Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She's pretty.

She's pretty and tall and has blue hair like Vi’s mom but that's none of Vi’s business.

She’s pretty and perfect and she sits at a game of chess in the comfy, decorated waiting room of the clinic, looking up at Vi with big, blue eyes when Vi enters through the clinic doors, but Vi doesn't need to meet her.

Vi doesn't need to meet new people. She hasn't in years. There are other things on Vi’s plate- beasts taller than mountains and so wide that she couldn't see other scenery even if she tried.

Vi veers away from the waiting area of her case consultation office and heads straight for the huge guy with brown hair and a scraggly beard at the front desk. She gruffly grabs her paperwork and clipboard, and slams herself down on the wooden, shitty chair near the fish tank, scribbling on each line. When she's done filling out what little she knows, she hands the clipboard back to the huge front desk man, who smiles so nicely at Vi that she finds it in her to soften her posture.

“Thanks,” he says, tucking the clipboard away. He looks at Vi kindly. “Welcome to Piltover Social and Case Work. Your new case consultant will be out in a bit. In the meantime, the waiting room has hot chocolate.”

Vi clenches her jaw. She scrunches her eyebrows and turns back to the waiting area to gaze at the pretty, tall woman. “Do I have to wait there?”

“No. It was just an offer. You're more than welcome to the fishtank chair if you'd like,” he remarks, gesturing his head back to where Vi was sitting.

Vi decides against it with a huff. She moves back to the waiting room where her new potential friend (whom she doesn't want to make) waits. Vi sits a couple of chairs away from her, opens a magazine (not that she even likes reading), and begins to count down the minutes.

“Hello.”

Vi tries to contain her scowl upon being greeted. The accent is posh and Vi swears that if this chick tries to be Vi’s friend or make small talk, she's going to lose it. 

“Are you new to the clinic?” she asks, making Vi lose it a tad.

Vi wants to crush this under her boots. She doesn't even want to be here. Not in the waiting room, not at the clinic. But she owes it to Vander.

“Yeah,” is all Vi replies, staring down at her stupid magazine still. “Are you waiting, too?”

“No.” She tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear and fiddles with her fingers. It's an odd gesture- cute, if Vi had the time and emotional capacity to find things cute. “I intern here. It's my job to greet people. Keep them company before the dreaded meeting.”

“Are you going to get all up in my business?” Vi prods curtly.

“No. Not if you don't want me to,” she responds with a raised brow.

How sweet.

Sweet enough, anyway.

Vi wipes her nose with her knuckle, turning the magazine page that she didn't even bother reading.

“Vi,” she says, giving her the grace of a proper introduction.

“Pardon me?”

Vi looks back up. She refrains from rolling her eyes. “I told you that my name is Vi, Sweets.”

Her nose crinkles. She frowns at Vi. “I'm not sure how much I like that.”

“Then what should I call you instead?”

“Caitlyn,” she says prettily, with a huff and half a smile. “Do you like National Geographic?”

Vi stares at Caitlyn. “Huh?”

“That's what you're reading,” she clarifies, scooting her chair closer to Vi and pointing at the magazine. “A National Geographic magazine. I used to love them growing up.”

Vi stares down at the magazine. At the lizard perched under large rainforest leaves on the page.

“What'd you like about it?” Vi asks, scanning the lizard page for anything interesting. She's not sure if she finds anything.

“I got to learn a great deal about the animals.”

“Sounds kinda geeky,” Vi comments, flipping the page to a new one with a bright pink flamingo, unamused. “You a geek, Sweets?”

“Caitlyn.”

“Cupcake.”

Caitlyn glares. “You're not listening to me.”

“It’s your job to listen, not mine,” Vi retorts.

Caitlyn blinks, taken aback. Then she smiles, ever so slowly. It moves mountains, tames beasts. Vi pauses, her ribs tightening around her lungs as a mirage unfurls behind her eyelids. She can suddenly imagine herself a sunny, bright new life over the mountainside. 

“Oh. You're trouble,” Caitlyn teases. Her smile wraps a fist around Vi’s chest and squeezes her lungs even harder.

Vi swallows.

Vi doesn't need to meet anyone new.

But hey, when a volcano erupts, no force on Earth can stop it.

Vi gives her a surly smile back.“That's why I'm here, Cupcake. Can't seem to stop getting into it.”

“Hm.” Caitlyn taps her finger on the table, tilting her head. Vi clenches her jaw in anticipation. “For some reason, I don't believe you,” Caitlyn continues. “I hardly believe you could be that bad.”

And for some reason, Caitlyn is spot-on about this.

“Damn, girl,” Vi concedes, taken aback. She stares at Caitlyn with gaping wide, incredulous eyes that say, What do you take me for? A good person?

Caitlyn only smiles in return.

--

Vi’s consultation with her case worker goes by in a blur. Vi tries to mention all her fucking issues but it doesn't feel like she's even scratched the surface with it. Her case worker seems like a nice lady- or, nice enough for Vi to deal with, and the clinic seems nice enough for Vi to tolerate the act of coming here for an hour every goddamn week. She shakes the older woman’s hand goodbye and heads out the door, into the hallway.

Vi passes by the fish tank on the way out. A bubble gurgles up. The large man up front gives her a friendly smile and Vi ignores him.

Vi looks for Caitlyn.

She's sitting at the chessboard still, tucking her hair behind her ear, and talking to another potential client in the waiting area. Vi tries very hard not to stare. It's not her business. She tries her best to be subtle. She tries very hard until-

Until Caitlyn looks up from her stupid chess game and smiles at Vi. Vi feels her gut tighten as she sees the beach, the ocean, and sun-soaked wonder flash behind her eyelids. It’s blinding and too much for her senses all at once.

Vi balls her fists. She doesn't smile back.

Vi heads out the door and only barely slams it.

--

Vi ties her apron around her waist, mentally preparing herself to help out with Vander’s pub, The Last Drop. She tries to recall her case management meeting and figure out what she’s supposed to tell her adoptive dad when he inevitably asks how her day was. 

She starts washing her hands. The kitchen door swings open.

“Hey, Vi,” a low and familiar voice says from across the room.

Well, it seems that Vi’s run out of time.

Vi scrubs harder. She pretends like she doesn’t hear Vander.

“Vi?” 

Fuck.

A big, warm, and kind hand places itself on Vi’s shoulder. Vi doesn’t even know where to start about the meeting. “How was your day?” Vander asks.

“Um.”

Vander raises a brow.

“I went somewhere,” Vi starts stupidly.

Vander only waits. Vi bites her lip and scrubs her hands under the sink some more.

“I went to a social worker place,” Vi continues. She tenses. She waits for the hand on her shoulder to leave, for Vander to stare at her crossly-

“What for?” he asks with the gentlest of intentions. Vi allows herself to relax.

“For. For everything. They can help with a lot of stuff,” Vi stammers. “I know you have your lawsuit with Silco, and money is tight-”

Vander purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. “Vi, what’s happening with Silco and I, that’s nothing you need to worry about-”

“But they can help with legal stuff!” Vi counters defensively. “I mean, Silco, he- He has people. We don’t. The clinic has resources for this kind of shit. All kinds of shit. The lady says she can even help us budget. Since you know. That's going shit, too.” Vi looks down, gesturing to her apron.

Vander takes a breath. His hand remains kindly on Vi’s shoulder. His gaze softly meets Vi’s.

“Was there anything else you needed help with?” Vander asks her.

“Just…” Vi dries her hands. She stares at the sink and tenses her jaw. “Just the brain stuff too. Emotions. The drinking. Shit like that.”

“Therapy?” 

“I don’t know,” Vi admits. “Maybe. They said they could set me up with someone.”

Vi waits again. She feels the weight of Vander’s hand leave her, and fear takes hold of her spinal column, demolishing it in its harsh hands- Is Vander disappointed; What has Vi done-

Vander hugs her.

“I love you, Vi,” is all he tells her. “I’m always here. Thank you for wanting help.”

Vi nods. She feels four feet tall tucked under Vander’s strong arms.

“I’m struggling,” Vi says softly, after a moment. “Everything hurts, and I miss Powder.”

“I miss her, too,” Vander responds. He runs his hand comfortingly along Vi’s back. “We’ll get her back.”

Vi nods. Vander pats her back and smiles at her before he leaves through the door. Vi puts on her gloves. Then she goes to work at The Last Drop.

--

From the pub kitchen, Vi is grilling whatever burgers she needs to frustratedly. She’s pissed at Mylo for being the most annoying waiter in the world and she's sweaty from the residual heat of the grill. All she can think about is how she and Powder used to hang out here all the time back when Vander and Silco were still married and before Powder decided to move across the city with Silco to be closer to her college campus.

Vi doesn’t blame her. She knows Powder was always closer to Silco growing up. And the commute from The Last Drop is pretty long.

But...

Vi grits her teeth.

But behind her eyes, she sees a young image of her and Powder at the front of the bar. Vi is nervously trying her best to play with her sister. She tries to distract Powder from the fact that from behind the bar, Papa and Daddy are fighting. Again. 

Vi stayed with Powder back then.

Why couldn’t Powder do the same for Vi now?

Especially considering the bitter betrayal of Silco’s lawsuit over this dumb pub in the first place, claiming that he should own it instead of Vander.

Vi clenches her fist around the spatula. She slaps the beef patty down firmly and hears it whistle with steam. She’s seething so blisteringly hot that she might be doing the same.

Okay.

Maybe Vi does blame Powder.

But that doesn’t mean Vi doesn’t still wish she was here.

After Vi’s shift, she’s exhausted and still has rageful steam buried beneath her sinuses and pounding at the temples. She goes to the garage, too bothered to change out of her apron or work clothes, and smacks the shit out of her punching bag. She doesn’t know how long she does it. It’s a blur. 

Vi doesn't know what to do. She never knows what to do. She hits the damn bag so hard and she’s so delirious on rage that when it swings back, it hits Vi square in the chest and Vi only screams at it back. Her scream is loud and it hurts the back of Vi’s throat and Vi wants to cry but she doesn’t dare to. There’s putrid bile building up in her esophagus. That's just what happens naturally when your life is a wreck enough to pay someone else to handle it at a clinic. Vi tries purging it with every morsel of energy she’s got left before defeatedly going to bed.

--

Vi feels lighter when she goes to the clinic again the next week.

Oh, that's right. Vi had almost forgotten-

Caitlyn is pretty.

She’s typing on her laptop at a table in the waiting area. Her hair is in a bun and a strand of her bangs are pulled down towards her cheek.

Vi doesn't need to meet new people. She hasn't in years. But she can't seem to help herself. Vi shrugs, feeling lighter than usual, and stupidly plops herself in the chair next to Caitlyn.

“Hey, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn looks up and stops typing. She frowns at Vi. Vi chortles.

“I told you my name,” Caitlyn reminds Vi, disgruntled.

“My life is bad. That's why I come here. You won't let me have this one thing?” Vi shoots back. She likes this game.

Caitlyn aggressively chews on her bottom lip. Vi likes this, too. She likes Caitlyn’s weird mannerisms. 

“Is this your back-handed way of asking for sympathy?” Caitlyn probes, raising a brow.

Damn Caitlyn and her perceptiveness. Damn Caitlyn and her astuteness. Damn Caitlyn and her ability to straight-shot her way into Vi’s heart.

“Uh. Sure. You could say that,” Vi responds with a shaky smirk. Caitlyn grins. It's color in a dreary, monotone sea.

“Well. You reek of needing sympathy. You're lucky that I'm more than happy to provide.”

Vi needs a lot of things. She thinks she might need this moment with Caitlyn. Mountains move to their knees in the presence of Caitlyn. They crawl in opposite directions to expose beautiful, sun-warmed scenery. 

“You still have to do paperwork. You know that, right?” Caitlyn probes, her head tilting to the man at the front desk.

“Again?” Vi groans.

“Every time you come in.”

“Good fuck.”

“You can do it next to me,” Caitlyn suggests smugly. Kindly. If Vi closes her eyes, she can imagine Caitlyn’s gentle hands cupping her cheeks. 

“Can you show me your favorite National Geographic magazines after?” Vi asks stupidly.

“I’m here to do whatever you’d like,” Caitlyn tells her with a knowing smile. “It seems you have a bad life.”

--

Vi’s got a list of a thousand different people to call for legal help and a homework assignment when her case management meeting is over. She's got to write down how much money she makes (not enough) and her typical expenses (too many) so the social worker can help her budget, and she's got to think about what she might want out of therapy.

Vi doesn't fucking know what she wants out of therapy. Maybe to feel like she doesn't have to drink herself to death every goddamn night? Maybe she wants to stop screaming alone at night in her garage? What the fuck do normal people do who have money?

Vi waves goodbye politely to her case manager, entering the hallway. She's nice enough. She deserves a wave. The clinic is nice enough, too. Vi figures she can keep coming here for a while until she figures her shit out.

Vi slows down her pace as she exits the hallway leading to the clinic's front entrance.

Caitlyn is nice enough too, she thinks.

She looks around for the tall woman but doesn't see her. Maybe Caitlyn’s on a break or something.

“Vi!” 

The accent is posh and familiar and Vi feels her chest whistle in song.

She turns to her right, where Caitlyn is bounding to her from behind.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi murmurs, pretending like she's cool and knows how to make friends.

“I was wondering,” Caitlyn greets, stopping at Vi’s side and shuffling her feet. It's cute, Vi will admit. “If I could get your email? Just in case you'd like to remain in contact?”

The fuck?

Caitlyn frowns. 

Oh shit, Vi said that out loud.

“I mean-” Vi stammers, trying to recover from the situation. “I just haven't used my email in a while. I forgot people still do that.”

“Well.” Caitlyn smiles at her. It's a little lop-sided and very warm. Vi notices a small gap between Caitlyn’s two front teeth. “I would contact you from the clinic’s email address. And I can help you with anything you'd like regarding our services.”

“Are you going to get all up in my business?” Vi asks for a second time.

“Only if you want me to,” Caitlyn responds with that seaside grin, and Vi realizes that maybe she does want her to.

--

Vander doesn’t need Vi’s help at The Last Drop for a few more hours, which means that Vi’s got free time she doesn’t know what to do with because she doesn’t have any goddamn hobbies. 

She figures she can work out. There's always that.

Vi tries to change in the bathroom before going to the garage. She stares at herself in the mirror and frowns. Her gaze drifts to her chest.

Something is shrieking in the back of her mind, raking talons along her brain and threatening to split it in half. Something on her body isn’t supposed to be there. It isn’t, it isn’t, it isn’t.

Vi takes her hands and pushes them against her chest, compressing it the best she can, frowning. The agonizing wail diminishes those few seconds blissfully and reenters when she removes her hands and she can see her chest again. Vi scowls. She bends down, rummaging through her random pile of shit, and pops back up when she finds the black KT tape she used to use when she had knee pain. 

She takes a breath. Her stupid fucking tits move with her chest.

She’s seen people online do this before. 

Vi has the vague realization that if she puts athletic tape straight onto her nipples they’ll probably rip off, so she places a small piece of gauze on top of them and snips and pulls the tape and keeps pulling until her chest is wide and broad and taut and she feels more like herself. 

Christ, it feels kind of awkward to breathe under layers of tape pulling at her skin. But Christ, does it feel so much better than it did before.

Vi takes another steady breath. She finishes changing and goes back into the garage.

--

Vi finds that KT tape doesn’t work so great for binding when you're sweaty and trying to beat your punching bag to a pulp, but it’s something. Vander’s not home yet and who fucking knows if Powder’ll ever come home and Vi needs to do something to alleviate her brain demons or she might drink herself to oblivion. 

She pants, awfully depressed and unfortunately exhausted, sitting on the floor and putting her head into her hands. Her hands feel itchy. Her life is a fucking mess. The KT tape’s peeling off her sides and Vi’s not sure how much longer she can do this.

She opens her phone to doom scroll. She's beaten her fists to a pulp and she’ll need them for later when she helps Vander at The Last Drop. Before Vi can open any social media, she’s greeted by a notification for an email from someone she doesn’t recognize.

Vi swallows when she reads the address: [email protected] 

Vi very gently taps on the notification, where she finds a brief but kind email from Caitlyn.

Hello Vi,

It was a pleasure meeting you at the clinic. Please let me know if you’d like any help with our services or if you have any questions.

Warmly,
Caitlyn Kiramman

Vi snorts. It’s posh and to the point, the way Caitlyn is. Vi grins. She curls her battered fingers into her palms and starts to type out a response.

