[sup][h1][center][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/40zg2wBTtzhyLVhFe9ixhN?si=64a15cd017e34abb][img]https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/3855d3c3ec43.png[/img][/url][/center][/h1][/sup][indent][sub][COLOR=#A7AFCB][B]LOCATION:[/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]new york city[/I] - [I]marquee skydeck[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#A7AFCB][b]009:[/b][/COLOR][color=2e2c2c].[/color] [I]i'll be gone by next year[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][sub][hr][/sub][INDENT][sub][color=#A7AFCB][B]INTERACTIONS: [/B][color=2e2c2c].[/color][/COLOR] [I]hayden [@Stormyx], josie[/I][/sub][/indent]

[indent][indent][color=#808080]Margot lingered at the glass wall longer than intended. The champagne flute was empty now, holding nothing but the ghost of its former effervescence—a faint, sugary film clinging to the crystal. She turned it absently in her fingers, watching the city lights fracture and reform, before finally setting it aside. Freeing her hands felt symbolic, an attempt to unshackle herself from distraction and become more present, as she'd originally planned. 

But then…

[color=#d9d9d9]"Oh shit, I think that’s fucking Bobby Rifo."[/color]

The name carried weight, demanded recognition. Phones lifted. Someone laughed in disbelief. Someone else swore.

Margot didn't turn. Instead, she pivoted deliberately away from the gathering commotion. The reason was simple: despite the room's collective agreement that this Bobby Rifo mattered, the name meant absolutely fuck all to her. More importantly, the last thing she wanted was to be pulled into someone else's spotlight after just having escaped her own.

She plucked a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter, the exchange smooth and wordless. With the cool stem in hand, she scanned the sky deck for another stretch of wall, another pocket of space not yet claimed by the night's hungry eyes.

Hayden, for his part, was still standing with his elbow braced against the railing, lazily watching the commotion and listening to the music himself. That was until his attention was drawn to a woman walking away from it instead. His glass was empty, and the same waiter who she had grabbed from handed him champagne too. It wasn’t his usual tipple, but this wasn’t his usual place. Besides, bubbles could be nice. He held it politely and nodded as the waiter walked away. He glanced again at the woman and inclined his head. [color=#969fab]"Bit of a snore this really isn’t it?"[/color] he laughed. [color=#969fab]"And the view is awful up here, too."[/color]

The champagne flute nearly slipped from Margot's fingers. Her reflexes snapped into place before conscious thought could catch up, fingers tightening just in time to save the glass from shattering. The near-miss sent a small, electric jolt up her arm. She steadied the flute and turned toward him, the gold sequins of her dress shifting softly, catching and refracting the ambient light in fractured flashes.

Up close, he wasn’t part of her usual orbit at all. Not a fellow creator. Not a brand-adjacent hanger-on. Not someone already performing for her attention.

Which meant this moment wasn't pre-written. Unscripted. And that, more than anything, made Margot pause, her professional facade rendered momentarily obsolete.

A small, uncertain laugh escaped her before she could smooth it away—a reflexive sound while she scrambled internally to decide which version of herself to deploy. She glanced past him for half a second, her gaze sweeping over the skyline, then back to his face. Her brows lifted in cautious disbelief.

[color=#a7afcb]"Is…that a joke?"[/color] she asked, the pause built right into the question. [color=#a7afcb]"I mean, we’re on a skydeck in New York City, on New Year’s Eve, surrounded by the likes of…"[/color] Margot faltered briefly, lips pressing together as she gestured vaguely over his shoulder with the rim of her glass. [color=#a7afcb]"That guy. Bobby Rifo. Which, from the crowd reaction, I'm gathering is a [i]very[/i] big deal."[/color] Her own voice sounded strange in her ears, too much like the upbeat tone she reserved for her streams. The realization brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks, and she took a quick sip of champagne to cover it.

[color=#969fab]"It was a poor attempt at one, yeah,"[/color] Hayden answered with a smile as he scratched the back of his neck; British sarcasm having flown over her head, or his intonation had been off. Probably both.

