𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 {𝐬𝐱𝐬}

chapter five

———

𐦟 OMNISCIENT 𐦟

THE GROCERY STORE hums under the soft glow of overhead lights, aisles half-stocked and quiet at this late hour. Audrey pushes a half-filled cart slowly down the cereal aisle, her little sister Maya trailing beside her, dragging her feet and crunching on a half-open bag of Hot Cheetos like it's a protest.

"I told you I was only grabbing a few things," Audrey says, skimming the shelves for granola. "You the one who turned it into a whole trip."

Maya shrugs, licking her fingers. "We ain't got snacks at home. Aubrey big-back self ate them all."

Audrey exhales sharply through her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching. She's tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind that sinks into her chest and refuses to leave. But being with Maya, even when she's being a mouthy brat, grounds her.

"I'm taking y'all school shopping next week," Audrey says after a beat. "So be thinking about shoes."

"Need some new Jordans for sure," Maya says without hesitation, grinning. "Let me get online."

"You got Jordan money?"

"I got Audrey money."

Audrey snorts. "That's why I'm tired now."

They keep walking. Maya's phone buzzes in her pocket, and she slows down to check it. Audrey doesn't notice at first—she's reaching for a box of Frosted Flakes—until she hears someone behind her.

"Hey."

That voice.

She turns, heart hitching slightly. Santana stands a few feet away, hands in her pockets, cart nearly empty. She's in black sweats, a fitted black tee, slides. Her locs are pulled back into a low ponytail. There's a soft glint in her eyes, that same stillness that caught Audrey off guard the first time they met. Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, she looks... good.

Audrey blinks, then lets out a soft breath. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Same," Santana murmurs, eyes trailing over her slowly. "You off work?"

"Yeah," Audrey says, tucking a loc behind her ear. "Grabbing groceries for my siblings before it gets too late."

Santana nods, her gaze lingering. "You look... different."

Audrey arches a brow. "Bad different?"

"Nah," Santana says, voice low. "Just... real. Comfortable."

There's a short silence that isn't awkward—just charged. Like the air shifted. Neither of them moves.

"How's your hand?" Audrey asks, voice softening.

"Healing. Still can't train fully yet."

Audrey nods. "That's good. Just let it heal, and you'll be back out there in no time."

"You sound like a nurse."

"I am a nurse," she says, and Santana's lips curve into a slow grin.

"Right. Forgot. That calm, in-control energy." She leans a little closer, just enough to lower her voice. "I'm guessing you don't let too many people see you outside the scrubs."

Audrey's breath catches. It's subtle, but Santana notices.

"I don't," Audrey admits.

"You let me though."

They hold each other's gaze. There's something unspoken blooming in the air between them—curiosity, interest, heat—and neither of them tries to smother it.

Audrey clears her throat lightly, reaching into her hoodie pocket for her phone. "You got a number?"

Santana raises a brow. "You askin'?"

"I'm saying," Audrey replies, almost smiling. "You should give it to me before I walk away and you regret it."

That gets a full grin out of Santana. She pulls her phone out, fingers moving slow.

Audrey calls her number on the spot. Santana glances down at the screen. "Got you."

They don't say goodbye right away. Santana's phone slips back into her pocket, but she's still standing there, head tilted slightly, like she's trying to figure out what just happened.

Maya reappears suddenly, like the energy finally got too loud for her to ignore. She glances between them, lips pressed into a smirk.

"What?" Audrey says, already rolling her eyes.

"Nothing," Maya sings, backing up again. "Y'all good. I'm ready when you are."

Audrey watches Santana for a second longer, then gives a soft nod. "It was good seeing you."

"Same," Santana replies, voice low again. "Text me."

"I will."

Audrey turns back toward her sister, but not before catching the way Maya's grinning at her like she just witnessed her big sister's entire love life shift on its axis.

"You're smiling," Audrey says flatly.

Maya shrugs. "I'm minding my business."

"No you're not."

Maya starts walking toward the register. "She fine though. You need that."

Audrey shakes her head, but there's no real fire in her voice. A subtle blush creeps up her neck as she pushes the cart after her sister—her phone still warm in her pocket.

⸻

          THE GYM IS HALF-DARK, lit mostly by the pale glow leaking in from the streetlamp outside. A single overhead bulb flickers faintly in the back corner, but Santana doesn't bother turning on the full lights. She likes it this way—quiet, still, a little gritty. Everyone else is gone. Just her and the smell of iron, dust, and yesterday's sweat.

She sits on the edge of the bench in front of the mirror, shirt clinging to her back, black sweatpants hanging low on her hips. Her left hand rests on her knee, wrapped in gauze and tension, still tender if she moves it too fast. She flexes her fingers slowly, then winces when the dull ache flares up and reminds her that she's not invincible.

She could push through it. She's done worse with less. But tonight, she doesn't.

She hears Audrey's voice in her head again, soft but firm:

"Promise me."

She hadn't said it like a warning. More like a reminder.

