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"You don't look like you're having fun," Andrea says, voice warm and gritty, cheeks flushed up as she twists her solo cup of '88 Lafite Rothschild like it's nothing more than half-a-can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on 99¢ ice chips.
She's that kind of fancy, and that kind of carefree, and it makes Lena's heart flutter.
"That's not true." Lena swallows and clutches the Scotch she's been nursing for the past hour to her chest. "I'm having lots of fun," she lies, mouth going dry like she's sucking on six saltine crackers.
Her throat always seizes up whenever she talks to Andrea. It's like she goes into anaphylactic shock simply from breathing her in too long, like she has a sudden dip in IQ points just from the way the blue in Andrea's eyes sparkle, like it's unfathomable that Andrea would ever acknowledge she even exists, let alone be interested in carrying a conversation with Lena.
The first time she felt this way was in fifth grade when all the girls were teasing her for liking Britney Spears over Christina Aguilera, and Andrea solved the issue by popping ...Baby One More Time into the cd-player and dancing around Lena to (You Drive Me) Crazy until she stopped frowning, until everyone was giggling and enjoying the dance party more than they enjoyed the fun of alienating the weird new girl. Andrea and her were basically best friends from that day on, always sneaking and staying up late to watch Titanic on VHS, eating ice cream while Andrea painted Lena's nails, or ditching class to find where Mount Helena Boarding School kept the wine they handed out during Mass.
It was good just like that, the best few years of Lena's life, and then shit changed just as fast as it started.
Nothing particularly bad happened, it wasn't like that with them; they didn't have to struggle through a humiliating boarding school fall out. It's just that Lena went to equestrian camp the summer before ninth grade, training from way-early to way-late with no phone access in the middle of nowhere Spain. So she showed up for the first day of school mostly sunburnt, callused and bruised, hair laced in two messy braids, and ready to catch up on all the shit she missed with her best friend. But Andrea showed up with the world's best tan, a new boyfriend, lace stockings under her uniform skirt, and told everyone they couldn't call her Andy anymore because she went by Drea now.
They sort of lost touch after that.
But here they are now, here Lena is now, eighteen years old in her last year of college, wearing tight black pants and the best black-lace shirt she owns, trying to pretend that Andrea inviting her to hang out at a sorority party after nearly four-years of radio-silence hasn't sent her world into a fucking tail-spin. Trying to pretend she's not at least a little bit wet after watching Andrea dance all night in her tight black jumpsuit.
"You're very pretty, you know that?" Andrea says, without warning, chewing the inside of her cheek afterwards like she has any reason to be nervous around Lena, of all people. "I'm really happy to be in the same room as you again."
Lena wants to say me too, she wants to tell Andrea she's been excited since she got her text, that her heart hasn't stopped thudding since she read hey, it's andrea from boarding school, hope you remember me. had to go through like twelve people to get your number, but do you wanna hang out? She wants to tell her that she looked up cute hairstyles and shaved her legs and armpits and even her bikini area, wants to tell her that she spent the entirety of high school waiting for that text and the fact it came a few years too late doesn't diminish the meaning. She wants to open herself up wide and let Andrea aka Andy aka Drea swallow her too fast like cotton candy in a little kid's hands at a state fair. She wants to put every inch of herself on the line, because maybe if she'd done that in ninth grade instead of joining the robotics club and burying herself in her work, they wouldn't be in this position now.
But instead she just smiles, awkwardly, feeling the blood flooding to her cheeks, blushing even harder once she notices it, and says, "I don't know, not really. Not like you."
"Even prettier than me," Andrea says back immediately, shrugging as she taps her cup against her plump bottom lip, eyes so focused on Lena, one could use transfixed as a proper adjective if they were maybe a little bit delusional. "I've always thought so."
Lena snorts, so stupid and unattractive that she finishes off the rest of her Scotch in one gulp, then says, "You dated the football captain as a freshman, and he's actual NFL now. I even saw him mention you in an interview, like--m'not prettier than you, don't say that."
"Sure you are," Andrea says, low and smooth, leaning her shoulder against the wall and blocking Lena's view of the party from the corner she's hidden herself in. "You were just smart enough to know you had better qualities."
