"Unscripted"
[Mel Medarda x Jayce Talis]
Arcane Masterlist | Masterlists
Warnings: None!
Summary: Best friends. Co-stars. Secretly in love. Scheming friends. This Christmas, the only act they need to drop is the pretense.
Word count: 2k words
A/N: This is my Secret Santa for the lovely @melmedarda !
The scent of sugar cookies and pine needles filled the apartment, a hallmark of Jayce's Christmas Eve party. Fairy lights twined around every possible surface, and a fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm, dancing glow over the packed room. It was a collection of their found family—castmates, crew, industry friends who'd become real ones over the years.
Mel stood by the kitchen island, methodically arranging gingerbread men on a platter. She was, as ever, a portrait of calm in a deep green dress. But her eyes kept moving to the man currently attempting to wear a sprig of holly as a crown, laughing as it slipped over one eye.
Jayce. Her best friend. Her co-star for the past seven years, first on the series Arcane, and now on the drama Progress. The man who knew she took her coffee with two sugars and a dash of cinnamon, who remembered the anniversary of her first Broadway role, who'd held her hand through a brutal breakup and then showed up at her door the next morning with her favorite pastries and no questions asked. The man who had quietly owned every part of her heart.
"He's doing the 'charming oaf' routine again," a dry voice said beside her. Viktor, a fellow co-star and friend, leaned against his cane, a cup of eggnog in hand.
"It's not a routine," Mel defended automatically. "It's just him."
"Exactly," Viktor said, with a knowing look that made her blush. "And you're just standing here, watching him from across a crowded room. A classic tableau. Very romantic. Very… stalled."
Before Mel could retort, a burst of laughter came from the living room. Caitlyn, was standing on a chair, holding something to the arched doorway that led to the study. "Traditional mistletoe rules are in effect!" she announced, securing the green sprig with its white berries. "No exceptions!"
Mel's heart gave a traitorous lurch. Danger zone.
The party swirled on, a merry current that Mel navigated with practiced grace, though her internal compass was now permanently, unfortunately fixed on Jayce. Every laugh of his across the room vibrated through her. Every time their eyes met—which happened more and more, each glance now charged with a new, electric understanding—a fresh wave of warmth flooded her chest.
They played a game of charades. Of course, they were on the same team. It was a law of nature. Jayce flailed dramatically, trying to convey "The Nutcracker." He mimed cracking something, then attempted some very clumsy ballet.
"A walnut doing ballet?" someone shouted.
"A very angry ballerina!" called another.
Mel watched, her lips pressed together to suppress her laughter. He caught her eye, his own wide with mock desperation. In that split second, she saw it. She called out, "The Nutcracker!" just as the timer ran out.
The team cheered. Jayce made his way over, sweaty and triumphant, and swept her into a celebratory hug that lifted her off her feet. It was a hug they'd shared a hundred times after successful takes or award show wins. But this time, his hands lingered at her waist as he set her down, his thumbs making tiny, unconscious circles on the fabric of her dress. This time, she didn't let go of his shoulders immediately, feeling the solid strength of them beneath his soft sweater. The air between them crackled, and a faint, pleased pink colored his cheeks.
"You," he said, his voice low for her ears only, "are my secret weapon."
"And you," she whispered back, "are a terrible dancer."
He laughed, a bright, free sound.
Next was the gift exchange. They'd all brought silly, random presents under twenty dollars. Mel received a pair of light-up antlers. Before she could say anything, Jayce plopped them on her head with a solemn expression. "A crown for the queen of charades," he declared, his fingers gently brushing her hair as he settled them. He then flicked the switch on the battery pack, and the antlers began to glow a soft, pulsing red and green.
"I look ridiculous," she said, but she was beaming.
"You look perfect," he replied, and it didn't sound like a joke at all.
The highlight, however, was the cookie decoration station Caitlyn had set up on the dining table. Tubs of royal icing in every color, sprinkles, and edible glitter covered the surface. It descended into glorious chaos. Viktor, with intense precision, was creating a geometrically perfect gingerbread star. Ekko and Jinx were building a structurally unsound cookie skyscraper.
Jayce, predictably, was a disaster. He had more icing on his fingers and the front of his shirt than on his cookie. He was attempting to decorate a gingerbread man to look like his character from Progress.
"The armor is silver, Jayce, not neon blue," Mel chuckled, leaning over his shoulder. Her antlers bumped gently against his temple.
"Artistic license," he grumbled, his tongue poking out in concentration as he tried to pipe a tiny sword. It came out as a wobbly blob.
"Here," she said, unable to resist. She reached around him, her front lightly pressing against his back, and covered his hand with hers to steady it. She guided his fingers, their hands moving together to create a passably sword-like shape. He went utterly still beneath her touch, his breath catching. The scent of him—soap, cedar, and sugar—enveloped her.
"Thanks," he said, his voice a little rough. He turned his head, and their faces were suddenly inches apart. The noise of the party faded. All she could see was the gold flecks in his eyes, the faint dusting of sugar on his cheekbone. The mistletoe was in the other room, but its spell seemed to have followed them, wrapping them in a bubble of palpable want.
The moment was shattered by some sprinkles hitting Jayce on the face. They jerked apart to see Caitlyn innocently decorating a snowman cookie. "Oops," she said, not looking sorry at all. "Flying sprinkles. Hazard of the season."
