Work Text:
The air is cool when he steps outside, but even dressed in only a sleeveless t-shirt, it’s the last thing that crosses his mind. The party is still in full swing, but there’s nothing else that Riven wants to stay for. He knows he’s a little drunk, — the memory of Nabu calling after him when he stormed out of the lounge is hazy — but he stubbornly marches on until he finds a bench to sit on. It’s far away enough from the dorm building, far enough for him to no longer be able hear the excited cheers from inside. He stumbles onto the bench, hands shoving inside his jean pocket to fish out his earphones.
He’s in the middle of untangling the knots of his earphones when the sound of footsteps cuts through the soft blows of the wind.
“Riven?” he hears a voice calling his name. Even in a state where he’s only half sober, he recognizes that voice — Stella.
He almost smirks at how predictable she is, of course Stella Beauvais would chase after him after he made his dramatic exit. He wonders if she knows why he left the scene. After all, it isn’t the fact that he almost picked a fight with Sky, or the fact that Helia had his arm around Musa that made him leave. It’s the fact that once again, he’s forgotten. Unimportant. He’s not Sky. He’s not Musa. Hell, he’s not even Darcy. And the cold triumphant smirk on Darcy’s lips when she walked in to see him alone — the way a predator would look gleeful when it knows that its prey is cornered — had been the last stroke.
He had opted on storming out instead of wait for her to feed him poison again.
And now, standing next to Stella, is Aisha Young staring him down with the most irritated look she seemed to be able to muster. This, Riven has to admit, is not predictable in the slightest.
His eyes narrow at the sight of the girl beside Stella. He can understand why Stella would come out to look for him, but he doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Ignoring Stella, Riven turns his attention to Aisha instead. “What’re you doing here?” he mutters, suspicion tinting his tone.
Aisha’s jaw clenches. It’s obvious that she doesn’t even want to talk to him either. “Musa wanted to check up on you,” she says curtly. “I didn’t want her talking to you, so I offered to find you.”
He vaguely thinks of how Aisha never seemed to like him all that much. With the way he treated Musa and the way he always dismissed her even when he was dating Musa, Riven can’t say that he exactly blames her. It’s not like he likes her much anyway.
He wonders what it’d feel like to have a friend who would go out of their way to talk to someone they hate for you. He wonders if Nabu would ever do that for him, though he can’t imagine his best friend hating anyone like that — at least, not if it’s someone Riven cares about. He also wonders if Aisha knows how dependent Musa is on her — how lucky she is to be that person for someone.
A bitter laugh escapes his lips at the thought of that. His temper almost flares again at the mention of Musa caring after he left. It’s always nice to know that someone cares when he’s no longer there. “Did she?” he asks, gaze still not backing down from Aisha’s. “Well, you can run back to her and tell her she has nothing to worry about.” The venom in his voice is clear, lips twisted into a sneer.
Aisha’s about to say something in return when Stella cuts in. “Riven,” she says firmly, her tone raised as a warning as she glares at him from where she stands. Sometimes he forgets how serious she can be when she wants to be.
But even that isn’t enough to get him to back down. “What?” he snaps, his eyes finally leaving Aisha’s face to meet Stella’s glare. “I didn’t say anything wrong, Stella, I only told her that she can run along back to Musa now. That’s what she wants to do, right? Check up on me so that she can tell Musa I’m fine?”
Stella doesn’t back down either. She continues to glare at him, her eyes knowingly boring into his as if she’s saying, You can’t fool me. You’re not fine.
But he ignores the look she’s giving him, ignoring what she’s implying by stubbornly holding her gaze. “What, Stella?” he repeats.
She studies him for a while, watches his harsh features and his dark eyes. Riven lets her. He waits until she finally, finally heaves a dramatic sigh and waves a hand at Aisha. He feels like he can breathe again now. “I’ll handle him,” Stella says to Aisha. “Tell Musa he’s alright.”