Before she can, another email comes through to her inbox.

Hello Vi,

Here is a link to the National Geographic website. They don't only publish about animals. There's a great deal of fun nonfiction to learn from.

[Link attached.]

Warmly,
Caitlyn Kiramman

Vi follows the link on her phone. She’s grinning wider than she has in years, she thinks.

This is usually when the screaming starts, isn’t it? This is the point where grief turns to angst, which gives way to rage, and the only way to purge the bile of rage is to expel it from your throat. But Vi doesn’t feel anything she needs to expel. Instead, she finds something else behind her lips, touching them sweetly.

She finds Caitlyn.

She feels Caitlyn in the breath of her mouth. She feels her tongue curling, wanting to speak sweet words strung only for Caitlyn. She wants to take Caitlyn’s words too and gulp them down, rampantly starving, and gently request to Caitlyn that she have a few more.

Vi keeps typing. Her exhaustion isn’t too bad. Not today. Not anymore. Not after she got an email from arguably the most exciting person in her life.

Hey Cupcake, Vi types.

Sounds good. I’ll check out the site. See u next week

Vi

Vi turns off her phone and puts her face into her knees, beaming like all of the heavens in the brown darkness of her garage.

Vi doesn’t need to meet new people. She hasn't in years. But this one’s managed to sneak her way between the space of Vi’s lips.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn frowns when her mother makes the suggestion.

“What would I even be doing at this clinic? Would I be some sort of mascot at the front desk?” she probes with vitriol. 

“I'm not sure of the specifics,” Cassandra says. She takes a sip of her tea from across her long, lavish kitchen table, far on the other side of Caitlyn. “But Grayson told me it would be a good clinical experience for you if you were to take some time off school.”

“Grayson recommended it?” Caitlyn asks incredulously. She opens her laptop on the table and begins typing in the clinic her mother brought up: Piltover Social and Case Work. The website she's brought to hosts a picture of a nice, upscale-looking building and brings up face cards of their various staff. The most prominent of them, of course, is Grayson. She sits at the top of the page, handsome, proud, and nurturing in a crisp, gray suit. She's just as Caitlyn’s always known her growing up.

“When I brought up my concern over you taking a gap year,” Cassandra mentions, taking another sip, “Grayson told me that they were looking for an intern at her clinic to help with lower-level duties such as greeting clients or doing managerial work. I'm sure she'd have more details if you were to call her up. Or maybe you should get coffee. I'm sure you haven't left your apartment in a while.”

Caitlyn scowls. She’s reminded why she rarely visits her mother at the estate anymore.

“I’ll give her a call. And maybe invite her to coffee,” Caitlyn mutters obediently, scrolling through the About page of the clinic website.

“Good. I think you should take it. We only want to see you succeed, Caitlyn.” Cassandra looks up from her tea cup. She swirls the tea with her spoon. Her eyes seem kind. Almost vulnerable. It's enough of an olive branch to make Caitlyn concede.

“I’ll call Grayson,” Caitlyn confirms again, standing up and walking over to her mother to give her an awkward hug from the side. “I'm aware you both care about me,” Caitlyn says, so her mother doesn't have to.

“I do,” Cassandra confirms, returning the hug with a sigh. “I think this could be good for you.”

Caitlyn sure hopes so.

--

“Young Kiramman,” Grayson greets from her chair when Caitlyn stumbles into her office. It's cozy. Warm. There are plants littered here and there and a shaggy brown rug covers her floor. “I haven't seen you since before you moved for college.” Grayson’s smile is as kind as Caitlyn remembers it. “How was school in Ionia? What did you study?”

Caitlyn straightens her cardigan. “I started in criminal justice.”

“Then?” Grayson’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“Then I was reminded of why you left criminal justice.”

“And why was that?”

Caitlyn takes a breath. “Because it's a crock of horse shit.”

Grayson chuckles. She stands from her chair and puts a friendly hand on Caitlyn’s shoulder. “You’ve learned well. Congratulations on switching to social work. Was that what you majored in?”

“After switching around a couple of places, yes.”

“You didn't want to go straight to graduate study?”

“No, I-” Caitlyn flusteredly looks at the floor. “I figured I should see some of the real world before I got locked back into academia.”

“Well, you’ll sure get a lot of that here.”

“It's the plan,” Cait responds.

“Let me show you around the clinic,” Grayson says. She guides Caitlyn back out the door with a kind hand on her back, towards constellations in a galaxy of new experiences.

--

The work is simple. Caitlyn’s main job during the day is to sit in the front waiting area of the clinic and greet clients coming in. No, Grayson says, she doesn't need to counsel them. But her job is to make the space seem safe and welcoming. Caitlyn can count it as clinical experience on her curriculum vitae. Besides that, she’ll help with low-level tasks, such as creating social media content, tabling events, or answering the unreal amount of emails inquiring about the clinic. Caitlyn can do this. And the work helps her pay rent.

When she comes home from the clinic, Caitlyn feels accomplished, but woozy and depressed. She's not depressed from the internship. The internship could never be the problem. Caitlyn is depressed that she has to come home to her dreary studio apartment at all.

She opens a bottle of wine to go with whatever dinner she cobbles together that night. Tonight it happens to be microwave macaroni and cheese. Then she takes her estrogen and progesterone, hops on a phone call with Jayce, and aimlessly crawls into bed.

Caitlyn shivers. It's cold. It's empty. Something about the vacuum of her room feels the way Caitlyn’s always felt her whole life- like she's walking down a barren, unlit road with no one else to bear witness to how hard her heart is trying to pump to keep her alive.

Caitlyn rolls over on the bed. Her fingers are buzzing with anticipation for the next day.

She tries to convince herself that things will be different eventually- that she can make connections and really be something.

Perhaps it's fantastical thinking. But Caitlyn doesn't care; it's enough to help her fall asleep.

--

Caitlyn goes to trainings for a few days- a repeat of the same things she learned in her undergrad: be nonjudgemental, smile, put their experiences into your own words. She talks to people in the waiting area when they approach her and attends to the various tasks Grayson assigns her throughout the day.

There are a couple of notable folks: 

Udyr is a large man who comes in a few days a week. When Caitlyn asks how he likes the clinic, he says he’s learning mindfulness to be less angry and a better father in his family. Caitlyn likes him. The kindness behind his mission reminds Caitlyn of her father.

Lillia is kind and shy. They only talk because Caitlyn accidentally bumps into the poor thing as she bumbles over her words and explains that she’s late to her therapy appointment for her social anxiety. She's more than her shyness, Caitlyn can tell. She reminds Cait of herself in her quest to see the world and connect with others.

Ezreal hovers around the waiting area. Caitlyn isn’t sure if he’s even using the services at the clinic or if he just pops in now and then for the free hot chocolate. She greets him on the way in, goes to the bathroom, and when she’s back, there are three less paper coffee cups at the drink station and a spill of brown liquid on the counter. Caitlyn sighs. Oh well.

Caitlyn sits back down at her laptop. She likes her job. She’s tired but fulfilled. She likes meeting the people who come to the clinic.

Not any of these people even compare to Vi.

--

Vi is pretty.

That's the first thing Caitlyn notices about Vi when she first enters the clinic. She's got shaggy, blown-out, pink hair and piercings and a scowl that could compete with crocodiles. And Lord, is she pretty.

Caitlyn stares. She knows it's impolite and she still stares. Her eyes widen like beacons from her chess board in the waiting area. She watches Vi collect her paperwork at the front desk. Caitlyn shoots the front desk worker a pleading glance, hoping he’ll steer Vi her way, and he’s kind enough to do so.

When Vi enters the waiting area, she sits a couple of chairs away from Caitlyn, flipping through one of Caitlyn’s favorite magazines: National Geographic. Caitlyn’s heart pounds. She swallows and feels herself drift closer to black hole delusion. Shit, this must be the first person she’s reached out to first at her internship-

“Hello,” Cait starts. “Are you new to the clinic?” This seems friendly enough.

Vi tenses when Caitlyn speaks. She looks up at Caitlyn with eyes that-

Shit. Those are pretty, too.

Her gray eyes are an abysmal stew of sad, pleading, and guarded- some terribly sympathy-provoking gaze. 

“Yeah,” Vi answers crossly. Caitlyn swallows. She tries to recall her people skills- what she's supposed to do with resistant clients-

“Are you waiting too?” Vi asks.

Caitlyn laughs. “No.”

They banter. Vi eventually softens- a wolf becoming domesticated, the clouds parting softly to reveal the sun. Caitlyn scoots closer to Vi at the table and buzzes warmly when Vi allows her, looking up at Caitlyn with fuzzy eyes. Caitlyn thinks Vi might be a portal to another galaxy- a friend larger and more complex than Jayce could ever offer.

By the time Vi’s case manager calls her name to meet with her, Vi’s flourished. She's twinkling and rambling about how dearly she loves her sister. Caitlyn’s never had a sister. She's never loved the way Vi does. But she feels that Vi could clue her in.

Caitlyn gently touches Vi’s shoulder, and Vi looks up, cutting herself off from rambling about Powder’s latest academic endeavors.

“It's your turn,” Caitlyn whispers, desperately wishing she could touch Vi’s cheek with her fingertips. “Are you ready for your first meeting?”

Vi blinks and nods at Cait. “Oh, right.” She glances at her case worker at the hallway entrance, then back to Caitlyn. “I’ll be here next week around the same time. Will you?”

“I'm always bloody here,” Caitlyn mentions, only a little bit sour. She smiles tiredly at Vi.

Vi grins at this. “Alright. Then I’ll catch you later, Cupcake.”

“Caitlyn.”

“We’ll see about that.” Vi stands and scoots her chair in. She affectionately touches Cait’s hand before heading off with her case manager, and Caitlyn feels life stirring in the heat of her gut, buzzing to the tips of her toes. She's an asteroid hurtling towards Earth, blazing and devastating and the start of something new.

Yeah, Caitlyn thinks as Vi disappears into the deep, dark hallway. We’ll see about that.

--

“Have you made any friends with your coworkers at your new job?” Jayce asks over the phone as Caitlyn cooks dinner.

“Ow! Good fuck,” Caitlyn curses as she burns her hand on the hot tray holding her roasted broccoli. 

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, I just- ow- I just burned my hand is all. I'm a little tired,” Caitlyn mutters, running sink water on her hand. “And no, I haven't made any friends. I mostly work alone.”

“That sounds depressing,” Jayce comments.

“Just because you get to work with your hot girlfriend Mel at your dumb political job doesn't mean that everyone gets the luxury,” Cait retorts curtly.

“I’m not talking about dating people!” Jayce defends. Caitlyn goes back to her broccoli. “All I said was that it's depressing to not have any friends at work. Friends. Did you hear that, Cait? Not hot girlfriends. Friends.”

“I have Grayson.”

“Grayson doesn't count. Didn't your mom pay her to talk to you when you were growing up?”

“No.” Caitlyn pauses, pouring her broccoli onto a plate. “Actually- well- I don't think she did, anyway. Besides, Jayce, I don't need to make friends at work. I have you.”

“I think you should try.”

Caitlyn pauses. A light on Caitlyn’s lonely street flickers. She looks up at it in the dreary night sky, crestfallen.

“Am I being too demanding with our calls?” Cait asks softly.

“No. Of course not, Cait. But Mel and I are going to start getting busy with work this season, and I just don't want you to be lonely.”

“I've been lonely all my life, Jayce,” Caitlyn murmurs. Jayce sighs on the other end of the line. Caitlyn walks to her kitchen table with her plate of dinner and begins eating without the warm comfort of anyone else.

--

There's a butt-load of emails for Caitlyn to respond to. She frowns in the waiting area, crossing her legs and trying her utmost to tend to them.

She tries until Vi comes through the door. Then Caitlyn is done for. Caitlyn forgets how pretty Vi is. Vi saunters over to Caitlyn and plops herself down in the chair right next to her.

“Hey, Cupcake.”

Vi is welcome.

The nickname is not.

“I told you my name,” Caitlyn says pointedly.

“My life is bad. That's why I come here,” Vi tells her. Her smile is predatory. Burning. Caitlyn wants to devour her in return. “You won't let me have this one thing?”

Caitlyn scans Vi’s eyes again. They're an awkward palette of colors- hues of something mischievous and devious and- 

Sad.

“Is this your back-handed way of asking for sympathy?” Caitlyn probes, raising a brow.

Caitlyn’s mother used to press her for why she moved to Ionia for college. She said it was a waste of money and that Caitlyn could study close to home, under her mother’s nose. Even Caitlyn doubted her choice in her first few years.

But she seems to have learned something in her social work classes.

Otherwise, Vi wouldn't respond the way she does when Caitlyn picks up on her sadness- when she offers sympathy to Vi’s hungry eyes.

“Uh. Sure. You could say that,” Vi concedes, nibbling at kind grace.

Caitlyn is hungry, too.

She's a seething collision of stars, burning up and ready to give. She's a yearner and a longer, reaching out to touch freckled cheeks. 

Everything in Caitlyn’s bachelor’s degree screams that it’s unethical to get Vi’s phone number, so before Vi leaves the clinic an hour later, Caitlyn bounds up to Vi giddily to grab her attention and asks for Vi’s email instead.

--

Caitlyn comes home and does her usual. She eats dinner, shoots a few texts to Jayce, takes her pills, and collapses, exhausted, on her bed. She checks her email as she usually does, ready to go to bed, only…

Only…

Caitlyn rolls to her side. She glances at her hand and curls her fingers to her palm, to the same place she touched Vi earlier that day.

Only tonight she doesn't feel as empty as she usually does.

There’s a big black combat boot kicking at her heart, beating it for her, and thrumming beneath the skin. Caitlyn feels warm. Full. Like there's life tipping her a direction forward. 

Caitlyn’s breath catches. Her skin feels hot and Caitlyn feels dazed. In a blur beneath her eyes, all she can see and hear is a new name: Vi.

Vi, with her cheeky grin and rugged charm. Vi, who has more stories to tell within a month’s long timeframe than Caitlyn’s probably got in a lifetime. Vi, with her grit and wit and scars littered across her face, and-

Caitlyn swallows. She looks down.

Oh.

She has an erection.

That hasn't happened in a while.

Caitlyn swallows one more time. This is perhaps unprofessional. This is perhaps something she shouldn't be thinking about only a few days into her internship.

Only….

Only she hasn't felt this full- this human in such a long time as she reaches her hand under her panties and wraps her fingers around herself. Only she doesn't remember the last time she's felt this excited or alive or eager to return to something. To see someone again. To see Vi again. To see Vi, Vi, Vi.

She squirts lube into her hand from her nightstand. She plays with herself, touches herself in places she hasn’t bothered to explore in eons. The thought makes her shiver. The adventure of it makes her shiver. She thinks that Vi must be adventurous too, because Vi seems brave. Because Vi seems unexpected and daring. Caitlyn dares herself to explore her body, to pinch at her tits and to run her hands between her legs and make more noise than she's used to making her own apartment. She feels so leaky and full and ready to combust-

Oh, Caitlyn could combust with the thought of Vi. She could drip Vi between her legs and down mountain streams. Caitlyn could move boulders and mountains with the strength of her fondness for Vi.

She pants as she crests, spilling into her own hands. Caitlyn feels warm. Fluid. Certainly more real than she has in months. Go figure.

Caitlyn cleans herself up. She tidies her drawer a bit, brushes her teeth, and starts to get ready for bed.

But not before she sends a few emails.

Hello Vi, she starts.

It was a pleasure meeting you at the clinic.

Chapter Text

Lunch with Powder is awkward, to say the least.

Powder doesn't want to come into The Last Drop for food, which makes sense but is disappointing. They meet at some random Starbucks halfway between them and Vi orders Powder one of those shitty lemon loaves because she knows (she thinks) Powder likes them.

Vi scratches at her temple awkwardly. “I um. Like your outfit. Did you put color in your hair?”

Powder’s got her shark hoodie on today. Though hair is naturally blue, it has a few purple streaks today. Her side is shaved like Vi’s. Powder rubs with the purple between two fingers. 

“Yeah. Lux helped me do it.”

“How is she?”

“Good,” Powder asks shortly. She fusses with the shitty lemon loaf on the table, not eating it. Vi swallows.

“School’s going good?”

“Good enough.”

“And um.” Vi swallows. “How is Silco?”

Vi lands a machete into a wall of feeble glass.