Margot found herself smiling. [color=#a7afcb]"Oh, good, that’s reassuring."[/color] 

[color=#969fab]"Bobby Rifo is a pretty massive deal,"[/color] Hayden added. [color=#969fab]"I… I saw him once, actually, back in the UK. Festival circuit, great night. He’d forgive you for not knowing him, though I reckon,"[/color] he said, trying to be reassuring. [color=#969fab]"He’s definitely a bigger deal than me, at least on this turf."[/color] That was true, that he probably was, and Hayden then wondered how many people in the crowd kept a hierarchy of status in mind as they walked and passed through the crowds, imagining their own star power and chances as they did. Was he weighing up his own too? Somehow all the lights and distance were dawning on him and he took a sip from his own flute, shifting along the railing to make more room beside himself. 

[color=#a7afcb]"Well, I appreciate his forgiveness,"[/color] Margot replied, her tone dry as bone. She lifted her champagne in a mock toast toward the absent Bobby Rifo, possibly aggrieved.  [color=#a7afcb]"Last thing I’d want is for his disappointment to follow me into the new year."[/color] She took a sip to punctuate the joke, letting the crisp acidity settle on her tongue.

But the motion of lowering her glass stalled halfway, his words finally registering in full. Her eyes flicked back to him, lingering this time with a scrutiny that surpassed mere politeness. He didn’t carry himself like someone who needed to introduce himself. In fact, there seemed to her to be an unselfconscious ownership of space in his posture, something she’d come to recognize in people who were accustomed to being observed, whether they wanted the attention or not. Her gaze dropped, taking in the faint roughness of his knuckles, then travelled back up to meet his eyes as she searched her memory—the endless scroll of faces from events, collabs, and industry feeds—for a foothold that refused to materialize.

It was only after some time that Margot realized, with a flush of embarrassment, that she was staring. Heat touched her cheek again, and she covered it with a flustered wave of her glass and her ditziest inflection.

[color=#a7afcb]"Soo…[i]should[/i] I know who [i]you[/i] are?"[/color] she asked, automatically taking up the space he’d made along the railing. 

[color=#969fab]"I’ll forgive you if you don’t,"[/color] he answered quickly with another easy smile; he’d caught the way her grip had tightened and the colour rising on her cheeks. He let that moment pass for her, shifting his weight against the railing subtly so. Lifting the drink to his own lips. [color=#969fab]"You enjoying yourself though?"[/color] He thought he’d noticed her earlier speaking into the screen of her phone; to a relative or friend perhaps. 

[color=#a7afcb]"It’s…"[/color] Margot began, then paused. The automatic answer—[i]Yes, it’s amazing, so grateful to be here, best night ever[/i]—stalled somewhere behind her teeth, stopped by a sudden desire for honesty. [color=#a7afcb]"It’s…okay? Parts of it are breathtaking, like being up here and all. And other parts are…I don’t know. Unknown? A lot so far? It’s not exactly my usual night out."[/color] Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, as if the gesture could explain what her somewhat vague words could not.

Hayden tilted his head as he listened to her, nodding at her words. [color=#969fab]"I don’t think it’s anyone’s usual night out,"[/color] he said with a smile, adjusting his grip on the glass as he let his eyes trail the strange skyline. [color=#969fab]"It’s nice to be here, but… I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m canny far from home."[/color] He breathed out softly, turning his gaze back to Margot. [color=#969fab]"So probably more unusual for me. Not that I’m making it a competition."[/color] 

[color=#969fab]"I’m Hayden by the way. So now you know me."[/color] He held out his hand to her.

She looked at his offered hand, a sudden, unbidden awareness washing over her. Her own hands felt conspicuous in comparison, with her nails too lacquered and too perfectly manicured. Still, after a heartbeat’s hesitation, Margot shifted the champagne flute to her left hand and placed her right in his. The contact was firm, brief, and startlingly warm against the chill seeping from the towering glass walls.

[color=#a7afcb]"Margot,"[/color] she said. [color=#a7afcb]"It's… unusual for me, too. The being here part, not the being far from home part."[/color] She withdrew her hand, her fingers curling back around the cool stem of her glass. [color=#a7afcb]"I actually came down from Canada, which sounds kinda like a big deal until you remember it’s basically just…upstairs."[/color] 

A small, self-aware smile touched her lips, softening the blithe remark.

