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Chapter Text

The painting resides in her studio’s classroom. In the back, where she can’t see it.  She knew not to keep it in her home. She would look at nothing else otherwise. 

Vi tries to stay neutral while her muscles ache from keeping still for so long. She’s not typically the subject to be sketched. Painted. Her place is usually behind the canvas. 

A sea of scattered eyes glance up, taking in the details of her posture. Of her face. All before glancing back down to the canvas, the room filling with the sound of charcoal inking the grooves on the wood.

She wasn’t always a painter. Her sister had more of a knack for it. Vi usually found herself seeking more violent pursuits. Boxing and fighting have left their own scarred  painting across her body. But time and death drove her here. That and something she didn’t see for herself. Love. 

“It’s a lot easier to sketch the portraits before applying the paint,” Vi says softly. The way she had been spoken to. The group of women pause, all multicolored eyes flicking upward again. The painting catches her eye in the corner of the room. She looks away. “Aside from priming, the sketch is how you connect.” 

The words were echoed to her years ago. Patient and kind even when she felt she didn’t deserve them. But that was always Vander’s way. 

Vi didn’t think she would ever teach either. A year of isolation and debtors coming after her late father’s studio saw her taking young pupils with too much time and money under her wing. It isn’t her first choice. But it helps fill void left by–

“Try to pay attention to every detail. Look at the way I’m sitting. Where my hands are placed,” Vi’s hands clench in her lap. The painting seems to be mocking her. Dark blue and a flaming orange sit in the sun’s rays through the open window. Her body fills with small tremors. Memories she wishes she could ink deeper into her skin rise like violent tides. Into her bones. She bites the inside of her cheek. Desperation and sadness pretending to be rage crawls up her throat. 

“Who brought the painting out here?” 

She looks down at the timid girls in front of her. Her voice echoes on the ancient walls, only intercepted by the busy streets of Piltover outside. 

A girl who Vi couldn’t even begin to remember the name of, hesitantly raises her hand, charcoal stains her wrist and fingers. 

“I just saw it sitting back there,” she gestures to behind the cement pillars lining the open room. “I thought it would be nice for today’s lesson.” 

Vi doesn’t look at the girl as she speaks. Her eyes are stuck to the indigo hair, the dress that caught flame at the edges. Vi clenches her jaw. 

“Was that not okay?” the girl asks after a moment. 

“No.” Vi ignores the way her eyes sting. The ridiculousness of it all, of the way her body has clung to something she never had, keeps the air trapped in her lungs. 

“Who painted it?” asks a different voice, a braver voice. Vi feels her face contort. 

“I did,” Vi admits. 

“Does it have a name?” This girl’s ineptitude to read the tone of the room would normally piss Vi off. But she’s too wrapped up in arms she’ll never feel again to care. 

Vi opens her mouth to speak–

_________   

2 years ago  

“Is there nowhere to tie these down?” 

“Do you see room?” 

Vi huffs, her shoulders aching from the way the rope holding the wooden box digs into her muscles. She sets it gingerly at the back of the boat and she waits. 

Vi’s familiar with traveling. She’s done it all her life. Vander made sure of it. Broad seas and bustling cities live behind her eyelids. They come to life on the canvases she has scattered around her home. So when she was approached about a commission in Holdrum Estate, she didn’t hesitate. She’s been alone too long. She hasn’t left Zaun  since Vander died. She hasn’t left her home after Powder– 

The boat is far too small for the amount of people in it. Six men she didn’t bother speaking to sit in rows ahead of her, heaving oars against stubborn waves. The wooden box holding her canvases shifts with the current, jostling in a way that makes her nervous. Again. She places a firm hand on top, trying to keep them still. 

She glares up at the man standing at the head of the boat. His stance arrogant and chauvinistic. She rolls her eyes. Her body rocks with the deep waves, nausea settling deep in her stomach. She’s been on plenty of ships before but the way this small boat rises and dips makes her skin clammy despite the strong breeze. She wipes her eyes when the boat dips down again, immediately reaching her hand back down to find her wooden box. Her hand meets air. 

Chuckling, the man at the head of the boat gives her a pointed look before his eyes dart to the box now floating away. Her canvases that are floating away. 

“Shit,” Vi mutters under her breath, already standing on shaky legs. She drops her large overcoat, the fabric sliding down her arms.

“Hey, Mister– Oh Miss ! What’re you—”

The water feels like tiny daggers prickling her skin, soaking through her clothes. She thanks every god she knows that Vander taught her and Powder how to swim. 

She’s hoisted back on the boat, her canvases and body soaked while they ride the rest of the way to an island she’s never seen. One of the men— Hoskel, she learns— helps her lug her belongings onto the beach. Her feet are heavy and her stomach grumbles. Breakfast had been an afterthought when she was packing. A regret now. 

Hosek drops her suitcase and canvases in the sand when they reach a narrow uphill path. His back is already retreating when she looks for him. Vi scoffs. Figures. 

“Where do I go?” Vi shouts after him, too stubborn to demand he help her further. She had been too cold to argue when he grabbed the thick wooden box from her hands. He turns on his heel, his gaze pointed upward. 

“Straight up, I’m afraid. Head for the trees!” the ocean nearly swallows his voice. But Vi only needed confirmation of what she feared. 

“Great,” Vi mutters to herself, hoisting the rope straps of her canvas box on her shoulder, and she begins to climb. 

Sweat and ocean water line her brow when she reaches the top. Leaves crunch under boots as she stomps through the tall grass of Holdrum. The air is so much crisper here. It makes her lungs burn. 

Dusk has swallowed the sun by the time she reaches what looks to be the servants’ entrance. She knocks, holding her breath. A young woman creaks the door open, her eyes skeptical as they rake over Vi’s appearance. 

“I’m Vi,” she supplies, used to this treatment from clients like this. The kind with more money than they know what to do with. 

“Right. You can follow me.” 

The house is dark. Stairwells and tight corners make up the bottom floor. She’s led up a narrow staircase, the woman only holding a dim candle light to guide them. 

“Can I get a name?” Vi asks, trying to break herself out of the rupturing silence. 

“It’s Elora,” she says firmly.

The bedroom isn’t really a bedroom at all. The walls are lined with paned windows, a day bed sits on the left of the fireplace at the center of the room. But what strikes her as odd is the sheets hanging from a clothesline. A thin barrier and a resemblance of privacy, she supposes. 

Elora couches in front of the fireplace, lighting small embers. Vi sets her things on the hardwood floor, her eyes still taking in the dimly-lit details. 

“This room used to be a reception hall. I’ve never seen it used in my time here,” Elroa says, stoking the flames until they crackle. 

Vi removes the satchel full of paints and brushes from over her shoulder, dropping it to the floor unceremoniously, her coat following it. “And how long has that been?” Vi asks skeptically. Elora raises a brow, standing so she’s taller than Vi. 

“Three years. The Kirammans have been nothing but kind to me.” 

Vi ignores the last comment, choosing to step carefully around her temporary room. Her chest lightens when she drags a finger over the clean bedsheets. 

“And what of your mistress?” Vi asks distractedly. Elora clears her throat. 

“I don’t know her.”

That gets Vi’s attention. “But you said you’ve been here for three years?” Vi raises a brow in suspicion. 

“She arrived only a few weeks ago. Hopefully you have better luck painting her than the last artist,” Elora says with almost a hint of wariness. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There was a painter here not too long ago,” Elora walks closer to the door. “It didn’t work out. I’m not sure why.”

Vi stares at her incredulously. 

“Why… why was she brought here so suddenly?” Something already tugs at her. Something familiar and yet unnamed. Elora looks startled by the question, as though she just remembered herself, shaking her head.

“I’ll let you get dry, then, Miss Violet. Have a good night.”

The door clicks shut before Vi can protest. Huffing, Vi stands near the fire, stripping out of her still soaked clothes, tossing them aside on the floor. Hoping to shed the strangeness from her conversation with the wet clothes. Her skin is covered in goosebumps, her hair is still damp, sticking to her forehead.

She sighs, looking at the wooden box with her surely soaked canvases. She pries it open, the sound of the wood creaking blending in with the crackling fire at her back. 

Just as she suspected, water pools on the white canvases. Vi runs her palm on top, the water running with the movement. Sighing through her nose, she carefully lifts each one, setting them each against the wall near the fire. Close enough to dry but far enough to not catch aflame. 

She stares at them, sitting in nothing but her bare skin on the hardwood. She pulls her knees to her chest. Warmth seeps into her bones and only the smallest hint of nerves for what the weeks to come swirl in her mind. She hasn’t been told exactly what the job entails. Only that it was a wedding portrait. 

She’s done plenty of portraits in her trade. They’re not her favorite but she can understand the desire for them.  The intricacies of capturing a person’s face, their essence, sometimes feels too… intimate. 

Vi lays on the warm wood, letting her bare body finally relax before she falls into the pit of nightmares she’s far too familiar with. Nightmares of a little girl with powder blue hair. 

________

She wakes too early. Her stomach twists in knots and acidic bile rises up her throat. She sits up, her back aching from the wood. She rubs the sore muscles, not looking down at the tattoos that line her arms. Her stomach lurches, growling in protest from the lack of dinner the night before. Or anything for that matter.  

The sun hasn’t even risen yet as she makes her way down to the kitchen on bare feet and a discarded robe. It’s an open room, large windows lining the walls here, too. She finds the pantry easily, not hesitating to grab a whole loaf of bread and a block of cheese. She stuffs a bite in her dry mouth, swallowing back the edges left by her dreams. She can’t remember them fully, thankfully. But she’s still left feeling hollow. 

She eats quickly. Probably too quickly. But her stomach has finally settled enough. She climbs the same narrow stairs, traversing through long hallways and dark corners back to her room. 

She meant to take further stock of the space before the exhaustion trapped her body in its depths. 

Her fingers grip the thin sheet acting as a wall. Boxes covered in more white sheets greet her. Beg her to undo them. She pulls one down from the wall, startled when she’s met with her own reflection. She hasn’t looked at herself in months. Tired silver eyes stare back at her. Her hair is choppy and uneven. Unkempt. 

Something else catches her eye in the mirror. A canvas facing the wall. Elora’s words ring in her ears and curiosity guides her footsteps. The canvas sits on its easel, like it’s hiding from the world. She lifts it carefully, turning it until the fading moonlight reveals the paint left here from the one before her. 

Her blood runs cold.  The portrait is ruined. The face is smudged beyond repair, as if the painter was so outraged they took to destruction with their own hand. A shame, really, that the golden dress is the only thing with any semblance of detail in tact. Vi bites her lip, realizing just how daunting this task will be. 

________

The portrait is a haunting figure. Large and imposing. It sits on the mantelpiece, the piercing blue eyes gazing down a sharp nose are empty. Dazzling sapphires adorn her ears. Despite the emptiness, she knows a great deal of care went into making this. Vi would recognize the style anywhere. 

“Violet. Thank you for coming,” the voice is sharp as it enters the room. Clacking heels resound against the floor. 

“It’s just Vi, madame,” Vi corrects. 

“Right. My apologies. And please, call me Cassandra.” 

Vi doesn’t look away from the painting. She feels harsh eyes raking over her features. The way her hair is too short for a lady. The way she chooses pants and a tunic over a corset and skirt. But the older woman doesn’t comment. Not aloud at least.  

“Do you recognize it?” Cassandra asks, coming to stand beside her. 

“My fath– Vander– painted it. Right?” Saying his name aloud again makes her chest too tight. 

Vi looks at Cassandra then, needing to escape the ghost of her past that sits in this woman’s home. She’s decorated in sharp features, not until the younger version captured in oil paint. Gray curls sit atop her head, her gown is a blue silk, ruffled at the waist and probably costs more than Vi’s home. 

“It was one of his firsts. He painted it in Iona before my marriage. He really was so wonderful. It’s such a shame he’s gone,” Cassandra says wistfully, sitting down while gesturing for Vi to sit in one of the chairs across from her. Vi feels her body begin to go numb, her fingers tingle and she knows she needs to reign herself in. “How long has it been now?” She picks up a porcelain cup, sipping from it with practiced delicacy. 

Vi clears her throat, not meeting the other woman’s eyes. “About a year.” She can’t control the way her voice clips. She needs them to move on. Cassandra hums, seeming to understand Vi’s discontent. She schools her features before she finally sits.

“So,” she starts, stirring more sugar into her cup. “My daughter’s suitor is Demacian. We’ll go there if he likes the portrait.” 

Vi adjusts herself in the uncomfortable seat, nodding as she waits for Cassandra to continue. 

“Now, I have to tell you… she wore out one painter before you.” 

Vi’s brow furrows. “How so?” She can’t keep the question at bay. 

Cassandra looks down at her tea. “To put it simply, she refused to pose. He never saw her face.” 

Vi sits up a little straighter, concern tightening her muscles. 

“Why won’t she be painted, exactly?” The image of the smudged face barrages her, filling her vision with blue and gold.

“She refuses this mariage,” she replies sternly, lines etched along her brow. Cassandra glances up to her own wedding portrait before meeting Vi’s gaze again. “You must paint her without her knowing.” 

The air leaves Vi’s lungs at the request. 

“She thinks you’re her… walking companion. A friend. She’s honestly delighted by the idea. She’s been terribly desolate since her own father’s recent passing.” She says the words like they hold no weight. “And in truth, I want you to keep an eye on her. I fear if left alone she’ll take… drastic measures. She’s very insolate that way.”

Vi pinches her brow, her fingers absently picking at the frays of her hand wraps. 

“So you want me to– paint her without her knowledge or her consent?” The words come barreling out with no right. These people are paying her to paint. Not to ask questions. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Vi utters when Cassandra’s face grows colder. 

“Is painting her this way feasible? Or do I need to find someone else?”

Vi bites the inside of her cheek. Her debts swim in her mind, outweighing the discomfort of deceiving someone she’s never met. “I can do it. It’ll be much easier than being a companion,” Vi chuckles dryly, pleased to see she’s saved herself. 

“You know,” Cassandra starts after a few moments of tense silence. “My own portrait arrived here before I did. When I got here, it was already in this room. Like she was waiting for me.” The words carry the intermingled connection of longing and pain. 

Vi doesn’t touch her own tea. 

________

The dress is brought to her later that afternoon. Elora knocks softly before letting herself in, the golden silk strung over her arm. 

When Vi looks at her with a raised brow, Elora supplies a firm, “This is the only gown she has. She only wears her riding clothes or her work clothes.” She leaves it at that, placing the thick gown on Vi’s unmade bed. 

Vi releases a long sigh through her nose, letting her fingers travel along the fine material. She can understand why she wouldn’t want to pose in this. It seems ghastly. Heavy. Like it seeks to swallow and suffocate. She doesn’t want her to suffocate. She doesn’t even know her and yet she can feel the familiar tendrils of protectiveness worming their way out. 

She found out her name is Caitlyn. Vi’s rolled the name around in her mind for hours, whispering it quietly to herself. It’s an ordinary name. But it sticks to her mind, an aura without a face. 

Vi rearranges her room the next morning. She hides her paints and canvases behind the draped sheets, setting up her easel with practiced hands. She hoists the small cushioned stool she overlooked earlier, setting it down in the center of the room.  She takes the mirror off the wall, turning it so the back faces her.

Vi wraps her hands, as she does every day. The cloth is worn and stretched out. But it protects her fingers from the blistering of the brushes. It hides old wounds from the violence she used to thrive in. Her fingers ache more than they should for someone her age. Keeping them supported like this helps her focus. Keeps her grounded. 

Vi primes the canvas, dipping the brush in the color she’s chosen for the background. A deep red. She isn’t sure why yet but she feels like there’s a fire to this woman. Something that’s been smothered. She wonders what would happen if it were set free. 

It’s easy to get lost in the motions of everything. In the job . She has to remind herself that’s what this is. She isn’t here to be this woman’s companion. She’s here to paint her. For a marriage she doesn’t want.  

A light knock startles her. Vi sets the brush down, pulling the powder blue sheet curtain across the line, hiding any evidence of what this room is for. She opens the door quickly to an unimpressed Elora. 

“She’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Nerves bubble in her stomach and her head feels too light. 

“Oh, shit, already?” Vi asks sheepishly. Elora rolls her eyes before walking away. 

Vi grabs her long brown coat, throwing it over her loose tunic, hastily stuffing her smaller sketch book in the breast pocket. Her boots thud against the floor, the texture shifting from wood and marble between each room she passes. 

The hooded figure waits for her at the bottom of the stairs. Her posture is poised, not an ounce of her revealed to Vi’s eyes. The stairs groan under Vi’s weight, catching the woman’s attention. 

Vi forgets how to breathe. The bluest eyes Vi’s ever seen glance at her over her cloaked shoulder. Vi stills mid step, her mouth hanging open. But no words come out. 

The woman— Caitlyn— doesn’t so much as smile, still keeping her gaze trained on Vi who hasn’t moved from the steps. Vi blinks, shaking her head and finally joins her new… companion . 

“Are you alright?” 

Oh.  

Vi’s face flushes, reaching the tips of her ears at the sound of the woman’s voice. The lilted accent coming out of pouty lips sends her heart pounding. 

“Oh uhm yeah I’m fine—”

“Your cheeks are flushed is all,” Caitlyn says simply. And Vi feels her face grow even hotter. She keeps her eyes cast downward. It feels forbidden to look at her so close. Even though that’s what she’s being paid to do. 

Vi huffs. “Well it was a long walk here,” Vi says quickly. 

Caitlyn turns her head, moving toward the door without another word. 

The walk is silent. Vi spends most of it trailing after the other woman, watching the way the sun catches indigo stands. The way her walk is confident. Angry. Long legs that carry her quickly all the way to the coast’s edge. She casts glances back at Vi every so often, the leaves crunching under tall riding boots. Vi looks away every time. 

Vi nearly runs into Caitlyn’s back at the edge of the cliff, her own gaze so caught in the way Caitlyn’s shoulders move. She’s met with a quizzical look when Vi brushes past her, choosing to stand next to her. 

It’s an odd sensation. Watching in short secret bursts. Vi swallows the lump in her throat, daring to glance at the woman’s face, her breath hitching when bright blue eyes catch her. Vi’s fists clench at her sides as she looks away quickly, focusing on the white tips of the waves. They’re unruly today.  

When Vi dares to look again, she feels endlessly breathless. Sharp cheekbones and a straight nose catch her attention first. The wind has long pushed her cloak’s hood back, revealing the dark hair tied back. Loose strands have fallen forward and Vi has to fight the sudden urge to push them back. 

Vi’s never seen a woman who looks like a living sculpture. Her eyes are closed, her jaw visibly clenching. Vi opens her mouth to speak, to ask if she’s alright. 

“I don’t believe I got your name,” Caitlyn says, opening her eyes slowly. Her thumbs rub together in front of her. Vi looks back to the crashing coast below them. “My mother says it’s Violet but looking at you I feel like it doesn’t suit you.” Vi chuckles at that. Her chest flutters hearing her full name from this woman’s lips, coated in her accent. 

“It’s just Vi,” she replies, turning her head in Caitlyn’s direction, hoping the waves don’t steal the sound of her voice. Yet she turns away again when Caitlyn finally looks at her, her brow softer than before. And Vi feels like she’s jumped in the ocean all over again.

“Vi…?” she says after a moment, testing it out. Almost bored. Vi’s never heard her name sound so elegant. It’s unnerving. “I believe you know my name already.” Her voice sounds tired, like she expects something unsavory to leave Vi’s mouth. 

“I do,” Vi admits, watching the way Caitlyn abruptly looks back to the water, taking her lower lip between her teeth. “But I would like to hear it from you.” 

Caitlyn takes a sharp breath, glancing at her through long lashes, keeping her head turned toward the water. “And why should I waste my breath on something you already know?” There’s a little bite behind the words. But if Vi knew any better, she would think them almost… teasing?

Vi smirks, glancing at Caitlyn too, her skin feeling flush despite the wind. “Well I could always make up a name for you,” Vi supplies, pride swelling her chest when she sees the barest hint of curled lips. Vi commits it to memory. 

“Please, tell me.” 

Vi turns her head fully to face Caitlyn again, taking in her features a little more unabashedly. “What about Matilda?” Caitlyn’s brow shoots up, her eyes widening. Vi’s fingers itch then, twitching at her sides in her hand wrappings. The charcoal and book in her breast pocket feel heavier. 

Caitlyn scoffs, shaking her head. Vi chews the inside of her cheek, the mask of teasing comes to her easier when she’s nervous. The goading is familiar before a risky strike. “Hmm,” Vi’s eyes rake over her again, feeling the sketch come to life in her mind. Her brow is furrowed, pushes back down and her lips still form a pout. “I think I’ll call you Cupcake until you want to tell me your name,” Vi decides, her smile growing wider at the horror on the woman’s face. 

“Cupcake?” She asks incredulously. It’s the most emotion she’s heard in the woman’s voice. “Like the pastry? You can’t be serious.”  

“Mhm. Since you’re so… sweet. What do you think?” Vi braves the storm of Caitlyn’s posture. Her back straightens and her eyes roll before she turns on her heel, leaving Vi in the knee high grass and rocky terrain. 

Vi’s stomach plummets, fear surging down to her toes and all she can do is follow her without another word. 

But Caitlyn stops halfway back to the estate, some silent hours later, turning over her shoulder before divulging, “My name is Caitlyn.” And Vi doesn’t miss the way her eyes express everything and nothing all at once. A mere glimpse. And Vi feels like a thief.  

Vi huffs, her lips curling upward as she watches Caitlyn continue to march back to the estate, still looking over her shoulder until she finds Vi again. 

“There you are,” Vi whispers to herself, following Caitlyn into the Kiramman’s abyss. 

Chapter Text

“One must show the ear and study its cartilage closely, even if covered with hair.

It must be of a warm and transparent hue, except for the hole, which is always strong. Its tone, even in light, must yield to the cheek, which is more prominent.” 

               - Lessons from Vander on the art of portraits. 

“Did you bring a book?” 

The question startles Vi out of her obvious staring. More of Caitlyn’s hair has fallen out of her bun, the strands dancing on her shoulders as they ascend the stairs. 

Vi finds herself transfixed standing face to face with her. 

“Yeah, I did,” Vi says, her voice sounding distant even to herself. Her eyes stay on Caitlyn’s cheekbones, memorizing the way they look head-on rather than from the side. 

“May I borrow it?” her voice remains neutral. Like it isn’t a question at all. And Vi supposes it isn’t. 

“Do you not have your own?” Vi regrets the words as soon as they’re out. She waits for the lash out. For the punishment soon to come. That always comes from clients with this amount of wealth. Instead, she’s only met with piercing blue eyes and a raised brow. A challenge. 

“You can tell a lot about a person based on what they read,” she says firmly, that same small smirk threatening to appear. 

Vi huffs, unsure why she’s so willing to do what she’s about to. 

“I’ll go grab it for you, princess,” Vi says with only a hint of teeth. 

“What happened to Cupcake? Or my name?” Caitlyn asks, following Vi to her room. 

Vi snorts but doesn’t answer. She pushes the heavy door open, unnerved at the way Caitlyn follows her still. She has the good sense to stay by the door. Vi feels her nerves bubble throughout her body as she strides past the hanging sheet. She releases a shuddering breath, her eyes catching on the canvas, the sunlight peeking through the sheer curtain. 

Vi digs through her bag, sifting through clothes and loose brushes. When her fingers find the worn spine, her heart stills. She pulls the book out, unable to keep her lip from trembling as powder blue eyes fill her vision. 

Boots thudding against the wood bring her back. She grips the book tightly, holding it to her chest while she meets Caitlyn halfway in the middle of the room. She hands her the book without another word. 

Caitlyn takes it gingerly, not looking at the cover. Vi watches her long fingers bend the book, notices the way her cuticles are scabbed and uneven. Her hands are so human. 

“Thank you,” Caitlyn says softly, forcing Vi back in the depths of her eyes. Vi doesn’t breathe under the stare. Under the intensity of them. Caitlyn breaks the stare first, her eyes flickering across the room. Her mouth is turned downward and Vi knows she’s been staring at this feature too long today. 

“I’ve not been in this room before. It’s odd that you sleep here,” Caitlyn says. 

Vi just shrugs, anxiety swarming in her gut the longer Caitlyn stands in this room. “Gotta sleep somewhere,” Vi croaks, embarrassment flushing her cheeks again. Vi’s heart flutters at the way Caitlyn scrunches her nose, huffing a small laugh through her nose before she turns on her heel again. 

“I'll see you tomorrow, Vi,” is said over her shoulder. 

And Vi is once again left in the wake of Caitlyn Kiramman. The last piece of her sister gone with her. 

 ________

Her fingers are coated in charcoal. 

Papers filled with sketches lay scattered along the dark wooden floor. Vi tears another chunk of bread off from the loaf she stole in the kitchen, stuffing it in her mouth while she works. 

Caitlyn takes up every page. Little pieces of her imprinted in black lines. Her jaw, defined and pointed. Her cheeks, sharp and smooth. Her nose and lips take up most of the pages. 

None of them look quite right. And it frustrates her to no end. There’s something shallow about them. Her eyes don’t capture the depth Vi had gotten a mere glimpse of. They’re missing the edge Vi saw there. The resentment. Whether it was directed at her or something else, Vi couldn’t read. 

The hearth crackles, the flames popping enough to make her move the sketches further away. 

She picks up a page. The most recent one. It’s just of the lower half of Caitlyn’s face. Her chin and lips look more akin to Vi’s memory. But even that is fleeting. She shouldn’t be doing this. Just an afternoon spent with her has her resolve cracking. Caitlyn is already having freedom ripped from her unwilling fingers in this marriage. Why should Vi take more? 

But she supposes that’s what she’s used to. She’s taken her whole life. For survival. For pride. For things she’s less proud of. She’ll have to add this to the list. 

Vi sleeps restlessly that night. Her body feels like it’s being pushed and pulled in the ocean’s current. Like she’s drowning in a sea of indigo hair and cerulean eyes. 

It’s one of the first dreams that isn’t about Powder. That isn’t about how she lost everyone she’s ever loved. It’s a new kind of torture, though. One that involves wanting something. But by the time she wakes up, her body covered in sweat, her limbs tangled in the sheets, all she can remember is the color blue. 

She wakes before the sun rises. Vi slides out of the bed that feels too soft and slips her apron over her head, lighting candles as she moves. 

She’s never had a canvas look so daunting. Normally, they invite her in. Begging her to create and lose herself. But this is something from her nightmares. Fear lances around her ribs. Fear of what, Vi can’t decide yet. 

 Vi steels herself, closing her eyes as she tries to conjure Caitlyn’s face. It’s easy to do. She haunted her dreams all night after all. 

The charcoal meets the canvas and Vi lets herself just begin.  

It’s a rough sketch. The silhouette is loose, half imagined and coated in the slipping memory. Frustration bleeds black out of her fingertips with each stroke of the stick or the brush. She stares at the line work under the rising sun, willing her memory to be clearer. Forcing the image of Caitlyn to pose in front of her. 

Time doesn’t pass while she works. Facial features have taken form. Harder strokes and bolder lines decorate the canvas. Her knuckles and fingers are coated. Her lips are chapped, the skin torn from her teeth as she works. 

Vi doesn’t hear the door open. Nor does she hear Elora calling for her until the sheet is torn back. Vi drops a paint-coated brush on the floor and she utters a curse under her breath. 

“Vi. She’s waiting for you,” her tone is clipped. Vi hastily rips the apron off, picking up the brush as she rushes to follow Elora. Vi nearly runs into the other woman when she stops abruptly, holding a thin veil. Vi raises a brow, uneasiness climbing up her spine. 

“Where is she?” Vi asks, keeping her eyes on the veil. 

“She’s downstairs. I need to cover you up first. It’s very windy today,” Elora reaches up, her hands too close to Vi’s face, ready to wrap the garment around Vi’s head.  Vi takes a step back, taking the veil out of Elora’s grip. 

“I can do it myself,” Vi says tersely. Eloa looks ready to argue, but Vi steps around her, already attempting to make the veil into a shield unsuccessfully. 

“Very well. Don’t keep her waiting too long.”

________

Vi doesn’t hide her staring. She can’t afford to. She walks behind Caitlyn again, not by her choice, working harder to memorize the fleeting details. The way her hair falls out of its intricate bun slipping through the woven veil wrapped around the lower half of her face. The way her eyes seem far away. The way her brow furrows. 

Her eyes look bluer today. They glance back at Vi far more often than yesterday. As if checking to see if Vi’s still there. 

Vi holds her own veil to her face, the knot she attempted already loosening. Caitlyn watches the movement, and Vi has the good sense to feel embarrassed. She can’t see if Caitlyn’s smirking or not, but the small crinkle in her eye is something Vi does catch. She wants to touch the lines there.

They reach the same spot as yesterday, the ocean even more unruly than before as it crashes violently against the jagged rocks. There’s a small path leading down to the beach Vi hadn’t noticed yesterday and her feet naturally carry her in its direction until long fingers catch her arm. 

Vi whips her head around, her breath stilling when she’s caught in the ocean staring at her though thick lashes. Her veil sits at the bottom of her chin, the wind stinging her eyes as Caitlyn steps closer. And Vi is struck with the thought that this is the closest she’s been to the other woman. 

Vi doesn’t stop her when Caitlyn’s fingers let go of her arm, coming up behind her head to untie the knot. 

“Did Elora do this for you?” Caitlyn tsks, the words nearly swallowed whole by the wind. Vi bites the inside of her cheek, her eyes flickering over every available detail. The way one of her brows quirks upward, almost teasing. Like she already knows the answer. 

“What do you think?” Vi dares, her chest feeling too tight when she smells lavender and the ocean. 

“May I?” she gestures to Vi’s head, her fingers still close to Vi’s neck and yet somehow she doesn’t feel her skin. An unspoken request and an uncrossed line. The proximity steals her voice, and Vi can only nod, looking down at her feet. 

Caitlyn steps even closer, their chests nearly brushing as Caitlyn’s fingers lift Vi’s chin before they sift through the short red strands of Vi’s hair, weaving the veil to sit more comfortably. The backs of Caitlyn’s knuckles brush Vi’s cheeks which are surely stained pink. But Vi is drowning in an endless blue, her hands hanging limply at her sides. 

Her fingers are soft and deft as she works, twisting the cloth with a practiced ease Vi finds herself surprised by. Caitlyn’s eyes never leave Vi’s until she’s done with the veil. Her insides feel frayed, and every ounce of skin Caitlyn’s touched feels aflame. She feels as though she’s stolen a precious heirloom, harnessing a gaze she hasn’t earned. But it’s imprinted now. The curve of her eyes, the bridge of her nose. Her fingers itch again.

But then Vi’s on her own, breathing ocean air that looks pale in comparison to what she’d just been lost in. 

Vi follows her down the path, unable to slow her racing heart. 

Caitlyn sits in the sand, unbothered by the way the dampness soaks into her pants. Vi follows more slowly, her eyes taking in the posture, the way her hands sit delicately in her lap. Vi couldn’t have posed her better. 

Vi sits on her knees, keeping enough distance between them so they might not touch. It’s too dangerous. Vi glances over again, startled to see Caitlyn already watching her. Vi doesn’t look away this time, a silent game until Caitlyn looks back at the water. Her thumbs rub together in her lap. Vi watches, the urge to sketch coursing through her veins, the fear of losing the memory heavy in her breast pocket. 

“I’d love to swim,” Caitlyn says suddenly, breaking Vi out of her trance. 

Vi looks at the water, her skin hot and her hands unsteady. The waves crash, the current wild and unruly. 

“It looks a little rough for that, Cupcake,” Vi says, pulling the veil down from her nose, needing the unobstructed air. She realizes her mistake when Caitlyn’s brow quirks and her fingers drag her own veil down to reveal a slight frown. “Maybe a different day.”

“Hmm. How long will you stay?” she asks, ignoring the nickname. Vi’s shoulder slump as she looks back to the water. 

“Six more days.” The reality of her position settles like a stone in her gut. 

“Can you swim?” she asks, her voice taut. Vi grimaces at first, remembering the way Vander threw her in the water for the first time. The way the waves nearly took her  under until her body brought her back out. Vander laughed for hours and Vi finds herself smiling at the memory. At hearing Vander cheer and applaud her when she found a love for the sea. 

“I can. You?” Vi asks, glancing sidelong at Caitlyn again, her stomach turning as her gaze stays on Vi’s face. 

“I don’t know.” 

Vi huffs. “It’s too dangerous if you don’t.” Vi remembers the way Powder nearly drowned when they were young. Before Vander found them as stowaways on his ship. She never got in the water again.  

Caitlyn clears her throat, her cheeks flushing a pretty red. Vi stares at the color blooming across porcelain skin. “I meant I don’t know if I can swim.” she admits. 

“I can teach you if you’d like?” Vi can’t stop the words from escaping. Nor can she stop the way her heart pounds at Caitlyn’s small smile. 

“Who taught you?” The question is soft. Curious and unassuming. But Vi’s stomach plummets all the same. 

“My father. I was, I don’t know, maybe nine or ten,” Vi chuckles a little as the memory resurfaces. Caitlyn hums, a small frown settling on her face. And Vi has to resist asking about her own father. The lines of what she’s allowed to know are blurry and undefined. 

“Where did my mother find you? You’re not from Piltover.” It isn’t quite an accusation. But it feels like one all the same. 

“You could just ask me where I’m from you know,” Vi says with a smirk. Caitlyn merely blinks at her. “I’m from Zaun,” Vi admits after a few breathless moments. Caitlyn doesn’t look surprised. Vi’s suddenly self conscious about her appearance. About the way she dresses far more like a man than a woman. The way tattoos line her skin and the way her hair sits at the nape of her neck. But the look in Caitlyn’s eye isn’t disapproving. Not like her mother’s. It’s something else Vi isn’t brave enough to name. 

“And why are you here, Vi?” Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate to ask. 

Vi dares to look again, her lungs fill with misty sea-air.

“I’m here for you.” 

It’s the closest to the truth she’s willing to go. Caitlyn frowns at the answer.

“No one is here for me,” Caitlyn says, standing. Any response Vi has gets swallowed in the wind.

Caitlyn walks along the beach alone, leaving Vi alone with her thoughts. 

She takes advantage of her absence, sitting behind a larger coastal rock, peering over the edge to watch Caitlyn’s retreating back. Vi releases a long exhale through her nose, pulling out the few loose pieces of sketch paper and a shorter charcoal stick, messily sketching Caitlyn’s hands before the memory recedes with the tide. 

________

“How was your day?” Elora asks, her voice sounding bored. 

Vi sits at the kitchen table while Elora ladles stew into a bowl. Vi knows waiting on her grates Elora’s nerves. That she has to serve someone of Vi’s status. But Vi lets her thoughts loose anyways, needing them in the open. 

“It was difficult. She always walks ahead of me and she walked the beach alone today,” Vi laments, biting her lower lip as the bowl is placed in front of her. 

Elora hums. “Have you begun to paint yet?” The real reason for her inquiries, Vi realizes. 

Vi sighs through her nose. “No. I haven’t,” Vi spoons the warm broth in her mouth. “You know, I’ve barely seen her smile. It’s more like her mouth just twitches and then it’s gone,” Vi doesn’t realize how much it bothers her until the words are out. 

Elora looks down at her, picking up a basket full of unused, clean dishes. 

“Have you tried to be funny?” 

Vi nearly chokes. She looks up at Elora, and her resolve cracks when Elora gives her a smirk of her own. Vi snorts loudly, feeling a little less hopeless. 

Vi paints by candle light that night. The palette rests on her arm as she dips the brush, swirling Caitlyn’s pigment on the canvas. The skin is easy. Much easier than facial expressions. 

She strokes the brush with delicate ease, as if it were her hand on Caitlyn’s face. But as the night wears on, she knows this isn’t Caitlyn she’s painting. It’s just another shallow version of her. A mask. 

And Vi swears the room smells like the ocean and lavender. 

Vi throws the brush down, stripping down to her undergarments, her body suddenly too hot and her skin clammy. When she climbs into bed, she resists the urge to slip her fingers beyond the waistband, unsure where this frustration is stemming from. This is a job. Nothing more. 

She’s painted plenty of beautiful women. But none of them had she committed to memory. None of them did she have to stare at them as they spoke. None of them ever touched her. Caressed her face or stared back at her. They were muses. Almost like statues brought to life. A transaction in a language Vi is familiar with. Not this.  

