Chapter Text
Madeline stands anxiously in Helen's entryway. She picks some fluff off of a clutter of embroidered flowers around her middle and fluffs her blonde hair. Helen appears in a college hoodie and black velvet pants.
"Is that what you're wearing?" Madeline blurts out before she can control herself.
Helen pauses to look down at herself.
"Yes, why?"
She pulls her sleeves over her knuckles nervously and Madeline's heart sinks in her chest. She takes Helen's hand gently and means the smile she plasters on her face with all she's got.
"It's okay, if you're comfortable... Let's go."
She tugs on Helen's hand. The redhead resists her.
"Mad, I can change."
And Madeline can feel Helen's hand getting clammy in hers. Madeline squeezes it anyway, if it's Helen's sweaty palms, she can tolerate it.
"No, no, no."
"Madeline."
Helen pulls her hand out of Madeline's and crosses her arms over her chest. She looks at the blonde with the most serious expression she can muster. Madeline sighs, playing with her little handbag. She avoids looking directly at her—tentative word—girlfriend.
"It's not exactly what I'd picture you wearing for our first date, but as long as—"
"What do you mean date? You never said it was a date?!"
"I asked when you were available and said I was treating you!" Madeline counters.
"But you never said the word date." Helen mumbles.
"I made you an invitation, Hel! In cursive! With glitter!"
Helen thinks about the red card sitting on her dresser, spreading pink glitter everywhere each time she breathes too close to it, and makes a U turn to her bedroom.
"Where are you going?!" Madeline shrieks, more because she's afraid of having upset Helen than being late to the restaurant. They are new at this dating thing, not in the empiric sense, Madeline is a grand master in the art and Helen, despite what she says, has had her fair share of boyfriends, which does imply dates. But dating between them, after everything? That's very new and Madeline worries herself sick she'll end up hurting Helen more than she already did.
"To change!" Helen calls from her bedroom. "This is a date!"
"Mad?"
"Don't move."
Madeline tilts Helen's face back a little more and blurs the khôl she's just applied on the corner of Helen's eyes with her ring finger.
"Open your eyes for me."
Helen obeys and blinks several times, Madeline's face is very close. So close Helen wouldn't need that much effort to kiss her. She blushes at the thought.
"I'm sorry, Mad."
"For the sixteenth time, Hel, it's okay." Madeline sighs. "I should have known when you didn't freak out."
"I wouldn't have freaked out!" Helen protests indignantly. "Are you done? Because you said 8:30 and it's al—"
Madeline kisses Helen. Partly to appease the growing unrest in her eyes, partly because she looks tempting, with her chin resting on Madeline's fingers and her red hair curling away from her face.
"Mad…" Helen whispers, now flushed all over.
"You needed lipstick, Hel Belle."
Helen's heart does a somersault, yet she manages to frown. Madeline leans away. Helen's hands reach for her hips and pull her forward. They tumble back on the bed, lips locked.
Madeline lets out a surprised giggle as they land, Helen's fingers still curled around her waist. She kisses her with intention and it is terrifying.
The kiss deepens almost by accident. Their lips grazing, then pressing, then parting just enough for breath to pass between them. Madeline can feel Helen's heart drumming through the fabric of her red dress. Helen picked it without a second thought earlier, as if she had been planning her outfit for months, which is funny considering she didn't realise tonight was a date.
Madeline's hand cups Helen’s cheek, her thumb stroking her face. She feels the heat there, rising under her skin, and it makes something sweet and warm coils in her chest. She rests her forehead against Helen's, their noses brushing. Helen's hands shakily wander to Madeline’s back.
There’s a hesitation, just a fraction of a second, before Helen kisses Madeline again. This time with more certainty. Her fingers dig into the small of Madeline’s back, pulling her close. Madeline is used to leading but with Helen, now, she lets herself feel. Her breath catches when Helen’s lips find the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, then the skin just below her jaw. She feels dizzy. And she tenses suddenly, in fear, when she imagines how she might mess this up.
Helen pulls back slightly, eyes searching Madeline’s face. “Is this okay?” she whispers.
