Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Now Playing It’s Tricky by Run-DMC)

Me, 3:32pm

Absolutely fuck my entire bloodline

What has happened to this college and the world itself

mel 💛, 3:33pm

what’d she say???

Me, 3:33pm

It’s so bad I put on throwback rap to keep from screaming

mel 💛, 3:33pm

so what’s the verdict

Me, 3:35pm

I do need that one art credit outside of my major to graduate, and she wants me to do theater since typically one writer is taking it and the Academy Daily can publish their end-of-semester article about the process in the Arts and Culture section. No writer is taking it this semester and there’s no other class open

And she said she would write to my job about moving me from the advertising department to the News editorial and writing department if I did it

mel 💛, 3:35pm

that’s not too bad, and you’ve complained about doing advertising for them

i’m doing theater, do it with me

Me, 3:36pm

You are?

mel 💛, 3:36pm

Elora convinced me ☺️

and I convinced Jayce to audition and he convinced Viktor too so if you want to hang out with us at all you’ve gotta do it

mel 💛, 3:38pm

you can’t wait another semester to graduate NYT wouldn’t allow it

IT’LL BE FUN

mel 💛, 3:41pm

dont ignore me cait

Me, 3:41pm

I cannot act.

mel 💛, 3:41pm

bullshit

you pretend to be a straight woman to your parents daily

Me, 3:41pm

What even is the play??

mel 💛, 3:42pm

romeo and juliet, theme and costumes based off of the 1996 movie

Me, 3:42pm

Fuck. No.

     “Romeo and Juliet is probably the most overrated play on this planet,” Caitlyn grumbles, storming into her and Mel’s two bedroom apartment and downright launching her satchel onto the ground. Mel doesn’t even spare a glance, but a chuckle plays on her lips. “I can be a stage manager, or work on costumes, or something. I still get the credit and can write the article.”

     She plops down beside Mel on the couch with a huff, pulling up her Google Calendar. The rest of December eighth has nothing else in store for her.

     To pass the class, her long-time advisor, mentor, and director of the journalism major Professor Shoola tells her, is not to do well, but to ‘engage with the community’ and ultimately successfully put on the four shows at the end of the semester. For Caitlyn, as she scrolls through her classes next semester, the workload is doable. She’d loaded up on so many classes in the previous semesters that she only has two left to take, excluding the ‘theater’ class.

     “We’re still looking for a Lady Montague,” Mel drawls, looking up finally. She reaches into her nearby purse and tosses Caitlyn a heavy book, which lands unceremoniously on her lap before she can catch it. ROMEO AND JULIET- SPRING 2024 PAI, the cover reads in bold. The script. “She barely has any speaking lines. And we’d be enemies.”

     Caitlyn thumbs through the pages—Mel has already highlighted Lady Capulet’s lines. Caitlyn hadn’t even been aware that Mel was interested in theater, and it couldn’t be for the art credit, considering the art minor she’d nearly completed. Albeit, Caitlyn had always been so stocked up on classes that she hadn’t had much time to investigate her friends’ interests outside of academia. In the dramatis personae, there are small question marks next to Romeo and Juliet’s characters.

     “So you’re Lady Capulet?”

     “Yes.” Mel pauses, biting her lip. “Several rounds of auditions and callbacks were last week, but admittedly, we didn’t get a lot of interest and Professor Salo is picky. So we’re still looking for multiple roles. Ironically, and madly, we’re even still looking for a Romeo and Juliet themselves.”

     Caitlyn scoffs, not at the lack of swooning-attention seekers vying for the lead roles but because she can’t believe she has to do theater. Three and a half years of emailing and nudging her way into masters and graduate journalism seminars to end up taking a lower-division gen-ed in her final semester.

     “A stage manager would do fine,” she repeats firmly.

     “At least come to the final round of auditions tomorrow,” Mel pleads, taking the script back from Caitlyn. She gives Caitlyn a knowing look that screams you-know-I’m-making-a-good point. “You need to inform Professor Salo of your interest anyway. Being a stage manager and being an actor are two totally different perspectives, and I don’t think Shoola is looking for the former.”

     Shifting, Caitlyn plays with the edge of her phone-case. Mel is right now, and Mel was right earlier. She does need this to graduate. Idiotically, she hadn’t run a progress check on her requirements until after the main registration time, so convinced she had kept perfect track of her progress on her curated Excel spreadsheet. Now every class is full, except for this one, because of course the Piltovan Academy of Innovation’s students wouldn’t be interested in theater. And she had been constantly complaining about receiving a position in the New York Times in the advertising department and not News writing despite that she had just completed an internship in the News department. Don’t get her wrong, she was incredibly appreciative, (OMFG NEW YORK TIMES WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DKJLFSLKDGFNHJDSLHFNLSDK:NF to the groupchat a month ago at eight in the morning), because this was her way out, a full-time job straight out college. But she would love to start immediately in her desired department, and Shoola had influence.

     Graduate and get out of this gods-for-saken city, consistently under the watchful gaze of her parents. She’s been rushing at that plan since first year. She can’t wander astray now.

     “When do auditions start? I’ll add it to my calendar.”

↠↢

Vi is absolutely hammered.

     That was a given. It’s Mylo’s birthday, and the whole group went out downtown, Powder and Ekko and Claggor and everyone. After hopping through a few of their favorite spots, they landed in their ultimate favorite: The Last Drop, like it wasn’t obvious. Now, huddled up in the far corner, with the dented picture frames and cushioned seats, and too many shots ordered and taken on Ekko’s dime thanks to his side-gig with Powder on a new, ultra-powered computer energy conserver, of course Vi is hammered.

     She has what must be her tenth shot in her hand, the record player hooked up to the speakers playing low, eager yet heartfelt tunes, when Ekko says, “Vi,” and with a laugh, “I wanna bet that you can’t beat Claggor in an arm wrestle right now.”

     Vi nearly spits out the vodka while Powder cackles one of her Powder-cackles beside her. “Are you kidding?” she says. She can feel the vodka running laps through her veins, sending receptors firing and making her louder than she already is. “Are you crazy? You’d be wasting your time and your money.”

      “Hey!” says Claggor from across the table, looking offended. “I’ve been working out. I totally could.”

     “Yeah, working out with the highest setting on the chest press,” quips Mylo with a raucous laugh.

     “I’m surprised you know what that is,” Powder says, that mischievous smile of hers making it’s insult-born appearance. “When was the last time you went to the gym, noodle-arms?”

     Mylo sours, sinking back into the dense bar shadows. Vi chuckles and turns back to Ekko. “Whatcha betting?”

     “If you lose,” Ekko says, leaning forward and even through her drunken haze, Vi can recognize when Ekko’s up to something—that mechanical glint in his eye, the way he slides over another shot to replace the one she just knocked back so skillfully it’s like he was going to college for D1 shuffleboarding— “you audition for Romeo and Juliet and add theater to your schedule.”

     Vi would’ve been confused even if she’d been sober. Drunk, she barely comprehends the words. “What?”

     “Why do you want a graduating sports-science major in the play?” Powder seems to try to whisper, grabbing Ekko’s wrist, but it seems alcohol has similar effects in sisters. She speaks like they’ve discussed this before. “You want her to go on and on about the dangers of lifting a 60-pound box without using your hips?”

     “Hey, Pow, it’s more lifting with only your arms, not really your—”

     Vi is interrupted with snapping fingers in her face. “See!” says Powder.

     “We don’t have enough actors,” Ekko says, and then begins to laugh. “And it’d be funny.”

     “Well, it’s not going to happen anyway,” Vi interjects. She knew Powder was kicking up her extracurricular list with working on set designs and to spend more time with Ekko, who’d already boasted about securing Mercutio, Mylo and Claggor following along because they always kept their schedules empty, but she hadn’t been expected to be dragged into this. Her plan next semester was to cruise along the rest of her major-minor requirements and look into jobs close to Vander and Benzo and the family. “What do I get if I win?”

     Ekko halts like he hadn’t planned this part out, then says, “I—I’ll take the school gym class of your choice.”

     Powder barks out a laugh. “You know there’s ballet classes there, right? You gonna dress up all nice in a pretty little tutu?”

     “Male dancers wear more of a speedo-esque costume, really,” Claggor puts in, shyly.

     Ekko doesn’t get to reverse his bet, regrettable considering the horrific widening of his eyes before Vi drawls, “Deal. Claggor, get over here.”

     In the morning, through her hangover because she forgot chasers along the way and grappling along her nightstand for some ibuprofen, she remembers that she lost.

     “Fuck,” she murmurs, sitting up and scrabbling around her disheveled sheets, finding her phone as it pings with a message from Ekko: auditions at 3! see you there 🤑. “Fuck. Fuck.”

     She barely remembers the actual arm wrestle; she doesn’t understand what had gone wrong. There’d never been any misunderstanding, growing up and now, that she was essentially the strongest of the group, with Claggor not too far behind. The bet looked shockingly stupid on Ekko’s part and like free entertainment for months on Vi’s, and yet.

     She remembers the heat of Claggor’s hand permeating through her hand wraps, remembers the burning strain of her muscles as she pushed, unwilling to make a fool of herself on a stage next semester, remembers a brief flash of navy hair by the door and the alcohol's dreamy swirling at the back of her eyes. She remembers the back of her hand hitting the wooden table with a clang! that shocked even the glass drinks. 

     Vi swallows down the ibuprofen and checks the time. 12:56pm. Shit. She had less than 2 hours to un-hangover herself and get to the fucking auditorium and audition for Romeo and Juliet. Fucking Shakespeare! Ekko couldn’t have chosen a better time to proposition her?

     If she skips out on her end of the bet, Ekko will scope her out and accuse her, and regardless that’s just not the person Vi is. She should’ve known better than to take a bet drunk. What the hell was she thinking?

     Vi works her way to somewhat presentable, mind sluggish and her body even worse. She’s really dreading this. Best case scenario, in this state, she’d end up as an extra, with little to do and not much attention paid to the laughingstock of an actor she must be. She doesn’t have lines memorized, she threw on a muscle tee and jeans and a jacket for the cold autumn air, and really the only thing about her alluding to the persona of ‘theater actor’ is the dyed hair.

     She drives her motorcycle over, parks it and practically moves like a tire’s attached to her with how regrettably she walks into the auditorium. Spotting the bright, white dreads and the small, electric blue space buns that is Ekko and Powder, she sidles into the aisle and slumps into an uncomfortable wooden seat beside them while Ekko bursts out into failing-to-be-controlled laughter.

     Vi mutters, burying her head in her hands, “Shut the fuck up.”

     Ekko continues to laugh while Powder grins. “Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea,” Powder admits to him, and Vi wants to dig herself a ditch and fall into it. “If only this was a musical. Ha!”

     Vi says, “I’d rather die.”

     “You look like shit,” her sister says fondly.

     “I know,” Vi says, picking her head back up. She glances around the room. Wood and golden metal arcs support the dome ceiling, supports lining themselves up by the walls, making for an orchestra, mezzanine and balcony section, a great chandelier dimly lighting the room There really is very little people, and she doesn’t even know who’s already in the play and who’s actually new. A few strays she doesn’t recognize dot the seats, sitting in small groups, whispering amongst themselves with scripts in their laps. She spots Mel Medarda sitting beside her friend Elora, which seems typical, because of course rich chicks would be interested in the local art culture. As if on cue, Jayce Talis, acclaimed Academy inventor and his partner Viktor stride into the room, greeting Mel and Elora with rather a large commotion before taking their places next to them in the front row. “Maybe that’s good—I don’t want a speaking role. Where is everyone? Who’s who?”

     “Mylo and Claggor are running late, but Mylo already got Benvolio, Claggor’s narrating the chorus, and somehow Salo wanted Sevika as Prince Escalus,” says Ekko, and then turns to the other side of the auditorium. “Jayce is Tybalt, if it wasn’t obvious, Viktor’s Friar Lawrence, Mel’s Lady Capulet, Elora’s Juliet’s nurse, and this random girl named Maddie somehow snatched Paris. Salo and Mel’s mom Ambessa loved her.”

     Ekko gestures over to a ginger-haired girl sitting a row or two behind Mel and the rest of them, looking timid but holding her head high, beside a dignified young man with subtle teal hair. Hm, Vi thinks. That tracks.

     “So what about Romeo and Juliet?” Vi asks. “Did it go to some random freshmen who blew Salo away?”

     “Ambessa wishes,” Ekko says, nodding at the hulk of a woman lingering near the stairs up to the stage, arms crossed and looking annoyed. “She’s doing the blocking. She’s annoyed they haven’t been cast yet because she can’t start working on them. Oh, and Professor Heimerdinger’s conducting the orchestra.”

     Vi takes in the information, but her gaze strays back to Mel and Jayce and everyone. She’s spoken to them before, despite that they run in completely different circles. Viktor and Powder’s engineering work overlap often and therefore Ekko is typically involved (Vi is still getting used to the fact that her sister and her practical younger brother are dating, which sounds entirely gross and only part of the reason Vi is unnerved, yet happy), but she’s spoken to the rest apart from that. Years ago now, but. It’s weird knowing they’ll be around for the forthcoming months.

     “Fashionably late,” says Ekko, shaking Vi out of her head as Mylo and Claggor clamber into the aisle.

     “Someone wouldn’t drag his ass out of bed,” Claggor mutters, glaring at Mylo while Mylo flips him off.

     Powder says, “Well at least you’re here before—”

     She’s cut off abruptly by the auditorium doors banging open. Professor Salo wheels himself into the room with imaginary fanfare, Professor Heimerdinger trotting along behind him with his funny-looking glasses and feathery attire.

     “Welcome, everyone!” Professor Salo exclaims, before sagging back into his wheelchair with much less enthusiasm. “To yet another round of uninspiring auditions.”

     Vi prevents herself from snorting, leaning toward Powder. “How many rounds have gone before this?”

     “Everyone that’s been cast was at the opening auditions,” Powder explains, chewing on the back of a graffitied pencil. In her lap is a sketchbook, a few set and prop designs occupying the pages. There’s occasional sketches of colorful pistols, accompanied by Powder’s pastel art style. “They brought me and Scar in last round for props and lighting, but after that, Salo’s basically told everyone else to fuck off.”

     “I can’t believe people keep showing up,” Claggor says.

     Mylo yawns, “If he doesn’t decide on the others soon, I’m gonna get bored.”

     Vi looks at Ekko, an inkling of hope sparking within her. “Then what makes you think he’ll take me?”

     Ekko says with a bitch-ass grin, “Because I put in a recommendation.”

     “Theater is about passion ,” Salo rambles on, rolling himself down to the table positioned just before the stage. “Theater is about the ability to leave all of yourself on the stage. Theater is about the ability to captivate people’s minds with the sheer emotion you give to your work, an ability none of you imbeciles auditioning for the leads have—”

     “He seems like fun,” Vi says, tuning Salo out.

     “He’s insane,” comments Powder. “And that’s coming from me.”

     “But he’s rich and he’s practically the only one funding the program,” Ekko explains. “So, waddya’know, he’s the director.”

     Vi asks Ekko, dreading the answer, “So what role do you want me to go for?”

     Ekko opens his mouth to respond, but then his mouth stays open and his line of sight drifts somewhere past Vi’s shoulder. Vi furrows her brows, looking past him to Powder, whose gaze has also shifted and shocked into silence. Vi says, turning around, “What the fuck are you looking at—”

     And—oh.

     Oh.

     Oh, absolutely the fuck not.

     “What the fuck,” Powder says flatly.

     Salo’s annoying voice isn’t rambling on about what theater consists of anymore, because Caitlyn fucking Kiramman, having snuck in somewhere, is now speaking to him privately, satchel strap in one hand and phone in the other, looking grave and as if she’d just gotten knocked off her pedestal.

     Ekko hisses to Powder, “I thought you’d said Viktor said Caitlyn isn’t involved with theater—”

     “That’s what he said!” Powder says, as they watch Caitlyn shake her head in indignation and turn on her heel to go sit next to Mel, looking faintly bewildered. “Shit goes sideways, I didn’t know—”

     “It’s fucking fine , relax,” Vi interjects, shaking herself out of it. Caitlyn Kiramman, in a theater. Caitlyn Kiramman, in the theater program. Caitlyn Kiramman, in the same theater program she’s about to audition for. “She’s probably just here supporting her friends.”

     Caitlyn . Vi hasn’t talked about her in years. Caitlyn Kiramman was like a taboo in their circle, never to be mentioned and never to be discussed, even when Viktor came up. Because she’s the shittiest person in that entire group, and because Vi hated her fucking guts.

     “So!” Salo declares, having positioned himself at the front table. “Who’s auditioning this time? Get up here.”

     Wordlessly, apparently shell-shocked, Ekko pushes at Vi’s shoulder until she’s basically forced to stand, clambering out of the aisle, turning her head and fuck —

     The first time Caitlyn and Vi’s eyes had met, it was exactly like this. Across a lecture hall in their mid-spring semester of freshman year, the second part of the basic introductory class all freshmen had to take on essay writing and research. Vi hadn’t understood how she’d never spotted her before: long, navy blue hair, without a single knot, pencil skirt and fleece tights for the almost-spring air, similar navy turtle-neck, and those long legs stepping gracefully up the stairs. Caitlyn Kiramman was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The mid-section of seats had separated them, and passing heads interrupted that gorgeous vision of the woman before her, but Vi had watched as Caitlyn had blinked, blinked again, and stepped forward, seeming to reach out a hand until someone had bumped into her and knocked her computer straight out of her arms.

     Now, Caitlyn spots Vi from across the same distance as she stands, separated by the mid-section of seats in the auditorium. She’s wearing a floor-length black skirt under a plum-purple sweater, and their eyes meet and Caitlyn’s face hardens and her chin points upward as she turns away and moves toward Salo again and Vi’s heart shrivels into something absolutely lurid.

     Vi scowls. What a fucking bitch.

     She makes her way to the front of the auditorium, hands in her pockets as she makes it a point to not catch Caitlyn’s gaze again. A few others trickle behind her, seeming scared with their head down and maybe even shaking. And once they all arrive, Salo proclaims, “Wonderful. Just wonderful. Well! I’m guessing you’re all here to audition for Romeo or Juliet?”

     Vi startles. Absolutely not. “Well, actually—”

     “That’s not the case for everyone, really—” Vi hears Caitlyn’s posh accented voice put in.

     And this seems to be their fatal flaw, considering that they are the only two people who speak up, so Salo lays his small, fox-like eyes right on them.

     “Hm,” he says, gaze flicking between them. Vi watches Caitlyn take a step to her left, away from Vi. “Yes… that would work. Oh, that would be spectacular. You.” He points a thin, stick-like finger at Vi, and picks up two scripts from his table with his other hand. “Act one, scene five, starting at line one-hundred and four. Read for Romeo. And you.” He turns on Caitlyn—whose eyes widen and she takes a sort of bunny-like hop backward—and says, “Read for Juliet.”

     He hands the scripts to Vi and Caitlyn, and Vi feels like her world is going to explode. “Get on stage. And the rest of you insolent actors, take a seat!”

     Caitlyn turns and tries to plead, “This really isn’t necessary. We’re—I’m not here to audition for—”

     “Do I need repeat myself? Get on stage, Ms. Kiramman.”

     Vi looks back at Ekko and Powder, about to make her case to get the fuck out of here, but then Ekko and Powder are frantically making unintelligible arm motions toward the stairs to the stage while Mylo and Claggor lose their shit in laughter. And then a shoulder nudges into her own and Caitlyn’s passing her with a low, “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

     What the flying fuck.

     Enraged, Vi trails after her. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Vi whisper-shouts at her as they climb the stairs.

     “What are you doing here?” Caitlyn shoots back at her, moving to the middle of the stage. “Since when have you been a fan of Shakespeare ?”

     “Since when have you?”

     “I’m not! I’m doing this to fulfill my last art credit!”

     “Oh, what a surprise, did your idiotic fucking spreadsheet finally fail you?”

     Caitlyn turns and rounds on her, fury etched into every line of those sharp features, stark blue eyes firing with electricity. “And let me guess, you lost another one of your friend's dimwitted bets because you couldn’t hold your shitty liquor?”

     “Watch your mouth, Kiramman,” Vi snarls, stepping closer to her. Caitlyn’s eyes meet and bore into hers, mouth set and jaw rigged, and Vi hasn’t gone looking for her in years so here, up close, she can see the subtle ways Caitlyn’s face has matured, how her cheeks have hollowed slightly to expose her sharp cheekbones and how her lips have softened. “Don’t think—”

     “Are we quite ready?” Salo’s voice booms from below. “We don’t have all day!”

     “We only have the auditorium booked for an hour, friends,” clarifies Heimerdinger from beside him, finally chirping up with that awfully high and squeaky voice and seeming to be trying to be optimistic. “Please begin whenever you’re ready.”

     Vi and Caitlyn turn back to each other and Caitlyn is the one that has the decorum to step back, flipping through the script. Fuck. Vi doesn’t remember whatever buttfuck scene Salo told them to read from. She racks through her mind, remembering the number five, flipping to page five, finding only the damn prologue, cursing under her breath until—

     Until Caitlyn’s low mutter reaches her ears, eyes not lifting from her script: “Page fifty-seven, Vi.” And—“Line one-hundred-and-four, your line is first.”

     Vi scowls, turning to that page. She hurries to get a general sense of the upcoming lines before glancing hesitantly at her friends, watching with the shittiest grins, and back to the waiting Salo, Heimerdinger, and Ambessa, who’s moved from the side of the stage to join them.

     Fuck. What the hell is she doing up here? She doesn’t know batshit about acting. The most acting she’s ever done is running lines with Ekko as he slowly got into the hobby, and maybe lying her way out of things if you’d count that. This was the worst bet she’s ever taken and she’s taken a lot. And she can’t do this with Caitlyn, not like this, with her standing barely two feet away. She can turn to Salo and clarify right now, she’s just looking for a spot in the play—

     Caitlyn clears her throat unnecessarily loud, and Vi has never went back on her thoughts quicker.

     She launches into action. “If I profane—”

     “Ah!” shouts Salo, putting a hand up to signal a halt, and then taps the script with the same hand annoyingly over and over again. “Follow the blocking, please. ‘Romeo: taking Juliet’s hand’?”

     What! Vi’s eyes widen in horror, and when she turns back to Caitlyn, Caitlyn’s face is equally mortified. Fuck!

     She meets Caitlyn’s eyes, raising her eyebrows a bit. She puts out her hand. Caitlyn, seeming resigned, basically flinches before she takes it. Their hands slide together like water and Vi hurries to keep reading before she can wrap her head around the fact it’s happening.

     “If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Vi reads, and really does try to look up at Caitlyn while reading, trying to be at least somewhat cohesive so Caitlyn doesn’t absolutely berate her after this, “This— This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”

     “Good pilgrim,” Caitlyn begins, voice as smooth as silk and she speaks with a firmness that’s like intertangling ribbon with silver, “you do wrong your hand too much, / Which mannerly devotion shows in this; / For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, / And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”

     “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

     “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

     The room is quiet. Vi feels like if she wasn’t currently speaking she’d be holding her breath too. She takes a leap, takes a step towards Caitlyn, grips her hand a little firmer and attempts to make her words true: “Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do / They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”

     She watches Caitlyn swallow. She feels Caitlyn’s skilled fingers wrap around hers, secure. “Saints do not move,” Caitlyn says, eyes locking on hers, “though grant for prayers’ sake.”

     “Then move —uh.” Vi’s gaze locks on the blocking of the next line. Romeo kisses her. She turns to Salo, gesturing with the script, “Uh, do we need to—?”

     “Yes!” says Salo, exasperated. He turns to Heimerdinger, waving his hands around incoherently. “This was the issue with the other auditions, never committing to the art—”

     Let it be known that Vi really fucking loved challenges, and never really did like losing.

     She continues. “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,” she says, looks up at Caitlyn, watches Caitlyn’s eyelashes flutter, watches Caitlyn’s head tilt down, just like that, and she whispers, “Oh, fuck it,” before Vi kisses her.

     Removes her hand from Caitlyn’s, moves forward, sets it on Caitlyn’s neck, and kisses her. Caitlyn’s small gasp captures the air straight from Vi’s vicinity, but her lips are parting and her free hand slowly slides up the back of Vi’s neck and— Gods—

     It’s over before Vi knows it. She’s pulled back, looking up at Caitlyn incredulously. Caitlyn blinks once, blinks again, and then she’s moving slightly back, clearing her throat—did she always do that?— “Um—” Caitlyn begins, under her breath, moving the script up and down, at a loss— “It’s—it’s you—”

     “Oh,” Vi says. She hadn’t been reading past Romeo kisses her . “Uh, Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

     “Then have my lips the sin that they have took'” says Caitlyn. Her voice is softer now, not the firm, projecting voice she’d been using earlier. Vi doesn’t even know if Salo and the others can hear her. Her pupils have dilated like she lost the bet due to alcohol, and her hand on Vi’s nape is still fucking there.

     “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” Vi murmurs, looking down. She doesn’t know if she should—again— “Give me my sin again—”

     Caitlyn cuts her off—Caitlyn kisses her. What the fuck, Caitlyn kisses her this time. In the script it’s Romeo, but Vi’s very own Juliet drags her in by the nape. And the connection’s instant, firing up between them as suddenly as sparklers, like two years haven’t gone by, like they weren’t acting, like Caitlyn’s pulling back and moving back in for a softer, quicker kiss—

     And Caitlyn pulls back. A breath, a momentary stutter: “You kiss by th’ book,” Caitlyn whispers, her breath on Vi’s lips, so fucking close. Caitlyn hadn’t even looked down at the script, she’d just—

     “And cut!” booms Salo from four million miles away, and it seems to snap Caitlyn back, and just like that, every bit of connection to her is gone, and their four feet away as they both stumble backward. Vi coughs into her fist, finding the ground interesting. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? She’s way too hungover for this shit—

     “Spectacular,” Salo says, breathless, rolling out from behind the table to approach them closer. He seems star-struck by awe and oh fuck— “Just spectacular. This!” he exclaims, gesturing widely to the room, “This, everyone, is passion! This is what the theater program has been looking for all along! Vi—Violet isn’t it? Yes, Ekko discussed your auditioning with me—your persona, the way you carry yourself, and Ms. Kiramman, I didn’t think you’d have it in you!”

     “Have—what, in me?” Caitlyn stammers.

     “The passion!” Salo sounds delusional. He rolls closer, nodding along like he’s just solved what is the meaning of life? “I’ve been looking for you two.”

     “No, I really don’t think so,” Vi says, shaking her head, “really, I think you’ve got the wrong idea—”

     “My friends!” Salo roars, and he genuinely looks like he might start tearing up. “We’ve finally found our Romeo and Juliet.” 

Chapter Text

Caitlyn had been the one to break up with Vi, and it hadn’t been pretty.

     It’d been quite like the state of Caitlyn’s computer when they’d first met—glass shattered and barely held together by the frame of the screen, with that randomly bustling man barely stopping to apologize before hurrying on his way. Caitlyn had cursed, unwilling to open her computer any farther than it already had by the way glass shards were spilling out the side. Uncaring students shuffled around her as she hurried to collect her bearings, small fragments piercing rain boots, until a pair of ragged ones stopped in front of her.

     “Hey,” said the owner of the boots. “Fuck, that looks rough—let me help you with that—”

     Caitlyn looked up to—the girl across the lecture hall, with the hot pink hair swept to the side and the sharp jawline and staggering opal eyes, with a black leather jacket draped over broad shoulders and a red tank, all paired with heavy-duty cargos. Oh, lord. Fuck, she was hot. And this absolute painting of a woman before her had seen her make one of the most expensive mistakes of her life.

     Caitlyn began, stuttering, “Oh, uh, you really don’t have to—” but then the girl was saying, “Nah, I’ve got it,” and was kneeling down before her, pulling on what looked like motorcycle gloves to navigate the sharp pieces, brushing them off before picking up her computer without fear of getting stabbed.

     “Nothing’s gonna get through these,” said the girl, wiggling her gloved fingers and getting to her feet. Caitlyn cleared her throat and willed herself to act normal before standing. Most students had departed by now, low chatters in quiet tones streaming from the chit-chat of students and the professor at the front. “Figured I might as well…”

     “Uh—thank you,” Caitlyn said, meeting her eyes and taking in more of that striking face—the cheek tattoo, a six in roman numerals, the slightly crooked nose, the tattoo peaking out from beneath her jacket collar, Gods, those eyes— “I really appreciate that.”

     “No problem.” The girl smiled.

     A silence. Caitlyn swayed forward, because she did need that computer back for inevitably having to transfer its data to another, unsure of how to just take it out of this woman’s (incredibly muscular, even underneath the jacket, what the fuck) arms, and maybe the girl followed her line of sight because—

     “Oh!” she said. She inspected the computer thoroughly to rid it of any remaining dangerous shards, a thumb smoothing over the cupcake sticker in the corner that Jayce had given her when they were younger, and handed it back to Caitlyn. “Just keep that shut. I love cupcakes, by the way. Uh—y’know, my sister works sometimes at the engineering department here; I think she’s there right now, I could ask her if she can get that screen replaced for you?”

     “Oh,” Caitlyn had said in surprise, “no, don’t worry, that won’t be necessary.”

     “It’s really not a big deal, she loves tinkering with stuff.”

     “No, I don’t mean—” Caitlyn looked down, straightening her feet to be pointing forward, before sighing and clarifying, “I can just buy a new one.”

     “Oh,” said the girl, eyes widening. “I—uh—gotcha. Um.”

     This was horrible, so Caitlyn had to move forward and stick her hand out because if she didn’t take this chance— “I’m Caitlyn,” she’d said. “Thank you again.”

     The girl had looked up and a bit of light returned to those incredible eyes. She took Caitlyn’s hand with a tenderness that Caitlyn suddenly found herself hungry for more of. “Vi,” she’d said, with a firm shake. “And no problem.”

     “Ah, the—” Caitlyn waved vaguely at her own cheek as their hands separated— “yeah.”

     “Yup,” said Vi, chuckling softly. Something about that small chuckle lit sparks in Caitlyn’s navel. “Uh—offering my sister up as collateral was sort of my way of getting us to spend more time together?”

     “Oh!” Caitlyn had basically exclaimed, and she was going to shoot herself from the embarrassment. “Oh, that would be lovely, then. Please, lead the way.”

     Vi had chuckled that low chuckle again and Caitlyn had half a mind to take the long way to the engineering department, the one that went by her dorm. Shaking her head with amusement, Vi nodded to Caitlyn’s computer and said, “You gonna let me hold that for you now?”

     Caitlyn had might as well passed out. She nodded with a humiliating limited amount of words, handing the computer back to Vi and pulling her satchel back on. “Thank you.”

     “No problem, Cupcake.” Vi had smiled, turning to head up the stairs. “Come on.”

     They had (unfortunately) taken the shorter way to the engineering department, where Caitlyn had met Powder and her friend (now boyfriend) Ekko and they fixed Caitlyn with a new computer screen remarkably quick.

     “I’m bound to need a computer case now, to protect it,” Caitlyn had said to Vi as they’d left, computer safely tucked in her bag as the sun began to set over the city. “There’s a store at the mall, with lots of restaurants…”

     They’d went to the mall, Caitlyn hitching a ride on the back of Vi’s motorcycle with her arms fastened around her waist, they’d eaten at a Chinese restaurant together, and in true lesbian fashion, Vi had eaten her out in Caitlyn’s dorm later that night with the painstakingly good strokes of her tongue and the slow-fuck of her meticulous fingers.

     The rest was history, pretty much until their whole relationship became history.

     (Vi would’ve appreciated that joke, okay?)

↠↢

“Prove to me again that this is a good decision,” Jayce is currently urging her, trailing along beside her with the script in his hands as they enter the Theater and Music building.

     Caitlyn shakes the hair out of her face, cold air prickling the hairs on the back of her neck. “There’s no universe where I don’t live to see that idiotic look on her face whenever she’s proved wrong.”

     Winter break has come and gone, spending the days cuddled up by the fire in her childhood home, reading the daily times and rereading the script, occasionally inviting Mel, Viktor, and Jayce over for a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and definitely not spending the days ruminating over that fucking audition.

     She’d clambered off that stage with the most horrified look on her face and the shocked expressions of her friends greeted her. Salo had been rambling off about which roles were still available and slipping anecdotes in about how Caitlyn and Vi’s performance was about the best he’d ever seen in his life while Caitlyn grappled with the fact that she’d just fucking kissed her ex—Vi of all exes— twice ! In front of! Everyone !

     “What in all worlds…” Mel had murmured.

     “Congratulations?” Viktor had offered.

     “You’ll have a great article to write,” Jayce had added.

     But all Caitlyn wanted to do was dropkick Vi’s brain into outer space.

     “ How dare she! ” Caitlyn had fumed, bursting out of the auditorium doors forty-five minutes later. “Who does she think she is, making thoughtless accusations about my academics and—and propositioning me ?!”

     Jayce had attempted helplessly, “I don’t think it can be classified as propositioning you, Cait—”

     “Then whatever it is ! She had no right!”

     Her rage had tapered off after a few hours, churning slowly back into a more intense indignation. She didn’t care if she’d accepted Vi’s hand, she didn’t care if she’d read that second kiss in the script and pounced on the opportunity, which really wasn’t anything because she was acting of course—Vi had initiated everything, following Salo’s instructions blindly with no utter thought in that thick head of hers, with no regard to anyone else or any other situations at hand.

     She spent her winter break turning these facts in circles, like coins flipping over and over between her fingers. She would walk out to the shooting range and brew new, concrete reasons for her loathing with each target hit. Vi was inconsiderate, Vi was out of her mind, Vi was foolish, but Vi’s lips had been against hers and—

     Caitlyn buried these thoughts beneath her anger. She’s stuck with Vi for the foreseeable few months, as her co-star of all things, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy Vi’s company while doing it.

     She hasn’t yet figured out how to explain the female love interest of the play to her parents. As a young, stupid and naive freshman, she’d mindlessly signed off on giving her parents access to her academic records, and upon investigation, they’d found her registration for THTR 110. She’d explained the required credits and played it off without too many details, receiving praise for somehow obtaining the lead without experience, but not without their self-invitation to closing night.

     But these were issues for future-Caitlyn. Right now, she had to get through a table read.

     “I don’t believe that’s a healthy, proactive reason,” Viktor says from behind her, pressing the elevator button with the tip of his cane.

     Mel shrugs as she leans against the elevator walls. “At least she’s here.”

     “Yeah, when’s the last time you hung out with us outside of a study session?” Jayce asks. “ Caitlyn Kiramman, spotted outside the library and-slash-or her apartment .”

     “Shut up,” Caitlyn says, half teasing. The elevator door dings open, and Caitlyn, having literally never been in this building before, scans the room numbers before murmuring, “Alright, let’s go.”

     They make their way into room six-one-four, finding a few of the extras already there as well as Ekko, Sevika, and Claggor. Heimerdinger sits on a chair that’s definitely made to make him look taller, and Maddie and Sky sit beside each other toward the opposite corner. Maddie looks up upon their arrival and sends Caitlyn a proud smile. Courteously, Caitlyn smiles back and wipes it off her face as soon as she turns into the room.

     She sits down between Mel and Jayce and has only just begun unlocking her bag before—

     “Oh, Caitlyn,” chirps Heimerdinger, wide eyes flicking back and forth between Jayce’s seat and hers, “Professor Salo requested that you and Vi sit together for the table read. You understand, you’re the leads, of course.”

     Caitlyn wants to die. “Professor—”

     “No, it’s alright,” Jayce says, standing. “I’ll just sit on the other side. No big deal.”

     Caitlyn wants to stress that it is a very big deal , but Jayce has already dropped his bag next to Viktor’s left, and Caitlyn sags back into her chair.

     Has the entire world gone mad? Caitlyn screws up her face and toys around with her pen, doodling small targets on the end-paper of her script. Why does everyone seem to believe we’re the superior pair?

     And yet, when Vi walks in with Mylo, Caitlyn shoots back up, catching Vi’s eyes only to find the plain expression of you’re still here? written all over her face. Caitlyn rolls her eyes, turning back to (actually, this time) reviewing the script. Mylo moves to sit beside Claggor and Vi nearly follows before Heimerdinger repeats Salo’s requests to her, and Vi’s irritation permeates through Caitlyn’s skin like enzyme and substrate.

     “A shame that not enough gasoline went to your head to make you forget about this,” Caitlyn sighs as Vi slumps into the chair beside her, eyes steady on the pages before her as she flips through.

     Vi hmphs . “Not enough snow outside so they had to stick a frigid bitch in here too?”

     “Maybe that cretinous motorcycle should’ve rammed you into a wall then—”

     Caitlyn shuts up as Mel nudges her. Professor Salo is wheeling himself into the room, and the low rush of chatter silences.

     “I really don’t care if any of you had a good break,” Salo says, seeming to start every meeting with an insult as if research-based to motivate actors. “But I assume most of you had the brains to have read over the script and gotten to understand act one like I asked of you. We’ll start with that, then. Any questions?”

     As Loris, having been cast as Capulet last audition, asks a question about scheduling, Caitlyn gets a glimpse of Vi’s script. Surprisingly, it’s been well marked-up, with highlights and brackets sectioning off Romeo’s lines and small notes on a few passages as Vi turns through the pages. A pastel-pink monkey sits scribbled in on the corner of Vi’s front page, Powder’s doing of course. She watches as Vi turns to the same scene they performed at the audition—gets a glance of the two kisses underlined, the ink thick and steady like the lines had been drawn on slow with much force—before Vi flips back to the beginning of the play. Caitlyn quits her snooping there.

     Act one begins with a few sophomores Caitlyn doesn’t recognize reading off as Gregory, Sampson, and Abram. She doesn’t have any lines until scene three, whereas Vi has a plethora of them beginning in scene one. When not caught up in the horrifying fact that Vi was touching her, Vi was stepping closer to her, Vi was kissing her , Caitlyn can comprehend other reasons besides Salo’s delusion why Vi does make a fairly good Romeo. Romeo carries himself with a heaviness at the beginning of the play, with a sort of hope in act two and a mix of the two in the following acts. Vi emulates them all perfectly, even when not so much acting at the table read, dragging her voice syllable by syllable as Romeo yearns for Rosaline and adopts a playful addition as Romeo, Benvolio, and Mercutio interact.

     It goes without saying that Benvolio and Mercutio being played by actors that Vi grew up with helps, but it almost doesn’t seem to matter. Vi seamlessly makes connections with every character involved in the scene at hand, mirroring Romeo’s charisma and charm, and Caitlyn’s so caught up in it that she almost misses her first line.

     “Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat. She catches a piece of Vi’s eye roll and scowls. “ How now, who calls? ”

↠↢

With some minor rushing at the end, they manage to fit the whole play into the allotted time slot. Caitlyn takes yet another sip of water from her tumbler and sighs, pulling up her calendar. She is glad that this is her last class of the day, albeit her schedule is quite sparse this semester—makes well for the fact she’s supposed to be off book on act one by Tuesday. They have Tuesday and Thursday 3-5 rehearsals and Fridays 1-3, but Salo had sent out an announcement earlier that week that he was extending his winter vacation and canceling the first two classes. Whether or not that was beneficial for a theater class, Caitlyn didn’t know, but she had been glad to not see Vi’s face for an extra two days, and now she has a weekend free of her again—

     “I’m going to make peace,” Jayce announces abruptly, scampering off to where Vi’s group of friends are standing before Caitlyn can shout, “No!”

     “So out of character,” Mel remarks, and only Viktor laughs while Caitlyn hurries after him.

     “Jayce, don’t—”

     “Hey!” Jayce is already saying, capturing Vi and Ekko and everyone’s attention as they linger amongst themselves. “Um, I know we’re all supposed to engage in this cast-bonding thing, so I wanted to extend an invite to my Alpha-Sig’s welcome-back party tonight. If you’re all interested, I can try to get your name down on the list?”

     “Aren’t you the president of Alpha-Sig?” Ekko says with a tilt of his head. “How would you only be able to ‘try?’”

     Jayce falters. Caitlyn thinks this may work in her favor if this crashes and burns. “Uh—”

     “Well, wait,” Vi says, leaning back against the wall behind her and kicking a knee up to rest her sole against it too. She crosses her arms, a thick winter jacket hugging her arms, splayed open to reveal an off-white tank, riding up a little over her jeans— “Who’s going?”

     She looks Caitlyn up and down as she says it, and Caitlyn wants to clasp her fingers around her neck and squeeze, dangerously teetering toward her—

     “All of us!” Jayce says, saving himself and Vi’s life simultaneously. “Everyone’s invited, I’ll get everyone on the list. Can I… count on you being there?”

     Caitlyn really hadn’t planned on attending this party tonight, unwilling to be pounced on by fraternity boys and scorned by sorority girls who think she’s after Jayce despite that he’s obviously in love with Viktor, but she guesses she is now. The group exchanges looks, tension that could’ve been avoided if Jayce had for once not been a goody-two-shoes passing with every glance, and Gods Caitlyn tried to tell him—

     “You know what?” Sevika says, pulling her backpack on. “We’ll be there.”

     Vi’s eyes widen to the size of saucepans. “Wait, what—”

     “Yeah, it’ll be fun,” says Claggor, adjusting his glasses that are so thick they practically look like goggles. “We should have good cast chemistry.”

     “Exactly!” Jayce says wholeheartedly, clapping a hand on Claggor’s shoulder that seems to shock Claggor out of his skin. “What’s the point if we can’t prove we act well together, as a cast?”

     “And being cramped in Alpha-Sig’s frat house for a night is going to help that… how?” Caitlyn says under her breath to Jayce, who gives her a weak shrug.

     “We put on a good show, Salo passes us,” Sevika reasons, weaving (more like pushing) her way through to the door. “Don’t forget that this is a graded class. Besides—” she shrugs, “fresh blood.”

     Sevika departs and Claggor follows after her, leaving the rest of them in intermediate silence. Mylo shrugs, trailing after his brother while Ekko muses, “Very in character,” as he exits the room.

     Vi, seemingly unwilling to be around Caitlyn any longer, shoulders her backpack and passes Caitlyn with haste. “See you later then, Cupcake,” she says, and doesn’t give Caitlyn any time to retort before she’s out the door.

     If Caitlyn were any younger she would’ve screamed and stomped her feet and threw her arms around, but now she just rounds on Jayce with fury. “What was that ?”

     Jayce raises his arms in defense. “We do need to have good chemistry!”

     “Caitlyn’s been quite finished with an alternative kind of chemistry for a while,” Viktor says, getting to his feet. “But perhaps heed Benvolio’s advice.”

     “ Examine other beauties, ” Mel concludes for him, smiling, like they’d practiced what they were going to say.

     Caitlyn scoffs. “Like who?”

     As if on cue, Maddie smiles at her as she leaves the room, yet again. Caitlyn’s quite familiar with the junior-ginger-haired girl she is; majoring in political science with a journalism minor, she’s been in and out of the department Caitlyn likes to call home. From what Caitlyn had gathered, she’d never been a theater person. Then again, neither is Caitlyn. And neither is Vi.

     Mel raises her eyebrows at her suggestively. Caitlyn huffs, grabbing her bag.

↠↢

Alpha Sigma Phi had been the kind of frat Vi tried to avoid in her time here. She’d been familiar with some of the others, but Alpha-Sig had been the kind that brought in the douchiest guys and not often the kind of girl she looked for.

     (Caitlyn and her had gone to a few of their parties together. She remembered a hand on the small of Caitlyn’s back as they moved through the crowd, watching the bartender with lidded eyes to make sure he wasn’t spiking Caitlyn’s sweet little drink, Caitlyn letting her toy with her fingers as they talked amongst friends, making out to the beat of the music against a wall with her hands on Caitlyn’s waist, hips, beneath her dress, everywhere. When Caitlyn was there, Caitlyn was the only girl she’d looked for. When Caitlyn was there, she’d tumbled head-first into the headiness of Caitlyn dressed up, looser, hers.)

     Now, she trails behind Ekko and Powder as they walk through the ominous outdoor hallway that leads them to the door. The line before them skids to a stop for what must be the thousandth time, and Powder huffs, “Really?”

     “This is your fault,” Vi grumbles to Sevika. “Cast bonding could be achieved through sunshine and picnics or whatever Pilties like to do.”

     Although most of PAI’s students were in-state attendees, Piltover’s so much a college town that most of the students are most likely from other cities. ‘Pilties’ mainly referred to the students that are rich enough to move practically their whole belongings here as if they’d never left, as if Piltover was the place to stay.

     “You don’t think I’ve got my own self-interests involved?” Sevika says, playing around with a lighter. “There’s so many confused straight girls at these parties. And ever since Medarda and Talis confirmed they weren’t dating…”

     “Oh, Gods , not Mel.”

     Sevika shrugs. “Might be fun.”

     Powder keeps pushing herself onto her tip-toes to see above the crowd, and abruptly shouts, “Hey, Viktor!” She scrambles out of line, and as the rest of them try to hurry after her and drag her back, suddenly, they’re inside.

     The party is well into full-session, speakers from basically every corner of the room turned all the way up. A shitty ball that isn’t a disco ball but flashes random colors across the room spins on the ceiling in a mechanical circle, lighting every person inside up in frankly ugly color combinations. Vi nudges her way in further, trying to keep an eye on Powder but gives Ekko the benefit of the doubt about the fact that wherever she goes, his head turns.

     “Hey! Holy shit, they’re playing beer pong,” Mylo exclaims behind them, as if beer pong is a rarity, and scampers off.

     Vi rolls her eyes. “Drinks?” she asks Sevika and Claggor.

     Sevika shakes her head. “Don’t drink anymore, kid,” she says, salutes, and disappears into the crowd.

     Resigned, Vi turns to Claggor. “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Claggor says, maybe joking, maybe not and being a good sport about it.

     Vi smiles and slings an arm around his shoulders. “There’s no other way I’d have it, buddy.”

     “I just don’t think Tybalt is that bad of a person,” Jayce says to her and Claggor later, drinks in hand and perched on a couch parallel to the bar. The party’s thickened over the past thirty minutes Jayce has been rambling to her, bodies upon bodies pressed up against each other, the truly incriminating stench of alcohol and sweat swirling through the air. “He really does live by blood is thicker than water, and in some cases that’s very true—”

     Vi hasn’t seen Caitlyn yet.

     “—and in his, they’re in the middle of a feud, so of course he’s going to live by that principle. Do you get what I mean?”

     Jayce Talis drunk is truly a sight to see. Rather than like the rest of his frat brothers that hop up on pool tables and kick the balls into the holes (as one is doing now), he finds the nearest person he feels the even slightly bad for and tries to make them feel welcome.

     “Jayce, he kills Mercutio,” Vi says, knocking another shot back to help her deal with this shit. At least a plus about Alpha-Sig is that they have the good vodka.

     The expression on Jayce’s face flinches and shrivels. “Well, yeah,” he says, “not his best moment.”

     “Only the person that plays Tybalt would sympathize with him,” says Claggor, which honestly gets a laugh out of Vi. Gods, what is happening to her? Laughing at theater jokes.

     “I relate to him!” protests Jayce, a pout on that face that somehow sorority girls fawn over. “He has so much on his shoulders, and—”

     A ping! leaps from his phone, and he fishes it out of his pocket. “Oh—uh,” Jayce stammers, getting to his feet. “Vik—I’ve gotta run. Think about it, though! I don’t think he deserves all the hate he gets!”

     Jayce hurries off, almost knocking a girl off her feet in the process. Vi shakes her head, picking another shot up off the table in front of her. She hasn’t had much—the one in her hand would be her third—and she hadn’t felt rude enough to interrupt Jayce during his rant until near the very end to grab more drinks from the bar. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet, and therefore, unfortunately, she can’t quite remove the vision of Sevika trying to talk Mel Medarda up in the far corner just yet.

     “I don’t understand how he’s gotten this far,” Claggor remarks with an amused flair, standing and brushing his pants off. “Seriously. I’m going to go find Mylo. Need anything?”

     “Nah, I’m good. Thanks, man.”

     Claggor nods and stalks off into the crowd. Vi sighs and begins to rise, spotting two open seats at the bar, and—

     Sits her ass right back down. Caitlyn slides into one of the open seats, flagging a bartender down with two, long fingers, leaning forward to give her order. Vi can read her lips—gin with strawberry lemonade—could basically hear the way Caitlyn says it in her ear, with that listless tone and firm expression. And as the bartender (who is she kidding, some senior frat brother with even a little interest in alcohol outside of getting drunk) walks away, Caitlyn turns and looks at—her.

     Vi can’t help but lean back and manspread a little more than she had been previously, running a finger around the rim of the shot glass. She hadn’t particularly cared about what she wore to the party, just switched out her winter coat for her leather one and threw on a belt, but Caitlyn clearly did—a tight, leather mini-skirt inches up her thighs, covered only by thin tights and farther down, knee-high leather boots with a bit of a heel. A black, thin halter top tied behind her nape, exposing her collarbones and shoulders, lace patterns flowing downward from her midsection, stopping just before her waistband. She’s tied her hair up, exposing more of her neck and her back, and a single silver bracelet adorns her left wrist.

     She looks like Artemis Herself, like the moonlight broke through the ceiling just to shine on her.

     Caitlyn’s eyes follow the line of Vi’s body—Vi can see her throat work, how she falters when her drink arrives, how her eyes dart around the room before inevitably ending up meeting Vi’s again.

     Something passes there, electricity rocketing up and down the line their gazes form. They’ve ended up at the same party before, in the last two years, but Vi’d either noped the fuck out and went to another frat, or just serially avoided her, but not when they’d spoken recently—not like this. Vi licks her lips and raises her glass, tipping it maybe a centimeter toward Caitlyn. Caitlyn’s gaze moves between the glass and Vi’s lips, skating back up to her eyes—

     And then Caitlyn’s stare is torn away. A girl is moving into the seat beside Caitlyn with a courteous hello, and that girl is—Maddie.

     What the fuck—alright. Maybe she has a question about the play, except she doesn’t think Paris and Juliet even interact much—then maybe it’s about the blocking during the masquerade? Vi has no idea. But then Maddie lays a hand on Caitlyn’s arm, and Caitlyn makes no attempt to remove it, and Vi’s vision flashes red.

     It’s not like she hasn’t heard of Caitlyn’s other escapades after they broke up. She’d had a girlfriend for a few months—Vi had seen them in the library once, the girl hanging off her arm while Caitlyn flipped through dozens of newspapers and wrote up an article, something Vi was all too familiar with—but that hadn’t lasted long, and then it was more just one-night-stands. And it isn’t like she particularly cared, because Caitlyn could do whatever the fuck she wants and she’d only feel bad for the poor girl she was dating. But—

     She watches as Caitlyn moves a little closer, off her seat, resting an elbow on the sticky bar table, nursing her drink with a soft smile. But, fuck .

     “Hey,” says a voice, “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

     Vi looks up. A woman she doesn’t recognize stands before her, with flowing red hair about the same length as Caitlyn’s and dressed in a short, skimpy black dress with white lace trim.

     “I don’t come here often,” Vi replies, knocking back the shot.

     “Well, I’m glad you did,” the woman says, slithering into the open spot beside her. “I was getting sick of everyone else.”

     Vi doesn’t respond, craning her neck a little to get a better view of Caitlyn. They seem to just be talking, but Maddie’s idiotic hand is still on her arm, and Caitlyn’s own hand on her own knee is dangerously close to slipping off.

     “I’m Sarah,” says Sarah.

     “Vi.”

     Sarah tilts her head, auburn hair spilling onto the couch cushions like fire. “Should I have brought flowers to keep your attention?”

     This snaps Vi out of it. Who cares what Caitlyn’s doing? She certainly doesn’t.

     “No, sorry,” Vi says, angling her body toward her. “I’m just not really in the mood for talking.”

     “Well, we certainly don’t need to talk,” murmurs Sarah, and a long, red nail traces its way down the edge of Vi’s face. “I didn’t come here to talk.”

     Vi fully turns her head toward her, and then Sarah’s hand is on her cheek and her lips are on hers.

     Alright, this is fine. Sarah’s lips are soft and warm, with the faintest trace of liquor on her tongue. Vi could let herself get away with this, with a quick hook-up and move along with her night, tilting her head into Sarah’s and letting her clamber over her lap, her hips settling firmly against Vi’s and already insistently pushing.

     Vi lets her hands rest where Sarah clearly wants them, holding her hips fast as Sarah rakes her nails over her scalp, her tongue gliding over Vi’s bottom lip and gaining entrance to her mouth. This is pretty good, but Vi wants herself mindless, giving into Sarah’s relentless pushing and breaking from her mouth, kissing down her jaw and attaching her lips to Sarah’s neck. This is better, with Sarah’s hands moving to the nape of her neck and pulling her closer, satisfied pants caressing the curve of Vi’s ear.

     “Good thing you’re more than half-decent at this,” Sarah mumbles, nails piercing Vi’s nape. 

     This ticks Vi off, but whatever. Annoyed, she removes her lips from Sarah’s neck as some sort of half-assed punishment, moving back to kiss her until Sarah attacks her neck instead. Her mouth feels nice, Vi guesses, as any would, opening her eyes for a split second to—

     Maddie’s seat, empty and quickly refilled by another drunk patron. Caitlyn’s figure, disappearing into the hallway. And Vi—

     “Wait, sorry,” Vi stammers, pushing back on Sarah’s hips.

     Sarah detaches, bewildered. “Did you want to—?”

     “No, it’s,” Vi scrambles for an excuse, sitting up and maneuvering Sarah off of her, “my sister, I’ve got to just check on her real quick—”

     “Your sister? What—?”

     Vi almost trips getting out from under her, her boot getting caught under Sarah’s leg. As soon as she’s free, she's moving, and she doesn’t know if it’s the three shots or her impulses or both that has her following Caitlyn’s trail, down the same hallway, moving around strays and loitering couples, looking around wildly at the fork. She attempts the right, looking up the stairs but finding nothing that might pique Caitlyn’s interest, and moves back the opposite way.

     Before she can truly wonder what the hell she’s doing, chasing a dead end, she looks through an open doorway and—there’s Caitlyn, clad in her mini-skirt and boots, quietly rummaging around what looks like a private kitchen area, closed off as to not be destroyed in the thrill of the party. She has a cabinet open, seeming sure of what she’s looking for, until Vi rests a hand on the doorframe and Caitlyn says, “I figured you’d come scurrying along.”

     Scowling, but for some reason not leaving , Vi moves into the room. “Should my ego take offense that you’re going for someone like her, or do you just hate me that much?”

     Caitlyn chuckles, withdrawing from the cabinet with a box of saltine crackers. “My loathing for you runs much deeper than making a play at your ego,” she responds, placing the box on a nearby counter. Fuck, Artemis hasn’t retreated for the night yet; moonlight streams through the window and pools in the crevices of Caitlyn’s collarbones. “But Sarah Fortune? That feels like a low blow.”

     Vi shrugs. “It would’ve just been a quick hook-up.”

     “Our family does business together.”

     “What can I say? You rich bitches can’t get enough.”

     Caitlyn’s face hardens, and Vi knows she’s being a little shit and that’s the whole entire point. “And can’t that go both ways?” she says, stalking closer to Vi. “What are you doing here?”

     Vi resigns to leaning against the open door, arms crossed. “Well, didn’t your pretty boy invite us all?”

     “Don’t be an idiot, I know you aren’t,” Caitlyn snaps, and Gods if Vi didn’t always love it when she’s mean. “Or, if you’d rather act dumb,” she’s way too close here, less than a foot, toes of their shoes almost touching— “why is it wherever I go, you pick up the scent and follow?”

     She leans back a little, and Vi meets her eyes without hesitation. “I don’t know,” Vi says, playing at nonchalant, “maybe I wanted to see if she’d had you on your knees yet, treating you like the bitch you are.”

     Caitlyn almost laughs. “That’s rich. And when are you going to admit to yourself that you get off to the thought of me treating you like one?”

     Vi moves before she could think it through—surges forward, spins Caitlyn around, and pushes her up against the fridge beside the door. Caitlyn’s back hits the cold, bare metal, Vi’s knee landing between Caitlyn’s legs and then they’re in each other’s faces, inches, no, centimeteres apart.

     Caitlyn pants out once, but she isn’t winded. Her hands ended up above her head, one captured behind Vi’s palm and interlaced with her fingers, and her boot-heel is definitely leaving screeching marks on the fridge, propped up with her knee gently brushing Vi’s thigh. Saltines forgotten, Caitlyn’s face catches the moonlight, a streak across her cheekbone, highlighting her lips and the way they’ve parted.

     Vi pulls back an inch, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes. They’re barely even touching—just their hands, yet again, palm to palm—and yet Vi can feel herself giving in, can feel her subconscious tipping forward into her as Caitlyn’s eyes roam over her face, the small twitch of her free arm indicating it wants to go somewhere.

     And, ah, fuck, the beginnings of a smile creeps its way onto Vi’s face. “C’mere,” she murmurs, and Gods if Caitlyn does not oblige.

     That arm moves, elbow extending forward to rest on Vi’s shoulder, forearm drawing closer and those slender, long fingers ending up at the crown of her scalp. Her other hand weaves slowly around Vi’s own fingers, and fuck, Vi can feel her heart going a million times a minute, can feel Caitlyn’s own breathing slowly get heavier.

     And then—Caitlyn’s nails, tipped but practical, running a smooth line from the crest of Vi’s hairline backward, weaving gentle valleys into Vi’s hair, a soothing motion Vi breathes out hard into, eyes falling shut.

     “You’ve missed me,” Caitlyn remarks, head tilting with a curiousness, nails repeating their path. It feels really fucking good when Caitlyn does it. Their eyes meet, and Vi presses her thigh forward, not quite pressing up into her but getting warningly close, and Vi is near enough to feel Caitlyn’s small gasp.

     Vi smiles to herself, pleased. “You have too,” she whispers.

     Not a denial, notably so. Caitlyn tilts her head down, nails pressing harder toward Vi’s nape, asking wordlessly to tilt Vi’s head up. Vi does, and then Caitlyn’s lips are right there, right there, that bottomless pit of desire in her navel urging her forward. This isn’t rehearsal, this isn’t in front of everyone, this isn’t reading off a script. This is real. She could press her thigh inward right now and take her, knock the door shut and have Caitlyn all to herself again—

     “It’s a bad habit,” Caitlyn breathes.

     Vi gives in, pressing forward just the slightest bit, making delicious contact—Caitlyn’s lips move away in favor of her chin tilting upward, another pant flowing from her parted lips, her grip on Vi’s hand tightening and eyelids fluttering. Fuck, is she that desperate for it that a little pressure does this to her? Vi wants to try again, wants to elicit that minutiae of reaction, wants and wants and wants—

     “Vi! There you are—”

     Mylo’s voice comes rounding the corner, and thank fuck Vi has enough time to scrabble herself away from Caitlyn’s grasp as Caitlyn pushes her away, prop the door at an angle, and station herself in the gap. Mylo appears, definitely drunk and definitely, hopefully not observing the way Vi is standing too hard.

     He chuckles. “With some girl?”

     “Always,” Vi says, taking a deep breath and trying not to sound exasperated. “What is it, Mylo?”

     “Powder’s entered herself into a competition with a frat bro on who can run faster on a treadmill!” Mylo exclaims, pupils dilated to all hell. “You’ve gotta come watch, she’s gonna eat shit—”

     “I’ll be right there. Where is it?”

     “Basement! Hey, Claggor!” Mylo is already running off again, fishing for something in his pocket. “I’m betting twenty that she eats it at six miles an hour! Hey! Clag!”

     Vi breathes out, looking behind the door. Caitlyn’s straightened herself up, drawing herself to full height and pulling down her skirt as she glances up at Vi.

     Swallowing, Vi tries, “I’ll be—”

     Caitlyn waves a hand, moving around Vi and giving her a knowing look, one that reads we’re not done and one that reads you know where to find me , one that lights something within Vi all over again.

     Then Caitlyn’s slipping out the door, Saltines in hand, leaving Vi with a beating heart, a whirling mind, churning hatred and a brewing plan to get Caitlyn alone.

Chapter Text

So the first time they fuck (again) is in Caitlyn’s dressing room.

     Caitlyn had honestly been surprised that Vi didn’t stalk and scope her out over the weekend, having left the implied next move in her hands, but she did soon enough. It happens on Tuesday, after their first rehearsal in the auditorium.

     The first thirty minutes of rehearsal had been dedicated to logistics and Salo talking to them all as if they’re middle schoolers. They went over stage-right, stage-left, downstage and upstage and tested communally on it via a call-and-respond, became subject to Salo’s complaining that he didn’t get to direct the actual theater major’s play (Macbeth), were forced to clear their schedules both for a weekend for a field trip and sign waivers claiming they won’t sue if they get injured while on it and for the dates of the shows, and perhaps the most interesting part, got shown their dressing rooms.

     “There isn’t many,” Salo had explained, herding the lot of them through backstage’s narrow hallways, “the theatre-major actors get individual ones in the larger auditorium, the imbeciles. Caitlyn, Vi, Ekko, and Elora, being the largest roles, get their own. There’s a larger dressing room for the extras, and a limited number of doubles for the other, named roles. You’ll discover your names on the cards outside.”

     They’re allowed a few minutes to explore backstage. Caitlyn takes the chance to investigate her dressing room, titled JULIET- CAITLYN K. on the name card. Inside, a mirror with the typical bulb lights hangs true, above a swivel-chair that moves up and down just before the small vanity, accompanied by a rusty, empty rolling cart by the door, a rolling clothing rack with a few abandoned hangers on it, and a plaid, rainbow but drab looking sofa perched against the wall. Caitlyn had wrinkled her nose at it, deciding she’ll have to get it professionally cleaned before moving her personal belongings into the room.

     Vi had popped her head into the room at some point, marking the first time they’ve spoken since the party. Caitlyn admits it now: she’d been incredibly reluctant to let herself feel the emotions that Vi elicited in her, other than hatred, until she’d been drinking and spotted Vi lounging on that couch. Alcohol unties her like a bow, she knows that, but she hadn’t thought she’d end up with her hand in Vi’s hair and Vi’s knee between her legs.

     She hadn’t thought they’d both admit the one thing Caitlyn’s been trying to escape for two years: pure, unwanted, unadulterated want.

     “We’re heading back out,” Vi had informed her, eyes moving around the room. “Fits you, princess.”

     Caitlyn, sitting on the swivel chair, had turned to sneer at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     Vi made fast circles with her finger at the couch. “Rainbow, hidden ‘cause it’s covered in dirt.”

     “Fuck off,” Caitlyn had replied with much less venom than she’d wanted, returning to re-applying her makeup. “I’ll be right there.”

     Vi left, but not without a half-assed thrown middle-finger. Caitlyn didn’t know what to make of that statement. It’d most likely been an insult implying that Caitlyn’s associated with ‘dirt,’ but if it were something else… Vi knew full well why she was still closeted. But Vi’s tone had been too light for it to run that deep.

     Caitlyn had stalked back to rehearsal. Considering homework had been to be off book on act one, they spent the remaining time rehearsing it, bringing Ambessa into the mix to begin blocking. Juliet didn’t come in until scene three, so Caitlyn spent scene one and two making notes on blocking in the seats while Vi and the others fumbled through them, Mel, Elora, and Sky (who’d been casted as the long-awaited Lady Montague) beside her.

     “She really impresses me, you know,” Mel had said to her, leaning in close to Caitlyn’s ear. Caitlyn followed her line of sight to—Vi, of course. She’d been rehearsing the scene with Benvolio, ambling around the stage droning on about Rosaline and her fair hand. “Romeo has a shit ton of lines in act one. And she looks like she has it down, and she’s doing… good.”

     Vi did have it down, and she had been doing good, practically only learning the blocking with how well she’d portrayed Romeo and his woes. Which is maybe why when Caitlyn had been called up to rehearse scene three, and eventually, scene five, the holy palmer’s kiss scene from the audition, she’d been quite determined to do just as well, and was accomplishing that swimmingly until—

     “Run that again,” demanded Ambessa, as Vi and Caitlyn’s lips separated.

     Vi had swallowed, jaw tense, hands withdrawing from Caitlyn’s waist with a tenderness Caitlyn didn’t want to linger on. Instead, Caitlyn had said, lips still tingling, “What?”

     “You heard me, child,” said Ambessa, and maybe her arms were locked in the state of being crossed perpetually. “Your audition had been good, but it needs more. We’re going off the 1996 version. Leo Dicaprio and Claire Danes had practically been in each other’s trousers. Give us more. Again.”

     So they ran it again. And again. And again. Caitlyn lost herself in it everytime, scrabbling for coherence each time they parted, but apparently, not enough to Ambessa’s standards. She swore that she’d never kissed Vi more in a ten-minute span than she had then, and they’d dated before. Caitlyn had resorted to huffing and rolling her eyes dramatically each time Ambessa said the word again, until—

     “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,” Vi had murmured for the millionth time, while they both followed Ambessa’s earlier instructions and began falling into each other, but, frustrated, Caitlyn no longer wanted to fall. Ambessa had instructed where there hands should end up, with Vi’s arms around her waist and back and Caitlyn’s around Vi’s neck, but as Vi brought her in, Caitlyn took Vi’s face between her hands and smashed their mouths together.

     This caught Vi by surprise, but Caitlyn had already made her mind up. She tilted her head down, switching the angle of their lips, hands moving back and elbows resting on Vi’s shoulders, hands threading through Vi’s hair, and kissed her.

     And then—Vi kissed her back. She had tugged Caitlyn’s hips toward her, fingers insistently pressing, teeth catching Caitlyn’s bottom lip and holy fucking shit, this might kick the rating on the play up to R. Caitlyn caught herself making a small sound, felt Vi’s grin, felt her heart rate shoot up enough to certainly diagnose her with tachycardia, and Gods she wanted more, she needed more, she’d needed more since when she hurried back to her apartment alone after the party and yanked her nightstand open—

     Vi pulled back, but this time, she didn’t let go of Caitlyn’s waist to speak the rest of her lines. “ Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged. ”

     Her voice rumbled, low, desperate. Caitlyn wanted to dig her nails into Vi and have to work to claw them out.

     “Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” Caitlyn whispered, and what the fuck has gotten into her, she’d leaned forward, chasing Vi’s lips again—

     Their noses had brushed. “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” said Vi, that famous smirk creeping onto her face, and that look in her eyes—it wasn’t for Juliet, it was for Caitlyn, teasing and tempting and knowing. “Give me my sin aga—”

     Caitlyn kissed her before the last syllable even left her mouth. She suddenly was so glad that they’re going off the 1996 version, with how much they kissed in that one, because Vi’s lips, Vi’s hands, pressing and tugging and clinging—

     “That’s what you needed, hm?” Ambessa’s voice interrupted Caitlyn’s picture of heaven. They separated with haste, Vi seeming to immediately remember they were being watched by several pairs of eyes and scratching the back of her head. Caitlyn cleared her throat, and Vi’s eyes landed on her—heavy, heady, nearly black. “That was better.” High praise. “You only need to keep surprising each other. Detest me all you want, from now on, for this scene—you can’t plan that kind of intensity.”

     They hadn’t had the chance to kiss again. Rehearsal moved on, Romeo escaping with the Montagues and Juliet whisked away by her nurse. Class time had ended soon after, and Caitlyn retreated to her dressing room, mind whirling and, humiliatingly, her cunt aching.

     Which led her to now, sat stiffly in her chair as she packed her bag. She can feel how fucking wet she is, which is deeply uncomfortable and she tries to keep herself from squirming. Her vibrator better be fucking charged when she gets back, because—

     Caitlyn turns, eyes landing on the doorhandle. There’s a lock on it.

     She turns back to the mirror, locking eyes with herself, taking a deep breath. No, no, she couldn’t, she thinks as her hand on her thigh drifts ever closer. The small motion shoots electricity up her spine, mingling with some part of her brain, and fog clouds her mind before she can think better of it. She presses, just slightly—

     And then jumps—a single knock sounds from the door, and then is creaking open.

     “Hey,” Vi says, slipping into the room. Two fingers flip the lock. Distantly, Caitlyn recognizes—her edges are softer, around the tank tops she can’t seem to stop wearing even as it snows outside and loose, gray jeans. She’s moving more languidly, her movements are less calculated, like she’s moving through water. “You forgot your script outside.”

     Vi’s hand raises and presents Caitlyn the script. Caitlyn takes it.

     “Thank you,” Caitlyn says, taking it and turning. She unlocks her satchel and makes to stuff it into her bag, but—there’s already one set of binded pages in there, and as Caitlyn comes to her senses, there’s a pink monkey on the top corner. She says, turning around again, “Wait, Vi—”

     Vi’s leaning against the—locked—door, knee kicked up and arms crossed and looking up at her with dark eyes. And—oh.

     Oh .

     Caitlyn raises her chin in understanding, tilting her head. “Why’d you lock the door, Violet?” she asks.

     She really didn’t need to ask. Vi grumbles, “You already know,” and then is moving toward her, reaching out toward her , and Caitlyn’s up and out of her seat in a split second.

     Not so much the surprise Ambessa had ordered of them, but enough. Their mouths crash together like a tsunami onto land. It isn’t delicate or pretty at all—it’s instantly rough, teeth nearly clashing and Vi pushing her up against the vanity for leverage right away, and Caitlyn can’t fucking get enough. Vi’s hands reach under her shirt with no preamble, mouth devouring and fingers even more eager, pressing into the dimples of Caitlyn’s back and crawling up her spine. Caitlyn bites down on her bottom lip, chiding, nails sinking into Vi’s scalp as the kiss deepens, foreheads knocking and Gods —

     This is different from the other kisses, recent and past. Quick, desperate, ragged. The others had been in rehearsal, and they’d been so close to kissing at the party, but they didn’t, and this is the devastating aftermath.

     “Fuck, Cupcake,” Vi groans against her lips. Her fingers have reached the clasp of Caitlyn’s bra, insistent and prying— “You have no idea—”

     “You didn’t ask for permission,” Caitlyn remarks, but helps regardless as Vi’s hands grab the end of her shirt and skate up the side of her waist, pulling her shirt up and over her head. Vi doesn’t even take the time to stare, just pushes for their lips to clash again with lidded eyes. “So needy .”

     They kiss— Gods it’s good. Vi moves a hand to the space between her shoulderblades and moves her mouth to Caitlyn’s neck, not bothering to be gentle and biting. Caitlyn cries out, wondering distantly how soundproof these walls are, until Vi scrapes her teeth over the taut skin of her neck and asks, “You want me to stop and ask?”

     Caitlyn shows her disapproval by shoving Vi onto the couch, maybe with more force than needed, by climbing onto her lap and kissing her again.

     Vi’s hands are everywhere—playing at her bra clasp, drawing Caitlyn’s mouth in again with her hands on Caitlyn’s neck, squeezing her ass—and Caitlyn gets sick of the barrier and presses her hands underneath Vi’s tank, and how is it possible for a person to get this much more muscular in two years? Vi hums her approval into Caitlyn’s mouth, leaning back to pull it off with a motion that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, before abandoning her plays for the bra clasp altogether and tearing Caitlyn’s lavender bra down, cupping Caitlyn’s tit and taking her nipple into her mouth.

     “ Holy shit ,” Caitlyn hisses, teetering forward, nails digging into Vi’s shoulder as Vi’s other hand cups her other breast, a rough thumb teasing and pinching the other nipple. Caitlyn gasps and burns, hips pressing closer, because if she wasn’t that wet earlier she’s ten-times worse now. Vi sucks on her nipple like it’s her life’s mission, broad strokes periodically driving Caitlyn out of her goddamn mind . Vi switches and Caitlyn’s mind goes blank for a second, pain edging in at the margin of her brain but she does not care. Her clit needs stimulation now . “Vi— fuck —”

     She tries to shift upward, tries to manuever her knee between Vi’s legs and press down, whimpering pathetically when Vi’s hands don’t budge. Vi murmurs, “I know, baby” and bites at her nipple one last time before leaning backward, turning, taking Caitlyn with her with that awful strength of hers. “C’mere,” she says, back against the arm rest and thigh at an angle, and drops Caitlyn down against her thigh.

     Her clit meets glorious pressure, and Caitlyn sways forward, thrusting a hand out to catch herself above Vi’s shoulder. “Fuck,” she whispers, unable to stop from moaning a little, “Vi.” Understanding, Vi’s hands dwindle down to her hips, and suddenly grasps and moves her , roughly, a fast rocking motion building as Caitlyn cooperates. Her clit shoots mind-numbing sparks up to her brain and Caitlyn.exe borderline stops working, wetness spilling out and making the whole thing so fucking lucid—

     She kisses Vi, and Vi meets her with the same amount of enthusiasm, before Caitlyn pulls back, hips working and starting to pant.

     “Just this once,” Caitlyn has to get in, before she can’t control herself any longer. “Just to get it out of our—fucking—sys—system.”

     “Just this once,” Vi agrees with a whisper, kissing her gently, sitting up a tad and taking Caitlyn’s tit in her mouth again. Caitlyn’s head shoots backward, nails threatening to pierce through the shitty upholsterie. “Just another chance to fuck the pretty little thoughts out of you, princess.”

     Caitlyn moans, and that simple sound gets Vi’s hands to hold her hips firmer, as if holding herself back. “Since when have you called me princess ?” Caitlyn complains, bearing down.

     “You are one,” Vi replies, not answering her question. Caitlyn’s hips are getting sloppy, tiring herself out as she tries to chase something she knows she’s not going to achieve clothed. One of Vi’s hands move and her arm wraps around Caitlyn’s back, a large hand expanding over her bare skin. “And all mine.”

     “I’m not—”

     Vi flips her over without regard, manhandling her all she likes, and drops her against the couch. The back of Caitlyn’s neck hits the bony armrest without preamble, and pain actually clouds in on her mind this time, convulsing off the couch.

     “Ow!” Caitlyn shouts, then groans as dull pain lingers and spins. “Fuck you!”

     “Don’t be a bitch,” Vi responds, but she crawls up from between Caitlyn’s legs and sweeps a hand underneath Caitlyn’s neck, cradling the place of injury and slotting a thigh between her legs.

     That wipes Caitlyn’s anger away, and replaces it with glory as Vi latches her lips to her neck. She kisses and bites, grinding infuriatingly slow, her insistence replaced by an odd need to linger, sucking deliberate spots into her neck.

     “Don’t leave marks,” Caitlyn mumbles, and seizes again as Vi pushes up against her. “ Gods —”

     “You can cover them,” Vi replies, licking a long stripe up the line of her tendon. Caitlyn bucks her hips into Vi’s thigh, head pressing back into the arm rest, nails dragging down Vi’s back. She doesn’t want to think about the consequences of this, so she doesn’t—she feels like she’s in some erotic part of heaven. “I want you to remember this.”

     “I will,” Caitlyn pants. She has designer jeans on and they’re not even going to withstand how fucking wet she is right now. “Vi. Please .”

     Vi chuckles that low chuckle Caitlyn’s always been obsessed with. “Please what?”

     “I’m going to murder you slowly —”

     “C’mon, Cupcake.”

     “—and I’ll enjoy every last minute —”

     “If you can still speak, I’m not doing my job well enough,” Vi says, and ducks down to suck on her tits again, thigh unrelenting. Caitlyn arches, oversensitive and desperate, gasping and whimpering these little sounds Vi seems to not able to get enough of. “C’mon, baby.”

     Her teeth graze over her nipple on her way to the other and the mere sight of that breaks her.

     “ Please ,” Caitlyn breathes, keening. “Please. Please fuck me.”

     “Say my name.”

     Caitlyn’s not asking anymore. “Vi, fuck me .”

     Vi grins that awful grin that makes Caitlyn’s heart pound. “Such a good girl,” she says, and ducks down.

     She unbuttons Caitlyn’s jeans with a slight fumble that Caitlyn nearly laughs at, navigating the slightly flared ends and the thinner parts around her knees as she pulls them down and tugs her loafers off, and as soon as Catilyn’s starting to miss her, Vi’s got her pants off with her underwear with it and is nudging her legs apart with hers. The thinness of the couch makes Caitlyn’s left leg hang off the side, and Vi noses into the soft flesh of Caitlyn’s thigh as she hoists the leg over her shoulder.

     Caitlyn runs a hand down her body and moves it into Vi’s hair, repeating that same motion from the party: near where her hair starts to sweep sideways, nails gently grazing against her scalp and moving her hair back. Vi’s eyes fall close, mouth leaving small marks on the inside of Caitlyn’s thigh, and with a small hum she’s gripping Caitlyn’s leg closer, and this is getting far too intimate so Caitlyn has to—

     “That desperate for a little touch, huh?” she remarks, and Vi’s dark eyes turn on hers, all notion of being gentle suddenly fading.

     “Do you ever shut that fucking mouth of yours?” Vi quips, hand moving up to press at Caitlyn’s clit without preamble. Caitlyn sucks in a quick breath, head falling backward as Vi’s devastating fingers draw pleasure out of her like ribbon lined with gold. She moves her hips up a bit, panting, pleading without admitting it. “Gods, you’re so swollen down here…”

     She speeds up, and Caitlyn’s body practically lifts off the couch. “Vi,” she says, unable to stop the quivering in her voice, hand slowly tightening in Vi’s hair. Vi’s mouth ends up just below her waistband, kissing a line downward, fingers moving to probe at her entrance. Caitlyn trembles, those treacherous fingers drawing quick circles on her clit and slow ones aorund her hole. “Fuck, darling, please—”

     Vi doesn’t listen to her. Her fingers are steady in both places, lips now trailed off to the crease between thigh and pelvis, the ones at her hole now pressing, down, around, nails slipping in and pressing upward before slipping back out, as if readying her despite that Caitlyn watched a string of arousal stretch and fall as Vi had pulled her underwear down earlier. Vi slips somewhat in again, getting down to the first knuckle, and Caitlyn prepares herself, hand moving to grip the arm behind her, mouth parting, because she can tell, it already feels so good and she’s so empty , and Vi pulls right back out. 

     Caitlyn whines, then downright groans, “Vi—”

     Vi, in typical Vi fashion, doesn’t respond, tempting Caitlyn again and only circling her clit faster when she retreats with her fingers further below.

     “ Vi ,” Caitlyn grouses through gritted teeth, pushing Vi’s head down , “ stop teasing , I swear to fucking god I’ll—”

     “You’ll what?” Vi says, with that shit-faced grin.

     Rage erupts from the depth’s of Caitlyn’s want. She yanks her foot up and lodges it in the bridge between Vi’s shoulder and neck, thrashing around and threatening to get the fuck up—Vi growls and tugs her hips back down before Caitlyn can get very far, and before Caitlyn can get another word out, uses her forearm to bracket her hips down and sinks three fingers into her, all at once.

     “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuck Vi fuck !”

     Caitlyn hadn’t been expecting that. Her body falls limp as she knocks her head back with a cry, hand threatening to tear the strands from Vi’s head, her cunt stretching around three of Vi’s long, large fingers. Fuck, she knew she had been open and wet but she hadn’t thought that her body would so readily welcome Vi’s intrusion, and it barely burns and she feels so good, so full—and Vi’s fingers crook up in to nudge at her g-spot before withdrawing and moving back in and fuc—

     “Gods, that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Vi rasps from below, burying her fingers into Caitlyn’s cunt over and over again. Caitlyn keens at the sound of her voice, that voice that threatens to drown her and anchor her to the bottom of a sea of desire. She heaves breaths in and out, hips moving to the motion of Vi’s fingers thrusting in and out faster, faster, ever faster— “Just someone to put you in your place, huh, princess? Wanna be treated like the good little slut you are?”

     Caitlyn arches into her with a moan and still says, “Shut the fuck up—”

     “That’s what it is, isn’t it? Only a whore like you would take three right off the bat—”

     “Stop talking—”

     Vi’s wrist presses into her stomach to get Caitlyn’s attention, and as Caitlyn’s eyes fly open, propping her head up, Vi meets her eyes and dips her head down, tongue licking a broad stripe up Caitlyn’s clit and fuck that’s one way to stop talking, indeed. Caitlyn’s neck is getting sick of being thrown backward and at some point she’s bound to develop whiplash but Gods she does not care, she doesn’t care for anything else at this point, just Vi’s crooning fingers, Vi’s amazing mouth—

     “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, Vi, deeper,” Caitlyn babbles, desperate. She’d needed that stimulation on her clit and Vi certainly knew it, that arm on her stomach bearing down and drawing Vi closer. Her mouth sucks, her tongue compensates and flicks pointedly around her ruddy, swollen clit, skilled and true and this is way too close to what their first time was like, with Vi in the same position she’s in now and Caitlyn’s heel digging into her back, moaning unabashed and pressure and light gathering within her by the second. “Holy fucking shit Vi more —”

     Vi presses deeper, finally doing what she’s asked. The stretch is absolutely incredible, and Caitlyn had always been a bit of a sucker for playing around with size.

     “Don’t move—fuckfuck fuck fuckfuck fuck! Vi!”

     Her orgasm hits her unexpectedly, the pressure and the movement and the fullness and Vi’s expert tongue combining to sweep through her at alarming rates, rising up and exploding somewhere in her mind, sending hormones rampant and maybe the explosion’s somewhere in her visual cortex because her vision flashes black and red. She thrashes and keens against Vi’s fingers, Vi’s mouth, grabbing a handful of her hair and bringing her as close as she can be, hips moving with abandon and then calming, that savory wash of gold laying over her like a blanket and so ready to settle in until—

     “Good,” Vi murmurs, sultry, fingers slowing for a total of two seconds before speeding up again. “Give me one more.”

     Caitlyn barely comprehends this. “Vi—” is all she manages before Vi’s mouth is back on her.

     Fuck—Caitlyn squeezes her eyes shut so hard she may cry. She doesn’t do this. They never do this, they never have—Caitlyn’s always been the type to need some sort of break between rounds, sensitivity cutting into pleasure and taking over too quick, and maybe Vi anticipates this, because she rasps against Caitlyn’s dripping cunt, “Push through it, Cait, I know you can.”

     “Please,” Caitlyn gasps, keening and twitching, but she doesn’t know what she’s pleading for. Vi starts a steady rhythm again, an abundance of slick making wet noises throughout the room, fingers driving in and out, but she’s not putting that much pressure on her clit, just light sucking, and suddenly, heightened stimulation gives way to solid pressure and Caitlyn tightens her hand in Vi’s hair again.

     “Darling,” breathes Caitlyn, hips meeting every thrust. The feeling’s different now, a bit of sensitivity lingering with each touch but the pleasure’s straight to the point, unwavering and hard-headed. It makes Vi’s fingers feel like solid, carnal gold, makes her tongue feel like tantalizing, easy bronze, and she can feel herself building up again. “What the fuck, Vi—”

     Vi makes a satisfied noise against her, and her tongue returns, vibration and pointed ecstasy shooting straight up Caitlyn’s spine and driving her to oblivion. She’s going a little slower than previous but still unrelenting, still deep like Caitlyn asked and still so incredibly good —

     “You’re so good,” Caitlyn finds herself rambling, thighs clenching and body fluid. She looks down and finds the most captivating sensation of all—the feeling she gets when stares at Vi’s face, her eager figure, her eyes closed and dedicated to the task, making little desperate sounds into her cunt. “You’re filling me up so well, fuck, I’m so—”

     It’s flexible, it’s easy, it’s good, it’s certain, it’s pulling every one of Caitlyn’s walls down and—

     “Vi, Vi, baby, fuck, holy shit, fuck, shitshit shit—”

     Must every one of her orgasms come abruptly? Caitlyn barely gets time to reaffirm her grip in Vi’s hair before she’s coming with a sharp cry, whimpering as it reaps through her, beautiful sunlight firing every crook of her body until she’s trembling in Vi’s grasp, gasping for air, and then Vi relents, her mouth leaving her with one last kiss and fingers slowing to a stop.

     “Fuck,” Caitlyn breathes, leaning back against the couch for full support. Her mind’s up in frenzy—if fairies were real, they’d be floating around her head, limbs blank and brain even more devoid of coherent thought. Fuck, the sex had always been spectacular while they were together but this was something else.

     “Good?” Vi asks, both asking if she’s alright and good to withdraw her fingers, and Caitlyn nods to both, seizing for a moment when she begins but sighing into it when it’s over.

     “Good,” Caitlyn replies, throwing the hand she had in Vi’s hair over her eyes. It smells like Vi’s shampoo, apparently not having changed the scent in two years—sandwood and eucalyptus. That hazy afterglow she so adores wraps her and holds her tight, bloodstream abuzz. “I’m okay. I’ll be alright to return the favor in a moment.”

     “No need,” Vi replies, the sound of her wiping her face and fingers off with what Caitlyn assumes is the inside of her tanktop. “I’m on my period.”

     Caitlyn almost chuckles, peaking out from behind her hand. “You know I don’t care.”

     Vi doesn’t respond, and Caitlyn removes her entire hand to find Vi sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, gazing down at Caitlyn’s nearly-naked form with a neutral look in her eyes, knee bouncing. She scrubs a hand over her face, and Caitlyn realizes the tensions back, reminding her that yes, they just fucked when they’ve been over for two years and they certainly did not end on good terms.

     Vi had been like this at the beginning of their relationship too—adverse to touch. This just makes it worse. Caitlyn backs off.

     “Right, then,” Caitlyn says, taking a breath and sitting up. She tries to ignore the growing cold of the slick on her thighs and reaches for her underwear, Vi having the courtesy to grab it and hand it to her. “We should be going.”

     “Yup,” Vi says, moving Caitlyn’s pants along. “I should’ve been at the gym half an hour ago.”

     “I’m surprised the others haven’t come looking for me,” Caitlyn says under her breath, causing faint alarm bells to ring in her mind, but ignores them in favor of fixing her bra and slipping her shirt back on.

     Vi, seeming uncaring of the fact that she just wiped Caitlyn’s cum all over the inside of her shirt, hauls it over her body and dons her coat. Caitlyn grabs Vi’s script off the vanity and hands it to her.

     “We should leave at different times,” Caitlyn says, sitting down to put her shoes back on. She definitely needs this couch professionally cleaned now.

     “Yeah, I’ll go,” Vi says, running a hand through her hair in the mirror. “Uh—just this once?”

     She says it without an inquisitive tone—more clarifiying. Caitlyn looks up and nods. “Just this once, Vi.”

     “Cool,” says Vi, sort of lingering around. “Um—I will…”

     “Get back safe,” Caitlyn ventures—unsure. But Vi looks back and seems to relax a little, nods with an unreadable expression, and flees the room.

     Caitlyn leans back when she’s sure she’s gone, presses on the bruise that grabs hold of her emotions, and wonders how long just this once will hold out.

↠↢

The catalyst had appeared early.

     Vi still considered it the best summer of her life, because she got to travel and it was the period after finals. They started dating not long after they met, quickly spending every moment they could together thanks to the proximity of campus. Vi’d been taking the typical four classes, cruising through writing and research but down in the trenches for her pre-requisites for her major, staring long and hard at chalkboards of chemistry diagrams and math formulas with narrowed eyes while Caitlyn sat perched at the desk behind her, structuring six classes into a five day week in her calendar.

     Introductory writing and research, two English classes, one introductory journalism class that she constantly claimed was too easy, one political science class, and a random science class on electricity she was randomly taking to fulfill requirements and perhaps to better connect with Jayce on his research. Vi’s jaw had gone slack when Caitlyn told her on one of their first dates, which was, coincidentally, in the cafe of the school’s library.

     “I want them out of my way,” Caitlyn had explained, with an air of expectance. “I already worked two masters seminars into my schedule for next fall semester.”

     This had been fine, for the most part—except Caitlyn’s mind had always been somewhere else. Finals week had been one thing, most of their time together spent in the library or bringing meals from the dining hall to Caitlyn’s dorm, becoming incredibly familiar with not only her roommate Mel but the desk attendants (plural, all of them) at the front of the residence hall. Vi would note Caitlyn’s lack of appearance at her regular times, text her, usually receive something similar to Mel’s gone so I took the room , walk to the dining hall, place a carry-out order under Caitlyn’s student ID which Vi had memorized because of an earlier incident involving Caitlyn forgetting to eat, carry it to Caitlyn’s dorm, wait for someone to scan her in, take the elevator up to her dorm, and knock on her door.

     Every time, Caitlyn answered it with hair in a bun or ponytail because her hair getting in her face overstimulated her, blue-light glasses lopsided on her nose, cracking her knuckles as she let Vi in or retrieved the bag of food if Vi had somewhere to be because they’d been stiff from clicking or typing. This one time, she greeted Vi with a quick kiss and welcomed her inside, where Vi found papers in disarray over her desk and borderline spilling onto Mel’s, with papers and books spread out around the floor around her chair as well.

     “Cait,” she’d said that time, sliding a hand over Caitlyn’s shoulder as Caitlyn slumped back into her chair. Caitlyn had leaned into her touch, cheek grazing the back of Vi’s knuckles until Vi turned her palm over and cradled her cheek, lifting Caitlyn’s face to the light—dark patches lined the circle of her eyes. “Have you slept?”

     “A little,” Caitlyn had responded. Vi took a look at Caitlyn’s calendar, always on display on her tablet, perched against a take-out coffee cup, the cup tilted from the weight and therefore, likely empty. From the looks of it, Caitlyn had a final tomorrow, noted by the big red block of time that overlapped with some meeting and that read ‼️FINAL- ECT 35 ‼️. “By accident.”

     “Baby,” Vi had said in a rush, leaning down to kneel before her and cradle both cheeks in her hands. Caitlyn closed her eyes, and genuinely looked like she might fall asleep right there. “Come on, it’s okay, let’s take a quick nap, I’ve got you, where’s Mel?”

     Caitlyn, peeling her eyes open, had said, “I don’t know. I don’t know when she left.”

     “Cupcake, let’s get you to bed, okay?”

     Caitlyn leaned down toward her, a hand moving over Vi’s cheek in kind, and pressed their foreheads together. It was this passing moment, this suspended bit of time, where Caitlyn seemed to count how long she had in it, breaths measured, before she pulled back and said, “I can’t. It’s okay, I’ve got this.”

     She’d drawn herself back up, took a deep breath, rubbed under her glasses and turned back around, hands falling onto her keyboard. Vi hadn’t known what to do—stay, leave? She had finals to study for as well, having already completed one the week before in favor of the professor skirting off as quickly as possible, but she didn’t have another for another two days.

     “Cait—”

     “Stay for a little,” Caitlyn had said, but didn’t turn to look at her. “If you can.”

     Enough said, Vi had pulled Mel’s seat out and sat beside her, unloading Caitlyn’s carry-out order for her, mixing in the salad dressing and moving Caitlyn’s papers out of the way to set the bowl in a neutral place. And they had stayed like that—no conversation, just Vi trying to think of something to do for her and Caitlyn remembering she had food available every five minutes.

     Finals had been one thing—summer was another.

     Caitlyn was closeted, had plans to stay that way, Vi didn’t particularly care, but Caitlyn still made up excuses of political conferences and journalism events to use her family’s assets and take lavious vacations instead, sneaking an extra person into the budget and dragging Vi along with her.

     They paraded around the canals of Italy, kissed under the Eiffel Tower, visited Caitlyn’s childhood neighborhood in Cambridge, tried the beer in Germany and took tourist photos in Amsterdam, running along back to the States and road tripping around. But finals had been one thing—summer was another; but on the beaches in Miami, Caitlyn would roll from her stomach onto her back and click around on her phone, obsessively checking her school email; but sidelines at the Rubber Duck Race in Chicago, she’d excuse herself to take a phone call concerning her upcoming masters seminars; but under the blaring lights of Times Square at midnight, Caitlyn had drafted and sent an email following up on a remote fall internship based in France.

     Among the multitudes of sorry’s and kisses on the cheek, Vi had grappled with the fact that this was the person Caitlyn is, and it was unlikely that anything would change that. Caitlyn Kiramman came from money, Caitlyn Kiramman came from power, Caitlyn Kiramman was destined to shape the world. And Vi had loved this quality, most of the time, not for the name and the influence but because Caitlyn was a force even without all of it—

     —until midterms of fall semester, sophomore year, when Caitlyn said something that would change absolutely fucking everything.

Chapter Text

Incoming Call From: dumb bitch (sevika)

     “Hey,” Vi says, hurrying out into the snow straight from her dressing room and hauling her backpack strap over her shoulder.

     Sevika skips right over the niceties. “Where the fuck are you?” she asks, speaking roughly directly into the speaker of the phone. “Did your idiot brain forget that you’re leading training today?”

     “Fuck,” Vi groans, running her hand through her hair. She drops her backpack into the compartment on the back of her motorcycle and fishes in the side pocket for her keys. She’d been planning on hitting the gym briefly, had decided she’d make up her mind in the moment, but now she has to. “Right. Sorry. I lost track of time.”

     “Lost track of time? I just saw you at rehearsal! What the hell were you doing for forty-five minutes—”

     Letting my co-star grind against my leg and then fucking her senseless. “Can you just cover for me?” Vi interjects, swinging a leg over the seat. She takes a quick glance at the exit of the auditorium—no sign of her. Good. No chance for awkward post-post sex small talk. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

     “Did Vander drop you on the head as a kid? Did you run into a pole too many times chasing after Powder?”

     “I’m hanging up, asshole. Just tell the others I got caught in traffic.”

     “We live in a state where lane-splitting is legal for motorcyclists!”

     “Shut up! ” Vi hates how petulant she sounds as she hangs up. She huffs and pulls her helmet on, ramming the keys into the ignition and revving the engine.

     Gods, the last thing she wants to do right now is walk into a gym full of sweaty college girls on the recreational boxing team and spend an hour or more getting her guts punched out. She’s so fucking worked up and yeah, while working out for a bit is going to help, she would much rather be going straight home and rubbing one out as many times as she needed. Because, fuck —

     Vi had joined PAI’s recreational women’s boxing team pretty early on in her college career, mainly because if you joined a sport you got access to the school gym for free but also because why not continue the sport she was good at? Unwillingly, she’d climbed the corporate ladder of the team and while the point of the recreational title had been that it’s not very competitive or had much of a structure, her and Sevika had ended up as the team’s captains. While this duty was made up and didn’t have any responsibilities, someone had to give them something to do. And maybe it had come in handy to let her vent out pent up anger or irritation or whatever—it certainly had come in handy two years ago.

     Not this time.

     She could feel wetness pooling in her boxers as she tried her best to get to the gym quickly and not have her motorcycle slip on snow. That had been really fucking good, way better than she’d expected, and despite it all, Vi’s trying her best not to think about it. She’s failing. Because Caitlyn’s lithe, writhing body under her hands, at her command, the way her face had screwed up every time Vi had pushed inside, the way her mouth shaped her moans and whimpers and shouts, how hot it’d been to watch her push through a second orgasm, how the lines of her body had become firmer, toner over the past two years, similar to the way her face had matured, the way her lips felt against Vi’s, the way her touch had been eager yet gentle—

     Vi knew what she’d been getting herself into when she looked down at her script, lingering outside Caitlyn’s dressing room. She knew she wasn’t going to get over whatever happened in there for a while. She knocked anyway.

     Just this once , Caitlyn had said, just to get it out of our system . Vi had agreed—made sure it still stood afterward. Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Lingering, pent up frustration, whether sexual or frustration with each other, from before or when they broke up? So why was it certainly still in Vi’s system, wrecking torment through her mind and body and apparently her gym schedule, begging her to turn the fuck around?

     She couldn’t go back to Caitlyn. She knew she couldn’t. Not after—not after everything. Powder would kill her, having found her beating the life out of a punching bag hours after the break-up and doing the heavy-duty job of figuring out what the hell happened and how to get her to stop. So just this once would have to hold true.

     Vi stalks into the gym and tosses her backpack down, unlocking her designated locker and yanking out the spare gym clothes she kept in there for emergencies like this one. Sevika appears at the disruption, knuckles wrapped and boxing gloves dangling from the crook of her arm. Those broad shoulders of hers lean against the doorframe as she whistles.

     “You look tense,” she observes, chuckling as Vi only proves that right, tossing her tank into her locker with vehemence. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

     She says it as an offhand, perverted comment, it only makes Vi more mad at herself than she already is.

     Finishing quickly, she fastens the lock to her locker and shoulder-checks Sevika on her way out. “You gonna pick up your weight, or what? Come on.”

     So this is how the next few days go.

