Archive of Our Own ^beta

With the squelch of hot coffee between her jeans and her car seat, Lydia Kollins is starting to think the universe has it out for her. She sucks in a breath as it seeps into literally every single crack imaginable, hoping that whatever flavoured syrup the barista had added will somehow not leave an even worse stain on her ass than black coffee probably would.

Well, there goes trying something new. 

She’s in the parking lot of her usual coffee spot, but the drink now spilt all over her isn’t what she usually orders at all. On a normal day, Lydia would order a black coffee, add two packets of sugar, and call it a day. This time, though, because she’s meeting Suzie for a new project opportunity, she figured she’d try something else new, too. 

“Fuck!” Lydia whines to no one. The noiseless void of the car is the only thing that answers, and it answers with a ‘ding’ from the console that reminds her to start the fucking thing. 

There’s no use just sitting there, she has a job to get to. Lydia starts up the car, backs out of her usual spot, and hits the road. With each inch forward, she starts to get used to the texture of the hot coffee soaking into her pants.

Awesome. Cool. First, she can’t wear her lucky Nightmare Before Christmas socks, now she’s covered in coffee. There’s no way she can go home and change, Lydia’s almost late as it is, and even if she could, she’d probably just stay there and bail on the whole thing. 

Fuck it, no. She’ll go to work. She’ll meet Suzie, she’ll hear about this new project, and she’ll do it all covered waist-to-toe in the caffeine that should be making its way into her brain by now. If there’s anything Lydia knows how to do, it’s how to find beauty in the hideous. And that’s what this day is starting to look like. 

Absolutely butt-ugly. 

Lydia’s hands tense around the steering wheel. She can do this. 

Shockingly, Pittsburgh isn’t that bad on the eyes before the public infests its streets. It's almost eight, which means people should be on their way to work right now, but there’s no one out for leisurely strolls, which means it’s not crowded. This is especially nice, because it means Lydia doesn’t have to wait for fleets of people to take their sweet time on the crosswalk even once on the way to work. 

It’s a nice drive. That’s not quite enough to counteract the coffee, but it’s enough to make her consider it. By the time she decides that this day might not suck that bad, she’s in the elevator, on the way to the floor that hosts her desk, along with Suzie’s, and every other newbie in search of their big break. 

This magazine is competitive, so it makes sense that none of them have found it yet. 

Lydia’s not sure Suzie counts as a newbie. She’s been there for two years longer than Lydia has, but she’s also not a reporter, she’s a photographer. It’s a completely different industry, but it means Suzie gets to listen in on conversations that she doesn’t. That’s probably how she managed to get Lydia involved in this mysterious project she’s refused to tell her about until now. 

She steps out of the elevator, immediately switching on the mask needed in order to convince people she doesn’t have coffee all over her outfit. Fuck, the dry cleaning bill is going to be ridiculous, now that she thinks about it. 

A couple people glance down, a couple people stare, but it’s only a moment before she sees Suzie, who lights up immediately. Her friend is dressed in these 80s-inspired, high waisted brown pants and a button up underneath her signature knit sweater. It contrasts what Lydia’s wearing, which she has described as “goth casual.”

“You’re a minute late, I was starting to think maybe you didn’t want to hear my very important, very serious news!” Suzie says instead of hello. 

“Sorry, I decided to try out a new look, you know how important fashion is to me.” Lydia smiles, rolling her eyes. “And will you finally tell me this very important news?”

Suzie’s eyes only linger at the stain for a moment. “Right, yeah– the third floor is getting a vending machine, did you know that?”

“You’re not funny, you’re actually mean and evil,” Lydia groans, leaning against Suzie’s desk. “Suzie.”

“Lydia!” Suzie grins. Asshole. 

“Suzie!” 

“Lydia– you got the cover story!” Suzie’s practically vibrating as she says it, which in turn makes Lydia’s reaction even bigger. 

“Shut up!” She’s kind of freaking the fuck out. The cover story. The most she’s written for this magazine is a few op eds– and small ones at that! Holy shit! “Ohmygod, how the hell did you do this?”

“Aside from my insane powers of persuasion?” Suzie laughs, tilting her head. “Oh, I just happen to be acquaintances with the lady you’re interviewing, and I also just happened to get your name on the boss’s radar. I let fate work its magic after that.”

Lydia has to hug her, after that. It’s friend law. Suzie’s in her arms in an instant, and then it’s back to freaking out. It’s just hitting her right now that, yeah, this is a good thing, but it’s also probably the most difficult thing she’s going to do for a long time. “Who am I interviewing? Is she here? Holy shit, wait, what’s the story?”

That seems to put an ugly crack in this dreamlike scenario. Suzie grimaces, forming her hands into anxious fists, which Lydia notices almost immediately.

“What?” she asks. Glancing from her friend’s face to her hands, and back again. She’s being weird. Oh god. She’s being weird. “Suzie. What?”

“So, the interview,” Suzie drags her words out, like she’s in slow motion in some really weird way, “it’s not your usual thing. You’re interviewing an athlete.”

An athlete. 

Okay, it’s not exactly what she was expecting, but she can roll with it. An athlete? Like maybe a local Pittsburgh soccer player? Or maybe the city is making a bid for a new team? Whatever the reason, Lydia can make it work. Sure, it’s not Guillermo Del Toro or David Lynch back from the dead, but it’s a start. It’s her first cover story– her first big interview! Even if it’s a fucking football player, she’ll make it work.

But, honestly, she really hopes it's not a football player. Unless it’s the gay one from Cincinnati. 

“You know what, I trust your judgement, I can interview an athlete,” Lydia doesn’t feel that scared, but maybe her voice wobbles in a way that only Suzie can notice. “No problem.”

“Okay,” Suzie says, tentatively still. “Glad you’re optimistic about the athlete part, because the other part might throw a wrench into things.”

Other part? Maybe she should’ve stayed in bed today. No, Kollins, don’t think like that. Even though everything is awful despite not even knowing what Suzie’s going to say, that doesn't mean things can’t be good. Think about all the horror movies with happy endings. 

Scream, Get Out, Ready Or Not, Halloween…

“She plays for the Boston Bruins.”

Holy fucking Wickerman, The Descent, Hereditary– Boston? The Bruins? Does Suzie want her parents to kill her? Forget her parents, Lydia hates Boston. Their hockey team sucks, their football team sucks, even the accent is atrocious! She’s only been there once, but that’s enough to know that she does not like that city. 

All she can think to utter is: “Suzie.” 

Because seriously what the fuck. Lydia is covered in coffee, her Nightmare Before Christmas socks were ruined in the wash, and now her best friend wants her to interview someone whose middle name is practically Boston. Someone whose first name is Kori and last name is King and who has made herself an enemy of Lydia’s entire family and who regularly refers to this city as Shittsburgh. Someone who plays hockey for a living, when Lydia has been trying to escape the sport for practically her entire life. 

“Listen–” Suzie starts, holding her hands out like she’s trying to calm a horse. “Listen, I know you don’t really like hockey, and you don’t really like Boston–”

“I hate Boston, but go ahead,” Lydia deadpans. 

