Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“An ad for Calvin Klein?” 

“You sound surprised,” Mel said with a chuckle, her voice tinged with pride as she slid a sleek black file folder across the polished surface of her desk. “Your portfolio is truly world-class, Caitlyn. They believe your style—elegant, moody, and sensual—is a perfect match for the brand’s vision.”

When Caitlyn got the call from her agent that morning, she had no idea what to expect. Mel wasn’t the type to schedule impromptu meetings, and the sudden urgency had Caitlyn’s thoughts spinning with every possibility—some exciting, some catastrophic. But an offer to shoot a campaign for one of the most recognizable fashion labels in the world? Well, that would have never even crossed her mind.

Her hands, trembling from nerves exacerbated by the strong coffee she had downed on the commute, reached for the project file. The cover flaunted the iconic Calvin Klein logo in bold, minimalist lettering. She flipped it open, her eyes scanning the detailed shot concepts—soft, natural lighting aimed to highlight skin, texture, and candid posing. Notes from the creative director adorned the margins, speaking of unfiltered sophistication, intimacy without artifice, and a celebration of form.

For a moment, Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked hard, grounding herself in the tangibility of Mel’s office, the feel of her heeled boots firmly on the hardwood, and the slightly agitating manner in which her one-size-too-small dress clung to her waist. Anything to convince herself that yes, this was, in fact, very real. 

“I’m beyond flattered Mel, but are you sure they want me for this?” Caitlyn asked.

“There’s no rush to decide right away,” Mel assured. “The creative director is finalizing the set details, and there are logistics to arrange for shooting on location. Typically, they’d lean towards more seasoned photographers, but you were the first person who came to mind when I saw their pitch. This could be a monumental step in your career should you choose to take the job.”

The gravity of such an opportunity certainly wasn’t lost on Caitlyn. Freelancing for smaller, avant-garde New York designers had been rewarding in its own right, but landing a Calvin Klein campaign was the zenith for any burgeoning fashion photographer. A prospect that could catapult her career to heights unimagined, all but guaranteeing her any future work she desired. 

With a deep breath, her decision solidified by the potential of what lay ahead, Caitlyn nodded firmly. “I accept. Thank you so much, Mel.”

“Excellent,” Mel responded with a gleam in her golden eyes. “I’ll have the project manager approve the budget, and we’ll book your flight out west for next Thursday. I’ll send you the hotel and check-in details soon.” Standing up, she extended her hand across the desk. “All the best in this exciting venture, Caitlyn. And remember, the agency is here for any support you need.”

—

The week after Caitlyn’s meeting with Mel disappeared in a blur of packing lists, camera equipment checks, and a flight that felt both impossibly long and not long enough. One moment she was watching the New York skyline vanish beneath the clouds, the next she was stepping off a plane into the dry, sun-soaked sprawl of Los Angeles.

She had barely set her bags down in her modest-but-clearly-upgraded downtown hotel room before she had to change and head back out for a briefing with the campaign’s creative director. Still feeling bogged-down from a mild but stubborn three-hour jet lag, Caitlyn made the ill-advised decision to hop out of her Uber a few blocks early, convincing herself that a short walk might clear her head after a long day of travel. Instead, she found herself meandering through a maze of indistinguishable buildings and sun-bleached signage, beginning to wonder if the coffee shop they were supposed to meet at even existed at all.

She never thought she’d miss the shoulder-to-shoulder bustling chaos of Manhattan, but at least in New York, she knew which way was up.

By the time she arrived at the café—winded and late—she fully expected to be met with a clipped tone or a rescheduled appointment. Instead, the creative director, Grayson Benoit, greeted her with a calm smile, a firm handshake, and an elegant tact that immediately put Caitlyn at ease. Their meeting was swift but purposeful. Grayson spoke with the facility of someone who didn’t need to say much to be clear—her directives were clean, her vision distilled, and the trust she placed in Caitlyn’s skill and instinct was quietly affirming.

Finally back in the golden hush of her hotel room, Caitlyn could let herself exhale. The sun was beginning to set outside the wide west-facing window, casting streaks of amber and pink across the floor and over the soft cream linens of the bed. The room was sleek and minimal—concrete floors, tasteful mid-century touches, a few succulents lined up by the window to reflect the local desert flora.

She changed into something loose and loungy, the stiffness of the day peeling off her shoulders as she settled into the quiet space. She found a radio on the dresser, and fiddled with the knob to find something to suit her tastes—hard rock, top forty hits, classical. She eventually turned to channel five one six, what seemed to be an R&B channel, that filled the air with mellow drums, a groovy bass, and a woman’s gravelly, honeyed voice.

That’s more like it.

Crossing to the kettle on the desk to make some tea, she spotted the folder Grayson had given her resting on the corner of the bed. Then she realized—she hadn’t even opened it. Not during the meeting, not after.

She grimaced slightly, realizing that between her late arrival and Grayson’s own packed schedule, they hadn’t had time to go through it together at all. Caitlyn had promised she’d review it thoroughly later. She just hadn’t realized later would come so quickly.

She approached the bed and picked it up, easing herself onto the mattress and sitting cross-legged. She reached for her glasses on the nightstand, adjusting them before flipping open the file. 

The first item was a comprehensive campaign brief. It laid out the overarching theme, “Raw Elegance, Unfiltered Allure,” which aimed to blend Calvin Klein’s signature minimalism with an edgy, provocative tone. 

Next, she perused through mood boards filled with images—simple monochromatic backgrounds, close-up shots emphasizing texture and skin, and sketches of models portraying various laid-back, unrehearsed poses.

So far, this was in line with the typical standard that Caitlyn was used to before a shoot—the usual inspiration and vision that a photographer would be left with by the creatives in charge. 

I can do this.

She flipped to the next page, which contained the details of the model. 

Model Information Summary

Name: Violet Wicks

Age: 28

Sex: Female

Height: 5’9”

Hair Colour: Pink/Red

Eye Colour: Grey

Nationality: American

Languages Spoken: English, Italian, Spanish

Agency: Lanes Models, Los Angeles

Background and Experience:

Violet has been a rising figure in the fashion industry for the past several years, having gained extensive experience in both broadcast and print. Her strong, distinctive features and athletic physique make her a favoured choice for brands that emphasize a modern, empowering image. Violet’s versatility allows her to seamlessly transition between high-fashion editorial work and more commercial advertising campaigns.

Previous Work:

• Lead model for Hexcore Cologne television advertisement 
• Featured in Vogue’s “30 under 30” influential fashion figures 
• Ambassador for international luxury sportswear brand UA Sportstyle
• Several cover shoots for major fashion magazines including Elle and Harper’s Bazaar

One photo captured Violet in sleek, high-performance sportswear that hugged her muscular frame, highlighting her athletic prowess. In this shot, she was posed mid-action on a running track, her body captured in a moment of powerful motion, hair swept back, and eyes focused sharply on the unseen finish line ahead.

Transitioning from athletic to assertive, another image presented her clad in a crisp, tailored suit. This ensemble spoke of power and status; Violet stood with one hand in her pocket, her posture relaxed yet commanding, with a slight, lazy tilt of her chin. Her gaze was calm but intense, exuding a controlled poise that filled the frame.

Further into the folder, Violet appeared in chic, loose-fitting ripped denim with the fly undone, styled with an edgy, urban flair. Here, her poses were more relaxed as she sat on the edge of a concrete partition covered in graffiti, one leg bent, the other dangling freely, with her elbow resting on her knee. Her expression was cool and slightly aloof, capturing the casual rebellion of the rugged texture of the jeans.

There was a striking quality to Violet’s features—a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, a small numeral VI tattooed on the left side of her face—but it was her eyes that held Caitlyn hostage. Icy grey, unflinching, simultaneously arresting while also managing to convey an inviting tenderness. Even on paper, static within a carefully curated portfolio, she radiated a suave that was difficult to place or put into words. Confidence, maybe. Control. A magnetism that seeped beneath Caitlyn’s skin and made her acutely aware of just how flustered she’d become. She felt a heat rising in her cheeks, uninvited and irritatingly persistent.

With a small shake of her head, Caitlyn closed the folder, placing it beside her on the bed like it might burn her if she kept holding it. But after a moment of silence, her curiosity echoed louder than her restraint. 

She opened her laptop before another passing thought could stop her, typed Hexcore Cologne commercial Violet Wicks, and clicked the first result that came up. 

The screen faded in from black—waves crashing, slow and thunderous, against a pale strip of sand. The camera followed Violet from behind, her toned figure cutting a powerful silhouette against the burnished gold of dawn. She was barefoot, running down the shoreline in a loose, white blouse that billowed around her like windblown smoke, the fabric clinging slightly with every salty gust. There was nothing underneath—just glimpses of bare skin and toned muscle beneath the clothing’s motion.

Caitlyn felt her eyes widen, her mouth go agape, and her pulse rise in her throat.

A female voiceover began, most likely belonging to Violet—sweet and rough like silk to the ears:

“You don’t chase the moment. You become it.” She narrated.

The shot shifted. Violet turned her head slightly toward the camera mid-stride, her deep-set grey eyes sparkling and alive, the corner of her scarred mouth curving into a smirk that was equal parts defiance and invitation. Water droplets rolled down her collarbone, glinting like diamonds as she slowed to a walk.

“Unpredictable. Unapologetic.” Her voice continued as the screen cut to close-ups: Violet’s fingers brushing her wind-tangled pink hair out of her face, the swell of her chest with every breath, the faint smile blooming again as she stared straight into the lens.

“Hexcore. Glorious evolution, infinite possibilities.”

The music swelled, electronic and ascending, surging like Caitlyn’s own frantic heartbeat. The final frame faded in: Violet standing still, waves washing over her feet, eyes locked forward like she was beckoning the viewer to come closer and—

BUZZBUZZBUZZ—BUUUZZZ

The sharp trill of her ringing phone pulled Caitlyn out of her reverie as she all but yelped and slammed the laptop shut. With a hand to her chest, she looked down at her side to see the name MUM flashing on the screen.

If Caitlyn hadn’t forgotten to text her since landing, she would’ve let the call ring out without a second thought. But she knew that her mother was likely spiraling by now, probably imagining she’d been kidnapped by an unlicensed rideshare driver or joined some cult in Venice Beach. So Caitlyn sighed, forced her fingers to unclench, and answered.

“H-hello?” Caitlyn stammered, her hand trembling as she held the phone to her ear.

“Caitlyn?” Her mother’s voice crackled through the speaker, somewhat higher pitched than normal. “I was worried you went off the grid. You said you’d let me know when you arrived.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said, scratching the back of her head as she stood from the bed and slowly paced across the hotel room. “I had a bit of a busy day. Met with the creative director not long after I landed and—well, I haven’t exactly had a moment to breathe.”

Her mother’s voice came through warm and familiar, touched with that signature concern she always wrapped in the usual pleasantries. “It’s fine, dear. I mainly wanted to send you another round of congratulations. Your father and I are just so proud of you, albeit a bit worried about you leaving New York for the first time.”

Caitlyn’s expression softened, her hand falling to her side as she leaned against the desk. “Thank you, but I promise I’ll be fine,” she murmured, more sincerely. “I miss you both.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“What?” The question caught her off guard.

“You sound out of breath.”

“Oh—y-yes, I just…” Caitlyn trailed off, glancing away toward the window. “Just a long day. I’m all right.”

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to hear the faint rustle of papers and something being scribbled down. “Have you been eating well? Keeping up your exercise routine? I can send you a produce box—it should arrive by Friday if I place the order now.”

“Mum,” Caitlyn laughed. “It’s all right. Really. Everything here’s a bit… different, but nothing I haven’t handled before.”

“Well, make sure you take care of yourself. And hide that camera if you’re out late! I don’t want you getting mugged.”

“I’ll be careful, promise,” Caitlyn said, letting the comfort of her mother’s concern soothe the last of her tension. “But I should really get to bed, I have to be at the studio early tomorrow morning for the test shoot.”

“All right, then. Sleep well, dear. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Caitlyn ended the call and let the silence settle around her. 

The room felt a little more yielding now, her nerves a touch quieter.

But when her gaze landed on the black folder on the bed, and then drifted to her camera on the desk, something within her stirred.

Tomorrow, she’d be stepping into the kind of opportunity most photographers her age could only dream of, shooting with one of the most beautiful models she had ever seen.

And all she could think was: 

Don’t screw it up.

—

The studio was already humming with activity by the time Caitlyn arrived, camera bag slung over her shoulder and coffee in a shaky hand. The light in the space was pale and clean with softboxes glowing like full moons, and equipment neatly arranged along the edges. She stepped onto the set-in-progress, a minimalist layout of brushed concrete, muted linen drapes, and a steel stool center stage. Sleek. Intentionally bare. It would leave the model—Violet—the focus. Always the subject, not the surroundings.

Viktor Herald, the lead lighting designer on the crew, sat near the monitors, his cane resting against a crate of gels. He didn’t look up as Caitlyn approached, instead nodding toward the test shots on the screen. “The light’s nearly there,” he said. “But I want to soften the shadows on the left side of the face—her bone structure will catch too hard otherwise.”

Caitlyn stepped beside him, sipping her coffee, eyes already scanning the histogram on the monitor. “Grayson wanted moody, not severe.”

“Exactly.” Viktor glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. His eyes darted down to her trembling hand that held the paper cup, then back up to her face. “Are you nervous, Miss Kiramman?”

“Terrified,” Caitlyn said with a dry laugh. “But… I know I’m ready.”

“It’s only a test shoot, there’s a reason we do them, after all.” Viktor chuckled, and he motioned toward the empty photo area. “I’ve been on a few sets with this model before, you have nothing to worry about,” he assured. “She has a distinct presence that makes her easy to work with. She doesn’t take direction so much as… absorb it. You’ll see. If you ask for a shift in mood, she’ll give you three.”

Caitlyn briefly set down her coffee and unpacked her camera, fingers quick and practiced as she attached her lens and adjusted the strap around her neck. Then, for whatever reason, a burning curiosity crept over her. “Do you know what she’s like… off camera?” Caitlyn asked.

“Private,” Viktor said, watching a tech adjust the key light with a gesture. “But she’s anything but cold. She listens more than she speaks. Which, in my opinion, is why the camera listens to her in return.”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at that. “This is rather poetic for a pre-light.”

He smirked. “Well, we’re all artists here, aren’t we?”

They continued the setup, testing exposures and fine-tuned the lighting modes. As Viktor observed from behind the monitor, Caitlyn moved across the set, checking angles, framing out shots, already imagining how Violet might fill the space until finally, everything was complete.

“Just make her feel seen,” Viktor said as he packed up the last of his gear and ushered the crew out of the studio. “She’ll do the rest.”

The door shut behind him with a click, sealing Caitlyn in the quiet of the monochrome space. She stood still for a moment, the thudding of her heartbeat in her ears louder than it had any right to be. The bitter coffee in her grip had long gone lukewarm, but she sipped it anyway, hoping it might coax away the dryness in her throat, the sudden tightness in her chest.

She turned toward the mirror—tall, framed in brushed metal, brutally honest under the clean overhead lighting. Caitlyn ran her fingers through her navy hair, adjusted the collar of her button-down, then stepped back to assess herself like she would a subject in frame. Black slacks, polished boots, a crisp white shirt tucked neatly under a pale grey blazer. Understated, tailored, safe.

But her fingers hovered at the buttons on her shirt a moment too long. Was it too stiff? Too clinical?  She unfastened the top one, then another, exposing just enough collarbone to make her feel like she wasn’t hiding, but not enough to suggest she was trying. God, when had she started caring what a model thought of her outfit?

She gulped again, heat blooming up her neck. It wasn’t like her to fuss over her appearance before a shoot. Usually, all that mattered was the right camera settings, the light, the mood. Yet here she was, tripping over herself and betraying her usually well-guarded composure as it frayed at the edges.

Suddenly, the sound of the door opening creaked out from behind her, and Caitlyn turned—half expecting, half dreading—and then forgot, for a moment, how to breathe.

“Hi,” the model said, her voice coming out like it had weight and warmth at once. “You must be Caitlyn.”

Paper coffee cup in hand and canvas tote thrown over her left shoulder, Violet stepped in like she belonged to the space already, her presence so striking it somehow shrunk the room to feel smaller. She wore straight-cut jeans that hugged her hips, the denim slightly faded in a way that looked natural, lived-in, not styled. Her white cotton blouse was loosely tucked, one button casually undone, the fabric so soft it seemed to float when she moved, catching the light like mist. 

Caitlyn blinked, nodded—maybe too quickly—and shifted her coffee to her other hand like that would somehow steady her. “Yeah. Yes. That’s me.” She cleared her throat. “Caitlyn. Kiramman. It’s nice to meet you, Violet.”

Get it together.

“Just Vi is fine,” she said.

“Right. Nice to meet you then… Vi.”

Vi extended a hand. “I’ve seen your work—it’s gorgeous. I was excited when I heard you’d be the one shooting this.”

Caitlyn reached out to accept it, hoping Vi wouldn’t notice how damp her palm suddenly felt. “Thanks. That—that means a lot, coming from you.” Her voice wavered, and she cursed it silently.

Vi tilted her head, studying her—not in the way models usually looked at photographers, waiting for direction, but like she was genuinely curious. “You okay?” she asked. “You look a little like you just walked off a rollercoaster.”

Caitlyn let out a quiet, nervous laugh. “Oh, just… long day already. And coffee that’s failing me.”

Vi grinned. “Want to trade? Mine’s excellent,” she raised her cup. “I bribed the stylist to get me the good stuff from Yordle’s down the street.”

Caitlyn laughed for real then, nerves easing just slightly. “Tempting,” she replied, “but I think I’ll survive. Just need to recalibrate.”

“Well,” Vi said, walking past her with an easy stride as she made her way towards the shooting space, “let me know if I can help with that.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, and Caitlyn suddenly wasn’t sure if she was ever calibrated to begin with.

Caitlyn had expected cool confidence, maybe even a hint of an inflated ego—the kind that often accompanied someone who looked like… that . But Vi’s laugh was gentle and genuine, and she spoke with a friendliness that settled into the room like sunlight through glass. Caitlyn almost wished Vi had come across as haughty and conceited, but in conversation, she was anything but.

And it only made Caitlyn’s heart stir wilder.

“Tell me where you want me, and we can get started.” Vi said, placing down her coffee by the side of the set.

“Y-yes, we can start with some standing shots from the front and on the stool.”

“All right.”

Vi tossed her canvas bag by the table and made her way to the shooting area, running her fingers through her hair like a comb while craning her neck, before unbuttoning the blouse and leaving it slightly open. When it seemed she had finally stilled, Caitlyn adjusted her settings and approached the scene.

She raised the camera, eyes focused through the viewfinder, voice steady even as her chest buzzed with a nervous current she couldn’t quite shake.

“Okay, shoulders relaxed. Eyes on me. Just… breathe into it.”

Vi shifted effortlessly, her weight settling into one hip, arms loose at her sides. There was something in the way she held her body—bold, but never rigid. When she looked directly into the lens, it was like being seen and seduced at the same time. 

Caitlyn snapped the first few frames.

“Good. Now turn a little—yeah, like that. Let one hand rest in the pocket, other just… slack. Nice.”

The shutter clicked steadily. Vi’s eyes didn’t leave hers.

Then Vi moved again, this time giving a subtle tug at her jeans—absently adjusting the waistband as she knelt one knee onto the stool. The elastic band of her Calvins peeked out from the front, stark white against supple, taut skin, perfectly framed by the cut of her toned stomach. 

Caitlyn’s throat tightened. Her eye met the viewfinder as she prepared to take another shot, and she was immediately struck with the raw, magnetic beauty of her subject, the sort that made her craft feel like a sin.

She could see everything—the waistband hugging Vi’s hips, the faint shadow that dipped along her lower abdomen, the unapologetic confidence in her pose that oozed with charisma and organic, fluid motion.

She lowered the camera slightly, trying not to swallow too audibly.

I can’t believe I’m about to ask this.

“Can you… unbutton and unzip your jeans?” Caitlyn hesitated. 

Damn Grayson to hell for including that in the creative direction notes.

Vi looked down, then let out a laugh. “Oh. Right. Guess we’re on brand now.” She said as she lowered her hands to undo the fly. She let the jeans rest just below her hips, allowing the signature underwear to become the focal point.

Caitlyn coughed, raising the camera again. “That’s great. It looks great.” Her voice cracked right at the second great, and she wanted to evaporate.

Vi smirked. “Yeah?”

“I mean—for the shoot,” Caitlyn recovered, snapping another shot quickly. “It fits the brief.”

Vi shifted again, easing onto the stool fully now, one arm on her hip, the other on her forehead, chin tilted slightly upward. The light caught the angle of her cheekbone perfectly, the cupid’s bow shape of her lips, the contour of her disorderly half-buzzed hair that complimented the carefree pose of her undone jeans that stretched at the crotch with her spread legs. 

And in that moment, Caitlyn was certain she was mere moments from passing out. 

She cleared her throat, clicked the shutter a few more times, and brought the camera down.  

“Now, I think we should do some back shots,” Caitlyn blurted out. “I-I mean shots, of your back, from behind.”

Why the fuck did I say it like that?

“All right,” Vi stood up and turned herself around, moving the stool off the set and carrying on with her directions. “Since it’s from the back, I should probably take these off, yeah?” 

It took a moment for Caitlyn to register what Vi meant until she saw her nod down towards her jeans. She caught her own gaze drifting there too, before she snapped her head to the side.

“Yes, I suppose you should,” Caitlyn said, keeping her eyes averted.

She heard Vi rustle out of the denim, catching her stepping out of them in her peripheral vision and tossing them off the set. Caitlyn had no idea why on earth she was acting all polite and shy, when in less than a minute she’d be taking numerous pictures of Vi moving in suggestive poses in her underwear. 

When Vi was finally ready to begin again, the only garments remaining on her were the black Calvin briefs and the unbuttoned white blouse. Her thighs were big and brawny, one of the many lovely features that highlighted her athletic beauty, and also left Caitlyn fighting for composure as she lifted her camera to continue. 

“Okay, give me something relaxed and easy,” she said, digging her fingers into the hard plastic of the grip.

Caitlyn watched Vi intently as she transferred her weight onto one leg, arching her back, one arm resting at her side while the other came up to rake a hand through her ragged, reddish-pink hair. It was a simple pose, one Caitlyn was certainly familiar with, so why was her heart galloping and her face burning when she watched her strike it?

With a hard swallow, Caitlyn lifted the camera again. “That’s… yeah, that’s perfect. Hold that right there.” She clicked the shutter three times, then bent forward to grab a new angle. “Maybe turn your head a little—yes, great. A bit more relaxed…”

“Should we do some with the blouse off?” Vi said as she glanced over her shoulder.

Caitlyn’s fingers tensed around the camera grip. 

Vi, with the blouse off. Vi, nearly bare in front of her, posing in nothing but those sleek, deliciously-fitted black briefs. 

Oh.

Her words got stuck somewhere between her brain and her mouth, and for what felt like several agonizing minutes, she just stood there, uselessly gaping at her. Say something. Say literally anything.

“You good?” Vi asked.

Caitlyn flinched at the sound of her voice, snapping herself out of whatever strange, unwanted spell she’d fallen under. “Yes! Yes, that’s—uh, yes. You can… take it off.”

Vi smiled quietly, sliding the fabric off her shoulders in one fluid motion and tossing it off the set, fully exposing Caitlyn to her large, sculpted, naked back.  

She felt like she needed to look away. Should I look away? No, she was the photographer for an underwear ad for fuck’s sake. A photographer who preferred to take in her subject through her own eyes rather than the camera lens—tracing the way her muscles shifted as she adjusted her posture, how the lighting perfectly accentuated every ridge and valley, leaving her nearly breathless. 

The tattoo had taken Caitlyn by surprise, as very few models were permitted to have them. Especially ones this pronounced, with bold black ink that stretched across her back, winding down her triceps and forearms in intricate and striking patterns. For a moment, Caitlyn could have reached forward, overwhelmed with a terrible desire to brush her fingertips over Vi’s skin. Drawing every line, every curve, pressing her lips against that firm shoulder, drifting lower and lower until—

“Did you get the shot? Getting a little sore standing like this.”

“Oh, yes,” Caitlyn blinked, quickly bringing the viewfinder to her eye and snapping the shutter. “I… got it.”

The image landed somewhere behind her eyes, not on the LCD screen—Vi’s shoulders pulled back, the dip of her spine just barely lit by the soft edge of the key light. That stark ink was already burned into Caitlyn’s mind, winding and purposeful and hypnotizing. 

After a few more poses with and without the blouse, some more clicks of the shutter, and several breaks with many glasses of ice water, the session finally came to a close.

“Okay,” Caitlyn said, a little too quickly, lowering the camera. “We’re good. That’s a wrap for this round.”

Vi straightened, stretching her arms overhead with a low, satisfied hum. The blouse she’d shrugged off for the final set remained draped nearby, and Vi shuffled over to pick it up while Caitlyn forced herself to look somewhere—anywhere—else. A light stand. The corner of the backdrop. Perhaps the floor.

“Thanks,” Vi said as she began pulling the blouse back on her large frame. “You’re easy to work with. Quiet, but in a good way. Focused.”

Caitlyn offered a smile that felt slightly crooked. “Likewise. You’re… very expressive. Beautiful in the way you pose.” 

Caitlyn wished she knew how red her face was, and if it was noticeable. It seemed, at the very least, Vi remained oblivious. 

“I’m gonna get changed then,” she said, sliding her other arm into the blouse, before beginning to do up the buttons. “Oh, you know,” she paused. “I just realized something.”

“What?”

“CK is also your initials,” Vi grinned. “This whole time, it’s like I’ve been wearing you.” 

Caitlyn’s heart sprang into a gallop again. She didn’t even reply—what could she possibly say to something like that?

“Anyway, just a funny thought,” Vi mused, before pulling up her jeans, grabbing her tote, and heading for the door. “It was really nice meeting you, Caitlyn.”

“You can call me Cait,” she finally managed to say.

“All right Cait,” Vi gave a mock two finger salute. “I’ll see you for the next round.”

And then, she disappeared out the door with the same effortless grace she’d walked in with—like she never once considered that someone might still be staring after her.

If only she knew.

Caitlyn stayed rooted in place, completely still in the thick silence that permeated the studio after Vi’s departure. 

She exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the camera grip.

She’d shot hundreds of models. Technically perfect, professionally flawless. But never had her fingers trembled on the camera grip. Never had she needed a full second to remember how to breathe. Never had she watched someone walk through her frame and feel like she was about to come apart at the seams.

Caitlyn took another hearty gulp of ice water, and huffed through her nose. Her palms were warm. Her lips dry.

Fuck, she thought, leaning back against the table.

This will be a long two weeks.

—

Mercifully, Caitlyn had nowhere to be the next day. No calls, no meetings, no lights or crew hovering around her with gear in hand. Just her, her laptop, and the memory card of her camera tucked into the SD slot to reveal the fruits of yesterday’s labour.

Grayson had asked for selects—“Send me the strongest ones,” she’d said, “we’ll likely keep a few from the test shoot for the actual campaign.”

She’d said it so casually, as if Caitlyn hadn’t spent half of yesterday holding her breath behind the lens, trying not to let her frayed and frantic nerves bleed into the frame.

She sat cross-legged on the edge of the hotel bed, balancing her laptop on her thighs as it booted with a quiet hum. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard while the loading bar crawled across the screen. The folder finally opened, and the thumbnails blinked into view.

Caitlyn’s cursor floated over the first, her finger stiff on the trackpad. The preview stared back at her—neutral, harmless, just a snapshot. But her chest felt tight, and her skin too warm, as if she already knew what waited beneath the click.

She exhaled, pressed down, and opened the image.

The photo bloomed across the screen—Vi, standing in front of the soft grey backdrop, one hand in the pocket of her jeans, the other brushing casually through her hair. Her eyes met the lens dead-on, sharp and sure, and Caitlyn could feel the ghost of that stare even through the virtual barrier. 

She clicked to the next. In this one, Vi was turned slightly, torso angled, the white blouse loose and half-tucked, open at the front with nothing underneath. Her mouth hung slightly open, like she was caught mid-thought, or mid-breath. The fabric kissed the curve of her waist, the hollow of her collarbone, the distinct ridges of muscle along her abdomen. Caitlyn smiled to herself, appreciating the way the light struck Vi’s face and the dynamic posing she managed to capture. She added it to a newly created send to Grayson folder.

Another click. Vi sitting, one knee propped, the other foot bare against the floor. Her shirt had slipped slightly, revealing more of that inked shoulder, the smooth way it pulled back beneath the light. Her undone jeans had ridden low, and Caitlyn could see the white Calvin waistband cutting a perfect, detailed line against Vi’s skin.

She shifted on the bed. Her shirt suddenly felt wrong—too tight, too hot at the collar. She raked a hand through her hair and tried to tell herself it was nothing. She’d edited countless photos like these. Models in underwear. Beautiful women that could stop anyone dead in their tracks. This wasn’t new.

But her thumb tapped the keys slower now.

Next image: Vi standing with her arms stretched overhead, open blouse hanging off her shoulders, the swell of her bare breasts teasing along the unbuttoned placket. The waistband of her briefs dropped just low enough to draw the eye. Her stomach was smooth but shapely in the way it cradled the shadows from this angle, the tilt of her hip precise, like sculpture—but her expression… that’s what did it. Head cocked slightly, eyelids heavy, lips parted like she was waiting to be touched.

send to Grayson.

Caitlyn’s thighs uncrossed and clenched together, the laptop heavier now on her legs as she shifted to lie on her back. She couldn’t stop staring at the screen, marvelling at how the light grazed Vi’s skin in a way that made it look impossibly soft, and all Caitlyn could think was how her hands would feel dragging down that stripe of ink on her arms, over the bend of her waist, fingers pressing in just enough to leave a mark with her nails.

Her breath came quicker now. She blinked, hard, trying to shove the thought away. But then the next image loaded and her mind betrayed her all over again:

Vi biting her lip, eyes cast downward, one hand gripping the edge of the stool, thighs spread wide apart—jeans off, blouse slack, her dark underwear a prominent focal point that immediately drew the eye. 

Caitlyn swallowed thickly.

You’ve done this a million times. It’s just work.

But her body didn’t care. Her pulse thudded in her ears. Her lower belly coiled tight. And before she could think better of it, her hand had already snaked down into her pants.

The thoughts crept in, uninvited and vivid, as Caitlyn painted tight circles around her clit with the tip of her middle finger.

She thought of Vi’s voice—husky, low, and impossibly sweet, like sugar stirred into smoke. She wondered how it might sound fractured into gasps, breathed hot against her throat, slipping between kisses and broken sighs. For a moment, Caitlyn could almost feel the contour of Vi’s abdomen beneath her palm, sliding down past the branded band that had taunted her all day, peeking above her jeans. Those briefs, already molded so perfectly to Vi’s frame, would look even better soaked through, clinging and ruined beneath Caitlyn’s touch. The noises that would spill from Vi when that confidence cracked, when Caitlyn finally made her—

“Fuck…” Caitlyn groaned through parted lips, increasing to a pace that betrayed how sore her wrist had already become.

Her mind blurred between the weight of her own hand and the press of Vi’s body on top of her—solid, grounding, the warmth of her breasts against Caitlyn’s, the comfort of their bare legs tangled together. She imagined those strong hands sliding beneath her, unhurried and thorough, mapping every curve like Caitlyn had been made for her to explore. The pressure, the pace, the way Vi could pin her down with nothing more than the slow drag of her mouth as she scorched a trail with her lips lower, and lower, and lower...

Kisses skimming her ribs, breath warm against her thigh, then rising, retracing the path with maddening patience. A soft scrape of teeth, a nip below her collarbone. A hand bracing her hip.

Then Vi’s voice, low and wrecked, right at her ear as she brought Caitlyn’s hand to the waistband of her Calvins.

“ It’s like I’m wearing you. ”

The frantic stroking on her clit combined with those devastating words that still echoed in her mind were enough to completely unravel her. 

Caitlyn’s back arched, a shattered whine escaping her throat, as her body seized and trembled. Overwhelmed by the sheer force of it, she removed her hand from her pants and threw it down on the bed, bunching the duvet in her fists as she writhed about, biting her lip and gasping back her loud, feverish moans. 

Several fierce aftershocks lanced through her, and for a moment after, all she could do was lie there, limbs loose and shaking, throat dry, gasps shallow as she stared up at the ceiling. When her vision finally returned and she raised her hand above her face, observing the way her arousal glistened slick on her fingertips, she threw her arm over her eyes.

She’s a model, she thought. A professional. Trusting you to be the same.

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to the laptop still glowing faintly on the edge of the bed where she’d left it, the collection of images still waiting inside to be selected and sorted—not to be used as fodder for Caitlyn’s debauched fantasies. 

She’d spent years behind the lens, knowing exactly where the line was—because too many photographers had crossed it before her. She’d captured all manners of intimacy in its many forms, and had always taken pride in keeping that boundary sacred. But now, with Vi, she could feel herself slipping, teetering into a space she’d always sworn she wouldn’t occupy. 

She pulled the throw blanket up to her shoulders, as if that could somehow hide the truth of what she’d done. As if it could undo where her hand had been, or the flush still ghosting across her neck from the way she thought about her subject.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It never had before.

And tomorrow, she’d have to look Vi in the eye and pretend none of it ever did.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Vi. One more set.”

Sevika’s voice cracked through the surrounding gym noise like a blunt, ruthless whip. She clapped once near Vi’s ear to snap her focus back in line, a no-nonsense move Vi had come to expect from her personal trainer, who’d never once let her coast through a workout without a fight.

The dumbbells quaked in Vi’s hands, sweat slicking her palms so thoroughly they threatened to slip out of her tightly clenched fingers. Her arms strained under the pressure, biceps coiled and screaming, but it wasn’t the weight that killed her. Not like usual.

She grit her teeth and brought the dumbbells up again in a faltering curl. The tension burned through her shoulders and across her chest, a biting ache where muscle should’ve risen to meet the demand without protest.

“Three more,” Sevika barked, arms crossed, her usual tone of authority landing sharp. “C’mon, that’s nothing for you. You sleepwalk through heavier sets.”

Vi let the weights drop to the floor and exhaled with puffed cheeks. “Yeah, well.” She leaned forward on the bench, elbows braced to either side of her knees. “Maybe I’m due for a break.”

Sevika didn’t say anything, which was almost worse than her saying everything. The clang of metal discs, thrumming of someone’s playlist blaring through a phone speaker instead of headphones, and Vi’s own ragged breath all filled the silence between them until Sevika finally circled the bench.

She crouched low, arms draped across her own massive thighs, brow knit tightly together. “This you dodging the fact you’re distracted, or are you about to tell me your rotator cuff’s torn?”

Vi looked up, briefly meeting her stern eyes before glancing away again. She hated how readable she’d become.

“I’m not injured, and I’m not distracted,” Vi replied curtly. 

Sevika stared at her for a long beat. Not necessarily in judgement, but more like someone absolutely clocking her. As if she were a mechanic with a wrench in her hand and a patient ear to the engine. “Don’t tell me you got a girl on your mind.”

Vi blinked. “What girl?”

“I don’t know,” Sevika stood, crossing her arms again. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“It’s, well—”

“—Go on.” 

Vi sighed and reclined on the bench, feeling the edge of the cushion press into her lower back. She picked up the towel that was draped over her thigh and dragged it over her face, hoping to wipe away the rising heat in her cheeks. “I met her at work yesterday.”

“Which one was she? Lighting tech? One of those peppy marketing girls?”

Vi hesitated for a moment. 

“She, uh,” she scratched the back of her head, a sheepish smirk curling on the corner of her lip. “She might be… the photographer.”

Sevika groaned. “Of course you’d catch feelings for the one getting all up in your business.”

“It’s not like that,” Vi muttered.

“Then how is it?”

Vi dropped her towel onto the bench and picked at the skin around her thumbnail. “I don’t know. Nothing even happened. She just… seemed flustered. All nervous, but kinda cute about it.” She rolled her shoulders. “There was this… tension. Y’know? Like something in the air shifted when we were in the studio together.”

Sevika rolled her eyes so hard it looked like she might sprain them. “You ever think she was flustered because you were half-naked and flaunting your abs in her face?”

“She’s a pro, Sev,” Vi said, too quickly to sound convincing.

“So are you.”

Vi huffed a laugh, dragging her fingers through her sweat-damp hair. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I know this gig’s big for me, I won’t mess it up.”

Sevika nodded once. “Mhm. I’d hate to see you toss all that work down the drain for a pretty face.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“We’ll call it for today,” Sevika said, picking up her duffle bag and slinging it over her broad shoulder. “But don’t think that dreamy little look in your eyes means you get to slack. You start going soft on me, I will put you through weighted sleds ‘til you see stars. Got it?”

Vi cracked a crooked smile. “Got it.”

“Good. See you next week.” Sevika gave her a brief wave and stalked off toward the locker room.

Alone now, Vi sat back on the bench, arms at her sides, towel draped around her neck, left only with the company of her thoughts.

She sighed slowly through parted lips, her warm breath stirring the conditioned air around her face. The ache in her biceps was beginning to wane, fading into the background and replaced with something far more pleasant to focus on.

Caitlyn Kiramman.

Just imagining her name sent a flutter through Vi’s chest. It was a name that sounded like it belonged in a novel, inked in the margins by a seasoned hand, whispered in reverent tones across gilded halls. Too delicate for the roughness of the world, but sharp enough to leave its mark.

In her mind’s eye, Vi could see her behind the lens, nerves barely masked by her dedicated professionalism, voice wavering each time she gave direction as Vi adjusted her stance. There’d been an audible click in her throat when she swallowed, several pauses and wide-eyed stares that stretched just a few beats too long. That subtle tremble in her fingers. The way her gaze snagged and lingered like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to look, even though she was, well, the photographer.

So damn cute.

Vi never knew a woman so meticulous and tightly-wound could be this endearing. Especially when considering her caliber. Caitlyn’s portfolio spoke for itself—a career decorated with luminous, breathtaking work featuring a myriad of stunning models, a few of them framed and dressed in a manner far more revealing and bawdy than anything this Calvin Klein campaign would ever entail. 

That was where her mind always returned: Caitlyn, whose artistry had left Vi awestruck the moment she first saw her work, whose keen eye had captured beauty and intimacy in all its nuance and forms—quietly unraveling behind the lens with every press of the shutter.

All because of Vi.

Tomorrow was the first real shoot of the campaign, down in Venice Beach. Caitlyn would be there, camera in hand, face hidden behind the viewfinder, watching Vi again. Framing her. Peeling her open shot by shot, coaxing her into angles that left her wanting for more.

Vi cracked a smile and shook her head slowly, heart already galloping at the thought. She didn’t know what the day would bring. But she knew one thing for certain:

She couldn’t fucking wait for it to come.

—

There was nothing quite like golden hour in Venice Beach.

Amber light spilled across the tops of buildings and towering palms, puddling along baked concrete and turning everything it touched into exorbitant honey. They were set up in a tucked-away alley just off Abbot Kinney—a tight, gritty little spot only a creative mind could love. The styling van was parked crooked at the curb, makeup and hair gear exploding out the back in a war zone of brushes, cables, and half-drunk iced coffees.

Vi sat on a folding chair near a bundled rig of C-stands and sandbags, the bones of a shoot waiting to be put in place. Her legs stretched out long in front of her, one foot lazily bouncing on the ground as Gert, her ever-so-hip-and-edgy stylist, hovered behind her head with a teasing comb and a can of texturizing spray.

“Don’t move,” Gert muttered, yanking a section of Vi’s hair back like she was threading a needle.

“I’ve been still for ten minutes,” Vi replied wryly.

“And I’m trying to make you look like you just rolled out of bed with artfully mussed hair and zero effort. So stop tensing your jaw.”

Vi unclenched her teeth, barely, eyes scanning the alley entrance where crew members trickled in with their gear. Gaffer, key grip, production assistant, lighting tech Viktor—she mentally checked them off. Still no Caitlyn.

She scoffed at herself for even noticing.

I’m that far gone already, huh?

Vi scratched at the inside seam of her jeans, a dark wash pair, fitted through the legs and frayed at the knees but not completely torn. The Calvin band was already sitting high on her hips, ready and waiting for its closeup.

“Chin up,” Gert said, stepping around to inspect her handiwork. “You look hot. Like, accidentally caught in a paparazzi photo while lighting a cigarette hot.”

Vi chuckled. “Is that the brief?”

“No. The brief is Calvin Klein. So, cool detachment with just enough thirst trap to stop traffic.”

“So am I caught by paparazzi hot or caused an eighteen car pileup from a smoldering billboard hot?”

“Neither with that attitude. Give me more untouchable heartbreaker , a little less tired snarky gym teacher.”

Vi huffed out a breath, but her smirk held. She could do aloof. She could do confident. She just wished she could distract herself from the idea of Caitlyn walking around the corner any minute, how it made her pulse kick up like she was back in the damn gym, smack in the middle of Sevika’s unforgiving regimen.

Vi’s foot tapped faster against the concrete.

Then, Gert finally stepped back and admired her handiwork. “Perfect,” she declared. “Now, don’t mess with it until we’ve got you in front of the camera.”

Vi gave a lazy nod as she stood from the chair, and heard the unmistakable click-thunk of a car door swinging open too hard echoed through the alley.

Looking over her shoulder, Vi watched as Caitlyn stumbled out of the passenger seat of a sleek black SUV, one hand gripping her camera bag, the other fumbling to straighten her black jumpsuit that had folded awkwardly under the fabric belt. Her navy hair was slightly tousled, her cheeks pink—not from makeup, Vi suspected, but from a degree of residual embarrassment.

“Sorry we’re late,” Caitlyn puffed, slightly winded as she approached with a brisk stride. “Traffic was brutal. I swear, I aged three years on the 405.”

“That’s just LA welcoming you properly,” Vi shrugged with a grin. “First traffic jam’s a rite of passage.”

Caitlyn laughed at that, the stress visibly sliding off her shoulders a little as she scratched her nose. “Does the city issue you a badge of honour when you finally make it to something on time?”

“Only if you survive three trips on the highway without having a breakdown,” Vi quipped with a wink.

She laughed again, and fuck —Vi suddenly realized just how much she loved that sound.

Before Caitlyn could say anything back, the driver’s side door of the SUV opened, and out stepped the project’s creative director, Grayson Benoit.

The older woman moved swiftly, impeccably dressed in a structured black blazer, wide-leg trousers, and an ivory turtleneck tucked just so. Her silver hair was pulled back into a twisted knot, and she wore tortoiseshell sunglasses despite the fading evening light. Vi had seen her type before—high fashion royalty. Polished, lethal, always two steps ahead.

“You must be Violet,” Grayson said, extending a hand.

Vi accepted it. “Yes. But Vi’s fine.”

“A pleasure,” Grayson replied with a swift shake. “Caitlyn sent me the selects from your test shoot. You photograph exceptionally well. Sharp features. Commanding but not overwhelming. The brand did well to hire you.” 

“Thanks,” Vi replied, used to the oddly clinical compliments of the industry but still catching the undercurrent of respect in Grayson’s tone.

Grayson peered back, scanning the dissipating golden light soaking the surrounding architecture. “We’ve got about forty-five minutes left before this light dips too far behind the buildings. Let’s make it count.”

Immediately, the crew began to stir around them. Stands were locked into place and sandbags dropped with thuds, grips angled reflectors to chase the shifting light, while one assistant hoisted a collapsible scrim into place to soften the sun’s glare. Vi was ushered toward the shallow steps near a sun-bleached, fractured wall covered in graffiti, the alley steeped in that golden varnish that only arrived moments before dusk.

She stood at her mark, the gravel of Venice’s backlot pressing into her sneakers, and drew her graphic t-shirt over her head in a single, fluid motion. The black bralette underneath, emblazoned with the signature CK lettering on the band, clung comfortably to her frame, snug across her ribs.

And that’s when Vi saw it—that familiar, fleeting flicker in Caitlyn’s eyes. A glance, quick and guilty, before her attention snapped back to the camera in her grasp.

Vi couldn’t help but stifle a laugh.

“Ready?” Caitlyn asked, her voice somewhat clipped. Her fingers adjusted the 85mm prime, shoulders tightly squared as she worked.

Vi nodded, and moved into position.

It was easy to slip into it now, the poses rolling through her limbs like breath, hips leaning, her eyes softening. She knew how to angle herself so the sun caught the edges of her body just right, inviting the honeyed hue of the evening to skim her collarbone and the curve of her shoulder, coaxing the shadows to dip and bend to her whim. She kept her gaze fixed on Caitlyn as she moved, and in the stillness between clicks, she swore she bore the weight of the photographer’s attention even when the camera wasn’t raised.

“All right,” Caitlyn said, a bit quieter now. “Can we… do a few… with the jeans down a bit?”

Vi gave a small smile. “Sure.”

She reached for the fly, fingers working at the zipper, and frowned. She tugged on the pull tab once. Then again. 

Caitlyn lowered her camera. “Problem?”

“Zipper’s stuck. Might be caught on the lining.” Vi said, though she was more amused than bothered.

Normally she’d have asked Gert to take care of it, but she was gone, off in search of a quick bite to eat with Grayson, and the set seemed to have fallen into a sort of lull. The crew hung back near the trucks, distracted and lost in their own bubble of banter, leaving the space feeling more forsaken than it probably should have been.

In her peripheral vision, Vi saw Caitlyn step forward, somewhat hesitant, letting her camera hang from her neck and reaching a timid hand in front of her. “Do you,” she swallowed, refusing to meet Vi’s eyes when she spoke. “Want some help? Since we’re short on time…”

For a moment, Vi hesitated, her heart drumming and mouth drying at the question. Then, she finally managed to answer: “Yeah. Thanks.”

Caitlyn closed in with a slow, fluid stride, breathing in shallow bursts as she approached. Now only mere fractions apart, she bent forward ever so slightly, bringing her delicate, long fingers to the zipper of Vi’s jeans while she kept her sight fixed downwards. She worked with finesse, careful not to pull too hard, her brows drawn in tight focus. The intense proximity between them was palpable, as was the feeling of Caitlyn’s touch moving so dangerously close to Vi’s—

“There,” the zipper clicked, and her breath, warm and close, skated across the skin of Vi’s neck, raising goosebumps in its wake. Caitlyn pulled the beltline of the denim down with a light tug to further expose the band of the underwear—then froze, almost mid-motion, as if mortified. “Sorry. That was—”

“—You’re fine,” Vi assured, her voice a rasp as she tried to steady herself. “They… needed to sit lower for the shot anyway.”

“Right, yes.”

A blush flourished on Caitlyn’s face, and Vi could feel it on herself, too—pinkening like ink bleeding into water, slow and tangible and impossible to ignore. Caitlyn had already turned away, feigning interest in the skyline or the dials on her camera or anything else that might excuse the colour rising in her cheeks.

But Vi was still watching—drawn in by the tight set of her jaw, the way her lashes fluttered with too-frequent blinks, the fact that Vi could almost feel the hard thump of her pulse without even touching her. And god, was she beautiful like this, irresistibly so, in a way that overwhelmed Vi with a sense of profound affection. 

At last, Caitlyn looked up.

Her gaze drifted from Vi’s cheek to the edge of her face, then stopped, fixed on the left side of her neck. 

“That’s… interesting,” Caitlyn observed, curious. “Your tattoo.”

Vi craned her head, as if she could somehow see it on herself. “Oh, thanks. I got it when I was in Xiamen.”

“Wait—Xiamen?” Caitlyn’s breath hitched. “That’s where my dad was born.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, he grew up there before moving to Britain.” Caitlyn said, smiling.

“You ever been?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Vi glanced out past the rooftops, letting the memory thread through her mind. “It’s a beautiful place,” she reminisced fondly. “Everything around you feels alive. The food’s unreal. You can smell the ocean from every corner of the city and…”

Vi could feel Caitlyn’s glassy, cerulean eyes on hers—blown, awed, no longer shy about taking her in up close. Maybe she was genuinely captivated by talk of her father’s hometown, or maybe Vi was just that good of a storyteller, persuasive enough to lower her inhibitions. She saw the way Caitlyn’s dilated gaze drifted lower, pausing at Vi’s lips, as her tongue traced the inside of her cheek in slow, languid circles.

Fuck .

Vi let out a long exhale, the words she’d meant to say withering in her throat, slain by the woman in front of her whose very presence stole the air from her lungs.

Caitlyn stifled a giggle, “it was that beautiful it left you speechless?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Kinda like y—”

“—How far along are we?” Grayson’s voice suddenly rounding the corner of a nearby building snapped them both into focus as Caitlyn took a wide step back and grabbed at her camera. “We’ve got fifteen minutes of light left.”

Caitlyn jolted like she’d just been yanked out of a dream. “Oh, w-we’re nearly done,” she stuttered, voice a little rattled, camera already rising to her eye. 

“Vi,” Grayson hollered over, “go ahead and lose the jeans. We’ll get the final shots in just the underwear set.”

With a firm nod, Vi began to shimmy out of the denim. The waistband peeled away with the same whisper that had carried across numerous sets a hundred times before—but now, through Caitlyn’s lens, it seemed to have taken on a different meaning. She stepped out fully and tossed the jeans aside, leaving her clad only in the black bralette, black briefs, and nothing more.

Vi lifted her head to catch the look on Caitlyn’s face; eyes heavy. Lips parted. Visibly breathless. Vi wondered how she might have reacted, if she had said how she felt before Grayson’s abrupt return. Caitlyn’s unmoored expression made Vi suspect she already knew. 

“You okay?” Vi asked in a teasing lilt. 

Caitlyn stammered, blinking like she’d been shaken. “Y-yes. Yes, you can start posing again.”

A tiny smile crept across Vi’s mouth as she turned toward the lens. Her muscles moved on instinct, prompted into the shapes she’d repeated countless times. She leaned on one hip, chin tilted, spine bent in a perfect arch. Caitlyn’s shutter kept pace—rhythmic, almost desperate in its frequency.

“Give me something with an edge,” Caitlyn called from behind the camera. “A little provocative.”

Vi didn’t need to be told twice.

She drew in a breath, let her gaze drop half-lidded, and hooked her thumb under the elastic band of her briefs—pulling them down just enough to play the line without stepping over it. The fabric slid along the peak of her hip bone, the tender skin of her exposed v-line cooling under the open air. She cocked her head to the side, and bit down gently on her lower lip.

Caitlyn didn’t say anything. Vi only heard the rapid firing of the shutter—again, again, again.

You like that, don’t you? Vi mused to herself. She couldn’t see her face fully behind the camera, but the rigidity in her shoulders, the sharp inhale punching through her chest, the way her fingers moved shakily over the button—all of it painted a vivid picture for her.

And that’s when Vi noticed Caitlyn’s free hand reach up, fidget with the front of her jumpsuit, and undo one of the buttons to reveal a blooming, red flush below the dip of her collarbone. 

“All right, that’s a wrap for today,” Grayson declared. “Great job, team. You did well with limited time.”

A wave of low chatter rippled through the crew as everyone hurried to move, winding the cables and dismantling the scrum, hauling the heavy bags into carts and wheeling them toward the van. Vi rolled her shoulders, the last of the day’s warmth still clinging as she padded off the makeshift set to change.

She pulled her jeans and t-shirt back on quickly. The light cotton stuck a little to the curve of her back, traces of a gentle sea breeze threading through the alley and blowing on the fabric. Her fingers wrestled with the fly of her pants as she tried to zip them up, still too keyed up at the thought of Caitlyn’s hands lingering there not so long ago.

When she stepped out of the shooting zone, the sun had slipped completely behind the rooftops, leaving a dusky orange haze burgeoning across the sky like a half-remembered dream. Caitlyn was crouched beside her equipment case, winding cords and gently packing away her camera, as if it were something sacred.

Vi approached her casually, her hands tucked into her back pockets. “Nice work today,” she said, leaning back on the heels of her sneakers. “You moved quick. Grayson seemed impressed.”

Caitlyn glanced up, brushing her hair out of her face. “Thanks,” she said. “You… make it easy.”

“Still. Fast turnarounds can mess with your rhythm, but you handled it well.”

A quiet settled between them, filled only by the clatter of equipment being loaded into the nearby van and the distant screeches of gulls overhead.

Vi glanced toward the mostly-empty nearby parking lot, then looked back at Caitlyn. “Hey, are you going back to the hotel? You’re staying in Hollywood, yeah?”

Caitlyn nodded. “Yes, why?”

“I’ve got my car here,” Vi offered. “If you want a ride… I’m headed that way.”

Caitlyn looked up from where she was zipping her camera bag, clearly caught off guard judging by her wide eyes and the way she shook her head. “Oh—no, you really don’t have to. I’ve got a cab budget.”

“Sure, but you could put that money toward something more worthwhile. Like food. Or coffee above the quality of battery acid.”

That earned her a soft laugh—genuine, if a little tired. “Spoken like someone who’s never wrestled with LA traffic behind her own wheel.”

“You get used to it.” Vi smirked. “Anyway, offer still stands. I promise I make good company.”  

Caitlyn tipped her head back, eyes tracing the dusky skyline, perhaps calculating the time, maybe pondering the severity of the weekend traffic. Then she looked at Vi again. Her lips pressed together, thoughtful but unreadable, as if weighing more than just the offer.

Vi held her breath without realizing. The silence between them stretched, heavy enough to stir doubt in her chest, quiet enough to make her wonder if she'd pushed too far.

“All right,” Caitlyn said at last, and immediately Vi let her tense shoulders drop. “Since you insist, I’ll take you up on it. Thank you.”

—

Vi slid into the driver’s seat of her black Jeep wrangler, the molded shape of the worn leather comforting under her weight after a long day’s work. The interior smelled faintly of surf wax and eucalyptus from the air freshener clipped to the vent, a little detail she hoped her lovely passenger would appreciate. Caitlyn tossed her bag into the trunk and climbed into the front, buckling her seatbelt and tucking a strand of her navy hair behind her ear. 

“It’s The Shoreline on Wilcox,” Caitlyn gave the address of the hotel, and Vi nodded, resting her elbow on the window panel as she pulled out onto the road.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The wind coasted in through the open windows, un-petrifying Vi’s hair from whatever dense product Gert had threaded into it—carrying the scent of tar and greasy food off the urban strip. It hit her all at once, this familiar perfume of home, and without thinking, she said, “you know, I love the way it smells out here. Very particular to this part of the country, know what I mean?”

Caitlyn looked at her with a raised brow. “Not really.”

Vi chuckled and smiled sheepishly.

Don’t say anything weird, you’re going to be stuck in traffic with her for fuck knows how long.

“It’s hard to explain. Pungent. A bit earthy. Like the ground’s alive, y’know?”

Caitlyn smirked, shaking her head. “You say the strangest things.”

“I do?”

“Yes, but it suits you.”

“I guess something about this time of night makes me feel a bit… sentimental.”

Silence followed, but not necessarily uncomfortable.

“Are you… from LA originally?” Caitlyn asked, breaking it gently.

“Yeah. Grew up around here ‘til my early twenties and moved to Mexico for a while. A lotta gigs are shot on site there.” She leaned an elbow on the door and glanced at Caitlyn. “Different kind of chaos. Good chaos, though.”

“When did you move back?”

“When Mexico stopped being trendy.”

“Ah. I see.” Caitlyn let the joke slide with a soft chuckle.

“And what about you?” Vi returned the question. “Where’s the camera taken you in life?”

Pausing, Caitlyn let her gaze drift out the window. “Not far, believe it or not. Outside of Cambridge where I was born, this is… actually my first time leaving New York since my family moved to America.”

“Really?” 

She nodded. “My first time out of state, and it’s to shoot you in your underwear. Bit surreal, really.” Then, she looked back at Vi. “But tell me more about your time in Xiamen. What were you working on there?”

“Oh, that?” Vi grinned. “I actually had a job lined up in Shanghai, and I had to transfer through Xiamen. But it was so gorgeous, I got sidetracked and decided to stay for a while."

“Wait, you..." Caitlyn trailed off, as if Vi had said something absolutely ludicrous. "Just dropped everything to stay because you thought it was pretty ?"

"Yeah,” Vi shrugged. “When something catches your eye, it’s always worth the stay." She reached across Caitlyn’s lap to pop open the glove compartment, her forearm grazing lightly against her thigh. She caught the shift in posture, how Caitlyn’s breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Vi’s fingers closed around a tin of mints, which she shook before offering. “Want one? They’re locally made.”

Caitlyn flicked her eyes to Vi’s, then down to the tin. “Sure.”

Vi tipped it toward her and dropped one into Caitlyn’s palm, their hands brushing briefly, the touch sending the slightest hint of a thrill rippling down her spine. She flicked one into her mouth as well, the sharp and sweet taste somewhat grounding.

“So,” Vi started again. “How long have you lived in the States?”

“Long,” Caitlyn said simply, then swiftly changed the subject. “You really just stayed in Xiamen on a whim? Without knowing anyone?”

“Ha, yeah. Why not?”

Vi caught the way Caitlyn closed her eyes and peered down, clearly fighting back a smile and the beginnings of a breathy laugh. The way her features softened made it difficult for Vi to keep her eyes on the road. If it were up to her, she’d have stared a little longer—maybe a lot longer—if the sprawling sea of cars ahead didn’t demand her attention instead.

The sun had nearly slipped out of view. In the side mirrors, only streaks of amber remained—smearing across traffic-choked lanes like wet paint. Vi stole another glance at Caitlyn, who had gone quiet again, bathed in the cool tangerine wash of the evening. She reached forward to fiddle with the radio, twisting the dial in search of something listenable.

“Looking for something in particular?” Caitlyn asked.

“Something relaxing that’s easy on the nerves maybe,” Vi murmured, still turning the knob. “Wait—”

“—Try five one six.”

“Oh yeah?”

She turned it to the channel, and soon a harmony of sweet, deep beats poured through the speakers. Vi’s head swayed in time with the rhythm, a crooked smile on her lips as she let it wash over her.

Caitlyn stretched in her seat and closed her eyes with a sigh, seemingly satisfied. “Yeah, that’s nice…”

They drove in companionable silence, enjoying the music swelling through the car, until Vi exhaled and looked at the sea of red brake lights stretching endlessly before them.

“We’ve been sitting in this traffic forever,” she muttered, then tilted her head. “You hungry?”

“No, I’m all right.” Caitlyn insisted.

Until her stomach betrayed her with a very low, very audible growl.

Vi couldn’t help it when she burst out laughing. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Caitlyn’s face glowed red as she sank a little in her seat. 

“My place isn’t far,” Vi said, glancing over at her with soft, heavy eyes, endeared by her embarrassment. “We can make something to eat while we wait for the traffic to die down.”

Caitlyn smirked through a suspicious squint. “Didn’t you say the hotel was on the way to your place?”

“Must’ve got turned around.” She shrugged lightly. “What do you say? I make a mean huevos rancheros.”

Caitlyn hesitated, her lips slightly parted, lost in thought and considering. Vi shifted in her seat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. She didn’t dare look over, not until Caitlyn said something. Anything. 

Sevika’s words from yesterday rang loud in the back of her head:

‘Don’t throw your hard work away for a pretty face.’

Caitlyn stared at the traffic for a moment longer, before facing Vi again with a bashful nod. “Well,” she finally said. “If your cooking is even half as convincing as your pitch, I’d be a fool to say no.”

With a deep breath of relief that quickly gave way to a profound sense of giddy elation, Vi turned the wheel, taking the next exit with a smile blooming across her face.

It really had been a while since someone caught her eye. And when something catches your eye—

It’s always worth the stay.

Chapter Text

Caitlyn shut the bathroom door behind her with a gentle click, the sound echoing in the unfamiliar stillness of Vi’s humble but stylish Century City apartment. The ceiling light flickered once, then steadied, washing the room in a warm-toned hue. A nearby open candle had filled the space with the aroma of verbena and lemon balm. Nothing at all like the sterile scent of the hotel.

She turned on the tap, the cold water spilling out in a hiss. She cupped her hands beneath it, then pressed the chill to her cheeks, letting the shock settle her nerves.

What the hell are you doing?

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself that today.

The first moment had been at the shoot, with Vi standing in front of her lens, posture easy, shoulders lax, every shift in her body like poetry that sent Caitlyn’s imagination drifting to such deplorable places. She had scarcely kept herself together then, the camera heavier than she remembered, as if even it recognized the undeniable allure of its subject. 

And Vi had looked back like she knew it, too.

Caitlyn blinked hard, water dripping from her lashes and off the point of her chin. She reached blindly for the towel near the sink, dabbing at her face. Her reflection stared back at her—cheeks still flushed, mouth slightly ajar, like she hadn’t quite smoothed the emotion off of it yet.

It’s just dinner. Just dinner with… a wildly charismatic woman who looks at you like she wants to commit every inch of you to memory.

Caitlyn glared at herself a moment longer.

“You’re the photographer,” she murmured, voice low and half-scolding. 

You can’t, you can’t.

Yet, this plain and simple truth did nothing to stop the butterflies in her stomach each time Vi’s gaze lingered just moments too long, nor did it quell the hitch in her breath when Vi’s forearm casually brushed against her leg in the close confines of the car, as if her touch were the most natural thing in the world.

Caitlyn exhaled and leaned over the sink again, bracing her hands on either side. The porcelain was cold beneath her palms. Her reflection was a little too wide-eyed for her liking. She had to rein it in.

Just get through dinner. Be polite. Keep it together. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, Caitlyn wiped the last of the dampness from her hands onto the side of her jumpsuit as she made her way down the hall. The apartment was small, but there was a kind of charm to it, an effortless disarray that somehow didn’t feel messy. Lived-in, rather. A place someone passed through often but still called home. Worn hardwood floors, sun-bleached and imperfect. A record player in the corner, half-buried under stacks of old vinyls and a tangled heap of wire. Exposed brick that caught the glow of the streetlights outside.

The kitchen, if one could call it that, was more of an annexed corner, open shelving above a battered butcher block counter, a matching island at the center, and cast iron pans hung with little ceremony from a rack above the stove. 

Vi stood with her back to her, now changed into a black muscle tee and grey sweats, her forearms flexing as she sliced and diced something with a practiced rhythm—tomatoes, it looked like. There were onions in the pan already, sizzling low and golden in oil. A stack of warm tortillas sat beside her, half-covered by a dish towel patterned with tiny citrus fruits. Something white was crumbled into a bowl—a cheese of some sort, Caitlyn couldn’t quite tell.

She found her feet stuck to the floor, unable to move. Her eyes, however, were free to roam over Vi's delectable figure.

There was something about watching Vi work in the kitchen, her presence so effortlessly unravelling the tightly wound spools of Caitlyn’s typical composure. As she chopped, the muscles beneath her top shifted, a living canvas of ink that danced across her back with each drop of the blade. Like watching art in motion, pulling Caitlyn further from her realm of order and control.

And then there was the way her jaw tightened when she focused. That faint crease between her brows. The slight curl of her lips as she tasted something on the tip of her finger, considered it, frowned, then added a sprinkle of some seasoning before tasting it again, this time nodding in satisfaction.

Caitlyn hovered around for a moment before clearing her throat. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Vi glanced up, her face unreadable at first, until she cocked a brow. It made Caitlyn shift her weight.

“…What?” Caitlyn crossed her arms. “Is it that odd I want to be useful? You offered me a ride and now you’re cooking me dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

Vi’s mouth ticked up slightly. “Well if you insist… how about you crack four eggs into a bowl for me?”

That, she could do.

Caitlyn ambled to the fridge, popping it open and locating the beige carton. She nudged the door shut with her hip, the motion sending a small photo fluttering to the floor from under one of the magnets. She bent to pick it up, and paused as she went to put it back.

It was an old print, slightly curled at the corners—Vi, unmistakably younger but still undeniably herself, laughing with her whole body as she reached to ruffle the light blue hair of a girl standing beside her. 

Caitlyn smiled and slid the photo beneath the magnet. “This is a lovely picture.”

Vi glanced over. “Oh. That’s my little sis, Powder. That was the night she got her acceptance letter into UCLA engineering.”

“That’s wonderful,” Caitlyn said. “You must be proud of her.”

“Sure am.” Vi gave the onions another thorough stir, her tone fond. “I actually got into modeling because of her.”

“She inspired you to become a model?”

“Not quite so literally,” Vi shrugged. “It’s more that we didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and I wanted her to be able to afford college. Someone once told me I had the face of a siren and the body of a gladiator. So I took it to heart and started booking some gigs, just enough to pad her school fund. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Well,” Caitlyn said gently, coming back to the counter next to Vi and dropping the egg carton on the wood. “They certainly weren’t wrong. You definitely fit the description in the Hexcore Cologne commercial.”

Vi looked up from the stove. “That’s been off the air for, like, three years. How did you—?” Then, the realization hit mid-sentence. She grinned. “Oh, you looked me up, didn’t you?”

“I—I, no,” Caitlyn stammered. “It just… showed up as an ad. On a random video.”

“Mhm. Sure,” Vi said, turning her attention back to the pan with a smirk Caitlyn could practically feel in her bones.

Bloody idiot, why did you have to say that? Caitlyn thought, reaching for an egg with a trembling hand. Of course she had to go and bring up the commercial, like some tragically repressed fangirl who’d spent the last few days spiraling down Vi’s search results. 

Smooth. Truly top marks for discretion.

Caitlyn inhaled slowly, willed herself to focus, to breathe, to just crack one stupid egg like the functioning adult she supposedly was.

