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heffrondriving · 2 years ago

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- ̥۪͙۪˚┊❛ Which Side Of My Heart Are You On? ❜ : ̗̀❥ JO TAYLOR × LUCY STONE┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌

: ̗̀❥ RATING: T // WORD COUNT: 9,080 // CHARACTERS: lucy stone, jo taylor // RELATIONSHIPS: lucy stone/jo taylor, obligatory kendall knight/jo taylor // TAGS: one shot, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, lil lucy angstiness, romantic tension, slice of life, friendship, pining, gay panic, flirting, confusion, internal conflict, self-denial, arguing, character study(ish), femslash, girls in love, canon compliant, useless lesbians <3, rarepair // AO3

: ̗̀❥ inspired by the song Like That by Stand Atlantic and dedicated to @digitalfate 💙

❥៚ 𝑶𝑵𝑬: 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒆 (𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆) ─ೄྀ࿐

❝ Honey-coated speech and I’m overdosing It’s just like that (It’s just like that) Delicately dying for another minute It’s just like that (It’s just like that) Gold rush, what you digging out of me? This head rush, stomach’s in my neck I gotta stand still, dizzy, dumb and in between... ��

Things have been weird. And while Lucy wouldn’t mind a dash of weirdness cutting up the basic monotony of her daily life, this was just asking for madness.

Well...there was asking for madness, and there was turning right to madness, and Lucy felt so impossibly caught up in the middle of it all that she would have given anything to feel normal again, even just for a second.

But that was also ridiculous. She was Lucy Stone, for crying out loud! She was hardly the poster girl of normalcy, and she rocked that rollercoaster ride hard and fast, no safety bars allowed. She was an up-and-coming punk goddess shacking up in the very heart of Heartless Hollywood, land of the rich and famey and batshit crazy. She had four good friends who also happened to be rowdy hockey players slash huge popstars slash absolute troublemaking hooligans from Minnesota, all of which constantly dragged her along their insane cartoonish escapades. And believe her, Lucy had tried normal, once upon a terrible time—having apple-cheeked, insidiously overwound, suburban basketcases for parents will do that to a ponytail-pulled kid.

And still, it was amazing—infuriatingly so—how none of it held a Yankee gift-basket candle towards the weirdest way Jo had been making Lucy feel lately.

So maybe that was Lucy’s own fault, a slow undoing by her own personal hubris a-la Ajax tragedy—after all, she was the one who chose to move back to the Palm Woods, despite the rocky not-quite-history she had with the place. With the way things were going for her flourishing career, she could’ve gone all-out and holed up in some nice ultra-luxury condo elsewhere in LA, preferably somewhere far away from her old lie of a life and the pretty little faces that came back to haunt her every restless night she was all alone and running on twenty cans of Pipeline Punch Juice Monster and writer’s block. But that just wasn’t Lucy’s thing. She was never the type to just up and run away.

Well, except maybe running away from her overbearing parents and their southern passive-aggressive authoritarian neuroses that got her poor older brother kicked to military school before she could get more secret guitar lessons from him, but that’s besides the point. If Lucy wanted to get over something, she would face it without flinching and confront whatever got thrown her way headfirst. If there was anything she learned from her cranky whipsnap of a violin teacher (and nothing more useful than sight reading and permanently disliking classical music, to be frank), it’s that quitters never get the break.

Well, okay—she had also quit the old hag for nearly breaking her fingers off with that damn yardstick anyway despite her father’s disappointed vitriol. But it turned out to be the best decision Lucy had ever made, since now she has broken away from her stifling classical musician past and finally emerged with her big break as the rock scene’s next big rising star. Even though whoever in her idiot desk monkey PR team that had the ‘brilliant’ idea to stamp her brand as a ‘pop princess’ smack dab on the cover of Wailing Note magazine out of all places seriously had another thing coming, because that couldn’t be any further from who she was trying to be. But trying to be the next Siouxsie Sioux with kickin’ song titles like ‘Teenage Anarchy’, ‘Eat My Dog’, and ‘Cut It Off And [redacted due to inappropriate graphic nature]’ don’t sell in this modern climate, so maybe Lucy could at least try to get Avril Lavigne and she wasn’t even tossed that fighting chance.

And now the cycle of Lucy’s woebegone life seemed to have gone from broken-up to breaking out and now right on the verge of breaking down, grappling with strange feelings she wasn’t sure were even hers to feel at all. Even with her pointless selfish reminiscing, Lucy knew this wasn’t just about her, wasn’t just about her messed-up past and her breakneck future making her feel a thousand different shades of weird, but it was here and now. In the present, with a girl she doesn’t know how to feel about. There was something about Jo Taylor.

Or something else Lucy was missing entirely.

There was bound to be some weirdness between them; after all, she and Jo both dated the same boy at some point—even though dated was a pathetically generous way of putting it for Lucy, what with the whole only together for barely ninety seconds deal before those fateful elevator doors opened up to a badly-timed kiss and imminent disaster. After her previous cheater boyfriend fiasco she nearly fell prey to again, the last thing Lucy wanted to do was to get caught up in an unexpected love triangle with all signs pointing to heartbreak highway with an inbound collision, which was certainly enough to break the hardest heads and make anyone’s mangled stomach drop all the way to the pits of hell.

But if her debut album was all about being strong and doing what makes you happy, then so be it. Nevermind that she also would have been totally singing out of her ass for 80% of the tracks (the remaining 20% was for the sick guitar riffs that could shred a whole factory of Dutch gouda into fine powder and disgustingly great sound production courtesy of Galactic Records, of course). Because apparently that positive fakery and callout girlpower sells and sells and sells, so hey, well done her. Make it until you fake it, right?

