Archive of Our Own

Glowing bright under the neon skies

The loud, piercing sound of the melody filled the complex as sweat-slicked bodies twisted through fluid, coordinated movements. Athletic bodies moving from one side to the other, executing an exhausting choreography they repeated over and over until there was no room left for the smallest mistake. The gleam of sweat on smooth muscles contrasted against the neon lights of the stage they moved across, like disciplined soldiers marching to a single rhythm. In the middle of them, a central female figure executed the same movements, much stronger and more precise. Her body was just as exhausted and sweaty as the rest, but she didn't let that exhaustion show. After all, she was a champion. She adjusted the mic on her ear and kept singing without ever stopping her movement or missing a single step of the choreography, all with a flirtatious smile and a natural glow that was entirely her own. Of course, Yelena Belova never disappointed at her shows, not even when they were just rehearsals leading up to the big day. She was a delight to watch. Crew members often stopped whatever they were doing just to pause for a moment and watch her.

The final notes announced the end, and everyone's bodies collapsed, exhausted.

"Alright, Yelena, that was impressive," said Mel, walking over to hand Yelena a clean towel and a bottle of water. Her tailored suit made her stand out among the sweatpants and body-hugging shirts around her. A dancer with an excellent physique walked right past her, making Mel disguise her embarrassment and reddening cheeks with a fake cough.

"We don't want to disappoint Val," Yelena replied, wiping the sweat from her neck and chest. "By the way, I heard she's having a terrible day."

Mel sighed, exhausted, and started walking alongside Yelena toward the break area.

"Don't remind me. Her manicurist canceled this morning, and she just fired her driver. If I don't find someone to take her to her next meeting, I'll be the next one she fires."

"Oh come on, she'd be an idiot if she did that," said Yelena, closing the water bottle and handing it back to Mel. "I'm just saying, you're the best thing Val has going for her. Not everyone has your tolerance for putting up with her."

And after saying that, she let out a dry laugh.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was, quite possibly, the most important woman in the music industry. She was the CEO of one of the most influential entertainment companies around, and she was the one responsible for putting together the most famous, most spectacular girl group in the business. BLACK WIDOW.

Yelena had been very young when she auditioned to be part of a group whose name was still unknown, an idea that was barely even a concept yet. Out of hundreds of applicants, only three girls were chosen. What followed were long years of preparation to reach the long-awaited debut. At barely nineteen, Yelena had worked so hard to get where she was, and four years later she was proving exactly why she was the best. Black Widow was, without question, one of the most popular groups out there. From the very first day they debuted, they made a huge impression on everyone who saw them, leaving people utterly captivated by the strength of their choreography and the harmonies they built on stage. In no time, Nash, Ava, and Lena (the youngest of the group) had flooded the scene, filling stadiums and amassing an enormous fanbase that bought their albums, sang their songs at the top of their lungs, and learned their choreography down to the last detail. Natasha, or Nash, was Yelena's older sister — or at least that's what they called each other. They'd met at the orphanage they were taken to as children. Natasha, three years older, grew so fond of her that she protected her from that very first day. After that, they were both placed with the same foster family, where a Russian couple raised them lovingly.

It really had been a double stroke of luck, having Natasha by her side through the most important moments of her life, and then both of them being chosen for the same group — what were the odds of that happening? The moment Valentina offered her the chance to record a solo track, Natasha was the first one to support her and push her to take the offer. Yelena's first solo song was very well received, and the music video hit 12 million views on its first day alone. Valentina welcomed the news with satisfaction, crediting the win to her own sharp business instincts. The following year, Yelena released her first solo album, which debuted in the top five — not bad at all for a start. Once again, Valentina basked in the glow of the new, growing success, and just a month ago she'd informed Yelena that she'd be doing a solo performance at this year's Coachella. The plan was simple: show up, deliver a performance so strong it would cement her as a solo artist, not just the youngest member of BLACK WIDOW.

