agatha’s face would light up when she had the upper hand—or when Rio would flail and give her the perfect setup for a jab. How, by the end of the night, her teasing had started to sound almost fond.
Like that’s just who Agatha was—not something she did.
By the time she falls asleep, Rio is sure of one thing:
She has a huge crush on Agatha Harkness. Even more than when she woke up that morning.
***
Monday morning passes without much excitement. Rio is thankful for the calm—she didn’t get much sleep over the weekend, too busy daydreaming, trying to convince herself Saturday night hadn’t been a dream.
By mid-afternoon, she’s about to fall asleep at her desk when Ralph steps out of his office, nervously pacing the room.
“Oh God, oh God,” he mutters repeatedly, then turns and spots her. “You—yes, come with me.”
Rio does her best to hide her groan, but at this point, she doesn’t care anymore. Ralph is a prick. Still, she follows him, just to see what’s got him so rattled.
They step into his office, and he instructs her to sit on the couch. She makes space by piling up discarded folders and loose papers. This place is worse than most locker rooms she’s been in.
Ralph takes his seat again, still muttering to himself, when the doors open.
Agatha steps in, followed by the rest of Sisters or The Craft.
Holy shit.
“Hey, Ralphie,” Agatha says in that mocking tone she used on Saturday. “How’s our new album coming along?”
Her bandmates groan behind her, clearly not in the mood for Agatha’s circus act.
“Agatha,” Lilia Calderu says, sounding dead tired. “You said this was important.”
“It is,” Agatha replies, grinning. She glances sideways and catches Rio’s gaze, offering her a knowing look. “You guys, I was busy this weekend and—”
“Agatha,” Jen Kale’s voice cuts in like a warning, which Agatha completely ignores.
“I was busy fixing our song. Well, my song. You bitches are just along for the ride. I got tired of Ralph here rubbing his two brain cells together, hoping for a spark, and figured if I wanted shit to get done, I’d have to do it myself.”
A pause follows, as everyone takes in the fact that Agatha fixed her own song—which she didn’t, but still. Rio watches the scene unfold with quiet curiosity. Agatha sits on the armrest of the couch and, without looking, subtly slides the coffee cup she’s holding to Rio.
“Anyway, I’ve got the song. We can play it now if you want. I swear it’s good,” she says with fake humility. She’s clearly enjoying every second of this.
Rio grabs the cup and brings it to her lips.
It’s hot chocolate.
“Let’s go, then,” Alice Wu Gulliver says, glancing at her bandmates. When her eyes land on Agatha—and then on Rio holding the cup—she frowns, but Agatha stands up, casually blocking her view.
“Let’s go,” Agatha says with a sly grin. “Oh, we’re gonna need a drummer too. It really adds something to the song.”
Rio sighs and raises her hand. “I can play.”
Agatha gasps dramatically. “Oh my God. You guys,” she says, ushering the band out of the office. “I think this is a sign.”
“Are you high?” Jen asks, deadpan, as Agatha rolls her eyes and shoves her—just a bit too hard—into the hallway.
“Jesus, a woman can’t be excited anymore? Heavens forbid I have a hobby,” Agatha huffs.
“Your hobbies are usually illegal,” Alice says with a laugh. “Or indecent.”
Rio raises an eyebrow, intrigued, but doesn’t get to ask any more questions as they step into the recording studio.
Agatha grabs her wrist before she can join the others and pulls her aside.
“You stole the credit,” Rio says, mustering as much fake bravado as she can.
Agatha just smirks, cupping Rio’s cheek with one hand, the other resting gently on her waist.
In a moment of weakness, Rio glances from Agatha’s intense blue eyes down to her very, very kissable lips.
Of course, Agatha catches her.
She looks smug as she speaks again, “I’ll make it up to you, doll.”
Rio watches her walk away, the pleased smirk never leaving her face.
As she takes a seat behind the drums, she goes to put the coffee cup down—then notices the scribbles in Agatha’s god-awful cursive: call me and her phone number.
When Rio looks up, Agatha throws her a wink.
God, Rio thinks, she’s so gone.