Anyway, all of that annoying drama was over and done with, Lucy’s had her petty little revenge via a hit Taylor Swift-esque masterpiece that landed her a cosy place on the music charts (which, in hindsight, wasn’t the most elegant of moves, but she was lonely and dejected and filled with enough unwanted spite to boil her body from the inside out, what else was a girl supposed to do other than go all Ophelia? Yeah, Lucy was tragic but she wasn’t buying into that classic brand of fridged-lady bullshit) and earned her a pretty cool future European tour, and now she had her rightful throne back at the Palm Woods along with her old close friends and a really lovely new girl friend.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe Lucy and Jo were only pretending to stand each other’s strained necks only to crush their heels down as soon as one let down her guard and looked away. Maybe they were only five seconds away from a slipped bitter laugh and tearing at each other’s throats with painted nails to the beat of flashing paparazzi spotlights and tonight’s E! News headlines. Lucy honestly couldn’t really tell anymore.

Sure, she and Jo were good friends now, but there was still something uncomfortable lingering in the air between them, hair-raising friction and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it dispositions and an unspoken gravity that threatened to crush down Lucy’s tin can brain if she overthinks it for too long. The worst part about it was that Lucy couldn’t figure out what it was exactly—she was completely over Kendall (and any other stupidly complicated boy trouble for the foreseeable rest of her life, if she could friggin’ help it), that much was true...but why did she still feel a dull pang of something almost resembling jealousy whenever the Palm Woods star couple were together?

Lucy has tried to cut off that insidious feeling time and time again, but the indomitable hydra’s head just kept on sprouting back and multiplying twofold, poison veins and blood-red vision, suffocating her a little worse every time.

Cutting her own annoying head off would be a much easier solution.

That Sunday was one of those weird monster-brain days. Lucy and her two best friends had been meticulously planning this girls’ day out for an entire week now as their busy acting and recording schedules never seemed to perfectly align, and that day was the only free time they had to spare. Unfortunately, Camille had to be rushed back for a last-minute audition callback for the next series installment of hit TV show My Nanny is a Werewolf on Kidzie Channel. While both Lucy and Jo eagerly volunteered to entirely nix the hangout and come with her in support instead, the actress cheerily waved their offers off, telling the girls that Logan was already coming with her anyway and she didn’t wanna ruin their plans any more than she already did, despite their assurances of the contrary.

With exchanged wishes of good luck, Camille bade her friends goodbye with a well-practiced weregirl snarl-twirl-snap combo and playful reminders to “have fun and behave yourselves while I’m away!”

Lucy couldn’t even muster up a smartass quip back to promise one or the other. If anything could send her nerves instantly unwinding end to end and back around her throat next to news of her parents coming around for a visit to subtly psychoanalyse her every disobedient move and street mimes (the creepy monochrome bastards), it was having to be alone with Jo.

Shit biscuits, this was so not in the plan!

It was going to be strange for them—potentially disastrous, even—not having Camille around, since she was practically the sole linchpin keeping their friend group together. With the veteran teen actress having been really close to each girl and being a steady presence in the Palm Woods and their lives despite all the ensuing changes and confusion, she was always there to ease out the looming tension and act as an impartial mediator between Lucy and Jo, always ready with a crazy story or a fun activity to rope in the three of them together. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but Lucy’s previous solo hangouts with Jo proved to be a bit dubious after exhausting their seemingly multiple choice chit-chat options about music and work and the-eyebrows-man-who-must-not-be-named, more often ending the conversation in question marks and uneasy silence broken only by a straw scraping against the bottom of the empty smoothie cup.

But Lucy was still determined to make the best out of what might just be a good thing. Maybe even the next best thing for them going forward. This was the perfect chance to figure out what exactly was going on between her and Jo. What’s the worst that could happen, right?

(Everything. Nothing. All of the above plus one and show the equations on scratch paper. The options were limitless and if this was a test of true strength and willpower, Lucy would rather stab herself in the neck with a freshly-sharpened #2 pencil than fail hard and embarrass herself. But she wasn’t gonna be a coward and run away, not this time. Not anymore.)

Their day was a whirlwind blur; a burning rush of exciting Hollywood lights beckoning their giddiest fancies and sweltering air competing against frigid mall air-conditioning, teasing flashes of soaring blonde curls and a steadfast hand clutching Lucy’s own, and creeping close contact everywhere she turned—every moment a suspect call, ocean bruises and rubinette touches turning into downward spirals and a bleeding fleeting desperation that seemed to haunt Lucy around like a phantom as she followed Jo around, while her friend clearly wasn’t feeling the buzzkill spectre shivering and sapping her bones dry of enjoyment.

That was good. That was bad. The answers were still a mess on the page.

For the most part, Lucy figured she did a pretty good job of the whole rigmarole. Despite her brain initially going full neurotic on her, it really wasn’t all as bad as her nightmarish fantasies had twisted it out to be. As a matter of fact, it was Mr. Fox levels of fantastic.

They visited some boutiques and spreed the shops to mix and match some cool new outfits for each other, and shared some delicious food at a quaint seaside burrito and taco stand afterwards. There, Lucy listened intently to Jo’s stories about getting the part of the beautifully wise nymph-child Emily Trace and her time in New Zealand filming for Chauncey Jackson, which the actress still fondly remembered despite the whole breakup deal and the disastrous theatre-burning aftermath that came with it. Lucy managed to crack snarky little jokes and laugh in the right places, also sharing funny and zany tour tales of her own. And, upon Jo’s not-so-brilliant idea once she spotted the two-for-one deal sign as they were heading back, Lucy also begrudgingly got French pedicures with her, which was a whole other level of horrifying for the punk girl.

She swore upon all the unwise deities in the sky that she was never letting anyone near her extremely ticklish appendages again no matter how skilled they were at prettying up her nails, thanks very much.