Aisha looks skeptical. Not that it surprises him. From what he’s heard, her and Stella don’t particularly click. Besides, who would trust anyone to be alone with him, right? Riven’s gaze shifts back to Aisha once more, eyes hard as if he’s daring her to argue with Stella. She doesn’t. He watches as she finally takes a step back, giving Stella a nod. “Okay,” Aisha relents. She gives him one more look, — to which Riven returns with a clenched jaw — and eventually turns on her heels to head back to the building.
Stella and him are both quiet until they can’t hear Aisha’s footsteps anymore. When she’s barely in their eyesight, Stella invites herself to sit beside him. He doesn’t turn his head to look at her. He knows she’ll say something. So he waits again, his fingers fiddling with the pair of earphones in his hands.
Not even a minute later, she pipes up. “Why did you leave?"
He doesn’t answer immediately. And when he does, he doesn’t tell her the anger burning inside of him when he stormed out. Instead, he says, "I’m not sober.”
He watches her lift her head to look at him from the corner of his eyes. Riven knows she’s waiting for him to look up too, just like how he waited for her to say something. It’s almost like a dance. She makes a move, and then he matches her steps, then he starts to lead her — they dance around each other almost as if they know the routine perfectly. He gives in and glances up to look at her too.
Her brows are raised and the corner of her lips lifted slightly when he takes her in. She wastes no time to respond to him as soon as he looks up, saying, “It’s a party, Riven. People get drunk all the time. A lot of people aren’t sober. ‘I’m not sober’ doesn’t sound like a reasonable excuse now, does it?"
Riven rolls his eyes. Damn Stella for always finding a way to argue with him. Even now, even after he considers her a friend, bickering seems to still be a favorite pastime of theirs. He appreciates it, — really, he does — but it’s during times like this that Riven wishes that she’d just let it go. "I didn’t wanna be drunk at the party,” he argues. I don’t trust myself, he almost adds. He doesn’t, just because he knows that she’ll catch on what’s unsaid. It’s not a lie. He almost punched Sky in the face just because everyone seems to love him, so who’s to say that he wouldn’t have done anything reckless if he stayed?
“You didn’t have to make such a dramatic exit,” Stella shoots back.
He snorts, “Like you wouldn’t pull off something as dramatic if it were you leaving.”
Now it’s her who rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t,” she says. There’s a pause then, neither of them backing down from each other’s gaze. Riven doesn’t say anything in response, and waits for Stella to crack again instead. He knows her well enough to know that she will soon. He wraps the cord of his earphones around his fingers as he waits for her to say something.
Sure enough, she leans back onto the bench. Her gaze softens after a moment, and though he can’t see his own face, he knows that his eyes aren’t as hard now too. “I got worried,” she tells him, her eyes still not leaving his face.
“I know,” he replies. It’s true. She’s predictable, — at least, she is to him — and he knows exactly why she came chasing after him. Neither of them expect anything from each other, nor do they refer to each other as a close friend, but there’s a bond he has with Stella that he has with no one else — not even Nabu. They have their dance routine nailed down to perfection. Tonight’s just another dance. He leaves, she gets worried, he waits for her, she chases, he lets her in. It’s almost natural, as if instinct is what drives both of them to do this.
( He wants to matter. He matters with her. Just like how she matters with him. At least they mean something to each other. )
“Riven,” she says again. His eyes searches hers. He’s not completely sober, but he knows her. He doesn’t need to think to figure out what it is she’s about to say. “We can leave the party if you want. Go back to your room or something.”
Riven knows what she’s implying. She’s offering him a distraction. It’s part of their dance. He watches her carefully, resisting the urge to just go ahead and press his lips to hers.
“I’m drunk,” he insists instead, though he wants nothing more than let her accompany him, just for the night.
“I trust you,” she breathes out softly without missing a beat, and he stops resisting himself. He stops struggling, stops fighting against his demons. They still when he does. He gives in finally, eyes boring right into Stella’s as he leans in. Her breath hitches when he stops a mere inch away from her face, and her fingers hesitantly brushes his cheek. He lets her. It’s the finale of their dance, he thinks, and he covers her lips with his, thinking about how soft they are as he reaches up to tangle his own fingers in her hair.
At least for tonight, he knows that he is wanted. He has a dance partner who wants him. He matters to her.