Archive of Our Own

It was a quiet afternoon at Runway, too quiet and peaceful in Andy’s opinion; it felt like a trap anyone could walk into. She rubbed her eyes, then glared at the layouts in front of her. She was working herself to the bone, and she doesn't even have a deadline to catch. She was simply a woman in love with a woman who’s unaware she gets off to competence and efficiency — Andy’s expertise, and she’s just using this extra work as an excuse to drop by Miranda's office. 

A series of knocks on her office door soon proved her musings true. 

“Hey, Nige,” She greeted without looking up from the layouts occupying her desk. 

“Six,” Nigel said. “I think you’ve been hanging around with her majesty way too much; you've picked up some of her habits.”

Andy finally looked at him in bemusement as Nigel took a seat across from her. “You are what you eat.”

“Well, clearly you haven’t yet, otherwise I still wouldn’t be in the middle of this weird courting ritual between the two of you,” Nigel quipped. 

Andy narrowed her eyes. “There are only two people here who come and go in my office, and between the two of you, you’re the only one who knocks, Nige.”

“Touché,” Nigel conceded. “Since you’ve brought that up, I should just get straight to the point.”

Andy inclined her head, waiting for him to continue. 

“HR is concerned about her plummeting public ratings.” He removed his glasses and pinched his nose before giving Andy a tired look. “They want you to figure something out.”

She smirked. “Just me, huh?”

Nigel, caught in his subterfuge, could only groan as he leaned on her desk and whispered. “She listens to you, Andy.”

“No, no,” He tutted as Andy opened her mouth to refute him. “You’ve noticed it too. Don’t deny it.” 

“My ideas are solid.”

“Yes, Six, they’re good, but Miranda has never said no to you, nor did she shoot down any of your suggestions. Sure, she made you work for it, but she’s already on board even before giving her utmost approval. You're her favorite, whether you admit it or not.”

Andy bit her lip. It was true, this odd indulgence Miranda had shown only to Andy; by letting her do what she needed and wanted to do, by giving Andy her own space, and by extension giving her so much freedom and control over her work. She tried not to think of it or even consider it, but hearing it come from Nigel was quite jarring. 

Suddenly, they heard commotions occurring right down the hallway, and among the chaos, Nigel’s name was being shouted with increasing frequency. He took a deep breath and let it out, along with a tired sigh. 

“You’re on your own, Six.” Nigel patted her on the shoulder. 

She watched him walk away, and when the door shut, Andy dropped all pretense and buried her face in her hands. She let out a tiny scream and groaned at the headache she already knew was coming in the next few hours. Headaches caused by the love of her life, but she doesn’t know that. Said love of her life was also playing a game of pretend strangers with her, and now her heartache that she managed to dull by ignoring it came back in full force. Really, Andy doesn’t know how much longer she can appear this optimistic whenever she had to share the same space Miranda was in. 

Andy kicked her foot off the floor, sending her chair spinning towards the pane window behind her. Then she slumped back, biting her lips when she felt the familiar sting in her eye whenever she was close to tears, all because she was staring at this damn blue sky that’s like the shade of Miranda’s eyes when she’s eviscerating someone. 

She didn’t know how long she had been sulking, but then she heard someone clearing their throat behind her, so she spun her chair around. Only to be greeted by the sight of the very subject of her thoughts. 

“Oh fuck, Miranda!” Andy exclaimed, heart lurching out of her chest. She jumped out of her chair, almost toppling it over from the sudden movement. 

“Miss Sachs,” Miranda said, for a brief moment, an indiscernible look flashed on her face, then it was gone in a blink. If Andy weren’t so used to reading her, she would’ve believed that she didn’t see anything at all. “It seems Runway doesn’t provide much use for your brilliant mind if you have time to waste like this.”

Which meant, ‘what’s wrong?’ in Miranda language. Which felt like a balm to the stab aimed at her heart whenever Miranda addressed her in all types of names except for the one name that mattered most: Andrea.

She'd give anything just to hear Miranda say her name like that again, she'd take any chance of hearing it – doesn't matter if Miranda wouldn't say it in her soft cadence – she'd begged for it even if Miranda would spit it with all the hate and disdain she's capable of.

Yeah, Andy was so gone for her that she would beg for whatever scrap of attention or affection she could get from the woman she had pined for in decades.

Andy shook her head, chasing her thoughts away. She realized that she kept Miranda waiting for a response, so she quickly stammered out, “What brings you here, Miranda?”

“HR,” Miranda growled. “Surely, they would stop hunting me down if they knew I’m with my dragon tamer, won’t they?” She grinned sardonically when she mentioned the nickname the office bestowed on Andy. 

Andy sighed tiredly, hand coming up to massage her temple while she opened her drawer to grab the bottle of Tylenol she kept for emergencies. “You’re not a dragon, Miranda. Don’t listen to them.”

She popped two pills in her mouth, then grabbed her coffee to down it. She grimaced at the lukewarm coffee before throwing it out, blaming herself for acquiring Miranda's taste for center-of-the-sun coffees because her love-addled mind decades ago thought that if she couldn't have the woman in her life, then she could have these small things that reminded her of Miranda. Then she went to the small personal bathroom in her office to splash some water on her face. When she got back, she found Miranda sitting on the couch in the corner that she claimed as her spot whenever she paid Andy an unannounced visit, staring at her quite intensely with the same indiscernible expression. 

“Miranda—”

A series of sharp knocks on her office door cut her off, and Andy glared at the unwanted interruption. She marched towards the door and opened it; her irritation getting the better of her was evident in the force she used.

“Amari,” She muttered coldly — evidently trying to imitate the way Miranda would. She didn’t offer any more greetings except for a raised eyebrow. Her body unconsciously moved to block her from peering over inside her office, hiding Miranda from her and anyone else who's probably going to just waste her time with their incompetence.

‘Look at me being possessive, and they had the gall to call Miranda a dragon.’ Andy chuckled darkly at the thought.

