Work Text:
As Sahar steps through the front door—narrowly avoiding being run over by a small cluster of drunk freshmen stumbling past—the house party is a fever of excitement. LED lights flash out of time with the music, the heart of the house is filled to the brim with a surging mass of bodies, and the atmosphere is thick with the taste of alcohol and weed. Here, in the entryway, she can almost feel the pulse of it under her fingers as she orients herself to the unfamiliar energy of a normally familiar space. Her clothes threaten to stick to her skin as the hot, sticky delirium settles over her and pulls her deeper into the belly of the beast.
Through the entryway, past the doorway that leads into the kitchen—overflowing with cheap liquor, discarded cups, and would-be bartenders mixing drinks that are as strong as they are foul-tasting—further into the house until she crosses into the main living area. The sofas her friends normally pile onto to play Mario Kart or watch bizarre art house films are shoved against the walls, laden with writhing bodies and grasping hands that she pretends she doesn’t see so she can hopefully stomach future game nights. Young adults are densely packed here, but that doesn’t dissuade Sahar from her search. She knows she’ll find them here.
“Sahar! You made it!” Nick Nelson’s face appears above the ocean of bodies, all golden retriever energy, as he starts waving a free hand at her like he doesn’t stand half a head taller than a majority of the people here.
It takes a moment to work her way through the press of bodies to reach her friends, to step into the half-circle of familiar faces that all turn to smile at her as she arrives. She feels herself smiling back, but her eyes are immediately drawn to one person in the group. Like any other time she sees her, Sahar feels like her breath has been stolen the moment she finds Imogen. Imogen is beaming at her with her bright blue eyes, soft wavy hair, dressed in a cute top and shorts, and looking as gorgeous as ever. And, like always, there’s him , some other faceless boy that Imogen has wrapped around her—swears this one will last even though they never make it more than a couple months—who Sahar pretends not to notice. He doesn’t matter. His name is probably something boring, like Kevin, Joey, or Evan. Who cares? Not Sahar. She very staunchly doesn’t care that Imogen always has some guy with her.
“Hi Sahar!” With a little flick of a hand to push some of her hair out of her face, Imogen settles radiantly in her place as the center of Sahar’s attention.
“Hey,” she smiles, then shifts her gaze to the rest of the group. “Hi everyone.”
Next to Nick is Charlie—and they’re pretty much glued to each other, as usual—and then next to Charlie are Darcy and Tara. Imogen is on Nick’s other side with her guy , and Elle, with Tao standing close by—but not too close because he’s always trying to not seem like he’s clingy even though everyone knows he likes Elle—talking to Isaac. Somehow, even with all the other people in the room, they’ve managed to carve out a little space for themselves where they can stand almost comfortably apart instead of being pressed tightly together. (It probably helps that Nick is the captain of the rugby team and this is his house, so everyone gives him extra space befitting his uni reputation—not that Nick is aware of this.)
Like this, Sahar can comfortably slot herself in near Tara and Darcy, start up a conversation with Elle about her cute outfit, and sneak glances at Imogen without anyone being the wiser. She points out how cleverly Elle coordinated the colors of her nails with her skirt, they chatter about the latest trends in fashion—which Elle knows more about than Sahar, but she’s always happy to listen and glean some useful styling tips—and noncommittally make plans to go shopping together at some point in the future. With her friends, it’s easy to let the conversations ebb and flow and drift between different people. Charlie asks Sahar and Darcy about one of their shared classes, and they commiserate about an upcoming group project. Tao mentions a film he saw recently that he wants to show the group, and there’s some back and forth about availability for a film night—no, not Tuesdays that’s when the LGBTQ+ Soc meets, and it can’t be Monday or Thursday because Nick has rugby practice. While Tao and Charlie debate whether a Saturday—when Nick is liable to be tired after a fixture and fall asleep midway through the film—or a Friday—when they can’t stay up late because Nick has a fixture the next day—is better, the rest of the group moves on to other topics.