Madeline nods, then threads her fingers into Helen’s hair.
“Hel? Do you… do you want to stay here?"
Helen blinks.
“What?”
Madeline shrugs against her.
“We barely have the time to make it. And technically,” she smirks, “you didn’t even think it was a date. So we could…”
Helen sits up a little. “You’re blaming me?”
Madeline grins, brushing Helen’s tousled hair away from her face.
“You did pull me down here.”
“You kissed me first!”
Helen’s cheeks are bright red now. Madeline answers with a chuckle, nudging her.
“So? Should we just stay in?”
Helen looks at her. Part of her wants to stay here wrapped up in Madeline’s arms, to keep kissing her until the butterflies turn into something steadier, something real. But…
“We can’t,” she says softly.
Madeline tilts her head. “Why not?”
“Because,” Helen replies matter-of-factly. “You made a reservation. You picked the restaurant. It would be rude to not show up.”
Madeline stares at her, eyes wide and slightly disbelieving. She pouts but it has no visible effects on Helen who gently pushes her off of her.
“Come on, I still have to put on shoes."
They are ten minutes late, which, considering the changing clothes, make-up and the brief makeout session, feels like a miracle.
Helen squeezes Madeline’s hand as they turn the corner, her heels clicking on the pavement. She is still a little breathless and Madeline keeps looking at her, which doesn't help with the sweatiness.
Madeline also keeps checking their reflection in shop windows, not out of vanity—well, not entirely, because they both look beautiful—but to make sure Helen is still smiling.
And she is despite the anxious realisation that she is on a date with Madeline Ashton and the ghost of her broken ankle.
As they get closer to their destination, Helen’s steps slow.
There are people gathered on the sidewalk. The restaurant’s windows are dark. And then they see the red and white firetruck parked there.
Madeline’s hand tightens in Helen's.
“What the hell?”
She walks faster, almost dragging Helen behind her. Someone is talking to a firefighter and Madeline catches just enough of the words sprinklers, electrical short circuit, and flooded kitchen to understand. The carefully planned reservation she made a week ago because she knew Helen would like at least three items on the menu. The invitation she spent a night handcrafting. The dress she picked specifically because Helen had once said she liked her in baby blue. Her perfect date is going up in smoke before her eyes, literally.
Helen stands next to Madeline, quiet for a beat.
“That’s… not ideal.”
Madeline turns to her with a weak laugh.
“This date is cursed.”
Helen smirks.
“We could still end up at the Cheesecake Factory.”
“You take that back, Helen."
Helen’s grin widens.
“Come on. I have an idea.”
“You’re not leading me to a Cheesecake Factory, are you?”
“Trust me.” Helen says, tugging gently on her hand.
Madeline follows. But her chest is tight now. She can't help but look back at the restaurant, at the blinking lights and the small puddle forming near the curb. She can feel the idea forming in Helen’s head: this date is going horribly wrong, this is not meant to be, the universe is giving us a sign. And after their messy history, Helen's broken ankle and Madeline's awful confession, it would be so easy for her to read this as a bad omen.
Helen leads her a few blocks down. She feels strangely calm. Maybe because the pressure has lifted. What could go wrong now?
“This is where I learned to shake off my snobbish ways,” Helen explains, stepping into a small restaurant. “The kitchen is small but the food is good.”
Madeline leans close before Helen can catch the attention of a waiter and whispers.
“If they serve cheesecake, I won’t complain.”
“You’ll eat what I tell you to.”
Madeline raises an eyebrow.
“Well. Now that’s a date.”
The table has gone still except for the candle flickering between them. Helen is still laughing at something Madeline has said, her shoulders shake, her hair looks aflame in this light.
Madeline wishes she could bottle that image, that sound. She leans her cheek on her hand and just watches her for a moment.
This isn't the night she planned, it's better.
Madeline reaches for her purse, still smiling. She blinks and freezes, twisting her body all around her chair. Helen watches her across the table, her lip caught between her teeth. She has known Madeline long enough, closely enough, to recognise the change before the blonde even says a word.
