look to the sky

“Well, you know,” her sentence’s cut short with a hefty sip of water, “I didn’t want to make your students insecure about their turnout.” She shifts, bringing one leg under her thigh upon the polished flooring. Dance studios are funny like that; not too firm, and not too slippery. “You are saying that, because you are that kind of person.” 

The bottle is set down, and Lola works on fixing her hair as much as it’ll allow itself to be fixed. Tie out, bangs brushed back. “So, what’s up? I was hoping you called me to finally let me know you ditched the founding father and decided to come out. It is pride month — it’s your civic duty to do that.” Beat. “And you never got me a birthday present. So. There you go.”

.

“Well, you know that it might have just motivated them more, who’s to say?” Celeste shrugged. “But it’s fine that you didn’t come - please know I do not hold this against you.” She bit her lip, “well, I am not really that sort of person, but I’ve also learned that arguing with you will not be so very productive, so I suppose I will agree.” She offered Lola a small smile.

“I’m already out, Lola. Very proudly into any gender, but no, Sebastían and I are very much still dating. Do I at least get credit for still being best friends with my first girlfriend?” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Also I mean, older men can be quite nice to date, even though I think that, other than Sebastían, I do prefer women.” 

Busted, Nora shook her head. “No–,” she denied the truth, unnecessarily defensive all of a sudden. “I don’t even know why tio would be here, he has no reason to,” she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Sebastian always seemed to have a reason, for whatever he did in life, except Nora had long given up on trying to figure out what those might be. Although, most of the time, he seemed to be guided by his self-preservation instinct. Her mother’s cooking also seemed to be one hell of a motivation, why else would he be visiting them in the first place?

Both girls cherished their childhood stories equally, but Nora didn’t elaborate this time around, only gave a curt nod in understanding. Celeste had mentioned Mrs. Mason enough times for the name to stick with Nora. She just hadn’t made a connection at first, just like she struggled to accept her Celeste was Sebastian’s Celeste now. Your new aunt, she heard Manuel’s playful voice inside her head and mentally smacked him. “She’s come a long way– Mrs. Mason. They’re all shy at first, but once they let loose…” she huffed out, before a chuckle escaped her. Once they did, even Nora had a hard time keeping up with their tempo. 

“–They’re only looking for something to do to pass the time, a chance to interact with people.” After forty-something years of working a 9-17, retirement could be lonely, especially if one didn’t have a lot of hobbies beforehand. 

They Nora could go around the topic for so long, and there it was again, the world ‘boyfriend’ rubbing her the wrong way. “Si, let’s go before they fling their healthy smoothies of unnatural neon colors at us, we won’t be able to get the stench out for days.” Nora postponed the mentioning of Seb if only for a moment longer and headed out. Once more movement helped her nerves, even if it wasn’t dancing this time but walking. 

“You see something in him no one else does,” and I can’t tell if that makes you smarter than all of us. Or has his charming persona successfully fooled you? “Something he refuses to show anyone else, his daughter included.” Him missing out on Nora’s life, even parts of her mother’s life the Vidal could understand, but Penelope? Not only had it been a horrible thing to do generally speaking, but Nora had also been there, in moments of Penelope’s despair, whenever she acted out or got mad because of her biological father. “In which case– lucky you, I suppose.” she murmured, utterly unenthusiastic. 

.

“He doesn’t, no, and I believe he’s busy today.” Celeste offered a small shrug. She wasn’t even sure if he remembered her connection to Nora anyhow, and the two of them had long-since decided that they would be able to live their separate lives - as much as was reasonable while they were thought to be dating by the press. “I just wanted to come see you myself.”

Certainly, Nora had reasons to question it - Celeste knew that she hadn’t always been the best sort of friend, she hadn’t contacted Nora all too much recently, though a part of her also knew that Nora could have done the same for her - still, she didn’t fault her even one bit. “I’m glad she’s doing well - and that makes sense, but it’s so nice for them to have a space to express themselves in a way that most of them probably aren’t able to in their daily lives.” 

She shrugged at Nora’s next remark, “fair, but I’d imagine you’re a worthy reason to go and do anything. I know when I was little I made up all sorts of excuses to come and see you, just because you’re you.” Showing her new dance moves, bringing her various Chinese snacks, writing up summaries of books she’d read - there had been countless excuses to go and see her friend.