     Thursday, the next rehearsal, Caitlyn speaks and moves around her like nothing ever happened, which Vi respects, and if there’s one curious but otherwise neutral glance at Vi when rehearsal starts it doesn’t happen again. Scene one’s a pain in the ass to get through, mainly because of all the chaos the 1996 version features and blocking all of it is like trying to play Crossy Road. So, Thursday, Vi and Caitlyn aren’t included in many scenes, mainly watching Ambessa order around the extras as if she hadn’t been born with the concept of patience and understanding and Salo without the ability to speak in decibels below one-hundred. At the end of rehearsal, Vi passes Caitlyn’s dressing room and finds her ordering a cleaning crew into the room, and chuckles to herself as she departs.

     Friday is when it starts.

     They’re up against the holy palmer’s kiss scene—again. Ambessa’s lessened the comments about blocking since they’re earlier session, and Salo sees it fit to replace her critiques with comments about tone of phrase and modality, whatever that means. Regardless, Vi tries to take them with stride, because she loves nothing if not a challenge. And it is somewhat of a challenge to focus when she’s kissing—Caitlyn.

     Caitlyn is a fucking marvelous actress, if she wasn’t already great at everything she does. If she hadn’t been living under a rock of school-work for the last three years the theatre department would’ve snatched her up, or at least Vi would’ve if she was in said department. She’s a perfect Juliet: she has this air of innocence to her as she flutters around the stage, with that hint of determination as Romeo becomes a prospect, and her face moves with emotion like she’d never had experience hiding them in her life. And she speaks like she’d been repeating these lines from the moment she was born.

     This would be torture for Vi even if Caitlyn wasn’t the best actress, but her being so almost makes it worse. Per Ambessa’s instructions, each kiss they rehearse is different, Caitlyn’s hands in different places and her mouth moving in torturous, different ways and every so often making little sounds into the kiss and it makes Vi want to shove her into that dressing room all over again. Half the time they aren’t even the ones being focused on in the scene: for the sake of getting used to blocking, as the extras are being tested behind them, they are just instructed to go right at it. So the challenging part is she knows Caitlyn is only acting . There’s no reason it should feel this good, there’s no reason it should make Vi react like this.

     It’s frustrating. It’s infuriating. Each time they kiss Vi wants to take back just this once and shoot it with one of Caitlyn’s fancy guns because she doesn’t care about Caitlyn she just needs this itch out of her and she knows she can’t .

     So Friday is when it starts: there’s still a healthy amount of insults (like when Caitlyn says, “Is your head just for decoration?” when Vi trips over a cord that’d already been taped to the stage, or when Vi says “I’d offer my hand but it’d shrivel up” when Caitlyn climbs the stairs up the stage and Vi’d been lingering nearby), and it’s not particularly awkward (if the casualness of their insults say anything, or when their scene finishes and they move off stage together and end up sitting beside each other despite that they can go anywhere they want), but most of all, there’s tension .

     There’s tension when Salo instructs to begin reading over act two and when they first start rehearsing those scenes, when Vi’s blocking includes rushing at the balcony and Caitlyn’s to kneel as quick as she could just so they could kiss again, when Caitlyn’s hand lingers on her cheek a little longer as they run their lines. There’s tension when they exit their dressing rooms at the same time at the start of rehearsal, annoyingly having to exit backstage together as if they planned it, when Vi’s hand brushes Caitlyn’s as they walk along. There’s tension when their two friend groups interact as if the break-up had never happened and they’re forced to chime in as if nothing was wrong too, when Caitlyn looks to her for input and when Vi responds in tune, each with a pointed gaze as sharp as a knife.

     A week, a week and a half, two weeks move along, with absolutely no mention of the lingering glances and the not-so-accidental touches and certainly not what had happened that one Tuesday. And it’s true that Vi doesn’t care about her; she couldn’t care less when Caitlyn is late to rehearsal one day, looking winded and seething with rage, throwing her phone into her bag when Vi passes her dressing room, and she certainly couldn’t care less when Jayce runs his hand over Caitlyn’s shoulder in comfort as Caitlyn uses her down-time to type furiously on her computer. She very much doesn’t care, but that doesn’t mean she can’t look.

     Rehearsals come and go, with Vi catching herself playing her lines over in her head during classes and murmuring them to herself as she cooks dinner before stopping herself because what? The welcome ebb and flow of life and school becoming normal again surrounds her and her family’s life, with their weekly Wednesday potlucks and Mylo always managing to bring something burnt. The snow falls and piles up in clumps on the side of the road, the rhythmic sound of jackets zipping and hoods being pulled on at the end of classes fill Vi’s ears, and if the warm feeling of familiarity begins to sneak back in whenever Caitlyn does make it to rehearsal alive and warm and without frostbite, because why the hell does she continue to wear skirts when it’s twenty-two degrees, that’s just how life is.

     February approaches with it’s dirty/melting snow and dead trees, with the measly spirit of Valentine’s Day on the horizon to cheer them up, and maybe it’s that that compels Powder to invite the spirit of love into her home.

     Vi doesn’t recognize her brewing plan until the last minute. Powder had been showing up to rehearsals recently, mainly to work on the props with Scar backstage and brainstorm set designs, weaving in and out of characters as she stood with her hands on her hips and stared dutifully at upstage, pencil behind her ear and sketchbook in hand. As if majoring in mechanical engineering and minoring in art wasn’t enough for her, she’d decided to take on being head of costumes, props, and sets, and only didn’t do lighting as well because Ekko told her not to stress herself out; on that note, if being at rehearsal all the time means getting a kiss from Ekko when they cross paths, that’s just an added bonus.

     Rehearsal’s wrapping up one fateful Thursday night, Salo wheeling himself out of the room while Heimerdinger and Ambessa discuss the orchestra’s duty in amping up the emotion in various scenes. Vi’s slipping her script into her bag in her dressing room—which is very similar to Caitlyn’s, only with a battered leather couch that looked like it’d been hauled off the street—when the sounds of chatter drifts from down the hall. This would typically not be out of the ordinary, if it wasn’t for the fact that the chatter seems to belong to Powder and—Jayce?

     Vi pokes her head out the door, then wanders down the hallway. Jayce and Powder are speaking to each other, with Ekko and the rest of the group lingering by the doors to their dressing rooms and Viktor and Mel leaning against the wall next to Jayce.

     She catches the trail end of Powder saying, “—live in a suite style dorm, with the kitchen and shit and everything, and my roommates are spending the weekend in New York! It’s perfect!”

     Jayce looks like he’s never been more genuinely entranced and captivated by a conversation in his life. “That sounds like a great idea!” he says cheerfully.

     “What’s going on?” Caitlyn’s voice sounds from behind her, and Vi almost jumps, turning to look at her, and, oh come on, it looks like they exited together again .

     Jayce beams at her. “Powder’s invited us over to her dorm for a night of festivities.”

     “By festivities, he means Powder needs to get our measurements for costumes so she doesn’t need to interrupt rehearsal and we can run over lines,” explains Ekko, and hell, even he looks like he’s on-board, “without Ambessa and Salo breathing down our necks.”

     “Goodness knows I need to rehearse without the judgement of my mother,” Mel agrees, breathing out and smoothing her hands over her pulled-back braids.

     “And none of you can say no because without costumes, your whole play will just look like a sack of non-existent color coordination and boring outfits,” adds Powder with glee, and turns to point a finger at Vi. “Look at Vi’s outfit, for example.”

     “Hey!” Vi says, taking offense. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

     Powder laughs. “You think making sure everyone knows you’re ripped makes the outfit.”

     “I don’t say anything about your circus-looking pants—”

     “At least you can name the type of look I’m going for, you’ve got nothing except I’m butch and I’m a slut —”

     “She’s not wrong,” laughs Ekko, and Vi begrudgingly can’t disagree but she’s also going to let slip to Vander and Benzo that they use curse words or something.

     As if she can’t understand sibling banter, Caitlyn says, tapping onto her phone and no doubt checking her calendar, “What day were you aiming for, Powder?”

     “Any day this weekend, but probably Saturday, around six.”

     Caitlyn nods, slow to fast. “I’m free.” She shrugs. “Or, more like, I’ll move things around.”

     Vi’s eyebrows might as well have shot into space. On a Saturday night? Caitlyn Kiramman’s probably expected at some gala or driving to a conference in another state, not moving things around .

     “Everyone else?” Jayce announces like he’s hosting the whole thing. The rest of the cast nods at varying speeds, and Jayce claps his hands together. “Perfect! I’ll bring chips and homemade salsa!”

     “You do not know how to make homemade salsa, Jayce,” Viktor consoles him, leading Jayce away while Jayce argues his case.

     Mylo whoops and shouts, “I’ll bring the drinks!”

     “No, you can’t, Mylo, you’re gonna get your fake taken from you again,” says Claggor.

     “You can help me make lasagna or something at Powder’s,” Ekko says to her, nudging her shoulder.

     “Yeah,” Vi agrees, and her brain only stumbles on the fact that that implies Ekko has been to Powder’s dorm enough to be familiar with her kitchen and Ekko’s gone before she can interrogate him about it.

     “Elora and I will prepare a tasteful charcuterie board,” says Mel, and she and Elora withdraw, already eagerly planning their spread.

     Caitlyn chuckles behind her. “I can bake a pie,” Caitlyn says, before turning to retreat.

     Vi turns and ambles after her, which doesn’t help the always-exiting-together allegations. “I didn’t know you could bake,” she says.

     With an indignant sound and a move to slip into her dressing room, Caitlyn says, “We’ve baked together before, Vi.”

     “Without burning the house down, I meant.”

     “You will eat my pie, and you will enjoy it,” Caitlyn replies, like it’s a threat, and shuts the door. 

     If they weren’t caught in this I-hate-your-guts-you-bitch and we-fucked-so-we-won’t-scream-at-each-other thing, Vi would’ve made a joke about Caitlyn’s other pies and Vi eating it, but she doesn’t. Instead, she shakes her head at Caitlyn’s door and heads into her own.

↠↢

Caitlyn can understand what you’re thinking.

     Their late relationship hadn’t been all that bad. That probably sounds bad coming from her but she thinks that they both understand by now that it was both of their faults, and before it all went and rotted like leftover food, it’d quite actually shown like stained glass.

     Vi hadn’t been her first kiss, or her first time. She hadn’t even been her first love; Caitlyn had unfortunately given that over to a high-school best friend, to fall into that stereotype, there for her when she’d shown like a shining star and gone when Caitlyn had moved back to the States, a broken promise mirroring a broken telephone line.

     Vi had, however, been the first time Caitlyn didn’t have to doubt. She never doubted that Vi would be at her door, she never doubted that Vi wouldn’t tell her I love you at the end of an argument, she never doubted that Vi would be there for her. In the small hours of the night when Caitlyn would roll over and find Vi still there, sleeping soundly, in the frenzy of traveling and airports and looking to Vi for tranquility, in the kitchen of Vi’s childhood home and burning muffins and freaking out over the disrespect to Vi’s father’s oven and bakeware.

     The latter had been the moment that Caitlyn had realized this, and the moment that she’d realized she was in love with Vi.

     It was an honest mistake. The making the batter part had been fun and simple, Caitlyn smudging Vi’s nose with flour and Vi proceeding to putting flour on both her hands and chase her around the kitchen with it while Caitlyn screeched and almost slipped on said spilled flour, grinning the widest grin she’d ever had on her face. When Vi had finished her revenge scheme, she’d hugged Caitlyn from behind as Caitlyn stirred the batter together, humming against her shoulder, strong arms wrapped around her waist and hair tickling the side of Caitlyn’s neck.

     The muffin tins were plopped in their slots, the batter had been poured, and Caitlyn slid the tray into the oven without a worry in the world.

     They’d been making out on the couch, Vi’s back against the cushions and head on the armrest, Caitlyn sprawled and straddled on top of her and kissing lazily, Vi’s hands slipping underneath her short-shorts and Caitlyn’s under her tank, as if they had all the time in the world with the summer sun streaming through the blinds and the smell of muffins wafting into the living room, when the smell of those muffins had become… burnt.

     “Babe,” Vi had said, tapping Caitlyn’s shoulder frantically. Caitlyn had not wanted to stop kissing her neck, and hmph ed to express her disapproval as she propped herself up. “Do you smell that?”

     Caitlyn had been more interested in the smell of Vi’s cologne and body odor and shampoo as she had her face deep in her neck, but she raised her nose to the air and her eyes had widened.

     “Shit,” they said in unison.

     They had scrambled off the couch and skidded into the kitchen, finding faint clouds of smoke exiting the oven’s crevices. What had happened next had been a series of screaming, shouts, notions of “Get the fire extinguisher!” and “What the fuck do we do?” until Caitlyn finally turned the oven off, grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the oven door open. That might’ve not been the best idea in hindsight, but as smoke flooded out of the oven, she’d found the muffins shriveled up and dead, paper muffin tins slowly crumbling, but—no active fire.

     Upon investigation, the paper tins had been the main cause for the smoke, and the reason the timer Caitlyn had set not going off was when she set it for ten minutes, her finger must’ve clicked the one button twice and set it for an inevitable one-hundred-and-ten minutes instead.

     “Fuck,” Caitlyn had said as Vi opened windows and retrieved air-freshener from the bathroom, pointing it around like it was a gun, but Caitlyn was beginning to freak out, hands scampering up to her face and starting to spin. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve checked the timer and kept track of the time, I can pay for the ingredients and the muffin tray and everything, I don’t know how I didn’t think to check—”

     “Hey, hey, hey,” Vi said, dropping the air freshener and rushing over to her. “You don’t need to pay for anything, nothing’s ruined—”

     “I should’ve been more careful, this isn’t my home, oh my Gods your father is going to hate me—”

     “Cait, sit down—”

     Vi had picked her up unceremoniously and plopped her on the kitchen counter, grabbing her wrists gently and moving them away from her face, stepping between her legs. Caitlyn hadn’t been crying, but she probably would’ve if not for the shock of being put on the kitchen counter so simply as if she was nothing but a cup. Vi’s calloused hands ran up over her cheeks, and Caitlyn’s hands had fallen to rest on Vi’s biceps, watching Vi’s eyes carefully.

     “Breathe,” Vi had said, those sparkling eyes of hers calm and steady.

     Caitlyn had forgotten that breathing was a thing she could do. She took a breath. Vi smiled at her, and it was impossible to be any form of negative emotion when Vi smiled at her.

     “Don’t you think I should’ve checked the timer too?” Vi had asked her, tilting her head. “Don’t you think I should’ve taken the lead here since this is my house?”

     Caitlyn didn’t have an answer to that; Vi always combatted her way too well. Vi’s hands fell from her cheeks and tilted Caitlyn’s chin up.

     “Nothing’s ruined,” she repeated, “you don’t need to pay for anything. It was a fraction of ingredients and I don’t even think I could invoice you for pennies. We just need to clean a few things. And most importantly, Vander does not hate you. He loves you. And don’t you think he’s burnt food in his own kitchen too? He’s a terrible cook, this is nothing.”

     Caitlyn had sniffed. “I thought you loved your father’s cooking.”

     “I do on the two days of the week he gets it right.”

     Caitlyn huffed and dropped her head onto Vi’s, foreheads meeting. “I’m sorry,” Caitlyn had whispered, defeated. “I don’t stop to think before reacting like this.”

     Vi had shrugged. “It’s the adrenaline. I was ready to throw the whole tray out the window.”

     Chuckling, Caitlyn had picked her head up and laid a delicate kiss on Vi’s mouth, hand sliding over Vi’s neck. Who has ever calmed her down this quickly, with this much skill? Sure, it was a trivial matter, easily reasoned, but who has ever done it with this much care? How did a woman so great as the one before her care for her ?

     “Are you alright?” Caitlyn had asked as she pulled back. She tapped the side of Vi’s neck where her fingers had rested against Vi’s pulse, hammering under her fingertips. “And your breathings heightened.”

     “I—” Vi had faltered, eyes flickering. “Fuck. I thought I was handling it fine.”

     Caitlyn had moved a hand up to her cheek, tilting Vi’s face up, a question in her eyes. “You certainly did give off the impression,” Caitlyn had murmured, using her other hand to smooth the hair out of her face. She waited.

     Vi had swallowed, confidence having fled. “Um. It’s nothing. I just have shit with fire.”

     Caitlyn didn’t press; she already knew Vi’s childhood had been strained, piecing together little slips of information like this one. She ran her hand through Vi’s hair, nails prickling, and gently kissed her forehead. “We’re alright, my love. We’ll bake again another time,” she’d said, catching Vi’s eyes. “How can I help?”

     Vi had met her eyes, and somewhere in the depth of them was fear. She really had done a good job of making it seem like she was fine; before Caitlyn had asked, every single thing on the outside had been neutral and steady.

     “Um,” Vi had said, and pulled away.

     “Hey, hey,” Caitlyn had said in alarm, catching Vi’s arm before she could get very far, moving around her to face her. “Talk to me.”

     “That’s the issue,” Vi had said, borderline flinching when their eyes had locked again, immediately breaking their gaze. Eyebrows furrowed, jaw tense, she almost looked angry. “I don’t know what to say. No one’s ever asked me that before.”

     “You don’t have to tell me anything or everything,” Caitlyn had breached, trying at a soft smile. “You don’t need to explain. Just give me an action and I’ll execute it.”

     Maybe the posh-accent-big-word side of Caitlyn had broken through, because Vi almost snorted and her shoulders fell an inch. “Execute?” Vi had questioned.

     Caitlyn had been genuinely confused. “Is that not the word?”

     “Never mind,” Vi had said, breathing out with a twitch of a smile. “Um. I just want to…clean everything so I don’t have to look at it.”

     “Do you want me to do that so you don’t have to keep looking?”

     “And let you handle more of my house’s appliances alone?” Vi had joked. Caitlyn had rolled her eyes while Vi finally genuinely laughed. “I’m good, Cupcake. Thanks. I can help.”

     “Of course,” Caitlyn had said. “It’s the least I can do—”

     Vi had pulled her into a hard hug, abruptly, arms wrapping around her back and head burying into Caitlyn’s neck. Caitlyn, albeit a little surprised, had fastened her arms around Vi’s neck and squeezed, sighing into her embrace. And—

     It rises up in Caitlyn like a star streaking across the sky, and it spills out before she can stop it. “I love you,” Caitlyn whispered, into Vi, like it could go nowhere else.

     Vi had tensed, like a wire going ramrod straight, and Caitlyn had been about to detach and grab her things and run out of the house and never speak to Vi again. But then Vi had relaxed, and murmured into her, “I love you too.”

     Caitlyn had never felt more relieved in her life. She’d hugged her tighter, they’d separated, Caitlyn had wiped a single tear from Vi’s cheek with a tenderness even she knew she’d never matched since, and then got to the delightful work of scraping burnt muffin off a tray.

     Vi had also been the first time Caitlyn had been able to think of herself as separate . She’d been in love with Vi for several other reasons, if there is reasoning to what love is, and she’d liked herself better while she was in a relationship with Vi for several other reasons as well, but Caitlyn had gotten addicted to this feeling of detachment and chased it.

     It wasn’t being separate from Vi, but more being separate from her parents. Her family. Who she was, who she was associated with. She’d explained the circumstances of why she didn’t have plans to come out to her family for a while to Vi and Vi had been fine with it, and then the feeling bloomed from there. One of the biggest parts of her life was unknown from the life she lived before college. One of the parts of her life that brought her the most joy, that was simultaneously the one that could wreak the most havoc, was hers to manage, to deal with, to control. She’d known she’d find that feeling going to university, but once she fully discovered it, she took it and ran.

     It had been and was still a major driver for her master plan, currently so close to succeeding; graduate, get a job, get out of this city. Even if her mother was no longer a politician, she had been, and she had eyes everywhere within the network; similarly, her father knew every doctor in the city. Weave the web and Caitlyn was trapped, watched everywhere and tracked with every move she made. A job, an apartment, a life somewhere else would stop it.

     So this feeling of control, of detachment had anchored down and spread within her like a disease. It’d been her thing; she hadn’t expected for Vi to put it to use too.

↠↢

Vi’s putting the lasagna into Powder’s oven when Caitlyn arrives.

     She’s wearing more lounge-wear this time around for the second time Vi’s seen her outside of a school setting. Comfortable, cream, open-ended sweats that are probably worth more than Vi’s life insurance flow around those long legs, and a quarter-zip navy blue crewneck sits on her shoulders. She’s in that damn ponytail again and Vi wishes she could still see the faint lines of concealer on her neck that she could see not too long ago.

     Oh. And the others arrive with her too.

     “Chips and salsa!” Jayce exclaims, raising them above his head like they’re the savior reborn and like everyone was so excited for his contribution.

     Viktor shakes his head and takes the salsa out of Jayce’s hand before he can drop it. “Or whatever Jayce calls salsa,” he says with amusement, and moves to put it on the growing potluck table.

     “This looks great, guys!” Powder says with genuine joy. She’s (more like Ekko) moved the table in front of the TV to behind the couch instead, to make room for rehearsing later, and as people arrived, that’d become the food table. “Sevika and Scar should be getting here soon, and we’re a complete set!”

     She seems so overjoyed with the turnout, grinning and fluttering around like a butterfly, making sure everything’s perfect. Vi maybe hadn’t been too fond of the idea but she is fond of whatever makes her little sister happy.

     “ No one touch the charcuterie board,” says Mel with venom, her and Elora parading it into the room with two hands on each end that really didn’t seem necessary. She instructs Jayce to make room for the board with a series of scathing looks and directions until she and Elora set it down with way too much care. “There! Perfect!”

     Vi ambles over and she’ll give it to them, it’s a very well plated charcuterie board that she might eat the grapes of. At the same time, Caitlyn reaches into the bottom of her tote and pulls out a pie container. “Warden pie,” she announces, setting it on the table. There’s a nice braided golden-brown crust on the top, with somewhat of a purple filling lurking beneath. “Pears, cherries, and cinnamon.”

     “Managed not to burn it this time,” Vi remarks, and Caitlyn glares at her until Vi shrugs and walks back to the kitchen. 

     The potluck table proved to be a success. Mylo tried to get drinks and did, indeed, get his fake ID taken away for the third time, but Sky brought wine and that sits in a tub of melting ice off to the side. There’s Jayce and Viktor’s chips and salsa (while the salsa noticeably lacks spice), and Sevika and Scar arrive seconds later, adding a set of store-bought macarons and pizza to the mix. Claggor bought a few kinds of chips, Powder baked cupcakes, Loris, Maddie, and Steb brought brownies, Gushers, and gummy worms, and with Mel and Elora’s charcuterie board, Caitlyn’s pie and Ekko and Vi’s contribution in the oven, they have a pretty good assortment.

     “How long until the lasagna is done?” Mylo asks immediately when Vi plops onto the couch, hands rubbing together as if there isn’t a whole table of food behind him.

     She shrugs. “Give or take an hour.”

     “Give or take?” Caitlyn inquires, and what the fuck, when did she sit beside her?

     “Making lasagna is a delicate art,” says Ekko with passion, leaning against the hallway’s door frame. “There’s no timer. There’s no formula. You look, you taste, and you get a feeling.”

     “Ignore him, he thinks he’s a genius and he’s actually descending to madness,” laughs Powder, appearing behind him. Despite Ekko’s glower, Powder stretches a tape measure and grins. “Who’s first? And you guys better get your asses to rehearsing before food becomes the only thing on Mylo’s hog mind.”

     Deciding to start with act two, considering that’s the act they’re rehearsing in class, Sevika offers herself up since she’s not in the act. And while, yes, as Vi hauls her ass up and starts getting into character, it is a little weird acting while not on stage and with everyone’s eyes on you in a casual setting, but it is, she has to admit, much better than not getting her ears blown out by Salo’s irritating voice. Although Powder has a suite and a common room, it’s still much smaller than the stage, and adapting to the space is both a challenge and much easier because Vi doesn’t have to sprint across in the beginning of act two.

     And maybe she does welcome everyone’s advice, getting to hear their perspectives on a scene, which they can’t do when under the presence of an authority figure. It occurs to her that maybe she is just starting to enjoy their company, with Claggor and Mylo’s raucous laughter and Jayce’s naivety and dumb jokes and Mel and Viktor’s combined imperial presence making every compliment seem to shine with gold and Caitlyn’s… and Caitlyn’s soft smile as she watches, curled up and calendar tucked away.

     It’s sort of fun. Vi will give theater that. 

     The ‘presence of an authority figure’ comment stands until scene two rolls along, because fuck, she has to kiss Caitlyn now.

     “ I would not for the world they saw thee here, ” Caitlyn says, up and at it and truly in character now, considering that when she’s stepping toward Vi, she’s also reaching for her, hand landing on her arm and eyes wide and true.

     “Good addition,” Mel observes, beginning to smile. “Juliet doesn’t do that in the movie.”

     “ I have night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes ,” Vi says, and steps closer too; Caitlyn’s breath is close to hers, mingling and catching, “ And, but thou love me, let them find me here. ”

     “It’s getting spicy!” Mylo borderline screams, and if Vi weren’t caught up in Caitlyn’s lips right there, she’d attack him. “Shield your eyeballs, kids!”

     “ My life were better ended by their hate ,” Vi continues despite it, and moves Caitlyn’s hand on her arm to hold her hand, “ Than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love .”

     Caitlyn’s head tilts down, and according to the blocking, they’re supposed to linger here. Vi closes her eyes, opens them, searches Caitlyn’s, Gods she could get lost in her eyes forever, bright and cerulean blue, piercing and deep—

     Caitlyn clears her throat and turns her head, asking the audience, “Do we have to kiss if Ambessa and Salo aren’t here?”

     And Vi says, stupidly fast, “Yeah, we do.”

     Caitlyn’s head whips to look at her like she’s crazy.

     “You have to!” Jayce backs her up, thank God . He’s sat straight up in his seat like this is the most important topic to him ever. “This is such a pivotal part of the play.”

     “Do they really, though?” asks Powder, popping her head back in. She’s been in and out with taking measurements, sending Sky on her way and calling Elora over. She says as she drifts off into the other room again, “They kiss enough in class.”

     “Isn’t it better to rehearse vulnerable scenes in a safer space while we can?” Viktor adds, and Vi might owe him and Jayce her life.

     “They make out for like, a full minute here,” says Ekko with a quirk of one single eyebrow.

     “And better to mess up here!” says Mel.

     “Yeah, we’re rehearsing, let’s just go for it and not get off track,” Vi says, but she does look to Caitlyn for approval. Caitlyn’s eyes are big, pupils are dilated, lips slightly parted and she’s looking at Vi like she’s—surprised.

     “No—I mean, yeah, yes, I agree,” Caitlyn finally says. She reaffirms her hold on Vi’s hand and nods. “Do you—wanna say your last line again?”

     “Uh—right,” Vi says, because holy shit, they’ve done this scene in rehearsal before but doing it when Ambessa and Salo aren’t critiquing the way their tongues move feels different. “Um— Than death proroguèd, wanting of thy love. ”

     Caitlyn does not linger for as long as they’re supposed to. Ambessa had given them a minimum ten-second count to merely have their faces close and lips hesitant and eyes roaming—Caitlyn barely lasts five of them.

     And the way they’re instructed to kiss is the same—slow, tempting, at first, Vi bracing the back of Caitlyn’s head with her hand and Caitlyn’s own slowly wandering, ending up with an arm over Vi’s shoulder—but Gods the way Caitlyn does it. Caitlyn moves her mouth like she’s searching, pressing closer and their noses brush and at the right time, sweeps her tongue over Vi’s bottom lip. As if Vi wasn’t going to accept despite that she’s supposed to, when she does, Caitlyn moves in like she’s starving, arms wrapping around Vi’s neck and the only verb that can describe it all is pushing .

     Vi pushes back—of course she pushes back. She balances Caitlyn with that hand in her hair but drags her closer with her other hand on Caitlyn’s waist, and it’s a little difficult to do this standing but she really does not care. She steps closer and nips gently at Caitlyn’s lip, and the little sound Caitlyn makes followed by the grinding of her teeth is absolutely addicting and Vi wants more of it.

     She follows the blocking—she has to before she gets too distracted—and moves to kiss roughly at Caitlyn’s neck, Caitlyn tilting her chin up and sighing, and there’s the faint sound of ooh ’ing in the background of Vi’s mind but she can’t really hear it, not when Caitlyn’s breaths are getting heavier and quicker in her ear, not when Caitlyn’s pulse is pounding beneath her lips—

     Time runs out—Caitlyn pulls away, only to get Vi’s lips off, not far enough to be out of her grip, only to say the beginnings of “ By whose direction found’st —” before Powder storms into the room.

     “Caitlyn,” she says, breathing out hard and sending Elora on her way, “you’re next, get in here.”

     Caitlyn stumbles fully out of Vi’s grip with confusion, and Vi says, “Powder, we’re in the middle of the scene—”
“Yeah, they still have like,” Jayce flips through his open script, “two, three more pages of lines.”

     “And whose dorm are you in?” Powder asks, hands on her hips. “And what’s the ultimate reason you’re all in here? And whose making sure you all don’t look lame as fuck on stage?”

     “It’s fine,” Caitlyn says, moving toward Powder and toward the hallway. “We’ve rehearsed this scene loads of times anyway. It’s okay, just move onto scene three.”

     Powder hmphs and departs, Caitlyn trailing after her, and everyone sort of deflates.

     “What’s her problem?” Mylo asks with a throw of his hand, until Claggor nudges him with an elbow.

     “Good work on that,” Mel says to Vi as she sits down, and Vi smiles weakly at her (would’ve been not weak if she wasn’t already fucking soaking ). “Not a lot of people can pull off a minute-long make out scene while off stage.”

     Mel smiles back at her with that mischievous look in her eye before turning to watch Viktor’s following monologue as Friar Lawrence, and Vi leans back and crosses her arms, because that seemed a little pointed.

     They make it through scene three and a few ways into scene four when Ekko and Vi’s preemptive timer for the lasagna goes off, and everyone’s mind turns to food. Ekko removes the glass platter from the oven and they both take bites out of it; he’s very proud of himself as he declares it doesn’t need to cook any longer and that it’s perfect, calling Powder over to help serve everyone a piece in paper bowls.

     “Ekko, go help Sevika with serving pizza,” Powder orders of him as the last piece of lasagna has been sanctioned off. Stunned, Ekko begins to protest, and Powder shushes him. “Look at her, she barely looks like she knows how to hold a pizza—” this is pointedly not true— “Vi and I can do the cleaning. Come on, chop chop.”

     “What was that for?” Vi asks her as Ekko stumbles off, almost getting rejected by Sevika when he offers to help. “She doesn’t need help, and we could use it with all the cookware he uses for this—”

     “I had a little chat with Caitlyn,” Powder tells her under her breath, loading a few spatulas into the sink.

     Vi’s shock ascends to the heavens and her eyebrows maybe higher. “You what ?”

“When she came in for the measurements,” Powder explains, turning to her. “You didn’t see the way she was looking at you, it was like she didn’t care what had happened, what she did—”

     Vi might as well be in another dimension at this point. “What did you say to her?” 

     “It’s nothing, relax,” Powder replies, shrugging. “I just told that because you’re co-stars doesn’t mean that you don’t have boundaries, you know, shit like that—”

     “Pow, these are my problems to deal with,” Vi says, waving around a lasagna-muddied fork. Powder looks at her incredulously, those wide eyes somehow getting wider. “I’m an adult, she’s an adult, we can manage these things on our own—”

     “Certainly didn’t seem like it,” Powder snaps, throwing a hand toward the living room where she and Caitlyn had made out twenty minutes ago; Caitlyn’s sitting in the spot she had been, absently plucking from a stack of salami as she types away on her computer. “What were you thinking? You know what she did, why are you just flying around without a flying fuck about how this will affect y—”

     “We’ve had conversations about this,” Vi tells her, which is somewhat true, averting her eyes by grabbing a towel from the oven handle and wiping down fallen scraps. “Conversations you haven’t listened to. If I didn’t think I could handle this I would’ve told Ekko to fuck off and dropped out, and she would’ve done the same. You know I don’t need these battles fought for me—”

     “How was I supposed to know that?” Powder asks, and before Vi’s about to reason that that’s the whole point of private conversations, she says, “I know you, Vi. You didn’t know who you were without her and you hardly know who you are now, I couldn’t just—”

     Vi’s wiping down the counter vigorously now; the glass platter that had held the lasagna is getting in her way, and she makes to move it. “What the hell is that—”

     Powder launches forward. “Careful!”

     She’s too late. Vi’s hand makes contact with the apparently still very, very hot glass, fingers gripping the handles and ready to lift it up until sharp heat flashes through her nerves and pain shoots through her palm, releasing the handle all too quick and the corner hits the counter, glass pieces splintering off and a pointed triangle catches Vi’s wrist.

     “Fuck!” Vi shouts as the sound of glass shattering flashes through the room, and barely registers the blood beginning to rise above her skin. She looks to Powder, scanning her arms for injury— “Are you okay—ow! Hey!”

     A hand’s gripped her arm just above the cut and is dragging her out of the kitchen, and before Vi can register who it is, her burnt hand is plunged straight into the ice bucket at the end of the potluck table, holding the wine.

     Vi almost yells, “What the fuck?”

     “I don’t think that was quick enough.” And that’s—Caitlyn’s voice, Caitlyn’s hand with thin rings on her fingers gripping her arm. “How does your hand feel?”

     “Cold! Caitlyn, what the hell?”

     Blood’s seeping out of her cut and making swirls throughout the water. “Well, that’s good,” Caitlyn sighs, and it’s then Vi catches a glimpse of her face—worry etched into those stunning irises, biting her lip. “Sorry—if you put cold water on a burn immediately it could significantly reduce the damage. But—ugh, we have to treat your cut—Powder, do you have bandages?”

     “Move over,” Powder snarls, and Caitlyn moves away, but not without shoving Vi’s hand deeper into the bucket as if telling her to stay. Powder peers over Vi’s shoulder to observe the injury and says, “Just smack a bandaid over that and she’s fine.”

     “No,” Caitlyn says with determination, stepping forward, “that’s several inches long, I highly doubt you have a patch that big and even then it would be as wide as it is tall and that’s inappropriate for a thin wound—”

     Vi looks over to where Caitlyn had apparently bolted out of her seat—her computer’s still open, a Google Document still shining bright, the screen barely even pushed down as if she didn’t care who read her work or considered closing it to take too much time.

     “Is everyone alright?” Viktor approaches and asks for the whole group.

     “Yeah, she’s fine,” Powder tells him, and turns back to Caitlyn, “and you don’t know what she can handle, she’s my sister—”

     “I don’t care if she can handle it healing with a bandaid over it,” Caitlyn growls. “What she can handle means nothing if the wound gets infected from improper care. Do you have bandages or not? ”

     “Can you two stop talking as if I’m not right here?” Vi says, to no avail.

     “They’re in the bathroom,” Powder says, face screwing up in the way Vi knows she’s upset, “and I’ll handle it, what authority do you have talking all—”

     “My father’s a doctor, I know what to do from here—”

     “And how does your dad being a doctor help your skill in bandaging up my sister?”

     “Pow, just let her do it,” Vi says, exasperated. She’s getting sick of being bent over a coffee table and her wrist’s getting cold. “She’s telling the truth, she’s patched me up after a match before.”

     Caitlyn makes a satisfied face at Powder, somewhat hm! -ing at her before grabbing Vi by the bicep and shoving her toward the bathroom.

     She flicks on the light and shuts the door with her foot, and finally, chatter died away, they both take a breath.

     Vi looks up at her. Caitlyn is genuinely bothered; her brows are furrowed again, mouth pinched as she turns to Vi. “I don’t think your sister likes me,” Caitlyn says tentatively, breaking the iceberg.

     Chuckling, Vi says, “No shit.”

     This seems to get Caitlyn back in order. “Come here,” she says, patting the counter before moving to pull open drawers. “Sit. Put pressure on it, we need to reduce the bleeding, especially since it’s by your wrists.”

     Not exactly in a position to resist, Vi hops up onto the counter and takes the wad of toilet paper Caitlyn hands to her, pressing on the cut. She winces, rolls her neck, and Caitlyn looks at her.

     “Here,” Caitlyn says, taking Vi by the wrist and turning the faucet onto the coldest it can go, guiding Vi’s palm underneath the rush of water. “This should help with the burn. Tell me if it hurts.”

     Caitlyn resumes her search for the bandages in stale silence with only the sound of the faucet running and drawers opening and closing. She finds them eventually, compiling varying sizes on the opposite counter before choosing and approaching Vi with it and a small tube of Neosporin.

     “This isn’t the best, but will have to do, and I’m certain you have the right products to manage it,” Caitlyn says. Her movements are slower now, less demanding as she steps between Vi’s open legs. “How’s your hand?”

     Vi shrugs. “You just wanna see it?”

     Caitlyn nods. Vi removes her hand from the running water and presents it to her. Caitlyn takes her hand gently, way too gently, by the wrist and inspects it, apparently uncaring of the water dripping onto her expensive sweatpants and fingers pressing gently onto the pads of Vi’s palm.

     “A little red, but not puffy. Maybe I was quick enough, unless—” Caitlyn bites her lip, and presses down with two fingers— “can you feel that?”

     “Yep, all good.”

     “Does it hurt?”

     Vi tilts her head from side to side. “A little. Nothing I can’t handle.” She nods down at the cut she’s currently pressing on. “This hurts more.”

     “It’s not about what you can handle, but that’s good,” Caitlyn says with a sigh, turning off the faucet. “We can probably wrap it and after a night’s sleep and maybe a day you should be able to do everything with minimal pain.”

     “Can I box?”

     “Do you slap people while boxing?”

     Vi chuckles, and almost laughs. “No.”

     Caitlyn smirks, and reaches for Vi’s other hand with hers. She gently lifts the toilet paper wad off the wound and inspects; it’s barely bleeding anymore, only small bubbles of blood threaten to breach the surface. “Good,” Caitlyn says. She presses Vi’s hand back down. “Do you feel faint at all?”

     Caitlyn looks up at her, and Vi’s eyes move to avoid her gaze, locking on her lips. “Yeah,” she says, suddenly.

     “Really?” Caitlyn’s voice wavers with concern.

     “Oh,” Vi says, shaking her head and moving her eyes. “No. No, I don’t, sorry.”

     Caitlyn squints at her in confusion, but doesn’t say anything. She leans back a bit and toys with her bandages of choice, silence springing up between them. Caitlyn swallows. Vi stares at a dried drip of paint on the wall.

     “I think it’s fine, Cait,” Vi says before it becomes too much to bear.

     “Yes, you’re right,” Caitlyn says, breathing out and moving Vi’s hand toward her. “I’ll do your palm first. Do you feel more comfortable drying it off yours—?”

     “It doesn’t hurt that much, Cupcake,” Vi says as Caitlyn grabs a hand towel off a nearby rack. “I know you’ve got it.”

Caitlyn glances up, and Vi can’t avoid meeting her eyes this time. Her breath catches, and she understands: that was almost as bad as telling Caitlyn that she trusts her. Thankfully, Caitlyn just nods and resumes her work, gently patting down Vi’s hand with far too much care until it’s dry, before choosing to go with gauze instead of bandages for her hand and begins wrapping.

     “Gauze should cushion it better,” Caitlyn explains, eyes dutifully locked on her work. She moves around the nook between Vi’s thumb and pointer finger before switching into a figure-eight pattern and wrapping around her wrist in the opposite direction. “Just don’t—slap someone, or anything. Be cautious about it, use your left hand to open doors and things.”

     “Got it, doc,” Vi says. “Ever thought about being a pre-med major?”

     “And deal with the same organic-chemistry professor you had? Please, spare me.”

     Vi nearly smiles and catches herself. What the hell is happening here? Powder was right, she could handle just slapping a bandaid over it and calling it a day, or waiting until she got back to her apartment because she did, in fact, have everything she needed, being a sports-science major. This isn’t warranted; this makes Vi think Caitlyn cares, and this is an issue because Caitlyn doesn’t care so Vi doesn’t care, but if one side were to flip—

     Caitlyn finishes up the wrapping and tucks the open end securely under one of the wraps. “Move it around,” she instructs, and Vi does so, testing her range of motion. “Okay, good, secure. Let’s do the cut now.”

     When Vi lifts the bloodied wad of toilet paper off, the bleeding has fully stopped. Caitlyn makes a satisfied noise and brings her arm closer, fingers tender as Neosporin oozes onto the cut and she begins to navigate the skin and area around Vi’s wound.

     “Tell me if it’s too tight, or if it hurts,” Caitlyn says, and Vi nods before she begins to wrap, in a similar figure-eight figure from the other wrapping.

     Vi sighs, her ass beginning to complain from sitting on the hard counter. She dials on Caitlyn’s face and takes in that focused, determined look in her eyes, worry in the wrinkles of her eyebrows, tongue between her teeth. She’s way too concerned about this.

     “Why are you doing this, Cait?” Vi says, quietly. “You could’ve let Powder do it.”

     “Powder would’ve gotten it infected—”

     “Or let me do it later. You know I have everything I need back home.”

     Caitlyn holds her breath for a second, pausing and eyes squeezing together for a fraction of a second, then lets it out and continues. The tips of her fingers brush over Vi’s skin with every pass.

     “For all that did and has happened,” Caitlyn answers slowly, timidly, like she’s giving a speech she’s practiced one thousand times for a million, very important people, “the other day…you were kind and patient with me.” She adjusts the angle on the wrapping and keeps going. “A kindness I don’t deserve.”

     Caitlyn’s face is close to hers; ducked down, yes, but if Vi turned her head she could nose into Caitlyn’s hair and rest her head against hers. 

     “And you think I deserve it?” Vi asks her. She gently raises her injured arm, where Caitlyn’s bandaging her with care. “This?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head. “More than I do.” She stops and digs her nail into the bandaging, the cheap material tearing at the pressure. “That day—did I… overstep?”

     There are several days she could be talking about—the audition, the party, the evening in the dressing room, any rehearsal they’ve kissed at—but she doesn’t have to clarify.

     “No,” Vi replies, and she doesn’t know that it’s true until she says it. “No, you didn’t. I sought you out.”

     “There were actions from both sides,” Caitlyn says, tucking the end of the wrapping under the others. She’s pointedly Not Looking™ at Vi. “You know I can get… overzealous. I think things through but I somehow always overlook the actual aftermath. I don’t want that to happen with you—it can’t happen with you.”

     The not again that seems like it should come after is unspoken, but they both hear it.

     “I know Powder talked to you,” Vi says, and Caitlyn looks up in alarm. “Chill out, Cait. I don’t know what she told you, but everything’s that happened since the audition… I did it because I decided to do it. I wanted it.”

     The tension in Caitlyn’s body seems to fall away and sink down the drain—just like that.

     “Are there recent boundaries set that I don’t know about?” Caitlyn asks her. Her hand is still holding Vi’s, even with the wraps done. She’s way too quiet, she’s way too scared, this isn’t the Caitlyn Kiramman Vi knows and it’s borderline scaring her —

     “No,” Vi says. “Not yet. I would tell you.”

     The implication’s there—maybe Caitlyn picks up on it, maybe she doesn’t, but Vi doesn’t get to know: a sharp rapping of knuckles on the door shocks them both, and Caitlyn steps back.

     “Hurry up in there!” It’s Powder’s voice. “Some of us have to take a leak!”

     “Right,” Caitlyn says, still barely a whisper, and the tips of her fingers squeeze Vi’s as she pulls further away. She pulls open the drawer where the bandages belong and tosses the materials in there, pushing them shut with her knee. “Um. We should go.”

     “Yeah, and you gotta get back to your assignment,” Vi says, testing out her arm with bandages on it as she stands. “Thanks.”

     “Of course,” Caitlyn says and notably does not comment on the second part of the sentence. She meets Vi’s eyes, nods once, and pulls the door open, leaving it astray for Vi to follow.

     Vi looks down at the bandages and runs her fingers over them. “Okay,” she says to herself, and departs.

Chapter Text

@pewpewpowder posted a new story.

     Curious, Vi leans back in her chair, not paying attention to her sports management lecture and clicking on the notification.

     Powder has posted a series of song lyrics from Spotify, the purple background flashing in Vi’s face and reading from Taylor Swift’s song Mean ; specifically, the lyrics “All you are is mean, and a liar, and pathetic, and alone in life and mean,” like a child.

     Vi rolls her eyes and swipes up on the story.

@onegirlwreckingcrew
really?

     Powder responds within the minute, as if waiting for Vi to respond specifically.

@pewpewpowder

u don’t fuck with taylor?

@onegirlwreckingcrew

do you? or did you look up best revenge story ideas and go with that one

     Vi searches up that exact same prompt and alas, there it is, under the first link. She attaches the article to their text stream, in which Powder replies:

@pewpewpowder

ur moms a best revenge story idea

     Vi could not have rolled her eyes any harder; any harder and she would’ve rolled out of her seat like a fucking rolly-polly. When Powder breaks out the your mom jokes, it means it’s time to move in.

@onegirlwreckingcrew

do you want to study together sometime soon?

@pewpewpowder

ur free time isn’t all taken up scissoring caitlyn kiramman?

or is she busy breaking computers?

@onegirlwreckingcrew

yours isnt all taken up wondering how lesbian sex works?

and that wasn’t even her fault

@pewpewpowder

ahhhhh i see

ur fucking her rn

     Vi reads that text over four million times to make sure she’s reading it in the right context and that Powder hasn’t found out that she has done that. Recently.

@onegirlwreckingcrew

no im in class we literally have a family spreadsheet with everyone’s classes

cmon you wanna talk or what

     Powder takes a minute to reply while Vi fidgets with the edge of her bandages. It’s the start of a fresh new week, the Monday after Powder’s get-together, and Vi had been planning to take off the one on her palm the following morning and replace the bandanges on the cut that night, if it wasn’t already healed. She inspects the slowly yellowing edges as she bounces her leg up and down, up and down, and, not for the first time, realizes Caitlyn really had done a good job.

     Her phone signifies Powder’s response by lighting up her lock screen: a family photo of her, Powder, Mylo, Claggor, Ekko, Vander, and Benzo on vacation three years ago, after her first semester of college, posing with a snowman they’d all made up in the mountains. Notably, Powder has a snowball in her palm, just sticking out from where she hid it behind her back, which she promptly threw at Mylo seconds after the picture was taken.

@pewpewpowder

spreadsheet says ur free b4 rehearsal tmr

@onegirlwreckingcrew

yeah i am

@pewpewpowder

2:15 fine? normal spot

     Vi breathes a sigh of relief.

@onegirlwreckingcrew

yep

thanks pow

     Powder doesn’t reply; instead, the revenge story deletes itself, like it’s purpose has been properly served. Vi chuckles and shakes her head, amused, before putting her phone down and attempting to pay attention.

↠↢

“Hey, sprout.”

     Caitlyn looks up, buried in her work at the usual cafe she frequents. Jayce stands before her, backpack slung over his shoulder and smiling weakly at her. “Mind if I join you?” he asks.

     “Where would you go if I didn’t say yes?” Caitlyn replies, smiling, and Jayce shakes his head and falls into the seat across from her. She doesn’t bother asking how he found her; her study spots are as predictable as a moth to a flame. This one, named without much creativity as Innovator’s Coffee House, has become a favorite, mainly because it’s close to her apartment with steampunk-esque cozy decor and just enough proximity to campus that it’s always busy and if she can find a seat, she’ll be indistinguishable from every other student. “What are you doing over here?”

     Jayce lives closer to campus, in a college-owned apartment with Viktor since he and Viktor receive funding from PAI to live there; keep them close to the university, keep their commute to the lab short, and maybe they’ll spit out revolutionary inventions faster. Caitlyn had visited a few times, and each time she is surprised they haven’t yet merged bedrooms.

     “Looking for you, of course,” Jayce replies. Caitlyn tilts her computer screen down and tilts her head in the same manner. “I thought it’d be nice to catch up.”

     “We saw each other two days ago.”

     “And we really didn’t get much of a chance to chat, did we?”

     Caitlyn supposes she can’t argue with that, considering Saturday had been rehearsing and making out with Vi in front of everyone and then being confronted by Vi’s little sister about that exact thing and then going off and locking her and Vi in a bathroom anyway. She flips her computer screen up, checking in on her calendar; the research paper she has due next week is about a fourth of the way done, and a few articles she needs to read linger on the horizon of her various tabs, but she supposes she can spare a few moments to indulge Jayce. She hums to herself, then closes her computer. Only taking three classes this semester has quite flipped her view. These lost moments she’s about to waste would’ve been worth gold to her the past few years, and if Jayce had showed up out of the blue like this in the past, she would’ve let him sit down and had them sit in silence as she continued.

     “Did Mel send you here to check on me?” Caitlyn asks him, leaning back and crossing her arms. “She left me apple slices and peanut butter on the counter this morning, like she’s meal-prepping for me or something.”

     “She did not,” Jayce replies aimlessly, then seems to understand the latter sentence and perks up. “You did eat them though, right? Peanut butter is great for protein.”

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes and digs through her bag, displaying the empty glass tupperware with peanut butter staining the sides to him for proof.

     “Good. And why is everything so calculated with you? Can’t we just hang out?”

     “Live with my parents for eighteen years and you’d understand,” Caitlyn mumbles. She tugs her puffy jacket over her arms and shifts her fleece-tights-lined legs. “How have you been, then?”

     “Closing up our senior thesis project has been like falling down a damn ravine,” Jayce grumbles, running a hang over his face, and Caitlyn notes how he refers to him and Viktor as an item so easily. “We’re free falling, we make a good development, we get more funding, then a rock kicks itself out and the prototype fails and our investors raise a dozen eyebrows.”

     “Well,” Caitlyn considers, “from a linguistics standpoint, that’s why prototypes begin with pro , because they’re not the final product.”

     Jayce chuckles wholeheartedly. “Thanks for your analysis, Cait.”

     “And I’m sure Viktor has already made a thousand notes and calculations on what went wrong.”

     “Yes, pulling all-nighters like he’s nocturnal,” Jayce says, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “He thinks there’s something up with the energy conduits in the reactors, because the circuits in area two are failing before the mechanisms in area five even flare up. But that should be an easy fix and we can’t locate it.”

     This sounds like gibberish to Caitlyn, even with her single general education course in electrical engineering and her basic knowledge of Viktor and Jayce’s specialization in making factory equipment less dangerous and more humanely accessible. As far as she knows, they’re working on machines that mass produce human prosthetics and better ventilation of the fumes produced from them in the actual machine themselves, but that’s about it.

     Caitlyn shrugs. “You could ask the others during rehearsal. I’m sure they’d love to bandwagon on a senior’s thesis project.”

     Jayce thinks about this, considering the way his eyes fade out and lock on something above Caitlyn’s left shoulder. “Yeah, Ekko does have experience with his and Powder’s energy conserver, I know Mylo and Claggor are doing something with ventilation in Zaun, and I think they like me,” he says, seeming very concerned with if the group appreciates his presence or not as if that is the final deciding factor of his work’s legacy, and then shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. “Speaking of. You and Vi?”

     Caitlyn had been hoping this topic wouldn’t come up. She averts her eyes and taps her fingers where they rest on her opposite forearm. “What about her?”

     “You both seem… eager to work with each other.”

     She scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean?”

     Jayce raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just stating what I observe. For two very passionate people who broke up with very angry words, you both seem quite fine with making out every four seconds.”

     “We insult each other on a daily basis. Did you hear her call me an absolute walnut the other day? When I stumbled handing her a piece of my pie?”

     “Well, you’re playing with a double sided coin,” Jayce remarks. Concocting a magic trick he uses to entice kids, he pulls a coin from behind his ear and turns it between two fingers, displaying one side to her. “You’ve got absolute hatred; complete, utter loathing, the uncontrollable urge to flip them off and insult one another and if given the chance, throw them out a window.” He flips the coin. “And then, you’ve got love. Very easily overturned. Kinda what Romeo and Juliet is all about.”

     “If Romeo and Juliet were actively playing out, in real life, right now,” Caitlyn replies, sneering, “Vi would be Mercutio, I’d be Tybalt, and Powder would be Romeo, avenging Vi’s death by killing me.”

     “They’re very protective of each other, aren’t they?”

     Caitlyn is eager to change the topic, and takes the bait. She doesn’t like what Jayce is implying with that metaphor of his. “You have no idea,” she says, mind drifting to Powder taking her measurements with malice, wrapping the tape measure around her waist and chest a little too tightly, barely letting Caitlyn get a word in while rambling on about Vi’s state of mind, tinged with a warning. “Vi’s known Ekko her whole life and every time he looks in Powder’s direction…she could be in the middle of laughing and then immediately go silent.”

     Jayce tilts his head. “I’ve never noticed that.”

     Caitlyn scowls as hard as she possibly can. “What’s going on with you and Viktor?” she asks instead of defending herself with she’s my costar of course I’m looking and shit like that, redirecting.

     “I don’t know!” Jayce exclaims, suddenly in distress. Caitlyn holds in her laugh for his sake. “I know I’m in love with him, okay, you all tease me about it but I got it , and one second I think we’re getting somewhere and he’s like sitting closer to me at the lab but the next I think Sky’s in love with him and he plays into it? But he’s also just very polite?”

     Caitlyn cannot withstand her laughter any longer. “Do I tell him or do I let him find out himself?” she chuckles to herself, as if Jayce can’t hear her.

     “Tell me what?” Jayce asks, eyes wide, thankfully having forgotten about the previous topic.

     “Viktor’s obviously in love with you,” she says. “He treats you with the upmost respect and the upmost care. He doesn’t entertain Sky’s advances, he walks her home because Sky lives in the apartment building next to yours and they both like to leave events early. Has Mel not told you this?”

     “Mel’s just persuasive so I try not to believe her,” Jayce says with despair, hands running up and down his face. “Do you really think so?”

     “Why else would he stick around you?” Jayce glares at her. “I’m just joking. Of course I think so. He spends half of rehearsal when he’s not in the scene reviewing the lines opposite Tybalt so one day, if you ask, he can help you rehearse.”

     “I’ve never asked,” Jayce mumbles to himself, that shoots up out of his chair like a rocket. “I’ve never asked! I have to go ask him! And then—”

     He picks up his bag with haste and shoves in his chair. “Cait,” he says to her, “I mean this outside of what you just told me. Chill off the books. Come hang out with us more. We miss you.”

     With that, he races off, flying through the double doors and out into the Piltover streets. Caitlyn chuckles to herself and flips open her laptop, left with much to think about about a certain Zaunite boxer and with a small, growing will to clear up some time in her calendar.

↠↢

Vi pushes open the door to the clocktower on the eastern end of campus and readies herself to haul herself up eight flights of stairs.

     She’s a little early, but she hadn’t had much else to do instead. Besides, Powder’s upset with her, not vice versa, and it wouldn’t look too good to arrive late to a talking-it-out session. Vi eyes the awaiting flights, convincing herself it’s no different from the stairmaster at the gym. Huffing, she begins the climb.

     They’d found this spot before either of them were enrolled in the school, back when getting accepted was a dream that felt so far, and frankly unattainable. In the midst of the night, chasing each other through the streets of neighboring Piltover, they’d ramble about the campus and fantasize about what they’d do when they’d attend, pointing at buildings that didn’t have obvious signage and making up classes they may have in them. School is not Vi’s strong suit: she’s smart, smart enough to get in and last, though not her greatest joy nor her greatest feat in life, but she knew it’s where she had to go if she wanted to make sure the family was stable, especially since Vander would have to start showing signs of disease from the fissure airs down in the mines at some point.

     One night, they’d found the clocktower, boring and unnamed, and decided to ascend the stairs.

     Each ‘floor,’ she later learned, was marked with a window, looking out at various angles of the city. The eighth floor, she and Powder eventually deduced, had the greatest view, looking out over the eastern end of the city and the ocean beyond it. So, another time, Powder had brought along her tools, adjusting the locks and bolts to be able to remove the window, set it off to the side, sit on the ledge with their legs dangling out, and replace it with ease. The clocktower was old and neglected, the bolts had never been replaced or tampered with, the window facing the east and being on the east end meant no one would be able to see them while on campus, and if they timed their escapades right, they could avoid the routine musician that would ascend the stairs five minutes before and after each hour to sound the bell.

     This, apparently, was more fun than going the extra three flights to sit where the bell does, and that door was typically locked. Some part of Powder, Vi knew, never really liked railings anyway.

     Vi reaches the malformed window and performs the ritual she’d done maybe hundreds of times over the past few years, turning the knobs Powder installed to keep the window in place like a picture frame before letting it fall backward into her waiting hands, hauling it carefully off the ledge. Then, she hops up and waits.

     Powder doesn’t take long, also appearing somewhat early, and Vi hears her before she sees her: “Managed not to break glass twice this week, I see.”

     Vi chuckles. “Nothing a bandaid wouldn’t fix, if I did.”

     She hears her little sister scoff, then climb the withering limestone and slide into place next to her. On her right, always on her right.

     Powder has her hair down today, cropped at her shoulders, and the wind lifts a few strands that tickle her neck, electric blue jacket draped over her shoulders. She pulls her knees to her chest and drops her pointed chin onto them. Classic Powder. She knows her sister.

     “You gonna miss this place?” Powder asks her, staring out at the open city. The water gleams under the unnaturally sunny day, snow melting off slanted ceilings of townhouses and the air crisp.

     Vi clicks her heels against the tower. “You think I’m leaving?”

     Powder shrugs. “I guess that’s true.” She scratches her painted nails against the stone, small particles moving to the side. “You always have been a sentimental little bitch.”

     Vi doesn’t take the bait. “Did you take Ekko to get his ear pierced because Benzo would never let him?”

     “Ekko’s an adult. He can get piercings if he wants.”

     “And I’m sure he chose eighteen-karat gold-filled huggies all by himself.”

     Powder hmph s. “It was for Christmas.”

     Proven right and half-assed insult countered, Vi lets the topic settle. She doesn’t want to push this. Powder had liked Caitlyn when they started dating, mainly because Caitlyn would bring her random broken things to tinker with, an opportunity she didn’t get much being a mere high-school sophomore volunteer in the engineering department. That had changed dramatically when Caitlyn’s next and final delivery was a ragged, broken-hearted older sister.

     Now a college freshman with a resume that would rival some seniors here, nineteen year old Powder hesitates before she says, “Did she patch you up okay?”

     Vi looks down at her hand. She’d taken both of the bandanges off, both injuries mostly healed. Maybe she’d feel a little pain if she slapped someone, like Caitlyn had said, but otherwise usable.

     “Think so,” Vi responds. “Not dead, am I?”

     “Not yet,” Powder says, almost a warning while Vi rolls her eyes. “I don’t get it. One second we’re on the same page about the bitch, the next you’re shoving your tongue down her throat at rehearsal and leaving rooms at the same time—”

     “Hey, that’s a genuine coincidence—”

     “—and sitting next to each other while you’re not in the scene.” Powder pointedly ignores her interjection. “You can’t blame me if I thought something else was going on. She’s not a good person, Vi.”

     “You think I’m that easily manipulated?”

     Powder eyes her. “Maybe.”

     Vi sighs, turning Powder’s words over in her mind. Caitlyn had had a lot of faults, and Vi doesn’t know her well enough now to deduce if she still had them all. In the beginning, she’d assumed so. Now…

     “I’m not disagreeing with you,” Vi begins, slowly, making sure her words are true. “And I know just about as much as you do. But. I’m not saying she’s changed, but she isn’t exactly… the same.” She runs her thumb over her previously burnt palm. “Caitlyn post-break-up wouldn’t have… she wouldn’t have bothered getting up from the couch.”

     Powder considers this, forming a tic-tac-toe grid on the dust on the ledge. “No,” Powder says, and that’s all she needs to say for Vi to know she understands.

     “And I’m not saying to trust everything she does, because I definitely still don’t,” Vi continues. “I’m just asking you to trust me. She may be different now, and I think I am too. I can figure these things out.”

     “I meant what I said,” Powder combats, now making violent x’s and o’s in her own game of tic-tac-toe. “You didn’t know who you were without her. For months it was Caitlyn this, Caitlyn that, Caitlyn’s going to fucking Ireland to party with the leprechauns and I’m going with her! Your life’s motivation was to be with her . You were Caitlyn’s girlfriend , not my sister.”

     “I know,” Vi says, anger rising within her chest, “you don’t think I know that?”

     The fallout was so bad she almost switched her major to business to not have to deal with the constant exams and stress of her lower division requirements. Business. Vi, a businesswoman?

     “I knew you knew that before we all decided to become theatre kids,” Powder says. The x’s in her game are currently winning. “I wasn’t sure if you still knew that now. You still hardly know who you are.”

     “I do,” Vi says, and finally turns to her. “Pow, of course I know that. My place is with you . There hasn’t been one instant since that I’ve let some girl come between us. I’m not gonna let that happen again.” She nudges Powder’s knee with her own. “I promise. I promise I know what I’m doing.”

     Powder scratches a line through a sudden win for the o team, side of her nail splintering, lips pursing and eventually opening to let a sigh through them.

     “I’ll check in with you next time,” she says, skipping over the apology. “Okay?”

     “Okay,” Vi says, relief flooding through her. “Thanks.”

     “She still a good kisser?”

     Vi shakes her head with a laugh. “Does it count if she’s acting?”

     “Yes, then?” If Vi answers that, she’ll never hear the end of it, so she doesn’t say anything. Powder takes the silence and chuckles. “At least she has something going for her.”
Coming from Powder, Vi realizes as they make their way down the stairs to rehearsal a few minutes later, that’s almost as good as approval.

     Everyone’s made it a habit to get to rehearsal a little early if they have the bandwidth for it in their schedule, lingering around backstage as backpacks got thrown into dressing rooms and the binding of the scripts scratching against zippers as they got pulled out. Vi and Powder slip in through the auditorium doors and spot Caitlyn making her way into backstage, chatting with Mel and Elora and braving a navy dress with vertically-lined black stripes accompanied by black leg warmers today, back covered by a cropped puffy jacket but that doesn’t really matter when fifty-percent of her legs are exposed and Vi’s mouth goes dry.

     “She’s lucky you got to me before I started on her costume,” Powder says to her, shaking Vi out of it. “I was going to make her the most uncomfortable pair of angel wings known to man.”

     “Powder!”

     Powder cackles and hurries off while Vi is still unsure if Powder will carry that plan out regardless just to spite her.

     Vi makes quick work of settling her stuff in her dressing room, plopping her script on the couch and making sure her keys are still in her bag before realizing she can just attach the carabiner to her jeans. That’s when Caitlyn knocks on the doorframe, leaning on it when Vi lifts her head.

     She’s taken off her jacket, and Vi can see the front of her dress now—the neckline is a scoopneck and has slight ruffles that run up the side of the straps, and is maybe made of denim or something similar. Gods, they’re doing the church scene where Romeo and Juliet get married today and Vi might kill herself.

     “How’s your hand?” Caitlyn asks her, arms crossing over her chest. Bummer.

     Vi shrugs, holding it up before beckoning Caitlyn over. Caitlyn crosses the distance between them, hesitating before gently taking Vi’s arm and hand in hers.

     “You took the bandages off,” Caitlyn notes the obvious.

     If Vi shrugs one more time her shoulders are going to fall off. “I think everything’s good, don’t you, doc?”

     “I think so,” Caitlyn says, raising Vi’s hand closer to her face. Vi stops herself from looking down. “You’re lucky you didn’t burn yourself enough to get pus under your palm. It’s like a plastic bag of piss when it’s really bad—”

     “Gross,” Vi says. “Didn’t have to put that image in my mind, Cupcake.”

     Caitlyn smirks, and meets Vi’s eyes. “I’m glad it didn’t come to that. I heard it could as it healed..”

     “Me too,” Vi murmurs, as Caitlyn is very close to her and maybe just reapplied perfume because the scent of lavender and mint intoxicate her senses. “Um. Nice dress,” Vi says, to stop herself from saying something else.

     Caitlyn hums, smirk lingering. “Yeah, you think so?”

     So. Maybe Caitlyn had picked up what Vi put down back in Powder’s bathroom after all.

     Another knock on the doorframe launches Vi’s hand out of Caitlyn’s.

     “It’s three,” Claggor says, eyes searching but alas ending up confused as he surveys the situation. “Your hand still bothering you, Vi?”

     “It’s never been better,” Vi replies quickly to calm Caitlyn’s quickly growing concern, and grabs her script before heading toward the door. She nods toward Caitlyn for her to come along. “Let’s go get married.”

     It’s not as bad as Vi had been expecting. The scene is rather short, in the play and in the movie, and no kissing’s involved. Vi had half a mind that Salo’s perverted mind would add a kiss in there, but he doesn’t instruct Ambessa to craft one and she can’t tell if that’s a relief or a shame. But Ambessa’s more concerned with how Caitlyn walks downstage, mimicking the church aisle, and the speed of which she does so, and Vi can feel Caitlyn’s previous flirty behavior morphing into frustration as time goes on.

     They finish that scene in less than an hour and Salo decides to move onto reading over act three as a class, considering he hadn’t yet assigned to have it memorized yet. So that’s how rehearsal goes, mostly uneventful and calm. At five, they all retreat backstage again and pack up for the night.

     Vi takes a minute packing up, taking the time to check the gym schedule and make sure she’s not leading another training before realizing they don’t even have training today and resigning herself to practicing on her own. She’s pulling on her motorcycle gloves when she hears Caitlyn’s dressing room door open from beside hers, and Caitlyn’s voice slowly fading away: “Hi Dad, yes, rehearsal went well…”

     Alright, no chance there. Vi finishes packing up her things and pulls her backpack on, flipping the lightswitch in her dressing room off and closing the door.

     She makes it halfway out of the auditorium before Caitlyn’s voice enters her hearing again, and upon more investigation, Caitlyn’s on the phone outside in the foyer, without her backpack or anything indicating she was on her way out, cordial voice gone and her free hand up by her face.

     “Lest told you what? ” Caitlyn says into the phone, and, unwilling to walk right past Caitlyn when that would signify to Caitlyn that she heard any of this conversation, Vi retreats into the darkness the auditorium grants her, lingering behind the open doors.

     “You had no right to break into the hospital computers ,” Caitlyn hisses, eyebows furrowed and eyes aflame. “I don’t care if it was left open! This must be some sort of HIPAA violation—I don’t care if you’re the head of the department!”

     Caitlyn turns her back to the auditorium doors with a scoff. “I’m not your patient, I wasn’t even messaging for myself. Lest didn’t tell you because this isn’t your matter to deal with—”

     Caitlyn’s dad—presumably, probably—fires back with such volume that even Vi can hear the beginning of his sentence, quoting Caitlyn’s “ Not my matter—! ”

     A moment of stale silence, until Caitlyn retorts, “Again, I’m not the patient! Something happened to a castmate at a gathering, I was just making sure I had my facts right from a trusted source—” a pause— “that’s the point! I trust Lest! I didn’t ask you because I knew you’d react like this!”

     It takes Vi a second to realize that—Caitlyn is talking about her. Caitlyn… Caitlyn had contacted one of her dad’s medical friends to make sure she’d given Vi the right treatment.

     “You don’t need—Father, for the final time, I’m fine! It was an honest mistake that anyone could’ve made and it doesn’t need to be reported to the bloody student health department—don’t—”

     Caitlyn momentarily throws her hands up before returning the phone to her ear, walking around in a circle. “There won’t be a next time,” Caitlyn says, only marginally calmer, if only to end the conversation faster. “I know. Okay.” She raises her hand to cradle her elbow and Vi recognizes the telltale tapping of two fingers. “Yes, the castmate’s alright.” Another scoff. “You can’t forbid me from going to anymore gatherings , I am fully twenty-two—”

     This seems to kick things back up a notch, as Caitlyn rushes to speak: “No, Dad, no no no no please don’t—”

     A hang-up sound echoes from Caitlyn’s phone, and Caitlyn breathes out once before groaning, and Vi spots her running her hand through her hair as Vi turns and presses her back to the wall behind her. What the hell does she do from here? This alters things, a bit—Caitlyn talking about her to an outside source, albeit as a castmate. Alright. Best course of action is to walk out as if she heard absolutely nothing and let Caitlyn give her a courteous smile—

     When she does exactly that, turning around and ambling out of the auditorium, the intensity with which Caitlyn meets her eyes makes her stop in her tracks.

     “Hey,” Vi says, at a loss for anything else.

     A moment passes. Another. Caitlyn looks at her with a wild expression on her face, frustrated and angry and perhaps harboring pent-up rage, and as another stalled second passes, Caitlyn shakes her head, growls, “I need a distraction,” and then is rushing at Vi and crushing their lips together.

     Vi stumbles back with surprise—then catches herself and reciprocates, because alright, and mentally tosses just this once out the window with today’s series of events, and with the way Caitlyn is kissing her, grabbing at her hair, slipping a tongue through without preamble, jaw set and unyielding. Again, she’s pushing —and then really pushing, making Vi walk backward until Vi’s back is up against the door to the sound and lighting booth, until Vi breaks the kiss to open it and shove Caitlyn inside, using Caitlyn’s back to shut it behind her.

     Caitlyn’s phone lands on a nearby table and Vi’s backpack hits the floor with a plang! and Caitlyn’s other hand is clawing at Vi’s hair again, kissing her with a ferocity that makes Vi realize that Caitlyn doesn’t need comfort, doesn’t want it, not from her—she needs release.

     Vi can provide that.

     “Distraction, huh?” she rasps against Caitlyn’s lips, pulling Caitlyn’s leg up against her hip, slotting her thigh between her legs. She presses and Caitlyn gasps, teeth gritting together and head hitting the door behind her, hands scampering up to remove Vi’s leather jacket.

     Caitlyn ignores her. “Shut up,” she says, and grabs at Vi’s hands, her gloves. “Get these off.” Impatient, Caitlyn tries to do it herself, and Vi rips the velcro off with her teeth and lets Caitlyn peel them off her fingers and eventually off her hands, tossing them both somewhere unintelligible as their lips hurry to meet again.

     Her skin is warm against Vi’s bare hands, one by her hip and the other holding onto Caitlyn’s leg as she moves her thigh against Caitlyn’s cunt, Caitlyn groaning as she makes contact and then groaning for another reason—

     “Are you purposely wearing sex repellent?” Caitlyn complains, shoving a hand between them to where Vi’s keys are pressing into her other thigh, unclipping them from her jeans and throwing them away. Her hair’s a mess, Vi realizes as she gets this chance to really look at her, her beautiful mouth parted and panting and cheeks flushed. “Can we do this on the table or something?”

     “Scar would kill us if we messed up his settings,” Vi replies, mouth wandering down the side of Caitlyn’s neck and down to her chest. She noses against the swell of Caitlyn’s breast, moving a hand to cup the other. “Unless you want to—” Vi sucks skin into her mouth, taking it between her teeth, and Caitlyn’s reaction consists of her hips jerking into Vi’s thigh and nails piercing Vi’s scalp, “unless you wanna take the time to move to the dressing room—”

     “Fuck no,” Caitlyn hisses, breathing heavy. She drags a hand away from Vi’s hair and unzips the side of her dress halfway, giving Vi access to beneath it, loosening the fabric and allowing Vi to pull it down. “I need you now.”

     Vi groans and says, “Gods, this dress drives me fucking crazy.” The built in bra had held Caitlyn’s tits in all the right ways, and now her hand takes over the job, kissing around the other nipple before running her tongue over it and sucking it into her mouth. Caitlyn’s leftover hand in her hair grabs a fistful and pulls as a result, breath catching and eyes squeezing shut. Her hips stutter against Vi’s slow rhythm down below, and Caitlyn’s always been more physical than vocal during sex, but as Vi remembers she wants it rough and bites down on her nipple, her throat punches out a sharp and quick moan.

     If that isn’t music to Vi’s ears, she must be deaf. She switches breasts just to hear Caitlyn’s momentary gasping and hitching of her breath, and Powder’s warning must’ve gone through and she has died and is now in heaven. Caitlyn breathes, “Vi,” and Vi wants to hear it again, wants to make Caitlyn scream, wants to make her so loud that it penetrates through the wooden door behind her and everyone knows how good she is for Vi, how Vi can make her like this—

     “Vi,” Caitlyn says again, with more force. Her free hand captures Vi’s wrist and is shoving it downward—she looks so fucking good with her chest heaving, face screwed up in desperation. “Now.”

     Vi listens, if only to speed up the process to making Caitlyn scream. She takes her mouth off Caitlyn’s magnificent tits—regretfully, mournfully—and moves her hand downward, slipping it under Caitlyn’s dress and somehow not finding—

     “No safety shorts?” Vi asks her with a curiousness, two fingers brushing over where Caitlyn needs it most, over her underwear. Caitlyn’s whine shoots straight through the part of Vi’s brain that makes her think clearly and obliterates it. “This is a pretty short dress, Cupcake—oh, you were planning this, weren’t you?” she adds as she notices that Caitlyn’s panties are lace. “You wore all this just for me? Been that ready for me to fuck you like this?”

     “Not like this,” Caitlyn replies, straining, confirming everything else Vi asked about. “Not here.”

     “I bet you like this better, though,” Vi says, moving her panties over, sliding those two fingers around Caitlyn’s clit. She’s already wet, soaking—the arousal gathered on her underwear soaks Vi’s knuckles and the wetness around her clit makes for absolutely no friction at all. Caitlyn’s response is worth gold—she whimpers, jaw clenching down and Vi can basically hear her teeth grinding together, forehead lodging itself in the crook of Vi’s neck and an arm slinging around the back of it, grabbing at Vi’s tank. “I bet you like getting fucked against a door anyone could walk through, we don’t even know if everyone’s out of backstage, Cupcake—”

     “I don’t care,” Caitlyn groans, her breath hot against Vi’s neck. Vi speeds up her fingers and Caitlyn bears down, matching her rhythm and hissing when it works. “You’d be a good boy and keep going regardless, wouldn’t you?”

     Vi’s mind fizzles out like static, and she presses into Caitlyn when she regains consciousness again. Caitlyn had used boy instead of girl before, in the past, but never as often, never as casually. It scratches an itch in Vi’s brain and makes her practically flood her boxers, the sudden press making her fingers slide down and tease at Caitlyn’s entrance.

     “Oh, you like that,” Caitlyn says, dominating demeanor slightly faltering as she relentlessly searches for Vi’s fingers again with a whine. Vi’s front is pressed against hers now, with barely enough room for Vi’s hand to move, drawing countless circles against Caitlyn’s clit, and they hadn’t gotten this level of closeness last time, not to the point that she can feel Caitlyn’s breasts move as her breathing becomes sporadic. “Inside. Now.”

     Always good, always listening, Vi spreads her open with two fingers, quickly switching to three when Caitlyn snaps, “Have you lost your senses? I can take more.” The moment Caitlyn impales herself on Vi’s three fingers, Caitlyn’s mouth opens in a soundless scream and then her teeth is sinking into the side of Vi’s neck.

     “Cait—” Vi downright chokes on air, simultaneously shifting to give Caitlyn better access and arm faltering and spearing Caitlyn open faster than she’d wanted. Caitlyn seems to love it, that hand over Vi’s shoulder scratching under Vi’s tank and at her back, sucking more of Vi’s skin into her mouth. Vi struggles to regain composure, cause Caitlyn hadn’t crossed this last time, hadn’t somehow dove into giving Vi pleasure and easing her into it at the same time. “Fuck—”

     Vi reels in her mind and puts it to plunging her fingers deep into Caitlyn’s cunt, curling them to get her g-spot even if Caitlyn enjoys penetration more, and with each thrust, Caitlyn’s mouth grows hungrier, tongue ravishing the taste of Vi’s skin apparently and desperate sounds muffled against her. And Vi realizes with a jolt—

     “Cait,” she says again, as she feels the telltale sensation of pain signifying a bruise is forming. “You know I don’t own concealer—”

     “Guess you’re just gonna have to leave it then,” Caitlyn mumbles, mouth moving to a different spot, gasping and moaning as Vi works her open before latching onto another spot.

     Vi basks in it—momentarily, the feeling of Caitlyn’s hot cunt wrapped around her fingers, her hot mouth working against her neck, Caitlyn’s burning nails leaving streaks up her back, Caitlyn all around her, lavender and mint—before she realizes that the hickies will be a definite problem at family potluck tomorrow and pulls out of her.

     Caitlyn shoots up like she’s been electrified, about to protest before Vi spins her around and shoves her front against the door, hand bracing Caitlyn’s back before pounding into Caitlyn again from behind.

     “This is what happens when you can’t follow instructions,” Vi rasps in her ear, crowding in on her, because Caitlyn can’t try to draw blood from Vi’s major arteries when she can’t turn around. Caitlyn shouts, ass pressing back into Vi’s hand, and fuck that’s hot as fuck. “You gonna be a good girl and get fucked now?”

     “Yes,” Caitlyn moans, eyes locking shut and a hand scrabbling against the door. Fuck, the look of her—being fucked from behind with her dress rucked up and panties moved to the side and tits practically falling out, face screwed up in pure pleasure and completely at Vi’s will. “Fuck, fuck, I need—”

     “Touch your clit, princess,” Vi tells her, because she can’t really reach around Caitlyn from this angle, and allows Caitlyn the space for her to thrust a hand down and press two fingers to her clit, hips knocking into the door as she makes contact. “Fuck, pretty girl, you know how hot you look right now?”

     Caitlyn keens, hand working as fast as she possibly can as Vi pounds into her from behind. “Call me—” Caitlyn whimpers, bracketing her forehead with her forearm— “call me a—”

     “So fucking wet for me, what a slut,” Vi answers her, and they both get what they want: Caitlyn screams. Loud and beautiful and clear and fading into a sob as—

     “Close,” Caitlyn chokes out, broken, thrashing in Vi’s hold.

     “Wanna come all over my fingers?” Vi asks her, leaning down to press contradictory gentle kisses to her exposed shoulder, quickly reaching up to move Caitlyn’s hair aside. “Come for me, my beautiful girl.”

     Caitlyn’s orgasm hits them both like a truck: Caitlyn shouts and descends into a panting mess as she chants Vi’s name like a prayer, and her doing that makes Vi press her forehead into Caitlyn’s shoulder and fight not to plunge her teeth into it instead. Ragged and sputtering in Vi’s hold, Caitlyn slowly comes down, seeming to half-expect Vi to push her through another one as Vi moves a hand to Caitlyn’s hip, tensing, and Vi asks—

     “Another?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, breathing out, and Vi moves that hand up to Caitlyn’s zipper, rolling it up slowly and fixing her dress back into place as she kisses over the bare skin of Caitlyn’s back. Caitlyn makes a low, disgruntled sound, and Vi says, “I know, babe, breathe out,” and gently pulls out as Caitlyn does so, wiping her fingers on the inside of her shirt again as Caitlyn straightens up.

     “Thanks,” Caitlyn says with a steadying sigh, turning when Vi gently asks her to with her hand on Caitlyn’s hip. There’s a hickey blossoming on her breast and her lips are absolutely bitten through, and maybe the gorgeous sight of them is what compels Vi to surge forward and kiss her.

     Caitlyn makes a sound into it, hand coming up to cradle Vi’s cheek. It’s over too soon, as Caitlyn maybe realizes the purpose of it, pulling away and asking, “How much did you hear?”

     Vi’s shoulders drop of their own accord, and doesn’t see a point in lying. “I think most of it.”

     “I see,” Caitlyn replies, fixing the part of Vi’s hair that had gone astray during it all. “Well. Um. I just reached out to a family friend of Mel’s to make sure I did everything correctly, for you, and my father… well, you heard. I’d be on the lookout for a scheduling request with student health. It should be covered by the university.”

     “They don’t have a Doctor Cupcake there, so what’s the point?” Vi jokes, and Caitlyn’s neutral expression morphs into a small smile. And some completely unrelated and unwanted part of Vi’s mind muses there’s my girl .

     Caitlyn’s eyes rake over Vi’s face, and eventually wander down to her neck, eyes widening and she’s reaching past Vi, grabbing her phone and turning the camera on, passing it to Vi.

     “Holy shit, Cait,” Vi gapes, tilting her head to stretch her neck and feeling the familiar pressure of a bruise—two huge ones, centimeters apart and wonderfully on the shaved side of her head and definitely not covered by her hair. She runs a finger over them and winces briefly when she presses. “What are you, a vampire?”

     “I don’t see any blood,” Caitlyn says in earnest. She shrugs, hand ghosting over Vi’s shoulder. “At least it matches your hair... until it gets purple.”

     “Oh yeah, I’m sure that was your objective.”

     “Obviously.”

     This is too familiar, too easy. Vi backs off, flipping on a light switch and going searching for her flung motorcycle gloves and keys while Caitlyn properly adjusts her dress and panties back into place. Caitlyn doesn’t have much to gather—just herself and her phone, fixing her hair in the camera, and she’s done much sooner than Vi is, clearing her throat as she inspects herself in her phone.

     “Well—”

     “Y’know,” Vi ventures, fully knowing this could very much backfire and kick her in the ass, “if you ever need another distraction, or a stress reliever, or anything… I could give you my number.”

     Caitlyn brushes her hair over her shoulders, somewhat absent. “I don’t need your number.”

     Vi’s heart goes into cardiac arrest. “You don’t want to—?”

     Caitlyn’s eyes go wide. “I do,” she corrects quickly. “But I have it.”

     A pause.

     Confusion spreads through Vi’s body instead of death. “But you blocked and deleted my number,” Vi says, because she very clearly remembers Caitlyn doing it right in front of her.

     Caitlyn nods. “I did.”

     “Then how’d you get my number?”

     “I…” Caitlyn taps her finger against her phone case. “I have it memorized.”

     Silence. Vi has to keep her mouth from dropping to the floor.

     “I hope you haven’t changed it,” Caitlyn begins to explain quickly. “I memorized it to give you points at grocery stores and stuff, when we were—yeah, and you know, because I don’t use mine because it’s all connected to the government and you know—anyway. It’s not in my phone. I’ve just been using it to build your points.”

     Vi thinks back to the dozens of times she’s spontaneously had enough points in her account to give her five or ten dollars off, and never investigated it, just counted it as her lucky day.

     “That makes so much sense,” she says, dumbfounded.

     “But I can put it in my phone,” Caitlyn says. “Um. Here.”

     She unlocks her phone and clicks around for a few seconds, until Vi feels her phone buzz in her back pocket and finds a new message from an unknown number, just a small it’s cait .

     “Cool,” Vi says, pocketing her phone. “Um. Great. You can—”

     “I’ll text you,” Caitlyn says, smiling that knowing smile, before waving a small goodbye and exiting the soundbooth. And—and Vi, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and leaving a minute or so later, finds herself nearly as joyful as a kid with a crush.

↠↢

Me, 7:38pm

powder

wet sock (powder), 7:41pm

waddup

Me, 7:41pm

i need you to help me buy concealer

wet sock (powder), 7:42pm

…

you WHAT

Chapter Text

Vi stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets as she lumbers awkwardly into the Walgreen’s makeup section Powder told her to meet at.

     Here she stands thirty minutes after she’d texted Powder for help, thirty minutes after dodging her countless questions about why Vi was asking and refusing Vi’s crafted answer of she’d noticed her eyebags getting darker. Eventually, Powder had given up and told her to meet here, finally agreeing to help and giving Vi an ETA.

     Vi had pulled on the sweater with the highest neckline, the bulkiest hoodie and jacket that didn’t match in the slightest, and dug through her closet and drawers for a full five minutes trying to find the single scarf she owned. She looked ridiculous, like she was about to face a category five winter storm, but this would have to do to shield the angry pair of bruises on her neck, right beside her tattoo.

     Taking a cursory look over Walgreen’s selection of makeup products, Vi slouches and patters around. There are a million different kinds of brushes and about five billion different companies, and what the fuck is contour? That sounded like a made-up word. Texting Powder had been the best idea, she would have no idea how to navigate this on her own, and YouTube videos had already been very little help.

     “You look like Baymax,” her sister’s voice says from somewhere to her right, and Vi looks up to find Powder in much less layers and plaid green and white PJ pants she one-hundred-percent stole from Ekko. Powder’s arms raise comically to her sides, mimicking the shape of Vi’s torso.

     “It’s cold,” Vi argues with as much conviction she can muster.

     “Eyebags and chills,” Powder notes with a disbelieving tilt of her head. “You sure you aren’t comin’ down with something? Maybe we should be going to the hospital instead of a Walgreens.”

     “I’m fine, Pow.” Vi shifts from one foot to the other. “Can you just help me with this?”

     Powder shrugs, moving forward and locating the concealer section of ELF’s makeup products. “ELF is good, I use it,” she informs, picking up a few different tubes and dropping them back into their slots. She lifts one and unscrews the cap, inspecting the product on the wand before beckoning Vi forward. “Put this on your hand and put it up to your face in the mirror.”

     Vi takes the tube and does so, cringing at the sticky feeling of the concealer on her hand and staring at the comparison in the mirror. Powder budges her way into the frame, squinting before shaking her head.

     “You have a cooler undertone,” Powder notes, plucking the tube from Vi’s grasp and going back to searching. “Uh… here.”

     Repeating the same analysis, even Vi can see the better resemblance as Powder says, “Perfect. There you go. And you’ll need something to blend it with.” Powder returns the tester to it’s slot and hands Vi a boxed one, then takes a spongy material pointy-egg looking thing from the shelves and drops it into Vi’s open hand. “All done!”

     Vi looks down at the products in her hand with wonder. “That’s it?”

     “Yop,” says Powder, popping the p.

     “Then why do you have, like, a whole bag of products you carry with you everywhere?”

     Powder rolls her eyes, pushing Vi toward the register by the shoulders. “No wonder girls won’t date you.”

     At the very end of the cosmetics section, Vi spots a light-green tube titled color corrector , and a light flicks on her head, recalling the product from the suggested list when she had searched up how to cover hickeys fast quick easy for beginners on Google an hour earlier. She swipes it while Powder isn’t looking, and pays for it while Powder ambles off to restock some of her own makeup.

     As she punches her phone number into the card reader, she thinks of Caitlyn.

     They leave with matching Walgreens bags a few minutes later, and Vi says, “It’s dark. I’ll walk you home.”

     Powder doesn’t protest, and they walk along the dimly lit Piltover streets in tandem. Valentine’s Day is in three days, and the community responds in kind, sticky-note hearts up in windows and heart-shaped fairy lights tangling through the branches of the trees. Powder huffs clouds into the air as the cold air mixes with her hot breath, and Vi shakes her head, her body rapidly heating up as her body becomes active and the layers take effect. The season’s starting to change, small leaves appearing on pale branches in little buds. Vi can feel spring almost at her fingertips as she takes a hand out of her pocket.

     “You and Little Man doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” Vi asks and isn’t sure if she wants to know, but she knows it always means the world to Powder when Vi inquires.

     As expected, Powder nods with a sharp-toothed grin. “He wanted to spend the day together, but since Salo didn’t cancel rehearsal, the asshole, we’re gonna get dinner.”

     “That’s great, Pow. Where?”

     “Bandles? The seafood and steakhouse place by the water?”

     “How romantic ,” Vi teases, and the pink tinge of Powder’s cheeks definitely isn’t just from the cold. They’ve been dating for a few months now, since the beginning of the school year after testing out a summer fling that was always so obviously going to bloom into something greater. Vi remembered that feeling: the practical urge to take things slow when all you want is to rush head-first at the whirl of emotion. “Guess I’ll have to slum it with Sevika at Jericho’s.”

     “Ooh.” Powder sucks in a breath and grimaces. “Hate to break it to you, sis, but you’ll have to slum it alone.”

     “What?”

     “Lefty’s got a date .”

     Vi’s mouth drops, because Sevika doesn’t date. “ Who? ”

     “You can’t tell anyone,” Powder tells her, smiling that smile that appears when gossip is in town. “Mel doesn’t want anyone to know yet.”

     It takes Vi a second. “Mel?!” she yelps, in practical all-caps. “Medarda?!”

     “Oh, yeah, shout it for all of Piltover to hear.”

     “She actually went for it,” Vi marvels, because what the fuck, Mel must’ve done some magic or some shit to get Sevika to settle down and want to keep things a secret. “And Mel actually accepted it. Caitlyn and Jayce are gonna lose their shit.”

     “Look at all these Pilties slumming it with us Zaunites,” Powder says with a cackle. “Jayce and Viktor definitely fucked. Did you see them today? Playing with each other’s fingers and shit.”

     Vi had been more focused on Caitlyn in that damn dress, but nods along. “About time.”

     Powder’s dorm building lingers up ahead, and soon enough, they’re walking up the outdoor-foyer and lingering by the double glass doors. Vi wanders around, waiting for Powder to bid her goodbye so she can strip off some of these layers, but Powder faces her and says—

     “You warm enough?”

     Vi looks up. “What?”

     Powder’s hand launches out and her nails catch on Vi’s poorly wrapped scarf, choking Vi for a hot second before yanking it off with a smooth and swift pull, the cold air shocking Vi’s skin.

     “Hey!” Vi shouts, hands scrabbling for the flailing yarn, and grouses, “Powder!”

     “I fucking knew it!” Powder all but screams and points at Vi’s exposed neck, shock and glee infecting her voice. “You’re so fucking obvious, you know? Eyebags , whatever. Who the fuck is crazy enough to do that ?”

     Vi snatches her scarf back and begins the faulty process of putting it back on. “It doesn’t matter—” (not true) “—just some girl—” (also not true) “—I matched with that got a little excited.” (Somewhat true, if excited was a synonym for downright hungry.) Vi fixes the scarf and stuffs her hand in her pocket. “I’m gonna head out now, okay—”

     “You never let random girls leave hickeys, the last time I saw you with one was when you were with Miss Cupcake,” Powder notes, laughing, drunk on exposed secrets. She’s getting excited now. “Is she getting important? Oh my Gods, you’re hunkering down again, aren’t you? I wanna meet her! So you’re not spending Valentine’s Day alone!”

     “Powder—”

     “Have I met her before? Is she part of the cast? She must be if it happened after rehearsal—”

     “Powder,” Vi says firmly, reaching out to settle her overzealous sister down. “I’m telling you. It was a one time thing, it’s not happening again, and there’s no one to meet, alright?”

     “You’re so lame,” Powder pouts, slowly accepting defeat. “I’m three years younger and committed before you. Can you believe that?” Powder gasps in fake shock, spinning around before scanning her ID to the door. She points at Vi in warning, holding the door open. “I will find out, there’s not a lot of femme girls your type that’s batshit enough to suck the soul out of you around here. Later, sis!”

     Powder skips into the lobby of her building with manic joy, door shutting behind her, and Vi sighs and practically falls against the wall. Okay. That could’ve gone worse. But now Powder’s going to stalk whoever’s following the PAI instagram account with conviction and make a whole presentation of Instagram profiles; Vi knows this from experience.

     She huffs and picks herself back up. An issue to be dealt with later, Vi decides, and begins the walk home, searching up how to blend concealer. Her Google search history glares back at her, an obvious trail that would give Powder her answer in two seconds, the earliest search reading @caitlyn.km .

↠↢

In the morning, Vi stretches and notes the pressure on her neck, fingers running up to check on the bruise and clicking her phone camera on. There the hickeys lie, a mix of red and purple and angry, looking like they’ve only gotten worse from the previous afternoon.

     The shot looks kinda erotic, Vi realizes, bare collarbones indicating she’s topless and tendons straining as Vi tilts her head, rumpled bedsheets visible over her shoulder. It’s kinda hot. Without thinking, she snaps the picture, and sends it to Caitlyn.

     Caitlyn’s seen notification pops up a few minutes later, when Vi has pulled herself out of bed and cracks eggs onto a sizzling pan. It’s a minute or so until she responds—Vi knows this because she’s watching her phone like a hawk.

Me, 7:33am

[1 image attached.]

caitlyn, 7:41am

Whoops.

↠↢

Turns out, Caitlyn needs lots of distractions and stress relievers.

     She’s able to hold out for a total of three days, and really commends herself when she doesn’t text Vi upon receiving her parent’s regular peacekeeping care package on Thursday, obviously not delivered by her parents themselves but one of their employees. Per usual, it’s two tupperwares of sliced fruit (this time peaches and quartered strawberries), a new bag of Caitlyn’s go-to coffee roast from Taiwan, and a few luxury magazines that her parents assume relate to journalism that Mel will use for table decor. There’s a note as well, reading in her father’s handwriting, We’re proud of you, Caitlyn! Keep working hard!
No acknowledgement of the situation, no understanding of his wrongdoing, just the expectation that when her mother or father calls again, she won’t be upset, because this mends everything.

     No, Caitlyn holds out on succumbing to ex-sex for stress relief Friday after rehearsal, frustrated with the conclusion of the research paper due at midnight that night, holed up in a random school-owned building not too far from the auditorium because she hadn’t felt she had the time to go very far. She’s unfamiliar with the building (it looks to be a STEM building, says Google Maps and the physics-themed art lining the walls), she can’t find an outlet for her dying laptop while also not trying to intrude on any rooms she’s not supposed to be in, and the air feels sticky with her frustration.

     She groans, grabs her phone, and prays to the Gods that Vi responds quickly.

     Vi does.

Me, 5:56pm

Hi

Vi, 5:57pm

hey

Me, 5:57pm

Did you happen to stay near the auditorium after rehearsal?

Vi, 5:57pm

yeah im in the sports science building

     Caitlyn face palms, because she could’ve just gone there to study considering she’s been in the building before, allowing Vi to choose the study-spots sometimes when they were together, but she can’t go back now.

     She decides to just get straight to it.

Me, 5:58pm

My car’s parked in the auditorium parking lot and I need some stress relief

Vi, 5:58pm

mmmm but im hungry

we get food first and we’ve got a deal, ill even let you pick

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes, but ever since she’s realized that sex with Vi is still mind blowing even after they broke up, she can’t quite go without it.

Me, 5:59pm

Panera?

Vi, 5:59pm

blue bmw right?

Me, 6:00pm

Yes

Vi, 6:00pm

see u in 5

     So this is how Caitlyn ends up spending her Valentine’s Day night: with Vi in her passenger seat, pulling into the Panera drive through, allowing Vi to scream her order across the driver’s seat while Caitlyn refuses the urge to bury her forehead in her hands.

     “Wait,” the Panera worker says as they receive their order in bags, squinting at Caitlyn with faint familiarity. “Don’t I know you?”

     Caitlyn has never stepped on the gas faster, skidding out of the drive through while Vi chuckles to herself, amused.

     “Did you actually know him?” Vi asks her when they find a parking spot, far, far away from any of the other cars in the randomly located strip mall, dissecting their bags of food. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt today, striped a yellowish brown and a blue that sort-of matches the exterior of Caitlyn’s car, and loose, matching yellowish brown cargos that she has that irritating carabiner attached to again.

     Caitlyn hums, tentatively opening, blowing, and sipping on her chicken noodle soup. “Yes,” she answers, setting the cap down on her dashboard. “He was in one of my public relations classes last year.”

     “Public relations?” Vi asks her with curiosity, chowing down on her half-half sandwiches, filled to the brim with meat and greens. Caitlyn grimaces and watches her out of the corner of her eye as they eat, scanning for scraps falling onto her polished leather. “Did you end up doing the minor?”

     Admittedly, Caitlyn doesn’t quite to know what to do with this. She hadn’t expected small talk, even if they had being doing a little bit of that recently, and she hadn’t expected Vi to be so easygoing. She doesn’t know, doesn’t understand what line they’re toeing right now, what dynamic they’re supposed to be balancing on. Because even with the wound-patching and realizations that the sex is more than good, somewhere way further down than she’s willing to acknowledge, Caitlyn hasn’t forgiven Vi, ultimately, for what happened, and she’s certain Vi hasn’t forgiven her either.

     “I did,” Caitlyn answers her, mixing the bacon into her mac-and-cheese. “Double-minor, actually. Public relations and communication.”

     Vi whistles. “Always the overachiever.”

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes. “Don’t start.”

     “Aren’t we here to get down and dirty?” Vi teases with a wink that Caitlyn simultaneously fumes and liquidates at.

     She doesn’t know what to do with this, and it’s only adding to her frustration, because she always knows what to do. She made sure Vi was okay because that’s the decent thing to do, she said yes to Vi’s offer because she is mature enough to understand that the sex can be a good thing if she doesn’t let feelings get involved, and if the ulterior motive is that she’s starting to care about Vi, again, for her health and just the wholeness Caitlyn feels when she sees her—that’s a whole other thing that Caitlyn can work out separately and doesn’t need to be delved into here.

     Caitlyn supposes the right thing to do is reciprocate the inquiries. “So did you stick with only sports science?” she asks Vi, glancing over at her carefully.

     Vi seems surprised she asked. “No,” she replies through a mouthful of sandwich, wiping her hands with a brown napkin, “I’m doing a minor in sports administration—I’m taking my last two classes for it right now; a lot of my requirements crossed over so I thought why not.”

