Second Chance (Part 2/?) (F, cold)

[monochrome]

I've been playing this game on my phone about celebrities which is super unrealistic, and I suddenly had an idea to write a super unrealistic original story that takes place in the same universe. This is... for sure not what happens in industry at all (the game is super overdramatic and so is this fic), but I wanted to write it anyways!

The main character is definitely not an angel and her personality might be off-putting, especially at the start, so. Just putting it out there. She was so fun to write, though!

So have the first part ft. celebrity drama, the cliché of getting sick in the rain, and ~angst~.

 

–x–

 

“You guys have made the news again.”

“Ugh,” Willow groans, theatrically, and leans back in her chair. She knows, without asking, what Ensley is talking about. “Who are they siding with?”

“The comments are pretty much split,” Ensley says.

“That’s better than last time,” Willow says. Last time the reporter had gone out and interviewed Audrey Zanders instead of her. Willow—with her good nature, mind you—had gotten the same offer for an interview about their Feud of the Century and turned it down, as to not “start unnecessary drama” (Her manager’s words, not hers). Of course, Audrey hadn’t been so gentle–she’d roasted Willow to hell and back, right there on live TV.  Unfortunately, Audrey’s always been surprisingly adept at winning public favor, even if it’s meant telling a few lies, and that article certainly didn’t go over well for Willow’s reputation.

So much for taking the high moral ground.  

Ensley stifles a laugh into their hand. “Yeah, well, you kind of asked for it last time.”

“By doing what? Not pushing drama longer than it had to be pushed?” Willow rolls her eyes, sits up just in time to keep the chair from tipping too far. “I was trying to be the bigger person.”

“Hey, I'm on your side! I'm just saying. You should get her back, you know, the next time someone reaches out. I mean, how much dirt do you have on her that hasn’t been spilled? It’ll make you look great.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Willow says. “Next time I'll write a script, and everything, about how she’s the worst person on earth.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ensley says–enthusiastically, as if Willow isn’t being sarcastic.

Willow cracks a smile at that. “I’ll even let you proofread.”

The thing is, it started a year ago with Willow getting turned down for a role she’d really wanted. It was the casting director’s fault, really. He’d told Willow she’d gotten the part, only to backtrack the moment Audrey had stepped into the room–and for what? It was supposed to be her big break. Ensley and Eric had thrown Willow a party over it and everything.

Willow had–okay, maybe Willow had thrown a fit, yelled at Audrey in the hallway. So what? She had been crushed. And maybe the next time they’d met she’d spilled her hot coffee all over Audrey’s nice dress (that had been an accident. She’d even been about to apologize!) Then Audrey had to butt in and call her immature and petty, and then the next day Willow found Audrey had tagged her in a photo captioned “Ruined my new dress bc/ of @willow22, thanks to @safir_clothing for getting me a new one! Sometimes you have to learn that jealousy gets you nowhere,” and after that some cameraman had caught Willow at a bad time, badmouthing Audrey and her stupid acting and her stupid mouth after three shots at the local bar, and–

–and, frankly, Audrey hasn’t let it off since. She’d called Willow’s acting “Toneless and boring,” or something, and Willow’s half-sure she’d paid someone from her management to get Willow’s car towed. In response, Willow had auditioned bright and early and landed a role she’d known Audrey had wanted and added a few pointed comments on a photoshoot about “Not taking shit from anyone, especially if they go out of their way to wreck your car,” and Audrey had turned down an offer to act in a show Willow was in because “I like to surround myself with people I know can work well with me,” and, well–

They’re celebrities–people love drama. It certainly keeps people talking about them. Their Feud of the Century has gotten big, lately, and now it’s gotten more profitable to turn it up a notch. It doesn’t help that they keep on crossing paths, too. Willow’s never been simultaneously so loved and so hated–thinking about Audrey is stressful on good days and downright insufferable on others.

“Your phone’s ringing again,” Ensley says.

“Who’s calling?”

“Justin.”

