Archive of Our Own ^beta

You're scream-singing by the time the chorus of "Nobody" hits, and you don't even care that the snooty people in front of you are turning back at you to glare. It's a Mitski concert for crying-out-loud, the entire point is to get uncomfortably emotional around strangers.
However, as you're chanting along, nobody, no-body, nobody-nobody, you hear someone warbling near you, and louder than you.

When you look to your right, you see her. It's kind of dark and her face is seriously puffy from tears and it's all scrunched up and she's honest-to-god full-on sobbing, full-on "my mother just died"-style sobbing, and she's also drawing some annoyed looks from nearby concertgoers. Just standing there, scream-crying, and I've been big and small, and big and small, and big and small again,

Despite all of this, she's quite possibly one of the most gorgeous people you've ever seen.
She's lanky, average height, with long dark hair falling over her shoulders. She has a moon-like face, and the purple lights of the stage glint off of her huge round glasses. She's wearing a pretty cool red jacket kind of unfortunately paired with a blue party dress that looks like she got it out of the clearance section of Hot Topic. But it works. On her, it works.
You find yourself sidling up to her as Mitski is whispering out her final nobodys. As the audience around you cheers, you see the girl wipe her snot with her jacket sleeve. First of all, ew, second of all, she, like, could really use a tissue.

So you offer.

"Uh, hey, do you want a hankie?" you awkwardly talk-yell over the opening cords to "Your Best American Girl."
She turns to you, face streaked with tears, nose dripping with snot (seriously, ew), and seems to blink a few times before registering the question.
"Yeah! Yeah, I could definitely use one," she laughs, quickly taking the proffered tissue and honking into it.
On stage, Mitski wails, Don't wait for me, I can't come.
The girl pauses her nose-blowing to scream-sing along to this song's chorus as well.

You don't. You never really got this song. Many mothers would definitely not approve of how your mother raised you, but you have a hard time approving of it as well. You think that you've spent entirely too much of your life approving how your mother raised you.

So instead, now that you're closer and her face is better illuminated by the stage lights, you stare at the girl again. She's even more gorgeous up-close, and her eyes seem almost unnaturally green from where you're standing. And, like before, there's something transfixing about how her face is an open book, how you can almost feel her pain just by looking at her.

For the rest of the concert, the two of you stand close to each other, and during "Two Slow Dancers," you sway next to her and every time your arms brush you feel your skin burn at the contact.

All too soon, Mitski is saying Thank you New York! and the lights are turning on, and now that the magic of the concert is over everything smells like stale booze. And sweat. Mostly sweat, actually.
And worst of all, that girl is about to enter the throng of people filtering out of the theatre.

It's now or never, Vriska, you think, and never seems like a wholly unappealing option, so you guess it's now, and you grab onto her almost-out-of-reach arm in a gesture that immediately registers as regretfully creepy.
She doesn't seem to mind, though, and she stops and turns around nigh instantaneously. You are now face-to-face, and you aren't sure if its the weed or the beer or both, but your voice gets caught in your throat as you realize that her eyes really are that green, her face that elegant.

"My name's Vriska," you manage to croak out.
"I'm Jade!" She grins. "Thank you so much for the tissue earlier, by the way. I probably would've just kept wiping my nose on my jacket for the rest of the concert if you didn't offer. And I really like this jacket."
"I like your jacket too."

People keep jostling the both of you as they leave the venue, but this feels like peripeteia, like the moment everything changes for one Vriska Serket.

It feels like peripeteia and far be it from you to impede fate.

"Give me your phone, I'm giving you my number."
Jade giggles again, a giggle like a silver bell, and you're proud that you made her giggle, and you put in your phone number. "Text me," you say, and because you're Vriska fucking Serket, you leave quickly, you leave first. The ball is firmly in her court.

The next morning, you're hungover like a bitch, and of course your roommate Kanaya is full of I-told-you-so's.
However, your pain is all but cured as soon as you get an emoji-heavy text inviting you out for Vietnamese on Friday with one Jade Harley.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, Mitski croons, I've been blossoming alone over you...