Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grace Chasity had truly believed swimsuit shopping with Ruth would be a safe, modest, God-honoring endeavor.

She pictured a calm afternoon—no Stephanie holding up cropped rash guards and calling them full outfits, no Peter tripping over himself to carry her bags, no Richie bleeding from the nose just because a mannequin had cleavage. Just Grace, a few demure tankinis, and Ruth—who, surely, wouldn’t test her patience or her purity.

That illusion shattered roughly two minutes into the store.

“I’m already upset,” Ruth declared, dragging herself beside Grace like she’d just been exiled from a sexy utopia. “Everything here makes me look like a youth group chaperone. No offense.”

Grace blinked, offended. “I am a youth group chaperone.”

“Yeah, and you wear that title like it’s a designer brand.”

Grace sniffed and reached for a practical floral one-piece. “You said you’re allergic to the sun. This is what you need.”

“I’m allergic to burning, not to slaying,” Ruth grumbled. “There’s got to be a middle ground between ‘nunnery’ and ‘nudist beach.’ I want to look like a Bond girl with asthma. Is that so wrong?”

“You told me you once fainted in a hot car from too much body spray.”

“That was my body spray. I thought layering seven different vanilla scents would make me smell irresistible. Turns out it just made me pass out.”

Grace shook her head and held up a baby blue tankini with full back coverage like it was a holy relic. “You’re wearing this.”

Ruth took it with the same enthusiasm one might reserve for a punishment chore. “If I spontaneously combust in this, you owe me a eulogy.”

“You’d haunt me.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ruth said brightly. “Just moaning things like, ‘Cover my shoulders, Grace,’ at 3 AM.”

Grace ignored her and wandered toward another rack. She started picking through the options—one-pieces, tankinis, skirted bottoms, board shorts.

She picked up a soft pink one-piece with ruching and frowned. “Do you think this looks… provocative?”

“It looks like something you’d wear to baptize someone,” Ruth replied, peeking over her shoulder. “Not that I know how those work. I always imagine it’s like waterboarding but with extra forgiveness.”

“You don’t wear a swimsuit to a baptism!”

“Oh. Huh. See, I wouldn’t know. I thought that was, like… a Catholic thing.”

Grace gasped like she’d been slapped with a hymnal. “I am not Catholic!”

“I mean, you’ve got the whole… sacred repressed rage vibe,” Ruth offered helpfully. “It’s very incense and drama.”

Grace looked genuinely horrified. “I’m Protestant.”

“Right! Right, the sexy ones.”

“What?!”

“Nothing!”

Grace muttered something under her breath and fled to another rack.

Ruth grabbed a hanger with reckless enthusiasm. “Grace. Grace. Look. This one’s burnt orange! It’s fall-core but make it slutty.”

“You just said you wanted to look like a Bond girl.”

“Yeah, but now I want to look like a sexy autumn leaf. People contain multitudes.”

Grace snorted. “You contain something, all right.”

Ruth gasped. “Did you just make a joke? Grace Chasity, did you just roast me?”

Grace’s face flushed. “No! I was making an observation.”

“Uh-huh.” Ruth waggled her eyebrows. “I see you. You’re getting corrupted.”

“I’m more pure than you.”

“Low bar.”

They both headed toward the fitting rooms with an armful of modest swim options. Grace paused outside a stall, biting her lip as she glanced at a soft pastel pink tankini top with a gentle scoop neck.
It was… pretty.

Not scandalous. Not sinful. Just… kind of nice.

She hesitated, then added it to her pile like she was smuggling candy into Bible camp.

Inside the fitting rooms, there were a few muffled thuds, grunts, and one dramatic gasp.

“I think this top is fighting me,” Ruth called.

“It’s a tankini. It doesn’t have sentience,” Grace replied, struggling with her own top while trying not to look directly at her reflection too long.

“It knows what sins I’ve committed.”

“Ruth, you told me you’ve never kissed anyone.”

“Yeah, but emotionally, I’m very scandalous.”