     “I’d hoped you would,” Caitlyn says without much thinking—they both freeze before acting as if that never happened. “Uh—I just mean it would’ve been a good idea for you to do it.”

     “Yeah, analyzing the spreadsheet you made for me.”

     Caitlyn groans. “Would you stop mentioning the bloody spreadsheet?” she grouses, because she now holds a grudge against the spreadsheet for essentially landing her in theater.

     “Why?” Vi looks over at her with a smirk, making her merry way back to teasing. “‘Cause it made you end up using sex for a stress reliever instead of all the breathing exercises your mom sends you?”

     They’re both pretty much done eating. “Shut up ,” Caitlyn says, which she finds herself doing often with Vi, and reaches over the center console to grab at Vi’s jaw and kiss her.

     Vi makes a surprised sound into Caitlyn’s mouth before kissing back, Caitlyn’s hand on her jaw shifting to her neck and Vi drawing her closer with a sudden hand in Caitlyn’s hair. She tastes like seasoning and garlic—Caitlyn tries to pretend she doesn’t care until she eventually groans, breaks the kiss, pulls a mint tin out of her purse, and presses it through Vi’s lips before kissing her again while Vi laughs at her.

     “You’re insufferable,” Caitlyn complains as they move empty food containers into the driver’s seat so Caitlyn can climb onto Vi’s lap. They’re on each other again immediately, mouths meeting with a fervor Caitlyn recognizes from the last two times they’ve hooked up, as if they’re trying to make up for lost time. One of Vi’s hands fall to her hip and the other searches under her skirt, pressing up and down her thigh, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer, and Caitlyn wraps an arm around Vi’s neck and sighs into it.

     “You’re a bitch,” Vi responds in kind, against her mouth, using the separation to press rough kisses down her jaw and to her neck. Caitlyn doesn’t mind if she leaves hickeys—practically craves it, arching her neck so the expanse Vi can work with is greater, breathing out hard as Vi scrapes her teeth over her chosen spot, licking a long stripe up her neck before going right to town.

     Caitlyn pierces her nails into the nape of Vi’s neck and hair, humming and almost wishing to savor this—Vi’s hands pulling her ever closer, strong hands gripping and fingertips pressing hard enough to leave more bruises, her hot mouth on her neck, sucking and biting and the little sounds she makes every time Caitlyn makes one of her own—but she remembers that they are in a car and tries to shift the positioning of their legs. Vi responds beautifully, lifting Caitlyn up with ease, enough to move Caitlyn’s knee between her legs and allow Caitlyn to sink onto her thigh, and the first press is like a computer glitch wreaking havoc through her mind.

     “Fuck,” she whispers, as she shifts her hips forward and Vi guides her, mouth kissing over to the other side of Caitlyn’s neck apparently to make a matching pair. Vi slides down in the seat and props her foot up on the curved wall of the foot rest, using it as leverage to press her muscular thigh into Caitlyn’s cunt in time with Caitlyn’s minstrations and Gods that feels so fucking good, her clit sensitive and sending electricity through every nook of Caitlyn’s body. She moves faster, faster, she can feel herself slipping away and she wants this, needs this— “Vi, please—”

     “A little busy here, princess,” Vi murmurs against her neck, hand firing up to Caitlyn’s hair and grasping, tugging her head back to bare more of her neck. Caitlyn whines, tendons straining, grinding down with reckless abandon. “Payback for the shit you pulled.”

     “You liked it,” Caitlyn hisses, and pushes Vi’s mouth toward her all the same. Vi bites down at the comment and Caitlyn keens, heady and hands scampering around, under Vi’s shirt, gripping the hard muscles beneath, eager to leave scratches and remind Vi of just how much she’d wanted her. “You covered them.”

     She’d noticed this yesterday at rehearsal, squinting a little too many times at Vi to be considered normal, but deduced with a small sadness that Vi had figured out make-up somehow.

     “I had to,” Vi says, apparently satisfied with her work and kissing up the line of Caitlyn’s throat, over her chin and connecting their lips again. Caitlyn presses into the kiss like she hadn’t already been gasping for air, Vi’s hand, free once again, pushing down on her hips. If Caitlyn didn’t like penetration so much she probably would’ve come right then and there, moaning into Vi’s mouth. “Powder’s getting suspicious—you can’t just do that shit, Cait—”

     Caitlyn growls and fastens her hand on Vi’s neck, squeezing, thumb pawing at where the consistency of her neck changes. Vi gasps, head tilting back and hitting the headrest, eyes flying open and meeting Caitlyn’s, the light in them wild, intoxicating, eager.

     “I do what I want,” Caitlyn tells her, hips pressing down over and over, Vi’s grip on them growing harder. “You listen and behave.”

     “Like hell,” Vi snaps, almost angry, and that’s what Caitlyn wants, wants this push and pull between them and for the control to shift and for Vi to take it. Vi’s hands work under her shirt she may or may not have worn because it makes her tits look good and pulls it up, maybe to get Caitlyn’s hand off her throat, maybe not, Caitlyn doesn’t know. “You don’t control me.”

     “Prove it,” Caitlyn says, wrangling her shirt off and handing Vi the reigns, because she’s here for stress relief after all. Vi takes them and unclips Caitlyn’s bra, barely waiting for Caitlyn to take it off before she’s pinching and twisting Caitlyn’s nipples. Caitlyn jerks, hard. “ Yes —”

     “There,” Vi says, a little softer now if only by a fraction, hands pressing down and thigh pressing up and driving Caitlyn to insanity. Her mouth teases around Caitlyn’s nipple and Caitlyn groans, dragging her head closer with a hand in her hair. Vi murmurs, “Good,” and closes her mouth around it.

     Maybe it’s the tension dying down that reminds Caitlyn what they’re doing, why they’re here, the non-existent terms of their arrangement. She slows down a little and Vi makes a sound against her, apparently unwilling to allow Caitlyn to do that, and forcibly moves Caitlyn’s hips, and yeah her fingers are going to leave little purple marks Caitlyn will inspect in the morning. Caitlyn gasps, moans, tries to regain composure with, “We should lay down some parameters—”

     “This the time, baby?” Vi says as she switches sides, and the sudden stimulation makes Caitlyn gasp. Her tongue circles her areola and the rough broadness of it scratches against the smoother skin and Caitlyn wants every little detail imprinted in her mind. “You seem a little distracted.”

     Caitlyn ignores her. “Just three things,” she tries, breathing heavy, and it comes out clear enough. “One, no one can know about this.”

     “Duh,” Vi replies, deciding to switch to leaving bright red hickies on her breasts for better access to speaking.

     “Everyone would lose their shit.”

     “Agreed.” Caitlyn nearly loses her train of thought as Vi’s canines bite down, tongue moving to comfort the wound with warmth. “Fuck— mm , second, we keep it quick. Otherwise we’re gone for too long and people get suspicious.”

     “That’s easy,” Vi says with a cockiness that makes Caitlyn roll her eyes, then roll her head back and shut them as Vi squeezes her ass. “I already make you come in two seconds.”

     “ Fuck you—”

     “What’s the third?”

     “No strings attached,” she says, getting sick of Vi’s stupid shirt and lifting it off of her, looking down—fuck she looks good, abs flexing and chest rising up and down behind her sports bra, dark eyes looking back up at her. This rule’s going to be difficult, with the sight of her. “We still hate each other. Nothing changes outside of this. And we don’t talk about—before.”

     “Done,” Vi replies, kissing her again, and Caitlyn moans into it unabashed, because Gods she wants Vi inside her, she wants Vi’s mouth on her, she wants and she wants and she reaches out to grab it— “Hating you’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Can I fuck you now?”

     “ Yes .”

     With rules set and Caitlyn’s firing mind calming down a bit, she can let herself enjoy this a little more. She says, words losing their edge, “I want to ride you,” and Vi bites her lip and makes a sound, murmuring, “Be my guest,” and they move their legs to the original position, slides her hand underneath Caitlyn’s skirt, fingers manuevering her underewear to the side and sliding her fingers around her clit.

     Caitlyn falls forward, burying her face in the crook of Vi’s neck, mouth ending up next to Vi’s ear. She spreads her legs wider, knees pressing into the door and the center console, and whimpers. Vi whispers, “Fuck, baby,” like she’s getting off on this too, and moves her fingers faster. “You’re so wet, waiting for this since Tuesday, huh?”

     “More,” Caitlyn moans, ignoring this, because Vi’s fingers are devastatingly good and she hasn’t even gone inside yet. Vi listens, fingertips circling, mouth moving against Caitlyn’s neck but not biting, just providing extra stimulation, and then she’s dipping down without warning, heel of her palm pressing into Caitlyn’s clit as three fingers—finally, she learns—plunge deep into Caitlyn’s pussy. Caitlyn turns and sinks her teeth into Vi’s open shoulder, muffling her cry.

     “No,” Vi chides her, head hitting the headrest from the bite before turning and bumping Caitlyn’s, fingers building a steady pace as her other hand starts to guide Caitlyn’s rhythm. “C’mon, Cupcake, I want to hear you.”

     Caitlyn lifts her head, catching a glimpse of her bite mark in Vi’s shoulder before having to squeeze her eyes shut again. Vi’s fingers open her up, stretching her out, the amazing burn Caitlyn so adores sending sparks up to her brain. She moves her hips, using her knees for leverage, rising up and down on Vi’s fingers, wet squelches echoing through the empty car, and she can feel herself wandering and getting lost, homework and stress and responsibilities fading into the back of her mind and practically gone, and she chases the feeling, speeding up on Vi’s fingers, soaking them with her arousal and taking them with a whine when Vi presses closer.

     “There you go,” Vi murmurs against her, moving Caitlyn up and down. Caitlyn gasps and burns, Vi’s own pants matching hers in her ear, her fingers crooning and pressing and so, so good. Vi is so close to her, nearly every nook and cranny touching, and she’s a little cold with her top off and Vi has always been a literal furnace and so she leans closer, and she wants the proximity, wants the feeling of Vi wrapped all around her while her walls cling to her fingers.

     “You cold, baby?”

     Albeit a little surprised, Caitlyn nods and Vi’s hand leaves her hips to turn the keys hanging from the ignition and hit the button for the heat, warm air blasting out of the vents. She’s returning to Caitlyn in a second, running a hand over her back as Caitlyn sinks onto her fingers.

     “How did— fuck , Vi —how did you know?” Caitlyn asks her, broken, the heel of Vi’s palm moving against her clit in all the right ways.

     Vi shrugs, murmuring “Good girl” as Caitlyn bucks particularly hard before answering properly. “You do this thing,” she says, and moves a hand to Caitlyn’s neck, her cheek, drawing her backward and Caitlyn whines, because she’d liked being buried in Vi’s warm neck, with her scent in her nose. “You get closer to me and shiver a little.”

     Caitlyn’s breath hitches and she digs her cunt down onto Vi’s fingers. This is only the third time they’ve done this recently and she already knows it’s only going to get better from here, with Vi relearning what she likes with ease and taking advantage of it, particularly the fact that she likes being manhandled. Vi pumps her fingers into her over and over, relentless, dangerous, and moves Caitlyn around with a tendnerness at the exact same time; it makes Caitlyn feel reduced to putty, but as emboldened as sunlight.

     Vi’s thumb ghosts over Caitlyn’s cheek, a motion to open her eyes, so Caitlyn does so. She knows what she looks like right now: absolutely destroyed and pouting a little and hair disheveled and mouth parted, and Vi’s lips pull into a small smile.

     “You’re beautiful,” she breathes. Caitlyn whines and ducks her head down, all for Vi to grasp her chin and pick her back up, fingers pounding inside her as Caitlyn drops her hips onto them, over and over. The pressure’s growing, Vi’s fingers rubbing her walls just like this and the constant motion rubbing her clit and the way Vi is looking at her—pleasure gathers in her navel, shoots up to her mind, and crowds in on it. “I wanna see you come all over me, Cait, I want you to look at me while you do.”

     Caitlyn keeps her eyes open, a difficult task considering that she’s so, so close, but Vi is so handsome, with those sparkling eyes like champagne and crooked nose and smiling lips, and Caitlyn never wants to, never has taken her eyes off of her; Vi leans forward, gently sucking Caitlyn’s earlobe into her mouth before whispering into her ear, “You’re such a good whore for me, aren’t you? Taking whatever I give you.”

     It doesn’t take much after that, just Vi leaning back while Caitlyn shouts and placing a gentle kiss on her lips, completely contradictory from what Vi just said to her and maybe that’s what does it. Caitlyn comes apart in her lap, light in the form of pleasure flaring throughout her body, cunt pulsing around Vi’s hand and she presses her forehead to Vi’s, nails piercing into her nape, her scalp, only able to keep her eyes open for maybe the first half of it and eventually succumbing to the stunned, awed look on Vi’s face she hadn’t seen the last two times.

     All the while Vi whispers sweet nothings as she comes down, thumb and hand caressing her face, gently stroking and guiding her through the small jerks and aftershocks. And the first thing Caitlyn realizes when she’s somewhat cohesive is I can do my conclusion.

     “What?” Vi asks her, because she apparently said that out loud.

     “I can do my conclusion,” Caitlyn repeats, mind settling back into place. She shakes her hair out of her eyes and Vi reaches up to tuck the strands behind her ears. “I just need to restructure my thesis to fit the new data and integrate that better into the second paragraph.”

     “Sure, babe,” Vi says, somewhat amused, chucking Caitlyn on the chin before asking, “Want me to pull out?”

     Caitlyn considers this, sinking down into a more comfortable position on Vi’s fingers. “No,” she says, and Vi raises her eyebrows. “No, I like this.”

     “Noted. Happy Valentine’s Day to me,” says Vi with a smile, and Caitlyn rolls her eyes. They’d never spent Valentine’s Day together before—they met shortly after the day had passed and broken up before the year could come back around. “You doing okay?”

     Caitlyn nods, cleaning the faint lipstick stains off Vi’s mouth with her thumb. “You?”

     Vi hums, tilting her head from side to side and speaking before Caitlyn could grow worried. “I’ll be better after I get my mouth on you,” she says, and catches Caitlyn’s slowly dying arousal on fire like a falling match.

     “Yeah?” Caitlyn says with a smirk.

     “Yeah,” Vi replies, and pushes her fingers up into Caitlyn again. Caitlyn meets it with a gasp, mind easing out and back in. “Get in the back and I’ll eat you out.”

     The easiness of their after-sex conversation continues into the next several times Caitlyn needs a stress reliever, which, she apparently needs many. And so their ‘sessions’ morph from spur of the moment excitement to whenever Caitlyn texts Vi with a shy hello, and from there they fuck practically everywhere they hadn't already.

     Vi sits Caitlyn down against the sink in the gender-neutral bathroom of a cafe and drops to her knees, Caitlyn’s hand fisted in her air as she thrashes against her mouth; Caitlyn bites at Vi’s hand over her mouth in the back of the special collections room in the library, where nobody frequents and that’s why Caitlyn likes it, Vi telling her to respect the library’s quiet hours as she fastens that hand over her lips, then slips her fingers into Caitlyn’s mouth; Vi pushes her up against the door of the storage room at the gym where Vi works, teaching boxing classes as an extension of being on the team, still sweaty and pulses firing; they even go as far as to return to that kitchen-pantry area during a party Jayce invites everyone to again, Caitlyn grasping at the cold refrigerator behind her as Vi whispers into her ear, fingers pistoning deep.

     Many of these little sessions happen in either of their dressing rooms after rehearsal, likely if they touch and even more than likely if they kiss during that rehearsal, like the mere suggestion of them touching while acting leads to the inevitable consequence of having their hands all over each other. This results in them missing many of the after-rehearsal hang outs and dinners the cast has started doing, but they manage to make a few. Caitlyn wonders if anyone has noticed one of them only show up to them when the other is there, and really, really hopes not.

     Winter seeps into spring, midterms on the horizon. As their sessions become more frequent, so does the rain, pattering against the auditorium’s large windows as they rehearse and forcing Caitlyn to squeegee fog off her windows every morning before driving to school or wherever, as if a foreboding warning whenever Caitlyn steps out of a building to go see her. They move from act two to three, and Caitlyn spends the time not being fucked by Vi doing her homework, dodging calls from her parents and looking out for calls from the NYT, going to rehearsal and running lines with Mel, Jayce, and Viktor when Mel invites them over for dinner, politely ignoring Viktor and Jayce’s held hands under the table and Mel’s growing avoidance of the apartment when Caitlyn’s there.

     The latter Caitlyn is wary of but tries to respect by studying at the library instead of her bedroom and using it as a welcome reason to wonder what Vi is up to and text her. Regardless of Caitlyn seeking her out more often, though, they stick to the rules as time moves on. They seem to manage this by never, ever inviting each other over to their respective apartments and henceforth forcing them to do things quick, even if their conversations before and after are easy and a stark contradiction to what they say to each other in public.

     Caitlyn knows she still hates Vi, or at least dislikes her, outside of what they do. She thinks so—tries with all her might to believe so. So the rules are kept up, but during… during is a different story. She can never get over the look of Vi’s mouth when she goes down on her, or the view of Vi’s panting chest or her torso under Caitlyn’s palms as she rides on top of her.

     And she isn’t the only one asking for this to happen. Vi texts her a few times over the next couple of weeks during which this is their new normal, writing wya cupcake and i cant wait to fuck you when i get there and gods i cant get the look on your face when i sink my fingers into you out of my head , all of which she texts while Caitlyn’s in public and it is extremely problematic. But it’s this that makes Caitlyn slip up one time, one of the times Vi asks for it, in Vi’s dressing room before rehearsal starts and after they’ve concluded.

     “This is going to be a problem,” Vi says absently as they pull their clothes back on. Bright vanity lights put every single one of Vi’s back muscles on display while she slips on her tank, and Caitlyn’s mouth goes dry.

     “What is?” she asks when her mouth is functioning again, retying her hair.

     Vi sighs and glances at her. “I’m really fucking wet, I can feel it. And for all of rehearsal?”

     Caitlyn’s busy fixing her hair in the mirror and doesn’t monitor what comes out of her mouth while doing it, half-joking, half not: “Well, I could clean you up.”

     Vi freezes; Caitlyn spots her doing so in the mirror and stops as well, but she doesn’t take it back. She thinks Vi knows that Caitlyn wants to reciprocate, but never asks her to, and since the first time they did this, Caitlyn’s stopped offering. But.

     “I mean it,” Caitlyn says, breaching the topic carefully, poking at the ice. “I want to make you feel good.”

     “I know,” Vi responds, and the loose tone they both adopt after sex is gone and replaced by a hardness Vi usually saves for calling Caitlyn a bitch or using cupcake without affection. Caitlyn almost flinches at the change in mode. “It’s just—uh—” Vi tears her eyes away— “doesn’t this break rule number three? Could we not talk about this?”

     Caitlyn frowns. It doesn’t break rule number three, not for her, but maybe for Vi it does. The strings attached part, maybe? Regardless, ducking her head, Caitlyn says, “Yes. Sorry.”

     “It’s fine.” Vi shifts around, bouncing her knee. “You should go.”

     Silence.

     Caitlyn sighs, gathering her jacket in her arms. She’s in Vi’s dressing room, so it is her place to leave; she glances at Vi, who’s not looking at her, doesn’t seem to have the intention to, and Caitlyn resigns herself to it and slips out the door.

     Mid-March, and they’re still on act three. Salo reasons that it’s because act three is one of the make or break acts of the play, with both Mercutio and Tybalt dying and that they need to get it right, so they’ve gone at that scene for maybe four, five rehearsals so far. This means Caitlyn doesn’t interact with Vi this rehearsal, and when they go out for boba afterward as a cast, Vi doesn’t interact with her either, pointedly ignoring her glances and slipping out of conversations Caitlyn’s in and vice versa. Even Jayce seems to notice that something’s up, looking between a carefully-stationed-far-away Vi and Caitlyn with a literal ??? on his face, which Caitlyn doesn’t even have a response to.

     That night, Caitlyn collapses into her bed with a huff, crossing her arms and staring at the ceiling and the glow-in-the-dark stars Jayce put up there as a joke when she and Mel first moved in. What was she thinking ? She should’ve just dropped it the first time they both went silent. And now it’s going to be weird the moment they have to rehearse in a scene together again and Caitlyn might actually have to resort to the breathing excercise videos her mother sends her for stress relief—

     Her phone pings. Caitlyn basically flies to grab it from her nightstand. The message is from Vi.

Vi, 9:52pm

hey

     Heart hammering, Caitlyn replies within the minute, not bothering to wait some time so Vi doesn’t think she was waiting for her text.

Me, 9:52pm

Hi

Vi, 9:53pm

look, im sorry about earlier, i just freaked out

Me, 9:53pm

No it’s okay, I shouldn’t have said anything

Vi, 9:54pm

you deserved a better answer than what i gave you

so im sorry

     Caitlyn taps the edge of her phone, over and over, trying to think.

Me, 9:55pm

It’s okay

Vi, 9:56pm

i would be down in the future

i think

Me, 9:56pm

You think?

Vi, 9:57pm

its the vulnerability thing

it just takes a minute

     Some part of Caitlyn thinks to respond with it’s been a month, it’s *me* , the part of her that still hurts from the break-up, the part of her that would’ve said it to hurt her at the end of it, that knee-jerk reaction to harm when you’ve been kicked, but she furrows her eyebrows and thinks.

Me, 9:58pm

I want to help

Baby steps?

     It takes a minute or so for Vi to reply.

Vi, 10:00pm

how would we start?

Me, 10:01pm

That depends on your level of comfort

     Again, Vi takes a moment. Nervous, Caitlyn turns over onto her stomach and rushes to clarify things.

Me, 10:03pm

I want to make it clear that I don’t want to rush you, or anything

If this is something you’re interested in, I want to help

Vi, 10:04pm

i know cupcake

:)

don’t sweat it, im just trying to think

Me, 10:04pm

I understand, take your time

     Caitlyn resorts to counting the stars and moons Jayce had stuck on her ceiling to pass the time, and jumps when Vi responds.

Vi, 10:06pm

i want to get used to your voice again

     This takes her by surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that to be the main issue. And the use of again sort of breaks rule three.

Me, 10:07pm

Could you elaborate a little?

Vi, 10:08pm

i can’t picture your voice being calm

does that make sense?

     Caitlyn takes some time to think. She thinks she’s been calm with Vi. Recently. In that bathroom, wrapping Vi’s hand in bandages, after their sessions, making small talk.

Me, 10:09pm

Do you mean during when we have sex?

Vi, 10:10pm

not really

just

uh

     It clicks in Caitlyn’s mind then as she scrolls through their recent texts.

Me, 10:10pm

When you’re vulnerable

Vi, 10:10pm

yeah

     Caitlyn frowns. She’d been somewhat calm in Powder’s bathroom, but Vi had hardly been vulnerable, even with an injured hand because she could knock Caitlyn on her ass with the other if she really wanted to. Instead, Caitlyn knows she’d been a bit harsh during that last fight. There was a difference between physically injured and emotionally broken. If that was all Vi remembered of her, then…

Me, 10:11pm

I understand. We’ll start there. I’ll work on how my tone sounds when we interact in the future

Vi, 10:11pm

cait your tone is fine when we interact

idk

i want to hear you first

not right now, just at some point

Me, 10:12pm

We’ll figure something out, I promise

I’ll start brainstorming

Vi, 10:12pm

i know

thanks cait

get some rest

     She’s cutting the conversation short, abrupt and cavalier, but Caitlyn tries not to push.

Me, 10:13pm

Of course. Goodnight, Vi

Vi, 10:13pm

night cupcake

     Caitlyn clicks off her phone and sets it against her chest, sighing. Vi runs away at the slightest slip up of vulnerability before much improvement has been made and she hadn’t really realized, until now, that she isn’t a source of comfort that can break through that. Not anymore.

     And is that really her place? They don’t have a label, fuck buddies is way too vulgar and casual, and this is barely… casual. Caitlyn knows more about Vi than she cares to admit, whether or not things have changed from two years ago, and that’s certainly not casual. They see each other more than half of the days of the week. If not to fuck, then for rehearsal, and if not for rehearsal, then all of the cast is invited to someone’s workplace for free-whatever or just to hang out. Friends with benefits is not the term when they’re not friends. Exes with benefits, then? And exes don’t… they’re not supposed to get any closer than Caitlyn is with Vi right now.

     Caitlyn rolls onto her side, clutching her knees to her chest. It’s raining outside, and there’s a rhythmic drop drop drop as water bounces onto her windowsill.

     So what is she supposed to do from here? Let it take it’s course? She doesn’t do well with that, per the planner she keeps on speed dial and her life dissected into manageable categories, Vi being one of them. And she’s not supposed to care, she’s not supposed to get this close, not according to the rules, and… she’s really not supposed to be doing any of this. None of this was supposed to happen and none of it is going the way she planned and that fact eats at her brain like a parasite. And anger for herself of how Vi doesn’t trust her the way she used to buries deep, and that isn’t supposed to matter either but it does .

     This is going to take its course and she can’t do anything about it. Vi’s terms are Vi’s terms and she respects that, that one thing is for certain, whatever Vi decides and whatever Vi proposes she will  and already does respect, so she shouldn’t be concerned. But she cares, about it and for Vi. Gods, she cares .

     Too much has happened for her to care. Too much has happened for Caitlyn to fall right back into her and worry about this like it matters. Like it dictates her.

     Caitlyn tosses and turns. She doesn’t sleep well that night.

↠↢

So the several, many different ways their breakup came about and the ways they hurt each other need some backstory.

     Vi doesn’t like thinking about it. They aren’t her proudest moments and she’s sure they aren’t Caitlyn’s either, but they happened and that’s a fact she wants to ignore but can’t.

     The catalyst had appeared early, but it really hits her the week before midterms of their fall, sophomore year semester. That semester had hit Caitlyn like a truck; Vi had suspected that Caitlyn had anticipated her masters seminars to be challenging and work-heavy, but not to this degree, and she also suspected that leading up to the semester, Caitlyn had been viewing her undergraduate classes—four of them to say the least—as easy and readily discarded in favor of her seminars.

     This had not been the case. The semester started, and while Vi rode out syllabus week, Caitlyn logged her assignments into her calendar, and freaked out.

     She did not involve Vi in this panic. In fact, she kept Vi very far away from it. The one reason Vi knew that she was freaking out was not just the telltale signs of Caitlyn forgetting to eat amidst all of her work and barely having time to text back, but the fact that Caitlyn’s version of date-nights now included a few hours dedicated to working. Date-nights became more like study-nights with an exception for Vi to sit beside her. Last semester, Caitlyn had at least understood that some work could be spared for later. This semester, Vi pieced together that if Caitlyn thought she needed every second in the world to do her work, she was freaking out about completing all of her work in a timely manner.

     Vi did what she did best: looked to the future, anxiously anticipating the month long winter break where Caitlyn would be somewhat stress free and Vi would be at the forefront of her mind again. So, she stuck with it, allowing Caitlyn to work herself to death and not posing the option of dropping a class again after being very passionately shot down the first time. She brought Caitlyn her meals when she had to, she accepted the spare key Mel gave her when they secretly teamed up to make sure Caitlyn was surviving to do so, she plopped the prescription blue light glasses Caitlyn always forgot she owned by Caitlyn’s elbow when Caitlyn began rubbing her temples with frustration, and gently scratched Caitlyn’s strained scalp from being pulled into a bun or ponytail for hours as they laid in bed some sleepover nights.

     One of these nights, notably one Caitlyn claimed was a date night, Vi had arrived with Chinese take out from the same restaurant they ate at during their first ‘date,’ and said in passing as meals were arranged, “Man, I’m excited to sleep early tonight. Sevika kicked my ass today.”

     Caitlyn had hummed in acknolwedgement, and carried her pork fried rice into the bedroom, waving Vi along.

     It was important to note, starting here, that Vi had never expected Caitlyn to repay her for anything she did when Caitlyn’s stressed. Caitlyn had done enough for her already—not only does she pay for all of their dates because her family’s rich as fuck (Caitlyn had tried to keep this more of a secret at first until Vi found out she had two Instagram accounts, one with a bajillion followers), but she’d been patient with Vi, kind, understanding when Vi can’t piece the words to explain what she’s feeling together and eager to listen when she can. The little time she spent with Vi, present and open and taking everything Vi said and did to heart, had been worth more than the time she was busy putting her life into her work.

     Vi did not get to sleep early that night. They’d eaten and talked for maybe a total of ten minutes before Caitlyn was studying again, and Vi had decided to study too because yeah, why not, midterms are next week but she wasn’t really feeling the pressure to study too hard yet. She’d studied on and off, flitting between subjects, handing Caitlyn her blue light glasses before gnawing on the end of her pencil, and yeah, she did get a few of her homework assignments done but she didn’t really see a point in studying when exams weren’t for another week and some of her classes still had lectures left to cover exam material.

     Caitlyn did not seem to share this ideal, staring hard at her computer and the papers spread around her and eyes never once leaving them. At one point, Vi had taken a look at her open calendar and scanned around as much as she could; Caitlyn didn’t have midterms until the middle of the following week (it was  a Tuesday currently) and moving into the following one, her two big papers for her masters seminars not due for a week and a half. She’d glanced at the document Caitlyn was working on, squinted, and read JRN560 Midterm Paper at the top. This seemed a bit early to be stressing so much, but Vi didn’t comment on it.

     At eleven, the attempt at studying and essentially stalling while Caitlyn worked had wiped the floor with Vi and she succumbed to the sleep pulling at her eyes. She’d stood and got ready without disturbing Caitlyn, going through her overnight bag and moving in and out of the room. She’d been hoping that maybe Caitlyn would see that she was getting ready to sleep and stop for the night, but as Vi put her toothbrush and toiletries back into her bag, Caitlyn was still typing away.

     Vi had walked over to her and brushed Caitlyn’s hair over one shoulder, leaning down to press small kisses up the crook of her shoulder to her cheek. “I’m heading to bed,” she’d murmured gently, in case Caitlyn hadn’t noticed, rubbing her hands over Caitlyn’s shoulders. 

     Caitlyn had nodded, one hand reaching out to hold Vi’s for a moment, but not any longer. “I’ll be done soon,” Caitlyn had said, and resumed her work.

     A spark of hope had lit in Vi, and she’d climbed into Caitlyn’s ginormous king bed, scrolling around on her phone in the hope that soon, like Caitlyn had said, Caitlyn would be done and come to bed. And she did this for a while, checking in on the random social media apps she had downloaded, tapping through everyone’s stories, even clicking through the entire highlight Caitlyn had on her personal, private account of pictures of her and Vi, titled the emoji of a violet.

     But sleep had claimed her and she awoke blearily, swatting around at the sheets around her and finding no trace of Caitlyn, the bed cold where Vi wasn’t touching. She’d checked her phone and found the time to be nearly two a.m., and rolled over to find Caitlyn’s lamp still on and Caitlyn still perched at her desk, as if she’d never left.

     Two a.m. was not soon. Caitlyn didn’t look like she had plans of stopping. Vi dragged herself out of bed, bending to wrap her arms around Caitlyn’s shoulders and bury her head in Caitlyn’s neck.

     “Vi…” Caitlyn had said, one hand reaching up to wrap itself around Vi’s wrist.

     “It’s late,” Vi had mumbled, thumb stroking the edge of Caitlyn’s cheek. “Come to bed.”

     “I’m not done yet,” Caitlyn replied. “I just have to get this done.”

     Vi had frowned, kissing the back of Caitlyn’s neck. “I’m really tired.”

     Caitlyn had pushed her glasses up her nose. “You don’t have to wait for me, it’s okay,” she’d said, as if she hadn’t been aware Vi had slept at all.

     “This isn’t due for another week and a half,” Vi had reasoned, spotting that Caitlyn was still typing away at the same document. “It can wait. You need to sleep.”

     “There’s only one more set of office hours until this is due, so I need it to be done before then so I can recieve edits.”

     “When’s office hours?”

     “Thursday.”

     “So you’ve got tomorrow,” Vi had said, pressing her thumb to the knot in Caitlyn’s shoulders that she knew appeared when Caitlyn sat up straight for too long. “C’mon, baby, you function better with rest.”

     Caitlyn had sighed, and Vi could feel herself getting mildly frustrated. “I have too many classes tomorrow,” Caitlyn said, removing her hand from Vi’s wrist and sorting some papers around. “And then I need to study for ethics.”

     “Cait, please,” Vi had said, and she wasn’t even reasoning for Caitlyn’s own sake anymore. “I came over because I wanted to spend time with you, to sleep in bed with you . I’m so tired. There’s time tomorrow.”

     A beat of silence. Caitlyn had shrugged Vi’s arms off her shoulders and shaken her head.

     “I’m not going to put you over my academics,” Caitlyn had said, stern and cold, without looking at her. “I can’t do that. I won’t. I never will.”

     She might’ve been better off taking a knife and dragging it slowly over Vi’s heart.

     This ideal had been completely lost on Vi. She’d been starting to consider Caitlyn her family, asking if Caitlyn could come when her family made plans and inviting her to Wednesday potlucks. And Vi put her family over absolutely everything, whether that be school or work or if a fucking war broke out—there was nothing in the world that was more important to her.

     Caitlyn had spared her a single glance, only to say, “Get some sleep.” And— “I love you.”

     To Vi, there should have been nothing more important to Caitlyn. How dare she say that when she’d just told Vi that Vi would never be her first priority, that she would never hold Vi above a title, a piece of paper, a single letter?

     Vi had stepped back with shock and fury threatening to break through the haze her tiredness put in her mind. She’d wandered back to bed, on her side of the mattress, way too big without Caitlyn sleeping beside her, and tried to sleep.

     She barely could, Caitlyn’s words spinning through her mind. She’d felt Caitlyn come to bed at some point, at an unintelligible time, arm sliding around her waist and head tucking into Vi’s neck, pecking the skin there twice before settling in, pulling the blankets over them, but all Vi felt was cold.

     Caitlyn was gone when she woke up, light streaming through the open window. And from there, Vi did the only thing she knew how. She’d built her walls back up, brick by fucking brick, and shut her out.

Chapter Text

A hand thrusts itself into Vi’s face, holding a phone.

     “It’s her!” Powder exclaims, dropping into the seat next to her. Vi groans, because she already knows what Powder’s about to say. “It can’t be anyone else. She’s batshit insane and she’s definitely your type and I saw you make out with her at Alpha-Sig’s party.”

     This catches Vi’s attention, and she focuses on the Instagram profile Powder is showing her. Alas, Powder has dug up Sarah Fortune, who she did make out with at Alpha-Sig’s party but was not guilty of giving Vi two (“Monstrous, disgusting, absolutely outrageous,” Powder had said, describing them in great length to the dinner table when Benzo and Vander were away in the kitchen that Wednesday potluck while Vi buried her head in her hands) hickeys before Valentine’s Day.

     “It’s not her,” Vi says to Powder, bluntly.

     “But it would make total sense if you guys made out again!”

     “Does this look like my I’m lying face?” Vi asks her, pointing to her own brutally deadpan expression, and Powder’s own sours. “I told you you’re not going to find her.”

     “I don’t think she exists,” says Ekko, slipping into the seat beside Powder. “Vi probably found a way to suck her own neck.”

     “Hey!”

     They’re sitting in the auditorium seats during rehearsal, watching Loris, Mel, and Maddie rehearse act three, scene four with Ambessa and Salo hollering orders around—Mel looks like she wants to die and Maddie’s oddly into it. Salo had finally declared that scene one where both Mercutio and Tybalt die was good enough until they run the whole thing again in late-April, and allowed everyone else to finally get to rehearse the following scenes. Now dead, it seems Ekko has focused his efforts into helping his girlfriend instead of improv-ing and wandering about the stage as Mercutio’s ghost.

     “What if it’s a guy?” Powder proposes wildly, eyebrows shooting up. “And that’s why I can’t find her? Or them? Or him ?”

     “Ew, gross.” Vi grimaces, the image of her kissing a man flashing through her mind unwillingly. “No, Pow, would you just stop looking?”

     Powder, completely ignoring her request, leans toward her with her elbows on her knees, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes. “Is her account private?”

     Yes and no . Vi says, “Have any other hickeys appeared? No? Then it isn’t happening anymore.”

     “You could’ve just told her to stop,” Powder reasons, and Vi can’t admit out loud that she’s right but she is. Not that she asked, but Caitlyn hasn’t done it again. “So it is private?”

     “Love,” Ekko says, which Vi politely chooses not to comprehend, reaching an arm around the back of the seat to tuck a strand of Powder’s swiftly growing hair behind her ear, “Vi’s right, is this worth your time when the girl isn’t even around anymore?”

     Vi begins, eternally grateful— “ Thank y —”

     “I mean, it’s not looking like she’s getting any right now, y’know—”

     Betrayed, Vi turns on Ekko with fury as both Ekko and Powder begin to laugh. “She’s gonna lose her slut status,” Powder says between cackles, and before Vi can threaten to report to Vander and Benzo that they’ve slept in the same bed, Salo claps his hands a billion times to get everyone to shut up.

     “Act three, scene five!” booms Salo, flipping dramatically in his script that probably really doesn’t need the amount of sticky notes it has stuck in it. “Vi, Caitlyn, Elora, get up here!” He says aside to the departing Loris— “Loris, be ready if we reach your entrance in the scene.”

     “Shouldn’t you be finishing up costumes?” Vi asks Powder with a playful sneer as she stands, snatching her script as Ekko steals it. “Don’t we take promo pics in a few weeks?”

     “Two weeks,” Powder supplies, sneering right back and even sticking her tongue out. “I’m gonna give you the biggest cup on your knight-in-shining-armor so you can rub up on Kiramman better while you eat her face off.”

     Vi throws a middle finger over her back as she walks down the auditorium aisle, Ekko and Powder’s raucous laughter echoing through the domed room behind her.

     Everyone else is already on stage when she takes the stairs two at a time to get up there, Mel stretched out on one of the chaise lounges they brought in for set design considering she doesn’t enter until later, Elora and Caitlyn talking quietly and pointing at various lines in their scripts. Caitlyn looks up at the sound of Vi tossing her script onto a rickety nightstand, the way her face hardens and her eyes widen every time Vi enters her field of vision ever so captivating.

     “How I hate to be your distraught wife,” Caitlyn murmurs to her as they take their pretty much already programmed places next to each other.

     Vi looks her up and down, noting the flared, dark blue jeans she tends to choose on rainy days in contrast to her skirts, the simple, flowy white blouse tucked into them. “How I love to be your rebel husband,” she responds, smirking, and Gods she loves the way Caitlyn scrunches her nose and turns it upward, looking away.

     “The scene starts with Juliet on her bed and Romeo coming through the balcony,” Salo explains, the rhythmic tapping of his pen against the script annoying them all. He motions for Caitlyn to take her place on the singular mattress and blanket without a bedframe they’ve acquired so far and for Vi to begin at stage right. “Before any dialogue is spoken, we’re adding in bits of the movie, where the lovers kiss, embrace, Juliet inspects Romeo’s wounds, and… make love.” Salo turns on Vi with his scarily small eyes. “We’ll get into costuming later. For now, we’ll use both your jackets, so go get them.”

     He says this with such vagueness that Vi thinks as she grabs her jacket from her dressing room oh my god he’s going to make me flash the whole fucking audience.

     “As per usual with you two,” Ambessa adds from afar when they return, and yeah, her arms are definitely glued to each other, “we’ll let you scope out your feel of the scene before adding in our critiques and wants and endless desires. The scene will fade to black with the both of you on the bed, get there however you like, and when the lights go on again, it’ll be morning and you can begin your dialogue.”

     Caitlyn looks at her; she looks at Caitlyn. Alright. They’ve fucked many times in this very auditorium before but portraying it on stage is… something.

     “How—how explicit is this meant to be?” Caitlyn stammers, gaze flickering between Salo and Ambessa, and then to Mel, who seems to be harboring shock and a laugh behind her palm over her mouth.

     Ambessa shrugs. “With costumes, you’ll have a bralette on, and remain in that,” she says, and Caitlyn’s eyes fade to such a horrified blankness she might as well be dead, “and you’ll begin in a nightgown, so whatever you have to do to get there, so be it.”

     “And I’m—” Vi is beginning to realize her whole family will certainly be either in the wings, backstage or in the stands— “I’m wearing, what, nothing?”

     “A button up and bandage-looking bandeau to suit the damaged look,” says Ambessa, and Caitlyn glares at Vi as if Vi is responsible for getting the better option in terms of nakedness. “And you best be grateful, there have been many reiterations of this play and each of them are as vulgar as the next.”

     This is just amazing, but at least Vander knows she likes girls and has experience kissing them, considering the first time he caught her with one, holding hands with her first crush in the great age of middle school, he had just said, “Ah.” But as Vi remembers this memory fondly, she looks at Caitlyn and realizes—oh, shit.

     Caitlyn looks back at her and the carefully concealed concern etched into the lines of her face stick out like a sore thumb when Vi’s the one staring.

     Ambessa glances between their passing gazes and asks, “Do you two… need a moment?”

     Caitlyn quickly says, “No,” before Vi can say the opposite. “No,” Caitlyn says again, shaking her head and situating herself on the lame mattress. “No. We knew what we were getting into, didn’t we? Let’s not—” she waves her hands around in a very un-Caitlyn like motion— “waste time.”

     “Wisest words I’ve heard all day,” huffs Salo like he didn’t sign up for this job. “Alright then. Places… and, action.”

     Vi barely gets the time to look out into the audience and make sure Powder and Ekko and everyone else are decidedly not there before stepping into the scene. Salo makes a gesture and the lights come on, Scar flicking something on inside the booth that bathes the stage in a warm, night glow. Vi always hates the first time they run a scene, mainly because she feels stupid basically winging the entire shot, so when she approaches Caitlyn and the bed, her steps are measured, timed, while Caitlyn gasps—already right in character—and slowly rises.

     They meet in the middle, Caitlyn’s—Juliet’s?— hands immediately coming up to cradle her face, worried eyes checking over her like she really had just been in a bloodbath. Barely touching, barely there, Vi rests her hands on Caitlyn’s waist, opal eyes boring into cerulean blue. Caitlyn makes a show of picking something non-existent off of Vi’s face, brushing her hair off to the side, and Vi’s seen the movie, she knows Romeo is hesitant in this scene, unsure if Juliet held contempt for his murder of her kinsman, but she feels more so than she should. Caitlyn’s lips are right there, inching closer—Vi knows she’s supposed to act, knows that Caitlyn is too, but there’s fear in Caitlyn’s eyes, in the small pinch of her eyebrows, and whether that’s for herself or for Romeo is painfully unclear.

     Their kiss is chaste, fleeting, not a peck but not fully fledged, before the embrace takes its course and Vi envelops Caitlyn in her arms. Caitlyn sinks into her, face burrowing into her neck, a small sniff reaching Vi’s ears, too small for it to had been for show, and Vi realizes, in the grasp of Caitlyn’s arms and in Caitlyn’s delicate frame— 

     With midterms this week, Vi had expected for Caitlyn to be more… forward, with their meetings. She’d expected being texted at least once a day, perhaps with Caitlyn grumbling on and on about one of her classes before they make out and fuck senseless and Caitlyn continues to ramble on and on just with the barest hint of a relaxed smile playing on her lips. Instead, Caitlyn hadn’t texted all weekend since their text conversation that one night, and it now being Tuesday, still hadn’t. Maybe Caitlyn had been too caught up in her work—that certainly wouldn’t be new—but she answered Vi’s text when Vi got a little too worked up from staring at a screen all day and came to her call Saturday night at the gym, after her shift, pressing Vi to the ground before promptly riding her face.

     Maybe that had been a way to force Vi to be unable to speak and/or making it so Vi can’t see her face; Vi isn’t sure. And while Caitlyn isn’t acting too out of the normal, she’s off-kilter, tense, not the kind of tense from sexual frustration but the tense where she presses her fingers into fabric of Vi’s jacket, making obvious dents on the loose fabric and her long, chipped nails catching strays.

     Something’s on her mind, something that may be preventing her from using Vi and her (if she does say so herself) talented mouth and fingers as a stress reliever, something more, something other than just the possibility of her parents watching her perform a sex scene with a woman, because not only is Caitlyn Kiramman quiet now but she had been all weekend and Caitlyn Kiramman is anything but indistinct. Suddenly, Vi’s determined to find out what.

     And just as suddenly, she thinks, what? No you’re not. Why does it matter if she’s being weird? She’s not your problem.

     That line of truly convincing dialogue proves ineffective the moment the hug breaks and Caitlyn’s hands are moving to brush Vi’s jacket off her shoulders, hands and fingers at Vi’s waist, her chest, acting as if she’s scanning for wounds over Vi’s tank, with far too little pressure than Vi’s used to and that’s weird, that’s so weird, she’s acting as if she doesn’t know Vi at all—

     Vi catches her wrist with one hand and holds Caitlyn’s cheek with the other, forcing Caitlyn to look at her. This move isn’t exactly unscripted, considering this is the first time they’re rehearsing it, but it isn’t exactly warranted either: the next action from Romeo in the movie is kissing Juliet again. Caitlyn looks down at her, meets Vi’s eyes, swallowing before looking away and pretending to inspect another wound, and that single astray glance confirms everything; Vi tilts Caitlyn’s head back toward her and kisses her.

     Back on track, Caitlyn seems less wary, mouth accepting Vi’s as they begin to accelerate, Caitlyn tilting her head and deepening the kiss. Her hand is on Vi’s neck and moving around to the back and tugging Vi closer, and Vi wants that, she loved that, the fact that people are watching them closely leaving her mind for a moment as she walks Caitlyn toward the bed, around the side of it, eager and barely stumbling. They need to end up under the sheets so the lights can go black and they can shift to a sleeping position, so Vi breaks the kiss and intertwines her hand with Caitlyn’s, settling back against the non-existent headboard before pulling Caitlyn in by the tips of her fingers.

     Darkness alights in Caitlyn’s eyes, pupils dilating as she climbs atop of Vi, hands resting on Vi’s shoulders and hips shifting back as Vi leans closer. There’s a pause here, a necessary question before Vi takes the leap and lets her hands drag Caitlyn’s jacket off her arms, and that motion isn’t even actually revealing a bralette but she feels like it is, the top of Caitlyn’s collarbones coming into mouthwatering view and her slender arms free from the puffy insulation of the jacket. Vi allows her eyes to rake over Caitlyn’s body, this marvelous, enthralling woman before her, maybe in the simplest outfit ever but she’s always been able to punch Vi’s breath out of her chest, from before to when they’d sometimes pass on campus to now—

     Caitlyn kisses the thoughts out of her, capturing her mouth with a fervor Vi thought they usually saved for when they’re actually fucking. She rises up on her knees and pulls Vi against her mouth with two hands on Vi’s face as Vi drags her in by the insides of her knees, lips meeting time and time again before Caitlyn pushes Vi’s back against the mattress. Vi hits it with surprise, eyes widening, and Gods, Caitlyn honest to God smiles, with a quirk of the corners of her lips, before grabbing the edge of the blanket and swoops down over Vi, kissing her and hauling the blankets over them in one simultaneous, swift motion that’s so goddamn hot.

     The moment the blanket hits them and Vi watches the lights go down through the opacity of the cheap blanket, she thinks Caitlyn will break the kiss, but no, she keeps going, and without the eyes of the others, Vi indulges. This part is quicker, fleeting, just for them, Vi fisting Caitlyn’s hair and tugging her down, the length of Caitlyn’s body pressing into hers with zeal, mouths moving and surging and biting before Caitlyn pulls away with an exasperated huff and falls off to Vi’s side.

     The lights haven’t come up yet, thank Gods, and Vi hurries to sweep an arm under Caitlyn’s neck, Caitlyn’s leg swinging over hers and head resting against Vi’s panting chest, a hand at her waist. They haven’t cuddled before—not recently, not yet, and it’s… if they both weren’t trying to maintain a centimeter of space, it would be nice. Really nice.

     Vi whispers, quickly, because she feels this odd tug at her heart that she should, mouth in the depths of Caitlyn’s hair, “You did perfect.”

     The lights come back on, rising like the morning sun, and Vi swears she feels Caitlyn’s hand clutch harder at Vi’s waist and dig her head deeper into Vi’s chest.

     They both make a show of flipping the blankets off and yawning and blearily waking up, before Caitlyn says her first line: “Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day—”

     “Good,” Ambessa says, stopping them there and snapping them both right back to reality. “Like the rest of your kisses, you two make out like you’ve rehearsed it already. Let’s run it again.”

↠↢

The cast goes out for boba after rehearsal for like the eightieth time, and Caitlyn decides she might as well go along.

     It has graciously stopped raining, so Caitlyn clutches her jacket to her chest as she walks beside Jayce and around most of the others, making pedestrians roll their eyes and walk in the street as they stroll along downtown Piltover. Powder campaigned for a boba shop with more seating to accommodate the lot of them, rather than the stuffy, near-campus cafe, so here they are, making the ten-minute trek from the auditorium with all of their bags and coats.

     “You don’t have to walk with me,” Caitlyn tells Jayce with honesty, glancing up at Viktor and Powder chatting about what sounds like bombs, with all of Powder’s explosive dramatics. “I’m perfectly content third-wheeling with Mel and Elora.”

     “Well, you never come to these things, so might as well,” Jayce huffs, teasing. “So, why today? Are all of your midterms over this early?”

     “No,” Caitlyn sighs. She adjusts her coat and satchel over her shoulder, falling loose with all the walking. “I have an article due tomorrow for the Academy Daily, and a paper and an exam both due on Friday. So I’m not stressing out too much just yet.”

     “Caitlyn Kiramman? Not stressing out?” Jayce says, laughing. “Who are you and what have you done with her?”

     “Please.” Caitlyn rolls her eyes. “I could write this essay in my sleep. That’s all.”

     More like she hadn’t requested for Vi to put their in-dressing room couches to shameless use and Vi is now up near the front of the group, talking gruffly with Sevika and Claggor. Sevika never orders anything when she comes to these things, and if she does it’s the most bitter beverage you would’ve never thought existed before she ordered it, and Claggor tends to shy away from social gatherings, so all three of their presences makes for a truly outstanding sight. In that moment, Vi glances over her shoulder and looks around before locking eyes with Caitlyn; momentarily there, then fleetingly gone.

     Caitlyn asks Jayce, “What about you?”

     “Viktor and I are almost through preparing a mid-point presentation on our senior project,” Jayce says, eyes falling and landing on Viktor and the little smile that pulls at his lips is enough for Caitlyn to smile too. “You were right. Ekko and Powder had done some research that contributed well to our issue.”

     “I’m glad it worked out,” says Caitlyn, perking up. “You and Viktor certainly seem happy.”

     Jayce beams. “We are.” And then sorrows. “But you’ve noticed Mel being secretive too, haven’t you?”

     Caitlyn moves her eyes to where Mel walks with Elora, chatting quietly in the way talking to Elora makes you do. “She’s been absent at the apartment. More than usual. She communicates primarily through post-its,” Caitlyn murmurs. “With respect to Elora, there’s a reason she’s walking with her and not us.”

     A frown grows on Jayce’s face. “You don’t think her mom always being around is affecting her too much, do you?”

     “I don’t think so,” Caitlyn says. Mel had never enjoyed that Ambessa worked at the university as a rather gruff political science professor that also led the JROTC, but Mel always acted a certain way when her mother was bothering her, somehow leveling up her ways of luxury to a height that exceeded Caitlyn’s own wealth by hundreds of flights in the way she held her posture and what she ate and where she dabbled. This wasn’t it. This was… avoidance for safety, almost. “But you know Mel. She’ll say something soon.”

     “And you?”

     “What about me?”

     “Will you—” Jayce raises his eyebrows suggestively— “say something soon?”

     Caitlyn looks up at him, confused. Jayce nods toward the front of the group, eyes flickering to Vi.

     “What do you think there is to say?” Caitlyn asks him, because she hadn’t told anyone about anything to do with Vi, whether that be their arrangement or her conflicting feelings about it, and Jayce is much too oblivious about everything to figure it out.

     “You can’t last much longer without talking about it,” Jayce tells her. “The breakup.” He adds before Caitlyn can protest— “Tension’s bound to pile up and with our luck it’ll break on opening night. Romeo and Juliet are in love, aren’t they? You can’t fire insults at each other forever.”

     Caitlyn turns and looks at Vi, shouldering along with clinks from that stupid carabiner. Somewhere, she knows Jayce is right. But that’d break rule number three, so she says, “Watch me,” instead.

     They arrive at the boba shop in due time, piling through the double doors and Caitlyn really does feel for the apprehensive and horrified expressions on the barista’s faces. The cast forms very long lines both in front of the cashier and the singular digital kiosk off to the left, other patrons grimacing before filing out of the bright yellow room. Sympathetic, Caitlyn looks around and finds a QR code to order online, blocked by an out of control leafy plant, and she scans it and quickly moves herself out of trouble, plopping down on a quirky barstool not too far away.

     She orders and receives the text confirmation, settling her elbows onto the table and tapping the edge of her phone case. Opening her email, she finds a recently sent one from Salo, with Ambessa, Heimerdinger, and a few other theatre department administrators CC’d. It’s really just an upcoming timeline spaced out through Salo’s lengthy exposition: mainly, with costumes concluding their first round of outfits, they’ll be taking pictures for promotion and the programs within the coming weeks during rehearsal, and they’ve finalized the itinerary for the field trip they were told to take the weekend off for back in January. An overnight trip to New York City, all expenses paid, chiefly to see Romeo and Juliet on Broadway for ‘research,’ with some other activities factored in.

     A rush of gratitude races through her. Gods, she has always loved that city, considering she’ll be moving there within a few months. What an incredible chance to visit before she does.

     There’s a few links and forms to go through, one explaining the sleeping arrangements, which called for two queen beds in one room and that they’ll be assigned day of. Well, at least if Salo decides that his leads need even more time together, she won’t have to sleep in the same bed as Vi.

     There is a link to submit a form explaining any grievances if you absolutely cannot sleep in the same room as another cast member. Caitlyn’s thumb hovers over the bright blue series of letters, before pausing and clicking out of the email.

     She’s been working on not caring. It hasn’t exactly been working—case in point.

     As if summoned on cue from Caitlyn’s thoughts, a voice from behind her says, “Hey.”

     Caitlyn whips around. Vi is standing there, hands in her jacket pockets and looking… wary.

     Vi hesitates, shifting from what foot to the other before saying, “Don’t be weird.”

     Their eyes meet, something passing through their gaze. This is odd, Vi speaking to her without malice when they’re in public, especially with the entire cast still shouting or tapping their orders mere feet away. But Gods, Caitlyn never could deny her.

     She sighs, turning to face the table once more. “I know,” she says, defeated.

     Vi slides into the seat beside her, body angled toward her and she seems… at a loss. This, again, is odd. Maybe Caitlyn should be the one telling her not to be weird.

     “Did you already order?” Vi asks her, gracefully changing the subject.

     Caitlyn nods. “There’s a way to order online,” she says, raising her phone for emphasis.

     “Oh,” says Vi, perking up in that adorable way, eyes flickering around. “Well.”

     Stale silence. Caitlyn dearly wishes to escape this situation and prays to whoever is listening that her order is called. It is not.

     Vi faces her, leaning in slightly. Caitlyn braces herself, but Vi does not ask what she’s expecting: “Is everything okay?”

     She’d been expecting for Vi to ask directly what was the issue, maybe accuse Caitlyn of her intentional behavior considering Caitlyn’s absent manner in a stressful time the past few days. Their little out-of-this-world (literally, they’d been acting like it) session during rehearsal had been one thing, the first time Caitlyn had felt like herself recently. This is entirely another.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn answers, because on the surface, it is, and she has never been one to involve Vi in her personal issues. She scans the area, ensuring that no one else is listening—the lines are getting shorter, members of the cast beginning to disperse into small groups—before mumbling, “I’ve just been busy.”

     She toys with the edge of her phone case. Vi seems to notice.

     “Hey, look,” Vi begins to say, “We don’t—”

     “Jasmine milk green tea with light ice for Caitlyn!” shouts a barista, stressed, followed by, “Strawberry banana slushie with extra boba for Violet!”

     Caitlyn curses that these workers couldn’t have worked a little faster, beginning to stand as quick as possible. Vi waves a hand for her to sit down, with a manner of it was obvious that Vi should be the one grabbing the drinks. “Chill, Cait, I’ve got it.”

     She sits her ass down with a huff, watching Vi weave around gatherings of people to reach the pick up counter, checking the stickers on the drinks before thanking the baristas with a nod and picking up two straws with two fingers that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

     Vi hands her her drink when she returns, sliding the straw over to her. “Thanks,” Caitlyn says, and maybe they’d get onto familiar ground if she teases— “Strawberry banana slushie? Extra boba?”

     “Shut up,” Vi mumbles, cheeks tinging pink. “It’s good.”

     Caitlyn chuckles, and Vi seems to regain the confidence to speak her case with some of the awkwardness dissipated. 

     “We don’t have to talk about this here,” Vi says, stabbing her straw into the lid with violence. “Do you wanna go back to my place for a bit? For some privacy?”

     Caitlyn looks up, surprised and a little taken aback. This doesn’t break a rule, but it had been an unspoken one that their apartments are off limits. That risked way too much. It still does.

     “I don’t mean to do anything,” Vi hurries to add, eyes flicking away and around with a speed that would rival a rocket. “I just mean—you look uncomfortable. And talking here might break rule number one, wouldn’t it?”

     Caitlyn huffs, poking her own straw through the lid and fidgeting with the paper wrapping. She’s right. Gods, Caitlyn hates when she’s right.

     “I could drive us there,” Caitlyn says instead of outright agreeing, because she feels like having a yes or okay on the record is hazardous. “We’d just have to walk back to the auditorium.”

     Vi shakes her head. “If my family decides to pop around, they’ll recognize your fancy ass car.” She looks up, as if the bright yellow crowded ceiling will hold the answer to their problem. “Uh—I’ll go grab my motorcycle, you can hitch a ride with me and I’ll drive you back to your car after.”

     This is toeing a dangerous line. First going back to Vi’s place, and now Caitlyn’s arms inevitably wrapped around Vi’s strong waist and her chin over her broad shoulders.

     Caitlyn gnaws on her lip before resigning herself to the fact that that’s the best course of action. “Now?” she asks.

     Vi shrugs. “If you want. We should talk with the others a little, I think.”

     “Right,” Caitlyn murmurs, looking to where the cast has now chosen a table and are saving two seats for them, which is just great, because that means they’ve been noticed. “I agree. Um. We can meet around the back of this place in thirty minutes, perhaps?”

     “It’s a ten minute walk,” Vi thinks aloud, head titling from side to side, estimating. “Yeah. That sounds good. So we’d look like we’re leaving at different times.”

     Caitlyn nods, swallowing and inspecting the ground. She will be entering Vi’s place in less than an hour. Alright.

     “Cupcake,” Vi says, her feet landing on the floor as she stands, taking a sip of her drink that Caitlyn had honestly forgotten she had. “Stop freaking out. There’s nothing to freak out about.”

     “I’m not freaking out,” Caitlyn protests, getting to her feet begrudingly.

     That irritating smirk plays on Vi’s lips. “You are.” 

     “I’m not!” Caitlyn jabs a finger toward Vi’s chest. “You are!”

     She storms off toward the others. Vi’s laugh trails after her, and something lodges in her chest and begins to bloom.

↠↢

“Have you lost your mind!?”

     Caitlyn’s shouting in her ear, voice muffled by the spare helmet as Vi weaves around cars on the way to her apartment thirty-five minutes later, drinks finished and cast departed. Vi just chuckles, reveling in the way Caitlyn’s holding onto her waist for dear life, slowing at a stop light between a Toyota and a Prius, foot coming off to lean against the ground.

     “Do you have a death wish or something?” Caitlyn’s yelling has a better effect without the wind now. “Have you played Romeo too much and now wish us to die at a very young age?”

     “Caitlyn, chill,” Vi says, pulling out the full first name for emphasis. “Everyone’s driving too damn slow with the roads being wet, I’m just moving my way—”

     “Why don’t you follow along and also drive slower before you get a speeding ticket—”

     “Where’s the fun in that—” She can hear Caitlyn beginning to fume and will eventually light on fire. Thankfully, the light turns green and she’s revving the engine again, feeling Caitlyn shudder against her and wrap her arms around Vi’s waist tighter.

     Vi usually doesn’t drive this fast, honest. Maybe she shouldn’t because Caitlyn’s with her. But maybe she’s doing it so she can feel Caitlyn get closer to her and indulge in the way Caitlyn’s toned arms loop along her midsection, touching at almost every point. And it’s fun when she’s mad.

     They arrive not too long after, considering Vi made it a point that she didn’t want to live too far from campus otherwise she would never grasp the motivation to go to class in person. She takes off her helmet and hops off her motorcycle with ease, holding a hand out to Caitlyn to help her off. With a look over Vi’s face, down to her hand, and up back to her face (helmet now also removed), Caitlyn takes it, loafers landing on the ground one by one.

     “You moved,” Caitlyn notes, looking up at the apartment building from where Vi has parked in the adjacent parking lot. She seems to have calmed down after realizing that Vi’s new apartment is closer than the one she lived in when they were dating and that she wouldn’t be on Vi’s motorcycle for much longer.

     Vi nods, unlocking the compartment on the back of the cycle. “This one’s a little bigger, and closer,” she says, shrugging.

     Caitlyn’s fixing her hair in her phone camera, as one does. “Do you still live alone?”

     Another nod; Vi hands Caitlyn her satchel as she swings her backpack over her shoulder. “I thought about rooming with Sevika but I figured she would throw things at me too often,” Vi explains, plopping the helmets in the compartment and locking it before motioning for Caitlyn to follow. “Plus, I got the gym job and that covers the price difference.”

     Caitlyn hums, strolling along beside her, awfully uptight with her knuckles white where she holds her bag steady. Vi holds the building door open for her, letting Caitlyn through, nodding to the desk attendant before scanning her key fob to the elevator. They stand in silence as the elevator takes its painful descent down to the first floor, dinging and creaking open. They step through, Vi presses floor four, and the door shuts.

     Vi figures she might as well continue the small talk. “Do you still live with Mel?” she asks her, watching as Caitlyn’s gorgeous eyes flick to her with surprise.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn answers, shoulders dropping a little. “Though I don’t have to—” as if that wasn’t obvious, Caitlyn could buy a fucking house here if she wanted— “she thought it… necessary that someone… oh, there’s not a better term—necessary that someone has easy access to check in on me.”

     Vi scans her face; Caitlyn’s turned her eyes away. She ventures, cautious, “Because of your—?”

     Caitlyn cuts her off with a swallow. “More or less, after sophomore year,” she says, and her tone makes it clear that Vi will not question that line of thinking any further. “And I do enjoy living with her.”

     The elevator door opens, and Caitlyn continues as they walk out. “There’s no confusion with her, she makes chores surprisingly easy. And half our decor belongs to her.”

     They arrive at Vi’s door, apartment 406, at the end of the hall; Vi had been very pleased to snatch a corner studio. She slides two keys into two locks and turns the knob, allowing Caitlyn to enter first.

     She watches as Caitlyn inspects her apartment, watches as her eyes fall on the brick accent wall, the electric stove, the windows above her bed, the bed shielded by a bookshelf to give some privacy from the rest of the room, the picture frames and canvases marked up with paint, the various rugs Vi had thrifted spread out along the floor. Caitlyn walks forward enough for Vi to close the door comfortably, habitually flipping the locks, while Caitlyn moves to set her bag down on the floor against the black leather sectional.

     Vi quite likes what she’s done with her apartment, thank you very much, and prides herself on the way Caitlyn seems to hum with approval as she approaches the bookshelf, fingers ghosting a few different books and the atlas Vi has set on the top shelf. Vi hooks her keys on the single nail she’s struck into the wall by the door and begins her coming-home routine, toeing off her shoes and setting them on the shoe rack, grabbing her water bottle from her backpack and sliding it into the sink in a meager attempt to seem clean. There’s some laundry hanging over the side of her basket and dishes from this morning’s breakfast and lunch prep undone, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to care, just turns and notices Vi’s shoes now off and hurries forward.

     “Shit, sorry,” says Caitlyn in a rush, tiptoeing toward the door and slipping her shoes off.

     “Yup, I’m gonna charge you twenty five cents for wear and tear,” Vi jokes, before she realizes that Caitlyn thinks she’s serious and clarifies, “I’m kidding, Cupcake, you’re fine.”

     Caitlyn breathes out. Gods, she’s cute. “Not that I think you seek my approval,” Caitlyn says, eyes still wandering, “but I like what you’ve done with the place.”

     Vi chuckles; she’s entirely too proper. “Thanks.” And thinks it’s worth mentioning— “Powder helped.”

     “I can tell,” Caitlyn says, motioning to the coffee table in which two legs have been abused by Powder’s typical doodling style, neon and chaotic. “And I’m assuming she did some of these paintings.”

     “Yeah,” Vi says with a fond smile, eyes moving over the paintings—a blue rose, two birds, abstract, before moving forward. “Sit down, make yourself at home.”

     Caitlyn hesitates, but obliges as Vi collapses onto the couch, lowering herself onto the cushion not too far from Vi so slowly it’s like she’s trying to avoid razor spikes. Again, silence—Vi tries to do something with it and leans in to turn on the wax warmer on the coffee table, asking “Coconut or sandalwood?” and dropping the tan cubes into the tin when Caitlyn answers “Sandalwood.”

     “So,” Vi says, because they came here to talk and if they don’t Vi might go insane, with Caitlyn sitting right there and for the first time in a very long time, completely and utterly in private, “you gonna tell me why you’re being weird?”

     Caitlyn huffs, leaning back. “I’m just stressed.”

     “Are you?” Vi asks, resting an elbow on the top of the couch cushion and tilting her head. “‘Cause last time I checked, the whole point of us doing this is the stress reliever part.”

     “I suppose I just didn’t see the need to utilize that outlet recently.”

     “Okay, now you’re just lying.” Caitlyn frowns at her, and Vi studies her, the way she’s sitting, legs crossed and hands fidgeting and the way she looks—nervous. Then— “Is this about what we talked about last week? That night?”

     “No,” Caitlyn says quickly, and maybe realizes that she said that too quickly and says, “no. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel some remorse—” this is curious, considering regret is not a trait thought-out, bold, intentional Caitlyn Kiramman holds— “but that’s not the issue.”

     Vi tucks the fact that Caitlyn had just admitted that she regrets something away for later. “Then what is?” she asks.

     Caitlyn turns toward her, surveying her, tone morphing from defensive and understated to something defeated, relenting, yet stern. Her body seems to sag under a weight. “I don’t tell you about these things, Vi,” Caitlyn mumbles, voice dropping. “I don’t. I never have.”

     “You can,” Vi says, aiming for sympathetic, even if some ruthless part of her wants her to scream that was the whole issue. “You can talk to me about it. What’s the point of this if you’re gonna stress about something that stops it?”

     “I try to keep you separate,” Caitlyn stresses, hands flying into action, hands mimicking categories. “If you go here, and then school and work goes here, and everything else goes over here, then I can work things out—”

     “You compartmentalize your whole life, Cait,” Vi says with an exasperated flair, leaning her head on her palm. “Life isn’t about division lines, it’s about connection. You can’t live your whole life putting things into bigger and heavier boxes when life only works when you balance shit out.”

     Caitlyn stops working for a second, stuttering to a stop with an “I—” before squinting at her. “Who put you in charge of answering the meaning of life?” she asks, accusing.

     Vi chuckles despite herself. “No one’s gotten anywhere trying to keep things separate. Why do you think so many cheaters get exposed?” At least this gets a smile out of Caitlyn, who has now moved from fidgeting with her hands to fidgeting with the imprints of her blouse. Vi scoots a little closer. She says, softly, “Come on, Cait. I want to help.”

     Silence, only a slightly less awkward one this time. Caitlyn looks to her, lip quivering just slightly, so quickly that Vi thinks she might’ve missed it, before sighing and moving closer as well.

     “I don’t want to go into detail,” Caitlyn mumbles, so uncharacteristic that Vi wants to tilt her chin up and smile at her so Caitlyn will smile too.

     She doesn’t do that—of course she doesn’t do that. But she does say, “That’s okay.”

     Caitlyn swallows, clearing her throat, bracing her head with her hand on her forehead, thumb against her temple. Then, she says, low, “I am trying to forget something that I’ve never even learned how to dispel from my mind.” She pauses, eyes following the lines of the cracked leather couch. “I’ve tried to ignore, I’ve tried to give in—none of it works.”

     That’s not a lot to work with, admittedly, but at least Caitlyn’s giving her something. “You don’t want to tell me the something, do you?” Vi asks, and Caitlyn shakes her head. Vi shrugs. “Well, I could try to fuck the thought out of you.”

     Caitlyn grimaces, appalled. “Gods, of course you’d say that.”

     Vi takes offense to this. “Of course!?”

     “You practically invented that’s what she said jokes, before I knocked some sense into that empty head of yours,” Caitlyn murmurs, but at least her tone is lighter, and she isn’t exactly wrong. “Believe me, I’ve attempted to take that route.”

     This time, Vi preens at the fact that Caitlyn had initially believed she could actually do that. “Why do you need to forget about it?” Vi asks in earnest.

     “Because I shouldn’t be thinking about it,” Caitlyn replies, frustrated. “Because I shouldn’t be feeling it. I don’t want to be feeling it.”

     “Well, if you’re feeling it, maybe you should be, maybe it’s alright that you are.” Vi is totally talking out of her ass and really hopes that Caitlyn doesn’t notice, and tries to back her claim by quoting from fact: “The heart wants what it wants.”

     Caitlyn looks up at her, and the look in her eyes has changed. Her pupils have dilated, shifting as she takes her hand away from her face, raised eyebrows and wide eyes settling. They’re shimmering, shining that sparkling cerulean blue, the type of blue of the seas that men would dive into for sirens, and when their eyes meet, Vi understands those longing sailors. 

     Suddenly, Caitlyn’s reaching out, and what the fuck, Caitlyn kisses her.

     That hand lands on Vi’s cheek and pulls her closer, and Vi’s brain takes two seconds to catch up before kissing back, because even if she isn’t sure where this is coming from, at least Caitlyn is initiating at last. And she’d thought Caitlyn would be insistent, quick, the same way that her hand had launched out and her lips had moved closer, but her pace is—slow. Capturing, yes, and desperate like their kisses always are, but Caitlyn’s not rushing, she’s not doing this with the intention to get this over with.

     Vi deepens the kiss, tilting her head, hands yearning for their rightful place on Caitlyn’s waist to draw her in closer—Caitlyn obliges, breaking the kiss only to crawl closer and plant herself on Vi’s lap. Her fingers thread through Vi’s hair before kissing her again, and if Vi had any wonderings about if Caitlyn would speed up now they’re wiped away with this kiss, with the way Caitlyn sinks into her and more apparent, the way she isn’t slotting their legs together to rut against Vi’s thigh.

     This is different. This is startling. Vi feels like she’s just been tugged into zero gravity and is now floating, aimless—her only sense of direction: the feel, the fact of Caitlyn against her.

     “I don’t want to do anything, not right now,” Caitlyn pulls back to clarify, words moving over Vi’s lips, Caitlyn’s nails scratching over the crest of her ear. She leans in closer, chest to chest, heart to heart. “I just want this.”

     The heart wants what it wants. Vi is too starstruck to answer with anything but an affirming hum, and Caitlyn’s on her again, and then they’re just kissing, just two mouths moving and playfully nipping and tongues sliding together, hands roaming as Caitlyn cups her neck, her nape, the way she rakes her nails over Vi’s hair in that particular way that leaves Vi defenseless and soothed every damn time. Gods, she feels amazing , and Vi dives into it.

     She doesn’t know how long they stay like that—seconds, minutes, hours, just lazily making out on the couch and basking in it, enjoying it, enjoying each other. Caitlyn has always been so easy to hate but equally as easy to like, to love. Vi’s arousal doesn’t even jump, just burns low, like the wax warmer, enough for fuel but not enough to drive her crazy, like a cozy, crackling fire. It burns and rumbles, just until Caitlyn pulls back again, almost regretfully; Vi chases her lips with an embarassing hunger, stopped by Caitlyn’s gentle shh .

     “Are we pretending?” Caitlyn asks her, sounding a little lost, voice a whisper. “Is this just rehearsing?”

     Is there feeling to this? she’s asking. Is this real?

     Vi doesn’t know she believes her answer until she says it. “Not pretending, Cait,” she says, hands skirting from Caitlyn’s thighs to her waist, holding her steady. “Never.”

     Caitlyn’s throat works. Her eyes shine.

     Then she turns and pushes Vi’s onto the couch, replicating that move from earlier during rehearsal, and she laughs, genuinely laughs at Vi’s surprise. Caitlyn settles atop of her, straddling Vi’s hips, and swoops down to kiss her again.

     And—when you really think about it, really put it to the test, when was the last time Vi felt this complete?

     Vi’s hands dance up her back while Caitlyn’s never leave the area surrounding her head and neck. And somewhere in the back of Vi’s mind, she knows she could stay here for hours, for the rest of her life, and if this and that breaks rule number two she does not care, because no amount of lazy make outs and subtle gasps and hitching breaths from any other girl has made her feel like this. Caitlyn leaves her lips for a moment with a gentle parting peck and Gods if this woman doesn’t stop pulling back Vi is going to kill her—

     Caitlyn’s hand is in her hair, brushing the strands away from her face. A smile flits along the creases of her face, warm and inviting.

     “You’re so handsome,” Caitlyn tells her, and Vi rolls her eyes, and Caitlyn’s hand tenderly tightens to keep Vi listening. “I mean it,” says Caitlyn. “You are. There’s a reason I never insult your looks; it’s a privilege to look at you.”

     Vi can feel her cheeks flooding with blood. “We should stop that,” Vi says, voice a tad hoarse, and Caitlyn tilts her head. “The insults. I think everyone gets a little uncomfortable when we do that.” Caitlyn’s eyes glint with remembrance. “Remember? I called you a mongoose the other day and I think Jayce googled what a mongoose is to make sure it wasn’t too bad.”

     “That was quite creative,” Caitlyn remarks, leaning down, mouthing up the edge of Vi’s jaw. “Okay. Agreed.”

     Caitlyn’s lips drift down, never piercing, more dragging the simple feel of lips on skin. Vi arches her neck, half unwillingly, that fire sparking. Caitlyn's head lifts, eyes moving down the expanse of skin, and she asks, biting her lip, “Can I?”

     Vi huffs, feigning exasperation, and says, “Yes, Cait,” and she swears Caitlyn actually giggles with joy and whispers, “Yes!” with triumph.

     Caitlyn’s lips roam around, finding the best spot, deciding on an area on the curve of her neck, mouth latching and teeth sinking in, and Vi gasps, eyes falling shut. 

     Letting Caitlyn treat her like this, like she’s something desirable, worthy of praise—it’s staggering, but it feels good. She grew up without that feeling, went about avoiding it as she moved into adulthood, and let Caitlyn in two, now about three years ago. Now, Caitlyn strips that wall back down with every gentle touch, every coaxing bite, every caress as Vi breathes out.

     When Caitlyn’s done, she marks the hickey with a kiss and captures Vi’s lips again, and as Vi hurries to meet her, she can feel the pressure on her neck, back once again.

     “You love doing that,” Vi says as they separate, but just barely, lips still close.

     Caitlyn shrugs, smiling. “It’s fun,” she says, plain as bread. Her eyebrows furrow, and she looks over her shoulder, toward the windows. “It’s raining.”

     Vi strains to look past Caitlyn, propping herself up on an elbow. “Yes it is.”

     “You shouldn’t be driving in the rain,” Caitlyn says, as if convincing herself.

     Vi shakes her head. “No,” she says, intelligently.

     Caitlyn seems uncertain, sitting up a little, and begins to say, “Well, um, I could call an Uber or something back—”

     “Cait,” Vi says, looking at her deadpan. “No way. I told you I’d drive you back, so you don’t have to spend the money. Just stick around until it stops.”

     She motions for her phone on the coffee table and Caitlyn repositions fully, allowing Vi to sit up as Caitlyn passes it to her. She looks up the weather radar, zooms in on Piltover, and shows it to Caitlyn, letting the graphic play; the threatening red storm cloud lurches away from the city in about an hour.

     Hesitating, Caitlyn says, “I have work to do.”

     Vi shrugs. “Do it here. There’s a desk right there.”

     “I try to keep you separate from—”

     “Not this shit again,” Vi says, playful, and Caitlyn flushes. “You can go if you want. But you have the space here if you want it.”

     Caitlyn glances out the window again, before relenting and nodding.

     They get up, Caitlyn pulling her trusty computer out of her bag and setting it on Vi’s desk, sitting carefully in Vi’s chair as if she’d break it.

     “Do you want to order something?” Vi asks her, thumbing through her stack of take-out menus on her coffee table. Unnecessary, considering the digital ordering apps, but a classic collection. “Get something to eat?”

     “I don’t doubt that Mel’s prepared something at home,” Caitlyn says, opening her computer but looking at Vi. “So I can eat there.”

     “Well, let me at least make you a snack, you can’t work on an empty stomach,” Vi says, getting up and striding into the kitchen, adjusting her tank. “Guacamole?”

     So Vi makes guacamole while Caitlyn puts in her fancy newest generation of AirPods and gets to work, a foot propped up on Vi’s chair and her chin leaning on her knee. In the mashing up the avocado, Vi looks over at her, leaning her hip against the counter as she watches Caitlyn type away, head nodding up and down in mere centimeters to whatever music she’s listening to, eyes glossed over in the way that they are when she’s focused and her mind’s working at a million miles per minute. And in the middle of chopping up half an onion, Vi looks over at her and catches Caitlyn quite obviously staring at her flexing bicep as she pushes down; Caitlyn clears her throat and turns away, cheeks tinted red.

     Vi slides the bowl of guacamole and a bowl of chips Caitlyn’s way, dragging her ottoman over to sit not too far but not too close to her, enough so that they can share the snack. Caitlyn says, “Thank you,” and Vi nods, beginning to chow down and setting her own computer at the end of her desk, connecting her headphones and putting on a show.

     And somewhere in the middle of the rain, Caitlyn takes an AirPod out and looks to Vi, hesitating. Vi slides her headphones off her ears and looks at her, waiting.

     “Would you be willing to read this article?” Caitlyn asks, voice entirely too cautious. “I would appreciate a second opinion before I submit it.”

     “Yeah, of course,” Vi says, pausing her show in the middle of the climax, accepting Caitlyn passing the computer to her.

     This is also new. Like Caitlyn had said, she usually keeps Vi and her schoolwork separate. She’s never read a single one of Caitlyn’s essays or assignments. But maybe Vi had gotten through to her.

     She reads over it with vigor, feeling Caitlyn’s nervous eyes bore into her the entire time. It’s a report article on the admission statistics of PAI’s incoming class, analyzing trends and outliers, comparing it with their own outgoing class’s past statistics, and the way Caitlyn words each phenomenon sounds like she’s describing a painting, not graphs and tables, eloquent and digestible.

     “This is great, Cait, really great,” Vi says, handing the computer back to her. “It’s easy to read and still detailed and kept me interested. You’re an incredible writer.”

     “Really?” Caitlyn asks her, eyes wide, struck with incredulity, as if her straight a’s and impeccable research opportunities and multiple internships and publications mean nothing in comparison to Vi’s opinion.

     Vi shrugs, half-smiling. “Talk to me more about the increasing rigor of the incoming class’s grades and essays, I don’t mind, as long as it’s you writing it.”

     Caitlyn breathes out, smiling and nodding a thank you , putting her AirPod back in with faint awe on her softened features.

     This is the first of their impromptu hang-outs. And it certainly won’t be the last.

↠↢

Two days later, that night, after Caitlyn has resumed their arrangement by having Vi eat the living shit out of her cunt in Caitlyn’s dressing room after their first insult-free rehearsal, Vi lies in bed, stalking Caitlyn’s Instagram account.

     Well, accounts. Caitlyn has two. The one she’s currently stalking is her wildly famous one, the one she gives out publicly, the one that is public , business style, settings wise, under the username @caitlyn.km , name simply Caitlyn Kiramman, capital letters and all. This account has GettyImages and other watermarked professional photos posted under it, of Caitlyn and her family featured on the carpet and during the event at galas, balls, fundraisers, photoshoots, photographed in their gigantic mansion or in their lavish backyard. Vi has scrolled far enough to find one of Caitlyn as a teenager with her family and the fucking president.

     If Vi remembers correctly, her parents have access to this account, considering the boring ass captions and the utter complete lack of personality. She even only has one highlight, just titled Highlights, consisting of boring panoramas of the events she’s posted already. Caitlyn is never featured wearing the same outfit, in any of these posts, and a majority of them she’s wearing a skin-tight dress that she looks so fucking hot in that every time Vi scrolls she’s mentally rolling around in dirt and physically she’s biting her tongue, a wicked smile beginning to grow.

     Her other account, on the other hand, Vi remembers but no longer has access to. This account, private, hosts a profile picture that is decidedly not of Caitlyn’s face, or any part of her for that matter, just a dog that Vi recognizes as Caitlyn’s childhood labrador retriever, Camelia, like the flower. Username @ riflesandjournals , and name CK ☺️ , the account is completely inconspicuous to anyone who doesn’t know Caitlyn well, and that meant anyone who Caitlyn doesn’t want to know about it—or her, for that matter. Her bio features PAI but not her graduating year, along with a quote that Vi doesn’t recognize because that must be new, but that’s it. Vi had once been following this account, had once been right at the top of her feed every time Caitlyn posted a story, but not anymore; she hadn’t been blocked, but removed, and the bright blue Follow button glares up at her.

     Vi’s thumb hesitates over it, before deciding why the fuck not, they’re co-stars, and presses it.

     It’s not even two minutes later that she gets a text from Caitlyn.

cait, 11:03pm

Did you just request to follow my private Instagram?

     Momentarily panicked, Vi considers removing the request and saying no, but Caitlyn texts again first.

cait, 11:03pm

Stupid question, it’s right there

Accepted

Me, 11:04pm

woah, rlly??

i thought i was pushing my luck

     Vi switches tabs a moment to reload her Instagram, and there it is: Caitlyn’s entire account, at her fingertips, with personality this time.

cait, 11:05pm

I’ll follow you back

Me, 11:05pm

careful cupcake, we’re gonna start lookin like friends

cait, 11:05pm

You requested first, Vi

Me, 11:06pm

woops

cait, 11:06pm

I meant to text you anyway

Me, 11:06pm

oh yeah?

cait, 11:07pm

I would like to run an idea for your reciprocal situation through you

If you’re still interested in working on it together

     Vi pauses, at first failing to understand, then sees through Caitlyn’s fancy and timid wording.

Me, 11:08pm

yeah i am

alright, go ahead

cait, 11:09pm

How do you feel about masturbating while on the phone?

Me, 11:09pm

phones can vibrate cait but i don’t think that’s gonna do the job

cait, 11:10pm

You know what I mean.

I think it’s a good first step, considering you mentioned that you would like to get used to my voice first

Further steps could include working up to video calls, then to masturbating in person, so on so forth

Me, 11:10pm

skip the two steps after the phone call

that’d just make me feel stared at ew i hate it

cait, 11:11pm

We can remove those, no worries

Do you have any thoughts?

     Vi rolls her head back, thinking. She isn’t sure how she’d feel, not being able to see Caitlyn’s face and her expression, but then again, she’s barely sure she can handle hearing Caitlyn’s voice alone during… that. But maybe, like Caitlyn said: baby steps.

Me, 11:13pm

i’m not sure how i’ll feel about it in the moment, so no promises

but i’d be down to try

cait, 11:13pm

Understandably so

We’ll go by your terms, okay? Whatever works

Me, 11:14pm

so whenever i feel like getting myself off ill just call you

cait, 11:15pm

You’re obviously not obligated to call me every time

But whenever you feel like you’d like to try, I’ll be there

Me, 11:15pm

what if i call you when you’re fucking another girl

cait, 11:16pm

Vi.

Me, 11:16pm

whatttttt

very possible

cait, 11:17pm

That will literally never happen

Me, 11:17pm

you’re no fun

cait, 11:17pm

If anything changes, you know you can back out at any time

Me, 11:17pm

i know cupcake

i told you, everything i’ve done so far, i’ve done because i wanted it

cait, 11:18pm

Good, and it’ll stay that way, I promise

Me, 11:18pm

cupcait

OMG

cait, 11:19pm

I now know where you live and I’m going to murder you in your sleep

Me, 11:19pm

come over all you like princess

or

come all over me

or both

cait, 11:19pm

My lord

Go to bed Vi

I’ll see you tomorrow

Me, 11:20pm

i think ill stalk your account first thanks

see u tmr babe

cait, 11:20pm

-> Replied to i think ill stalk your account first thanks

Likewise.

     Vi grins more than she should, clicking onto Caitlyn’s story, the magenta and yellow ring tempting and just calling her name. There’s only one story (lame!), posted a few hours ago, but it’s a photo of the rain outside a window, notably… Vi’s window. Vi would recognize those rusty windowpanes anywhere; she’s looking at them right now.

     Slanted, whimsical words from Instagram’s pre-programmed fonts sit atop one of the panes:

     Maybe I like the rain.

Chapter Text

So the first time Vi calls Caitlyn happens a week later.

     Admittedly, Vi had been foregoing it. She hadn’t been lying when she told Caitlyn she’d be down to try, because God knows that Vi wanted Caitlyn to reciprocate, to feel Caitlyn draw that lilting pleasure out of her that she knew she could, that she had before, but hearing Caitlyn when Vi has the reigns is one thing. The knowledge that Caitlyn could switch up her tone, her words, her attitude when Vi had laid all of herself before her, and had done so before considering the way the break-up happened, is entirely another.

     On the phone is a good step before in person, because Vi can hang up and reel herself in on her own whenever she wanted if needed. And some part of her’s beginning to realize that this Caitlyn, this two years older Caitlyn, this not as stressed Caitlyn, this Caitlyn that had stopped doing an assignment to help her, that had asked for Vi to read one of her articles and had valued her opinion like it was gold, this calmer, looser, communicative, less as uptight as a knot Caitlyn, probably wouldn’t do that. This version of Caitlyn might’ve actually been able to salvage the relationship when it broke, maybe. But Caitlyn’s voice hasn’t changed, not much, and with one slip up that’d really be all that mattered.

     Vi’s stalking Caitlyn’s Instagram again when it happens, a semi-regular routine now that Caitlyn has given her access to her personal account. Yeah, Caitlyn’s personal account is less sexy than her literally actually verified one—there’s less skin-tight dresses, less brightly photographed photos that expose each aspect of her body like a mugshot—but Caitlyn’s personality shines through this one so much better.

     Her posts are always dumps of photos from a trip or a period of time, mainly the latter, random pictures of flowers and dogs it seemed she met on the street and fall leaves on the ground and the latte art in her coffee tumbler sprinkled throughout each slideshow, some of the scenery featured taken by her film camera. Some include softer pictures of her: her outfits in her bedroom mirror, not exactly flexing in gym mirrors but definitely taken to show off her progress (these make Vi’s mouth water), posing with Mel on a night out, a picture with Jayce and Viktor in front of their research poster at an engineering conference. There’s even a highlight dedicated to Caitlyn’s sharp-shooting hobby, bullets always piercing through the bullseye, Caitlyn’s face focused and serene and at ease despite holding a very dangerous weapon, knowledge and skill swirling through her eyes.

     In these photos and posts, she looks like Caitlyn. In these photos and posts, she looks like the woman Vi had fallen in love with.

     It obviously doesn’t matter if this is the thought that makes Vi hit that call button. The reason she allows herself to believe is that she and Caitlyn had fucked earlier, in the back of Caitlyn’s car, pushing Caitlyn through two back-to-back orgasms again that Vi definitely has plans to take further at some point, and she’s still worked up from it because of course she is and she wants some relief.

     Caitlyn picks up after four rings. Vi asks before Caitlyn can greet her, “You fucking another girl?”

     She can imagine Caitlyn’s mouth dropping in shock. “ What? ” Caitlyn’s voice replies, incredulous.

     Vi chuckles. “I’m just checking, it’s a very real possibility.”

     “You’re insufferable,” Caitlyn replies, sighing in relief. There’s a noise that sounds like Caitlyn falling back onto a set of pillows, as if she’d shot up upon Vi’s question. “Good evening, Vi.”

     “Hey, Cupcake,” Vi says, and can’t help the smile that rises above her nerves. “You busy?”

     “It’s eleven p.m.,” says Caitlyn. “What else would I be doing?”

     “Uh, homework? This is like prime Caitlyn studying time.”

     Caitlyn huffs. “Touché,” she says, and Vi thinks she can hear a smile in her voice. Interesting, Caitlyn smiling when Vi jokes about her academics. “No, I’m listening to a podcast in bed while playing sudoku.”

     “What about?” Why the hell is she asking?

     “It’s this history podcast about the origins of newspapers and magazines,” says Caitlyn with joy, the speed of her words quickening. “I’m on episode six, it’s very good. Did you know that newspapers began in Rome as just a record of people’s daily activities, nothing like the international broadcasts we host today—”

     Laughing, Vi says, “You’re such a nerd. That’s studying, Cait.”

     A frown appears in Caitlyn’s tone. “No, it’s not. It’s fun.”

     “Whatever you say.” A pause while Caitlyn sighs in mock frustration. Vi doesn’t let herself hesitate—she’s doing this. She wants this. “Wanna listen to me instead?”

     She catches the hitch in Caitlyn’s breath all too well. “Do you mean…?”

     Vi leans back and pulls her knees in, cradling the back of her head with her hand. “Yup.”

     “I was thinking,” Caitlyn says quickly, some shifting happening on her end of the line, as if she’s readying herself for what comes next, “you can be on mute. I don’t have to listen to you. If you’d rather text your responses, that’s perfectly doable.”

     Vi chuckles. “You think I have a hand free when I do this?”

     Caitlyn doesn’t say anything for a whole ten seconds, and Vi imagines her cheeks flushing red. “Oh,” is all Caitlyn says. Her throat works, subtly quiet over the speaker. “Um. What do you typically do?”

     She doesn’t know why Caitlyn’s being awkward about this when a) they’ve had sex many times before, including where Vi recieves and b) they’re actively having sex and have been the past few weeks, but she’ll give Caitlyn the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s nervous, too. “It depends, but I guess I don’t use any toys like you do, just my fingers.”

     “How many?” Her response is quick; not exactly eager, more… intense. Inquiring for future use.

     “Two.” Vi’s heart pounds. Alright, this is happening. “And then my left hand on my clit.” Caitlyn doesn’t say anything, just the brief sound of her nodding, and Vi asks, “Are you imagining it?”

     “No,” Caitlyn answers, quick again.

     “You can.”

     “Yes,” she admits, and Vi grins, the knowledge that Caitlyn’s getting at least a little turned on by the idea turning the knobs on her anxiety down. “How… direct do you want me to be?”

     Vi’s hand is already drifting down her body, mind a little foggy. “What do you mean?”

     “How much talking do you want me to do?” Caitlyn clarifies, tone slowly getting lower. “Do you just want me to give you praise or do you want me to take it as far as to give you instructions?”

     “Both. All of it.” This is an answer Vi doesn’t expect to come out of her mouth, but finds herself wanting. “I’ll tell you if I don’t want more of something. Talk me through it, babe.”
“Okay. Alright.” Caitlyn’s voice is steady—and then is morphing into tender but firm. “You want to touch yourself for me, darling?”

     The words shoot electricity through Vi’s body, originating in her navel and lighting up the sensitivity in her cunt, nervousness lingering around the edges of the shock, like the wiring around a power line. She gasps and remembers to breathe, “ Yes ,” hand fisting around the waistband of her boxers, and adds, “I still have my boxers on.”

     “Take them off.” Gods, her voice is unwavering, confident and sultry, before awkward-Caitlyn shines through and says, “Um—if you’re comfortable with that—”

     “Very comfortable,” Vi says, putting the call on speaker and dropping it beside her, sitting up and pushing her boxers off. “I usually sleep naked anyway.”

     “Don’t say that ,” Caitlyn mumbles, sounding pained.

     “Why, Cupcake?” Vi teases, laying back down and plopping her phone on her chest, microphone by her mouth. Gods, she can’t help seizing the control when she can, not when Caitlyn is so easy to work up. “You like the image?”

     “You may like the image of my fingers on your clit better,” Caitlyn murmurs, and fuck if that doesn’t send excitement all throughout Vi’s body, the idea of it flashing through her mind like lightning, setting a fire. “Play with yourself for me.”

     Holy fucking shit. Alright. Vi mumbles, “Okay,” way too tentatively and pressing two fingers to her clit. She hisses at the contact, hips rising up off the bed and haze corrupting her mind. Caitlyn gasps as the sound moves through the phone, breathing coming steady and measured through the phone.

     “Good,” says Caitlyn. Her voice pierces through the mist and shocks Vi, gasping and fingers pressing harder. Fuck, this is weird. She’d had but one single girlfriend since she and Caitlyn broke up and that hadn’t lasted long for reasons she won’t get into now, and that hadn’t lasted long enough for Vi to allow the girl to reciprocate. The last person who’d talked to her while she felt this way was Caitlyn, and now it’s Caitlyn again, so far apart and it’s weird as fuck. Two years since then. This would take some getting use to. “Are you doing alright?”

     Vi says through a gasp, stimulation running her nerves crazy, “Yeah.”

     Caitlyn asks, tone soft and tender, “Do you need anything?”

     The offer is nice, even if Caitlyn can’t really do anything for her over the phone. Vi relaxes a bit, trying to settle into the moment, the chance of Caitlyn flipping out on her slowly dwindling in her mind’s reasoning. This doesn’t have to get away from her, this is simple. This is just sex, it always has been.

     “I’m—I’m good,” Vi says, breath catching. “Keep talking.”

     “I love imagining how you’d look the first time I touch you,” Caitlyn whispers, voice dropping again, speaking into the microphone so closely it’s like she’s right there with her. The thought soothes the tension coursing throughout her body. “Just think about it, Vi. My fingers sliding around you, pressing and watching you gasp. Watching you tip your head back and close your eyes, already so desperate for me.”

     Vi’s mind pictures exactly what Caitlyn says, the thought of Caitlyn hovering above her and circling her clit with those skilled, marksman fingers of hers, how she’d be watching her with awe. She thinks of her own fingers and imagines they’re Caitlyn’s, unrelenting and knowledgeable, always catching onto Vi’s drift so well, speeding up as the image sends eager sparks down to her cunt.

     “Fuck,” she mumbles, and fuck she’s already wet, the arousal leaking and catching onto her fingers, making friction non-existent against her clit. Quick, tight circles around and firm pressure from her fingers on her clit wind her up like a live wire, rendering her thoughts insignificant and worries begin to ease out like a wave. The feeling begins to take over, that tsunami-like bliss washing over her body and making Vi’s voice waver as she says, “I want that.”

     “I know you do,” Caitlyn says, a smirk edging into her voice, “I want that too. I want to see you shake as soon as I touch you, Gods, I bet you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

     “Yeah,” Vi says, words failing her. She knows how to please herself, what she likes, but Caitlyn’s words surrounding her, the scenes she’s insinuating heightens everything by ten, the pleasure from her clit opening her up and causing that ungodly feeling that she wants something inside her—she wants that something to be Caitlyn. “Cait—”

     “Yes, darling?” Caitlyn asks her. Vi’s fingers slip with her wetness, and she can’t help but whine a little, her free hand fisting the sheets. Caitlyn’s breath tremors, just a little. “Gods, you sound amazing.”

     Her words are intoxicating, and Vi swears she’s slowly losing her dignity because of it. “I want—” she attempts, and breaks off on a jerk, knees bending and falling wider.

     “Hm. What do you want, Violet?”

     That name had always been her weak spot, especially coming from Caitlyn, with her sickly sweet voice, especially right now. Vi drops her head back and drifts away from the phone, mumbling with embarrassment, “I want to go inside.”

     “Sorry, my love?” Caitlyn asks, voice lilting like she genuinely missed it.

     Vi huffs with frustration, using her free hand to toss her phone beside her on the pillow, able to capture her voice better at all angles. “Inside,” she pants, fingers losing restraint, pressing lower before restraining herself. Gods, when did she become so easily controlled by her? “Now. Please.”

     “Such a good boy for using your words,” Caitlyn murmurs, and if Vi hadn’t already lost her mind, she has now, fizzing out and popping like a person passing out in a comedy show. The little birds that bring her back alarm her of her increased arousal and Caitlyn’s low rumble, “Go ahead, darling, start with one.”

