Chapter Text
The lights in the rehearsal room were blinding. Sitting on the wooden floor, her legs drawn up to her chest, Ariana stared at her reflection in the mirror. Or, more precisely, she stared at the empty space next to the mirror, where a serene and powerful figure used to sit.
Three weeks had passed. Twenty-one days since she had last felt Cynthia's hand gently on her shoulder, since she had last felt that comforting weight. Twenty-one days since they had last laughed together.
Now, Ariana was completely absorbed in the choreography for her upcoming tour, her pain was more emotional than physical. Across the ocean, Cynthia was in the thick of previews for a prestigious, dark, and demanding new production of Dracula. She was playing Count Dracula, a harrowing role, forcing her to portray coldness, plunder, and loneliness.
Ariana hated it. Not the art itself, but the distance.
Ariana knew her fans were watching her. They always were. Her "Likes" on Instagram had become a scavenger hunt for them. She couldn't help it. When she came across a post that felt like a punch to the gut, she tapped the heart. It was the only way to release the pressure valve of her heart without sending a text that sounded too desperate.
“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” - Liked by arianagrande.
“To be known is to be loved, but to be truly seen is to be saved.” - Liked by arianagrande.
“I exist in two places, here and where you are.” - Liked by arianagrande.
At two in the morning, she was idly scrolling through Instagram, the blue light caressing her face. She saw a rehearsal photo Cynthia had posted. In the photo, Cynthia's silhouette stood out against the gothic background, noble and breathtakingly beautiful.
Ariana bit her lip and wrote: “The most stunning creature to ever walk the earth. I’m actually unwell.” She deleted it. Too much.
She typed again: “Incredible, Cyn. Proud of you.”
Too cold.
She settled for a single emoji: the black heart and the moon. Then, she continued scrolling through the depressing content and stumbled upon a poem about souls connected by an invisible thread across the Atlantic. She pressed the heart-shaped button hard, her thumb aching.
××××××××××
Two days later, the exhaustion was extreme. Ariana was alone in her bedroom, surrounded by inspiration boards for the tour visuals. She felt like a lost soul. Before she could change her mind, she picked up her phone and pressed FaceTime.
It was 8:00 a.m. in London. Cynthia answered after three rings. She was in her dressing room, already partially dressed in her outfit: a Victorian high-necked blouse that gave her a sharp, piercing look, as if she could shatter glass. But upon seeing Ariana, her expression softened, the majesty of the "Countess" vanished instantly, leaving only Cynthia.
"Hi baby," Cynthia said softly, her voice slightly hoarse from her early morning vocal rehearsals. "Ari, it's still midnight where you are. Why are you up?"
"I found a dog," Ariana replied immediately, her voice unusually high-pitched from lack of sleep. She turned the camera toward Toulouse, her sleepy dog, who was snoring loudly. "Well, I didn't find him, I have him, but look at the way he’s laying. He looks like a gargoyle. Like he belongs on your set. He’s method acting for you, Cyn."
Cynthia let out a deep, melodious laugh, a sound that seemed to travel through the fiber optic cable and reach Ariana's heart. "He’s a vision, truly. But, baby, you have dark circles under your eyes. It's obvious you didn't sleep well."
“I can’t,” Ariana admitted, a hint of vulnerability hidden beneath her usual mischievousness. “The tour visuals… they’re too much. It’s all overwhelming.”
Cynthia’s face softened with a maternal tenderness and unwavering determination. “Ariana, please. You need to sleep. I'm worried.”
“Can you stay with me?” Ariana asked. “Just for ten minutes? Put the phone on the vanity while you do your makeup? I just want to hear the noise of you.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “Of course.”
For the next twenty minutes, Ariana dozed, lulled by the sound of Cynthia humming a Sondheim melody and the rhythmic taps of a makeup brush. It was the most peaceful feeling she had experienced in weeks.
××××××××××
Ariana left Cynthia a long, rambling voicemail, describing a dream she just had: they were back on the set of Wicked, hiding in their trailers, reading Cynthia's fate with Ariana's tarot cards.
Cynthia didn't reply for ten hours. But when she finally did, she just sent a simple text.
“In rehearsals. It’s intense. Can’t talk today. Break a leg with the choreography.”
Ariana stared at the screen. “Can’t talk today.”
She felt like a door had slammed shut. The anxiety of tour preparations and the loneliness of the quiet house washed over her, and she started to overthink.
She must be mad at me. She's performing Shakespeare and Stokke, and here I am singing pop songs and complaining about glitter. I'm too much. I'm the kind of clingy friend who doesn't know when to give others space.
She didn't reply. She went to the dance studio, pushing the dancers to their limits, leaving them sweating profusely. Disciplined and meticulous, but she felt tormented inside.
That night, she liked a post that read: "Sometimes you have to realize that you were a chapter in their book, but they were the whole library in yours."
