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Chapter Text

Harvard was exactly what everyone said it would be—prestigious, rigorous, polished to a glimmering sheen of impossible expectations. And Caitlyn Kiramman, top of her class and legacy of a long line of revered attorneys, was thriving in it. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

Her blazer was crisp, a deep navy that made her eyes look even more blue than they already were. Her notebook was filled with meticulous handwriting from Professor Hayworth’s lecture on corporate defense law, and she nodded along at the right times, answered when called on, and shook hands like she already belonged in a courtroom.

But some days, when the sun slanted in through the library windows and dust danced in the air like a secret, Caitlyn caught herself wondering how she ended up here. Not at Harvard—no, she had worked for that. But here, on this path.

She didn’t want to defend corrupt corporations. She didn’t want to use the law as a shield for people who crushed others beneath them. She wanted something else. Something quieter. Something more human. A kind of justice that didn’t come with six-figure retainers and quiet brunches at the country club. But her parents had made it very clear—Harvard Law was not about dreams. It was about legacy.

Which was why she almost said no when her best friend, Mel, invited her to the women’s soccer game that evening. “It’ll be good for you,” Mel said, breezily tugging Caitlyn’s sleeve. “You're always reading. Come watch people do something physical for a change.”

Caitlyn had rolled her eyes but gone anyway.

She didn’t expect to be so drawn in.

The stadium wasn’t packed, but the crowd had a buzz to it—students with their faces painted, waving signs, stomping and yelling like they actually had something to root for. Caitlyn sat high enough in the bleachers to see the whole field, the players zipping across like streaks of color.

And then she saw her.

Pink hair. Cut short in the back, longer in the front, tousled like she didn’t care but obviously knew exactly how cool she looked. The sun caught her every time she moved. She had the kind of presence Caitlyn found herself watching without even realizing she was doing it. Every time Vi—Caitlyn caught her name from the crowd’s cheers—chased the ball down the field or shoved her shoulder against an opposing player like she was made of steel, Caitlyn’s stomach did a strange, fluttering somersault.

“She’s our striker,” Mel said, noticing Caitlyn’s line of sight. “Vi. Bit of a legend. Carries the team every season.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn repeated under her breath. It suited her. Short, strong, sharp.

The game ended with Harvard on top, 3-1, and Vi scored twice. She raised her arms in the air, flashing a grin that turned Caitlyn’s spine into warm syrup.

She didn't think too hard about the way her eyes lingered on the way Vi’s jersey clung to her body, or how her teeth bit her lip like an automatic reaction whenever Vi wiped the sweat off her brow. It was just a game. Just a girl. Just an infatuation—if you could even call it that.

After the match, Mel dragged her to a party off-campus. “Team’s celebrating. It’s a good one, I promise. No sweaty frat basements this time.”

Caitlyn didn’t love parties, but something about the way her pulse hadn’t quite settled after the game kept her from refusing. Maybe she’d see Vi again.

She didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

The house was already packed when they arrived, music thudding against the floorboards. Caitlyn found a red cup in her hand and a warm buzz in her chest after only a few sips. She leaned against the wall, watching people dance, talk, laugh. She recognized a few soccer players—tall, loud, electric. And then there was her again.

Vi stood in the center of it all, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. She had changed out of her jersey into a black tank top that showed off her arms, toned and defined. She looked good. Unfairly good. Her smile was wide, a little crooked. Her voice was low and husky, teasing one of her teammates.

Caitlyn watched from across the room, her drink forgotten.

She couldn’t explain it—this… pull. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe the magnetism. Maybe the alcohol. Probably all of it. But her heart beat faster every time Vi tilted her head back and laughed.

She didn’t approach her. She wasn’t that bold. Not yet. Besides, it wasn’t serious. It was just a crush. A fleeting flicker of interest. A spark in the dark.

Caitlyn turned away after a while, but the image of Vi stayed burned in her mind.

She didn’t know her. Didn’t even know her last name.

But she wanted to.

And that was the beginning.

—

The fifth week of the semester had arrived like a freight train, unapologetic and loud. Harvard’s campus, usually buzzing with an air of controlled ambition, now thrummed with open desperation. Students who had spent the last month coasting on good intentions now flooded the lecture halls, faces pale from caffeine dependence and lack of sleep.

Caitlyn noticed immediately.

She always arrived ten minutes early to her science gen-ed—one of the few classes she didn’t need but had taken to round out her schedule. Normally, the room was sparsely filled, mostly by pre-meds and overachievers like herself. But today, the benches were full.

Caitlyn took her usual seat near the front, flipping open her tablet, when a flash of pink caught her eye.

At the very back of the hall, slouched low in her seat, was her.

Vi.

Caitlyn blinked. Her first instinct was surprise—she hadn’t expected to see Vi again, especially not here, in the middle of a lecture. But there she was, wearing a hoodie that might’ve been stolen from a boyfriend if Caitlyn didn’t already know she didn’t have one, one leg bouncing restlessly under the table.

So… she was the type to show up when it counted. Skipped class until crunch time. Caitlyn narrowed her eyes just slightly. Probably scraping by with a 2.5 GPA. Typical jock. Rely on talent, charm your way through group projects, and pray the professors curve the final.

Still, her curiosity flickered. What was Vi’s major, anyway? Caitlyn realized she didn’t have a clue. Something easy, probably. Communication? Sociology? Not that Caitlyn thought those majors were less, but she’d met enough athletes to know the pattern.

As the professor began the lecture, Caitlyn forced herself to focus. She was here to learn. Not to watch Vi. Not to steal glances. Not to wonder if Vi was just bored or actually struggling to stay awake. But when Vi’s head lolled to the side, her chin almost tipping onto her chest, Caitlyn couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips.

A walking stereotype.

She looked back to her notes, fingers tapping her stylus against the screen. For some reason, the sight of Vi slouched in the back of the room, clearly trying not to pass out, stuck with her longer than it should’ve.

By the time the professor wrapped up, Caitlyn turned in her seat, fully expecting to catch another glimpse of pink. But the chair was empty. Vi had slipped out before the lecture ended.

Of course she had.

—

Dinner was at La Fenice, her mother’s favorite restaurant, and just walking into the dimly lit space felt like stepping into a performance. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and soft jazz played from hidden speakers. Her parents sat across from her, pristine and poised, sipping from oversized wine glasses.

Her mother was discussing a new property in Martha’s Vineyard. Her father was already halfway through a story about his latest case defending an oil executive. Caitlyn wasn’t listening.

She poked at her vegetables in practiced silence, nodding when necessary, her mind still swimming in midterms and lectures and Vi’s stupid pink hair.

Then, she heard it.

A laugh—low, husky, familiar in a way that made something coil tight in her stomach.

She glanced over her shoulder instinctively, scanning the tables. And there, in the corner of the restaurant, at a small, candlelit table tucked by the window—

Vi.

Her hair was tied back loosely, strands falling over her face, and she looked… polished. Not in a traditional way, but in a way that still somehow stole the attention from everything else around her. And across the table, leaning in with a hand resting lightly on Vi’s arm, was a woman.

Older. Radiant. Red hair coiled like fire around her shoulders. She wore confidence like a designer gown—tailored, striking, expensive.

They looked close. Too close.

The woman leaned in, said something that made Vi laugh again. Caitlyn watched, frozen, as the woman’s manicured fingers stroked down the length of Vi’s arm. A touch that was too familiar, too easy. Caitlyn’s stomach turned.

She faced forward again, her appetite completely gone.

"Everything alright, darling?" her mother asked, eyebrows lifting slightly.

"Fine," Caitlyn replied, pushing the snow peas further to the edge of her plate.

She didn’t know why she cared. Vi was a stranger. A stereotypical jock who probably wouldn’t remember a word of today’s lecture. A player, maybe. Dating an older woman with more money than time.

It didn’t mean anything.

But Caitlyn’s thoughts refused to let go of that image. The intimate table. The laughter. The pink hair under warm restaurant lighting.

She stared at her untouched food and couldn’t stop wondering:

Who was Vi, really?

And why couldn’t she stop thinking about her?

Chapter Text

Midterms were over, and just like that, the campus atmosphere had shifted from tightly wound anxiety to electric release. The air buzzed with laughter and music spilling out of dorm windows, students celebrating the temporary freedom between waves of academic hell.

Caitlyn could feel it in her bones—the tension bleeding out of the week like air from a balloon. And though she was the type to highlight her textbooks in five different colors and plan her study schedule to the hour, she wasn’t made of stone. She knew how to let loose. She wanted to, tonight.

So when Mel invited her to The Nexus , a local club that was definitely known for ignoring IDs, Caitlyn didn’t hesitate.

She was three drinks in now, the bass of the music pulsing under her skin like a second heartbeat. The lights were low, streaks of red and blue slicing through the smoke and sweat of the dance floor. She stood by the bar, sipping something sweet and lethal, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the heat of the room.

That’s when she appeared.

Vi.

She approached the bar like she owned it—confident, casual, that stupid pink hair somehow glowing under the dim lighting. She didn’t look at Caitlyn right away, but when she did, it was with a smooth, effortless nod. Chin tilted up. Cool as hell. Like they were friends. Like they’d met at parties before and exchanged lazy greetings in passing.

They hadn’t.

Vi didn’t say anything as she ordered her drink. She leaned back against the counter, one foot crossed over the other, eyes fixed on the DJ spinning a remix that had the dance floor screaming. She looked like she belonged here. Like the room rotated around her.

Caitlyn tried not to stare.

Tried.

Vi was wearing a cropped black t-shirt that clung to her shoulders and chest in ways Caitlyn didn’t know how to process while intoxicated. Her dark trousers hung low on her hips, loose and effortless, the band of her underwear visible in the gap between fabric and skin.

Caitlyn knew she was staring too long. She just didn’t care enough to stop.

Vi didn’t look at her, not at first. Just took a lazy sip from the drink handed to her. Then, slowly, she leaned closer—so close Caitlyn could smell her cologne, something warm and woodsy and a little dangerous.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” Vi said, her voice low and teasing, like a secret whispered over the rim of her glass.

Caitlyn opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out—just a small exhale, caught between indignation and surprise.

Vi didn’t wait for a reply. She took another sip, gave Caitlyn a smirk that was all sharp edges and playful fire, and then turned away. Back into the crowd. Gone.

The music thumped on, and Caitlyn blinked, still standing at the bar with her drink in hand and her face burning.

Even the alcohol couldn’t mask the embarrassment—or the sudden, inexplicable thrill curling hot and slow in her stomach.

What was that?

Whatever it was, Caitlyn knew one thing:

She was definitely in trouble.

—

Caitlyn didn’t believe in fate. She believed in structure, logic, and planning. She believed in calendars and five-step outlines and detailed rubrics. Which is why, when she reserved a private study room in the Widener Library to rehearse her upcoming debate speech, she expected that reservation to be honored.

She was halfway through a fiery monologue on corporate accountability—her tone sharp, her pacing calculated—when the door suddenly swung open with a loud clack against the wall.

Caitlyn froze mid-sentence.

And there she was again.

That pink-haired soccer player. Vi.

Of course it was Vi.

Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. Not because she was startled—though she was—but because something about Vi’s unexpected presence always seemed to short-circuit her brain. It didn’t help that her last encounter with Vi had involved staring too long and being caught in the act.

“Oh,” Vi blinked, clearly surprised. “My bad—I thought I booked this room today.” She lifted her phone and tilted it toward Caitlyn. “Room 238, right?”

Caitlyn’s eyes darted to the plaque beside the door. 238. Right.

She quickly fumbled for her phone. “Uh… yeah. I booked this too.” A few taps later, she held up her email confirmation like it was a legal exhibit.

Vi stepped in closer, holding out her own email. Same room. Same time.

They stood there in mutual disbelief.

“Well,” Vi shrugged, slipping her phone back into her pocket. “Must be a glitch in the system. I’m okay with sharing.”

Caitlyn blinked. Share? She was not about to rehearse a passionate speech in front of the effortlessly cool girl who likely hadn’t even opened a textbook this semester.

“I… I’m practicing for a speech,” she said hesitantly, gesturing to her notes and laptop.

Vi gave her a small grin. “I don’t mind.”

“No, I mean—I can’t just say it in front of you.”

Vi laughed—an easy, amused sound that only made Caitlyn’s nerves spike. “Why not? Isn’t that kinda the point of speeches?”

Caitlyn huffed. “I just… can’t.” The idea of Vi watching her deliver lines about legal reform and ethics was mortifying. Vi probably thought “civic duty” was the name of a punk band.

With a defeated sigh, Caitlyn began packing up her laptop. “It’s fine. You can have the room.”

Vi stepped forward, holding out a hand as if to stop her. “Hey, slow down there, Great Britain,” a jest at her accent, which Caitlyn did not appreciate. “What if I put on noise-canceling headphones and blast music? That way, it’s like I’m not even here.”

Caitlyn paused, eyeing her warily. “You study like that?”

“Yeah,” Vi shrugged. “Helps drown out everything else.”

Against her better judgment—and mostly because she really didn’t want to lug her stuff back to her dorm—Caitlyn nodded. “Fine. Deal.” Caitlyn paused before continuing. “And my name’s Caitlyn.”

—

An hour later, she was on her third run-through of her speech, and oddly enough, things were going well.

Vi had kept her word. She sat across the room, headphones snug over her ears, nodding to the beat of music loud enough that Caitlyn could hear the bass thump faintly even from her seat. She was hunched over her laptop, typing steadily, occasionally taking sips from a water bottle and stretching out her arms between paragraphs.

Caitlyn focused on her words. On her posture. On the way her voice carried and landed. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt good—better than it had in any of the empty dorm rehearsals.

As she wrapped up her final line, feeling the satisfying cadence of the closing argument, she caught movement from the corner of her eye.

Vi was watching her.

Headphones around her neck now. Eyes focused. A slight, amused smile tugged at her lips.

Caitlyn’s heart skipped. “H-Hey! You said you’d listen to your music!”

Vi held up her hands in surrender. “Guilty. Battery died like… ten minutes ago.” She shrugged. “Didn’t wanna interrupt.”

There was a pause. Then, Vi leaned casually against the edge of the table, smile softening. “But honestly? That was really good. Your speech. Sharp. Passionate. You had me hooked.”

Caitlyn looked down at her notebook, flustered. “Thanks.”

Vi began packing up her things. “Anyway, I’m heading out now, so you can have the room to yourself.”

She paused by the door, glancing over her shoulder.

“Not that you need any more practice.”

And then she was gone.

Caitlyn stood still for a moment, the silence pressing in now that the door was closed. Her fingers tapped the edge of her notebook absently, her heart still racing.

That third emotion—the one she couldn’t quite name—was back. Stronger now. Warmer.

Whatever it was, it was starting to feel less hypothetical.

Chapter Text

The roar of the crowd echoed off the stadium walls, a thrumming energy in the air that made Caitlyn’s chest buzz—not from school spirit, but from anticipation.

The Harvard Women’s Soccer Team was in the finals of the D1 Championship, and this time, it was Caitlyn who had dragged Mel along. Not because she was a sudden die-hard sports fan, but because Vi would be playing. And Caitlyn… well, she hadn’t stopped thinking about Vi since the library. Or the club. Or every time she caught glimpses of her around campus.

“Tell me again why I’m here?” Mel asked, folding her arms and adjusting her designer sunglasses despite it being late afternoon.

“I needed a break,” Caitlyn said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “And you needed one too.”

Mel gave her a look but said nothing. She was too sharp not to notice the real reason.

Caitlyn’s eyes scanned the field. She didn’t have to look hard—Vi stood out. Pink hair slightly damp from sweat, jersey clinging to her frame, cleats pounding against the turf as she darted between defenders with ease. She moved with precision, power, and just the right amount of arrogance.

When Vi pulled her jersey up to wipe the sweat from her forehead, Caitlyn’s breath caught. Her gaze lingered longer than it should have.

Beside her, Mel snorted. “Close your mouth before you start drooling.”

Caitlyn turned, cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” Mel grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

Caitlyn huffed but didn’t argue. “What do you know about her?”

Mel tilted her head thoughtfully. “Junior. Like you. Definitely into girls—or girls and guys, but I’d bet just girls.”

Caitlyn nodded. She already knew that much. That wasn’t what she wanted to know.

“She’s pre-med.”

Caitlyn blinked. “She’s what?”

Mel laughed at her reaction. “Yup. Took that mandatory chem course together last year. She was late half the time and still aced every quiz. Total freak of nature.”

Caitlyn looked back out at the field, baffled. Pre-med? She didn’t know what was more surprising—that Vi was pursuing medicine or that she was somehow succeeding while barely appearing to care.

Then the stadium exploded. Vi had landed a goal—an artful curve that slipped past the goalie’s reach.

Caitlyn joined the cheers, clapping despite herself.

Maybe there was more to Vi than she’d assumed.

—

Later that night, the party was in full swing. The soccer house was packed with students, red cups in hand, music thumping through the floor. Caitlyn wandered through the crowd with a half-filled cup of jungle juice, unsure whether she was trying to blend in or stand out. Mel had disappeared an hour ago, off to play beer pong with some frat guys.

Caitlyn wasn’t looking for anyone. Not technically. But she was disappointed when she didn’t spot Vi.

She gravitated toward the snack table, fingers picking through a few pretzels before landing on a tray of cupcakes. Chocolate. With rainbow sprinkles. Her favorite. Without thinking, she popped one into her mouth, savoring the sweet rush.

She reached for a second when a familiar voice stopped her.

“Careful. Might want to pace yourself.”

Caitlyn turned—and there she was. Vi. Same casual swagger, same infuriating smile.

She raised an eyebrow. “What are you, the cupcake police?”

Vi chuckled, stepping closer. “Nah. Just figured I’d let you know—those aren’t regular cupcakes.” She bent and picked up a small handwritten sign that had fallen off the table. “Weed cupcakes.”

Caitlyn stared. “You’re joking.”

Vi shook her head, clearly amused.

Caitlyn blinked in disbelief. “So I just got high by accident.”

“You will be,” Vi said, laughing. “Give it like… thirty minutes.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Should I start hyperventilating now or when it hits me?”

Vi laughed again, a warm, genuine sound. “First time?”

Caitlyn nodded, sheepish. “Don’t judge me.”

“Why would I?” Vi tilted her head, studying her. “You’ll be fine. Promise.”

Caitlyn wasn’t so sure. Her nerves were already fraying. “Mel was supposed to—” She glanced around. No sign of her friend.

Vi noticed. “Hey,” she said softly, nudging Caitlyn’s shoulder. “I’ll stay with you. All night if I have to. I won’t let anything weird happen.”

That… actually helped. Caitlyn nodded, grateful.

Vi leaned in conspiratorially. “Wait here.”

Caitlyn watched as she crossed the room to talk to a girl she vaguely recognized as one of Vi’s teammates. They exchanged a few words, and the girl pointed a warning finger at Vi, who rolled her eyes and said something like, “It’s not even like that, I swear we won’t!”

A moment later, Vi returned, holding a plate piled with chips and cookies in one hand and a water bottle in the other. “Okay. Lux said we can chill in her room. I’m gonna sober up a bit before I drive you home.”

She held out the plate with a grin. “For your munchies later.”

Caitlyn smiled despite herself, nerves softening into something lighter.

Maybe tonight would be the night they finally got to talk.

And maybe—just maybe—that pull she kept feeling toward Vi wasn’t just curiosity anymore.

—

Lux’s room was a mess of sports gear, half-burnt candles, and a wall of Polaroids tacked up around her mirror—but it was quiet, and that was enough. The door was shut, dulling the sound of the party to a low, distant hum. Caitlyn and Vi sat side by side on the carpeted floor, backs pressed to the wall, legs stretched out in front of them.

The weed had hit Caitlyn hard.

Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion and hyperspeed all at once. Her limbs were too heavy, her fingers tingling, like her thoughts were on a delay. But Vi was right there, solid and steady, a quiet presence that grounded her when everything else felt like it was shifting under her feet.

She focused on the rhythm of Vi’s breathing. Calm. Deep. Predictable.

“I feel like…” Caitlyn started, her voice sluggish and delayed. “Like I’m talking, speaking, so slooowly.”

Vi let out a soft laugh. “You are,” she said, nudging Caitlyn’s knee with her own. “But that’s okay. I get what you’re saying.”

Caitlyn giggled. Then giggled more. Then full-on laughed. It hit her all at once how absurd this was—sitting in a stranger’s room, high off her ass, with a girl she barely knew but had been borderline obsessed with for weeks.

Vi laughed too—whether at her or with her didn’t really matter. Her laugh was a low, husky sound that made Caitlyn’s stomach flutter.

“I like your laugh,” Caitlyn blurted, blinking slowly.

Vi tilted her head, amused. “Thanks. I like yours too.”

She handed Caitlyn a water bottle. “Here, you’ve probably got cotton mouth.”

Caitlyn smacked her lips together. “Cotton mouth?” She laughed like it was the funniest phrase she’d ever heard. “Yeah, I guess I do! My mouth is soooo dry.” She took a long sip, then another, like water was the greatest discovery of her life.

Vi grinned. “You’re funny when you’re high.”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m not funny when I’m sober?”

Vi shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve never really talked when you were sober.”

Caitlyn blinked slowly, thinking that over. “That’s true.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Just… peaceful.

“But I’d like to,” Vi said, her voice quieter.

Caitlyn turned to look at her, blinking lazily. “You’d like to what?”

Vi chuckled. “Never mind.”

Caitlyn leaned her head back against the wall, watching the ceiling spin ever so slightly. “Will I remember any of this tomorrow?”

Vi nodded. “Most of it. Probably.”

“Good.” Caitlyn closed her eyes for a second. “I’m having fun talking to you. I don’t wanna forget.”

Next to her, Vi looked down at her lap, a faint smile pulling at her lips. “Me too.”

—

An hour later, Vi was sober again and Caitlyn had entered the ravenous munchie stage of her high. The plate Vi had prepared was completely wiped clean—chips, cookies, everything.

“You’re a genius,” Caitlyn said around a mouthful of pretzel, pointing at Vi with a dramatic flourish. “A literal genius. For bringing snacks.”

“That’s like, the first rule of weed,” Vi said with a small laugh. “Always have snacks.”

Caitlyn was grateful—and told Vi so at least twelve times. She had also, at one point, tried to write a haiku about Doritos. Vi didn’t stop her.

Eventually, Vi reminded her to text Mel to let her know she’d be getting a ride home with someone else. Caitlyn did, then peeked at the response.

“She definitely sent something embarrassing,” she muttered, locking her phone and tossing it into her bag without reading it. Safer that way.

Next to her, Vi’s phone buzzed. Caitlyn tried not to look, but it lit up again and again. A name popped up. Sarah.

Her heart dropped slightly.

Was Sarah the woman from the restaurant?

She risked a few quick glances at Vi’s face while she read the messages, but Vi’s expression didn’t change much. Just a flicker of something—tension, maybe?

Caitlyn swallowed and looked away. Suddenly, she felt intrusive. Like she had accidentally wandered into a part of Vi’s life she wasn’t supposed to see.

“Hey, uh…” Caitlyn began, picking at a cookie crumb on her jeans. “Thank you for babysitting me tonight. I feel much better now, so you don’t have to stay. I can get an Uber or—”

Vi’s head snapped toward her. “Trying to get rid of me so fast?”

The teasing was light, but the question wasn’t.

Caitlyn waved her hands, flustered. “No! I just—I thought you might have plans or someone to see, and I don’t want to get in the way or anything.”

Vi looked at her for a long moment before shaking her head. “My only plan tonight was to have a good time.” She smiled. “And I am.”

Caitlyn wasn’t entirely convinced. But she didn’t argue.

“We should probably head out,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled, balance momentarily betraying her.

Vi’s hands were there instantly, firm but gentle, steadying her with a soft touch to her shoulder.

Caitlyn’s face flushed. “Thanks,” she murmured.

Vi just smiled and nodded toward the door. “Come on.”

They walked out of Lux’s room, through the fading remnants of the party, and out into the cool night air. Vi’s truck waited at the curb—a beat-up old thing with chipped paint and a soft squeal when the doors opened.

Caitlyn climbed in, stealing a glance at Vi as she started the engine.

Maybe she didn’t know who Sarah was.

Maybe she still didn’t know a lot about Vi at all.

But tonight had shown her one thing for sure.

She really, really wanted to.

Chapter Text

The shrill buzz of her phone sliced through the stillness of Caitlyn’s room. She groaned, blindly pawing for the device somewhere on her nightstand. A streak of light peeked through the curtains, enough to make her squint.

Multiple texts. A missed call. Mel.

She swiped to answer the most recent one, her voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“So you are alive,” Mel said, her voice bright and smug through the receiver.

Caitlyn let out a low groan, flopping back onto her pillow. “Barely.”

Her tongue felt like sandpaper, her brain still half-asleep. She turned her head and spotted a glass of water next to a folded note. She blinked a few times before reading the messy handwriting:

stay hydrated, cupcake.

She didn’t fight the smile that crept up.

“Hellooo?” Mel said again, drawing out the syllables this time.

“Sorry, my throat’s dry,” Caitlyn mumbled, reaching for the water and chugging it like it was the cure to life itself.

Mel’s chuckle came through the line. “So what’d you do last night? Or—more importantly—who?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, wiping her mouth. “It’s not like that. I accidentally ate a weed cupcake. Vi just… made sure I didn’t spiral into another dimension. That’s all.”

“Awwh!” Mel gasped like Caitlyn had just revealed a deep romantic secret. “I missed your first high? The betrayal! The drama!”

Caitlyn snorted. “You’ll survive.”

“No, no. The next time you get high, it better be with me.”

Caitlyn sighed, letting her head sink into the pillow. “Yeah, yeah.”

As she recounted the night to Mel—the slow-motion thoughts, the water bottle, Vi’s laugh—something settled in her chest. This wasn’t just a passing crush anymore. It wasn’t just fascination or intrigue or a cute girl with good hair. There was something deeper clawing its way to the surface. Something that made Caitlyn’s stomach flutter and her throat tighten all at once.

But even now, that one question still pulsed at the back of her mind.

Who was Sarah?

—

It didn’t take long to find Vi’s Instagram. She was tagged in half the soccer team’s highlight reels. Public account, of course.

The profile itself was sparse. A team photo. A shot of Vi beside a girl with bright blue hair, both of them mid-laugh, captioned “always with ya, sis.” Definitely her sister. Then a third photo—Vi in a burgundy Harvard hoodie, a can of Red Bull dangling from her fingers, halfway lifted to her lips. She’s caught mid-laugh, looking off to the side, as if someone just said something that cracked her up.

Caitlyn lingered on that one a little longer than she should’ve.

She scrolled through Vi’s followers. No Sarah. Checked who Vi was following. Still no Sarah. Nothing tagged either.

Caitlyn’s thumb hovered over the follow button, heart picking up speed. They were acquainted enough by now… right? They’d had an actual conversation. She’d basically laughed into Vi’s shoulder. That was social-media-worthy, wasn’t it?

She hit follow and immediately tossed her phone aside like it had burst into flames.

A few agonizing seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

Vi followed you back.

1 new message.

Vi: hey! how are you feeling?

Caitlyn’s lips parted in surprise, and then she smiled, her heart doing an embarrassing little dance.

Caitlyn: I’m good! thank you again for last night. idk what I would’ve done without you

Vi: don’t worry about it :) I’d do it again if you somehow accidentally got high again

Was that flirting?

Caitlyn wasn’t sure. It felt like flirting. Maybe?

She didn’t trust herself to be witty in response, so she just hearted the message and locked her phone before she could overanalyze it to death.

—

The country club smelled like old money and lavender polish remover.

Caitlyn sat across from her mother, dressed in a white linen blouse and pearls, who was talking animatedly about yoga instructors and garden renovations. The sun was warm, the air slightly humid, and Caitlyn had to admit—despite the setting—it was kind of nice to just be for once.

“You’ve seemed stressed lately,” her mother said after a pause. “With your courses and your internship, and… everything.”

Caitlyn nodded. That wasn’t untrue.

“So I thought today, just us girls, no work talk. No stress. Just fresh air and cucumber sandwiches.”

Caitlyn smiled politely, though her mind still lingered on Vi’s message.

Her mother glanced toward the tennis courts. “Should we play a match later?”

Caitlyn looked that way too. “Maybe just one. It’s kind of humid.”

Her mom hummed in approval and took another sip of her tea. “You know, your father and I met at Wimbledon.”

Caitlyn had heard this story many, many times, but she nodded along anyway, eyes drifting lazily across the patio crowd.

That’s when she saw her.

Vi.

Sitting at the bar, alone, in a loose sky blue button up and white linen pants, sipping what looked like iced tea. The contrast of her beat-up truck energy against the polished preppy backdrop was almost surreal.

Caitlyn blinked, unsure if she was hallucinating.

And then a woman appeared behind her. Red hair. Flowing, luxurious. A manicured hand grazed Vi’s back before sliding up to rest casually on her shoulder.

Caitlyn quickly looked away, heart thudding against her ribs like a warning.

“Who’s the lady with the red hair?” she asked, pretending to glance around aimlessly.

Her mother didn’t question the sudden interest. “Oh, that’s Sarah Fortune. She sold a tech company for a ridiculous amount of money. Hundreds of millions, I think. She comes here sometimes. Never spoken to her, but she definitely turns heads.” Her mom wagged a finger. “Not your father’s, of course.”

Caitlyn forced a laugh. “Of course.”

She turned back toward the bar.

Too late.

Vi and Sarah were already leaving, walking hand in hand.

Caitlyn’s throat went dry again.

She blinked against the heaviness in her chest.

Sarah Fortune.

Of course she had a last name that sounded like a Bond villain.

Of course she was beautiful and successful and older and confident.

Caitlyn reached for her drink, but her appetite for cucumber sandwiches was gone.

Maybe it wasn’t flirting.

Maybe she was just a girl who got high and projected too much onto the one person who took care of her.

—

Despite everything—the hand-holding, the woman at the bar, the tightening in her chest—Caitlyn found herself staring at Vi’s name in her messages later that night.

She still wanted to see her.

Even if Vi was with someone else. Even if Sarah was her girlfriend. Even if what happened between them was never going to happen again. Maybe they could be friends. Maybe she could be cool about this. Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d actually start to believe it.

Caitlyn: random question but do you want to grab dinner tonight? let me thank you for last night

She stared at the message for a few seconds, thumb hovering over the screen. Then she hit send.

An hour passed. Her heart thudded a little harder with every minute that went by. Finally, her phone lit up.

Vi: what did I say? don’t worry about it, cupcake. it was no big deal :)

Vi: but I am down to grab dinner with you! I can’t tonight but maybe tomorrow if you’re free?

Caitlyn smiled—but it was smaller than she expected it to be. Somehow, the “I can’t tonight” stung a little. She could picture it—Vi with Sarah, maybe curled up on a couch, maybe doing more than that—and the image made her stomach twist.

Why did it bother her? She didn’t have a claim to Vi. They weren’t… anything.

Still. She felt it. Jealousy, sharp and stupid.

She opened her calendar to distract herself and groaned.

Dinner with Mel tomorrow.

Damn.

Caitlyn: shoot I’m booked tomorrow night, but I’m free in the morning! let’s do coffee?

Vi: sounds perfect :)

Vi: let’s do Rotary Coffee next to campus at 9?

Caitlyn’s heart beated a little faster.

It felt like a date. But it wasn’t.

Right?

Caitlyn: see you tomorrow :)

She stared at the message thread long after the conversation ended, rereading it again and again. It wasn’t flirting. Not really.

Then why did she go to sleep with a grin on her face?

Why did her pillow smell like anticipation?

—

Caitlyn got to the café early.

Earlier than she should’ve, probably. But she didn’t want to wait around in her dorm with all that nervous energy. She grabbed a small table by the window and fidgeted with the strap of her bag, pretending to look casual.

A few minutes later, she spotted Vi walking up to the café.

There was something off.

Vi waved, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gait was slightly uneven—like she was favoring one leg. Her hoodie seemed too stiff, like it was hiding something.

Caitlyn’s stomach clenched as Vi entered.

“Hey,” she said, breathless but casual.

“Hey,” Vi replied, voice a touch quieter than usual.

There it was again. Something unspoken behind her tone. A weight Vi was carrying but trying to conceal.

“Did you order yet?” Vi asked, eyes flicking toward the counter.

“Not yet,” Caitlyn said, standing. “But I can order for us. What do you want?”

Vi hesitated, glancing at the chalkboard menu. “Iced Americano sounds good.”

She reached for her wallet, but Caitlyn waved her off.

“C’mon, at least let me get you coffee,” she said, giving Vi a mock glare.

Vi raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t fight you on it.”

By the time Caitlyn returned with their drinks, Vi was staring blankly at the table, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood. Lost in thought.

Caitlyn set the drinks down gently. “Here you go.”

Vi blinked, coming back to herself. “Thanks.”

Caitlyn took her seat across from her and studied Vi for a beat.

Something wasn’t right. Her eyes were darker. Tired. Her hands slightly tense. There was a tightness to her shoulders like she’d been carrying too much.

“You okay?” Caitlyn asked softly. “You seem a bit… distracted?”

Vi paused, blinking. “I do?”

She took a sip of her drink. “Sorry, I… had a long night.”

There it was again. That quiet, evasive answer.

Caitlyn hesitated. “Do you want to talk about it? I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m here if you want to.”

Vi gave her a small, appreciative smile. “No, that’s all right. But thank you.”

She cleared her throat, like she was pushing something heavy away.

Then her eyes lightened a little, and she tilted her head. “So… did you remember everything from that night?”

Caitlyn laughed. “I did, actually. And I meant it too—I had fun talking to you.”

Vi grinned, that familiar spark returning to her expression. “You sure you weren’t just having fun because you were high?”

“Hmm,” Caitlyn said, feigning deep thought. “Now that you mention it…”

Vi’s jaw dropped in mock offense. “Hey! Take that back.”

Caitlyn laughed harder. “You’re the one who said I might start seeing sound.”

Vi huffed. “That’s a very real possibility!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Caitlyn said, sipping her latte.

Vi smiled, but it was gentler now. Softer. The tension seemed to ease a bit, and for a moment, Caitlyn allowed herself to forget about Sarah. About the hand-holding. About the way Vi had hesitated slightly before sitting down.

For now, it was just them.

And even if this was just coffee between friends… it was the best part of Caitlyn’s week.

Chapter Text

There was a pattern to Vi’s life, Caitlyn had noticed.

Soccer practice nearly every day during the off-season and some occasional solo practice by herself. Volunteer work on Sundays at the clinic, doing grunt work the nurses and doctors aren't paid enough to do. Odd catering jobs during the evenings, her all-black uniform wrinkled and smelling faintly of rosemary and lemon.

As the weeks slipped quietly by, Vi had become a part of Caitlyn’s new normal—woven into her days so seamlessly it was hard to remember a time when she hadn’t been there.

They saw each other at least twice during the week. Once in the class they shared, where Vi always slouched low in her seat, doodling in the corners of her notebook. And then again in the afternoons, either tucked away in Caitlyn’s dorm or hidden in a back corner of the library, where books and notes were spread out between them.

Sometimes they met on weekends too, when the stars aligned and neither of them had other plans. They’d get coffee and walk the campus paths, or hole up in the dorm with a bad movie playing in the background, half-watched. It wasn’t planned, and it didn’t need to be. It just happened—like clockwork, like muscle memory.

It was just natural, easy. It was just them.

But then there were the nights when everything shifted.

They’d be at the library, or a café, or even walking back from class, and Vi would get a text. She never showed Caitlyn her phone, never even glanced at it too long. But afterward, she’d always make some excuse. A shift she forgot about. A friend who needed her. A group project.

Every time, it was something different. But every time, she left.

And the next day, she’d be… off. Distant. Quiet. Tired in a way that didn’t seem like just sleep deprivation.

Caitlyn had tried not to let it bother her. It wasn’t her business. They were still in the early stages of friendship—if that’s what this even was. She hadn’t seen Vi all winter break, hadn’t dared text first. Maybe she didn’t have the right to ask.

But the way Vi would clam up afterward, the shadows under her eyes, the way she avoided eye contact—it stuck with her.

It was Sarah. It had to be Sarah.

Caitlyn didn’t know what their relationship was—if it even was a relationship—but she was too afraid to ask. The answer might hurt. Or worse, confirm things she’d rather not know.

But tonight…

Tonight, all of that faded to the background.

They were sitting on Caitlyn’s bed, textbooks and scribbled notes strewn everywhere, two nearly-empty iced coffees on the desk beside them. The dorm wasn’t Caitlyn’s favorite place to study—too small, too hers—but the study rooms were all booked, and Vi had a roommate.

So here they were. On the edge of the bed, thigh to thigh, brushing arms when they reached for pens.

“Okay,” Caitlyn said, shutting her book with a satisfied snap. “I think I have it down.”

Vi raised a skeptical brow. “All of it?”

“All of it,” Caitlyn repeated with conviction. “Go on. Quiz me.”

Vi reached for her notebook. “All right, brainiac.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “Critique Samuel Huntington’s Clash of Civilizations thesis. What are its strengths and weaknesses in explaining post–Cold War conflicts?”

Caitlyn grinned. “Where do I even start?”

And she did. Smooth, confident, point by point. By the end, Vi was staring at her like she’d just solved world peace.

“I’m so jealous of your brain right now,” Vi said, tossing the notebook aside.

Caitlyn leaned back, smug. “Being labeled a nerd all my life finally paid off.”

“At least you don’t look like a nerd.”

Caitlyn’s lips quirked. “Yeah? What do I look like then?”

Vi looked at her for a moment—really looked at her.

“Pretty,” she said quietly.

Caitlyn’s heart stuttered. Her cheeks flushed hot.

She tried to play it off. “Are you going to follow that up with ‘pretty ugly’ or something equally juvenile?”

Vi blinked. “No,” she said instantly. “I would never call you that.” Her voice softened. “I think you’re so pretty, Caitlyn.”

There was something so sincere about it—so unguarded—that Caitlyn didn’t know how to react. She smiled reflexively, cheeks burning, but her thoughts were spinning.

Was this flirting? Did friends say that? Maybe straight friends.

But they weren’t straight friends.

And she wasn’t imagining the way Vi looked at her.

So Caitlyn did what she always did when she didn’t know what to say: she spoke without thinking.

“Well, I—I think you’re pretty too.”

Vi snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” Caitlyn insisted, her voice quieter now. “I mean it.”

Vi shook her head, almost laughing it off. “Cait, no one would ever call me pretty.”

There was no self-deprecation in her tone—just certainty. Like it was a fact. Like she'd accepted it long ago.

Something in Caitlyn cracked.

“I would,” she said without hesitation. “I did.”

Vi looked up, confused.

“I first saw you at one of your soccer games last semester,” Caitlyn confessed, barely above a whisper. “I thought you were so pretty. I couldn’t stop staring. It’s… embarrassing, actually.”

Vi’s expression faltered. Her mouth twitched—uncertain at first, then softening into the barest flicker of a smile. Something fragile and fleeting. But Caitlyn saw it, and it made her heart clench.

She couldn’t stop looking at Vi’s mouth then—the way her lips curved just slightly, how they parted like they might form a word she hadn’t yet found the courage to say. The silence between them stretched, pulling taut like a held breath.

The air felt different—thicker, charged. Caitlyn’s pulse was loud in her ears, a steady, aching drumbeat. She wasn’t sure who moved first, or if it even mattered. Only that the world slowed as she leaned in, everything narrowing to this one, suspended second.

Vi didn’t move away. She stayed perfectly still, her eyes flickering from Caitlyn’s to her lips, and then closing entirely.

And then they were kissing.

It was slow—uncertain at first, like a question neither of them knew how to ask. Their mouths met in a soft, searching brush, a breath shared in the space between their hesitation. Caitlyn felt Vi’s lips against hers—warm, dry, trembling slightly—and her own heart stuttered.

There was no urgency. Just wonder. Just the fragile miracle of it actually happening.

Caitlyn reached up without thinking, fingers barely grazing Vi’s jaw as if grounding herself in the moment, afraid it might vanish. Vi responded with the faintest sigh, like she hadn’t realized how much she needed to be touched until just now.

For a heartbeat, it felt like everything could change. Like maybe this time, the world would let them have something beautiful.

But then Vi pulled back.

Not abruptly—just enough to break the contact, just enough to make it hurt.

She didn’t look at Caitlyn. Her eyes dropped to the floor, shoulders curling inward like she was bracing for impact.

“I’m sorry,” Vi said, voice cracking under the weight of the words. “I—I can’t.”

Caitlyn felt the world tilt sideways. Her heart fractured in silence, the pieces slipping through her ribs like broken glass. But the dam had already broken, and there was no undoing it now. No going back to pretending she didn’t feel this. Didn’t want this.

“Is it because you’re with her?” she asked. “Sarah?”

Vi flinched. Looked up sharply. “What?”

“I’ve seen you two together,” Caitlyn admitted, voice trembling. “Before we were really friends. At a restaurant. At the country club.” She swallowed. “Is she your girlfriend?”

Something passed over Vi’s face—too fast to decipher. Anger? Shame? Disgust?

“It’s… complicated,” Vi said finally.

She started gathering her things.

“Wait—Vi, I’m sorry if I overstepped—”

“No,” Vi cut her off gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Look, I’m sorry I kissed you back. I shouldn’t have, and… I don’t want to lead you on.” She hesitated at the door. “Can we just pretend this didn’t happen?”

Caitlyn’s throat burned. Her chest ached.

All she could do was nod.

And then Vi was gone.

And Caitlyn was alone with her books, her notes, and the bitter taste of almost.

—

The next time Caitlyn saw Vi was two weeks later at a party she almost didn’t go to.

They hadn’t spoken since the kiss. Not a word. Not a text. Not even a glance when they sat rows away from each other in the lecture hall.

Caitlyn had tried to reach out—drafted messages late at night, her thumbs hovering over the “send” button before she ultimately erased every word. “I’m sorry.” “Can we talk?” “I miss you.”

But nothing ever felt right.

Because what was she even sorry for? She wasn’t sorry for the kiss—not when Vi had kissed her back, slow and deliberate, like she meant it. Maybe she was sorry for bringing up Sarah. But wasn’t it reasonable to ask, to worry?

Vi had shut down. And now Caitlyn was left in the dark, rewinding the moment over and over again like a film reel, trying to catch the exact second it all went wrong.

She knew there was a chance she’d see Vi tonight. Maybe that was why she showed up at all. She’d dressed with care, chosen her words in advance, and downed two shots of vodka to brace herself.

So when she spotted Vi leaning against the wall in the hallway—red solo cup in hand, hood up—she didn’t hide. She didn’t hesitate.

She walked right up and said, “Can we talk?”

Vi blinked, startled. Her eyes flicked toward the exit, like she was calculating escape. But after a pause, she nodded.

They stepped outside. The air was sharp with late-winter cold, and the thump of music vibrated through the walls of a house neither of them could identify.

Vi stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and stared at the driveway.

Caitlyn broke the silence first. “I don’t want us to keep ignoring each other.”

Vi nodded slowly. “Me neither.”

There was a pause, long and tense, before Caitlyn spoke again. “I want to be your friend, Vi. I want to be there for you. In whatever way you’ll let me. But I feel like there’s this huge part of your life that you’re keeping locked away. And I don’t get it. I don’t understand why.”

Vi didn’t meet her gaze. Her eyes stayed fixed on the concrete.

“I just…” Caitlyn exhaled. “I’m worried about you.”

Vi’s shoulders tensed. For once, she didn’t have that easy charm, that confident spark. She just looked… tired. Worn.

“Cait,” Vi finally spoke. “I do value our friendship. More than you probably realize.” She swallowed. “But there are some things I can’t talk about. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Caitlyn hesitated. “Is it because of Sarah?”

Vi flinched so hard it was like Caitlyn had slapped her.

“I’m not—”

“If she’s treating you badly,” Caitlyn rushed to say, “you don’t have to protect her. You deserve more than that, Vi. You deserve—”

“It’s not like that,” Vi snapped, too sharp, too defensive. “Just—can we drop it? Please?”

And with that, she turned back toward the house.

Caitlyn stared at her retreating form, heart sinking. “Fine,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

The door slammed behind Vi, muffling the music once more.

—

The next morning, Caitlyn’s phone buzzed.

Vi: I booked a study room if you wanna join later. room 235 at 6pm

And just like that, they returned to normal.

Or whatever version of normal they could manage.

Vi didn’t bring up their talk at the party. Or the kiss. Or Sarah. She slipped back into their rhythm like nothing had happened. And Caitlyn, despite everything gnawing inside her, let her.

True to her word, she didn’t ask about Sarah again.

Instead, she asked about everything else.

Like why Vi had chosen the pre-med track.

“I’ve seen the impact good doctors can have,” Vi had said. “And the damage bad ones can do. I just want to make sure I add to the list of good ones.”

She asked about Vi’s sister. How often she saw her. Where she lived.

“Not enough,” Vi admitted. “She’s back home in Washington. Flights are expensive and I don’t have time, and… she doesn’t always have the energy.”

That’s when Caitlyn learned the truth: Vi’s sister was sick. Cancer. Ongoing treatments. Some days were better than others. Some weeks, they barely spoke.

“She tries to sound upbeat when we call,” Vi said one night, her voice soft in the library’s quiet. “But I can hear it. The exhaustion. I know when she’s pretending.”

Caitlyn’s heart ached. For Vi. For her sister. For everything Vi had been carrying on her own.

She admired Vi before—for her wit, her strength, her charm.

But now? She admired her for this. For the pieces she rarely showed. The quiet grief. The determination to keep going.

Vi also confessed that she didn’t even love soccer.

“I’m good at it,” she shrugged. “It pays for school. But the girls on my team? They want to go pro. I just want to make it to med school. That’s the dream.”

They talked about dreams, then. Caitlyn shared hers.

She told Vi how she didn’t want to work at some corporate firm like her parents expected. That she wanted to go into immigration law. That she wanted to fight for families, help them stay together.

Vi had stared at her with something close to awe. “That’s a beautiful thing,” she said. “You’ll be amazing at it.”

Moments like that made it harder. Moments when Caitlyn felt like they were inching closer, only for Vi to pull back again.

They were close. Closer than most friends. But always, there was a distance. A wall Vi never let her cross.

And Caitlyn didn’t know how to tear it down without losing her completely.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn didn’t know why she spent more time than usual getting ready that morning. She didn’t know why she’d tried on three different outfits, or why she kept redoing her ponytail until it looked effortless in that exact, impossible way. She didn’t know why she reached for her expensive eyeliner pen instead of the usual drugstore one, or why her stomach tightened every time her eyes landed on the two neatly wrapped gifts on her desk—flanked by a blank birthday card she still hadn’t signed.

Except she did know.

It was Vi’s birthday. And Caitlyn had been invited to her birthday party.

She thought back to the kiss they had shared a month ago. Something that now seemed long forgotten to Vi—an unspoken mistake.

But to Caitlyn, it was unforgettable. She could still feel the ghost of Vi’s lips on hers, the way her breath had caught in her throat, the warmth that had spread through her chest like wildfire. It hadn’t faded. If anything, the memory had only grown sharper, more vivid, replaying over and over in her mind every time she thought of Vi. And she thought of Vi constantly—at quiet dawns and restless midnights, in the silences between words and the spaces between heartbeats.

Vi had warned her not to bring any gifts. "Absolutely no presents," she’d said, her voice mock-threatening. "Or else." They were just supposed to grab drinks with some of Vi’s friends and maybe stumble into a karaoke bar afterward. Simple. Lowkey. No frills.

But Caitlyn had already wrapped the presents days ago, and she wasn’t about to let a fake scolding stop her. Vi would pretend to be annoyed—maybe even roll her eyes—but she’d smile. Caitlyn was sure of it.

She studied herself in the mirror one last time, chewing at her bottom lip. Vi wouldn’t notice anyway, Caitlyn thought. Still, she settled on a pair of sleek black trousers and a cropped grey sweater that fell off her shoulder. Casual enough to be effortless. Nice enough to feel intentional.

Her gaze drifted to the empty card again.

She had tried—really tried—to write something last night. She'd spent a full hour scribbling in her journal, agonizing over every word. She wanted it to be light, but also meaningful. Casual, but still personal. But nothing she wrote sounded right. It all felt like too much or not enough. Finally, with a soft sigh of resignation, she scrawled down the first words that came to mind, folded the card closed, and slipped it into her bag.

Whether or not she gave it to Vi would be a decision left up to fate—or whatever metaphorical coin flip her heart offered her later.

By the time she arrived at the bar, the party was already in full swing. Vi was surrounded by a group of friends—some Caitlyn had seen in passing, others she recognized from Vi’s stories and blurry phone pictures.

Caitlyn paused just outside the main cluster, glad she’d left the gifts in her car. There wasn’t a gift table. Just laughter. Drinks. People.

“Okay, okay. I need to slow down,” she heard Vi call out just as she tipped back a shot, her friends hooting around her.

Then their eyes met.

And something fluttered in Caitlyn’s chest.

Vi was up in an instant, weaving through the crowd with a breathless smile. “Hey, you made it.”

Caitlyn returned the smile, nervous but soft. “Of course I did.”

Vi pulled her into a hug, and Caitlyn froze for a heartbeat—because it was the first time they’d ever hugged. The first time she’d been this close. She breathed in the subtle woodsy scent of Vi’s cologne and felt every solid line of muscle beneath her hands as they rested lightly on Vi’s back. The heat of her skin. The softness of cotton. It was dizzying, intoxicating. And she hadn’t even had a drink yet. 

“Happy twenty-first,” she murmured when they pulled apart, her voice a little unsteady.

Vi introduced her to everyone with a proud grin, rattling off names. Caitlyn tried to keep up, but most of them blurred together. She only recognized Luxanna, the girl whose room she occupied with Vi during her unplanned high.

“All right,” said a short-haired girl named Riven, clapping her hands. “Next round of shots!”

Caitlyn laughed, and the night officially began.

They drank. Talked. Laughed. Caitlyn paid for two rounds—earning high-fives and grateful cheers. Vi clinked her glass against Caitlyn’s, eyes warm and playful. 

She warmed up quickly to Vi’s small group of friends. Most of them were from the soccer team. Others were friends from the hospital.

Caitlyn’s face soon flushed with alcohol. But the night was far from over. As expected, the group stumbled into a nearby karaoke bar.

Caitlyn flat-out refused to sing, no matter how much they begged her. She wasn’t drunk enough—or brave enough—to humiliate herself like that. Not in front of Vi.

Vi, for her part, was letting others take the stage first, mumbling something about being “way too gone” to get up there yet. Someone was now rapping Nicki Minaj with a level of confidence that defied their lack of rhythm. Caitlyn sat beside Vi, laughing along, and tried not to mouth the lyrics she absolutely knew by heart.

She felt eyes on her and turned.

Vi was staring—quietly, intently. Drunk, sure, but there was something behind her gaze. Something unsaid.

Caitlyn shifted closer, voice raised over the music. “Your friends are fun.”

Vi tilted her head, glancing at the chaos. “Yeah, they’re pretty wild.”

Caitlyn leaned in, close enough to stop shouting. “Are you having a good birthday?”

Vi smiled wide. “The best.” Then her eyes dropped, slow and deliberate. “You look good today.”

Caitlyn blinked, suddenly warm. Her pulse jumped. She opened her mouth—then shut it—and pivoted clumsily, “How are you getting home tonight?”

Vi let her head fall back with a sigh. “Haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Caitlyn smiled. “I’ll sober up and drive you home, then.”

Vi raised a brow. “Oh yeah? What’s the catch?”

“I have something for you,” Caitlyn said, arching a brow. “In my car.”

Vi pouted, playful. “I said no gifts.”

“You told me that after I’d already gotten them,” Caitlyn countered. “Technically, I’m off the hook.”

Vi’s smile curved slow and soft. “Thank you,” she said, more serious now. “I’m really glad you came.”

Caitlyn reached out, hand brushing over Vi’s for just a moment—gentle, brief. “Me too.”

The next song started—a slower one—and the rowdy group laughed their way offstage. One of them tossed the mic to Vi. “Your turn, birthday girl!”

Vi groaned but didn’t protest. She didn’t take the stage either. She just leaned forward, elbows on her knees, eyes closed as she began to sing.

Caitlyn stilled.

She’d never heard Vi sing. Not like this. Maybe a few humming notes while they studied, maybe a line or two under her breath. But this?

Vi’s voice was raspy, raw, striking. Emotional. She sang like the song meant something. Like it hurt. And Caitlyn found herself completely mesmerized.

When it ended, the cheers were loud—but Caitlyn couldn’t clap. She just stared, stunned.

Vi looked over, cheeks flushed redder than before. Caitlyn smiled.

Later, they walked together through quiet streets. Caitlyn’s car waited under a pool of lamplight, sleek and dark.

Vi let out a low whistle. “You drive a Beamer? A 5 Series?”

Caitlyn rubbed her arm. “Birthday gift from my parents,” she muttered. “They thought it was a starter car.”

Vi turned, a teasing smirk on her lips. “That’s kinda hot.”

Caitlyn turned pink and unlocked the car.

Inside, Vi ran her fingers over the interior, thoroughly impressed. Caitlyn laughed and reached into the back, pulling out the two neatly wrapped gifts.

“Happy birthday,” she said softly.

Vi stared at them, then at Caitlyn. “Two?! I said no gifts.”

“You’re still getting them.”

Vi huffed but smiled. “Open the top one first,” Caitlyn added.

Inside was a pair of sleek silver Sony noise-canceling headphones. Vi stared. “No fucking way.”

“They’re the model you liked, right?” Caitlyn said.

“This is too much,” Vi whispered.

“I already bought them. You’re stuck with them.”

Vi’s grin was a little crooked, a little overwhelmed. “Thank you, Cait. I fucking love it.”

“Do you like the silver? I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer the black, but I thought,” she hesitated, “I thought the silver would look good on you.”

She had spent an hour standing inside the Best Buy debating between the two colors before deciding that the silver would look nice against Vi’s hair. But she wouldn’t admit that.

Vi’s smile widened. “It’s perfect, Caitlyn.” She looked down at the other gift in her lap and made a face. “I don’t know why you got me two presents. This—this is more than enough.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “This one didn’t cost anything.”

Vi peeled off the wrapper slowly, carefully. Then she saw it.

A painting. Of her and Powder. The one on her Instagram.

They were both younger—but caught mid-laugh, heads tipped together, as if whoever painted it had frozen time at the exact second joy took hold. Every detail. The loose strands of Powder’s hair, the softness in Vi’s eyes, the way they leaned in toward each other, like nothing outside the frame existed.

Vi didn’t say anything.

Her fingers hovered over the brushstrokes, not quite touching. Then they trembled. And then she brought the canvas to her chest and held it there, like it was something she needed to keep safe.

Her eyes were shut tight, but tears had already slipped free.

“I’m a bit out of practice, but I hope—”

“—You painted this?” Vi asked, her voice full of awe.

Caitlyn nodded, a blush creeping to her cheeks.

“Cait.” Vi was still holding the painting to her chest like it might vanish. She looked at Caitlyn like she was seeing her for the first time. Like she couldn’t believe it.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

And then she smiled. All the way. Eyes shining, voice cracked just slightly.

“Thank you.”

Caitlyn smiled back. Her heart was full, and she decided that she will give Vi the card she had written after all.

When they arrived at Vi’s dorm, Caitlyn walked her to her room, insisting that Vi was too drunk to be trusted with finding her own dorm.

“Thank you again,” Vi said when they were at her door. “For everything and more.”

She pulled the birthday card from her bag and handed it to Vi. “Happy birthday, Vi.” she whispered.

Vi pulls her into a one armed hug—her other arm busy holding her gifts. They are still for a moment. And though this hug wasn’t as enveloping as the hug they had shared earlier, Caitlyn thinks she likes this one more. No one watching them, no reason to rush, just them.

Vi’s breath tickles her neck, and Caitlyn pulls away, scared that she would never want to let go if she allowed herself to indulge.

“Text me when you get back to your dorm?”

Caitlyn nodded and gave Vi’s arm a squeeze before heading back out.

And as she walked back to her car, she thought back to the words written on the card. And she hoped Vi would read them and believe her.

Happy Birthday, Vi.

Today marks your 21st birthday. It’s silly to think that you’ve existed for 21 years, and I’ve just met you now.

I am so grateful you are in my life, and I am grateful you’ve let me into yours.

You mean a lot to me.

I hope we can spend many more birthdays together.

Love,

Caitlyn

Chapter Text

The heat was relentless today—an oppressive, suffocating blanket that clung to every inch of exposed skin. The sun hung high and angry in the sky, bleaching the campus in its cruel white glare. Pavement shimmered with mirages.

Students moved slower than usual, skin damp, faces flushed, water bottles clutched like lifelines. It was the hottest day of the semester—eighty-nine degrees with not a whisper of wind to break the suffocation.

Caitlyn had dressed for the heat: loose shorts, a paper-thin t-shirt, her hair knotted off her neck to catch any hope of a breeze. She was still sweating.

And then Vi arrived, crossing the quad like a storm cloud in a sea of sun—shoulders hunched, hands jammed into the front pocket of a gray hoodie.

Caitlyn blinked. "Aren’t you hot?" she asked, one eyebrow arched in disbelief as they fell into step together. The sunlight caught Vi’s cheekbones, but her face was unreadable

Vi didn’t look at her. "A bit," she murmured. "But the study rooms get cold."

It was a flimsy excuse, and Caitlyn knew it. Still, she said nothing. Just hummed softly and nodded, pretending to let it go.

They were back in one of the library study rooms—an area that had become their second home. The air conditioning buzzed softly overhead, cold against Caitlyn’s sun-warmed skin.

She tried to turn her attention to her notes, flipping through pages of scribbled words and highlighted lines, but her eyes kept drifting back to Vi.

Something was wrong. Off. Wrong in a way that made Caitlyn’s heart beat just a little faster, her stomach tighten with dread she couldn’t name. Vi’s movements were stiff, cautious, as if every gesture had to be considered first. Her shoulders were wound tight as piano wire. She kept her arms close, hands hidden, gaze lowered.

Caitlyn’s laptop battery blinked red. “Hey, can you plug this in for me?” she asked, pushing the charger toward Vi with a distracted smile.

Vi nodded and ducked under the table, the thick fabric of her hoodie tugging back just an inch as she reached for the outlet. And in that instant, the illusion cracked.

Caitlyn saw it—just a glimpse, a flash of skin, but enough.

Faint and fading, but impossible to misread: the dusky smudge of bruises curling around Vi’s neck. Finger-shaped. Like a hand had been there, once. A hand that squeezed.

Time stopped. Caitlyn’s heart slammed into her ribs, breath caught in her throat like a scream she couldn't let out. Her stomach lurched. She looked away too quickly, blinking hard, forcing herself to breathe. Her hands trembled, suddenly useless on the page.

She didn’t ask. She didn’t say a word.

Not then.

The name rose in her mind unbidden, sharp and cold as a blade: Sarah. She didn’t know how she knew—but she knew. The way Vi flinched when her phone buzzed. The way she always had to check in. The way her voice got smaller when she said that name.

But how do you ask someone if they’re being hurt? How do you ask without scaring them deeper into silence? Without making them run?

Caitlyn didn’t know. So she swallowed the words. Let them settle in her chest like glass—cutting, painful, but unmoving.

She said nothing.

Not that day.

Not the next.

Not for weeks.

But she watched. And waited. And wondered how much longer Vi could survive like this—wrapped in silence, in fear, in bruises hidden beneath sleeves too thick for spring.

—

Vi had invited Caitlyn to come to one of her soccer practices. It was a light, casual invite. But Caitlyn felt heavy. The weight of what she had seen on Vi’s neck was suffocating.

Still, she went. She sat on the aluminum bleachers with a water bottle gripped in both hands, the late afternoon sun pressing against her back like a weight. The field stretched out before her, bright green and loud with movement. Whistles. Shouted plays. Cleats pounding earth.

Vi was in the middle of it all—quick and fierce, darting between teammates, her hoodie finally shed in favor of a loose jersey and shorts. She looked strong. Focused. The way she moved made Caitlyn forget, for a moment, what she’d seen weeks ago.

But only for a moment.

During a water break, the team clumped together near the sidelines. Girls laughed, tossing Gatorade bottles and towels, bumping shoulders like puppies.

Vi was smiling, talking with two teammates when someone flicked a towel at her—aimed low, playful. It missed. Another girl tried again, grinning, this time swinging with more force, aiming higher.

The towel cracked through the air and struck Vi hard, just below her lower back, right above the back of her thigh. A loud, snapping sound. A joke. That’s all it was meant to be.

But Vi jerked like she’d been burned.

Her cry wasn’t loud, but it was sharp—raw, too real to be a laugh. She recoiled, half-turning away, her hand already gripping the spot like she could take the sting out of it by force.