“Yes, I do not get the whole neon color thing. Or green smoothies in general.” She made a small face. She followed Nora out, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth at her next comment. “He is one of my best friends - so I’ve always seen the best in him, for the past - seven years? Whenever it was that we first met. Someone actually tried to set us up on a blind date back then, but we ended up just as friends, until, well, now.” His daughter included. Celeste certainly knew of bits and pieces of the complexities there, but she also knew of Seb’s side of things, and, once again, felt a pull to defend him. “I do feel lucky.” She offered Nora a terse smile. “But I do wish to point out that he was nice to me even before we were together - so this isn’t a ploy of his just because I am sleeping with him now.” She shook her head. “Do you have time for a walk?”

Monroe returned the hug with a smile, doing her best to return the hug without disrupting the bags of food. “As always I went a bit overboard, but you really can’t go wrong with coq au vin. And I couldn’t choose between the mouse or the opera cake so I got both.”

She set the bags of food down on the counter, letting Celeste take the wine from her without complaint. “If you don’t mind pouring, I can get the food set out. The real question is how are we serving” she paused what she was doing to lean back against the counter and appraise Celeste’s home before continuing with a sly smile. “Now that you’ve got your fancy man do we still eat out of of the takeout containers, or is there some pretty little corning ware I need to transfer everything into?” There was no malice in Monroe’s voice, she was so genuinely happy for Celeste it was gross sometimes. Monroe didn’t exactly have a lot of examples of healthy relationships growing up, so the idea that her high school sweetheart ex girlfriend could continue to be her best friend was something she never took for granted. “How’s the opera? And Sebastian?”

“Oh, I absolutely agree.” It was something that both of them did now - growing up without much to spare, they’d always made the best of any situation, but Celeste knew full well that now that they were both properly employed, treating the other came as naturally as breathing. Even though Celeste had many good memories of the two of them splitting a bagel, or a box of take out, or a soft pretzel they’d gotten while walking along the streets. “That’s an understandably difficult choice to make, I know I would have done the same.” 

Every now and then, it’s easy for his mind to linger on the idea that souls had a finite number of matches — twin flames, he’d heard them called, had perhaps even experienced if he allowed himself to think so poetically on certain relationships of the past, platonic and otherwise. With Celeste, the idea’s cropped up more than once, a sort of kinship formed all too easily from the start of knowing each other, and further forged through the numerous revelations of shared experience and tugged heartstrings.

If there were any defenses he’d put up at the start of the evening, they’re now lowered considerably, due to both the copious amount of alcohol coursing through his system and the presence of his drinking partner. ( As to which he currently finds more intoxicating, he’s not yet sure, but there’s no doubt that one feeds into the other. ) To her remark about other women openly chasing after her beau, Ziggy counters, perhaps more confidently than he should, “Yeah, well… Last I heard, the Met’s at record attendance levels nowadays, due to some gents thirsting after some fine-ass choreographer — or something like that.”

In a timbre that doesn’t quite belong to him, some distant corner of his mind echoes, blame it on the alcohol — but a different, louder part counters that their friendship has always teetered this line, maybe even pushed towards it, as though there could be something beyond the surefire platonic love they held for each other. His head lifts suddenly, leading the rest of his body to turn to face Celeste properly now, though he can’t help but lean further into the soft touch of her fingertips. A hand steadies over hers to keep it in place, as he asks, not unlike a child, “You mean it?” There’s a grin, and his bright eyes are blown wide at the promise of a home-cooked meal and a private little escape from a night that had been a long series of anxiety-driven events. 

Gently, her hand is turned over in his much larger palm, then covered completely, fingers intertwined. Ziggy stands to his feet and tugs lightly at Celeste in unspoken, but clear, invitation to join him, and his head cants in the direction of the proposed location. “Come on, Zhao. Kitchens are that way. It’s about time we blow this popsicle stand and get our Biang Biang on, don’t you think?”

.

She found herself unable to hide her eyes growing wide at Ziggy’s comment - “I - well, I am sure she appreciates that people find her attractive.” Celeste bit her lip, “and, I mean, if it gets more people interested in the performing arts, then so much the better.” Though she hoped that Ziggy understood that his attempts to cheer her up (not that she needed them, but women trying to date your boyfriend right in front of you was supposed to be distressing, she reminded herself) were very much appreciated. It was grounding and she was grateful for that, even if he didn’t need to reassure her in the way he currently was.