It's not true, none of it is true. Lena's never been prettier than Andrea, or even smart enough to know better. She once gave a guy a handjob behind the bleachers in high school because she thought maybe Andrea would notice her again if Lena was having sex like her. But the next day two other guys from the baseball team tried to get one too, and she spent the next week crying because all she felt was gross.
No one would ever approach Andrea that way.
"Whatever," Lena shrugs, and tries to look away, but Andrea catches her chin before her head can tilt down.
She leans in, then, lips ghosting so fucking close to Lena's cheek, breath dragging along her skin until she gets to Lena's ear, and then she whispers, "I wanna show you something cool in my room upstairs, if you're interested?"
"Okay," Lena says, too fast for it not to be obvious she's desperate, and lets Andrea lace their fingers together. Her hands are so fucking soft is Lena's first thought, like Andrea somehow uses something better than lotion as a moisturizer. They're warm, too, with just as many rings as Lena lined on her fingers, except hers are all made of gold and platinum, perfectly complimenting her blunt, gold-plated nails.
She leads Lena up the stairs of the party, past the slew of thrown-open college dorm-esque rooms, until they're at the end of the hallway and she's dropping Lena's hand to fish the key from under the sign on the outside of the last door.
"Don't tell anyone," she laughs as she clicks the door open, as if Lena knows a single person at this party, then she tucks the key in her bra and grabs Lena's hand to drag her inside. "It's not much, excuse the mess, I - sorry, was a little frantic figuring out what to wear today. Got really nervous thinking about seeing you again." She doesn't let Lena's hand go as she attempts to straighten things, just hooks her solo cup under her teeth and tosses four dresses from her bed to the floor, before she pulls it out again to take a sip. "Swear m'usually more organized than this."
Lena shifts her weight from leg-to-leg, butterflies dancing in her belly because they're holding hands and Andrea is clearing off her bed and she was nervous about seeing Lena. This all feels like one of those dreams that Lena wakes up from and feels depressed the rest of the day because her life isn't actually that good. "I was nervous to see you, too," she mumbles, voice too airy and vulnerable, like it's obvious she's been waiting to spill how much she missed Andrea since - well since Andrea started sitting with the girls who wore a full face of make-up in high school, and not with Lena. "Thought it was just me."
"God, no," Andrea rushes out, pausing from cleaning to set her cup on the nightstand, looking over at Lena with her big blue eyes like the secrets of the universe are tattooed over Lena's skin. "I just - fuck, you're my biggest regret in life, you know?"
Lena wants to ask if that's good or bad, but Andrea takes the cup out of her hand and puts a hand on Lena's waist, and pretty much anything that isn't the bass from the party thudding through the closed door escapes her brain. "I mean it," Andrea goes on, fingertips dipping hot into Lena's skin right over the lace of her shirt. "I was so - I sort of fell apart without you, that summer you went horseback riding. And I was so embarrassed you'd see what I’d become once you got back, that I think I just ran from you. I ran until you stopped looking for me, and then I hated myself for it."
"You didn't have to run," Lena says, glued to her spot, glued to Andrea, skin melting together hopefully strong enough they never have to be apart again. "I just wanted my friend, I wouldn't - I wasn't gonna judge you."
"I know," Andrea says. "You're a good friend." She nibbles her lip for a second like she's seriously contemplating kissing Lena--an absolutely erroneous thought, Lena knows--but then she just pulls her hand off Lena, tosses her empty cup on the floor right alongside the pile of dresses, and tilts her head towards the bed. "Lie down, on your back, gonna show you something."
"Um," Lena says, but Andrea blinks at her, so she does it. It seems stupid, she knows, it's been so long and so many years and she has so many questions, but you jump, I jump has always been their motto and Andrea's never let her down before.
So she swallows as many nerves as she can, hands crossed over her belly as she lies on her back and stares at the ceiling, listening to Andrea fumble through her mini fridge for a minute, before she climbs on the bed and straddles Lena's thigh.