She rehearsed every day until each routine came out flawless and polished, until her performance left no doubt about how prepared she was. So many years of practice, from dawn to dusk, had trained her muscle memory to remember every move at exactly the right moment — even if her mind went blank, her body would keep moving on pure instinct. Every member of BLACK WIDOW had been trained to carry on with the show no matter what happened.

Well, no one ever said the entertainment world was easy. Anyone who claimed it was all flowers and applause was flat-out lying. A world that chaotic wasn't made for everyone. Only for those with the strength to grab the bull by the horns and ride the bastard until it knew exactly who was in charge. Yelena knew exactly what she was getting into, and she made sure to work harder than anyone else. After all, becoming a superstar wasn't something you achieved by giving a mediocre effort.

"By the way," said Yelena, packing her things into her backpack, "tomorrow's Natasha's birthday. My parents are coming into town to celebrate. Come with us. Ava's coming too."

"I'd love to," Mel replied with a sad smile, "but I don't think Valentina will allow it."

Yelena felt a pang of sympathy for poor Mel. Valentina wasn't fair to her — the poor thing looked exhausted, and it was obvious from a mile away that she needed at least one day off before she collapsed from overwork.

"Well, Valentina can go to hell."

"Yelena!" Mel exclaimed, alarmed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Once she confirmed the dancers and the rest of the staff had already left, she let out a sigh of relief. "Don't say things like that, we'll get in trouble."

Yelena smiled carelessly, pulling on her hoodie. God, it was so soft and warm. She felt like a big, cozy marshmallow. What bliss.

"Like I care," said Yelena, putting on her sunglasses and heading for the exit.

"You should care. She's the scariest woman alive."

"Bah," Yelena shrugged, brushing it off. "I'm way too grown up to get scolded."

Once outside, they climbed into the company car. The routine was already set: they'd head back to their apartment, where Mel would make sure everything was in order before leaving to go handle Val's mess, and Yelena would finally get to relax in her own space. She'd take a bath, eat her favorite brand of mac and cheese, clean her guinea pig's cage, then watch some TV — maybe an indie movie — and later, drink a bit of warm milk before heading to bed early so she'd wake up with her energy restored, ready to start another day of rehearsals until the big day arrived.

Sometimes Yelena wondered what her life would be like if it were much simpler. She could walk down the street freely, without needing sunglasses and hats to hide who she was. Although, honestly, those didn't hide a damn thing. Only Natasha seemed to think they actually worked. God, it was basically like wearing a giant sign that read: "Famous Person in the Area." Yelena laughed to herself at the thought. Anyway, an ordinary life didn't sound so bad either. At the very least, she could go to a pizza place without causing a scene, and maybe — just maybe — she'd have a boyfriend.

Well, it wasn't like she hadn't flirted before. She'd dated guys, but as usually happened in the entertainment world, it often ended up being a clash of egos. One guy had even suggested that if they were going to date, she should reconsider retiring and settling down as a homemaker girlfriend. What a load of crap. Give up everything she'd worked and sacrificed so hard for, just to please some guy's fragile ego? A load of crap, that's exactly what it was.

It was fine, though — it wasn't like she needed anyone anyway. She had her sister, who understood her better than anyone. She had Ava, who despite always seeming serious and focused, had proven that she cared too. She had Mel, who was something like a friend in that wild world. And if that wasn't enough, hell, she had her vibrator always ready whenever she needed it. So no, she didn't need a man right now.

She said goodbye to Mel at the entrance — Valentina had sent her a message demanding her presence right as Yelena had invited her out for a soda. Between apologies and a promise to do it some other time, Mel took off, leaving Yelena alone in that enormous place.

"Well," Yelena said, dropping her backpack on the floor and dragging her exhausted feet, "that cage isn't going to clean itself."

Now that she thought about it, there was still some vanilla ice cream left in the fridge.

The roar of a black van's engine pulling up in front of the company building broke the calm morning silence. The side doors opened and three people stepped out almost immediately. They still couldn't quite believe it. They'd pinched themselves more than once just to make sure this wasn't a dream. But there they were. Them and no one else. This was, without a doubt, their shot, and if they played their cards right, it could be the start of something huge. Bob Reynolds braced a hand against the sliding door and stepped down, backpack slung over his shoulder. Without wasting a second, the rest of the group opened the van's trunk, where their instruments had been carefully packed away.