“He won’t stop pestering me,” Willow grimaces, examining her fingernails, “I told him I didn’t want to see him.”

“Maybe it’s about time you get a new boyfriend,” Ensley suggests, raising an eyebrow. “Actually, that might look be a good way to end this drama once and for all, if you’re all like, ‘I have a new hot boyfriend and now I don’t have time to deal with Audrey’s shit.’ It might get Justin off your case, too.”

“Huh.” Willow thinks over it. “That’s actually–not a horrible idea.”

“You could get Delilah to set you up,” Ensley grins, nudging her in the side. “And while you’re at it, ask her to set me up with someone, too. Delilah has impeccable taste.”

“I’m not asking my manager to find you a romantic partner,” Willow says. “Besides, you know that live show you were on? There was one guy there who wouldn’t stop making eyes at you...”

–x–

 

The blind date isn’t going well.

“So what was that like?” Willow tries, and fails, to get the guy’s attention. It’s not like he isn’t attractive. He is, but–

“It was okay,” he says, noncommittal.

–he’s mind-numbingly boring. She’s already getting tired of his three-word responses, and her throat kind of hurts, for some reason or another. She wants to be home. “Really? You weren’t scared, or anything?”

“I wasn’t.”

“I see,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It’s not fair. She looks so good tonight–she’d curled her hair for hours, just to get it to look right, and for what? “Is there anything else you like to do?”

“Not really,” he says. “I’ve been busy.”

“Okay,” she says, and bites her lip from retorting, too busy to hold a decent conversation, huh? “I think–”

Her phone buzzes from under the table. It’s Justin. She’s never thought she’d stoop so low as to be relieved to see him calling, but there’s a first to everything, isn’t there? “Hold on, I have to take this,” she says to the guy, and presses the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, babe,” he says, even though she’d told him not to call her that anymore, and it takes all of her self-control not to wince. “I know you didn’t want to see me, but–”

“Oh yeah,” she says, “You need me to pick something up for you?”

“...no? Where did you get that from?”

“Oh,” Willow says, completely ignoring him in favor of fabricating a conversation with someone else. “Are you sure you can’t get it yourself? I'm in the middle of a date– ah, how soon do you need it? Okay. Okay, fine, but you owe me. Okay, bye.”

She hangs up. “My manager needs me to pick something up,” she lies, all faux-apologetic, and clears her throat. Her voice sounds marginally off. “I’ll pay for my steak, but I think I'll have to skip dessert tonight. Sorry.”

She puts two twenties on the table, flattens them under her palm, and stands. “It was nice meeting you!” she says–which is a lie, too, but she’s not an asshole–and bolts before she can hear his response.

It’s only when she gets outside that she notices two things. 1 – Delilah had arranged a ride back for her, but that won’t be coming for another two hours. 2 – It’s pouring.

The rain’s coming down hard, the sort of sudden deluge that hammers on the rooftops and floods the gutters on the street. The diner they were in was intimate–a small, half-lit, family-owned steakhouse in the middle of nowhere, dressed up with waiters in suits and candlelight, far away from cameras and other late-night onlookers. It’s not a bad place for a date, but she’s lived in the city long enough to know that the rain’s not letting up soon, and this is too obscure of a place for taxis to frequent–

“Fuck,” she mutters. Lightning flashes, blinding, electric in violet. She’s not dressed for this, but home’s not too far–maybe a half-hour run, at most–and it’s not like she’d rather go back to the diner and sit through a whole two hours. She grits her teeth, pulls her jacket closer to her, and takes a run for it.

 

–x–

 

She’s soaked down to the bone when she gets back. When she stumbles up the doorstep to her apartment, she’s shaking so hard she can barely unlock the door. She tells herself she won’t be going on any more blind dates and stands outside a few seconds longer, shivering on the doorstep, trying not to track in too much water.

Her phone–which, thankfully, works under its waterproof case–buzzes exactly after 9. It’s Ensley.

Ensley: how was it?? total hottie?

Willow: i'm def not going on any more blind dates in awhile

Ensley: why?? was he the one?