Suzie rolls her eyes with an exasperated smile, “But! Consider the fact that this is a huge fucking deal for the paper we work for and I managed to convince our evil cunt boss that you should get your big break. Consider that.”

It’s true. She hates that it’s true. Lydia’s been dreaming of being a big-time journalist for longer than she can remember, as cheesy as that sounds. All those years of interviewing her parents for school projects, all those years of being the only student running the school paper, all those years of going out of her way to get her boss coffee… yeah, this is it. Even though the payoff is nauseating right now, at least it’s something. 

“I guess you’re right, I should consider that.” She really can’t stay mad at Suzie for too long, it’s not who she is. In fact, she’s starting to get a headache just thinking about it. 

So Lydia, despite everything in her body telling her to freak out and run away, manages to look at the brighter side of the situation. Maybe, in the not-so-distant future, this will pay off. Maybe future magazines or companies will see how diverse she can be with her writing, and maybe this will actually open up doors for her. 

“I’m here for the profile thing? To talk to a Miss Lydia B. Kollins?” 

But, holy shit, does it have to be the girl her parents cuss out every time they turn on the TV? 

Turning around, Lydia elects to ignore the fact that she definitely smells like a Frappe-Mocha-grande-latte-ccino’s asshole, and she instead focuses on the woman in front of her. Kori King. Who, as it turns out, is much taller in person. When Lydia sees her on TV, she looks appropriately sized, but that’s probably because she’s standing next to all the other beefy jock ladies in huge amounts of gear. 

She also looks nothing like a hockey player should, she’s in a white tank top (probably three sizes too small), the tiniest pair of jorts she can muster without getting arrested for public indecency (probably four sizes too small), and she’s swishing around a huge, neon-coloured drink that smells faintly of gasoline. And she’s looking at Lydia, who is well aware she looks like someone gave a gremlin a goth makeover and then threw coffee at it. 

“I’m Lydia, hi,” she says despite herself, adjusting the messenger bag on her shoulder and walking over to meet Kori. Suzie joins her, whether that be for emotional support or to play mediator. “I’m writing the profile, nice,” eugh, “to meet you.”

Kori holds her hand out with a toothy grin. It’s presumably for a handshake, but considering the fact that both of Lydia’s hands are dedicated to making sure that her bag doesn’t fall off her shoulder and that the huge stack of folders in her grasp doesn’t come tumbling down, that feels like a dumb idea. Somehow, it’s still awkward before Kori realizes what she’s doing. 

“Oh, shit,” she says with a laugh. “I’m still really fucking jet-lagged, sorry. Oh, speaking of planes– how is this whole interview thing gonna work? My return ticket is booked for this Friday, we’ll be done by then, right?”

Friday? Lydia almost drops everything, neck twisting to look at Suzie. Fucking Friday? She has less than a week to conduct the most important interview of her journalistic career so far? 

“Friday?” she says with poorly disguised panic. 

“Um, Kori? I’m not calling you ‘Miss King’ by the way, um–” Suzie scrunches her face in confusion, obviously trying to be professional but still letting some shock seep through. “This is a cover story interview, you signed up for way more than four days of this.”

Oh thank fucking god. Seriously, after today Lydia should be allowed to call in sick. It feels like the universe just wants to freak her the fuck out every chance it gets. 

“Wait, seriously?” Kori asks, pausing to take a sip from her drink. Yes, seriously, Lydia wants to snap, but obviously she holds back. “Oh, okay. I’ll cancel that, then. You really need that long to ask me a few questions?”

Whether Kori means it the way it sounds matters not to Lydia, at that moment. Honestly, she doesn’t care if Kori means it as an earnest question, because all it says to Lydia is that Kori doesn’t appreciate everything journalism does for her career. Who the fuck would care about hockey—or any sport—if it weren’t for reporters? 

God, this day literally can’t get any worse, can it? 

Before Lydia can answer with something that either betrays her character or betrays her duty as a professional, Kori speaks up. 

“Not that I’m complaining, I just have an inquiring mind.” It sounds like a joke, but only because Suzie lets out a laugh from beside her. “Maybe I should’ve been a reporter.” 

“Maybe!” Lydia huffs, needing to find an out right now. She spots it when her eyes flicker over to her desk, and the fact that she still needs to sort through these folders in her hands. “Uh, sorry, I have something to do. You guys can catch up or discuss how easy my job is in the meantime.”

That last part was maybe a bit mean, but she’s in a mood right now and she really doesn’t care, sorry, Suzie. Once Lydia gets to her desk, she realizes she has only moments before Kori is back to bugging her, and she seriously needs to get her head in check before that happens. 

Okay, come on, Kollins. Kori’s not that bad, she’s just… eccentric. And only slightly awful. And from Boston. But, she also might decide whether or not you have a future in this industry. And, in case you forgot, your future in this industry matters if you want to write the stories you actually care about. 

Don’t freak out! 

“Suzie says you’re not usually this bitter, so I’m guessing it’s because of the coffee all over your pants,” comes a voice behind her. 

Or maybe it’s because of you! Figures, she has about thirty seconds of peace before the subject of her distress is stomping all over it again. Lydia sighs and turns around, trying to silence the growing headache of words threatening to spill out. 

“Listen–” she cuts herself off, taking a breath. “Why don’t we start the actual interviewing tomorrow? I’m not sure I’m up for all of that right now, and you already said you’re jet lagged, so it seems like the best thing for right now.”

Kori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Phew, yeah, thank god you said that so I didn’t have to. Yeah, I’m so down for tomorrow when I actually have the chance to get some good sleep and not get into a fight with a gothy news reporter.”

Lydia blinks, trying to decide whether she should be offended, or–

“That was a joke– you know what, I’m gonna go get myself another refresher, I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Kollins!” Kori goes to leave, before turning around again. “Oh, Suzie has my number, we’ll set a time for tomorrow later. ‘Kay byeee!”

For being such a hurricane, Kori leaves like a simple rain cloud. She’s there one moment, and gone the next, leaving minimal debris in her path. Overall, the only thing that feels fucked up is Lydia’s head. And her heart, and everything about her. At least Kori seems to be co-operating, it's more than Lydia would've expected for a larger-than-life athlete like her. 

And Lydia, covered in coffee, spinning on her office chair, doesn’t know how to feel. She decides she can’t completely write this thing off, if for no other reason than that her writing sucks when she’s depressed. 

It’s only when Suzie passes her a sticky note with a phone number that she remembers she actually has to start scheduling this whole thing. So, she does. 

Lydia Kollins: Hi. How does noon tomorrow sound for our first bout of interviewing? I'm basically free most of the time, it’s really up to you.

It’s professional and not even a little bit bitter. Lydia feels a sense of accomplishment, especially when Kori responds almost immediately.

Kori King: Tomorrow is good for me

Kori King: Where? Im assuming u know somewhere good in the city

Lydia’s actually really grateful Kori doesn’t know anywhere good to meet, it means she basically has free range to pick wherever she wants. So, naturally, she chooses her favourite, hole in the wall coffee shop. It’s a little far from her apartment, but what it lacks in convenience it makes up for in fucking amazing chocolate croissants.

