Chapter Text
The only thing more awkward than attending a wedding without a date because your original date was no longer your date and had shown up with the ex he’d had prior to you was attending a wedding without a date because your original date was no longer your date and had shown up with the ex he’d had prior to you on Valentine's Day, decided Lila Pitts as she brought a glass of Champagne to her lips.
She could handle seeing Diego Hargreeves again after all these months. Their breakup had been messy, but she was a big girl, and, for her friend Sloane, she could make it through one day.
She could handle seeing him with a date. Diego had only ever briefly mentioned Eudora Patch when she’d first met him, but she could tell by the way he did — and didn’t — talk about her that “complicated” barely scratched the surface of that relationship.
She could handle going solo to a wedding. She'd done it before, and Sloane – and Luther – had invited her; not Diego. She was no one's "plus one." She was Lila Bloody Pitts, and she didn't need anyone. Never had. Never would.
So why did the idea of doing more than sitting on the sidelines, watching people off to dance and laugh and try – and even fail – to get lucky illicit the same feelings as a scratchy wool jumper in the middle of summer while listening to nails scrape slowly across a chalkboard? This wasn't her leavers' ball, and she'd never been a wallflower. And she'd never been one to turn down an offer to dance. Yet, here she sat, on the periphery, having rejected several requests in favor of, what? Champagne and cake?
"Least the cake's good," she mumbled as she stabbed part of it with her fork, wincing slightly at the scrap of metal on porcelain. No cheap plastic utensils and paper plates for the newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. Hargreeves. Not that they didn't deserve it, as far as Lila could tell. Sloane had always been nice, if a little naive, and it was clear to anyone who met them how much Luther adored her. They accepted each other and seemed able to truly understand each other, which Lila suspected was rare. They were… cute. And accepting, even when she'd been Diego's New Girlfriend.
"Cheers," she said around her bite of cake, raising her wine flute in a toast toward the happy couple wrapped in each others' embrace as they danced to some early aughts boy band's ballad.
"I'll drink to that," came a voice on her left. Sliding her eyes to the side, she stared as one of Luther and Diego's brothers seated himself next to her, tipping his own Champagne flute back. Did she watch the way the movement stretched his already long and annoyingly elegant neck or how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed? Yes, yes she did. But only because he was right there, and he'd been rude enough to sit down at her table without so much as a Hey, Asshole.
So she decided to supply it herself.
"Hey, asshole."
"Crazy lady."
She looked back toward the dance floor to hide her amusement.
Of all of Diego's siblings – and the prat had many – Five Hargreeves annoyed her the most. The first time she'd met him, he'd barely acknowledged her existence. She'd initially chalked that up to the fact that he'd been in a right state, both blathering on about a project that involved Diego and saying next to nothing. She'd managed to piece together it was some kind of thesis, and she'd even been dragged along for a bit that semester, more at Diego's insistence than Five's. As far as she'd been able to tell, he'd have been happy if she'd walked into traffic and that was the end of her.
Her most reasonable response was to pester him to no end. She needled him and baited him whenever the opportunity presented itself, poking and prodding at his defenses. Someone that haughty surely had a fragility just under the surface. However, when she pointed out his baby face – throwing out a quick but in her opinion very clever "I could teach you to shave like a big boy" once when she'd seen a cut under his jaw one morning – or pointed out some of his old man tendencies – seriously what sane person drank black coffee? She could almost understand how he turned his nose up at popular trends, except she always thought he could use a bit more sense to his fashion choices. Unironically wearing Granddad Chic in your twenties was a choice, to say the least. And Lila had said far more than the very least – or simply resulted to basic insults – she was particularly fond of calling him Little Shit. She had no doubt he'd been a snot nosed brat as a child. Too smart and too aware of it even when she'd first met him. She could only imagine how insufferable he'd been in his primary school days – he just brushed it off. Sure, they'd gone around at times, but insofar as ruffling him? Very little seemed to do it.
