Chapter Text
It's one thing to be secretly in love with your costar—the person you're supposed to maintain a purely professional relationship with in the public eye—it's another thing entirely to be in a relationship with them.
It had happened gradually, then all at once—the way the best love stories always did.
The first Wicked film's release had been a triumph beyond their wildest dreams. Awards, box office records, endless speculation about their chemistry, about the magic they'd created together. And through it all, they'd had this—this private universe where they belonged entirely to each other.
They'd navigated two years of 'will they won't they', 'are they aren't they'. During the first Wicked press tour, they'd been flirty and uncertain, dancing around feelings neither was quite ready to name. Now, heading into Wicked: For Good, they were a confident couple, fully secure in each other and their relationship—even if the world didn't know it yet.
They'd talked about going public, of course. Late-night conversations wrapped in each other's arms, discussing timing and logistics and what felt right. They'd both agreed, without any pressure or hesitation, that waiting until after the second film's release made sense. The story was too important. Glinda and Elphaba's relationship was too sacred. They wanted audiences to experience For Good without the lens of their real-life romance coloring the narrative.
"We'll tell them when it feels right," Cynthia had said, her British accent soft in the darkness of Ariana's bedroom. "When both films have had their moment. When we're ready to share this part of ourselves."
Ariana had agreed completely, running her fingertips down Cynthia's back. There was something beautiful about having this just for them—something that belonged only to the two of them, untouched by public opinion or media scrutiny. "I like having you all to myself," she'd admitted with a smile.
"You do have me all to yourself," Cynthia had assured her, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her lips. "Always."
So they'd gotten good at protecting what they had. The knowing glances across crowded rooms that spoke volumes. The way their hands would always find each other, casual and natural and impossibly tender. The whispered inside jokes that made them laugh in a way that came from genuine intimacy. Their teams knew, of course—their managers, their publicists, the people who coordinated their lives. Everyone understood and respected what they were protecting.
And now, with the Wicked: For Good premiere tour about to kick off, they felt that familiar flutter of anticipation.
The tour schedule was ambitious: São Paulo, Paris, London, Singapore, New York—a whirlwind journey across continents, each premiere a celebration, each appearance a chance to share their work with the world. And more importantly, a chance to be together again.
The past few months had been demanding in ways they hadn't fully anticipated. Cynthia had been in London working on her next project, while Ariana had been in New York filming a movie. Their relationship had become a careful choreography of time zones and stolen moments—FaceTime calls squeezed between takes, voice notes sent in the middle of the night, text messages that said "I miss you" in a thousand different ways.
It was tough. Some days harder than others. Ariana would wake up to find a sleepy video message from Cynthia, her face soft and makeup-free, saying good morning even though it was late evening in London. Cynthia would finish a grueling fourteen-hour shoot and find a string of texts from Ariana, documenting her day in fragments—funny moments on set, complaints about craft services, photos of sunsets that made her think of them.
They stayed connected constantly, threading their separate lives together with words and images and the sound of each other's voices. It wasn't the same as being together, as waking up in each other's arms or sharing quiet evenings curled up on the couch. But they were making it work, holding on to what they had with both hands, counting down the days until moments like this—when their schedules would align and they'd get to exist in the same space again, even if just for a little while.
That night, Ariana barely slept, her mind already in São Paulo, already imagining walking into the hotel and finding Cynthia waiting for her. She'd timed her flight perfectly—she'd take the red eye and land with just enough time to check in, get ready, and make it to the premiere. It would be tight, but that was fine. She'd just wrapped her film a few days before leaving barely enough time to pack. The exhaustion was worth it. Everything was going to be perfect.
Cynthia touched down at 12:47 PM local time, exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure.
The flight from London had been long, but she'd spent most of it thinking about Ariana. About seeing her face in person instead of on a screen. About holding her hand on the red carpet where thousands would see but never truly understand what that touch meant to them. About finally, after months of distance, being able to fall asleep next to her.
On the way to her hotel, she finally checked her phone.
Eleven texts from Ariana, sent over the past few hours.
Ari: just finished packing
Ari: the dogs know something's happening. they're giving me THE LOOK.
Ari: you know the look
Ari: thinking about you
Ari: thinking about how in less than 24 hours we're gonna be in the same city
Ari: same building
Ari: same ROOM
Ari: i might actually combust
Ari: is that dramatic
Ari: that's dramatic isn't it
Ari: i don't care
Cynthia laughed out loud and turned toward the window, smiling at her reflection in the glass.
She typed back a quick response.
Cyn: Just landed. Exhausted. Can't wait to see you. And yes, I love you anyway. Even when you're dramatic.
Cyn: ESPECIALLY when you're dramatic.
Ari: are you at the hotel yet?
Ari: what room are you in
Ari: nevermind, just tell me in person
Ari: god tomorrow feels like forever
Then, a pause. A full minute of nothing. Then:
Ari: i love you
Cynthia smiled so wide her cheeks hurt.
Cyn: Baby, I love you too. So much. Get some rest on your flight.