"Damn, this is actually happening," said John Walker, staring in disbelief at the building's imposing entrance. He couldn't help but let out an admiring whistle. "Shit, Joaquín, you actually pulled it off, man."

"What did I tell you, guys? Trust me, I know the right people."

Of course, it had been a genuine stroke of luck that his best friend happened to be dating Bucky Barnes. Otherwise, Joaquín knew, they never would have gotten a shot like this.

He definitely owed Sam a huge thank you for all of this.

"Yeah, sure, man. Don't steal Sam's credit," said John, giving him a friendly shoulder punch. "He's the one who's sleeping with our miracle worker."

Bless Sam Wilson's ass.

"Technicalities." His attention quickly shifted to their other bandmate beside him. "What's up, Bob? You nervous?"

"Just... just a little," Bob admitted, feeling something twist in his stomach. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared. Because he was. Everything felt terrifyingly real now. They weren't in Walker's garage anymore; this was beyond even his wildest dreams.

"Hey, Bobby, don't go throwing up on us," John warned him.

Bob shot him an irritated, uncomfortable look. God, it drove him crazy when John called him that. Bob was usually the calmest one in the group. He tried not to get into it with anyone and just focused on doing his own thing, which he happened to be great at. There was really only one thing that could wreck his usual good mood, and that was, of course, being called Bobby. The name didn't bring back good memories, and he tried to keep those memories buried as deep as possible, so they wouldn't ruin the peaceful life he'd worked so hard to build.

"I could do it right now, actually — I ate a slice of pizza before coming. Hey, Walker, come here and bring those nice shoes of yours. I'll doll them up for you.”

"Don't you dare!"

Bob smiled faintly as he adjusted his backpack strap. At least he'd managed to get one back on John. Time to move on and let it go.

"That's enough, you two," Joaquín cut in. "This shit matters. If we screw it up, we can forget about ever getting another chance like this one."

Bob and John had to admit he had a point. Opportunities like this only came around once in a lifetime, whether by the grace of providence or thanks to Sam's ass.

"Oh please, like you didn't almost blow it by rejecting the call three times," Bob shot back, a crooked smile on his face. His nerves were fading into the background now.

"I already told you, I thought it was a scam. That's exactly how my cousin got robbed of five hundred bucks."

"That's what she told you? Funny. I saw her boyfriend the other day walking out of a strip club. Guy doesn't have two nickels to rub together. Hey, Joaquín, is your cousin still lending him money?"

John elbowed Bob, who didn't bother hiding his smile. John was great at messing with other people — which was fun, as long as it wasn't Bob he was messing with.

"Shut it, Walker."

Without wasting any more time, they made sure to unload all their instruments from the van. By the time the last case was out, a woman in a suit stepped out of the building and greeted each of them with a handshake. Her face looked relieved, like she'd just narrowly escaped disaster.

To be fair, she wasn't exactly in a position to be picky. Not after nearly costing herself her job with a mistake like this. She'd forgotten to coordinate schedules with the band that was supposed to back Yelena onstage. When she'd called that morning to confirm they'd be there before ten, the group had simply told her their manager had already booked them with another artist for the next two weeks. With Coachella right around the corner, that only made everything worse. And if Valentina found out that Mel had messed up something as basic as scheduling, she'd fire her without a second thought and make sure no one in the music industry ever hired her again. Her entire career, everything she'd worked so hard for, would be gone. On top of that, the thought of having to job-hunt all over again was demoralizing. Luckily for her, Bucky Barnes, who worked at the label, had saved her neck by mentioning he knew a friend of a friend who had a decent band and could save the day.

Mel had thanked him endlessly and immediately reached out. The contact's name was Joaquín. When Mel told him Bucky Barnes had given her his number, the guy thought it was some kind of joke — he'd actually hung up on her a couple of times. If Mel hadn't been so desperate, she wouldn't have put up with that kind of rudeness.