[color=#a7afcb]"Where’s home for you?"[/color]

[color=#969fab]"It’s good to meet you Margot,"[/color] he said earnestly, bringing his hand back to relax against the railing. [color=#969fab]"I’m from across the pond,"[/color] he answered. He’d noticed the careful hesitation; spared a short moment to wonder where that came from but let it flee again, nervousness was normal. [color=#969fab]"England that is,"[/color] he gave another easy smile. 

[color=#969fab]"So I feel far away in a few senses. Been to America a few times. Parties like this, yeah. Industry specific ones usually. You know what,"[/color] he paused and took a breath before laughing. [color=#969fab]"I’ll call them for what they are, rowdy after parties. Chuck a load of fighters in a club with no limit to drinks. I’ll say no more. Everything is a lot bigger in America."[/color] He drank the last of his champagne. [color=#969fab]"This might actually be demure by comparison."[/color]

Margot’s smile deepened, becoming something less performative and more genuine. Something in his delivery was unsettlingly disarming. [i]Across the pond[/i]. The phrase sounded impossibly distant and charmingly anachronistic all at once, like a line borrowed from a black-and-white film rather than spoken by someone right in front of her. 

[color=#a7afcb]"I’ve actually never been. Never really left North America, if I’m being honest,"[/color] she admitted, [color=#a7afcb]"I’ve always wanted to go to England though. It feels like one of those must-see places, at least for one visit."[/color]

[color=#969fab]"Oh it is, some of it like. Not all of it. Same as anywhere, but yeah. London? Sure. The real magic is up north though."[/color] Hayden’s smile changed then; more boyish and confident in his words as if he’d just told a secret.

Her expression softened, beckoned by vicarious nostalgia for cobblestone streets and ancient stone, images assembled entirely from period dramas and other people's photos. But then the final part of his reply fully registered. Her brows knit, her mental portrait of him realigning swiftly.

[color=#a7afcb]"Fighters?"[/color] she repeated, tilting her head as she studied him anew. The broadness of his shoulders. The easy physical confidence. The roughness in his hands she'd noticed earlier but hadn't fully interrogated. [color=#a7afcb]"Like…boxing?"[/color]She waved her glass, liquid sloshing gently. [color=#a7afcb]"Or am I, like, wildly off base here?"[/color]

[color=#969fab]"You’re not far off. We went out with the boxers a lot. But no, I was– I was MMA for a minute."[/color] His delivery was underplayed and the fingers of his free hand flexed instinctively with an awkwardness. [color=#969fab]"Which is to say it’s a mash up of a lot of things. Muay Thai, kickboxing…"[/color] He rolled his shoulder back slightly. [color=#969fab]"Same goal though, sure. Tap out, knock out. Show the best technique."[/color]

Margot’s smile faded into quiet absorption. [color=#a7afcb]"MMA,"[/color] she echoed softly, testing the acronym as if it might reconfigure itself into something familiar on her tongue. It did not. [color=#a7afcb]"That sounds…"[/color] she hesitated, mentally sifting through adjectives that wouldn’t immediately betray the chasm between his world and hers. [color=#a7afcb]"...intense."[/color] The word felt ludicrously insufficient the moment she said it, but she let it stand. Understatement, she had learned, was often safer than feigned expertise. 

Her gaze drifted past Hayden's shoulder, pulled by a shift in the party's energy. The same Bobby Rifo from earlier appeared to have reached the absolute limit of his patience with a woman trailing him, his body language coiling into something unmistakably final. With a dismissive flick, he sent something small and rectangular spinning from her grasp. The brunette—dressed in black—fumbled, snatching the object from the air and clutching it to her chest with fierce desperation. In the next breath, Rifo dissolved into the crowd, leaving her alone in the sudden vacuum of his departure.

For a moment, Margot simply watched her, a spectator to this notable drama. Then, as if guided by a primordial instinct, the woman’s eyes lifted—and landed directly on [i]her[/i]. 

Margot froze. A polite smile felt grotesque. A wave, absurd. She had no script for the aftermath of a public, bitter exchange between strangers.

And then, the woman’s focus shifted. 

Past Margot. 

To Hayden. 

The woman’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, her attention sharpening as if bringing a hidden detail into devastating focus. 