“Don't ask like you care, Vi,” Powder mutters, resentment tainting her words.

Vi’s entire everything tenses. She curls her fingers. She’s stepped everywhere else in the room; the only place to go now is towards the elephant. 

It's quiet for a moment. Powder crumbles the lemon loaf between two fingers.

“You know about the lawsuit, don't you?” Vi asks very quietly.

“It’d be hard not to.”

“What does Ekko think about it?”

“Ekko and I don't really talk anymore.”

More silence. Vi takes a tense, cautious sip of her coffee. She’s like a gazelle trying to be sure a lion doesn't pounce on it. 

Powder takes the smallest bite of her lemon loaf. She taps her finger.

“You know,” Powder murmurs, “just because I live with him doesn't mean I agree with everything he does.”

There are a lot of things Vi could say. She could stand up, get angry with Powder, and tell her that she hates what she's done with her life. But Vi wants to try. She should try not to blow everything up in her face. She should try not to leave her and her sister in smithereens. 

The gazelle exposes its stomach to the lion.

“I miss you,” Vi says meekly. “That's all.”

Vi’s eyes grow watery. Her vision grows too blurry to see the Starbucks logo on her cup anymore. She feels Powder's hand on top of hers, colorful fingernails entering her field of vision. It could be grounding if Vi had any ground to stand on.

“I miss you,” Vi repeats, feeling herself open up like a gaping black hole, falling into oblivion. 

“I know,” Powder says. She pushes Vi’s cup closer to her, encouraging her to drink.

--

They go outside.

“Silco calls me Jinx now,” Powder informs Vi while they wait for Lux to pick Powder up.

Vi raises a brow. “That feels… really fucked up,” she comments. Silco should be aware that this was the nickname Powder despised growing up.

“It's not that bad. It's like, he wants me to take charge of my life. Separate me now from the old me.”

“Separate you from me and Vander,” Vi mutters impulsively. She waits for Powder to get defensive.

Powder hums. Then she shrugs and calmly says, “Yeah.”

“Why do you think he's like this? Why do you think he's being such a fucking prick?”

“I don't know. He's just some weird faggot, Vi.”

Vi grimaces. “That's a slur.”

“He's my fag dad,” Powder retorts with an eye roll. “I can call him whatever I want. He won't mind.”

Vi kicks at the sidewalk, the sky rumbling.

“Fucking lawsuit,” Vi mutters again.

“I know.”

It's silent, gray, and stormy outside until Lux pulls up. Vi gives her sister an awkward hug, tells her she loves her, and watches Lux take her somewhere far, far away.

--

The case manager gives Vi a list of more people to call for legal help and advice on how to seem like she knows what she's doing when she does so. Vi could start seeing a few different therapists, some at their clinic and some at neighboring clinics. Before Vi leaves, she also gives Vi a list of places she could get free food or furniture, and she smiles at her so warmly that it curdles the acid in Vi’s stomach.

Vi exits into the hallway, cramming the bunch of papers with notes into her pockets as she does so.

She looks for Caitlyn.

Caitlyn is sitting by herself at the chessboard. Vi feels fizzy like cherry soda in the summer. It looks like Caitlyn’s trying to design some kind of poster on her laptop. Vi pads over.

“That looks fucking ugly,” Vi comments, coming over to lean over Caitlyn’s shoulder. Caitlyn startles, letting out a guh before closing her laptop flusteredly. 

“W-Why-”

“No color, Cupcake? No one’s going to come to your Mental Health Resource Night if you don't grab their attention.”

“I've just- I’ve not used this software before… But my supervisor wants me to,” Caitlyn mutters. She rubs her finger tiredly on the crease of her eyebrow. “I was just trying to learn the mechanics.”

“What software?”

Caitlyn opens her laptop tiredly. Vi leans over Caitlyn’s shoulder, trying to be casual about the physical proximity. 

“Oh. Powder used to use this.”

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. For art stuff. She showed me a few things for fun before she moved. Do you want me to teach you?”

Caitlyn pauses. It's crackling, fizzing stardust under each of their fingertips.

“You don't have anywhere to be?” she asks cautiously, looking up at Vi through her eyelashes. 

“‘Don't work until late tonight.”

“Well then. Lucky me.”

“Lucky you.” Vi grins and sits down. She scoots the stool closer to Caitlyn. “Girl, there is no way you typed this whole damn flier in Times New Roman.”

--

From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank you!

Dear Vi,

I appreciated your help today on my flier. I have attached the finished product. Let me know what you think!

I hope work goes well for you.

Sincerely, 
Caitlyn Kiramman

-

Dear Cupcake,

Looks dope. See u next week.

Vi

--

Vi shows up an entire thirty minutes early to her next case management appointment despite Vi never bothering to show up early for anything.

Today is supposed to be the last day. Vi’s got as many resources as she can carry. The only reason she'd continue coming here would be if she started seeing a therapist at the clinic rather than a case manager.

Oh.

Vi supposes there's Caitlyn, too.

Caitlyn is pretty. She's nice to look at. Nice to see.

“Do you like having a sibling?” Caitlyn prods from behind the chessboard in the waiting area. She moves her bishop diagonally a couple of spaces. Vi hums, then simply ushers her pawn up one space because she forgets what the other pieces do.

“I can't really imagine what it'd be like to live without one,” Vi responds as Caitlyn’s eyes gleam at the board. “We kept each other company growing up. I tried to teach her things. I think it'd suck to have her gone.”

Ha.

As if Powder wasn’t already gone.

“I’ve never known what it's like to have one, but I’d imagine that it's-” Caitlyn stares at the board, seemingly bewildered by Vi’s move. “Vi. Vi, what is this? Why did you do this?”

“Huh?”

“You've left your queen perfectly wide open.”

“But she's surrounded by all the little guys!” Vi protests.

“Pawns,” Caitlyn corrects. “And yes, she is, but-” Caitlyn moves her knight in an L Shape, conquering Vi’s queen. Vi gapes her mouth, aghast.

“My lady…” Vi murmurs defeatedly.

“Vi, you told me you knew how to play chess.”

“I do! I'm just a little rusty!”

Vi does not know how to play chess. Vander taught her a long time ago, but the knowledge is long forgotten.

“Okay. Well, would you like me to re-teach you?”

Vi frowns. She looks down at her beaten and battered hands, wrapped with boxer’s tape, and squeezes her fists.

“We also don't even have to play chess,” Caitlyn adds hastily. “We could just-”

“No.” Vi looks back up. Lightning must strike from above, electrifying the air between them. Caitlyn visibly swallows. “Teach me. What did you do with your horse-thing?”

“It’s called a knight,” Caitlyn corrects. She starts to smile. It’s blazing. Searing. “And I took you with it.”

“Mhm,” Vi mumbles. Caitlyn reaches over to move the knight back to where it was previously so she can demonstrate where Vi went wrong.

Take me, Vi thinks stupidly, wiping her sweaty hands on her thighs.

--

Vander doesn't want the fucking legal help.

Well, maybe he will later. He just doesn't want the help right now, immediately after he's gotten off another hostile call with Silco, Vi’s just finished her closing shift at The Last Drop, and Vander hasn't slept without booze for a week.

He's kind of a bad influence in that regard.

“I got you a list,” Vi hisses to Vander, pointing to the crumpled wad of paper on the bar counter  “It's fucking embarrassing going to that clinic, and I did it for you!”

“I didn't ask you to do that for me, Vi,” Vander mumbles from behind his mug of beer. “I told you that what was between Silco and I-”

“It is my concern!” Vi argues. “Because I'm a fucking adult now and I can help the guy who adopted me. I did it. I got help. You need it too!” 

Vi wants to try. 

She’s branching out, trying to be different from her father.

If only he tried too.

“I- I’ll…” Vander sighs, putting his alcohol-flushed face into his hands. “Remind me tomorrow.”

Vi broiling. Seething. She can't fucking do anything, she can never fucking do anything-

“Help me wipe down the counters,” Vander mumbles. “The earlier we get to bed, the better.”

Vi clenches her fists and her jaw. She pulls a towel from her apron.

“Vi?” Vander calls quietly. 

“Yeah,” Vi huffs.

“I love you. Thank you for wanting help,” Vander repeats. It's a pillowy, soft space to land on. Vi’s just too pissed to notice it without wanting to deck it into the ground.

“I love you too, Vander,” Vi grumbles, wiping his beer off the bar counter.

--

Vi can't do anything. Vi can never fucking do anything-

She punches that damn bag again and again. She's not taped this time. Didn't have the time to tape. Didn't give enough of a fuck. But it's not like she can afford to do anything about that, either.

Whatever that is.

Whatever it means to see your tits in the place of a solid, firm chest, and feel your sanity start to crumble. 

At least she's got huge arms she can pummel this bag to dust with.

She pants, then sinks to the ground, angry tears welling in her eyes. She checks the time on her phone, knowing it's way too late because her shifts go way too late, and-

Oh.

She has an email.

Excitedly, Vi checks the email address. Maybe it's Caitlyn. Please, let it be Caitlyn. Vi needs this. She needs this the way rock climbers need belayers, the way sailors need sailor’s knots- two tender, willing hands reaching out to take-

The sun rises and burns and collapses in on itself as she feels the bile of turmoil rise into her throat. It pours out her eyeballs and stains the floor black.

The email’s from fucking Silco.

--

Bourbon. Bourbon is fine. Any kind of whiskey is fine.

Vi clamors through the cabinets. If she doesn't puke from the shit Silco’s sent her, she can puke from the alcohol poisoning for all she cares. 

No whiskey. Gin? Tequila? 

She needs something hard.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters, grinding her teeth between her jaws like a mortar and pestle. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

It’s Jinx now, Silco says in his email, as a courtesy reminder. I noticed that you’ve blocked my phone number, so I’ll simply reach you here.

You may be wondering what your father and I are planning to do regarding The Last Drop. Vander tells me the two of you have been “collecting your resources”. I would like to remind you that it won't work even if you do.

Fireball. The fireball is good enough. Vi doesn't bother with a shotglass. She downs a big swallow straight from the bottle and pants as she feels the alcohol hit her skull with force, knocking the misery into and around in her vessel.

Take care of yourself, Violet. Lord knows that Vander won't do it for you.

Deepest gratitude,
Daddy

Vi starts crying, bracing herself on the counter and leaning over it, bottle in hand. She laughs too.

Daddy.

What a weird, petty fucking faggot.

--

She’s pretty.

She’s pretty but Vi doesn’t really have the time nor the headspace to think about it because her head is fucking pounding from another night of copious Fireball.

Caitlyn looks up at Vi with big, curious blue eyes when Vi enters the clinic only a few days after her last case consultation appointment.

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi greets, adjusting the sunglasses on her nose.

“Wha- Vi!” Caitlyn stammers. “You’re- it’s not your usual day you come in-”

“Today isn’t for case management,” Vi murmurs, sitting on the stool next to Caitlyn. She scoots the stool closer to Cait- fuck it. Their knees are touching now and Vi is too hungover to care.

Caitlyn clenches her jaw. “Then- then why are you here, may I ask? Is it for the free hot chocolate? Someone keeps coming in and taking probably around three cups worth.”

“Therapy,” Vi answers. She takes her sunglasses off and sets them on the table.

“Oh, Vi. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want-”

“I booked an appointment when I had kind of a bad night.”

Caitlyn looks down, startled into contemplation. It’s quiet, like the tides of a beach lulling weary passersby to sleep.

After a moment, Caitlyn says, “I’m sorry you had a bad night.”

“Bad life,” Vi corrects with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a bad life,” Caitlyn parrots tiredly, “but I’m glad you booked a therapy appointment. I hope it’s helpful to you.”

“I fucking hope. Never been,” Vi retorts.

“Nor have I,” Caitlyn murmurs.

Vi stares at her incredulously. “Wait. Seriously?”

Caitlyn blinks. “What about it?”

“I- You work for a fucking social work clinic. What do you mean you’ve never been?”

“I suppose I just… hadn’t considered it for myself. My life has been rather… normal.”

Caitlyn shrugs as though it's nothing, but something about this sentence feels like broiling turmoil in Vi’s gut. She pulls away from Caitlyn and gives Cait a once-over for the first time in a while, those pretty, blue eyes staring back at her in worry. Cait’s got beautiful, kept hair and neatly groomed nails and a cardigan that says that she’s never had to share with a sibling once in her life. How much are those earrings on her ear? How much is that pretty fucking necklace?

Suddenly, Vi feels anvils smother her fingers, hissing and squashing her glee.

Does Caitlyn not have problems? The Fireball is going to come back up Vi’s throat if Caitlyn keeps talking.

Vi swallows it down. 

She doesn’t need to meet new people.

Too bad Caitlyn's name is already stuck between Vi's teeth.

“I drink,” Vi murmurs stupidly. She's trying; she's trying. No one can say that she didn't try.

“Pardon?” Cait folds her hands on top of themselves.

“That's why I made the appointment,” Vi continues. “I know things are getting really bad when I start drinking again, and-”

“Vi, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to-”

“And I drank.”

There’s a pause- the churning sound of waves folding in on top of each other, and Caitlyn reaching a hand in to save Vi from drowning.

“I'm not your therapist, Vi,” Caitlyn whispers. She doesn't look at Vi when she says it, but her knee is still on Vi’s knee and that counts for something. “You don't need to tell me this. You're currently in line for someone actually qualified to speak to you about your drinking.”

“Yeah. Sure, I am. They’ll be qualified,” Vi draws towards Caitlyn. “but you listen.”

“I try,” Caitlyn whispers. The sun tears through every atom in Vi’s skin. “And I drink, too.”

Chapter Text

The drinking starts for Caitlyn with an outraged phone call from Cassandra, violently interrogating, What do you mean you’re going to college in Ionia? You could be perfectly happy here, at Piltover University. What was it you wanted to study again? Criminal justice? We have that here. Grayson got her bachelor’s degree in it. Caitlyn, we only want what’s best for you.

It starts with one sip of beer, which Caitlyn finds that she doesn’t really care for, and turns into one glass of the wine from a bottle Mel gifted her a while ago, which turns into two glasses of wine immediately after Cassandra calls, which spirals into three glasses of wine whenever Caitlyn is lonely.

And Caitlyn is lonely quite often.

She managed to start kicking the habit in her last few years of college for fear that it would affect her job. Caitlyn isn’t addicted. She’s simply reliant. And Caitlyn is nothing if not a pillar of volition, so she will be damned if she misplaces her volition only to start acting unprofessionally in her career.

Caitlyn blinks. Her knee is still on Vi’s in the clinic waiting room.

Oh, right.

This is perhaps unprofessional.

But Vi is very pretty and practically begging for Caitlyn to reach out and give with a tender hand- the way asteroids gave the Earth water billions of years ago, the way the crickets give the nighttime song.

Unprofessional.

Oh well.

“I’m not your therapist, Vi,” Caitlyn warns. Caitlyn isn’t sure if it’s a warning for herself or Vi.“You don't need to tell me this. You're currently in line for someone actually qualified to speak to you about your drinking.”

“Yeah. Sure I am. They’ll be qualified,” Vi murmurs. Caitlyn refuses to look at her. She can’t. She can’t; she shouldn’t-

Caitlyn looks at Vi. She’s burning up and seething, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“But you listen,” Vi finishes, scooting closer to Caitlyn. Vi’s whole thigh must be against Caitlyn’s now. Caitlyn swallows, feeling dizzy and thirsty and wishing that Ezreal hadn’t taken all the coffee cups from the drink bar. She wishes she had something charming or wise to tell Vi at this moment.

She doesn’t.

So she just tells Vi the truth.

“I try,” she whispers- because she really does try to listen. “And I drink, too.”

It feels as though there’s a rumbling storm outside. It's banging on the clinic windows and widening Vi’s eyes, pretty and sad and like Caitlyn needs to do something about how harshly they yank at her heartstrings-

“You do?” Vi asks this so softly that it feels like a wound. And it probably is. Caitlyn wants to touch. She wants to peer into Vi’s soul to see what's happening in her. To Vi’s sister. To Vi’s gut brandished with alcohol too.

“It's not as much of a problem as it used to be,” Caitlyn starts, “but-”

“But you do,” Vi finishes. She's sturdy when she takes hold of the ship’s wheel.

Caitlyn swallows. The storm catches up to her. She doesn't think she can escape it. This is unprofessional; it's too much self-disclosure; she should be drawing boundaries-

“You’re right,” Caitlyn answers simply.