At this point, it was one part going through the motions and one three parts bantering with a friend, albeit a very begrudgingly called one. Because no matter how much Five had annoyed her over the last few years, Lila always knew where she stood with him. She never played petty guessing games or put on niceties with him. And she respected that, even if she hated that shit eating grin he got when he was right.
"Shouldn't you be working on a speech or getting ready for bed, old man?" she quipped, glancing back over.
He snorted, drink half way to his lips – when had he gotten another? How long had she been pointedly ignoring her own amusement? – and smirk creeping onto his face. And into his voice as he said, "You really think Luther or Sloane would let me talk? In front of all these people?" He gestured with his glass to the room at large, the motion drawing her eye around as well.
He had a point. Still. What came out was, "Surprised they let you through the door."
"Who said I came in the front?"
"Poor security, then. Someone should let them know."
"Agreed. But it's too late now. We might as well enjoy ourselves."
"Oy, don't lump me in with you."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, shaking his head. Lila couldn't help but notice his hair had grown out since the last time she'd seen him. Then again, the last time she'd seen him had been… eight months ago? Nine? It'd been after her breakup with Diego, and that had been more coincidence than planned, though crossing paths at a coffee shop was hardly surprising. She was pretty sure Five was made up of 98% caffeine.
"Good." She stabbed at her piece of cake again, this time with a bit less hostility. "Now. Why're you bothering me?"
He shrugged. Another bite of cake found its way into her mouth, and she chewed while studying his profile again. If she squinted, she could just make out a bit of stubble on his jaw, and she resisted the urge – barely – to point out he'd finally learned to shave.
When it became obvious he wasn't going to answer, she swallowed the cake with a sigh. "Still a world class conversationalist, I see," she quipped, turning her attention back to her cake. At least it had the decency to have a purpose for being here. From what she could tell, Five's only purpose right now was to annoy her and distract her from her completely justified bad mood. Although if he were here bugging her…
"Couldn't find a date, huh?" That had to be it. Why else come bother her? They had no real obligation to be in each other's company. She and Diego were long past done, and her friendship with Sloane had nothing to do with him or his new in-law-ship with her. Outside of the occasional large friends and family gatherings – like this wedding – they had no reason to see each other ever again. And they certainly had no reason to be holding up the walls of this reception together.
"Sorry, am I interrupting your very important and clearly very exhilarating time with your own date?" He leaned forward and back, craning his neck left and right as if looking for someone.
"Oh, fuck off, mate," she said with far less heat than she thought might be warranted.
A puff of air – a laugh? Was he amused by her? She wasn't here to amuse anyone. She was here to… Well, she was here to support a couple of friends and enjoy the free food and drink. She was here to be amused, but all she'd been since the start of the reception was… You know what? Didn't matter. He wasn't allowed to be amused by her dour mood.
She twisted in her seat to fully face him, opening her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, when he spoke, still looking out across all the other white clothed tables toward the dance floor.
"You looked bored and alone, and I–" She watched his jaw work as he searched for whatever he was trying to say. Something about the unexpected stiffness in his spine kept her from cracking a joke about him seeming at a loss of words for once. "I just wanted to say hi. Before I left."
"Hi?"
"Hi." His attention shifted toward her, and she could have sworn his stupid green eyes had gotten even greener than the last time she'd seen them. And maybe sadder, too. Not that she cared about either of those two things.
"Well, it's been a pleasure as always," he exhaled, whatever tension he'd been holding deflating with his words. He placed his hands on the table – hands that she thought looked way too delicate for someone so brash, made more for plucking notes from instruments than calculations for theoretical physics or accounting or whatever the hell field he'd gone into – and pushed his chair back, rising so gracefully a spark of jealousy passed through her. Nothing serious, but enough to have her wonder how fair it was he could be so graceful without putting forth any effort.
"You don't have to go." Her words tumbled out of her mouth before she realized, though she caught herself before reaching out toward him. That would have made her look utterly pathetic, she thought. And while she could concede to being bored, she refused to be pathetic. Didn't matter if she felt – just a little bit – pathetic pouting in a corner because she not only didn't have a date to the wedding but she didn't have a date for Valentine's Day. She refused to act like it.