[i]I know you.[/i] That much Margot could parse before the look was veiled.

Her fingers tightened reflexively around the stem of her flute as the woman held Hayden's gaze for a beat longer than chance would allow. Then, with seamless poise, she looked away and began moving, cutting a direct path toward them. Her approach was a study in contrived nonchalance, but her eyes had already betrayed her purpose.

Margot glanced at Hayden. He had gone very still, his body watchful as he tracked the woman's progress.

The brunette stopped a polite distance away, her posture relaxed but her grip still viselike around the rectangular object—a phone, Margot saw now, or perhaps a small digital recorder, which would explain the conflict she'd just witnessed. The woman offered a smile, a professional gesture that never touched her preternaturally calm eyes.

[color=#6A5ACD]"Well, this is a face I didn’t expect to see up here,"[/color] the woman said to Hayden first, the greeting given in a way that wasn’t quite friendly, nor was it overly hostile. His brow quirked upward in response; curiosity perhaps. It was…neutral in a way that felt intentionally matter-of-fact. Then, she turned to Margot. [color=#6A5ACD]"Happy New Year's Eve."[/color]

Margot blinked,  caught off guard by the bald normalcy of the words. 

[color=#a7afcb]"Oh, um, you too,"[/color] she replied automatically. She became suddenly acutely aware of her own posture, of her perhaps too-tight grip on the glass, and of the way her sequined dress seemed to capture and refract every stray photon in the vicinity. Her eyes darted towards Hayden, a silent check-in, before snapping back. But at that point, the woman merely gave a perfunctory nod, acknowledging the pleasantry while already dismissing it. 

[color=#6A5ACD]"Josie Tatl,"[/color] she stated, introducing herself without flourish. [color=#6A5ACD]"Tatl-Tales."[/color] The name was delivered as a statement of fact, imbued with an unspoken weight that suggested it should resonate, even when it didn’t. 

Josie’s attention then pivoted, settling more fully on Hayden.  

[color=#6A5ACD]"Do you mind if I ask you a quick question?"[/color] Josie continued, her thumb now resting lightly on the face of the small recorder, a hair’s breadth from activation.

His eyes tracked the device in her hand first; all hazel and soft and giving nothing away as he caught the held anticipation in her finger hovering over the button. He tilted his head only slightly and let his posture remain cool and calm, as it had been. It hadn’t slid past him how efficiently she’d already managed to piss off Bobby Rifo, and he’d noticed the shift in Margot beside him too. His guard was now up, and it hadn’t needed to be before. [color=#969fab]"You can ask,"[/color] he said. [color=#969fab]"Don’t know if I’ll answer, but go ahead."[/color] His relationship with the press was complicated at best and more so on the foreign soil he was now planted in. It was an altogether different machine here.

The button was pressed, and the device clicked into activation. [color=#6A5ACD]"You’re Hayden Fenwick, ex-UFC Champion, retired five years ago. What’s got you attending this New Year’s party? Looking to start your career up again?"[/color]

He blinked once and the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself with a flicker of surprise that he didn’t quite manage to suppress. He smoothed it away just as quickly, his shoulders settling. [color=#969fab]“I’ve got a good publicist,”[/color] he said lightly. [color=#969fab]“No plans to get back in the ring just now, no.”[/color]

[color=#6A5ACD]"Ahh, so just more reality television stints then? Masked Singer maybe? Seems like a natural progression."[/color] Josie asked with a smirk.

Hayden gave a polite smile, the kind that didn’t invite anything further. [color=#969fab]“Nah, I’ve already done that one actually. I was the toaster. Came ninth,”[/color] he said. He remained relaxed in his posture - though, his hands felt suddenly very empty of some kind of drink that would provide assistance in the situation. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, betraying the flicker of surprise she hadn’t earned from him. [color=#969fab]“So you’ll have to think of something more embarrassing than that, and I’ll consider it,”[/color] he punctuated it with a wink; he wouldn’t rise to annoyance, if that was what she was looking for.