Well, none of that mattered now. Thankfully, they'd arrived faster than Mel expected, given the traffic at that hour.

"That's us, we're the Thunderbolts," Joaquín replied, quite excited. His hands were sweaty and trembling a little.

What a name.

"Whatever, come on, we don't have much time. The equipment was supposed to be set up half an hour ago. If we don't start rehearsals now, this is going to be a disaster."

"Excuse me..." Bob's timid voice made Mel turn toward him, "you still haven't told us who we're playing for."

Mel looked at him like he'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. She decided to ignore it and kept walking back toward the building. The group followed behind her. The moment they walked through those doors, everything became a lot more real. People rushing back and forth. A dance troupe stretching and running through a few steps. Bob swallowed hard. Yeah — they definitely weren't in Walker's garage anymore.

For the rest of the walk-through, Bob stayed quiet. That didn't mean he wasn't paying close attention to every single thing Mel explained, though. In short, their one job was to learn three songs and provide the backing music. Nothing crazy — Joaquín had been right, it was a simple job.

"Here," Mel said, handing each of them a lanyard. Bob nearly dropped his, but managed to catch it. "These are your passes — they let you into any area of the complex. Don't lose them, or security won't let you in tomorrow. Put them around your necks. Again, do not lose them."

"Wait, we're coming back tomorrow too?" Bob asked, looking at Joaquín for an explanation. "I thought we were just playing tonight. You didn't say anything about coming back tomorrow."

"Yes, I did," Mel shot back.

"No, actually, you didn't," Joaquín cut in this time. "You just said you were calling on behalf of Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, and that Bucky had given you my number. You said you needed a band on short notice and asked how fast we could get there."

"I didn't?" Mel stopped, turning to Joaquín, a confused look on her face.

"Of course you didn't!"

"Oh, well," she shrugged and kept walking, her little entourage trailing behind her, "my mistake."

"Seriously, ma'am," Bob said, unable to hold in the question any longer, "what exactly are we doing here?"

Mel stopped again and turned to face them directly. They'd reached a white door, behind which they could clearly hear activity. A nervous smile escaped her lips, and Bob had the distinct feeling this wasn't going to be good news.

"You'll be backing Yelena at Coachella as a live band in two weeks," Mel said, dropping the bomb on them without warning.

"I'm sorry, what?" John Walker stammered. He thought he must have misheard. "You said... you said Yelena."

"Yelena Belova? From BLACK WIDOW?" Bob asked, looking even more stunned than John and Joaquín combined. "That Yelena Belova?"

"Yelena. Yelena Belova, exactly. 'That' Yelena," Mel replied.

"Yelena Belova..." Joaquín's face went white as paper, and Bob thought that now he might be the one about to throw up from nerves. "This isn't some kind of cruel joke, right? We're seriously playing for international pop star Lena Belova?"

"Hey, buddy, I don't joke around," Mel jabbed a finger into Joaquín's chest to make her point. "Listen to me carefully — my job is on the line here. You'd better do what you do best in the most spectacular way possible, or we're all ending up on the street."

Let it be clear: Melissa Gold was not getting fired because of a trio of idiots.

"Alright, alright. How much are we talking about?" John asked.

"Excuse me?"

"He's right," Bob backed him up. "How much are you paying us?"

"Five thousand each. Food, transportation, and lodging fully covered. And, of course, the chance for three complete unknowns like you to play a festival on the level of Coachella."

"Not sold."

"I'm sorry, what?" A vein throbbed on Mel's forehead. "You're not in a position to negotiate."

"I don't know about that, ma'am. Like you said, we're just three nobodies. If you send us packing, it won't make much of a difference for us. But it'd be a whole new problem for you, wouldn't it? Like you said — you could lose your job over this."

Bob was honestly impressed by how well John negotiated. Damn, the guy was good.

Mel narrowed her eyes and let out a frustrated huff. This jerk had her backed into a corner.

"Fine," she spat. "Name your price, you pack of rats."