“You're sad, too,” Vi concludes quietly, almost like a prayer of gratitude. “You have problems.”

“Vi-”

Vi’s hand lands on Caitlyn’s thigh softly. It's electricity pumping up Cait’s veins, shocking her system. She pounds. She rumbles. It's thunder. “Vi-” Caitlyn breathes.

“I need that,” Vi whispers. “I need you to be like me. I need to see you, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn doesn't know what she's doing. In all her years of training, she never thought she'd end up here.

She looks at Vi’s eyes- stormy and downcast and pretty. Caitlyn thinks they're something sacred, to be marveled at like art. She wants, she wants, she wants-

Fuck it.

Caitlyn puts her hand atop of Vi’s hand on her thigh. She's buried in rain.

“I need to see you, too,” Caitlyn whispers.

The sky opens up around them when Vi first starts describing Silco.

--

When Caitlyn gets home, Jayce sends her an article about her mother’s career as a Piltover politician. Caitlyn doesn't want to see it. Campaigns are running, and Caitlyn doesn't need to bother herself with whatever virtue signaling Cassandra’s putting out today.

Fuck.

Except today, Cassandra seems to not have even bothered with virtue signaling.

In the news article Jayce’s sent, an interviewer asks Cassandra what her views on transgender health care are, to which Cassandra simply responds that she'd like to decline responding for the moment.

Caitlyn tips her glass of wine to her mouth at her laptop in the kitchen.

Really? This?

This from the woman who paid for all of Caitlyn’s clothes and hormones and surgeries since the moment Caitlyn knew she wanted to be a girl? This after years of constant, avid support for Caitlyn being transgender?

It's for political safety, Caitlyn realizes.

Too bad it's “ally” treacherdom. 

Nope. She doesn't have to deal with this.

Caitlyn swallows her drink. She turns her attention to fonder places. To warmer and more appealing places.

She goes to her email.

--

To: [email protected]
Subject: Point of Contact

Dear Vi,

If you’d ever want to contact me aside from clinic matters, another point of contact for me would be [email protected]. That way we would keep our channels of communication separate.

I hope I'm not pressing too much. I just wanted to offer.

Warmly, 
Caitlyn

-

Dear Cupcake,

What, no digits?

Vi

-

Dear Vi,

Haha. I'm not sure if that's the most appropriate. Please just use this for now.

Sincerely,
Caitlyn

-

Ok. Fine. But one day I'm gon getcha

Vi

-

Dear Vi,

Is this what your email handle ([email protected]) is referring to?

Warmly,
Caitlyn

-

Yea. I used to say it all the time to Powder when we were growing up. Here I'll tell u about it in a different email to your damn personal account. Rlly extra of you, btw

Vi

-

Dear Vi,

It's simply to maintain professional boundaries. I’d love to hear about your family. I’ll see you on the other email address.

Warmly,
Caitlyn

--

Caitlyn gasps, whining and throwing her head back as her hips buck.

They're emailing. They're emailing as though they were texting, but God forbid Caitlyn and Vi text. That would be crossing a line, obviously. But Caitlyn doesn't have to cross it. She can have self-control.

Caitlyn keeps rubbing at herself, gasping and grunting, pushing the toy slicked up with lube further into herself.

“Fuck,” she mutters. There are tears beading at the front of her eyes and behind them, she can see Vi’s mischievous gaze watching her fuck herself. “Shit. Fuck. Oh, god.”

She rubs harder and lets out a whine. It almost sounds like Vi’s name, but Caitlyn doesn't let it; she can have self control.

When she's done cleaning the cum off her stomach Caitlyn feels real and full, and if she pretends hard enough, like Vi’s seen through her skin straight to her starry, delusional soul.

Caitlyn turns off her lamp and goes to sleep. Two street lights outside Cait’s apartment flicker in unison.

--

Mel doesn’t hang out with Caitlyn often, and when she does, she’s usually accompanied by Jayce.

Luckily for Caitlyn, Jayce had some paperwork to catch up on, so it’s only Mel tonight. Perhaps Cait gets to avoid the 'why don’t you make more friends' lecture.

Mel is in her kitchen, pouring the two of them wine from the brand Caitlyn likes. Cait’s never been able to find this brand by herself, and fears that Mel is the only woman in the world who knows how to get it.

“Are you enjoying work?” Mel asks, coming to the table and sliding the glass to Caitlyn.

“I am,” Caitlyn chirps. She eagerly takes a sip to diffuse her nerves. “Today I had an interesting conversation with a woman before her couple’s therapy appointment.”

“Interesting how?” Mel smiles, always eager to hot, juicy gossip, and folds her hands on top of Caitlyn’s table.

“It was interesting because she didn’t seem like she wanted to be there, not in the least until her fiance came into the room.”

“And?”

“He was big. Very stereotypically handsome. He was funny and goofy, and it made me realize why she had come in the first place. She had come in for him. For his sake.”

“What were their names?”

“Her name was Ka-.” Caitlyn squints at Mel. She’s gone down this road with her before. “Mel, you know that I’m not allowed to tell you- HIPAA. Privacy and all that. You always ask me this.”

“I like knowing what’s going on with people around Piltover,” Mel shoots with an elusive grin. “It keeps me on top of my game as a politician.”

“It’s illegal for me to tell you.”

Mel huffs. She rolls her eyes. “So be it.”

“How is work?” Caitlyn asks, her eyes trained on the wine glass. “Jayce says you’re going into a busy season?”

“We are,” Mel responds cooly, and takes a slow sip of her wine. “Campaigns and all that. I've actually been meaning to talk to you about this-”

“Oh. Oh Mel,” Caitlyn groans. “Please, don't-”

“Perhaps you could get out more,” Mel suggests quickly. 

“I don’t need to,” Caitlyn responds curtly. “I have-”

“Do not say you have Jayce and I,” Mel snips. “Or Grayson for that matter. We don't count.”

“Why not?” Caitlyn is tired of hearing this advice. She resists the urge to down her entire glass.

“Because Jayce and I will grow busy, and Grayson is your mentor, not your friend, and you need people to talk to on a regular basis.”

Caitlyn elects not to mention Vi- HIPAA. Privacy and all that. She simply presses her legs together with a huff.

“What if you tried a dating app?” Mel suggests. From the other side of the table, she kicks Caitlyn’s shoe with a flirtatious smile.

Caitlyn cringes. “Mel. Who do you take me for?”

“A loser.”

“I am not-”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

Caitlyn remains silent. She elects to simply get more drunk. She doesn’t need to be thinking about any of this. 

Mel kicks her foot against Caitlyn’s again. She runs the tip of her shoe up along Caitlyn’s calf.

“No action for you, Caitlyn?” Mel asks, implication dripping from her grin.

Caitlyn frowns. Caitlyn gets action. She gets action in the form of a lot of masturbation. But Mel doesn’t need to know that.

“Really, Mel, I’m fine,” Caitlyn mutters, leaning her hand into her hands. “I’m making friends. I’m actually in contact with one as we speak.”

“You are?” Mel sits up immediately, eyes wide. “But you haven’t said anything!”

“Yes. Well, I didn’t want to make a fuss,” Caitlyn defends. She perhaps shouldn’t be divulging this information, but she’s feeling a bit fuzzy from the wine and wants Mel to stop being like that.

Mel grins ear-to-ear. Caitlyn will never hear the end of this. “We’d only make a big fuss if it was a big deal,” Mel comments. “Are you telling me this is a big deal?”

Vi is a big deal only in the sense that an asteroid killed the dinosaurs. Only in the sense that Caitlyn feels like she's reborn every time Vi enters the room.

“Please just drop it, Mel,” Caitlyn responds, glaring. “Now, are you going to get me more drunk, or do I need to escort you out the door?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, love,” Mel says, standing up and walking to the kitchen. “I’m sure Jayce and I will hear about your special friend eventually.”

“Fine,” Cait snips, leaning back in her chair and sighing.

Someone has to hear all about it when Caitlyn screws her special friend up entirely.

--

It starts out fine. 

Caitlyn doesn’t know where it goes nor which way it turns to end up so disastrous that it feels like she’s wiped out all forms of life on Earth- so bad that she feels the need to talk to someone about it, but it ends with Vi upset and Caitlyn not knowing what to do with her hands nor the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.

It starts off with hesitance. Hesitance gives way to reticence, and reticence births devastation.

Vi comes into the clinic, and she looks hesitant for the first time since Caitlyn's met her. Cait stares at her worriedly as Vi gets her paper work. She tries to give Vi a friendly smile and pats the stool next to her, but Vi doesn't sit in that stool. She sits in the stool across from Caitlyn, starts on her her paperwork silently, and says nothing.

Caitlyn chews at her lip.

Their emails have been going okay, she thinks. She has no reason not to believe. Sure, they've tapered off a bit the past few days, but Caitlyn had assumed that Vi got busy with her life or was waiting for the next time she saw Caitlyn in person to talk to her.

Caitlyn clears her throat awkwardly. “Um. How are you?”

“Fine,” Vi says in a rather pissed-off tone.

“Did you do anything fun over the weekend?” Caitlyn continues.

“Yeah, I uh... saw an old friend,” Vi mumbles. “Got caught up with the news... I worked a fucking lot and had to deal with a lot of bullshit.”

“I know the feeling,” Caitlyn says. She attempts to offer her sympathy on a plate. But Vi doesn't want to eat.

“Yeah,” Vi mumbles. She scribbles her pen in the corner of her paper in a mind-numbing circle. 

Caitlyn waits, growing tenser with each breath.

“I don’t know,” Vi eventually starts, and Caitlyn eases slightly. “He said I looked like the ‘butchest woman ever’ when he first saw me, and it’s just been rattling around in my head since.”

Caitlyn stares at Vi inquisitively. She looks Vi up and down, from the top of her bright, red hair, to the bottom of her combat boots.

“Vi, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she states matter-of-factly, “but you are quite butch.”

“I know that,” Vi responds with a sigh. She pushes her paperwork out of the way. “But then we got caught up on the news, and there was all this weird shit about the news about politics and trans healthcare, and I don't even know if I’m trans, but I sure feel fucking bad not knowing if I’d ever be able to do anything about this.” Vi subtlety gestures to all of herself.

Caitlyn sits up a little straighter. She’s alerted to something, flitting about and lighting up in the darkness of the night. 

Very softly, Caitlyn asks, “You would?”

Vi clenches her jaw. “Well, what got me was when Ekko said I looked like ‘the butchest woman’ ever, and then I realized that- that I don’t know if I even feel like that. Like a woman. Like, look at me.”

Caitlyn is looking. She’s staring a little too deeply, she thinks. Seeing Vi a little too deeply- little fireflies floating about the room.

“Do I look like a woman to you?” Vi dares to question, cringing.

“Well, um-” Caitlyn chokes on her own words. She looks at Vi as she requested- up and down once more. Up at her pretty, downcast eyes, down her muscley arms, further down to her impressive thighs, landing at Vi’s heavy boots. Truth be told, faced with this new information, Caitlyn can’t tell. 

Cait nervously casts her gaze back up to Vi’s. “I don’t know,” she attempts helplessly. Caitlyn scrolls through what she thinks she should say- put yourself in their shoes- but if Caitlyn were in Vi’s clunky, butch combat boots, she would only want to be reaffirmed over and over again that she was a woman. Vi surely feels something different. “Well, I think I mostly just see you as Vi," she settles on. "Woman or not.”

“Oh.” Vi fiddles with the corners of her paperwork.

Cait swallows. “As for the subject of transgender healthcare,” Caitlyn starts. She can almost hear Vi’s muscles tensing. “if it makes you feel better, I have a few friends in politics. I’m sure they would tell me if transgender healthcare were to go completely out the window.”

“Oh,” Vi repeats, clenching her jaw and staring at her fists. “Your friends, huh?”

Vi trails off. She fiddles more with her paperwork while Caitlyn’s heart ticks like a timebomb. Caitlyn feels as though she’s playing chess and making the wrong move each time.

Cait keeps talking. She really shouldn't, but she does.

“Um. Sometimes medically transitioning can help a great deal with one's mental health. Maybe it'd help you as well.”

Vi’s eyes grow flinty and hurt. They’re dark like all the flame has gone out of them. Vi shakes her head. “Money.”

“Oh. Well,” Caitlyn fumbles, “I don't know. I'm sure it wouldn't be too terribly much-”

“Only it is,” Vi counters immediately. Caitlyn frowns. “The appointments, any hormones, especially without insurance-”

Caitlyn winces. She honestly isn’t even sure how much she pays for her hormones; she just sets the prescription on autopay and auto-refill. She doesn't think she knows the cost of her copays, either. “Well, I mean- There- there are services here that could help you navigate-”

“And it’s not even the least of my problems,” Vi continues harshly. With bite. “Like, sure it might help something, but my life is such a fucking mess with all the other family bullshit, and I’m poor as fuck and I’m pretty sure I’m burning a hole through my gut with alcohol, so I don’t even know what the point would be-”

“Just to explore?” Caitlyn cuts off. She’s trying. She’s trying to speak from experience. Why does it feel like her intestines are being ripped from her gut? “It can be a great relief to at least explore-”

“You don’t get it,” Vi hisses- probably the worst thing you could say to someone whose occupation is to get it- and Caitlyn closes her damn mouth. Vi glares at Caitlyn with hostile fists that choke her- What does Vi take her for? A bad person? “You don’t get what it’s like to be poor, and abnormal, and-”

“How would you know?” Caitlyn whispers, dying.

Vi holds her breath. Caitlyn holds hers, too. There are tears pooling in her eyes. Why does this feel like the end of time as they know it? Light and life fizzle out around them- the coming of an apocalypse.

Vi checks the time on her phone. “My therapy appointment is soon,” she responds curtly. “I’m going to sit closer to the hallway.”

Vi stands. Caitlyn’s jaw clenches shut. Before she can attempt to undo her move to figure out where she went wrong, Vi walks over to where the fish tank near the front desk is, and plops herself down on the shitty chair there. A bubble gurgles up from the fish tank.

Caitlyn sits alone. She’s gutted and unspooled from the knife in her gut, vulnerable and left out to die. Everything feels dark.

Chapter Text

You may be wondering what your father and I are planning to do regarding The Last Drop, Silco says.

Vander tells me the two of you have been “collecting your resources”. 

I would like to remind you that it won't work even if you do.

Vi swallows, facing Vander as he cooks them weekend breakfast. This used to be a tradition they had when Power and Silco still lived with them. Now it’s just them, and what should be a comforting meal feels empty and painful- like someone tried carving out Vi’s innards with an ice cream scoop. 

Vi clears her throat. “Vander.”

He hums gently. He stirs the scrambled eggs. “Vi.”

“You said to remind you about calling the legal place the other night.”

Vander keeps stirring the eggs, unwavering.

“Did you?” Vi asks. Her voice is strained like she’s trying not to break a cord.

Vander keeps stirring the eggs. Figures.

Vi stomps over. She gets on the side of Vander, glaring at him and waving her hand in his face. He almost breaks. But Vander’s built himself to be strong. “Earth to father. Your daughter speaking. Hey, did you tell Silco that I’m seeing a social worker?”

“It may have slipped,” he mutters quietly, “when we had our phone call.”

Vi sighs, rubbing her cheek with a hand. “Why the fuck did you tell him? He sent me all these creepy ass emails.”

“Your daddy is uh…” Vander looks up with a sad color to his gaze. “An odd sort of fellow.”

Vi huffs. “He’s such a weird fucking faggo-”

“That’s a slur, Vi,” Vander corrects with a sigh. He slides the eggs off the pan, onto a plate. “Do you want bacon?”

“Did you call the legal place?” Vi probes again with a raised brow.

Vander sucks his breath in. It's comfortably quiet. Vi watches his big chest come in and back out thoughtfully. “I did,” he finally says. “Thank you, Vi.”

Vi, in all her patience (which is very little), takes a deep breath. She moves closer to Vander and gives him a hug from the side. Vander’s large bear arm wraps around her as he takes the egg pan off the stove.

“I love you,” Vi reminds him.

“I love you too, big girl,” Vander murmurs warmly. They sit down to breakfast together.

--

To: [email protected]
Subject: Hi

Ok so

You know how I talked about my sister, right? When we were growing up I used to chase her all around the house and yell “VI’S GON GETCHA” which was fun. She’s going to school for mechanical engineering rn and it’s eating Vander and I’s asses. Like she got scholarships and stuff but STILL. It’s STILL fucking expensive AND our cunt ass dad wants to sue us like wtf. Give me a break man.