Everything stopped.

The girls who’d been laughing just seconds before froze in place, their faces slack with confusion and concern.

“Shit, Vi,” the girl with the towel said, wincing. “I didn’t think I hit you that hard.”

Vi’s face twisted—but only for a heartbeat. She forced a laugh. “No, it's fine. I’m good—just being dramatic.”

She let out a laugh—too loud, too brittle. “Next time you do that, though, take me out to dinner first.”

Laughter returned in a ripple. The tension cracked and faded. Teammates elbowed her playfully, and the coach called them back onto the field.

But Caitlyn didn’t laugh.

She didn’t even move.

She was still sitting on the bleachers, her knuckles white around her water bottle, her mouth dry, her stomach twisting in a slow, sick coil.

Vi turned back toward the field, but not before her eyes found Caitlyn’s.

And in that one glance, everything fell away—the smile, the armor, the performance.

She looked away almost immediately. Head down. Shoulders tight.

Whatever was happening to Vi hadn’t stopped. It was still there, written in her body, hidden behind practiced jokes and forced laughter.

And Caitlyn couldn’t ignore it anymore.

—

The walk from the field to Caitlyn’s dorm wasn’t long, but it felt endless. The sun was dipping low behind the campus rooftops, casting long, honey-gold shadows across the sidewalk, and the air still held the warmth of the day—sticky and close, like it didn’t want to let go.

Vi walked beside her, hair damp from practice, cleats untied and slung over one shoulder. Her steps were casual. Loose. Like everything was normal. Like nothing had happened.

But Caitlyn could feel it. The tension coiled tight in her own chest, the way Vi kept her eyes forward, the way silence sat too comfortably between them.

And Caitlyn couldn't take it anymore.

Her voice broke the quiet, soft but sharp. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Vi blinked, feigning confusion. “Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is you're hiding."

"I'm not—I'm not hiding anything," Vi countered. "I'm fine."

“You are,” Caitlyn said. Her voice wasn’t angry—not yet—but it trembled with something dangerously close to it. “And you’re not fine.”

“I am fine.” Vi offered a quick grin, a shrug, like a deflection. “You worry too much.”

Caitlyn was quick to shoot back. “So if I smacked your ass right now, you wouldn’t scream?”

Vi let out a forced huff of laughter. “Probably in shock that you copped a feel.”

“Vi, I’m serious.”

“I am too,” she said, not looking at her. “I’m fine, Cait.” She continued walking.

Caitlyn stopped again. This time, she didn’t move. Her voice was steady, but quiet. “Does this have something to do with the marks on your neck?”

Vi froze mid-step.

“What?” Her voice cracked a little. “What are you—”

“I saw them,” Caitlyn said. “A few weeks ago. When it was almost ninety degrees out and you were wearing that hoodie.”

Vi shook her head, too fast. “You don’t know what you saw.”

“I do. I saw finger marks, Vi. Around your throat.” Caitlyn’s voice rose despite herself, and her eyes were sharp, searching. “Are you really going to pretend I imagined that?”

Vi looked cornered. Her body tensed, as if every muscle inside her had seized up. Her eyes darted to the pavement, to the trees, to anywhere but Caitlyn.

“I don’t—” she started, her voice small.

“Why won’t you let me care about you?” Caitlyn asked, her voice cracking. “Why won’t you let me in? Is this even a friendship if you won’t let me help?”

Vi flinched, her eyes suddenly shiny with unshed tears.

“Because there’s nothing wrong, Cait,” she whispered.

“Yes there is. I know there is. I see it in your face. You’re hurting, and—and it’s because of Sarah, isn’t it?”

Vi shook her head violently. “No. No.”

“If she’s hurting you—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Vi shouted.

Caitlyn froze.

It wasn’t just the volume. It was the anger behind it. The way it cracked through the quiet like a plate breaking on tile. Vi had never raised her voice at her. Not once. Not even when she was frustrated, not even when she was tired.

And now she stood there, rigid in the dim light outside Caitlyn’s dorm, eyes wide and wet, chest heaving like the words had torn out of her.

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

Vi looked away sharply, dragging a hand through her hair like she wanted to rip something out. Her voice dropped again, low and brittle. “It doesn’t matter because I—” she stopped herself. Shut her eyes. Tried again. “Because it’s all consensual anyway.”

Caitlyn blinked, still trying to catch up. “What… what do you mean?”

Vi laughed under her breath, a hollow, humorless sound. “What do you think it means?” She looked at Caitlyn then—really looked—and her expression was something raw and defensive and heartbreakingly resigned. “I agreed to it. So it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Caitlyn said, barely able to speak past the tightness in her throat. “Vi, agreed to what?”

Vi turned her body slightly, like she wanted to shield herself, like the air itself had gotten too sharp.

Caitlyn stepped forward carefully, her voice soft but urgent. “Agreed to being strangled? To being hit?”

Vi didn’t answer. Not with words. Her silence was answer enough.

Caitlyn's heart cracked. She reached out—not to touch, not yet, just to be closer. “Vi, that’s not okay.”

Vi finally looked up again, her voice so small it barely reached. “She just likes it rough.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. “But do you like it?”

Vi blinked. Once. Twice. Her mouth opened, then closed.

She didn’t answer.

Caitlyn waited, but the silence didn’t end. It only thickened, pressing down like a weighted blanket neither of them could breathe beneath.

“It doesn’t matter,” Vi said again, quieter this time. Not shouting, but still with force. Like she was trying to convince herself. Trying to seal the crack before anything else slipped through.

Caitlyn shook her head. “Yes, it does. You matter. You matter, Vi. Why are you doing this? Why are you even with her if she’s hurting you—”

“I’m not,” Vi said quickly. Her voice broke on the words. “I’m not with her.”

“But then…” Caitlyn’s voice trembled as she stepped closer, her arms limp at her sides. “I don’t understand.”

Vi didn’t speak.

She stood still, face turned away, shoulders tense beneath the weight of everything unsaid. Her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her hoodie, twisting the fabric slowly between thumb and knuckle, like she was trying to find something to hold onto.

Caitlyn watched her, helpless. “Vi…”

A breath.

Then another.

It was like Vi was bracing for impact.

“She pays me.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. “What?”

Vi didn’t look at her. Her gaze was fixed somewhere far away—down the path, into the trees, past the orange lamplight flickering above them like it could go out any second.

“She pays me,” Vi said again, louder this time. Her voice didn’t break, but it felt like it should have. “For being with her.”

The world felt like it tilted.

Caitlyn swayed a little where she stood, the breath catching in her throat.

“For… for sex?” she asked, barely able to form the word.

Vi’s mouth twitched, not into a smile—into something strained and bitter. “For whatever she wants.”

Caitlyn felt her stomach twist.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t imagined something dark. But this was something else entirely. This wasn’t just pain. This was transactional. This was Vi selling pieces of herself to someone who—

“She pays me a lot,” Vi added, voice quieter now. “Enough that Powder’s getting everything she needs. Every appointment. Every prescription. Every treatment—everything keeping her alive.”

Her voice cracked on that last word.

Caitlyn stood frozen in place, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her ears. The guilt was immediate and overwhelming—how long had Vi been carrying this? How many times had she pretended she was okay just to keep from breaking?

“Vi…” she whispered, taking a small step forward. “You can’t—”

“I have to.” Vi’s voice was sharp now, fierce in the way only someone terrified of falling apart could be.

“No, you don’t—”

“I would die for her.” The words came hard and fast, like she’s told herself this a million times over. “If I could take her place, I would. But I can’t. So I’m doing what I can. So this? This is nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

Not the way Vi had screamed on that field.

Not the bruises Caitlyn had seen weeks ago.

Not the way she looked right now—like she was made of paper held together by sheer will.

She finally turned to Caitlyn then, her eyes shining, her expression a portrait of someone trying so hard not to cry.

“All I have is her. Powder. She’s it.” Vi’s voice trembled, but she didn’t stop. “And I wasn’t going to let her suffer just because I—” She faltered. Swallowed hard. “Because I don’t want to get touched.”

Caitlyn felt something twist deep in her chest. Not just ache. Not just sadness. Grief—for the quiet way Vi had decided she didn’t matter.

“Vi, that’s not—” She started to speak, but the words caught like splinters in her throat. “She’s hurting you.”

Vi’s eyes shot up at her like Caitlyn had just said something incredulous. Her mouth hung open in a scoff. “I don’t fucking care!”

Her voice broke as she shouted, loud and raw and jagged around the edges.

It stunned the night into silence, but Caitlyn didn’t flinch. She saw it for what it was—not anger, but agony. Not lashing out, but breaking open.

So she softened. Stepped closer. “But you don’t want this,” she said gently. It wasn’t a question.

There was a long pause. A breath. Another.

Then, barely audible:

“No.”

And in that moment, Caitlyn knew.

It wasn’t just the bruises.

It wasn’t just the silence.

It was the cost Vi had decided she was willing to pay—to break herself, again and again, for someone she loved.

Chapter Text

Vi’s phone buzzed.

Once. Then again.

She didn’t want to look. She already knew.

But the screen lit up anyway, slicing through the dimness of the room like a flare in a minefield.

Sarah: 10pm tonight. 

Sarah: Wear something with buttons.

For a second, Vi just stared at the message. Frozen. Her phone still in her hand, screen glowing cold against her skin.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Then the screen went dark.

And still, she didn’t move.

The pressure started in her chest, quiet at first. A slow, crushing swell. Not quite panic—she knew panic. This wasn’t sharp or sudden. This was heavier. Familiar. A kind of numbness that hummed beneath her ribs, low and constant, like a bruise touched too many times.

She sat there a while. Long enough for the room to feel smaller.

Then she stood.

Each step toward the closet felt mechanical, detached—like her body knew what to do without needing her permission. Her fingers skimmed fabric absently until they stopped on the clean white button-up. Black slacks next. Her hands moved slowly, deliberately.

Clothes that would come off easily. Like last time and all the other times.

She dressed in silence.

No mirror check. No second thoughts. Just preparation.

When she reached the door, her hand hesitated on the knob. Her heart was beating too hard in her ears now.

Her roommate, curled up on the bed with headphones in, looked up as Vi moved to leave.

Vi forced the words out. Scraped them from somewhere deep.

“I’ll be back late.”

It was barely a whisper.

And then she left—before her voice could crack, before the weight could crush her, before she could ask herself, again, how many more times?

Because she already knew the answer.

As many as it took.

—

Sarah’s apartment was dim and silent, save for the faint hum of a jazz record spinning somewhere in another room. The smell hit Vi first—amber musk and cloying sweetness, thick as syrup in the air. Sarah’s signature scent, already soaked into the walls.

Vi stepped inside without knocking.

The door clicked shut behind her like a trap.

She heard the soft clink of glass before she saw her. Sarah leaned against the kitchen counter, barefoot in a silky red dress, hair slightly mussed. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sat beside her, and a lipstick-stained glass dangled from her hand. Her eyes—sharp, bloodshot, and glassy—found Vi immediately.

“Well don’t you look handsome tonight, Violet,” she purred.

The sound of her voice—slurred, slow—made Vi’s stomach tighten. Not fear. Not quite. Just that sick, breathless feeling of bracing for something you’ve survived before.

Sarah crossed the room with practiced ease, as though the alcohol had only made her more fluid. Her nails trailed down Vi’s chest, dragging over the fabric of the crisp white shirt she'd chosen. The one with buttons. Her cue.

“I got your favorite ready,” she murmured, pressing a glass of whiskey into Vi’s hand.

It wasn’t her favorite. But she downed it in two swallows anyway, the liquor scorching its way down her throat. And she hoped it would dull the edges, blurring the panic in her mind just enough to keep moving.

Before she could speak—before she could remember how to—Sarah grabbed her by the front of the shirt and shoved her backward.

Vi stumbled onto the couch, caught between cushions that had lost their shape long ago. Sarah was already climbing on top of her, knees on either side of her hips, hands greedy and careless. Her fingers found Vi’s jaw, her cheek, then moved to the buttons of her shirt.

She smiled as she yanked—violently. Buttons flew. The shirt parted.

“I need you inside me,” she breathed. “Now.”

Vi didn’t speak. She just obeyed.

She moved on instinct—her hand sliding beneath the hem of Sarah’s dress. No underwear, of course. There never was. Sarah gasped, already grinding down against her, chasing her own pleasure with unrelenting need.

Her hands clutched at Vi’s shoulders, then dove into her hair—yanking, hard.

Pain sparked white across Vi’s vision.

Her jaw clenched. A grunt slipped out before she could swallow it back. That was what Sarah liked. The little winces. The proof she had control.

Then came the hand at her throat.

At first, it was slow—almost affectionate, the way her thumb brushed Vi’s skin. But then the pressure mounted. Steady. Tight. Ruthless.

Vi couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know how long she couldn’t breathe for.

Her body jolted, startled by its own panic, chest heaving against the weight pressing in. Her limbs twitched, her fingers froze, but Sarah didn’t stop. The room faded at the edges. The heat in her lungs became agony. Her ears rang like alarm bells, her vision dimming to a pinpoint.

This might be it.

The thought came with terrifying clarity.

Maybe this time, Sarah wouldn’t stop. Maybe this time, she’d just—

But then Sarah gasped, hips trembling, head thrown back. She came with a cry that rang sharp in the silence, then went slack in Vi’s arms. Her hand fell away from Vi’s neck.

Vi collapsed into the cushions, gasping like she was coming back from underwater. Air scorched down her lungs as the color returned to her vision, the world feeling too real all at once.

She hated the choking the most.

It wasn’t the pain. It was the way it always danced so close to the line—made her feel like a breath away from disappearing. And it was the way she sometimes wished she did.

Sarah stood slowly, adjusting her dress, looking pleased with herself.

“You did so good for me, baby,” she murmured, still breathless.

She stretched, the fabric riding up her thighs, casting shadows across her bare skin.

“Come on,” she said with a lazy smile. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Vi didn’t move.

Not yet.

She just sat there, shirt open, throat burning, fingers damp with someone else’s satisfaction—and wondered how many pieces of herself she’d left behind this time.

—

The drawer was already open when they entered.

Vi saw it before anything else—like it had been waiting for her. An invitation. A warning. Cold metal glinting under the low light, leather coiled like snakes. Gags. Cuffs. Paddles. Straps. A sharp, synthetic smell of rubber and perfume mixed in the air, cloying and invasive.

Her stomach lurched.

She stood near the bed, arms stiff at her sides, fingers twitching with tension she couldn’t name. Sarah was already humming, rifling through the drawer like she was picking out accessories for a party.

“Ooh. How about the paddle today?” she mused, holding it up with a little twirl.

Vi's throat tightened. Her butt still stung from the last time. Even under her clothes, the skin was tender. She hadn’t let the water touch it directly in days.

“Okay,” she said softly, almost reflexively.

Sarah turned, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “You don’t sound excited,” she said, her voice sing-songy, teasing. “Wanna try something else instead?”

It was a trick. It was always a trick.

Vi gave a hollow nod. “Okay.”

Sarah smiled like she’d just won a game. “Okay,” she echoed, her voice syrupy and smug. “You said it. Not me.”

She reached deeper into the drawer, pulled out the strap-on. The one Vi hated most.

The leather harness snapped sharply as Sarah fastened it around her waist, the dildo thick, heavy, and grotesquely veined. Vi tried not to look at it. But it was impossible to ignore. It commanded the room. Like everything Sarah touched.

Shame rose in her chest like a storm surge. Hot. Acidic. Familiar.

Sarah didn’t use it often, but when she did—those nights were the worst. Not for the physical pain, though there was plenty of that. But because it was inside . Because it invaded. Because Vi’s body never quite stopped flinching even after it was over.

Those were the nights she’d scrub herself raw in the shower, water turned all the way up until her skin blistered pink. Hoping maybe it would erase it. Hoping maybe she would disappear.

“Strip. Bend over.”

Vi hesitated.

Not long. Just a second. But Sarah noticed.

She always noticed.

And so Vi moved. Like a puppet on a string. Slow. Mechanical. She dropped her pants, her underwear. She turned, lowered herself onto the bed, and braced her palms against the mattress. Her shirt was still half-open from earlier.

Her breath came shallow. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Her mind tried to leave the room.

Tried to go somewhere else.

Somewhere far from the stench of perfume and sweat. Far from Sarah’s voice, far from the glint of buckles and straps.

She thought of Caitlyn.

The way she had looked at her earlier. Not with pity. Not like Sarah. Caitlyn had looked at her like she saw her. Like she was worth saving. Like she hadn’t already been ruined.

Sarah didn’t warn her. She never did.

Pain tore through her as Sarah pushed inside, rough and careless. Vi’s body stretched too far, too fast. And the pain was so, so sharp . Her muscles clenched in protest, her breath punched from her lungs. A whimper caught in her throat and stayed there, lodged like a splinter.

She gritted her teeth. Swallowed the sob.

Her fingers twisted in the sheets. Her forehead pressed hard to the mattress. Every nerve in her body screamed to run, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t.

And still—through it all—she thought of Caitlyn.

Of soft hands.

Of gentle voices.

Of the impossible ache of being looked at like she mattered.

Of everything she’d never asked for but wanted more than anything.

—

The walk back was a blur.

The streetlights above flickered and passed like judgment, and still she kept going—silent, sore, and straining to stay upright.

Each step sent a fresh wave of pain through her, a deep, bruising ache nestled low in her body that pulsed with every movement. It wasn’t sharp anymore. Just hot. Raw. Tender in a way that made her clench her jaw and breathe shallowly, like too much air might split her in two. She walked stiffly, arms wrapped around herself, feeling the ghost of every place she'd been touched, used. 

When she reached the dorm, her hands trembled so badly she couldn’t get the key in the lock. It slipped. Once. Twice. A third time before it finally turned with a reluctant click .

She barely made it to the bathroom.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, her stomach lurched. No warning. No pause. Just everything crashing upward and out—liquor, bile, and whatever fragments of herself she could no longer stomach. It splattered into the toilet bowl with a wet, violent sound. She heaved until her throat burned and her eyes stung, until all that was left was a hollow, shivering shell hunched over cold porcelain.

Her skin was slick with sweat and perfume that wasn’t hers. She stripped in silence, piece by piece, tugging the ruined button-down from her arms, peeling the black slacks from her legs. Her fingers hesitated at the hem of her underwear, a faint smear of blood on the fabric.

She shoved the clothes deep into the hamper. Buried them beneath old hoodies and jeans. As if hiding them could erase what they meant.

The mirror above the sink caught her reflection.

She didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

Eyes red-rimmed, cheeks hollow, lips cracked. Her chest bore faint red streaks from where Sarah’s nails had scraped. A faint bruise already bloomed around her neck, purple and ugly.

She turned away. Turned the shower on. As hot as it could go. And sat on the cold tiles, letting the water burn her skin red.

She didn’t move.

Not for a long time.

Just sat, curled into herself, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead pressed to her knees. The water beat down like rain on a corpse.

She didn’t move.

Not for minutes. Maybe hours.

Just sat there, letting the sting punish what Sarah hadn’t. Letting the heat try to melt away the parts of her that felt ruined. Letting herself disappear.

Tears came slowly, quietly. Stuttering sobs that shook her ribs. The kind that suffocated her.

She couldn't stop.

She didn’t try to.

And through all of it—through the unbearable ache in every inch of her—she thought of Caitlyn.

Vi's fingers tightened around her legs. She pressed her face harder into her knees.

All she wanted in that moment—more than air, more than warmth, more than even escape—was Caitlyn’s arms around her.

Just to be held.

To be cared for.

To be reminded, even for a second, what it felt like to be human .

Chapter Text

Caitlyn noticed Vi’s absence the moment she stepped into the lecture hall. It was like walking into a room with the air sucked out—something off-kilter, out of place.

Vi’s absence echoed, bringing to roar their conversation last night.

The reveal. The silence that followed. The way Vi had left afterward, not with drama, not in a rush—just quiet, distant, already resigned to the life she'd confessed to.

Caitlyn had barely slept. She tossed and turned under the weight of everything Vi had told her.

And now with Vi’s absence, she tried not to jump to conclusions. Maybe Vi overslept. Maybe she had practice or an appointment. Maybe—

Then the door creaked open behind her.

Caitlyn turned, heart stalling in her chest.

Vi stepped in slowly, like she was trying not to be seen. A black hoodie swallowed her frame, the hood drawn tightly around her face despite the spring heat pressing through the windows. Her shoulders were hunched, movements stiff, as if every shift of her weight sent pain slicing through her.

She didn’t limp outright.

But Caitlyn saw it anyway.

A slight hitch in her walk. The way she winced, ever so subtly, each time her foot hit the floor. Like she was bracing for aftershocks.

Caitlyn’s fingers curled around her pen until the plastic cracked beneath her grip.

Vi didn’t look her way. She slipped into a seat near the back, head bowed, hands tucked in her sleeves.

Caitlyn didn’t hear a single word the professor said. Everything was white noise. Her eyes never left Vi. Not even once. She watched the way she shifted constantly, unable to sit still for more than a few seconds. The way her arms wrapped around her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.

And Caitlyn could feel it—could feel Vi unraveling.

As soon as class ended, she bolted from her seat, ignoring the startled looks from the students she shoved past. She found Vi near the door, just gathering her bag, her face still half-hidden by her hood.

“Vi,” Caitlyn said, her voice a low, urgent breath.

Vi froze, but only for a second. Then she looked up, eyes tired but masking everything behind a blank expression.

“Hey.” Her voice was too light, too easy. 

It felt wrong. All of it. The casual tone, the dismissive shrug in her posture. Like Caitlyn hadn’t watched her wince with every step. Like she hadn’t heard her scream with silence.

Caitlyn swallowed the rising panic in her throat. Now wasn’t the time.

“I was gonna grab something to eat at the commons,” she lied quickly. “But I forgot my ID. Can you swipe me in?”

Vi hesitated. Caitlyn could see the war happening behind her eyes. The split-second debate. But then she gave a small nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

They walked in silence.

Caitlyn kept stealing glances. Vi’s gait was tighter now, like she was holding herself together by instinct alone. Her arms stayed crossed, one hand subtly pressing against her side like it hurt to breathe.

The commons were mostly quiet. A few students lingered over lunch trays or laptops. Vi picked at her plate with a plastic fork, moving food around like the act of pretending to eat was exhausting in itself.

Caitlyn couldn’t stand it. The emptiness in her eyes. The way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking.

Then a girl walked up—one of Vi’s teammates. Caitlyn recognized her face from the bleachers.

“Yo, Vi,” she said brightly, slapping the edge of the table. “Thought you were sick this morning. Feeling better?”

Vi stiffened.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, forcing a half-smile. “Just had a bad headache.”

“Gotcha. Feel better, dude. See you at practice tomorrow?”

Vi nodded quickly. “Yeah, see you.”

The teammate patted her shoulder as she turned to leave.

Vi flinched.

Her fork slipped, clattering onto the tray.

Caitlyn flinched too—but for a different reason. Her stomach twisted.

She chewed on her bottom lip. “You skipped practice?” she asked softly.

Vi didn’t respond.

Her hands disappeared to her sleeves. Her gaze stayed fixed on the tray in front of her, as if she could will the conversation away by not looking at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “Does that have anything to do with the way you’re walking today?”

That did it.

Vi tensed, just slightly—but Caitlyn felt it like a fault line shifting beneath her feet.

“I’m not stupid, Vi,” she said, her voice gentler now, but firm. “And if I pulled back your hood right now… I’m guessing I’d find another handprint.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. She shoved her tray away.

“I’m going home.”

Caitlyn reached out without thinking, fingertips brushing the edge of the table—but Vi jerked back, out of reach before she could make contact.

Still, she didn’t leave.

And Caitlyn didn’t move.

“My room’s empty,” Caitlyn said gently. “If you want somewhere quiet.”

Vi didn’t look at her.

“You don’t have to talk,” Caitlyn added. “We don’t even have to sit near each other. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Vi still didn’t speak, but Caitlyn saw the way her shoulders shifted—like the smallest part of her wanted to believe that offer.

“You said your roommate’s always around,” Caitlyn continued, careful not to push. “And I don’t have one, so you could… just lie down for a while. No one would bother you.”

Vi’s fingers tightened at her side. Her jaw clenched. Caitlyn waited.

At last, Vi murmured, “You sure you wanna skip class?”

Caitlyn gave the faintest shrug. “I’ve skipped for worse reasons.”

Vi looked up—eyes tired, dark. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Caitlyn said. “But I want to.”

A long pause.

Then a small nod. “Okay.”

They walked slowly across campus.

Caitlyn said nothing about the way Vi winced with each step. Said nothing about the slight hitch in her breath every time her foot hit the pavement wrong. Or how she seemed to brace herself—subtly, but unmistakably—before taking each stair. Like her own body had turned against her.

Caitlyn wanted to reach for her. Steady her. Carry her, maybe. Or scream. Or cry. Or shake someone, anyone, until they made it stop.

But instead, she walked beside her. In silence. Because she knew that was all Vi could bear for now.

When they reached Caitlyn’s dorm, Vi sat down on the edge of the bed like her legs couldn’t hold her another second. She didn’t take off her hoodie. Didn’t look around. Just stared at the floor like it might open and swallow her whole.

“Do you want to nap?” Caitlyn asked, keeping her voice low. Gentle.

Vi nodded silently and laid down onto her bed. Like she had done so many times in the past.

Caitlyn pulled the throw blanket off the back of her chair and draped it over her. Then she took her seat at the desk, opened a textbook to a random page, and stared at it. Not reading. Not even pretending to.

It was quiet.

Not peaceful. Not still.

But aching. Fragile. The kind of quiet that fills your chest until you can’t breathe.

And then Vi’s phone buzzed.

Caitlyn glanced over. 

Vi didn’t move. She was curled on her side, back to the room, arms tucked in tight, hood still drawn. Her breaths were long and steady. She was asleep.

The phone buzzed again. Then a third time.

Caitlyn’s eyes drifted to the screen. She didn’t mean to. But the name was there, bold and unmistakable:

Sarah

Three messages. No previews. Just the name. Just the weight of it.

Her stomach turned.

Caitlyn sat back down and bit her cheek until it bled.

Eventually, her eyes found Vi’s face again. Her breathing was even, but her body looked tense. Even in sleep, her muscles were tight. Like rest was something she had to fight for.

Caitlyn stood, barely breathing, and stepped closer. She hesitated at the edge of the bed, heart pounding like she was trespassing.

Carefully, gently, she reached out and brushed the damp strands of hair from Vi’s face. Vi didn’t stir.

Then, with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking, she peeled back the edge of the hood.

And there it was. Another bruise, the shape unmistakable.

Faint, but deepening—ugly and spreading across the edge of Vi’s jaw. The shape of a hand. Fingers. Thumb. Still fresh.

Her breath caught in her throat, sharp and raw. She pulled her hand back like it burned her.

Then turned away, sat back down, and stared at the floor.

Her eyes stung.

And all she could think—over and over—was how much more does she have to survive before someone saves her?

—

Two hours passed. Caitlyn had drifted off at her desk, cheek resting on folded arms, one hand still limp over an open book.

Vi stirred.

She blinked against the dim light, body heavy with exhaustion. Everything hurt. Her skin. Her throat. The bruised ache between her legs. The invisible places, too—the ones no one could bandage.

And then she saw Caitlyn. Head bowed, lips parted slightly in sleep. Her shoulders rose and fell with slow, even breaths.

Vi’s chest tightened.

How did someone like Caitlyn—so good, so impossibly gentle—end up here? Wrapped up in someone like her ?

She sat up slowly, swallowing a gasp as pain rippled through her. The blanket slipped from her shoulders. The hoodie clung to her skin, damp with dried sweat. She felt small in it. Filthy. Still carrying the scent of someone else’s power.

Her eyes drifted back to Caitlyn.

She wanted to crawl into her lap and cry. She wanted Caitlyn to hold her, to press her lips to her forehead and tell her she was safe. She wanted to fall asleep wrapped in her arms and forget every part of the life she kept living.

But she couldn’t.

Vi couldn’t give her what she wanted. She couldn’t give Caitlyn all of her. She barely had anything left for herself.

She thought of their kiss.

Caitlyn had looked at her like she was made of something fragile and holy. Her breath had caught. Her hand had hovered, as if Vi’s cheek might vanish if touched too fast. And Vi had leaned in. How could she not? For that split-second, she had let herself want .

She wanted that moment to last forever.

But she had pulled away—pulled away and told Caitlyn to forget it ever happened.

Because it wouldn’t be fair. Because Vi wasn’t fair. Because she wasn’t whole. Because her body wasn’t her own. Because someone else used it, took it, left it broken.

Her phone buzzed.

She didn’t have to check. She knew.

Sarah

Vi stared at the screen.

Her fingers hovered.

Her chest rose and fell too fast.

She felt the pressure building again—the dread, the guilt, the numbness that always followed. All from the voice in her head that said: You need to do this. For Powder.

But tonight, something softer pushed back.

A whisper. Fragile, trembling.

You don’t have to.

Just this once.

Just tonight.

Maybe she could say she was sick.

Maybe she could turn off her phone.

Maybe she could stay wrapped in Caitlyn’s blanket, breathing in the faint scent of lavender shampoo and clean cotton and something warm that clung to her skin like comfort.

Maybe, just for tonight, she could choose something else.

She looked at Caitlyn again, sleeping so gently in the sunlight that filtered through the blinds.

And Vi wished she could be enough—wished she could be someone Caitlyn deserved.

But that felt like an impossible dream.

And she was already trapped in a nightmare.

Still, maybe she could still be selfish. Just for tonight.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and closed her eyes.

And for the first time in months, she selfishly let herself believe that she didn’t owe her body to anyone.

Not tonight.

Chapter Text

Vi woke again to the golden hush of late afternoon, the room dim but warm, filled with the kind of silence that didn’t press or prod. Just presence. Just peace.

Caitlyn was awake now, sitting back in her desk chair with her knees drawn up, watching her. Not intrusively. Just... there.

Vi blinked slowly, disoriented by how gentle everything felt.

“Hey,” Caitlyn said softly, like the word didn’t need anything more than that.

Vi didn’t answer. Just gave the faintest nod.

No one asked how she was feeling. No one forced her to speak. The quiet did the talking for both of them.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

They stayed that way for a while—still, wordless. Time passed like honey. And for once, Vi didn’t feel the urge to run.

Eventually, Caitlyn stretched her legs and let her head fall back against the chair. “I could eat.”

Vi exhaled through her nose. “Same.”

“We could go to the pub. It’s quiet this time of day.”

Vi hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to go—but because Caitlyn was so good at that. So good at giving her a choice. So good at letting her know that there was no obligation. No expectation.

She rubbed her eyes and cleared her throat. “Alright. But if I hate the food, I’m holding it against you forever.”

Caitlyn smirked. “A risk I’m willing to take.”

—

The sky outside had dipped into a dusky purple by the time they made it to the campus pub. The sun had just set, casting long shadows over the cracked patio tiles. Inside, the bar was quiet for once, humming with only a handful of students scattered at booths. Caitlyn swore by the chicken wings here—claimed they were the best thing on the menu.

Vi was skeptical, but hunger and the allure of beer were stronger than her doubts.

She was already three beers in by the time Caitlyn finished her first. Vi snorted at the way Caitlyn grimaced at the bitter aftertaste.

“I can’t tell if these wings are actually good or if I’m too drunk to care,” Vi said, licking buffalo sauce off her thumb.

Caitlyn laughed. “Both.”

They clinked their glasses together again, and Vi was now halfway through her fourth beer.

Caitlyn eyed her, eyebrows raised. “You’re not a lightweight, are you?”

Vi scoffed in mock offense. “How dare you assume such a thing. You saw how much I drank on my birthday.”

Caitlyn laughed. “I also saw how drunk you got.”

“You strike me as a one-shot wonder,” Vi shot back.

“I am not,” Caitlyn muttered, eyes narrowing. “I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, so I don’t drink much.”

Vi hummed. "I don't like the taste of it either, to be honest."

“Well, slow down then,” Caitlyn warned, glancing at Vi’s glass. “I don’t want to have to drag you all the way to your dorm on the other side of campus.”

Vi smirked. “Then drag me back to your dorm.”

Caitlyn hesitated. She could tease back, flirt back, laugh it off. But instead, she tilted her head and said, “Oh please. Take me out to dinner first before you try to use me for my private dorm room.”

Vi grinned. “Is this not dinner? You’re the one who chose this place. I’m sure Hooters has better wings.”

“You would know.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t! Never stepped foot in that establishment,” Vi said, proudly.

“Oh, but I’m sure you’d like to.”

“Only if you’re working there.”

And there it was. Flirtation wrapped up in teasing, tossed out like a joke, but just close enough to the truth to linger.

Caitlyn took a long sip from her beer instead of answering.

For a while, they just sat like that, saying nothing. As if yesterday hadn’t happened. As if Caitlyn didn’t know what Vi was trying to bury under oversized hoodies and fourth drinks.

Caitlyn drained another beer. Then another. Hoping to dull the sharp edge of worry that pressed against the inside of her ribs.

Eventually, they stood. Decided it was time to head back.

“I’ll crash at yours,” Vi said. “Just for a bit. I’ll head back when I’m sober.”

Caitlyn nodded, but they both knew Vi would end up asleep in her bed again.

In Caitlyn’s dorm, soft R&B spilled from her laptop speakers. The desk lamp cast a warm orange glow across the room, more intimate than either of them intended. 

Vi had pulled off her hoodie when they came in, mumbling something about the heat. Caitlyn said nothing. Through the gentle blur of the alcohol, Vi had either forgotten what she was hiding—or had stopped caring for the moment.

But Caitlyn hadn’t forgotten.

Her gaze caught briefly on the bruise at Vi’s neck, darker now in the lamplight. She looked away before Vi could notice and settled beside her on the bed.

Vi was flipping through one of Caitlyn’s thick ethics textbooks.

“I don’t know how you can read this without going cross-eyed.”

Caitlyn chuckled and picked up Vi’s anatomy book from the floor. “And I don’t know how you can read this without going cross-eyed.”

“What?! Anatomy is so cool! You’re literally learning about the human body. I don’t see how any other subject can even compare.”

“I took anatomy in high school. It was the most boring class I’ve ever suffered through.”

“Maybe you just didn’t have the right study buddy.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need a study buddy for anatomy.”

“You do,” Vi said, shifting behind her. She reached over and gently traced a finger down Caitlyn’s shoulder blade, then pressed in slightly. “How else would I study this muscle if I didn’t see or feel it on someone else?”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. Vi’s touch lingered.

“So you do this with all your study buddies?” Caitlyn asked, trying for lightness.

Vi laughed and pulled her hand back. “Nah. I just look at the diagrams.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “You’re all talk.”

Vi looked at her, gaze steady. “I’m not wrong though.”

She leaned in again, placing two fingers gently on either side of Caitlyn’s neck. “See? This is how doctors check your thyroid. I’m sure they don’t learn this from just looking at a diagram.”

Caitlyn swallowed. Hard.

Vi’s fingers were soft, resting right at the hollow of her throat—and for a breathless moment, all Caitlyn could do was feel them.

Then—without meaning to—her eyes dropped. Not to the book, not to the floor, but to Vi’s neck.

The bruise was clearer in the lamplight now, blooming dark and tender against her skin.

Gently, Caitlyn reached up. Her fingers curled around Vi’s wrist, still resting lightly against her collarbone. She guided Vi’s hand away from her throat—but didn’t let go.

Instead, she shifted. Let her other hand trail forward, crossing the small space between them. She stopped just beside Vi’s neck, her fingers hovering near the bruised skin.

“Does it hurt?” Caitlyn whispered.

Vi’s eyes flickered away.

She shook her head. “No. Not really.”

Caitlyn’s hand moved, featherlight, along Vi’s jaw. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Vi didn’t answer. Her eyes dropped to the blanket bunched in her lap. But she didn’t flinch away.

“Hey,” Caitlyn said softly. “It’s okay. I’m not here to judge you.”

They were silent for a moment. Then, Vi blinked. A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.

Caitlyn’s thumb reached up and brushed it away.

“She was rougher last night,” Vi murmured. “But it’s nothing new.”

Caitlyn’s heart cracked. “Is that why it hurts to walk?”

Vi tensed but nodded.

Then shook her head, like she could shake the memory loose. “It was… too big. Too much.”

And Caitlyn understood.

“Vi,” she said quietly. “That’s not consensual. I know you say it is, but… it’s not.”

Vi’s gaze sank to her hands. Her body trembled. “I know,” she whispered.

Caitlyn didn’t say anything else. She just pulled her in.

Vi folded into her like she’d been waiting for permission. Her forehead pressed to Caitlyn’s neck. Her shoulders shook, silent sobs racking her body with each breath.

Caitlyn held her through all of it.

When the tears finally stilled, and the silence grew heavy again, Caitlyn eased them both back onto the bed. She pulled the covers over them, settling close.

Vi said nothing. But when Caitlyn gently brushed the hair away from her face, Vi leaned into her touch.

Just barely.

And they fell asleep like that—held in a hush of warmth and shadow, wrapped in something fragile and unnamed.

Something Caitlyn would protect, even if Vi didn’t ask her to.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn had never cared much about money.

She knew she came from it. Knew that her family name held weight in certain rooms. Her father, a prominent industry lawyer, had spent decades building a reputation out of stern handshakes and airtight contracts. Her mother, sharp-tongued and impeccably dressed, inherited a multimillion-dollar production company from her own father and made it even bigger.

Caitlyn, however, had never needed much. A trust fund existed somewhere in her name, sure. She didn’t know how much was in it. Didn’t care to ask. It would be hers one day—when both her parents were gone.

But now, for the first time, it mattered.

It mattered because Vi—scrappy, stubborn, hurting Vi—was selling her body to afford her sister’s medical treatment. And Caitlyn couldn’t just sit with that knowledge. Not when there was something she could do.

She just didn’t know how yet.

Dinner with the Kiramman household was always quiet. Polished silverware. Candlelit. Soft classical music playing in the background like a soundtrack to their composed silence. Tonight, Caitlyn’s father had made reservations at their favorite restaurant overlooking the harbor. Their table was tucked into a private alcove near the back, far from other guests.

The food had arrived. Light conversation about Caitlyn’s classes drifted across the table.

Her fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin. “Can I ask something?”

Both her parents looked up. Her mother paused mid-sip of wine. “Of course,” her father said.

“It’s about… my trust fund.”

Her mother raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “That’s a first.”

Caitlyn’s father set down his utensils. “What about it?”

“I just—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I was wondering if there was a way to access any of it now. Early.”

Her mother blinked, slow and suspicious. “You’ve never shown any interest in it before. Why now?”

Caitlyn glanced at her father, then back to her mother. “It’s not for me.”

That didn’t seem to help.

Her mother narrowed her eyes. “Then who is it for?”

There was a long pause.

Caitlyn’s voice came quieter than she expected. “A friend. Her sister is sick. She needs help paying for treatment.”

“A friend,” her mother repeated, already dismissive.

Her father remained unreadable, his elbows resting lightly on the table, his expression neutral.

“Her name is Vi,” Caitlyn continued. “She’s been—she’s been going through a lot. And I just—she shouldn’t have to...” She trailed off.

Her mother waved a hand like she was swatting away a gnat. “Caitlyn, we are not a charity.”

“She’s not asking for a handout!” Caitlyn snapped, sharper than she intended. “She’s not asking anything. I’m the one who’s offering. I want to help her.”

Her mother’s expression didn’t budge. “And you think that’s a good use of your inheritance? Throwing money at some girl who’s manipulated you into feeling bad for her?”

“She hasn’t manipulated me,” Caitlyn bit out. “She’s my friend. And she’s hurting. And she’s doing things no one should ever have to do just to keep her sister alive.”

The music in the background suddenly felt too loud.

Her mother rolled her eyes. “You’re young. You don’t know when someone’s taking advantage of you.”

Caitlyn stared at her, stunned. “How can you be so cynical? You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to know her.”

Caitlyn turned to her father. “Dad—please. I’m not asking for all of it. Just enough to get through this. A few thousand, even. I don’t care. I’ll pay it back if I have to.”

Her father finally leaned forward. “What’s her sister sick with?”

Caitlyn hesitated, then answered, “Cancer. It’s getting worse.”

He nodded slowly, thoughtful.

Her mother scoffed. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

He turned toward her. “Maybe you should listen before assuming the worst.”

Her mother folded her arms, lips pressed in a hard line.

He looked back at Caitlyn. “You care about this girl?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Then she nodded. “I do.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed. “I’ll look into what’s possible. I can’t promise anything without speaking to her, but… I’ll see what can be done.”

Caitlyn blinked, almost disbelieving. “Really?”

He nodded. “But I want to meet her. And I want to understand exactly what this money is going toward. No surprises.”

Caitlyn exhaled, her shoulders sagging with relief. “Okay. Thank you.”

Her mother said nothing. Just turned her gaze to the window, wine glass pressed to her lips.

But for the first time in days, Caitlyn felt like something might finally be within reach.

—

“No,” Vi snapped. “Absolutely not.”

“Vi, please,” Caitlyn pleaded, taking a cautious step closer. “I want to do this.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. Her voice dropped into a hiss. “I’m not your fucking charity case, Caitlyn. I never should’ve told you.”

Caitlyn winced. “I didn’t know what else to do, Vi. I—” She dragged a hand through her hair, frustration and helplessness brimming at her chest. “I care about you so much. I just want to help.”

“This isn’t your problem to fix,” Vi muttered, backing away, pacing now like she needed the motion to keep from boiling over. “I told you about this because I trusted you. Not so you could throw your money at me.”

“I don’t view it like that,” Caitlyn said, her voice rising just slightly. “I’m just trying to be there for you. I know I grew up with privilege, okay? And what’s the point of that if I can’t use it to help someone I—” she faltered, then finished softly, “—someone I care about?”

Vi didn’t respond. Her arms were crossed tightly, her fists clenched beneath her sleeves.

“Just meet with them,” Caitlyn urged. “Talk to them. Tell them about your sister. They’ll understand.”

Vi pressed her palms to her face, hard. “Cait, I don’t want your money. That’s not—that’s not something I can do.”

Caitlyn’s heart thudded painfully. She knew this conversation would be difficult. But not like this. Not this bruising.

“I thought convincing my parents would be the hard part,” she said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t realize it was you who’d need the most convincing.”

Vi looked up sharply, her expression unreadable.

“You say you’d die for your sister,” Caitlyn added, her frustration bleeding through, “but you won’t swallow your pride for her?”

The words landed with a weight Caitlyn immediately regretted.

Vi's face fell like she’d been slapped.

She didn’t yell. She didn’t curse. She just went quiet. Her nails dug into her arms, hard enough to break skin. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“You don’t get it,” she said hoarsely.

“Then help me understand,” Caitlyn begged.

Silence stretched between them. The kind of silence that wasn't empty, but full—thick with all the things Vi couldn’t quite say. When she finally spoke, her voice was raw.

“With Sarah,” she said quietly, “she pays me and then she owns me for one night. I’m indebted to her for one night, and I pay it back that night. That’s the deal.”

She met Caitlyn’s eyes, something vulnerable flickering in her gaze.

“But with you?” she said, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I could ever feel like I’ve paid you back. I’d feel like you’d own me forever.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched.

Her knees almost gave out from the weight of it. Her chest cracked open, pain spilling out in all directions.

Because now she understood.

Vi didn’t just see money as money.

She saw it as chains.

“Oh, Vi…” Caitlyn said, her voice breaking. Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want you to pay me back. Not in any way.”

Vi nodded slowly. “I know, Cait. But it doesn’t matter what you say. I would still feel like I do.”

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. It was the way Vi said it—not angry, not accusing. Just quiet. Inevitable. Like this was a truth she had lived with so long that it didn’t even surprise her anymore.

And Caitlyn could read between the lines.

To Vi, this wasn’t help. This wasn’t love.

This was a trade of one transactional relationship for another.

And that no matter how gentle Caitlyn was, how safe she made her feel, this would still be the same picture in different lighting.

It didn’t matter that Caitlyn wasn’t Sarah.

On paper, it looked the same.

Caitlyn crossed the room, slowly, cautiously. She reached out, resting a hand on Vi’s arm, letting it stay there until Vi let herself lean into the contact.

“I just wanted to give you a way out,” Caitlyn whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you feel trapped.”

Vi’s eyes fluttered closed. She exhaled a shaky breath, then tilted her head forward until her forehead came to rest against Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t.”

They stood like that for a long time. Quiet. Breathing.

Chapter Text

Dinner at the Kiramman household was quiet—tense, in the way only silence filled with unspoken judgments could be.

Caitlyn pushed a piece of salmon around her plate, appetite gone. Her father cleared his throat, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink.

“Have you spoken to your friend?” he asked casually, but the edge in his voice gave him away.

Caitlyn nodded, not looking up. “She doesn’t want my help.”

Her father arched an eyebrow. “And why not?”

Caitlyn shrugged, stabbing at a green bean. “She doesn’t want to take any handouts.”

Her mother set her fork down a little too neatly. “Your friend,” she began, emphasizing the word in a way that made Caitlyn’s stomach twist. “She’s the one with the pink hair? On the soccer team?”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “How—”

“The one we saw with Sarah Fortune,” Cassandra continued, “at the country club.”

Her father turned toward his wife. “Cassandra, no need to be cryptic. What are you saying?”

“Mother,” Caitlyn warned, already feeling the heat crawl up her neck.

“I’m just surprised,” Cassandra said smoothly, folding her napkin into her lap. “She seems to have no problem taking handouts from Sarah.”

“Enough,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice louder than she intended. Her fork clattered onto the plate.

Her father’s gaze sharpened. “What is going on here?”

Cassandra shot Caitlyn a hard look. “I told you this was foolish. Running around with a girl who—who—” She waved a dismissive hand. “I can’t even say it.”

“Tell me what is going on here,” her father repeated, his voice no longer patient.

Cassandra turned to him. “This girl. Vi,” she said, as if the name tasted sour. “She’s running around with Sarah Fortune—you know, from the country club. A woman in her fifties with more money than sense. A twenty-one-year-old college girl spending time with her… it’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Caitlyn’s heart dropped. “It’s not like that.”

“Caitlyn, is this true?” her father asked, his voice steady but unreadable.

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean—yes, she knows Sarah. But not in the way you're implying.”

“You can’t possibly believe they’re in love,” her mother interjected with a scoff.

“I didn’t say they were.”

“So you deny that they have some kind of… mutually beneficial arrangement, but you also deny they’re romantically involved?” her mother pressed, her voice condescending and cruel. “So what is it?”

Caitlyn let out a sharp exhale, struggling to keep her composure. “It’s complicated.”

“There’s nothing complicated about it,” Cassandra said. “A young girl using a wealthy woman for her money. That’s not complex. It’s predictable.”

Her father opened his mouth, perhaps to say something measured—but Caitlyn was already rising.

Her palm slammed against the table, rattling the silver and the wine glasses. “It’s ridiculous that you’d think she’s the one doing the using.” Her voice trembled with fury.

“An older woman—a millionaire. And a college student on scholarship, trying to keep her sister alive.”

She stared between them, eyes blazing. “You tell me who’s using who.”

The table fell silent, only the clinking of silverware echoing faintly from another room.

“I’m done,” Caitlyn said, pushing her chair back with a screech. “Thanks for dinner.”

Caitlyn’s heart hammered in her chest as she stormed out.

And her mind kept flickering to one thing: The worst part about all the nasty things her mother had said about Vi was that—at some point—Vi had believed those things about herself.

—

Caitlyn didn’t stop to think.

She barely remembered grabbing her keys, barely registered the way the tires squealed as she turned too sharply onto campus roads.

She had to see Vi. Had to hold her and tell her she’s the most selfless, caring, loving person she’d ever met.

She parked crooked outside the dorms, leapt up the front steps two at a time, heart hammering in her throat.

Vi’s roommate cracked the door open, half-surprised. “She’s not here,” she said. “Left about an hour ago. Said she needed some air.”

Caitlyn didn’t waste time on a response. She turned and ran.

The library was empty. So was the quad. Her pulse was in her ears by the time she reached the field. Then she saw her.

Flat on her back, staring up at the sky, like she’d forgotten how to stand. Her blue t-shirt clung damply to her chest with every shallow rise and fall. The knees of her white track pants were dirty—grass-streaked, uneven. Her cheeks glistened in the fading light.

“Vi,” Caitlyn called out, soft but urgent.

Vi jerked upright, hastily wiping her face with the back of her wrist. “Oh. Hey.” Her voice was raw.

Caitlyn stepped into the field’s center, then knelt down beside her, heart still racing.

“You okay?”

Vi gave a tight shrug, looking away. “She’s getting worse.” A pause. “I need to see her.”

“Oh, Vi…” Caitlyn reached for her—slow, gentle—and pulled her in. Vi didn’t resist. She leaned in just enough to show she needed it.

The sun was almost gone. Just a pale wash of gold behind the clouds. The air had cooled, but Caitlyn didn’t feel it.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Vi shook her head. “No. But thank you, Cait. I think I just need to be with her.”

Caitlyn nodded, her fingers tracing slow circles into Vi’s shoulder. Something was off. The way Vi sat—rigid, wary. Like her body hurt.

“I can help,” Caitlyn said, hesitating. “With the flight tickets. Or whatever else you need.”

Vi gave a weary smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You know how I feel about that.”

Caitlyn held back a sigh. “But how will you get back home?”

Vi’s gaze was distant. Her eyes followed a bird overhead, like she might lift off and vanish with it. “It’s booked. I’m flying out tomorrow morning.”

Silence bloomed. The kind that filled your throat and lungs, made it hard to breathe. Caitlyn swallowed against it.

She wanted to ask what had happened. Why Vi’s voice sounded like it had been scraped raw. Why her arms were held so tightly to her sides, like they were hiding something.

But she didn’t.

Instead—

“Do you want to sleep over?”

Vi’s lips pressed together, and for a second Caitlyn thought she might say yes.

But she didn’t.

“No, not tonight.”

Caitlyn didn’t want to accept that answer, but that’s all she could do. The sun was dipping past the horizon now. The field lights flickered on.

They sat in silence for a moment. Not quite comfortable but not quite oppressive.

And once the sky was dark and Caitlyn saw the goosebumps on Vi’s arms, she stood and offered Vi a hand.

 “Let me walk you back to your dorm.”

They moved in silence, their footsteps soft against the pavement. No words between them. Just silence and the weight of everything unsaid strung between them.

When they reached Vi’s dorm, Caitlyn pulled her in for a hug. “Please call me. Text me. Anything. I’ll come to you in a heartbeat.”

Vi just nodded, her eyes saying everything she couldn’t.

“Thank you.” She pulled back. “Good night, Cait.”

She turned to the door.

And that’s when Caitlyn saw it.

Just before the frame swallowed her whole.

A sharp smear of red across the white of Vi’s track pants.

Not dirt. Not grass.

Blood.

Then the door closed.

—

She’d texted Vi late that night, her fingers shaking as she typed.

Caitlyn: do you need a ride to the airport?

Vi had declined. Simple. Distant. Polite.

The next morning, Caitlyn sent another.

Caitlyn: have a safe flight!

Vi hearted the message. No words. Just that small, sterile symbol.

The day after that, Caitlyn tried again:

Caitlyn: just checking in. no pressure to reply. hope you’re doing okay

Nothing came.

And that was it.
Now it was spring break.
And Vi was still gone.

Caitlyn told herself not to take it personally. That Vi was overwhelmed. That she needed space, needed time, needed the quiet.

But still, every time she closed her eyes, she saw the back of Vi’s track pants—white cotton marked with a dark bloom of red, just under her hip, too high for a scrape, too low for anything else.

She knew.

She didn’t have proof, but she didn’t need it.

She remembered Vi’s face that night—how empty it had looked in the center of that field. Like something had gone out behind her eyes. Like she’d handed something over and hadn’t gotten it back.

Caitlyn had wanted to ask.

But she couldn’t. Not now.

Instead, she sent one final message

Caitlyn: hey. you don’t have to reply. i just wanted to let you know i’m still here whenever you need me

Then she closed the thread. Shoved her phone into a drawer. Told herself not to check it again.

She failed, of course.

Spring break blurred by.

Three weeks since she last saw or spoke to Vi.

Caitlyn kept herself busy.

Lunch with Mel, who eyed her carefully but didn’t pry.

Drinks with Jayce, who asked about her love life. Caitlyn had gone quiet, swirling the ice in her glass until he changed the subject.

She tried to fill her time. But Vi was a shadow in every empty space.

On the last day of break, as she sat curled up on her bed with a book she wasn’t reading, her phone buzzed.

Vi: hey sorry for not responding. I’ll be back tomorrow around 9pm

Caitlyn’s heart leapt, then dropped, then settled somewhere strange in her chest.

Caitlyn: no, you don’t need to apologize. I’m just glad to hear from you. i can pick you up from the airport

Vi: ok. thank you

Caitlyn stared at the screen long after the conversation ended.

Caitlyn sat in the quiet hum of her room, the message still glowing on her screen.

She didn’t know what Vi would look like when she stepped off that plane.

She didn’t know what to say. What she was allowed to ask.

But she would be there.

—

Caitlyn got to the airport early. She waited by the curb, arms crossed against the evening chill, scanning every face that came through the sliding doors.

She saw Vi before Vi saw her.

A loose gray hoodie hung off one shoulder. No makeup. Her pink hair shoved under a baseball cap. She moved slowly, dragging a small, battered suitcase behind her, her expression unreadable.

Caitlyn stepped out of her car. “Hey,” she said, quiet but steady.

Vi gave a faint smile. “Hey.”

They didn’t hug.

Vi just walked past her, lifted the suitcase into the trunk, and slipped into the passenger seat without a word.

The drive was quiet. No music. Just the hum of the road and Caitlyn’s heart in her throat.

She glanced at Vi in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. Her cheeks looked hollower. Her eyes… dull. Tired. Her hands were folded in her lap, nails short and uneven.

Caitlyn opened her mouth to speak.

But Vi beat her to it.

“She died two weeks ago.”

Her voice was small. Matter-of-fact. Like she'd said it to herself a thousand times and hoped it might sting less on the thousand-and-first.

Caitlyn didn’t think. She reached across the center console and took Vi’s hand, lacing her fingers with Vi’s. Warm and dry and trembling ever so slightly.

It was the first time they’d held hands.

Caitlyn didn’t say she was sorry. The words felt too small for the weight between them. Instead, she just held on, gently, like anchoring Vi to the moment might keep her from drifting too far away.

When the light turned green, Caitlyn didn’t go back toward campus. She turned left instead, away from the city.

Vi didn’t seem to notice.

Only when the car stopped did she look up, confused. They were at the top of a hill, the city glittering far below.

“I thought maybe you’d want to clear your mind,” Caitlyn said. She squeezed Vi’s hand gently before letting go.

They sat on the roof of Caitlyn’s car, legs dangling over the side. Neither spoke. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward—just open. Spacious.

The breeze brushed over them, cool and sweet. Their knees touched lightly, a small, steady point of contact.

“Tell me about her,” Caitlyn said softly.

Vi stared at the city lights. Her eyes shimmered, but she smiled. “She’s brilliant,” she said. “Always tinkering with stuff. We had at least three fire department visits growing up.”

Caitlyn gave a small, surprised laugh.

“She made a flamethrower once. In our garage. Don’t ask me why.”

“That… sounds illegal.”

Vi grinned faintly. “It was.”

They talked like that for a long time. Vi’s voice grew lighter, lifted by the shape of the memories.

“She once made this weird brace for me when I broke my leg. I was being a pain, bossing her around. So she built this thing so that I could finally walk around and stop ordering her to get me snacks.”

“How old was she?”

“Fourteen. It barely held together, but it worked.”

Caitlyn shook her head, smiling. “She sounds amazing.”

“She is,” Vi said, before correcting herself. “Was. I mean—I don’t know. It’s too soon.”

Caitlyn nodded. She didn’t push.

The city sparkled beneath them like a snow globe turned upside down. They sat there in the middle of the world, isolated, suspended.

“She didn’t want me to give up Harvard,” Vi said, quieter now. “I didn’t want to go. I had the acceptance letter, but I hid it. I was gonna stay with her. Help with treatments. But when she found out…” Vi smiled faintly. “She told me she’d burn my hair and never talk to me again if I stayed.”

Caitlyn swallowed the lump in her throat.

“She made me go. Told me to be the first college graduate and the first doctor in the family. She said… it’d make it all worth it.”

A long silence fell. And then Vi’s head dropped onto Caitlyn’s shoulder.

Caitlyn didn’t move.

She just brought her hand up and gently stroked Vi’s hair, threading her fingers through soft strands of pink.

She didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say.

But something inside her shifted. Quietly. Irrevocably.

As Vi leaned on her, trusting her with the weight she couldn’t carry alone, Caitlyn knew couldn’t ignore the longing beneath her ribs anymore.

Chapter Text

The next couple months were slow and fast all at once.

Some days dragged like the ending to a bad movie Caitlyn had seen too many times. Other days blurred past in flashes of coffee-fueled study sessions and midnight breakdowns. She was always tired. But Vi—Vi was exhausted.

Vi hadn’t been sleeping. Caitlyn could see it in the growing shadows beneath her eyes, the sluggish way she moved, the way she kept staring at textbooks like they’d suddenly translate themselves. But she had missed weeks of class and was determined to catch up.

Caitlyn stayed with her through it all. Through every all-nighter, every quiet moment of frustration, every instance when Vi’s pen stilled mid-sentence and her eyes glazed over, trapped in a memory too heavy to speak aloud.

Sometimes, Caitlyn would rest her head on folded arms, drifting just on the edge of sleep. One night, when the clock read something indecent and her brain was fogged with half-dreams, she could’ve sworn she heard Vi murmur something.

“Thanks for staying… I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

The words were soft, fragile.

Caitlyn didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure she was awake. But the words lodged somewhere in her chest and refused to leave.

Other nights, Vi would stare into nothing, jaw tight, hands still. Caitlyn never asked what she was thinking. She just reached out—placing her hand gently on Vi’s knee—and stayed close. Present. Quiet. A tether, in case Vi drifted too far.

—

A cool breeze swept across the Harvard campus. The sky was overcast, thick with the promise of rain, and everything below wore the hush of a held breath.

Caitlyn flipped through the clothes in her closet, frowning. Most of her sweaters had already been packed away for the summer. She glanced at her overflowing laundry hamper and sighed. Somewhere in there was the sweater she actually wanted, but it was buried beneath a week of too many late nights and not enough time.

She grabbed her bag and keys, resigned to braving the weather in a t-shirt and jeans—until a familiar flash of burgundy caught her eye.

Vi’s hoodie.

Folded over the back of her desk chair, right where Vi had left it after their most recent long night of studying. Caitlyn stared at it for a moment. Then, without thinking, she reached out, pressed it to her face, and inhaled.

The scent hit her like a memory: Vi’s skin, her cologne, that faint warmth that always clung to her clothes. It was Vi’s favorite hoodie—one she tried not to wear too often because she was afraid the color might fade.

Caitlyn hesitated. Then pulled it over her head.

The fabric enveloped her. Too big in the shoulders, sleeves swallowing her wrists. But it was warm. And soft. And it made her feel, somehow, claimed.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, cheeks flushed pink. She rolled her eyes. Stupid. But the smile stayed on her lips all the same.

She wondered what Vi would say when she saw her in it.

She wondered if Vi would care.

She wondered if Vi wanted to care.

She couldn’t stop the smile that crept to her lips. Who knew hoodies could make the inside of your chest warm too?

The afternoon had the hushed promise of spring threaded through it—cool, overcast, and heavy with the kind of damp stillness that made you carry a sweater just in case. The air smelled like wet grass and thawing soil, and the clouds above seemed caught in indecision, unsure whether to burst into rain or let the day coast quietly toward evening.

Caitlyn adjusted the strap of her bag as she walked through the courtyard, coffee cups in hand. One for her, one for Vi. She’d stopped at the corner café after seeing the time—Vi would have been up for hours already, probably hadn’t eaten, definitely hadn’t slept. And Caitlyn, for reasons she didn’t care to examine too closely, liked the idea of showing up at Vi’s door with something warm. Something thoughtful.

Her hoodie—well, Vi’s hoodie—clung to her body like a secret. She tugged the sleeves down over her palms, fingers brushing the edges of the cuffs as she walked. It smelled too much like Vi, and every time the wind blew, Caitlyn felt something tighten in her chest.

She knocked lightly when she reached the dorm.

The door cracked open a moment later, and Vi appeared, her hair disheveled, a loose white t-shirt hung at her shoulders, and a faded pair of blue jeans sat low on her hips. She blinked like she hadn’t seen daylight in a week. Her expression shifted the second she saw Caitlyn.