She responds to Kori, letting her know the place, and things go back to normal for the rest of the day. Well, as normal as they can be for someone with her job and her personality and her best friend and her extremely complex situation. Lydia spends the day at her desk drafting questions, concepts, and trying to come to terms with the fact that she's about to make the “Bostonian Booty” (not her words) look good in an article. God, why did she take this job? 

“Remind me,” she says, leaning on her kitchen counter after she gets home, “why did I take this job again?”

As an apology, and maybe as a celebration, Suzie brought over a bottle of wine and her Netflix password, but now they're lingering in the kitchen before committing to anything serious like Mulholland Drive. 

Suzie purses her lips, taking the question way too seriously. “You took this job because you have a passion for self expression in its many forms, and you believe helping people tell their stories is the most noble calling in all the world.” 

Ugh. 

“You're supposed to be a photographer, why are you so good at words?” Lydia groans. 

“Learned it from my best friend, she's super talented; maybe you’ve heard of her?” Yeah, yeah, Suzie's nice. Alert the media. 

“I just–” Lydia huffs. “I keep fluctuating from, like, optimistic to completely anxious about everything to do with this. Do I just go about things like normal? I don’t know how much bitchiness I can get away with, she seems to be perceptive of that kinda thing.”

“Uh, yeah, it’s Kori,” Suzie snorts. “She’ll totally call you out on it. But don’t tone yourself down– I don’t wanna say ‘be yourself’ but seriously, Lyds, just do you. Maybe you guys will get along! I thought I wasn’t gonna like Kori when I met her, but she surprised me, a lotta the East coasters might seem a certain way–”

Oh my god, she’s not talking about Kori. What was the girl’s name? 

“Suzie, just because you went to Florida and freaked a hot cheerleader who turned out to be the love of your life doesn’t mean that everyone from the East coast is a saint!”

Alright, here’s a little backstory: two years ago, Suzie did some road-tripping, soul-searching freelance photography along the East coast for a reason Lydia won't get into right now. The point is, she came back to Pittsburgh with three new things: a respect for hockey players, a new attitude, and a girlfriend from Florida named something like “Diamond” or “Emerald” or “Gemstone.” Lydia’s only met her once, technically, and it was when Suzie asked her to say hi on the phone a few weeks ago. She’s nice, but Lydia’s willing to bet that Suzie’s heart eyes towards this girl are also rubbing off on Kori, considering she met them at similar times. 

“Okay, okay!” Suzie’s laughing, she’s laughing at her pain, while also going a little red at the mention of her girlfriend. “I’m not saying Kori’s a saint, she’s actually an asshole and there’s something deeply, deeply wrong with her. But, she’s a good time if you give her the chance. Seriously.”

Lydia sighs. “Listen, maybe if I met her casually, say, in a room full of fun gay people, and she didn’t immediately invalidate my entire career, then, yeah, I’d think she’s cool. But I met her in a room full of straight people, covered in coffee, already having a bad day, and then she practically told me my life is meaningless in comparison to her glorious, sports car riddled, jock existence!”

Her voice doesn’t get louder, per se, it just gets higher, until Mariah Carey herself has to tap out, and soon Suzie’s standing up and joining her in leaning on the kitchen counter. Things are quiet for a moment before one of them breaks the silence.

“Done freaking out?” Suzie says, voice warm in a way that only your best friend’s can be. 

Lydia nods, letting out a long, dramatic sigh. 

“Good, because I really think this could be great for you.” Suzie smiles, exaggeratedly, and Lydia knows she’s right. “Kori might be awful, but you’ll see she was not worth one of your rare crash-outs.”

“Ugh, and I was trying to save it for when we finally declare war on Canada,” Lydia groans. “I guess I have to be happy about that, now.”

“Your republican era,” Suzie snorts. 

“Okay, too far,” Lydia’s face sours at the thought. “Ew.”

“You brought it up!”

The two of them go from bickering, to shoving, to realizing they should probably decide on a movie, to taking two hours to decide on a movie, to falling asleep during an episode of Goosebumps. It’s the one where the little girl finds out her parents are secretly bug-eating vampire creatures at the end, one of Lydia’s favourites. 

She doesn’t even make it to her bed, which is fun for nighttime Lydia but a little frustrating for morning Lydia, who feels like she needs a chainsaw to brush her hair when she wakes up. 

When she wakes up, which happens to be just after ten o’clock. Fuck, she wanted more time to get herself together before the interview. With Kori. That is in less than two hours, and she still has to shower and get dressed and mentally prepare– fuck it, she can do that last part on the way there. If traffic isn’t perfect, she’ll incorporate that into her mental preparation, too. 

After what feels like the fastest shower she’s ever taken, Lydia dries her hair, scrapes on what she considers casual makeup, shoves her laptop and a notebook into her bag, and gets in the goddamn car. The car that still smells like coffee and sugar. Whatever. 

Whatever. That seems to be the word of the day as she stumbles out of the car and into the restaurant, where Kori is already waiting. Huh. Lydia was going to guess she'd be late, but she's proven very, very wrong. After a brief 'hello', it's time to set up her recording app on her phone and get into the Zone. She scans her notebook, looking over the questions one last time, before looking up at Kori. 

Today, she looks much less jet-lagged and much more eager to get the ball rolling. No pressure, Kollins. 

Okay, here it goes. “What was your favourite restaurant growing up?”

“That’s a pretty weird question, Ms. Kollins,” Kori says with a tilt of her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be asking me how I’m such a good hockey player?”

“Those are questions for Kori King the athlete,” Lydia explains, clicking her pen a few times “I’m trying to know Kori King the human. Answer the question.”

Kori hesitates. “This small little pizza place a few blocks from my parents’ house.”

When Lydia nods, urging her to continue, Kori’s memory of this restaurant seems to burst into the forefront of her mind. 

“Me and my friend Jane would go there every weekend and torture the snooty guy who owned it, which–...” she continues, huffing out a laugh at the end. “Well, it didn’t make any damn sense. You can’t be a snob and sell greasy pizza to teenagers, it’s–”

“It’s an oxymoron.” Lydia doesn’t mean to interrupt, but it’s like she can’t help it. 

“Yeah.” Kori looks at her, then. Really looks at her, but Lydia doesn’t feel uncomfortable under her gaze. For some reason. “Anyway, I still go there sometimes. Grace them with my beautiful presence, y’know, bless a few pizzas, christen a few babies.”

Lydia rolls her eyes in an exasperated yet amused sort of way. She uses the topic to segue into another question, it actually works pretty well. “I know you still live in Boston, but it must be different than when you were a kid. Does it give you a different perspective on the city? Now that you’re in a different area, different situation, I mean.”

It’s a good question. In fact, when she came up with it last night, Lydia gave herself a little pat on the back. She has to throw everything she has at this article. It could be her only chance to do so. 

It’s a good question, but might be a little loaded. Kori probably expected your standard sports questions, nothing like this. 

