A/N: Alright so this is a pretty cheesy idea for a fic. But the idea just popped in my head while driving home from school, so I figured I'd give it a go. I'm pretty sure this is still considered a songfic even though it's not in the format I usually publish in. It's based on the "Light my Candle" song/scene from RENT, and though it may be a stretch, it would help you understand what I was thinking about if you imagine Lance as Roger (loner musician) and Kitty as Mimi (cute love interest of musician). Please let me know what you think. I own nothing.
"I'm gonna run out for a while," Pietro announces to his friend across their loft. Lance, who is sitting on the beat up couch, fingers plucking the strings of his electric guitar, nods in acknowledgement. Pietro sighs heavily. "You know," he points out, "You and that couch have become best friends over the past few months. You might wanna get out of here every once and a while." Lance nods, "I'll put that on my to-do list." Pietro throws his coat on, and walks out.
Lance lets his fingers work at the thin strings, hoping for inspiration so he can write another song. He presses his fingers on the frets, creating different tones, and still nothing comes to him. Lance places the guitar on the floor, and runs his fingers through his brown hair. Dammit!
He hears a rapping on the door. Lance lifts himself up from the couch, and walks towards the knocking. "Hang on Pietro," Lance says, taking his time walking to the door. Swinging the door open, Lance asks "What did you forget?" to his friend on the other side…only to see a petit brunette standing in front of him. "What?" she asks. "Huh?" Lance asks, stunned to see such a pretty girl in front of him. "Oh, it's nothing. What's up?" he asks.
The girl waves a candle up in front of his face. "You got a light?" Lance nods, walking towards the kitchen area to find a match. "I know you," Lance says, pulling open all drawers to find the small booklet of matches. "Like, I live on the floor beneath you," she points out, walking into the loft. "Oh, right," Lance says. The girl hugs herself and her pink sweater, shivering slightly. "You're shivering," Lance points out.
"It's nothing, the landlord turned off my heat," she explains, slumping against the counter. Lance looks up, alarmed, holding a small booklet of matches. "Sorry, I'm just a little weak on my feet," she says, "Find anything to light this with?" The girl holds her candle up as Lance strikes the match, looking at her face; heart-shaped, pale, clear pale skin, puppy dog brown eyes, smooth auburn hair reflecting a few pale highlights in the moonlight, bangs framing her face. She reminds him of…
"What are you staring at?" She asks, feeling uncomfortable. Lance turns away suddenly. "Nothing. Your hair in the moonlight. You look familiar." He walks towards the couch. "Like I said, I live below you," she points out, walking towards the door. She stumbles a bit on her way out. "Can you make it?" Lance asks. She turns around, smiles and nods. "Just haven't eaten much today. At least the room stopped spinning, anyway." She turns to leave, realizes he is still staring. "What?"
Lance blushes, unaware of how much he was staring. "Nothing, your smile reminded me of…" She interrupts, "I always remind people of—who is she?" Lance clears his throat. "She died. Her name was Marie." The candle flickers, the tiny flame dies. The girl shrugs, announces that it's out. "Sorry about your friend. Would you mind lighting this again?" Lance shakes his head, and retrieves the matches.
"Well…" he says, bringing the newly lit match to the wick. "Yeah?" she hangs on his next few words, not noticing a small drip of wax landing on her delicate fingers. "Ow!" she mutters, shaking the heat off of her hand. "Oh the wax," Lance points out, it's--" "Dripping," she interjects, "I like it between my—" "Fingers, I figure" Lance finishes, not wanting to know if she was really going to say that or not. He puts his hand behind his head awkwardly. "Well, goodnight." The girl turns around slowly, shielding her tiny ember against the air. Lance follows her so he can lock the door. She smiles and he waves half-heartedly before closing the door.
"Weird girl," Lance says to himself, eager to return to his couch. There's another knock at the door. Lance scoffs heavily and opens the door. It's the girl again. "It blew out again?" he asks. She shakes her head. "No. I think that I dropped my stash." She nervously feels around in the pockets of her tight fitting jeans. "I know I've seen you out and about," he insists as she storms past him. The ember disappears. "You're candle's out." "Dammit!" she mutters, holding the candle close to her. "I was really excited to get a fix tonight," she says shakily. She retraces her steps, mumbling that she had it when she walked in the door, and it was pure.