Ensley: or

Ensley: that bad

Willow feels something settle in her nose–a prickling feeling. She sets her phone down, twists away just in time for–

“HhH...hhIHH… hhiIH’DZCHiew!”

It’s long, drawn out through hitchy breaths, ends high-pitched and loud enough to echo against the high ceilings. She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. Fuck, where’d she put the tissues?

Her phone’s ringing. It’s Ensley.

“Hey,” Willow says after she picks up. “Um, it was ndot my best night.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” Ensley says, sounding sincere for once.

“Yeah. The guy was boring as fuck. I had to make up an excuse to get away from him–hh!” She scrambles to put herself on mute, presses the button just in time. “HeHT’chEW!!” Unmute. “It’s okay, though. I walked back.”

“Seriously? Wasn’t it far?”

“Um, not too far. But it’s on 47th, in that little alleyway. There aren’t a lot of taxis around there, you know?”

“You could’ve just called me.”

“Isn’t it like, movie night for you and Charlene?”

“Yeah, but I could’ve come get you.”

“Nah, it was ndice to take a hike,” Willow says, feeling bad that she’s brought this up at all. Somehow, hearing Ensley worry over her is suddenly too much. “I needed some time to cool off.”

“Please tell me you at least had an umbrella.”

“Of course,” Willow lies, trying to sound as sure of herself as usual, and suppresses another shiver. “I went prepared. Anyway, thanks for checking on me. I know you paused the movie to call me, so get back to it! And say hi to Charlene for me.” 

She hangs up. Usually she’d stay up and scroll mindlessly through her phone, but tonight after a hot shower and a change of clothes, she’s exhausted. She texts Ensley a quick “calling it a night. tell me how the movie was” and then heads off to bed.

 

–x–

 

When Willow wakes up, she’s shivering again, and the first thing that registers to her is that she’s definitely sick. Her head is pounding, her nose stuffed so much that a single wrong breath leaves her breath hitching again–

“HhHIH.. HiIhITT’CHEEW!” 

Of course. It’s just her luck–who even catches a cold from the rain? Except now that she thinks about it, she’s been feeling off for a few days–more tired than normal, though she’d just chalked it up to the busy schedule, at first. Now her throat’s sore, and her head feels like it’s about to split–

“HhH!” The sneeze goes away, but the sensation lingers, maddeningly ticklish. For once, she’s glad she’s living alone–that way she doesn’t have to worry about spreading germs, after all–but she has an important photoshoot this afternoon she has to make.

“HAHH… hhHah… snf!” Nothing. Again. She sniffles wetly and gets out of bed, though she’s suddenly dizzy enough that she has to lean back on the bedframe to steady herself. She can’t remember when the last time she’s been ill was, though maybe that’s what’s making this particular cold hit so hard. She doesn’t want to think about it.

She blows her nose into a handful of tissues and then heads off into the bathroom. The mirror affirms that she looks just as shitty as she feels. Her cheeks are flushed, and her face is two makeup shades paler than it usually is, and the coldness of the bathroom tiles is making her shiver again. She knows that any makeup she does now will have to come off for the photoshoot, but she can’t envision looking like this and going out in public.

So she spends half an hour trying to make up for all the signs of illness–the flush on her cheeks, the redness around her nose, the dark circles around her eyes. The powder from the makeup usually doesn’t have much of an effect on her, but now it’s just enough to send her over the edge. She grips the countertop as her breath hitches–

“hiiH’DZChEEw!” she sneezes again, so suddenly and so forcefully she barely has time to catch it in her hand. “HhiH’TSCHeew! iIT’SHIIEEW!!” They’re all loud enough to draw attention. Fuck, why is the house so cold? She tries giving her introduction usually spiel and realizes one sentence in that her voice is a dead giveaway to the fact that she’s fighting a monster cold. If she calls Ensley they’ll know immediately that she’s unwell. Of course when she gets sick it has to show in her voice and on her face–