In another world, she knew that she could have fallen into more closeness with Ziggy - in something beyond the near twin-flamed friendship that they’d fallen into practically from the first moment they’d met. Everything about the two of them was wholly natural, so much so that Celeste knew she likely took it for granted sometimes, not bothering to over-think about anything around him (at least, most of the time), and instead just letting herself settle around him. “I heard flower sales are up because people like to look at the flowers and the florist.” She raised an eyebrow, her cheeks flushing for a single moment as she took another shot of alcohol.

His hand covered hers and, to his question, she offered him a smile and a nod. “Yes, I do mean it. It sounds just precisely like what I need right now.” She took one last sip of her drink before she felt him pull at her.

It was so easy to move in sync with Ziggy - even if he hadn’t tugged at her, she knew that she would have followed him in near-perfect unison. “I can think of nothing better.” She replied, and as they moved toward the kitchen, Celeste couldn’t help but move closer to Ziggy - though whether it was a result of the alcohol or a desire to find increased comfort (or some variation of both), she wasn’t entirely sure.

Soon enough, they arrived at the kitchen which was, through some act of blessings, empty. “Okay, Hawthorne, let’s get this started.” She grinned, and began to poke around the kitchen for the various ingredients she needed.

Closed starter for @celestezhao

Location: Celeste’s place

Monroe didn’t have a solid plan when she had asked Celeste if she could come over. She just knew she could use a friend who wasn’t wrapped up in the mess that was the aftermath of the Mayors announcement at the gala. She made a number of stops on her way over to Celeste’s place, picking up a couple nice bottles of wine, and a full French dinner before stopping off at a little hole in the wall bakery for desert. Monroe couldn’t cook to save her life, but she was damn good at finding the perfect meal, even if it took a few extra stops. She knew that Celeste would be happy even if she showed up empty handed, but when possible Monroe liked to show out. She liked to think back to herself back in high school, the broke girl who would show up with leftovers she had taken from whatever restaurant she could find work at to try and do something nice for her girlfriend. And now, even though they weren’t dating anymore, and hadn’t been for years, she liked to think of how proud and excited teenage Monroe would be of the fancy meals and nice evenings they spent together.

She sent a quick text as she parked so Celeste would know to let her in, then gathered everything she had collected and headed to the door. “I hope you are hungry for French food, I also have wine and desert” she offered a wide but tired grin to her friend as she held up the bags of dinner.

.

There would never come a time where Celeste didn’t love Monroe, that much she was certain of. Even if the love that they held for one another was no longer romantic in nature, it was ever-present, and something that Celeste knew that she would always treasure. She didn’t have to think twice about saying yes to her friend coming by - and Sebastían was busy, and she’d found that she craved having company more and more recently. It was still amazing to think about how far both of them had come since high school, since Monroe would come by and they’d go out onto the fire escape outside of Celeste’s family’s apartment and watch the cars and passersby below. Their conversation at the gala was called to mind once again, how neither of them could have wholly pictured being where they were now.

Just as she had finished setting the table, she heard her phone buzz and grinned at Monroe’s message, firing a quick text back filled with a string of smiley-face emojis and went to open the door. “French food, wine, and dessert sound perfect,” she brought her friend into a warm hug. “You have know idea how much I’ve craved a night in with you - Sebastían’s off doing something fancy and as much as I care for him, there’s something about you that is always comforting to me.” She grabbed a bottle of wine. “Should I pour, or would you like to?”

It wasn’t exactly rare for Ziggy to find himself in the company of those who saw the world through a similar lens as him — like tended towards like, after all. But in this moment, surrounded by so many whose beliefs only extended as far as a corporation’s checkbook would allow, Celeste is more than just a breath of fresh air. she’s the adrenaline rush that accompanies validation, the thrill of being seen and heard without the prerequisite of a spotlight or a speech. 

He settles even further into the comfort of the moment as he confesses, “When I get nervous, I just lose my appetite completely. It fixes itself after a few hours or so, once the nerve-wracking thing is done and over with, but… I mean, tonight — it wasn’t just the speech, but the people, the pressure, the whole…vibe.” His hands gesture vaguely in reference to the space around them before returning to the shot glass, index finger spinning around the rim in an attempt to get a pitch to sound. It’s a placeholder of an action, an absentminded effort to hide the fact that certain other thoughts still plagued his mind instead of the happy all too lovely idea of a home-cooked meal crafted in the kitchen of one of his closest friends.