“Do you know where Miranda is?” 

‘Isn’t it your job to know where she is?’ Was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back and instead said, “James called in an emergency runthrough for the show he’s doing in two days. She’s on her way there. You should be able to catch up to her if you go now.” 

Andy saw her off, and when she was out of earshot, she punched Roy’s contact in her phone. It only took one ring before he answered. “Hey, Roy, if Amari asks, tell her you're driving Miranda to Holt’s, then end the call and turn off your phone. Thanks.”

Andy ended the call in what she could proudly say was very Miranda-esque, then she locked the door behind her to ensure that they wouldn't be disturbed anymore and that she'd only open it if the building was burning down or if Miranda wanted to go somewhere and she'd follow her as a puppy would. She strode towards her desk to grab her tablet, then turned to sit on the chair opposite Miranda, who regarded her with an incredulous look. 

“That should keep her off your back for a few hours,” She explained with a shrug. “She doesn’t know which showroom the non-existent runthrough is happening in.”

“And what if I need my assistant?”

“You have me.” 

When Miranda offered no response, Andy took that as an end to their discussion and opened her tablet instead, tapping on the screen until she finally found what she was looking for. “Here, take a look at this.”

She handed her tablet to Miranda, who accepted it with a raised eyebrow. 

Andy nodded at the tablet resting on Miranda’s lap. “Watch that,” her lips pouted to point at the video already playing on the tablet. “We can do that to boost your public ratings up so HR can stop bothering you.”

“Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway reading thirst tweets…” Miranda trailed off, and Andy had to bite her lip hard to stop herself from laughing, but it was unsuccessful. She snorted, and Miranda sent her a withering glare that would’ve had her running before, but now, she just found it quite adorable. So she beamed at her instead and moved in a way that none of them expected. 

Andy found herself seated right beside Miranda, shoulders touching, scant space between their legs, but Miranda didn’t flinch or move away from her, so Andy acted naturally as if she didn’t just invade the personal space Miranda’s quite protective of and got away with it. “I want to watch too.”

Miranda pushed the tablet halfway towards her, and Andy leaned on her side, head tilted so close she could feel wisps of silver brushing against her temple. 

Throughout the video, Andy kept stealing glances at the woman beside her from the corner of her eye. She marveled at how Miranda looked so focused on what she was watching, how her lip would twitch when the actors read something amusing, how she would purse her lips to prevent a grin from breaking out, and how badly Andy would like to kiss those sinful lips that had been tempting and torturing her every waking and restful moment.

At the halfway mark, she didn’t bother to hide the fact that she’d spent the whole time watching Miranda so much so that she didn’t shy away when the editor turned to face her. 

Andy was inexplicably drawn to her bright blue eyes that once regarded her with pride in that car ride where they had that life-changing conversation, glared at her with coldness at her indiscretion, and looked over at her appreciatively every morning when she had finally taken her job at Runway seriously. 

So lost in her thoughts about Miranda’s eyes that she had unconsciously raised her hand to tuck away a curled lock that had escaped the signature, perfect coiffed hair of the editor. Her fingers began to sift through soft silver locks. 

“Miss Sachs,” Miranda’s voice was hoarse, but it was still powerful enough to tear through the haze she was in. 

“Oh,” Andy mumbled, gently extracting her fingers from Miranda’s hair. 

“So you’ll do it?” She asked without missing a beat as if what she had just done earlier hadn’t crossed any line. 

Miranda stared at her in silence; it didn’t unnerve her, and she supposed it was only fair since she did it earlier, too. Minutes passed, and both of them held each other captivated with no intention of letting the other go. Then Miranda spoke in her soft, dulcet tone. 

“I trust you.” 

Andy could only beam at her as those three little words felt like the sun had finally shown itself in her bleary world. 

“Yes, Miranda.”

As per usual, Andy handled everything, not because she was forced to, but rather because she took it upon herself to take care of it all on her own. From directly speaking with the production and making sure they adhered to her instructions, down to the schedule arrangement of everyone involved in the shoot.

Plus, being the one held responsible for everything meant that she got to speak to Miranda directly. No need for her to go through assistants and set appointments when she could just barge into her office at any time of the day or night. 

There was also some pressure coming from HR pestering her about her choices regarding Miranda’s public ratings, but when Miranda had gotten wind of it, she retaliated by giving them another headache of unnecessary firings and a not-so-subtle threat that it would increase the following day if they didn’t back down. Andy returned the gesture with a scalding hot decaf that her assistants couldn’t manage to get to the right temperature, and a takeout from Smith & Wollensky, hand delivered by her on the same day with a handwritten note that said, ‘I won’t tell your doctor if you won’t ;) - Andrea’.

Andy only shrugged her shoulders while sporting a satisfied grin when she saw Nigel watching their interactions from the outer office. Nothing could dampen her mood, especially when she saw Miranda keep the handwritten note in her desk drawer with a subtle twitch of her lips. 

Everything appeared to go swimmingly, and because of that presumption, Andy inadvertently lowered her guard, which was a crucial mistake when working for Miranda Priestly. But Andy hasn’t realized that yet, so she just went on her day blissfully unaware until the day of the interview came. 

As per Miranda, the whole day had been cleared for the scheduled interview, and that she was only to be disturbed if it was an issue that Nigel couldn’t handle, and it had to be him to contact her. All other calls would be unanswered. She extended the same prerogative to Andy, which made her wonder if she could take Miranda out to dinner later and maybe even have a late nightcap at the townhouse, and…

Her thoughts trailed off, but hope remained as it had for years. 

I had hope. My god. I live on it. 

So did Andy. She was filled with desperate, feverish hope every day that something would happen between them because if she’d been brave enough, Andy could confidently say that there was this pull that continues to draw them to each other. It was there — before this reunion, before Paris, before the Harry Potter incident, before the cerulean monologue — the moment they laid eyes on each other for Andy’s interview. 