     “You bitch ,” Vi breathes without much venom while Caitlyn chuckles, a single finger drifting down.

     “Am I?” Caitlyn asks her, having way too much fun. “I don’t have any physical control over you. You could go against me and use two, and I’d never know. But you won’t. You know why?”

     Vi slips that finger inside her and gasps as she replies, “Why?”

     “Because you’re mine, and you’re going to be a good boy and act like it.”

     “ Fuck ,” Vi moans, her finger lighting up all the good spots inside her, pressing on her g-spot. She usually has some resistance when she does this alone but this time she’s open and wet as fuck, ready to take whatever Caitlyn demands of her. “Fuck, Gods, baby.”

     “Feel good?”

     “ Yes ,” Vi whispers, thrusting inside herself, quickening as her arousal gathers around her knuckles, pooling into her palm. It’s good, but it’s not enough. Not alone, not on her own, she won’t get her fill until Caitlyn’s there with her, but this will do for now. “More. Please.”

     Caitlyn considers this, humming. “You just started.”

     “ Caitlyn .”

     The Caitlyn in question breathes out, a small whine attached to the end. “Very convincing,” she rasps, swallowing. “Go ahead. Use your other hand on your clit for me.”

     Don’t mind if Vi fucking does. Anxiety an afterthought, she pulls out and slips the second finger inside her, filling her up exactly how she likes and her left hand pressing against her clit, shooting fireworks into every corner of her body. She whines unexpectedly and the sound is so humiliating that she thrusts her face into the pillow, muffling her sounds, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched and hands working. 

     “Think about how good my fingers would feel inside you,” Caitlyn tells her, and she’s breathing heavy now, breaths short and wavered, the small, quick sounds driving Vi absolutely crazy. “Fucking into you so easily, Gods you know how much I want to see—Violet?”

     Vi barely processes this, too busy picturing Caitlyn’s fingers instead of hers, crooking inside her and pulling out with such delicacy and back inside with such force. “Mm?” she mumbles, delirious.

     “Are you covering your mouth?”

     Ugh, caught. “No,” Vi lies, lifting her mouth from her pillow for a single moment.

     “Don’t,” Caitlyn demands, despite this. The firmness in her tone makes Vi buck and squirm, clenching down on her fingers that she so fucking wishes were Caitlyn’s. “I want to hear how loud you’ll get for me, imagine how much louder you’ll get when I’m the one doing it to you.”

     Groaning, Vi turns her head and allows her sounds to spill into the open air, seeping into the microphone of her phone and reaching Caitlyn—she knows when they do because Caitlyn practically chokes on air, humming a little like she’s trying to stop herself from something.

     “Good boy,” Caitlyn says again, sultry and gentle and so goddamn sexy, and if she keeps saying that Vi is going to catapult herself to Caitlyn’s bedroom and impale herself on Caitlyn’s fingers instead. “Go faster.” And— “Would you rather imagine me fucking you with the strap instead? My hands on your hips, sinking into you, bent over the side of the bed while I make a mess of you?”

     “What the fuck, Cait,” Vi rambles, thrashing against her fingers as she follows Caitlyn’s instructions and the bed. She’d been surprised Caitlyn hadn’t asked for that yet, but bringing it up now was just mean. Caitlyn, pushing her down with a hand on her back, force unrelenting as she pounds into her—Vi imagines the fingers inside her is her strap, hard and firm and pistoning in and out of her without restraint. She whines and presses deeper, pleasure building. “Fuck, fuck—”

     “I wish I could see you right now,” Caitlyn says, her voice lower than Vi thinks she’s ever heard it, whether that’s the phone’s fault or not. Vi digs her hips onto her fingers and relishes in the way that they press on every inch of her walls, tensing and relaxing with each violent thrust as she races toward release. “Gods, I wish I could. I bet you look so good fucking yourself with your fingers for me, my name on your lips, so gloriously spread out for me and absolutely shaking.”

     Vi knows she gets loud—she’s a loud person, always has been, and sex is no different. When Caitlyn says that, she’s sure the nice neighbor beside her apartment can hear her, bearing down on her fingers and moving so fast that her arm’s beginning to cramp. This doesn’t happen to her alone, it never has, but Caitlyn seems to always throw her off course in the best of all possible ways, destroying her with each word. And the fact that Caitlyn wants to do these things to her, wants to give her this insane feeling sibling to worship and cousin to manic delight, and really wants to considering the way she whimpers as Vi shouts and hisses, “God damn it ” as Vi grumbles, “Cait, please —”

     “I bet you look so good right now,” Caitlyn’s murmuring to her, as Vi presses and thrusts and imagines the whole thing is Caitlyn’s doing, imagines Caitlyn above her and behind her and with her , “you have no idea how much I wish I could see you. So stretched out, so stunning and beautiful.”

“Close, close—” Vi pants out through gritted teeth, the feeling rising up in her suddenly, threatening to spill over like wine in a glass, like the gold in a treasure chest, like her cum past her hands onto the bedsheets—

     “Fuck, you drive me insane,” Caitlyn mumbles, sounding agonized and almost in pain. It sort of sounds like she’s biting down on something. “I can hear how wet you are for me, you know that? I can’t get enough of the way you sound, Vi, being so good for me, so handsome as you fuck yourself—”

     “Fuckfuckfuck shit Cait !”

     The wine, the gold, the light spreads over Vi’s body at Caitlyn’s words, flashing through her body at a speed that must be faster than light and rebounding, racketing all over and making her squirm in her bed, hips bucking and bearing down on her own fingers. Caitlyn says, “There you go, let it all out,” somewhere far, far away, words drifting closer as Vi slows down, hands surrendering to the afterglow and falling at her sides, still half inside as she hears Caitlyn breathe out.

     Some shifting occurs on Caitlyn’s side of the line, like skin against skin, and from the way Caitlyn’s next single word is muffled, she’s rubbing her hands over face—Caitlyn groans, long and deep, “ Fuck .”

     The sound is so hot that Vi’s hips jerk unwillingly, part of the aftershocks. “Holy shit,” she mumbles, lost and drifting around in her mind. “You okay, Cait?”

     “I should be asking you that,” Caitlyn replies, voice still a tad fuzzy, before becoming clear once again. “How are you feeling? Was that okay?”

     “That was great,” Vi breathes, honest, and Caitlyn breathes out in relief. She pulls out fully, grabbing some tissues from her nightstand to clean up. “Really. A lot better than I expected.”

     “I’m really glad,” Caitlyn says, and a hint of a smile teases at the edges of her tone. “If there’s anything I need to change, just let me know.”

     “No complaints so far,” Vi says, folding her tissue into squares, and pauses with hesitancy as Caitlyn laughs a bit to herself, because maybe she’s giving off the wrong impression, because yes, this had been fucking incredible but this was also just one time— “Uh—can we just do this for a bit? Like, I liked it, but I want to get used to it more—uh—”
Some more shifting—Caitlyn’s sincere voice but accompanied by laboured breathing as she says, “Of course. We can keep this up as long as you’d like, whenever you’d like.”

     Vi breathes out. “Thank you.”

     “Of course,” says Caitlyn, with a hint of a smile. “Like I said, give me an action and I’ll execute it.”

     A pause—subtly breaking rule three, but alright. Something shifts in Vi’s chest, like her heart clicking back into place.

     “I know.” Vi listens closer, taking her phone off speaker and holding it to her ear, using her other hand to scrub at her wet and drying sheets. “You okay, babe?”

     “Yes,” Caitlyn replies, sighing, and at least she sounds honest. “I just—I should go… take care of this.”

     The implication reaches Vi’s mind a second late and she grins with triumph. “Not gonna let me listen?” she asks, smirking.

     Caitlyn whimpers this small sound that makes Vi even more prideful than she already had been. “Is that okay?” says Caitlyn, timid. “I don’t want to push anything.”

     “Not pushing anything, Cupcait,” Vi says, throwing her boxers into the laundry and settling back into bed. She can practically hear how hard Caitlyn rolls her eyes in their sockets. “Let me hear you.”

     Caitlyn’s hand drifts and presses into her cunt, and Vi lets the sound of her whisk her away.

     By the time promotional picture-taking has come around, this has become something of a routine between them—Vi gets Caitlyn off in person earlier that day and that night, in bed, Caitlyn walks her through it over the phone, telling her exactly what to imagine, what to do, how good she’s doing, amping up Vi’s masturbation experience by three-thousand. Caitlyn tells her to stop and let the feeling of a rising orgasm fade away, no matter how frustrating that is, demanding that Vi ask for it, and Vi does it; Caitlyn tells her to turn over and sink onto her fingers, using a pillow for leverage, and Vi just washes the pillowcase the next day.

     It’s always the same rising apprehension, tampering off with each time they do it—Vi’s nerves prick at the edge of Caitlyn’s voice at the beginning, but the tone she adopts, the way her words make Vi feel like nothing short of a masterpiece, the way Caitlyn calms down each anxious gasp and tentative press with a take your time, darling or are you doing okay, Violet? , slows her rapidly firing synapses and replaces them with the hormones of a teenage boy, with some delightful oxytocin sprinkled in there. Because. Well. Vi—does—feel cared for. She does feel the warm embrace of Caitlyn’s you are incredible and lets the sparks from the sprinklers it alights settle in the cracks of her ribs.

     And, quite suddenly, as if perpetually in an after-sex glow, Vi feels like she’s walking on air, prancing around rehearsal and her classes like it's her birthday with downright delight and cruising through the spontaneous uploads of her midterm grades with casual ease. When she receives her last good grade, an actual A+ in her sports administration class, accompanied by the knowledge that that’s the last midterm grade she’ll ever have to wait on, she jingles and clanks around her knight costume with glee before Powder bats at her to sit down before she ruins her work.

     Caitlyn, on the other hand, is not so calm, despite that their arrangement is up and firing, perhaps more so than before. In fact, as they wait their turn as Ekko poses for his pictures in his masquerade ball costume, Caitlyn brushes a thumb over the feathers of her angel wings as she holds her phone with might, eyebrows creased and completely absent from the conversations taking place around her.

     “Y’know,” Vi says to her that day, sidling up to her side as Scar flashes the camera again, Ekko looking suave and somewhat menacing into the camera, “staring angrily at your phone isn’t going to make your grades come in any faster.”

     “It’s been a week and a half,” Caitlyn grumbles, not even looking up at Vi, eyes raking over her phone screen before switching to her trusty calendar. “It doesn’t take that long to grade papers for a ten person class.”

     “Maybe they’re busy?”

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes. “Professor Hoskel has so little on his plate that my measly undergraduate calendar outweighs his.”

     Vi hums, studying her. Caitlyn did not seem to question why Vi had randomly decided to come talk to her, a blessing Vi is grateful for. Powder had done an incredible job with the costumes, putting her own spin on the movie’s classics. She’d given Vi the classic knight armor but made it more Romeo and Juliet era accurate, with the emboldened shoulders and less chain mail, swearing up and down that she would find a way to make Vi clank less as she moved but Vi sincerely doubted that. Caitlyn’s is similar, with the impeccable, impressionist-esque angel wings and the flowy white dress, but made the dress more a-line to mimic the hilarious dress wear of the late 16th century. Either way, with done-up makeup and delicate form, two dark blue strands of hair tied back behind her head, Caitlyn looked like the princess she’d always been in Vi’s eyes and heart.

     “Did Shoola like your article?” Vi asks her instead of voicing any of this, because what the fuck.

     At least this gets Caitlyn’s eyebrows to relax in favor of shooting up. “Yes, um,” Caitlyn says, clearing her throat with a hand on her chest, clicking off her phone, “it goes up tomorrow. I need to review final edits tonight.”

     Another camera flash blinds all of their retinas, but they’ve been instructed to remain on stage for when Scar calls each of them up. Powder’s fluttering around making sure everyone’s costumes fit well and are in good shape, a small crossbody bag of safety pins and sewing needles and thread filled to the brim on her hip, but always managing the time to step back and admire her work, arms in akimbo for five seconds before butterflying off again.

     “Well,” Vi shrugs, “she couldn’t have left many. It was great.”

     “You know you don’t need to say that,” Caitlyn mumbles to her, leaning back against the wall, eyes drifting to wear Powder touches up Ekko’s costume with more care and attention than needed. “Just because I asked you to read it doesn’t mean you have to… say all these things.”

     “Come on,” Vi says offhandedly, looking up at her. “You know I mean it.”

     Caitlyn meets her eyes, throat working.

     Sentimentality had always been a strong suit in their late relationship, love in the form of words appearing at every corner, in every good morning text and every greeting and goodbye. The more they talked to each other, the more their pillow talk conversations involved small talk and little slips of admiration, the more they lingered around each other at rehearsal and at cast hang-outs, ending up on the same couch at the library or Vi walking Caitlyn to her car, this principle resurfaced like a flower reaching for light, springing up from a damp, dark crack in the Earth.

     “It’s good to see that you two are finally getting along,” Mel appears with a smile, Jayce trailing along behind her with that stupid micro-goatee painted on his face. Caitlyn practically jumps at the intrusion while Vi looks up and away, rubbing her neck innocently. “I almost never thought I’d see it.”

     “Oh, I knew it would,” Jayce says with a chuckle. “With you two, it was bound to happen.”

     “ Getting along is certainly a term,” Caitlyn grumbles, adopting the façade and crossing her arms.

     “Yeah,” says Vi, helpfully. “That’s like saying the feud between the Capulets and the Montagues is completely gone by the end of the play.”

     “Exactly,” Caitlyn agrees, nodding with finality.

     “Well,” says Jayce, tilting his head, “it kind of is.”

     Vi and Caitlyn stare at them. Mel and Jayce stare back.

     “Isn’t it fun to see everyone in their costumes?” Mel supplies, gesturing around to fulfill the silence. Mel had completely refused to become adorned in the scandalous costumes Lady Capulet wore in the movie and instead had asked Powder and maybe slipped her twenty dollars to make her more fashionable attire, lined with gold (of course) and just as fabulous. “I can’t wait until we run a dress rehearsal.”

     “I’m less than enthused about whatever bralette they’re going to put me in for act three,” Caitlyn sighs. “Aren’t we selling tickets to the public? Shouldn’t we have a low maturity rating?”

     “It’s gonna be on the poster and the tickets,” comments Powder, floating into the conversation like a blown dandelion carried by a wish. She eyes Caitlyn and Vi suspiciously before continuing, making Vi roll her eyes. She thought they went over this. “Sixteen and above recommended, so Ambessa and Salo can tell me to put you in whatever they like.”

     Caitlyn gapes, at a loss for words like a flounder, before cinching her arms tighter and making an appalled sound.

     “Cheer up,” Jayce says, nudging Caitlyn with his shoulder. “I’m sure Vi will do a great job of making sure you’re as comfortable as you need to be up there.”

     “Quite the gentleman,” Mel adds, perking up with a smile.

     Vi looks at them with surprise; Caitlyn’s expression of incredulity might rival her own. That’s the second compliment she’s received from Caitlyn’s group of friends recently, the first from Mel during Powder’s party, and she’s not quite used to that yet either.

     “ Romantic ,” Powder drawls before rolling her eyes. She gestures between Vi and Caitlyn with impatience and says, “You’re up next, Scar’s doing program shots first.”

     Powder departs, immediately locking eyes with a costume that needed fixing and hurrying over. Vi shrugs and nods to Caitlyn, saying their goodbyes to Jayce and Mel before leaving for the camera.

     “They’re right,” Vi says aside to Caitlyn for what it’s worth, because considering the first time they rehearsed that scene and now, Caitlyn’s genuinely uncomfortable with the idea. “We can move the blocking around so I’m in front and the audience can’t see you. Or we can talk to Salo, we’ll figure something out.”

     They arrive before the lighting set-up, and Caitlyn turns to her hesitantly.

     “We?” Caitlyn asks.

     “Yeah,” Vi says, trying to thrust her hands into pockets and finding nothing but knight armor so she just ends up making a bunch of unnecessary noise. “I’m with you on this, Cait. I’m here for you.”

     Caitlyn’s face morphs into one of someone that just got hit by a truck.

     “You guys ready?” Scar asks them from behind the camera, messing with one of the flash bulbs. Caitlyn clears her throat and nods, so Vi drops the topic, following her lead. “Cool. Salo doesn’t want a kiss on the main promotional picture, says that your passion for each other should exude past intimate favors, so we’re going to try a few different poses. Sound good?”

     A sigh of relief flees from Caitlyn’s lips, and Vi nudges her with a gentle smile, like a see? in a look’s form.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn says for them, nodding at Scar. “Sounds good.”

↠↢

Me, 5:47pm

Hey

vi, 5:49pm

?

Me, 5:49pm

Really

vi, 5:50pm

gotta say it

Me, 5:50pm

I need you

vi, 5:50pm

you need me or you need to cum

Me, 5:51pm

Shut the fuck up Vi come over

vi, 5:51pm

you’re at home?

Me, 5:51pm

Yes

vi, 5:51pm

where’s mel?

Me, 5:52pm

Idk I think she’s doing lines with jayce maddie and loris

vi, 5:52pm

im omw send ur address

believe it or not i dont still have it memorized

stalker

Me, 5:53pm

I’ll be taking my well-earned points back then

vi, 5:53pm

aw wait no :(

Me, 5:53pm

Do you still have the strap?

vi, 5:54pm

yes

Me, 5:54pm

Bring it

     Caitlyn had a very good reason for inviting Vi over, of course.

     The following day, after promotional picture taking that resulted in stressful costume fittings and a million flashing light bulbs and many make-up tests, her midterm score had still not been posted. Caitlyn’s on the bridge of breaking into Hoskel’s office and finding the marks on her essay herself. Instead, she chose the route that would not have her removed from the university and texted Vi for a stress reliever, and because she’s inviting Vi over to her home… well. Why not ask?

     The fact that Vi is coming over hits her a few minutes after she’d texted Vi, organizing some moving-to-New-York details around in her calendar at her desk. Which means that Vi is going to inspect her apartment and its changes since the last time she’d been there. And she hadn’t cleaned up at all.

     Cursing, she scrambles out of her seat and flies around the room. She’s somewhere between that mix of clean and messy, not downright horrible but sometimes things get strewn and not put into drawers; their drawing room is clean, however, thanks to Mel’s squeaky clean habits. Caitlyn shoves papers around her desk into the sliding drawer beneath and shoves dresses and skirts into her closet, not even bothering to put them on hangers, managing to make her room somewhat presentable but not like she cleaned up that much and was trying too hard before Vi texts her here .

     A knock sounds on the door less than three minutes later, and Caitlyn gathers herself, checks over her outfit consisting of nothing more than a baby blue sleeping tank-and-short set like a teenage girl going on her first date, and pops a mint into her mouth before answering the door.

     Vi’s leaning against the wall, eyes wandering around the hallway as if she’s never been here before, with her backpack slung over her shoulder and leather jacket and green cargo pants and loose off-white tank top riding up above her torso because of the elbow that’s perched up against the doorframe, exposing the waistband of her boxers and the briefest slip of her happy trail and Gods fuck —

     “Hey,” says Vi, way too casual for the way she’s eyeing Caitlyn’s sleep set like a hawk latched onto its prey. “You’ve grown out of your button up flannel and pj pants.”

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes. “Do you have an issue with my attire?”
“No, no,” Vi says, that smirk showing a hint of canine tooth and yes, yes this was a very good idea. “Not at all, Princess.”

     Caitlyn moves aside to let her in, closing and locking the door behind her in some feeble attempt to hear if and when Mel gets home. Similar to the way Caitlyn had marveled at Vi’s own apartment, Vi’s eyes flick around hers, shoes toed off at the entrance; they did shift the furniture around a bit, so the TV stand is in front of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows on the right side of the drawing room, previous sectional replaced by a long couch and two loveseats bracketing the edges, glass coffee table that ought to be in an art museum with the odd way it’s shaped placed in the center. Most of the decor is Mel’s, including the random statement pieces that sit in the middle of the table and the shelves lining the walls, very little of it of actual use besides the random magazines Caitlyn’s parents send her.

     “Not much has changed,” Vi comments, not dropping her backpack for reasons they both know. “Hey! Magazine collections’ grown.”

     She approaches said magazine collection, fingers prying at the volumes, and Caitlyn leans against the couch and watches her. She’s kind of adorable, inspecting Caitlyn and Mel’s belongings with an intent Caitlyn usually finds she reserves for sports matches. Caitlyn had been trying to forget about the fact that she’s beginning to care for Vi, trying to force it out of her mind by distancing herself for a bit, but Vi had seen right through her like she so often does. Of course Caitlyn wants her.

     As long as none of the rules get broken, despite that rule two has been practically thrown out the window but that’s fine it wasn’t that important obviously, they’re fine. Caitlyn can carry on with some semblance of sanity.

     “Why did they send you a magazine on F1 racing?” Vi asks her, pulling a magazine from the selection.

     Caitlyn shrugs. “Beats me. I think they see the word article and believe it’s what I sleep with at night.”

     “Like journalism isn’t their main way of staying relevant,” Vi replies with amusement, sliding the magazine back into place, and it strikes Caitlyn that Vi still knows much about her family’s workings, around the same amount as she knew when they were together. “Okay, I’m done looking. Lead the way.”

     Caitlyn can’t help but chuckle, turning and heading into her bedroom, Vi’s footsteps following behind her. She gives her room a quick once over before letting Vi in, shutting the door behind them and flipping the lock for double protection. Except, this time, as Vi drops her bag against the foot of Caitlyn’s king bed, Vi doesn’t take a minute to look around—she steps forward and captures Caitlyn in a kiss so devastating that Caitlyn loses all self-consciousness about any imperfections in her room.

     She reaches her hands into Vi’s hair and reciprocates, moving them down to drag Vi’s leather jacket off of her before Vi grabs her waist with two strong hands and pulls her closer. Gods, Caitlyn’s never going to get enough of kissing her , the way Vi’s mouth feels like it’s molded to hers and the aching flicks of her tongue, moving and lapping against each other with such easy remembrance. And Caitlyn—yeah, fuck, obviously she loves this. Everytime they kiss in rehearsal, everytime they make out, simply every time their lips meet, it’s like forgetting and basking in the feeling of pure bliss.

     “Are you, like, totally against buying new decorations and stuff?” Vi asks her between kisses, allowing Caitlyn to settle back against the bed before settling atop of her. “This place looks like you have no friends or family or interests.”

     “Is your version of foreplay insulting my room decor?” Caitlyn asks, grabbing Vi by the nape and tugging her back in, speeding up the pace and kissing furiously, pressing her nails into Vi’s skin because that always seems to rile her up. “Or are you going to get to the point and fuck me?”

     “Jesus, Cait,” Vi says with a heavy breath out, slotting a thigh between Caitlyn’s legs and pressing, kissing her at the same time. Caitlyn gasps into her mouth, the pressure lighting fuses in several different places and scrabbling for a hold against Vi’s back, Vi’s teeth biting at her bottom lip and moving to kiss up her jaw. They’ve done this so many times that their beginning motions feel like routine and yet Caitlyn’s excited, she always is, eager in the way she scratches at Vi’s back and Vi mirroring her with her lips at Caitlyn’s ear. “You look so good in this set.”

     Caitlyn knows she does, it hugs her tits nicely and is way too short for practicality, but hearing it from Vi sparks little butterflies in her lower stomach. If she hadn’t already wanted this, she wants it now, she wants more, wants it faster, wants Vi to stop treating her like this is novel, like just because this is the first time they’re having sex in a bed in ages that she needs to treat her politely and take it slow—if they were anywhere else, Vi would be throwing her around, not letting Caitlyn climb onto the bed herself. She grasps at Vi’s shoulder and pulls her closer, with as much force as she can gather, muttering in her ear, “Fuck me properly or I’ll figure out a way to do it myself.”

     “Oh, fuck no,” Vi hisses, and ducks her head down, giving absolutely no warning before dragging her teeth against Caitlyn’s neck and sinking in, and Caitlyn’s hips buck against her thigh. “No,” Vi says again, against her skin, biting and sucking and going in for more after each turn of phrase. “I’m going to ruin you, Princess.”

     Vi leaves but one very bruising hickey against her neck before fastening her hands on Caitlyn’s waist and moving down, using the open expanse of her tank to her advantage and kissing down Caitlyn’s chest without pause. A hand comes up to grab at Caitlyn’s breast with a roughness Caitlyn’s breath catches at, fingertips pressing as her other hand tugs down her shirt, mouth placing reverent, wet kisses around her nipple before locking onto it.

     “ Gods ,” Caitlyn breathes, head tilting back and tenting her pillows. Vi’s mouth is nothing if not an expert, biting down as gently as possible before moving back in with her tongue, alternating between pointed and broad, paying as much attention to her nipple as if it were her clit. The other hand pinches Caitlyn’s nipple before soaring down to press vaguely between her legs, cupping where Caitlyn needs it most and the general pressure makes Caitlyn’s arousal pool in her panties. Caitlyn jerks up into her touch, mind spiraling away.

     “Good girl,” Vi rasps against her nipple, making to switch to the other before Caitlyn gets sick of it and sits up, pulling off her shirt while trying to control herself under Vi’s hands. Vi pauses for a moment to stare, and Caitlyn can’t help but push her chest out a little as she falls back against the sheets, Vi’s searing gaze raking over her body. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

     “You haven’t seen me naked yet,” Caitlyn thinks aloud as Vi gets to work on her neglected nipple, tongue repeating that relentless dance.

     Vi pops her head up. “What?”

     “Just, you know,” Caitlyn says, trying to wrap her mind around her reasoning as Vi’s hand slips around the loose openings of her shorts and cup her pussy through her underwear instead. “Recently. Every time we’ve done this, we keep my bra on or panties on or something.”

     Vi’s kissing down her torso now, tongue tracing the faint lines of her abs before kissing over to the side of her waist, licking up the curve of it. That lights Caitlyn on fire, the feeling icy-hot; Vi’s never had enough room or time to do this kind of foreplay, this kind of downright reverential worship. She knows she’s hot, attractive, beautiful in Vi’s eyes, and vice versa, but this…

     “We’re always doing this in semi-public so I didn’t think you should be,” Vi tells her, hands rubbing over her thighs, teeth biting at the waistband of Caitlyn’s shorts, pulling down a few inches before letting go. “Do you want to be? I know you have your thing about being in little clothing on stage so—”

     “I’d like it,” Caitlyn says, and she can find the truth of it lodging in Vi’s eyes, the way they widen but soften at the corners. “I like the idea of you seeing me.”

     “I already see you,” Vi says, and it’s not meant to be a joke. With Caitlyn’s permission, she unties the little bow of her shorts and pulls them down, thumbs catching into the edge of her panties too and dragging them with. Caitlyn raises her hips to help, spilling onto the mattress as Vi dives in the moment they’re discarded, mouth making paintings on her inner thighs. “You’re gorgeous, all of you.”

     Two fingers find her clit, and Caitlyn’s eyes squeeze shut, hand fisting in Vi’s hair and pulling. Vi groans, “You’re so wet for me, baby, Gods I just could—” and seems to find that Caitlyn doesn’t deserve or doesn’t need stimulation on her clit and moves down, two fingers diving into her with an abruptness Caitlyn cries out at.

     “ What the hell ,” Caitlyn says intelligently, nails piercing the sheets and Vi’s scalp. Maybe she’d gone with two instead of three in case Caitlyn had needed the extra stimulation, she doesn’t know, but the fit is perfect, rubbing against her walls so skillfully and drawing crooning pleasure out of her g-spot. Vi pushes herself above Caitlyn, heel of her palm pressing against Caitlyn’s clit as she does, lips moving over her bare chest and collarbones as Caitlyn keens, her touch and gaze burning into Caitlyn’s skin like a flame brushing against wood.

     “There you go,” Vi whispers into her, fingers increasing their speed, crooking and pistoning and Gods Caitlyn is going to die and they’ve barely gotten started. She’s so open, she’s so ready, Gods she’s been wanting to feel Vi have her way with her and use the strap in every which way— “You feel so good, Cait, Gods you have no idea what you do to me—”

     “More,” Caitlyn pants, legs falling wider, bracing her heels against the mattress and thrusting her hips perpetually up, because she needs the strap inside her, needs to feel Vi’s hips against her. “More, please.”

     “What do you want?” Vi rasps into her ear, sucking her earlobe into her mouth.

     “Fuck me,” Caitlyn says, breath heaving, hands pulling at Vi’s tank before Vi reaches up and pulls it off with one hand and fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing she’s ever witnessed— “with the strap, please .”

     “Good,” Vi says, giving her a quick kiss on the mouth before sliding her fingers out of her, the loss making Caitlyn whine. “Get on your knees.”

     Caitlyn rubs a hand over her face and squints, barely understanding. “What?”

     “You heard me,” Vi says, pulling down her cargos and revealing toned thighs, and when she turns, her glorious back tattoo, rippling as she moves and disappearing under her sports bra. “And put a pillow under your hips, you liked it better like that, right?”

     She did. Caitlyn attempts not to splutter, barely succeeding as she maneuvers her pillows around, sneaking a glance over her shoulder at Vi unzipping her backpack, the dark purple dildo and harness they had bought together, to use together, already secured; Vi steps into it with practiced ease, because yes, this had been one of Caitlyn’s favorites.

     “You’re not going to put a condom on it?” Caitlyn asks her, shoving the pillow into place beneath her stomach. She presses forward on her elbows and digs her head into the pillows in front of her, ass lifting up and the cold her prickling over her skin and fuck, she knows Vi can see every inch of her.

     “Why would I?” Vi asks, momentarily worrying Caitlyn and prompting her to begin her presentation on sex toy safety before adding, “I haven’t used this with anyone but you.”

     Caitlyn blinks. “Really?”

     “All yours, Cait,” Vi says, tone low, stepping onto the bed and kneeling before Caitlyn. Her hands come up to grab Caitlyn’s ass, spreading her open, and Caitlyn gasps, pressing further into the bed. “I’m all yours.”

     “ Fuck ,” Caitlyn breathes, and Vi presses forward, lining her strap up with Caitlyn’s entrance and pressing inside.

     The feeling of Vi’s hands grabbing onto her hips and thrusting forward with her own rackets through Caitlyn’s body, pleasure bouncing like a ping pong ball through Caitlyn’s blood stream and canceling out any thought in Caitlyn’s brain. She chokes on air, whining as her cunt adjusts to the stretch, because Caitlyn had always loved playing around with size and this isn’t exactly the smallest option they considered, walls stretching and biting down on the silicone dick.

     “Just like that, pretty girl,” Vi says with awe, hand launching forward and pressing itself into the space between Caitlyn’s shoulder blades, pinning her to the mattress and forcing her cock deeper. Caitlyn grabs at the pillows and whimpers, the strap making a home deep in her cunt, “Gods, you’re taking me so well. You know how long I’ve been waiting to fuck you like this?”

     “Move, Vi,” Caitlyn demands, and Vi listens, drawing her hips back and thrusting forward.

     Any and all remaining thought leaves Caitlyn’s mind as soon as the tip of the dick hits her g-spot, and she shouts, all of Vi’s athletic strength and skill driving right into Caitlyn’s pussy. Vi starts up a steady pace, hips rolling like a bloody earthquake, a muscled arm coming around and under her hips to pull her backward, impaling Caitlyn on her cock.

     “Fuck, you’re doing so good for me,” Vi tells her, leaning over her and pressing her lips to Caitlyn’s shoulderblades, voice so close and the feeling of Vi all around her, inside her, it’s intoxicating and Caitlyn can’t get enough. “You love this, baby, don’t you? Doing whatever I tell you to do and taking it.”

     Caitlyn groans and nods over and over, burying her face into the pillow. Vi grabs a fistful of hair and pulls her upward, leaning forward to hiss in her ear, “I can’t hear you, Cait. Louder.”

     “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, Vi ,” Caitlyn babbles incoherently. It feels so good, Vi’s cock moving in and out of her, going ever faster, harder, deeper without Caitlyn even needing to ask. Vi knows her so well, meeting her in time as Caitlyn begins to rock backward on her knees, desperate for more friction, more thrusts, more force. “You feel so—so, fuck, you’re deep, darling, fuck —”

     “Taking my cock so well,” Vi says, licking a long stripe up her neck and raising every single hair on Caitlyn’s body. Heat gathering by the second in her navel, sounds getting louder and louder, Caitlyn feels so full, so complete, each thrust leaving her wanting more and Vi giving her exactly that as she slams back in. “I didn’t have any trouble burying my cock in you, Cait, are you such a slut that you can take my cock this easily?”

     “Yes,” Caitlyn moans, which is frankly embarrassing but Gods she does not care. Vi feels fucking incredible, and this is what she’s been wanting since the first time they fucked: Vi pistoning into her without remorse, the arm under her hips drifting down and sliding along her clit, that desperate ache in Caitlyn’s navel taking over and making her rut backward, impaling herself on Vi’s cock like some needy animal. “Yes, I’m a slut for you, Vi, fuck, keep—fuck—don’t stop—”

     Vi doesn’t stop, only speeding up at her words, and Caitlyn cries out in pleasure. Vi feels so good it almost defies belief that this is the first time she’s done this in a while. Caitlyn always comes quicker than usual with Vi and this is no exception, with the new position lighting fire in every crook of her body and Vi’s large dick getting the best of her, hips bucking wildly and Vi’s fingers on her clit achingly good.

     There’s a single moment where Caitlyn feels the hand on her back leave her, drifting over the small of her back and over her ass and eventually leaving, the motion of Vi’s body telling her that the hand has moved to below the strap on Vi’s body, hesitating there, before it’s gone and it doesn’t happen again.

     “You’re so pretty for me,” Vi says, that hand reappearing and pressing harder, making Caitlyn’s back arch like a cat and press her ass into Vi’s hips, shouting and whimpering into the pillows like her life depends on it. She can hear the wet slapping of their skin meeting, air starting to smell like sweat and sex, the squelching of her dripping pussy filling the room. It’s addicting. She can’t get enough, she wants and she wants— “I’m the only one who can do this to you, huh, baby? Make you scream like a whore?”

     Caitlyn downright screams, and falls pathetically against the mattress when Vi pulls out—

     —just to toss her onto her back with a hand on her hip and line her cock back up again, thrusting back into her with a smooth motion, and Caitlyn throws her head back and cries out.

     “I want to see you when you come, Cait,” Vi growls, bracing a hand above Caitlyn’s shoulder and pressing the lengths of their bodies into each other. Caitlyn squirms and whimpers, because she’s close, of course she’s close, she’s so close and she wants and Vi’s fingers on her clit returns and there’s no stopping— “Beautiful girl, you wanna come on my cock? Squeeze me dry and let it all out, baby.”

     Vi’s opal eyes bore into her writhing body and debauched face as Caitlyn shouts and comes apart, thrashing in Vi’s hold as her orgasm takes over. Vi’s pace is unrelenting through it, despite that Caitlyn’s tearing up a storm with her nails on Vi’s back, moaning and whimpering and mumbling with barely any coherence, “ Vi! Vi, fuck, fuck , shit fuck fuck fuck Vi fuck —”

     “There, Gods, babe, there you go,” Vi says to her, free hand swooping under Caitlyn’s neck, cradling her as Caitlyn’s head swims. All notions of her midterm grade gone, delirious and what is going on, really, Caitlyn turns her head and digs her face into Vi’s open bicep, burrowing into the skin and breathing out. Vi chuckles above her, moving her other hand to brush the hair sticking to Caitlyn’s forehead off her forehead.

     “Hey,” Caitlyn mumbles, blowing strands away from her mouth.

     “Hey yourself,” Vi replies, smiling this wonderful smile that makes Caitlyn’s chest hurt. “You look a little lost there.”

     “Shut up,” Caitlyn groans, gesturing around wildly for Vi to pull out. Vi sits up and does so, eyes widening at the amount of slick that sticks to the dildo as she pulls out. “There’s a towel in the bottom drawer of the nightstand.”

     Vi grabs it, cleaning off the dildo with fairly lewd gestures before looking to Caitlyn for approval, gesturing vaguely at Caitlyn’s core. Caitlyn nods, and Vi cleans her up, gently working the towel through her folds so she’s not dripping wet anymore, handing Caitlyn her panties and top from off the bed.

     After, Caitlyn’s not really sure what to do. They haven’t exactly had the time to do proper aftercare before, with the cuddling and the extended small talk and the—everything.

     Vi tucks the strap into her backpack and coughs, settling onto the bed beside Caitlyn and, well, that answers one question. “You doing okay?” Vi asks her, that routine check-in Caitlyn has come to expect but also adore.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn replies, and braves scooting a little closer. “I thoroughly enjoyed that.”

     “Oh, I know.”

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes. “How about yourself?”

     And—and Vi throws an arm over the ridiculous amount of pillows Caitlyn owes, an obvious invite for Caitlyn to tuck herself under it. Caitlyn breathes in, breathes out, and takes the leap, not quite attaching her body to Vi but leaning her head on her shoulder, curling up on her side not against but next to Vi’s body. Vi’s body relaxes a bit, and she angles her body toward Caitlyn.

     “I’m good,” Vi replies, her calloused thumb coming up to rub small circles on Caitlyn’s shoulder. The roughness contrasts with Caitlyn’s ever smooth skin, and it sends shivers up Caitlyn’s spine. “I want you to ride me next time.”

     Caitlyn raises an eyebrow. “Already proclaiming a next time?”

     “With what just happened? How loud you got?” Vi whistles, which should piss Caitlyn off but doesn’t. “Yeah, there’ll be a next time, baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

     That’s hot, but Caitlyn refuses to admit it. She reaches for her phone charging on the nightstand and Vi hands it to her, leaving Caitlyn’s side for a moment to retrieve her own from off the bed and returns quickly, settling back into position.

     Caitlyn scrolls through her notifications and sighs. No midterm grade.

     “I’m going to kill Hoskel,” she mutters, and Vi smiles weakly down at her.

     “I’m sorry, babe,” she says, that circling thumb running down Caitlyn’s jawline just once. “I can tell it’s really bothering you.”

     “Yes, that was the reason I texted,” Caitlyn sighs. She doesn’t know why they’re still lingering around like they have more to talk about; this is what their arrangement is, to fuck and get stress relieved and move on.

     Vi tilts her head. “How long of an essay was it?”

     Caitlyn considers redirecting the topic before remembering that she doesn’t keep this stuff from Vi, not anymore. “Twenty pages,” Caitlyn replies, and Vi’s eyes widen like that isn’t on the shorter end for an upper-division class. “I’ve already done the math. He’d have to read around only sixteen pages a day to only be done now, and twenty-five if you only count business days. This is a journalism class, not a PhD dissertation. This should be done by now.”

     “Remind me not to be your professor,” Vi jokes, and Caitlyn cracks a smile. “You’re gonna do great, Cait, I know you will.”

     Gods, could she stop being so sweet? Any more of this and Caitlyn’s going to fall for her.

     “How did your midterms go?” Caitlyn asks, and finds herself genuinely wanting to know.

     “Good,” says Vi, beginning to smile, and Caitlyn reaches up, fixing the clasp on the chain Vi’s wearing today, moving it behind Vi’s nape for a cleaner look. “I actually got an A+ in sports admin. Did pretty good on the other two.”

     “Do they give out valedictorians for minors?” Caitlyn asks, though she obviously already knows the answer is no. She brushes an eyelash off Vi’s cheek and tucks her hand away before she can do anything worse. “You’d get it for sports administration.”

     “Yeah, right,” Vi huffs with false exasperation, and Caitlyn smiles, letting herself push into Vi’s touch, angling her cheek closer to make it easier on Vi’s wrist. Silence settles, but it doesn’t hang in the air; it sprawls out in the inch between them and gets comfortable.

     “Hey,” says Vi, and, uncharacteristic—nervousness pricks at the edge of her voice. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

     Caitlyn sits up a little, clearing her mind and nodding. “What’s up?”

     “I like what we’re doing now,” Vi says, and her eyes are clear but they’re not looking at Caitlyn, knee bouncing against the mattress. “With the phone calls and stuff. And I want to keep doing them, but I just—” she falters here, and swallows before she continues, that pointed face of hers softening, “what do you think about me getting off on my own, with you?”

     A little confused, because she thought Vi had refused this idea in their earlier exchanges, Caitlyn says, “You mean, before or after I go, with me watching, or—”

     “No,” Vi says quickly, eyes turning to her, and Caitlyn gives her the time to gather her thoughts, her hand escaping her will again and rests against Vi’s hip, tapping gently. “During. Like, when I’m getting you off.” Caitlyn thinks back to minutes ago, Vi’s hand leaving her for a second to wander. “I don’t care if you watch but I like that you’ll be too busy to notice, and—”

     Caitlyn’s phone blares a ringtone, buzzing where Caitlyn set it against the mattress. Vi shuts her mouth and looks away as Caitlyn picks it up, and it’s—the hiring manager from her job, the New York fucking Times, at seven p.m on a weekday, and her heart leaps into her throat.

     “Who is it?” Vi asks, timid.

     “My job,” Caitlyn murmurs, hesitating. She looks up and tries to meet Vi’s eyes, but they’ve glanced away and have fogged over, and Caitlyn can practically see her walls going up again, the shaking of Vi’s knee halted and going rigid.

     Caitlyn slides the hangup side of the button and sets her phone face down on the bed. Vi looks at her, surprise etched into her features.

     “You’re not going to take that?” she asks.

     “No,” Caitlyn replies, and replaces her hand on Vi’s hip. “This is more important to me.”

     Vi stares at her with an expression that is reminiscent of someone getting hit by a truck.

     “Keep going,” Caitlyn says, running her thumb over exposed skin. “Work can wait.”

     “Right,” Vi says, breathing out. “Um—I just think you not being focused on watching but having you there will help. And you have no idea how much I want to sometimes.”

     “I like that idea.” Caitlyn smiles at her, and Gods the way Vi’s face lights up, the way her tense body falls slack— “I think that’s a great next step. If you need anything to change in the moment so you can do that better, we’ll work it out.”

     “Really?” Vi says like she hadn’t believed Caitlyn would say yes.

     “Of course,” Caitlyn responds, and leans forward to gently peck Vi’s lips—she’s not breaching forehead or cheek kisses, not yet. “Whenever you feel like doing it, go for it.”

     “Thank you,” Vi says, breathing a little short, eyes a little stunned.

     Caitlyn runs her nails over the crest of Vi’s ear, and pulls her in for another kiss.

     They get up soon enough, pulling on clothes and Caitlyn offering to walk Vi out. Caitlyn throws on a hoodie and slips on some fuzzy slides, ones with rabbit ears that Vi laughs at when she sees.

     “You seem to really like the manhandling stuff, by the way,” Vi says to her as they exit Caitlyn’s room, moving down the hallway.

     Caitlyn crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “Why are you bringing this up?” she asks with joking exasperation.

     Vi shrugs, hands removing themselves from her pockets. “I think it’s cute,” she says, turning to Caitlyn, and suddenly she has Caitlyn pressed against the wall just by walking her towards it, hands only then coming up to bracket Caitlyn’s hips. “See? You fall into it so well.”

     “You’re horrible,” Caitlyn huffs, but she’s looking at Vi’s lips, relishing in Vi’s hands against her.

     “You’re turned on,” Vi notes, and Caitlyn groans and kisses her, and she really shouldn’t take Vi back to her bedroom now that they’ve already begun leaving but now she wants to, Gods she wants to. Vi’s hands tug her hips closer, pressing their bodies together, and kisses and kisses and kisses—

     “Caitlyn? Are you—?”

     Mel rounds the corner of the apartment, the one that leads right from the entryway to the living room to the hallway in one consistent line, and Caitlyn breaks apart from Vi and Vi from Caitlyn so fast that she’s surprised they both didn’t get whiplash.

     And, not for the first time, Caitlyn and Vi stare at Mel. Mel stares at Caitlyn and Vi.

     Mel sighs, expensive purse dropping from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. “Okay,” Mel says, sighing a second, a third time, “alright. Go.”

     “Yup,” Vi says, coughing, removing herself from Caitlyn and gathering herself.

     “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” Caitlyn says, and hurries them past the stationary Mel, who turns and looks at them their entire way out.

     The door closes, and then they’re racing down the hallway as if Mel’s going to launch out at them with claws and swords. Vi says, chuckling, “So much for rule one.”

     Caitlyn shakes her head and refuses to throw herself down the elevator shaft. “I’ll handle this,” she says, and presses the elevator button for her. “Mel has more secrets than anyone. This should be fine.”

     “I know,” Vi replies, smiling weakly before stepping into the elevator. She does a tiny salute and says, “See ya, Cupcake.”

     “See you tomorrow, Vi,” Caitlyn says, smiling softly back at her despite the anxiety thrumming through her mind. The elevator door closes before Caitlyn can decide to get in with her, and she’s left with the inevitable decision of going back home.

     When she heads back in, Mel’s sitting on the couch, clad in black slacks and a gold-lined blouse, hair still done up and falsely reading a magazine. With rapidly decreasing hope, Caitlyn tries to tiptoe her way past back to her room before Mel turns with vengeance and says, “No. Get back here. Sit.”

     When Mel Medarda tells you to do something, you do it. Caitlyn huffs and turns, trudging her way over to the couch and sitting, gathering her legs onto the cushion.

     “So,” says Mel, facing her with a seriousness Caitlyn typically doesn’t shy away from but now she really, really wants to, “I feel we recently have not been very honest with each other.”

     And Caitlyn realizes—oh, this is a serious best friend chat, not just a roommate chat.

     “No, we haven’t,” Caitlyn admits, settling into her seat, waiting because Mel had phrased that like she had more to say.

     Mel takes a breath, and then says the most unpredictable sentence known to man: “I’m dating Sevika.”

     Caitlyn has enough decorum for her mouth not to drop but she does say, “What?”

     “It’s the reason I’ve been avoiding the apartment,” Mel continues, as if Caitlyn didn’t say anything. She has the poise of a ruler that has tomatoes being thrown at them, posture straight and words practiced. “We’re keeping it on the down low, so I didn’t want anyone to know before I told them, and considering I just walked in on you, the chances of that happening were… high. So we stick to her place. But I figure, an eye for an eye, and I’ve been meaning to tell you soon, so here’s that.”

     Yes, perhaps Caitlyn had seen them talking more than often at rehearsal when their characters aren’t in the scene and maybe she’s noticed Sevika’s appearance at the cast hang-outs correlating to when Mel’s there, but that was all sparse enough to be counted as coincidence. This was… but it’s not like Sevika isn’t Mel’s type.

     “I’m happy for you,” Caitlyn says, and attempts a smile through the whiplash of the day.

     Mel looks up at her with surprise, and why is everyone doing that today? “You are?”

     “Of course,” Caitlyn replies, and moves closer to her. “Why wouldn’t I be? You do match each other’s personalities very well.”

     “I just assumed you would be more… put off. Especially now that we’re almost to three months,” Mel says, which does make Caitlyn’s eyes widen, because since January? “Although, I suppose with the light of recent events you don’t have much to be put off about. You and Vi? ”

     Apparently she no longer gets to press Mel for her relationship details. “It’s not what you think,” Caitlyn hurries to clarify. “You can’t tell anyone, I mean it. And it’s only casual, we’re just doing it for stress relief and stuff—”

     “You are exes! It cannot be casual!” Mel says. That light that appears in her eye whenever there’s gossip glints, and despite her chidings, she’s beginning to smile. “You were kissing and smiling. That’s far from casual. Gods, I knew this would happen.”

     Caitlyn’s about to protest that until the last sentence, to which she says, incredulous, “You knew this would happen?”

“As soon as you kissed during auditions,” Mel explains, giddy like she’s riding off a gambling high. “You should’ve seen the look on your faces, Cait, it was like you’d never left each other.”

     Deciding she will not look into that last statement further, Caitlyn says, “It’s not going anywhere further, I swear. We set up rules—” although two of them have now failed— “and we have boundaries, and we still hate each other, it’s not going farther than sex.”

     “You still hate each other?” Mel almost laughs. “Are you kidding? I remember your break up very well, but you haven’t hated each other for a long time. Not since Powder’s get-together. The look on your face when you left that bathroom was priceless.” Mel reaches out to her and grabs her hands, dragging them into her lap. “Tell me you’ve told each other that. That you don’t hate her.”

     “Even if I don’t believe it, she does,” Caitlyn says, helpless. “I violated her whole life’s goal, she’s never going to forgive me for that.”

     “Who said anything about forgiveness?” Mel asks her, and Caitlyn falls silent, biting her lip. “Learning to forgive can only come after resentment is past. And you want to work past that, don’t you?”

     Does she?

     “I shouldn’t,” Caitlyn says, shaking her head. That violates rule three, and it’s the last semblance of structure Caitlyn has left. “That’d be overstepping, wouldn’t it?”

     “Have you forgiven her for what she did to you?”

     Vi’s words from the previous day ring in her mind: I’m with you on this, Cait. I’m here for you.

     “No,” Caitlyn says, truthful. “But I’d be lying if I said I don’t think she’s changed a tad.”

     “You both have issues with each other that need resolving,” Mel says, smiling that hopeful smile that makes everyone feel like they could do anything. “Taking the leap to solve the one you can fix isn’t overstepping at all.”

     Mel tilts her head, eyes wide and wishful. Gods, Caitlyn hates when she looks like that, because she’s about to make a good point.

     “And what better way to put on a play about love and hate than by crossing that bridge yourself?”

↠↢

Caitlyn had never been very open about her more troubling emotions with Vi.

     They were on the same page with that; at least, they were two years ago. Vi had opened up to her in bursts, small, sudden shocks of emotion that Caitlyn had never expected in the moment but had grown to become prepared for, often taking place in private, laying in either one of their beds or studying together at the library during a late night.

     Caitlyn felt she had less to open up about—stories about her childhood were not so much filled with laughter and raucous activities as Vi’s had, but they were warm, content, albeit growing up knowing she was expected to follow in one of her parent’s footsteps, whether that be the politician-philanthropist career her mother had adopted, or the general surgeon of her father’s; the weight of that expectation fell on her shoulders in every class she took as early as primary school. There was the situation—per what her father had always called it, the three years of adjusting to the States’ high school system, transcripts and residency forms and paperwork, trying to reconnect with her childhood friends, dark rooms in their newly bought, practically unfurnished mansion and translucent, orange pill bottles littering the kitchen counters—and that was it.

     While Caitlyn had always been less guarded than Vi, that only meant that if Vi inquired about something, she would answer. Otherwise, she kept her book closed, kept emotions that belonged to different causes to the places they were meant to be felt, and if Vi didn’t need to know, didn’t make it apparent that she wanted to know, Vi didn’t know about it. She didn't want Vi to see her in a situation she couldn't control, and if that included situations where she became unnecessarily emotional, so be it.

     So when the week of midterms of her fall sophomore year semester came along and Vi became distant, suddenly too busy to study together when their schedules seemingly aligned and too tired to call at night, taking extra shifts at the gym (why this was, whether it was for a distraction or a stress reliever, Caitlyn didn’t know) and becoming unable to get ahold of, Caitlyn kept her emotions to herself and kept trying.

     She hit submit on her papers, she took her exams, her grades came back stellar as always and yet the joy she’d wanted to share with the someone she loved most was not there. She’d stared at her last midterm grade sitting at her desk, the shiny 99 A+ glaring back at her, and felt absolutely nothing.

     Caitlyn had decided to see what Mel was up to, standing and getting a little dizzy as soon as her feet were planted on the floor but thought nothing of it. If Vi wasn’t here to share her satisfaction, maybe Mel would partake in it; she’d worked tirelessly for this, pushing off all other responsibilities, and she wasn’t going to let her celebrations carry on alone. She’d left her room and peered around the hallway corner to inspect the drawing room, finding Mel on the couch, easel broken out and canvas perched on the wood, their coffee table littered with paint tubes and scratch paper of sketches. The dual art/art history minor she’d decided to pursue was clearly underway.

     “That looks beautiful,” Caitlyn had said by way of greeting, leaning against the doorframe.

     Mel, never spooked and always serene, had looked up, smiling at her while one of the first fall rains fell against the window. She’d been painting a jewellery box, Caitlyn remembered, the reference sitting to the left of the easel and propped open, gold necklaces spilling out the side like snakes, her art style much more realistic compared to Vi’s sister’s disordered abstract. “Thank you,” Mel had said, proud, and picked up a small, pointed brush, dipped it in white and added some detail. “Almost done, last midterm. How did yours go? Are you all done?”

     “Just finished,” Caitlyn had said, motioning with her phone. “All A’s around the board, though I’m particularly upset with my advertising for journalism seminar. Ninety-six with absolutely no feedback or filled-out rubric.”

     “Only you would be upest with that,” Mel had laughed, setting her brush down before fully facing Caitlyn, elbow bent across the couch cushions. “Congratulations. I’m sure your parents will be proud.”

     “Oh, yes,” Caitlyn had sighed, checking her phone again, because any minute now her parents would be checking her grades and finding the newest updates. “I’m sure.”

     Mel had hummed. “Where’s Vi been?”

     Caitlyn glanced up in alarm. “Hm?”

     “You haven’t had any of your sleepovers this week,” Mel noted, tilting her head slightly, loose braids she tended to let down while home falling across her shoulders. “And she hasn’t been over. I was just curious. Is she busy, too?”

     “I suppose so,” Caitlyn murmured, clicking onto their latest text stream. The last conversation they’d exchanged had been last night, Vi ending the conversation early with a brisk night cait, love you and Caitlyn replying I love you too . But nothing since. She had to count the days in her head in order to recall the last time she’d heard Vi’s voice. “She’s been… elusive. But I’ve been hoping it’ll go taper off as soon as midterms are done.”

     “Hm,” Mel had said, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s strange.”

     Caitlyn recalled feeling relieved. “Right?”

     “That girl’s so in love with you she’d crawl here after a disastrous midterm if she had to,” Mel had said with wonder, as if this fact was known to Caitlyn, but made Caitlyn’s chest spark with hope. If others could see it, maybe this was just a momentary spell of stress. Mel had glanced toward their minimalistic clock, subtly ticking in time with the rain. “Give her a call. It’s Friday after all, and if I remember correctly, she’s always over at this time. Perhaps she’s free.”

     Caitlyn had taken her advice, because Mel tended to be right when it came to these things. She’d retreated to her room and gathered her courage, criss-cross on her bed as she pressed the button.

     Vi didn’t pick up the first time. Confidence decreasing with each ring, Caitlyn had pressed it one more time to break through Vi’s typical do-not-disturb, in case she’d been coming out of office hours or something and forgotten to turn it off.

     She’d picked up on the sixth ring this time, right before Caitlyn was about to give up. “Yeah?” Vi had said into the phone, gruff.

     “Hi, my love,” Caitlyn replied, breathing out, clutching the phone to her ear with two hands as if Vi herself would rip it away from her. “I haven’t heard from you today, so I figured I’d check in.”

     It sounded as if Vi was walking, wind and rain rampant in the background noise. “You couldn’t have texted?”

     Caitlyn frowned. “Is that what you prefer?”

     Vi had sighed. “I don’t know.”

     Very helpful answer. Caitlyn decided that maybe changing the subject would help. “What are you up to? Where have you been?”

     “Headed to the gym.”

     “For a shift?”

     “No.”

     “Just to work out?”

     “Yeah.”

     “With who?”

     Vi had made a sound close to a groan but mixed with a huff. “Why does it matter?”

     This was a bad idea. Caitlyn said, “I was just wondering.” And— “I miss you, that’s all.”

     “Yeah, I know,” Vi had said, a clunking sound echoing from her side of the phone, recognizable as her opening her motorcycle’s compartment.

     Caitlyn had no idea what that was supposed to mean. “Are you free soon?” she’d asked, growing less hopeful. “Tonight?”

     “Uh, no, sorry, I’ve got something going on.”

     It was a Friday night. As far as Caitlyn knew, if Vi didn’t have a shift, she didn’t have any family commitments or homework she’d actually want to get done or anything similar. Caitlyn began to ask, “Like w—”

     “Look, I’ve gotta go,” Vi interrupted, tone rising with impatience. “Gotta focus on driving. I’ll text you later, okay?”

     Caitlyn’s heart had sunk to the very bottom of her stomach. “Okay,” she’d said, resigned. “Drive safe. I love you.”

     “Love you too.”

     Vi had hung up, and Caitlyn had buried her face in her hands.

     What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t just Vi was busy anymore—end of midterm week, with professors laying off assignments as a courtesy moving toward the next week, she shouldn’t be as busy as she is. Taking extra shifts is one thing, Caitlyn didn’t care if she did, she understood, but this—this was avoidance. This was almost plain rude. Caitlyn wanted to scream, but like always, she kept silent, burying herself into her bedsheets and refusing to let the tears fall.

     Vi did text that night, albeit to tell Caitlyn that she’d made it home safe and give a brief rundown of her day before heading to bed. Short. Quick. Curt. Like Caitlyn was her boss and Vi was going over the course of the day’s work. If a employer-employee relationship included I love you s, their conversation would certainly pass for one, like their relationship had been reduced to nothing.

     That weekend was a disaster. The weather cleared up and the sun shone, the air crisp with winter on the horizon and autumn leaves collecting on the sides of the Piltover streets. A knock on her door Saturday afternoon had revealed Mel and Jayce, Viktor and Sky lingering in the background, asking if Caitlyn wanted to accompany them for a spontaneous picnic, but she’d declined, feigning ill and tucking herself into her pillow as Mel closed the door behind her, worry in her goodbye.

     Caitlyn didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly pinpoint a catalyst because this hadn’t exactly been abrupt—one moment she was Caitlyn’s and the next midterms were starting so business was a given, the free hours in Vi’s schedule growing scarce by the day and then she was no longer around. And Caitlyn’s words had been true, of course she missed her; she wanted Vi’s sudden presence at her door, bringing food along with her, a peck on the cheek and a hug and then one on the lips, she wanted Vi’s warm embrace in bed at night, strong arms encircling her like nothing could ever go wrong, she wanted Vi’s gentle words telling her you’re doing great, look at you go, baby, I’m so proud of you, my smart girl .

     And of course she couldn’t, she wouldn’t say anything. Nothing’s wrong on Vi’s end, Vi might really just be busy and Caitlyn’s just going to have to wait that out, and she’s not going to put herself in a place of vulnerability, not again. She’s not going to call and receive blunt, short answers. She wouldn’t let Vi take hold, take control of her weakness like that.

     Friday night seeped into Saturday seeped into Sunday seeped into Sunday evening, mulling over the issue, tossing and turning as she drifted in and out of sleep, trying to figure out what’s going on, wondering if she should speak up before always ending up at no. Mel was out, and abruptly, Sunday night, Caitlyn was struck with the realization that she never does this. She never wastes away in bed, waiting on someone’s hand and foot, waiting for an ounce of attention; she’d been wasting so much time when she could’ve been getting started on her upcoming work while her heart dragged her down. She’s Caitlyn fucking Kiramman, she’s better than this. Her parents would call her that night for their weekly catch-up and ask her what she’s been doing, and she won’t have anything to answer but a girl’s breaking my heart .

     No. That couldn’t happen. Caitlyn dragged herself out of bed, phone in hand, wandering into the empty, cold kitchen as her stomach rumbled. When was the last time she’d eaten? She hadn’t become so incapacitated with studying that she relied on Vi to bring her food, but she’d sort of grown to expect it. But Caitlyn’s an adult, she’s responsible, she can do this herself; she’d make something easy now until she was able to cook something properly.

     Mel had brought her some frozen chocolate strawberries that morning, she’d snacked on them while pouring over her and Vi’s texts from last night (shortened to a mere twenty exchanged text messages now), and Jayce had said he’d left a container of leftover curry over rice in the fridge. Okay. She’d eat, she’d pull herself together, she’d grab her materials and compose something of note for her to report back to her parents and not make a complete waste of her rare weekend off.

     Faint, Caitlyn made her way to the fridge, trying to get her legs to remember how to work and grasping the island counter on her way there. She pulled open the heavy fridge doors and almost gagged at the smell of food, peculiar because Mel’s mom had installed one of the fancy ones that prevented the odor of fridges from becoming too rancid, nausea wracking through her body. She gripped the door handles to stabilize herself, cursing her previous choices because this wouldn’t be an issue if she hadn’t been a heartsick sack all weekend, eyes pouring over the vegetables and containers with blurry vision until she spotted a tupperware labeled rice and curry for cait on blue tape.

     Caitlyn grabbed it, tearing it from its’ spot on the shelf, barely registering the refrigerator doors falling shut. She just needed to unlock the top, stick it in the microwave, and set the timer, then she could sit down and stop moving .

     Her hand slipped on the tupperware as she approached the microwave, inconveniently placed high above the counter, moisture gathering on her palm. Fuck, why was she sweating ? This shouldn’t be affecting her this much, not to the point she can barely read the numbers on the microwave’s keypad, fingers pressing based on pure memory, and as black spots began to puncture in the edges of her vision, Caitlyn realized—great, she’s about to faint.

     Fuck. Okay. She needed to sit before it happened, but where was her phone? Hadn’t she just had it? She needed to call someone, maybe—she needed to tell someone to come check on her, this should be a momentary thing, a consequence of her self-neglect, but what if it isn’t? She doesn’t know when Mel’s coming back and—

     She needed Vi. She needed to reach Vi. Vi would be here in two seconds, less if Caitlyn could get the message out clearly.

     Caitlyn spotted her phone on the other end of the counter, resting idly from where she must’ve left it on the way to the fridge. Vision tunneling, she made a break for it, hands scrabbling against the counter—

     —when Caitlyn wakes up, she thinks she remembers the tips of her fingers just managing to scrape the edge of her phone case, like a final breath.

↠↢

After everything—after Mel had found her and the hospital and her father watching over her doctors like a hawk and her mother in the corner, frightened and disheartened and tissue clutched in her palm, after the tests had been run and the results had been read off a clipboard—after everything, Caitlyn had breathed out, tried to steady herself, returned to her own bed, and texted Vi.

Me, 7:09pm

Hey my love, are you free?

my sweet violet, 7:15pm

not rn, sorry cait

Me, 7:15pm

Not anytime soon?

my sweet violet, 7:17pm

no not really

Me, 7:17pm

I’d really like you here

my sweet violet, 7:18pm

sorry

     Caitlyn had never been one to open up about her more troubling emotions with Vi. She clutched her pillow to her chest and cried.

Chapter Text

The first person Caitlyn ever came out to was Jayce.

     She’d realized she was a lesbian far before she told him, much more distressed over the falling out of her and her best friend due to her move back to the U.S. than what was considered normal in freshman year. Junior year prom, their first big dance aside from stupid, irrelevant formals and balls and homecoming’s, had been Jayce’s self-proclaimed time to shine. As captain of the lacrosse team, Jayce had made it his sworn duty to become prom prince (in preparation for the following year’s prom king) as if that was in the job description, flirting with girls left and right and even making mugs with his face on it, the title of JAYCE TALIS FOR PROM PRINCE above his right shoulder, as charismatic as Cupid.

     This had been problematic, not only for the poor producers of the merchandise who had to stare at Jayce’s face, and the other, bulky boys campaigning for prom prince, but for Caitlyn, Jayce’s famous super tall best friend with the sick mom and the accent but was pretty, almost? Because as if Jayce wasn’t already obnoxious enough about becoming a piece of a trophy to stare at, he had to keep up public appearances—or, so he said—and that affected Caitlyn.

     “Come on, Cait!” he had pleaded to her, trailing behind Caitlyn as she sped-walked to her locker, dodging unaware students like train-cars in Subway Surfers. “You have to get a date! You have no idea what it looks like if my best friend doesn’t have a date!”

     “Is my name also on that ballot?” Caitlyn scoffed at him, carrying her books in her arms and walking much faster than needed considering their graciously long passing periods. “Is it? No! I’ve told you already, I’m not interested in pursuing anything romantic—”

     High-school Caitlyn had been much more interested in getting into PAI’s esteemed journalism program, with connections to several prestigious journals and newspapers through faculty with awards upon awards. And she had been somewhat put off by romance from her previous, freshman year drabblings that really didn’t dictate what love would be but whatever. Besides, this was a high-school popularity contest, and how could Caitlyn not having a date really affect his reputation?

     “It’s prom !” appealed Jayce with despair. “I have so many friends that would love to be your date!”

     “So you believe my issue is that I can’t find a date?”

     “Well, wait, no—”

     Caitlyn had rolled her eyes and turned to unlock her locker, turning the knob with annoyance. Jayce, although his locker was right beside hers, did not unlock his, and instead had leaned against it with twinkling puppy eyes. “Sprout,” he had said, using the nickname to emphasize this matter’s importance, “I’ve got to look as good as possible if I want to get prom prince. And if you and your date campaign for prom duke and duchess, we’ll get twice the amount of outreach!”

     “I can’t be distracted by your silly popularity contest,” Caitlyn had reasoned, checking her paper planner (the early stages of her now beloved calendar) for her mother’s treatment schedule that she stole off her father’s desk. She had another appointment tomorrow, meaning that Caitlyn will need to arrange for her personal driver to pick her up from the shooting range later than usual. “And most of all, I don’t want a date .”

     She was already going to the dance for the sole reasons of appeasing the rest of her friend group, telling Jayce that she would go when he asked so she could vote for him, and that she did have a little feeling of sentimentality for her social life and for her eventual high-school memories. But the latter was a secret, and she would make it seem like that she was doing this for Jayce, and therefore her terms were her terms.

     “Why not?” Jayce had asked with a pout. “You’ve never had a boyfriend, you haven’t kissed anyone, everyone does those things eventually! Like me and—”

     The latter was untrue, but Caitlyn did not want to hear about Jayce and his teenage boy sexual escapades. “I’m busy, Jayce,” she’d said, shoving her unnecessary textbooks into her locker. “I don’t have time for any of that, nor coordinate tie colors and pick-up times and have my parents fawn over me walking down the grand staircase.”

     “It’s junior year—”

     “The most important year, mind you.”

     “—you have to live a little! One year left before we go to college and everything changes,” Jayce concluded seriously, eyes clouding over with daunting news. “We might not even go to the same college.”

     “Oh shut up, yes we will,” Caitlyn had said, confident. “We’ll both get in and I’ll have to put up with you for another four years.” And— “And not much will change, just living on our own and more difficult classes.”

     “Exactly why we should be experiencing everything now,” Jayce said, frowning at her. “We won’t have time in college! Why don’t you try finding love now?”

     Caitlyn tilted her head and squinted at him. “Don’t you also not have a date yet?”

     “Yeah, but just because I haven’t chosen,” Jayce said with a horrible wink that made him look like he was becoming paralyzed in one side of his face. “You know I’m right, you should let me set you up!”

     “I don’t want you to set me up,” Caitlyn had grumbled, turning back to spontaneously reorganizing her locker. “There isn’t exactly a plentiful amount of options.”

     “Are you saying I don’t have friends?” Jayce asked her with a hand on his wounded heart.

     “I’m saying—” Caitlyn paused abruptly, the implications of if she’d continued that sentence flashing in her mind. She shut her locker with a bang! and said, “Nevermind. I’m not interested.”

     “Hey! Wait!” Jayce had shouted as Caitlyn had turned and stalked away. “Come on, Cait! I’m your best friend!”

     His insistence—the constant trailing after her, the non-stop reasons of why, why, why —had perhaps been the reason why Caitlyn snapped, second only to her desire to stop living a constant lie.

     “I’m saying there are no options for me here.” Caitlyn had whirled around with frustration. “I’m saying your options aren’t the options I’m looking for. There will never be an option for me, not for a long time.”
Jayce had stumbled over confusion. “Are you saying you don’t like the people that go to this school?” Jayce had questioned, brows furrowing. “Because if that’s the case, I’m friends with some of the other school’s lacrosse players, and you can bring people from other schools to prom—”

     The clock on passing period had been running thin, so few people were around to hear Caitlyn burst out: “I like girls , Jayce!”

     Jayce froze as suddenly and as unceremoniously as boiling water being thrown into the air during winter time. Caitlyn had meant to say it, but she had not meant for this to be the moment and now—one person knew, and whoever had overheard. Jayce knew. She was going to be late for class and she was stationary, watching Jayce’s face morph, from shock to steady realization to—

     “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” Jayce asked with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve got plenty of girl-friends too— umph !”

     Caitlyn had launched at him with a tight hug, muffling whatever he was about to say. And after some stumbling clarifications, including that Caitlyn was strictly a lesbian and that maybe, with some firm rules, yeah, she would be interested in reviewing a few date options, that had been that.

     His immediate acceptance had been something she’d later find she’d get from most people, but that almost certainly did not include her parents. She didn’t know her parents official stances, especially her mother’s, her political policies completely absent on the matter. But she’d figured that the mere fact that they hadn’t said anything—including the constant variations of let me introduce you to my colleague’s son, dear, he’s a smashing young man of good stature —made it clear enough where they stood.

     By the time college came around, the concept of coming out became a distant memory—she no longer felt the need to announce to her new friends, like her new roommate Mel and Jayce’s immediate lab partner Viktor, her romantic preferences. She could just be . College was like that in that matter: from her growing feelings of separation and detachment to this, it instilled in Caitlyn a feeling of privacy and independence that almost outgrew her other traits. Her friends were her friends, but she relied on herself first; no one else would be there for her the way she herself would be, no one would pick her over themselves.

     Whether that virtue spiraled out of control or not, it had never failed her. That one thing was a fact, and Caitlyn Kiramman had always loved facts.

     And she still loved facts now, scrolling around on her phone in bed before rehearsal, making use of her fifteen-minute break from studying by stalking Vi’s Instagram account. This isn’t her first round at it, but Vi had posted one (1) new story and now Caitlyn was back looking over her whole account because that was warranted when Vi draws attention to herself obviously. Vi has reposted a post from the recreational women’s boxing team displaying their next match date with a link to buy tickets, which was enticing merely for the idea of seeing Vi fight but otherwise not Caitlyn’s main priority.

     The fact at hand here is just how much Vi’s account—username @onegirlwreckingcrew , profile picture a photo of her batting away a camera, and name simply Vi , simple but warm—exemplifies her. She’s posted a small number of posts with the majority of her life shown through her highlights, the posts consisting of big events like family birthday parties and road trips, unlike Caitlyn’s semi-periodic photo dumps and random, carefully selected scenes. Caitlyn is all too familiar with the highlight featuring gym photos and boxing clips and whatnot, her mouth increasing its’ saliva content exponentially with each tap, but what she enjoys most is the family photos in which Vi is smiling .

     Caitlyn swipes and zeroes in on a photo of Vi and Powder in front of a giant rock on their apparently recent road trip all the way to Arizona, posing emphatically.

     Gods, her smile.

     She’d been thinking about what Mel had said to her the previous week perhaps a little bit too much. Mel had been right, because Mel Medarda is always right. But breaking that third rule felt like demolishing an entire building, the building of their entire dynamic—ignorance of the past matter and crafting a tentative new arrangement, consisting of sex and perhaps a few conversations other than that here and there because that was necessary, they were co-stars. Was planting a bomb underneath firm foundation and testing faulty wires by rehashing what-they’ve-existed-without-talking-about worth it? If it goes off, what happens then?

     Or—and perhaps Caitlyn is more afraid of this outcome—if it doesn’t go off, what do they become?

     Her fingers unwillingly click onto her text stream with Vi, displaying their most recent texts from the prior night where Vi yet again got herself off with Caitlyn on the phone. She doesn’t even have anything to say to her, and yet she’s here, fingers hesitating over the text box and mind whirring. She’s going to see Vi in less than an hour at rehearsal and something inside her consistently urges Caitlyn to talk to her, even if it’s just—

Me, 2:04pm

Are you going on the field trip next week?

Her heart leaps when Vi replies.

vi, 2:06pm

the overnight one to nyc?

Me, 2:06pm

Yes

vi, 2:06pm

isn’t it mandatory

     Fuck. Caitlyn throws her phone to the end of the bed and wallows for a moment, before snatching it and saving herself.

Me, 2:07pm

Yes, I was just clarifying, considering your boxing schedule

vi, 2:08pm

that’s why i posted the story

publicity payback since i’m not going

sevika did it too

     Caitlyn’s going to throw herself off a bridge.

Me, 2:08pm

Good to know

vi, 2:09pm

thanks for checking in tho, cupcake

very nice of u

Me, 2:09pm

I was just curious

I’ll see you later then?

vi, 2:09pm

you lookin for smth after rehearsal?

     She had not been, but she certainly would take the opportunity.

Me, 2:10pm

Perhaps

vi, 2:10pm

yes baby ill see you later

     The way her heart reacts, Caitlyn had might as well rolled from one end of the bed to the other and fallen off. Cheeks tinting red and heating up an embarrassing amount, Caitlyn pulls the cool blankets over her knees and presses them to her face to cool it off, a smile threatening to break through her confinements.

     Fuck .

     This is not good. This is just sex , this shouldn’t be making her feel as many things as it is, this shouldn’t even be happening—there would be no bomb even placed under that building, not even a wire—

     Her phone buzzes in her hand. The contact page of her mother flashes onto the screen, the alarm ringtone Caitlyn had set her mother’s contact to blaring out of the speakers. This is unusual. Her mother never calls her during the work-day, and this isn’t even her work phone contact.

     Caitlyn answers the phone, steeling her voice to sound normal despite the fact that she’d just been freaking out over a simple text message. “Good afternoon, mother,” she says, sitting up. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

     “Your co-star is a woman?! ”

     And just like that, Caitlyn’s entire world comes crumbling down.

     For a moment, all she can say is, “What?”

     Her mother sounds frantic, talking at the speed of light and high heels clicking against marble floors, evident of her being at home. “The promotional details for your play went out in the PAI newsletter this afternoon.” She enunciates play like it’s preposterous. “We take a look, and there we see our daughter posing languidly with another woman , in a play called Romeo and Juliet—”

     Caitlyn drags her computer over to her with ferocity and pulls up the PAI newsletter while her mother rambles on, her words fading out to the edge of her hearing, and—there it is. Caitlyn and Vi, photo taken like a nineties rom-com cover, back-to-back with Caitlyn leaning over Vi’s shoulder with their eyes meeting, posed under the swirling title of Romeo and Juliet , their names and their support castmates’ lining the bottom.

     Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

     She’s been pulled underwater. She can barely hear whatever her mother’s going on about, something about public image, her head is swimming and her heart is starting to roar out of control—

     Fuck. Okay. Damage control. “Mother, it’s not what you think—”

     “What else would I think?” her mother demands, and Caitlyn can practically see the way her hands are flying around with fury. “Who is this woman? Violet Lanes? When were you going to inform us that you’d be putting on a play for the whole of Piltover with a woman? ”

     Caitlyn thought she had more time. She thought she had until the day of opening night, or whatever day her parents attended the play to work up the courage to tell them. She didn’t realize—how could she be so foolish? Of course there’d be promotional materials prior to just the programs, of course her parents would scope it out—

     “I was just—” She couldn’t breathe. “I—I didn’t think—”

     “You certainly did not think ,” her mother snaps. “Do you have any idea how this is will be received? My daughter, engaging in activities—”

     “It’s just a play, mother.” Caitlyn regains somewhat cohesive thinking and fuck, she needs to reel this in. She needs to reel herself in, but she can feel herself spiraling out of reasons, out of control— “It doesn’t mean—she’s just playing a part, we all are, it’s just how we’re interpreting the play, Shakespeare’s women were portrayed by men predominantly throughout his time—”

     “That’s different, Caitlyn!” her mother practically roars. Caitlyn flinches, and gathers her blankets around herself. This couldn’t be happening. This could not— “You cannot be reacting this way! How could you not involve us in this? We could’ve gotten you out of the role, we could’ve spoken to the director—”

     “Has it ever occurred to you that I’m okay with portraying this version of the story?” Caitlyn almost shrieks, other hand clawing up to her head, pulling at her hair. “That I enjoy the work that’s being done in that auditorium? I like it there, Mother, I’m—”

     “You could not be okay with this,” her mother scoffs in disbelief. “This is absurd. We’ll fix this. We will speak to the registrar, surely there’s a way you can achieve your final art credit.”

     If this is salvageable, Caitlyn has to grab it now. “I’m okay with this,” Caitlyn insists, desperate, pleading. “I don’t need anything changed. We can work around this, we can make our family’s response positive, we can donate, or we can enforce the narrative that this is just for the credit, which it is —”

     “Is it?” Her mother’s voice is high, shrill, disbelieving and infuriated. “This isn’t you, Caitlyn, we did not raise you to be this passive about such a disruptive matter—unless—unless you’re part of—one of—?”

     Fuck. No. Fuck fuck fuck —

     “I’m—”

     Silence. For the first time in this whole conversation, silence.

     She’s already paused for too long. The implications out and there’s no turning back and fuck Caitlyn’s just made the greatest mistake of her life, she should’ve spoken, she should’ve—

     “I am,” Caitlyn breathes, finally.

     Her mother’s sharp intake of breath, and that’s it. Fuck. Fuck. This was a horrible idea, joining the play in the first place, joining with Vi as her opposite, everything she’s had under control is being blown to pieces and she’s just a bystander, she can do nothing but watch, she can’t—

     “Caitlyn—” her mother begins, and Caitlyn panics and hangs up before she can regret not-doing another stupid decision.

     And just like that—everything Caitlyn’s worked for, everything she has, everything she prides herself on and the entire plan she’s been getting at since freshman year, is—gone. A three minute phone call and one stupid newsletter and she’s done.

     This isn’t like when she came out to Jayce—not like it at all. Coming out to Jayce had been accepting and easy and the repercussions had been little to none, completely unlike this. Caitlyn looks up and the walls look like they’re about to cave in, tipping and creaking slowly toward her, heart hammering dangerously in her chest and her lungs working to their death and the alarm from her fifteen-minute break screaming and hurting her ears and her head, reeling, spinning because her life and her work has suddenly been reduced to nothing —

     “ Fuck! ” she downright shouts, and scrambles off her bed.

↠↢

Quite on par with the way she’s been feeling recently, Vi walks into rehearsal feeling like a million bucks, the prickling knowledge of her and Caitlyn’s plans after rehearsal buzzing up a storm in her mind and her pride, swaggering through the double doors with her hands in her pockets like she owns the place—

     And is quickly stripped down when Powder changes the subject from her and Ekko’s engineering research to her.

     “ Soooo ,” Powder drawls as they make the turn into backstage, “you run out of concealer yet?”

     Vi rolls her eyes. Ever since Caitlyn had gotten that single go ahead it’s like she’s become a hungry little vampire, and Vi’s not quite skilled enough at makeup to make the change in consistency look absolutely seamless. “Drop it, Pow.”

     “Why can’t I know who she is?” Powder pleads, hovering in the doorway as Vi enters her dressing room, dropping her backpack on the couch. “And you can’t tell me it’s not happening anymore because it so is, I can give you more makeup tips—”

     “You can’t know who she is because I say so,” Vi says bluntly, not even bothering with acting like nothing’s going on anymore. “I’m your big sister, you do what I say.”

     “This has to violate sister code, somewhere, somehow,” Powder says, despite this, pointing an accusing finger at her as Vi grabs her script and follows Powder out, already beginning the familiar trek to Ekko’s own dressing room where Powder leaves her belongings. “We tell each other everything! Like when I told you that Ekko dropped the flowers he got me on our first date in the crosswalk and he didn’t notice so they got ran over by a car—”

     “You told her that?” Ekko looks up when they arrive, looking through the various costumes on coat hangers, petrified. “I got her new ones and I was still on time, Vi, I swear—”

     “You big baby,” Powder laughs, tossing her way-too-small backpack for the amount of things she has in it on his sofa, approaching and greeting him with a kiss that Vi politely looks away at. “Tell her she has to tell me who the girl is!”

     “Maybe I haven’t told you because she doesn’t want anyone to know, and I’m respecting her wishes,” Vi reasons, tilting her head. “Or! Maybe I haven’t told you because I don’t want to! Ever thought of that?”

     “You don’t do anything for yourself, so it can’t be that,” Powder says, and Vi’s mouth drops, struggling to summon a comeback—

     Ekko shrugs, grabbing his script from his vanity. He’s decorated his dressing room a bit, taping up a few photostrips of him and Powder on dates and even a vision board of different Mercutio’s portrayed throughout the evolution of Romeo and Juliet. “If the girl doesn’t want anyone to know, that’s that,” he says.

     Powder grouses, appalled as they depart his dressing room, “Who’s side are you on!?”

     Vi lags behind them as Powder argues with Ekko about family vs. romantic relationship promises and ties, stalling at Caitlyn’s closed dressing room door. She tries the handle and finds the door locked, then knocks. “Caitlyn?” she asks into the door, listening for any signs of movement, and—nothing.

     She glances at her phone. 2:56pm, four minutes before rehearsal starts. Caitlyn’s usually here by now, but maybe Vi just missed her?

     (Why is she even looking for her????? She has nothing to talk to Caitlyn about???)

     Vi hurries after Powder and Ekko, sliding into their usual seats in the audience where Mylo and Claggor greet them and resting her elbows on the seats in front of her, looking around. Caitlyn’s usual group of friends are seated where they usually are, Jayce and Viktor chatting amongst themselves while Mel, Sevika, and Elora engage in a quieter conversation. But no sign of Caitlyn.

     Caitlyn’s going to be at rehearsal, though. She told Vi herself, and Vi confirms this as she reads through their previous text messages in case she’d interpreted this differently.

     She watches the big, digital clock on her phone switch between seven and eight to nine, paying little attention to whatever the rest of the group is talking about. No sign of Caitlyn, nor her friends looking around for her either, which means—

     Vi gets up and stomps over before Salo can begin rehearsal, Powder’s call of “Hey, where are you going!?” trailing after her.

     The group looks up upon her arrival, and Gods Vi might never get over the fact that Sevika is dating Mel, who she faces when within earshot.

     “Where’s Caitlyn?” she asks, but it comes out closer to a demand.

     Mel glances over her, with her imperial gaze and her designer, gold-threaded clothing, before she says, “I’m not sure. She texted me to tell Salo that she emailed him and that she was using her one unexcused absence this semester.”

     Salo included in the syllabus that they are allowed to be absent from one single rehearsal—excused is a different story, but unexcused remained at one. A generous privilege in college, in a class that demanded physical presence. So Caitlyn using it out of the blue—

     “Why the hell would she be using her unexcused absence?” Vi asks, because Caitlyn had told her they would meet after rehearsal—was she bailing? Had they come to such a low point in their arrangement that Caitlyn felt like she needed to skip rehearsal to say no? Unless this doesn’t concern Vi at all—

     Mel raises her arms in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” she says, in response to Vi’s harsh tone. “She’s a big girl, Vi, I’m sure she’s just too busy to attend rehearsal today. Last time I checked, she was still at home.”

     Vi had been partial to Caitlyn telling her she’s too busy one too many times, and the last time she’d told her that was in Vi’s living room, the same time Vi had gotten out of her that that wasn’t the true reason Caitlyn had been avoidant, had set a precedent that Caitlyn would come to her, even if she was busy. Even if so, Caitlyn doesn’t skip class, especially not due to stress. If anything, she’d take the added class as a challenge. This isn’t Caitlyn being busy. This is completely unlike Caitlyn—this is Caitlyn in danger. Is she the only one seeing that? She looks between Caitlyn’s friends, searching for a hint of concern, and comes up empty. How is she the only one seeing that?

     “Well, tell Salo I’m using mine too,” Vi says, and darts off to her dressing room.

     “Am I missing something?” She catches Jayce asking Mel on her way up the aisle, shouldering her backpack, to which Mel responds, “You aren’t the only one.”

     Vi doesn’t stop to think—it’s unlikely she has the wherewithal to, the time to. She doesn’t know what state she’ll find Caitlyn in when she reaches her apartment, punching in Caitlyn’s apartment address into her phone and clambering onto her motorcycle—revving the engine with the gravity of an assassin in a movie and weaving in and out of cars in a much more reckless way than necessary—but she’s certain it isn’t good. Caitlyn Kiramman, alone and in an unwell state, doesn’t mix. If no one else could see that, then Vi has to be the one to step in.

     (Or, she tells herself that. She doesn’t let herself feel the awful, aching, gnawing feeling in her chest, that felt like a piercing claw around her heart constantly tugging downward, the feeling that threatens to render her logical thoughts unreadable, the feeling that makes her wonder is Caitlyn okay? why isn’t she here? what changed? , the feeling that makes her think Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn. The feeling that has made her realize she cares for Caitlyn far more than she wants to admit. The feeling that Vi had had persistently, on the backburner but always there, when she’d been in love with her.)

     Vi reaches Caitlyn’s apartment in record time, barely bothering to close her motorcycle compartment properly before she’s storming into Caitlyn’s apartment lobby, into the shiny, expensive elevator with a whole chaise lounge chair in it. The moment the elevator doors make a Vi-sized gap, she’s through it, darting down Caitlyn’s apartment hallway and ignoring the fancy knocker, rapping her knuckles against the door.

     The thick, intentionally sound-proof door doesn’t reveal much, but the door swings open after a minute. Behind it stands Caitlyn, hair a wild mess and still in her sleep-set, a more modest one than the last time Vi had been here, her messed-up eyeliner pooling around under her eyes, looking like the very picture of a human tornado.

     Caitlyn’s blue eyes widen to the size of the eye of one upon the sight of Vi, and then the human tornado shuts the door in her face.

     “Hey!” Vi says, stepping up to the door and knocking again. “Caitlyn!”

     This close, she can finally hear Caitlyn groan from the other side of the door, “Go away!”

     “No! Let me in!” Vi protests, knocking more insistently. “Cait, come on!”

     Another prolonged groan vibrates through the wall before the door opens and Vi almost falls forward with the abruptness. Caitlyn doesn’t give her the honor of a proper greeting, or a proper look at her for that matter; she just turns and leaves the door astray, walking into the depths of the apartment and leaving Vi behind.

     Vi hurries inside, closing the door behind her and having the decorum to remove her boots before tracing Caitlyn’s steps, depositing her backpack by the door. The living room is in its perpetual tidy state, but Vi isn’t interested in that. She follows Caitlyn blindly into her bedroom, and the state of it is—well, if human tornado hadn’t already been a fantastic descriptor, it is now.

     Caitlyn’s already somewhere in the middle of it, pressing something on her computer on the bed before flying over to the printer, taking the freshly printed sheets with such haste that Vi’s surprised her fingers aren’t stained with ink, laying the papers down on a timeline-looking-line on the floor to the left of her bed. She’s practically vibrating out of her skin with movement, bedsheets astray and various devices spread out amongst her desk, some drawers half open with their contents spilled onto their adjacent surfaces. Vi knows Caitlyn puts herself to work when stressed, when upset, a constant, destroying positive feedback loop that takes Caitlyn days to work herself out of. But this—

     “Cait,” Vi breathes in disbelief, hovering in the doorway. “What the hell is going on?”

     Whether Caitlyn doesn’t hear her or ignores her, Vi doesn’t know. Caitlyn sorts through her freshly printed papers, hands shaking, to the point that her thumbing over the corners takes several attempts from the degree of trembling. Vi steps forward, aiming to steady her, dodging Caitlyn’s belongings, but Caitlyn stops her with a gesture.

     “Why are you here?” Caitlyn asks her, eyes not turning to meet Vi’s, and Gods, her voice—it’s scared, wavering with an intensity Vi’s only heard one other time.

     “You weren’t at rehearsal,” Vi replies in earnest, not daring to move. “I just wanted to check on you.”

     Caitlyn laughs this pitiful small chuckle that drags at Vi’s heart.

     “I have the phone numbers and nearest branch location addresses of all my bank accounts here,” Caitlyn says, launching into movement, and Vi can’t tell whether Caitlyn’s giving her a tour of her chaotic-organized mess or talking to herself, gesturing to a pile of papers in her disarray timeline. “I have changed the password to both my checking and savings accounts. I have paid off my credit card. I have activated my access to my trust and called my account manager to warn him about upcoming usage, and am prepared to withdraw. I am tracking the status update on my tuition through PAI’s portal. I have located where I’ve put my investments and researched which stock to sell at this present moment, and in the upcoming weeks—”

     “Cait—”

     “I have contacted my lawyer to discuss legal disownment,” Caitlyn continues, eyes rapidly scanning over the multiude of printed documents, words spilling out faster by the minute. “I have researched what to change on my tax paperwork when the time comes. I have adjusted my medical documents and changed my emergency contacts and next of kin, and am prepared to change my insurance. I have begun the process of checking on my citizenship and updating my passports. I have both written and printed copies of my will and my life insurance, I have readied the amount of my tuition and am prepared to pay that off with my investments, I have contacted my job about a possible change in circumstances and a halt in onboarding. I have—”

     “ Caitlyn ,” Vi interrupts, and takes the leap. She crosses the bridge over to Caitlyn’s frantic figure and grabs her wrists, meeting Caitlyn’s wild eyes—they’re wide and afraid and her face is determined but the lines in them are not, they’re vulnerable and lost. “What is going on ?”

     Caitlyn’s breath catches, and she moves her hand, wiping at a single tear running across her cheek, but does not move Vi’s hands off of her. And then—more tears are gathering on her lower lids, splashing onto her cheeks, and she’s holding back a choked sob and she says to Vi:

     “I came out to my parents.”

     And everything in Vi’s body just sags—in understanding, in helpless sympathy, and she says, “Oh, Cait ,” right before Caitlyn collapses into her arms.

     Fuck, Caitlyn collapsing into her arms. Vi catches her with ease, because this is not the first time, but it is the first in a very long time, connecting the familiar dots in her mind, lavender and mint all around and Caitlyn’s warm body enveloping hers. She wraps her arms around Caitlyn’s torso and feels Caitlyn dig her face into the crook of her neck, her arms around Vi’s nape and shoulders and squeezing, so tightly that Vi feels like she’s having the air forced out of her. They don’t hug, they barely even embrace, but this—Caitlyn’s body feels like if Vi wasn’t there she’d melt into a puddle, little strength left in her lithe frame, devoid of motivation to keep standing and a lacuna where there was supposed to be courage.

     Caitlyn does not cry any longer—Vi can’t feel her sniffling into her neck, can’t feel her chest choke with the sudden, abrupt jerks that come with sobbing. When they separate, Caitlyn is far from calm, expression etched into a frustrated, fearful pout, but she does not cry. Vi finds that she rarely ever allows for Vi to see her cry.

     Vi moves her hand to Caitlyn’s cheek and lets Caitlyn burrow into the curve of her palm. She doesn’t ask if Caitlyn’s okay—Caitlyn would take it as pity and she’s clearly not. Instead, she asks, because she knows , because Caitlyn didn’t have plans to come out for another few years, “What happened?”

     The only sign of hesitancy is Caitlyn’s small sniffle. “They started promoting the play,” she explains, and her voice is softer now, albeit the weak kind. “It was in the newsletter. My parents found it. The conversation just spiraled—I don’t know what I was thinking, it just spilled out, the way she was speaking—”

     “I know, I know,” Vi says, tucking Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear. And she doesn’t ask Caitlyn why she’s doing all this, because she knows why: Caitlyn thinks she’s going to be cut off. Disowned, maybe, and she’s readying herself not emotionally, but as a person that needs to continue existing within the system. But— “Do you think all this is needed?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, slow to fast. “I can’t—I can’t place belief where there isn’t evidence. I don’t trust it. I’d rather take the steps now than lose everything because I didn’t.” She takes a deep breath, fingers drumming against the edge of her forearm. “I can’t rely on anything but myself.”

     Vi frowns, and wants to say that Caitlyn can trust her, but she can’t do anything for her financially. Instead, she says, “You need rest. You need mental and emotional recovery.”

     “I don’t,” says Caitlyn, brows creasing, growing defensive and stepping out of Vi’s grasp way too quickly. “I’m not done yet. I have more things to do, I—”

     Caitlyn’s eyes gloss over like a lake freezing in the winter, swaying as she takes that hasty step backward, and Vi’s reaching out before she can think it over, chest flashing almost painfully with concern, catching Caitlyn’s wrists, her forearms, keeping her steady. 

     “What was that?” she asks, eyes searching Caitlyn’s prone form. “No lying.”

     A pursing of Caitlyn’s lips, a shake of her head. “I couldn’t see. It was blurry. I got nauseous.”

     Alarm bells ring in Vi’s mind, eliminating all further thought that could stop this. “Okay, sit down,” she says, pushing Caitlyn toward the bed with a tone that’s not up for discussion. Caitlyn finally relents, sitting at the edge of the bed while Vi takes her face in her hands, running her thumbs over her cheekbones, soothing. “You’re not leaving this bed. Understand?” Caitlyn grasps her wrists, about to protest, but Vi cuts in with a firm, “No.”

     Caitlyn hesitates, lips moving with words coming to tongue and dying before she can say them. She settles on, “I need to finish everything. That isn’t up for discussion.”

     Vi can’t argue with that—Caitlyn’s financial safety is her matter. “I’ll do it for you,” she says, nodding. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it for you. But you’re not getting up for shit.”

     Displeasure flashes across Caitlyn’s face, but Vi narrows her eyes—somewhat playfully, somewhat serious—at her, and Caitlyn’s shoulders drop. “Of course my body decides to become defunct now. You’re lucky,” she says, defeated, and finally agrees with a small— “Okay.”

     “Thank you,” Vi replies, breathing out. “Do we need to take your—?”

     “No,” Caitlyn murmurs, eyes dropping to glance around the room. “This hasn’t happened in a while.”

     “Good. Do you need your nausea medication?”

     “I’ll tell you.”

     Vi pauses, moving a hand down to tilt Caitlyn’s chin up. Caitlyn is still frowning—she doesn’t think that Caitlyn will stop frowning for a while—but she hates it when Caitlyn frowns. She leans down and places a gentle kiss on Caitlyn’s lips, not to lead to anything, not for anything but because she felt like it and for Caitlyn’s comfort. Like they’re something. Like this is something.

     Caitlyn reciprocates, reaching up and holding her cheek like her life depends on it, and returns Vi’s weak smile when they separate. She says, “Am I allowed to get my own water?”

     “No,” Vi says, hurrying to get to work. “Get comfortable. Your water bottle or a fresh glass?”

     Caitlyn huffs, and the sound of her shifting against the blankets following Vi out of the room. “Fresh glass, please. You remember—?”

     “Yes, Cait,” Vi calls over her shoulder, heading into the kitchen. She opens a cupboard and is pleased to find that the glasses are still in the place they were two years ago, dispensing ice and water from the fancy refrigerator into a glass. She returns the bedroom to find Caitlyn adjusting her pillows, sitting upright with her legs tucked under the blankets, already pulling her computer into her lap.

     “Thank you,” Caitlyn says as she accepts the water, downing half the glass in one go. It makes Vi wonder just how much Caitlyn forgets about her bodily needs when she’s stressed—and if it’s changed. She seems calmer now that Vi has sat her down, kept her from vibrating out of her skin with how much she was moving. “Um. I have a few more things to print out and separate into piles.”

     “Okay,” Vi says, and gestures at the bed for Caitlyn’s permission. Caitlyn grants it with a nod and Vi climbs on, making sure she remains above the blankets, settling next to Caitlyn and glancing over her computer screen, taking in the basically hundreds of tabs, only a few of them separated into groups. “What do you need me to do?”

     So Caitlyn walks her through what she’s been doing, basically logging onto very organized and slightly outdated websites to request documents and having them emailed to her, her inbox ringing every few minutes. If her slowing down wasn’t in favorable in Caitlyn’s eyes, it seems to start to be as Vi looks through the piles she’d been making, finding errors here and there, caused by the simple disorganization that comes with moving with the speed of a tornado and the unstable state of one, errors that may have been irritating or detrimental to work out later. She tries to be respectful of Caitlyn’s privacy as she thumbs through the documents, folding papers when Caitlyn writes down account numbers and passwords without looking at the contents, stapling papers together and sliding them into manila folders, taking Caitlyn’s fine-pointed Sharpie and labeling them—finances, school, health, citizenship.

     The frown doesn’t leave Caitlyn’s face—Vi doesn’t think she could wipe it if she tried. She doesn’t say anything more about the situation. Everything is simply business, directing Vi around with that timid voice of hers, so uncharacteristic from the Caitlyn she knows, closing drawers and erecting a pile of manila folders on her desk as the work comes to a close. Caitlyn had gotten the majority of it done on her own, but Vi is less glad about the minimal work Caitlyn gives her and more that she could take it off Caitlyn’s shoulders. Because if Vi hadn’t been there to catch her, what then?

     “I feel bad,” Caitlyn says as Vi returns to the bedroom towards the end, carrying fresh printer paper and loading it into Caitlyn’s printer.

     Vi turns her head to her, sliding the compartment closed. “Why?”