“Hm,” she hums, taking another moment to think. Lydia is about to tell her not to rush, before she speaks up again. “Not really. I always knew about the good parts, the shitty parts. The neighborhoods you take your kids to for trick-or-treating, and the neighborhoods you don’t. I still drive through the same streets, I just do it in a Mustang instead of on a bike now.” 

Lydia is the one caught off guard now. It’s strange to hear someone like Kori talk this way about something as simple as a city. Sure, hockey players are loyal, but they just seem… above it all when it comes to stuff like this. Kori, it seems, is full of surprises. And, when Kori speaks again, she’s smiling.

“What, didn’t expect me to have such insightful answers? I’m not that much of a dumb jock, Ms. Kollins,” Kori teases, taking a sip of her drink. 

She’s holding back her smile when she responds, “I didn’t say anything. It’s just nice to talk to someone who loves their city as much as I love mine.”

“Wait,” Kori drags the syllable out, like she’s made some connection. “Is all this ‘past talk’ just happening so you won’t have to ask me about the Bruins?”

Lydia frowns, eugh. “I am shocked and appalled at just what you’re insinuating.”

“Which is…?” Kori trails off.

“That I’d ever willingly talk about the city of Boston, thank you.” She flicks her hair as she says it, leaning into the bit. 

Kori takes the bait, gasping and leaning back in her seat. “Rude! What’s the next question, I wanna get this over with so I can go back to my lovely hometown and get out of this hellhole.”

“Oh, I highly doubt you want this interview to be over so soon,” Lydia says with a scoff. “A hockey player is sick of talking about themself? I'm shocked.” 

“Hey, you're the one using these questions for a profile!” Kori protests with an accusing finger pointed towards her. “You're welcome, by the way, I'm giving you good stuff here.” 

It’s laughable. “Good stuff? We've hardly talked about adolescence and ‘coming of age’, not to mention the clear childhood trauma–” 

“–right and then the ‘incident’–” 

“–exactly!” 

“And the murder of my parents, which caused me to train to become a crime-fighting furry,” Kori says it all with a straight face, and maybe Suzie was right. Maybe she is fun under all the awful, Boston-ness.

“You're starting to catch on now,” Lydia slows the conversation down, remembering that they are, in fact, working right now. “Anyway, my point is that you can do way better than a pizza place when it comes to the juicy stuff.” 

Kori leans forward, making some really smoldering, sexy eye contact for someone who just joked about being a crime-fighting furry. “You want juicy stuff, Ms. Kollins?” 

Lydia leans forward too. “Yes.” 

A beat passes.

“On second thought, I'll tell you tomorrow.” 

The tension breaks. Kori gets up to leave, grabbing her coat, and it’s totally unfair.

“Hey!” Lydia whines. “C’mon, don't leave me hanging.” 

“It's like you said, I'm not sick of talking about myself yet. Guess this profile will take a little longer than expected.” Scratch what she said before, Kori’s an asshole. 

After she says goodbye, the taller girl shoots her a wink, and then she’s out the door. 

Scratch that again. Kori’s an asshole with really nice eyes. 

At first, the days between their meetings are pretty radio silent. It’s to be expected. They don’t know each other. Not until Kori shows up at the coffee shop the next day with a spring in her step, immediately bringing Lydia’s phone up to her mouth and saying, “Here’s something juicy: y’know, I was the first out lesbian to play for the Bruins.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Lydia remarks, not even pretending to hold up the playful ‘I don’t like you’ banter. It’s tiring, and she’s at work right now, technically. Efficiency matters. “How did that feel? Coming out, I mean? Was the team welcoming? Just– tell me everything.”

So, Kori does. She tells Lydia that, before her, there were a lot of girls that didn’t feel comfortable sharing that side of themselves with the public. Sure, there were lesbians. It’s women’s hockey, there’s gonna be lesbians. But Kori joined that team with a “this is who I am, deal with it” attitude that was actually pretty rare a few years ago. 

Not only does Lydia record the interview, but she also takes notes. Writes stuff along the lines of, “strong sense of self, knows who she is, gorgeous smile, talks a lot with her hands, nice hands, always knew she’d play professionally if she really wanted to…”

Somewhere along the way, Kori buys her coffee and a croissant, and Lydia mentions that she’ll pay her back in compliments when the profile gets published. It’s nice. So nice that Lydia almost forgets she’s from Boston.

They meet three times a week after that. Kori maintains that the schedule works perfectly with her set gym times, and Lydia is grateful she has plenty of work time and personal time. Personal time, which, she discovers, isn’t wholly separated from Kori time. She also discovers that there’s some things you can only learn about someone over text. Like, for example, that Kori knows the abbreviation for basically every word in the English language.

She’ll get a text asking if she wants to grab coffee outside of scheduled times. Punctuated by a million different emojis, some she’s never even seen before. Then, maybe, Lydia will find herself sending a text message saying something like, “Saw that the Bruins press team announced they hate orphans and puppies. Care to comment?”

Lydia doesn’t know why she’s texting Kori when she doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t come up during the actual interviews, but it comes up when she meets the other girl's eye across the coffee table. When she tucks her legs in and gets comfortable on the leather couch that’s probably been there since the cafe opened. When Kori very obviously glances down, running a hand through her hair, not at all subtle despite Lydia’s ignoring of that fact. 

They’re three weeks in when it’s mentioned for the first time. 

“Why’re you in Pittsburgh during the off-season, may I ask?” Lydia says, acting like her list of questions includes that one. 

Kori takes a second to answer, pursing her lips and setting her cup down on the table. It’s very difficult to not look at her mouth, at that moment. “Wanted a change of scenery.” 

“No way, try again,” Lydia says right away. That’s a complete non-answer. Makes her job as a writer so much more difficult. “What’s the real reason?”

“Well, I actually wanted to do some media, like, on my own, away from the team,” Kori confesses, leaning back in her seat. “I knew Suzie worked for a magazine here, and she seemed decent enough to take me seriously, so here I am.”

“You’re only staying here for the profile?” Lydia asks, trying not to let her professionalism slip (which might seem absurd right now since it’s already non-existent). “You have an entire apartment, including, like, a fifty-inch TV and a three-thousand dollar mattress.”

“You do pay attention, aww,” Kori jokes, and Lydia chews on her cheek. “And the mattress is five-thousand, actually.”

“Fuck off,” she laughs. “Okay, my point is proven. You’re here for the profile, but you’ve expressed interest in staying here even after this is over, leaving when the season starts, I assume. Why?”

Kori winces. “Is it betraying the homeland to say I’m kinda fucking with Shittsburgh?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be caught dead saying I fuck with Boston, so–” Lydia shrugs. “But I’m glad you’re seeing the light. What do you like about the city?” 

“Besides you? Um, let’s see…” Kori trails off, but Lydia can already feel herself going red in the face. She’s extremely grateful for her pasty vampire foundation, but she’s guessing Kori can see it in her neck, too. Fuck. “I like the people. One thing I’ve always liked about this city is the people. Even though they’re usually cussing me out when I play here. That’s loyalty.”

The people. Including you, Lydia Kollins. You, even though you were a bit of a bitch to me, Kori King, when we first met. You, even though we’re so different.