Andy snapped out of her musings when she heard the barista call her name. With two center-of-the-sun coffees in hand, Andy walked towards the silver Maybach parked on the street. 

“Hey, Roy,” She greeted Miranda’s longtime driver and handed him a banana bread. “She’s still up there?” 

Roy accepted her offer with a grin, munching down on it, both of them leaning on the car, chatting just like old times while they waited for Miranda. 

“Said she’s just finishing something up and to make sure you're comfy, so if you wanna go in the ac’s already on, Andy.”

“Nah, I’ll wait for her here.”

“So what’s the score between you and the boss lady now?” Roy asked casually. Aside from Nigel, he’s the other person who knew of her unrequited — maybe not — love for Miranda. 

Andy bit her tongue in shock and smacked his shoulder. “Roy!”

“No one heard us, Andy and I didn’t say her name.” 

Andy narrowed her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Look,” Roy inclined his head, and Andy followed the direction he indicated. 

There she was, striding towards them, red heels clacking, trench coat billowing as if it were a cape. Miranda looked at them with narrowed eyes, which meant she saw them fooling around, but Andy paid no mind to it, and she waved at her instead. 

“Center of the sun,” She said, handing out the container so Miranda could grab her coffee. 

Roy opened the door, both of them waiting for Miranda to get in, but she didn’t move. 

“Miranda?”

“By all means, move at a glacial pace,” Miranda drawled. “You know how that thrills me.” 

Images of Paris flashed in Andy’s mind — Miranda in a gray robe, Miranda crying, Miranda’s words, Miranda watching her leave. She tried to speak, but the words got stuck in her throat. 

Then Andy felt a hand pressing on the small of her back, guiding her towards the car and depositing her inside. She automatically moved to her side, and Miranda slid in right after. 

“Drive, Roy,” Miranda ordered. 

A comfortable silence filled them. Andy couldn’t pinpoint when it began to feel like that, but she had developed some sort of fondness for these quiet moments that she used to fill with her rambling and chatter. 

“Which one’s mine?” Miranda broke it by asking her. 

“Here,” Andy’s voice was hoarse as she handed Miranda her coffee; their fingers brushed, but neither of them pulled away; instead, they both moved back reluctantly. 

“Thank you,” Miranda murmured. She took a sip of her coffee, and it was followed by a content hum. 

Andy hid her smile as she took a sip from her own cup. Then she busied herself by scrolling on her phone, checking her calendar and emails until a notification from Twitter popped up and a daunting realization finally sank its claws in her. 

She almost spilled her coffee when she suddenly jerked upright. “Shit.”

Then she remembered she’s not the only passenger inside the car. “I mean — nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

“Yeah,” She finished lamely. “Everything is under control.”

“If you say so,” Miranda conceded, but her gaze remained. Andy, who was in a panic overdrive inside her head, looked away for the first time since she returned to Miranda’s orbit. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. 

She is fucked and not in the ways she wanted Miranda to do to her. 

All because Andy, despite her laser-focused and meticulous attention to detail, has failed to consider one thing. A simple fact that would no doubt affect both her personal life and career; it’s that she, Andrea Sachs, owned one and not just one but the most well known Miranda Priestly stan account in twitter — said twitter account has been around for two decades, contains tweets defending Miranda from bad press and stupid fan wars against Anna Wintour stans, and a whole damn lot of tame appreciation tweets towards the editor down to the nastiest and thirstiest tweets known in that platform. 

Andy gripped the phone tightly in her hands as she contemplated what to do next. She could come clean to Miranda now, but there’s also a slight chance that they didn’t even use her tweets. Yeah, right. She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair as she usually does when stressed. She really should’ve insisted that she’d been involved in choosing the tweets to be presented, but the production team was quite firm on that part, and it was either she let them have that or nothing at all. 

She cursed them in her head and then herself for compromising. Then she remembered that every one of them signed NDAs. Well, she could work with that. Yeah, she’ll cross that bridge later. 

For now, she should be rational. The tweets are anonymous in that sense, usernames and profile pictures are either cropped or blurred. No one could trace it back to the users, not unless they would really put in an effort and scour through Twitter for it, and she doesn’t think Miranda would be interested in doing that. 

Right? 

She glanced wearily at Miranda, who was watching her like a hawk, lips set in a tight line, phone in her ear. 

Before she could ask what she was doing, the call connected, and Miranda spoke harshly through her teeth. “Nigel, tell me what you have done to send my features editor in a state of panic right now.”

Andy gaped at her and barely heard Nigel’s confused answer, then, without thinking, she grabbed Miranda’s delicate wrist to speak through the phone. “We’re fine, Nige. Sorry to bother you.”

She hung up and let Miranda take her phone away, but Andy didn’t retract her fingers from her; instead, she lowered their hands to her lap and rubbed her thumb in soothing circles over the pulse point on Miranda’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry,” She murmured. “I was overthinking because I wasn’t involved in the screening process they did in choosing which tweets to give you to read, and I kinda spiraled. I’m okay now, Miranda.”

Miranda looked away from her, but Andy continued her ministrations, finding it calming for her too. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt Miranda’s fingers graze her hand back. She immediately sought her out and found her head still turned away as her fingers continued their light strokes against hers. 

Yeah, they’re both fine. 

Andy would live through the interview. 

Famous last words. 

They spent the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence, but somehow along the way their hands ended up laced together. Who initiated it? Andy had no fucking clue except that she doesn't want it to ever let go.

But all good things come to an end. 

When the car skidded to a stop, she loosened her fingers first, then reluctantly began to pull her hand away, which Miranda prevented by tightening her fingers around hers. Miranda glowered at her when she tried to tug her hand away, lips pinched, and Andy knew better than not to argue, so she looked down at their joined hands instead as she held Miranda's hand properly in hers again.

Roy opened the car door. Miranda stepped outside first, and she gave Roy instructions while she waited for her to get out too. Then they were walking towards the building, Andy right beside her, matching her steps, their hands still linked.