But that was the worst brunt of it otherwise. In a spur-of-the-moment madness, Lucy even ran with this whole dumb bit of going all gum-chewing tour guide for Jo and showing her around the city, completely playing into it with awed gasping, imaginary camera clicking, and dramatic posing and pointing at every nondescript building facade and rusty fire hydrant. Neither girl cared that every rubbernecking passersby shot them odd looks and disapproving glares, they simply laughed and ran away with arms interlocked beneath the cascading firestorm marigold of the afternoon skylines, cardboard cutouts of towering skyscrapers and palm trees silhouetting the dying sun as the day drew to a more peaceful close.

So yeah, to say it went great was a massive understatement. Lucy enjoyed herself a lot, but not as much as she enjoyed seeing Jo have the time of her life. It felt like their relationship was going to continue its ascending momentum, but...friendship shouldn’t have felt this stilted, this rehearsed, this performative. It shouldn’t have been this hard for Lucy to deal with. Even with her inexplicable thoughts, Lucy really liked Jo. And the sentiment seemed to be reciprocated, counting how many times Lucy made Jo smile and crack up—and in one instance, even choke on her ice cream as the punk girl described Camille and Kendall’s short-lived stint as figure skaters in full painful detail, insane best friend code and Logan’s murderous jealousy and James and Carlos getting glued together and horrible shiny purple costume and bloody Death Spiral and all.

Jo was incredibly easy to talk to, comfortable to be around with, all prettiness and sprightly charm and that adorably wicked smile edging out a smart veneer—it made Lucy’s stomach flutter something strange—maybe from hope, or maybe from indigestion courtesy of those killer all-American beef tacos. Long story longer, Lucy wants to be with Jo.

So what the hell was she doing wrong?

There wasn’t too much time for Lucy to think it over, and she was far too exhausted and simply relieved that she made it out alive. The two girls opted for one last quick corndog snack (well, Lucy did since she was seriously starving after their impromptu street run and Jo wasn’t the biggest fan of the food, but the actress bought some to take home for their hyper helmet-toting friend anyway), before catching the last shuttle to the Palm Woods and finally making it back to their home sweet home.

Make it until you fake it...

“Thanks for the awesome day out, Jo,” Lucy said as they reached the door to Apartment 3F, a place less supply closet chic and much roomier than her old one. She only moved into a second-floor space when she first returned as step one of her terrible ‘get rid of horrible songwriting rut’ plan. And after a whole week of sleepless nights courtesy of the nonstop racket in Apartment 2J, Lucy decided to save what was left of her hanging sanity by requesting a change in rooms, an arrangement that Mr. Reginald Bitters was all too happy to agree to once he saw the growing zeroes in her bank account.

However, this also meant that Jo’s apartment was only a few doors away from hers down at 3I, an uncanny coincidence that Lucy didn’t want to think too much about.

“No need to thank me for anything,” Jo replied modestly. “And thanks as well!”

“I’m super worn-out to the bone and all, but I had lots of fun and I really wanna do this again soon. Hopefully when Cam’s free so we can paint the town a shade of red brighter.”

“Yeah, I think I’d really like that too.” Jo smiled. “And Camille better be there, ‘cause she seriously missed out today and well...I say this with all the love in my heart, but you’re also a really lousy clothes shopping partner.”

Lucy chuckled, airily shrugging in reply. “Hey, no offence taken. If it wasn’t so obvious already, I’m really more of a DIY-kinda person when it comes to choosing my fits. I mean, where’s the fun in picking up Barbie doll cutouts when you could get to run loose with scissors and trick up that haute couture perfection into something awesome and unique?”

“Yeah, I get the whole getting bored with dress-up too.”

“Yeah?”

“Kinda, with all the outfits and costumes they make me wear for my acting roles sometimes...” Jo said. “It’s all gorgeous fun and fabulous fashion shows in the dressing trailer until you’ve spent half your week on the makeup chair after your fiftieth costume change of the day and end up in a molting chicken outfit in hundred-degree LA heat for an eight-hour shoot.”

Lucy whistled low at this. “I’ve had my fair share of getting stuffed into itchy grandma dresses by my mom, but yeah, definitely nothing as bad as that. I think my worst offender was a giant pink chiffon tutu for a church recital and I sulked up a storm the entire time for the performance that my annoyed dad practically had to drag me off the stage by my pointé shoes.”

“Awww, ballerina Lucy-goosey,” Jo gushed. “Now that I would love to see!”

“You’d have to pry it from my cold dead hands first.” Lucy sternly clicked her tongue. “But hey, anytime you feel up for a wardrobe overhaul, call me, beep me, ‘cause I’m your gal. it’s a hell of a time ripping ‘em up, and that’s definitely a thing I gotta show you sometime.”

“Mmm, maybe. Daddy taught me never to run with scissors, though.”

“Oh come onnn, live a little, why don’t you?” Lucy mimed a pair of scissors with both hands and poked and jabbed her flicking fingers into Jo’s midriff, making her cry out in protesting giggles.

“Hey—don’t, buzz off—you’re—such a bad influence—Stone!” She gasped out, skirting away and whacking Lucy with a Kate Spade shopping bag to fend her attacks off.

“As if you really need me to break your halo, angel?” Lucy winked. “I’m afraid it’s far too late to save your grace.”

“And you and me and the devil makes three.”

“Well, only you and me since two of those are the same things.” With a halfhearted evil cackle, Lucy swung the door open with a grand sweeping gesture. “Feel like entering the gates of hell today?”

Jo nodded gratefully as she welcomed the invitation. “I don’t know if I could take another step without collapsing, so wouldn’t mind a little rest,” she said, dropping her bags down on the couch and comfortably settling in with a sigh. “Thanks, Lucy...fer?”

“Oh, you won’t be thanking me soon enough.”

“Why, ‘cause you’re gonna make pretty confetti out of my clothes?”

“Hey now, alright, alright. No more running with scissors so daddy doesn’t take your supper away.” The punk girl held up two hands in surrender and sat down next to Jo. “Maybe just very carefully ambling with helmets and crash pads. That sound like a plan?”