So why're you sitting here stuffing cake in your mouth? she chided. Get up and do something. Put that Brazilian wax to work. Or at least get off your arse.
"You can sit. Or we could dance." We could? Really, Lila? "Even if Luther's taste in music is a bit…"
"Stuck in middle school?" Lila watched his lips twitch, turning up in an almost smile, and she realized she'd never actually seen the young man ever smile. Smirk. Sneer. Grin. A wry twist of his lips. An incredulous curl. A scoff. But not a smile. She knew he had a dimple – she hated that stupid Dimple. It always showed up when he got particularly smug – but did it deepen when he smiled? Did his eyes light up or crinkle? Did he even know how to smile?
Wait. What were they talking about again?
Oh yes! Music. And Luther's utter lack of taste in it.
"It's kind of sweet, though," she defended half heartedly. "Like he's saying all the mushy feelings with a backing track you can dance to."
"Luther's commitment to ensure everyone, not just Sloane, knows how he feels is commendable," Five agreed, his hands slipping into the front pockets of his suit pants. His gaze fixed on the dancefloor again, and Lila was sure if she looked, she'd see Sloane and Luther at the center of his focus.
After knowing the Hargreeves for years, one thing she knew was that, despite everything, they cared about each other. Even when they insulted each other and fought over who did what to whom when they were 12 and got into the occasional physical scuffle, they had each others' backs. There were times she'd been a bit… not jealous, but it'd made her wonder what it'd have been like to grow up in a big family. To always have someone to fight with and scheme with and share history with. She loved her parents, her aunts and uncles and cousins. However, there were times when she wondered what it would have been like to have a sibling or two.
There'd been a time when she'd let herself wonder what it might be like to be part of this family. Not by marriage. More… osmosis, maybe. Convenient proximity and eventual acceptance, possibly. After all, they'd all more or less included her practically from the start. Even Five, in his own way. She might not have been born into this family, but she'd still been invited. Still been included in this major milestone of theirs.
"Anyone looking at them would know how Luther feels. Sloane, too," she said. As she watched the newlyweds dance, she swore she could just make out a bubble around them, keeping out everyone but the two of them. They looked at each other like no one else in the world existed. For just a moment, she let herself wonder what that'd be like, to be with someone who looked at you like you were their everything instead of like you were something – like you were this token to possess and not someone to cherish.
The thought passed quickly – well, was forced out of her mind as quickly as possible – as she added, "Guess a Valentine's wedding makes sense for them."
"Yeah, it does. Even if–"
"It's cliche as hell?"
"Oh entirely. But so are they. And it makes them happy."
"And that's why they won't let you speak, huh?"
A glare shot her way, containing less malice than it might once have. She smirked up at him, letting her amusement dance across her face as he rolled his eyes.
"I think Luther just didn't want any embarrassing stories from any of us. And with Kalus officiating…"
"It was already going to be a bit left field," she guessed. It was a pretty good guess, given she'd already lived through the ceremony, where he'd pronounced them Married As Shit. It'd been cute and funny and completely Klaus. And she could understand not wanting to give him or the others more time to talk.
"At least he didn't disappoint." Amusement tinted his voice, and Lila swore she saw a bit of fondness flash across his face.
"Oy, look at you you big ol' softy." Another roll of those green eyes. "It's like you've got a heart or something deep in the depths of all that caffeine."
"On that note, have a good night, Lila," he said, pulling his hands from his pocket as he turned.
"So soon?" By her estimate, it'd been at least two hours since the reception started. Ten o'clock was a more than reasonable time to leave. "We didn't even get to dance," she teased. Past experiences told her that he didn't dance, even after a few drinks. Past experiences told her he seemed to disappear whenever dancing became inevitable. So did she want to dance? Maybe. Did she want to dance with Five? Not likely. Did she want to tease him? Absolutely.
