◆ DESSERT: Makeup Tends to Linger
◆ PAIRING: Zoey x queen bee!fem!Reader
◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic but can be interpreted as platonic
◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None
◆ SLICE: 1st, 2nd (you are here), 3rd, 4th
◆ NOTES: After some encouragement (cough @jellyofthefishes) I wrote the second one. And ngl I had too much fun writing this LMAOOOO I forgot I loved writing for this type of personality 😭
It's always so strange, finding out that someone you knew from school grew up and got famous.
Especially when it was Zoey, the half-Korean girl who used to be bullied by teens with abysmal acne for all sorts of reasons, all ranging from stupid to downright fucking pitiful—not her, them. Also known as '[Y/N]'s charity case' to some, and '[Y/N]'s unexpected right hand' to others.
You found out about HUNTR/X through a friend, who had begged you to go with her to their tour after her boyfriend ditched her in favour for some sweaty, testosterone-heavy sport watching—what a shocker, honestly. To shut her up, and maybe to see what the fuss is about, you ended up agreeing (with a bargain of your own, of course, because you're not doing favours for free). And now?
Now you were here, amongst a dense cluster of die-hard fans, pushing you into the barriers after your friend insisted to push into the very front like it was the best idea she's ever had in all 25 years of her life. Now, you liked concerts as much as the next person, but with this loud, dense, high-energy crowd with definitely better things to do simply left in the wayside in favour to attending this concert? Honestly, it just felt suffocating—maybe you were biased, you've never really cared much about this group until you were introduced to their songs, but still.
The crowd gets even worse when the show finally starts, though that was obviously expected. And to be honest, the more you ignore literally everyone else around you and focus on the music and the trio performing, the more you actually started to enjoy it. High praise, because you weren't easily impressed and you were raised a natural hater with high standards, but their performance was fluid and the music was actually good and actually not as generic as you thought they'd be. Not to mention that the three members were all really pretty, especially the one with the black hair and the buns and that really familiar smile that probably would've looked extremely dorky back in high school with braces on.
..Wait.
There's no possible fucking way, right? The Zoey you knew was a loser. A cute loser who did really good nail art and had a huge obsession with turtles, and okay sure maybe you gave her your lip gloss when you graduated like some stupid teen film cliché because she'd look really pretty with it on, but still a fucking loser.
But their names are the same, clearly according to the jumbotron, and this idol looks like the Zoey you knew when you did a particularly good job at making her look less like a loser (which was all the times you did her makeup, obviously). And when she passed you by in the midst of one of their songs—you asked your friend which song this was and it was 'How It's Done', which honestly credit where credit's due, that title is hot—you see a small charm, so small but the yellow colour makes it hard to miss, and the green turtle attached to it.
But again. There's no way. Right?
So why did she stop? Why was she looking at you?
Why did her voice falter at the sight of you?
It wasn't for long, and her sudden split-second silence was drowned by the sea of shrieks and fangirling and the occasional "PLEASE GIVE ME YOUR FIRSTBORN"s around you that snapped her back into performing professionally, but you saw the evident look of recognition on her face—that wasn't something you could fake, nor was it something that was probably done for the sake of the fans. No, that was for you.
And you didn't know how to feel about that.
(You did. But disbelief still muddled your mind that everything from that point on feels like a fever dream.)
The rest of the concert passes in a blur, and you actually found yourself enjoying your time there. But you couldn't help but notice the constant glances that Zoey kept sending you during your performances, as discreet as she tried (and failed) to be, or the way she kept coming to your corner of the stage specifically whenever a solo part for her came up. At one point she had winked at you like she was hot shit—which really she was, you can't deny that—and you're pretty sure your friend nearly passed out.
You don't catch a break when the concert finishes either, because you're dragged by the hand to the meet and greet that was scheduled right after. So you go from a crowd that's squishing you to a line that's squishing you. Your poor feet are so sore, you might have to cash the favour in via a trip to a spa because god knows you deserve the self-care. ..Though honestly, there was a small part of you that wondered how Zoey would react to seeing you right in front of her.
Turns out, your wonderings were answered with.. a simple greeting, albeit a bit enthusiastic—something only you were privy to before, behind closed doors and empty stairwells, and now something everyone else saw in public—rather than the awkward hesitation that you remember her practically radiating with all those years ago. You were only there to tag along with your friend, so the most you gave the idol was a wave of acknowledgement, but while the other members were tending to her, surprisingly the youngest turned to grab a poster to sign it wordlessly, taking out something that looked like a card and folding it in.. before handing it to you just in time for the staff to shepherd you away for taking a while.
When you're finally in the clear from the line, as your friend gushes on about the trio and the concert and the whole night, you take a moment to open up the-- oh. Oh wait. It wasn't just signing.
Folded inside was a visitor ID. Written on the poster was her number (a new one), her signature, and a note: "Meet @ green room in 1hr?"
This girl was going to make you wait an hour. You. An hour.
Atrocious.
…
You tapped your friend on the shoulder, "You go on ahead, I need to go do something first."