     “You are always taking care of everyone,” Caitlyn answers, and her voice is lulling—the kind of tone she adopts when she’s tired, wounded, weary. “Except yourself. I hate to add to that.”

     “And you never let yourself be taken care of,” Vi replies in kind, crawling back onto the bed and taking her rightful place by Caitlyn’s side. “Taking care of you isn’t a burden. You don’t have to do everything yourself, Cait. You can ask for help.”

     Caitlyn looks up at her with tired eyes, then closes them and lets her head fall onto Vi’s bicep, resting. She sniffs, and Gods she’s breaking Vi’s heart, because Vi has almost never seen her like this, like she doesn’t have the will to ask what’s next? Caitlyn always knew what’s next, she’s always had a plan, always been in control. It hurst Vi to see her so out of her depth, so at a loss because of it.

     “I don’t know how,” Caitlyn whispers eventually, so quietly that Vi questions whether or not she actually said anything.

     “Start with your friends,” Vi tells her, angling her neck and resting her chin on Caitlyn’s head, murmuring into her hair. “With the people you trust. Start with me.”

     Caitlyn toys with a loose thread on her probably one-million thread count sheets, letting the words, the implications, fall between them. Then, she says, “I feel like you are the only person who understands.”

     And, maybe Vi is. Vi knows so much about her—if they were still together, Vi might’ve proclaimed to know Caitlyn better than herself. She knew that Caitlyn wouldn’t skip class for something less than a crisis. She knew to come here, to save Caitlyn from herself. She knows her past enough to fill in the gaps, so Caitlyn doesn’t have to spill her whole life to her again, doesn’t have to put salt in old wounds. She knows Caitlyn well enough to go along with her wild plans that might seem unnecessary to some but she knows are Caitlyn’s lifeline, her structure. But that was all because Caitlyn had let her in, two years ago, maybe now.

     “Your friends love you so much,” Vi tells her, moving her hand to stop Caitlyn’s fidgeting, threading the tips of their fingers together. “With a little more information, consideration, maybe I wouldn’t be the only one.”

     Caitlyn shifts, thinking. She sighs, and finally, nods just once.

     They sit there for a few minutes, Vi taking note of Caitlyn’s breathing, counting her breaths per minute until she deduces that Caitlyn is okay. And somewhere, Vi knows this is more than what they agreed on. She knows this is taking the word casual and snapping it in half, tossing the broken letters out one by one, but does she really care? This isn’t the same Caitlyn she fell in love with, the Caitlyn that broke her heart. Vi knows that for sure now. She’s a refurbished puzzle, some pieces kept, some pieces altered, some pieces discarded all together, new pieces born from the scraps. Vi had had half of the pieces, and she’s uncovering the rest. She wants to uncover the rest. She wants to be there when they shift again, wants to be part of the redesign team, wants to be part of the life that shapes each small piece.

     This is dangerous. She has no idea if some of the sharper bits are still there, if they’ll resurface. But Gods some aching part of her wants to find out.

     Her phone buzzes from its place on the edge of the bed, and Caitlyn lifts her head so Vi can grab it, thumb moving through her notifications. The newest notification gives rise to panic in her brain, breathing out, “Fuck.”

     “What is it?” Caitlyn asks her, leaning forward to peer over her shoulder.

     “It’s my shift reminder,” Vi replies, logging onto her time-sheet app. “I’ve got one in an hour.”

     The clock had just hit five. Caitlyn’s eyes widen for a split second before she breathes in, breathes out, leaning back against her pillows. “That’s okay,” she says, hands spreading over her forearms. “Everything’s done. I can manage.”

     Vi taps around her app, clicking onto the Find a Cover section without hesitation. She was just working the desk tonight, scanning people in and cleaning the machines upon closing. It wouldn’t be hard for someone to take the shift, it’s easy work, and because it’s the school gym, they have way too many employees. A desk shift being offered up is like dangling fish in front of a shark—sure enough, when she puts in the request, her shift is taken in a minute, a friendly coworker known for using their shifts to do homework responding with a smiling emoji.

     “All good,” Vi says, clicking off her phone and moving off the bed.

     Caitlyn looks up at her, worry clouding those gorgeous eyes of hers. “What?”

     “I found a cover,” replies Vi, wrenching off her tank and shoving down her cargos, kicking them off her feet.

     “Really?” Caitlyn asks, voice lilting up, up, expression morphing into one of shock.

     “Yeah,” Vi says, climbing back into bed and sliding under the covers this time, dirty outside clothes now removed. She raises her arm and beckons Caitlyn toward her, slinging the arm around Caitlyn’s toned shoulders when Caitlyn obliges. She says, “I’m not leaving you again.”

     Caitlyn’s reaction is immediate: she slides her arm around Vi’s bare waist and digs her face into Vi’s chest, holding her breath before breathing out.

     Vi fastens her arms around her, hand drifting down to lodge in the crook of her waist, skin-to-skin from her tank-top riding up. They haven’t really cuddled before, not recently, not outside of rehearsal, barely touching like this after they have sex. But she knows, always knows: this is Caitlyn’s thank you . This is Caitlyn’s relief.

     And this is hardly atonement for Vi, barely a I messed up last time, here’s this . It is, in some respects, in Caitlyn’s mind, maybe, but that feeling in her chest lodges and grows. Affection, longing. She wants to be here.

     “Do you want to talk about it?” Vi asks her, lifting her hips as a gesture for Caitlyn to move her legs, intertwining them when Caitlyn responds, pressing closer. Caitlyn shakes her head, grip on Vi tightening, and Vi quickly follows up with, “Do you want to watch something?”

     “Sure,” Caitlyn murmurs, hand leaving Vi’s waist for a dreadful second to reach for her remote on the nightstand, Vi handing it to her and Caitlyn pointing it at the TV perched diagonal from Caitlyn’s bed. 

     Caitlyn puts on a documentary (of course she does), a wildlife one at that, focused on the animals of Northern Iceland and how they survive the winter. They don’t speak—Vi doesn’t think she could handle it if they did, not with Caitlyn breathing against her, bodies against bodies, bare skin against skin, so close that Vi can feel her heartbeat. Caitlyn does mumble “I fucking love atlantic puffins” during the adorable section on them and Vi chuckles, running a hand through her hair and responding, “I know.”

     The clock ticks on. Vi sinks into the feeling of Caitlyn wrapped around her, the world fading away. She knew it’d feel good if it ever came around after that one rehearsed scene, but her heart is calm and her mind is empty and Caitlyn feels like heaven, warm and steady and sending oxytocin rampant throughout Vi’s brain. She could get used to this, she realizes. She could end up drowning in it, given the chance. Gods, she wants the chance.

     Caitlyn’s stomach rumbles at some point and sends alarms through Vi’s mind, sitting up and asking her, “When’s the last time you ate?”

     Caitlyn doesn’t hurry, just moves up with her and presses a way-too-tender kiss to Vi’s shoulder. “Relax,” she says, not quite fully recovered by the way her voice sounds but getting there, soft, still a little worn. “I ate lunch with Mel.”

     “Do you want anything?” Vi asks her, and regards her with a look when Caitlyn begins to shake her head.

     “I don’t want to order take-out,” Caitlyn says, words getting faster as she explains. “It feels like too much. I don’t want to deal with stressing about waiting for it, and all the trash, and—”

     “Let me make you something,” replies Vi, decision firmly made in her mind because Caitlyn can’t cook for shit, and is standing before Caitlyn can protest, offering her hand. “Come on. What do you have?”

     Finally, Caitlyn has moved past trying to protest Vi’s obviously correct decisions, taking her hand and getting to her feet with sluggish movements. Vi had been surprised Caitlyn had not fallen asleep on her; maybe it was the cuteness of the atlantic puffins, maybe it was her constantly working mind, but Vi walks into the kitchen and Caitlyn follows, hand in hand.

     “We have steak,” Caitlyn says, sighing as Vi ushers her into a seat at the island and makes to look through her fridge. “Top sirloin. My period starts soon, and I usually have some on the first day. I can just buy more. I don’t know what else we have.”

     “Any side requests?” Vi asks her, locating the steak in the freezer and tossing it onto the counter, recipes brewing in her mind.

     Caitlyn doesn’t respond for a moment, and Vi turns to find her cradling her forehead with her hand, wincing. “Sorry,” she says, looking up. “I have a headache.”

     Great, another symptom. Riding on urgency, Vi doesn’t bother going back into the bedroom to grab the other glass Caitlyn had already finished, filling up another cup with ice and water and sliding it over to her. “Let’s get some food in you, yeah?” Vi says as Caitlyn picks up the glass, smiling weakly, and the corners of Caitlyn’s lip quirk up, just a centimeter. “I have ideas. Where’s your air-fryer?”

     Caitlyn directs her to various areas of the kitchen, gathering ingredients and supplies, pointedly not answering when Caitlyn asks what exactly she’s making. Vi cuts up the garlic and fires up the pan, checking on Caitlyn periodically, glancing over at her as she washes and tosses the asparagus in eggs and drizzles panko bread crumbs onto them. True to Vi’s wishes, she remains stagnant as Vi works, poking around on her phone, eventually setting it down to just watch Vi move around, apparently, eyes following her as Vi moves around her kitchen.

     “How’s your head?” Vi asks her as she’s searing the edges of the sirloin, the fan above the stove now on and whirring.

     Caitlyn sighs, placing her chin in her hands. “Dull, but persistent,” she says. “The water helped.”

     “You should’ve asked me for more in there,” Vi reprimands lightly, raising her chin toward the bedroom. She drops the steak against the pan and throws in her prepared slab of butter, sliding garlic off the cutting board and into the mix, topping it off with a sprig of rosemary. Tilting the pan and spooning the mixture onto the sirloin, she says, “I would’ve gotten you some.”

     “I know,” Caitlyn replies, and looking down at the marbling on the island. “I just didn’t want it to end.”

     Vi can relate to that, more than she should. “I get it,” she says, glancing at the timer on the air fryer. Timing’s going well. She turns back to the stove and stabs a thermometer into the meat, continuing her minstrations. Then, there’s a chin on her shoulder, and a presence at her back.

     “That looks good,” Caitlyn’s saying beside her, voice close to her ear. Vi would tell her to go sit down again, but maybe allowing her to stand for more than three seconds is warranted. And maybe she likes this, the domesticity of it. “You know I like it—”

     “Medium well,” Vi interjects, and smiles when Caitlyn’s chin drops lower in resignation, hands coming up to rest on Vi’s biceps. “I’ll suffer through it, just for you.”

     Caitlyn scoffs, but there’s a smile in her tone, “Sincerest apologies, I don’t like eating practical cow blood. ”

     “Medium rare is the only way to eat a steak,” Vi protests, checking on the temperature and decides another thirty seconds will do. “Anything other than that is like trying to chew on rubber.”

     “You sure I’m the vampire?” Caitlyn asks, and Vi chuckles, plopping the spoon into the nearby sink and turning off the fire. “One day, I’ll convert you.”

     “Back to human, I’m guessing.”

     “No, back to a normal, sane person.” Caitlyn digs her face into the crook of Vi’s neck while Vi laughs, laying a kiss there, hands rubbing up and down soothingly. “Thank you.”

     “You don’t have to thank me,” Vi says, turning off the air-fryer as it dings and pulling the compartment out, sighing as the smell reaches her nose. “For all you know, I’m using all your ingredients to make myself a fancy dinner and letting you share.”

     “For everything,” Caitlyn adds, softer, voice moving back to weary. “This is more than I could ask for.

      “I’m gonna prove to you that you’re not a burden to help,” Vi says a matter-of-factly. She unlocks the tongs and lays the asparagus on two plates, then cuts the steak in half—only slightly pink, per Caitlyn’s liking—and plates them as well, spooning butter and garlic atop, drizzling down the seared edges like rain on the edge of a cliff. “Or to take care of.”

     “I promise I’ll repay the favor,” Caitlyn says, despite this.

     “Doesn’t need to be transactional.”

     Caitlyn makes a humming sound, thoughtful, eyes trained on the food. “We’ll see.”

     Vi perfects the food on the plate and delivers them to the island, announcing to no one but Caitlyn like she’s waitressing, “Medium-well top sirloin with a side of air-fried asparagus topped with parmesan and panko.” And— “Eat up, Princess.”

     She can admit that she watches Caitlyn closely as Caitlyn slides into the barstool once again and takes the utensils Vi hands her, cutting a piece off the steak and taking a bite. Vi’s cooked for Caitlyn dozens of times in the past but if her cooking has gotten better or worse depends on Caitlyn’s sole reaction of course, and she practically falls over in relief when Caitlyn’s eyes close in satisfaction and she makes a pleased sound.

     “This is delicious,” Caitlyn says, swallowing her food first. She takes a bite of the asparagus and smiles. “I’m glad you found a use for this. Come here, sit, you need to eat too.”

     Vi plops down on the seat beside her and digs in, thankful that it seems as though Caitlyn was not lying as she tastes her work herself. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been until she took a bite, stomach grumbling as aromas drift into her nose, and really tries to control herself from eating like a hog in Caitlyn’s presence.

     In an effort to slow her roll, she asks Caitlyn, who’s chopping up her steak delicately and eating the asparagus sprig by sprig like the princess she is, “When’s Mel getting back?”

     Caitlyn shrugs, movements getting lighter with each bite. Good food really does cure all problems. “She has a late art studio class on Thursdays,” she says. “She and Elora tend to grab drinks afterward. So I’m assuming late.”

     Vi does not voice how this makes her chest light up, how it makes her stutter for a second with the fact that maybe, because of this, Caitlyn will let her stay a little longer.

     “She hasn’t told anyone,” Vi notes, pushing fallen panko off to the side of her plate.

     “No, she hasn’t,” Caitlyn replies. “I knew she wouldn’t, but I suppose it’s a sort of trade off. She’s dating Sevika.”

     The way Caitlyn lilts her tone with a smirk makes it clear that she thought she’s letting Vi in on very top-secret gossip. Vi says, shoveling steak into her mouth, “Oh, I know.”

     Caitlyn scowls. “What?”

     “Powder isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

     Caitlyn huffs, using her fork to gesture between the two of them, “Let’s hope your sister doesn’t find out about this secret, then.”

     Vi chuckles, mind flashing to Powder’s endless, relentless search for the giver-of-the-hickeys. “Agreed.”

     They finish up in due time, Caitlyn violently protesting Vi putting all the dishes into the dishwasher alone, arguing, “My headache is gone, I can stand perfectly fine, thank you,” and only allowing Vi to pass her the various dishes scattered throughout the kitchen. They get the load started and leave some of the panko-breaded asparagus in the fridge for Mel; Vi’s standing around awkwardly, wondering if Caitlyn’s going to send her away now when Caitlyn takes her hand and drags her back to the bedroom.

     “Do you have any work to do?” Caitlyn asks her, slightly timid, fingers tapping against the heel of her opposite palm.

     Isn’t the answer always yes in college? “No,” Vi says anyway. Not like she’d do it now, not in these circumstances, not when Caitlyn’s better than she was this afternoon but the fact that she’s timid means she’s not fully there. “Do you?”

     Caitlyn looks down, inspecting her floor and it’s carpet before meeting Vi’s eyes. “I think I’m more interested in atlantic puffins,” she mumbles.

     Vi can’t help the grin that reaches her face. “Yeah?”

     “Yeah,” Caitlyn says, smiling that delicate, soft smile Vi is so, so familiar with, the same one she’d used when she’d first told Vi I love you , pushing the door almost closed, a sliver left ajar.

     Caitlyn’s in her arms within seconds as soon as Vi’s settled in her bed again, mirroring that same position from an hour earlier, head resting on Vi’s chest and arms snaked around her waist, body a little more relaxed, guard lowered. She flicks on the television and presses unpause on the documentary, the timeline displaying them as halfway through, and Vi threads her fingers through Caitlyn’s silky, navy hair and presses her mouth to Caitlyn’s hairline as the documentary begins to play.

     Maybe it’s the documentary playing and makes it so they can’t really talk to each other that makes this bearable. Maybe it’s the simple fact of Caitlyn’s warm presence that lures Vi in, that makes her classify this as nice , too nice for comfort. Vi looks down at her and moves Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear; the curtains are open and moonlight pours in as the sun dips below the horizon, gathering on Caitlyn’s cupid bow like milk, breathtaking eyes set on the television, gentle, practiced fingers drawing repetitive circles on Vi’s hip.

     She looks so beautiful. The fact of it wraps around Vi’s heart, like a tendril of a vine laced with problematic emotions, and squeezes.

     “Did Hoskel grade your essay?” Vi asks her, to escape the suffocation of her heart.

     Caitlyn tilts her head up, the section on reindeers apparently not as captivating compared to Vi’s question. “Yes,” she replies, lips quirking at the corners, a good sign. “A few days ago, not long after I invited you over.” She fetches her phone from her nightstand and clicks a few things, before presenting the gradebook to Vi with pride. “Ninety-six.”

     Vi glances over the rubric, sections closer to the left highlighted, over the Great analysis! comment attached to it. She smiles and chucks Caitlyn on the chin with her free hand. “That’s my girl,” she says, and doesn’t miss Caitlyn’s cheek tinting. She loves that she can still do that to her, after all of this, the blushing and the flustering. “Told you you didn’t have anything to worry about—”

     Caitlyn’s phone pings, a text message sliding in above her open tab, and both their eyes flick to it and immediately freeze. Because it’s from—Caitlyn’s mom, from a groupchat that included Caitlyn’s dad.

Mother, 7:23pm

Caitlyn, are you available to call us soon?

     An electric shock seems to go right through Caitlyn’s spine and she shoots upward, sitting up straight, any semblance of peace and calm that’d settled within her zapped away. Vi sits up with her, keeping an arm around her waist, stammering, “I can go—”

     “Stay,” Caitlyn says, gesturing a flat-hand toward her with a very definitive motion. Vi stays, eyes roaming over Caitlyn’s focused expression, the narrator of the documentary rambling on about Iceland’s harsh winters. “I don’t want—” She sighs in frustration, thumbs typing furiously back.

Me, 7:24pm

I’m afraid I’d prefer if we converse over text messages for the time being.

     Barely a moment passes—

Mother, 7:24pm

Understood.

     And then a typing bubble pops up, and it doesn’t go away, the three dots continuously rippling like a tsunami’s wave gathering speed.

     “Fuck,” Caitlyn breathes, holding her phone with two hands, as if one wrong move would cause an entire earthquake. “This is happening.”

     “Hey,” Vi says, rubbing a hand over her back. Caitlyn’s not a project, but she’s spent four hours calming her down and building her motivation back up, she isn’t about to let Caitlyn spiral out of control any time soon. “They don’t really do that, do they? Respect your boundaries? This is a good sign.”

     “No, they’re probably just thinking what I’m thinking,” Caitlyn mumbles, biting her lip, eyes never once leaving the threatening typing bubble. “Get everything in writing for legal reasons.”

     “Was that seriously your reasoning?”

     “Partly.” Caitlyn sighs, thumbs moving the corner of her phone case over her phone and back on, clicking on, clicking off. “I don’t think I can handle hearing her voice right now.”

     Gods, if Vi couldn’t understand that. “You have everything prepped,” Vi tells her, moving one of her hands to Caitlyn’s and intertwining their fingers, squeezing once they’re locked. “Nothing they say here can do any more damage. It’s gonna be okay, Cait.”

     In that exact moment, Cassandra Kiramman responds.

Mother, 7:28pm

We—and I say we because I was speaking on behalf of your father—believe we owe you an apology. We were surprised, and we acted rashly, and that’s no excuse for how we breached the conversation. You know most of all that we are public figures. We did not want to push a narrative of someone you’re not to the media, because of the detriments that could pose on your future prospects. My wording of that concept was not well put together, and I apologize. We put our assumptions of your future over assumptions of your motives in the program, and if this version of the play is the best representation of yourself, we will support it.

     Another message pops in before Vi gets the chance to read the whole first one—

Mother, 7:29pm

We just want the best for you, Caitlyn. The best image we can help you create is in your and our interests, and it should’ve occurred to us that this image is the best image for you. If it is for you, it is for us, and we do believe that. We love you for who you are; that’s what’s most important.

     Caitlyn doesn’t say a single word—her breathing comes quick, and she starts typing and deleting things faster than Vi can comprehend, and that’s all Vi really needs to figure out what she’s thinking.

Me, 7:31pm

How would this damage my future prospects?

Mother, 7:31pm

We did not want potential husbands finding this advertising and believing you were not looking for one. However, due to the circumstances, this might be the desired effect, and may increase your future prospects in turn.

Me, 7:32pm

You alienated me. You created a schism between what you believed was right and who I am.

Mother, 7:33pm

My wording was ill-conceived, and I’m sorry. My behavior was rash and I did not think my words through. That is not what I believe; in fact, if you have been watching the Kiramman portfolio, our foundation has made several donations to politicians of differing sexualities over the past few weeks.

     Caitlyn’s mouth parts, and her frenzied request breaks through Vi’s own shock: “Can you—can you grab me the finances folder?”

     “Yeah, yeah,” Vi says, scrambling to her feet, grabbing the folder off the top of the stack and handing it to Caitlyn. Caitlyn opens it frantically, sorting through papers before holding up a thick stack of stapled ones, folding the pages over until—

     “What the fuck,” Caitlyn says outright, nail tracing over a few lines. “I thought—I thought they were only donating because they voted to pass that one healthcare bill—but there’s no other congressmen that did the same—”

     Caitlyn’s on her phone again in seconds.

Me, 7:35pm

Why?

     Caitlyn’s dad finally chimes in now—

Father, 7:36pm

We had our suspicions. We thought if you’d be keeping track of the portfolio, you might say something.

Mother, 7:36pm

Hence our shock when we found surface-level evidence from a third-party source.

I found it hard to believe that this would happen without our daughter discussing it with us, first, and therefore, thought your future would take a hit.

Me, 7:37pm

You thought I would feel safe enough to come out to you because of unannounced activity in an investment portfolio?

Father, 7:38pm

Not our strongest moment. After the situation with Lest, I thought you wouldn’t appreciate it if we meddled any further with small details about your life. This was, or so I thought, the most non-invasive way to do so.

     Caitlyn buries her head in her hands, phone falling into her lap, clearly going through some very complicated emotions.

     Vi tries at a joke. “Hey,” she says, rubbing at her neck, “who else can say their parents tempted them to come out through an investment portfolio, right? Look at you being original, Cupcake.”

     “I have never hated economics more,” Caitlyn seethes, and Vi grimaces, the joke definitely not well-recieved. “This is bloody insane.”

     “But they’re taking your boundaries more seriously,” Vi notes, and something seems to click in Caitlyn’s mind.

Me, 7:39pm

We need to have a serious conversation about this, and where in my life you’re welcomed to step in and where I’d like to learn and grow independently.

I do not wish for these miscommunications to bleed into my professional career.

If you want the best for my future, you’ll agree with me on this.

Father, 7:40pm

As long as you’re a Kiramman, this will be difficult.

But we will entertain the conversation.

Mother, 7:40pm

That does not include potential suitors!

We will be looking forward to meeting any future daughter–in-laws you bring home. ☺️

     Caitlyn’s eyes flick over the messages with rapid speed, expression clearing into something completely smooth, as if this entire conversation is alien, as if the concepts being presented are totally out of the blue. Vi knows they are—Caitlyn’s relationship with her parents had always been turbulent, warring for the control Caitlyn so loves and that her parent’s believed was necessary for them to hold in their family, and a conversation about Caitlyn’s desired separation from them was like finding pure gold in the middle of a bustling city.

     And after moments, seconds of Caitlyn’s prolonged seconds, the tears begin to spill over Caitlyn’s eyelids as she breathes, “What the fuck .”

     Vi’s heart just sags . “C’mere,” she whispers, and Caitlyn falls into her arms for a second time that day, finally letting the tears fall, finally letting the emotion hit her, face burying into the crook of Vi’s neck and arms holding Vi tight, as if she’d never let go.

     “I don’t understand,” Caitlyn mumbles into her, words broken, chest choking.

     “It’s okay,” Vi murmurs, moving her hand over Caitlyn’s hair, her back, holding her steady. “You don’t have to. You have time, Cait. This is good.”

     A sob wrecks its way through Caitlyn’s chest. “I’m so relieved,” she cries. “I was so scared.”

     “I know, I know.” Vi pulls her closer, folding Caitlyn into her embrace, into her. Gods, she wants to hold Caitlyn and never let anything touch her ever again, not if it would hurt her, not for anything. “You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

     Caitlyn sniffs and pulls back, breathing out a remaining sob as Vi runs her hands over Caitlyn’s cheeks, smiling weakly at her as Caitlyn’s own spread over hers. Vi thumbs a stray tear from the corner of her eye away, and Caitlyn’s eyes are shining, twinkling with unshed tears and maybe, a newfound hope.

     She picks up her phone, breathing in and out.

Me, 7:45pm

This isn’t full forgiveness; I was hurt by your actions.

But thank you. I look forward to that conversation.

Mother, 7:46pm

We will do what we can to make it up to you.

Is your fridge plentiful stocked with fruit?

Father, 7:47pm

We have lots of pineapple and dragonfruit!

The production looks fantastic, by the way! We’ve already discussed hosting your closing night afterparty here at the house, of course.

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes, wiping them with the back of her hand. “Of course,” she repeats, huffing.

     “See?” Vi tells her, smiling softly. “All good.”

     Coming back to herself a bit, clicking off her phone and setting it on the bed, Caitlyn looks around, noticing the rolling documentary. “Oh, no,” she pouts, voice still a little thick with tears. “We’ll have to rewind.”

     “That’s okay,” Vi says, fishing for the remote amongst the sheets. Caitlyn hums as she pulls away, hands coming up to her forearms and leaning toward Vi again, and Vi asks, “You cold?”

     Caitlyn nods, and Vi grabs the remote before slipping under the blankets once again, welcoming Caitlyn back into her arms. The blankets settle atop of them and Caitlyn snuggles closer, breathing becoming even, eyes a little puffy but settling down.

     “Let’s finish this up, yeah?” asks Vi, glancing down at her and meeting those stunning eyes. Except, Caitlyn doesn’t let her get her fill of the view, because Caitlyn’s leaning upward and capturing Vi’s lips with hers.

     Vi melts into her—Gods if she hadn’t been wanting that all evening. It doesn’t last more than a few seconds, and Caitlyn’s the one to pull back, if only to say, “Yes. Yes, let’s.”

     She doesn’t really catch the rest of the documentary, lips still tingling from the chaste kiss. Vi’s more interested in keeping track of Caitlyn’s bodily signals—her breathing returning from fast and heavy, now slow and even, her heartrate calming down where Vi has stealthily rested her thumb on the pulsepoint in Caitlyn’s neck, her body becoming heavier as she sinks into Vi, head dropping against her chest.

     If there’s anything she learned about Caitlyn during their time together, it had been that Caitlyn’s the kind of sleeper that becomes absolute dead-weight when she falls asleep. It’s this that catches Vi’s attention when Caitlyn drifts off toward the end of the documentary, that pushed-off nap from before dinner finally catching up to her—or at least, begins to drift off, her neck and head being the first to go.

Vi looks down at her, nudging her shoulder to wake her. “Tired?” she asks when Caitlyn stirs, the narrator beginning to conclude with an existential monologue about what it means to survive the winter.

     Caitlyn scoots upward, a hand sliding up to hook over Vi’s collarbone, nosing into her chest. She mumbles a tender yes , but then she says, slightly delirious, “Do we need to talk about it?”

     “Talk about what?” Vi asks, ghosting kisses over her hairline, her scalp.

     “The break-up.”

     If Vi goes still for a second, which she does, maybe longer, Caitlyn doesn’t notice, just breathes steadily against her, sleep beginning to claim her torso, her legs.

     Vi presses a firmer peck to Caitlyn’s forehead, thumb brushing against her neck, bringing Caitlyn closer. “Later, baby,” she whispers, and Caitlyn nods, hoisting her leg over Vi’s and humming.

     God. Vi knows they need to. She’s known that for days, weeks now, ever since she could feel her care for Caitlyn growing like a struggling beanstalk, climbing up, hooking over bricks and over her walls. If she hadn’t known that before today, she does now.

     Because the Caitlyn sleeping against her isn’t the same Caitlyn from that break-up. She knows that for sure now. The gentle care, the forgoed assignments, the increased communication, the declined calls. Her greater attention, her priorities shifted and set straight. Vi’s entire issue, solved.

     If the reason Vi did the shit she did, before, during, after the arguments—the yelling, the hurt—is no longer present, if the cause in the cause and effect is gone—what happens? If the wound that had been previously held together by self-administered stitches has now been healed, what becomes of the scar?

     Caitlyn’s been asleep for almost two hours by the time Vi hears the front door unlock, the television turned off and the only sound the periodic swiping of Vi’s thumb as she reads on her Kindle app. She hears Mel hang her keys by the entrance, her quiet footsteps pad down the hallway, her gentle knock as she says, “Cait?” and pokes her head through the sliver of Caitlyn’s door.

     Vi had not dared move when Caitlyn is sleeping, so the sight Mel walks in on is the same one from an hour before, Caitlyn draped around and over her, sleeping peacefully. Mel’s eyes rocket around, taking in the situation before landing slowly on Vi; Vi says, quiet, “She’s had a tough day.”

     Mel’s frame relaxes, breathing out. “I see,” she says, leaning back against the doorframe. “She didn’t tell me much.”

     Vi shrugs. “That sounds like Cait.” She considers her options—waking Caitlyn and leaving, staying and invading Mel’s home. “I can—I can go.”

     “No.” Mel waves a dismissive hand. “Stay. She’ll like waking up to you.”

     This sends small shockwaves through Vi. “Really?”

     “You know Caitlyn doesn’t fall asleep just anywhere,” Mel says with a teasing gaze. “She never lets her dates stay over. You two are clearly… very comfortable with each other. And I think she’s been needing this for a long time.”

     Mel does them the favor of walking over to the curtains and drawing them with a flourish, regarding Vi with a lighthearted nod and a “Goodnight, you two,” before she departs the room, shutting the door with a soft click .

     Vi turns her words over in her mind, before she tucks her head into Caitlyn’s shoulder—Caitlyn mumbles something unintelligible and tugs Vi closer—and closes her eyes.

↠↢

Two years and one-hundred-and-fifty-five days ago, Vi received a call from Mel Medarda.

     She’d been exiting one of her huge general-education lectures, hand tight on her backpack as she nudged her way out of the gigantic lecture hall, stumbling out into the autumn air. This had been very peculiar, because she and Mel don’t really talk, not unless it’s to tell her that Caitlyn might need a little pick-me-up and recently, Caitlyn had been doing that just fine by herself. So as the contact name flashed on Vi’s phone screen, she picked it up with confusion.

     “Hey?” she asked into the microphone.

     Mel’s infuriated voice had blown Vi’s eardrums out. “ Where the hell have you been?! ” she had downright shrieked, piercing right down to Vi’s bones.

     “What do you mean?!” Vi had replied, raising her voice in tune.

     “ Caitlyn , you idiot!” Mel had shouted, and Vi had rolled her eyes, because of course. She hadn’t seen Caitlyn in days, and rightfully fucking so, Vi was pissed the fuck off, so of course she’d enlist her roommate to break through Vi’s avoidance— “I’m not calling on behalf of her. Why are you not here!? She’s been losing her shit over this diagnosis—”

     Vi had stopped in her tracks, the trickling students weaving around her. “What,” she’d said slowly, “diagnosis?”

     “So you weren’t even listening?” Mel had scoffed, impatience growing exponentially. “She passed out on Sunday and she went to urgent care and she’d passed out cause of the anemia but she got diagnosed with labile hypertension, with the stress and the vision changes and the weakness—”

     Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

     Hypertension. High blood pressure. The same exact thing that had been rooted as one of the main causes of her mother’s illness.

     “Fuck,” Vi said into the phone, panic rising. “She didn’t tell me it was—she—she texted me yesterday saying she wanted me there—”

     “No shit,” Mel had said. “Her family’s been in shambles. She’s on new medication and she keeps forgetting to take it. I found her in her bed crying an hour ago because you aren’t here .”

     “I’m on my way,” Vi had interrupted, already texting Sevika to cancel their gym session. “Fuck—I didn’t know, Mel, she didn’t—”

     “She’s been asking for you for days,” Mel had said, words cutting deep. “This is what it takes?”

     Vi hadn’t known what else to say but, “I’m sorry.”

     “Tell her that,” hissed Mel, and hung up the phone.

     Vi had blocked off her calendar for the rest of the day and hopped onto her motorcycle, because God fucking dammit .

     Caitlyn had been born in the U.S.—in the very city they stood in, actually, one of the few Piltovans to actually attend PAI, Jayce included. Her mother and father had met at PAI, at one of the exchange student meetings where Tobias was an exchange student and Cassandra was a mentor. While Tobias went back to the UK for medical school after they took a few years to get married, travel, the like, after graduate school, Cassandra became the youngest member of the U.S. Senate, aiming to do long-distance until Tobias graduated and could move back—until, after a visit, Caitlyn came along.

     Cassandra had finished her term, and they made the decision to move permanently to Cambridge—why, Vi never knew, but Caitlyn didn’t move back until her freshman year of high school. Not out of will—the Kiramman Family had made quite a name for themselves in the UK, using the buzz of an old-money U.S. senator moving out of the country and the publicity that came with the gossip to start their philanthropist organization—but because Cassandra had been diagnosed with a rare form of renal cancer, caused by gentically predisposed high blood pressure and other genetic conditions, and had moved back to the U.S. to be closer to her family in what she thought was her final days.

     From what Caitlyn had told Vi, Caitlyn’s entire high school experience had been overshadowed by it, sickness and grief looming over their home like a smoke cloud. And while most people would want to stick close to their family after a time like this, Caitlyn’s parents had grown obsessive with every corner of their life, controlling diets and health and futures and any possible outcome to ensure this didn’t happen again . And all Caitlyn had wanted to do was run.

     There’d always been a risk of Caitlyn developing the same thing, even with her parents instilling every measure to help her avoid it, even shifting the Kiramman Foundation to become more health and fighting-cancer focused, but Vi had always thought it’d come later into her life, like it had been with her mother. Not now. Not when Caitlyn was freshly twenty and thriving in school. But of course. The constant stress, the forgetfulness to eat, the unavoidable fact that it got passed down through genetics.

     Vi had stumbled off her motorcycle and into the lobby of Caitlyn’s apartment, anger diminished and fingers looking up labile hypertension at lightning speed. A condition where blood pressure fluctuates rapidly. Not consistently high like high blood pressure—this was good—but not completely absent either. 

     She’d knocked on Caitlyn’s door with an urgency she’d never match again, and Caitlyn answered it with such a sadness that Vi had almost flinched.

     Caitlyn barely startled at her arrival—her eyes were dreary, eyebags gathering underneath those now dull blue irises, face sullen and hair lifeless. Vi had frowned, stepped closer, saying, “ Cait —”

     “Don’t,” Caitlyn had said, voice hoarse, stepping back. Vi had stopped, frozen. “I don’t want to see you.”

     Vi had faltered, stuttering over words. “But Mel called—”

     “Mel’s wrong,” Caitlyn had interrupted, hand still on the door like she planned to close it any second now. “I asked for you to be here. You didn’t come. I’m not begging anymore. I don’t need your help.”

     “You didn’t tell me anything,” Vi had argued, that pushed-down anger quickly bubbling up in her chest. “How was I supposed to know you—?”

     “Was it truly so necessary that I explain?!” Caitlyn snapped, voice rising in pitch. “Do I really need to tell you my health’s in danger for you to be there for me?! You were the first person I thought to call! I thought you would be there because you always are —I fell in love with you because you were!—and you weren’t.”

     “Let me come in,” Vi had said, trying, attempting that step forward again, but Caitlyn only took another step back, the door creaking as she closed it an inch. “I’ll tell you why—baby, please, we can work this out—”

     Caitlyn’s eyes had turned downward in that familiar way when she was about to cry. “Don’t,” she’d said, shaking her head. “Don’t. This is the first time I’ve seen you in a week. And it took Mel calling you for you to come, it took my health for you to—”

     Vi was straggling for hold on the edge of a cliff, because this wasn’t going well, this wasn’t how she wanted— “Baby, you don’t understand—”

     “No,” Caitlyn had laughed darkly. “I understand perfectly clear.” Vi remembered this moment so painfully clear—Caitlyn had sniffed, tears pouring from the corners of her eyes, her hand coming to cover them and wipe, Caitlyn not looking at her as she mumbled, “You should go.”

     “Cait,” Vi had pleaded, the telltale sign of prickling rising behind her eyes. “Please, I can—”

     “I’ll call you when I’m ready,” Caitlyn had said, firm, apathetic, and shut the door.

     Two years and one-hundred-and-fifty-five days ago, Vi had made the worst decision of her life—she had walked away.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn wakes to eucalyptus and sandalwood.

     This is not the first time. She doesn’t mean that because she and Vi had had many sleepovers before they broke up, but because the last time Vi had been in her room, the day Mel found out, Vi’s hair had rubbed all over Caitlyn’s pillow sheets and blankets and whatnot and the scent had permeated through the expensive silk like a stain. The following morning, Caitlyn woke up on her side of the bed—the left—as if there’d been someone on the right side, when she usually wakes up right smack in the middle, and had turned over to bury her face in the pillow beside her, half-asleep and delirious, soaking up the scent until there was nothing left.

     Half asleep and delirious now, she tries to do the same, mumbling to herself as she rolls over and digs her nose into the nearest surface—except that nearest surface is not as plush as her pillows. Her nose and mouth meet skin, and that skin is then moving, shifting and a hand reaches into her hair before settling into stillness.

     This is what brings Caitlyn to full consciousness, breathing in and lifting her head with a gasp. Vi is asleep beneath her, dark pink hair fanned out over the pillow and ever-terse expression at rest, chest rising up and down under Caitlyn’s chin. One strong arm rests over and above Caitlyn’s shoulders and into her hair, while the other wraps around her waist, legs hooked into each other’s like 3D puzzle pieces. Caitlyn’s hands rest further above and below in her vision: one on Vi’s chest, not far from her head, one on her abdomen, fingers almost breaching under Vi’s boxers, unintentional but intimate all the same.

     Fuck. Caitlyn hadn’t thought this far when she’d let herself fall asleep the previous night—it seems like she never does. She’d thought she’d wake up alone. But.

     Yesterday had been so close to being a complete disaster. Caitlyn had been so convinced that everything in her life would be taken from her, yanked away as abruptly as the drop of a rollercoaster. She’d been too busy to hope that someone would take notice of her absence, too frantic to think if Vi would question it, but of course she did. Vi’s as observant as a hawk, gaze not as piercing as Caitlyn’s can be but watchful, purposeful—it’s what would make her a good editor but does make her a good sports-science major, eyes keen for mistakes, for things out of place, the quick twist of an ankle or knee and symptoms sticking out like a sore thumb. It also made her a good boxer—a good fighter.

     She hadn’t wished outright for Vi to notice, but when she did, when she showed up at Caitlyn’s door without announcement, Caitlyn found herself wondering what would’ve happened if she didn’t. She knows herself well enough that she would’ve continued, even with her blood pressure spiking, and she’d probably would’ve worked herself to exhaustion and then passed out and then had to see her parents all over again. Instead, Vi calmed her down, helped with everything Caitlyn asked of her, made her a fantastic meal, and most importantly—she stayed.

     Vi stayed.

     Something—a claw, a gentle hand—plunges into her chest and twists, a full turn that sends devasatating emotion through her, and Caitlyn drops her head onto Vi’s chest again with a sigh.

     This is bad—physical evidence: the soundwaves of and the breath it took to say the words I’m not leaving you again and the fact of Vi, remaining in her bed, hours after she said that. Caitlyn tries to relish the feeling, Vi’s body only hotter while snuggled up in blankets and while asleep, warmth traveling from skin to skin, how comfortable she is, how much she can feel herself sinking into her, recognition flaring in her mind, how good this feels, but she can’t, not really, not when—

     Fuck. Fuck .

     Vi wakes up the moment Caitlyn realizes she’s in deep shit.

     She stirs and Caitlyn panics, too late to decide if she should fake being asleep or not, but when Vi’s gorgeous eyes open and their gazes lock, Caitlyn wonders what she’d been worried about anyway.

     Vi tilts her head, eyes only half open and still untangling herself from the throes of sleep, and a rush of affection soars through Caitlyn at lightning speeds.

     “You stayed,” Caitlyn whispers, soft.

     That hand in her hair makes a short massaging motion. “‘Course I did,” Vi mumbles, voice hoarse and this isn’t the moment but fuck if it doesn’t alight something within Caitlyn’s navel. “I made you a promise.”

     “I didn’t expect…” Caitlyn trails off, words dying on her tongue. She looks between them, where their bodies are interlaced and pressed against each other. “This is commitment.”

     Vi laughs, genuinely laughs , the sound as bright as the morning sun threatening to break through Caitlyn’s black-out curtains. “You think this is bad?” she says, hand ruefully leaving Caitlyn’s hair in favor of rubbing her eyes. “Wait ‘til you find out we’ve fucked, Cupcake. We’re going backwards here.”

     We . Caitlyn diverts the topic with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t be so lewd.”

     “You weren’t saying that the last time you asked me to call you a s—”

     “Gods, fuck you—” 

     “Now you’re not even trying—”

     Caitlyn scoffs and pushes off Vi’s shoulders, sitting up, and Vi laughs again before capturing Caitlyn’s neck and drawing her back in, laying a tender kiss on her lips. Mock anger flows out of Caitlyn like a siphon, into a puddle.

     “Morning,” Vi murmurs when she pulls back, against Caitlyn’s mouth, a low rumble that drives Caitlyn crazy.

     The tint that arises in her cheeks is completely out of the question. “Good morning,” Caitlyn replies, much shyer than her previous protests.

     Maybe it’s this that has Vi withdrawing further, straightening. “You doing okay?”

     Caitlyn nods, slow to fast. With sleep and the situation diminished, chaos and control rests dormant for now, up until she reverts back to it because it’s just about the only thing she knows.

     “I’m okay,” Caitlyn says, and is truthful. “Thank you, again.”

     “I’ve got you.” Vi smiles weakly, and tucks Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear. “I’ve also got class at ten.”

     Caitlyn grabs her phone off the nightstand. “It’s eight-fifty.”

     Vi’s eyes flick down to Caitlyn’s lips, not very discreet when they continue down to Caitlyn’s breasts, her thighs only partly covered by the blankets. “Ten minutes before I should start getting going,” Vi thinks aloud, and Caitlyn picks up on what Vi’s doing before Vi even finishes her thought. Vi smirks, and Caitlyn leans closer, resting a hand on Vi’s knee.

     “Yesterday was very stressful,” Caitlyn mumbles, failing to not bat her eyelashes. “Some stress might be residual.”

     Vi rasps, “That’s enough time,” and flips Caitlyn over.

     When Vi needs to leave, Caitlyn walks her down to where she’d parked her motorcycle, snuggled in a hoodie and fuzzy slippers. Her nerves are still firing from Vi going down on her like her life had depended on it, and Vi only ramps them up more with a wink before she flips her visor down and drives away.

     If this is going to happen again, the staying-over followed by lighthearted morning small talk, Caitlyn doesn’t know. But she does know that Vi had been right the previous evening, and pulls up her text messages whilst heading back up to her apartment.

New Recipient: viktor’s less-intelligent friend group (Group Text Message: 3 recipients)

Me, 9:12am

Would you all be interested in a brunch by the wharves soon? My treat.

mel 💛, 9:14am

of course, what’s the occasion? ☺️

Me, 9:14am

No occasion, just to catch up 🙂

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 9:15am

who are you and what have you done with caitlyn

viktor 🤍, 9:16am

That sounds lovely, Caitlyn. Thank you for the invite, I will let you know my availability.

Jayce will do the same.

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 9:16am

no im serious who has cait’s phone

     Caitlyn rolls her eyes as she enters, greeting Mel who’s emerged to prepare breakfast in the kitchen. Mel gestures with her phone and says, “Jayce is insane.”

     Huffing, Caitlyn replies, “Is it seriously that hard to believe I offered this? Tell him I have my phone.”

mel 💛, 9:18am

i am literally looking at her holding it right now

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 9:18am

oh no they’ve got mel too oh fuck

Me, 9:18am

I’m just saying we should hang out before tech week ruins all of our lives

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 9:19am

THEY HAVE THE THEATER SCHEDULE TOO NO

     Mel laughs while Caitlyn feels as if her eyeballs are going to fall out of their sockets.

     Well, one task down. Now all Caitlyn has to figure out is how the hell to talk about the break up.

↠↢

She doesn’t figure it out quickly.

     Vi doesn’t bring it up over the next few times they see each other, at rehearsal and their continuing stress-relief sessions—Caitlyn is grateful that she doesn’t. While she was the one who proposed the rules, and she was the one to offer to break rule three, she wants to have the structure of a plan first. She supposes it is also her responsibility to breach the topic: she brought up the conversation, she’s the one who broke up with Vi.

     But what is she supposed to say? An apology, she knows, then an explanation and a promise to do better. But the latter part—is that warranted? This isn’t a fight between a couple, this is trying to mend two broken hearts that have been separated for more than two years, changing lives and shifting motives and amended personalities only adding to the gap. They aren’t dating, they’re hardly friends, and if they are, they haven’t even established that. How is Caitlyn meant to do better when the circumstances in which she would don’t exist—and does she want them to exist? Does Vi want them to exist? Should they exist?

     She’d felt like they should exist—that chaotic evening, that peaceful morning. It had been so similar to two years prior, and yet different. Sophomore year Caitlyn would’ve never stopped for anything, sophomore year Vi never would’ve stuck around if she and Caitlyn weren’t on amazing terms (being exes certainly qualifies that requirement) and she had somewhere to be, undeniable changes Caitlyn can’t look over any longer. But Vi steadying her, ever and always her anchor that pulls her back to safer waters, snuggling together in bed, both fulfilled and at peace, had filled Caitlyn with an aching sense of nostalgia and want. This went right this time. They had things straight, correct.

     So should this—their arrangement, the teasing looks and phrases, the comfort found when there’s no more space to fill—go farther? Whatever line they’re toeing, as pliable and hazardous as a slackline—should they cross it?

     Perhaps that’s what Caitlyn needs to figure out first.

     The field trip comes around the following week with orders from Salo that Thursday rehearsal, going into depth about the itinerary and the important times. “We’ll leave from the parking lot outside at seven a.m. sharp !” he explains, small eyes narrowed and glaring at them with the upmost contempt. “If you’re not there, we will leave you behind! The bus will be taking us to the hotel, dropping us there, I have metro cards for the lot of you and we will then be touring the Museum of Broadway after lunch. From there, you’re free to do whatever you imbeciles please as long as you’re in the hotel lobby by six to have dinner and walk to the theater as a class! Is that clear?”

     Despite the casual insults, Caitlyn had nodded with the rest of the cast with poorly hidden excitement. Vi had nudged her on their way backstage, teasing, “You that eager to get out of this city for a bit?”

     More like for the rest of her life, despite that she still needed to schedule that long awaited discussion with her parents. “Can’t I be enthused by a weekend getaway?” Caitlyn had mused.

     “Maybe,” Vi had shrugged, turning into her dressing room, “or maybe you really are a theater kid at heart.”

     Caitlyn had falsely sneered at her and Vi chuckled, closing the dressing room door behind her with her heel. Mel appeared behind her, humming a short, knowing, “Hm.”

     Mel knowing about their arrangement is turning out to be worse than Caitlyn expected. “Shut up.”

     “I didn’t say anything,” Mel had drawled, but that smirk was growing on her face as Caitlyn quickly fled into her dressing room.

     Saturday morning, Caitlyn wakes up right on time, stretching like world peace has been ordained and ambling into the kitchen. Mel stumbles into the living room minutes later with much less enthusiasm, and Caitlyn hands her a cup of coffee, saying, “Do you want one to-go and one for Sevika, as well?”

     Mel slumps into a barstool and mumbles, “Please,” and Caitlyn has never been happier to make another.

     Thirty minutes later, they’re pulling into the auditorium parking lot fifteen minutes early because Caitlyn insisted, finding that the majority of the cast had taken Salo’s warning seriously. Mel helps her with their duffel bags and various coffees Caitlyn has brought along in fancy compostable cups with closable lids before taking two and making a beeline for Sevika, greeting each other with absolutely no PDA but the way they hover next to each other is somehow intimate enough. 

     Caitlyn hears Vi’s motorcycle pull into the lot before she sees it, engine flaring as she swerves into one of the motorcycle-designated spots. Heart fluttering a suspiciously large amount, Caitlyn practically skips over to her, coffees in hand, watching the corner of Vi’s lips quirk up as she takes her helmet off and catches Caitlyn’s eye.

     “Still that eager, huh?” Vi asks, clad in her typical leather jacket and jeans to suit the early April morning weather.

     “Just prepared,” Caitlyn sighs, and holds a cup out to her. “Americano, if I remember correctly.”

     Vi falters, key stumbling where she makes to open her motorcycle’s compartment. “You—you made one for me?”

     “I was on a bit of a spree this morning.” Caitlyn tilts her head from side to side, trying to prolong the obvious. “But I’d figured you’d want some.”

     Her fingers brush Vi’s as Vi takes the cup from her, and Gods she feels like an embarassed schoolgirl, slipping her phone number on a piece of paper to her crush. “Thanks, Cait,” Vi says, taking a sip as soon as her motorcycle is locked and set. “Mm. Your Taiwanese roast.”

     Caitlyn’s surprised that Vi remembers, especially by taste. “Yes. My parents sent me more when—”

     “Sis!” Powder interrupts, calling Vi from where the cast is gathering before the tour bus, Salo perched at the front. “Let’s go, we’re doing attendance!”

     Vi shrugs and gestures for Caitlyn to come along. Caitlyn follows after her, but drifts toward Jayce and Viktor when they arrive, silently handing them their own cups of coffee—Jayce’s with lots of milk, Viktor’s with absolutely none and triple espresso shots, before retreating back to Vi’s side with her own reusable tumbler.

     “Because I don’t want to deal with any of your foolish complaints,” Salo begins once everyone has been accounted for, Mylo and Claggor racing over to complete their set, “whoever you sit beside on this bus ride to and fro, you will be sharing a room with tonight. Heimerdinger will go around to collect names and assignments later. So. Pair up!”

     People are moving before Caitlyn even realizes what’s happening, slotting together like magnets—she tries to hurry to Mel but she’s already situated quite firmly next to Sevika, Jayce and Viktor do the same, Elora and Sky chat for a moment before standing beside one another, and when Caitlyn looks to see what Vi’s doing, she finds Vi in a very similar situation, with Powder looping her arm through Ekko’s and Mylo slinging an gangly arm around Claggor’s broad shoulders.

     Scar with Gert. Maddie with Steb. Loris with one of the juniors. Caitlyn looks around helplessly, and then turns to Vi, the only other person without a partner.

     Oh. Well. That isn’t so bad.

     “What is this?” Caitlyn scoffs under her breath despite this as she ambles back over to Vi. “Picking teams in primary school dodgeball?”

     “I figured this would happen,” Vi responds in kind, voice low and speaking only to Caitlyn, adjusting her own duffel on her shoulder. “Good thing I brought the strap.”

     “You what ?!”

     “I don’t want a national news case of one of PAI’s students being abducted or found dead in a New York sewer, therefore you’re encouraged to stay in contact with and beside your partner for the duration of our visit,” Salo explains, which is reasonable enough. “But you’re all adults and we expect you to ensure PAI’s students continue to be held in high regard. Otherwise, do as you please. Clear?”

     Everyone mumbles their understanding, clearly too early in the morning for anything else. The clock hits six-fifty-five and they pile onto the tour bus, shuffling down the thin aisles and shoving their duffel bags into the compartments above. Caitlyn asks Vi, still a little bewildered, “Do you want the window seat?” because she knows Vi’s favorite past time on car rides is to stare out the window, and Vi nods, shoving her backpack under the seat in front of her before offering Caitlyn a hand to help her into the row.

     Powder and Ekko slide into the row diagonal from them, and the feeling of being watched prickles on the back of Caitlyn’s neck like a loaded gun.

     “You ready to sit here for two and a half hours?” Vi asks as they get settled in, oblivious to Caitlyn’s dilemma.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn replies, a matter of factly. She unbuckles her satchel and withdraws her materials. “I’ve downloaded a few episodes of my podcast, bought a sudoku problem book, and made sure all of my music playlists are functional using offline mode.”

     Vi reaches into her backpack and withdraws. “Damn. I just brought a book.”

     She holds it up, her bookmark with a ribbon attached to it flying around. Mansfield Park.

     “I didn’t take you for an Austen fan,” Caitlyn comments, flipping open her airpod case. The bus rumbles to life and jostles them all in their seats, gathering speed and pulling out of the parking lot.

     Vi shrugs. “It was on your bookshelf. I had it so I started reading it.”

     Caitlyn meets her eyes with surprise. “Oh?”

     “It’s good so far.” A finger presses into the bookmark and Vi opens the book with a small smile. “ Emma is better, though.”

     If Vi wasn’t punching people or punching bags or doing homework or working at the gym or cooking, Caitlyn had come to know that she’d be reading. She’s the type to be casually curious, prying through the free or cheap bins of books at thrift and bookstores. Two years ago, Caitlyn had been party to waking up to Vi’s phone screen a few inches from her own face, lines of words spanning over a black background. But Vi subtly picking up on her own reading habits is… nice. Like she’s paying attention to Caitlyn and her hobbies and interests. Like she has the will to be interested.

     Maybe she’s overanalyzing that, but the damage is already done. Caitlyn puts her AirPods in and smiles to herself, curling up in her seat. And if her and Vi’s legs brush on the tiny, thin cushions, she doesn’t make a move to stop it.

     Lighthearted chatter drifting through the bus slows to a halt as everyone drifts off, slumped over their partners, the windows, and the armrests. Vi makes it thirty minutes into the ride before she follows suit, elbow propped against the window and head bracketed in her hand, snoozing softly. When Caitlyn notices, she chuckles to herself and rests her pen in the spine of her book to lift and remove the armrest separating them, just in case Vi decides she wants something else to lean on.

     She doesn’t expect herself to fall asleep, with all the caffeine running a marathon through her bloodstream, but she does, and awakes to her podcast droning on about a topic she doesn’t recognize, the typical NYC honking, pressure against her ear and a heavy weight on her shoulder. With little inspection, Caitlyn finds Vi asleep against her shoulder, breathing in and out soundly, apparently oblivious to the midtown New York chaos surrounding her; Caitlyn’s cheek runs with miniscule valleys from the imprints of Vi’s hair.

     Salo, because of course, had taken his own vehicle to the hotel, so Heimerdinger is the one to announce, “We’re almost there, everyone! Please gather your belongings!” with that reedy voice of his, suspiciously standing atop a seat.

     Caitlyn looks down and can’t force down a smile. Vi has always looked so serene while asleep, tucked into the crook of Caitlyn’s shoulder, a hand resting tentatively just above Caitlyn’s knee like even while unconscious she had been careful. The natural weight of her against Caitlyn is strikingly familiar, from airplane rides and long car road trips and in the audience of presentations they attended at Caitlyn’s journalism conferences.

     They fall into old routines so easily, it seems, as if the friction the break-up had caused had been tampered down by the grease of—put simply, them . This. Whatever they’re becoming.

     “Hey,” Caitlyn murmurs, angling her body towards Vi, cupping her cheek and gently lifting it. “We’re about there.” A dreary and sleep-addled Vi noses into her palm, mumbling to herself, and Caitlyn swipes a thumb over her cheekbone. She whispers, to be persuasive, to keep her words from being caught in the growing wind of conversation, “Come on, my love. I didn’t make you coffee for nothing.”

     Vi’s eyelids flicker at the pet name, and slowly, she’s sitting up, heel of her palm pressing into her eyes. Caitlyn quietly mourns the feeling of Vi against her, tearing her hand from Vi’s cheek with one parting brush.

     Typical of New York traffic, there’s not enough space for the bus to pull in front of the hotel, nor any wherewithal to stop anywhere close to it, so they all have to hurry off the bus as quickly as possible being double-parked on a two lane street. Caitlyn’s feet touch the ground and she breathes in the probably very polluted air and she’s transported back to last summer, walking these very streets every day during her internship, that bustling activity and constant roar suiting her person so, so well. She knows the feeling of home in four distinct places; New York City, as cliche as it sounds, is one of them.

     She moves in a month and a half. That day could not come any faster.

     “The hotel’s a few blocks this way!” Heimerdinger shouts over the noise of the bus pulling away. “Please do your best to stay together!”

     It’s a bit of a frenzy, moving as a large cast in and out of New York’s consistent flow of passerbies. Perhaps this is how Vi gets swept away from her and next to Mylo, Ekko and Claggor instead, and perhaps how Powder ends up next to her.

     “So,” Powder begins, sidling up next to her like a club member trying to hand her a flyer at school, “how long have you been fucking my sister?”

     Caitlyn’s brain stops working as swiftly as her body stops working, stopping in the middle of the street and making Mel run into her back. Ignoring Powder’s rolling eyes, Caitlyn catches back up to her, already beginning, “What!?” And— “I haven’t a clue where you got that idea from, but—”

     “Actually, I can answer my own question,” Powder interrupts, tone something carefully casual, neutral, not giving much away about her feelings about the matter. “Some time before Valentine’s Day. Vi got those hickeys from you. I kept overlooking you as a possibility because I didn’t think Vi would go for you again, but… guess I was wrong.

     “It all makes sense now,” Powder chuckles dryly to herself, hands in her oversized jacket pockets, pointedly not looking at Caitlyn. “It being someone from rehearsal, the way you two always drift toward each other like some sort of fucking planet, and now everything I see just makes it make more sense.”

     Fuck . Caitlyn looks up at Vi, swaggering along and laughing with the others, because Powder has always been the biggest detester of their relationship after they broke up and if she knows, then—

     It would not do well to lie. Powder already doesn’t like her enough. Caitlyn sighs, “How long have you known?”

     If Powder harbors an ounce of satisfaction from being proved right, she doesn’t show it. “Since she stormed out of rehearsal last week,” explains Powder, shaking her head. “It clicked. You should’ve seen her face, she was like a confused, mad puppy dog, all scrunched up and shit. And most of the cast knows something’s going on, so you don’t have to keep pretending.”

     Have they truly been that obvious? Caitlyn supposes that Vi rushing out of rehearsal to go check on her would be quite the revelation, but she hadn’t thought anything else would allude to the discovery.

     “It started the second week of the semester, after Jayce’s party,” Caitlyn returns, answering Powder’s original question. This seems to surprise her, by the miniscule raising of her eyebrows and stilted steps. “But that was a one time thing. You’re right, it became regular right before Valentine’s Day.”

     “Fuck, man, right,” Powder grouses under her breath. “Mylo said he caught Vi with a girl.”

     Caitlyn bites her lip and nods. Powder hmph s and adjusts her massive duffle bag that seems to dwarf her on her shoulder.

     Silence.

     This is horrible. Caitlyn has no idea where the hotel is or how far they are from it, and if they keep walking like this, with this awkward, tension racked up to the nines silence between them she’s going to lose it.

     “Look, Powder—”

     “Vi thinks you’ve changed,” interjects Powder, eyes locked on the ground when Caitlyn looks to her with shock. “She hasn’t said it, but I know she thinks it. She’s comfortable with you, she wouldn’t be if… I know her, and, just—where do you guys think you’re going with this? Because after what happened—” Powder breaks off with a scoff of disbelief, at a loss for words.

     This is exactly the question Caitlyn has been trying to wrangle her answer out of for the past week—perhaps longer.

     “It was casual,” Caitlyn says, which is the truth.

     Powder says, “Not anymore.”

     “Perhaps not,” Caitlyn admits, sighing an awful lot for currently walking the streets of her favorite city. “We’re figuring it out. Believe me, I’m about as cautious about this as you are.”

     Heimderdinger halts the group and ushers them to the side of the street, out of the way, as he reviews paperwork and ensures that this hotel is the one they booked. “Yes!” he exclaims. “Be courteous, everyone—come on inside!”

     Powder turns to her, stationary, as everyone else shuffles through the revolving doors of the hotel. “Hurt her,” she warns, stepping closer to Caitlyn, voice dropping to a growl, “hurt her again, and I’ll sew your costume together so you trip and break an actual leg on stage.”

     An unsettling, probably untrue threat, but her tone gets the job done. Caitlyn holds her gaze, opening her mouth because she certainly was not planning on it—

     “Powder!” Vi’s voice rings out from the entrance as both of their heads whip around, holding the door open and her jaw set, the rest of the cast having entered the hotel. “Come on, let’s go.”

     With one last look up and down, Powder departs, shouldering through the open door with a confused glance from Vi. Caitlyn trails after her, the tension dying within her chest; Vi holds the door for her to walk through and lets it fall shut as she falls into step beside her, asking, “What the hell was that about?”

     Caitlyn huffs. “She knows.”

     Vi’s eyes look to her with blaring alarm. “Fuck, really?” Caitlyn nods, resolute. “I told her to talk to me first,” Vi groans, running a stressed hand through her hair. “After her get-together.”

     Shrugging, Caitlyn replies, “I don’t think she actively opposes it. I think. She’s just… wary.” She swallows. “And apparently, the whole cast knows.”

     “ What?! ”

     Apparently today is a day of shocking discoveries.

     They join the circle of the other cast members right as Salo, apparently having arrived before them, returns from speaking to the hotel receptionist, fancy-looking folder in hand. The hotel looks typical for staying in midtown, with an attempt made at looking modern and robust but ending up with just sitting various furniture and decor of gray, white, green and gold next to each other. Caitlyn eyes the bustling activity: how there’s a constant rush in and out of the doors, how there’s a line for the two elevators, how people seem to be getting fed up and beelining for the stairs instead.

     “Of course,” Salo grumbles, flipping open the folder and running a skinny finger down the paper. “They were only able to reserve eight of the two queen-bed rooms due to the high activity, not twelve. We’ll need four pairs to share one king bed in a room. Are there any volunteers, or will I have to randomly pick from the list?”

     Everyone seems to grimace from this announcement, looking around at each other for aid.

     Sevika shrugs, nodding in Mel’s direction. “Sure,” she says. “We’ll take one.”

     “Us too,” Powder adds, hooking her arm into Ekko’s, and shoots daggers at Vi right as Vi leans forward. “Don’t start.”

     “That would work for us, too,” Viktor says from Jayce’s side.

     Three of four. The group falls to silence, glancing around at the remaining pairs.

     Caitlyn shifts her weight from one foot to another, hands bracing her upper arms, and catches on to Mel’s smirk a second too late.

     “I think Caitlyn and Vi would be fine sharing. They’re co-stars, after all,” Mel supplies with an air of mischief while Caitlyn gapes. “Don’t you think, Caitlyn?”

     She does not think so, but—

     Powder adds, leaning against Ekko’s shoulder with a dangerous chuckle, “Yeah, don’t you think, sis?”

     Caitlyn glares at Mel. Vi glares at Powder.

     “Yeah, fine,” Vi huffs, rubbing the back of her neck. “Cait and I can take one.”

     “One of the only times you all have proved to me that you’re functioning adults.” Salo scowls, unhooking a highlighter from his suit-jacket and highlighting different rows on his sheet, before writing numbers beside the highlighted portions. “Alright. We’re dispersed among the third and fourth floors. Listen for your room assignments, I won’t repeat them again!”

     “What the hell do you mean the whole cast knows?!” Vi asks her the moment their hotel room door is closed, barely taking the time to take the room in. “Did Powder tell everyone—?”

     “No, I believe they just put the pieces together like she did.” Caitlyn drops her bags against the foot of the tightly-made king bed. It’s a typical, long hotel room. Closer to the window sits a small green sectional, a square, brown coffee table before it; behind her, a bathroom and a closet, with a full-length mirror opposite the bed. “Running out of rehearsal to check on the co-star you’re supposed to dislike is quite obvious.”

     “I’d do it again,” Vi says, and something in Caitlyn’s heart twinges. She turns and finds that Vi has set her bags next to hers, testing the bed’s softness with a tentative press of a hand, and approaches her, chucking Vi lightly on the chin when she gets there.

     “I know.” Caitlyn offers a smile, and steps back before she can do something worse. “Come on, we’ve got ten minutes before lunch.”

     An early lunch at that. Vi nods and mimics Caitlyn in bending to retrieve their change of clothes from their bags, both of them apparently having the same idea and wearing comfortable clothing for the bus ride and packing cuter, hotter outfits for a day on the town. Caitlyn brought the same halter top she wore to that first Alpha-Sig party—practically the same outfit, except with a navy blue velvet mini skirt—and is smug when she watches Vi’s eyes catch on it.

     “Did she say anything else?” Vi asks, zipping her duffel closed and laying her pajamas on the bed as Caitlyn turns to change.

     She wrenches her quarter-zip off and follows with her loose t-shirt, leaving her in her bra as she turns her head over her shoulder to look at Vi. “That we don’t have to keep pretending because everyone knows,” she says, and watches Vi’s gaze trail down her open back, over the protrusion of her shoulderblades as she moves her hands through her top.

     As if they can’t be more than five feet apart ever, Vi moves toward her again, a hand reaching to slide around Caitlyn’s bare waist, touch featherlight.

     “Pretend?” she asks.

↠↢

So this is how the day goes.

     With Caitlyn done up in her skirt and fleece-lined tights and leather jacket and halter top, hair in her ponytail and her jewelery untangled from its travel case and adorned, and Vi with her maroon graphic muscle-tee and dark-gray jeans and an eye-catching belt holding it on her hips and matching leather jacket, they take the stairs down and join in on the catered lunch before the class hits the streets.

     It’s a short walk to the Museum of Broadway from where they’re staying, and the class bustles around the entrance as Salo works out the group-admisssion details. Once they’re in, they’re given free reign, and everyone seems to stick to the partner rule by default, so Caitlyn ends up wandering around with Vi.

     Perhaps it’s Vi saying, eager, “Come on, Cait!” when Caitlyn pauses to admire the entrance that makes Caitlyn so eager to fool around with her .

     They flutter around the neon-lit exhibits and hover at each other’s sides like they really do have to take this ‘rule,’ if you could even call it that, seriously. They fawn over exquisite costumes and Vi waits patiently for Caitlyn to read every single sign and paragraph of text ever, Vi tests a few of the props that you’re allowed to handle and a few that you’re not until Caitlyn bats at her to stop while Vi laughs. And, slowly, Caitlyn begins to feel a bit lighter, that aimless feeling that comes with museums and playing tourist and laughing too much overtaking her, hopping from exhibit to exhibit with Vi at her side and feeling bold as she positions Vi in front of a few photo-ops and forces her to pose.

     “Come on!” Caitlyn pleads, pushing Vi by the shoulder into the let the sunshine in exhibit, film camera in her opposite hand. “Please! I want memories!”

     “Then let me take one of you instead!” Vi argues, but she’s complying based on the fact that Caitlyn is successfully forcing her toward the booth and she one-hundred-percent has the strength to resist.

     Caitlyn scoffs, “I’m not allowing you to handle my camera!”

     “You literally just push a button!” Vi groans as Caitlyn puts her in front of the swing and backs up to get a good angle. “I’m not gonna sit in this, Cait!”

     Vi does end up sitting in it, under the bright, pastel colors of the rainbow and hands wrapped around the pink chains of the swing, glaring at Caitlyn deadpan until Caitlyn snaps, “Smile, Violet!” and she does. She captures the photo and swears the image of Vi smiling will never leave her mind.

     “You done?” Vi asks as Caitlyn pulls the camera from her face. Caitlyn, satisfied, nods, and Vi says, pulling out her phone, “Good. You’re up.”

     The museum is not that big, not the kind you could get lost in like Caitlyn’s beloved MET Museum, but Caitlyn enjoys reading about the stories of Broadway shows and how they came to be, details about set design and costumes peaking out at every corner. It doesn’t take long for them to stumble across a photobooth, and for Vi to usher her into it.

     “This is small as fuck,” Vi complains as Caitlyn draws the curtain, cramped between berry-blue walls and a dancing screen. “Is it built for kids or something?”

     “I would imagine so,” Caitlyn murmurs, thinking to all the kids running haywire around the museum, and tries to sit beside Vi. There is not a lot of space, and as Caitlyn tries to squeeze in, Vi rolls her eyes and says, “Babe, just come here.”

     Vi’s arms loop around her waist and tug her sideways onto her lap, and thank God the curtain is full length. Caitlyn can’t hide her small smile regardless, and slings an arm around Vi’s shoulders, turning to tap her phone to the card reader and prod at the screen, trying not to get caught up in Vi’s large hands spreading over her hip and thigh.

     “What do we want?” Caitlyn asks her, pressing the comically large arrow to flip through the templates. Separated into categories, there’s one for couples, best friends, siblings, Broadway shows, miscellaneous…

     “This one,” says Vi, gesturing for Caitlyn to go back and selecting a template of a film roll, tinting their faces into grayscale. The screen flicks onto adjusting the camera, and they rapidly press the up button to accommodate for both their faces.

     “Okay, before we begin,” Caitlyn says, as the START button flashes enticingly, “let’s plan this out. Smile, funny faces, then what—”

     Vi hits the start button, and the speaker says in a high voice, “Get Ready! Set!”

     Caitlyn freaks out. “Vi!”

     “Chill out, Cupcake, just do whatever,” Vi chuckles as the voice begins to countdown, and they lean their heads together with broad smiles.

     The camera flashes. Vi says, “Do the program pose,” and Caitlyn leans back onto her shoulder, staring melodramatically at the camera until it flashes again. The screen holds their taken photo in place for a moment and they cackle at the seriousness, and Caitlyn looks down at Vi and feels Vi’s hands shift against her hip and Gods she really wants to kiss her, really wants to make the image burn onto permanent photo paper—

     Vi kisses her first, matching her thoughts so perfectly, and Caitlyn moves in with fervor, cupping Vi’s cheek with her free hand and feeling Vi tug her closer as the camera flashes a third time. She completely forgets about it when Vi bites her bottom lip and backs up so Caitlyn can sink more of her body into her, shifting onto her right knee as she presses Vi backward, the thin plywood of the photobooth making abysmally large sounds as they knock into the walls, reaching her hand into Vi’s hair and tilting her head down—

     The bright light of the camera lurches them back into reality, and Vi pulls back with a laugh while Caitlyn flushes. “Damn, Cupcake,” she murmurs, reaching up and erasing a lipstick smudge on Caitlyn’s lip with a thumb. “A little eager there.”

     “Shut up,” Caitlyn grumbles, sitting up and tampering down the fire in her navel. The screen flaring the bouncing letters of PRINTING and if they weren’t on a time table Caitlyn would not be above shoving Vi into the nearest public restroom. “You started it.”

     Vi raises her hands in mock surrender as Caitlyn clambers off of her, gathering herself as she opens the curtains and is thankful to find there is not a line waiting. The pictures spit themselves out of the dispenser as Vi follows her out, and Caitlyn picks them up, holding them gingerly as Vi peaks over her shoulder.

     “Vi,” Caitlyn says, eyes widening. “This is borderline pornographic.”

     It’s so blatantly obvious that Caitlyn’s sitting on Vi’s lap, with how much higher her head is than Vi’s and the positioning of their bodies. And while the first two photos are acceptable, and the third might even be regarded as cute, the fourth is not, the camera somehow capturing the moment where Caitlyn’s head is turned and you can see every single thing their mouths were doing—

     Vi shrugs. “At least they’re not in color.” Caitlyn rips the dotted paper down the middle, and hands a strip to Vi. “It’s cute, babe.”

     It is. Or, more specifically, if Caitlyn really studies the crinkle of their smiles and the way they poise themselves while around each other, they are.

     They meet up with the rest of the cast in due time, Salo releasing them to do whatever they please with a lame flourish of his hand. As he rolls away, Jayce catches Caitlyn’s arm before Caitlyn can decide to do something else, and says, “Most of us are going to head down to SoHo. Wanna come?”

     So that’s how Caitlyn and Vi end up on a subway to SoHo, where it’s probably not the best idea for Powder to handle the navigation and scurrying off the train as they almost miss their stop. They emerge from the subway station to the bustling SoHo streets, clothing shops and various stores lining the streets within tan and brown buildings that look too old and ornate to be holding their renters. In true NYC fashion they swerve in and out of pairs and groups of pedestrians to swing into the huge clothing chain stores, entering swiftly as a group but quickly diverging into pairs, judging outfits on mannequins and placing hangers on racks.

     Caitlyn gets bored quickly (her online shopping addiction is much more preferable), but Vi quotes Powder’s earlier comments about her lame outfits and takes her time, and Caitlyn is happy to follow her around. She sorts through pairs of jeans and cargos and takes shirts off their hangers, inspecting them with much more consideration than Caitlyn thought she’d give, putting clothes back if they had a single stray strand or the smallest abnormal stretch in the pattern of fabric. She asks Caitlyn, “How’s this?” and positions it against her body and somehow, some way, listens to Caitlyn’s feedback, gathering a healthy amount to parade to the dressing room.

     “What do we think?” Vi asks her as she draws the curtain as Caitlyn leans against a wall beside her designated dressing room. She hadn’t expected for Vi to consider her opinion when she actually tried things on, nor call their collective thoughts a we matter, but she enjoys looking over Vi with the brown leather jacket she’s trying on, giggles to herself when she does a circular motion with her finger and Vi spins around.

     “I like it,” Caitlyn says with a tilt of her head, unable to stop the smile from appearing on her lips. She hasn’t been able to stop it all day, and Gods Vi looks good. “It suits you. And it’ll get you out of the same leather jacket you wear all the time.”

     Vi hums to herself, withdrawing to look in the mirror before appearing before Caitlyn again, batting around at the air until she catches the price tag. She frowns, disappointed uncertainty flashing over her features. “It was in the sale section but it’s not on the tag,” she mutters, before hesitating and asking Caitlyn, “Do you mind checking the price? I’ll meet you outside.”

    “Of course,” Caitlyn says and regards Vi with a smile, reassuring her before taking the jacket and hanger from Vi and departing the fitting room.

     As if on a very important mission, she struts over to the register and places the jacket on the counter. “Hi,” she says to the cashier, “how much is this?”

     The cashier scans the tag and punches a few buttons on her screen. “Two-seventy-five.”

     Caitlyn falters. “It’s not on sale?”

     “Not according to our system,” says the cashier, looking over her screen to the section where Vi got the jacket from. “Jacket and sale section are right next to each other, sometimes customers misplace things.”

     She hands the jacket back to Caitlyn, as if she’d expected with this news that Caitlyn wouldn’t be purchasing it. Caitlyn doesn’t grab it; she looks back at the fitting room, and then down at the jacket, before saying to the cashier, “I’ll take it.”

     Vi exits the fitting room minutes later, hanging the other clothes she’d brought with her on the return rod, where Caitlyn waits with her purse and the fancy shopping bag perched on a nearby table. Caitlyn picks up the bag with the jacket inside and hands it to Vi before she can say anything.

     The expression on Vi’s face is priceless. Vi begins, “Woah, wait—”

     “It wasn’t on sale,” Caitlyn explains as Vi takes the bag from her with far too timid hands. “You never do anything for yourself. I took some liberties.”

     Vi stares at her with the widest opal eyes known to man. She meets Caitlyn’s eyes and the longer the silence the more Caitlyn starts to believe she’d made a mistake, saying, “The receipt is in the bag if you want to—”

     With an amused shake of her head and a sharp-toothed grin, Vi grabs Caitlyn’s purse and slings it over her shoulder. She chuckles, “You’re something, Cait,” and tilts her head toward the door, a gesture for Caitlyn to follow as she walks off.

     She doesn’t let Caitlyn carry her own purse for the rest of the day, similar to the way Caitlyn doesn't let Vi buy anything with her own money in turn: not on the subway ride back to the hotel, keeps it on her side of the bed as they change into nicer clothing for dinner and the play, Caitlyn in a skin-tight floor-length black dress and Vi in black slacks and a button up with a tie, rolling up her sleeves while Caitlyn pretends she’s not looking, and of course they’re matching without discussing it first. She doesn’t let Caitlyn hold it while at dinner, the whole cast sat at two large tables at the restaurant attached to the hotel, nor on the walk over to the theater, walking side by side as the cast flurries around them.

     “You excited?” Vi asks her as they navigate the thin midtown streets, hand protective on Caitlyn’s purse like someone would snatch it right from her.

     Caitlyn finds herself rather enthused by the idea of knowing all the lines in the production they’re about to watch, the opportunity to see how others are performing their own interpretation of it. “Very,” she says.

     Their knuckles brush at their sides. Caitlyn, unwilling to let this moment get away from her, lets her pinky reach out and tease around Vi’s. Ever in tune, Vi takes her hand fiercely, fingers interlocking and they never do this outside of having sex but Gods does Caitlyn’s heart leap with fruitful joy—

     Vi looks at her with those gorgeous eyes and smiles that stunning smile. And. Well. This whole day has felt kind of like a date.

↠↢

     The play goes well. Vi doesn’t wish she would’ve brought a notepad for notes, but she does find herself repeating different choices the actor of Romeo had made to herself so she could do them too, finds herself moved by each scene and each impactful monologue, finds herself making a mental list of how many times she and Caitlyn have held hands, as if a fifteen-year-old-girl counting how many times her crush has looked at her.

     She’s on five. They’d parted when Caitlyn went to go grab them refreshments and snacks from the bar, rejoined for a moment before the show started, let go to eat more snacks when it began, interlocked again somewhere around act one scene three, Vi had had to scratch her nose during act three but went right back, they’d both had let go to applaud during the end and shuffle out of the auditorium, and Caitlyn captures hers again on the walk back to the hotel, their arms swaying between them and exhibiting Caitlyn’s apparent glee.

     The walk back to the hotel is not far, only a few blocks. Caitlyn, looking around aimlessly with wide, adoring eyes at the traffic and the night lights, turns and asks her, “They cut out some parts, didn’t they? Most of the servingmen’s lines.”

     Vi nods. She runs her thumb over Caitlyn’s casually and feels Caitlyn step a little closer to her. “But Salo’s making us do the whole thing.”

     “We’re going to run past the time limit,” Caitlyn huffs, shaking her head. “Have you memorized act five yet?”

     Let it be known that Vi loves the small talk with Caitlyn, the catching-up that makes them feel like something other than fuck-buddies. She replies, “I’m almost there. Just got to get through the tomb scene. You?”

     “ O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath ,” Caitlyn muses with a hint of a smirk, and of course she’s already got it done. “I still have no idea how Salo’s planning on doing the blood. Oh!” Caitlyn nudges into her shoulder playfully and grins, then gestures at the building they’re walking past, with orange accent walls behind steel poles and a grand glass entrance. “This is the New York Times building. I’ll be working right in there soon.”

     Every working process in Vi’s body seems to halt in place. “What?”

     “I’m moving,” Caitlyn explains like it’s not big deal at all. “They offered me a job after my internship last summer and I took it.”

     Vi doesn’t know how she gets the single syllable out of her mouth— “When?”

     Caitlyn tilts her head from side to side, estimating. “In about a month and a half. Right after graduation.”

     And oh fucking hell—it all makes sense. Caitlyn picking up the phone that one evening and saying it’s her job when Vi hadn’t been aware that Caitlyn even had one, Caitlyn’s excitement to visit the city, Caitlyn’s whole plan, brewing up since freshman year, coming to fruition. Vi didn’t—she hadn’t known that Caitlyn already had it down. She didn’t know it was happening now .

     And the look on Caitlyn’s face is… peaceful. Excited. Vi knows this has been Caitlyn’s dream job for years: work for a major newspaper or journal, somewhere outside of Piltover, somewhere that matched Caitlyn’s rampant personality, and put all three together and you get the New York Times. But all she can think about is she has a month and a half left with her, and then she’s gone, because they’re not friends, they’re not dating, they don’t have any ties to each other other than physical and the moment they’re not living within ten minutes of each other, whatever they have dies. And Vi can’t do anything about it.

     A month and a half, and Caitlyn’s leaving.

     Caitlyn’s voice—concerned, confused—cuts into her buzzing thoughts— “Vi?”

     “Sorry.” Vi shakes her head, tearing her eyes from the dirty ground. “That’s great, Cait, I’m happy for you.”

     “Thank you!” Caitlyn beams, mirth infecting her tone and her face, like this genuinely doesn’t compromise anything. “I’m quite excited. Professor Shoola said if I took theater she’ll see if she can convince them to transfer me from advertising to news editorial, so I’ll have my exact ideal position right out of university—”

     Caitlyn rambles on, into the hotel and up the stairs and Vi doesn’t know what to think. It’s not like she envisioned this going any farther—it’d be stupid to do so—but she has to admit that she hadn’t foreseen an ending. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing after graduation, her plan consisted of staying near Piltover and Zaun and looking after the family and that’s about it. Caitlyn’s going after what she wants and that’s perfectly valid and fine at the end of it, but what does Vi want?

     Words from earlier—Powder’s words, Caitlyn’s words—ring in her mind. You hardly know who you are now. You never do anything for yourself. 

     So what does she want? She’s never really thought about it—has never really had the chance to. All she knows as they walk into their hotel room and flick the lock and Vi hands Caitlyn her purse so Caitlyn can grab what she needs out of it, leaning back against the door and watching Caitlyn move around in that sly dress of hers, hugging her body in all the right ways, the cute way she takes her hair down and immediately pushes it behind her ears to focus, is that she wants Caitlyn.

     She wants Caitlyn. That has to be enough, right?

     So when Caitlyn looks up at her, bemused as to why Vi hasn’t fully entered the room yet, Vi steps forward, grabs her wrist, and pulls her in to kiss her.

     Caitlyn responds with a hum, arms slinging around Vi’s shoulders, moving in slowly with savory laps of her mouth, but Vi doesn’t want slow. She wants the frenzy that comes with sex, the overwhelming intent to make Caitlyn fucking lose it, to stop thinking for a second about how she loses this moment so fucking soon. She takes Caitlyn’s waist and spins her around, pressing her to the door, and Caitlyn seems to get the message, hitching her knee up by Vi’s hip and finally, finally speeding up.

     Her mouth is goddamn heavenly, tilting downward and capturing Vi’s own with a fervor that intoxicates Vi’s senses. Vi holds her hips tight and slots their legs together, not wasting any time before pulling Caitlyn’s hips down against her thigh, and Caitlyn’s heavy breath out into her mouth has to be studied for addictive effects.

     “You look so fucking good in this dress,” Vi rasps against her, reaching down and grabbing her ass, the silk-satin of the material bunching up in her fist. Caitlyn gasps, tilting her head back so perfectly as Vi nips downward, mouthing against the straining tendons in her neck. She can’t help herself, tasting the salty thin sheen of sweat from the walk as she licks up Caitlyn’s skin, she feels like Caitlyn is molded to every one of her desires, and this whole day has been coiling tension in her navel like a live wire.

     “ Fuck ,” Caitlyn breathes, bucking up into Vi’s thigh, and it shouldn’t be possible for mere breaths of a word to sound that good. “ Vi .”

     Her name sounds like a prayer slipping from her lips. Vi groans, “Fucking hell, Cait—Gods, I want to destroy you—”

     “Please do,” Caitlyn pants, grabbing at Vi’s tie and bringing their mouths together again with a tug, and the way she makes little sounds into Vi’s mouth as Vi grinds her thigh into her cunt drives Vi absolutely insane. “I’ve wanted you all day.”

     “You have no idea,” Vi rasps, slipping her hands under Caitlyn’s dress, rucking it up, spreading her fingers over Caitlyn’s lace underwear, dancing up to her waist. Caitlyn bites her bottom lip, a teasing, eager gesture, scratching at the nape of Vi’s neck, and Vi might as well pass away. “You have no idea what you do to me, baby.”

     “Show me,” Catilyn breathes, separating to look at Vi with dark, swirling eyes. Vi wastes no time picking her up, hoisting her onto her hips, kissing messily at Caitlyn’s exposed chest as she carries her to the bed and deposits her there unceremoniously, wasting no time with scooting back up against the headboard before they’re on each other again.

     Caitlyn’s hands push their way into the space between them as Vi leaves truly embarrassing bruises on her neck, staining Caitlyn’s fair skin with red like it’s a canvas and she’s a desperate artist. Those deft, marksman's fingers loosen her tie with ease, removing it from Vi’s neck with a firm whip and moving to unbutton Vi’s button up instead. She falters when Vi bites, teeth breaking capillaries without a care in the world, and Vi chuckles, sliding the thin straps of Caitlyn’s dress over her shoulders.

     They’re both too impatient, too riled up, it seems. Caitlyn abandons her efforts at Vi’s button up halfway in, hands reaching into Vi’s hair as Vi tugs down her dress and skips the foreplay, locking onto her nipple as she positions Caitlyn’s thighs around her hips and Caitlyn thrusts herself down onto the cold silver Vi’s belt for stimulation, jerking into her each time Vi sucks.

     “You that desperate?” Vi asks her with poorly hidden glee, licking up the chain of saliva that’s fallen onto the underside of Caitlyn’s breast. “Getting off on my belt?”

     “I need to come,” Caitlyn whines, thrashing, hips moving with abandon. Her makeup’s coming off, eyeliner morphing from sharp lines to fuzzy clouds. “Just make me come first, then do what you want. Please .”

     Vi can do that, Gods she wants to do that. She spreads Caitlyn’s legs with a forceful hand and drags Caitlyn’s soaked underwear to the side, and presses her thumb to her clit with expertise. 

     The first orgasm is quick. Vi doesn’t waste time—Caitlyn asked for something, she’s gonna give it to her. She takes Caitlyn’s answering gasp as approval and thrusts two fingers into her, only two so she can take the other activities Vi has in store for her, and finds Caitlyn burning hot and open, dripping to all hell. She feels like molten gold, muscles clenching and relaxing, Caitlyn arching her back as she hits her g-spot, crying out as Vi leans over her. It’s easy—it’s always easy with Caitlyn, she knows exactly the pace Caitlyn wants it at as she pumps in and out of her and when to add her thumb to her clit, using her other hand to pin Caitlyn’s hips to the mattress and hold herself above her, making vague red-marks on her chest because Caitlyn’s moving too much to let her focus on one spot.

     Caitlyn comes with a shout, hips pressing up into Vi’s hand and keening in her hold, chanting a slew of Vi’s name and various curse words, hair spilling onto the bed as Vi slows her pace. She grabs faultily at Vi’s shirt until she gets a fistful of it and tugs, capturing Vi’s mouth with an incoherent mumble that Vi adores, releasing her with a final pant.

     “Alright?” Vi asks her, gently slipping out when Caitlyn gives her the go-ahead, wiping it against the hotel blankets.

     “Alright,” Caitlyn breathes out, expression slightly hazy. “Really alright.”

     “Good,” Vi replies with a small chuckle because that doesn’t sound like proper English. “You’re gonna take my strap next.” Caitlyn’s eyes alight, even through the afterglow. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”

     “Perhaps,” Caitlyn answers with a small smile, and Vi can’t stop her grin, pulling away from her to wrench her slacks off and grab the strap. “Remind me again why you chose to bring it?”

     “I ran the numbers,” Vi responds with a shrug, stepping into the harness, pulling it tight. “Couples and best friends considered, we were left. And I thought better bring it and have awesome hotel sex than not.”

     Caitlyn props herself up on her elbows, rolling her eyes. “You’re horrible.”
Vi smirks at her, and beckons her over, grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed. “C’mere.”

     Caitlyn rises and approaches her, movements sultry, slow, eyes returning to something as black as night. They kiss, lips meeting like two flames connecting, intertwining, Caitlyn licking into her mouth before Vi turns her around and unzips her dress. She slips it off Caitlyn’s shoulders and watches it pool around her feet. Gods, she’s so beautiful, all toned muscle and gentle curves, and Vi can’t help but caress her cheek before she tosses the pillow at Caitlyn’s feet and guides her down, ever downward.

     “You’re gonna get my strap ready for me,” Vi tells her, threading her fingers through Caitlyn’s silky hair. “And you’re gonna get yourself off on that. You only stop when you come. Clear?”

     Caitlyn’s answering gasp is something cousin to a literal drug. She looks up at Vi, eyes wide and pleading, but she is good, always good—she straddles the pillow and sinks onto it, making delicious contact with a pant, and nods before she wraps her gorgeous lips around Vi’s strap.

     The sight of her is something to behold—the strap comes up slick the first time Caitlyn pulls back, and the way her tongue moves up and down the length of it, hollowing her cheeks, using a hand at the base to gain more control is downright pornographic. All the while her hips move against the pillow between her legs, pace growing from steady to quickly frantic, hot breaths just barely hitting Vi’s skin as Caitlyn moves downward. And, Gods, fuck. Fuck .

     “Fuck, baby,” Vi breathes, and fists her hand in Caitlyn’s hair and pulls . Caitlyn whines, taking more of the strap than she’d expected, hips jerking against the pillow. “Gods, look at you. You take my strap so well for me. You ready for me to fuck you with this?”

     Caitlyn nods—Gods does she nod, quick bobs of her head in time with her sucking. Vi looks down and over and can see the streak of Caitlyn’s arousal staining the pillow as she moves back and forth, back and forth, the pillow flattening under the pressure and Caitlyn downright keening as she attempts to grind harder, the shitty hotel pillow granting her no give. Vi gently experiments with thrusting her hips into Caitlyn’s mouth and Caitlyn takes it well, taking a second to adjust until she’s moving up and down in tune.

     She looks so fucking hot, so fucking good, eyes closed in concentration and devious mouth lapping up the toy and Vi’s growing wetter in her boxers by the second. She groans, “Gods, baby, taking whatever I give you,” and Caitlyn moans on her cock, free hand diving between her legs, using it as a harder surface to grind on and speeding up.

     This takes longer. Vi tries not to preen too much at the fact that Caitlyn gets off quicker when Vi’s the one doing it, and it works partially, only if it gives her this, reveling in the chance to watch Caitlyn, on her knees, frantic hips grinding against the hand and the pillow, moving her panties aside to slide her fingers around her swollen clit. Caitlyn’s mouth gets sloppier the longer she goes, losing rhythm as she gets caught up in the one further below, so Vi helps her out, whispering sweet praises as she moves Caitlyn’s head on her strap, fucking into her mouth.

     Soon enough she’s whining, panting, desperation taking over and unintentional movements dominating her body. Caitlyn teeters forward, taking more of Vi’s strap, peeling her eyes open and looking up at Vi with a wild tint to them, pleading, anguished. Fuck, she looks insatiable. Vi spreads her palm over Caitlyn’s cheek, tilting her head up, thumb brushing away some of the drool that’s leaked out of her stretched-open mouth.

     She says, “You’re so beautiful, Princess, sucking my cock,” and Caitlyn ruts harder against her hand. She looks like she wants to slip off to ask Vi something, to get a full gasp of air, eyes wide and glistening, but Vi says, “No, baby, you heard me. Finish yourself off.”

     Maybe this is what drives Caitlyn to focus, to move her fingers downward and slip what she can into herself, awkward because of the angle but clearly enough based on the way she moans into Vi’s dick. All of a sudden she’s faster, up and down more than back and forth, and Vi holds her head in place, keeping her pretty mouth locked on the strap, fuck she loves watching Caitlyn take it, watch her squeeze her eyes shut and her lips drag against the silicone, vibrations from her moans racketing down the toy and springing up Vi’s spinal cord, her hips digging ever harder, faster—

     Caitlyn looks up at her, eyes flying open, nodding hurriedly, repetitively, whines arcing higher, and Vi murmurs, beginning to grin, “Go on.”

     Vi flips back and forth between whether she pulls Caitlyn off or not as she comes but decides on the latter, fisting her hand in her hair so she doesn’t jam the back of her mouth into the head of the strap. Caitlyn comes with a high-pitched whine, muffled and hollow, knuckles going white with her grip on the base of the cock, hips jerking against the pillow and the open expanse of her chest rising and falling. She always looks so fucking gorgeous when she comes, every single aspect of her body alighting and losing the tension Caitlyn typically carries with her, flowing outward and leaving Caitlyn aglow.

     “Holy shit, Cait, you’re fucking perfect,” Vi breathes, tucking Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear. Caitlyns sags against her, hand withdrawing from between her legs, shuffling closer. She doesn’t let Caitlyn bask in it too long, as she pulls Caitlyn off her cock and Caitlyn licks at the spit that trails from the toy, that mischievous little smirk playing at her lips as she meets Vi’s eyes.

     “Good enough for you?” Caitlyn rasps, low, voice a tad hoarse, taking Vi’s hand where it rests on her neck and wiping her mouth with the inside of Vi’s wrist, sinking canines into the delicate flesh and Gods —

     No, Vi wants to ruin her. She’s all too confident right now. “Get up,” Vi growls, surging that hand forward and capturing Caitlyn’s nape, dragging her to her feet. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

     She bends Caitlyn over the foot of the bed and shoves Caitlyn’s legs apart with her knee, pressing Caitlyn’s front into the mattress with a hand on her back as Caitlyn shouts. She’d implied that she’d push Caitlyn to three earlier but maybe she hadn’t been expecting it this quickly, hadn’t been expecting the way Vi slips her thumb straight into Caitlyn’s cunt, pressing at her walls, toying with her cunt. Caitlyn whines and scrabbles against the sheets, taking fistfuls of the white bedding, pressing her ass back into Vi’s hand, hair fanning out over her shoulders.

     “You got my cock all nice and ready for you,” Vi murmurs admirably, staring down at the strap, almost as equally lubricated and shining as Caitlyn’s wet pussy, dripping more at her words. She presses forward and sinks the strap into her without announcement, and Caitlyn borderline seizes , sinuous back arching and rutting backward. “Fuck yeah, baby, c’mere, this is yours.”

     Caitlyn’s saliva, Caitlyn’s slick, Caitlyn’s open pussy makes it so easy to thrust right into her, and she bottoms out within seconds, already stretched open from her first orgasm. Her ass meets Vi’s hips with a slap, drowned out by Caitlyn’s answering moan, sensitive and trembling.

     Vi leans over her, not moving just yet, leaving kisses down Caitlyn’s spine before moving up and brushing Caitlyn’s hair over her left shoulder so she can whisper into Caitlyn’s ear. She can see half of Caitlyn’s face, the other half buried in the sheets, eyebrows furrowed and temples dripping, teeth nipping at the blankets every now and then. That gorgeous mouth of her mumbles, keening, “Slow.”

     “No,” Vi says with ease, shaking her head. She threads her fingers through Caitlyn’s and feels Caitlyn squeeze back, a small go-ahead, because Caitlyn doesn’t really want it slow, she just wants Vi to combat her, she wants to be denied. “You’re gonna take it, Princess, you’re gonna be good and behave.”

     She braces her hands on the higher-end of Caitlyn’s waist and thrusts forward, and Caitlyn’s moan is going to live in her head forever. “ Fuck! ” she shouts, and it’s as if now that she can talk after being restricted from doing so last orgasm she can’t stop. “Vi, fuck, it’s so—fuck, fuck —”

     “It’s so what, Princess?”

     Caitlyn can’t seem to find the words to answer, shaking her head frantically. “Fuck, holy shit—”

     So desperate. So heady. Each thrust Vi forces into her is met with a keening whine, Caitlyn’s heavy breaths accompanied by wheezing heaves as Vi fucks her into the mattress. Gods she loves Caitlyn like this, speared open by her cock and pussy squelching with each devastating roll of her hips, her bewitching body hot and pulsing under Vi’s hands and sounds ever so good. She’s never gonna get enough of watching Caitlyn come apart under her, watching her let go of all her fancy responsibilities and demanding schoolwork, as if she’s never going to leave—

     “My clit, please ,” Caitlyn cries above her, shaking Vi out of her thoughts. Vi is happy to oblige, slipping a hand beneath Caitlyn’s torso and rubbing quick circles on her clit, matching each downward swipe with a piston of her hips. Something close to a sob tears itself from Caitlyn’s throat, nails tearing up a storm in the sheets, and Vi desperately wishes she could feel that scratching on her back, feel Caitlyn’s hot breath against her neck. “Keep going, fuck, right there, Gods fuck Vi —”

     She’s never going to get enough of Caitlyn saying her fucking name. “Fuck—I want everyone in this city to hear how loud you get for me so the moment you’re here you can never forget this,” Vi growls, ducking down, anchoring her teeth to the ridges of Caitlyn’s collarbones, pummeling into Caitlyn relentlessly. Caitlyn only proves her right, shaking in Vi’s hold, breathless and whimpering to all hell and grinding into Vi’s fast pace. “You’re such a slut for me, you know that? Letting me throw you around, wonder if your rich ass friends know how pathetic you are—”

     Caitlyn basically screams , pussy clenching around Vi’s cock. “ Holy fucking shit —”

     She sounds like the cacophony of a thousand angels, and the constant, rampant pressure against her hips makes Vi bite into her shoulder, trying to control herself, impaling Caitlyn on her cock over and over again. She wants , she wants to reduce Caitlyn to this shaking mess every single night, she wants to be the one that she curls up against afterward, she wants and she wants and she digs her dick into Caitlyn’s cunt to get exactly that. Caitlyn mumbles, almost incoherent, “ Yes , y-yes, good, oh God,” and Vi rubs her clit with fervor and everything seems to descend into one heady, hot, fucking amazing blur.

