I don’t know if I’ll ever write this fic so you can have this snippet from my Yuri Flambert drafts.
————
The bar’s warm, warm in a way that it wasn’t before, letting Chelsea know the flush on her cheeks is solely from the amount of shots she’s been taking with Alice.
Her elbows rest on the counter with her palm under her chin, her fingers pressing her cheek, as she stared fondly at her best friend singing proudly on the karaoke stand a few feet away from their drinks. The rest of the z team is here too, spread throughout the room.
She knows Victor and Colm are swindling suckers out of their money through card games, Janelle is playing darts, Mal is having an arm wrestling match with a guy as big as hulk, Bruno’s outside with a group of smokers, Courtney’s in the bathroom, and Herman is sitting front row to Alice’s impromptu concert with the most sickeningly look of love on his face.
Belatedly, she realizes she’s missing someone—
“Do you think Alice is going to give anyone else a turn?” A smooth low voice murmurs next to her.
Chelsea turns her gaze to Robin. The stick-in-the-ass dispatcher with bags as deep as a suitcase and enough issues to send a psychiatrist to a mental hospital. The image of that makes Chelsea unwillingly snort.
Robin’s gaze snaps to hers from where it had been focused amusingly on Alice. Under her gaze, Chelsea swallowed. “No,” She answered. Chelsea wants to look away from Robin’s prodding gaze but she knows if she does, she’ll lose their unspoken staring contest and she refuses to lose.
“Why? You want to get your ass up there and show her up?” She asks,
Robin’s lips quirk up. “I wouldn’t want to hurt everyone else’s ears with my voice.” She says, the tip of her finger circles over her glass of liquor.
Somehow, Chelsea distantly thinks, she doubts that would be the case.
Instead, she what comes out her mouth is, “Plus, you’d probably upset her audience.” Robin raises a brow so Chelsea clarifies, “Wetfartboy? Practically drooling over there.”
“Don’t call him that.” Robin said, her tone firm. A small shiver runs down Chelsea’s spine. Robin doesn’t notice, thankfully, not with her gaze straying back to the stage. “I think his crush is sweet.” Her tone is much softer as she looks at Herman.
Chelsea shrugs, “it’s not like I can stop it.” She murmurs. Nor does she want to, she internally adds. Try as Chelsea might to hate Herman, she knows that he’d be good for Alice. Would soften her rough edges nicely.
“You know it’s kind of funny,” Robin smiles. She picks up her glass and swallows down half of it. When she places the glass back on the table, her eyes lock into Chelsea’s. “I used to have a crush on you.”
For a second, Chelsea thinks she might be deaf. Well, the better term is hard of hearing. And it’s plausible for that whole second. Not once in a million years would Chelsea think those words would come out of Robin’s mouth. The same Robin that has, ever since she worked here, berate and chide each member of the z team, Chelsea especially.
Chelsea blinks rapidly. “What.” She mumbles.
“I did,” Robin’s still smiling, as though it was the easiest thing in the world to admit. And for her, it probably was. There’s an amused twinkle in her eye as she teases, “Can’t be that unbelievable, can it?”
Chelsea scoffs, “Of course not, bitch. I’m fucking amazing.” Her eyes narrow at Robin suspiciously. “I’m just surprised that you had a crush on me.”
“It was back when I first started working at SDN,” Robin told her. With a chuckle, she says, “Don’t get me wrong, I still hated you.” Her head tilted to the side. “My brain just didn’t seem to always get the memo and I discovered why Janelle reads so much hate sex.”
Hate sex. Those words seem to echo in Chelsea’s mind. Unwillingly, a few images materialize in her brain. Various positions, insults traded back and forth, the type of passion and friction that would send her—
“What happened then?” Chelsea blurts out.
Robin leaned forward, crossing her arms over the bar countertop. She gave Chelsea a small shrug, “I got over myself.”
Before Chelsea could respond, Robin downed the rest of her liquor and stood up from the bar chair. Chelsea watched as Robin walked away to the table where Mandy and, recently, Courtney were making out at.
It’s not a big deal. A simple crush, one that Robin already stated she grew from. Something she moved on from and is able to function without dying of thirst being in the presence of Chelsea.
If anything, she’s flattered. Smug, too. It’s the type of information she’d tell Alice, the type of thing she’d brag about on the comms com Monday morning. Robin would chide her but Chelsea can’t imagine Robin embarrassed of all things. Certainly not after spilling the secret to Chelsea.
But a small part of her wants to keep this secret to herself. It’s personal. And, even if Robin is chill about it, it’s a vulnerable thing to admit.
And a not-so-smaller and so much more insistent part of her wants to pick at it. There’s questions running through her mind. When did the crush really start? Did anyone else notice? What did Robin picture of them? Did she ever get off thinking about—
“Shit.” Chelsea huffs. She shouldn’t care. Really, she shouldn’t. Robin isn’t the first to have a crush on her and damn sure won’t be the last.
It doesn’t stop the small part of her be disappointed that the crush is faded, though.