Sahar is enjoying herself. Even after a long day, she’s glad she came to the party to bask in the shared energy of her friends. Of course, some level of tiredness still lingers at the edges of her periphery—she’s sure she’ll end up going home early compared to most people—but it doesn’t take away from the fun she’s having.
Then what’s-his-name-again grabs Imogen’s wrist suddenly to get her attention, tugging hard enough to make Imogen’s drink slosh dangerously in her cup. “Babe, wanna get out of here?”
Imogen’s expression flickers for a moment as she turns to look at him. “What? But my friends just got here?”
Whatever he’s going to say next gets swallowed by Charlie’s very loud, “Hey!”
“You don’t have to grab her like that, mate.” Nick fills in, his brow pulled down into a protective frown as he puts a hand on guy ’s shoulder.
Sahar sees the impending disaster and reaches out to try to rescue Imogen’s drink, but it’s too late. Guy has gotten tense and angry, and he jerks around to pull his shoulder out of Nick’s grasp without letting go of Imogen, sending her drink all down her front. “She’s my girlfriend; I can touch her however I want!” He snaps defensively.
Nick squares up, suddenly looking his full 6’2” and menacing. “No, you can’t.”
“Let her go.” Charlie bites, glaring around Nick’s shoulder.
Imogen shivers as the cold drink soaks into her shirt, and tries to tug her wrist free. “You’re hurting me, Tyler.” She complains quietly, clearly trying to not escalate things further.
Sahar takes Imogen’s cup from her hands and tries to figure out damage control. They need something to soak up the liquid. Imogen’s shirt might just be a lost cause, but she isn’t going to say that right now. From the corner of her eye, she watches Tao, Tara, and Isaac each separately turn to go find napkins, towels, or something while Darcy and Elle encroach closer to the conflict, both visibly angry on Imogen’s behalf. Elle’s practically got her claws out, with gorgeous, neatly trimmed acrylics curling into Tyler’s arm to pry him off Imogen.
“She said you’re hurting her, so let go , arsehole.” Elle hisses underneath the rising snarls being exchanged between Tyler, Nick, and Charlie. None of those words matter to Sahar anymore, she’s entirely focused on Imogen. Imogen, who looks like she wants to disappear into the floor or cry or scream or all three at once. Imogen, who is looking only at Sahar as if Sahar is the only person she wants to see right now while she’s upset and hurting. Sahar’s earlier tiredness has evaporated in the face of the adrenaline screaming through her body because Imogen needs her.
As soon as Imogen is released, Sahar gently herds her away from the scene—finding napkins placed in her hands by Darcy like magic—and ferries Imogen into the bathroom that Isaac has already cleared out for them. Her entire world narrows down to just her and Imogen in that tiny room.
“Here, hold still.” With careful fingers, she dabs at the discolored material of Imogen’s top with the napkins, then with a spare hand towel, a bit of hand soap and water.
Imogen sniffles, and Sahar blindly hands her a tissue. “Thanks, Sahar.” Her friend hiccups as she presses around her eyes to stop her makeup from running. “What a mess.”
Sahar hums in acknowledgment. “This color really doesn’t want to come out. Do you want me to try rinsing it in the sink?”
Nodding, Imogen slips off her shirt and Sahar mindfully avoids looking at her topless friend—she never lets herself look, no matter how badly she wishes she could. “Thanks.” She repeats.
“No problem.” Even after running water through the fabric, the shirt is visibly stained bright purple across the front. Sighing, Sahar presents the damp shirt to Imogen for inspection. “Sorry. It’s just not coming out, Immy.”
Tears well up in Imogen’s eyes again. “Ugh, this is such a disaster. I can’t wear this back out into the party!”
“I can give you my shirt.” Sahar offers before even realizing what she’s just said. But it’s true. She has a comfortable jacket over the top of her shirt, one that she can easily button up, so no one will be able to tell she isn’t wearing a shirt underneath. And they’ve shared clothing before when having sleepovers, so she knows it’ll fit Imogen.