She drives herself to the photoshoot, which is just at the periphery of the city–a large, modern studio that she hasn’t been to before. Usually she’d be much better company, joking with the crew and having a blast–photoshoots are fun! And she looks great for them, too–but this time, despite her best efforts to keep up the usual cheerful demeanor, she feels like she’s always falling short. She strikes up a nice conversation with the makeup artist, but it’s hard when he’s redoing her makeup to have to stop him every few minutes, ducking her head with her hands tented over her face to sneeze, as discretely as she can. Then when she’s changing outfits, she’s sure she must sound awful, because the outfit coordinator actually steps briefly out of the room just to come back with a cup of tea. It’s not great that the outfit they settle on is a summer one–the sort of cerulean, frilly dress that she’d normally like, but it goes up to her knees and her sleeves are short and it’s cold.

“Cross your legs, left foot over right,” the photographer says now. “Okay, you’re doing great. Can we see a smile?”

She smiles, even if it couldn't be further away than how she feels. They’ve been at this for hours, and it’s a good opportunity, but she’s exhausted. 

“Great!” the photographer says. “That’s really good. We’re almost done–”

“HIIH’dZCHIEWW! Ugh, I'mb so sorry–”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Stay still.”

She’s inconveniencing them, probably. The first time she’d gotten up for a tissue the photographer had yelped and told her to stay in her seat, then asked one of the supervisors to stand off to the side with a box of tissues to hand-deliver, one by one, every time she needs them, so that the hard work the photographer’s done getting her to pose doesn’t have to go to waste. It’s embarrassing, having to call attention to herself so frequently–and because she needs to blow her nose, too. She can only hope the redness around her nose isn’t starting to show on her face.

Her breath hitches, and she raises a hand to catch the sneezes into, even though he’s told her not to–“HiIIHD’TSCHIew HEHh’TCHIEww! hahH...” false starts are bad news, and each sneeze only serves to exacerbate her headache; not to mention, the cold air is making her nose run. She’s so tired. 

“I’ve got about half the shots in,” the photographer says, and Willow sinks a little lower on her stool, from where she’s taking a break–she’d spent the last thirty minutes telling herself to tough it out precisely under the assumption that they were almost done here. “But–err, would you like to continue the rest of them on another day?”

Her eyes go wide. “I cand do them today!” she stammers, “I–I'm sure I can do better.” 

“It’s not your fault,” the photographer tells her bluntly, “Just–Steven did a great job on your makeup, but it–well, it still looks like you’ve got a cold. You look really tired, too. Probably not the best look for this new promotion, no?”

Her heart drops. She’s had bad photoshoots, messed things up before, but this–to have wasted everyone’s time here, today to the point that they can’t even finish–to have Delilah have to reschedule a one-day shoot, which she’s been looking forward to for weeks–feels–

Her phone buzzes on one of the side tables.

It’s Ensley. dude, YOU HAVE to check the news, they’ve written, with a link to an article Willow isn’t sure she wants to see.

“Hold that thought for just a second,” she says. Her hands tremble as she unlocks the phone. The name in the sub-headline catches her eye first–Audrey Zanders–and then the rest of the headline clicks. What Makes Someone Trustworthy? then, just below it, in italics: Here’s the shocking truth we found out about rising star Willow Alder by interviewing her rival, Audrey Zanders, and her ex-boyfriend, Justin Benton…

Shit. Shit. This is probably a whole new can of worms. For the first time today, Willow feels like she’s seriously going to cry. 

One of the supervisors hovers just off to the side. “Is everything okay?”

“S-sorry,” she says. For once, she’s glad that her cold gives her an excuse for the sniffling, the hoarseness, the watery eyes. She puts her phone away. “I get it. I’m so sorry for the trouble. Um, I’ll talk with my manager to reschedule.”

She apologizes profusely to everyone on her way out, ducks back to the changing room and changes as fast as she can, before anyone can see her have the probably-breakdown she feels is welling up.