She brought it down against the rim of the bowl—too hard. The shell gave way with a loud snap, splintering in her hand. The yolk spilled out unceremoniously, rupturing on impact and bleeding into the whites in a thin, unstructured mess. A shard of shell floated to the surface to serve as a reminder of her screw-up.

It seemed Vi didn’t notice as she continued working over the stove. So Caitlyn reached for a second egg, steadying her fingers this time. She tapped it against the rim of the bowl, but misjudged again. The yolk spilled into the whites, like a popped balloon.

She blinked at the broken yellow mess, then cleared her throat. “Um, Vi,” she started sheepishly.  “Were you… planning to scramble these eggs by any chance?”

Vi didn’t turn around, still focused on her pan. “Nope. Sunny side up.”

Caitlyn stiffened. “Ah.”

A beat passed. Then Vi peered over her shoulder, noticed the wrecked yolk, and let out a warm chuckle as she stepped away from the cooktop. “Hey, that’s okay,” she said, coming to stand next to Caitlyn. “Watch, I’ll show you a trick.”

She picked up an egg from the carton and held it between her thumb and fingers. “You want a clean edge,” she said, tapping it gently but firmly against the counter. “None of that bowl-side stuff. Makes it harder to control.”

Caitlyn nodded, intently watching the way Vi’s hands moved—confident, sure, controlled in a way that made something twist low in her belly.

Vi cracked the egg open with a single motion and let the contents slide into a new bowl, the yolk settling perfect and whole. She handed Caitlyn the next one. “Try it like that.”

Caitlyn took it carefully. “You make it look easy.”

“Years of practice. You cook much?”

“Not really,” Caitlyn admitted, cheeks a touch pink again. “We had private chefs growing up, so… I really never had to.”

Vi’s brow arched as she laughed under her breath. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. Just explains the carnage, is all.”

Caitlyn took the egg, trying to mimic the way Vi’s fingers had held it. She tapped it against the counter, just as shown, and cracked it open cleanly into the bowl. The yolk landed intact, a small triumph.

Vi grinned, genuinely pleased. “See? Easy, right?”

Their eyes met. Caitlyn hadn’t meant to stare, but something in the soft curve of Vi’s smile, the light glinting off her lashes, the heat between them that hadn’t yet dissipated—it held her there. Just for a moment too long. 

Vi blinked and looked away first, rubbing the back of her neck. “Uh, you want something to drink?”

Caitlyn nodded, slowly coming back to herself. “Yes, just some water, thanks.”

Vi paced over to the fridge and poured her a glass, the ice cubes clinking lightly. Caitlyn took it with a quiet, “ Thanks ,” and brought the rim to her lips, though it wasn’t her thirst she was trying to quell.

She looked away, shook her head gently, trying to catch her breath. It shouldn’t have felt like that, standing in a stranger’s kitchen, making a straightforward recipe together that she couldn’t even be of use for. 

And yet, somehow, it did.

Finally finished with cooking, Vi set the plate down in front of Caitlyn at the small oak dining table with a casual but tangible pride. The meal was relatively simple—warm tortillas, soft eggs, a simmered tomato-chili base rich with spice, and just the right amount of cheese nestled into each. The aroma alone was enough to make Caitlyn’s mouth water before she’d even picked up her fork.

Then she took a bite.

Oh.

Her eyes shut for a moment as the flavours bloomed on her palate, bold and spicy and bright with lime and heat that settled at the edges of her tongue but never overwhelmed. 

Vi leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed. “So?”

Setting her fork down, Caitlyn swallowed quickly before her manners failed her entirely. “This is… incredible. Seriously. How did you learn to make this?”

Vi took a bite of her own and chewed slowly, her eyes drawn down as if sorting through old memories. “When I was living in Mexico, I stayed in this coastal town for a while. Real sleepy place, nothing fancy. There was a woman who ran a food cart by the beach. Doña Isa.” She softened when she said the name. “She made these every morning at sunrise. First come, first served. Her hands moved so fast, it was like watching a magician. I used to help her haul ingredients from the market just so she’d teach me how to make them.”

“She taught you?”

“Only after I proved I could carry a ten-kilo sack of tomatoes without dropping it,” Vi said with a grin. “She didn’t teach just anyone .”

The warmth in her voice had a gravity to it, and Caitlyn found herself leaning in ever so slightly. “You woke up every morning to help an old woman? Rather noble of you.”

“Well, there was something in it for me, too. It was peaceful. Watched the sunrise. Cooked a nice meal. Swam in the ocean. Fell asleep to the music from the street and the ocean wind on my face.”

Caitlyn looked down at her plate, her fork paused mid-air. That kind of life—untethered, unplanned—was so far removed from anything she’d ever known. “That sounds… wonderful.”

“It was. You ever done anything like that?”

Caitlyn let out an awkward laugh and shook her head. “Not quite. I’ve spent most of my life in a city. Boarding school in Cambridge, then internships in New York, then freelance and agency work. My life is usually planned out in blocks, well in advance.”

“Wow,” Vi said, wide-eyed. “Sounds thrilling.”

Caitlyn smiled despite herself. “It’s safe. Structured. There’s comfort in predictability, I suppose.”

“Structured’s not always bad,” Vi said, spinning her fork once between her fingers. “But there’s something to be said for waking up and having no clue where the day’s gonna take you.”

“It seems that type of lifestyle comes naturally to you.”

Vi’s eyes met hers. “It’s not always as easy as it seems. But it certainly makes for a rich life filled with good memories.”

A silence held between them again—weighty, poised in the backdrop of the city noise beyond Vi’s windows and the soft clink of silverware on ceramic. Caitlyn managed to steal glances when Vi wasn’t looking, found herself so enthralled by her, excited for the next time she would speak so she could hear her voice.

Then, Vi shot a glance at the clock above the sink and shifted in her seat. “Shit,” she muttered, pushing back from the table. “I should probably get you back to the hotel.”

She stood, brushing her hand absently through her hair. But before she could take a full step away, Caitlyn reached out and caught her wrist.

Vi stopped dead in her tracks.

Caitlyn’s eyes shot open, almost surprised by her own boldness. Her fingers remained around Vi’s skin, warm and a little tense.

“Wait.”

Vi craned her neck to face her. “What?”

Caitlyn hesitated, her grip loosening slightly. “Could you… tell me another story?”

Vi’s eyes softened, the worry in her face giving way to a small smile. “Yeah?” Her voice was quieter now. “What do you wanna hear?”

“I don’t know,” Caitlyn admitted, her eyes darting down and then back up. “Maybe… something long enough to drag this out.”

—

One more story had turned into several. And somehow, a glass of ice water had been exchanged for one, then two—possibly three—bottles of beer. The label peeled under Caitlyn’s fingertips as she held hers, and Vi was on her feet now, lively and animated beneath the dim light of the pendant overhead.

Channel five-one-six played low and smooth in the background, a lazy rhythm of soulful hooks, each one warming the room like a familiar embrace. Caitlyn had lost count of how many times she’d laughed tonight, left short of breath with an ache in her sides.

“—So I’m not even ten minutes into the shoot at this primate sanctuary in Thailand,” Vi continued, swirling her bottle in her hand as she paced in front of the table. “When suddenly, one of the monkeys on my shoulder decides to… come a little close, if you know what I mean.”

Caitlyn blinked, disbelieving. “No way.”

“Oh, hold on,” Vi grinned. “It gets better.”

Her voice teased around the words in a manner that had Caitlyn leaning forward, her elbow resting on the table, chin in her hand. “Wait, it didn’t—”

“—It’s looking at me,” Vi said, gesturing vaguely at her own shoulder, “with a kind of… lascivious expression. And then I freeze, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and—”

“—What?”

“It starts…”

“Oh my god.”

Vi threw her arms up mockingly. “Hey, it’s still a sensitive memory for me.”

Caitlyn covered her mouth, stifling the giggle that bubbled up in her throat.

“And then?”

“I proposed, obviously.”

The sound that escaped Caitlyn was somewhere between a gasp and a wheeze. She doubled over with laughter, scrunching her nose and throwing her head back as Vi took a swig from her bottle in an effort to smother her own.

“I hope you took her to dinner first,” Caitlyn managed.

“Of course I did, do I look like some thoughtless, poorly raised boor to you?”

That earned another laugh. And Caitlyn let it come, no longer trying to hide how enchanted she felt. Her chest crackled with the warmth of alcohol and affection as she watched Vi, glowing and gorgeous from the inside out, tell these ridiculous stories in such a boisterous manner as if she were acting them out beat by beat on a grand stage. 

Vi finally sank back into her chair, the wood creaking beneath her as she set her beer down. Her smile lingered, lazy and sweet, settling from her earlier rowdiness. The last few ripples of laughter fell freely from Caitlyn’s chest, huffing out the tail end of a chuckle as she wiped under one eye with the pad of her finger.

They caught each other’s gaze again, long enough that Caitlyn forgot to look away.

“You really love what you do, don’t you?” She said.

Vi tilted her head, considering, then gave a nod. “Yeah. I do.” She admitted, her voice a little hoarse. “I’m almost obsessed with it. But not in a vain kind of way. It’s not about being seen.” She paused, tracing her finger along the condensation ring on the table. “It’s about how it makes me see everything else. People. Places. Moments.”

Caitlyn smiled, drawn in despite herself. “You sound like an artist.”

“Nah. I’m afraid I’m too normal and adjusted for that.” 

Caitlyn looked down, then scoffed. “I don’t think you’re so normal,” she said, then immediately winced. “Not that—I mean—”

Vi looked at her, amusement colouring her eyes as she watched Caitlyn become more flustered, heat rushing up the photographer’s cheeks to colour them pink.

“I just meant… I think you’re rather extraordinary,” Caitlyn confessed, steadier this time. “Is all.”

In the stillness between them, Caitlyn felt her own pulse, hot and fast, roaring in her ears.

Vi leaned back in her chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. “It’s getting late,” she said, her voice still scratchy from laughing. “If you don’t feel like braving the road tonight… you can crash here.”

Caitlyn raised her shoulders. “ Here ?”

Vi was already rising from her seat, stretching her arms over her head. “Yeah. My closet’s got some sweats, t-shirts, whatever looks the comfiest, help yourself.”

Caitlyn opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came. The invitation struck her oddly—so casual, so unbothered, and yet something about it, the implication of it all, carried a palpable charge.

Vi noticed the look of bewilderment. “Hey, it’s not a trap or anything,” she assured. “Do what you like. You’re welcome to the couch if that feels better.”

It was hard to believe that only two days ago, Caitlyn was lying in the hotel bed, alone, tormented with such sinful and tantalizing thoughts of this woman. And now, she was standing in her home, with an offer to spend the night, after an afternoon and evening wrought with suffocating tension that she knew, deep down, they both must have felt.

Caitlyn studied her a moment longer, lips pressing into a line. She feared those silvery eyes, dark and wanting, left her with very little choice in the matter. 

She nodded. “All right.”

Vi grinned, already gathering their empty bottles and plates. “I’ll clean up here. Go get yourself cozy. First door on the left down the hall.”

—

Caitlyn’s heart thundered like a stampede in her chest the second she stepped over the threshold.

Vi’s room was… warm; the walls, a soft creamy white, caught the scatter of hallway light, bathing the space in a delicate, inviting tone. It was sparsely furnished, with a bed dressed in deep navy sheets, a modest wooden bookshelf, and a lamp with a crooked shade that cast a gentle glow, weaving a cozy tapestry of shadows and light. 

What stole Caitlyn’s attention, however, were the myriad of photographs.

Dozens of them lined the wall opposite the bed, each one clipped to twine with little wooden clothespins, like a makeshift gallery. There were sun-drenched ports, alleyways bursting with colour, and stretching coastlines that looked like they belonged in travel brochures. 

And Vi. 

Several photos with her arm slung around her little sister Powder. Vi mid-laugh, head thrown back, her love and joy practically radiating off the paper. Caitlyn lingered there longer than she meant to, admiring Vi in all her candid beauty, so perfectly captured down to her very essence.

I’d give anything to shoot you like this.

Realizing she was probably keeping Vi waiting with her idling, Caitlyn eventually moved toward the closet. It was neater than expected, with racks of jackets and blazers organized by colour, and a drawer cracked open just enough to show stacks of folded sweats and t-shirts. She rifled through them until one caught her eye. Oversized, soft as a cloud, with bold, black letters on the front that read:

CERTIFIED GOBLIN MODE

A breath of laughter escaped through her nose.

She tugged it free from the drawer and tossed it onto the bed with a pair of grey sweats that matched the ones Vi was currently wearing, the waistband stretched and worn just enough to promise comfort. Caitlyn went ahead and peeled off her jumpsuit, careful not to wrinkle it, folding it neatly and resting it on a nearby chair before stepping into the soft cotton and sliding the shirt over her head.

Despite her being slightly taller than Vi, it managed to hang down past her hips. Rifling through her dresser, wearing her clothes, all of it felt so… intimate. 

Caitlyn paused. Then, almost instinctively, she bunched the hem of the shirt in her hands and brought it to her face.

It smelled… like her.

Something faintly woodsy and citrusy, cut with ocean salt and sandalwood, or maybe the sun-dried linen that had soaked up the air of every place she’d ever been. Caitlyn closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, her chest steadily rising as she consumed the scent, so utterly soothing, like a cozy blanket for the senses.

Now finally dressed in something more comfortable, albeit extremely casual, Caitlyn padded down the hallway, tugging at the slightly too-long sleeves of Vi’s borrowed shirt as she rounded the corner back into the kitchen.

The volume knob of the stereo clicked beneath Vi’s fingers as she nudged the radio louder, letting the mellow track fill up the room, a warm and sultry sound that made the small kitchen feel almost dreamlike.

And then she turned—and saw Caitlyn.

Vi froze, her hand halting on the dial. The easy sway in her stance stiffened, her wide grey eyes locking onto her like a spark catching dry kindling.

Caitlyn stopped where she was, a little startled. “What’s wrong?” She asked, smoothing the hem of the oversized shirt down her thigh. 

Vi didn’t answer right away. Her heavy gaze didn’t move, not even a blink. “Wow,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You look stunning. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks blushed a shade deeper. She let out a short, bashful laugh and looked down at herself. “It’s just sweatpants and a t-shirt with a silly phrase on it.”

Vi tilted her head, studying her, drinking her in. “I know.” She approached languidly, her stance relaxed, expression mild. “Something about you looking so at ease in my clothes… it makes me wanna run around the block and start howling.”

Caitlyn bit her lip, helpless against the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You really do say the strangest things.”

The room seemed to pause, suspended in amber. Music poured gently from the radio, notes of a languid bassline spilling into the stillness like honey, slow and saccharine. Caitlyn barely noticed the aroma of spices from dinner clinging to the air, or the distant murmur of the refrigerator humming from somewhere behind. Her world had narrowed down to just this: Vi, standing before her, the song that enveloped them, and the tender space between.

Vi was still, but Caitlyn felt something shift, as surely as if Vi had reached out and touched her. She saw it in the softening of her eyes, in the tilt of her broad shoulders, in the silent openness that whispered an invitation without ever speaking it aloud. It made Caitlyn’s breath catch, an ache blooming sweetly beneath her ribs, as she wondered how it was possible to want so much from someone she’d only just met. Someone she barely even knew.

Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her across the cool hardwood, each careful step bringing them closer. Her heart climbed higher into her throat with every breath, suspended between hope and hesitation, uncertain of what awaited her at the other end. 

Vi’s expression was gentle, steady—asking nothing, expecting nothing, but profound with a deep sense of longing. And now Caitlyn felt it too, her patience fraying, unable to hold back the unbearable desire gnawing at every inch of her. 

So Caitlyn extended a hand, fingers trembling as her arms circled Vi’s waist, gathering her close, pulling her near until her warmth was tangible through the thin cotton of her shirt. Vi’s arms wrapped around her in response, drawing her near with an effortless ease that melted away all remaining traces of Caitlyn’s doubts. They stood quietly together, breathing softly, hearts echoing each other’s rhythm beneath the music.

Caitlyn rested her head against Vi’s collarbone, felt the steady, comforting cadence of her breath—anchored, yet somehow lighter than air, as if the floor had dissolved beneath her.

Vi’s hands moved gently, reverently. One at the small of Caitlyn’s back, holding her steady, the other brushing carefully along her shoulder, mapping each curve like something divine, something she meant to cherish and never forget.

Sighing at the sweet touch, Caitlyn closed her eyes, knowing that if she kept them open too long, if her gaze were to ever find Vi’s, she might tumble too fast, too hard, and entirely abandon her caution. The scolding words she had told herself mere hours ago were now dissolving into dust, slipping through her fingers like the supposed professionalism she had upheld in life with pride—all until this beautiful stranger came along and demolished it all. 

When Caitlyn finally lifted her cheek from Vi’s chest and opened her eyes, Vi was watching her, as she expected. And fuck if it wasn’t impossible to resist that face.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Caitlyn whispered, barely even recognizing her own voice.

Vi tilted her head, her eyes curious, warm. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“Cait,” Vi murmured, her lips so dangerously close. “You know we’re not doing anything wrong, right?” She was so certain, so assured. “I promise I wouldn’t want to do this if you made me uncomfortable.”

“What exactly is… this? ”

Her hand left the small of Caitlyn’s back, reaching up to graze her lower lip with her thumb. “Whatever you want it to be,” she rasped. “Tell me to stop. And I will.”

Caitlyn’s breath seized, barely held by careful restraint, even as her heart begged for her to let it all go. She could feel herself slipping, falling toward Vi as though she was a force of gravity, helpless to resist. She couldn’t bear another second without knowing how Vi would taste, how it would feel to finally allow herself to have something she so desperately wanted. And with a shaking exhale, Caitlyn surrendered, leaned in, and pressed her lips to Vi’s.

The first kiss was careful, questioning—then the next came easier, and each one after felt lighter, more natural, until Caitlyn was giggling quietly in between, and Vi’s own huffed laughter mingled with hers. It wasn’t perfect; it was wonderfully imperfect , wonderfully new, and somehow exactly right.

Caitlyn kissed her again, and again, and again, each one dissolving another layer of nerves, crumbling every carefully constructed wall she had built around herself. Vi laughed against her lips, so sweet and earnest, that Caitlyn could practically taste her euphoria. She didn’t know how she’d ever manage to stop now that she’d started, didn’t know if she’d ever want to.

Vi was the first to break away, but only for a moment, and only to speak.

“So, what’s the brief for tonight, pretty girl?” Her voice came low, her mouth ghosting at the corner of Caitlyn’s lips.

Caitlyn laughed again—god, she couldn’t help it. She took Vi’s freckled cheeks in her hands and kissed her once more, deep and ravenous and unrestrained, fingers moving to bunch in her shirt.

“I think,” Caitlyn finally managed, flushed and breathless. “We can start with some more intimate poses.” She trailed her lips to Vi’s ear. “Somewhere a little more comfortable.”

—

Vi’s arms lifted Caitlyn with ease, causing her to erupt in a squeal—the sound of someone so truly and utterly smitten. She marveled at the strength it took for Vi to carry her, how effortlessly she did it, as though Caitlyn weighed nothing at all. The hallway blurred past as they hurried to the bedroom, still managing to catch each other’s lips along the way and, by some miracle, not run into any walls or furniture.

When they reached their destination, Vi laid her down on the bed tenderly, as if setting something sacred onto altar cloth. The mattress dipped beneath Caitlyn’s weight, and her pulse fluttered like wings trapped inside her chest.

Vi crashed down to land on top of her, and their mouths met again—hungry, familiar, and aching. They kissed like they hadn’t spent the last half hour doing exactly that. Vi’s hands cradled her face, and Caitlyn’s fingers threaded into her reddish-pink hair, drawing her closer still. 

And oh , Vi’s lips. Plush and parted, so impossibly soft, flavoured with the memory of lager and laughter shared. Caitlyn savoured the way Vi surrendered to her touch, how willingly she opened herself—such vulnerability from someone who had seemed so fiercely composed, so impenetrable.

As their kisses deepened, Vi’s hand drifted inadvertently, coming to hold and squeeze Caitlyn’s breast. The unexpected touch drew a sharp gasp, causing Vi to recoil and instantly pull away.

“Sorry.” She said quickly.

Caitlyn responded with a smile, before she raised her back off the bed, lifted the borrowed t-shirt over her head, and discarded it aside, leaving herself bared to Vi. And under her intense, devout gaze, Caitlyn felt every bit as exposed as she was entranced.

Until this moment, Caitlyn had been the voyeur, the one who captured Vi’s beauty through the safe barrier of her camera lens. The silent admirer of her figure, all her little details, always at a distance, always in control. But now, she found herself on the other side. To yield so completely, to give in to the hunger in Vi’s eyes and the urgency of her touch, shot a thrill so potent through Caitlyn it bordered on the surreal.

Caitlyn reached for Vi’s wrist, guiding it back to her bare breast, pressing her hand against the plush warmth of her skin. The gallantry of the gesture was a silent plea, a beckoning to intimacy. 

With a growing fervor and a grin of relief, Vi’s kisses moved from Caitlyn’s face down to her chest, taking a stiffened nipple in her mouth. She danced her tongue along the peak, then closed her lips around it, sucking and fluttering, each glide and swirl sending quivers tremoring through Caitlyn. Her head fell back into the pillow, body undulating against the sheets, breaths escaping in loud, unrestrained sighs. When Vi paused, she spoke with a lilting tease, thick with anticipation.

“How do you want me?” Her voice was muffled, lips pressed into the valley of Caitlyn’s breasts.

The question made Caitlyn shudder as she brought her hands to rest on the skin beneath Vi’s shirt, stroking up and down her sides. “I want to see more of you,” she whispered back, before sliding out of her grey sweats and underwear, allowing them to fall to the floor, leaving her entirely naked beneath Vi. “And for you… to see all of me.”

Caitlyn relished a surge of satisfaction as she felt the tense flex of Vi’s muscles. Her breath came hot against Caitlyn’s neck, a barely muttered fuck breathed into her ear, a sound that marked the depth of her undoing—oh, how lucky Caitlyn was to be so wanted by a woman like Vi.

Seemingly reluctant to remove herself from Caitlyn, Vi slowly peeled herself away, standing at the edge of the bed. Her eyes roved over Caitlyn’s bare form, taking in her vulnerability and the stark allure of her nudity. Then, with a fluid gesture, she stripped off her shirt, unveiling the stark black Calvin Klein bralette that she still wore from today’s shoot. Her nipples were hard underneath, forming peaks visible through the cotton. Caitlyn’s pulse hammered through her veins at the sight. 

“How’s this?” Vi asked.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn huffed out, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look. “Just like that.”

Vi’s fingers trailed to the strap of the bralette, teasing it down her strong shoulder while maintaining unbroken eye contact with Caitlyn. The deliberate lethargy of her gestures, the intent, stoked a wildfire of passion in Caitlyn’s core. Her hand moved instinctively, trailing over her own skin under Vi’s intense watch, driven by desire and the silent promise of what was yet to come.

Vi caught Caitlyn in the act, and with a knowing, wry grin, she pulled the bralette over her head, leaving her upper body fully exposed. As Vi’s hands traced a tantalizing path along the skin of her own abdomen, one stroking over her stomach, the other coming up to fondle a breast and roll the nipple between her index finger and thumb, Caitlyn’s response was immediate—she smothered a moan, writhing into her own zealous touch.

“You’ve been imagining me like this from the start, huh?”  

Caitlyn could only manage a whine as she gave herself to the tide of her mounting lust, underscored by a sharp disbelief that all of this was even real. Her hand had found its way between her legs, fingertips dipping into wet heat and circling around her clit as she fell to the mercy of Vi before her. 

“Fuck,” Vi groaned, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, the sight of Caitlyn in such a state evidently leaving her terribly flustered. She roamed over her own body with an intimate knowledge, teasing and trilling at all her erogenous areas that Caitlyn would definitely be revisiting with her own hands and mouth the minute she had the chance. Eventually, her fingers came to rest at the waistband of her sweats, working them down just enough to expose the elastic of her Calvins.

“Did you like telling me to unzip my jeans?”

“Mhm…” Caitlyn whimpered, stroking furiously now.

“It’s cute how you thought I wouldn’t notice.” Vi drawled, sliding her pants down her hips. The fabric whispered along her thighs as it fell to the floor, leaving her clad in only the black briefs, the last barrier to her complete unveiling. 

Then, Vi’s hand stopped between her legs, rubbing herself thoroughly over the fabric. “You wanted to fuck me in these, didn’t you?” 

Caitlyn moaned in spite of herself, fingers working in desperation, her touch growing firmer, faster, driven by an overwhelming need for release, for relief, for Vi . Her eyes, wide and clouded by desire, were fixed on her subject, silently pleading for her to discard the last vestige of clothing and fall atop her, to ravish her so thoroughly and put an end to this torment.

“Vi, please… ”

Caitlyn watched her hook her thumb into the elastic of her underwear, tugging at it so slowly, so cruelly . The fabric slid down, unveiling skin that glowed in the low light, soft and begging to be kissed, a trace of pink hair peeking out along the edge. Each inch revealed was a study in torture and temptation, and Vi knew it, all the way back to when she first pulled this move while posing in the earlier photoshoot.

“See this?” Vi purred as her other hand traced the bold CK lettering on the band. Her fingers then wandered lower, stroking along the crease of her groin, drawing Caitlyn’s eyes to her still-clothed cunt that lay waiting underneath. “This is all for you .”

Breath hitching, heart hammering, Caitlyn couldn’t hold herself back anymore as she teetered on the brink of an overwhelming, earth-shattering release. Just as she felt herself spiraling, Vi leaned down and clasped her wrists, pinning them above Caitlyn’s head.

“Not so fast, beautiful.” Vi’s eyes locked with hers, intensely tender. “Let me take care of you,” she hummed, her words wrapping around Caitlyn like a silken thread pulling her back from the edge.

Vi began her descent, her lips trailing a path down Caitlyn’s body. She lingered over the soft, sensitive curve of Caitlyn’s neck, then moved to plant delicate, affectionate kisses across her breasts and collarbone. 

Caitlyn’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breathing shallow and quick as Vi continued lower, and lower, and lower. The anticipation built like a storm inside her, every touch from Vi igniting tingling sparks, setting every one of her nerves alight. While she appreciated Vi’s sweetness, her patience, Caitlyn’s need for her was carnal, restless, and the thought of waiting for her any longer could have made her lose her mind. 

Vi’s tongue dragged along Caitlyn’s abdomen as she looked up to lock their gazes, moving in close. Her lips brushed a trail through the dark curls, and the whisper of her breath, sultry and warm, danced tantalizingly over Caitlyn’s tender skin. And in that moment, the hazy line between dream and reality blurred.

Oh god, she’s really about to—

With one last charged glance, Vi leaned forward, slacked her jaw, and enveloped Caitlyn in the warm, wet, silky heat of her mouth.

“Oh…” Caitlyn was already whining. 

Her hands bunched in the sheets, one coming to grab at Vi’s hair, her back arching slightly off the bed. 

Tears pricked at the corners of Caitlyn’s eyes as she was quickly overwhelmed by how truly and utterly sublime it felt. Vi’s tongue swept up from her opening, thick and careful strokes that painted a path of heat all the way up to her clit, as if driven by a visceral thirst. Enraptured, Caitlyn propped herself up on her elbows, compelled to witness every moment of Vi’s enthusiastic lavishing.

Through her straining vision, she caught Vi in a moment of pure abandon, her expression fixed in a state of dreamy, euphoric bliss. Vi devoured her with a sort of greedy pleasure, her tongue lashing eagerly through Caitlyn’s folds—self-indulgent, ravenous, like someone savagely claiming the last decadent remnants of frosting from a baker’s spoon. The vibrations of Vi’s moans—which were loud enough to imply that she was the one on the receiving end—sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through Caitlyn from head to toe, eliciting a chorus of whimpers and whines.

“Are you okay?” Vi asked, her voice desirous but concerned.

Caitlyn could barely form a coherent thought, let alone words. “ More, ” was all she managed. 

Vi, with an eagerness that left Caitlyn trembling in anticipation, shifted her position to hover over her on all fours. Caitlyn reached up, allowing her palms to explore the expanse of Vi’s form—the ridges of her shapely abdomen, every dip and curve along her back and arms, marvelling at her strength, while appreciating her softness. All as Vi’s hand traveled slowly, purposefully, down to the ache between Caitlyn’s legs, bringing a finger to circle her opening. Her eyes, deep and searching, met Caitlyn’s, holding them, asking silently, for permission.

And with glassy eyes and a quick nod, Caitlyn granted it.

They shared in a gasp when Vi pushed two fingers inside, then sighed when Caitlyn clenched down around them. 

“Oh, fuck, Cait,” Vi moaned. “You’re… you’re so—”

“Vi,” Caitlyn nudged her hips forward to urge her to move. “I need… please… ”

Vi chuckled, immediately complying, bending her fingers up into that little spot, sliding in and out. And oh, did that feel so good, so right. 

No one had ever fit so perfectly between her thighs. Caitlyn craved the closeness, yet knew the importance of giving Vi the space to move, to let her fuck her as thoroughly as she intended to. Her hands found purchase—one grasping at Vi’s back, fingers pressing into muscle and skin, while the other wrapped firmly around a toned, flexed bicep. She glanced down the slope of her own body, witnessing Vi’s forearm relentlessly work a magic with those deft, knowing fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” Vi murmured. To Caitlyn, such praise was unfamiliar but thrilling, a tribute to the exquisite ways Vi had managed to touch her. She pondered briefly—was this skill a hallmark of all lovers like Vi, or was Vi an enchantress unique unto herself? With her athletic beauty and arresting features, Vi surely never lacked for willing partners to practice with, especially considering her worldly, seasoned life.

Vi’s cheek grazed Caitlyn’s in a close caress, prompting Caitlyn to card her fingers through her strands of reddish-pink hair, an appeal for Vi to stay close. It wasn’t her intention to let her moans and whimpers invade Vi’s ears so directly, but luckily for her, it seemed that Vi more than savoured every sound.

“That’s it,” Vi encouraged. “I love it when you say my name…”

It struck Caitlyn then, amid the cascade of her own cries and breaths, that her voice had been weaving a relentless litany: Vi, Vi, such a beautiful name, one she had only known for a short time, yet it had somehow managed to fall from her lips more than any other. 

Vi adjusted her hand, perfecting her angle to curl and caress as her thumb worked adeptly over Caitlyn’s clit. A surge of heat coiled deep within her, spiraling tighter, until all Caitlyn could think about was the rush toward that imminent peak. Her eyes flew open, her jaw slackened, and her cries cut off into a breathless silence as pure, white-hot pleasure crested over her. Her legs squirmed, twitching with the force of her climax, and she was only dimly aware of Vi’s lips pressing a gentle kiss to her temple while her world euphorically shattered.

Caitlyn felt the shift as Vi’s strength waned, her body going lax as she collapsed onto Caitlyn, the weight of her welcomed and soothing. As Vi withdrew her fingers, their hips pressed together, a subtle but intimate gesture. Caitlyn’s lips curved into a smile, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her hands embarked on an exploration of their own. They roamed down the broad length of Vi’s back, coming down to slip beneath the elastic of her briefs as she grasped and kneaded her deliciously-firm ass.

“I imagine you’re in need of some relief, too?”

Vi let out a low groan, her voice rattling against Caitlyn’s chest. Encouraged by the sound, Caitlyn rolled her hips upwards, inviting Vi to let herself come undone just as she had. Vi responded with a deep, slow, satisfied rutting, finding rhythm against Caitlyn, her movements spurred on by her soft urgings and the heat of their entwined bodies.

“I think we should continue with these off,” Caitlyn said, her fingers teasing at the waistband of Vi’s soaking Calvins as she began to slide them off her hips. “What do you say?”

The pace quickened as Vi grew more restless at the words, but with a whispered hush, Caitlyn slowed her, her fingers pressing into Vi’s sides with gentle insistence. She coaxed the underwear down, gliding them over Vi’s rear and over her thighs. Vi cooperated seamlessly, shifting to shimmy out of them completely, leaving herself entirely bare. 

Caitlyn’s hands eagerly resumed their journey, caressing Vi’s ass and guiding her back into place. She sighed, reveling in the feel of Vi’s hot, slick center pressing against the skin of her thigh, the intimate contact enough to send them both reeling as Vi began to helplessly grind and thrust and, to Caitlyn’s delight, whimper.

“I’m going to give you the rest of the brief,” Caitlyn muttered, her lips at the shell of Vi’s burning ear. Vi responded with deeper grinds of her hips, muffled moans, and Caitlyn could only giggle at how thoroughly debauched she had become. “Give me something hard, and fast, and rough,” she whispered. And oh, Vi certainly liked that, the noises spilling from her throat so sinfully lewd. “Unabashed, unrestrained, an act that would stir a terrible controversy.”

That was all it took before something broke within Vi. She adjusted her position, her body aligning more deliberately atop Caitlyn’s. She slung her leg over Caitlyn’s waist, pulling herself close, smooth but hurried, dire. Caitlyn watched as Vi’s strong thigh nudged beneath hers, urging her leg upward. Her eyes traced the path from where her calf rested against Vi’s inked shoulder, all the way down to the close proximity of their most intimate areas.

The sight of Vi’s bare abdomen, where the sharp lines of her muscles tapered into a thick thatch of pink hair, held Caitlyn spellbound. Especially as Vi’s cunt, glossy and dripping with arousal, was mere inches away from her own.

“Feeling creative?” Caitlyn murmured, captivated by Vi’s deliberate positioning as she spread open both herself and Caitlyn with her fingers.

“I thought it fits your vision,” Vi’s voice rumbled, a playful chuckle lacing her gravelly timbre. She paused, a shadow of concern flickering across her face. “Does this feel okay?”

Caitlyn almost laughed at the absurdity of the question. She nodded emphatically, her expression one of amused permission, as if Vi were merely asking to pass the salt rather than delving into such a deliciously intimate act.

Vi’s smile then was knowing, victorious; she refocused, sinking herself down and beginning small, experimental tilts with her hips that drew a sharp intake of breath from Caitlyn. She bit down on her lip, eyes locked on Vi’s swollen, throbbing clit slipping seamlessly through her folds.

The spectacle was purely intoxicating. Vi, unabashed and assertive in her nakedness, moved with a rhythm that spoke of a carnal need—a need Caitlyn felt mirrored in her own quickening pulse, in the agonizing burn of pleasure that filled her veins and travelled through every inch of her body.

As Vi’s hands wandered, one lingering to stroke Caitlyn’s calf as the other settled at her waist, Caitlyn’s hands found their way to Vi’s hips. Spurring her faster, encouraging each grind and rut that brought both of them closer to the brink.

“Cait… Oh, fuck, I’m gonna…” Vi moaned, her voice so broken and sumptuous, as heat flushed across her chest and neck, signaling her ascent towards climax. Caitlyn was taken by the tension in Vi’s body, the wondrous strain of her muscles, as if she were carved from marble, a work of art to behold.

“I’m close too,” Caitlyn whimpered. “Keep going, let it all out for me.”

In a decisive move, Vi brought her fingers lower, lifting the hood of Caitlyn’s clit and increasing the pace, all of which made Caitlyn gasp and arch her back off the bed. One, two, three more rough snaps of Vi’s hips, then frantic, dizzying thrusting, both of them deafened by their delirious moaning, and—

They came together; Vi’s cry sharp and raw, Caitlyn’s following, mingling in the electrically charged air between them. The press of Vi’s body against her only heightened the intensity of Caitlyn’s orgasm as she struggled for purchase under her weight. Their bodies remained locked in a tight grip as the wave of ecstasy receded, leaving them breathlessly entwined.

Eventually, Vi’s loosened, her kisses sloppy and wet against the swell of Caitlyn’s calf before she eased their legs apart. Collapsing with a contented sigh onto her chest, her head resting near Caitlyn’s heart, they lay in the quiet aftermath, each breath a shared note in the song of their spent desire.

Caitlyn could only regard Vi with amusement and adoration. “Well,” she panted, her voice laced with laughter, “how’s that for a billboard advertisement in Times Square?”

“Depends what it’s for,” Vi chuckled breathlessly against Caitlyn’s collar. “You’d be surprised with what you can get away with in a cologne ad,” she quipped, grinning broadly. “Imagine it—‘Eau de Passion: scandalously bold, not for the faint of heart.’”

Caitlyn’s laughter bubbled up again. “I can see the headlines now: ‘Local women cause mass pearl clutching—stocks in fainting couches soar. ’”

Vi’s eyes twinkled with mischief as she propped herself up on her elbows, looking down at Caitlyn. “Think the brand would go for it?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been accused of salacious marketing,” Caitlyn replied, her fingertip tracing a lazy circle on Vi’s bare back. “And if anyone can pull that off, it’d certainly be you.”

Vi seemed to find that funny, and Caitlyn was relieved that her mind remained intact enough for humour after such a fierce round of lovemaking. When Vi made a slight move to roll off of her, her features forming into an apologetic tilt, Caitlyn’s hand found her shoulder, pushing gently but firmly.

“You can stay,” Caitlyn’s voice was soft but insistent, capturing Vi’s hesitant gaze. “I like you right here,” she added, wishing she could encapsulate this moment—the delicate flicker of uncertainty in Vi’s eyes—for eternity.

A serene quietude settled between them. Vi’s eyes, those deep pools of grey, studied Caitlyn with an intensity, a delicacy, that felt like a caress. Caitlyn sighed, her fingers threading through Vi’s hair, sketching lazy patterns along the buzzed side of her scalp. A contented furrow appeared on Vi’s brow, as if each stroke was a balm to her soul.

Caitlyn watched over her with awe, still finding herself in a state of disbelief that this woman she hadn’t expected to pine for was lying naked on top of her, humming in her approaching sleep as Caitlyn rubbed her back and head. And as sleep began to claim her, Caitlyn reached out with one hand, careful not to disturb their precious closeness, to turn out the light. 

It’s just dinner. She knew from the moment she arrived here that wasn’t entirely true. But she never could have imagined the evening to end like this. Not that she was complaining, far from it—she only ever thought this moment would exist in her mind, never to come to fruition, locked away as she carried on silently yearning for her subject. 

And now, she wondered, what the rest of her days in this new place—with beautiful Vi—would bring.

Chapter Text

The morning light poured softly through the gauzy curtains of Vi’s bedroom, bright enough to coax at her closed eyelids and pry her gently from the embrace of sleep. She shifted under the sheets, stretching herself out like a cat as a groan of satisfaction rose from her throat.

Vi couldn’t recall the last time she’d woken up feeling this good. No crick in her neck, no leftover soreness from a long hike on mountainous terrain or a tough day at the gym—only a sweet, liquid warmth that settled deep into her bones.

Likely helped in large part by having Caitlyn in her bed.

The scent of her still lingered, a sweet reminder that mingled with the vivid memories of the night before. Talking until an ungodly hour, the beer that lowered their inhibitions, the chance to feel her so intimately, the way Vi’s sides still hurt from laughing. Or, perhaps, due to some more… physically straining activities.

A lazy smile curled across Vi’s lips, eyes still closed, a shiver rippling through her from head to toe as she became ardently aware of her body’s reaction to the thoughts.

“G’morning,” Vi murmured into the pillow, fully intending on picking up where they had left off. She stretched an arm across the sheets, seeking the warmth of Caitlyn’s skin, the shape of her body. But her brow immediately furrowed when her fingers met nothing but the cool, tangled bedsheets instead. Vi’s eyes fluttered open to see the empty space beside her, the reality settling like a cold shadow across her heart.

She was gone.

Sluggishly propping up on her elbows, Vi rubbed her eyes, somewhat puzzled by Caitlyn’s absence. 

She wouldn’t have left, would she?

Her blurry gaze swept the room in an effort to orient herself. A familiar garment caught her attention—a black jumpsuit, unmistakably Caitlyn’s outfit from yesterday, neatly folded over the back of a nearby chair. The sight sparked a small relief in her chest; Caitlyn was still here, after all.

The aroma of something cooking tickled Vi’s senses next. It smelled like sugar mingling with frying dough, comforting and inviting in a way that tugged at her curiosity—and appetite. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, quickly slipping into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, before she headed in the direction of the delightful scent.

Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she saw Caitlyn—wearing nothing but her underwear and Vi’s t-shirt that came down to her hips, with her midnight blue hair tied up in a messy bun—working meticulously over a hot pan. The counter looked like a battlefield of measuring spoons, flour dusting everything in reach, a bag of brown sugar slumped sideways against a mixing bowl like it had given up halfway through. 

Vi let out a small, quiet laugh. “Watcha cookin’, good lookin’?” She said, leaning her hip against the kitchen island.

Caitlyn’s shoulders perked up at the sound of Vi’s voice as she glanced back over her shoulder. Her surprise eased into a smile. “Oh, Vi, you’re awake.” 

“Well it is almost ten. Struck me for a sleepyhead, did you?”

“Perhaps, if your face smushed into the pillow and the drooling was any indication.” Caitlyn chuckled, then flipped what appeared to be four small pancakes onto a plate. “It’s almost ready, have a seat.”

Vi dropped into one of the chairs at the table, her eyes locked on Caitlyn as she bustled around, grabbing cutlery and plates with a grace that was all too captivating. Vi smirked, as she thought to herself, is this how she felt watching me in the kitchen last night? Totally enraptured, starry-eyed until the moment the food was served.

“For someone who said she doesn’t cook, this sure looks pretty delicious.” Vi said as Caitlyn dropped the plate and sat down with her. “You really didn’t have to do all this.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, eyes soft and genuine. “I wanted to.” 

Snatching up one of the pancakes, Vi didn’t waste any time diving in. As she sliced through it, a gooey brown-sugar core oozed out, promising a seriously lush bite. She popped a piece into her mouth, and had to close her eyes as the taste exploded on her tongue.

What a flavour. 

“Mmm, wow… that’s so good.” Vi mumbled with her mouth full, taking another hearty bite before she had finished chewing. “Lucky me, waking up to a beautiful girl making me pancakes. Or should I say… pancaits?”

“Oh you,” Caitlyn playfully elbowed Vi’s arm before she took one for herself. “They’re called Da Bing. My dad used to make these for me for breakfast when I was young. It was one thing the at-home cooks could never get quite right.”

“I’ve never had sweet ones like this, only the scallion ones. It’s delicious.” Vi swallowed, and started on her second. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you can’t cook.”

“It’s only four ingredients, nothing special.” Caitlyn giggled. 

“It is to me. Because you made them.”

Caitlyn’s cheeks turned a soft pink at the compliment, and Vi could have easily kept them coming, just to see that blush bloom again and again. 

But then, Caitlyn paused, chewing slowly as she looked down at her plate. “So, Vi, about last night…”

“Mhm?” Vi felt her heart tick up. 

“I think you’re lovely, and I had such a wonderful time with you.” 

She sighed, relieved. “Yeah, me too.”

“It’s just that, these sorts of things, considering both our positions, is, well…” Caitlyn trailed off, her gaze flitting across the room as if searching for the right words. “I don’t want either of us to get in trouble, is all.”

As Caitlyn spoke, Vi watched the subtle shift in her expression, the way her forehead creased with worry and her lips pursed in hesitation. 

What could be said, really, when life threw you a curveball like this?

Vi had thought she’d lived through it all—grueling campaigns, punishing hours, a revolving door of faces she barely had time to remember. A grind that chewed you up and spat you out; you learned not to get too soft about it.

But falling into a whirlwind with the photographer? Yeah, that one had never scratched the bingo card.

Yet here she was, utterly swept up, the last few days flying by in a dizzying blur of lust. And it would’ve been a joke to even pretend she stood a chance, not when Caitlyn had managed to capture her in a way no lens ever could.

“Well,” Vi finally said. “We can behave while we’re on set, can’t we?”

“I,” Caitlyn stammered, as if somehow not quite expecting that response. “Yes, I suppose we can.” Her reply was a soft concession, and Vi noticed her hands start nervously adjusting a non-existent wrinkle on her shirt.

“Nobody has to know if we don’t want them to. We’re still professionals. That doesn’t change anything.” 

“Right, of course.” 

Grinning, Vi edged closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll try to go easy on you today at the shoot, keep it G-rated so you don’t get any funny ideas.”

“Oh, and you’re one to talk, aren’t you?” The tension in Caitlyn’s body eased as she retorted with a playful smirk.

They lingered over breakfast, their chatter flowing light and easy over a few extra cups of coffee, much needed to battle the sleep deprivation.

Somewhere between a lighthearted jab and another mouthful of pancake, Caitlyn’s gaze dipped down to her phone, the screen lighting up on the cluttered table. She moved briskly as she stood, plates and cutlery clinking in her hands as she began gathering the dishes. “I should clean up and get back to the hotel.”

But Vi wasn’t ready to let the morning end just yet. 

Leaving her seat, she approached Caitlyn from behind and wrapped her arms around her waist, pulling her close with a playful firmness. “Let me take you,” she murmured into Caitlyn’s ear, a warm whisper that left visible goosebumps on her skin.

Caitlyn laughed as she attempted to rebalance the dishes in one hand. “Vi,”  she chuckled, her tone both amused and admonishing. “You need to get ready for the shoot, too.”

“There’s still time,” Vi countered, resting her chin on Caitlyn’s shoulder.

“By the time you drive me all the way to Hollywood and back, then get to Malibu, you’ll be late.” She wriggled slightly, turning within Vi’s embrace until they were face-to-face. Her free hand came up to cradle Vi’s cheek. “Besides, the last time you offered me a ride, I didn’t make it to my destination.”

Well, Vi certainly couldn’t argue with that.

“All right, all right.”

“We’ll see each other in only a few hours. You can wait that long, yes?” 

Vi nodded with a smile as she returned to her chair, watching Caitlyn with a spark of amusement in her eyes. But as Caitlyn went to get dressed and began gathering her things, ready to step back into their separate professional lives, Vi felt a pang of yearning ripple through her. Waiting wasn’t exactly her strong suit, especially not when it came to something—or rather, someone—she found herself so thoroughly enchanted by.

The soft rumble of the Uber arriving barely registered as they stood framed in the doorway of Vi’s apartment. Caitlyn’s pause, a second too long, was heavy with unspoken words, her eyes flitting between Vi and the door.

“Get back safe,” Vi murmured, her tone trying for levity.

“I will.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Yes. See you soon.”

Their farewell started as a simple kiss, a brush of lips meant to be brief. Yet it quickly grew deeper, more ravenous, as if each was trying to memorize the other’s taste. One kiss became two, then three, then four, until they had entirely lost count and track of how long and intense their parting had become. 

Just then, Caitlyn’s phone vibrated—a sharp ping, probably from the Uber driver, cutting through their bubble. They separated, their laughter light, almost nervous, as she pulled the phone from her pocket to read the notification: “are you coming?”

With that, Caitlyn bent down to pick up her bag, stole one last kiss from Vi’s lips, and headed out the door.

—

Point Dume seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of Vi, a span of rugged, golden cliffs and stubborn green scrub pushing right up against the vast blue of the ocean. The air was sharp and clean, salty and cool with a hint of something wild growing in the ground. Vi liked it immediately. It felt honest—wind-whipped, rough around the edges, not trying too hard to be beautiful even though it was.

She was the only one here. Just her and the gulls overhead, circling as their screeching cries mingled with the distant crash of the surf below. She kicked at a rock with the toe of her boot, checked her phone again, even though she already knew what it would say: a short email from the shoot coordinator explaining how the crew was still stuck behind a highway closure, miles away as they crawled their way up the coast.

So now she had nothing but time. Time to pace a stupid path in the dirt. Time to overthink. Time to stand here helplessly fawning. Her heart rattled around in her chest every time she pictured Caitlyn pulling up, stepping out of the car, and tossing her hair back with that little flick, a habit she probably wasn’t even aware of.

Vi wondered what Caitlyn would be wearing when she arrived, but honestly, it wouldn’t even matter. Caitlyn could show up dressed in a silly oversized banana suit and she’d still manage to look like a goddess that demanded Vi's rapt attention. 

Somewhere in her endless pacing, Vi’s boot had scuffed up a little cluster of wildflowers growing at the edge of the bluff. Tiny things, tough as hell, blooming blue and yellow and white like they didn’t know they were sitting in dirt this dry. She crouched down and plucked a few without thinking, rolling the stems between her fingers.

Yeah, I’m sure she’d love these.

The colours felt right for her. Bright and interesting in a way that didn’t beg for attention. Caitlyn, in a handful of petals.

The low hum of an engine broke the silence, a welcome disturbance. Vi’s heart kicked up a notch as she spotted the car winding up the road, the afternoon sun catching flashes of blue hair through the back window. And in a swift, secretive motion, she tucked the bouquet she’d been holding behind her back.

The car pulled to a gentle stop and Caitlyn stepped out, camera bag slung over her shoulder. striking and stunning just as Vi knew she’d be. Today she was dressed casually yet impeccably in a crisp white blouse tucked into dark jeans, the outfit tailored to accentuate her tall and slender frame. A light spring jacket fluttered slightly in the breeze, and she adjusted her sunglasses atop her head as she scanned the empty set.

“Hey,” Vi called out, her voice steady despite her insides buzzing with every step of her approach.

“Beat me to it, I see.” Caitlyn smiled as her eyes darted around to observe the empty set. “Where is everyone?”

“They got held up in a bad accident on the 405, been told they’re running late.”

At that moment, Vi heard Caitlyn’s phone vibrate. She pulled it from her pocket, a message lighting up the screen—most likely Grayson confirming the delay and that the time for the shoot had been pushed back. “So, I suppose that’s why the driver took a detour,” Caitlyn murmured, more to herself than to Vi.

“That means…” 

“We’re the only ones here.” 

A stiff silence hung between them for a moment as they caught each other’s gaze, until Vi blinked, realizing she must have looked rather ridiculous with her hands behind her back.

“Oh, while I was waiting, I picked these.” Vi brought her hands forward, revealing the bouquet with a flourish. “I’m not out of date, am I?”

“No, not at all,” Caitlyn’s expression was unreadable as she leaned in to inspect the flowers. “Except those are Oleander, and they’re extremely poisonous.”

“What?” 

Vi’s eyes widened, a flicker of panic lighting up her face as the flowers fell from her fingers and onto the dirt at her feet.

And immediately, Caitlyn burst out laughing, doubling over and slapping her thigh while Vi stood there completely dumbfounded. 

“I’m just kidding.” She waved her hand in front of her, and now Vi couldn’t help herself from smiling, too.

Who knew you were such a jester?

They both crouched down to gather the fallen flowers. Caitlyn couldn’t seem to stop giggling, even snorting, and Vi shot her a mock stern look. “Does sadism come naturally to you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Caitlyn managed between chuckles, collecting the bouquet off the ground and holding it gently. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

As their laughter settled and a quiet fell over them, they both glanced around, taking in their surroundings. 

“Well, I guess we’re stuck out here for a while until everyone arrives, huh?” Vi said, brushing the sand off her hands.

“Seems so,” Caitlyn replied, her eyes softening. “Would you… like to go for a walk?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

Vi shifted Caitlyn’s camera strap higher on her shoulder, the weight of it unfamiliar but not unwelcome. It freed Caitlyn’s hands to hold the bouquet instead, the wildflowers so perfect and complimentary in her grasp. Vi kept sneaking glances at her as they walked, at the way Caitlyn’s fingers curled so carefully around the delicate stems, how the light caught the dark sheen of her hair. And Vi wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss her or just stare at her until the sun went down.

“Nice out here, isn’t it?” Vi said, swinging the camera a little at her side to give her hands something to do.

“Yes, we don’t have anything quite like this in New York.”

Vi snorted, adjusting her grip on the camera again. “Comparison is the thief of joy,” she replied, in the mock-sage voice she reserved for quoting things she only half remembered. “You got it all in New York. It’s as nice as any place I’ve been.”

Caitlyn slowed her steps near the edge of the bluff, her gaze wandering out across the blue. She looked like she could stand there forever, stitched into the scenery, a part of the day’s breath.

Tilting her head back, Vi let her eyes fall closed. The breeze raked through her hair, carrying with it the restless hiss of the surf below, and suddenly, she felt compelled to recite. “To see a world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wild flower.” 

“William Blake. Auguries of Innocence, right?” 

Vi was pleasantly surprised that she recognized the poem. 

“Good stuff, Blake, huh?” Vi stretched her arms over her head, the camera slapping lightly against her side with the motion. “Reclamation of innocence through vision. Imagination as a key to the divine. I’m sure it hits just right for somebody with your artistic sensibilities.”

The comment was casual enough, but it made Caitlyn glance down at her feet, scuffing her foot lightly over the dry dirt. She passed the flowers to one hand, her other coming up to rub absently at the opposite arm, like she needed something to do with herself.

“Vi,” she started, her voice so quiet it barely carried over the sound of the light wind. “Can I ask you something?”

Vi kept her eyes half-lidded, catching the faint thread of tension that had worked its way into Caitlyn’s posture.

“Have you…” Caitlyn hesitated, fiddling with the frayed edge of a leaf she’d picked from one of the wildflowers. “Have you ever decided to settle somewhere? With someone?”

“Well…” Her boot kicked a loose pebble off the trail, sending it skittering down over the cliffs. “It was hard, since I was never around much. For a while, it felt like I didn’t really have a home base or roots. You can kinda get lost when you’re always on the move.”

“So you…?”

“I always felt more at home everywhere than just one place.”

Caitlyn’s fingers tightened slightly around the stems of the flowers, subtle enough that Vi could have missed it if she wasn’t looking.

“Didn’t you ever get lonely,” Caitlyn asked, “travelling around so much?”

Vi rolled her shoulders. “No, not at all. I’ve met all sorts of people from around the world. I still got friends I can visit whenever I want.”

“Women too, I imagine?”

Vi stiffened, somewhat taken aback. 

“I, well,” she stammered. “Just because I was a loner didn’t mean I was a saint.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away, but Vi caught the way her mouth pressed into a faint, unreadable line. It made her heart stutter, made her want—need—to steer them back into safer waters.

“But anyway,” Vi added, voice softening, “that all feels behind me now. I got things tying me here. And it’s nice, you know? It’s nice to feel like I’m home again.”

The wind picked up again, rustling a few strands of Caitlyn’s neat hair loose from its pin-straight styling. She tucked them back into place with a wistful sweep of her hand, but her eyes stayed fixed on Vi—lingering in a way that made her skin prickle, made her feel startlingly seen.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The only sound was the low, endless hush of the waves against the cliffs.

Then Vi shifted her weight, tilting her head toward Caitlyn. “Now, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“I wanna know what made you wanna pick up the camera, what inspired you to get into this field in the first place.”

Caitlyn slowed her steps a little, her fingers brushing absently over the flowers still tucked against her chest. She was quiet for a beat, the wind filling the space between them, before her voice floated out, thoughtful.

“Oh, well, that goes back to my boarding school days.” She gave a soft, almost embarrassed laugh. “I found a Leica M3 at a car boot sale.”

Vi’s brow scrunched. “Car boot sale?”

“It’s like a yard sale in the U.S., only people sell things out of the back of their cars.” Caitlyn glanced over her shoulder at her with a half-smile, like she expected Vi to make fun of her for it. “I never used it much at first. Not until we took a school trip to the coast. Our chaperone said we didn’t have to wear our uniforms, so my friends and I went shopping for different outfits and spent the whole time taking pictures.”

Vi watched her while she spoke, completely absorbed. There was a glint in Caitlyn’s eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago—sparkling and alive, the memory evidently pulling her somewhere fond. Without even thinking, Vi’s hand drifted to the camera hanging at her side. She flipped it on with a soft click and raised it to her eye. Caitlyn, staring dreamily out at the ocean, didn’t even notice.

“I remember we all climbed out to the cliffs together to get the best shots,” Caitlyn said, the flowers bobbing gently as she shifted her weight. “This place reminds me a lot of it. There was something thrilling about shooting on film… relying totally on your instinct, your gut feeling about your subject, getting the light just right, adjusting everything by hand—”

The shutter clicked.

Caitlyn jolted mid-sentence, turning to catch Vi red-handed.

“Vi!” Her cheeks flushed as she swiped at the air.

“Go on,” Vi teased, adjusting the lens like she was some seasoned paparazzi. “Gimme a pose.”

“No, no,” Caitlyn groaned, backing up a step, laughing despite herself. “Don’t take my picture.”

“Why not?” 

“Vi—”

“—Come on,” she goaded, clicking the shutter again for good measure, “give me one of those French model looks. Like Brigitte Bardot. You can pull it off.”

“I need that SD card for actual pictures of you,” Caitlyn huffed a laugh, and before Vi could react, Caitlyn lunged at her.

In the next second, Caitlyn was wrestling the camera from Vi’s hands, pushing her back until Vi’s spine bumped against the rough bark of a tree. She laughed, hands flying up in surrender, the camera now back in the hands of its owner.

“Okay, okay, I give up.” Vi let her voice drop lower. Then, as their rowdiness settled, they locked gazes again. And that familiar, deep longing all came rushing back in an instant as Vi tucked a strand of blue behind Caitlyn’s ear. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

Caitlyn just stared at her like she couldn’t figure out if she was being messed with or confessed to. Those wide, bewildered eyes. That soft, uncertain tilt of her mouth. Something in Vi cracked open. She didn’t even think about it—rather, she closed the distance in one hungry, breathless surge, catching Caitlyn’s mouth with her own.

“Vi,” Caitlyn whispered against her lips between kisses. “Someone will see.”

Vi paused to press her forehead to Caitlyn’s. “It’s just us out here.”

It seemed that Caitlyn’s actions conflicted with her words as she kissed Vi back eagerly, seemingly without a trace of hesitation left in her. Her hands slid up Vi’s sides, tugging her closer like she couldn’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between them.

Vi groaned into her mouth, letting herself get lost in it, relishing in the way Caitlyn pressed her back against the rough trunk of the tree. It was messy, so deliciously clumsy—Caitlyn gripping at her t-shirt like she was scared Vi might slip away, Vi tilting her head to deepen the kiss, mouths moving hot and desperate against each other.

The heat was rising fast, pooling down between Vi’s legs, a slow but noticeable burn that made her gasp. She shifted her hips without thinking, wanting the friction, aching for more.

And then, she remembered.

The boxers. The fucking shoot.

“C-Cait, wait.” Vi’s voice broke.

Immediately stopping, Caitlyn reeled back just enough to search her face. “What?”

“It’s—” Vi bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to find a way to say it that didn’t sound as stupid as it felt.

But Caitlyn didn’t need her to finish. Her eyes dropped, and without a word she tugged at the band of Vi’s Calvins, pulling it up just high enough to peek. The heather grey fabric, thin and traitorous, made everything painfully obvious.

A wicked little smile crept across Caitlyn’s mouth.

She slipped her hand under the waistband, fingers brushing lower, slower, until they found proof of exactly what Vi had been trying—and failing—to hide.

Vi swallowed hard, her head thunking back against the tree with a hard, audible thud.

Caitlyn’s fingertips ghosted over her clit—teasing, rubbing—and the sound Vi made was embarrassingly close to a whimper. “Didn’t know you were this easy,” she murmured against her throat. “Making a mess of yourself just from a little kissing?”

“You—mm!” Vi bit down on her bottom lip, trying and failing to smother the noise clawing up her throat as Caitlyn’s finger slid through her, her touch featherlight, just enough to drive her mad. “—Have that effect on me,” Vi managed to speak, even if slurred.

Caitlyn hummed like she wasn’t surprised, like she already knew, and immediately her fingers went to work at Vi’s belt. The click of the buckle was deafening in the quiet, the faint metallic sound carrying over the rustle of the wind. With a firm tug that made Vi’s core coil, Caitlyn pulled her jeans down just far enough to expose the unmistakable wet spot between her thighs.

Her eyes darkened, fixed intently on the evidence of Vi’s arousal. “Your body’s as honest as ever,” she said, palming Vi over the damp fabric of her boxers with deliberate pressure.

Vi tipped her head back, a borderline pathetic sound slipping out as Caitlyn leaned in to capture her lips again, kissing her hard enough to steal what little breath she had left.

“You’re gonna make it worse…” 

“Suppose we should take care of this before the others arrive, then,” Caitlyn dragged her teeth gently along Vi’s jaw as if she was considering it, weighing the idea like it was a truly serious matter.

Vi gave a laugh, the absurdity of it all making her feel giddy. “What happened to behaving on set?”

Caitlyn flashed her a smile, fingers still drawing slow, maddening circles against the soaked cotton. “Let’s just call it a necessary professional risk.” She pressed a kiss just below Vi’s ear, her voice skating across her skin in a way that made Vi shiver all over. “Besides… the shoot hasn’t officially started yet, has it?”

—

They stumbled back toward Vi’s Jeep, Caitlyn tugging her by the hand like she couldn’t get them there fast enough. Vi barely managed to pop the trunk open before Caitlyn practically tackled her, shoving her backward into the open space and following her down, mouths crashing together in a desperate, fervent kiss.

Good thing the seats were already folded flat—though Vi couldn’t for the life of her remember why she’d left them like that. Either way, it gave them plenty of room to work out all the pent-up tension that had been building since… hell, probably the second Caitlyn had gotten out of that damn car.

Caitlyn climbed over her, bold and eager, kissing Vi with a reckless abandon that almost caught her off-guard. Vi let her hands roam in turn, feeling the lean muscles in Caitlyn’s back under the thin fabric of her blouse, relishing the heat pouring off both of them in waves.

As good as it was—and God, it was good—the heat between Vi’s legs was becoming sharper, impossible to ignore, gnawing at her with every grind of Caitlyn’s hips and tickling brush of her fingers. Vi’s hands fisted in Caitlyn’s shirt in an effort to ground herself, to breathe.

“Cait,” she gasped, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “You gotta take them off if you’re gonna keep doing that…”

Caitlyn pulled back, her lips swollen and cheeks thoroughly flushed. She didn’t answer right away—just gave Vi a look, hot and heavy, before hooking two fingers under the band of Vi’s boxers and peeling them down with her jeans in one smooth motion. 

And Vi could only hope they’d dry off before the crew arrived and the shoot began. 

She exhaled a shaky breath, head falling back against the seat. She was soaked, so wet that a long, sheening string of arousal stretched from the damp cotton to her wanting cunt, the sight of it making Caitlyn lick her lips in anticipation, her eyes going a little glassy.

Caitlyn giggled as she dragged a slow, teasing finger through Vi’s folds. She planted a warm, tingly kiss on the inside of her thigh, then licked the glistening skin like she was tasting something decadent and rare.

“Save it for my lips,” Caitlyn purred huskily. “Not the underwear.”

Vi shuddered so hard her back lifted off the seat, a bolt of pleasure running through her like electricity. She hadn’t even been touched yet—properly touched, anyway—and already her vision was blurring at the edges, everything narrowing down to the unbearable throb between her legs and the weight of Caitlyn’s stare.

Caitlyn lowered herself slowly, trailing her hands down Vi’s legs as she went. She settled between them like she had every right to be there, like she belonged there, her breath swirling hot over skin that was already terribly sensitive to any kind of touch.

Face-to-face now with exactly where Vi needed her most, Caitlyn smiled and ran her hands slowly up the inside of Vi’s thighs, thumbs pressing just enough to make her tremble.

“Will you be a good girl on set if I clean you up?” She murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper against Vi’s folds.

Vi couldn’t think—only feel, whine, keen for contact. Her hips tilted forward instinctively, desperate and unashamed, offering herself up without a second thought. A long whimper erupted from her throat before she could swallow it down, so high and needy, a sound that even startled her and made her cheeks burn.

But it seemed, mercifully, that was answer enough.

Caitlyn’s hands slipped higher, pushing Vi’s thighs even wider apart with gentle insistence. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes grazing the tops of her cheeks—and then her mouth was on her, soft lips brushing and kissing, until Caitlyn’s tongue finally slipped out to taste her.

Vi couldn’t help but moan, the sound ripping straight out of her like she had no chance of ever holding it back. Her hands scrambled at the seats, desperate for something to hold onto, anything that could ground her. She kept her fierce grip away from Caitlyn’s hair by sheer force of will—no way would she have her showing up to the shoot looking like she’d just lost a bar fight. So Vi instead balled her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut, hips growing restless, grinding up into Caitlyn’s thorough, skilled mouth.

“Ah, yes… fuck…” The words came without inhibition, rough and broken at the edges.

Caitlyn didn’t ease up. If anything, she doubled down—licking long and agonizingly slow through Vi’s folds, then short, focused strokes, her tongue rasping through her like she was the best and last thing she’d ever taste. She worked with a patience Vi didn’t have, dragging flat swipes through the slickness, pulling little gasps and whimpers from Vi with every pass.

And when Caitlyn suddenly latched onto her clit and sucked, Vi saw stars. Her back arched clean off the seat, body locking up like a livewire. 

“Oh my god—oh—I’m gonna cum…” Vi’s hands flew to her mouth to muffle the impending cry.

In a savage move, Caitlyn pulled away, still remaining close enough that Vi could feel every detail of her breath against her tender, drenched skin. A long thread of drool still connected from her mouth to Vi’s clit, and the depraved sight alone nearly finished her.

“Not yet,” Caitlyn said. She sat up, tongue flicking over her own lips to savour Vi’s taste. “We still have twenty more minutes until the crew gets here.”

“Wha—?” 

Her eyelids heavy, Caitlyn grinned as she moved up Vi’s body, peppering kisses along her abdomen, her ribs, her collarbone—until she found the curve of Vi’s neck and nipped at the supple, delicate skin.