Thankfully, she offers a distraction of her own in addition to plenty food for thought as her head rests on the broad of his shoulder. “Damn, Cel,” he starts after a moment longer, musing over the lip of his glass. “You really know how to torture a guy, huh?” There’s a soft chuckle, followed by the clarification, “First it’s the promise of some Biang Biang and then you tell me Mr. CNN ain’t even paying attention to you?” Dark eyes fix on the brunette then, as if in search of some point of clarity that everyone else but him found perfectly visible. “I don’t wanna tell you what’s going right or wrong within your relationship…” 

The words are delivered with a slight shake of his head, and the betrayal of his physicality in the moment is only a precursor to the subsequent, “but someone who abandons you for half the evening despite knowing how you feel in situations like these? Especially when he’s a veteran at these shindigs and knows exactly how to navigate them?” The questions, mostly rhetorical, devolve into a sigh, and Ziggy throws his hands up in self-acknowledged defeat. “I just think you shouldn’t have to question whether or not you can trust someone you love, or someone who claims to love you.” 

Gently, he rests his cheek atop her head, tempted to press a kiss to the crown of it just as he would in any other intimate connection, no matter the context. Despite lingering there, the man holds back for reasons he can’t quite define. Alcohol and adrenaline each brought on their own hasty tendency towards sloppy decision-making, this much he knows — so perhaps it’s only natural that the desire remains contained, and the sweetness of the moment simply perseveres on. “Listen, if you don’t feel like you belong here as an activist, or an artist, or a citizen, or — hell, even a drinking buddy…” He clinks another shot against hers and downs it, before asking, “How about as a chef? Grey stuff and bar peanuts just don’t hold the same appeal after you whet my appetite with the promise of some noods.”

.

“I get that,” she began, “it used to be more that way for me when I did more of the dance stuff, rather than behind the scenes, but it still gets to me sometimes, I’ll admit.” Having someone like Ziggy around did provide a certain, deeply welcome, sense of security - one she attempted to not take for granted - but one she wasn’t so certain she could really do without. (Or rather, one she was rather positive she wouldn’t be able to do without). “The vibe is...something.” She still wasn’t positive if it was a good or bad something, but the word itself was neutral enough for her to feel comfort in its use. She followed his gesture with her gaze.

“It - yeah,” she shrugs. “I have at least found comfort in you - and others who are much like yourself - being here.” She mirrored his movement, the rims of their shot glasses humming in unison - twin-souled in a sort of way that adds an additional layer of comfort to what is already always constant around him.

“I do not intend to, this time, at least.” She bit her lip. “The noodles are always on offer, I suppose I just do not always make it explicitly so.” The remark is followed by a hum, “I mean, this is quite an event for the media, and he is very important in that world, so it is to be expected.” She shrugged, knowing his questions were more for the purpose of commenting rather than any he expected her to answer. There was a part of her that wished she could tell him it was all for show, and though there was a light sting that came with being left alone by a best friend, it was different (or so she imagined) than being left alone by a significant other.

“I know -I know.” She sighed, “but he does, he is just... popular. I have had women flirt with him right in front of me before, which is certainly something, but at least we know his ratings will not plummet anytime soon.” The remark is punctuated with a small giggle, and another shot of liquor.

As he placed his cheek on her head she can’t help but reach out to the other one and brush her fingers along it, feather-light, with a sigh of contentment. 

“I could be persuaded to go and find the kitchen, if you wished - or, if you are no longer needed, I could let Sebastían know I have to duck out early and we could do it in one of our kitchens.” She bit her lip, “cook - you know - though I would bet the kitchens here are magnificent. So say the word, and I will make something up for you.”

The question slowly brings a smile to his features. It’s genuine. “I’m latino,” he says in a joking tone, although that enough should take the place of an answer, “so I’m afraid it might not be that much of a secret.” Of course, to the greater public it’s perhaps not a secret, but not a widely promoted fact. “But, I wouldn’t ever pretend as though my view of dancing is as polished as yours, Miss Zhao. It’s truly incredible work — such that my ‘drunk on tequila’ moves wouldn’t pale in comparison to.” Quips aside, Julian’s eyes follow the pathway of hers, touching at varying points in the room. “Well, I always say — events are only as great as the people who attend them.” Once she refocuses on him, Julian does the same back at her. “So I’m glad you’re here.” 

