Chapter Text
Agatha had a feeling.
A deep, gnawing suspicion that something was wrong.
It started with the texts.
Unanswered.
Not immediately alarming.
Not until she noticed the pattern.
Rio never used short responses in text.
If she acknowledged a message at all, it was with full-sentence efficiency, complete with proper punctuation.
If she didn’t respond at all, it meant one of three things:
1. She was actively working on something.
2. She was asleep. (Highly unlikely.)
3. She had completely disconnected from time and space. (Very likely.)
Agatha sighed.
Debated.
And then—
grabbed her coat, left her apartment, and knocked on Rio’s door.
Waited.
Nothing.
Knocked again.
Still nothing.
Her stomach twisted.
She knocked one more time, harder.
Still no answer.
And that’s when she stopped waiting.
She punched in the emergency access code—the one Rio had given her, purely because Agatha kept showing up anyway—and stepped inside.
And immediately felt her blood pressure spike.
Because there she was.
Rio Vidal.
Sitting on the floor.
Surrounded by books, notebooks, scattered research papers, and a crime scene-level lack of self-preservation.
Agatha exhaled deeply.
Counted to three.
And did not commit murder.
“…For f—” She cut herself off, rubbing her face.
“Again?”
Nothing.
No response.
Rio did not even look up.
Because of course she didn’t.
Because she hadn’t even registered Agatha was there.
Her entire focus was locked onto whatever nonsense had consumed her brain at this ungodly hour.
Which meant—
Agatha had to step in.
Again.
She sighed deeply.
Marched forward.
And—without any preamble—
Snapped her fingers in front of Rio’s face.
“Hey. Earth to Vidal. Are you even conscious?”
Rio blinked.
Very slowly.
Turned her head slightly.
“…Agatha?”
Agatha crossed her arms. “Oh, good. She remembers me.”
Rio’s brow furrowed. She finally took in Agatha’s presence. Glanced at the clock.
Still showed the wrong time.
She frowned. “That is incorrect.”
Agatha let out a slow, controlled exhale.
“Yeah. I know.”
Agatha crouched down, resting her arms on her knees as she glared at Rio.
Not that Rio noticed.
Because Rio wasn’t looking at her anymore.
She was staring at her notebooks again, still sitting in a tangled mess of research, coffee cups, and what looked like the same sweater she had been wearing yesterday.
It was infuriating.
Agatha pointed at her.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
Rio considered the question.
Then, calmly—
“…A while.”
Agatha narrowed her eyes. “That is not an answer.”
Rio tilted her head slightly. “It is an accurate one.”
Agatha groaned. “Okay, let me rephrase. When did you last stand up?”
Another pause.
Then, slightly more hesitant—
“…I adjusted my posture once.”
Agatha closed her eyes.
Took a slow, measured breath.
And clenched her jaw so hard she could feel a headache forming.
“You adjusted your posture.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s it.”
“Yes.”
Agatha exhaled sharply.
Her fingers twitched.
She very, very briefly considered shaking Rio like an old vending machine.
Instead, she sat back on her heels and stared at her.
Took in the disaster that was Rio Vidal.
- Messy hair.
-Sweater slipping off one shoulder, like she had forgotten how clothes worked.
-Bare feet, tucked under her, like she had completely lost track of what sitting normally looked like.
-Face half-lit by the glow of her computer screen, which Agatha was now certain had been open for an actual eternity.
General expression of deep, concentrated focus, like she was studying something vitally important.
Agatha glanced at Rio’s notebook.
Paused.
Squinted.
“…Are you writing Tetris calculations?”
Rio finally looked up.
Blinking like she was trying to process the question.
Then, as if it was completely normal—
“Yes.”
Agatha dragged a hand down her face.
“I—Okay. Why?”
Rio blinked. “Because they are useful.”
Agatha closed her eyes. Counted to three.
Then muttered, “I am going to lose my mind.”
Rio, completely serious: “That would be inefficient.”
Agatha stared at her.
Just—stared.
Then shook her head, deeply, profoundly exhausted.
“I don’t—I literally don’t have the energy to argue with you about that.”
She pointed at her again.
“You need to sleep.”
Rio blinked.
Then, with full confidence—
“I will sleep when necessary.”
Agatha laughed.
Not a good laugh.
Not a normal laugh.
A deep, exasperated, I’m-about-to-snap kind of laugh.
She clapped her hands together.
“Great. Amazing. Guess what? It’s necessary.”
Rio frowned slightly. “Unlikely.”
Agatha gestured wildly at her.
“You are barely functioning.”
“I am perfectly functional.”