She has a bottle of Patrón and a lime slice in one hand, salt in the other. "I took a trip to Mexico this past summer," she explains, and Lena really doesn't care what comes out of her mouth next, she'd just agree to it. "Not really a big deal, but this was the first time I was eighteen and dad didn't flip his shit about me getting drunk. Anyway, I went to a yacht party and they were doing these things called body shots, and they're really fun. Ever done one before?" Lena shakes her head; Andrea smiles big and goofy enough her teeth show. "I figured, so. I thought. I could teach you."
Lena nods her head, following Andrea's eyes down the length of her torso, and it only hits her what exactly body shot entails once Andrea puts the Tequila down and starts lifting Lena's shirt up. "If you think it's weird, just say fuck off or something, and I'll stop."
"I don't think it's weird," Lena says, more breath than sound to her words, stomach knotting up with a wild sort of intense heat at the way Andrea's eyes darken. This is her best friend, this is the girl that made her look up how do i know if i'm a lesbian and how can i tell if a girl likes me. This is the girl she had dreams about when she was at camp, who she made a journal for so she wouldn't forget all the cool shit she learned, all the weird secrets girls had, every time she made a new friend and had the thought they'll never be as good as the one she already had. This is the moment Lena Luthor always hoped her life was building towards, god. "I mean, I'd tell you if it was, but it's not. Not so far."
"Good," Andrea says, pressing Lena's shirt up until it's over her bra, tucked underneath her armpits. "If it's weird, say so, I mean it," she repeats, then she slides back until she's on her knees between Lena's legs, fingers nudging the waistband of Lena's pants down until the irritated area where Lena shaved this morning is starting to show. Lena sucks her belly in because it's suddenly obvious how ugly she is compared to Andrea fucking Rojas, but all that earns her is a harsh slap to her thigh and Andrea scowling as she says, "Don't do that, keep breathing or I'll stop."
"Fuck," Lena grinds out, shifting her hips because that hits her somewhere deep, heat tangling its way through her body as Andrea licks her lips and watches her squirm.
She stays like that, just breathing hard and staring at Lena, for an eternity or like, ten seconds, then she finally picks up the salt and sprinkles it along Lena's belly. She frowns as she grabs the Tequila bottle and apologizes, "It's a little cold, but I'll warm it up right after, I promise."
And Lena isn't sure what that means until Andrea pours the Tequila on her like ice water, then quickly ducks her head and licks the salt before she--fuck. It's messy, is the first thing Lena thinks as soon as she feels it dripping down her sides, but Andrea sinks her tongue into her belly button, and she pretty much short circuits after that, mind and body and heart scrambling to keep up with the way Andrea trails her tongue over her skin, not even drinking the Tequila anymore, just tasting Lena, nibbling over her birthmarks and leaving wet patches from her hip to her sternum.
She lifts up once she's tasted nearly every inch of Lena's belly, looks desperately at Lena's mouth all wide, glassy eyes and blown pupils, and mumbles, "Fuck, I forgot the lime," before she kisses Lena.
Her mouth tastes like salt and Tequila and wine and her lips are so fucking soft that Lena feels like she's close to fainting while she's already lying down. She can't help the way her fingers flutter along Andrea's sides, the way she keeps making dumb noises in the back of her throat or shifting her hips up to grind against Andrea's thigh. She can't help the way she--god, she keeps scraping her teeth on Andrea's tongue, pulling it in like she's trying to suck the spit right out of her mouth, head swirling just thinking about the fact that she has to swallow every few seconds.
All the while she keeps thinking that this, she could have had this back in high school if she just tried a little harder. She would have been the best friend, would have called her Drea and talked to her about boys and held her hair back if she drank too much and got sick at parties. She would have learned how to put on lip-stick and dress nice and not have grease under her fingernails from building robots all the time.
She would have called her pretty and held her hand and let Andrea kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. She would have done it all, but she couldn't, so it feels like she's making up for it now. Like she can shove five years of pain into this one kiss, like she can convey every thought and feeling she's had for half a decade through her moans and her saliva.
She just wants Andrea to know she wants her so much she still aches when she thinks about her, wants her to know it's been that way since the beginning, since forever, and it's never changed for Lena, not even for a moment.
She wants - she just wants her to know, she wants her to know she loves her and wants her and it'll always be that way.
"You having fun yet?" Andrea pulls off to smile, and Lena lifts up to kiss her again, because she wants this moment to last just a little bit longer.