Andy stiffened when she realized that anyone could've seen them because even if there were no leaks about Miranda being part of this interview, paparazzi are just everywhere. She felt a thumb stroking the skin near her index finger in a soothing manner, so she let herself relax as they entered the building and went inside the elevator together. Andy pressed the floor number and leaned back on the wall as it climbed up.

A faint smile crossed her lips as she remembered the first time they shared an elevator; she almost asked Miranda about it, but they were still strangers, so she’d deny remembering anything. So she opted to say this instead: “You don’t share elevators with assistants.”

“You’re not my assistant.”

Andy opened her eyes and just as she had expected, found Miranda watching her. 

“You did. Once.”

The elevator bell rang, signaling their arrival on the floor. Andy moved first, and this time Miranda let her go. She immediately felt bereft, but she kept on walking. Soon she found herself talking with the production crew. After confirming a few things, she stepped aside and watched them set up. She grinned when they became frantic as soon as they heard a familiar clack of heels on the floor. It was music to Andy’s ears. It stopped right beside her. 

“Miranda,” Andy greeted her, turning her towards with a soft smile. 

“Stay right where I can see you,” Miranda said, no further explanations needed, as she understood the rest. Andy was to observe Miranda and her tells just as she had back then when she was her assistant, this time instead of just taking note of her opinions and pursing lips, Andy would have to read more into her so she could identify the parts Miranda would deem adequate to make it in the final cut. 

“Brief me,” Miranda muttered and took a step closer beside her. 

“Well, you’re going to read the thirst tweets they’d selected, you can react to them however you like, or you can just swipe to the next one.”

Andy’s head snapped in her direction, eyes wide. “Miranda, you cannot eviscerate those tweets. Any reaction would do —”

“I mean,” Andy backpedaled. “You can insult it back, but not too much. We need you to be relatable. Can you do that for me? Please.”

Andy clasped her hands together, imploring her to listen. 

Miranda seemed to be delighted at seeing her beg, which is why her question hit her unexpectedly. “Are the tweets all going to be obscene?”

“Oh no,” Andy replied. “I told them you liked structure, so they were kinda forced to start with tame ones first, and it’ll escalate to thirstier tweets.”

“Tame?” 

“You can thirst for someone without bringing out all the sexual stuff, Miranda.”

Miranda smirked at her. “Give me one now.”

“You,” Andy stammered, her brain short-circuiting at Miranda’s behest. “You want me to —”

“Any day now.” Miranda tapped her feet impatiently. 

Andy’s nostrils flared in indignation. Well, what Miranda wants, Miranda gets, and Andy would give her that and so much more. Fuck being strangers, she was done playing. 

“You’re so hot when you’re mad, and I know it’s true because I’ve both been on the receiving end of it and witnessed such instances. That cerulean lecture? It didn’t just open my eyes to fashion; it stuck with me. I could hear your voice and your whole monologue every time I saw that shade. 

Andy’s breathing was ragged, her chest rose and fell with every word, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop, and it felt like every single affection she had for Miranda that had accumulated over the years came crashing out like violent waves. Likening her feelings for Miranda to waves that ebbed and flowed but would always come back to the shore perfectly described her as she had returned to Miranda after years of being away. 

Then I’d think about your eyes, how it felt to be seen by you, how I could sense your gaze on me, and every single nerve on my body would rupture in your presence. And your hair – it looks so soft, probably much softer than cashmere – I’ve always wanted to run my fingers in it, I wanted to fix it when the wind messed it up or when you ran your own fingers through it too much because you were frustrated at someone’s incompetence.”

Not once did Miranda’s gaze stray from her, and there is that indiscernible look on her face again; despite not saying a word, she looked just as breathless as Andy had. 

“Miss Priestly, Miss Sachs. We’re all set.”

Andy turned to the staff who had interrupted them, torn between feeling relieved and wanting to tear him apart for interrupting. Still, she put on a smile and gestured at the mic pack he was carrying. “I’ll put it on her.”

She didn’t wait for him to hand it to her; she just took it and turned back to Miranda. “May I?”

“You never need to ask.” Miranda’s countenance softened for a moment, and then it was gone. Andy inhaled deeply, breathing in her perfume as she clipped the mic on her. She fixed the wrinkles she left on her crisp shirt before taking a step back. 

Miranda inclined her head at her. Andy knew what she was asking, so she playfully responded with, “Acceptable.” And took a step back. 

The producers directed Miranda on what to say first and that the camera would be continuously filming throughout the interview. She’ll be given a tablet containing the screenshot of tweets to be read, which is connected to the teleprompter in front of her, too. 

She watched Miranda regally sit on the chair they’ve provided, and Andy marveled at how the white backdrop behind her accentuated her silver hair and pale skin. It’s almost as if she’s in the middle of a black-and-white shoot for Runway. 

Then the director hit the slate. 

“You all know who I am,” Miranda drawled, eyes rolling at having to explain. Then she sighed when their eyes met. “I’m here because my features editor asked me to,” she paused. “And I find that I can’t deny her anything.”

Andy gaped at her, but Miranda broke their eye contact and adjusted her glasses in that sexy way of hers that made her hot when she had to look up from what she’s reading; it’s a sight that Andy seared in her mind so she would never forget. 

“"miranda priestly is problematic!!" have you ever considered that she's hot as hell?”

Miranda had read and went, “Well, I am the devil that wears Prada.”

Andy chuckled and she exhaled the breath that she’d been holding. That was a good start. 

“the sexiest thing about miranda priestly is her gray hair. i'll elaborate later.”

Miranda hummed. “My hair is iconic,” She glanced at Andy. “And quite recently it has been described as soft.”

“Idky but i think Miranda’s scalding hot coffee adds to her hotness at sassiness as a person”

Andy was surprised that Miranda knew what the abbreviation meant. She bit her lips to smother her smile when Miranda ignored the abbreviation and read each letter by its designated word. 