Santana exhales, leans forward, and starts slowly unwrapping the tape from her hand. Her jaw ticks with the same frustration that's been following her for days. She needs to get another match soon—bills were coming back around—but still, she listens. Knowing that if she fought again too soon, she'd really be fucked up.

She tosses the balled-up wrap into the trash bin near the water station, grabs her phone, and sinks down onto the bench again. Muscles still twitching for movement. But her thoughts? They're already somewhere else.

More specifically, they're in aisle six of that damn grocery store.

Slides, sweatsuit, long locs swinging, and still—Audrey walked like she owned every inch of space around her. Unbothered. Solid. And when Santana stepped into that space, something shifted between them. Just slightly. Just enough.

Santana taps open the empty text thread again. Stares at the blank bubble like it owes her something.

Then finally types:

You always walk like you ain't in no rush?

She sends it and lets the phone rest in her palm, unreadable under the glow of the gym lights. Just enough curiosity to reach without looking pressed.

It buzzes back quicker than expected.

Audrey:
You always watch that hard?

Santana smirks, thumb hovering.

Wasn't hard to notice.

A pause.

Audrey:
Guess I move slow when it's worth it.

Her lips twitch—almost a smile.

You tryna move like that again?

The reply takes longer this time.

Audrey:
I might be. You got something in mind?

Nothing big. Just a drink. Some air.

Audrey:
You tryna be seen or just outside?

A little of both. You free tonight?

Audrey:
Yeah. I'll drive.

Bet. I'll drop the address. 11 cool?

Audrey:
Cool.

See you then.

Audrey:
Yeah... see you.

Santana lets the phone rest on her thigh, thumb still hovering near the screen. Her mouth lifts, just a little—more exhale than smile, but it's there. That quiet something pulling at the corners of her lips. Her pulse doesn't pick up. Her breathing doesn't change. But her energy shifts.

She wipes her neck with a towel and leans back against the mirror. Lets her head fall back. Lets herself feel it.

She's not used to pacing herself.

Not in fights. Not with women.

But tonight, she's willing to move slow.
Let her hand heal.
Let this build.

Whatever this is.

———

              IT'S LATE. QUARTER past midnight when the Durango pulls up outside Santana's place. The neighborhood's quiet, streetlights buzzing faintly overhead. Audrey sits behind the wheel, arm resting loose on the center console, a lazy beat humming from the speakers. Just Another Interlude by Bryson Tiller plays—she let the playlist shuffle itself. Her wristwatch catches a gleam from the dash light.

Santana steps out a few minutes later. She's dressed simple: a white fitted tee, jeans that sit low on her waist, and clean white Forces. A silver chain glints against her collarbone. Audrey's eyes flick once to her, then to the road, then back again—just long enough to notice her moisturized lips and the fresh retwist framing Santana's face.

"Wassup," Santana says as she slides in, the door shutting behind her with a heavy click.

"You ready?" Audrey asks, calm.

Santana nods. "Yeah."

They pull off smooth. Streetlights blur past the tinted windows, the inside of the truck dim, warm, cocooned in subtle tension.

A few blocks in, Santana speaks. "Who was that with you the other day? At the store."

Audrey chuckles low, surprised. "My little sister. Maya."

"She look older than you."

"That's what everybody says," Audrey replies, glancing over with a grin. "But nah. I'm the oldest. Got two siblings."

"Mmm." Santana nods. "I only had my pops. No siblings. He passed when I was nineteen."

Audrey's eyes soften hearing that. "That why you fight?"

Santana shrugs, gaze fixed ahead. "Part of it."

They ride in silence again, but now it's full of new weight. Understanding. Quiet respect.

By the time they pull into the club lot, the city feels asleep. It's a weekday, so the crowd is thin but not dead. Inside, the bass is low and seductive, vibrating through the floor. Red lighting spills across exposed brick, catching bodies swaying slow near the bar and booths. Wicked Games by The Weeknd pulses from the speakers—smoky and dark, like a spell.

They move through the room together with ease. Heads turn as they walk by, but they pay them no mind.

At the bar, they both order drinks. Hennessy for Santana. A whiskey sour for Audrey.

They sit close, angled toward each other. The conversation slips into a slow rhythm, like the beat in the background.

"So... Reaper?" Audrey asks, leaning on her elbow, fingers lazily circling the rim of her glass. "That name got a 온라인카지노게임?"

Santana smirks, the dim red light painting sharp lines across her jaw. "Picked it myself. First underground fight I ever did, girl walked out the ring knotted up, broken nose. Told her crew it felt like death touched her."

Audrey's brows lift slightly, impressed. "Damn."

Santana shrugs, sipping her Henny. "It stuck."

"You like it?" Audrey asks.

Santana glances at her, head tilted. "Yeah. It fits."

Their knees bump, and neither moves. Audrey doesn't even notice at first—her legs casually angled toward Santana, sneakers resting under her stool. She's a little loose now, warm from the drink, eyes half-lidded, smile soft.

Santana notices everything. The way Audrey's slightly oversized black tee hangs off her frame. The gleam from the watch on her wrist. The faint tattoo peeking from under her sleeve. The slight sheen on her brown skin where the light kisses her jaw.