 Vi’s not a stranger to attraction. To her attraction specifically. Nor the way she will always feel like it needs to be hidden. A secret best not shared. She’s only met a handful of other women who share her desires. But none of them leave her skin aflame from a look alone.  

Vi dreams of cages that night. It feels familiar and foreign. The stone morphs into golden bars, the lock dangling on the outside. There’s no warden here, but instead Caitlyn stands outside of the cage, a key hung by a thin chain resting on her collar and gold silk draping off her shoulders. 

________

“I didn’t take you for a Greek mythology reader.”

The ocean is calmer today. Far less turbulent. Vi sits closer to Caitlyn today, digging her boots into the sand and sits back on her elbows. 

The statement jolts her. Because in truth, she isn’t one. Vi clears her throat. 

“I’m not,” Vi admits, glancing at Caitlyn from the corner of her eye. 

Caitlyn turns to her then, her face incredulous and her brow tightly knit. The expression makes Vi smirk. 

“But the book–”

“It was my sister’s,” Vi blurts. And Vi wishes she could take it back. The way Caitlyn is looking at her is too open. Too vulnerable. Too curious. Vi looks down to Caitlyn’s boots. 

“You ride?” The words come out hoarse and Vi’s eyes sting. Caitlyn takes the cue, pulling her knees to her chest. 

“I d0– I did . My father taught me when I was a girl. We used to ride all the time. Although I doubt I’ll be allowed to anymore,” Caitlyn says, taking her lower lip between her teeth. And Vi realizes it’s the first time she’s really seen them. The small gap between them warms her chest for reasons she can’t explain. 

Vi hums, digging her boots further in the sand. “I’ve never ridden a horse. Too busy being on a boat growing up.”

“You’re a sailor, then?” Caitlyn asks curiously. Pleasantly. Vi likes the sound of her voice. 

She chuckles, “No. No, not anymore. My dad was for a while,” she chuckles again, not missing the way Caitlyn tilts her head at the sound. “I was always getting in trouble for drawing in my sketchbook when I was supposed to be helping around the ship.” 

Caitlyn straightens. “You draw?” 

Vi clears her throat again, “Only a little.” Vi wants to swallow the lie back down.

They sit in silence after that. They steal glances, their fingers dig in the damp sand, knuckles almost brushing every so often until Vi begins drawing patterns in the sand. Blue eyes following the path of her fingers. Vi’s face feels hot but not from the sun bathing them.

“My father never wanted me to be in the position I’m in,” Caitlyn says softly after Vi has finished drawing a rose in the sand, sitting back on her hands.

Vi watches the waves as Caitlyn speaks more about her father. About the way she regrets not coming back to Piltover sooner only to be dragged out of her grief barely a month after he passed. She doesn’t mention her marriage, though. The topic is carefully avoided. But Vi hears the regret and the resentment in her voice. She finds herself shifting closer against her better judgment. 

“I’m sorry. For what happened to him. For what’s happening to you ,” Vi says quietly. She isn’t sure why she said it. And she knows Caitlyn’s probably had her full of meaningless apologies. Vi would know. But Caitlyn still looks at her with surprise, the emotion etched into her features. Vi finds herself wanting to memorize that too. 

“You know, before I was brought here, people only ever spoke to me in riddles. They still do. They congratulate me like I’ve won something. You’re the first person to actually say that to me,” Caitlyn looks down at Vi, her eyes wide and raking over her. Vi looks away, feeling too exposed.  

“He apologized to me in his last letter. At the time, I didn’t know what for. I wasn’t even aware he was ill.” Vi watches Caitlyn’s lip quiver before it morphs into a small scowl. 

Vi shifts onto the side of her hip, her fingertips brushing Caitlyn’s, making them both flinch. Vi pulls her hand away. 

“What do you think he was apologizing for?” Vi asks, looking up at Caitlyn. Her hair is pinned up as it’s been every time she’s seen her. Loose strands frame sharp cheekbones, her lips forever pouting. Caitlyn looks down at Vi, and she has to fight the urge to snap her head back to the ocean. 

“What do you know of my family, Vi?” 

Vi sits up, her hand brushing Caitlyn’s again. Neither of them move. 

“Not much,” Vi gestures to the mansion on the hill above them. “Other than your family seems to be wealthy. Powerful if the crest everywhere means anything,” Vi says watching the way Caitlyn’s face stays neutral, eyes searching for something in Vi’s. 

Caitlyn hums. “And what do you know of my marriage?” 

Vi swallows, her resolve threatening to slip between the shallow cracks. The unfinished canvas beckons and repels her.  

“Just that you’re marrying a nobleman from Demacia.”

Caitlyn nods. “That’s all I know too. Do you see why it concerns me? My father was the only thing shielding me from this apparently,” Caitlyn says bitterly. “From falling into the role of a true Kiramman. It’s a duty that’s been thrust onto me without even asking me. Without even letting me decide what my… preferences are.”

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, facing Caitlyn head- on now. “So would you have preferred to stay at the Academy?” 

Caitlyn huffs at that. “I would prefer to be anywhere but here. Even if it meant being penniless.”

“Ouch, Cupcake,” Vi chuckles and ignores the way her stomach falls. Caitlyn gasps, her cheeks turning rosy. 

“I didn’t mean that,” Caitlyn reaches forward, gripping Vi’s fingers in the sand before remembering herself, letting go of Vi’s fingers like she’s been burned. And Vi has to remember how to breathe. “It’s just that– I don’t want to marry someone I don’t even know or to have my freedom stripped to a life of being locked away and forced to squeeze out heirs.” The words come out rushed and flustered. Her face is flushed red 

Vi stares at her, feeling the anger crash onto her in waves more violent than the sea. Both for this woman and with herself. With her mother. But Vi’s here for a job. Vi’s here for survival. 

She looks back to the ocean, finding herself getting lost in the planes of Caitlyn’s face. 

“You may like him,” Vi tries weakly, not missing the way Caitlyn inhales sharply. “It may not be so bad. At least you’ll have a roof over your head. Food on the table. You’ll be comfortable.” 

Vi knows the words are harsh for Caitlyn to hear. But they’re true. Vi’s come from nothing. Only recently has her life been anything close to comfortable. 

“What about you? When will you marry?” Caitlyn asks, an edge threading her tone. Vi looks back to Caitlyn, leaning forward a little, as if Caitlyn were gravity pulling her in. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever marry,” Vi admits. 

“You don’t have to?” Caitlyn presses. And Vi knows where this is going. 

“No, I’ll uhh, I’ll take over my father’s business back in Piltover,” Vi feels her stare boring into her bones. 

“So you get to choose. You have freedom and a way to see the world which is why you don’t understand me,” Caitlyn says, not hiding the bitterness within the words. They bite and tear at Vi’s flesh, ripping her open. But if she knows anything, she knows about choice and how limited it is for someone like her. How her choices look starkly different than Caitlyn’s. How the only reason she won’t marry is because she can never marry a man. 

So she sits up further, leaning forward in a challenge before whispering, “I understand you, Caitlyn.”  

They walk back in silence hours later. 

Chapter Text

Present  

Vi sees her everywhere. 

She ends class early that day. Too unnerved and frayed to focus on teaching. To focus on anything. 

She’s tried to forget her. She really has. Her home, which used to be filled with canvases of her own work, have been replaced and moved. Sold to the highest bidder. All but one. 

She sees her in the color blue. She sees her in the River Pilt, the water a deep blue on sunny days, swirling and flowing with docking ships. She sees raven colored hair in the street and her heart feels ready to combust. She’s stopped painting with the color blue for a long time. Making her art more consumed in raging reds and yellows. 

Vi’s stopped taking the route by the coast to get to and from Zaun. She can’t stand the sound of the waves. So she takes the route that has her shoving through faceless bodies. Nameless faces. But luckily her walk now is shorter to her current destination. 

The gallery is full for the upcoming show. Artists from across Runeterra have paid for their spots that Vi has been curating for months. She’s worked hard to secure this venue. Rubbed elbows with people she despises all in the name of keeping busy. Keeping herself  occupied. 

“Miss Vi? You’re here early,” Mel Medarda greets her with small kisses to each cheek. A custom Vi could do without. But Vi adheres, chuckling at Mel’s pleasant surprise. 

“I wanted to check out the space one more time. Make sure everything is up to par,” Vi explains easily. The exhibit is the largest Vi has ever been a part of. And while she’s only submitted a few of her smaller pieces, she knows this is the chance to secure a place outside of this city. To move on. 

Mel hums, grabbing Vi’s elbow as she leads them through the foyer. “I think you’ll be pleased by how it’s all turned out.” 

“I’m sure, knowing you,” Vi says, still playing the part. In truth, she enjoys Mel’s company as much as she can enjoy anything. But she still can never escape the inexplicable feeling that she’s playing pretend. That she’s a charity case riding off the name Vander built. 

Crystal chandeliers and painted ceilings greet them. Greek figures bathed in vines and musical instruments beckon the eye. Gold encrusted walls and stained glass windows invite them in. Vi stands in the center of the room, eyes catching on various artwork. Sculptures  and canvases line the walls, embellishing the room with color and purpose. All of them have been artfully placed and chosen with care. Vi stops at each one, reading the placards and observing the art again as if for the first time. 

She circles the large ballroom, weaving between bar tables and staff still prepping and gliding across the marbled floor. A clothed canvas catches her eye. The only one not accounted for. 

“What’s this?” Vi asks, an odd sense of dread settling in her gut. Mel perks up, taking long strides to meet Vi across the room. 

“ This is a last minute addition. I didn’t think you’d mind and well– a dear friend of mine painted it,” Mel says fondly. “I believe it’s a portrait if I’m not mistaken. Here, I haven’t even seen it yet.” And before Vi can stop her, Mel unveils the painting. 

Vi feels her skin ice over and her heart pounds wildly in her ears. 

“ Oh. This is such a spectacular piece. She’s so gorgeous,” Mel says breathlessly, lifting a finger as if to touch the paint. “What do you think, Vi? I think this may be the star of the show, don’t you?”

But Vi can’t formulate words. Vi can’t even move. Cerulean eyes, piercing and daring and happy ornament the canvas. Air is hard to come by and she wonders if she’s dreaming. She must be dreaming because the woman she fell in love with is sitting before her. Perfectly posed. Draped in Demacian silk and sapphires, holding a small book in her hands, the corner exposed to a number. 

56.

Vi’s eyes well, her lower lashes wet without her permission. 

“Who–” Vi clears her throat, blinking rapidly. “–who painted it?” The words are hoarse and strained. She doesn’t even care about the answer.  

“An old friend. Viktor. I believe he’s from Zaun like you. A real master of his trade, although I didn’t know he did portraits,” Mel muses, continuing to lament about Viktor’s other work. But Vi isn’t really listening. Too busy taking in details, her eyes catching on her fingers. On the book. On her eyes. Her lips. Everything. 

“If this is who I believe it is, I think she’ll be here tonight.” 

Vi snaps her head toward Mel. 

“Who?” 

Mel keeps looking at the portrait. 

“Caitlyn Kiramman.”

________

2 years ago

“How’re your days with her?” 

Mrs. Kiramman reeks of impatience today. She sits at the tea table in the same room she spoke with Vi privately in before. Her face is pinched, deep creases lining her mouth and brow,  which Vi is learning means she’s ready to get on with something. 

Vi walks to her seat, her trousers fitting a little looser of late from all the long walks with Caitlyn. 

Their walk after Caitlyn revealed her temperance for her marriage they barely spoke. Or when they did, the topics were safe. Tales of Caitlyn’s childhood in upper Piltover, riding on her mare Vermax. Vi finds herself smiling a little more when they do converse and has to keep reminding herself she isn’t there to be Caitlyn’s friend. 

“We get back late and it’s hard to work in the dark,” Vi admits, sitting down, her legs spreading on instinct. She leaves her tea on the table. 

Cassandra hums, sipping quietly. “Perhaps I’ll keep her here tomorrow. Let you get some work done. Her betrothed is growing impatient,” Cassandra shifts in her chair. Vi picks her wraps, looking down at her lap. 

“Maybe you could let her walk alone tomorrow?” Vi asks, the idea of Caitlyn being cooped up bothering her more than she realized it would. The question doesn’t ease the apprehension on Cassandra’s face. “I really don’t think she’ll do anything to hurt herself. She seems too stubborn for that.” Vi isn’t sure where the fondness in her voice comes from. 

Cassandra smirks slightly at that. “I’m not sure where she gets it from. Her father and I are both so agreeable.”

 Vi holds back a snort.

 “Tell me though, Vi, how is she, really?” Cassandra’s tone turns more serious. Almost tender. Vi straightens in her chair, looking over Cassandra’s shoulder. The window has been left open, the air a pleasantly cool temperature for how clammy her skin has become. 

“She doesn’t seem sad,” Vi says, looking back to meet Cassandra’s gaze. “Just angry.”

Cassandra huffs. “You think I don’t know her anger? I know it well.” 

“As do I,” Vi says, wishing she could regain better control of her tongue. But Cassandra surprises her, chuckling at her words before she frowns. 

“She acts as though I’m marrying her to a horrid beast,” she says, bringing her cup back to her lips. Vi keeps her hands in her lap. “But this is what it is to be Kiramman. Do you think I wanted to marry her father? We have to make these political alliances. These sacrifices. Choice and love are far beyond what we’re meant for,” Cassandra shakes her head. Vi’s chest aches. 

They sit in silence for a few breaths. Watching the other, waiting for calculated words. Vi has none. She isn’t here to give her opinion. 

“In truth,” Cassandra starts, “I’ve made her the best match I can. Demacia is beautiful and  peaceful. And the match will prove prosperous for both our houses. Please tell her that. I’m not trying to punish her.” 

Vi nods, leaning forward slightly. “And may I ask why you can’t tell her this yourself?” Vi knows it’s a bold question. But she doesn’t want to push Caitlyn. Not like this. 

“She hasn’t spoken to me since she arrived. Not a  single word,” Cassandra sighs. Vi inhales sharply, trying to stifle the way she wants to laugh, an odd sense of pride welling in her chest. 

“I see,” Vi says. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She isn’t. 

“I’ll leave for Demacia when you leave. Please try to reason with her before then.”

Vi nods, knowing that request is beyond what she’s willing to do. 

________

 The portrait is disheveled. The body is left without paint, just loose lines her mind can’t conjure the color or image for. The face is painted, a small smile Vi swears she’s only seen in her dreams rather than on Caitlyn’s face is etched into the canvas. Her hands that Vi knows by heart stand out against the blank background, in the lap she has yet to start on. 

An unsavory idea flits across Vi’s mind. One she normally would never entertain. But these are not normal circumstances. 

The cushioned stool still sits in the center of the daylit room. She lifts the mirror she had facing the wall and places it on the floor so the reflection is of the stool. The setup is a little  unconventional but it’s her only option. 

Sighing through her nose, she strips out of her white tunic, leaving her in paint splotched trousers and the bandeau wrapped around her chest. She slips on the corset that had been delivered with the gown, noticing the way the bodice is too big and full of ruffles along the top. Vi picks up the gold gown, slipping on the skirt and bust, her skin crawling with the sensations. 

It’s as heavy as it looks. The gold dress drags behind her and Vi has to suspend herself from her own body. She sits on the stool, imagining Caitlyn’s posture. The delicate way she holds herself. But that’s not right. Caitlyn is anything but delicate. She’s fierce and reserved all at once. 

She adjusts the gown, keeping her on the way the silk sits, the way it cascades onto the floor like liquid gold. Vi places her hands in her lap, as much like Caitlyn as she can remember from their first day on the beach. 

Something isn’t right. Her hands are too large. Too scarred and covered in wraps. But in truth this isn’t about the hands. This is about the goddamn dress. She adjusts and moves the fabric. Pulling to bend to her will until it’s finally how she wants it. Vi stares at the mirror propped on the floor, focusing on the way the dress sits. Memorizing the color and texture. 

A knock at the door sends her jumping to her feet. “Shit” is whispered under her breath.

“Vi?”

Vi nearly trips rushing behind the blue sheet curtain, her fingers clammy as they catch on the dress. She yanks the fabric down, peeling the bodice off as the door creaks open before Vi could even give an answer. 

Footsteps and rustling are the only sounds in the room. Vi doesn’t think when she steps out from behind the curtain. She doesn’t understand why Caitlyn is staring at her like that. Mouth slightly agape and cheeks flushed redder than Vi’s hair. 

   Vi heaves air in and out of her lungs, her heart stilling in her chest when she sees Caitlyn sitting on the stool as if Vi had posed her there all along. 

“I didn’t realize you would be in this state,” Caitlyn says evenly despite her reddened cheeks. Vi quirks her brow, still endlessly confused and flushed. She looks down at herself, mortification coloring her skin a bright red. 

“ Oh . Shit. I mean– excuse me a moment,” Vi stutters, rushing back behind the curtain to actually put on a shirt. She hears Caitlyn stand from the stool and finds her making herself comfortable in Vi’s bed. An expectant and curious look on her face. Vi walks over slowly, still trying to calm her racing heart, alarmed at how much she likes seeing Caitlyn in her bed. 

She hasn’t seen Caitlyn in a dress before. It’s simple. A dark blue that matches her hair. Vi sits gingerly next to her, waiting for Caitlyn to divulge the reason for her sudden visit. Sparks of warmth make her skin tingle where Caitlyn’s skin makes contact with hers. Vi doesn’t move away. 

“The markings on your arms,” she starts, her eyes looking down to Vi’s exposed forearms. “They’re quite lovely. I’ve never seen a woman with markings like that.”

Vi looks down at her hands, remembering the way the needles felt against her skin. Vi swallows, her stomach fluttering at the compliment. Lovely had never been used to describe anything about her. 

“Thank you,” Vi replies quietly. 

“Did you draw them?” Caitlyn asks curiously. 

“I did,” Vi chuckles, stopping abruptly when Caitlyn’s fingers brush the ink on her elbow. She draws her hand back into her lap. Vi clears her throat. “Your mother is going to let you walk on your own tomorrow. You’ll be free,” Vi gives her a small, unconvincing smile, unsure why the idea doesn’t sit well with her. As if she isn’t the one who advocated for this. 

Caitlyn’s face falls. “So being free is to be alone?”

“Isn’t it?” Vi says, sitting a little straighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by people all my life and yet there isn’t anyone who doesn’t make me feel lonely,” Caitlyn says, a quiet resentment thick in the words. And Vi doesn’t have an answer for it. “But I suppose I’ll let you know tomorrow. I’ll go to the village, maybe,” Caitlyn says, looking down at her lap, her nails picking at the skin around her cuticles. 

“Do you know someone there?” Vi asks, getting Caitlyn’s attention. 

“I hope I’ll hear music.”

“Did they not have music at the academy?”

Caitlyn shrugs, keeping her gaze on Vi. “I grew up going to the opera with my parents and the music we heard at the academy was always so… dull, I suppose.” This makes Vi smirk, imagining a young, bored Caitlyn at an opera house. 

Vi stands then, not missing the way Caitlyn’s brow quirks, and walks to the piano still covered in a thick white sheet. She sits at the bench, looking over shoulder at Caitlyn, her chest tightening at the softness in her gaze. She doesn’t lift the sheet, letting her fingers find the keys on their own accord.  

Another trade from Vander. A gift. He liked to have his hands in everything that was creation. And nothing made him happier than painting and music. And drinking and sailing.  

She presses the keys, Zaun conjuring behind her eyes. The keys are out of tune but the laughter of her people rings in her ears. Soft footsteps sound closer and closer until they stop. But Vi keeps playing, releasing a breath through her nose when Caitlyn lifts the sheet, sitting next to her. 

Lavender fills her nose and her entire right side tingles where Caitlyn’s skin brushes her own. Their thighs are flush together. She feels blue eyes looking at her but Vi keeps her eyes on her own fingers. 

“What is this?” Caitlyn asks softly, not hiding the wonder in her voice. Vi huffs an amused laugh from her nose, unable to stop her lips from curling upward. 

“Jazz,” Vi says, her fingers missing the right key. She finally looks up at Caitlyn then, holding back the gasp at how close they are. “It’s the music we play in Zaun,” Vi explains, a finger pushing on a key absently, looking back down at the instrument. 

“Did your father teach you that as well as sailing?” Caitlyn asks, amused. It’s the lightest Vi’s ever seen her. She nods. 

“He taught me a lot of things. Everything, really.” She turns back to Caitlyn, her breath coming out heavier than before. 

“What piece was that?” Caitlyn asks, her own fingers touching a key, jumping back slightly when it makes a sound.

“An old dancing song from the Lanes. We used to have this tavern that played music all night. My sister and I would sneak downstairs to listen to my dad play,” Vi laughs at the memory, blushing at the way Caitlyn looks at her. Soft and open. Not the reserved pout or tangible anger. It’s too much.

“You’re going to like Demacia. They have music and art everywhere,” Vi blurts softly, wishing she could once again swallow the words back. Caitlyn’s small smile disappears and she finally looks away from Vi. 

“I’m glad you think at some point, I’ll be consoled with something.” Caitlyn looks back up as she says it, eyes full of a tired disappointment. Vi wants to fix it. 

She opens her mouth to speak, but words fail her at first. 

“I’m saying, there will be good things too,” Vi tries, her eyes searching and drowning in the ocean of blue before her. Caitlyn bites her lower lip, nodding before lightly scoffing. 

“Then I can’t wait for Demacia.”

Vi can’t quell the disappointment the words bring her. 

________

Vi works for hours the next day. Her wrist aches as she details the dress texture. Dips and strokes of fabric into paint. Each dip into paint feels heavier. A lie and a truth immortalized on a canvas. 

Skye, one of the many house servants, sits patiently on the stool, posed exactly as Vi left her. She’s short and a little awkward, but Vi only needs someone to model the gown. Nothing else. 

She had asked Elora initially, her being the only other person Vi has really spoken with besides Caitlyn and her mother.  But she was met with a scoff and an eye roll. Skye had knocked on the door timidly and Vi merely told her how to sit, giving her privacy to change. 

Her stomach grumbling is what finally gets her to stop. Skye looks on the verge of passing out. 

She walks down to the kitchen, her right hand coated in paint. She had taken the wrapping off hours ago, the bandages more constricting than helpful with the movement of her wrist. 

She gulps water down, shoving leftover stew down her throat when she hears the door clang shut. Quick footsteps follow as Vi finishes the stew. 

Caitlyn stands before her, face flushed and hair askew, her cloak wrapped around her body. Vi has the wherewithal to hide her paint covered hand behind her back, holding the bowl with the other as she moves out of Caitlyn’s way. 

“How was the village?” Vi asks in passing, keeping her hand out of Caitlyn’s sight. She sets the bowl in the sink. She doesn’t look Caitlyn in the eye but her joy is infectious. 

“I heard music. Real music, I think. It wasn’t much but it’s more than I’ve heard in ages,” Caitlyn says, turning on her heel to face Vi. Caitlyn chuckles, but the humor is fading. “Are you leaving me already?”

Vi looks over her shoulder, her breath stilling in her lungs, She looks away quickly, hiding behind a small smirk and shrug. “I am.”

Caitlyn steps toward her and Vi closes her eyes, holding her paint-covered hand against her chest, the paint also staining her vest. 

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Her voice is so hopeful Vi has to remember how to breathe. Caitlyn smiles lightly, tilting her head and rubbing her thumbs in front of her.  

Vi looks at her again, nodding. “Did you miss me already, Cupcake?” Vi teases, expecting an eye roll or a scoff. 

But Caitlyn just chuckles and Vi feels the sound everywhere . 

“I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Caitlyn teases back, quirking a brow. Her voice is nothing short of smug and Vi wonders what else she could say to get that tone again.

But Vi doesn’t turn to face her, instead choosing to still look over her shoulder lest she reveal her hand. 

“It might be nice to hear that you enjoy my company,” Vi says, waiting to see if Caitlyn would respond beyond her widened eyes and flushed cheeks. But maybe Vi is misreading this. That would make more sense. 

Vi begins walking toward the open doorway when Caitlyn doesn’t reply, dreading the golden canvas that awaits her upstairs. 

“I didn’t feel as lonely today– walking to the village on my own,” Caitlyn says after her, making Vi stop in her tracks. “I felt some freedom in it,” Caitlyn doesn’t  move from her spot in front of the kitchen fireplace. Vi turns her head over her shoulder again but keeps her eyes cast downward. “But I also felt your absence,” she finishes, releasing a heavy breath. 

Guilt crashes against her insides like violent waves. Her breath leaves her lungs with a shaky exhale, a lump forming in her throat. And she almost lets her tongue run wild. Almost lets the admission of why she’s here run free. But she’s a coward with debts to pay. 

So she walks away, not uttering a single word. 

________

Vi takes care when cleaning her brushes. She always had. There were many lessons as a child where she would leave her brushes coated in layers of paint, only to be met with a single look from Vander. 

She rubs the paint with a thick towel, avoiding what she’s done on the canvas. Avoiding this version of Caitlyn she’s created. But she can only avoid it for so long. Setting the last brush down, she glances up, meeting candle-lit blue eyes that look far happier than they should. 

It’s Caitlyn’s face and it isn’t. It’s a version that meets the expectations thrusted on both of them. But Vi has to commend herself in something. She managed to paint the woman who refused to pose. But she can’t hide from the violation that sits before her.

Vi doesn’t linger. Instead, she leaves her room, traversing through the halls of Holdrum. When she reaches a wide set of double doors, she knocks firmly enough to be heard by the woman she knows sits inside. 

Elora greets her with a neutral stare before letting her in. The room is bathed in soft firelight, a pitcher of red wine sits on a small tea table. 

Conversation is stilted. Awkward and a little forced. Vi takes a sip of wine. 

“The portrait is finished,” Vi says firmly. Cassandra’s face lights up, setting her own glass down next to her. 

“Really? Are you satisfied with it? I suppose a better question is "Will I be satisfied with it?” Cassandra chuckles but her eyes are hard. Intense and searching. Vi refuses to wither under it. 

“I think so,” is all she deigns her with. Cassandra sits up straighter, as if readying to stand. 

“Let’s go see it then, yes?” 

“Actually,” Vi raises a placating hand, nerves swarming as she watches Cassandra’s face settle back into its careful disdain. “I need to ask a favor.” 

The older woman nods, gesturing for Vi to continue. 

Vi steeles herself, setting her now empty glass on the table. “I think I would like to show it to her first. I want to tell her the truth myself.”

Vi’s heart beats loudly in her ears. Cassandra nods slowly, a small smirk playing on her lips.

“I see. She’s very fond of you.”

Vi sits back in her chair, surprise no doubt showing on her face if Cassandra’s small chuckle means anything. 

“How do you know that?” Vi huffs as she says it, disbelief warming her cheeks.

Cassandra lifts a hand to support her own head, resting her cheek in her palm. The wine has left the older woman’s face flushed. More human. 

“She started speaking to me a few days ago. She doesn’t say much but when she does, it’s always about you.” 

Vi doesn’t hear another word from the woman's mouth. 

________

Vi takes a bottle of wine to her room. She doesn’t stop herself from drinking  straight from it as she sits on the wooden floor staring at her work. 

She had stood outside of Caitlyn’s door for far too long, having cornered Skye on her way upstairs to demand where the room was. And all this time she’s been just down the hall. Vi had contemplated knocking. Of bringing the canvas inside and letting the shame swallow her whole. But footsteps echoing from inside the room sent her marching back to her own room. 

She takes a long swig, grimacing at the taste. Wine has never been her favorite. 

The canvas on the other side of the room beckons to her. The faceless disaster that haunts everyone in this house. She stands on wobbly legs, picking up the canvas with rough fingers. She stares at it, taking in the fine details. The brush strokes are uneven. Frustrated. The skin is mottled and older. Bracelets adorn the wrist and Vi almost laughs at the absurdity of it. As if Caitlyn would ever wear something like that.  

Rage is something she’s familiar with. She saw it in Caitlyn before even meeting her. Vi used to wear the emotion like a second skin, only expelled through fights with older men who made an enemy of her. 

She feels it prickling her skin now. The heat of it crawls up her spine, making her fingers tingle. Vi grabs a candle, crouching in front of the ruined canvas. The light illuminates the texture of gold and porcelain skin. Skin that isn’t Caitlyn’s. 

She doesn’t hesitate to set it aflame.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn is talkative today. 

She walks closer to Vi, keeping her strides even rather than walking ahead. Vi would entertain the way her body tingles, small sparks shooting through her nerves every time Caitlyn’s elbow brushed hers if she weren't fighting with herself. If she knew she wasn’t about to ruin everything. 

So Vi stays quiet, content to listen. Caitlyn holds a book in her other hand. The book Vi let her borrow. She laments about everything and nothing. Small snippets of her life that Vi holds onto with both hands. 

They take their time walking to the beach. Their fingers brush every so often along the way. Vi holds her hand out when they reach the cliff’s edge, as she’s done every time they walk to the beach. And for the first time, Caitlyn takes it, holding on longer than necessary. 

The waves are gentle in their push and pull today. Caitlyn sits near her, the book opened in her lap. Vi hasn’t stopped staring at her. She wants to memorize the details again. But these will be for her. Not some nameless man across the sea. 

“Caitlyn?”

Caitlyn glances up, her face concerned. 

“Vi.”

Vi moves a little closer, the blanket scrunching under them. She takes the book out of Caitlyn’s lap, setting it down between them. 

She keeps her eyes on the worn cover. “I need to tell you something,” Vi croaks. 

Caitlyn sits a little straighter. She speaks after what feels like hours.“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Caitlyn doesn’t hide the disappointment in her voice. Vi looks up then, withering and drowning in the blue gaze. 

“I– yes, but that isn’t what I wanted to tell you,” Vi takes a deep breath through her nose before continuing.  “Caitlyn, I wasn’t brought here to be your walking companion. I’m a painter. I was hired to paint you,” Vi rushes, her fingers aching to hold Caitlyn’s. But she stays still, clenching her hands in her lap. 

Caitlyn doesn’t move at first, watching Vi with a neutral gaze. Vi’s heart pounds in her ears as she watches a myriad of emotions flit across Caitlyn’s face. Caitlyn nods, her eyes growing cold and hard. Reverting back to the closed off woman she met when she first arrived. But there’s something more there now. Pain. 

Caitlyn takes her lower lip between her teeth, glaring at the waves crashing in front of them. 

“Well, did you accomplish what you came here for?” Caitlyn asks bitterly. 

“Cupcake, please-“ Vi raises her hand, unable to contain the need to touch. But Caitlyn flinches, her nose scrunching as she pummels Vi with a glare. 

“Well?” 

Vi sighs, biting the inside of her cheek. “Yeah. I did.” 

Caitlyn nods at that, turning back to the ocean, her thumbs picking at already uneven cuticles. 

“When do you leave?” 

Vi swallows, keeping her gaze on Caitlyn’s profile. 

“Later today. I’m supposed to leave when your mother does.” 

Cailtyn nods, looking down at her hands. “Well that explains all your looks.”

Vi opens her mouth to speak but words fail her.

Caitlyn stands then, muttering “ right, then ,” under her breath. She dusts the sand off her skirt and marches toward the water. 

Vi stays on their disheveled blanket, her eyes wide as she watches Caitlyn strip down, her fingers rushed and frantic. She wants to move. To stop her from whatever she’s about to do. But she stuck, watching layer after layer drop into the sand, revealing smooth skin and thin cotton. Vi’s mouth dries. 

What finally gets her to move is Caitlyn’s stubborn stride into the waves. 

“Caitlyn!” Vi calls after her, stumbling to her feet. “Caitlyn, what’re you doing!?” Vi has to shout over the wind and water. But Caitlyn doesn’t even acknowledge her. She just keeps wading into the ocean, her underclothes sticking to her lean body. 

Vi runs to the water’s edge, her feet slower from the sand. She yanks her boots off, rushing into the frigid water. The waves lap at her knees and her hands are already outstretched. 

Caitlyn doesn’t look back, just keeps trudging into the ocean until she ducks her head under. Mist wets Vi’s hair, her skin already covered in goosebumps. She’s only waist deep but she feels like she’s drowning. She dives headfirst when Caitlyn doesn’t emerge immediately. 

She pulls a gasping Caitlyn out from under, an arm holding her waist, pulling their bodies flush together. 

Vi grips Caitlyn’s face with her other hand, panting as waves rock them. Caitlyn’s hands come up to grip Vi’s arms, her eyes wide and her lips turning as blue as her eyes. 

“What the hell, Cait?” Vi asks, not hiding the mild horror on her face. She lets her thumb stroke a sharp cheekbone, not missing the way Caitlyn breathes heavier. 

But Caitlyn still harbors the betrayal on her face, it materializes in the way her brow creases, the way her fingers squeeze Vi’s skin. Another wave rolls through them and Vi digs her feet in the rocks below.

“I needed to do that at least once,” Caitlyn says through clattering teeth. Vi instinctively pulls her closer. Their noses could brush if either of them allowed it. 

“Do what?” Vi whispers, her own body shivering. Yet they don’t move out of the water. 

“See if I could swim.” 

________

They drip water along the hardwood. Their footsteps creak under them, the wood soaking up every drop that runs down their clothes and skin. Hesitant and burned. 

Light shines through the open windows. Vi ripped the sheets down earlier that morning. Letting the finished portrait see the light of day. 

Caitlyn doesn’t speak. Her nose scrunches and her jaw clenches the longer she stares at it. Vi watches her nervously, eyes flickering between them. 

“Please say something,” Vi breaks. Caitlyn doesn’t look at her, just leans closer to the canvas before stepping back. 

“That’s me?” Caitlyn asks, her tone almost quivering. Vi raises her brow, stepping closer to the other woman, her own gaze daring to look at her work. 

“Who else would it be?” Vi asks incredulously. She may not be proud of how it was done, but Vi would still consider it a successful piece. 

Caitlyn looks at her then, her eyes hard and guarded. Hurt. 

“Is this really how you see me?”

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, looking at the painting again. 

No. 

“There are rules I have to abide by. Conventions that I’ve been taught–”

“I don’t think your father taught you to paint something lifeless. Without a presence,” Caitlyn cuts her off bitterly and Vi bristles at the words, stepping closer to Caitlyn than before. Caitlyn doesn’t move. 

“Your presence? There were only so many fleeting moments I had to work with, Cupcake,” the nickname has more virtriol than Vi feels. Caitlyn barely flinches. “They may lack some truth but that’s still you, ” Vi defends the lie. Buries her own disappointment and shame underneath them. 

“Not everything is fleeting. Some emotions run deep.”

Vi looks away from her then, her face unbearably hot. She can’t look at that confession in the face. Not when the sentiment resonates everywhere.  

“I can understand this not being close to me. I wasn’t even aware I was a part of it,” Caitlyn starts, her voice lower than before. Vi glances at her, seeing the raw emotion flit across Caitlyn’s face as she looks between Vi and the portrait. “But the fact that it isn’t close to you saddens me,” her voice wobbles with a mixture of sadness and resentment. 

So Vi does what she’s always done when backed into a corner. She lashes. Bristles against the words. 

“And how do you know this isn’t close to me? I didn’t know you were a damn art critic,” Vi can’t help the way her own voice trembles. How the anger is so quickly melted by the blue flames in Caitlyn’s eyes. 

“And I didn’t know you were a painter.”

Caitlyn walks toward the door with heavy feet. “I’ll fetch my mother,” she says, closing the door behind her. 

Vi releases a shaky exhale, pacing with her hands on her hips. She bites her thumbnail, staring at the portrait again until the rage drives her forward. She can’t look at the face she’s painted. The face that isn’t Caitlyn. But she’s known that from the very beginning. 

She grabs a cloth, slamming it into the canvas and rubs the paint until there’s nothing but a smeared face left behind.  

________

“You can’t be bloody serious,” Cassandra seethes. For the first time, Vi flinches at the reprimand when the two women walk into her room. Cassandra stands in front of the canvas before twirling on her heel, marching to where Vi stands across the room.

Caitlyn follows suit, but Vi can see the small smirk playing at her lips. 

“I wasn’t happy with it. I’ll start again,” Vi says, grimacing at the way Cassandra’s face contorts. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re clearly a born idiot or have a love for self destruction. You may leave,” Cassandra says. 

“She’s staying.”