“You can be patient for me, right?” She whispered near Vi’s ear. “I’ll need to make you cum hard enough to tide you over until we’re finished shooting. Give you a nice, rosy complexion for the camera.”

Caitlyn shoved Vi’s shirt higher, baring the matching heather-grey bralette stretched taut over her chest, the peaks of her nipples pressing stubbornly through the thin fabric. Another thing Vi would have to worry about once she was back in front of a camera—if she ever managed to get there at all.

Caitlyn didn’t linger. She tugged the bralette up and over with a soft, greedy kind of efficiency, baring Vi’s breasts to the cool air and her hungry mouth. She closed over one nipple, sucking and sloppily swirling until Vi gasped.

Her other hand roamed lower, the pads of her fingers threading idly through the coarse thatch of hair between Vi’s legs. She just barely circled against Vi’s entrance before retreating, a maddening hint of pressure that left Vi panting into the space between them, her whole body straining for more.

“Cait, please… ” 

“I will.” Caitlyn’s tongue flicked over the other nipple, drawing another desperate groan from her. “Later. As a reward for a hard day’s work.”

Vi could hardly contain her own need, wanting so badly for those long, elegant fingers to plunge deep in her cunt, to fuck her so perfectly like she knew they could. Instead, Caitlyn kissed her again, her hand moving to circle Vi’s clit in lazy patterns. The friction was sweet, sure—but not enough. It left Vi strung out right at the edge, hovering in a place where every second stretched out forever, where every nerve ending screamed for respite.

Part of her marveled—dimly, feverishly—at Caitlyn’s boldness, at how fast she’d abandoned caution and thrown herself headlong into this precarious tryst. The way she touched her like she needed her. Like she’d been needing her for a long, long time. Maybe something had shifted earlier, during their conversation about Vi’s travels, the way she’d talked about her encounters with other women. Whatever it was, Vi had the distinct feeling she could get very, very used to being the object of this kind of desire.

Even if it was driving her absolutely insane.

The sharp buzz of Caitlyn’s phone broke through the haze.

Caitlyn pulled her hand away, wiped it off on the side of her shirt without a hint of shame, and checked the message.

“They’re six minutes out,” she said, almost casually. Caitlyn glanced back down at her, pupils blown wide, licking her lips. “Do you want to cum in my mouth now?”

Vi could only babble something that wasn’t even a word.

Taken as a yes, apparently.

Caitlyn dipped back between Vi’s thighs and went to work at Vi’s clit without another moment’s hesitation. She flicked her tongue fast and relentlessly, expertly coaxing her back up the edge she had barely been saved from falling over. 

“Cait—I—” Vi choked, barely recognizing her own voice, the words tumbling out broken and frantic. She was there, right there, dangling by a thread.

Caitlyn flattened her tongue and licked her in a broad, firm sweep—and that was it.

Vi shattered.

The orgasm tore through her with brutal force, ripping a cry from Vi that was so raw and loud she was pretty sure half the coast heard it. Her back lifted, and her thighs clamped so tight around Caitlyn’s head, as if she couldn’t bear to let her go. Pleasure flooded her, blinding and unrelenting, until she was left writhing with quaking limbs and wracked gasps.

Even as the aftershocks hit her, Caitlyn kept her mouth moving, easing her down from the high with devotion. Vi could feel herself trembling under every flick of Caitlyn’s tongue, her whole body still sparking and twitching with the leftovers of climax.

By the time Caitlyn finally lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking outrageously pleased with herself, Vi was a puddle against the seat, boneless and spent.

Caitlyn sat up on her knees only to swipe her sleeve across Vi’s thighs, cleaning up the last of her slick with quick, efficient care, like it was just another part of the job.

Sparing a glance at the discarded boxers beside her, it seemed that the damp patch on her underwear had finally dried somewhere along the way—though, at this point, and with Vi in this state, that hardly mattered.

She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand, let alone pose for a shoot. And if that hungry, wanting look in Caitlyn’s eyes had no intention of easing—

It was going to be a long fucking day.

—

By the time the first of the crew vans rumbled into view, Vi had already paced a near trench into the dirt. 

She watched from a distance as the team spilled out—grips, techs, assistants, everyone hauling gear and shouting greetings across the set. Caitlyn drifted easily into the chaos, camera slung around her neck, chatting with one of the lighting guys like nothing monumental had just occurred in the back of Vi’s Jeep less than half an hour ago.

Vi shoved her hands deep into her pockets and tried not to stare. Tried not to think about Caitlyn’s mouth. About how she’d been completely shattered and put back together again mere minutes before getting to work. Or, more importantly, the fact that her boxers were barely holding the line right now, her body still thrumming like it hadn’t gotten the memo that it would be on display for her colleagues and, eventually, millions of people.

Her boots kicked up little clouds of dust as she paced another slow circle. Maybe if she kept moving, she could outrun it—the memory of Caitlyn’s tongue, the filth she whispered into her ear, how Vi had somehow managed to bring out these animalistic traits in her.

She didn’t hear Gert approach until the woman was practically on top of her, a makeup kit swinging in one hand.

“Good God,” Gert huffed, popping open a compact. “You look like you ran six laps before we even got here.”

Vi swallowed hard and dropped heavily onto the canvas chair Gert had folded out. “Just… getting the blood flowing,” she muttered, wincing as Gert immediately started dabbing at her flushed face.

“Yeah, well, don’t get yourself all sweaty for the shoot, all right?” Gert chuckled, smoothing concealer under Vi’s eyes with brisk hands.

Vi forced herself to nod, clenching her jaw against a shudder that crawled up her spine every time she thought too hard about what she was actually trying to keep under control.

Across the way, Grayson was stalking through the site, ticking off checklists with the set designers, calling out orders to the lighting crew. 

When Vi’s makeup was done and she prepared to take her place, Grayson circled back toward where she and Caitlyn were stationed near the cliffside, brushing the hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Sorry we were late,” she said, approaching them with an apologetic half-smile. “We should’ve taken the detour earlier to avoid the closure. I hope you weren’t too bored waiting for us.”

“Oh, no,” Caitlyn rushed out, her voice a few octaves higher than usual. “Not at all.”

Vi nodded hastily, like a bobblehead.

“Good. Well, let’s get set up then.”

The next twenty minutes passed in a whirlwind of movement. Stands went up, diffusers angled against the hard Malibu sun. Camera checked, lights tested, backdrop adjusted against the rocky cliffs.

Vi flexed her hands, feeling the slight tremor in her fingers. She needed to pull it together. Fast.

“Alright, Vi, you’re up!” Grayson called, clapping her hands to get the crew’s attention. Caitlyn lifted her camera and gave her a small nod, a professional mask sliding into place over her still slightly pinkened cheeks.

Vi stripped off her t-shirt in one smooth sweep, tossing it carelessly to the ground. The breeze hit her bare skin immediately, and she hissed under her breath when she caught sight of herself—nipples straining visibly against the thin stretch of her bralette, betraying her before the shoot had even started.

Hopefully they’d all blame the cool weather for this and not assume anything else.

She tried to focus— tried —but when she looked up, Caitlyn was already waiting for her, camera lifted, one eye tucked behind the viewfinder, the other trained on Vi like a sniper locking onto a mark.

Vi’s breath faltered, rough in her chest. Caitlyn didn’t say anything yet. She didn’t need to. Her posture alone, the quiet, controlled hunger written into the angle of her shoulders, her hands steady around the grip—it was enough to make Vi’s legs threaten to give out.

“Your jeans. Pull them down,” Caitlyn ordered, her voice syrup-thick. 

She knows exactly what she’s doing.

Vi’s hands obeyed on instinct, popping the button of her jeans and shoving them down past her hips. She stepped out of them in a fluid motion and stood there, stripped down to nothing but her boxers and bra, nearly naked in the middle of the wide, open coastline.

Her thighs locked together without her even thinking, a useless attempt to hide the telltale signs of her body’s treachery. She tried to push the thoughts away, but it was hard when Caitlyn was looking at her like she could peel her open with her eyes alone.

“Bend over,” Caitlyn called, voice dropping even lower. “Hands on your shins.”

Vi closed her eyes, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. She folded forward obediently, feeling the hem of her boxers stretch tighter across her ass, her pulse throbbing embarrassingly hard between her legs.

The shutter clicks followed one after another.

She could feel Caitlyn circling her, documenting the line of her back, the slope of her spine, the want and despair in her face. Every time Vi adjusted her balance, Caitlyn was there to catch it, immortalize it. The camera snapped again as Vi shifted one foot slightly to steady herself. She stayed frozen there, presenting herself shamelessly, trusting Caitlyn would protect whatever dignity she had left.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn murmured, quiet enough that Vi barely caught it. “Hold it, just like that. That’s good.”

Vi squeezed her eyes shut. If Caitlyn didn’t stop talking to her like that, if she didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to end up making a scene that no amount of PR could fix.

Behind her, the ocean crashed against the rocks below. The wind rustled through her hair. Somewhere in the distance, Grayson’s voice barked instructions to the techs.

And Vi stayed bent over, until she was told not to. She turned around for Caitlyn to photograph her back, the shutter clacking in her ears, until Caitlyn had her shift again. She could have gotten lost in this dance, knowing Caitlyn loved to see her like this, so thoroughly debauched for her, completely at her mercy.

More clicks. More low, muttered encouragements. Vi was floating somewhere between mortification and complete, utter surrender when Grayson’s voice finally cracked through the tension:

“Alright, that’s a wrap for today, people!”

Vi bolted upright with a sharp inhale, hastily dragging her jeans back up her hips and fumbling to button them with shaking fingers. Relief bled through her body like a fever breaking. She thought about sprinting to wardrobe, maybe throwing herself into the nearest cold shower.

Until she peered over her shoulder.

And saw Caitlyn.

Still holding the camera. Still watching her. That same sly little smirk twitching at the corners of her mouth.

Vi’s stomach twisted. She knew what that meant. 

A promise that still hung between them.

A reward for a hard day’s work.

Pushing down a gulp, Vi’s pulse was hammering, and already she was forgetting whatever half-formed excuses she might have made.

Because if Caitlyn was planning to cash in that promise…

Vi was ready to collect.

—

“Oh, fuck…”

The words tumbled out of Vi’s mouth, hushed and frantic, hardly more than a gasp against Caitlyn’s ear.

They’d barely made it into the trailer—some random equipment rig they’d come upon while the crew was packing up—before Caitlyn had shoved Vi up against the nearest folded scrim. Her jeans and boxers were yanked down to her thighs in one swift, hard motion, and before she knew it, those gorgeous, long fingers she’d been daydreaming about from the moment they first teased at her entrance finally slid inside her.

She bit down on her teeth to keep from crying out, the sensation spreading through her like wildfire. Caitlyn’s fingers curled expertly, reaching places within Vi she never even knew existed—delivering a pleasure so devastating, she might have seen the birth of the universe behind her squeezed-shut eyelids.

Fuck, she needed something to hold onto—something softer than the cold metal digging into her back, a set of sheets to pull at with her fists, anything to grant her purchase as Caitlyn worked so feverishly between her thighs. Her body jolted, spasmed, the tension pulling tight under her skin like freshly lit fireworks about to soar off.

Caitlyn leaned in, her breath ticklish on Vi’s earlobe, slowing her thrusts just enough to pull a desperate, unintentionally loud groan from Vi’s throat.

“Shh,” she whispered, soft but stern, her fingers grinding up into that impossibly sweet spot with cruel precision. “That pretty voice is for my ears only.”

Vi could only whine helplessly under her breath, the back of her head thudding against the scrim behind her. And at this point, with this pace, there was no stopping her from completely unravelling—wet and desperate and clenching down hard around Caitlyn’s fingers like her life depended on it.

One hell of a reward for a hard day’s work, indeed.

Caitlyn picked up her rhythm again, plunging in deep, then dragging out slow. Her palm pressed against Vi’s clit, her index and ring finger stretching her so perfectly each time she buried them inside, every motion stoking the fire higher, hotter.

It built fast, uncontrollably fast, cresting hard in Vi’s belly until she was reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess of raw nerves and need. Her hips jerked forward into Caitlyn’s hand, a subconscious effort to bring herself the relief her body so desperately needed.

With one, two, three more thrusts, the orgasm lanced through her in a shuddering, electric wave, and Vi had to bury her face in Caitlyn’s neck to keep from moaning loud enough to give them away. Her thighs quaked violently, body jerking against Caitlyn as she rode it out, leaking onto her palm in hot, messy pulses.

When it finally broke and the last of the aftershocks had been shivered out, Vi sagged against Caitlyn’s front, her heart thundering like she’d just run a marathon.

Caitlyn didn’t move right away. She stayed close, hand pressed gently between Vi’s thighs, her mouth brushing her temple with a ghost of a kiss.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?” Vi huffed, half-laughing against her hair.

Caitlyn just smiled against her skin, the kind of smile Vi could feel rather than see.

Then—the sound of the trailer door pushing open, followed by approaching footsteps, brought them both back to their senses. 

They both froze.

Vi’s eyes widened as she heard Viktor and Gert’s voices coming closer, the trailer door creaking on its hinges as it shut behind them.

Caitlyn slipped her hand away and tugged Vi’s boxers and jeans up so fast it was dizzying, and Vi’s legs nearly buckled as the fabric scraped over her oversensitized skin.

They ducked behind a stack of sandbags just as the door swung fully open.

“You’d think with how flushed Vi looked, she just sprinted a mile uphill.” Gert’s voice rang out. “I didn’t think she’d be that bored to start working out right before shooting.”

“Perhaps it is… mild sunstroke? Very little shade around here.” Viktor replied, almost inquisitively.

“Nah. That was someone who was overheating on the brink of needing a hospital visit.”

Vi slapped a hand over her mouth to keep the laugh from bursting out of her. Caitlyn’s forehead pressed against her shoulder, her body heaving with barely contained giggles.

They waited silently as Viktor and Gert clattered around for a few more seconds, storing their equipment away, then finally left, the door squeaking closed.

Vi exhaled, head dropping back against the cool metal wall.

“Come on,” Caitlyn murmured, still grinning, nudging Vi toward the exit. “One at a time. Try not to look guilty.”

Vi was the first to step out of the trailer, yanking the door shut behind her with a quiet thunk. The chilly breeze hit her flushed skin, pulling a chuckle from her chest she couldn’t quite smother. Christ, she was a goddamn mess—in the best possible way. She dipped her hands in her pockets, satisfaction felt from deep within, her body still singing from Caitlyn’s hands.

The buzz of her phone startled her. She fished it out, thumb flicking across the cracked screen.

Pow-Pow:

you still comin’, slowpoke?

Vi huffed through her nose. Trust Powder to time it perfectly.

Behind her, the trailer door creaked again. Caitlyn slipped out, moving like nothing at all had just gone down in there. She came to stand beside Vi at the edge of the set by her car, the two of them close enough their shoulders almost brushed.

Vi thumbed a quick reply to her sister, shoving her phone back in her pocket with a grimace.

“Shit,” she muttered. “I’m late.”

“For?”

“I’m supposed to meet Pow down in Los Feliz.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Your sister?”

“Yeah. We meet up around there every week. I’m sorry I can’t give you a lift this time.”

Caitlyn bumped her shoulder lightly against Vi’s. “Please. It’s all right. Besides, you’ve done plenty of favours for me today already.”

“Nah, if anything, I’m the one who owes you .” She let the words hang, allowing Caitlyn the chance to catch exactly what she meant. “And you best believe I’m gonna give it to you good when I see you next.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, breathless sound escaping her before she caught herself. Her eyes glittered playfully. “ Mmm … well. I look forward to that.”

Vi’s grin widened, her heart squeezing so tight it almost hurt. She grabbed Caitlyn by the collar of her jacket, looked around twice to make sure they were truly alone, and pulled her in for a kiss.

“Anyway,” Vi murmured against her lips, “I’ll see you again soon?”

Caitlyn leaned in again. “Real soon,” she whispered.

Vi kissed her back, softer this time, just a press of mouths, a promise in the making.

Yeah. Real soon.

—

Vi stumbled into The Last Drop bar like a boulder rolling downhill—heavy-footed, loose-limbed, and for a model of her calibre, relatively rough around the edges. The place looked exactly the same as it always did: dim lighting that gave everything a dusty, amber tint; scuffed wooden floors that creaked like they held their own secrets; the jukebox stuck playing some scratchy old rock song no one bothered to change.

At the bar, Powder was perched on a stool, Ekko's arm slung around her in a way that blatantly but tastefully declared their status. Vander leaned against the other side of the bar, polishing a glass that probably didn’t need polishing just so he could look busy in front of the few patrons he had on a Monday night.

When Vi sauntered up, all three of them turned to stare at her in unison like a scene out of an overplayed sitcom.

"Well, well," Powder drawled. "Look who decided to show up."

Vi threw her hands up, defensive but relaxed. "Sorry. Shoot went a little later than expected."

Ekko cocked an eyebrow, elbowing Powder lightly. "Was starting to think you were too big for us now that you landed with Calvin Klein."

"Hey, it’s good to see you, little man. And no amount of fame would ever have me forget my roots." Vi let out a short laugh and pulled Ekko into a hug, ruffling the top of his hair even in his fleeting attempt to dodge it. 

Vander slid a glass across the bar towards Vi. "Fixed you up the usual, kiddo."

Vi caught it one-handed, grateful, and knocked back a sip without even looking. "Thanks."

It tasted like home, cheap whiskey with a splash of ginger ale, a little too sweet, a little too easy to drink. She followed Ekko and her sister toward their usual booth tucked near the back, the cracked vinyl seats groaning as they dropped into them.

Powder was already launching into some story with her hands flying, face lit up—but the words barely registered. Vi sipped at her drink again, faster than she realized, the alcohol skating warm down her throat.

The noise of the bar dulled to a low murmur in her ears. Even Powder's animated voice blurred into background static.

Because all she could think about—still—was Caitlyn.

After a day like today, how could she not? No shoot had ever left her this rattled, this wired, the charge of it still fizzing under her skin. Vi wasn’t even sure she’d be able to look at the final shots without feeling her cheeks go hot at the memory of Caitlyn talking her through several compromising poses, barely hiding the evidence of their recent rendezvous in the car. It hadn’t been planned, none of it had. But then again, nothing about Caitlyn ever went the way Vi expected.

Vi slouched deeper into the booth, trying—and failing—not to smile like a complete dumbass.

"—So I was standing there," Powder was saying, "and the whole circuit just shorted because someone forgot to ground the stabilizer properly, and—"

Powder paused when she caught Vi not even so much as bothering to look her in the eye, instead resting her chin in her palm as she drifted off to some faraway daydream.

"Hello?" Powder snapped her fingers in front of Vi's face. "Earth to Vi?"

Startled back into reality, Vi straightened up like she'd been caught sleeping in class. "What? Oh—sorry. You were saying something about a—uh—" she fumbled, grasping for anything.

Powder snorted. Ekko leaned back with a shit-eating grin.

"Sheesh," he said. "Never seen you space out like that. You seeing a girl or something?"

Vi nearly choked on her drink. "N-no. No, I’m not." She winced, hearing herself sound way too defensive.

God, am I really that easy of a read?

She scrubbed a hand down her face, desperate to change the subject. "Look, I’m just tired, alright?"

Powder rolled her eyes but let it slide. Vi pounced on the opportunity, turning to her like a lifeline.

"Oh hey, been meaning to ask," she said, "how’d your appointment with the psych go last week?"

Powder's face darkened at the question, the way it always did whenever these matters came up. She toyed with her straw, stabbing it into the melting ice in her glass. "Oh, that..." She shrugged, nonchalant, but not fooling anyone. "The doc wants to add another med to what I’m already taking."

"And? What do you think?"

Powder scowled down at her drink like it had personally offended her. "I don’t know. He said it’ll help, but it makes you feel... numb. I hate that. I’d rather feel everything than nothing at all."

"I get that," Vi said, her tone careful. "But you should listen to the doctor, don’t you think?"

Ekko chimed in from across the table. "Told her the same thing. At least consider it. It might help with the—"

“—Anyway," Powder cut him off, her voice tight, before forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Enough about me. Tell me about work, Vi. What’s new around the block.”

The pivot was obvious. Vi let her have it. This would be something to discuss at another time, not at their weekly meetup, meant for distraction and levity.

“The campaign’s a lot more laid back than I thought, I suppose. We’re doing lots of shoots on location around the area, which is nice.” Then, Vi shifted gears further. "Oh, Pow, remember that old film camera Vander got you for your 14th birthday?"

Powder wrinkled her nose. "That thing? I haven’t used it in years."

"Yeah, but do you know where it is?"

"It should still be here," she said, glancing toward the stairwell that led to the apartment on the top floor. "Don’t think I ever took it with me. Why?"

Ekko leaned in with a smirk. "Picking up a new hobby?"

"Something like that." Vi replied.

She pushed up from the booth, stretching her arms overhead until her back cracked.

"Can I go look for it in your old room real quick?"

Powder flicked her fingers lazily toward the hallway, nodding and granting Vi her blessing. "Knock yourself out."

—

Vi sat cross-legged on the living room floor of her flat, the old Olympus OM-3 cracked open on the coffee table in front of her, its guts splayed out like a critically-wounded patient on an operating table. Her fingers were smudged with dust and old oil, but she didn’t mind. She liked work like this—small, stubborn tasks that let her hands do the thinking.

The camera was a relic. A little battered around the edges, but not dead. Not yet, anyway. She cleaned the lens mount with a careful thumb, and tested the shutter release. It still clicked, a little stiff, but promising.

She wondered, idly, if Caitlyn had ever shot on one of these. Knowing her, probably. Caitlyn seemed like the type who could evoke poetry out of anything, even an old camera like this. Vi could already picture it: Caitlyn with the heavy thing slung around her neck, eye pressed to the viewfinder, brow furrowed just slightly as she tried to chase the light across a landscape that left her awe-struck.

The thought made Vi's heart squeeze a little too tightly in her chest.

She let the radio play in the background, a mellow indie station that always seemed a little out of tune, the signal fighting its way through static. Mostly she tuned it out. Until the voice of one of the casters caught her attention.

"We have breaking entertainment news today. Casting calls for the highly anticipated film Wild Rift have officially reopened after lead actress Marissa Vale was walked from the project. Sources close to the production confirm the decision follows revelations of inappropriate conduct between Vale and the film’s director, Jordan Raines. Producers say they are committed to maintaining a professional environment on set and have expedited the search for a new leading actress."

Vi froze, her hand mid-swipe over the lens.

Slowly, she set the camera down on the table, and took a long, deep breath. Something about the news story—it got under her skin. A weird itch of restlessness started crawling through her veins. It wasn’t like it had anything to do with her and Caitlyn, not really, but—

It still made her stomach twist in a way she didn’t like.

Without thinking too hard, Vi reached for her phone. Her thumb hovered over Caitlyn’s contact for half a second before she tapped it and brought it to her ear.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—

“Vi?” Caitlyn's voice came through the speaker, crystal clear in contrast to the scratchy voices from the radio.

Vi swallowed, the knot in her chest easing at the sound of her.

“Hey.” She leaned back against the couch, head tipping up to stare at the ceiling. “Didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

“No, not at all.” A pause. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.” She scrubbed a hand over her face, feeling a little ridiculous now that she had her on the line. “I guess I just… I dunno. Wanted to hear your voice. And talk about today.”

“What about it?”

Vi chewed her bottom lip and leveled her head to gaze at the wall. “I know we said we wouldn’t do stuff like that on set,” she said, the words coming quick. “And, well… I’m worried I got a little carried away.”

There was a silence that followed, one that caused Vi to shift in her seat as she didn’t have Caitlyn in front of her to read her body language or face, something that might have put her more at ease. 

“I hope I didn’t make you feel pressured to do anything reckless that would’ve put us at risk,” she added. “And I’m sorry if I did.”

For a moment, all she could hear was the faint crackle of the radio static in the background.

“Don’t be,” Caitlyn replied, so quietly Vi had to strain to catch it. “I… loved every minute of it.”

Vi blinked, her heart stuttering.

“You did?”

“Yes.” There was a smile in Caitlyn’s voice now, warm and a little shy. “In truth, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you all evening. I’m glad you called.”

“Cait—”

“—Nobody caught us,” Caitlyn continued, a little firmer. “And nobody knows. It’s all right.” Her voice trailed off for a moment, and before Vi could speak again, she said: “I only wish there was somewhere we could go together. Just the two of us. Far from prying eyes.”

Vi’s eyes dropped to the camera on the coffee table. And as she picked it back up in her hands, an idea flickered to life in her mind. 

She knew of such a place, not too far from here.

Somewhere she imagined both of them could run to, exactly as Caitlyn described, where they were free to truly indulge in their surroundings—and each other. 

“Well,” Vi said, grinning as her fingers toyed with the camera’s worn, dented winder. “Why don’t we, then?”

Chapter Text

“So I just click and… hope for the best?” 

“Essentially.” 

“But if I can’t see what I’ve taken, how do I know I’ve got a good shot?” 

“You’re not meant to know that with film. You take the picture because, for a breath of time, the world shows you something so fleeting and beautiful that you can’t bear to let it go. That’s the only thing that matters.” 

Caitlyn couldn’t remember the last time she held a camera like this in her hands. 

It must’ve been years ago. Before the daze of her routines, before every image she took had the intent of selling something, of flattering someone, or chasing an editorial brief through six emails and an NDA. Somewhere in the blur of casting calls, brand deals, and briefings with talent managers, she had forgotten the feeling of a photograph taken just because it asked to be.

She couldn’t recall the woman’s face now—just the impression of a scarf wrapped artfully around her neck and the glint of silver rings flashing as she passed over the battered Leica M3 in exchange for £80. Caitlyn hadn’t thought about what she said in years. 

Not until Vi had texted her, asking her to meet in some alleyway a few blocks from the hotel.

Caitlyn showed up to find her leaning against the hood of her Jeep, hoodie drawn over her eyes like a renegade in hiding, casual and criminally cool in a way that made Caitlyn feel like she was stepping into a getaway car. Vi had reached into her bag, handing Caitlyn a somewhat-worn but still functioning Olympus OM-3 35mm camera and said, ‘ for you to document our adventures. ’

The whole thing had felt absurd. Illicit. But Vi had this way of pulling her out of herself—of slipping past the guardrails Caitlyn had spent her whole life constructing. She was maddening, really.

Maybe that was exactly why Caitlyn couldn’t stay away.

And so they drove.

The Jeep ate up the miles with the hunger of a beast set free. The wind whipped through Caitlyn’s hair from the open windows until it came loose from the clip she’d tried to secure it with, and she let it go, allowing it to fly freely in the air like ribbon. There were plenty of opportunities to snap a shot with the camera Vi had given her, yet she hesitated. After all, Vi only brought a thirty-six exposure roll of Kodak Portra and a twenty-four exposure roll of Ilford Delta, the latter of which she would likely save for later. For a subject that didn’t demand to be shot in colour.

Vi drove one-handed, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, her other hand resting on the stick shift. 

Caitlyn found herself watching her more than she watched the scenery.

“Five one six?” Vi asked, her fingers already turning the radio dial.

“Of course,” Caitlyn replied. Then, she glanced sideways. “Can I at least have a hint about where we’re going?”

“Nope. It’s gonna be better as a surprise.”

Caitlyn scoffed. “But it’s not like I even know the area. Everything here is a surprise to me.”

“Exactly,” Vi said, grinning now. “So trust me, okay?”

As eager as Caitlyn was, she knew better than to press. Vi hadn’t let her down yet—not once, not in all the strange and stunning hours they had spent together since they met. 

So she leaned back into the seat, letting the soft hum of the radio fill the quiet between them, allowing the tension to release from her chest.

They drove for what felt like forever—past dry hills that sloped lazily into one another, the bright wash of the sun painting everything around them in pale tones. The freeway had long since fallen away, replaced by winding coastal roads that dipped and curled as if pulled by a thread. 

It wasn’t until they turned off the next exit and a sign emerged— Welcome to Avila Beach —that Caitlyn realized just how far they’d come.

Vi eventually rolled into a sunbaked parking lot just off the main strip. Up ahead sat a ramshackle little beach bar with peeling wood siding and a crooked sign that read Jericho’s .

She threw the Jeep into park, palm still resting on the gear shift, and adjusted her shades over her eyes.

“Hope you brought your appetite.”

—

The bell above the door let out a metallic rattle as they stepped inside—Caitlyn first, then Vi close behind, holding the door until it clicked shut against the wind.

It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but the inside had the warmth of genuine authenticity you’d rarely find in New York, or even LA. It was built from wooden beams darkened from salt and age, with ceiling fans spinning lazily above mismatched tables, a chalkboard menu scrawled in bold, illegible handwriting hanging on the wall. 

Locals lined the bar, sandy-footed and sunkissed, laughing too loud and sipping lime-stuffed beers with the ease of people who had nowhere else to be.

Vi gave the place a once-over, then turned to Caitlyn. “One sec.”

Before Caitlyn could answer, Vi was sauntering up to the bar. Behind the counter stood a hulking man in a grease-stained apron, forearms like tree trunks, his back turned as he flipped something in a skillet with firm finesse.

“Hey, Jericho,” Vi called, leaning against the worn wood of the bar. “Think you can squeeze in two out-of-towners for lunch?”

The man turned at the sound of her voice, brow furrowed—and then his face broke into a grin that could’ve split the sky. “Vi?”

Vi smiled back, hands in the pockets of her board shorts. “Good to see you, big guy.”

“You too. It’s been what—how many years? Thought you’d become a stranger.”

“Yeah, well…” Vi gave a sheepish shrug. “Life gets in the way, y’know?”

Jericho’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, to where Caitlyn stood by the door, uncertain but still composed, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

His expression softened. “And who’s the pretty lady?”

Caitlyn blushed. Visibly. She shifted her weight, eyes flicking to the floor for a breath too long.

Vi glanced back at her. “Her name’s Caitlyn,” she said. “She’s a colleague of mine.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Vi gave her a subtle nod toward the open tables overlooking the water.

“I’ll get us something to start,” she gestured. “Go grab a table.”

Caitlyn slid into the seat by the window, her palm brushing over the grooves in the tabletop—thin notches and soft splits in the grain, worn into it by the elbows and rings and idle hands of countless strangers who came before. The chair wobbled slightly as she settled, the sun shining through the dusty glass warming her shoulder.

Nobody stared at her. Nobody whispered. Nobody held up a phone. The low swell of conversation moved around her, rising and dipping with the rhythm of a crowd entirely lost in their own world.

And still, the stiffness remained.

That stark, ever-present pressure to hold her posture just so, to keep her features smooth, to be the right blend of inconspicuous and composed. That part of her hadn’t wavered, not even here.

She let her arm rest on the table, eyes drifting across the room. Her thumb tapped the edge of her water glass, as she idly wondered.

Why here? 

Vi hadn’t been back in years—that much was obvious from what Jericho had said. This was a place that remembered her. A place she’d left behind. 

Her eyes found her again—still at the bar.

Vi was mid-laugh, one hip leaned into the counter, her hands moving as she talked. There was something easy in her stance, her face relaxed in that particular way it only got when she wasn’t performing for anyone. Jericho threw his head back at something she said, wiping his hands on his apron, eyes crinkling with laughter. She hadn’t lost this place. It hadn’t lost her.

Caitlyn’s fingers moved instinctively. The camera came out of her bag, the body of it cool against her palm. She thumbed the advance lever, checked her settings—ISO 400, aperture open to f/2.8 for softness, shutter bumped just enough to catch the light at the edge of Vi’s smile.

She lifted it to her eye and clicked. One soft, weightless sound.

Then another. Quick adjustment. Second frame.

Vi’s head tilted, a grin growing on her face, and Caitlyn caught it like a fleeting breath.

Jericho passed her a drink with a clap on the shoulder, and Vi made her way over, glass in hand, the sun catching on the condensation trailing down its sides. Caitlyn clocked her approach too late, scrambling to tuck the camera back into her bag, fingers fumbling with the flap just as Vi reached the table.

She sat with a casual thump, sliding the glass between them. A milkshake—deep purple, thick enough to hold its shape, crowned with a generous swirl of whipped cream, one maraschino cherry, and two long striped straws.

Vi dipped her head and took a sip from hers, eyes flicking up at Caitlyn over the rim. “You better drink up before you miss out.”

Caitlyn stared at the glass, then at her. “Vi.”

“Mmm?” Vi was still sipping.

“Don’t you think this is a bit…” Her eyes scanned the room—the half-dozen patrons scattered near the bar, a couple out on the patio with their feet kicked up, a server wiping down a table nearby. “Obvious? With all these people around?”

Vi shook her head. “I already told you,” she said. “Nobody’s gonna care about that here.”

Caitlyn’s eyes swept across the space again, taking in the easy laughter, the clatter of forks against ceramic, the buzz of the ceiling fan on a dying motor above them. No one was looking. No one cared. And Vi… Vi wouldn’t have brought her here if it wasn’t safe. That much she knew.

So she leaned forward. Met her at the center of the table and took a sip from the straw, lips brushing cream, just as Vi angled in to do the same—

Their noses bumped.

Caitlyn flinched back with a soft gasp, hand flying to her mouth. “Oh—sorry.”

Vi blinked at her. Then she laughed, so sweet and earnest, and Caitlyn couldn’t help but join in, the sound rising above the din like bubbles coming to the water’s surface.

“It’s good, huh?” Vi said once they’d caught their breath.

Caitlyn smiled around the rim of her straw. “Yes. Wow, unbelievably so.”

They drained the glass together in comfortable silence before turning their attention to the food that Jericho brought out not long after—Vi with a towering blackened mahi sandwich and a heap of fries, Caitlyn with a fillet of grilled lingcod with a lemon-wedge garnish, upon Vi’s suggestion.

She hesitated at first, fork hovering over the strange, blue-coloured fish, but one bite was enough to silence every doubt. Delicate, rich, almost buttery beneath its crisped edges. Caitlyn had never tasted anything quite like it, and savoured every morsel.

Across from her, Vi had tomato sliding down her wrist and a smudge of sauce at the corner of her mouth. She ate like someone who didn’t know how to ration pleasure—greedy, satisfied, unbothered by the mess. It should’ve been uncouth. But Caitlyn couldn’t peel her eyes away.

Something about her like this… the unguardedness, the lack of polish—it was disarming. Endearing. Impossible not to admire.

And Caitlyn did. With reverence and a softening heart, bite after bite.

—

They walked side by side down the main strip, a little bit slow, like the town itself. There was music playing from somewhere, a guitar and a voice drifting out from a veranda farther up the hill. Caitlyn could smell salt and coconut sunscreen and the buttered sugar of a nearby funnel cake stand.

It was almost enough to make her forget she was nervous.

Then Vi reached for her hand.

She did it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was already hers to take. Caitlyn startled a little anyway, glancing sideways, but Vi’s hand was warm and steady, her grip instantly firm as if she had no intention of letting go. Her fingers were big, comforting wrapped around hers, and Caitlyn never thought herself the type to enjoy hand-holding in public. But this was…

Nice.

Still, the flicker of paranoia crept back in.

“We’re in the middle of the street,” she said under her breath, eyes darting instinctively toward the passing cars, the open patios, the woman with the small dog who looked vaguely in their direction.

“What’s it gonna take for you to relax?”

“I am relaxed,” Caitlyn replied quickly.

“Would you feel better if I dressed up in disguise?”

Before Caitlyn could say anything, Vi veered toward a storefront with display racks and little ornate signs advertising handcrafted jewelry and scarves. She unspooled a feathery orange-and-pink thing from the stand and draped it dramatically around her neck.

“How about this?” Vi asked, turning with an exaggerated flourish like she was on a catwalk. “Think anyone’ll recognize me now?”

Caitlyn burst out laughing. “You look like you got in a fight with a flamingo.”

“Perfect,” Vi said, already grabbing a wide-brimmed sun hat and an oversized pair of knockoff sunglasses. She shoved them on in quick succession, adjusting the scarf with dramatic flair. “Would you give me a kiss in this if it meant nobody knew who I was?”

Caitlyn snorted. “Maybe. If I thought it would fool anyone.”

Caitlyn reached into her bag and drew out the camera, muscle memory guiding her fingers as she angled the lens. Vi didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to. The way she turned slightly, meeting Caitlyn with a spark of mischief, was invitation enough. The shutter clicked, again and again. Vi struck a pose, something half-serious, half-satirical—hip jutted, scarf held delicately between two fingers, as if auditioning for a role no one had written yet.

“Are you sure you’re a professional model?” Caitlyn chided as she clicked the shutter button one last time.

“Hey, it’s our day off,” Vi finally put the accessories back on the rack. “Today’s about our vision, not the brand or the agency’s.”

“Right, right, of course.”

They remained outside the storefront for just a moment longer, both of them half-turned toward each other, time stretching out between them like warm taffy. Caitlyn could hear the faint chime of the bell inside each time the door opened, and the low murmur of other people’s conversations drifting out onto the street. Vi was watching her in that unblinking, unhurried way she had, perhaps waiting for Caitlyn to decide on something. Or like she already knew what Caitlyn would decide.

And maybe Caitlyn did, too.

She reached for Vi’s hand.

There wasn’t much thought behind it—more like instinct, as her fingers slipped into Vi’s with a confidence that startled even her. Vi looked down at their joined hands and then back up, and her grin widened just a little, matching the evident beaming in her silvery eyes. She gave Caitlyn’s hand a quick, firm squeeze, assured in what this meant, even if neither of them said it out loud.

“You feel like something sweet?” Vi asked, nodding down the block.

“What kind of sweet?”

“Hm,” she pondered for a moment, then her face lit up with the spark of an idea. “You like cupcakes?”

—

Sitting in the back of Vi’s Jeep, their legs swung over the bumper while they looked upon the view of the nearby seaside, the late afternoon sun warming the metal beneath them. The cupcakes were balanced on napkins in their laps—Vi’s already half-devoured, a sticky smear of vanilla frosting clinging to her thumb. Caitlyn was slower, careful about each bite like she was afraid of making a mess, which, of course, she managed to do anyway.

“You’ve got—” Vi reached out, fingers hovering in the air before she smirked, “Frosting. Right there.” She pointed at her own face.

“Here?” Caitlyn asked, dabbing vaguely around her mouth.

“Yeah,” Vi said, and without warning, leaned in and licked the frosting clean off the tip of Caitlyn’s nose. “Right there.”

“Vi!” Caitlyn swatted at her shoulder, scandalized but laughing. “What are you, a puppy?”

“Sorry,” Vi said with a shrug and a devilish grin. “I can’t help it. You’re so sweet.”

“Don’t say—”

“—Like a cupcake.”

Caitlyn groaned, head tipping back despite her laughter at Vi’s endearing corniness. 

Vi stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned back on her hands, looking out toward the sea.

“It’s lovely, this place,” Caitlyn said after a beat.

“Mhm.” Vi nodded, eyes still fixed on the slow roll of the surf from afar. “When the world gets you down, nothing beats leaving it all behind to bask in the sun.”

“You really haven’t been back here in years?”

“No, I guess not.” Vi’s tone shifted. “Time flies past you in the blink of an eye.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers idly brushing at the traces of sand dusting her thigh. The mischief from earlier had faded from her face, replaced by something more sombre. 

“Is there—” Caitlyn began, then softened her tone. “Any reason why? I mean… if I had this in my backyard, I’d be clamouring to come as often as I could.”

Vi leaned further back against the edge of the Jeep, hands planted firmly behind her. Her cupcake was finished, the crinkled wrapper folded neatly beside her all that remained. Then she said, quietly, “I used to, when I was a lot younger. This was a spot I’d come to every summer with my family.”

Caitlyn turned toward her. Vi wasn’t looking at her.

“Me, Powder, my Mom and Dad. We’d rent this run-down little beach shack two blocks from here—had a screen door that never closed right, and sand everywhere, all the time. I used to think that was the peak of luxury.”

Caitlyn smiled a little. “Sounds idyllic.”

Vi huffed a breath. “It was. Or, I don’t know, it felt that way back then. I remember Dad would barbecue all the things we asked for, even those cheddar stuffed hot dogs Mom said we weren’t allowed to have. Powder would spend hours collecting tiny seashells and arrange them on the sandcastle we’d spent the whole afternoon building. Mom had this big sun hat she wore all the time, even though it made her look like a cartoon.”

There was a long pause. But Caitlyn didn’t pry. 

“They died when I was sixteen. Car crash. It was bad. Quick, though. That’s what people always say I guess, like it’s supposed to help.”

Caitlyn swallowed a gasp, but when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Vi. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago.”

She said it like it should be enough. Like the time between then and now should’ve settled everything. But she followed it with a small shrug and added, “Wounds heal and fade. But not all scars do.”

Caitlyn looked at her, then reached over and touched her wrist, leaning her cheek on her shoulder. 

“I never really thought to come back,” Vi admitted. “Felt too weird. Too… hard. Powder took it worse than I did, I think. She still struggles, and hasn’t really been the same since. And lately… I’ve been getting this feeling, like it’s getting worse.”

There was something almost too quiet in the way she said it. Like if she spoke louder, it’d turn real.

Caitlyn frowned. “So why bring us here today? With all that considered?”

Vi looked at her then, finally. There was no cheeky grin this time, no wink or deflection. 

“I don’t know,” Vi said. “I just—felt drawn back to it. Thought maybe you’d like it here.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You seem like the type who could fall in love with a place like this. And if I was gonna come back after all this time… I figured it should be with someone who’d see it the way I used to.”

Caitlyn noticed it in the smallest of shifts—Vi’s breath catching, her jaw tensing. It was as though she hadn’t yet registered the tears sliding down her face, but they were there, unmistakable. 

Vi blinked, frowned, almost like her body had betrayed her. She swiped at her cheek, and gave a short chuckle that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Sorry,” she muttered, laughing under her breath. “Girls usually don’t like it when you drop some sob story on them outta nowhere.”

Caitlyn had nothing to say to that. She reached up, slowly, and touched Vi’s face—her thumb gentle beneath her eye, brushing the dampness that lingered there. 

“Anyone should consider themselves lucky to know someone like you. Every part of you.” 

Vi looked at her, eyes glassy, a little stunned. Then she softened, elation finding her features once again.

“You really are sweet, huh?”

Caitlyn smiled faintly. “Like a cupcake?”

Vi laughed. “Maybe even sweeter.”

A beat passed. Then Vi took a breath, deeper this time, like her lungs finally had the space to breathe again.

“Anyway,” she said, pushing herself up and rubbing her palms on her hips. “Why don’t we hit the beach while the sun’s still hot?”

Caitlyn nodded, standing with her. “Lead the way.”

—

The sand was warm on the shore, where the tide flirted with their toes but never quite reached, the sea pulling itself back as if it were shy. Caitlyn had her camera out, the strap looped around her wrist, her fingers adjusting the focus ring as she awaited her next shot. 

Vi glanced over at her. “So how does that thing work, anyway? I mean, I know how a camera works. But that’s, like… old school.”

Caitlyn didn’t look away from her viewfinder. “It’s not quite as different from digital as you’d think, just requires a bit more patience.” She snapped the shutter once, then advanced the film forward. “You only have so many frames, so every single one counts. And you won’t know how they turned out until later.”

“So it’s like… gambling?”

“More like… attrition and caution. The delay makes each snap of the shutter feel a little more sacred.”

Caitlyn turned the camera in her hands once, checking the settings out of habit, then held it out toward Vi. “Want to try?”

Vi looked at her like she wasn’t sure it was a serious offer. “Really?”

“You said you’ve only ever used Polaroids,” Caitlyn said. “Here’s your chance to upgrade.”

Vi took it in her hands, careful in the way she held it despite its sturdiness. She flipped it around, brows furrowed, inspecting it with careful calculation.

“Okay,” Caitlyn said, nudging her shoulder. “After you press the shutter, you advance the film using the lever on the top. One frame per shot.”

Vi found it and gave it a little test pull. “How many we got?”

“Fifteen,” Caitlyn said. “So make them count.”

Vi started walking again, camera held up near her chest, every bit the picture of curiosity. She scanned the beach like it was a new frontier, head turning slowly, eyes narrowed in concentration.

And then she stopped.

Caitlyn nearly bumped into her for how abrupt it was. Vi stood completely still, her gaze fixed past the dunes up ahead, where the wind had flattened the grass into soft green strands.

“What is it?” Caitlyn asked.

“That house.”

Caitlyn followed her line of sight—and there it was. A small beach house tucked behind the rise, paint peeling, porch half-collapsed, like the sea and time had taken turns wearing it down. A splash of colour still clung to the shutters, faded blue like a memory trying to hold on.

“Is that…” Caitlyn started, then stopped. Her voice felt too loud all of a sudden, even though she’d barely said anything. “Where you…?”

She didn’t finish. Vi didn’t answer. She kept walking, like her feet knew the way before she had any idea where she was going. Caitlyn followed a few paces behind, the sand softer here, finer, like powdered sugar under her toes.

They crested the last little hill and saw it fully then—weatherworn and uneven, the deck sagging in the middle, a windchime tangled in its own string. But there were new signs of life, too. A bright orange cooler leaned against the door. A pair of sandals that had been kicked off in the grass. A barbecue hissing somewhere just out of sight, the smoke curling up like a ribbon and carrying the smell of something grilling—corn, maybe, or chicken.

A family was out front. Two girls in matching swimsuits chased each other with joyful abandon, sand stuck to their knees and elbows, shrieking in the way only happy children could. Their parents sat nearby on a picnic blanket, drinks in hand, half-watching, half-lost in their own world.

Vi stopped again, and Caitlyn did too. The air felt different here. 

She caught the look on Vi’s face—blank in a way that wasn’t quite blank at all. Only the face of a person holding too much, too tightly, with no good place to put it.

Off to the side, nestled behind a patch of dune grass and half in shadow, Caitlyn spotted a chunk of rock jutting from the sand, worn smooth by salt and wind. She almost walked past it, but the sun caught the edge of something engraved on the surface, and she stepped closer.

A heart, carved shallow into the stone, still visible despite the years. Inside:

V + P + F + C

The letters had faded, but they held. Four initials bound together, two of them she could recognize immediately, the others easily implied.

Vi saw it too.

Caitlyn moved to stand next to her, reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. Her fingers found Vi’s hand that held the camera, and she grazed it lightly, as if to offer a silent permission. 

She nodded toward the stone. “I know this place means something to you.” She adjusted the focus ring, then pushed the automatic button. “You should immortalize it. So it can live beyond just a memory.”

Vi didn’t need any further encouragement.

She moved with purpose, lifting the camera to her eye and surveying the scene as though reacquainting herself with something once lost, once forgotten. Her fingers adjusted the lens with surprising confidence, and then the shutter clicked—once, then again. She paced slowly across the sand, tracking the angles of the beach house: the weathered porch, the slanted beam threatening collapse, the tangled chime stirring faintly in the breeze. 

Caitlyn remained where she was, watching.

There was something deeply arresting about Vi in this light. Her broad, relaxed shoulders, face tight with focus, all her usual bravado stripped away. All that remained of her was this quiet act of preservation, and Caitlyn felt suddenly, acutely privileged to witness it.

At her feet, something pale glinted in the sand. She bent to retrieve it—a seashell no larger than her thumb, smooth and luminous, its delicate whorls still intact. She turned it over in her hand, letting her fingers memorize the shape, the weightlessness of it. It looked impossibly fragile, a thing that might vanish if she held it too tightly.

She let her gaze drift back to the house, to Vi.

There was still a part of her that couldn’t quite believe this. That Vi had brought her here, to a place stitched through with grief and love and whatever came in between, not for herself but because she thought Caitlyn might see it just as she had. Might find her place within its new memory.

She closed her fingers around the shell and said nothing, allowing Vi her space of reflection in quietude. 

Some moments, after all, couldn’t be captured with words.

—

“Come on, you’re too slow!” Vi called from down the shore, what felt like miles ahead of Caitlyn. “You really gonna let yourself be bested by a bird?”

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d been roped into this. Some nonsense from Vi’s childhood— chase the seagull , she’d called it—an improvised race against a bird, the goal being to reach an arbitrary destination before the gull landed. It sounded absurd when explained. It still sounded absurd now as Caitlyn pounded across the sand, camera zipped securely in its waterproof bag bouncing against her side.

“I’m not quite in the immaculate shape you are!” Caitlyn called in reply.

Vi finally came to a halt near the curve of the shore, where the ocean swept in lazy arcs. She stood with her hands on her hips, huffing fast and smiling wide as Caitlyn approached at a considerably less triumphant pace.

Caitlyn bent forward with her hands resting on her thighs, trying not to look as winded as she felt. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her legs threatened to mutiny.

Vi glanced at her, amusement painted across every inch of her face. “Didn’t think you’d be that slow. Those legs of yours look built for speed.”

Caitlyn shot her a glare from beneath windblown strands of hair. “And I didn’t think you would be that fast. You’ve got the gait of a retriever chasing tennis balls.”

“Maybe we gotta work together then.”

Caitlyn straightened herself, her eyebrow cocking with suspicion. “What are you—”

Before she could even register it, Vi crouched down in one swift movement and hoisted Caitlyn onto her back with ease, her grip firm around Caitlyn’s thighs.

“Vi!” Caitlyn shrieked, her arms flailing before instinct wrapped them tight around Vi’s shoulders. “We’re going to fall! You’re going to drop me!”

“I would never ,” Vi declared with mock chivalry, already taking off again.

Caitlyn couldn’t help her laughter. Her voice rose above the crash of the waves, high and breathless and full of disbelief. “This is not a solution!”

“You can’t say it’s not efficient.”

Caitlyn buried her face against Vi’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut against the breeze. “You’re absolutely deranged!”

“Yeah,” Vi said over her shoulder. “But you’re still holding on, aren’t you?”

Caitlyn had long since lost track of the gull. It could’ve landed on the moon for all she knew. Her focus had diverted somewhere along the way—from the aimless flurry of white wings to her arms wrapped around Vi, to the sound of her laughter echoing down the shore. She was fairly certain this game had never really been about the bird in the first place. A pretense, flimsy and joyful, thin as sea foam. An excuse to run. To surrender to something weightless and wild.

Then the ocean struck.

A wave, larger than expected, slammed into Vi’s shins with the force of a drunk battering ram, and the world upended. Vi yelped, her momentum tipping forward, and Caitlyn’s shout was swallowed by the rush of water as they crashed into the surf below.

They hit the sand in a tangle of limbs and uninhibited giggles, salt spray in their mouths, their clothes already drenched. Caitlyn landed flat on her back with Vi on top of her, the shaggy strands of her red hair dripping seawater onto Caitlyn’s face.

Their laughter began to fade—first into smaller bursts, then into silence, broken only by the hush of waves drawing back from the shore.

When Caitlyn opened her eyes, she found Vi already looking at her.

Steady and open, as though the wind and the sea had stripped her bare and she had no interest in hiding. Her eyes, grey as a storm yet soft as a drifting cloud, held Caitlyn with captivation. 

Caitlyn stared back, everything narrowing to the space between them. Looking at her felt like standing on a cliff at dawn with her heart tilting toward the edge.

She reached up, fingers threading slowly through Vi’s tangled, wet hair—soft in places, coarse in others. Vi didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into it, eyes fluttering half-closed as Caitlyn’s hand drifted lower, until her palm cupped her cheek.

“People are gonna stare,” Vi said, her tone landing somewhere between amusement and uncertainty. 

But Caitlyn said nothing. Rather, she leaned up, eyes falling closed, and pressed her lips to the freckled skin beneath Vi’s eye—soft and salty, still damp from the sea. 

When she pulled away, she opened her eyes and met Vi’s gaze.

“Let them.”

Vi looked at her for a long moment, something shifting in her face—astonishment softened by awe. Caitlyn had let go. Not with a grand declaration or some dramatic gesture, but in the simple, fearless way she had stayed here, as though there was nothing on earth worth hiding from.

Vi let out a breath of laughter. Then, without another thought, without another word, she leaned down and kissed her.

Once.

Then again.

And again, until the cadence of it no longer felt separate from breathing. Until the shoreline, the sky, the rest of the world blurred into something distant and unimportant. Caitlyn’s hands found Vi’s jaw, her shoulder, her hair, anything to anchor her to this, to now.

Then—suddenly—a wall of surf crashed over them like a divine interruption.

They gasped, flailed, Vi cursed as cold water soaked her through, and Caitlyn yelped beneath her, blinking the sting of salt from her eyes. For a minute, it was chaos. Then laughter. Uncontrolled, unstoppable, falling from their mouths as they collapsed again into the sand.

Caitlyn couldn’t stop smiling. Even the sea, unruly and intrusive, couldn’t pull them apart.

With Vi, even disaster could feel like a blessing.

So they let the ocean take them.

Let the tide pull at their clothes and their limbs, let the wind whisper through their hair. Allowed the curious stares of the people who dotted the shore to fade into nothing. 

Caitlyn placed an alarming amount of faith in the waterproof bag slung across her shoulder, the camera sealed inside and bumping against her hip as she swam deeper. The water was chillier out here, heavier, but Vi was close—always close—her shoulders breaking the surface beside her.

“Behind you!” Vi shouted suddenly.

Caitlyn turned to be greeted by a towering wave that slammed into her back, and her vision pitched sideways. She went under, colliding with Vi, the two of them tangled in motion—elbows, knees, fingers catching fabric and skin—until they emerged again, gasping.

Water streamed from Caitlyn’s hair and over her face. She wiped her eyes, shaking it away—and there Vi was. Laughing, her teeth flashing, eyes wild with an ecstatic high.

Then Vi kissed her again.

Rough and alive, eager lips and the press of bodies held aloft by nothing but the force of the ocean between them. Caitlyn grasped Vi’s arms to stay upright, legs working beneath her to keep her afloat as their mouths met again and again.

Caitlyn could’ve wept from wanting. From the ache of not being able to reach farther, touch deeper, give in entirely to what was rising within her.

Later , she thought.

There would be a later.

For now, they emerged back on the shore—step by heavy step, water pulling at their clothes. There was nothing to change into. No towels, no refuge. Only the late afternoon sun and the promise of warmth where the light managed to gather.

They found a smooth, flat rock not far from the surf, its surface warmed to the touch by hours of intense daylight exposure. Vi dropped onto it with a grunt, pulling Caitlyn down with her, both of them going completely slack against each other. Their wet clothes clung tightly—Caitlyn’s denim shorts plastered to her thighs, her shirt heavy and sticking—but none of it mattered.

She laid her head on Vi’s chest, where the rhythm of her breath was slow and even, a tide unto itself. The rise and fall under her cheek steadied her in a way the sea never could.

Vi’s hand drifted through her damp hair, fingers threading lazily, without expectation. The sun kissed their faces, painted their skin in warm tones. Caitlyn closed her eyes, allowing the scent of ocean and Vi to fill her completely.

There was nothing else. No sound but the hush of the nearby surf. No thoughts but the beat of Vi’s heart beneath her ear.

It could have been hours, days, weeks. It could have been forever. And if it had been, she wouldn’t have minded.

“Say, Cait.”

Caitlyn didn’t lift her head. “Mm?”

“If you could only take one picture of one thing… what would it be?”

Caitlyn’s eyes stayed closed for a moment longer as she pondered the question, something she hadn’t given much thought to before. “Hm, well.” She shifted slightly against Vi’s chest. “I suppose… I’ve always wanted to photograph a sunset.”

Vi tilted her head. “A sunset?”

“Yes. But a proper one,” Caitlyn replied, opening her eyes now, her gaze hazy, somewhat drowsy. “Framed by the land, uninterrupted. No city skyline, no cranes. The sun is the subject. Everything else knows to get out of the way.”

Vi let out a sigh, her hand still drifting absently through Caitlyn’s hair. Then, she smiled.

“All right,” Vi propped herself up on her elbows. “Then there’s one more place we gotta go before the day’s done.”

—

The number 35 stared up at Caitlyn from the top of the exposure counter. 

One frame left.

She cradled the camera in her lap, thumb brushing the edges of the body, suddenly aware of the weight of that final shot. One more chance to make it count.

Vi was behind the wheel beside her with one hand draped out the window. She hadn’t said where they were going, only that Caitlyn would want to ready her camera. That had been an hour ago. Now, with the sun lowering in the sky and Vi humming something tuneless under her breath, Caitlyn had stopped asking. She wasn’t so thick as to miss the obvious.

She knew what this was.

And knowing only made the anticipation all the sweeter.

They turned sharply up a narrow road, tires crunching over gravel as the incline steepened. Caitlyn braced herself with one hand on the dash as the Jeep climbed higher, past a bent metal sign stamped with rusted letters: Shell Beach – Pirate’s Cove. 

The name sounded like something lifted out of a childhood fantasy. A place whispered about at sleepovers and illustrated on the pages of children’s books.

And the sun.

It was already sinking, bleeding gold and fire into the sky, spilling across the ocean in long, quivering ribbons. The light touched everything—turned the cliffs amber, the waves silver. And Caitlyn’s fingers began to itch with that familiar urgency, that quiet, clawing need to capture something before it slipped away.

Vi pulled into a break in the brush—a patch of grass flattened by countless tires—and rolled the car to a stop. The engine ticked in the hush that followed, and without a word, she cut the ignition.

Caitlyn stepped out into the wind.

The view struck her breathless.

Before her, the bluff opened wide into nothing—an expanse of craggy cliffside carved through countless centuries. It dropped off sharply into the sea below, the waves crashing far beneath in rhythmic, hushed violence. And out ahead, unbothered by it all, the sun hung low in the sky, swelling gold and burnished orange, crawling ever closer toward its horizon-bound farewell.

It was vast. Uncompromising. And for one stunned heartbeat, Caitlyn forgot how to move.

The breeze tugged at her shirt. Her hair whipped across her cheek. Somewhere beside her, Vi stood with her arms folded, eyes squinting against the light.

“So,” Vi said, her voice airy, shoulders relaxed as she stepped closer to the cliff’s edge. “What do you think?”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. Her breath caught somewhere in her throat as her eyes swept across the scenery—clouds rimmed in embers, the sky bruised in pink and rust, the ocean molten beneath it.

“It’s…” She reached for her camera, adjusted the focus and settings, eager for the shot. “It’s beyond words.”

Vi smirked, folding her arms. “Good thing you’ve got a camera then.”

Caitlyn lifted it toward her eye. Framed the scene. Measured the light. Her finger hovered above the shutter, and just as she was about to press down—

“Hey, Cait?”

She lowered the camera, turning her attention to Vi, her heart ticking up slightly. “Yes?”

“I guess,” she started. “I wanna say thank you. For today.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “Whatever are you thanking me for? You’re the one who brought me here.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, quieter now. “But I want you to know how much it means to me that I came back. That I could come back.”

Vi turned toward the horizon again. “I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see this place again. Not after everything. But it’s good to be here. It’s even better with you.”

“Vi—”

“—When you said anyone would be lucky to know me,” she swept a hand through her hair, “I didn’t know what to say. But I’ve thought about it. And I think I’m the lucky one. For knowing you.”

The light caught her face as she spoke, touched her eyes, caressed the shape of her jaw. Her lashes cast delicate shadows across her freckled cheeks, and the faintest hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. 

And Caitlyn wasn’t sure if she’d seen anything—anyone—so gorgeous and wondrous in her entire life. Something she hadn’t even realized she’d been seeking to capture right from the very start. 

A beautiful, fleeting thing. 

Caitlyn knew a good portion of the exposures she had shot today were pictures of Vi. And yet, somehow, she could have shot dozens of rolls more containing only images of her, and it probably wouldn’t have been enough. 

She lifted the viewfinder to her eye, turning not to the sun, but instead searching to frame Vi through the scuffed-up glass, before her finger pressed down on the shutter with a quiet click. 

And as she advanced the film forward, 35 became 36.

“Sun’s almost down,” Vi said, turning to her with a half-smile. “Did you get the shot?”

Caitlyn let the camera fall, the strap tugging at the back of her neck.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped forward, as if helplessly pulled into Vi’s orbit, and kissed her. The answer lived there, in their touches, their longing, all the unspoken words that somehow managed to say so much.

“Yes,” she breathed against Vi’s lips. “I did.”

What need was there to capture the sun, when Caitlyn already held it in her arms?

When the world, in all its vast and inspiring splendour, had poured its beauty into the shape of a woman and placed her here before her? When warmth no longer came from the sky but from the skin of Vi’s shoulder beneath her hand, from the breath they now shared, the memories they had made?

The sun could fall. The light could go. Caitlyn would not mourn its loss. Never, so long as Vi was around.

When at last they parted, the sun had slipped beneath the sea, giving way to the hush of twilight—the sky dimming and lifting its curtain on the stars, the last remnants of the day lingering only in the leftover warmth of the ground.

Caitlyn pressed her forehead to Vi’s, then wound her arms around her, anchoring them in place. Vi folded into her with equal affection, neither of them wanting for the moment to dissolve.

Hands began to explore. Caitlyn’s fingers traced down Vi’s back, before settling lower, brushing over firm muscle and coming to rest on the curve of her ass with a pressure that made Vi hum low in her throat. Vi’s hand found Caitlyn’s hip, her thumb sweeping over the waistband of her shorts, teasing the sliver of skin beneath that made Caitlyn shudder.

Vi leaned in to speak against Caitlyn’s ear. “We should get out of here before night swallows the place.”

“And where exactly would we go?”

“I know a spot.”

Caitlyn gave a soft, breathy laugh, already stepping back to let their fingers lace together. “Of course you do.”

—

Caitlyn subtly squirmed in the passenger seat, one hand braced against her thigh, the other clenched into the denim of her shorts. Her body buzzed, every nerve pulled taut with want, with hunger, with the unbearable knowledge of what was coming.

Vi’s eyes stayed on the barely-lit road, but her mouth hadn’t stopped since they pulled away from the bluff. Teasing words, soft filth, spoken as though she weren’t setting Caitlyn’s bloodstream on fire. Half-promises, half-threats, all murmured in a tantalizingly low rasp that could have undone Caitlyn at the seams right then and there.

If Vi weren’t driving, Caitlyn knew they’d never have made it this far. Her restraint was, by all accounts, a miracle. 

She had to bite down on her knuckle, press her thighs together, find a way to steady her racing heart. 

And at this point, it wasn’t a matter of if. Only when. And it couldn’t come fast enough.

Eventually, they pulled into a concrete lot tucked beneath a cluster of trees, the headlights cutting across a flickering neon sign that read Babette’s Motel in pink and teal script. The B buzzed faintly, half-burnt, casting a stutter of magenta across the cracked pavement.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of incense and lemon cleaner. The walls were painted in bold jewel tones—sapphire, marigold, plum—faded in places but full of character. Local art hung crooked on the walls. 

At the front desk stood a short woman in a patterned shawl and oversized glasses, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun. She didn’t smile, but her eyes flicked over Vi and Caitlyn with interest, one brow lifting with near-audible skepticism.

Vi leaned up against the counter. “Any chance you’ve got a vacancy for the night?”

The woman paused, then reached beneath the desk without a word. She produced a brass key on a leather tag, worn smooth from years of turning in locks. As she handed it over, her eyes swept over them again.

“Room eight,” she said dryly. “Down the hall.”

Vi pocketed the key, and offered a salute.

Caitlyn swallowed a laugh and followed her down the corridor, heart thudding harder with every step.

She stood pressed against Vi’s side when they reached the room, her pulse hammering beneath her skin, watching with mounting impatience as Vi wrestled with the key, giggling under her breath as it scraped and jostled uselessly against the lock.

“For heaven’s sake—” Caitlyn began, half-chuckling, half-strained.

“There,” Vi said triumphantly, the bolt finally clicking into place.

They didn’t enter so much as fall, through the door and into each other’s arms, mouths meeting in a kiss that was neither gentle nor patient. It was deep, searing, a release of the simmering desires they’d been entertaining all afternoon that could finally boil over. Caitlyn’s fingers tangled in Vi’s t-shirt, yanking her close, and Vi’s hands roamed eagerly in turn, tracing along Caitlyn’s shoulders, then down to her hips.

The door slammed shut behind them as Vi kicked it closed, her bag flying somewhere into the dim corner of the room without ceremony.

Then Caitlyn was against the wall, her hands pinned, lips claimed, legs shaking from the sheer force of it all. Vi kissed her like a woman possessed, driven by the promises their words and gazes had made long before their bodies could follow.

Caitlyn was the first to reach for fabric, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of Vi’s t-shirt, knuckles brushing against heated skin. She pushed it upward in one fluid motion, and Vi lifted her arms in wordless agreement, the shirt discarded somewhere behind them.

She didn’t wait. Her mouth found bare flesh the moment it was exposed—still warm, still tasting faintly of salt. She pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along Vi’s collarbone, trailing upward to the hollow of her neck, savouring the way Vi tilted her head to grant her further access.

Her hand explored the plane of Vi’s stomach, palm sweeping upward over muscle that tensed beneath her touch. She moved higher, fingers grazing until they reached the familiar band of her bra.

Caitlyn opened her eyes, her mouth still pressed to Vi’s clavicle, and caught sight of the bold, black lettering stretched across the pale elastic beneath her fingers— Calvin Klein.  

Caitlyn stifled a laugh.

Her gaze dropped, hands already moving lower. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of Vi’s shorts, tugging them down just enough to reveal the matching briefs. 

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile. “You wore these on our day off?”