“My superior genes aren't impacted by the corporate coffee I partake in at the start of my day.”

She watched Miranda swipe to the next image. Most of the tweets that followed are relatively tame, but she turned her eyes on the production staff and saw them send gestures at each other, usually that would mean something was bound to shift, and this time it meant the tweets would start to get wild now. 

“miranda priestly could spit on me and push me into a wall and i'd thank her”

“I hope we never met.” It was Miranda’s quick dismissal of the tweet, but hearing those words come out of Miranda’s mouth caused some knots to turn in her stomach. 

“hey miranda … WOOF WOOF GRRRRRRR WOOF WOOF BARK BARK ARF ARF BARK WOOF WOOF GRRRRR SNARL SNARL HSSSSSSS GRRRRRRR WOOF BARK ARF BARK SNARL WOOF WOOF BARK ARF GRRRRRRR WOOF WOOF BARK BARK ARF ARF BARK WOOF WOOF GRRRRR SNARL SNARL HSSSSSSS GRRRRRRR WOOF BARK ARF BARK”

Miranda stopped at the second woof and furrowed her brows, which meant that she was confused, and her gaze immediately sought out Andy’s. 

Andy, out of instinct, suddenly replied. “It means they wanted to bark for you,” the producers sent her a thumbs up, signaling to her that it’s okay to explain things to Miranda while remaining off camera. “You know, be your dog.”

Miranda tilted her head and asked. “Do you?”

Andy unconsciously answered. “Yes, Miranda.”

“I see.”

Andy felt the entire production crew staring at them, eyes going back and forth, but she ignored them and just gestured at Miranda to continue. Surprisingly, she followed. That thought just sent Andy reeling back again to Miranda’s introduction. 

“I would argue with Miranda Priestly just so I could see her sexy ass mad face”

Miranda’s bright blue eyes darted back to her again, then she chuckled and swiped the screen with her finger. 

Andy was flushed, her cheeks were red, and she felt warm despite the studio having multiple AC units. Fuck, the things that woman’s voice could do. 

With a funny twist of fate, the next thirst tweet encapsulates her thoughts perfectly. 

“Miranda Priestly’s voice made my ovaries explode”

Andy buried her heated face in her palms then she peeked through her fingers and found Miranda looking at her again. She straightened up and sent her a thumbs up — whether it meant that she agreed with the tweet or that she’s fine, Andy doesn’t know anymore. 

“If she looked at me like that, I'd be on my knees eating her out I MEAN WHAT FWHO SAID THAT”

“Is it so difficult to spell?” Miranda mused as her finger swiped on the screen to show the next tweet. 

“eye flirting and eye FUCKING ?! Say no more from Miranda Priestly”

“My ophthalmologist has clinics on a Tuesday though I’m not certain if you can afford her rates.”

Andy resorted to biting her hand so she could muffle her laugh. If she hadn’t already harbored a soft spot for Miranda’s dry humor then she would’ve now.

 “Miranda Priestly please impregnate me”

“I have standards.”

Miranda’s eyes rolled heavenward and this time, Andy didn’t bother to hide her snort. Let the production team deal with it; her hand hurts as hell already. 

“her waist is so huggable, holdable, grabbable, kissable like it's so soft miranda baby my wife what business do you have having a waist so SOFT BUT SNATCHED”

“I’m not your baby nor your wife,” Miranda growled with disdain. 

And Andy, well, for one, she was stunned, then she proceeded to stomp on a memory of that morning in Paris, where she uttered half of those words with the same sentiments. Her eyes moved to Miranda’s waist, and Andy nodded in complete agreement with that tweet, that yes, Miranda Priestly’s waist is indeed snatched and all those things. 

“Miranda sure likes her steak juicy and pink just like my pus—”

Miranda coughed, her ears were flushed, but they turned redder when she did a quick glance at Andy, as a result, her cheeks were tinged with the same shade. 

“Cute,” Andy teased under her breath, but Miranda’s acute hearing caught it, so she sent a glare her way, to which she responded with a pout and a wave of her hand. 

Andy was having so much fun watching Miranda like this; being flustered, showing her dry humor that only she and Nigel had probably seen aside of the twins that she almost forgot the realization that sent her to a panic earlier in the car ride on the way here. 

It just so happened that the thing she dreaded has finally arrived. 

“I hope Miranda doesn’t mind another divorce because she can divorce my legs”

Andy stood still, numbed and shocked from the words Miranda had just finished reading. She wasn’t able to hear what Miranda said or see what kind of expression she had because her sight was blurry due to the unshed tears gathering in her eyes. 

Fuck. 

That was her tweet after all. She remembered tweeting it when the moment the news broke out that Miranda’s divorce proceedings with Stephen were already finalized. Miranda bled him dry in retaliation to the divorce being dragged under the scrutiny of the public eye from start to finish. 

Andy smiled wryly at her predicament. She tried to calm herself down and she found it possible by turning her gaze towards Miranda who was already looking at her — Andy noticed that, for a while now, Miranda was always watching her. She felt her beating heart slow to a manageable pace, and her breathing soon followed. She managed to send a wobbly smile in her direction, and only then did Miranda shift her eyes back to the tablet to read the next tweet. 

Andy was brought out of her musings when she saw Miranda fiercely glaring at the screen of the tablet, her knuckles turning white as she clutched the device, as if she might break it. 

“If I can’t have Miranda Priestly, can I at least have the tall, gorgeous woman beside her?” 

Andy locked in on the picture attached to the tweet. Her breath hitched as she realized that the woman in question was her. 

“Andrea is already spoken for,” Miranda sneered. She looked straight at the camera. No, she was looking at Andy. 

Andy didn’t know what compelled her to nod, but she did, and she couldn’t help but notice the tension on Miranda’s shoulder slowly melt away with her agreement. 

Suddenly, Andy became aware of the brevity of what Miranda had just said. 