"Lila," he sighed, clearly exasperated. It made her smirk deepen. "I don't dance."
"Oh go on then," she said, hopping to her feet. "Anyone can dance. I can teach you if you'd like."
"Never said I can't dance, just that I don't."
"Why not? Is it your attempt at being a mysterious asshole," she inquired, following him as he began weaving through the tables and chairs toward the banquet hall's main door. "Or are you scared you might, gasp!, have fun?"
"I don't like dancing," Five exhaled. As he turned to face her again, she noticed she was just a little bit taller than he was, thanks to her heels. Why that mattered in that moment, why a small sense of satisfaction overcame her, she neither knew nor cared. Still, it was an interesting realization to have, that this person who carried himself with such weight and authority wasn't any bigger than she was. All the more embarrassing for those who got in his way, no doubt.
"Why not? Everybody loves dancing."
"I'm not 'everybody.'"
"That's obvious."
Exasperation flickered in his eyes, and Lila pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.
"And now," she plowed ahead, taking a step closer, "I've got to see you dance. Do you flop around like a little fish out of water?" She raised her hand, making a little motion as if to illustrate her words. "Are you all wobbly limbs? Can't get out of your own head enough to move to the beat because you've got a structure in your brain that doesn't add up? Bad experience back in school where you got dumped because you've got two left feet?"
"You're ridiculous."
"And possibly right."
"Nope. Just ridiculous."
"Then prove me wrong," she challenged, brown eyes sparkling with a touch of mischief, lips curling up in a smirk at his bemused look.
"I really don't have to."
"But you really want to. And anyway, weren't you the one saying I looked alone? You can prove me wrong and keep me company at the same time. Win-win for us both."
"It's really not."
"C'mon." She stepped closer to him.
"Lila."
"Five."
As they stared each other down, two stubborn people not wanting to back off even over something as ridiculous as dancing, Lila suspected if it came to it, he could outlast her in this standoff, not because of a lack of willpower on her end but from a lack of anything to gain in the moment. In essence, a potential growing sense of boredom could cause her to give up. She could only dig her heels in so far before she got bored of digging. And when it came to Five, she'd found it easier to bargain than wait him out.
"Ten songs, and I'll let you scurry off to whatever coffee shop you hole up in."
His jaw worked, eyes boring into her, and God did she want to squirm just a little under that intensity. She swore she'd never met someone with a gaze as strong as his. He had to practice it in the mirror, right? Just stood there with his coffee and his arrogance, staring himself down until his reflection practically bent and broke under such scrutiny and attention.
"Three."
HAH!
A wide grin broke out on her face, and she practically crowed at the sound of his soft groan.
"Seven."
"Two."
"Five, and if they play the Electric Slide or Cha Cha Slide you've got to cha cha real slow because it's electric."
"One, and it can't be a slow song."
"'Fraid you'll get cooties? Promise I've had all my shots."
Exasperation crossed his face as he shook his head. But, if she wasn't mistaken, she could have sworn she saw a hint of amusement there was well.
"Fine. Three."
"No line dances or slow songs, and I reserve the right to pass if I don't like the song."
"Five, no one likes any of these songs except Sloane. That's the whole point of the playlist."
He gave her a look that clearly said, and? What's your point? She rolled her eyes in response, shaking her own head.
"Three songs. No line dances. No slow songs. No absolutely rubbish songs. We both get a pass on the truly awful ones. And I'll get you a drink after, just to sweeten things."
"It's an open bar."
"So?"
Another sigh. If he kept that up, Lila was going to see if they had a fainting couch for him.
"Fine," he said grudgingly.
"Excellent. Now." She held out her hand to him, the corners of her lips quirking up, a Puckish delight filling her eyes. "Take my hand, you little shit, and let's go."
"Oh, I hate that smile," he muttered wearily, placing his hand in hers with far more care than she'd have imagined. But she kept her smile on her face as she gave him a little tug, pulling him closer as she led the way to the crowded dance floor.
Maybe this wedding would turn out to be fun after all.