“Mhm,” Vi all but groaned in reply. Then, she leaned in, her lips a breath away from Caitlyn’s ear. “ I wore them for you. ”

The words landed in a way that sent a shudder through Caitlyn’s body. 

Her breath caught in her throat, and her thoughts went hazy, slipping straight to yesterday—that brazen moment on set, barely concealed by the shadows of the trailer, half-hidden by scrims and rigs. The adrenaline. The thrill. The rush and eroticism of it all.

It had been foolish. Reckless. If anyone else had done such a thing, Caitlyn would have scoffed, quick to voice her disapproval. She would’ve lectured them about boundaries, professionalism, self-restraint.

But even she hadn’t been able to stop herself. And with Vi here, standing nearly bare before her in that matching underwear set that suited her so deliciously, she became acutely aware of why. 

And, of course, she’d do it all again if the opportunity presented itself.

For now though, she would relish in the sweet privacy of this dingy motel room. Of being in some faraway place, just the two of them, like she’d daydreamed about. Where every ounce of their passion and want could be spilled without a single care in the world.

Caitlyn’s hands roamed with purpose now. She trailed her palms over the weight of Vi’s still-covered breasts, down the curve of her waist, across the firm stretch of her stomach. Then again—repeating the path, mapping it with detail and care. Every sigh that left Vi’s mouth only fed the rhythm, encouraged her touch to grow firmer, more insistent.

“Fuck, Cait,” Vi muttered. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Caitlyn smiled, her thumbs tracing slow circles just above the waistband. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all.” Vi exhaled, head tipping back for a moment before finding Caitlyn’s eyes again. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’re thinking about a shot.”

Caitlyn tilted her head. “You know me too well.”

Vi grinned, her teeth catching the edge of her lower lip. “So—what were you saving that black and white roll for?”

Caitlyn reached for the camera, still around her neck. She opened the back and grabbed the roll from the bag and slid in the film with precision, the spool clicking into place. She advanced it, wound it, adjusted for the low light without glancing down once, her gaze never leaving Vi’s.

“Do you wanna take my picture?” Vi asked.

“I do.”

Vi straightened her posture, the dim light of the room painting soft contrast over her skin. She lifted her hand to hold Caitlyn’s chin in her thumb and index finger. “Then let me be your muse.”

Caitlyn laughed and took Vi’s wrist, pressing her lips to her palm, allowing the camera to hang loosely.

“You always have been.”

—

At last, they had found their way to the bed. 

Vi sat on the edge with thighs spread just enough to welcome Caitlyn onto her lap, a space carved out just for her. Caitlyn was enthusiastic to straddle her, clad in nothing but her bra and underwear, her skin flushed, her breath shallow. 

Vi’s bra had long since been discarded—lost somewhere between the door and the mattress—and now Caitlyn’s hands moved freely over her chest, fingers brushing across her bare breasts, cupping softness, teasing peaks until Vi moaned into her mouth.

Caitlyn kept Vi’s briefs on. Intentionally.

She wanted to feel the heat through the fabric, to watch how it darkened with proof of her want. And judging by the way Vi shuddered beneath her touch—how she clutched at Caitlyn’s hips, how her kisses grew messier, more urgent—she was already soaked through. The thought of it made Caitlyn ache. The visible evidence she knew was waiting for her down there only intensified the fire that coiled within her.

She tangled a hand in Vi’s hair, pulled her head back until their eyes met. Vi’s face was coloured with blush, her lips parted, her brow drawn into an expression so terribly raw with need. Caitlyn held that gaze for a long, charged second—then began her descent.

She kissed her way down Vi’s neck, letting her breath linger after her mouth had passed. Across the collarbone, down the slope of one breast, her tongue flicking lazily over a nipple until Vi’s whole body twitched beneath her. Then lower, over her wonderfully toned abdomen, finally coming to rest at the place she’d been yearning to reach since they burst through the door—or, truthfully, all day long.

Caitlyn knelt between her legs, eyes locked on the cloth that was already clinging to the shape of what she craved beneath. She laid a hand on Vi’s inner thigh, fingers digging into the tender flesh with silent command.

“Open wider,” she said, coaxing Vi’s legs apart.

And Vi obeyed.

Caitlyn could see everything—every clench, every quiver, every telling shadow blooming on those soft grey briefs. The fabric, damp and ruined, left nothing to the imagination. 

Caitlyn let her fingers trail, feather-light, teasing. She marveled at the slickness that met her hand even without pressure. When she tickled gently across the center, Vi flinched—hips jerking, a pathetic whimper escaping her throat.

“Soon,” Caitlyn assured with a smile. “Don’t worry.”

She reached down, lifted the camera from where it hung from her neck, and raised it to her eye.

Through the viewfinder: the spread of Vi’s thighs, the delicate place where Caitlyn’s hand rested, the darkness across the heather grey—evidence of want made visible.

She snapped the photo. The shutter whispered its approval.

Then, with a calm that belied the hunger in her bones, Caitlyn advanced the film forward.

She placed the camera on the bed, freeing her hand, then leaned forward to curl her fingers on the side of the cloth covering Vi, pulling it aside to reveal the ultimate prize—Vi’s bare cunt, glistening and swollen and thoroughly drenched. All for her to devour, to make even wetter.

“Keep yourself spread for me,” Caitlyn hushed, now less than inches away from Vi’s most tender skin.

“You don’t gotta tell me twice— mm! ”

Caitlyn started slow with a soft kiss to Vi’s clit. She twitched at the contact, her thighs tightening, a low sound catching in her throat—half-sigh, half-plea. Caitlyn repeated the motion, another kiss, then another, open-mouthed now, sloppier, needier, breathier. Her tongue flicked out, tasting salt and sweetness and something unnamable but nonetheless intoxicating.

Vi exhaled sharply, her hips already growing restless. One hand gripped the edge of the sheets, the other vanished into Caitlyn’s hair.

Caitlyn groaned against her, her own arousal flaring at the way Vi responded. She parted her lips wider and licked—languid at first, broad and flat, dragging upward from her entrance to the tip of Vi’s clit, then again, with more pressure this time. She fell into rhythm, into intention. She wanted her wet. To feel Vi melt in her mouth. To taste her undoing.

“Fuck,” Vi gasped, legs shaking now, and her fingers tightened in Caitlyn’s hair.

Caitlyn smiled into her, satisfied, and kept going. She lapped at her with focus, with purpose, coaxing the pleasure from her with every pass, every careful drag of her tongue. Vi was a mess on Caitlyn’s lips, her cunt burning with an ache that so badly needed to be soothed. 

She moaned again, surrendering herself to the pace Caitlyn had set, finding a position of purchase to desperately fuck against Caitlyn’s mouth. It was becoming increasingly obvious that this wouldn’t take long, not with Vi in this state. And that was more than all right.

She was eager to devour her orgasm, to have her cum in her mouth, for Vi to soak those perfect, well-fitted briefs. 

“Cait, oh… C-Cait! ”

And with one more hot, long lick and a flutter of Caitlyn’s tongue on her clit, she did. 

A shattered howl tore from Vi’s throat, half-swallowed, as her back arched and her hips lifted off the bedspread. Her lips parted on a moan that turned into a whimper, her breath completely fractured as her orgasm dragged out longer than it should have—like her body didn’t want to let it go.

It was gorgeous. Unfiltered. Loud and debauched and entirely hers.

Caitlyn held her through it, mouth still working, tongue easing her through every twitch, every shiver, until Vi fell back on the bed, completely spent. 

Caitlyn was quick to peel off her own soaked underwear, the fabric clinging for a moment before falling to the floor in a forgotten heap. Her skin was warm, her chest rising fast, desire thrumming through every inch of her as she crawled up the bed.

Vi lay back, still catching her breath, hair mussed and cheeks glowing. An utterly irresistible sight.

Caitlyn leaned down and kissed her—slow at first, lips barely brushing, then deeper, voracious, her body barely contained with need.

Vi smirked against her mouth. “Did you get your fill?”

Caitlyn reached for the camera, swung it up one-handed, and caught the image: Vi spread across the bed, bare and exquisite, eyes half-lidded and mouth parted. The shutter snapped.

“With you?” Caitlyn said, pressing the shutter again. “Never.”

She set the camera aside, then kissed her again—rougher now, as if starved. Her body ached for more contact, more of Vi’s skin, wanting to jump into her if she could.

Her hand slid beneath the waistband of Vi’s briefs, fingers dipping into heat and wetness that made her groan aloud.

“God,” Caitlyn’s eyes fluttered. “You’re burning.”

And Caitlyn was burning too.

It was a smoldering that refused to fade, that built with every touch, every sound Vi made beneath her. The desire to be closer gnawed at her, not content with just mouths or hands or skin. 

The thought came suddenly—less an idea than a compulsion.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of Vi’s underwear, dragging the fabric down slowly, savoring the way it peeled away from her center. She kissed Vi once more, before rising to her feet at the edge of the bed as she pulled the briefs the rest of the way down.

Vi propped herself up on her elbows, watching with hooded eyes. Her gaze tracked every motion, unblinking.

Caitlyn held the soaked cotton in her hands, meaning to toss it aside, but her fingers tightened around it instead. Something in her faltered. And rather than discard it on the floor, she brought it to her face, pressing it close, inhaling deep.

Vi’s scent hit her—sweet and heady, rich and ripe. It flooded her lungs, short-circuited her thoughts as she closed her eyes. 

When she opened them again, Vi was still staring. Her eyes were darker now, fixed on Caitlyn intently.

And, in a rather bold move, Caitlyn stepped forward, and began to slip Vi’s briefs up her own legs—dragging them along her thighs. Claiming it.

Claiming her.

A sigh slipped from Caitlyn’s lips as she tugged the waistband higher, letting the wet fabric ride up against her.

It was a bit cold at first, Vi’s slick cooled by the air in the moment between. And then, the warmth returned, spreading fast as her own arousal met Vi’s in a flush of friction that made her gasp.

The moan emerged from her throat before she could stop it, so loud and raw, pulled from somewhere deep within. She shuddered, hips tilting forward instinctively, overwhelmed by the sensation, the obscene thrill of wearing Vi’s pleasure as her own.

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to Vi—still sprawled on the bed, her mouth parted in stunned disbelief. One of her big hands cupped a breast, fingers rolling over a firm nipple, the other was already slipping lower, reaching between her legs.

Caitlyn giggled, finding herself light-headed from the high lancing through her. “You feel so good,” she keened, tilting her head while she stroked over her covered clit, smearing more of Vi all over herself. 

The sight of it left Vi speechless, restless. Caitlyn returned to the bed and crawled forward, locking their eyes, until she hovered above Vi’s thigh, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side.

She held their stare, inhaled through her nose, and steadied herself.

Then lowered.

“Oh… fuck …”

They moaned in tandem, unrestrained as Caitlyn let her full weight sink onto the solid muscle of Vi’s thigh. Her slick spread instantly, soaking the already wet fabric, the pressure rising in waves as her cunt pressed down into the heat of their shared arousal. The sensation reached her head first, then flooded downward, spurring her hips into a cadence she was quickly losing control of.

Vi gasped, hands clutching at Caitlyn’s waist. “Yeah, that’s it,” she muttered. “That’s my girl. Ride me, just like that.”

The praise made Caitlyn shiver, whimper. Her hips rolled harder in response, chasing friction, chasing madness. Every drag of wrecked cotton against her clit sent another jolt of pleasure straight through her.

Vi was panting now, needy and writhing beneath her, and Caitlyn couldn’t bear to leave her untouched.

Her hand found Vi’s entrance easily, sliding through wetness so abundant it made her falter. She parted her lips, sinking into the soft resistance, and buried her middle and ring fingers deep inside.

Vi’s cry split the air as her back arched off the bed. Caitlyn groaned at the way she clenched around her—tight, pulsing, milking at her almost frantically. Her fingers curled up against her silky walls, stroking that spot with an intentionally devastating precision, wanting for Vi to moan and whine and cry from her touch without a care.

Caitlyn could barely think. All she knew, all she felt, was her cunt grinding against Vi’s thigh, the underwear sticking to her, slippery and hot. Vi’s body bucked beneath her, trembling around her fingers, muscles tightening with each thrust. 

It was dizzying. Divine.

She rode harder, fucked deeper, rapidly tumbling towards the end of reason.

“Ah, yeah… fuck me,” Vi’s voice cracked, barely audible through the strain. “Oh God I’m so close Cait…!”

“Me too… I’m right there—”

Her fingers were relentless now, so eager to deliver for Vi. The air was thick with it—sweat, moans, the slap of skin, the wet, obscene noise of her hand working Vi open. Of their desires mingling between her legs that threatened to send her falling long and hard over the edge.

It all crested at once.

Vi came with a choked-off moan, seizing around Caitlyn’s fingers, legs quaking violently as her orgasm pounded through every inch of her with astonishing force. Caitlyn followed in the next breath, her own climax swiftly claiming her in a shuddering wave.

Her body crumpled forward, landing on Vi’s chest in a heap of limbs and panting breaths, every muscle liquefied.

Vi wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in tight as she rode out the last few throes of the high. Caitlyn melted into the hold, shivering once more, going limp in her embrace.

She folded into her, burying her face in the warm space beneath Vi’s jaw. Her fingers drifted lazily along the curve of Vi’s shoulder, mapping familiar muscle, tracing sweat-damp skin in aimless patterns. 

Vi’s voice came low, barely more than a whisper as she murmured, “I wanna taste you now.”

Caitlyn laughed, her eyes sparking with playfulness. She leaned in close, lips brushing Vi’s ear. “You mean you want to taste us.”

Something in that correction sent a visible shiver down Vi’s spine, and Caitlyn felt the answering pulse of heat spark between her own thighs. Vi rose slowly, shifting positions until she hovered above Caitlyn, steady despite the tremble still running through her limbs. Her fingers caught beneath the waistband of the briefs, drawing them smoothly down Caitlyn’s legs and casting them aside to the floor with the rest of their garments.

Caitlyn lay back against the bed, her heartbeat quickening, waiting with thinning patience. She slipped her fingers downward, carefully pulling back the hood of her clit as a gesture to offer herself. With a deep breath, she parted her thighs wide, inviting Vi to take what she wanted. 

Vi didn’t hesitate. She brought herself down, meeting Caitlyn’s open surrender with her mouth, warm and eager, as if nothing else existed in the world but this. But each other.

She began with a kiss, delicate and tender. Then another. Then her tongue, slipping past her lips, dragged upward through the mess of their shared arousal, collecting everything they’d made together. It was sacred, the way she moved. As if this was worship, not only indulgence. 

Vi’s tongue rasped through Caitlyn again, circling her clit with such sanctity that Caitlyn gasped aloud, her hands tightening in the sheets.

Vi’s mouth was insistent, her jaw working in a slow lilt—simultaneously indulgent and selfless. Every lick said I want to take care of you . Every moan said you’re mine. 

Caitlyn’s heart clenched.

She blinked up at the ceiling, overwhelmed not just by the pleasure but by everything else that led up to this moment.

She peered down the shape of her own body at Vi, marveling at the sight of her. The way her eyes fluttered closed, how her hands held Caitlyn’s hips steady. Caitlyn could hardly believe how blessed she was to have shared such a beautiful day, and subsequently beautiful night, with such a generous lover. That a woman so strong, so wild, so impossibly magnetic, had given herself over so completely, finding herself at home between her legs—devoted and unrelenting.

Caitlyn’s hand fumbled to the side, searching blindly across the sheets until she found the familiar shape of the camera. She raised it with effort, vision blurring as the viewfinder aligned—Vi tongue licking her, mouth open, hair tousled, eyes dark and coloured with lust. The shutter clicked. 

Then the orgasm hit.

Her climax came suddenly, breaking through her in a mighty surge. Caitlyn’s hips lifted slightly, a high pitched whine bursting past her lips as she rode through the intensity of release, her fingers tangling in Vi’s hair.

When Vi finally rose and crawled slowly back up her body, Caitlyn reached to pull her into a kiss. Mouths met, open and unrestrained, tongues sliding together, trading the lingering taste of themselves.

Vi pulled back just enough to speak, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’ve got one more surprise for you.”

Caitlyn laughed against Vi’s lips, shaking her head. “That must be the third time you’ve said that today.”

Vi grinned, kissing her back quickly. “Trust me,” she said. “You’re really gonna like this one.”

—

Caitlyn lay back on the bed, watching Vi with curiosity as she padded across the room toward her bag. As she began rummaging through it, the lamplight from the nightstand cast shadows across her body, illuminating every subtle flex of muscle, the curve of her spine, the intricate lines of the tattoo etched over nearly every inch of her back. Caitlyn couldn’t resist lifting the camera again, capturing the grace of the scene unfolding before her eyes.

Finally, Vi straightened, turning something over in her hands. Caitlyn tilted her head, intrigued, as Vi stepped carefully into a black harness and tightened it around her hips. There was a brief moment of fumbling, a slight adjustment of the straps, and then Vi turned back around to reveal a long, purple dildo attached at the front.

Caitlyn’s breath caught, eyes widening when the realization dawned.

“You… you brought a—”

“—What do you think?” Vi interrupted, a mischievous smile wide on her face.

Caitlyn took a moment to consider. 

This wasn’t entirely new territory, of course; Caitlyn had experienced intimacy before, with lovers who’d taught her a myriad of different things. But this particular act was relatively unfamiliar, something she hadn’t previously explored. Even so, the unfamiliar did nothing to dull her eagerness. Rather, it only served to heighten her excitement.

She felt her heart pick up its pace, a thrill coursing through her veins at the thought of Vi taking her, being inside her, stretching her. Caitlyn met Vi’s gaze steadily, letting the intensity hold between them with a renewed charge.

“I think,” Caitlyn said as she reclined back on the mattress. “You should hurry up and fuck me.”

Vi chuckled under her breath, then crossed the room with her usual zeal of swagger that Caitlyn had come to recognize over the past several days. The bed dipped under her weight as she climbed back on top, kissing Caitlyn with a deep, despairing appetite that moved from lips to jaw to throat, her mouth painting a slow path downward. Her hands were already at Caitlyn’s breasts, cupping, teasing, kneading and pressing her into the faded comforter.

The sound of the lube bottle uncapping was sharp in the quiet. Vi didn’t speak as she poured a generous amount onto the toy, smoothing it with one hand, then reaching down to coat Caitlyn too—tender, thorough, careful in the way only Vi could be. She didn’t have to do it, not with how wet Caitlyn already was, but of course she did. Because it was Vi. Because it was in her nature to give, to tend, to make Caitlyn feel cared for even in the most unruly, shameless moments.

Caitlyn’s body trembled beneath Vi’s weight, humming with nerves and want, a palpable tension strung tight in her belly. Her breath hitched when Vi leaned forward and brushed her thumb across Caitlyn’s bottom lip as she steadily held her gaze.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You don’t have to be,” Caitlyn replied, her hands reaching up card at the buzzed side of Vi’s scalp.

Vi laughed at that, then brought her hips forward, guiding herself inside sinuously as she maintained their tense eye contact.

Caitlyn tried—truly tried—to keep Vi’s gaze. To anchor herself in the warmth of those eyes, in their steadiness, their quiet promise. But the moment Vi sank the length of the toy all the way inside in one deep, firm thrust, she faltered.

Her head fell back against the pillow, spine arching, breath leaving her in a shudder. Her eyes squeezed shut, lashes fluttering as sensation overtook reason, and her hands clawed blindly for Vi’s back—fingertips digging into muscle, an act of claiming purchase and giving in to surrender.

Vi pulled out, slow and steady, then pressed back inside in a manner that felt painstakingly intentional. Over and over, she rocked into her, setting a pace that was both languid and devastating—measured, almost cruel in how gently it evoked pleasure from Caitlyn’s body.

Each movement stretched something open inside her, filled her in every sense of the word. Her toes curled against the sheets. Her mouth parted in soft, stuttering gasps. She could feel the wetness between them, the way her body clung to every return stroke like it yearned so desperately for Vi each time she left.

It built gradually, like the way a tide swells. Caitlyn felt it rising through her, curling around her, anchoring in her stomach, tightening with every deep, hard thrust. Her hands clung to Vi’s arms, her body drawn taut beneath her, every inch of her burning, begging to be undone.

Vi leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re so close,” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

Caitlyn whimpered, nodding—she couldn’t speak, not really, not with that pressure coiled so tight inside her it hurt. And Vi kept moving, kept going deeper, hips driving into her with rhythm and care and absolute certainty.

“I’ve got you,” Vi said, her lips brushing Caitlyn’s cheek.

And that was it.

Caitlyn fell apart, her orgasm tearing through her with might—full and unbearable and shattering. Her thighs clamped around Vi’s hips, back lifting off the mattress, a cry spilling from her throat, too earnest to be silenced. 

“Vi,” she gasped, the name leaving her lips like a prayer. “Oh—Vi—”

She rode the wave as long as it lasted, held tightly in Vi’s arms, her eyes glassy, her chest heaving.

And when it finally passed, she lay there trembling, kissed gently across the collarbone, heart thudding against the warm weight of the woman above her who granted her such wonderful pleasure.

“Fuck,” Vi huffed, her breath hot against Caitlyn’s neck.

Caitlyn smiled through the dimness, still caught in the aftershocks, still submerged in the lingering bliss of it all. Her body sang with it, but it was Vi’s weight draped over her—solid and warm, grounding—that she relished most. She wrapped her arms around her, fingers threading through damp hair, holding her close as Vi peppered her jawline with messy kisses, trailing down to the soft hollow beneath her chin.

There was a sweetness to it, even now, even after everything. A reverence in the way Vi moved, in the way she kissed her as if she never wanted to stop.

But Caitlyn could feel it emanating from her—the longing to be touched, the way Vi’s hips twitched subtly, how her breathing hadn’t slowed. 

Caitlyn let one hand drift down, until her fingers wrapped around the base of the toy still strapped to Vi’s body. She stroked it idly, curiously. “Have you ever been on the receiving end of this?”

Vi shuffled, propping herself up to look Caitlyn in the eye. “No,” she admitted, and then leaned down to kiss her—slow, searching, hungry with the promise of more. When she pulled back, her gaze didn’t waver.

“But I’d let you,” she murmured. “If you want to try.”

—

It didn’t take long for Vi to position herself, shifting gracefully onto all fours atop the bedspread, hands pushing into the mattress as she steadied herself. Caitlyn rose on shaky legs behind her, adjusting the harness around her own hips with careful attention, the purple length still glistening softly with her own recent release. Even so, she reached for the bottle of lube, uncapping it and generously coating the toy. After all, Vi had never experienced this before, and Caitlyn would make certain it felt nothing short of perfect.

The image before her was mesmerizing beyond words. Vi, bare and vulnerable, her strong shoulders sloped forward, her tattooed back arched, offering herself entirely to Caitlyn’s gaze and touch. 

Caitlyn moved first with her hands, tracing a slow, affectionate path up Vi’s sides, over the hard ridges of her shoulder blades, then back down the length of her spine. Vi exhaled deeply, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she yielded visibly beneath Caitlyn. To see Vi in this way was a privilege she savoured deeply. She would have offered her anything—every pleasure, every comfort, anything her wonderful heart desired.

That familiar itch surfaced again, sharp and irresistible, and Caitlyn reached toward the nightstand, lifting the camera once more to her eyes. The shutter clicked once, twice, capturing Vi from this breathtaking angle, immortalizing her openness, her beauty laid bare. Caitlyn knew she was nearing the end of the roll, but it hardly mattered now.

Vi tilted her head slightly at the sound, a chuckle rumbling in her chest. “Again?” 

Caitlyn smiled, adjusting the focus once more. “You’re exquisite like this. How could I resist?”

“I’m starting to think you’re developing an addiction.”

Caitlyn lowered the camera, eyes trailing fondly over Vi’s silhouette. “Only to you.”

Vi glanced back over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Then keep taking them. As many as you want.”

Caitlyn lifted the viewfinder again, heartbeat quickening, finger resting on the shutter. “Of course.”

The last frame clicked with finality, and Caitlyn set the camera on the nightstand. The room seemed to hush in response, the only sounds now the steady huff of their breathing, the faint creak of the mattress beneath them.

She moved closer, leveling herself behind Vi, one hand bracing her hip, the other guiding the toy toward where Vi waited—ready, clenching in anticipation, glistening in the low light. Caitlyn paused. Took a breath. Her hands were unsteady, though not from fear. It was something else—a need to do this right, to give Vi even a fraction of the pleasure she herself had been gifted. 

“Are you ready?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi turned her head slightly, enough to glance back with a grin. “I’m all yours, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn nodded, as if to herself, and began to push in—slowly, careful not to rush either of them.

Vi’s mouth fell open immediately, a curse falling out, low and hoarse. Her hands fisted the sheets, her back curving slightly as Caitlyn slid into her, the length of her filling Vi inch by inch.

Then the moans came. Sweet and unabashed. 

Caitlyn could hardly breathe for how beautiful it was. She moved again, a little deeper, a touch faster, and Vi groaned—head dropping forward, every muscle in her back going taut. The sound of her approval poured out freely, shameless, drawing something primal out of Caitlyn in return.

“Are you all right?” Caitlyn managed, her hips already beginning to find a rhythm.

“Yes,” Vi breathed, barely audible. “ Fuck —yes. Keep going. Harder.”

And so, she complied.

She gripped Vi’s waist, firm enough to turn her knuckles white, and began to thrust with force, hips driving with purpose, compelled by every whimper, every gasp that Vi gave her. She couldn’t stop watching—how Vi’s body rocked with every movement, the way her strong, artful back flexed, the wonderful music of her ragged, high-pitched whines.

Then her hand slid upward, threading into Vi’s shaggy pink hair. She grabbed a fistful, not too rough but sure, pulling Vi’s head up from the pillow she’d been biting, exposing the line of her throat as another groan spilled out.

Caitlyn bent forward to press her chest to Vi’s back, bringing her mouth near her ear. “I love the way you sound.”

Vi moaned again, rawer this time, and Caitlyn was certain that if there were people in the room next door, they would have been able to hear every single thing.

Let them, she thought. 

It was then that Caitlyn felt the shift inside her—something wild clawing its way to the surface, no longer content with tenderness alone. Her desire for Vi, ever present, always simmering, tipped suddenly into something ravenous. Greedy and desperate. It grabbed her by the spine and forced her upright, hands tightening at Vi’s hips as she straightened her posture and began to pound into her with renewed vigour.

Each thrust landed with a slap of skin, deep and rhythmic and brutal, and Caitlyn couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—not for anything. Beneath her, Vi had broken apart, her cries rising in pitch until they echoed off the walls, so high and startlingly loud.

“Oh God, Cait, you’re gonna make me cum,” Vi choked out.

“Then cum for me,” she commanded, teeth gritted with restraint she could barely contain. “I want to hear it. I want to feel it.”

Vi’s entire body braced, her back buckling beneath Caitlyn’s palms. Her cunt clenched around the toy so hard it forced Caitlyn out with a sudden, slippery push, the pressure too intense for her to stay inside. Vi collapsed down, face buried in the pillow, releasing a sound that was something between a sob and a moan—a sweet song of release that Caitlyn would never be able to get out of her head.

Her legs kicked weakly at the mattress, hips twitching, caught in the tailspin of orgasm. Caitlyn could only stare, utterly spellbound.

She raised her hand and brought it down in a firm slap to Vi’s ass, the sound sharp, the skin immediately blooming red beneath her palm. Vi groaned into the bedding, helpless and gorgeous, still squirming and writhing about.

Then Caitlyn gentled her touch, her hand smoothing over the same spot in soft, gentle circles. She leaned down, brushing her lips across Vi’s shoulder, fingers stroking the curve of her waist.

Eventually, Vi went still—her breath slowing, her body softening into the disarrayed sheets beneath her. Caitlyn started to unbuckle the harness from around her hips, then let it fall to the floor without ceremony. She collapsed beside Vi with a spent sigh, both of them damp and flushed, hearts still syncing their wild rhythms as they turned to face each other.

Caitlyn’s nose brushed Vi’s, her lips forming a lazy and satisfied smile. “You were right,” she muttered. “That might’ve been the best surprise of the day.”

Vi huffed a laugh, eyes half-lidded and fond. She reached up and brushed a damp strand of hair from Caitlyn’s forehead, then leaned in and kissed the spot where it had been. “You got that right.”

“Do you always carry that thing around?”

“Only when I’m feeling optimistic.”

“Optimistic?”

Vi’s grin widened. “About getting laid.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but the laugh came anyway. She reached for Vi instinctively, tugging her close until their bodies fit together again, skin to skin, chest to chest. Then she tucked her face into the swell of Vi’s firm shoulder, into the warmth of her bare skin, and let out a long exhale.

The steady thrum of Vi’s pulse against her cheek lulled her almost immediately. Each beat soothed something in her she hadn’t realized was restless. Her body relaxed, her thoughts slowed. 

She didn’t have a name for the feeling that was stirring deep within, what had been since they first arrived at Avila Beach. Since Vi took her hand. Since the cupcake. Since the sea. Since all of it.

A longing. Yes. An ache. Definitely. But also something bigger, more frightening. Something of an unspoken vow and dedication.

Whatever it was, Caitlyn didn’t resist.

She gave herself to it without hesitation, without fear. Because nothing in the world—no safety, no status, no perfection she’d ever chased—had ever felt as good or as right as being held by Vi, to adore her and be adored in return.

She clung to her a little tighter, nestled in the warmth of her arms, and closed her eyes.

Something so beautiful, she thought, I couldn’t bear to let go.

Chapter Text

The first thing Vi felt was the weight. 

Warm and soft, draped over her like a velvety blanket, a second skin. The shape of a thigh hooked around hers, a hand settling against her abdomen, thumb brushing across its ridges. 

Then, a kiss to remind her she was awake, if barely. 

It was a whisper of a thing, pressed to the bare slope of her shoulder. Then another, this one closer to her spine. The next, a bit lower, each touch stoking tiny embers beneath her skin.

Vi didn’t dare open her eyes. Why risk breaking this delicate spell? The gentle tingle of Caitlyn’s mouth was a lullaby in reverse—rousing her, stirring that delicious urge she’d nearly forgotten in the fog of slumber.

A few more kisses, higher now, near the base of her neck, and Vi let out a low, hoarse sound that might’ve been a purr. “You tryna wake me up, or make me melt?”

Caitlyn’s nose brushed the tattoo on the side of Vi’s neck, and her lips found that tender spot just beneath her ear. “Why not both?”

Vi grinned into the pillow. “If you keep that up, we’re gonna miss checkout.”

“Mm,” Caitlyn hummed. Her voice was thick and groggy, but her hands weren’t. One was already sliding up to Vi’s chest, coming to hold a breast, fondling and rolling an already-stiff nipple between her fingers. “I don’t care.”

Vi rolled halfway onto her back, just enough to get a better look. Caitlyn’s hair was tangled and mussed, her eyes half-lidded and dark, and her lips—those gorgeous fucking lips—still had the look of being freshly kissed after a full night of passion.

“You got somewhere to be? For work?” Vi muttered under her breath, brushing her knuckles down Caitlyn’s side.

Caitlyn shook her head, tracing the tip of her index finger down Vi’s sternum. “Not as long as I send the selects to Grayson and the editor before the end of the day…”

That sounded like a green light if Vi had ever heard one.

She moved fully onto her back, slipping an arm around Caitlyn’s waist. “Good,” she murmured, “‘cause I had plans.”

“Oh?” Caitlyn’s brow arched as the corner of her mouth lifted with suggestion. “And what exactly did you have in mind?”

Vi leaned in, her mouth barely brushing her ear. “I’d rather show, than tell.”

And immediately, Vi could feel Caitlyn’s blush, the heat rising from within her, simmering just beneath the surface—wanting to spill over. Her hand slid lower, fingers trickling their way toward Caitlyn’s hips and—

BUZZBUZZBUZZ—BUUUZZZ

The violent ring and vibration of Caitlyn’s phone shattered the stillness.

She stiffened immediately.

Vi froze too, hand halting on Caitlyn’s side like a suspended thought. The phone buzzed again from somewhere on the nightstand, and Caitlyn scrambled to reach for it.

“Sorry,” she muttered. She took a brief glance at the screen, then clicked to answer without another moment’s hesitation. “Hello?”

“Hey, Sprout!”

The voice on the other end had the familiar, self-assured charm that made Vi’s teeth itch. She could practically smell the wealth from the other side of the line. 

The speaker was crisp and clear in the otherwise quiet motel room, and Vi could hear everything.

“J-Jayce?” Caitlyn stammered, immediately moving to sit upright while clutching the sheets to her bare chest—as though a battalion of paparazzi might barge through the window at any moment.

“I heard you were staying in Hollywood for a shoot,” he continued, his tone a little too chipper for this time in the morning. “I’ve got an event down here for a few days, so I figured I’d come say hi while I’m in the area.”

“I, oh. That’s… sweet,” Caitlyn replied, brittle and tight-lipped.

“I was going to call yesterday, but I thought it’d be more fun to surprise you,” he said. “You still at the hotel on Wilcox?”

Caitlyn’s face paled.

Vi’s stomach dropped.

“I, uh.” Caitlyn blinked, hastily shuffling out of bed and scouring the floor for her clothes with the frantic haste of a mouse scampering on hot coals. “Y-yes, sure, sounds great.”

Vi tilted her head, eyes narrowing. She mouthed silently, everything okay?

Caitlyn gave her a tiny, nervous nod. 

“How far out are you?” Caitlyn huffed as she began to do up her bra, pinching the phone to her ear between her cheek and shoulder.

“About three and a half hours. Maybe we could catch up before the conference stuff tonight?”

“Sure,” she managed to pull her t-shirt over her head. “Just, text me when you’re close?”

“Will do. Can’t wait to see you.”

She hung up, wriggling into her shorts before throwing random items into her bag.

“Jayce?” Vi asked, propping herself up.

“He’s an old friend of the family.”

Vi didn’t say anything, but her brows knit together.

“My parents were the first investors in his tech startup, we go way back,.” Caitlyn added. “Certainly didn’t think he’d pay me an impromptu drop-in visit from San Francisco.”

“Does he uh,” Vi asked after a beat, “know about us?” 

Caitlyn spun around to face her, halfway through haphazardly dressing herself. “No,” she said quickly. Then, softer, more carefully, “And I’d prefer, for the time being, that it stayed that way.”

Vi nodded firmly. 

Of course. 

Caitlyn exhaled a short laugh, allowing her shoulders to loosen slightly. She reached down, grabbed Vi’s discarded clothes from the floor, and chucked them right at her face.

“Time to go, sleepyhead,” Caitlyn teased affectionately. “You’ve got exactly three hours to get me back to Hollywood before questions start piling up.”

Vi let out an exaggerated, mournful groan even as she swung her legs over the mattress and started pulling on her underwear. “So I take it we won’t be spending the morning tangled up in the sheets?”

“You’ll survive,” Caitlyn replied with a warm roll of her eyes. “Besides, if you’re lucky, we might just pick up where we left off later.”

Vi paused, midway through tugging her board shorts up her thighs as a smile crept across her face. “You promise?”

Caitlyn leaned closer as her fingertips traced a line down Vi’s exposed stomach. Her voice dropped, the blue of her eyes dancing with mischief. 

“Only if you get me to my destination on time.”

—

Vi supposed it really had been too good to be true, thinking they could laze away the morning together. She’d gotten greedy, hadn’t she—forgotten how reality had a way of intruding. In the warm light of dawn, with Caitlyn’s lips brushing along the skin of her back and the quiet swishing of the seaside just outside, it was easy to ignore the fast-paced world waiting for them back in L.A. 

Brushing their teeth felt comfortingly domestic for the fevered rush they were in, Caitlyn nudging her hip gently out of the way of the sink, sharing the toothpaste and trading smiles in the mirror.

They managed to keep their hands… mostly to themselves—though Vi wasn’t above stealing a quick kiss or two from Caitlyn’s tempting, minty lips, lingering just long enough to whisper promises about picking up exactly where they’d left off. Even amidst the hurry, Vi couldn’t resist it, couldn’t stop herself from grinning as Caitlyn rolled her eyes with fond exasperation and pushed her gently toward the door.

Check out was made with mere minutes to spare,  and Vi swore the motel owner’s arched brow was as pointed and knowing as an interrogation lamp, lluminating exactly how thin the walls had been.

Vi handed over the keys with a sheepish grin and averted eyes. Slinking out into the bright daylight with Caitlyn close behind, Vi supposed a return visit wasn’t exactly on the horizon. At least, not with her dignity still intact.

As they pulled out of the lot, Vi flicked the radio dial to five-one-six, that cozy little station she found herself falling a little more in love with every day—thanks entirely, she’d admit, to the girl sitting next to her. 

Glancing sideways, Vi expected to find Caitlyn strung tighter than a badly tuned guitar, chewing her lip, drumming those elegant fingers anxiously along the seams of her denim shorts. Instead, she was reclined in the seat, somehow unbothered despite Vi pushing the needle comfortably past eighty on a winding coastal highway.

Her head was tilted slightly toward the window, eyes lost somewhere out on that endless stretch of sparkling ocean sprawling out beneath a sun still low enough to paint the waves silver. She hummed along quietly to the song that drifted out of the speakers—simultaneously mumbling like she was unsure of the lyrics, but just clear enough to suggest she’d known the words to it her whole life. 

Eventually, the song drifted off, fading into something softer, and quiet settled in again. Vi kept stealing glances at Caitlyn anyway, until finally Caitlyn turned, amusement flickering across those beautiful, cerulean eyes.

“What?” she asked, the corner of her mouth quivering with the faintest hint of a smile.

Vi shrugged, returning her attention to the road with feigned nonchalance. “Nothing,” she said, feeling that stubborn grin pulling insistently. “Just… freedom looks good on you, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn held her gaze for a long moment, before her hand reached over to rest lightly on Vi’s thigh. It was warm, grounding, more than a little thrilling. Vi released the stick shift just long enough to give her fingers a gentle, affirming squeeze in return.

LA traffic must’ve decided to play nice that day, because Vi rolled them into town by the absolute skin of their teeth. The Jeep came to a halt in the familiar shadowed alleyway, the same narrow slice of pavement she’d picked Caitlyn up from barely a day before. As Vi popped the trunk and handed Caitlyn her belongings—her neatly packed bag, the camera carefully tucked into its waterproof case—she felt a pang that sank deep, a hollow gap making way in her chest.

Vi knew their goodbyes never lasted long, but that didn’t seem to matter. She wasn’t quite ready for how quickly this one had crept up on her.

Caitlyn slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder, then paused, hovering near the Jeep’s open door. Her eyes traced Vi’s face thoroughly, closely, as though committing it to memory.

“Thank you, for yesterday,” Caitlyn leaned in and pressed her forehead to Vi’s. “I’m sorry I have to go so soon.”

“Don’t be.” Vi’s voice was warm, tender. She tilted her head just enough to brush Caitlyn’s nose softly with her own. “I’m grateful for any time we get to spend together. Even if it’s never enough.”

Caitlyn exhaled a laugh, her fingers trailing lightly up Vi’s arm, resting just above her elbow. “You make it impossibly hard to leave, you know that?”

Vi smiled, soft and vulnerable. Her eyes dropped to Caitlyn’s mouth for the briefest moment before rising again, guilty and hopeful. Caitlyn caught the flicker instantly.

“You want to kiss me goodbye,” she teased gently, amusement warming her voice, “don’t you?”

Vi’s smirk deepened, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is that a crime?”

Caitlyn glanced around the alley, cautious but playful, then leaned in until her lips brushed Vi’s ear, her breath warm. “Of course not. But we do have a tendency to get a bit… carried away, whenever we do.”

Vi hummed softly, lips twitching as her hand lifted gently to cup Caitlyn’s cheek. “I can’t help it.”

Caitlyn smiled again, eyes bright with warmth. “Then you better hurry, before we run out of time.”

When they broke apart, Vi lingered, brushing her thumb along the delicate arch of Caitlyn’s cheekbone. 

Caitlyn offered her one final, fleeting peck on the cheek.

“I mean it,” Caitlyn murmured softly, pulling back just enough to flash a playful, flirtatious grin. “I’ll be late.”

Caitlyn adjusted the bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes bright, hair catching the sunlight like spun silk as she jogged lightly toward the alleyway’s mouth. She glanced both ways before slipping around the corner, leaving Vi standing there like a sentimental fool, missing her already.

Her silent daydream was swiftly shattered by the jarring buzz of her phone. She tugged it from her shorts pocket, squinting down at the screen where a series of texts from Ekko flashed urgently, popping up like tiny, ominous clouds:

Ekko
11:12 PM
Hey, you busy?

Vi’s heart kicked a little faster at that deceptively simple question. She swallowed thickly, a swell of unease making its way up her chest as her thumbs hovered over the keyboard.

Vi
11:13 AM
No, what’s up?

Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the phone, pulse climbing as the three dots blinked across the bottom of the screen.

Ekko
11:14 PM
Powder had an episode last night, called into work today. Was wondering if you could stop by the apartment.

Vi felt the dread surge up from somewhere deep in her gut. Without hesitation, she was already moving back into the driver’s seat, her breath ragged and rough as she climbed behind the wheel. With shaking fingers, she tapped out a reply as quickly as she could.

Vi
11:15 AM
I’m on my way.

—

Vi arrived at the apartment with her heart rattling in her chest like a loose engine bolt. She sprinted up the cold concrete stairs two at a time, the soles of her sneakers echoing off the chipped stucco walls in harsh, discordant claps. 

She didn't bother with the formality of knocking—Powder was behind that door, and when Powder needed her, courtesy took a backseat. She shoved it open so hard it swung back into the wall, the knob punching a fresh dent into plaster that already carried a good two or three of them already.

Ekko stood waiting in the entryway, and the expression he wore made Vi’s pulse spike even higher. She hunched forward, palms braced on her hips, desperately chasing down the breath she’d lost somewhere between the car and their front door.

"She all right?" Vi huffed out between gulps of air. She straightened slightly, pushing the hair out of her eyes, tightening her jaw as she searched Ekko’s face for answers.

Ekko sighed deeply, fingers tugging at the edges of his sleeve. "Yeah, she’s fine, I think, but," he hesitated, eyes flickering nervously toward the hallway, "I just found out she's been messing with her meds. Adjusting the dosage on her own."

Vi's eyes fell shut for a beat, her emotions tangling together like a clump of unruly wires. 

Of course Powder would do that. 

Too smart—or, rather, foolish—for her own good, always thinking she knew best.

She shook her head, huffing out a heavy sigh and as she moved past Ekko, not so much as bothering to quiet her footsteps as she approached their bedroom door while Ekko hovered close behind.

Vi nudged the door open to see Powder sat small and tucked against her pillows, knees hugged tightly to her chest with her gaze distant and vacant, fixed on the wall. The room around her felt colder than it should’ve, curtains drawn, daylight struggling to reach past the edges, casting pale streaks across Powder's dulled face.

Vi settled carefully at the edge of the mattress. Powder barely acknowledged her, instead moving to hold her knees tighter, as though she were a fortress defending against an encroaching force. Vi reached out gingerly, resting her hand Powder’s shin through the thick cotton of her sweatpants, an effort to ground her in the best way she knew how—in the quiet, persistent comfort of a sister who’d always be there.

“Hey,” Vi said, lightening her voice for some attempt at levity. 

Powder’s silence hung in the air.

She flicked her head towards Vi subtly, almost reluctantly, shadows pooling beneath her eyes. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” she muttered.

Vi shook her head sharply and tightened her fingers around Powder’s leg. “Don’t say shit like that, Pow. You need me, I show up. That’s how this works.” The fierceness in her voice surprised even her, frustration and fear leaking out in equal measure.

Powder’s mouth tightened into a thin line as she dropped her gaze back down to the frayed fabric of her sleeves, and Vi had to take a slow breath, reeling herself back in as quickly as she had flared up.

“Look,” Vi said again, gentler, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But this shit… you can’t just mess around with your meds like they’re vitamins. I just… Powder, I can’t watch you get worse.”

The emptiness and quiet that followed was heavy enough to sink through the floorboards, and Vi’s chest tightened like there suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. 

“It’ll be worse either way, Vi.” Powder’s voice was strangely steady. “Life doesn’t stop being messy just because I take a pill. All the meds do is change the colour of the mess.”

“You eaten anything yet?” Vi asked after a moment, trying to shift the conversation. 

When Powder didn’t answer, Ekko leaned in from the doorway, shaking his head slightly. “Nah, she hasn’t.”

Vi sat quietly for a beat, mulling over her thoughts, feeling the weight of Powder’s words pressing against her chest. Then, with sudden decisiveness, she rose up from the bed. “All right, new plan. Screw the doom and gloom, we’re going to Pacific Park.”

Ekko raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I thought you had work?”

Vi shook her head, waving him off. “Not today. The editor’s busy picking through the last shoot’s photos, so I’m all yours.”

Vi knelt beside the bed again, tilting her head to meet Powder face-to-face. “What do you say?” When Powder didn’t respond immediately, Vi nudged her shoulder softly. “Hey, I’ll ride the Sea Dragon with you, front seat. Just like old times.”

—

The aroma of frying, sugary dough and the sea breeze rolling off the pier was exactly the remedy Vi had hoped it would be. 

Above them, the cloudless sky stretched endlessly, punctuated by the colourful, spinning rides and towering palms of the Santa Monica pier. Powder had followed along begrudgingly, scuffing her sneakers against the concrete as if each step were a personal negotiation. But as soon as they strapped into the rattling, creaking cart of the roller coaster, the melancholy slipped from Powder's body, replaced by the frantic joy of loops, twists, and breathless plunges.

Vi spent most of the ride watching Powder’s face rather than the blur of ocean and sky, tracking the way her eyes widened, how her knuckles paled gripping the safety bar. Her heart loosened a little, relieved. Maybe the cure wasn’t permanent, but sometimes happiness didn't need to last forever—just long enough to remind Powder what it felt like.

Afterward, waiting in a queue for funnel cake, Vi felt a buzz from her pocket. She dug out her phone, a half-smile already on her lips as Caitlyn’s name flashed on the screen.

Caitlyn
1:47 PM
I trust you made it back to your apartment?

Vi huffed softly, thumbs hovering briefly as her smile turned into a smirk.

Vi
1:48 PM
Not quite.

A pause, brief yet weighty, before another message appeared.

Caitlyn
1:48 PM
Are you all right?

Vi’s grin faltered slightly, softened by the simple earnestness behind those words. She glanced back up, checking on Powder—whose attention had drifted toward the hypnotic spin of the ferris wheel—and Ekko, who eyed the menu board with an intensity usually reserved for critical life decisions. For now, she thought, everyone was all right, or at least they were working their way toward it.

Vi
1:52 PM
Yeah, I'm just at Santa Monica pier with Powder and her boyfriend.

Vi
1:52 PM
How’d everything with Jace go?

A beat passed, and Vi watched those three little dots flicker across the bottom of her screen. She bit back a grin, catching her lower lip with her teeth.

Caitlyn
1:53 PM
Jayce is fine, we just had a coffee. He’ll be in town for a few days.

Caitlyn
1:53 PM
And lucky you. Sounds much more fun than being saddled down in a hotel room on a beautiful day.

Vi stole a quick glance toward Ekko and Powder, still preoccupied with the funnel cake options on the chalkboard menu, and began typing back.

Vi
1:54 PM
I thought you liked looking at pictures of me?😉

The dots appeared, vanished—then reappeared again, the pause just long enough to make Vi's heart patter.

Caitlyn
1:57 PM
Oh, I do. I just haven't gotten to that part of my itinerary yet.

Vi felt her cheeks warm, grinning foolishly to herself as she considered a witty reply, fingers hovering idly over the keys.

But Powder’s head was suddenly at Vi’s shoulder, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she peered at the screen. “Who’re you texting?”

Vi jolted, nearly dropping her phone. “Uh? Oh, it’s nobody,” she stammered, shoving the device hastily into her pocket, words tripping awkwardly out of her mouth. “Just… y’know. Work stuff.”

Powder raised one skeptical brow, folding her arms across her chest. “Didn’t realize work could put such a stupid grin on your face.”

Vi laughed, a short and brittle sound, her shoulders lifting into an exaggerated shrug. "What? Am I not allowed to be excited about landing a huge career break?"

Powder's eyes softened a bit, skeptical but amused, and Vi gratefully accepted the distraction when Ekko thrust the paper plates toward them, each one piled high with funnel cake drowning in powdered sugar and strawberry syrup. The warmth of the dough soaked through the thin plate, its sugary aroma sweetening the salty breeze blowing off the ocean.

But even as Vi lifted the funnel cake, her hand slowed halfway to her mouth, thoughts scattering and reforming, twisting together into knots she'd rather not untangle.

She glanced over at Powder, whose narrowed gaze was still fixed firmly on her.

Her eyes had a way of slipping beneath her exterior and unearthing the things Vi didn’t say aloud. She didn’t ask, and she never had to, not once in their lives. 

Vi knew a secret wasn’t a sin. Not always. Especially not this one.

The secrecy had seemed noble then—something fragile and worth protecting. Necessary. Their own little sanctuary, carved out as refuge from a prying, ruthless, unforgiving world.

But Powder wasn’t the world.

Even still, Caitlyn’s voice still lingered at the back of her mind. 

We keep this to ourselves. 

And Vi had agreed, with her fingers threaded into her lover’s hand, believing it to be right, to be the easy thing to do.

Until, of course, it no longer was. 

Powder already suspected something. She always did. Hell, it was a miracle Vi had lasted this long without cracking under her sister’s perceptive, probing eyes.

Maybe Caitlyn would understand. She hoped, anyway. But even if she didn't—Vi couldn't stand the thought of Powder feeling like she was being left behind, even by something as seemingly negligible as this.

Taking a breath, she scratched awkwardly at the back of her neck. The words sat heavy on her tongue as she turned toward Ekko.

“Hey, you mind if me and Pow have a sec?” 

Ekko blinked once, seeming to have caught on, his gaze flickering knowingly between them. He stepped back with a gracious nod. 

“Yeah, sure.”

—

“Y’know,” Powder began, “the longer you’re quiet, the more I’m convinced I’m in trouble.”

Vi and Powder polished off the funnel cake in quiet companionship, leaning to lazily prop their elbows on the rusted pier railing. The sounds of laughter and carnival chatter seemed distant now, fading into white noise at their backs.

Vi shook her head with a weak laugh, dropping her eyes to where white flecks of powdered sugar still dusted her fingertips. “No trouble,” she wiped her hand on her t-shirt, as if to stall the conversation. “Listen, I promised we’d always lay things out straight between us. And let’s be real, I’m sure you’ve already figured me out anyway.”

Powder snorted, eyes crinkling at the edges. “I meant it when I said you should never play poker.”

Vi laughed too. She drew in a steadying breath, watching the waves lap up against the barnacle-crusted posts. “Ekko was right,” she finally admitted. “I… I am seeing someone.”

Powder’s face lit up immediately, glimmering with delighted vindication. “Ha! I knew it.” But her grin quickly transitioned into mild confusion. “Still, why the big secrecy? Not like you’re some kind of puritan or something.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “It’s not that,” she said, lowering her voice, eyes darting cautiously across the scattered passersby. “It’s just, well, this is a little more... complicated. Controversial, even.”

“Controversial? You mean like she’s your sugar mama?” Powder’s brows shot upward as she came alight with sudden intrigue and leaned in conspiratorially. “Your boss? Or wait, don’t tell me she’s some big celebrity with an NDA or something?”

Vi chuckled, shaking her head. “Slow down, Sherlock. Nothing like that.” She paused, then sighed. “She’s... The photographer from the Calvin Klein shoot. Her name’s Caitlyn.”

Powder whistled through her teeth. “Shit, Vi. I mean, yikes.”

“Exactly why we swore not to tell anyone.” Vi’s expression sobered as she nodded solemnly. “But even still, hiding it from you… well, it didn’t feel right.”

“Hey, none taken,” Powder said earnestly. “You know, part of the reason I even agreed to this impromptu adventure today was to give you a break. I think you needed it more than me, carrying so much on your shoulders.”

“No, this was for you ,” Vi insisted. “I promised I’d always be here. You come first. Besides, I’ve already had a nice little break.”

Powder squinted suspiciously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vi hesitated, shallowing her breath as memories fluttered through her mind like startled birds. “I… went back to Avila yesterday. To the old beach house,” she confessed quietly, “with Caitlyn.”

Powder’s eyes widened, lips parting softly, but she remained silent.

Vi continued, something gently breaking loose inside her chest. “I don’t know what came over me, to be honest. That place always haunted me. Just thinking about it used to make my skin crawl.” Her voice wavered, then strengthened again. “But yesterday, being there again, with her, everything felt different. It was beautiful and alive and warm, just like I remembered it, and it wasn’t so hard to go back after all.”

Powder’s hand found Vi’s as she rested her head gently on Vi’s shoulder, a wordless reassurance.

“Mom and Dad would have been happy,” she said. “I don’t think they’d have liked us never going back there because of them.”

“Yeah, me too.” Vi exhaled slowly, completely, tasting the salty brine on her tongue as something inside her shifted, opened. “I always thought things could never change, that I’d feel that way forever,” she murmured, almost to herself, “but maybe I don’t have to. Maybe they can change, after all.”

Powder squeezed Vi’s hand, gently grounding them both in the unspoken warmth. 

“You deserve to be happy, you know,” she said. “Gotta start asking yourself what you want out of life, and take it without feeling guilty.”

Vi let a quiet chuckle slip free. “Who said I wasn’t already happy?” She paused, feeling something within her chest flutter and rise. “I think, right now, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Powder hummed thoughtfully, lips quirking in faint amusement as she considered Vi’s words. “Well, you certainly look happier than usual. Practically glowing, maybe love suits you.”

Before Vi could protest—or, worse, blush—Powder pushed herself up decisively from the railing, a newfound energy sparking life back into her eyes. 

“Now, did we really come all the way to Pacific Park just to mope around and swap secrets, or are we gonna get on with the day already?”

Vi snorted, shaking off the residual weight that lingered on her shoulders, the heavy fog of worry dissipating like mist beneath the afternoon sun. Standing tall, she gave Powder a gentle shove with her elbow.

“Alright, smartass,” she teased. “After you.”

—

The two of them wove back through the milling crowd until they found Ekko leaning against the railing, squinting against the bright glare off the waves. Seeing them approach, he straightened up.

“All good?” he asked, arching his eyebrows expectantly.

“Yeah,” Vi replied, exhaling a breath that carried away the last remnants of her tension. 

She looked out toward the colourful chaos of the park, soaking in the festive blur of motion around them—the ferris wheel spinning lazily against the clear, sky-blue canvas, the joyful screams spilling from rides painted in bursts of cherry-red and cotton-candy pink, all framed by the sway of palm trees and the glittering expanse of the ocean.

Almost instinctively, she tugged out her phone, holding it steady and tapping the shutter to capture the scene laid out before her. The image lit up on the screen: vibrant, messy, wonderfully alive. Without hesitation, Vi typed out a quick message, her thumbs tapping smoothly against the glass.

Vi
2:18 PM
What do you think? Is this a photographer’s playground?

She felt a little bubble of anticipation forming in her chest, which blossomed into an embarrassingly wide grin when Caitlyn’s response vibrated back swiftly.

Caitlyn
2:20 PM
Oh, certainly. I’m sure there are countless subjects to be sought after here. 

Vi bit her lip, the ocean breeze tugging playfully at her hair as she typed back, playful and teasing.

Vi
2:21 PM
Why don’t I go find them, then? Maybe you can teach me a thing or two about the craft?

Vi
2:22 PM
So long as I’m not distracting you

This time, the reply was immediate. Vi’s smile widened as she read it, feeling warmth rise across her cheeks, bright as the afternoon sun.

Caitlyn
2:22 PM
I’m about to start sorting through photos of you in your underwear, I think that ship has sailed. 

Shaking her head and grinning, Vi squinted against the sunlight, eyes narrowing with determination as she hunted through the vibrant bustle of the pier. She needed something distinct, something captivating and a little absurd—something sure to impress.

Only a short stroll away stood Neptune’s Knickknacks , a wonderfully chaotic storefront with a giant wooden sign painted in a garish splash of turquoise and coral. Brightly coloured wind chimes dangled above shelves stacked with everything from carved wooden mermaids to luminous, tacky starfish clocks blinking obnoxiously. 

Vi grinned, attracted to the sheer audacity of it all, and quickly snapped a photo, carefully framing the shop in all its flamboyant glory.

She tapped out a quick message to Caitlyn, smugly satisfied.

Vi
2:30 PM
So? How’d I do?

Vi’s screen went quiet. Caitlyn was taking her sweet time, and Vi could just picture her—brows knit in concentration, biting her lip slightly as she evaluated every angle, every pixel. After what felt like a small eternity (and was probably just a minute), her phone finally buzzed again.

Caitlyn
2:33 PM
Very good. Excellent composition and quite the spectacle. Except…

Vi frowned, puzzled.

Vi
2:33 PM
Except for what?

The reply came quickly this time.

Caitlyn
2:34 PM
Your shadow is in the picture. 

Vi opened the photo back up and immediately laughed, shaking her head. It was as obvious as it was impossible to miss.

She smiled wryly, thumbs flying.

Vi
2:35 PM
Oh, I meant to do that. It’s supposed to symbolize how the artist is always intrinsically linked to their creation… or something

Caitlyn
2:36 PM
An artistic philosophical answer won’t let you off the hook 😌

Vi let out another chuckle, trying and failing to suppress a smile as she could practically hear the teasing lilt in Caitlyn’s voice.

Vi
2:37 PM
Haha okay fine, the next one’s gonna be perfect, just you wait.

—

As Vi ambled deeper into the cacophonous heart of the park, her eyes remained wide and sharp, vigilant for anything worthy of immortalizing through her newfound lens. The ruckus of laughter, screams from rides, and sizzling street food from bright trucks were a dizzying whirl of colour and motion that begged to be captured, but still, Vi took her time, carefully sorting each frame before pressing the shutter.

She fired off a few snaps to Caitlyn, playful and careful in equal measure. And Caitlyn, ever patient and diligent, sent back gentle critiques with each image, wrapped in layers of coy flirtation.

Caitlyn
2:48 PM
Much better! But remember the rule of thirds. Try placing your subjects slightly off-center for visual tension.

Vi
2:50 PM
I’m a visual learner, care to show me what you mean by visual tension, cupcake?

She could practically picture Caitlyn’s slight blush through the screen. A little pause. Then:

Caitlyn
2:51 PM
Focus Vi!🙄🤣

Vi chuckled softly to herself, only looking up from her phone when Powder’s voice rang out from a nearby game booth.

“Hey, Vi!” Powder waved, pointing enthusiastically at a bright-yellow contraption labeled Power Punch! . “Think those beefy arms of yours could win something good from this?”

Vi laughed as she approached, rolling her shoulders theatrically. “Oh, you know I could. But what about you?”

“Psh, easy.”

Powder puffed out her chest and swung with the entire weight of her body, but the impact was… miserable, the numbers barely ticking on the scale. Vi let out a mock groan, slapping her sister’s shoulder lightly. 

“Looks like you gotta hit arm day more often.”

Powder rolled her eyes extravagantly. “Not all of us have fat, ham-fisted boxer paws, Vi.”

Vi waved her off with a laugh before her eyes landed on the array of prizes hanging enticingly behind the booth attendant. One in particular stood out—a bold, big red wolf plushie, smug grin and all. With a quick smirk, Vi snapped a photo and sent it Caitlyn’s way.

Vi
3:02 PM
Cute, huh? 

Caitlyn
3:03 PM
Yes, it kind of looks like you, actually.

Heat crept into Vi’s cheeks. She bit back a grin as she quickly typed her reply.

Vi
3:04 PM
I can win it for you, I bet

She stepped up to the contraption with a confident stride, drew her arm back, and punched the target square-on. A tinny ring echoed out as the machine’s numbers rocketed upward, launching well past the current daily record. 

Ekko gave a whistle of approval, while Powder rolled her eyes.

“Show-off.”

The attendant, suitably impressed, gestured behind him. “Your pick. One big, one small.”

“I’ll take the big wolf, back there,” Vi said immediately, pointing at the red stuffed animal.

As it was passed into her waiting hands, she grinned triumphantly, snapping a selfie of it in her arms and sending it to Caitlyn.

Vi
3:09 PM
Told ya.

Her phone vibrated quickly, but the reply caught her off guard. 

Caitlyn
3:12 PM
Oh Vi, how am I going to fit that in my bag to New York?

Vi stared at the message, feeling her elation begin to falter. It struck her hard, how quickly that small line pulled the veil from her eyes, dragging reality sharply back into focus. 

Her heart lurched slightly, and Vi felt suddenly untethered, adrift at the sudden, painful reminder of the temporary nature of whatever this was between them.

She was snapped back to the moment when the attendant cleared his throat politely. “Hey, you still got one smaller one left to pick.”

Vi blinked and shook her head, allowing her eyes to hastily scan the shelf. 

Nestled among a myriad of silly toys was a deep-blue mongoose plush, gangly and oddly endearing. Much, much smaller than the wolf. “That one,” she said, pointing directly at it.

Vi lifted her phone again as she typed out her reply to Caitlyn, sending along a photo.

Vi
3:13 PM
Right, yeah. I got you this little guy instead.

Vi
3:13 PM
I’d say this one looks like you.

Another pause. Then, her phone lit up again.

Caitlyn
3:15 PM
Oh really? How so?

Vi
3:16 PM
Hm well, it’s cute, lanky, kinda feisty

Caitlyn
3:16 PM
I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment💙

—

Sundown swept across the Santa Monica sky as the upbeat pace of the park began to audibly and visibly wind down. 

Vi could’ve sworn the day had just barely started—one blink, and suddenly evening was knocking, a little reminder that even the sweetest moments were fleeting.

Powder carried the oversized red wolf in her arms, the giant toy slung over her shoulder, its size stark against her small frame. Vi hadn’t heard from Caitlyn since their banter fizzled out earlier, and she assumed that meant Caitlyn’s workday had finally swallowed her whole. 

She broke away from Powder and Ekko briefly for a drink of water, making her way toward a little fountain nestled between two weather-beaten palm trees. The chilled metal brushed coolly against her lips as water rushed to quench a thirst she’d been ignoring all day. 

And as the water trickled down her throat, her thoughts wandered freely—right back to Caitlyn, locked away in a pristine, air-conditioned hotel room, hunched over her laptop, eyes fixed on those photographs. Images of Vi captured in stark clarity, her skin warm and flushed, tousled and sweaty from the activities of an earlier tryst. 

Vi’s stomach knotted pleasantly at the thought, her curiosity morbidly simmering as she wondered how Caitlyn was holding up, what emotions those pictures stirred, and if maybe she was as tangled up as Vi felt right now.

She straightened up from the fountain, wiping away stray droplets with the back of her wrist, when the sudden vibration of her phone pulled her from her daydream. 

Caitlyn
6:48 PM
What are you up to now?

Vi
6:49 PM
Thought you were working?

Caitlyn
6:50 PM
I’ve been trying. But it’s hard when my job is sorting through photos of a gorgeous woman mere moments after she’s been fucked.

Vi swallowed her breath, and she felt her mouth hanging slightly ajar as she stared dumbfounded at her screen. 

Bold words from a girl who used to blush crimson at the mildest flirtation.  

Vi
6:52 PM
Whose fault is that I wonder?

The dots bubbled again, a playful, torturous pause before the answer came:

Caitlyn
6:52 PM
We both know it’s entirely yours.

Caitlyn
6:53 PM
If I’m being honest, it’s been driving me a bit mad. I’ve had to take a few… breaks.

Vi typed out her response shakily, her cheeks already burning hot at the implication.

Vi
6:53 PM
To do what?

This time, the dots floated longer as suspense gathered, electrifying Vi’s every nerve. When the next message arrived, her heart practically vaulted into her throat.

Caitlyn
6:54 PM
To do something I wish you were here to help me with instead.

Vi’s pulse drummed fiercely, roaring in her ears, and before she could collect her thoughts, another notification chimed softly.

A photo.

Vi tapped the message open. And what she saw was Caitlyn, standing in the golden hotel room light, her figure bathed in warm hues from the sunlit windows. 

Her dark blue hair cascaded loosely over her shoulders as her cerulean eyes gleamed mischievously, her lips parted just slightly.

But what caught Vi’s attention most was what she was wearing—or, rather, barely wearing.

A matching Calvin Klein underwear set, the branded band of the bralette hugging the shape of her ribcage, drawing attention to the sheer elegance tracing the delicate lines of her collarbones and stomach. 

The underwear sat low on her hips, tantalizingly casual yet infuriatingly seductive, the photo framed just right, revealing enough to leave Vi’s mind reeling.

She felt her blood turn molten, drifting down her body, making her feel dizzy, lightheaded, pathetically weak.

Another message flashed beneath the image.

Caitlyn
6:57 PM
Now you know how I feel every day😏

Fuck.

A lustful, scorching flare rapidly spread across Vi’s face and down her neck like a wildfire set loose. She bent swiftly, pressing the button on the fountain and splashing cold water over her face with one hand, the brisk shock barely managing to douse the flames Caitlyn had effortlessly sparked with a single snapshot and a few choice words. 

Vi inhaled deeply, centering herself—or at least, attempting to—though the kindling still burned. She pressed her palms against the cool metal of the fountain’s rim, steadying herself just enough to regain some semblance of composure.

“Vi!” Ekko’s voice called through the evening haze, puncturing her thoughts abruptly. “Think it’s about time we head home?”