Josie gave little more than a polite smile back. [color=#6A5ACD]"Thanks for that Hayden,"[/color] she said, her smirk fading before she turned her attention then to Margot, [i]The Streamer[/i], as she recognised her. Her own notifications had pinged just earlier with an alert. [color=#6A5ACD]"So, Cosy Rosie – have you given any more thought to just what your resolution will be for the New Year?"[/color] 

Margot's heart performed a strange, lurching syncopation against her ribs. Josie's eyes remained fixed on her, and the recorder was still active, its tiny red light glowing like a malevolent asterisk between them. She could feel her mouth go dry and was acutely aware of Hayden's presence beside her, though he didn't intervene. This, inexplicably, was hers to navigate.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Her mind, usually so facile with banter for her chat, was a perfect, humming blank. It wasn't the recognition itself that unmoored her; that was an occasional, statistical inevitability, even at an event like this. It was the [i]timing[/i]. The way Josie had let the question hang until after engaging Hayden, as if Margot herself had been bookmarked for later like some kind of postscript to the main event.

Josie’s smile appeared to widen a fraction, her thumb making a slight, adjusting movement on the recorder.

[color=#6A5ACD]"I don’t mean to put you on the spot,"[/color] she said, though the statement carried a distinct hollowness. [color=#6A5ACD]"But I think your perspective would be interesting. You’ve been streaming for… what, a few years now? And you’ve seen the industry change pretty dramatically."[/color] 

Margot swallowed, the sound loud in her own ears. 

[color=#a7afcb]"I…"[/color] Her voice sounded too foreign. Too small. Too uncertain. [color=#a7afcb]"I don’t really have one yet and…"[/color] She trailed off, the sentence dissolving somewhere between thought and speech.

Josie didn’t interrupt. She didn’t offer encouraging nods or rush to fill the silence as most people would. She simply waited, patient and unnervingly still, the recorder held aloft like an offertory vessel waiting to be filled.

Margot became acutely aware of her own breathing. 

Of Hayden beside her. 

Of the glittering indifferent city beyond the glass. 

She wet her lips. 

[color=#a7afcb]“It changes fast,”[/color] she continued. [color=#a7afcb]“Faster than people realize from the outside. What works one year doesn’t work the next. People’s expectations shift. Attention shifts. You have to… adapt.”[/color]

Margot took a deliberate sip of champagne, the motion granting her a second’s respite. The glass trembled almost imperceptibly before she willed it still.

[color=#a7afcb]“I’ve been lucky,”[/color] she added, the phrase instinctive. [color=#a7afcb]“I’ve had people who’ve stuck with me through it, and that’s not something I take for granted.”[/color]

It was a safe, complimentary answer. The kind of answer Eli would have commended for its diplomatic verisimilitude, no doubt. 

Josie’s gaze, however, did not soften. [color=#6A5ACD]"Of course. People don’t usually stick around that long without a reason."[/color] She tilted her head, a gesture of feigned curiosity, as if considering Margot anew. [color=#6A5ACD]"You’ve always been notably private, though, especially for someone whose life is so… publicly accessible."[/color] 

Margot felt the words land like a series of small, precise taps against her composure, but where they might lead, she couldn’t yet see.

[color=#6A5ACD]"There’s been some speculation,"[/color] Josie continued, [color=#6A5ACD]" about whether that support system you mentioned is purely professional. Or whether there’s…"[/color] Her eyes flicked sideways, an unmistakable glance toward Hayden this time, stripping away any semblance of subtlety. [color=#6A5ACD]"...someone more personal in the picture."[/color]

The silence that followed was deafening, a vacuum that seemed to swallow the party’s roar.

Margot’s pulse thrummed in her ears, a frantic counter-rhythm to the distant bass. Heat suffused her neck and cheeks, a tell-tale flush that felt as bright as a spotlight against the cool exhalation of air from the glass walls. She became hyper-aware of proximity—of the scant inches separating her from Hayden, how any slight turn, any unconscious look, could be construed as confirmation of a narrative she had not written.