Did you go to school?

Vi

-

Dear Vi,

That story was cute. I got my bachelor’s degree in Ionia in social work. Right now I’m taking some time off before I apply to graduate programs. What about you?

Warmly,
Caitlyn

-

Lmao fuck no

Don’t think I’m cut out for it. Tbh idk if Powder is cut out for it either, but a bitch has got to try. Ionia sounds expensive.

Vi

-

Dear Vi,

I liked it in Ionia. Maybe you could go back to school one day.

Warmly,
Caitlyn

-

Dear Cupcake,

Don’t patronize me

Vi

--

“Hey, girl,” Ekko greets as he walks into The Last Drop. “You look like the butchest woman ever.”

Vi hasn't seen Ekko in a while. He's been out and about Zaun, tending to whatever humanitarian crisis he feels compelled to. They used to see more of each other when they were little and when he and Powder used to date.

Vi looks down at her black skinny jeans and her Doc Martens. Ekko plops himself down on the stool next to her at the bar counter. “Is it the carabiner?” she asks him.

“That. And,” Ekko gives her a friendly thump on her back. “Your shoulders look fucking huge, dude.”

Vi smiles warmly. She puffs her chest out. “I’ve been trying.”

“You still lifting?” he asks with a friendly smile.

“Not as much. I mostly just box now.”

“The demons got to you?” Ekko inquires.

Vi gives a short nod. “The demons.”

“Sucks.” Ekko kicks his feet up on the bar counter - something that only he's allowed to do because he's Ekko. “How have you been? Other than the demons, I mean.”

Vi sighs. She checks the time. It's only eleven am. It'll be hard to get through this conversation without a drink.

She glances towards the bar. Ekko tracks her gaze, then raises a brow.

“That bad?” he asks her.

Fuck. 

Fuck Ekko for knowing her so well.

Now she can't drink.

“Did you hear about the lawsuit?” Vi asks, directing the conversation decisively away from her drinking situation.

“Most of Zaun has,” Ekko responds solemnly. He cocks his head. “Does Powder still…?”

“Yup. Still lives with him.”

Ekko’s feet slide off the counter. He hunches over the bar and thumps his fist on the counter. “Damn.”

“She says you guys don't really talk anymore.”

“Yeah. Not since I heard about all the Silco shit.” Ekko sighs. Then, very timidly, he squints at Vi and asks, “Has she… dated anyone since?”

“No. But why do you care? You guys broke up like… a year ago,” Vi mentions, raising a brow.

Ekko thumps his fist again on the table. His gaze is stern when he turns to Vi. “Once I undoom her from the narrative, the marriage is back on.”

“Is the narrative… Silco?”

“Yes! I knew he was bullshit. What did I say? Now he's suing your asses, and the price of living is going to go up probably if that motherfucker Hoskel gets voted into the office, and even if Kiramman wins, she's probably anti-trans-”

“Whoa, what?” Vi squints at Ekko. “I thought Kiramman was chill. Democrat.”

“I skimmed over some news article that said otherwise,” Ekko muttered. “That is to say-”

“I need a drink,” Vi interrupts, standing. She’s changed her mind; she’s decided that alcohol is a precious resource that can’t wait. Also, Ekko was the one who presented her with this information, so this is his fault. “Do you want a drink?”

“It’s eleven am,” Ekko corrects, squinting at Vi.

“Do. You want. A drink?” Vi repeats. She glares at Ekko. She doesn't have the capacity to think about how the next Piltover politician is going to screw her over even more than Silco is.

Ekko swallows. Vi continues to glare at him. 

“I have to go to something later, so I’ll have to decline,” he eventually responds. His eyes are caring in the way that Vander’s are caring when glances back up at Vi. “But you're a free woman. You can do what you want.”

That free woman scowls and goes behind the bar counter to pour herself a drink.

If a woman is what she can even call herself.

--

You look like the butchest woman ever, Ekko had told her.

Vi slams the punching bag with her fist. Sweat is beading off her forehead and she likes it. Her arms feel tight. Powerful. Like she can take on the world with her fists, even under these circumstances.

Vi thinks she likes being called butch. She’s thought it’s always suited her. That’s what she sees when she looks in the mirror- someone masculine, in tandem with someone who’s got feminine charm.

She slams the punching bag again, shuffling her feet closer to it and panting. She glances at herself in the mirror mounted on the wall.

Vi’s chest is taped again. It’s contained. Broad. Vi wipes her forehead and moves out of the way so she can see herself in the mirror from the side.

She wonders what it would be like…

…If she didn’t have to keep doing this taping thing.

Vi frowns. She walks to the wall of the garage and sits on the floor with her back leaning against it, switching her phone on.

She wonders if she can even think about something like surgery with the amount of debt she and Vander are probably going to be in.

How much even is top surgery?

Oof. No go. Not even a question.

Okay. A binder.

Oh, fuck off.

And you can’t even wear it while you work out?!

Vi bites her lip.

How much is new KT tape? Hers is running out.

Okay. Vi can swing that. Or maybe she can layer her sports bras. She doesn’t know.

She sighs and opens up her email- something she does habitually by now despite never using the damn app before.

There’s a new one from Caitlyn.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Hello!

Hi Vi,

I saw this picture of a sad wolf and I thought of you. I hope to see you at the clinic soon.

[Image attached.]

Warmly,
Caitlyn

Vi chuckles. Her thumb hovers over the file to download it when-

Oh. 

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait-

She glances back up at the sending address.

Cait Kiramman.

The name sounds oddly familiar.

No, no, no, no. It can't be that.

Vi looks up “Kiramman + Piltover” on Google and scrolls through article after article on the family name.

It has to be a coincidence, right?

She scrolls back up and clicks on the news article at the top of the page- the one Ekko was probably talking about where Cassandra is under fire for “denying to comment” on what she thought about trans healthcare.

It’s just a different Kiramman.

Right?

But her eyes are pretty and blue the same way Caitlyn's are, and she scowls the same when she's displeased, and she’s tall and has the same cheekbones-

Vi stands, frantically rubbing her face and turning her phone off. She adjusts the sweaty tape on her chest and stands up so she can keep hitting the bag. She hurts her fists when she does so.

Vi doesn't respond to Caitlyn’s email.

She doesn't email Caitlyn for a while after that.

--

She's pretty.

She's pretty and tall and she looks just like her fucking mom who is too much of a bitch to say outright whether or not trans people should get to not hate their bodies.

Vi enters the clinic and veers away from the waiting room, trying not to look at Caitlyn. She doesn't want to bother. She doesn't want to need Caitlyn the way the moon aches for the stars or the way sprouts desperately seek the sun’s warmth. She hesitates when she gets her clipboard, and from across the room, Caitlyn smiles so fondly at Vi that Vi feels like she might break.

Vi takes the stool across from Caitlyn, distracted, and begins filling out her paperwork.

Caitlyn clears her throat. “Um,” she says awkwardly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Vi spits out.

Caitlyn presses her lips together. There’s a gap in their conversation that Vi fills with scribbling on her clipboard. “Did you do anything fun over the weekend?”

Vi holds her breath, tensing. She considers.

“Saw an old friend,” she starts hesitantly. She tries to sort through her blurry, inky memories. “Got caught up with the news. I worked a fucking lot and had to deal with a lot of bullshit.”

“I know the feeling,” Caitlyn offers. Vi tenses further. Caitlyn’s sympathy is nails on her skin. It's patronizing weaponry.

The conversation devolves. Grows fuzzy. Vi simply recites what she always feels in the back of her head- what she thinks about gender, her body, what that's supposed to mean, and the news as she fumbles around her mind, and-

And then-

“If it makes you feel better,” Cait tells her, “I have a few friends in politics. I’m sure they would tell me if transgender healthcare were to go completely out the window.”

Oh.

Vi wakes up. It’s an easy task when the prettiest woman in the world is sticking her with a cattle prod.

“Oh,” she mumbles, becoming reticent. She feels her hope becoming brittle. She feels the try  in her strangle itself hopelessly. “Your friends, huh?”

Friends. Relatives. A whole circle of people with twenty times the amount of power and wealth as Vi.

Vi gives Caitlyn another once-over. She looks as prim and proper as ever. The gem around her neck could probably go to paying Vander and Vi’s rent for a year.

“Um,” Caitlyn says, shifting in her chair. Vi doesn’t know why she’s still talking. “Sometimes transitioning can help a great deal with one’s mental health. Maybe it'd help you as well.”

That’s the turning point. That’s when Vi slips in the dark of her own head. She wonders why she bothered trying to talk to Caitlyn, why she considered emailing her, why she bothered trying to reach out-

“Money,” Vi hisses, sharpening her fangs. She figures Caitlyn should be familiar with the concept.

“Oh. Well,” Caitlyn fumbles, “I don't know. I'm sure it wouldn't be too terribly much-”

“Only it is,” Vi counters immediately. She wants to stand. She wants to take her hurt, calloused hands, and-

Hit Caitlyn?

Hold her?

Put those hands on Caitlyn’s soft, pretty cheeks?

Vi refrains.

“The appointments, any hormones, especially without insurance-” Vi elaborates angrily.

“Well, I mean-" Caitlyn fumbles. "There- there are services here that could help you navigate-”

“And it’s not even the least of my problems," Vi argues. "Like, sure it might help something, but my life is such a fucking mess with all the other family bullshit, and I’m poor as fuck and I’m pretty sure I’m burning a hole through my gut with alcohol, so I don’t even know what the point would be-”

Oh, Vi’s becoming something monstrous- that thing Powder used to cower away from when Vi got her while they were playing chase. Her jaw is harsh and her words are bloody where her teeth are dripping blood.

“Just to explore?” Caitlyn interjects as Vi sharpens her knife. “It can be a great relief to at least explore-”

Vi doesn’t get to explore. She doesn’t have the luxury. Vi doesn’t get anything in this life, so it seems. 

So she takes a chunk of Caitlyn's away from her.

“You don’t get it,” Vi jabs at Caitlyn. “You don’t get what it’s like to be poor, and abnormal, and-”

“How would you know?” Caitlyn whispers, interrupting. It’s a plea of mercy. But Vi doesn’t buy it.

Pretty girl, pretty clothes, pretty life.

Where are Caitlyn's problems?

Vi checks the time. She still has another five minutes before her therapy appointment, but she doesn’t want to sit with Caitlyn anymore. 

She swallows. “My therapy appointment is soon,” Vi mutters. The dagger in her hand is dripping from the tip. Vi is done trying. “I’m going to sit closer to the hallway.”

Caitlyn’s mouth opens and Vi doesn’t care enough to bother changing their destiny. She heads to the chair near the fish tank and plops herself down in front of it, pulling her phone out of her pocket and doom-scrolling. She rests on the edge of hopelessness, only another inch away from self-destruction.

Fuck it. 

Vi didn’t need to meet new people anyway.

--

Vander finds Vi in the garage crying in the fetal position on the floor that night. At least Vi always has Vander in her miserable life. 

He puts his big, warm hand on her shoulder. “Vi.”

Vi cries some more, wiping her runny nose.

“Violet, what happened?”

“I had therapy today,” she gurgles, watery. 

Vander sighs. He leans forward and pulls her into a hug. Vi lets him.

“Was it a lot?”

“I-” Vi starts. “I don’t know. He keeps saying that I seem to not want to open up, and stuff about how I don’t trust people, and it’s like, why would I trust people when-”

When Vi’s not built to trust people. She and Caitlyn weren’t meant to be, she thinks.

“I’ve been trying to make friends, and it’s going bad,” Vi concludes instead.

Vander keeps hugging Vi. He squeezes. Vi sniffles.

“Do you want to see Powder again? Would that help?” Vander asks softly.

“It’s Jinx now!” Vi complains, softly wailing. “It’s Jinx now, according to that dumb faggot Silco- don’t tell me that it’s not politically correct to say that- and I don’t even know if she still likes me-”

“You’re still sisters,” Vander cuts off. “Nothing will ever change that.”

Feebly, resting on Vander’s shoulder, Vi nods wetly. She doesn’t really have a choice but to listen to Vander.

Her fingers trembling, Vi decides to keep trying.

“Let me call Powder,” Vander murmurs. He runs a big hand through Vi’s hair. “I’m sure she misses you, too. Let’s get you out of this shitty garage. Do you want a drink?”

Vander stands up. He holds Vi’s hand as she stands, too. 

“No,” she tells him, wiping her face. “I think I have to keep trying to kick the habit.”

They walk out of the black garage into some place warmer. Browner. Vi swallows the snot in her throat.

“You can always start again,” Vander murmurs with a kiss on Vi’s forehead, and Vi tries to listen to him as he offers to cook dinner. Because she has to.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn doesn’t eat dinner when she gets home. It was a miracle she managed to finish any of her tasks at the clinic. 

She stumbles into bed aimlessly. She checks to see if her own heart is still pounding. She tries, she tries, she tries to remain alive.

All she can hear is a loud knocking on her ribcage.

She thinks it’s Vi. And Vi doesn't knock gently on it.

She pounds.

She bangs so hard it rattles Caitlyn’s lungs and pushes her onto the sidewalk where she lies crying and panting.

Caitlyn curls up on her bed, tears threatening her dignity. Her chest heaves up and down, and she sees Vi behind the curtains of her eyelids, like a silent film she has no say in seeing. 

Vi, with her cheeky grin and her sad, undercast eyes. Vi, with a tongue so cruel, Cait could swear it was poison. Vi, with hands so gentle, Caitlyn swears they could speak to caterpillars. Vi, with those hands rooting into her lungs and squeezing the liquid from her heart, spilling blood into any cavity Caitlyn possesses. Vi, filling Caitlyn up so compactly that it causes confusion and devastation to leak from her eyes. And Vi, corrupting Caitlyn’s attention with every waking moment.

Not that Caitlyn could give Vi any attention. Vi won't let Caitlyn. No matter how hard Caitlyn wants it.

Pathetically, Caitlyn shimmies off her bed, wiping her leaky, soiled eyes and grabbing her laptop from her backpack. She has one new email. In the back of her head, she knows it's not Vi. In a further back part of her head, she wants it to be Vi anyway.

It's from Grayson.

She wants to meet with Caitlyn in the morning before her shift, just fifteen minutes before. She says it’ll be quick. Caitlyn wipes her eyes and responds with a polite yes, sounds good! before collapsing back onto her bed. 

It's warm. Caitlyn tries to envelop herself in it. If she’s delusional enough, it feels like what it could be if Vi held her- strong and sturdy and real.

Caitlyn wants to be real. She wonders what that feels like for the umpteenth time in her lifetime- a number equivalent to how many stars there are in the universe or how many atoms in her heart shiver with the thought of Vi.

Caitlyn falls asleep to the thought. It's comforting to her. It's not real, but it's enough.

--

The meeting with Grayson lasts less than fifteen minutes, and Caitlyn hates it.

She stumbles into Grayson’s office with her unkempt cardigan, her hair up, and with tired eyes. She hasn’t slept much.

It’s 8:43 am. Grayson is leaning back in her chair, sipping her black coffee.

“You wanted to see me?” Caitlyn prods, glancing nervously around the office. Grayson scoots back in her chair. She turns her computer monitor off.

“Yes, Kirammnan,” she says, not making eye contact, and Caitlyn knows something is off. “You’ve gotten a complaint.”

Caitlyn purses her lips. No one complains about Caitlyn Kiramman. No one’s dared to up until this point. But Caitlyn supposes that when your entire being is unwound and your guts are spilling out of your torso, you’re an easier target to lodge complaints with.

“What… was the complaint?” Caitlyn asks, dread seeping from her voice into the shaggy carpet below them.

“They’d like to remain anonymous,” Grayson starts, “but someone has mentioned to their therapist here that the greeting intern said something ignorant towards them before an appointment.”

“And that ignorant statement was?” Caitlyn hisses through grit teeth. She clutches the strap of her purse tighter.

“Something about the struggles of poor people,” Grayson mentions. She takes another sip of her damned black coffee, as though she hasn’t said something that’s sprayed thousands of bullets into Caitlyn’s lungs and torso. “I’m not sure what you said, but-”

It’s Vi. Vi’s knocked down her locked door with her combat boots and reigned terror on Caitlyn’s home. Who else could it be but Vi?