And, well, Lydia can’t leave her hanging, can she?

“Yeah, no, the, um, sports fans are really passionate here– uh, next question,” Lydia pauses to bring her notebook high enough to cover her face, but low enough to not look weird, “what do you like to do in your free time?”

She peeks over the pages to see Kori grinning. 

“Y’know, long walks on the beach, all that shit, um,” Kori laughs a bit. It’s not awkward but something else. Nerves? It’s unheard of, but not impossible. Kori’s nervous. It’s Lydia’s favourite thing ever, she decides. “I dunno, I draw sometimes. Like, art.”

“You do?” Lydia asks, lowering the notebook entirely. “What do you draw?”

Kori looks up at the ceiling, smiling despite herself. “Okay, I used to be so into anime as a kid, so I still draw, like, manga sometimes. You gotta take this off the record, people are gonna think I’m a nerd.”

It’s so stupid, but it’s so endearing. It’s also completely and totally off the record, there’s no way she’s sharing this secret with anyone, much less the general public. 

“No, it’s so good, are you kidding me?” Lydia is practically giddy. “What, do you doodle Naruto in between periods?”

“Actually,” Kori laughs, shaking her head, “no, but I used to try and draw on the ice with my skates as a kid. Got pretty good at it.”

And, y’know, if this whole anime conversation is off the record, so is the rest of their ‘interview’, considering that almost none of it is usable. It’s just Lydia pretending to be professional as she asks Kori about her taste in movies, and then eventually she gets bold enough to ask about dating preferences. Of course, Kori answers exactly how she wants. Shorter girls. Artsy types. Black hair. Fuck. 

They make tense eye contact. And then they linger outside the door of the coffee shop. And then they leave, and Lydia drives home, but she taps her fingers on the wheel the whole time. 

By the time she’s home at her kitchen table with her laptop open, she considers the possibility that this violates some sort of interviewer-interviewee policy the magazine has. They haven’t actually done anything, but she’s thought about it. Does that count? Could she get fired for thinking about the way Kori’s hands move when she talks? The way Kori looks at her like she’s the most interesting person in the world?

Even if she doesn’t get fired, her parents will certainly murder her. Kori King. Boston Bruins poster girl, Kori King. The same damn Kori King that scored a hat trick the last time she was in Pittsburgh and then skated around the arena hitting the griddy immediately after. 

Lydia can feel her ancestors shaking their heads. She also kinda doesn’t care. 

She doesn’t care because, even though Kori is a bit of an ass, she’s also, like, the most caring person she’s ever met. She also makes sure to buy Lydia’s coffee and her stupid little croissant every time they see each other, even though it’s one of the more expensive cafes in the city. 

She also seems to be eager to see where things go, and she’s not immediately trying to get into her pants. Kori has made it clear she doesn’t want to do anything Lydia doesn’t want to do. It’s nice to be wanted for her head and her heart and her strangeness, aside from just her face. 

Long story short: Lydia likes her. She really fucking likes her. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing. 

It’s almost ten p.m. now, and Lydia is about to burn some serious midnight oil to finish off this section by tonight. She’s trying to think about Kori’s words and not her insanely kissable lips, but that’s turning out to be a challenge at the moment. So, she thinks, it’s okay to think about Kori’s lips a little. Just a tiny bit, if it helps her work. 

And, wouldn’t you know it, speak of the devil and she shall appear. 

Kori: can’t make it tmrw sorryyyyy but i have a bttr idea

Kori: this might seem crazy but how would u feel about a late night coffee interview since I know for a fact that ur awake working rn

It does seem crazy. Lydia should turn the idea down, put work first, and not go out for coffee at an hour and a half to midnight, but it’s Kori. It’s Kori so she doesn’t even think about it before she sends ‘yes, give me a few mins to get ready’ and then she’s off. 

Her makeup takes only a few minutes, but her outfit takes much longer. Lydia doesn’t dress slutty, per se, but she does wear something nicer than usual. Maybe the black band t-shirt is tighter than normal, maybe the skirt is shorter than what she usually wears, who knows. Maybe she fluffs her hair up in a new way, so it falls perfectly around her shoulders– so what!

This isn’t a date. This is an interview, she knows that. But it’s also late, and the coffee shop is dimly lit, and she hasn’t gone out with someone in months, much less someone who looks at her like Kori does and texts her this late at night out of nowhere. 

So, Lydia feels desired– is that so wrong? Who is she even talking to right now? 

It doesn’t matter, she takes a cab to the coffee shop. For no reason. She’s definitely not thinking about how she might be going home in a sports car later. Why would she think about that? It’s not going to happen, Kori just wants to focus on work. 

Except, when she gets to the cafe, and she sees what the other girl is wearing, Lydia thinks that might be a lie. Kori looks good. Too good for a random cafe in Pittsburgh at eleven in the night. 

Too good to possibly just want to focus on work. 

So Lydia doesn’t know where they stand. Does she keep this charade up? Turn on her phone’s voice recorder? Pull out her notebook and chew on her pen the whole time? Make Kori say it out loud before she does? It’s a risky little game, but it’s one she’s willing to play if it means things will end the way she so desperately wants them to. 

“So,” Lydia runs a hand through her hair, “lets start things off with something simple. Are you a cat person or a dog person?”

Kori blinks back at her, eyes focused on where Lydia’s hand meets her long, black hair. “Triangle. Anyway, I’m just gonna get this out of the way, you’re into me, right?”

“Um.” Honestly, she didn’t expect Kori to fold this quickly. It catches her a bit off guard, but she recovers quickly enough. “Yeah, thanks for noticing, it’s only been 4 weeks.”

“Cool!” Kori says, standing up and putting her coffee down. “Wanna get out of here? I hate drinking coffee late at night.”

It takes literally every single ounce of self control Lydia has to not pump her fist at that very moment. And she’s not even someone who does that often, she just gets a really strong urge to do it then. She doesn’t, of course, and she doesn’t even know whether they’re going to her place or Kori’s. Or whether or not certain things will be done or just thought about. Or whether spending the night with the person you’re interviewing is more against her magazine’s policy than just considering it. 

They’re outside the coffee place, and suddenly things are muddied. It’s dark, it’s a little windy, and the city is still very much alive, but now that they’re actually doing this, things feel different. 

“Where are–”

“Do you–”

With a laugh, Kori gestures for Lydia to go first. God. So awkward, but not in a bad way. Not entirely, at least. 

“Where are we going?” Lydia asks, shifting her weight a little just to keep from tapping her foot anxiously. 

“Oh, um,” Kori winces. “Here’s the thing, my apartment is, like, super bare right now. I’m talking minimal furniture– I don’t even have a bedframe yet. So… yours?”

Lydia doesn’t hate the idea. She’s not going to be insecure about her little shoebox apartment, because she knows Kori would never make a comment about it. And if she did, well, Lydia would write something scathing about her in the article. 

She’s not insecure about anything. Well, except one thing. Her mattress. It’s kind of decaying as they speak. She’s been meaning to buy a new one for about a year now but, fuck, matresses are expensive!

