Chapter Text
(Now Playing It’s Tricky by Run-DMC)
Me, 3:32pm
Absolutely fuck my entire bloodline
What has happened to this college and the world itself
mel 💛, 3:33pm
what’d she say???
Me, 3:33pm
It’s so bad I put on throwback rap to keep from screaming
mel 💛, 3:33pm
so what’s the verdict
Me, 3:35pm
I do need that one art credit outside of my major to graduate, and she wants me to do theater since typically one writer is taking it and the Academy Daily can publish their end-of-semester article about the process in the Arts and Culture section. No writer is taking it this semester and there’s no other class open
And she said she would write to my job about moving me from the advertising department to the News editorial and writing department if I did it
mel 💛, 3:35pm
that’s not too bad, and you’ve complained about doing advertising for them
i’m doing theater, do it with me
Me, 3:36pm
You are?
mel 💛, 3:36pm
Elora convinced me ☺️
and I convinced Jayce to audition and he convinced Viktor too so if you want to hang out with us at all you’ve gotta do it
mel 💛, 3:38pm
you can’t wait another semester to graduate NYT wouldn’t allow it
IT’LL BE FUN
mel 💛, 3:41pm
dont ignore me cait
Me, 3:41pm
I cannot act.
mel 💛, 3:41pm
bullshit
you pretend to be a straight woman to your parents daily
Me, 3:41pm
What even is the play??
mel 💛, 3:42pm
romeo and juliet, theme and costumes based off of the 1996 movie
Me, 3:42pm
Fuck. No.
“Romeo and Juliet is probably the most overrated play on this planet,” Caitlyn grumbles, storming into her and Mel’s two bedroom apartment and downright launching her satchel onto the ground. Mel doesn’t even spare a glance, but a chuckle plays on her lips. “I can be a stage manager, or work on costumes, or something. I still get the credit and can write the article.”
She plops down beside Mel on the couch with a huff, pulling up her Google Calendar. The rest of December eighth has nothing else in store for her.
To pass the class, her long-time advisor, mentor, and director of the journalism major Professor Shoola tells her, is not to do well, but to ‘engage with the community’ and ultimately successfully put on the four shows at the end of the semester. For Caitlyn, as she scrolls through her classes next semester, the workload is doable. She’d loaded up on so many classes in the previous semesters that she only has two left to take, excluding the ‘theater’ class.
“We’re still looking for a Lady Montague,” Mel drawls, looking up finally. She reaches into her nearby purse and tosses Caitlyn a heavy book, which lands unceremoniously on her lap before she can catch it. ROMEO AND JULIET- SPRING 2024 PAI, the cover reads in bold. The script. “She barely has any speaking lines. And we’d be enemies.”
Caitlyn thumbs through the pages—Mel has already highlighted Lady Capulet’s lines. Caitlyn hadn’t even been aware that Mel was interested in theater, and it couldn’t be for the art credit, considering the art minor she’d nearly completed. Albeit, Caitlyn had always been so stocked up on classes that she hadn’t had much time to investigate her friends’ interests outside of academia. In the dramatis personae, there are small question marks next to Romeo and Juliet’s characters.
“So you’re Lady Capulet?”
“Yes.” Mel pauses, biting her lip. “Several rounds of auditions and callbacks were last week, but admittedly, we didn’t get a lot of interest and Professor Salo is picky. So we’re still looking for multiple roles. Ironically, and madly, we’re even still looking for a Romeo and Juliet themselves.”
Caitlyn scoffs, not at the lack of swooning-attention seekers vying for the lead roles but because she can’t believe she has to do theater. Three and a half years of emailing and nudging her way into masters and graduate journalism seminars to end up taking a lower-division gen-ed in her final semester.
“A stage manager would do fine,” she repeats firmly.
