Work Text:
"And I could wish I never met you"
"But then I'd never know you"
Biana thinks she deserves a pat on the back or three for getting through their final show without crying or screaming or both, but as the song washes over her she's reminded that the night is still young.
She'd known this was their final tour since Canada and she should have known they were breaking up even earlier, when not even Sophie would meet her eye while she talked about their next album. She thinks she'd expected tonight to be harder, but muscle memory seems to have taken over, fingers flying over guitar strings, each chord bringing her one step closer to the end of the set-list, the end of an era.
"And what else can I say?
"Was there any other way?"
Maruca’s vocals join the verse and Biana finds herself walking to her mark, in between the dual microphones, trying and failing to not look at her band-mates. The song had been born of late night conversations between the five of them, but reality seemed to imitate art and Biana's voice catches as she starts the chorus.
"How else do you stand there, long hair, summer air?"
"How do you sit back, relax, when I'm not there?"
Stina cuts down on the drums, the backing reduced to Biana's single guitar, a lump catching in her throat.
"I said stay, but instead you walked away——" The final syllable draws out, her voice training overriding the sob building up in her throat. "Like any other day."
She meets Maruca's eye against her will, expects the usual hostility, the hostility she'd gotten since they'd fought. It's not as if she hadn't deserved it, she'd said things she wasn't proud of, met fire with acid, but the band had been her everything for the better part of four years. Walking away from it felt like they were walking away from her, finding greener grass where she wasn't.
Of course by the time she got past that, there was a chasm between them, and both were too stubborn (or scared) to take the first steps across, even when they were physically side by side.
Maruca's eyes are lit by the spotlight, the roar of the crowd just beyond their earpieces, but for a moment it's the two of them, the two of them and their band mates, right before everything falls apart (if it hasn’t already.)
Marella Redek’s cellphone is ringing far too loud for this time of morning, so she tries to shove a pillow over her head and let it ring out. However, the moment the tone stops it picks up again, restarting the peppy melody. Her agent never calls her twice in a row, if only because he has a normal human sense of decency, and so with a significant amount of effort Marella rolls to her nightstand, fumbling to pick up her phone. Hardly anyone even has this number, and through her exhausted haze she's able to worry it might be her father, calling about another episode.
Instead, the ID of the caller is none other than Biana Vacker, and when Marella picks up she's already talking at roughly a million miles an hour.
Marella can hardly hear her and has to fight to get a word in. “Hey. Hey! Biana Amberly—” Biana finally shuts up and Marella lifts a hand to her temples, rubbing to dispel the growing tension. “Slow down. Start from the beginning. Please.”
Biana’s irritation is palpable through the phone, and Marella is glad they're only on the phone. “Do you want to tell me why you’re giving quotes to The Eternalian?” She finally asks, each word sharpened to point. She doesn’t have to elaborate on that; Marella lets out a long-suffering groan and flops back into her pillows.
“You know it’s a bad habit to read your own media,” she chides, earning herself an outraged huff from the other end of the phone. She can practically imagine Biana with her crossed arms and squished up expression, as if the girl is sitting in the room with her instead of across the city. “And I didn’t give them a quote. I was talking with a reporter—”
“And guaranteeing we’d end up smeared on the front page? Do you even think any more or are you just fanning the flames for your own amusement?”
“Point cancelled, you used that metaphor the last time I fucked up. Get more creative and I might actually listen to you.” Marella's flippancy is enough to distract from the irritation in her chest, the destructive urge to point out that this controlling streak of Biana's is why the band broke up in the first place. It's an argument she's long since given up on, now that they all had their own directions. Plus, it's not as if blaming Biana would earn her any brownie points, even this far removed. It wasn't even justified to paint that as the sole reason, instead it'd been the perfect storm.
“So this is all just a game to you?”
“I mean, it sure as hell isn’t a movie, or a book, so I guess if that’s what you want to go with?” Marella knows she’s just pressing Biana’s buttons at this point, but Biana shouldn’t call her if she doesn’t want her buttons pressed, she should know that after years of friendship.
“You’ve been hanging out with Stina too much.” Biana grumbles, something rustling in the background of the call. “You’d think five years and you might have grown up a little.”
“You think five years would be enough for you to forgive us.” Marella lobs back, regretting it the instant it comes out of her mouth. But what else is there to say? Biana tolerates her, likes Sophie, and it's as if the other two weren't right there at her side the whole time, right up until the split. They'd lived the same life for years and hadn't talked since, making questions about reunion tours exceptionally awkward to field in interviews.
Instead of a usual condescending response, Biana falls silent, giving Marella time to properly sit up and cross her legs, rubbing the remains of sleep from her eyes. Her apartment is freshly cleaned, though the comforter has been flung onto the hardwood floor in the night, rumpled in a pile of white.
“That’s not fair.” Biana says finally, her voice plaintive.
“When’s the last time you talked to Maruca ? Or even Stina” Marella asks by way of argument, earning herself another moment of silence. “I’m just as guilty as they are.” It was only partially true, but served her point. She wouldn't have complained if the band had stayed together, but she saw the writing on the wall and the benefits of them going their own ways. So she'd sided with Stina and Maruca in the decision to break up, a fact Biana seemed to conveniently forget when divvying up the blame pie.
Of course it’s not as if she and Marella have been best buds over the past five years, this is their first proper conversation in months, what with Marella working towards her solo debut and Biana filming off on some foreign location. Other than that it’s screenings and awards ceremonies where they share a few minutes of time, avoiding the betrayal shaped elephant in the room.