Cyn: Tomorrow ❤️
The next day, everything went according to plan. Ariana's car arrived at 2:30 PM to catch the red eye flight out to São Paulo that evening. Airport security was smooth. She made it to the gate with time to spare, her carry-on packed with everything she'd need for the whirlwind ahead.
By 5:15 PM, she was settled in her seat, headphones in, already imagining the moment she'd walk into that hotel in São Paulo and find Cynthia waiting.
The cabin doors closed at 5:42 PM.
And then... nothing.
At first, it seemed normal. Pre-flight checks, the usual announcements. But ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The plane sat motionless at the gate.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking." The voice crackled through the speakers, apologetic but professional. "We've identified a maintenance issue that our ground crew needs to inspect before departure. We expect this to be resolved shortly. We appreciate your patience."
Ariana glanced at her phone. This is okay. Everything is still okay. Maintenance checks happen. It would be fine.
Another twenty minutes crawled by.
Ariana's heart started to sink. She pulled up her calendar, mentally calculating flight time, customs, travel to the hotel, getting ready. The math was getting tight.
She opened her messages to Cynthia.
Ari: Haven't taken off yet. There's some kind of maintenance issue. Still hoping we can take off soon xo
The reply came immediately.
Cyn: How long have you been sitting there?
Ari: almost 90 minutes
Cyn: Oh baby. Are you okay?
Ari: just want to get there
Cyn: I know. Keep me posted ❤️
A moment longer.
Cyn: Stay safe. I love you
Ari: I love you
An hour and fifteen minutes passed.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for this extended delay. We understand this is frustrating. Due to federal regulations regarding tarmac delays, we're required to inform you that if we are unable to resolve this issue and depart within the next hour and forty-five minutes, we will need to return to the gate and allow passengers to deplane."
Ariana sat frozen, her hand pressed against her chest as if she could physically hold her heart together. Her pulse was racing, heart pounding in her ears.
This couldn't be happening.
When they finally returned to the gate, Ariana and her team regrouped in a frenzy, frantically searching for alternatives.
Ariana stared at them, eyes wide with barely contained panic, waiting for someone to tell her something.
"I know," her assistant said gently before Ariana could even speak. "We're looking into alternatives right now, but—"
There was a pause that made Ariana's heart sink.
"Get me on another flight. Any flight. I don't care about the route or the airline, just get me there."
Her team scattered, phones pressed to ears, fingers flying across screens. Minutes stretched into an eternity—ten, fifteen, twenty. Each shake of a head, each frustrated sigh, each whispered conversation felt like another door closing.
Finally, her assistant looked up, and Ariana felt all the breath leave her lungs.
"Ari... every flight to São Paulo is completely booked," her assistant said gently. "We even tried Johnny's flight. They're already over capacity. We looked into private options, but you need a permit which we don’t have time to get. We've called in every favor we have, but there's nothing available that would get you there in time."
The room went still around her.
"I have to be there," she said, and her voice came out smaller than she intended. "This is the first premiere for..."
But more than that—so much more than that—she was supposed to see Cynthia tomorrow. They'd been counting down the hours.
"I…I need to call Cynthia," Ariana said quietly.
She walked away from the gate, away from her team, toward a quiet corner near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the tarmac. Her hands were shaking as she found Cynthia's contact, pressed call.
Cynthia picked up instantly. "Hi, baby. How's the flight?"
"Cyn." Ariana's voice broke on the name.
Immediately, Cynthia's tone shifted. "What's wrong?"
"I—" Ariana took a shaky breath, trying to keep herself together and failing. "My flight." Her voice was trembling. "They cancelled it." Another shaky breath. "They couldn't fix it. They said they can't—there's no—"
"Baby, slow down." There was rustling on the other end, the sound of a door closing, giving them privacy. "What's going on?"
The words came out thick with tears she was trying to hold back. "The maintenance issues—the plane is grounded, and there are no other flights available. I can't get there in time."
Cynthia could hear it, that particular rhythm that meant Ariana was starting to spiral.
"Okay, okay, breathe for me," Cynthia said, her voice steady even as her own heart began to race. "It's okay—"
"It's not okay." Tears were falling now, and Ariana didn't bother trying to stop them.
"There has to be another option," Cynthia said, her mind racing. "Another airline, another route, a private—"
"They're trying. Everyone's trying. But it's—" Ariana's breath hitched. "There's no way to get me there in time."
"Ari..."
"I'm going to miss it." The words came out thick, wet. "The first premiere of the last movie... I'm going to miss it and there's nothing I can do."
Cynthia pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could somehow ease the ache there. "Listen to me. This is not your fault. You know that, right? This is a mechanical issue. This is completely out of your control."
"But they'll think—people are going to think I just didn't show up. That I didn't care enough. That Brazil wasn't important to me. But it IS important, Cyn, it's so important, everything is so important and I wanted to be there so badly—"
"I know. I know you did."
"And I wanted—" Ariana's voice dropped, became almost inaudible. "I needed to be there with you."
Cynthia closed her eyes. She could picture it so clearly—the two of them on that red carpet together, finally able to just exist in the same space after months apart.
And now Ariana would be stuck watching it all unfold on a screen.
"I know, baby. I know." Cynthia's voice was gentle, aching with everything she couldn't fix. "I wanted that too. So much."
