When Faye answers the doorbell a few hours before Spring Fling, freshman year, the last person she expects to find is a frazzled Diana Meade on her doorstep.
"Are you lost?" she asks pointedly and Diana looks at her sheepishly. She's already wearing her dress for the dance, even has her heels on and her makeup partially done. Her hair's in a messy ponytail though and Faye raises an eyebrow.
Diana frowns, looking up and down at Faye in her pyjamas, "Aren't you going to the dance?"
Faye scoffs and leans against the doorframe, "Dances are for losers. Seriously, what are you doing here?"
Diana bites her lip and looks at her helplessly, "I need help doing my hair."
Frankly, Faye's surprised. She and Diana aren't exactly friends. They're acquaintances at best. Sometimes Diana says hi to her in the hallways, sometimes Faye says hi back. They were close when they were little. Faye can still remember sleepovers at Diana's, roasting marshmallows over the stove and trading secrets in the dark. Faye doesn't know why Diana's here but then she remembers all the time she plait her hair on the playground when they were younger and she wonders if Diana did too.
"Isn't there anyone else?" Faye says a little rudely.
Diana shrugs and looks a little embarrassed. "There's only so much my dad can do, you know."
Faye never really thought about it. As much as she likes to complain about her mother, at least she has one to rely on for stuff like this, even if Faye does so grudgingly. It explains a lot actually, like how annoyingly prepared Diana always is or how precise she always looks, all clean-cut blazers and perfect makeup. The thought of Diana anxiously researching Seventeen gives Faye an uncomfortable swooping feeling in her stomach. Diana fixes her with that Bambi-eyed gaze of hers and Faye falters.
"Fine," she rolls her eyes and gestures upstairs, "just go to my room and I'll do your stupid hair."
Diana beams and bounds up the stairs. Faye follows in exasperation. When Faye finishes half an hour later, Diana's hair is partly up, the rest in soft ringlets that Faye almost burnt herself doing with the curling iron.
"How's that?" Faye knows the question is moot the second she says it. Diana looks beautiful and Faye's fingers suddenly feel hot from where they're innocently resting at the nape of her neck.
Diana looks in the mirror and smiles. When she stands up and faces Faye in her heels, she's almost as tall as she is.
"It looks great. Thanks," she says sincerely.
"Whatever," Faye says dismissively but then Diana leans in, kisses her softly on the cheek and Faye doesn't even have time to recoil and throw in a snappy quip.
"No, really. I mean it. Thanks a lot, Faye." Diana's eyes are soft in the weak glow of Faye's bedroom lamp and Faye knows she used too much hair spray. It has to be the fumes because why else would she be feeling so dizzy?
"Jeez, Diana, if I knew you'd be so sickening, I would have never said yes," Faye says sardonically. She reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Diana's ear and the temptation to do something more, god, she has no idea what, just hits her.
"Yeah, well, I really wanted to look good for Adam," Diana says and Faye's hand drops to her side.
"Adam," Faye says hollowly and Diana blushes. "Yeah, Adam."
"Well, you don't want to keep Conant waiting," Faye mutters. She turns to unplug the curling iron, clear away the hairpins cluttering her desk, anything to distract her from how stupidly weird she's feeling. Diana takes the cue, touches Faye's shoulder before she leaves. It's only when she's gone that Faye can breathe again.