“At least come to the final round of auditions tomorrow,” Mel pleads, taking the script back from Caitlyn. She gives Caitlyn a knowing look that screams you-know-I’m-making-a-good point. “You need to inform Professor Salo of your interest anyway. Being a stage manager and being an actor are two totally different perspectives, and I don’t think Shoola is looking for the former.”
Shifting, Caitlyn plays with the edge of her phone-case. Mel is right now, and Mel was right earlier. She does need this to graduate. Idiotically, she hadn’t run a progress check on her requirements until after the main registration time, so convinced she had kept perfect track of her progress on her curated Excel spreadsheet. Now every class is full, except for this one, because of course the Piltovan Academy of Innovation’s students wouldn’t be interested in theater. And she had been constantly complaining about receiving a position in the New York Times in the advertising department and not News writing despite that she had just completed an internship in the News department. Don’t get her wrong, she was incredibly appreciative, (OMFG NEW YORK TIMES WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DKJLFSLKDGFNHJDSLHFNLSDK:NF to the groupchat a month ago at eight in the morning), because this was her way out, a full-time job straight out college. But she would love to start immediately in her desired department, and Shoola had influence.
Graduate and get out of this gods-for-saken city, consistently under the watchful gaze of her parents. She’s been rushing at that plan since first year. She can’t wander astray now.
“When do auditions start? I’ll add it to my calendar.”
↠↢
Vi is absolutely hammered.
That was a given. It’s Mylo’s birthday, and the whole group went out downtown, Powder and Ekko and Claggor and everyone. After hopping through a few of their favorite spots, they landed in their ultimate favorite: The Last Drop, like it wasn’t obvious. Now, huddled up in the far corner, with the dented picture frames and cushioned seats, and too many shots ordered and taken on Ekko’s dime thanks to his side-gig with Powder on a new, ultra-powered computer energy conserver, of course Vi is hammered.
She has what must be her tenth shot in her hand, the record player hooked up to the speakers playing low, eager yet heartfelt tunes, when Ekko says, “Vi,” and with a laugh, “I wanna bet that you can’t beat Claggor in an arm wrestle right now.”
Vi nearly spits out the vodka while Powder cackles one of her Powder-cackles beside her. “Are you kidding?” she says. She can feel the vodka running laps through her veins, sending receptors firing and making her louder than she already is. “Are you crazy? You’d be wasting your time and your money.”
“Hey!” says Claggor from across the table, looking offended. “I’ve been working out. I totally could.”
“Yeah, working out with the highest setting on the chest press,” quips Mylo with a raucous laugh.
“I’m surprised you know what that is,” Powder says, that mischievous smile of hers making it’s insult-born appearance. “When was the last time you went to the gym, noodle-arms?”
Mylo sours, sinking back into the dense bar shadows. Vi chuckles and turns back to Ekko. “Whatcha betting?”
“If you lose,” Ekko says, leaning forward and even through her drunken haze, Vi can recognize when Ekko’s up to something—that mechanical glint in his eye, the way he slides over another shot to replace the one she just knocked back so skillfully it’s like he was going to college for D1 shuffleboarding— “you audition for Romeo and Juliet and add theater to your schedule.”
Vi would’ve been confused even if she’d been sober. Drunk, she barely comprehends the words. “What?”
“Why do you want a graduating sports-science major in the play?” Powder seems to try to whisper, grabbing Ekko’s wrist, but it seems alcohol has similar effects in sisters. She speaks like they’ve discussed this before. “You want her to go on and on about the dangers of lifting a 60-pound box without using your hips?”
“Hey, Pow, it’s more lifting with only your arms, not really your—”
Vi is interrupted with snapping fingers in her face. “See!” says Powder.
“We don’t have enough actors,” Ekko says, and then begins to laugh. “And it’d be funny.”
“Well, it’s not going to happen anyway,” Vi interjects. She knew Powder was kicking up her extracurricular list with working on set designs and to spend more time with Ekko, who’d already boasted about securing Mercutio, Mylo and Claggor following along because they always kept their schedules empty, but she hadn’t been expected to be dragged into this. Her plan next semester was to cruise along the rest of her major-minor requirements and look into jobs close to Vander and Benzo and the family. “What do I get if I win?”