"I'm sorry," Ariana whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't you dare apologize. This isn't your fault. You did everything right. You can't control mechanical failures."
There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of Ariana trying to breathe through her tears.
"I just—" Ariana's voice cracked. "I miss you so much. We were supposed to— I was going to wake up next to you tomorrow."
"Paris," Cynthia promised, her own voice wavering now, emotion breaking through. "We'll be together in Paris. We can wait a few more days."
Hours later, Ariana was back home, curled up on her couch with Toulouse pressed against her side. She'd cried until she had nothing left, posted her tearful apology to Instagram, recorded a video to share with the fans, having to stop and collect herself multiple times before she could continue. And now she was just... numb.
Her phone buzzed.
Cyn: [Photo attached]
It was Cynthia in her premiere outfit—a daring charcoal ensemble that left very little to the imagination. The high turtleneck top had strategic cutouts that revealed her toned midriff and the curves of her torso, all that smooth skin on display, paired with a dramatic full skirt and statement silver belt. The amount of skin showing was bold, breathtaking, absolutely stunning.
Cyn: Wish you were here. I picked this for you.
Ariana's mouth went dry.
Fuck.
Ari: I want to put my hands all over you
Cyn: That was kind of the idea, love ;)
Despite everything, Ariana felt a smile tug at her lips. Leave it to Cynthia to make her feel something other than devastation, even from thousands of miles away.
Ari: we're video calling the SECOND you get back to your room. I need to see you in that. and then watch you take it off
Cyn: You're so silly
Ari: I’m so serious
The premiere was a blur.
Cynthia made the best of the night with Johnny and Jon. The three of them laughed together, posed for photos, soaked in the energy of the crowd—but god, she missed Ariana. Every moment felt incomplete
The fans had started a hashtag—#WeStandWithAriana—sharing messages of support and understanding. They'd seen her Instagram story explaining what happened and her video message apologizing to the Brazilian crowd had already popped up online. The response was overwhelming.
But Cynthia also saw the other posts. The speculation. The theories. The people who didn't believe it was just a cancelled flight, who insisted there must be some drama, some scandal, some reason why Ariana wasn't at her own premiere.
It made her roll her eyes. People always needed a scandal, a story. They couldn't just accept that sometimes planes broke and schedules fell apart.
The fans were incredible though—passionate and emotional and so genuinely thrilled to be there. It was everything they'd worked for. Everything they'd dreamed of.
She just wished Ariana was there to share it in person.
The second Cynthia closed her hotel room door, she was calling.
"Tell me everything," Ariana said immediately. "Every single detail."
So Cynthia did. She described the red carpet and the screaming fans and the way Jonathan had made everyone laugh during the photos. She talked about the energy in the theater, the standing ovation that went on for what felt like forever.
"It sounds perfect," Ariana said softly, and Cynthia could hear the longing in her voice. "I wish I could've been there."
"I know, baby. Me too." Cynthia paused, then felt a smile curve her lips. "But I do believe I made you a promise earlier."
There was a beat of silence, then Ariana's voice came through, lower, breathier. "You did."
"Give me two seconds." Cynthia switched to FaceTime, propping her phone up on the dresser. She stepped back so Ariana could see the full outfit still on her body—the high turtleneck, the exposed skin of her midriff, the dramatic skirt, the silver belt catching the light.
"Jesus Christ," Ariana breathed, and Cynthia could see her on the small screen, curled up on her bed, eyes dark and focused. "You wore that all night and I wasn't there to—"
"I know," Cynthia said, her voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. "That's why I'm giving you a private showing now."
She reached for the belt first, slowly unfastening it and letting it drop to the floor with a soft clatter. Her eyes never left the camera, watching Ariana watch her.
"Cyn," Ariana whispered, and there was something desperate in the way she said it.
Cynthia's fingers found the zipper at her side, drawing it down slowly. The skirt pooled at her feet, leaving her in just the cutout top that barely covered anything. "This is what you wanted to see, isn't it?"
"Yes," Ariana said, her voice barely audible. "God, yes."
Cynthia turned slowly, letting Ariana see every angle, every inch of exposed skin. "I wore this for you," she said quietly. "Spent the whole night wishing it was your hands on me."
She could see Ariana shift on the bed, could see the way her breathing had changed. "Keep going," Ariana said. "Please."
Cynthia reached for the hem of the top, lifting it slowly over her head until she was standing there completely exposed, all that skin Ariana had been thinking about finally fully visible.
"Fuck," Ariana breathed. "You're so beautiful. I miss you so much."
"I miss you too, baby." Cynthia moved closer to the camera, her voice soft and intimate. "Paris. Just a few more days and I'll be able to feel your hands on me for real."
"And when you get there," Cynthia said, a smile playing at her lips, "I have a surprise for you."
Ariana's eyes widened slightly. "A surprise?"
"Mhmm. But you'll have to wait to find out what it is." Cynthia's smile turned teasing. "Think you can be patient for me?"
"Cyn," Ariana groaned, and Cynthia laughed, the sound warm and affectionate.
"Just a few more days, love. I promise it'll be worth the wait."