"What about you?" Santana asks. "Why nursing?"

Audrey blinks, caught off guard by the question. Her fingers slow on her glass.

"I don't know," she starts, then corrects herself. "Nah, that's a lie. I do. Growing up... somebody had to take care of everyone. My mom wasn't really—" she pauses, eyes trailing the lip of her glass. "—equipped."

Santana nods slowly. Doesn't press.

"I guess I got used to patchin' shit up," Audrey finishes, voice soft.

Their eyes meet again. This time, Audrey holds it. But something about the look Santana gives her makes her pulse jump. There's weight in her stare. A quiet pull. Audrey looks away for half a second, flustered, letting out a short laugh as she pretends to check her phone.

"You nervous or somethin'?" Santana teases, her voice low.

Audrey glances at her again, head tilted. "I don't get nervous."

"That right?"

"Mmhmm." Audrey sips her drink, then adds, "Just surprised. You real bold with them eyes."

Santana leans a little closer, resting her forearm on the bar, smile slow and sharp. "You ain't even seen bold yet."

Audrey laughs—real this time. She doesn't lean back. If anything, she shifts forward slightly, their knees flush now. Her thigh slips between Santana's just a little. She still doesn't notice.

Santana does.

She takes another sip and says, "You talk like you scare people off."

"I do."

"I don't scare easy," Audrey says, voice dipped low, that slick, lazy smile tugging at her lips.

Santana's eyes drop to her mouth, linger, then come back up. "We'll see."

They keep talking—quiet and close. Close enough to smell the warmth of skin, the mix of cologne and body heat. Audrey smells like bergamot and cedar. Santana like spice and something dark.

Audrey leans in to say something else when a woman approaches—light-skinned, short curls, snug dress and glossy lips. She smiles at Audrey like she's known her forever.

"Hey... you wanna dance?"

Audrey blinks. The woman's voice slices clean through the moment.

Audrey glances at Santana, almost like she's asking permission. Not out loud, but her body says it. Her eyes say it.

Santana doesn't move. Doesn't blink. But her jaw flexes once. She smiles slow, like her patience is being tested.

"Go ahead," she says, voice calm but cool. "Do your thing."

Audrey hesitates. Then shrugs, standing. "I'll be back."

"Mmhm," Santana murmurs, watching her walk off.

The woman leads Audrey to the small crowd swaying near the center of the floor. The lights flash red and gold, shadows cutting through rhythm. The beat's thick—slow grind, hips to hips. The woman wastes no time pressing herself to Audrey, arms wrapping loose around her neck.

Audrey leans into it, moving in sync. Her head's fuzzy from the drinks, from the attention. But something in her won't let her forget the stare she knows is burning into her back.

She doesn't look at first.

But when she does—when her eyes lift just enough to scan the bar—Santana's still there.

Sitting exactly where she left her. Henny in hand. Legs spread, forearm propped on her thigh. Watching like a predator in waiting.

Their eyes lock.

Audrey's body responds before her brain does, heat spreading from her chest, slow, thick. Santana doesn't flinch. Doesn't smile. Just watches—head tilted, locs slightly covering her face, lips parted like she's chewing on a thought she ain't ready to say out loud yet.

Audrey keeps dancing, but her heart's thumping now. Not for the woman in front of her—but for the one still sitting at the bar.

Waiting.

⸻

          THE RIDE BACK TO Santana's place is quiet. They don't say much—just the hum of the engine, the occasional flick of turn signals, and the low thump of SZA bleeding through the speakers. Neither of them reaches for the volume. Neither breaks the silence.

But it isn't uncomfortable.

It's charged.

Held together by everything they haven't said.

Audrey pulls up in front of Santana's place. Kills the engine but doesn't move.

The house is dark. Porch light buzzing faintly above the door.

Santana leans back in her seat, eyes on the windshield, fingers resting on her thigh. Her jaw flexes once. She glances over, slow.

"Ayo..." Her voice is low, thick with something heavier than the night. "We gon' keep playin like we don't want each other? Or we gon' get this shit out?"

The question lingers.

Audrey doesn't answer right away. Her head tilts a little, locs sliding forward as she turns to look at Santana. Lips part like a response is coming—but nothing lands. Just a soft exhale. Her gaze drops. Comes back. There's something glossy in her eyes. Something open, but still locked up tight.

Santana clocks it.

The hesitation. The weight. The drink still in Audrey's system.

She doesn't push.

Just nods once, slow. Soft.

"It's cool," she murmurs. "We ain't gotta talk about it now."

She reaches for the door handle.

"Just... text me when you make it home. Let me know you good."

Then she's gone. Stepping out and shutting the door behind her with that same calm she walked in with earlier. No heat. No pressure.

Just presence.

Audrey watches her walk up to the house. Watches her unlock the door. Step inside. Light spills briefly across the porch, then fades.

She stays parked there for a few more seconds. Eyes on the door.

Still stunned.

Still feeling every word that didn't get said.

Then she shifts in her seat, starts the engine, and pulls off into the night.

———
ꨄ vote & comment ꨄ