Everything felt too much at once. One moment, she was drowning, and the next, she felt like she could take on anything thrown at her. There was no in between, only extremes, but maybe it does go with loving Miranda Priestly. But then she remembered their quiet moments and everything clicked for her. 

Happy and content with her realization, Andy fully returned her attention to the woman who was doing this silly interview all because she asked. 

Wait. 

Did she just —

“sex is good and all, but have you ever been lectured by miranda priestly, almost fired by miranda priestly, and almost blacklisted by miranda priestly”

“How very specific,” Miranda sniffed. 

Andy was still befuddled by the fact that Miranda said her name. Her name. Miranda’s way of saying her name. Andy badly wanted to march over to her and shake her shoulders just to confirm if it really happened, if she was finally back. If she were Miranda’s Andrea once again. 

The elation from hearing Miranda call her Andrea again took precedence over all of her thoughts and reactions to hearing Miranda read another tweet of hers. 

Nothing else matters anymore. Miranda called her Andrea. Andy doesn’t care if Miranda reads another tweet that belongs to her. She called her Andrea. 

“HBD MIRANDA!!! If you can't blow your candle, can you blow my stra—”

Fuck. That was hers. Both tweet and —

“What color is that?” Miranda squinted her eyes at the picture. Trust this woman to be more interested in the shade of something rather than the fact that the thing she was looking at is a strap-on. 

“I prefer cerulean,” she muttered in a distracted tone, but it was still enough to send Andy spiraling from where she stood. 

How come all of the tweets are all hers? Did the staff member decide to stalk her account for the wildest tweets and say, yeah this account is a goldmine, we’ll take everything from here?!

“One ‘that’s all’ from her, and I’m all wet.”

Miranda looked up from the tablet displaying the salacious tweet, and her gaze went past the producers and camera director to land directly on her. Andy tilted her head in question in response to Miranda’s eyebrow raise. 

“I’ll have to ask my features editor if she had the same visceral reaction.”

Andy choked on air. 

A staff member passed a water bottle to her, and she took a sip, but it did not help her at all. Not when Miranda’s eyes were burning holes through her with how intense her gaze was. 

It took a while to get her bearings back. Andy was certain that Miranda actually waited, and once she had assessed that Andy was really fine and all, that’s when she finally went back to reading. 

Andy wished she didn’t. 

"What's this?" Her eyes squinted once more, this time, it’s more narrowed and very much close to a glare.

"mirandypriestly," She muttered under her breath.  Andy could hear the cogs in her brain turning fast as Miranda pieced things together. 

Yeah. That’s it. She’s fucked. Dead. The woman she loved most would definitely kill her with her own hands. And it’s not even via La petite mort. 

"Oh, we must've forgotten to blur the username in that screenshot. We'll just cut this part —"

"No, no, I insist you keep it.”

A devilish grin painted Miranda's wine-red lips. Then she read with a blatant disregard for the original caption before swiping to the next one to view the images attached to the tweet. Said images were taken by the paparazzi, and were edited to include texts over the pictures by said user, mirandypriestly or rather, Andy. 

"Andrea Sachs' apparent life goals."

The first image was taken on the busy streets of New York, where Andy was wearing a black top with her gray suit. She was pouting as she stared at her phone — Andy was quite sure that she was reading a message from Miranda because she had no other reason to pout like that unless it had something to do with that woman. 

Miranda listed the life goals Andy wrote on the image in her soft cadence. “Be a great journalist, travel the world, be rich.” She sniffed. “How quaint, Andrea, you’ve already achieved the first two, and you’re well on your way to achieving the third.”

She swiped to the next image. 

It was a picture of them in the middle of a discussion or maybe a heated argument right outside the building of Elias-Clarke. 

“Andrea, where is my coffee?” Miranda’s tone was flat; it belied the fondness that shone in her bright blue eyes. 

Andy wished she hadn’t swiped to the next image because she knew what was written in there in all caps and colored red. 

“Make her drink my cum, ” Miranda drawled and directly spoke to her, ignoring all the other occupants in the room. “Really, Andrea, must you be so crass?” 

Andy, who was naturally predisposed to being riled up by Miranda, of course, responded in the only way they both had predicted. "I JUST SAID CU—”

“That’s all.”

Miranda finished the interview with her signature dismissive remark while Andy refused to look at her once she realized what she had said and proceeded to hide her face in her hands until she felt a gentle tug on her wrist, prompting her to look up. 

“Miranda, I—”

“We’ll talk later,” Miranda whispered, her breath warm against her ear. Then she placed her hand on the small of Andy’s back as she spoke with the producers. Andy barely heard what they talked about as she was simply moving on autopilot and letting the warm hand on her back guide her to wherever Miranda had decided to go. 

Andy spent the next moments beside Miranda in a daze. Miranda kept her close to her, and Andy didn't mind because a part of her may be rejoicing while the other half is spiraling into depression, that this might be her last interaction with Miranda. She barely responded when Roy shot a concerned glance at her, and she quietly got in the car after being ushered in by Miranda. 

They spent the car ride in silence as usual. The only difference is that the moment Miranda got it, she took Andy's hand in hers, and Andy simply let her as she stared out the window, looking at the damn blue sky that paled in comparison to her bright blue eyes. While Andy would've happily drowned in them anytime, she couldn't find the rash boldness – that caught Miranda's eye – to face her head on.

“Andrea,” Miranda called, and her heart stuttered. “We're here.”

Andy inhaled sharply as she was greeted by the unexpected fondness and softness plainly written on Miranda's face. Andy hadn't dared to name what she saw briefly flash in Miranda's eyes, but she knew it was clearly reflected in hers as well. 

“Miranda,” She mumbled, her voice shaking from the intensity of her emotions.

“Come along, Andrea.”

Roy opened the door, and they both stepped outside, climbing the steps together to the townhouse, their hands laced together. Andy couldn't help but lean on Miranda as the older woman put her key in to open the door. Once they were inside, Miranda helped Andy out of her blazer and hung it together with her coat, then she turned towards Andy.