Ekko halts like he hadn’t planned this part out, then says, “I—I’ll take the school gym class of your choice.”
Powder barks out a laugh. “You know there’s ballet classes there, right? You gonna dress up all nice in a pretty little tutu?”
“Male dancers wear more of a speedo-esque costume, really,” Claggor puts in, shyly.
Ekko doesn’t get to reverse his bet, regrettable considering the horrific widening of his eyes before Vi drawls, “Deal. Claggor, get over here.”
In the morning, through her hangover because she forgot chasers along the way and grappling along her nightstand for some ibuprofen, she remembers that she lost.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, sitting up and scrabbling around her disheveled sheets, finding her phone as it pings with a message from Ekko: auditions at 3! see you there 🤑. “Fuck. Fuck.”
She barely remembers the actual arm wrestle; she doesn’t understand what had gone wrong. There’d never been any misunderstanding, growing up and now, that she was essentially the strongest of the group, with Claggor not too far behind. The bet looked shockingly stupid on Ekko’s part and like free entertainment for months on Vi’s, and yet.
She remembers the heat of Claggor’s hand permeating through her hand wraps, remembers the burning strain of her muscles as she pushed, unwilling to make a fool of herself on a stage next semester, remembers a brief flash of navy hair by the door and the alcohol's dreamy swirling at the back of her eyes. She remembers the back of her hand hitting the wooden table with a clang! that shocked even the glass drinks.
Vi swallows down the ibuprofen and checks the time. 12:56pm. Shit. She had less than 2 hours to un-hangover herself and get to the fucking auditorium and audition for Romeo and Juliet. Fucking Shakespeare! Ekko couldn’t have chosen a better time to proposition her?
If she skips out on her end of the bet, Ekko will scope her out and accuse her, and regardless that’s just not the person Vi is. She should’ve known better than to take a bet drunk. What the hell was she thinking?
Vi works her way to somewhat presentable, mind sluggish and her body even worse. She’s really dreading this. Best case scenario, in this state, she’d end up as an extra, with little to do and not much attention paid to the laughingstock of an actor she must be. She doesn’t have lines memorized, she threw on a muscle tee and jeans and a jacket for the cold autumn air, and really the only thing about her alluding to the persona of ‘theater actor’ is the dyed hair.
She drives her motorcycle over, parks it and practically moves like a tire’s attached to her with how regrettably she walks into the auditorium. Spotting the bright, white dreads and the small, electric blue space buns that is Ekko and Powder, she sidles into the aisle and slumps into an uncomfortable wooden seat beside them while Ekko bursts out into failing-to-be-controlled laughter.
Vi mutters, burying her head in her hands, “Shut the fuck up.”
Ekko continues to laugh while Powder grins. “Maybe this wasn’t the worst idea,” Powder admits to him, and Vi wants to dig herself a ditch and fall into it. “If only this was a musical. Ha!”
Vi says, “I’d rather die.”
“You look like shit,” her sister says fondly.
“I know,” Vi says, picking her head back up. She glances around the room. Wood and golden metal arcs support the dome ceiling, supports lining themselves up by the walls, making for an orchestra, mezzanine and balcony section, a great chandelier dimly lighting the room There really is very little people, and she doesn’t even know who’s already in the play and who’s actually new. A few strays she doesn’t recognize dot the seats, sitting in small groups, whispering amongst themselves with scripts in their laps. She spots Mel Medarda sitting beside her friend Elora, which seems typical, because of course rich chicks would be interested in the local art culture. As if on cue, Jayce Talis, acclaimed Academy inventor and his partner Viktor stride into the room, greeting Mel and Elora with rather a large commotion before taking their places next to them in the front row. “Maybe that’s good—I don’t want a speaking role. Where is everyone? Who’s who?”