“I believe,” he starts after a moment of deep thought, “that a vice is something you always crave, but might be bad for you, if you take part in it. Of course, it can be something tangible like cigarettes, or a place — intangible —, an idea, a person. Us humans, we always make way for it.” 

Drinks, drinks, drinks. Julian has a rolodex full on them, buried somewhere in his mind. How awfully boring, that at one point he’d stopped branching out. “Have you ever tried a Rusty Nail?” It sounds even more ridiculous, on his tongue. “I know, I know. But it’s good, if you’re a lover of Scotch.” Pause, and a theatrical look over his shoulder. “I’m a firm believer in an even-playing field, so— I would indeed join you in that. If you still want me to, of course.” 

.

“Fair enough,” she offered him a smile back, “I suppose I just did not want to presume.” That and she was talking to someone who, while she didn’t work for them, was very much a superior of hers in terms of rank of society. “Well, I would hope that my work does at least a partially decent job, given that it is my profession.” She offered him a small, careful smile. “Thank you though - I fell in love with dance when I could hardly walk, and I suppose that I have just never looked back.” She noticed his refocus back on her, “I am glad to be here.” In part because others who she felt comfortable around were here, too - and because, after all, it was an important sort of thing to attend with Sebastían (who was, of course, included in those who made her feel comfortable, but he was off doing his own thing for much of the evening). 

“That makes sense - I think I certainly have had them, then -” she nodded, “though I still cannot think of one, right now.” Unless her desire to help her best friend counted as one. The fact that it could end poorly if the fact that they were faking a romance was found out, but that she only cared about him. Not that she could admit that to anyone else. “It is human nature to crave what we should not want - even if it cannot be counted as a vice, per say, there are always longings - even if it is so simple as to wish for summertime in the midst of a snowstorm.” 

She shook her head at his question. “I have not - and I am not especially a connoisseur of any alcohol, but I have had a good Scotch now and again.” Again, most often with Sebastían, but she had tried it on her own, too. “I would love to have you join me.”

Lonnie chuckled, grinning, “Well, I appreciate that. I’m almost as graceful as those dancers ya work with, heard it here first.” He shook his head then, “Nah, don’t mention it. It’s good for me too. It makes me feel like I’m givin’ them somethin’ I never had growing up.” He didn’t hold anything against his parents or family for the way he grew up, but there had never been much attention paid to what he wanted or what his dreams were. All his victories as a child were celebrated alone or with friends and peers. His parents hadn’t been present for any of his biggest milestones. Lonnie had just gotten used to it, “But, please, keep callin’ me handsome all ya want.” He teased. 

“We’re still young enough, right? We got a lotta life ahead of us.” He hoped, at least, “What’s that corny saying? You’re only as old as you feel? Though, my lower back is tellin’ me I’m pretty old, so who’s to say.” Lonnie joked before sobering slightly, “But I’m thankful for you and your friendship too. It means a lot to me. I hope you know that.” He lifted his eyebrows then, looking over the jewelry with a low whistle, “Mr. Santana does not hold back, huh? How’s that goin’ anyway? Are you happy?” Lonnie asked. He had nothing against Sebastían, but he did have a vested interest in the happiness of the people he cared about. Always had. “I’ve been drinking whiskey and wine- so take your pick.” He replied then, “Whiskey might be better for a drinking game. Quicker.” He laughed, “But I’d be willin’ to concede if there’s something else you’d prefer.” 

.

“Of course, certified and true,” she smiled at Lonnie. “If you promise not to advertise it, I will even admit that you are more graceful than some of the dancers I work with. If you tell anyone, I will deny it, and I will never name names, but it is true.” Celeste offered him another soft smile, “I am glad - and yes, same - I was lucky that my parents found dance classes they could afford to send me too, but I want to make it easy, not just luck, you know? Everyone should be able to explore the arts - or boxing, or anything - not just people who’ve got the money for it. Besides, it truly is good for the kids, like we have said. I suppose I only wish to make kids’ lives now easier than mine was.” She sighed - she would never dream of faulting her parents for anything, but now that she did hold an actual sort of power, it would have been wasteful to not use it. “I mean, you are handsome, and I simply believe in honesty where possible.” She winked at him. “So - it is truly lovely to see you, handsome.” She bit her lip to stifle a giggle. 