“You are literally sitting in the middle of a Tetris-based disaster zone.”
Rio looked around. Considered.
“…It is an efficient system.”
“So let me get this straight,” she said, voice tight. “You haven’t stood up in hours. You forgot what time it was. You probably haven’t eaten, either.”
Rio hesitated.
Agatha’s eyes narrowed.
“…When did you last eat?”
Rio blinked. “That is not relevant.”
Agatha stood up immediately.
“Yeah, okay. That’s it. You’re done.”
Agatha had done a lot of ridiculous things in her life.
This?
This was top five.
Because dragging Rio Vidal—world-renowned Tetris champion, completely oblivious disaster, somehow both the smartest and dumbest person Agatha had ever met—to bed should not have been this difficult.
It should have been simple.
It was not.
At first, Rio wasn’t even trying to stand.
Which—fine. Annoying, but fine.
Agatha had dealt with worse.
But then—
Then.
Rio actually moved.
Which, under normal circumstances, should have been good.
But no.
No.
Because instead of actually getting up like a normal person, she just…
slumped.
Right into Agatha.
Completely.
Unapologetically.
Like it was nothing.
Like this was normal.
And Agatha stopped functioning.
Because—
What.
What the hell was she supposed to do with this?
Because now—
Rio was leaning against her.
Her weight was fully on Agatha.
Her body was warm.
Way too warm.
She smelled like something light, fresh, and entirely too distracting.
She exhaled against Agatha’s shoulder, and Agatha nearly had a stroke.
Agatha froze.
Absolutely froze.
She could not—could not—focus on anything else.
Because Rio was right there.
And this wasn’t normal.
This wasn’t how they were supposed to be.
This was something else.
And then—
Then, like she had not just ended Agatha’s entire life, Rio sighed.
Sighed.
Soft, content, and so casual it was actually insulting.
And then she had the absolute audacity to mutter—
"You're comfortable."
And Agatha stopped breathing.
Because no.
No.
This was not happening.
This was not real.
There was no physical way that Rio had just said that.
She had to be imagining it.
She had to be—
“Mm,” Rio hummed, nuzzling slightly.
Nuzzling.
And Agatha’s brain shattered.
She felt heat crawl up her spine, some awful mix of flustered, frustrated, and completely out of her depth.
She was going to die here.
This was it.
This was how she died.
Not from stress.
Not from anything reasonable.
But from Rio Vidal sleep-nuzzling into her like she didn’t even know she was doing it.
Agatha swallowed hard.
Focused.
Tried to think about anything else.
Tried not to think about the fact that her entire nervous system had gone haywire.
Tried not to think about how Rio was still pressed against her, still radiating warmth, still making her brain short-circuit.
And then—
Then Rio had to make it worse.
Because right as Agatha thought she had control again—
Rio shifted.
Pressed her face further into Agatha’s shoulder.
And muttered, half-asleep, soft and lazy—
"You smell nice."
And Agatha completely, absolutely, irreversibly blacked out.
Not literally.
But mentally.
Because this was not survivable.
There was no way to recover from this.
Because Rio didn’t even realize what she was saying.
She was just muttering sleepily, like this was completely normal.
Like she hadn’t just destroyed Agatha’s ability to function.
Like she wasn’t actively dismantling Agatha’s entire sanity.
This was an emergency.
This was a full-scale catastrophe.
Agatha needed to fix this.
She needed to get Rio to bed before she actually passed out on her.
She needed to get out of this situation before she combusted on the spot.
So—
With great effort—
She ignored everything.
Ignored the warmth.
Ignored the unbearable fondness threatening to surface.
And—
With all the strength she had left—
She dragged Rio’s half-limp, unhelpful ass towards the bed.
And prayed she would survive the night.
“You don’t have to do this,” Rio mumbled, her voice low, slurred with exhaustion.
“Yes, I do,” Agatha hissed.
She needed to be angry.
Anger was safe.
Anger was manageable.
And yet—
Rio hummed, a soft, thoughtful sound, and then—
“You’re very determined.”
Agatha froze.
She felt it—the heat crawling up her spine, settling in the base of her neck.
This was a problem.
“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta take care of you.”
She shouldn't have said that.
She realized it too late.
Because Rio, half-lidded and barely awake, gave a slow, lazy smirk.
"You like taking care of me."
She locked up completely.
Because no.
No.
Rio could not just say that.
Not like that.
Not while doing that.
Not while she was already too warm, too soft, too ridiculously close.
And not while Agatha was already hanging on by a thread.
She needed to get her into bed, now, immediately, before she actually died.
So, with what little sanity she had left, she dragged Rio the rest of the way, all but dropping her onto the mattress.