The lobby is even colder than the studio room when she finally heads there, and she’s freezing and dizzy. Someone else is sitting in the lobby–someone with brown hair and sunglasses tipped over her head who looks like she might be a model. Willow ducks her head and walks faster–she’s almost halfway across the room when she stumbles, trips over her own high heels.

“Willow?”

She freezes. She knows that voice. In a half-delirious haze, she wonders if it’s someone she knows–someone she can cry onto the shoulder of–except the voice registers late, and the pit in her stomach drops impossibly further. Just when she thought today couldn’t get any worse...

“Hi Audrey,” she says, as coldly as she can muster. “I was just heading out.”

“Why are you here?”

“I had a photoshoot. In case it hasd’t occurred to you, I get asked for those things, too.” she keeps on walking–through the glass sliding doors, now, and out into the sunlight.

“Oh,” Audrey says, following her out for some reason or other. “Did you finish early?”

“No,” Willow says, a little snappish. “Why are you trying to start a conversation with me?”

“You look–”

“Save it, please. Have you not done enough already?”

“Willow...” Audrey says.

Something about the way she says it makes Willow stop. She looks up, on instinct, and that’s when she realizes that she’s crying. Fuck. Fuck, this is mortifying. She can already picture the next article titles: Audrey Zanders Recounts Willow Alder’s Spectacular Mental Breakdown! “It didn’t go well,” Willow admits. “They kicked me out because I–I–” it’s really the most inopportune moment for her breath to catch. She doesn’t bother to cover– “HHIH’DZCHIEW! fucking helhh… hHIH’TCHEEW!” And A Disgusting Sneezing Fit, she tacks onto the hypothetical article headline.

“Because you’re not feeling well?”

Audrey doesn’t sound like she’s gloating, but Willow imagines the sneer on her face, clear as day. “Idt’s really none of your business,” Willow says. “If you’re just asking me so you can flame me in another inter–hh! hHIHH.. HEHH’ISHHIEWw! interview, sdf, I will not codfirm or deny–”

She sways on her feet. Everything’s been hazy ever since halfway through the shoot, as if she has a fever. She feels an arm on her shoulder, warm and surprisingly gentle.

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Audrey says, almost sounding sad.

“Of course you would,” Willow says. “You hate me,” and she doesn’t know why it hurts, when she’s stating something so obvious, but suddenly her chest aches with it. That’s the worst part of it. She knows, and has known for ages, that Audrey Zanders is talented, and pretty, and special. Once, way back before any of this, she’d even looked up to her. Now there’s no chance of them ever being friends, and Audrey’s probably going to ruin her career anyways–

“I wouldn’t ruin your career,” Audrey says. Willow blinks up at her. Had she said all of that out loud? “Hey, look at me. Willow. Did you drive here? You need to sit down...”

Then suddenly the world’s tilting, and Willow sniffles, vision gone dark around the edges. “I think I'm going to pass out,” she says, honestly, and waits for the ground to hit.

Instead she registers–softness–arms around her, holding her up; the smell of soap and something like cinnamon; a voice she once wished would address her directly sounding more worried than she’s heard it sound in any movie. And then–dark.

Edited June 1, 2020 by monochrome
(fixing typos)

[Reader]

Oooooo I’m looking forward to the caretaking and also finding out about the article and Aubrey’s seemingly sudden change!

Edited June 1, 2020 by Reader

[NickG1998]

Please update this amazing story and keep up the great work 

[SneezeManDE]

Wow this is great! 

 

I really love the way you spell out the sneezes too! I look forward to reading more

[Likesn]

That's a very interesting start. I do hope you continue this.

[ToothTen]

Yooo this is so good, would love more!!

[monochrome]

Reader: Ahh, I'm so glad there are things you look forward to 🥰 There's not so much caretaking in this part, but there definitely will be in the future!

NickG1998: Thanks! I'm back a whole month later haha.

SneezeManDE: Spellings are something I never know if I'm doing right, so I'm happy you like them!