“Mylo and Claggor are running late, but Mylo already got Benvolio, Claggor’s narrating the chorus, and somehow Salo wanted Sevika as Prince Escalus,” says Ekko, and then turns to the other side of the auditorium. “Jayce is Tybalt, if it wasn’t obvious, Viktor’s Friar Lawrence, Mel’s Lady Capulet, Elora’s Juliet’s nurse, and this random girl named Maddie somehow snatched Paris. Salo and Mel’s mom Ambessa loved her.”
Ekko gestures over to a ginger-haired girl sitting a row or two behind Mel and the rest of them, looking timid but holding her head high, beside a dignified young man with subtle teal hair. Hm, Vi thinks. That tracks.
“So what about Romeo and Juliet?” Vi asks. “Did it go to some random freshmen who blew Salo away?”
“Ambessa wishes,” Ekko says, nodding at the hulk of a woman lingering near the stairs up to the stage, arms crossed and looking annoyed. “She’s doing the blocking. She’s annoyed they haven’t been cast yet because she can’t start working on them. Oh, and Professor Heimerdinger’s conducting the orchestra.”
Vi takes in the information, but her gaze strays back to Mel and Jayce and everyone. She’s spoken to them before, despite that they run in completely different circles. Viktor and Powder’s engineering work overlap often and therefore Ekko is typically involved (Vi is still getting used to the fact that her sister and her practical younger brother are dating, which sounds entirely gross and only part of the reason Vi is unnerved, yet happy), but she’s spoken to the rest apart from that. Years ago now, but. It’s weird knowing they’ll be around for the forthcoming months.
“Fashionably late,” says Ekko, shaking Vi out of her head as Mylo and Claggor clamber into the aisle.
“Someone wouldn’t drag his ass out of bed,” Claggor mutters, glaring at Mylo while Mylo flips him off.
Powder says, “Well at least you’re here before—”
She’s cut off abruptly by the auditorium doors banging open. Professor Salo wheels himself into the room with imaginary fanfare, Professor Heimerdinger trotting along behind him with his funny-looking glasses and feathery attire.
“Welcome, everyone!” Professor Salo exclaims, before sagging back into his wheelchair with much less enthusiasm. “To yet another round of uninspiring auditions.”
Vi prevents herself from snorting, leaning toward Powder. “How many rounds have gone before this?”
“Everyone that’s been cast was at the opening auditions,” Powder explains, chewing on the back of a graffitied pencil. In her lap is a sketchbook, a few set and prop designs occupying the pages. There’s occasional sketches of colorful pistols, accompanied by Powder’s pastel art style. “They brought me and Scar in last round for props and lighting, but after that, Salo’s basically told everyone else to fuck off.”
“I can’t believe people keep showing up,” Claggor says.
Mylo yawns, “If he doesn’t decide on the others soon, I’m gonna get bored.”
Vi looks at Ekko, an inkling of hope sparking within her. “Then what makes you think he’ll take me?”
Ekko says with a bitch-ass grin, “Because I put in a recommendation.”
“Theater is about passion ,” Salo rambles on, rolling himself down to the table positioned just before the stage. “Theater is about the ability to leave all of yourself on the stage. Theater is about the ability to captivate people’s minds with the sheer emotion you give to your work, an ability none of you imbeciles auditioning for the leads have—”
“He seems like fun,” Vi says, tuning Salo out.
“He’s insane,” comments Powder. “And that’s coming from me.”
“But he’s rich and he’s practically the only one funding the program,” Ekko explains. “So, waddya’know, he’s the director.”
Vi asks Ekko, dreading the answer, “So what role do you want me to go for?”
Ekko opens his mouth to respond, but then his mouth stays open and his line of sight drifts somewhere past Vi’s shoulder. Vi furrows her brows, looking past him to Powder, whose gaze has also shifted and shocked into silence. Vi says, turning around, “What the fuck are you looking at—”
And—oh.