Grace emerged first, nervously tugging down the hem of the pink tankini. Ruth poked her head out of the neighboring stall—and immediately let out a theatrical gasp.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You look like a pastor’s wife on vacation. I mean that in the hottest way possible.”

“Stop it,” Grace muttered, crossing her arms as if she could physically shield herself from compliments.

“You’re glowing. It’s giving ‘forgiveness is sexy.’”

“It’s giving ‘I’m about to leave.’”

“I’m about to leave… your jaw on the floor,” Ruth said dramatically, stepping out in a mossy green high-waisted number and spinning slowly. “How do I look?”

Grace blinked. “Honestly… good.”

Ruth gasped, hand to her chest. “Is that… approval? Is this the rapture? Am I ascending?”

“No,” Grace said quickly. “This is just me admitting you don’t look like a danger to yourself and others.”

“High praise,” Ruth beamed. “Can we go get frozen yogurt after this? I want to reward myself for surviving modesty.”

“We haven’t even checked out yet.”

“I can feel the Holy Spirit telling me to get sprinkles.”

Grace rolled her eyes and started toward the checkout. “You are exhausting.”

“And you are enchanted by my chaos, admit it!”

Grace didn’t answer, but she was still holding the pastel pink tankini. And when Ruth skipped up beside her and bumped her hip gently against hers, she didn’t move away.

Maybe swimsuit shopping wasn’t what Grace expected—but somewhere between the drama, the modesty, and Ruth’s constant commentary, it had become something kind of… fun.

Not holy, exactly.

But maybe a little blessed.

Chapter Text

They ended up at the food court with two cups of frozen yogurt and only slightly more composure than they’d had in the dressing room.

Grace sat straight-backed at the table, her pastel pink frozen yogurt perfectly plain—no toppings, no drizzle, no risk. She’d chosen strawberry because it was soft, sweet, and inoffensive. Like baby showers. Or her favorite hymns.

Across from her, Ruth had created a monstrosity: green tea and chocolate swirl, drowned in gummy worms, crushed cookies, hot fudge, something orange, and… possibly Pop Rocks?

Grace stared. “That looks like something they’d sell at a gas station for dares.”

Ruth beamed. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“You say that,” Ruth said, already licking the side before it spilled, “but it’s in your tone.”

Grace sighed into her spoon. “There’s something seriously wrong with your brain.”

“And yet you’re still sitting here,” Ruth pointed out brightly, waving her dripping spoon like a wand. “Admit it. You like me.”

Grace’s cheeks pinked. “I’m being charitable.”

“Oh, so this is charity work now?” Ruth tilted her head, smirking. “Wow. That makes this the hottest mission trip of my life.”

“Ruth!”

Ruth shrugged, kicking her feet under the table. “You brought me shopping, you bought me yogurt. This is literally a date.”

“It is not a date,” Grace snapped.

“Okay, okay.” Ruth took another bite, unbothered. “It’s just a highly intentional, one-on-one outing between two emotionally repressed teenagers with unresolved sexual tension. Super platonic.”

Grace opened her mouth, then closed it, then blinked down at her spoon like it had betrayed her. “You need serious help.”

“Mmhm.” Ruth leaned in, grinning. “But I want help from you. Because your version of help comes with soft-serve and compliments disguised as scolding.”

“I did not compliment you!”

“You said I looked good in orange.”

“I said it matched your personality, which is unhinged!”

“That’s basically flirting.”

Grace pushed her yogurt around in its cup, trying not to smile. Or think about how close Ruth had leaned in. Or how her eyes crinkled when she joked, like she didn’t expect anyone to actually laugh with her.

Ruth’s voice dropped slightly. “Today was really fun, you know.”

Grace glanced up. Ruth wasn’t being obnoxious now. Just… Ruth. Honest and a little too open, the way she got when she forgot to be defensive.

“No one’s ever brought me somewhere like this,” Ruth said, softer this time. “It felt… nice. Like I got to be a real girl for a second.”

Grace swallowed. “You are a real girl.”

Ruth looked at her for a beat longer than necessary. “You’re gonna make me cry. That’s super gay.”

Grace’s spoon hit the table with a clink. “Can’t you be normal for, like, three minutes?”

