The Beautiful Ones

AN: I have ANOTHER idea for a CA fan fic, which I will probably do when this fic is over. Also, As Long As It Matters by The Gin Blossoms is the perfect song that describes Criss and Cassandra’s relationship.

She slept on his couch in the day that followed. She began to wear his t-shirts to bed. He found himself waking early in the morning to sneak a few glimpses of her asleep, her lips parted, her hair tangled around her face.

It seemed like they were attached at the hip. He had to do at least one run through with her a day. They started with him sawing her in half.

“Criss,” she said uncertainly, eyeing the saw. “I’m just not too sure about this.”

“Relax! The only one who really got hurt flinched!”

“What?” Cassandra went pale. Criss laughed.

“I’m teasing you.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

“That is NOT a very funny joke.” She glared. Criss could only chuckle again as he helped her into the box.

When they weren’t doing run throughs, they were doing errands. When they weren’t doing errands, they were answering fan mail. When they weren’t answering fan mail, they were at his mother’s. When they weren’t at his mother’s, they were sleeping, and Criss began to wonder if it would be okay to offer her the chance to sleep in his bed.

Completely platonically, of course. She just looked like she could use a good sleep in a real bed.

You really should be getting her an apartment of her own; a voice in his head informed him. You’re skating on thin ice. Don’t start tap dancing.

He wanted to tell this voice to shut up. But of course, the voice was right. It was a bad idea all around to get involved with Cassandra. But that didn’t stop him from noticing the way the light caught her eyes, or the way she bent her head over the keyboard, or the way she tucked her hair behind her ears.

**

It had become altogether too comfortable around Criss, Cassandra decided one night as she tucked herself into bed, cuddling Stanley close. They were starting to have inside jokes, for the love of God. Inside jokes, to her, were the ultimate showing of friendship.

Then there were the moments in the morning when she was stumbling around in his t-shirt, making a cup of tea for her and a cup of coffee for him. He often walked by her, or needed to get around her for something. He’d cup her hip ever so gently to keep from toppling her over as he reached for a banana or a granola bar.

Two weeks ago, she would have gone stiff if he touched her. She would have frozen, waited for him to be done, shrunk away from his fingers. Now Cassandra could only think how warm and soft his hands were.

There was something altogether too cozy about the whole thing.

You’re not here to fall in love, you’re not here to get laid, she told herself. You’re here to do a damn job, make money, and then leave. Don’t lose sight of that, Cassandra. This is just a pit stop, not a final destination.

Finally, it was the night before her debut. She was sitting on the couch, legs folded beneath her, watching television, twisting her fingers. Criss walked by and covered her hands with his, making her jump.

“Huh?”

“You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t do that.” He told her softly. Their eyes locked and she nodded slowly.

“I won’t,”

“You should get some sleep. We’re going to be really busy tomorrow.”

“I know.” He still didn’t move his hand from hers. Cassandra didn’t think she wanted him to. Criss picked up the remote with his free hand and clicked off the television.

“Lay down, Cass.” He murmured. She was already wearing one of his old shirts, a black one that just barely skimmed the tops of her knees. Obediently, she stretched out on the couch.

Criss drew her blanket over her and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. She looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that was halfway between innocent and come to bed with me. Before he knew what he was doing, Criss bent and kissed her forehead.

“Good night, Cassandra.”

“Good night, Christopher.”