Likesn: Glad you found it interesting! I hope to one day be as prolific as you are with your stories 😄

ToothTen: Thank you so much! Here's a slightly shorter installment ^^

Back with another part! For some reason, these two's dynamics just come really easily to me (who knows? I love writing people who don't get along, but irl I'm super non-confrontational.) I've been trying to write other serious non-kinky stuff and this is my means of procrastination, so... maybe expect more parts soon? 

–x–

Willow wakes up in a car.

To be precise, it isn’t her car. She’s in the backseat with a jacket around her shoulders that isn’t hers, either, and one of the windows is cracked open, and no one’s here.

Oh, god, she thinks to herself, and wonders briefly what the chances of surviving being kidnapped are. Her head hurts, and her whole body feels like it’s freezing. Freezing and listless. To make matters worse, there’s an itch in her nose that, for whatever reason, isn’t going away-

“hhiHH’DZCHEEW!”

—Case in point. 

She sniffles. There’s a post-it note taped to the back of the driver’s seat, right in front of her. She pulls the jacket tighter around her shoulders and blinks, leaning closer so she can read the words—

> If you see this, I’m going to the store to pick up supplies. I’ll be back - AZ

AZ. Audrey Zanders. Suddenly she remembers. Her—professional enemy? Esteemed rival?—had shown up after one of the worst photoshoots of Willow’s year, and what exactly had Willow done? Gone and made a fool of herself in a way that’s practically guaranteed to be bad publicity? She groans, pressing her hands to her eyes. This is fucking mortifying. Audrey is going to make a fucking fortune getting interviewed about this. It’s as if everything’s gone wrong—the date, the photoshoot, and—

She pulls her phone out of her pocket and squints up at the screen. It’s still open on the article she’d pulled up earlier—the one involving Audrey and Justin which she isn’t sure she wants to read, but she figures it’s a necessary evil—maybe she’ll get it over with now. Better now than later. If some interviewer asks her about it, the least she could do is be prepared.

Prepared for all the shit they’ve said about her. As if she could actually be prepared for that. She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand, and hopes briefly that Audrey has the common sense to wipe down her car after this. 

What Makes Someone Trustworthy?

Here’s the shocking truth we found out about rising star Willow Alder by interviewing her rival, Audrey Zanders, and her ex-boyfriend, Justin Benton…

[Transcript] 

Interviewer: What can you tell us about Willow Alder?

Audrey Zanders: Well, what do you want to know?

Interviewer: After your comments about her from your interview with the Rising Star Committee, it’s clear that you don’t quite get along. Ms. Alder refused to comment on that one—I guess you must’ve rendered her speechless, huh? [He laughs.] How did it feel to finally get the facts out?

Audrey: About that, I’m… [She pauses.] I’m actually starting to think I shouldn’t have said anything.

Willow reads through the sentence again. I shouldn’t have said anything. Had the interviewer mistranscribed? It’s uncanny—Audrey never takes back what she does. It contributes to her image of being untouchable to the public’s view and a massive asshole in Willow’s.

Interviewer: Could you elaborate on that?

Audrey: See, Willow and I didn’t get along the first time we met. I assumed she was a bad person, because–it was all there, you know? She’d yelled at me when we first met, then she’d gone and spilled her coffee on me. I wanted nothing to do with her. But that part’s well known.

Interviewer: Yes, her antagonism towards you is unprofessional, but it’s well-recognized. We’re all on your side here. Are you saying there’s more to it?

Audrey: I think… once I put that aside, I began to realize I was wrong about things. The fact that she didn’t comment on Rising Star… well, I guess it surprised me. And I didn’t know she had it in her to turn the interview down, but she did the right thing. I went and talked about her, and it got popular, but the more I thought about it the more it felt… ingenuine.

Interviewer: Everything you said was true, wasn’t it?