“Just as long as that plan doesn’t include you abandoning me to cause some townie trouble with high school kids and howl at the moon.”

Both girls couldn’t help but giggle at the vivid image of the elegantly gorgeous Camille Roberts transforming into a hairy scary beast by performing her signature snarl-twirl-snap cheerleader move.

“Hey, down with team Jacob,” Lucy joked. “I promise I won’t abandon you, and this is just a little precaution so we don’t accidentally riches to rags those really good florals you picked out for me, ‘cause that’d be a right shame.”

Jo frowned at this, peach-pink lower lip blooming into that dainty little pout the New Town High writers had taken every opportunity to abuse in her infamous character Rachel’s scripts. Lucy couldn’t blame them, though. It was a pretty view-cashing quirk—even she was completely mesmerised. “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Luce,” she said. “If you don’t like it, just say so. I’m a big girl now and I could totally take it. And anyway, we could always exchange it for those fancy aviator jackets you were ogling over. Oh yeah, I totally saw that, even if you didn’t tell me.”

“How dare you accuse me of being a liar—‘cause I’m totally not!” Lucy insisted, adamantly waving the tropical-patterned paper bag containing the incriminating articles of clothing. “You wanna see me wear that frilly frigging halter top everyday? Girl, you got it! I’ll even dye my hair Electric Bananas yellow and wear it for my next music video complete with Daisy Dukes and red cowboy boots to immortalise it forever in my shameful name, if that’s what it takes for me to prove it to you!”

“Wow, so desperate to convince me.” Jo delightedly laughed, a mischievous wind-chime twinkle. “Hold your horses, cowgirl. I’m already impressed by the dedication alone—although I honestly wouldn’t mind seeing you in that kinda outfit...”

Lucy’s throat tightened, suddenly finding herself unable to meet Jo’s cloying coffee gaze and pursed smirk as it wryly raked up and down her pale, gawky, ungraceful form. She was so unlike her beautiful American doll of a best friend, who was like all the pretty pink princesses and gorgeous Day-Glo Pop Tiger girls she either unhealthily obsessed over or resented with a misguided burning passion (or both) in her younger days. And well, apparently now—but would Jo agree to a music video cameo if it meant Lucy also got to see her in skimpy denim and sunbeaten leather of a sizzling hot Arizona desert cowgirl outfit—was Lucy insane enough to even consider writing a song in the godawful twangy music genre she despised with a burning passion just to make it happen...okay, nope, she wasn’t telling that, either.

“Well, you said no need, so no take-backs,” she muttered halfheartedly, both arms folded adamantly to press over her churning stomach—ugh, must be those damn fried franks too, how the hell did Carlos manage to scarf down a hundred sticks of them on the daily and not get a heart attack in the box?

“...Hey, are you okay, Luce?” Jo asked worriedly as she reached out and touched the back of her hand to her friend’s feverish forehead. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Me, not hot?” Lucy waved her concerns off with a lame scoff. “Pffft, that’s impossible!”

“Oh. Now that’s weird...”

“What’s weird?”

“For a moment, I swear I was talking to James Diamond of Big Time Rush and not Hollywood’s hottest pop princess Lucy Stone...”

“Okay, A. Don’t ever call me pop princess unless you wanna get turned into a toad, and B. compare me to that conceited IKEA rug-looking nematode again and I will take you down,” Lucy snapped, but immediately regretted her default mean girl tone when Jo reeled slightly. Oh, right. Not everyone was used to her brand of poison spit. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean that.”

“You didn’t?” Jo countered. “I’m always ready for a challenge.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll save the taking down for James instead, the next time he tries to be a total pest with his stupid aeroplane-based makeout metaphors and toxic man spray fumes.”

“Wow. You really hate him that much, huh. Don’t worry, I won’t tell the boys on you.”

Despite Jo’s jesting tone, Lucy couldn’t help but feel a little bit defensive. “It’s not that I hate him, I just...” She sighed harshly. “I guess if you look past the bloated ego and the over-delusional Adonis complex and the general dramatic derangement, he seems like a decently nice enough person. A really annoying one, mind—but maybe someone I wouldn’t mind being just friends with.”

“Just friends?”

“Capital F-word Friends, period. Mark my words, Taylor, because I am damn well carving them on the gravestone I’ll rest on in my sweetest deathbed, that I shall never have a thing for James frigging Diamond,” Lucy declared, slapping the coffee table after every word to emphasise her point. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Which I will if you ever bring this utter nonsense up again or even mention a single word of it to James. Then I hope he dies.”

Jo sombrely mumbled something Lucy couldn’t quite make out, only catching the tail end of “...to know.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, just...” Jo shook her head. “Thinking about some stuff. Nothing important, really.”

“Oh? Then spill,” Lucy goaded. “C’mon Jo, you’ve seen me squirm and shriek my lungs off at that stupid foot spa torture chamber, I think that’s enough to warrant a no-more-secrets rule between us.”

“Well, it’s just that, the thing with James. Or the lack of it, rather.”

“What about it?”

“It’s not because of...the whole Kendall thing, is it?”

“What?!” Lucy’s tone rose to shrill indignation.” Why on god’s green earth would it ever be?”

“I don’t know,” Jo hastily backtracked. “I told you it’s nothing important, but I just never really thought of it this way before. Like, seeing how they’re best friends and everything...”

“Dude, come on—”

“Maybe it’d feel weird for you so soon after everything to have to see him around all the time.”

“Josephine, seriously, you’ve got a big brain on you. Don’t waste it on History Channel conspiracy theories and pointless MTV-level drama,” Lucy sternly berated. “But no, it’s because James is irritating and abrasive and keeps popping up everywhere like a bad rash.” She paused, making a disgusted face. “Okay, ew, that was a horrible comparison, but you know what James is like so you get my point. I told you I’m already cool with Kendall, and you and him have nothing else to do with anything that’s my personal business, except for being my good friends and good company. That’s all.”