Both Vi and the older woman turn. Caitlyn stands tall and firm, her eyes trained on her mother. 

“I’ll pose for her,” Caitlyn continues, her eyes flicking to Vi briefly. Cassandra’s mouth falls open in disbelief. She takes careful steps toward her daughter. Vi can’t stop staring at Caitlyn all the while, her fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. 

“But… why?” 

Caitlyn doesn’t budge from her spot in the center of the room. “What does it matter? Will the reason really change anything for you?” 

Vi can tell the response startles her mother by the way her back straightens. 

“No, I suppose it changes nothing,” she looks over her shoulder at Vi but Vi isn’t looking at anything that isn’t Caitlyn. “I’ll be leaving for ten days and the portrait will be done by then. I will be the one who decides,” she says, looking between both Vi and Caitlyn. Vi has to tear her eyes away from the endless blue. “Understand?” 

Vi nods mutely and Caitlyn finally looks away to glare down her nose at her mother. 

“Understood.” 

Neither of them move when Cassandra leaves the room. Not until Caitlyn releases a shuddering breath and moves toward the door. 

Vi rushes after her, her hand grip’s Caitlyn’s wrist. 

“I want to know why,” Vi says, determined to get a real answer. Caitlyn looks down at Vi’s hand still holding her wrist before meeting Vi’s gaze. 

“Because at least now it’s my choice.”

The air leaves Vi’s lungs and she lets go of Caitlyn’s wrist. 

“Is it? Is any of this?” Vi gestures to the ruined canvas. To the room she’s been staying in. Caitlyn only looks at the ruined canvas briefly before meeting Vi again. She lets her gaze linger on Vi, raking over every inch of her face. Trailing from her hairline down to her lips.  

Vi has to remember how to breathe. 

“You are, now.” 

She leaves before Vi can utter a word. 

________

Vi burns this canvas like the last. Watches as the flames lick up the edges, melting it down to ashes. Caitlyn’s words echo in her ears, the way her eyes were so endless. 

It’s pouring when Caitlyn comes to her room the next day. Vi barely hears her enter, trying to focus on the set up now that she has a willing model. The stool is placed on a wooden plank, her easel out in the open now. 

Caitlyn’s tentative footsteps alert Vi to her presence. Vi has to control her jaw from hinging open at the way Caitlyn carries the gold silk on her body. It drips off her shoulders and Vi’s eyes catch on the ruby pendant around her neck. Her cheeks burn red and she clears her throat.

Caitlyn in all her elegance, still appears mildly uncomfortable in the gown. 

Vi wears a sleeveless vest today, knowing her body would feel hot and uncomfortable. Caitlyn’s eyes follow the path of ink before actually looking at the setup Vi’s put together.

“What’s all this?”

Vi snorts lightly. “It’s your throne, princess,” Vi teases, hiding her nerves behind the remark. Caitlyn rolls her eyes and steps toward the stool. She tries to take a step up, her legs and feet lost under the silk, causing her to almost trip. Vi rushes forward, catching her by the elbow and waist. 

Caitlyn huffs and their faces are so close Vi can see her lashes, the way her lips are parted and Vi can feel herself being pulled in. The moon and the tide.

“You know, if you wanted me to carry you, all you had to do was ask,” Vi teases again, clearing her throat.Vi isn’t sure why she’s hiding behind the playfulness Caitlyn seems to bring out in her. But she doesn’t see another way to cope with where her mind keeps wandering.

 Caitlyn’s cheeks turn rosy, the color spreading down her neck, flaring at her collar. She recovers chuckling and rolling her eyes again. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she quips, her hands gripping Vi’s arms. 

Vi helps Caitlyn onto the stool, her skin burning where Caitlyn’s soft fingers had been. Caitlyn sits, adjusting her legs and arms. Vi has to resist the urge to laugh. Not because she looks ungraceful, but because she seems so… not her . 

“You’re making fun of me. I can see it,” Caitlyn says. And while the words still hold their playful edge, Vi can read the insecurity underneath. Vi walks around her, fluffing the gown in some places, pulling taut in others. 

She steps up on the wooden plank before speaking. “Me? I would never,” she doesn’t hold back the smirk at watching Caitlyn chuckle. 

“Vi. I mean it.” 

Vi ignores her, stepping down to grab another wooden piece. 

“Why would I make fun of you, Cupcake?” Vi sets the piece down, grabbing a towel from her bed before placing it on top. “Turn your chest a little toward me.” 

Caitlyn does as instructed. 

“Because I look ridiculous. Look at me,” she says with a huff. 

Vi feels her stomach turn. While Caitlyn looks less herself, ridiculous isn’t how she would describe her. Vi doesn’t have the proper words to describe the way Caitlyn looks to her. Instead of answering immediately, she continues adjusting the dress, directing Caitlyn’s posture, chuckling at the awkward way with how she sets her hands. 

“May I?” Vi asks, her hands already hovering over Caitlyn’s. She merely nods and Vi takes her hands, holding them like she would a precious heirloom. She places them in the lap of the gold gown, adjusting Caitlyn’s elbow to rest on the towel. “Are you comfortable like this?” Caitlyn nods again. “Can you hold this position for me?” Another nod. 

Vi doesn’t step down yet. She lifts her fingers, grazing them under Caitlyn’s chin, turning her head just slightly. 

“Just so you know, I’m always looking at you,” Vi whispers, her fingers still grazing Caitlyn’s chin.

Vi steps down then, stepping behind her easel before throwing her apron over her head. She isn’t sure where the words came from. Why she wasn’t able to stop them. They tumbled out more careless than Vi wanted. But she meant them all the same. Gods did she mean them. 

When Vi glances up from her empty canvas, Caitlyn sits exactly as posed, her chest heaving heavier breaths than before and her eyes are cast away.

“Caitlyn, look at me.” 

Blue meets gray and Vi knows this time will be infinitely different. 

________

Vi can’t sleep. 

She’s tossed and turned for hours now. The crackle of the hearth hasn’t bought her much comfort. The brief moments she does find sleep, her dreams are filled with the ocean and gold silk. But more prominently, they’re just filled with her. And how she could feel under Vi’s fingers. 

It’s gone on like this for hours. She slips under the waves of sleep, only to wake a short time later, her body tingling in the wake of something . 

Vi lies awake in her bed now, her skin too hot and her mind fuzzy. She can’t discern the time nor can she recall the exact details of her dream. Only that it’s left her body more frustrated than before. But she can take a guess.

She lets out a heavy sigh, knowing what could help but feeling a certain level of bashfulness along with it. Shame even. She knows her body. She always has. She’s familiar with what makes her tick and unspools the tension in her lower belly. But there’s something more… unnerving about it in a house that isn’t hers. In a bed that’s too soft. Too safe. 

She closes her eyes, kicking the sheets and duvet to the foot of the bed, and tries to get comfortable. She knows what she wants to imagine. Regardless of how forbidden it feels. But she can still pretend her body isn’t hers. That it belongs to the woman down the hall. Her legs twitch at the thought. 

Her hand starts at her collar, fingertips grazing the exposed skin, making the hair on her arms raise. She moves down, trailing over stiffening nipples. In her mind, the other woman sighs, her body leaning and chasing the pleasure Vi will bring her. Her breath hitches the lower her own fingers travel because suddenly her fingers aren’t her own anymore. 

They slip under the hem of her shirt, these faceless hands, palming bare breasts, tweaking nipples before grazing down her navel. They stop at coarse pink curls, dipping between wet folds. A hiss leaves her mouth as she moves her fingers between her lips, circling her clit and dipping back down. 

The pattern continues like this, her insides tightening with every pass. The pace quickens and the faceless hands no longer hide behind a shadow. A lilted accent whispering in her ear as her fingertip circles her clit. Blue eyes coax her to the edge and Vi’s never known this type of self pleasure. It’s always been about pleasing her few partners. Nameless women behind her eyelids that make her come undone. She’s never imagined someone undoing her .

Not until now. Sparks shoot through her body, her back arches and her head pushes back into her pillows. And all the while, a single name has left her lips in quiet desperate croak. Caitlyn . 

Her body slumps into the mattress and her own wetness coats her fingertips, pruning the skin. Vi lies there panting, her heart thundering behind her ribs as she comes down. She wipes her fingers on the sheets before throwing her elbow over her eyes. 

She falls asleep in minutes. 

________

Knocking on the door forces her eyes open. 

“Vi?”

The sound of her voice fully wakes her, though. 

The door creaks open and Caitlyn lets herself in. Vi sits up abruptly, cursing loudly as she covers her bare body with the sheets that had still been bunched up at the foot of the bed, pressing her back against the wooden bedframe.  She bunches her knees to her chest.

“Vi are you– oh– forgive me. I thought you were–,” Caitlyn clears her throat, turning her head to the side. “Well I thought– um–”

Vi’s entire body is flushed red as Caitlyn continues stuttering. Vi huffs incredulously. 

“Good morning to you too, Cupcake,” Vi says, swallowing down her modesty. Caitlyn still keeps her head turned away, holding a palm to her chest. Her neck and cheeks are stained red too, the color seeping down to the tops of her breasts. 

“Good morning, Vi.” 

“You can look at me, Cait.”

Caitlyn peeks sidelong at her before squeezing her eyes shut. The sight makes Vi laugh. 

“Do you uhh… do you habitually just walk in wherever you want?” Vi asks, teasing but feeling her breath hitch when Caitlyn does finally look at her.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” she admits, rubbing her thumb across her forehead, closing her eyes again. She shakes her head, blinking her eyes open, her face flushing all over again as if she expected Vi to be in a more dressed state. “I was wondering if you cared to join me on the beach? I just had a hard time sleeping and could use the air,” she explains, answering a question Vi didn’t ask. 

Vi looks at the window, seeing the sun has barely risen. In truth, she had finally been asleep. But the look on Caitlyn’s face is becoming something she can’t say no to. 

“I’m just curious, did you think I would be awake right now?” Vi leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees. The sheets shift but Vi doesn’t move them. Something about seeing Caitlyn as flustered by her as she is by Caitlyn sends thrilled sparks down her spine.  

“Well I thought I– it doesn’t matter. Will you join me or not?” Caitlyn huffs, biting her lower lip as she looks away again. 

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, rubbing her eyes of the sleep crusted residue. She lets out a jaw cracking yawn, blinking sleepily at the woman standing in her room, the memory of her fingers in the middle of the night crashing over her. She pulls the sheet back up. 

“I’ll go with you.”

Caitlyn releases a breath, nodding. “Right. I’ll be downstairs. Wear something… comfortable.” 

She turns on her heel, casting one more glance over her shoulder before closing Vi’s door with a soft click . 

Vi didn’t bring many clothes. She hadn’t expected her trip to be extended the way it has. So she throws on what isn’t horrendously dirty. She slips the trousers on over her legs, the loose tunic that’s covered in paint follows. She rolls the billowy sleeves up to her elbows, wrapping her hands and arms quickly. She leaves her room without a second thought. 

They walk a different way than before. The sun rises over the white tipped waves, the dew on the grass soaks what her boots don’t cover. Caitlyn is dressed similar to her, the clothes seeming to swallow her lean form. Vi can’t stop staring. But the glances feel less stolen than before. 

Caitlyn’s steps seem to perk up as they ascend the steep hill, both of them walking on the sand until Caitlyn stops. Vi keeps walking, transfixed with the way the sun paints the waves. She’s lost in the colors, in the sounds, until a barefoot Caitlyn runs past her. 

“Caitlyn?” Vi calls after her, running. Again. Vi grabs her elbow before she can run into the calm water. Caitlyn turns, panting, her face red from the brief exertion. Vi looks at her like she’s sprouted wings. “What–”

“I wasn’t going to go in. Not today at least. I just want to run,” Caitlyn says. Vi doesn’t let go of her elbow, but she loosens her grip. She quirks her brow, her own breath coming out short. “I used to sneak out of my dormitory and I would just… run for miles. I fear I’ve been too still.”

Vi huffs through her nose, biting the inside of her cheek again, the skin surely breaking in her mouth at this point, but she lets go of Caitlyn’s arm. 

“You don’t have to come with me. I just didn’t want to be alone this morning,” Caitlyn admits. 

Vi isn’t a runner. She’s a fighter. A painter. A fatherless daughter. A myriad of things. But she runs with Caitlyn barefoot in the sand, kicking up water and relishing in hearing Caitlyn laugh when she trips in the wet sand. 

They walk back in a fit of tired giggles, Vi picking up shells along the way. She can’t help but think of Powder in these moments. How she hated the water but loved the beach. How she was a collector of so many things. She pockets the shells, unaware of the soft tender gaze watching her. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Caitlyn says some time later. They sit reclined on the sand, covered in sweat and saltwater. “I couldn’t sleep all night and just had so much energy.” 

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Vi replies, shrugging. 

“What was it like? Seeing the world as you did?” Caitlyn stares out at the water, the sun much higher in the sky now. Vi sits up, her fingers still holding onto a particularly pretty shell. She blushes at the recent memory now attached to it. The way Caitlyn went a little deeper in the water, soaking her trousers up to her waist. She bent down and plucked a deep red shell from the water. The waves rolled and crashed against them, making Caitlyn’s shirt see through. 

  “For you,” Caitlyn had said coyly, placing the shell in Vi’s hand.

   She flips it between her fingers mindlessly, allowing the memories of her childhood to resurface without the pressing weight of grief. And guilt. 

“It’s hard to say. It was just something I was always doing. I enjoyed it. I loved seeing the new places, trying the different food,” Vi says wistfully. “But it was hard too. Not having a steady place. Having to steal and beg sometimes.”

“I want to see it all,” Caitlyn says, digging her fingers in the sand. 

Vi looks at her over her shoulder. “You will. Demacia was one of my favorite places.” She doesn’t miss the way Caitlyn’s eyes sadden. Vi looks back down at the shell in her hands.

Caitlyn hums. “Why did you learn to paint?” 

Vi takes a deep breath through her nose at that. “I don’t know… I was a kid who kept getting in fights when we would port. Busted up my hands all the time and Vander knew I needed a different outlet. ‘Women aren’t supposed to express themselves like that’ or something. But I think he knew I wasn’t going to be broken down either. So he taught me how to properly box too. Painting just became something I loved and not something I needed to do when I wanted to bash someone’s teeth in,” Vi chuckles humorlessly. 

She feels Caitlyn sit up, feels their shoulders brush before Caitlyn takes one of her hands. 

“Is that why you wear these?” she asks quietly. 

Vi nods. “Partly. My fingers feel older than me sometimes,” she admits, a blush crawling up her throat as Caitlyn thumbs her knuckles before setting it back in Vi’s lap. 

“What’s your favorite painting you’ve made?” her voice comes out nervous and Vi can feel her impenetrable stare. Vi looks up, her body tightening at how close they are. 

“You’re so curious today,” Vi comments, trying desperately to ease the tension , to forget the way her own body reacted to the very thought of the woman in front of her. 

“I’ve been told that all my life,” Caitlyn muses and Vi doesn’t miss the way her mouth turns down. Vi wants to fix that. But she’s never been good with words. 

Instead she just answers the question, vowing to never make her regret asking and inquiring about anything and everything. It’s become quite endearing. 

“It’s a hard question. That’s like asking me what my favorite sweet is,” Vi chuckles, watching Caitlyn’s brow quirk in a silent challenge. 

“And pray tell what is the answer to that question?” 

Vi snorts, finally looking away, her thumb rubbing along the grooves of the shell. “Cupcakes, obviously.” 

She expects a witty retort or some sort of rebuff. But when she glances back at Caitlyn again, she finds her with her mouth slightly agape and her cheeks burning red. They’ve been in the sun too long perhaps. 

Caitlyn clears her throat. “You still haven’t answered my original question, Vi.” 

Vi sighs through her nose, her eyes flickering down to Caitlyn’s lips, the air between them suddenly heavier. Caitlyn’s mouth parts, her eyes fluttering. Vi breaks the gaze looking down at the shell in her palm. When she looks back up, Caitlyn hasn’t moved but her thumbs rub on her knees, an anxious tick Vi’s picked up. She grabs her hand, squeezing it. 

“I don’t think I can choose a favorite. Maybe I haven’t made it yet,” Vi says, wiggling her eyebrows. But she holds Caitlyn’s gaze knowing her favorite sits in the room she’s called home for seven days.

Chapter Text

“How did you manage to paint me without looking at me as you are now?” 

They returned from the beach only a few hours before. They burst through the thick wooden doors, the staff scuffling through the hallways. Elora had cast her a knowing glance she chose not to think about. 

Caitlyn sits back on the white stool on Vi’s makeshift platform, draped in the gold dress Vi is starting to despise less and less.

Vi hums at the question, eyes flickering up from the canvas, meeting serious blue depths. 

“You’re just asking to see how long I stared at you when you didn’t notice,” Vi quips, taking her time to sketch her eyes. 

Caitlyn scoffs, shifting slightly in her seat. 

“Stay still, Cupcake.” 

Caitlyn shifts again, her elbow sliding more forward than it was before. Vi puts a hand on her hip, an unimpressed look etching itself on her features. 

She sets the charcoal stick down, walking toward the impatient woman. 

“Do you need a break?” Vi asks seriously, carefully moving her elbow back to its original place, her fingers trailing down to adjust Caitlyn’s hands again. 

“No. I need you to answer my question,” Caitlyn says, her voice coming out strained. Vi let’s go of her hands, chuckling to herself. She steps off the platform, walking back to the easel. 

“I just have a good memory, I guess,” Vi admits, picking up the charcoal stick again. 

“I did notice, by the way,” Caitlyn says after a few moments. Vi barely glances up through her lashes, biting the inside of her cheek. 

She’s finally finished sketching. Normally she would take a break, but her hands ache to stay busy. The first stroke of paint on the canvas is equal parts exhilarating as it is nerve wracking. But she glances at Caitlyn again, memorizing the shade of her skin all over again. 

Vi isn’t sure how much time has passed, but the entirety of Caitlyn’s face and hair are alive on the canvas. But there’s still something bothering her. Her eyes are hard sapphires, her mouth turned down in not quite a frown but it’s not a neutral gaze either. 

“I can’t make you smile,” Vi says, her voice coming out low and hoarse from the hours of silence. “I feel like when I try, it just…vanishes.” Vi doesn’t look at Caitlyn as she speaks, keeping her gaze on the painted version of her. She feels her foot tapping along the floor. 

“Anger does tend to come to the forefront,” Caitlyn chuckles.

“Especially with you,” Vi replies cheekily.  

“Really? And I thought you found me sweet.”

The answer makes Vi snort and Caitlyn laughs in turn. Vi wants to store the sound in a jar and keep it for herself. 

“Definitely sweet,” Vi smirks, keeping her eyes on the canvas, twirling the brush between her fingers.

Vi is struck with the memory of how her pet name for this woman came to be. The shrouded intentions that came with it. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Vi says quietly. 

Caitlyn’s eyes widen before she looks away, biting her lower lip. “You haven’t hurt me.”

Vi scoffs. “I did. I can see it.”

Caitlyn meets her gaze again. Waiting for her to continue. 

“When I’ve struck a nerve your brow furrows. It pinches together right here,” Vi lifts her finger between her own brows, rubbing the spot between them. 

Caitlyn smirks, her thumb tapping against her lap. “Do they?” her voice comes out strained again. 

Vi nods. “When you’re excited about something, you talk with your hands,” she continues. “You bite your lip when you’re nervous.” Caitlyn releases her bottom lip from between her teeth. “When you’re annoyed, you don’t blink. When you’re feeling stubborn, especially with your mother, you tilt your chin.” 

It’s Caitlyn’s turn to scoff. But it’s not mocking. “You know it all, then.”

Vi smiles weakly, keeping her gaze on Caitlyn’s face. “I can’t imagine being in your place. I would hate it,” Vi admits. Caitlyn stiffens, her back straightening. She places both hands in her lap. 

“We’re in the same place,” Caitlyn says sternly. Vi blinks at her, feeling her hands curl and uncurl. “Exactly the same place. Come here.”

When Vi doesn’t move at first, she gestures with her head. 

“Come.” 

Vi doesn’t listen to demands. But she’s compelled to listen now. She sets her brush down, taking long strides to stand in front of her. 

Caitlyn looks at her expectantly. Waiting still for Vi to do something. 

“Step closer.”

Again, Vi does as she’s told, stepping so her wrapped forearm brushes Caitlyn’s, her hip flush with Caitlyn’s thigh. She can smell her perfume. Vi clenches her fist. She dares a glance at Caitlyn, her stomach fluttering when she finds that seeking stare already fixed on her. 

Caitlyn gestures again, her head nodding to the place Vi had just occupied. 

“Look there,” she demands softly. Vi does. She feels Caitlyn’s stare return, creeping up in soft blinks and a soft but firm voice. “If you look at me, who do I look at?”

Vi blinks, biting the inside of her cheek again, unsure how she doesn’t taste blood yet. 

“When you don’t know what to say, you bite your cheeks,” Caitlyn murmurs. Vi snaps her head toward Caitlyn, scoffing at the observation. She looks back at her easel. “When you’re preparing for a confrontation, you roll your right shoulder.”

Vi’s chest tightens, her head feels far too fuzzy for this conversation. 

“And when you’re troubled, your fingers twitch and your leg taps.”

Vi stops tapping her fingers against her thighs, her gaze falling to the floor before braving the blue eyes of Caitlyn Kiramman. But once she does, she’s stuck. She’s drowning in them. Willingly. Their chests are so close, if Vi leaned in a little more, they would be completely flush. Caitlyn’s gaze roams her face, like there’s all the time in the world. Like she wants to memorize every detail. Vi’s eyes flicker down, landing on slightly parted lips. Their breathing is heavy and Vi feels herself being pulled again. Every untempered desire rushes up her spine, the realization that she’s thought about kissing this woman more often than she’s thought about kissing any other woman. 

But their reality crashes over her. Caitlyn’s reality. The entire reason she’s here. 

Vi sucks air into her lungs, breaking out of the spell of such deep blue before walking back to her easel. She’s struggling to focus on anything that isn’t breathing but even that feels paramount. 

Vi resents the way she runs from herself. How she runs toward things and people she can never have. Not fully. Not in the way she wants. 

Vi clears her throat, looking at the window, noticing the way the sun is a deep orange. The way the moon is begging for her turn in the sky. 

“I think that’s all for today,” Vi says hoarsely, her back still facing Caitlyn. She hears Caitlyn’s sharp intake of breath. But Vi can’t move. She can’t face her right now. Not in the wake of realizing her emotions don’t stop at the skin. 

Noone has ever watched Vi like that. Noone has ever noticed her quirks, her tells and committed them to memory. It makes her breathless even after Caitlyn's heeled footsteps echo in the room, followed by the door clicking softly closed. 

She rubs a hand over her face, releasing a shaky exhale through her mouth. She doesn’t look at the canvas again.  

________

The kitchen is dimly lit when Vi enters. But it’s fuller than Vi’s ever seen it. The staff flits around, the smell of fresh food wafts throughout the room. 

Vi gravitates toward it, ignoring the way the house maids giggle and brush past her. Vi takes a bowl filled with fresh beef stew, grabbing a loaf of bread from the wooden counter, sitting between two women she’s never seen around the house before.

The chatter is aimless and never ending around her. But Vi nods when spoken to, chuckling when everyone else does. But she’s still mentally back in her room, lost in the trance she needs to get out of. 

“Vi, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Elora quips, sitting next to Skye across from her.  

Vi looks up from her bowl, scoffing. 

“Where else would I eat?” Vi replies, raising her brow. Skye laughs and Vi goes back to eating, the stew dripping down her chin. 

“I suppose that’s true.”

Conversation keeps flowing around her. Through her. Until Vi’s bowl is empty and the bread is gone. And her chest still feels tight because the only person she wants to talk to is the one she needs to avoid. 

The room empties in a flurry, getting Vi’s attention. She catches Elora’s eye. 

“Where’s everyone going?” Vi asks. 

“Some of us are going to the local tavern. Apparently the harvest was plentiful so there’s much to celebrate,” Skye chirps, grabbing Vi’s bowl from the table. “You should come. Get out of the house for a bit.” 

Vi ponders on that for a moment. 

“Will there be ale? Or is it just wine on this island?” Vi raises a brow. Elora rolls her eyes, ushering Skye along to finish helping with the dishes. 

“We’re all leaving a quarter to ten.” 

Vi huffs, shaking her head before heading back upstairs. It’s not a question of whether she’ll go. She needs to get out of this goddamn house. 

She slips her arms through the heavy brown overcoat, the smell of faint cigars still clings to the cloth. She closes her door lightly, turning on her heel and nearly jumps out of her skin. Vi leans her back against the closed bedroom door. 

Caitlyn emerges from her bedroom in nothing but her night clothes. A thin purple camisole, a loose robe hanging off her shoulders, the tops of her breasts exposed in the candlelight she holds in her hand. Vi looks down at her feet, her face unbearably hot. She walks toward the top of the stairs. 

“Vi? Where’re you going at this hour?” Caitlyn’s voice sounds alert. Like she was waiting for her. Vi clears her throat, rubbing the back of her neck. 

“There’s a local tavern in town. Elora and Skye and some of the other staff are heading there now, I think,” Vi says a little breathless. Caitlyn nods, her face falling subtly as she turns her head away. But Vi notices anyway. 

“And are you? ‘Heading there now’?” Caitlyn asks tentatively. A draft blows the candlelight, swaying the shadows across Caitlyn’s face. 

Vi grips the banister, looking at Caitlyn, her eyes raking over her entire body. She bites the inside of her cheek, stopping the second she sees Caitlyn studying her face. 

“Yeah, I am,” Vi breathes. Her finger taps along the banister again, swallowing the lump in her throat.  

“Oh. I see.” Her eyes are piercing even in the dark. The shadows dance between them, acting as a bridge and a gap. “Well have a good evening, Vi,” Caitlyn says, forcing a tight lipped smile before turning to open her bedroom door again. 

Vi’s breathing is so much heavier than before, her heart thudding erratically in her chest. She needs to not keep getting so close to her. She’s betrothed and Vi is… Vi. A damn near penniless painter from the bowels of Zaun. But Vi has always been brash and foolish.

“Cupcake, wait,” Vi calls after her, taking long strides to grip her wrist, her stomach fluttering when wide blue eyes meet her own. “Come with us,” Vi says quietly, the sound of footsteps and doors closing echo beneath them. “Come with me.”

Beats of silence tick on until Vi can feel the empty presence in the house. But it doesn’t matter. Not when the the woman she wants is right in fro–

“Is that what you want?” Caitlyn asks, her eyes flickering over every plane of Vi’s face, traversing over each freckle, dipping down to her lips and back up again. Vi squeezes her wrist. 

“That’s what I want.” 

Caitlyn looks down at where Vi still holds her wrist, the skin aflame and chilling all at once. 

“What about everyone else? I still need to dress and I don’t think it’s a good–”

“Cupcake, please. I want you to come with me. You said you wanted to see more of the real world right?” Vi pulls Caitlyn closer by her wrist, making the other woman squeak. Vi’s unsure where her nerve is leading her, just that she feels the insatiable need to be closer. She looks up at Caitlyn through her lashes, suddenly aware of how much taller Caitlyn is, standing here on bare feet. She nods and Vi finally releases her wrist. 

“I’ll be right back,” Caitlyn breathes, leaving Vi to face the ornately carved wooden door.   

________

The walk to town is longer than Vi expects, Especially in the dark. She only vaguely remembers the name of the tavern. Something about roses. They walk close together, Caitlyn’s dress and cloak dragging in the tall grass. 

Vi had been shocked to see Caitlyn emerge from her room in the same dark blue dress from before. A piece of silver jewelry, a key pendant on a chain, sitting against her collarbone. 

“You dressed up for me? ” Vi had teased, hiding behind the way her entire body tingled at the sight of her. Caitlyn had raised a brow, looking down at herself. 

“Is it too much? I just haven’t ever gone to one of these before. I don’t know what the attire is for something like this—”

“Cait, you’re okay,” Vi chuckled, her cheeks warming. 

For the entirety of the walk Vi pretends to not notice the way Caitlyn’s perfume swarms her senses. The way her body seems to ache internally everytime she looks at her, the memory of coming to the very thought of her still haunts Vi with each step they take toward the small village. 

“ Rose Garden ” is etched in cursive on a dingy wooden sign above the bustling tavern. Caitlyn stayed close to her as they walked along the cobbled streets, following the already drunken patrons. 

Vi is surprised to see both men and women filtering in and out of the tavern, Zaun being one of the only cities that has grown in allowing women in public spaces. But she supposes this is the culture of a small island village. She places her fingers on the small of Caitlyn’s back as they approach, loud boisterous voices and music pour out of the open windows. 

It’s stuffy and hot when they enter, but Caitlyn seems enthralled albeit overwhelmed. She sheds her cloak, as if waiting for someone to take it. Vi shakes her head, amused at the quiet gesture that will get her nowhere in a place like this. Vi grabs her cloak, leaning up to whisper, “nobody’s gonna take this and give it back to you in here, princess,” in her ear. 

Caitlyn looks down at her, her mouth slightly agape. 

“Vi— oh Miss Kiramman, I didn’t know you would be here,” Skye approaches them, already holding a tankard. Vi has to laugh at the sight of a meek Skye on the verge of tipsy already. She feels Caitlyn stiffen next to her. 

“Oh well, yes, uhm, Vi invited me,” Caitlyn stutters as if she were the housemaid being caught unawares and not the mistress of her house. 

“That’s wonderful! We were just about to play a game of cards— come sit with us,” Skye insists, already walking back to the packed round booth in the corner. Vi and Caitlyn look at each other and her chest flutters at the raw curiosity on Caitlyn’s face. Vi offers her arm, wiggling her brows. 

When they reach the table, Vi lets Caitlyn get comfortable, sitting next to Skye and leaving an empty spot for Vi to occupy across the table. Away from Caitlyn. 

Vi swallows the disappointment and heads to the bar, already feeling the stares trailing her, making the hair in her neck stand up. She ignores them, ordering an ale and whiskey, the bartender’s eyes doing a double take at her appearance. 

“Thanks,” Vi mutters, carrying the full tankards to the table. 

“Vi! I was wondering where’d you gone,” Caitlyn says, her cheeks a rosy pink. 

“M’lady,” Vi winks, setting the ale down in front of her. Her eyes brighten and she raises the glass to her nose. Vi is about to clamber her way over to the only empty seat available when Caitlyn perks up. 

“Excuse me, darling, but would you mind making some room for my friend here?” Caitlyn asks the woman next to her. Vi clenches her jaw, unwarranted jealousy crawls up her spine. The woman doesn’t hesitate to move to the next stool. 

When Vi sits, Caitlyn is already looking at her, eyes dark and searching. Vi takes a swig of her drink, the whiskey burning her throat so much better than the wine at the estate. She casts a glance at Caitlyn who’s now staring at the foaming liquid in front of her.

“Go on and try it, Cupcake,” Vi chuckles. The rest of the women at the table stop their chatting, watching the way Caitlyn worries her bottom lip before nodding, and chugging the tankard’s contents. “Oh my god Cait, I just meant a sip,” Vi guffaws as Caitlyn coughs. 

“That was quite good actually,” Caitlyn mutters through Vi’s cackling. When Vi stops laughing and Skye begins to deal out cards, Vi reaches her thumb up to wipe away a stray drop from the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth before she can stop herself. Both women freeze, the action seeming to go unnoticed by the rest of their party. 

“Alright, are we gonna start this game or what?” A young woman sitting next to Skye gets their attention. “This is the only night they let women in here so I’d like to make it count.” 

Vi gets lost in the game and her cups as the hours pass. Laughter is loud as the game gets more rowdy. Comet is a game she’s familiar with, the loud slapping and quick tempo is something she’s fond of. It passed the time on the sea with her brothers and— 

“You’re so cheating, Cupcake!” Vi shouts. Caitlyn just tilts her head back, laughing loudly and shaking her head. 

“I’m not cheating! I just play fast,” Caitlyn says between giggles, taking a small sip of ale.

Vi can’t hide the fond smile on her face.

The rest of the table is full of laughter, their hands all landing on the table with loud thuds and skin on skin. The cards flip on the table and Vi finishes her fourth whiskey of the night. Caitlyn has had countless ales, claiming it’s the best drink she’s ever tasted. 

Throughout the game, they’ve managed to scoot closer together, their thighs and arms flush with one another. Vi’s body tingles with the warm contact that she only leans away from to hide her cards. 

But the number of drinks catches up to her bladder eventually. She only leaves for a moment to relieve herself but when she returns she feels her insides turn in on themselves. A thicker man plops himself down in Vi’s seat, two cups of ale between his fingers that he slams down on the table, ungracefully sliding one to Caitlyn.

She finds herself stuck in place as she watches the scene unfold. She watches the way the table seems stiffer after the man palms Caitlyn’s lower back. She watches the way Caitlyn gently removes his hand, trying to tell him something inaudible to Vi’s ears. The man doesn’t move. Vi’s feet move on their own accord. 

She clears her throat, her chest tightening when Caitlyn turns to her with wide pleading eyes, the smile on her face closer to a grimace. 

The man finally looks at her over his broad shoulder. “You must be the lad this fine lady was talking about. Well listen, fella, you moved– oh .” He stutters when finally gets a closer look at Vi, his eyes unsurprisingly catching on the way the v of her shirt dips to reveal her nature. 

“You’re in my seat.” 

He huffs, a disgusted snarl painting his features. Vi rolls her right shoulder. 

“I doubt the lady wants to soil her evening with the likes of you, ” he spits. Vi’s been here before. In many countries, her appearance, her lack of blatant… femininity has gotten her into several predicaments. She can handle the insults. They’re nothing new. But what she can’t handle is the lewd look thrown at Caitlyn. The suggestion is thick and grotesque enough for her to snap. The way he tries to grope her lower back again sends the rage to her fingertips. Her knuckles already feel numb.  

She misses the way Caitlyn visibly cringes. She misses the way Caitlyn has opened her mouth to speak, the way the other ladies at the table have their backs pressed against the wooden booths. Because all she sees is red. She doesn’t deign his tasteless insult with words. Instead, she sighs before she yanks him from his chair, throwing him to the ground. 

The tavern is silent as Vi takes her seat, drinking the rest of the man’s ale. She feels warm fingers touch her arm, the touch immediately grounding before harsher hands grip her hair and wood greets her back with a resounding thud. She hears her name being screamed amongst the scuffling and breaking glass. She doesn’t stay on the ground long, rolling onto her feet as she searches for blue eyes. But her body feels sluggish from the whiskey, her guard taking the blow as blood trickles down her left brow. But not before she lands blows to a jaw and nose. 

All of it feels blurry until she’s met with the cool air and tall grass and a warm body pressed against her side. Caitlyn’s body. 

“Vi, I cannot believe you threw that man to the ground like that,” Caitlyn admonishes. But the words are fuzzy. Vi’s arm is draped around Caitlyn’s shoulder and she must be drunker than she thought because Caitlyn doesn’t sound disappointed. She sounds almost… impressed? Amused? Vi huffs. 

“Had to protect your honor, Cupcake,” Vi hiccups. Caitlyn giggles– she godsdamn giggles – her arm squeezing Vi’s waist a little tighter. The rest of the walk is spent with teasing jabs and shaky footsteps. Both of them drunker than they meant to be. Their skin is flushed and sweaty with exertion and Vi feels such a lightness in her chest she thinks she may be dreaming the whole thing. 

  They shove through the servants door directly into the kitchen giggling and tripping over their own feet until Caitlyn gasps and Vi feels suddenly dizzy. The blood drying on her face is more noticeable. Caitlyn stops by the table, gripping Vi’s wrist when she sees Vi’s face under the firelight, the hearth still crackling from supper.  

“Vi, your—”

“What? Is there something on my face?” Vi huffs, lifting her fingers to her brow, wincing when pain shoots through the left side of her face. Caitlyn tsks, reaching her own fingers up to dab the open wound. Vi can’t help the flinch, instantly regretting it when Caitlyn’s face falls every so slightly. 

“Go sit and I’ll clean you  up,” Caitlyn instructs. 

“I’m okay, you really don’t need to—”

“ Please .” 

They stare at one another, a silent battle of wills that Vi knows she’s already lost the moment Caitlyn asked her to sit the first time. It’s Caitlyn’s small smirk that robs her willpower. She sighs and sits on the bench in front of the fireplace, straddling the wood. 