“I left the door unlocked for—” Her sentence trailed off. She blinked again. “That hoodie looks familiar.”

Caitlyn grinned, just a little sheepish. “I didn’t have anything warm, and it was right there. I swear it called to me.”

Vi leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed, and a slow smile pulling onto her lips. “You look good in it.”

Caitlyn held out the coffee, trying to hide her blush behind the lid. “Bribery,” she said lightly. “In case you were going to yell at me for stealing.”

Vi took the cup, her fingers brushing Caitlyn’s. “You can steal from me anytime,” she said softly.

And that—that—was a problem. Caitlyn looked down quickly, her smile tightening.

Vi stepped back and nodded toward the hallway. “You ready?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Let’s go.”

—

The music festival had already begun by the time they arrived, the campus park transformed into something almost unrecognizable—strings of lights hanging from trees, folding tables covered in student-made art and homemade jewelry, a stage tucked between two elm trees where a local band played under a cheap canvas awning. The bassline rumbled underfoot, and someone was handing out free Red Bull near the food trucks.

When Caitlyn had brought up the festival, Vi had immediately brushed it off, saying she’d never been to one of those and never really had an interest in going. So Caitlyn tried to hide her disappointment and tucked the two tickets back into her jacket pocket.

But Vi had seen them—and just as quickly had taken back what she said.

So now here they were.

Caitlyn tucked her hands into the hoodie’s front pocket, half to warm her fingers, half to hide her nerves. Vi had invited her into her world today, into her circle of friends, and even though Caitlyn told herself it was no big deal, something about that felt quietly significant.

“Wait,” Vi said, grabbing Caitlyn’s sleeve. “There’s Riven.”

Caitlyn looked up just in time to see a girl with ultra-bleached hair jog over and sling an arm around Vi’s shoulder like she’d done it a thousand times.

“Well helloooo,” Riven said, drawing out the word. “Who’s this cutie in your hoodie?”

Vi laughed. “You’ve met her. This is Caitlyn. From my birthday?”

Riven looked at her like she was appraising an art piece. “Ohh, right! This is Caitlyn.” She flashed a smile. “Sorry, I was, like, super drunk at Vi’s birthday. But hey! You’ve been upgraded to first-name status in every conversation. I was wondering when we’d get to meet you sober.”

Caitlyn tried not to flush. “That’s flattering,” she said with an easy smile. “I think.”

Another friend, Loris, ambled over next, an unlit cigarette behind one ear and a silver flask in his hand. “You look like you need this,” he said to Caitlyn, already unscrewing the cap.

Caitlyn hesitated, the metal flask catching a streak of dull light. She glanced at Vi—who didn’t say anything at first, just kept her eyes fixed on the flask.

Then she smiled. Easy. Dismissive.

“Careful with that,” Vi said. “It’s whiskey.”

Caitlyn accepted the flask anyway, curiosity piqued. She took a small sip and winced. “God. That’s disgusting.”

Loris snorted. “She’s a lightweight.”

“Hey,” Caitlyn protested, but she was already laughing. The whiskey left a burning trail down her throat.

“You want?” Loris offered the flask to Vi next.

Vi’s expression flickered—not quite a wince, but close. She shook her head, shrugging like it didn’t matter.

“Nah,” she said, waving it off. “Not really my thing.”

“I think I have something more your speed,” Riven said, already digging into her bag. She produced a joint with an exaggerated flourish.

Vi groaned. “You’re a bad influence.”

But she took the joint anyway, holding it between her lips with the kind of ease that suggested long-standing familiarity. Caitlyn watched, oddly mesmerized, as Vi lit it, the flick of the lighter flared against her lashes. She inhaled deeply and turned her head away from Caitlyn as she exhaled the smoke.

Caitlyn raised a brow. “I haven’t seen you high before.”

Vi grinned. “It takes a lot.”

Riven threw her arms up. “Vi has the tolerance of a god. One time she smoked so much she forgot how to walk and somehow still aced her midterm.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Vi muttered, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

Caitlyn laughed. “So what made you stop?”

Vi took a beat too long to answer. “Freshman year got… messy,” she said finally, her voice quieter now. “I needed to unfog my brain.”

Caitlyn nodded, not pushing. She accepted the flask again instead of asking more, took another small sip, and grimaced harder this time.

Vi chuckled, nudging her elbow. “Still disgusting?”

“Worse,” Caitlyn said, coughing once. “How do people drink this stuff?”

Vi looked at her. Something unreadable passed across her face. “Sometimes it helps.”

And then she smiled like it hadn’t cost her anything to say that.

She dug through her pocket and handed a gum to Caitlyn. “Not a fan of the smell,” Vi explained simply.

—

Hours passed. The sun fell behind the trees and dipped the park in dusky orange, then indigo. The lights strung overhead came to life one by one. Students lounged across picnic blankets, some swaying to the music, some lost in drunken laughter.

Caitlyn’s head felt warm and slow, her limbs like silk.

They stood now near the edge of the park, where the crowd thinned and the music still reached but didn’t press so loud against your chest. Vi’s friends—Riven, Loris, a few others whose names she’d already forgotten—had long since stopped feeling like strangers. 

“Woah—thought you weren’t a lightweight,” Vi teased, steadying Caitlyn by the forearms as she stumbled toward her.

“I’m not,” Caitlyn mumbled, cheeks pink and eyes bright with warmth. “I’m just… having a really good time.”

Vi arched an eyebrow. “I can tell.”

Caitlyn giggled and leaned a little too far to the side. Vi caught her again.

“Okay, okay, maybe I need a break,” she admitted.

“Come on,” Vi said gently, her hand sliding from Caitlyn’s elbow to her lower back. “Let’s have you sit down before you accidentally start a mosh pit.”

She led her just a few paces away, to a spot where the grass had flattened under earlier foot traffic. The music was still pulsing, but from here it felt like background noise, not something that needed to be managed. The lanterns above them flickered in slow pinks and oranges, soft enough to blur the edges of everything.

“Here,” Vi said, stopping behind Caitlyn. “Sit.”

Caitlyn obeyed without question, legs folding beneath her. She landed softly in the space at Vi’s feet, her back naturally finding its way to rest against the front of Vi’s shins. Warmth bloomed along her spine where they touched.

“Lean as much as you need,” Vi murmured above her, voice quiet but steady.

Caitlyn smiled and let herself sag further into the support, tucking her knees close and wrapping her arms around them. Her head stayed bowed, chin nestled on her arms. From behind, Vi stood still—not stiff, not distant, but grounded. Like a pillar. Like a person used to carrying weight.

Then, almost absently, Vi’s hand came down.

It was nothing at first—just the quiet pressure of her palm resting on Caitlyn’s head, fingers brushing lightly through her hair. But slowly, Vi drew her hand down, nudging Caitlyn’s head until it tilted, until her temple rested lightly against the front of Vi’s shin.

Caitlyn didn’t move. Didn’t question. She leaned in.

Vi's fingers moved in slow, light massages against Caitlyn’s scalp. Not enough pressure to tangle, not enough movement to call attention to itself. Just gentle warmth. Just there.

And she didn’t stop.

She kept talking with her friends—nodding when Loris complained about the sound quality, laughing when Riven told some story about getting kicked out of a philosophy final—but her hand never left Caitlyn’s head. Her body didn’t sway, didn’t shift. She stood like she was built for this: for standing steady while someone else unraveled softly against her.

Every so often, Caitlyn’s head would start to tip forward again, and without breaking stride in the conversation, Vi would gently guide it back with the barest motion of her fingers.

Someone offered Vi another joint. She declined.

“Enjoying yourself?” Riven teased, nudging her.

Vi’s voice was low—maybe a yes, maybe a laugh. Caitlyn couldn’t tell. She didn’t lift her head to find out.

Because Vi’s hand stayed where it was.

Because the warmth stayed.

It was quiet between them, even with all the noise around. A little island carved out in the middle of festival chaos. Vi’s touch and steadiness anchoring her. Holding her in place without ever asking her to stay.

And though they didn’t speak—not then—it felt like something had still been said.

Something true. Something they weren’t quite ready to name.

Not yet.

And as the music rumbled to the floor beneath Caitlyn, something louder rumbled in her chest.

Chapter Text

By the time the semester ended, they were both worn thin.

The weight of it all still clung to their shoulders—barely lifting, but lighter now, as if the end had finally decided to show itself.

Final exams were behind them. Vi still had a few lingering assignments, so they spent long hours tucked in the quiet of the library, accompanied only by the clacking of Vi’s keyboard and the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing.

It was a calm quiet. But Caitlyn still felt the threads of her heart pull taut every time their eyes met. Every time Vi’s fingers brushed against hers, accepting a water bottle she’d offered. Every time Vi peeled off her hoodie and wordlessly dropped it in Caitlyn’s lap when the library’s AC droned too loud and too cold.

Small things. Gentle things. But they bloomed in her chest all the same.

When Mel announced she was throwing an end-of-semester party, Caitlyn hadn’t expected Vi to say yes. She invited her anyway—more out of quiet hope than belief.

Vi had just finished retyping a lost essay, her brows furrowed in concentration before she leaned back with a groan. “That actually sounds… kinda fun.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Seriously?”

Vi gave her a tired smirk. “As long as you don’t accidentally eat another weed cupcake.”

Caitlyn groaned. “One time.”

—

The drive to Mel’s place was mostly quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t feel heavy, just shared. Comfortable.

“Have you decided if you’re staying here this summer?” Caitlyn asked as she turned onto a side road.

Vi hesitated. “My dad’s moving.”

Caitlyn glanced over. “What? When did that happen?”

“This week.” Vi exhaled through her nose. “Said he wants to travel. Just disappear for a while. Be a nomad or something.”

Caitlyn tried to imagine it. “Like, in one of those tiny vans people convert into houses?”

Vi snorted. “He’s six-foot-four and built like a fridge. He’d snap one of those things in half.”

“He’d need a school bus. Or a semi-truck.”

They laughed, and for a moment, Caitlyn let herself forget how thin the walls around Vi had become lately.

“I think he deserves it,” Vi confessed. “After everything he’s done for me, for Powder. He deserves to go live his life.”

Vi never really shared much about her family aside from occasional stories about Powder. She knew that Vi had lost her parents when she was young and that a family friend had taken her and Powder in. But Vi didn’t talk much about the past.

It felt like family was a fleeting thing for Vi. She had lost her parents, her sister, and now she wouldn’t have a home to come home to. Caitlyn’s heart ached for her.

“How are you feeling?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi shrugged. “Sad at first,” she admitted. “But I really am happy for him. His first stop is Canada.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Canada?”

“What can I say? The man loves maple syrup and good manners.”

They broke into a laugh.

Caitlyn pulled to a stop at a red light, and she took this moment to look at Vi. The way her lashes cast shadows to her cheek. The way her lips would quirk into an easy smirk. The way her own heart felt when she noticed these things.

“So you’re staying here for the summer?” she asked.

Vi nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so.”

And as the blanket of silence pulled over them, Caitlyn couldn’t help the tug at her lips.

Vi chuckled. “What are you so happy about?”

And Caitlyn decided she should be honest. “I would’ve missed you.” Their eyes met. “That’s all.”

—

Mel’s party was exactly what Caitlyn expected—and somehow worse.

The lighting inside pulsed in waves of blue and purple, like a bad music video that wouldn’t end. A DJ had set up in the living room, spinning some remix that made the walls thrum. There was an obscene ice sculpture of the university’s logo melting slowly on the drinks table. Outside, the “weed buffet” looked like a dispensary had exploded across three folding tables.

They’d arrived together, but Vi had barely made it through the door before her soccer team swarmed her.

“We’re four shots in and you need to catch up!” someone yelled, already tugging her toward the kitchen.

Vi turned back briefly, wide-eyed like a hostage. Caitlyn just laughed and waved her off. “Go,” she mouthed. Vi rolled her eyes but let herself be dragged away.

Caitlyn slipped out back, past a beer pong tournament in full swing, and found Mel mid–keg stand. A crowd of drunken seniors chanted her name like it was a war song. When Mel finally dropped down, she wiped her mouth, spotted Caitlyn, and gave her a messy salute.

“You made it,” she declared triumphantly.

“Against my better judgment,” Caitlyn said.

They wandered toward the back table, where a carefully curated spread of joints, edibles, and vapes sat like a stoner’s tasting menu. Mel picked up a joint, lit it, and passed it wordlessly.

Caitlyn arched a brow. “I never agreed to get high with you.”

“You did,” Mel said. “Maybe not with words. But spiritually.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”

“Close enough.”

Caitlyn sighed and took the joint. She inhaled—and instantly regretted it. The smoke hit her lungs like gravel, and she doubled over coughing.

Mel laughed so hard she nearly dropped her drink. “You okay?”

“No,” Caitlyn wheezed. “I think I died.”

“You vacuumed it. Rookie mistake.” Mel handed her a water bottle.

Caitlyn took it, still coughing. “I’m never doing that again.”

“Oh, you’re already high,” Mel said, grinning. “You look like someone just explained mortality to you.”

They drifted back toward the patio, Mel slinging an arm lazily over Caitlyn’s shoulders.

“You know,” Mel said, with the kind of bold confidence only a graduating senior with a full buzz can muster, “if you two don’t hook up soon, I’m going to die of secondhand tension.”

Caitlyn gave her a long look. “Mel.”

“I’m just saying,” Mel shrugged. “It’s like watching a slow-burn novel unfold in real time.”

“It’s not like that.”

Mel raised her eyebrows. “Not yet.” She leaned into Caitlyn’s ear, her voice low. “Feel free to use the guest room if things get spicy tonight.”

“Mel!” Caitlyn smacked her shoulder.

“I’m just saying!” She raised her hands in defense. “You know where it is.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but eventually she caught her attention drifting to the kitchen, where Vi stood surrounded by her teammates.

They had grown closer than they ever have these last few months of the semester. And the aching feeling in her chest wasn’t fading. It was building with an increasing urgency as the days passed.

Caitlyn and Mel talked a while longer—about Mel’s internship in New York, about Caitlyn’s plans to stay for summer classes. Mel threw in the occasional teasing jab about Vi, each one met with an increasingly flat look.

Eventually, Mel was whisked away to go be the gracious host. Caitlyn lingered at the edge of the patio, sipping water and watching the crowd move around her.

She glanced back to the kitchen.

No sign of Vi.

The house was packed now. Music spilling into the backyard. Someone had started karaoke inside—badly. A group of girls nearby were trying to build a human pyramid. Laughter rang across the lawn.

Caitlyn scanned the crowd again.

Still no Vi.

She stepped outside.

The pool was empty, glowing soft turquoise under the garden lights. Laughter echoed faintly from the house, but out here it was quieter—muted.

Students lingered at the edges, talking in small clusters. But Caitlyn’s eyes found her immediately.

Vi.

She was seated alone on the stone ledge. Or—almost alone.

Next to her sat a girl Caitlyn didn’t recognize. Her shoulders were trembling, her face hidden in her hands. Vi sat close, murmuring something low, one hand moving in slow circles on the girl’s back.

A pang struck low in Caitlyn’s chest—sharp and unwelcome. Not quite jealousy. Not exactly. But something tender and painful all the same. Something she didn’t want to name.

She had no claim on Vi. She knew that.

But still… it hurt.

She stood there for a moment, frozen.

The girl leaned into Vi, hugging her—longer than seemed necessary. Vi hugged her back. Her expression unreadable, gaze somewhere far away.

Eventually, the girl wiped her eyes and walked away. Vi remained at the edge of the pool, alone now, sipping absently from a red solo cup. Her silhouette glowed softly in the light. Quiet. Distant.

Caitlyn took a slow breath and began walking toward her.

Vi didn’t turn her head, but she spoke as Caitlyn neared. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Caitlyn replied, settling beside her on the cool stone. Their shoulders brushed—barely, but the contact steadied her.

She tried to keep her tone light. “What have you been up to all night?”

The real question—who was that girl—hovered unsaid.

Vi leaned back on her palms, stretching her legs out. “Well, I’m decently drunk,” she said with a low laugh. “My teammates made sure of that.”

She glanced over, eyes a little glassy but amused. “What about you?”

Caitlyn hesitated. Was Vi dodging the subject? Or was there nothing to dodge?

“I took a hit,” she said finally. “It was awful.”

Vi burst out laughing. “You inhaled it too deep, didn’t you?”

Caitlyn nodded, cheeks tinged pink. “Regretted it immediately.”

“How high did you get?”

She considered it. “Not cupcake-high. But decently high.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “And right now?”

She hummed. “Still high. Too high to drive, but I can hold a conversation without laughing my ass off.”

A breeze rippled across the water. Caitlyn shivered and instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

Wordlessly, Vi shrugged off her black jean jacket and draped it over Caitlyn’s shoulders.

Caitlyn blinked down at it, the warmth and scent of Vi clinging to the fabric. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching it tighter. “You’re not cold?”

Vi shook her head. “Nah. The alcohol keeps me warm.”

Caitlyn pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin there as she let her eyes wander to Vi’s profile. The soft pool lights cast a gentle glow across her freckled face, tracing the sharp lines of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, and the slope of her nose. Her freckles looked like tiny constellations.

Vi caught her staring.

“Take a picture, Cupcake.”

The word hit like a forgotten chord—familiar, aching.

Caitlyn’s lips tugged upward. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

Vi’s eyes stayed on the water, but her smile grew.

It took Caitlyn back. Back to when they’d first met. When cupcake was just a teasing nickname. Back then, she hadn’t known anything about Vi. Not the trauma. Not the pain. Not the ghosts that followed her through the halls and into her dreams.

And yet, Caitlyn had been drawn to her even then.

Now she knew the weight Vi carried. The cracks beneath her confidence. The silence that wasn’t peace, but exhaustion. And still—maybe even more so now—Caitlyn was in love with her.

She turned away, eyes misty.

That’s when she saw her. The girl. The same one from earlier, walking near the garden lights, head down, now looking slightly more sober.

The memory of what she’d seen pressed forward again, uninvited.

She turned back to Vi.

“I saw you earlier,” she said carefully. “Talking to someone.”

Vi followed her eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah. She was drunk and crying. I asked if she was okay and suddenly got her whole life story.”

She snorted. “Thinks her boyfriend’s cheating on her with her sorority sister or something.”

Then she turned to Caitlyn, grinning. “Why? You stalking me?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “No. I just… saw you, that’s all”

Vi tilted her head. “Jealous?”

Caitlyn’s head snapped around. “Jealous? Of what?”

But her voice cracked just enough to betray her.

Vi looked at her then, really looked—eyes sharp with the kind of understanding that made Caitlyn feel bare, like someone had pulled open a curtain she hadn’t realized was there.

And then Vi’s expression shifted.

The teasing faded.

Something tender crept in, quiet and cautious. Her brows drew together slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should say what she was about to say. Like she’d been holding it in for too long, and it was finally slipping through the cracks.

Slowly, Vi reached out. Her hand cupped Caitlyn’s cheek, calloused fingers warm against soft skin.

She didn’t move. Just held her there. The silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full—thick with things unsaid.

Her thumb stayed still.

Her eyes didn’t.

They searched Caitlyn’s face as if trying to memorize her. Like maybe this would be the last time she got to.

And then, softly—so softly Caitlyn almost didn’t hear it—

“Don’t fall for me, Cait.”

The words landed like a stone dropped in deep water. No splash. Just the weight.

Her heart shattered so quickly, so soundlessly, it took her a moment to register the ache.

Caitlyn opened her mouth, but her throat was dry. Her mind blank.

Don’t fall for me.

But how could she not?

She was too deep already—had been for a long time.

So when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with the only words she knew how to say.

“Too late.”

She didn’t say it with defiance. She didn’t say it like a declaration.

She said it like a truth she’d been holding in her mouth for months.

Vi didn’t look surprised. Her lips parted, and she shook her head like she’d known—just hadn’t wanted to face it.

“Cait…” she sighed, withdrawing her hand.

But the floodgates were open now, and Caitlyn had no intention of closing them.

“I mean it,” Caitlyn said, barely louder than before. “I don’t know when it started,” she sighed. “But I just—I feel so much for you and—”

“Don’t do this.” Vi’s jaw tightened. 

Caitlyn could see it—the look. The one that said you deserve better. The one that said I’m not enough.

“I have to,” Caitlyn said, voice cracking. “Because I can’t keep pretending.”

Vi looked away. “I’m too much, Cait,” Vi said, her voice distant.

And Caitlyn knew, deep down, that Vi wasn’t being dramatic. She meant it. After everything—her sister, Sarah, the pain, the self-neglect—Vi truly believed she was a burden.

That made Caitlyn angry. Not at Vi—but at the world that made her feel this way.

“Don’t say that,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare say that.”

Caitlyn’s chest ached. “You’re not too much,” she said again, softer now. “You’re tired. And hurting. And trying your best. But you’re not too much.”

Vi still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I don’t think that about you,” Caitlyn said, certainty lacing every word. “I never have.”

Still nothing.

So Caitlyn reached over, her hand gently taking Vi’s face again, turning her toward her.

“Please believe me, Vi.” She paused, hesitant. “Please believe me when I—when I say I love you.”

Vi’s eyes softened. The sadness was still there—but so was something else.

She could feel the weight of Vi’s grief, her fear, her hesitation, all crowding the space between them. She could feel how hard she was trying not to hope.

Her heart stuttered. She didn’t know what would happen if she kissed her. Only that she couldn’t leave Vi in that sadness, in that silence.

Not anymore.

So Caitlyn closed the distance.

And their lips met, brushed.

The kiss was soft, hesitant.

Like a breath caught between heartbeats.

A murmur.

A tremor.

Caitlyn pulled back slightly—uncertain.

But Vi followed, lips brushing forward—reaching.

A need.

A pull.

This time, the kiss sank deeper, hungrier.

Not a question. Just want, unspoken and unstoppable.

Like something cracked open between them and spilled out in the shape of each other’s mouths.

Vi’s hands slid to Caitlyn’s back, pulling her closer. Her mouth trembled. Her breath shivered out in uneven waves.

She kissed like she was afraid of being told to stop. Like she wanted this more than anything but didn’t believe she deserved it.

And Caitlyn kissed her back like she did.

Like she always had.

And she kissed her like months of buried feelings, stolen glances, quiet nights and aching hearts were pouring out all at once.

It was everything they hadn’t said.

Everything they couldn’t hold in anymore.

And neither of them wanted to let go.

Chapter Text

They stumbled through the throng of drunken bodies, weaving around partygoers, laughter bubbling in their throats as they dodge someone nearly spilling a beer. The hallway stretched before them like a golden thread, distant from the pulsing bass below. But they remained tethered—fingers entwined, steps light but deliberate.

Caitlyn barely registered Mel’s shit-eating grin as they passed her by the stairs. She knew it was  there, knew Mel’s eyes were watching them, but she didn’t care.

All she saw was Vi, and all she wanted was to keep seeing her.

The upstairs was quieter. The music muffled to a soft thud beneath the floorboards, like the beat of a distant heart. Caitlyn led Vi into the guest bedroom, gently closing the door behind them.

A soft, amber glow from the lamp on the nightstand lit the space in a way that made everything feel slow and warm, like a memory unfolding in real time.

Somehow, they end up on the bed, a tangle of limbs and laughter. Caitlyn ended up on top, her knees straddling Vi’s waist, her hands braced on either side of Vi’s shoulders.

They kissed—deep, searching, deliberate. There was no drunken clumsiness to it, only yearning, only the hunger of something long held back. 

Caitlyn kissed like she was mapping the path to the eighth wonder of the world. And Vi kissed her back like she had long since memorized the map.

Caitlyn’s lips traced Vi’s, nipped at them, her tongue flicking out playfully before sliding deeper. And Vi—Vi was so good at this. Every movement of her mouth, the gentle tug of her teeth, the deliberate roll of her hips beneath Caitlyn—perfect .

Vi kissed her back with just as much heat, but there was a gentleness in her touch, as though she’s savoring this, too. Like she was afraid to rush it.

They broke apart only when breathing became necessary, both of them panting lightly, lips kiss-swollen and faces flushed.

Caitlyn felt her heart stretch, like it’s too big for her chest. She blinked against the sting in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Vi whispered, cupping Caitlyn’s face with both hands. Her thumbs gently stroked along her cheekbones.

Caitlyn gave a watery laugh and shook her head. “Nothing,” she breathed. “I’m just happy.”

Vi’s smile was small but real. There was still an edge of sadness in her eyes—hesitation, fragility—but it was less than before. And when she pulled Caitlyn in, wrapping her in the kind of hug that said I won’t let you go, Caitlyn melted into it, breaths mingling, hearts thudding in tandem.

Their bodies aligned like they had done this a hundred times, like muscle memory guided them. Their legs tangled, their chests pressed together, and Vi’s hands began to roam—tentatively at first, then with more confidence. Her fingers rested at Caitlyn’s hips, lightly tracing the curve with reverence, before slowly sliding down to squeeze—just once, carefully—at the soft curve of Caitlyn’s ass.

Caitlyn breathed a soft sigh into Vi’s ear, her arms tightening around her.

And then, in one graceful motion, Vi flipped them over. Now she was on top, her body hovering just above Caitlyn’s, both of them breathless from the shift. Caitlyn lay beneath her, eyes wide and cheeks burning, but her gaze held nothing but want—no—need.

Vi dipped down for another kiss, slow and open-mouthed. Then she trailed her lips to Caitlyn’s jaw, lingering at the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. She breathed in her scent, a mix of lavender and something warm and human, and began to kiss her way down Caitlyn’s neck—tongue teasing, teeth grazing. Caitlyn whimpered, heat blooming between her thighs.

Caitlyn shuddered, her fingers curling in the sheets as Vi alternated between soft kisses and gentle nips. She moaned low and quiet from the sheer intimacy of it.

Vi slipped her leg between Caitlyn’s, pressing just enough to make Caitlyn gasp, her hips instinctively shifting, grinding the barest bit against Vi’s thigh. The friction was maddening, teasing, and she wanted more—desperately—but she didn’t want to rush.

Vi paused, hovering just above her, their foreheads nearly touching. Her hand came up to brush hair from Caitlyn’s face, fingers trailing down the column of her neck to the collar of her shirt, tugging lightly.

“Can I?” Vi’s voice was barely there, a breath against Caitlyn’s lips

Caitlyn nodded, heart pounding. “Only if you want to,” she said softly.

And she needed Vi to understand—this wasn’t just about the shirt. It was an invitation. A key turned in a lock. She meant all of it. Whatever came after the shirt. And then after that. And after that.

Wherever the night took them.

So she placed her hand over Vi’s, stroking her thumb over the smooth skin as their eyes locked.

And as sapphire blue melted into slate grey—storm clouds parting for the sky—the answer hung between them, louder than words. A mutual answer.

I want to.

Vi smiled—a quiet, sunlit thing, blooming slow and sure—before guiding Caitlyn’s shirt over her head. Every movement was deliberate, reverent, as if unwrapping something sacred. The air sighed against Caitlyn’s newly bared skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.

Vi’s gaze drifted over her—admiring, not devouring. There was something worshipful in the way her eyes moved, like she was cataloging every inch to memory.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmured, her voice rough and awed.

Caitlyn blushed, her hand moving reflexively to cover herself—but Vi stopped her, gently guiding her hand away.

Her fingers slid behind Caitlyn, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. But she didn’t pull it off right away. She hooked a finger beneath the strap, waiting.

“Can I?” she asked again.

Caitlyn nodded. She’s never been more certain of anything.

When the bra slid away, Vi still didn’t pounce. She took her time, staring for a moment as if Caitlyn was a masterpiece. Then, gently, reverently, she brought her hand up to cup Caitlyn’s breast.

Caitlyn bit her lip, breath hitching. The contact is gentle, exploratory. And then Vi’s thumb brushed over her nipple, and Caitlyn’s back arched slightly, her breath coming faster.

Their lips meet again, slower now. Deeper. Vi’s touch grew bolder, teasing and circling, and Caitlyn was panting into her mouth, soft moans slipping out like secrets.

Vi's thigh pushed up again—this time more firmly—and Caitlyn rocked against it, chasing friction with intensifying desperation. Her jeans were clinging to her skin, and she could feel how much she wanted this. How much she wanted Vi.

“Vi,” Caitlyn gasped. “I—I want to feel you.”

Vi paused, breath caught. “Cait… is this your first time?”

Caitlyn smiled shyly, chest heaving. “No.”

Vi exhaled and grinned, leaning close, her lips brushing Caitlyn’s. “Can I taste you?”

That voice—thick, husky, dripping with want—made Caitlyn’s knees weak. “Yes,” she whispered.

Vi’s kisses trailed downward—lingering at her breasts, teasing and sucking at one nipple then the other while her fingers undid Caitlyn’s jeans. 

They parted for Vi to pull off her jeans. And when the denim finally came off, Vi swore under her breath.

“Fuck, Cait,” she whispered, her voice aching with restraint. “You’re so wet for me.”

Caitlyn shuddered. It was different hearing Vi like this—a side of her Caitlyn had never seen, but one she had imagined more times than she’d ever admit. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wondered how Vi’s fingers would feel inside her—lying if she said hadn’t touched herself in the quiet of her dorm room thinking about this moment—lying if she said she hadn’t moaned Vi’s name, once, twice, again and again, as she came undone to the thought of her.

Vi leaned in, pressing a kiss just above the waistband of Caitlyn’s underwear. Her fingers ghosted over the damp fabric, barely grazing Caitlyn’s clit.

The reaction was immediate—Caitlyn jerked beneath her, a sharp moan breaking from her lips.

Vi smiled but didn’t rush. She moved with the kind of patience that made Caitlyn ache. She slid her fingers under the band of her underwear and looked up again. Asking without speaking.

Caitlyn lifted her hips in answer, and Vi peeled them down slowly.

She positioned herself between Caitlyn’s thighs, settling there like it’s where she belonged. She kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, her breath brushing maddeningly close to where Caitlyn wanted her most.

And then—she licked.

But not where Caitlyn needed her. Not yet.

She dragged her tongue up the inside of her thigh, then back down. Again, closer now. The anticipation had Caitlyn writhing, her hips trying to chase Vi’s mouth.

“Vi,” she breathed. “Please.”

But Vi was relentless in her teasing. Another lick. Another near miss. Her fingers press lightly into Caitlyn’s thighs, keeping her in place, making her feel every second of this slow descent.

Caitlyn was impossibly impatient. She knew she was dripping with desire. She knew Vi could see her, could feel her. And she wanted—needed—more.

Her fingers threaded through Vi’s hair. Not to pull, not to tug. Just to hold. Gentle but urging.

“Please,” she whined, her voice soft and high. Like she was entirely at Vi’s mercy.

And Caitlyn’s mind flashed to all the sleepless nights she had spent in her room alone. All the nights she had thought of Vi and her fingers, her lips, her tongue.

So when Vi finally flicked her tongue over Caitlyn’s clit, it was like lightning in a storm. Caitlyn cried out, hips arching, fingers tangling deeper into Vi’s hair.

Vi held her there, tongue moving in languid, practiced circles. She hummed softly against her, and Caitlyn gasped, her legs shaking.

Still, Vi didn’t rush. She took her time—licking, sucking, teasing. Every touch was deliberate, every motion designed to drive Caitlyn closer without letting her fall.

“I want—” Caitlyn panted, barely able to think. “I want you inside me.”

Vi looked up, eyes burning with heat. She slid up, pressing a kiss to Caitlyn’s mouth, letting her taste herself on Vi’s lips.

Then, with aching slowness, Vi brought her fingers to Caitlyn’s lips.

“Open,” she whispered.

Caitlyn parted her lips, taking them in, wetting them with her tongue. Vi watched her the entire time, gaze unblinking and bottomless, her own breath stuttering.

And Caitlyn swore she heard Vi whimper as her fingers left Caitlyn’s mouth. The realization only made her want this more.

Vi pulled back only enough to slide her hand between them, circling Caitlyn’s clit once, twice, then drifting lower.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, her voice thick and heavy.

“Yes,” Caitlyn breathed. “God, yes.”

She had only imagined this hundreds of times by now.

So when Vi pressed in—slow, patient, Caitlyn felt her body immediately responding to the months of yearning.

Vi’s fingers were thick—much thicker than her own—and they were filling her in all the right places. Caitlyn gasped at the stretch.

Vi curled them gently, her thumb still working delicate circles above.

And Caitlyn couldn’t imagine anything in life that could rival this feeling. Not when Vi’s touch filled her so completely, like she’d carved a space inside Caitlyn and slotted herself home.

Slowly, Caitlyn began to move—hips lifting, meeting every thrust with quiet desperation. And every time Vi pressed in, it felt deeper, fuller, like she’s being remade from the inside out. Vi set a rhythm. Slow. Deep. Intentional. Her fingers hit a spot inside that made Caitlyn sob.

“Don’t stop,” Caitlyn moaned. “Please don’t stop,” she begged. The pleasure was inescapable, all-consuming. It felt so good Caitlyn burned with it—a star collapsing inward, all her gravity pulling Vi closer, closer, until nothing existed but heat and want and more.

And Vi never looked away. She watched her fall apart, watched every moan, every flutter of her lashes, every broken cry that escaped her lips.

She was close. Vi knew it. Caitlyn felt it.

“You’re so pretty,” she whispered, her voice low. “So fucking pretty around my fingers.”

Caitlyn choked back a sob—half plea, half surrender—her body arching like a bowstring pulled taut. Her mind spun, drunk on the sinful glide of Vi claiming her—drunk on the filthy, worshipful way Vi spoke to her, as if Caitlyn’s very skin was a prayer she’d learned by heart.

She was so close. So, so close.

Then—

“Come for me, Cait.”

And it crashed over her like a wave. Her back arched, her voice was loud and raw in the stillness of the room. Vi’s name spilled from her lips like a river into the sea. Her climax was a riptide, dragging her out to depths where only Vi could anchor her.

When she collapsed back to the bed, panting, Vi was there. Kissing her chest, her collarbone, her jaw. Her fingers slipped out gently, and she pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s temple.

They lay there for a long moment, limbs tangled, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together. The world narrowed to this: the salt on their skin, the way their legs intertwined like roots, and the steady, answering pulse where their bodies met—one heartbeat echoing the other.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn lay still, her breath slowly returning to normal, her skin warm with afterglow. The steady thump of Vi’s heartbeat filled her ears as she curled into the crook of her chest. Vi held her close, one arm wrapped around her and the other resting below Caitlyn’s head, fingers idly stroking through her hair with the kind of gentleness that made Caitlyn’s chest ache—in the best way. She could’ve stayed like that forever. Maybe this was their new normal.

The thought made Caitlyn smile against Vi’s skin.

“You’re so fucking pretty, Cait,” Vi murmured, her voice husky, eyes closed as if she were replaying the image of Caitlyn in her mind like a sacred memory.

Caitlyn blushed. Shyness shouldn’t have existed between them anymore—not after what they’d done, not after the way Vi had touched her like she meant every second of it. But this—whatever this was—it still felt delicate, like a fledgling thing not yet named. Raw. Real.

And Caitlyn wanted more of it. More of Vi. Not just the sex, though that had been incredible—but the intimacy, the connection, the closeness. She wanted to wake up like this again. And again.

She shifted slightly, tilting her head to see Vi’s face. “Vi,” she began softly, her voice carrying a thread of nerves, “I know you were unsure about this—about us—but I’m not.”

She pushed herself up onto one elbow, letting her eyes meet Vi’s fully. “So before I get my hopes up, I just need to know. Do you want to try? Do you want to try us?”

Vi’s eyes opened, slowly, the way someone might open a window to let in just a sliver of light.

Her voice was low when she answered, intimate, like she didn’t want the air itself to overhear. “Cait… I wouldn’t have kissed you back if I just wanted to hook up with you.”

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her thumb over the sheet as if searching for the right words in its threads. “I’m still scared,” Vi admitted, voice smaller now. “I still feel like I’m not all here sometimes, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to fix me.”

Caitlyn’s heart clenched at that, and she reached for her, brushing a hand through Vi’s tousled hair. “You don’t need fixing, Vi.”

But Vi shook her head. “I think…” Her voice caught. “I think if you knew more about me, you’d disagree.”

Caitlyn’s fingers slowed in her hair, her gaze searching Vi’s. “I want to learn everything about you. I wish—I wish you could tell me everything, but I know I’m not entitled to that.” She paused. “Still… everything I’ve learned about you so far—everything I keep learning—it’s made me fall for you even more.”

Vi’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Caitlyn pulled her into a hug, arms tight around her shoulders. She pressed her lips softly against Vi’s temple. “So,” she whispered, “can we try us?”

Vi didn’t answer with words. Just nodded, silent tears soaking into Caitlyn’s skin.

—

Morning came with a knock.

“Breakfast is ready, love birds,” Mel’s teasing voice rang from behind the door.

Caitlyn groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “Fucking hell.”

Vi chuckled beside her. “Good morning,” she said, voice light, free of sleep, already brightened by the new day.

When Caitlyn opened her eyes, Vi was sitting up, scrolling through her phone with bed-tousled hair and an easy, crooked smile. She looked so natural there, next to Caitlyn, like she belonged.

“How long have you been awake?” Caitlyn asked, voice still hoarse with sleep.

“About an hour.”

There was a beat of silence as they looked at each other. It wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed, but somehow it felt like the first real morning. Everything felt new. Caitlyn wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

Was there a “good morning” kiss protocol? Was she supposed to wait until they brushed their teeth? Or was that too formal now? Were they allowed to be soft and unthinking with each other, or was it still too early for expectations?

As if reading her mind, Vi stretched lazily and stood. “Bathroom’s all yours. I got ready before you woke up.” She smiled easily. Like something welcome had changed between them. “Mel keeps it impressively stocked with extra toiletries,” she mused.

And then, with a tenderness that made Caitlyn’s stomach flutter, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading for the door.

And just like that, Caitlyn’s spiraling thoughts stilled.

So this is their new normal.

—

Downstairs, the sound of voices and laughter spilled into the hallway. Caitlyn paused at the staircase, catching the tail end of a conversation between Vi and Mel.

“And he’s so hot, it’s ridiculous,” Mel was saying.

Vi’s laugh echoed warmly. “You got a pic?”

There was a short pause, then Vi again, voice amused. “Even I have to admit he’s pretty. You’re into that?”

Mel sighed dramatically. “No, but I want to be on that.”

Vi burst out laughing, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but grin as well. The ease between them warmed her. She descended the stairs, footsteps light.

She took a seat beside Vi at the table, their knees brushing. It was a familiar position, one they’d assumed countless times before—but now it felt different, charged with something new and precious. Vi handed her a plate without missing a beat—avocado toast with English sausage on the side, her favorite.

Caitlyn’s heart ached at the thoughtfulness of it.

Mel’s eyes flitted between them knowingly, a mischievous glint in her gaze. “So,” she said, drawing the word out. “How was your night?”

Vi ducked her head, a rare blush tinting her cheeks as she poked at her food.

“Mel,” Caitlyn warned.

“I told the DJ to turn it up last night,” Mel added with a wink. “Just in case.”

“Mel.”

“Don’t worry, we didn’t hear anything.”

“Mel, I’m serious.”

Mel raised her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave.” Then, just as Caitlyn let out a breath of relief, Mel added, “But you guys are dating now, right?”

“Mel!"

—

Later, as they stepped outside, Vi stretched in the morning sun and smiled. “I like Mel,” she said as they made their way to Caitlyn’s car. “She’s funny.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. She’s pretty great.”

Vi looked around. “This her house? It’s huge.”

Caitlyn shrugged. “Her parents’. They’re always away on business.”

When Caitlyn opened the car door for her, Vi raised a brow. “Oh, chivalry’s not dead. Noted.”

Caitlyn grinned.

Music played softly as they drove—just their usual shared playlist, shuffling through familiar tracks. Vi nodded along to the beat and, as casually as anything, reached out and laced their fingers together.

Caitlyn didn’t say anything, though her heart did skip a beat or two. So she just held on and smiled to herself as she drove. The intimacy of it filled her chest, so quietly powerful it almost hurt in the best way possible.

The next song on the playlist began, and Vi was immediately singing along. She harmonized to the melody, adding a new layer to the familiar notes. Caitlyn smiled.

“I like your voice,” Caitlyn said, her words soft and sudden, cutting through the quiet like the warmth of sunlight slipping through drawn curtains. “Always have.”

Vi turned her head, the edge of a smile tugging at her lips—a slow, crooked grin that made Caitlyn’s heart skip the way it always did when Vi looked at her like that. Mischief glinted in her eyes.

“I like your voice too,” Vi murmured, then leaned in, her breath brushing against Caitlyn’s cheek like a secret. “Especially last night.”

Caitlyn’s foot faltered on the brake, lurching the car forward just shy of the bumper ahead. Her pulse jumped.

“Eyes on the road, Cupcake,” Vi teased, laughing as she leaned back in her seat, as casual as if she hadn’t just sent Caitlyn’s brain short-circuiting.

Caitlyn blew out a shaky breath, a mix of disbelief and helpless amusement curling at her lips. “You can’t just say that.”

“Can’t I?” Vi tilted her head, her voice lilting with playfulness. “Now that we’re… you know.”

Caitlyn bit back a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching as she flicked her turn signal. The click of it ticked through the quiet like a metronome.

She glanced at Vi from the corner of her eye, then—maybe emboldened by the mood or the safety of the car’s cocoon—she nudged, “Now that we’re what?”

The song faded into the background, leaving a hush that settled between them like fog. Caitlyn tapped her fingers against the steering wheel—slow, deliberate. The red light painted the interior of the car in a wash of dim crimson, casting Vi’s face in shadow and glow.

When she turned to look, Vi was already watching her—like she had been waiting for the exact moment their eyes would meet.

Her voice, when it came, was steady. Certain.

“Now that we’re trying us.”

Something fluttered in Caitlyn’s chest. She looked down at their hands, fingers naturally wound together like vines drawn toward sunlight. The shape of Vi’s knuckles. The warmth of her palm.

“Us,” she echoed quietly, the word delicate on her tongue—new, uncertain, and inexplicably sweet. It felt strange, but not wrong. Like a flavor she hadn’t known existed until now—something unfamiliar yet already slipping into the realm of favorite.

Vi smiled—that slow, familiar smile—and echoed the word, softer this time, like she’d tasted it too and found it just as addictive.

“Yes. Us.”

Something was settling over them then. Not heavy, but gentle like the first snowfall over a restless city. Soft enough to quiet the noise, delicate enough to let everything beneath still show through. Their friendship was still there, the ground they’d always stood on—but now, it was dusted with something tender, uncertain, and new. A shift had begun, quiet and undeniable, and Caitlyn didn’t yet know what would come of it—only that it was here, and it was real.

The silence that followed felt full, not empty. Like they were both sitting in the warmth of something just beginning to bloom.

The rest of the drive passed in that hush, but Caitlyn’s mind was anything but quiet.

She kept thinking about the way Vi had made her feel—how seen she had felt, how beautiful and cared for. And she wanted to give that back. She wanted Vi to feel it too. But part of her worried—would Vi let her?

She knew Vi’s past carried shadows she hadn’t fully spoken aloud. Knew there were parts of her still guarded, still healing. Caitlyn didn’t want to push too hard. But she also didn’t want Vi to ever feel unloved.

She knew the talk would come. Knew that someday they’d need to sit down and pick at the hard things. But today wouldn’t be that day.

Today, they’d grab some coffee. They’d pack up Vi’s dorm for her move into the summer athlete’s housing. Caitlyn’s parents had already sent a crew to pack up her things—which Caitlyn found embarrassing, as usual. But Vi would tease her for it, and she’d pretend to be annoyed, and then they’d laugh and keep going.

Then they’d end the night with gas station hot dogs and watch the sunset from the tallest parking structure they could find.

Today was theirs. And it was going to be a good one.

Chapter Text

Summer had settled over the city in a warm, lazy sprawl, but for Vi and Caitlyn, there was nothing lazy about it.

It was nearly a month in, and the long, sun-drenched days had started to blend together in a blur of responsibilities. Their schedules had shifted dramatically—both of them changing internships and obligations.

Vi had just begun her internship at one of the affiliated university hospitals—a competitive program that required her to be on her feet for hours, shadowing nurses, assisting with basic patient needs, and absorbing more information than she thought humanly possible.

Caitlyn had taken an internship at the city courthouse, working under a district judge. She spent most of her days flipping through legal documents and trying not to roll her eyes every time someone mentioned her father.

Most evenings, they didn’t even get to say good night. They were always running somewhere: Vi, to her new evening soccer coaching gig at a local elementary school, and Caitlyn, to her textbooks.

Vi would come home smelling like sweat and grass, muttering about unruly kids and their inability to follow a single rule, but there was always a flicker of fondness in her eyes when she spoke about them. Caitlyn would smile at the way Vi complained—it was clear she was having fun, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, had enrolled in two additional summer courses. She spent most of her nights poring over dense readings, her highlighters worn to nubs, her laptop constantly humming. She’d moved back in with her parents for the summer break—their home was a much closer drive to her internship. 

Vi’s presence in the Kiramman household was an unspoken impossibility. After the way Caitlyn’s mother had reacted when she’d dared to suggest using part of her inheritance to help Vi, Caitlyn had shelved the thought of any introduction. It was too early anyway, she told herself. 

They’d only been dating for a month. They weren’t even official—at least, they hadn’t labeled anything. They were just… seeing each other. Dating. Whatever people called it when their hearts were tangled together but their futures still felt uncertain.

She’d deal with that later.

For now, there were other things occupying her thoughts. Things that kept her awake at night and made her chest feel tight with a confusing kind of guilt.

After the first time they had slept together, they’d only been intimate once more. Caitlyn told herself it was just their schedules—how could anyone expect romance when their days barely left room for breathing?

But deep down, she knew something needed to be addressed.

The second time had been different. They had come back from a dinner date, full of laughter and dessert, and curled up together on Vi’s bed, half-watching a movie on her laptop. The kissing had started slow, easy—just the comfort of being close after a long week apart.

Caitlyn couldn’t remember who had leaned in first. All she remembered was the feel of Vi’s mouth, soft and hungry against hers, and the way her own hands had moved, tugging gently at the hem of Vi’s shirt.

A silent question. An invitation.

But Vi had stopped her.

Not harshly. Not unkindly. She had simply reached down, removed Caitlyn’s hand, and then shifted to remove Caitlyn’s shirt instead—her actions fluid and almost practiced, like muscle memory. In that moment, Caitlyn had barely registered it. But afterward, lying beside Vi in the silence, it hit her.

She had never seen Vi without a shirt off. Even when they were just friends, Caitlyn had sometimes changed in front of Vi (though with her back turned and with her bra on).

But Vi had always gone to the bathroom to change.

At most, she’d caught glimpses of Vi in a tank top and shorts. And in the two times they’ve had sex, Vi had kept her clothes on.

And now that Caitlyn had noticed, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

How do you ask someone that kind of question? Why haven’t I seen you? Why won’t you let me? She was terrified of the answer. Because she already knew, in her heart, what it might be tied to.

Sarah.

The very thought of that name made Caitlyn’s stomach twist.

But she also knew Vi wouldn’t bring it up on her own. She would keep pretending like nothing was strange, and Caitlyn would keep pretending not to notice. And the quiet distance between them would grow wider and more painful until neither of them could ignore it.

She didn’t want that. Not with Vi.

—

They saw each other later that week. Vi’s dorm was empty—she didn’t have a roommate over the summer, so they had the space to themselves.

Caitlyn practically melted into Vi the moment she walked in the door. They hadn’t seen each other in five days, and it felt like five months. They kissed like they were starving, like time had been cruel to them, and now they were making up for every missed minute. Hands gripped clothes. Teeth grazed skin. Vi’s fingers slid down to the waistband of Caitlyn’s shorts—

“Wait, Vi,” Caitlyn whispered, breathless, her heart hammering in her chest.

Vi froze, pulling back instantly. Her eyes were wide, her expression riddled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Caitlyn faltered. All the ways she’d rehearsed this conversation in her head vanished into the haze of heat and fear. “I was thinking maybe… I could make you feel good tonight.” Her voice wavered, heavy with nerves.

Vi blinked, clearly caught off guard. She looked away.

“Cait, I—I don’t need you to,” she said quickly, almost too quickly.

“But I want to,” Caitlyn said, more firmly this time. “But only if you want to.”

Vi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m not… I don’t… I don’t think I want to,” she stammered. Her face had gone pale, like the color had drained from it all at once.

Caitlyn nodded, forcing a small smile. “That’s okay.” She shifted a little, placing her hand gently on Vi’s shoulder. “But… don’t you think we should talk about it?”

Vi tensed under her touch. She pulled away, and sat at the edge of the bed. “No. Not really.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn said softly, not wanting to push too hard. “I realized I’ve never seen you… you know,” she hesitated, "without any clothes on. And that’s fine, truly, if it’s a boundary for you. But I think we should at least acknowledge it. I don’t want us to pretend this isn’t happening.”

Vi didn’t respond right away. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes stayed on the floor.

“It’s not fair,” she said finally, her voice low and bitter. “It’s not fair that I have to have these hard conversations. That we have to have them. That this—what happened to me—it gets to live in our relationship now.”

Caitlyn’s heart broke a little. She rubbed gentle circles on Vi’s back, trying to offer comfort even as her own throat tightened with emotion.

They sat in silence, until finally, Vi let out a long, shaky breath.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll show you.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “No, Vi, wait—that’s not what I meant—”

“I know,” Vi said. “I’m not doing this because of what you said.” She paused, swallowing hard. “I just—I can’t explain it to you.” She combed a hand through  her hair. “It’s easier to show you.”

Caitlyn nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said again, quieter this time.

Vi stood up, her back facing Caitlyn. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled her t-shirt over her head.

Caitlyn’s breath caught.

Vi’s back was crisscrossed with scars. Long, angry welts—some thin and faded, others thicker and still red around the edges. Raised lines of pain etched into her skin like cruel memories. Caitlyn’s hand flew to her mouth as the gasp escaped.

“Vi…” she whispered. “Oh, Vi…”

“She liked using real whips,” Vi said flatly.

No more explanation was needed. Caitlyn’s chest ached.

She reached out, her fingers barely grazing Vi’s shoulder, but before she could truly touch her, Vi pulled the shirt back on in one quick, practiced motion.

Caitlyn blinked tears from her eyes.

“The things she did, Cait,” Vi said quietly. Her voice cracked. “I think it broke me.”

Vi inhaled sharply, her fingers curling into fists. Then in a quiet whisper, she spoke. “I hate her. I fucking hate her.”

Caitlyn wanted to scream. To hit something. To cry for the girl who had endured this and still woke up every day to go to work, to coach kids, to smile and pretend like she hadn’t been carved open by someone she once trusted.

Vi didn’t say anything for a long moment. The air between them had grown heavy—so heavy it seemed to press down on Caitlyn’s chest. She could hear the faint sound of Vi breathing, uneven and shallow.

“When was the last time?” Caitlyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn’t even sure why she asked—she already knew. Maybe she just needed to hear Vi say it. Maybe Vi needed to say it.

There was a beat of silence before Vi replied, her voice low and steady in a way that sounded rehearsed. “The day before I flew home.”

Caitlyn felt her stomach twist. She knew. She’d known then—on some level, some quiet instinctual level—that something had happened. That Vi had come back different. Not just tired or worn down, but hollowed. Haunted. Caitlyn had seen it in the way Vi moved, stiff and careful. In the way she kept her sleeves tugged down and avoided mirrors. In the blood on her white track pants. 

She remembered how she had said nothing, just buried her face into Caitlyn’s neck as if trying to disappear.

So no, it didn’t surprise her. But that didn’t mean it hurt any less to hear it spoken aloud.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched. She reached out slowly and rested her hand over Vi’s, grounding them both. “You didn’t have to show me or tell me,” she said gently. “But thank you for trusting me with it.”

Vi shook her head, her jaw tightening. “I needed money for the flight,” she muttered, her voice flat. “And she knew that.”

Vi crumbled. “And she knew that if Powder was gone, she’d no longer have access to me. She thought it would be the last time.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened. She knew where Vi was going with this.

“So,” Vi continued, her voice breaking. “So she made it count. She made the very last time count. Made it… worth her while.”

Caitlyn shut her eyes, trying to swallow the rising ache in her throat. Anger burned low in her stomach—slow and simmering, directed at someone she would probably never see but would always hate. But beneath that anger was a deeper pain, the kind that made her chest feel like it might cave in.

“Vi…” Caitlyn breathed, her thumb tracing small, careful circles over Vi’s knuckles. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Vi didn’t say anything.

And Caitlyn’s heart shattered in the silence. There were no right words for this. No soft reassurance that could undo the kind of damage Vi had lived through. But there was this—her hand in Vi’s, her voice steady even when her heart wasn’t.

“I think…” Vi began, her voice barely holding together, “I think I’m just ruined now.”

“You’re not,” Caitlyn said firmly. “You went through things you shouldn’t have had to go through, but you’re not ruined.”

Caitlyn leaned in and wrapped her arms around her, pulling Vi close—not because she thought it would fix anything, but because she couldn’t not. Because Vi shouldn’t have had to carry that alone. Because Caitlyn wanted to be the arms that Vi could fall into when everything else fell apart.

“You’re hurting, but that doesn’t mean you’re ruined.”

Vi stared at the floor as if she could will it to swallow her whole.

Caitlyn tightened her arms around Vi, as if she could keep her from sinking into that hole.

“I’m so sorry, Vi,” she whispered into her hair. “You never have to go through anything like that again. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

Vi didn’t say anything back, but her arms wrapped tightly around Caitlyn, and her body finally began to shake—just a little, just enough to let something go. And Caitlyn held her tighter, because that was all she could do. Because she meant every word.

Chapter Text

The sharp trill of her alarm jolted Caitlyn awake, but for once, she didn’t mind. She blinked into the warm morning light pouring through her curtains, a rare smile blooming across her lips. Summer had reached its slow, golden midpoint—halfway through, yet somehow it felt like everything was only just beginning.

She stretched and let out a sigh that held more relief than fatigue. Midterms were finally over. The grueling, sleepless nights at the library, the endless cups of bitter coffee, the stress headaches—done. Caitlyn felt free. Or at least freer than she had in weeks. And today… today was hers.

No plans, no obligations—just sun, sand, and the perfect weather for a long-overdue beach date.

They hadn’t gone on a real one yet. Not the kind where you pack a picnic, drive out of the city, and spend the afternoon tangled in laughter and sunlight. Most of their time together had been in bedrooms and libraries, quiet movie nights, and stolen kisses between work shifts and study sessions. But today was different.

Today, they were going to have their first real date. Just Caitlyn and Vi.

And Caitlyn had planned everything.

She was already buzzing as she padded barefoot into the kitchen, hair tied in a ponytail, pajama shirt slipping off one shoulder. She had a mental checklist: Vi’s favorite snacks—green grapes, check. That red wine she loved—the cheap kind, because Vi swore the fancy stuff tasted like despair. Sandwiches from the Italian shop on Trowbridge Street. And most importantly: homemade lemon tarts.

Caitlyn wasn’t a master in the kitchen, but she had observed enough of her family’s private chef to get by.

As she whisked the lemon filling, Caitlyn found herself smiling, remembering the first time she’d made them for Vi. It hadn’t been perfect—one of the tarts had nearly collapsed—but Vi had devoured them anyway, licking sugar off her fingers like they were the best thing she’d ever tasted.

She hadn’t even realized they were homemade. When Caitlyn had sheepishly admitted it, Vi had looked at her like she was a miracle. Caitlyn blushed at the memory, the way Vi had pulled her in close that night, breathless and eager.

She had definitely made her finish twice.

Her stomach fluttered, part nerves, part anticipation. She wanted today to be perfect. Not just because she loved Vi, but because they were still finding their footing. Caitlyn was still learning how to let herself be fully seen.

A few weeks ago, over a rushed lunch break, Mel had asked about them.

“So are you two girlfriends yet?” Mel had asked, casually sipping her oat milk latte as they sat beneath a shady umbrella outside a bustling café. “Or are you still in the ambiguous lesbian situationship phase?”

Caitlyn had laughed, but the question had settled deep.

“We’ve only been seeing each other for two months,” she’d said.

Mel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, and lesbians are usually moved in and planning joint retirement accounts by now. What’s taking you so long?”

Caitlyn shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her. “I haven’t even introduced her to my parents.”

Mel leaned back, curious. “Why not? Aren’t they cool with you being gay?”

“It’s not that,” Caitlyn replied, voice softening. “It’s complicated.”

Mel hummed. “Want to talk about it?”

“No. I haven’t even brought it up with Vi yet. It’s still too soon.” She poked at her salad, her appetite fading.

Mel had watched her for a beat, then grinned. “Okay, fine. But tell me this—how’s the sex?”

Caitlyn’s blush had been instant, giving her away before she could say a word.

Mel laughed. “I knew it. Vi totally looks like she could deadlift a truck.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Is that… supposed to be a compliment?”

“Oh, come on. I mean, look at her. Broad shoulders, toned calves. Those arms? Meanwhile, you…” Mel smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “You’re giving bottom energy.”

“I—what?”

Mel held up a hand. “I’ve got lesbian radar, trust me. And anyway, bottoms are essential. Where would all the tops be without you?”

Caitlyn had pouted but said nothing, because part of her did wonder. Not about the label, but about how things always seemed to skew one-sided. Vi touched her like she meant it—like she worshipped her—and Caitlyn gave in every time, breathless and overwhelmed.

But she still hadn’t seen Vi completely, hadn’t taken her apart the way she wanted to. She hadn’t asked for more, afraid it would shatter whatever fragile trust they were building.

She wanted to ask. To reach out. But something in her always held back.

After the talk they had last month, their intimate moments had been going well. Caitlyn hadn’t touched Vi anywhere that might trigger a bad memory—hadn’t done more than stroke Vi’s arms, claw at her clothed back, and thread gentle fingers through her hair.

But, god, she wanted to.

She brushed the thoughts away and focused on assembling the picnic basket, packing each item with care. Wine glasses, a picnic blanket, the tarts cooled and placed delicately in a tin. She checked the time, then headed out—first to the store for grapes and wine, then to the sandwich shop that Vi had introduced her to. 

By the time she pulled into the hospital parking lot, her heart was pounding—not from anxiety, but from excitement. This was the first day they had to just be. No past, no trauma, no pressure. Just sun and skin and sea salt.

She parked, smoothed down her shirt, and watched the entrance.

Vi came jogging out a few minutes later, still in her scrubs, with a lazy grin on her face. She leaned down to kiss Caitlyn through the window before sliding into the passenger seat.

“Hey, beautiful,” she said, breath warm, eyes crinkled with joy.

“Hey yourself.” Caitlyn smiled. “You bring your beach clothes?”

Vi tugged up her scrub top to reveal a white tank underneath. “Been wearing this all day. Let’s go.”

Caitlyn reached over to squeeze her hand, and they drove off, windows down, wind in their hair, the basket between them full of things Caitlyn hoped would make Vi feel loved.

—

The beach was quiet—just a few families, some scattered couples. The waves lapped rhythmically against the shore as they laid out the blanket on a small patch of sand near the dunes.

Vi’s eyes lit up when she saw the lemon tarts. “Cait, you didn’t have to.”

Caitlyn shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It wasn’t hard. Besides, I wanted to see you smile.”

Vi leaned over to kiss her, slow and full of warmth. “You just want me to make you finish twice again.”

Caitlyn flushed and swatted her playfully. “Shut up.”

They ate slowly, stretched out on the edge of a worn quilt that had been shaken free of sand a dozen times already. The ocean murmured softly behind them, waves folding in and out like a slow breath. Seagulls circled high above, and the scent of sea salt clung to the air, mixing with the sweetness of wine and the faint tang of brie melting slightly in the sun.

Between lazy sips of chilled wine, they tossed grapes at each other with zero accuracy and even less shame. Most of the fruit missed completely, bouncing harmlessly off shoulders or landing with muted plops in the sand.

“Try to aim properly this time,” Vi said with a mock frown, her legs stretched out and one arm extended behind her to prop herself up.

“I am aiming properly,” Caitlyn retorted, sitting upright with perfect posture, her expression full of faux patience. “You just need to catch it properly.”

She flicked her wrist and launched a grape with a lofty arc. It soared higher than intended, and for a second, Caitlyn was sure it would miss entirely—but it landed, miraculously, right in Vi’s mouth.

Vi sat up straight, triumphant. “Yes!” she declared with both hands raised. “Okay, the score is 1–0 now.”

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow. “Since when were we keeping score?”

“Since I got a point,” Vi said, grinning like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t I get the point? I was the one who threw it.”

“You threw it,” Vi said, settling back down, “but I had the incredibly difficult task of catching it. Which I did. Flawlessly.”