“At least they’re not talking to the tabloids.” Biana finally grumbles, back to her familiar scolding
In spite of herself, a small smile curls at Marella’s lips and she shuts her eyes, tilting her head back. “Consider it free publicity," she teases. "Not as if you need it Ms. Movie Star." And that was the thing, wasn't it? Biana had been furious with Maruca (Stina too, but it was Maruca Biana had focused on, her closest friend turned traitor) for wanting to branch out, try something other than the music they'd been making for years, but Biana was the one who'd really thrived in a different landscape, hitting the ground running with an award nomination for her first role and continuing ever since.
Marella couldn't begrudge her that, but Maruca did, if only for the fact they'd fallen apart so spectacularly for nothing in the end. She'd lost Biana for the chance at something different, but Biana had been the one to take it, the common end that had still torn them apart. She'd never said so in that many words, but they moved in similar circles, crashed at each other's apartments enough that Marella had seen Maruca's mask of apathy slipping.
They'd watched Biana's first film together, The Glass Girl, and neither of them could pretend she wasn't perfect in it, no matter how hard they tried.
“Were they at least cute?”
“Hm?” Marella has no idea what Biana is asking, exhaustion catching up to her in a yawn, lips cracking in need of moisturizer.
“The reporter you gave the quote to. Were they cute?” The question is familiar enough that Marella can imagine they’re all still friends, that she’ll be headed to rehearsal this afternoon and that they can debate which PA has been planted by their production company to make sure they don’t get up to too many shenanigans backstage.
The reporter had been cute, even if he was desperately in need of a clarifying shampoo, but Biana doesn’t need to know that. “You know I don’t kiss and tell, Bee,” she says finally. “If it helps any, I really didn’t think it would make it to the front page."
Biana snorts at the bold faced lie.
"Hey! It’s not as if you two helped the situation, they would have been talking anyway with the way you clogged up the whole carpet like that.”
Biana doesn’t answer and Marella is nearly convinced she’s been hung up on. She'd only been teasing, but apparently the spot was softer than she'd thought.
“I thought it’d be easier,” Biana says finally, and Marella feels a pang in her chest. “Seeing her. Is that stupid?”
This was the part Marella was bad at with her band-mates, the messy feelings that seemed to get everywhere.
Five years ago, she’d been naive enough to think they could simply dissolve, go their own ways and remain friends, but there was too much history between the lot of them, too many years of friendship. They knew each other’s weak spots, so when they’d broken they’d shattered.
Both sides seemed content to ignore the other, but the celebrity world was small and they kept crashing into each other. If Marella hadn’t given the quote someone else would have, and the ending would be the same. Not that she feels the need to remind Biana of that, not when this is the most honest they'd been with each other in five years. "No. It's not stupid," she says finally. "But I think this cold war is. If you're so worried about bad press, you should talk to her, not me." It's risky, but Marella does her best to put her weight behind the words, even as her sleep addled brain realizes how little sense they make.
"Well maybe I wouldn't be worried about bad press if you could stop running your mouth." The jab is so halfhearted it's almost depressing. "And I'll think about it. Alright?"
Marella wants to push, but this is the closest she's ever gotten to brokering a so-called ceasefire so instead she nods. "Got it. And next time you want to talk to me this early? Don't." Biana hangs up laughing and Marella relishes in the feeling, eyes finally adjusted to the sunlight bleeding through her curtains.
Then, her phone starts up ringing again. She only has to give the contact one glance to know who it unsurprisingly is, Maruca Chebota.
Maruca at the very least doesn't tell her off, something Marella gets quite enough of in her life from Biana and Stina separately. Of course she's no more impressed with Marella's actions, something she makes abundantly clear.
"Again, this wouldn't have been an issue if the two of you could have acted like perfectly normal humans in front of each other." Marella says, exasperated. "You'd think you forgot every bit of publicity training I know we all took."
"Are you sure that's not you? Because I distinctly remember being told—"
"Listen, I know you don't like the tabloids—"
"Because they're thankless vultures. And you talking to them is pointless and unnecessary—"
"I've gotten the lecture. And the quote was bad, but I was hardly even talking about you, alright? I'm sorry I brought you into it at all, but I'm allowed to feed the vultures if I so choose. I'll make sure not to drag you into it next time, alright?"
Maruca seems discontent in her grumbled agreement. "You'd think five years would be enough to get them to stop speculating about the band."
The idea's almost laughable to Marella, but she gets the feeling Maruca doesn't find herself at all humorous. "We were good Rue. That's all that means if they're still talking about us."
"I know we were damn good, I just wish it didn't always come back to that. That's why it got so bad. Because everyone stopped seeing us and they just saw the band. Even we did." Maruca falters. "I think I still do sometimes. I tried so hard to get away from the band, I lumped Bee in because she was fighting for it."
Marella nods, not having had nearly enough coffee for this conversation. "It wasn't all bad."
Maruca hums her agreement. "I know. I know, and that's why I froze. I remembered how it used to be. Before it all. I almost miss it."
"I think we all do." Marella nearly whispers the admission, something she's known in her gut but refused to let herself name.
"I just wish we could act like it." Maruca says wistfully.
The thought hangs in the air for a minute, and Marella presses her lips together, timing her words. "You know we could." she says thoughtfully, hoping she'll be able to stick the landing."If only you and a certain somebody decided to have a grown up conversation."
Maruca lets out a wet laugh, somewhere between a snort and sob. "Is that your ulterior motive?" It's not accusing, but Marella still feels a prickle of defensiveness.
"No. I just miss my friends. And I think you do too."