She swallows her nerves as Caitlyn approaches with a bowl of warm water and a cloth. She can remember the last time someone cared for her like this. How resistant she had been back then too. 

Cool finger tips graze her jaw, lifting her chin and moving her head this way and that. She dips the cloth in the bowl, squeezing the excess water before gently dabbing the cut on Vi’s brow. When Vi hisses, squeezing her eyes shut and instinctively flinches away again, she feels Caitlyn’s hand cradle her jaw more firmly, her thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“Easy. The more you move the worse it’ll hurt,” Caitlyn whispers. She moves the cloth from the open cut, washing away the dried blood that paints Vi’s cheek. 

 Her eyes are cool and swarming with something Vi chooses not to read. Instead she tries to focus on anything else. She focuses on the way the room is an orange hue, a color she’s been more and more fond of lately. Her eyes dart to the dishes still piled in the sink, the faint smell of beef stew still lingering in the air.  

Her eyes fall back on Caitlyn, but she avoids her face and hands. Instead she notices the way her dress is ruffled at the sleeves. The way her chest is a dark crimson, the color spreading like vines up her throat and to her cheeks. The way her hair is a dark indigo, strands escaping the bun to frame her face. The way her eyes are soft, almost glazed over over but her hands are softer. And her lips–

“You have such a pretty face.”  

Vi stops breathing. She hasn’t realized just how close their faces have become. How she can smell the ale on Caitlyn’s breath when she speaks. How she can almost taste the tension that has pulled so taut between them. 

“No, I don’t,” Vi breathes. Pretty has never been a word she would describe herself. It’s never been used before. Not by others or herself. But the way Caitlyn said it has Vi almost believing it. 

Caitlyn’s brow furrows, her thumb brushes over the scar on Vi’s upper lip. 

“You have matching scars. I didn’t notice before. Where did you get this one?” Caitlyn ignores Vi’s earlier response, her eyes still flickering over every detail of Vi’s face. 

“Where do you think?” Vi huffs, the rest of her body is stock still. Waiting. It isn’t until the distance is almost gone between them that Vi realizes what’s about to happen. Caitlyn still cups her face in a palm, her gaze resting on her lips before meeting Vi’s widened eyes. And then Vi sees it. She’s drunk. That’s why this is happening. 

But Vi doesn’t want her to stop. The desires that have cultivated in her body swarm to life, knocking and clawing at her chest and ribs. Her fingers are numb and her heart beats like wild bird wings. Vi lets her eyes close–

The door slams shut. Loud boisterous laughter sends the two women apart. Vi turns her head toward the fire as Elora, Skye, and a few of the handmaids enter the kitchen, oblivious to the obvious mistake Vi almost allowed to happen. She doesn’t watch as Caitlyn stands on shaky legs to put the blood stained bowl away, Skye not even hesitating to take the bowl from her shaky hands.  

Vi stands before Caitlyn sits back down, the bench screeching with the force of her legs. She releases a sky exhale, avoiding the open gaze of the other ladies in the room. Avoiding a pair of blue eyes that will inevitably follow her into sleep. 

She bids everyone goodnight, daring one final glance at Caitlyn before she carries herself up the steep stairs on unsteady feet. 

Vi dreams deeply that night. Her head pounds and her body feels like liquid as she slips into the fiery waters of the woman down the hall. 

 Soft hands caress her body, following the hidden path of scars that she hasn’t allowed anyone to see. But she wants her to see. 

She wants to touch and to be touched. Blue eyes follow the path of her hands, palming her breasts, kissing her ribs. Caitlyn’s tongue licking down to her navel. Fingers tangling in Vi’s short hair. She moans when deft fingers squeeze her thighs, pulling her night clothes down her legs, her lips following the loose cloth. 

Vi squirms, liquid fire pooling between her legs as Caitlyn kisses her neck, sucking bruises into the skin, whispering words Vi can’t understand. Like she’s speaking in a foreign tongue. But Vi loves it all the same. 

The phantom kisses dot her skin. They leave a hot trail down her jaw, across her chest, taking a nipple in her mouth. Until they reach the thick deep red curls. Vi cries out when her tongue swirls and sucks her clit, bringing Vi to a peak quicker than she’s come before. No woman has ever brought her there. Not like this. Vi never lets them. 

Vi wakes up shaking, her legs coated in her own slick and her heart beats in her ears. She shoots up, clutching her chest, dipping her fingers into herself, feeling her sleep-included release coating her fingers. She grimaces at herself. By the way her mind ran so wild. 

She throws her covers off her sweat coated body. She doesn’t bother with changing out of her night clothes. She doesn’t bother with shoes. She marches out of the estate on bare feet, the sun barely blinking its eyes open across the ocean’s horizon, the sky a sleepy purple. The dew on the grass thick and fresh. She walks and walks until her feet are trudging through cold sand. And she dives into the water, needing to calm this endless heat that’s plagued her since she first saw Caitlyn Kiramman at the bottom of those stares. The waves rush and pull, freezing her to the bone as she swims, ducking her head under.

She floats for a while, ignoring the way her skin pebbles with the cold waves. Ignores the ways her lips dry with the salty water, the way her clothes are suspended from her skin. Because all she can think about is how she wishes she knew what Caitlyn’s lips tasted like, even if just in her dreams.

Chapter Text

Vi isn’t sure how long she floats in the water. But she finally emerges when she can’t feel her toes and her knuckles sting to the point of intolerable. She trudges through the tall grass, entering the estate covered in sand and salt water. Dirt stains her ankles and shame drips down her spine. 

By the time she ascends the stairs, the sun peeks out behind the clouds, shining through the windows, brightening the hallways. Her bare feet look blue against the wood and her hand glides along the railing. 

Vi stops abruptly when she sees Caitlyn already dressed at the top of the stairs. Her skin is clear and her hair already pinned up in the style needed for Vi to paint. 

“Where were you?” Caitlyn asks, her face turning a deep red. “I looked for you.” Vi shrugs, a little breathless.  

“I went for a swim.”

Caitlyn looks down at Vi’s clothes, the night shirt a sheer white against her skin. Vi doesn’t have it in her to care much about modesty right now. 

“I see that,” Caitlyn says, her hand coming up to her chest. Her nails scratch her collar. Vi continues her ascension up the stairs, gently brushing past Caitlyn before she stops to look at her. 

“Will you be ready in about an hour?” Vi asks quietly, her voice coming out raspier. Caitlyn straightens and nods, walking back to her room on quick feet.Vi watches after her, the way her hips sway and the way hair already falls out of her bun. 

She shakes her head, the chill from before a non factor as she readies for the day.   

________

Caitlyn sits poised on the stool, a dark gray cloth covering her throat. She had wrapped it around her before they started, being careful to not touch her skin. Vi dips the brush in the porcelain paint, the strokes on the canvas full of texture. Vi glances up, raking over the stoic glaze in Caitlyn’s eyes.  

“Uncover your throat, please.”

Caitlyn reaches up, pulling the shawl down, barely revealing beneath her chin.

“More.”

Caitlyn pulls the shawl down, letting it rest in her lap. Vi steps back from the canvas, comparing the paint to the woman in front of her. 

“You have my future husband in mind.”

It isn’t a question but it makes Vi’s stomach drop as if she needs to answer. Because in truth, she hasn’t thought of the faceless man Caitlyn’s betrothed to at all. She’s only thought about Caitlyn. Her presence. Making sure this portrait is for Caitlyn and Caitlyn only.

Vi hides behind a smirk, focusing instead on her brushstrokes. 

“Do you paint nude models?” Caitlyn asks abruptly. Vi nearly drops her brush. She clears her throat, ignoring the way her cheeks warm and her insides feel strewn. 

“Women, yes,” Vi says, keeping her tone neutral. 

“Why not men?” 

Vi keeps her strokes consistent along the skin of Caitlyn’s collarbone. 

“I’m not allowed,” Vi answers, keeping her eyes on the canvas. 

“Why not?” Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate to ask. Vi chuckles, finally stopping to look at Caitlyn’s curious gaze. She closes her eyes a moment, smiling to herself at Caitlyn’s never ending curiosity. 

“Because I’m a woman.” She brings the brush back to canvas after dipping it in the paint. She keeps her strokes light. Airy. Intentional. 

“Is it a matter of modesty?” 

“It’s mostly to prevent us from making great art.” Vi paints along the gold, the color carefully curated. “Without any knowledge of male anatomy, the major subjects escape us,” Vi continues, knowing the next question is already on the tip of Caitlyn’s tongue. 

She can sense Caitlyn straight, tilting her head. 

“Well how do you manage, then?” Caitlyn asks incredulously. Vi chuckles at the indignation in her voice. She looks up at Caitlyn through her lashes, a smirk curling her lip upwards. 

“I do it in secret.” 

She keeps her eyes on Caitlyn, her chest warming when she huffs, her eyes widening at the admission. 

“It’s… tolerated. And even if it wasn’t, I would manage,” Vi says, shrugging. When she looks back up, Caitlyn has an amused look on her face. Her eyes look more affectionate than Vi can handle. 

“What do you tell your models?” Vi raises a brow in question. Caitlyn huffs, an amused smirk still on her face. “To amuse them,” Caitlyn clarifies, licking her lips.  

Vi’s face contorts, her insides warming. 

“You bored, Cupcake?” 

“No,” Caitlyn says quickly. “I’m interested in you.” She says it so surely. Her voice doesn’t waver but Vi’s hand trembles at the admission. She huffs, shaking her head, going back to painting. But eventually, she caves. 

“Your complexion is remarkable today.” She means it. Caitlyn doesn’t even appear to have been drunk the night before. “You’re very elegant.” Vi dips her brush in the paint again, eyes flickering between the canvas and Caitlyn. “You pose beautifully.” She finally stops painting, taking a small step back. “You’re pretty,” Vi breathes, looking at Caitlyn with lidded eyes. She watches her cheeks flush again. Watches her jaw clench and her thumbs twitch as she sits on the stool, her breathing heavier than before.  

Caitlyn doesn’t ask another question after that.    

________

They’re in the kitchen. Dinner is already finished, the cassoulet still fresh on Vi’s tongue. The fire crackles in the hearth, the warmth crawls up Vi’s side. Elora and Skye have long since retired for the night, leaving Vi and Caitlyn alone at the long kitchen table. 

The room is painted in a soft orange light, casting shadows on Caitlyn’s face which is buried in her book. Vi’s book. Powder’s book. 

Vi absently picks at her hand wraps which are covered in paint, her leg bouncing under the table. Caitlyn flips the page, her tongue peeks out to lick her lips, her eyes traveling along the page. 

“Will you read to me?” Vi asks. Her voice doesn’t sound like hers. The request doesn’t sound like her either. It makes Caitlyn pause, her finger still resting on the worn pages. Vi is only vaguely aware of the story written on the pages. Powder had lamented about it years ago. The tragedy that eclipses and drives the romance at the same time. Vi didn’t pay it much mind then. Chalked it up to her younger sister romanticizing stories meant for people who weren’t them. People who weren’t Vi . 

Caitlyn looks up at her, blinking slowly before taking her lower lip between her teeth. 

“Do you want me to start from the beginning?” 

Vi looks back down at her stained hand wraps, shrugging. 

“You can just read where you’re at,” Vi says quietly. She doesn’t see Caitlyn’s face. Too embarrassed to face her reaction at just wanting to hear her voice as opposed to her own racing thoughts. 

Caitlyn tilts her head before smirking, flipping back to the previous page as she takes another sip of wine. It’s her third glass of the night. Vi’s barely finished her first.  She meets Vi’s gaze, the expression on her face almost shy and she begins.

Vi gets lost in the story faster than she expects. The way Caitlyn reads is captivating and enriching. Vi’s seen much of the world. She’s experienced the tides and the horizons. But she would think she hadn’t based on the way Caitlyn’s voice enraptures her. 

She’s in the middle of the story, but Vi knows this tale better than she thought. It truly was always her sister’s favorite. The story of a musician, Orpheus, who marries the Nymph, Eurydice. But on their wedding day, Eurydice is bitten by a viper, her demise leaving Orpheus grief stricken enough to march down to the underworld and demand her life to be restored. 

Vi can never remember the ending. She isn’t sure if she’s heard it at all before now.   

“— then, striking the lyre to accompany his words, he sang, ‘Oh Gods of the Underworld, to which all mortals descend, I am here to seek my wife’,” Caitlyn reads, she leans forward with her elbows on the table, her voice more in character. Vi would laugh at the theatrics if she wasn’t so invested in the story. “ ‘A viper that she trod on, poisoned her and robbed her of her youth. I beseech you, unravel the thread of Eurydice’s early demise. All will be yours. We all end up here—’” 

Vi finishes her wine, her lips drying as she watches Caitlyn’s mouth form the words she reads, bringing them to life from the page. She sets the small glass down with a clink, but Caitlyn continues to read undisturbed.

“‘— This is our final abode. You reign over the human race. After living out her fair span of years, she will be yours. If the dates refuse my wife this favor, I am determined not to return. You may delight in both our deaths.’” 

Caitlyn looks up then, taking a sip of her own wine. “He’s very convincing, don’t you think?” 

Vi keeps her gaze on Caitlyn’s face as she speaks. “I guess the fates will be the judge of that, Cupcake.” Caitlyn pouts, and Vi doesn’t hold her laughter back. 

“Well I hope they say yes,” Caitlyn says sternly but not without the barest hint of a smirk in Vi’s direction. “And in fact, I think they will.” 

“Is that because you read ahead or because you’re secretly a hopeless romantic?” Vi snorts, raising a teasing brow. Caitlyn’s eyes widen and her cheeks bloom a deep red that Vi knows isn’t from the wine. 

“I- I do not read ahead. What a ridiculous implication, Vi,” she sputters. Vi bites her lip. 

“So you’re a romantic, then?” Vi means it to be teasing but she can’t hide her genuine curiosity. Caitlyn doesn’t answer for a while, choosing to keep her gaze on her now empty wine glass. 

“Are you? A romantic?” Caitlyn asks, pouring the rest of the wine from the copper pitcher into her glass. Vi licks her lips, shrugging. 

The answer is an easy one. Because truthfully, “I haven’t had the time to be one.” Caitlyn hums and Vi looks away from her disbelieving gaze.  

“You’ve never been in love before?” her voice sounds mildly surprised and Vi can’t fathom why that notion would shock her. Vi hasn’t had time for love. She’s had affairs that one may consider love, but Vi didn’t. At least not then. They were for the body. That’s all. She’s had bills to pay, a sister to care for. Until she didn’t. Vi just shakes her head. “What do you think it feels like?” 

“What do you mean?” Vi sits back in her chair. 

“In your body,” Caitlyn clarifies. And Vi can’t answer her even if she wants to. Her heart is suddenly too loud and thunderous. Her leg bounces a little faster under the table and she feels like she’s in a trance staring at Caitlyn’s face. 

“Do you not know?” Vi croaks, hoping her question can deflect from the way her body feels like it’s on fire and Caitlyn holds the wick. Caitlyn inhales sharply through her nose and the air turns thicker between them. Words unsaid float with the embers that fall to the floor behind Caitlyn’s back. The distance between them feels both too close and yet not close enough. And Vi is stuck once again. 

“Are you going to finish reading?” Skye’s voice cuts through the night, making both women jump. Vi wasn’t aware they were both leaning forward. 

“Oh! Of course. I didn’t know you were there,” Caitlyn tucks her hair behind her ear and her hands rub down the legs of her pants.  

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I was cleaning the parlor and I just got so invested,” she explains sheepishly. Caitlyn just chuckles, and gestures for her to join them. Skye sits in the empty chair between them, bringing a fresh pitcher of wine. She tops off their glasses before pouring one for herself.  

Caitlyn straightens her shoulders, and Vi has to repress her chuckle at the way she can see Caitlyn going back into character. She clears her throat and begins where she left off.

“ Then,  for the first time,  tears wet the cheeks of the Eumenides, won over by his words. Neither the king’s bride nor the ruler of Hades could resist his prayer. They sent for Eurydice. She was there, among the recent spirits, and approached, limping from her wound. She was returned to Orpheus on condition that he would not look back until outside or the favor would be void.” 

Vi watches her again, her gaze catching on the way Skye looks at her too. She sighs quietly, taking a sip of the wine she hates. But she’s come to find it’s Caitlyn’s favorite. 

“ In the deep silence, they took a sloping path, steep and dark, shrouded in thick mist. They were nearing the surface,  approaching the threshold, when… feeling losing Eurydice, and impatient to see her, her loving spouse turned and she was instantly drawn back. She reached out for his embrace and wished to hold him. Her poor hands clutched only the empty air. Dying a second time, she did not complain. His sole fault was loving her.” 

“That’s awful. That poor woman. Why did he turn,” Skye blurts. “He was told not to but did, for no reason!” 

“There are reasons,” Vi interjects with a small huff. 

“You think so?” 

“Read it again, Cupcake,” Vi nods to Caitlyn who is watching her carefully. She reads the passage again. 

“See? There’s no reason. He can’t look at her for fear of losing her when he was told that would be the very thing that would keep her from him,” Skye argues not even a second later. 

“He’s madly in love; he can’t resist,” Caitlyn explains. 

Vi tsks. “I think Skye may have a point. I think he could have resisted. His reasons were selfish and not serious. But maybe… he makes a choice,” Vi muses. 

“And what is that?” Caitlyn asks incredulously. 

Vi’s eyes meet Caitlyn’s then and it’s as if Skye isn’t in the room anymore. It’s just them and the crackling hearth. “He chooses the memory of her. That’s why he turns.” 

They don’t speak for a moment, the weight of Vi’s words settling over them like a thick blanket. Caitlyn’s chest heaves ever so slightly and the sound of Skye setting her glass down brings them out of the water they can’t stop wading in. Caitlyn blinks a few times, her eyes glazing over the pages again. 

“She spoke a last farewell that scarcely reached his ears and fell back into the abyss.” 

Caitlyn pauses, trapping her lower lip under a canine. When she speaks again, it’s as though she’s only speaking to Vi. “I wonder if she’s the one who said ‘turn around’,” Caitlyn says quietly. Vi feels the corner of her lip curve upward. 

________

Vi ends up carrying Caitlyn upstairs. They spent the better part of the night talking even after Skye retired for the night. They spoke of Vi’s adventures across all of Runterra until the second pitcher was empty and Caitlyn could barely keep her eyes open. 

Caitlyn giggled as they traversed through the dark hallways leading to the staircase. Vi thought Caitlyn could make it until her side slammed into the bannister. Vi knows it’ll leave a bruise. 

So she chuckled, and hoisted Caitlyn bridal style in her arms, her laughter growing to something more boisterous when Caitlyn squealed at the ground disappearing from beneath her feet. 

And now she carries Caitlyn up the steep steps, her arms clasped tightly around her neck, her scent permeating and surrounding her so pleasantly Vi nearly trips. 

Vi isn’t sure why she carries Caitlyn to her room. She’s content with hiding behind the excuse of proximity. That Vi simply couldn’t make it the few extra steps down the hallway. But Caitlyn doesn’t complain; she just makes these soft content noises when Vi sets her in the unmade bed. 

Her breath hitches in her throat at the sight of Caitlyn in her bed. Her fingers graze Caitlyn’s calf when she slides worn boots off her feet, Caitlyn’s small moan echoes in the space between them. Vi feels it everywhere.  

She sets the boots down with a small thud against the wood before readying herself for bed, stripping down to her underclothes. She’s about to make a pallet on the floor when she stills. Her breathing comes out heavier as she watches Caitlyn’s sleeping form, memorizing the way her nose scrunches as she dreams. The way she curls into the comforter, breathing deeply. Vi’s fingers tingle. 

Vi pads on bare feet across the room, lighting a candle, the wax already sitting on the bobeche. She grabs her sketchbook and charcoal stick, tiptoeing back to the occupied bed. As gingerly as she can, she sits on the edge of the bed near Caitlyn’s head, failing to resist the urge to tuck the stray midnight hair that’s fallen across her cheek. 

The sketch comes quickly despite the awkward angle of her wrist. But she wants this memory ingrained and permanent. She gets lost in the parchment. Lost in the slopes and edges of Caitlyn’s face. Lost in the softness and the overwhelming warmth that’s spread through her body. And she knows the wine has nothing to do with it. 

Vi doesn’t stop until she feels warm fingertips graze her bare knee and sleepy blue eyes meet her own. Her fingers trail high up Vi’s thigh and Vi forgets how to breathe. She grips the boboche a little tighter, the sketchbook in her lap is illuminated by the soft light and Vi releases a long exhale through her nose. 

“There’s a price to keeping that one,” Caitlyn whispers. Vi huffs and goes back to sketching, the corner of her mouth turns up as she does it. 

“And what’s that, Cupcake?” Vi gives her a side-long glance, her chest warming and constricting at the way Caitlyn’s eyes are closed again. She takes a deep inhale of the comforter before she speaks in another sleepy whisper. A command is ready on her wine stained lips and Vi is once again at her mercy. 

“ Stay with me .” 

________

Vi wakes up alone. The imprint of Caitlyn is still fresh on the sheets, her scent still lingering on the pillows. 

Vi had been careful all night. Careful not to touch her. Careful not to breathe her in too deeply. But if her sister had been right about her sleeping habits, she can’t attest to her body’s own will when pulled under. 

Embarrassment creeps up her spine as she sits up. She should have refused to get in bed with her. She’s betrothed and Vi can feel more of her resolve cracking and slipping into the whirlpool of her own loneliness. She’s sure that’s what this has all been about. Her solitude this last year is catching up to her. 

It certainly has nothing to do with the way Caitlyn makes her feel heard and seen. The way she makes her body feel like it could catch flame at the simplest glance of sharp blue. Or the way Vi has every facet of her face memorized and so deeply ingrained she’s sure she doesn’t even need her to pose for her anymore. 

She slips out of bed, her eyes catching on the sketch of Caitlyn from the night before. It’s joined the myriad of “fleeting moments” Vi has captured. But she knows this one is different. It wasn’t stolen. Not really. 

She rolls her neck and shoulders, the popping sound echoes in the airy room as she readies for the day. They’ve made a habit together. Vi would wake before the sun, sketching until her hands were coated with the charcoal. Caitlyn would come into the room unannounced dripping in the gold silk and ruby pendant. She would carry tea and coffee. Something Vi has never asked for but remembers full-body blushing when Caitlyn explained herself one gray morning. 

“I noticed you never drink the tea I bring you.” 

  Vi had just chuckled and shook her head. She drank the full cup of coffee every morning. 

Vi sketches until the orange streaks light the room. She doesn’t like to paint the portrait without Caitlyn in the room. She can hide under the excuse of needing her to model, but the truth is the sooner she finishes this, the sooner she’ll have no reason to stay here. 

The minutes turn into hours and Caitlyn hasn’t shown yet. Vi lets it go, getting lost in the sketch of wild waves and a woman running into the white tipped water. Her stomach grumbling finally brings her back to her own body. She furrows her brow, realizing the day has slipped away in the folds of her parchment and there’s still no solid footsteps or the smell of coffee.  

She finally sets her sketchbook down,  avoiding glancing back down at the woman who looks too much like Caitlyn, and makes her way out of her room. The sun has long begun its descent and Vi is stunned by the way her body hasn’t demanded a reprieve earlier. 

Vi finds her in the kitchen. She stands in the doorway, watching as the other woman clumsily chops potatoes, the apron tied too loosely around her waist, and the knife in her hand is too small. Vi holds in her chuckle, choosing to stay by the door to watch for a moment longer. 

“Didn’t think you were the type to stand a woman up, Cupcake,” Vi teases. It’s a mistake that Vi becomes keenly aware of the moment the paring knife clatters to the tiled floor. Vi doesn’t hesitate to lean down to pick it up, somehow stunned to see bright blue eyes already on her level. 

They don’t speak after Vi places the knife back in her soft hands. But she stays near the wooden island, watching her hands in their uncertain task. 

“I think I need to apologize about last evening, Vi,” Caitlyn finally says, sighing loudly when the potato doesn’t slice through as cleanly as she wants. Vi raises a brow, taking the knife out of her grip. 

“What for?”

She already knows the answer, but she dreads it all the same. It’s her that should be apologizing. She should’ve refused. She must’ve crossed a line in her sleep. Must’ve crossed a line—

“It was… imprudent of me. T-to take your bed.” She watches as Vi takes over chopping, making sure to grab a bigger knife. Vi is at a loss for words. Displaced disappointment makes her chest feel tight at the sentiment. She bites the inside of her cheek, her brow scrunches against her will. She opens her mouth to speak— 

The back door slams shut, blowing a cool breeze into the fire-lit kitchen. Vi nearly slices her finger when Elora marches in the room, a timid Skye following behind her with a sack of vegetables. Vi releases a breath, honestly glad for the reprieve. Gods she needs to get a hold of herself. No woman has both torn her open and left her a trembling mess. Vi is normally in control. She’s the one that leaves in the middle of the night. 

She doesn’t stop Caitlyn when she leaves Vi alone with the other women in the kitchen. 

________

Vi isn’t sure how she’s found herself trudging through the tall grass again the next evening, her coat heavy on her shoulders. She walks behind Caitlyn and Skye, Elora walking behind her. 

“There’s a bonfire every full moon. You and the lady should come. Get out of the house. But please make sure to leave without blood on your face,” Elora had said in that typical stern voice that Vi has learned isn’t personal. Skye, to Vi’s relief, had run up to Caitlyn’s room, Caitlyn’s thick cloak already in her hands. They’ve become an odd pair of friends, and Vi can’t help but be endeared watching it, being reminded of her own sister. 

Even Elora seems taken with Caitlyn when she deigns them with her presence. 

But Caitlyn has been avoiding her all day. She didn’t come floating into Vi’s room. But she did haunt Vi all day in her absence. Vi should have been fine with it. She should be fine with it. But she isn’t. It took more restraint to not hunt her down than Vi wants to admit 

The fire is tall, the air smokey and thick. It feels almost ritualistic, the way the women stand around the orange flames, all of them strangers with no names. Vi stuffs her hands in her jacket pocket, observing the way each person here seems so… free. Vi looks over her shoulder, feeling a presence at her back. The air leaves her lungs when blue eyes pierce her own. 

Time feels suspended on a tightrope the higher the moon rises. Vi stands on her own, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. She isn’t sure where it came from. But her eyes are stuck on the woman across the flames. Caitlyn removes her cloak, holding it over her arm as she watches the women mingle around her. She looks more alone than Vi’s ever seen her. 

Vi moves when the crowd does. They stroll toward the flames, different flasks passed between gloved hands until the moon is finally at its peak. They all move in sync. Their voices rise and sing a hymn Vi doesn’t understand. Their hands clap to a beat Vi can’t hear and it’s all so consuming. So freeing and stifling all at once. And through it all, she’s stuck in a gaze of blue flame. 

When the singing and the drinking die down, Vi walks aimlessly amongst the strange women, hearing their voices but not their words. It dawns on her too soon who she’s looking for. 

She finds her in the small crowd, standing closer to the fire than Vi thinks she should be. As if she wants the flames to consume her. It’s in this moment that she realizes how… in sync she feels with her and Vi can’t help but wonder if Caitlyn feels the same. If the irrevocable pull she feels is so one sided. So isolated. 

Vi stills, the breeze blowing embers and dried leaves past her knees, bringing a chill to thread through the tall grass. But Vi doesn’t feel it. Not with the way Caitlyn’s glance warms her entire being.

 She’s in her blue dress from a few nights ago, and Vi wants to peel it from her skin. The voices still sing around them, their pitches ranging but all Vi hears is her own breathing. All she can focus on is Caitlyn in her blue dress and red rimmed eyes. The flames illuminate the words unsaid and the tears unshed. Air is harder to come by as she watches Caitlyn take uncalculated steps away from the fire. But the flames don’t let her go. They cling to the bottom of her dress, seeking to claim the fabric and Caitlyn’s unmarred skin. 

Caitlyn only takes her eyes away from Vi for a moment, looking down at her burning dress before finding Vi again through lidded eyes. Vi can’t move fast enough before the singing falters and two women Vi hasn’t paid attention to drop to the ground at Caitlyn’s feet, dousing the unruly flames with their own cloaks. 

Vi’s body moves on its own accord when Caitlyn falls to the ground, catching herself on her elbows. Vi tries to call for her, but she can’t get her voice to work. she falls to her knees instead, clutching Caitlyn’s face and shoulders. The unspoken words feel like a shout between them. A question and a demand seep out of Caitlyn’s eyes. They drift down to Vi’s mouth, her breath heaving and ragged. There’s no denying what’s being said. There’s no denying that they both want the same thing. There’s also no denying that Vi will leave this place with half heart somewhere on the stairs or in the waves if she answers. So she doesn’t. 

She grips Caitlyn’s hand and hoists her to her feet–

________

They haven’t stopped touching each other in some way. The ground is rocky and unsteady. The path to the beach is muddy. Full of pitfalls. Vi couldn’t bring herself to paint today. Not with the looming conversation that hangs thicker than the storm clouds overhead. 

Their hands stay entwined as they traverse down the rocky slope. Vi holds her hand up and Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate to thread their fingers, only to let go again, returning the favor until their boots sink into the damp sand. Caitlyn walks ahead, their fingers separating and Vi’s hand feels heavier at her side. Vi doesn’t move. 

The words feel thick in her throat. Her feet feel stuck in the sand. She knows what she wants to say. What she needs to say. 

We need to stop this . 

This thing that leaves her aching and bare. This thing that hasn’t even… happened.

You’re betrothed.

Against her will and wishes.

We’re too different. 

But Vi’s never felt more seen. 

I’m nothing. 

She has no surname. Not really.

I can’t offer anything you don’t have. 

Freedom.

I’m a penniless painter. 

I’m a woman.  

But they all die in her throat, swallowed by the wind and the waves. Buried in the sand under their feet. She follows the footsteps along the beach until she finds her behind the cove. She chews her thumbnail, her gaze finding Vi immediately. And she’s drawn in, every word she’d written down and rehearsed in her head is lost.  

“Caitlyn,” Vi tries, the name comes out hoarse and barely audible. But she keeps approaching with heavy feet, her hands tingling as they raise to placate for a blow she hasn’t given. But Caitlyn stiffens nonetheless. Vi stops close enough to see the blush crawling up her neck. Close enough to smell her perfume. “Cupcake–” she takes another step, biting the inside of her cheek. 

“Don’t,” Caitlyn whispers, shaking her head. “Please, Vi. Just– don’t .” The words are her undoing. She takes a final step, her fingers grazing Caitlyn’s hand. There’s almost no space between them now. Vi can almost taste her. Caitlyn’s gaze snares her, pulling her closer than she’s intended to be. And suddenly, it becomes unbearable for there to be any space between them at all. 

She slides her hands along Caitlyn’s jaw, feeling her breath coming out in pants against her lips. It’s a mutual collision in the end. A soft, tender thing. A small ember that Vi wants to fan. To nurture. She tastes better than Vi could ever imagine. She slides her tongue along her lower lip, sucking it into her mouth, relishing in the noise it pulls from Caitlyn’s throat. 

Caitlyn’s fingers thread through Vi’s hair, another going to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss grows deeper. Hungrier. Vi still cups her face, her thumb strokes her jaw, coaxing their mouths closer. As if they could meld together. 

One of them needs air enough to break it, their breaths intermingling and her barely open to see parted lips. An invitation Vi won’t refuse. Not again. But when Vi leans back in to kiss her, all she meets is air and fearful blue eyes. 

Vi’s stomach plummets when she sees Caitlyn’s horror stricken face. Her own face burns and her heart aches to a painful beat in her chest. Caitlyn leaves without a word, leaving Vi to gasp for breath, staring at the jagged edges of the cove. She can’t hear the waves crashing behind her. She can’t feel her own body. Endless questions circle and bait her. Taunting her until the sun starts to sink into the ocean. And Vi has yet to move. 

But when she does, rock meets her already scarred knuckles. Her blood drips down to her fingertips, making an indent in the sand. And then she’s running. Her coat is too heavy on her shoulders so she leaves it abandoned somewhere in the field. She’ll get it later. On her way out, she supposes. She’s not even sure why she’s running to her doom. Her legs slow down as she reaches the cobblestone walkway. 

She steeles herself before pushing the heavy door open. She has two choices. She can go inside and behave as if it never happened. In fact, the more time that’s passed, the more convinced Vi becomes that it was all an illusion after all. She hasn’t been immune to them before. Or she can pack up her things and leave before she’s forced to by someone else. By Caitlyn. 

She bites the inside of her cheek, the blood on her knuckles has dried in the cool breeze, the cuts stinging through the thick bandages still. Vi’s met with a warm kitchen when she braves the door. She half expects Caitlyn to be there, trying to cook again maybe. But instead, Skye and Elora flit around the kitchen, stirring another soup that boils over the hearth before laddling the contents into shallow bowls. 

Vi enters on light feet, her mind fuzzy and her mouth impossibly dry. A bowl is set down in front of her on the long table. Vi can’t even bring herself to eat it. Both Elora and Skye sit at the other end and it dawns on Vi that Caitlyn never misses dinner. 

Vi clears her throat before speaking. “Are we going to wait for Caitlyn?” She can’t hide the fearful hope in her voice. Skye spoons broth into her mouth. 

“She said she wasn’t feeling well,” Elora explains, sipping from a clear glass full of red wine. Vi doesn’t utter a word for the rest of the evening. 

She musters the energy to trudge up the steep stairs to her room and is surprised to find a fire already lit. She goes to stand in front of it, to get lost in it, leaning her forearm against the mantle. 

Vi doesn’t hear the door open. She doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps that creak along the hardwood. But she feels her. She always feels her. 

Vi looks over her shoulder and her breath hitches in her throat. Caitlyn approaches, her hair still windswept and her cheeks rosy but her expression is carefully neutral. Like it’s on the verge of breaking. And Vi wants to wreck her the way Vi feels so wrecked everyday. Every moment she’s around her.

 But Vi doesn’t move. She just watches Caitlyn get closer until there’s no room left. Vi looks down at her feet then, at the loose embers scattering on the floor while Caitlyn’s hand trails over her lower back, the other reaches up, her fingers curl under her chin, forcing her head back up and sideways. And she’s drowning in the touch. In her smell. In the color blue. Vi shudders and clenches her jaw. She squeezes her eyes closed. 

“I thought… I thought I ruined everything. Or just,” Vi shivers when Caitlyn presses herself closer to Vi’s back, her hand still cradling her jaw, moving down to brush her neck, pressing her nose to Vi’s cheek, her forehead resting on Vi’s hair. “I thought I scared you away,” Vi admits, her voice cracking with each syllable.  She doesn’t move her hands at first, but feeling Caitlyn’s lips press against the junction between her neck and shoulder makes her lower belly clench and her entire body feels like liquid fire. 

“You’re right,” she whispers into Vi’s skin. Vi huffs, almost breaking away from the embrace. But Caitlyn tightens her hold on Vi’s waist, her hand pressing against Vi’s chest, holding Vi against every plane of Caitlyn’s body.  “I am scared.” She seals the words with another kiss to Vi’s exposed skin. 

Vi can barely breathe. Caitlyn’s hand sears heat into her skin. They trace her collar and throat, brushing against her lips, pushing them apart. Caitlyn’s nose presses into the side of Vi’s head again, her mouth against her ear. “Does every lover feel like this?” Vi can’t answer her. Because fuck she doesn’t know. She’s certainly never felt like this. 

“Caitlyn,” Vi croaks. It comes out breathy and quiet. She says it because she can. Because she needs to. 

“I heard you before. I heard you call my name in the middle of the night,” she says into Vi’s ear. Vi wants to feel embarrassed. But she can’t. Not with the way Caitlyn’s hands are burning her body through her clothes. “I imagined it too. I imagined it all, waiting for you.”

Vi fucking aches and a shuddering breath brushes Caitlyn’s fingertips. Liquid heat coils and tightens her core and pools between her legs, her hand shooting up to grab Caitlyn’s as it still caresses the skin of her jaw and lips.

She swallows the lump in her throat. “Did you– did you dream of me, Cupcake? Like I dreamt of you?” Vi asks, still unable to open her eyes. 

“No,” Caitlyn says quickly, kissing the shell of her ear. “I thought of you.” 