Caitlyn folded her arms. “All you had to do was sit still and open your mouth.”

Vi turned toward her, smirk tugging at her lips, eyes glittering under the sun. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll definitely be doing that later.”

Caitlyn’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing briefly before realization hit her like a wave. Her eyes widened for half a beat, and Vi let out a satisfied laugh—that same unfiltered, easy laugh that always caught Caitlyn off guard.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the smile creeping across her face betrayed her. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” Vi said, utterly unapologetic.

“Well then,” Caitlyn said, tucking her legs beneath her. “Since we’re keeping score—what’s the prize or punishment?”

Vi looked off toward the ocean, squinting in exaggerated thought. “Loser has to kiss the winner.”

Caitlyn snorted. “Sounds like a win-win to me.”

“Not if I get to call you a loser while you kiss me,” Vi shot back smugly.

“You sound way too confident for someone who’s lost at least three grapes to the sand.”

Vi puffed up dramatically. “I’m still up by one. And I know you won’t catch this one either.” She motioned for Caitlyn to lean back.

With a resigned sigh, Caitlyn reclined slightly and opened her mouth, a tiny smirk tugging at her lips. “Go ahead. Impress me.”

Vi reached into the bowl, paused for effect, and then—without warning—tossed three grapes at once.

They hit Caitlyn in quick succession: one bounced off her cheek, the second off her forehead, and the third ricocheted off her collarbone before tumbling to the blanket below.

Vi burst out laughing so hard she snorted, clutching her stomach and nearly knocking over the wine.

“You cheated!”

“How can I cheat in a game with no rules?” Vi said through laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“That wasn’t a victory,” Caitlyn said with mock indignation. Then she added, quieter, “But I’ll still give you a kiss. Since you’re cute.”

Vi’s grin softened into something fonder as she scooted closer, her hand brushing lightly against Caitlyn’s knee. “Oh, so now I’m cute and winning.”

Caitlyn just smiled and leaned in, their noses brushing, breath mingling. Her heart gave that familiar flutter it always did when Vi was this close—close enough for Caitlyn to notice the sunlit flecks in her eyes, the faint dusting of sand clinging to her jaw.

She reached up, her fingers tender against Vi’s cheek, brushing the grains away with her thumb. The touch lingered, quiet and careful.

Vi’s eyes, always a little mischievous, now held a different kind of intensity. Like there was something unspoken between them—want layered over need, steady and open and sure.

It always left Caitlyn breathless, that look. Like standing on the shore and watching the tide roll in—powerful, beautiful, inevitable.

“You gonna kiss me, loser?” Vi murmured, voice low and teasing, but her eyes never left Caitlyn’s.

And Caitlyn smiled, just before she closed the distance. Vi’s lips were soft against hers. Then her tongue was even softer. Flicking out in all the right places. Reading her own tongue and wetting her bottom lip before nipping at it with her teeth.

When they parted, Caitlyn didn’t miss the pink on Vi’s cheeks. Definitely not from a sunburn.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while and watched the waves and the clouds and the children racing to build sandcastles. It was easy. It was normal.

Then Caitlyn stood, tugged off her oversized t-shirt, revealing a bright yellow bikini beneath. Vi stared openly.

“Come on!” Caitlyn called, already running toward the surf.

Vi followed in her tank and shorts, meeting Caitlyn waist-deep in the ocean.

Caitlyn’s arms wrapped around Vi’s neck, her legs weightless in the water. “Feels nice, huh?”

“Feels perfect,” Vi murmured, before lifting her clean off her feet and spinning her with a joyful whoop. Caitlyn squealed, half laughing, half gasping, and when Vi finally let her down, she pulled her in for a kiss.

Salt on their lips, sand stuck to their skin, and the warmth of the late afternoon sun casting everything in gold.

It was perfect.

And Caitlyn, caught in that kiss, forgot every hesitation. Every fear.

Just for a moment, she let herself believe that this was it—just the two of them, exactly as they were, with everything ahead and nothing holding them back.

Chapter Text

They were sitting in Caitlyn’s bedroom, sunlight stretching through the tall windows and painting the walls with warm light. Caitlyn’s parents were away for the night—some conference, something rich and distant that Caitlyn hadn’t asked too much about. All that mattered was that the house was quiet and all theirs for tonight.

It was Vi’s first time at Caitlyn’s place, and she had looked hilariously out of place when she stepped through the front door—grimy sneakers and a threadbare hoodie in stark contrast to the polished floors and curated furniture. 

She’d stood in the grand foyer like she was in a museum, taking it all in with wide eyes. Even the ceiling had stunned her into silence, gaze lifted to the ornate molding until Caitlyn caught her, mouth parted in a quiet wow. Vi only grinned sheepishly when Caitlyn teased her.

“You can stop looking at the ceiling like it’s gonna bite,” Caitlyn said with a chuckle.

“No promises,” Vi replied, still spinning in a slow circle. “You sure this isn't a hotel?”

Caitlyn had given her a full tour of the house, from the impressive kitchen to the sunroom her mother used mostly for pretending to read. But Vi insisted she would still get lost, and halfway through, she’d actually asked for a map. Caitlyn had laughed until her sides hurt, and Vi hadn’t even looked embarrassed—just pleased to make her laugh.

Now, back in Caitlyn’s room, Vi was stretched out on the bed, flipping through old high school yearbooks she’d found on the bookshelf.

“So,” Vi said without looking up, “remember when I asked you if it was your first time and you said it wasn’t?”

Caitlyn looked up from her phone, blinking. “You mean… when you and I had our first time?”

Vi nodded slowly, her finger tracing over someone’s yearbook photo. “So who was it with? Anyone from high school?”

Caitlyn smirked. “You think I lost my virginity in high school?”

Vi paused, glanced up at her, and then shook her head. “Nah. You were definitely a goody two shoes.”

Offended, Caitlyn grabbed a pillow and chucked it at her. “Hey! I did things in high school. I snuck out once or twice.”

“Oh yeah?” Vi said, catching the pillow easily. “To do what? Volunteer at a soup kitchen?”

Caitlyn groaned. “No, actually. I went to Dave and Buster’s with my friends.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “The arcade?” She burst into laughter, a sound that filled the whole room. “Of course Caitlyn Kiramman snuck out to go play skee-ball.”

“It’s not my fault my curfew was nine!” Caitlyn said, tossing another pillow at her. “What about you?”

“Me? I never had to sneak out,” Vi said, settling into the pillows. “My dad wasn’t strict.”

“No, I meant… when did you lose your virginity?”

Vi stilled for a beat too long. Caitlyn didn’t notice at first, distracted by shifting to sit cross-legged. But then Vi spoke, and her voice was carefully neutral.

“College. I lost it in college too.”

Caitlyn nodded, filing that away. “I’ve slept with two other people,” she offered after a moment. “The first was our freshman year, and she lived on my dorm floor. We were the only gay ones on that floor, so… it kind of just happened.”

“Girlfriend?” Vi asked, brows raised with casual curiosity.

Caitlyn shook her head. “No, no. We fooled around a few times. Just experimenting.”

“So I don’t need to be jealous?” Vi teased.

Caitlyn smirked. “Definitely not. I couldn’t even finish with her—she had absolutely no rhythm.”

Vi grinned. “I guess that means I have good rhythm then.”

“Bit confident, aren’t we?” Caitlyn said, eyes rolling but a smile tugging at her lips.

Caitlyn hesitated, her fingers idly tracing the seam of the pillow between them. Then she sighed and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling for a beat before glancing sideways at Vi.

“The second was… a girlfriend, actually.”

Vi tilted her head, interest piqued. “And she had rhythm?”

The brief pause before Caitlyn answered told Vi everything she needed to know.

Vi’s mouth curved into a knowing grin as she leaned in just slightly. “Okay,” she chuckled, voice low and amused. “Noted.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge her tone. “Are you… jealous?” she asked, more curious than worried.

Vi shook her head, soft and certain. “Nah. Not really. You’re here with me. She’s not.”

That answer settled something inside Caitlyn—a quiet reassurance she didn’t realize she needed. She gave a small nod, smiling faintly.

“Right. We only dated for a few months during my second year,” she said. “It wasn’t anything serious. At least, not for me.”

Vi leaned back against the headboard, her arm brushing Caitlyn’s. “Can I ask what happened? Why it didn’t work out?”

Caitlyn let out a soft breath, as if sorting through old memories. “She was… possessive,” she said eventually. “I think I mistook it for intensity at first. Or maybe I let it slide because it was my first real relationship. I didn’t know any better.”

Vi didn’t say anything at first. Just listened. Caitlyn appreciated that.

“She sort of acted like being with me gave her some kind of claim. Like I was something she earned.” Caitlyn frowned slightly. “I didn’t like how small I felt in that dynamic, but I didn’t have the language for it then.”

She reached over and gently brushed a hand through Vi’s hair, fingers curling behind her ear. Her voice softened. “She was nothing like you.”

Vi raised a brow at that. “Yeah?”

“Well… she was pre-med.”

Vi snorted, grinning. “Ah, so you do have a type.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, laughing under her breath. “Apparently.”

Vi looked at her, teasing glint in her eye. “Do you think I know her? Since we’re both in the pre-med circle?”

Caitlyn considered. “I doubt it. She’s two years ahead of us. Katarina—or Kat—Du Couteau?”

Vi paused, sifting through her memory. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Caitlyn hummed, relieved. “Lucky you.”

Vi gave her a sideways look. “Was she that bad?”

“She was just… intense,” Caitlyn said honestly. “And I didn’t realize it until I was already in too deep.”

Vi nodded, then nudged her gently with her shoulder. “Hey, it was your first relationship. You couldn’t have known.”

Caitlyn smiled at that, slow and thoughtful. “Yeah, I know better now. And I’m with better now.”

Vi met her gaze, expression soft. “Guess I’m the lucky one, then.”

There was a pause—comfortable, warm—and then Caitlyn tilted her head with a sly smile.

“Okay,” she said, nudging Vi back. “Enough about me. What about your history?”

Vi didn’t answer right away. She kept flipping through the yearbook, eyes a little unfocused now. Caitlyn studied her in the silence, wondering if she’d asked something wrong. She wasn’t trying to dig—but she had often wondered. God, she’d wondered. The way Vi could touch her like she already knew everything about her body—

“Just one,” Vi finally said, her voice quiet.

And that was all.

Caitlyn didn’t ask anything else. She didn’t need to.

Because even though Vi didn’t say her name, Caitlyn knew.

And it killed her.

—

Caitlyn wasn’t the kind of person who snooped. She respected privacy, didn’t play games, didn’t hide things—not even back when she and Vi were just friends. They’d known each other’s passcodes, shared playlists and notes and dumb screenshots without hesitation. It was trust, plain and simple.

So then why was she lying in bed at 3 a.m., staring at her ceiling, heart pounding with unease?

Because she’d seen something she wasn’t supposed to. Something she couldn’t ignore.

She’d been on Vi’s phone earlier that evening, looking through pictures they’d taken at the beach the other day. The camera roll was full of candid moments—sunlight on Vi’s freckles, Caitlyn’s wind-blown hair, sand clinging to their legs. She’d smiled at the photos, felt warm and close and grateful.

But then the notifications popped up.

CHASE ALERT: A wire transfer of $300.00 was deposited into your account ending in 4989.

Sarah: See me tonight. 10pm.

Caitlyn had frozen. Her thumb hovered over the screen.

She hadn’t opened the messages. She didn’t dig further. She couldn’t. Instead, she locked the phone and set it face-down, pretending nothing had happened. Pretending the tight knot in her stomach wasn’t twisting itself tighter with every second.

She acted normal until it was time to leave. Vi hadn’t seemed to notice anything off. She hadn’t even checked her phone once.

But that message… See me tonight.

It sounded familiar. Familiar in the way that made Caitlyn’s stomach churn.

Like a pattern. Like a routine.

She couldn’t stop asking herself: Why would Sarah be reaching out now?

And worse… had Vi answered her?

—

The next morning, Caitlyn sat at a corner table in their usual café, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds. They were supposed to meet for coffee before heading off to their internships.

She sipped at her drink but couldn’t taste it.

Then Vi walked in, and Caitlyn’s eyes scanned her instinctively.

No hoodie today. That had to be a good sign, right? It was 85 degrees out—maybe she was just dressing for the weather for once.

She wasn’t limping. Another good sign.

But her eyes were puffy. The dark circles beneath them seemed deeper than usual, like she hadn’t slept—or had cried for hours.

Caitlyn’s heart dropped.

Vi smiled as she approached. But it wasn’t her real smile. It didn’t reach her eyes.

Caitlyn smiled back, but it felt shaky. There was so much she wanted to ask, but no words would come out that wouldn’t cause Vi to retreat.

They barely talked through the coffee. Both of them blamed it on the early hour, the exhausting week, the noise in the café. Neither of them called out the silence for what it really was: fear. A quiet that pulsed with everything they weren’t saying.

When Vi stood up to leave, she leaned down and gave Caitlyn a quick kiss—gentle and familiar. But when she turned to go, Caitlyn reached out, pulling her into a firm hug.

It was grounding. Warm. Steady.

It was Caitlyn’s way of saying: Whatever this is… I’m still here.

Vi’s arms circled her waist, and she rested her face against Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice hoarse. “I needed that.”

Caitlyn only had more questions after that.

Chapter Text

Vi thought back to the first time she met Sarah.

She had been at that bar—sleek and dimly lit, the one all the upperclassmen swore by. Her nerves were already frayed, her voice rising with frustration as she argued with the bartender. He had just confiscated her fake ID, and she was trying too hard to seem unfazed. Pressing that it wasn’t a fake. That it was real. That he was making a mistake.

It wasn’t even a good fake. Some frat guy her roommate knew had handed it off with a wink and the promise that it’d “work like a charm.” But now here she was—college freshman, fresh out of high school, homesick and alone and aching for anything that might quiet the dull throb in her chest—and her lifeline to that numbing escape had just been taken away.

She remembered the heat of humiliation rising to her face. Remembered trying not to look like she cared.

Then Sarah had stepped in.

She moved in like she belonged—like she’d already done the math and knew exactly where to fit herself in.

Mature. Elegant. Polished in a way Vi had never seen up close before. Her hair fell in rich, scarlet waves, and she wore it like a signature. A flash of red in a room full of grey.

“Oh, come on, Michael,” Sarah had said, her voice smooth and unhurried, like water running cool over stone. “I’m sure one drink won’t hurt the kid.”

Sarah slid a hundred-dollar bill across the bar, folding it neatly beneath her fingers. “For the drinks.” Then, with an idle grace, she tucked another hundred into the tip jar. “And for you.”

The bartender hesitated. Looked between the two of them. Then sighed. “She can have a drink, but I’m keeping the fake.”

Vi had huffed, but didn’t push her luck.

“So,” Sarah said, turning toward her, “what’ll it be, darling?”

Her voice was slower now—deliberate. There was a curl to it. A tease just light enough to seem playful. Just enough to make Vi feel slightly off-balance.

Vi faltered. She didn’t know how to answer. She’d only ever drank whatever was passed around at house parties—stale beer, cheap vodka, warm liquor with sharp afterburns. She’d never ordered anything from a bar before. She didn’t know the rules.

Sarah didn’t press. She just smiled like she already knew the answer. “How about whiskey?” she suggested. And without missing a beat, she turned to the bartender. “A whiskey neat for the kid,” she told the bartender, “and a gin martini, extra dry, for me.”

Vi stood there awkwardly, arms hanging at her sides while Sarah leaned against the bar like she owned it. Vi tried not to look nervous. Failed.

“Thanks,” Vi mumbled eventually. “I’ll pay you back.”

Sarah waved the words away with a flick of her fingers. “Please,” she said breezily. “Just keep me company.” Her gaze drifted over Vi like it was searching for something beneath her clothes. “I could use the eye candy.”

Vi didn’t answer. She didn’t know how. She just slipped onto the barstool beside her and took the drink when it arrived. The glass felt too heavy in her hand, the smell of the whiskey sharp and unfamiliar.

“Why did you help me?” she asked after a moment, not looking at Sarah.

Sarah sipped her martini, legs crossed neatly. “Because you looked sad,” she said. “And I don’t like seeing handsome things sad.”

Vi’s eyes flicked toward her. The drink burned going down, bitter and warm.

“Do you think he would give me my ID back?” she asked, trying to fill the silence.

Sarah smiled. “I don’t think so. But it wasn’t a good fake to begin with.”

Vi frowned. “It’s just—” She hesitated. “I still owe the guy who made it.”

“He should be paying you for making such a bad fake,” Sarah said with a light laugh. It didn’t reach her eyes. “How old are you, anyway?”

Vi looked at her. Tried to read her. But Sarah gave nothing away.

“Eighteen,” she said finally.

Sarah hummed, the sound thoughtful. “I’m Sarah,” she said, and extended her hand.

But it wasn’t a handshake.

Her palm was turned down, her fingers loose but poised, her nails perfectly manicured. A gesture rehearsed. A queen offering favor.

Vi didn’t know what compelled her—maybe the drink, maybe the strange sense of control Sarah radiated—but she took her hand and pressed a kiss to the knuckles.

“Vi,” she said.

Sarah tilted her head. “Just Vi?”

She hesitated. “Violet.”

Sarah smiled. Slow. Pleased. Like she had just confirmed something she already suspected.

—

They had gone to Sarah’s home after that. The air was cooler here, crisper somehow, like the walls had never truly held warmth. The living room stretched wide and open, floor-to-ceiling windows casting moonlight across polished stone floors. Everything gleamed—leather, marble, crystal—but it felt hollow. Too curated.

Vi stood in the center of it all, another glass of whiskey Sarah had poured was clutched tightly in her hand like it was the only solid thing in the room. Her knuckles were white around the rim.

“You don’t have to like what we do here,” Sarah said, her heels clicking softly as she circled. Not pacing. Circling. Like a lion might. “In fact,” she let out a low chuckle, “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

Vi swallowed, throat dry. She felt stripped under Sarah’s gaze. Like something small and living caught under glass, studied for the way it twitched.

Sarah stopped in front of her. Close. Too close. Close enough that Vi could smell the fading notes of her perfume—amber musk, lingering at her pulse points.

Then fingers were on her chin. Not rough, but not soft either. Firm enough to hold her still.

Sarah tilted Vi’s face up, her voice dropping just above a whisper. “But when we’re in public, you’ll act the part.”

Vi nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“I’ll message you, and you’ll answer.”

Vi hesitated. She had classes. Practice. Her job. Life. She couldn’t be at someone’s beck and call.

But Sarah was already a step ahead, as always. “Don’t worry,” she breathed, a silky edge beneath the words. “I’m not a monster. I understand you’re busy.”

She released Vi’s chin and reached into her clutch—sleek black leather, clearly expensive—and pulled out a wad of folded bills. Vi couldn’t tell how much it was exactly, but it was more money than she’d ever held at once.

Sarah’s hand moved again, this time with a hook of her finger into the waistband of Vi’s pants. She tugged, gentle but deliberate, and Vi stumbled forward a step.

The smirk that curved Sarah’s mouth was faint, practiced. She slid the cash into Vi’s waistband, the bills pressing cool against Vi’s stomach.

“Just know I’ll make it worth your while.”

Vi stared down at the money. Shame flared up—bright, sharp, immediate—but she swallowed it. Like she had so many other things. Her ego. Her pride. Her fear.

“Any questions?” Sarah asked, voice still light. Casual. Like this was a normal arrangement.

Vi had a thousand. None of them coherent. She blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Uh,” she glanced around the room. “How will this look? L-like, how long will it last? What do I need to do?”

Sarah’s eyes pierced through her. “However long I need it to last,” she paused, letting the words linger. “And whatever I want you to do.”

Vi shivered under her gaze and looked away. “I–I’ve heard about safe words for these… arrangements.”

Sarah smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. There was something waiting behind it. Something cold.

“There is no safe word, Violet.”

Something inside Vi’s stomach twisted.

“If you decide you don’t want to do something, then you just stop,” Sarah said, calm as ever. “And the night will be over.”

“But then,” she added and plucked the bills from Vi’s waistband, “you won’t be paid.”

Vi nodded slowly. She understood. At least, she thought she did. Her palms were sweating now, and she feared the whiskey glass might slip from her grasp. She clutched it tighter, fingers trembling against the glass.

Sarah turned, setting the bills down on the coffee table like they were just part of the decor.

“Any other questions?”

Vi brought the glass to her lips, hoping the liquor would settle the shake in her chest. But her hand wouldn’t stop trembling.

Sarah noticed. Of course she noticed.

She stepped forward and gently took the glass from Vi’s hand. Then her fingers were on Vi’s chin again, tilting her face up just slightly. Her touch wasn’t forceful, not overtly. But there was no question who was in control.

She pressed the rim of the glass to Vi’s lips and tipped it slowly.

The whiskey burned on the way down. Sharp. Bitter. It made Vi’s throat burn. Her eyes watered.

But she didn’t gag. She didn’t flinch. She swallowed every drop.

“Good girl,” Sarah cooed.

She wiped a stray drop of liquor from the corner of Vi’s mouth with her thumb, then leaned in. Closer now. Her breath warm against Vi’s cheek.

“So, Violet,” she whispered, voice silk and steel. “Are you ready to begin?”

—

The first night with Sarah wasn’t the most painful. But it was the hardest.

Years later, Vi could still remember how terrified she’d been. How her body had gone stiff at the first slap. How she'd flinched when rough hands pried between her legs.

She almost laughed at herself now—at how small those things seemed in hindsight. Back when she still believed that this was as bad as it would get.

But Sarah had only been testing. Testing the waters. Testing the edges of Vi’s silence. Of her desperation.

And once she realized Vi would never— could never —say no, the tests stopped. The cruelty didn’t.

Looking back, Vi could almost call that first night tame . Not painless. But restrained. Like Sarah had been holding back, waiting to see just how much she could take.

She’d told Vi to strip. She hadn’t asked if Vi was a virgin, but Vi could tell she didn’t know. And she didn’t want her to. Not out of shame. But because the idea of Sarah knowing —of her savoring the knowledge that she was the first—felt unbearable.

So she said nothing. And stood there, naked. Shivering. Half from the cold. Half from the fear.

Her heart thudded like a fist behind her ribs. Her limbs felt wrong—weightless and detached, like they belonged to someone else.

And then Sarah kissed her.

Softly.

So softly that Vi almost gasped from the surprise of it. She kissed her back, tentative, unsure.

Sarah guided her down to the couch, pulling her forward until Vi was straddling her lap.

Vi’s breath caught. Her thighs parted, exposed, knees braced on either side of Sarah’s hips. She didn’t know what to do with her arms. They just hung there—stiff and useless.

Then Sarah kissed her again. Harder. Not brutal, but with more intent.

Her fingers slid into Vi’s hair, tugging her closer. Their mouths moved together, and Vi tried to match her. Tongue. Heat. The taste of whiskey still bitter in her mouth.

For a moment, Vi dared to hope. Maybe this won’t be so bad. Maybe she could do this—just kissing a rich woman in exchange for enough cash to buy another week of Powder’s meds.

But the thought barely finished before it collapsed.

Because Sarah bit her.

Vi cried out, startled—and Sarah smirked against her lips.

She pulled back, and Vi tasted blood. Warm copper seeping into her mouth, washing over the whiskey.

Vi reached up without thinking, fingertips brushing her lip, then her tongue. They came away red.

Her tongue pulsed with a slow, hot ache. She swallowed the metallic sting and forced herself to meet Sarah’s eyes.

Sarah’s hands had settled on her waist, firm and possessive. She was smiling. Not wide. Not cruel. Just… at ease. Like nothing had happened.

“I suppose this is where you’d use a safe word,” she said casually.

Vi didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to. They both knew there was no safe word.

If she wanted to leave, she could. Sarah had made that clear. But the stack of money sitting on the coffee table behind her said otherwise.

So Vi shook her head. Slowly. Deliberately.

Sarah’s smile deepened. “In that case,” she said, voice low and smooth, “we’re just getting started.”

Then Sarah pushed Vi back onto the couch. Her movements were brisk now, less measured, like impatience was starting to creep in. She climbed over her, knees planted on either side of Vi’s hips, and leaned down to kiss her again—rough this time. Bruising. Like she wanted to mark her mouth the way she’d marked her tongue.

Vi knew Sarah could taste the blood on her tongue. And the way she licked and sucked at Vi’s tongue made it feel deliberate. Like she enjoyed the taste of blood—not just because it was there, but because she had drawn it. A reminder she could feel on her tongue. Proof she could savor.

Vi barely had time to process that thought before the next one came: the sting across her face. Sudden. Sharp. Then warm, then dull, then pulsing. Her skin prickled with heat before she even registered what had happened.

Sarah had slapped her.

Vi blinked. Saw Sarah’s hand still raised, like she’d just swatted away something beneath her dignity. But her expression didn’t match the gesture. She wasn’t disgusted. She looked pleased. Almost delighted.

She tilted her head, as if silently asking Vi: Do you want to leave now?

Vi’s fingers twitched at her side. This woman had bitten her. Slapped her. And though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the shape of a handprint rising red and hot on her cheek. But still, all she could think about was the stack of cash behind her. Money that could buy more medication. More time.

She shook her head.

Sarah’s eyes flashed. Dark. Interested. Like she’d just heard the answer she was hoping for.

This time, Vi saw it coming—the lift of her arm, the shift of her weight—and still, she didn’t move. The second slap hit harder. Her head snapped to the side, a choked sound leaving her lips before she could stop it.

Sarah laughed. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

Vi turned back slowly. Her cheek throbbed, eyes wet with the sting of tears she refused to let fall. But she couldn’t say no.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice came out flat. Brittle.

Sarah hummed, satisfied. Her eyes swept down, lingering on Vi’s body like she was inventorying something she’d just purchased.

Vi clenched her jaw. Her fists curled tight at her sides.

Sarah trailed a single finger from Vi’s collarbone, dragging it slowly down the center of her chest, across her sternum, past her navel. The touch was light, almost lazy, like she was idly tracing lines on something she owned. But when she reached the soft flesh just above Vi’s clit, she stopped. Hovered. Not touching, just close enough to make Vi hold her breath.

Vi swallowed hard, her throat tight. She focused on keeping her breathing steady, counting the rise and fall of her chest as if she could trick her body into calm. But her body wasn’t calm. Her pulse thudded in her ears, loud enough to drown everything else out.

“Tell me,” Sarah said, her voice sharp and sudden, “when was the last time you were properly fucked?”

Vi met her eyes. She couldn’t let herself look away. If she hesitated now, if she flinched—Sarah would see it. Would know . And Vi couldn’t let her have that. Couldn’t let her take that, too.

“Few weeks ago,” Vi lied, flatly. Her tone gave nothing away.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. Just a flicker. “Oh? Is that so?”

Then her fingers slid lower and brushed against Vi’s clit—barely a touch, but it shocked through her like electricity. Vi’s hips twitched, recoiling before she could stop herself. The sensation was unfamiliar, jarring in the worst way. Not because it was too much—but because it wasn’t wanted. It didn’t belong.

And Sarah knew it.

“Tell me, Violet,” she said, her voice quieter now, more curious than demanding. “Do you get wet?”

Vi blinked. What?

She stared at Sarah, confused. Her brain scrambled for meaning. The question caught her off guard—not because it was obscene, but because it felt… strategic. Too specific. What was she asking? Why was she asking that?

Sarah’s hand kept drifting lower.

Vi’s breath stuttered. Her heart kicked up, faster now. Fear was starting to close in, pressing against the edges of her lungs. Her whole body felt tight. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts. Sweat gathered at her brow, her skin going clammy beneath Sarah’s touch.

Still, she didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Her tongue sat thick in her mouth, still swollen and coppery. Her cheek throbbed from the two slaps earlier—an ache that pulsed deeper now, spreading through her jaw.

And here she was. Lying back. Naked. Beneath this woman’s hands. Every inch of her felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin.

She wasn’t sure what Sarah was planning. But she knew one thing.

She was already too far in to stop it.

It was too late to leave, wasn’t it? Too late to pull her clothes back on and walk out the door and pretend this never happened. She had come here for the money. For Powder. She had already let Sarah put hands on her. Let her hit her. Kiss her. Cut her open in slow, deliberate ways.

There wasn’t much left of herself to protect.

Except one thing.

Sarah didn’t know she would be Vi’s first.

And Vi hadn’t told her.

That knowledge— that —was still hers. It was sacred. Fragile. One last piece of herself that hadn’t been handed over.

Sarah could have her body. She could hurt her, make her bleed, make her cry. But she didn’t get to know . She didn’t get to celebrate it.

And maybe that was a small, pathetic sort of power—but it was something.

So when Vi finally spoke, it wasn’t to answer Sarah’s question.

It was to protect the only thing she had left.

“Find out, then.”

She didn’t know what reaction she expected. But what she saw gave her a sliver of satisfaction.

Sarah blinked. For just a second, her face faltered. Her usual cool, composed expression cracked—just slightly—before sliding back into place like nothing had happened.

Vi told herself it was worth it. That two seconds of that flicker made it worth it.

But then Sarah’s fingers pushed in.

Vi didn’t know how many. She couldn’t count. The pain tore through her instantly, raw and biting. Not a stretch, not pressure— pain . It felt like her body was being split open from the inside. Like the friction of dry skin against dry skin was dragging razors through her.

And then she understood .

The question. The pause. The gleam in Sarah’s eye when Vi hadn’t answered.

She hadn’t wanted Vi wet.

She’d wanted it to hurt.

Vi bit down hard on her tongue again, trying to push the pain elsewhere, but it was too much. Every thrust burned. Every movement made her flinch. The fire in her mouth was nothing compared to what was happening below.

And through it all, Sarah watched her. Smiling.

That smile only deepened every time Vi gasped or hissed or failed to stay still. And when the first tear finally broke loose and slipped down Vi’s cheek, Sarah’s grin split wider, like it was a reward.

“Good,” she murmured. “This makes it more fun.”

—

Vi stared at her phone, thumb hovering over the message she’d just sent.

She didn’t know why she had done it.

No—she did know.

It was Caitlyn. It was the conversation they had about first times. About partners. About history. Caitlyn had opened up with such ease, with such softness. And Vi hadn’t. She couldn’t. The words didn’t come.

So she messaged Sarah.

It was reckless, stupid, selfish. But something inside her demanded closure. Or maybe it just wanted to understand why she felt so broken every time she had to turn Caitlyn down.

They met at that same bar. The one that had started it all.

Sarah was already seated at the bar when Vi arrived. A whiskey neat sat waiting for Vi.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and approached the bar, making sure to keep her back straight and head high.

"Violet," Sarah greeted, her voice neutral like no time had passed at all between them.

Vi didn't respond. She reached for the whiskey but didn’t take a sip. It was just something to hold onto.

Sarah chuckled, slow and deliberate. “God, relax. This isn’t a funeral.” Sarah looked at Vi like she's staring into her soul—like she had taken Vi's soul and now that Vi has some part of it back, Sarah wanted that part too.

"You look handsome," Sarah said casually, freely.

Vi’s mouth was dry. “I didn’t come here for small talk.”

"Then why did you ask me to come meet you?"

Vi's fingers curled around the glass of whisky. “I needed," she paused. She wasn’t sure what word she wanted. Closure felt too clean. Answers felt too weak. “I needed to ask you something.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow, amused. “Fire away.”

Vi’s jaws clenched. “Were there others? Other girls you… treated like me?”

There was no tremble in her voice, but she felt it in her chest—the sharp flutter of shame and dread colliding.

Sarah leaned back, swirling her drink. “Sure.” Then she paused, and her eyes grazed over Vi’s body like she was remembering what it had looked like not too long ago. Then she smirked and added, “Not everyone was as fun as you, though.”

Vi blinked. The words felt like acid. “Why?”

Sarah’s lips curled around her glass as she took a slow and deliberate sip. “Because you were desperate for it.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Vi’s breath hitched, her stomach lurching. Her heart thudded so loudly in her ears that she almost didn’t hear herself when she asked, “What do you mean?”

Sarah gave a soft, breathy laugh like she was sharing a secret. “The others—oh, they had lines. Boundaries. They’d say no and mean it. But you?” She sipped her drink again, as if wanting Vi’s anxiety to linger longer than necessary. “You never did. I never had to stop with you.”

Vi’s body turned to stone. Her grip on the glass tightened until she thought it might shatter in her hands.

Please stop. The words echoed in Vi’s mind, but her mouth stayed shut. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

Finally, her voice broke through, low and shaking. “Do you feel bad? For what you did to me?”

Sarah blinked, then grinned like she’d just been told a joke. “For what I did?”

Vi didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Sarah set her drink down and leaned forward, her smile sharp now. “Darling, we had a contract. I held up my end of the bargain. You could’ve left at any time, couldn’t you?”

Vi’s throat closed up. Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

“Oh, but then you wouldn’t have gotten paid, would you?” Sarah’s tone turned cold. “You took the money. You consented . Don’t paint yourself the victim here.”

And there it was. The knife she didn’t even realize had been hovering, now plunged clean through.

Vi’s stomach churned. Her skin felt too tight for her body. Shame wrapped around her like a noose. Because Sarah was right, wasn’t she?

Vi hadn’t said no. She could’ve , but she didn’t.

Her head was spinning. Her stomach twisted with nausea. Every memory was sharp and cold: the things Sarah had done, the pain, the humiliation. And yet… she had never said no. Not even once. She had let it happen, again and again, because she needed what Sarah was offering.

So what right did she have to feel violated?

“You’re the one who walked through my door,” Sarah said. “Not the other way around.”

Vi nodded slowly, numb.

Sarah picked up her wine again, satisfied. “You wanted something. I gave it to you. I wanted something. You gave it to me. That’s the transaction.”

Vi stared at the table. She felt sick. Not because Sarah was lying—but because she wasn’t.

Vi had walked into Sarah’s home again and again. Had stripped down. Had let it all happen without a word.

And yet.

She’d walked out limping, bleeding, trying not to cry on the way home. She’d looked in the mirror and felt like she wasn’t real anymore. She’d laid awake at night, staring at the ceiling, trying not to remember the sound of Sarah’s voice.

“I let you,” Vi whispered. “But I hated it.”

Sarah didn’t respond.

“I hated every second of it.”

Still, silence.

“I felt like I was dying,” Vi said, voice raw now. “And you just kept going.”

Sarah finally met her eyes. Calm, cool. “Then why did you keep coming back?”

Vi had no answer.

She used to. She used to tell herself it was for Powder—that every bruise, every night she bit down on her tongue and let it happen—was a price she paid to keep her sister breathing. That if she just endured enough, gave enough, suffered enough, Powder would live. She had clung to that belief like a lifeline. Like if she could just hold on a little longer, all the pain might mean something.

But Powder was gone now.

And the moment she died, that answer—that justification —died with her.

And Vi was left with nothing but the echoes of what she let herself become. She kept trying to tell herself it helped —that the money Sarah gave her paid for treatments, bought more time. Maybe it did. Maybe Powder got a few extra years. Maybe a few more months.

But in the quiet that followed, Vi couldn’t stop wondering if any of it had mattered. If all the pain and all the scars were worth it, knowing the ending had always been written.

And she hated herself for thinking it. Loathed herself for it. Because Powder had been everything.

But so much of Vi had been broken to keep her alive. And now she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d bartered away her soul just to lose Powder anyway.

And the worst part?

The worst part was that the pain still lingered. The bruises had faded, but the scars didn’t. And some nights, they still burned.

Like they were reminding her that even grief can feel like betrayal.

She stood.

Sarah didn’t try to stop her.

“Keep the money,” she said, as if doing Vi a favor.

Vi turned and walked away.

And every step felt heavier than the last.

Chapter Text

In these past few weeks, Caitlyn would catch Vi staring blankly at nothing in particular. Her body would be beside her on the couch, her arm wrapped loosely around Caitlyn’s shoulders—but her mind? Her mind was gone, somewhere far away. And Caitlyn never knew where Vi went in those moments, never knew what memories had kidnapped her so completely.

Ever since the night Caitlyn glimpsed the message from Sarah on Vi’s phone, neither of them had spoken about it. The silence had become a living, breathing thing between them. Caitlyn didn’t press, and Vi didn’t offer.

So now Caitlyn was left drifting in the unknown, helpless and hurting.

The only windows into Vi’s internal world came at night. Whimpers in her sleep. Soft, broken words that bled into the darkness. Some called out for Powder. Others cried for mercy.

Just a few nights ago, they had gone on a dinner date. It was nothing special. Just a quiet dinner at a quaint restaurant Caitlyn knew Vi loved.

Then they went back to Vi’s dorm and got ready for bed. Caitlyn was nearly half asleep when she heard Vi’s voice cutting through the silence.

“No,” Vi whispered. And though it was a whisper, Caitlyn heard the pain behind it.

Caitlyn shifted, leaning up on one elbow to look at Vi. Vi’s eyebrows were pinched together like even sleep couldn’t erase her pain.

“No,” Vi repeated, sounding more broken this time.

Caitlyn frowned and reached out gently, letting her hand rest on Vi’s cheek. 

“Vi,” Caitlyn called gently as her thumb stroked Vi’s cheek. “Vi, I think you’re having a nightmare.”

Vi inhaled sharply then flinched awake. Confusion laced her features. “Wh—did you wake me?” she asked, voice thick with confusion.

Caitlyn offered a soft smile. “I think you were having a nightmare.”

“Oh. I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Caitlyn wasn’t sure whether Vi was telling the truth or sparing Caitlyn from the truth, so she just nodded. “That’s okay,” she said. “Do you want to try going back to sleep?”

Vi exhaled through her nose and closed her eyes. She turned to face Caitlyn and draped an arm over her stomach. “Mhm,” she mumbled. “Thanks for waking me up.”

That happened a few more times in the following weeks.

And Caitlyn was tired.

Tired of tiptoeing around the edge of a conversation she longed to have. Tired of waiting for Vi to reach for the hand she had been holding out for what felt like forever. Tired of watching the person she loved slowly crumble, unable to stop it. She knew this wasn’t Vi’s fault. She knew it wasn’t hers, either. But it didn’t make the waiting any easier. And it certainly didn’t help her sleep at night.

Their days were separate, busy, distant. Their nights—those rare occasions when they could lie beside each other—were quiet. But it wasn’t the soft, companionable silence they’d once cherished. This silence had teeth. It chewed at their hearts, gnawed at the edges of their connection until it left them hollow and brittle. Caitlyn could feel the tension hanging by a single, trembling thread. One wrong word, one misstep, and everything would shatter.

She knew she would have to bring it up eventually. It was clawing at her from the inside. But she didn’t know how to. Didn’t know when to. And she definitely didn’t know what would come of that conversation.

Tonight, though, she wanted to believe things could be different.

With her parents out for the evening, Caitlyn had invited Vi over for a movie night. Something simple. Familiar. A way to anchor them, maybe, if only for a few hours.

She’d prepared everything with care—Vi’s favorite popcorn, a table of snacks that spanned from sour gummy worms to Milk Duds, cheddar puffs to a bottle of Vi’s favorite cheap wine. A little piece of normal. A small peace offering.

A knock came at the door.

Vi never used the doorbell—claimed the chime was too fancy for her. When Caitlyn opened the door, she was greeted by Vi’s familiar smirk and the sight of her soaked in sweat, a towel slung around her neck.

“Long day chasing kids around?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi grinned and wiped her face with the towel slung around her neck. “That obvious?”

“Go change first,” Caitlyn said, giving her a once-over.

“What, you don’t like me sweaty and covered in dirt?”

Caitlyn scrunched her nose. “Not particularly.”

Vi smirked. “Fine, I’ll rinse off, your highness.” She saluted mockingly and disappeared up the stairs toward Caitlyn’s room.

It was the lightest conversation they’d had in weeks. The air felt different—looser somehow. Maybe Vi had a good day. Maybe things could feel easy again, even if just for one night.

When Vi came back down in a black tank top and grey sweatpants, hair still damp and clinging to her face, looking relaxed and free, Caitlyn made her decision. She wouldn’t bring up the message. Not tonight. Not when the air felt so light between them.

They curled up together on the couch, Caitlyn nestled against Vi’s side, Vi’s arm resting snug around her shoulders. It felt like something old and treasured. A memory revived.

Halfway through the movie, when the wine had flushed their cheeks and the plot began to drag, Caitlyn turned to Vi, her gaze soft and searching.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Vi said, the familiar words pulling Caitlyn’s lips into a smile.

Caitlyn smiled. “So you remember the first time we met?”

Vi looked down at her, her smile gentle. “At the club? When you wouldn’t stop staring at me?”

Caitlyn laughed, leaning up slightly. “I thought you were so cool.”

Vi cocked her head. “Oh yeah? Tell me more.”

Rolling her eyes, Caitlyn obliged. “You had this aura—so confident, so effortless. I couldn’t help myself.”

Vi reached out, tucking a loose strand of Caitlyn’s hair behind her ear as she spoke. “I was nervous, actually. You were so pretty, and I only noticed you staring because I was trying not to stare at you.”

“Liar,” Caitlyn whispered.

Vi grinned. “You were wearing a white tank top. Cropped. Blue and white striped button up over it, sleeves rolled up. Loose denim jeans. Hair tied up in a ponytail, little strands framing your face.” Her voice softened. “My favorite.”

Caitlyn’s heart swelled. She hadn’t realized Vi had memorized her like that. That she’d been seen.

“You were so effortlessly pretty,” Vi whispered—and Caitlyn kissed her.

And Vi kissed back, passionate and aching.

And things finally felt normal. The questions that clouded Caitlyn’s mind these past few weeks had disappeared and melted into the kiss.

They fell back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and heat, Caitlyn on top, her breath catching as Vi’s hands found her waist, pulling her closer. Their bodies aligned—warm skin against warm skin—Caitlyn’s chest pressed into Vi’s as if they could melt into one another.

Vi’s fingers raked slowly over her sides, exploratory, reverent, like she was committing Caitlyn to memory cell by cell. There was a hunger in her touch, but it wasn’t not rushed. It’s worshipful. She eased Caitlyn’s shirt up, over her head, and let it fall somewhere to the floor, forgotten.

Her palms traced the dip of Caitlyn’s waist, then up, grazing just barely over the curve of her breasts—enough to make Caitlyn’s back arch, a shiver snaking up her spine. She let out a quiet gasp, and Vi shifted upward, her mouth brushing over Caitlyn’s jaw before descending.

Vi’s hands moved again, fuller now, cupping Caitlyn’s chest, thumbs dragging over her nipples in slow, deliberate strokes. Caitlyn’s breath stuttered. And then Vi’s mouth replaced her hands—hot, soft lips closing around a nipple, her tongue flicking, teasing, coaxing desperate sounds from Caitlyn’s throat.

Caitlyn moaned—soft at first, then louder, more urgent, as Vi’s hand trailed down, slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts, lingering above the damp cotton of her underwear. Her fingers stroked Caitlyn’s clothed clit with maddening lightness, slow and teasing, just the whisper of contact.

Caitlyn whimpered. Her hips buck instinctively, seeking friction, but Vi pulled her fingers back slightly, and Caitlyn groaned in frustration.

She leaned up, capturing Caitlyn’s mouth again, her kiss deep and lingering, her fingers resuming their featherlight teasing, refusing to give in.

“Vi,” Caitlyn breathed, voice trembling with want. Her hands curled around Vi’s shoulders, her whole body pleading. “Please. I want to feel you.”

Vi grinned against her lips and shook her head, her voice low. “Not yet, Cait.”

She withdrew her hand entirely, and Caitlyn groaned, the loss of touch making her whole body ache.

Then Vi hooked her thumbs under the waistband of Caitlyn’s shorts and underwear, dragging them down in one smooth motion. They landed somewhere near the couch leg with a soft whisper of fabric.

Vi leaned back onto the cushions, head settling just under the armrest, eyes heavy-lidded with heat. She grabbed Caitlyn by the thighs and gently pulled her forward.

“Sit on me,” she whispered.

Caitlyn’s breath caught. Her lips parted slightly, eyes wide with surprise. They haven’t done this before. But something about the quiet confidence in Vi’s tone made her shiver.

She moved into position, knees braced on either side of Vi’s head, trembling slightly with anticipation. Vi’s hands steadied her, thumbs brushing soft circles into her thighs as she pulled her down with careful pressure.

And then—Vi’s tongue met her clit.

Caitlyn gasped, nearly crying out. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming, electric and impossibly good. She fell forward gripping the arm rest, fingers curling into the fabric as her hips twitched, trying to stay still.

Vi licked slowly, unhurried, every movement maddeningly precise. Gentle strokes against her clit, teasing in achingly slow, hypnotic spirals. Caitlyn’s whole body tensed. She’s so sensitive it’s almost too much. She could come from this alone.

But it was too slow. Too soft. She wanted more. She wanted to be devoured .

“Vi,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Vi, please…”

Vi hummed against her, and the vibration punched a gasp from Caitlyn’s throat.

She whined—needy, trembling, wrecked. “I n-need more,” she begged. “Please, Vi. Please.” Caitlyn gasped. “I—I want you.”

Vi paused, placing a kiss to Caitlyn’s clit, causing her to jerk forward with a low groan.

“What do you need, baby?” Vi asked, voice low and teasing.

Caitlyn trembled. “More,” she sighed breathily. “I want—I want you to eat me out like you mean it.”

She could hear Vi’s grin as she responded. “I do mean it,” Vi said, then flicked her tongue once. Caitlyn’s legs quivered. “I always mean it,” she added and flicked her tongue again.

Caitlyn let out a strangled gasp. “ Vi ,” she whined. “You know what I mean.”

Vi hummed. Then flicked her tongue again. Caitlyn bit her lip, suppressing a moan. “I think you need to be more specific, Cait.” Her tongue darted out again, giving Caitlyn a quick and teasing taste of what Caitlyn so desperately wanted.

And Caitlyn knew she would have to beg for it. Had to want it. Had to tell Vi how much she wanted—no, needed —it.

“Fuck,” Caitlyn groaned. “Fuck—fine.”

Vi pressed another kiss to Caitlyn’s throbbing clit. “Go on, Cait,” she coaxed, her voice dripping with desire. “Use your words.”

Caitlyn’s hips jerked. And Vi resumed her featherlight licks. So achingly slow.

“ Fuck , Vi,” Caitlyn exhaled sharply, and she tried to string together a coherent sentence, but it was so, so difficult to focus.

“I— fuck —I need you to fuck me with your mouth—your tongue. I need, “ she hissed, trying to catch her breath. “I need you to—“

And those words—desperate, pleading—are what finally break Vi’s restraint. She latched onto Caitlyn’s clit, tongue and lips moving with intention now, sucking and circling in the rhythm she knew Caitlyn loved.

The noises Caitlyn made now are unrestrained—beautiful, shameless things. She rocked her hips gently, thrusting against Vi’s mouth, her thighs trembling around Vi’s head.

And Caitlyn shouldn’t be surprised by how good this felt. But somehow Vi surprises her every time. And this time was no exception.

Vi’s fingers tightened around her thighs, gripping and pulling Caitlyn down onto her tongue. And Caitlyn rode Vi’s mouth, her hips grinding down to find just the right amount of friction.

And Vi moaned into Caitlyn like she, too, was gaining pleasure from this. And that’s what set Caitlyn over the top.

Caitlyn’s breaths came out shaky, her thighs trembling. And the coil at the bottom of her stomach tightened. She could barely hold herself up.

“Fuck, Vi,” she gasped, every breath a sob. “ Fuck —I—I’m close—”

Vi tightened her grip, thumbs stroking her skin in encouragement, silent and steady as if saying: Come for me, Cait.

And Caitlyn did. Her orgasm ripped through her, hot and fierce, curling her spine and splintering her voice into something feral. She cried out, thrashing against Vi’s mouth, the pleasure all-consuming.

And Vi didn’t stop. Not until Caitlyn’s thighs stopped clenching and her hips stopped stuttering.

When it faded, her body collapsed with it.

She wasn’t even aware of Vi repositioning them, only that suddenly she’s on her side, her head resting on Vi’s shoulder, chest heaving.

Vi lied beside her, propped up on an elbow, watching her with soft amusement.

“Had fun?” she teased, lips glistening.

Caitlyn groaned and reached up to wipe the evidence of her arousal from Vi’s mouth with the back of her fingers, but it was a lost cause—Vi’s chin, lips, everything glistened with Caitlyn.

“Sorry,” Caitlyn mumbled, sheepish.

Vi caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Don’t be.”

She grabbed the collar of her shirt and pulled it up to wipe her face, but there’s no shame in her movements. Just ease. Intimacy.

Chapter Text

It should’ve ended there, with lightness. But Caitlyn was still flushed, not just from her climax but from something deeper. The quiet between them is tender, vulnerable—and perhaps it was the wine, or the safety of being loved like this—but something lifted inside her.

And she found the courage to ask.

“Do you ever crave it?”

Vi’s eyebrows lifted. “Crave it?”

Caitlyn shrugged, trying to keep the conversation casual, light. “An orgasm.”

Vi looked taken aback, but Caitlyn still wasn’t sure if she should regret asking. Vi’s expression was unreadable, but there was a silence that settled over them as she waited for Vi’s response. “I–I’m not sure,” Vi finally said.

Caitlyn wasn’t sure how Vi felt about this conversation, but she cupped Vi’s cheek with her hand, hoping to offer some comfort.

“Do you ever touch yourself when you’re alone?” she decided to ask.

Vi’s cheeks turn red. “I–I mean—do you?” she shot the defensive question back at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn chuckled softly, and Vi grew redder. “Yes,” she answered. “I do.”

Vi’s eyes widened, as if caught off guard by Caitlyn’s easy honesty. There was no hesitation in Caitlyn’s voice, no trace of embarrassment—just calm certainty, like she was stating her favorite song or the color of the sky. Like it was simply the truth.

Caitlyn’s eyes softened, her thumb stroking Vi’s cheek. “I think about you,” she confessed.

Vi’s lips parted, and Caitlyn turned red at her own confession.

“You do?”

“I do.” And after a beat, she whispered, “Every time.”

Vi’s cheeks burned at the revelation. And they stared at each other in silence, an air of tension between them.

Vi looked down, as if she’s contemplating how much to share. Something that resembled shame or embarrassment flashed across her face as she thought.

Finally, she spoke. “I think about you too,” she revealed. “But I—” she paused, as if trying to rearrange her confession in a way that would make sense to Caitlyn. “I can’t finish.”

Caitlyn’s heart clenched—not from hurt, but from the sudden, full-body ache of empathy. She understood what Vi wasn’t saying. She heard it in the cracks.

Her fingers brushed along Vi’s cheekbone. The gesture was featherlight, a promise she wouldn’t push harder than Vi could bear.

“Can I ask something else?” Caitlyn whispered.

Vi nodded after a moment.

“Was it... always like this?”

Vi hesitated. Her throat worked as she swallowed.

“No,” she said finally. “It wasn’t always like this. Before... before Sarah. I could. I did.”

There it was. The name.

Caitlyn didn’t flinch, but the air seemed to grow colder.

Vi’s gaze dropped to the space between them. “It was my first year at Harvard. Got busted trying to use a fake ID at some bar,” she murmured. “Then Sarah showed up, slipped the bartender some cash, and bought me a drink.”

“Freshman year,” Caitlyn whispered—not a question, just the quiet sting of realization. Vi had only been eighteen when Sarah found her. When she targeted her.

Vi’s hand squeezed Caitlyn’s shoulder, as if holding on for support. “She’d—she’d make me fake it because I could never finish. And if I didn’t do it right, she’d get… more physical.” Her voice frayed. “Or she’d start again. And I’d just lie there and let her.”

Caitlyn pressed her forehead to Vi’s, her chest hollowed out by grief.

“Vi,” she whispered, “that’s not your fault.”

Vi’s eyes were glassy, her breath shaky. “So now it’s like—like—my body doesn’t know the difference anymore. Between wanting and surviving.”

The words made Caitlyn want to scream. To cry. To break something. But she didn’t. She stayed still, stayed quiet, leaving room for Vi to keep going if she wanted to.

They lie in silence.

Caitlyn didn’t press her. Didn’t touch her, either—not yet. She just waited, lying close enough for Vi to feel her there, but not so close it feels like a cage.

Minutes pass. Maybe more.

Then, finally—barely above a whisper—Vi said, “It wasn’t just rough.”

Caitlyn turned her head. Her gaze is soft.

Another pause. Longer this time. Her jaw works quietly, as if she’s chewing the words before she dares speak them.

“She liked control,” Vi said, voice tight. “Everything had to be… her way. Even when we were out—she’d tell me how to stand, how to dress, when to laugh.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. Just listened.

Vi drew in a breath. Held it. Released it slowly.

“But the worst of it was behind closed doors,” she added, quieter now. “She’d—”

Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard. Her eyes went glassy, but she didn’t look away.

“She’d wrap her hand around my neck,” Vi said. “Not all the time, but... enough. Tight. Until I’d get that ringing in my ears. Until everything starts to go black and I think I’m going to die.”

Caitlyn’s whole body went still.

Vi stared past her, out into the dark.

“And sometimes... I wished I did. Just go under and never come back.”

Her voice broke on the last word. She bit it back.

Caitlyn’s heart shattered, fragments flying in every direction and piercing back.  

Then, quietly—almost like it hurts to say—Vi confessed. “I saw her a few weeks ago.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched. There it was. The truth she’d suspected ever since she saw that message.

“I know I shouldn’t have,” Vi said, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” Her whole body was trembling now, tears tracing raw, uneven paths down her cheeks.

Caitlyn immediately shook her head. “No, Vi. Listen to me.”

She wrapped her arms around her—not too tight, but steady. Solid. Grounding. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice low but sure. “I’m not angry. I’m not hurt. I’m just glad you felt safe enough to say it now.”

Vi didn’t answer right away. Caitlyn waited, gently running her hand along Vi’s arm, a quiet reminder: I’m here.

“I thought I needed closure,” Vi said finally, voice low. “But I don’t even know what I went there looking for.”

She paused. Swallowed hard.

“Maybe just... a flicker of something in her face. Regret. Recognition. I don’t know.” 

Her shoulders rose, then fell, like even admitting this feels too much.

“Something to make it feel like I wasn’t just imagining the whole thing.”

Caitlyn watched her, heart breaking in silence.

“Like maybe it wasn’t all on me,” Vi said, barely audible. “Like I hadn’t just... let it happen.”

“You didn’t,” Caitlyn said, no hesitation in her voice. “You didn’t let anything happen. She took what she wanted. That’s not the same.”

“She said I could’ve stopped and I didn’t,” Vi breathed. “And she’s right.”

“No, Vi—“

“—I didn’t tell her to stop. Not once. Not even when I thought I might—” She cut herself off, jaw locking again. “I just laid there. Quiet. Waiting.”

Caitlyn moved then. Slow, careful. She reached for Vi’s hand, threading their fingers together without a word. Not to soothe, not to fix—just to be something solid, something grounding for her.

Vi gripped her back. Not hard. Just enough to anchor herself.

“She exploited you, Vi.” Caitlyn said softly, her eyes pleading Vi to understand.

A long silence stretched between them. It wasn’t  empty—it was full of everything unsaid, everything Vi had carried alone.

“I feel disgusting,” she said.

“You’re not,” Caitlyn said, her voice firm. “You were hurt. You were cornered.”

Vi blinked rapidly, but one tear slipped free anyway. She didn’t wipe it away.

“I’ve tried to forget it,” she said. “Tried not to think about what it meant. About what I let happen.”

“You didn’t let it happen,” Caitlyn repeated, quiet but sure. “She made it happen.”

Vi exhaled shakily. Her shoulders sagged.

Caitlyn squeezed her hand. “You were just a kid when this all started, Vi. It’s not your fault.”

Vi looked down at their joined fingers. She nodded once, like she almost believed it.

Then she exhaled a slow and long exhale. As if there was a weight on her chest that kept pushing down.

“I hate myself,” Vi said, her voice soft and cracking at the edges.

Caitlyn couldn’t stop her frown from forming. “I wish you didn’t,” she said.

Vi shook her head, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “You don’t get it.”

And Vi was right. Caitlyn will never understand what Vi had gone through. Not fully. But she wanted to—as much as she could.

“Then help me understand,” she said gently.

Silence passed over them. But it was thick and filled with everything they both wanted to say but couldn’t.

Caitlyn chewed the inside of her cheek as she watched Vi with careful eyes. Watched as Vi’s wet and stormy eyes stared off into the distance, as if the words she was seeking would appear there.

Finally, Vi spoke. “I had a reason to do all this. I used to.”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything. Just nodded slightly.

“And that was enough,” Vi said. “It made sense to me. It was worth it. She was worth it.”

Vi inhaled shakily and closed her eyes. The tears that had been forming now stained down her cheeks. Caitlyn brushed them with her thumb.

“But she’s gone now,” Vi croaked. “And it feels like—like—“

Vi cut herself off, as if saying it out loud was too painful to bear.

Caitlyn rested her palm on Vi’s cheek, letting the warmth of her hand soak into Vi’s skin.

“Like it was all for nothing?” Caitlyn gently finished for her.

Vi’s jaw tightened. And for a moment, Caitlyn was afraid she had said the wrong thing. Afraid that she shouldn’t have said it out loud.

But then Vi’s jaw unclenched and then her shoulder sagged, defeated. “Yeah,” she whispered. “And I hate myself for thinking that.”

“Vi…”

“I shouldn’t regret it. I shouldn’t regret giving Powder a few more years because—because I love her, right?” Vi laughed but it was void of humor. “But I do… I do regret it. And I can’t fucking help it. I can’t help but wish that I never did any of this.”

Vi’s breathing was fast and shallow now. Like her lungs couldn’t keep up with the air these words took from her. She pressed her palms to her eyes.

“And I just—I hate myself for thinking that. I hate that I fucking regret it,” she cried. “Because that means I wish I had never done it.” She swallowed. “And that means I wish I never gave Powder those extra years.”

Vi shook her head and laughed bitterly. “And what kind of sister would wish that?”

Caitlyn’s heart clenched as Vi spoke. She knew Vi had carried too many burdens. She could see most of the burden—even the ones that were unspoken. But this? This wasn’t something she had considered. Vi was drowning in guilt because she thought that regretting what had happened with Sarah would mean that she was regretting the years it afforded Powder.

How could Caitlyn explain to her that this wasn’t the case? How could Caitlyn help her believe that two things can be true at once? That Vi had every right to regret what happened with Sarah and be glad that Powder lived longer?

Caitlyn shifted. Wrapped her arms around Vi’s shoulders and pulled her close, letting Vi’s head find the warmth of her chest and feel the beat of her heart. 

“You aren’t a bad sister,” Caitlyn spoke carefully. “You’re an amazing sister. The absolute best.”

Vi didn’t respond, so Caitlyn rested her chin at the crown of Vi’s head and continued.

“You are allowed to regret what happened—to hate what happened. And you can wish that it never happened,” Caitlyn said softly. “But that doesn’t mean that you regret giving Powder more time.”

Caitlyn placed a kiss on Vi's head. “I… I’m glad that you regret it. Because that means you recognize that what she did was wrong and cruel and that you didn’t deserve any of it.”

She took a breath, letting her words linger before continuing. “But I want you to understand that just because you regret what Sarah did to you doesn’t mean that you regret the life it gave Powder.”

Her arms pulled Vi in tighter, and she hoped that Vi could hear her heart beating loudly for her. “You’re a good sister, Vi. You’ve sacrificed more than anyone else in your situation would have, and how you feel about having done that does not negate the fact that you had gone through it all. For her.”

And as Vi’s shoulders shook in Caitlyn’s arms and her tears stained Caitlyn’s bare chest, Caitlyn held on tight.

Chapter Text

It had been a few weeks since that night—since Vi had pulled back the curtain enough to let Caitlyn glimpse the shadows that haunted her past. Since she’d shared the darkness Sarah had left behind, the invisible scars that still haunted her. Caitlyn could still remember the tremor in Vi’s voice as she spoke, the way she had to force the words out, like they were too heavy to carry alone.

Since that moment, Caitlyn had felt the slow, steady shift in their relationship. It wasn’t just that they had moved from being friends to being something more—something deeper. It was how they’d fallen into a rhythm together, without forcing anything, without rushing ahead. Like they were both learning to breathe in sync, to lean into each other in ways that felt new but natural.

Vi had opened up, but Caitlyn had done something too—something quiet, something real. She had given Vi space, but she had also given her trust. Trust to stay. Trust to let her see Vi not just as the strong, guarded woman she’d always been, but as someone who could still be hurt, who could still feel deeply.

They hadn’t said I love you . Not since that night by the pool, when Caitlyn had confessed her love, and they kissed before Vi could say it back and before Caitlyn could repeat it.