"Thirty grand. Each."

"What? Are you insane? You're an unknown band. You're taking advantage of the little luck you've stumbled into."

"Doesn't look like you have much of a choice."

"Ten thousand."

"Twenty-five thousand."

"Nine thousand."

"Twenty-three thousand."

"Seven thousand."

"You're going the wrong direction! Okay, that's enough." John turned and started walking toward the exit, leaving Bob stunned. What the hell was he doing? Had he lost his mind?

"Wait!" Melissa shouted, her face red with anger. "Fine! You win! You'll each get fifteen thousand."

"Eighteen thousand."

"Sixteen thousand, and not a cent more."

Perfect — they would've done it for the original five thousand, but she didn't need to know that.

Excellent! Evil had won.

"Pleasure doing business with you, ma'am," John smiled sideways, flashing his most charming side.

Mel flustered a little, but quickly composed herself.

What did this guy think he was? Just because he had a pretty face…

Negotiations over, the guys walked into the massive room. It was an enormous, well-lit space with excellent acoustics, as Bob would later confirm. Their equipment was already set up; Bob's drum kit gleamed, waiting for him to make it shine. His fingers itched with the urge to strike the drums with his sticks and let the rhythm take over. There was something incredibly freeing about letting it all out.

Mel's phone rang.

"Damn it. You guys wait here," she said, just before heading out. "Oh, by the way..." she paused at the door, "the sheet music's here." She handed each of them a set of four pages. "Look them over and run through them a bit. Yelena just got here."

Bob felt his stomach drop straight through the floor. Without even meaning to, his fingers crumpled the sheets he was holding. Once Mel disappeared from view, the three of them looked at each other, still not quite believing it, nerves through the roof. This might just be the biggest stroke of luck in history.

"Shit, I can't believe it... Yelena. Yelena, from BLACK WIDOW."

"Right, Bob's a fan."

"Hey!" Bob exclaimed, his face burning red. 

"That's... that's not true..."

God, why was he suddenly so shy? He wasn't some hormonal teenager about to meet the living embodiment of his every fantasy. Well — he technically was about to meet the living embodiment of his every fantasy, but he was not a hormonal teenager.

"Oh, come on! You bought her album."

"Well... that's because she's really good... she's great."

"And you stare at her every time she's on TV." Joaquín sided with John this time, ganging up to mess with Bob.

"Fine, you win. Yes, I like Yelena. Happy now? I think she's great, amazing, an incredible dancer, and she's got a style all her own. She's also gorgeous and her voice is beautiful."

"You really think I'm gorgeous?" A soft feminine voice caught Bob completely off guard, freezing him in place, his face drained of color, his heart slamming against his chest like a drum.

John and Joaquín were just as frozen, both with their mouths hanging open in absolute shock.

"She's behind me, isn't she?"

"I'm right behind you," Yelena's unmistakable voice confirmed it.

He heard a soft, bright laugh, just a little mischievous. Slowly, Bob turned around and found himself face to face with Yelena Belova, a member of BLACK WIDOW. He blinked a few times. For a moment he thought he must be dreaming. It had to be a dream, because there was no way Yelena — Yelena Belova — was standing right in front of him, smiling with an innocence that made his heart ache and a glow that seemed to light up everything around her too.

"Yelena..."

"Yes, that's my name, but you can call me Lena," the singer flashed him a flirty smile, winking. "Only because you said I'm gorgeous."

"Lena..." Bob smiled dumbly. Mel would think he was an idiot; Yelena just found it incredibly cute and funny. "Lena Belova."

"And your name is?"

"I'm Robert Reynolds, but people call me Bob."

"Bob Reynolds."

"Just... just Bob is fine."

Honestly, Bob was on the verge of collapsing. It was practically a miracle he was still on his feet.

"Bob," Yelena repeated the name in her lovely accent. "I like Bob. It's easy to say. I could say it all day long."

"Please do."