Vi finally opens her eyes, her heart pounding. Caitlyn’s eyes are nearly black, the blue ring barely a sliver. Caitlyn’s hand cradles her face and Vi feels something in her snap. 

They seem to surge forward at the same time. And then her lips are on Caitlyn’s. Vi turns around fully, wrapping her arm around Caitlyn’s waist, her other hand tangling in midnight blue hair. This kiss is different than before. It’s more urgent. More heated from the start. Caitlyn grips the front of Vi’s shirt, tugging, yanking, begging Vi to be closer. As if it were possible. They’re already flush together, breasts and stomachs and thighs bleeding together until Vi doesn’t know where she starts and Caitlyn ends.  

Kissing her feels so… right . Like they themselves have invented something no other human has experienced before. As though they were made for each other by an artist's hands.

They barely part to breathe before Vi captures her mouth again, pushing them away from the fire. They’re all tongue and teeth and roaming hands. As if the other would surely disappear. Vi is the first to shed her clothes, needing air and Caitlyn against her bare skin. The sound of more clothes landing on the floor fills Vi’s ears and Vi is overwhelmed with the way Caitlyn’s skin feels beneath her palms. It’s better than any dream. Better than any self conjured image. 

They clamber into Vi’s unmade bed without breaking their fevered kisses. Vi brings Caitlyn into her lap, her hand pressing against Caitlyn’s lower back while she sucks a bruise at Caitlyn’s pulse point. Vi moans against her skin when she feels wet heat against her stomach, her lips trailing down Caitlyn’s throat and back up again while Caitlyn yanks Vi’s hair, searching desperately for a place her own mouth can wander. She settles on her neck, licking and biting the inked skin. Vi still cups her lower back, brushing bruised, calloused fingertips over her ribs. Under her breasts. Feeling but not touching. Not yet.

“Touch me, Vi. Please ,” Caitlyn  shudders, her hips now bucking and grinding against Vi’s thigh. Her own core clenches around nothing, her arousal pooling on the sheets beneath them, coating where it meets somewhere on Caitlyn’s skin. Vi’s too frenzied and desperate to care what part of her touches Caitlyn so long as she’s there .

 She wants to speak more. To whisper against ivory skin how beautiful she is. How breathtaking and perfect every curve and bump is. How she’s dreamt of this since she saw her. How no man will ever deserve her or please her the way Vi knows she can. But all that manages to escape is a whine and Caitlyn’s name when Caitlyn pinches a nipple between her thumb and finger, stroking it softly to ease the sting. 

Vi lets her hands roam where her eyes have memorized for days on end. Learning the places she’s only ever imagined. She lets her fingers caress and squeeze supple breasts and soft hips, her thumbs rubbing the bones there. Caitlyn kisses her like a woman starved, her hands now squeezing the top of Vi’s shoulders, frantically moving to her hair and back down again. Her nails leave crescent indents amongst the ink ingrained in her skin. Her hips keep moving, Vi trying to guide her frantic rhythm with shaky hands, her lips seeking Caitlyn’s every time they part for air. 

 Vi suppresses a moan when Caitlyn licks into her mouth, tasting and ravaging. Claiming and owning. And Vi’s never wanted to belong to someone more. They both gasp into each other's mouths when Vi dips into hot, wet folds.

She glides her fingers through soaking folds, finding the bundle of nerves through hot slick. She catches Caitlyn’s lower lip between her teeth, swallowing the loud moan from the woman in her lap. Caitlyn’s hands leave the forest of Vi’s wild hair, dragging nails across her skin, tracing her collar with her tongue and teeth, making Vi’s languid movements between Caitlyn’s thighs falter. 

Caitlyn’s hand keeps traveling between their flushed bodies, leaving trails of fire in her wake. But she falters and her fingers tremble against Vi’s stomach right above where Vi aches.

 Caitlyn breaks their kiss, instead kissing Vi’s jaw, her breathing ragged and her jaw slack the more Vi loses herself in the inferno between them. 

“What–ahh– what did you dream of? W-when you dreamt of me?” Caitlyn stutters against Vi’s neck, her fingers still toying with venturing deeper between them. Vi slows her rhythm, cupping Caitlyn’s face to bring their lips back together. 

“This. Touching you. And–” each sentiment is punctuated with wet, fevered kisses. 

“Did I touch you?” Caitlyn whispers against her lips, small gasps escaping when Vi adds more pressure to her clit. Caitlyn’s fingers get braver, grazing through coarse hair, stopping right as she meets hot skin. Vi gasps into Caitlyn’s mouth, her hips buck on instinct, jostling Caitlyn in her lap. Vi can’t speak, any and all words die in her throat, replaced with staccato sounds she’s never heard herself make. And Caitlyn hasn’t even touched her. She nods, sucking Caitlyn’s tongue in her mouth, her own fingers daring to dip into her entrance, her body begging to be closer, closer, closer. They slip in with ease. No resistance. And she’s surrounded by her. Consumed. Whole. She never wants to leave this warmth again.

“Show me. Show me how I touched you,” Caitlyn croaks, sinking her hips down on two of Vi’s fingers. Vi shudders, curling her fingers and kissing every inch of available skin. Caitlyn’s throat. Her lips. Behind her ear. 

Vi releases a shaky exhale through her nose, feeling the way her own arousal has grown in tandem with Caitlyn’s dripping down her wrist. “Not until you come,” Vi challenges, biting the junction between her neck and shoulder. Caitlyn squeezes around her fingers, and Vi thinks she’ll come just like this. 

“Please, Vi,” Caitlyn rocks her hips again, her hand lodged between them but not moving. Vi nods again, breathless and unable to deny her. 

“Okay, Cupcake.” She untangles her hand from Caitlyn’s disheveled hair, holding Caitlyn’s wrist that rests against Vi’s stomach. She pushes Caitlyn’s hand further down and begins to guide Caitlyn’s fingers through her soaked core. Their arms are intertwined and their hands work in tandem with bringing the other pleasure. Their breasts press together and yet Vi wants them closer still. Vi’s shoulders ache with guiding Caitlyn’s hand against herself, bringing her dreams beyond what they’ve ever been. She keeps slowly pumping her fingers again making Caitlyn’s moans grow louder.

Caitlyn’s fingers seem bolder. More sure as they drag slick from her entrance up to her clit. Vi moves their fingers in a circle, showing her the way that brings her to the edge that she can already feel building and growing bigger than a wildfire. Vi abandons Caitlyn’s hand, gripping her hair again, yanking her forward to crush their mouths to hide the moans desperate to claw out of her throat. 

Vi isn’t sure who comes first. Only that Vi doesn’t want to stop touching her. In case this is all a mistake. A lapse in judgment. But as the first tendrils of her orgasm take root, Vi shudders, squeezing Caitlyn closer, still curling her fingers that are drowning in Caitlyn’s heat. It crashes through her body like violent ocean waves, rocking her like a ship she won’t abandon. Caitlyn tries to pull her head back to watch, but Vi can’t let her mouth leave Caitlyn’s. Needing to come to her taste. Caitlyn doesn’t resist, her own orgasm flooding Vi’s hand. An endless river amongst the sheets. 

They lie down still tangled and intertwined. Boneless and breathless. They fall asleep still seeking each other’s lips and Vi can already feel her heart shattering before it calms its unsteady beat.

Chapter Text

Present

        She holds the shell between her fingers in her trouser pocket. The grooves are worn and a little flattened from her constant fidgeting.   

She left the gallery soon after the final portrait had been unveiled that morning. Mel had called after her but Vi couldn’t hear past the ringing in her ears. She paced her cramped apartment for what felt like hours before finally deciding her own reckless heart wouldn’t stop her evening. Not if she simply ignores the possibility of seeing her again. 

Vi fastens the buttons of her burgundy vest, grabbing Vander’s overcoat on the way out. The canvas in her hand is heavy, even unframed. She can’t keep it any longer. She won’t keep it any longer. Her plan after tonight is impulsive and reckless. But she can’t stay here. She longs for the open air and rough waves again. 

She’s done painting. There’s little inspiration left that goes beyond what her hands naturally ache to paint. Curves and crevices that still haunt her dreams. 

She jogs up the steps, moving past the line of people she’s never seen before. Vi knows she should feel proud. Vander would be. But nerves rattle her spine and her fingers twitch. The gallery hasn’t opened just yet when Vi finally enters the gilded palace. She weaves through staff and artists, not sparing them a glance.  

“Vi! Where have you been?” Mel  approaches in long strides, her face taut with tension. She stops abruptly when she sees the raw canvas in Vi’s hand. Her brow raises and gestures toward the canvas. Vi shrugs, a little breathless. 

“It’s a last minute addition,” Vi explains, biting the inside of her cheek. “They said they wanted to sell it and I owe them a favor.”  Vi flips the canvas around to reveal the last haunted memory she’s carried. 

“Who’s the artist?” Mel asks, no short of awe as she examines the piece. 

Vi sucks in a breath. “They said they’d prefer to stay anonymous,” Vi says quickly, walking away from Mel into one of the many rooms that adorn this endless space. “Do we have a frame I can put this in?”

Mel follows her, taking the canvas from her hands. “Of course. Do you know where you want to put it?” 

“Umm. Anywhere, honestly,” Vi mutters, shrugging her coat off her shoulder. 

Vi knows there is a risk in letting Mel decide something like this, but she can’t look at that painting anymore. Can’t look at the woman on fire anymore. She expects it to be in a corner somewhere. A last minute addition like this isn’t something even she would allow in a gallery. But she finds her stomach wanting to turn in on itself when she sees it in the center of the grand ballroom. 

“What should I mark it for?”

“Whatever you think it’s worth,” Vi answers quickly. 

_____

Vi stays glued to a wall as guests pile in. Nameless faces in fine silks and cotton. A hand is buried in her pocket, finding seldom comfort in the shell while her lip is trapped beneath a canine, no doubt on the verge of breaking skin. She grabbed a flute of champagne shortly after leaving Mel with her work. She’s on her third glass now, keeping her eyes peeled for midnight blue. 

The hours drag on and the room is so full of milling bodies. All of them wonderstruck and equal parts critical. Their eyes searching and examining each carefully curated piece. She ignores the amount of people who stop at her portrait of Caitlyn. She ignores the sapphire blue eyes painted on the canvas from across the room. 

People speak to her. At her. And she pretends to listen. Nodding and smiling when she needs to. But pretending has never been her forte. She sips from the flute in her hand. She isn’t sure how many she’s had at this point. Enough for her fingers to feel numb. 

She finally leaves her spot against the wall, brushing against guests with sluggish steps. She nearly snaps when she feels firm fingers grip her bicep, her name shouted in such an excited squeal Vi grimaces. 

“Your friend’s painting just sold for 3 million cogs, Vi! It’s the first sale of the evening,” Mel rushes, dragging her over to the canvas she’s been mourning all evening. The words rush over her in waves, beating through the champagne wall she’s closed herself in. 

“Wait who–”

But Vi doesn’t get the sentence out before she’s face to face with a man she’s only met once. Hazel eyes and tanned skin greet her and the room feels too hazy for Vi’s liking. 

“Jayce Talis,” he says, reaching a hand out for her to take. She doesn’t. “You must be Miss Lane. Or is it Mrs?”

She can tell he doesn’t recognize her from all those years ago. And why should he?    

Vi clears her throat. “Just Vi,” she grits out, carefully keeping her gaze away from the canvas next to them. 

“Well I just wanted to congratulate you on such a successful show. And I wanted to pick your brain about– you said it’s a friend of yours right? Well his work is just breathtaking,” Jayce says, sipping from his own flute, gesturing to the now gold encrusted canvas. He leans in closer as he speaks. “You see, I’m not much of an art connoisseur but my dear friend has been talking about this gallery non-stop for weeks so I took her here as a surprise. And this piece, it sort of resembles her. I think she’ll love it,” he rambles, his breath filling Vi’s nostrils from the proximity. She feels nauseous. Vi looks at the painting. Really looks at it. Her eyes burn.  

“It’s mine, actually,” Vi corrects hoarsely. Both Mel and Jayce stop mid conversation. But before either of them can ask her more, she turns back to Jayce. “Which friend does my work remind you of?” Vi isn’t sure why she asked. Maybe some foolish hope that Caitlyn is really here. That she can just look at her in the flesh again. She’s always been a masochist, memories never enough to truly quell her. 

Jayce’s eyes brighten but she can feel Mel’s quizzical look boring into her. “Here, I’ll go fetch her. She’s just over there with our other companion,” Jayce is already moving in the direction he gestured to, waving his arm, unaware of the way his wide shoulders  bump other guests, sloshing champagne out of crystal flutes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this was yours?” Mel hisses in her ear. But she doesn’t answer. Her throat dries and knees nearly buckle when ocean blue eyes lock with hers from across the ballroom. And Vi feels herself falling all over again. 

________

2 years ago

“Stop that.” 

Caitlyn sits on the stool, her hands exactly where Vi posed them. Her back is straight, the sun catching on the ruby pendant that decorates her collar. She’s the perfect model. Except for today. She won’t stop smiling, the small gap in her front teeth exposed every few seconds halts Vi mid paint stroke every time. 

Vi’s command goes ignored, instead it just seems to make her chuckle. 

“Stop what?” she asks, her tone unassuming.

Vi scoffs, rolling her eyes but unable to stop her own smirk. “That thing you’re doing.”

“Darling, I have no idea what you mean,” Caitlyn says, her voice rising an octave as she shifts on the stool. The endearment goes straight through Vi’s entire body. But one look at how little progress she’s made today snaps her back to reality. 

“Be serious,” she tries, barely managing to slide back into the role of artist, her body still tingling from all the places Caitlyn’s fingers danced the night before. Where her tongue tasted–

Vi sets the brush down, walking around the easel as her bare feet creak against the wood. Caitlyn’s face has finally settled, her mouth no longer turning upward but Vi can tell it’s an effort. “Keep still,” she orders again as she saunters closer. 

Vi stops near her hip, looking at her face and watches the way her lips quirk ever so slightly. She memorizes the way the late afternoon sun lightens her dark hair, the way the gold silk bleeds into her skin under the orange hues that bathe the room. Vi tilts her head, daring Caitlyn to move again. Vi leans in slowly, Caitlyn’s scent permeating her nose, the oils she bathes in have no doubt become Vi’s favorite smell as of late. Caitlyn’s breath comes out in short pants through her nose the closer Vi leans in, but her eyes remain forward, as if Vi still stood at her easel. 

Their lips meet softly at first. Vi’s paint covered hands cradle the base of Caitlyn’s neck, eliciting a small noise from the back of Caitlyn’s throat, her own hand coming  to tangle in Vi’s short hair. She tastes better than the night before, and Vi thinks every kiss shared between them will bring this thought forward. 

They don’t paint for the rest of the day.   

________

They’re entangled. All skin and sheets while love bites decorate their bare bodies. Vi regrets taking the sheets down from the windows. But she keeps her eyes closed, nuzzling into Caitlyn’s neck, holding her waist from behind. 

She ignores the first time a knock echoes out. She hopes they’ll just go away. What could they even need her for now? 

The knocking persists. Loud beats against the wood. She groans, kissing Caitlyn’s shoulder a few times. 

“Vi? Vi are you in there? I can’t find Miss Caitlyn. Is she with you already?” Skye’s muffled voice says through the door. Vi clears her throat, sitting up on an elbow. 

“No, I-uhm- I haven’t seen her,” Vi replies with a rasp, her breath hitching in her throat when Caitlyn rolls over, nuzzling into Vi’s chest, squeezing her waist. Vi chuckles, threading her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair. “You gotta get up, Cupcake,” Vi whispers. Caitlyn merely groans, burying herself further under the covers, melding and tangling herself with Vi’s limbs. 

Vi sighs, kissing her bare shoulder, still a little unconvinced any of this is real. But her lips meet warm skin, trailing up Caitlyn’s neck. Her jaw. Her cheeks. Vi knows it’s a bad idea to start this again while the staff is looking for her. But Vi kisses her anyway. Languid and slow. 

Loud knocking breaks them apart. Vi rests her forehead on Caitlyn’s, their breathing heavy. “Vi! We need your help finding her, please,” Elora’s stern voice breaks through the thick wood. Caitlyn giggles and Vi feigns an affronted look. 

“Yeah, yeah– I’m coming! Just gimme a sec,” Vi whines, flipping the covers back. “It better be a good fucking reason why they’re looking for you,” Vi deadpans, her body warming as she watches Caitlyn’s lithe body saunter across the room. She still hasn’t made a move to get out of bed beyond exposing them to the gentle morning sun, perfectly content to watch Caitlyn dress from here. 

“I’m sure it’s to do with some manner of dressing me like I’m not a woman grown,” she mutters, slipping one of Vi’s large white tunics over her head. Vi finds herself blushing at seeing Caitlyn in her clothes, torn by the affection of seeing a piece of herself hanging from her lover’s shoulder and the desire to peel it back off. 

“You’re staring,” Caitlyn comments, no bite behind the words. Vi snorts. 

“I told you I’m always looking,” Vi says coyly. She nearly jumps out of her skin when another impatient knock raps against the door. Vi huffs, finally swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, only to be rooted to the spot when Caitlyn beats her to the door, swinging it open in nothing but Vi’s shirt. 

Vi has to hold back her cackle at Elora’s stunned face, the way her face darkens and her mouth parts. Vi’s sure she’s never seen this uptight woman look so flustered as her eyes dart between Caitlyn and over her shoulder to see Vi barely holding the sheets overherself. 

“You needed me for something, Miss Elora?” Caitlyn asks, leaning against the doorframe. 

“N-no– I mean, nothing too urgent. Just umm– you have some parcel waiting for you in the kitchen,” Elora stammers and Vi catches what looks to be the closest thing to a smile she’s seen on the older woman’s face before she scurries down the hall. 

Caitlyn closes the door, her bravado falling the moment she turns back to Vi. Her face is a deep crimson, spreading down to her chest and Vi finally lets her chuckle out of her throat, shaking her head. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to dress and I’ll meet you in the kitchen for breakfast, hmm?” Caitlyn says, not really asking so much as ordering. Vi just lies back against the pillows, her laughing not quieting as sheer bashfulness and an odd sort of pride swelling in her chest and words she can’t afford to say sitting at the tip of her tongue.  

_____

The kitchen is empty save for Caitlyn sitting at the long wooden table, a letter in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. Vi just smiles when she sees the cup of coffee sitting next to her. 

Her footsteps along the cobblestone floor alert Caitlyn to her presence, shocked blue eyes flickering up from the letter before she shoves it in her dress pocket. Vi quirks a questioning brow, sitting down across from her. 

“What was that?” 

Caitlyn swallows her tea, not meeting Vi’s gaze for a moment. When she looks back up, her features are barely schooled back to something softer. “Nothing important enough to derail our day.” 

The words bring a sense of dread and nerves to Vi’s gut. But she doesn’t push, still unwilling to wake from the dream she’s surely trapped in. So she just hums, taking a sip of the coffee Caitlyn has gotten much better at brewing. They sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, exchanging glances like they’re being watched, sending them both into small states of chuckles and blushing cheeks. 

“I was thinking,” Caitlyn starts. 

“That’s dangerous,” Vi snorts, yelping when Caitlyn kicks her from under the table. 

“As I was saying, Violet, I think I would like to get out of the estate today,” she muses, looking at her over the rim of her cup. 

Vi tilts her head. “Will you go alone?” She tries not to sound too hopeful.  

Caitlyn sets her cup down on the saucer, looking over Vi’s shoulder before reaching forward to take one of Vi’s hands, biting her lower lip in a way that spells mischief. 

“I had hoped we could push our painting session to this evening?” Caitlyn asks tentatively and Vi can’t seem to quell the feeling that something’s wrong. Nor can she deny her own desire to leave the house today, the almost finished canvas in her room dangling a dangerous truth she doesn’t want to face just yet. One that makes her chest ache painfully. 

So she smirks, looking up at her through her lashes. “What did you have in mind?”

_____

Vi hadn’t been aware Holdrum had a room full of rifles. The Kiramman’s gold encrusted crest paints every weapon. She also hadn’t been aware of Caitlyn’s proclivity to use said weapons. 

A myriad of thoughts swirled in Vi’s mind when Caitlyn emerged in trousers and boots that stopped just below the knee. Half of them made her stomach flutter. But she instructed Vi to follow her through the maze until they reached the room they currently stand in. Caitlyn had blushed the color of Vi’s hair when she opened the wide set of double doors. 

“Both of my parents had a love of hunting, but my father,” she says wistfully, sighing through her nose as she picks a larger rifle from its esteemed spot on the wall. “He loved designing them just as much as he loved using them.” 

Vi swallows, watching Caitlyn’s face as it undergoes tangible memories. She absently reaches a hand out, her fingers grazing Caitlyn’s elbow. 

“They’re beautiful,” Vi comments, unsure of how else to describe them beyond that. 

Caitlyn hums, nodding slightly before turning to face Vi. “They are. I haven’t had the heart to use them since… Well I thought I would take you to the woods.”

Vi looks at her for a moment, her eyes darting between Caitlyn’s face and the gun. 

“I don’t know how to shoot,” she admits quietly. 

Caitlyn steps closer, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. 

“Let me show you.” 

_____

The rifle is heavy in Vi’s hands, so unlike the paint brushes that callous her fingers. The smell of pine is strong, mixing with the lavender that sticks to Caitlyn’s skin as they traverse through Holdrum’s forest. 

Several times throughout their walk, Caitlyn has had to correct her gait, scolding how loud her steps were. Vi had laughed which only made Caitlyn scowl. 

But they sit crouched now, Caitlyn wrapped around her from behind, whispered instructions from the only sound beyond a bird’s trill. Vi’s pulse pounds in her ears as Caitlyn moves her arms, adjusting her gaze with a light touch under her chin to see the target in front of them. 

She briefly showed Vi the basics before this moment, letting Vi try her hand at shooting at trees. She missed every time. But she wouldn’t admit to the other woman how it was her fault. How Caitlyn, in all her good intention, was far more of a distraction. The way her breasts were pressed to Vi’s back, the way her smell overpowered her, the way her fingers burned through Vi’s clothes while adjusting her hold on the weapon. All of it led to Vi pulling the trigger too early, the bullet flying sideways. 

Caitlyn had stood, wide-eyed while Vi could do nothing more than bite the inside of her cheek, passing the rifle back into more sturdy hands.  

“I think I’ll stick to painting,” Vi had said gruffly, her old competitive edge worming its way to replace the bashful butterflies that rampaged in her stomach. Caitlyn had furrowed her brow, shaking her head. 

“I think just a little more practice. Here, watch me.”

And that was the problem, really, Vi was watching her. She watched the way her muscles flexed under her tunic, the way her face focused to a sharp point. The way the rifle became her or maybe Caitlyn became the rifle. Either way, Vi’s fingers ached to capture the image. She wanted to remember her this way when it’s all said and done. She wants to memorize the way her body was taut, an embodied bowstring, and yet so relaxed at the same time. She wanted to memorize this the same way she wanted to permanently ingrain the image of every facet of her strewn across Vi’s bed, calling Vi’s name– 

The bullet tore through a bird, forcing it to the ground some distance away. 

“Remember to breathe,” Caitlyn coos in her ear now, her legs spread so her thighs surround Vi’s hips. She releases a shuddering breath, her entire body heating when Caitlyn leans harder against her back, her lips brushing the shell of Vi’s ear. “Good girl.”

“Caitlyn,” Vi warns, lowering the rifle then. She scoffs quietly so as not to scare their catch. “You can’t say things like that and expect me to hit this thing.”

Caitlyn chuckles warmly, running her fingers over Vi’s arm, forcing her to lift the rifle back up, lining the butt to sit back on Vi's left shoulder. “Did you like it?” Caitlyn asks after a breathless moment. Vi exhales slowly again, clenching her jaw because– yes , yes she did. 

“Do I have the shot?” she asks instead, giving the taller woman a warning glare over her shoulder when she chuckles again. 

“You have the shot, love,” she says, her voice encouraging but the goddamn endearments will ensure they leave these godsforsaken woods empty handed. Vi instantly misses her warmth when Caitlyn retreats, leaving a ghost of her presence behind. She stops herself from whining, the war between herself for allowing anyone to strip her down this way and not caring at all is a vague violence in the back of her mind. 

But at least now, she can focus, the turkey still so unaware of their presence. She tries to remember Caitlyn’s easy grace with this, tries to recall the instructions on aim, and she finally just pulls the trigger. 

_____

They drag the bird back as the sun sets, the rays kissing the tree tops before dipping back into the sea. They walk side by side, Caitlyn worrying her bottom lip while Vi keeps the fist not holding the bird foot clenched at her side. 

“Not a word,” Vi says, giving Caitlyn a pointed stare when she barely refrains from chuckling. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Caitlyn replies casually, adjusting her grip on the other foot of the wild turkey. Vi just hums, not convinced of the sentiment, her cheeks and ears still burning.

  When they return, the sun finally almost swallowed by the night sky, Skye and the rest of the remaining staff are more than delighted to cook the bird. Caitlyn doesn’t stop bragging about Vi’s accomplishment. Doesn’t stop commending just how good she is for never having even held a rifle before. Vi can barely form words, torn between wanting to kick her under the table and dragging her upstairs to quell the full body ache once and for all.  

In the end, she doesn’t get to do either. Caitlyn retires suddenly and early, her cheeks aflame and her excuse something about a wave of  exhaustion. Vi stands soon after, concern dwelling in her chest when Skye asks for help with cleaning up. 

Vi clambers up the stairs, her own body begging for sleep and her sleeves soaked in dishwater. But when she pushes open the heavy oak door, Caitlyn is already there, lying in Vi’s still unmade bed with an open book in her lap. 

Vi shuts the door with a soft click, clearing her throat as she fully enters the room. Caitlyn glances up finally, closing the book before setting it down in the rumpled sheets. 

“I thought you would be in bed.” 

Caitlyn smirks. “I am in bed.” 

Vi scoffs lightly, endearment filling her chest to the point of bursting. But she walks towards her easel, still playing the pouting part as she cleans her brushes. Caitlyn’s bare feet creak against the old floorboards until warm hands caress her waist from behind. 

Vi looks up from her brushes, her gut coiling in anticipation when she meets Caitlyn’s gaze. It’s playful and thoughtful all at once. Vi pauses her movements, setting the cleaning rag down on a small table, raising a quizzical brow. 

“Could you teach me?” Caitlyn asks quietly, her fingers digging into her waist further, twisting in her shirt. 

Vi licks her lips, huffing a small laugh when Caitlyn doesn’t budge, her stare boring into Vi’s. “Afterall, I think it’s only fair that you teach me something in return,” Caitlyn says coyly, the cracking embers casting a wicked shadow over her sharp features. 

“In return for what, princess?” Her mouth is suddenly impossibly dry.

“I showed you how to shoot. I want you to teach me something, now.”

Vi nods in understanding, her heart fluttering. “Go on,” she breathes, already knowing where this is going. But she wants to hear her say it. 

“I want you to show me how to paint,” Caitlyn replies determinedly. Vi bites the inside of her cheek, nodding again, her voice stuck in her throat. 

“I’ll teach you tomorrow, then. After our session,” she says, daring a glance at the almost finished portrait. She isn’t sure why she’s nervous about the idea. But it excites her too. She goes to pick up her dirty brushes again when Caitlyn lets go of her waist to clutch her wrist.

“I want you to show me now.”

Vi scrunches her brow, her mouth opening to form a protest, but something in Caitlyn’s eyes cuts the words from her tongue. Instead she concedes, melts under the blue flames. A pattern she’ll examine later when she isn’t in a constant war with her own insides. 

“Do you always expect everyone to give you what you want?” Vi can’t help the breathless tease as she turns in Caitlyn’s hold. Caitlyn rolls her eyes, her fingers still holding Vi captive by the wrist. 

“Will you just humor me?”

Vi hums, looking up at the ceiling as she pretends to contemplate her answer. 

“What do you want to paint?”

The smirk that tugs at Caitlyn’s lips is dangerous but her eyes are shy, her long lashes fluttering and her thumb strokes along Vi’s pulsepoint. 

“You.” 

Vi laughs then. Truly laughs. Because, “No you don’t. I’m not something people want to paint, Cupcake.” She tries to step out of her grasp, keeping her head down and hiding behind a tight smile. But Caitlyn is stubborn. Unrelenting. She cups Vi’s cheeks, forcing her to look her in the eye. She crumbles under the painful confusion swimming in dark blue painted irises. 

“Why do you think that?” Caitlyn’s voice is indignant. Insulted, even. Vi just smiles a little, her hands dropping the brushes on the table so she can hold Caitlyn’s waist. 

“I mean– look at me. I’m not… pretty, I guess,” Vi admits. She knows her appearance isn’t something to be captured in charcoal and oils. But Caitlyn’s face only contorts into that of scorn and disdain. As if Vi had insulted her own image. 

“And you think I am? When you look the way you do? How can you possibly think that?”

Vi’s eyes soften and her hands slide up to Caitlyn’s ribs. “I’m not like you. I’m covered in scars and shoddy tattoos I did myself and so many other ugly things. You’re… perfect ,” Vi barely breathes that last truth. Caitlyn’s breath hitches before her eyes widen. She closes the remaining distance, kissing Vi hungrily, her mouth moving almost possessively. It makes her shiver as she tries to meet her, to convey just how true her words are.

“Let me show you how wrong you are,” Caitlyn husks against Vi’s kiss swollen lips. And before Vi can even agree, not entirely sure what she means to do, Caitlyn disentangles herself from Vi’s hold. Vi stands stunned in front of her easel as she watches Caitlyn rip the sheets down from the wire strung across the room, her heart thudding in every part of her body when she lies the sheet down in front of the fireplace. 

Caitlyn saunters back to her, intertwining their fingers as she leads her to the flat sheet. Vi’s chest tightens when Caitlyn kisses her jaw, her fingers working at the buttons of her vest. It falls to the floor beside the makeshift pallet. Vi’s skin pebbles with goosebumps, a distant chill coursing up her spine despite the fire. Caitlyn’s fingers continue their dance across her bare skin, her touch featherlight and intentional, her eyes following the path laid out by her hands. 

Vi aches to touch her too, her fingers twitch with the need to peel the cloth from her skin. But when she tries, Caitlyn swats her hands away, a stern look with no real bite stills any further movement beyond a small indignant noise in Vi’s throat. 

Caitlyn unfastens her trousers, sinking to her knees as she slides the linen down her legs. She kisses her way back up and this time, she doesn’t stop her when Vi reaches out, tangling her fingers in Caitlyn’s hair to yank her into a searing kiss. It isn’t until Caitlyn finally breaks apart that Vi realizes she’s being lowered to the floor. 

“Do you trust me?” Caitlyn asks when Vi opens her mouth to protest. The question unravels her, it weaves between each rib before rooting itself in her heart. It’s only when she nods almost frantically that she realizes how much she truly means it. 

Vi lets herself settle on the thick sheet, Caitlyn’s silent command to lie down translates through another kiss to her lips with a small push on her shoulders. The floorboards are warm even under the cotton and her skin is flushed down to her toes. 

She can hear Caitlyn rummaging, the sounds of her brushes and palette makes her bite her lip in anticipation. Her hands feel clammy against the sheet when Caitlyn returns to set the wooden brushes down, only to stand again after giving her a quick glance. Vi taps her fingers against the floor and her breath gets trapped in her lungs when she looks over after a few moments, drawn by a sudden noise and is stunned to see her own reflection staring back at her. 

Caitlyn moved the mirror, setting it against the cloth covered stool on the floor so it faces Vi, her own bare body captured in the glass. She looks away, bashfulness just as tangible as the flames next to her. 

When Caitlyn returns, her eyes dark and hungry, Vi finds her words. 

“I think it’s only fair that I see you too,” she croaks, trying on a bravado she doesn’t feel. Vi lifts her knees then, planting her feet more firmly on the ground. Protection and exposure. Caitlyn pauses a moment before  sliding her dress sleeves down her shoulders, letting the dress pool at her feet. All the while, Vi lies still, her chest heaving with each labored breath as more of Caitlyn’s pale, perfect skin is revealed in the soft firelight. 

Vi can already feel her own arousal wetting the inside of her thighs. But still, she doesn’t move, frozen under Caitlyn’s gaze, her pupils so blown there’s almost no blue left. But there’s also something so endearing about the way her face morphs into something shyer when she sits next to Vi’s hip and awkwardly picks up a brush, twirling the wooden tool between her thumb and forefinger. 

“Close your eyes,” she commands, her voice coming out louder than she probably meant for it to, nerves rattling her vocal chords. It has an oddly calming effect on Vi. She wants to be cheeky, to be teasing or anything to calm her racing heart. She closes her eyes instead, shuddering when “ good girl” is whispered in the space between them. Her hips cant instinctively at the praise and equal parts mortification and a raging warmth floods her body as the words settle around them.

She isn’t expecting Caitlyn’s long fingers to brush over her body first. She jolts when her thumb grazes her nipples, her breath shuttering as it trails down her abodemen, stopping at a place just above her hip bone. A thought almost weaves its way into her mind at the spot–a memory perhaps– but Caitlyn’s fingers resume their journey and all she can think now is—

“ Fuck .”

Caitlyn lifts her fingers just before she traversed through the forest between Vi’s thighs, and she has to repress a whine at how suddenly cold she feels. Her mouth hangs open and her eyes squeeze shut even tighter and any noise she would’ve made is extinguished because Caitlyn is kissing her. Hunger poured like honey through flesh. 

Vi gasps when the wet tip of a brush meets her skin. She almost opens her eyes, curiosity making her lids flutter. But she resists, ignoring the way it stems from her need to please Caitlyn in… whatever this is. 

The patterns feel random at first. Caitlyn oscillates between kisses that make her muscles twitch to suddenly painting in the same place her lips grazed. She starts with her collarbone, lavishing it in warmth before the wet brush follows suit. The pattern continues like living vines down her body. Caitlyn takes a nipple in her mouth, her tongue swirling around the bud before releasing her. When Vi tries to reach out on instinct, almost desperate to cling to something that isn’t the wood or the twisted sheet, her hands are swatted away again. 

“Caitlyn,” Vi’s voice is ragged and strained. It doesn’t sound like it belongs to her. “Please– ah, ” the paint-dipped brush is cold again as it’s dragged between her breasts, fanning out along her ribs. “Please let me touch you,” she begs.

Caitlyn chuckles a breathy sound through her nose before bringing Vi’s hand to her own cheek, kissing the palm as a compromise. “Just be patient.”

She feels the brush swirl, her mind trying to create her own image that follows the brush strokes. But she comes up empty handed. She’s showered in praise every time the brush leaves her skin. 

“You’re doing so well.”

“So good, so patient.”  

All of it makes Vi’s insides churn and bloom, the words shooting straight to her now soaking cunt. The sensation is bordering on uncomfortable, the ache a near constant burn. But Caitlyn never touches her. Not where she fucking needs her. She can’t discern the colors the other woman dabbles in. But all she can feel is something more tender than anything she’s ever felt. 

It clicks for her what Caitlyn’s doing when she stops at that same place above her hip. She can hear her set the brush down before her lip scatter kisses along the taut, scarred skin. Her lips are more firm in this spot above her hip bone. The backs of her eyes burn and Caitlyn’s tongue peeks between her lips, tasting the scar tissue from so many years ago. She paints there for a while, swirling the brush as if her hands are as practiced as Vi’s. 

Her hands tremble when the brush makes its way down her scarred arms, stopping at the junction between her wrist and hand. Caitlyn takes her time here too, kissing each silver lined knuckle before it, too is covered in whatever labyrinth Caitlyn’s creating along her skin. 

“Open your eyes, love.”

Her body is covered in paint aside from her face, which Caitlyn left with no short of kisses and nips. Caitlyn helps her to sit up, the movement, among other things, makes her dizzy. She stays close, helping her stand on unsteady legs, her arousal even slicker between her legs, running down to mix with the paint. She turns Vi to face the mirror and she feels her stomach fall to the floor. 

Every scar Vi’s ever obtained, every wound and mishap is covered in a myriad of colors. Her body looks like stained glass, fractured and detailed. The colors bleed together, webbing each ugly, battered scar together in deep swirls and soft lines. Flowers stemming from where her heart sits stem into more colors that trellise down her torso, wrapping around her thighs. 