She jerked upright, hastily wiping the water from her face with the back of her hand, blinking away the lingering haze of desire still clouding her vision. “Yeah,” she shouted back,  clearing her throat as she straightened. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

As Vi stepped away from the fountain, the phone buzzed again.

She thumbed open Caitlyn’s latest message.

Caitlyn
7:02 PM
Call me tonight? I miss your voice.

A helpless smile broke across Vi’s face, one she couldn’t have stopped if she’d tried. 

Vi
7:03 PM
Yeah, I miss yours too

Finally back at the Jeep, Vi slid behind the wheel and shut the door with a hard thunk. Powder followed, half disappearing beneath the massive red wolf plush as she sank into the passenger seat, its polyester limbs flopped awkwardly across the console. Vi snorted under her breath, shook her head, and tapped in the address she already knew by muscle memory into the GPS—it wouldn’t do anyone good to be stuck in traffic at this hour, after all.

Vi’s hands curled tightly around the wheel as they drove, but her mind was drifting again, the buzz in her chest from earlier now giving way to a quieter, older sensation. That familiar prickle of nerves rising up through her spine and settling in the pit of her stomach like it had a permanent lease.

She glanced over at Powder. Her sister stared out the window, absentmindedly stroking the faux fur of the plushie’s ear, her mouth pulled into a faint curve, not quite a smile but not quite its opposite either.

Vi exhaled through her nose. That worried itch returned—the one she hadn’t been able to shake in years. Even after a day like this. Even when Powder seemed okay. Maybe especially because she seemed okay. Because Vi had learned, the hard way, that the quiet could sometimes be the worst sign of all.

They arrived just as the last light slinked behind the buildings. The old apartment complex cast long shadows over the cracked pavement, and Ekko was already hopping out before the engine cut. He turned back toward the car and offered a crooked smile as he adjusted the strap of his backpack.

“Thanks for today,” he said. “I think it helped. Seriously.”

Vi shrugged one shoulder. “No problem. Always good to get out with you guys.”

Her gaze flicked past him. Powder was climbing out of the car slowly, plush in tow. She looked worn but not undone. Still whole, still upright. 

Yet none of that seemed to ease Vi’s mind.

She stepped forward. “You sure you don’t want me to stay over? Just for tonight.”

Powder rolled her eyes. “Vi—”

“—I’m not trying to smother,” she insisted. “I can sleep on the couch. I’d just… feel better if I was nearby, that’s all.”

Ekko opened his mouth to answer, but Powder beat him to it.

“I can look after myself just fine,” she said, gently pushing the wolf toy into Vi’s arms. “Thanks for the fun, sis. Go home. Get some rest.”

She turned without waiting for Vi’s answer, and Ekko mouthed under his breath, “I’ll keep an eye and take care of her, I promise,” as they disappeared up the stairwell.

Vi lingered for a moment on the curb as she watched them go, the night cooling against her skin, her hands shoved deep in her pockets. Her eyes drifted up to the windows above. Then she took a breath, turned on her heel, and made her way back to the Jeep.

—

The drive back to Century City felt longer than it usually did tonight. Highway lights smeared themselves across the windshield—soft golds, harsh whites, the occasional cherry-red brake flare—all of it blending together into a soup of visual noise. 

The radio stayed off. For once, Vi preferred the quiet.

Well, quiet with the exception of the churn of her tires on asphalt and that insistent, private thrum in her chest. A little gremlin that whispered guilt in one ear and reassurance in the other. But she supposed there was no forcing Powder to accept her company, her help, no matter how much it may have stung.

When she finally pulled into the parking structure of her own abode and killed the engine, the silence rushed in like a tide. She climbed out, stiff and sore in places she hadn’t noticed until now, and dragged herself up to her unit without ceremony.

The keys hit the table with a clatter as she kicked off her shoes, and then she was in the bedroom, collapsing backward onto the mattress with a grunt, splaying her limbs wide across the navy bedding.

The ceiling stared back at her, like a blank slate for her thoughts. 

Until a sudden, warm thought flitted in her mind.

Vi reached for her phone, first taking notice of the time when she thumbed open the screen. Sifting through her apps, she pressed Caitlyn’s contact. 

The ring tone buzzed once, twice, then—

“Hello?”

The sound of Caitlyn’s voice washed over her like a gentle surf.

“Hey, Cupcake.” 

“You’ve made it home, then?”

“Yeah. Just got in.”

“How was your day with Powder?”

“It was nice,” she said simply, quickly. “She needed it, I think. So did I.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Caitlyn’s voice softened. “And you? Are you… okay?”

Vi hesitated, then nodded to no one. “Better now.”

A smile touched the other end of the line, she could feel it. “I just finished up here. Sent the last selects to Grayson and the editor maybe thirty minutes ago.”

Vi rolled onto her side. “Damn. You work fast.”

“Well, it was hard,” Caitlyn replied. “Truth be told, they’re all works of art. But then again,” her voice dipped. “So is the subject.”

Vi huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”

Another pause. 

And then Vi asked, quietly, somewhat meekly: “Are you still wearing them?”

“Wearing what?”

Vi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “The… Calvin Kleins.”

“Well,” Caitlyn giggled, “what possible reason would I have to take them off, knowing I’d be hearing your voice tonight?”

Vi wasn’t entirely sure when it happened, or how it happened, but her hand had already become well acquainted with her own skin, fingers skating absentminded beneath the hem of her tank top as her breath thinned.

Caitlyn went on, casual in tone, but not in implication. “I thought your photography was quite impressive today, by the way. You’ve got an eye.”

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” Caitlyn hummed. “But… there are still things I’d like to teach you.”

“Like what?”

“How to direct a subject, with intention. With just the right amount of restraint… or lack thereof.”

Vi couldn’t help but groan as her hand slid down, lower and lower, eventually slipping beneath the waistband of her shorts and underwear with a rough drag of fabric that made her shiver. The air in her bedroom felt heavier now, thick and hot with breathless anticipation. 

“Now,” Caitlyn’s voice was velvety and embered, as though it might unravel if she didn’t hold it steady. “Tell me what you want from me.”

Vi tipped her head back against the pillow and shut her eyes. Her hand moved with intense deliberation, teasing out every last drop of tension with a touch too light to satisfy.

“What I want?” 

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, lilting. “I’m awaiting your direction, darling. My fingers are wet,” she added, almost coy, “and ready .”

A sharp tremor lanced through Vi at Caitlyn’s words. She was already halfway undone, not by touch alone, but also by voice—by the sheer notion that someone like Caitlyn could sound so wrecked and wanting, all because of her.

“Touch yourself,” Vi rasped out. “Just how you like it.”

“Over or under my Calvins?”

Vi’s imagination was set loose, like a wild dog off leash, flashing with fantasies and images of Caitlyn—stretched across a hotel bed, soft light filtering through thin curtains, the monochrome lines of that Calvin set tracing every exquisite curve of her frame. 

“Over,” Vi instructed, “but slowly.”

She imagined the cotton peeling off her skin. Thought about Caitlyn’s eyes fluttering closed, her hips shifting, her mouth slackening in that way Vi knew too well. Biting her lip and grabbing the sheets with her free hand as though she was holding back a sound that might pull Vi through the line itself.

Vi sank deeper into the bed, her body strung tight, every nerve tuned to the hum of Caitlyn’s voice in her ear. She could hear it, she was certain, the sound of Caitlyn’s arousal, so wet and slick and utterly depraved. Vi’s hand moved faster now, firmer, and it was remarkable how quickly she lost control of her own voice.

“I can hear you,” Caitlyn breathed. “The way you sound when you want me… it’s unmistakable.”

Vi bit back a moan as her hips lifted into her own palm, as if to grant more touch she had been willfully denying herself. 

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” Caitlyn whispered. “How you look. How you sound. How sexy you are when you cum…”

“C-Cait—”

“—Tell me what you want, Violet.”

The way she said her name rushed straight through Vi’s chest, gathering a sensation below her navel. “I want—fuck—Cait, I want you to take them off.”

“Hmm?” Caitlyn drawled, her voice tilting up. “You’ll have to speak up.”

“Take them off,” Vi blurted out. “Your underwear. Take them off, now.”

The line went quiet for just a beat, and then Caitlyn murmured:

“Good girl. ”

Vi wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on. But if she had any hope of lasting for longer than another minute, she would have to pace herself, much to her dismay. 

“I’m so wet for you,” Caitlyn slurred in a whisper, the words coming out messy but unmistakable. “I want you to pin me down, to bend me over, have your way with me however you please.”

“Cait…”

“I want to put them in,” Caitlyn said. “Can I? Please?”

Vi could’ve cum from that question alone. 

“Yes.”

There was a rustle on the other end of the line, then a sharp inhale, and the sound of it made Vi’s back arch and her thoughts scatter. Caitlyn moaned clearly, right into Vi’s ear through the speaker, and Vi moaned in reply.

“Pretend they’re mine,” Vi said roughly. “Fuck down on them, baby. Fuck yourself hard and fast like I would if I was there.”

Caitlyn gasped, then obeyed—Vi knew because could hear it, feel it, as if the distance between them was truly virtual in every sense of the word.

Vi bit her lip so hard it nearly split the skin, and perhaps it did, as evidenced by the coppery taste in her mouth. She dipped her fingertips down to her opening, collecting more of herself to bring up to her clit, where she rubbed fast, tight circles that left her breathless.

“What else do you want, hm?” Caitlyn strained.

Vi let out something between a whimper and a curse. Her hand worked furiously beneath the waistband of her briefs as she felt herself become so drenched with need, every nerve lit and reaching.

“I-I want,” Vi stammered, barely able to gather herself enough to speak clearly. “I want you in front of me, down on your knees…”

“Mhm?” Caitlyn hummed. “Will you let me have your cunt? Let me lick and suck you until you can’t stand anymore?”

“Yes, yes please… I miss your mouth,” Vi gasped, stroking herself furiously now. “I miss the way you eat me, the way you fuck me—ah—nobody’s ever fucked me the way you do, baby.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught, her gasps increasing in volume though the faint static of the speaker. “I’m spread wide open, knuckle deep in myself, thinking about how good you feel when you’re clenching around my fingers.”

“Fuck…! ”

“Do you want my fingers inside you, Violet?”

“Yes, yes I do…” Vi cried out, trembling uncontrollably and involuntarily, her legs quaking violently as she did everything in her power to keep herself from tumbling over the edge too soon. “Keep going.”

“Is that another instruction?”

“Mhm,” Vi whimpered. “Talk me through it, tell me what you’ll do to me.”

“I’d suck your clit until you begged for relief,” Caitlyn groaned. “I’d fill you with my fingers and fuck you senseless and make you cum all over me. Again. And again. And again.”

“Oh my god, fuck, Cait,” Vi moaned, voice wrecked, pace stuttering as her whole body clenched around the heat curling in her gut.

“Do you want to cum, for me, Vi?”

Normally, this would have been Vi’s cue for a snide, witty remark, perhaps along the lines of I thought I was the one in charge? 

But it was evident that the dam holding back her insatiable amounts of lust and an impending, toe-curling orgasm was about to burst, and none of that seemed to matter.  

Vi’s thighs snapped shut and her mouth fell slack as a deep, long, loud groan pushed past her lips. She rocked through it with Caitlyn’s name tumbling out of her in broken fragments, before rolling onto her side and curling in on herself, squirming through every twitch and shudder.

On the other end of the line, Caitlyn’s voice was suddenly ragged, frantic. “I’m—Vi—I’m close—”

And then, Caitlyn cried out, muffled and desperate and delightfully familiar. The hush that followed was soft, sacred, strung together with nothing but shallow breaths and the thud of Vi’s heart slowing in her chest.

Vi blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand down her flushed face, still sprawled across the bed.

“So, how’d I do?” she asked, her voice hoarse, half-laughing.

Caitlyn hummed. “Impressive. Even if you lost focus halfway through.”

Vi let out a groan and rolled onto her side. “You make it hard to concentrate.”

“Well, I find a way to manage, don’t I?” 

That earned a quick, breathy laugh out of Vi. 

But as the heat eased and the high leveled, another feeling crept its way in. A sort of… emptiness, a stillness that made her reach for a voice in the dark, something solid to hold onto when everything else felt prone to drift.

“I told Powder,” Vi said, suddenly. She really didn’t mean to. 

Silence.

Vi swallowed. “About us. I’m sorry, I know we said we wouldn’t tell anyone, but I couldn’t keep it from her. Not when it makes me feel this…” She trailed off. “This good, this… happy.”

Vi took another long shaky breath. “I hope that’s all right.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Caitlyn finally said, the sound of her voice a most welcome relief. “I trust you, Vi. It’s okay. You… make me happy, too.”

Another still moment passed. And with it came another dull, unfurling ache. That emptiness again, a sort of longing to reach through the phone and into Caitlyn’s world, to hold her, to fill the void Vi felt pressing in around her now. 

“What happens,” Vi started, tugging at the hem of her shirt. “When you go back to New York?”

The pause this time was longer. 

“I… to be honest, I don’t know,” Caitlyn said. “But, let’s not dwell on that right now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Right.”

“Everything’s going to be alright. Let’s just focus on one day at a time.”

“Yeah,” Vi said, her voice shrunken and raspy. “Cait, can we… fall asleep on the line?”

Caitlyn let out a giggle. “Of course,” she said warmly. “As long as you promise not to snore.”

Vi snorted a chuckle. “I promise.”

She stood from the bed and slipped out of her shorts, changed into a tank and sweats, padded to the bathroom to wash up, then made her way back into bed. Lights out. Phone resting near her cheek.

“Goodnight, Cupcake,” Vi murmured. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Vi.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore.

It breathed.

It held her, caressed her.

It hummed across the static between them, safe and familiar, like a lullaby.

And Vi let her thoughts wander on that thread of sound, on Caitlyn’s delicate breathing, as sleep finally came to find her.

It quieted the storm, steadied Vi’s pulse, soothed the fray and lent shape to hope that they’d weather whatever winds might rise in their future.

And in Caitlyn’s company, even if distant, she found her anchor—

A beacon gleaming through the dark.

Chapter Text

What happens when you go back to New York?

The question hung like an echo trapped in the hollows of Caitlyn’s mind, brushing persistently at the edges of her memory. She held onto her coffee cup tighter, curling her fingers around the warm porcelain as though that alone could tether her to the present moment. 

She should’ve had an answer ready, but it caught her off guard, and now her thoughts wandered stubbornly back to the lively hustle of New York, to hectic mornings and long days chasing contracts and clients, and, worst of all… 

A life without Vi.

Caitlyn turned her head to absently stare out the café window, watching the busy street blur into shapeless motion of people in a hurry, of cars threading impatiently between lights, while her own reflection hovered faintly on the glass, ghostlike and transparent.

“Cait?”

She blinked sharply as Jayce’s voice broke the spell like a pinprick on a soap bubble. He leaned in, his brows knitted. His coffee was more than halfway drunk while Caitlyn’s remained barely sipped. 

“You all right, Sprout?” He asked carefully as his gentle, familiar eyes searched hers.

Caitlyn offered him a smile, practiced enough to almost seem genuine. She stirred her lukewarm latte absently. “Oh, I’m sorry. Just distracted, I suppose,” she murmured. “You were saying?”

He nodded, not entirely convinced but polite enough to pretend otherwise. Leaning back into his chair, he let the conversation shift. “It’s about the fundraising gala this weekend at Griffith Observatory,” he continued. “Hextech is sponsoring it this year. I thought it might be your kind of event, lots of agents and industry people, plenty of networking opportunities.”

Caitlyn arched a brow and smirked. “And since when did you peg me for the professional mingling type?”

“Fair enough,” Jayce admitted with a chuckle. “But there will be free champagne and an incredible view of the stars. You can’t say no to that.”

The idea of getting dolled up and dragging herself to mix with some stuck-up west coast elites certainly didn’t sound like Caitlyn’s cup of tea. But even still, Jayce’s pitch did have a rather convincing appeal. After all, Caitlyn’s Calvin Klein contract was coming to a close, and what better way to secure herself more future work than flaunting her merits in the face of the top-shelf industry pros?

BZZBZZ

Startled, Caitlyn glanced down quickly, her pulse quickening as she saw Vi’s name flash across her phone screen. “I have to run,” she said, sliding the chair back and offering Jayce an apologetic smile. “Was great to see you today.”

Jayce rose politely. “Need a lift?”

Caitlyn paused just briefly, ready and armed with a thousand excuses at her fingertips, though she went for the simplest and most elegant. “It’s quite far,” she said lightly, sliding the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “But thank you, I’ve already arranged something.”

Jayce watched her, clearly reading more than she wanted him to, but he let it go gracefully. “All right. But think about coming to the gala tomorrow, Cait. It’d be good for you, trust me.”

Caitlyn smiled gently as she stepped away, gaze already drifting toward the door, heart racing toward an entirely different destination. “I’ll consider it.”

—

Caitlyn sat stiffly in the back seat of the Uber as her fingers gently tugged at stray wisps of her hair. She slipped a mint discreetly into her mouth, the sharpness startling against her tongue; a brief attempt to ground herself against the quiet, breathless thrill thrumming through her veins. She wondered, briefly, if this restless anticipation would ever soften into something more manageable, though she knew deep down it was hopeless. 

Each moment spent with Vi only stoked the fire, excitement sharpening to a near painful intensity with every passing minute they spent together.

The driver caught her eye briefly in the rearview mirror, a smile softening the creases at the corners of his mouth. “Special day? You look like you’re heading to a date or somethin’.”

“Oh,” Caitlyn started, stumbling over the audacity of the question as heat rushed to her cheeks. She coughed quietly into her fist, darting her gaze to the blurred cityscape slipping past the window. “Something like that, I suppose.”

The driver chuckled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to pry. Just miss that feeling sometimes, y’know? The way it is in the beginning, everything’s electric, so new and exciting.”

His words lingered gently, prompting Caitlyn’s blush to deepen, though her tension began to ease slightly, warmed by the sincerity of his words.

“Enjoy it while you’ve got it,” he added, returning his eyes to the road with a wistful sigh. “Trust me, it’s precious. And when you got something good, don’t let it slip away.”

Caitlyn nodded as she sank back into the seat, her heartbeat no less rapid, but now buoyed by a sweet sense of clarity. When the driver stopped in front of that familiar Century City apartment, she hurriedly unblocked her seatbelt and offered a polite nod and ‘thank you,’ before stepping outside of the car.

The moment Vi opened the door, Caitlyn could already tell by the look on her face that she was ready to hit her with a cheeky little remark, something that would simultaneously make Caitlyn’s eyes roll, but also leave her so thoroughly endeared and enamoured.

But Caitlyn didn't give her the chance to speak. Instead, she surged forward, capturing Vi's mouth with her own, hunger and need overwhelming any sense of decorum she typically maintained. It was unlike her to be so forward, so desperate, but these past several days had awakened something in her that she couldn't seem to manage.

Vi, to her credit, recovered quickly from the bold gesture. Strong hands found Caitlyn's waist, then slid lower to grip her thighs before hoisting her up with impressive ease. Caitlyn wrapped her legs around Vi's waist instinctively, not breaking their contact as Vi carried her to the couch.

"I missed you," Caitlyn breathed between fervent kisses.

Vi laughed against her lips, the vibration sending shivers down Caitlyn's spine. "We saw each other after work yesterday."

"Wasn't soon enough.”

They fell into what had become their delicious routine these past few days. The waistband of Caitlyn's trousers caught momentarily against her hips before surrendering to Vi's insistent fingers. Down they slid, the garment pooling at her ankles with a whisper of defeat. 

"How did I get so lucky, huh?" Vi's rough voice sent heat spiraling through Caitlyn like a branching bolt of lightning. Those silvery eyes, always so defiant, now darkened with desire as they traced the curve of her thigh, the dip of her waist, every crucial detail of her body.

A flush spread across Caitlyn's chest, rising to stain her cheeks and nose. How did Vi do this? Transform her so completely, so beyond recognition, with nothing but a glance, a touch? 

"Vi, please." 

"Well, since you asked so nicely, Cupcake."

The first touch, featherlight through the cotton of Caitlyn’s underwear, managed to drag out an involuntary gasp. It was simultaneously too much, and somehow, also not enough. Vi's fingers pressed, circled, teased in some manner of agonizing torture that drove Caitlyn deliciously mad out of her mind. 

"Is this what you think about all day, watching me from behind the camera?" It wasn’t difficult for Vi's thumb to find its target, pressed just so. 

Caitlyn gave a breathy chuckle. "Even someone as charming as you can’t break my work ethic."

Vi's laugh vibrated against her skin. "Hm, that’s not what I remember from our days on the set together." A kiss pressed to her sternum, followed by teeth grazing the underside of her breast. 

Before retort could form, Vi's mouth closed over her nipple. The sudden heat, the wet pressure—Caitlyn arched upward, her body betraying what pride would deny. A strangled sound escaped her lips, so unfamiliar, unrestrained.

Caitlyn’s underwear soon surrendered to Vi's persistence. Fingers slipped beneath, finding evidence of desire impossible to disguise.

"You're so wet for me." Wonder coloured Vi's voice. 

The direct contact shocked a gasp from Caitlyn's lungs. Her hands flew to Vi's shoulders, grounding herself against the tide threatening to sweep her away. "Vi—"

“—I've got you." Vi’s gorgeous lips brushed her collarbone, her neck, the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. "It's okay. Let it all go."

Beneath Vi's characteristic brashness lay this unexpected tenderness, a gentleness that threatened to undo Caitlyn more thoroughly than any physical touch ever could on its own. 

Tension curled tighter, drawing her body taut as a bowstring. Her breathing fractured into sharp, staccato gasps. Composure, her perpetual companion, her armor, slipped further from her grasp with each precise movement of Vi's deft fingers.

"That's it." The words ghosted against her lobe, rough with desire. "You're so lovely like this. So perfect."

The praise, so unexpected, so seemingly unearned, broke her last defenses. Caitlyn's head fell back, her spine arching as pleasure crashed through her in merciless waves. Vi held her through the storm, lips pressed to her temple, murmuring words that dissolved before she could even process them.

As the sensation ebbed, Caitlyn expected retreat, a moment to gather scattered dignity. Instead, those clever fingers continued their relentless rhythm.

"Vi." Her protest emerged weak, breathless. "I can't—"

“—Yes, you can." Challenge flashed in Vi's eyes, alongside absolute certainty. "Give me one more, Cupcake. I know you can."

That look, as if Vi perceived capabilities in her that remained hidden even from herself, ignited something within Caitlyn's. Despite her protest, her body responded, building toward another peak she'd thought impossible, unbearable.

"That's it." Vi's free hand cradled her face, the touch incongruously gentle against the intensity building between her thighs. "Just like that."

Trapped in Vi's gaze, Caitlyn found herself unable to look away. This second climax built differently, a slow-rising tide rather than a sudden storm. When it crested, it claimed her completely, leaving her gasping Vi's name like a prayer, like a confession.

Awareness returned gradually. Vi's arms encircled her, strong and secure. Lips pressed against her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"You're incredible," Vi whispered.

Caitlyn allowed herself to sink into the embrace. This pattern they'd established over recent days, intense encounters that left her sated, speechless, and somehow more vulnerable than before, had become both refuge and risk.

Beneath it all hung unasked questions. What name could they give this thing between them? What future could it possibly have? How long before reality intruded on this fragile sanctuary they'd created?

For now, Caitlyn pressed her cheek against Vi's chest, focusing on the steady rhythm of her heart that always managed to ease her stresses. The conversation would come, sure and inevitable as dawn. 

But not yet. 

Not while she could still pretend these moments might last forever.

Vi's fingertips wandered along Caitlyn's back, drawing invisible patterns that left goosebumps in their wake. The couch cushions, now thoroughly disheveled, cradled them in reluctant comfort.

And in the safe, peaceful quiet, Caitlyn let her mind drift, tracing the intimate outlines of what Vi had come to mean to her. 

How they’d somehow perfected the art of slipping into shadows on the set, carving out fleeting spaces to slip away from the crew and make hushed, hurried love behind any closed door they could find.

It was remarkable how nobody questioned their flushed cheeks and trembling thighs, the faint sheen of sweat that gleaned on their skin when they eventually emerged. 

When the crew finally dispersed, Vi would tug Caitlyn along to her Jeep, pleased with herself at Caitlyn’s inability to say no anytime she’d extend an invite for dinner. Every ride home was a losing battle of wills, the want burning so fiercely between them that they could scarcely make it halfway to their destination without pulling over on some forgotten stretch of road to scratch that terrible itch.

And Vi, ever perceptive, always came prepared, and Caitlyn would eagerly find herself riding Vi’s strap in the driver’s seat, fucking herself over the edge until Vi’s quiet groans gave way to pleading whines for reciprocity. It wasn’t long before the Jeep’s windows would mist thickly, its frame gently rocking beneath the rhythm of their movements that might turn the head of anyone who happened to pass by.

When at last they arrived at the apartment, Vi would tenderly fix another one of her incredible meals, something warm and nourishing to soothe Caitlyn’s appetite. It never ceased to amaze her, the carefulness with which Vi measured ingredients, the way she remembered Caitlyn’s favourites and her peculiar dislikes. Caitlyn would watch her from the counter, smiling softly at how Vi’s brows knitted with determination as she worked. 

When Vi caught her staring, she’d return the glance with warmth, a single look that could spark heat within Caitlyn in a mere fraction of a second. 

And after finishing every delicious bite of Vi’s incredible cooking, Caitlyn knew exactly how to express her gratitude; pushing Vi up against the counter, slowly slipping down to her knees and eating her out until her powerful legs threatened to give out beneath her.

And oh, how Caitlyn loved to be in Vi’s bed, to inhale her comforting scent that permeated her sheets, her clothes, her warm skin as she buried her face into the curve of her neck. Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her gently yet possessively, their warmth and security offering more sanctuary than any blanket could provide. 

Caitlyn would sigh contentedly, drifting fingertips along Vi’s collarbone, savouring each unhurried syllable as Vi recounted stories from her countless adventures upon Caitlyn’s request. She’d turned it into a game of sorts, pointing at one of the many photos that hung from Vi’s bedroom walls, and Caitlyn adored how Vi could transform any mundane event into an irresistible epic, her expressive hands punctuating each tale as her laughter spilled brightly between them.

“Then there was the time I ended up in a hostel in Reykjavik, and some dude tried convincing me he was actually an Icelandic prince.”

Caitlyn tilted her head curiously. “And did you believe him?”

Vi grinned, looking down at Caitlyn in her arms. “Well, he was quite a convincing actor. Until his roommate walked in and asked why His Royal Highness ran up his credit card and couldn’t afford another flight home.”

Caitlyn burst into laughter, pressing her face into Vi’s shoulder. And when their giggles eventually died down and their glassy, heavy eyes met, when Vi brought her big hand to cup her cheek and brush her thumb along Caitlyn’s lower lip, she knew—it was going to be a long, sleepless night.

She wondered occasionally how she even managed to function on so little sleep. Nights spent tangled together, exchanging stories and laughter between lingering, languid kisses and desperate, breathless touches, the hours escaping them like fine sand slipping through their fingers. 

But she wouldn’t have traded a single second of this time spent with Vi for anything in the world. She’d grown addicted to the gasps of pleasure that would escape Vi’s lips, the way her back arched and body squirmed, the whispered praise interwoven with pleading profanity as Caitlyn’s tongue and fingers found their mark between her legs. 

“Ah, Cait, baby… yes, just like that…”

Vi’s recent use of that endearing term had not gone unnoticed by Caitlyn. The first time Vi had said it was that time over the phone, and while it initially caught Caitlyn off guard, she couldn’t deny the way it made her feel, even if she wasn’t quite able to describe it. 

That, alone, warranted discussion—but for now, Caitlyn would relish in Vi, the sweet little smile on her blissful face, how her hips involuntarily rolled against Caitlyn’s mouth as she approached her climax, and of course… the sight of her strong body seizing up, the sting of her hands tightening in Caitlyn’s hair, her mouth falling open in a silent cry for how absolutely shattering and incredible it all felt.

It was only the gentle intrusion of birdsong and the morning sun piercing through the curtains that reminded Caitlyn just how long they’d been lost in each other. Even after all of it, the endless hours spent in feverish, aching passion, it was never enough. Because if given the chance, Caitlyn would have spent days like this with Vi. Weeks. Perhaps even a lifetime, if only the world would let her.

The steady rhythm of Vi’s heartbeat should have calmed her, but instead it amplified the question pulsing through her like a quiet drumbeat:

What are we, really? 

What comes next, when the campaign ends, when the cameras are gone, when the world outside this room demands an answer?

The question burned almost unbearably on the tip of her tongue. At the same time, the moment felt too delicate, like beautiful spun glass one would be foolish to shatter. One wrong word and it might all fracture; this warmth, this stillness, all of Vi’s sweet and tender comforts. So she swallowed the question, tasted the fear behind it, and forced a different pressing topic to the forefront instead.

"Vi?" 

"Mmm?" Vi's fingers had found their way beneath the hem of Caitlyn's blouse, tracing idle patterns against bare skin.

Caitlyn set the camera aside, shifting slightly to face her. "What does one wear to something like, the Progress Gala?"

Vi's fingers froze mid-pattern. "The Progress Gala? That industry nightmare at the Griffith tomorrow night?"

"Is that how you'd describe it?" Caitlyn tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I understood it to be rather... covetous."

"Depends who you ask." Vi propped herself up on one elbow, studying Caitlyn with newfound interest. "Wait, how’d you know about that?"

Caitlyn straightened slightly, her posture shifting toward the prim reserve she maintained in professional settings. "Hextech is this year’s sponsor, and Jayce extended an invite. Says I could use the opportunity to network.”

"So I take it you're going?"

"I said I'd consider it." Caitlyn's gaze dropped to her hands. "The problem is, I didn't pack anything suitable. Everything I brought here is either work attire or too casual. Nothing gala-appropriate."

Vi was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Wait, I thought you hated those stuck-up industry circle-jerks. You've spent the last three photoshoots ranting about these Hollywood snakes and their inflated sense of importance."

"I wasn't ranting," Caitlyn protested. "I was merely making observations."

"For forty-five minutes straight."

Caitlyn sighed, shoulders dropping slightly. "Yes, well. Apparently this particular gathering of inflated egos could be beneficial for my career. But the fact remains I still have nothing to wear, and I can hardly show up in jeans and a blazer."

Vi studied her for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "Well, guess who also got an invite?"

Caitlyn's eyebrows rose. "You?"

"I always get urged to go to these things throughout the year." Vi ran a hand through her disheveled pink hair. "Various hotshots tied to the different labels attend all the time, and the affiliated models are expected to make an appearance. Brand solidarity or some bullshit."

"Oh, you… never mentioned this."

"Because I was planning to conveniently come down with food poisoning." Vi's grin turned mischievous. "But now..."

"Now… what?"

"Now I might actually show up." Vi's fingers resumed their patterns against Caitlyn's skin. "If only to see you, and what you end up wearing."

Caitlyn tilted her head, a hint of amusement returning to her face. "Well, perhaps I'll have to keep it a surprise, then."

"Oh, playing coy, huh?" 

"I contain multitudes," Caitlyn replied dryly.

Vi's eyes tracked the spreading colour with evident interest. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I've got a limited tolerance for corporate small talk."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Caitlyn's accent thickened slightly. "Though… I suspect you clean up rather nicely when the occasion demands."

"I manage." Vi's hand slid higher beneath Caitlyn's blouse as her fingers traced the underwire of her bra. "But I'm more interested in seeing how you fare. Maybe something that shows off those gorgeous legs of yours."

Caitlyn's breath caught slightly. "My legs?"

"Mmm." Vi leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of Caitlyn's ear. "Something that makes the entire room pause,” she rasped, “while I'm the only one who knows what you look like underneath."

The possessive edge in Vi's voice sent a shiver down Caitlyn's spine. "That's rather presumptuous of you."

"Am I wrong?" Vi's teeth grazed her earlobe.

"Perhaps not," Caitlyn conceded, her composure slipping as Vi's hand finally moved to cup her breast. "Though I'm beginning to think your interest in my wardrobe is somewhat disingenuous."

Vi laughed against her neck. "Hey, you’re the one who asked for my advice. I’m just trying to think of what would look best on you,” she dragged a fingertip down Caitlyn’s exposed collar, before resting her palm firmly on her abdomen. “And then imagining taking it all off you..."

The bluntness of the statement—so typically Vi—broke through Caitlyn's remaining reserve. She turned fully in Vi's arms, their previous conversation forgotten as she pressed their lips together.

And it truly was any wonder how either of them were able to get anything done, from a simple workday on set to a decisive conversation, while in each other’s company.

—

The evening of the gala arrived with the abrupt certainty of a court summons; no extensions granted, no appeals possible. Caitlyn stood amid the wreckage of her freshly purchased wardrobe, surveying the casualties of her indecision with mounting dismay.

The first option, a dress, was a column of midnight blue silk that had seemed so promising on the rack, but now hung limply from the bathroom door, rejected for its oppressive formality. It had transformed her into someone she scarcely recognized; a paper doll version of herself, prickly on the surface and lacking substance. 

The second contender, a structured jumpsuit in deep burgundy, lay crumpled on the bed, was dismissed for the opposite reason. Too avant-garde, too deliberately provocative. She was attending an industry gala, not auditioning for a role in someone's artistic vision of the future.

"Absurd," Caitlyn muttered to her reflection, her voice hushed with frustration as she unzipped the third attempt, a silver sheath that clung in all the correct places according to current fashion, yet somehow made her feel like an imposter in her own skin. 

It was beyond frustrating to have photographed literal fashion gods and goddesses without breaking a sweat, only to be undone by a simple social engagement.

Her phone vibrated against the nightstand, a temporary reprieve from sartorial self-flagellation. Jayce's name illuminated the screen, accompanied by a message that managed to convey both politeness and impatience:

Jayce

5:43 PM
Just confirming you’re still coming tonight? Car service can be arranged if needed.

Caitlyn's fingers hovered over the screen. How simple it would be to fabricate an excuse, a sudden migraine, perhaps, or an urgent deadline. The practiced lies of the reluctantly social sat ready on her fingertips.

Until she remembered Vi would be there.

So instead, she typed: 

Caitlyn

5:45 PM
Still coming, if my wardrobe ever decides to cooperate. I’ll make my own way there. 

Send. Commitment made. No retreat possible now.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and returned to the remaining options, each less appealing than the last. The black cocktail dress was objectively suitable but reminded her uncomfortably of funeral attire. The emerald green number her mother would have approved of, "brings out your eyes, dear,” she’d probably say, but it felt like wearing someone else's desires rather than her own.

Her gaze drifted to the window, where Los Angeles sprawled beneath a sky just beginning its transition from azure to indigo. Somewhere in that urban expanse, Vi was likely preparing for the same event, though Caitlyn doubted she was experiencing similar sartorial angst. Vi approached clothing with the same straightforward pragmatism she seemed to apply to most aspects of her life. Functional, occasionally beautiful, but never something to agonize over.

And what would Vi think of these options? The question materialized unbidden, catching Caitlyn off guard with its persistence. 

Why should Vi's opinion factor into this decision at all?

And yet.

The memory of Vi's voice surfaced with inconvenient clarity.

Something that makes the room pause, while I'm the only one who knows what you look like underneath.

Heat rushed into Caitlyn's cheeks, entirely unrelated to the room's temperature.

What would impress Vi? Not these carefully calculated ensembles designed to project professional gravitas or social conformity. Vi saw through artifice with unsettling accuracy, had always possessed that ability even in their earliest professional interactions.

The answer, when it finally presented itself, was both obvious and revelatory: Vi would be most impressed by Caitlyn being genuinely comfortable, dressed for herself before anyone else.

With sudden clarity, Caitlyn turned to the closet and reached past the newly acquired gala contenders to the garment bag she'd brought from New York. From it, she pulled out another option that had never been intended for something like this, but something she felt would be the most fitting nonetheless. 

She'd worn it three years ago for a gallery opening and had worn it precisely twice since. Not because it wasn't successful, quite the opposite. It was a bit more unconventional perhaps, made her stand out amongst a crowd of other women in their custom tailored gowns and designer dresses. Even so, few outfits had ever made her feel more assured, confident in a way that required no performance, no constant adjustment of hemlines or monitoring of necklines.

She laid the crisp white blouse on the bed, followed by the navy suspenders and tie that echoed the lapels. Oxford shoes, not heels—another decision that would have scandalized her mother but allowed her to move through the world on her own terms. A single piece of jewelry: platinum cufflinks that had belonged to her grandfather, understated yet unmistakably valuable. 

Her phone chimed with a notification that her requested car had arrived. 

Perfect timing.

Caitlyn gathered her phone, small card case, and room key, depositing them into a small clutch designed for actual use rather than decorative suggestion. One final assessment in the mirror: hair swept into a low, neat chignon; makeup minimal but precise; posture straight but not rigid.

The door closed behind her with a decisive click, leaving the discarded possibilities behind like abandoned drafts of a story that would remain indefinitely unfinished.

—

“Miss Caitlyn Kiramman?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn replied, flashing the attendant at the door her ticket from her phone screen.

“Right this way.”

The Griffith Observatory unfurled before Caitlyn like an architectural dream sequence; Art Deco grandeur reimagined for the evening as a temple to innovation rather than astronomy. The rotunda's domed ceiling, typically a canvas for celestial projections, now hosted an intricate light display that transformed the space into something both futuristic and timeless. Copper and marble surfaces caught and reflected the ambient glow, lending the entire foyer an ethereal quality that momentarily arrested her progress through the entrance.

Caitlyn accepted a program from a black-clad attendant, using the moment to compose herself. She'd anticipated opulence, certainly, but the sheer spectacle of the event exceeded even her considerable expectations. 

Her gaze swept the assembled crowd with professional detachment—a habit formed through years of assessing rooms for photographic potential. The typical stratification was immediately evident: venture capitalists clustered near the bar, their expensive watches catching light with each animated gesture; tech luminaries holding court in the center of the room, surrounded by orbiting admirers; social media personalities positioned strategically beneath the most flattering lighting.

She searched for Jayce among the throng, telling herself it was merely practical to locate her nominal escort for the evening. Yet her pulse betrayed a different priority as her eyes continued their survey, seeking a flash of distinctive pink hair among the more conventional coiffures.

Was Vi already here? What would she be wearing? The questions surfaced frantically, accompanied by an inconvenient flutter in her chest that Caitlyn refused to dignify with acknowledgment.

Her attention snagged on a familiar profile across the room. Jayce stood amid a cluster of what her mother would have called "the right sort"—captains of industry and their carefully selected companions, all radiating that particular blend of entitlement and ennui that signified extreme wealth. He was performing his role flawlessly, his tailored tuxedo and practiced charm forming an impenetrable facade of corporate confidence.

As though sensing her observation, Jayce glanced up. Recognition flickered across his features, followed by something that might have been relief. He excused himself from his admirers with polite grace and navigated through the crowd toward her, acquiring two champagne flutes en route with the effortless entitlement of the perpetually accommodated.

"You made it," he said, extending one of the glasses toward her. A hint of genuine surprise coloured his tone. "I wasn't entirely sure you would."

Caitlyn accepted the champagne with a slight arch of her eyebrow. "Contrary to your apparent belief, I'm willing to endure almost anything for you, Jayce. Even an evening of technological evangelism disguised as philanthropy."

He laughed. "And you've even dressed for the occasion. Impeccably, I might add."

"One does try to maintain standards," she replied, though the compliment pleased her more than she cared to admit. Jayce had known her long enough to recognize when she felt truly comfortable in her attire versus when she was merely performing social compliance.

Before their conversation could develop further, the ambient music faded, replaced by the telltale feedback of a microphone being adjusted. The crowd's attention shifted toward the Hugo Ross Planetarium entrance, where a silver-haired man in an immaculately tailored suit had taken position on a small, elevated platform.

"Distinguished guests," he began, his voice carrying the practiced cadence of someone accustomed to commanding attention. "Welcome to this evening's celebration of innovation and possibility. The Progress Gala represents not merely a fundraiser, but a commitment to the future we are collectively creating."

Caitlyn suppressed a smile at the rehearsed rhetoric, identical in substance if not specific wording to every similar event she'd ever attended. The vocabulary might evolve, but the underlying message remained constant: applaud us for our generosity while we leverage your presence for legitimacy.

"None of this would be possible without the visionary support of Hextech Industries," the man continued, gesturing expansively. "Their commitment to ethical innovation has redefined what we consider possible in the realm of technology. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming to the stage the CEO and founder of Hextech Industries, Mr. Jayce Talis."

Applause erupted throughout the rotunda, the sound amplified by the domed ceiling into something more impressive than the polite acknowledgment it actually was.

"That's your cue," Caitlyn murmured, lips barely moving as she maintained her composed expression. "Try not to wax poetic about neural interfaces for more than ten minutes this time."

Jayce shot her a look of mock offense. "You wound me, Cait. I've trimmed it to eight minutes, maximum."

"Progress indeed."

"Stay right here," he instructed, already shifting into his public persona as he handed her his untouched champagne. "I'll be back soon."

"I shall endeavor to contain my anticipation," she replied, but Jayce was already moving toward the platform, accepting congratulatory touches on his arm as he navigated through the applauding crowd.

Jayce ascended the stage with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to elevation, both literal and metaphorical. He adjusted the microphone with a casual gesture, allowing the audience a moment to settle before leaning in with the perfect posture of a man who'd been coached by professionals to appear simultaneously authoritative and approachable.

"Thank you, Director, for the generous introduction." His voice carried effortlessly through the space, the acoustics of the rotunda transforming even this simple acknowledgment into something that sounded momentous. "And thank you all for joining us tonight in this remarkable setting where science and wonder have coexisted for generations."

Caitlyn had heard variations of this opening before—Jayce had a formula for these occasions, beginning with gratitude before pivoting to vision. 

"At Hextech Industries, we believe technology should enhance humanity, not replace it." He paused, allowing the statement to resonate. "Our latest initiative represents not merely an advancement, but a fundamental reimagining of how technology can serve as guardian rather than overseer."

The crowd murmured appreciatively, precisely on cue. 

Watching Jayce command the room, Caitlyn found herself momentarily transported to earlier days—Jayce at twenty-three, arriving at the Cambridge manor in a suit that hadn't quite fit his shoulders properly, clutching a portfolio of designs and a head full of impossible ideas. Her father had indulged him primarily as a favor to an old university colleague; her mother had served tea in the good porcelain, a subtle acknowledgment of potential rather than achievement.

How strange to witness his evolution from that earnest, slightly awkward inventor into this polished corporate figure. The core of him remained, the genuine belief in technology's capacity to improve lives, but it now came wrapped in layers of carefully cultivated charisma and strategic ambiguity.

"...which is why tonight's fundraising will directly support bringing these advancements to public institutions first, not merely to those who can afford it." Jayce's voice pulled her back to the present. "Innovation means little if it remains the province of privilege."

A smattering of applause followed this pronouncement. Caitlyn took another sip of champagne, the subtle tartness cutting through her cynicism. Jayce believed what he was saying, even if the practical application would inevitably fall short of the ideal.

As the liquid touched her lips, something registered in her peripheral vision—a presence that triggered recognition before her mind could process the details. A sensation like static electricity skimmed across her skin, drawing her attention toward the western edge of the rotunda.

Vi.

The realization struck with such force that Caitlyn nearly dropped her glass mid-sip. She stood across the room, attention directed toward the stage where Jayce continued his address. But it was not his speech that caused Caitlyn's breath to catch in her throat.

Vi wore a suit of deep burgundy velvet—not the expected stylist-selected ensemble for a brand ambassador, but something that spoke of making a deliberate statement. The rich fabric caught the ambient light, creating an impression of depth that mirrored the complexity of its wearer. It was cut to emphasize the breadth of her shoulders, tapering to a waist accentuated by a black, thick-buckled belt. No tie, but a crisp white shirt open at the collar, revealing the elegant line of her throat and a hint of collarbone that Caitlyn's fingers yearned to trace.

Her pink hair, usually styled in deliberate disarray, had been swept back from her face, emphasizing the angles of her cheekbones and jaw. One hand held a champagne flute, while the other rested in her pocket with casual confidence.

She looked like herself, but elevated—the essence of Vi distilled into its most potent form.

Caitlyn found herself unable to tear her eyes away, her manners and decorum momentarily abandoned. This was not the reaction of a photographer appreciating aesthetic composition, nor the polite acknowledgment one might offer a colleague. No… this was something else entirely, and she knew exactly what it was.

As though sensing the intensity of her gaze, Vi turned her head. Their eyes met across the crowded room, the distance between them suddenly irrelevant. 

Caitlyn didn't look away. Social protocol dictated a polite nod, perhaps a small smile of recognition before returning attention to the speaker. Instead, she remained caught in Vi's gaze, aware that her expression was revealing far more than propriety would advise.

Even from this distance, she could see the shift in Vi's face—the slight parting of her lips, the unmistakable dilation of pupils. A flush spread across Vi's cheeks, visible even in the subdued lighting. 

A shudder passed through Caitlyn as the ache of wanting flooded through her. The champagne in her glass trembled slightly, a physical manifestation of the seismic shift occurring within her carefully maintained composure.

At last, Jayce reached the crescendo of his presentation, the assembled elite responding with appropriate enthusiasm. But for Caitlyn, the spectacle had receded into background noise, irrelevant compared to the silent conversation happening across a room filled with people who had momentarily ceased to exist.

“And for that,” Jayce’s voice peaked through the mic, “I’d like to thank you all for your attendance this evening. Cheers to the start of the future!”

Caitlyn suddenly remembered she was here for Jayce, and the reminder landed with an almost guilty twinge. She wrenched her gaze from Vi and refocused, searching the stage just in time to catch Jayce’s charismatic smile flash toward her—a brief, triumphant beacon amid the applause.

But before he could descend from his pedestal, the enthusiastic tide of investors and dignitaries closed ranks, enveloping him in a cacophony of handshakes and ingratiating laughter. Jayce’s polite smiles grew strained, but his eyes silently pleaded patience. Caitlyn nodded softly in understanding, returning a gentle, reassuring smile of her own.

Her resolve held for only a heartbeat, then crumbled as if paper-thin when her gaze inevitably drifted back to Vi, whose lingering stare hadn’t once wavered. Her lips were now curved into a warm grin as she inclined her head subtly toward the end of the corridor behind them, silently mouthing:

Let’s go?

—

Caitlyn’s back pressed against the porcelain sink, its chill a shocking thrill against the heated flush spreading across her skin. She scarcely recognized herself in this reckless abandon, captured by Vi’s mouth, by Vi’s hands, by Vi’s effortless power to unravel every thread of her self-control.

Vi broke away briefly, her eyes heavy, voice thick with admiration. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Caitlyn couldn’t suppress the giddy giggle that bubbled up in her throat. “Rather improper of you, really,” she murmured in a teasing lilt as she slid her hands up beneath Vi’s collar, exploring the warm expanse of her skin. “Making a mess of me like this before the party’s even started.”

“You’re the one making the mess, Cupcake,” she quipped playfully, arching an amused eyebrow as Caitlyn leaned forward once more, unable to resist the lure of Vi’s tempting lips.

Caitlyn drank in the taste of her greedily, her head spinning with the intoxicating blend of Vi’s warmth, her woodsy cologne, the wildness of her own desires. She trailed eager kisses down Vi’s throat, grazing with her teeth, using her tongue to soothe  the soft skin beneath.

“Hey now,” Vi laughed huskily, gently pulling Caitlyn’s head up by her chin, eyes glittering with mischief. “Leaving marks like that might raise some eyebrows, don’t you think?”

Caitlyn’s mouth curled into a smirk, eyes darkening with defiance and temptation. “Perhaps you’re worth the scandal.”

“Oh?” Vi leaned closer, her lips brushing tantalizingly against Caitlyn’s ear. “Careful what you wish for, Cupcake.”

But caution had no place here, not with Vi pressed so close, not with every inch of Caitlyn’s body begging to be claimed. She tightened her grip on Vi’s jacket, pulling her in until their bodies were flush.

“I don’t want to be careful,” Caitlyn whispered, voice trembling and raw as her hands snaked down to the leather strap of Vi’s belt. “I want you.”

Just as their lips met again and Caitlyn began to fumble with Vi’s buckle, a loud voice bellowed through the speakers from beyond the large wooden powder room door.

“Esteemed guests, dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Please make your way to the left atrium to be seated.”

They broke apart with breathless laughter, their foreheads gently pressed together, noses brushing. Caitlyn’s smile held a tinge of exasperation as she groaned softly, burying her flushed face into the crook of Vi’s neck. 

“Bloody hell,” Caitlyn sighed. “They’ve impeccable timing, haven’t they?”

“Guess we should probably head out there before someone notices the CK model and her photographer mysteriously vanished.” 

Caitlyn murmured something unintelligible, her mouth grazing the pulse point along Vi’s throat, unwilling to let go of their intoxicating closeness. The ache within her, sharp and fierce, was entirely unappeased by thoughts of silk tablecloths and silver-plated delicacies. Her hunger was singularly reserved for Vi alone.

“I don’t know how I’m expected to sit through dinner when you’re the only thing I crave,” Caitlyn admitted, lifting her head reluctantly to meet Vi’s eyes.

Vi’s mouth curved in a mischievous smirk, her eyes glimmering as she brushed a lock of midnight hair behind Caitlyn’s ear. “Well, Cupcake, lucky for you, I brought something along to make tonight a bit more bearable.”

Curiosity stirred instantly, briefly quelling her desire. “And just what do you mean by that?”

With a knowing look, Vi reached into her small leather bag, fumbling briefly before retrieving a polished wooden box. Her expression was a delightful mix of playfulness and conspiratorial wickedness, and Caitlyn felt her heart quicken in anticipation.

Vi flipped it open, revealing two smooth, gleaming blue bullet-shaped devices, each resting neatly next to an equally discreet remote. Caitlyn’s eyes widened, warmth rushing violently to her cheeks, stealing whatever breath she’d been holding.

“Are those… is that…?” 

“Will make the evening a little more fun, don’t you think?” Vi winked.

Caitlyn turned her head toward the door once more. “B-but, I thought you were concerned about being discreet?”

“Well, nobody has to know,” Vi leaned in and grazed Caitlyn’s ear with her lips. “If we can behave ourselves.”

Caitlyn hesitated for only a fraction of a heartbeat, glancing anxiously at the heavy wooden door before feeling a slow, rebellious smile unfurling across her lips. Vi’s breath still lingered hotly against her ear, her whispered words melting Caitlyn’s resolve like candle wax. 

The idea was scandalous—entirely inappropriate—but, God, the notion of it was intoxicating. She imagined herself holding the small remote in her palm, discreetly pressing a button and watching Vi’s face unravel into a look of pure ecstasy, those strong hands clutching the edge of a dinner table, knuckles whitening as she bit down on her lip in an effort to silence herself.

Deciding quickly, Caitlyn let her fingers blindly navigate Vi’s belt buckle, whispering softly against Vi’s jaw, her voice trembling and hushed. 

“Can you put it inside me,” Caitlyn rasped into the supple skin of Vi’s neck. “While I put it in you?”

Vi shivered, the tremor rippling through her so thoroughly that Caitlyn could feel it in her own bones. “Fuck, yeah,” Vi nodded hurriedly. “But you better hurry, or we’ll miss the aperitif.”

Caitlyn laughed, leaning in to kiss Vi once more, savouring the lingering traces of champagne on her tongue and lips as they moved against each other feverishly. Without looking, she slid the bullet beneath Vi’s now unfastened waistband, her fingers slipping beneath the soft elastic of the Calvin Kleins she had come to know so intimately. Her heart skipped several beats when her fingertips met familiar, abundant wetness. 

A strangled moan caught harshly in Caitlyn’s throat as a desperate, primal urge threatened to override the dwindling remnants of her restraint. Vi’s head tilted back slightly, a sigh escaping her parted lips as she arched her hips eagerly towards Caitlyn’s touch, a silent plea for more.

It took every ounce of Caitlyn’s willpower not to indulge the want to touch for longer, to take her time and tease her fingers deeper into warmth that made her mouth water and breath quicken. But before the temptation could entirely consume her, Vi’s hand found its way beneath the band of Caitlyn’s pants, her hand wandering, trilling against sensitive, wet skin, guiding the sleek bullet toward her own eager entrance.

Caitlyn bit her lip, the sensation overwhelming as they exchanged a final, tense glance. With synchronized breaths and soft gasps, they eased the small, discreet devices inside each other.

Vi sucked in sharply through her teeth, her eyelids fluttering briefly closed, while Caitlyn released a deep, shaky sigh as her knees trembled dangerously beneath her. 

The sensation, the thrill of anticipation, the wild recklessness, nearly unraveled her completely. Perhaps it was the champagne’s faint buzz, perhaps her desperate arousal—or perhaps, most truthfully, it was entirely the maddening, irresistible effect Vi had on her. 

Vi’s hips subtly rolled against nothing, her eyes hazy, clouded with need as Caitlyn carefully refastened the belt buckle with shaky fingers.

Vi’s voice was a rasp, playful but charged with promise as she straightened up, tugging Caitlyn gently forward by the hips. “Now,” Vi murmured huskily. “You ready to go to a real party?”

—

Seated stiffly at the pristine linen-covered dining table, Caitlyn shifted discreetly, her thighs pressing together as if such movement could subdue the restless anticipation simmering in her lower abdomen. 

The small toy nestled deep within her threatened at every passing moment to spring to life, its intimate hum poised on the whim of Vi’s merciless fingertips. Her own thumb caressed the tiny remote hidden within her palm, acutely aware of their shared circumstance. 

Caitlyn’s eyes roamed subtly, scanning faces in search of Vi’s telltale smirk and riotous pink hair, but found only polite smiles and formal chatter echoing through the glimmering, chandelier-lit room. Her thoughts abruptly fractured when a server approached, his impeccably polished shoes clicking softly against the marble floors.

“Red or white wine, miss?” 

“Oh—um, red, please,” Caitlyn stammered. Heat prickled the back of her neck as she avoided the server’s politely indifferent gaze, praying silently he couldn’t hear the frantic drumming of her heart.

She sipped slowly at the merlot, tasted little of it, and nibbled mechanically at the meticulously plated entrée placed before her. Around her, conversation swirled endlessly, a cacophony of hollow small talk she’d have gladly traded for Jayce’s confident voice, guiding her toward the people who might actually benefit her career. 

But Jayce was nowhere to be seen, lost amidst the waves of political handshakes and disingenuous laughter.

Finally, as the dishes were cleared, Caitlyn rose gracefully, excusing herself with murmured pleasantries. Her gaze sharpened instantly, searching once more for Jayce, but instead settling on a familiar figure across the room. Vi stood casually, effortlessly magnetic in her burgundy jacket and untamed confidence, drawing the attention of a small group of women whose smiles glittered a little too brightly beneath the dim lights. 

Caitlyn watched as they leaned toward Vi, champagne flutes nearly empty, laughter shrill and extravagant at every word Vi uttered, fingers brushing arms in gestures that made Caitlyn’s stomach turn.

Her breath hitched, fists tightening at her sides so hard her nails bit into her palms. 

Of course, it was to be expected that a model of Vi’s gorgeous calibre would draw the attention of so many. But that fact did nothing to settle the envy that threatened to boil over within Caitlyn. She pressed her lips together in a thin, controlled line, then reached deliberately into her clutch to seek out the remote. Without hesitation, Caitlyn pressed the button firmly.

Vi’s reaction was immediate—a sudden hitch of breath as her torso jerked forward. Caitlyn felt a thrill ripple up her spine at the sight. The women hovering around Vi paused, fluttering concerned questions of “are you alright?” while Vi waved them off with a strained smile. 

Her eyes lifted, scanning urgently, finally locking onto Caitlyn’s gaze across the room. Vi’s mouth quirked upward as her eyes darkened with promise. Caitlyn’s pulse quickened.

Vi excused herself, claiming the need for another glass of champagne, slipping effortlessly away from her disappointed admirers. Caitlyn tracked her movement, feeling simultaneously triumphant and aroused. But before she could bask fully in the satisfaction of reclaiming Vi’s attention, an electrifying sensation blossomed deep within her, nearly doubling her over. 

The discreet vibration surged to life, sending Caitlyn gripping the edge of a nearby table to steady herself. Her eyes widened, frantic and exhilarated, as she turned to find Vi again across the crowd, standing there with that cocky expression she both adored and, in this moment, loathed.

Caitlyn clutched the stem of her wine glass in a vain effort to distract herself, though her mind was splintering—breaking apart under the pressure of the toy thrumming steadily inside her. A subtle vibration, but maddening, relentless. It nagged at her concentration with every pulse, fogging every coherent thought with the slow, syrupy pang of need.

She shifted on her feet in an effort to find purchase, and winced at the resulting jolt of pleasure that the movement caused. 

God, Vi. 

Caitlyn could practically feel her, see her, in her mind’s eye, striding across the room, pressing Caitlyn into the nearest wall, one hand on her throat, the other buried deep between her legs. It could be Vi’s fingers inside her instead of this elegant little instrument of torture, bringing her to the edge with rough praise and messy kisses, until Caitlyn was whimpering into her mouth and her legs threatened mutiny.

She was about to retaliate, her thumb hovering over the button in her clutch, ready to remind Vi who she was playing with, when—

“Are you all right, Miss?”

Caitlyn startled, spine bolt-straight as she turned around to address the voice that came from over her shoulder, the wine nearly sloshing from her glass. A well-groomed man in a navy suit was standing there, his brows lifted in polite concern. His tone was crisp, professional. 

And he obviously had no idea the woman in front of him was enduring a slow, exquisite kind of torment.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Caitlyn said, slightly higher in pitch than she intended. She smoothed the sides of her pants with trembling hands and feigned a smile, though it felt more like baring teeth. Vi, that insufferable woman, had turned the vibrator up. She could feel it, like a wave cresting inside her, threatening to swallow her whole. It took everything she had not to writhe where she stood.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” the man continued, reaching into his breast pocket. “Jayce Talis mentioned you’d be here tonight. I’m Spencer Kline, with Arcane Studios. We’re a film and television agency based in L.A., and are looking to recruit budding talent.”

Caitlyn blinked at him, focusing hard on the words, forcing herself not to gasp or bite her lip. She reached out with a trembling hand, accepting the cream-colored card he offered. Her eyes fell to the address, printed in sleek silver font:

Arcane Studios

6767 Sunset Blvd, 10th Floor, 

Los Angeles, CA 

90028

“I understand you’re actively shooting for Calvin Klein’s upcoming campaign,” Spencer said. “It’s precisely people like you that we hope to bring on board.”

Caitlyn could barely even register the grand opportunity that was unfurling before her. 

The idea of leaving behind her monotonous life on the East Coast, trading familiarity for possibility, stirred something restless and radiant inside her. She hadn’t even realized how deeply she’d hungered for change until she set foot in this bright, sun-drenched city. 

Would she? Could she? She thought suddenly, wildly, of what this new life could mean. A new place to call home, with its towering mountains and golden shores, a hub of people of all stripes and walks of life. 

And then, she thought of mornings with Vi in her apartment, barefoot in a hoodie, stirring something fragrant on the stove, turning when Caitlyn walked through the door with that smile that made her weak. 

Yes, perhaps this was something she could indeed get used to.

“Y-yes,” Caitlyn rasped, then cleared her throat and tried again, more composed. “I’m based in New York now, but… are you asking if I’d be willing to relocate?”

Spencer nodded, easy and expectant. “L.A. has a lot to offer. We’d love to set up a proper meeting if you’re open to exploring next steps.”

Another wave of pleasurable vibrations hit her, prodding at her g-spot with infuriating relentlessness. Caitlyn gritted her teeth and extended her hand, gripping perhaps a little too firmly in an effort to hide the mounting tension she feared she was failing to mask. “I’ll speak to my agent,” she managed between shallow breaths, “and I’ll be in touch. Thank you.”

Spencer smiled and nodded, then turned away, mercifully unaware.

The moment he was gone, Caitlyn exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling like she’d been sprinting. Her thighs clenched instinctively, but it was no use. She needed to move.

Her shoes clicked urgently against the hard floor as she strode past chattering guests and oblivious servers, her eyes darting for any door that might lead to sanctuary. She was shaking, wet, desperate, nearly completely undone.

There was only one thing on her mind now:

Find privacy. 

—

The corridor twisted upward into a secluded set of marble steps, half-concealed by velvet rope and an ornate brass sign that read Stargaze Terrace. Caitlyn barely registered it as her fingers dug into the railing for balance as she climbed.

Clicking the door behind her, the small room opened into a quiet antechamber, its ceiling domed and painted like the cosmos, a thousand tiny lights glimmering above her like frozen fire. Pale curtains swayed gently from tall glass doors that led to a narrow balcony, where the night air spilled in, cool against her fevered skin.

Caitlyn stumbled toward it as her breath caught in her throat, one hand gripping the stone balustrade, the other clutching her small purse as though it could somehow offer some sort of grounding. But the vibrator still pulsed within her, undeterred by distance or decency. Her thighs clenched with the effort to remain upright. She thought, fleetingly, of Vi somewhere back in the crowd, unaware of how ruthlessly her game had taken hold.

Or, perhaps, she was all too aware.

And suddenly, Caitlyn’s spine arched instinctively as the final tremor rolled through her. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp as heat erupted from her core, her knees threatening to buckle beneath the sheer force of it. She pressed her forehead to the cool stone, her eyes fluttered shut, and the stars above blurred as the orgasm peaked and broke through her in a wave of exquisite, shuddering relief.

Still trembling, she let the sensation ebb, her breath falling into ragged, quiet intervals. She barely heard the door open behind her until a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

“You overheating up here, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn startled, twisting around. Relief rose quickly, chased quickly by embarrassment and a sharp flash of irritation as Vi strolled toward her.

“You have a fever or something?” Vi murmured, lifting the back of her hand to Caitlyn’s forehead with mock concern. “You look a little flushed.”

Caitlyn swatted her away, exhaling sharply through her nose. “Shouldn’t you be off charming your adoring entourage? Or have they finally had enough of your drunken anecdotes?”

“Adoring entourage? Oh,” Vi smirked, leaning casually against the balustrade beside her. “You mean those girls who’ve been hitting the sauce all night? Yeah, not interested and never would be.” Then, she chuckled. “Aw, were you jealous?”

“No.”

“Didn’t feel like no from where I was standing.”

Caitlyn scoffed, but the edge of her frown quickly softened the longer Vi remained in her presence. Of course, she truly couldn’t ever bring herself to be truly upset with her… no matter how swept up in her irrational feelings she became.

The city stretched far below, lights glittering like jewels against velvet black. For a moment, neither spoke. Vi’s hand found hers and held it, and Caitlyn felt her heartbeat slow, but the weight in her chest remained, full and aching.

“Hey,” Vi said quietly. “Look at me.”

Caitlyn turned, and found Vi’s gaze waiting; earnest, unguarded.

“There’s not another woman in this,” she glanced around the room. “Entire galaxy who can even come close to you.”

A laugh broke from Caitlyn’s lips. She tilted her head back, gazing up at the painted heavens. “Did you come up with that all by yourself, or were you feeling inspired?”

“Even if I did…” Vi pressed their foreheads together. “I really mean it.”

As Caitlyn held Vi’s gaze, an ineffable warmth unfurled within her, immense beyond description and far too pure for any trace of cynicism.

Her throat tightened with the sudden rise of emotion, and she opened her mouth, breath catching as she started to say it. “Vi—”

Until, she was so rudely interrupted.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please make your way to the central courtyard, the Moonlight Assembly Quartet will be performing in two minutes.”

Caitlyn released a breath that wavered between laughter and resignation, her half-spoken promise drifting like frost-thin mist in the chill of morning. Vi answered at once, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her close with a roguish grin.

“Can I have this dance?”

Caitlyn’s body answered long before her lips found the words. A single, breathless nod, and Vi’s fingers threaded through hers, leading her toward the heart of the starlit room. Night air drifted in through the tall windows, cool and fragrant, carrying a velvet melody where a trumpet sighed beneath the gentle hush of a piano. 

And then, they swayed, as though every measure of the song had been written for them alone. The gilded edges of the small, ornate room seemed to melt away, and wrapped in that fragile hush, Caitlyn felt time loosen its grip.

Vi spun her gently, and Caitlyn laughed, her heels clacking briefly against the marble before she landed once more in Vi’s arms. She settled there, safe and flushed, tucking her head against Vi’s shoulder. 

In that moment, she thought maybe, impossibly, everything would be all right. 

Vi’s voice was warm against her ear. “You held up well tonight, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn gave a breathy chuckle, her fingers grazing Vi’s spine as she leaned in close, her lips brushing the edge of Vi’s jaw. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten,” she whispered as she reached discreetly into her bag. Her fingers closed around the remote and clicked twice.

“Ah…!” Vi swallowed a shuddered gasp as her arms tightened around Caitlyn for support. 

Caitlyn hummed with satisfaction in response. “You have so much to answer for,” she murmured, her lips grazing Vi’s ear. “Leaving me to fumble through idle conversation while you made me soak through my underwear in front of a film executive.”

“Ah, fuck,” she muttered through a blissful grin. 

“Not so easy, is it?” Caitlyn chided, content with having Vi this way, at last all to herself, all alone, a chance to undo her once more. 