She told herself not to dwell. That maybe it was just the nature of confessions—unscripted, electric, imperfect. Maybe the words had come from a place of heat, of adrenaline and pent up emotions. Maybe Vi didn't say it back because she didn't love her then. And maybe she still didn't love her now.

But Caitlyn had meant it then. Even in her lavender haze, she had meant every syllable.

And she didn't care if Vi couldn't say it back yet.

Because now, those words lived like a secret lodged in her throat—clawing, pressing, desperate to escape. She would rehearse them in her head like an actor preparing for a debut: I love you. I love you. I love you.

And today, she would say them. She would give those words a voice, trust them to the space between them, and hope Vi would catch them with the same tenderness Caitlyn had always known her to possess.

She stood in front of her mirror, adjusting a strand of hair that didn’t want to fall right. She smoothed the front of her shirt, grabbed her keys, and nearly made it out the front door before her mother’s voice stopped her.

As she’s about to step out of the house, her mother stopped her. 

“Caitlyn,” her mother began. Caitlyn froze, hand still wrapped around the doorknob, her body already halfway out the door.

They had slowly resumed back to normal after the fight over dinner—the fight about Vi. No apologies, no acknowledgement of the situation. Just a quiet surrender from both parties to keep the peace.. 

She turned around, hand on the doorknob and mind already halfway out the door. “Yes?”

“Your father and I are hosting a gathering next Saturday,” she announced. 

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Well, we didn’t have a Fourth of July celebration this year due to our schedules, so we thought it would be nice to have a little summer hurrah before you’re back in school.”

Caitlyn nodded, her hand pushing open the door.

Caitlyn gave a faint nod, hand pushing against the door with subtle insistence.

Her mother added casually, “You can invite some of your friends, if you’d like.”

And that was it. No mention of their last heated argument. No apology for the cruel things said about Vi. Just surface-level civility—a truce forged in silence.

—

Vi’s dorm door was already unlocked. She always left it that way when she knew Caitlyn was coming.

Caitlyn eased it open gently and found Vi at her desk, hunched slightly over a notebook, soft music playing low from her laptop speakers. The scent of wood and something warmer—citrusy, maybe—lingered in the air. It always felt like home here.

“Hey,” Caitlyn said softly, not wanting to startle her.

Vi turned in her chair, and a smile spread easily across her face, reaching her eyes. “Hey. What took you so long?”

“I had to make sure I looked good for you,” Caitlyn replied, half-teasing.

Vi’s eyes swept over her, gaze warm. “You always look good,” she said with casual certainty, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The words hit Caitlyn in a place she couldn’t quite name. She bit back a smile and cleared her throat. “Ready to go?”

Vi stood, grabbing the sweatshirt slung over her chair. “Yeah, just one last thing.” She leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Caitlyn’s mouth. “Okay. Now I’m ready.”

Caitlyn caught her wrist before she could move away. “Wait.”

She pulled Vi back in, kissed her properly this time—slow and lingering. When they parted, Caitlyn smiled against Vi’s lips. “ Now we’re ready.”

Vi looked a little stunned, like maybe she hadn’t been expecting that. A soft blush crept across her cheeks. She opened her mouth to say something, then paused, changed her mind, and cleared her throat instead.

“Come on,” she mumbled, eyes flicking away. “I’ll drive.”

Caitlyn followed her out, heart quietly buzzing. They were heading out on a date Vi had planned from start to finish. Vi had offered to pick her up, but Caitlyn had declined—her parents seeing Vi was still... complicated.

Vi hadn’t protested. If anything, she’d seemed relieved.

Caitlyn didn’t blame her. Her mother had made her distaste clear, and while her father had been more open, the whole ordeal with Sarah still hung in the air like secondhand smoke—unwelcome and cloying.

Now Caitlyn found herself hesitating. Should she invite Vi to the summer gathering? Would her parents say something cruel? Would Vi even want to go?

She didn’t know.

But today wasn’t about that.

Today was about saying I love you.

“What are you thinking about?” Vi asked as she opened the passenger door.

Caitlyn smiled, shaking off her thoughts. “Nothing,” she lied smoothly. “So, where are you taking us?”

Vi grinned, mischief dancing in her eyes. “First, coffee. Because I know you—even at four in the afternoon, your veins demand caffeine.”

She darted around the truck to her side and hopped in. Caitlyn raised an eyebrow.

“Then,” Vi continued, “we drive out of the city.”

“Out of the city?”

“You’ll see.” She reached behind her and placed a portable radio in Caitlyn’s lap. “Here’s a hint.”

Caitlyn looked down at it and laughed. “I have no clue what you’re up to.”

“Good,” Vi said, pulling out of the lot. “It’s more fun that way.”

They stopped at Caitlyn’s favorite coffee shop. Vi returned with a honey oat latte and an iced Americano. Caitlyn took a sip of Vi’s drink and grimaced.

“I don’t know how you drink that.”

Vi sipped hers with pride. “And I don’t know how you drink that sugar bomb . ”

Their banter carried them easily out of the city—light, familiar, and rooted in the rhythm they’d always had. The kind of ease that came from friendship first.

Vi drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Caitlyn’s thigh, her thumb tracing lazy circles through her jeans. Caitlyn looked down at her hand, at the way it fit so comfortably there, and wondered if this was the moment.

If she should just say it.

But she didn’t.

She was too nervous.

An hour and a half later, they pulled into a large lot.

Vi leaned out toward the attendant. “Two for screen one, please.”

Caitlyn blinked, eyes darting to the two massive outdoor screens. She gasped.

“A drive-in?”

Vi turned to her, beaming. “You said you’ve always wanted to go.”

Caitlyn grinned so hard her cheeks hurt. She leaned across the console and kissed Vi’s cheek, then her lips. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

They parked and reversed into their spot, away from the screen. Vi climbed out and pulled open the trunk bed.

It had been transformed—pillows, blankets, snacks, even a hoodie folded neatly off to the side. Caitlyn’s chest swelled.

She let Vi hoist her up and wrapped her arms around her the moment she was inside. “This is so sweet,” she whispered against Vi’s chest. “Thank you.”

Vi pressed a kiss to the top of Caitlyn’s head. “I wasn’t sure which movie you’d prefer, but I figured something scary is right up your alley.

Caitlyn froze. “Vi,” she warned.

“Don’t worry! It’s not ghosts,” she grinned. “Just vampires.”

“Vi!”

Vi chuckled. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” She pulled up the movie poster on her phone. “Hailee Steinfeld is in it,” she said, wiggling her brows.

“Well, in that case…”

Vi laughed. “I knew it.”

“But what’s the radio for?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi turned on the radio, scrolling through the various channels. “Drive-in movies don’t have speakers,” she explained. “So everyone tunes into the designated station and listens to the movie through either their car radio or a portable one like this.”

Caitlyn glanced at her. “You seem suspiciously experienced.”

Vi’s smile dimmed a little. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “We used to live close to one. Back home.”

Vi took a deep inhale. “Powder and I would sneak in when we were kids.” She fiddled with the radio. “Didn’t have a car. Or a radio. We’d just bike there, sneak in, and watch silent movies from afar.”

Caitlyn’s eyes softened and she reached for Vi’s hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it. 

“Sometimes,” Vi continued, “we’d have no idea what was going on in the movie, so we’d make up our own plot.”

Caitlyn smiled. “That sounds like fun.”

Vi laughed, reminiscing. “Powder’s plots always involved romance no matter the genre.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “Even when you’re watching a horror movie?”

“You think I’d let her watch a horror movie?”

“Well…”

Vi chuckled. “No, you’re right. I loved watching horror movies, but I hated going alone, so I’d convince her to go with me.”

“Did she get scared?”

Vi pulled her knees to her chest. “She’d crawl into my bed after every horror movie, telling me she’d never watch a scary movie with me ever again.” She sighed. “But she never really meant it. I think she just wanted to spend time with me.”

Caitlyn wiped the tear that formed at the corner of Vi’s eye. “You created good memories with her,” she said.

“I hope so.”

“I know you did,” Caitlyn said, conviction in her voice. “I’m sure she adored you."

Vi was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They sat like that, quiet, connected. And when the movie started, Caitlyn leaned against Vi, head on her shoulder, the blanket wrapped around them both. Every time a scary scene approached, Vi pulled her close, covering Caitlyn’s ears with warm hands. She never flinched, just held her, steady and safe.

—

On the drive back, the air was cool. The windows were cracked, letting in the late-summer wind. The stars had tucked behind clouds, but the quiet between them remained.

“What would you rate the movie?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Four out of five.”

“Docked a star for the scary parts?”

“Exactly.”

“And the other four are for Hailee Steinfeld?”

Caitlyn laughed and smacked her arm. “No! It actually had a good plot.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Vi said, her voice softer now.

Caitlyn looked out the window, then back at Vi. The moment felt like it had been gift-wrapped. Quiet, steady, gentle.

“Vi—”

“Cait—”

They’d spoken at the same time. Both laughed.

“You first,” Vi said.

Caitlyn took a breath, letting the words attempt to form in her head. “I just—” she began, then faltered. The silence between them was soft, not awkward, but it made her nerves buzz all the same. Her fingers twisted together in her lap.

“I really like being with you,” she said finally, the words slow and careful, as though she were unfolding them. “Even when we’re not talking. Even when we’re just... here.”

The car hummed quietly around them, tires rolling steadily over the asphalt. Vi nodded once, her gaze steady on the road ahead, but something in the corner of her mouth twitched—just the barest hint of a smile. “Me too.”

Caitlyn exhaled through her nose, trying to calm the fluttering in her chest. “And I—well, I just wanted you to know that,” she added, her voice wobbling slightly. Her hands rubbed nervously against her thighs. “I’m bad with words sometimes, and I feel like... like I feel so much when I’m with you, and I don’t always know how to say it. Or show it. And I guess—”

“Cait.”

Vi’s voice was quiet but sure, the kind of tone that made everything else fall still. She reached across the center console and rested her hand over Caitlyn’s, warm and steady.

“I know.”

Caitlyn turned to her, her breath catching. Vi wasn’t looking at the road anymore. She was looking at her.

“I love you too.”

The words hit Caitlyn like warmth spreading through cold. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding herself until those three words landed. Her whole body seemed to exhale.

A smile bloomed across her face, one that reached her eyes and lit up the space behind her ribs. “I love you,” she whispered back.

Vi’s fingers gently squeezed hers.

“I mean it,” Caitlyn said, her voice thick now. “I meant it the first time. And I’ll keep meaning it.”

Vi’s eyes flicked toward her, soft and open in a way they rarely were. “I know,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’ve loved you since before that night.”

She laughed then—low, breathy, a little incredulous—and shook her head as if at herself. “I should’ve told you. That night. Or even before. But I—”

“Vi,” Caitlyn interrupted gently, her thumb brushing across Vi’s knuckles. “I know. I was scared too.”

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Vi’s lips—slow and grounding. When she pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against Vi’s.

“But I’m just happy I can say it now,” she said softly. “A million times a day. Every day. Forever.”

Vi’s grin widened. “A million times a day, huh?”

Caitlyn nodded, eyes shining. “Mhm.”

“Forever?”

She laughed, nodding again. “Forever.”

Vi leaned back in her seat with a mock-serious sigh. “Well,” she said, lacing their fingers together, “you better get started. I think you’ve got about 999,999 more to get through by midnight.”

Caitlyn giggled, her heart fluttering as she tightened her hold on Vi’s hand.

"I love you."

Chapter Text

Caitlyn watched from the bleachers, the sun casting warm gold over the soccer field as Vi bounced a ball between her knees with practiced ease. Around her, her teammates were all trying the same, turning the game into an unspoken contest of skill.

“I can do this all day,” Luxanna called, counting her taps.

Vi grinned, not missing a beat. “Yeah, but can you do this?” 

She caught the ball with the top of her foot, then popped it into the air, flipping back into a clean bicycle kick that sent the ball soaring straight into the net. She landed on her back with a dramatic thud, laughing as she sat up.

The goalie, still mid-stretch, didn’t even bother going for it. “Hey!” she called, hands on her hips. “I wasn’t ready!”

Luxanna snorted. “Showing off in front of your girlfriend?”

Vi turned her head toward the bleachers where Caitlyn sat, her smirk faltering just slightly. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “Shut up,” she muttered.

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow in response, a smile tugging at her lips. The title girlfriend made her heart jump a little. They hadn’t defined anything out loud, but they said I love you now, held hands without thinking, fell asleep wrapped around each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. It felt like something real.

She looked down at her book, trying to refocus, but Vi had recently gotten a haircut—same wolfish silhouette, but tighter at the sides and shorter all over—and Caitlyn couldn’t stop looking at her. The sharper lines suited her. Made her eyes stand out more. She looked good. Unfairly good.

Too good to study properly.

She shook her head, clearing it of the distraction Vi presented.

Eventually, practice ended. Vi jogged up the bleachers, sweat clinging to her skin, and leaned in to kiss Caitlyn on the temple. “I’d kiss you more,” she said, breathless, “but I’m sweaty.”

Caitlyn smiled and pulled her in for a kiss anyway, tasting salt and sunshine. “I don’t mind.”

Vi blinked, a little dazed. “I love you too much,” she muttered.

Caitlyn chuckled, tucking her book into her bag. “I love you too.”

She let the words sit warm in their chests for a moment before continuing.

“Vi, I wanted to ask you something.”

Vi straightened a little. “Yeah?”

“My parents are having a small thing this Saturday,” she said quickly. “Just a summer gathering. Super casual. I was wondering if you’d want to come.”

Vi’s eyes widened. “Oh. Uh… are you sure?”

Caitlyn nodded. “But only if you want to. I won’t introduce you as my—uh, I’ll just introduce you as my friend,” she said. “And Mel and some of my other friends will be there. I just wanted to ask you too.”

Vi chewed on her bottom lip. “Your parents,” she said. “They don’t like me, do they?”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “What? No, they—they don’t even know you.”

Vi shook her head. “But what they do know about me,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “they don’t like, right?”

Caitlyn could see the anxiety building inside Vi with the way her brows pulled together and her lips pulled thin. “I think…” she began, trying to piece her words together carefully. “They have some misconceptions.”

“Do they know?” Vi asked quietly.

Caitlyn was taken aback. “Know what?”

Vi hesitated. “Sarah.”

Caitlyn glanced away. “My mother had seen you with Sarah at the country club,” she explained. “She… assumed things.”

Vi looked down at her hands. “Well, she’s not wrong.”

“No, Vi.” Caitlyn’s voice softened. “She doesn’t understand.”

Vi shrugged. Her hands pulled into fists on her lap. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? With or without context, it’s—it’s all the same on paper.”

Caitlyn reached for her hand, covering her fist. “It matters to me.”

Vi looked at her, gaze softening with something between shame and gratitude. “I’m sorry we’re having the same conversation about this again. I just keep living in this fear that everyone else would judge me, regardless of context. And I can feel their judgement.”

Caitlyn wrapped her arm around Vi’s shoulders, pulling her in. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I can talk to my mother.”

“No, I—I’d rather her believe whatever she wants to believe than have her know the truth.”

Caitlyn swallowed. “Are you sure?"

“Yeah.”

—

“You’re going to sweat through your dress,” Mel warned as she eyed Caitlyn.

Caitlyn huffed. “I’m just nervous.”

“Relax,” Mel said. “It’s not like your parents know you’re dating her, right?”

Caitlyn didn’t say anything.

Mel raised an eyebrow. “Wait… are you worried about them knowing?”

“I’m worried about how they’ll treat her,” Caitlyn finally admitted. “My mom especially.”

Mel studied her. “Vi’s tough.”

“She’s tough, but she feels everything. She pretends she doesn’t, but she does.”

Caitlyn’s phone chimed, and she snatched it up without hesitation.

Vi: hey, im here

 Her heart gave a small, anxious thud.

Caitlyn: coming!

She moved quickly through the grand, quiet halls of her family's house, careful to keep her pace measured in case anyone was watching. The air smelled faintly of fresh-cut flowers and polished wood—too perfect, too pristine. She reached the front door and paused, smoothing down the skirt of her sundress with suddenly clammy hands. A deep breath. Then another.

She opened the door.

And there Vi stood.

It took Caitlyn a second to respond. Vi looked… different. Unfamiliar, almost. Her usual tousled hair was tamed into soft, deliberate waves, pushed back away from her face in a way that made Caitlyn’s breath catch. And her clothes—gone were the usual jeans, hoodie, and beat-up sneakers. Instead, she wore pleated navy trousers that hung loosely at the hips, a crisp white t-shirt tucked in just enough to look effortless, and a cream linen button-up draped casually over her shoulders.

She looked like someone who belonged in a magazine—or at the very least, someone who didn't seem at all out of place at a high-society garden party.

“Hey,” Caitlyn breathed, more like an exhale than a word.

Vi’s lips curled into a small grin. “Hey to you.” She tilted her head. “Should we go inside before you start drooling?”

Caitlyn blushed, laughing under her breath. “You look lovely,” she said, her voice a little shy, a little in awe.

Vi’s gaze ran over her in return, warm and openly admiring. “And you look amazing,” she said without hesitation. “As per usual.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, smiling. “Shut up.”

“I mean it,” Vi said, her tone softening. Her eyes lingered on the pale yellow sundress Caitlyn wore, the way the thin straps rested on her shoulders, how the skirt swayed slightly when she shifted her weight. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before. You’re so pretty.”

The compliment made Caitlyn’s cheeks burn hotter. She gave Vi a playful shove, more flustered than she wanted to admit.

They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them filled with a thousand things unsaid—nervous anticipation, the buzz of new affection, the weight of who was waiting behind that house.

Vi took a breath, steadying herself. “Are you ready?”

Caitlyn nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yes.”

Vi hesitated. “Are you sure I was supposed to come empty handed? I feel like I should’ve brought something. Flowers? Wine? A grenade?”

Caitlyn gave a small laugh, shaking her head. “No, really. It’s a rule my parents have. They host so often that they’d be buried under gifts if they didn’t put their foot down. No flowers, no wine. Just you.”

That last part came out a little softer than she intended.

Vi gave her a curious look, but didn’t push. Together, they moved through the house toward the backyard. The sunlit hallway grew quieter the closer they got, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses faint through the glass doors ahead.

Just before they stepped outside, Caitlyn paused, hand resting on the handle. Her expression shifted—serious now, resolute.

“Vi… if my mother says something cruel, or makes some pointed remark—I want you to know, I won’t just stand there and let her. I’ll say something. And if it gets uncomfortable, we can leave. Anytime. No questions.”

Vi looked at her for a long moment, something tender flickering in her eyes. “Thanks, Cupcake,” she said quietly, a nickname that usually made Caitlyn roll her eyes, but today made her heart skip.

Caitlyn smiled. She wanted to take Vi’s hand so badly it ached in her chest—but not here. Not yet. The world outside that door wasn’t quite ready.

And maybe, just maybe, neither were they.

But for now, they walked forward together.

They stepped into the garden, sunlight spilling through trimmed hedges and rose-covered trellises. Caitlyn led her toward Mel, who was already sipping a mimosa near the roses.

“Hey, Mel,” Vi greeted with a hug.

“Vi, you clean up nice,” Mel said, raising her glass. “Want a mimosa? The bartender’ll go heavy on the champagne if you ask.”

Vi shook her head. “Better not. First time at one of these things. I should stay sharp.”

Mel chuckled. “All they talk about is tax fraud and money laundering.”

“She’s not exaggerating,” Caitlyn added and Vi laughed.

They chatted for a while, easy and light. Caitlyn felt the tension easing from Vi’s shoulders.

“So when’s Jayce arriving?” Mel asked, swirling her drink.

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “You have a thing for him, don’t you?”

Mel smirked. “Maybe.”

“Gross.”

“Who’s Jayce?” Vi asked.

“A childhood friend. We were close growing up, but I haven’t seen him in a while,” she explained. “He’s so busy with work, and I’m busy with everything else.”

“But he’s coming?” Mel pressed.

Caitlyn sighed. “Yes, he’s coming, but don’t flirt with him! He’s like four years your senior.”

Mel just smiled—then perked up as Jayce approached, dressed sharp as ever. Vi leaned in.

“Is that the pretty boy you showed me? The one you want to be on top of?” she whispered.

Mel grinned. “Absolutely.”

Caitlyn held back a groan. Then she saw Jayce walking over and held back another groan when Mel visibly stood taller.

“Hey, Jayce,” Caitlyn greeted.

“Hey, Sprout,” Jayce said, pulling Caitlyn into a side hug.

“You know Mel, but this is Vi, my—“ she hesitated.

But Jayce didn’t seem to notice. He extended a hand toward Vi. “Vi! A Harvard classmate of Caitlyn’s, I assume? Also lawyer track?” 

“Pre-med track,” Vi said, shaking his hand.

“Oh, nice. I barely survived law school,” he sighed.

“He’s being modest,” Caitlyn said. “My father says you’re making quite the impression at his firm.”

Jayce beamed. “Did he? I should go butter him up.”

Caitlyn waved a hand. “Don’t bother. He’s busy buttering up his own guests.”

“Jayce, I see you’re lacking a drink, and mine is almost empty,” Mel chirped. “Would you like to visit the bar together?”

“Sure, lead the way.”

Vi saw the look of dismay on Caitlyn’s face and laughed.

“Subtle,” Caitlyn mumbled.

“They look good together,” Vi said. “Not a fan?”

“I’m almost certain they’ll leave the party together,” Caitlyn sighed. “I just hope Mel spares me the details.” She shuddered. “I do not need to know how Jayce ranks in her list.”

Vi blinked. “Her list?”

“A very thorough list,” Caitlyn clarified, “of everyone she’s ever slept with and a very thorough review of their performance.” 

Vi’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” Caitlyn paused and took a sip of her drink. “She once slept with someone who had pizza delivered in the middle of their hookup… she said all she could think about was how good the pizza smelled.” 

Vi burst into a laughed, and Caitlyn found herself smiling too.

But Vi’s laugh trailed off suddenly, and her posture stiffened—a subtle but unmistakable change that Caitlyn felt before she even understood what was happening. She watched as Vi’s gaze shifted, her expression turning guarded in an instant. Caitlyn furrowed her brow, instinctively following the direction of Vi’s gaze.

And there, walking toward them with that unmistakable poise was her mother. Caitlyn’s stomach tightened, and she chewed the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood, but one that never quite relieved the anxiety bubbling inside her. She wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the tension that had suddenly thickened the air between them, but words seemed to fail her.

“Caitlyn,” her mother said, giving a polite nod in her direction before her gaze turned to Vi, sizing her up with a clinical precision. “You must be Violet.”

Caitlyn blinked, taken aback by the name. Violet. It felt foreign on her mother’s tongue—distant, formal, a name that didn’t fit the woman standing in front of her. She had never called Vi anything other than Vi . Never heard anyone else do it either. She knew it was Vi’s full name–she’d seen it once on her license, but it had always felt... out of place—like Vi purposefully didn’t want anyone to know her full name.

Vi’s smile remained steady, but Caitlyn could see the smallest shift in her expression. The flash of discomfort was fleeting, but it was there. And then, with an ease that Caitlyn had come to admire, Vi spoke, her voice smooth and composed.

“Just Vi,” she corrected, her hand extending toward her mother with a professionalism that Caitlyn could never quite replicate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Kiramman.”

There was a moment of stillness between them. Caitlyn could feel it—like an invisible wall hanging between Vi and her mother. The faintest hesitation from her mother as she reached out to shake Vi’s hand, almost imperceptible, but there. It wasn’t the warmth Caitlyn had hoped for. It was measured, controlled, the polite gesture of a woman who had learned to keep her feelings hidden behind layers of formality.

“You have a lovely home,” Vi said, breaking the silence, her voice steady as she looked around the grand garden. Caitlyn could hear the sincerity in her words, but she also knew it was a small attempt to steer the conversation away from the heavy air that had settled between them.

"Thank you," her mother said, her tone polite but distant. It was clear that the pleasantries were out of obligation, not interest. 

Caitlyn shifted on her feet, feeling an unspoken tension begin to coil in the pit of her stomach. 

She wanted to reach for Vi’s hand, to ground her in this moment and remind her that she was safe here, but she hesitated. She didn’t know how to bridge the gap between the woman she loved and the woman who had raised her.

“Caitlyn, a word,” her mother’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and commanding.

Wordlessly, Caitlyn turned to follow her mother, but not before sparing Vi a glance. Something to let her know that it’ll be okay.

As they walked toward her father, Caitlyn could hear the soft clinking of glass and the hum of conversation around them, but none of it mattered. All she could focus on was the tension building between her and her mother, thickening with every step.

Her father stood nearby, instructing the wait staff with quiet authority, ensuring the empty glasses were collected quickly. He barely looked up as they approached, lost in the rhythm of the party.

Her mother spoke first, her voice a cutting whisper. “Caitlyn has brought a stray home.”

Caitlyn saw red. “ Do not call her that.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed, lips thinning into a line. “Caitlyn, when I said you could invite your friends, I did not mean her .”

Before she could retort, her father, sensing the growing tension, stepped in. “Surely her presence is of little distraction, Cassandra,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it that told Caitlyn he wasn’t pleased with the direction this conversation was taking.

Her mother scoffed, a sound that was equal parts dismissive and frustrated. “And what will our friends think,” she said, the words laced with scorn, “when they see our daughter associating with—with—” She paused, her breath caught in dramatic exasperation. “I can’t even say it.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her nails biting into her skin as her blood boiled. “Do you hear yourself?” she shot back, her voice edged with disbelief. “This is ridiculous.”

Her mother’s eyes flashed, but before she could respond, Caitlyn’s father sighed deeply, the sound thick with years of tolerance. “Cassandra, enough,” he said, his tone finally firm.

The look he gave her was enough to silence her for a moment—long enough for him to turn to Caitlyn, his gaze softening. “Caitlyn, your friend is more than welcome to stay. I will not exclude any guests in my home.”

She turned to her father, surprised by his sudden but undeniable defense. He had always been the logical one, the quiet diplomat in their family—never one to pick sides in such a clear-cut manner. She hadn’t expected him to step in like this, especially not for Vi.

“Thank you, father,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she meant it to be, a weight of gratitude in her words.

“Tobias—“

“Cassandra, please. Not today,” he said, his tone definitive. He turned back to Caitlyn, his hand resting gently on her arm. “Caitlyn, there are some associates I’d like you to meet.”

And Caitlyn accepted the offer to escape this standoff with her mother. took her father’s arm and let him lead her away, grateful for the break. He steered her toward a group of men and women standing in the far corner, speaking with the polished charm that Caitlyn had long since grown used to. She kept a polite smile on her lips, the practiced one she’d worn countless times before, the one that was more a facade than a reflection of her true feelings.

Her eyes drifted around the room, and there, standing across from a group of familiar faces, she spotted Vi. She was laughing softly, talking to Mel and Jayce, her body relaxed, and her posture at ease. It was a look of comfort, of belonging—and Caitlyn’s heart warmed at the sight.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn lay sprawled across her bed, the comforter cool against her bare arms. She was on her stomach, chin resting on her folded forearms, ankles crossed in the air behind her. The phone was warm against her ear, the soft hum of the line filling the quiet of her room.

“Thanks for inviting me, Cait. I had fun,” Vi’s voice came through, rich and low in her ear.

Caitlyn hummed faintly, tracing a loose pattern in the blanket with one fingertip. “Are you sure? My mother was a bit… cold.”

Vi chuckled, the sound sending a small ripple of warmth down Caitlyn’s spine. “I think I expected worse, so that was a pleasant surprise. Besides,” she added with a sigh, “I don’t expect your parents to like me anyway.”

The words tugged at Caitlyn, sharp and unwanted. She didn’t like the way Vi said them—like it was a given, like she had already accepted being disliked. Vi was wonderful in every way that mattered: charming without trying, easy to talk to, quick-witted, and—though she’d never admit it—thoughtful in ways that made Caitlyn’s chest ache. If her mother could just get off her high horse for half a second, she’d see it too.

“They would like you,” Caitlyn said firmly, letting her cheek press into her arm. “They just need a chance to get to know you.” She hesitated, then added with a smile she couldn’t help, “Mel and Jayce loved you, by the way.”

She could hear Vi brighten instantly. “Yeah? They’re fun,” Vi said, and Caitlyn could practically see the smirk forming. “Especially when they’re trying not to flirt in front of me.”

Caitlyn groaned. “How did that go? Were you third-wheeling the whole time?”

“I’d like to think I was wingman-ing the whole time.”

She gasped dramatically. “So if they hook up and Mel tells me all the graphic details, I only have you to blame?”

Vi’s laugh came warm and unguarded, a sound Caitlyn could feel in her ribs. “Oh, it’s not a matter of if they hook up—it’s when they hook up.”

“You are terrible.” She rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. “Mel texted me earlier and said she hopes we U-Haul soon.”

Vi laughed again. “How does Mel even know what that means?”

“For some unknown reason, she seems to have a lot of queer female friends.”

“Oh? Are any of them hot?” Vi teased.

Caitlyn let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Are you trying to rile me up?”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Vi’s voice softened into a smile Caitlyn could hear without seeing. “Besides, I landed the prettiest girl in the school. No—wait. The prettiest girl in the galaxy.”

A quiet heat spread through Caitlyn’s chest despite her attempt to keep her composure. “Just the galaxy?”

“Well, maybe there’s a super hot green alien in the Andromeda Galaxy that might have you beat.”

“Mm. I didn’t realize you had a thing for green aliens.”

Vi laughed under her breath. “No, no, I don’t,” she said, and then her voice dropped almost to a murmur. “Blue is my favorite color anyway.”

Caitlyn blinked, thrown by the shift in tone. “I thought it was red. Everything you own is red.”

It was true—Vi’s favorite jacket, her backpack, the carabiner hooked to her keys, even the lamp on her desk. Red was everywhere with her.

“For a while it was,” Vi admitted, her voice quiet and unhurried. “But then I… I saw this girl. Her hair was the prettiest midnight blue. I thought it was black at first—met her in this dark club. But then I saw her again, in the library. And even under those terrible fluorescent lights…” She trailed off, her voice going softer still. “It was like the sea under moonlight.”

“Vi…” Caitlyn’s throat tightened, her heart beating slow and deep in her chest.

“And her eyes.” Vi’s voice had turned almost reverent now. “God, her eyes. I’ve tried to think of a word to describe them, but I have none. Azure? Sapphire? Cerulean? None of them come close to capturing how fucking beautiful her eyes are. I… I feel like I’m swimming whenever I look into her eyes. And sometimes if I look for too long, I have to hold my breath. Because then I’m sinking into them. They’re just… they’re like oceans I want to get lost in. Oceans I want to sink into and never come back out.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught. She didn’t realize she’d been crying until she felt the wet warmth on her cheeks. A tear slipped over the bridge of her nose, pooling briefly against her arm before soaking into the blanket. She sniffled, but her lips curved in a disbelieving smile.

“God,” she breathed, half-laugh, half-sob. “Warn me next time before you turn into a poet.”

Vi chuckled softly, the sound curling through Caitlyn like warmth on a winter morning. “I wasn’t trying to be,” she said. “But I meant every word.”

Caitlyn closed her eyes, clutching the phone a little tighter as if that could bring Vi closer. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice raw.

“I love you too, Cait.”

—

Dust hung in the late afternoon light like golden mist, catching in the sunbeams that filtered through the narrow windows of Caitlyn’s dorm. Vi exhaled through her nose as she set down another heavy box, her arms flexing with the effort. The cardboard thudded against the others stacked along the wall, a small avalanche of Caitlyn’s life packed into uniform, corrugated cubes.

“That’s the last of them,” Vi said, wiping her palms on the thighs of her jeans and blowing a strand of pink hair from her face.

Caitlyn, perched on the edge of her unmade bed, looked up from a box she’d just opened. “You brought your whole closet with you?” Vi teased, raising an eyebrow.

Caitlyn gave a breathy laugh. “Books,” she corrected with mock exasperation. “Heavy, stubborn books. I told you I wasn’t kidding about them.”

“Well,” Vi grinned, flexing her arm just slightly, “Thanks for giving me an excuse to put these muscles to use.”

Caitlyn reached over and gave Vi’s bicep a quick squeeze, her fingers warm and lingering. “Oh, I’ll always find ways to use these. Don’t you worry.”

Vi smirked. “I put them to use pretty often.”

The look Caitlyn gave her was mischievous, amused. “Maybe you can put them to use again later tonight.”

Vi raised a brow. “Only if you manage to unpack all of this today.”

Caitlyn groaned dramatically, scanning the mess of boxes scattered across the room. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“Come on,” Vi said, swatting her playfully on the thigh as she passed. “Let’s get to work.”

Caitlyn turned to start unpacking, but Vi gently caught her wrist. “Wait. Just one thing first.”

Caitlyn blinked, and Vi stepped closer, her voice soft, her breath brushing against Caitlyn’s lips. “A kiss. Just one.”

Caitlyn smiled, eyes dipping to Vi’s mouth before she leaned in. The kiss began soft—tentative, lazy—but deepened quickly when she felt Vi’s tongue flick along her bottom lip, followed by a gentle tug of teeth. She gasped softly against her.

When she pulled back, her face was flushed. “I thought you said just one?”

Vi shrugged, her grin shameless. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Their laughter echoed in the small room.

By the time the last box had been emptied and the bed was made, the sun had long set. The dorm was stuffy and warm, their shirts sticking to their backs, hair damp with sweat. They both collapsed onto the hardwood floor, limbs splayed, breaths coming in heavy.

“There’s a party tonight,” Vi murmured. “But honestly... I’m dead.”

Caitlyn rolled onto her side, propping herself on her elbow. “You? Turning down a party?”

Vi grinned, her voice low and lazy. “Guess I’m evolving.” She groaned as she pushed herself upright and reached down to help Caitlyn up. “Come on. Let’s shower and get ready, just in case we change our minds.”

Caitlyn grabbed two towels from the drawer. “Did you want to go first?”

Vi hesitated. Her fingers curled at her sides. “Actually,” she began, voice quieter now, “I was thinking... maybe we could shower together?”

Caitlyn’s heart skipped. Her breath caught in her throat. She looked at Vi, really looked. She was standing stiffly, her gaze fixed on the floor, uncertainty clinging to her like a second skin.

Caitlyn remembered the last time Vi had shown her skin—when she’d slowly peeled up her shirt to show the ragged scars on her back. How her voice had trembled. How she’d flinched when Caitlyn touched her, as if expecting disgust.

Now, Caitlyn reached out, her fingers sliding gently up and down Vi’s arms. “Are you sure?”

Vi gave the barest nod, still not meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I want to try.”

Caitlyn leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the crown of Vi’s head. “Okay. How about I go in first? You can join when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Vi nodded again, silent.

Caitlyn picked up the towels and stepped into the bathroom. She didn’t close the door completely—left it ajar, just a sliver. An invitation.

She turned on the water, waited until the steam began curling through the air, then slowly peeled off her sticky clothes. Her cheeks were warm—part from the heat, part from something else entirely.

Once inside the shower, the warm stream cascading down her shoulders, she leaned her head back, sighing. Her nerves were jittery. Would Vi come in? Would she change her mind? What should Caitlyn do if she did come in—should she look? Should she not? Would it feel like too much?

But beneath the nerves was excitement. Not just lust, though that was certainly present—but reverence. She was in love with Vi. Deeply. And if Vi trusted her enough to let her in, to let her see , then Caitlyn wanted to treat that trust like something sacred.

Halfway through rinsing the conditioner from her hair, she heard a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called, her voice soft.

The shower door was glass, allowing a view into the bathroom, but she didn’t want Vi to feel like she was staring. She turned away from the door, busying herself with washing out the conditioner. But her cheeks were red, and her heart was pounding.

She heard Vi enter. “Can I join you?” Vi asked, soft, fragile.

Caitlyn resisted the urge to turn around—to pull Vi into a hug beneath the warm water. “Of course,” she replied, her voice warm.

There was silence for a moment, a hesitation. The conditioner was long gone from her hair, but she continued washing, busying herself with nothing at all.

She heard the shower door open.

Then, soft footsteps on wet tile.

Caitlyn's breath caught, a flutter of nerves rising in her chest. And then—

Arms. Slipping around her waist from behind.

Skin, warm and slick, pressing into hers.

The gentle press of Vi’s breasts against her back made her freeze—not from fear, but awe. It was the first time she had felt all of her. Unfiltered. Unhidden. No fabric between them. Only skin. The weight of that vulnerability settled over her like steam, thick and intimate. Caitlyn’s hands instinctively found Vi’s forearms, tracing the contours of her muscle, grounding herself in the feel of her. She felt Vi's chest rising and falling against her back, not perfectly steady, but brave.

She melted into it, into her . The curve of Vi’s body pressed along hers felt like something holy—something held back for so long, now finally given. Caitlyn lowered her head slightly, eyes fluttering shut, her lips parted with emotion she didn’t have words for.

“Is—is the temperature okay?” she asked, her voice a whisper too soft to pierce the water.

She felt Vi nod, her damp forehead tucked into the crook of Caitlyn’s neck.

A breath shivered out of her, and one of her hands drifted up to Vi’s head, fingers sifting gently through the wet strands. They stood there like that for a while—two hearts, two bodies, one gentle collision. Nothing rushed. Nothing expected. Just presence.

“Can I turn around?” Caitlyn asked, soft, unimposing.

There was a pause. Then Vi’s arms loosened from her waist, her hands coming to rest on Caitlyn’s sides. Gently, she turned Caitlyn around herself.

Their bodies now faced each other. Caitlyn looked for Vi’s eyes, but Vi was staring at the floor, cheeks pink. Caitlyn didn’t let her gaze wander. Instead, she reached up and cupped Vi’s cheek, her thumb brushing tenderly along the soft curve.

“Vi,” she whispered. That was all. Just her name, like a vow.

Vi looked up at her then. Her eyes were wide, shimmering, vulnerable.

“I won’t look if you don’t want me to,” Caitlyn said, her voice barely a breath.

There was a pause, then Vi shook her head. “I,” she hesitated. “I want you to.”

Caitlyn’s mouth parted, her heartbeat now loud in her ears. Then, slowly, she allowed her eyes to lower. From Vi’s collarbone, to her chest, then to her abs, and then lower.

Her breath caught. “You’re beautiful,” she said softly, lifting her eyes back to Vi’s. She placed her hand at the nape of Vi’s neck.

Then she leaned in slightly, enough to let Vi know she wanted her. And she let Vi close the rest of the distance between them.

It was a slow, uncertain kiss. Exploratory. Caitlyn let Vi lead. And if Vi wanted her, Caitlyn was more than ready to give her all of herself.

Vi’s grip tightened on her waist, pulling her in closer, their bodies pressing into each other. Wet skin against wet skin. The curve of Vi’s breasts pressed against her. It was intoxicating.

Her fingers tangled into Vi’s hair as they kissed. Tongue on tongue, teeth on lip. Everything they both wanted to say poured into the kiss.

And when the water dripping onto their noses and lips finally felt too much, they broke apart. Chests heaving, breaths mingling.

Caitlyn smiled, brushing wet strands from Vi’s eyes. “Can I wash your hair?”

Vi blinked in surprise. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Sure.”

Caitlyn lathered the shampoo in her hands and began massaging it into Vi’s scalp. Vi closed her eyes, a soft hum escaping her lips.

“That feels nice,” she mumbled.

Caitlyn grinned. “It feels nice for me too,” she said, her cheeks rosy.

When she finished, Vi stepped beneath the water to rinse. Her back to Caitlyn. Her body bare and unguarded.

Caitlyn watched the way water rolled down her spine, over the curve of her hips and down her thighs. She looked away quickly, cheeks burning.

“Do you want conditioner?” she asked, her voice a little too high.

Vi turned around, a light smile at her lips. “Yes, please.”

Caitlyn ran her hands through Vi’s hair again, and Vi closed her eyes, leaning into her touch.

“I don’t usually like it when people touch my hair,” Vi admitted, her eyes still closed. “But it’s different with you.”

Caitlyn’s hands paused. Her heart swelled. She smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Vi’s temple. “I’m honored,” she whispered.

When the conditioner had been thoroughly worked in, Caitlyn tilted Vi’s head under the spray, guiding her gently.

And when Vi was done washing out the conditioner, Caitlyn hesitated, eyeing the body wash.

But Vi beat her to it, pumping some into her palm. “I’ll do this part,” she said, a bit bashfully.

“R-right,” Caitlyn stuttered. “I’ll go dry off now.”

Vi chuckled under her breath.

Caitlyn stepped out, cheeks red, steam curling off her skin. She wrapped a towel around herself and padded back to her room, shivering a little at the cool air.

But her chest was warm. And her heart was full.

As she towel-dried her hair, she caught her reflection in the mirror—blushing, breathless, glowing. She smiled to herself.

It was a step. A beautiful one.

Chapter Text

Vi stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed, towel slinging around her neck, her hair damp and dripping.

Caitlyn was at her desk, applying some mascara. She glanced at Vi through her desk mirror.

“Should we head out in twenty?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation light, casual.

Vi tousled her hair with the towel. “Sounds good,” she said.

Caitlyn wanted to say something. Wanted to tell Vi that she enjoyed their small, intimate moment in the shower. Wanted to let Vi know that she was proud of her for allowing herself to be vulnerable. Wanted to say that she hoped they could do that again someday.

But she couldn’t find the right words. She sighed and put away her makeup supplies, frustrated with her inability to articulate her many thoughts.

She could see Vi peeking at her from her periphery.

They were silent for a moment—Caitlyn still trying to form the perfect sentence.

“Was that too much?” Vi broke the silence, her voice soft and fragile.

Caitlyn’s eyes widened and she immediately spun around. “What? No, no, of course not,” she quickly reassured Vi. She exhaled softly, stood up, and walked toward Vi.

She gently took the towel out of Vi’s hand and gingerly began drying Vi’s hair. “I… I really enjoyed that,” Caitlyn confessed.

A smile tugged at Vi’s lips. “Really?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Really,” she said. “Thank you for trusting me.” She placed the towel back around Vi’s neck and ran a hand through Vi’s damp hair.  “How did it feel for you?”

Vi looked down, her cheeks a tint of pink. “Scary at first,” she mumbled. “But you made me feel safe, and I… I liked that feeling.”

Caitlyn smiled. Her heart felt warm. Full. “Would you like to do it again?”

Vi nodded lightly. “Yeah, I would.”

“Me too.”

—

They pulled up to the frat party with a case of seltzers, which Vi had vehemently opposed until Caitlyn, smug and persuasive, reasoned that seltzers were for the girls and beers were for the frat boys.

Vi had rolled her eyes but eventually relented, grumbling something about feminism and taste buds.

As they walked up the driveway, Caitlyn stole a few glances at her. Vi didn’t wear hats often, but Caitlyn’s room didn’t have her usual hair products, and Vi had muttered earlier that she’d rather go out bald than with flat hair.

Which, frankly, Caitlyn wouldn’t have minded either. But she couldn’t deny how good Vi looked now—her hair pushed back under a black baseball cap, a black t-shirt hugging her shoulders, and loose faded jeans slung low on her hips. Her entire posture was relaxed in that confident, casual way that still managed to undo Caitlyn a little.

The party was being thrown by one of Loris’ football teammates. Vi wasn’t exactly thrilled—her idea of a good party didn’t involve drunk frat football bros—but Loris had invited the entire women’s soccer team, so here they were.

Caitlyn didn’t mind. She actually missed parties. Summer had been many things—healing, intense, quietly transformative—but not particularly carefree. And now that everyone was back on campus and classes hadn’t yet begun, it finally felt like there was room to just be again.

She’d told Vi that much earlier that evening. And Vi had just given her that easy smile and said, Drink as much as you want. I’ll drive us home .

So here Caitlyn was, three shots in, a cold seltzer in one hand and a ping pong ball in the other.

“If you land this, I’m naming my first child after you,” Riven said, eyes locked on the single remaining cup at the far end of the table.

Caitlyn smirked. “Be sure to send me a picture of the birth certificate in a few years,” she said and flicked her wrist.

The ball arced perfectly and dropped into the cup with a clean thunk.

The crowd around the table erupted. Riven clapped Caitlyn’s shoulder like she’d just witnessed a miracle. “Holy shit! I hope my first kid’s a girl, because I don’t know how my wife would feel about naming a boy ‘Caitlyn’!”

Vi appeared beside them, grinning as she slung an arm across Riven’s shoulder. “My girl’s an all right shot, huh?”

Caitlyn caught Vi’s eye, smiling wide as she high-fived Riven and a few strangers who had joined in the cheering. “I’m an excellent shot,” she corrected playfully.

But her heart was pounding for a different reason. Something about the way Vi had called her my girl —offhand, easy, unthinking—had left her buzzing. She felt it in her face, her chest, the way her skin seemed too warm. And she couldn’t stop smiling.

That was how they were the rest of the night—easy, natural. Together, but not glued at the hip. Caitlyn floated between games and drinks, but Vi was never far. And every time they crossed paths, even just in a glance, Caitlyn felt herself light up again.

“I’m heading to the bathroom,” Caitlyn murmured into Vi’s ear, catching her mid-laugh as she watched a chaotic arm wrestling match unfold at the kitchen island.

“I’ll come with you,” Vi offered, already half-turning.

Caitlyn shook her head, steadying herself on Vi’s shoulder. “No, it’s fine. Stay. I’ll be right back.”

She leaned in for a quick kiss—short, smiling—and then turned before she could start grinning like an idiot again.

The hallway was mercifully empty. She locked the bathroom door behind her and stared at herself in the mirror.

Flushed. Grinning. Tipsy. Her hair was messy, and her cheeks were practically glowing.

I need to slow down, she thought, laughing at herself under her breath.

After freshening up, she opened the door—only to find someone standing a little too close, waiting. Her hair fell in red silken streaks down her back.

Caitlyn blinked. “Kat.”

Katarina’s expression lit up with that effortless smile she always wore—composed, relaxed. “Caity.”

There was a pause. Not heavy. Just long enough to make Caitlyn aware of the space between them.

“How have you been?” Caitlyn asked, a little awkwardly.

“Good,” Katarina said, eyeing her with mild amusement. “You look good.” It wasn’t exactly a loaded statement, but there was something easy in the way she said it—like old rhythms clicking into place.

Caitlyn gave a polite smile. “Thanks. So do you.”

The hallway buzzed faintly with noise from the party downstairs. It felt strange to be here, in this small pocket of quiet with her ex, like the rest of the world had temporarily muted.

“So,” Caitlyn said, gesturing vaguely. “What brings you back to campus?”

Katarina shrugged, arms folding loosely across her chest. “Friend’s little brother is in this frat. We got dragged along. Thought it’d be nostalgic.”

“That’s one word for it,” Caitlyn said with a wry little laugh.

There was a brief lull, and then Caitlyn remembered. “Oh—congrats, by the way. Med school. That’s amazing.”

Katarina’s smile turned genuine, softer at the edges. “Thanks, Caity. I appreciate that.”

She reached out and gave Caitlyn’s arm a brief, familiar touch—more contact than strictly necessary, but not quite inappropriate. Just… lingering.

“How’s law coming along?”

Caitlyn made a face. “Stressful. Applications are looming.”

“You’ll kill it,” Katarina said easily. “You always had your shit together.”

“That’s generous,” Caitlyn muttered but smiled anyway. “Still—thank you.”

She looked toward the entrance of the hallway, then back at Katarina. “I should probably get back.”

Katarina nodded and stepped aside. “Of course.”

Caitlyn started walking, but before she reached the end of the hallway, Katarina spoke again.

“Hey, Caity?”

She turned.

Katarina was leaning lightly against the wall, that crooked smile back on her face. “Save a shot for me later?”

Caitlyn hesitated—not because she was tempted, just surprised. But she played it off.

“Sure,” she said. And then she disappeared down the hallway.

She made her way back into the heart of the party and immediately spotted Vi, who was now very much a part of the arm wrestling competition. It looked like the entire football team had lined up to challenge her.

“Don’t hurt him, Vi! He’s the quarterback!” someone called out.

Vi flashed a feral grin.

Caitlyn winced, already bracing. This wasn’t going to end well.

And she was right. The quarterback lasted all of fifteen seconds.

To his credit, he took the loss well, pulling Vi into a hug and turning to his teammates. “If you don’t wanna get your egos crushed, back out now,” he warned.

There was some muttering, a few reluctant chuckles, and then the line dissolved.

Vi clapped him on the back. “Catch you at the first game,” she said.

“And maybe I’ll finally make it to one of yours,” the quarterback replied.

“You’ll have a good time,” Vi said. Then, with a smirk, “We win more than you guys do.”

That earned her a jab to the arm, and the two of them laughed.

Caitlyn stood at the edge of the scene, watching. She didn’t always get to see this side of Vi—the effortlessly charming one, the one who drew people in like gravity. It was magnetic. And Caitlyn felt lucky just to be close enough to it.

“Hey,” she said, stepping closer.

Vi turned and smiled. “Hey.” She slipped an arm around Caitlyn’s waist. “Andrew, this is Caitlyn,” she said. “Caitlyn, this is Andrew—the star quarterback or whatever.”

Andrew laughed. “Trying to be,” he corrected. He glanced between them, then nodded at the way Vi was holding her. “You guys are girlfriends?”

Caitlyn bit her smile back, cheeks already burning.

Vi didn’t miss a beat. “Trying to be.”

And Caitlyn, heart thudding, let herself lean just a little closer into Vi’s side. She listened as Vi and Andrew continued their back and forth banter. Something about a pull-up competition.

But the run-in with Katarina sat heavy on her mind.

“I probably have ten pull ups on you,” Vi teased.

“Oh, bet? I just know one of these frat guys has a pull up bar,” Andrew said. “Let’s have a rematch.”

Vi laughed. “You sure I won’t bruise your ego again?”

Andrew scoffed exaggeratedly. “Oh it’s on. I’m gonna go look for a bar and then we’ll settle this.”

Then he left on his quest, and Vi raised a drink to that.

But even surrounded by warmth and laughter, something about Katarina’s voice still echoed in her head. She needed to clear it.

“Hey,” Caitlyn said, touching Vi’s arm. “Can we talk real quick?”

Vi’s brows furrowed. “Yeah, of course.”

Caitlyn led Vi to a quiet corner of the house, trying to keep her expression neutral, but Vi could read her like a book.

“What’s wrong?” Vi asked immediately, hands coming to rest gently on Caitlyn’s arms.

Caitlyn exhaled. “I just bumped into my ex.”

Vi’s eyes widened. “Are you okay? Do you want to go home?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “No, no—it’s not that serious. I just… I wanted to let you know. Because I thought you should hear it from me.”

Vi’s expression softened, concern still lingering. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” Caitlyn said, steady now. “We talked a little. It was fine, honestly. I just didn’t want to keep it from you or make it weird.”

She watched Vi’s face carefully—but there was no shift. No flicker of jealousy or discomfort. Just calm.

“Really, Vi,” Caitlyn added, “I’m okay. I just… wanted to make sure you are too.”

Vi blinked. “Me?” Then something clicked, and a grin tugged at her mouth. “Wait—were you worried I’d get jealous?”

Caitlyn felt her cheeks warm. “Well—I don’t know. I’ve never really had to… navigate something like this before.” She sighed, glancing down. “I didn’t want it to feel like I was hiding anything.”

Vi reached out and gently tilted Caitlyn’s chin up, her fingers warm and sure.

“Cait,” she said, voice low and certain. “I don’t fucking care.”

Then she kissed her—deep, unhurried, full of that quiet confidence Caitlyn was still getting used to. A kiss that said we’re solid, that said I’m not going anywhere.

And Caitlyn melted into it, heart light and full.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn’s back pressed against the cool tile wall, the chill grounding her even as Vi’s body crowded into hers, warm and insistent. Her fingers hooked through the belt loops of Vi’s jeans and tugged her closer, until there was barely any air between them.

“Vi,” she breathed, lips grazing hers in a fleeting brush as they caught their breath.

Her thumb skimmed over the waistband of Vi’s boxer briefs, the elastic peeking just above her jeans in the dim bathroom light.

Against Vi’s mouth, Caitlyn murmured, low and deliberate, “I like when you wear these.”

Vi’s lips quirked. “Wear what?”

“Boxer briefs,” Caitlyn said, voice softer now, nearly swallowed by the closeness between them. “I like how I can see just enough of them above your jeans.”

Vi hummed, the sound vibrating through Caitlyn’s chest. “I like that it’s your initials.”

Caitlyn arched a brow, amused. “Surely that’s not why you wear Calvin Klein.”

“Not at first.” Vi’s grin tilted, boyish and sly. “But now? Don’t think I’ll ever wear anything else.”

That earned a smile from Caitlyn, small but impossible to hold back. Vi rested their foreheads together, breaths tangling in the thin space left. And it was then Caitlyn noticed—sometime during the heated press of kisses, Vi had turned her cap around, worn backwards now so the brim wouldn’t get in the way. Caitlyn hadn’t even seen her do it.

She pulled back just a fraction, just enough to really look. God, Vi with her cap like that—messy hair poking out, lips swollen—looked like every femme’s wet dream.

“What?” Vi asked, blinking in confusion.

Caitlyn smiled, instinctive and unguarded. “You just… look good,” she admitted, her voice thinner than she meant it to be.

For a beat, surprise widened Vi’s eyes. Then a slow, smug smirk took over, sharp as a spark.

“Do something about it, then.”

So Caitlyn did.

Her hand slid up to the back of Vi’s neck, pulling her in deep, while the other curved around her waist to close every last bit of distance between them. Their mouths collided, hungry, and she felt Vi melt instantly into it. Vi’s grip at Caitlyn’s waist tightened, anchoring her, and as their tongues tangled, one of Vi’s hands roamed lower until it cupped her ass.

Caitlyn smiled into the kiss—Vi answered by nipping lightly at her bottom lip, teasing.

The groan slipped from Caitlyn before she could stop it, and she kissed harder, threading her fingers into Vi’s hair, tugging her close.

Vi broke for air, ragged, her breath shuddering against Caitlyn’s mouth. “We should—God—we should stop,” she stammered, voice hoarse with want.

Caitlyn hummed, eyes fluttering open. Vi’s gaze was molten, desperate, like Caitlyn was oxygen and she was drowning.

“What if I don’t want to?” Caitlyn whispered, daring her.

“Cait…” Vi’s voice cracked, low and frayed. “Don’t tempt me.”

Instead of answering, Caitlyn caught Vi’s bottom lip gently between her teeth, tugged, then let go with a slow drag.

“I don’t think I need to,” she breathed, teasing threading through the temptation in her tone.

Vi’s hand slid from her ass to her hip, then lower—bold, steady—until her palm pressed against the front of Caitlyn’s jeans. Then lower.

“Vi,” Caitlyn moaned, the sound catching as Vi’s hand worked firm circles over the heat between her thighs.

“What do you need, baby?” Vi asked, voice roughened, her hand unrelenting.

Caitlyn swallowed a gasp. “I… I need you.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, Cait.”

Her head tipped back against the wall, mind fogged, breath shaky. Even through denim, there was no hiding how badly she wanted.

“Vi…” Caitlyn whined against her lips, breaking apart and returning just as quickly. “I need you to—”

“—Hey man! I gotta piss! Hurry up in there!” A voice barked through the door, followed by a volley of impatient knocks.

The two of them froze, then broke into sheepish grins.

Vi shook her head, tugged her cap off, and plopped it onto Caitlyn’s head instead, tugging the brim low until it shadowed her face.

“To protect your dignity when we make our grand exit,” she said with a crooked smile.

Caitlyn laughed under her breath, letting Vi lead her out.

As they stepped past the guy waiting, Vi clapped him on the shoulder, grin audible in her voice. “All yours, buddy.”

Caitlyn didn’t need to look to know the man’s jaw had dropped. She could feel his stare burning after them, and—against her better judgment—she found herself grinning too.

They slipped back into the party, weaving through bodies and noise until they found a worn couch tucked against the wall. Dropping into it side by side, Caitlyn let herself sink into the cushions with a sigh, still feeling the echo of Vi’s mouth on hers.

Riven caught sight of them instantly, her smirk sharp and knowing.

“You do realize,” she drawled, “there are better places to fuck than the only bathroom at a party, right?”

Vi grinned and flipped her off without missing a beat.

“You two make me feel so single,” Riven lamented, flopping dramatically into the chair across from them.

“Maybe,” Vi began, “if you stopped telling women you loved them on the first date, you might actually make it to a second.”

Riven gasped, clutching at her chest in mock offense. “But how else am I supposed to sleep with them on the first date?”

Vi rolled her eyes. “You’re no better than a man.”

Riven laughed, pointing at her. “That is the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.” She cracked open a beer and snagged a ping pong ball from the table beside her, waving it in Caitlyn’s direction. “Another round?”

Before Caitlyn could politely decline, Vi spoke first.

“Get your own girl. This one’s mine.” She waved Riven off with mock authority.

Riven groaned, flipped her off, and muttered something about “disgusting lovebirds” as she went off to find another partner.

Caitlyn tried to hide her smile, but it betrayed her anyway. “Your girl, hm?” she teased, tilting her head.

Vi’s gaze dropped from Caitlyn’s eyes to her lips, slow and deliberate. Her tongue darted out to wet her own bottom lip.

“Yeah,” she said, voice low and certain. “Mine.”

The laugh slipped out of Caitlyn soft and unguarded, her head shaking. “Careful, Vi. If you keep looking at me like that, I might just drag you back into the bathroom.”

Vi leaned back against the couch, casual as ever, one arm stretched across the cushions behind Caitlyn. “Then I guess I’ll keep looking at you like this.”

“Tease,” Caitlyn muttered.

“Me? You’re the one walking around looking like that.”

“Like what?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

“Like you aren’t actively making everyone within a five-foot radius of you wrecked.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn chided, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Vi shook her head, her voice rougher now. “You’re in a white wifepleaser that leaves very little to the imagination. And those low-rise jeans…” She exhaled hard, almost reverent. “Jesus, Cait.”

Caitlyn laughed, a touch bashful despite herself. “Wifepleaser?”

Vi grinned. “What? The term wifebeater is gross and outdated.”

“In England,” Caitlyn said primly, “we call it a vest.”

Vi blinked. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I assure you it’s far less ridiculous than calling it wifepleaser.”

Vi chuckled. “Okay, fair. In that case, I think you look ridiculously attractive in that vest.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks heated despite her best effort to appear aloof. “Well, you have been staring at my chest all night.”

“Can you blame me?” Vi shot back, shameless. Then, with a crooked grin, “If I had a dick, I’d have the biggest boner right now.”

Caitlyn choked on a laugh. “Vi!”

“Just saying.”

“I must’ve done some serious damage if you’re being so uncouth.”

Vi smirked, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, actually. Pretty sure you’ve ruined my Calvins.”

That stopped Caitlyn cold. Her flush deepened instantly—she’d never touched Vi there, never felt the proof of her arousal. Hearing the confession sent a pulse of heat straight through her.

“Vi,” she warned, though her voice came out breathier than intended.

“Absolutely soaked,” Vi whispered, all heat and mischief.

Caitlyn clenched her thighs, the reaction embarrassingly instinctive. God .

She shook her head, laughing softly at her own helplessness. “You aren’t exactly innocent in all this either,” she countered.

Vi’s grin turned smug. “I know.”

“You don’t suppose we could leave early, do you?” Caitlyn asked, hopeful.

“I would,” Vi said, “but I need about an hour to sober up.”

Caitlyn hummed, letting her fingertip graze up the line of Vi’s forearm, slow and suggestive. “In that case,” she murmured, “we should go find another obscure corner to occupy.”

The way Vi’s grin spread told her everything. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And with that, Caitlyn let Vi take her hand, tugging her off the couch and back into the crowded house, hunting for somewhere quiet enough to continue the dangerous game they’d already started.

—

An hour later, the party had sunk into its bloated, overripe stage—the part where the buzz gave way to mess.

Someone was crying on the couch, loudly and without shame. A group of half-strangers stood hunched around the kitchen freezer, rifling for dino nuggets they would probably forget in the microwave. In the living room, a karaoke rendition of Pink Pony Club slurred out of tune, offbeat and euphoric.

Riven was about to join the casualties. Her head about to be halfway down the toilet.

“Holy shit, you’re messy,” Vi grunted as she hitched Riven’s arm over her shoulder, steadying the dead weight.

Riven’s head lolled, hair sticking to her damp cheek. “I think… I think…” she mumbled, eyes unfocused.

“Yeah, maybe stop thinking for a while,” Vi muttered, adjusting her grip and trying not to stumble under her friend’s weight.

Caitlyn, perched on the edge of the couch, watched with worried eyes. “Do you think she’d feel better if she… well, threw up?”

“Probably.” Vi blew out a sigh and glanced at Riven. “Riv, you feel like puking yet?”

Riven grumbled something unintelligible.

“I’ll take her to the bathroom,” Vi decided.