Grayson keeps talking, but Caitlyn’s head only spins. The words get sucked into a black hole and Caitlyn lacks the strength to dig them out. Oh, the woes of being stealth. The woes of being rich and privileged. She must have had her life so easy, only it hasn’t been easy, because Caitlyn constantly carries the burden of knowing she was born with a set of body parts no one else can see but can judge anyway.

When Caitlyn finally comes to, the harsh boot on her heart easing off, Grayson is still talking. “It can be hard to know what to say to someone struggling in a group you’re not familiar with-”

Caitlyn clenches her jaw, her anger mounting. 

Grayson continues. “But sometimes a person only needs an ear, and not advice.”

Oh, the listening, not advice speech. Caitlyn’s gotten it a thousand times. She wants to take Grayson’s coffee and pour it over her face but decides that she respects Grayson too much to say anything.

“We’re all human,” Caitlyn defends, squeezing her fists and trying her hardest to feel real. To feel like a real human. “We all have the capacity to relate to one another.”

“It seems you didn’t relate to this particular person,” Grayson tells her with a tired smile that only infuriates Caitlyn. “I’m only relaying what I’ve been told. That’s all. You’re not in trouble. Think of it as a warning.”

“Consider myself warned,” Caitlyn mumbles. She glares at the floor, adjusting her cardigan. “Meeting adjourned?”

“Meeting adjourned, young Kiramman,” Grayson says with a kind huff and a smile. Caitlyn leaves the room and she only barely slams the door.

--

Vi comes into the clinic so late that she barely has time to do the mandatory pre-meeting paperwork, and Caitlyn knows she’s this late on purpose. She knows it's on purpose because for the past couple fucking weeks, Vi used to come in early just to hang out with Caitlyn, and now Vi won't give her the grace of a fucking routine or make eye contact with her from across the room.

Caitlyn feels her chest tighten. She feels her ribs fuse and squeeze together until her heart cries out in claustrophobia. She holds her breath. She wants to reach out. She doesn't know if she wants to smack Vi across the face or pull her in by the cheeks and-

And what?

Caitlyn blinks. Vi, from across the room, hands the front desk worker her paperwork. She pulls up her cargo pants and begins heading to her therapist’s room. Caitlyn watches her leave, into the hallway.

And kiss Vi?

As though that were hardly appropriate.

But Caitlyn’s already imagined far worse. She's already imagined far more inappropriate. 

There are far worse things to imagine than Vi and her sturdy back and her warm breath against Caitlyn’s tongue. Worse things than the feel of her calloused fingertips against Caitlyn’s waist and the pleading look in her eye when she asks for more.

Caitlyn swallows. She undoes a button of her cardigan, hot.

The scene behind her eyes is a movie she does not want to watch.

She pulls out her laptop and begins doing work on her computer, feeling her innards unwind. She’s grateful when Talon enters the clinic and only seems to want to sit next to her in silent camaraderie. 

--

Jayce and Mel get to hear about Caitlyn’s special friend, alright.

Ordinarily, they would tease Caitlyn endlessly for how much difficulty she’s having with social interaction or ask her if she’s going fuck Vi, but Caitlyn is spewing open from the gut down, and they have the decency to keep their mouths shut when Caitlyn finally opens hers.

“I just-” Caitlyn gurgles. She’s sitting on the couch. Jayce is sitting across from her on Caitlyn’s recliner, and Mel rubs Caitlyn’s shoulder soothingly. “I’ve never had anyone complain about me before.”

“You-” Jayce blinks. His eyes are pools of concern. “So, you were trying to make friends with someone who came into your workplace a lot-”

“I tried-” Caitlyn sniffles. “I really, really tried, Jayce. It didn’t go well.”

“I can’t believe they complained about you…” Jayce murmurs.

“They said I was ignorant! They said that I didn’t get it.”

Mel frowns. She squeezes Caitlyn’s shoulder. “Well, it’s a clinic for people with bad lives. Maybe they were just taking it out on you.”

But what if Vi wasn’t? 

What more does Caitlyn need to learn? What more does Caitlyn need to give? 

Oh, Caitlyn wants to give.

That’s all Caitlyn’s ever fucking wanted- hands reaching out into the dreary night.

A comet’s tail burns out in a sea of stars.

“What did they even complain about, Caitlyn?” Mel asks cooly, raising a brow.

“I think I said something unwise about being transgender….”

“That’s idiotic,” Mel interjects, glaring. “You’re transgender-”

“...And poor,” Cait finishes.

The room goes silent.

Caitlyn waits for someone to say something comforting.

They don’t.

“Well,” Jayce starts, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. “You said you wanted to work here to get more real-world experience. Maybe this is it, Cait.”

Caitlyn looks to Mel for more sympathetic feedback.

There’s none to be found. Mel only nods in agreement.

Caitlyn sighs. “...Do you think they’d talk to me again?” she asks quietly- a plea, a prayer to God, to Vi, to someone.

“Maybe if you give it some time,” Mel says with a squeeze of Caitlyn’s shoulder. 

Jayce goes to brew them tea and Caitlyn nods, trying her best to listen to Mel.

She has no choice but to listen.

--

Caitlyn asks Grayson for an emergency meeting. She needs professional supervision- because Caitlyn is nothing if not professional.

She shows up at Grayson’s office at 8:30 am, disheveled with tears in her eyes and bags underneath them.

“I need to speak with you,” she spits out, not used to asking for vocational (nor emotional) guidance.

Grayson looks up from her computer. She slowly turns in her chair to face Caitlyn.

“About?” she ponders, raising an eyebrow.

“About this position. And what I need to improve on,” Caitlyn responds curtly. She’s trembling- a twinkling star ready to flicker out any second now.

“Is this about the complaint you received?” Grayson asks.

“Yes,” Caitlyn responds. “And about much more. I- I’m having emotions-”

Grayson cuts Caitlyn off. “Do you wish for guidance on your career or your life, young Kiramman?”

Caitlyn freezes. A silent film of memories plays in her head.

You're sad, too, Caitlyn hears Vi remind her. You have problems.

“I-” Caitlyn stammers. “I would like-”

I need that, Vi whispers once again. I need you to be like me. I need to see you, Cupcake.

She reaches out to open the sky.

“I need emotional guidance,” Caitlyn finally tells Grayson- her friend, her mentor. “I want to know what I did wrong. I want to know why I feel so bad.” She swallows.

Grayson doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, she pulls up a chair next to her for Caitlyn and begins pouring another cup of coffee for her. 

“Tell me what happened,” Grayson starts, “to that person with the tattoos and the red hair that you’ve been chatting up for weeks now.”

And Caitlyn begins to learn.

--

“I hope you’re looking into graduate programs,” Cassandra says dismissively the next time Caitlyn comes over for tea. She blows the steam off the cup. “I’d hate for you to sit idly because you didn’t meet some sort of deadline.”

Caitlyn doesn’t answer. She’s too busy stewing in her seat. She’s too busy spinning around what Grayson’s told her about poverty and how transitioning is hell if you don’t have the resources Caitlyn has. It’s been hell for Caitlyn too of course- emotionally and physically- but she’s at least had access to that hell. And she's had it since birth. Caitlyn doesn’t even remember the last time she was misgendered.

Caitlyn’s eyes travel around the room, taking in her life. Her privilege. She sees the piano she used to take lessons at. The kitchen island she used to eat lavish meals at. The couch she used to recover from surgery. The pretty clothes her mother wears and the makeup she lets Caitlyn copy.

“I’m learning a lot where I am,” Caitlyn responds passive-aggressively, not making eye contact.

“Well, sure, but you want to be at the top of your field, and- Caitlyn. Caitlyn, honey, look at me.”

Oh.

The audacity.

Caitlyn looks. “Did you see that news article written about you?” she snaps instead. 

Cassandra blinks. “You- You mean… the-”

“You denied to comment on your stance on transgender healthcare? Mom. Now? You’ve been- you’ve been so adamant that you’d do everything in your power to support me, and you have up until now! You started me on hormones early, the surgeries, the clothes-”

“Caitlyn-”

“But you can’t stand up for me in the eyes of the public? Don’t you know that if you don’t say anything about it, it’s going to affect people in real-time? What is wrong with you?!”

Caitlyn seethes. She’s steaming and burning up.

She wants to reach her hands out.

She wants to give, give, give to someone who's not her. She wants to see the real world; she wants to see what it means to be real.

She misses Vi.

The only sound for a moment in the room is the dull hiss of Caitlyn’s inquiry still echoing off the walls.

“Caitlyn, I said ‘denied to comment for now.' I’ll give a statement about how I feel about it soon.”

“And how do you feel about it?” Caitlyn probes, glaring.

“I believe in protecting trans rights. Of course, I do. They had simply caught me on an off day, and-”

“And what?”

“And I panicked.”

“Bullshit,” Caitlyn mutters. She thinks she sounds like Vi. 

Caitlyn looks up. She sharpens her gaze like a weapon. Caitlyn thinks she learned how to do that from Vi, too.

“Caitlyn, I’m sorry,” Cassandra says, standing. She fumbles some of her tea as she does. “I didn’t mean-” 

Caitlyn keeps glaring.

“I should have said something and I didn’t,” Cassandra finishes. “I’ll schedule an interview tonight. So I can give a statement. Caitlyn, I'm sorry.”

Caitlyn tenses her jaw.

“I want to support you,” Cassandra elaborates. “I want to support those like you.”

Caitlyn dulls her blade. She looks back at the table. “Thank you,” she murmurs as her mother makes her way over to hug her. She lets Cassandra do it but doesn’t move her feet from the floor. Caitlyn plants herself there firmly in her chair and sits up straighter. She grows roots and a trunk and limbs. Caitlyn becomes sturdy.

--

Summer slides into fall, and Caitlyn doesn't see Vi anymore. She never sees Vi anymore, now that Vi’s officially switched clinics.

But Vi doesn't ever escape Caitlyn. Caitlyn wishes she could. God, Caitlyn wishes she could. She wishes she could scream and expel Vi out like bile but she can't stop seeing Vi behind her eyes. Vi is wrapped up in her palm and curled up in Caitlyn’s bed where she wishes she were less lonely. Vi never leaves.

Cait walks from the parking space of her apartment complex down to her apartment. It's getting dark. The street lights flicker on and off, and Caitlyn sees Vi’s vibrant red hair in the tree leaves and hears Vi’s laughter in the brisk wind. Vi lingers in each of Caitlyn’s senses and Caitlyn wants to eliminate it but can't bring herself to. Vi is still comforting. Vi is still strong and adventurous and real, and if Caitlyn carries this piece of Vi around with her, then maybe her sturdiness will become a part of Caitlyn, too. Caitlyn wants Vi to be real. She wants it so dearly.

She comes home and begins cooking her dinner. She takes her pills- she’s since learned that they cost quite the pretty penny- and sits down at her computer, opening her email.

To: [email protected]
Subject: No Subject

Dear Vi,

I know you’ve switched clinics. But please, if you’d like to talk to me, my phone number is listed down below. I’d like to talk to you. Maybe over coffee? I miss seeing you. I hope you're taking care of yourself.

Yours,
Caitlyn Kiramman
(555) XXX-XXXX

Chapter Text

Caitlyn emails Vi.

There's no subject to the email. Vi stares at the notification at the top of her phone, her fingers clutching, her eyes watering.

Obviously, she shouldn’t read it.

Not if Vi knows what’s good for her.

Vi takes her fingers and swipes the notification bar to the right.

Out of sight, out of mind.

She stands at her punching bag and wraps her fists in boxer’s tape. Vi heaves. She laughs a depressingly hollow laugh.

Out of sight, out of mind.

If only it were that easy.

--

Powder comes into The Last Drop instead of making Vi meet her somewhere in the middle. Vi scoffs at this. She supposes that Powder would do anything for her if the situation were dire enough. It just simply hasn’t been dire enough until now. 

Vi fusses with her burger on the table. Powder is picking at her fries, giving Vi a worried look. Vi feels tired.

“Man, you look bad,” Powder comments, cringing. “Vander was right.”

Of course Vander told Powder. They're still sisters, after all.

Vi swallows. “Yeah, well. What's new?” she mutters sarcastically, and Powder rolls her eyes.

“What, did you have a breakup or something?”

Vi chews her lip.

“Not exactly.”

Powder raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to talk-”

“No,” Vi says hurriedly. “Doesn't matter. I won't see her again anyway.”

Not if Vi transfers clinics, she decides. It's not like Vi is super attached to her current therapist anyway.

“Oh my god, what is it, Vi?” Powder hisses. “Did you meet some girl at the airport? Is that why you're being like this?”

“No, I-” Vi tenses.  

She's trying.

May the Gods find it in them to document that Vi tried.

“Pow, I wanted to make friends.”

Powder blinks, bewildered, then softens. She becomes that thing she used to be growing up- big eyed and reaching a gentle, trembling hand out to touch Vi whenever Vi was visibly upset.

“And?” Powder inquires softly. Vi thinks it’s a landing pad. Finally, finally, finally.

“Are there any good people left?” Vi suddenly asks. Her voice breaks. It's pathetic, even to her. “Everything falls apart. Everyone falls apart. Vander and Silco, you and Ekko-”

“Don't bring Ekko into this-”

“I just want to know,” Vi interrupts desperately. Everything's coming up like bile again. Her mouth feels hollow where her smile is supposed to be. “If I'm meant to be this alone. I want to know if it's supposed to be this hard. If everything is supposed to hurt this much.”

“Fuck, Vi.”

Vi tenses again. She focuses on eating to distract from the silent air that's intent on strangling her. Powder only stares down at her food. Her scared contemplation is familiar to Vi; it’s like how Powder acted growing up. This version of Powder is more familiar to Vi than Jinx is.

“Silco is hurting Vander,” Vi whispers from behind the safety of her burger.

“I know,” Powder whispers.

“It's hurting me, too.”

“I know.” Powder sucks in a breath. Slowly, she raises the fry to her mouth and chews. “I know. That's why I'm coming back.”

A soft landing pad.

It's home.

It won't be the same, but it’ll be there for Vi.

“After I graduate,” Powder adds. “I still need him for a few things. But after college, I won't need him anymore.”

“And what do you need him for?” Vi probes. Her fists curl. 

Powder snorts. “Money. You know how it is.”

Vi knows how it is.

Funnily enough, she can't even blame Powder for doing what she's doing.

“He’ll have a lot of that if he wins this fucking lawsuit,” Vi mutters crossly.

“I can do something about that, too.”

Vi raises a brow.

“He lets me do what I want,” Powder clarifies. “I know he's scary sometimes, but he's really just a big baby. I've got a lot of leeway with him.”

Vi presses her lips together. “Do you think you can get him to drop it?”

“I won’t know until I try.”

Powder eats. Vi eats. At least Vi has this in her miserable life.

“You don’t have to do any of this,” Vi mutters with her mouth full. “I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t, Vi,” Powder jabs with a quipped brow. “You need me. I just forgot about it while I was away.”

Yup. Vi knows what this sounds like. This sounds like Powder’s small feet approaching Vi’s room when they were younger, asking Vi if she wanted to play each time Vander and Silco fought in the kitchen.

“You won’t miss Silco?” Vi asks.

“I will. I love the guy,” Powder responds. “But I love you both. And maybe I miss you, too.”

Vi raises a brow. “You do?”

Powder scowls at Vi. “Don’t make me say it again, dick.”

Vi smiles softly. Then she looks down at her food at the bar counter, contemplating. Her feet nervously shuffle.

“I know Silco won’t like it, but… would you… want to sleep over?” she gently asks her sister, still staring at her food. “Like old times?”

“Heh.” Powder smirks at Vi, her eyes gleaming. “Sure, if it’ll fix you.”

--

“Would you stop chasing me?!” Vi yells over her Xbox controller. She runs around the Minecraft grass field as Powder’s character repeatedly lights her on fire with a torch. “We’re never going to build our fucking house if you keep killing me.”

“You’re so set on building a house. Live a little, Vi.”

“The sun is going down! The monsters are going to get us if we don’t have one.”

“Fine, fine. Jesus.” 

God is real; Powder relents.

“Ekko and I used to play this a lot,” she mentions. She starts building a wall made of wood planks in the game. “When we were dating.”

“I saw him the other day,” Vi tells her. She starts helping Powder build their house. “He asked about you.”

Powder’s head whips Vi’s direction, her eyes wider than planets. “He did?!”

“Yeah? He wanted to see how you’ve been since you stopped talking to him.”