"Is it on the floor?" she asks, slamming the candle on the counter and getting down on her hands and knees to search. "The floor?" Lance wonders, staring at her as she crawls around. "You know, they say that I have the best ass around here," she points out flirtatiously. "What do you think?" she asks, turning her head to face him. Lance tries to look her in the eyes, but his gaze slides further down her body. "Huh?" he asks, dazed. "You're, like, staring, so I thought I'd ask," she reasons, swiveling her hips and continuing her search.
"I wasn't—I mean," Lance stammers. He sighs heavily before dropping to the floor to help in the search. "You look familiar," he tells her. "Like your dead girlfriend?" she says, half asking and half assuming. While searching, their heads bump. She pulls away and covers her head with her hand, smiling her pretty smile.
"Only when you smile," he says, "But I swear I've seen you before—outside of this building I mean." She stops crawling, and kneels on the floor. "Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club? That's where I work," she explains that she's a dancer. "Yes!" Lance exclaims, suddenly recalling her face from his past nighttime adventures. "They used to tie you up." She shrugs, "It's a living," before returning to her search. Lance comments that it was hard to recognize the girl when she's not in handcuffs. She shrugs again. "I'll keep looking. Would you please light my candle again?" He gets up, feeling around his pants pockets for his matches. "Why don't you forget that stuff? You look like you're sixteen."
"I'm eighteen!" she states bluntly. "But I feel a lot older than I am. I guess I have a wild side." She crawls around near the counters. "I had a wild side too," Lance explains, "I used to shiver like you." "I have no heat," she reminds him. He notices a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. "I used to sweat," he states. "Like, I gotta cold," she counters. "I used to be a junkie," he confides. The girl stops searching. "Now and then I just like to feel good, you know?" Her big brown eyes plead him to understand where she's coming from. "Uh huh," Lance sarcastically responds. He spots a small bag on the floor near his feet, grabs it quickly, tucking it in his back pocket.
"What was that?" she asks, watching his hand. "Nothing," he lies, "just a candy bar wrapper." She shrugs and lifts herself off of the floor. "Whatever," she sighs, lifting herself off the floor and grabbing her candle. "Well, if you could light my candle, I'll be out of your way," she announces, holding her candle level to his hands. He feels around for his matchbook, but doesn't find it. "What's wrong?" she asks. "That was my last match," he confesses. She shrugs again, "Like, it's fine. My eyes will adjust. I guess I'll just be grateful for the moonlight." She looks out Lance's window at the bright stream of light filtering in. "Maybe it's not the moon at all. I hear there's a movie shooting down the street," he jokes.
The girl looks out the window, holding her hand against the glass. It shakes, so Lance wraps his own hand around hers, as though his own hand was a mitten. "Cold hands," he observes, looking down at her. She blushes, "Yours too. Big, like my fathers." She pulls him back towards the kitchen. "Wanna dance?" she asks. "With you?" "No, with my father."
"I'm Lance," he says, leading her towards the door. When they reach the doorway, he leans down towards her. Her arm touches his waist, and trails down his back, sending a strange sensation up his spine. "I'm Kitty," she says, gliding her slender fingers into his back pocket, pulling out the small plastic bag and waving it in his face before rushing down the stairway.
She passes Pietro, who stares at her thin frame while she walks down the stairs. "Who was that?" he asks. "That's the girl downstairs," Lance says casually, taking his place on the couch once more. "The dancer?" Pietro asks, taking off his coat. "She give you a freebee to cheer you up?"
"What makes you say that?" Lance inquires, his face warming. "Cuz you've got this goofy smile on your face. Man, I'd kill for a girl like that right now." Lance chuckles to himself. "She just needed someone to light her candle," he explains, picking up his guitar. His fingers slide along frets and pluck strings, suddenly filled with inspiration.
"I guess you needed someone to light yours, too," Pietro comments before sitting on the other end of the couch, sitting back and enjoying the acoustic melody.
A/N: So I added the appearance of Pietro at the end to give the story more of a frame. It still seems cheesy but overall I like it. Please let me know what you think.