“I was being normal! You made it gay by being emotionally sincere in a food court.”

“I cannot do this,” Grace muttered, but didn’t move. Her hand tightened around her spoon. “But… thank you. For coming with me. I… wanted it to be you.”

Ruth blinked, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

Grace flushed deeper. “I mean—I knew the others would make it weird. And you’re already weird. So it felt safer.”

“Wow.” Ruth grinned slowly. “That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever gotten.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be nice,” Grace said quickly, except her voice betrayed her. It was too soft. Too fond.

Ruth licked the edge of her spoon with unnecessary drama. “Well, sinner or not, I’m officially obsessed with you.”

Grace made a sound like a strangled gasp and stood up so fast she almost knocked over her yogurt.

“I’m getting napkins,” she blurted. “And praying.”

“Bring me one of those little spoons too,” Ruth called after her cheerfully. “And a pamphlet on repentance!”

Grace fled toward the condiment station, flustered beyond words—but with a flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with dairy and everything to do with the girl smiling at her from across the table.

Chapter Text

The mall arcade was basically their church.

The lights were neon, the carpet was sticky, and the air smelled faintly of expired fruit punch and fried plastic. Still, none of that mattered when you had an unlimited play card and no one around to give you a swirlie.

Richie and Pete had made a silent pact to never mention the fact that they were technically too old to be here. Or that Pete once threw up on the Dance Dance Revolution pad and was politely asked never to return.

But today? Today was about Spellcaster Showdown IV. And Richie was losing.

"Dude," Pete said, button-mashing with a focus that could rival a heart surgeon. "You can't just keep using Mana Burst. It drains your own health."

"I know, I just-" Richie winced as his character burst into glittery flames and collapsed. "I got distracted."

"With?"

"..umm, the pool party?"

Pete shot him a quick look in between a combo. "You're not backing out, are you? Because if I have to suffer through Ruth's playlist alone, I will drown myself in the shallow end."

"No, no, no, I just mean… well, speaking of, did you know Ruth invited someone?"

Pete took a sip of his drink without looking away from the game. "Oh really, who?"

Richie grinned. "She invited Grace Chasity."

Pete choked a little on his drink. "What?! No, she didn't."

"She did. I think she wore her down. Or tricked her. Possibly both."

"She knows it's a pool party, right? Like, water? Chlorine? Bathing suits? Secular music?"

"Ruth swore to play the VeggieTales soundtrack if that's what it took."

Pete was cackling. "No way. Grace Chasity, in the same zip code as a two-piece swimsuit?"

Richie nodded solemnly. "Honestly, I think Grace thinks it's a baptism." Richie paused, laughing to himself. "She's gonna scream if Stephanie shows up in anything smaller than a hazmat suit."

"Dude, that's my girlfriend. I will scream if Stephanie shows up in anything smaller than a hazmat suit," Pete shot back, thankful for the dim lighting of the arcade hiding the red tint on his face.

"But Grace's screaming would be in like an 'Oh my gosh, you need to be exorcised' kind of way. And you said she wasn't your girlfriend."

"I said she wasn't officially my girlfriend." Pete got flustered for a second and turned back to the screen. "We're in a situationship with academic undertones."

Richie smirked. "Right."

They played a round in silence, only the occasional grunts and frantic clicking filling the air. Pete's character finally landed a critical hit, and the game announced his victory in all-caps fire font.

As the screen flashed, Richie cleared his throat.

"So… do you think Steph would care if we invited one more person?"

Pete paused loading up another game, suddenly way more interested in whatever Richie was about to say. "Like who?"

Richie suddenly seemed very interested in a 9-year-old absolutely killing it at Dance Dance Revolution.

Pete narrowed his eyes. "Richie, who?"

Richie stared at the neon-lit dance board across the aisle like it might answer for him. "Just… someone I've been tutoring."

Pete blinked. "What? Like that girl from your calculus class? The one who brings her own chalk?"

"No! It's not…”, he yelps, then mutters,”It's not even a girl."