“That is true, we are relatively young, and I do like to think that I have a wonderful and beautiful life ahead of me.” Which was perhaps overly idealistic to anyone else (barring perhaps people like Monroe and Ziggy), but around them, and around Lonnie, she knew that she could slip into that version of herself. Not naïve, but momentarily idealistic, at least. “That is true - and my parents used to say I was an old soul, but that is, in part, I think because I always tried to watch out for my old sister. She has four-ish years on me, but sometimes - well, you know, again, you know so much - but I looked out for her, so...” Celeste blew a single stray hair out of her face. “I do know that - knowing you, us being friends, being close, even after everything and after all these years? Means the world to me.” She grinned, “oh, he absolutely does not. He covered my whole studio in flower arrangements too. Incredibly kind though also overwhelming at times.” She nodded, “I am. Happy, that is - he is nothing but good to me, and you know, I think I finally get the older man thing - though I suppose you are older than me, though only by a couple years, which is not all too much. But yes - happy, cared for, and very much in love.” She wished that she didn’t have to lie to one of her closest friends, but it was necessary, and outside of being in love, everything she said about Sebastían was entirely true. After a moment’s pause, she nodded. “Whiskey, please. That sounds just right. Are you ordering or should I?”

“Passage of time,” he repeats the words quietly, amused. “You sound like fucking Hemmingway.” Might be a compliment, might not — the world may never know. But, dearest reader, if there is one thing this writer shares with this man, let it be hatred for Hemmingway. “Whatever you’re passionate about most, Celeste. At the end of the day, you’re the one driving where donations go. Just a matter of what you wanna sell.” A sideways glance toward her, and he shrugs. “Living the fucking dream.” If, in fact, the dream is riddled with anxiety and a bottomless pit of anger. “Been keeping up with the apartment,” she’ll never know what a OSHA violation that place is. “Still with the Times. Just same shit, different fucking day.” Except it isn’t the same, and it wouldn’t be ever again. He offers a quick smile. “Attending pretentious parties and shit. Made a new friend. Good friend. Good fucking person.”

“I absolutely do not.” Celeste raised an eyebrow. “I did not enjoy his books when I had to read them for English class but I also am well-aware that while I may sound over-the-top, it isn’t like Hemingway.” It was easier to relax around Lev, if only because he’d known her when she was much younger and therefore she didn’t feel the same sort of pressure to put on her best face that she did with so many others in attendance tonight.

“Oh.” Anais retrieves, disappointment is clear on her tone. “I thought twirls were included.” All that money, wasted. “I hope you understand that I’m going to have to reconsider.” Back into her hands, she analyzes her wine and the way it behaves in the light. “So many ways!” She could name — admittedly, not a very lengthy list. But she’s a mere audience member, all things considered. “My father always took me alongside him when he had to attend. My mother died when I was very young, so I made the ‘date’ position quite early on — but I loved it. Anything to do with art, especially the ‘classic’ kind. Naturally, I’m a collector, too.”

.

“I -” her mouth felt dry for a moment, “I will admit I am unsure of what was included,” though she was fairly certain that they would not have offered to auction off choices of choreography - then again, despite having worked at the Opera for seven years, nearly eight, Celeste was well aware that she didn’t understand everything about it.

“So if you have suggestions, I welcome them.” She felt out of place, suddenly, searching for Lonnie, Ziggy, Monroe, or Sebastían - someone who understood her - though only briefly, so as to not further frustrate the woman in front of her. “I would be happy to have your input.” Her expression softened as the woman mentioned her father bringing her to the shows. “Art is wonderful - I am so glad you’ve had the fortune to experience that for so much of your life.” She nodded, “might I ask what it is that you like to collect?”

“Of course not. I don’t think anyone considers the amount of work that goes into, ya know, their entertainment.” Even when it came boxing. He was positive those betting on him only knew about his fight record and not a single thing about all the work he put in to maintain that impeccable record. Lonnie nodded then, grinning, “Yeah, I hope so too. They gotta keep up those programs- the kids you’ve sent my way need that. I see it.” They were the sort of programs that he could have used growing up, that was for sure. 