“I’ll come with you,” Caitlyn said, already standing, though the slight wobble in her knees betrayed her.

Vi shook her head quickly. “Nah, I got it. You’re already a couple drinks past steady yourself.” Her grin crooked as she said it, softening the refusal.

Caitlyn giggled, proving her point. She wasn’t Riven-level drunk, but she was maybe two shots away from collapsing into a similar heap.

“I’m not that drunk,” she insisted, though her slurred emphasis betrayed her.

“Mhm.” Vi wasn’t buying it for a second. She shifted Riven’s weight and nodded toward the half-empty cup in Caitlyn’s hand. “Drink some water while I’m gone. And don’t talk to strangers.”

“Okay, mother,” Caitlyn teased, lips twitching in a crooked smile.

That got a flash of teeth from Vi, a quick grin over her shoulder as she started hauling Riven toward the hallway. “Good girl.”

Caitlyn didn’t bother hiding the smile that pulled at her lips or the flush that ran across her cheeks.

She watched them disappear into the bathroom then decided that she will now helpfully search for some gum—something to help freshen Riven up afterward, assuming she survived the purge.

She asked one person. Then another. Then another. No luck.

By the fourth rejection, she was just about ready to give up when—

“Heard you were looking for this?”

She turned.

Katarina stood there, just inside the doorway to the kitchen. One hand held a half-empty silver flask, the other extended toward her with a single stick of gum balanced between her fingers.

Her red hair fell in soft, messy waves over one shoulder. An unlit cigarette tucked on one ear. Her cheeks were flushed—not from makeup, Caitlyn realized, but from drink.

What was it Vi had instructed her to do again? Drink water and… Right. Don’t talk to strangers . But Katarina wasn’t a stranger.

“Wow,” Caitlyn said, blinking at her. “That’s unexpectedly on-brand of you.”

Katarina gave a crooked smile. “I aim to please.”

Caitlyn plucked the gum from her hand and pocketed it. “Thank you,” she said. “My friend is currently sick in the bathroom. I figured she’d appreciate it.”

Katarina tilted her head, flask dangling between two fingers. “You still play caretaker, huh?”

Caitlyn shrugged. “It’s in the job description.”

Katarina took a sip from the flask. “And what’s the pay like these days?”

“Awful.”

That made Katarina laugh. The sound was light, not forced.

“You still drink this stuff?” Caitlyn asked, nodding to the flask.

“It’s decent.”

“Is it?”

Katarina grinned. “Want to test it?”

Caitlyn hesitated, then held out her hand. “Sure. Why not.”

The flask was warm in her palm. She took a sip and immediately coughed. “Still disgusting,” she managed, eyes watering.

“Blasphemy,” Katarina said, reclaiming it. “You always were dramatic.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. “No, you just have the taste of a college frat boy.”

Katarina smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Another pause. Just long enough for Caitlyn to realize she hadn’t walked away yet.

“I need to drink water,” Caitlyn said, suddenly remembering the task Vi had assigned her.

Katarina looked at her, amused. Then gestured toward the kitchen. “All right, I’ll get you some water,” she said.

She followed Katarina into the kitchen and watched as she rummaged through one of the coolers for a bottle of water.

“Here,” she said, uncapping it and handing it to Caitlyn.

“Thanks.” Caitlyn sipped slowly as Katrina watched.

“Do you need anything else?”

Caitlyn closed the bottle and shook her head. “No,” she said. “But I might need an Advil or two tomorrow.”

Katarina laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this drunk before.”

Caitlyn cocked her head. “I don’t think you had ever let me get this drunk before.”

It wasn’t meant to be an attack, but it was true. Back when they were dating, Katarina would chastise Caitlyn whenever she started to get even a bit tipsy at parties.

Katarina just shrugged, unapologetic, and took another swig of her flask. “Didn’t want you to get hungover.”

Caitlyn hummed. Another silence fell over them. She thought back to the brief period in time when they had dated. What they had was intense, unhealthy, and fleeting. But it had also been both of their first relationships. She wondered if Katarina had changed since then. It had been nearly two years after all.

“I need a smoke,” Katarina said suddenly. “Come with?”

Caitlyn looked around. The kitchen had grown too humid, too loud. Some guy was doing shots off a folding table like he’d just discovered physics didn’t apply to him. The music had switched to a bass-heavy remix of something unrecognizable.

Air sounded good.

“Sure,” she said.

They stepped outside into the backyard. The porch light buzzed above them, yellow and dim. Only a few others lingered outside. Two people were on the grass passing a joint, their laughter floating lazily into the night.

Caitlyn drifted toward the side of the house and leaned back against the brick wall. It was cool against her skin. Solid. She took a breath and let it settle in her lungs.

Katarina pulled the cigarette from behind her ear, lit it with a flick of a silver lighter, and took a drag.

“I thought you quit,” Caitlyn said.

“Med school,” Katarina replied with a shrug. “Vices help the days go down smoother.”

She extended the cigarette toward Caitlyn, offering a drag.

Caitlyn shook her head. “Still not my thing.”

Katarina took another drag and leaned against the wall beside her, just a little closer than before. “You look good,” she said even though she had already said that when they met by the bathroom.

Caitlyn arched an eyebrow, amused. “You’re drunk.”

“Not as drunk as you are.”

Caitlyn couldn’t argue with that. “Yeah,” she said. “I feel like the ground is moving.”

Katarina smiled, flicking ash to the ground. “I’ll catch you if you start to fall.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond. Her fingers toyed absently with her water bottle, twisting the cap on and off.

“When’s the last time we talked?” Katarina asked.

Caitlyn thought for a moment. “Probably that week after we broke up.”

“You came to get your clothes,” Katarina said, voice light but pointed.

“You had three of my hoodies.”

Katarina nodded, as if reminiscing. “That was when you last kissed me.”

“It was a final goodbye,” Caitlyn said, not unkindly.

They lapsed into silence again.

Caitlyn stared out at the backyard. The buzz of the porch light. The hum of distant traffic. The faint scratch of a lighter being struck again.

“Are you seeing someone?” Katarina asked, suddenly.

Caitlyn blinked, then turned to look at her. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”

Katarina’s gaze narrowed, lips quirking. “Pink hair?”

Caitlyn smiled despite herself. “Yeah.”

“I saw you two earlier,” Katarina said. “Making out.”

Caitlyn flushed a little. “Sorry.” But she wasn’t apologizing for kissing Vi or the fact that Katarina had seen them. It was more so an apology for the public indecency.

“Can’t blame her,” Katarina shrugged. “You were always a good kisser.”

Caitlyn stilled. “Thanks,” she said. Quiet. Measured.

Katarina leaned her head against the wall. “What, no compliment back?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. Just twisted the cap. One rotation. Then another.

“Damn,” Katarina muttered. “That bad, huh?”

“Kat,” Caitlyn said, voice low. “What are you doing?”

“We’re just talking, Caitlyn,” Katarina answered simply.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Katarina turned to face her fully now, her expression unreadable.

“Would it be so awful if I was?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn huffed, eyes narrowing slightly. “Because I told you—I’m seeing someone.”

“Officially?” Katarina asked, dragging the word out like taffy.

Caitlyn exhaled. “Not yet.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of Katarina’s lips. She pushed off the wall and turned to Caitlyn. Then stepped forward and pressed the stub of her cigarette into the brick wall, just inches from Caitlyn’s head. The ash sizzled softly.

Then her palm flattened next to it, bracing her above Caitlyn’s shoulder.

Caitlyn tensed.

“Kat,” she said again. Warning this time.

Katarina tilted her head. “I’ve missed you.”

Caitlyn looked away. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“We broke up for a reason.”

Katarina’s other hand came up—slow, deliberate—and touched Caitlyn’s chin, coaxing it toward her. Their eyes met.

“Remind me what that reason was?”

“Don’t.”

“You said I was clingy.”

“ Possessive ,” Caitlyn snapped. “And you’re proving my point again.”

She pushed against Katarina’s shoulders.

Katarina didn’t move.

Instead, she surged forward and kissed her.

Caitlyn’s eyes flew wide.

It took her a moment to process—the alcohol in her bloodstream making it hard to comprehend what was happening. The brick scraped cold against her back, but she couldn’t feel her hands.

She jerked her head away and shoved again—harder this time. “Kat, stop!”

The pressure of Katarina’s body on hers turned her stomach. She felt cornered, caged, trapped—

And then it was gone.

Katarina hit the ground with a sickening thud.

And when she looked, all she saw was Vi was on top of her.

Caitlyn gasped, stumbling a step.

Vi’s fists came down like thunder, merciless and fast. Katarina’s face was already a mess—hair stuck to blood, to skin, to brick.

“Vi!” Caitlyn screamed. “Stop!”

She lurched forward, but Loris got there first.

He wrapped his arms around Vi from behind, yanking her off. She kicked once—twice—before he grabbed her tighter, murmuring something low into her ear.

Vi’s breath heaved. Her fists hung limp. She was shaking, eyes wild with fury.

Caitlyn’s voice cracked through the air. “Vi,” she said, barely audible.

Vi turned toward Caitlyn, her chest heaving, her eyes red and wet and full of a rage Caitlyn hadn’t seen before. A violence so raw it stunned her.

Then it shattered.

That fury crumpled in on itself. All that rage drained into something smaller, something trembling and scared and impossibly young.

Loris must have felt it, too. He let go.

And Caitlyn just stood there, staring, her body still braced for something worse.

She didn’t know which part of her was louder—the part still recoiling from Katarina or the part that had never seen Vi like this.

Vi stood up shakily, then took a hesitant step forward.

Caitlyn couldn’t move.

Vi reached for her, slow and open-palmed—like she wanted to hold her, hide her, prove she was still here. That Caitlyn was safe.

But Caitlyn took a step back. Her hands came up without thinking—instinct, recoil. She pushed Vi’s hands away.

Not hard. But enough.

Vi froze, her arms still outstretched, like she didn’t know what to do with them now. Her mouth opened. Closed.

Caitlyn’s breath hitched. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her bearings, trying to understand—

Her eyes darted to Katarina, sitting up now, clutching her face. Blood smeared under her nose and along her upper lip. Her hair was matted with it. Someone was kneeling beside her, asking if she was okay.

Caitlyn felt bile rise in her throat.

She turned and bolted.

The gate creaked open and slammed shut behind her. Her shoes hit pavement. She didn’t know where she was going—just away. Away from the party. Away from that look on Vi’s face.

She stopped at the sidewalk, chest rising and falling in erratic gulps. Her hands were trembling.

She didn’t know where they had parked. Didn’t know if Vi had followed. Her pulse roared in her ears.

Then—

“Cait,” Vi’s voice behind her, small and frayed.

She didn’t turn around. Just started walking—fast, directionless. The night blurred at the edges. Everything too loud and too quiet all at once.

“Cait,” Vi tried again, quicker this time. “Wait—please.”

Caitlyn’s steps faltered. But she didn’t stop.

The sound of Vi’s shoes behind her slowed too, uncertain.

And then they were at a dead end. A cul-de-sac. A single streetlamp buzzed above them, casting the sidewalk in a cold yellow halo.

Caitlyn stopped.

She stood in the middle of the light, arms crossed tightly over her chest, every nerve raw and ringing.

“Cait, please—”

She spun around, voice breaking. Her head spun. “What the hell was that, Vi?”

Vi froze mid-step. Her body went still, like a dog that’d been struck before. Hands out, empty, open.

“Cait,” she said, gentler now. “Are you okay?”

Caitlyn laughed. Not because it was funny. But because she didn’t know what else to do. Her face was flushed, and her eyes stung. “Am I okay? You just—just beat up my ex in front of me. What part of that seems okay to you?”

Vi’s mouth opened. Then shut. Her shoulders hunched. “She was hurting you.”

“She kissed me,” Caitlyn snapped. “I—I didn’t ask her to, but that doesn’t mean she deserved to have her face broken in!”

Vi’s brow furrowed, confused. “She was forcing herself on you,” she said. “I saw her—her hands were on you—” She stopped, jaw clenched. “You looked scared.”

Caitlyn dragged her hands through her hair, trembling with frustration. “I was startled. I was drunk. And you—” She exhaled sharply, attempting to gather her thoughts.

Silence hung between them. Thick and pulsing.

“You didn’t have to hit her,” Caitlyn said, this time softer. “You could’ve just—just pulled her off. You didn’t have to lose it.”

Vi said nothing.

She was standing there in tense silence, fists flexing and unflexing like she didn’t trust her own hands.

Caitlyn looked away. She didn’t want to see the blood on Vi’s knuckles.

“I don’t get it,” Caitlyn said quietly. “This isn’t you.”

Vi’s voice came out barely above a whisper. “You don’t know me.”

Caitlyn flinched.

And maybe that was the worst part. Maybe that was what scared her the most—that Vi was right.

They stood there in the wash of yellow light, the silence between them louder than shouting.

Finally, Caitlyn broke it.

“Can you just take me home?”

Vi nodded, stiff. She turned and started walking.

Caitlyn followed a few paces behind, her arms still wrapped around herself like armor, like a lifeline. She didn’t look up. She didn’t look at Vi.

And Vi didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

When they arrived at Caitlyn’s dorm, Vi parked without a word.

She didn’t kill the engine right away. Just sat there, both hands still gripping the wheel. Caitlyn stared out the window, numb.

“Can I walk you in?” Vi finally asked, voice rough around the edges.

Caitlyn nodded mutely.

They walked in silence. The hallway felt longer than usual. Too bright. Too quiet.

At her door, Caitlyn hesitated. Her key hovered over the lock.

She didn’t know what she wanted. Distance? Comfort? Maybe both. Her skin still crawled from what Katarina had done. But somehow, despite everything, Vi didn’t make her skin crawl. Not like that. But she did make her confused, conflicted. And somehow, that was worse.

She unlocked the door and exhaled. Then, without looking at Vi, she asked, “Do you want to come in?”

Vi didn’t move at first. “I do,” she said quietly. “But only if you want me to.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer. She just opened the door and walked in. Left it open behind her.

The keys clattered onto the desk, too loud in the stillness. Vi stepped inside and closed the door gently.

They stood there for a moment, not looking at each other.

Then Vi asked, softer than before, “Do you want to shower? It might help.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Caitlyn. All she wanted was to lie down. To sink into the mattress and disappear into the dark.

But she entered the bathroom wordlessly. And once the shower started, she couldn’t leave. The hot water was intoxicating, clarifying. Like holy water on her skin.

The heat felt like absolution. Scalding, purifying. She stood under the stream for what might’ve been minutes, or hours—she couldn’t tell. The world had stopped moving. Her thoughts had numbed over.

When she finally heard the gentle knock—Vi’s voice asking if she was okay and telling her that she was going to leave clothes for her to change into—Caitlyn realized her hands were shaking.

She dried off slowly.

When she opened the shower door, she saw that Vi had left a folded stack of clothes on the sink counter: a t-shirt, underwear, cotton shorts. Caitlyn changed in silence, her limbs stiff and heavy.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, the room was dim, lit only by the small lamp on her desk. The air was still warm and damp from the shower. Her skin prickled as it cooled, hair sticking wetly to the back of her neck.

Vi was sitting at the edge of the bed, spine straight, hands clasped between her knees. She didn’t look up at first—just rubbed her thumb against the crease of her palm like she was working out a thought she couldn’t quite name.

The moment she heard the door open, she stood.

“I’ll go wash up,” she said quickly—quietly. Her voice didn’t quite meet Caitlyn’s eyes. She was already brushing past her, slipping into the bathroom before Caitlyn could say anything.

Caitlyn stood in the center of the room for a long moment. Her limbs felt too long, too hollow, like she was just a shell wearing her own skin. 

She sat down on the bed. Slowly. Carefully. The mattress gave under her, but she didn’t sink.

The door opened again within minutes. Vi emerged. She looked different. Not cleaner—just more undone.

She stood near the doorway like she wasn’t sure if she should cross the room.

“I can stay over tonight,” she said softly. “If you want. But if you need space, I’ll go.”

The words were cautious. Balanced. Like she’d practiced them in the mirror.

Caitlyn looked over slowly. Vi’s eyes met hers, then flicked away almost instantly.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Caitlyn said, and though her voice was quiet, the words felt heavy in the air.

Vi nodded, barely a motion at all. Her jaw shifted slightly, but she didn’t say anything.

Still, she didn’t move.

“I can take the floor,” she added after a beat. “Or the chair. Just—whatever makes you more comfortable.”

Caitlyn blinked at her.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” she said.

Vi hesitated. Her hand rose halfway, like she might argue—but then fell back to her side.

“I don’t mind,” Vi said again, softer this time.

“I do.” Caitlyn’s voice cracked a little. She rubbed at her temple, exhaled, and gestured vaguely to the bed. “Just get in. Please.”

That last word—please—was quieter than the rest.

Vi didn’t answer. Just moved slowly, deliberately, like her body had to think about every step. She crossed the room with the same careful energy she’d had all night, like everything around her might break if she wasn’t gentle enough.

She reached the other side of the bed and paused.

Then, cautiously, she climbed on.

Not all at once. Not like someone who was used to being invited in.

She perched first, legs drawn up underneath her. Sat upright, stiff, hands resting on her thighs. Her eyes stayed forward, fixed on a spot on the wall. She didn’t settle. Didn’t recline.

It was like watching someone pretend not to exist.

Caitlyn could feel the space between them. The way it stretched. The way it pulsed, silent and alive.

Vi hadn’t looked at her since she’d gotten into bed.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

The silence stretched between them—long and heavy, filled with everything neither of them wanted to say.

Caitlyn kept her knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Her cheek rested against the tops of her folded arms, damp hair clinging to the skin above her collarbone. She stared blankly across the room, toward the corner where the shadows pooled behind her desk chair.

Vi sat upright, unmoving. The bed barely dipped beneath her weight, like she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

Caitlyn wondered if she was holding her breath.

Then, finally, Vi spoke.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Her voice was low. Careful. Like a stone being placed gently on a frozen lake.

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Her eyes flicked toward Vi, just briefly, catching the way her fingers twisted at the hem of her t-shirt, tugging, releasing, tugging again. Her knuckles were still red—raw where the skin had split.

Caitlyn looked away.

“I don’t know what I’d say,” she murmured. Her voice felt far away in her own throat. “I haven’t even figured out how I feel yet.”

Vi nodded, barely perceptible. “That’s okay,” she said, almost reflexively.

But there was tension in her voice, like something in her was straining.

Caitlyn could feel her watching now, eyes burning at the side of her face.

Another silence passed.

Then Vi shifted a little on the mattress. She seemed to weigh something in the quiet—an offer, maybe. A risk.

“I could talk instead,” she said, softly. “Or distract you. We could put something on. A movie or something dumb. Or I could just sit here.”

Caitlyn’s gaze lingered on her bedspread. She traced a wrinkle in the blanket with her thumb.

“What would you even say about it?” she asked.

Vi hesitated. The question seemed to catch her off guard.

“I just… I’m sorry,” she said after a moment. Her voice was hoarse. “For reacting like that.”

Caitlyn flinched slightly. She hadn’t expected her to say it out loud.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you,” Vi added. Her eyes had dropped to her lap again. She was still fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt—pulling it tighter against her stomach, then letting go. “I didn’t want to. I just—”

Her breath caught. She shook her head, jaw clenching for a second before she looked up.

“I’m sorry.”

There it was again. Sorry.

Caitlyn let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It left her chest hollow.

“Yeah,” she said, not quite meeting her gaze. “You did scare me.”

Vi didn’t flinch at that. She just absorbed it. Like she already knew.

Caitlyn’s eyes drifted back to her hands—those trembling, bloodied knuckles. And beneath that: the way Vi had launched herself at Katarina like she’d lost control of something essential. Something primal.

She looked at Vi again. This close, she could see the tension in her shoulders, the tightness in her jaw.

But it wasn’t just tension. It was restraint.

And for some reason, that made Caitlyn feel worse.

She blinked, looked away.

“I’m going to file a Title IX complaint,” she said suddenly, voice low but steady. “About Katarina.”

Vi turned toward her, visibly startled.

“Title IX?”

“It’s the school’s reporting system,” Caitlyn said. “For assault. Harassment. I want to make sure it’s documented.”

Vi didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she nodded.

“I think that’s a good idea.”

“It’ll help protect you too,” Caitlyn added. Her tone was flat, matter-of-fact. “Since you practically beat her up.”

It slipped out harsher than she intended. She knew that. But she didn’t take it back.

Vi looked down again. Her jaw tightened—but she didn’t protest.

The silence came back. But it wasn’t still. It pulsed with tension.

“I didn’t mean to,” Vi said quietly. “I just… she looked so much—”

“Vi,” Caitlyn cut in, sharper than before. “Please. I don’t want to relive it.”

Vi stilled.

Caitlyn hadn’t even turned to face her. She just sat there, staring down at the mattress like it might swallow her whole.

For a moment, Vi didn’t move.

Then she shifted, just slightly. A retreat.

“Right,” she said. The word was barely a breath. “Sorry. I’ll let you rest.”

Caitlyn didn’t reply.

She lay down slowly, curling in on herself, facing the wall. The mattress shifted behind her. She could feel the careful way Vi reclined—no sudden movement, no touch, no weight.

Just the faint rise and fall of the bed. The quiet space between them.

Caitlyn’s hair clung damp to her temple. Her eyes blinked slowly in the dark.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t move.

She wanted to reach for Vi. But her limbs wouldn’t respond.

She wanted to say something. But her mouth stayed shut.

She just listened to the silence. To the girl behind her breathing carefully.

Trying not to fall apart.

—

Caitlyn filed the Title IX complaint the next morning.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, motionless. The dorm room was still, save for the faint hum of the radiator. Vi was asleep on the far side of the bed, curled tight, her back to her. Caitlyn stared at the blank screen.

She didn’t want to do it.

Didn’t want to put words to something that still didn’t feel real.

But she couldn’t carry it, either—not alone. Not the pressure. Not the silence. Not the guilt that had never belonged to her but clung anyway.

So she started typing.

She wrote about how Katarina had cornered her.

How she’d leaned in.

How Caitlyn hadn’t moved, hadn’t kissed her back, hadn’t said anything—because there hadn’t been time. Because she’d frozen.

She kept the wording clinical. Detached. But by the end, her jaw ached from clenching and her fingers trembled on the trackpad. When she clicked “Submit,” the confirmation screen blinked back at her, polite and impersonal.

Caitlyn stared at it until the tears came.

—

The university responded fast. Meetings were scheduled within the week. She sat through formal interviews with people who wore cardigans and polite faces and used soft voices that somehow made it all worse.

One woman, Melissa, tilted her head gently and asked, “Did you tell her no before the kiss?”

Caitlyn blinked. “I didn’t have time.”

Later, they reframed it.

“Did you ever indicate that you didn’t want to be kissed?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. “She grabbed my face,” she said, her voice tight. “I was against a wall. What else was I supposed to do?”

Some people spoke up. Witnesses. Partygoers who’d caught glimpses.

“She didn’t look into it,” one of them said. “She looked frozen. Uncomfortable.”

Loris gave a full statement.

That was enough.

Katarina was banned from campus two and a half weeks later. It didn’t matter, though. She was already an alumni.

It should’ve felt like closure.

But it didn’t.

Caitlyn hadn’t seen Katarina again.

But it wasn’t Katarina who haunted her most.

She and Vi were still together.

Technically.

Neither of them had said otherwise.

But something had shifted in the silence between them.

The softness. The ease. The warmth that used to pass between them in glances and fingertips and stupid inside jokes—it had dulled.

Like a photograph left too long in the sun.

They didn’t touch much anymore.

Not because Caitlyn was afraid. She wasn’t.

She just didn’t know what she was reaching for.

Vi was different now, too. Quieter. Careful.

She always lingered a few feet behind, as if unsure of her place.

And Caitlyn didn’t know how to fix that. How to fix them. 

Caitlyn didn’t know what she was supposed to feel.

She wasn’t afraid of Vi—not truly.

But there was a crack in the glass now. A fracture in the image she had of her. And every time she tried to patch it, another piece flaked away.

Because Vi wasn’t just the sweet, gentle girl who brought her coffee and sang her heart out in the car.

Vi was also the girl whose fist had split skin and bloodied a face.

And Caitlyn knew it wasn’t unjustified. Knew it had come from a place of protection.

But that didn’t make it easier to hold.

It wasn’t something she could reconcile yet.

Not while she was still holding her own hurt in shaking hands.

One night, she sat on the edge of her dorm bed while Vi stood near the door, waiting—like she didn’t want to ask for too much.

“I should go,” Vi said softly.

Caitlyn stared at the floor, unsure.

The air between them felt too still. Like the hush after something shatters.

She looked up. “Do you want to stay?”

Vi’s eyes flicked up in surprise. She hesitated. Then nodded once.

She settled on the bed beside Caitlyn, careful not to get too close, arms crossed loosely over her stomach.

And Caitlyn didn’t move toward her.

They lay in silence, with the space between them wide as an ocean.

They didn’t speak for a while.

The hum of the radiator filled the space between them. Caitlyn watched the way the shadows moved across the far wall. Every second stretched.

Then Vi shifted—reaching for a water bottle near Caitlyn’s side of the nightstand.

Caitlyn flinched. Just barely.

But Vi noticed.

She froze mid-reach. Her fingers hovered for half a second, then curled back toward her own lap like she’d touched a flame. She didn’t say anything. She just withdrew, slow and quiet, and turned her eyes away.

Caitlyn’s throat tightened.

She didn’t mean to react like that. It wasn’t even fear—not really. More like muscle memory. Like her nerves were still catching up to the story her heart kept insisting on: that she was safe. That this was Vi. Just Vi.

But Vi’s shoulders had gone still. And the air between them now felt thick. Unspoken.

Caitlyn stared down at her own hands. Pale knuckles. Blunted nails. She used to hold Vi’s fingers between hers without thinking. Used to nudge their knees together under tables. Used to press kisses to Vi’s temple as casually as breathing.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done any of those things.

They still texted good morning, goodnight.

Still showed up.

But the rhythm had changed. Everything careful now. Cautious. Like walking a tightrope in a storm. And no one dared look down.

Her thoughts kept circling the same question, the one she hadn’t dared name until now:

Were they even still in a relationship?

They didn’t fight. They didn’t yell. But they barely touched. Barely spoke about anything that mattered. And every conversation felt like defusing a landmine with trembling hands.

She didn’t want to lose Vi. But she wasn’t sure she knew how to hold her anymore.

The bed shifted slightly as Vi moved. Her voice came soft, frayed at the edges.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Caitlyn looked up.

Vi wasn’t looking at her. She was still staring down at her hands, her jaw tight. Her hands clenched against her stomach. Her voice hadn’t just cracked—it had fractured like glass under strain.

And Caitlyn’s heart hurt.

“No,” she said automatically, almost defensively. Then she paused, sighed, and repeated firmly, “No. I’m not.”

But the words felt too simple for the weight they were supposed to carry.

Because she hadn’t meant to flinch. But she had. And she hadn’t meant to pull away, not really—but she had been, hadn’t she? For weeks now. Since that night. Since she saw Vi move like someone else, like something explosive. She’d known Vi was strong. But she didn’t know she could lose herself like that. Didn’t know she could be that fierce, that furious.

And yet—she had done it for Caitlyn.

So no. She wasn’t afraid of her.

She was afraid she didn’t really know her.

“I’m not scared of you,” Caitlyn said again, quieter now. “I’m scared that… maybe I don’t understand who you are. Not completely.”

Vi nodded once. A slow, resigned gesture. Her eyes stayed fixed down.

Caitlyn wanted to reach for her. But she didn’t.

She wasn’t sure who would pull away first.

Vi drew in a shaky breath. “I regret it,” she said. “All of it. That night. The way I reacted.”

Her fingers curled into the hem of her sweatshirt. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve walked away. Or—I don’t know. Said something. Anything else.”

“You were trying to protect me,” Caitlyn said, her voice strained.

“I still made it worse.”

Silence. Then:

“I hate myself for it.”

The way Vi said it—like it wasn’t new. Like it had lived inside her long enough to grow roots.

Caitlyn’s stomach twisted. “Vi…”

“They’re trying to expel me.”

The words landed like a dropped plate.

Caitlyn blinked. “What?”

Vi didn’t react. She just looked down at her hands like they were to blame. “The board’s still reviewing everything. I’ve had… three meetings now. They keep calling it ‘unnecessary escalation.’ ‘Disproportionate response.’ You know, all those legal terms.”

“You never told me,” Caitlyn said, stunned. “Why didn’t you—?”

“What would it have changed?” Vi asked, still not looking at her. “It’s my mess. I’m the one who hit her.”

“But you did it because—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Vi’s voice was flat now. “Intent doesn’t erase impact. That’s what they keep saying.”

Caitlyn shook her head. “But you were defending me.”

Vi exhaled a breath that sounded hollow. “That’s not—” she exhaled. “I snapped. I shouldn’t have, but I did. And if I get expelled for it, then I do. I deserve whatever they decide.”

“No, you don’t.”

Vi didn’t answer.

Caitlyn stared at her, heart thudding.

It hadn’t even crossed her mind—that Vi might be carrying her own version of this weight. That while she was processing that night, Vi was quietly preparing for punishment. Alone. Without even saying a word.

It wasn’t just the guilt.

It was the certainty.

Vi had already sentenced herself.

Caitlyn wanted to reach out, to take her hand. To close the awful distance that had stretched between them like a wound.

But she didn’t.

And neither did Vi.

—

The next morning, Caitlyn decided she couldn’t take it anymore. Not the process. Not the silence. Not the way Vi was slipping through her fingers. She picked up her phone, scrolled to her father’s name, and dialed.

It rang once. Twice.

And then—“Caitlyn? Is everything okay?”

“No,” she said. Her voice cracked. “I need your help.”

Chapter Text

Caitlyn paced in her dorm, her fingers trembling slightly as they grazed over her phone screen. She kept checking the time even though she knew Vi would be here any minute.

The last few days had been an unbearable blur. Sleep came in fragmented pieces. Her nerves were fried. And despite Vi staying close in those early days—comforting her, holding her through the worst of the investigation—the weight had shifted now.

Vi was the one in danger. And Caitlyn could feel the distance growing.

When she heard the soft knock on the door, her chest tightened.

Vi stepped inside, her shoulders tense, hoodie drawn up like armor. She hovered just past the doorway, not coming in fully.

“Hey,” she said, her voice gravelly.

Caitlyn stopped pacing. “Hey.”

Vi’s eyes searched hers warily. She looked tired. Not just physically, but in that deeper, bone-hollow way—like she was bracing for another blow.

Caitlyn suddenly realized how her vague text— Can we talk? —must have sounded.

“Sorry,” Caitlyn blurted, taking a step forward. “I should’ve worded my text better. I just—I needed to see you.”

Vi nodded, but the furrow between her brows didn’t ease. “Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice careful now.

Caitlyn folded her hands, pressing her thumbs together like a prayer. “Vi… I talked to my father.”

Vi blinked. “Okay…?”

“I asked him to be your advisor in the investigation. He’s agreed.”

Vi’s eyes widened, the muscles in her jaw tightening. “What? Cait, you should’ve—”

“I know,” Caitlyn interrupted quickly. “I know I should’ve asked. But would you have said yes if I had?”

Vi opened her mouth but said nothing. Her silence was answer enough.

Caitlyn stepped closer. “Please, Vi. He wants to help. He—” she swallowed. “He feels indebted to you. For protecting me.”

Vi looked down, her voice low. “I didn’t protect you.”

“You did,” Caitlyn insisted, her voice catching. “You did, and it’s not fair that you’re being punished for it.”

She reached up, gently cupping Vi’s face. Vi flinched—not away, but like the touch was too much to bear. “Please,” Caitlyn whispered. “I can’t let you get expelled because of this. Because of me.”

Vi’s hands came up slowly, easing Caitlyn’s hands down from her cheeks. Her voice was barely audible. “It wasn’t because of you. It was because of me and—” She stopped short, jaw flexing. Something she wasn’t ready to say.

The air thickened.

“I deserve to be expelled,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have hit her. I crossed a line. And now I’ll deal with that.”

Tears slipped silently down Caitlyn’s cheeks. “Don’t do this, Vi,” she whispered. “Please. For me?”

A long silence passed. Vi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Then finally, through clenched teeth: “Okay.”

—

“Caitlyn,” Mel breathed as she approached, already pulling her into a hug. It wasn’t a greeting—it was comfort. Immediate, instinctual, grounding.

“Hi, Mel,” Caitlyn murmured against her shoulder.

They sat down at a small table outside a busy café, the clinking of porcelain and the hum of nearby conversations acting like white noise. This was a place full of memories—where they used to meet up back when Caitlyn was a freshman and Mel was one year wiser, one year more jaded.

Caitlyn wrapped her hands around the warm paper cup in front of her. “How are you?” she asked, but her voice was thin, distracted.

Mel didn’t answer the question. She just looked at her for a moment, then shook her head. “No, Cait. How are you ?”

Caitlyn didn’t speak right away. She stared down into the swirl of her coffee, watching the ripples settle. She’d told Mel everything—well, most things. How she’d run into Katarina at the party. How Katarina had kissed her—forced it. And how Vi had hit Katarina.

Mel had been furious on the phone, cursing Katarina out loud with no filter. But Caitlyn’s mind was elsewhere. Preoccupied not by Katarina but by Vi.

Caitlyn gave a soft scoff. Not one of malice, but one that said she had no real answer for that question. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

Mel’s features softened, her usual confidence settling into quiet concern. “Talk to me,” she said. “Really talk to me.”

Caitlyn hesitated. Her nails picked at the edge of her sleeve.

“What’s really bothering you?” Mel pressed, voice low but steady.

Caitlyn exhaled slowly, searching her mind for something solid to pinpoint. And she could only think of Vi. Vi hitting Katarina. The distance growing between her and Vi. Vi on the verge of getting expelled.

“Vi,” she finally said.

Mel nodded. “Okay, let’s start there,” she said gently. “What about her?”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened around her cup of coffee. “She’s getting reviewed by the school board.” And if that wasn’t clear enough, she added, “For what she did to Kat.”

Mel’s brows furrowed. Caitlyn hadn’t told Mel the extent of what Vi had done. She had skimmed over that part in her recount of the night to Mel, not wanting to say all the bloody details out loud.

“How bad was it?” Mel asked, her voice low.

Caitlyn looked down. Bit the inside of her cheek. “Bad,” she said. “Like she wasn’t going to stop.”

Mel blinked. “Do you think it was jealousy?”

Caitlyn paused. She had wondered that too. But…

There was this one day, early on, when they’d been at the park, sprawled on a bench with popsicles in hand. A jogger had stopped in front of them—tight leggings, a sports bra, toned arms. She bent to tie her shoe and then, out of nowhere, turned to Caitlyn and told her she was stunning. Caitlyn had laughed, flustered. Glanced to Vi, waiting for a reaction. But Vi had just smirked, watching the whole thing unfold like a sitcom.

“She’s got good taste,” Vi had said with an easy chuckle after the woman jogged off.

Caitlyn blinked at the memory. And Vi hadn't even been jealous at the party after Caitlyn told her she had run into Katarina. That couldn't have been the reason why.

“No,” she said finally. “Vi’s never been jealous. Not like that.”

Mel pursed her lips. “Has she acted like this before?”

Caitlyn shook her head almost immediately. “No. Never.” She pressed her fingers to her temple, trying to ease the headache away. “That’s why I’m so… confused.”

Mel reached out and rested a hand on her knee. Her touch was steady, warm. “Are you scared of her?”

Caitlyn didn’t respond immediately this time. She wasn’t scared of Vi. She knew that Vi would never hurt her. Not like that. But until recently, she had also thought that Vi would’ve never hurt anyone like that. So now she didn’t know who Vi was anymore. And that was the scary part.

“No,” she finally said. “I’m scared of what I don’t know about her.”

“That’s valid,” Mel said gently. “Have you two talked about it?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “No, not… really.” She sighed again. “We tried to—the night it happened. But it wasn’t productive.”

Mel exhaled through her nose. “And how have things been since then?”

“Distant,” Caitlyn admitted. She set the cup down. It felt too heavy to keep holding. She stared at her own hands like they might offer her a clue, a way forward.

“Because you haven’t talked about it,” Mel concluded. “Because there’s this looming shadow on your relationship that you two avoid talking about.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say, Mel,” Caitlyn said, her voice fraying. “I don’t want to think about that night.”

Mel gave a small nod. “But that night is still shaping everything between you.”

“I know that.”

Mel leaned forward a little. “Are you afraid of talking about it because you’re afraid you won’t like what you hear?”

Caitlyn looked up, confused.

“Because you said you were afraid of what you don’t know about her,” Mel continued. “So maybe… maybe you’re afraid that you’ll find out more things about her, and you’re afraid of what you may find out.”

Caitlyn didn’t reply. Maybe Mel was right. But there were other pressing matters at hand. “She’s in danger of expulsion,” she said quietly. “It’s not just our relationship. This could ruin everything for her.”

Mel’s face fell. “Oh, Cait…”

“I don’t know what to do.”

Mel squeezed her knee. “Have you spoken to your father?”

Caitlyn nodded. “He agreed to be her advisor, but all I can do now is wait.”

Mel studied her for a moment. “You don’t want her expelled.”

Caitlyn met her eyes. “No,” she said. “Of course not.”

“You still love her.”

“Yes.”

Mel looked at her, calm but certain. “Then talk to her.”

—

Vi perched on the very edge of the leather armchair, as if her weight alone might scuff the shine. The office around her swallowed her whole. Mahogany walls polished to a mirror’s sheen, shelves packed with books that looked older than she was, fancy diplomas heavy with gold frames. The air smelled faintly of polish and old paper, too clean, too orderly, a place meant for people who belonged in suits, not someone like her.

Late sunlight bled in through thick drapes, breaking into sharp slants across the vast desk. The reflection in the window caught her off guard: a faint, hunched outline of herself, small against all this grandeur, looking like she’d slipped into the wrong life.

“Would you like something to drink?” Mr. Kiramman’s voice broke the stillness. He stood beside a gleaming bar cart in the corner, crystal decanters catching the light like jewels.

Vi jerked her head quickly. “No, thank you, sir.”

He poured himself one anyway. The clink of glass on glass. The amber liquid catching the sun as it rolled into the crystal tumbler. Whiskey—thick, dark, expensive.

She turned her face away before the smell reached her.

When he moved, it wasn’t back to the desk’s throne-like chair but to its front edge. He leaned there, posture precise, assessing. From up close, Vi realized Caitlyn hadn’t inherited much from him. The sharp cheekbones, maybe, but not the eyes. Not the softness. Caitlyn must have been her mother’s echo.

He swirled the liquid, let it catch the light again, then took a sip.

“My daughter tells me you saved her.”

The words came wrapped in the scent of whiskey, bitter and sharp. It pricked at her chest like a knife point.

Vi’s gaze dropped, her fingers knotting against each other in her lap. “I didn’t save her,” she muttered. Her voice sounded smaller than she meant it to. “It was already too late.”

A long pause stretched between them, filled only by the quiet tick of a clock on the far wall.

“I’ve reviewed the reports,” he said at last. “Spoken to Caitlyn. Seen the photos.”

Vi winced.

He sipped again. She held her breath this time, lungs aching, but the sharpness in her chest only deepened.

When he spoke again, it was steady, almost level. “It could have gotten worse. But you stopped it. That matters.”

Her nod was little more than a twitch.

“Then I consider my debt to you quite serious,” he continued. “And I intend to repay it.”

She stared at the floorboards, tracing the grooves with her eyes like they might lead her out of this room.

“I’ll serve as your advisor throughout the investigation. Technically, I can’t represent you in court—this isn’t a court proceeding. But I’ll help prepare your responses, sit in on meetings, and challenge inconsistencies. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you.”

Vi blinked hard, slow, before managing a faint, “Thank you, sir.”

He waved his free hand, dismissive. “You can call me Tobias.”

The smell of whiskey struck her again. Stronger this time. Unavoidable. Her throat closed, a cough tearing loose as she looked sharply away.

Her stomach churned. She pressed the heel of her palm against her chest, as if she could smooth out the sharpness lodged there, but it stayed.

Tobias’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering. Then he went on, and she braced herself, holding her breath against the creeping scent.

“I’m going to need complete honesty,” he said, his voice firm but not cruel. “I know that will be difficult. But this isn’t about guilt or innocence—it’s about perception. Bias. Politics. You need to anticipate their questions, prepare for how they’ll twist your words. You must be ready.”

Her lungs burned. She let the air escape in a shudder and stood too fast, the chair legs screeching loud against the floor. The noise startled even her. She stumbled a step backward, needing space, needing air.

“Vi?” His tone shifted—measured, but tinged now with something closer to concern.

“S-sorry,” she stammered. Words caught in her throat. She sucked in a shaky inhale, tried to steady it on the way out. “I—I don’t like whiskey.”

He glanced at the glass in his hand, brows knitting tighter.

“I’m not asking you to drink,” he said carefully.

“I know,” she rushed. “I know. It’s just—” Her throat worked. She gestured weakly with one hand, unable to force the words out. “The smell. It makes me…” She trailed off. Couldn’t explain the iron grip tightening around her chest, the bile creeping up her throat. Couldn’t give name to the memories that always came shackled to that amber liquid.

For a beat, he was very still. Assessing. Then, deliberately, he crossed the room, set the glass on the cart, and returned to his seat behind the desk. The mahogany stretched between them again, a barrier she clung to.

He opened a drawer, rummaged briefly, then unwrapped something. Gum. He popped a piece into his mouth and slid the pack back inside, the faintest signal that the air between them had shifted.

With a subtle gesture, he invited her to sit again.

Slowly—hesitant, wary—she lowered herself back down.

He studied her across the desk, his eyes sharp but no longer piercing. “Vi,” he said carefully. “Was that night… related to whiskey?”

She shook her head at once. Not really. Not directly.

He hummed, thoughtful. “Do you have similar reactions to other… stimuli?”

Her brow furrowed.

“Other triggers,” he clarified.

The word made her recoil. Trigger. Too clinical. Too diluted. Everyone had “triggers” now—the ding of an inbox, a cheap vodka they couldn’t stomach after college. What counted? What didn’t? Did she count? Or was Vi just overreacting to something as ordinary as a drink?

She swallowed. “Uh, no.”

He watched her longer than was comfortable, gaze steady, unreadable. As if he saw past the answer she’d given and into the one she hadn’t. But he didn’t press.

Instead, he leaned back slightly. “I need to know everything. From the beginning. Not just what happened, but why you reacted the way you did.”

Her throat closed. She stared at her hands, nails digging sharp crescents into her palms.

“Caitlyn told me what she remembers,” he said more softly. “But I need your perspective. What did you see? What made you react like that?”

The tick of the clock grew louder. The slow tap of his ring against the glass he no longer held.

Every instinct screamed at her to run. Not because he was cruel. He wasn’t. But because he was Caitlyn’s father. And she hadn’t even told Caitlyn everything.

Not yet. Not ever.

Her body leaned forward before her mind caught up. Breath rattled in her lungs.

“I saw her kiss Caitlyn,” she said, her voice cracking halfway through. “And Cait—she looked scared. Frozen. And I just… snapped.”

He nodded once. “Go on.”

“I didn’t think. I just moved.”

Her throat burned raw. Her hands twitched.

“She—Katarina—she cornered her. Cait said no. Told her to stop. She didn’t. And I—” Her voice faltered, caught between breaths. “I got her off. I pulled her away and… hit her.”

Tobias leaned in now, elbows braced on polished wood. “That’s the surface. The moment. What I need to know is—what was behind it?”

Her stomach lurched.

Behind it.

Her eyes drifted toward the window. Outside, spring trees swayed in bloom, soft petals shaking loose into the breeze. It felt mocking. The world moving on, untouched, while her chest constricted.

His gaze held her there, steady, precise. The same kind of sharpness she’d seen in Caitlyn’s eyes when she studied, pulling things apart until only truth was left.

“Vi,” he said, quiet but firm. “Earlier, your reaction to the whiskey—it looked like a trigger.”

Her fists clenched in her lap. Not this again. She’d hoped he’d let it go.

“I need to know what triggered you,” he pressed, softer this time. “Because no one nearly breaks their hand against another’s face without something deeper pushing it.”

Her breath stuttered. Her knuckles throbbed at the memory.

She could lie. Blame adrenaline. Panic. Rage. Part of it was true. But not the truth. Not all of it.

Because Tobias Kiramman had already seen through her. Seen the cracks she couldn’t hide. That she was not whole. That she was broken in ways that bled into the present, dragging the past with it.

Her voice slipped out small. “I didn’t want to hurt her.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The only sound, a faint birdcall through the heavy glass.

“I need more, Vi,” Tobias said after a long pause. “The panel will want more. You have to give me something I can use.”

Her pulse thundered. Her leg bounced uncontrollably. Her nails bit into denim until her fingers ached.

“She looked like someone,” she whispered.

“Who?”

Her teeth clamped down. Breath rasped shallow.

“It doesn’t matter,” she deflected.

“Vi.” He said her name with weight, not warmth. It pinned her.

She shut her eyes. Saw Katarina’s scarlet hair. Saw it blur into another’s—waves of the same deep red, spilling across a pillow. The same confidence that slipped into cruelty. The same hands that never listened when she said no.

She opened her eyes again, glassy. Unwilling.

“I had this… person,” she said slowly. “She was older. Rich. The kind who’d never heard the word no. Not once in her life.”

Her gaze flicked up at him, daring him to judge. He didn’t.

“She used to—” Her throat closed. Words clawed inside. “She did things I didn’t want. But I let her. Because I needed the money.”

Tobias didn’t move. His expression gave her nothing.

“And when I saw Katarina,” Vi went on, tighter now, “she looked exactly like her . The same hair. The same eyes. The same way of touching like she owned people. And Cait—” her voice cracked, broke. “Cait looked just like I used to feel. Like she’d left her own body.”

Her breath shook violently. “I couldn’t let it happen. Not again. Not to her.”

She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, rough and ungraceful.

“I didn’t even see Katarina anymore,” she admitted, voice shattering. “I saw her . I saw Sarah.”

Silence pressed down.

Finally, Tobias leaned back. His face had shifted, softened, but his eyes stayed sharp.

“The whiskey,” he said slowly. “Is that tied to Sarah?”

Her chest squeezed. Of course he’d noticed. Of course he’d pinned it down. That was why people paid him. Because he didn’t miss anything.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He didn’t speak right away.

“Why didn’t you tell Caitlyn this?”

Her gaze slid to the side. “Because it wasn’t about me. She’d already been through enough that night. I wasn’t going to make it worse.”

A longer pause this time. The kind that carried weight.

“Well,” he said at last, voice steady, resolute, “now I know. And if we want any chance of protecting you from expulsion, we’re going to use it.”

Her stomach dropped. “Use it?”

“We won’t name names unless we must. But we’ll establish precedent. Trauma response. Pattern recognition. It may not absolve you entirely, Vi. But it makes your reaction—understandable. Human.”

She nodded faintly.

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, softer now, “you didn’t ‘let’ anything happen to you. You survived it. That isn’t weakness. That’s proof of strength.”

For the first time since she walked into his office, Vi forced herself to really meet his eyes.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t reach across the desk.

But something in his expression uncoiled, just a fraction. Enough.

And Vi didn’t feel like she was sitting before a judge.

She felt like she was sitting before someone who might actually believe her.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn watched as Vi nudged the broccoli around her plate, the tines of her fork scratching faintly against ceramic. She hadn’t taken more than a few bites since sitting down. Her meeting with the board had ended only an hour ago, but Vi had said almost nothing about it—just a clipped “fine” and a joke about Caitlyn inheriting her father’s intellect when Caitlyn pressed. That forced smile had been more concerning than it was soothing.

Her father hadn’t spoken either. He carried himself as though Vi hadn’t been in his office for the past two weeks. Caitlyn understood, of course. Still, the silence left her restless. Someone had to tell her something.

Vi had been like this ever since her first meeting with him. Just… withdrawn. Like every word cost her more than she could spend. Caitlyn tried not to push, but the hollowness between them was growing unbearable.

Now, Caitlyn’s eyes tracked the slow circles Vi drew with her fork. She wasn’t eating. She wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Vi,” Caitlyn began carefully, her voice soft. She wanted to ask if Vi wanted to eat something else, but she already knew the answer would be no. She didn’t want to sound accusing either, so she found a safe middle ground. “Share a plate of chips with me?”

Vi looked up at last. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, her eyebags heavy. But Caitlyn caught the smallest flicker of warmth there.

“I don’t think I can finish a full plate on my own,” Caitlyn added quickly, giving her an excuse to agree without making it about her.

Vi’s lips twitched into the barest smile. “Sure, Cait.”

But the relief Caitlyn felt from it was paper-thin.

She returned a few minutes later, balancing a plate of chips and a small bowl of chocolate soft serve.

Vi arched a brow at the ice cream.

“Someone once told me that chips and chocolate shakes go hand in hand,” Caitlyn said, setting the plate down. “Though, seeing as the commons doesn’t serve shakes, I thought this might suffice.”

That coaxed a real smile out of Vi, faint but genuine. She shook her head and reached for a fry, dipping it straight into the soft serve before biting down. “Pretty sure I said fries and chocolate shakes go hand in hand.”

Caitlyn laughed quietly. “Fine. Fries and chocolate shakes go hand in hand.”

They ate without speaking for a few minutes, the silence almost pleasant. It was one of the few easy lulls they had. Moments like this had become rare, scattered things, and Caitlyn wanted to hold it still, keep it from breaking.

When the plate dwindled to its last fry, Caitlyn gathered their dishes and returned them to the dish station. Then they stepped outside together, the air cooler now, the sun setting low and bleeding creams and oranges across the sky.

“Do you know how many more meetings you have left?” Caitlyn asked as they started back toward her dorm.

Vi kept her eyes on the pavement. “I’m not sure. Maybe one more.”

Caitlyn hesitated. She wanted to ask more, wanted to know everything, but she bit it back. She tried for something lighter. Something open-ended. “How do you think it’s going so far?”

Vi’s lips pressed thin. Her hand fidgeted with the strap of her backpack, tugging, releasing.

“I don’t know,” she said flatly.

Caitlyn opened her mouth then closed it, unsure how to respond. “We don’t have to talk about—”

“No, it’s fine,” Vi interrupted quickly. Her voice carried a brittle edge. “You deserve to know the progress, at least.”

Then she sighed, stopping mid-step. They were alone—just a couple of students scattered on the grass yards away, too far to overhear.

“Cait.” Vi’s voice had dropped lower, heavy, weighted with something Caitlyn didn’t want to name. “If I… if I get expelled, I don’t think we—” She cut herself off with a sharp exhale, shaking her head as if saying it aloud would make it real.

Caitlyn’s brows drew together. “Vi, don’t—”

“No, Cait.” Vi’s voice trembled now. “I need to say this because I… I want to give you an out.”

“Vi—”

“I mean it,” she pushed, her words quick, desperate. “If this case doesn’t end the way we want it to end, then I’d have to go. I’d have to leave. I don’t… I don’t know where I’d go yet, but I wouldn’t be able to stay here.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I—I don’t even have a home to go back to. My dad, he’s—he’s in Montreal right now, and he doesn’t even know what’s going on, and—”

“Vi,” Caitlyn said, stepping forward, reaching for her hands and wrapping them firmly in hers, grounding them both. “Listen to me. You don’t have to worry about that. If… if the worst happens, you’ll stay with me until we figure things out.”

But Vi shook her head, and that fragile wall she’d been holding cracked. Tears trailed down her cheeks in uneven streaks.

“I’m not putting that on you, Cait. This was my fault, and I’ll deal with it. I just—I just wanted to—fuck, I don’t know. Give you a heads up.”

Caitlyn let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “A heads up for what? For breaking up with me?”

“Cait—”

“No, Vi. No .” Her voice was firm, harsher than she intended. “You don’t get to give up on us.”

Vi’s brows pulled together, frustration rising to meet Caitlyn’s fire. “I’m not giving up on us.”

“Then what do you call this?” Caitlyn shot back. “Giving me an out? Telling me you’ll leave if you’re expelled?”

Vi pulled her hands free, running one through her hair. Her voice broke into defeat. “I’m being realistic. If this all goes to shit, I don’t want to drag you down with me.”

Caitlyn folded her arms tightly across her chest, heat burning up her throat. “So that’s it? You’d run away?”

“Caitlyn,” Vi said, her voice raw, tired, so worn down it made Caitlyn’s chest ache. Made her anger falter. “What do I have if I’m expelled? I’d have nowhere to live. No future to pursue. I… I’d have nothing .”

Vi’s voice broke, and Caitlyn felt her heart crack. Of course Caitlyn had run the what-if scenarios in her head. Of course she had stayed up countless nights wondering what would happen next. Of course she tried to calculate solutions to an impossible problem.

But of course Vi had done the same. Of course Vi had already been bracing for the impact. Of course Vi had been drowning deeper and deeper with every board meeting. Of course Vi had already been buried under the very possible weight of losing everything.

Caitlyn wanted to promise her everything—to tell her she’d always have her, that they would be enough together. But even she knew that sounded hollow. Even she knew that was too idealistic. Because even she knew that nothing could replace the Harvard degree Vi had been working toward. Nothing could replace the years of work Vi had poured into her journey here. Nothing could replace Vi’s promise to Powder to become a doctor.

So instead, Caitlyn reached for the only words that felt solid. “We don’t know what will happen yet,” she said gently. She stepped closer, her hands hovering uncertainly near Vi’s arms. “Let’s just… can we just take this one day at a time?”

She wanted to pull Vi in, hold her, but it had been so long since they had truly touched. Their affection had dwindled to pecks at greetings and goodbyes—little tokens to prove to themselves that they were still them. To prove that they weren’t broken .

But the warmth—real warmth—had been missing for weeks. Caitlyn wasn’t sure how to offer it anymore. Wasn’t sure if Vi would even want it.

So she hesitated, her hands hovering, waiting, wanting . Wanting to pull Vi in.

And then Vi folded into her. Head dropping onto Caitlyn’s shoulder, as though she had finally given up on holding it high. And Caitlyn instantly wrapped her arms around her, clutching her close, feeling the violent shudders that shook through her body.

It took a moment, but then Vi’s arms lifted, circling Caitlyn’s waist, clinging.

The warmth came rushing back. The warmth they had both been starving for.

Caitlyn melted into it. They melted into it. Into each other.

God, she had missed this. Missed it so much it hurt. And as the swell of love and longing filled her chest, frustration cut through too—frustration at herself for letting it go this long. Because— God —how could she forget how good this felt? How could she forget how safe and warm and home Vi felt? How could she have withheld this from them both for the past month?

She wasn’t sure when she started crying. Wasn’t sure if the tears had come before or after the hug. All she knew was that they were both crying now. And both holding on like they might never get the chance again.

Caitlyn slid one hand to the back of Vi’s head, cradling it, shielding her.

“I’m here,” she whispered into her hair. “I’m here.”

And maybe that was all Vi needed. Because her sobs deepened, her grip tightened, and Caitlyn realized she should have said those words long ago. Should have reminded Vi that she hadn’t left. Should have promised that she wasn’t going anywhere.

That she would always, always be here.

—

The case was over.

Technically, Vi had won. She wasn’t expelled. Her record was clean. She could rejoin the soccer team. Go to class. Pretend, outwardly, that nothing had happened.

But the word won felt hollow. Like saying a fire was over just because the flames had stopped.

In truth, Vi felt like something in her had been scraped raw and left exposed to the air. The hearings had taken nearly three weeks, each day dragging her deeper into the past she never wanted to speak of again. But she’d had to. They’d made her.

She’d told the university committee everything—at least, everything they needed to know. She told them about Sarah.

How she’d been eighteen. How her sister had been sick—aggressively, ruinously sick—and the bills kept coming faster than she could keep up. How Sarah had offered help in exchange for her company. How she had let Sarah do whatever she wanted to her because there was no other option. Because she needed that money for her sister.

It wasn’t a relationship. It was survival. It was grief, and hunger, and a gnawing sense that every choice was a bad one—so she might as well choose the one that gave her sister another month.

“So this relationship with Sarah… it wasn’t consensual?” they had asked her.

Vi bristled in her seat. She didn’t know how to answer. Because a part of her did believe that it was consensual. She supposed that, by definition, it was consensual. But her body hadn’t thought so. It still didn’t think so.

The question pierced through her, leaving her bleeding raw. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. There wasn’t an answer that felt right.

But Caitlyn’s father had stepped in and spoken for her.

“It was exploitive,” he said, firm.

She didn’t expect Caitlyn’s father to understand all of that. But oddly, he didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. He just listened, measured, precise, and then translated that chaos into something legible to the committee. He helped her articulate what she never could have explained on her own.

And when she told them about Katarina—that jolt of recognition, the red hair, the cornering, the flashback she couldn’t fight—he had woven it into her defense with a calm, clinical clarity.

“I didn’t see Katarina,” she had explained. “Not after—not after I pulled her away from Caitlyn.”

The board had looked at her, wordless.

She swallowed. “I saw her .”

“Please state a name for the record, Vi,” they had said.

She looked at Caitlyn’s father, and he met her eyes. He gave her one, steady nod. One of reassurance. And she exhaled the breath she had been holding.

“I saw Sarah.”

Caitlyn’s father cleared his throat. “She was triggered and retraumatized. Her body reacted before her mind could.”

No expulsion. No probation. No public record. Just one condition: she had to meet with the school’s therapist once a week until the semester ended.

Vi hadn’t told Caitlyn about the therapy.

Not because she was ashamed—though she’d hated the idea at first—but because things between them were slowly getting back to normal. Quiet. Familiar. Why drag the past into it?

At first, the therapy felt like a joke. She barely said anything in the first session. But by the third, something shifted. A word here, a thought there. It didn’t fix her—but it took the edge off. And for Vi, that was rare.

Caitlyn and Vi found their rhythm again. It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was steady. Shoulder touches. Shared notes. Coffee runs. Long evenings in Caitlyn’s room, heads bent over books, legs pressed together beneath the desk.

Still, Vi never told her about how specifically Katarina had triggered her.

She had tried. That night, after it all happened, sitting in Caitlyn’s bed in the dark. Her voice had barely been audible.

But talking about it hurt Caitlyn. Talking about it made Caitlyn relive it.

So Vi hadn’t said more. Better not to explain it. Better not to ruin the quiet they’d managed to rebuild.

Then, a few days after the verdict, Caitlyn handed her an invitation.

Vi had stared at it like it was written in another language.

“Your dad wants to what?”

“Have you over for dinner,” Caitlyn said, as if it were nothing. “He wants to thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking him,” she mumbled.

Caitlyn had smiled. “He likes you, Vi.”

Which was… bizarre.

Still, Vi went.

The Kiramman estate looked different in the late afternoon light—like something out of a catalog. All manicured hedges and artful stone paths, not a weed in sight. Her stomach turned the moment the car pulled up.

But the surprise didn’t come from Mr. Kiramman.

It came from her.

Mrs. Kiramman.

The last time Vi had seen her, she’d worn judgment like perfume. But tonight, when she opened the door, her gaze wasn’t icy. It was searching. Measured.

“Vi,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

Vi nodded. “Thank you for having me.”

Inside, dinner was… fine. Tense in some spots, overly polite in others. Caitlyn filled in the silences where she could. Mr. Kiramman kept the conversation light. The meal was gourmet, the silverware heavy and spotless. It felt like sitting in a museum.

And then, after dessert, as they stood in the grand foyer, waiting for Caitlyn to drive the car around, Mrs. Kiramman did something unexpected.

She stepped closer.

Rested a manicured hand lightly on Vi’s arm.

“I know… I misunderstood you before,” she said, her voice low. “But I’m grateful you were there that night. I truly am.”

Vi swallowed. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so she just nodded.

Then Mrs. Kiramman exhaled softly and searched Vi’s eyes. “I’m sorry I let my preconceived notions get the better of me.” She paused. “You are always welcome here, Vi.”

Vi nodded again, caught between suspicion and confusion. “Thank you, Mrs. Kiramman.”

Then Caitlyn pulled up with the car, and Vi bid her parents goodbye.

And as she climbed in, Vi looked back once at the two Kirammans still standing by the door. And she realized—Mr. Kiramman must have told Mrs. Kiramman about Sarah.

At the very least, he must’ve implied something.

And now she wondered if Caitlyn’s mother knew more about her than Caitlyn did. 

The thought sat uneasy in her chest.

—

Caitlyn glanced over at Vi as they quietly got ready for bed. The air between them should’ve been clear, light, but everything else—Vi’s posture, the way her voice hadn’t quite settled—felt… brittle.

“So,” Caitlyn said gently, trying to read her, “did you enjoy dinner?”