Pete blinked, processing. "Ohhh. Wait. Wait."

Richie braced.

"Dude." Pete leaned in. "Is it, like… someone you like?"

"What?" Richie feigned shock as blush spreading from his neck to his ears. "No, of course not. Why would you even-"

Pete interrupts. "-Who is it then?"

Richie stared dead ahead at the screen like it would absorb him if he didn’t blink or breathe. "You remember… how a certain someone has been kinda… different? Since the Waylon thing?"

Pete's expression drops, hand moving from the joystick to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Richie…"

"Yeah?"

"It's Max Jägerman, isn't it?"

Richie blinked, slowly. "...Yeah."

Pete squinted. "Wait. Are you saying you want to invite Max to Steph's pool party?"

"I'm saying… maybe… if someone invited him… it wouldn't be the worst thing." Richie wiped his increasingly sweaty palms on his shorts. "I've kind of been tutoring him. In… algebra. And some English."

"You're tutoring Max Jägerman?"

"It's not a big deal!", he blurted, throwing his hands up in mock defense.

"Richie. We're talking about the guy who would threaten teachers into changing his test scores."

"That was before. After the Waylon thing… he's been different."

Pete squinted. "How different?"

Richie shifted on his feet. "Like- he doesn't yell as much. And he listens? When I explain stuff, he actually… gets it. And when I made a joke about him being functionally illiterate, he didn't even punch me."

Pete stared. "And you're inviting him to Steph's pool party?"

"I mean… I thought it might be good," Richie said quietly, looking down at his hands. "Max… he's been kind of… isolated, you know? Ever since the prank, he's tried to change, but I think he still feels like no one really trusts him. I just thought maybe if he came to the pool party, it might help. Like… maybe he could feel like he belongs somewhere."

Pete's face shifted slowly from shocked to suspicious. "Okay. Be honest this time. Do you like him?"

Richie's head snapped up. "What? No! No! I just think…"

Pete narrowed his eyes. "Richie."

"He's nice to me, okay? He said I was smart the other day. No sarcasm. Just said it. He's been kind of… thoughtful? Like, not quiet. But like, when I told him about my cousin's bar mitzvah-"

"You told Max Jägerman about a bar mitzvah?"

"I panicked! He asked if I did anything over the weekend, and it just slipped out! But he was really respectful. Asked questions. Said the dancing sounded cool."

Pete crossed his arms and became silent for a second too long.

"Richie," he said at last. "You totally like him."

"I do not," Richie said, his voice cracking audibly.

"That was a rhetorical question. You are. You've got that face."

"I do not have a face."

"You have a face, Richie. You're blushing. I'm surprised your nose isn't bleeding."

Richie flushed. "Okay, maybe I like him a little. But like, barely. Like, microscopic."

Pete snorted. "So microscopic that you're inviting your ex-bully to a pool party where he might take his shirt off in front of you?"

Richie hid his face in his hands.

Pete patted him on the back. "You're doomed, man."

Richie peeked out. "You think it's a terrible idea?"

Pete shrugged. "Honestly? If anyone could reform a jock with rage issues and a tragic backstory, it's you."

Richie blinked. "That's… weirdly supportive."

"I'm all for nerd love, and you seem really happy. I haven't seen you this happy since they announced Evangelion 3.0. Also, I wanna see Grace's face when Max shows up. She's gonna freak."

Richie snorted. "Yeah, she'll probably freak out and say I unleashed a demon or something."

Pete grinned. "Ruth will be off in the corner trying to spin it into some kind of BL manga plot."

They both cracked up, practically wheezing as they leaned against the fighting game cabinet. A tired dad wrangling a toddler nearby gave them a side-eye, but neither noticed. Pete braced a hand on the dashboard of the machine, still catching his breath, while Richie wiped at his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie, grinning widely.

The game's "Continue?" screen flashed between them, forgotten for the moment as they laughed like total idiots.

Richie sighed, looking back up at the screen. He glanced over to Pete and waved his arcade card. "You wanna run it back?"

Pete smirked. "Only if you swear to shut up about Max for like five whole minutes."

"No promises."