She can’t breathe. She tries, her lungs expanding and constricting, but she can’t fucking breathe. It’s only when Caitlyn steps in front of her, blocking her view of the mirror that she actually feels wet tears streaming down her face, bleeding into the oil paint and ink deeply staining her skin. 

“This is what I see when I look at you, Vi,” she whispers, cupping Vi’s face with stained hands. “It’s what I always see.” 

A broken sob slips out of Vi’s chapped lips before she crashes their mouths together, no longer able to listen to her request to keep still. Caitlyn doesn’t stop her, kissing her back with frantic swipes of her tongue. Vi bites her lower lip, sucking into her mouth, eliciting a deep sigh from both of them, Caitlyn’s impatience seeping through every fevered kiss. Vi pulls their bodies together, no doubt smearing the paint, imprinting an imitation of Caitlyn’s work on her own body. 

Vi pulls them back down to the floor, her legs trembling and her own needs to be close– so fucking close – stops her from making it to the bed. The sheet will do. Caitlyn goes willingly, lying on her back where Vi had just been, flecks of color staining the cloth underneath. The fire still hums behind them as Vi lies flush on top of her, kissing and sucking her own motif into her skin. It takes the shape of her mouth and Vi thinks she can do better than that. 

She sits up, straddling Caitlyn’s waist, her wet core lying flush on Caitlyn’s torso as she leans back, dipping her fingers in the wet paint still on her palette before bringing them down against Caitlyn’s skin. It’s not as refined as Caitlyn’s, but the colors blend beautifully along her skin. She fans her fingers along her supple breasts, reveling in how warm and full they feel in Vi’s palm. They heave with Caitlyn’s lungs beneath her chest, her handprints like a tattoo of their own.  

She rubs her thumbs over perky brown nipples, smearing blue paint over the tips. Caitlyn’s breath stutters, her own hands reaching for Vi’s thighs bracketed around her hips, gripping and kneading the painted muscles. 

Vi grinds down on Caitlyn’s hips, gasping at finally getting to relieve some of this aching. But it’s not enough. She wants to be closer still, she wants to question where she starts and Caitlyn ends. Caitlyn’s hips jump upward, chasing Vi as she slides down Caityn’s thigh, leaning down to kiss her neck, trailing up so she can suck a deep purple bruise at her pulse. 

Her body acts on instinct, urged on Caitlyn’s soft gasps every time her cunt meets her now raised thigh. Her other leg sits between Caitlyn’s, not touching the glistening folds there. Not while she’s covered in paint like this. But she still wants more. Needs more. She wants to feel Caitlyn’s wetness too. Vi looks down at her paint-covered hands, the idea forming in a haze, driven by a word and a feeling she isn’t brave enough to name. But she can show it. 

Vi moves slowly, rubbing her thumbs on Caitlyn’s sharp hip bones before she repositions them. Caitlyn sits up on her elbows when Vi’s heat lifts from her leg for a moment. It’s awkward at first, but Vi’s just desperate enough not to care. She holds Caitlyn’s leg, lifting it so the back of her thigh sits pressed against Vi’s chest, draping the limb over her shoulder. She kisses the inside of Caitlyn’s knee, leaning her cheek against Caitlyn’s calf before she sinks down again. 

It takes pulling Caitlyn closer, adjusting her other leg to bend beneath her for it to feel right. Caitlyn lets her, her mouth hanging open and her eyes hold their never ending curiosity at Vi’s antics. But when she lowers herself fully, she thinks she may come immediately. Her cunt meets Caitlyn’s, their wetness marrying in a way that Vi’s never felt in her life. 

“ Fuck – Cait… you feel– so fuc- so good ,” Vi practically wheezes, her teeth clamping down on the soft skin of Caitlyns thigh. Caitlyn still rests on her elbows, the sheet spread taut as she throws her head back, a noiseless moan escaping at the new contact. 

She’s never done this before. Not like this. But gods it’s never felt this good either. It’s connecting and grounding and so impossibly warm. She grinds down, her clit rubbing against the swollen bud between Caitlyn’s legs. Caitlyn cries out, her own hips jolting up, the friction so slick between them it makes her mind fuzzy. Vi’s hand grips the sheet beneath them, vaguely aware of the paint staining it in the shape of their intimacy. She grinds down harder at the thought, sentiments on the tip of her tongue cut short when she glances over to see them strewn out in a gilded reflection. But unlike before, she doesn’t feel bashful or ashamed. She just feels liberated. 

The slick grows between them and Vi’s knee digs into the warm harwood as they chase their peaks. But Vi is just as determined to bring Caitlyn to her own. Caitlyn’s staccato moans fill the room, drowning out the smallest embers still crackling in the hearth, swallowing up Vi’s heavy breathing and deep groans of her own. 

“Vi!” she gasps when Vi circles her hips, their clits meeting again and again and again. “Gods- I’m- hah - Vi…” Caitlyn meets her every time, her hands reaching for Vi’s thigh, wet paint still smearing along their joint skin. She’s fucking trembling from want and exertion, her orgasm creeping slowly up her spine and sitting in her lower belly. 

It's a push and pull, their bodies so connected as if they’ve been burned and then melted back together. Vi doesn’t want it to stop, but her body has a will of its own. Her steady rhythm stutters as Caitlyn falls back fully, her blunt nails digging into the flesh of Vi’s thighs, her body taut and suddenly shuddering and her back bowing off the ground. 

“Vi-Vi-Vi- oh my gods, Violet- please–” 

Vi feels the surge of warm wetness gush between them, soaking her own folds in return. “Gods Cait, look at you,” Vi gasps. She slows her rhythm, slotting herself closer while Caitlyn’s body stutters, her hands searching for purchase. 

She comes with Caitlyn’s name on her tongue, her body reaching its own crescendo not long after. Caitlyn’s keening sigh, the way she keeps pushing her core against Vi’s, into Vi’s it almost feels like, all of it keeps pulling her orgasm out of her body. She hugs Caitlyn’s leg that’s still pressed against her breast, kissing and sucking another bruise there before shifting, sliding down Caitlyn’s other thigh, dragging their joint releases along her skin as if Vi’s body is the brush and Caitlyn is her canvas.

Vi doesn’t wait before clambering back on top of her, needing to kiss her, to pour every ounce of emotion she has into it. Vi will acknowledge later– much later– where all of this stems from. That the deadline looms over them. It sits on a canvas Vi hates even more than the first one in the corner of the room. But for now, she kisses Caitlyn like she has all the time in the world. 

  They sit in a hot bath later after slipping into the hall. Vi wrapped them in the sheet, the paint still splattered on their skin. But they kept kissing and touching and just feeling all the way to Caitlyn’s gilded, ornate bathroom. The paint sits at the top of the water, the oils refusing to mix and sink to the bottom. But Vi barely notices, her hands and mouth too busy making up for lost time. 

When they curl into bed, boneless and breathless, Vi falls asleep to the sound of Caitlyn’s steady heartbeat and something that sounds like a barely croaked I think love you. It isn’t until hours later, the sun still hiding behind the black painted sky, does Vi realize the whisper was her own. 

Chapter Text

 Vi wants to burn it. 

The portrait mocks her in the dim firelight. Crystal blue eyes stare at them both from across the room. Their skin is still speckled with paint in the shape of fingerprints. Vi sighs, running a hand over her face, exhaustion heavy in every limb.

The same nightmare woke her. The one that sends chills down her spine and forces her eyes open in a cold sweat. Her sister’s shattered voice ringing in her ears. She hasn’t spoken her name in ages, as if the name itself would barrage her with the same earth-shattering grief all over again. 

And then for that goddamn portrait being the face that greets her now. She rests her back against the wide headboard, her hair sticking up and all over the place while Caitlyn barely budges beside her. 

She wants to fucking burn it. She wants it to be of someone else. And in some ways, she supposes the portrait is a different woman. It’s a Caitlyn that is suspended in time, curated and cultivated to please someone else. 

She looks down, her heart fluttering in her chest at the sight of Caitlyn twisted in the duvet, her hands subconsciously reaching for where Vi had previously been lying. Her nose scrunches when strands of midnight blue hair fall on her face. Vi moves it immediately, her body overcome with so much untempered affection, an emotion she hasn’t felt in years. It’s overwhelming and heartbreaking all at once. 

Vi glances back up, her eyes tightening at the portrait’s figure again. She sighs heavily through her nose before leaning down, capturing Caitlyn’s mouth with her own, her lips warm and chapped from sleep, but still swollen from a few hours ago. When Caitlyn kisses her back, languid and slow, Vi allows the thought to flutter in her mind, that she’s so grateful that this is the Caitlyn she gets. Her Caitlyn. She sleeps with the delusion held tightly to her chest.  

_____

Caitlyn holds the brush like an expert. Like it belongs in her hand. The early morning sun leaks through the glass behind them, lighting the all but finished portrait of Lady Caitlyn Kiramman. 

Vi had laughed when Caitlyn asked her to teach her again this morning. “I think you had plenty of practice, Cupcake,” she teased, the memory not failing to make the tips of her ears burn. 

Caitlyn had huffed, indignant, muttering a quiet curse before picking a brush at random. Vi chuckles now, watching her swirl the tip into the paint, her palette sitting on a rough wooden perch in front of the canvas. Vi stands close, her thighs pushing inward on the golden silk dress that juts from Caitlyn’s waist. 

She mixes the colors Vi curated for her, creating the very gold that drips from her shoulders now. Caitlyn’s almost childlike smile burns through her, forcing a small laugh from Vi lips as she pushes her nose into the side of Caitlyn’s hair. She lets Caitlyn add the finishing touches, her lower lip trapped between her teeth in concentration. 

Caitlyn sets the brush down, taking a small step back to admire their work. Her brow lifts and her eyes look so open, a small smile plays at her lips. 

“It’s much better this time. I think I quite like it,” she says finally, turning to Vi as she says it. Vi’s lips twitch, her eyes falling to Caitlyn’s mouth before she replies. 

“Maybe because I know you better this time.” 

Caitlyn hums playfully. “Or perhaps it’s because I’ve changed.” 

They both chuckle at that, Vi shaking her head. “Not too much.” They both look away from the other, the portrait capturing their gazes for a moment before Caitlyn speaks again.

“You didn’t destroy the last one for me,” she states suddenly, turning to face Vi again. Her eyes are contemplative, like she’s solved a mystery she’s been pondering for a while. Vi meets her head on, raising a brow in question. “You did it for you,” she concludes. 

Vi doesn’t smile at that. “I want to destroy this one too,” she admits, but the admission isn’t a freeing one. Caitlyn looks confused by this, her brow pinching together in the middle. 

Vi’s always been more comfortable in the arms of anger. It’s safer. Less vulnerable. It’s the first time she feels it rear its head in Caitlyn’s presence, strung out by her simple, “Why?” 

Vi releases a shaky exhale, her hands shaking at her sides as the grief she’s held at bay breaks through the small dam she’s built around herself. She steps away, unable to actually form words just yet. How could she not know? Does she not feel the same? Is she just– content– to her fate now? Now that Vi’s here, in the thick of her own reckless heart? 

She brings a fist to her mouth, biting her own knuckle before turning around slowly. “Do you–?” Vi huffs, dropping her hand to her side. “Are you serious?” 

Caitlyn visibly bristles before softening, her eyes filtering over Vi’s face. She can only imagine what she looks like. “This,” she gestures toward the portrait, the fucking bain of her existence now. “This wasn’t for me. Not really. I’ve basically given you to someone else with it.” Her breath is shallow in her lungs and her heart, the stupid bleeding thing, sits on her sleeve like the paint and ink that still stains her skin. 

Caitlyn’s face contorts then, like each heartbroken sentiment wounds her. The rim of her eyes reddened, unshed tears held back by thick lashes and stubborn pride. She turns around, the sound of her shoes against the hardwood loud and imposing. Vi almost reaches out for her, ready to swallow the words back down her throat. 

“I see now,” she suddenly says, twirling back around on her heel. “Now you too possess me in some way and you– you resent me,” Caitlyn’s voice quivers, but her own anger threads through the words too. But whether that anger is directed at Vi completely is unclear. Regardless, the words strike her, their truth burns like bile in her throat. 

“That’s not true,” Vi tries weakly. 

“Yes it is! You know it is. I can see it. I can feel it in this room. You–you’re not on my side now,” Caitlyn protests, her breathing coming out in short spurts, like each word is forcing her to drown. “You blame me for what comes next. My marriage. You think it’s my fault.”   

Vi doesn’t answer at first, her feet rooted to the floor. “You’re right.” The words come out raspy and bitter. They seem to shock both of them. Caitlyn takes a step forward, the wood creaking loudly under her as if she carries an earthquake in her step. 

“Go on then,” she bites out, her mouth turned downward and her eyes only growing redder. But no tears have spilt. “Please, tell me what burdens you in all of this.”

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, the taste of iron floods her tongue. Her nostrils flare and her gut turns in on itself. She tries to open her mouth to speak. To refute the allegations laid against her, to say anything at all. But she finds all she wants to say, she can’t– won’t . She won’t ask for it. She doesn’t deserve it.

Caitlyn scoffs, her mouth thinning. “I thought you were braver.”

Vi takes a small step forward at that. “Yeah well, I thought you were braver too,” she snaps. Caitlyn looks taken aback, her eyes widening for a moment. 

“So that’s it then,” she says lowly. Vi just stares at her, ignoring the way her eyes sting. She clenches her jaw, fighting the way her body wants to crumble at Caitlyn’s feet. Vi nods mutely, wanting to sink into the floorboards. 

“What about us then?” The question comes out equal parts rageful and teary, like they choked her coming out. 

“We weren’t meant to be, Cupcake. We both know it,” Vi rasps, the lie like lead on her tongue. Caitlyn shudders, her face fluttering with every hurt emotion she’s ever seen. And all Vi can think now is, that’s about right, isn’t it? 

Caitlyn laughs, a thick and awful sound that sends Vi’s cowardly gaze to the floor. “You’re a liar.” 

“I have been nothing but honest with you,” Vi retorts, closing the distance between them, her feet driven by heartbreak pretending to be anger. 

“Then ask me.”

Vi pauses, her outstretched hands falling limply to her sides again. She shakes her head slowly. “Do you truly find me so docile now? Or worse– you find me complicit in this. As if I have ever wanted what comes next.” Vi shakes her head again, her eyes watering with thick tears she won’t allow for. Caitlyn nods, trapping her lower lip between her teeth. 

“You want me to resist. You want me to throw my entire–” she huffs, her face growing red as tears finally break past the wall, sliding down Caitlyn’s face. “Is that what you want?” 

Vi inhales sharply, torn between wanting to comfort her, to kiss every tear from her face and wanting to pack her things once and for all. Caitlyn wipes her own tears with her palm, sniffling loudly.“That’s what I want,” she finally admits, but lungs feel like they’re shrinking in her chest, her heartbeat floods her ears. 

“Are you– are you asking me to?” 

The hope in her voice lurches Vi forward, her unbandaged hands gripping Caitlyn’s forearms. 

“Will that actually change anything, Cait? Do you really think it’ll make a difference or just make everything so much harder?” She means for the words to come out harsher, to bite and thrash in the space between them. But they just come out shriveled and defensive. Caitlyn’s jaw slackens, her lips parting. 

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn breathes, more tears cascading down her cheeks, coming to a point at her chin and lips. Vi lets go of her arms then, running a hand over her face as she shakes her head. She won’t ask. She can’t. 

“No, no, no.” 

Caitlyn inhales sharply then, not uttering another word beyond her own footsteps against the wood. It takes everything in her not to punch a hole through the canvas when the wooden door slams shut. 

_____

She’s barefoot when she enters the kitchen. She ran down the steps, minutes, hours, seconds after Caitlyn left her in her golden wake. Shoes were an afterthought when tearing through every inch of a house she still feels foreign in.

The flowers wilting in their ornate vase sitting on the kitchen table make Vi’s stomach churn. Her eyes glance around the room wildly, her breathing ragged in her throat. Skye and Elora sit at the long table, abruptly pausing in their conversation to look at Vi like she’s grown two heads. Vi blinks, trying to right herself but for the love of Janna she can’t. 

“Miss Vi?” Skye asks in her thoughtfully concerned voice, standing from the bench. Vi doesn’t answer, her eyes still burning and her chest aching. She tries to calm her breathing, tries to formulate a thought that isn’t just–

“Caitlyn?” 

“She’s not here,” Elora says, pulling Skye to a seat. For the first time, she doesn’t look at Vi like a nuisance. Her eyes  are soft. Almost maternal. “Are you alright, Vi?” 

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, shaking her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I’m- I- uhm,” she clears her throat, looking down at her feet. “Do you know where she went?” she tries again, proud she’s able to get words out at all.

Elora frowns, her eyes immediately glancing toward the back door. Vi doesn’t wait for a verbal answer after that. She marches for the door, but a bright white piece of paper sitting on the counter makes her pause. It normally wouldn’t have caught her eye. But she knows that handwriting. It’s the same script that summoned her here. 

“What is this?” she asks tentatively, trembling fingers picking up the letter. But she doesn’t hear the words uttered to her. Her eyes scan the contents, her heart bottoming out in the pit of her stomach. She drops it on the ground, ignoring both Skye and Elora calling after her. She leaves the door hanging on its hinges on her way out, the rocks and fallen leaves imprinting themsleves on the bottom of her bare feet. 

She runs through the tall grass, fall’s chill chasing her every unsteady step. She’s vaguely aware of the small cuts on her feet as she slides down the hill, her pants stained in dirt and grass as she lands in the sand. The sun guides her, the gold dress like a beacon against the backdrop of the violent waves. A storm sits on the horizon, not quite swallowing the sun yet. 

Caitlyn has her back facing Vi, her hair windswept and untucked from its elegant bun. Vi can tell from this angle that her arms are crossed, her back tense and her posture slackened. Vi doesn’t slow down. She can’t. Not until she’s thrown her body against Caitlyn’s, pushing them slightly forward. 

Vi buries her face in the back of Caitlyn’s neck, surprised when she feels wetness there until she realizes it’s from her own eyes. She squeezes Caitlyn’s middle, croaked, broken apologies inking themselves on Caitlyn’s skin. Over and over. A mantra she’s familiar with. Caitlyn hardly moves beyond her shoulders shaking and her fingers that now grip Vi’s forearms across her waist. 

“Your mother comes back tomorrow,” her voice cracks with each word. They seem to be swallowed by the waves crashing against the sharp rocks. But then she feels Caitlyn stiffen, her back straightens before she turns around. Her eyes are red-rimmed still, her cheeks pink and swollen. 

“I know,” Caitlyn says more evenly than Vi expects her to sound. It’s too controlled. Strained. 

“Cait, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I-I was wrong. I was–” she doesn’t even know exactly what she’s apologizing for, but she cuts herself off, all the thoughts are engulfed in the feeling of Caitlyn’s lips against hers. Her lips taste like salt and sorrow and vanilla and Caitlyn. It's less of a kiss and more just a connection of skin. Teeth and tears until they’re just holding each other’s shaking shoulders. 

_____

“Come here,” Vi demands from in front of the canvas. Caitlyn had only just sat back down on the raised stool, her dress wrinkled and bunched up by her knees. She doesn’t move at first, just stares at her like she’s trying to regain her composure, walling herself back up. “With me,” Vi says softer, loosening her shoulders, still not looking at the portrait in front of her. Caitlyn doesn’t speak when she descends, just pushes her hair back into place, the midnight strands wild and wavy. Vi wants to run her hands through them. So she does. She pulls it from its bun, running her fingers through the loose curls, smoothing the dimple in Caitlyn’s wobbling chin before stepping away to turn toward the canvas again. 

She observes it, and can feel Caitlyn’s open stare at her work. Objectively, it’s one of her better pieces. But Vi holds a brush in her fingers, the same one Caitlyn had used before, swirling the gold into a texture she can practically feel. 

“When do we know it's finished?”  

Vi’s chest aches at the ‘we. ’ It’s a loving reminder that this piece wasn’t just her doing. That they made this together. She swallows the lump forming in her throat. 

“We just… stop at one point,” Vi replies, her voice almost monotone. She adds more detail to her skin. A line along her collar. Depth to the cartilage of her ear. Careful strokes around her mouth. “Finished.” Vi sets the brush down, the sound reverberating in the room as it clatters on the small wooden table. 

Caitlyn strides away, kicking her shoes off. Her hands clutch and tear at the gold fabric, pulling it aggressively down her shoulders, groaning in frustration when it gets stuck on her bicep, the ruffles almost choking her. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Easy,” Vi closes the distance in an instant, carefully pulling Caitlyn’s fingers from the dress, trying to calm her frantic tugging. 

“I just want this off of me. Now,” she heaves, her hair half shielding her face. Vi nods, knowing Caitlyn can’t quite see her, but she gently slides the gold silk down her arms, letting the bust gather at her waist. 

“Let me take the rest off,” Vi requests softly, her hands already bunching at the material she’s grown to know like it belongs to her. But Caitlyn doesn’t let her move just yet, lunging forward to capture Vi’s mouth in a real kiss, cupping her face as she slips her tongue in Vi’s mouth. 

“When we’re finished, I want to burn this thing,” she pants into Vi’s mouth. 

Vi scoffs, already yanking the rest of the dress down, reveling in the satisfied sigh Caitlyn exhales when the fabric rips between Vi’s fingers. She abandons gentleness now, gathering the material in her hands and ripping the skirt further down until it lay at their feet. 

“Beat you to it, Cupcake.” 

And for some reason, that’s what finally breaks the damn Caitlyn built around herself. It floods her in gasping laughs that turns into sobs. But Vi won’t have her last day here drowning. Not like this. She carries Caitlyn to her bed that hasn’t been in days before lavishing every ounce of devotion she can muster. It’s something rougher, headier in rhythm and oozes with droplets of venom. Her fingers bury themselves in Caitlyn before her tongue joins them, and she tastes her until Caitlyn’s no longer sobbing anything that isn’t Vi’s name. 

_____

“Who’s that for?”

They lie in the rumpled sheets, bare and boneless.  But Vi’s hands haven’t stopped moving. Vi’s lying on her side, propped on an elbow as she holds a small round palette canvas, one that fits in her pocket. She’s been working on it for a while now, sketching details with her finest colored pencils. She smiles, the corner of her lip tugging upward as she glances up at Caitlyn through her lashes. 

“This one's for me,” she admits, looking back down at her work. It’s almost an exact replica of the portrait, but something in her eyes is more honest here. Like her gaze is just for Vi. 

“You’ll have no problem reproducing that image forever I imagine,” she says wistfully, leaning further back into the corner of the daybed’s frame. Vi chuckles and nods. 

“I guess so. I’ll fill my little shack with nothing but images of you. People will think I’ve gone mad,” Vi teases, winking at the other woman before going back to her sketch. Her fingers are red from the rouge color now. 

Caitlyn snorts loudly before muttering, “Shut up.” 

Vi’s almost finished when Caitlyn speaks again. “Eventually, as time passes, you’ll look at that and think of me. I’ll have no image of you,” she laments, her fingers twisting in the sheets between them. Vi looks up at her then, studying her face, looking for the question not asked. 

“Do you want an image of me?” Vi breathes, clutching the pencil a little tighter in her fingers. Caitlyn bites her lip and nods, her eyes softening at the way Vi could read her. Vi gives her a small smile in return, trying her damndest to quell the sudden wave of selfish wishes she wants to voice. To scream. 

“Which one?” 

Caitlyn smirks, that same one she made before unearthing almost every outer wound she’s ever had and covering them with paint and affection. 

“This one. Just as you are,” she says coyly, her eyes raking down Vi’s naked body. Vi laughs at that, her eyes following Caitlyn’s down her body before playfully shaking her head. Quips sit on her tongue. Things like “ and what will your husband think when he sees me?” But after a moment it doesn’t seem funny anymore. 

“Give me your book,” Vi gestures with her head to the paperback sitting at the foot of the bed. Vi’s made her peace with relinquishing her sister’s old book, it already feels like it belongs to Caitlyn more than it ever felt like Vi’s. Much like the organ that pounds relentlessly beneath her ribs. 

Caitlyn gives her a slightly questioning look as she leans forward to grab the now even more worn book. She hands it to Vi, their fingers brushing in the transition, the simple touch sending small sparks up her arm. Vi holds the book in her hands, bending the cover. 

“Give me a number,” Vi says, her restless fingers already fanning the pages. Caitlyn sits back against the headboard again, seeming to catch onto Vi’s plan. 

“56,” she says with a sly smile, biting her thumbnail. Vi huffs a small laugh, flipping the book to the page, grateful it holds enough space for what Vi plans to do. It’s the end of a chapter, only two lines of text on the page. 

“I think I need a mirror, Cupcake,” Vi laughs, her skin coloring a deep crimson at the realization. Caitlyn’s eyes widen and before Vi can speak, Caitlyn leaves the bed, crawling over Vi’s strewn body, and clambering out of the room with nothing but a discarded thin sheet wrapped around her. 

She returns only moments later, a small golden mirror in one hand that catches the afternoon sun through the open windows. The sheets drop to the floor as she saunters further into the room and Vi’s breath stutters in her throat at the sight. 

Caitlyn doesn’t relinquish the mirror when Vi reaches for it. Instead, to Vi’s surprised delight, she places it right in front of her pubic bone, covering her previously exposed cunt, Vi only noticing briefly that it was still damp. 

But Vi finds herself chucking incredulously at the sight of her. She lies there as if she were the one posing. Caitlyn wets her lips, waiting— goading — Vi to comment. She doesn’t, her chest is too tight and her hands too numb to do much beyond look at her own body in the reflection, mentally separating herself from the image. Because if she’s too connected now, all she’ll see is Caitlyn’s hands smearing painted scars. And Vi realizes she’ll never be able to look at herself again after this. 

The sketch is easier than Vi thought. It’s methodical and intentional. She leaves no detail out, even the ones she herself hadn’t paid much attention to because despite her own self loathing and heartache, she finds herself wanting Caitlyn to remember her this way. Just as she is. 

The sun sinks below the treeline when she’s finished. She sets the charcoal down, blowing on the sketch to make sure it doesn’t smear before handing it over. Vi watches her reaction closely, biting the inside of her cheek when Caitlyn’s eyes soften and her face flushes. 

“It’s perfect,” she croaks eventually, her eyes not leaving the page. Vi grunts in reply, not sure how to take the compliment. 

When they’re called for dinner, both women ignore it. Instead they lie in each other’s company, talking about everything and nothing. Childhood stories of Vermax or how Vi got the scar on her hip. She unveils her nightmares that Caitlyn hadn’t failed to notice. How the shipwreck that claimed her sister haunts her every day, the only thing left of her is the book that no longer belongs to her. Caitlyn cries at the story, burrowing in Vi’s chest and clinging to her in a way that fills Vi’s chest with so much warmth she’s not sure she doesn’t have a fever at this point. 

Vi eventually sneaks downstairs after her stomach protests the lack of food, bringing up two bowls of soup and a bottle of the wine she hates. They drink it all, laughing until they can’t anymore. 

Vi can’t be sure of the time at this point. The only light in the room comes from the various candles scattered all over the room. She doesn’t even remember lighting them. But she does remember agreeing that they wouldn’t fall asleep at all tonight after her third glass. 

“You’re falling asleep on me, Cupcake,” Vi whispers, watching the way Caitlyn’s eyes are droopy, her lids heavy. They’re facing each other, still in nothing but their skin, their fingers slightly intertwined between them against the sheets. Caitlyn hums a noncommittal “no I’m not.”   

Vi huffs, leaning forward to slot their lips together. “Stay with me,” she breathes against her warm mouth. Caitlyn blinks her eyes open as Vi lies back against her pillow again. She watches her, fighting her own body’s need for sleep, stubborn unwillingness the only driving force in keeping her awake. That and the emotion she’s just barely named. 

“I feel something I don’t want to,” Caitlyn says after a long moment. 

“What’s that?”

Caitlyn takes a short breath through her nose, releasing it and squeezing Vi’s fingers a little tighter. 

“Regret. But I would much rather remember.”

Vi sighs, shifting closer, words sitting heavy in her chest. The selfish desire to do exactly what Caitlyn asked of her earlier. But the nagging belief that it won’t change anything keeps them buried in her throat. 

“I’ll remember the face you made when you tried ale for the first time,” Vi says instead, the memory still fresh and easy. Caitlyn snorts with a playful smile. 

“I’ll remember how you looked when you punched the man next to me.” 

Vi rolls her eyes but laughs all the same, muttering “he fucking deserved it,” under her breath.  

“I’ll remember the way… your eyes darkened when I beat you at cards, too,” she adds, biting her lip. Vi’s insides flutter. 

“You mean when you cheated?” 

“I never cheat, darling.” 

Vi looks down at their hands, rubbing her thumb over Caitlyn’s unblemished knuckles. “I’ll remember the first time you laughed. Like, really laughed,” Vi muses fondly, unable to meet Caitlyn’s gaze for a moment. 

“You took your time being funny,” Caitlyn teases. Vi barks a laugh at that. 

“You wound me,” Vi says through her sudden bout of mirth. She calms down quickly, though, her smile fading as she thinks, “I wasted so much time.” It takes her a moment to realize she voiced the sentiment. Caitlyn moves closer until their foreheads touch. 

“I wasted time, too.”  

Vi meets her gaze then, finding her so close her eyes almost cross. But she doesn’t move, Caitlyn’s soft voice keeping her in place. “I remember the first time I wanted to kiss you.” Vi raises a brow at that, curiosity and affection and surprise coiling around each rib. 

“Well don’t leave me in suspense,” Vi huffs, moving her head away so she can fully see Caitlyn’s face. 

“See if you can guess. Did you not notice? I thought I was so obvious.” 

Vi brings their joint hands to her lips while giving Caitlyn a deadpan expression. She tries to think. To remember. That first week feels like a lifetime ago. When Vi think about it, there are so many memories that will live in her body for years to come. She parses through them, wading in water that started at her ankle but now threatens to pull her under. 

“The bonfire?” Vi asks, her mind drawn to the darkened gaze Caitlyn struck her with the entire evening. The way it seemed to follow her through the tall flames. 

“I wanted to, then, yes. But that wasn’t the first time,” Caitlyn chuckles. Vi bites her lip then, submerging herself in the depths of her memories, surrendering to them all. 

“When you were cleaning my face for the first time. In the kitchen,” Vi concludes, her brow pinching together at the memory. She remembers the way she felt so small and so seen. So resentful of her place in their situation, that she couldn’t be the one to reach for what they both wanted. Until she suddenly did. 

Caitlyn nods. “If I’m being truthful, I think I wanted you the moment you appeared at the top of the stairs.” 

Vi exhales a long breath, a sad smile etching itself on her face without her permission. “I wanted you then too,” she admits. A long moment passes between them, they breathe deeply, sleep threatening them both with its inevitable presence “I remember when you asked me if I had been in love before,”  Vi whispers. Her heart thuds loudly in every part of her body. “I could tell your own answer was yes. And that it was now,” Vi barely breathes the last sentence, her own projection thick in her words. She expects Caitlyn to shake her head or scoff. But that has never been Caitlyn’s way. Not with Vi. 

“I remember.” 

_____

Vi doesn’t remember falling asleep. But when she wakes, the sun is a bright yellow through the windows, making it hard to keep her eyes closed. When she opens them, she’s met with midnight hair and smooth skin. Caitlyn still sleeps soundlessly, her breathing even and unbothered. Vi reaches a hand out, moving the errant hairs away from her face. 

She slips out of bed, taking extra care to not wake the other woman when she clambers over her. Her footsteps are unhurried when she dresses for the day, lazily making her way down the steps toward the kitchen. She wants to make them both breakfast, something to keep her hands busy and her rampant nerves in check. 

“Oh, good morning! You must be the painter Lady Kiramman was telling me about.” The man’s voice is booming in the quiet kitchen. Vi pauses in the doorway, her heart in her throat at the sight of him. Skye gives her a knowing look as she sets a platter of eggs down in front of him. His broad shoulders straighten as the plate clinks against the wood, his tan skin and dark hair foreign to Vi’s eyes. “I’m Jayce Talis. Forgive me for asking,” he says around a mouthful of eggs. “I don’t recall her giving me your name.” Vi doesn’t answer at first. She stands blinking, her entire body going numb in the doorway.  

It takes Vi another breathless moment to realize he’s still waiting for her to answer, his eyes regarding her with a friendly innocence that makes her gut churn. She swallows the bile that’s trying to come out of her throat, clearing her throat. She takes a slight step back. 

“It’s Vi and yeah. I’m the painter,” she says awkwardly, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her hands are clenched into fists against her stomach. This is all wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen this soon. The letter had said she would return late this afternoon, not this early in the morning. 

Vi doesn’t wait for a reply before she runs back up the stairs, barreling into her room. Caitlyn lies in her bed, blinking sleepily at her as she props herself up on an elbow. Her face grows concerned the longer she looks at Vi. 

Vi closes the distance, sitting stiffly on the edge of her bed. Caitlyn leans forward, kissing her clothed shoulder blade in question. 

“They’re here early,” she mutters, her eyes glued to the wooden door. Caitlyn stiffens behind her, fingers twisting in the sheets underneath her before sitting up fully.  

The only sound in the room now is their breathing and the rustling of sheets as Caitlyn finally steps out of bed. Vi stays still, finally allowing her gaze to follow Caitlyn’s movements. Her limbs are shakier than normal as she slips her dress on, the white cotton covering her skin. Vi bites her cheek, unable to keep the thought of “ will I ever see her skin like that again?” at bay. 

She almost asks then and there. Almost says the forbidden thing that sits between them. Caitlyn slips her arms through the sleeves of her corset, the back still unlaced and open. She walks back to Vi, her eyes devoid of any emotion Vi’s grown familiar with. That she craves now. 

Vi stands, opening her mouth to speak when Caitlyn turns around, presenting the loose ties of her corset. Vi gets the message, her fingers already moving on their own accord, winding themselves around the thread before pulling it taut. She doesn’t let go even after she’s tied it all the way down, resting her hands on Caitlyn’s waist. Her forehead comes to sit against the back of Caitlyn’s shoulders. They stand like for a while, Vi trying to force the words out of her throat. But every time she opens her mouth, nothing comes out. Caitlyn’s fingers thread with Vi’s on her waist, her breathing uneven but she hasn’t turned around. 

“Caitlyn,” Vi croaks and she can feel Caitlyn’s spine curve, like Vi’s voice finally breaks something in her. 

“Miss Caitlyn? Your mother is here,” Elora’s voice sounds from behind the door, startling them both away from each other and Vi’s skin tingles like she’s been burned. When Caitlyn turns around, she embodies wrecked devastation. Her eyes are glistening and her face contorts with so many emotions Vi can’t even begin to name them.    

 A loud knock on the door rips through the room, dragging their eyes away from each other.  The seconds between Caitlyn leaving the room are both endless and bounded. Caitlyn’s movements are almost frantic in the way her eyes dart between Vi and the door. She nods to herself, seeming to come to some conclusion as another knock raps against the wood. Vi doesn’t move when Caitlyn finally leaves. She doesn’t even watch her go, her eyes stuck on the portrait that stares back at her. 

She takes a breath, striding over to canvas, turning it so it faces the window, the light cascading in the room reflects off the gold colored paint, catching on the  ruby pendant that sits above her breasts. 

She steeles herself, tidying the messy room mindlessly, shoving her things in the worn leather duffel that still sits in the corner. She finds the shell last, the color catching her eye amongst her things. She doesn’t hesitate to put it in her pocket. 

_____

“This is perfect, Violet.”

Caitlyn’s mother stands in front of the canvas, her eyes equal parts scrutinizing and awestruck. She reaches a hand out as if to touch it, but she lowers instead, turning to Vi expectantly. Vi nods her thanks, her throat too tight to actually speak. 

Caitlyn stands close to her, their hips almost flush if Vi were to lean in. She takes in the warmth of her, letting it bring whatever brief comfort she can afford. 

Cassandra reaches into her breast pocket, pulling out a sealed, white envelope with Vi’s full name written in pretty script across the front. 

“For you. You didn’t disappoint this time,” she says cooly, placing the thick envelope in Vi’s hand. It’s heavy, the sum no doubt greater than any commission she’s received before. But she finds herself wanting to leave it behind. 

Cassandra gives her a tight-lipped smile before walking back toward the open door, stopping before she exits. “Come with me, Caitlyn,” she commands. Caitlyn doesn’t budge, her hand twitching in Vi’s direction. Vi meets her, letting her knuckles brush Caitlyn’s within the thick ruffles of Caitlyn’s skirt. 