Lucy wanted to mean it like she said it—but wowza, was that an Oscar-winning performance of a pretty little white lie or what? Either Camille’s extreme method actressing had been rubbing off on her lately, or it was just another one of those dirty tricks she had to learn the hard way after endlessly lying and being lied to in her last relationship. She was certainly good enough to fool hopeless hearts trying to chase her out of the friendzone and vice versa, so what’s one more lie? Laissez-faire life like this, you simply can’t have one without the other, as she found out easily enough.

That was the only easy part about it, unfortunately. I’d like to thank you with a side of choke, Academy.

“Okay. Just checking,” Jo replied after an extremely unnerving beat, dainty lips quivering as she stubbornly bit CW’s favourite thousand-dollar pout back into a serrated thin line. “‘Cause I’d really feel bad if—”

“Well don’t!” Lucy shouted in a crackwhip shock that made her friend flinch hard enough to taste blood. “I said what I freaking said—so seriously, just drop the whole annoying wounded kitty act and shut up about that for a moment already, okay?!”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oh, great. Just when Lucy thought she was about to pass with flying colours, there came the surprise back page to clock her just as the time ran out. They were due in for a catfight anytime, weren’t they?

“Nothing,” Lucy dismissed, exhaling roughly and slapping a palm on the side of her head to fend off the incoming headache. “Just forget it. Forget about everything.”

“Lucy, I don’t wanna pick a fight.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you damn well act like it?” Hey woah, ixnay on the attitude, Stone, what the hell are you doing?!

Jo blinked helplessly. Took a step back. She appeared on the verge of something. Maybe falling tears, maybe unsheathing claws. Lucy had certainly shown her hand. Er, paw. Her own fists clenched and unclenched, leaving thin scarlet indentations on her palms with obsidian-black fingernails.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Jo finally murmured. “I just want you to talk to me, Lucy.”

“What am I, using telepathy or something?”

The punk girl’s snarky response went all but unheeded. “No, I mean like...talk to me, please,” Jo begged, clasping desperately at Lucy’s marred hands. “I just feel like, I don’t know, we’re still holding some things back and the last thing I want between us is this...annoying awkwardness! Maybe it’s just me—maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I feel like there’s this sort of unpleasant tension hiding behind all the normal chatting and the joking, it’s like this weird space that I just can’t understand how to reach out to. It’s like, there’s something more going on here.”

“What are you talking about?” Lucy said evenly, trying to ignore both the sudden electric dithers from her fingertips starting to course through her nerves and the distracting fact that Jo’s skin felt so warm...

“That’s the thing, I can’t even begin to describe it. I don’t think there’s any rational way to! And I swear, I like you a lot, but if we can’t get past that—whatever that is—then...” Jo let go of Lucy and slumped her shoulders heavily, at a total loss. “Maybe there’s no point in trying to be friends anymore.”

Oh, Tony the pissing Tiger grrreat with a side of soggy cornflakes. Not only was Lucy’s worst suspicions confirmed, but it was apparently playing for both teams and everyone was damn well losing. No, really, she would rather take the hair-pulling and name-calling and kicking and screaming—she didn’t do well with pity parades, seeing how easily she could rain on it with her stupid shallow tears. Even worse than the ticklishness, it was seriously Lucy’s greatest, lamest, worst weakness ever.

“Listen to me.” Lucy startled Jo as she staggered forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, trembling touch seconds away from a good sense-knocking shake. “I chose to come back to the Palm Woods. I chose to ignite some trouble with the whole nutty song scandal. I made you believe I was still chasing Kendall just to douse more gasoline in my writer blocked-brain. Did I regret any of it? Yeah, a whole freaking lot, and I’ll never stop being sorry for being so stupidly petty...but I’m not mad anymore. I don’t regret coming back here. And I definitely don’t regret...” Being with you. “Being your friend.”

They were so close Lucy could feel Jo’s rattled breaths shaking past her lungs. Or was it hers?

“Really?”

“Well, duh!” Lucy broke into a genuine smile, which Jo hesitantly mirrored back, and Lucy’s grip relaxed into an awkward pat on the relieved girl’s back. “Hey, the whole thing with me and Mom Pants McGee was a fun little tryst while it lasted, but sweet boys give me a toothache anyway and I’m completely over him now. And I did get a couple amazing hit songs off his storky back, so hey—even stevens.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jo said regretfully. “I’m really sorry for bringing it up in the first place and trying to overcomplicate things again. I mean, you’re so pretty and talented and great to be around with—even if not in the fitting room,” Lucy shot her fond stink-eyes at this gibe, “so...I really don’t wanna lose you.”

“Back at you.” Top ten worst responses to a heartfelt conversation much? But Lucy really couldn’t say it back at the risk of her twitchy eyes going twin geysers, so she squinted and blinked rapidly to get rid of the blurriness threatening to overtake her sight. “But also, you’re still right about some things.”

“Like what?”

“Us, for a start. When I said I didn’t know what you were talking about...I was just too nervous to admit the truth. Because I’ve honestly felt that weird awkwardness too, and I didn’t wanna be the one to ruin things when they seemed to be going great, so I left it alone and hoped it would go away. I tried to make it go away. But maybe that’s also on me for not trusting you enough to really talk to you.”

“Oh thank god,” Jo blurted out. “I mean, not the awkwardness, but I’m really glad I’m not going entirely crazy. Am I bad for saying that?”

“The worst.” Lucy grinned, winking at her. “And you know what? To hell with all that noise! Life’s too short to get cold feet with your cool friend, and it’s too awesome to hang out with you, today alone proved that. I swear, I haven’t had this much fun since...I dunno, my first trip to Kidzieland just after my very first successful violin recital.” She cringed a bit at the inflicting memory. “Well, the recital sucked total butt and a half, what with more frilly dresses and rows of dead-looking old people silently watching a poor six year-old screech her way through Vivaldi Concerto in A Minor, but I just meant the happiest place on Earth part.”