Rio let out a soft huff, shifting slightly.
And then—
Because she was a menace to society—
"I like it."
Agatha went blind.
Literally.
Her vision actually blacked out for a second.
She stood there, frozen, staring at Rio like she had just been personally victimized.
Rio, fully unaware of the crisis she had just caused, let out a content sigh and settled into the blanket.
Agatha was going to lose her goddamn mind.
She needed to leave.
She needed to—
Her eyes landed on the empty glass on Rio’s nightstand.
And she snatched it up like it was a lifeline.
“Water,”
she muttered. “You need water. I’m getting you water.”
She turned on her heel, left the room, and all but fled into the kitchen.
Because she absolutely, positively, one hundred percent needed a second to breathe.
Because this was not a normal night.
And she was not okay.
Agatha had survived a lot of things.
he had survived arguments with her editor.
She had survived getting thrown into Tetris Hell.
She had survived an existential crisis about whether or not Rio had actually been flirting with her.
She had survived every single absurd scenario that Rio had put her through.
But this?
This was going to kill her.
Because she was already barely holding it together.
She had already endured Rio’s ridiculous levels of sleepy clinginess.
She had already barely managed to escape the bed situation with her dignity intact.
And now—now—
As she stood in the kitchen, gripping the counter like it might hold her soul together, she heard it.
A sleepy murmur.
Barely audible.
Muffled through the walls.
But unmistakably Rio.
And then—
The words that would absolutely be the death of her:
“You always take care of me.”
Agatha stopped breathing.
Her fingers tightened around the counter.
Her entire body went still.
Because no.
No, no, no.
Rio was half asleep.
Which meant—which meant she had no filter.
Which meant she was just saying things.
Which meant she meant it.
Agatha felt her pulse in her throat.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
And then—
As if that wasn’t bad enough—
Rio sighed, shifted slightly, and muttered something else.
Something so quiet Agatha barely caught it.
Something soft.
Something so casual it felt like it had always been true.
"I like having you here."
And Agatha imploded.
She actually grabbed the counter for support.
Because this was not survivable.
She had already been dangerously close to spiraling.
She had already spent this entire night barely holding it together.
And now Rio was sleep-talking absolute nonsense that was going to live in Agatha’s brain for the rest of her life.
Her lungs forgot how to work.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, as if she could physically push the heat out of her face.
And then—
Because life was unfair—
Rio shifted again.
And sleepily, barely above a whisper, said:
"You should stay."
Agatha’s breath caught.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Because—
She wanted to.
She wanted to.
And that?
That was a problem.
Because if she stayed, it would mean acknowledging this.
It would mean accepting that there was no coming back from this.
And yet—
She wasn’t moving.
Her body was making the decision for her.
Before she could even think about it—
Her legs moved.
Her hands grabbed the water glass.
Her feet carried her back to the bedroom.
And before she even fully processed what she was doing—
She was standing next to the bed.
Looking at Rio.
Who was already half-curled on one side, leaving space.
Who looked comfortable.
Who looked—safe.
Agatha swallowed.
This was dangerous.
This was a mistake.
And still—
She set the glass down.
Took a breath.
And, before she could talk herself out of it—
She turned off the light, sat down, and slid under the blanket.
It was fine.
It was fine.
She would stay on her side.
She would not think about it.
She would just sleep, and then leave in the morning.
Everything would be fine.
…
It was not fine.
Because the second she got comfortable—
Rio shifted.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And then—
Then she did the worst thing possible.
The absolute final blow.
She—
Unconsciously.
Sleepily.
Automatically.
—snuggled up to Agatha.
Agatha forgot how to breathe.
Her brain completely, absolutely, undeniably short-circuited.
Because Rio was touching her.
Close.
Warm.
Her head resting lightly against Agatha’s shoulder.
Her body radiating heat.
Completely unaware.
Completely comfortable.
Completely ruining Agatha’s entire existence.
Agatha locked up.
She had no idea what to do.
She couldn’t move.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t do anything except exist in the single most dangerous moment of her life.
Her heartbeat was too loud.
Her thoughts were too fast.
And then—
Rio sighed.
Soft.
Content.
And muttered, barely above a whisper—
"Goodnight, Agatha."
And Agatha died.
Actually. Died.
Because that was it.
That was the final straw.
The one thing she absolutely could not handle.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to leave.
She wanted to stay forever.
And she had no idea how to deal with any of it.
So—
She did the only thing she could do.
She closed her eyes.
Took a slow, shaky breath.
And accepted her fate.
Because she was not moving.
She was not surviving this.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow was going to be a problem.