She found herself unable to resist, her touches growing more insistent and firm, her hands finding their way under Vi’s dress shirt as she brought her lips to the side of Vi’s neck. It took every ounce of Caitlyn’s willpower not to suck and bite that delicious, soft skin, but she supposed some deep, wet kisses would scratch the itch for both of them just fine. 

Vi was already faltering, evidently overwhelmed by the sheer force of sensation overtaking her. 

And much to Caitlyn’s delight, it had only just begun. 

With a bit of maneuvering, she guided Vi toward the corner of the room, easing her down into a deep, burgundy armchair, its velvet seat swallowing her with a quiet creak. Vi sank into it with her legs parted, already completely at Caitlyn’s mercy before she’d even been properly touched. 

Caitlyn straddled her with ease, hands braced on Vi’s shoulders, mouths meeting again in a kiss that made Caitlyn’s head spin. Vi was already leaning into her like she couldn’t get close enough, moaning quietly as Caitlyn tugged her bottom lip between her teeth.

Caitlyn laughed softly into the kiss. “It’s on the lowest setting, you know.”

Vi let her head fall back with a groan. “You’ve been driving me insane all night, and it’s not just the fucking toy.”

That made Caitlyn smile. She tilted Vi’s face up and kissed her again, deeper, with purpose. When she pulled back, her voice was dripping and saccharine, her eyes gleaming. “Then perhaps we should do something about that.”

She pressed the button once.

Then again.

Vi flinched, a sharp inhale passing through her lips. “Oh—!”

“You’re such a good girl,” she whispered, savouring the way Vi shuddered beneath her. “Taking it so well.”

Caitlyn kissed her again, threading her fingers through Vi’s hair before she made her descent. She popped a few buttons on Vi’s dress shirt open, allowing her to tug down her elastic bra and take a nipple in her mouth. Caitlyn delighted in the way Vi squirmed under her touch, how her hips bucked and her hands grabbed for purchase. How easy it was to delight her even before she had arrived at her intended destination between her legs.

When Caitlyn finally sunk to her knees and reached for Vi’s belt buckle, she tilted her head upwards to find Vi’s eyes, as if to ask for her blessing to undress her, to undo her, to fuck her in such a public place. And of course, Vi wasted no time in granting permission, nodding hastily with dark, glassy eyes and heavy breaths as Caitlyn began undoing her belt.  

She pulled Vi’s pants down as if peeling them off, and once the useless garments had been cast aside, Caitlyn found herself staring in awe, her jaw slightly ajar as she drank in the sight of Vi in a set of black Calvin briefs. 

“Cait, baby please…”

Baby… Caitlyn could really get used to being called that. 

“It’s all right,” Caitlyn keened, placing gentle palms on the tops of Vi’s bare thighs, affectionately stroking up and down until she pushed them wider apart. “I’ll make it all better.”

With a deep sigh, Caitlyn closed her eyes and leaned forward, brushing her lips over Vi’s underwear, right along the spots she knew would drive Vi wild if she’d been bare. They joined in a moan, and Caitlyn oh-so relished in this wonderful teasing, the idea of having Vi at her mercy for however long she desired.

After a few more minutes of licking and kissing over Vi’s clothed cunt, she opened her eyes to admire the view once again. At the crease of her thigh, Caitlyn noticed a small line of pink hair peaking out from underneath.

And while Vi was evidently struggling to compose herself, aching and writhing for more contact, Caitlyn didn’t fare much better. In truth, it was taking every ounce of restraint she had not to tear those briefs off Vi’s beautiful frame and devour her right then and there.

But rather than giving in to the urge right away, Caitlyn brought her tongue to the skin along the edge of Vi’s underwear, licking up along the seam, adrift in the sensation of the coarse hair on her tongue. 

And Vi, poor Vi, could hardly contain herself. What a soaking, needy, aching, wanting mess she was—tormented not only by Caitlyn’s ministrations, but by the vibrator still buried deep in her cunt that thrummed away with wild abandon. 

“C-Cait, you’re driving me crazy…!” She whined helplessly. “Take them off, please…”

And who was Caitlyn to deny Vi anything? 

“All right, since you’ve been so good.” 

Eager to oblige Vi’s pleading, Caitlyn reached up to grab at the waistband of Vi’s briefs, snaking them down her thighs and tossing them aside to join her pants on the marble floor. 

Caitlyn lingered for a moment, kneeling in the hush of the terrace’s shadows. Vi’s legs trembled faintly where they framed her vision, parted enough that Caitlyn could see every wonderful detail of her pussy. 

Vi was glistening and flushed. The pink of her, the soft thatch of hair framing everything, was impossibly inviting. Caitlyn took a breath through her nose, savouring the scent, so raw and heady, rich and sweet. Her mouth watered.

She reached out, her fingers combing tenderly along her folds, slickness spreading under her touch like gloss. It coated her fingers as she threaded it throughout, then she drew them through again, more slowly this time, tracing the seam where damp skin gave way to soaking heat. Vi shivered, her hips tipping forward ever so slightly, searching.

Caitlyn dipped her head, nosing through the damp curls, brushing her mouth along the crease of her thigh before pressing the tip of her nose higher, dragging it along Vi’s lips, then up further, inhaling once more. She could stay there forever, drowning in that scent, the texture, all of her, all of Vi. 

And now, wanting for more, Caitlyn slipped one hand into her bag, resting beside her on the floor, and found the vibrator remote. Her thumb clicked once.

Then again.

The response was immediate. Vi gasped—no, it was more than that. It was a cry caught in her throat, a helpless, breathless sob that spilled from her lips as her body arched, trembling violently under Caitlyn’s mouth.

Caitlyn smiled into her, then slipped her tongue out for the first taste, pulling the flavour from Vi’s skin like honey from a spoon. She moved upward again, nosing through the thatch of hair, then down to her clit, repeating the path and pattern until Caitlyn was certain Vi was mere seconds from crumbling.

Vi let out a broken sound, and Caitlyn looked up to one of the most beautiful expressions she’d ever seen. 

“Oh, Vi,” she whispered. “It’s all right, I’ll take care of you.”

Caitlyn sank deeper into the space between Vi’s thighs, her palms smoothing along the sides of them, holding her in place as if Vi might float away. The weight of her above was grounding, yet trembling, her legs quivering with each breath against her most tender, tortured skin. The moment Caitlyn’s mouth returned to her, Vi gasped, head tipping back, fingers flexing against the armrests of the chair.

She licked slowly at first, parting Vi’s lips gently with the tip of her tongue. And then, she felt it: a delicate pulse and vibration that grew more pronounced with each dip down to Vi’s entrance, where the toy continued to thrum and pulse. 

The sensation startled her at first. That internal vibration passed through her mouth, traveling deeper, reverberating like a gorgeous, erotic song. 

“Oh—fuck,” Vi choked as her hips lifted off the chair, her hand flying down to grab at Caitlyn’s hair. 

Caitlyn moaned softly against her, the vibration in her mouth intensifying as she worked. Her hands gripped tighter at Vi’s hips, dragging her back down so she could press in deeper, her tongue gliding up through every pulse of heat and slickness.

“Cait, don’t stop,” Vi begged with cracks in her voice. “Please. Please, I’m so close, I can’t—”

She didn’t need to finish her words. Caitlyn could feel it in the way her thighs tightened around her, in the way her abdomen trembled and her hand fisted tight at Caitlyn’s scalp. She sucked softly at her clit, then licked, then sucked again, her tongue curling to pull more from her, more sound, more pleasure.

“That’s it, oh, right there. I’m gonna—fuck—!”

Caitlyn held her through it. Her mouth never left her, even as Vi broke apart and spilled herself all over her tongue, her body arching and spasming as she gushed in hot pulses that dripped down Caitlyn’s chin. The toy inside her kept pounding, working her through the aftershocks as Caitlyn pressed kiss after kiss to her thighs, her cunt, her hips, her abs. Vi collapsed back into the chair with a hoarse cry, sweat-slick and shaking as her breath came in ragged, unsteady waves.

Caitlyn looked up through her lashes, lips glistening and cheeks flushed, feeling heart stirring with something far more than lust.

She kissed her way upward, the heat in her belly still burning, but tempered now by something quieter. A kind of awe. Before she could speak, before she could remark on how beautiful Vi looked like this, Vi had already pulled her up with surprising swiftness. Caitlyn was lifted effortlessly into her lap, her legs straddling warm thighs, the seat beneath them groaning faintly under their combined weight.

Vi tore the remote from her hand and clicked it off with a flick of her thumb. Relief passed visibly through her as the toy stilled inside her, but she didn’t stay still for long. Her mouth crashed against Caitlyn’s to taste herself greedily on her lover’s tongue. Caitlyn let out a laugh, swallowed entirely by the kiss, and tilted her forehead against Vi’s.

“I hope,” she murmured between kisses, “it was worth the wait.”

Vi didn’t bother answering with words. She gripped Caitlyn harder, one hand splayed at her back, the other already slipping under the hem of her shirt. The need in her touch was louder than anything she could have possibly said. Her kisses deepened, faster, hungrier, until Caitlyn’s breath came in short, shivering bursts.

Fingers slid up her ribs, undoing each button with mounting impatience. She could feel Vi tugging at her suspenders with a rough touch, all of her restraint having burned off long ago.

Caitlyn’s skin lit up beneath every inch of contact. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into it, into Vi’s hands, Vi’s heat, Vi’s body pulling her closer still, as though the closeness alone could quench whatever fire they’d stoked in each other all night.

Caitlyn barely registered the moment Vi’s hand slipped beneath her waistband, her fingers gliding with purpose through abundant wetness. The motion was so deft, so practiced, that it stole her breath entirely. She gasped when she felt Vi reach inside her, her knuckles pressing hot against swollen flesh, before withdrawing the toy in one smooth, devastating pull.

Caitlyn shuddered, her hips twitching involuntarily and her cunt clenching around the sudden absence, left hollow and aching. She opened her mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to beg, but the words dissolved as she watched Vi raise the vibrator to her lips.

With an expression that hovered somewhere between desire and mischief, Vi darted her tongue out, tasting it. Then her mouth closed around it, and she sucked every last drop off its blue surface, her eyes never leaving Caitlyn’s through the entire act. Unable to help it, Caitlyn’s thighs clenched around Vi’s lap, her body already beginning to roll.

“Fuck.”

Her hands scrambled for purchase at Vi’s shoulders, nails digging in through the thin fabric of her button-up. Her hips rocked forward, then back again, helpless now, grinding against the thick muscle of Vi’s thigh, the rough press of her hand that had returned between her legs, the heat emanating from her naked lap. 

Caitlyn’s control was gone, scattered across the marble and starlight of the ceiling, replaced by the desperate rhythm of her blind, lustful need. Vi’s mouth quirked into a grin as she let Caitlyn use her, letting her ride the edge with nothing but the knowledge that she would give her anything.

Anything at all.

“What’s the matter, Cupcake?” Vi cooed into her ear as she rubbed very intentional circles into Caitlyn’s clit with her thumb. “Do you need me to fill you up?”

Caitlyn whined, bunching her fingers into Vi’s shirt. “Yes,” she sobbed, the word swallowed by a moan as Vi’s thumb completed another pass over her clit. 

Vi kissed her jaw, her cheek, her mouth. “So wet for me. Look at you,” she growled against Caitlyn’s throat. 

It was remarkable how Caitlyn’s hips moved with such ferocity, without thought, as if she were somehow possessed. “Please,” she panted, her voice trembling. 

It was at that moment that Vi shifted the position of her hand, and when her fingers finally found her entrance, Caitlyn gasped. Two slid in without resistance, the stretch familiar and perfect and enough to quell the restless zeal of her hips.

 But Vi didn’t move.

“Think you can take more?” 

Oh, what a lucky woman Caitlyn was. 

She nodded eagerly before Vi even finished the question, frantically, her eyes wide and desperate. “Yes. Yes. I can never have enough of you.”

And Vi was more than eager to oblige. 

The third finger slid in slowly, carefully, filling her so completely that Caitlyn’s whole body jolted. Her mouth fell open on a sharp gasp. It was new, it was too much, it was… everything she didn’t know she craved and wanted and fucking needed. Vi didn’t wait long before curling her fingers and fucking up into her, the angle devastating, her rhythm unrelenting.

“Oh, fuck… Vi…!”

“That’s it,” Vi purred, her free hand gripping Caitlyn’s hip. “You’re so fucking tight, baby. Taking me so well.”

Caitlyn could barely hear over the blood rushing in her ears. Her body was clenching around Vi’s fingers with every thrust, every grind of her clit against her palm. Her thighs were trembling now, her entire body flushed and gleaming with sweat.

“Don’t stop, oh don’t stop… fuck, I’m gonna—”

“That’s right, ride them. Fuck down on me, cum for me. Let me feel you.”

And Caitlyn did. Her climax hit like a crashing wave, brutal and consuming, her walls clenching hard around Vi’s fingers as she cried into her shoulder. Her body trembled, seized, then melted into Vi’s arms. She collapsed forward, breathless and gasping, her cheek pressed to Vi’s collarbone, where her name was still caught somewhere between a sob and a whine.

Vi, being the gentle lover she was, held her through it, kissing her temple and forehead as her fingers finally stilled. 

And when the final shudders passed through her, Caitlyn fell forward to lay slumped against Vi’s chest, her cheek pressed to the warm plane of muscle beneath Vi’s open shirt. She was still panting, each breath shallow and uneven, her ribs rising and falling in time with the quiet thump of Vi’s heartbeat beneath her ear. Her thighs still trembled from the aftershocks, and she felt thoroughly wrecked in the most satisfying, bone-deep way.

Vi’s fingers drifted lazily through her hair, tugging lightly at the strands as she worked them free from Caitlyn’s tightly-bound braid. The gesture was almost maddening in its tenderness, completely at odds with what had transpired mere moments before. It made Caitlyn want to laugh. 

Or cry. 

Or maybe both.

“You’re breathing like you just ran a marathon,” Vi murmured, amusement curling at the edges of her voice.

Caitlyn groaned softly. “I feel like I did. Well, an orgasm marathon you could say.”

Vi chuckled. “You saying I wore you out?”

“I’m saying,” Caitlyn replied, lifting her head slightly to meet Vi’s gaze, “that if I die tonight, it will be with no regrets.”

Vi grinned, her hand slipping down to trace idle circles along Caitlyn’s lower back. “Tragic. And here I was hoping to ravish you again tomorrow.”

Caitlyn smiled, pressing a lazy kiss to Vi’s collarbone. “Give me fifteen minutes.”

She let her eyes close, her smile gentle as she listened to the soft cadence of Vi’s breath and savoured the sweet feeling of her hands still combing through her hair. 

And, for the first time since the start of… whatever this was between them, Caitlyn felt no fear. No trepidation, no uncertainty. And suddenly thankful she decided to drag herself out to this elaborate, haughty function.

“…Vi?”

“Yeah, Cupcake?”

“What if,” Caitlyn began, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. “What if I stayed here?”

“I know it’s comfy, but I don’t think we should fall asleep in a place like this.”

“No, not that, silly,” Caitlyn laughed. “I meant… stay here, in L.A.”

Vi’s eyes sparkled, almost in disbelief. “You can do that?”

“Well, as a freelancer, if there’s good work to be had I can go wherever I want.”

Vi blinked at her, then sat up straighter, her hands still resting at Caitlyn’s waist. Her mouth opened like she wanted to say something, then closed again. A beat passed. And then, without a word, she pulled Caitlyn forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

She buried her face into the crook of Caitlyn’s neck, holding her so close she could feel Vi’s smile against her skin. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse, quieter than Caitlyn had ever heard it.

“That might be the best idea I ever heard.”

A rush of affection washed over Caitlyn as she buried herself deeper into Vi’s arms, into her chest. 

A new life, a new adventure, right here with Vi, a woman who managed to endear her so deeply in such a short time. Someone who stirred feelings within Caitlyn she was certain she’d never felt before in her life. Someone she…

I love you. 

Caitlyn had found herself wrangling with those three irksome words in the back of her mind for longer than she cared to admit. Afraid to say them considering the temporary nature of their relationship, their inevitable parting after such a fleeting time of knowing each other. But perhaps, now, the notion wasn’t so absurd.

But even still, it all felt like some type of fever dream. And until she was certain about where all the juggled objects in her life would land, she’d keep that to herself, if only for just a bit longer.

For now, at the very least, Caitlyn could sleep comfortably in Vi’s sweet embrace with a little less uncertainty. 

—

The steam still clung to the mirror as Caitlyn stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her chest and running a comb through her silky, blue hair. 

She padded across the hotel room, the early morning sun slipping in through the slats of the curtains. Her outfit from the night before hung limply over the back of a chair, now only a memory of the previous night’s glittering, tantalizing chaos.

She had nearly finished dressing in her loose linen trousers and sleeveless navy blouse, when her phone buzzed against the hotel duvet.

A missed call.

From Mel Medarda.

A text beneath it: call me.

Caitlyn’s stomach flipped, but not unpleasantly. She sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying her hair with one hand as she tapped Mel’s name and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Caitlyn,” Mel answered on the first ring. “Hope everything’s going well on your end. How’s the campaign treating you?”

“It’s been… amazing,” Caitlyn replied with a fond smile. 

“I had a feeling it would be,” Mel said. “And speaking of, I’ve had something come across my radar that I think you’ll want to hear.”

Caitlyn straightened herself. “Oh? What is it?”

“Well,” Mel began. “I’ve been in talks with a rather massive fashion agency. Global reach, serious creative pedigree, and—this is the important bit—they’re searching for a permanent Head of Photography Design. It’s a salaried position, six figures, full creative oversight.”

For a moment, the world fell away.

Caitlyn blinked, staring out the window as her mind scrambled to keep pace. It felt like a dream, one you didn’t dare speak aloud for fear it might vanish. Her pulse kicked up in her throat.

“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t be calling you this early if I were pulling your leg.”

“Mel, that sounds… incredible. What I’ve always wanted. What’s the company?”

There was a brief pause, and Caitlyn could hear the subtle shift in Mel’s voice when she answered.

“Well, that’s the next thing I wanted to talk through with you.” Mel hesitated. 

“The agency is European. And the job… is based in Milan.”

Chapter Text

“Vi…” 

“That’s it baby,” Vi coo’d in reply to the sound of her name rasped through Caitlyn’s lips, high on the tender lust that flooded her senses. “You take me so well.”

She could only recount the night in fragments. The celebration of the last day of the shoot had led to one too many glasses of champagne at the function, bubbles gilded with raucous laughter and a disbelief that this journey had come to an end so quickly. 

And before they could have made a scene, Vi had been quick to flag down a taxi and steer Caitlyn back toward her apartment—even though neither of them had been able to keep their hands to themselves in the backseat. Their lips had crashed together in a hungry fervour, mouths moving and hands exploring until the cab driver finally had to voice his disapproval.

“No sex in my taxi!”

Quick to exit the vehicle to save themselves from further scrutiny and embarrassment, they had stumbled through the doorway of the apartment in a chorus of breathless giggles, barely able to find their way to Vi’s bed before their want unspooled into urgency, clothes shed in a careless scatter on the hallway floor. Vi had been startled to realize just how much Caitlyn had drunk that night, how taut the other woman’s body still felt with the stress carried from weeks of work. 

But the instant their bare skin had found each other’s, all that tension had melted away like frost against a flame. Vi had written it off as the natural unwinding of someone who had carried too much for too long, the sweet release of a heavy burden finally set down.

And now… now she could relish in their closeness as Caitlyn’s voice rose in a moan that shivered against her ear when Vi’s fingers finally breached her warm, wet center. She curled up, pressing into that devastating little spot that drew Caitlyn’s hands to claw down her back, nails scoring red, stinging paths along Vi’s tattooed skin. 

“Tell me what you need,” Vi huffed into Caitlyn’s temple, intoxicated by her warmth, her scent. “I’ll give you anything, whatever you want…”

“More. More of you.” Caitlyn was barely audible, her words sloppy, still flavoured with champagne. 

Vi obliged her without protest, easily sinking a third finger in to join the others, finding herself emboldened to increase her pace into a frenzy of thrusts when Caitlyn squeezed at the soft flesh of Vi’s hips and bit into her shoulder.

“Oh, g-gonna cum…”

Vi always found it endearing, how even in the throes of their most intense, raucous passion, Caitlyn would find every which way to stifle herself. And Vi also couldn’t help but glean with pride when even her best efforts were in vain, when Caitlyn would gasp her name again and again, reduced to a chorus of moans and whines beneath her devoted touch. 

Caitlyn trembled apart around her, clenching down on Vi’s fingers with a strangled cry, throwing her lithe arms around her neck as Vi steadied her hand. She let Caitlyn take the lead, allowing her to ride through it, to submit to the pleasure however she needed as she writhed about on the bed.

When at last she settled through the last trembles, she collapsed onto Vi’s chest, her breaths ragged and rough, her skin damp with sweat. And as they both drifted off to sleep, Vi knew with utter certainty that there had been no sweeter place in all the world to be.

Dawn sifted through the curtains and found Caitlyn first, laying its warm palms along her shoulders and the delicate curve of her back. Vi could only watch, spellbound, as the light turned Caitlyn into something almost mythic, ethereal—a woman she could hardly fathom in the wildest corners of her imagination, let alone in her bed. The city hadn’t woken yet, and in that hush, Caitlyn was Vi’s entire world: the sunrise, the peace and quiet…

Her sanctuary.

Vi’s hand drifted on instinct, following the modest river of Caitlyn’s spine; down one vertebra, then the next, her fingertips mapping a route she had come to know by heart. Caitlyn giggled softly at the featherlight touch, and turned her head just enough to catch Vi’s gaze. 

“Good morning,” she mumbled, so soft it was barely more audible than a faint whisper. She shifted onto her side, an invitation written in the simple grammar of their closeness, their familiarity—her body curving toward Vi’s the way a petal leans into light.

They met in the tender middle as Vi pulled her into a firm but languid embrace, and Caitlyn’s lips found the slope of Vi’s neck, as if grateful for every inch of its length. Kisses gathered at Vi’s throat, paused, then wandered to her collarbone—tiny notes, a sweet melody humming against her skin. Vi’s breath caught and loosened in a single beat, all of her softening into the cadence of it, grateful to be known so thoroughly, so lovingly.

“How you feeling?” 

“Mm.” Caitlyn nuzzled closer. “Head hurts.”

“Yeah?” Vi brushed the hair from Caitlyn’s forehead and pressed a kiss there. “Well, you did hit the sauce pretty hard last night.”

Caitlyn huffed a sorry little laugh and let her arm cinch around Vi’s waist. They drifted there for another minute, slow and unhurried, listening to the old building breathe—pipes ticking, a neighbour’s kettle starting up somewhere from the other side of the wall. The sunlight was already climbing higher, setting the room adrift in honey.

“How about,” Vi murmured, pausing as she gently raked a hand over Caitlyn’s sore head. “Breakfast and an ibuprofen?” 

—

The cutting board was steady beneath Vi’s hands as she shaved cabbage into pale ribbons, the knife ticking a calm metronome with each flex of her wrist. Potatoes went into salted water, then came out to steam themselves dry in the colander while butter softened in a skillet on a nearby burner. 

Vi had made this meal once before, a British concoction known as bubble and squeak, and one of Caitlyn’s childhood favourites. Something that was sure to ease her pains and get her back on her feet in no time. 

Behind her, Caitlyn sat at the little dining table, elbows close to her sides, a mug of tea cupped in both her hands. Her face wore a stretched-thin expression, a look that could only be born of a hangover’s wrath. 

At least, that would’ve been Vi’s guess. But she didn’t press.

“The ibuprofen will kick in soon,” Vi said, checking the heat with her palm and nudging the butter until it began to foam.

“Mmhm,” Caitlyn managed, a breath more than a word, and sipped her Earl Grey. 

She could get used to this, Vi thought—the lazy mornings, the smell of two meals cooking, Caitlyn drowsy at her table with sleep still clinging to her lashes. Waking together, moving through the day side by side—yeah, Vi could make a home out of this for certain. 

“So, neighbourhoods,” she said, turning the heat down on the stove. “Silver Lake’s got the coffee and the hills, pretty as a postcard, but the parking’s a bit of a battle. Los Feliz is gentler, walkable, and you’ve got Griffith right there for your sunrise hikes… but mind the coyotes.” She flicked a grin over her shoulder. Caitlyn held her mug with both hands, face wan, listening, or at least positioned like she was.

Vi slid a ring of scallions across the cutting board, letting them fall like green confetti. The hash browned at the edges; she pressed it gently to encourage more crunch, the pan answering with a pleased crackle. 

She checked the eggs in the second pan. “Or you could check out Arts District lofts if you want brick and big windows. Or Pasadena, even if it’s not L.A. proper, the trees are as big as cathedrals if you prefer the nature.”

She crowned each dish with a fried egg so the yolk perched like a small sun, scattered the chives, and carried everything to the table.

“Here you go,” she said, setting a plate in front of Caitlyn. “Bubble and squeak, just the way you like.”

Only then did Vi sit fully and take stock. Caitlyn hadn’t moved. The mug was still lifted, untouched for too long, the steam curling past her cheek. Her eyes were on the middle distance, a quiet that didn’t feel like peace. The stillness had weight, as though it was holding its breath.

Caitlyn eventually set the mug down, trading it for a fork. She started with the edge first, through the crisp, into the soft. She chewed, lids lowering, and a wash of colour swiftly returned to her cheeks.

“It’s so delicious,” she said, turning her heavy gaze to Vi. “You’re always so sweet to me.”

Vi reached across the table and took Caitlyn’s hand, her thumb drawing a small, steady circle over the bridge of her knuckles. “You deserve all of this and more,” Vi replied tenderly. “I love making you happy.”

They sat inside that sentence for a beat. Vi felt her mouth go dry; she swallowed, her nerves catching like a thread on a nail.

“Can I get you a cold compress?” Vi asked. “For your head?”

“That’s all right,” Caitlyn murmured, eyes not quite settling. “It’s feeling a bit better.” She paused, fingers tightening around Vi’s for the span of a heartbeat. “It’s just… there’s something that’s happened that I need to tell you.”

Vi let the worry pass through her and soften on the way out. She pulled their hands closer, like an anchor. “What is it?”

Caitlyn hesitated, skimming her gaze along the table as if reading the grain. “I got a call from my agent in New York,” she said finally. “About a job offer.”

“That’s great,” Vi said, grinning. “What is it?”

Caitlyn lifted her eyes. “It’s… a fully salaried position, with an agency in Milan.”

The scrape of knives against plates, the faint pop of oil still cooling in the pan; Vi’s head had been full of those sounds, harmless things, until Caitlyn’s voice had said that word, that place. 

Milan.  

And just like that, everything in her stopped.  

Her thoughts scattered, clattering like marbles on the tile floor, none of them landing where she could grip them. 

Milan. 

It had pulsed in her ears louder than her own roaring heartbeat. Italy was far—far from this kitchen, from the cluttered sink she still hadn’t emptied, from mornings carved out of routine and companionship. Milan was fashion weeks, trendsetters, rooms full of important strangers who would know Caitlyn only the way the world always saw her: perfect, polished. Not the way Vi knew her, with damp lashes from a long, sleepless night, with loose hair and bare feet curling shyly against the legs of a chair.  

Vi should have known that someday, something like this would come along for Caitlyn. She had even told herself to be ready for it, to cheer when it did. 

But the truth still burned, as if invisible hands had slipped inside her and unthreaded her from the core.

She didn’t know how long she lingered in that pause, fork idle in her hand, with the air heavy between them. Her stomach had gone tight, the words shifting and writhing until all she could manage was to drag in a slow breath, haul up something that resembled a smile, and squeeze Caitlyn’s hand again. Her thumb pressed lightly at her knuckles, steady, though she felt anything but.  

“That’s… great,” Vi said, voice scratchy with the effort. She swallowed, the movement feeling like gravel rolling down her throat, and forced herself to finish the thought. “I’m happy for you.”  

Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “You are?”  

Vi gave her a crooked shrug. “This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for, isn’t it? It’s… it’s going to be great for you.”  

And even as she said it, each syllable had sunk lower and lower inside her, heavy as boulders dropped into a well, cold water rushing over and swallowing them whole. 

Caitlyn said nothing. She only offered a slow and measured nod, took a sip of her tea, then a modest bite of her food as if playing at normalcy. But Vi could tell—it tasted of ash to her, too.  

The silence between them had stretched long, thin, and brittle, like glass pulled to shimmer, threatening to shatter at the slightest touch or sound. Vi sat with her fork idle, her plate hardly touched, the warmth of the food cooling into paleness. 

Across from her, Caitlyn moved mechanically: sip of tea, slice of egg broken apart, a small bite as though she were fulfilling an obligation rather than nourishing herself. 

It was a silence that usually comforted Vi; that familiar, soft quiet she liked to tuck herself into when words weren’t needed. But now it pressed down heavy, each second another weight added to the pile already pushing on her chest.  

It was broken by a sudden vibration, a buzz across the table where Caitlyn’s phone lit up against the wood. The stillness dissipated, but not in any way Vi wanted. Caitlyn glanced at the screen, her elegant brow knitting faintly, and sighed through her nose.  

“Missed a call from my agent,” she said, voice flat. “I should… probably get going.”  

The words fell with the heft of inevitability, like a door creaking closed. Vi blinked, stunned at the swiftness of it, her mind scrambling for something to say—a protest, a reason to hold Caitlyn here longer, even just another five minutes while her breakfast gave off its faint, buttery steam. 

But Caitlyn didn’t slow. She stabbed for another forkful—not because she wanted it, Vi could tell, but because she was too proper not to, only owing the moment its formality.  

Then, as if to punctuate some ritual farewell, Caitlyn leaned across the table and pressed her lips to Vi’s cheek. 

“Thank you for the food,” she murmured, the same line she always gave, but this time it carried no warmth. 

Before Vi could even reach for her wrist, before she could say, Wait, let’s talk, let’s not leave on this note, Caitlyn was already unlocking her phone to call for an Uber. Bag caught up, coat slipped gracefully over her shoulders, her eyes already halfway out the door.  

Vi sat there frozen, her chair feeling nailed to the worn kitchen floor. By the time she found her voice, Caitlyn was pulling the door shut behind her. The lock clicked home, polite as you please, but to Vi, it reverberated like the slam of a prison gate.  

And then there was nothing. Only the sound of a void, broken by the faint crack of oil in the abandoned pan, the rattle of a fridge that had been needing repair for weeks, the faint, dying warmth of Caitlyn’s tea cup on the table.  

Vi pressed the heel of her hand into her sternum, as though she could hold her insides together that way, stop the hollow from widening. 

But it didn’t work. 

The apartment felt bigger without Caitlyn in it, every empty corner yawning wider, every minute suddenly louder, longer.  

She looked down at the plate she’d made for herself. The eggs had gone rubbery, the potatoes and cabbage sitting in a heavy mound. She pushed the fork once, then twice. But her hunger had left with Caitlyn, and what sat on her tongue instead was something sour and metallic.  

Vi leaned back in her chair, staring at the door as if sheer will could make Caitlyn return, rewind the morning to that fragile, sleepy tenderness before the word Milan had been uttered. 

But she knew better.  

All that remained was the echo of Caitlyn’s kiss drying on her cheek, and the sinking, cavernous ache of a heart that felt suddenly too heavy for her chest to carry, too empty for comfort.

—

The weights hung above Vi’s head like an iron sky. 

She sucked in a sharp, shallow breath and bit down on her teeth, her jaw aching from the tension. The gym’s fluorescent lights beat down on her like interrogators, and every exhale echoed loud in her own ears, drowning out the clang of plates and the dull thud of other bodies throwing themselves into their own punishments around her.  

“C’mon Vi, drive! Don’t quit on seven,” Sevika barked, her voice punching through the fog of Vi’s malaise. “You’ve got at least three more.”  

Her lungs burned and her arms trembled violently under the strain. She hadn’t even meant to show up at the gym today, but when the silence of her apartment got too loud, she called Sevika on a whim. And just her luck, Sevika had actually managed to squeeze her in on the short notice. A mercy or a crime, Vi wasn’t sure which. 

But at least the pain would be a sound distraction.  

She forced the dumbbells down in controlled measure, elbows flaring, then shoved them back up, her tattoos writhing over quivering muscle with the push. 

That brought her to seven. Just a few more to go. 

But halfway up, everything faltered. Her arms jolted, the hold slipped, and suddenly she was met with the threat of heavy steel crashing into her face from on high.  

Sevika was there before disaster could strike, one scarred hand shooting out, steadying the weight with ease. The dumbbells clanged as they were wrestled down to the ground, and Vi was left panting, her chest heaving, her entire body a knot of trembling failure.  

“Shit,” Vi muttered, dragging the back of her forearm over her forehead. She swung herself upright and hunched over, feeling the sweat dripping freely down her shoulders and exposed midriff. Her heartbeat still thundered through her veins like artillery fire.  

Sevika loomed over her. “What the hell’s gotten into you?” She barked. “Twenty‑fives never give you trouble. Hell, you warm up with these things.”  

Vi lurched forward, elbows digging into the meat of her thighs, letting her calloused hands hang uselessly between her knees. She said nothing. Saying something meant peeling open the raw ache in her stomach and dragging the messy, bleeding thing that plagued her mind out into the light. 

Sevika let the silence stretch, then gave her a look so sharp Vi swore it could cut right through her bones. “Don’t tell me,” Sevika drawled and rolled her eyes, “it’s girl trouble again?”  

The words hit Vi harder than the weights nearly had, square in the chest. She huffed out a short laugh, bitter and flat, but didn’t lift her head. Saved by Sevika’s reflexes, crushed by her accuracy instead.  

That was the thing about working with her; Sevika had been training Vi long enough to know her patterns. She could spot a weak rep, sure, but worse, she always seemed to know when Vi’s strength was breaking somewhere beyond just a strained muscle.

The clatter of the gym faded to a dull background hum as Sevika let out a long, gravelly exhale, a sigh that carried both irritation and a shred of reluctant patience. She dropped herself onto the neighboring bench with a thud, stretching her long legs out in front of her, forearms braced on her knees. One thick brow arched toward Vi, eyes steady in that unflinching way that always made Vi feel pinned in place.  

“Vi,” Sevika said. “Don’t get all shy on me now. What’s ailing you, kid?”

Vi let out a humourless laugh. 

Shy, huh. 

As if Sevika had ever known her to blush or mince words. But today, she had nothing else, no clever quip or cocky retort to refute that statement.

Sevika tipped her chin at her. “It’s about that photographer, isn’t it?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before clicking her tongue. “Knew it. Told you as soon as I saw you sniffin’ around her that it was gonna be trouble. But do you listen? Nah. You’re stubborn as a mule.”  

Vi dragged a calloused hand down her damp face, sweat itching against her skin. “I don’t regret it.” She hesitated. Then the words came, seemingly against her will. “I… think this might be the first time in my life someone’s made me…” Her breath hitched. “She made me happy. I think, I think this was… real.”  

Sevika’s expression didn’t change, but she leaned forward, watching with laser focus. “So why’re you sitting here torn up? This ain’t your first rodeo, Vi. Sure as hell ain’t your first tango with a girl on one of your little modelling escapades either.”  

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You know how I’ve lived. Things burn hot, and they burn quick, and before I even look up, I’m already packing it all away ‘cause the tide is dragging me along to whatever’s next. That’s always been the way of it. Clean hands, clean break. I go where life takes me.”  

She paused. Her jaw clenched almost hard enough to lock, but still she forced it out.  

“But this time… it’s not me that’s moving. It’s not the tide plucking me up and carrying me forward while I move on and pretend like I never cared.” She lifted her head slightly, eyes shadowed but hard. “This time I’m… stuck. Like I’m stranded on the shore, waving at a ship I wanted to stay on while it sails off without me. And no matter how much I want to chase after, I can’t. She’s set on her own sea now, and I just…” Her voice cracked. Vi swallowed it whole. “I just gotta stand there and watch her vanish over the horizon.”  

The silence that followed pressed heavy as a loaded barbell pushing across her chest. She didn’t dare look at Sevika, didn’t want to face her judgment, or pity, or worse—the smug satisfaction that came with being right all along. Her hands dangled between her knees, her palms raw from the strenuous workout, from every fight she’d ever thrown herself into as if she could beat life into submission. Funny how all her strength felt worthless now, leaving her hollowed out, empty.  

Sevika leaned back against the bench with a grunt, folding her arms over her barrel chest. Her voice rumbled like distant thunder.  

“So let me get this straight. You’re sitting here, pouring sweat, damn near dropping weights on your face… over another girl. I still don’t get it, so what if she goes her own way… why does it matter? Don’t they all do that? Don’t you do that?”  

Vi bent down to grab her water bottle, swished half of it through her mouth before swallowing, then turned a pointed look on Sevika. “That’s the thing. Unfortunately for me… this isn’t just some girl.”  

Sevika arched her brow but didn’t say anything, waiting. That was her trick—let Vi overfill the silence until the words spilled loose. And, hell, it worked every damn time.  

Vi dragged her towel across the back of her neck, staring past Sevika at the rows of racks and machines. 

“She’s…” Vi clicked her tongue, shook her head. “She’s the first thing I’ve had that didn’t feel temporary, I guess. She made me think about... a future together. Hah, what a joke, right?”  

“Under normal circumstances yeah, the idea of you wanting to settle down with someone would be quite the absurdity. And yet—” She scoffed, baring her canines in the faintest of smiles. “I’ve never seen you this torn up before, to the point I can’t trust you won’t crush yourself under a ten pound weight.”

“Yeah,” Vi mumbled. “It’s just, I’m so so stupid for letting this happen, when these things aren’t meant to last. They never did, so why would they now?” She shrugged, the motion heavy, stiff. “But anyway, I know I’ll be okay, ‘cause I always am.”  

“That so?” 

Vi stood then, grabbing her gym bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She smirked, her grin carrying a bitter edge. “Yeah. You patch yourself up, push another set, keep moving. It’s all temporary. The sooner I remember that, the sooner it’ll stop hurting.”  

Sevika scoffed. “Aren’t you romantic.”  

Vi turned back once, walking toward the door. “Don’t worry too much, coach. I’ll live.”  

“Well, try not to call me crying at midnight looking for another session,” she tossed after her.  

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Vi shot back. Except, in the aching stretch of her chest, she knew she just might.  

The door swung closed behind her, the sharp tang of iron and chalk giving way to the cool air outside. 

Alone again. The same as it always had been. But even telling herself she’d be fine, Vi couldn’t shake the feeling of those waves pulling away from shore, leaving her stranded, still reaching for a ship already vanished over the horizon.  

—

Vi craved the particular brand of chaos that only The Last Drop could offer; that sweet spot between total oblivion and the comforts of home. Every crack in the vinyl barstools, every ring-stain on the tables, every flickering neon sign promised the same thing: here, she could fall apart without anybody giving a damn. 

And Vi, bone-tired and heartsore, sank into it gladly. 

She claimed her usual spot, laying down her old roots, hunching forward with her elbows on the bar. Vander was behind it, polishing a glass with the same white rag he’d been polishing glasses with since… before Vi was born, probably. He spotted her, gave her that fatherly sideways look: equal parts concern and mischief.  

“Rough day, kiddo?” His voice carried like gravel through the racket.  

Vi snorted. “You tell me. You see my face, don’t you?”  

Vander set the glass down, turned to the bottles with a practiced hand, and a moment later slid her usual amber‑coloured salvation across the counter: ginger ale and whiskey done just right. Only this one looked a little richer, darker.  

“Added an extra shot of the good stuff,” he said gently. “Looks like you could use it.”  

Vi studied the drink, the way the ice clinked gently like windchimes against the sides. “You’re not wrong,” she muttered. She gripped the glass, let the chill sink into her sore hand, and sipped. The bite of whiskied heat traveled down her throat and spread through her chest.  

“Just coming down off the high of the shoot,” she added after a beat, trying on nonchalance. “That’s all.”  

Vander leaned on the counter above the well. “Well,” he said, “I’ve seen you after shoots before. You don’t drink like this, or sulk like this.”  

Vi gave a wink, raising the glass before taking another sip. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”  

He chuckled, loud and warm. “Not when it comes to you.” Then, after a pause, he asked plainly: “It’s about her, isn’t it?”  

Her fingers clenched the glass tighter. She hadn’t wanted to say the name out loud, not here, not anywhere, really. 

“About who?”

“It’s funny, you’re not as crafty and secretive as you think, you know.”

“Powder told you, didn’t she?”

“Well, yeah,” Vander chuckled. “But even if she didn’t, I know you well enough to have figured it out by now.” 

“Well aren’t you the inquisitor,” Vi said, taking a deep swig.

“Inquisitor, or just your dad?”

“Touché,” Vi chuckled.   

“You two have been spending a lot of time together, seems like.”

“We have.”

“Every time I drive by your apartment, I always see her leaving.”

“She really likes it, says it’s cozy,” Vi stared into her glass, speaking in a fond tone. “She likes to spend time with me even after a whole day on set. Loves when I cook for her, loves to hear me talk and tell a story. The way she laughs...”

Vi tilted the lowball, stirring the ice around, watching the condensation drip down onto the worn surface of the bar. “She got a job offer, in Milan. And I’m happy as fuck for her, I really am, so I just don’t know why…” 

Vander nodded slowly. “Vi.”

“Mhm?”

Then he asked, simply: “Do you love her?”  

Vi laughed, the sound of it shaky and fragile. She could feel the tightness, the stinging in her throat when the words burst forth, unbidden. 

“Yeah. I do.” She drained another mouthful of her drink, letting the heat drag down in a scorching burn. “Which is why I’ve gotta let her go.”  

Vander leaned back and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing with thought. “You know, Vi,” he said carefully. “I never thought I’d have to tell you of all people this, but life’s not just about holding on to what you can endure, it’s about chasing the things that keep you alive.”  

His words sat heavy with that familiar, unshakable wisdom Vi knew she couldn’t fight, the words of a man who had seen Vi through countless, cruel hardships.  

“Consider,” Vander went on, “getting more out of life. Finding some meaning for yourself. Sometimes, it’s about what you reach for, even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you.”  

“What do you mean?”

“Why not consider going with her?”

Vi shook her head, biting back a shaky breath. “You know I can’t do that.”  

“Can’t?” Vander asked, one brow lifting.  

Vi’s jaw clenched. “…Not after last time. I can’t… leave Powder again.”  

The name cracked out of her like gunfire. Even saying it aloud stripped her raw, dredged up the shadowy memory. A life left behind once already, with consequences that still rattled her to her core. She threw back the rest of the drink, let it lance through her like penance.  

“I walk away again, I’m no better than before,” Vi went on, eyes lowered, fists pressed white‑knuckled against the bar. “I can’t do it. I gotta stay. No matter what.”  

Vander’s sigh filled the space, deep and thoughtful. He didn’t argue, didn’t tell her she was wrong. He let the words linger, holding them like an anvil on his shoulders, same as she was. Because if there was anyone who understood the weight of staying behind, of promises made, it was him.  

“Maybe so,” Vander finally said. “But remember this, Vi; loyalty and love don’t always wear the same face. Ask yourself someday which one you’d regret losing more.”  

Vi had no answer. Instead, she shoved her stool back, grabbed her bag, and muttered, “Thanks for the drink, old man.” 

Vander let her go without stopping her, only giving her one last heavy look that followed her as she disappeared into the night outside.  

And there she was again: moving on autopilot, same as always. A body in motion, carrying a heart she wasn’t sure she knew how to keep beating anymore. The whiskey was warm in her veins, but it wasn't strong enough to cold that crept in as soon as the door shut behind her.  

—

The apartment was still too quiet. Even with the window cracked and the city’s hum bleeding in, it wasn’t enough to cut the hush that pressed in around Vi. The silence had big teeth tonight, relentless and biting. 

She kicked her boots off, rolled her shoulders, and told herself she just needed to do something. Keep the hands busy, keep the thoughts at bay. Cooking worked most nights.  

She slapped a pan onto the burner, dropped onions and peppers into oil until they hissed back at her, and cracked some eggs gently into a bowl before adding them in. The smell filled the apartment, warm and grounding, comforting and safe.  

Problem was, she made too much of this goddamn Huevos Rancheros. The pan was crowded, tortillas stacked too high, beans simmering in a pot that could’ve fed two, maybe three. Halfway through plating it, she realized what she’d done.  

And that realization hit her like a sucker punch to the gut.

Standing there with the spatula in her hand, Vi stared down at the second plate she’d assembled without even knowing why, and cursed under her breath. Old habits, right? 

She’d gotten used to sliding plates across the table to another set of hands, used to the way Caitlyn’s voice softened and her cerulean eyes lit up when she tasted something Vi threw together, the small smile curling up at the corners of her mouth that always made Vi feel elated, so absolutely tender…

So in love with her.

And Vi, idiot that she was, had gone and let that feeling find permanence within her.  

She wiped her palms down her shorts and reached for her phone. Fingers moved before her brain did; her thumb hovering over Caitlyn’s name in her contacts—still at the very top. 

I made too much dinner tonight. Come eat with me? She typed. And maybe Caitlyn would answer, walk through the door, throw herself into Vi’s arms and share a meal, share her bed, just like they had for the past two weeks.  

And then, Vi stared at the text box. The words lined up before her, simple as anything. But she didn’t send them. 

Instead, she dropped the phone face‑down on the counter.  

“Pathetic,” she muttered at herself. She left the second plate to cool on the counter as she sat down at the dining room table under the dim pendant light with her own. 

Perhaps Caitlyn’s aloofness today had been a mercy. After all, the more distance she could put between them, the easier this whole ordeal would be to get over. It seemed, at the very least, Caitlyn was equally as torn up about it as Vi was.   

By the third bite, Vi had lost her appetite completely. Her fork clinked hard against the porcelain plate as she set it down too hard.  

She sat back, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until stars burst behind the lids. 

Caitlyn deserved better than anything Vi could give her. She deserved the world itself—its glittering cities, its endless adventures, a life overflowing with promise and wonder. A future that could only belong to someone as luminous and brilliant as her, even if it meant Vi wasn’t in it.

She pushed her chair back, shoved her untouched plate into the sink, and scraped the second one straight into the trash. Leaning against the counter, Vi bowed her head and braced her fists. The apartment swam with such rich aromas, ones that used to remind her of those carefree days living south of the border, that now instead stirred such stinging memories of an affection lost, slipping through her fingers with every passing minute.  

And Vi thought, not for the first time, that maybe this was just the shape of her life—making too much room for someone who couldn’t stay, berating herself for daring to think it could be otherwise, and swallowing down the silence that would follow.  

She didn’t cry. The emptiness she felt was too vast for tears, numbing her to the bone.

All she did, all she could do, was breathe into a kitchen that had gone cold around her. 

—

Sleep was supposed to be the mercy, the blackout, the hard reset after a day of pounding exhaustion. Usually Vi could collapse face‑first and let sheer fatigue drag her under, no dreams, no wandering thoughts, just nothingness. But lying there in the darkness of her apartment, she knew tonight wouldn't offer her that kind of solace.  

She lay on her side, one arm wrapped tight around the stupid plush toy she’d never meant to keep for herself. That blue mongoose, of all things, that she won for Caitlyn at the pier. 

Vi clutched it against her chest, the cheap stuffing bending under her grip. It wasn’t all that big, but it was large enough to temporarily fill the void—after all, it even looked a bit like Caitlyn, as silly as that was to admit.

The sheets still smelled faintly of her—floral notes from her soap, the delicate spice of her perfume, and underpinning it all, the raw and heady scent of their lovemaking, and the many passionate nights they shared. 

It was everywhere Vi pressed her face: on the pillows, in the weave of the blankets. She buried her nose into the bedding, inhaled, and cursed softly against it. 

For Vi, the worst part wasn’t that Caitlyn wasn’t here. No, the worst part was knowing Vi could remember forever. Every little detail burned too deep, how Caitlyn’s laugh always started in her chest like it had to fight its way out, how her hand weighed warm when it rested on the small of Vi’s back, a feeling that grounded her in a way no one had ever managed before. How she filled the space of the apartment, not just with her presence, but with colour, with light, with hope of a future Vi hadn’t even realized she’d yearned for and wanted.  

Vi had gotten good at burying things over the years. Pain, grief, hunger, loss. She’d trained herself to layer them beneath her scars until they tucked themselves away into the quiet aches and burdens of her heart. 

But this wasn’t one of those wounds she could dig a grave for inside of herself. She couldn’t shut it down, couldn’t pretend she’d forget with time. The thought of forgetting Caitlyn was laughable, impossible. The memory of her was forever etched into her mind, her memories, as permanent as the ink sprawling over her back and arms.  

She turned over, pulling the plush tighter into her body, her fingers digging into the fur seam while her mind circled like a restless, caged animal.

She should let Caitlyn go, she had to let her go, she was doing the right thing to not yank her back to the mundane, to let her go on and live the life she deserved, to chase her dreams and fulfill her potential. 

But that didn’t ease the fracture, the jab running jagged through Vi’s chest. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead to the pillow, willing herself to sink into sleep. But even as her consciousness thinned, Caitlyn lingered like a ghost, the image of her ever present in the shadows of the mind’s eye.  

Vi knew then, despite all her best practiced detachment, despite the armour she’d built around herself and wore her whole life, that she’d never really shake her. She’d never wash her out of these walls, these sheets, even her own skin.  

And Vi, wrapped around that dumb mongoose toy with her fists clenched, finally slipped under, carrying Caitlyn with her into the uneasy dark.

Chapter Text

The scent of developer chemicals and aged paper pulled Caitlyn back through time. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in an analog camera shop, perhaps not since she was a teenager still living in England, but the nostalgia it brought her seemed to be one of the few comforts she could find amidst recent events.

She moved through the narrow aisles with the measured grace her boarding school had drilled into her bones, though her fingers trembled slightly when they traced the brass fixtures of a vintage Nikon. 

The store was a cathedral to obsolescence—shelves lined with mechanical bodies that had captured revolutions and first kisses, wars and weddings, all reduced now to curios in a digital age. Each camera held its own gravity, its own catalogue of frozen moments, and Caitlyn found herself unexpectedly mourning for all the photographs they might never take.

Her fingers lingered on a row of light meters, their needles forever still, when a voice cut through the dusty silence.

“Can I help you?”

The woman who emerged from behind a fortress of film boxes looked as though she’d been developed from the same stock as the store itself. A figure of contrasts and chemical stains, her grey hair pulled back in a utilitarian knot that suggested she had no time for frivolity. Her apron bore the ghostly imprints of a thousand darkroom sessions, each streak and splatter a testament to countless images brought to life.

Caitlyn approached her counter inquisitively, though her usual self-assured bearing felt oddly displaced here, even amongst the detritus of her favourite, albeit dying, art form.

“Yes, actually,” she said, her accent particularly pronounced in the shop’s close quarters. “I was wondering if you develop film here?”

The woman’s expression shifted minutely, perhaps surprised that someone Caitlyn’s age still shot film, or maybe just the weary recognition of another nostalgic soul.

“We do,” she replied, curtly. “What have you got?”

Caitlyn’s fingers found the bag containing the film canister in her coat pocket, her hand briefly tucking inside as she rolled them between her thumb and forefinger like worry stones. 

She placed the bag on the counter and pushed it forward. “I have a roll of Portra 400 I’d like developed,” she said. “Standard colour prints.”

The woman took the bag, her fingers already moving across the ancient monitor that squatted on the counter like a technological artifact. The CRT screen flickered with each keystroke, casting green highlights across the woman’s weathered features. It looked older than most of the equipment for sale, a peculiar irony that wasn’t lost on Caitlyn.

“Processing and prints,” the woman muttered, more to herself than to Caitlyn, typing with the two-finger method. Then her fingers stilled, and she glanced up with sharp eyes. “I noticed there’s another canister in here. Ilford Delta. You want that one developed too?”

Time performed a peculiar trick then, stretching like taffy as Caitlyn’s mind was suddenly reminded of exactly what was on that roll of black and white film. 

Something that was for her eyes only.

“No!” The word erupted from her with more force than she’d intended, her hand shooting across the counter to snatch the canister back into her pocket. The woman recoiled slightly, eyebrows climbing toward her hairline, and Caitlyn felt the heat of embarrassment fill her cheeks.

“N-no, thank you,” she amended, modulating her tone back to normalcy, though her fingers clutched the strap of her handbag perhaps a bit too tightly. “Just the colour roll, please.”

The woman’s expression suggested she’d heard every possible excuse for uncommitted film over her career, and Caitlyn’s stammering explanation ranked somewhere in the middle of the believability scale. But she said nothing, simply adjusted her glasses and returned to the monitor.

Caitlyn stood there for a moment, the Ilford canister burning like a coal in her palm, before a thought, an idea, suddenly struck her. 

“Actually,” she pinched her chin between her thumb and index finger. “I’d like to purchase a processing kit. For black and white. And…” she paused, pondering what else she might need. “A slide scanner with a printer.”

—

The bathroom of the hotel had been transformed into something that would have horrified the cleaning staff.

Towels were wedged beneath the door like fortifications against light, black fabric draped over the mirror, the marble counter cluttered with chemical trays and various bottles of amber liquid. Caitlyn moved through the space ritualistically, her hands steady despite the way her pulse thrummed beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.

The red safelight painted everything in shades of blood and shadow, turning her own reflection into something spectral and unfamiliar. She’d been at this for hours now, teaching herself the alchemy of development through trial and error, through the flimsy video tutorials she watched on her phone before she started, through sheer determination not to entrust these particular memories to anyone else’s eyes.

The film hung from the makeshift line she’d strung across the shower, strips of negative that held secrets in their inverted shades. 

When at last they were ready and she returned to the light, Caitlyn was eager, if not hesitant, to feed the negatives through the scanner she’d positioned precariously on the edge of the dresser. She found herself holding her breath, as if even that small disturbance might somehow mar the process, might prevent these images from materializing.

Each photograph emerged unhurried, glossy and perfect and devastatingly real. When the final print settled into the tray, Caitlyn’s breath caught in her throat.

The first one captured Vi in profile, her face turned toward an unseen window, the rough quality of the high-ISO film rendering her features in pointillistic perfection. Each of her scars and marks was a story penned in silver halide—the split through her eyebrow, the edge of her jaw, the constellation freckles mapped across the bridge of her nose. But it was her expression that gave Caitlyn pause—unguarded, contemplative, a softness that Vi only ever allowed in these moments with Caitlyn.

Another photograph had Vi flushed, naked, her head thrown back, the column of her throat exposed and vulnerable. The grain of the film transformed her skin into something almost ethereal, like she was made of dust and sugar rather than flesh and bone. 

Then, there was the photograph that Caitlyn lifted with reverent hands, perhaps the most intimate thus far; one that featured the creamy length of Vi’s strong thighs spread wide apart, a place that Caitlyn loved to be cradled, where she felt so safe and wanted, needed, her altar and place of worship to a woman she so deeply adored. The texture of the film softened the blunt lines that years of life’s hardships had carved into her body, revealing the girl she might have been in some kinder timeline.

Caitlyn traced a finger along the surface of the photograph, though not quite touching. The glossy paper still held warmth from the printer, and she could almost convince herself it was Vi’s warmth, that these images were more than just chemical reactions and patterns of light frozen in time. 

She set the photos down on the dresser with a sigh. Her fingers found the bridge of her nose, pressing against that spot between her eyes where tension always gathered like storm clouds, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was strange how she’d felt nothing but a hollow ache when the job offer first came through, because her first thought hadn’t been of career advancement or professional achievement. It had been of Vi’s face when she’d have to explain that she’d be leaving, that the idea of her staying and carving this new life with her would be dashed.

The memory of that morning crashed over Caitlyn like a wave she couldn’t outrun. She’d practiced how she was going to deliver the news a dozen times, had carefully constructed her arguments about opportunity and temporary distance and how it wouldn’t have to change anything between them. She’d been prepared for Vi’s shock, her hurt, for all the ugly emotions that would come with something like this.

She hadn’t been prepared for Vi to simply… let her go.

“That’s great. Really. You deserve this.”

The words rang in the hollows of her mind, in the silence of the room, and Caitlyn’s hands clenched involuntarily at her sides. She recalled the way Vi had smiled—that crooked, beautiful smile that made Caitlyn’s knees weak—and also how it left her reeling, confused by its nonchalance after such heavy words were spoken. 

The rational part of her brain understood that Vi’s reaction might have been a defense mechanism. That the woman who had lost people she loved, someone who lived a life of temporary arrangements, had learned to let go before she could be left. But the irrational part, the part that had wanted Vi to fight for her, to rage against the distance, to do something other than smile her out the door, couldn’t help but feel the sting of abandonment to its fullest, cruellest extent.

But god, she missed her. Missed her with a physicality so deep and visceral, it was like one of her limbs was missing. 

The thought tasted bitter, and Caitlyn immediately recoiled, rebuking herself. What right did she have to expect Vi to beg her to stay when she was the one who’d be leaving? When she was the one who might’ve chosen this over… whatever they were? 

But maybe that had been the problem. Maybe if they’d defined it, claimed it, made something more of it, all of this would have been much clearer, perhaps easier, than whatever mess they found themselves in now.

Her phone, abandoned on the bed, woke itself with a pulse. Caitlyn reached for it as one might take up an unfamiliar instrument, hopeful and afraid of sounding out of practice. She opened Vi’s contact and was ambushed by the small cruelties of the interface: the pinned message, the last photo exchanged—a slant of sunlight across a cup of coffee, Vi’s thumb in the corner, accidental and dear. 

Not yesterday. Not the day before. Longer, somehow, than it should have been.

The message thread carried their history in miniature—lists of groceries, a joke about coyotes in Los Feliz applying for a mortgage, that one voice note where Vi’s laughter had come through hushed while she was recording in public, as if she were leaning into Caitlyn’s collar to say it. 

And then, the hard seam, the void where everything had gone sparing and tidy. 

She tapped the text box. The cursor blinked harshly. Words presented themselves for inspection and failed. 

I’m sorry seemed flimsy. 

I miss you felt both true and presumptuous. 

Can we talk? Was sincere, but anaemic. 

She typed, I should have said more the other morning and sat staring at it, aware of how the sentence came across. How nothing she could ever string together in that little box would ever be able to encapsulate just how she felt about everything—about this place, about this situation.

About Vi. 

It struck her then, with sudden clarity, that there were certain kinds of distances a text could not cross. 

Caitlyn knew the aloofness was a costume they were both dutifully wearing. Performances, both of them, out of fear. Behind all this choreography, the truth paced, anxious and restless, like a wounded beast inside Caitlyn’s chest. And she was certain that if she sat with this agony for much longer, she’d be fit to lose her mind. 

Tomorrow, she thought.

Tomorrow, I’ll go to her. 

—

The walk up to Vi’s apartment unit had never felt longer than it did today. 

Caitlyn’s pulse hammered in her ribs with such violence she wondered if it might be visible beneath her shirt—this telltale heart that had dragged her across the city to stand before a door she had seen herself through countless times, now suddenly feeling impassable.

The wood was scarred and weather-worn, painted and repainted so many times that the surface had taken on a topographical quality, peaks and valleys of failed attempts at improvement. How perfectly Vi, Caitlyn thought with fondness—rough around the edges but stubbornly enduring.

Her hand hovered inches from the door, frozen in that terrible space between deliberation and action. Every reasonable part of her screamed at her to turn around. It was already evening. She had no invitation. No guarantee of welcome. She was about to expose herself to a harsh round of explosive emotions for Vi to—what? Fall into her arms? Confess that the last several days had been agony for her too?

The envelope in her other hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She could slip it under the door, retreat to an Uber, pretend that was enough. A gesture without the mess of an actual confrontation.

But no. She’d come this far. Crossed this strangely sprawled city in the peak of rush hour. She would knock. She would stay, because Vi was worth this. She would—

Her knuckles made contact with the wood before she could think better of it, three sharp raps that snapped through the air like gunshots. The sound seemed to reverberate through her bones, and immediately, she recoiled with regret.

The urge to flee hit her with such force that she actually took a step backward, then another. The envelope could go under the door. An offering in parting that Vi could interpret however she wished. It was neater that way, cleaner, less likely to end in the kind of humiliation and sorrow that would replay in Caitlyn’s mind for ages to come.

Then, suddenly, the door swung open, and Caitlyn nearly jumped out of her skin, shooting upright so quickly that everything began to spin. 

But the figure in the doorway wasn’t Vi.

It was a young woman, likely in her early twenties, with hair the colour of a cloudless sky chopped into an artfully chaotic pixie cut. 

Her eyes were a clear, impossible blue, and they held a certain expression of curiosity. Freckles were scattered across her nose and cheeks, and there was something about the set of her jaw, the curve of her smile, that was so… familiar.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her voice carrying a hint of roughness but tempered with something lighter, almost musical.

Caitlyn’s carefully prepared words evaporated. Everything she’d practiced on the drive over dissolved into meaningless syllables. “I-I, is Vi… i-is Vi here?”

The girl’s head tilted slightly, studying Caitlyn with potency. “Nah, she stepped out earlier. Don’t know when she’ll be back.” A pause, weighted with assessment. “She’s been doing that a lot lately. Stepping out.”

“I see,” Caitlyn managed. She looked down at the envelope still clutched in her hand, now nearly crumpled in her anxious grip, and wondered if this was the universe’s way of telling her she’d waited too long.

The girl didn’t close the door, though. Instead, she leaned against the frame and crossed her arms, narrowing her gaze as if studying Caitlyn. “Hold on, you’re Vi’s friend from work, aren’t ya?”

“I… well, yes. Something like that.”

The girl’s grin was sudden and knowing, transforming her face into something mischievous and altogether too perceptive. “Oh, I know all about you. Caitlyn, right? You’re a lot taller in person than in the photos.”

Photos. Vi had photos. 

Vi had talked about her, more than once. In more than just verbal passing. 

“I’m Powder,” she continued, extending a hand. “Vi’s little sis. And since you came all this way,” she glanced at her watch. “You might as well come in for a bit. Vi’s bound to turn up eventually.”

Caitlyn accepted the gesture, greeting Powder with a feeble handshake. The invitation hung in the air between them, and Caitlyn found herself at another crossroads. She could make her excuses, leave the envelope, flee to the safety of a car and her carefully controlled life. Or she could step through this door, into Vi’s space…

And wait. 

“Well, all right, thank you,” Caitlyn heard herself say. “If you’re certain I’m not imposing.”

—

Caitlyn perched herself on one of Vi’s mismatched bar stools—one leg shorter than the others, requiring constant micro-adjustments to maintain balance—as she watched Powder move through the kitchen on the other side of the island.

“How do you take your tea?” Powder asked as she filled the kettle at the sink. “And before you say however you make it, know that there’s actually about six different kinds because Vi keeps buying them thinking one day she’ll become a tea person.”

Despite everything, Caitlyn felt her lips twitch into a smile. “Earl Grey, if you have it. One sugar.”

“’Course you drink Earl Grey,” Powder muttered, but it was kind rather than mocking. She pulled a tin from a cabinet that barely hung on its hinges. “Vi bought this specifically for… well. She bought it a week ago. Said someone might want it.”

The implications of that made Caitlyn’s throat tighten.

The silence stretched while Powder worked to fix their libations. When she finally placed the mug in front of Caitlyn, she didn’t flitter off to the other side of the kitchen. Instead, she leaned against the counter just a foot away, close enough that Caitlyn could see the dark circles under her eyes, the small tattoo under her ear.

“So,” Powder finally spoke. “I’m sure you didn’t come all this way through L.A. rush hour to spend time with me, did you?”

“I, n-no,” Caitlyn admitted, grateful for the honesty. “I suppose I didn’t.”

Powder’s grin was quick and sharp. “Don’t worry, I won’t take it personally,” she jested with a wink. “But in all seriousness,” Powder continued, her expression sobering. “I’m assuming you’re here because my sister is being a bit of a stubborn ox.”

“Yes.” Caitlyn said on an exhale. “Something like that.”

She stared into her tea, watching the small vortex created by her unconscious stirring. How to explain the last two weeks, the past few days, to someone who’d known Vi her entire life? How to articulate the vast chasm that had opened between them from such a small beginning?

“The last time I saw Vi,” Caitlyn began, “we ended our conversation on… a note that I don’t think either of us intended. But we haven’t spoken since.”

“Yeah, I know,” Powder supplied, and at Caitlyn’s startled look, she shrugged. “She thinks I don’t notice, but she’s not so subtle about tracking the time on her fridge calendar.”

Caitlyn swallowed.

“I’m leaving for New York soon,” she said, the reality of it sitting acrid in her mouth. “And I’ve received an offer to take work in Europe, though I’m not sure where Vi’s feelings on the matter stand. Yet despite my fears, my confusion, the absolute mess we’ve made of things with our lacklustre communication, I just…” She paused, swallowing back the sting of budding tears. “I couldn’t leave things like this between us. I would never forgive myself, I’d live with so much regret for the rest of my days.”

Powder was quiet for a long moment, studying Caitlyn with those light blue eyes that saw too much. Then, she laughed.

“I’ve gotta give it to you,” she bowed her head and shook it. “I haven’t seen Vi come around like this once in her entire life. She’s always been a bit of a fleeting soul, never taken anything too seriously, never stayed in one place too long, never let anyone get too close. But I always knew it was a front.”

She paused, picking at a splinter in the counter. 

“When our parents died, when everything went to hell, Vi just… locked it all away. Decided it was easier to keep moving than to risk losing anything else. And it worked, mostly. She had her travels, her jobs, her various brief engagements. But she never had…”

Powder gestured vaguely at Caitlyn. “This. Whatever… this is. You’re the first person to really bring it all down for her, get to her chewy center, and I think it scares the shit out of her.”