“Ooh, violinist Lucy-goosey, I gotta pry that out of your cold dead hands too! Just kidding. But I really hope you’re not just saying that just to say it.”

“I know I say a lot of things—maybe too many things—but like I said, I never say anything I don’t mean. I can promise you that much, cross my heart and hope to die. Or, um, not die.” There was an irritating song stuck in Lucy’s head going la-la-la-la-liar...

“Sounds good to me,” Jo said, smiling appreciatively. “Sorry for being annoying.”

“You’re not annoying, I’m just being a total queen bitch again. I’m really sorry for yelling at you, Jo. I’m not entirely used to this whole friendship thing yet ‘cause it’s all so new to me—and I guess you’ve just found out why I don’t really have many of them. God, I just need an attitude check every once in a while.” Lucy sighed. “But I really hope we’re still friends...?”

“Of course we are!” Jo said. “Besides, if you’re gonna need an attitude check from time to time, I wouldn’t mind being up for the job.”

“Hired—as long as you’re fine with being my unpaid intern slash total lackey.”

“Oh, I’ll make you pay one way or another.”

“You’ve been threatening me an awful lot today, Miss Taylor.” Lucy arched a daunting brow at Jo. “You really think you can take America’s baddest punk prodigy on?”

“Please. You’d be surprised to see just what I can do to you.”

“I’d love to see you try, princess.”

Lucy smirked and rolled her eyes as Jo lightly punched her shoulder before making a grab for her choker blouse, which she easily twisted out of. Lucy zipped to her feet and made a taunting come-hither motion with one hand while Jo surged toward her again, and she pulled a feign to the right and used it as an opportunity to try to corner Jo. But the blonde girl performed a shockingly quick complex manouevre that completely caught Lucy off-guard, as Jo twisted her by the wrist and swept her outbalanced legs from beneath, easily pushed her back down to the sofa, and ultimately managed to pin her against it, one nimble leg locked over Lucy’s knee and Jo’s forearm pressed deep into her heaving chest to keep her from escaping.

“Told you I’m always ready for a challenge.”

“Touché. Colour me a hot-pink shade of impressed,” Lucy said, not even bothering to squirm her futile way out. “You weren’t the locked-up tower damsel in distress I thought you were.”

“Oh?” Jo cooed slyly. She was clearly savouring every minute of it (not that Lucy couldn’t say the same—but never admit defeat to your enemy and all that jazz). “Did Kendall never mention that my dad’s a trained Marine and CIA employee, and that daddy’s little girl went through intense judo training from age five to get her supper?”

“Your dashing Knight in flannel armour never mentioned a lot of things about you.” Lucy’s lips curled in between shallow breaths. “I wonder why.”

“I guess that means you’re not the only one keeping secrets, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“So you and me, what’s our deal now? I thought you said no more secrets?”

“Well, maybe leave some between the devil and me.” Lucy’s brash conviction fell flat, lost to the stunning sight in front of her spinning her into mental vertigo. Jo’s perfectly-coiffed ringlets were now a tangled mess over her forehead as it freely waterfalled over Lucy’s hot-pink face, and her breaths—damn it, I should really stop staring at those bewitched lips—were so heavy on Lucy’s neck that she found herself shivering and ticklish all over. Stupid oversensitive skin. She deliriously wondered if Jo’s barred arm was also bruising from how hard her heartbeats were walloping out of her ribcage. “So...what else can you do to me, Rapunzel?”

“Wouldn’t you like to find out?” With a promising glee, Jo finally released her captor and stood up, smoothing back her hair and stretching her body as if their tussle never happened. “But hey, I’m tired and you’re tired and we’re all fried in the brains, so that’s a girl fight for another day, don’t you think?”

“I’ll make sure to chalk up that appointment.” Lucy accepted Jo’s helping hand and handed the other girl’s shopping bags in turn. With this, they instinctively linked arms as they walked to the front door.

“So, same time next week?” Jo asked expectantly.

“Are you talking about the hanging out or the fighting?” Lucy replied.

“Hmm...maybe a little bit of both. For funsies.”

“Hey, dinner and a movie first, missy!” Lucy exclaimed all huffy, making Jo laugh and whap her with a bag again. “But seriously though, whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it, as long as it’s with you.”

Jo searchingly peered at her. “Really?”

“Totally! I know I don’t have many people around here I could talk to apart from the Big Time Gonzos and you and Camille, and there’s never a dull moment, to say the least, but...I just really like being with you the most, Jo,” Lucy confessed. She hated herself worse the more she talked, but the dam had burst and she was unable to keep herself from blabbing on. “Now that we’ve got our issues out of the way, I think I could just talk to you, like really talk to you, no supermutant telepathy needed. Somehow, it makes me hope that I’ll never have to feel like I gotta be someone else other than myself now. So...I don’t know. This sounds super weird and stupid to say, but I kinda feel like...you could be my best friend. Or maybe even more than that...?”

Woah, nelly. Can we get some lip stitcher for the TMI snitcher here??? It must’ve been Lucy’s mind getting scrambled and smeared like avocado toast under the humid evening heat. Or from too much sugar-shocked Mint Brownie Blizzard DQ’s, because why the hell was she suddenly getting all soft and sappy now? Yeah, she was more than used to speaking her mind, but it was usually sharp edges and bad decisions like Jo just unfortunately witnessed, but not this...this goopy tempur-pedic heart mess!

“I dunno, it’s whatever, but you’re cool and stuff, and it’s really nice to wind down from work without getting caught up in insane tree hat schemes or Camille’s crazy acting gigs and have some vanilla peace and quiet sometimes with someone, so like. It’s whatever! Ugh, sorry. Lame. Not you—I just, me—I’m...so lame. Yeah. Um. Thanks. Bye.”