“Are you sure?” Imogen looks at her hesitantly.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I can button up my jacket, and it’ll be no big deal.” Without waiting for Imogen’s reply, she slips out of her jacket and hangs it on the door of the bathroom so she can pull off her own shirt. Once it’s in her hands, she gives it a gentle shake, smooths the fabric slightly with her fingers where it’s been wrinkled under her jacket and then holds it out to Imogen.
Taking the shirt from her, Imogen makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re the best, Sahar. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Aiming for casualness, Sahar shrugs slightly. “Go back out into the party with a stained shirt?” She turns and picks up her jacket, tugging it back on and buttoning up the front to give Imogen a moment to sort herself out. After being friends for as long as they have, she has practice knowing when Imogen needs to talk about things and when Imogen would rather just pretend things are fine until she’s had a chance to process them.
At the very least, her attempt at a joke makes Imogen giggle, and after a moment, she hears her friend ask, “how do I look?”
Turning back to her, Sahar has to swallow down her initial reaction. She looks so cute. It’s hard to not stare at Imogen in her shirt, the way it falls loosely over her. The color really looks much better on Imogen than it ever did on Sahar… or maybe Sahar is just biased because she thinks Imogen looks good in everything. “You look great,” Sahar assures her truthfully, hoping it comes off like a normal compliment from a friend.
“Thanks!” Imogen’s expression lights up and she twirls briefly for Sahar, making the material of the shirt swish with the motion. “It is such a nice top!”
“Yeah, just make sure you give it back, please.” She jokes lightly, knowing full well that Imogen has never kept any clothing she’s borrowed. It will almost certainly be returned to her freshly cleaned and folded, like any other piece of clothing loaned by a good friend. If she wishes that Imogen would keep something of hers, that’s her own problem.
A knock on the bathroom door disrupts their moment, followed by the sound of Isaac’s voice through the thick wood. “Hey, there’s a line forming, just a heads up!”
After only a beat, with the two girls staring at each other in surprise—they had both forgotten momentarily that there was a world outside of their little bubble—Imogen turned and pulled the door open. “Sorry! Crisis averted. Isaac, do you have your bag with you tonight?” She picked up her stained shirt and folded it up quickly. “I was hoping I could tuck this in there for now, if we can find a plastic bag, of course.”
“Yeah. It’s back with the group. I think Nick has extra bags in the kitchen.” Isaac looks a little surprised to see the door open as quickly as it does but he takes it in stride. He makes brief eye contact with Sahar, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly at her with that knowing look in his eyes that always makes her feel like he’s seeing right through her. But, without any further words, he turns and leads Imogen off to the kitchen.
With the adrenaline seeping out of her, Sahar turns to return to their friend group. That earlier tiredness is back in full force, so she wants to let everyone know she’s going to head out before slipping away.
Except she doesn’t leave. Sahar finds her way back to their friends and finds that Imogen’s guy has vanished and Darcy has initiated some kind of ridiculous party game. Naturally, she gets roped into whatever it is—don’t ask her what the rules are, she genuinely doesn’t know—and ends up laughing at her friends’ shenanigans until Imogen and Isaac rejoin the group.
Not long after this, the music changes to something that makes Elle and Charlie both perk up and exchange a glance.
“Oh my god, it’s my favorite song!” Elle says excitedly, grabbing Tao’s arm and dragging him off into the part of the room that is serving as an impromptu dance floor. It doesn’t take Nick and Charlie long to follow after, with Darcy and Tara tagging along with them.
The disappointed look on Imogen’s face as she watches their friends go to dance in pairs, Sahar won’t stand for it. Since Tyler fucked off somewhere, someone has to dance with Imogen. Imogen loves dancing, and it’s not right that she should be left on the sidelines because of some stupid boy who wasn’t good enough for her—not that any boy would ever be good enough for Imogen in Sahar’s eyes. She deserves the world and the boys she dated never seem to see how amazing she was. How much love she has to give and how smart and sweet and talented she is… Imogen is the best and she deserves the best. Sahar shakes off her thoughts—now isn’t the time to drown in her own unrequited pining—she needs to make sure Imogen gets to dance.