Audrey: Yeah. But she had--some things she could’ve said about me. Just to get even. But she didn’t. And in the grand scheme of things, she isn’t half bad. She’s, um, she’s incredibly hardworking, for one. And very talented. I mean, it’s clear to anyone who watches her act. We might’ve started off on the wrong foot, but I won’t even try to argue that she doesn’t deserve every bit of fame she has, and more. Just look at her work in Starcruisers…

—she goes on about Willow’s public appearances and a few acting jobs she’s taken up in the past few years. Willow's surprised that Audrey knows so much. More specifically, she’s surprised that Audrey cared enough to do her research. Then the article switches to Justin’s comments, and Willow—who is completely and utterly over Justin and wishes he would forget she exists—closes the tab.

She calls Ensley. They pick up before the first ring’s over.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Willow says. “Just wanted to let you know I’mb alive. I saw the article.”

“It was a shocker, right? I mean, who would’ve thought that Audrey Xanders would be complimenting you on live television?”

“Biggest surprise of the year,” Willow laughs, but the laugh catches wrong on her throat and then she’s coughing before she can mute the call.

“Are you okay? You sound...”

“Like shit?”

“You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, I feel like shit. I… hheh… HEhh’tSCHEEW! Hiihh... hIIH’TSCHEEW! Ugh, I’mb sorry you had to hear that… I fucked up a photoshoot too. Probably shouldn’t have gone… snf.”

“No kidding. I thought you never got sick. Good to know you’re human like the rest of us. Speaking of rest, you should get some...”

“Yeah. I’m… ond my way home.” She looks around. For some reason, she doesn’t want to mention the fact that she’s in Audrey’s car to anyone—it feels too private. Like a favor that should be kept out of public eye. Interviewers love to turn small things into big deals. She trusts Ensley, but at the same time, Ensley is one of the most talkative people she knows. “I’mb probably just going to take something and pass out. If it got past my defenses it’s probably a pretty shitty cold. Stay far away,”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. But I’ll do that. Do you need me to pick anything up from the store?”

“Uh… I’ll text you if I do.” Willow spots Audrey across the parking lot. She says, “Thadks for linking the article. See you in three to five days when I’m ndot contagious.”

“Sure. Take care.”

The phone line goes dead. Willow shoves it in her pocket just in time for Audrey to open the car door.

“You’re up,” Audrey says. She slips into the driver seat. “I didn’t take you to be so irresponsible.”

Willow stares at her, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

“Going to a photoshoot when you’re running a fever is not your best decision, Alder,” Audrey says matter-of-factly, setting a plastic bag of groceries down in the passenger seat.

Willow rolls her eyes. “Since whend do you have the authority to judge my decisions?”

“Since they ended up with you in my car.”

“I didn’t ask for you to help me.”

Audrey meets her eyes through the rearview window. Her expression is as icy and unperturbed as always. “And I didn’t ask for you to pass out on me, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

“What—hiih!” Willow’s breath catches. She forces it to settle. She’s not about to sneeze in front of Audrey Xanders. “...What did you wandt?”

“An uneventful photoshoot. I had to reschedule mine to get you here.”

“Bullshit. You… hEhh…” She rubs her nose. “You didn’t have to reschedule. You could’ve asked… heHh… asked someone else to drive me home.”

“Do you realize how heartless that would’ve looked?” When Willow shakes her head, Audrey presses on. “If you passed out and I was just concerned about my photoshoot?”

Of course, Willow realizes. She’s not sure if she’s relieved or disappointed. Audrey isn’t worried about Willow. She’s worried about publicity. “You… HIhh… you’d better not… hIIIHh…” Fuck. It’s inevitable. She ducks into her elbow so that Audrey can’t see her face as— “HhIH’DXNtt!” Despite her best effort to stifle, the sneeze is loud and messy and not relieving at all. “HhIH’NGXTt!” She can feel her control starting to waver. Her head is throbbing and her nose feels like it’s on fire. There’s no way she’s going to last the whole drive without sneezing. “hIih… hIIH’DZCHEEw! hIIih’TSCHEEEW! hiiI’hdXNTt!” She clamps a hand over her nose and mouth. The stifling was a bad idea. “You’d better ndot use this for publicity… hhHIH!” The itch is back with a vengeance. She can’t fight it for much longer. She tips her head back, cups her hands over her mouth, and hopes the resulting fit isn’t as messy as she thinks it will be. “iITT’ZCHEEWw! hiiih’TZCHIIEW!! hihh… hIIhh.. hIIHH’TCCHIEEW!!”

