Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Pretty in Pink. Those rights belong to John Hughes.
Author's Note: One-shot based off the ending of Pretty in Pink, with a few artistic liberties thrown in for good measure. I'm still not entirely content with this, but regardless, I hope you enjoy it!
Pairing: One-sided Steff/Andie, one-sided Steff/Benny, Andie/Blane
He can't believe what he's actually witnessing.
The world grinds to a halt as he watches her waltz across the floor, clad in a monstrosity of her own design, hand in hand with that… freak. A growl escapes his throat as he clenches onto his glass, wishing the tumbler could transform into flesh and bone. His grip only marginally lessens when he begins to feel it strain; he's not too keen on ending the night with a fistful of glass.
Benny continues on with their conversation, oblivious that anything could ever be amiss; she curls in beside him, wiping an invisible speck away from his shoulder, a shallow excuse to get closer. He no longer bats an eye at her lewd remarks, her breath cloyingly sweet as she hisses in his ear, reeking of gin and mint.
Oh, how he hates her.
At his right, the screeching of steel alerts him to the possibility that Blane is no longer the spineless worm he's always pegged him for, if their history is anything to go by. A few weeks ago, all he'd have to do is whisper the right words, pull a few strings, and doubt would overwhelm Blane.
Now he stands, loafers transfixed on the spot, no longer his childhood friend but a deer caught in the rush of oncoming headlights.
It's as if he, too, can feel the severity of this moment. He makes no move forwards, nor does he dare resume his place; whatever action he takes next will cause the tides to shift, their game irrevocably changed.
He should have known he wouldn't be the only one mesmerized by this little tornado, a chaotic whirlwind of scarlet and ivory, who slowly is exhausting all of his barricades.
She'll always be the great anomaly in his life, the one puzzle that doesn't quite fit; she's the only girl that breaks the mold, a mixture of innocence and iron all wrapped in a pretty pink bow.
She's everything, but she's nothing, nothing more than a blip on his radar.
After a few beats, Blane comes to a decision of his own accord. He marches forward, a defiant little set in his shoulders, and Steff would be howling with laughter if the stakes weren't so dire.
Instead, he steels himself with a swig of scotch before hurrying after his friend, flashing a wink and a one-liner at Benny; that should at least keep her satisfied for the time being.
When he comes into range, he yanks Blane back by his shoulder, a sneer etched across his lips as he berates him; this little insurgence needs to be crushed under his heel, once and for all. Blane never really has understood his status in their game of kings and queens; he puffs himself up to be a knight when really, he's nothing more than a pawn.
With a look of disgust, Blane shrugs out of his grip, dismissing him with a final, scathing retort; Steff's fingers flex, and it takes all of his self-restraint not to deck him.
Instead, he falls back into place, his glacial orbs donning a leonine grace as he watches the pair. The inane chattering of his peers does nothing to diffuse the tension, their ignorance only serving to heighten his abhorrence.
Across the room, Blane leans in close to Andie, his breath whispering against her skin; she takes a sharp inhale, her lashes fluttering shut at his words, a warm flush dusting the apples of her cheeks. As he brushes past her, a look of longing flits across her features, soft and wan, as if she doesn't yet have the nerve to dream.
He feels as though he's going to retch.
Then that… that thing, takes her hand and with a few small words, bolsters her fragile courage; Andie's eyes are shining when she wraps her arms around him, before gathering her skirts and rushing out the door.
He slams his fist on the table, all of the anger rushing out him of him with a snarl; Benny shrieks, ripples of gold streaming down the front of her gown, clawing at his arm. A single look is all it takes to silence her, her eyes flashing dangerously as she folds her arms over her ruined gown.
As he stalks out of the doors, she throws the glass after him, narrowly missing his head. Benny silently weeps at the table, her tears glimmering like the crystal now lining the floor; she throws back the rest of her drink, a mixture of jealousy and sorrow draping over her like a shadow.
When he is safely hidden from view, he races down the corridors like a man possessed.
His pulse is ringing in his ears as he darts through one abandoned hall after another, his features highlighted under the sheen of perspiration. If he can move swiftly, perhaps there's still a chance…
A bitter chuckle escapes his lips.
Here he is, enduring all of this torture, and for what? The beautiful maiden is swept away by the gallant knight, leaving behind nothing but the cruel and bitter viscount; no one will mourn his fate.
Still, something compels him to rush forward, an incessant burn nipping at the back of his heels. Regardless of the outcome, he needs to witness this story unfold with his own two eyes; only then, will it be reality.
The auditorium doors sway open, revealing stormy skies and sodden earth; he strides through the archway, each step measured with careful purpose, unwilling to draw any unnecessary attention.
In the midst of this, a man whirls a woman into his arms, the hazy, fluorescent glow of the streetlights illuminating their figures. Steff pays no heed to the downpour, refusing to move a single inch, even as the rain saturates skin.
The young woman bridges the distance between the pair, wrapping her arms around the young man's neck, ruby lips seeking their mate. They pull away slowly, each grinning ear to ear, before scurrying off into the night.
He flicks a stray droplet away from his cheek, his lips curling with disgust, their melodic laughter echoing through the air. With a final glance, he turns his heel and leaves, a phantom she'll never deign to see.
Fairytale ending were always such a cliché.