It must be obvious she’s hesitant, because Kori speaks up again. “You know what, it’s cool. If you don’t wanna go to yours, we’ll just figure something out at mine.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Lydia holds her hands out, trying not to laugh at herself. “Um, so my mattress is, like, beat the shit out of and a million years old. And I don’t want to put you through that.”

“Ohh,” Kori nods, “you need a new mattress?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably just get a cheap one, seriously, this one I have now is awful,” Lydia unconsciously reaches to touch the back of her neck. “It gave me back problems for, like, a week until I started doing old white lady yoga every day.” 

“Well…” Kori trails off. “Okay, how common is it for people to, like, tip their interviewers if they’re doing really good at their jobs?”

Where the fuck is this going? “Not at all, that sounds insane and unnecessary.”

“Okay, well, ignore that, I’m gonna give you a bonus for being such a good writer and you’re gonna take it, no strings attached, just because of how skilled you are, okay?” Kori says, and it doesn’t make any sense, but Lydia just figures she should go with it. 

“You’re so weird, what does that even mean?” She asks, before adding on. “Sure, yeah, I’ll take your bonus like I’m a waitress and you’re not the guy from Reservoir Dogs.”

“Okay, cool, we’ll take my car, then,” Kori sounds happy. She leads her to the car with a spring in her step, and it almost distracts Lydia from the fact that her car costs more than Lydia’s entire apartment. Fucking athletes. 

It’s not weird between them. Charged, sure. Tense, probably. But not weird, even though both of them know exactly why they’re going to Lydia’s apartment. And it’s not for more coffee. 

Who knows, maybe they’ll have cake. Maybe Lydia’s overthinking, but at least Kori’s there with her. The taller girl could probably make anything seem interesting right now, like doing taxes or eating a handful of caramels.

But, when Kori ignores Lydia’s directions, she realizes they’re not going to her apartment. Not yet, at least. Oh no, does this have something to do with Kori’s ridiculous ‘tip’ spiel? 

It’s only when Kori pulls into the parking lot of a Mattress Firm, does Lydia realize what she’s doing. Oh my god, Lydia thinks, this is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever witnessed and I still like her. 

Wordlessly, they get out of the car and make their way into the warehouse-like store. And, of course, Kori immediately goes for the fancy, expandable ones. Lydia is just trying not to laugh at this point. It’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for her. While it's probably just so they can do terrible things to each other on her bed, Lydia likes to think that Kori cares a bit about her health, too. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive; Kori can find her hot and want to save her from back problems.

It all goes quite quickly. Kori ignores any employees who try to charge her extra or hold her back, explaining, “Sorry, dude, you see, my wife just gave birth and she is very tired and we need this mattress as soon as possible.”

Lydia gives her a shove, chewing on her cheek. Stupid. 

However, when it comes time to actually move the huge ass box into the car, Kori does enlist the help of some exhausted, minimum wage worker who must hate them right now. Thankfully, every business seems to have a tip option now, so all the teenagers working the night shift get compensated handsomely. 

“Welp, now that that's done,” Kori sighs with relief, “my conscience is much clearer. The amount of times my physio-therapist has told me how important mattresses are… yeah, no way you’re sleeping on that piece of garbage anymore.”

Okay, so Kori cares about her health. She cares about her. She also gave all the Mattress Firm workers huge tips. She also took her time with Lydia, in a way she never expected Kori to do. 

She’s also glowing underneath the city lights, face lit up by streaks of fluorescent blue, red, yellow, and white. Eye’s dancing with something Lydia recognizes to be a blend of excitement and content. A slow, careful nature to this adventure she’s going on with her. A calm during the storm.

It’s a lot, but all Lydia wants to do is be there with her. Weather this hurricane together. It’s cheesy, but it’s also almost midnight, and she hasn’t had coffee since this morning. 

Once they get there, hauling the mattress into her apartment turns out to be one of the easier things they have to do that night. Compared to everything after, the physical labour is nothing at all. No, what's really difficult is waiting for the mattress to expand all the way. 

“It’s so tiny. Why is it so tiny?” Lydia asks, staring down at the slowly growing, foam blob.

“I may have forgotten about this part,” Kori says, scrunching her face up in embarrassment. 

Lydia purses her lips. “How long is it gonna take?” 

“Hold on, let me google it,” Kori says. After she rips her phone out of her pocket, it’s only a second before the embarrassment on her face grows three sizes. “Shit.”

“What?” Oh no.

“It says two hours.”

“Kori!” Oh no.

Somehow, there’s more, as Kori speaks up again. “And that’s just for it to be, like, mattress-shaped, then it’s another sixty hours before it’s, like, normal.”

Lydia doesn’t really care about what it means for the mattress to be normal. Honestly, all she’s thinking about is the fact that, potentially, they have to wait two whole hours to even think about doing anything on her brand new, gorgeously soft mattress. 

Anything at all. Nice going, Kori. 

“Well, this is obviously going to be a while,” Lydia sighs, turning to walk towards her bedroom door. “Wanna watch a movie?”

“Netflix and chill, huh?” Kori grins, immediately snapped out of her state of cringe. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Hope so!” 

As they learn after about an hour of pretending to watch a movie, the mattress only takes fifty-five minutes to start looking like a bed. In fact, by the time they’re both out of their clothing and connected at the mouth, it’s perfectly vertical. So, fuck you, Mattress Firm. 

Under the covers, Kori is nothing like she expects. It’s tender. It’s hot and romantic, but it’s the slow kind of fire. The one that’s stoked for what feels like forever before it finally burns through everything. Kori is gentle with the buildup, but harsh with the high. 

Fuck, the high. 

The high is deafening. It’s the peak of all peaks, which is probably, realistically, somewhere in the Himalayas, but right now it’s in Kori’s mouth, and her hands, and the pit of Lydia’s stomach. 

Like all mountain climbers must do, she comes back down to Earth. Wet with sweat, breathing heavier than ever, and completely limp, Lydia relaxes back into the bed, eyes focused on a divot in the ceiling she’s never noticed before. 

Maybe someone forgot to sand that part, or maybe it was done on purpose. So the person who built this apartment wouldn’t feel forgotten, in some way. Maybe they felt forgotten their whole life, so they chose that moment all those years ago. Maybe–

Her attention is stolen by the girl in between her legs. The girl who is crying right now, letting hot tears drip from her face and onto Lydia’s thigh. Kori’s beautiful when she cries, who would’ve guessed?

In all honesty, Lydia’s brain is too full of mush to have an insightful conversation right now, so she lets Kori do what she has to do. It’s one of the only sounds in the room, which is odd for this hour of the night. Usually, cars and neighbours and police cruisers puncture her peace and quiet during all hours, but now it's quiet. Like the universe is pausing to give Kori some grace. 

God, all this talk about the ‘universe’ makes Lydia want a smoke. It’s like her body moves of its own volition, carrying her over to her t-shirt drawer, pulling out a shirt, slipping it on, and fishing a pack of cigarettes out of her coat pocket. It’s only when she’s at the window sill, taking that first drag, that she realizes she kind of left Kori hanging back there. 