Powder glares at Vi. “He broke up with me! He stopped talking to me!” She stands and starts angrily pacing around the living room, waving her controller. “He said something about how he didn’t like the person I was becoming, and some bullshit about my doomed narrative, which is like, okay, get off Twitter, dude-”

“I think he’s still in love with you.”

“Of course he’s still in love with me!” Powder halts, grinding her teeth as steam escapes from her ears. “I’m hot!” She sits back down next to Vi. “Ugh, men. You’re so lucky you’re a woman-loving-woman.”

“I guess,” Vi replies with a shrug.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry.” Powder sighs. “I guess dealing with women probably isn’t any better.”

“Yeah. But also, like- I guess I’m a woman who loves women.”

Their house is built. It’s simply a square of wood planks with a door and some essentials. Vi sets up a torch so she and Powder can see in the dark.

Powder raises a brow at Vi. “What, do you like men now?”

“No. Not that I know of.”

“Ugh. Then what? Are you not a-” Powder catches herself. Her eyes flicker. They widen and eventually settle. Vi nervously tenses. “Oh. Are you not a woman?” Powder inquires.

Vi chews her lip. “Maybe.” She glances at the TV screen. “Oh, the monsters are starting to come out.”

They sleep in Minecraft. It’s silent for a few seconds until the pixelated sun rises again. They get out of their Minecraft beds.

“Well, that makes sense,” Powder tells Vi eventually. Then she smiles. “You’ve always been kind of a dick.” 

“Thanks,” Vi retorts.

Powder scrolls to her torch in the game and starts setting Vi on fire again.

“Oh my god, would you stop that-”

“Come on,” Powder jeers with a grin. “Be a man and take it!”

--

The lights are out in Vi and Powder’s old bedroom. “Pow,” Vi says quietly from her bottom bunk. “I don't know shit about what gender I am.”

Vi used to always get the top bunk when they were kids, but started defaulting to the bottom when Powder moved out. Now Vi figures it might be nice to switch things up. 

“Are you thinking of transitioning or anything?” Powder asks.

“It’s so fucking expensive, Pow.”

“It doesn't have to be.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“When I say 'transition’,” Powder explains, “I don’t mean like, medically. You can start small- like just seeing yourself a different way. Or by doing whatever small stuff helps your dysphoria- if you have it.”

Vi rolls a little under the covers. “Why do you know so much about trans shit?” she asks.

“The internet is a big place, Vi. And I have friends, believe it or not. Some of them are trans.”

Vi sees the storm, the sea, the beach.

Vi sees her failed friend buried under a pretty, sunny grin: Caitlyn.

Vi frowns.

Fucking Caitlyn.

She’ll never get it.

“Oh. Okay,” Vi mumbles, processing. 

“And I know you. I've always kind of suspected something was up.”

“Huh?” Vi twitches, astonished.

“Do you remember when we were younger and you kept- uh…”

“I kept what?”

“We'd be standing at a mirror sometimes and you'd frown and try to cover up your chest with your hands. I always figured it meant something.”

Vi chews the inside of her lip. “You remember that?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah. And also just- it's just the way that you are.”

“And how is that?” Vi asks, feasting on Powder’s words.

“Really butch, I guess. I don't know Vi, you’ve always been kind of a guy.”

Vi’s heart beats. The black hole on the bunk above her opens up. If she looks deep enough into it- if she leans in- then maybe she can see a life where Vi is happy.

This is real.

Vi feels real listening to Powder.

“I still want to be your sister,” Vi says, transparent. “Regardless of whatever gender shit is going on.”

“Done and done, sis. Nothing will ever change that,” Powder responds. Vi smiles from the bottom bunk. “Can you shut the fuck up now?” her sister asks, annoyed. “I have a midterm tomorrow.”

--

Vi waves goodbye to Powder as she drops her off at school. The air is cold. Fall is coming.

The sisters hug. It's warm and long- a safe landing space for Vi.

“I’ll come back,” Powder says. “Eventually.”

“Thanks,” Vi responds, breathing in her sister. “I need it.”

--

After Vi’s shift at The Last Drop, for the first time, she decides to forgo her typical sparring match with her punching bag (and her demons).

She tiredly goes to her room. She rips off her apron and the band T-shirt she had on beneath it, and sinks into the bottom bunk of her bed. She lays there for a while, comatose, her hand resting on her stomach where she can feel herself breathing. It's warm. Real. Vi suddenly feels like she wants to feel like a more real person.

Vi’s hand tickles her stomach. She gently moves it up, ghosting over her chest- over the parts of herself she used to not like with a passion.

You can start small- like just seeing yourself a different way, Powder reminds her in her head.

You’ve always been kind of a guy.

A guy can have a chest, right? Tits, if he wants to.

Vi doesn't know.

Vi doesn't know shit about her gender.

But the thought is kind of alluring.

Over her bra, Vi squeezes here. Pinches there. Vi gasps and rolls her head to the side, scrunching her eyebrows together in pleasure. She isn't sure the last time she's done this- the last time she's felt safe enough to explore what makes Vi Vi other than the inordinate amount of suffering. There's something exciting about it- Vi's not sure if she likes touching herself like this quite yet, but she’s giddy as she gets the room to herself to explore.

Impatient, Vi’s hand sneaks between her legs. She doesn't dawdle. Doesn't start gently the way she used to. Vi takes her fingers to her clit and pinches. She jerks it and pretends like she were a guy, grunting and gasping and wishing in the back of her head that someone was watching. That someone would effortlessly take control of her hand. That someone held her and looked at her with tenacious eyes-

Oh.

Tenacious, blue eyes.

Kind, blue eyes and warm hands and the encouragement to explore. The look of someone who wants Vi so deeply but can never have-

“Fuck,” Vi mutters. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Caitlyn wouldn't get it. She could never get it.

Vi grows frustrated. She jerks herself more hastily, tears welling in her eyes. She doesn't understand. She doesn't understand why she so deeply wants a person who she could never work with- who lives a galaxy and a half away in a walled tower that keeps her safe.

Vi lets out a whine, tightening. She rolls to her side, her hips bucking into her own hand, panting and squeezing her eyes shut.

Caitlyn is a film.

A horror film, really.

A pretty, privileged woman who smiles at Vi like she were the world and touches her so gently Vi wishes she could cry.

Vi imagines those hands reaching up from the sea to take her and bring her over the edge. She imagines those hands taking Vi on both sides and fucking Vi into her own hand, telling her, good, good, you’re so good-

And she releases.

Vi whimpers, gasping and shaking, rolling to the side on her bed as she rides out her orgasm. What a nightmare it is to want, want, want a person you shouldn't- who Vi shouldn't be talking to or thinking of anymore.

As Vi slowly comes to, she figures she has nothing better to do than check her phone.

The email app still has the one goddamn red notification announced in its corner.

And like many other times Vi’s been vulnerable and needing sympathy, she decides to say fuck it, and do the thing that she shouldn't.

From: [email protected] 
Subject: No Subject

Dear Vi, Vi reads.

I know you’ve switched clinics. But please, if you’d like to talk to me, my phone number is listed down below.

--

“I'm not sure I'm understanding the problem here, Vi.”

Vi’s new therapist Elora is staring at her with calm, patient eyes, leaning in with her hands folded on her lap. She's nice. Vi will give her credit for that. It's not like talking to Caitlyn about her problems, but Vi can't talk to Caitlyn anymore. Not since she switched clinics. And not until she gets the balls to email Caitlyn back.

“The problem is,” Vi says tiredly, “that I don't fucking know what to do with myself. Once this lawsuit ends and Pow comes home, some things will go back to what they were, but I don't-”

Elora raises a brow. Vi’s vision goes white.

It's Caitlyn’s bright seaside grin, taunting Vi behind the eyes.

Vi chokes. 

Oh, she wishes she were real.

Elora cocks her head sympathetically, waiting for Vi to continue.

“I don't want some things to go back to how they were,” Vi explains, choked.

“Then how do you want things to be, Vi?”

“I- I want-” Vi’s fingers squeeze to fists. Her jaw clenches. She looks down. Vi’s wants feel like an anchor. “I want a family. And I want friends. I want to be close to people.”

Elora leans back in her therapist’s chair. She gives Vi a gentle smile. “I'm glad you feel comfortable expressing these vulnerable sorts of feelings, Vi.”

Vi gags, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve got to stop doing that every time I say the word vulnerable,” Elora says with a sigh.

“Sorry. Not sorry,” Vi responds with her signature sassiness, which makes Elora concede a smile.

“I hope you have other people in your life you can share these feelings with, too,” she continues. “You mentioned before that you were trying to make friends?”

“Emphasis on was trying,” Vi mumbles.

“It couldn't hurt to try reaching out,” Elora mentions kindly. She opens up the same black hole Vi saw on her top bunk. “It might change things.”

--

Vi and Vander sit at the bar of The Last Drop after closing time, sipping on the virgin orange drink Vander likes to make himself when he’s trying to cut back on the booze.

“Silco hasn't contacted me in a while regarding the lawsuit…” Vander says quietly, hunched over the bar.

“Why did you ever marry him?” Vi inquires tiredly, swirling her drink with her straw. “He’s so…”

“I know. I know he’s weird, Vi,” Vander sighs and closes his eyes. “He has flaws. But he was also…”

Vander blinks. His blue eyes are caught somewhere between then and now, locked into place by the bar stool and counter.

“He was passionate,” he murmurs softly. It’s affectionate. Vi understands his softness. It’s hidden somewhere in the back of Vander’s mind, the same place Vi stores hers.

“Did you ever tell him?” Vi asks. Vander is still looking down. 

“I don’t know,” Vander mutters. “I think I was too consumed by me. By my own guilt. What led to us tearing things apart.” Vander downs the rest of his drink in one sip and stares up at the ceiling. “I wrote him a letter once. After the divorce. But I never gave it to him. It’s just sitting in my desk.”

Vi rolls her eyes. “Well, that’s bullshit,” she mutters. “If you had told him, then maybe things would’ve gone differently. Maybe we wouldn’t be in this fucking lawsuit in the first place.”

“You think so?” Vander turns to Vi. Hope floods his eyes.

“Oh my God. No wonder why he divorced you,” Vi mutters, putting her face in her hands.

Vander blinks, frowning. He looks down at his fists, squeezes them, and looks back at Vi. “I’ll try,” Vander announces to Vi, much to her surprise, and it has a triumphant melody that sounds familiar to her. 

“You have to try,” Vi whispers. She goes in for the hug with Vander. He’s warm and large, just as he’s always been. “You can always start again.”

--

Fall slides into winter, and Vi doesn’t open her email. She tries not to, not until she knows what to say to Caitlyn and her life is a little less like that.

But Caitlyn doesn’t escape her. She could never escape the air in Vi’s lungs, caught sweetly in her breath and stuck between her teeth as she exhales.

It can be a great relief to at least explore- Cait says in her mind.

You don’t get it, Vi responds, sour.

Powder comes over every now and then for sleepovers. She bleaches Vi’s hair and shores the sides of it for her. One day, Pow goes a little too short, and before she can apologize for cursing Vi forever, Vi holds her hand up and says, “Wait. I like it.”

So Powder cuts her sister’s hair shorter.

“You look super masc like that,” she tells Vi, wiping the chopped bleached hair off her shoulders. 

Vi grins. “I do?”

“Yeah. What color do you want it?”

“Red.”

“Ugh. Predictable.”

Powder gently encourages Vi to keep exploring. She tells Powder when she’s not ready for this or that, and Powder never pushes. They get a binder donated to them since they’re poor enough to qualify for it. Vi’s not sure if she likes it, but it’s fun to explore.

“Maybe… maybe I want to be called a they?” Vi says tentatively over coffee one day. 

Powder finishes stuffing her lemon loaf in her mouth. She looks up at Vi and raises a brow. 

Vi gets sweaty. “Is that a thing people do nowadays?”

“That’s like, half the art department at my university, Vi,” Powder retorts.

Vi nods. “Okay. But, also- it’s not like I hate being called a she.”

“Okay.”

Vi raises a brow. She leans in. “That’s it? Okay?”

“Yeah. It’s your goddamn gender journey.” Powder pinches her eyebrows together, growing frustrated. “If you don’t like being called a they then we’ll fix it later.”

“That wouldn’t be annoying?”

“You’re starting to get annoying,” Powder snips, “with all your fuckin’ questions. Google exists.”

Vi sips her coffee. “Okay, okay,” they mutter. “Oh. I’ve been meaning to tell you: the other day Ekko asked when your graduation date was. Are you guys…?”

Powder grins smugly. “Sent him some photos of frogs I found on the street and we started talking again. We are so back, baby.”

“So you guys are-?”

“Once I graduate, I am claiming that boy.”

“Oh, okay. Awkward,” Vi tries not to cringe too outwardly. Powder looks like a shark who’s just smelt blood thinking about Ekko. “I’m happy for you, Pow.”

“Thanks.” Powder stands up, a pep in her step, and starts gathering her trash. Then she turns back to her sister with more optimism than Vi's ever mustered in the sum of her life. “Soon enough, it’ll be your turn too,” Powder tells her, opening the sky.

--

Vi’s got her first pair of boxers on and she’s taped down. She lays in her bed, sneaking her fingers through the very convenient front flap, and rubs herself between the legs, grunting and whining wetly. For the billionth time- a number equivalent to all the stars in the galaxy- Vi comes to the thought of Caitlyn’s focused gaze shooting her down like she’s being hunted.

As Vi comes down from her orgasm, she directs her attention out the window.

It’s snowing now. 

It’s winter now.

Oh, good fuck.

She can’t keep doing this.

Wiping their wet hand on the inside of their thigh, Vi grabs their phone off the floor and opens up their email.

To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: No Subject

Okay, okay. U got me. I’ll shoot you a text. There’s a coffee place Pow and I go to a lot.

Vi

Chapter Text

Caitlyn

From: Unknown Number

> I’ll take u up on ur offer

> For coffee

> It’s vi btw

Good Christ. It’s been months. <

> Hey. I’ve had a bad life 

> Where’s my pity party

Mm. Yeah. Whatever. No pity party for you today.<

It’s not like I’ve been well, either <

What with… everything. <

> Well

> Do u wanna talk about it

> I’ll listen

It’s MY job to listen, not yours. <

> Not anymore

> Not since I switched clinics

> Now we can both do it

… <

> I’ll hear u out

…< 

> Cupcake I’m sorry for ghosting u

Fine. We can meet up. <

> Was it the Cupcake that got u

> I knew it 

> I knew you liked it lololol

Shut your mouth. <

> Yes, ma’am

--

When Vi had said she “knew a place ” the two of them could go for coffee, Caitlyn had assumed that Vi met some sort of quaint cafe or coffee bar. But as it turns out, many of the people in Piltover do not lead the life Caitlyn leads, so she sucks up her commentary on how trashy the establishment is and enters the bustling Starbucks without a complaint.

Caitlyn looks around for Vi amid all the overworked adults and colorful teens in the building.

This is the real world, without the guise of elitism.

This is how people make real friends, away from the distance of a professional relationship.

This is-

Oh, Caitlyn sees her.

This is Vi.

This is Vi, and she still looks as pretty as ever- handsome , even- with shorter-cropped hair and a wrinkle in her nose when she smiles. Her shoulders and her chest are broad. Caitlyn can tell how broad Vi is even as they're hidden under a blocky, black bomber jacket. Vi waves at Caitlyn with her wide, warm hands, and Vi seems…

At ease. 

She seems so comfortable with herself, as sturdy as the pine trees hold their ground in the winter.

There's something quite large about Vi- something daring and bold and seething to them if Caitlyn ever cared to reach out and touch to see what they were like.

God, does Caitlyn want to touch.

Caitlyn waves back at Vi, who walks up to the counter where they can place their orders with a wide grin. 

“Cupcake.”

“Are you trying to be smug?” Caitlyn scolds.

“Maybe. Do you like it?”

Vi will be the death of her. Vi is going to kill her. Vi, Vi, Vi , with her big, warm hands squeezing up into Caitlyn’s lungs-

“Order your goddamned drink,” Caitlyn snaps. She doesn't need to be doing this. She doesn't need to be meeting up with Vi. She knows she must be doomed from this moment on and orders her drink anyway.

“Alright, girl. Fine.”

When they sit down across from each other at the table, Caitlyn is nervous. There's no chessboard to distract herself from Vi. There’s no secondary task she needs to attend to. There's only Vi, and a feeling of longing that washes over her, threatening to drown Caitlyn.