Stepping a little closer to her best friend, Sahar nudges their elbows together. “Hey, want to dance with me?” She holds out one hand and puts on a casual smile, hoping her face doesn’t betray how intensely she feels about the girl next to her.
Imogen’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Yeah. I know how much you like to dance.”
Her best friend’s fingers slip into hers, and she bites back the butterflies surging in her stomach as they move together into the swell of dancing bodies. As their arms curl around each other, pulling them close enough to feel each other’s breath in puffs on their cheeks, noses, and chins, Sahar feels like her heart might pound out of her chest from excitement and nerves. But it’s easy to shut those feelings out when she gets to watch Imogen in her element, laughing and smiling as they dance together. Two hearts synchronizing to the beat of the music around them. Sahar’s lips tingle with the urge to kiss her, her fingers burn on every precious inch of Imogen she’s allowed to touch—so careful to never take too much or wander too far—and she wishes, wishes,
wishes
that she could make Imogen tremble with even a fraction of the thrumming adoration that fills her body when they’re together.
That first song fades into another, one that Sahar recognizes and makes Imogen’s face light up because it’s one she likes. So, without exchanging a word between them, they keep dancing. When someone dancing near them bumps into Imogen, pushing them closer together, Sahar does her best to stabilize her friend, wrapping her arms just a little tighter around her. Imogen doesn’t complain, so they keep dancing like that, tangled together. Everything is Imogen. Just Imogen. She wants to burrow herself here and stay forever, but she knows she can’t. Lingers there only until they’re both short of breath from dancing and laughing together, and Imogen pulls back.
Linked only by their hands—Sahar isn’t sure Imogen realizes she grabbed Sahar’s hand—they find their way back out of the throng of dancing bodies and stumble back towards where Isaac is sitting next to a lamp reading.
“Where is everyone else? Still dancing?” Imogen asks, using her free hand to smooth down her hair. She seems to suddenly notice that she’s holding Sahar’s hand when Isaac looks up from his book and awkwardly drops the point of contact.
“No. I think Tao and Elle left a bit ago, because Elle has to be up early in the morning tomorrow. Nick and Charlie went upstairs. Not sure what happened to Tara and Darcy.” He shrugs and tucks a bookmark into his book. “I think I’m going to head out soon too.”
“Oh. You didn’t have to wait up for us, Isaac.” Imogen says embarrassedly.
Isaac shakes his head slightly. “I was enjoying my book. I just got to a good stopping place.”
Sahar kindly doesn’t point out that Isaac still has Imogen’s shirt. Instead, she gently nudges Imogen with her elbow. “Maybe we should head out too? Unless you want to go find Tyler.”
This makes Imogen start slightly. “Oh! I probably should…” She turns like she’s going to look for him, then pauses and turns back to Isaac. “Thanks for hanging onto my shirt for me, Isaac.”
“You’re welcome.” He lifts the plastic bag out of his book bag and hands it over to Imogen. “I’ll see you both soon?” Standing up from his spot, he tucks his book safely away in his bag and brushes imaginary dust off his trousers.
“Yeah. Have a good night.” Sahar nods, watching Imogen from the corner of her eye. Part of her is tempted to leave with Isaac, but another part of her is reluctant to leave Imogen alone if she’s going to find Tyler. What if Imogen needs her again?
“Bye.” Imogen waves one hand at Isaac, a gesture that Sahar can’t help but recognize as something she seems to have picked up from Charlie.
Isaac returns the gesture with a quirked smile on his lips and then heads off through the still crowded party in the direction of the front door. Unsure of herself, Sahar looks at Imogen. “I guess…”
“Will you come with me?” Her friend interjects before she can come up with a good way to ask if she wants her there.
“Yeah.” Even if she doesn’t like the idea of Imogen going back to Tyler, she doesn’t want to leave her either.