Blame it on the amazing orgasm, she guesses? 

From across the room, she can see Kori, who’s wrapped up in the covers, clearly cold from the air streaming in through the open window. Her tears are gone, though, and she’s got this soft smile that reaches her eyes. When Lydia meets those soft eyes, it’s enough for her to start complaining about their lack of closeness.“You're leaving a warm, five-thousand dollar mattress with me in it just to smoke one of those cancer sticks?” 

Lydia grins, exhaling out the window. “‘S why it's called a vice.” 

Her briefness is enough to slow things down a bit. Maybe Kori will take the hint and join her on the window sill, because Lydia definitely isn’t smoking in the middle of her apartment. The mere idea of the fire alarm is enough to give her a headache.

Kori doesn’t take the hint. 

“You look cold,” she says, shifting in the bed, which is still expanding, somehow. “Are you cold? Come back to bed, smoke later.” 

“I smoke when I'm thinking.” Being coy is fun, Lydia discovers. 

“Okay, what're you thinking about?” Kori says with a frown.

The truth is, she’s thinking about how peaceful things are right now. How she’s completely rid of any soreness, any racing thoughts, any stress, even though, logically, she should be a nervous wreck due to the fact she got almost no work done tonight. Work. It doesn’t look as scary as it’s seemed these past few weeks. 

She has to answer the girl, so she makes something up, taking another drag. “I’m thinking I can get this profile finished soon, maybe in the next week. Then I can start editing.” 

“Oh,” Kori breathes out, but she doesn’t explain why she sounds relieved. “Wait, I thought you said I didn't give you anything juicy?” 

Her mind goes somewhere else, and she can’t help the funny little grin that makes its way onto her face. “You gave me plenty.”

“Ha, ha, you love it.” She does. “Seriously, though. I mean it, I'll be more cooperative.” 

What’s this? Is Kori playing nice? It’s unheard of, especially after what they just did. As Lydia’s still lost in her own thoughts, Kori slips into a t-shirt and joins her by the window. She takes a drag and stares her down, trying to figure her out. 

There’s really one question at the forefront of her mind when she thinks about figuring Kori out.

“Why did you cry after… all that.” 

Kori huffs out a short laugh, looking down at her hands. “Is this what you meant by ‘juicy’?” 

Lydia doesn't answer, rather she takes another drag and tries to seem as open to Kori’s secrets as humanly possible. She thinks she knows how to be receptive to most people, but Kori is different from most people. 

The taller girl smiles and looks out the window. Then, it all comes out like rainfall. “It’s the same reason I seem to be unable to hold a girl down for more than a few weeks. I dunno if you noticed, maybe you’ve seen the slut-shame-y articles by worse journalists than you.”

Lydia takes a breath, furrowing her brow. “I’d never accuse you of anything, Kori. That’s none of my business.”

Kori nods, but the moment is over quickly. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t there, though. “Yeah, before… this, um, when I started dating, like, actually wanting to fall in love and be with someone, I got too into it too quickly. Clingy, I guess, but mostly just too emotional.”

It’s surprising, but Lydia also doesn’t want to scare her off. 

“You?” is all she says. 

“Yeah, weird right?” Kori smiles, but there’s no humour in it. “And then I realized I couldn't do that anymore, so I went from a hundred right back down to zero. No feelings, no heartbreaks, and no taking things slow. Get it?” 

She does get it. Intensely so. Like Kori’s stolen the words she never even knew she had right from her throat. Lydia would describe her own dating life as nightmarish, but how must that be amplified for someone so in the public eye? In such a physically competitive environment?

It's quiet for a bit before she responds. “I get that. You feel too much, so you stop yourself from feeling anything for anyone. You won’t let yourself take things slow with anyone.” 

There’s a tiny, quiet part that she doesn’t say; except me.

Kori sighs, leaning back on the edge of the window, getting comfortable now. “Can't make the all star team if you're staying up all night texting a girl.”

“Yeah.” It’s funny, so Lydia assumes she wants things to get a little lighter. She can do that for her. “Don't worry, I won't put this in the profile. Your secret’s safe with me.” 

It doesn’t feel like enough though, even when Kori smiles, genuinely. So, Lydia decides to match her, in some way. “Wanna know one of my secrets now?”

That gets the other girl’s attention. Kori’s eyebrows snap upward, and she holds a hand out to say ‘the floor is yours.’

Lydia knows what she’s going to say, but saying it might be harder than she expected. It’s a subject she’s thought about endlessly, and it isn’t a problem anymore, but it's going to change how Kori sees her. Well, she’s going to have to deal with that. 

“Two years ago, when you met Suzie,” she starts, not really sure where she’s going. “Did she tell you why she decided to travel for those few months?”

Kori shakes her head; she’s the listener now. The one trying to be receptive. 

Here it goes. “Right before she left, she told me she liked me as more than a friend.”

“Oh,” Kori says, taking a breath. 

“Yeah,” Lydia takes a brief moment to put the cigarette out, rubbing it into the small ashtray she keeps on the window sill for moments like this. Kori gives her time. “I told her that I loved her as a friend, but it was a lot. I felt terrible, and so did she, so she went away. It was… she didn’t even tell me she was going. I just got a text in the middle of the night about how work was letting her take a break, do some freelance stuff for a few months or something.”

Lydia can feel herself getting upset, but no tears come. Only ragged breaths and lips raw from biting. And, of course, there’s Kori, who’s quiet for once. Humble in the small, but powerful, comfort she offers. 

“And then,” Lydia feels a tight, joyless smile spread across her face. Maybe she’s more bitter about this than she originally thought. “Then, she comes back with a girlfriend. Which… that’s fine. I dunno.” She doesn’t know. It’s too much, sometimes, but she’s here all the same. “And then we talked. We’re okay now, better than ever, even, but–”

“It’s hard not being able to talk to anyone about it.” Kori’s voice breaks the tension in the room like a sunrise. It’s warm and all-encompassing, and Lydia is so grateful she has it right now. 

Turns out, telling someone your secrets is kind of exhausting. Especially if you’ve already been awake for twenty hours. That makes it so much easier for Lydia to let herself be led to bed, softly gripping onto Kori’s hand. Things are blurry after that, things are comfortable, and warm, and hard to remember. 

Specifically, she can only remember two things. The first thing is that the warmth Kori brings affects her the same way the sun might affect a cat; all she wants to do is sleep. The second thing is that her last thought before drifting into a deep sleep is okay, fine. You got me. Maybe Boston isn’t all that bad.

She wakes up, like everyone eventually has to after a particularly good dream, and can’t help but feel like she’s made a mistake. Beside her, where she expects to feel Kori and her tendency to act as a human heat-generator, is nothing. It’s completely empty, and it’s not even warm. 

With a sharp intake of breath, Lydia pries open her eyes to confirm what she already knows. 

Kori left, and she didn’t even bother saying goodbye. 

What? What the fuck?