Oh.
Oh, absolutely the fuck not.
“What the fuck,” Powder says flatly.
Salo’s annoying voice isn’t rambling on about what theater consists of anymore, because Caitlyn fucking Kiramman, having snuck in somewhere, is now speaking to him privately, satchel strap in one hand and phone in the other, looking grave and as if she’d just gotten knocked off her pedestal.
Ekko hisses to Powder, “I thought you’d said Viktor said Caitlyn isn’t involved with theater—”
“That’s what he said!” Powder says, as they watch Caitlyn shake her head in indignation and turn on her heel to go sit next to Mel, looking faintly bewildered. “Shit goes sideways, I didn’t know—”
“It’s fucking fine , relax,” Vi interjects, shaking herself out of it. Caitlyn Kiramman, in a theater. Caitlyn Kiramman, in the theater program. Caitlyn Kiramman, in the same theater program she’s about to audition for. “She’s probably just here supporting her friends.”
Caitlyn . Vi hasn’t talked about her in years. Caitlyn Kiramman was like a taboo in their circle, never to be mentioned and never to be discussed, even when Viktor came up. Because she’s the shittiest person in that entire group, and because Vi hated her fucking guts.
“So!” Salo declares, having positioned himself at the front table. “Who’s auditioning this time? Get up here.”
Wordlessly, apparently shell-shocked, Ekko pushes at Vi’s shoulder until she’s basically forced to stand, clambering out of the aisle, turning her head and fuck —
The first time Caitlyn and Vi’s eyes had met, it was exactly like this. Across a lecture hall in their mid-spring semester of freshman year, the second part of the basic introductory class all freshmen had to take on essay writing and research. Vi hadn’t understood how she’d never spotted her before: long, navy blue hair, without a single knot, pencil skirt and fleece tights for the almost-spring air, similar navy turtle-neck, and those long legs stepping gracefully up the stairs. Caitlyn Kiramman was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. The mid-section of seats had separated them, and passing heads interrupted that gorgeous vision of the woman before her, but Vi had watched as Caitlyn had blinked, blinked again, and stepped forward, seeming to reach out a hand until someone had bumped into her and knocked her computer straight out of her arms.
Now, Caitlyn spots Vi from across the same distance as she stands, separated by the mid-section of seats in the auditorium. She’s wearing a floor-length black skirt under a plum-purple sweater, and their eyes meet and Caitlyn’s face hardens and her chin points upward as she turns away and moves toward Salo again and Vi’s heart shrivels into something absolutely lurid.
Vi scowls. What a fucking bitch.
She makes her way to the front of the auditorium, hands in her pockets as she makes it a point to not catch Caitlyn’s gaze again. A few others trickle behind her, seeming scared with their head down and maybe even shaking. And once they all arrive, Salo proclaims, “Wonderful. Just wonderful. Well! I’m guessing you’re all here to audition for Romeo or Juliet?”
Vi startles. Absolutely not. “Well, actually—”
“That’s not the case for everyone, really—” Vi hears Caitlyn’s posh accented voice put in.
And this seems to be their fatal flaw, considering that they are the only two people who speak up, so Salo lays his small, fox-like eyes right on them.
“Hm,” he says, gaze flicking between them. Vi watches Caitlyn take a step to her left, away from Vi. “Yes… that would work. Oh, that would be spectacular. You.” He points a thin, stick-like finger at Vi, and picks up two scripts from his table with his other hand. “Act one, scene five, starting at line one-hundred and four. Read for Romeo. And you.” He turns on Caitlyn—whose eyes widen and she takes a sort of bunny-like hop backward—and says, “Read for Juliet.”
He hands the scripts to Vi and Caitlyn, and Vi feels like her world is going to explode. “Get on stage. And the rest of you insolent actors, take a seat!”