Jayce picked a sprinkle off his nose and flicked it back at her with a dramatic huff.
And throughout it all, the mistletoe hung there, a tiny, benign sprig of potential chaos.
It was Ekko who made the first move in what Mel later realized was a coordinated plot. He challenged Jayce to a video game duel in the study. "Bet you can't beat my high score," Ekko said, waving a controller.
"You're on!" Jayce grinned, clapping Ekko on the shoulder. "Mel, come be my good luck charm?"
She followed, smiling. As Jayce passed under the archway, Sky, feigning a stumble with a tray of empty glasses, bumped gently into Mel from behind. Mel took a half-step forward, directly into Jayce's path. He turned, hearing the commotion.
They found themselves standing nearly chest-to-chest, framed in the doorway, the mistletoe dangling blatantly above their heads.
The chatter in the living room didn't dim, but it felt like a wall of sound had slammed up around them, leaving them in a bubble of sudden, breathless silence. Jayce's playful smile faded into something softer, more startled. His eyes, the color of rich honey, dropped to her lips, then flew back to her eyes, wide with a hope he usually kept carefully buried.
"Oh," Mel breathed, the sound barely audible.
"Looks like the rules are the rules," Jayce said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, a rough edge to it.
For years, they'd orbited this moment, and each other. Through late-night script reads on her couch, through shared victories and private disappointments, through a thousand casual touches that never felt casual to her.
He was giving her an out. He always did. A joke, a laugh, a way to side-step this.
Mel didn't take it. Not this time.
Instead, she lifted her chin, a challenge and an invitation in her eyes. The Christmas magic wasn't in the mistletoe, she realized; it was in the courage it lent her.
Slowly, giving him every chance to pull away, she reached up and placed a hand on his stubbled cheek. His breath hitched. He leaned into her touch, his own hand coming up to cradle her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheekbone.
When their lips met, it was not a tentative peck. It was a release. A confession. Years of mutual pining, of stolen glances and suppressed sighs, poured into a kiss that was at once sweet and devastatingly earnest. His other arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer against his solid warmth. She tasted peppermint cocoa and home.
Someone in the living room whooped. Someone else started clapping. But they barely heard it. The world had narrowed to the feel of his lips on hers, the scent of his cologne mixed with pine, the absolute rightness of it.
They broke apart, foreheads resting together, both breathing a little unsteadily. Jayce's eyes were shining with a joy so bright it made her own eyes sting.
"Finally," he whispered, the word both a prayer and a celebration.
"What took you so long?" she whispered back, a tear of sheer, giddy happiness escaping down her cheek.
He caught it with his thumb. "I was waiting for a sign. I thought it might be a billboard. I'll take mistletoe."
Laughter bubbled out of her, light and free. He joined in, his arms still firmly around her, as their friends erupted into proper cheers and applause around them. Sky and Ekko exchanged a high-five in victory. Viktor gave a slow, approving nod from his seat by the fire.
The rest of the party passed in a blissful, glowing haze. They held hands on the couch, fingers laced together as if making up for lost time. They didn't need to say much. A shared look, a soft smile, the brush of his thumb over her knuckles—it was its own perfect conversation.
Later, when the last guest had stumbled out into the silent, snow-dusted night with well-wishes and knowing smiles, they were alone. The apartment was a beautiful wreck: empty cups, glittering crumbs, and the warm, tired scent of a celebration well had.
They stood side-by-side at the kitchen sink, Mel washing, Jayce drying. It was a domestic quiet that felt more intimate than any scripted love scene they'd ever performed.
"You know," Jayce said, carefully polishing a wine glass, "our holiday traditions are about to get a lot more synchronized."
"Oh?" Mel handed him a dripping plate, their fingers brushing. A simple touch, yet it still sent a delightful shiver up her arm.
"Well," he said, setting the glass down and turning to lean against the counter, facing her. Water dripped from her hands into the soapy sink. "I usually spend Christmas morning in my pajamas, making disastrous pancakes. You usually go to a formal brunch. I think we should merge. Pajamas at the formal brunch."
She giggled, flicking a few soap bubbles at him. "My mother would have an aneurysm."
"I'll win her over with my charm. And my famous slightly-burnt pancakes."
"They're terrible."
"But made with love," he insisted, his smile softening. He reached out, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, his touch lingering. His expression grew tender, serious. "All of it. Every terrible pancake, every shared script, every Christmas from now on. With love, Mel. If you'll have me."
Mel turned fully, her wet hands coming to rest on his chest. She looked up at him, her heart so full she thought it might burst. "Jayce," she said, her voice steady with certainty. "I have been yours for a while. I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes shimmered. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was sweeter, deeper than the first. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm keeping you. And these." He reached up and flicked the switch on the light-up antlers, which she was still, absurdly, wearing. They glowed once more, bathing them in a soft, pulsing light.
She laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot," he corrected, grinning.
"Oh how unbelievably cliché of you."
And as the first pale light of Christmas morning began to tint the sky outside the window, they stood there in their glitter-strewn kitchen, wrapped up in each other and the quiet, fluttering joy of a love that had finally found its way home, giggling like the fools in love they were.