Yelena laughed again. How long had it been since she'd laughed this much? Bob was so funny, so charming. Yelena tended to trust her instincts. When she liked someone, it was because something inside her told her she could trust them. On the other hand, if she felt an aversion toward someone, she simply avoided any unnecessary contact. So far, her instincts had never let her down.

"So, I guess you're the band Mel hired. I'm really excited to work together — let's give it everything we've got!" She clapped her hands, radiating genuine enthusiasm.

If Bob could have fainted right then, he would have. He didn't even know how he was still standing. It had to be divine providence, granting him the mercy of not making a total fool of himself in front of her.

"Yeah... let's do a great job."

"Perfect!"

Yelena ran through the choreography with her dance cast. Her movements were powerful, and the way she moved across the entire space completely commanded the room. Her stamina was incredible — she looked like an unstoppable machine capable of tearing through anything in her path. A kind of conqueror marching to war for glory. Bob couldn't tear his eyes off her. It was a good thing he was so skilled at his craft, or he would've made terrible mistakes just from being so distracted by Yelena's movements. Sometimes their eyes met, and he'd duck his head, embarrassed at being caught staring. Yelena would just smile even wider and keep devouring the room like a hungry beast.

They practiced for at least six more hours, with short breaks to hydrate and grab something from the snack table. Bob ate chicken sandwiches with his friends on one side of the room, while he watched Yelena on the other side, drinking nothing but a bottle of water, a spotless towel draped around her neck. Bob looked down at his plate for a moment and thought it wasn't fair that he got to eat all this food while Yelena sat alone, when she was supposed to be the star of the whole thing. He pictured himself crossing the space between them, walking over and offering her a sandwich. The initial burst of courage quickly curdled into embarrassment. What was he even thinking? Some ordinary guy like him, offering food to Yelena? Who did he think he was? She was Yelena Belova, the most incredible, talented person there was. He'd just watched her put on an incredible show, and that had only been a rehearsal.

Sure, maybe she'd been kind to him when they met, but that didn't mean they were friends.

Damn it, he'd lost his appetite.

"Hey, Bob, what's wrong with you?" Joaquín had stopped mid-bite on his burger, noticing the strange look on his friend's face. "Something going on?"

"Nothing's going on."

"Come on, man, you're terrible at faking it. You're like a damn open book."

"Just leave me alone."

"Is it about your Yelena?" John teased. "She's way prettier in person, huh? What do you think about that, Bobby?"

That damn nickname.

"Don't call me Bobby, idiot. You know I hate it."

"What the hell is your problem?" John shoved him.

"What the hell is my problem? You've been provoking me for a while now."

"Guys, that's enough!"

"Just because I brought up your precious Yelena? What, does that bother you?"

"Go to hell." Bob's fist slammed into John's jaw. It was a clumsy, careless punch, but no less hard for it. In that punch, Bob let out all his frustration. Damn it, it was because of that stupid nickname. Even dead, his father still found ways to ruin his peace.

Bob tried to pull himself together. He remembered the breathing exercises — every time he felt that terrible part of himself, the part he'd inherited from his father, start to surface, he was supposed to breathe and count to ten, slowly. Until all those dark thoughts were pushed out of his body and he could feel free again. He didn't want to look toward the other side of the room, God, he really didn't. He'd just shown his ugliest side to Yelena Belova. Right now, he just wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

He left the room before John could react. Even Joaquín stayed silent, stunned by the outburst. Before walking through the door, he glanced back for a moment at Yelena, and caught her beautiful hazel eyes watching him, full of curiosity. Well, that was it — he'd officially screwed up. He slammed the door shut and rushed outside for some fresh air. Outside, the sun was already dying, and the cold evening breeze wouldn't take long to turn into a proper night wind. He felt a chill, and regretted leaving his jacket behind.

"Great... genuinely great."

"Really? I'd say there's nothing great about this at all," that same familiar feminine voice caught him off guard again. He jumped a little, startled, and turned around only to find the one person he'd rather have avoided.

Not because he disliked her — quite the opposite. Yelena was his favorite. But he'd hate for someone so amazing to see his ugliest side.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"I've been watching you quietly, Robert Reynolds."