Caitlyn turns and tries to plead, “This really isn’t necessary. We’re—I’m not here to audition for—”
“Do I need repeat myself? Get on stage, Ms. Kiramman.”
Vi looks back at Ekko and Powder, about to make her case to get the fuck out of here, but then Ekko and Powder are frantically making unintelligible arm motions toward the stairs to the stage while Mylo and Claggor lose their shit in laughter. And then a shoulder nudges into her own and Caitlyn’s passing her with a low, “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
What the flying fuck.
Enraged, Vi trails after her. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Vi whisper-shouts at her as they climb the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” Caitlyn shoots back at her, moving to the middle of the stage. “Since when have you been a fan of Shakespeare ?”
“Since when have you?”
“I’m not! I’m doing this to fulfill my last art credit!”
“Oh, what a surprise, did your idiotic fucking spreadsheet finally fail you?”
Caitlyn turns and rounds on her, fury etched into every line of those sharp features, stark blue eyes firing with electricity. “And let me guess, you lost another one of your friend's dimwitted bets because you couldn’t hold your shitty liquor?”
“Watch your mouth, Kiramman,” Vi snarls, stepping closer to her. Caitlyn’s eyes meet and bore into hers, mouth set and jaw rigged, and Vi hasn’t gone looking for her in years so here, up close, she can see the subtle ways Caitlyn’s face has matured, how her cheeks have hollowed slightly to expose her sharp cheekbones and how her lips have softened. “Don’t think—”
“Are we quite ready?” Salo’s voice booms from below. “We don’t have all day!”
“We only have the auditorium booked for an hour, friends,” clarifies Heimerdinger from beside him, finally chirping up with that awfully high and squeaky voice and seeming to be trying to be optimistic. “Please begin whenever you’re ready.”
Vi and Caitlyn turn back to each other and Caitlyn is the one that has the decorum to step back, flipping through the script. Fuck. Vi doesn’t remember whatever buttfuck scene Salo told them to read from. She racks through her mind, remembering the number five, flipping to page five, finding only the damn prologue, cursing under her breath until—
Until Caitlyn’s low mutter reaches her ears, eyes not lifting from her script: “Page fifty-seven, Vi.” And—“Line one-hundred-and-four, your line is first.”
Vi scowls, turning to that page. She hurries to get a general sense of the upcoming lines before glancing hesitantly at her friends, watching with the shittiest grins, and back to the waiting Salo, Heimerdinger, and Ambessa, who’s moved from the side of the stage to join them.
Fuck. What the hell is she doing up here? She doesn’t know batshit about acting. The most acting she’s ever done is running lines with Ekko as he slowly got into the hobby, and maybe lying her way out of things if you’d count that. This was the worst bet she’s ever taken and she’s taken a lot. And she can’t do this with Caitlyn, not like this, with her standing barely two feet away. She can turn to Salo and clarify right now, she’s just looking for a spot in the play—
Caitlyn clears her throat unnecessarily loud, and Vi has never went back on her thoughts quicker.
She launches into action. “If I profane—”
“Ah!” shouts Salo, putting a hand up to signal a halt, and then taps the script with the same hand annoyingly over and over again. “Follow the blocking, please. ‘Romeo: taking Juliet’s hand’?”
What! Vi’s eyes widen in horror, and when she turns back to Caitlyn, Caitlyn’s face is equally mortified. Fuck!
She meets Caitlyn’s eyes, raising her eyebrows a bit. She puts out her hand. Caitlyn, seeming resigned, basically flinches before she takes it. Their hands slide together like water and Vi hurries to keep reading before she can wrap her head around the fact it’s happening.