She can’t say she’s surprised– fuck it, she is surprised. All those things Kori said the night before, what, they were all lies? Those tears shed onto Lydia’s shoulder, that was just a damn good bout of acting? All for what? To get her to open up? To get into her pants? 

To get her to admit that Boston isn’t all that bad? Is that really it?

Before she knows it, Lydia’s head is in her hands. It fucking hurts. It feels like losing Suzie all over again, but maybe it’s worse this time. She’s not going to get Kori back, no matter how hard she tries. She didn’t even have her in the first place. 

Dry sobs wrack Lydia’s body like flinches. Like she’s dodging imaginary punches from some cruel goddess who bought her a five thousand dollar mattress, told her beautiful lies on it, and then couldn’t even fucking bother to dump her in the morning. No, Kori was a fucking coward who snuck out as soon as the sun rose and didn’t care that Lydia might shatter when she woke up. 

Not that she’s shattering right now, she sniffles into her hand, scrunching her eyes closed before tears threaten to spill. Not that she ever expected anything different from all of this. Not that she expected them to somehow weather the storm, fall into something easy, and maybe take a few steps in the direction of love town, population: not them. 

And now she’s crying. Fuck, she’s crying before she’s even had time to get out of bed. Because that’s entirely too pathetic for an up and coming journalist like Lydia, she forces herself to stand up and take a few steps to the kitchen, where it’s perfectly acceptable to cry this early in the day. 

Fuck Kori King. Fuck Kori King and her perfect smile and her warm hands and her even warmer words. God, and fuck her for falling for Kori’s bit. That thing about taking it slow? That probably wasn’t even true. 

She doesn’t know what to do. That’s the main, terrible, huge thing. Lydia doesn’t know what the fuck to do. She can’t even tell herself that this is going to be fine, because it isn’t. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s going to do now without Kori. It’s been, what? Four weeks? How pathetic. 

Lydia is just about ready to quit her job when a soft, slow creak comes from the front door behind her. She spins around immediately, ready to dial 9-1-1 and, if necessary, run to grab her baseball bat. 

And oh. 

“Lydia– what happened? Why are you crying?” Kori rushes in right away, dropping the brown paper bag in her hand without a second thought. “Are you okay? Why? Why are you crying?”

What the fuck is going on? Why is Kori back?

“Where the fuck were you?” Lydia asks, ignoring the other questions. Then, because she’s impatient and tired and in tears, she adds, “Why did you leave me?” 

Kori seems taken aback, which is strange. “What? I didn’t– I went to go get you coffee! And your croissant! I know you have a long day of writing ahead of you– did… did you think I left, like, for real?”

Oh. Lydia feels stupid now, but she can’t help the rush of relief that flows through her body at that moment. So Kori didn’t leave. Kori just drove half an hour to her favourite coffee shop at seven in the morning, all because she wanted to make Lydia happy before work. 

She feels so stupid, as she sputters out: “I’m sorry.”

“Lydia, why would I ever leave you?” Kori asks, like it was unthinkable to her. Like she’d rather die. “You’re, like, the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I’m serious. I would never do that.”

They’re both on the floor, still, only now Lydia is a lot less collapsed looking, and all she wants to do is kiss her. Right now. So she does, and Kori melts into it immediately. Things are perfect, then, because they’re silent, and burning, and beautiful. 

That's how life is with Kori. Burning and beautiful. 

There are, Lydia discovers, two main issues with writing an article about your girlfriend (girlfriend!). They are as follows:

1. Not letting the reader know that you’ve had absolutely disgusting, sick, depraved, and altogether unholy sex with this woman.
2. Remaining unbiased and writing the article with journalistic integrity (i.e., not being too kind or too harsh, but truly capturing the essence of one Kori King).

She discovers this problem as she’s finishing off the final draft of the profile on her living room couch, trying not to get distracted by the woman she’s writing about. Kori’s pacing the kitchen, eyes glued to her phone, biting her lip sporadically, which means she’s seriously focused on whatever she’s looking at. Lydia really wants to ask her, but this profile is sadly more important. 

In all honesty, this will probably be the last time she considers something more important than Kori. Lydia glances down, brow furrowing as she tries to make sense of what she’s written. She focuses on the last few paragraphs, as they’re the most recent thing she’s graced her Google Doc with.

Jokes and closing statements aside, King doesn’t want people to leave this article with any preconceived notions about who she is still intact. Any and all assumptions seem to be out the window—she’s just revealed, a few paragraphs ago, that her favourite artist is Taylor Swift—but that doesn’t mean her image is still her own. 

People think they know who King is, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s in that surprise, that not knowing, that you find her heart. That heart that lets her save a season in a single game. That heart that inspires kids all across Massachusetts (across the world, even) to want to wear her name on their shirts and jerseys. That heart that makes me, a born and raised Penguins fan, crack a smile at her eccentricities. 

So, now you’re curious. You want to flick on the TV this upcoming season, buy some team merch, maybe even grab tickets to the next Bruins game. You’re curious, you’re intrigued, you can’t wait to see what this star does next. Well, that makes two of us. 

Scratch that, there’s too many curious people to count when it comes to what Kori King could possibly do next. 

It’s completely off-brand, ridiculously sentimental, and entirely too personal for her to ever consider sending it off to her editor. It practically screams “I have a big fat gay crush on this woman,” which is why she’s never letting it see the light of day. 

But she kind of really wants it to see the light of day. Like, desperately. She wants people to know how wonderful Kori is, how unpredictably amazing she can be when she wants to. How Lydia fought against liking her for so long, only to be proven wrong in the most signature Kori way possible. 

She’s at war with her own thoughts when the object of her desire appears at her shoulder, pressing kisses everywhere Lydia’s skin peeks out from her shirt. 

“What are you stressed about, I can hear the cogs turning from all the way over there?” Kori asks, voice low and teasing but kind. 

“Trying to figure out if I should leave the article like this,” Lydia says, eyes still focused on the screen. 

“Like what?” Kori says, looking at the words herself now. 

“Like, really, stupidly nice to you,” Lydia laughs at herself a little. She wonders what Kori’s going to say (you can sense the sarcasm, right?). 

Kori exhales into her shoulder. “I think you should do whatever you wanna do, don’t worry about me. I trust you.” 

It’s only been six weeks, so that’s the closest she’ll hear to an “I love you” yet. It doesn’t stop Lydia from imagining it, and treating this declaration the same way in her head. 

She turns to look at Kori, grinning. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Kori confirms, leaving a peck on her nose before standing back up and returning to her original spot, wandering around the kitchen with no particular purpose. 

Lydia can’t say “I love you” but she wants to. Even though she isn’t sure of it now, since it’s been less than two months. Even though it would be completely insane. Even though she should be focusing on work. 

“Hey, Kori,” she raises her voice a little to get the other girl’s attention. 

“Yeah?” Kori says, turning around. 

The universe seems to freeze, and Lydia urges herself not to freeze along with it. Kori looks back at her, curious. 

“Maybe I don’t hate Boston anymore.” 

I love you. 

“Oh yeah?” Kori smiles like an idiot in love. “Maybe I’ll keep spending my off seasons in Pittsburgh from now on.”

I love you too.