just breathe, just relax, it'll be okay
in which there's no soundcheck at intermission.
ao3
Gina’s in such a rush to get changed that she trips over her own feet twice and stumbles into the room with her arm half-out of her dress already, nearly running over Emmy and scaring the life out of Kourtney (who quickly helps her with the clasp before she rips it). She pointedly ignores the concerned stares being thrown her way (and Ashlyn’s good-natured offer of a hug) as she jumps into her Act II costume and foregoes touching up her makeup or reviewing her lines (like she normally would) in favor of getting out of there as quickly as possible and bolting down the hall.
She has to get to the dressing room before Ricky. They haven't had a chance to talk since the show started, not really, but by the way he's been acting (and the look her mom gave her as they watched him offstage), she's now absolutely certain she knows what he's been dying to tell her all night—and even though the words haven't actually been said yet, the knowledge of what they are is enough for her to know she has to say her piece first. Even if it kills her—kills them.
Fate, for once, is on her side, and she has enough time to lean against the counter on the far side of the room and take a deep breath before her boyfriend—her heartbreakingly wonderful boyfriend, her absolute favorite person in the world—runs in, still in his prom tux from Act I, curls wild and tie half-undone with a guitar clutched in his hand. His eyes widen in sheer delight when he sees her, as though they hadn't planned to meet here during intermission, and within a second, he's run across and swept her into a massive bear-hug that lifts her away from the counter and around in the air.
Gina thinks she might throw up, and not from all the spinning.
"Missed you," Ricky murmurs, when he's finally put her down again.
You just saw me, Gina thinks, but the words, and the smile that should go with it, get lost somewhere in her throat. With as much strength as she can muster, she manages to resist the urge to fold into his embrace, instead stepping back and letting her hands fall down to hold his.
"So," Ricky says, somewhat giddily, but when he meets her eyes, the grin slips straight off his face. "Gi, hey, you okay?"
Gina tangles their fingers together as her heart plummets to the floor. She takes a deep breath, and then another, and then a third, but remains unable to steady herself. She's not ready for this. Ten seconds, Gina, she admonishes herself. Ten seconds, then you have to tell him. One, two, three—
She makes it to five before the guilt of it all overwhelms every cell in her body. "Quinn offered a movie—I'm leaving, after the show tonight," she blurts out, and mere moment later, tears follow. She squeezes her eyes shut, unable to look at him.
His hands slip out of hers. Gina waits, eyes still closed, for the inevitable sound of his footsteps moving away from her and out the door. Instead, a second later, she finds herself pressed against his chest again, slow circles being drawn on her back.
Ricky holds her as the tears fall, and fall, and fall. Finally, she lets herself collapse against him, committing every bit of the moment to memory.
I can't leave, she thinks; I don't want to lose this. This thought, which admittedly had been flitting in and out of her head over the past week, now blares itself louder than it ever has before, taking over every crevice of her mind.
Finally, when she can't physically cry anymore (and Maddox's ten-minute warning blares through the speakers in the room), she pulls away slightly. "You're not—you're not mad?"
Ricky shrugs, the skin around his own red-rimmed eyes creasing in a halfhearted smile. "Upset, maybe," he says, "but you," he gestures to her dress before reaching up to cup her cheek, "You're a superstar, Gi. Of course HSM4 wouldn't be it for you."
That wasn't quite the answer Gina was looking for, and she suspects it isn't the one he wanted to give, either.
I. Don't. Want. To. Go.
"I wanted to tell you," she whispers. "But the contract isn't signed yet, and Quinn didn't confirm until this morning, and some part of me—" she quickly swallows the rest of the sentence poised on her lips, not wanting to give him false hope; God, she can't do that to him, not after all of this—"I didn't want to ruin your night," she finishes lamely.
Ricky nods, as if he'd been expecting this. She knows that look. He'd worn it just under a year ago, when Nini announced she was leaving (the first time).
She feels terrible.
"So you'll be gone next semester, then?" Ricky asks, cutting into the silence.
"New Zealand," Gina nods. "Six months—I should be back to see you graduate."
"Hm."
She takes a deep breath. "Ricky—"
She's interrupted by his lips on hers. This kiss is unlike any one he's given her before, simultaneously electric with emotion and so incredibly soft—almost quiet—with the simplicity and ease of the act, and Gina doesn't quite know what to make of it.
Turns out she doesn't have to, because he explains all on his own. "I love you, Gi."
What?
She must have said that out loud, because he laughs, for real this time, and grabs her hand to flatten her palm against his chest. "See that? Heart, not racing. I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life."
"Ricky Bowen," she whispers, and the Thought from before is practically pulsing between her ears as it rewords itself slightly. Stay here, stay home.
"Gina Porter," he whispers back.
Then Maddox's two-minute call comes blaring over the speakers, and the moment's over.
"One more minute," Ricky mutters, apparently unwilling to let go of her hand so soon.
"Sorry, Wildcat—you're still planning to do Act II, I hope," Gina jokes, gesturing to the half of a tuxedo he's still wearing, but lets a note of seriousness enter her voice.
Ricky seems to pick up on it, and he swiftly kisses her cheek, saying, equally seriously, "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Gi."
Home, home, home.
Gina watches him retreat and melts into the floor when he turns around for a final look back at her. "By the way, I got into college. SLCC." He cocks his head shyly. "I'll have to tell you that story after curtain. And sing you my song," he adds, pointing to his discarded guitar still propped up on the counter next to Gina.
Gina's heart swells with pride, and something else too, but Ricky's bolted away before she can respond. I love you too, she thinks, and the instant twinge she feels for not saying it back earlier is replaced immediately by the assurance that she will be able to soon—and repeat it forever, after that.
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