Caitlyn set her mug down with a soft click, trying to reconcile this portrait with the Vi she knew.

“I was amazed by Vi’s life,” she said softly. “How grandiose and big it is. How she lives each day like it might be her last. So I guess I can’t seem to understand why something like this would inhibit her to the point of retreating.”

The words that came next were harder, edged with a hurt she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. “I was foolish enough to think that maybe she’d want to come with me. But it seems she hasn’t even considered it, or wanted to talk about it. Instead she’s just… run away. Though, I suppose I have, too. Maybe we are both afraid.”

Caitlyn found herself studying the grain of the butcher block island, tracing the whorls and scars with her eyes, each mark a testament to a life lived in this space. Powder seemed content to let the quiet stretch, perhaps understanding that some revelations needed room to breathe.

The clock on the wall ticked toward eight o’clock. Still no Vi. The waiting was starting to feel like its own kind of confession, each minute that passed another admission of how desperately Caitlyn needed this reconciliation.

“Hey,” Powder finally said, her voice cutting through the stillness with studied casualness. “Did Vi ever tell you about when she lived in Mexico?”

The change of subject was welcome amidst the thick, tense silence, and Caitlyn looked up. “Yes, actually. Back when we first met.” 

“Did she ever tell you why she left?”

Caitlyn searched her memory, pondering. “Not really. Some passing comment about it not being trendy anymore, or the scene changing.”

Powder’s scoff was acidic. “Typical of my sister to bring that up and make light of it.”

She moved then, standing from where she had been leaning and circling the island to claim the barstool beside Caitlyn. The proximity was unexpected—they’d been maintaining that careful distance of wary strangers up until now—but Powder seemed to need the closeness for whatever came next. She rested her elbow on the counter, fixing her gaze on its surface.

“I was never all that well most of my life,” she said, her voice taking on a quality that suggested this was a practiced story, words worn smooth by repetition. “Been in and out of therapy since I was twelve. On and off different treatments, different meds, different doctors who all promised they had the answer. Nothing seemed to stick.”

Caitlyn held herself perfectly still, leaning in to listen.

“Vi went to Mexico when she got offered a long-term modelling gig. Good money, better than anything she could make here doing odd jobs. I knew she felt guilty about going, she kept asking if I’d be okay, if I had everything I needed, if I promised to call if anything went wrong.” Powder’s fingers traced absent patterns on the counter. “I told her to go and that I was fine, that she deserved to have her own life and be happy.”

The pause that followed was heavy with approaching catastrophe, a narrative weight that preceded tragedy.

“While Vi was away, I had a severe mental breakdown.” The statement was delivered flat, factual. “They found me on a bridge at three in the morning, talking to people who weren’t there. I was put in a room with no edges, and someone had to check in on me every fifteen minutes. They institutionalized me for fear of harming myself. Or, more accurately, for actively trying to.”

Caitlyn’s breath caught, but she didn’t speak. There was more coming, more to learn; she could feel it building like storm pressure.

“The moment Vi found out, she immediately packed her bags and came home. Backed out of her contract, probably burned every bridge she’d built there, lost what I later learned was an obscene amount of money in early termination fees.” Powder’s voice took on an edge of old frustration. 

“For ages, even still to this day, she berates herself for ever going. Thinks she was selfish and stupid to leave me when I was in such a fragile state, that she should have been there. That maybe if she had, it wouldn’t have happened.”

The words hung in the air like an indictment, not of Vi but of the crushing weight of the responsibility she carried.

“I… I had no idea,” Caitlyn said softly.

“Of course you didn’t.” Powder finally looked up, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes with a penetrating gaze. “Vi’s a knucklehead who thinks everything is her fault. All of that would have happened whether she was here or not, brain chemistry doesn’t care about the semantics. But try telling her that. She’s convinced that she has to shoulder burdens that aren’t even hers to carry.”

The pieces were falling into place with devastating clarity.

“She left behind a life she loved because she thought she’d failed me,” Powder continued, her voice softer now. “And she’s been punishing herself for it ever since. Every fight she takes, every risk she runs, every chance she turns down… it’s all penance for a sin that only exists in her head.”

The clock showed eight-thirty now. Soon, surely, Vi would return, and Caitlyn would have to face her with all this new knowledge, this deeper understanding of her that Vi would remain oblivious to. The prospect was suddenly overwhelming.

Caitlyn stood, the movement decisive despite the trembling in her hands. “I… should go.”

Powder’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not going to wait for her to come back?”

“It’s all right.” Caitlyn smoothed her shirt, a gesture of composure she didn’t feel. “I don’t want to overwhelm her with both of us here.”

It was a kindness, but also cowardice. What she’d learned, combined with the audacity of showing up here at all, had left her feeling exposed in a way that demanded strategic retreat. She needed to think, to recalibrate, to figure out how to take her next step.

She pulled the envelope from her pocket, running her thumb along its edge one last time. “Can you give this to her,” Caitlyn said, pressing it into Powder’s hands. “Please.”

Powder took it carefully, inspecting it briefly, but much to Caitlyn’s relief, didn’t pry. Instead, she gave a short nod, and turned her head to watch Caitlyn gather her bag and move toward the door. 

—

“Don’t forget to do a full sweep of the room, it’s easy to forget the little things when you’ve been there for so long.”

“I won’t forget, Mum.”

Caitlyn’s hands moved with efficiency across the bed, transforming the chaos of an extended stay into neat, compressed order. A silk blouse folded into thirds, then thirds again. Wool trousers rolled to prevent creasing. Everything in its place, everything as it should be, everything except the tremor in her usually steady hands that she had to convince herself wasn’t related to tomorrow’s flight to JFK.

“—and we’ll have dinner at Le Bernardin when you return to celebrate,” her mother’s voice floated from Caitlyn’s cell phone’s speaker. “I’ve already made reservations.”

“That sounds nice,” Caitlyn murmured, tucking a cashmere sweater into the suitcase’s corner with perhaps more force than necessary. 

“Your father’s already telling everyone at the Yale Club about Milan. Although, I can’t deny that I’ve been fretting over it myself, such a big leap for you, but I’ll be glad to have you home in the meantime.”

Home. 

New York City, that concrete jungle with its towering possibilities and hectic routines, had been home for so much of Caitlyn’s life. But lately, home had started to take a different shape for Caitlyn. Something warmer, lighter, perhaps lazier—an affront to everything she thought she knew, and anywhere she thought she’d be.

“Oh, and I’ve had Leena prepare your room for when you come to the estate. Fresh linens, those lavender sachets you like—”

The hotel phone suddenly rang from the nightstand, its shrill tone interrupting her mother’s detailed deliberations. Caitlyn snapped her head to face the direction of the noise.

“I have to go,” Caitlyn said, already moving toward the insistent ringing. “The front desk is calling, probably about checkout.”

“Of course, darling. Safe travels tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mum. I’ll see you soon.”

She ended the call on her cell and reached for the handset of the other phone, picking it up and bringing it to her ear. “Hello?”

“Good evening, Miss Kiramman?” The female concierge’s voice came through the line, professionally neutral.

“Yes, speaking.”

“I apologize for disturbing you. There is someone here in the lobby who wishes to see you.”

Caitlyn’s hand tightened imperceptibly on the device in her hand. No one would come here to visit at this hour except—

“She’s asked me to inform you that her name is…” There was a pause, the sound of muttering in the background. “Vi? She says her name is Vi.”

The world tilted.

Caitlyn’s mind went completely, crystallinely blank.

The phone began to slip. Caitlyn’s palm had gone slick with sudden perspiration, and she had to consciously tighten her grip. Her throat constricted as if someone had wrapped their fingers around it, and she could hear her own pulse thundering in her ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the room and the city outside.

Of all the damn times for her to show up. 

“Miss Kiramman?” The concierge’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “Are you still there?”

The sound penetrated the static in her brain, and Caitlyn gave her head a sharp shake as her free hand found the edge of the nightstand, gripping until her knuckles turned white.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes, I’m here.”

“Would you like me to send her away? I can tell her you’re not receiving—”

“—No.” She said too quickly. Caitlyn forced herself to breathe, to modulate her tone enough to speak clearly. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Shall I give your visitor access to your floor, then?”

The swallow was difficult, her throat still thick and dry and tense. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, you can give her access.”

“All right. She’ll be up shortly.”

The line went dead, and Caitlyn just stood there frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear, as if maintaining the connection might somehow slow time. But time, inconsiderate as always, kept moving. 

The elevator would be rising now.

The mathematics of waiting were cruel, each second stretching into minutes, each minute an eternity of possibility and dread. 

Caitlyn found herself pacing the length of the suite, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet, tracing a path that would surely leave permanent impressions by the time this was all over. 

Twenty-three floors. 

The express elevator took approximately ninety seconds, assuming no stops. Add thirty seconds for Vi to navigate from the elevator bank to her door. 

Two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds for everything to flip on its axis.

Caitlyn paused by the mirror, catching sight of herself—pale, wide-eyed, nearly unrecognizable. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, wisps escaping from the elastic to frame her face. She was wearing loungewear; pajama pants and a St. Andrew’s College sweatshirt that had seen better days. 

Should she change? The thought was absurd, but her hands were already moving toward her packed suitcase before she stopped herself. 

No. 

If Vi had crossed this bridge, then Caitlyn could face her candidly, entirely as she was.

Sixty seconds now. Maybe less.

Her phone sat on the bed well, still warm from her mother’s call. Such a different world from the one approaching her now. 

Thirty seconds.

Caitlyn’s hands wouldn’t stop moving—adjusting the already-perfect alignment of books on the side table, smoothing the bedspread, fidgeting with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her body was staging its own rebellion, heart rate elevated, palms damp, a fine tremor in her fingers that she couldn’t quite suppress. 

Then, silence. 

Vi was standing outside her door, Caitlyn was certain of it. Standing and what… gathering courage? Second-guessing? Deciding whether to knock or flee? The not-knowing was excruciating.

Three knocks.

Three solid connections of knuckle to wood that reverberated through Caitlyn’s chest like seismic shifts. She’d imagined this moment, Vi at her door, so many times over the past few days. In her fantasies, she’d felt nothing but elation, relief, the pure joy of reunion. 

But the reality was infinitely more complex.

Caitlyn took a breath that went all the way to her toes, held it for a count of four, released it slowly. A centering technique she had taught herself years ago, back when panic attacks had been her body’s response to a world that demanded so much from her. Her hand found the doorknob, cool metal against her overheated palm.

She opened the door.

And there she was. 

The first thing that struck her was how Vi had dressed. Her leather jacket was the good one, the one without tears or scuffs. Underneath was a black henley that clung to her frame in ways that made Caitlyn’s mouth go dry. Dark jeans that weren’t ripped, boots that had been recently cleaned. She’d tried, in her own way, to meet Caitlyn’s world halfway.

But it was Vi’s expression that perplexed her. Gone was the cocky smirk, the defensive swagger, the armour of indifference. Her silvery eyes that usually sparked with defiance or humour were soft, uncertain.

She looked tired. Beautiful and magnetic and utterly irresistible, but tired. 

“Hey, Cupcake,” Vi said, and her voice carried gravel and exhaustion and something else Caitlyn couldn’t quite name. “It’s been a while.”

The understatement was so profound that Caitlyn almost smiled. “Yes,” she managed. “It has.”

They stood frozen in that tableau—Caitlyn gripping the door like an anchor, Vi with her hands shoved deep in her pockets, the threshold between them feeling both insignificant and insurmountable. The hallway’s ambient lighting cast shadows across Vi’s face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her neck, the evident tension in her shoulders.

Then Vi shifted, a subtle redistribution of weight that Caitlyn recognized as discomfort. When she spoke again, her voice carried an unusual formality, like she’d rehearsed the words.

“This might not be appropriate to ask,” she said, and there was something almost bashful in the way she couldn’t quite meet Caitlyn’s eyes. “But… can I come in?”

—

The logistics of sitting required more thought than it should have. 

Caitlyn had swept the suitcase and her remaining unpacked clothes from the bed, creating neat piles on the armchair by the window. The bed was now their perch, and they’d settled on its edge with the careful distance of strangers who’d once known each other by heart.

They sat several inches apart—close enough that Caitlyn could feel the heat radiating from Vi’s body, that particular warmth that had always made her run hotter than anyone else Caitlyn had known. 

But not touching. Those inches might as well have been miles.

They both stared at the carpet. The silence stretched, almost unbearable, like boulders on Caitlyn’s chest.

“You should have called,” Caitlyn finally said, the words emerging without her conscious permission. “Saved yourself the trouble of coming all this way if I wasn’t here.”

Even as she said it, she knew how hollow it sounded. 

Vi’s laugh was short, devoid of humour. “Powder said the same thing about you. Heard you stopped by when I was out.”

The parallel was palpable, evidence of their mutual inability to stay away despite every logical reason to do so. Caitlyn had nothing to say to that, no defense that wouldn’t sound hypocritical. 

The distance between them felt wrong, profoundly and fundamentally incorrect. This was the first time in Vi’s presence that Caitlyn had felt so tentative, so uncertain of her welcome, save for those first two encounters when they’d been circling each other like curious animals with their poorly concealed attraction. 

They’d moved past that so quickly, fallen into each other with such assurance of where they stood. And now they sat on the same bed, a type of place that would have seen them tangled up and lost in each other, maintaining space that felt like a betrayal of everything they’d been.

Caitlyn longed for their closeness, ached for it. Even if it was just one last time, she wanted to close the gap, to feel Vi’s solid presence against her, to remember what it was like to fit together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known was incomplete.

But she couldn’t move, for the logical part of her wouldn’t permit her to.

“I heard you were leaving for New York tomorrow morning,” Vi said suddenly, still addressing the carpet. “Powder told me.”

“Yes, I am.” Caitlyn confirmed, because there was no point in denying or fighting the truth of it any longer.

Vi’s hands were clasped firmly between her knees. “I couldn’t just let you go. Not like this. Not with everything so…” 

“Unresolved?” Caitlyn supplied.

“Fucked.”

“That too.”

Vi’s hands untangled themselves. When she spoke again, her voice carried a rawness that gave Caitlyn pause.

“When you told me that morning, when you got the job offer, I wanted to be happy for you, because it’s what you deserve.” Vi’s gaze remained fixed on some point on the carpet, as if looking at Caitlyn might shatter whatever composure she’d managed to gather. “I’m used to my life being impermanent, in a constant state of flux, and so I thought I could fall into the same old routines I always did when things inevitably came to this. But with you, I…”

The sentence hung unfinished, and Caitlyn watched as Vi’s jaw worked, fighting for words that had never come easily to her.

“I’m so scared of that change, and I didn’t know what to do. I’ve… I’ve been a complete idiot.”

Caitlyn found herself scooting a bit closer. “It seems this change has rattled us both,” she said, her own hands twisting in her lap against the soft cotton of her pajama pants. “I took the job, in Milan.”

“I know.”

Caitlyn turned her head bluntly. “How could you have known? I didn’t tell anyone but my family.”

Vi’s smile was somber, knowing. “I knew you would take it, Cupcake. And if you didn’t, I would have made sure you did.”

The endearment, delivered with such gentle resignation, made Caitlyn laugh. Or perhaps, it was more of a scoff. 

“In truth,” she said carefully, “I was hoping that you might want to join me on this venture. It’s what I was prepared to ask you when I came to see you the other day.”

Vi’s head snapped up, her silver eyes wide. 

“But then,” Caitlyn continued, looking away because Vi’s expression was too much, too open. “I realized how selfish that would be, to ask you to uproot this life, after everything you’ve been through. With everything you have to lose.”

“Cait—”

“—If you came with me, I would never want you to resent me, for having to leave everything behind.” The words tumbled out faster now, a confession she hadn’t meant to make. “Your family, your work, your entire world. How could I ask that of you? How could I be that selfish?”

“I could never resent you.” Vi’s voice was fierce, resolute.

“You say that now, but…” 

“This has nothing to do with resentment, it never has, it never will.” Vi was now the one moving closer, until that distance between them dissipated. “The fucked up shit in my life was never meant to be your burden, I never meant to tangle you in it.”

She paused, bringing a daring but quivering hand to rest on Caitlyn’s thigh. “I know she underplays it but Powder is… she’s really sick, and I can’t leave her. The days of my nomadic life are behind me, they have to be behind me. Cait, I… I’m sorry—”

“—No, I’m sorry.” The words erupted from Caitlyn with surprising force. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted, for being so cold to you. I wish I could just…” The tears came without warning, hot streaks brandishing her cheeks, blurring the lights and shapes of her vision into watery impressions. “Turn back time and do so many things over again, knowing what I know now.”

Vi turned to face her fully. Her fingers, impossibly gentle, tilted Caitlyn’s chin up, finding her gaze. Her thumb brushed away the tears with a tenderness that made more fall in their place.

“I wish I could too,” Vi whispered, her eyes glossy.

They sat there, barely a breath apart, inhaling the same air, existing in the same tense, broken space. Caitlyn could see every detail of her, the scar through her eyebrow and the tattoo on her cheek, her soft, freckly skin, the way her lower lip trembled. Time seemed to slow, to fossilize around this moment, and then they were moving toward each other with the inevitability of gravity.

Their lips met, though it was nothing like their typical desperate reunions or passionate encounters. This was soft, aching, tasted like the sting of farewell. 

Caitlyn pulled back, though every cell in her body protested. “Vi, we… we shouldn’t.”

“I know.” Vi’s forehead rested against hers, eyes closed, her breathing unsteady.

“It’ll make it harder.” 

Vi’s eyes opened, and the intensity there made Caitlyn falter. “We may not be able to turn back time, but…” Her hands framed Caitlyn’s face, cupping the slope of her jaw. “We can make the most of the time we’ve got.”

The logic of it was flawed, dangerous, would only lead to more pain when the morning inevitably came. But Vi was right here, solid and warm and real, and somehow tomorrow felt like a lifetime away. 

Tomorrow, Caitlyn would be practical, sensible, would board a plane to a future that made perfect sense on paper. But tonight…

—

Tonight, she kissed Vi like it was the first time and the last time all at once. Deeper now, with the desperation and longing of someone who was all too aware of their scant remaining hours together. 

Vi’s hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer while freeing her blue locks from the elastic, and Caitlyn could taste salt—tears, though she couldn’t tell whose anymore.

They broke apart only when breathing became necessary, both of them unsteady, clinging to each other in the middle of this room that had witnessed their beginning, and now also their end.

“Stay tonight,” Caitlyn whispered against Vi’s neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her lips.

“Cait—”

 “—I want to pretend tomorrow doesn’t exist. If just for a moment.”

She knew goodbyes had their own grammar in the way they were supposed to play out. Even so, when Vi’s mouth found hers, moved against hers, the rulebook slipped from Caitlyn’s hands. The kiss was urgent but tender, a practiced language spoken like prayer, and for a moment the future went quiet enough that Caitlyn could almost believe it wasn’t waiting for her to arrive.

She tugged at Vi’s jacket first, the worn leather giving a small, wistful sigh as it slid from her shoulders. It thumped to the floor at the base of the bed, and Caitlyn could feel Vi smiling into the kiss despite it all. 

“Arms,” Caitlyn murmured, and Vi obliged, lifting them without breaking contact. She gathered the hem of Vi’s tee and drew it up, slow enough to take in the way ink curled over the firm muscle of her triceps, how the light skimmed the planes of her sculpted body. The shirt cleared Vi’s head and fell somewhere behind them. Beneath, cotton and elastic: a simple Calvin Klein bralette, the one they both favoured. Gooseflesh rose along Vi’s skin where the air found her; Caitlyn smoothed it with her palms as if her warmth were a debt she could repay.

They kissed again, a little clumsier and sloppier, and Caitlyn let her hands travel over the strong line of Vi’s shoulders, down the edges of her ribs, across the quick drumming of her heart in her chest. Vi’s sighs opened into her mouth at the touch, and Caitlyn inhaled the sound like oxygen, drawing her lover’s sweet breath deep into her lungs. She wanted to hold it there forever, wanted it to seep into her bloodstream, to become one with her at a molecular level down to her DNA.

Vi’s reply was equally efficient and far less ceremonial. She tugged Caitlyn’s sweater and it came away at once, the garment peeled clean from her frame. It landed beside the jacket somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Vi’s hands were deft, almost absent-minded in their competence, and were already moving lower.

Caitlyn, who was busy with Vi’s lips, Vi’s jaw, the tender spot beneath her ear, didn’t notice the quiet work at her waist until cool, conditioned air traced the surface where fabric had been. The pajama drawstring had been undone, the soft cotton had slipped away, and Caitlyn found herself suddenly and utterly unadorned, bare, laughter catching in her throat at the flourish of it.

“Aren’t you the magician, making my clothes entirely disappear?”

Vi huffed a chuckle against her lips, “just wait until you see my next trick.”

But Caitlyn had a few tricks of her own.

She nudged Vi to lie back with a gentle hand, easing her into the cradle of the mattress. Caitlyn followed her down, bracing over her, knees sinking into the soft give of the sheets. The denim of Vi’s jeans was rough against her bare thighs, a delicious friction that made her want both to linger and to hurry.

She mapped the warm column of Vi’s throat with her mouth—press, taste, breathe—nosing the supple skin there, nipping lightly and earning a gasp, then smoothing the apology with a kiss. Vi tilted, offering more of herself to Caitlyn’s eager affections; Caitlyn followed the invitation like a compass, dragging her tongue in a slow line down to the strong angle of her collar. 

Her hands found the band of her bralette and paused, quietly seeking Vi’s blessing to continue baring her, searching her eyes for it. When Vi offered her glassy gaze and a small nod in reply, Caitlyn drew the fabric up and over, and for a moment, all she could do was look, awestruck. Then her palms were there, reverent and certain, cupping the warm rounds of Vi’s breasts, her thumbs sweeping slow arcs over her tender, pert nipples. Vi’s jaw went slack as she whined.

“Ah,” her eyes flickered shut, lashes fluttering like the beat of a wing. 

“Is it too much?” Caitlyn adjusted, rolling a sensitive peak between finger and thumb.

“N-no,” Vi rasped. “No, it feels good. You can… you do more, if you want.”

Caitlyn smiled, eager to oblige her. She traced kisses over the shelf of Vi’s collarbone, then moved lower, letting her mouth take what her hands already had. When she closed her lips around the peak and sucked lightly, Vi’s hips answered of their own accord, growing restless with each flick and swirl of Caitlyn’s tongue. She soothed, then teased, then soothed again, adoring every sharp intake of Vi’s breath.

Just as she moved to claim the other breast, Caitlyn felt strong hands close at her waist, coaxing her upward along the length of Vi’s body. The change in vantage startled her; where one moment her head was flush with the swell of Vi’s chest, and the next she was straddling the breadth of her shoulders, thighs bracketing the warm muscle there.

She looked down, and Vi’s gaze met hers—heavy-lidded, unblinking, want lit like a banked fire—potent enough that it made Caitlyn’s breath come swift and ragged. 

It surprised her, how visceral her longing felt—how desperately her body petitioned for contact. This position, this surrender to sheer vulnerability, made her feel briefly unarmoured and exposed. For all their easy sexual fluency, this was so entirely… different and new.

Vi’s fingers tightened at her hips, her guidance gentle as a tide. “Hey,” she murmured. Caitlyn shuddered at the tingle of her breath. “Come here.”

“I… I don’t want to suffocate you.”

“There are worse ways to go.” The line landed with perfect irreverence, and laughter spilled between them.

A kiss to her inner thigh cut the laughter short, Caitlyn’s giving way to the most hushed of whimpers. Her legs trembled on instinct; she pressed a hand to the headboard, the other to Vi’s hair, unsure which grip would anchor her better. Vi tipped her head up to plant another kiss, softer than a downy feather, until Caitlyn could hardly bear the anticipation of what came next.

“Don’t worry,” Vi said, meeting her eyes again. “You won’t hurt me. I promise.”

Caitlyn breathed in, breathed out. She eased her weight forward in small, careful increments, letting Vi guide, letting the angle adjust, feeling the sparks of their proximity. The world tightened to the span of Vi’s shoulders beneath her, to the way those big hands steadied and encouraged with such unwavering patience.

With one last fleeting stare, Caitlyn sunk her fingers into the headboard, her hand disappearing into Vi’s hair, and lowered herself tentatively onto her waiting mouth.

They shared in a moan, and Caitlyn tilted her head back when Vi’s tongue began rasping through her, collecting every drop of her arousal that had pooled to her core. Her strong arms snaked around Caitlyn’s thighs, as if sensing her feeble capacity to remain upright, allowing Caitlyn to set her own rhythm with her rolling, jittery hips. 

When Vi’s devoted lapping turned to sucking that found Caitlyn’s clit, she keened—hunching forward to bunch both of her hands into Vi’s shaggy locks as she began to hump with a fierce, instinctual vigour. Her fears of smothering Vi’s face to death were overtaken by a sheer need to deliver herself, to chase that high to completion until she was reduced to a boneless pile of flesh on Vi’s chest.

When at last she found the faculty to look down, she saw Vi beneath her; her eyes fluttering as moans poured freely from her lips while she worked. Knowing how much Vi was enjoying this—entirely drunk on her, on her pleasure as Caitlyn’s arousal dripped down her chin, made her realize that it somehow wasn’t enough.

I want you, too.

“W-wait.”

It took nearly every ounce of Caitlyn’s remaining strength to halt her bucking hips, and Vi’s groan in protest was audible when she dismounted from her position above her head. 

Caitlyn shifted and eased herself down, palms braced on either side of Vi’s shoulders. She caught Vi’s mouth at once, a deep, steadying kiss, assuring her that there was more to come. The taste of her lingered there, and Caitlyn felt the flush climb her throat, both shameless and strangely tender. 

Her hands busied themselves at Vi’s fly, finding the brass button of her jeans and working it open, the zipper giving a soft, obedient purr. Caitlyn broke the kiss only to chart a path down the centerline of Vi’s body, sternum to navel, pressing her mouth to each landmark she’d come to know so intimately. When she drew her tongue in slow strokes along the shallow furrows of Vi’s abdomen, the muscles there fluttered.

“That tickles.”

Caitlyn nosed the soft place just above the waistband where the top of Vi’s underwear peaked out, along the trail of hair that climbed up belly, and felt Vi’s breath hitch.

They made a small ceremony of the jeans. Caitlyn coaxed the denim down an inch at a time, Vi lifting her hips to help. Caitlyn tugged them past Vi’s knees and off, and the sound of fabric giving up and joining the pile on the floor was, stupidly, satisfying. 

Now, Vi lay back in only her Calvin boxers—charcoal, snug, indecently flattering—and the sight sent a lance of heat through Caitlyn, just as thrilling as the very first time she saw Vi like this.

“You know,” Vi huffed, slowing her running breath. “I could’ve let you finish first.”

Caitlyn answered by catching the waistband between forefinger and thumb and pressing a slow kiss along the line of it, her mouth lingering at the notch of Vi’s hip. “Don’t worry,” she whispered with certainty. “We’ll both get what we need very soon.”

Caitlyn slid Vi’s boxers down her thighs, the last barrier to her complete unveiling, feeling their dampness in her palm as she placed them somewhere on the bed. Vi spread herself almost instinctively, and Caitlyn could tell how worked up she was, how terribly she ached to be touched as much as she enjoyed giving her touch to Caitlyn.

It was almost hypnotizing how her wetness had gathered—the way it dripped down her big, strong thighs, how the smell of her in this state was so potent and irresistible. 

Caitlyn’s first instinct was to reach with her hand, combing her fingers through the coarse thatch of hair, circling around her swollen clit but never making direct contact, all of it culminating in Vi gyrating against her touch.

“Cait, d-don’t tease…”

Though it wasn’t Caitlyn’s intention to dive right into this, she also knew she couldn’t deny Vi, wouldn’t deny Vi, the pleasure she so terribly wanted. And without another passing thought, Caitlyn obliged her, dipping her head forward and running her tongue along the length of her sex.

“Ah, a-ah…!”

Vi flinched, though Caitlyn remained gentle, content to savour the feel, the taste, Vi at her most vulnerable and exposed. Her ears picked up the sound of bedding rustling, bunching into fists, and it soon became evident that Caitlyn’s pace was simply not enough. 

She moved upward, lavishing Vi’s clit with broad strokes from the flat of her tongue, then lighter flutters with the tip. The motion saw Vi fit to cum right then and there with all the telltale signs of her undoing—the abundance of whimpers, the slackening of her jaw, the tremor climbing her thighs like a struck chord.

It was then that Caitlyn withdrew her mouth, and Vi rolled onto her side, moaning with vexation. Though it pained her to deny her like this—to deny them both, if she was being honest—she’d give anything to draw this out, to savour it down to the last drop, the last second. 

She slid one hand beneath Vi’s ass, grabbing at the threshold of her thighs, guiding her forward as Caitlyn rose to her knees. The mattress gave a soft, surprised creak, and Vi’s brows lifted, laughter caught behind her teeth, a little startled and a little uncertain.

“Easy,” Caitlyn hushed, steadying her palms at Vi’s waist. “Relax.”

The word worked like a key. Vi exhaled, shoulders loosening, the guarded line at her mouth tipping into something playful. Caitlyn kissed the inside of Vi’s knee in gratitude, then lifted, settling Vi’s calf over her shoulder. She edged closer by inches, feeling the shift in their balance, the suspense of their most tender flesh mere moments from pressing together.

Vi flushed beautifully, her eyes heavy. “Where’d you learn that move?”

Caitlyn’s answering smile felt unreasonably pleased. “Don’t you remember?” She leaned in until their noses brushed, her breath mixing with Vi’s. “I learned from the best.”

Giving Vi one last little peck, Caitlyn tightened her core, propping herself upright. She angled herself to the most comfortable position for both of them to feel what they needed without frustration.

And then, she lowered.

She knew it was going to feel good—it did the first time they tried this, after all. But god above, it was almost obscene, the intensity with which the pleasure took over, how both of them shared in a shudder and moan, grabbing at each other for purchase before either of them had even begun to move.

Caitlyn stayed in it, relished in it, lost herself in the beautiful, erotic burn of Vi’s cunt flush against her own. She was so wet, impossibly wet and hot and throbbing, and Caitlyn was certain there was no sweeter feeling in all the world than this—to be joined in this way, to feel her lover so intimately in her grip.

She sucked in a breath at even the slightest friction, rocking her hips tentatively, afraid that anything more might overwhelm them both. But with each tiny thrust, her need and arousal grew, heartened by the sound of Vi beneath her, already so loud and needy, wanting for more. 

So Caitlyn increased the pace, bucking her hips, gyrating in wide circles, grinding down and Vi moaned, so loud and debauched that it bounced off the walls and rattled the porcelain cups on the bar fridge. They found themselves caught in cyclone, where Caitlyn’s motions would wrench the most gorgeous songs of pleasure from Vi’s throat, encouraging her to fuck her even harder, until the room was saturated with the indecent sounds of their combined wetness and a creaking bedframe.

“Cait, oh Cait, baby you feel so good…” Vi croaked out, her leg falling away as she opened herself to more. 

Hearing Vi call Caitlyn that, something she’d grown to love since she first heard it—rivaling Cupcake, though she supposed Cupcake wouldn’t quite satisfy the same in moments like this—sent her into a fit of whines. Her nails dug into Vi’s calf as she pressed down harder, her engorged clit slipping through Vi’s soaked folds with ease.

“Ah, call me that again…”

“Baby,” Vi coo’d, then hiccuped when Caitlyn fucked her again. And again, and again until her breasts were bouncing with the force of it, hard and fast merciless as she wailed and writhed under her weight. 

Caitlyn slowed her hips to catch her breath, allowing Vi to do the same, though she knew that both of them wouldn’t last much longer like this. 

Caitlyn wished she had a vessel to capture this exact minute. To preserve this air and carry it with her for the rest of her life. 

The notion of living without this was too much to bear, the only thing holding her back from fucking them both to the release they so desperately needed after what must have been hours of dangling on the edge. 

And so, as wonderful as it all felt, Caitlyn knew that her memory would have to suffice. That poor Vi could no longer be tormented by her sentimentality, and neither could she.

Her own desire pressed at her now, persistent. It climbed up her spine, pooled below her navel, made her clumsy in a way she found both mortifying and honest. She felt it in the reach of her hands, the tremouring of her wrists, the tiny failure of her dignity when a sound she didn’t recognize leapt loose. 

Enough, her body argued. 

Let it go.

“Cait, baby I’m so close, I’m so close it hurts,” Vi squeaked. “Pleasepleaseplease…”

“Say it again.”

“Baby, please.”

As though a taught string had snapped, Caitlyn liberated herself to fuck freely, the sound of it so salacious as their skin slapped together, their whimpers and whines and cries filling the room. Caitlyn was no stranger to Vi’s vocal nature during sex, but she was certain she’d never heard her like this before. 

What rose from Vi’s throat was barely human, babbling pleas and incoherent expressions, and it took every ounce of Caitlyn’s restraint to impede herself from her own release.

But it was worth it when, at last—

They came.

Caitlyn pressed her face into the side of Vi’s knee to muffle the howl that burst from the depths of her chest. She didn’t know she was capable of making such a noise, but it was all she could do in the wake of such an intense, shattering pleasure, potent enough that she nearly panicked.

Vi didn’t fare much better, her body quaking violently beneath her, like lightning had struck every one of her muscle fibres and set her alight. Caitlyn crumpled forward and fell into Vi’s embrace, the two of them thrashing about, barely able to find each other with their eyes squeezed shut and the way their limbs kicked and thrashed. 

When at last the highs of it began to wane, Caitlyn collected Vi into her, stroking her fingers through her sweaty hair, pressing kisses to her forehead and cheek. Vi’s eyes hadn’t opened yet, still closed but not as tightly as she sighed out the last few waves of her orgasm. 

The change was subtle at first—Vi’s breathing shifting from steady to uneven, catching in places where it shouldn’t. Then Caitlyn felt it, warm droplets against her neck, unmistakable in their meaning. 

Caitlyn’s heart fractured along familiar fault lines. She pulled Vi closer, adjusting their positions until Vi’s face was tucked into the crook of her neck, hidden from the world even though they were alone. Her hands moved on instinct; one cradling the back of Vi’s head, fingers stroking the buzzed side of her scalp, the other rubbing slow circles up and down her spine.

“It’s okay,” Caitlyn whispered, though she knew… nothing about this was okay. “I’ve got you.”

Vi’s shoulders shook harder, and the tears came in abundance now, soaking through to the sheets below. Caitlyn pressed her lips to Vi’s temple and held the kiss there, trying to convey through touch what words would fail to accomplish.

“I’m sorry,” Vi gasped against her neck, muffled and broken. “I don’t, I’m not usually—”

“—Shhh.” Caitlyn’s own throat had gone tight, tears threatening behind her eyes like a faulty dam. But she held them back through sheer force of will. Vi needed her to be strong right now, to be the anchor while she fell apart. There would be time for Caitlyn’s own collapse later, in the sterile privacy of first class, somewhere high and far where no one would know her, nor care to.

Emerging from the safety of Caitlyn’s hold with her face flushed and wet, Vi sniffled, then opened her eyes. They drank the sight of each other in, lying on their sides, caressing each other’s faces. It was inky as the night now, save for the glow of the street spilling in from the window, but Caitlyn’s eyes would always be able to see Vi, even in the dark. 

“Can I,” Vi strained to speak, wiping her eyes. “Can I have you one more time?”

Caitlyn brushed the back of her fingers along Vi’s jaw, then reached for her hand, bringing her calloused knuckles to her lips. 

“You can have me until we see the sun.”

—

Consciousness returned in fragments—the weight of an arm across her abdomen, the warmth of another body pressed against her back, the unfamiliar rhythm of someone else’s breathing in a bed that had been solely hers for weeks. 

Caitlyn’s eyes opened to grey morning light barely breaching the hotel’s blackout curtains, that peculiar quality of dawn that made everything feel suspended between dream and reality.

She wasn’t sure when she’d finally succumbed to sleep. The last clear memory was of lying there at 4 AM, Vi’s hand in hers, both of them believing that if they stayed awake, perhaps they could delay the inevitable. But exhaustion, emotional and physical, had eventually claimed them both.

Vi was still asleep, her face half-buried in the pillow. Her features were soft in sleep, the tension she had carried while awake completely dissolved. One arm was flung across Caitlyn’s stomach, possessive even in unconsciousness, and her hair was a disaster of tangles that Caitlyn wanted desperately to smooth but didn’t dare touch.

This was how she wanted to remember Vi—not the tears from hours before, not the approaching goodbye, but this. Peaceful. Present. Hers, even if only for these last brief moments.

The clock on the nightstand read 6:23. Her flight would be departing in a few hours.

Moving carefully, Caitlyn extracted herself from Vi’s embrace. Vi mumbled something unintelligible and rolled into the warm space Caitlyn had vacated, pulling the pillow closer. The sight of her made Caitlyn’s chest constrict.

The shower was both necessity and refuge. Under the spray, she could pretend the water on her face had the ability to rinse away sorrow, could focus on the mechanical routine of washing her hair and skin rather than the countdown timer in her head. She used the hotel’s generic shampoo rather than her own products, wanting to adorn herself in a new, unfamiliar scent. 

When she emerged, wrapped in the hotel’s plush robe, Vi was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on her boots. She looked up at Caitlyn’s entrance, and for a moment, neither spoke. Vi’s expression was carefully neutral, containing a studied blankness that meant she was feeling everything but showing nothing.

“Morning,” Vi said, her voice still rough with sleep.

“Good morning,” Caitlyn replied, hating how formal it sounded, how they’d retreated to politeness when hours ago they’d practically been inside each other’s skin.

She moved to her suitcase, pulling out the clothes she’d set aside—comfortable pants for the long flight, a cashmere sweater that Vi had once said made her look like a haughty poet. Her hands moved through the motions of dressing while hyperaware of Vi’s presence, the careful way they navigated around each other in the suddenly too-small space.

The sound of her suitcase zipper closing was obscenely loud in the quiet room. The finality of it was palpable. The pit in her stomach, which had been present since she’d woken, expanded into a chasm. 

“What time’s your flight?” 

“Nine-thirty,” Caitlyn confirmed, checking her phone. “I should leave by seven at the latest. Traffic to LAX can be—”

“—I’ll drive you.”

The offer stopped Caitlyn mid-sentence. “Vi, you don’t have to—”

“—Please.” She spoke softly, but urgently, and when Caitlyn looked up, Vi’s neutrality had entirely cracked. “Let me do this. Let me…” She paused, jaw working. “Just. Please.”

Caitlyn wanted to protest. It would be easier, cleaner, to say goodbye here. To walk out of this room without the prolonged agony of a drive to the airport, without having to watch the city pass by knowing Vi would be driving back alone. But the plea in Vi’s eyes, the naked need to extend their time together even by an hour—she couldn’t refuse that.

And, in truth, she wanted it too.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Let’s go, then.”

—

The drive stretched before them like an unspooling thread, each mile pulling tighter around Caitlyn’s chest. She pressed her forehead against the passenger window of Vi’s Jeep, watching the city slip away in reverse. The familiar palms and hills of Hollywood gave way to a crawling sprawl of traffic, everything she’d come to love about this place dissolving into highway barriers and exit signs.

Caitlyn wasn’t sure if they’d uttered a word to each other the entire time. It was the silence of people who’d already said everything that mattered and yet hadn’t said nearly enough. Vi’s hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, so different from her usual laid-back one handed stance, and Caitlyn found herself memorizing even this—yes, she’d take care to remember everything.

“Want the radio?” 

“Sure,” Caitlyn replied, though she wasn’t sure she could handle music right now, wasn’t sure she could handle anything that might tip her over the edge emotionally.

Vi’s finger found the preset without looking—Channel 516, the station that had become their soundtrack since they first met. The mellow beats filled the car, soft percussion and melancholic piano, music that used to make Caitlyn feel centered and calm. Now, it just felt like another thing she was leaving behind, another memory that would ambush her with grief when she least expected it. 

The airport came into view too soon, jets visible in the distance like giant, metal birds. Caitlyn’s heart was thundering now. 

“What gate?” Vi asked, navigating the maze of terminal signs. “What airline?”

“Delta. Terminal 4.” 

Vi maneuvered through the chaos of departures—cars double-parked, families embracing, luggage carts left out in the open road. She pulled up to the curb in a manner that suggested she’d been thinking about this moment, planning exactly how to position the car for the easiest exit. Or maybe the hardest. Maybe she wanted to make it difficult to leave. Caitlyn wasn’t mentally sound enough to tell.

They sat for a moment, engine idling, both staring straight ahead at the sliding glass doors of the building, doors Caitlyn would disappear through in a few short moments. Caitlyn could see her reflection in the side mirror—uptight, composed, nothing like the woman who’d fallen apart in Vi’s arms mere hours ago.

“I’ll help with your bag,” Vi said, already moving to get out.

They exited the car simultaneously, and Caitlyn immediately missed its roomy interior, the forced proximity, the excuse to share space. The morning air bit at her exposed skin, carrying the acrid smell of fuel and the underlying scent of autumn she’d always associated with new beginnings. Now it would forever smell like endings.

Vi popped the trunk with the key fob—the electronic chirp stupidly cheerful—and hauled out Caitlyn’s suitcase with ease. She wheeled it over, handle extended, and they stood there on the sidewalk as the world streamed around them, two fixed points in a universe of motion.

Vi looked devastating in the morning light—her hair mussed, that worn leather jacket that complimented her frame so perfectly, her silver eyes the colour of lingering clouds. Caitlyn drank in the sight, trying to burn it into her retinas, to carry this image with her across an ocean.

She’d promised herself last night was the last contact, the last surrender to this pull.

But she’d been wrong. 

Her body moved without conscious thought, arms flying around Vi’s neck, pulling her close with desperate strength.

Vi’s arms came around her immediately, crushing her against that grounding, solid warmth. They held each other like they were trying to merge, to become one entity that couldn’t be separated by something as trivial as geography. Caitlyn breathed in Vi’s scent, felt the steady thud of her heartbeat, memorized the specific pressure of these arms around her.

Time dilated, stretched, became meaningless. They might have stood there for seconds or hours, ignoring the honking horns and the TSA officer giving them pointed looks. But eventually, inevitably, they loosened their grip. Not letting go entirely, not yet, but acknowledging that they had to.

Vi’s hands came up to cup Caitlyn’s face, thumbs brushing over cheekbones with heartbreaking tenderness. “Knock ’em dead for me, Cupcake.”

That corny little nickname, delivered with Vi’s signature crooked smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, made Caitlyn laugh, though it nearly dissolved into a sob. She brought her hand up to cover Vi’s, feeling the calluses on her knuckles, the evidence of a hard life lived that had somehow resulted in the gentlest touch Caitlyn had ever known.

She took a step back, still holding Vi’s hand, their arms forming a bridge between them. This was it. This was the moment where she had to choose between the future she’d planned and the present she wanted. The choice had already been made, the ticket purchased, the job in Milan waiting. But god, she wanted to be brave enough to change her mind.

“Goodbye,” Caitlyn said, the word scraping her throat raw.

She let go and turned toward the automatic doors, wheeling her suitcase behind her, each step an act of will.

“Hey, Cait?”

She stopped, turned back so quickly she almost lost her balance. “Yes?”

Vi stood by the car, hands shoved in her pockets, looking lost and found simultaneously. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. For one crystalline moment, Caitlyn’s heart stopped, waiting for the words that might change everything. Don’t go. Stay. I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out. 

“Thank you,” Vi said instead. “For… for everything.”

The disappointment was crushing, a physical weight that threatened to drive Caitlyn to her knees. She’d been hoping, foolishly, for something else, something more, something that would give her permission to drop her suitcase and run back to that Jeep, to choose love over logic.

But she had to be rational. They’d already accepted this, made their peace, and this was the way it would have to be.

Caitlyn managed a nod, a smile that felt like it might crack her face, and turned back toward the terminal. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t. If she saw Vi standing there, looking like that by her Jeep, she’d never be able to board the plane.

The automatic doors parted with mechanical indifference, welcoming her into the fluorescent embrace of Terminal 4. The sounds changed—no more traffic and city noise, now it was crying babies and departure announcements and the voice over the P.A. reminding everyone not to leave bags unattended.

She found her gate, found her seat in the waiting area, found herself staring at planes taking off and wondering when this feeling of unease would be lifted from her shoulders.

The boarding announcement came too soon and not soon enough. She stood, gathered her things, joined the line of people heading to the same destination. As she handed over her boarding pass, as she walked down the jet bridge, as she found her seat and stowed her bag, nothing had felt more final. Staring out the window, she watched the desert sprawl of L.A. disappear beneath her.

And now, with utmost certainty, her fate was sealed in flames. 

Goodbye.

Chapter Text

The Last Drop was the kind of place that always caught people when they fell, which was probably why Vi had been falling into it for the past several days. The bar’s coppery, honeyed lighting made everyone look just a little jaundiced, but it also made it harder to see the damage of their libations, so Vi counted it as a win.

“Hey, Breanne,” Vi slurred at a server from her table, though some distant part of her brain knew that wasn’t quite right. “Gimme ‘nother shot of your…” She paused, trying to remember what top-notch shit she’d been drinking. “Noxus. The fifteen year cask strength.”

The server raised an eyebrow that communicated several things at once, none of them good. “It’s Bailey. And I’m not so sure I should do that, this will be your seventh.”

“‘s only seven?” Vi attempted to look affronted but probably just looked… well, drunk. The room had taken on that pleasant underwater characteristic where everything moved a beat behind her intentions. “Then we’re not done yet. Pour it for me, Breanne.”

“Bailey.”

“That’s what I said.”

The server shook her head and departed for the back bar, because The Last Drop had never been in the business of making moral judgments. That’s when the water appeared on the scarred wood in front of her, delivered with a thunderous clunk.

Vi looked up—a mistake, as the world tilted—to find Vander standing there with his arms crossed and that expression that meant she was about to get a talking-to. 

Great. Fantastic. Just what this shit sundae of an evening needed: a cherry of paternal disappointment on top.

“Wow,” Vi said, picking up the water and taking a sip with thespian exaggeration. “That’s some shitty vodka.”

“I think you’ve had enough.” Vander’s voice carried the rumble that used to make her feel safe when she was a kid. Only now, at the age of 28, she really was the kid. 

“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough,” Vi shot back, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she had to grip the edge of the table to keep the stool from spinning. Or was it the room that was spinning? It was hard to tell. “I’m a paying customer.”

Vander pulled up a stool next to her, which meant this was going to be a real conversation, not just a drive-by lecture. Vi groaned and let her head fall onto the table. The wood was sticky against her forehead, but it was cool, and it made the spinning stop for a second.

“Have you been in touch with your agent?” Vander asked, his voice gentler now. “Tried to find more work?”

Vi laughed, or tried to. It came out more like a wounded seal bark. “Oh yeah, tons of work. Everyone wants the Calvin Klein girl from the billboard. Hey, you’re that famous underwear model chick!”

“Vi.”

“What?” She lifted her head, immediately regretted it, and held it up in the weight of her palm. “I’ll find more work when I’m ready.”

“You need to get on your feet now,” Vander said, and there was something in his voice that made Vi actually look at him. Real concern, not the perfunctory kind. “Moping around in a bar every night and drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t going to solve your problems. It isn’t you, Vi. You can do better for yourself than this.”

“Maybe it is me,” Vi muttered. “Maybe this is exactly me. Maybe the other thing, the modeling thing, the pretending-to-have-my-life-together thing, that was the act.”

She could feel Vander studying her, that penetrating gaze that had always been able to see through her bullshit. She waited for him to push, to ask about what had happened, about why she’d been haunting his bar every night since that fateful farewell at Terminal 4—even though he already knew.

Vander stood. “I’m calling you a cab.”

“I can walk.”

“Vi, don’t be stupid. You can barely sit.”

He wasn’t wrong. The stool had started feeling less like furniture and more like a mechanical bull set to a rambunctious buck. Vi focused on the glass of water, trying to make it stop multiplying. Since when did water come in stereo?

“Fine,” she conceded, because arguing required the mental coordination she didn’t currently possess. “But I’m not tipping.”

“The cab, Vi. Not me.”

“I’m not tipping them either.”

Vander walked away to make the call, leaving Vi alone with her water and her thoughts, which was, quite frankly, rude. Her thoughts were assholes tonight, kept drifting to places they shouldn’t go. To a person she couldn’t get out of her head, no matter how hard she tried.

The scotch hadn’t helped. Seven shots of Noxus’s finest select, and she could still see Caitlyn’s face every time she closed her eyes. Could still smell her soap and her hair, feel the ghost of her fingers tracing her body like they were reading braille, finding stories in her lived-in skin.

“Your chariot awaits,” Vander announced, and Vi realized she’d been sitting there feeling sorry for herself for however long it took to summon a cab. Time had gone weird and elastic, another side effect of either the scotch or the heartbreak.

Standing was an adventure. Her legs had apparently declared independence while she wasn’t paying attention, and they had very different ideas about which direction to go. Vander’s hand on her elbow was the only thing that kept her from face-planting into a table of tourists who looked both concerned and slightly thrilled to witness authentic Los Angeles nightlife.

The air hit her like a slap—cold, sharp, and definitely deserved. The cab idled at the curb, a brilliant yellow in the glow of the streetlight.

“Get home safe,” Vander said, helping her fold into the backseat. “And Vi? Call your agent tomorrow. The real world’s still gonna be there when you’re done hiding from it.”

Vi wanted to tell him she wasn’t hiding, she was strategically retreating. There was a difference. But the cab was already pulling away, and forming complete sentences had become quite the insurmountable feat around the fourth shot of whiskey.

The driver asked for an address. Vi managed to mumble her cross streets, then immediately regretted it as the cab swerved into traffic. Her stomach, which had been relatively cooperative up until now, decided to enact its penance.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, tapping the partition with urgency that probably looked like panic because it was. “You gotta pull over. Now. Right now.”

To his credit, the driver didn’t ask questions, just swerved to the curb like he’d been through this routine before. Vi barely got the door open before everything—the scotch, the water, the terrible bar pretzels she’d eaten three hours ago, her remaining dignity—made its unsightly appearance on the pavement.

“You okay?” The driver asked when she finally collapsed back into the seat, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand like the class act she was.

“Peachy,” Vi managed, muffling a burp. “Just peachy keen.”

He pulled back into traffic, taking care to drive a little slower, and Vi pressed her forehead against the window, letting the cool glass ground her. The city blurred past with its bodegas and bars and other people having the normal night that she wasn’t.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. For one stupid, desperate second, her heart jumped. Maybe it was—

But no. It was just Powder, probably responding to whatever incomprehensible drunk text she’d sent her an hour ago. She didn’t even bother to check it, already cringing at the thought of whatever nonsense she’d sent her sister for her to be texting at this hour.

And at this point, since that day, she wondered if she’d ever have a normal night again.

—

The subway car lurched with violence, and Caitlyn’s hand tightened on the overhead rail, her body adjusting itself for the quaking rhythm of the downtown 6 train. 

Around her, the morning commuters performed their daily dance of avoidance. Eyes on their phones, their books, the fascinating middle distance that allowed dozens of strangers to exist in forced intimacy without acknowledgment. 

She watched the stations blur past through the scratched window—Union Square, Astor Place, Bleecker Street. She’d been back in New York for six weeks now, six weeks since the Calvin Klein campaign wrapped in Los Angeles, six weeks of existing in this strange liminal space between what was ending and what hadn’t quite begun.

The train screeched into Spring Street station, and Caitlyn moved toward the doors, sliding through the gap before they fully opened, navigating the platform’s chaos without conscious thought. She climbed the stairs into the crisp October sunlight that felt too bright against her eyes.

The coffee shop where her agent had arranged their meeting was on the corner of Spring and Lafayette—one of those aggressively minimalist places that served twelve-dollar lattes in handmade ceramics. Everything about Mel Medarda was carefully curated, from her venues to her vintage Chanel to her stable of clients who she shaped into stars.

Caitlyn spotted her immediately through the floor-to-ceiling windows, impossible to miss with her gold jewelry catching the light like a beacon, her presence commanding amidst the stillness. She was already seated at a corner table, two drinks waiting, numerous papers spread before her.

The bell above the door chimed Caitlyn’s arrival, and Mel looked up, welcoming her with a smile.

“Caitlyn,” she said, standing to deliver air kisses that managed to convey both affection and assessment. “Wonderful to see you.”

Caitlyn settled into the chair across from her. “Thank you for meeting me, I’m sorry for having to reschedule. Been under the weather.” Caitlyn said, wrapping her hands around the oat milk cortado Mel had ordered for her. 

“Please, it’s no trouble. I know you must be coming down from the highs of the Calvin campaign.” Mel’s manicured fingers danced across the papers. “But if you thought that was the big break, Milan is going to be transformative for you. The contract alone will set you up for the next year, and that’s before we factor in the other interests.”

The numbers were staggering, the kind of money that would have made Caitlyn’s mother faint—though whether from horror at her daughter moving so far away to get it or delight at the figures was debatable. 

“Your living arrangements are confirmed,” Mel continued, sliding a tablet across the table with photos of a light-filled space overlooking the Navigli district. “Two bedrooms, terrace, walking distance to the head office. The agency is covering the first three months, then it comes out of your earnings, but trust me, you’ll hardly notice.”

Caitlyn scrolled through the images of exposed brick, modern fixtures, a sophisticated European aesthetic that photographed beautifully. It was perfect. But it was also… cold, empty. 

“And the visa?” Caitlyn asked, forcing herself to focus on the logistics rather than the ache in her chest.

“Processing as we speak. You’ll have it by Thursday, Friday at the latest.” Mel produced another document, this one requiring signatures. “Work permit for eighteen months, with option to extend. Though between you and me, I doubt you’ll need the full term. Once Milan gets a taste of you, Paris will come calling. Then London. This is just the beginning.”

The beginning. 

Caitlyn signed where indicated, her handwriting neat despite the tremor in her wrist. She’d had so many beginnings, all so soon and all at once. 

When did one get to have a middle, a continuation, a story that didn’t require constant reinvention?

—

Caitlyn dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door and moved through her apartment languidly, a space she’d called home since she moved out of her parent’s house and began her freelancing work all those years ago. 

How fast that time had gone.

Her bedroom greeted her with its minimalism of white walls and grey bedding, a piece of abstract art suspended above the headboard that said absolutely nothing. The late afternoon light filtering through the skylight should have been beautiful, but late October in New York had turned treacherous this year with its dull skies and early darkness, weather that seemed to press against the windows with malevolent intent.

Caitlyn sank onto the edge of her bed, still in her coat, and stared at the dress hanging on her closet door. Black, naturally. Appropriate for a business dinner, sophisticated enough for her mother’s standards, anonymous enough to blend into the background while everyone discussed her as if she weren’t there. 

She should shower, should start the elaborate ritual of making herself presentable for public consumption. Instead, she was static, coat still on, feeling the weight of exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical tiredness.

Sleep had become theoretical lately. She’d found herself staring at her ceiling at 3 AM, replaying so many scenarios in her head, what her life might have looked like in another universe, another timeline, where different decisions were made. She wondered if Vi would lie awake like this too, pondering the same things.

Probably not. Vi had always slept like someone with a clear conscience, even when her conscience should have been anything but. It was one of the things Caitlyn had envied about her, that ability to close her eyes and trust the world would still be there when she opened them.

Her phone buzzed—a reminder about dinner, as if she could forget. 7:30 PM at The View, the revolving restaurant that her father probably thought was clever. Watch the city spin around them while they toast to Caitlyn spinning off to another continent. 

She finally shrugged off her coat and began to undress, before padding into the on-suite. The shower was set to nearly scalding, an attempt to feel something through the numbness that had settled over her like an autumn fog. She stood under the spray longer than necessary, watching the water swirl down the drain, thinking about how easy it was to disappear. Water becoming vapour, vapour becoming nothing.

The dress slipped on like resignation, expensive fabric that knew how to hang properly, how to suggest rather than reveal, how to make her look like the successful woman everyone expected to see. She applied makeup with intention, more than she usually cared for: foundation and concealer for the depths of her exhaustion, a lipstick the colour of a confidence she didn’t feel. 

Caitlyn’s phone chirped again from the vanity, and she picked it up, greeted by what she’d been avoiding for too long. 

Maddie 

6:24 PM

You still wanna go to botanic gardens tomorrow?

It was a message from the Met curator she’d been seeing in the loosest definition of the term. Three dates, two kisses, one night that had gone nowhere because Caitlyn had felt like she was betraying something, someone, even though she had no claim to the feeling.

She should have ended it weeks ago, but inertia was a powerful force. 

So, I need to be honest with you. I’m leaving for Europe on Friday for a long-term work contract. I should have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure how to explain that I’ve been emotionally unavailable since before we met. You deserve better than someone who’s using you as a distraction from missing someone else. I’m sor

She deleted the paragraph, rewrote the message with less honesty, more diplomacy, then sent:

Caitlyn

6:31 PM

Hey, I should let you know I’ll be leaving for Europe on Friday for a long-term contract. I apologize for not mentioning it sooner, everything has happened so quickly. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, but given the circumstances, I think it’s best we end things here.

She immediately felt the hollow satisfaction of doing the right thing, of liberating herself from yet another burden.

The reply came quicker than expected:

Maddie

6:34 PM

Hey! It’s all good. To be honest, I’m not surprised. I could tell your heart wasn’t really in it from the start, anyway. No hard feelings. I hope this opportunity gives you whatever you’re looking for, or whatever you’re trying to heal from.

The accuracy of it stung. Was she that transparent? Or was it just that anyone who’d ever been in love could recognize its absence, the way a shadow implied the shape of what cast it?

Caitlyn set the phone aside, returning to her reflection. She looped her grandmother’s diamonds into her lobes. She clicked her mother’s watch that cost enough to fund a small nonprofit around her wrist, its weight familiar, grounding. She looked like money, like success, like someone who had their life together. The performance was flawless.

Outside, New York was staging its own evening performance. The lights were coming on, transforming the city into that glittering promise that had drawn millions of dreamers to its shores. She gathered her things, threw them into her clutch with the essentials, and stepped out the door with reluctance.

—

The dining room revolved glacially, each rotation offering a new angle on Manhattan’s electric sprawl while Caitlyn pushed perfectly seared scallops around her plate in a plain act of avoidance. 

The View at the Marriott Marquis—forty-eight floors of tourist trap sophistication, where her family’s top shareholders could feel they were experiencing the essence of the city while remaining safely above it.

“Caitlyn, you’ve hardly touched your main,” her mother observed, because Cassandra Kiramman noticed everything, much to Caitlyn’s dismay.

“I’m not that hungry,” Caitlyn replied, setting down her fork. The scallops were probably exquisite—everything here cost enough to be—but they might as well have been styrofoam for all she could taste them.

“Pre-move jitters,” her father interjected with his jovial tone. “Perfectly natural. I remember when I first went to London after meeting Cass, I couldn’t eat for a week.”

The table laughed politely, that specific frequency of amusement reserved for the boss’s anecdotes. Harold Whitmore from Mergers & Acquisitions launched into his own story about Tokyo, while his wife—whose name Caitlyn had forgotten twice—nodded along with vacant enthusiasm.

“To Caitlyn,” someone said, maybe Richardson, or was it Phillips? They all blurred together, these men in their identical suits with their identical ambitions and tepid personalities. “And to Milan. May it be everything you wish for.”

Glasses rose like crystal flowers, the champagne within catching the light from the neon garden below. Caitlyn lifted her own glass, smiled the smile she’d perfected all her life, and drank to her joyous exile. 

“The contract is particularly impressive,” Mrs. Richardson-or-Phillips-or-Devron said. “My daughter would be so envious, she’s always talking about the fashion industry, but of course, she doesn’t have your knack for the camera, behind it or in front of it.”

“Thank you,” Caitlyn managed, unsure of what to say to such a statement.

The conversation swirled on; Northern Italy’s architecture, the euro exchange rate, someone’s cousin who’d lived there in the ‘90s when it was still authentic. Caitlyn participated when directly addressed, offering the appropriate sounds of engagement while her mind drifted to another dinner, weeks ago, in a small but stylish apartment in Century City where the table wobbled and the wine came from a box and Vi had made Caitlyn laugh so hard at something she’d nearly choked on her pasta.

That had been real. This was theater.

The restaurant completed another rotation, Times Square sliding past the windows like a fever dream of capitalism. Broadway billboards, tourist pitfalls, the Disney Store glowing like a beacon of sanitized wonder. Everything too bright, too loud, too much, even from forty-eight floors up.

When dessert plates were cleared and the bill was settled, Cassandra began gathering her things. “We should go,” she announced. “Caitlyn has so much to do before Friday.”

More goodbyes, kisses that touched nothing, empty promises to visit Milan that served only as polite conversation filler. 

After a long descent, they emerged into the bitter autumn night that had turned hostile while they’d been suspended above it. The air had taken on that particular density that preceded rain, heavy with potential energy and the smell of wet concrete waiting to happen.

“The car’s just there,” her father said, pointing to the black Town Car idling at the curb, hazards blinking their urgent rhythm.

Caitlyn followed her parents, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement metronomically. She was looking down, navigating the sidewalk’s tapestry of gum stains and debris, before something so big, so bright and bold and unmistakable, caught her eye and drew her gaze skyward.

There, on a massive screen stretching across the entire side of a building, 

was Vi.

The Calvin Klein billboard dominated the corner of 47th and Broadway, impossible to miss, impossible to ignore. It was that shot, the one from their first official day in Venice Beach, when Caitlyn had caught Vi staring at her with one hand running through her hair. She was wearing the signature banded bralette that clung so perfectly as though it was made to be worn by only her, the fly of her jeans loose, all of it so irresistibly captivating. The black and white photography turned her into something mythic, strength and vulnerability in perfect tension.

But it was her expression that made Caitlyn’s heart nearly jump into her throat. The ease of her gorgeous features, the manner in which she could melt steel with her icy, yet impossibly warm gaze. Something that couldn’t be faked or directed or manufactured. 

Caitlyn had captured Vi in a moment of genuine authenticity, looking at something off-camera with such allure that viewers would spend the rest of their lives wondering what could inspire that kind of radiance.

But Caitlyn knew. She’d been standing just outside the frame, had just given her instruction for the brief, barely able to contain the sheer force with which Vi commanded her attention, her attraction. That look, that pose, had been for her, because of her, and now it was plastered across Times Square for millions of eyes to see.

The tagline read: DEFY EXPECTATIONS. The irony was perfect enough to be painful.

Vi commanded that screen like she commanded every room she entered—without trying, without apology, by simply being exactly who she was. Even frozen in monochrome, she exuded an energy that had rewired Caitlyn’s understanding of desire. Those eyes seemed to see straight through the evening crowd to find Caitlyn on the sidewalk below, small and overdressed, an imitation of herself, nothing at all like how Vi had known her.

The first drops of rain arrived crudely, fat and cold. Within seconds, it was a proper downpour, a storm that felt personal in its violence. 

“Caitlyn, hurry and get in the car!” Her mother’s voice cut through the spell, sharp with annoyance at the weather’s audacity as well as Caitlyn’s delay.

Yet Caitlyn could only stand in suspension, the rain already soaking through her dress, staring up at Vi’s face through the water streaming down her own. The billboard began to blur, its shapes melding together as droplets clung to her lashes, but those silver eyes above remained, bright and piercing as ever.

“Caitlyn!” Her mother was insistent now, barking from the other side of the car door, held open by the driver whose patience was a virtue.

Caitlyn peeled her gaze away and moved finally, mechanically, folding herself into the Town Car’s leather interior that smelled of air freshener and other people’s perfume. Her mother was saying something about her soaked clothes, about catching a cold, about the importance of being healthy enough for the long travel ahead. 

It barely registered. Caitlyn’s eyes stayed fixed on the ad through the rain-streaked window as they pulled into traffic. Vi’s image grew smaller but never less powerful, her haunting beauty following them down 47th Street like an accusation, like a benediction, like a goodbye that was somehow worse than the one at the LAX airport because this one was communal, permanent… 

Everywhere all at once.

—

Over the past several days, Caitlyn’s apartment had become a space in transition—neither here nor there, stripped of personality but not yet empty, like a stage between acts. 

Boxes stood like monuments to her departure, each one labeled in her handwriting: “Books,” “Kitchen,” “Winter Clothes.” The movers would come for the rest tomorrow morning, strangers who would complete the transformation of her life into shipping manifests and inventory lists.

The walls bore ghostly rectangles where frames had once hung, the hardwood floors showed scratches from furniture now disappeared. Her bedroom closet yawned open, almost bare except for the clothes she’d wear tomorrow and a precariously packed carry-on. She began a final sweep, checking corners and shelves with dedicated thoroughness, aware that forgotten objects had a way of becoming future hauntings.

Then, she saw it.

A box on the floor, pushed back into the corner where her closet’s geometry created a small blind spot in shadows. Not one of her moving boxes—this was older, not quite familiar. She couldn’t remember putting it there, which meant it had been there for… weeks? Since she’d returned from L.A.?

Caitlyn knelt, her joints protesting the position after days of packing, and pulled the box toward her. The lid came off with the whisper of quality cardboard, and inside—

A big, stuffed wolf.

