What's In A Name? || A Rierra fanfiction

Four

A/N:

Huge thanks to everyone who's provided feedback, and especially to amadriaga for helping me with ideas! I love you all!

-Han

Three days before Christmas, Ramin’s hanging out in Starbucks with Sierra when she asks, “So, what are you doing for the holidays?”

He freezes, his shoulders tensing. “Not much,” he says as casually as possible. And by ‘not much’, he means playing for tips on some icy street corner far enough from his flat that he knows nobody he’s acquainted with will see him. Sierra still gives him free coffee on the days he brings his guitar, but she really doesn’t know the extent of his financial problems.

“Oh, are you not going to see family?” she says, oblivious.

He presses his lips together. “Nah,” he says after a moment. “I’ll just be alone at my flat, probably.”

She hands him his coffee, and he glances down to see his name with the little heart that he’s seen every day for over a week but that still makes his pulse speed up. “So will I,” she sighs.

He sips his drink, leaning his side against the counter so he’s half-facing her. “What, no boyfriend to spend Christmas with?” he teases.

Sierra blushes, lightly hitting his shoulder, and he grins.

A minute later, she clears her throat. “You know, if you wanted to, we could… I mean, you could come to my place for Christmas.”

He stares at her, not sure he heard her correctly. “Sorry?”

Lowering her head so the brim of her cap covers her face, she says, “W-we can spend Christmas together. If you want. I mean, if you don’t want to, it’s totally okay –”

“Sierra,” he interrupts softly, trying not to grin. “I’d love to.”

Her face breaks out into a huge smile. “Great,” she says, delighted. “Can I text you my address this evening?”

“Of course,” he says, giddy with excitement at the prospect of spending Christmas with Sierra. “What time do you want me to come by in the morning?”

She considers it for a moment. “Seven,” she decides, then smirks. “And you have to wear your pajamas.”

Ramin pales a little. “Oh.”

Sierra giggles. “This is so exciting,” she says.

“Do you want me to bring my guitar?” he asks, sipping his latte.

“Yeah, totally,” she answers, then suddenly brightens. “Oh! I just remembered something I wanted to show you.” She picks up a piece of paper from the other counter and hands it to him.

Ramin takes it, frowning a little. It’s a flyer for some kind of Starbucks open mic concert on Christmas Eve. The ‘tips accepted’ part distracts him for a second. “What is this?” he asks her.

“I think you should do it,” she says, raising her eyebrows.

He pauses. “… You do?”

“Yeah! It’d be really great,” she says happily.

“Well…” Playing on street corners is one thing. He’s never attempted anything like this before. A crazy idea comes to him, and he looks up at her. “Okay, but on one condition.”

“Okay, shoot,” she says, putting her elbows on the counter and leaning forward. He mirrors her, which brings their faces quite close together.

“You have to sing with me,” he says.

She frowns a little, straightening. “What?”

He shrugs. “I want you to sing with me,” he repeats. “I’ve heard you humming sometimes when I play, and you sound amazing.”

She looks hesitant, biting her lip. “I don’t know…”

“C’mon, Sierra,” he says, covering her hand with his and giving her a pleading look.

Sierra stares at him, then laughs suddenly. “Ramin, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” she giggles.

“Like what?”

“Like – with those – your puppy-dog eyes!” Her fingers brush his palm, and his breath hitches, but he doesn’t think she notices. “Okay, I’ll do it. What song did you have in mind?”

“Seriously?” He blinks, pleasantly surprised. “Um… well, there’s this song, Poison and Wine, that I thought might fit our voices…”

To his relief, she nods enthusiastically. “I love that song,” she says. “Good choice.”

Ramin suddenly realizes their fingers have been entwined for the last minute or so, and he turns red with embarrassment. Sierra seems to realize it at the same moment he does, but squeezes his hand gently before drawing hers away.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he says, feeling a little flustered as he puts the flyer in his jacket pocket.

“See you tomorrow,” she says a little distractedly as he picks up his coffee.

“Don’t forget to text me your address,” he says, turning to go. “Bye.”

“Bye, Ramin!”

When he gets back to his tiny, cold flat, he pulls out his guitar and sets to work refreshing his memory on the chords. Eventually, he sings his lines under his breath, leaving pauses where Sierra will sing.

“You only know what I want you to…”

Pause.

“Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine…”

Pause.

“I don’t love you, but I always will

I don’t love you, but I always will…”

The song feels empty without a second voice, but he finishes it anyway. Now all he can do is wait for Christmas Eve and hope he won’t make any mistakes.