“If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Vi reads, and really does try to look up at Caitlyn while reading, trying to be at least somewhat cohesive so Caitlyn doesn’t absolutely berate her after this, “This— This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: / My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand / To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
“Good pilgrim,” Caitlyn begins, voice as smooth as silk and she speaks with a firmness that’s like intertangling ribbon with silver, “you do wrong your hand too much, / Which mannerly devotion shows in this; / For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, / And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”
“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
The room is quiet. Vi feels like if she wasn’t currently speaking she’d be holding her breath too. She takes a leap, takes a step towards Caitlyn, grips her hand a little firmer and attempts to make her words true: “Oh then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do / They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”
She watches Caitlyn swallow. She feels Caitlyn’s skilled fingers wrap around hers, secure. “Saints do not move,” Caitlyn says, eyes locking on hers, “though grant for prayers’ sake.”
“Then move —uh.” Vi’s gaze locks on the blocking of the next line. Romeo kisses her. She turns to Salo, gesturing with the script, “Uh, do we need to—?”
“Yes!” says Salo, exasperated. He turns to Heimerdinger, waving his hands around incoherently. “This was the issue with the other auditions, never committing to the art—”
Let it be known that Vi really fucking loved challenges, and never really did like losing.
She continues. “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,” she says, looks up at Caitlyn, watches Caitlyn’s eyelashes flutter, watches Caitlyn’s head tilt down, just like that, and she whispers, “Oh, fuck it,” before Vi kisses her.
Removes her hand from Caitlyn’s, moves forward, sets it on Caitlyn’s neck, and kisses her. Caitlyn’s small gasp captures the air straight from Vi’s vicinity, but her lips are parting and her free hand slowly slides up the back of Vi’s neck and— Gods—
It’s over before Vi knows it. She’s pulled back, looking up at Caitlyn incredulously. Caitlyn blinks once, blinks again, and then she’s moving slightly back, clearing her throat—did she always do that?— “Um—” Caitlyn begins, under her breath, moving the script up and down, at a loss— “It’s—it’s you—”
“Oh,” Vi says. She hadn’t been reading past Romeo kisses her . “Uh, Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”
“Then have my lips the sin that they have took'” says Caitlyn. Her voice is softer now, not the firm, projecting voice she’d been using earlier. Vi doesn’t even know if Salo and the others can hear her. Her pupils have dilated like she lost the bet due to alcohol, and her hand on Vi’s nape is still fucking there.
“Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” Vi murmurs, looking down. She doesn’t know if she should—again— “Give me my sin again—”
Caitlyn cuts her off—Caitlyn kisses her. What the fuck, Caitlyn kisses her this time. In the script it’s Romeo, but Vi’s very own Juliet drags her in by the nape. And the connection’s instant, firing up between them as suddenly as sparklers, like two years haven’t gone by, like they weren’t acting, like Caitlyn’s pulling back and moving back in for a softer, quicker kiss—
And Caitlyn pulls back. A breath, a momentary stutter: “You kiss by th’ book,” Caitlyn whispers, her breath on Vi’s lips, so fucking close. Caitlyn hadn’t even looked down at the script, she’d just—
“And cut!” booms Salo from four million miles away, and it seems to snap Caitlyn back, and just like that, every bit of connection to her is gone, and their four feet away as they both stumble backward. Vi coughs into her fist, finding the ground interesting. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? She’s way too hungover for this shit—
“Spectacular,” Salo says, breathless, rolling out from behind the table to approach them closer. He seems star-struck by awe and oh fuck— “Just spectacular. This!” he exclaims, gesturing widely to the room, “This, everyone, is passion! This is what the theater program has been looking for all along! Vi—Violet isn’t it? Yes, Ekko discussed your auditioning with me—your persona, the way you carry yourself, and Ms. Kiramman, I didn’t think you’d have it in you!”
“Have—what, in me?” Caitlyn stammers.
“The passion!” Salo sounds delusional. He rolls closer, nodding along like he’s just solved what is the meaning of life? “I’ve been looking for you two.”
“No, I really don’t think so,” Vi says, shaking her head, “really, I think you’ve got the wrong idea—”
“My friends!” Salo roars, and he genuinely looks like he might start tearing up. “We’ve finally found our Romeo and Juliet.”