When she emerges, Audrey is handing her a box of tissues.

“Thadks, I needed that,” Willow says, cheeks burning as she grabs one from the stack. “...Clearly.”  She blows her nose into it, suddenly feeling the need to apologize. I’m sorry. I argued with you even after you complimented me in an article and made you cancel your photoshoot and had a long, probably-contagious sneezing fit in your car…

“What’s your address?”

Willow spells out the street name for her as Audrey types it into her phone. “That’s not too far from here,” Audrey says.

“Dodn’t you live in the other direction? snf... If you drive me back to the studio, I can drive myself home.” 

Audrey shrugs a shoulder. “We’re closer to your house than we are to the studio. It should be fine. I’m not sure I really trust you to drive right now.”

“What about my car? It’s still back at the studio.”

“Just call me when you’re feeling better and I can drive you there to pick it up.”

Willow blinks, stuffing the tissues she’s used up into one of her sweater pockets. “That’s too mbuch work. I’ll… hHh… I’ll call a taxi… snf. Besides, I… hHEH’TCCHEEWw! I don’t even have your ndumber…”

“Back of the post-it note,” Audrey answers as she starts the car. The engine rumbles.

Willow detaches the post-it note from the back of the seat and turns it around. Sure enough, someone’s phone number’s been written on the back of it in the same loopy handwriting. She pockets it after. “You really think of everything, don’t you?”

It’s half a compliment, half sarcastic, but it’s more than worth it for the way Audrey’s shoulders stiffen.

“Tell me if I make any wrong turns,” Audrey says, changing the subject. She pulls out of the parking lot. Willow spends the rest of the drive staring out the window so she doesn’t have to make conversation.

The car radio blares softly with music. Every few minutes, Willow finds herself grabbing tissues to sneeze, ducking so that she’s out of view and sneezing downwards toward her legs. Besides that, it’s maybe the most silent car ride she’s been in this year. 

When the car stops, she’s already out of her seat, prying open the door, when Audrey says, “take the groceries.”

Willow stares at her, uncomprehending. “You want me to take your groceries?”

“It’s cold medicine, canned soup, tissues, that kind of stuff. To incentivize you to stay home and not go to a ton of photoshoots… it should last until you get your car back.”

Willow feels, suddenly, that this is unfair. Audrey had made things even with the article, but this is too much. Now she’s going to owe Audrey—what? A drive home? Groceries? Rescheduled plans?

“That’s too much,” she says, and sniffles. The tissue box Audrey had handed her earlier is still tucked under her arm. “That’s, like, way too much. What do you wadt in return?”

“Nothing,” Audrey tells her, raising an eyebrow. “What would I possibly want from you?”

Willow, perplexed, opens door to the passenger seat, takes the bag, and heads out. By the time she unlocks the front door, Audrey has driven off.

–x–

Willow: dude i feel like the article changed my take on audrey

Willow: i almost like her now ://

Ensley: ???

Ensley: ugh. this is how they get u

Ensley: sympathetic articles, man

Ensley: u can’t trust everything u read

Willow: LMAO. well… consider me brainwashed til the next time she says shit about me to the public

Ensley: so until like next week

Willow: sounds about right

 

Edited July 17, 2020 by monochrome
me? not editing until after I post this? it's more likely than you'd th

[Likesn]

I'd certainly like to read more of this. Good job so far 👍

[sickfic_lover]

Okay, so I know we're not supposed to revive older topics but... I just have to tell you that this is one of my favorite stories on the forum. I have been re-reading it for years. The entire thing is executed so perfectly, and your writing is simply phenomenal! I think about this fic nearly every time I log on xD. On the very off chance that you ever contemplate continuing this, I'd be delighted to read it!