“I forgot it,” Madeline admits, too quiet to match the dread building in her chest.
“What?”
“I forgot my purse.” Her voice cracks on the word. “It’s at your place... I hope.”
Helen stares at her, not saying anything.
“I was going to invite you, I swear.”
Madeline's words come out too fast, all mingled together. Madeline stares down at the tablecloth, tracing a seam with her nail. She suddenly feels like she is underwater, watching the night slip further away. Helen sees the raw edge under Madeline’s usual brightness, the thing only Helen witnesses. The part that panics under the pressure of wanting to please, to be liked for what she does.
“I didn’t do this right,” Madeline mutters.
Helen's chair scraps the floor in a painful way. Madeline hears her heels clicking away from the table, the faint lilt of her voice talking to their server. She comes back quietly, puts a gentle hand on Madeline's shoulder. Then she's gone.
Madeline follows a few seconds later, slowly, wordlessly. They step out onto the quiet sidewalk. Neither of them say much as Helen walks on, close enough that their arms brush now and then, to show Madeline that she's not going anywhere. But Madeline stays quiet, biting back every nervous apology she wants to offer.
There's a question burning her throat.
Was it still a good night? Am I still someone you want to keep trying with?
Madeline’s never felt so foolish. Well, she has but tonight it feels like proof she’s not good at the one thing people always praised her for when it really counts.
She keeps her head down, the first drop of rain hits the crown of her head.
She doesn’t react at first, half-hoping she imagined it. But then the rain starts, light at first then steadier, soaking her hair and clothes. She stops in place and stares up at the sky.
“Oh, come on, ” she groans.
Helen blinks water off her lashes. “Seems fitting.”
“I swear to God,” Madeline mutters, throwing her head back with a humorless laugh. “Of course it rains. Of course we can’t even walk home without something else going wrong.”
“Mad—”
Madeline throws her hands up in a dramatic arc.
“A fire! No purse! And now we’re going to drown on the sidewalk!”
She tries to laugh again but it dies in her throat. Her breath catches and her eyes burn. She looks up at the sky again, maybe the tears won’t fall with the rain.
Helen grabs her wrist and runs, pulling her into a bodega—one of those 24-hour places who sell paper-like umbrellas and thirty-six types of gum. They're not the only lost souls there. Helen pulls Madeline deeper into the cramped up store. Madeline crosses her arms, shivering slightly, when Helen stops in a deserted—as it can be—corner. They're both soaked to the bone.
“I wanted it to be perfect,” Madeline says, her voice soft. “This night. Us. I didn’t want anything to go wrong. I didn’t want you to think—” She breaks off, swallowing hard. “I just didn’t want to give you another reason to regret forgiving me.”
Helen’s expression shifts. Her hands slide up Madeline’s arms.
“I had fun tonight, Mad.”
And she knows Madeline doesn't believe her. So she fights her restraint.
"You made me laugh a lot. And it felt good to be with you. Really be with you, like… like before, but even better."
Madeline is still chewing her lip, gaze fixed somewhere above Helen's shoulder. The redhead almost gives up. This version of Madeline is new to her. She's disappointed in herself and sad and Helen wants her to smile, or at least look at her again. Helen looks around before she takes Madeline's chin between her fingers and kisses her even though they could be seen and their damp hair stick to their faces in an uncomfortable way.
It's a slow kiss to tell Madeline Helen is here for her. Madeline finds Helen's unoccupied hand and holds it as she relaxes into her. They continue kissing until their lips feel swollen and their breathing get uneven. Until neither of them can tell if the flutter in their stomach is nerves or just themselves.
Then Helen pulls away, looking around to make sure no one saw them, pretending to decide between whatever is on the shelf behind Madeline. The blonde plays along, pulling her soaked dress away from her skin as she browses the products.
“And anyway,” Helen adds, bumping their shoulders together, “the night’s not over.”
Madeline lets out a breathy laugh. Helen spies the playful glint returning in her blue eyes.
"I knew you were the type of girl to put out on the first date, Hel."
Helen turns as red as her dress. Madeline decides it suits her.