[color=#6A5ACD]"I mean,"[/color] Josie added, her voice dipping into a tone of false concern, [color=#6A5ACD]" people are always so interested in the idea of a secret. Especially when it involves someone who doesn’t quite fit the usual… influencer mould."[/color] 

Margot’s thumb, wrapped around the stem of her flute, was a pale, bloodless thing. Her mind didn’t race; it stalled, seized by a paralytic wave of dread. She saw the headline emblazoned across her mind’s eye before she could form a coherent thought: [i]Cozy Rosie’s Secret MMA Fighter?[/i]or [i]Margot Sterling’s Mysterious New Year’s Date Revealed[/i]. It was a story crafted from implication and proximity, one her audience would devour with a voracious mix of delight and malice. The algorithm would love it. Eli would be livid. And the unscripted connection beside her would be reduced to a piece of public conjecture, a footnote in her brand’s ongoing saga. 

The sheer, crushing inevitability of it left her breathless and unable to respond. 

Hayden’s eyes flicked to Margot and he caught the tightness in her grip; the way colour rose to her cheeks again. If the silence went on for too much longer Josie would have ammunition from that alone and then an idea was already sparking and before he could think it through–

[color=#969fab]"Secrets are good business."[/color] he began with a casual light shrug. [color=#969fab]"I’d hate for people to find out I’m setting up a fight in the New Year–"[/color] He stopped abruptly then and brought his hand to his mouth. [color=#969fab]"Shit,"[/color] he muttered.
Josie blinked and immediately pivoted back to him and lifted her recorder closer as Hayden took a step back, his posture casual but defensive. [color=#6A5ACD]"So you [i]are[/i] here for that then?"[/color] she pressed, wasting no time on a potential scoop.

 [color=#969fab]"No. No,"[/color] he said quickly, more animated than he had been all night; his brows knit with a mock worry.  [color=#969fab]"I should [i]not[/i] have said that. That’s off the record. Don’t… don’t publish that."[/color] His hand went to his forehead and he let out a faint, but dramatic sigh through his teeth and began to turn away from the recorder, quickly enough to wink at Margot; an unspoken tell through his feigned regret. As he finished his 360, he met Josie’s eyes with his own; the soft hazel of them pleading with her.

 [color=#6A5ACD]"Oh of course,"[/color] she purred out, almost happily. Her finger clicked the button and the light went out.  [color=#6A5ACD]"Totally our secret."[/color]

Margot watched the recorder's red light extinguish, and the relief was so immediate, so visceral, that it left her momentarily lightheaded. She kept her expression free of any real feeling, arranged into something that might pass for polite attentiveness. Inside, however, her thoughts scrambled to catch up.  Hayden's deflection had been… inelegant. A touch too theatrical, its seams visible if you knew where to look. It would almost certainly resurface later as a clipped, decontextualized soundbite if Josie decided to be punitive. But it had worked. Josie's attention had pivoted like a weather vane catching a stronger wind, and Margot was no longer standing in the direct line of fire. A reprieve. She would fucking take it.

[color=#a7afcb]“I’m just going to….”[/color] she began lightly, lifting her now-nearly-empty flute as if the glass itself were sufficient explanation, [color=#a7afcb]“...grab something else.”[/color]

A socially acceptable exit line, delivered without waiting for permission. Margot stepped back, angling her body away from the pair, offering Josie a polite nod that stopped just short of invitation. The reporter was already half-turned toward Hayden again, her expression sharp with fresh calculation. Good.

Before she fully withdrew, with Josie's back now a screen between them, Margot caught Hayden's gaze. Her lips curved into something small and sincere, unguarded in a way she rarely permitted on camera. She lifted her hand just slightly, fingers brushing the rim of her empty glass in a gesture that was almost a salute, and mouthed the words silently:

[i]Thank you[/i]


Then she turned away. 

As Margot threaded herself into the thinning edge of the crowd, her shoulders finally dropped a full inch. The din of the party swelled again, reclaiming her in flashes of light and sound and bodies in perpetual motion. Her pulse still beat a little too rapidly against her throat; her hands, she noticed, were faintly unsteady.

Something stronger. That’ll help, she decided—no more champagne.

And then there were two, and even then, Josie had what she wanted: a scoop to take away with her, and barely a word to offer Hayden in exchange. He sighed, leaning back over the railing again. There wasn’t much time to think of his idle, drinkless hands before another waiter handed him more champagne. It really wasn’t his drink, but it really wasn’t his city, either.

He drew in a breath through his teeth. [color=#969fab]"Zara’s going to be fucking pissed,"[/color] he muttered, almost laughing at himself.[/color][/indent][/indent]