“Patricia's tombstone is right underneath her favorite tree,” Miranda said, then she walked towards the kitchen. 

“What?” Andy followed after her with hurried steps. When she arrived at the kitchen, Miranda had placed two wine glasses on the countertop.

“Red or white?” 

She looked at Andy expectantly. Andy stared back at her, then Miranda huffed at her lack of response, so she quickly stammered out, “I'll have whatever you're having.”

Miranda filled their glasses with red wine, and Andy took a few sips before addressing the cause of her confusion. 

“Miranda, what do you want me to do about Patricia's tombstone?”

“You're going to apologize to Patricia,” Miranda stated. Andy gaped at her as she continued. “For besmirching her image, Andrea, how could you say those obscene things while using Patricia's picture?”

There was a moment of complete silence where they both just stared at each other, until Andy spotted a mischievous glint in Miranda's eyes. She finally let out a chortle that shook her entire body. Miranda's eyes softened as Andy lay her head on the marble surface, body still shaking, her arms snaked around her torso. She heard the scraping of a chair against the floor, and suddenly, Miranda's arms were around her. Andy was pliant in her embrace as she let the older woman drag her to the back door leading to the garden.

“Go, Andrea.”

Andy looked back at her, and Miranda inclined her head. What Miranda wants, Miranda gets, and Andy was always eager to please her. So she skipped in the garden until she reached Patricia's resting place. She crouched down and laid a hand on the smooth stone. 

“Hi, Patty,” She greeted as if the dog was really right in front of her. “Your mommy told me to apologize, but I think you're proud that it's your picture that I used. You know, I love your mommy quite a lot, that's why I couldn't stay away, why I came back. I should have come back sooner, Patty, and I'm sorry I wasn't there when you left them. But I'm here now, I won't leave or run away anymore. I'm here to stay. I'll take care of our Priestlys.”

Andy stayed there, using the time alone to collect herself. She knew Miranda did this to give her some space, and she appreciated it, even her roundabout way of doing so. Fuck, she was really so smitten with her. Andy knew that whatever happened next when she stepped back in the kitchen would determine how their relationship would be from now on. She didn't want to mess it up so she stuck around for another minute, this time she was trying to calm her heart that wasn't listening to her as it continued the thunderous beat that drowned every other sense she had. She knew it was futile to try to calm it down when it would just skip a beat and move faster once she saw Miranda again.

“I thought you smacked your pretty head on the pavement.”

Andy smiled at her remark, even though Miranda couldn't see it. She waited for Miranda to come closer, and when she did, Andy tilted her head to the side. “Patty and I are having a heart-to-heart talk.”

“All that remains are her bones. What are you talking about, Andrea?” She scoffed.

Warmth blossomed in her chest as she heard Miranda say her name again.

“Patty, look, your mommy is teasing me.” Andy pouted.

Miranda regarded her warmly and offered her hand to Andy. “Finish your talk, Andrea. It's time for us to have our own.”

“Wish me luck, Patty,” Andy sighed and placed her hand on Miranda's, and let herself be pulled up.

Their fingers inevitably intertwined on their own. With each step they took, the nervousness Andy harbored slowly dissipated until there was only a feeling that everything felt right, like her restlessness had vanished, like she had finally come home. 

When they entered the kitchen, Miranda stopped by the countertop while Andy remained silent. She knew that these kinds of moments aren’t Miranda’s forte, so she simply offered her comfort and assurance by waiting. Andy leaned on her arm over the countertop. She knew Miranda was watching her every move, and she hoped she would see through her actions what Andy couldn’t voice out, yet because she was waiting, would always wait for Miranda, no matter how long it would take. When she tried to shift her fingers so she could hold Miranda’s hand in hers, Miranda tightened her hold on hers, so Andy resorted to stroking the back of Miranda’s hand with her fingertips instead. 

“I owe you an apology, Andrea.” Miranda’s voice was hoarse, just like the time when she stopped Andy from caressing her hair from that day in the office. “I pretended not to know you, I denied our relationship and any association I had with you. I hurt you so much, and yet you never left.”

“But I wasn’t the only one hurting,” Andy replied, hand tugging Miranda closer to her. “You were hurting too, Miranda. We both hurt each other so badly that it drove us apart, but we found each other again.”

“You came back,” Miranda rasped, turning her blue eyes that were a shade darker than usual towards their joined hands. 

“I did,” Andy trailed her fingers on her jawline. Her touch was light and tentative, but she became bolder when she felt Miranda pressed her cheek to her palm, so she cupped her face and made her turn her head towards her. “You were everywhere, Miranda. I couldn’t stay away, so I just decided that since I couldn’t have you, I should allow myself to have the little things that reminded me of you.”

Her thumb brushed over sharp cheekbones that flushed under her ministrations. Still feeling quite bold, Andy leaned in and pressed her lips to give it a fleeting kiss. “I go to a coffee shop and I placed an order for a scalding hot coffee with a center-of-the-sun temperature, I go to thrift shops and my first thought was ‘how would Miranda make this work’, I wrote articles for what I stood for and was recognized for it but at the end of the day all I could think of was ‘what would Miranda say if she saw me right now’.”

Andy’s eyes were bright with unshed tears born out of relief from finally being able to lay out all these emotions she had buried for decades. 

“I’ve earned it before,” Andy said, her voice wobbly, her breath catching as she choked back a sob. “All I had to do was earn it again, to be your Andrea again, and I know I could do it as long as I stayed, because that’s what I’ve always wanted. I don’t want to run away anymore. I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me, Miranda. Everything or nothing, I don’t care, just let me be yours again.”

Tears were streaming down her face, her emotions were crashing like violent waves, ebbing and flowing, trying to come back to the shore they called home. 

“Andrea. My Andrea.”

She was home. 