“Vi,” she starts quietly. She's scared. Vi looks up at her, and Cait’s heart is strung on the astral plane- those sad, pretty eyes- “Why did you reach out?”

Vi

Caitlyn is as pretty as she's ever been when she sits down in front of Vi at Starbucks. She's got her hair parted a little differently and she's wrapped up in a white winter coat over her dark blue dress. Caitlyn had ordered black coffee, which Vi thinks is gross, but she supposes that it suits Caitlyn. Vi looks at Caitlyn’s hands- long, graceful fingers that look soft to hold- and squeezes her thighs.

“Why did you reach out?” Caitlyn prods gently. Sweetly. Painfully, if Vi can read the room correctly.

It's still snowing outside. It's been months.

Vi looks up at Caitlyn. She has wide, timid eyes, and Vi wonders if this is the first time she’s ever seen Caitlyn like this- vulnerable and open and shaking like a leaf.

“I-” Vi stammers. Vi is open. She’s ready to try again. “I missed you.”

Caitlyn’s eyes fog over with something equal parts tender and devastated. She looks the way Vander does when talking about Silco.

“You did?” she asks very quietly. It’s so fragile that Vi takes a moment before responding for fear of shattering their reunion.

“I missed talking to you,” Vi explains. “Even after- um…”

“Even after I-” Caitlyn mumbles.

Vi fumbles. “At the time I switched clinics, you just said some stuff that I-”

“Vi, I’m sorry,” Caitlyn interrupts. 

Vi swallows. The cold winter wind flourishes outside.

“Vi,” Caitlyn continues, “I didn’t mean to, but I might have said a few things about transness that came off as privileged or ignorant .”

“Cait, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“But they came from a good place, I promise,” Cait explains hastily. “I know maybe I seemed sheltered and naive, but came from a good place because I-” 

Vi’s breath catches. If Vi could freeze time and replay the same moment over and over again, it’d be this one. It’d be the moment Vi realized that she had jumped the gun, too afraid of being hurt again, and shot themselves and Caitlyn in the foot. It would be the moment Caitlyn told Vi,

“I’m transgender.”

Vi blinks. They squint at Caitlyn. Their mind is doing flip-flops in and around itself, over and out. They don’t get it. They don't understand how they could fuck up so badly. They don’t understand how they couldn’t have picked up on something so wrong with the way they handled this situation.

“What do you mean?” Vi sputters, like the dumbest person on planet Earth. Powder would have beat them upside the head.

Caitlyn’s nose crinkles. She glares at Vi. “What do you mean, what do I mean? Did I not just tell you plainly-”

“No, I mean- I mean I know what you mean, but- I-”

“What, are you upset that you couldn’t clock me?”

“No! ” Vi shrieks immediately, standing from her seat. Their mocha wobbles on the shaking table. “It’s just- I thought that- I didn’t want to talk to you for so long because-”

It’s not just fragility in Caitlyn’s eyes anymore.

It’s hurt.

“You assumed that I was too privileged to understand you,” Caitlyn finishes, her eyes down. She takes a sip of her black coffee stiffly.

The wind outside blows. It’s cold and lonely. Vi wishes she could reach out for Caitlyn’s hand. Instead, she sits back down and takes a sip of her drink too.

“Yeah,” is all Vi responds with. The people surrounding them, moving in and out of the Starbucks are loud. “When…” Vi continues, “....When did you know?”

Caitlyn raises a brow.

“If- If you’re comfortable telling me. I’m just here to listen.”

Caitlyn sighs. Vi wonders how much more she can fuck this up, if possible. Cait scoots into her seat at the table, leaning forward in her chair towards Vi. Her eyes are still on her cup. 

“I knew when I was quite young,” Caitlyn says softly. “I suppose I’ve been lucky- I’ve always been lucky in the sense that I was always able to get what I wanted. I went to these gendered boarding schools, see, and there was always something off. I wanted to be something softer and lovelier than where I was at, and-” Caitlyn looks up at Vi. Vi holds their breath. “It was painful. I was always raised to speak my mind, even if I didn’t always quite know what I was saying. I told my parents that I wanted to go to a girl’s school instead of the one I was going to, and I got what I wanted. They gave it to me. Along with everything else I wanted- puberty blockers, hormones, the occasional surgery-”

Vi winces. “Oof. Surgery.”

“You have no idea,” Caitlyn says with a tired smile. “I’m sure they were expensive, but I haven’t gotten much. The emotional and physical recoveries were just a lot, and…”

Vi stares at Caitlyn. “And?”

Caitlyn hesitates, her gaze wavering on her cup. “I know I have more than others,” she tells Vi. “I know that not everyone has the same access to care that I do. And still, I… I don’t feel good about myself. It’s very lonely being me. I have no trans friends, and my mother is a politician who- I mean- there was an article posted-”

“I know. I saw it,” Vi interjects. “Cassandra Kiramman, right? I was pissed for a while.”

Caitlyn smiles very sadly. Her fingers trace over the rim of her coffee cup. “I didn’t want her to respond to the press like that either. But I talked to her. I tried to persuade her. You can see how- how I sometimes wish I didn’t live like this.”

It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. Vi looks over to Caitlyn’s hands, still over the rim of her cup. Vi does the impossible. They sit up straighter, bend over the table, reach out, and touch Caitlyn’s cold hand with their warm fingers.

“I get it. What it feels like to not want to live like this. In this life.”

“I don’t-” Caitlyn starts. She doesn't move her hand away. She’s blinking. Her eyes are glossy with tears. Vi doesn’t want to be the one to cause them. “I didn’t ask to be this way, you know. I wish I were better. But you have to know that when I encouraged you to transition-”

“You were right,” Vi interrupts. Their hand squeezes Caitlyn’s warmly. They try to stare Caitlyn down. They want to see her. They need to see her. “Exploring is helping. I just needed a few other things to fall into place first. I didn’t have what I needed at the time the way that-”

Caitlyn’s eyes drift up towards Vi’s gaze. “The way that I did,” she finishes quietly.

Vi nods, tense and sweaty as Caitlyn’s eyes wander on their face. Vi feels scrutinized, but not in a scary way. Caitlyn’s gaze is warm. Playful.

“Your hair,” Caitlyn suddenly murmurs, continuing her scanning of Vi. “You look…”

“Don’t sugarcoat it, Cupcake,” Vi quips nervously.

“You look quite butch,” Caitlyn concludes with a happy grin. It’s the summertime breeze in the winter. It’s beach waves, hurdling forward and crashing into Vi senselessly, taking her breath and pulling her away.

“Glad you think so,” Vi responds, pulling away hastily and sitting back down. Her face must be as red as her hair. She fiddles with her cup. “Does it look good?”

“It looks good,” Caitlyn confirms. “You look good.”

Vi swallows. She looks down at her cup momentarily, then back up to Caitlyn. There's a warm current flooding her senses, blinding her. Through the blinding summer light, she thinks she sees Caitlyn.

“Cupcake, I'm not…” Vi starts awkwardly. She can always try again. “I'm not good at making friends.”

Cait’s nose crinkles prettily in amusement. “I surmised.”

“But we-” Vi stammers. “We could-”

“We could be friends?” Caitlyn suggests. 

“Yeah.” Vi feels hot. “Instead of whatever we were back at the clinic.”

Caitlyn shoots Vi a look. Vi swallows. Cait’s smirking. It's large and daring, the way asteroids come to kill planet Earth. 

“Vi, do you want to get out of here?” Caitlyn suggests boldly.

Caitlyn

Sometimes Caitlyn should shut the fuck up, but she fears that she was raised to speak her mind, even if she doesn't always know what it means.

This was perhaps one of these instances; she and Vi have only just reconnected, and Caitlyn is perhaps pushing the bar, but Vi looks very handsome, and Caitlyn’s hands are as itchy as ever to touch, and this Starbucks is very loud and crowded and she feels stifled by all the eyes looking at them.

And so, Caitlyn should have shut the fuck up, and she should walk herself back because this was perhaps the wrong thing to say right now, and Caitlyn is about to do so when-

Vi looks at her- gentle, doe-like eyes.

“Where do you want to go?” Vi asks quietly. There’s something dazzling and hopeful in the grace of their voice.

“We could go to my house to hang out,” Caitlyn stammers, to which Vi raises an eyebrow. “Or- Or your house, if you’re more comfortable. My house can be a bit much. Or, um-”

“Do you want to come by The Last Drop ?” Vi asks steadily. “There’s all kinds of shit to do there. It’s nothing fancy, but-”

“That sounds good,” Caitlyn says quickly- because it is. It’s always okay if she gets to spend time with Vi. “I don’t need it to be.”

Vi blinks at Caitlyn, speechless for a second. Caitlyn stops breathing. She wants to wield time. If she could go back to one moment over and over again with Vi, she’d replay the beginning of their reunion- that cocky smirk Vi gives when she winks at Caitlyn and says, “Follow me,” leading Caitlyn out of the Starbucks to her shitty, red pick-up truck.

--

The Last Drop is a fun pub that Caitlyn nor her parents would typically be caught dead in. The lights are dim and there’s a quirky music machine in the corner. Its patrons are all people from the Undercity- people with tattered clothes like Vi and mischievous eyes and warm smiles.

Caitlyn likes it.

She stays close to Vi as Vi guides her into the pub, leading her towards the bar counter where they say Vander works.

“That's funny,” Vi mutters, looking around. “Vander isn't here… He usually…” Vi turns. Their eyes widen. “Oh my God?”

Caitlyn tries to follow Vi’s gaze, twisting around. “What?”

Vi falls into place beside Caitlyn. They point across the room to a table of two men- one large, bearded one with gray hair and a smaller man with dark, cropped hair.

“Do- Do you remember when I told you about Silco?” Vi asks.

Caitlyn nods. “Is he…?” 

“He’s the tiny one. He and my other dad are talking. Holy shit. I guess they’re talking again. Jesus.” Vi rubs her hand through her hair. “I guess you’ll have to meet Vander later.”

Caitlyn is silently grateful she doesn't have to meet Vander quite yet. Vander is so large that Caitlyn thinks he could kill Caitlyn and Caitlyn’s family in one fell swoop.

Vi turns to Caitlyn, a sparkle in their eye. “You hungry?”

“I could eat,” Cait responds.

Vi smiles at Caitlyn as warm as Caitlyn will ever remember it. It's big and welcoming, drawn to doom her. Oh, does Caitlyn want to reach out and touch.

“I’ll have Mylo make us something,” Vi says. “Then we can hang out in the back.”

--

The back refers to a door leading to the rest of Vi’s house. Vi tells Caitlyn that she's lived here for most of her life. There’s a board game closet, a rather dreary-looking garage with a punching bag, and Vi’s room is in the corner of the house. It's dark and burgundy there. Vi has a TV placed near her bed that they sit in front of. They eat their pub food and chat the way Caitlyn's always wanted to chat with Vi.

The chatting, of course, comes secondary to what Caitlyn really wants to do. She scoots closer and closer to Vi with every telling of a story from her childhood, with every explanation of why she's like this now. The burgers are set on the floor and Caitlyn leans into Vi’s warmth. Vi has always been warm.

“This one time Pow came over,” Vi says happily, “We played Minecraft and she smoked my ass.” Caitlyn smiles. She scoots closer to Vi so their thighs are touching. She thinks she notices Vi near closer to her, too. “Pow’s graduating soon,” Vi continues, “so I think she's going to try to move back in while she tries to get a job.”

“You're so fond of your sister,” Caitlyn murmurs. Her finger absent-mindedly grazes the outer of Vi’s muscular thigh. “I’m an only child; I’ve never loved a sibling the way you do.”

Vi laughs. “My dad says I have a big heart.”

“I don't doubt it,” Caitlyn whispers. She stops herself from raising her hand to Vi’s chest, from feeling exactly how big Vi’s heart is. She stops herself from peering too far in when she knows it's all her entire body yearns for. Vi captures Caitlyn’s hand before Caitlyn can think twice about it. Vi meets her gaze and squeezes.

“How do you know?” Vi whispers with big, desperate eyes- an invitation, a plea.

“I can just tell,” Caitlyn responds simply. She sits up a little straighter so she and Vi are eye-to-eye. The two are still holding hands. “I’ve always admired it about you.”

“You-” Vi stammers. Their eyes go here and there. Caitlyn watches them. “You too.”

“Hm?”

“I admire that about you too,” Vi explains. Their big, gray eyes seep into Caitlyn. They're warm and grounding and real. “Thank you for coming to meet me today.”

Caitlyn feels the weight of Vi’s words. She feels the need in them. How they seep into Cait’s veins and embolden her to act for once in her life. She feels how deeply they both need this when Caitlyn leans into Vi’s face, her hands finally, finally reaching out to give - a wish upon a star- and Caitlyn kisses Vi softly on the cheek.

“I'm glad we met,” Caitlyn tells Vi with all her being.

“I am too,” Vi returns.

--

They make their way back to the bar of The Last Drop before Vi’s shift starts.

“In retrospect,” Caitlyn says quietly, “I forget what the actual transitioning process is like sometimes.” She looks to Vi, who curiously raises a brow at her. Caitlyn continues. “I forget that things can simply be off and funky for some time before you know what you are or what you want.”

Vi nods, scratching her scalp. “I just feel like I’m… not a girl. But I don't know the rest. Powder is helping me figure it out.”

“Oh. Is Powder trans?”

“No. She's just more in with the times than I am, I think.”

“Well,” Caitlyn says as they pass through the front doors, “I know I'm not in the exact same boat as you, but if you'd ever want to talk about it…”

Vi gives Caitlyn a funny grin as she unlocks her truck. It's a flashback in time- a relic from when they first met. “I have your number now, don't I?”

“You do,” Caitlyn confirms.

“And I can call you when I want?”

“Assuming I'm free at the time. I usually am in the evenings."

“Word,” Vi says, opening the door to their pick-up truck so they can drive Caitlyn back to her car. “Look forward to it, Cupcake.”

Vi

Powder and Ekko visit The Last Drop for a bit after Vi’s shift. Vi hasn't seen them together in months, but they seem to pick up right where they left off- Powder hanging by Ekko’s arm while Ekko looks at her like she's his past, present, and future universe.

“Silco was here earlier,” Vi tells them as the three of them make their way to the back.

“Word,” Powder says, grinning like a madwoman. Ekko smiles at Vi. “Are Papa and Daddy getting back together, or what?”

“I dunno. Didn't ask yet.”

“I thought they wanted to kill each other,” Ekko mutters as they enter the living room. Powder and Ekko plop themselves down on the couch.

“Yeah, well. Maybe Vander finally got his fucking shit together,” Vi responds with a shrug. She looks over at the couch. Powder is starting to load up Minecraft on the Xbox. “You guys feel free to crash here as long as you want. I'm going to my room.”

“See ya, Vi,” Ekko says, wrapping an arm around Powder.

“Bye bye, big sis,” Powder responds gleefully.

Vi makes her way to her room, stripping off her apron and thinking about whether or not she wants to wrap her fists in boxer’s tape for the night. Her knuckles are pounding. Her head feels light. She might as well call it quits for the night.

Vi changes into her boxers and sports bra, crawling into bed and staring at the ceiling. With nothing better to do, she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling. She thinks of Caitlyn as she passes TikTok after TikTok- Caitlyn, with her steely gaze and sharp wit. Caitlyn, with her kind hands and warm fingertips. Caitlyn, with her soft lips pressed against the swell of Vi’s cheek.

Vi thinks about the months leading up to now, of how many times she's bucked her hips into her own hand thinking of how those lips might feel against her, and how she knows what that feels like now.

Vi has her number.

She doesn't have to live like this.

A light flickers on in Vi’s dark, burgundy room. Vi tucks herself into bed, a hand on her stomach, feeling around at the skin there, and presses the call button on Caitlyn’s contact.

“Vi?” Caitlyn asks softly when she picks up.

“Hey- Hi, Cait,” Vi responds nervously. She's glad that Caitlyn can’t see her blushing.

“Did you need anything?” Caitlyn asks sweetly. With desire.

“I was just,” Vi starts awkwardly, her fingers ghosting the hem of her boxers. The streetlights outside help illuminate Vi’s room. “Thinking of you, of you, I guess.”

“What a coincidence,” Caitlyn responds. Vi can see an image in her mind- a burning film of Cait’s sharp eyes and dastardly smirk. “I was thinking of you, too.”