A deafening beat of silence, Jo softening into what could’ve been a second of sympathetic uncertainty, or a thousand years of embarrassed concern. Lucy scuffed her ancient Demonia boots against the dusty carpet, wordlessly counted the dirty palm prints in dire need of a good vacuuming and an entire pricey overhaul that their cheapskate manager would never pay for, and tugged absently at her handmade Lockpicks button, picking and pressing at the black and red marker-scribbled logo until she felt the open pin pierce past her jacket and dig into her numb hammering chest. She wanted to slam the door in Jo’s face to saver her own. Or slam her dysfunctional head between the doorway just to get everything over with.

Yeah, great save there, Stone. Only made you sound like a backed-up motorcycle that won’t start. Peanut butter smooth enough to choke a three year-old. That storm’s one for the playbooks, Lzzy Fail with a capital L for Loserville—

“I don’t know what else to say except for...thank you so much, Lucy.” At last, Jo’s reply mercifully cuts into the musician’s tirade of self-resentment, her sincere voice wavering into delicate brushstrokes and painting Lucy’s face with cosmic bloom. “For this day out. For your honesty. And for everything else.”

Lucy expected a judo slap in the face more than she did gratitude. She would’ve taken it like a champ too, if it’d help her come back to her senses. What? Huh? “Whuh?”

Aaand there’s the slap from her stupid dysfunctional brain to save the friggin’ day. Girl, snap your mouth shut and get yourself together before you have a full-blown aneurysm in front of Jo, come on.

“I’m just really glad to hear that from you, is all,” Jo continued. “‘Cause here I thought it’d never stop being weird after everything that happened between us and even now, I still wasn’t even sure if you really liked me or we’re just doing this to try to be polite with each other...”

“Ohoho believe me, I’m constantly five seconds away from slipping cyanide in your blue smoothies.”

Jo chuckled at Lucy’s amused threat. “Well, thank you for not doing that, and for being an amazing friend. I’m glad that you feel safe enough to be comfortable with me now. All the things you said, I just, I feel the same way about you, I really do. I know I’m not the best with my words right now,” At least you’ve got some words in, unlike miss guppy gaper over here—“But you...um, this just really means a lot to me.”

Lucy’s breath hitched as Jo smiled gently and reached out towards her—too high to be her arm, too low to be anywhere else. Was it a handshake? A hug? A well-deserved slap? Another surprise scuffle?

Even with everything at a standstill, there wasn’t enough time left in the world to find out.

The sound of a chirpy lo-fi ringtone cut through the air, jolting Lucy into a sharp exhale and a spat profanity. Jo halted dead in her tracks to fish out her phone from her shorts pocket and check the incoming notification, her earnest countenance immediately whittling down a weary resignation.

“It’s Kendall,” Jo announced as she idly scrolled through the accursed message. “He’s asking why I didn’t reply to his text twenty minutes ago and what time I’ll be back—and if I got him the latest Hockey Action magazine with that one...sports dude on the cover from the newsstand. I think he had like, brown hair and a weird name but that’s literally all I remember...like he really expects me to tell any of them apart?” She groaned. “They all just look like blurry uniformed guys to me!”

“Oh.”

The actress tiredly laid her glowing phone screen against her scrunched forehead, starkly illuminating the stressed lines creasing her face. “I’m sorry about that, I just...I love Kendall, I really do, but he’s been really testing my patience more and more these days. It seems like all we ever do is bicker and fight about dumb things that shouldn’t matter too much, and then we make up and kiss, and then repeat the whole crazy cycle and I’m used to it by now, but...maybe I shouldn’t be?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Wow, where’d all that big talk disappear off to, big girl? You sound like a stuck soundboard, chrissakes.

“Y’know, sometimes I think I’d be better off if I didn’t get back together with him at all and we just—” Jo sighed abruptly, repocketing her phone. “Nevermind. Sorry. Don’t wanna ruin our perfect day any more than I already have with some extra boring boy friend drama.”

“Okay.” There it was again, that ferocious hydra, writhing and biting and threatening to burst from under Lucy’s taut skin, screaming ‘was that a pause in between boy and friend or did she just run out of breath???’. Apparently metaphorical mythical monsters (ten points for the alliteration skills there, Maya Angelou) can also be total tinfoil hat nutters, grrreat.

“Yeah,” Lucy scoffed a little louder, blithely crossing her arms. “Better not. Anyway, I got a warm shower soak and a Capri Blue Volcano bath bomb in here with my name on it, and you better check in on Kendork before he blows a blond gasket and rips up half the state of California just trying to look for you, so. Don’t want the poor kid thinking I’m stealing his best girl away from him, huh?” Girl, what kinda weirdass joke was that?! God, just shutupshutupshutup—

“Well, right now you have a better fighting chance than him.”

Okay, either someone suddenly decided to throw a huge (highly illegal) party in the next apartment room out of nowhere, or the popping confetti and champagne and victorious rave music and flashing strobe lights were all in Lucy’s head. Lucy’s very confused, very impossible, decidedly insane head.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to hang around?” Jo asked. “A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, and I wouldn’t mind it at all. Kendall would probably only lay waste and ruin to Sacramento and Anaheim by that time. And if you want, I could also make you a mean grilled chicken salad.” She tilted her head and coyly lifted her shoulders. “I mean not to brag, but. Gotta keep myself busy in the tower somehow.”

Yes, please stay, please don’t, I don’t know what I want with you except for it’s a lot even if you probably want nothing to do with me, maybe you should stay with me so we could figure this mess out together or maybe we don’t just as long as we’re together and you won’t have to fight anyone for a kiss, please fucking stay or I’ll miss you around—

“Nah, I’m gonna miss those cheesy ghost tours and gastropubs if he does that, but cheers for the offer anyway.” Lucy replied with a wink—oh gross, she did that a lot, why the hell does she do that a lot? She seriously needed to call an ophthalmologist’s office sometime to get checked for uncontrollable eye spasms. Or maybe it was the home of the future’s ancient dirty furnishings giving her an allergy reaction something awful and she could sue the pants off Bitters instead. “Now beat it.”