     The fire in Vi’s navel burns so fucking bright as Caitlyn’s strangled noises fill the room, the sensitivity from the previous orgasms and the little downtime catching up to Caitlyn all too quickly. Vi’s barely through saying “Such a good girl, you drive me fucking insane—” before Caitlyn’s reaching back, fumbling around with her hand, squeezing the life out of Vi’s wrist when she catches Vi’s free hand.

     “Close,” she pants, “close, Vi, darling, please , f-fuck, fuckmefuckme fuck —”

     “Make a mess all over my cock, sweetheart, go ahead,” Vi whispers into her ear, and Caitlyn shouts her way through her third orgasm, back diving into a deep curve and hips rutting into Vi’s dick, waves of pleasure almost visibly descending onto Caitlyn’s body as she twitches and rolls out her climax. The sight of her burns every inch of Vi’s body, singes crackling and Gods she’s probably, absolutely ruining her boxers, murmuring into Caitlyn’s ear to distract herself.

     Caitlyn’s lithe body falls flat against the mattress within a minute, as Vi’s peppering kisses horizontally across her back, knuckles still white and palms clenched against the sheets. “ Fuck ,” Caitlyn groans, debauched, destroyed, turning and burying her face into the blankets.

     “Good girl,” Vi murmurs, sucking gently at Caitlyn’s earlobe. “You did so well.” Caitlyn hums something into the sheets, wordless, a small hm that Vi finds herself so fond of. “Can you give me another, baby?”

     Deft fingers ball up the blankets with a sharp tighten, but Caitlyn nods and mumbles mhm , legs shifting and propping her ass up again. Vi feels the grin erupt on her face, because she fucking loves when Caitlyn responds to her like this, blindly offering herself over, guard stripped down and her precious control handed to Vi like a primly wrapped present. She pulls back an inch and sinks back into Caitlyn’s pussy, and Caitlyn’s barely even moaning anymore, vocal cords reserved for whimpers and whines, pulling the sheets ever closer to her like it’d draw her back to coherence.

     Vi’s learned that the more orgasms Caitlyn pushes through, the more the sensitivity racks up, the faster she comes but the weaker the orgasm is—but she knows that it feels like sweeping a little death right through her the higher the number goes. It blacks out Caitlyn’s external thinking and awareness and it takes a while for her to reel herself in. It’s that feeling that they both chase, but Vi knows. She starts slow.

     If the last orgasm had been caused by sweeping, fast penetrations of Vi’s strap, this one would be caused by the slow roll of her hips, transitioning from the early waves of an earthquake to the devastation. She careens closer to Caitlyn, pressing the lengths of their bodies together so Caitlyn knows she’s right there with her, reaching up and threading her hand through Caitlyn’s fingers. Caitlyn grasps onto her hand and holds it tight, clutching hard as Vi buries deep inside her once again, and then again, and again, and again—

     “You’re okay, Cait,” Vi tells her, breath cresting over the curve of Caitlyn’s ear. She can practically hear how tight Caitlyn’s eyebrows are knotting together, the strain she puts on her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Overstimulation sweeps over Caitlyn’s body like a lightning bolt, seizing with every tiny move, conductive every time Vi touches her. “You can take it, babe, I know you can. Breathe.”

     Caitlyn heaves breaths in and out, tiny whimpers drawing out into longer ones as her body gets used to the penetration. Vi knows it might be too early, but she wants to experiment—she brushes her fingers over Caitlyn’s clit and Caitlyn grinds her teeth, loud , head turning onto her side again so Vi can see half of her face. She looks reckless, borderline lost, and Vi almost hesitates before Caitlyn’s cerulean eyes open and meet hers with—ferocity.

     She can’t stop herself from smirking. “That’s my girl,” Vi murmurs, and gets to it.

     Working Caitlyn open again is like a fucking dream. Her cunt bites down on Vi’s dick with every stroke, resistance found with every push but dissipating as she speeds up. Vi doesn’t dare go anywhere near the speed she’d gone the round before this one, but it seems to be enough: Caitlyn gasps and twitches and trembles, eventually pressing back into Vi again, with much more weakness than before but the effort is made. Her hair’s a right damn mess and the rest of her body is too, red marks darkening on her chest and neck and purple circles beginning to form on her hips from where Vi had grabbed them, but she takes what Vi gives her like a queen and looks so fucking good doing it.

     “You’re so fucking wet, Cait, fucking hell,” Vi breathes, and Caitlyn’s apparently at a state past words, humming a string of syllables and sounds that Vi can’t translate. Caitlyn’s slick soaks the base of the strap, falling in sticky drips onto the mattress below them, spreading over the inside of Caitlyn’s thighs in a bright sheen. She’s gonna have to do something about that, but she focuses on pushing her cock inside of Caitlyn, the tight circles of her fingers—focuses on Caitlyn , shivering under Vi’s touch, grasping onto her hand for dear life, a dark spot growing on the sheets from where she keeps biting it after each miniscule sound.

     The first moan that makes it past Caitlyn’s mouth is how Vi knows she’s close, not loud but deep and long. It doesn’t take long, not at all, not without how ramped up and sensitive Caitlyn is. The only warning Vi gets besides her intentional speeding up is Caitlyn’s thrashing body, her hand threatening to cut off circulation to Vi’s fingers, before she’s coming with a hoarse cry, shouting into the sheets and bucking in Vi’s hold.

     Vi murmurs, sultry, “There you go, baby, such a good girl,” as Caitlyn collapses below her, quivering and borderline shaking . Her entire body seems to thrum with energy and yet she seems absolute exhausted, still whimpering through the aftershocks as Vi beholds her. She hums at Vi’s praise, fingers unclenching from Vi’s and the sheets, and the fact that she can do that means that—well, put simply, Vi isn’t done yet.

     She pulls out of Caitlyn in one swift motion, and is already loosening the harness by the time Caitlyn seems to realize what’s going on. Caitlyn lifts her head, bleary, squinting back at Vi as she steps out of the harness. She hums, delirious, “Hm?” with a goddamn cute expression, and Vi wipes that off her face as she flips Caitlyn over and drops to her knees.

     Caitlyn gasps, shouting as Vi grabs her hips and drags Caitlyn’s cunt closer to her, draping Caitlyn’s luxurious thighs over her shoulders. Heels press into her back with alarm, legs tensing as Caitlyn props herself up with wide eyes, and Vi runs her palms over her thighs, soothing; she rasps, “Give me one more.”

     Vi doesn’t waste anymore time after that—she dives right into Caitlyn’s pussy, licking a broad stripe up her folds as Caitlyn keens, gathering her slick on her tongue. Fuck, she tastes absolutely delicious, tangy and salty and so uniquely Caitlyn. And Vi moves in like it’s her last fucking meal.

     “No, no,” Caitlyn’s beginning to chant above her, already trembling, thrashing where Vi has her trapped by her hips. “Nonono, Vi , I can’t, I can’t please —”

     “You can,” Vi mouths against Caitlyn’s pussy, cleaning her messy arousal up, navigating through her folds. She nudges at Caitlyn’s swollen, oversensitive clit, and Caitlyn throws her head back, fisting a hand in Vi’s hair and pulling . Fuck, the sparks that racket around Vi’s mind because of that reminds Vi of her growing problem in her boxers, pooling and swirling low in her navel. “You can do it, baby, you’re going to.”

     Caitlyn shakes her head frantically, but she pushes Vi’s mouth closer and Vi takes that as acceptance. She locks her lips around Caitlyn’s clit and sucks, alternating between pointed and broad strokes, occasionally diving down to tease at Caitlyn’s entrance, slipping her tongue in as far as possible, surrounded by heat and warmth and wetness, finding approval by the way Caitlyn’s thighs lock around her ears, threatening to suffocate her. Caitlyn isn’t loud anymore by any means but Gods the way her pants seem to fill the room, breathing heavily with whimpers attached to the end as Vi works her through a fifth one.

     She loves having Caitlyn spread out like this, having her as lost in the depths of pleasure and sensitivity as she is right now. Vi tugs Caitlyn closer by the hips and puts her mouth to its rightful work, tongue beginning to burn but she really does not care. She loves that she’s the only one who can push Caitlyn this far, to the point that she’s whimpering and on the verge of tears and doing nothing but convulsing with each pointed flick of Vi’s tongue, and as Caitlyn chokes out a particularly desperate sob, Vi’s clit twinges and she has a—thought.

     Caitlyn had given her the go-ahead, had said she’d change things in the moment if needed. And as Vi removes a hand from Caitlyn’s hips to plunge below her boxers, spreading her knees a little wider, she finds that her problem is a little worse than she thought: her clit’s swollen and prone to touch as all hell, and she’s so fucking open and dripping wet.

     Breath hitching above her, Vi peels her eyes open to look up at Caitlyn, who’s seemed to notice the change in pace and is staring down at Vi, waiting. Vi hadn’t wanted her to watch, at least not at first—she puts her mouth back to work by slipping her tongue inside her and Caitlyn falls back with a heaving gasp, head hitting the mattress with a thud, and Vi presses her own fingers to her own clit.

     The first touch is absolutely electric, springing through Vi’s bloodstream at speeds she hadn’t known possible. She’s so worked up and Vi moans against Caitlyn’s cunt, the vibration seeming to have an effect on Caitlyn as she jerks. She wants to come before Caitlyn does, wants to keep this moment at least somewhat private—Caitlyn, always on the same page, gives that to her as Vi’s pace slows against her, and speeds up somewhere else, plunging two fingers inside herself as her sounds meet Caitlyn’s core.

     Her fingers feel like fucking gold, the stimulation she’s been waiting for all night—no, all fucking day—finally being given to her. Vi grinds down onto her fingers and really tries to focus on going down on Caitlyn, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Caitlyn repositions her hand in Vi’s hair and moves her head for her, giving herself a pace that she enjoys so Vi can focus. Fuck, Vi’s never been more appreciative of her, and loses herself to the sound of Caitlyn whimpering, to the rough hand in her hair, to the writhing of Caitlyn’s body and Caitlyn’s chants of her name: “Vi, Vi , baby, my fucking God please—”

     She sounds fucking angelic. Caitlyn’s keeping herself pre-occupied, understanding Vi’s needs without a single mention of it, while giving Vi the space to do what she needs to do, and Vi feels—well, fuck it all if Vi doesn’t feel downright worshipped.

     It doesn’t take Vi long—it never was going to, she’s been fucking Caitlyn goddamn Kiramman for two hours and she’d needed to get off the moment she started. The build up of everything—the image of Caitlyn taking her cock in her mouth, then deep in her pussy twice, the insatiable way Caitlyn had responded to everything Vi gave her, the strangled sounds she’s making right now—sends rampant shocks to Vi’s mind and her cunt, and she’s coming the moment she’s pressed against her g-spot maybe five times. Teeth find Caitlyn’s inner thigh instead of Caitlyn’s actual cunt, thank fuck, and she’s jerking against her hand with a deep groan, waves of pleasure crashing down onto her, Caitlyn’s nails gently scratching against her scalp, calming her down, bringing her back to earth—

     “Please,” is the first thing Vi hears when she’s returned to the present realm. The hand not in her hair is batting around Vi’s shoulders, finding her right one and grabbing so hard that Vi will find bruises in the morning. Then that hand is scampering down, making beckoning motions Vi doesn’t understand through the orgasmic glow, Caitlyn scratching against the skin and murmuring, “Please, please—”

     Vi, panting and lost, withdraws her right hand from her boxers and Caitlyn grabs her wrist as soon as it’s within reach. Then—Caitlyn’s tugging her upward, enough for Vi not to stretch as Caitlyn presses Vi’s damp, soaked with Vi’s arousal fingers to her lips, greedy, desperate, pupils blown and leaving only a sliver of blue, dark eyes lidded and mind definitely someplace else, and takes them into her mouth.

     Caitlyn’s tongue meets the tips of Vi’s fingers and what the actual fuck—Caitlyn seizes, Caitlyn’s coming, Vi’s not even touching her despite the fingers inside Caitlyn’s mouth, sounds muffled around Vi’s fingers and quivering body alighting for the fifth time. Vi stares in wonder, heartbeat decidedly not calming down, as Caitlyn spills onto the mattress and releases Vi’s wrist, licking her lips.

     What the fuck. Caitlyn just came from the mere taste of her.

     Vi shakes her head, storing that information for later, because Caitlyn’s currently shaking out of her goddamn body, fists clenched in the sheets around her and body still a live wire.

     “Hey, hey.” Vi springs into action, hopping onto the bed and scooping Caitlyn into her arms, manually uncurling Caitlyn’s fingers from the blankets. “Hey, you’re good babe, you did fucking amazing.”

     Caitlyn sniffs and rubs her eyes, mind lost, mumbling, “I’m done. That’s it.”

     “I know, I know.” She presses a kiss to Caitlyn’s hair, her hairline, her forehead, dragging them both back against the pillows. Each touch seems to send static through Caitlyn’s body, still coming down, so Vi gathers her into her hold carefully, letting Caitlyn arrange herself however she wants. “You’re so good, baby. You did perfect.”

     Caitlyn nods, humming, and digs her face into Vi’s chest.

     It takes her a few minutes to come back, to the point that Vi thinks that Caitlyn’s fallen asleep until further inspection. Her breathing evens out as Vi runs her fingers through Caitlyn’s hair, starting from scalp and ending at the end, detangling the mess that Vi put her hair through, running her other hand up and down Caitlyn’s spine. She looks down at Caitlyn—her fluttering eyelids, her marked up neck and chest, her deft fingers hooked around Vi’s collarbone—and feels something inside her twist.

     “You’re so beautiful,” Vi murmurs into her hair, planting her mouth there.

     “You’re so handsome,” Caitlyn responds in kind, despite her eyes being closed, words losing their edge. Vi chuckles and Caitlyn looks up at her slowly, that hand by her collarbone tapping Vi’s jawbone. “You came.”

     The words light a spark of unease in Vi’s bloodstream, but she doesn’t let it penetrate. “Yeah,” Vi says, lips not leaving the crown of Caitlyn’s head. “Yeah, I did.”

     Caitlyn doesn’t turn it into a big thing—Gods, Vi has never been more grateful for her. She just nods and noses back into Vi’s chest. “So did I,” Caitlyn says intelligently, nodding again, and Vi laughs, the infectiousness of it calming her nerves.

     “Do you need anything?” Vi asks her, eyes flicking to the in-room mini-fridge, trying to remember if she’d spotted any bottled waters in there. “I can get you some water, some food, I know that was a little intense—”

     “It was perfect,” Caitlyn replies, chucking Vi on the chin and shifting upward. “Some water would be splendid. Do you… do you think you could shower first?”

     Vi’s getting up as she responds, practically sprinting over to the fridge as Caitlyn laughs at her. The shower question isn’t hesitancy about showering together, no, not based on the way Caitlyn kicks her legs under the blankets as soon as Vi’s not weighing it down, it’s— “You want me to make the bathroom warm for you, don’t you?”
Caitlyn nods sheepishly, cheeks tinting pink. “I also just want a little more time to rest.”

     Vi chuckles and grabs the water out of the fridge, approaching to hand it to her, unscrewing the cap. “I can do that, babe.”

     “Thank you,” Caitlyn says, taking the bottle. She takes a quick sip before catching Vi’s wrist and drawing her in for a quick kiss. “Hurry, please. I feel sticky.”

     She’s so fucking adorable. Vi salutes and grabs her toiletries from her bag, depositing them in the bathroom and turning on the faucet. Water spews from the showerhead and steam rises from the ground, signifying a very cold bathroom and a very right Caitlyn. The door remains astray, and she debates closing it, but against her better judgement, she exits and checks on Caitlyn one last time.

     Caitlyn’s curled into herself, facing the direction of the bathroom, AirPods connected to her phone and one-hundred-percent listening to her podcast. It’s in this moment that she realizes that—she hasn’t been party to Caitlyn’s going-to-bed routine in years. Not in any of their arrangement meetings, not that night she’d stayed over because Caitlyn had fallen asleep spontaneously. Not until now.

     Well, if today isn’t a day for firsts.

     “Hey,” Vi says, leaning against the bathroom wall, arms crossed as she catches Caitlyn’s attention, fingers prying her earbud out of her ears as she meets Vi’s gaze. “Thanks. For today. For everything.”

     Caitlyn’s chin raises, just a centimeter or two, evaluating the statement. For everything. A layered phrase—Vi chose it purposely. Everything—well, everything implies thankfulness for their whole relationship, from start to finish.

     But then—Caitlyn nods in understanding and says, “Of course. I hope you know I return the same sentiments.” And, before Vi can linger too long on that— “Don’t waste all the hot water, you know I like my burning-in-hell showers.”

     Vi laughs and shakes her head, turning into the bathroom. She swears, just fleetingly, that Caitlyn smiles too.

↠↢

In the morning, Vi wakes to a hand gently carding through her hair, a chest rising and falling beneath her cheek.

     “Morning, sleepyhead,” a voice murmurs above her, and Vi turns her head up to find Caitlyn, of course, smiling down at her with that tender look in her eyes and her other hand—oh, of fucking course, reading the daily news on her iPad.

     They hadn’t fallen asleep like this—with Vi being the one cradled, snuggled up against Caitlyn’s chest and Caitlyn’s protective arms circling her. Caitlyn had been so wiped out that she passed out in Vi’s arms the moment she got back from showering, barely any nod given to the fact that they had to sleep in the same bed. If they’d had any plans about trying to stay at opposite ends of the bed—this was not it.

     “Sleep well?” Caitlyn asks her as Vi blinks the sleep from her eyes. Vision clearer, she can see that Caitlyn’s not wearing her typical sleep set—she’s wearing Vi’s clothes, Vi’s shirt and boxers, she must’ve gotten out of bed recently to change into those cause they both slept pretty much naked—

     “Yeah,” Vi finds herself saying, through the haze that comes with Caitlyn looking like a fucking goddess in Vi’s bedtime t-shirt. She lays her head back down on Caitlyn’s chest and listens to Caitlyn’s steady heartbeat underneath. “Yeah, I did.”

     Caitlyn hums, smiling. “Good.”

     This is so, entirely too casual. Vi typically never lets herself end up as the fucking little spoon after a hook-up, she doesn’t think that it’s happened to her in years, and it shouldn’t be throwing her as off course as it is but she feels—safe. Calm. Her heart beat is steady and her muscles are loose and her mind is quiet. Safety is not a word that applies to her, only in relation to her providing it for others, it never has applied and it never will—and yet.

     It takes Vi a second to realize that she’s in deep shit.

     Later, that evening, Vi’s finished unpacking her overnight bag and is beginning to get started on dinner when her phone pings with a sound so poignant as if it’s predicted that everything Vi knows and understands is about to change.

cait! 6:22pm

Hey darling

Come over tomorrow?

I think we should talk

↠↢

It took Caitlyn a while to come around.

     Come around was certainly an overstatement, or the wrong phrase altogether. Here’s the thing about Caitlyn—the longer she goes without action, the further her thoughts spiral. It’d always been apart of her personality and therefore was only half the reason she took things on so quickly, so obsessively, so her thoughts wouldn’t pile in her mind and dissolve into something worse.

     This, perhaps, was her fatal flaw, that some two and a half years ago. She’d sent Vi away that afternoon and withered.

     Because what the fuck? What had happened that Vi would not deem her worthy enough for a visit until her health was at risk? Caitlyn had never had a doubt in her mind that Vi would be there for her—it was part of Vi’s nature, to love, to nurture, to protect. If Caitlyn ever had an issue, had a bad day, Vi would be there in an instant. And it had eventually come to be something that was apart of their relationship, a trait of Vi’s that Caitlyn held so closely to her heart that it being wrenched away was as good as taking the muscle with it. It was as if she knew that it would hurt Caitlyn the most, and that’s why she did it.

     The past few weeks began to build up—the steadily increasing avoidance, the cold phone calls and brief text messages, as if she was nothing but an afterthought. This was just the cherry on top, and Caitlyn had had enough.

     And maybe some part of her had wished that, that afternoon, Vi had fought for her too.

     Slowly her sadness morphed into resentment into pure anger. Vi texted her daily—finally, like it took Caitlyn standing her ground for her to show an ounce of interest—messages like good morning and i love you a lot alright and are you okay? flooding her notifications. Caitlyn didn’t respond: she’d told Vi that she would call when she was ready, and with each message, no matter how well intended, it felt like a privacy breach. She didn’t need consolation, she didn’t need the half-assed attempts at reparation. She’d needed space to think and wallow and sob and Vi didn’t seem keen on giving her that. Didn’t seem keen on giving her much these days.

     One day, in the beginnings of November, the growing wind plucking leaves off of branches and the clouds thick and lifeless, Caitlyn got another text from Vi, reading can we just talk this out . Caitlyn had clutched her phone with such unbridled frustration (not even proper punctuation!) that she punched in come over and decided to get it over with.

     Their text message stream flicked on with another notification.

my sweet violet, 4:52pm

really?

Me, 4:53pm

Are you going to or not?

my sweet violet, 4:53pm

yeah im omw be there in 10

     Caitlyn had moved her person to the living room, not doing anything to pass the time but brood, legs crossed as she sat and stared at the growing decor on Mel’s shelves. When the doorbell rang, she moved to the door mechanically, pulling it open and there was—Vi, again, in a hoodie and a sweater vest and jeans, looking at Caitlyn like she was some sort of savior and—

     “Hey,” Vi had breathed out, and where Caitlyn would usually find her heart blooming at the sight of her, all she found was dirt.

     Caitlyn couldn’t bring herself to say anything; she stepped aside and let Vi in, and Vi had looked over her with concern before heading inside.

     She’d closed the door behind her and gathered her hands on her upper-arms, following Vi into the living room. They’d had various fights and squabbles before, but none had made her feel like this: small in her own home, watching Vi carefully as she’d hesitated by the couch as she laid her zip-up over the arm, and said, probably as filler, “Never thought I’d see you at home without your flannel pjs.”

     Caitlyn had been wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, not having enough motivation that morning to put on an actual outfit but enough to change out of her pjs. She’d shaken her head and moved to sit on the opposite armchair, keeping her arms close to herself as if as a defense technique, and said, “Say what you came here to say.”

     “Right, um.” Vi had scratched the back of her neck, plopping unceremoniously onto the couch, knee bouncing rapidly. “I just thought—I didn’t know something was wrong, I didn’t know until Mel told me, you didn’t tell me anything—”

     “That is the entire issue,” Caitlyn had groused. “I didn’t know I had to undergo a medical crisis for you to show up for me.”

     Vi’s stark eyes had landed on her, then. “I don’t come at your beck and call, Cait. I’m not your lap dog.”

     “I didn’t say that.” Caitlyn had noticed that her words came out pointed, sharp, by the way Vi leaned back as if they were tangible, but she didn’t make a move to correct it. “But I’d been asking for days. We used to see each other almost every day, and then you were gone for no reason at all and I was left in the dark. You withdrew yourself from me without ever giving me a reason why.”

     “I don’t owe you an explanation. And I wasn’t withdrawing—”

     “Bullshit.”

     “You started it!” Perhaps this is where Vi had started to get angry. “You study like hell and kick me to the curb every single time I’m here, I never get any time with you because you’re always stuck in your damn computer—”

     “That cannot be what this is about,” Caitlyn had scoffed, and pulled her hands away from her. “I inform you of every instance that I will be busy, that I will be preoccupied, and make up the time before and after, so don’t you dare say you never get any time—”

     “ You told me,” Vi had stood here, arms beginning to flail with the tension, “that you would never put me over school!”

     “Because it’s true!” Caitlyn shouted, standing in kind. “It would be preposterous to do otherwise! My academics decide my future, Vi, that’s how it is and that’s how it always will be. Putting anything but school as my number one priority would be nothing short of idiotic.”

     Vi had stepped back, as if hearing the words again is what finally made it get through her head. “That’s insane,” Vi had said, shaking her head incredulously. “You seriously choose a fucking letter over me?”

     “That letter goes on my transcript and gets me an internship and then a job,” Caitlyn scoffed. “You cannot do anything for my career short of being the one who hires me.”

     “So that’s what I’m good for, huh? Nothing?”

     Again, that wasn’t what she said . “You provided me with a love that I cherished dearly,” Caitlyn had said. Past tense. “But that doesn’t give me stability. Love doesn’t keep me afloat.”

     Vi had looked at her then—really looked at her, with a gaze so deep that it pierced Caitlyn’s entire being. She’d muttered, “Nothing’s ever gonna be enough for you, is it? You’re never gonna slow down?”

     Caitlyn hadn’t understood the question, because what the hell did it have to do with all of this? “No, I suppose not,” she’d said.

     “Well, here’s a fucking revelation for you,” Vi had sneered, moving around the coffee table to step closer, expression scrunched up in fury and hurt and— “This—all of this!—is your fault! You fucked it up! I left the minute you said that, and I didn’t want to believe it but you really are as low as I thought you were.”

     “Oh, big talk coming from the person who purposely did so to hurt me!”

     “I never did anything to hurt you—”

     “You knew that I was vulnerable.” Caitlyn had stepped up to her, poking an accusing finger into her chest, meeting those infuriated eyes— “I begged for you to be here for days. You blew me off because you thought—you knew —it would hurt me the same way I hurt you.” Her blood felt hot, her heart was drumming in her veins and all she could see was absolute red. “You couldn’t use your words for one fucking second and talk to me!? ”

     “Nope,” Vi had said. There were tears beginning to brim in her eyes, her fists clenched at her sides, looking the very picture of a fighter, ready for a fight. “We would’ve ended up right here, with you telling me I’m less than a fucking piece of paper and me realizing you’re nothing but a selfish bitch.”

     “Selfish for prioritizing my future over someone who resorts to insults for leverage.” Caitlyn couldn’t look at her. She’d nudged into Vi’s shoulder to get around her, where her phone sat on the table beside the couch, picking it up with her back to Vi. “I don’t want that person in my future. Get your fucking shit together.”

     “You get your shit together, Cait! Do you hear yourself?” She’d heard Vi approaching, and then there was a hand on her shoulder, tugging— “Look at me—”

     “Don’t.” Caitlyn whipped around and stepped back, alarm running rampant through her. “Don’t touch me.”

     “You’re telling the person who’s done nothing but support you for almost a year that you’re putting school over them,” Vi snapped. A tear cascaded over her cheek, and Caitlyn watched it fall. “Do you understand how fucking insane that sounds?”

     Caitlyn grinded her teeth. “It’s practical.”

     “It’s shitty,” Vi had snarled. “And selfish. Why are we together then, if I didn’t have any fucking influence on your future?”

     Bracketing her forehead with her hand, Caitlyn had said, “It’s been eight months, Vi—”

     “So you were going to break up with me anyway?”

     “If you are so eager to end this—” Caitlyn had fished for her phone, fury overtaking her— “then fine! That’s it! We’re done! Are you happy now?!”

     The look on Vi’s face had been imprinted on the back of Caitlyn’s eyelids for months afterward. “No, I’m not fucking happy!” Vi had shouted, expression quickly morphing into panic. “Caitlyn, what the actual fuck—”

     “You’re asking something from me that I can’t give,” Caitlyn had said, and fuck, when had her voice started to tremble, when had she become so unsure— “If you can’t move past that, we won’t work. If you can’t learn to bring me in instead of pushing me away, we won’t work. Tell me I’m wrong.”

     “So this is my fault, then?” Vi had growled instead. “Just like that, you don’t have any fault in this?”

     “I never said that! ” Caitlyn forced herself backward, drawing her hands back in, up to her head, spiraling— “Stop saying that I said things when I never did!”

     “You said we’re done .” More tears, Vi’s glistening blue eyes, the angry pout on her lips. Caitlyn couldn’t bear it. She needed to leave. “You did say that. Are we done? Is that it? You just throw this whole thing away like you never cared—”

     “Oh, don’t talk to me about caring ,” Caitlyn had growled. “If you ever cared, you would’ve been here on day one, if you cared about salvaging this you would’ve talked to me. No,” Caitlyn shook her head, slow to fast, voice getting caught in her throat as she backed up, as she realized— “no, you were looking for a way out.”

     Vi’s eyes had widened. “I wasn’t—”

     “You know what? You’re right.” Caitlyn had only been prolonging fate, anyway. “We’re done.”

     “No, no, wait.” Caitlyn remembered Vi finally chasing after her, taking quick steps forward and reaching her hands out as Caitlyn clicked onto her phone, all too late. “We can—please, there are other ways—”

     “I’m done waiting,” Caitlyn had murmured, navigating the app with shaking hands. “I’m done waiting for you to care, done waiting for you to talk to me, done waiting for you to show an ounce of interest—”

     “I’m showing interest now! Baby, please—”

     Caitlyn shook her head, heart firing, brain swirling, emotions tangling behind her eyes. “Way too late.”

     Vi had pleaded with her, hands trying to grab Caitlyn’s wrists but never landing, trying to respect and stop at the same time— “Don’t do this, you don’t need to do this—”

     Caitlyn’s thumb pressed onto the three vertical dots on Vi’s contact, hovered downward, and pressed Block & Delete. Vi had breathed in, and looked up at Caitlyn with nothing but absolute—hate.

     “See? Done.” Caitlyn had turned to face the window, unwilling to cry before her, unwilling to give her this last second of vulnerability. “Get out.”

     She’d heard Vi hesitate—she’d heard a single choked sob, before stomps echoing throughout her apartment, fabric whipping against the sofa as Vi had grabbed her jacket and fled. She’d heard her stop at the door.

     There was a labored cry. And then, Vi’s hoarse voice, crying, “I would’ve married you!” before the door slammed shut.

     Caitlyn considered this for a long time—until she realized it was true, and broke down.

Chapter Text

Vi’s always been the type to punch first, talk later.

     If the psychological debate she’d heard earfuls about in her required psychology courses was still going on, she’d be the sole example that’d prove nurture the victor over nature. Her mother: fearless, determined, and yet kind, strong where she had to be and delicate where she could, threading her fingers through the holes in their kitchen scissors as a younger Violet prodded at haircuts in men’s magazines, tearing them out with vigor. Powder: nothing but tricks and cunning smirks and yet volunteers at a daycare whenever she has the time, bringing her latest projects along for the kids to play with, drawings on her wall not only her own but from the kids that made them for her, most of them signed by a single author: Isha.

     Vi, on the other hand, had never been gentle . Even Vander had his moments, but Vi had been born with hands too full; add a single feather and they would collapse. She’d never had the luxury of delicacy, of being the bearer instead of the giver of great care. If she and Caitlyn had any similarities, it’s that they both felt like they didn’t have enough time, enough leeway, albeit Caitlyn took that fact and built her life around the chasing feeling while Vi placed bricks along Time’s path and hoped it would trip, granting her the gift of indulgence and slack.

     Call her a bit of an extremist, but when you’re raised on the knowledge that each member of the family, no matter how young, had a part to play, that from the moment Powder’s first cry shocked her eardrums her sister became her number one priority, that blood is thicker than water, it’s difficult not to grow into the person she is. Protection was as familiar as a word to her that she could speak it in a million different languages, could trace the curves of the word in her mind’s eye with practiced ease. If there was a potential threat, better to swing and be right than hesitate and be wrong; better to hurt and ensure safety and negotiate afterward. She hadn’t learned that from Vander. In fact, he thought the opposite. She learned it from the simple act of life.

     So maybe that’s why she always pulls out the big guns first. Goes on the offensive rather than the defensive—in the ring, where her guard needs working, in rehearsals, starting with the bold, confident movements of Romeo Montague until someone tells her to dial it down, in Caitlyn’s living room, two and a half years ago. Right now, packing up her shit in her sports administration class when she hears— “Violet, stay behind a minute?” from the front of the classroom.

     Vi shoves her computer into the sleeve and shoulders her backpack, lumbering down the aisle, already making excuses for whatever the issue might be. Late homework? No, she’s been pretty on time ever since they introduced that program that doesn’t let you submit late. Absences? No, she’s been to every class, especially this one considering the professor is one of Vander’s old friends. It might be—

     “Look, if this is about the proposed budget plan slide,” Vi says as she reaches the front desk, firing up, “I know you told us not to bring football below a million but we’re really lacking in diversifying our sports championships—”

     “While this is about that same presentation, that isn’t what I called you here for,” says Babette, her petite frame leaning back against her desk. Vi knows she has a surname, somewhere, but she always titles her lecture slides with that singular name and that’s that. “You allocated more funding to athletic training than your peers. Why?”

     Vi falters. She’s never really been questioned for her assignment choices, definitely not over a singular detail that was not the highlight of her presentation.

     “Um,” she says, intelligently, “well, look at the numbers. Basketball did shit this season because of injuries, ninety-nine percent worse because they didn’t have the supplies in the locker room. And track and field’s getting all sorts of shin splints because of the track being so worn down and we don’t have—”

     Babette smiles fondly at her. “I didn’t teach you that.”

     Vi shrugs. “I keep up.” If keeping up means being the rec boxing captain so hearing all the drama and periodically reading The Academy Daily in search of Caitlyn’s articles, then yeah, she does.

     “And you’re doing quite well in sports management with one of my colleagues, aren’t you?”

     Where the hell is this going? “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

     “You were the only student to score an A+ on my midterm,” says Babette, reaching back and handing Vi her test sheet. She’d already known the grade, but this had been free response and she hadn’t gotten the physical paper back yet to look it over; she flips through the pages and finds minimal red mark-ups, only plus-signs and checkmarks besides her answers. “And I was quite impressed with your presentation. Not many people take the bold approach and openly defy my instructions.”

     Offensive, never defensive. “You don’t and shi—uh, stuff never gets done.”

     “Well,” says Babette, reaching behind her again and handing Vi—a business card. “There’s an administrative athletic trainer position opening up here, this summer.”

     Now if that doesn’t light a spark of excitement in Vi’s mind, thumbing over the glossiness of the printed letters—head of the athletic department, with a personal phone number.

     “Administrative?” Vi asks, looking up.

     “I’d say it’s about half on the field, half off,” Babette explains. “It’s the position directly between admin and the athletic trainers. You’ll attend most of the games, observe what else is needed for the team to succeed, be an extra eye and hand when injuries occur. But the first mind put to the task of allocating budgets—” Babette points a delicate finger at her chest— “would be you.”

     “So you wouldn’t kill me if I cut off football?” Vi asks with a smirk.

     “You’re not the final say,” Babette warns her, and Vi chuckles. “But you are the person that gets those ideas spinning. Your presentation focused on bettering the overall sports culture at PAI, not just historically the most successful. That’s a change that I think needs driving, within the department.”

     “Sports presence drives recruitment,” Vi adds, almost word for word from one of her sports management lectures, and what the fuck, she’s just about as much of a nerd as Ekko and Powder. “More and better teams makes that. And boxing shouldn’t just be recreational, y’know—”

     “Good thing there’s money set aside for the introduction of new teams.” Babette says this as if this was exactly the path she’d known she’d lead Vi down, tempting her into the world of PAI’s shitty athletic department. Nodding once toward the business card, Babette says, “The job is yours, with your grades and analysis of PAI’s current climate. Full benefits, time off, good salary, some travel opportunities, we could set you up with faculty housing, if you want it. The listing hasn’t gone up yet, and we prefer to hire alumni.”

     Vi stares down at the card in her hands. Well. She’s never really been in the business of having things handed to her—that’s more Caitlyn’s domain, if she could say that kindly. But maybe she isn’t having it handed to her: she’s been doing well this semester, better than she usually does considering she’s taking classes she actually cares about, and she does pay attention to PAI’s athletics. And maybe she should’ve seen this coming, getting a job with PAI’s athletic or sports science department after graduating with said degree. It’s not like she’d been looking anywhere else, just eyes scanning over bulletin boards on her way out of class and glancing over mass emails.

     Besides, she’d jump at the opportunity to start a boxing team, work her way up to assistant coach, maybe head coach, take everything Vander taught her and follow in his footsteps—and to get to stay near PAI, near the family, near Powder? She should just say yes right now. This is, quite literally, the perfect opportunity, and one she’s not going to get again.

     This is a no-brainer. This should be a no-brainer. And yet, Vi pockets the business card and says, “I’ll think about it. Can you send me the details?”

     Babette nods, turning to grab her feathery bag behind the podium. “Of course. But do let us know before finals week, yes? So we can get it up before the summer application season begins.”

     Right before Caitlyn leaves. Alright.

     Vi says her goodbyes and trudges out into the setting spring sun, taking a look at the auditorium not too far away on her way out. Caitlyn had texted her yesterday about talking, meaning to talk today, but their free time didn’t align and Vi had a closing shift at the gym, so they settled for after rehearsal the following evening. So that means Vi gets a full day to ruminate over what the fuck to say to her, and now, a few hours to think about why the fuck she hadn’t said yes on the spot.

     She gets an hour into her desk shift, scheduling people’s appointments and establishing memberships and the other boring shit before she dwindles into the vacuum that is job hunting, scrolling through the endless listings and bright blue apply buttons. Inserting Piltover into the location field gives her many but less exciting jobs than the one she had just been offered: the regular athletic trainer job, one with a higher salary for the teams and one with less for the gym she’s currently sitting in, nutritional advising, research opportunities, chiropractor apprenticeships. Inserting Zaun provides her even less, more coaches for high and middle school sports teams, little league coordinators and moderators.

     Even more reason Vi should take the business card out of her back pocket and text the personal phone number right that second. But her thumb hesitates over the location field, before hitting it and typing in New York, New York . The loading icon twists and turns before spilling out cohesive squares of job listings, and with New York’s job climate, spews out similar listings to Zaun. Huffing, Vi removes some of the filters she’d applied that fit her qualifications, and some more pop up. One of them being the—assistant coach and trainer for New York University’s up and coming boxing team.

     She’d seen it in the headlines before—established during her junior year, it’s a fairly recent program, only just now breaking into the National Collegiate Boxing Association with a formal team. Of course they’re looking for an assistant coach, and being one would practically be like building the program from the ground up.

     Vi clicks on it, eager, because while a job half on the field and half off is fine, she’d never really liked working at a desk, hence the reason she’s fooling around on the gym’s desktop right now. She fits some of the qualifications—sports science and sports administration major/minor, college degree, athletic experience, but of course, she’d removed some filters, and she stumbles upon her fatal flaw: two to three years experience in a professional athletic setting, which she doesn’t have.

     N-Y-fucking-U—she wouldn’t look good in purple anyway, right? And maybe she should stop being picky, she needs the money, the security, it isn’t like she’s working the gym job right now for shits and giggles. She can—be a soccer coach or some shit, by why would she if she had the administrative job—groaning, she bookmarks the listing and—

     “Why are you looking at jobs in New York?”

     “What the fuck—” Vi whips her head up and almost slams into Powder’s forehead, hanging over the awning of the desk, her sister’s quick reflexes dodging without much alarm. “Jesus, Pow, I thought you were my boss.”

     “Maybe you should be less into your love affair with LinkedIn, then,” Powder says with a casual shrug, arms folded on the desk’s awning. Her hair’s getting longer, piling in tufts around the end of her shoulders, an electric purple, frayed cardigan disturbing the flow. She’s snacking on a chocolate chip cookie, leaving crumbs that Vi will have to scoop up later.  “What gives? You liked the big apple that much?”

     Vi scrubs a hand over her face. “It was fine, yeah.”

     Powder’s brows crease. “I thought you said you were staying here?”

     “It’s nothing,” Vi replies, closing the tab. It’s getting to the time that dinner is concluding and the gym becomes busy for late night work outs, the scanner rhythmically beeping off to her left as clients scan their membership cards and make their way into the gym. “I was just curious. Y’know, since New York is that busy and all.”

     More crumbs fall onto Vi’s desk as Powder takes another bite and nods, slightly unconvinced. Vi doesn’t know if Powder knows that Vi knows she knows—a major tongue twister, but true—about her and Caitlyn, but she assumes she does. She and Caitlyn had been all over each other over the trip, after Caitlyn debriefed the conversation, and ignorance is not exactly a trait Powder has. But she hasn’t brought it up, so—

     Vi asks, “What are you doing here?”

     Powder motions with a throw of her head toward the depths of the gym. “Ekko’s here. You were too busy making out with the computer to notice him scanning in.” She seems to remember the purpose of this mission, and suddenly her expression steels into something more sinister. “What the fuck are you doing making out with Caitlyn Kiramman? Why didn’t you tell me?”

     Vi knew it was too good to be true. “Because I knew you’d react like this,” she huffs, aside.

     “Or maybe because you know you’re doing something wrong and don’t want to admit it,” quips Powder, eyes narrowed, finishing her cookie with a decisive snap. “Neither of you know what you’re doing, she told me so herself—”

     Vi leans back in her rolling chair, exasperated. “We’re talking tomorrow—”

     Powder scoffs, “About what—”

     “The break-up.”

     This is what makes Powder still, her arm slowing where she makes to rest it against the desk. Her pale blue eyes, like Caitlyn’s but a dial drawn down on the value scale, cut to meet Vi’s like a knife.

     “Really?” says Powder. “I didn’t think you would—”

     Vi nods, resolute. “Yup.”

     A beat.

     “That isn’t going to go well,” Powder warns, like she’s not a nineteen year old college student and instead a grandma with an infinite amount of wisdom.

     “I know,” sighs Vi, running a stressed hand through her hair. “She asked yesterday—”

     “Looks like I finally knocked some sense into her—”

     “—and I knew it was coming and I’ve been trying to figure out what to say but fuck .” Vi’s not even sure she remembered the whole thing clearly, even if she’s played it a billion times over in her head. There had been so many words, so many thrown insults and miscalculated actions. “There’s a part of me that knows she’s changed and a whole other part that knows she could flip.”

     Because the break up hadn’t exactly—been the end of it. It wasn’t like they ever went back to each other—they were too upset with each other to even entertain the idea, in the following months—but they had been so entangled in each other’s lives that it had been impossible for the break-up to be the last time they talked.

     It’d been about a week later. The emotions and anger hadn’t quite gone down but the initial shock of it had, and it was settling in that their lives were splitting apart. Vi had been sleeping at home, where Powder and Mylo and Claggor weren’t in college yet and hadn’t yet taken over her bedroom, unable to go back to her apartment and find Caitlyn’s things strewn all over the place like they lived together. When she could, she’d fastened her headphones on and blasted her loudest music, tossing Caitlyn’s belongings into a box as carelessly as she could.

     They hadn’t exchanged a word since, but Vi was already completely wiped on Caitlyn’s socials, highlight and matching bios gone and comments on Caitlyn’s posts deleted. But, while Vi had been blocked from her phone number, Caitlyn hadn’t yet blocked her on Instagram. And she didn’t have to scroll up on their current message feed to remember the messages that lie there, dead and rotting.

@onegirlwreckingcrew, 1:19pm

come get your shit

@riflesandjournals, 1:48pm

I’m in class

     Of course she’d been in fucking class.

@riflesandjournals, 1:48pm

There’s a box with your stuff in the living room of my apartment

Key’s under the doormat, go get it yourself

@onegirlwreckingcrew, 1:50pm

im not doing all of that

@riflesandjournals, 1:51pm

I’m removing you after this

Be out by 2:30

     Vi remembered she’d been furious that Caitlyn had switched the responsibility of trading belongings onto her, but she’d been free and Caitlyn had not been, and she didn’t want to look at Caitlyn’s hoodies, Caitlyn’s shirts, bras, panties and notebooks any longer. So she’d thrown Caitlyn’s stuff onto her motorcycle and driven over there, angry, music blasting, had stomped into Caitlyn’s fancy lobby and thrusted the hidden key into the door.

     Nothing had changed since Vi had been there, a week prior. Couch and armchair in the same place, TV sitting innocently on its stand, floor to ceiling windows untouched and pristine. For some reason, this had made rage bubble up in her chest like lava, as if there should be some physical recollection of what had happened there, when Caitlyn had abandoned everything they’d built for something as stupid as a Latin symbol, a single letter. Blood strewn across the couch, her heart pinned up on the windows for all to see.

     True to her word, there was a box of Vi’s things—similar items, a spare toothbrush Caitlyn had broken out for her, some snacks that only Vi liked—sitting by the couch, a thin layer of dust dotting the top like it’d been sitting there for a while. Like Caitlyn had gathered her things immediately, and left it to wither until Vi made the first move.

     So fucking typical of her, never doing the dirty work. Vi had had half a mind to search the rest of the empty apartment, in case Caitlyn had kept anything of hers, even if some part of her knew that Caitlyn would never and had no reason to do so. She did it anyway, walking slowly around the space she knew entirely too well with caution, looking over and under the couch and scanning the bathroom counter and entering the kitchen, never opening anything closed, just looking. Mel typically kept it crystal clean, but there were a few things astray—fruits out of the fruit bowl, a napkin or two, and…a series of orange pill bottles.

     Vi approached them, picking them up whilst memorizing their original placement. She’d recognized some of the names from her medicine classes, meant to know what to give to athletes when hurt. Atenolol, once a day, before bed, for the hypertension, and diuretics (of course , the renal complication risks). An increased dose of ibuprofen, for the headaches. Zofran, in a white bottle, taken as needed, for the nausea. Alprazolam, as needed, for the anxiety. All prescribed to Caitlyn Kiramman, sex female, age twenty, on the same November date.

     Something in her had—tugged, water splashing on the broiling magma, hardening. She’d had a long time to mull over the fact that Caitlyn had had a medical emergency, one that obviously sparked much more fear than it would in a typical person, considering her mother, but seeing the consequences, feeling the cold, hard plastic in her hands was—different.

     Caitlyn had not been diagnosed because of her. At least, she thought so. Vi still didn’t really know the whole story, just that Caitlyn had been distressed for a weekend and had fainted trying to make food at the end of it. But Vi had been absent, completely absent, that weekend—but Caitlyn—Caitlyn’s a grown adult, she should know what her needs are and how to manage them—but—

     “What are you still doing here?”

     Vi had nearly jumped out of her skin, whirling around to find—Caitlyn, staring at her wide-eyed, dressed in sweats and a hoodie and her fuzzy bunny slides. Dark circles surrounded those usually striking eyes, but something in them had dimmed, her gaze piercing but the color in them diminished. She’d looked similar to how she was during the fight, hair limp and lifeless, a shell of the woman Vi had fallen in love with. But then those eyes were narrowing, landing on the bottle in Vi’s hands, and Caitlyn had said “Don’t touch—” before she was stomping over and snatching it out of Vi’s grip.

     Vi had let her—had checked her phone quickly, glancing at the time—had it really gotten away from her that fast? “It’s two-fucking-thirty-one,” Vi had said.

     Caitlyn had glared at her, but it was…halfhearted, almost. Like she wasn’t in the mood to fight, like she was readying a white flag, like her spirit had dwindled into something lethargic. She’d snapped, “And I told you to be out by two-thirty.”

     “You gave me less than forty minutes to get over here, Cait!”

     Caitlyn replied, setting the pill bottle back down in its proper place, looking away from her, “And that’s plenty of time to get my stuff, open the door, drop it here, grab yours, and leave.”

     Something in Vi had lit up, then, at the fact that Caitlyn couldn’t even dare look at her, face her, after what she did. “Well, excuse me for not staying on your fucking time table,” she’d growled, and tilted her head, trying to get Caitlyn to look at her . “Do you ever consider that some people have a life outside of school?”

     “Apologies,” Caitlyn had sneered, but again, it was low, venemous but not enough to kill, “I forgot you’re too busy to leave time for anyone else.”

     “Funny coming from you, leaving me on read for a whole fucking week—”

     “I told you to give me space—”

     “You always do like to pick and choose when I do that, huh?”

     Caitlyn had turned to the counter, leaning her elbows against it and burying her face in her hands. She’d said, muffled, “Just get your things and go.”

     Vi had always loved challenges, and never liked being dismissed. “You wanted me to be here,” she’d said, unsure of where she was going with this but she would not be thrown to the side again, “I’m here, and you can’t even look at me—”

     “Vi—”

     “When are you ever going to face the shit that you cause, the fact that this is your fault—”

     And if Vi wasn’t sure if she remembered how things went clearly, she knew she remembered this, this single moment, the way Caitlyn had launched upwards as if surged by rage, arms in motion, any drop of lifelessness now gone.

     “What did you not understand when I said it the first time?!” Caitlyn had roared, anger almost visibly coursing through the length of her body. “We’re done, Vi! There is nothing else to talk about! Now just—get—out!”

     Her apartment was so minimalistic that the little amount of objects made for her voice to ring out through the open expanse, echoing in the corners, in Vi’s mind. And it was this that shocked Vi the most, the way she’d been speaking with something cousin to courtesy and control but lost it so quickly, as if the civility had never been there to begin with. The pure fury in Caitlyn’s tone, the draw of her brows, the downward tilt of her mouth had etched into Vi’s brain like the sharpest pencil and the weakest paper and never, ever left—she’d grabbed her box of stuff in a fit of wrath and slammed the door behind her.

     “She’s not going to.”

     Powder’s voice snaps Vi out of the memory, chipped nails toying with the ends of her hair.

     “Flip, I mean,” she clarifies, eyes tearing from Vi’s like she’s… hesitant, almost bashful, “even without my threat she’s… she’s more genuine. She was being honest.”

     This is unlike the approach that Powder had started with, that whatever she and Caitlyn are doing isn’t right. Maybe she had been going in not expecting her and Caitlyn to be going a step further, trying to mend things; maybe she had thought that this was just another situation that Vi would fall into too quickly and find herself drowning.

     “I don’t think we’re doing anything wrong,” Vi says, quietly, tentatively. “It’s different. Now. She’s—” (the two of them dashing through the Museum of Broadway, piling into a photobooth (and pinning the strip up beside her bed as soon as she got home), holding hands throughout the play, falling asleep tangled in each other’s tight embrace)— “she’s cool.”

     Powder regards her with a look. “Is cool seriously the best you’ve got? You’ve been fucking for months.”

     “ Don’t say that ,” Vi hisses, batting a petulant hand while scanning the area around them as if that isn’t the truth while Powder rolls her eyes. The word fucking coming out of her little sister’s mouth is as dire as watching an eleven year old get the birds and the bees talk. “The minute I use more than two adjectives you’re gonna scream and set off the fire alarm or something.”

     “Yeah, right, like I’m the one who faints every time her sister looks at her boyfriend.” 

     “Ekko does when he looks at you.”

     Her attempt at catching Powder off guard works like a charm; she flushes and looks away, gaze drifting to inside the gym, craning her neck to see if she can catch a glimpse of the man in question before giving up.

     “You two tend to make shit go sideways,” Powder tells her, drawing herself up. “Just be careful.”

     Vi rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “You sound like Mom.”

     “If I were Mom, you would’ve had this conversation with Cupcake the second you guys got casted.” Powder does her the amazing courtesy of brushing her cookie crumbs off the desk, before scanning into the gym with her own ID. She’s not dressed for exercise, but she’ll probably go ogle Ekko or be her mechanical-engineer-self and try to work out how various machines work. “Be smart, sis. I trust you.”

     This is almost as good as Powder giving Vi her blessing to run off into the sunset holding Caitlyn’s hand, skipping merrily along. Almost.

     “You know me,” Vi says, pushing off the ground and rolling herself to the cabinet that harbors sanitizing wipes, for the desk. “Always safe.”

     “Add liar to your LinkedIn profile,” teases Powder, and waltzes off into the depths of the gym.

     The way Vi sees it, she’s at least going into this break-up discussion with one upside, that her sister won’t kill her if she and Caitlyn emerge with something… she doesn’t even know how to put it—manageable? Victorious?

     She doesn’t even know what she’ll do if they do, walking out of the gym that night with her hands smelling like Clorox wipes beneath her motorcycle gloves. Vi’s mature enough to admit that she was looking at job listings in New York to see if there would be any possibility of following Caitlyn there, if…y’know, she’s not even gonna convince herself of the idea, it was stupid to look. She and Caitlyn are talking about the break-up because they want to reduce the tension, to clear the elephant in the room, to improve their on-stage chemistry, to better their current relationship, not forge a new one .

     There are a million different ways that it could go. Vi doesn’t know which one is most plausible, but she knows that it doesn’t have to be a big thing. Especially since, well, maybe she should start trying to tamper her rapidly growing feelings down since they won’t have any place to go in a month and a half. They can settle their grievances and be done with it, continue their arrangement until they graduate, until Caitlyn up and leaves to New York, and Vi will take the administrative job here and they’ll go their separate ways.

     They’ve went their separate ways before—that’s literally what they’re going to talk about. So why does Vi repeat the sentence she will most likely never see Caitlyn again in her head over and over until it gains a sort of sentience, an energy, a permanence, digging a gaping hole into her ribcage and shoveling her nerves out, one by one?

     Moonlight pours through the window, the very same window that Caitlyn had taken a picture through that one time, that first hangout, gathering in the valleys her blankets form as she throws them around, restless.

     Maybe it’s because she’s used to getting left behind. Caitlyn doesn’t know the full story of her childhood and maybe she never will, and Vi’s not sure she knows the whole thing herself. The brain’s funny like that—fabricates the memories we think we know by heart each time we recall them to the surface, or starts to remove sections piece by piece as we shove them down. There was, well, her birth, Powder’s birth, their small but humble two-bedroom house in the depths of Zaun, her mother’s laughter and vinyl collection filling the halls, her father’s bed time stories lingering in the corners, eagerly awaiting darkness.

     But Caitlyn’s not really leaving her behind. She’s not leaving Vi intentionally, it’s just the fact of having plans to move away even before she got casted as Juliet. Vi had been left behind, intentionally: by her father, leaving her and Powder on the front lawn to dash back into flames to look for their mother, by the overworked firefighters who took way too long to come all the way from Piltover, by the foster parents upon foster parents who really were only doing it for the money and left her and her sister to fight for themselves, until Vander finally got ahold of them through the long process that is the legal adoptive system.

     So if the gnawing feeling in her chest isn’t because of habit, because of emotions she knows all too well, then it’s because. Well. Because Vi’s gonna really fucking miss her.

     But that doesn’t need to be a big thing right now, as she walks into rehearsal the following day, rubbing her eyes of the terrible sleep she’d gotten. They’ve got a month and a half, and talking this break-up out with Caitlyn doesn’t need to be a big thing either. It doesn’t mean anything other than dealing with the ever unspoken.

     She says as much as she swings around the backstage corridor and into the doorframe of Caitlyn’s dressing room, where Caitlyn’s just gotten in, sliding jacket off and draping it around her desk chair, revealing yet another one of her flowy blouses tucked into dark, flared jeans. Her hair’s down today, a midnight sheet falling across her shoulders, glistening under the vanity lights and those cerulean eyes finding Vi’s with mild surprise but the softest, smallest smile.

     Breathing out, Caitlyn says on an exhale, “Hi.”

     “Hey,” Vi says, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe, because if she doesn’t get this out now then rehearsal’s going to be a bitch to get through, “look, this—this doesn’t need to be a huge thing, okay?”

     Nodding, Caitlyn seems to distract herself by turning to remove her script from her bag. “Right,” she says, “you’re right. Yes. Um—did you want to go to your apartment or mine after rehearsal?”

     “Mine—for privacy, maybe?”

     “Yes, I don’t know Mel’s plans for today,” Caitlyn murmurs, latching her satchel shut. She turns to Vi with a uncertainty, which is not the move because this is not supposed to be a big thing . “Is there parking over in that area?”

     “I mean, sometimes. You need a permit to park in the lot I park in.” Vi shrugs. “Just ride with me, I’ll drive you back.”

     This is probably not the best idea, considering this conversation is more than likely to end up with slamming doors, but it’s better than proposing nothing. The last time Vi had offered that, Caitlyn had taken a while to say yes, and only did so tentatively. This time, she nods and says, without any hesitation, “Alright. Thank you.”

     So much nodding ; Vi realizes this and halts the motion of her head. “Whatever you need, Cait.”

     Something in Caitlyn’s shoulders soften at that, and Vi is glad for it. She hasn’t seen Caitlyn since they’d gotten off the bus in the parking lot late Sunday afternoon, waving a small goodbye as she and Mel trotted off to Caitlyn’s parked car, and that shouldn’t feel like such a long time since it was literally one day ago but it does . It’s like some part of her can’t bear the idea of being separated from her despite spending two years having done so, and it’s getting problematic and she definitely needs to shut it down.

     Maybe Caitlyn feels the same, considering she tucks her script under her arm and approaches Vi, somewhat cautious. “I had a lot of fun on Saturday,” she says, lightening up a little.

     The sincerity in her tone catches on something in Vi’s mind, like fabric getting caught on a passing twig. Their eyes lock, and Vi finds Caitlyn looking at her with the most hesitant expression known to man, testing the waters, trying to smooth the wrinkles in them out.

     Vi says, and is truthful, “Me too.”

     Caitlyn’s lips part, slightly, and she takes another step forward, as if meaning to do something with them.

     “Three p.m., folks!” calls Mylo through the hallway, making it to Vi and clapping her on the shoulder before darting off again. “Twelve rehearsals to opening night! Let’s get it going, lovebirds!”

     The lovebirds in question eyes’ meet, shaking themselves out of the moment with a shrug. Vi backs up and Caitlyn pulls her dressing room door closed, clearing her throat.

     “Everybody really does know, huh?” Vi mutters as they walk up the hallway.

     “Apparently so,” Caitlyn says, resolute. “If Salo knows, I wouldn’t be surprised if he attempts to use it as an advertising method.”

     Vi snorts, Caitlyn smiles with amusement at her own joke, and Vi’s idiotic heart soars up, up, and up.

↠↢

Rehearsal goes well. Heimerdinger applauds them on a smooth field trip while Salo nods along in the background, apparently reluctant to give them any kind of praise. With twelve rehearsals left (eleven now), they’re somehow on schedule and are working on the last bits of act five before running through the whole thing for review again, adding dress rehearsals somewhere in there.

     They went over Vi’s scene with the extras playing the apothecary and Balthazar, where Romeo hears of Juliet’s death and makes the trip back to Verona just to kill himself there, which was fun for the shift in emotions but not particularly interesting to Vi because she wasn’t acting with Caitlyn. But that’s fine, considering that Caitlyn finishes packing up first and appears in Vi’s doorway with that soft smile of hers. She asks, “Go slower this time?”

     “Do you know me at all?” Vi asks her, strapping on her motorcycle gloves and jingling her keys as she stands. Caitlyn regards her with a scathing look, and Vi chuckles. “Anything for you, Princess.”

     Considering it’s not raining this time and everyone’s driving at reasonable speeds, this request is easily done. Caitlyn’s quiet on the way there, uncharacteristic, just keeps her arms wrapped tight around Vi’s waist, helmets knocking into each other as she leans her chin on Vi’s shoulder. There’s a sort of static between them, as Vi pulls into a parking spot and they unload, shaking heads of the helmet hair and slinging straps around shoulders, like a charge that renders all of their functioning neurons defective and keeps their conversation at bay. Vi holds the building door open for Caitlyn and hears Caitlyn stumble on the word thanks and fuck she can’t take it.

     “This is horrible,” Vi says as soon as the elevator door screeches to a close.

     “Agreed,” Caitlyn replies immediately, and seems to—steel herself, beside Vi, drawing her shoulders up and her person to full height. “Air your grievances.”

     Alright, starting this in the elevator. “Fancy way of saying tell me why you’re mad .”

     Caitlyn huffs. “I’m trying to begin this conversation in a civil, organized manner.”

     Despite that that’s exactly the opposite of the way Vi thought this would go, despite that this is the exact correct approach, Vi is so out of her depth and deeply uncomfortable and she says, “So you think we can’t have this conversation that way?”

     The elevator door opens. “That’s not—” Caitlyn breaks off with a frustrated exhale, and begins again as they exit with— “Fine. You need to stop making apples out of oranges with everything I say when you’re upset.”

     “But you’re always implying shit with your big fucking words and veiled excuses,” Vi mutters as she opens the door to her apartment, and holds it for Caitlyn nonetheless. “It was always you can’t this, you can’t do that, and then when I tell you you’re making it sound like it’s my fault you go off and say you didn’t do that—”

     “ You said I was comparing you to a lapdog. You just said that I believed we can’t have a civil conversation because I said I was trying to start one.” Caitlyn toes her shoes off by the door and hits the light like she lives there, striding into the apartment without a care in the world. “One successful attempt does not account for all the others.”

     She can admit that that one from a minute ago was a little far-fetched. “Okay, then if that’s my issue, you need to stop lashing out on me,” Vi retorts, flipping the locks and chasing right after her. “Whenever we argue it’s back and forth until you blow up and shut the whole thing down.”

     Caitlyn sighs. “You are naturally antagonistic,” she murmurs, settling her satchel on Vi’s sectional, and is that what it is? “If I lash out it’s because you build a series of reactions to get a rise out of me. You do it with everyone. You do it to get on the offensive.”

     “I do that because people fucking suck and if I don’t—” Vi’s forgotten to take her water bottle out of the side pocket of her backpack upon coming home this time, and it clanks against the floor as her bag makes contact with the ground. “ You hurt me, Cait. You don’t understand how much it fucking sucks to hear that you’re not your girlfriend’s number one priority.”

     “You hurt me too.” Caitlyn steps up to her, defiant. “The difference is I didn’t mean to hurt you. You left me alone when I continuously asked for you because you knew it would hurt me.”

     “No,” says Vi, “I did that because I needed the space.”

     A scoff makes its way out of Caitlyn’s mouth. “And what did it get you?” she asks, crossing her arms. “You can’t possibly tell me that you read me saying please , repeatedly, and didn’t have an ounce of resentment towards me or an ounce of will to get revenge.”

     Maybe she did. Vi hates thinking about that period of time, purposefully avoiding Caitlyn for weeks, burying herself in work, in school, trying to make plans with anyone she knew just so when she saw Caitlyn’s name pop up on her phone she had a legitimate reason to say sorry, no . So she wouldn’t feel guilty. But the guilt had gnawed at her anyway, endlessly, eating away at her nerves and before she even realized it, she just wanted her fucking girlfriend back.

     In a way, she’d been protecting herself, trying to escape another comment that would land in the wrong part of her heart. In another, she’d protected herself by throwing another punch. Her pride over everything. Hurt first before you get hit back—fuck if it didn’t rule every one of her thoughts and dominated her thinking. Her guard had always needed a little working.

     She’d been quiet for too long. Caitlyn, studying her, eyes flicking over the rigid form of Vi’s body, says, “You know I’m right.”

     “You can’t say yours wasn’t intentional, either,” Vi says instead of any of this. “Do you even remember when you said it?”

     Caitlyn blinks once. Twice. “It’s crossed my mind,” she mutters, which means never.

     “You were taking forever to finish a paper,” Vi tells her, and watches the recognition flash across Caitlyn’s face. “I was asking you to come to bed because I wanted to be with you . Then you go off and tell me that you’ll never put me above schoolwork.”

     “That paper was worth forty percent of my grade, Vi—”

     “I don’t care about the fucking paper, Cait,” Vi says on an exhale. Caitlyn’s hands tighten on her upper arms, not flailing like they usually do when they argue, but she doesn’t say anything. “Work on your shit until dawn for all I care. You could’ve put it in nicer terms, maybe not put something so fucking insignificant over the person that’d been there for you throughout all of it—”

     “ Insignificant? ” Caitlyn snaps. “You know how important those graduate seminars were to me. If this were the other way around, I would’ve never tried to dissuade you from completing your work for anything—”

     “There wouldn’t have been the other way around because I know there’s limits when it comes to this shit—”

     “And I know when it comes down to your partner is unaware of something harmful they did, you approach them about the issue, not leave them in the dark .” Caitlyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “Did you ever think about talking to me?”

     Vi can feel her palms growing hot, itching for a fight. “No, because I knew you’d end up telling me the exact same thing. And you did .”

     “It would’ve saved me the constant stress and worry of what the hell I did wrong,” Caitlyn grouses. “You knew it would hurt me and that’s all you cared about. It was like you were waiting for me to break so you wouldn’t have to end it yourself.”

     “So much for not putting words in someone’s mouth.” Her molars grind down into each other against her own accord, jaw clenching. “I never wanted to end it.”

     “Then why did you push me away? You suggested the breakup in the first place—”

     “Because no matter how honest you are, the shit you say hurts, and they have consequences you never want to face—”

     “So you left me instead?”

     “I never wanted to—”

     “Then you would’ve—”

     And Caitlyn stops there, mouth lingering on open as she descends into a full-body sigh—no, more like a sob, as she turns and sits on the edge of Vi’s couch, sinking her face into her palms. “We’re going around in circles,” she murmurs, frustration singing the edges of her tone. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

     She seems so—helpless, disappointed, breathing measured where Vi can see the outline of her back raising in short intervals. And some part of Vi wants to comfort her, reach out a hand and smooth it over the knot in her tense shoulders, but she’s not quite gotten over being on the offensive. Not yet.

     “Cait,” she says, slower, approaching with caution, “you broke up with me .”

     Silence, until Caitlyn tilts her head up if only to move her hands to her neck. “I know,” she says, way, way too quiet.

     And apparently Vi’s too antagonistic, speaks too fast, acts too brashly, so if this next question is not the right one to ask then maybe she’ll always be just that.

     “Do you regret it?”

     Caitlyn’s eyes flick to hers, vulnerable and timid. Her throat bobs with a choked swallow. 

     “I couldn’t give you what you needed,” Caitlyn tells her.

     Vi frowns. “That’s not a no.”

     “I know.”

     A beat. There’s a stillness to the air, like if something doesn’t change now, they’ll remain stagnant forever. There’s a single tear brimming from the edge of Caitlyn’s left eye, and Vi wasn’t there to wipe them away once before and she’s not going to let that chance get away from her again. Breathing out hard, she sits down next to her and catches it just as it crests over Caitlyn’s cheek—Caitlyn catches her wrist, and folds her hand into hers, waiting for Vi’s approval until Vi lets it happen, hurries to make it happen.

     Vi’s always been a fighter, but maybe she’s always been that because she was a lover first. Scared shitless of what the future holds for them, she knows there won’t be any future at all if this conversation doesn’t go right—no matter the broiling hurt deep in her chest, no matter the tears she won’t let start behind her eyes. She doesn’t want this for them—at the end of it. She wanted to have this conversation to move past this, not to fight, even if the habit of it itches at her palms.

     “Let’s start over,” Vi says, angling her body toward hers.

     Caitlyn blinks, worry and confusion swirling in those beautiful eyes, but follows her lead. “Okay.”

     Vi inhales. Exhales. She says, “I’m sorry. For all of it. I—I really am.”

     And Caitlyn’s whole body just sinks into one easy descent of relief . “I’m sorry too,” she whispers, lip quivering. “You have no idea how much I’ve regretted every single word I said.”

     Caitlyn Kiramman, the girl who has a plan for everything, disciplined and determined, the woman who does not regret , who doesn’t have the time to, saying that she does.

     “I do too,” says Vi. “I never want to fight with you.”

     “I don’t either,” Caitlyn says, conviction gripping her, squeezing Vi’s hand before leaning back, just a little. “Here. Let’s—let’s start one by one. I started this. Tell me what I can do.”

     This is—surprising. Vi’s never really thought about what Caitlyn could do to fix it—maybe that was her fatal flaw. She’d always been stuck on the fact that Caitlyn was so steadfast and stubborn that she’d never change, even if Vi brought it up, because success in school was one of those principles that shaped Caitlyn’s entire being. But here she is—asking.

     And she’s—fuck, she’s already really fixed it. Vi hasn’t been hurt by that principle of Caitlyn’s recently, has only been pressing on a two year old bruise.

     “You’ve kinda already fixed it,” Vi murmurs, bashful.

     Caitlyn’s eyes widen. “Really?”

     “You—you stopped doing your assignment to help me at Powder’s party,” Vi explains, going on even as Caitlyn’s brows furrow. “You didn’t pick up a work call while we were talking.”

     “I didn’t—” Caitlyn falters, shoulders shifting before she sighs. “I can’t say I did that out of intent to make it up to you. Of course I’m going to make sure you’re prioritized when we’re having a serious discussion, I have less classes this semester, I’ve been less busy.”

     “Two years ago you would’ve have dropped everything to pick up a call from the New York Times,” Vi says, and Caitlyn seems to get her point, tilting her head in resignation. “That helped.”

     “I see,” Caitlyn murmurs, looking down, maybe to gather herself before meeting Vi’s eyes again. “Well—I understand. How I hurt you. That principle was true for me then, it isn’t true for me now. My accomplishments don’t mean anything if I have to hurt you to get them. So: I’m sorry.”

     Well. If that isn’t the sentence that Vi has been searching for for two years, maybe longer, scrabbling at the edge of the cracking cliff of their break-up to find it, searching in the sedimentary grains for the answer as she poured over the remains.

     Caitlyn seems to note her hesitance, her stall to reply. “I’ll continue doing what I can to show you that statement isn’t true,” she says, squeezing Vi’s hand. “And whatever else you’d implore me to do to do that.”

     Vi’s breath catches on an exhale, on a firm realization. She says, almost chuckling, “You’ve changed, Cait.”

     A hand gently chucks Vi under the chin, thumb smoothing over her cheek. Caitlyn smiles, crooked, and says, “You have too.”

     Another silence, steadier this time. Vi decides she is not going to cry, and sits up straight, rubbing her eyes before she says, “Okay. Your turn. Hit me.”

     “Well, I feel as though I return the same sentiments,” Caitlyn sighs, voice lilting almost bashfully. “You don’t push me away—we talk things out, you’ve invited me to your home twice now to talk things out. And when I needed you, you were there.”

     “Distancing myself from you wasn’t the best move,” admits Vi, shrugging. “It didn’t help either of us. I think I—knew I was hurting you, but thought it was fine since you hurt me first. I should’ve been there for you.”

     “I don’t blame you. It hurt, but I understand now.”

     “You never should’ve been hurt in the first place.” Vi runs her thumb over Caitlyn’s knuckles, trying to memorize the rise and fall of each bone, how each delicate line of her skin feels under Vi’s touch. “So I’m sorry too. I should’ve talked to you, even if I thought it wouldn’t get anywhere. And I’m here for you, always, I mean it.”

     “Apology accepted,” Caitlyn says, that crooked smile getting a little wider. “You’ve already passed with flying colors.”

     “Oh, so there was a test?” Vi jokes, eyeing her.

     “Now what’d I say about putting words in my mouth?” Caitlyn teases, lighthearted, pulling her knees onto the couch cushion. “There wasn’t a test; you just already had my forgiveness.”

     A beat. Vi says, “I won’t try to get a rise out of you. I don’t know why I do that.”

     “You’re used to building things up so you can get something to happen. You’re quick-tempered, I understand,” Caitlyn explains easily, like she’s psychoanalyzed Vi before. “I won’t lash out at you. I know it’s an issue.”

     “You like bottling things up, don’t you? Until it gets too much.”

     Caitlyn sighs, thumbnail swooping under her pointer fingers'. “I suppose.”

     “I get it, don’t worry.” Vi rubs a hand on the back of her neck, knee bouncing. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

     “I don’t believe so, no,” Caitlyn says. “You?”

     “Me either.” Well, then conversation complete. And it ended—well. That’s a surprise. “Was it seriously always this easy?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, finally getting comfortable, leaning back. “I don’t think we would’ve worked in that moment,” she says, quietly. “We were both too stubborn.”

     And Vi shouldn’t be spurring this on—shouldn’t ask this question, shouldn’t be letting her tip over into Caitlyn like she’s a too-full glass of wine, but like Powder said, the two of them always did tend to throw things off course.

     She asks, “Would we work now?”

     A hitch in Caitlyn’s breath—momentary, but noticeable. She leans an elbow on her knee and braces her chin with her palm, quiet, certain.

     “I’ve thought about that question a lot,” Caitlyn mumbles. “We will certainly be better co-stars.”

     Vi acknowledges, “There isn’t an easy fix. I know.”

     “No,” Caitlyn agrees. “But I think—I think I’d be lying if I said we wouldn’t.”

     Then the question is, the endless question, the question that really could throw everything Vi knows to the dogs, is should we try?

     They both don’t dare trying to answer it, it seems. There’s too much at stake. Not with Caitlyn leaving soon, not with Vi’s plans to stay, not with this being too fresh, too new, the wound closed but the stitches yet to be removed.

     So Vi removes her hand from Caitlyn’s and stands, using it to brush Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear instead. “We’re gonna be okay,” she says, offering a weak smile as Caitlyn’s gaze finds hers.

     “Yeah,” Caitlyn breathes out. “Yes, we are.”

     Vi asks, “Wanna order Chinese?”

     And of course Caitlyn catches onto her drift so easily. “Like old times?” she says, tone lilting up.

     Vi nods and lets that smile break. “Like old times.”

     So they order Chinese—Vi lets Caitlyn order for them so she can talk to the cashier in Mandarin and Vi won’t butch up the characters. She offers to go pick it up and allow Caitlyn to wait here, but Caitlyn waves a hand and says she’ll pay for delivery. So they settle down on Vi’s couch and put on a show, some random sit-com they’re not really listening to as Vi beckons Caitlyn over and slings an arm around her shoulders, as Caitlyn slides a hand over Vi’s thigh (innocently, she thinks) and curls into her side, silence stretching between them like a slowly threaded string, until the doorbell rings and Vi springs up to get it.

     It does—feel like old times, somehow. Like their first date, sitting at Vi’s desk together and using chopsticks to spoon noodles, fried rice, green onion pancakes into their mouths, making meaningless, somewhat hesitant small talk. Something cousin to embarrassed, sibling to anxious, quick, stolen glances and darting away as soon as they’re caught. The ice has been broken and Vi feels like they’d been standing right on top of it, treading in the freezing water, navigating how to stay afloat.

     “So,” Vi says when they’re done talking about the weather (like come on they’ve been inside each other), “how have you been?”

     “How do you mean?” Caitlyn replies, accent soaking through her words. She’s twirling her chopsticks around the chowmein in the white takeout box, knees drawn to her chest and feet propped on Vi’s rolling chair that she vehemently protested her taking until Vi sat her down in it by the shoulders and dragged another chair beside the desk.

     “Just, like—” Vi waves her chopsticks around before diving back into her absolutely delicious salt and pepper pork— “y’know, gimme the run down. We’ve already broken all the rules. What have you been up to the last two years?”

     Caitlyn’s chopsticks pause in the depths of the box, and her eyes lift to meet Vi’s. “You actually want to know?” she asks, eyebrows slightly raised.

     “Yeah,” says Vi, “tell me everything.”

     Caitlyn’s eyes linger on hers for a second longer, until she smiles and nods once.

     “I’m afraid it isn’t very interesting,” Caitlyn says, going back to eating. “Um—well, I did two internships over the summers, the first at The Guardian and then the New York Times, of course. Both were great. And otherwise, I’ve really just been focused on school.” She racks her mind for more detail until she shrugs and asks, “You? I saw you went to Arizona.”

     “Oh my fucking god, yeah!” says Vi with enthusiasm, setting down her chopsticks for excited emphasis. “It was so cool. Shit ton of gas money, though. Mylo and Powder loved it, it was like the one thing they agreed on. Mylo’s doing an Earth science minor now because of it. Did you know the oldest rocks in the canyon are almost two billion years old—”

     So they tell each other everything, migrating to the kitchen to deposit their trash and then eventually to Vi’s bed, stripping down to their underthings so they can get under the covers (“Do you not have heating!?” “I don’t turn it on, electricity bills rack up, babe.”). Vi manages to break through Caitlyn’s hard shell of school and nothing else and Caitlyn rambles on about the small vacation she took with her and Jayce’s family to South Africa; Caitlyn’s hand lingers on her hip as Vi spills the details of Ekko and Powder’s recent get-together, of Mylo’s continuous failing at getting a girl’s number, at how Claggor’s oblivious when girls flirt with him.

     And from there, everything just becomes more—relaxed. Easy isn’t a word that Vi thinks fits them, their whole relationship, from freshman year to now, but she doesn’t know how else to describe this . The easy back and forth of their storytelling, their banter, the melodic hum of their laughter and the short and simple silences between topics before one of them find something new to disclose. How smoothly Caitlyn slaps her arm when Vi makes a joke, how quickly Vi picks up on Caitlyn reaching for her phone to scroll through her camera roll for photographical evidence of a very fluffy dog and grabs her phone off the nightstand. It’s weird, it shouldn’t be happening, not with how there should be miles of distance between them, but it’s right.

     Because how could they know each other? They met every day; then not for six months, or years. But even if the memories Caitlyn is sharing are new, they seem to fit in Vi’s mind, the part that’s reserved for Caitlyn, always Caitlyn, slotting into a timeline and fulfilling the very picture of her. She knows the way Caitlyn laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her lips split when she smiles, revealing that adorable tooth gap and crows feet at the corners of her eyes. She knows the way Caitlyn props up her pillow, folding a third and sliding a hand underneath; she knows the way Caitlyn bats her eyelashes at her, the way her eyes shine when she’s staring at Vi; she knows the way the blood rushes to her face when Vi calls her out on it.

     The sun dips below the horizon and night pours through Vi’s open windows, neither of them willing to get up to close the curtains. If Caitlyn has any outstanding work to do, she doesn’t mention it—Vi figured today wouldn’t go well and got her work done the previous day in case tonight would be meant for brooding. But no, apparently, tonight’s meant for the thrill that Caitlyn’s smile sends through her, the weight that seems to have been lifted from their chests, the butterflies that emerge in its absence.

     “If you’d let me go get a damn tape measure I’d know for sure,” Vi says at some time unknown to both of them, half slotted between Caitlyn’s legs with the sheets pulled away from them both. Caitlyn’s on her back, arm thrown over her forehead and playfully exasperated. “No wonder you hate leg day, you’ve been doing the wrong form. Sumo’s best for long femurs, I can show you next time.”

     “My workout routine is perfectly adequate!” Caitlyn complains, but chokes on a laugh.

     “Your hip sockets won’t be if I don’t fix this shit,” Vi says, tsking. Caitlyn becomes melodramatic and huffs while Vi continues to estimate the length of Caitlyn’s femurs, really doing her very best not to let her gaze drift higher to where Caitlyn’s only wearing panties and a bralette. “Here, hand me my phone, I’m gonna note this down.”

     Caitlyn groans, “Oh my Gods Vi ,” but she hands Vi her phone anyway and props her head up.

     “We’re switching you from RDLs to sumo,” Vi says, punching the information into a note document. “What else do you do?”

     “I mainly focus on back and arms,” Caitlyn says, “for shooting. So it’s really not horrible if I skip leg day—”

     “Okay,” says Vi, ignoring that last part, preparing to get up and off of Caitlyn, “flip over. Let me check out your—”

     Caitlyn’s leg catches into hers and pushes, sending a moving Vi up and over until she ends up on her ass and Caitlyn on top of her, flipping their positions with effortless ease. Vi lands with a yelp and Caitlyn settles atop of her with a laugh, cradling Vi’s face in her hands as Vi catches herself with her palms.

     “What the fuck, Cait,” Vi exhales, breathless.

     A mischievous little glint shines in Caitlyn’s eyes, raising her brows. “Still doubt my leg day routine?” she asks, teasing.

     “Fuck no,” says Vi, and Caitlyn grins, giggling so perfectly and capturing Vi’s lips with her own.

     And Gods. This is the first time they’ve kissed today, in way too long, and Caitlyn’s lips are the definition of heaven, warm and soft and lapping against her own like tidal waves and the earnest sands of a beach. Vi fastens her hands around Caitlyn’s waist, her rough palms scratching against Caitlyn’s supple, smooth skin, Caitlyn cards her fingers through her already disheveled hair, the moon crests over the curves of their bodies and night envelops the joint shadows they make, surrounded by unkempt sheets and the lingering sound of their laughter.

     Caitlyn nips at her bottom lip as they part, her smile filling the space between them with nothing but pure light and Vi can’t help but chase after her, pulling her closer by the hips and offering herself up to the beauty, the marble statue of a woman in her hands. Their mouths meet once, then again, then over and over until breathing becomes an afterthought, slowing down when it gets too much, finally separating for good as the speed dwindles down.

     “Stay,” Vi says as soon as she can speak, exhaling, catching her breath. “Stay the night.”

     That hand in her hair drifts down to her neck, carefully navigating over her ear piercings as warmth envelops her skin. “Okay,” says Caitlyn, almost immediately.

     “I have an extra toothbrush and stuff,” Vi tells her, moving her palms up the small of Caitlyn’s back, trying to relish in the feeling of her. “When’s your first class?”

     “Not until eleven,” says Caitlyn, laying a kiss on the corner of Vi’s mouth. “My car will be fine in the auditorium parking lot.”

     A done deal then. Gods, pure elation runs through Vi at lightning speeds. “Yeah?” she asks her, grinning.

     “Yeah,” Caitlyn replies, with that fucking gorgeous smile.

     “You still like blueberry pancakes?”

     “I love them,” says Caitlyn, and seems to catch on another, parallel phrase as she meets Vi’s eyes again, faltering. A beat passes. Then Caitlyn kisses her again instead of saying whatever it was, wrapping toned arms around Vi’s neck; And Vi allows herself to be dragged ever closer, chasing, always chasing as Caitlyn pulls away for a moment to murmur against her lips, “You’ve missed me.”

     Her hands are almost big enough to touch the other as she grasps Caitlyn’s waist, pressing their bodies flush together. Caitlyn gasps, and Vi has never, ever, not once, felt it in her bones more strongly than now.

     Vi says, smirking, knowing, “You have too."

     “It’s a bad habit,” Caitlyn mumbles, right in tune, always in kind.

     Their mouths meet again, and Vi finds that pit of endless desire, of aching longing, as dark and alluring as Caitlyn’s eyes in the moonlight, and swings her legs over to tumble down, down, and down.

Chapter Text

Let it be known that Caitlyn Kiramman is not in love with Violet Lanes.

     “You’re not?” asks Mel, somewhat incredulous, judging by the way her perfectly arched eyebrows raise into her hairline.

     “Of course not,” says Caitlyn, waving a dismissive hand. “Why would you think I am?”

     “You hang out after every rehearsal,” Jayce says, who’s eyebrows have embarked on a similar path. “Apparently you’ve been having sex for months. You have been in love with her before. I have literally picked you up from her apartment at nine a.m. twice in the past three weeks .”

     “We’re friends,” Caitlyn protests. She pokes around her eggs benedict and nods to herself, affirming the fact. “You wouldn’t be claiming this if this situation was happening with any other woman—”

     “No, I don’t think so,” interrupts Viktor, “we certainly would.”

     “—exes are allowed to be friends. We’ve matured, we’ve worked things out, we recognize the benefits of a consensual sexual relationship. That’s it.”

     The three of her brunch companions look utterly unconvinced—Mel even lifts her mimosa and cocks her head in amusement before drinking it.

     Seated on the lush patio of the restaurant, overlooking the rolling, gentle waves of the pier, spring sun beating down through Caitlyn’s sunglasses, the four of them were deep in their long overdue, proposed-by-Caitlyn brunch, preceding tech week. The long, exhaustive hours of being locked in the auditorium and subject to Salo and Ambessa’s booming orders lingered on the horizon, beginning that weekend, so Caitlyn took it upon herself to find the one morning that they all didn’t have classes—a Thursday—and booked a reservation.

     The past three weeks had been something near paradise. If it had been all just rehearsal, her friends and primarily Vi, it would’ve been, but of course there were responsibilities—work, scheduling her graduation photos and checking on the shipment of her cap, gown, stole, cords, whatnot. The end of the semester, the end of her college career, is rapidly approaching, and the fact that she’s moving so soon excites something in her chest that really only Vi can match.

     And she’d be lying if she said she and Vi hadn’t gotten… closer, recently. After they’d talked things out. If she were to use Jayce’s list to describe that fact, he’s right, they were all true:

     He’s over exaggerating on the first one. They didn’t hang out after every rehearsal. Vi often had closing shifts at the gym and boxing practice, and of course Caitlyn had work to do as well. But she’ll grant Jayce with an alternative word: many .

     It’d started after they’d talked, swinging into the doorways of their neighboring dressing rooms and asking if they had plans. If it was a no they’d beat around the bush until they ended up deciding on which one of their places to go to, usually Vi’s with respect to Mel, and lingered around each other, doing homework and making out and studying and going over lines and making out and Vi making them food while Caitlyn hovered over her shoulder, eager to learn, and if the night ended with Caitlyn collapsing on blankets, fucked out and breathless, with Vi’s chuckle of sleep, baby and Caitlyn’s affirming murmur, then that’s just how things are.

     The second, is  of course, true. Jayce had been the last to realize this fact. And of course the sex is spectacular—it always had been, even before. But with everything laid out on the table, the hateful tension removed and the barrier that usually kept them from indulging, made it feel like not just a needed exhale but the steadying breath that precedes it. Vi presses a kiss to her shoulder afterward and Caitlyn doesn’t only think that was needed but also that was nice.

     The third is true, without a doubt. Caitlyn had been head over heels in love with her, to the point that she had been developing plans to figure out the whole coming out thing, but things ended between them before she ever got the chance. But now that’s taken care of, and. Caitlyn’s not in love with her—anymore. So. Technically that situation is entirely non-applicable to this one.

     And the fourth’s true, with a bit of a story. Twice now has Vi had an early shift at the gym after one of their impromptu sleepovers, leaving Caitlyn unable to get back to her car because sue her if she wanted to mingle in Vi’s presence, in her scent in bed, surrounded by reminders of her. And with Jayce always getting to the lab early, and Caitlyn already having his location 24/7, well, far be it from her to hitch a ride rather than walk all the way back to campus.

     But she supposes Jayce’s point is that they sleep over so regularly that hailing a ride twice now resides in the this is becoming normal realm, not in this is a casual fling realm. And yes, most of their hangouts turn into sleepovers, but that’s because it’s just easier. They’re familiar with sleeping in the same bed, it’s often late before either of them ever consider the idea of going home, the bristles on the toothbrushes they’ve broken out for each other have become worn in and their favorite snacks have become divided between two homes. 

     They slipped into something regular, because everything feels natural with her. Vi already knew her well enough that awkwardness isn’t even a prospect, Caitlyn assumes that the vice-versa is true, and they… fit. Like the shards of a broken bottle, slotted back into place. And they were friends. Friends with benefits, if she wanted to get technical. But first and foremost they are friends. 

     (Vi’s glorious, precious smile, her laughter filling the empty nature of her bedroom, her gentle hands as she guided Caitlyn through the motions of her new, specially curated workout routine (“Long femurs,” Vi had murmured under her breath, inspecting Caitlyn’s sumo deadlift), her not-so gentle hands as she beat the shit out of a punching bag (Caitlyn watched with a very painful bite on her tongue), the teasing glint of her eyes whenever she glanced at Caitlyn, her panting, desperate breaths lost in the swirl of Caitlyn’s sex-addled thoughts, face pressed into her neck, her chest, the crease of Caitlyn’s thigh, her warm embrace as Caitlyn snuggles into her on a cold night.)

     They’re friends, and Caitlyn is not in love with her. She knows what being in love with Vi feels like, and this isn’t it.

     (If it’s because this feeling is a little greater, and a little more golden, that’s beside the point.)

     “Sure, okay,” Jayce says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “That makes total sense.”

     “Have you considered the possibility?” asks Viktor. “Without bias?”

     She has, and has arrived at a strict conclusion. Caitlyn says, “Of course—”

     “It’s impossible for her to be without bias,” Mel puts in, fork full of breakfast casserole paused in mid air. She turns to Caitlyn and regards her with a knowing look. “Caitlyn. You’ve got to recognize that this isn’t a regular friendship.”

     “I know it’s not,” Caitlyn says, not too fond of being treated like Mel knows something she doesn’t. “Friends with benefits is not the typical dynamic, I know, but that doesn’t mean it goes so far as I’m in love with her .”

     Jayce asks, plate nearly cleared of hashbrowns, “And what about Vi?”

     “What about her?”

     “Is she in love with you?”

     The mere concept of Vi being in love with her shoots a thrill through her bloodstream, but she forces it down. “No,” says Caitlyn. “We’ve made it very clear that we’re just friends. With benefits.”

     Is that the truth? Have they had that discussion?

     They’ve had the discussion that they’re friends, shortly after they’d talked through the break-up. Vi had been trying to talk Caitlyn into switching to the school gym as her work-out place instead of the one in her apartment, as Vi had demanded to see the equipment Caitlyn had access to and became anguished at the lack of it.

     “You’ve been doing all your work-outs on a squat rack and weight machines?” Vi had exclaimed in despair, wandering around the small, empty apartment gym in nothing but boxers and a tank top, considering it was midnight. She’d approached the squat rack, disdainful. “There’s not even safety clips on this thing.”

     “I have my own dumbbells upstairs,” Caitlyn had protested, leaning on the doorway in her sleep-set. “I told you my workout routine was perfectly adequate.”

     “Do you do any cardio?”

     “Was what we just did not considered cardio?” Caitlyn had murmured to herself, and had been surprised when Vi barked out a laugh.

     “That was funny, I’ll give you that one,” Vi had said with a sharp-toothed smirk and oh my goodness Caitlyn might as well just die now. “No, you’re going to the school gym. With me. I’ll give you the friends and family discount.”

     Friends and family . And they certainly weren’t family. “Now don’t go losing your job because of me,” Caitlyn had chuckled, trying to play off the shock those words had brought to her nerves. “No lying, it’s alright. I’ll find a gym in the area to satisfy your—”

     “What lying? We’re friends.” Vi had looked up, eyes widening a sliver, perhaps realizing what Caitlyn had implied. “We are friends, right?” she had added, more slowly.

     Caitlyn’s throat failed to form words, mouth agape. Well, if Vi already thought so—

     “No, you’re right, of course, yes, we are.” Caitlyn waved a hand around, and the relief that flooded Vi’s face matched her own, internal thoughts. “Discount it is, then.”

     “Or I could just pretend I’m your personal trainer and get you in for free,” Vi had said, sauntering closer.

     Caitlyn tilted her head, meeting Vi’s teasing gaze. “Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to be at the gym every time I wanted to go?”

     Vi shrugged, that smirk reappearing, resting her hands on Caitlyn’s hips. “Maybe.”

     “Hm.” Caitlyn had looked Vi up and down, a smile itching at her lips, then grabbed her hand and whisked her back up to her bedroom.

     But that was all. Friends with benefits seemed a good enough term to describe their situation, and nothing more. They’d never discussed going farther, and Caitlyn pretty much took that as confirmation that there never would be anything more. Never would let herself believe that there could be something more, and it only got more complicated when you considered that they’d already tried that before.

     “Well, disregarding that this line of thinking doesn’t exactly follow logic,” says Viktor, content with his scrambled eggs, “I suppose it is a good thing that there’s limits, with you relocating to New York at the end of the month.”

     Right. That.

     “Does she know you’re moving?” Mel asks with a sip of her mimosa.

     “Yes.”

     “And how does she feel about it?”

     “Well, I imagine it must’ve been a little bit of a shock, but she seemed happy for me.”

     “So what happens to you two?” asks Jayce. “She’s not moving to New York too, I’m guessing.”

     “No,” says Caitlyn, and finds that the following words make her heart twist. “I suppose that’s it for us when the time comes, then.”

     Silence.

     Lots of it. Caitlyn moves her food around her plate, the sun suddenly too hot against the back of her neck, while she’s sure the three of her friends exchange wary looks. She clears her throat and asks Jayce and Viktor, “So how is your senior project going?”

     Viktor and Jayce ramble on about how difficult it is to work with print shops and organizing complex research onto a poster while Caitlyn tries to shovel the rest of her food into her mouth, despite her rapidly dwindling appetite. She knew that this would be the inevitable outcome, but she’d been pushing off the thought, trying to enjoy the time she had. And they hadn’t discussed it either, because they weren’t anything more, and they would only really try to find something to make it work if they were, and they weren’t. So. That’s that.

     Caitlyn has a lot of overdue conversations she needs to have with various parties; the brunch she’s holding is her first attempt at that. Then the one with her parents about boundaries and whatnot, but they’d been better recently, busy with planning their closing night soiree held in the Kiramman mansion. And if she and Vi are ever going to have the conversation of what happens to their arrangement when Caitlyn moves, then there’s that one too.

     She assumes they’d stay in touch. You know, friends do that. But it’d probably be best to cut off the sexual aspect, because she wouldn’t want to hold Vi to something that isn’t physical, even if it was just fooling around for stress relief. And that’s fine with Caitlyn, because she’s not in love with Vi, and it was fine if it meant that she still got to talk to her. Friends, they’d be. Without benefits: just friends.

     Mouth suddenly very dry, Caitlyn swirls around what remains of her own mimosa and swallows it down. She’s got more pressing matters to deal with before the moving process begins: the upcoming tech week, finals, graduation. Perhaps that’s what she should focus on first.

↠↢

That evening in rehearsal, their last rehearsal before Salo starts holding them hostage in the auditorium until nine p.m., they try their hand at the first one with costumes.

     She and Mel had passed about twenty posters advertising the play and tickets on their way in, stapled to bulletin boards and telephone poles, corners fraying from being subject to the weather for a few weeks. From what the cast could gather from Scar, who’s managing the ticket sales, opening and closing night are pretty much sold out, thanks to Powder’s obsessive poster-putting-up and Caitlyn’s in on the Academy Daily, running advertisements in each daily print. But Scar informed them that they’d best get Saturday night and the Sunday matinee sold out to repay the theatre department the funding they’d given Salo for the play, and that meant two things: that they’d better do damn good opening night so word of mouth about the next two would spread, and that Salo’s going to be on them like a hound.

     Powder wanted a bit more time to work on the outfits from the masquerade in act one, so they start dress rehearsals with the more simple outfits from act three. That means Caitlyn fiddles around with the bralette beneath her silky, pearl nightgown in her dressing room mirror. It’s a beautiful bralette: a balconette with swirls, somewhat floral designs in it, stopping just below her midriff. She knew that Powder had bought it somewhere, but wow did she manage to fit it to Caitlyn’s exact measurements.

     A single knock echoes from her door frame. “Hey,” says Vi, a Hawaiian button up draped over her muscled shoulders. “You ready…?”

     Vi trails off, opal eyes wandering off course. Caitlyn chuckles, beckoning Vi inside.

     “I thought—uh—” Vi clears her throat, closing the door halfway with her heel. “You sure you’re comfortable in that? I knew you had your…”

     “Reservations,” Caitlyn supplies for her with a smirk, since Vi seems to have lost all higher cognitive function. “I know. I was mainly wary of my parents seeing me in something this… revealing, but they seem more understanding of the idea of me being grown up than previously.”

     “Well, it looks fucking amazing on you,” says Vi, sliding a hand around her waist. Fingertips press a little harder than usual into her skin, Vi presses her mouth to Caitlyn’s exposed shoulder, and it alights a fire in Caitlyn’s navel. “So no need for blocking you from the audience?”

     “No, I don’t think so,” Caitlyn hums, fixing the nightgown on properly. It does look good on her, she supposes. She’ll have to ask Powder if she can keep it. “Shall we get going?”

     They get going, and rehearsal ends in due time. They go over the scenes that follow Mercutio and Tybalt’s death, including Juliet’s long monologue before Romeo winds up in her bedroom. Caitlyn feels as though she’s got most of her lines down, but she still ends up in the doorway of Vi’s dressing room afterward, asking, “Would you like to run lines at yours? I need to go over my monologue a bit more.”

     Vi regards her with a mischievous look that Caitlyn refuses to return, although they’re definitely thinking the same thing. “Drive you back afterward?”

     “If that’s okay,” Caitlyn says, even though they both know afterward means tomorrow morning.

     That smirk that does something menacing to Caitlyn’s insides appears as Vi shoulders her backpack. “Lead the way, Cupcake.”

     They don’t make it very far into the apartment before they’re borderline attacking each other with their lips. To be fair, it’d been a long time coming, with Vi’s predatory gaze the entire time Caitlyn had been in that bralette and one of the scenes they rehearsed being the making-out-on-the-bed one where most of it wasn’t even acting. Their bags hit the ground with a sound neither of them register as Vi presses Caitlyn against the wall, mouths lapping furiously as Caitlyn tugs, no, forces Vi closer, fastening Vi’s hand on her thigh and relishing in the rough palm wandering up her skirt.