It looked up at her with round, beady eyes and lopsided grin, its crimson polyester fur slightly mussed from being compressed, one ear permanently bent from its time in the box. Caitlyn wondered how it ended up here, perhaps her mother had packed it away when she came to help with the move. 

Initially, she hadn’t intended to bring this back with her to New York, considering the unwieldy size of it and the headache it would cause for her travels. But upon realizing her time with Vi might be uncertain, finite—when Vi had asked her what would happen to them when she returned home—she decided it was worth the hassle of packing.

After all, it sort of looked like her with its cute, puppyish face.

She lifted the toy from its cardboard coffin, noting how it still smelled faintly of the fair, of fried food and ocean spray and a particular hint of grime.

She felt something crinkle beneath its fur.

Caitlyn frowned, turning the wolf over. There, barely sticking out from a seam along its belly, was the corner of what looked like a page. How had she never noticed? In fairness, the thing was relatively large, and something so small in relation was surely easy to miss. Her fingers found the edge, pulled carefully, and out came a small piece of notebook paper, folded into a tight square.

She opened it carefully, and immediately recognized Vi’s handwriting.

You’re un-fur-gettable, Cupcake. Don’t roll your eyes, you know I’m howl-arious!

The laugh escaped before she could stop it, sudden and genuine, emerging from the depths of her belly. 

It was so perfectly, ridiculously Vi that Caitlyn could only laugh harder, tears streaming down her face, though she didn’t know if they were from mirth or the crushing realization that she’d likely never hear another one of Vi’s terrible, corny jokes ever again.

The laughter died as suddenly as it had come, leaving Caitlyn hollow and aching, clutching the stuffed wolf like a life preserver. The urge to contact Vi hit like a physical need, in the vein of experiencing a withdrawal.

Caitlyn’s phone was in her hand before conscious thought caught up. Her fingers moved across the screen with pace, quick to find Vi’s contact.

The campaign looks great on the billboards she typed. You took Times Square by storm, so much so that it began to rain.

She stared at the message, cursor blinking its patient rhythm. It was clever, maybe too clever. What would Vi even say to that? Would she care? Would she even respond, or had these weeks of silence built a wall too high to breach?

Her thumb hovered over send.

What was she doing? 

Tomorrow night, she'd be on a flight to Italy. In less than twenty four hours, she’d be over the Atlantic, embarking on a new chapter that had no room for this type of useless sentimentality. This was her life’s greatest venture, the pinnacle of her career. It was where she was meant to be, what she was supposed to do, what she’d always dreamed of and wanted.

And yet she sat on her dusty closet floor, held hostage by the past as if it were a magnet and she possessed an opposing charge. Oh, how impotent and pathetic she felt. 

She deleted the message, letter by letter, watching her words disappear behind the cursor.

But it remained, blinking, waiting. And soon another message began forming:

I miss you.

Delete.

I found the red wolf toy. It still looks like you. 

Delete.

I'm leaving tomorrow but I can’t stop thinking about

Delete.

It was truly maddening, how difficult this was. Caitlyn Kiramman, who had mastered the art of written communication—emails, texts, the comfortable distance of carefully crafted messages that could always outline exactly what she needed—was now at a loss for words. 

But with Vi, words on a screen had never been enough. Vi existed in the realm of the physical, in gesture and presence and the weight of her rapt attention. She was the warmth of a thousand suns, the honesty of an open book, the calm and the storm all at once. How could Caitlyn capture that in text? How could she reduce what they’d been to each other to characters on a screen?

She couldn’t. That was the truth of it. Vi was the exception to every rule Caitlyn had built her life around, including—especially—the rule that everything could be solved with the right words in the right order.

Her finger moved to Vi’s contact information. There was another option, one that would hurt less in the long run than having to grapple with this constant temptation. One that would force her to stop picking at this wound, stop fantasizing about someone now far out of her reach.

The block button seemed too small for what it was capable of.

She pressed it anyway.

Block this contact?

Her throat constricted. A final severance. Her late-night urges to text would be vanquished. The end of checking to see if Vi had messaged. No more torture of the last seen timestamp. Just… nothing. 

Clean. Surgical. Final.

Contact blocked.

But it wouldn’t be enough. The number would still be there, blocked but recoverable, waiting for a moment of mental frailty. She needed to go further.

Delete contact?

The wolf plush stared up at her with its googly eyes as witness. Somewhere across the country, Vi’s phone number existed in the world, belonged to someone real, connected to a life Caitlyn was about to permanently divorce herself from forever. After this, she wouldn’t even have the option of weakness. 

Contact deleted.

The phone screen returned to her contact list, Vi’s name absent like she’d never existed at all. The alphabet jumped from U to W, a small gap that felt as vast as a void.

She stood slowly, her tired joints protesting with pops and cracks, and carried the wolf to her suitcase. It didn’t fit well, a little too bulky, too impractical for international travel. But she made the room, tucking it between her clothes like a secret, like a confession, evidence that once upon a time, she’d left New York City and went to Los Angeles and fell in love with a woman who flipped her life on its head.

The note she kept, folding it back into its small square and slipping it into her wallet behind her credit cards. 

Fragments of memories that, even despite her insistence on relinquishing the past, she refused to let go. 

—

Six weeks. Forty-two days. One thousand and eight hours, not that Vi was counting or anything pathetic like that. 

Time was supposed to be the great healer, the universal salve that fixed everything from papercuts to heartbreak. 

What a crock of shit. 

If anything, the wound had gone septic, spreading through Vi’s system until everything hurt with rot—her bones, her teeth, the space between her ears.

The microwave clock read 1:07 AM in aggressive red digits, casting its judgement on Vi for still being awake at this hour. She took another pull from the beer bottle in her hand, some craft IPA that Powder had left in the fridge. Its bitterness seemed to suit the circumstances.

The bottle sweated in her grip, condensation making it slippery. She was pretty sure the beer she had with Caitlyn the first night she spent here tasted much like this one. 

But it had tasted better then. Everything had tasted better with Caitlyn across the table, making that face she made when she was pretending to enjoy Vi’s cheap alcohol. 

Fuck, Vi missed that face. Missed all of Caitlyn’s faces: her little pout, her furrowed brow, the way her brilliant eyes would find a way to smile at her no matter her mood. 

The apartment felt too quiet, a unique brand of silence that came from someone’s absence rather than just emptiness. The radiator clanged occasionally, the dive bar down the street contributed a steady bass thrum, but it wasn’t enough to fill the Caitlyn-shaped hole in the sonic landscape. 

“Is leaving the hallway light on something I’m gonna have to get used to whenever I crash here?”

Vi was mildly startled when she turned her head to see Powder standing by the kitchen island, her hair sticking up at angles that defied physics, wearing an oversized t-shirt that probably belonged to Ekko.

“Shit, sorry,” Vi said, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—the light, the late hour, the general disaster of her existence. “Forgot to turn it off. Go back to bed, it’s late.”

Powder shuffled into the kitchen instead, bare feet slapping against the linoleum. “I could say the same for you, sis.”

She pulled out the chair across from Vi—Caitlyn’s chair, not that it was Caitlyn’s chair, just the chair where Caitlyn used to sit—and collapsed into it.

“You’re not tired?” Powder asked, eyeing the beer in Vi’s hand.

“Tired, but don’t wanna sleep,” Vi replied, picking at the label on the bottle. It was already half peeled, the adhesive leaving sticky residue on her fingertips. “Besides, I’ve always been more of a night owl anyway.”

Powder snorted. “Yeah, but pulling all nighters for weeks straight is overdoing it, don’t you think?”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting their ears drink in the sounds of the ticks and thuds and rumbles from the building and the street. 

“Hey, remember that time Dad tried to make us breakfast for dinner because he’d forgotten to do groceries that day?” Powder said suddenly, a smile ghosting across her face. “And he somehow burned cereal?”

“Yeah,” Vi barked out a laugh despite herself. “He put it in the oven. Who puts cereal in the oven?”

“He said that puffed rice tastes better a little toasted.” Powder’s impression of their father’s gruff voice was terrible but recognizable. “We never did well trying to be fancy, did we?”

“And Mom just watched, let him do it.” Vi could picture it all perfectly, as though it were yesterday.

“She said it was a learning experience,” Powder added. “Never specified for who, though.”

They both chuckled, the sound filling the cold, empty kitchen with some semblance of warmth. It had been years since they’d talked about their parents so easily, without the weight of grief making every memory feel like swallowing glass. Maybe that was time actually doing its job—not healing, exactly, but dulling the edges enough to hold the memories without bleeding.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you like this,” Powder said quietly, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Not since…”

She didn’t finish, but she didn’t need to. She knew Powder meant to say it was since their parents died, since their world imploded and Vi had to become something harder, sturdier, less breakable. Except she was broken anyway, held together with the fragile glue of a shitty beer and her little sister’s company.

“Yeah, well,” Vi said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere around defensive. “Apparently I’m expanding my emotional range. Very healthy, according to the self-help books Vander’s been giving me.”

“Vi.” Powder’s voice had that gentle quality that meant she was about to say something Vi didn’t want to hear. “What did you actually want?”

“I wanted to be there for you, to—”

“—No, I mean like… from life. Not what you thought you should want. What did you want?”

The question sat between them, armed and loaded. Vi took another swig of beer to buy time, but the answer came anyway, unstoppable.

“I guess,” Vi said, the words scraping out of her throat. “I never really thought about that. Always just went with the flow, where I was needed, and made it work for me. And it did work for me, it still can… I’m sure it still can…”

“Would you have gone with her, if it weren’t for me?” 

“I-I—”

What could she say to that? That damning question, one she already knew the answer to.

And yet it was impossible to say aloud.

Powder was quiet for a long moment, fidgeting with her fingers in that way she did when she was working up to something. Vi knew that tell, had been reading Powder’s tells since she was in diapers.

“Speaking of choosing things,” Powder finally said. “I guess now’s a good time to tell you I’m moving in with Ekko.”

“Oh that’s… that’s really great, Pow,” Vi said, trying to inject genuine enthusiasm into her voice despite feeling like someone had replaced her blood with lead. “I’m… really relieved to hear that. You and little man will do great.”

Powder smiled, but it was that complicated smile that meant she was holding something back, something even more important than that news. She reached into her pajama pant pocket, pulling out an envelope that looked like it had been handled carefully but often, the corners slightly softened from touch. Vi’s name was written on the front in handwriting that made her chest constrict, because she would recognize it anywhere.

It was undeniably Caitlyn’s.

“She left this,” Powder said, setting it on the table between. “That night she came by. When you weren’t here.”

Vi stared at the envelope like it might bite her, her eyes blown wide. “You’ve had this the whole time?”

“Yeah.” Powder’s voice was apologetic but not sorry. “I was waiting for you to be in a better headspace about the whole thing before I gave it to you, but at this rate…” She gestured vaguely at Vi’s beer bottle. “I’m not so sure that’s ever gonna happen.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Look, you’ve been drunk more nights than not, you haven’t slept, I’m pretty sure you made oatmeal with Red Bull instead of water this morning.”

“That was just a culinary experiment.”

“That was a cry for help.”

Vi couldn’t argue with that. She picked up the envelope, noting how Caitlyn had sealed it with a gold sticker, precise and perfect like everything she did. 

“You want me to go?” Powder asked.

“No.” The word came out too fast, too desperate. “Stay. Please.”

Powder complied, remaining at her place across the table, and Vi’s hands trembled as she opened the envelope carefully. 

The first thing her fingers found was paper, folded in thirds. She pulled it from its confines and unfurled it, pushing down a dry swallow as she began to read Caitlyn’s neat cursive that filled the entire length of the page. 

Dear Vi,

I’m not sure if this letter will ever find you, not after the way we’ve left things, but I’ll take any chance, however small, in the hopes that it does. Because some words, once spoken, can’t be taken back. And some, if never said at all, will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

And so, what words could I possibly offer someone who has changed me so profoundly? 

When I first arrived in Los Angeles for this assignment, I promised myself I’d stay guarded, professional. My eyes were only for my work behind the lens, and my heart would see itself steeled and reserved while I focused on the task at hand. 

Then, I met my subject… you. A woman so gorgeous, so alive, so radiant in ways I didn’t know a person could be. At first, I only intended to admire you from a distance, convinced that beauty like yours was meant to be looked at, not held, and that reaching any further would betray the sanctity of our stations and our careers. 

I never expected you to look back. I never expected to be so thoroughly seen, so effortlessly understood, or so wholly loved in so little time.

You woke a quiet part of me I hadn’t known was dim. With you, the world felt so impossibly vast and grand, as if every second we shared cracked open and poured out wonder in droves. I could truly stand inside a moment instead of simply framing it, and learned how the ordinary carries its own kind of holiness if you choose to pay attention. Our favourite radio station crackling through your car speakers, the ocean’s surf breathing in and out at our feet, your laughter and your touch undoing me and stitching me together in the same breath: when I was with you, my life began to see in colour.

I hope, with everything in me, that you can see yourself the way I do; that even though I’m left puzzled and devastated by our sudden, icy parting, I remain as fond of you as ever. You are simultaneously too much, and also never enough. You are my harbour. You are arrival and shelter and the courage to set out again, to carve out and discover an uncharted path. And it’s because of you I’ve found such courage for myself. 

Needing a moment to ground herself, Vi fumbled with the remaining contents of the letter, which contained glossy prints—photos—neatly tucked away. She pulled them out, flipped through them, came to recognize the shapes and hues contained within the frames. 

There’s a photo in this envelope, one I took of you at Avila Beach by the cliffs as the sun began to set, casting its glow upon you as if it, too, couldn’t help but stop and admire you on its path down the horizon. I had originally meant to use this last frame of film to capture the sun itself, but how could I, when you were standing there before me? I’m sending all the photos we took while on that trip, but that one… it’s my favourite. Because in it, I see you as you truly are, just as you had always seen me.

Vi sifted through the photographs carefully, the nostalgia and the hurt tearing at the depths of her gut as she held the materialized memories of her childhood, revisited in adulthood with someone as precious to her as those memories, someone who had helped heal that pain within her. 

The photo of Vi at sunset was the last one in the pile. In it, she was entirely candid, seemingly unaware of the camera. She was the focal point, the true subject of the shot, while the sun only provided a dramatic backdrop that washed everything in its rusty glow. It was remarkable, Vi thought, to witness herself like this, so at ease and in her element, without the angle her professional life usually demanded. 

A day, a month, years and decades will pass, and Vi, my sweet Violet, I know I won’t ever forget you. I’ll carry you with me through the winding roads of life, I’ll lean on your wisdom and your affection and your capacity to live and love. And though it pains me to walk this life without you, I’m grateful to have known you, to have loved you, than to have never known you at all. 

May you find the happiness and peace that you deserve, and more.

With all my love,

Caitlyn 

xxoo 

The tears came without warning, bursting forth in loud, wobbly sobs. Try as she might to be stoic, Vi was always weak to crying. She had wanted to be strong, even at her parents’ funeral, where she had insisted on staying dry-eyed for Powder, but eventually succumbed to the tide of her emotional undoing. 

Powder was around the table before Vi could even process movement, arms wrapping around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder. “Oh, Vi.”

“I fucked it up,” Vi gasped between sobs that felt like they were being torn from her chest. “I let her go. I drove her to the airport and I let her go.”

“Mmm yeah, you sure did.”

“I did what I thought she needed.” Vi turned in Powder’s arms, resting her cheek on her shoulder. “But is that… is that really what…?”

Powder pulled back, studying Vi with those eyes that had always seen too much. “You want to know what I think?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Powder’s smile was gentle. “I think you two are both idiots who got so caught up in protecting each other that you forgot to protect what you had together.”

The truth of it landed like a sucker punch. Vi laughed, bitter and wet. “So we’re… both noble morons?”

“Pretty much.” Powder paused, that look returning. “Which is why I did something about it.”

“What?”

“I may have used some connections. From work. There’s a gallery in Milan that’s partnered with my company here, and they need some help with installations. Heavy lifting, security, that kind of thing.” She pulled out her phone, showing Vi an email. “You have an interview. Next week.”

Vi stared at the phone like it had just grown tentacles. “A week?!”

“Technically five days, but who’s counting?”

“Powder, I can’t just—” Vi’s brain stalled out, trying to process. She quickly wiped her eyes. “I don’t even have a flight, I’m not even packed.”

“Well I guess you better get off your sorry drunk ass and figure it out then,” she plucked the beer bottle from Vi’s hand and set it on the counter. 

“You’ve been planning this.”

“For a few weeks.” Powder’s expression went serious. “Since I realized you were never going to do it yourself. Vi, you’ve spent your entire life taking care of everyone else. Me, especially. You gave up so much for me. You gave up everything, over and over, and I let you because I was too sick to stop you.”

“Powder—”

“—No, let me finish.” She gripped Vi’s hands fiercely. “I’m gonna be okay. I have Ekko, I have Vander, I have my work. I’m all grown up, starting my own new chapter. I don’t need you to protect me and sacrifice so much. But you know what I do need? I need my big sister to be happy. I need you to stop living like happiness is something other people get to have except for you.”

“What if she doesn’t want me there?” The question came out small, scared. “What if showing up just makes everything worse?”

“Then at least you’ll know. At least you’ll have tried.” Powder squeezed her hands. “But what if she is there waiting for you? What if she’s been waiting this whole time for you to choose her?”

Vi thought about the photos, about Caitlyn seeing her as worth everything. About fear becoming truth. About the thousand ways they’d tried to save each other from hurt and ended up hurting each other worse. 

But maybe it didn’t have to be too late.

“Now go get her,” Powder gave a wink. “Go get the life you’ve always wanted. The one that you deserve.”

They hugged then, Vi’s arms squeezing around Powder so tightly that she might have popped some air from her spine. She held her little sister—not so little anymore—and felt something shift in her heart. The possibility of healing, for both of them, perhaps.

Vi laughed through her tears, which were admittedly much less sorrowful now. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know. I love you too. Now get some sleep, for fuck’s sake. You have a flight to book and a girl to catch.”

The interview was in five days, but when would Caitlyn be departing? Had she left already? Vi surely wouldn’t be able to sleep while tormented by the logistics. 

But one thing was for certain…

She’d have to wait until the morning to sort it out 

—

Vi had set seven alarms, because apparently her wonky sleep schedule couldn’t be trusted in the wake of something this important. 

4:00 AM, 4:05 AM, 4:10 AM—a cascade of electronic screaming that would’ve woken the dead. She’d calculated the time difference three times before bed, double-checking on her phone more times than necessary. L.A. was three hours behind New York. If she called around 4 AM her time, it would be 7 AM there. Reasonable, especially considering how much of an early bird Caitlyn was.

Her phone was in her hand by the time the third alarm chirped. The texts she’d composed and deleted a hundred times over the past six weeks suddenly seemed inadequate, but she had to start somewhere.

Vi

4:26 AM

Cait, I know it’s been a while but I need to talk to you

The little loading bar appeared, then… nothing. A red exclamation mark materialized next to the message. 

! Failed to send

“What the fuck?” Vi muttered, trying again.

Vi

4:26 AM

Can I talk to you?

! Failed to send

Vi

4:27 AM

I’m sorry

! Failed to send

“Come on, you stupid piece of shit,” she growled at the phone, as if threatening it would improve the cell towers or whatever cosmic force was behind this. Feeling increasingly hopeless, she switched to calling, fingers shaking as she hit Caitlyn’s contact—still saved as Cupcake 🧁  because she was apparently a masochist.

Half a ring, then: 

The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please try again later.

“Fuck!” Vi threw the phone onto the bed, then immediately retrieved it, reigning in her frustrations to hone in on her focus.

Maybe Caitlyn had already changed her number. Made sense—new country, new life, new everything. 

But Vi hadn’t made it this far in her life to give up at the first locked door. There had to be another way.

Instagram. Everyone had Instagram, right? Except… no. Caitlyn didn’t. Vi remembered that conversation, Caitlyn’s nose wrinkling with distaste as she explained how her last name attracted undue attention online. How people would dig through her life looking for scandal, and that privacy was a luxury she guarded fiercely.

“Think, you useless lesbian, think,” Vi muttered, scrolling through her own barely-used Instagram. She’d made it for the modeling thing, posted maybe three photos, all of them taken by other people. Her followers were mostly bots and that one guy who commented fire emojis on literally everything.

Then, like a gift from whatever deity that watched over desperate idiots, a name appeared in her recommended follows: 

Jayce Talis.

The golden boy, the Ken doll come to life. That guy from the gala who’d worn a suit that probably cost more than Vi’s annual rent and had the audacity to make it look casual. 

More importantly—a lifeline. 

Vi clicked on his profile. She felt her eyes roll at the depths of his feed, stacks of gilded photos from galas and fundraisers and various other philanthropic, corporate performances. But he had a message button, and that was all that mattered.

She started typing, then stopped. Deleted. Started again. 

Fuck it, she had no patience to explain this over text.

She hit the call button.

It rang once, twice, then disconnected. Immediately, a message popped up: 

Who is this?

And fuck subtlety, too. Vi hit call again. It connected faster than she expected.

“Hello?” Jayce’s voice was confused but not unfriendly, though it was evident he remained wary after receiving a random phone call from a stranger.

“Hey, can you do me a favour?” Vi said, skipping the pleasantries and introductions because time was of the essence now.

“Who the hell are you?” Less polite now. Good, she didn’t have time for manners.

“I’m Caitlyn’s—” Vi caught herself. “C-Caitlyn’s colleague. From work. The Calvin shoot in Los Angeles.”

There was a pause. Vi could practically hear him trying to place her. “Oh, were you the—”

“—It’s not important. Listen, I need to… uh, give Caitlyn something, but I can’t reach her. Do you know if she’s already left for Italy?”

“Oh, for the job in Milan?” Jayce paused for a moment. “No, I don’t— wait, let me think. Last time we spoke, she mentioned her flight was a Friday.”

Vi’s stomach dropped. “Friday as in today Friday?”

“October 24th, yeah.”

October 24th. 

Today. 

The universe really did have a sense of humor, and it was one twisted bastard.

“What time?” 

“Evening, I think? She said something about an 8:30 PM flight.”

8:30 PM. Vi looked at her phone. 4:33 AM. She had roughly sixteen hours to get from Los Angeles to New York and find Caitlyn in one of the world’s busiest airports.

“Thanks,” Vi said, already moving, already planning. “I owe you one, pretty boy.”

“Wait, what—”

She hung up, stuffed her phone in her pocket, and scrambled to find her laptop. Perched on the edge of her bed, her fingers flew over the keyboard.

flights from LAX to JFK Friday Oct 24

Nothing. 

Well, direct anyway, or anything that would get her where she needed to be in time. 

But for Newark… there was one leaving at 8 AM, three and a half hours from now. It would land at 4:30 PM Eastern time, giving her four hours to get from Newark to JFK. During Friday rush hour. In New York.

The ticket price made her credit card recoil, but future Vi could deal with future consequences. Present Vi had a plane to catch.

She found Caitlyn’s flight next—JetBlue 247 to Milan, departing at 8:30 PM from Terminal 2. There were only three seats left for booking.

Your payment was successful. 

Vi sat back, staring at the confirmation screen, and took a deep, rattling breath. 

This was surely insane. 

She was about to fly across the country to ambush Caitlyn at the gate, dropped a good chunk of change on two flights in the hopes she’d accept what she’d have to say, except she’d be panicked and sweaty and had no idea what she’d actually say when she got there.

But she was going. Because Powder was right—

She’d never know if she didn’t try.

—

One precariously timed Uber and a haphazardly packed bag later, Vi had made it into the air.

Her knees pressed against the seat in front of her while her elbows engaged in territorial warfare with both armrests. Her duffel bag, crammed into the overhead bin with sheer force, threatened to burst open with even the slightest movement.

“First time flying?” The woman next to her asked, which was polite speak for why are you vibrating like a paint mixer?

“No, just… big day ahead,” Vi said, her leg bouncing with enough force to create minor turbulence. “Meeting someone. Important someone.”

The woman smiled tightly and put in earbuds. 

Fair enough.

Vi demolished the complimentary bag of mini pretzels in three bites, the salt doing absolutely nothing for her nerve-induced cotton mouth. She flagged down the flight attendant for water, then another water, then asked if maybe they had any more of those pretzels, or crackers, or literally anything edible because her stomach was eating itself alive with anxiety.

“We’ll be beginning our descent shortly,” the flight attendant said, which was airline speak for leave me alone.

The descent took what felt like seventeen years. Vi watched the ground draw closer with increasing panic, calculating times in her head. 4:30 landing, maybe 4:45 off the plane if people moved their asses, then customs—no wait, domestic flight, no customs, thank fuck—then getting to JFK. 

The plane touched down at 4:27, three minutes early, which Vi took as a sign that maybe, just maybe, this insane plan might work.

That optimism died the moment they reached the gate.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re waiting for our gate to clear. There’s been several short-staffing related delays. Should just be a few minutes.”

Vi’s leg bounced harder, earning a glare from the guy on her other side. She checked her phone obsessively as she watched the time tick away.

A few minutes my ass.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered.

Finally, finally, at 5:20PM, the door of the plane opened. Vi was up on her feet immediately, grabbing her bag from the overhead with enough force to nearly brain the person sitting beneath it.

“Sorry, sorry, gotta go, sorry,” she chanted, pushing through the aisle like a salmon swimming upstream if salmon were fueled by desperation and bad airplane pretzels.

She burst out of the gate into Newark’s unique brand of chaos. The signs for ground transportation might as well have been in ancient hieroglyphics for all the sense they made. She followed the crowd, hoping they knew something she didn’t, and emerged into the pickup area where a massive crowd of people were trying to get into approximately twelve available cabs.

Perhaps her bulky frame, big muscles and imposing stature came in handy in these moments—because it was relatively easy to work her way through the mob and hail down a taxi.

“JFK departures,” she said as she threw herself and her bag into the backseat. “I’ll pay double if you can get me there by seven.”

The driver chuckled dryly. “You seen the traffic? It’s Friday rush hour. Jersey to Queens you’re looking at two hours minimum.”

“I’ll pay triple.”

“Traffic don’t care about your money. Maybe don’t book your flights so close together.”

“It’s not about the flight, I… I gotta meet someone to—” Vi wanted to punch something, but she knew that assaulting the seat of a cab wouldn’t get her to JFK any faster. “Whatever, just… drive like you’re trying to save someone’s life. Pretend we’re paramedics.”

“That’ll be extra.”

“Whatever. Just go.”

The cab lurched into the road, and they’d barely driven a mile before they stopped moving. The highway was a parking lot, red tail lights stretching to the horizon like a pathway to hell.

“Told you,” the driver said, settling in for what was clearly going to be a long haul. “Friday traffic’s always bad, but today? There’s a Yankees game. Plus construction on the BQE. Plus it’s raining.”

Vi hadn’t even noticed the rain starting, but there it was, fat drops splatting against the windshield like a fuck-you from god.

“Can’t you take surface streets?” 

“That’s worse.”

5:46 PM. Still in New Jersey. The meter was climbing toward mortgage payment territory.

“So,” the driver said, apparently deciding conversation would pass the time. “This person you’re chasing. They worth all this?”

“Yeah,” Vi said without hesitation. “She is.”

“She know you’re coming?”

“Uh,” she scratched the back of her head. “No.”

“Sheesh, that’s either romantic or creepy.”

“Well, I’m hoping for romantic...”

When they finally hit the tunnel, Vi’s phone showed the flight still on time, set to begin boarding at 8 PM. The underpass stretched ahead, a throat of tile and fluorescent lighting that seemed to go on forever.

They emerged in Manhattan, which was somehow worse than Jersey. The rain had turned every intersection into a lake, pedestrians darting between cars like suicidal wildlife crossing.

“Can you call her?” The driver suggested, weaving between a bus and a delivery truck with inches to spare.

“You don’t think I tried that?”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, she probably changed her number to a European code.”

Eventually, they reached the Van Wyck Expressway, which was moving but only in the way glaciers move—technically forward but imperceptible to the human eye.

“Which terminal?” The driver asked.

“Two.”

“International?”

“Yeah.”

The airport finally came into view, and Vi threw money at the front seat—definitely too much, but she didn’t care. She ran through the doors like she was being chased, her duffel bag banging against her hip hard enough to bruise.

The security line was a snake that seemed to loop back on itself infinitely. Vi joined it, bouncing on her toes, checking the departures board obsessively. 

Still on time. 

She wished it had been delayed.

“Please,” she said to the family in front of her. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can I—”

“—We’re all trying to catch flights,” the father said, rather unkindly.

“Fuck it,” Vi muttered, and did something she’d probably get arrested by airport security for. 

But she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to care. 

She ducked under the rope, cut through the pre-check line, and presented herself to the TSA agent.

“Hey, you’re not authorized to be here.”

“I know. I’m not… I’m meeting someone. Please. I know this is insane, but I just flew across the country and fought through traffic and I cannot miss her. Please.”

The agent sighed and shook his head, seemingly too tired to put up with the antics. “Boarding pass and passport.”

Vi produced the documents. “Here.” 

The agent looked at her ticket. “Your flight boards in five minutes, you better hurry.”

Vi didn’t need to be told twice. She threw her bag on the belt, dumped her pockets into the tray, and practically sprinted through the metal detector. It beeped, because of course it did.

“Keys,” the agent said, pointing to her back pocket.

She threw them in a tray and tried again. 

Clear.

Shoes back on, bag grabbed before it fully emerged from the x-ray, and then she was running to her destination:

Gate 23. 

The signs blurred past—1-10 this way, 11-20 that way, 21-30 straight ahead.

Her lungs burned. Her legs, already shaky from anxiety and airplane cramps, protested every step. But there it was, up ahead—Gate 23, still showing “Final Boarding” on the display.

The gate area was beginning to empty, just stragglers and airline employees. The door to the jet bridge was still open, but likely not for much longer. The passengers were neatly lined up, boarding passes in hand.

And there, at the end of the line, 

was her. 

Tall, elegant even in travel clothes, her midnight blue hair pouring over her shoulders like fine, rare silk.

She was standing as her zone was called, reaching for the handle of her carry-on with those hands that Vi had missed so terribly. 

That she couldn’t wait to feel in her own again.

“Caitlyn!”

—

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your final boarding call for JetBlue flight 247, departing for Milan. Please make your way to the gate and have your documents ready for presentation.”

Caitlyn turned the boarding pass over in her hand. The paper had a particular tooth to it, crisp yet already softened by her thumb’s restless orbit. She already regretted the glass of wine she ordered with dinner at the gate’s restaurant, hoping that it might ease her frayed nerves. 

But she was foolish to think anything would be strong enough to calm the restlessness that swirled inside her like a storm.

Gate agents began to sort passengers into ordered clumps. The speaker coughed out its static preamble as she stood, smoothing the hem of her coat more from reflex than vanity, and told herself the tug she felt in her chest was simply altitude anxiety preemptively arriving.

And for a moment she thought, ridiculously, that she heard her name. But airport acoustics were notoriously unreliable—announcements bleeding between gates, conversations carrying in unexpected ways. Someone calling for a Catherine, perhaps, or a Katelyn. Not her. Not here. Exhaustion made mischief, after all.

Her passport played coy inside her bag, putting on the shy act it performed only when she needed it, hiding beneath lip balm and receipts, though she had placed it in the same pocket she always used. She patted, fumbled, breathed, found it. 

And then again—the call.

“Cait!”

Her body went very still in the way prey does when it hears a twig snap in the undergrowth. That voice lived in a tender part of her, in a room she had recently locked and walked away from for good. Her mind had to be tricking her; it had to be a stranger calling for a different Cait, one of the thousands who shared her syllables.

It couldn’t be—

She turned around and saw it—a blur of reddish-pink approaching her at the speed of a freight train.

The collision knocked the breath from her lungs, causing her to stumble a few steps backwards. Strong, familiar arms enveloped her in a crushing embrace, lifting her slightly off the ground.

Her left pump went flying, skittering across the gate area’s industrial carpet, and now this woman was holding her, this woman who was real and solid and shaking with either exhaustion or emotion or both.

This woman…

“…Vi?”

The name escaped as barely more than a whisper, as if speaking it too loudly might shatter the hallucination. Because surely this was a hallucination—stress-induced, wine-facilitated, the product of six weeks of dreaming about precisely this impossibility.

“Fuck, I made it in time,” she huffed into Caitlyn’s neck, the profanity warm against her skin, her arms squeezing harder as if Caitlyn might evaporate if she loosened her grip even slightly. “Thought I was gonna miss you.”

The relief in her voice was palpable, almost sore in its earnestness. She pulled back just enough to see Vi’s face—that sweet, familiar face—her hands coming up to frame all her features that she so adored, running her thumb along the expression of exhaustion written across Vi’s skin.

“You’re real,” Caitlyn said, aware of how absurd it sounded but needing confirmation. “You’re… actually here?”

“Yeah, Cupcake. I’m here.” Vi’s smile was crooked, uncertain despite the bravado of her entrance. 

“But how? You were in… where were you? What are you doing here?” Caitlyn’s brain was struggling to process, to create a logical sequence of events that ended with Vi materializing at the gate, practically out of thin air.

“L.A. Had to take a flight to Newark because there was nothing direct to JFK, then fought through traffic from hell to get here.” Vi’s hands had found Caitlyn’s waist, anchoring them both. “I called Jayce… sorry about that, by the way. He probably thinks I’m insane.”

“You called Jayce?” The idea of Vi navigating her social circle to find her was somehow both mortifying and deeply moving. 

“Desperate times.” Vi shrugged, then her demeanour shifted. “This is gonna sound crazy, but I got an interview for a gallery job in Milan in less than a week.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Powder set it up. Some connection through her work, they need someone for installations, security, that kind of thing. And I thought…” Vi paused, suddenly looking uncertain, as if the adrenaline that had carried her across the country was finally wearing off. “I couldn’t get a hold of you, otherwise I would have called.”

The implications were staggering. Vi had done all this for the possibility, just the possibility, that Caitlyn might want her there. That she would even still be here.

“But… aren’t you afraid?” Caitlyn asked, because she needed to understand. “To leave it all behind?”

“Yeah, I’m terrified.” The admission came out rough, honest. “But I got a taste of what my life would be like without you, and that terrifies me more.”

The words hit Caitlyn with physical force, making her sway slightly in her one-shoe-on, one-shoe-off stance. 

“Vi—”

“—I love you,” Vi interrupted, the words blurting out like she’d been holding them back with both hands and had finally lost her grip. “I’ve already lived through so much loss… I don’t wanna lose you, too.” 

Her eyes were bright, glassy and wet, and Caitlyn realized with a start that Vi was on the verge of tears. “Will you have me? Let me join you on this chapter?”

The question hung between them, momentous despite its simple phrasing. Will you have me—not just for tonight, not just until the next opportunity pulled them apart, but for this adventure, this risk, this leap into the unknown.

Caitlyn thought about the past six weeks—the sleepless nights, the ache that had taken up permanent residence within her, the way she’d found herself looking for pink hair in every crowd. 

How, though she had always yearned for a new adventure, to see the world and all its grandeur—she would have never known how badly she wanted it…

If it weren’t for Vi.

“Yes,” Caitlyn’s voice was shaky as she fought her own tears. “I thought you’d never ask.” She paused, needing to give Vi the same truth she’d been given. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, feeling her eyes soften as she gazed upon her. “And I… I love you, too.”

The smile that broke across Vi’s face was like sunrise after the longest, stormiest night. She brought Caitlyn’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles with a tenderness that seemed at odds with the chaos of their reunion but was perfectly, essentially Vi—so sweet and gentle, strong and safe.

Then she was pulling Caitlyn into another embrace, even more intense than the first. Caitlyn let herself sink into it, returning her affections, and melted into the solid weight of Vi’s presence—into the possibility of a second chance at something she’d thought was irretrievably broken.

Caitlyn could feel the tingle of countless stares all over her skin. She was certain that the two of them were making quite the scene, one that was simultaneously bizarre and perhaps a little nauseating to the strangers bearing witness. 

But she couldn’t have cared less. She would happily stay here in Vi’s arms until she was mummified, if that was the price of feeling her touch again. 

“Final boarding call for JetBlue Flight 247 to Milan. This is the absolute final call. All passengers please make your way to the gate.”

The announcement broke through their bubble with comedic timing. They pulled apart, looking at each other and stifling a laugh. It started as a giggle from Caitlyn, undignified and unexpected, which triggered a snort from Vi, which cascaded into full, proper laughter that had the gate agent looking at them with undisguised annoyance. They capped it off with a quick kiss on the lips.

“Well,” Caitlyn said, when she could finally breathe again. “Shall we embark on the start of this journey, my love?”

—

The miracle of securing adjacent seats had required Caitlyn deploying every ancestral charm the Kiramman name had ever possessed. She’d approached the gentleman assigned 13B like a diplomat negotiating peace—would he consider accepting her first-class accommodation in exchange for his middle economy seat? The man had regarded her as if she’d offered him the keys to heaven itself, which, considering the twelve-hundred-dollar difference, wasn’t entirely metaphorical.

Now, folding herself into the worn seats of 13A while Vi claimed the space beside her, Caitlyn felt richer than she’d ever been in first class. They had become an island with the row all to themselves, a grand stroke of luck, even as the wing engine beneath them sang its noisy, mechanical hymns to the physics of transcendence.

As the plane pushed back from the gate, as the engines roared to life, Vi’s hand found hers across the middle seat. Their fingers interlaced with the ease of muscle memory, and Caitlyn felt herself finally unclench.

By the time they reached cruising altitude, the cabin lights had dimmed to that artificial twilight that suggested sleep without demanding it. Vi had commandeered both their blankets, creating a cocoon of comfort that was quick to call for drowsiness.

And for the first time in six weeks, she slept.

Truly slept, not the fitful dozing that had characterized her nights since their initial goodbye, but the deep, dreamless unconsciousness of someone who’d finally found peace.

The turbulence that woke her was gentle, just enough to remind her body that it was suspended in a metal tube thirty-thousand feet above the Atlantic. The cabin was dark, lit only by the faint blue glow of exit signs and the occasional phone screen from insomniac passengers. Caitlyn’s neck protested the angle she’d been sleeping at, but when she turned to adjust, she stopped.

Vi had melted against her, chest gently rising and falling, her head finding cradled comfort in the curve of Caitlyn’s shoulder. Her face had shed every armour, every carefully constructed defense, revealing to Caitlyn just how exhausted she had also been.

She was the beauty of necessary things: rain after drought, light after darkness, someone who made the chaos of existence suddenly, brilliantly coherent. 

Caitlyn hummed at the sight of her, so tranquil and at ease, and beneath their shared blanket, she sought Vi’s hand once more. Their fingers met and intertwined, Vi’s unconscious grip tightening as if even in slumber, she needed to confirm Caitlyn’s presence—that this wasn’t a phantom visitation, but a promise of tangible flesh and bone.

It was hard for Caitlyn to believe that not so long ago, she’d been on a plane like this one, headed towards a job on the west coast she couldn’t have even fathomed were possible. A place where she learned of a life so large and wondrous, saw the world and all its splendour open a path to her future.

But she’d been wrong about what that future should look like. 

Success wasn’t a solo endeavour, wasn’t only measured in contracts or six figures. For Caitlyn, her success was this—Vi’s hand in hers at altitude, heading toward a place neither of them really knew, with few things certain except each other and a world of possibilities. 

A landscape of their shared dream.

The thing about falling, Caitlyn thought, was that it only felt like disaster when falling alone. But if someone was falling with her, if someone had chosen to jump simply because she was jumping, then it was something else entirely. Not falling but flying, even if she hadn’t quite figured out the landing yet.

Something they’d figure out together.

Beyond the window, the Atlantic sprawled in its dark magnificence. Dawn arrived like a slowly opening eye, painting the cabin in gold and rose, colours that would have been divine if they hadn’t also been an assault on eyes grown comfortable with darkness. Vi stirred against Caitlyn’s shoulder, a small protest at consciousness’s rude return after what must have been the best sleep she’d had in a long time. 

The pressure in Caitlyn’s ears bloomed and released, a sign of the plane beginning its descent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice emerged. “We’re beginning our approach into Milan Malpensa International Airport. Touchdown in approximately forty-five minutes. Current conditions: clear skies and sunny, fifteen degrees Celsius, and the local time is 10:34AM. Welcome to Italy.”

Vi lifted her head, blinking against the resurrection of light. Her hair had been sculpted by sleep, flat in some places and spiky in others, her cheek bearing the temporary tattoo of Caitlyn’s sweater seam. She looked disoriented, unguarded, absolutely divine.

“We’re here?” She breathed groggily, the word a question and answer both.

“We’re here.” 

The city revealed itself below like a secret slowly told—terracotta sonnets and cathedral spires, the distant rocky ridges of the Alps, a geography eager to be explored, captured, immortalized. Somewhere in this new tapestry was a life waiting to be written, stitched from the golden thread of opportunity.

The plane descended through clouds like passing through veils between worlds, carrying them toward a future that couldn’t be blueprinted or choreographed. It would be messy and magnificent.

It would be imperfect as all real things are imperfect.

But it would be theirs, a country of two in a new, foreign land.

And as the wheels kissed the runway, as strangers around them erupted in the applause of a safe arrival, Caitlyn looked down at their joined hands, then found Vi’s silvery eyes, and finally, for the first time in her life, she knew:

I'm home.

Chapter Text

The bells of San Vincenzo announced eight o’clock in the morning with their bronze melodies, crossing the expanse of Lake Como to gently rouse the sleepy little village of Gravedona. 

Caitlyn stirred, waking to the feel of linen sheets on her naked skin—not the Egyptian cotton of her past life, but honest fabric that smelled of mountain air and the lemon laundry powder Vi had insisted on adding to every wash. Her hand found empty space where warmth should have been, the sheets cool but still holding the impression of a body that had learned to rise with the sun.

Caitlyn laughed into the pillow, wondering how it had been possible that Vi ended up becoming the early bird of the two of them. From down the hall came evidence of her morning ministry: the gurgle and aroma of the Bialetti percolating on the stove, and something else—toasting nuts? Perhaps candied oranges. 

The apartment exhaled around her, its old wood settling, shutters rattling gently against walls that had stood the test of time over many generations. After the glass towers of Milan, after runway lights and fashion week hysteria, this place felt like learning to breathe at sea level after months at high altitude. They’d saved for eight months, she and Vi, hoarding euros like magpies while Milan tried to devour them with its beautiful hungers.

Though her senior contract paid handsomely—a single campaign could cover months of expenses—Caitlyn found herself yearning for her life behind the lens. 

She worked for free for two months, taking on various jobs to build her portfolio—small affairs, local families who wanted their moments preserved with the same attention fashion houses had once demanded for handbags.

The business cards eventually arrived: Caitlyn Kiramman Photography - Moments Worth Keeping. And now, she had a steady list of paying clients who clamoured for their special days and big occasions to be entrusted to Caitlyn’s experienced hands. A life lived on her terms, doing what she loved most.

She sat up, vertebrae groaning the movement with small percussive complaints. Her eyes adjusted to the morning light filtering through shutters Vi had painted last month—Prussian blue, because she’d said it matched the lake at sunset. The bedroom walls had become a museum of their wandering: photographs strung on garden twine like evidence of a life being properly lived.

Siena, where they’d eaten wild boar ragu and Vi had tried to convince a street artist she could juggle, even though she definitely couldn’t. Florence during the off-season, rain turning the cobblestones into mirrors, Vi pulling her into doorways to kiss like teenagers. That village in Cinque Terre where the path between towns had been washed out, stranding them for two days in a place that time had politely ignored. Venice during Carnivale, both of them masked and anonymous, dancing badly to accordion music in Campo Santa Margherita.

The twine sagged under the weight of their accumulated memories—proof that they’d chosen each other, kept choosing each other, through Milan’s fashion martyrdom and Vi’s brief stint at the Brera Gallery. Each photograph was a small victory against the idea that they shouldn’t work, like oil and water, that the gap between their worlds was unbridgeable.

And at this rate, she’d need more twine soon. They’d become collectors of moments like people who knew how quickly joy could be revoked. Every weekend another expedition; sometimes just to the next town along the lake, sometimes further afield, perhaps a train ride to a neighbouring country.

But always together.

The smell of the baking grew more pronounced—cookies of some sort, if her nose was correct. Caitlyn couldn’t help but admire Vi’s dedication to wake up at the crack of dawn to nail down a new recipe. Her up-and-coming business, Atlas Catering, had started as nothing more than a passing comment from Caitlyn: ‘if only the rest of the world could be so fortunate to taste your cooking.’ And, with a little time, dedication, and multiple visa applications, it had transformed into something tangible. Caitlyn handled all the website photography, framing the dishes with a clean, appetizing aesthetic that doubled as effortless brand storytelling.

“Buongiorno, bellissima.”

Vi arrived through the doorway bearing their morning sacrament on a wooden tray: two cappuccinos in mismatched ceramic cups, and a plate of what appeared to be warm, fresh-made biscotti.

This had become their ritual in the year since Como had claimed them—Vi rising with the sun to venture to the market and practice her craft, then returning to bed with offerings of coffee and whatever she’d been busy making. It was, Caitlyn reflected, a far superior alarm clock to her hectic mornings in America and Milan.

“Good morning,” Caitlyn murmured with soft, endearing eyes, accepting her cup with one hand while planting a kiss on Vi’s cheek. “I miss you when I wake up.”

It was true. Even after all this time, even knowing Vi was just down the hall, Caitlyn registered the absence like a missing verse in a familiar song. 

“I’ll more than make up for it, don’t you worry, Cupcake.” 

Caitlyn lifted the cappuccino to her lips, buying time to steady herself from Vi’s suggestive words, admiring the rosetta she had created in the foam. It had taken months for Vi to master the technique, practicing on their temperamental second-hand espresso machine until she could paint flowers in milk that were good enough to be framed.

“Oh, wait, try it with this.” Vi plucked a biscotto from the plate, golden-brown and studded with chunks of green and flecks of yellow. “New recipe, orange zest and pistachio.”

Caitlyn took the offered biscuit, noting the way Vi watched her, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted. The first bite released bright citrus and earthy, nutty flavours, the texture perfect—crisp enough to hold up to coffee but yielding enough not to feel overbearing.

“How’s that taste?” 

“Well, I’d say it’s positively…” Caitlyn set down the cookie, framed Vi’s face with both hands, and kissed her. “Deliziosa.”

“Mmm, perfect.” Vi grinned into her mouth. “I was thinking of adding these to the coffee and dessert menu.”

“Oh, so I’m the guinea pig for your various food experiments, am I?” 

“Hey, if it’s good enough for my girl, it’s good enough for the clients.” Vi set her own coffee on the nightstand.

“And aren’t I so lucky?” The words came out breathier than intended when Vi’s lips found that spot just below her ear that had never lost its effectiveness.

And now, her hands were warm along Caitlyn’s sides, tracing the geography of her body with devotion, adoration. Her kisses along the curve of Caitlyn’s neck grew firmer, wetter, and of course she knew Vi well enough by now to understand exactly what she was doing, and where this was going.

“Vi, your coffee will get cold…” Caitlyn’s protest dissolved into airy giggles when Vi’s fingers found a ticklish spot on her ribs.

“Mmm, yeah.” Vi pulled back just enough to meet Caitlyn’s eyes, her own dark and heavy. “But I think I’m craving something a little sweeter this morning.”

“Well,” Caitlyn rasped, lowering herself back down onto the mattress. “Who am I to deny you your desires?”

Caitlyn heard the gravel in Vi’s chuckle before she felt the smile against her mouth. Vi kissed her once—firm, fond, maddeningly brief—and then drifted lower, a tide unmaking the shoreline. The sheets slid from Caitlyn’s skin in a hush, the linen pooling at her ankles like surrendered sails. Warmth followed in patient increments: a press at her collarbone, a lingering hello at the hollow of her throat, the soft mapmaking of lips over sternum and the slight, involuntary catch of breath at her abdomen.

She went taut beneath it, strung like wire, tuned to the smallest changes in sensation. Vi had always been a careful study. She listened with her hands, with her mouth, to Caitlyn’s little hums of approval that made her feel curated rather than consumed. Each time Caitlyn thought they had reached the summit, that their intimacy simply couldn’t get any better, any sweeter, Vi was quick to prove her wrong.

When Caitlyn’s eyes opened, she found Vi watching her with that indolent, devastating focus; an expression that said she had all morning and no intention of missing a single detail. Caitlyn loved her so in those moments, the gentleness, the way her devotion made an art of patience. How blessed she was to wake to this—every day, every ordinary morning made luminous by the simple fact of Vi’s attention.

Caitlyn reached down and threaded their fingers together when Vi found her clit, grounding herself in the familiar breadth of her knuckles, the callus along her index finger, the heat of her grip. Vi squeezed back—once, reassuring—and Caitlyn felt the world narrow to a fine, bright filament drawn steadily through her. Vi knew that language by now; the hitch in Caitlyn’s breath, the slight arch, the warning press of her heel scraping against the mattress. She adjusted with effortless intuition, finding that precise rhythm Caitlyn could never name and Vi never forgot.

It built the way a storm built at sea—first a shift in the air, then the roll, then the inevitable crest. Caitlyn’s thoughts dissolved into the sensation of being known so completely she did not have to speak. When it broke, it did so cleanly, a flare behind her eyes and a rush that left her laughing under her breath, astonished every time by how new it felt.

A soft groan released from Caitlyn’s chest, her hips rolling against Vi’s mouth that still worked her as she came down from the high. When the last few waves of it had waned, she opened her eyes, and Vi was quick to climb up the length of her body, kissing her eagerly. And oh, Caitlyn loved to taste the evidence of herself on Vi’s lips. 

Vi should have known by now that Caitlyn could never resist returning the favour, that she loved to touch and please Vi as much as Vi loved to please her. She deepened the kiss, rolling them onto their sides and allowing her hands to roam under the cotton of Vi’s shirt, before she went to work at pulling down her boxers—still Calvins, both their preferred choice.

“Aren’t you hungry for breakfast?” Vi smiled as Caitlyn put her on her back, peeling her underwear down her thighs and discarding them to the floor.

“Oh, I am,” she replied, settling between Vi’s thighs. “But I’ll be taking care of that soon.” 

—

Breakfast had become more of a brunch by the time they were all said and done in the bedroom, but a Saturday morning afforded them the time to laze away the day that other days of the week seldom did. Lake Como spread out below them, the distant mountains wearing their terracotta houses and coniferous trees, fishing boats leaving their white wakes across the surface of the water. 

Vi was content to sit on their narrow balcony, seated across from Caitlyn, sorting through the mail while they enjoyed what must have been the best frittata she’d ever made—and yes, she was allowed to say that about her own cooking now.

The mail was mostly bills—utilities had the same boring envelope energy in every country—a few catalogues for kitchen equipment that Vi would definitely not obsess over later, Caitlyn’s monthly photography magazine subscription, and then—

“Huh.”

Caitlyn glanced from her plate. “What?”

“Powder sent mail.” Vi examined the brown envelope, which bore her sister’s unmistakable chicken-scratch. She tore the paper open, plucking out a glossy postcard with a watercolour painting of a shoreline at sunset, the words Welcome to Avila Beach written across the front in oversaturated, bold lettering. 

Vi flipped it over, squinting at Powder’s handwriting, which had always looked like a spider had gotten drunk and tried to write cursive. 

Miss you, sis. Hope you’re eating lots of Tiramisu for me. Love, Pow & Ekko.

Paperclipped to the postcard was a photo of them in front of their newly renovated seaside apartment, not too far away from the little beachhouse they’d stayed at when they were kids. Vi could only smile, feeling her heart warming in her chest. She put the postcard and picture down on the table for Caitlyn to see. 

“They look so happy.” Caitlyn remarked as she admired the photo.

“Yeah, they sure do.” 

“We should send them a postcard back, don’t you think?” 

“Where from though? We already send so many pictures of Como.”

Caitlyn’s eyes had that look that meant she was having an idea, the kind that usually ended with them on a train. “We could… go somewhere. Make a day of it. Or two.”

“Yeah?” Vi was already warming to it. They hadn’t done a proper adventure in a few weeks, too busy with work and the comfortable rhythm of their daily entrepreneurial life. “Where you thinking?”

“Somewhere photogenic, of course. A place that would make a perfect postcard.”

An idea hit Vi like espresso on an empty stomach. 

“Hey, you still have that spare tripod? The one that can handle a little abuse?”

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Define a little abuse.”

“Like, hypothetically, being propped on some rocks. Or possibly wedged between some trees.”

Caitlyn’s expression shifted to intrigue. “Vi…”

“And the wide angle lens. The fancy one you use for landscapes.”

“What are you planning?”

Vi was already reaching for her phone to check train schedules. “How do you feel about an excursion to Val D’ega?”

—

Packing with Caitlyn was like watching someone prepare for a moon landing. 

Vi had thrown exactly three things into their shared suitcase: a few changes of clothes, the good hiking boots, and a bottle of wine from the liquor store near the ferry terminal. Meanwhile, Caitlyn had constructed what looked like a mobile photography studio: four outfits, camera body, three lenses, the tripod that could survive a meteor impact, extra batteries, lens cloths, and some gadget Vi was pretty sure was either for measuring light or detecting aliens.

“You know we’re going for two days, not documenting a National Geographic expedition,” Vi said, watching Caitlyn nestle her wide-angle lens into its padded case.

“You asked me if I had my gear, I just want to be prepared.” Caitlyn replied, not looking up from her equipment. 

The train from Como to Bolzano was a journey that made Vi understand why people wrote poetry. The lakes gave way to hills, hills to proper mountains with snow on top even though it was barely autumn. 

But the best view wasn’t outside the window. It was Caitlyn’s face, lit up with awe and wonder, a sight she’d never tire of every time they went on a new adventure. Every vista got a small intake of breath, a widening of those brilliant blue eyes that still made Vi’s chest tighten and her heart soar.

“You’re staring,” Caitlyn said without looking away from the window.

“How can I help it? You’re beautiful when something catches your eye,” Vi replied, and Caitlyn blushed. It seemed that even after more than a year of daily flattery, she’d always react like it was the first time hearing it.

Bolzano appeared like a pop-up book—suddenly there were buildings that looked like gingerbread houses, mountains looming so close Vi felt the size of an ant, air that tasted different, cleaner, like it had been filtered and breathed out by the numerous trees that dotted the landscape.

The bus to town was an adventure in itself. The driver seemed personally offended by the concept of straight lines or consistent speed, taking curves like he was trying to throw off pursuit. Vi gripped the seat in front of them, while Caitlyn somehow managed to take photos through the window, completely unbothered by their potential imminent death.

The village of Nova Levante—or Welschnofen, depending on which sign you read, because apparently everything here needed two names—was beyond the mind’s comprehension. Nothing should be that picturesque. An alpine town of colourful houses, flower boxes filled with geraniums, a church spire pointing skyward at the mountains, and in the distance, Lake Carezza glinting like a fallen piece of the sky.

Vi had been sneaky about the cabin, found it through some Italian booking site Caitlyn didn’t know about. The look on Caitlyn’s face when they walked up to the little wooden structure practically hanging over the lake’s edge—that was worth every euro.

“Figured we deserved a proper escape,” Vi said, unlocking the door with the key hidden under the third flowerpot, exactly where the owner said it would be. 

The cabin was simple; one room, a double bed dressed in a handmade quilt, a tiny kitchen with a propane stove, and a bathroom that would require strategic maneuvering to accommodate two people. 

But the windows. 

The windows were everything. Lake on one side, mountains on the other, sky everywhere else.

Caitlyn set her camera bag down on the bed, then walked to stand next to Vi by the window overlooking the lake. The late afternoon sun began its descent, painting the water and the stone and the trees a rich hue of fiery gold and raucous red.

“The air,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s so clear. You can actually see individual trees on the opposite mountain.”

“Better polish up that lens,” Vi said, coming up behind her, wrapping arms around her waist. “We’re going stargazing later.”

Caitlyn turned in her arms. “Is that why you specifically asked about the wide angle? And the sturdy tripod?”

Vi nuzzled her nose into Caitlyn’s cheek, planting a gentle kiss there. “Maybe.”

—

The sun gave up its shift like a boxer throwing in the towel, revealing its dramatic reds and elegant purples before the knockout punch of darkness. But this wasn’t city darkness, that half-assed attempt at night that never quite committed. This was wilderness darkness, one that meant business, a reminder that space was right there, just past the atmosphere, cold and infinite in all its magnificence.

The stars revealed themselves in lengthy tendrils and brilliant clusters. Not the pathetic handful Vi was used to from Los Angeles, or even the respectable showing from Como. This was the whole inventory, every star that had ever existed deciding to show up at once, the Milky Way sprawled across the sky like god had spilled his paint amongst the heavens.

Caitlyn had set up her tripod by the water’s edge careful to ensure it was still and balanced, adjusting angles and checking levels while Vi lay on the blanket they’d dragged onto a flat rock and poured them both a glass of wine.

“The exposure needs to be at least twenty seconds for the stars to really register,” Caitlyn was saying, fiddling with her camera settings. “But not more than thirty or they’ll start to trail because of the Earth’s rotation.”

But then Caitlyn stood back from the camera, stared up at the sky, and just… stopped. Her hands fell to her sides, her mouth fell agape, and she looked like someone had just shown her proof of magic.

“Vi,” she breathed. “Look at it. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“I’m looking,” Vi said, though honestly she was mostly looking at Caitlyn, at the way the starlight mingled with her wondrous expression.

Caitlyn abandoned the tripod entirely, walking over to collapse on the blanket beside Vi. They lay side by side, shoulders touching, passing the wine between them while the universe showed off above. Caitlyn started talking, because apparently the wine and the starry spectacle had the ability to turn her into an encyclopedia.

“That’s Cassiopeia,” she said, pointing at what looked to Vi like random dots. “The vain queen. And there’s Andromeda, her daughter. The galaxy is actually visible tonight, see that fuzzy patch? That’s two trillion stars in there.”

“Two trillion?”

“Give or take. It’s approaching us at about 110 kilometers per second. In around five billion years, it’ll collide with the Milky Way.”

“Shit. Should we be worried?”

Caitlyn laughed, the sound echoing across the water. “I think we’re safe for tonight. And see that bright one? That’s Jupiter. You can actually see four of its moons with binoculars.”

She kept going—constellations and light years and the life cycles of stars—her voice getting more animated with each fact. Vi rolled onto her side, watching Caitlyn’s face as she explained the universe, hands moving to illustrate concepts Vi didn’t understand but loved hearing about anyway.

“What?” Caitlyn asked, catching her staring.

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” Vi said, meaning it completely.

“You’re not even listening.”

“I’m listening. Jupiter’s got moons you can see through binocs, Andromeda’s coming to cause trouble, Cassie was vain. See? Totally paying attention.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes but she was smiling. “All right, I can give you a pass.”

They stilled for a moment, the wine at home in Vi’s belly, the stars cold and distant above, Caitlyn warm and close beside her. And then, because Vi had never met an impulse she couldn’t immediately act on, she rose to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Caitlyn asked.

Vi pulled off her shirt, tossed it aside. “Swimming.”

“Vi, it’s nearly autumn. That water is probably—”

But Vi was already shucking her jeans, standing naked in the starlight like some kind of feral mountain spirit. The air bit at her skin, sharp and clean, making every nerve ending stand at attention.

“You’re insane,” Caitlyn said, but she was sitting up, watching with an expression that was part concern, part admiration, part something else entirely.

“Probably,” Vi agreed, and ran for the water.

The cold hit like a full-body impact, so intense it went past cold into some other sensation that didn’t have a name. Vi’s body tried to reject the entire concept, every muscle seizing, her lungs forgetting their basic function. But she pushed through, diving under, letting the water close over her head like a baptism into some new religion where the only prayer was holy fucking shit it’s freezing.

She surfaced gasping, her body already adjusting, the cold transforming from assault to embrace. “Come on in!” She called to Caitlyn, who was standing at the water’s edge looking torn between worry and want. “The water’s gorgeous!”

“You’re lying,” Caitlyn said. “You’re turning blue.”

“That’s just the starlight. Very flattering. Makes my eyes pop.”

“Vi…”

“Seriously, Cait. When’s the next time we’re gonna have a chance to swim in an alpine lake under stars like this?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “I’m going to get you a towel. And warm clothes. And possibly medical attention.”

She turned toward the cabin, and Vi was about to call after her, maybe admit that yeah, it was pretty fucking cold and a towel would be amazing. But then Caitlyn stopped. Turned back. And started taking off her clothes.

Not slowly, nor sexily—no, this wasn’t a show. It was Caitlyn making a decision and committing to it with the same intensity she brought to everything. Sweater over her head, jeans pushed down and kicked aside, everything else following until she stood naked on the shore, pale as moonlight, absolutely magnificent.

“If I die of hypothermia,” she declared, “I’m haunting you forever.”

Then she ran, hitting the water at full speed, disappearing underneath it with far more grace than Vi had managed. She surfaced with a gasp that could have probably woken the nearby village.

“COLD,” she announced, like this was news. “S-so cold. Why is it so c-c-cold?”

“Mountain water, baby. Character building.”

“I th-think I’ve built enough character to l-last a lifetime,” Caitlyn protested, but she was laughing, treading the dense water, her hair plastered to her forehead.

They swam in circles, splashing each other like kids, the cold making them giddy and stupid. Vi caught Caitlyn around the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her. Her lips burned a sweet warmth in contrast to the freezing lake that enveloped them, the contrast so wonderfully electrifying. Caitlyn’s legs wrapped around Vi’s waist, her arms around her neck, and for a moment the cold didn’t matter, the stars didn’t matter, nothing mattered but this beautiful woman in her arms.

“Look,” Caitlyn shivered against her lips, and so, Vi did.

The stars reflected perfectly in the still water around them, like they were floating in space, suspended between two skies. Every movement sent ripples through constellations, made galaxies dance, the lake’s surface a tapestry of the heavens’ many wonders.

“It’s like we’re swimming through the universe,” Caitlyn said, her voice coloured with awe.

They floated on their backs, hands linked to keep from drifting apart, watching the stars above cast their light down around them. Vi’s body had gone numb in the best way, like she’d transcended the need for physical sensation and existed now as some sort of transcendent, ethereal being.

“This is truly insane,” Caitlyn said.

“Yeah.”

“We’re going to be sick tomorrow.”

“Probably.”

“Worth it?”

Vi squeezed her hand, looked up at the magnificent sky, at their reflection, at this woman who’d followed her into freezing water just because Vi had gone. “Absolutely.”

They stayed until their teeth were chattering too hard to talk, then stumbled out of the water on legs that barely worked, laughing and shivering and trying to find their clothes in the dark. The cabin was warm and close after the vast chill of the lake, and they collapsed on the bed still damp, still shaking, wrapped in every blanket they could find.

“Next time,” Caitlyn said through her shivers, “we bring towels to the lake.”

“Next time?” Vi pulled her closer, sharing what little warmth she had left. “You’d do that again?”

“With you?” Caitlyn cupped Vi’s freckly cheek in her palm, running her thumb along her VI tattoo, warming her skin before leaning in for a kiss. “I’d do anything.”

—

The morning arrived with the discretion of a considerate friend, slipping through the windows in gentle increments rather than bursting in. 

Caitlyn was grateful for its tact, given that the night had been… rather enthusiastic. The sort of enthusiasm that made her profoundly thankful their little cabin sat at a respectable distance from the village proper, cushioned by enough pine trees to absorb any sounds that might have disturbed the conservative sensibilities of its alpine residents.

They’d managed to avoid pneumonia through what Vi would undoubtedly call vigorous physical activity. She wouldn’t be able to get it out of her mind… their cool skin warming against each other’s heated touch, the urgency of it, the way they’d laughed even as they gasped—all of it made her cheeks warm despite the morning chill.

Now they sat on the cabin’s narrow porch, wrapped in a quilt that had probably been handmade by someone’s nonna, a covering that carried many stories within its stitches. Vi’s shoulder was solid and warm beneath Caitlyn’s cheek, their bodies finding that perfect arrangement that came from practice—Vi’s arm around her, Caitlyn tucked into her side, the quilt creating a cocoon that smelled of cedar storage and contentment.

Morning mist rose off the lake’s surface, moving like ghosts, remnants of the glacial night. The mountains wore caps of pink—alpenglow, that particular magic hour that mountains kept for the early risers. Everything was so quiet that Caitlyn could hear Vi’s heartbeat, steady and sure, a metronome for their love.

“What if instead of buying a postcard,” Caitlyn said, her voice still rough with sleep and… well, other things. “We make one to send to Powder. From here.”

She felt Vi’s smile more than saw it, the way her whole body shifted with pleasure at the idea. “Yeah? What would we put on it?”

“The lake at dawn, maybe. Or those peaks with the morning light.”

“Well, if anyone can capture the essence of this place, it’s you.”

“Perhaps I should add postcards to my list of services, hm?” Caitlyn lifted her head to look at Vi, who had that soft morning expression that Caitlyn had become possessive about—the one only she got to see. “But since we’re already leaving tomorrow, for our next venture… where should we go?”

“Hmm,” Vi tilted her head back, gazing at the sky where last night’s stars had been replaced by the pale blue of day. “I dunno. Jupiter looked pretty inviting last night. Heard it’s nice this time of year.”

“A space expedition might be a bit ambitious, no?” Caitlyn chuckled, playing along. 

Vi turned to face her fully, “with you?” And the expression on her face made Caitlyn’s chest swell with warmth, with something too large for words, as she reached down to join their hands. “I’d go anywhere.”