“I’ll come in a minute,” Caitlyn says, finally looking away from Vi to address her mother. She hadn’t spoken a word when she entered Vi’s room again, her mother in tow, until now. 

“No. I need you, now. Jayce brought a gift for you and we don’t have time to waste,” she says more forcefully, the tone making Vi flinch. Caitlyn looks back at Vi then, her mouth turned downward and her brow pinched together. “Now, Caitlyn.” 

Caitlyn closes her eyes, huffing through her nose before finally turning toward the door. Vi stops herself from reaching out, the weight of their reality settling over her like a thin veil. It clouds her judgment, convinces her this is how it’s meant to be. There’s no strong arming her way out of accepting the truth that’s so evident in each footstep Caitlyn takes toward the door. 

Vi watches as another man she hasn’t seen before takes the canvas from its easel, placing it gently in a wooden crate much like the one Vi carried here. Each nail hammered into place sends a jagged shiver down her spine. She doesn’t leave her bedroom until the portrait is gone, her bags slung over both shoulders when she shuts the door behind her. Vi doesn’t see Skye or Elora while she traverses down the hall and she can’t quell the sense of sadness that comes with the thought of not seeing either of them again. She shrugs the duffle on her shoulder again, hoisting it so it sits more firmly, digging into the muscle.

She has to walk through Cassandra’s sitting room in order to get to the other set of stairs. And gods does she wish she had climbed out of the window instead. Vi is stunned to a stop when she sees her.  

Caitlyn’s mother steps away from her, a satisfied look in her eyes. Caitlyn stands in a white gown that flows from the bust down. It flows like ocean waves, swallowing her whole. Vi wants to rip it off, shred it like the gold thing hidden under her bed. Cassandra notices Vi’s presence, taking one of Vi’s hands in her own before hugging her, the embrace is awkward and stiff. 

“Your Vander always liked hugs,” she explains, noticing Vi’s stunned reaction. “Have a safe journey,” she concludes, pulling away and patting her hand. 

Vi didn’t take her eyes off Caitlyn, her body rooted to the same spot while her mind bellowed for her to move toward the other door, to get the fuck away from here. She doesn’t have to move in the end. Caitlyn closes the distance, taking long glides across the room before throwing her arms around Vi’s neck. She chokes back the sob that’s been building since she went into the kitchen this morning. Her things clatter to the floor when she hugs Caitlyn back, her fingers digging and twisting in the wedding gown, her nails daring the fabric to stay together. 

She lets go so much quicker than she wants to. She doesn’t look at either woman when she roughly picks her things back up, no goodbye leaving her lips. No words at all really. Nothing but resounding footsteps against wood and cobblestone and her own reckless heart.  

 
“Vi! Turn around.”

The words are breathless and almost swallowed by the gusts of wind through the open door. Vi grips the doorframe, her breath ragged and panting, her knuckles white. But again, she’s frozen, her blood cold and her limbs heavy. The choice should be easy. The voice commanding her could get her to do almost anything, a truth she accepted after her first day here. 

“I can’t,” she rasps, gripping the doorframe harder, her shoulders quaking with the effort. She hears Caitlyn’s sharp inhale, the wind growing louder as it blows dead leaves over the doorstep. She can’t stomach choosing the memory of her. She can’t live with another ghost. She’s already left her heart in that upstairs bedroom, shards following it in a wooden crate, a gift for a man she fucking hates.   And she knows that if she turns around now, she’ll be no better than the tragedy they read together all those nights ago.   

But maybe… she doesn’t have to be. Hope knocks on the door of her heart. She swallows the lump in her throat, finally turning her neck to look over her shoulder, the words sitting on her tongue, finally able to take the shape of her voice. But when she turns around, she’s met with an empty staircase. 

“Come with me,” hangs in the lifeless hall, clinging to every cracked brick. But it’s neither spoken nor heard by anyone other than the violent wind.

Chapter Text

 Vi knows how it feels to drown. 

The first time she became aware of the sensation, she was nine. It was her first time on Vander’s ship. The waves were rocky and violent, the wood soaked from the torrential rain. Powder was only five or six at the time, their parents recently lost to the world. Vander found them crouched in an alleyway, their stomachs gnawing and empty for too long. 

Powder had fallen over when it happened. Vi had only left their cabin for a few moments, trying to find them food in the midst of the storm, looking for the kind eyes that didn’t hesitate to hoist Vi and her sister in his strong arms. The only tell was the small shriek only Vi could distinguish. There wasn’t even a splash. But Vi had jumped in, the waves rolling her around like she wasn’t even there. 

She reached for her sister, water filling her lungs and eyes. She didn’t know how to swim at the time, but her limbs flailed and her arms reached out for the small body that just kept sinking. She remembers the way her lungs burned, the way her head felt like it could implode, her lungs still filling with the salty seawater. Pain ricocheted off her ribs until all she saw was black. 

The second time only mimicked that original sensation. It started with a fight and ended with an earth shattering grief that still swarms Vi’s lungs like crashing salty waves. The fight was stupid. Some sister quarrel that went too far. And the root of it sprung from Powder’s wish to go with Vi overseas with Vander. It was her first real job as an artist outside of Piltover and Zaun. But Noxus was dangerous and harsh and not a place suited for someone of Powder’s disposition. 

So she made her stay. She made her stay and paid the price for it tenfold. Neither Vi or Vander paid much mind to the cargo ship that was to leave for Noxus three days after their own had departed from the crowded port. But it never reached its destination. 

Vi couldn’t breathe, her lungs constricted so tight Vander thought he might lose her too. And in some ways, perhaps he did. Her mind felt like it had caved on itself, like her body was just suspended in time. Floating endlessly. The waves of guilt and grief crushed her, that intense burning behind her ribs forcing noiseless screams from her throat. The ‘ what ifs’ were more violent than any storm. She broke every brush she’d ever owned. Every canvas was left with gaping holes. She didn’t paint again for a year. Not until Vander grew ill. 

The third time was a different feeling entirely. Her chest still burned and her lungs still couldn’t take in enough oxygen. But the reason was so wildly different. Her screams of grief were replaced with gasps of pleasure, her entire body submerged in the thick waves of so much affection and heady want , it deprived her of air. But that burn, those dangerous waters she knew better than to swim in, sucked her down into the depths of despair too. She didn’t fight it this time. Not like she had in the past. Back then, she fought her way, is still fighting her way out of the cataclysmic grief of losing her sister. Of losing her father. 

But this type of grief is different than before. The heartbreak of a lover stings and leaves her aching in every sense of the word. It trickles through her fingers, sticking to every canvas she puts a brush to. It looks like an abandoned piano, the dust thick on the old wood. It bleeds out of her split knuckles after one too many fights she swore her sister she would stop getting in. 

She doesn’t have nightmares anymore. At least on the surface. They all start in the ocean. She floats there, her head just above the surface, her skin pebbled from the cold. Warm hands would follow, holding her and pulling her out onto the sand until she’s in a cove, the sand soft and warm from the afternoon sun. But then, she’s surrounded by midnight colored eyes and warm lips pressed into her own, the crackling hearth a gentle comfort, an embrace that envelopes her.

It’s when she wakes the nightmare really begins. Her body is always cold and shivering regardless of the amount of blankets. And her chest hurts so much she thinks her heart may finally be failing. But she gets up and falls into a monotonous routine, her hands blindly painting and sketching the only person she can think of fresh out of the old, thin sheets she’s had since she was a child. It’s not always just Caitlyn either that’s ingrained on canvas after canvas. It’s the ocean swallowing a golden dress or the shape of a rifle in a forest of tall trees and wild turkeys. It’s her own body in a myriad of disjointed patterns, stained glass that’s cracked down the middle.  

But now, she finds herself drowning again in the middle of a crowded ballroom, air refusing to stay in her lungs. She stopped using the color blue in any of her work a year after leaving Holdrum. It would always feel like a physical blow to look at it. And she thinks, this is the exact reason I stopped as the very embodiment of the color approaches in graceful strides. 

She’s decadent. Draped in Demacian blue and gold, her skirt embroidered and detailed with roses and vines. She looks utterly royal and Vi’s mouth dries. The entire journey, Caitlyn’s eyes never leave Vi’s. They’re wide and so so blue . Her lips are painted a deep crimson, parting like she,too, is struggling to breathe. 

“Ah, Caitlyn! We were just talking about you,” Jayce says easily, not having to move far from their spot, his obnoxious waving doing the trick of getting her attention. But Caitlyn doesn’t even acknowledge him at first and Vi barely registers his voice, her heart too loud in her ears. When Caitlyn joins their party, Jayce places a hand on Caitlyn’s arm, seeming to bring her back to the present with the way she jolts. But Vi still finds herself in the endless hallways of Holdrum Estate. 

Caitlyn finally breaks her stare to acknowledge her companion, albeit brief and fleeting before meeting Vi’s unwavering stare. 

“All good things, I hope,” she says a little breathlessly. Vi’s impressed she even heard the question because Vi knows she didn’t. Jayce laughs, removing his hand from Caitlyn’s arm. 

“I was just telling Vi here that you were hounding me for weeks about this gallery show. You know, Cait, I didn’t even know you were an art connoisseur until then,” he brings the champagne flute to his lips as he finishes speaking. Caitlyn looks back at Jayce again, chuckling lightly as her lashes flutter. Her fingers grip her own half empty flute. Her gloved fingers. 

“I’m not. I just had a feeling this show would be special,” Caitlyn says. And Vi swears the words are just for her. 

“Well I guess this is another instance of your instincts being on point. Oh! Forgive me, Vi. This is Lady Caitlyn Kiramman,” Jayce gestures to the woman standing next to him. “Caitlyn this is Violet- Vi…? Is there a last name with that?” he asks, his brow furrowed. 

“Hunds,” Caitlyn answers for her.

“You’ve met?” Jayce asks, stunned.

Vi clears her throat then, “I painted her wedding portrait. Back at Holdrum.” Her voice comes out much colder than she meant for it to. Jayce’s eyes widen with recognition. He turns to Caitlyn then, his movement erratic enough to slosh champagne on the floor. 

“Cait, why didn’t you tell me she’s–” 

Caitlyn pinches his arm, shooting him with a stern glare. Vi’s chest flutters as she watches an all too familiar blush crawl up Caitlyn’s neck, staining her sharp cheekbones. Jayce hisses and clamps his mouth shut with an audible clack of his teeth.  

“What’s this?” Caitlyn gestures to the canvas then, her voice strained and her eyes glossy. 

“Oh this is the piece I just bought this for you,” he says, rubbing the spot on his arm where Caitlyn pinched. Vi feels embarrassment flush her entire body at the idea of Caitlyn seeing such a personal piece of her after so long. But she’s rooted to the spot, intently watching Caitlyn’s face finally slip back into the carefully crafted Kiramman mask. “Our friend here is the secret painter so don’t let the anonymous label fool you,” he finishes what’s left of his champagne and turns back to the canvas. Caitlyn looks over Vi’ shoulder to the gold-framed canvas, her eyes widening before they soften. 

“You painted this?” Caitlyn asks softly, approaching the canvas like she would a wounded animal. She reaches her hand out as if to touch it and Vi has to refrain from clutching her fingers. Not to stop her from feeling the hours she poured into the piece, but to prod and feel for the ring she knows lies under the silk hiding her hands from the world. 

“I did,” Vi replies, her voice barely neutral. She’s surprised she can summon words at all now. Caitlyn inhales sharply through her nose, her eyes raking over the canvas. Caitlyn doesn’t have to ask to know who the painting depicts, the flames on the dress brings them both back to the tall grass and old wooden floors. Caitlyn chuckles softly the longer she looks at it and Vi opens her mouth to speak.  

Gold shimmering jewelry gets her attention, ebony skin and annoyingly familiar hazel eyes beckon her with urgency. 

“Excuse me,” Vi says, surprising both of her companions. But she doesn’t linger, her body moves on its own accord.

“Vi! There’s someone I want to introduce you to,” Mel says joyfully, already pulling her in a targeted direction. 

Vi looks back over her shoulder, her ears hanging onto the muffled words between Caitlyn and Jayce as she ignores Mel’s excited chatter about the artist she’s been dying for Vi to meet. 

“How could you not tell me she’s the one you’ve been in love with this whole time?”  

But Caitlyn’s eyes don’t leave Vi’s retreating back. 

Vi meets cerulean eyes again all too soon. The page number on the book they shared mocks her now. She meets Viktor but can’t seem to comprehend a word he or Mel say. She knows she speaks, can hear her own voice that doesn’t quite sound like hers. 

Viktor met Caitlyn after she arrived in Demacia but wasn’t commissioned until a few months ago. He was surprised when she demanded the portrait be put in a show in Piltover rather than hang in her family home. 

That’s as far as Vi can get in the conversation before she excuses herself. She finds herself on one of the gilded balconies, her breath trapped in her lungs, the stale air burning in her throat. Vi didn’t expect the sudden surge of anger that floods her chest. Not tonight, anyway. She’s familiar with the emotion, it’s been her constant companion since she was a child forced to see the world in all its caprice. But in all her memories of Caitlyn she never saw her as a root for her anger. She never thought her to be so… heartless. 

But coming here tonight is exactly what that is. It’s a malicious tease, dangling what Vi so desperately wants, what she’s wanted since she slammed that servants’ door behind her two years ago. She grips the golden iron, her knuckles turning white. She keeps her eyes closed, trying to reign in her reckless heart. 

It pounds against her ribs, flooding her ears until all she can hear is the erratic rhythm of it. It’s so loud she doesn't hear the soft clink of shoes against the marble. She vaguely hears her name, but she doesn’t move. 

“Will you turn around this time?”

Vi sucks in a breath at the voice that impales the air around her. She turns her head to find Caitlyn standing a safe distance away, her hands wringing in front of her. She doesn’t answer at first. She takes her in, raking over the details, new and old through her sidelong glance. 

“What’re you doing here, Caitlyn?” Vi’s voice cracks as the name leaves her lips. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Caitlyn takes a step closer. Vi huffs, turning around fully. Something about those words snaps something in her. 

“No. No, it isn’t.” Vi still clings to the gold railing behind her while her chest aches at the sight before her. But the last two years still sits between them, swarming Vi’s body with the barely contained grief.  Caitlyn has the gall to look surprised at Vi’s words, her hands press against her abdomen. Her brow pinches in the middle and she opens her mouth to speak. “I mean– it’s been two years and you just… show up here?” 

Caitlyn doesn’t move for a moment, like Vi’s words have glued her feet to the floor. “I was– Do you… do you not want me here?” she finally asks, her voice laced with wounded confusion. Vi pushes off the rail, her mouth turning down and her eyes narrow. She isn’t sure where or why this boiling sensation courses through her veins. But it keeps her heart from raging out of her chest. It keeps her from collapsing at the other woman’s feet. 

“What was your plan, Cait? Why would I want to see you now?” Vi’s voice rises with every word, making Caitlyn flinch with each one. She laughs, then the realization dawning on her when she sees Caitlyn’s left hand come up to her collar, absently playing with the sapphires that adorn her neck. “You’re married and you come here to what? To remind me? Like I don’t remember every fucking day?” 

Caitlyn shakes her head, taking sure and long steps to close the distance. Vi backs away, her back pressing against the cool metal. “Vi, I’m not–”

“Where’s your husband?” Vi cuts her off, her eyes glancing over Caitlyn’s shoulder, the sharp pangs of jealousy turning her voice into ice. Caitlyn’s face finally hardens at that. 

“You have such a keen interest in that subject and yet I thought you would be happy to see me like I was to see you,” Caitlyn snaps, her nose scrunching in agitation.

Vi stills, biting the inside of her cheek as she regards Caitlyn with a wary gaze before closing the distance with calculated steps, a predator on the prowl for self preservation. It feels like eons have passed since she left Holdrum, her aching heart the bloody, beating evidence. But also,not a second  has passed. Caitlyn's tells are the same, the way she worries her lip or rubs her thumbs together. She still smells like fresh lavender and her brow still pinches in the middle when she’s annoyed. And Vi finds herself to be unforgiving of the man who’s branded her with whatever gem Vi knows sits on her finger. “I’m too selfish to be happy, Cait. I can’t find it in myself to be happy when I can’t have you as I did,” she admits. “Maybe that makes me no better than those fancy pricks who try to possess you but how can I not look at you and remember? And not want ? Don’t ask that of me.” 

They’re both breathing heavier, the space between them lessened so their chests nearly brush. Caitlyn’s face is a myriad of emotions, the path from hardened defiance to something softer sends shivers down Vi’s spine.

“Is that really why you believe I came here? To taunt you? Like I would have no other reason?” 

“I can’t fathom another reason. Not while you’re… as you are,” Vi says, unable to hide the bitterness from her voice, her eyes falling to the gloved hand.

Caitlyn scoffs. “Is this how you see me then? How you remember me? Callous? Do you even know me?” Caitlyn’s voice borders on something close to heartbreak and Vi can’t take it. How can she do this? How can she really ask her this? 

“I think I knew a version of you. You might be completely different now,” Vi defends, her words not making any sense once spoken aloud. 

“The same could be said of you and yet here I am!” She all but shouts, her arms flailing at her sides. 

“And it still doesn’t make any sense!” Vi counters. 

“Why? What is so confusing to you?” Caitlyn asks more quietly, her eyes never leaving Vi’s. 

Vi just shakes her head, running a hand over her face. This can’t be happening. For two years she’s longed for the woman in front of her. She’s spent countless nights dreaming of what might have happened had she just turned around that day. If she had been braver. 

But she stands here now, draped in clothing that could only belong to a noble richer than herself. Married and so far away from anything Vi’s ever been allowed to indulge in. 

“I’m confused why you would come here to see me when you’re–”

“When I’m what? Married? Did you only love me when you thought I could belong to you? You don’t get to own me either, Vi.” 

Vi gasps and Caitlyn seems to have surprised herself, even. The words settle over them, their inklings of truth simmer under Vi’s skin. Because no. She loves her even still. She just can’t break her own heart like this. Not again. The words cool the hottest of her anger, quelling it down to shame that sits deep in her gut. She’s being unfair and she knows it. So she does the only thing she really knows how to. 

She shakes her head, licking her lips before gently grasping one of Caitlyn’s hands, her thumb grazing over the silken knuckles. “I never wanted to own you. I just,” Vi sighs, bringing Caitlyn’s hand to her lips, pressing them there for a moment. “I’ve lost everyone and I just,” she releases a shaky exhale through her nose, noticing the way Caitlyn raises her left hand as if to touch her. She drops Caitlyn’s right hand, smoothing her shirt before she speaks again.  “I can’t do this again so please just…do us both a favor, Cupcake,” she croaks, her heart stuttering at Caitlyn’s small gasp, the nickname making the thud in her ears so much louder. “Go back to that big, shiny house of yours and just… don’t seek me out again. Please. I won’t be able to walk away again.” 

Caitlyn opens her mouth as if to protest but Vi cuts her off, leaning up to press her lips to Caitlyn’s cheek, lingering there much longer than she intended. When she pulls away, she tastes salt on her tongue. But at least now, she knows she’s safe in choosing the memory of Caitlyn rather than the misery of almost having the thing she’s wanted most for two years. For her whole life, really. Vi walks away, deluding herself into thinking she’s made the right choice for once in her life. Certain that Vi’s too late in speaking those words into existence for them both to hear. She chants that to herself the entire lonely walk home.

_____

It took her a day to realize the small, red shell is missing. Her fingers stuffed in her coat pockets automatically sought the familiar comfort of it. But they come up empty handed. The panic that followed saw her canceling class for the day to tear her small home apart. But to no avail, it all but disappeared. She doesn’t cry though. She can’t. The well in her heart has run so dry all she can do is try to numbly put her life back together one rickety piece of furniture at a time, her old nail picking habit taking its turn in the driver's seat until her cuticles are bloody.   

“You know I expected you to be in higher spirits after how successful the show was,” Mel says pointedly some two weeks later. She cornered Vi in her studio after one of her classes, demanding she join her for lunch. Vi was in no place to refuse after she abandoned her own show midway through. 

Vi sighs, pushing her food around on her plate. “I’ve just been busy,” she replies dryly. Her plan to jump on the next ship headed anywhere had to be abandoned when Mel decided to officially invest in her late father’s studio.  That and the knowledge that she would very well find herself on a ship headed for Demacia. 

“Well I suppose that’s a good thing, then. The classes going well?” she asks, taking a sip of tea from the china glass. 

Vi snorts, finally bringing a piece of bread to her mouth. “They’re certainly more full.” 

The chitchat following that is monotonous and predictable. They talk about art, about business, avoiding the topic of scrutiny that’s followed Vi’s ascension into the more sophisticated art scene. And in truth, she hasn’t painted much in a while, even before the show, only dabbling in small landscapes and industrial, abstract pieces. Never the ocean. Never with the color blue. 

“I also wasn’t aware you were acquainted with the Kirammans,” Mel says casually. Her eyes hold a certain level of knowing that Vi can’t help but feel like this is on purpose. She nearly chokes on her coffee. 

“I uhm–” she has to clear her throat again, the bread lodging in her throat, suffocating her. “Cait– Lady Kiramman commissioned me to paint her daughter’s wedding portrait,” Vi stutters, hoping Mel didn’t notice the slip. But that would be asking for too much. Mel raises a thick brow before setting her cup down against the matching saucer. 

“Miss Kiramman isn’t married,” Mel says plainly. Vi sits up straighter, frowning at the sentence. 

“Yes she is. I painted her portrait at her estate in Holdrum two years ago,” Vi argues, her heart suddenly sitting at the bottom of her stomach. Mel hums, stirring more sugar into her tea. 

“Darling, did you not hear a word Viktor said at the show?” Mel asks incredulously. Vi wracks her brain, grasping for the conversation she knows happened. But she comes short when she tries to remember its contents. 

“I guess I was a little… distracted,” she admits, her mind feeling like a blanket of fog has been placed over it. “Why?” Her leg bounces restlessly under the small table.

Mel chuckles, shaking her head, her gold bangles jingling with the movement. “Well, if I remember correctly he was describing why he painted that specific portrait. I believe he said it was for a… celebration ?”  Her voice rises with the word. 

Vi scrunches her brow and her eyes narrow slightly. “Celebration of what? Her anniversary?” Vi asks bitterly. Mel notices, her lips quirking upward in a small smirk. 

“I don’t actually know but I do know her hands are exquisite. She didn’t wear an ounce of jewelry from what I could tell–”

“Did you see her again?” Vi cuts her off, sitting up a little straighter, her knee bumping the table, jostling her still full cup of coffee. She curses under her breath. 

“Did I not tell you? Our families have become recent… acquaintances in the last few years,” Mel explains. 

“No, you left that little detail out,” Vi grunts.  

“We aren’t that close but we did host her and her party a few days ago. Diplomatic business of course, but there was no mention of a husband. But perhaps I’m mistaken. Afterall, I, too, found myself a little distracted that evening. Mr. Talis is quite charming,” she admits coyly. Vi huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. 

She’s barely present for the rest of the meal. Her mind is stuck in a whirlpool of questions and assumptions, her heart recklessly clinging to the idea that Caitlyn isn’t married after all. Hope unfurls in her chest, growing like devil's ivy between each rib. But too much rumination leaves her heartsick. Because if she never married, why didn’t she come for Vi sooner? Why now? Why didn’t she say anything?

She ponders it for days. Runs her fingers through it until there’s nothing left but the burning in her lungs. Mel was wrong, Vi decides. There’s no other explanation for any of it. She was wrong and the last two years haven’t been wasted on drunken nights and the constant, dull ache in her chest means something. It reminds her that their time was always limited and Vi doesn’t need to hope for anything more than that. 

_____

The sketch papers are placed in open hands, each student giving her a hopeful yet worried glance as they surrender their work. Vi doesn’t pay it any mind. She doesn’t even look at the sketches yet, choosing to meet her student’s eyes instead. 

When the last student leaves the studio, she places the unfinished sketches on her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose, exhaustion lurking in every corner of her body. She hasn’t slept much since her lunch with Mel. Her mind unable to stop its constant whirring and groaning. Even after a bottle of whiskey, her dreams are ocean filled, her skin aflame and her core always fucking throbbing. 

A sound thuds in the back corner and Vi whirls around her fists already raised. But she lowers them when she sees Viktor’s cane come into the light through the window, the rest of him shrouded in shadow as he limps closer. She frowns when he approaches her, the confusion clearly written on her face. 

“That was quite the class, Miss Hund,” he says around a small cough. Vi folds her arms across her chest, leaning her lower back against the old wooden desk. “I see your new patronage is doing good things for the space, too,” he muses, making a show of looking around the room. Not much has changed beyond new materials and something to actually properly clean the windows. For Zaun, the space is a luxury. Lower Piltover has a more… ambivalent opinion. 

Vi shrugs, keeping her eyes narrowed. Distrust emanates from her body as she watches him limp around the room, dragging a gilded cane in his wake. He examines the myriad of art around the room, stopping at the few sculptures and ceramics. A new project as a result of Mel. It’s becoming Vi’s favorite. Her distrust wars with her ingrained loyalty to Zaun, the knowledge that Viktor too is from her home city resurfaces the longer she looks at him. 

“Can I help you with something or…?” Vi trails off as Viktor sits at one of the stools. She loosens her shoulders, rolling her neck. He doesn’t deserve her ire.  

“No,” he replies simply. “I’m moving back to the city after a long residency and you’re the new talk of the town after the show.” When Vi doesn’t budge, he gives her a wary glance. “You do remember me, yes?”

Vi nods, one of her hands coming up to absently rub at her own collarbone. “You were one of the late additions. Viktor,” Vi concedes. “Let me guess, your residency was in Demacia,” she says after a moment, doing better at hiding the bitterness from her voice at the mention of the country. And in truth, she loved Demacia when she visited. There was so much color, so many beautiful facets of land and architecture. She knows the real reason acridity laces her heart at the sight of this man. 

“Indeed. It was a five year ordeal so I’m glad to be home,” he says as he rests his cane against his knee. Vi hums, unsure of how to carry on; she’s too busy trying to unearth why he’s here. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not here just to scope out the art scene,” Vi says bluntly, never one for playing politics. And his demeanor and him being from Zaun internally levels the playing field. Viktor chuckles, clutching his cane a little tighter as if to stand. 

“I’m afraid you caught me, Miss Hund,” he admits, grunting as he settles on his feet. He walks back toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “I would be lying if I said my visit was unprompted. I have something for you.”

Vi’s blood runs cold. The door doesn’t open like Vi expects. Viktor doesn’t even leave the room to Vi’s horror. He pulls a small cart back to the center of the room, pulling what Vi can only assume is a large canvas. Her heart drops to her stomach and her feet are rooted to the spot. 

Viktor doesn’t hesitate to pull the sheet off, unveiling sharp cerulean eyes underneath. Vi adds this to her list of moments she swears she’s drowning. Her lungs burn and her heart tries to claw itself out of her throat. 

“Why would you bring this to me?” Vi bellows, her voice cracking. Her breathing is labored and her hands shake against her own throat. 

Viktor looks almost surprised by her reaction. And why shouldn’t he be? How could he know what seeing this woman would do to her? That seeing the very same book she gave to her all those years ago, an inked part of her heart buried in the pages, would leave her both unraveled and enraged all at once? 

“Do you really not know?” He asks, tossing the sheet to the floor. 

Vi huffs indignantly, her jaw clenching so hard her molars grind in protest. “Don’t know what?” Vi bites, trying to keep her voice from trembling. She glances down at the canvas, her eye catching on the painted 56 and it makes her chest ache. She looks away, meeting Viktor’s wary gaze. 

Viktor sighs, nodding more to himself as he sits back down. “This was meant to be a gift although she didn’t tell me who it was for exactly. But when I saw you at the show I could only assume it was for you.” 

All the air leaves Vi’s lungs and her mouth unhinges before closing with an audible clack. She dares another glance at the portrait. It’s breathtaking. She wears a deep aubergine gown, her hair tied in an elegant bun that taunts Vi’s fingers even now. 

“Forgive me, I thought you knew.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t exactly keep up correspondence,” Vi says dryly, the bitter taste in her mouth draining with each passing breath that she stares at Caitlyn’s face. She doesn’t look too different than she did two years ago. Her features are still sharp and her eyes are still crystal. But her mouth doesn’t hold the hard edges of resentment like before. “Why did you paint this?”

“She commissioned me soon after she annulled her marriage. It was quite a messy ordeal. Her lord husband was a Crownguard and didn’t take too kindly to the decision. I had only heard of it through stale gossip, not thinking much of it. But then she sought me out. I’m still not sure how she knew of me or my being from Zaun. She’s clever in that way,” Viktor explains, looking up at his work. Vi doesn’t move. She still hardly breathes.

 “But anyways, she said she wanted a portrait made in celebration of her ‘newfound freedom’,” he chuckles again, shaking his head at the memory. Vi feels her chest swell and her eyes water. She blinks them back. “She had me start immediately, already knowing exactly how she wanted to be posed. I tried to persuade her against the book at first. I had no idea the value it had for her.” 

Vi bites the inside of her cheek, unable to control her face anymore. She walks closer to the portrait, her lungs finally expelling the pent up air she’s been holding. 

“Miss Kiramman found out about the show soon after we were done and by that point we had become friends. So of course I wouldn’t refuse her when she asked to send it off. But I am a curious man and I couldn’t resist inquiring why your specific show. And that’s when she told me about you. But as I said, she never told me who you were exactly. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together when I saw your piece,” he finishes.

Vi nods mutely, the ringing in her ears so loud she could scream. “Where is she now?” She doesn’t stop the single tear that escapes, hoping that the brief shadows dancing in the room can hide her. 

Viktor grunts as he shifts to turn around where Vi stands closer to the canvas. “I’m not her keeper,” he chuckles. “But I assume her home in Demacia. Although she could very well be anywhere. She’s very… unbound in that way.”

Vi chuckles wetly at that. “Yeah. She is.” 

_____

It isn’t a choice anymore. The docks are crowded and bustling. Cargo and bodies all move in an unsynced rhythm. The unobscured sun glinting off the water blinds her as she makes her way to the posted schedule. Ships leaving for Noxus and Bilgewater are listed but her eyes scan until they find the name she’s looking for. 

Urgency licks up her spine, her hours becoming limited when she reads the departure time to Demacia. She’s hardly aware of the people around her as she pushes through them, running into broad shoulders and ruffled dresses. 

When she makes it home, she already has a duffel packed with the necessities, not wanting to waste the next twenty four hours until she’s seabound. Through all the packing though, she still can’t find the shell she’s kept for two years, the memory still freshly imprinted in her mind. 

She tears her house a part all over again, her cushions and bedding strewn across the small space. But at least her hands are busy in the wake of her sudden choice. Her nerves bubble in her chest and make her fingers tremble. When she finally gives up, the sun has long sunk beneath the horizon. 

She runs a hand over her face, her heart like a wild beast in her chest since Viktor left her studio. There’s still one drawer she hasn’t opened, she realizes as she uncorks an old bottle of brandy. It had been Vanders but she needs something to calm down. She takes a swig, staring at the desk across the room. 

She stands on wobbly legs, wrenching open the small drawer. Inside sits the palette canvas, Caitlyn’s eyes staring back at her. She picks it up, cradling it in her palm. Rubbing her thumb over the dried paint, she closes her eyes and exhales, grounding herself before putting it in her pocket.     

_____

She hasn’t been here in years. Not since she first got back from Holdrum. The doors of the jazz bar swing open without even needing to be pushed, patrons already drunkenly making their way out. Music floods the room and the smell of sweet whiskey permeates her nose. 

But she skips the bar tonight, her stomach still warm from Vander’s old brandy, the taste still clinging to her tongue. She sits at a small table, content to just listen while she’s here. She knew sleep would evade her tonight. Her bag sits packed by her front door still, the small canvas nestled in her coat pocket. 

Vander used to take her here when they lived in Zaun. There wasn’t much in the district for them to do besides drink, dance, and create . It was a side hustle he took up when they weren’t at sea and she feels like she has each floorboard memorized, the entire place seeming to still be suspended in time. Vi would go back to it in a second if she could. But there’s still something here that pulls her in, keeps her from yearning too hard about the death she seems to leave in her wake. 

Someone— Benzo she’s sure, something muttered about “stop bringing those sad puppy eyes in here”— sets a rocks glass in front of her. She holds it up, nodding her head at the bartender. An old family friend that never seems to leave. He waves her off, wiping the bar down again before carrying on. One drink turns into two and two turns into her sitting at the piano bench. 

She hears the whispers anytime she comes here. “ That’s Vander’s girl, yeah? Here’s she got a wicked punch and a fucking tune—” but she brushes them off like she always does. She stretches her fingers, noticing her knuckles are stained with paint rather than blood, and she begins. 

Vi didn’t mean to play for so long but it’s the first time she’s felt this… joy in her chest. “You guys want another?” She hollers after the first tune, her fingers feeling amped up and her entire body is so fucking restless . 

Choruses of hooting cheers and loud laughs keep spurring her on. It isn’t until she’s in the middle of the fourth song, couples dancing all around her that she’s suddenly back in the room with the little fireplace and a daybed that definitely wasn’t meant for two. She feels sharp blue eyes watching her like she holds pure magic in her fingers. Her warmth spreads all along Vi’s side body, swirling inside every facet of her being. 

The song ends and the darkness of the bar creeps back into her periphery. A soft clink against the top  of the wooden piano gets her attention. Long slender fingers slide a dusty pink shell closer to her eye level and every ounce of oxygen expels from her lungs all at once. 

“Did you mean it when you said you wouldn’t walk away from me again?” 

Vi is caught in a cerulean storm then. It crashes down on her, sweeping her up until she can’t breathe. Caitlyn waits patiently, her lips parted but her eyes beg for an answer. Vi shudders a breath, her hand reaching out to touch the shell and Caitlyn’s hand as a consequence. Her hands are bare, not an ounce of fine jewelry decorates her fingers. Vi doesn’t move her hand from Caitlyn’s nor her gaze. 

Her eyes water without her permission, her chest tightening to the point of bursting. The bar fades around her and every carefully laid out plan sinks to the bottom of the ocean of her heart. She picks Caitlyn’s hand up from the top of the piano, bringing the bare knuckles to her lips. 

“I meant it, Cupcake.” 

Chapter Text

Present

Her hands are covered in charcoal. The sketch book is new, the leather a fine rich chocolate color. It sits in her lap now and her thumb brushes over the ingrained initials on the front, smirking to herself. 

V.H.K.  

She glances up through her lashes, her eyes raking over details she wouldn’t even need in front of her to complete the sketch. But she won’t complain about the view. Caitlyn lies amongst green silken sheets, strewn across the vast mattress on her side. Her skin exposed and love bites litter her stomach and breasts. Vi makes sure she draws those, too. 

They’d only been in her father’s family home in Iona for a day when Caitlyn asked. Her eyes were soft and open, albeit a little coy. Vi had just chuckled before kissing her soundly, her hands already taking the journey down her ribs, stopping just short of where her mouth had been not even an hour before. 

The sun glints through the cracked window, the curtains billowing with the soft ocean breeze. Vi had thought Holdrum was massive. And for her standards, it truly was. But this is something different entirely. Marbled pillars and intricate patterns lined the walls and floors. Vines and plants erupt from every corner, colors abundant and lush. The ocean here is calmer too. It sits just in front, the waves beckoning like an old friend despite their days at sea already. 

“It’s been in my father’s family for generations,” Caitlyn explained sheepishly as they ascended the front stairs. Her aunts welcomed them both with open arms. Vi was skeptical at first, her eyes wide and wary of the bigotry they’ve run into a few times in their travels together. 

But when she glanced down, she immediately noticed the matching gold bands that adorned each older woman in front of them. It dawned on her more tangibly, then, why Caitlyn was so adamant they stay here. Tension melted off Vi’s shoulders, her chest warming and her fingers unabashedly reaching for Caitlyn’s. 

“This must be your Violet,” her aunt said coyly, reaching out a hand for Vi to shake. Vi took it, a little thrown off at the strength there. 

Caitlyn hummed, looking at Vi like she’s hung the moon herself before turning back to her aunts. 

“Thank you for letting us stay here. The last few months have been… tumultuous to say the least,” Caitlyn sighed, worrying her lip between her teeth. 