     This is familiar, predictable, considering this is the exact course they’ve been taking for the past three weeks. They get back to one of their apartments, either get right to this or pretend they’re doing work and then get to it, before settling down and getting dinner and actually focusing. But Caitlyn isn’t in the mood to pretend, not with the lingering feeling of this ends soon from this morning, not with the knowledge that it’s an issue still unsettled. So maybe that’s why this time is rushed, quicker than the pace they’ve grown accustomed to: she only allows Vi thirty seconds to mark up her neck before she’s groaning and ushering Vi onto the bed.

     “A little eager today, huh?” Vi teases, slowing down to throw a smirk over her shoulder before Caitlyn shoves her forward again.

     Caitlyn grouses, “Shut up.”

     “What happened to going over your monol— umf —”

     Caitlyn’s pushed Vi down by the shoulders and onto the pillows, scrambling into her lap, Vi fisting the front of her blouse and yanking her closer. Their mouths clash in a delirious frenzy as Caitlyn’s hips sink down and meet, sweet, delicious, harder than normal contact—

     “Are you packing ?” Caitlyn rasps against her mouth, a growl at the base of her throat.

     The hand rumpling her very expensive silk blouse moves, up, up, up until it’s grabbing the base of Caitlyn’s neck and forcing her tendons to strain, fingertips digging into the taut skin. “Yeah,” murmurs Vi, mouthing, sucking, biting. “Felt like it—figured you were coming over.”

     Gods . Caitlyn holds Vi’s mouth against her and shifts her hips, adjusting, pressing down against the hard length between her legs—pure delight shoots up her spine, the strap pressing against her swollen, sensitive clit just right. It’s good. It’s too good. A hiss escapes through her gritted teeth, tucking her face into the crook of Vi’s neck borderline embarrassingly as Vi’s hands wander, gripping her hips, pushing her down —Caitlyn clutches fumblingly at Vi’s elbow, wordlessly asking her to move her through a heated whine.

     “Yeah, baby?” Vi’s voice is rough, hips twitching upward into Caitlyn’s cunt. There’s no use trying to muffle the moan that chokes out of her, not with Vi grinding Caitlyn’s hips onto the strap. “You love this, huh? Love it so much you’re too pathetic to do it all yourself—”

     “Vi—oh, Gods, fuck—”

     “I’ve been wanting to fuck you since I saw you in that damn bra,” Vi groans, and the words go right to Caitlyn’s brain and fizz her logical thinking out. Vi’s hands are so hard on her hips that she’s bound to wake up with bruises, only adding to the marks Vi has left the last times. “Rehearsal was fucking torture.”

     “Keep it in your pants,” Caitlyn somehow manages to get out, but Vi’s unbuttoning but one button on her blouse before tearing it off of her and there’s not enough bandwidth to think about anything else, really. “Gonna be a little difficult on opening night, hm?”

     “I know you,” says Vi, reaching behind Caitlyn and unclipping her bra with practiced ease. She slides it off Caitlyn’s arms and allows Caitlyn to get her muscle tee off before moving in on her tits. “You like the idea of people watching me make you mine.”

     Mine . The word is punctuated by Vi’s expert mouth on her nipple, and Caitlyn moans, the thrill of it running through her. “Say that again,” she breathes, grinding down.

     “Mine,” growls Vi, fingers pinching Caitlyn’s opposite nipple. “All mine, Cait.”

     “Yours,” Caitlyn exhales. She finds she quite likes that idea, with her face pressed into the crook of Vi’s neck and Vi’s hands all over her. It washes over her like a wave, like a blanket of sudden security. “Please fuck me already.”

     “How do you want it?”

     Breathing heavy, Caitlyn shoves Vi down once more, bracing her palms against Vi’s chest and moving against the length between her legs. Vi’s hands find her hips once more, in wonder.

     Caitlyn says, “Just like this.”

     She barely recognizes getting her skirt and panties and Vi’s pants off; her eyes lag on the sight of harness around Vi’s hips, the strap springing free. Vi wastes no time, just kicks her pants off and draws Caitlyn above her, hands guiding Caitlyn’s hips as Caitlyn takes the dick in her hand and guides it through her folds. Contrary to how their strap-on tends to be, it’s warm, and it’s a pleasant difference from usual, gathering the wetness leaking from her cunt, watching Vi’s eyes catch on her arousal dripping down the length of it.

     “Come on, baby,” Vi almost whines, as if anxious for the sight of Caitlyn riding her, and Caitlyn sinks down onto her cock, filling her up as swift and wonderful as a breath of fresh air. It slides against her walls and presses against her g-spot as she bottoms out, as addictive as a drug and as dangerous too, and fuck it feels heavenly . Vi murmurs, hands reaffirming against Caitlyn’s waist, “Good job, there you go.”

     Caitlyn stares down at her through lidded eyes, pink hair fanned out across her pillow, cheeks red and chest heaving in time with her own, the wondrous glint in her eye and her sharp-toothed smirk. Give her long enough and Caitlyn would come just from the sight of Vi like this, but she wants quick, not savory. Adjusted, she attempts to shift upwards, but Vi’s hands tighten on her hips.

     “No,” she says, voice as cold as steel. Pleasure snags on her words and Caitlyn can’t help the whine that escapes her lips, meeting Vi’s eyes with a despair she should feel embarrassed at but doesn’t. “You said you needed to work on your monologue, didn’t you?”

     “What does it matter?” Caitlyn hisses, and makes to grind down instead. Vi’s hands stop her again, strength overpowering the force of Caitlyn’s desire, and Caitlyn thrusts a hand out to balance herself and fist Vi’s sports bra. “What is your problem ?”

     “Recite it for me,” says Vi.

     “ What? ”

     “Practice your monologue, start to finish,” Vi explains, and gives her just a taste: a teasing thrust, one that breaks down all of Caitlyn’s will to argue. “You stop, I stop. You keep going, I keep going. You come when you finish it.”

     Caitlyn snarls, twitching her hips forward, “I’m not going to be able to—”

     Vi’s now irritating hands, stopping her once more. “You will.”

     “ Why? ”

     Shrugging and way too smug, Vi says, “It’s fun watching you get angry.” Then, lower— “I’m waiting.”

     Caitlyn is going to kill her. The part of her brain that stores memories has been diminished to absolutely nothing because of all of this, and the first line is nowhere to be found. But Vi’s hands are full of domineering force, and Caitlyn fucking knows she’s not going to get anything if she doesn’t do this. Perhaps she will just spend her time staring at Vi and getting off on the sight of her, but then recognition bubbles up from the depths of her skull—

     “ Shall I speak ill of him that is my hus —fuck!”

     Vi’s thrusted up into her and well that’s the end of that sentence. Caitlyn just about doubles over, words dying on her tongue, body alighting and dying down. “Keep going, Cait,” Vi tells her, pupils blown wide, and Caitlyn groans and summons the next line.

     “ Ah, poor my lord, what tongue sh—shall smooth thy name .” Vi doesn’t thrust up into her again, just allows Caitlyn’s hips to move, guiding her along, adding these slow twitches of her hips with every forward roll that drives her fucking insane. “ When I—I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?

     “To the end?” Caitlyn pants, hips working, the obscene, wet sound from where their hips meet echoing in the room.

     “To the end,” Vi repeats, reaching up and tucking Caitlyn’s hair behind her ears.

     “That’s twenty-eight more fucking lines.”

     “And you’re gonna be a good girl and recite each and every one.” Having stopped, Vi moves Caitlyn down, and Caitlyn cries out. “Aren’t you?”

     The groan that tears through her is a perfect mix of fury and glorious agony. “ But wherefore —holy shit— villain, didst thou kill my cousin? ” The cock inside her begins to move again, probing against her g-spot in all the right ways, and Caitlyn’s knuckles are white where she’s fisted them in the fabric of Vi’s sports bra, nails dragging against her sheets. She’s pressing on Vi’s chest so hard that she’s surprised Vi can still breathe. “ That villain cousin would have killed my husband .” She’s going so fucking slow. “Fuck, Vi, please—”

     “You want it faster and you’re not even halfway through, such a fucking slut.” Vi’s tone is so indifferent that if it weren’t for Caitlyn peeling her eyes open to find Vi’s eyes locked on her and her chest rising and falling rapidly, she would’ve thought Vi wasn’t into this at all. But she might even be more into this than Caitlyn is, fingertips bruising where she controls Caitlyn’s movements, voice rough and eyes dark and lips bitten through. “Give me more and you’ll get it. Focus, baby, I know you can do it.”

     In other circumstances, Caitlyn could totally do it. She has her lines down, she just wanted more practice with the tone and blocking and whatnot. But not now. Fuck, this is supposed to be an anguished, heartfelt speech about Juliet not knowing whether to follow her blood or her husband but now all Caitlyn’s going to be thinking about during it is Vi’s torturous hands, the slow fuck of her hips, the strap impaling her cunt over and over, her mind completely, utterly blank except for the pleasure Vi’s cock ripples through her.

     So Caitlyn rambles on, the next word always on the tip of her tongue but so close to escaping her. Line after line Vi’s ministrations go slightly, ever slightly faster, stopping when Caitlyn pauses to whine and moan and thrash on her cock and beginning right where she left off when Caitlyn summons her bearings and continues. She doesn’t even let Caitlyn make a mistake, the fucking asshole, shouldn’t she only know her own lines—

     “Baby— Hath slain two thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death —”

     “Hm.” Vi stops, hands flexing and halting Caitlyn too. “I don’t think that’s right.”

     Caitlyn shouts in torment. “I said the fucking line—”

     “Isn’t it ten thousand Tybalts , Cupcake?”

     Fuck, it is. Of course it is.

     “Say it again.” One of Vi’s hands dance up her back, exploring, and Caitlyn tries to take advantage of one less hand to stop her and move , but Vi’s hand snaps back down to her hips and Caitlyn keens . “Can’t have you making that mistake on stage, can we?”

     “ Fuck you. It’s one word—”

     “You’re making this harder for yourself,” Vi croons, lips quirking as Caitlyn squeezes her eyes shut and falls limp. “Say it again, Cait.”

     She repeats the line begrudgingly, if only to gain that aching pleasure once again. And she spills out the others that follow, achingly close to the relief that dances just out of her reach but Vi never giving her quite enough to reach it. True to her word, Caitlyn makes it halfway and Vi’s sped up by then, and by the time Caitlyn’s nearing the end the clap of their skin meeting reverberates throughout the room, windows behind Vi’s headboard foggy and Caitlyn’s slumped over, whimpering and undone, face buried in Vi’s neck once again, hips grinding endlessly. And she’s desperate, desperate for more, desperate to come, desperate to quit babbling nonsense and beg —

     “ All slain, all dead. Romeo is banishèd ,” she murmurs into the warm skin before her, pressing her forehead closer, Vi’s fingertips skirting up her back in borderline amusement, something closer to awe— “ There is no end, no limit, measure, bound —fuck, Vi, please, just let me— please —”

     “You’re so close,” Vi coos, moving back down and grabbing Caitlyn’s ass, controlling her thrusts, steadying Caitlyn’s messy bounces. “Almost there, sweetheart, just two more lines.”

     Some part of her hadn’t even recognized that she had a mere two lines left—her mind’s utterly gone, desperation taking over, doing whatever it took to gain the release she so wanted. Caitlyn moves a hand to Vi’s hair and tugs, barely registering Vi’s moan, trying to reel herself in, but Vi’s cock is unrelenting, slowing down marginally to get her to force out the words dangling at the front of her mind—

     “ In—in that word’s death —fuckfuckfuck Vi — no words can —shit, fuck— that woe sound .” It’s too good, it’s filling her up and threatening to spill over but it’s not enough, it’s only enough to drive her crazy—Caitlyn chokes on a sob, pressing a whine into Vi’s neck. “I can’t, I can’t, please , my clit, please, I don’t remember—”

     Unlike the other times Caitlyns’s stopped reciting, Vi continues this time, and it’s not enough, not without something on her clit but she’s too sensitive from doing this for so long and she feels like she’s never going to get it—

     “I know you know it,” Vi murmurs in her ear, hand brushing over the back of her head, soothing. Her voice is sultry, calm, adding fuel to the fire. “We’re gonna be at this all night until you say it, baby, come on.”

     Tears burn at the back of her eyes—the humiliation of not knowing, of trying to take the easy way out, of the sensitivity racking her nerves too high. “I don’t—I don’t remember, I can’t do it—”

     “Focus, my smart girl.” Vi sounds utterly unconcerned, unphased, like she could go at this forever, warm in every touch she passes over Caitlyn’s burning skin. “Just one more line, and then I’ll let you come all over my cock, I know you want to.”

     Caitlyn groans, long and loud. The next line isn’t a part of the main monologue, a part of the context, she knows, a transition into the next topic. Who is she performing the scene with, who’s been on the stage? She doesn’t know, not through the haze that clouds her mind, not through how achingly good this is—Elora, maybe? This act’s all about family, so Juliet’s in the Capulet estate, meaning—

     Words rush to Caitlyn’s mind like a high-speed car. “ Where is my father and my mother, nurse? Fuck, please! ”

     Immediately there’s deft fingers snaking between their bodies and circling her clit, and Caitlyn cries out her approval. “There you go, such a good girl,” murmurs Vi, small explosions erupting at the back of Caitlyn’s mind as Vi works her to her climax. It’s not going to take much longer, not with how swollen and sensitive she is, not with the cock pummeling into her pussy without remorse— “Up, baby, I want to watch you come all over me.”

     Vi’s hands guide her up, Caitlyn presses into Vi’s chest for support, gravity driving the strap as deep as it could go, and Caitlyn comes with a scream.

↠↢

Vi is much more worked up than she cares to admit.

     It’s like a dam has flooded open the moment Caitlyn finishes, her resolve rushing away and replaced by need. Caitlyn slumps down atop of her, whimpering through the afterglow, and Vi murmurs, “Hey, hey, baby, there you go,” gathering her in her grasp. Caitlyn fastens her arms around Vi’s neck and huffs, worn out, driven to the ends of her bearings by nothing other than Vi herself, and pride swells in Vi’s chest at the fact of it.

     “You’re horrible,” Caitlyn murmurs, probably with that adorable pout on her face.

     Vi chuckles, Caitlyn’s low voice doing things to her that she hadn’t known possible. “You love it.”

     “I did not love it,” tsks Caitlyn, without any real conviction behind it.

     “Oh, really?” Vi taps Caitlyn on the hip and Caitlyn sits up, raising up and off the strap with a wet squelch. Dripping from the purple dildo is Caitlyn’s cum, soaking the base of the harness right up to the tip. “What’s this then?”

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Caitlyn, and Vi is about to question the lack of humor in her tone until Caitlyn slinks down, settling between Vi’s legs, wrapping her beautiful mouth around the strap, and Vi’s arousal skyrockets .

     Look. These last three weeks have been a fucking dream. From the moment they cleared the air it was almost like old times, except this time around they were friends. Hanging out at each other’s places, going to the gym together, chatting away at rehearsals, making appearances on each other’s Instagram stories, spending nights laughing and fucking and wrapped up in nothing but each other and blankets. If Vi hadn’t already been quite acquainted with the nature of their sex life, she is now, but this, Caitlyn cleaning up her mess after begging Vi to let her make it, to get her to make it, is something new altogether.

     Fuck. The sight of Caitlyn alone sends electricity straight from her navel up to her head and down to her clit, making her take a shuddering breath and fist her hand in Caitlyn’s hair. Caitlyn’s lips drag up and down the length of the dick, tongue dragging up the base of it and broadening over the top and holy actual fuck. Vi’s mind eases out and is replaced with nothing short of want , logical thinking clouding over at the mere sight of Caitlyn’s drawn brows, eyes closed and focused.

     Her clit twinges, aching and desperate. And—fuck it, Caitlyn’s mouth is preoccupied and she’s been worked up from the moment she knocked on Caitlyn’s dressing room door—she snakes a hand down past Caitlyn and presses two fingers to her clit over her boxers and fuck. She knocks her head back and huffs, the angle awkward but good, especially with Caitlyn’s hand sliding over her thigh and—

     “Good,” Caitlyn whispers, that hand gently caressing Vi’s wrist, encouraging, and Vi’s hand moves before her mind catches up with it, catching Caitlyn’s hand and pressing Caitlyn’s fingers to her clit instead and holy shit—

     They seem to realize what Vi just did at the same time—lock eyes at the same time, breathing stopping at the same time. Fuck, had she meant that? Caitlyn’s looking up at her with wide blue eyes, movements halted and frozen into silence. She wanted, but she didn’t—

     “Vi,” Caitlyn breathes finally, voice tinged with desire, and fuck .

     Caitlyn’s been fucking wonderful. Always patient, always kind, and she’s been talking this entire time and Vi’s as accustomed to her voice, as trusting with what she does with it, to let herself have this. She’s been wanting this for ages. She looks at Caitlyn and knows nothing’s going to go wrong, and if it does she knows Caitlyn will be right there with her, and that’s—that’s all she needs.

     Caitlyn’s here, with the air cleared and their past behind them and her gentle voice and her tender touch. She’s not going anywhere, and when is the last time Vi has felt anything but safe in her proximity?

     She presses Caitlyn’s fingers to her again and moves them in a single circle, then again, and again, and again until her head falls back and she huffs out a “Please.”

     Her hand drops from Caitlyn’s as Caitlyn takes over, matching her rhythm, but Caitlyn still asks, concern making her voice higher than usual, “Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

     Vi’s never been more sure of anything in her life. “Caitlyn,” Vi says seriously, meeting Caitlyn’s worried gaze, “if you’re not inside me in the next five seconds I’m going to explode.”

     Caitlyn seems to understand then, nodding once as her expression fades into something more determined. They scramble to undo the harness around Vi’s hips then, and Caitlyn drags her boxers down with a reverence Vi doesn’t even think she could match. Caitlyn’s hands are steady and careful, fingertips trailing up Vi’s thigh, other hand pressing into the mattress above Vi’s shoulder as Vi says, “C’mere” and— “Want you close.”

     “I’ve got you,” Caitlyn whispers, lips trailing down to find purchase on Vi’s neck as skilled fingers brush against her clit. Fingers that are not her own, pressing and circling and drawing pleasure out of her she forgot existed when it’s not done by herself, and it’s foreign and weird for a second but then Caitlyn’s speeding up and it’s good, it’s good, it’s so good—

     “Cait—”

     “You’re so beautiful,” Caitlyn’s murmuring to her, shifting onto her elbow and the lengths of their bodies slide together. Vi moves a hand to the expanse of Caitlyn’s back and holds on for dear life, blunt nails digging into her smooth skin. “So handsome. You’re so wet down here, my love…”

     “Inside,” Vi huffs. It’s not going to take much after watching Caitlyn get that desperate and she wants it to be worthwhile, doesn’t want to come in two seconds just from Caitlyn touching her clit. “Now. Please.”

     Caitlyn, always good, always listening, probes downward, the look in her eyes dark but focused, heady but purposeful. She teases at Vi’s entrance, gathering wetness on her fingertips; Vi gasps and tucks her face into the crook of Caitlyn’s collarbones, suspense racketing up her spine, and this is different and new but not abnormal, falling into the golden haze that envelops her.

     “One or two?” Caitlyn asks, soft.

     “Two.”

     Two fingers sink into her, steady and unrelenting. A gasp escapes her mouth and she hooks her ankles around Caitlyn’s body, opening herself up, whimpering as Caitlyn hits that spot inside her with those long fingers of hers. Caitlyn spreads her open so easily, starting up a steady pace that’s amplified by one-hundred after everything, stripping her down stroke after stroke and leaving a mess named Vi in its wake.

     “Is this okay?” she dimly registers Caitlyn asking her. There’s a hand against her neck, thumb smoothing over her skin, and Caitlyn’s lips against her cheek. “Vi?”

     “It’s good,” Vi chokes out, letting a moan slip through her throat. The blush that it brings to Caitlyn’s cheeks is all she’s ever wanted, all she needs. This is nothing like what Vi had been doing to Caitlyn mere minutes ago: this is slower, delicate, with Caitlyn knowing that it won’t take her long and Vi taking whatever Caitlyn gives her. “You’re good, Cait, you’re so good—”

     “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” Caitlyn murmurs against her, teeth gently nipping at her earlobe, fingers curling and speeding up. The pleasure piles in Vi’s stomach and builds, each thrust adding to the pile, each word Caitlyn utters magnifying her sensations to a point that shouldn’t be possible with mere sounds. “Not to say I was waiting—but—um—just Gods, fuck you’re incredible—”

     Who knew Vi had been so into the praise shit? The words make her vision flash black and white behind her squeezed-shut eyes. “More,” she mumbles, this close to losing her fucking mind. She beckons the heel of Caitlyn’s palm closer and when Caitlyn listens, it presses against her clit in all the right ways. “More, please—”

     “Just let go for me,” Caitlyn whispers, fingers wreaking havoc through Vi’s entire body. Her voice rumbles, low and smooth, gentle yet coaxing. “I’m right here, I’m not letting go. You’re perfect, Violet, you know that? Everything I’ve wanted.”

     Everything I’ve wanted . Well, it was never going to take much anyway.

     Vi’s orgasm hits her like a fucking truck, searing up from her core to wrack through her entire body like sunlight bursting over the horizon. At least she’d lasted more than two seconds, dragging her nails down Caitlyn’s back as she thrashes on her fingers, Caitlyn’s soothing voice in her ear, Caitlyn all around her.

     She collapses onto the bed with heaving breaths in and out, mind swirling and colors dancing behind her eyelids. Caitlyn’s voice pierces through the delirious afterglow, a small, “Holy fuck ,” followed by a “My love? Are you alright?”

     “Does pulling triggers really make you that good at this?” Vi asks, chuckling a bit to herself, and opens her eyes to a very relieved looking Caitlyn, hovering over her with a smile breaking over her lips.

     “I’m not sure if that’s the perpetrator,” Caitlyn says, running her free hand over Vi’s cheek. Vi noses into the feeling, even if that’s the most embarrassing thing she’s ever done, seeking Caitlyn’s touch like a lost puppy. “But I’m glad that it was satisfactory.”

     “ Satisfactory like you didn’t make me come in what, fucking two minutes?”

     “As if you haven’t beaten that record.”

     “Get out of me. Come here.”

     Caitlyn gets out of her, wiping her fingers against the sheets Vi will have to throw in the wash later and swooping down beside Vi. She seems unsure, lingering beside her like they’ve never cuddled before, until Vi takes the leap, tucking herself under Caitlyn’s arm and allowing Caitlyn to wrap herself around her. They settle in, Vi nestled against Caitlyn’s chest and Caitlyn’s nose buried in her hair, and Vi lets herself sink this abrupt feeling of safety, of care, of the illusion that they have time.

     Fuck. When’s the last time Vi has felt this secure ?

     “Was that okay?” Caitlyn asks her for the gazillionth time, fingers playing with the tiny hairs at the base of Vi’s nape. “I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to let me—”

     “Cait—” Vi plants her chin on Caitlyn's chest and looks up at her— “that was good. Really good. I promise.”

     Caitlyn sighs. “Okay. Good.”

     She stares up at Vi’s ceiling, a question still dancing in that look in her eye.

     “Baby?”

     “Yes?”

     “Spit it out.”

     “I just want to be sure—”

     Vi shakes her head and chuckles before surging up and capturing Caitlyn in a kiss, letting it fade into something slower before pulling back. “You have my trust,” she whispers against Caitlyn’s mouth, like if she said it any louder it would make it too real. “That’s it. Okay? I trust you.”

     The grin this brings to Caitlyn’s lips shines brighter than the sun. “Really?” she asks.

     “I’ve been trusting you, idiot,” Vi tells her, and is surprised by how true the words are. “For weeks. Today I just…”

     A pause. She doesn’t know what changed today. Caitlyn had been talking the entire time, without an ounce of true malice in her tone, and maybe that’s what it was, or maybe she was just really fucking horny, but something had snapped into place. Clicked back together, like a disordered puzzle.

     “I understand,” Caitlyn says, and finally she looks relieved. “I’m glad. I really am. I trust you, too. Let me know if anything changes, alright?”

     “Nothing’s gonna change, Cait.”

     Nothing’s going to change. Gods, she wishes that were true.

     “I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” says Caitlyn, planting a kiss on Vi’s forehead before leaning back against the pillow. The expression that she adopts when she’s planning something clouds over her face, and she nods. “When you’re ready, I’ll make us dinner.”

     Vi freezes, shaking her head. “Oh, hell no.”

     “What?” Caitlyn is so British that it sounds like wot? “What is wrong with me making dinner?”

     “In your apartment, maybe,” Vi tells her, gesturing around. “You can burn your own place down, not mine.”

     “Excuse me!” She sounds genuinely offended. “I’ve been paying attention!”

     “And these skills you think you’re developing haven't been put into practice. You can help—”

     Caitlyn’s already up and donning her clothes, pointedly not paying attention to Vi. “What do you have?” she asks, stomping into the kitchen area before Vi can respond, one of Vi’s sleeping shirts sitting awkwardly on her shoulders. She calls over, “I’m thinking pasta. Chicken parm, perhaps? Does that sound good?”

     Vi tugs on her (very wet, very uncomfortable) boxers and hurries over before Caitlyn can begin committing unintentional arson. “Yeah, that sounds good,” she says, legs still a little shaky. “Here, you can boil the pasta, I’ll handle the chicken and stuff—”

     “No, you’re giving me the easy job,” Caitlyn says, rummaging through her fridge and emerging with tomato sauce, parmesan, and seasoned chicken breast in a tupperware like she owns the place. “I’ve got this. You sit down and relax.”

     Vi snorts. “ Relax . Says the person with blood pressure issues.”

     It seems they’ve gotten to the point that they can joke about that. Caitlyn rolls her eyes without missing a beat, saying, “I could not be more relaxed right now. Please.” She sets the ingredients down and approaches Vi, taking her head in her hands. “I said I would repay the favor, wouldn’t I? Let me do this for you.”

     Fuck, if that doesn’t make Vi’s heart melt into a puddle. “I told you it didn’t need to be transactional,” she says, bashfully.

     “And?” Caitlyn pecks her lips, and suddenly all worries that Vi had about Caitlyn burning her kitchen down disappears. “Please?”

     And how could Vi ever say no to her?

     So that’s how Vi ends up watching Caitlyn diligently from the couch, directing her around to where different supplies lie, somehow more stressed sitting down than she would be otherwise. But it’s sort of fun, watching Caitlyn jump as oil flies from the pan, and of course Caitlyn looks like a fucking goddess, hair slightly messed up as it sways across her shoulders, the glint of her smile as she pulls her successful pasta off the burner, her nervous habit of digging her lipstick out of her satchel and reapplying it as she’s waiting for the chicken to cook (about four times in five minutes), the way she uses Vi’s throw blanket to wack smoke away from the fire alarm.

     And this is how most of their nights have gone recently, since they talked things out and Vi has been walking on cloud nine, just vice versa. Vi isn’t complaining, of course she isn’t complaining, she fucking loves having Caitlyn around, and if the dread that comes with Caitlyn moving soon follows Caitlyn around like attached to her heels, then it’s a small price to pay for the delight of Caitlyn’s company.

     She hasn’t said yes to the administrative job at PAI yet. She doesn’t know why.

     Parts of her tells her it’s that she needs more time to look for other options. She’s never been fond of desk jobs, even if this one is half off the field, and maybe she’s deluding herself into thinking that there is a better opportunity out there. She’s read over the offer details Babette sent to her, and it’s legit, would give her good benefits and salary, but the other part of her knows that if she takes it, she’s grounded here, while Caitlyn moves to New York. She’s grounded here, with the family and a steady income right out of college, but Caitlyn moves to New York.

     There’s less than a month until she does so, and neither of them have brought it up since the field trip when Vi found out.

     And maybe it’ll never get brought up. Maybe they’ll graduate and say goodbye at graduation and never see each other again, and that’ll be that. Or maybe they’ll keep in touch with random check-ins now and again, enough that one day, in the far future, Vi will receive an invite to Caitlyn’s wedding in the mail, to some rich girl that lives in New York with Caitlyn and understands rich person lingo and fulfills all of her needs.

     And wouldn’t that be for the best? Things are good between them now, but it can’t last forever. They’re too different, they run in too different of circles, their career paths are going opposite directions and they have different priorities. But isn’t the point of a relationship is to work those things out, together?

     But they’re not in a relationship. Vi has to remind herself of this fact as Caitlyn parades into the living room area with two plates full of chicken parm forty-five minutes later, in nothing but Vi’s shirt and panties, navigating Vi’s apartment so easily like she lives there (she practically does). This is the exact picture of a relationship, but they’re not in one.

     The fact tugs at something in Vi’s heart, something she’s never been able to get a hold of.

     “Chicken parm!” Caitlyn announces to her, setting their plates on the coffee table. She hurries back into the kitchen to grab utensils and hands Vi a fork and a knife, remaining standing with her hands behind her back like a little kid. “You try it first.”

     “I’m your guinea pig, then?” Vi asks with a chuckle, situating the utensils rightside up.

     “No,” Caitlyn says disdainfully with a glare. “I just want to know what you think.”

     Shrugging, Vi digs into the chicken, making a noise of approval as she observes it’s fully cooked. “Good start,” she tells Caitlyn, who’s staring at her with the burning force of ten-thousand suns, and shovels a piece into her mouth.

     And—oh. Woah. That’s surprising.

     “It’s good,” she reports to Caitlyn, that delicious blend of parmesan and tomato melting on her tongue. Caitlyn practically falls over. “It needs some more seasoning, but I feel like that comes with time. Let me try the pasta next. You did good, Cait— ohmf —”

     Caitlyn’s grabbed her by the cheeks and kissed her with her mouth still full, quickly moving on to peppering kisses all around her face: her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her jaw, before ending up on her lips once again.

     “Thank Gods ,” Caitlyn breathes, releasing her, exhaling in relief. “I was so worried. But of course, it was your recipe. Oh, goodness—” Caitlyn pulls back a bit, eyes roaming over her face— “There’s lipstick all over you. Here, let me grab you a washcloth—”

     Caitlyn hauls her up and deposits her sitting on the floor in front of her full length mirror, disappearing into Vi’s bathroom. Vi gets a look at the attack, tilting her face this way and that: there’s two prominent lipstick kisses on both cheeks, around her mouth, the color fading in the other kisses that adorn the rest of her skin. Caitlyn’s lipstick, Caitlyn’s kiss, all over her—a grin rises to her lips before she can wrangle it down. For absolutely no reason at all, Vi grabs her phone from the couch, sits back down, and snaps a photo.

     Later, after their delicious chicken parm, as Caitlyn types away on her computer with Vi snuggled into her side, reading on her Kindle app, Vi gets an idea.

     She pulls up the picture from her gallery and uploads it onto her Instagram story. It’s a good photo, with the sun setting in the background and tinting the photo in golden hues, with Vi only in her sports bra and the kisses littering her face, bicep flexing from where she holds up her phone. Well, if it’s a good photo, then it’s only right if she posts it.

     One sticker of the time the photo was taken and she sends it off, and within minutes she gets a reply from an account she only vaguely recognizes. It’s a girl with PAI in her bio, they’re mutuals, but the app tells her they’ve only been following each other for a month or two. A random follow and follow back, then, maybe.

@katXXX

aw, you’re off the market then? 😕

     Vi considers this, but it really doesn’t take her much time.

@onegirlwreckingcrew

yeah, i am

@katXXX

too bad

     Vi looks up at Caitlyn, who feels her shifting and looks down, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Everything alright, my love?” Caitlyn asks her, a hand leaving her keyboard to run that familiar path over Vi’s scalp, nails scratching and soothing.

     “Yeah, all good.” Vi nods, and Caitlyn leans down, pecking her head before turning back to her work.

     Vi lets herself stare for a while. Caitlyn’s taken off her make-up, so her eyes are less pointed, eyelashes more delicate. Moonlight seems to spill across those sharp cheekbones like streaks of white paint, smooth, soft skin interrupted by perfect pale-pink lips. Her piercing eyes drift across her computer screen, alight every time she switches back onto the document she’s writing on, perfect brows drawing together as she concentrates and thinks through a choice of words, a sentence structure. The arm Vi’s laying on stretches around to her waist, and her hand brushes across Vi’s skin with a tenderness she’d not known possible.

     The air settles around her, stilling and making her breath catch, just slightly, stumbling over her beauty. And something seems to click into place, within her heart, that something she’s never been able to get ahold of.

     Caitlyn glances down at her once more, finding that Vi’s not reading anymore. “Got bored?”

     “No.” Vi shakes her head, dropping her gaze from Caitlyn’s eyes to her lips. “Distracted.”

     This fucking perfect giggle spills from Caitlyn’s mouth, her smile sending a hand through Vi’s chest and ripping through her chest cavity, bearing the truth for all to see—

     Of course Vi’s off the market. Fucking hell, Vi’s in love with Caitlyn Kiramman.

Chapter Text

Tech week hits the cast of PAI’s Romeo and Juliet like a fucking truck—no, more like a plane.

     They don’t leave rehearsal Friday night until eight p.m., with an expectation that they’ll all be back, ready for more, thirteen hours later. So they are back and ready for more, thirteen hours later, at the ripe hour of nine a.m., where Powder and Scar put them to unpaid physical labor, painting backdrops and hot glueing props and pricking their fingers sewing holes in costumes. Vi finds herself being used purely for her muscles, carrying large planks of wood to their respective places and hoisting backdrops up onto their feet and generally feeling like she’d been volunteered to put the chairs away among the boys in elementary school.

     Some of their budget is blown on catering sandwiches for lunch, just so Salo can keep them at work. They take a break to hanker down on scenes. They continue making the stage look like the nineties, with rolling wooden paintings of cars and intricate costumes, and at eight Vi somehow has paint on her upper forearm and her limbs ache as she swings her legs over her motorcycle like she’s gone through several full body workouts.

     By the next day, back at nine a.m., they’re all exhausted. They run a dress rehearsal while Scar and Powder and whoever’s not in the scene at hand work on sets backstage, and Vi doesn’t even feel like she has to act as she portrays Romeo’s heaviness, his aching longing, dragging herself across the stage in act one. And it seems like they’re all off their game, having to restart scenes and entering them off cue; even Caitlyn is, somehow losing that picture-perfect demeanor, yawning and tripping over lines and rubbing her eyes.

     This earns them the infamous we don’t have a show speech from Salo midway through the day, sat on the stage feeling sorry for themselves. “We have a nearly sold out opening and closing night,” booms Salo, small piercing eyes like daggers. “We open in five days, and we’ll have to go on stage to a full audience and thank them for attending with a sorry show. Do we look like we’ve been rehearsing this show for five months?”

     “No,” the cast mumbles as one, downcast.

     “Then everyone needs to wake up, be ready for their cues, focus on their lines, and be better . You all are college students, I can’t imagine you fail to remember a few lines of Shakespeare’s poetry.” No matter that Vi’s pretty sure she has over six-hundred lines and Caitlyn’s right behind her. “Are we going to do better this time around?”

     “Yes,” the cast mumbles again.

     Salo scoffs in disbelief, waving a hand. “Let’s take half an hour, and you all better come back with proper motivation and attitude.”

     He dismisses them and the cast gets up in bursts, heading backstage to mope. A heavy weight lands on Vi’s left shoulder and she finds that Caitlyn, sitting beside her, has dropped her head onto it, eyes tired and sorrowful.

     Vi jerks her chin in backstage’s direction, knowing. “C’mon,” she says to Caitlyn, standing and offering a hand. Caitlyn, understanding, nods once and follows.

     This is how this one damn picture starts circling around.

     They’d retreated to Vi’s dressing room and somehow ended up taking a quick cat nap in their thirty-minute break, and somehow managed to leave the door slightly astray. Mel, being the best friend she is, had snuck in and snapped a photo before waking them up. She sent it in the cast groupchat that night, after they’d all had a genuine break and did better during their next run at the play, and Vi spends much longer staring at the photo than the following messages from their friends of LMFAO and act five scene three esque and oh my gods get a room and Powder’s notable they’re so fucking gay bruh .

     She doesn’t remember how they fell asleep, perhaps just laying down beside each other on the small, worn out couch, but the photo displays how they ended up in great detail. Both of them turned onto their sides, Caitlyn’s head tucked into Vi’s chest, Vi’s hand in her hair, the crook of Caitlyn’s elbow hooked around Vi’s waist, Vi’s jacket draped over them and not doing much for warmth. But what Vi’s brain snags on is how at peace Caitlyn looks, exhausted eyes no longer sullen, the single corner of her lips that is visible quirked upward. And Vi’s own features are no different, shockingly steady, an expression of peculiar calm she’s never seen on her face before.

     Mel must’ve gone through more work than necessary to get this angle, their faces almost leveled in the middle of the photo. It’s a good picture, colors balanced under the vanity lights. A caption sits under the photo in the message stream, from Mel: it was a half hour break , exasperated, amused tone shining through. And of course, the subjects—Vi’s heart twinges and twists, a common feeling these days, as she saves the photo to her camera roll.

     A message floats in from the top of her screen.

wet sock (powder), 9:23pm

so yall dating or what

If anyone was going to get on their asses about it, it would be Powder.

Me, 9:24pm

no

wet sock (powder), 9:24pm

arent you lesbians supposed to be really quick about this shit

uhaul, adopt a cat, vegas wedding?

Me, 9:24pm

cait’s a dog person, so no

wet sock (powder), 9:25pm

ok gayass whatever you say

     In short, Vi has been under consistent torture for the last three days.

     She’s not one to broadcast with a big boombox her unending love for someone the moment she realizes, so she hasn’t rushed to admit to anyone but herself that holy actual fuck she’s in love with Caitlyn. Powder doesn’t know—if she caught on that’s a different story, but Vi hasn’t told her. Caitlyn doesn’t know, of course she doesn’t fucking know, even if she’d slept over the night Vi realized, even if they’ve been around each other all weekend due to rehearsals, even if that fucking photo makes it look like they’ve been dating for years.

     On the one hand, being in love with Caitlyn makes sense. She’s been in love with Caitlyn before, and while this feeling is not the same—it’s never going to be, not after everything—she knows . What is it that they say, when you know, you know? It’s that shit, the feeling that buzzes around the back of her mind when she looks at Caitlyn, the way her hands drift on their own accord toward her, ever toward her . This exterior force that burrows beneath her skin and finds its way to her chest, tangling around the chambers of her heart and making each beat sound like Caitlyn’s name.

     On the other, it’s fucking torture. She feels like a high schooler high on rampant hormones, breath catching in her throat when Caitlyn comes up to talk to her, stumbling over simple how are you ’s and her mind going completely blank when Caitlyn smiles. Caitlyn’s too pretty, too nice, it isn’t fair—just earlier, when Caitlyn asked, breathless, hopeful, lightly flushed,  “How was that?” after the balcony scene, Vi had taken a whole three seconds to respond and replied with a horrible “It was—yeah—no—I mean, you were good—great, you were great—uh—”

     She should just die.

     It’s like with the realization of being in fucking love with her (like, holy shit, what the fuck??) it’s flipped a switch in her mind. Schoolgirls will admit a crush and immediately begin to fawn over their crush even more , the idea of a crush heady, exciting, nervewracking. A label means it’s real, a label gives her body some sort of permission, and reality means her nerves are overloaded with signals the second Caitlyn’s gorgeous eyes find hers.

     And maybe it’s even more excruciating because Caitlyn’s moving in less than three weeks.

     (They’ll be fine. They’ll keep in touch, right?)

     (Right?)

     The picture of them cuddling and napping glares up at her from her phone, a beacon in the shrouded darkness of her apartment. She wonders what Caitlyn’s up to—showering, probably, or doing some finals preparation, or maybe she’s curled up in her bed just like she is in this photo, this photo that Vi can’t seem to stop staring at, that she never really wants to look away from.

     Her fingers alone make the photo her home screen, positioning it nicely (because Caitlyn will never see that right?), before tossing her phone aside and burying her face in her hands. 

     Vi does her best to act normal over the following few days, even if it’s sorta failing, even if Caitlyn doesn’t seem to notice her extreme effort to function like a sane human being. Rehearsals occur until eight, edging into nine, each day, starting at five on the days they don’t typically have rehearsal and the typical three on the days they do. The brushes they use to paint the sets shrink, adding fine details the cheap seats will never see, lighting and the orchestra get mixed into their rehearsals, and at some point they run a whole dress rehearsal, no stops, no Salo or Ambessa to cut in about their wrongdoings, and it—works. They do it. They do a whole run through, and it works.

     Hooting and hollering their way backstage the night before opening night, up in arms celebrating the fact that they might actually be able to pull this off, Ekko mentions that one of his theatre classmates are willing to let them use their house for a ‘proper’ post-opening night theatre party. “So bring a change of clothes for tomorrow night,” he says, mischief riddled all over his tone. “We go pretty hard.”

     What this means, Vi has no idea. But she does know the familiar slide of the notification of Caitlyn messaging her that night, partly only not sleeping over because Salo instructed (more like threatened) them to get a good night’s sleep and generally not to do anything out of line or stupid, and fucking like rabbits didn’t seem to fall in line with that.

cait 🩷, 10:13pm:

You ready?

Me, 10:13pm:

as ill ever be baby

↠↢

“ Two households, both alike in dignity / In fair Verona, where we lay our scene ...”

     Vi only watches Claggor give the opening lines from the stage left wing before retreating back into the depths of backstage, because Salo prohibited talking in the wings, murmuring to herself, “Fuck. Holy fuck.”

     “Will you stop pacing back and forth before you rip a hole in something?” Powder scolds her, squeezing by her in the hallway with a handful of thread. “Mylo already did that and he goes on in two seconds! ”

     Opening night is going well.

     The whole cast has been here since one p.m. and have scarcely left, working out kinks in the hours before the doors opened. They had pizza scattered around on the stage, chattering nervously, before changing into their costumes and crowding into the soundbooth where a monitor showcasing the camera feed from the foyer sat. In a masochistic manner they filtered in and out of that booth, much to Scar’s displeasure, watching the crowd slowly begin to filter in through the auditorium’s grand doors as early as a half hour before seven.

     Then the doors swung open and they peeked out from the wings as the audience found their seats, flipping through the programs, the backward image of Caitlyn leaning over Vi’s shoulder in costume staring back at them in multitudes. The minutes seemed to trickle down like an agonizing drip of a sink not fully shut off, and then the lights dimmed and Salo went on stage to give a speech about the show, and then the orchestra began playing and the spotlight hit the stage and—

     The little headset that Powder’s wearing that connected to Scar in the soundbooth and Gert as the stage manager crackles as Powder whizzes by her. Vi rolls her eyes and swings into Caitlyn’s doorway, stopping short as Caitlyn’s pulling on her robe over her nightgown, hair down for her first scene. Fuck, she looks fucking breathtaking, even if Vi had already seen her in costume several times now. It’s like she’s applied straight glycerol to her hair, the way it shines, hands nimble as she brushes her hair behind her shoulders, makeup sharpening every feature.

     Vi regains proper thought processes as Caitlyn catches her eye. “Not freaking out?” Vi asks, somewhat out of breath. She didn’t expect to be so fucking nervous, but she’d been part of the group that watched with wide eyes at the crowd shuffling in, carrying their expectations and high hopes with them, and now it feels like she’s forgotten the lines she’s spent five months rehearsing with a snap of the lights going off.

     “No, I’ll admit, I’m freaking out,” Caitlyn exhales, grabbing her phone and tapping the side of it maybe fifteen times in the time it takes for her to slip it into her satchel. “How was the speech? How was Claggor? I couldn’t listen, Powder was fixing my makeup—”

     “Salo listed off a dozen donors by name and Claggor’s doing great,” Vi says. She steps into the room, kicking the door partly closed. “Did Mylo seriously rip his costume?”

     “Gert says he did, but nothing serious, just pre-show nerves blowing everything out of proportion.” Caitlyn takes a deep breath, hands cracking her knuckles instead, finger by finger. “Aren’t you on soon? Shouldn’t you be going?”

     “I wanted—” Vi finds her mouth saying, finds her hands grabbing Caitlyn’s to stop her nervous fidgeting— “I wanted to see you.”

     Caitlyn’s breath catches—she slows, a small smile arising on her lips. She takes her hands and brushes imaginary dust off Vi’s shoulders, fixing the line of her undone button-up, thumb smoothing over her cheek.

     “The very picture of Romeo Montague, I’d say,” Caitlyn murmurs.

     It’s this kind of shit that makes Vi question everything—if Caitlyn feels the same, if they’d last the miles between Piltover and New York City. The sophomores playing Sampson and Gregory drone on in the background, just barely audible through the stage above.

     “Juliet Capulet’s not looking too bad herself,” Vi tells her, eyes roaming down the length of Caitlyn’s frame. Does she remember her first line? It doesn’t matter, not when their gazes lock on Vi’s way back up, not when Caitlyn’s stare travels to her lips, not when Vi wants to kiss her so goddamn bad, release some of this pent-up, nervous energy bubbling inside her—

     Their lips brush, breathing suspended in the air between them.

     Caitlyn says against her mouth, teasing, “You’re going to ruin my lipstick.”

     Vi hums. “Wouldn’t be the first time, huh?”

     They’re close enough that Caitlyn’s answering snicker alights the receptors in her lips, sending them tingling. Caitlyn shakes her head, amused. “You’re terrible for that story, you know that? Making yourself look like a real heartthrob.”

     “I don’t remember any complaints,” says Vi. Caitlyn’s eye roll is the cutest thing in the history of man and Gods Vi just wants to kiss her —

     “Vi,” Caitlyn warns, as Vi sways toward her again. “Costumes. Makeup.”

     “So? Make Romeo look even more lovesick,” Vi whispers, leaning forward—

     “ O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today? ” Sky’s voice, Lady Montague’s first line. Vi’s cue.

     The nerves that had calmed slightly in Caitlyn’s presence fire up again, racketing within her chest. Reluctantly, she pulls away from Caitlyn. She’ll have the chance to kiss her in a few minutes anyway.

     “That’s me,” she says. “Fuck, is the day so young , right?”

     “Yes, Vi,” Caitlyn chuckles. She takes Vi’s wrists and squeezes, just the once. “Go on. Before Salo has a heart attack. Oh, and—” she grins at Vi with that adorable tooth gap— “break a leg.”

     So Vi makes her way back up to the stage left wing, watching mechanically as Mylo, Sky and Steb inquire about Romeo’s mental state and whereabouts. She enters the scene on her cue and takes her seat on the bench overlooking their fake ocean, steeling her expression into that practiced sorrow, trying not to let it show that she notices the audience stir with anticipation, with the first look at one of the leads. The audience is fucking packed, barely a seat open here and there as she stares longingly out into the distance, all certainly ages over sixteen, eyes mainly on Steb speaking but some wander astray to look at her.

     The sound of footsteps retreating. Mylo, as Benvolio, says, “ Good morrow, cousin .”

     Romeo asks, “ Is the day so young? ” and suddenly, everything falls into place.

     Acting is like a dance, a rhythm of its own. Like any big event, you anticipate it to no end and then the moment it comes, instinct from hours of preparation takes over. She and Mylo bounce off each other with an air that only siblings could emulate, that famous in-out of love sequence rolling off their tongues. Her lines—and oh it truly has taken ages to memorize them, piece by piece—feed from one to the other, blocking coming easy with every step she takes. The scene ends, she helps roll old sets off stage and aids Loris and Maddie in preparing the Capulet Estate’s furniture, and heads off stage with Mylo.

     Elora and Mel kill their first scene, as does Ekko with Mercutio’s landmark speech. Vi knows what she’s doing, finds herself surprised at how easy it comes to her, propelling past her nerves with abrupt spells of conviction, but she hadn’t really expected acting with Caitlyn, live, to be quite like this.

     Change of clothing, change of sets, the masquerade ball commences, and there’s a stained blue glass pane with fish and wavy plants painted on it, positioned in the middle of the stage. And Vi gets her first glimpse of Caitlyn under the spotlight with her, hair clipped back and angel wings in tow, peering at the stationary fish and catching her eye. The blocking—a curious look, a passing of glances, mirroring each other as they circle around the false aquarium, a delightful chase, Caitlyn— Juliet —staring at her in wonder, and Vi smiles and Caitlyn’s grin brightens the whole entire stage.

     They kiss with that flurry of surprises after holy palmer’s kiss, the audience ooh ing and aww ing and fawning over each other, and fuck her sideways, Vi feels at home .

     Vi climbs the ladder and kisses Caitlyn in a hurry during the balcony scene, stalling heartfelt goodbyes. They match tentative, eager smiles and marry with Viktor behind them, Caitlyn’s beautiful white dress pooling beneath her fingertips. Caitlyn inspects her false wounds after intermission and they tumble around in bed, this newfound confidence swirling around Caitlyn’s shoulders at the removal of her nightgown, capturing Vi in the trap of her beauty. Vi delightfully kills Paris and kneels down beside an unconcious Juliet, and fake blood soaks her cheap shirt as Caitlyn thusts the fake knife into her abdomen, collapsing atop of her.

     Blackout, they rush off into opposite wings, watch with increasing excitement as the other characters receive their individual praise. And then, on cue with the orchestra, they emerge from their wings and meet in the middle, joining hands to an explosion of applause. People are standing, people are cheering , whistles going up from here and there as they join the rest of the cast and take their bows, throwing hands to the soundbooth, to the wings and to the orchestra.

     A final bow. The orchestra’s music ramps up to a new high amidst the ongoing applause. The curtain begins to close, hands fall from their castmates hands, and in a moment of adrenaline-drunk glee Vi turns, picks Caitlyn up by the waist and spins her around; Caitlyn’s laughing screech echoes in her ear, the ends of Caitlyn’s dress flaring up and trilling around her waist, and Vi feels nothing—absolutely nothing—but pure, utter joy.

↠↢

“ WE JUST FUCKIN’ KILLED OPENING NIGHT BITCHES! ”

     Mylo’s certainly already well adapted to the intense version of a party theatre majors throw.

     The party is well in swing by the time they get there, Ekko’s friend’s house—Ezreal, Vi thinks his name was—packed to the brim. She heard from Ekko that most of the actual theatre majors and minors were attending opening night and would race back here to get things started, but this?

     Music blasts from every corner of the house, counters lined with liquor and the top of the kitchen counters littered with the graveyard of empty ones. A disco ball, a proper one, hangs from the ceiling, flashing colors onto everyone’s faces and blinding their retinas, and because it’s not electric someone hits it every now and then to keep it spinning. Unlike Alpha-Sig’s frat house that smelled nothing of sweat and liquor, the air smells like some fruity air freshener that mixes with the fruity nature of the offered drinks, and weed. Lots of that.

     The whole cast cheers at Mylo’s announcement followed by everyone else at the party before dispersing into the depths. The last time Vi had been to a party, it’d been during that limbo where she and Caitlyn were closer to acquaintances than friends and they disappeared into a room to claw at each other like they hadn’t seen each other in years. This time, Vi looks for Caitlyn and finds her disappearing into the crowd with Mel and Jayce, miniskirt covering long legs that are stumbling after Mel and gorgeous mouth shaping to the sound of her laugh.

     “You’re not gonna go with her?” Powder asks her, appearing suddenly at her side.

     Vi huffs and shrugs. That’s not her place, and she’ll see Caitlyn later, right? “Why would I?”

     Powder sighs and shakes her head, patting her on the shoulder. “Let’s get some drinks in you.”

     It would not do her well, or any of them well, to get outrageously drunk or high tonight. They have another show the same time tomorrow, and while they don’t have to be there until four and sleeping in is warranted, Vi’s not keen on wrecking her liver before going on stage again. Today was already nervewracking enough.

     But she lets herself indulge a little, riding on the feeling of Salo and Ambessa giving them only a few notes afterward and the fact they actually pulled it off. She downs a shot with Ekko and Powder by her side and grimaces as it burns down her throat, choking out “ Oh my god this fucking sucks ,” she quickly follows it with lemonade, she laughs with Ekko about a line he slipped up on during his long monologue as Mercutio and waves off the small errors Ekko calls her out on in turn. She looks for Caitlyn.

     She’s simultaneously doing that and making sure Ekko and Powder leave room for Jesus on the dance floor when a voice speaks from beside her.

     “Looking for someone?”

     Is she that obvious? “How do you always end up finding me when you’re drunk?” Vi asks instead, leaning further back against the bar counter.

     “I’m not drunk,” says Jayce Talis, taking the place next to her. He raises the drink he’s nursing. “This is horrible. I’m guessing the goal at these things is to get drunk as quickly and cheaply as possible.”

     Vi chuckles. “Too used to your frat’s good liquor?”

     “Apparently so,” Jayce sighs, attempting to take another sip of his drink and failing miserably. A dark teal quarter-zip halfway undone sits on his shoulders, uncharacteristic-for-a-party slacks accompanying the almost business casual look. “If you’re looking for Caitlyn, she’s in the other room third-wheeling Mel and Sevika. You could go grab her.”

     Admittedly, of course she’d been looking for Caitlyn, but she’d been hoping to more catch Caitlyn’s eye and see how Caitlyn’s face would brighten and Caitlyn would saunter over to her and they’d banter and talk and be, y’know, friends before they add in the benefits later that night. Something organic. Selfish. Something that would prove to her that Caitlyn wants her just as bad. Not…

     “I don’t wanna ruin her fun,” says Vi. “She doesn’t come to these things often.”

     Jayce makes a noise of agreement. “She really is only here as an extension of theatre.”

     “Exactly. Y’know, let her let loose.” This conversation isn’t getting anywhere, and Vi doesn’t have enough alcohol in her to string out her patience. “What are you doing here, Talis? Not to make small talk about Caitlyn’s social life, I’m guessing.”

     “Sort of, actually,” Jayce says, shoulders dropping. “I thought I’d scope out how things are from your perspective, considering Caitlyn’s falling over herself trying to convince herself she’s not in love with you.”

     Vi’s world stalls to a stop, the party’s attendees’ flailing arms pausing in mid-air and the music crackling out, just for a second.

     “What?” she asks, intelligently.

     “Big brother duties,” explains Jayce, then tilts his head as he reconsiders. “It’s either that or she hasn’t actually realized it yet. Maybe that, because Cait isn’t the type not to go after what she wants.”

     Vi’s brain fails to load. “You think she’s in love with me?”

     “I know she’s in love with you,” Jayce says. “I’ve known her since we were seven. She gets this look in her eye. She watches as you leave a room. She doesn’t fidget when she’s on stage with you.”

     “Look, I know you have this rep of being a ray of light and the golden boy,” Vi says, regaining cognitive function and turning on Jayce with a look, “but you don’t need to give me the impression that whatever’s going on with Cait and I is all sunshine and rainbows. It’s not. All this overanalyzing shit is gonna give both of us a headache.”

     Jayce shrugs, taking a genuine ship of his drink this time. “Take it or leave it. But it’s got to mean something to you, since I’m pretty sure you’re in love with her too.”

     First Powder, now him? Isn’t he supposed to be the oblivious one? Vi’s got to get lessons in concealing her expressions or something.

     She falters a second too long, and Jayce continues, studying her face. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

     He is. But there’s an issue—his words spark an inkling of hope within her chest, rendering the logical part of her mind inactive, and she can’t have hope . She can’t have hope when Caitlyn’s moving so soon and has no plans to stop, she can’t have hope when Vi has a responsibility to make sure her family’s okay, safe in Zaun, going to school in Piltover, she can’t have hope when it feels like the odds are stacked against them and there’s no way out. She can’t have hope, because then she’ll start building one, a ladder out of a hole, an axe to bust down a door.

     Vi glowers at nothing in particular, resolute. Jayce says, “Think about it. She’ll come around.”

     With that, he tips his glass at her and departs. And the thing about hope is that it’s as beautiful as a flower but as invasive as a weed, fast-growing, planting roots as soon as it anchors down and spreading like wildfire. Springing up from a crack in the sidewalk as miniscule as a splinter in Vi’s resolve, it wraps around each nearest pebble, each fleeting emotion that passes through her chest, until it gets cut down, and Vi’s always fought with her fists, her hands—not blades, not knives.

     Jayce is Caitlyn’s best friend, on the same level if not greater than Mel. If anyone was going to root out the truth, wouldn’t it be him?

     Vi clicks open her phone, unlocks it, stares at her home screen, and wonders.

     She’ll hold out, maybe, even if it’s against her better judgement. See if there’s a chance that Caitlyn really does feel the same, see if whatever they’ve built between them is salvageable, worthy of preserving, good enough to—

     “Vi?”

     Vi turns her head to the voice, and a woman stands there, her voice and face lighting a bulb of vague recognition in her mind. Her confusion must be apparent on her face, because the woman, layered hair a darker red than hers and pointed chin mirroring the sharpness of her eyes, says, “Kat, from sports injuries two?”

     “Oh my God, Kat, hey!” Vi says, wariness fading off. Kat’s face alights as Vi pulls her into a quick embrace, taking the spot beside her that Jayce had left. Yes, Katarina from sports injuries two last semester, they’d sat together for a few lectures and talked casually before and after. “What are you doing here?”

     “The guy I just started seeing is a theatre major,” Kat says with a faint smile, bumping her hip against the counter. She’s wearing a slip dress nearly the same color as her hair, hooked over one shoulder with oval shaped holes streaked across her chest. “He’s a bit of a dork, but I like it. I had no idea you were interested in theater?”

     Her tone is smooth, conversational, always lilting up at the end of each sentence like she’s suggesting something. They’d both always been a bit of a flirt.

     Vi shrugs. “I lost a bet. You should come see a show, we have anot—”

     “Oh, I saw it tonight,” Kat says, waving a hand that ends up on Vi’s forearm, squeezing proudly. “I did a double take when I saw your name in the program. You did incredible, I’d hoped I’d see you here so I could tell you.”

     Huh, maybe Vi had done alright. “Y’know, you’re the first person other than Salo to tell me that tonight.”

     “Shame.” Kat shifts her weight from one leg to another, dress sliding up on her thighs. “Romeo’s always been a bit of a douche to me, but you made him look good.” She looks up and down at Vi’s outfit—her burgundy cargos with a black loose button-up that’s unbuttoned far too low and rolled up at the sleeves— and adds, “You clean up real good, too.”

     Vi whistles. “High praise.” A chuckle flows from Kat’s mouth, cute and short. “How have you been?”

     “Oh, you know—” Kat gestures around, adopting a listless tone— “finishing up things to graduate, looking for jobs. The typical senior shit, trying to end off on a high note.”

     Vi nods, making an affirming noise. “I can drink to that.”

     “How about you?” ‘Kat’ might as well be her species name as well, the way her words morph into the form of a purr. “Your girl not in attendance tonight?”

     Her girl? And then it clicks—Vi posting that one story, a mutual account replying, one she’d followed only a few weeks ago, Kat’s inconspicuous, lowkey profile giving Vi absolutely no clues as the memories of fall semester faded away. They’d exchanged phone numbers at the beginning of the semesters, but Instagram had come as a random, unexpected follow. Aw, you’re off the market then? She and Katarina had never been a thing, but hinted at sometimes in their conversations, never off the table but never fully on it, either. But with Vi supposedly off the market and Kat having mentioned she’s here with a guy, then this conversation’s totally friendly, and Vi’s grateful for a familiar face.

     “It’s complicated,” Vi says, because it is, because explaining their whole situation to Kat would take the rest of the night. She looks out into the crowd, craning her neck, trying to find that familiar flash of navy blue hair. “She’s around here somewhere…”

     “What’s her name? You haven’t hunkered down with someone in a while, if I recall.”

     Vi doesn’t think, she’s still trying to find Caitlyn in the depths of the party, getting up onto her tip-toes— “Caitlyn, she’s—”

     If Kat had been swallowing a sip of a drink, she would’ve spit it out. “Caitlyn?” she asks in disbelief. “As in Juliet? Your co-star?”

     Huffing bashfully, Vi says, “Yeah, but it’s complicated. We aren’t really together —”

     And then Vi spots her, lingering at a standing-only table, piercing blue eyes scanning the room. Her miniskirt sits high on her hips, a slit down the side sparing Vi the slightest look at smooth, creamy skin, long legs streaming ever downward until they’re interrupted by nearly knee-high boots. A plum-purple tank hugs her chest and her breasts like fucking skin, flowing outward from her ribs, barely reaching her skirt before halting. She’s left her hair in the hairstyle from the end of the play, all done up for Juliet’s funeral, a vertical halo at the back of her head while the rest of her hair sweeps down her shoulders.

     How long had she been standing there? Fucking hell. Vi had seen her on the way out of the auditorium, but not closely, not under the lights of the party and under the influence of the single shot she’d taken. Vi must have brain damage from hitting the ground in her boxing matches too much because her brain has had several difficulties functioning tonight.

     “She’s a great Juliet,” Kat says, drawing Vi out of her trance. “Her scene with Capulet and her nurse shocked the hell out of everyone.”

     “You should meet her,” says Vi, because she’d been meaning to find Caitlyn all night anyway. She raises an arm and waves it around. “Cait! Caitlyn!”

     Caitlyn’s eyes snap towards hers, and—had her gaze always been this hard, this deadly? She looks almost angry, withdrawn, eyes narrowed, clearing her throat and her expression as Vi beckons her over. Was something wrong? But she seems neutral as she approaches, seems fine all of a sudden—

     “Cait, this is Katarina—” Vi goes about the typical introductions— “Kat, this is Caitlyn. Kat was in one of my classes last semester, we got along.”

     “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Caitlyn says, extending a courteous hand, but her tone is quite low for someone who’s stating the presence of pleasure.

     “You as well, you were spectacular as Juliet,” says Kat, shaking Caitlyn’s.

     Caitlyn accepts the compliment with a terse smile. “I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed the show.”

     She’s being more proper than usual, posture stick-straight and eyes no longer wandering, the straying of her gaze always intentional as Vi surveys the meeting of her two friends, but okay.

     “Are you majoring in theatre?” Kat asks her. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

     “No. I’m in journalism.”

     “Ah, then the artistry crosses over, the storytelling. That tracks.”

     Caitlyn doesn’t add a follow up question, feeding into a dwindling conversation.

     Saving the day, Kat turns towards Vi once again— “And come on, ‘we got along?’ More than that . Remember in lab I bandaged you up from head to toe for extra credit and you looked like a mummy—”

     Vi groans. “Oh, God, don’t remind me—”

     “I still have the photo, you looked absolutely adorable,” Kat laughs, withdrawing her phone from her purse and scrolling through her gallery. She says to Caitlyn, using her free hand to gesture at Vi’s face, “You understand, with those big eyes peeking out, waddling around with that frame of hers—”

     “I see,” says Caitlyn, arms crossed.

     “You know, I think I have a video of you falling testing out different crutches while it was raining,” Vi retaliates, withdrawing her own phone as Kat looks up in horror. “You want me to send that to—”

     “Do not ,” Kat says, words laced with false venom as Vi begins to laugh. “Don’t forget I know where you live. Midterm study session?”

     “Ah shit, yeah. Well—”

     “Vi,” Caitlyn cuts in, “could I have a word?”

     Vi blinks once. Blinks twice. Looks between Caitlyn, with her sharp gaze and steady expression, and Kat, who’s also glancing around but between Vi and Caitlyn. Vi begins, “Wait, but—”

     “No, I understand,” Kat interjects, nodding to herself, sounding almost… smug? “I should be finding Garen anyway. It was nice meeting you, Caitlyn, good work on the show.” She turns to Vi and squeezes her arm, just once more. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

     “Yeah,” Vi says, perplexed. Kat smiles at them before taking her leave. Caitlyn watches her go with straight daggers shooting at Kat’s back, and Vi says, “Cait, what is—”

     “Come on,” says Caitlyn gruffly, and everyone seems to be loving grabbing Vi’s arm today, dragging her into another room.

     Her ass gets deposited on the nearest couch, Caitlyn’s sudden strength sitting her down. This room has less people in it and smells more of weed, everyone’s movements slower, more sensual, candid. Someone’s sitting in the spot beside her, so Caitlyn stands before her, with her pinched expression and unnerving stare, and maybe it’s the single shot or the complete bewilderment of it all that makes Vi unable to follow what the hell is going on.

     “What the hell, Cait?”

     Caitlyn doesn’t respond, arms tightly crossed as she refuses to meet Vi’s eyes. Vi studies her, trying to get a good look at her face under the dim lights.

     She asks the only thing that could possibly make sense. “Are you drunk?”

     “No,” says Caitlyn. “Not really.”

     Stoic, almost cold. This is not the Caitlyn that was overjoyed and delighted after the show, that had been eager to follow her friends into the depths of the party. 

     “Did something happen?” Caitlyn scrubs a hand over her face, and Vi’s heart pulls its strings. “Baby, hey—”

     It’s gotta be the alcohol—she wraps an arm around Caitlyn’s waist and draws Caitlyn into her lap, not straddling but situating her sideways. Caitlyn adjusts, turning towards her, grasping Vi’s wrist and pulling Vi’s arm further around her, and then—leans in and kisses her.

     It isn’t soft and delicate like Caitlyn usually is, not even like when they’re having sex and Caitlyn is desperate and eager—no, Caitlyn kisses her with a force that makes it seem like she’s trying to imprint the outline of her lips onto Vi’s, bites into her bottom lip like she wants to see the blood she draws. She pulls back, rasps against Vi’s mouth, “I don’t like the idea of you with someone else.”

     Oh.

     Oh.

     “You’re jealous.” Vi holds Caitlyn’s waist tighter as Caitlyn’s hand in her hair—when had that gotten there?—tugs hard at her words. “There’s nothing—Kat’s seeing someone, she wasn’t flirting with me at all—”

     “I don’t care.” Caitlyn smashes their lips together once more before yanking Vi’s head up with a pull of her hair and trails open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “You don’t understand, how she—I didn’t—”

     Groaning, Caitlyn sinks her teeth into the side of Vi’s neck and holy fuck .

     “Cait,” Vi hisses, grabbing onto Caitlyn’s hips for dear life. “We’re in public.”

     “And?”

     They haven’t talked about exclusivity, even though Vi’s not seeing anyone else (how the fuck could she?) and she’s pretty sure Caitlyn isn’t either. And while the cast seems to know about their arrangement that doesn’t mean they’ve ever been so openly PDA, not like this, not at a crowded party where they know less than half the attendees. But Vi is not unaffected by a Caitlyn that looks so fucking good under the multicolored lights, that’s demanding she have her hands on Vi and her hands only, that’s sat in her lap and kissing her neck like she’s trying to reach the veins underneath—

     Caitlyn moves up to her ear, devious tongue moving over the stains of her tattoo, murmuring, “You want me to fuck you or not?”

     Her Caitlyn-immunity system never has worked properly. “Fuck—okay, okay, let’s just—” there is literally someone still sitting next to them, apparently unnerved— “not here, baby.”

     They find the nearest bathroom in record time, Caitlyn kicking the door shut with those apparent leg-day muscles of hers and flipping the lock no sooner than she has Vi’s hips pressed to the counter, lips on hers, and fuck Vi’s let Caitlyn top what, two or three times now? and she’s already sliding her leg between Vi’s and pressing upward and what the actual hell—

     “Cait, what the fuck,” Vi gasps, hands scrabbling for purchase against the counter. Caitlyn shifts her thigh roughly up into her cunt, sending little sparks of fire skittering all over her body, one hand cradling the back of Vi’s neck and the other hitching Vi’s leg up by her hip for better access. “You can’t leave marks, the show—tomorrow, holy fuck —”

     Caitlyn moves her lips back up to Vi’s, breathing against them, into her mouth, “Let me go lower then.” And, after a desperate pant— “Please.”

     Fuck. Caitlyn asking to touch her, desperate to touch her—

     Vi tears her button-up off and Caitlyn’s hands are already on her abs in the time it takes for Vi to wrench her sports bra off too. Caitlyn’s eyes, always alight, always burning, widen and linger on her chest—her modest breasts but more probably on her pierced nipples, silver barbels adorning already hard buds.

     Gentle fingertips brush the underside of Vi’s tits. Caitlyn whispers, “These are new.”

     “A year and a half ago, maybe,” Vi huffs, carding a hand through Caitlyn’s hair. Caitlyn licks her lips, eyes as dark as night. “Take what you want, Princess.”

     Caitlyn ducks down and lays kisses on her sternum, nearly tripping over her own feet to get her lips wrapped around Vi’s nipples. Vi’s never really been prone to much sensitivity there—hence the inclination to get the piercing—but Caitlyn’s mouth is devious, her tongue rolling the metal around and tugging with her teeth, pulling, piercing, and Vi falls back with a deep groan.

     “Who knew a big, strong girl like you would just love getting her tits played with,” Caitlyn mumbles, a string of spit connecting her to Vi’s breast as she pulls back. She looks up at Vi with lidded eyes, and holy fuck what the hell has gotten into her—what the hell has gotten into Vi , melting into literal putty at the words, punching a moan from her throat— “Oh, honey, you have to be quiet.”

     “Cait,” Vi says helplessly, as Caitlyn takes her other bud into her mouth. And then there’s a hand skating down her stomach, tickling the hairs of her happy trail, skillful fingers undoing the button and zipper on her cargos and shoving its way beneath her pants— “Cait, you know I can’t—”

     Two fingers slide over her clit, torturously above her boxers, and Vi falls forward with a shout.

     Her head hits Caitlyn’s shoulder, and Caitlyn pops off her nipple to thread her fingers through Vi’s hair. Her fingers press forward and circle in this tight little circle and Vi can’t even think about staying quiet, not when Caitlyn’s drawing pleasure out of her and she wants Caitlyn’s fingers without the barrier and she wants more —

     Vi groans, grabbing Caitlyn’s wrist roughly, pressing her hand deeper, closer. Caitlyn tsks, tugging at the hairs at the back of her neck, “You don’t want us to get caught, do you, my love?”

     “We—we shouldn’t be doing this in the— fucking first place,” Vi chokes out, bucking her hips into Caitlyn’s hand all the same.

     Caitlyn drags her fingers up and over the waistband of her boxers, navigating around her folds and pressing right where she wants it and Vi doubles over with a pathetic whine—

     “Tell me to stop, then,” Caitlyn demands. Vi shakes her head, frantic, breach catching, logical thinking lost to the dogs. “That’s what I thought.”

     The hand in her hair migrates to her hip, pulling Vi closer, pressing their bodies together, those fast circles on her clit driving her fucking crazy. It’s quick, it’s dirty, and there’s something about Caitlyn that always makes Vi feel like she’s falling forward, a backwards trust fall, giving into the gentle shh ’s flowing from Caitlyn’s mouth, her own pants and whines distant to her. Caitlyn’s fingers slip every now and then and she can feel the mess she’s making in her boxers, hear the obscene squelches that echo throughout the dim bathroom.

     “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to put you in your place,” Caitlyn says, agonizingly calm, voice close to Vi’s ear. “And clearly, so have you. Do you just want to be treated like the good boy you are, darling?”

     Vi drives her cunt down onto Caitlyn’s fingers and clutches the edge of the sink, other hand working Caitlyn’s closer. “You’re insane—”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, a whiff of her perfume intoxicating Vi’s senses, fuck, Caitlyn all around her. “Answer the question.”

     “Yeah. Fuck, Cait, yes—”

     “What do you want?”

     What a fucking question. Vi’s nails are digging so hard into Caitlyn’s wrist she very well might be bleeding, forehead pressed into Caitlyn’s shoulder, legs being held open by Caitlyn’s knee against the cabinet doors. Vi says, “To fucking come, you know that—”

     “How?”

     The answer springs to mind faster than any other thought in her hazy brain. “In your mouth. Baby, come on—”

     Caitlyn hums, but she guides Vi off the counter enough to begin slipping her cargos off her legs. “I think a good slut like you could beg a little more than that,” she murmurs, halting her ministrations on Vi’s clit.

     The guttural groan that pulls itself from Vi’s chest is the result. “ Cait .”

     “Now.”

     Holy fucking hell, Vi might pass out and hit her head on the counter and die. “ Please ,” she whimpers instead of this. “I—I want your mouth on me, please, fuck Caitlyn —I need it please —”

     “Good boy,” comes the sultry answer, and Caitlyn drops to her knees.

     Her shoes, pants and boxers come off in record time, Caitlyn dragging Vi to the edge of the counter before Vi even has the bandwidth to process all of this. She slings Vi’s legs over her shoulder and Vi presses her heels into Caitlyn’s back the moment Caitlyn’s lips end up on the inside of her thighs, closer, drawing closer, eyes closed and seeming to be in some other world—

     “I’ve missed the taste of you,” says Caitlyn, and makes eye contact with Vi as she drags her tongue up Vi’s entrance. Vi keens, embarrassment lost to her, knuckles white on the counter and thrusting a hand into Caitlyn’s hair. And then Caitlyn’s tongue is on her hard, swollen clit, then her mouth, sucking it into her mouth before nudging at it pointedly and holy shit—

     “Baby—” A fire burns in her navel, spreading through her nerves, the part of her that feels shame in being eaten out on a stranger’s counter completely eradicated. She bucks her hips into Caitlyn’s mouth and Caitlyn compensates, bracing a hand on Vi’s hips with more strength than Vi expected, diving deeper into Vi’s cunt with a broad stroke up the length of her pussy like she’s starving . “Fuck, your mouth feels so—so good, Cait, holy shit—”

     Caitlyn makes an approving noise into her cunt and the vibrations send shockwaves throughout Vi’s entire body, making her force Caitlyn’s mouth toward her. And then—another noise, no, Caitlyn’s moaning , holy fuck she’s getting off on having her mouth shoved onto Vi’s clit, fingers bruising where she holds Vi’s hips in place.

     Fuck that’s the hottest thing that Vi has ever encountered—she peels her eyes open and stares down at her, how her mouth works relentlessly to bring Vi ever closer to her breaking point, how her eyebrows are knotted in concentration and want and watches as Caitlyn’s free hand slips underneath her chin and sinks two fingers right into her, without pause, without preamble, without struggle. Her fingers hit Vi’s g-spot instantly and Vi’s head hits the mirror, contents behind the cabinet rumbling and falling over.

     “Fuck!” she downright shouts, Caitlyn’s answering groan into her cunt definitely not helping with controlling the noise level. Caitlyn’s fingers crook in and draw out, soon matching the rhythm she’s making with her tongue and her sucking, wasting no time before she’s pummeling into Vi at a growing pace. “Baby, what the fuck you feel so goddamn good, fucking—god dammit, Cait —”

     Vi has always been a bit of a rambler during sex, always loud, sometimes louder than Caitlyn, which is saying something, and this is no exception. She doesn’t even try to put a filter over her mouth, words of please and Caitlyn and various swear words spilling from her lips as Caitlyn begins to pound into her. Fuck, Caitlyn’s been working her clit for what feels like fucking ages and the sensitivity’s racking up to new heights, gathering in her stomach, the back of her mind, sending neurons firing and—

     “That was quick,” Caitlyn murmurs against her, voice thick, only pausing for a second to get the words out. Perhaps she can feel Vi’s walls clenching down on her fingers, pressure building like a fucking vault door about to break. Vi moans, whimpers, feels Caitlyn’s nails dig into her skin as if heavily affected. “I know you can do this, Violet, keep your eyes on me.”

     Vi’s eyelids feel like lead as she opens them, willing her blurry vision to lock onto the image of Caitlyn diving back in, working her tongue faster, pointed for direct stimulation. The words that her vocal chords form at this point are meaningless babbling, but she knows she means it when they form, “Shit, you’re beautiful, Cait” and she knows she feels Caitlyn’s smile. And maybe it’s that, the fact of Caitlyn’s enjoyment amidst all the others, the light it brings to Vi’s panting chest, that breaks the dam. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby , please, I’m close—”

     “Go on,” whispers Caitlyn, thumb smoothing over her hip. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

     Her body alights in heat, in pleasure, in searing hot light, reaping through her limbs and bucking her hips up into Caitlyn’s mouth and fingers. She knows she screams Caitlyn’s name and that’s all she recognizes, mouth locked in a silent scream as she rides out the waves of her orgasm, Caitlyn’s devastating tongue, her wicked fingers guiding her through it.

     It’s over when Vi slumps back against the cold mirror, sweat making her skin stick to the glass as she rolls her shoulders. “Holy fuck,” she exhales, blowing hair out of her face.

     Caitlyn giggles from between her legs. “A little help?” she asks, shaking her head, and Vi hurries to gather Caitlyn’s hair in her hand so Caitlyn can wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. She says, licking her lips, “Thank you, darling. Are you alright?”

     Vi nods, slow but sure. “C’mere,” she mumbles, slightly delirious, still bathing in the golden afterglow that suspends her limbs in what feels like jello. Caitlyn stands and Vi rests her hands on Caitlyn’s hips, drawing her in for a kiss. Caitlyn hums and wraps her arms around Vi’s neck, careful not to get any of Vi’s arousal in her hair; Vi can taste herself on Caitlyn’s lips.

     Caitlyn tilts her head, panting out once, deepening the kiss, and Vi can feel the air shift, Caitlyn’s own desire getting the best of her. She murmurs against Caitlyn’s mouth, before they get carried away, “You know I’m not doing this with anyone else, right?”

     They pull apart, Caitlyn’s cerulean eyes searching her face. A hand comes up to rest on Vi’s cheek.

     “I know,” Caitlyn whispers, swallowing. She kisses Vi again, then knocks their foreheads together. “Stay the night with me.” And— “Please.”

     As if Vi would ever say no. She nods, serious until she teases, “Miss me, Cupcake?”

     “You could say that,” Caitlyn says, eyes darkening, and Vi gets sick of talking. She pulls Caitlyn in,  and places her lips where they ought to be.

     (And—Gods, shit, all Vi can think of is I love you, I love you, and I love you .)

↠↢

“Ekko, are your friends fucking in my bathroom right now?”

     “Don’t worry about it.”

↠↢

In the morning, Caitlyn wakes up with a mild headache and a very heavy muscled body draped across her like her very own weighted starfish.

     She always wakes up before Vi, and when she’s finished inching her way over to grab her phone and has retrieved it successfully, she finds that it’s barely even ten in the morning. The passed out and slightly drooling Vi on top of her indicates she’s out cold for the foreseeable future, so Caitlyn opens her various news apps, runs her fingers over Vi’s scalp and smiles as Vi noses into her neck, mumbling, kisses her cheek, and begins her routine of reading.

     It’s at exactly 11:05am that the cast groupchat blows up.

Group Message: thumb-biters

Maddie 🧶, 11:05am

There’s an article in the Academy Daily newsletter about the show!

<embed.link>

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis): 11:05am

WHAT

powder 🦋, 11:05am

holy shit carrot’s right

WOAH

ekko 🍀, 11,05am

Holy shit

How did they get that up so quickly?

🤨Mylo, 11:05am

AYEEEEEE BENVOLIO MENTIONED

Maddie 🧶, 11:06am

• Replying to powder 🦋

???

mel 💛, 11:06am

i heard they had a writer or two in the audience

caitlyn? any word?

Me, 11:06am

I heard the same but I’m surprised they’re beginning with a digital release

Let me check

Claggor 🩶, 11:06am

This is really good feedback for us to take, guys.

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 11:07am

THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOODNESS

Me, 11:07am

Yes it’s due for printed release on Monday

powder 🦋, 11:07am

🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 WE’RE SELLING OUT BITCHES

viktor 🤍, 11:07am

This is fantastic news. Great work, everyone!

🤨Mylo, 11:07am

SALO’S GOTTA GIVE US ALL A’S NOW AHHAHAHAHAH

MC Hammer (Jayce Talis), 11:07am

🕺🏽🕺🏽🕺🏽🕺🏽

     Caitlyn lets the groupchat celebrate while she clicks on the link, heart rate slowly spiking. The title of the article reads PAI’s Very Own Romeo and Juliet: Tragic or Comical? That’s not a very great title, Caitlyn thinks, considering that’s not the meaning of those two words in Shakespeare terms, but yeah this was published within twelve hours of the play ending. She takes a breath, and begins reading.

     It’s a good review. Better than she’d been expecting, in truth, even if Salo and Ambessa had little critiques and they all knew that for a cast of mostly non-theatre majors, they did fairly well. The author highlights the set designs (which she knows Powder will preen at), the fluidity between scenes, the emphatic movements from each character and impeccable casting. There are a few callouts, specifically to Ekko for Mercutio’s infamous monologue and death scene, to Mel for her magnificent portrayal of Lady Capulet’s frantic nature, to Elora for her rapport and gentleness with Juliet, among others. There’s even a whole paragraph dedicated to Caitlyn and Vi specifically, complimenting them individually and as a pair.

     The article ends with an overal comendment of the production, declaring their show neither tragic nor comical but instead magnficent, and attaches a link for others to get their tickets for the following three shows. But Caitlyn finds herself scrolling up to the final line of the paragraph on Romeo and Juliet’s portrayal as a couple:

     As if the ability to share the stage wasn’t hard enough to master, these two suggest a whole new category whilst acting opposite each other. Caitlyn Kiramman and Violet Lanes make lovers look like an understatement.

     Relief and pride swell in Caitlyn’s chest, and the can’t stop the grin that arises to her lips. Because holy shit! A fantastic review all around, with an easy access plug to get tickets? She knows how many people read this newsletter—parents, her own included, professors, community members. They’re bound to sell out. They’re—they’re going to sell out.

     A joyous laugh bubbles up from her throat, and Vi stirs, eyebrows drawing together at the glee on Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn, finding herself soft, mumbles, “Look,” and presents Vi her phone.

     Vi squints with tired eyes at the text, rubbing half her face, lacing her fingers with Caitlyn’s to bring the phone closer. Her gorgeous eyes skim over the article, and at the end she turns to Caitlyn with clarity on her face.

     “We did it?” she asks, sleep all over her tone but a smile right behind it.

     Caitlyn grins and nods. She says, “We did it, baby,” and captures Vi in her arms.

↠↢

They do sell out.

     It all happens so fast. One moment they’re gathering in the auditorium that afternoon, reminiscing on the party the night before and the play before that, of course, and the next Salo is bursting through the doors with news that they’re basically booked for that night and tomorrow’s matinee.

     They cheer. They celebrate. Salo allows them to do this for a total of one minute before putting them back to work. They don’t do a whole run-through, but they practice a few of the notes he’d mentioned, smoother quick-changes and fixes some of the mistakes they’d made line-wise. By the time that evening’s show comes around, the confidence that runs through the air is electric. Caitlyn’s not meant to prance onto the stage upon her first scene but she almost does, and only catches herself right before she exits the wings.

     The show goes even better than opening night, and they bow to a standing ovation once more. There is no party that follows this show, considering they’re supposed to be back at ten for the one p.m. matinee, but that doesn’t mean they don’t hoot and holler down the hallway into backstage, dancing their way down the ramp and into their dressing rooms and the celebration continuing on each of their individual ways out.

     Caitlyn goes home, takes a shower, calls Vi for a bit (twirls her hair and giggles and bites her lip like she hasn’t done this a million times before), sleeps, and comes back around the next day to do it all over again. There’s a routine she’s found in it that she likes, that keeps her mind off all the responsibilities that are piling up—finals, graduation, moving. Next week is the final week of the semester before finals week, and with shows concluding today, that means no more rehearsals, which Caitlyn finds herself much more sad about than she’d expected.

     The matinee show, closing night, her parent’s closing night soiree, then type up her report-article to send off to Professor Shoola and the Academy Daily, and that’s it for her brief stint in theatre. Caitlyn realizes, as she joins hands with Vi after the next show, bowing with the rest of her castmates with grins much too wide for the end of a tragedy, that she’s going to miss this.

     “We did it!” Mylo shouts on their way backstage once again, cheers following his announcement. “One more show, you guys, how about that!”

     “Did you anyone hear that baby cry during act two, scene two?” complains Ekko, but with a lighthearted tone. “Like, come on, there’s sixteen-plus on the ads.”

     “No, I heard him,” comments Claggor, shaking his head. “But we handled it well, didn’t we?”

     “No way Salo doesn’t give us all A’s,” Jayce says, satisfied. “We’re killing it!”

     “This is truly going better than I expected,” remarks Mel, smiling. “Well done, everyone.”

     “Enough celebrating,” Powder cuts in, hands on her hips, removing the earpiece from her head, “I need all the props back in their starting locations stat. Now! Nothing’s getting lost before closing night because of you idiots!”

     Everyone, having learned to listen to Powder, scrambles off to find where they last put their last prop. Vi grimaces from beside Caitlyn, glancing over their states, with fake blood splattered all over Caitlyn’s and some of Vi’s torso.

     “Let’s get you cleaned up,” says Vi, and redirects Caitlyn to the backstage bathroom.

     They both have copies of their outfits featured in the last scene because of the blood, simple ones that wouldn’t cost too much: Vi in a white button up and loose jeans, Caitlyn in a satin white dress, all light to really show the blood. So they grab their clothes from their dressing rooms and enter the single-stall bathroom together, locking the door.

     “This is the worst part,” Caitlyn mumbles, sliding the dress off her shoulders as Vi gathers wet-wipes from the counter, adrenaline high slowly dying down. “We couldn’t have made the blood metaphorical?”

     “Haven’t we learned by now that Salo is here for the dramatics?” Vi asks, and Caitlyn shakes her head, sighing. “Here, Cupcake, hurry or you’re gonna get cold.”

     She hands Caitlyn a wet-wipe and Caitlyn, standing there in nothing but safety shorts, socks and a bra, finds it amusing that Vi knows she will get cold very quickly. She wipes off her torso and almost, almost misses Vi tearing off her button-up, and thankfully does not, shamelessly watching those muscles shift under stained-red skin.

     “One more show,” Caitlyn says conversationally, sighing. “Can you believe it?”

     “Five months of rehearsing Shakespeare for it to come to an end in three days?” Vi chuckles, shaking her head. “Definitely not.”

     Caitlyn hums, reaching for another wipe. “What are you going to do with your new free time?”
Vi shrugs, already sliding on a muscle-tee and a comfortable sweatshirt. “I don’t know,” she says, taking Caitlyn’s own jacket from the counter. “Study for finals, probably. I’m glad this ends before we get swamped with ‘em. Read, go to the gym, play games. Whatever I did with my time before this.” Caitlyn throws away her second wipe and makes to slip on a shirt, Vi preparing her jacket for her. “You?”

     “About the same,” Caitlyn says, shaking her arms out. Vi swings the jacket around her shoulders and holds it up for Caitlyn to slide her arms through. “Finish finals. Start packing.”

     Vi’s posture changes—steadies, tenses.

     “That’s really happening, huh?” she asks.

     Caitlyn moves her arms through the jacket holes, and Vi drops the jacket as soon as they’re through.

     “Yes,” Caitlyn says. She swallows, turns away to pick her stained dress up off the floor. “Yeah, it is. I have to make plans with the moving company about what to pack up and what to leave to them.”

     “What day are you leaving?”

     “May thirty-first. My lease starts the next day.”

     “Seventeen days.”

     “Precisely. Yes.”

     “Shit.” Vi rubs the back of her neck, shifting from one foot to another. “That’s soon.”

     “I know.” Caitlyn breathes out, braces herself to face Vi again. “It’s all happening so fast, isn’t it? Graduation and such.”

     Vi grabs her button-up off the counter. “Yeah, it is.”

     “Should we be going?” Caitlyn asks, gesturing toward the door.

     “Yeah.” Vi clears her throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

     They leave the bathroom—walk down the hallway to their dressing rooms in tense silence. Gods, are they really having this conversation right now? Caitlyn expected a phone call right before she left, that awkward conversation commencing, not this .

     “What are your plans after graduation?” Caitlyn asks her, to break the silence.

     “Uh—well, I got offered a job with the athletic department here,” Vi says, following Caitlyn into her dressing room. By habit, to hash out this conversation, Caitlyn doesn’t know. “So I’ll probably be taking that.”

     A lump forms in Caitlyn’s throat, unbidden. “Here?”

     “Yeah. It’s this administrative athletic trainer thing, seems pretty cool.”

     Vi staying here. Caitlyn leaving.

     There’d been some part of Caitlyn—the unreasonable part, the kind that she shuts away, locks behind a metal door to keep from affecting her logical reasoning—that’d been hoping that maybe, just maybe, Vi wouldn’t have found something. That maybe Vi would fall in love with New York City just as she had as a young kid and take the leap to move there as well. That they wouldn’t have to face this conversation—that they could continue whatever line they’re toeing, so Caitlyn wouldn’t have to leave .

     Caitlyn’s mind lingers on probably, hanging the ruined dress on a hanger before turning to Vi. “You haven’t taken it yet?”

     “No,” says Vi, closing the door behind her. “I’m supposed to send word soon. But no, not yet.”

     “Why?”

     Vi’s opal eyes land on hers, frozen in her venture to sit down on the couch’s arm. Her expression flickers, corners of her mouth nearly dragging down into a frown. Something passes within their locked gaze and Caitlyn—oh, fuck.

     “Cait,” Vi says, voice tight.

     And it all comes crashing in.

     “Come with me,” Caitlyn says in a rush, surging forward, taking Vi’s hands in hers. She’s not entirely sure what she’s about to say, but anything, she can’t—she can’t lose Vi again. “We can find you something there. We can be roommates, I’ll find a bigger apartment, I don’t know, just—”

     “And you can’t stay here?” Vi asks her, and fuck the broken tone of her voice strips Caitlyn’s defenses down to her core. “There’s got to be plenty of remote journalism jobs, do you really need to be living in New York to work at the Times?”

     “Vi,” Caitlyn says slowly, and Vi drops her hands. “You know that’s not the only reason I’m moving. My parents—”

     “A few months ago, maybe,” Vi protests, shaking her head. “You cleared everything up with your parents. You just need to have the conversation with them, which you can have, and then everything will be fine—”

     “You don’t think I want to stay?” Caitlyn asks, the familiar burn of tears starting behind her eyes. “If not for you, then for them? They’re getting older, there’s always a chance my mother could get sick again—I’m not doing this just because I want to, it’s because I have to.”

     Vi scoffs, crossing her arms. “Have to what, live out your city girl dreams—”

     “So I can stop feeling so bloody controllable ,” Caitlyn grouses, rounding on her. “You have no idea what it feels like, with everything you do being watched, reported, I haven’t ever been able to successfully keep something to myself, where I went over the weekend—”

     “But you can fix that ,” Vi says, stepping toward her. The look in her eyes is absolutely dreadful—pleading, angry, sad, all at once. “Say the word, have the fucking conversation, and it all stops. You’ve been pushing it off, Cait—”

     “Not intentionally, I’ve been busy—”

     “Then fix it! ” Vi downright shouts. Caitlyn steps back, jaw set. “We were just talking about our free time next week! You’re even seeing them tonight! Talk to them, switch your job location, and stay !”

     “You are asking me to uproot my entire career plan,” Caitlyn snaps. “I’ve had this move, this job, lined up for months , this goal for years —I’ve already began onboarding!—but you haven’t even accepted your job offer! So what about you? ”

     “Fine, we’re doing this?” Vi asks, and fuck, Caitlyn can’t bear to look at her but can’t seem to look away, the hurt on her face, the way she’s clenched her fists like she’s gearing up for a fight. “I’ve already looked for jobs in New York. There’s nothing I’d do, nothing I’d qualify for. And I have a good job here, and it’s good and pays well and I need to make sure Powder’s okay, that Mylo and Claggor are okay—and Ekko—”

     “Your siblings are all adults, they’ll be—”

     “Don’t,” Vi growls, eyes narrowing. “Don’t even start on this family shit again.”

     Caitlyn huffs, turning away and trying to breathe, scrubbing her face with her hands. What is she supposed to say? What solution is there? They’re tethered to poles on either side of an ocean and there’s nothing that can undo those knots—the only separation would be the release of their interlocked hands.

     She wants Vi . Watching her with her friend—Katarina—even if Vi had clarified that there’d been nothing romantic, had been fucking torture. She doesn’t know if she’d be able to withstand being two and a half hours away from Vi but always on her socials and watch her from afar, make small talk every few months. That’s not where she’s supposed to be—she knows the fact of it better than she knows herself. 

     She wants Vi. She wants New York. She wants both. How to get it? How to convey to Vi these same exact sentiments in a way that resonates?

     “And Vander—” Vi continues, voice perhaps only ten percent calmer— “he’s bound to start slowing down soon, and I need to be there for him, and for everyone . I can’t—I can’t just leave . I don’t have a big, fancy house with four million servants to make sure they’re all okay.”

     “So you want—” Caitlyn says, turning around— “you want me to quit my job in favor of changing to a potentially non-existent remote position somewhere else, sever my ties with the New York Times entirely by doing so, drop out of a lease, and completely give up on my year-long dream of doing all of this? Just like that?”

     Vi says, “I’d do it for you.”

     Silence. Vi’s eyes widen, but she remains firm, fists still clenched, eyes blazing. Caitlyn takes an abrupt step back, because—Vi—she’d known both of them wanted the other to stay, as friends, as perhaps best friends, but that didn’t mean breaking the casualty they’ve established, because friends with benefits don’t do this shit—

     “Vi,” she says, soft. She watches Vi’s throat bob.

     There’s a knock on the door. They both jump, and in walks Mel, looking between the two of them with upmost caution.

     “Apologies for interrupting,” Mel says, tentative. “Salo wants us on stage for notes. And dinner orders.”

     Caitlyn clears her throat. “Thank you, Mel,” she says, nodding. “We’ll be right there.”

     Mel glances between them once more before departing and Caitlyn turns her gaze back to Vi. She begins again, more urgent, because Vi looks like she’s ready to leave and never come back, “Vi—”

     “Don’t,” Vi says, stepping back as Caitlyn steps forward. “Don’t. No. It’s fine. I understand.”

     She turns and follows in Mel’s footsteps, leaving Caitlyn alone in her dressing room.

     Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

     “Fuck,” she whispers, as the tears form and spill over her eyelids. She’ll get her makeup retouched before the next show but she’s not supposed to do much to it, and her eyes can’t be red—she dashes to her vanity, biting down hard on her tongue, wiping the tears carefully as they leak out the corners. “Fuck. Fuck .”

     The tears keep coming, and coming, burning down her cheeks, even as Caitlyn breathes out hard through her mouth and tries to redirect her sensations to the press of her fingernails in her palm, the bite of her tongue. What the fuck is she supposed to do now—and they have a whole show of acting like they’re in love to get through, and it’s closing night, and after this Vi will have no reason to see her ever again—she’s shaking. Why is she shaking?

     Another knock. Jayce’s voice— “Sprout, Salo’s asking—”

     “ Just give me a minute! ” Caitlyn snaps at him, which is unfair and she’ll have to apologize profusely later.

     Jayce departs. Silence fills the room, the footsteps from the stage above echoing in her mind.

     Caitlyn ends up being six minutes late.

↠↢

When Caitlyn watches the lights go down over the audience and Claggor take the first steps onto the stage, Vi hasn’t said a word to her in four hours.

     Not a word outside of lines said to each other through rehearsing scenes they knew by heart by now but were trying to get to perfection for the last show, not a word during dinner, not a word during any of the times they’ve passed each other.

     Caitlyn is lucky. She sits perched on a chair in the stage right wing, the opposite wing that Vi enters and leaves so they don’t have to pass each other, Salo saying it would make seeing each other for the first time during the aquarium scene more organic. Now, she just sits with her chin in her hands, robe tied around her waist, staring blankly at the beginnings of act one.

     Mylo and Jayce enter the scene, soon followed by Steb and Sky. And then Sky recites the line that Caitlyn knows is Vi’s cue and Vi appears from the darkness of the stage left wing, peaking out into the audience before drawing back and locking eyes with—her.

     Caitlyn sits up, just a little straighter. She can’t see the details of Vi’s face—even the face tattoo is a little blurry—but she can see how Vi’s whole body goes rigid, how she draws herself up to full height. Their locked gazes hold, just for a second, before Vi turns her head and enters the scene.

     A sigh heaves its way through Caitlyn’s body. “Okay,” she murmurs to herself, and rises from her seat.

     She returns to her dressing room and tries her very best to get her shit together. What had Salo said at the very beginning, at auditions? That theatre and good acting was the ability to leave all of yourself on the stage? That’s what she needed to do, convert this weight in her chest that makes her drag her feet on the ground into fuel, make her acting the best it’s ever been. She can’t let this affect her performance, and closing night is not the night to mess this up. She’s a lead role; her performance affects everyone.