Without any further discussion, the pair of them start making their way through the various rooms of the house. They stick close together, elbows bumping occasionally, as they check the obvious places first. A glance at Imogen’s cell tells them that Tyler hasn’t bothered to text and check on her or apologize—something Sahar resists pointing out is really shitty of him. Just because she can’t stand the guy doesn’t mean Imogen is ready to hear that. Surprisingly, Tyler isn’t as hard to find as Sahar might have expected. In fact, he’s pretty easy to find. After they’ve done a broad search of most rooms in the house, Imogen opens the back door into the garden, stops, visibly goes through a series of emotions—from what Sahar can see of the side of her face—and mutters, “seriously?” Then, Imogen flings the door open and steps out onto the back steps, putting her hands on her hips.
This gives Sahar an opening to stick her head out and find Tyler with his tongue clearly inside some other girl’s mouth that Sahar has never seen before. “Wow. What the fuck.” Sahar says, loud enough to make the girl on top of Tyler visibly jerk backwards upon realizing that they have an audience.
“Seriously, Tyler?!” Imogen spits the words angrily.
Tyler startles when he hears Imogen’s voice and whips around. “Imogen, oh-... I can…” His verbal stumbling is somehow made worse by the fact that his chin is shining with saliva and his lips are puffy from very vigorous use.
Shaking her head, Imogen’s anger cools just as quickly as it appeared, and she sighs at him. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care. We’re done.” Without waiting for his reply, she turns back towards the doorway. “Come on, Sahar, I’m leaving.”
Obediently, Sahar steps back to let Imogen come back through the door and takes satisfaction in slamming the door in Tyler’s stupid face as he comes hurrying to try to catch Imogen, while also trying to re-close the buttons on his trousers. More viciously, Sahar clicks the lock shut on him, making him struggle fruitlessly with the handle while she hurries to follow Imogen towards the front door.
She follows her best friend at a brisk jog as Imogen leaps down the steps of the front porch and onto the sidewalk. “God… I can’t believe it.” Imogen laughs, pressing a hand to her face as she looks up at the night sky.
“Are you okay?” Sahar asks, stepping close to her friend as she prepares to offer any kind of comfort that might be required for this situation.
“Honestly?” Her friend turns to look at her, her eyes shining with something like amusement. “Yeah. I think I am.” Searching her face, all Sahar can see is that Imogen is fine. Somehow, despite what just happened, Imogen is okay. She doesn’t look like she’s going to cry or anything. “I think I knew he wasn’t that great,” Imogen says thoughtfully.
“Oh.”
“Stupid, right?”
Helplessly, Sahar shrugs. “It happens.” Then, after a beat, she glances back at the house and wonders whether Tyler will chase them all the way out here. If he’ll try to jump the fences or something instead of banging uselessly on the back door until someone notices him. She doesn’t really care to find out. But, she does want to make sure Imogen gets home okay. So, she asks, “can I walk you back to your flat?”
“Yeah, okay.” No one needs to know that this simple agreement makes Sahar’s heart flutter uselessly in her ribcage.
Together, they turn and start on their way down the familiar route to where Imogen lives.
Under the streetlights, Imogen is radiant. Light slides off her hair like a halo, and she spins slowly from artificial sunbeam to artificial sunbeam like she was made for it. How anyone could ever look at Imogen and not want to see her basking in sunshine or starlight, Sahar doesn’t understand. In the back of her mind, she composes songs and soliloquies about the girl she’s been in love with secretly for years. Most of them will never reach paper, never be written, and never be known by anyone else. But that’s not what they’re made for anyway. They’re just fragile threads of the many ways Sahar was born to worship Imogen and everything about her. Best kept under wraps and hidden away where no one else will ever see them.
No matter how strange and unsettling the events that led them here were, Sahar wishes she could capture this moment somehow. There’s a lightness to it. Maybe it’s just because she gets to enjoy being with Imogen like this. Relatively carefree, with Imogen smiling and talking to her like they’re the only two people on the planet.