"Wait, what?"

Suddenly, Yelena burst into a bright, clear laugh. Her laugh was so contagious that, without meaning to, Bob's lips curved into a small smile.

"I'm kidding, I just got here thirty seconds ago. It's almost dark out, and you're wearing that thin little shirt. Here, take this," she offered him one of her hoodies — a huge black one, with a black widow printed on the back and the phrase BLACK WIDOW IN YOUR AREA.

"Wait, you interrupted your rehearsal just to give me this?" Bob looked confused. "Why?"

"I already told you, your shirt's way too thin. I'm worried it's going to be too cold for you tonight."

Yelena stood beside him, and Bob let himself study her profile. She was beautiful, even with her cheeks flushed from exercise — she was an extremely attractive woman. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about a moment like this. A guy and a girl, outside a noisy building, breathing in some fresh air, watching the city lights flicker on, forming artificial stars.

"About what you had to see... I want to apologize."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Yelena said, her voice low and intimate. So comforting. "That guy pissed you off. You were just defending yourself."

"It wasn't John's fault..."

"Really?" one of Yelena's eyebrows arched in clear skepticism.

"Okay, it wasn't 'entirely' John's fault," Bob smiled, feeling the weight lift a little from his chest. "It's just... it's just that I've been dealing with all this. My insecurities, the memory of my father, his damn ghost that just won't stop haunting my peace. I'm not trying to justify it... I know that doesn't give me the right to be a piece of shit. It's just that sometimes... sometimes it's hard, having to deal with all of it alone..."

"And your friends... do they know?"

"Joaquín knows... John, not really. I usually try to keep as few people in on it as possible."

Yelena tossed a smile up at the sky, and Bob turned to look at her as she raised her arm, as if trying to reach for something up there.

"So I'm someone special, then."

Bob's cheeks turned red.

"I-it's because talking to you comes easy to me."

"Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people," Yelena tilted her head, studying him curiously. "Although you're different."

Bob looked up.

"Different?"

"Yeah. Everyone else starts babbling nonstop the second they meet me. You, on the other hand, seem to be struggling to find the words."

"That's because..." Bob let out an embarrassed laugh. "Finding them gets complicated when the person standing in front of you turns out to be your favorite singer."

"Am I really your favorite?" Yelena arched an eyebrow slightly.

Bob nodded without a second thought.

"You're the most incredible of them all. Your performances are the best."

For a few seconds, Yelena watched him in silence. Bob was honest — the truth leaked out of him even when he wasn't aware of it. She didn't see the confident smile of producers, or the exaggerated enthusiasm of some fans, or the arrogance of so many artists she'd worked with. Bob seemed incapable of faking it.

And, for some reason, she found that captivating.

"What's your favorite song?"

"Huh?"

"I said," Yelena's thin finger poked his cheek gently, "what's your favorite song?"

Bob went quiet for a moment. The question caught him completely off guard.

"Just one?"

"Just one."

"That's cruel," Bob said, wincing in mock suffering.

"Cruel?" Yelena let out a crystalline laugh.

"Yeah. It's like asking someone to pick their favorite star in the sky."

She blinked, caught off guard for a second. That answer was different from every other one she'd ever heard. It hadn't sounded rehearsed, hadn't been trying to impress her. It had simply come out of him.

"Fine, you win. What torture for poor Robert Reynolds," she exclaimed dramatically, pulling another round of laughter out of Bob.

"But..." he continued, "if I had to choose... I'd choose Neon Skies..."

"Neon Skies?" Yelena's heart raced. Neon Skies wasn't the most popular song in her catalog — it wasn't commercial, and Valentina had been very clear that strong, catchy, commercial beats were what actually sold. Neon Skies had been the very first song she'd ever written. It was about love, about freedom, about two souls connecting across the space between galaxies and nebulae. About the light that lives inside the strongest hearts, and the longing to shine brightly under neon skies.

When the city holds its breath, the lights sketch constellations across the asphalt. They say the universe ends where the eye can no longer see, but I found another galaxy reflected in your eyes.