She stopped her fanatical rant to whirl around and look at you with a raised eyebrow and a teasing expression, "Wow, you already got yourself someone to play with while I wasn't looking? Skank strikes again."
"Sure," you rolled your eyes before turning around to stuff your gifted items in your back and dig out your earbuds, "don't die on your way to the hotel, bitch—I'll use you for clout if you do."
You don't hear her reply, though you could guess what it would be, as you turn around and put your earbuds in and put on a song—'How It's Done', since you may as well—while you just walk off to do whatever to pass the time. Sitting around, waiting for the crowd to clear, walking around the venue (and potentially getting lost until eventually finding the designated meeting spot and flashing the ID for access, though it's not like anyone were there to witness that). Honestly you needed the quiet to process everything; who'd have thought that the loser from school actually managed to make a name for herself? Now she was the one people screamed about, now she was the one giving you secret phone numbers. Were you jealous? Maybe a little bit, because really who wouldn't be, but for the most part?
You were proud of her. And.. maybe a little sad, god forbid. But that's probably from some sort of nostalgic bullshit, so who cares?
(Maybe you do. Just a little.)
But before you could go further down into that sorry wormhole, you hear the faintest scream for your name muddled by the music in your ears before you feel a body charge and crash into you. Realistically it should've sent you and whoever it was flying to the ground, but the next thing you knew, you were being lifted and spun around by--
"Zoey! Put me down, you nerd, or so help me--"
"So I wasn't hallucinating—it IS you!!"
"You were banking the invitation on a GUESS???"
Zoey only laughs as a response, and even you can't stop the smile on your face at the sound of your old friend and the slight carelessness that she held.
"Zoey, be careful," you hear a deeper, more playfully deadpan voice—Mira, from what you remember in the concert, "you'll get dizzy and the both of you will end up falling. I'm not helping you if you do."
And then you hear a soft laugh, the tone melodic even outside of the stage—Rumi, you guessed, if not for the vocal profile you've been exposed to for more than an hour then through the process of elimination, "We all know you will anyway. C'mon, let's give them space."
"Yeah, yeah. Just knock if you need anything, Zo." and the two of them leave you two alone to talk.
Zoey does slow to a stop to put you down eventually before taking a step back. A very small step, you note, before she beams at you, "I didn't know you were a fan of us!"
"I'm not, the person I tagged along with is. But, y'know, you're not bad." You shrugged, and the words leave you before you can think about it, "It's not like I could even tell you if I was."
Because you had lost that connection between the two of you shortly after you graduated, thanks to your life getting busier. And when you could finally get the chance to talk to her again, she had changed her number.
You could tell that she was thinking the same thing, with the way her eyes looked down at her feet and her grin had dimmed in a way that was familiar to you from before—even some things could never change.
..Just like how you couldn't stand seeing her like this—pathetic, miserable, like a kicked puppy, like the first time the two of you talked.
With a huff, you moved your hand up to lightly poke Zoey in the forehead to snap her out of her misery, "So. Writing your number down, huh. Are you stealing my methods or was that, like, a 'for nostalgia's sake' kind of move?"
You see her mood switch back into something brighter, something stupidly sunny and infectious and way too genuine to be an idol's smile, "Oh, yeah, a little bit. Of both, I mean. I just thought it'd be funny."
"More like every fan's dream. What if I was just some lookalike? Now I'd have access to your private phone number and you'd have to suffer through random calls from me every five minutes."
"No, it wouldn't have been just a random fan," she shook her head before continuing, "no one else has that look."
"Uh.. what look? If you're telling me you're brave enough to insult me, I--"
"Like you know what your worth is."
"..And that is?"
"Above most people."
"Are you calling me a narcissist?"
"No! Just.. self-aware." And then her voice taking on a softer tone, "I always admired that in you, back then. And even now."
You could feel your cheeks gradually, traitorously get warmer. This was the new Zoey—a much more straightforward Zoey. Still slightly awkward, you could tell from the way she lightly bounced on the balls of her feet and flicked at her own fingers in an attempt to wring out her restlessness, but still someone different.
"Yeah, well…" You trailed off, slightly speechless for a while before you catch your former junior bite her lip in the same way that betrayed her nervousness in unoccupied silences. And you notice the glossy shade. "Hm. I was right to think you looked pretty with that shade."
"Wha--"
"Don't think too much into it. Seriously. ..Do you still do nails?"
"Huh? Oh! Yeah! I do Mira's and Rumi's too!" And she grabs your hand without hesitation to lead you into her world—something new again yet strangely electrifying, something that completely paralleled your time together in school all those years ago, "C'mon! I'll show you and introduce you to the two of them—they've been curious about you since I told them I knew you.. and when I begged Bobby to get you that visitor pass--"
"I honestly thought you stole it."
"I would never!"
And when the door closes behind you, you just can't help but reflect: it's always so strange, finding out that someone you knew from school grew up and got famous. But as much as she's changed, you find that you don't really mind—not when you get to know of the nerd from the past.. and the nerd from the present.