The fans went into a frenzy when they spotted Ariana liking the said post.
“oh shit, who is this about 👀?”
“please don't tell me this is about cynthia im kms i need my parents BACK.”
"WHO HURT MY BABY YOU'RE GONNA BE DEALT WITH!"
"fucccckkkkkk they're starting to drift apart guys i can't take this anymore bring me back to wicked era😭"
"not everything is about cynthia you are under spellssss people"
Back in London, Cynthia had just finished thirteen hours of technical rehearsal. Her whole body ached, and her voice was hoarse from shouting during a scene. Sitting in the car, she absentmindedly checked her phone and saw that "Like." She saw the various fan speculations on X (or Twitter, because who really calls it that?). She also saw the deliberate distance Ariana was putting between them.
Cynthia's heart sank. She wasn't bored, she was just overwhelmed with work, under pressure to appear "perfect" to the world. Yet, in doing so, she had neglected the person who had truly made her realize she didn't need to be this perfect person.
××××××××××
Ariana was in the middle of a fitting for her opening look, a sparkly, flowing gown that made her look like a star. Suddenly, her phone vibrated.
my cyn💚: “What is that quote, Ari? A chapter in my book? Really?”
Ariana felt a rush of adrenaline. She slipped out of her dress, wrapped herself in a robe, and walked down the hall. She called Cynthia.
"You're stalking me now?" Ariana asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't have to when everyone's posting about it!" Cynthia's voice was unusually loud. "You think I’m moving on? You think you’re just a 'chapter'? After everything we’ve built? After all the tattoos?"
"You haven't texted me all day, Cynthia! You were so cold!"
"I was working! I was playing a vampire on the verge of madness! I needed to stay in character, and sometimes I had to shield you from that darkness. I was covered in fake blood, exhausted, and I couldn't always be the 'Elphie' to your 'Glinda'!"
"I don't need you to be Elphie!" Ariana shouted, tears finally streaming down her cheeks. "I just need you to be yourself! Cynthia, I feel like I'm floating. Everyone keeps calling my name for everything, but the only person I want to hear it from is 3,000 miles away and 'can't talk today'!"
A deathly silence fell on the other end of the line.
"I'm sorry," Ariana murmured, sliding down the wall. "I'm being too much. I know. It's embarrassing, I’ll stop."
"Don't you dare," Cynthia said quietly. "Don't you dare apologize for loving me. I just, I’m tired, Ari. I’m so tired. And I miss you so much it makes me angry."
"I miss you more," Ariana said.
"Impossible," Cynthia replied.
××××××××××
Two days later, rehearsals for "the eternal sunshine tour" moved to a huge hangar to test the entire stage setup. Ariana was exhausted, still shaken by their argument.
She stepped onto a platform, six meters above the ground, rehearsing the opening transition. The lights were blinding.
"Can we take it from the bridge?" Ariana called out to her musical director. "And can I have some water, please? Thank you."
"I've got your water," a voice said.
It wasn't her assistant. It was a voice with a British accent, a deep, resonant voice like a cello.
The platform descended slowly. Ariana's heart pounded. As soon as the platform touched the ground, she saw her.
Cynthia was standing there, looking utterly out of place in the massive hangar, wearing a long wool coat and her signature glasses. She looked tired, her eyes slightly sunken from the flight, but she was smiling.
Ariana didn't walk, she ran. She practically lunged at Cynthia, burying her face in the crook of her neck. The scent emanating from Cynthia, a lovely fragrance, the sweetness of cocoa butter and the smell of home enveloped her.
"You should be in London," Ariana sobbed, burying her face in her coat. "You have a show. You have previews."
"I have a day off," Cynthia said, putting the water bottle down and pulling her into a tight hug again. Ariana could even feel her heartbeat. "And I realized I couldn't spend it sleeping. I have to be with you. I had to make sure you knew that the library isn't a library without you in it."
Cynthia released Ariana and cupped her face in her hands. She looked at her with such intensity that the rest of the crew instinctively gave them space.
"I'm not just your friend, Ari," Cynthia whispered. "I think we both stopped being 'just friends' somewhere between the first and second act in the Munchkinland set. I love you too, you know. I’m just better at hiding it."
Ariana laughed through her tears, a husky but beautiful laugh. "You're so dramatic."
"I'm a theater kid," Cynthia said, shrugging and wiping Ariana's tears with her thumb. "But I mean it. I love you. Not like a sister, and not like a co-star."
Ariana leaned in, her forehead resting against Cynthia’s. "Finally," she murmured, "I thought I'd have to like every sad quote on the internet before you said that."
"You've always been my favorite poem," Cynthia said, closing the distance between them.
The kiss captured everything about their relationship: deep, strong, and with a touch of magic. This isn't a story like "Glinda and Elphaba," but rather the love story of Ariana and Cynthia, two souls who have finally found the missing piece within each other.