     Her parents are in the crowd tonight. She’d spent a few minutes trying to find them, and eventually spotted them making their way to their seats in the very front row (of course). They were to be heading to Caitlyn’s teenage home after the show, the whole cast, celebrating closing night, with fancy cheeses and food and music and good times. Parents and friends invited. Not the same type of celebration as opening night, but good times.

     “You doing okay?” a voice asks from her doorway.

     Caitlyn turns to find Jayce hovering by the door, already changed into his outfit for the masquerade, a feeble smile on his face.

     “I’m trying to be,” Caitlyn sighs, fixing her hair. She’s waiting for her cue, and given Vi and Mylo’s voices echoing above, her entrance is coming up. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. That wasn’t right of me.”

     Jayce shrugs, playing at teasing. “Should’ve known better than to disturb a Caitlyn in her sacred dressing room.” Caitlyn glowers at him, and he raises his hands in surrender. “Joke. I joke.”

     He moves into the room, eyeing the couch warily before apparently deciding to just stand. Caitlyn snorts. “It wouldn’t do well to ask what happened, would it?” Jayce asks.

     Caitlyn bites down on her tongue, fingers drumming against her mic box. “Probably not,” she admits.

     “Right. Well.” Jayce rocks back and forth on his feet, stalling. “Whatever happened, there’s nothing I don’t think you two can figure out. She’s worth it. You’re worth it.” Jayce lays a large hand on her shoulder and bends down to rest a quick peck on the crown of her head. “You’re gonna kill it, Sprout.”

     So Caitlyn goes on stage a few minutes later, somehow more anxious than she was opening night. Her first scene is just with Elora and Mel, so that’s easy, appreciating how the audience perks up upon the sight of her, but the next few are with Vi. 

     And they go—fine. The first scene is the worst, but that’s what acting is, she supposes. She hasn’t really been acting this whole time, at least in the scenes with Vi, enamoured and happy and head over heels—in love. But perhaps this is why she got casted in the first place: her ability to act , the simplest of all things, to act as if everything’s fine when she forces a smile onto her face as she and Vi do that dance around the aquarium. And Vi smiles too, even if it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, even if Caitlyn can feel the hesitancy in her kiss a few minutes later.

     The balcony scene, the marriage scene, the tumbling around in bed. It feels hollow, empty, even if she knows they’re doing perfectly fine judging by the audience’s reactions. Vi doesn’t touch her with the same eagerness she knows exists, doesn’t speak to her like she can’t get her love confession out fast enough. Even Salo gives them both a questioning look from the wings when exiting a scene, because to a first time audience, nothing’s off, but an audience of a few dozen times…

     Well. They make it through. The flat pouch of fake blood is warm against her stomach, hidden in the layers her dress provides as she lays on a pedestal downstage, dead. She measures her breathing, calming it into something slow like she’d been told to, to make her look actually dead, until she can hear the fighting going on upstage, until there’s a presence above her—

     “Oh,” sighs Vi, the mattress dipping by Caitlyn’s waist, Vi’s knee dropping beside her, “—O my love, my wife …”

     Oh, how the words singe the edges of Caitlyn’s resolve. She keeps her face steady as Vi continues her monologue, breathing deep. They’re taking inspiration from the movie instead of following the play for this scene to increase the angst factor, cutting a few lines and moving them around, so there’s a cue she wakes up on instead of waiting for Friar Lawrence to speak to her. The press of the microphone’s metal is cold against her cheek; Vi’s hand, cradling the opposite suddenly, is warm.

     “A dateless bargain to engrossing death,” recites Vi, the mattress below her dipping further, further, until Vi’s lips are on hers. Barely moving, barely there— fuck , but Caitlyn doesn’t have the time to linger on it, not when this is her cue to start waking up. She opens her eyes.

     “Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavory guide!” Vi laments, as Caitlyn acts as if she’s waking up, looking around and slowly sitting up. “Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on / The dashing rocks thy seasick weary bark! / Here’s to my love…”

     Caitlyn follows the blocking, reaches up to touch Vi’s cheek as soon as Vi lifts the small vial of what’s just water to her lips. Their gazes lock as Vi swallows the poison down, and in a flurry of realizations and quick-working drugs they end up in opposite positions, with Vi’s head cradled in her lap and Caitlyn leaning over her.

     “I do remember well where I should be, / And there I am,” Caitlyn murmurs to herself, eyes looking over the audience in fear, before hurrying back to Romeo. There’s a moment here that they’re supposed to linger, let it settle in for a moment that there’s no going back, where Juliet’s trying to figure out what to do and Romeo’s slowly dying, but their eyes meet and—

     A frown tugs at Vi’s lips—uncharacteristic, too real. Caitlyn feels her lips part, watches as tears spring to life in those beautiful opal eyes. Romeo’s not supposed to cry in this scene. She sniffs, and Caitlyn hears it echo over the speakers. Fuck, Romeo’s not supposed to cry—

     “O true apothecary, / Thy drugs are quick,” Vi mumbles, too soft, too weak. 

     “No, no, no, no,” Caitlyn whispers, not apart of the script but added in to fill the silence, and Vi’s next, but—

     Vi’s throat works—Caitlyn’s eyes follow it, and fuck, she realizes too late. This isn’t Romeo looking at Juliet, this is Vi looking at Caitlyn. This is Vi looking at a Caitlyn that is equally slipping away, as quick as Juliet is from Romeo’s grasp. Vi’s staying, Caitlyn’s leaving, once more and over again. This is Vi sniffing again, hot tears cresting over her cheek. Caitlyn’s heart plummets, and Vi’s mouth shapes around two totally unnatural sounds.

     “Please,” Vi whispers, breath catching. “Stay.”

     It’s the first real words Vi has said to her in four fucking hours. Somewhere, Salo throws his script up and walks away, because that’s not in the script, or added, at all. There’s hundreds of people watching, anxious for the tragic ending, and Vi just went totally off script, skipping the single most iconic line from this scene—

     And, fuck, all Caitlyn can say in return is, tears cascading down, “I can’t.”

     Vi’s brows draw together, just slightly, for just a second, eyes looking Caitlyn up and down in nothing but utter betrayal, almost disgust. She chokes out, “Thus with a kiss, I die.”

     Romeo dies. Soon, Caitlyn takes Vi’s dagger from her belt and plunges it into her stomach, and Juliet follows suit.

     As blood soaks and corrupts the line of their bodies, Caitlyn swears she feels Vi’s hand tighten against her waist, pulling her closer, holding her tight, as if for the last time.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn inhales, exhales, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. She connects her phone to her car’s bluetooth and presses play on the necessary playlist, No Sleep Till Brooklyn by the Beastie Boys sounding through the stereos.

     “Throwback rap,” Mel notes from the passenger seat, eyeing her warily.

     “Just let me have this,” Caitlyn sighs, and starts the car.

     A bouquet of flowers jostles in her lap as she pulls into the streets. Camellias, carnations, mums—her favorites, for the number of petals and the chaotic yet somehow organized look of them all. She would’ve thrown them in the back, but she knows that her parents are going to demand a picture of them in a vase at her apartment, and if they’re not in pristine condition there will be words exchanged. Leave it to her parents to buy her flowers and expect them to be treated as their own.

     She’d been glad to see her parents after the show. It’d been a few weeks, despite living in the same city, alas at opposite ends where PAI’s close to the water and her parents live in their sprawling estate further inland where there’s more space. Most of the cast’s families had attended this show, planning to attend the Kiramman’s gala after the show, so Caitlyn had filtered out into the auditorium with the rest of the cast, fake blood cleaned up and costumes hung up in her dressing room.

     “You did wonderful!” her mother had gushed, walking over on click-clackity heels with open arms as soon as Caitlyn emerged from backstage. They’d embraced, but Caitlyn’s eyes had strayed to where Powder’s cackle echoed off the walls, fooling around with Ekko’s father Benzo and Vander, his eldest daughter nowhere to be seen. “Perhaps we’ve discovered the real reason you’re zipping off to New York so soon: to pursue Broadway!”

     “I’m not that good, Mother,” Caitlyn had chuckled, pulling back to hug her father. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”

     “You can never get enough of a good Shakespeare play, can you?” her father said, the bouquet of flowers brushing against Caitlyn’s back. They’d pulled apart and he’d ushered the bouquet into her arms, positioning her in front of the stage. “We must grab a few photos!”

     “Dad—”

     “With your mother, go on now—”

     They’d taken some photos, making Caitlyn feel like she was at her elementary school figure skating competitions again, with her father’s camera and that love for photography that’d been passed down to her, smiling until her cheeks hurt as her father told her to hold, hold, hold it .

     “Where’s Romeo? Violet, was it?” her mother asked, looking around. Caitlyn’s chest went stone cold as if paralyzed by Medusa. “We must have a photo of you two. You’re co-stars!”

     “Completely right, Cass. Now where did she disappear off to—”

     “Oh—that won’t—she’s probably spending time with her family, we don’t need to—”

     “There she is! Violet!” Her mother began waving frantically. “We must introduce ourselves—”

     Vi had recently emerged from backstage, in the same lounge-wear from earlier when they had that Gods-forsaken conversation, talking amongst her family before turning in confusion at the sound of her name. So there Vi and Caitlyn stood awkwardly, stealing glances and pretending they didn’t happen, while the heads of the Kiramman and Lanes families exchanged pleasantries, raving over their daughters and their performance before conducting them before the stage.

     “You two certainly weren’t this stiff on stage!” Caitlyn’s father had said as he made erratic movements with his hand, gesturing for them to get closer. “A little closer now! In the frame!”

     “Just a few more minutes of acting, you two,” chuckled Vander, his own cell phone out and at the ready.

     Caitlyn was going to mysteriously fall backward and knock herself out on the hard rim of the stage, shuffling closer, cradling the bouquet in one arm and drumming her fingers against it, the crinkle of the paper itching at her ears. Vi’s eyes had not been able to stay still and were glancing everywhere but Caitlyn, until their oversized loungewear briefly, just briefly, brushed at their sides and Vi’s eyes flicked to hers, down to where Caitlyn was persistently badgering at the bouquet, back up.

     A hand slid around her back, deft fingers weaving its way over to Caitlyn’s hand, running a comforting circle around the knobby bones of her wrist before returning to her waist. Caitlyn breathed out, her tapping slowing to a stop. She leaned a little to her right, into Vi.

     “There we go!” her father exclaimed. “Hold still!”

     The camera flashed, and Caitlyn felt the imprint of Vi’s fingers into her skin like the permanence of ink on film.

     “You both did incredible,” Vander said with a polite nod to Caitlyn, as Vi’s hands dropped from her body so quickly Caitlyn wondered if she’d imagined it. Vi stepped away, hands thrust into her pockets, and Vander reprimanded her with a look. “Vi, where are our manners?”

     Vi looked up at her and swallowed. Their eyes met, and a shock went straight through Caitlyn’s chest.

     “You did perfect, Caitlyn,” Vi had said, lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smile, that wasn’t quite nothing, that had Caitlyn searching her face for something, anything, something more , and had turned away before Caitlyn could return the sentiment.

     Now Caitlyn sat in her car, having retreated to her dressing room to change into a dress for the closing night party while her parents left a little early to oversee the final touches. The song’s changed; Mel’s nodding her head to Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa while Caitlyn stares straight ahead, fixing the strap of her dress at a stop light. She hadn’t caught Vi on her way out of the auditorium, but she’d seen Powder and Ekko fluttering out like a couple on their honeymoon, all dressed up—so she must be going. Right?

     Her fingers dance insistently on the steering wheel, the heating from the vents making the tips of her fingers sticky, the ghost of Vi’s own circling her wrist like phantom pain. And what would she say to Vi, if she had spotted her? Nothing, probably. Vi would’ve turned away as quickly as she had at the end of those photos, as quickly as she had from the door Caitlyn shut in her face, two and a half years ago.

     That isn’t fair, is it? Caitlyn’s the one leaving, the same as she had before. Even if they could simply remain in contact from a hundred miles apart, Vi doesn’t seem keen on mending things. All or nothing, that’s how it always is with Vi—the pain in her voice had made it all so clear. Please. Stay .

     “Cait.” Mel’s voice; Caitlyn blinks and Mel jerks her chin at the line of cars inching forward. “Light’s green.”

     Caitlyn steps on the gas. “Sorry.”

     Mel regards her with a sympathetic tilt of her head. “I thought the throwback rap was supposed to help with this?”

     “That’s for the screaming,” Caitlyn sighs. It’s not the type of music you can vent your frustrations to, it’s the type that you mutter under your breath while walking around campus like it’s almost a fact of life, a steady, smooth, cool tone. It soothes her, in its odd way. It isn’t working now.

     Mel moves her purse from her left to her right, removing the barrier between them, a symbol of giving Caitlyn her full attention. “What happened?” she asks, soft.

     Caitlyn shrugs, exhales, and watches the dark road stretch out before her. She says, “The same thing, I suppose.”

     They make it up to her parents’ house in due time, driving down the windy roads that lead to the estate. They wait in the short line for the valet and watch as Jayce and Viktor arrive a few cars ahead of them, followed by Steb in his uncharacteristic bright red truck and Loris in the next. Caitlyn greets the staff she’s come to learn by name and hands off her keys, summons another attendant, tells them to put the flowers in a vase and to hide it, tips her thanks, huffs at Mel’s amusement.

     “You look nice,” Jayce comments as Caitlyn’s heels clack, stepping up onto the curb. He and Viktor are wearing similar business casual attire; Jayce just has a gray sweater over his dress shirt. Mel, on the other hand, has traded her typical all-gold for a deeper shade of red (“To match the blood at the end, of course!” she’d told Caitlyn), with heavy gold jewelry and the miniscule seams of her dress the same. The attire for this is hardly black-tie considering it’s just a nice closing night event, but showing up to the Kiramman estate for any event meant dressing to impress, because there are usually at least a few cameras, and who would dare to dress anything but impeccably in front of the heads of the Kiramman house?

     There are no cameras tonight. At least, not any not hired by the Kirammans themselves. Caitlyn’s heart swell at the fact, that her parents had seemingly heeded her complaints that she felt too monitored, spied on at every move. Tonight’s for celebration, not publicity, even if a part of her knew that part of the secrecy is for the rumors of exclusivity.

     “They would kill me if I showed up wearing anything but black-tie.” Caitlyn adjusts her grip on her clutch and shifts her dress around. It’s baby blue, similarly because her parents would kill her if she wore anything but, strapless with a swooping drape of fabric only covering the small of her back and a wide ribbon across her neck, stopping just before her ankles. “Do you think they’re going to let you get away with a sweater?”

     Jayce pouts. “I’m dressed nice. And it’s cold.”

     Viktor pats his back, grasping Jayce’s hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

     The large drawing room where Caitlyn spent most of her high school days awaiting dinner only to be met with a large, empty table had been transformed. A small quartet plays low, intimate music in a far corner while the floor’s littered in high-top tables, staff drifting around with light refreshments, and a charcuterie table (Mel finds Elora in record time and zips off) lays off to the left. A few sit-down tables line the perimeter with some copies of the program before each chair, and Caitlyn is not quite sure how they got so many copies so quickly but she has already learned that ignorance is bliss.

     Her parents are off in the midst of the slowly gathering crowd, parents and friends some of which Caitlyn recognizes and some of which she doesn’t. They’re mingling, laughing with exaggerated gestures and champagne glasses in hand, as if they starred as Romeo and Juliet themselves. This is them in their element, Caitlyn supposes with a sigh, grabbing a flute off a passing tray. And in greater circumstances she might’ve even tried to imitate it.

     “When does this end again?” she asks Jayce.

     Jayce chuckles, snatching a flute of his own. “Aren’t you the most attentive hostess? You know it ends when your mother asks if you’d like to stay the night in your old room.”

     Caitlyn watches Ekko and Powder enter the room with wide eyes before promptly raiding the charcuterie table, her own eyes caught on the heel of their footsteps. A bright pink head of hair fails to follow after them, and Caitlyn takes a large sip of her drink.

     “I’d rather die,” she says belatedly.

     “She’ll be here,” Jayce says, reading her mind.

     “She was on the RSVP list,” adds Viktor, reappearing with snacks for both parties of the happy couple. “Being a student under Kiramman funding means aiding in their tech-heavy pursuits of managing an RSVP Google sheet.”

     Caitlyn braces her forehead with her palm, headache springing to life, and Jayce nudges her. “Mingle, slink off to the side, observe, and disappear. Good journalist skills, right?” he says.

     “Right,” Caitlyn says, exhaustion and regret a heavy stone in her mind like a rock plunging through wet paper, and inevitably catches her mother’s eye. Immediately she’s being summoned over, and it’s just an hour or so, isn’t it? Only an hour she has to put off the tightness of her chest, the swirling of what if s in her mind, the unending desire to find a solution, to deduce, to deal with the uncertain permeating through her skin. “Wish me luck.”

     Mingling goes fine. It’s mainly talking to the parents of other castmates and some of their family friends that had also seen the show tonight, thanking everyone for their kind words on her performance before settling into silence while her parents took over the conversation, smiling politely. It would’ve been hopeless to assume that her parents would swear off talk of business tonight, using the introduction of their daughter as a conversation starter, but Caitlyn is content with listening, catching herself back up on the Kiramman Foundation’s dealings and pursuits, making the small talk she’s supposed to make and dawdling around behind her parents the way she’s learned to.

     When Vi walks in, Caitlyn’s in the middle of doing just this, explaining the logistics of balancing rehearsal with practicing lines with school and work to one of her father’s friends from med school, stopping short in the middle of a sentence as her eyes lock on the moving figure through the doors of their drawing room. She’s not late—there wasn’t really an official start time—bantering with Mylo and Claggor with Vander close behind, loose blazer and dress shirt hanging from her shoulders, untucked from her slacks and maroon tie fastened haphazardly around her collar.

     Caitlyn’s mind goes blank, for just a second. Even if Vi looks like she couldn’t care less about what she wore to this, she takes Caitlyn’s breath away all the same.

     Their eyes meet as Vi takes in the room, face falling from a light smile to something smoother, cooler. She tears her gaze away before Caitlyn can offer anything close to a smile, looking Caitlyn up and down before moving in the direction of her siblings.

     Okay. At least she’s here. Now what? 

     “Caitlyn?” her mother asks, craning her neck to catch Caitlyn’s straying eyes.

     Caitlyn swallows, clearing her throat. “Sorry,” she says, plastering that smile on her face. “You were saying—right. Yes, it’s been a few years since it’s been too much to handle.”

↠↢

The break-up had been hard for Caitlyn, too.

     She had caught snippets of how it’d been for Vi, mainly through the scathing looks Powder would send her when Caitlyn visited Jayce and Viktor in the engineering building and the talk that would move from Powder to her friends to her. Vi always takes things hard—she and Caitlyn share the same coping mechanism, burying emotions down and distracting themselves with something else, but while Caitlyn does it quietly, Vi does it loudly, throwing herself into the boxing team and until-failure work-outs at the gym and glowering at anything that moved.

     They’re polar opposites in that sense. Caitlyn dealt by keeping to herself, locking herself in her room, making sure absolutely no one knew she felt like something was eating away at her chest, at her mind, making her unable to focus on her schoolwork and virtually anything else. She’d done what she was supposed to: blocked Vi’s number, removed her from both following lists, even went as far to block her on Spotify and their school emails, knowing it wasn’t really necessary because she was sure Vi would never reach out to her again.

     The beginning had been the worst—it always is. Noticing the gaps in her schedule she used to fill with time with Vi, deleting posts and comments, wading through a life that was surrounded by fog when Vi had been her lighthouse, always shining, always guiding her home. Her grades didn’t slip—if the rest of her life was crashing down around her, this would be the one thing she refused to mess up—but as the months blurred into one and she found herself suddenly on the other side, she read her articles and essays from the months prior and found them lifeless, dulled, as if her writing style had dwindled to something resembling a corpse.

     Ruminating over the final conversations wouldn’t do her any good, even if she wished it had gone differently, even if she imagined Vi’s arm snaking around her waist at night, even if she itched to press that unblock button, call Vi like she always would, tell her the details of her day. At the start, she was just sad, because they had been good, hadn’t they? Vi was the first person she’d ever said I love you to, the first person to make her feel like she had something more to say without the Kiramman tag at the end. Later, learning that sadness wouldn’t do her any good, wouldn’t fuel her to keep going, she became angry, and angrier, upset because Vi should’ve taken a different approach, should’ve understood her better, should’ve been there when Caitlyn needed her the most.

     Eventually, it became why didn’t Vi fight for them before it came to this?

     She took different routes to class, making her commute longer than it should be to avoid the memories of when Vi would walk her to them, making jokes and their laughter echoing off the trees. She changed her study spots, moving to the opposite side of the third floor of the library, keeping to her apartment, forgoing her usual cafes until she was sure Vi would never go back. She punched Vi’s phone number into credit card readers, watching the points rack up on dingy screens, humming when they drastically went down every so often, signifying Vi had used her rewards. And it worked, for a few weeks: in completely different majors on different parts of campus passing Vi was improbable, but PAI was a small campus with a small student body. They were bound to run into each other eventually.

     And run into each other they did. The first time had been not been too cruel, merely passing on a path on the way to class. One mutual glance to recognize her surroundings and suddenly Caitlyn’s day was ruined, keeping her head down as they passed each other, not before she caught Vi’s mutual scowl, thoughts of Vi tainting her remaining lecture and hovering over as she sat at her desk (the ghost of Vi’s arms wrapping around her shoulders, asking her to come to bed), made dinner (the phantom smell of Chinese takeout intoxicating her senses), took her meds (Vi holding them between her fingers, eyes wide, as if realizing something for the first time).

     There had been crueller times. Passing Vi while Vi was clearly on a date, while Caitlyn was in the library studying with a girl that hadn’t lasted long, getting caught holding the door for a random person and then suddenly her. And there had been times where Vi didn’t notice that Caitlyn was around, and Caitlyn always took these times to stay her gaze, perhaps proving to herself that she’s doing better than Vi, that she had gotten over the breakup quicker, better, came out of it stronger—but when you cut away her expansive reasoning and apply a single word to it, it’s always just her, staring, loitering. Waiting.

     Has she just been waiting, all this time, for Vi to come back? She’d would never’ve admitted it until perhaps her deathbed if it wasn’t for her inaccurate spreadsheet, for Vi’s bet with her siblings, but she’d always felt like there was a part of her left open since the breakup. A to-be-continued message at the end of a story, a yield sign at an intersection, a yellow at a stoplight, somewhere deep in her being. There’s two figures that make up a pause symbol, rectangular blocks facing each other—parallel, symmetrical, opposite, in sync—and hadn’t that always just been them?

     Caitlyn lifts the flute of champagne she’d been nursing to her lips and braces her elbows on the high-top table below her, rubbing the navy tablecloth between her fingertips. This feels oddly like those times where she’d spot Vi in public and just stare, watching her talk to Loris and Steb, deep in conversation, leaning against her own high-top table across the room with one arm crossed over her chest. She looks so casual, so good, nodding along and gesturing around as she speaks, always so emphatic and vibrant. There’s a smile at the corner of her mouth and Caitlyn wants to place her mouth there and watch it grow.

     What is she doing? What are they doing? What does she do from here? She’s been thinking about it all night and she’s gotten no closer to a solution, not one that would satisfy them both, not one that Vi would be happy with. And even if they did find one, what happens to them? Trying again would be a simpler matter if that phrase didn’t already convey the issue—that this is an again , not something new. Besides, Vi wouldn’t consider that, not after everything, not with—not with her.

     Caitlyn swallows down the champagne and sighs, eyes lingering on Vi until a presence appears at her side.

     She’d only recently managed to weave away from mingling and following her parents around like a baby duck, and yet her mother takes the spot beside her once more, except without her father in tow or anyone, for that matter. She knows she doesn’t have to look at her mother to know that her mother knows she’s listening, knows that her mother understands her presence doesn’t need introduction, and yet—

     Her mother says, conversationally, with a finality, “You are in love with Violet.”

     Caitlyn takes one last, long look at Vi and glances at her mother’s knowing, waiting expression, then sighs and sets down her glass.

     “I know.”

     Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? Caitlyn’s always been ambitious, determined, a trait of her upbringing and her nature, but would she fight this hard for a feeling less than love? Would she spend the celebration of five months of hard work chasing after the gaze of a woman who’s more than certainly upset with her? Would she spend the last few weeks convincing herself against the fact, while her whole body screamed in objection the entire time? Doesn’t the heart want what it wants? Didn’t Vi tell her that?

     Hasn’t she known this whole time? She’s in love with Violet Lanes. Oh, Gods. That’s terrifying and it thrills her all the same.

     Her mother’s draped in a blue-gray dress that flares out at the shoulders and modestly reaches to the base of her neck, golden earrings dangling from her ears and just screaming I’m expensive! Look at me! Those blue eyes that match Caitlyn’s own have always been able to read Caitlyn like a book. Of course it’d be her mother to tell it to her—she doesn’t even have to ask how she knew.

     “What did I tell you about bringing future-daughter-in-laws home?” her mother asks with a lighthearted air, and when Caitlyn’s jaw tightens, drops the act. “You see, I did read Romeo and Juliet plenty of times in my time at school, and don’t recall the lines please, stay , and I can’t in the final scene.”

     “Salo will have our heads for that during our final class, I’m sure,” Caitlyn says, shaking her head.

     Her mother hums. “It does not seem like a scene an unrequited-love pair would put on, either.”

     Caitlyn looks at Vi again, Loris and Steb having wandered away and instead was now having a less enthusiastic conversation with Vander and Powder, gaze far away.

     No. Perhaps not.

     Her silence feeds into that elephant in the room, or between them. Her mother leans closer and asks, “So why has this mutually in love couple been acting like being within five feet of each other is a death sentence the entire night?”

     It’s not worth it to lie, not to her mother, who would scope out the truth with a few well-structured questions, but she’s not particularly in the mood to debrief three years of information, none of which her mother knows about.

     “I am moving to New York,” says Caitlyn, shifting off her elbows. Her mother nods. “She has familial obligations to stay here. For several reasons, beginning this relationship long-distance is not ideal. She believes I have no good reason to leave. I understand her situation, but not her reasoning against mine.”

     “And what is her reasoning?”

     Caitlyn swallows. “I can find a remote job in journalism instead, talk to you and Father about boundaries, resign from my lease, and stay here.” There’s a small dent in the tablecloth from where she’s been rubbing it insistently, and she smooths it down onto the table. “I’d be severing my ties with the Times indefinitely if I do the former, not to mention I’ve been planning this for years. I can’t simply drop out of a job at the snap of her fingers.”

     “You always did look forward to our Christmas-in-New-York vacations,” her mother remarks, thoughtful.

     The quartet strums gentle music from the corner, the low chatter of the guests floating through the room. At some point, her father will do a toast to the cast and crew and they’ll cheer and that’ll be the signal that the night is coming to a close. But not yet, not as both mother and daughter’s gazes turn to Vi and her family, and back to each other.

     “One of my biggest regrets was not following your father to Europe for graduate school,” her mother begins, a sudden fact that has Caitlyn whipping her head toward her. “There was no reason not to, other than my pride. I believed there was no suitable career path in politics when not in one’s home country, not when one couldn’t hold office. Instead, we both ended up in the most gruelling years of our careers with no support system, and I ended up following him there years later regardless. With you in tow.”

     Caitlyn supposes she’s never asked. It’s not like she and her parents talked about much other than the Kiramman Foundation’s future, never the structure of how it began.

     “Why did you go? You were already a Senator.”

     “The public, scorned reason was I wanted to pursue philanthropy with more of the old money folks in Cambridge,” her mother chuckles, shaking her head. Her eyes land on her husband, conversing with some of their staff, and her eyes seem to brighten. “The real reason was your father had already made one leap. It was my turn to make the other. He had already come to the States for undergrad, returned to the UK for medical school for a reason—his home was never here—I couldn’t let him do it again. I couldn’t keep you from him, or him from you—our family from being together.”

     Caitlyn notes, “Sacrifice.”

     “Compromise,” her mother corrects. “Now, I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

     Silence settles between them, heavy with the weight of Caitlyn’s mind, sparking a thousand realizations.

     “Violet seems like a wonderful girl,” her mother says, nodding in Vi’s direction. “Compliments you quite well, on and off stage. I can see why Salo cast two complete wildcards for the lead.”

     “Other than his delusion,” Caitlyn grumbles.

     “Perhaps.” A hint of amusement tugs at her mother’s face, there and then gone. “So what is it that is keeping you from choosing her?”

     This conversation. Okay. Caitlyn grips the edge of the table and readies herself.

     “I have enough funds to pay for dropping out of the lease on my own. But—you and Father have eyes all over this city,” Caitlyn says, spewing that speech she’s tumbled over in her mind a thousand times. “I have never been able to successfully keep a secret. All except for her. I just want to feel like my own person, not an extension of you and him.”

     “We do that to keep you safe—”

     Caitlyn shakes her head. “I want to fight my own battles, not be shielded from them.” She sighs and turns toward her mother. “I’m twenty-two. Don’t you think it’s time I choose, I experience everything for myself?”

     “You will never be old enough to escape my help,” says her mother, tsking, and as Caitlyn’s about to protest and reiterate her point and begin getting frustrated, her mother exhales and nods. “I suppose there did come a day that my mother stopped watching my every move.”

     “I’ll accept your help,” Caitlyn says. “I just—I just want some things private. I want to feel like I have some autonomy. That you have trust in my decisions.”

     “We did raise you to be able to run this—” her mother waves a vague hand to their estate, their legacy— “on your own, someday.” A pause, then another, resigned nod. “I will withdraw my—prying. And I will talk to your father—you know how he is, with all the violence and illness he sees at that Gods-forsaken hospital every day.”

     This is shocking news, but Caitlyn works not to let it get to her face. “I pray you know that I do my very best to avoid that violence .”

     “Ah, yes, I do. I do monitor all of what you do, after all,” her mother sighs fondly, gaining a sharp look from her daughter. “A joke, I joke,” her mother chortles. “I understand. I’ll hold true to my word. Besides, I’ve never wanted to make you feel like you’d want something to hide.”

     Something in Caitlyn snaps and clicks back into place, and if her mother was a hugging type of person, she might’ve gone for one. But she doesn’t. Instead, she meets her mother’s gaze and nods, just the once, and feels that something settle into stillness when her mother nods back.

     One obstacle down, her mother says, “And your job prospects?”

     “I believe that’s the biggest issue,” Caitlyn says, glancing down, plucking the tablecloth between her fingers again. “I’ve done too much—worked too hard—to forego this. This is all I’ve wanted my whole career. And I’m not foolish enough to believe there will be something waiting for me, fitting my exact needs, when this field is already competitive as it is.”

     “Well,” her mother says, shrugging, “have you looked?”

     Caitlyn freezes. Well. No. No, she hasn’t.

     She unlatches her clutch and pulls her phone from it, tapping onto the incredibly outdated website that hosts all of NYT’s listed job listings, a website she’s all too familiar with. She scrolls past all the technical listings, the human resources concerned ones, until she ends up at the news writing department—no new listings. Well. That’s that, isn’t it? Huffing, she scrolls on a whim to her current department, advertising, for God’s sake, and stops short.

     There, in bold letters—Department of Advertising: Editor, Open to Remote.

     The thought comes to her unbidden, staring down at her phone. It’s a different position, she has the writing position rather than editing, but—if Professor Shoola was already going to write a recommendation letter to switch her from department to department, can’t she write one advocating for Caitlyn to switch positions instead?

     It’s not what she was shooting for—she’d been wanting news writing for the action, for the potential opening for investigative, political journalism. But it’s still with the Times, and it’s still a job. And what had her mother said about compromise?

     “There is,” breathes Caitlyn, voice breaking on the fact.

     Her mother asks, “Then I suppose your final question is are you willing to take it?”

     Caitlyn pinches the tablecloth, once, twice, then drops it and drums her fingers on the table instead, glancing at Vi across the room. Still deep in conversation with her sister and father, still achingly beautiful, and as she feels her own eyes soften and her breath suspend in her throat, of course Caitlyn finds herself still devastatingly in love.

     “This isn’t the first time we’ve tried,” Caitlyn says, for context. “This whole time, our whole relationship, it’s just been school, work, school, work, work, and work , and Gods for once I want the courage to choose her.”

     Her mother doesn’t respond—doesn’t have to. Caitlyn knows what went wrong their first time around, knows it better now, knows herself better and knows exactly what she needs to do.

     “I need to make some calls,” she breathes, more to herself than anyone, grabs her clutch, and races away.

↠↢

Vi has always been a protector, but maybe not so much of herself.

     If she was given a choice between herself and another person, in any circumstance, it’d be to save the other. And isn’t that a good trait, to be selfless? It’s not as if she has no self-preservation; she can fight, she knows how to keep herself alive, she won’t throw herself into trouble for no reason. At least, she thought so.

     So what the hell is she doing here? Stomach hardly full on what the Kirammans call light refreshments, she doesn’t like champagne so she’s been interchanging lemon water and some watered-down fruit punch, blazer sat uncomfortably on her shoulders because they were always too tight for her, eyes caught on Caitlyn across the room.

     There hadn’t really been a reason to come. Sure, she’d RSVP’d, and it was a nice celebration, and it was probably important that she show up because she’s the damn lead, but there wasn’t a firm obligation. She isn’t giving a speech, and she sure as hell would rather be in her apartment, sulking, trying to pick up the pieces of her, shattered by the same stunning, horribly gorgeous girl a few dozen feet away. But yeah, maybe she doesn’t protect herself. Maybe this is her form of pressing on a bruise.

     Caitlyn looks incredible, per usual, dress hugging her features just right and the open back making Vi swear under her breath every time she caught a glance. She’s left her hair up in that half-up half-down style again, applying light blue eyeshadow, elegant tinted lipgloss caught on the rim of her glass. She’s been talking to her mom for a minute or so, the look in her eyes pensive, thoughtful. She keeps looking at Vi and Vi always sweeps her eyes away as quickly as possible.

     It’d been ridiculous to think that Caitlyn would stay. She’s not leaving with the intent to leave Vi, but she wouldn’t even consider the possibility of staying for her. And maybe she’d been stupid to think that too, that there was even something worth salvaging between them, because they weren’t dating, possibly would never even come close. Now, all Vi has done is let herself fall idiotically in love with her and embarrassed them both during the singular most important scene of the play.

     “I haven’t a clue how you managed to secure a role in a theatre class,” says a deep, gruff voice she recognizes instantly, “considering you weren’t acting at all on that stage.”

     “Is that an insult?” Vi shoots back, hardly looking over her shoulder.

     “No, just an observation,” says Vander, nursing a glass of whiskey Vi isn’t sure how he procured, taking the place beside Vi at the high-top table. “At least, you were never acting with her.”

     He tips his glass in Caitlyn’s direction. Vi huffs and sips on her lemon water for something to do, and cringes at the taste. What is rich people’s obsession with adding shit to perfectly good water?

     “I would’ve gotten you flowers if I knew you had a vase in your apartment,” Vander adds. He’s wearing his typical jacket Vi would steal as a kid on winter nights with a button up below it, and his nicest pair of jeans that still looked like they’d gone through the dirt five times. “Now I know I should’ve just figured you’d borrow one from her.”

     Vander, like the rest of her family, is incredibly familiar with Caitlyn, originally a good thing until it hadn’t been; now, she isn’t sure of their thoughts, besides Powder’s. It isn’t like she goes home to Zaun after every new development with Caitlyn and explains it all to Vander, but she isn’t sure what he’s picked up since hearing from her sibling’s loud mouths that they’ve ‘made up.’

     “You done?” Vi asks, exasperated.

     “Could go on.” Vander shrugs. “But I suppose.”

     Vi groans, dropping her chin into her hand. “Am I really that obvious?”

     “You both are,” says Powder, appearing at Vi’s side as smoothly as a ghost. She, like Vi, maybe hadn’t understood the level of formality this thing required, despite that the invite said no dress code, baby pink sundress full of ruffles fluttering around her. “This whole in love thing is obvious to everyone but you two. How you doing, Pops?”

     “Alright, Pow. Tobias Kiramman over there offered me some good whiskey.”

     Powder snorts. “Already getting to know the in-laws, huh?”

     Vander’s surprised expression angles toward Vi. “Is it that serious?”

     Before Vi can answer, Powder laughs and says, “Oh, yeah. We’re long past that conversation.”

     “Hey, no,” protests Vi, but is already being interrupted.

     Vander sighs, turning to face Vi directly. “Listen,” he says slowly. “You’re an adult, I trust you can make your own decisions. She seems like a nice kid—now. But are you sure you want to pursue this after what happened?”

     “Doesn’t matter.” Vi blows a strand of hair out of her eyes, contrary to Vander’s statement, like a moody teenager. “It’s not happening.”

     Powder’s gaze cuts to her in alarm. “What?”

     “She’s moving to New York in seventeen days.”

     “So? You were looking for jobs in—oh.” As Vi regards her sister with a look, Powder seems to understand. “You didn’t find anything?”

     “Not really.” Vi shifts from one foot to the other, glancing at Caitlyn across the room. She’s still talking to her mom, expression hardly changed, fingers ever fidgeting with the tablecloth. Gods, even now, some part of Vi wants to race over there and steady her, take her hand in hers. “I mean, there’s options, but it’s better to stay here and she won’t do it.”

     “Ah, I do remember that,” Vander says, looking up fondly. “The first potluck you brought her to, wasn’t it? She said her dream job was to work in the city.”

     “Yup,” says Vi. The look on Caitlyn’s face when she’d told Vi about the job appears as fresh in her mind as ink on paper, and she shakes her head. “Whatever. It’s fine. I have the job Babette offered me here and she has hers. Over and done. She made that very fucking clear.”

     Vander says, “Language.”

     “Sorry.”

     “Well, let me rephrase,” says Vander, taking a drink of his whiskey before continuing. “You seem like you’ve already pursued this, and that must’ve taken a lot. If she was worth it this time, what’s keeping you from going with her?”

     “‘Cause it should be her, shouldn’t it?” Vi says, gesturing erratically. “She should be the one staying. She’s only going cause of the job and she can’t talk to her parents. She can find another job and—”

     “This is her dream job, Vi. For years, wasn’t it? You can’t expect her to throw that all away.”

     “I’d do it.”

     “Would you?” Vander challenges, making Vi scowl on the spot. “From what I’m hearing, you won’t leave your job either, and you just got the offer.”

     “Ha!” laughs Powder, taking a sip of fruit punch that hey, wasn’t that Vi’s? “Clocked.”

     Vi elbows her with sisterly force—by that, it means enough to make Powder dodge by stepping fully sideways.

     Vander continues, “So can you imagine being asked to give up the job you’ve been seeking for years?”

     “This is different,” Vi argues, but she’s never really been good at defense, has she? “The job is not the main reason I’m staying. That just helps. She’s leaving just for that—”

     “Hold on,” interrupts Vander. “What’s the main reason?”

     “For you guys,” Vi says, like it’s obvious. “For you, and Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko, I have to be here in case something goes—”

     “Oh, come on!” Powder says exasperatedly. “Are you fucking kidding me? Vi—”

     Vander says again, “Language.”

     “Sorry, Dad, you get it though—Vi, this is the shit I’ve been trying to get through your thick-ass skull this entire time.” Powder grasps her arms with such a frenzy that even Vander’s eyes widen, effort toward decent language diminished. “We—” Powder gestures to herself and Vander and then to the grand room— “are gonna be okay. This isn’t ten years ago—this is now. You can choose yourself , you dumbass.”

     “I am choosing myself. I want to see you guys go through college, be there for your accomplishments, you’re already doing so much, Pow—”

     “Phones exist, so do cars—”

     “You can say the same thing for this shit with me and Cait—”

     “Then why aren’t you doing it?” Powder asks her, incredulous, throwing her hands up. “Be long distance. It’s barely even that—it’s what, two and a half hours? It’s never forever.”

     “We already went through this once,” Vi huffs, because she’d run through this option in her mind more than she can count, sure that Caitlyn had arrived at the same conclusion. “If we’re gonna get it right this time, long distance isn’t the move. Exes with a bad break-up trying to get back together two hundred miles apart? No, it doesn’t work. Especially when there are already solutions—”

     “Perhaps you’re right then,” Vander huffs, sarcasm laced all over his tone. “Long-distance works with communication and understanding, something you’re not doing with her right now.” Vi blows hot breath out of her nose, her mind reeling. “Let me ask you this, Violet. Do you want this to work?”

     The answer rises up in her faster than she’d expected. “Yeah. Yeah—of course.”

     “Are you willing to do what it takes to make it work?”

     She thinks so. That’s what she told Caitlyn, wasn’t it? That she’d drop the year-long dream of a job, of a city, for her. So was her issue that Caitlyn wouldn’t? Maybe it had been before—before Vander always somehow knocked some sense into her. Caitlyn’s reasoning made sense. It’d be hard for Vi herself to give up that dream too, and Caitlyn’s always been a plan-based person: tossing everything up in the air would send her into that human tornado Vi’s already seen once. Maybe Vi had been a little too hard on her. So if Caitlyn’s factors stay the same, and Vi went with her, what does she lose?

     Before she can answer, Powder faces her once more. “If long distance with her is out, and long distance with us is in, that’s okay.” She grabs Vi’s hands in hers and squeezes. “We’re gonna be fine, I promise. You don’t think Ekko and I can handle things over here?” she asks, cocking a grin.

     Vi says, “I told you once I’m not choosing her over you guys again.”

     Powder rolls her head back and groans. “For Gods’ sake, dipshit. Do you love her?”

     Vi’s eyes flick to Caitlyn across the room, only to find her retreating, hurrying away with a frantic nature that Vi’s only seen once before, the day she came out to her parents—only this time, her mother, now having rejoined her husband, seems satisfied and not at all like something is wrong. Her feet itch to race after her—her hands move upward as if to reach out for her.

     “Obviously,” Vi sighs, instead of any of this. “Obviously—fuck, yeah, I do.”

     “And I know you love us. You’re not choosing between us, not this time,” says Powder. “You’re never gonna forgive yourself if you let her get away again. I won’t let you do that. You are happy with her, you will be happy with her, so let yourself be happy instead of trying to save things that don’t need saving and kicking the ones that do. The one that does.”

     She points in the direction Caitlyn has disappeared off to. If Vi had ever been unsure of where Powder stood about her and Caitlyn, there’s not a doubt now. Going with Caitlyn—leaving the family is okay, even if it’s not really leaving, saying no to the job. There’s bound to be job openings in New York, and it’s not like Caitlyn doesn’t have enough money to support them both until Vi finds one. Even that NYU boxing team is bound to open more entry-level jobs soon, being a new team.

     “It was a shame when you split. She was good for you, before everything,” Vander adds, as Vi’s thinking enters limits she had not thought possible. He finishes his whiskey and sighs in satisfaction. “I did always like that girl.”

     And Vi’s always—always, who the hell is she kidding, of course always—loved that girl, that girl who is currently getting away .

     She takes her last sip of that God-awful lemon water and slams it on the table. “I’ll be back,” says Vi, nods, and tells them both, “Thank you,” before dashing off.

     When did this damn room get so full? Vi weaves in and around various partygoers, crossing the dozens of feet that had separated her and Caitlyn’s parallel high top tables, dress shoes clicking against the ornate granite floor. Heart racing, she reaches the hallway that Caitlyn had gone into and stumbles down it, taking one turn before swearing under her breath and realizing Caitlyn could’ve gone anywhere.

     “Fuck,” she whispers, head turning in circles. Where the fuck did she go? Somewhere private, obviously. She used to live here, so maybe her bedroom? Private suites would be upstairs, but the grand staircase was back in the drawing room—could there be a secret, more private staircase? Holy fuck, Vi thinks, feeling in her back pocket for her phone, should she just call her?

     “She’s in the garden,” says a voice behind her, making Vi jump and whip around. Gods, does the whole Kiramman family have some gene that makes their arrivals silent? Cassandra Kiramman stands behind her, in the doorway to the hallway, casual and—leaning against the doorframe? Looking amused? Cassandra raises her hand and points. “Down this way, to the left, make a right when you reach the entrance to the greenhouse.”

     Oh, thank fuck. Vi stumbles down the hallway and looks to the left—indeed, a greenhouse entrance with its stained glass windows sits at the very end. She turns back to Cassandra and says, with a sort of wonder, “Thank you.”

     Cassandra nods. “Caitlyn is lucky to have you,” she says with a small smile, and turns away before Vi can question anything else.

     When Vi makes it to the garden, Caitlyn is indeed there, back turned with her phone raised to her ear, speaking in low tones. The garden—what the hell was Vi expecting, anyway—is absolutely beautiful, even in the night. The cobblestone patio that leads down from steps has small plants springing from the miniscule breaks between stones, ancient looking benches lining the area. Various flowers grow on the branches of the trees lining the space, purple petals floating down as a breeze blows by, moonlight outlining the lines of each detail like white highlights on a painting. And yet—Vi’s eyes only land on her, always on her.

     Caitlyn murmurs something into her phone and hangs up, shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. Vi takes the last step down from the steps and the sound seems to surprise her; Caitlyn turns with wide eyes that quickly settle into an expression of surprise and relief.

     “Hey,” Vi says, suddenly at a loss for words.

     This seems to snap Caitlyn out of it. “Hi,” she says, eyes carefully following how Vi takes a few steps closer.

     Okay, what to say from here? Jump right into it? I’ll go with you, I never want to go anywhere without you, I don’t know if I ever could?

     “Some night,” she ends up saying, cringing internally as soon as it leaves her mouth but keeps it up. “Your parents definitely know how to throw a party.”

     Caitlyn snorts, then remembers herself and covers her mouth momentarily. “This is hardly a party,” she says, waving around with her phone still in hand. “If it were a party, there’d be a whole red carpet with paparazzi calls made and performers and double the staff. This—this is tame.”

     “That’s where all your GettyImages Instagram photos come from, huh?”

     “Exactly right.” It’s here that Caitlyn seems to realize that they’re casually talking, the tension that had been following them around like a lost dog carefully dissipated. Vi watches Caitlyn’s throat work, watches her take a step forward— “Look, Vi—”

     “Cait—”

     They speak at the same time, grimacing as they both stop short.

     “You first—”

     “Sorry, I insist—”

     And again.

     “You go, Cupcake,” Vi says finally, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You were here first.”

     “Um—okay,” Caitlyn says, blinking a few times before breathing in, then out. A silence settles here, sharp-edged and waiting like the moments before a knife drops with nothing you can do to stop it.

     It takes a few seconds, but then Caitlyn says, “Remember the day of auditions—um, you said something about my idiotic spreadsheets?”
Vi feels her eyebrows draw together. “Yeah. Uh—why?”

     “A lot of my spreadsheets actually helped me very much, you know,” Caitlyn says, fierceful like she’d been pondering this for a long time. “Just because there was one mistake—it doesn’t disregard all the other instances it’s kept my academic journey in check.”

     “Yes, Cait.” Vi says this almost fondly, shaking her head. “This matters…?”

     “Right. Um—well, turns out the Times is a fan of them too,” says Caitlyn bashfully, raising her phone for emphasis. “So—so I went looking with what I could find internally, and I don’t think it was quite idiotic, not when everything was very properly organized and it really helped—anyway. Their job listings are available to the public but I found the details on one of our spreadsheets and interviews haven’t been conducted and there’s nothing that would prohibit me from switching roles within departments—”

     “Woah, wait—”

     “And I know this is completely unprompted but it was the best solution I could come up with that would work logically and hit all the needs , not all the wants, if there’s something different I could do I still have some leeway—”

     “Caitlyn,” Vi interrupts, that epiphany slowly dawning on her. “Slow down. What does that mean?”

     “I made some calls.” Caitlyn breathes in, breathes out, fingers toying with the edge of her phone case. A small frown tugs at her lips, but it’s there and then gone. She says, “There’s an open remote advertising position. With the Times.”

     Holy shit. Hold the fuck up. That would mean—Vi’s breath catches in her throat. “But you hate advertising,” she says.

     A swallow. “Hate is a strong word.”

     “Dislike, then. Cait, you can’t—”

     Caitlyn’s already continuing. “I would have to reinterview which isn’t an issue at all considering I’d retain my original position, but Shoola was going to write me a recommendation letter anyway to move me to news writing, so she wasn’t happy about me calling her personal number this late but she agreed to switch it to this position, which allows me to bypass interviewing. And—and I talked to my parents, they—well, my mother, she said she would discuss it with my father—but she agreed to lay off the prying and the helicopter parenting, and I have enough to pay the fee for dropping out of the lease, so—so, like I said, I know this is completely insane to do without knowing but if you’re still interested I would—”

     Vi-an-hour-ago would kill her for what she’s about to say next. “You switched out of news writing?” she asks, jaw figuratively on the floor.

     Caitlyn frowns. “Well, yes. There wasn’t a job opening in—”

     “You can’t do that!” Vi exclaims, and the confusion that crowds Caitlyn’s face only fuels her more. “News writing was your whole thing, you were gonna go on to investigative journalism with the public relations shit and—”

     “I know that,” snaps Caitlyn, if only to get Vi to stop talking. “I’ll have the oppurtunity to switch in the future, positions open up. There wasn’t a job opening in news writing, I had to switch to something.”

     It settles in Vi’s chest then, the realization exploding as soon as her nerves catch up. “You’re not moving?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, jaw set. “Not if you don’t want me to. Not if it means not—not being with you.”

     A beat—heavy, agonizing. Then another.

     Vi’s lenses burn with just how wide her eyes must be, mouth growing dry from her lips slightly parted. Caitlyn looks worried, that adorable mouth puckered and her gorgeous cerulean eyes waiting, glistening. And then—Vi’s mouth breaks into a lip-splitting grin.

     “Oh, you stupid, gorgeous, oblivious dumbass,” Vi breathes—and she surges forward and kisses her.

     Caitlyn doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening, stumbling back and hesitating before moving right back in seconds later, a hand on Vi’s cheek as Vi reaches into her hair, her mouth hot and hungry against Vi’s. Gods. Fuck. Fuck . Some puzzle piece in Vi’s mind shifts and morphs and completes itself, and Gods, kissing her, they’ve kissed hundreds of times by now but this is the first time it feels like this , real, like every single thing that had kept them apart—they break up, the move—had been the barrier to this lucid of a kiss, and now it’s gone.

     Vi pulls back and looks at her, finding Caitlyn hopeful but maybe even more confused than before. “Cait,” Vi says, breathless, “you know I love you too much to let you do that, right?”

     Those wondrous eyes grow to the size of saucepans and Caitlyn seems to undergo a seizure. “What?” she asks, intelligently. “You—you love—”

     “I came out here to tell you that I’m going with you,” Vi spills out in a rush, to ignore the other part—and it doesn’t even feel preposterous anymore, to go with her, to leave everything behind, not when the love she knows like the back of her palm is right in front of her. “I’m not taking the job. I’ll go with you.”

     “But—” Caitlyn’s hand is still on her cheek, blinking rapidly and faltering— “but, no, you can’t, your family—”

     “My family’s gonna be fine,” Vi says. Fuck if she wasn’t lying to Powder: she wants to be here so goddamn bad, to watch them grow and be there for their lowest, but it’ll be okay, right? “You were right, they’re adults, and Powder and I talked and—I’ll always have them, I need to make sure I have you.”

     “Then your job with the athletic department—”

     “It doesn’t mean as much to me as the Times does to you. I’ll find something else.”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, slow to fast. “I know how much your family means to you. If I stay, you can have both.”

     “And I know how much going to New York means to you .” Vi brushes a strand of hair behind Caitlyn’s ear, and Caitlyn shudders. “You’ve worked so hard for it. I can’t let you sacrifice that for me .”

     “You’re worth it,” Caitlyn breathes, sniffling. She brushes her thumb down Vi’s cheek and smiles, sadly. “Obviously you’re worth it, Vi, and I’m still working there, just remotely—”

     “You wouldn’t be happy, though. Not really.”

     “Would you ? Never in my life would I have thought I’d hear these words from you.”

     Vi hesitates, as Caitlyn’s eyes follow hers knowingly and her hand drifts down to her neck. She’d thought about it, in the rush of things. She’d been hoping to at least hold out in Zaun and Piltover at least until Powder and Ekko are out of college, settling down somewhere with good jobs and stability, because if they didn’t have the latter, Vi could take care of them. That’d been her whole goal and purpose up until about ten minutes ago. Mylo and Claggor graduate next year, so it’d be, what, three years until she could go with Caitlyn? Until Vi felt like she could go without regrets? That wouldn’t work, would it?

     “See?” Caitlyn’s still smiling at her, but it’s pained. “I’m not going to allow you to push them aside when not understanding the worth of your family was the whole issue last time.”

     “This isn’t last time,” says Vi, taking a step back, disconnecting every place they’re touching and Caitlyn frowns. “This isn’t last time, I know you understand. You’ve shown me you understand. You don’t have to be a martyr and give up everything you’ve worked so goddamn hard for—”

     “Say the word and I will be,” Caitlyn says on an exhale, shortening the distance Vi had put between them. “I don’t care about the work, I don’t care about what I’d be leaving behind, whatever future I had in store. Say the word and I’d give everything up to be with you.”

     “I don’t want you to do that, Cait—”

     “You asked me to do so a mere six hours ago—”

     “Not anymore.” Vi shakes her head, running a hand through her hair, Caitlyn’s wretched gaze following her every move. “I have less to lose. I’ve already worked everything out, it’s so much easier—”

     “You don’t have a job prospect in New York. I don’t doubt you’d be able to get one, but at least if I stay we’ll both have true, concrete options.” Caitlyn folds her arms over her chest and rubs her upper arms, and Gods Vi just wants to hug her, keep her warm, keep her here, keep her safe. A peculiar look falls onto Caitlyn’s face, but her words only partly match it. “If there were a way for you to keep your current job while I go—”

     “It’s PAI based, I don’t think so. Look, one of us is going to have to choose,” Vi says, beginning to pace as that strange expression outlining Caitlyn’s features begin to grow. “One of us is going to have to sacrifice something, it should be me—”

     “No, not sacrifice,” Caitlyn says suddenly, realization flooding her face as quickly as a dam breaks. “Compromise.”

     This does not make any sense to Vi, at least not in reference to what they’re talking about. Caitlyn exhales and steps toward her, taking Vi’s hands in hers.

     “We don’t have to work out all the details right now,” she says, thumbs smoothing over Vi’s knuckles, rough from the years of scratching them up. “But I have an idea.”

     A flicker of nervousness arises in those striking blue eyes, completely uncharacteristic for Caitlyn, for the girl who’s had her life planned out before her with nothing ever, ever altering it—until now, maybe. She’s looking at Vi like Vi holds the answer to their whole problem and like Caitlyn’s standing on the precipice of something dangerous, and Vi’s the cliff.

     And then—Caitlyn chuckles. “Did you know I did end up going to brunch with my friends and—I suppose opening up to them a bit more? Like you told me?”

     “Yeah, you mentioned it,” Vi says, eyebrows drawing together for just a second. “Last week, right?”

     “Yes,” says Caitlyn, the remnants of her chuckle lingering on her lips. She’s breathing fast, heartrate rampant through the pulse point in her neck. “And the entire time I denied it. Of course I knew it, but I denied it—over—and over—again.”

     “Denied what—”

     “I love you, Vi.” The words shaping around Caitlyn’s lips startles her, and Vi’s mind borderline stops working. “I need you to know that before I say anything about—”

     “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,” Vi chokes out, fear sparking in her chest, because what the fuck . Caitlyn saying she wants to be with her is one thing, she didn’t expect for her to say it back — “Not just because I said it. I get it if—”

     “I mean it.” A fire blazes within Caitlyn’s expression, and if Vi had any doubts they’re gone now. “I want this to work and I love you. I love you more than I ever thought I could’ve, I’ve loved you for so long, I—I don’t think there’s been a second across these years that I haven’t, even if only a little. Once I learned how to love you I never worked out how to stop.”

     The last shred of resolve Vi had left that’d been stopping herself from getting back with her literal ex crumbles then, as if it had ever stood a chance in the first place, as if it hadn’t been cracking from the moment Vi saw her across that auditorium five months ago, from that lecture hall three years ago. Because, holy fuck, Caitlyn loves her? Because Caitlyn had been willing to give it all up, just like Vi had originally (stupidly) asked. Because—

     “Really?” Vi asks her, intelligently.

     Caitlyn nods, smiling ever so slightly. “Really.”

     “You’re not lying?”

     “I swear, my love. I could never lie to you.”

     Well. Vi’s already said it once, hasn’t she?

     “Come on. You know I love you too, Cait,” Vi tells her, unable to stop the smile turning her lips upwards, and the relieved, full-of-arising-joy breath that flows from Caitlyn’s lips is as perfect, as soothing as the wind rustling through the garden trees. “I—you think I ever stopped? I’ve never had a single thought without the thought of you tagging along.”

     That golden smile Vi loves so much arises on Caitlyn’s lips. “Yeah?”

     And Vi’s sure her face breaks out into the exact same thing. “Yeah.”

     Caitlyn captures her mouth then—not like a treasure for taking, not like the slip of a hand into a purse, but like a photograph, like a moment too precious, too valuable to get away, like trying to paint a moment forever in the fragile threads of time—Caitlyn kisses her like love’s too simple a word. Their noses brush and foreheads clash for just a second but then it feels like Caitlyn’s offering her mouth to Vi’s, tilting her head down, sinking into the heat that flares with every pass of their lips.

     Something irons out in the fabric of whatever the world has in store for them and Vi knows, Gods of course she knows, she’s always known, that this is nothing but pure, absolutely right . And a thought rises to her head unbidden, Caitlyn written all over it, like headlines and newspapers would be broadcasting this one simple truth—oh, we’re back.

     “Is this really happening?” Caitlyn asks her, quickly, before their lips meet again. “Is this real?”

     Vi slips her arms around Caitlyn’s waist and tugs her in, Caitlyn’s own falling around her neck. “I think—I know it is, Gods, Cait, you have no idea—”

     “I want this,” Caitlyn breathes against her mouth. “I love you. I want you. I was serious, I had an email drafted to my hiring manager and everything—”

     “I know, baby,” says Vi, nearly chuckling while her grin hurts her cheeks. “I know. Of course I love you, idiot.”

     A thrill seems to run through both of them at the words, and Caitlyn tips her head against Vi’s and breathes her in. Caitlyn says, too small, too uncertain, “I want this to work, Vi, with everything that’s happened—”

     “We’ll do it,” Vi tells her, and she knows she’s truthful the moment she says it. “We’ve got this. I promise. You said—?”

         “Compromise,” Caitlyn says again, her hands cold against Vi’s nape but Gods she does not care because holy fuck, she knows she’s said yes but it still feels foreign and absolutely insane—this is happening?

     Caitlyn says, “What if I went, and you stayed?” Before Vi can argue, Caitlyn shakes her head. “Not forever. Not even a little bit. If I’m remembering correctly—sorry, wait—”

     Caitlyn strays from her for only a moment, clicking on her phone and navigating before them both. She clicks into the starred folder of her email and taps on the only email in there, squinting. Seconds later, she inhales quick, and turns to Vi with a triumphant grin.

     “When I was being considered for a full-time position after my internship and I expressed interest in news writing, they told me they had an in-person and hybrid position,” Caitlyn explains, the speed of her words getting faster with her excitement. “I chose in-person because of my circumstances with my parents at the time, but they ended up placing me in advertising regardless, so I forgot about it…there’s no open news writing positions but Shoola was already going to bypass that anyway. I didn’t think it’d be an option because you wanted me to stay, but with a compromise—can’t she just alter which position I’d be asking for in the letter?”

     That doesn’t seem completely out of the question. In fact, it seems so reasonable that Vi can’t even come up with any buts or ifs. Vi asks, “Hybrid—so, what, you’d only be there some of the time?”

     “Essentially,” says Caitlyn, tossing her phone onto a nearby bench. “Ideally it’d be the first three days of the week in the office and then I’d spend the last half of the week here.”

     Not that Vi has any objections, but— “You’d be paying a whole month’s rent to only live there half the time, Cait.”

     Caitlyn gives her a lopsided grin. “Who do you think is paying my rent, darling?” The fucking pet name—Vi wouldn’t have had words to respond anyway. “And then you can keep the job, be here for your family, come stay with me some of the time, we can make the traveling equal, if you’re up for that—”

     “And by the time you’re up to move to investigative journalism—that’s what, three years?” Vi asks, and Caitlyn tilts her head side to side, estimating. “Powder graduates in three years, and I saw a job that needs three years experience in the city. I’m—I’m not gonna invite myself in, but I’d move permanently, if—”

     “Yes.” A laugh spills out of Caitlyn’s mouth, as pure as gold. “Obviously yes , Vi. I know it’s long distance for a few days a week, but—”

     “We’ll be okay,” Vi interjects, Vander’s words springing to mind. “We’ll talk—communicate. I know we can.”

     Caitlyn nods, reassuring herself with that smile that threatens to melt Vi’s entire heart. “You get to stay, I get to go, we see each other and the commuting isn’t forever.” Caitlyn states it like it’s finality, like the establishment of a genius equation. “I know it’s being away from your family sometimes—and it’s less time than I’d like in New York—but I don’t care. Not really. Not when it’s you.”

     Vi must be dreaming. She’s dreaming, right? If she weren’t holding Caitlyn oh so perfectly she’d go to pinch herself. The trade-off doesn’t even sound that bad when she’d been entering this conversation with an all or nothing. It works. This works. It’s all Vi’s been looking for and fuck it works—

     “Fuck—we’re doing this?” Vi asks her.

     It doesn’t even need to be a question—Caitlyn’s already nodding with that gorgeous, stunning grin. “We’re doing this.”

     “We’re trying again?”

     “We’re trying again.”

     “Holy shit,” Vi breathes, the high of pure elation starting to get to her head. “Fuck it—let’s do it, baby.”

     Caitlyn laughs this glorious laugh that’s simultaneously a screech of joy and launches at her, their lips clashing together in an overzealous frenzy. The force of the her jump makes Vi stumble backward and spin them around to rebalance them, and Caitlyn giggles against her mouth, hand bracing the back of Vi’s head as Vi pulls her closer like they’d been apart for years on end—

     Have they really been apart for three years? No, Vi doesn’t think so. Caitlyn’s never really left her, not her mind or her soul. Not really.

     She doesn’t know how long they stand here, making out on unsteady feet, Caitlyn’s dress still whipping around her legs and goosebumps on her arms when Vi runs her hands over them. But when Caitlyn rasps into her mouth, “Gods, I love you,” and kisses her again, and again, and again, how could she even remotely care?

     Romeo Montague died with a kiss. With each pass of Caitlyn’s lips against hers, Vi feels a kinship to him she’d never thought she’d understand.

↠↢

They can’t seem to get enough of the phrase throughout the rest of the night, as Caitlyn decidedly does not take Vi to bed in her childhood bedroom and instead drives them to her apartment.

     They say it as they search for the hidden vase of Caitlyn’s flowers on their adventure of sneaking out of the Kiramman estate. They whisper it into the silence of the car, holding hands across the console, Vi laying a kiss on each of Caitlyn’s knuckles at a red light. They laugh it as they stumble into Caitlyn’s apartment, tripping on Vi’s belongings from the previous night. Vi presses it into the crook of Caitlyn’s collarbones, carves it’s rhythm with her hips into Caitlyn’s, as Caitlyn’s chin rises in the air and she huffs three breaths that sound close enough.

     This isn’t their usual type of fucking. Sure, they’ve fucked without hurry before, but not sensual, never not rough. But the loop and curve of eight letters, three words, are too delicate to handle with anything but care, and this isn’t the moment, not now. Not when the feelings are too new, not when this isn’t their first time around at this, not when all Vi wants to do is worship Caitlyn for the goddess she is, for the woman Vi loves.

     So Vi stands Caitlyn up to remove her expensive ass dress with precision, turning her around and kissing her way down that open, toned back she’s been staring at all night, dragging the dress down with her descent and staring up at Caitlyn as she turns, her hands rising up on Caitlyn’s hips, heady, ardent. She lays Caitlyn down and kisses down to the tips of her fingers, taking them in her mouth when Caitlyn presses down on her lips. She stretches Caitlyn open obediently, with two, three, four fingers, as Caitlyn arches below her and Vi whispers, “That’s it, love. You’re okay,” and Caitlyn trembles against her, nails painting mosaics on Vi’s back.

     Vi fucks into her slowly, deliberately, perfecting each painstaking stroke, fingers plunging deep like rolling waves, building that crash and burn as Caitlyn hits the sand. She murmurs, “Perfect, baby, that’s my girl,” into her ear as Caitlyn’s legs fall from around her hips, Caitlyn’s fingers carding through her hair, dragging her in for a kiss. Caitlyn hums what sounds like three syllables into Vi’s open mouth, and Vi tumbles down into it.

     “My Romeo,” Caitlyn murmurs into Vi’s sternum as they settle down, dreary but pleased. Her fingernail makes small scratch marks just under Vi’s collarbone, the skin puckering up into a heart with an arrow, piercing right through, cliche and adorable.

     Vi chuckles and stares down at her, at how her hair is coming undone, at how her perfect mouth is slightly parted and her naked back is dotted with a few moles, a constellation Vi wants to connect with her lips. She mumbles, in tune, hand interlocking with Caitlyn’s artistic one, “My Juliet.”

     It feels like they have all the time in the world. It might be the first time they’ve actually felt it—the impending collapse of their late relationship, the rules at the beginning of their arrangement, the knowledge of Caitlyn’s move. Now all Vi sees when she stares down at Caitlyn, looks at the space between them, is a blank slate. Sure, shaped by their last relationship and perfected by their months of involvement, but blank nonetheless. They have time, and they’re doing it again. Right this time.

     So Vi lets herself fall. And it doesn’t feel like the first time around, where she’d lost herself in the plummet towards the ground, where everything surrounding her was Caitlyn and only her. No, this time’s with Caitlyn, diving in head first alongside her, trusting her, hand in hand. Like they’re in this together rather than against.

     So ditching all the poetic shit that makes Vi’s head hurt, she actually physically lets herself fall against the pillows when Caitlyn flips them over, gasps when Caitlyn spreads her open, lets herself feel soft and pliable because Caitlyn’s the one at the reigns. She’s safe and she’s cared for and Caitlyn’s not leaving, not this time, and she knows it, and she lets herself revel in the small “Fuck” that falls from Caitlyn’s lips when Vi’s on her knees, back on display, fingers fisted in the pillow sheets, and God fucking hell she enjoys it.

     Caitlyn breaks her open with the strap, pressing into her, kissing down her back with a reverence Vi had thought was reserved for prayer. She pushes back into Caitlyn and whines, takes her fingers in her mouth again when Caitlyn reaches around her and slides them through her open lips, because she can do that now, because Caitlyn tells her “I’m right here, darling, not going anywhere,” and Vi believes her. She pants and begs and Caitlyn soothes her from the high, gathering her in her arms, kissing her cheek. It feels common, typical, domestic. It feels like love.

     She says as much. “I love you,” she tells Caitlyn, after the towel has been fetched from Caitlyn’s nightstand, after Caitlyn has properly hung up her dress to avoid wrinkles and took Vi’s blazer with it. After Caitlyn has taken her now apparently official place as big spoon, legs curling around Vi’s, staring at each other with their heads on the same pillow. She knows she sounds slightly delirious, worn from the emotions of the day and the sex making sleep thrum through her veins, and she welcomes it.

     Caitlyn hums, smiles, raises her hand to run her nails from Vi’s hairline backward, in that same motion Vi is so addicted to; Vi closes her eyes, snuggles closer. Sleep claims her before the soundwaves of Caitlyn’s answer reach her ears, but she knows it all the same.

↠↢

In the morning, when the day is new and Vi recognizes the amount of light that sifts through Caitlyn’s blackout curtains, the first words she hears is not good morning. Like, what happened to hello, how are you? Caitlyn says, “Be my girlfriend.”

     There’s a hand on her face. Caitlyn’s laying on the pillow beside her, faces level, nail tracing the outline of Vi’s features, finding her hair very nicely tucked back, just the way she likes it when she sleeps because strays will fall and she’ll think it’s a bug crawling across her face. Caitlyn herself looks like she’s been awake for quite some time, skin smooth but not quite refreshed by her morning routine, not yet reinforced by the fact that Vi knows they don’t sleep like this, both from previous experience and that she’d woken up once or twice in the night to turn over and pull Caitlyn closer. Vi would bet on that she’s been doing that for a few minutes or more, just thinking, eyes studying Vi’s features, always running situations through her mind.

     The words register, but all Vi can do is nod, slowly, eyes heavy. Sleep hasn’t released her from its claws just yet.

     “I’m just thinking about it,” Caitlyn says, which confirms everything. “I don’t want to rush, but I suppose that’s far behind us now. I just—yesterday was a lot, and I believe there’s a high probability that the plan works, but I’m committed to this regardless of what happens and I want to set that desire in stone. I don’t want to be overzealous, or naive; I want this to work.”

     As Vi blinks at her, letting the information soak in and still waking up, Caitlyn adds, “And good morning.”

     Vi snorts, but it’s small and soft and not nearly as hearty as she usually is. “Yeah, Cait?”

     Caitlyn shakes her head, a smile breaking through her thoughtful expression. “Yeah.”

     Vi forces herself awake, rubbing her eyes and prying out the gunk that’s built in the corners before slinging that arm around Caitlyn’s shoulders. Caitlyn is thinking. Caitlyn is always thinking. Caitlyn is only ever not thinking when Vi is fucking the shit out of her, so maybe she should make it her new goal (as Caitlyn’s girlfriend thank you very much she is reclaiming her title) to ease her thoughts even when Vi’s not railing them into non-existence.

     “‘Morning,” she begins, voice a little hoarse, smiling when Caitlyn’s grows. “Yes to the question, honey, you know that.”

     “You’ve said something about us going backwards,” Caitlyn sighs, palm rotating and she brushes the pad of her thumb over Vi’s exposed cheekbone. “ I love you’s and then relationship. That’s linear.”

     Vi starts to stretch, arms rising wide. “We’re lesbians, it doesn’t matter.”

     “Whatever you say, my love.”

     This is the first time Vi’s been asked, instead of vice versa. Not that it matters that much. The last time they’d established that they’re in a relationship it wasn’t a huge deal, and it doesn’t have to be now. But she can’t help but preen a little that she got to be the one to say yes.

     She settles back into her original position and Caitlyn’s soft hand rests on her cheek, bright blue eyes curious, hopeful.

     “I get it,” Vi says, cradling the back of Caitlyn’s head, fingers brushing the baby hairs that always falls out of her ponytails. “I’m scared too. It all happened fast and we didn’t really get the time to process. But I’m not planning on going back on anything I said last night, and we can work out the details now.”

     “I don’t either,” Caitlyn says, but then the motion of her thumb halts. “Do you think it’ll actually work?”

     “Do you?”

     “I think so.” There’s not even a moment’s hesitation, and it lights a fire within Vi. “I meant what I said, after we talked the break-up through. We would be better this time around. I think us both being willing to sacrifice everything but settling on compromise exemplifies that well.”

     Vi had been upset with Caitlyn because she put work above everything, including her—last night, Caitlyn had been willing to switch out of her dream job, in her dream city, for Vi. Caitlyn had been upset with Vi for not chasing after her, for leaving Caitlyn in the dark when it mattered most—last night, Vi had sought her out, wanted to talk things through, chased after her by leaving what she’d thought was her one true purpose behind. And of course there had been other issues—Vi getting caught up in a world that only had Caitlyn at it’s centerpiece, Caitlyn overworking herself and having no other escape, pushing away friends and family and succumbing to the stress—and maybe that’d all hadn’t completely faded, but now they were translucent where they’d been opaque. Vi wanted to choose what made her comfortable and happy, and now she gets them all: her family until they’re set up on their own, the job, Caitlyn. Caitlyn wanted New York, the Times, independence, and Vi, and she gets it—and with her friends caught up to date, she has the support system to fall back on.

     “I wasn’t sure about the long-distance part, at first,” Vi admits, and Caitlyn nods. “I didn’t think we should start a relationship like that. Not when we’re trying again. But seeing each other weekly will help, and even then I think we can do it.”

     It isn’t perfect—nothing ever will be. Caitlyn only gets half her week in New York, and that half week apart simultaneously isn’t the worst thing in the world but also who would want to be commuting that often, and for the weeks where Vi will make the trip she’d be gone longer than she’s typically comfortable with, but it works. Compromise, not sacrifice. 

     “Three years, though?” Caitlyn whispers, like if she spoke it any louder it would become more daunting. “Do you think that’s doable?”

     “There’s a difference between doable and ideal,” Vi says. “It’s okay that it’s not ideal, that doesn’t mean we can’t do it. We’ve known each other for three years now, what’s three more?”

     “I just hope we know what we’re getting into,” Caitlyn sighs. Vi frowns at her, and Caitlyn keeps going. “Moving—what it does to a relationship…When I moved here, my best friend from primary school and I were so sure that we’d stay in touch, but then lives change and we have so much to discuss and it gets lost in translation, and then social circles change and then…it fizzes out. It’ll be different since we’ll see each other regularly, but it’s—it’s not easy.”

     “Who said I wanted easy?” asks Vi, and Caitlyn’s jaw relaxes, the remembrance behind her eyes fading away until it’s just her again. “You’re what I want, Cait, and whatever comes with you. If that means working to keep this going, more than someone usually would, I’ll do it. It’s not work when it’s you.”

     A smile brightens on Caitlyn’s face, warm and inviting and so, so content. She says, “I agree. I don’t have any doubts—I’m just—trying to lay out all the what-ifs.”

     Vi knows Caitlyn’s structured nature all too well by now. “I know. And we can keep talking about it.”

     Caitlyn moves closer, heat rushing to her cheeks suddenly. “I can’t believe I’m getting back with my ex,” she groans, hiding her face.

     Vi scrubs a hand over her eyes, a pained chuckle rising to her lips. “Gods, I know.”

     “Not that I’m not happy about it,” Caitlyn adds, tucking herself into Vi’s chest, “but I’m sure we both swore this would never happen.”

     “Tell me a year ago, and I’d slap someone across the face.”

     “My point.”

     Regardless of this, Vi snakes a hand between their bodies and tilts Caitlyn’s chin up, admiring her flushed face for just a second before she places her lips on hers. Caitlyn sighs into it, reaching up to slide her hand over Vi’s neck, shifting upward. One playful nip of Vi’s teeth on Caitlyn’s bottom lip and Caitlyn’s moving, tilting her head, deepening the kiss as their mouths slide together, fit so perfectly like kissing someone else would leave innumerable gaps. Caitlyn runs her tongue over the scar on Vi’s upper lip, and Vi grabs at her waist to steady herself.

     “I’m never gonna get over kissing you,” Vi tells her when they separate, with Caitlyn half-draped over her and Vi’s back against the pillows. “I never got over you anyway.”

     “Did you now?” Caitlyn teases, lips wandering, brushing down each bone of Vi’s collarbones, over her shoulder, down the lines of her biceps and triceps. “Last time I checked I was a frigid bitch who wandered in with the cold.”

     “It was not enough snow outisde so they stuck a frigid bitch inside too, actually.”

     Caitlyn hums, falling down beside her, the blankets settled around her waist to expose that gorgeous back. She plants her cheek on the pillow and all Vi can see is the mischievous glint of one eye. “You were creative with that one.”

     Despite herself, and she seems to be doing this a lot today, Vi preens. “You were too. Cretinous motorcycle?”

     A nod, the scratchy sound of Caitlyn’s hair against the silk pillowcase. “I’ve always hated that thing.”

     Vi barks out a laugh. “Liar. I’ve seen the way you look at me when I’m on it, before and now.”

     “Then I suppose I never got over you, too.” The sun grows stronger with a passing spring cloud, and it tints Caitlyn’s eyelashes a royal blue. “No one was you. Not one. Every time I saw you, the feelings came right back.”

     “Here, here, sister.”

     Caitlyn groans, burying her face further into the pillow. “Never say that again.”

     Vi laughs, and the grin that peaks out at the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth is worth doing this whole three years over, and over, again.

     She threads a hand through Caitlyn’s hair, tucking it over her ear. She asks, “When’s your first class?”

     It is a Monday, after all. Caitlyn mumbles in protest (completely unlike Caitlyn-obsessed-with-school-Kiramman, mind you, maybe senioritis has bitten her too), and says, “Eleven. Can you check the time for me, my love?”

     Vi stretches over to the nightstand where Caitlyn had made sure their phones were plugged in before heading to bed. “Nine. I don’t have class until one.”

     “Good.” A hand appears suddenly on Vi’s bicep and tugs her back into bed with unnatural strength, all the while Caitlyn is still face down in the pillow. “Your family won’t mind me keeping you for a little longer, will they?”

     “They did text me,” Vi says, settling back into bed and opening her family group chat. There’s a few messages from the previous night and this morning sitting there, coordinating rides not long after Caitlyn and Vi had already left, ensuring everyone got home safe, pondering for a moment if Vi would respond until Powder concludes with she’s angsty love confessioning still probably just leave it till the morning. “I’ll just tell them where I am.”

     They certainly already know where she is, but just for peace of mind. Caitlyn says, “I’m sure they’re used to your disappearing tendencies. You and Powder’s, for that matter.”

     Vi slows as she places her phone back on the nightstand. They are certainly used to those tendencies, Vi and Powder disappearing at random points in their childhood to explore, mapping Zaun and Piltover in their minds and defacing PAI’s unnamed clocktower. But she’d never told Caitlyn that—maybe Caitlyn had just inferred, with their personalities. There’s a reason Caitlyn doesn’t know a whole ton about her childhood, but maybe—maybe she should. Caitlyn’s been ready to hear it, and maybe Vi’s ready to tell it.

     She turns and lays down beside Caitlyn, hand smoothing over the small of her back, moving her hair to the side and kissing her shoulder as Caitlyn hums, delighted, turning her head and looking at Vi with this glimmer in her eye that makes Vi feel like the only girl in the world, this look in her eye that crinkles the corners of them, that alights Caitlyn’s entire being. She’s so goddamn pretty and Vi could spend the rest of her life like this. Just like this.

     Three years? That’s nothing if she gets to wake up to the very picture of beauty for half of it, to the girl she loves so much it hurts.

     “You got time?” she asks her, pressing her lips to the mole right below the blade.

     Caitlyn nods and murmurs, “Always for you.”

     Vi noses into Caitlyn’s shoulder, tugging her in. “Let me tell you a story.”

═

A gentle breeze whispers through the trees, slipping in and around branches as quickly as breaths flow from lips to ears, rustling the leaves and jostling the dried ones on the ground. The sun streams through the crowd of these branches above, selective and warm like a coffee filter, impatient and direct like a pulse point.

     Caitlyn breathes out, a sharp whistle through her lips that’s really no sound at all. She squints, lets the urge to move flow out of her body, letting focus fall over her mind and silence everything else. It’s never quiet, not while the wind dances around her and small insects crawl over and under the foliage, but her mind sharpens, and at that point, nothing else matters, really.

     She doesn’t breathe back in. Another target flies upward and her finger twitches on the trigger—she shoots. As the barrel’s temperature fires up and the butt of the rifle hits her recoil pad, the flimsy paper of the small target withers as the bullet hits straight through the middle—and then another on the target the springs a few feet to the left, then another.

     A smile stretches on her lips, and Caitlyn allows herself a moment of pride before she stands, reloads, and moves to the next target. It’s never boring—alright, sometimes it is, considering she’s been to her family’s range, with pre-programmed targets that never change, on more occasions than she can count, so she knows exactly the amount of time it takes for the target to spring, where it will, and what position is best, but each shot is particular. Each Caitlyn that pulls the trigger is different.

     The wafting, pungent smell of gunpowder. The crunch of the leaves beneath her boots. The easiness of a routine she knows well, and a hobby she excels in. Gods, she loves it.

     This is one of the issues with living in New York. There’s not enough space there for a range like this, shooting there is always those medium sized rooms with people at each stall and involves handguns, not rifles. Caitlyn is biased towards rifles, can handle a handgun but the art of the rifle will always win her over. And she likes putting her focus, her knowledge of terrain and the use of the weapon to work, rather than standing in a stuffy room with men twice her age trying to correct her form when her form was better than theirs. Believe her, she’s tried. So damn her if she doesn’t take her time on her trips back.

     Caitlyn wanders back to the beginning of the course eventually, humming as she stores her rifle carefully, reloading and cleaning and boots clicking on the wood of the shack they’ve built for it. She’s practically the only one that uses it, this whole area is Kiramman land and they don’t typically grant others access. Her father has a small interest, but not as much as her. So she does her best to take care of it, going through and replacing the paper in the targets as she moves from area to area, picks up the shells of her rounds.

     She’s vacuuming cobwebs off the fences of the porch when a warm voice calls, “Hey, Cait!”

     Gods, the grin that arises to her face is all too familiar and is never going to get old.

     Caitlyn turns and practically drops the vacuum to the floor, shuffling down the stairs and greeting Vi with a kiss, arms flung around her shoulders as Vi’s circle around her waist. A year of dating and Caitlyn still finds herself jumping up and down (figuratively) like an overeager bunny when she reunites with Vi. Well. She saw Vi maybe an hour or two ago, but. Still.

     “Hey, baby,” Vi murmurs, sultry and teasing with a smile, as they detach. “Truck’s all packed up, you ready?”

     “Yes.” Caitlyn nods, smoothing her hands over Vi’s shoulders. She’s wearing the brown leather jacket Caitlyn had bought her all those moons ago and a weathered t-shirt displaying Jericho’s logo, forgoing her typical muscle tanks because, well, she’s entering Caitlyn’s childhood home and facing her mother. “Let me just put everything away.”

     Caitlyn leads her up the porch stairs by the tips of her fingers, propping the door to the shack open and hauling the vacuum back inside.

     “How goes the shooting?” Vi asks her, leaning back against the porch.

     “It went well.” Caitlyn takes the headphones her parents make her wear to protect her hearing and hangs them up on the designated hanger, beside the ones fit for her father. “I think I might explore shooting ranges upstate, I always forget how much I enjoy this.”

     “It’s hot,” says Vi, jingling her truck keys in hand. “You should take me with you next time.”

     “My love, there’s a reason your preferred form of defense is your fists.”

     “What is that supposed to mean?” Vi asks. Caitlyn locks the door behind her and slips her hand into Vi’s, drawing them down the stairs. “No, Cait, what does that mean?”

     They stroll down the path that leads them back to the Kiramman’s estate, hand in hand, stumbling along as Caitlyn plants her head on Vi’s shoulder, somewhat dysfunctional because Caitlyn is taller. Vi didn’t need to come out and get her, it’s about a half mile walk, so Caitlyn is grateful, chatting about her findings about the range and the upkeep of her rifle.

     “When did Jayce drop by?” Vi asks, having dropped the questioning of Caitlyn’s apparent insult. “I saw he bought your parents some flowers.”

     “This morning,” says Caitlyn. As the forest starts to thin and the path becomes a little more worn, Caitlyn breathes in the last scent of woodsy air and sighs. “He and Viktor are flying back to California today, so came by to see me while I’m still in town. We got coffee, it was nice.”

     “California,” Vi exhales, tilting her nose to the sky. “Is there a difference between the smell of Atlantic and Pacific ocean water?”

     Caitlyn shrugs. “Viktor seems to think so.”

     “We’ll have to visit them,” Vi says, “soon.”

     She knows this is Vi trying to push her agenda of taking a vacation together. Settling down in two different cities in two different jobs doesn’t leave a lot of time for adventuring, and Gods knows Vi loves the sun and the big, sprawling national parks the west coast offers. Caitlyn does have some vacation time racking up, while Vi’s is slimmer, taking more time off than Caitlyn would typically allow to go visit her in New York, but enough. Perhaps they’ll have to. It’ll be fun to drop by Berkeley and discover what Viktor and Jayce are working on in their PhD program.

     “Yes, darling,” Caitlyn concedes, and pretends she doesn’t hear Vi’s triumphant yes! “Soon.”

     Jayce and Viktor off in northern California, doing whatever engineers do. Mel and Sevika in Cambridge, Elora next door in Boston, all attending law school. Caitlyn pretends to feel a little left out not going the graduate school route, pondering a playful should I get my masters? when they all find the time to call, but she’s happy where she is.

     She turns her head to Vi as the afternoon sun hits her face just right. Yes. Yes, she’s very happy where she is.

     It’s August. The next school year is rushing in and Vi is busy coordinating the new freshmen on PAI’s sports teams schedules, scholarships, practices and games. When their schedules align and Caitlyn is back in Piltover for the weekend, she goes to the matches Vi attends, really not watching her alma mater play and only having eyes for the attractive athletic trainer that stands on the sidelines sometimes, but is otherwise in the back doing far more important work. After the game, Vi will come find her and take her hand, mumble about misplaced athletic equipment and technical rules, and they’ll go home to Vi’s new and shiny one-bedroom apartment, provided for school faculty.

     “Hopefully this batch of freshmen will be less of a handful,” Vi says as they make their way into the estate, up to Caitlyn’s room. “Either because they actually are or I finally know what I’m doing.”

     Vi’s second year in this job also means they’re moving into their second year of this half long-distance half commuting thing, and it’s been going well. Caitlyn won’t pretend it’s been all cupcakes (see the joke? Gods, Vi is rubbing off on her) and rainbows, but it’s—fuck, who is she kidding? Caitlyn’s been having the time of her life.

     Monday through Wednesday, and some Thursdays if she really needs to, she wakes up in New York, slips on her running shoes, goes for a run. She comes back, showers, gets dressed, pops in her meal-prepped breakfast into the microwave and waits. She eats, she gathers her things, she takes the Subway to work. Somedays she’ll be at the office all day; others, she’ll head to places of interest in the city with the news writing team, maybe farther. She’ll write, she’ll go home. She’ll plug in her phone, because she’s been texting Vi all day, when she can, and calls Vi from her computer for dinner.

     On the even weeks of the month, Thursday through Sunday, she wakes up in Piltover, slips on her running shoes, goes for a run. She kisses Vi upon her return, showers. By the time she’s out, breakfast’s usually done, and if she’s quick, she can wrap her arms around Vi’s midsection while Vi prepares the finishing touches. This usually ends in making out against the kitchen counter and is detrimental to their schedule, so on important days, Caitlyn takes her time in the shower. They’ll eat, Vi’s an evening gym person so on the weekdays, she’ll head straight to work, and Caitlyn will meander around Piltover, writing in coffee shops and parks. Caitlyn will wait outside the athletic department, slip her hand into Vi’s, and walk home together.

     Their schedule varies on the weekend. But on the odd weeks, when Vi visits for the weekend, Caitlyn will drag herself through Thursday and Friday, hang out with her newfound friends in New York, call Jayce, call Mel, call her parents, dip into cafes and places she hasn’t yet been, work in the office if she’s extremely bored. When Vi drives up Friday night, Caitlyn will meet her in her building’s garage and whisk her upstairs, probably fuck for a while, and then their schedule will vary like it always does. 

     This is not a clean-cut example of how every week goes, but they blend together, and the outline works. The minimum three days a week they don’t see each other aren’t pleasant, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. People in regular distance relationships don’t see each other for that amount of time sometimes if they don’t live together, but the hard part, Caitlyn’s found, is not the amount of time but the fact of the distance, that even if they wanted to getting to each other spontaneously is not easily doable. They sleep on the phone together, sometimes, on the particularly hard days. It helps to wake in the middle of the night and turn to find Vi’s adorable face beside her, sleeping peacefully through the screen.

     She doesn’t know how much money they’ve spent on gas. She doesn’t know the exact number of miles either of their cars are racking up. She doesn’t know the number of hours they’ve spent on the phone, talking into the night. But it works, and every time she sees Vi’s face, whether in person or on a screen, something inside her rises to her chest and blooms, and grows, and makes her heart run wild, and that’s all that matters.

     Caitlyn loves dating Vi. She loves the endless conversations, the dates on the weekend, the waking up together and combing Vi’s hair into an asymmetrical mohawk in the shower. Vi makes her feel like no other, with her broad smile and vibrant nature, opening all the doors and carrying all the bags. She loves coming home to her; she loves all the small moments. The meal-prepping Vi helps her with on Sunday afternoons are somewhat dreadful, partly for the cooking and the knowledge that this is one of their last moments for the week, and the hug goodbye feels like tearing her chest out and laughing at the cavity, and while it never gets easier, it gets more familiar. She knows what to do with it, how to distract herself for the two and a half hours they can’t talk on the commute back.

     They don’t fight a lot. They’ve learned, apparently, and grown—if there’s a disagreement, it’s usually solved within the hour. But they have their moments, every healthy couple does, and typically it sparks over text when Vi’s nothing but a blue text message until they can talk it out on the phone. The worst one’s been right before Caitlyn was supposed to drive home and they hadn’t talked since the previous night, and Caitlyn had hesitated by the door, heart in her throat, texted her Hey, I’m all packed, should I get going? and Vi had answered immediately: please come home. And, well. That had been that.

     So Caitlyn’s gotten quite good at packing, of keeping what she needs on a day to day basis all in the same area, and finds that Vi has done similarly. So Caitlyn no longer needs directions when driving to and fro Piltover, and Vi doesn’t either. So Caitlyn is quite familiar with the provider of their internet in her apartment, berating them about slow connection because it interrupts their video calls. So Vi is very knowledgeable about her contract with university housing, specifically the guest portion, because as long as Caitlyn doesn’t stay past ten days, her rent doesn’t raise. No matter that Caitlyn practically lives there regardless.

     They go about their weeks, their days, messaging whenever and calling when they can. Caitlyn keeps her phone close and Vi closer when they’re together, and just like that, the first year had been burnt up. They celebrate a weekend upstate for their one year anniversary, and simultaneously suffered and danced through a summer in New York, with Vi spending more time there because of PAI’s summer break. And that brought them to now: now that Caitlyn’s more accustomed to New York, content with her lease and her job, she’s moving some of her belongings she’d left in the Kiramman’s estate to her apartment. And maybe some of Vi’s things, too, to make the commuting and all the packing easier.

     “Take a look around,” Vi says, gesturing to Caitlyn’s expansive childhood bedroom. Most of her things are spread about, things that she had decided not to take, because Vi’s already loaded up the car with the completed boxes. “I don’t think the truck can fit much more, the chair’s taking up the whole bed.”

     Ah, yes, the chair. The brown armchair Caitlyn’s mother is forcing Caitlyn take with her that she had been sent as PR. It didn’t really fit the look of Caitlyn’s apartment, but Caitlyn’s father had already started aiding Vi in hauling it into the truck, and that concluded that argument. She knows it’s less her mother giving her something and more her mother’s attempt at having a stake in the apartment, to remind her daughter she’s there. Because Caitlyn knows her mother misses her, even if she doesn’t admit it often.

     And the truck. Caitlyn had vehemently refused to allow Vi to commute on several freeways on a motorcycle (“That is incredibly dangerous, absolutely not, I will commute every week if I have to, you’re not doing it, Violet, I will buy you a car myself if I have to, don’t look at me like that!”), so Vi had taken her signing bonus with the university and bought herself a truck. It looked suspiciously like Steb’s—Caitlyn figured Vi had liked it so much and taken inspiration, but she didn’t comment on it. Besides, Vi loves that thing almost more than she loves her motorcycle.

     Caitlyn takes a look around. No, she’d been thorough. She’ll take most of her childhood items when she eventually owns a condo or something similar in New York, but what was already in the truck will do.

     “I think that’s everything,” Caitlyn says, crossing her arms. “If I wanted to take more, I would’ve brought my car. But I think we’re all done.”

     “You sure?” Vi asks, having drifted over to Caitlyn’s desk, where a stack of newspapers Caitlyn’s various articles throughout her time at PAI have been piled by the side. “You’re not gonna take this?”

     Vi’s lifted a single issue off the top of the pile, and Caitlyn crosses the room and takes it. Her article’s not on the front page, but she knows where it is. It’s the issue her review of starring in the play—PAI’s production of Romeo and Juliet—had been featured in, the article she’d been asked to write in exchange for the recommendation letter that got her this job in the first place.

     “I hadn’t thought about it,” Caitlyn says honestly, flipping onto the page where the picture of the cast bowing sits, with her article beneath. “Do you want me to?”

     Vi shrugs, sliding an arm around her waist. “It’s your apartment—”

     “It’s our apartment. You’re there often enough.”

     “—but it’s a nice momento, other than the program, don’t you think?”

     “Violet!” It’s her mother’s voice, calling up the stairs. “A rope’s come loose on the chair! Tobias needs your help!”

     “For fuck’s sake,” Vi grumbles while Caitlyn shakes her head, chuckling. “I told them not to mess with it.”

     “I’ll meet you down there,” Caitlyn says, pecking Vi’s cheek. “Go.”

     “Just a second, princess,” Vi tells her, turning that peck into a proper kiss, and hurries out of the room just before Caitlyn’s mom begins to holler again.

     Caitlyn returns to the article, sitting down on her bed. Dust rises as the blankets dip below her. She’d liked writing this review, had liked the outcome. Clearly Shoola had liked it enough to write her a glowing recommendation letter. Curious and horribly nostalgic, Caitlyn finds the first line, and reads.

The day I discovered the call for auditions for PAI’s production of Romeo and Juliet, I immediately told my friend and rooommate, Mel Medarda, featured above and role of Lady Capulet, that Romeo and Juliet was the most overrated play on the planet. I never had any intention of joining theater, but my poorly managed class schedule had royally screwed me over, so I signed onto this overrated play and prepared myself for the ride.

     My job, and the purpose of writing this article, is to provide the readers of the Academy Daily with an honest review of what it’s like to act and have a role in PAI’s theater department. I’ll do my best to provide you with that honest review, but truthfully, I have very little complaints.

     PAI’s theater department provided us with a truly spectacular amount of funds to put on the show. Our lead art director, Powder, and sound and lighting director, Scar, put these to use in ways I will never pretend to understand, but I do know that the sets looked incredible. I have never brushed paint on wood in a week’s span more than I did tech week, the week we intensely prepare for the show, subject to Powder and Scar’s directions, but their expertise made us, the cast, look absolutely stunning on stage, bracketed by designs truthful to both the era of the play and the movie it’s inspired by.

     Our leadership, Professor Salo, Professor Medarda, and Professor Heimerdinger, were a delight to work with. I will admit that most of us found ourselves put off by the expectations we were held to, but it made us better actors. Professor Salo has a brilliant mind for casting and tone of voice, Professor Medarda a brilliant eye for blocking, and Professor Heimerdinger a brilliant ear to direct the orchestra. This is also the moment where I thank the orchestra for their participation in our production as well.

     And of course, I review the cast, and my time within it. I never would’ve expected to find a home in a department I’d previously scorned, but the cast of this production made it one. They’re all truly a wonder to act and collaborate with, firing suggestions and supportive comments left and right, and I will miss the underclassmen dearly.

     I won’t pretend the memorization wasn’t gruelling. I won’t pretend that tech week wasn’t the most exhausted I’ve been in my life. I won’t pretend theater was ever my first choice, and I won’t pretend that I ever had a clue about what I was doing there. But if you’re also looking for a class that satisfies your final art requirement, I’d give theater a try. You—

     “Cait!”

     Vi’s familiar voice trails up the stairs, and then Vi’s footfalls on those stairs, and Vi’s head poking through her doorframe.

     “You ready?” Vi asks her, slightly breathless and glorious in her hurry. “Your parents are waiting downstairs.”

     Caitlyn stands, folding the newspaper and tucking it under her arm. “I’m ready. Sorry.”

     “Feeling a little nostalgic, huh?” Vi asks her, raising her hand and beaming when Caitlyn takes it. “Miss me reciting all the romantic shit to you?”

     Besides herself, Caitlyn giggles, kicking the door to her room closed. “You could say that,” she says. “But you never stopped.”

     “No,” Vi sighs fondly, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t.”

     It’s times like these Caitlyn remembers the ring, hidden in the depths of her desk in New York where she knows Vi will never look. She’d bought it the moment a bonus hit her accounts when one of her articles did well. When it’ll see the light of day, other than when Caitlyn takes it out to stare at it on particularly hard day, she doesn’t know. But she has it, and she knows that day will come, just like she didn’t even really need to read the article. She already knows the ending.

—might just find yourself with a new appreciation for a subject, and a play, you’d never thought you’d have. Romeo and Juliet’s meaning was lost on me before, and perhaps it is on you, but perhaps we should start with exactly what it is: love.

These violent delights have violent ends!

Yours truly,

Caitlyn Kiramman

P.S. Special thanks to my co-star, Violet Lanes. My Romeo, my love starts—and ends—with you.