“Yes I can imagine, dear. You know after your father passed, we wanted to reach out to you, but– your mother–”

“I know. But, I’m– we’re– here now,” Caitlyn interrupted, squeezing Vi’s fingers. Vi hadn’t spoken much, her eyes taking in every detail around her. The two women in front of her were an anomaly to her. She didn’t know two women could truly be… as she wants to be with Caitlyn. That she will be in only a few days. 

“Stay as long as you both want, Zhínǚ,” she said lovingly, squeezing Caitlyn’s arm. 

That had been three weeks ago. 

Caitlyn sighs through her nose, her hips rolling forward slightly and her hands rub absently over her bare ribs. Vi huffs then, twirling the charcoal between her fingers. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Vi asks through a smirk. Caitlyn bites her lip and shakes her head. Vi hums in response, her fingers already back to sketching, taking extra care with each stroke on the page. It isn’t the first thing she’s drawn in her new… gift . But her subject has been consistent. Blue fills the pages leading up to this sketch, oceans and skies and midnight hair. 

Caitlyn had to replace the paint for her when she realized Vi didn’t keep the color anymore aside from the old spare tubes in her classroom studio. Vi had blushed down to her toes at the look Caitlyn gave her after admitting it, her heart never able to truly be caged in her chest. 

The phonogram next to the window hums softly, the song unfamiliar to Vi, but she grows to enjoy it as its deep strings reverberate in the room. But she’s never been picky about music. Especially not now. Not when she gets to unearth Caitlyn’s favorites from their years apart. It haunts her now that she ever wished Caitlyn despair in her absence. She was so selfish back then, she thinks. Looking at her now, the way she’s grown so into herself, she’s no longer confused why Caitlyn found herself in a jazz bar in the depths of Zaun.   

_____

8 months earlier

Vi’s sure this is a dream. She’s had so many just like this. She can’t even count how many of her dreams involve images of Caitlyn standing before her just like this. Eyes wide and so blue, the air full of warmth and the faint smell of lavender fills her nostrils. But there are other reasons Vi is almost sure this is a dream. She wrestles with the thought briefly, deciding for a moment that there’s no reality where Caitlyn seeks her out in the lower belly of Zaun. There’s no reality where she dresses in clothes so beneath her station, like she’s trying to fit in with the likes of the bar dwellers, like she’s been a patron at The Last Drop for years. But she still fails at blending in here, her features too sharp, her scent too floral in a way that doesn’t make her nauseous. Her hair is still too smooth and she’s still just too perfect. All to listen to Vi play haphazard songs on a piano that has three keys out of tune. 

But when Vi blinks, pressing her lips harder into the skin of Caitlyn’s knuckles, this feels too real, too warm , and the other woman doesn’t disappear, she wrangles with the idea that Caitlyn is truly standing here. In front of her. Her face open and her eyes full of unshed tears at Vi’s declared promise. And Vi knows those words hold equal amounts of truth in the light of day or in the depths of her own dreams. 

“I meant it, Cupcake.” 

Vi hasn’t moved from the bench that she straddles despite the loud demands for another song. She’s too caught in the gravity this woman holds, the tide of her soul being called by the moon that is Caitlyn, threatening to pull her under the current of everything she’s barely kept at bay for two years. Caitlyn’s face was carefully controlled before Vi spoke, her features sharp and intentional, but with the sentiment out in the open between them now, she watched Caitlyn crumple in front of her. 

“Oh, Vi,” she breathes finally, moving her hand from Vi’s lips to cup her cheek. Vi shudders, her hand coming to hold Caitlyn’s wrist. She feels like she’s in a trance, like the world around her is nothing but a blurry mirage. 

“Where did you find this?” Vi nearly chokes, her other hand picking up the shell, rubbing her thumb over the grooves. Caitlyn doesn’t let go of her face and steps closer so her knees push against the bench. 

“The balcony at Miss Medarda’s. After you… I can’t believe you kept it,” she says, swallowing the unfinished sentence. Vi huffs, her brow knitting as she places it back in her trouser pocket, Vander’s old coat still sits on the other end of the bench and she can’t move in that direction even if she wanted to. 

“Why does that surprise you?” 

Caitlyn sucks in a breath, a smile that Vi knows is almost a grimace settles over her face.    

“Vi, I—”

“Hey, Pink! Are you gonna keep playing or what?” A burly voice cuts through the air, startling Vi to her feet. She waves in the direction of the man’s voice, signaling that she’s done here. Caitlyn just watches her, startled by the sudden movement as she clings to Vi’s bicep, her grip almost vice-like. As if she too, is worried this is a dream after all. Vi grabs her coat and leads them to a corner of the bar, not fully able to meet Caitlyn’s eye.

“You play beautifully by the way,” Caitlyn says once they're away from the instrument, someone new already taking her place. Vi blushes, her body still seeking some sort of equilibrium. The room fills with a more sultry sound then. Something slower and heady. It moves through the bar like velvet, the other band members harmonizing with him. The music gets both of their attention, a convenient distraction from the mountain and sea that still fights to separate them. It makes Vi shiver watching the way Caitlyn watches them, then. Like it’s the first time she’s heard something like this. And Vi supposes she probably hasn’t.   

“Umm,” Vi clears her throat, letting go of Caitlyn’s hand. “We should go somewhere more private,” she suggests. Caitlyn opens her mouth to speak, her gaze raking over their surroundings before she bites her lip, nodding.

“Show me where.”  

Vi’s feet are on autopilot, her hand clammy clasped in Caitlyn’s cool one. She leads them through narrow streets, chuckling at every new facial expression that flits over the other woman’s face. It’s almost childlike wonder, curiosity evident in every raised brow and stuttering step. Caitlyn’s nose scrunches when she smells the food from the various stalls and her feet almost dragging them to a stop at each new sight. But Vi pulls her along, her nerves leaking through her every step, making her shoulder spasm and her fingers twitch.  They traverse over broken cobblestone, only led by the oil lamps that line the grimy streets of her home city. 

“How long were you at the bar?” Vi asks as they approach the river, the silence between them growing taut like a live wire. She leads them down the small hill, her body feeling like it’s been licked by flames when Caitlyn reaches down, gripping her forearms as Vi helps her down the hill. They breathe each other’s air for a moment, suspended midway on the slope before Vi eases her down separating herself to keep walking. 

“A while,” she breathes after Vi lets her go. “I didn’t want to interrupt you. You looked so… serene.” She says the words fondly and Vi can feel embarrassment slither up her spine. 

 Vi snorts to ward off the feeling, but it’s less of a sound and more of a short gasp, before she plops down unceremoniously when she reaches her destination, finding a nostalgic comfort in sitting by the water like this again with Caitlyn at her side. But now, instead of sand and rock and a turbulent sea, she sits on a patch of grass by the bank of the river, the moon glinting in its stillness. It’s a place she used to bring her sister on bad days; they would skip stones across the water, somehow always turning it into a friendly competition. It soothed the darkness that swarmed her sister then, making the air lighter. Vi hasn’t been here in years and she can’t help but wonder why her body led them here of all places.  

Caitlyn joins her, her descent far more graceful. But unlike Vi, she doesn’t shy away from her. She positions herself so their thighs are flush and their shoulders connect. Vi releases a shaky exhale, keeping her eyes on the river in front of them, words evading her once again. 

“Vi?” Caitlyn tries, not moving at first but Vi can feel those sharp blue eyes picking at the thick wall Vi has yet to fully break down. She thought she would have an ocean to formulate the words before now. That she would have days to process the oscillation and actually do something with it. But Caitlyn, once again, has beaten her to it with her stubborn persistence and surprisingly unruly whims. Vi takes a deep breath through her nose and pulls her knees to her chest before Caitlyn speaks again. “Vi, my love, will you look at me?” The endearment goes straight to her chest, melting any resolve she has left. 

She’ll blame it on the moonlight for what she does then. She’ll blame it on the brandy and the whiskey and the music she swears she can still hear. But when she finally turns to face her, she doesn’t stop herself from surging forward and crashes her lips to Caitlyn’s. She’s never been good with words anyway. 

Caitlyn gasps into her mouth, and Vi almost pulls away, ashamed at the assumption she acted on. But Caitlyn’s fingers are already on her face, caressing the crescent of her jaw, pulling at the strands of hair Vi’s let get too long. This isn’t a gentle reunion. It’s heated resentment and possessive passion. Wild desire in sharp teeth against her neck, sucking Caitlyn’s tongue in her mouth, hands fisting and tugging at the shirt that’s two sizes too big to pull her into Vi’s lap. The two years spent apart shrink between them, dwindling in every kiss pressed to hot skin. Caitlyn kisses every part of Vi’s face, trailing her tongue down the column of her throat, Vi taking an earlobe between her teeth and tugging until Caitlyn hisses, dragging her back to meet her lips again, kissing her even harder than before.

Vi can’t breathe again, that sweet drowning sensation flooding them both, the current furious and violent. But she tastes so-so familiar and new all at once. Sweet with a tint of something else, something stronger like the spices in food Vi could never afford. And it feels like no time has passed and yet the years have been an eternity, dragging Vi through the endless constellations of unrelenting heartbreak. When they finally break for air, they’re both panting, their breath coming out in a thick fog between them.

“I’m sorry, Cait. About everything I said at the gallery,” she gasps against her mouth, her hands still twisted in the loose shirt at Caitlyn’s back. Caitlyn shakes her head, her lips already seeking Vi’s again. Vi indulges again before the need to dispel the guilt, to just explain sees her hand fisting in Caitlyn’s hair, pulling her back just far enough for her to speak. “I thought you were in Demacia already. I was planning to–”

“No. No, I’m sorry, Vi. So sorry,” she kisses her again between each sentiment, chaste and hard. “I couldn’t leave without you. I don’t care about what you said at the show,” she laments quickly, like the words had a life of their own, forcing themselves out of her throat. Vi’s brow meets her hairline and she tries to pull her head back. “Vi I–” she releases a long exhale. “I never should have let you leave Holdrum that day and I have spent every day for the past two years regretting that more than I’ve regretted anything.” The words tumble out in another breathless rush, all of them stitching the gaping hole in Vi’s chest. But there’s still something else that burns and rages, rattling beneath her ribs.  Vi stops breathing for a moment then. Caitlyn’s hands still cup her face, her thumbs rubbing over the swell her cheekbones and their noses brushing. Vi can only pant still, her own lungs desperate for air.   

Vi’s brow pulls together and she bites the inside of her cheek, her fingers thrumming along the expanse of Caitlyn’s back as she tastes the question on her tongue, the only bitterness left in her body starts and ends with, “Why didn’t you come find me sooner?” She’s unable to leave the question in the darker corners of her heart. She needs to know. She needs to know why they both have lived in misery for two years. 

Caitlyn sucks in a breath, nodding to herself. She finally pulls back enough for them both to breathe, but Vi finds herself suffocating more instead, almost dragging her back down to her lips, willing to leave the answer buried underground if it means she can have her now. But she doesn’t. She lets Caitlyn crawl out of her lap, still unwilling to go far, just merely enough to smooth her skirt down. She takes a moment before speaking, her eyes distantly lingering on the river. Her breathing calms down and Vi 

“I was shipped off to Demacia not even a day after you left,” she starts, her face hardening at the memory. “I actually tried to stop it. I told her about us, hoping it would have… I don’t know– ruin me in a way. But she wouldn’t hear it. She never has. Heard me, I mean. And I was… weak. And you didn’t– don’t – deserve that,” Caitlyn says firmly. 

“You’re not weak, Cupcake,” Vi replies quickly, picking up Caitlyn’s hands from her lap, rubbing her palm with the pads of her thumbs. Caitlyn huffs and grimaces, but accepts the tentative affection, her body relaxing like a loose thread, leaning into Vi with a small shiver, her skin pebbling when a chilly breeze whispers a warning around them. 

Good , Vi thinks, leaning against her too, taking Vander’s old coat off to place around Caitlyn’s shoulders. She knows Caitlyn’s cold when she doesn’t protest, simply snuggling into the coat, sniffing the shoulder before leaning against Vi again. Take my warmth. It’s all for you. It’s always been for you. 

Caitlyn takes a deep breath before continuing, releasing the exhale with a whoosh. “I don’t even remember the wedding to tell you the truth. I just remember locking myself in my quarters for days after. I think I told everyone I was ill,” she says with a small chuckle. “The staff had to bring me food like I was a prisoner, leaving it at the door. I was alone and it felt… less of a cage than the entire palace. And I remember all I could think was how you said I would love the city. How I wanted to hear music and to see somewhere so new and bright. The streets beckoned me. But I couldn’t stomach it, at first. Not when I felt so watched, I suppose. And I suppose I was also so mad at you for leaving I couldn’t see my part in that I should have asked you to stay,” She looks at Vi then, and Vi’s lungs stutter, her heart an unsteady, loud thud in her chest. 

“Cait…” 

“Let me finish,” Caitlyn squeezes Vi’s hand as she says it and Vi closes her mouth with a clack and a small chuckled ‘yes, princess,’ earning her a scoff and a light swat.

“I had my marriage annulled as soon as I was able. It was a… complicated and invasive process. And my mother was the most irate I’ve ever seen her,” she chuckles again, shaking her head. But Vi doesn’t laugh. She pulls her closer instead until she’s back in her lap, wanting to fuse their bodies together. Caitlyn goes pliant, melting into the crook of her neck, her cold nose breathing her in until she’s full. “Jayce bought a townhome in the city since I legally wasn’t allowed to leave the country until the marriage had been officially void. Seeing how I was technically the Crownguard’s ‘property.’  The royal family took great pleasure, I think, in stalling at every turn. Presenting obstacles and refuting me at every opportunity. My ex-husband’s family was even more unforgiving but unwilling to part with appearances as they are close confidants with the king. Everyone aside from his sister, that is. Luxanna was my only true friend until Jayce arrived,” she says, pulling back  to coax Vi’s face to face her, her fingers now slightly warmer when they caress her jaw. “That’s why I couldn’t come to you sooner,” Caitlyn whispers. 

Vi sighs long and hard through her nose, running her hands down her back and through her hair. Guilt sits on her like a heavy coat but without the warmth.   

“I thought about it every day, how I would find you again. I thought about it when I finally ventured into the streets or when I went to the orchestra for the first time. I wanted to write to you but had no idea where to address it.” Caitlyn sinks into Vi again, pressing her face to Vi’s neck while her hand rests against where her heart still pounds recklessly in her chest. 

Vi brings Caitlyn’s knuckles to her lips again, kissing down until she reaches her palm, closing her eyes and taking the time to truly feel her. To absorb her presence, to take in the fact that she’s here . With her. In her arms, clinging to Vi like she’ll disappear if she releases her nails from Vi’s skin, the crescents marking Vi’s neck like the tattoos that reside there. 

 “I’m afraid I was right,” Vi whispers after a long moment, kissing her palm again. The only sound before was their steady breathing and the gentle flow of the river. Caitlyn hums in question, almost sleepily into the crook of her neck, her own lips pressing into Vi’s skin, sending warm heat down her spine. “I think I went mad. All I did was paint you,” she kisses her knuckles. “And draw you,” she admits, keeping her eyes closed while her lips kiss her skin over and over again, down to her wrist and back up again, kissing each pad of her fingers with reverence. Caitlyn’s breath stutters against her, the warm puff of it fogging between them. “I thought all this time, I had dreamt it all up. Or… that you didn’t want me like I wanted you. Like I want you, still,” she whispers that admission too, hoping the early fall winds would swallow it whole, drowning the sentiment in the river. 

Caitlyn pulls back again, pressing her forehead to Vi’s. “My Violet,” she breathes and Vi nearly crumbles. My Violet.  And oh how she’s never wanted to belong to anyone or anything more than the whims and wills of Caitlyn Kiramman. She leans into Caitlyn harder, twisting her fingers in Caitlyn’s shirt under the coat until her knuckles are white, a soft, choked sob is lodged in her throat, stuck like molasses. She keeps it there, her body trembling and shivering despite how warm Caitlyn’s skin is. “I have wanted you since you descended my stairs,” she says with a small smile. 

The sob breaks free like a broken dam, the cracks and fissures that have built up for months, days, weeks, however much wasted time has passed since she left Holdrum, bursting and shattering like fragile glass. But Caitlyn’s there to pick up the scattered pieces, to put them back together in the form of soft kisses to her lips, to her cheeks, her jaw. 

When Vi can breathe again, her lips kiss swollen and her lungs heavy, the question tumbles out, “So what now, Cupcake?” 

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “I don’t know where I’ll go but wherever I do, come with me.” 

It isn’t a question but Vi wouldn’t refuse either way. 

_____

  The charcoal stains her palm now, imprinting on her wrist where she’s let it rest against the sketch’s page. Caitlyn’s body takes up the full page, her face poised but relaxed under Vi’s gaze. Vi straightens from the ottoman she’s perched on, her spine cracking with the motion. 

Movement catches Vi’s attention, halting her momentarily to just rub the charcoal stick between her fingers before she continues. Caitlyn grabs her book from amongst the sea of sheets. Vi blushes down to her own chest when Caitlyn’s legs rub together like she’s seeking frictio–

“You know, Cupcake, you need to keep still. Can you do that for me?” Vi asks, her voice low in her throat. Caitlyn doesn’t answer her at first. She sinks lower in the mattress, rolling on her back and flips the book open to somewhere in the middle. 

“Do you know how often I looked at this after you left?” Caitlyn asks, not taking her eyes away from the page. Vi stops sketching entirely then. Her lower belly warms even further than when Caitlyn first entered the room in nothing but a sheer robe, before letting it slip to the floor. She made a show when she crawled in the plethora of pillows.  Her hips swayed and her hair flowed down her sculpted back. Vi’s mouth had gone completely dry. She’s been recovering ever since. 

“Did you miss me that badly, baby?” Vi goads instead. She doesn’t set the sketch book down just yet. Caitlyn still looks at the page held above her face, her other hand still tracing idle patterns over her own skin.  Caitlyn hums, finally setting the book down next her head, being sure to leave it face up and open. 

“You have no idea,” Caitlyn breathes. Vi starts at that, knowing she had spent her fair share of time drowning in her own heartache. But that isn’t the point of this little game Caitlyn seemingly wants to play. She wants Vi to bend to her, to allow her gravity to pull her in. And normally, Vi would let her. She would be pliant for no one else.

“Show me, then.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers stop moving and she props herself on her elbow. She gives Vi an  incredulous look and Vi almost caves. 

“What?”

Vi tears the page from her sketchbook, setting the now complete sketch on the settee next to her. The bottle of wine– something Vi has grown very fond of lately– is almost empty now, their glasses and lips stained red with it.  

Vi stands, clambering on the bed with her knees. She tosses the sketch book down before rubbing the charcoal between her palms until they’re coated in it. Caitlyn lies back down her lips parting as she waits for Vi’s answer. She grabs Caitlyn’s hips, staining the skin with her hands’ imprint. 

“Show me how much you missed me,” Vi husks, leaning down to briefly take a nipple in her mouth. Caitlyn sucks in a breath when Vi’s tongue swirls around the bud before biting down gently. “Show me what you would do–” she takes the other nipple between her teeth, rubbing charcoal covered circles into sharp hip bones. “– when you looked at that.” Vi gestures to the sketch of herself, running her hands along the expanse of Caitlyn’s quivering stomach. When she lifts her hands, satisfaction blooms in her chest like devil’s ivy, her handprints like tattoos painting Caitlyn’s previously unblemished skin. 

“What will you do, then?” Caitlyn asks breathlessly, her chest and cheeks a bright red. Vi smirks again as she picks up the discarded sketchbook– a wedding gift Caitlyn had called it– and sits back on her heels. 

“What I do best,” she says, grabbing the charcoal stick that’s already ruined the sheets. 

“I beg to differ,” Caitlyn grumbles. Vi chuckles, waiting for Caitlyn to adjust in the middle of the bed. She settles and Vi’s chest puffs at seeing Caitlyn covered in her. “You could touch me, you know. We don’t have to pretend anymore,” she tries, jutting her lip out in a small pout. Vi bites her lip to stop the wide smile that wants to stretch her face, shaking her head. 

“When did you look at me, baby? Where did you start?” Vi says in response, spurring her on, tilting her head in question. Caitlyn huffs, sitting back against the pillows, spreading her legs. Vi brings the charcoal to the sheet, her eyes never leaving Caitlyn’s.    

“All the time,” Caitlyn starts, one of her hands cupping her own breast, tweaking the nipple that’s still red from Vi’s teeth. Vi’s core clenches around nothing and her body lights up like a live wire. But she stays grounded, digging her knees deeper into the mattress. “Especially when I was forced to talk to–”

“You don’t have to say his name,” Vi interjects softly, her shoulders stiffening only for a moment. Caitlyn nods quickly, bringing her other hand up to her ribs, her stomach muscles clenching. Vi watches each bated movement, watches the way her chest begins to heave with labored breaths. She takes a life on the page, her legs spread and her cheeks tinted. 

Caitlyn’s hand moves over each rib, spreading Vi’s handprints down her stomach until it looks like ashen flames have scorched her body, stopping at dark indigo curls between her thighs. She gasps when her fingers dip into her own wetness. 

“Vi…” she sighs, swirling her arousal through her lips and up to her clit. Vi’s stomach twitches and her hand nearly fumbles the sketchbook. 

“Did you say my name then, too?” Vi asks quietly, the sound of the charcoal and Caitlyn’s slick making her heart pound in her core. Caitlyn huffs through her languid movements, a strained ‘yes’ escaping her parted lips. Vi hums, her fingers meticulous and detailed in drawing Caitlyn’s hands on the page. 

“He heard me once,” she admits, slipping a finger inside herself. Vi stills, her gaze peeling away from Caitlyn soaked cunt to meet her barely open eyes. Her lashes flutter and her other hand kneads and pulls at her breast, making the skin pink. 

“D-did he?” Vi stutters, curiosity driving the jealousy out of her body. Caitlyn nods, biting her lip so hard Vi’s surprised blood hasn’t been spilt. Her hands itch to pull it free, to suck it into her own mouth. “What did you tell him, pretty girl?” Vi says lowly, regaining her own composure and shifts her legs closer together, trying to get some sort of friction. Some relief to the unrelenting inferno that’s building between her thighs. 

Caitlyn chuckles, the sound turning into a guttural moan, the sound caressing around Vi’s name again when she adds a second finger, pumping long and slow. “That I’m in love with you,” she says, closing her eyes as she leans her head back further into the pillows. A small, unintentional whine crawls out of Vi’s throat at the words. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” Vi demands, her voice coming out raspy and her own wetness slicks between her thighs. But she keeps sketching, outlining every detail she can focus on. Caitlyn’s fingers are buried, her palm rubbing on her clit and she forces her eyes open with a small whine of her own. The sounds are debauched, Caitlyn’s breathy noises strike Vi like lightning, shooting through her veins. But watching her sends ripples of pleasure down her spine, the sketch only becoming more and more of an afterthought compared to the real woman spread out before her. The way she pumps her hand is familiar, her thumb coming up to stroke her clit is practiced and Vi can’t help but think– “Did you mimic how I used to touch you, Cupcake?” 

Caitlyn gasps as her fingers curl. “Ahh- oh, Vi- I- hah ,” Caitlyn’s hips roll upward, clearly needing more. “Vi, please, I–please touch me” she begs,canting her hips into her own hand again and Vi nearly lurches forward then and there. But she grips the charcoal a little tighter, swallowing her desire. 

“Not yet. You’re doing so well,” Vi coos, her chest aching at how utterly wrecked Caitlyn looks in the dusty pink light of the early evening. “I’m almost finished,” Vi reasons, shifting on her knees again. Caitlyn pinches her nipple harder, hissing and writhing under her own hand. Caitlyn’s heels dig into the mattress, her moans staccato and incoherent. But Vi doesn’t fail to hear her name in the forest of it all. 

Caitlyn’s legs begin to quake, her body trembling and her arousal stains the sheets beneath her. Vi’s transfixed, her hands unable to capture her essence– not when she aches to touch and to feel and make up for every lost second they both wasted. 

“Stop,” Vi commands softly when Caitlyn doesn’t stop chasing her peak, convinced Vi won’t end her suffering.Vi tosses the sketch aside, clenching her fists on her thighs while she watches Caitlyn’s hands still, her breathing ragged and her hair disheveled. “Do you want me to touch you, now?” Vi already knows the answer. But she wants Caitlyn’s voice wrapped around the words. 

“Yes, please , Violet! I can’t–”

Vi does lurch forward then, damn near ripping Caitlyn’s hand away from herself. She rubs Caitlyn’s hips with her hands when she hisses at the loss before replacing her fingers with her tongue. 

Caitlyn nearly shrieks, her body melting into Vi’s mouth. She lifts Caitlyn’s legs over her shoulders, groaning when Caitlyn’s fingers tangle in her short hair. And Vi thinks she could die for this taste. She runs her tongue up Caitlyn’s drenched cunt, moaning loudly at the way her entire chin is already dripping, her taste forever ingrained on her tongue. 

“Gods, Vi, I– ungh ,” Caitlyn writhes, her hips lifting and squirming in Vi’s large hands, pushing Vi’s nose into her pubic bone. Vi hums, glancing up to catch Caitlyn’s eye before she sucks her clit between her lips, digging her nails into Caitlyn’s thighs and bobbing her head to a reckless rhythm. 

It doesn’t take much, which Vi finds a shame but Caitlyn comes with a full body quake, as if the very earth is shifting all around her. Her hands twist and pull at Vi’s hair as all of her broken arousal falls on Vi’s ready tongue. The sound of her incoherent babbling makes Vi’s chest flutter, the words and sentiments are ones they’ve whispered and shouted and moaned to each other before. But Vi’s body always reacts as though it’s the first time. 

Caitlyn pulls her up by her hair with insistent tugs and needy whines that force a breathless chuckle from her lungs. Vi still takes her time, though. She sucks more loving bruises on the skin of her inner thighs, dragging the remnants of her orgasm through damp curls and charcoal covered skin. She drags her nose up her stomach, leaving kisses and nips and licks in her wake. She kisses her like it’s the first and last time, savoring the feeling, the taste. She pours herself into it, licking into Caitlyn’s mouth, unable to let go of the still glowing embers left behind from Caitlyn’s pleasure. 

But when she pulls away, she’s struck with the insatiable need to memorize the way she looks right now. She wants to ingrain it, to tattoo across her skin. Caitlyn’s pupils are almost black, her chest heaving and covered in Vi . But she wants more. She wants this utterly devastated version of her wife on paper, drawn by her own hand, inked evidence that only Vi gets to wreck her this way. 

Vi leans down again, kissing her with so much heat she’s sure they’re both on fire, before her lips and tongue move until she reaches the shell of Caitlyn’s ear. 

“I want you to stay just like this for me. I want to draw you just as you are,” she says, nibbling the soft cartilage before biting down. Caitlyn gasps, Vi’s name coming out in a strained plea. But Vi just keeps licking and tasting her skin, the salt and tanginess sharp on her tongue. “And when I’m done, you can have me however you want me,” she promises. 

They don’t come down for dinner when they’re called.  

_____

8 months earlier

The Medarda insignia isn’t one to be ignored. The parcel comes requesting her presence immediately only a week after she and Caitlyn have trekked their course across Runeterra between heated kisses and wandering hands. Vi leaves Jayce’s townhome as the sun rises, leaving a sleepy Caitlyn tangled in soft sheets. 

She climbs familiar marble steps, squinting as the sun glints off the golden Medarda crest in bright orange rays. She stifles a yawn as she walks on sluggish feet to where she knows Mel waits for her, the sitting room with the most windows being where she prefers to host. Vi expects her anger when she enters, and Vi wouldn’t blame her for it. But what she finds is a carefully neutral expression over a porcelain rim. 

 Vi sighs before sauntering to the open seat in front of her, huffing fondly when she sees a cup of coffee already on the small tea table. 

“I take it you understand why I’ve called you,” Mel says carefully, and if Vi didn’t know any better, she would say Mel is refraining from smiling. Vi doesn’t comment on that, though. 

Vi clears her throat, her leg bouncing under the table. “Viktor’s already agreed to take over my semester,” Vi starts, but is interrupted by Mel’s hand raising. 

Mel sets her teacup down on the saucer, her cheshire grin seeming to ache against her restraint. “An international traveling residency is nothing to turn your nose up at, darling. You’ve given me no choice but to accept all the arrangements. And to be funded by such a prestigious house no less,” she says knowingly. Vi has the decency to blush, her mind already occupied by blue eyes waiting for her. But then it dawns on her–

“And which house is that? I don’t recall detailing who's funding me in my notice,” Vi says warily, her eyes narrowing at the woman who she would tentatively call her friend. Mel smirks and raises her brow, meeting Vi’s stare head on. 

“Regardless, I’m glad to know Viktor accepted his temporary position with as much enthusiasm as you described. Remind me, how long will you be gone? And do you and Miss Kiramman plan on returning here or…?” Mel asks casually, taking another long sip of tea. Vi gapes for a moment before laughing and shaking her head, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“A year,” she says finally, keeping her gaze on the bustling city below them. “And we’ll be coming back to Piltover,” she adds.  

Mel hums thoughtfully, the sound of quill on paper filling the space. 

“Well, I hope you both have a wonderful trip. It’s well-earned, Vi,” she says more kindly and reaches across the table then, squeezing Vi’s hand affectionately. Vi bites her lip, her eyes burning. Vi finishes her coffee under Mel’s watchful eye, her curiosity practically brimming. But Vi can hardly process it all herself, let alone explain it to someone else. Mel lets her go with only a little pout and a promise to give her details when she feels up to it. 

“Give Caitlyn my regards!” Mel calls after her before Vi can close the door, her voice full of mischievousness and mirth in equal parts. Vi doesn’t stop smiling the entire walk back home

_____

Present

“I have a surprise for you.” 

Vi hums, burying her face in the pillow before rolling on her back. The morning light shines through the open window, the Ionian sea breeze ruffling the sheer curtains. Caitlyn sits at the edge of their bed, holding two cups in her hands. She hands one to Vi as she sits more flush against the pillows.

“Should I be afraid?” Vi asks after a sip. The warmth goes down to her chest, burning her tongue a little. But it’s just the way she likes it. Caitlyn huffs a small chuckle at her question, settling more comfortably on the bed next to her until their bodies are flush. They’ve taken to doing this every morning since arriving. They would drink their coffee and tea in bed until the sun was high in the sky, passing the time catching up on all the facets of their lives they hadn’t gotten to explore yet. The daunting past that still lurks in dark corners and seeps onto the canvas every now and then.  

Her aunts left only a week after Vi and Caitlyn arrived, leaving them behind with knowing smirks and tight hugs. Vi is only sad for a brief moment that she never got to meet Caitlyn’s father as she deduced he’s where Caitlyn’s affection stems from. 

“Just wear something nice when you get ready,” she replies easily. Vi sits up a little straighter than, giving her a wary look. 

“Okay, Cupcake, now I am afraid.”

Caitlyn full belly laughs at that, her eyes crinkling and her teeth peeking from behind her lips and Vi decides for maybe the millionth time that it’s her favorite sound, the memory of how hard earned a laugh from Caitlyn used to be still floats between them fondly. 

“Mmmm nonsense. It’s something I have arranged for us and I think you’ll like it,” she soothes after calming down, rubbing her hand down Vi’s arm. 

She ignores the nerves that have settled in her gut as she readies for whatever Caitlyn has planned after they’ve consumed their morning routine. Vi hadn’t grown up with the fine clothes Caitlyn adorns herself in. So when she slides on silken formal wear, something Caitlyn had insisted on purchasing for her weeks ago, it still feels foreign against her skin. 

She stands before the floor length mirror in their bedroom, Caitlyn long gone with a shy smile on her face, turning this way and that. The vest is a deep burgundy, the floral pattern subtle and embroidered with gold accents. Her white dress shirt is left unbuttoned down to her collar and the sleeves are rolled to her elbows. The band on her finger placed there lovingly weeks ago catches her eye in the afternoon sun, filling her chest with an insurmountable warmth. She sighs through her nose, daring one more glance at her reflection, finding she actually doesn’t mind what she sees, and walks through the house that feels less and less like a maze. 

Vi finds her wife by the front door, greeting a guest with warmth and familiarity. But she doesn’t even notice the guest at first, far too consumed with the golden silk that drips from Caitlyn’s lean form. She’s suddenly in a different estate, her eyes catching on golden ruffles that she could’ve sworn she ripped to shreds, left them behind with some shards of her heart. But a familiar voice brings her back, the floors and walls shifting and changing back to the vibrant colors she’s grown accustomed to. She huffs when the stranger crosses the threshold. 

“Viktor’s my surprise?” Vi asks, her tone teasing but the question genuine. Caitlyn snorts and Viktor sighs fondly. 

“It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Kiramman ,” he says the name with an emphasis that stuns Vi into stillness. She gapes between Caitlyn and Viktor, head snapping toward the man’s direction. 

“How do you– we aren’t even legally– Cait?” Vi flushes, her chest feeling like the boxing ring she used to find herself in, loud and thunderous. Caitlyn just smiles fondly and closes the distance. 

“I know this is… sudden but, Viktor’s here to paint our portrait,” she says, biting her lip afterwards, her eyes pensive as she waits for Vi’s reaction. Her breath stutters in her lungs and her gaze still flickers between her wife and Viktor before a laugh bubbles out of her throat. 

“You want that?” she asks, only vaguely aware of her eyes burning and her vision blurring. Caitlyn cups her face, her thumbs running soothing strokes over the swell of Vi’s cheeks. She takes Caitlyn in for a moment, noticing the differences in this gown compared to the horrid thing she’d been forced to wear before. It lacks the obnoxious ruffles and frills, fitting her frame more simply. She looks like she can finally breathe.    

“I know we had our own ceremony when we first got here but I wanted something to prove that this is just as real as anything between a man and a woman,” she admits, her thumbs still moving along Vi’s skin. “And I trust Viktor to do the job.” 

Vi laughs again. But the sound isn’t even really a laugh. It’s a choked sound from her throat, her shock and awe and just fucking love for the woman in front of her forcing the noise out in the open. 

Viktor coughs behind them, and Vi blushes at the realization that he’s still in the foyer. “I’ll go get setup, then,” he says casually, leaving the two women alone.

“Is this alright?” Caitlyn asks timidly once the older man and his few assistants are gone. Vi leans her forehead against Caitlyn’s, her hands finding Caitlyn’s waist, fingers gripping the fabric. 

“I’ve never had a real portrait done of me,” Vi admits. “I’m glad it’s with you,” she adds quickly. And she finds she truly is glad. That she’s truly happy for maybe the first long period in her life. 

_____

Vi isn’t normally the one in front of the canvas. Her hands were those of a creator, aching to move and to just do something . But she sits in front of one now, poised and posed in fine clothes she never would’ve dreamed of owning. Caitlyn sits in her lap, their faces close and their hands strewn across each other. It’s the most untraditional pose she’s been a part of. And she finds herself growing even more empathetic to her wife’s patience with modeling in clothes like this. Especially when playful fingers poke and caress in a mischievous challenge, only for Viktor to cough and give both women a stern look with no real bite. 

Viktor is done a week later and Vi could truly burn the clothes at this point. But when she stands next to Caitlyn in front of the finished piece, every uncomfortable hour spent on the platform is worth it. 

Vi finds herself speechless as she gazes upon it, unable to process that the women painted on the canvas are really them . But it’s undeniable, the features detailed with a fine hand and devoted precision are laid before her. 

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Viktor says casually as he cleans a brush with a towel, his clothes stained with speckled paint. Caitlyn looks at the canvas like she looks at Vi every morning. Crystal blue reverence and unrelenting devotion. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes, taking a step back closer to where Vi stands. “What do you think?” she asks Vi more quietly, her thumbs twisting and rubbing at the front of her dress. Vi bites the inside of her cheek, cursing her inability to formulate words that mean something, that can actually convey how deeply she feels about the piece and the woman who claimed her at the bottom of a rickety staircase. 

Vi takes a deep breath, intertwining her fingers with Caitlyn’s fidgeting ones, feeling the cool metal that adorns her finger. She fights through the wall of inadequacy, trying to find the words, but all she can come up with, the only thing she can seem to think when she looks at Caitlyn, is “It’s perfect.”