“Awww, but we were having such a moment!”

“Well you already let your hair down, so not anymore, princess.”

Maybe it was Lucy’s imagination being a little demon again, but there seemed to be a crestfallen hint to Jo’s smile at her brisk refusal. So Lucy decided to reach out past the weird space and surprised her friend (though considerably a lot less than she surprised herself) with a gentle embrace; cold sweat palms comfortably flush against Jo’s shoulder blades to slow their descent down even for just a moment longer, silent butterfly whispers fluttering under her wispy breath to never let go.

Jo unsurely squared up a bit before easing into the gesture and matching it, and that’s when Lucy let go and playfully elbowed her away, not bothering to draw away the curtain of red-streaked hair that had fallen over her face. Had it always been a thousand degrees here, or was Buddha Bob messing around with the perpetually-broken thermostat again? It really was a wonder of the world why she chose to move back to this busted joint. But maybe it was worth it because of something else. Someone else.

Surely the princess isn’t in another castle now.

“Now take my affection and scram before I choke you with it, Josephine,” Lucy warned breathily, shaking a curmudgeonly fist at Jo.

“Oh, really? And how are you gonna do that, exactly?” Jo grinned back, a challenging tryst as she shrugged her slipping cardigan sleeve back onto her chambray shirt, all frisky static and fleecy denim, the kind Lucy hated she loved. “Because if we’re gonna have a proper dinner and a movie date soon, then you better be ready to show me sometime.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg at all. Love you too, Lucille.”

Jo simply winked back, one tender hand to touched to Lucy’s chin as the actress leaned in to kiss her on the cheek—a shy flitting gesture that devolved into vicious hummingbirds tearing apart Lucy’s chest heartbeat by paralysed heartbeat—before Jo gathered her tote bag and newly-purchased belongings, casually waved to her friend one last time, and walked away.

Lucy’s hand let go of the remaining shopping bags—taking no heed of the sound of shattering glass—as it instinctively curled towards her crimson-clashed face, the scent of familiar Velvet Rose and shared mint brownie and vanilla lipgloss dizzyingly overwhelming, trembling electric fingertips tracing what was perfectly spelled out in front of her all along but she was just too stupidly blind to see.

Shocking white blinding Lucy’s vision like intrusive camera flashes worse than hectic press releases, bitterness breaking apart upon remembering the way her heart just about crashed to her freshly-pampered toes when Jo happily embraced her by the shoulders, the phantom sensation of their sweaty bodies pressed delicately and melted together in that cramped Sears photo booth, Jo holding up a peace sign that bumped against Lucy’s devil horns as the blonde stuck her bubblegum-purple tongue out so ridiculously that Lucy hadn’t smiled that hard it hurt since forever, hadn’t felt her stomach cramp up with the kind of unfettered laughter that rang in her ears too loud and untwisted her heated guts and made her feel a little more sane despite all the haunting madness—leaving only a blurry collage of pretty memories to be stuck on fridge doors or placed under pillows for sweeter dreams.

There wasn’t just something about Jo Taylor, apparently—it was everything about her.

Click, click, click, love-laced gears in Lucy’s annoying head gnashing towards a mortified understanding, senseless steam clouding her brain and choking up her restricting throat as the excruciating realisation scribbled warning-red question marks everywhere and derailed their exquisite friendship straight into a messy, confusing, dramatic trainwreck.

Most likely it was nothing. Just a friendly gesture. Just an offhand faux flirt for an offhand faux-flirter. But then again...maybe it meant everything. Maybe Jo meant it. Maybe Jo really felt the same way about her. Maybe the whole date schtick was beginning to dance the line past an overplayed joke into a serious invitation (would his ex-not-boyfriend be pissed if they ended up dating the same girl?). Maybe Lucy just had to turn her head the right way and take Jo down like her impulse-rabid brain hydras were screaming at her to even if that meant stirring up a paparazzi frenzy of the century, alt-scene’s baddie ‘pop-princess’ gone worse with the sweetheart new town queen, to stir their sucked blood in the shark-infested waters and devastate their contract-clean reputations—who ever heard of such a thing?—who the hell could tell anymore?—and who the hell cared about all this MTV-level drama, anyway?

She was too smartmouthed for her own good, all that shammed bravado and sweetsour chit-chat, too cool for class and calculated down to the point just to push people away, too full of shit...she was Lucy Stone, for crying out loud—and that meant nothing at all when she was trying fight against, with, for a girl she’s already lost to, once, twice, a million times over.

Why couldn’t she just shut up and shut it down like she always did this time around?

Lucy couldn’t run away anymore, so the only thing left to do was to write a hundred songs about being weak and making herself miserable and throw it all in the fireplace, because she already sold her soul to the devil. Fake it until you unmake it...and hope it would also unmake all the aching weirdness, the weird overthoughts, the weird way Jo left her hanging on and falling away to snap her neck on the rope she was barely holding onto...this was nothing like the best cheek kisses Lucy had ever served to all the nevermore nobodies she’d vaguely crushed on before, and yet Jo felt like all of those at once.

And more—the kind of more that she wanted, the way she wanted Jo, would Jo want her like they’re meant to be together, would Jo even want her...friendship shouldn’t feel this desperate, this complicatedly messy, this fucking painful. Lucy really wants to be with Jo. She wants Jo. She wants...

Oh, shit biscuits.

a/n: idk if anyone will ever make it this far lmao, but if you see this, thanks for reading!! (⑉⺥˶˶̫˶⺥⑉)💗

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