Of course, it can’t last forever. Eventually, the roads take them back to the front of the building where Imogen lives with a few other students—next year they’re planning to find a place to share with some of their own friends, but that’s still months away. Near the entrance, they stop and look at each other. Both of them are waiting for the other to start the ritual of goodbyes and goodnights that they normally exchange when they walk together.
“Thanks for walking me back.” Suddenly, Imogen curls her arms around Sahar’s shoulders in a hug. Into her shoulder, she murmurs, barely audible between them. “Why can’t the boys I date be more like you?”
Sahar feels the ache of all the things she wishes she was brave enough to say. Swallows down the pain and holds her best friend tight. “I would be a better boyfriend than them.” She aims for joking, but knows she falls short when she hears the wistfulness in her own voice.
Imogen steps back slightly, not quite letting go, and looks at her. Her eyes are searching, uncertain, like there’s something suddenly dawning behind them for the first time. “Sahar?”
A fragile attempt at a normal smile. “Yeah?”
“Would-... Can I kiss you?” Those perfect lips tremble and Sahar can’t guess whether it’s fear or anticipation or some combination of the two.
She wants to say yes , always , anytime , please , but isn’t sure if she could ever recover from kissing Imogen if her feelings aren’t returned. The hesitation stretches a beat too long, and she watches Imogen start to retreat, pulling out of their embrace. Wait … Sahar lifts a hand to catch Imogen’s chin. “Do you want to kiss me?”
“I-... I think so?” Ocean eyes flicker back and forth as she searches Sahar’s expression for something . Whatever she sees, she leans into Sahar’s touch, closes her eyes and waits. Like she knows that Sahar was always going to kiss her when she asked. Like they were always going to find their way to this moment, from the very first time they said hi .
Sahar can’t resist the pull that’s been slowly drawing her closer to Imogen from the moment she was born. She was made to fall in love with Imogen. There was no other choice. How anyone could not love Imogen would always be a mystery to her. But it was a mystery to ponder some other time. For tonight, she leans in and presses their lips together for the first time, with as much care and tenderness as she can possibly possess in one human’s body. They linger there, lips on lips, as if afraid to move. Afraid to break the absolute peace that settles over them as they find the answer to all the questions in the universe.
Then, Imogen gasps softly and leans further in, asking wordlessly for more . And Sahar gives it to her. Because Sahar will always do anything for Imogen.
Sahar isn’t sure how long it is before they pull apart, both desperate for breath and both reluctant to part. Together, they inhale and look at each other. This, is new. Neither of them quite knows what to do next. There are so many questions on the tip of Sahar’s tongue but she’s scared that if she asks them, it’ll scare Imogen away. She doesn’t want this to be the only time she gets to have Imogen like this. But—the way Imogen kissed her—she almost believes that Imogen could have felt something too.
“Do you… want to come in? To my flat?” Imogen asks, the air between them suddenly charged with a new tension that has never been there before. Her eyebrows must raise, because suddenly Imogen is fumbling and blushing. “Not-! Not like that! I mean… I think maybe we should talk about this? And, um, I kind of want to do that again?”
Now it’s Sahar’s turn to start blushing. “Yeah! Sure. Okay. Just… I’d like to take you on a date before we do anything like… you know.”
Her best friend’s face crinkles with the force of her laughter. “You’re such a gentleman, Sahar.” She gasps out between giggles, leaning into Sahar to avoid losing her balance completely and falling onto the pavement.
“Are you saying that’s a bad thing?”
Imogen catches her breath and meets Sahar’s eyes again. “No. No, I don’t think it’s a bad thing.” An adorable smile curls at her lips. “Now… Do you want to come in or not?”
“Okay.” Sahar doesn’t think she could’ve ever said no, not when the possibility of being something with Imogen is on the table. When she might get to kiss her again.
So, Imogen holds out her hand for Sahar—on purpose this time—and Sahar takes it. They go inside Imogen’s flat together, and sneak into her bedroom to talk—and kiss some more—and figure out what this means for their future. It’s the start of the best thing that’s ever happened to either of them. Imogen never does give Sahar her shirt back, but it looks so nice on Imogen that Sahar never complains.