“Oh? I’ve reached that level of genius, huh? Glad to hear it.” He teased with a warm grin towards the other, “I think the rules of boujee I Spy have to be related to clout, to just how rich, ya know?” He chuckled, “Like, I spy somethin’ worth… insert obscene amount of money here and a detail to help along. And, of course, it is a game paired best with another round of drinks.” 

.

“I would very much agree with that,” She sighed, “and I figure you might get that even more than I do?” Celeste raised an eyebrow, “your sport is filled with such necessary precision but I have a feeling that too many people right it off as simply ‘overly-violent’ and do not give it the credit that it deserves.” Even if it wasn’t close to an area of expertise for her, she knew what effort it took, what skill he had to have gotten to where he was. It was why she’d sent kids to him, because she knew he could take care of them, and furthermore even give them another hobby to be interested in. “They do - I know, and I am incredibly grateful for all you have done for them - I know they must be too - not only do you give them another hobby and a place to work out or, if they need it, healthily get out any aggression, but you’re someone else for them to look up to.” She smiled. “Who doesn’t want a handsome and kind mentor figure, right?” Celeste reached out and gave his hand a small squeeze. “You have, and I would know, given how long we’ve known each other - which I will not put into actual years, because I think it may only make the both of us feel older than we are.” She bit her lip, “and I am grateful to have known you for so long.” Her grin matched his, “Oh, absolutely.” She held up her wrist, the bracelet from Valentine’s Day that Sebastían had given her still on it, “want to start with this? I spy something that costs way more than I pay for rent in a year, probably.” She scrunched up her nose, before smiling. “Though maybe I get a free pass, since this was a gift. Another round of drinks is a must.” She nodded, “what are we having?”

“God. If I have to talk to one more incredibly important person I might snap” monroe groaned. “You look like you’re doing a fabulous job though. I don’t think I could do half as good a job navigating this social scene as you have been. Your outfit alone, outstanding.” Monroe didn’t pretend to know too much about high society fashion, but you had to be blind to not see how stunning Celeste looked.

“You are special, always have been and always will be love. But I think I’ll give capitalism a rest, at least for the night.” She shared a smile with Celeste, their friendship was one that she was almost always secure in. Even in periods of their lives when they went months without speaking, she knew that Celeste would always show up for her, and she for Celeste, no questions asked. “High school Lennox would probably be trying to figure out if weed could give you hallucinations, or if this was some elaborate prank of some kind.” She paused to really think about it, beyond just fleeting jokes. “I think I would have expected you to be here. You were made for the limelight and the finer things. But seeing myself here along with you…” she struggled to find the words. “It’s probably more than I could ever have dreamed.” She took a long drought of her drink before shaking her head ruefully.

“Ok, enough sappy shit. There’s no way I’m crying at this thing and that feels like where we are headed. New topic, your turn to pick”

“Well, I will do my best to help prevent that from happening,” she grinned, “no more important people unless we decide to talk to them.” Celeste paused, “besides, I think anyone can be important - you, for example, are more important in my eyes than over half the people here and I do very much want to talk to you.” She bit her lip, “thank you - I think it does come with the territory of working for the Opera, and then there’s the whole ‘my boyfriend is a public figure’ thing I now have going for me, which does make the whole social scene somewhat inevitable.” She glanced down at her hands at her friend’s comment. “Thank you - it’s fancier than I might usually go for, but I think still is me, if that makes sense?” She glanced back up at Monroe, “I mean you look gorgeous, so your date’s certainly missing out on multiple levels.” 

She scrunched up her nose, “thank you, I appreciate that, and you are too, you know that, right?” The relief she felt around her friend was never something she’d take for granted - it was something she was eternally grateful for - they had been each other’s firsts for so many things, and to still stay friends long after they’d broken up left her with a deep-seated sense of security. She knew that she’d always have her friend around - because there was something familiar about her - so much so that whenever they talked, it was as though no time had passed at all. They were always able to seamlessly slip back into conversations, no matter what. “Well high school Celeste, despite not really being into drug use at all, undoubtedly would have asked you to try some of that weed,” she raised an eyebrow. “I -” her expression softened, “you really would have thought that, even back then?” She bit her lip, “well, I wouldn’t have wanted to be here without you then, and I still do not like the idea of you not being in my life, so...” she trailed off.