Under neon skies, where dreams stop hiding, we'll be two souls crossing galaxies until we find a place to call home.

And when the dawn wipes away all the lights, when the noise floods back over the city, promise me that wherever you are, you'll keep searching for the neon skies.

"When I was on the verge of relapsing, when I'd hit a rock bottom so deep I thought I'd never climb out of it... I heard your voice... singing about the neon skies," Yelena went quiet, but she didn't stop him — Bob kept staring at something in the sky, something only he seemed able to see. "I clung to that song all night, over and over. It filled me with a strength I didn't think I had, just enough to keep holding on. In the end, I made it through. You've probably heard this before... but you really did save me."

"No one's ever told me that before."

"I'm the first?" Bob smiled.

"Yeah..."

"I'm honored."

"So then you... how long have you been clean?"

"Four years," Bob answered. "It's been hard. It still is — it's a constant fight, but it gets a little easier each time. I honestly can't even remember the last time I touched that garbage. And I don't want to, either. I'm ashamed of myself."

"Don't be ashamed. You're incredible," Yelena said, looking him straight in the eyes. He truly was someone worth admiring. "You pulled yourself out of it, on your own. You're a new man now."

"It was because of you. You know? I never thought I'd get the chance to thank the person who saved me. I mean... you're Yelena, you're a million light years away from someone like me. It's insane that this even happened."

"Maybe it's fate."

"Maybe..."

And silence settled between them. Unlike what you might expect, it wasn't an uncomfortable one. It was comforting, as if there was no need for words to fill in the small gaps. It wasn't necessary. Somehow, they'd managed to connect, right there under the neon skies.

"Your hoodie is huge," Bob broke the silence, pulling on the garment and noticing it fit him perfectly. Yelena was small; she'd definitely get lost inside something this size.

"I like huge things," she gave him a smile. "They're warmer, cozier, more comforting. I like feeling like a marshmallow."

"Is that so?" once again, Bob's smile left her completely disarmed.

"I also like tall guys," Bob looked at her, startled, his blush impossible to hide. "Just saying..." she gave him the most beautiful smile she had. Beautiful and bright.

Glowing bright under the neon skies. 

Yelena's stomach let out a loud growl. They both froze, then burst out laughing.

"Yelena Belova, hungry?"

"Hey, I'm human too," Yelena feigned offense, though inside she'd never felt happier. "Besides, when we were eating earlier I thought you'd offer me a sandwich," a mischievous smile crept onto her lips. "I was even making room in my stomach for it."

For the second time that day, Bob felt like an idiot.

"I'm... so sorry."

"Should I forgive you?"

"What could someone like me possibly do to earn your forgiveness?"

Yelena pretended to think it over. Truth was, she already knew exactly what she wanted.

"Take me to get food."

"Huh?"

"Let's get out of here, wherever you want. You decide."

"I know a place with really good burgers."

"I like burgers."

"Really?"

"I'll like them starting now."

Laughing and stumbling over each other, they climbed into one of the company cars. Yelena sent the driver off and took the wheel herself, with Bob riding shotgun. She knew she'd get an earful tomorrow — Mel was probably already having a breakdown, not knowing where she was. Eh, like she cared. She was free, for the first time — free to drive in whatever direction she wanted, free to break through the stratosphere and let herself soar across the vast expanse, cutting through the neon skies.

Stars dying and being reborn, again and again, in an endless cycle. Even with the future uncertain, she wasn't afraid anymore.

"Bob Reynolds, thank you so much."

"For what?"

"For coming and turning my entire world upside down."

Comets drifting, cutting through the neon skies and transforming into shooting stars. Thousands of stars, millions upon millions of them, colliding into each other, forming a marvelous shower across a blackened sky.

Yelena hadn't realized just how dark her sky had gotten. Not until, one day, a million suns appeared. And from then on, she never stopped shining.

And when the dawn wipes away all the lights, when the noise floods back over the city, promise me that wherever you are, you'll keep searching for the neon skies.