Vi looked up from where she was pulling her sweater over her head.

“I almost forgot which fork to use for the salad,” she said with a wry grin, “but other than that, I think I did a pretty good job.”

Caitlyn smiled, though not entirely at the joke. She was watching the curve of Vi’s mouth, the shadows beneath her eyes. Something about her still felt wound tight.

And yet… there was something else too.

She thought back to her conversation with Mel. Thought about how they should talk about that night. But she didn’t know how to bring it up.

“I think my mom’s warming up to you,” she said instead.

Vi let out a low chuckle, but it came from somewhere deep in her chest. “Yeah,” she murmured, staring down at the floor for a second. “I got that impression.”

Her voice softened like fabric folding inward. And then she paused.

It was small—barely a breath in length—but Caitlyn felt it. Like the floor of the moment suddenly dipped just an inch lower.

Caitlyn turned toward her, eyebrows gently drawing in. “What’s wrong?”

Vi shook her head, as if the thought had been a silly, fleeting one. “I was just wondering if your dad told her.”

And that… that gave Caitlyn pause. “Told her what?”

“About Sarah,” Vi answered simply, as if the name had no meaning to it.

The name didn’t register right away.

It floated out into the space between them like a drop of ink in clear water—spreading, curling, staining everything around it.

Sarah .

Caitlyn’s spine stiffened.

Vi had said it with no weight, no ceremony, as if she were tossing a pebble into a pond.

But Caitlyn felt it land like stone.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Her mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

And as the silence lingered, she saw the way Vi froze. As if realizing the weight of her words.

The regret in the sudden stillness of her body. Like she wanted to reach out and reel the name back in.

Caitlyn swallowed, though her throat felt dry. Her voice was thin when it finally came. “How would he know about Sarah?”

Vi didn’t answer right away.

Her eyes flicked sideways. Her hands reached for the hem of her shirt and curled around it. She shifted her weight to the other foot like her body was trying to leave before her mouth could explain.

“Well, I—” she started. But her voice cracked slightly. She took a breath, tried again. “I told him.”

The words hit her harder than she expected.

Caitlyn’s stomach dropped.

She blinked at Vi, searching her face. Looking for what—she didn’t know. A reason? A crack in the armor?

She could feel her pulse in her ears now, loud and steady and wrong.

Vi had told her father about Sarah. About that .

The same Vi who hadn’t been able to say a full sentence about Sarah to her for months. Who had flinched when she’d first tried. Who had stood outside Caitlyn’s dorm, shoulders hunched, voice breaking, and still couldn’t finish a thought about it without retreating into silence.

Caitlyn suddenly felt like she was standing in a hallway she didn’t recognize. Every door was slightly ajar, but none of them led where she thought they did.

Her chest was tightening. Not with anger. Not with jealousy. It was something older. Something sadder.

“Vi,” she said softly, “I’m confused.”

And she was. So much more than confused.

She paused, choosing her next words with care, but still unsure what she was even trying to ask.

“It's… it’s your story to tell, but,” she sighed, the right words not coming to her. “I guess I just hadn’t realized how close you and my father had gotten.”

Vi’s face folded in on itself like a page creasing in the middle. “No,” she said quickly. “It’s not like that.”

She was shaking her head, stepping back as if to put distance between herself and the misunderstanding.

Vi began pacing back and forth, as if standing in place was too suffocating to bear.

“I didn’t tell him because we’re close. I didn’t even want to tell him,” she began, her thoughts coming out in fragments.

“He just—he noticed something. He… asked things.” Vi sighed. “He’s smart, Cait. You know that. He kept—you know—kept pressing. And then it was like…”

Caitlyn’s brows knitted together. There was a sinking feeling at the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t explain. Like she was on a rollercoaster that was stuttering just before the drop.

She watched as Vi’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.

Caitlyn stepped forward, gently taking Vi’s hands, grounding them both. “It’s okay,” she said. “Take your time.”

Vi was quiet. Her eyes shone beneath the warm bedroom light. She looked so young suddenly. So tired.

“When I saw her cornering you that night, I was so scared, Cait,” she said, her voice trembling.

Caitlyn’s confusion deepened, unsure where Vi was going with this. 

Vi took a breath, then another—like air was what would help smoothen her fragmented thoughts into clear words.

“Cait, I—“ she started then exhaled sharply. “I was so scared because I… I saw her . Her hair—it—she just looked so much like… like Sarah, and I…”

Caitlyn couldn’t hear anything else after that. It was like the first drop of rain onto the surface of a lake. The ripples spread far and wide. And slowly, more and more drops fell as the rain came. And suddenly, there was no longer a calm surface.

The world seemed to shift under her feet.

The words rang in her head like a metronome. Echoing, repetitive and consistent.

This whole time.

This whole time, Vi was reliving Sarah. This whole time, Vi was reliving the person who had put her through literal torture. This whole time, Vi was reliving a trauma she had been forced to endure—a trauma she had been trying to leave in the past.

And this whole time, Caitlyn didn’t know.

She felt sick. Something twisted in Caitlyn’s stomach. Something gnawed in her head. And her heart… God, her heart ached.

How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so wrapped up in her own pain that she failed to notice Vi’s? How could she not have seen it in the way Vi behaved after the incident? The way her hand trembled. The way she tried to talk about it but Caitlyn had shut her down.

How could she have been so selfish?

The memory was so clear now. It returned like an old bruise pressed under new light.

“I didn’t mean to,” Vi said finally, quietly. “I just… she looked so much—”

“Vi,” Caitlyn cut in, her voice suddenly too loud. “I don’t want to relive it. Please.”

She looked so much like Sarah. Caitlyn’s mind filled in the last word of Vi’s unfinished sentence.

But Caitlyn had shut the door that night. And Vi had stepped into silence.

And right now, she barely heard the rest of what Vi was saying. Her thoughts were crashing over each other.

This whole time.

This whole fucking time.

Vi had been living it again. She had seen her past crawl back into the present. She had tried to tell her. And Caitlyn—God—she had turned away.

She reached for Vi instinctively, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in close. Tighter than before. Holding her like a shield, though she didn’t know against what.

“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn whispered, the words shaking loose from her chest. “I’m so sorry, Vi. I didn’t—”

Vi pulled away, her eyes wide and frantic.

“What? No, no, Caitlyn. Please don’t apologize,” she said, alarmed. “I—I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make this about me. I don’t—it’s not your fault. You were going through so much and you still are.”

She brought her hands to Caitlyn’s face, gently brushing away her tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up,” Vi said softly.

But Caitlyn was crying harder now. Her chest shook. Her head bowed.

“Vi, why didn’t you tell me?” she managed through the sob.

“I—I tried, but,” she sighed. “It didn’t matter anyway.”

It did matter. It should have mattered.

And now everything— everything —was different.

The way Vi had come back from those board meetings, dead-eyed and silent. The way she’d retreated into herself after each hearing. Caitlyn had thought it was the pressure, the questioning, the threat of expulsion.

But now she saw it for what it was.

Vi had been made to relive it.

Again and again. For strangers. For her father. For a system that might not have believed her.

And she had done it without complaint. Without letting Caitlyn see.

And Caitlyn had pushed her away and let the distance between them grow. She had been so scared of what she didn’t know. So scared that she didn’t know Vi and that what she’d find out would scare her.

And though their relationship had been coming back piece by piece, it hadn’t been enough. And now that Caitlyn knew the truth, she was scared it would never be enough.

Caitlyn folded in on herself, her forehead pressed to Vi’s shoulder, trying to keep her sobs quiet.

Chapter Text

Therapy was weird, Vi thought.

She sat on a soft couch across from a woman in her forties with a kind face—open, calm, trustworthy. At least, that’s what Vi assumed trust was supposed to look like. She wasn’t sure she was the best judge anymore. But Dr. Yin had been decent so far. Gentle, in a steady kind of way.

In the beginning, Vi hadn’t known what to say. So Dr. Yin asked questions. And Vi gave half-answers, or mumbled her way through a shrug.

These days, she still didn’t know what to say. But sometimes things just came out—clumsy, unfiltered. Other times she talked about anything else: the board hearing, her grades, the weather, some bullshit drama on campus. But Dr. Yin always found a way to loop it back to the thing Vi didn’t want to name. It was impressive. And deeply annoying.

Today, Vi had mentioned the fight with Caitlyn.

Well—she didn’t know if “fight” was the right word. It was just Vi saying the thing. The thing about what had gone through her head when she hit Katarina. And then Caitlyn cried. And she wouldn’t stop crying.

“I fucked up. I shouldn’t have told her,” Vi said now, her voice low. “I hurt her.” She paused. “Again.”

Dr. Yin set down her pen and looked at her. That thing she did—pausing when Vi spoke, like nothing else mattered in the room—sometimes made Vi squirm. Other times it made her feel like her words weren’t just noise.

“You didn’t fuck up, Vi,” Dr. Yin said gently. “You told the truth.”

Vi blinked. Raised an eyebrow. “You’re allowed to swear?”

Dr. Yin gave the faintest hint of a smile. “Sometimes the moment calls for it.”

And then, in that calm, maddening way of hers, she went on:
“I know it didn’t feel clean or gentle or perfectly timed. But trauma rarely gives us the grace of neatness. Sometimes the truth doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. It just slips out—raw and unfinished—because the weight of carrying it finally tips.”

Vi didn’t respond right away. She stared at the stitching on the couch cushion.

“But I don’t think I ever wanted to tell her,” she said at last.

Dr. Yin nodded. “That makes sense. Of course you didn’t want to tell her. Not really. Not if you had a choice. Because telling her meant reopening something you’ve worked hard to survive. It meant showing her the ugliest corners of your past—things that were done to you, things you never consented to , and things that still make you feel exposed and ashamed, even though none of it was your fault.”

There it was again.

That phrase.

Things you never consented to.

It always landed wrong.

Because technically, she had said yes to Sarah. Every time.

Vi looked away.

It had been hard enough explaining that to the board. She didn’t think she could’ve done it if Caitlyn’s dad hadn’t been there—carefully helping her shape each answer, steering the mess into something legible.

The board members hadn’t looked at her. They had looked through her. Cold-eyed and clinical, scribbling notes while she tried not to fall apart. Asking about Sarah like they were asking about weather patterns. Whispering between themselves like she was already a footnote.

She had felt like a fly caught in a web. And they’d been the observer—watching the spider wrap her up.

She must’ve gone quiet for too long, because Dr. Yin spoke again, almost as if she’d followed her there.

“Vi, I want to echo what we’ve talked about in our previous sessions. Consent isn’t just about saying yes. It’s about the ability to say no—freely, safely, without consequences.”

Vi didn’t look at her. They had talked about this before. Dozens of times.

In theory, Vi understood what she meant. In practice, however…

“When survival is on the line,” Dr. Yin continued, “when someone you love is sick and dying, and someone else holds the financial power to maybe save them, that’s not a level playing field. That’s coercion wearing the mask of choice.”

Her voice was still soft. But her words had weight and her eyes were gentle.

When they had first met, Vi thought she had seen pity in them. But now she figured that that’s just the way her eyes looked.

“Yeah, I know,” was all Vi could say.

They fell into silence again.

Vi hated that part—when Dr. Yin let the silence stretch, like it might coax something out of her.

And sometimes it did.

But not today.

She sat there, arms folded, until Dr. Yin spoke again.

“Can I ask you something, Vi?”

Vi shrugged. “Yeah.”

“When you think about your time with Sarah… what’s the first feeling that comes up? Not the one you think you should feel. The one that lives in your body.”

Vi frowned. “I don’t know. Disgust? Shame?” She winced. “I know that sounds dramatic.”

Dr. Yin didn’t flinch. Just nodded and jotted something down.

“I don’t think that’s dramatic. Those are heavy, sticky feelings. They live in the body, don’t they? Like something crawling under the skin, or sitting in your throat, or weighing down your chest.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, shrugging again. “I guess so.”

“When you say disgust, is it aimed more at Sarah? Or at yourself? Or both?”

Vi twisted the hem of her shirt in her fingers. “Me, mostly.”

Dr. Yin didn’t say anything. And Vi knew she was leaving the silence for her to fill.

So Vi sighed. “I guess I’m angry at Sarah.” A pause. “But I… sometimes I don’t think I have a right to be.”

Dr. Yin closed her notebook. Vi figured she was probably tired of repeating the same things to her over and over again.

“You do have a right,” she said softly. “ You have a right to be angry. Because she saw your desperation and used it. Because she made your body a battleground you couldn’t walk away from. Because she wrapped her abuse in the language of choice. And because you were surviving— not consenting .”

Vi’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to throw up. Sometimes she felt like this during their sessions.

She just hated how Dr. Yin kept telling her that she hadn’t been consenting . Like if she said it enough, it would finally sink in.

Vi knew that. But she didn’t believe it. And she wished that Dr. Yin would just let her not believe it instead of trying to convince her to believe it.

Vi stared at the clock, but it seemed to be moving slower the longer she looked at it.

She crossed her arms tighter. Another defensive gesture. She could practically hear Dr. Yin making a mental note about it.

“Can we talk about something else?”

Dr. Yin’s voice didn’t shift. “Of course. But before we do—can I gently ask why this feels like the moment you want to change the subject?”

Vi’s jaw clenched.

She knew the answer. She just didn’t want to say it.

It would sound stupid out loud.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. It was a lie, but Dr. Yin didn’t press.

And that was how it was for the rest of the session. 

Vi didn’t really want to talk anymore. 

But Dr. Yin didn’t end their session until the full hour was up. Not that she ever did.

—

“Why do you have a piano in here?”

Vi’s voice carried a half-skeptical, half-curious edge as her eyes flicked to the upright keyboard tucked against the far wall. The sunlight from the blinds caught on its glossy black frame.

Dr. Yin followed her gaze. “I use it for music therapy with some patients.”

Vi let out a snort. “So you play sad songs while they cry?”

The corner of Dr. Yin’s mouth curved, not in amusement exactly, but in quiet patience. “Not quite.” She tilted her head toward the instrument. “Would you like to try it?”

Vi chewed the inside of her cheek, buying herself a few seconds. Her knee bounced once, twice. Then she gave a little shrug. “Sure.”

The bench creaked faintly as she sat. Her legs felt too long for it, like she’d outgrown this setup years ago, but she set her hands over the keys anyway, fingertips hovering. Cool plastic met her skin, smooth and unfamiliar, though some part of her remembered.

“So what’s the first lesson?” she asked, glancing sideways. Her eyes scanned for a music book, a stand, anything that would tell her what to do. “I kind of know how to read sheet music, but… don’t ask me to name the keys or anything.”

“No lessons.” Dr. Yin’s voice was steady, even. She had moved to a chair a few feet away, angled slightly toward Vi but not looming. “This isn’t about right or wrong notes. There are no mistakes here.”

Vi lifted a brow at that.

“Think of it as exploring,” Dr. Yin continued. She rested her hands in her lap, palms open, posture unhurried. “What happens if you press gently? Or harder? Two keys far apart? Three close together? Just notice what you hear, and notice what happens in you when you hear it.”

Vi blew out a breath through her nose. “So I just… mash keys.”

“If that’s what feels right.”

Vi gave a quiet huff of a laugh, then set her fingers down the way she vaguely remembered from grade school—curved, proper, like the music teacher used to correct her into doing. She pressed three notes together. The chord rang out, filling the small office. Something inside her chest tightened, sharp with nostalgia.

She slid to another chord, then another, fumbling through the sounds. The keys were smooth, almost slippery under her touch. The sound filled the silence better than words could.

Her fingers stumbled into a simple melody—Mary Had a Little Lamb. The only song she’d ever really learned back in elementary school.

“Oh,” she muttered, half to herself. “I think I know Twinkle Twinkle Little Star too.” She picked out the notes, uneven but recognizable. “Did you know it’s the same as the ABC song?” A small, surprised smile tugged at her mouth. “I never realized that until I learned it on the piano.”

Dr. Yin didn’t interrupt, didn’t praise or correct. She simply listened, leaning back with her ankles crossed, her face open and attentive.

“I did know that,” she said when Vi looked over. Her voice was gentle, conversational. “It’s interesting how one melody can carry so many different associations. A bedtime song. A classroom chant. The same notes, but the meaning changes depending on what you bring to it.”

Silence lingered in the room after Vi’s last note faded. Dr. Yin didn’t rush to fill it.

Finally, she asked, “What was it like for you, just now?”

Vi’s shoulders rose and fell. “Fine, I guess.” She let her hands drift from the keys, resting in her lap, fingers twitching as if reluctant to stay still. “I just… kinda wish I knew more. Something other than kiddie songs.”

Dr. Yin smiled, her tone warm but steady. “We can arrange that,” she said, folding her hands on top of the piano lid. “Do you have a song in mind? If the sheet music exists, I can print it out for us right now.”

Vi gave her a skeptical look. “Wait—you’d actually let me pick? Like… real songs?”

“Of course,” Dr. Yin said, lips tugging into a small smile. “Therapy doesn’t mean we’re confined to nursery tunes. Music therapy is about expression, and the music that resonates with you will help us get there. If there’s a song you’d like to learn, I can help you figure it out.”

Vi blinked, caught off guard. “Just like that? You’d teach me how to play it?”

Dr. Yin nodded. “Yes. My role isn’t just to talk—it’s to guide you through music. Sometimes that means teaching. Sometimes it means listening.”

Something loosened in Vi’s chest. Maybe therapy wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe she could just learn how to play music and forget about everything else. She fished her phone from her pocket, scrolling through playlists until she landed on one that always stuck with her. The melody was upbeat, easy to hum along to, but the lyrics carried an ache beneath the surface.

Those were her favorite kinds of songs—songs people happily sang without ever realizing what they were really singing.

She turned the phone around to show Dr. Yin the title and artist.

True to her word, Dr. Yin tapped a few keys on her laptop and sent the sheet music to the printer in the corner. The machine hummed to life, spitting out the pages. 

Dr. Yin slid the fresh pages across the keyboard’s glossy surface. “It’s a beautiful choice,” she said, settling back into her chair with her hands folded loosely in her lap. “But I’m curious—what about this song makes it a favorite?”

Vi tilted her head, eyes fixed on the black-and-white notes rather than the therapist. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “It just feels… right.”

Dr. Yin didn’t push. She let the silence stretch, a soft patience filling the space between them. “Does it feel right because of how it sounds,” she asked gently, “or because of what it says?”

Vi tapped a restless rhythm against her thigh, shoulders tense. “Both, I guess. It’s catchy, yeah, but the lyrics are kinda sad. Most people don’t even realize it’s a sad song.”

Dr. Yin’s gaze was steady but not heavy. “So it hides something painful underneath something bright.”

The words landed too close. Vi’s jaw flexed, and she gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Dr. Yin tilted her head, her voice soft as a question rather than a conclusion: “Do you think that’s part of why you like it? Because it feels… familiar?”

Vi finally looked up from the sheet music, her eyes sharp with the instinct to deflect—but they softened almost immediately under Dr. Yin’s calm, expectant expression. She blew out a slow breath, trying to mask the crackle of truth in her chest. “Maybe,” she admitted. Her fingers twitched again, searching for the keys.

Dr. Yin gave a small nod, as if that one word was enough. She didn’t press further. Instead, she adjusted her glasses and gestured toward the sheet music. “Alright then,” she said quietly, the shift gentle but deliberate. “Shall we start from the top?”

Relieved, Vi let her shoulders drop and placed her hands on the keys. “Yeah,” she muttered, the word rough but steady. The conversation slipped back into the background as the first notes filled the room, Vi grateful for the refuge of sound.

—

Vi didn’t know why she was in such a bad mood today. She didn’t want to play any music. And she didn’t really feel like answering Dr. Yin’s questions. She didn’t want to do much of anything at all.

She wondered if Dr. Yin was getting tired of trying to fix her. So she asked.

“Do you ever get tired?” 

Dr. Yin exhaled—not annoyed, just grounded. Like she’d expected the question eventually.

“Yes, I do. I get tired, just like anyone else. Sitting with people in their pain—it takes something out of you. But it also gives something back. Not because your hurt is easy to hear, but because it’s real . Because you’re brave enough to show up with it,” she explained.

Vi didn’t say anything, but her arms were crossed again and she was sure Dr. Yin had made another note of that as well.

Dr. Yin continued, “I don’t get tired of you , though. Or of these conversations. Even when they’re messy. Even when they stop and start and circle around. That’s the work. That’s the human part.”

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” Vi mumbled.

Dr. Yin smiled faintly. “That’s okay.”

She wrote something in her notebook. Vi couldn’t figure out what was so significant about what she had just said.

“You don’t have to know how to take it in,” Dr. Yin added. “Sometimes when we’re used to being dismissed or used or treated like a burden, it’s hard to believe someone would just… stay. With no angle. No ask. Just stay.”

She took a sip of water. “Would you like me to ask a few more questions?”

Vi snorted. “You’re going to ask anyway.”

“Maybe,” Dr. Yin said, amused. “But only because part of my job is to keep the conversation moving. Especially when things get hard.”

“Things are always hard now.”

A beat.

“Yes. When it just keeps coming—wave after wave—it wears you down. And it makes even the good things feel far away.”

Vi nodded slowly. She understood that. It wasn’t like she was falling apart every day. If anything, she appeared quite normal.

No one could tell anything was wrong. But even her happiest moments felt… distant. Like they belonged to someone else.

She thought about Caitlyn. About how she had made Caitlyn cry even though Dr. Yin said it wasn’t her fault. And she thought about where their relationship was going. How they had gone from almost being girlfriends—the word just at the tip of their tongues—to being… whatever it was that they were now.

Caitlyn hadn’t pulled away after the revelation. If anything, she was more attentive, more caring, more loving. She brought Vi coffee most mornings, reminded her to wear a sweater when it was cold out, and held her close whenever they were out. But the biggest and worst change was the lack of intimacy.

She still hugged Vi, held Vi’s hand, even kissed Vi’s lips. But never more than that. If a kiss lasted a second too long, Caitlyn would pull back. And it killed Vi. She wasn’t sure if Caitlyn was doing this because of her or because of what Caitlyn had gone through.

So this was one of those rare times she let herself blurt out what was on her mind. Because she just needed an answer.

“Do you think Caitlyn stopped being intimate with me because of me or because of what she went through?”

Dr. Yin, in a very rare moment, looked surprised. Only a little.

Her voice softened. “What Caitlyn went through may change how she feels in her body. Not just with the person who hurt her, but with everyone. Even with someone she loves. Someone safe. It’s not rejection. It’s survival.”

Vi shifted in her seat. “She’s been treating me differently ever since she found out—more caring, more attentive.”

Dr. Yin nodded. “So now, when she touches you gently, it doesn’t feel like affection. It feels like caution. Like she’s seeing something fragile, and trying not to break it.”

Vi swallowed, taking in her words. She had managed to hit the nail on the head.

“Yeah.”

Dr. Yin continued, “It’s not that you don’t want her care—it’s that now it feels different. Measured. Tinted with pity, maybe. Or worse—like she’s rewriting who you are in her head.”

Vi groaned, pressing her palms to her eyes. “You’re good at your job.”

She heard the soft smile in Dr. Yin’s voice. “Thank you. But this isn’t just me being good at my job. It’s you showing up. Even when it hurts.”

Silence fell over them again. It didn’t feel as awkward this time.

Vi looked down at her hands. “I don’t know what to do. How do I fix this?” Her voice fell just above a whisper. “I want us to go back to normal again. That’s all I want.”

Dr. Yin’s eyes were gentle. “I know. But the hard truth is, there’s no going back to the old normal.”

That is not what Vi wanted to hear. And now she wanted to check herself out of this conversation.

“But,” Dr. Yin continued, “just because you can’t go back doesn’t mean you can’t go forward. There’s a version of your relationship that can hold everything now. What she’s been through. What you’ve been through. But that version can’t be built on silence.”

Vi exhaled. She hated how much that made sense.

Dr. Yin was really good at her job, she thought. She didn’t say it out loud again though.

Instead, she nodded slowly. “Okay,” she sighed. “You’re right.”

“It has to be built slowly. On truth. On small moments of honesty and choice and trust. A relationship where you don’t have to hide, and she doesn’t have to guess.”

And Vi knew what she had to do.

And she hoped that Caitlyn would be able to do the same.

Chapter Text

The sun was just beginning to dip beneath the horizon when Caitlyn climbed the bleachers and settled beside her.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just sat—close, the way they always had. Knees brushing. Arms barely grazing. A silent understanding passed between them in the quiet, in the way their bodies angled toward one another, but something was different to how it used to be.

There was a distance that Vi couldn’t name. Couldn’t trace. But it was there, humming beneath the familiar. And after her appointment with Dr. Yin, she had a feeling she’d have to peel it back slowly—layer by stubborn layer—if they were ever going to find their way forward.

“How was your day?” Caitlyn asked, eyes still fixed on the slow-sinking sun.

Vi hesitated. She hadn’t told Caitlyn about her therapy yet. Not in the days before her sessions, or after them. It hadn’t been intentional, not exactly—but it also hadn’t been an accident. Something about the word therapy still made her flinch. It felt like a spotlight on her chest. Like a sign that something was wrong. That she was wrong.

And a part of her was scared that if she told Caitlyn, then Caitlyn would then expect some form of progress—like she would be expecting some kind of change from Vi. And maybe that wasn’t fair because Caitlyn was patient and kind and loving.

Still, the fear resided there, quiet and clawing.

But Dr. Yin had said the only way forward was honesty. So that’s what she was going to do.

“I had therapy today,” she said. 

Her voice barely reached the air between them.

Caitlyn turned to her then, eyes searching. “Oh—I didn’t know you were in therapy.”

Vi’s heart twisted. She hated that look. Not judgment, not even pity—just surprise. The kind that made her feel like she’d failed a test she hadn’t known she was taking.

“I know. I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “The board made it mandatory after… everything. I should’ve told you. I just…”

She exhaled.

“I guess I was afraid.”

Caitlyn’s hand found her knee, warm and grounding. “Afraid of what?”

Vi shrugged, eyes falling to the slats of the bleachers beneath them. “I don’t know. That if I told you, you’d expect some kind of… progress. Like I’d come out of a session magically better. But I’m not. I feel like I’m still circling the drain sometimes.”

There was a pause.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Caitlyn said softly. “Not to me.”

She hesitated, and Vi could sense her carefully choosing what came next.

“Are you afraid I would see you differently? Because I don’t.”

Vi shook her head, quickly. “No. It’s not that.” She exhaled, frustrated with herself. “It’s just… I didn’t want to get your hopes up that I’m getting fixed or whatever.”

Caitlyn was still for a moment.

“Vi,” she said, voice quiet but steady. “I don’t think you need to be fixed because I don’t think you’re broken. But I do think going to therapy is brave, and I’m so proud of you for going.”

Vi’s gaze dropped to their knees—still touching, but barely. The way they used to lean into each other felt farther away now, like muscle memory dulled by time.

“Then why do you keep acting like I am broken?” she murmured.

And maybe Vi had said the wrong thing. Because she felt Caitlyn tense beside her.

“What do you mean?” Caitlyn asked, her voice low, hesitant.

Vi glanced sideways, catching the flicker of worry in her face. The way her brow creased. The way her mouth drew tight.

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “You’ve just been… different. Ever since you found out. More… attentive? Caring?” Vi exhaled slowly. “It feels like you’re treating me like I’m fragile.”

Caitlyn looked away for a moment, lips pressing together.

“I think…” she began, slowly, “I think I just wanted to take care of you. Because you did the same for me.”

Vi blinked, confused.

“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

But Caitlyn shook her head, a sad little smile ghosting her lips.

“I felt guilty,” she admitted. “Because you were going through all of that and I didn’t even realize. You were hurting and I had no idea. You—you hid it from me to protect me. And I just… I guess I thought maybe if I showed up more now, I could make up for not being there then.”

Vi swallowed hard. “Cait, no… That’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you any of it for a reason. I didn’t want you to carry that.”

“But that’s what a relationship is ,” Caitlyn said, turning to her fully now. Her hand reached out and closed around Vi’s. “It’s carrying things together. The good and the bad.”

Vi nodded. Slowly. “Yeah. I know that now. It’s just hard, but I’m trying.”

She paused, eyes flicking to Caitlyn’s.

“I wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Me?”

“Yeah. After… the party. After what happened.”

Caitlyn looked down for a beat. “It was scary,” she admitted. “There were nights I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about it. Kept… replaying it.”

Vi nodded, understanding. She had those nights too. Far too many of those nights to count. Still had them.

“But,” Caitlyn continued, “I think I’m starting to feel more like myself again. Slowly.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Vi gave her hand a squeeze. “Can I ask you something?”

Caitlyn glanced at her. “Of course.”

Vi hesitated. “What do you feel when we kiss?”

That got her attention. Caitlyn turned to face her fully now, brows rising.

“It’s just…” Vi continued, faltering a little. “We only kiss briefly now. And that’s okay. I just want to know how you’re feeling. Your boundaries. All of that.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between them. Then—

“I think a part of me is nervous,” she said. “Not of you. Not of anything, really. I just… I don’t know.”

The words felt clumsy coming out. She wasn’t even sure what she meant. Only that the quiet between them had stretched too long lately, and their kisses—once so effortless—had become something they both tiptoed around.

They hadn’t truly kissed since the party.

And maybe that made sense. After everything. But the space it left behind had only grown with time, and Caitlyn wasn’t sure how to bridge it.

At first, it had been because Vi scared her—not in a physical way, but in a new way. Vi had become someone Caitlyn didn’t fully recognize: capable of violence, of unraveling. Of being deeply, dangerously wounded.

And now?

Now Caitlyn didn’t know where to begin. Like reaching for something you used to know by heart, only to realize your hands don’t move the same way anymore.

Vi watched her carefully, not pushing. Then, gently, she reached up and let her fingertips trace the curve of Caitlyn’s cheek, light as breath.

“I understand,” she said softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Caitlyn’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.”

“We can take it slow,” Vi offered. “You can pull away whenever. I won’t take it personally. Ever.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flicked around the bleachers, then back to her. “You mean… right now?”

Vi’s breath caught. “N-no,” she stammered quickly, cheeks warming. “I just meant… you know, whenever you’re ready.”

A pause stretched between them.

And then Caitlyn smiled—a real, flickering smile that softened the lines of her face and made Vi feel like she could exhale for the first time in minutes.

“Oh,” Caitlyn said lightly, teasing now. “Because it kind of sounded like you were trying to make a move on me on the bleachers.”

Vi laughed, a quiet huff of relief. “I mean, I have kissed you in worse places,” she teased.

“Worse?” Caitlyn repeated, pretending to be affronted. “I’ll have you know that library corner is practically sacred ground.”

Vi grinned. “I still have a scar from banging my knee on that shelf.”

Caitlyn chuckled, and the sound was warm, whole, real. And for a moment, everything else slipped away—the heavy past, the tension, the careful quiet they’d been walking around each other with for weeks. All that remained was this small bubble between them. Golden hour light on Caitlyn’s cheek. The soft pull of her smile. Their hands still loosely held.

And then, somehow, it felt easy again between them. The air on the bleachers loosened, the silence no longer sharp but soft, something they could rest in. Vi felt like she could tell Caitlyn anything—that there was no corner too dark, no scar too jagged. She wanted to tear down the walls that still stood between them. Wanted to show Caitlyn they could still be them. Maybe not like before, not untouched and unscarred, but something new. Something stronger.

Her gaze lifted to the sky. Clouds caught the light like spun sugar, pink bleeding into orange as the sun slid lower. She exhaled, tapping her shoe lightly against the cold metal steps, nerves ticking out a rhythm she couldn’t quite quiet. She could feel Caitlyn watching her, patient, waiting.

“I don’t like whiskey,” Vi said suddenly.

It dropped into the air with the weight of something unsaid for too long. Caitlyn didn’t answer right away, and Vi could almost hear her confusion in the silence.

Before Caitlyn could speak, Vi went on, her voice low. “It was… something I drank to blur the edges. Whenever I was with her.”

Her eyes drifted toward the field below, the empty goals and faint white lines blurring. She felt Caitlyn’s hand come to rest gently on her arm, anchoring her back.

“I didn’t know that,” Caitlyn said softly. “I… I think I’ve had whiskey around you.”

Vi gave a small nod. “You have. But it’s fine. I gave you gum once, remember? To mask the smell.” A short chuckle escaped her, humorless but not bitter.

When she glanced sideways, Caitlyn’s brows were drawn in a tight frown.

“Really, it’s fine,” Vi said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just—sometimes, it’s a little…” She trailed off, unable to force the word past her lips.

Caitlyn’s lips pressed together, her expression sharpening with recognition. “Triggering?”

Vi’s breath caught, sharp. “Yeah,” she admitted after a beat. “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.”

“Vi…”

“Cait, it’s not a big deal,” Vi insisted. “I just—I don’t want to keep things from you anymore. I want to tell you everything. Figured I’d start here.”

She reached for Caitlyn’s hand, weaving their fingers together, squeezing lightly as if to underline the promise.

Caitlyn hesitated, chewing on her lip. Vi caught it.

“What’s wrong?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered, caught in some internal tug-of-war. Finally, she spoke, quiet. “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer—I’ve just always wondered.”

Vi nodded, steady. “Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Caitlyn glanced away, then back, her voice gentler than before. “Your name. I’ve noticed you never use your full name. I only know it because I happened to see your license once.”

Vi tried to laugh. “You would’ve found out eventually—your mom used my full name the first time I met her.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly but didn’t let it go. “I remember. You looked uncomfortable. And I was… worried, for a second. Like I’d seen you flinch.”

Vi sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve always gone by Vi,” she said. “But I didn’t mind much when someone called me Violet.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered up at the sound of Vi’s full name coming from her mouth. Like it was something foreign.

“When… when I met Sarah, I gave her my full name because I didn’t want to associate Vi with her. Because that’s what everyone calls me.”

Vi shrugged like it was no big deal.

“It’s stupid. I just—I just thought I could be Violet when I was with her and then just be… Vi when I’m just me. Like I could somehow separate the two.”

Caitlyn shook her head, firm. “It’s not stupid at all. You didn’t want her to have power over the name you use. So you gave her the one you didn’t use.”

Vi stared at her, something tight unwinding. Slowly, she nodded. “Right.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “How do you feel about it now? About your full name?”

“I don’t know,” Vi admitted, shifting in her seat. “When your mom said it, it felt weird. But if you said it… I don’t know how I’d feel.”

Caitlyn’s hand lifted, warm against Vi’s cheek, gently guiding her to meet her gaze. And Vi sank into the touch, ocean blue eyes catching her and holding her steady.

Caitlyn’s voice was soft, gentle when she spoke. “Would you like me to?” 

Vi closed her eyes, pressing into her palm, her own hand coming up to hold Caitlyn’s there. The warmth spread through her body, and she relished in its comfort, its safety.

“Can you?” Vi asked, her voice just above a whisper, her eyes still closed. “Can you try?”

She felt Caitlyn’s thumb move, stroking her cheek softly. Reverently.

“I have always loved your freckles,” Caitlyn spoke. Her voice was silk, wrapping around every raw part of Vi. “I love every part of you. Every strand of hair on your head, every crinkle in your smile, every mark on your body. I love all of it. I love all of you.”

Vi’s chest tightened, heart hammering. Tears blurred her vision when she opened her eyes, only to find Caitlyn’s just as wet.

“You have my heart, Violet. All of it.”

Vi’s breath hitched. For a moment, she didn’t breathe—couldn’t breathe.

Caitlyn’s brows pinched just slightly, concern edging into her eyes.

Caitlyn faltered. “Oh—was that—I’m sorry, I—”

“Say it again.”

Caitlyn blinked. “What?”

“Say it,” Vi said, more conviction this time. “Say it again.”

Caitlyn’s eyes eased in realization. Slowly, she leaned closer, her lips parting. “I love you, Violet.”

The world stilled. It echoed through Vi like the purest sound she’d ever known, ringing in every bone, every nerve. Overwhelming, sweet, unstoppable.

She let out a broken, trembling laugh, tears slipping free as warmth swelled in her chest.

“I love you too, Cait. So much.”

They sat suspended in that moment, smiling through tears, until Caitlyn’s gaze flickered down, landing on Vi’s mouth. The air shifted.

“Can we… can we try now?” Caitlyn asked softly, her voice trembling with care.

Vi stilled, searching her face. “Are you sure?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away.

She turned her body more fully toward Vi, knees aligning, her free hand coming to rest gently on Vi’s thigh. Her eyes searched Vi’s face—not just for certainty, but for steadiness, for grounding. Vi gave it to her with just a look. Quiet. Solid. Waiting.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Caitlyn murmured. “Not just the kiss… but what it means to kiss you again..”

Vi’s breath caught, held.

Caitlyn's fingers curled slightly against Vi’s leg. “I want that... I want you .”

A breeze passed through then, gentle and cool. A few strands of Vi’s hair lifted with it, catching the light like copper thread. Caitlyn reached up, tucking one behind her ear. Her fingertips lingered at Vi’s jaw.

And slowly, Vi leaned in just a bit closer.

Not all at once.

She let the moment bloom around them—the hush of the field, the warmth of Caitlyn’s hand still at her cheek, the tension that buzzed soft and low like a current under skin.

“Okay,” Vi breathed, her breath tickling Caitlyn’s lips. “You can pull back whenever.”

But Caitlyn didn’t pull back.

Her eyes were soft and steady.

“ Violet ,” Caitlyn said softly—and there it was. That sound. That tone . The one that meant she wanted . Needed .

So Vi closed the gap.

And kissed her.

It was slow.

So wonderfully slow.

The kind of kiss that bloomed gently, like sunlight through clouds. There was a hum in the air, an invisible thread of electricity that sparked where their mouths met.

It reminded Vi of their first kiss—soft at first, like the first drop of rain before the storm.

Then all at once.

Like the downpour after a long, aching drought.

Her heart thundered in her chest, loud enough she could feel it in her throat. And Caitlyn’s touch—tentative at first, then firm—was lightning across her skin.

She kissed her back.

And it was wonderful.

Chapter Text

Autumn had cooled the air, crisp and golden, the edges of leaves curling as the promise of winter crept over the Harvard campus.

Caitlyn tugged her coat tighter around her as she stepped onto the quad, the smell of cinnamon and damp earth lingering faintly in the breeze. Her shift at the Pre-Law Society booth had just ended, and now she wandered between the rows of student tables, half out of curiosity and half in search of Vi.

She checked the Pre-Med Society table first—empty. A little further down, she passed the Women’s Soccer booth. Still no Vi. Strange. She’d assumed Vi would be bouncing between the two.

Caitlyn paused, hands on her hips, scanning the crowd. Her breath fogged slightly in the cooling air. She was about to reach for her phone to send Vi a text when—

“Hey.”

“Wha-!” Caitlyn jolted, hand flying to her chest.

Vi stood in front of her, grinning unapologetically and holding two hot dogs like peace offerings. Her soccer uniform clung to her in the breeze, but what made Caitlyn blink was the white doctor’s coat layered over it.

“God, you startled me,” Caitlyn muttered, heart still racing.

Vi chuckled and held out one of the hot dogs. “Truce?”

Caitlyn shook her head but reached for the hot dog anyway. “I suppose.”

Her gaze dropped, then swept back up Vi’s body. “Vi, what are you wearing?”

Vi glanced down like she had forgotten she was wearing a horrendously ridiculous outfit. “Oh. Right. I had shifts at both the pre-med booth and the soccer booth, so—” She gestured down at herself. “Efficiency.”

“You look like a very confused patient’s fever dream,” Caitlyn said, stifling a laugh.

“Still look like your wet dream though,” Vi shot back, her smile wide and unbothered.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, leaned in, and gave her a quick kiss. “Lucky you’re cute.”

Vi handed over a few condiment packets with a mock flourish.

Caitlyn grimaced. “I don’t use ketchup or mustard.”

Vi gasped, hand to heart. “You eat hot dogs plain?”

“Completely plain.”

“God, it was bound to happen eventually.” Vi sighed dramatically. “I finally found your one flaw.”

Caitlyn gave her a shove, but the grin to her lips showed no bite. “Shut up.”

They walked together across the grass, munching and laughing, no real direction in mind, just drifting from one club booth to another, fingers occasionally brushing. It was easy, being like this. Warm.

“You should try a Seattle dog sometime,” Vi said. “Cream cheese. Caramelized onions. Jalapeños. No ketchup or mustard. It might convert you.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “I doubt that.”

“You and your damn British taste buds.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed playfully as she bumped Vi’s shoulder. 

“Do you miss it?” Caitlyn asked after a moment. “Seattle?”

Vi looked down at the trampled grass beneath their feet. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Not the city. Just… the memories.”

Caitlyn didn’t press. The last time Vi visited home was the last time she saw Powder.

They stopped at a booth decorated with yarn pumpkins and knit blankets. A handmade crochet club. A basket of crocheted keychains sat on the table—frogs with little hats, sunflowers with smiling faces, pastel cupcakes.

Vi leaned in, inspecting the options with exaggerated focus.

“Should we take a trip there?” Caitlyn asked, voice light.

Vi turned, surprised. “To Seattle?”

Caitlyn nodded. “One day. You can show me where you grew up.”

A smile pulled at Vi’s lips, slow and genuine. “I’d like that.” She glanced sideways. “Guess that means we’ll have to take a trip to England too.”

“Oh?”

Vi grinned. “You can show me the wonders of authentic British cuisine. You know, like chewna and baked beans on a potato.”

Caitlyn groaned. “You did not just say chewna.”

Vi launched into a terrible—but passably accurate—British accent. “It’s a delicacy, love.”

Caitlyn couldn’t stop laughing. Vi beamed like she’d won something.

Then Vi handed over a twenty-dollar bill to the student at the table. “I’ll take this one,” she said.

She turned back and gently took Caitlyn’s hand, pressing a soft crocheted mammal into her palm.

Caitlyn blinked. “A ferret?”

Vi’s brows furrowed as she leaned in closer to inspect the keychain. “Huh. I thought it was a mongoose.”

Caitlyn inspected the keychain in her palm. “It is a ferret,” she concluded, smiling at the gift. “But why would you choose a mongoose to begin with?”

Vi stood straight and gave Caitlyn a once-over. “Well, you know,” she said, gesturing at Caitlyn vaguely. 

Caitlyn raised a brow, unamused. “Charming.”

Vi laughed. “You’re the cutest mongoose I know.”

With the shake of her head and a sigh, Caitlyn leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Vi’s cheek. “I suppose it is quite adorable.”

She clipped it to her bag immediately, smiling every time it caught the light.

They wandered more, hands now twined, warm and content in their shared quiet. For a little while, the world felt soft again. Forgiving.

But eventually, reality nudged its way back in.

Caitlyn checked her watch and sighed. “Crunch time.”

Vi groaned. “Already?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Unfortunately.”

They made their way to the library, where a study room waited, familiar and cluttered with memories of late nights and looming deadlines. Law and med school applications had taken over their lives like a tidal wave. Time blurred. Sleep shrank.

Vi, a self-proclaimed stress eater, always came armed with snacks. Caitlyn, who often forgot to eat at all when overwhelmed, had learned to accept granola bars passed her way without argument. Every half hour, Vi would nudge her, gentle and insistent, until she took a bite.

It had become their ritual.

Now, as the hum of the library settled around them, they opened their laptops side by side. Empty coffee cups and wrappers were scattered like remnants of some caffeine-fueled battlefield.

“I’m glad we’re suffering together at least,” Vi said, fingers flying across her keyboard.

Caitlyn smiled, not looking up. “Me too.”

Silence stretched—comfortable, at first. Then charged. Vi glanced at Caitlyn. And Caitlyn felt it, that same gaze.

There was a question forming between them—one that neither had dared to ask aloud.

After everything this year—the trauma, the healing, the therapy sessions, the late-night cries, the awkward re-learning of each other’s boundaries—it felt like their relationship had been built in motion. They’d never stopped long enough to name what they were. Just kept moving, together, holding hands through the bends in the track.

Caitlyn wondered if now was the time.

But how did one even ask? Did there need to be a plan? A gesture? Or could it be simple?

Could it happen here, with empty coffee cups and Vi’s sleeve brushing hers?

Vi’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“After this,” she said, voice soft, “you have to start studying for the LSAT. And I’ve got the MCAT.”

Caitlyn groaned, letting her head fall back against the chair. “Don’t remind me.”

Vi smiled faintly, but her fingers had stopped moving. She was fidgeting with a pen now, twirling it in slow, distracted loops.

“Maybe if we submit everything soon,” she said, “I can take you somewhere. Before the wave of studying starts.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Oh? A date?”

Vi laughed. “Yes. A real one. No library. No applications. No granola bars.”

She paused, the humor in her voice softening.

“I just want us to be in a bubble,” she said quietly. “Just for a little while. No responsibilities. No past. Just… us.”

Caitlyn rested her chin on her fist and studied her.

“What do you have in mind?”

A small smile played at Vi’s lips, eyes crinkling. “You’ll see.”

And Caitlyn, for the first time in weeks, let herself believe it. That whatever came next, whatever deadline or memory or late-night fear… they’d still find their way back to each other.

That they already were.

—

Caitlyn never thought of herself as unlucky.

In fact, she usually considered herself quite fortunate. She grew up with parents who—despite their rigid expectations—loved her in their own way. She never had to worry about money. She had a sprawling home with a yard big enough to lose herself in. Her life, on paper, was full. Secure. Stable.

But as she lay in bed now—skin burning, nose clogged, throat dry, and brain foggy—on the exact day Vi had planned something romantically secretive, she felt like the unluckiest person in the world.

The fever had crept in last night. A sore throat at first. Then a dull ache in her head. By morning, her whole body ached and she could barely sit up straight. Whatever Vi had planned for them was off the table.

She stared blearily at her phone, counting the minutes until Vi arrived. She’d texted earlier to cancel, and maybe she’d been a little dramatic—but honestly, it felt justified.

Caitlyn: I have bad news

Vi: what’s wrong??

Caitlyn: I think I’m dying

Vi: haha very funny

Vi: really, what’s wrong?

Caitlyn: Vi, I am genuinely dying

Vi: cait, that’s not funny

Caitlyn: I think I have to cancel our date today

Vi: fuck

Vi: fuck you really are dying

Vi: ok I’ll be over in a bit

Vi: let me pick up some stuff

Vi: what are your symptoms?

Caitlyn: everything

Vi: I’ll just get all the meds then

Vi: do you have a favorite Gatorade flavor?

Vi: I think you told me once you liked the blue one

Vi: but was it light blue or dark blue?

Caitlyn: either is fine

Caitlyn had fallen asleep after that.

Vi: I’ll get both then

Vi: do you have a preferred soup?

Vi: I’ll just get chicken noodle

Vi: wait sorry

Vi: that was so white of me

Vi: I’ll get you congee

Vi: I know a spot 

Vi: can you drink pills? or do you need the liquid version?

Vi: I’ll play it safe and get you the liquid version in case you have a sore throat

Vi: try not to use too many blankets or else you’ll overheat

Vi: do you prefer any specific brand of tissues?

Vi: I guess Kleenex would be the safest option

Vi: ok I’m on my way now

Vi: hang in there, cupcake

Vi: I love you ❤️

Maybe she had been unlucky to get sick. But when she woke up to the smell of congee and the soft touch of Vi’s lips on her forehead, it didn’t feel that way anymore.

Vi had propped her up with pillows, coaxed her into drinking warm congee, and made her take that god-awful cherry-flavored medicine every four hours. Caitlyn had mostly floated in and out of sleep, her mind hazy, but Vi never left her side. Sometimes Caitlyn would hear her voice as she drifted off—saying soft, comforting things she couldn’t quite hold on to.

She was sure Vi had said something important.

Maybe even something more than sweet nothings.

Now, the morning light crept in through her curtains. Her body still ached, her head was still heavy, but she no longer felt like she was teetering on death’s doorstep.

Especially not when she turned her head and saw Vi—curled over her desk, arms folded like a pillow, asleep in her chair.

Caitlyn smiled, her heart catching in her throat.

Moving slowly, she reached out and brushed a strand of pink hair from Vi’s face. Her fingers lingered along the curve of her cheek. Vi stirred, scrunching her nose the way she always did when she was just waking up.

“Cait?” she croaked, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Morning,” Caitlyn whispered.

Vi sat up, one hand rubbing the sleep from her eyes and the other reaching out to touch Caitlyn’s forehead.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, already frowning. “You’re still warm.”

“It’s only been a night,” Caitlyn said with a raspy laugh. “But I feel better. Thanks to my very attentive, very bossy personal doctor.”

Vi grinned. “I only make house calls for my cutest patients.”

“You think I’m cute?” Caitlyn asked, cheeky.

Vi hummed. “I think you’re everything and more.”

Caitlyn laughed it off, but the blush on her cheeks wasn’t from the fever. “Shut up.”

Vi rolled her eyes affectionately and set about feeding her more congee, timing the medicine again, reminding her to sip her Gatorade. Something about electrolytes and hydration and being a responsible adult.

Caitlyn obeyed, mostly. But sleep didn’t come as easily this time. Her muscles still ached, but her mind kept wandering. They were supposed to be doing something special today. Something romantic. And now… they were stuck in her bed, with her hacking up phlegm and Vi acting like Florence Nightingale.

“Where did you want to take me?” Caitlyn asked as Vi passed her a bottle of Gatorade.

Vi looked at her over the rim of the bottle, a little smirk playing at her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Caitlyn pouted. “I would like to know. I’ve been looking forward to this for two weeks. I even submitted my application early so we could go.”

Vi laughed quietly and reached forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Caitlyn’s ear. “I was gonna take you camping.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Camping?”

“Yeah. Your dad mentioned you used to go with your family. I thought… maybe we could do that together. Just us.”

Caitlyn’s throat burned for a different reason this time. “Vi…”

“I had a spot picked out,” Vi added with a little shrug. “I even bought those marshmallows you said you liked. The fancy ones that were nearly impossible to find.”

Caitlyn’s heart cracked and melted in the same breath. “I would’ve loved that.”

She sagged against the pillows. “Sorry I ruined your surprise.”

Vi shook her head. “You say that like you chose to get sick.”

She reached for Caitlyn’s hand and held it, gentle but firm.

“We’ll have plenty of chances.”

Caitlyn looked down at their hands, then back up at Vi. “I love you,” she murmured. “And I’d kiss you right now if I weren’t so contagious.”

Vi smiled, brushing her thumb over Caitlyn’s knuckles. “You remember this the next time you decide to skip your annual flu shot.”

There was a beat of mock offense, but then Vi leaned in and pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s temple.

Soft. Warm.

Healing.

—

Caitlyn was fully healed a week later. But by then, they were nose deep in study guides and prep books. She felt like every waking moment she had was spent studying for the LSAT. She swore she even studied for it in her dreams. Vi called those nightmares.

The MCAT wasn’t any less relenting for Vi either. She had cut down her hours at the hospital and quit her evening gig teaching kids how to play soccer. The kids had missed her. Caitlyn saw the dozens of handmade cards and flowers plucked from neighboring gardens on Vi’s desk on her last day working there. They adored her.

But the MCAT came first. Then her classes. Then her internship. Then soccer.

Caitlyn wasn’t sure where she fell in that mix. But she did know that there was a night when she had forgotten to eat. They were on the phone. Vi had asked her what she’d eaten for lunch. Caitlyn realized she had forgotten to eat lunch. Then Vi had asked what she was going to eat for dinner. And she didn’t have an answer for that either.

An hour later, Vi was at her door, holding a familiar white paper bag stamped with the logo of Caitlyn’s favorite Chinese takeout place.

“Eat,” she said firmly, pressing a kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek. “Or else.”

She turned to leave.

“You’re not staying?” Caitlyn asked, disappointed.

Vi grinned and walked backwards down the hallway. “Tempting, Cupcake. But I need to study—and so do you.” She pointed meaningfully at the takeout in Caitlyn’s hands. “Eat.”

Caitlyn laughed. “Thank you,” she called after her.

Vi was already halfway down the stairs when Caitlyn added, “I love you!”

“I love you more!” Vi shouted back without missing a beat.

Now, they were in the thick of it. Running on three hours of sleep, slumping through classes like zombies, barely seeing each other except through the haze of FaceTime screens or half-hearted late-night texts.

But despite the exhaustion and distance, Caitlyn didn’t feel a strain between them.

If anything, it felt like a silent agreement had been made—a shared resilience shaped by ambition and mutual respect. It was one of the things Caitlyn loved most about Vi: her fire, her focus, her refusal to quit. And Vi understood Caitlyn’s drive just as deeply.

Caitlyn had been thinking more and more about the future lately. About what came after exams, after college, after all of this.

And Vi was in every version of it.

If they could both get into Harvard again—Vi for med school, Caitlyn for law—it would bring them one step closer to the life they were building together.

That thought alone carried Caitlyn through the longest nights. When the text on her prep book blurred from exhaustion and the bottomless coffee turned sour in her stomach, the image of Vi beside her—in white coat or black robes, whatever came first—was enough to keep going.

Chapter Text

Vi sat cross-legged at Caitlyn’s desk, spinning slowly in her chair as she watched Caitlyn change. Tops were tossed across the bed like casualties of indecision, and Caitlyn stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed and frowning at her reflection.

Vi grinned. “You wanna go.”

Caitlyn huffed, tugging the hem of a black tank top into place. “I’m trying to be supportive,” she said with all the enthusiasm of someone volunteering for dental surgery. Then she mumbled, “Much to my dismay.”

Vi laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with liking Taylor Swift. I like some of her songs.”

Caitlyn turned, arms crossed, unconvinced. “Love Story doesn’t count.”

Vi raised an eyebrow. “That’s not my favorite.” She cocked her head, watching Caitlyn like she was sizing her up in a card game. “What’s yours?”

“The slower ones,” Caitlyn said after a pause, her voice softening. “Labyrinth, Maroon, The Alchemy, You Are In Love…”

Vi smiled. “Guess we share some of the same favorites.”

Caitlyn gave her a skeptical look. “Which ones?”

Vi leaned back in the chair, feigning casual indifference. “You’ll just have to wait and see. Maybe she’ll play one of them as a surprise song.”

Caitlyn blinked, then let out a laugh. “Okay, yeah. You’re definitely a fan if you know about the surprise songs.”

Vi smirked. “I’m full of surprises.”

“That you are,” Caitlyn murmured.

She stepped forward and gently cradled Vi’s face between her hands. Her fingers were cool against Vi’s skin, and her eyes searched Vi’s like she was still trying to wrap her head around her. “You really don’t mind coming next weekend? To a three-hour Taylor Swift concert? In a stadium full of glitter and screaming fans?”

Vi wrapped her arms around Caitlyn’s waist, tugging her forward until Caitlyn was seated on her lap. She rested her chin on Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“Of course not. I love spending time with you.” She exhaled softly. “Besides, we need a break from all this studying.”

Caitlyn smiled—slightly crooked, a little shy. “Even if that means watching Mel and Jayce make out next to us?”

Vi snorted. “Hey, he’s the one who got us the tickets. I’m not complaining.”

Caitlyn pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against Vi’s. “Technically, one of his clients gave him the tickets. He only invited me because he was hoping I’d invite Mel.”

Vi shrugged. “Details.” Then she paused, squinting up at her. “Wait—so they haven’t slept together yet?”

Caitlyn winced. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer to that.”

“Very fair.” Vi chuckled and kissed her nose. “So are we gonna go all in on this concert? Wear themed outfits and make those little friendship bracelets?”

Caitlyn snorted, laughing as she tucked her face into Vi’s neck. “I’d pay to see you in sequins.”

Vi leaned into her touch. “I’ll think about it.”

—

They arrived at the venue early, weaving through crowds of excited fans already buzzing with anticipation. Inside, the stadium lights cast a soft glow over the concourse, and the scent of stadium food—salty popcorn, grilled meat, spun sugar—hung in the air.

While Vi and Jayce waited at the bar for drinks, Caitlyn stood off to the side with Mel. She watched Vi animatedly chatting, her hands moving as she made some emphatic point about god-knows-what. Jayce threw his head back in laughter. They got along surprisingly well.

Caitlyn felt her heart swell a little.

This was something she often dreamt about. The quiet warmth in her chest, the buzz beneath her skin–a constant, warm feeling. This feeling of being loved. And this feeling of loving. And letting someone into your world.

Mel followed her gaze, then smirked.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn muttered.

“I didn’t say anything,” Mel replied, all faux innocence.

“You didn’t have to.”

Mel’s grin turned softer. “You are in love.”

Caitlyn took a deep breath, something shy and unsteady passing across her features. “Yeah,” she said. “I am.”

Mel bumped her shoulder lightly. “I’m happy for you, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn nodded, still watching Vi. “What about you and Jayce? You know I only agreed to come because he was hoping I’d bring you.”

Mel rolled her eyes fondly. “I’m playing hard to get.”

“Of course you are.”

“He waited three days to text me after we slept together,” Mel said casually, like she was mentioning the weather. “So now he gets to suffer a little.”

Caitlyn groaned. “Oh my god. You did sleep together. Please—please—spare me the details.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t ruin your wholesome image of him.”

“Please stop talking.”

Right on cue, Vi and Jayce returned with their drinks.

Vi handed Caitlyn a red-orange cocktail. “Sex on the Beach,” she said with a grin. “But if you don’t like it, you can swap for this one.” She lifted a bright blue concoction in a plastic cup.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow. “An AMF?”

Vi looked entirely unrepentant. “I’ll graduate from AMFs when I graduate college.”

Jayce handed Mel her drink. “Gin and tonic, as requested.”

“Thank you, Jayce,” Mel said, tone perfectly measured and distant.

Vi arched an eyebrow at Caitlyn but didn’t comment. Caitlyn shook her head with a tiny smile and took a sip.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked.

Jayce sighed. “I just found out Vi would be a walkover in fantasy football.”

Vi gasped. “You’re delusional. You thought you won that trade? Saquon for Kupp and Kamara? Please.”

“Just wait and see,” Jayce said with the confidence of a man who was absolutely going to regret his choices.

Caitlyn laughed, stepping between them before the football debate turned into a spreadsheet duel. “All right, all right. Let’s go find our seats.”

As they followed Mel and Jayce down the aisle, Vi leaned in close and whispered against Caitlyn’s ear, “But you do know I’m right, right?”

Caitlyn giggled. She hadn’t watched a full game of American football in her life. “Sure, sweetheart.”

Vi practically glowed. “Say it again.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. After a beat, she leaned in and murmured, “Sweetheart,” just before brushing her lips gently against Vi’s ear.

Vi froze for a moment, then grinned like a fool.

Caitlyn slipped her hand into Vi’s, and together, they stepped into the music.

—

Their seats weren’t particularly close, but they were dead center—front row of the mid-tier section, with a perfect view of the stage. Around them, the arena buzzed with a nervous, electric kind of energy. Glitter glinted in the dim light, sequins sparkled, and the crowd vibrated with anticipation. Everywhere she looked, people were crying, screaming, singing.

Caitlyn wasn’t a superfan, but she knew enough of the songs. Taylor Swift had been one of her high school guilty pleasures—played low through earbuds during late-night study sessions, or blasted in the shower when she was sure no one was home. Hearing some of those melodies now, older and louder and with thousands of voices singing along, felt strange and nostalgic in a way she didn’t expect.

Vi seemed to know about as many songs as she did. But that didn’t stop her from dancing to every song. A little chaotic but completely unbothered. And beautiful. So painfully, effortlessly beautiful.

Caitlyn let her eyes linger. Vi was wearing a white T-shirt under an open, short-sleeved dark green button-up, cropped just enough to show a sliver of skin when she moved. Her loose black jeans sat dangerously low on her hips, and her keys jingled as they bounced from the belt loop at her hip. The platform Docs she wore added a few unnecessary inches to her height, making her already confident posture look even more annoyingly attractive.

God, Caitlyn thought, pressing her fingers to her temple for a moment. I’m so in love with her.

As if on cue, Vi caught her staring and smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. She leaned in close, her breath warm against Caitlyn’s ear.

“You look so pretty,” she said, low and soft, like a secret.

Caitlyn’s stomach fluttered.

If only Vi knew what she was thinking right now—how completely gone she was for her. How much she wanted to kiss her, hold her, ruin her, and worship her in the same breath. How sometimes she got so overwhelmed with love it felt almost like grief—like she was aching for something she already had.

Instead, Caitlyn said the only thing that mattered.

“I love you.”

Vi’s face softened. She pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s cheek. “I love you too.”

The lights dimmed, then shifted into a softer, warmer hue. Taylor appeared center stage with an acoustic guitar slung over her shoulder, and the crowd quieted immediately. She gave her speech—grateful, emotional, practiced—and Caitlyn barely registered a word of it.

Her attention was elsewhere.

The intro chords of Lover began to strum, delicate and intimate. And suddenly, everything felt surreal. Like the universe had chosen this moment just for them.