Andy sobbed uncontrollably, her hands finding purchase on Miranda’s waist, holding her body against hers. Miranda, in turn, framed her face in her steady hands, and tears streamed down from her deep blue eyes. Miranda’s touch was tender as her thumb wiped away her tears, her lithe fingers sifted through dark curls, and she pressed her lips at Andy’s temple when she was able to coax her into an embrace. 

They held each other tight as their tears dried up, as their breathing slowly returned to normal, until the waves were calm again after weathering through a storm.

Andy had her face buried in the crook of Miranda's neck while Miranda whispered assurances in her ear, which only made her tighten her embrace.

Then suddenly Miranda whispered, “I love you.”

“Hmm,” Andy dazedly mumbled against her neck.

Which prompted Miranda to speak again, albeit louder, her voice trembling as hope bled in it.

“I love you, Andrea.”

Andy pulled away so suddenly she almost fell backward, but the arms wrapped around her prevented it from happening.

“Say it again,” Andy begged as Miranda bestowed her an unreserved smile, and Andy wanted to kiss it as much as she needed to hear Miranda say those words to her again.

“My Andrea,” Miranda muttered, pressing a kiss on the palm cupping her cheek. “I am ardently in love with you.”

Miranda leaned in, nose brushing against hers, but she didn't move any further. It was clear that she was leaving the decision to her. Miranda has surrendered to Andy, relinquishing any control she has and reaching for the stars as she has always done.

“I love you, too,” was Andy's quiet, yet fierce declaration as she finally moved to close the scant distance remaining between them.

The kisses they shared were nothing like the love confessions that served as a prelude to it. They kissed frantically, lips chasing after another when one pulled away for air, a searing kiss right after a bruising one, tongues pressing and soothing the lips they've each bitten and tugged in their frenzied kiss.

Andy trailed her hands downwards to Miranda's waist after making a mess out of her perfectly coiffed hair. Once her hold was secure, she lifted Miranda in the air and turned on her heel, depositing her safely on top of the kitchen counter. The sudden action made their lips disconnect briefly, and Andy rectified it in mere seconds, slanting her lips against Miranda's until Miranda let out a giggle, which prompted Andy to place a series of wet kisses on the side of her neck instead. Miranda's laughter was contagious enough that Andy found herself giggling beside her despite not having a clue what they were laughing about.

“What?” Andy finally asked, her hands tracing random shapes on Miranda's lap.

Miranda was watching her again, this time she didn't bother masking her affections towards Andy. She shook her head fondly at her former assistant, turned features editor, and finally, lover. “I do hope this is the only divorce that's going to be involved in our relationship.”

Divorce? What? Aren't they moving too fast? Well, they did have twenty years to make up for…

Andy's thought process skidded to a halt as she finally made sense of what Miranda said. She guffawed while Miranda rolled her eyes at her.

“You're never going to get rid of me, Priestly.”

“I do intend to keep you, Andrea, for-” Andy cut her off with a kiss. “-ever.”

“I like the sound of that, Miranda.” Andy licked her lips. “So, will you let me divorce your legs?”

Miranda parted them willingly, and Andy took a step within the space they made for her, grabbing Miranda by her waist and slotting their lips in a heated kiss. 

Suddenly, a hand on her shoulder gently pushed her back, and Andy stared at Miranda's storm blue eyes glazed with desire.

“I will not allow our first time to be in the kitchen, Andrea,” Miranda growled.

Andy pouted as she shared her fantasy of eating Miranda out right at this counter, but Miranda didn't budge, even though her pupils were blown wide with arousal.

“Take me to bed, Andrea,” Miranda rasped in her ear. It sent a shiver down her spine. Without thinking, she gathered the older woman in her arms  — a visceral reaction to comply with Miranda's demands. 

While Andy figured out the logistics on how she’d get them from the kitchen to Miranda’s bedroom at record-breaking speed without killing any of them by accidentally slipping from climbing two flights of stairs, Miranda had made herself pliant in Andy’s arms; she hooked her legs behind her back, indicating how she wanted to be carried. 

A few months later

The success that followed the release of Miranda’s interview was unprecedented. Not only did her public ratings shoot up, but she also garnered positive feedback and earnings for Runway and Elias-Clarke as a whole. To Andy, those outcomes were a given, as she had watched how the slightest tilt of Miranda’s head had caused trends to rise and fall. 

What actually surprised both of them, and Nigel, was how Miranda became a lesbian icon overnight, with everyone voicing their approval and sending congratulations on their way. Which, of course, was followed by speculations about their relationship. Both of them neither confirmed nor denied anything, but they never shied away in public — they attended events together, had brunches and dinners in public restaurants, and on some days Andy was spotted hanging out with the twins whenever they’re in town to visit their mother, there were also some instances where paparazzi caught both of them coming and going from each other’s homes — Miranda ignored them of course while Andy, she’d smile politely sometimes. 

Which led them here right now; both of them sitting on the floor, in a studio, filming for another interview but this time there were no thirst tweets to be read — upon Miranda’s insistence Andy was forbidden from participating at such, Andy acquiesced to her demand with a placating kiss — instead both of them were surrounded with puppies full of boundless energy. 

If Andy were ever told that she’d witness Miranda Priestly willingly sit down on the floor, she would’ve brought them to the emergency room herself to have their heads checked. 

But here they are, playing with puppies who are cutely competing for their attention. Andy watched her lover fondly as she tried to fit five puppies in her lap while only responding to the questions with a disinterested hum, leaving Andy to do most of the talking, which she didn’t mind. 

With the interview nearing its end, the host decided to direct one last question to Miranda. 

“If you ever have a chance to take any of these puppies home, who would it be, Miranda?”

Miranda looked up from the puppies on her lap, then she turned her gaze to Andy, who immediately softened as bright blue eyes met warm honey-brown. 

She cupped Andy’s face in her hands and uttered with such tenderness that was only privy to them. 

“I already have one.”