It was fitting. So fitting it almost hurt.

Caitlyn turned to Vi and felt every syllable of every lyric in every heartbeat—felt it in the way Vi stood beside her, all soft edges and open affection, like love wasn’t something to be protected but something to be offered. 

And when Vi turned to her singing the lyrics, 

You’re my, my, my, my… lover,

Caitlyn’s heart sang too.

She reached for Vi’s hand and laced their fingers together, grounding herself in the press of warm skin, the gentle squeeze in return.

She didn’t let go.

—

If it had ever been a secret that Jayce’s favorite Taylor Swift album was Fearless, it definitely wasn’t anymore.

Because he was belting You Belong With Me like the stage was his natural habitat—arms in the air, completely off-key, eyes closed in pure, dramatic conviction. It was less a performance and more a spiritual experience.

And the most surprising part? Mel was singing along too.

Not just politely mouthing the words, but actually singing—smiling, swaying, even nudging Jayce on the chorus like she was enjoying herself. Caitlyn stared for a beat, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Vi was laughing at both of them, doubling over with joy when Jayce dramatically clutched his chest during the bridge. But even she was singing along, voice low and casual, like she wasn’t trying but still knew the lyrics.

Caitlyn couldn’t help it either. She was right there with them—singing, shouting, letting herself be swept up in the moment. She hadn’t done anything like this in years. Maybe ever.

Then the opening chords of Love Story started—and the entire stadium exploded. People screamed like the floor had opened beneath them. It was the kind of eruption you felt in your chest, like the bass had cracked open the walls of your ribcage.

Though, if Caitlyn had to guess, at least ninety percent of the shrieking near their section was Jayce alone.

Vi leaned into her ear, her voice almost lost in the roar of the crowd. “You know, a lot of people propose during this song.”

Caitlyn smiled to herself.

She had seen the videos. Boyfriends dropping to one knee at the final chorus. Girlfriends pulling rings out of sequined bags. Teary-eyed couples kissing beneath cell phone flashlights while the bridge swelled around them. Boyfriends proposing to boyfriends. Girlfriends proposing to girlfriends. It always made her tear up—soft little moments turned into forever.

She raised an eyebrow at Vi, amused. “Planning on proposing already?”

Vi chuckled, her eyes dancing in the light. “Not quite.”

And as the song reached its final swell, as the crowd sang the bridge in near-religious unison, Vi slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. She kissed Caitlyn’s cheek, warm and deliberate, her mouth brushing just below her temple.

“I love you,” she said. “I really do. So much.”

And Caitlyn felt something settle in her chest—quiet and full and steady. Like whatever Vi had just given her wasn’t a proposal, but a promise all the same.

She just held on tighter.

—

By the time the surprise songs began, the crowd was still riding the high from 1989. The stadium hadn’t settled down since Style—it pulsed with lights and adrenaline, like the night had cracked wide open and swallowed everyone in joy.

Taylor stood center stage again, strumming her acoustic guitar beneath a single spotlight.

“This one,” she said with a smile, “is for my fans who liked me when I was writing songs for my ninth grade talent show.”

The crowd screamed before the first chord even landed.

Our Song.

Caitlyn grinned immediately. It had been one of her absolute favorites in high school—something about the playfulness, the charm of it, the way it always made her smile even on bad days. She turned to share the excitement with Vi.

But Vi slid behind her, wrapped her arms loosely around Caitlyn’s waist, and rested her chin comfortably on her shoulder. Her touch was easy, protective. Familiar.

Caitlyn leaned back into her instinctively, her smile stretching wider as Vi softly sang the harmony line beneath the main melody. 

Caitlyn’s heart swelled.

They stayed like that through the last chorus—bodies warm and pressed together, moving gently with the rhythm. Vi’s thumb rubbed small circles into Caitlyn’s hip, grounding her. They felt like two pieces of the same melody.

Then Taylor made her way to the piano, and the energy shifted. The lights dimmed again. The audience quieted, holding its collective breath as the second surprise song began.

The first few piano notes were soft and clean, falling like a breath into silence.

And Caitlyn gasped.

So did the people around her.

She felt Vi’s breath tickle her ear.

“You Are In Love,” Vi whispered.

Caitlyn could only nod, stunned. Her fingers curled slightly into Vi’s forearm as the lyrics began.

One look, dark room
Meant just for you
Time moved too fast
You play it back…

The words wrapped around her like a memory. She hadn’t dared hope for this song. It was too personal. Too sacred. One of those rare songs that made her feel seen. Like the version of love she wanted wasn’t something abstract—it was real. Possible.

She could barely hear her own voice over the crowd, but she sang anyway. Softly. Just above a whisper. And Vi was singing too, right beside her. Their voices brushed like fingertips. Reverent. Intimate.

Buttons on a coat
Light-hearted joke
No proof, not much
But you saw enough…

Vi’s arms tightened around her waist—just briefly, but with intention. A reminder. I’m here. I feel it too.

Caitlyn blinked quickly, overwhelmed.

Small talk, he drives
Coffee at midnight
The light reflects
The chain on your neck
He says, “Look up”
And your shoulders brush
No proof, one touch
But you felt enough…

Then Vi’s lips brushed the curve of her neck—just under her ear. A delicate kiss. Caitlyn closed her eyes, overcome. Everything felt heightened, like the edges of the night had blurred into something soft and golden.

Vi’s right arm slipped from around her waist, but Caitlyn still felt anchored by the other. Held. Steady.

You can hear it in the silence, silence, you

She felt Vi’s fingers gently curl around her left wrist, lifting it slightly.

You can feel it on the way home, way home, you

Caitlyn looked down and watched as Vi slipped something onto her wrist.

It was a bracelet. One of those beaded bracelets everyone in the crowd was wearing.

You can see it with the lights out, lights out

“Read it,” Vi whispered into her ear.

Caitlyn lifted her wrist into the glow of the stage lights. Etched into the tiny white beads were gold letters. Her throat tightened.

BE – MY – GF – ?

You are in love. True love.

You are in love.

Caitlyn spun around.

Her eyes were wide. Her mouth parted, searching for breath, for words.

And Vi… Vi was just looking at her. Really looking. Her expression open and hopeful. A little nervous. A little misty-eyed. That soft, lopsided smile she always wore when she was trying not to fall too hard but had already fallen completely.

Caitlyn’s heart stuttered.

Every synonym for yes crowded her throat, tripping over one another in their rush to be spoken. But none made it out. Not fast enough.

So she kissed her.

And her lips spelled out every version of yes she couldn’t say.

And Vi kissed her back just as hard. As if she already knew. The kind of kiss that was breathless and trembling and true.

Every moment they’d ever had—every hurt, every soft look, every laugh in the quiet of night—rushed through Caitlyn’s mind and poured into the kiss. The history of them. The gravity of now.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting against each other, Vi’s hands still cradling Caitlyn’s waist, Caitlyn whispered against her lips.

“Yes,” she breathed. “God, yes.”

Chapter Text

They had claimed one of the library’s small study rooms that afternoon. Prep books for the LSAT and MCAT remained tucked away in their bags, while their course textbooks sprawled across the desk in a chaotic sprawl of highlighters and dog-eared pages.  It was a rare moment where their priority was now their coursework. LSAT and MCAT prep had been put on pause as they prepared for finals.

“My parents invited you to Christmas,” Caitlyn said casually, her eyes still moving across the lines of her text.

Vi froze mid-scribble. “Christmas?”

“Mhm.”

“Like,” Vi hesitated, “Christmas dinner? With your family?”

Caitlyn finally glanced up. “Like Christmas holiday.”

“Holiday,” Vi echoed the word slowly. Then she paused. “Holiday is what you Brits call a vacation.”

Caitlyn nodded, amusement softening her features. “Yes. We’re going to the lake house for holiday.”

Vi blinked. “You have a lake house?”

“Yes, I thought I had mentioned it.”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. But somehow, I’m not surprised.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” Caitlyn assured, stretching her arms overhead before letting them fall again. “Just a place by the lake. We sometimes go in the summer, though I was too busy this year. But…” she tilted her head, eyes bright with the offer, “would you like to come?”

Vi rolled her eyes with a grin. “Only a Kiramman would say that a house by the lake isn’t fancy. Bet you have a grand piano there too.”

Caitlyn laughed softly. “Well, we don’t have a grand piano. But we do have an upright piano.”

“Of course you do,” Vi teased, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the desk. “Do your parents know we’re dating?”

Caitlyn couldn’t help but laugh at that. After all, Vi had been over for dinner at least half a dozen times since their first awkward introduction, each visit more comfortable than the last. By now, even her father had warmed to Vi—so much so that they’d fallen into the habit of playing mills together after dessert.

The memory tugged at her lips, and Caitlyn found herself smiling. The most recent dinner came to mind.

Her father had brought out one of his prized bottles of wine, swirling it in his glass as he explained the different notes with great enthusiasm. Vi nodded along, sipping thoughtfully. Then he uncorked a second bottle that was equally expensive and poured Vi a sample, eager for her opinion.

Vi swirled the wine, lifted the glass to her nose, and took a slow sip. Her brows knit in exaggerated concentration.

“Ah, yes. Lovely structure here,” she declared. “Cedar and a touch of graphite, but that vibrant acidity really carries the finish.”

Tobias clapped his hands in delight. “Yes, exactly! A natural connoisseur!”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed at Vi, suspicion prickling. Vi’s favorite wine was a twelve-dollar Stella Rosa Black.

Then Vi leaned closer, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I Googled that before dinner. No idea what it means.”

Caitlyn pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh as her father rambled on about wine pairings.

From across the table, she caught her mother raising an eyebrow, as if she’d read the exchange without hearing it. Caitlyn smiled sheepishly, and her mother returned it with the faintest curve of her lips.

Before Tobias could fetch a third bottle, Cassandra’s voice rang out through the room.

“Dear, let’s not ruin our appetite for dessert.”

“Right, dessert wine,” Tobias said, snapping his fingers as though he’d just remembered. “We’re having crème brûlée tonight. Vi, what would you recommend to pair?”

Vi froze mid-sip. “Uh—well, I think… I’d prefer tea with dessert.”

Cassandra nodded, smiling in amusement as Vi narrowly avoided Tobias’ quizzes on wine. “That’s an excellent idea, Vi. Earl Grey it is.”

Vi shot her a grateful smile, and Caitlyn’s chest warmed at the quiet understanding passing between them. She was happy they were getting along. Especially after everything that had happened this year.

After dessert, they gathered in the living room with steaming mugs of tea. Caitlyn and Vi nestled side by side on the loveseat; Tobias claimed an armchair, with Cassandra perched gracefully on its armrest.

Tobias set a wooden board on the coffee table, a grid etched into its surface and smooth white and black pebbles lined neatly beside it. “This,” he explained, “is Nine Men’s Morris. Also known as Mills.” He divided the stones, sliding the white toward Vi.

“It predates chess,” he continued with pride. “Caitlyn and I used to play when she was young, though now I mostly settle for a robot opponent on my iPad.”

Caitlyn laughed, shaking her head. “I wanted to play Monopoly as a child, but my father insisted this was more befitting of a Kiramman.”

Vi grinned. “Oh, I’m sure as a child you already knew a thing or two about real estate investment without ever having played Monopoly.”

That earned a laugh from Caitlyn’s parents.

“That isn’t so far from the truth,” Cassandra commented lightly, smiling as she sipped her tea.

Tobias leaned forward, eyes bright. “Now, Vi, this is a true test of intelligence. A game of moves and countermoves. Do you think you’re up for it?”

“Well, I am pretty great at Connect Four.”

Tobias chuckled. “I’m sure that’ll come in handy. Now let me explain the rules.”

Caitlyn watched them with quiet fondness as her father began explaining the game, Vi listening with genuine interest, asking sharp clarifying questions. As silly as it seemed, seeing Vi step into a tradition from her own childhood made Caitlyn’s heart swell. Her father was gleaming, caught up in his beloved game, and her mother… her mother was watching with a softness Caitlyn hadn’t expected.

When her mother’s eyes met hers, she tilted her head toward the kitchen. “Would anyone like a fresh cup of tea?” she asked aloud, already rising.

“No, thank you,” Vi said, glancing up with a polite smile before turning right back to the board.

Caitlyn’s father waved a hand, his eyes still glued to the board. “The tea is hardly lukewarm, Cass,” he muttered distractedly, already plotting his next move.

Caitlyn laughed under her breath and rose. “You know Mother only drinks it at boiling point.”

“Quite the exaggeration,” Cassandra mused as she led the way, “though admittedly not entirely inaccurate.”

Caitlyn squeezed Vi’s shoulder in passing, leaving her to Tobias’s clutches, and followed her mother into the kitchen.

“Your father and I were thinking,” Cassandra began as they rounded the kitchen island.

Caitlyn raised a wary brow.

Her mother sighed, recognizing the guarded look. “I know I wasn’t particularly receptive when you first spoke of Vi. And far less so at the summer gathering.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve already apologized to her, but I want to apologize to you as well.”

Caitlyn shifted, her gaze dropping. They hadn’t truly addressed it before. Her mother had softened toward Vi since that first dinner. Caitlyn had guessed her father must’ve told her something about Sarah. Maybe not the whole truth but enough to alter her judgment.

“I don’t think Vi holds it against you,” Caitlyn said quietly.

Cassandra nodded and let the silence linger between them.

Caitlyn glanced at her mother and sighed. “I don’t hold it against you either.” She picked at the sleeve of her shirt. “I know you’re making an effort to like her.”

“Making an effort?” Cassandra’s brow lifted. Then she smiled and shook her head. “It hardly requires effort, Caitlyn. I do like her.”

Caitlyn looked up, brows raised. “You do?”

“Yes.” Cassandra’s chuckle was warm, sincere. “She’s disarming, really. I see why you’ve taken to her.”

Heat rushed to Caitlyn’s cheeks. “How—”

“Caitlyn,” her mother interrupted gently, “you are not as subtle as you imagine.”

Caitlyn had never spoken about relationships with her parents before. This was new, uncharted ground. She hadn’t intended to keep her relationship with Vi a secret, but she also hadn’t known how to bring it up either. 

“I am happy for you both,” Cassandra continued. “Which is why your father and I thought you might like to invite Vi to join us  for Christmas holiday. At the lake house.”

Caitlyn blinked. “Just the four of us?”

“For a week or so, yes.”

Caitlyn’s mind faltered. All this time, she’d assumed her parents saw Vi merely as her close friend. But in one breath, her mother confirmed what Caitlyn had struggled to say aloud: they knew, they approved, and now they were inviting Vi into their most intimate family tradition.

“There is no pressure,” Cassandra reassured. “I’m not sure what Vi has planned for Christmas, but I just wanted you both to know that she would be very welcome.”

The memory of that evening still lingered. It was still early in Vi’s relationship with her parents, and yet… Caitlyn felt like her parents not only accepted Vi, but they welcomed her as though she truly belonged.

Caitlyn shifted on the hard study chair, pulling herself from the memory and back to the girl sitting beside her.

“They’ve known that we’re dating,” Caitlyn said, her voice low but certain. “And they’re happy about it.”

Vi’s brow arched, suspicion flickering across her face. “What? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn confirmed. “My mother told me herself.”

Vi glanced down at her lap, her fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Does… does she approve?”

Caitlyn reached toward Vi, her palm finding Vi’s thigh. She gave it a gentle squeeze, grounding her.

“Of course she does,” she said firmly. “She adores you. And so does my father.”

Vi let out a breath that sounded like disbelief more than relief. She shook her head, pink strands of hair falling into her eyes.

“I… I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

Caitlyn’s chest tightened. She leaned in, tilting her head to catch Vi’s downcast gaze. “You wouldn’t be intruding, Vi. You’d be part of the family.”

Vi rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know, Cait. I—it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… it feels like something you should be doing with your family.”

Caitlyn’s voice softened like she was saying something sacred. “Vi, you are my family. You’re my partner now, and I hope you’ll be my partner for a very long time. You’re one of the most important people in my life.”

For a moment, Vi just looked at her, the tension around her eyes easing. Then a shy smile curved her lips, small but real. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

“I’m positive,” Caitlyn responded without hesitation.

Vi chewed her bottom lip, thoughtful, then huffed a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t even—I’m so out of my depth here. I wouldn’t even know what to get your parents for Christmas.”

Caitlyn’s laugh slipped out softly, a sound that lightened the weight of the conversation. She reached up, threading her fingers through Vi’s hair with care. Vi leaned into her touch instantly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said and pulled Vi closer. Their eyes met, and Caitlyn decided then and there that gray had always been her favorite color. “They just want you there.”

Her hand slid to Vi’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “I want you there.”

And before Vi could argue further, Caitlyn closed the space between them. The kiss was quiet but certain. A kiss that was equal parts want and equal parts need.

—

Despite Caitlyn’s insistence that Vi didn’t need to bring gifts for her parents, Vi had done so anyway.

Her father’s came first: a mills board unlike any Caitlyn had ever seen. Instead of carved wood, the surface was a sheet of frosted glass, the grid etched delicately into its surface. The pieces were marbles of deep emerald and polished gold, catching the firelight as they rolled in his palm.

Vi shifted as he unwrapped it, her voice a little tentative. “I just thought… the glass might look better on the coffee table than the regular wood. But if you’d rather not—”

But he only waved her off, telling her that was nonsense and that he loved the gift. And Caitlyn could tell it was the truth in the way he marveled at the design, his fingers tracing over the grooves of the carved grid in the glass board. It was truly a thoughtfully curated gift.

And for Caitlyn’s mother, Vi had gifted a temperature-controlled mug.

“I don’t think this can keep your tea at a boiling temperature,” Vi joked. “But hopefully it comes close.”

This one caught Caitlyn off-guard. She had only made that comment in passing. And Vi had noted it, remembered it, and turned it into a thoughtful present for her mother.

"Vi," her mother said, surprise softening her usually steady voice. “This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

A flush rose in Vi’s cheeks as she ducked her head. She had always been more at ease around Caitlyn’s father, stumbling a little more in conversation with her mother, though Caitlyn had reminded her more than once that her mother adored her.

“We have something for you, too,” her father said then.

Vi’s eyes went wide. “Oh—no, you didn’t have to, sir. Just being here is more than enough, really.”

Her mother’s voice was gentle but teasing when she spoke. “It would be rather rude to refuse a gift, Vi.”

Vi gave in, shoulders slumping. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Her mother’s eyes softened. Her father reached under the tree and pulled out two envelopes Caitlyn hadn’t noticed were there. 

“It’s a gift for you both,” her mother explained as her father handed them each an envelope.

Vi hesitated, glancing toward Caitlyn before sliding a finger beneath the flap. Caitlyn did the same. The slips of paper inside made no sense at first until Caitlyn saw the airline crest.

“Tickets?” she breathed, lifting her head. “To London?”

Vi’s brow furrowed until it clicked. Then her head snapped toward Caitlyn, mouth parting. First class, round-trip.

“There’s more,” her father said.

Caitlyn drew out the second slip. Her heart skipped. “Seattle,” she whispered. She turned to Vi, who was staring down at her own voucher like she was afraid it might dissolve if she blinked too hard.

Her mother smiled. “We figured you might enjoy a holiday together. To both of your hometowns.”

Vi choked out a laugh of disbelief. “This is—God—” Caitlyn could see the tears well up in her eyes.

And then, before anyone could react, she threw her arms around Caitlyn’s father’s shoulders. He froze for only a moment before hugging her back, blinking hard.

Caitlyn looked to her mother, who was watching with quiet reverence, lips pressed together as if holding back her own tears.

“Thank you,” Vi mumbled thickly as she pulled away. She turned next to Caitlyn’s mother, her smile watery but radiant. “Really. Thank you so much.”

“Yes, thank you,” Caitlyn said as she stood and walked toward her mother, pulling her into an embrace.

Her mother responded in kind. “You two deserve it,” she said. “Enjoy some time together before med school and law school begins.”

“If I get in,” Caitlyn muttered.

“When we get in,” Vi corrected, steady and certain.

Their eyes met. The corner of Caitlyn’s mouth lifted despite the lump in her throat. She glanced back toward the tree, where her gift for Vi still waited, wrapped in red paper. She would give it later. For now, there were already enough tears and tenderness to fill the room.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a kind of domestic ease Caitlyn hadn’t realized she missed. Her father had managed to draw everyone into at least one round of mills on his new board. Caitlyn sat across from him, her pieces scattered in disarray. She was only half paying attention, distracted by the sight of Vi in the kitchen beside her mother.

“The trick,” Cassandra was saying, “is to make sure you don’t overstuff the wrapper.”

“Like this?” Vi lifted her hand toward Cassandra.

Cassandra leaned closer, studying it with measured precision and then nodded approvingly. “Very good,” she said. “Now, brush some water along the edges like this.” She paused, waiting as Vi followed along.

Vi copied her movements carefully, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Fold it in half,” Cassandra instructed, “and then, from the right side, pinch and pleat.” Her fingers moved swiftly, expertly, as though she had done this a thousand times.

Vi mirrored the motion, slower, more deliberate. “Like this?”

Cassandra peered over at the dumpling in Vi’s hand. She nodded once. “Excellent. Now repeat on the other side.”

Vi followed suit, then a moment later, Vi lifted the dumpling, face beaming with pride. “My first dumpling!”

Cassandra’s smile was warm and full of fondness. “And now, only a few dozen more.”

Vi eyed the stack of dumpling wrappers and mountain of filling laid out on the kitchen island and exhaled softly in defeat. “I will never take dumplings for granted ever again,” she mumbled, earning a chuckle from Cassandra.

Caitlyn felt her lips curve before she realized it, and when she turned back to the board, her father was watching her with a knowing look. Her cheeks warmed, and she quickly slid a piece forward, pretending to focus.

“I’m glad she’s here,” he said quietly. “Our home feels lighter.”

Her head lifted. His gaze was soft, his mouth bent in a smile Caitlyn rarely saw outside their home.

“Thank you for inviting her,” she replied, her throat tight.

He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back. “I imagine there will be more of this.”

“More of what?”

He gestured toward the kitchen, where Vi was laughing at something her mother said. “This. The four of us. Perhaps even with Vi’s father, one day.”

Her chest swelled. The unspoken words hung easily between them: Vi belonged here now. She was family.

“That would be lovely,” Caitlyn managed, her voice catching despite her best effort.

He cleared his throat, straightening in his chair, as if embarrassed to linger too long on sentiment. She smiled faintly. He wasn’t a man given to soft declarations, which made his rare ones all the more precious.

“Now,” he said, tone shifting into something more practical, “once you begin law school—Harvard Law School,” he emphasized, a gentle but pointed correction, “you can start your externship at my firm. It will be invaluable experience, and who knows—you may be offered a position when you graduate.”

Caitlyn’s eyes dropped to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. She had never liked these conversations.

“Thank you,” she said carefully. “I’m grateful for the opportunity, but…”

He tilted his head. “But?”

She exhaled slowly. “I don’t think I want to pursue corporate law.” Her fingers twisted against each other. “I’ve always imagined something… more altruistic.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Altruistic?”

Caitlyn nodded. “I admire the work you do. Truly.” And she did—she knew how hard he had fought to climb to where he was, the hours, the sacrifices. But still… “I want to help people. Real people. Not millionaires who panic when their stocks dip.”

She hesitated, bracing for the disappointment. “I know it isn’t glamorous. There’s no wealth, nor prestige. But it’s where my heart is.”

The only sound was the low murmur of her mother’s and Vi’s voices in the kitchen. Her father’s silence stretched long enough to make her chest ache.

Finally, he spoke. “Caitlyn.”

She looked up, and to her surprise, there was no sharpness in his gaze. Only softness.

“I’ll admit,” he said slowly, “if you’d told me this months ago, I might not have understood.” He glanced toward the kitchen, and for a moment a smile flickered over his face. “But after Vi’s case with the board… I do understand.”

Her breath caught. “You do?”

“I do.” He turned back to her. “You’re right—there’s little wealth in that path. But there is joy in protecting people. And joy is its own kind of prestige. I know that now.”

Tears stung the corners of her eyes. She swallowed hard, smiling. “Vi said she couldn’t have done it without you.”

His mouth softened further. “She was brave on her own. I only steadied the ground.”

“Still.” Caitlyn’s voice was firm, full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

Dinner had passed in an easy rhythm—soft conversation, bursts of laughter, and more than a few compliments directed toward the chefs. Warmth lingered in the air long after the plates were cleared, filling the house in a way Caitlyn had only ever dreamed of. Her father had been right: with Vi there, the Kiramman household felt lighter.

When Caitlyn’s parents finally excused themselves, claiming holiday fatigue, Caitlyn suspected it wasn’t weariness at all but an intentional kindness—leaving her and Vi with a little time alone.

“Don’t forget to put out the fireplace, girls,” her father said as he rose from his chair.

“Vi will take care of it,” Caitlyn replied smoothly, turning toward her girlfriend with a teasing smile. She knew Vi wouldn’t let her lift a finger.

Her father returned the smile, gratitude softening his features.

Then Vi hesitated just for a second before stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. Caitlyn’s breath caught at the sight. Her father returned the embrace with equal care.

And When Vi turned to her mother, Caitlyn noticed Cassandra’s initial flicker of surprise. But it dissolved in an instant as Vi drew her into a hug. Cassandra’s hands came up gently, cradling Vi’s back with warmth and tenderness.

“Merry Christmas,” Vi said softly, her cheeks dusted pink with shyness.

As their hug parted, her mother smiled warmly. “Merry Christmas, Vi.”

Caitlyn watched the scene like it was something out of a Hallmark movie. Her heart felt so full of love and joy. This kind of love was soft and constant. Like a fire by the hearth that crackled in the background and radiated warmth through the home. Something quietly ever-present.

Chapter Text

They sat beside each other cross-legged beside the Christmas tree that glowed with a warm golden hue. The fireplace behind them crackled with homely warmth. Caitlyn reached beneath the lowest branch and pulled out a neatly wrapped package she had hidden there, her pulse quickening in anticipation.

The truth was, they weren’t supposed to give each other presents this year. Applications to law school had drained her, and even though her parents had covered the costs, she’d been painfully aware of how expensive it had been. Vi had applied to multiple med schools without anyone to quietly pick up the tab, and on top of that she had insisted on buying thoughtful gifts for Caitlyn’s parents. The promise Caitlyn had proposed—no more spending money on each other until the new year—had been meant to take that weight off Vi.

But promises had loopholes. And Caitlyn had found one.

Vi frowned the moment she spotted the present in Caitlyn’s hands. “Cait,” she said, her voice carrying that blend of exasperation and affection only she could manage. “Tell me you didn’t break the promise you made me keep.”

Caitlyn shook her head, smiling lightly as she extended the gift. “I didn’t. I swear.”

Vi took it reluctantly, her fingers brushing the edges as though she already knew what hid beneath the paper. Her thumb swept over the flat corner, and a smile flickered across her lips. She looked up, her eyes glinting. “Canvas,” she guessed softly. “You painted me something?”

Caitlyn nodded, feeling the warmth creep into her cheeks. “Not a penny spent,” she said, sheepish but resolute.

Something unspoken passed across Vi’s face then. Like a flicker of warmth that caught Caitlyn off guard. She saw it in Vi’s eyes, in the way her mouth softened into something tender.

“Can I open it?” Vi asked, voice low, as if the act itself required permission.

“Of course.”

The wrapping tore away in uneven strips, Vi’s eagerness at odds with her usual careful hands. And then the painting lay bare in her lap. For a moment she only stared, her brows pulled tight, lips parted, as though her brain hadn’t quite caught up to what her eyes were seeing. Then Caitlyn saw the slight shimmer at the edge of her lashes and the quick lift of her hand to brush tears away.

“Cait…” Vi’s voice cracked, rough and uneven. She let out a trembling laugh. “This is… God. You’re terrible, you know that?” Her voice trembled as she spoke.

Caitlyn leaned in, pressing a kiss against her temple, a quiet anchor. “Can you tell what it is?” she asked gently.

Vi’s laugh was shaky, but full of something uncontainable. “Of course I do.”

On the canvas stretched the drive-in theater Vi had once described to her with bittersweet nostalgia. A giant, glowing screen with some indistinct film sat in the back. Rows of cars lined the background, but Caitlyn had left them soft and muted. What stood out, what drew the eye, were two girls at the edge of the lot. Their bikes lay abandoned in the asphalt beside them. They sat side by side, their small frames silhouetted, attention locked on the screen. Powder’s head rested on her sister’s shoulder.

Vi reached out, her fingertip brushing the outline of Powder’s painted hair as though she might feel her there again. Her breath shook. “It’s like… like I just walked into a memory." She turned then, her smile wet with tears, fragile and radiant. “Thank you.”

Caitlyn’s own throat tightened. She managed a small, teary smile. “I’m so glad you like it.”

Vi sniffled, setting the painting carefully aside before pulling Caitlyn into a fierce hug. “I love it,” she murmured into her shoulder. When they pulled apart, Vi pressed a gentle kiss against Caitlyn’s lips, then tucked her head onto her shoulder like the perfect puzzle piece.

For a long while they sat like that, breathing with the fire’s crackle, the lights glowing quietly around them.

Then, quietly, Vi spoke as she lifted her head from Caitlyn’s shoulder. “I have something for you too.” 

Caitlyn turned to her with a raised brow. “Now, did you break our promise?”

Vi’s mouth quirked into a smile. “Not exactly.” She stood, tugging Caitlyn up by both hands, and led her across the room. The piano stood there, glossy and still, untouched since the day it was bought. No one in Caitlyn’s family knew how to play.

Caitlyn blinked. “Vi…?”

“Sit.” Vi slid onto the bench, patting the spot beside her.

Still confused, Caitlyn obeyed. Vi settled her hands on the keys, her posture stiff with nerves. And then, with a deep breath, she pressed down.

The first notes were hesitant, thin, but soon the melody began to take shape. It was something soft, fragile, but undeniably sweet. Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat, unwilling to disturb the moment.

And then Vi’s voice joined the piano.

Love is a stillness I never knew

You are the ground when I'm not strong

Even the silence remembers you

You're like a rock and a rollin' song

Caitlyn let out a breath that was equal parts awe and reverence. Vi’s voice was soft, gentle, and full of weight. Like every word carried a piece of her heart that she wanted to give to Caitlyn. 

For all my mistakes

You're there to share the weight

When every mornin' breaks

It's like spring has sprung

She watched as Vi’s fingers moved gently across the keys, and Caitlyn felt the ache of it, the beauty, as though the song was reaching inside her chest and laying her open. God, she was so in love. And try as she may to stop them, the tears still found their way down her cheeks.

Love is a stillness I never knew

Love is a stillness I never knew

Love is a stillness I never knew

Love is a stillness I never knew

When the last note faded, Caitlyn threw her arms around Vi, pressing her face into the curve of her neck. “That was beautiful,” she whispered, voice thick. “So beautiful.”

Vi chuckled softly, her arms circling Caitlyn. “Glad you think so.”

“When did you learn to play piano?” Caitlyn asked, pulling back just enough to search her face.

Vi’s lips curved, her laugh quiet and shy. “I don’t. Not really. But sometimes Dr. Yin does music therapy with me and lets me pick the song. I’ve been practicing this one for weeks.”

Caitlyn blinked at her, overwhelmed by the quiet devotion that had gone into it. And when their eyes met, her heart nearly broke with the force of it—how much she loved her, how much she was loved in return.

“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” Vi began, her voice low and warm. “I didn’t know love could feel like this. It’s like… like I just learned how to breathe, and you’re the air in my lungs.”

Vi reached up to brush a tear from Caitlyn’s cheek.

“And… I’m just—I’m so fucking lucky I can feel this with you. I feel so… so safe when I’m with you,” she said softly. “And I just love you so, so, so much.” She let out a shaky laugh, as though embarrassed by her own sincerity. “I can’t even put it into words properly. I just love you so much, Caitlyn. So fucking much.”

If Caitlyn’s heart hadn’t bursted already, it sure did now. God, she was so in love with Vi. She had no doubt in her mind that forever was meant for them. She kissed her, slow and lingering, letting everything she felt pour into it—the gratitude, the awe, the fierce, steady devotion. And she hoped that all the words she wished she could say could translate through it.

And when they finally parted, breathless and cheeks burning, Caitlyn pressed her forehead to Vi’s and whispered back to her. “I love you too, Violet. So, so, so much.”

—

“What’s that?” Caitlyn asked as she closed the door to Vi’s dorm behind her.

Vi glanced up from the notebook in her lap. “My dad sent this to me. It’s Powder’s journal.” Her fingers brushed reverently over the pages, tracing lines of ink as Caitlyn eased down beside her on the bed.

Caitlyn sat beside Vi and tilted her head, peering closer. “These drawings… they’re so detailed.”

Vi nodded, a soft huff of breath escaping her. “Yeah. I don’t understand half of it. She’d try explaining things to me sometimes, but,” she shook her head, a faint laugh in her throat, “I never really got it.”

“She was very bright,” Caitlyn murmured, her eyes lingering on the diagrams of gadgets and half-built ideas.

“Yeah, she was brilliant,” Vi said. “Smartest in the family by far.”

Caitlyn flipped a page, her fingertips grazing the sketches. “You’re brilliant too, you know.”

Vi’s lips tugged into a half-smile. “I’ll believe that when Harvard believes it.” She fell back against the mattress with a groan, arms spread wide. “Meanwhile, you already got your acceptance letter two weeks ago. And I’m still stuck refreshing my email every five minutes.”

Caitlyn curled beside her, draping an arm across Vi’s stomach. “Med school takes longer. You know that. Besides, you’ve already heard from your backups. Though calling Johns Hopkins a ‘backup’ feels a little ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but Hopkins is, like, a seven-hour drive from Harvard,” she sighed. “Seven hours away from you.”

“It’s also an hour and a half via plane,” Caitlyn reminded. “And I don’t like to flaunt my family’s wealth, but I hope you know that I can and will fly to you at a moment’s notice.”

That drew a laugh out of Vi. She turned onto her side, facing Caitlyn. “What is it people say again? Eat the rich?”

Caitlyn arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “I believe ‘fuck the rich’ is also popular.”

Vi’s grin sharpened. “Is that so?” She leaned in, their noses brushing.

Caitlyn hummed, voice low. “Think you can manage that?”

Vi’s answer came in the form of a kiss, hot and immediate, and Caitlyn melted into it. She tugged her sweater over her head and tossed it aside before straddling Vi’s lap. Vi’s hand slipped to her back with practiced ease, unclasping her bra, the garment falling forgotten to the floor.

Their mouths moved in fevered rhythm. Tongues teasing, teeth grazing. Caitlyn tangled her fingers in Vi’s hair, massaging her scalp as she rocked slowly against her lap, grinding down in steady waves.

One of Vi’s arms wrapped firm around Caitlyn’s waist, the other sliding upward, her palm cupping Caitlyn’s breast. She kneaded, coaxing breathy sighs from Caitlyn’s lips. When Vi pinched and flicked at her nipples, Caitlyn gasped, her moans unrestrained.

Vi broke away, mouth trailing lower until her lips closed around Caitlyn’s other nipple. Her tongue flicked in lazy, devastating strokes that sent sparks racing through Caitlyn’s body.

“Vi,” Caitlyn breathed, her hands pushing Vi’s head into her chest. “Mmh—Vi—“

Vi looked up with a grin, lips wet. “Shh. The walls here are thin.”

Caitlyn pouted, eyes half-lidded. “Not my fault,” she whispered.

Vi hummed then leaned in to press a kiss to Caitlyn’s lips. “If you can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to stop.”

Caitlyn smiled mischievously. “I think you’re too tempted to stop.”

Her smug little smile earned her another kiss—hungry, reckless. Caitlyn pressed harder against Vi, her hips rolling, heat pooling between her thighs.

In a swift motion, Vi flipped them. Caitlyn landed on her back with Vi above her, one knee sliding between her legs, pressing firm against her center. Caitlyn groaned against her mouth.

“I think you’re the one who can’t stop,” Vi teased, grinding her knee in slow circles.

“Shut up,” Caitlyn muttered, dragging her lips back to Vi’s.

Vi’s body rocked against hers as Caitlyn ground herself onto Vi’s thigh, whining softly into her mouth.

“Take it off,” Caitlyn quickly whispered as Vi’s lips melded with hers.

Vi didn’t need to be told twice. She hooked her fingers over Caitlyn’s pajama bottoms and underwear and slid them both off, tossing them to the side.

Caitlyn shivered as the air hit her skin.

“Are you cold?” Vi asked, reaching for the throw blanket at the edge of the bed.

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Maybe,” she hummed. Her hands played with the hem of Vi’s shirt. “Though I hear skin-to-skin contact helps with the cold.”

They’ve been doing that more lately. It started with their first shower together. Then, with everything that happened afterward with Katarina and the board meetings, a part of Caitlyn had been afraid that their progress had been lost. But the first time they were intimate again after everything had been after their talk on the bleachers. Somewhere in between running back to Caitlyn’s dorm, desperate kisses, and roaming hands that craved closeness, Vi’s shirt had come off. Caitlyn suspected therapy had a role to play in that as well. And sometimes, Vi even took her pants off. Though her boxer briefs always remained on.

Vi’s chuckle vibrated against her mouth. “I know an ulterior motive when I hear one.” Still, she peeled her shirt away, tossing it aside.

Caitlyn let her eyes roam, her breath faltering as she took in the sight of Vi. Her fingers traced over Vi’s bra. “I think this is still in the way,” she said softly.

The bra joined the pile, and Vi pinned Caitlyn’s hands above her head with a smirk. “Better?”

Caitlyn’s eyes flickered down, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Her hand trailed to the waistband of Vi’s sweatpants. “Maybe these too,” she suggested shyly. Then cupped Vi’s cheek with her other hand. “If you want to.”

For a moment, Vi just looked at her. Then she nodded, stripping the sweatpants away.

Caitlyn trailed a hand up Vi’s bare thigh and rested it at her hip. “Much better,” she murmured, her voice thick with want.

Vi dipped down, pressing a wet kiss to Caitlyn’s lips before moving to her cheek. Then to her ear.

Caitlyn shuddered as Vi pressed soft kisses there and alongside them, light nibbles and licks at her earlobe and the shell of her ear. She rested her hands at Vi’s neck, feeling her muscles move as she teased at Caitlyn’s ear.

And in between these kisses and licks, Vi let one of her hands trail down Caitlyn’s body. Her knuckles grazed Caitlyn’s neck, then her collarbone, then her chest, down to the taut of her stomach, her pelvis. And then—oh.

“Vi,” Caitlyn moaned, breathless as Vi’s knuckles brushed over the soft of her clit. Her hips rose, trying to chase Vi’s hand as she pulled away.

“Hm?” Vi asked, her tone teasing. Their eyes met, and Caitlyn shot daggers at Vi.

“Don’t tease,” Caitlyn pleaded. “Not tonight. Please. I want you so bad, I—“

Caitlyn gasped as Vi’s fingers trailed up her slit ever so lightly. She repeated the motion again, still featherlight as her fingers ran from Caitlyn’s wet core to the tip of her clit.

“God, Vi,” Caitlyn groaned, her eyes squeezed shut and her breath tickling Vi’s lips. “Please, just—” Her breath hitched as another gentle brush of Vi’s fingers flicked up her clit.

“Fuck—Vi, just—”

Another light touch.

“Vi—”

Another.

“Please, Vi—”

Another.

“I need—”

Another.

“Please, just—”

Another. 

“Violet—”

Vi stilled. And for a moment, Caitlyn was sure that Vi was teasing her more. Until she realized the name that had escaped her. She had never used Vi’s full name in this context—a physical context. Not after what Vi had told her on the bleachers.

She had been scared that it might trigger something. So she had used it sparingly. Only in soft, private moments between them. Never like this. Never when the heat rose between their legs and her thighs glistened with want.

Caitlyn froze, eyes flying open, afraid she’d ruined the moment. But Vi only let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.

“Fuck,” Vi whispered and pressed their foreheads together. “That… that sounded so good coming from you like that,” she breathed, her voice full of want and desire.

Relief and arousal tangled in Caitlyn’s chest. “Is it—is it all right? If I say your name? Your full name? Like this?”

“Cait,” Vi growled, her voice low and hungry. “I want to hear you scream it when you finish for me.”

Caitlyn clenched around nothing, her body aching for her.

“Can you do that for me, baby?”

And all Caitlyn could do was nod, breathless.

“Good girl.”

Then her fingers pressed to her clit, circling with steady precision. Caitlyn moaned, clutching at her shoulders, undone by the reverence in Vi’s voice, the heat in her eyes.

“Oh, fuck.” Her arms wrapped around Vi’s shoulder, fingers digging into her skin.

“You’re so wet for me, Cait,” Vi groaned softly into her ear. “You feel so good—God. So fucking good, you know that?”

“Y-yes,” Caitlyn breathlessly replied. The heat in her stomach stirred as Vi’s fingers drew moans from her.

Vi kissed the shell of her ear. “Hm. And you’re so good for me, aren’t you?”

Caitlyn groaned. God, she loved hearing Vi talk like this. “Yes,” she answered, breath hitching as the heat inside her grew hotter. “S-so good for you.”

“Can you take me?” Vi asked, her breath ticking Caitlyn’s ear. “Do you want me?”

“Y-yes, please, Vi. I want you—“

Caitlyn gasped as Vi’s fingers pushed into her. And god, she was so wet. So wet that there was no resistance as she took Vi in.

“Fuck—“ she groaned, feeling so completely full.

And Vi’s fingers curled in just the way Caitlyn needed them to, and Caitlyn’s mouth immediately bit onto Vi’s shoulder, stifling what was sure to be a ground-shaking moan.

“Mmh—fuck—“ she moaned into Vi’s shoulder, her saliva wetting Vi’s skin and her lips.

“Let me hear you,” Vi said, leaning up to look into Caitlyn’s eyes.

“Vi—“ Caitlyn gasped. “I—your dormmates—they—fuck—what if they—“ She couldn’t string out a coherent sentence with Vi’s fingers fucking her like this.

Vi tilted her head, a coy smile at her lips. “Oh? Should I stop?” And her fingers began to slow.

Caitlyn quickly shook her head. “No, no, no—don’t stop,” she pleaded immediately, her brows pinched together.

Vi hummed. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And only when Vi’s fingers resumed their original pace and pressure did Caitlyn’s features relax, her lips parting to free her breathy moans.

“Oh, fuck,” Caitlyn gasped.

Vi leaned down and pressed a kiss to Caitlyn’s brow.

“God, look at you. So beautiful,” she whispered, voice full of reverence and heat. Caitlyn clenched at her words.

She could feel the rising pressure building within her as Vi’s fingers continued its rhythmic curls. She could feel her body responding to Vi in the familiar way it always does when Vi is knuckle-deep in her like this—when Vi is fucking her into oblivion like this.

“Vi, I’m—don’t stop—don’t stop,” she managed to choke out.

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?” Vi coaxed.

“Y-yes—fuck!” Caitlyn groaned, her hips bucking into Vi’s hand, trying desperately to chase her climax.

Vi’s fingers never faltered. “Be a good girl and come for me, Cait.”

“Vi—”

“Violet—“

“Fuck—“

“Violet!—”

Caitlyn thrashed against the mattress as the downpour of her climax overtook her. She clenched around Vi’s fingers, pulsing, pulling her in with every wave. And Vi didn’t let go. Didn’t stop. She just held steady, letting Caitlyn ride it out, murmuring low encouragements against her ear.

By the time the tremors began to subside, Caitlyn was half-gone with pleasure, barely registering the trail of kisses Vi pressed across her cheeks and temple, grounding her as she floated back down.

Her nails finally released their grip on Vi’s shoulder, leaving faint red crescents behind. Vi slowed her hand, smiling softly down at her, chest heaving.

“I think you woke up half the dorm,” she teased, voice husky.

“Oh, God,” Caitlyn groaned, throwing her hands over her face, mortified.

Vi chuckled, bending to press a kiss to her damp forehead.

“You just—you just felt so good,” Caitlyn admitted, voice breaking on a sigh as her hands slid up to cradle Vi’s face. Her thumb brushed Vi’s cheekbone, tender.

Vi hummed and finally withdrew her hand, slow and deliberate. Without breaking eye contact, she brought her fingers to her lips and sucked them clean, savoring the taste.

Caitlyn’s breath caught. Watching her, it felt indecent and holy all at once.

When Vi leaned in to kiss her, Caitlyn shivered at the intimacy of tasting herself on Vi’s tongue. The kiss was slower this time, deeper, heavy with everything that lingered between them.

When they parted, Vi’s smirk softened into something almost shy. “I liked it,” she murmured. “When you said my name. My full name.”

Caitlyn smiled faintly, brushing her thumb along Vi’s jaw. “I could tell.” She looped her arm around Vi’s neck and tugged her down against her chest. “Come here.”

Vi went willingly, settling into the curve of her body as though she’d been made to fit there. Caitlyn stroked her hair, her heart still racing but steadying in the comfort of Vi’s weight against her.

She was still breathless, chest rising and falling in sharp waves, her skin glowing with the aftershocks of release. Caitlyn felt like she was floating in a cocoon of warmth and love. Vi’s fingers idly traced patterns across her sternum, grounding her, and Caitlyn closed her eyes, letting herself soak in the moment.

Then—softly, so softly she could’ve convinced herself it was a dream—Vi whispered, “Cait… do you think you could touch me too?”

Caitlyn’s eyes flew open. Her breath caught, a quiet hitch that seemed loud in the hush of the room. Vi noticed immediately.

“You don’t have to,” she rushed, her voice trembling at the edges. “I just… I thought maybe—”

“Violet,” Caitlyn breathed. She shifted up on her elbow, watching as Vi sat back, avoiding her gaze, shoulders tight with nerves. Caitlyn cupped her cheek, coaxing her face back toward her own.

“Of course I will,” Caitlyn said softly. Then she leaned in to kiss her. Soft, secure, grounding.

“Do you want to lie down?” Caitlyn asked after a pause. She bit her lip, unsure. She didn’t know what positions might feel safe for Vi, what might not. She only wanted her to feel held. To feel safe.

Vi’s eyes flicked toward the pillows, then back to Caitlyn, and she gave a small nod before lying back against them.

Caitlyn waited, letting her settle, before she asked, softly, “Can I straddle you?”

Vi’s mouth curved in a bashful smile. “Come here,” she said, voice low.

Caitlyn climbed into place, bracketing Vi’s hips with her thighs. For a moment, they just looked at each other. Caitlyn searched Vi’s face like she was learning it anew, then leaned down to kiss her again. She kissed her slowly, reverently, like every press of her lips was a promise: I see you, I won’t hurt you, you are safe.

In a way, it felt like the first time they’ve ever been intimate. Because it was, in a way. Because this was the first time Vi was offering her body like this. The first time she was entrusting Caitlyn with something so deeply scarred, so fragile, so precious. Caitlyn’s chest ached with the weight of it. God, she loved her. And she hoped Vi could feel that love pouring out through every kiss, every touch.

“Cait?” Vi pulled back suddenly, brows knitting. “Why are you—why are you crying?”

Caitlyn blinked, startled. She hadn’t even realized her cheeks were wet. She let out a small, teary laugh, swiping at her face. “Sorry,” she murmured sheepishly. “I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

Vi studied Caitlyn for a moment, eyes searching Caitlyn’s. Then she broke into a chuckle as she brushed the tears away with her thumb.

“I… I don’t want to mess up,” Caitlyn admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Vi’s eyes softened. She cupped Caitlyn’s face with both hands, anchoring her. “Will you stop if I tell you to stop?”

“Of course,” Caitlyn said instantly.

“Then you won’t hurt me,” Vi answered, squeezing her cheeks gently before her hands slipped back down to Caitlyn’s waist.

Some of the tension bled from Caitlyn’s shoulders. She exhaled and let her gaze dip down, tracing the rise of Vi’s chest. She lifted a hand tentatively. “Can I touch you? Here?” Her fingertips hovered at the swell of Vi’s breast.

Vi let out a shaky breath and nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

Caitlyn’s hand moved with care, massaging gently, watching every flicker of Vi’s expression. When her thumb brushed across a nipple and a moan escaped Vi’s lips, Caitlyn felt her own clit throbbed in response.

She leaned down, pressing soft kisses to the curve of Vi’s breast, inching closer, pausing just before her nipple. She waited, checking for hesitation. Instead, Vi’s hand threaded into her hair, nudging her closer.

That was all Caitlyn needed. She flicked her tongue against the hardened peak, teasing, circling. Vi’s moans spilled into the air, raw and unguarded. Caitlyn thought she might come undone herself just listening.

“Cait,” Vi gasped.

“Hm?” Caitlyn hummed, mouth still working.

“Fuck,” Vi hissed, eyes darting down where Caitlyn’s slick core pressed against her stomach. “You’re so wet.”

Caitlyn sat back up, a coy smile curving her lips. “Well,” she purred, lifting her hips just enough to prove her point, a string of arousal catching between them, “it turns me on to hear you like that.”

Vi’s eyes widened, shining with awe and hunger all at once. When she looked back up, her voice came out in a low groan. “Cait. Touch me.” She guided Caitlyn’s hand from her chest to her hip, the meaning clear.

Caitlyn’s pulse leapt. “How do you want me?” she asked, heart hammering. Vi bit her lip, nervous, but Caitlyn stroked her cheek reassuringly. “We can go slow,” she promised.

Vi nodded. Then quietly, “Just… just over my briefs. Is that—is that okay?”

Caitlyn’s voice softened to a whisper. “Vi, of course that’s okay.” She felt the tension in Vi ease at her words.

Sliding down beside her, Caitlyn tucked one arm under Vi’s neck, the other trailing slowly over her stomach until it reached the heat between her thighs. She kissed Vi’s temple. “We stop the second you want to. I promise.”

“What if I… what if I can’t finish?” Vi’s voice was small, almost ashamed.

“Violet,” she began, her voice soft and firm. “It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t expect you to, and I won’t be upset or angry.” She steadied her gaze, searching Vi’s eyes. “I just want to be here with you.”

Vi’s throat bobbed as she nodded. 

Caitlyn pressed lightly through the fabric, circling over her clit. Vi gasped, back arching. Caitlyn stilled, searching her face—but Vi nodded quickly, urging her on.

So Caitlyn began again, slow circles, steady, deliberate—light pressure onto Vi’s clothed clit. Vi let out a gasp and let her head fall back as her eyes closed.

Even through the cotton, she could feel how wet Vi already was. The sound of her moans filled the space, soft and broken, and Caitlyn thought her heart might burst.

“Fuck, Cait,” Vi panted.

Caitlyn kissed her cheek, whispering, “You sound so good for me, sweetheart.”

Vi moaned louder at that. Caitlyn smiled faintly, the praise flowing easier now. “So wet for me, my love,” she continued. “I can feel you—so fucking soaked.”

And from that, Caitlyn could hear Vi’s breath hitch just before a moan made its way out.

“Cait,” Vi whined. “Fuck—”

Caitlyn gazed at Vi lovingly, watching the woman she loved jolt in pleasure beneath her fingertips. “You’re so beautiful, Violet,” she whispered.

“Mmh–Cait—” Vi’s breath hitched. Then she grabbed onto Caitlyn’s arm, and immediately Caitlyn froze, worried that Vi was asking her to stop.

“N-no,” Vi choked out. “Don’t stop. Please. It… It feels so good.”

Relief washed over her. She pressed harder, tighter circles, and Vi’s nails dug into her arm, desperate.

“Cait,” Vi said, her voice coming out pitch higher with urgency. “Cait, I think—fuck—Cait.”

Caitlyn felt it before she saw it: the tension winding tight through Vi’s body, her shallow breaths, her desperate grip.

She leaned into Vi’s ear, coaxing, “Will you come for me, sweetheart?”

And Vi broke.

Her back arched, a guttural gasp tearing from her throat as she clung to Caitlyn like she was the only thing tethering her to the earth. She cried Caitlyn’s name again and again, a litany, a release years in the making.

Caitlyn held her through it, tears of her own burning her eyes, awed and undone at the sight of the woman she loved finally unraveling in her arms.

Caitlyn pulled Vi down onto her chest, feeling the weight of her, the warmth, the way her breath came in shallow bursts against her skin. For a while, neither of them spoke. Caitlyn’s fingers traced slow, aimless shapes along Vi’s back, grounding her in silence.

“I should have something poetic to say about this,” Vi whispered, voice roughened with emotion. “But all I can think about is how fucking good that felt.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet laugh, and the sound tugged Vi’s lips into a smile. They both dissolved into gentle laughter that carried relief more than humor.

“Well,” Caitlyn teased lightly, brushing her thumb across Vi’s damp temple, “it was your first orgasm in years.” Her voice softened, dipping into something tender. “How did it feel?”

Vi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she hummed low in her throat, the vibration rumbling against Caitlyn’s chest. Caitlyn just held her, stroking slow patterns across Vi’s back, following the curve of her muscles, giving her the space to find words.

Finally, Vi exhaled, the word breaking out of her in a whisper. “Safe.” She shifted, pressing closer, as if to anchor herself in Caitlyn’s warmth. “Really, really safe.”

Caitlyn’s chest clenched so tightly it almost hurt. She wrapped both arms around Vi, pulling her in with a protective fierceness. “Thank you,” she murmured against Vi’s hair, “for trusting me.”

Vi nuzzled into the crook of Caitlyn’s neck, warmth radiating between them.

“Thank you for being someone I can trust.”

—

A soft chime cut through the quiet of the room, dragging Caitlyn from sleep. She blinked groggily, then rolled onto her side. Beside her, Vi lay sprawled on her stomach, cheek pressed against the pillow, her hair messy. Caitlyn’s gaze lingered, tracing the strong lines of Vi’s bare back, the slow rise and fall of her breathing. She looked utterly at peace, and Caitlyn let herself savor the sight for a beat longer.

She glanced over at Vi’s phone on the bed, glowing with a new notification. An email notification. Caitlyn squinted at the sender, her pulse stuttering.

Harvard Medical School.

Her head whipped back to Vi.

“Vi,” Caitlyn whispered, nudging her arm.

Vi groaned, burying her face deeper into the pillow.

“Violet,” Caitlyn tried again, more insistent, picking up the phone.

“Cait,” Vi mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. “I just had my first orgasm in four years. You gotta let me sleep for at least ten more hours.”

Caitlyn stifled a laugh, heart racing. “You got an email from Harvard.”

That did it. Vi shot upright, sleep falling from her in an instant. Her eyes darted to Caitlyn’s hand, to the glowing screen.

“Did you—”

“No, not yet.”

Vi dragged a hand down her face, breath uneven. “Shit. Okay. Fuck.” She laughed nervously, almost breathless. “I just had such a good day. What if I open it and it ruins everything?”

Caitlyn’s heart softened. She bit her lip, then reached to squeeze Vi’s knee. “And what if you open it and it makes the day even better?”

Vi’s hand fell into her lap. She drew a shaky breath. “Fuck. Okay. You’re right. I should… I should just open it.”

Caitlyn handed her the phone, their fingers brushing. “Do you want me to read it too?”

Vi stared at the glowing screen like it might detonate in her hands. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah. I read yours when you opened it. If I get in, it’ll be a memory worth having.” She huffed out a shaky laugh. “And if I don’t… well, fuck.”

Caitlyn slid closer, her hand drawing soothing circles across Vi’s bare back.

“Ready?”

Vi exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Okay.”

She tapped the screen. Together, their eyes scanned the first line until the word leapt out like a beacon:

Congratulations.

“Holy shit.” Vi’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit—I got in!”

Caitlyn squealed, throwing her arms around her. “I’m so proud of you, Vi,” she whispered fiercely, tears pricking her eyes. The future she’d dreamed of suddenly felt solid, real: Harvard, together. “So, so proud of you.”

Vi hugged her back with equal force, laughter trembling in her chest. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They pulled apart with watery smiles, their eyes shining, then dissolved into another embrace, laughing through their sniffles.

“Can you believe it?” Caitlyn said, swiping at her eyes.

“No,” Vi laughed, shaking her head. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

She glanced back at the phone, rereading the email as if they had both read it incorrectly the first time. Caitlyn watched her, heart swelling, as Vi’s lips stretched into a grin so wide it nearly split her face. When she finally tossed the phone aside, she collapsed into Caitlyn, resting her head over her chest.

Caitlyn curled her arms around her, fingertips drifting over the curve of her spine, steady and slow. For a long moment, neither spoke, cocooned in the warmth of the moment.

Then Vi’s voice broke the silence, quiet but weighted. “I wish I could tell Powder.”

Caitlyn’s arms tightened instinctively. “She would be so proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”

Vi chuckled under her breath, though it trembled with fondness. “Yeah. She’d probably start calling me Dr. Fat Hands.”

Caitlyn raised a brow. “Fat hands?”

Vi’s laugh warmed against her collarbone. “Her dumb nickname for me.”

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked toward the nightstand. Powder’s notebook sat there. An idea surfaced, quiet and tentative. Her fingers stilled on Vi’s back.

“What if you got a tattoo?” she asked. “Of her drawings.”

Vi lifted her head from Caitlyn’s chest, brows furrowed. “A tattoo?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Something to remember her by,” she said. “Could be something small on your arm.”

Vi reached for the notebook, pulling it into her lap. She flipped through the pages, fingertips ghosting over the sketches. After a while, her lips tugged into a smile, soft and aching.

“I think that’s a great idea,” she said, though her eyes gleamed with mischief. “But I think it’ll be a bit bigger than you’re picturing.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Bigger? Like a sleeve tattoo?”

Vi chuckled, still flipping through the pages. “Something like that.”

“Maybe we could also get the drawings printed,” Caitlyn said, voice lost in thought. “On poster paper. Framed. You could hang them in your room… or—” she faltered, then forced the word out with a nervous little laugh, “—our living room.”

Vi’s head tipped, an eyebrow lifting. “Our?”

Caitlyn flushed and glanced away. “I’d been thinking about how… if we are both accepted into Harvard again, I was thinking—hoping—that perhaps we could…” she admitted, words tumbling. “And, well, now that we’re both in, I just… well, maybe I was getting ahead of myself—” She stopped, embarrassed by how small the room felt all of a sudden.

Vi reached out without hesitating, covering Caitlyn’s hand with hers. The touch was simple, steady. “Cait, are you asking if we can move in together after graduation?” she asked.

Caitlyn laughed, a short sound squeezed out of nerves. “Well I—” she hesitated then sighed. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

Vi was still for a beat, watching her as though making sure this was what Caitlyn wanted. Then her face softened and the smile that spread across it took Caitlyn’s breath. “I would love to move in with you,” she said.

Relief burst through Caitlyn like warm light. “Do you mean that?” she asked, needing to hear it aloud.

“Of course I mean it, Cait,” Vi said, smiling in reassurance.

Caitlyn let out a long exhale. It felt less like the closing of a door and more like unlocking something she’d kept latched for too long. “We practically live in each other’s dorms already,” she said, trying on the idea aloud. “This would just be… the next step.”

Vi snorted, then grinned. “I know. And besides,” she said, shifting to sit up and waggle a finger, “you’d be the perfect roommate.”

“Is that so?”

“Yup. You’d never use the kitchen because you don’t cook. You refuse to fart in front of me because you don’t want to subject me to your gas. You clean when you’re stressed because you can’t stand a messy room. And you buy fancy bottled water.”

Caitlyn laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “Is that all it takes?”

“Well, no,” Vi said. “I would actually like it if you’d fart in front of me for once.”

Caitlyn’s face flamed. “Excuse me? I will not.”

“Come on,” Vi said, faux pleading. “Every couple does it. I’m tired of going to the bathroom whenever I need to let one out.”

The laugh that bubbled out of Caitlyn this time was all warmth. “You are free to ‘let one out’ whenever you’d like,” she said primly. “I, however, choose to keep that part of me private.”

Vi rolled her eyes theatrically. “It’s a two-way street, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn reached up then, fingers going to cradle Vi’s cheek. The teasing slid away in an instant; what remained was something quieter, fiercer. “We’ve been through so much,” she said. “Haven’t we?”

Vi’s eyes softened. Her hand fit into Caitlyn’s, pressing the warmth of her palm to her cheek. “Yeah,” she said simply. “We have.” The room leaned in with them as if listening.

“You’ve changed my life, Cait,” Vi said, and there was no fanfare in the words. Just an honest, small gravity.

Caitlyn felt her chest swell at that, like the first peek of the sun at sunrise. “No,” she answered, the sentence steady and true. “You changed mine.” She let the statement sit between them. Let it settle into their bones. “I can’t wait,” she whispered, the future suddenly close enough to taste.

“Can’t wait for what?”

Caitlyn’s eyes found Vi’s. She didn’t need ceremony; she needed truth. “Can’t wait to do life with you,” she said. “To do forever with you.”